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EXPIATION 
 
B E N T Z O N 
 
 EX PIAT I O N 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH 
 
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AUTHOR'S EDITION 
 
 19101.4 
 
EXPIATION 
 
 I. 
 
 HE Seine in its winding course was 
 sparkling under the last rays of a 
 bright April sun, when a young man 
 stopped on the tow-path in front of the low 
 arched gateway of a house that stood on the river 
 bank not far from Paris. The house was rather 
 commonplace in appearance, and neither elegant 
 nor imposing ; but the lack of architectural orna- 
 ment was more than supplied by a woodbine 
 that was trained over its front, while at the sides 
 some cherry trees sliook their heads, white with 
 their load of blossoms, as if in derision of the 
 big trees in the neighboring park, which were as 
 yet quite bald. The little terraced garden, a 
 
lo Expiation. 
 
 mere basket of hyacinths and violets, was redo- 
 lent of Spring ; it was filled with the twittering 
 of birds and the buzzing of insects, while a hedge 
 of privet and hawthorn sent its penetrating odor 
 abroad ; altogether it was quite enough to touch 
 the fancy of a young man of twenty. 
 
 Bernard — he knew no other than his bap- 
 tismal name, and we will therefore designate 
 him by that — Bernard was not much beyond 
 this happy age. His face wore an expression of 
 thoughtful gravity, which was tempered by that 
 unspeakable charm of youth that lasts hardly 
 longer than does the down upon the fruit. His 
 complexion was as delicate and as changing as 
 the complexion of a womar The pallor, that the 
 slightest amotion servea o dissipate, the trifling 
 stoop in the tall form, the rather slow and medi- 
 tative gait, together formed an interesting con- 
 trast with the proud energy that was displayed in 
 the glance of his deep, fearless eye. As he took 
 off his hat he disclosed to view a noble forehead, 
 but one on which melancholy had already cast a 
 shade. A light breeze lifted his tawny locks, and 
 the young man stopped to meet its refreshing 
 caress, and, like a city man, to whom a country 
 holiday is a rare event, he drew in with keen 
 
Expiation, 1 1 
 
 relish, through ears and nostrils, the music and 
 the perfumes of the fields. 
 
 For a long time he remained gazing on the 
 river, glowing in the golden light that had been 
 blazing in the western sky, but was now slowly 
 fading. From one of the little willow-fringed 
 islands that dot the bosom of the Seine, pleasant 
 little clumps of trees, where one might expect to 
 see the foliage part and disclose the smiling face 
 of some shy, coquettisli Gallic nymph, there came 
 forth a row-boat with two persons in it — a fine- 
 looking young fellow, who handled the oars, and 
 a young girl, of whom all that was plainly distin- 
 guishable was a fluttering blue veil, in which the 
 wandering dragon-flies entangled themselves. 
 The sound of their laughter, the chorus of a 
 barcarol, came echoing back from the shore ; 
 then, when they had turned a certain point, where 
 they thought they were beyond the reach of in- 
 quisitive eyes, their heads gravitated together, 
 the song was no longer heard, and for a second 
 or so, the boat stood motionless under the wil- 
 lows. 
 
 A faint tinge of color rose to Bernard's cheeks 
 as he unintentionally witnessed this scene. All 
 the entrancing influences of this brightest time of 
 
12 Expiation. 
 
 the year — the pleasant warmth of the air, the 
 contagious gayety of the season, the occult sym- 
 pathy with Nature working among her growing 
 trees and flowers — were embodied for him in one 
 single name that now escaped through his half- 
 parted lips — Rose ! It was hardly more than a 
 sigh, and was at once repressed, as if the young 
 man had even feared to betray his secret to soli- 
 tude. He was much moved, and for an instant 
 was silent ; then, "Why," said he, " should I con- 
 demn myself to a sterile life ? All these things 
 are mine as much as they are another's. Who 
 shall prevent me from enjoying them ? I intend 
 to live my life ! " 
 
 He directed his steps toward the house and 
 knocked at the small door. A woman-servant 
 came running, and opened with a great show 
 of surprise. " What ! You here to-day. Mon- 
 sieur Bernard ? Upon my word, we were not 
 expecting you. Are you having a vacation ? A 
 fine surprise it will be for Madame. . . . She is 
 at church. But come in, come in ! " 
 
 "Thank you," replied the young man. "I 
 will wait here under this arbor." To tell the 
 truth, he was glad to have a few minutes in which 
 to prepare himself for an interview which he 
 
Expiation, 13 
 
 knew would not be unattended by difficulties. 
 " Go and attend to what you have to do, my good 
 Mariette," he added, seeing that the old servant 
 remained standing before him, for fear, as she 
 said in her good-natured familarity, that he 
 might be lonely all by himself. 
 
 From the bench where he sat he commanded 
 a view of the river, the plain, now green as a 
 meadow beneath its newly sprouting crop of 
 wheat, and the hills beyond with their vineyards 
 hazy in the distance. This horizon, limited as it 
 was, and the school where he had but just com- 
 pleted his studies, comprised all that Bernard 
 knew or had seen of the world. As he reflected 
 on this an irresistible desire seized him to extend 
 his knowledge. It was like the instinct which 
 impels the butterfly to burst the cocoon which 
 imprisons its wings, the bird to take flight from 
 the nest to which it will never return again, the 
 craving after liberty that is implanted in the 
 breasts of all young, strong things. The fiery 
 Spring sunlight had, so to speak, intoxicated him; 
 this sudden outbreak of a new life had discon- 
 certed all his previous plans and resolutions ; he 
 saw them leave him as the last dead leaf, clinging 
 to its branch, is borne away by the breeze that 
 
14 Expiation, 
 
 causes the new buds to open. His meditations 
 were interrupted by a well-known voice at his 
 ear. 
 
 "There is no bad news, I hope ?" 
 The person who addressed him thus was a 
 woman who was still beautiful, though her pre- 
 maturely gray hair and the simplicity of her 
 dress made her look older than she actually was. 
 The calm, restful serenity of her countenance 
 gave evidence of a spotleiJ life and an unruffled 
 conscience. Still, however, deep down in her 
 large, black eyes, there was a glint of enthusiasm 
 which, beneath the devotee, revealed the heroine. 
 It may have been the light of some consuming 
 love that had been purified into charity through 
 the means of some great sacrifice. Every great 
 exclusive attachment leaves behind it a void, 
 which God alone has the power to fill. It could 
 not have been the late M. Desaubiers who was 
 responsible for this void, for the poor man's 
 whole existence had been nothing but an annoy- 
 ance to every one who came in contact with him. 
 However that may be, his widow had, nearly 
 twenty years ago, renounced the world, or at 
 least that moderate portion of it which her small 
 fortune and humble rank had ever allowed her to 
 
Expiation. 15 
 
 enjoy. With but slender resources, she still al- 
 ways found it in her power to relieve those un- 
 fortunates who came to her for assistance. Her 
 numerous beneficiaries made quite a large family, 
 in which there had been more than one prodigal 
 son, gratitude being a virtue that is not universal 
 among human kind ; but she always waited 
 patiently for these to return, and did not allow 
 their misdeeds to work to the prejudice of the 
 rest of her flock ; her cheerful optimism would 
 not let her believe in the permancy of evil. How 
 many times Bernard had been soothed and sus- 
 tained by that motherly white hand that now 
 rested on his shoulder, while her eyes seemed to 
 read the trouble that lay in his heart with their 
 loving, searching scrutiny. But it was impossible 
 to answer that look otherwise than truthfully. 
 So when Madame Desaubiers said : " There is no 
 bad news, I hope ? " Bernard could not answer 
 simply yes or no^ the confession that he had to 
 make being of too complex a character. 
 
 " I hardly know," said he, " what you will think 
 about it. Only a little while ago I tli ought that 
 I was coming here to get your advice, but now I 
 feel that my mind is made up, and that I shall 
 have to make you a plain statement of the case." 
 
[6 Expiation. 
 
 " What a serious way of introducing it ! " 
 Taking a seat beside him on the bench, she con- 
 trolled her impatience by tightening her clasp 
 on the prayer-book, which she held in her hand, 
 and waited for him to speak ; then, as he did not 
 proceed, " Ah ! " said she, " it has been in my 
 mind for some time, that you were concealing a 
 misfortune from me — or a fault." 
 
 " Neither the one nor the other," replied Ber- 
 nard, plucking up his courage. '^ All there is 
 about it, is that I cannot enter the theological 
 school." 
 
 Both were silent, he glad that he had, at last, 
 made a breast of it, Madame D^saubiers, evi- 
 dently vexed, " Why ! " shv^ inquired, " what ob- 
 stacle has arisen ? It was your own wish ; you 
 requested it." 
 
 " I was not old enough to understand that the 
 exercise of these lofty virtues calls for more 
 thought than I have at my command. Without 
 any constraint you always seemed to prefer that 
 I should select this calling, rather than I selected 
 it for myself. In a word, my excuse for my mistake 
 is, that notwithstanding all your goodness to me, 
 I was unhappy ; I thought that I was condemned 
 to a life of perpetual isolation. As it is now, I 
 
Expiation. 17 
 
 do not know what career to select; but one thing 
 I am certain of, I should make a bad priest, and 
 the obstacle lies in myself," 
 
 " What your superiors tell me does not agree 
 with this sudden failure of your resolution," re- 
 marked Madame Desaubiers, " and I am sorry to 
 see you leave so straight and safe a road without, 
 I am afraid, giving the matter sufficient consider- 
 ation. We shall have to try and find another 
 one," she continued, with a sigh of resignation. 
 " You will find more than one way of employing 
 your talents, but the world is pitiless for those 
 who face it without the arms and passwords that 
 are exacted by custom ; it respects no mystery 
 and is careless of susceptibilities. There are 
 trials in store for you, my poor child, that God 
 would certainly have spared you had you chosen 
 to embrace his service. Think of your excep- 
 tional position in society, that it pains me to have 
 to speak to you of ! " 
 
 " I have never forgotten it," interrupted Ber- 
 nard, with deep feeling. " I know that I have 
 nothing to expect from the future, and that for 
 the present, I have nothing, not even a name ; 
 that I have received by way of charity, that in- 
 struction, which I very likely shall not be per- 
 
1 8 Expiatio7i. 
 
 mitted to make use of, to make for myself a ca- 
 reer that will be to my liking. Pardon me, my 
 friend, my benefactress," he exclaimed, suddenly 
 curbing himself, struck by the change from se- 
 verity to deepest grief expressed on Madame De- 
 saubiers' countenance ; " the charity which I al- 
 luded to so ungratefully, sliould have been sacred 
 to me, since it came to me through your interven- 
 tion, but I cannot help detesting the tyranny of 
 this unknown father, who would first do all that 
 he could to stifle my miserable existence, and 
 then would shut me up behind the doors of a 
 church or a convent." 
 
 " You misunderstand him," said Madame De- 
 saubiers sharply ; " you attribute to him inten- 
 tions which he never had. He was entirely ig- 
 norant of the dream with which I have deluded 
 myself ; it is on me that your reproaches must 
 fall ; he does not know now, and has never 
 known anything at all in regard to you." 
 
 " Yes, I understand that he furnished you with 
 means to do a work of charity, about which he 
 himself was quite indifferent. My only obliga- 
 tion therefore is to you ; you sat by the bedside 
 of my poor mother, and comforted her in her 
 last moments, dying, as no doubt she did, of grief 
 
Expiation, 19 
 
 and shame. Oh, that I could but recall her feat- 
 ures ! Had she only lived ! — But alas ! what 
 could I effect toward making any one happy ! " 
 
 " And do you count my happiness as of no 
 importance ? " asked Madame Desaubiers. " You 
 will insure it to me," continued the good woman, 
 as he kissed her with the affection of a son, " by 
 being happy yourself." 
 
 Again she cast her scrutinizing glance upon 
 him. " What is the main reason," she inquired, 
 " for your changing your mind as to taking or- 
 ders, a step to which you were impelled, as you 
 once confessed to me, rather by a feeling of sad- 
 ness than by obedience ? How long is it since 
 you ceased feeling sad enough to carry out this 
 suicide, as you call it, but which I had always re- 
 garded as a calling of your own selection ? How 
 long have you felt yourself unequal to the virtues 
 demanded by eternal celibacy ? " 
 
 The young man gave a start ; Madame 
 Desaubiers, in the kindness of her heart, 
 had changed the course of the inquiry, but the 
 explanations that he was to make in reply to 
 her new questions gave him no less trouble than 
 the old. 
 
 " For two years perhaps," he said in a very low 
 
20 Expiation. 
 
 voice, not feeling brave enough to confess more 
 than a part of the truth. 
 
 " It was two years ago that Madame Aymes 
 and her daughter spent their vacation with us," 
 Madame Desaubiers let fall carelessly, " but your 
 secrets are your own." 
 
 Bernard cast his eyes down, then quickly rais- 
 ing them again : 
 
 " No," he exclaimed, ** I will conceal nothing 
 from you. I love her. In the beginning I loved 
 her as the first of my play-fellows, who showed 
 me any kindness, who never hurt my feelings by 
 asking inconsiderate questions or getting off bru- 
 tal witticisms at my expense. I never told you 
 what I have had to suffer from my school-mates 
 in this respect, before I even knew the meaning 
 of the word shame ! And she was always so even- 
 tempered, so amiable, so good-hearted ! I used 
 to wait impatiently for the time to come when I 
 was to meet her at your house, I felt so peaceful 
 and contented where she was ; then suddenly, 
 when I met her one vacation time, it was all 
 changed. In place of the little girl, who was in 
 my thoughts during every day of our long sepa- 
 ration, I found a woman whom I hardly dared 
 speak to. But to make up for this deprivation, 
 
Expiation, 2 1 
 
 how I watched her, how I admired her ! Her 
 tender care for her mother filled me with respect, 
 mingled with my feeling of adoration, for she 
 is . . . . " Here Bernard looked inquiringly 
 at Madame Desaubiers, who could not help 
 smiling. 
 
 " Is she beautiful, do you think ? " 
 " Certainly not ; she is not even pretty." 
 "Well, I don't pretend to know anything about 
 it," continued Bernard, " but she was the first one 
 who ever gave me an idea of what beauty is. I 
 shall never forget the day when I saw her for the 
 first time as she is now, or rather as she has been 
 in my eyes since that time, and I confess that it 
 would be very delightful to me to think that no 
 one else could ever see her in the same light that 
 I do ; that the impression might remain mine and 
 mine alone. 
 
 " You were here with your embroidery, under 
 this same arbor where we are sitting now ; Rose 
 was reading aloud, and I was watching her. It 
 was in the height of summer and about mid-day; 
 the shadows from the trembling leaves chased 
 each other over her face, as it was bent over her 
 book, Madame Aymes asked for a skein of silk, 
 which she had left in the drawing-room, and be- 
 
Expiation, 
 
 fore I had fully understood Rose had thrown 
 aside her book, and was running toward the 
 house. I was ashamed of my slowness of appre- 
 hension, as well as of my want of politeness. I 
 tried to stop Rose, who was already at a distance; 
 I followed her. We raced like two children, she 
 ahead and looking back at me with a laughing 
 challenge in her eyes, scarcely touching the 
 gravel with her flying feet, now disappearing be- 
 hind some shrubbery to reappear on the other 
 side, her every movement marked by an airy 
 grace that is beyond description. Daphne, Atla- 
 lanta, Galatea, all the light-footed heroines of the 
 metamorphoses were personified in her. Suddenly 
 a still more alluring dream took possession of my 
 fancy ; it seemed to me that the happiness of all 
 my future life was ahead of me, and that I was 
 pursuing it ; a mad desire to seize it, and hold it 
 in my grasp, lent wings to my feet. I caught up 
 with Rose and stayed her with my eager hand ; 
 for a second I felt her trembling against my heart, 
 which was beating as if it would break, but im- 
 mediately the realization of my desire was suc- 
 ceeded by an unconquerable terror. During the 
 pursuit I had been laying up a store of eloquent 
 words that I was anxious to disburthen myself of. 
 
Expiation. 23 
 
 without having any very clear idea of what I was 
 going to say, and now that I had caught her I 
 could not get out a word; in reply to her aston- 
 ished look I could with difficulty stammer out 
 some ineffectual words of excuse, which seemed 
 to divert her exceedingly. Ever since that time 
 the same picture has been my companion by 
 day and by night, presenting itself as the only 
 end, the supreme reward, of whatever I may un- 
 dertake. I would like to become wealthy and 
 distinguished for her sake, and I do not under- 
 stand how I could have been so near renoun- 
 cing all prospects of future happiness in Rose's 
 love, which seemed to me beyond my reach, 
 until the day when I clasped it in my arms at 
 the same time as Rose herself." 
 
 ** Yes," replied Madame Desaubiers thought- 
 fully, " Rose is worthy of a place in your affec- 
 tions and also of being the reward of your under- 
 takings. But the idea of a reward presupposes 
 an effort, and that you have not made so far. 
 We must endeavor to deserve everything in this 
 world, and we must wait ; it is for the best, for 
 often we do not know our own wishes, and 
 Providence wisely defers the realization, know- 
 ing that man to-day is not the same that 
 
24 Expiation. 
 
 he was yesterday. Eclogues are not repeated, 
 and while I would not do you injustice, I fear 
 that in point of constancy you will be neither 
 better nor worse than the rest of mankind." 
 
 " There are women to whom it would be im- 
 possible to be inconstant ! " 
 
 ** I have heard that same expression from lips 
 that were as truthful as yours, which afterward 
 uttered the same vows to other ears ; they have 
 forgotten, but I have remembered." 
 
 '* And who could have forgotten you?" ex- 
 claimed Bernard, with all the deep sympathy 
 that lovers always feel in hearing of a love affair. 
 
 ** It does not make much difference now. All 
 that I want to say is, that perhaps Rose some of 
 these days will not seem to you the only woman 
 in the world worth living for. Have you ever 
 spoken to her of the feelings you entertain toward 
 her ? " 
 
 " I could not have dared." 
 
 " Have you any reason for thinking that she 
 understands them, or that she shares them ? " 
 
 ** She has never given me reason to think that 
 she has any other feeling toward me, than a sin- 
 cere and kindly friendship," replied the young 
 man with a sigh. 
 
Expiation. 25 
 
 "Very well; do not let the matter go any farther. 
 You would neither of you be justified in con- 
 tracting an engagement yet awhile. Rose has 
 her mother to take care of, and you have your 
 work, which may some day enable you to offer 
 her comfort, if not a fortune. I know what you 
 are going to say ; that if you had Rose's word it 
 would give you courage and patience, but you 
 could not obtain it without disturbing her peace 
 of mind; and suppose, after all, her heart holds 
 no sentiment stronger than a sisterly love ? You 
 need not alarm yourself, my dear child ; I have 
 no reason for believing one way or the other. 
 You must hope, and if this hope, indefinite and 
 remote as it is, cannot sustain your courage, the 
 only reason is that you do not love as you say 
 you do. " 
 
 This language, at once firm and enthusiastic, 
 did not fail to produce its due effect upon Bernard. 
 Their talk was prolonged until evening under 
 the little arbor, and then, when night came on, 
 by lamp-light in the little drawing-room, where a 
 thousand plans for the future were taken up and 
 discussed one by one. It was decided that, to 
 begin with, teaching offered Bernard an imme- 
 diate resource, though but a slender one, and 
 
26 Expiation. 
 
 that he might content himself with this while 
 waiting for something better. 
 
 II. 
 
 |UR best actions always have some 
 alloy of selfishness. When, some 
 years before the time of our story, 
 Madame Desaubiers had asked the 
 privilege of protecting an orphan child that 
 was threatened with abandonment, her charity, 
 which was such a nobly distinctive feature of her 
 character, was not the only inspiring motive. At 
 this time she had just passed through the deci- 
 sive crisis of her life, she had made that sacrifice 
 that is the most trying one that a woman can 
 make, that of a great passion, the only one of 
 her life, one of that description that, if it carries 
 us into the region of storms, also takes us into 
 the land of enchantment. Death seemed easier 
 to her than to descend from so great a height ; 
 
Expiation. 27 
 
 still, she did not allow even her love to blind her 
 judgment. She knew that if she yielded she would 
 forthwith lose all the respect of her admirer, 
 one of those cynical men who are eager in pur- 
 suit as long as there is opposition, but, as soon as 
 their passion is gratified, cast the object remorse- 
 lessly to one side. Against being numbered 
 among the forgotten, or at least placed on the list 
 with those whose conquest had been rather more 
 difficult, her only alternative was resistance. Of 
 a mind as lofty as it was pure, she aimed at 
 occupying a place in this worn-out heart such as 
 no one except herself had ever occupied. 
 
 Many another woman, even those high in 
 station, would have gladly accepted what slie 
 rejected. Madame D^saubiers felt the attraction, 
 but she triumphed over it. She did not wish to 
 make herself disagreeable by reason of her scru- 
 ples, her exactions, her complainings, her jeal- 
 ousy, and already she was conscious of a bent in 
 that direction. She felt that she would become 
 irksome to him, and that he would soon tire of 
 her, for she knew nothing of the objects and 
 interests of a man who, by birth and by ability, 
 held a position among the very foremost of the 
 earth. Chance had introduced them to each 
 
28 Expiation. 
 
 other while on a journey together ; it was prob- 
 able that when they separated it would be to never 
 meet again. All these things coincided, we may 
 believe, in fortifying Madame D^saubiers* good 
 resolution. However that may be, she succeeded 
 in avoiding an entanglement, and gave the 
 pleasure of an honest friendship to the man who, 
 until then, had been the least capable of all men 
 of wasting his time in Platonic sublimities. " It 
 would be a pity," he soon began to think "to 
 take away the halo that is so becoming to the 
 face of this admirable little bourgeoises The 
 feeling of pique that he had experienced at his 
 first repulse gave way before the novelty of the 
 situation ; he found pleasure in her conversation, 
 even without making love to her. As she came 
 to question him about his far-off country, his 
 adventurous but ill-spent youth, his travels, 
 which had carried him to every court of Europe, 
 Madame Desaubiers obtained from him confes- 
 sions that he never had the slightest idea of 
 making even to himself. As a result of these 
 conversations, so tender in essentials, so circum- 
 spect in form, his cynical precepts and worldly 
 maxims were for the nonce laid aside, and be- 
 neath his outer shell of perverse waywardness 
 
Expiation, 29 
 
 there appeared another being, better, almost 
 natural, in character, whose existence he had 
 known nothing of until now. One evening, not- 
 withstanding the feeling of pride which com- 
 manded him to be silent in regard to such an 
 unpleasant recollection, he mentioned the sad 
 consequences that had resulted from one of his 
 love affairs with a poor girl in humble circum- 
 stances. 
 
 " And you did nothing to repair the wrong ? '* 
 timidly asked Madame D^saubiers. 
 
 " The only reparation that I could make was 
 to give the girl a dowry ! " 
 
 " And you know nothing as to what happened 
 the poor thing afterward ? " 
 
 " How should I know ? " 
 
 " But what became of him, the child ? Your 
 own Hesh and blood." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders, and from his dis- 
 dainful lips let fall a merciless expression : 
 "There are no children -except those born in 
 marriage ! " 
 
 Conscience is just as likely as not to conceal 
 remorse beneath cruel or cynical words, and the 
 conscience of this particular man was more un- 
 decipherable than any other. Madame Desau- 
 
3© Expiation, 
 
 biers, therefore, was not without hope of awaken- 
 ing it, and shortly afterward she thought that 
 she had succeeded. When the man, whom she 
 had compelled to yield her his esteem, was about 
 to leave France, he handed her a large sum 
 of money for the poor, so that she might act 
 vicariously for him in saving his soul, he said. 
 The gift and the confession, falling together as 
 they did, set our love-lorn devotee thinking. 
 She came to the conclusion that she had a 
 mission; that she was intrusted with a legacy, 
 which she received in silence. Without delay 
 she started inquiries as to the whereabouts of 
 the child, and took all the steps necessary to 
 the accomplishment of a labor which, in her 
 fond hopes, was to be a bond of union between 
 her and the absent. The sum received for the 
 alleviation of general distress was applied to 
 the education of little Bernard. 
 
 Soon this little waif was all that remained to 
 her to remind her of her short-lived love. The 
 man whom she had idolized to such an extent 
 that she could even overlook his vices, had now 
 attained such a lofty position that he was in- 
 accessible to common mortals ; now and again 
 Madame D^saubiers saw his name mentioned 
 
Expiation, 3 1 
 
 in the newspapers among the diplomatic cor- 
 respondence ; ambition seemed to have got the 
 better of this Don Juan's love of pleasure. 
 How could he find time in his busy life for 
 trivial pursuits ? " My influence is at work," 
 thought Madame Desaubiers. *' The day will 
 come when those more ennobling pursuits in 
 which he now finds his pleasure will also pall 
 on him ; when, satiated with fame and honors, 
 he will regret that he has not a child worthy 
 of him to perpetuate his name ; then — who 
 knows ? " She looked at Bernard and noted 
 with joy his increasing resemblance to his father. 
 The boy was well endowed with qualities both 
 of head and heart, and she made a mental 
 vow that she would spare no severity toward 
 him, if that were required, to fit him for a high 
 position. Could there be any better reward 
 for her old-time sacrifice than to compel the 
 father to recognize the intervention of Provi- 
 dence, and, at the same time, secure for the child 
 the worldly position from which he had been 
 debarred by our unjust social system ? 
 
 Madame Desaubiers thought not, and hoped 
 that God would recompense her in this way. 
 
 While she was deluding herself with these 
 
32 Expiation, 
 
 idle speculations, she received a letter which 
 showed their emptiness. It was a stiff, awk- 
 wardly framed letter, for it would puzzle the 
 most ingenious of men to tell the woman whom 
 he once loved that he is about to be mar- 
 ried and not feel some embarrassment. He 
 dwelt at length on the reasons of expediency 
 that urged him to the step, particularly on the 
 duty that was incumbent on him of keeping 
 the family name alive ; but what mattered it 
 to her ? She only knew that he was to be mar- 
 ried. She could have shed bitter tears in think- 
 ing how hopeless Bernard's fate was likely to 
 be after this. What was she to do with this 
 poor soul that was thus outlawed from society 
 and deprived of all family ties in the name of 
 morality, whom his own father could not assist 
 without prejudice to his legitimate affections? 
 She sought advice in prayer and was pleased 
 when Bernard, prompted by her wishes, evinced 
 a disposition to study for the church ; how her 
 plans had been upset by her pupil's rejection 
 of them at this late day we have already seen. 
 
 When he at last left her, after a long discus- 
 sion, with her approbation of his newly formed 
 plans, Madame Desaubiers, greatly annoyed by 
 
Expiation. 33 
 
 the misunderstanding into which she had fallen, 
 resolved to leave matters in stronger hands than 
 hers, and entrust the direction of events to God. 
 The turn which they were taking, moreover, was 
 not repugnant to a natural predilection of her 
 sex ; second only to the pleasure of being loved, 
 there is nothing that affords a woman keener 
 delight than to be the confidant of the love of 
 others. Bernard, she said to herself, had made 
 a happy selection of the object on which to fix 
 his affections. Strengthened, as she had been, 
 by her brave struggle with adversity. Rose 
 Aymes would be an assistant to him, rather than 
 a hindrance or a burthen. An absolute forget- 
 fulness of self, united to a deep-seated idea of 
 duty, formed her distinguishing characteristics. 
 From her earliest days she had learned to rely 
 on her own efforts, without, however, valuing 
 them too highly, and this is the best moral train- 
 ing that a human being can receive, although it 
 is not generally applied to women, whose in- 
 feriority may perhaps be accounted for by this 
 reason. Her mother had been Madame Desau- 
 biers' friend at boarding-school, and was the 
 widow of an officer who had met an honorable 
 death in battle while still young ; her slender 
 
34 Expiation. 
 
 pension would not have supported her had not 
 Rose supplemented it by the product of her un- 
 ceasing daily labor. The idea of marriage, or 
 of making herself attractive to young men, had 
 never entered her head ; it is true that if she 
 had been told in so many words that she was to 
 be an old maid, her feelings would have been 
 shocked, but she never gave the matter a thought. 
 Her sole object was her mother ; to provide 
 food for her for the day, and to smooth away 
 from her face the brooding care for the morrow, 
 a shadow that had rested there and been a cause 
 of sorrow to her from her earliest childhood, and 
 the effort that she was compelled to make to 
 attain this end, lowly as it was, appeared to 
 absorb her every faculty, to the exclusion of 
 all other matters. 
 
Expiation. 35 
 
 III. 
 
 |aDAME AYMES and her daughter 
 had a little garret apartment in a 
 house in the Luxembourg quarter, 
 where everything indicated their poverty, as well 
 as the elegance of their tastes. The faded, moth- 
 eaten furniture was perfectly clean. A few 
 pieces, remnants of days when they had been 
 better off, contrasted with the nakedness of the 
 work-room, where from morning until evening 
 Rose plied her trade of painting little pictures on 
 enamel. She had her daily bread to gain, a care 
 which engrosses the attention of so many artists 
 of the humbler rank. Bernard was accustomed 
 to go there to spend some of the few leisure mo- 
 ments that were allowed him from his new and 
 rather distasteful duties. " When," he would 
 say to himself, looking at Rose, '* Oh ! when 
 shall I have it in my power to stop the activity 
 of that slender hand, to bring back the fresh 
 
36 Expiation, 
 
 color of youth to that cheek ; to say to her, in a 
 word, rest ! " 
 
 She evidently would be glad to see him, and 
 without interrupting her work, would motion him 
 to a chair by her side with a pleasant nod of her 
 head. Sometimes she would lay down her 
 brushes to attend to some household duty, which 
 she would do without any false shame, with a 
 modest dignity that was all her own, and that 
 prevented any action of hers from ever appearing 
 unworthy. As she worked she would laugh and 
 talk. It was wonderful that her mother's per- 
 petual whining had not destroyed her faculty of 
 being amused and entertained. Under their re- 
 peated reverses, Madame Aymes had given way 
 to a kind of unhealthy apathy, whereas the same 
 trials had only served to stimulate Rose's power 
 of nervous resistance. Things of the smallest 
 consequence appeared to the elder lady in a dole- 
 ful or terrific light. She spent her time in la- 
 menting the past and bewailing the future, while 
 she took delight in multiplying imaginary troubles 
 in her daughter's path, instead of helping her to 
 clear away those which already existed there in 
 greater number than they should have done. 
 With all this, however, she was very fond of 
 
Expiation, 37 
 
 Rose. Her disposition to melancholy had been 
 aggravated by severe illness in early life. But 
 Rose took everything cheerfully, and allowed 
 nothing to disturb the serenity which she had put 
 on like a shield. Her judgment was sound and 
 she abounded in resources. She had a way of 
 looking things in the face that was at once firm 
 and humorous ; and she had the faculty of dis- 
 cerning at a glance what was possible or reason- 
 able, and acting accordingly, without more 
 trouble to herself than if the matter in hand had 
 been merely some whim of fancy. She ac- 
 Jcnowledged to herself, however, that she had one 
 cherished wish : to devote herself seriously to 
 the study of art, in which she had, so far, under 
 the stress of circumstances, received just suffi- 
 cient instruction to earn a scanty living from it. 
 
 " The main thing, in the first p.lace," she said 
 to Bernard one evening, as her mother sat sleep- 
 ing in her chair with her knitting in her hand, 
 " is to try and place myself on a footing of inde- 
 pendence. Shall I ever attain that indepen- 
 dence ? Shall I ever rise, as I feel that I have it 
 in me to do ? Shall I ever become a painter, or 
 must I always remain what I am, a mere me- 
 chanic, or little better ? " 
 
38 Expiation, 
 
 She pushed away from her, rather resentfully, 
 the basket which she was ornamenting with 
 figures in arabesque. 
 
 " Talent enobles whatever it touches, and you 
 are showing a great deal of it in these worthless 
 trifles. You will attain success, even by the 
 very thorny path which you are obliged to follow, 
 and which I would so gladly make smooth for 
 you if it were in my power." 
 
 " Thank you ; but do not flatter. I am not 
 aiming at success, but at perfection, and I shall 
 never reach it, going on in this way. I have a 
 great secret," said she, lowering her voice : " I 
 have almost finished a flower-piece for the expo- 
 sition. I have not told mother about it ; I ex- 
 pect that it will be rejected, and she would feel 
 too badly. I shall not allow myself to be dis- 
 couraged. I will make another effort." 
 
 "You are over-taxing your strength." 
 
 " Oh ! If I could only be successful ! It 
 seems to me that I could wish for nothing beyond 
 that." 
 
 " Nothing ? " said the young man interro- 
 gatively." 
 
 She reflected a moment, and answered, as she 
 resumed her painting, " Nothing ! " 
 
Expiation, 39 
 
 " Have you never thought that you might marry 
 some day?" 
 
 " Nobody ever marries a poor girl, so they say." 
 
 " A person like you is not poor. Whatever her 
 fortune may be, she brings with it more than 
 any one can give in return." 
 
 " What you mean, I suppose, is that she will 
 always be able to supply her own wants 1 " 
 
 " I mean nothing of the sort," replied Bernard, 
 with emphasis. " When I marry, my wife must 
 be willing to be dependent on me for everything." 
 
 " You are selfish," said Rose, laughingly. " I 
 shall insist on my husband allowing me to make 
 good use of my time and be of assistance to him." 
 
 "If I am selfish, you are proud. Rose." 
 
 " Oh ! no, I am not, for I shall be very glad to 
 accept at his hands the greatest of all favors, 
 only let him suffer me to do my work after my 
 own fashion." 
 
 " And what kind of a man do you think he will 
 be, this husband who will come and set your 
 genius free ? " 
 
 " Who thinks ? Who has time to dream ? " 
 exclaimed Rose, joyously. '* But when the time 
 comes, I will give the matter serious considera- 
 tion, I assure you." 
 
40 Expiation. 
 
 " I suppose you will consult your friends as 
 well ? You would not scorn my advice, for in- 
 stance ?" 
 
 " That would be ungrateful. You have always 
 treated me kindly." 
 
 "Then it is a promise," said Bernard in a 
 voice that trembled with emotion. " You agree 
 never to bestow your hand on any one without 
 first telling me ? " 
 
 Rose looked over toward her mother ; her 
 eyes were still closed in the most confiding, the 
 sincerest of slumbers. 
 
 " What an idea," she replied, blushing, with- 
 out knowing why she did so. 
 
 " Then you won't promise ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ; it is a bargain ; I won't marry with- 
 out your consent. I scarcely think that I shall 
 have to come to you, however ; who would ever 
 want to have me ? " 
 
 Bernard came very near speaking his mind 
 that evening, and Madame Aymes' awakening, 
 happening as it did, just at this point, perhaps 
 was timely. After this time, his visits were less 
 frequent ; in the pleasure of their increasing in- 
 timacy, in the strong desire that he felt of assur- 
 ing himself of the possession of a treasure that 
 
OF THE ^ 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF 
 
 Expiation. 41 
 
 he had gazed on so often and so closely that 
 he had come to covet it, he was fearful that he 
 might not be true to the promise which he had 
 given Madame Desaubiers. The two young peo- 
 ple, however, met quite frequently at this lady's 
 house in the country, and as she looked at them 
 from her window, walking side by side along the 
 trim little garden paths, with their borders of 
 box, she reflected that whatever the future might 
 have in store for Bernard, he certainly could 
 have no better mentor for the present moment. 
 
 In fact, there was a renewal of those innocent 
 Sunday interviews that he used to look forward 
 to as a compensation for the fatigues and trials 
 of all the week. In the intervals, too, Rose's 
 image was present with him continually. This 
 was so far from interfering with his studies that 
 it kept him at work until late at night. The 
 position he had accepted, it is unnecessary to say, 
 was only a stepping-stone to something better, 
 and in his waking dreams he saw Rose smiling 
 to him from the heights which were yet for him 
 to gain, standing by his side in time of peril, caus- 
 ing him now and then to blush for follies which 
 the best of young men cannot always entirely 
 avoid, and inspiring him with scorn for the sneers 
 
42 Expiation. 
 
 of some old companions, who had dubbed him 
 the Seminarist. 
 
 If Bernard had found a guardian in Rose, 
 Rose had found happiness through Bernard. 
 Her mother noticed a change in her that she 
 could not account for. Madame Desaubiers was 
 clearer of vision, and understood why it was that 
 Dame Wisdom, as she called her, was growing 
 prettier ; she knew what it is that brings the sun- 
 shine to eyes that before were dull, what causes 
 the blood to course more rapidly beneath the 
 transparent skin and show itself in the mantling 
 cheek, what adds grace and dignity to the bear- 
 ing and beauty to the features. Madame De- 
 saubiers now understood why it was that Bernard 
 had thought her charming ; she had been so in 
 his eyes before any one else had discovered it, 
 or rather, perhaps, she was indebted to him 
 for this unexpected beauty, more radiant than 
 any other, which defies conventional rules of criti- 
 cism and is only the ingenuous outward expres- 
 sion of an inward state of well-being. Her artis- 
 tic talent, too, was developing under the impulse 
 of new hopes. A few days after that evening 
 when Bernard had made her promise that she 
 would not dispose of herself without first consult- 
 
Expiation. 43 
 
 ing him, he received a letter from Rose, the only 
 one she had ever written him. " I have some- 
 thing to tell you," said she, " that is better than 
 the finest marriage; my picture has been accepted 
 at the Salon." 
 
 It was a short note, written in a large, child- 
 ish hand, and had none of the polite expressions 
 or commonplace amenities that result from prac- 
 tice of the epistolary style. Rose seldom had 
 occasion to write, and could not boast of any ele- 
 gance in the art. In order that her joy might be 
 cohaplete, she had desired to share it with a friend. 
 
 Three simple words, however, the very last* 
 ones : " I am yours," carried the young man 
 away into a world of blissful dreams. 
 
 The flower-piece received some notice at the 
 Exposition and was sold for a good price. Rose 
 could now look forward to the time when she 
 might be able to give up her make-shift of paint- 
 ing fans and bon-bon boxes ; in the mean time 
 her skill in manufacturing these baubles, her 
 delicate taste, her nicety of coloring, her correct 
 drawing, made quite a demand for them among 
 the shop-keepers. Day by day her situation 
 was improving. 
 
 The case was not the same with Bernard, 
 
44 Expiation. 
 
 who, weary of the irksome and ill-paid work 
 that he had accepted provisorily, could see 
 no definite career before him. Brought up with 
 a view to the church, and with a good solid basis 
 of instruction, outside, however, of the university 
 routine where any career lies open to a man, 
 provided he has the due number of diplomas, he 
 had devoted himself to philology and had culti- 
 vated literature without profit so far : any one 
 who respects his pen cannot hope to live. Many 
 places were mentioned to him that he might have 
 filled creditably, but not one of them was given 
 to him. In the Autumn of this year a promising 
 offer came to him unexpetedly ; a great foreign 
 nobleman, Count Volonzoff, wanted a preceptor 
 for his son, to accompany him in his travels, 
 which were made necessary by the state of the 
 boy's health, 
 
 " It will be hard to find the right man," he 
 wrote from Italy. " A mere book-worm would 
 not answer. We need a man really distinguished 
 for his learning, who, while making due allow- 
 ance for the physical weakness of his pupil, shall 
 be able to impart to his keen intelligence the 
 aliment v/hich it requires in a judicious manner. 
 Moreover, he must be a man of feeling, for he 
 
Expiation. 45 
 
 will have to do with a mind that is not quite 
 right, and he will have to face an irremediable 
 calamity. He must be prepared for this. I 
 know that I am asking a great deal : conscience, 
 devotion, sensibility. They are qualities that I, 
 for my part, have never placed any dependence 
 upon, but I want to believe in their existence to- 
 day, for the welfare of my son is at stake." M. 
 Volonzoff's attorney knew Bernard. " Accept," 
 he said to him. " You will have an opportunity 
 to travel, which every young man ought to avail 
 himself of when it is presented to him. You 
 will improve your manners by contact with per- 
 sons of refinement. Your intelligence will open 
 and bear fruit, while here it will be crushed 
 down, and finally destroyed by your daily re- 
 curring struggle with want. You will be well 
 cared for by the Count, who, I may tell you, is 
 an extremely kind-hearted man. And you will 
 have plenty of leisure. Your pupil will require 
 the services of his physician much more than 
 those of his preceptor. He is said to be a very- 
 unattractive invalid, but you will become at- 
 tached to him through compassion. You are 
 good-hearted and — don't deny it — a little ro- 
 mantic. These two qualities are often counted 
 
46 Expiation. 
 
 as defects, but they will be of service to you 
 here. Besides, you are not entering on a con- 
 tract that cannot be cancelled. Go and pass the 
 winter under Italian orange trees. Perhaps you 
 will then make up your mind to stay longer. 
 The salary is extremely liberal." 
 
 Bernard was aware of all these advantages, 
 but the reverse of the medal appealed to him 
 still more strongly. He would have to part 
 from Rose. When he first mentioned this dis- 
 tressing subject to her, they were walking to- 
 gether at Madame Desaubiers'. He was slowly 
 strolling on the bank of the Seine, under the 
 yellowing trees, idly pushing away with his foot 
 the dead leaves that strewed their path. The 
 harvests were all in, including the vintage. 
 Here and there, from the closely shorn fields, 
 a little curl of smoke arose, gray on a gray sky. 
 Rose turned very pale, but after a moment's 
 hesitation, during which she seemed to be chok- 
 ing down her feelings, she answered : " You 
 must listen to the dictates of reason and obey." 
 
 " Even if it goes directly opposite to my feel- 
 ings ? " 
 
 There was a renewal of silence. 
 
 "So then you advise me to go away?" said 
 
Expiation, 47 
 
 Bernard, in a tone that was almost one of re- 
 proach. 
 
 She turned her head away. He felt hurt by 
 her unconcerned way of taking it, and did not 
 see that her eyes were suffused with tears. At 
 length Rose murmured : 
 
 " You will have a chance to see the world — " 
 
 The change in her voice made him start ; her 
 efforts had been unavailing ; the tears were com- 
 ing down. 
 
 " I shall find nothing in the world so dear 
 as what I am leaving here," said he, taking 
 her hand with sudden warmth, " and as it is for 
 your sake that I am going away, so I shall return 
 to you." 
 
 As if bereft of her senses, the young girl 
 scarcely dared to believe her ears. Bernard said 
 nothing more. Perhaps he had said too much 
 as it was, only he retained her hand in his. They 
 both had stopped, their eyes fixed on the water, 
 which ran by in its silent course. To them it 
 seemed to reflect the brightest, purest blue of 
 spring, instead of October's leaden sky, and to 
 quiver with all the emotions which were agitat- 
 ing their own breasts. For the following mo- 
 ments they felt no need of speaking nor even of 
 
48 Expiation, 
 
 thinking ; the present was all sufficient for them. 
 The leaves that had been rustling but an instant 
 since were quiet. The wind also held its breath 
 for a space. 
 
 " Rose ! " said Bernard, softly. 
 
 She looked at him through tears that were 
 more joyful than smiles. No vows were spoken. 
 What would they have served ? 
 
 Madame Aymes, who was behind them with 
 Madame Desaubiers, here joined them. Rose 
 asked her mother to take her arm for the re- 
 mainder of the walk, and Bernard, profiting by 
 his ensuing tete-a-tete with Madame Desaubiers, 
 without further preface, announced his intention 
 of taking a tutor's position abroad. At the name 
 of Count Volonzoff Madame Desaubiers drew 
 back as if she had been struck. She made him 
 repeat it a second time. 
 
 '* Impossible ! " she cried. 
 
 ** You are acquainted with the name ? " asked 
 Bernard, also very much surprised. 
 
 " How should I know it ? " she said, hesitating. 
 
 *' Where, then, is the impossibility ? " 
 
 '* You will subject yourself to an intolerable 
 restraint. Preceptor ! Why, the position is not 
 far removed from that of a domestic." 
 
Expiation. 49 
 
 " I am promised the greatest consideration. 
 If they attempt to tyrannize, I can easily show 
 that I am a free man by giving leg bail." 
 
 " But Rose ! " 
 
 " Do not rob me of my courage," said Ber- 
 nard, mournfully. ** It will be better for both 
 her and me that we should be separated until 
 the time comes when we can be united." 
 
 Madame D^saubiers raised her hands toward 
 Heaven, irresolutely, as if distracted by doubts 
 and fears ; then, letting them fall again, " Thy 
 will be done, my God ! " she mentally eja- 
 culated. 
 
 Two weeks afterward Bernaad took his de- 
 parture for Italy. 
 
50 Expiation, 
 
 IV. 
 
 BERNARD TO MADAME D^SAUBIERS. 
 
 Sestri, Oct. 29th. 
 
 HE few lines that I sent Rose upon 
 my arrival here, in order that you 
 both might know that the journey 
 had been accomplished in safety, must have left 
 you hungry for more details. Take them, then. 
 I will try to give them in due order, so as to omit 
 nothing. And in the first place, I am as contented 
 as could be expected. Above all I am pleased 
 with the country ; not that Sestri is the finest 
 place along this wonderful Corniche road, that 
 fairly dazzled me for two days with its beauty. 
 Here the country is dry. Not a drop of that 
 rain which was coming down in torrents when I 
 left you has fallen to wash the pebbles in the 
 Polcevera, and you can walk dry shod in the 
 very bed of the stream. Too much dust, too 
 many rocks. But then they have a way of turn- 
 
Expiation. 5 1 
 
 ingthe rocks into gardens by means of a revised 
 edition of Armida's art ; and if trees obstinately 
 refuse to grow there, very well — they paint 
 them on the hard stone in such a way as to de- 
 ceive the eye, and this fantastic kind of vegeta- 
 tion has a merit of its own ; it reconciles us to 
 the practice of lying. And then we can afford 
 to overlook their drought and their execrably 
 bad taste, for we have the Mediterranean, its 
 deep, transparent blue meeting the tender blue 
 of the sky, bearing on its bosom, like so many 
 stately swans, a fleet of vessels that are making 
 sail toward France. Then, toward the left, in 
 the distance, is outlined the splendid amphi- 
 theatre of the city of palaces, with its forts and 
 its ramparts climbing up the steep rock ; its 
 marble porticos, the spires and domes of its hun- 
 dred churches, its peerless harbor with its forest 
 of masts, the whole confused and blended to- 
 gether by the effect of distance, like a mirage. 
 How Rose would delight in these beauties of 
 form and color ; fit subjects for her brush to in- 
 terpret. I wish that I might have both you and 
 her, whom I love so well, here to share my en- 
 joyment. 
 
 Among the villas whose blooming terraces 
 
52 Expiation, 
 
 descend to the margin of the sea, that of the 
 Count is one of the most elegant. His gardens 
 are full of mystery and enchantment, and make 
 one think of Tasso's. Everything in them is 
 calculated to deceive the senses ; artificial 
 caverns, fountains spouting forth their streams 
 in unnatural and distorted shapes, make-believe 
 ruins that on one side present the appearance of 
 a feudal castle, and on the other, a thatched cot- 
 tage, a gilded bark floating on a lake that fills as 
 if by virtue of an enchanter's wand ; all in imita- 
 tion of the famous Villa Pallavicini, which is not 
 far from here. The house is in the same style ; 
 it is painted pink, like a coquettish woman, and 
 its magnificent staircase, lined with orange trees, 
 gives it a charming appearance. I modestly 
 slipped in through one of the small entrance 
 ways, after having seen my trunk safely mounted 
 on the sturdy shoulders of one of the numerous 
 porters, who are always on hand to supply the 
 needs of travelers. One of the higher servants — a 
 kind of steward — met me with excuses ; they had 
 not expected me so soon, but my apartment was 
 ready ; would it please me to retire to it ? I was 
 very glad to have an opportunity of ridding my- 
 self of the dust of travel, so I was conducted 
 
Expiation, 53 
 
 with much ceremony to a chamber so large and 
 so elaborately decorated, that I have not as yet 
 succeeded in making myself feel at home in it. 
 Scarcely had I changed my clothing when I 
 heard a tap at my door. On opening there 
 appeared before me a tall, well-made man of 
 distinguished appearance. His lofty forehead 
 was destitute of hair, the delicate regularity of 
 his features announced his high birth, he was 
 inclined to paleness, his resolute, firm lips, while 
 they showed that they were accustomed to com- 
 mand, parted in a charming smile. It was the 
 Count. With the greatest politeness he enquired 
 if I had been furnished with everything for my 
 comfort, then taking a seat with an air of unas- 
 suming good nature, which, as I afterward 
 discovered, by no means prevents him from 
 making every one feel the immeasurable distance 
 that there is between himself and other mortals, 
 he proceeded, in a conversational tone, to put 
 me through a kind of examination. In doing 
 this, his questions displayed much judgment. 
 Whether his opinion of me was favorable or the 
 reverse, I could not tell ; he allowed no sign to 
 escape him. When his tongue had ceased its 
 utterances, he continued to question me with 
 
54 Expiation. 
 
 his eye, and I can give no idea in words of the 
 power that lay in that glance. Unless when 
 aroused, his eyes are dark gray, and convey to 
 you an idea of disdainful indifference ; there is 
 no fire in them and they have a deadened look, 
 like those of a wild animal composing himself to 
 rest ; in conversation they light up with an 
 expression of cold, clear intelligence, which 
 causes other people a most disagreeable feeling 
 of inferiority, and at once freezes up any dispo- 
 sition toward enthusiasm or gush. What is the 
 use ? this look of his seems to say ; there is noth- 
 ing that we can discuss that is worth the heat 
 of an argument. Still, the Count is always 
 ready enough to argue, and he keeps his con- 
 versational claws sharp in this way, as we some- 
 times draw a sword that has been consigned 
 to the scabbard and fence a little with it to keep 
 it from growing rusty. But I am anticipating. 
 Toward me his manner was one of exquisite 
 courtesy. The undefined feeling of scorn and 
 distrust that mankind in general, I suppose, in- 
 spire him with, is concealed beneath the cloak 
 of this superficial and irresistible charm of his , 
 for my part, however, I should prefer more 
 kindness of heart. He can make his smile, his 
 
Expiation. 55 
 
 manners, his language very captivating when he 
 sets out to do so, but beneath it all there can 
 be noticed by a close observer that he is acting 
 from a set determination, and he makes one 
 wish that he would let his mask fall and show us 
 a natural human countenance, whether it be 
 grave or gay, nay, even disagreeable. I must 
 acknowlege, however, that he allowed the mask 
 to fall in speaking of his son; the measured 
 tones of his voice vibrated with a mournful in- 
 flection. 
 
 *' I will make you acquainted with your pupil," 
 said he. " Monsieur X. has doubtless spoken to 
 you of him, but I must again beg you to guard 
 yourself against any expression of surprise, if you 
 find him unlike other children ; he would not 
 fail to notice it, and it would add an additional 
 pang to all the suffering which we are vainly en- 
 deavoring to spare him." 
 
 Before I could reply, he raised a curtain that 
 hung before a door, and I immediately found 
 myself in the presence of young Dimitri, as he 
 is called. 
 
 A misshapen little creature was reclining on 
 a couch near an open window. Judging from 
 his form, as he lay under the luxurious covering 
 
56 Expiation, 
 
 that concealed it, he might be a child six or 
 seven years old, but his face was wrinkled, sal- 
 low and faded, and his cheek bones were promi- 
 nent. The latter defect, which is to be found 
 among most all the Slavonian types, is also no- 
 ticeable to a certain extent in his father, but 
 modified by the harmony of the other features, 
 to which it adds an expression of firmness that is 
 almost leonine, while in the case of the boy it 
 adds to the grotesque, repulsive uglinesss of a 
 face that might pass for that of a malevolent 
 genie. The only expression visible on his coun- 
 tenance, as I looked on it, was one of the most 
 sulky ennui. He was playing at dominos upon 
 a low table that stood between him and a very 
 light complexioned, spectacled young man in 
 black, who, as we drew near, arose from his chair, 
 and remained standing in an attitude of severe 
 obsequiousness. The boy, without otherwise 
 stirring, turned upon me a glance in which I de- 
 ciphered the dread of that compassion which 
 strangers are accustomed to extend to him, and 
 which is extremely repugnant to him. I felt that 
 the Count was also watching me, actuated by the 
 same feeling, and that he was anxious to see how 
 I would pass through the ordeal. I drew near 
 
JSxpiation, 57 
 
 and extended my hand with a smiling face. Be- 
 fore giving me his own, the child cast a meaning 
 glance upon his poor, lean, long, knotted fingers, 
 and then placed them regretfully in mine, at the 
 same time saluting me with an inclination of 
 his enormously large head, which, with its shock 
 of yellow hair, certainly has much to do with his 
 grotesque appearance. 
 
 ** We will leave you to become acquainted 
 with each other," said the Count, nodding affec- 
 tionately to his son. "Are you coming, doctor?" 
 
 The young man of the spectacles bowed and 
 retired with his employer, and I was left alone 
 with my queer pupil. As it would have been 
 rather difficult to engage him in conversation, 
 I made up my mind to take up the game of dom- 
 inos that had been interrupted by my entrance. 
 When I proposed this to him, not prefacing my 
 offer by any remarks : 
 
 ** It will be of no use, sir," he replied ; " I 
 always win. You can see that Doctor Scharf 
 has already nearly, if not quite, lost the game." 
 
 ** I don't think that you will get the better of 
 me so easily," said I, as I laid down a piece. 
 
 ''We'll see!" 
 
 I had no trouble in winning the first game, 
 
58 Expiation, 
 
 although it was already half lost. He played 
 badly, and was inattentive ; still my success 
 seemed to astonish him, while at the same time 
 it afforded him pleasure. 
 
 *' That is something like," he exclaimed. 
 ** Monsieur Scharf thinks that I do'nt see that he 
 loses on purpose." 
 
 From the commencement of our acquaintance, 
 he had a higher esteem for me than for the doc- 
 tor. I resolved to follow up my advantage, and 
 beat him another game, although he applied him- 
 self more closely, feeling that the contest was in 
 earnest. 
 
 " Really," said I, *' you are old enough to play 
 a better game than you do." 
 
 This struck him as being very funny ; he smiled 
 as a little East Indian despot might have done 
 when some one had ventured to be familiar. 
 
 ** How old do you think I am ? " 
 
 " Possibly you are ten." 
 
 *'Yes, I am ten years past. But you are the 
 first one who ever took me to be as old as I 
 actually am." 
 
 "You must be pretty well up in your studies ?" 
 I continued, determined to treat him just as I 
 would treat any other child. 
 
Expiation, 59 
 
 "No," said he with a mournful shake of the 
 head. "I hardly know a thing, though for the 
 last three years I have had instructors in every 
 city where we have spent the winter : Rome, 
 Naples, Florence," 
 
 I interrupted him to say that he was very for- 
 tunate to have been able to visit such delightful 
 places. 
 
 " You think that I am fortunate ? Really ? 
 And have you never travelled ? Why not ? " 
 
 "Because I am poor." 
 
 You will understand, my dear friends, that I 
 made this confession as to my poverty with great 
 reluctance, for poverty ceases to be respectable 
 when stripped of its cloak of dignified reserve, 
 but in order to make the evils of the poor child's 
 life appear more endurable to him, I had to 
 bring to his notice misfortune in another form. 
 My efforts at consolation, however, proved un- 
 availing. 
 
 " Poor ! " he repeated, slowly, as if he failed 
 to catch the meaning of the word. " Poor ! " 
 and here his accent betrayed a feeling of envy. 
 " I have often seen poor people ; they could walk 
 and run, they were strong and healthy. When 
 we came here from Genoa, there was a little boy 
 
6o Expiation, 
 
 who followed our carriage, running on his hands 
 and turning somersaults. How I would have 
 liked to change places with him ! But no one 
 would care to change places with me." 
 
 As our conversation seemed to be running 
 into a rather dangerous groove, I changed it 
 by asking him what his masters had taught him. 
 
 "A little history — but I can't endure history ! 
 I cannot read the stories of battles, or of activity 
 of any kind, without thinking how helpless I am, 
 and that I am unlike other people and shall 
 never be able to achieve anything. Then I studied 
 Latin a while, but that gave me the head- 
 ache and bored me besides. I am very easily 
 bored," said he, watching me out of the corner 
 of his eye. 
 
 " I am quite sure that we shall get along to- 
 gether without boring each other," said I in an 
 off-hand manner. 
 
 At this my pupil uttered a little exclamation 
 expressive of doubt, almost of defiance, but I 
 had an answer ready. Passing into the adjoin- 
 ing room, I took from my trunk an herbarium 
 and a few mineral specimens. You have seen 
 them and know that they are no great treasures, 
 but never did a fairy's store of wonders produce 
 
Expiation. 6i 
 
 a greater effect. These poor remains of com- 
 mon-place plants, that had been gathered in our 
 walks as souvenirs, rather than as specimens of any 
 value, were the first that the poor little sick boy 
 had ever seen preserved in this manner. He is 
 passionately fond of flowers, and the idea that 
 their frail lives might be prolonged was one that 
 appealed strongly to his imagination. I had to 
 explain to him that a penknife, a magnifying 
 glass and a few sheets of coarse, gray paper were 
 all that was required to work this miracle, and 
 then proceeded to analyze the different parts 
 of the flower, demonstrating the structure of 
 those which I displayed before him, telling him 
 their names and whence they came, and giving 
 detailed information upon each specimen. All 
 scientific jargon and pedantic nomenclature were 
 carefully eliminated from this first lesson in 
 botany. There is an excellent principle in edu- 
 cation which I endeavor to keep constantly 
 before me : that to instruct children, you have 
 only to see that they have a clear perception of 
 what you place before their eyes. I intend that 
 this child shall find natural objects so interesting 
 as to induce forgetfulness of self, or if not, then 
 patience and resignation. He seems already to- 
 
62 Expiation. 
 
 have been very much impressed by the thought 
 that the plants which have most the healing in 
 them are not the brightest or most beautiful. 
 
 " We will collect a magnificent herbarium in 
 the Alps, where I am to pass the summer," he 
 joyfully said to me. " I have always hated them 
 so, but now I shall like them better." 
 
 "What, the Alps?" 
 
 " Why, yes. Can't you understand how one 
 wants to climb the mountains when they stand 
 there so temptingly before you ? Here, on the 
 other hand, you are shut in by the sea ; the 
 world seems to end at Sestri, and I am not 
 tormented by dreams of mountain-climbing, from 
 which I awake only to find myself a prisoner in 
 my bed." 
 
 " Never mind ; you shall climb mountains 
 some time. We will go together, and you shall 
 make up for lost time." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders with an impatient, 
 scornful movement. 
 
 " Do you think that you can make me feel 
 better by telling me what is untrue, like my old 
 nurse, who was always telling me unlikely 
 stories ? If you could tiust what she said, there 
 was nothing beyond my strength, and for a long 
 
Expiation. 6^ 
 
 time I believed her. I saw myself on horseback 
 going to the wars, or riding forth to discover 
 strange countries. And while she was telling 
 me all those things, she knew that I would never 
 get well. Servants lie to flatter one, and I will 
 not have them about me any longer." 
 
 "I shall not flatter you, but you must remem- 
 ber that if man cannot cure your malady, God is 
 all-powerful." 
 
 " God ? " Words cannot express the look of 
 rebellion and satanic hatred that contracted his 
 childish features. " God is cruel and unjust. What 
 have I done that he should treat me thus ? " 
 
 His blasphemy ended in tears. I confess that 
 I was frightened. I gave confused utterance to 
 some common-places about this life being a pe- 
 riod of probation for the life to come, which is 
 our true life. 
 
 " I shall never go to heaven. You do not 
 know me ; you would never imagine how bad I 
 am. I beat my attendants when I have 
 a chance, I torture my dog ; only a few days 
 ago I pulled his ears with red-hot pincers." — Of 
 course, I gave expression to my indignation. — " I 
 did it because the doctor had burned me, so as 
 to cure me of the illness which God had afflicted 
 
64 Expiation. 
 
 me with. When I inflict suffering on my servants 
 and on dumb animals, I, too, seem to be a God, 
 and to treat them as He treated me, and revenge 
 myself for my sufferings." 
 
 You see that I have a strange pupil to deal 
 with ; there will be many conflicts between us, 
 and I will not fail from time to time to tell you of 
 events as they occur. 
 
 " And are you in the habit of exposing your 
 evil thoughts in this way, and boasting of them ? " 
 I asked him. 
 
 " No, Doctor Scharf allows me to speak nothing 
 but German, and I don't know four words of 
 that language. I speak French more fluently, be- 
 cause my father and I always use it in conversa- 
 tion, but I never speak of such things to my 
 father, because it would grieve him." 
 
 " You love him very much, then ? " 
 
 " He loves me dearly ! It is unfortunate that 
 we are never together for any length of time. 
 He is always sad when he is by me," 
 
 " I suppose that your mother is with you more 
 than he is ? " 
 
 " You do not know how much she has to oc- 
 cupy her time. And then she cannot bear the 
 excitement of strong emotions ; she is nervous ; 
 
Expiation, 65 
 
 extremely nervous, she says she is." The child 
 spoke in a questioning tone, as if to ask me the 
 meaning of the phrase. 
 
 " Suppose," I asked, " we commence another 
 game of dominos ? " 
 
 "No," he replied, checking a yawn, "I am 
 tired ; I would rather take a nap." 
 
 "Sleep, then," said I, as I smoothed his pil- 
 lows, while he followed my movements through 
 his half closed eyes, in which, or at least I 
 thought so, there appeared the dawning gleam of 
 a newly awakened sympathy. There was a ming- 
 ling of cunning and hardness yet to be detected 
 in his glance, however, but soon under the calm- 
 ing influence of slumber, every expression de- 
 parted from his wan features except that of suf- 
 fering. I felt myself drawn toward him by an 
 unspeakable feeling of pity, which was almost 
 tenderness. He certainly is entirely unlike other 
 children, but, hidden in the depths of every soul, 
 and still more so when that soul is young, there 
 is a chord that can be made to vibrate. Let us 
 try to find it. 
 
 I went out upon the balcony and endeavored 
 to quiet my perturbed feelings by a survey of the 
 landscape. Soon there came rolling into the 
 
66 Expiation. 
 
 courtyard an open carriage, from which three 
 persons alighted a veiled lady, most graceful 
 in carriage and elegant in dress, another lady, 
 much older than the first, and a young man, who, 
 with his load of parasols and fans, struck me as 
 being the beau-ideal of the Cicisbeo. The new- 
 comers disappeared within the villa ; soon I 
 heard the opening of a door behind me, and then 
 the sound of a female voice, addressing some one 
 with all kinds of caressing phrases in a language 
 which I took to be Russian. These ill-timed en- 
 dearments were addressed to poor Dimitri, who, 
 to judge from his groans, found the process of 
 awakening a disagreeable one. Then the same 
 voice, this time in Italian, called over the names 
 of a number of sweetmeats as they were placed 
 one by one on the covering of the bed. 
 
 " I hope that you will like them ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I shall like them very well. But 
 just think, mamma, I have not been bored to- 
 day ; my new teacher is here." 
 
 " Very well. I suppose you will soon come to 
 hate him, like all the rest." 
 
 " No, indeed ; he plays a good game of domi- 
 nos, and he showed me an herbarium. Do you 
 know what an herbarium is, mamma ? " 
 
Expiation. 67 
 
 " A collection of dead plants, I suppose." 
 
 " And each one with its name attached to it. 
 I never saw anything so pretty." 
 
 " What a strange taste ! You know you will 
 not have live roses in your room." 
 
 " You forget that I cannot bear their odor," 
 sadly replied the child. It appeared to me that 
 the lady was deficient in maternal instinct. 
 
 " What kind of a man is this famous teacher 
 of yours ? " 
 
 "Oh ! he is very nice," replied Dimitri with 
 emphasis ; " he is a great deal better than Doc- 
 tor Scharf." 
 
 Unfortunately the sound of the dinner bell at 
 this juncture interrupted my pupil's flattering 
 criticism ; there was the rustle of a silk dress, 
 and then the noise of a closing door told me that 
 the child was alone again. As I came out from 
 my place of concealment, where I had remained 
 through a feeling of foolish diffidence, I heard 
 him sigh : 
 
 ** Now I shall not be able to sleep any more." 
 
 Five minutes afterward, in reply to the sum- 
 mons of the great bell, I presented myself in 
 the drawing room, a spacious apartment with 
 lofty marble columns and adorned with frescos, 
 
6s Expiation. 
 
 where the Count presented me to his guests, the 
 Marchioness Fossombrone and her son. They 
 are the owners of one of the most magnificent 
 palaces in Genoa. As Madame Volonzoff had 
 called on them in the morning and had brought 
 them back with her to dine, this fact seemed to 
 me to be evidence that there was a certain degreer 
 of intimacy between the two families, but Italian 
 manners are so free from ceremony that after all 
 the acquaintance may have been only a casual 
 one. The Marchioness, majestic in her embon- 
 point and with very regular, though somewhat 
 retreating features, resembles nothing so much 
 ais an old Melpomene ; she toys continually with 
 her fan, and beneath the costly lace of her head- 
 dress, keeps rolling a pair of very fine eyes, whose 
 glances gained for her in her youth that reputa- 
 tion for gallantry, which she still wears proudly, 
 like a crown. On this side of the Alps, an ad- 
 venture or so does not hurt a great lady if she 
 be only good-natured and unaffected. 
 
 The Marquis, as is so often the case with his 
 countrymen, is something between an Antinoiis 
 and a hairdresser ; his shoulders are too broad, 
 his voice is too resounding, his beard is too 
 black and handsome ; he throws too much ardor 
 
Expiation. 69 
 
 into his glance and too much eagerness into his 
 smile ; above all, he displays too many diamonds 
 on his shirt-front, and the flower on the lappel of 
 his coat is too full blown. He may be set down 
 as being the type,/d!r excellence^ of the tenor and 
 the cicisbeo. 
 
 In the unconstrained manner that is said to 
 characterize Italian gentlemen of birth, he at 
 once began by asking me a thousand trifling 
 questions about my country, at the same time 
 giving utterance to a thousand inflated eulogi- 
 ums of his own. He was cut short by the ap- 
 pearance of Madame Volonzoff ; he at once 
 changed the subject, and in his admiration of 
 the toilette which that lady displayed for our 
 gratification, he soon reached the end of his 
 stock of superlatives. I shall not attempt to de- 
 scribe this toilette ; it would be impossible. Its 
 slightest details harmonized so completely with 
 the beauty which it served to adorn, that it would 
 have been impossible to think of the countess 
 dressed in any other way. You must not ask 
 me, either, to detail the particulars of her beauty, 
 which has nothing in common with the ancient 
 marbles that Marchioness Fossombrone recalls 
 to recollection. Hers is one of those animated 
 
70 Expiation, 
 
 faces, whose expression is constantly changing 
 and affording you a glimpse of a different being 
 from the woman you were but now looking at. 
 Her hair, arranged with a negligence that gives 
 token of the highest art, is neither black nor 
 golden, but rather of that color which the poet 
 sings of, that of the cedar that has been stripped 
 of its bark. She can be blonde or brunette, as 
 the fancy may impel ; on the evening I speak of 
 she was blonde. To judge from the age of her 
 son, she could not be less than twenty-six years 
 old, but her fresh complexion and her slender 
 waist give her the appearance of a young girl. 
 When I tell you that she is of Polish origin, it is 
 unnecessary to speak of the nobility and grace 
 that characterize her bearing ; her mother was a 
 native of the country where every woman is a 
 queen. 
 
 Although Madame Volonzoff is in every re- 
 spect such a charming person, still, for little Di- 
 mitri's sake, I would have preferred that she had 
 been a different kind of woman, and the preju- 
 dice that I felt against her before I had even 
 seen her, grows stronger, notwithstanding the 
 favor by which she distinguishes me. Her 
 sole object seems to be to please, and her every 
 
Expiation, 7 1 
 
 effort is devoted to that end. So far I have not 
 been able to form an opinion as to her under- 
 standing. The dinner was preceded by a course 
 of cold side-dishes and fiery beverages, taken 
 standing ; during the course of the meal itself, 
 which was elegantly served in Russian style, 
 the conversation ran entirely on entertainments 
 and music, adapting itself, doubtless, to the taste 
 of the Marchioness and her good-looking son, 
 who are incapable of taking an interest in any 
 more serious topic. I learned that Genoa still 
 rivals Venice in the splendor of her carnival 
 display, although attended with less disorder; 
 the old tomb-like palaces shake off their dust 
 for the occasion, like the nuns in the opera of 
 Robert le Diable, sedan chairs plough their way 
 through the crowds on the narrow streets and 
 leave mysterious dominos at marble staircases ; 
 the usual motley crowd, officers in resplendent 
 uniforms, guelphs, ghibellines, abb^s, pirates, 
 courtiers of the sixteenth century, goddesses, 
 princesses costumed after Veronese's pictures. 
 Last year the Marchioness appeared as a Doge's 
 wife, in a costume that was absolutely historically 
 correct, and attracted a great deal of notice ; 
 she proposes to give a masked ball this season 
 
7 2 Expiation. 
 
 that will be celebrated by all the newspapers of 
 Italy. At this announcement Madame Volonzoff 
 clapped her hands : ** I will go as a Roussalka," 
 she cried. Marquis Andrea has never read 
 Pouchkine, and was forced to ask what is a 
 Roussalka. When it was explained to him, the 
 idea of seeing the Countess transformed into a 
 water nymph seemed to strike him as a very 
 agreeable one. 
 
 *' Will you be able to get the exact costume 
 for the part ? " asked Madame Fossomb rone with 
 her characteristic artlessness. 
 
 The Count spoke up negligently : " We are 
 all aware that these northern sirens use their 
 long locks, which constitute their only raiment, 
 to strangle their lovers with, but I fancy that 
 my wife will see fit to add a few reeds, at least, 
 to this primitive toilette." 
 
 "Oh ! " replied the Countess, laughing, " there 
 will be a little green gauze besides, and then a 
 great many diamonds to represent drops of 
 water, you know, and it will all come from 
 Paris." 
 
 When we rose from table I tried to make my 
 escape, but the Countess graciously insisted that 
 I should come with them to listen to some music. 
 
Expiation. 73 
 
 We accordingly returned to the drawing-room, 
 where M. Volonzoff ensconced himself in a corner 
 with Doctor Scharf, and commenced an argu- 
 ment on Kant's Philosophy. The German was 
 blind to the fact that his adversary was only 
 diverting himself at his expense, and supported 
 his obscure theories with a great display of 
 erudition and with all possible seriousness, bring- 
 ing up ponderous arguments to refute a cloud 
 of paradoxes ; it were like a squadron of heavy 
 cavalry charging a swarm of bees. I was 
 amused, and smiled involuntarily; this the Doctor 
 misinterpreted, and screwed up his face in pity 
 at the lack of intelligence which prevented me 
 from following the discussion, while an intelli- 
 gent glance from the Russian showed that he 
 was aware that I entered into the spirit of the 
 joke. 
 
 While this was going on, Countess Annette, as 
 she is called among her friends, was sipping her 
 coffee, nestled among the cushions of a great 
 divan that fills the embrazure of a window. 
 Madame de Fossombrone was fanning herself 
 vigorously, and her son was plying his vocation 
 of lady's man, a vocation that seemed to contain 
 less refinement than my novel reading had led 
 
74 Expiation. 
 
 me to expect. He had seated himself behind 
 the lady of his thoughts, and from where I sat, 
 I could see his eyes gleaming beneath his Olym- 
 pian brows and his dark complexion glowing 
 like a charcoal fire beneath the blacksmith's 
 bellows, while his whispered impertinences were 
 received without any display of anger. The 
 husband did not appear to give the matter the 
 slightest attention. Is this the result of polity 
 custom ? It is scarcely possible that it can re- 
 sult from indifference. Is it not rather to be 
 attributed to his cosmopolitan experience, which 
 understands the disposition of the different 
 races better than the people understand them- 
 selves, and places its true value on that impres- 
 sionable southern nature that is apt to blaze up 
 and go out with the rapidity of a fire of dry 
 straw ? The expression of the Italian counte- 
 nance affords to the bystander no possible clue to 
 the subject of conversation. While uttering the 
 merest common-places about the weather, one 
 would think that these sons of the south were 
 either devoting themselves, heart and soul, to 
 the lady, or else threathening to stab her. 
 
 "You promised us some music," suddenly 
 said the Count. 
 
Expiation. 75 
 
 His wife obediently arose, and going to the 
 piano, which stood in a recess in the wall — 
 these immense apartments always seem bare 
 and half furnished — opened it and played the 
 initial bars of the duo " Mira la bianca luna** 
 
 I had a pretty good idea who the tenor was to 
 be, and he took his place at the instrument 
 without hesitation. Through the unshuttered 
 windows the white autumnal moonlight came in 
 and silvered the columns and statues, giving 
 a poetical light to this portion of the room, the 
 lamps having been removed to the piano. To 
 give M. de Fossombrone his due, the coxcomb 
 is a great artist, but what shall I say of Madame 
 Volonzoff' s voice, with its flexibility and great 
 register ! 
 
 She paid no attention to the compliments of 
 the Marchioness, who could not find words 
 adequate to express her ecstasy, but turning to 
 the doctor, she said : 
 
 " Now, scorner, come here and play me an 
 accompaniment. Perhaps you think I did not 
 notice the provoking air of inattention that you 
 put on just now while I was singing ; you seem 
 to think that your Beethoven is the only com- 
 poser in the world. I have known many Italians 
 
J 6 Expiation. 
 
 to be sincerely enthusiastic over German music, 
 but I never knew a German who could listen to 
 Italian music without showing his contempt for 
 it." 
 
 The doctor parried her thrusts as well as he 
 could, "Oh, Countess," he said, no doubt going 
 back to some old dispute, " it is ever so long 
 since you put my patriotic prejudices to rout, 
 but I beg that you will spare me, and not compel 
 me to admire your Verdi's newfangled empti- 
 ness." 
 
 " You will like Verdi if I desire it," said she, 
 tapping his shoulder with her fan with a charm- 
 ing air of command. In the look which he gave 
 her in reply, I thought I could discern a little 
 spite, tempered by other emotions. 
 
 " Now we will try and convert the Marquis to 
 the worship of the German divinities. Listen, 
 Marquis, and let us have your criticism ; I am 
 going to give you a Polish movement." 
 
 You are aware that Gonoud in his opera of 
 Faust^ has successfully adapted in certain por- 
 tions, characteristic Polish themes, and it was 
 one of these airs that we now listened to, exe- 
 cuted in a masterly manner. When it was con- 
 cluded the Countess, addressing me, said : 
 
Expiation, 77 
 
 " This is for you, Mr. Frenchman." And she 
 sang a Bohemian song. This is the only music 
 that affords the Count any pleasure ; he drew 
 near and said to her : 
 
 " That is perfection." 
 
 Addressing me, she enquired : " How did you 
 like it, sir ? " In her avidity for praise, it seems 
 that no voice is of so small account as to be 
 beneath her notice ; she insists on gathering 
 them all in. 
 
 "It seemed," I replied, " as if I was listening 
 to the Roussalka that we were talking about a 
 while ago." 
 
 In fact, the song, while untrammeled by the 
 laws of harmony as understood in civilized 
 countries, carries one away by some indescrib- 
 able, intoxicating, mysterious charm of its own. 
 She smiled, and more than ever made me think 
 of the Roussalka. The Marquis and the Doctor 
 were dumb. Leaving them under the spell of 
 fascination, I returned to my room and tried to 
 read, but was interrupted from time to time by 
 the groans that came from my pupil's chamber 
 and by the whisperings of the old nurse, en- 
 deavoring to quiet him and dispel the insomnia 
 that continually waits on him. In fitful gusts. 
 
78 Expiation, 
 
 through the doors that had been left open below 
 there came to me the strains of the piano, the 
 notes sharp and brilliant as a display of fire- 
 works. 
 
 It is sad to notice the contrast between the 
 pitiable condition of the boy and the unreflect- 
 ing gayety of the mother ; it has inspired me 
 with an invincible dislike for her. After an 
 evening so filled with new impressions, I feel the 
 need of strengthening myself by communing in 
 the spirit at least with my guardian angels in 
 France. The cosmopolitanism, if I may say so^ 
 of this household, and the absence of home feel- 
 ing, have produced an unpleasant disturbance in 
 my thoughts ; as I write, a delicious peace comes 
 back to me. I seem to be restored to my native 
 land, with its familiar customs in all their pureness, 
 truth and simplicity, and my heart flies to you as 
 to a port of refuge. 
 
 I shall keep this letter open until to-morrow. 
 
 28th October. 
 
 This morning I devoted to an exploration of 
 the terraces, which wind upward, growing nar- 
 rower as they ascend, something like a conical 
 sea-shell in form, and are covered with flower 
 gardens of great beauty and variety of design. 
 
Expiation, 79 
 
 The first stair-case that I took brought me into a 
 plantation of camphor-trees and other exotic 
 laurels, and there I found Doctor Scharf, taking 
 his morning walk, with a volume of Humboldt in 
 his hand. Although apparently engrossed in his 
 book, he recognized me and saluted me in 
 French. I replied to him in German. 
 
 "Ah ! you speak my native tongue, sir?" 
 " I am slightly acquainted with all languages." 
 " Really ? So you have philologists at Paris ? 
 The talent will be of use to you here, for as you 
 will already have observed, our villa is a tower of 
 Babel in miniature. Still, however, French pre- 
 dominates, as it does in all Russian families of 
 distinction. Strange, that this people, which as- 
 similates so much, has nothing that it can call its 
 own, not even a language." 
 "Still they have a literature." 
 The Doctor shrugged his shoulders and 
 glanced at his volume of Humboldt, as if calling 
 on it to bear witness to the absurdity of such 
 a proposition ; then he continued : 
 
 " You also are an early riser, I see, and I con- 
 gratulate you on it. How sweet, and at the 
 same time, how melancholy is the perfume ex- 
 haled by these flowers, the last of the year ! Of 
 
8o Expiation. 
 
 all the hours of the day this is my favorite, but 
 until you came, I had no one to share my liking 
 with me. Nature has no attraction for any one 
 here. The freshness of the morning is wasted, 
 for the curtains are kept closely drawn until 
 noon," and M. Scharf, as he spoke, pointed to 
 the front of the villa. *' It is very true that they 
 sit up until two o'clock in the morning, amusing 
 themselves with cards, cigarettes, and what they 
 are pleased to call music." 
 
 " But is not the Countess a very good musi- 
 cian ?" I ventured to ask. 
 
 "You had an opportunity of judging last 
 night." 
 
 " But I make no pretensions to being a judge, 
 and I know that I am not hard to please." 
 
 " Well, she certainly has a good voice, and 
 some natural taste, but she is lacking in culture ; 
 she thinks that everything comes to her by in- 
 tuition, so she sings as she does everything else, 
 right or wrong, hit or miss, without discernment, 
 study or conviction." 
 
 With a cunning which does not form part of 
 my character, but which circumstances made im- 
 perative, I was resolved that he should talk 
 freely, for when we are in strange waters we 
 
Expiation. 8] 
 
 must know the shoals if we would avoid ship- 
 wreck. 
 
 " For a person of such kind disposition," I 
 said to him, "you seem to be severe." 
 
 " Kindness, sir, is a quality of no great im- 
 portance. We are talking of art, and, perhaps, I 
 carry my worship of it to too great length. As 
 I feel, it is impiety toward Bach, Beethoven, 
 Haydn, those divinities of my native land, truly 
 God-like in art, to treat their immortal works as 
 we would treat what one of my countrymen calls 
 Rossini's melodious butterflies. Ah ! If you 
 could only hear my little sisters ! There is con- 
 science, feeling and purity for you ! They are 
 in Germany, thank God, while I, for my sins, am 
 compelled to be in Italy." 
 
 The Doctor's childhood was passed in Prus- 
 sian Silesia, and he conducted his studies in 
 Berlin, but that unreasoning feeling that makes 
 us consider the nook where we were born, no 
 matter how forbidding it may be, the most beau- 
 tiful spot of earth, is at once so touching and so 
 deserving of our respect, that I was silent upon 
 the question of his regrets. 
 
 " It is a long time since you left your country ? " 
 I asked. 
 
82 Expiation, 
 
 '*I have been an inmate of this household 
 since I left it. I was not rich enough to devote 
 myself exclusively to science, as it was my wish to 
 do, and as it is my intention to do when my time of 
 exile shall be over, and, on the other hand, there 
 were many difficulties in the way of my stepping 
 immediately into practice as a physician. While 
 matters stood thus. Count Volonzoff begged 
 me to remain with his son, to whom I was 
 able to afford relief in one of his acute attacks 
 at the time when the family were passing through 
 Berlin. He tempted me with a large salary, but 
 the motive that chiefly swayed me was humanity, 
 together with the desire to study a case of which, 
 fortunately, there are but few examples." 
 
 *' What is the nature of this horrible disease ? " 
 
 *'You have seen the poor child. Nature, al- 
 ways compassionate, has mercifully decreed that 
 he shall not live ; he will not survive his fifteenth 
 year, even if he reaches that age. Still, I have 
 never dared to entirely deprive his parents of 
 hope. Who could have the heart to do so ? An 
 only son ! " 
 
 " But what could have been the cause of such 
 a calamity ? " 
 
 " The Count maintains that his wife is respon- 
 
Expiation, S3 
 
 sible for it. During the time of her pregnancy, 
 she persisted in adhering to the wild manner of 
 living that she is so addicted to, regardless of 
 advice, heedless of what might happen. She was 
 nearly killed by a fall from her horse ; contrary 
 to all expectation, she recovered, but the child 
 paid the penalty of her imprudence. That, at 
 least, is the story that they tell. I hardly know, 
 for my own part, what to believe. Even had 
 there been no accident. Count Volonzoff's child 
 would likely have been stunted and sickly. 
 These aristocratic families, that are eaten up by 
 ulcers, physical as well as moral, still flatter them- 
 selves with the belief that they can produce 
 strong and healthy children ! 
 
 "It is said that when the Count married, it 
 was when he was no longer in his early youth, a 
 youth that had been spent in all kinds of ex- 
 cesses. Be that as it may, his pride must suffer 
 cruelly from such an affliction." 
 
 " And his feelings still more, I should imagine." 
 " Oh ! As for feelings, I doubt very much 
 if he has any, though, no doubt, he has a heart 
 to perform its proper muscular action. When 
 you shall have heard him, as I have, treat with 
 the utmost contempt duty, virtue, everything 
 
S4 Expiation, 
 
 that is good and true, justifying in cold blood 
 the very worst and basest social and political in- 
 stitutions, pleasantly excusing vice on the ground 
 that the standard of morality differs at different 
 times and among different races and in different 
 climates, and saying that he, for his part, is a citi- 
 zen of the world, you will admit, I think, that he 
 is endowed with a magnificent intellect, but that 
 as regards natural feeling, he is entirely deficient in 
 it. And to think what a source of torture to him 
 his vanity must be ! That the heir to a name that 
 is inscribed in the velvet book should be reduced 
 to such a state ! The Count is inconsolable. 
 After allowing himself for years to be deceived 
 by false hopes, after having consulted the high- 
 priests of science, and then having had recourse 
 to all the quacks of Europe, he has at last been 
 compelled to admit that fate dared to oppose him 
 and was even stronger than he. Then came the 
 sudden, unrelenting abandonment of every thing 
 that he had been striving for in life ; he gave up 
 a brilliant career, because its splendor would at- 
 tract public attention to him and to his affairs. 
 He could not endure the disgrace of being com- 
 miserated after having been admired and envied. 
 He renounced his country. You will tell me that 
 
Expiation, 85 
 
 this was not a sacrifice, for the Russians are to 
 be found in every quarter of the world, except 
 their own country ; but he does not travel for 
 his own pleasure ; his object is to withdraw his 
 son, poor sufferer that he is, from the gaze of 
 the public. 
 
 '* He is taken to the mountains for the summer, 
 to warmer climates for the winter. This year 
 the beauty of the location decided our coming 
 here, though the Countess was very much op- 
 posed to the selection. She likes to go from one 
 great city to another and pose as queen over the 
 festivities that are held there. That you can 
 understand." 
 
 ** That I can understand ? " I repeated, almost 
 beside myself with indignation. " Do you mean 
 to say that it is possible that this mother " 
 
 " My dear sir, " the Doctor interrupted, in the 
 peremptory and dogmatic manner which is char- 
 acteristic of him, " I came from a country where 
 to be a mother of a family means to be a model 
 for her sex. In our country the mother of a child 
 afflicted like Dimitri Volonzoff would be con- 
 stantly at his bedside, watching over him and 
 praying for him ; but we are here discussing 
 Countess Annette. She is of the world, worldly; 
 
86 Expiation. 
 
 she is fond of what people generally are fond of. 
 She would have adorned one of those pretty ba- 
 bies that you can trick out with ribbons and lace 
 until they look like a big handsome doll ; if she 
 had had a son who was very strong, gay and in- 
 telligent, perhaps she might have been proud 
 enough of him to pardon him for making her 
 seem a little older ; but the sight of suffering en- 
 tirely upsets her delicate nerves, and the sight 
 of anything disagreeable frightens her. After 
 her fashion, she makes a display of her courage 
 and devotion two or three times a day by paying 
 a visit to this deformed creature, in whom she 
 can see nothing to remind her of herself. It hu- 
 miliates her to think that he is flesh of her flesh, 
 and then, although conscience is among the least 
 developed of her faculties, the sight of him 
 causes her a certain feeling of remorse which she 
 endeavors to stifle, for it is natural for us to bear 
 ill-will toward those whom we have injured ; 
 moreover the birth of the child marked the be- 
 ginning, not of a misunderstanding between her 
 and her husband : the good-breeding that regu- 
 lates their intercourse acts as a bar against those 
 quarrels and recriminations which divide the 
 homes of common people : but of a coldness, 
 
Bxpiation. 87 
 
 which women like her, accustomed to be idolized, 
 do not t»ake kindly to." 
 
 " From what you tell me, I should think that 
 she must incur the hatred of every one." 
 
 The Doctor shook his head, " No one can hate 
 the Countess." And he took a few steps, his 
 eyes cast down as if he were counting the grains 
 of sand in the path. "She is a coquette," he 
 resumed, " and coquettes can be neither wives 
 nor mothers. You have had experience of them 
 in France ! " 
 
 " I know no women in my country except 
 those who are worthy of the highest respect," 
 I replied, nettled by this slur of his. 
 
 " Very good ! That is what I call real gal- 
 lantry. But you are so young, likely you have 
 never gone away from the family circle, outside 
 of which there is nothing but deception." 
 
 I remembered my resolution to be uncommu- 
 nicative on this subject, and shut off his ques- 
 tions by answering stiffly : 
 
 "I have no family." 
 
 His expression softened, without affecting me 
 materially. 
 
 " If that is the case," said he, "I am happier 
 than you." And he proceeded to give me a de- 
 
88 Expiation. 
 
 tailed and lengthy account of his family, begin- 
 ning with his venerable parents and ending with 
 such a formidable array of brothers and sisters 
 that, however great his stock of affection may be, 
 he must at times be troubled to find sufficient to 
 go around. " How I pity you," he added, "that 
 you have no one whom you can love ! " 
 
 " What is to prevent me," I replied, " from 
 forming an attachment for this pupil whom Provi- 
 idence has thrown in my way, as there seems to 
 be no better object ? " 
 
 " Good heavens ! " cried Scharf , abruptly for- 
 saking the sentimental tone, " you know nothing 
 of this little crippled tiger. Give up such an 
 idea ; you would never succeed in taming him. 
 For three years I have been caring for him the 
 best I know how, and he can't bear the sight of 
 me." 
 
 But every one conquers with the weapons that 
 are given him, and I don't believe that M. Scharf 
 has selected the best method in looking upon 
 this poor child simply as something to be ob- 
 served and operated on in the interest of science. 
 It would not be so bad if he thought there was 
 any prospect of effecting a cure. 
 
 At this moment a little boy in a silk blouse 
 
Expiation, 89 
 
 and kid boots came up to us with a request for 
 the doctor to go to his patient, who had just 
 awakened. 
 
 " Come here, F^dor," said the German, " and 
 show us how your master treats his foster- 
 brother." 
 
 Fedor put back the hair that hung down on 
 each side of his chubby little face, and displayed 
 his cheek marked with stripes from the blows of 
 a riding-whip. 
 
 " What do you say to that ? What do you 
 think of our interesting little martyr's method of 
 expressing his gratitude to those who serve him?" 
 
 " Why did you let him beat you ? " I asked, 
 indignantly. 
 
 ** Ah ! You are going still further, and intend 
 preaching the rights of man to this breed of serfs 
 who have been brought up to love the lash ? 
 The labors of Hercules would have an attraction 
 for you. I wish you luck ! " 
 
 We separated thereupon. The conversation 
 that we had had together did not seem to have 
 engendered any very strong marked sympathy. 
 
 It seems to me that this very learned young 
 man expatiates with considerable complacency, 
 taking into consideration how short a time we 
 
90 Expiation. 
 
 have been acquainted, upon the inmost details 
 of his virtuous home, that he professes to sys- 
 tematically decry and deride everything which 
 does not come from Berlin, and that the severity 
 with which he denounces the Countess betrays 
 the fact that he is in love with her. As far as 
 the Count is concerned, I would wager that the 
 worst that he can be reproached with is his dis- 
 position to quiz, of which I had a sample last 
 night. Perhaps the Doctor, after a night's re- 
 flection, has been able to see that the attack on 
 Kant was only a feint, designed to show the 
 superiority of champagne and wit over beer and 
 pure reason. And even if the poor little tiger 
 did raise his claws and give him a scratch or 
 two, should he not have tried to gain his affec- 
 tion, knowing as he does better than any one 
 else does what he has to suffer ? I look upon 
 him as a disagreeable pedant, and a feeling of 
 rivalry comes over me, with a desire to beat him 
 in the difficult game we are playing. 
 
 My letter has assumed the proportions of a 
 volume. It is my intention to send you regular- 
 ly the daily account of my impressions and my 
 discoveries, taking special pains, be it under- 
 stood, to mail my letters with my own hand, for 
 
Expiation, 91 
 
 among such a crowd of servants there is always 
 the risk of something happening that ought not 
 to, and perhaps my portraits might not prove 
 pleasing to the sitters, should they chance to 
 fall into their hands. 
 
 Rose Aymes was at Madame Desaubiers' 
 when this letter arrived. It was read by the 
 two ladies in common. 
 
 " How far away from us he is," murmured the 
 young girl when the reading was finished. In 
 speaking thus, she was not thinking of mere 
 physical distance. A little later she retired to 
 her room and abandoned herself unconstrainedly 
 to the feeling of sadness which oppressed her. 
 The reason of her sadness she could not explain 
 even to herself. Were the news bad ? No, cer- 
 tainly they were not. 
 
 Madame Desaubiers read and re-read many 
 times with a heavy heart these long pages that 
 had come to them from Italy. They awoke in 
 her remembrances that the struggles of twenty 
 years, as she had to confess to herself, had been 
 powerless to conquer. Many a vague fear, too, 
 and many a scruple, such as would have hardly 
 been expected to exist in so well disciplined and 
 
92 Expiation. 
 
 such a firmly Christian mind, added their dis- 
 turbing influences and drove sleep from her pil- 
 low that night. 
 
 She was very reticent in her reply to Bernard, 
 and her letter abounded in mysterious hints. 
 " You are very young," she said, " and have very 
 little acquaintance with the world, to live in a 
 household where there are so many conflicting 
 interests to be conciliated. Maintain the strict- 
 est silence concerning your past toward all 
 curious enquirers, even should their enquiries 
 seem to be dictated by good-natured motives ; 
 shroud yourself in the reserve that you displayed 
 toward that German, though you will probably 
 find it more difficult to maintain that attitude 
 should the investigations come from feminine 
 sources. 
 
 " The name of one of the persons that you 
 speak of once came into my life in connection 
 with circumstances that caused me great suffer- 
 ing. I look with great dread upon the prospect 
 of my being recalled to the recollection of this 
 person. Be prudent, then, for your old friend's 
 sake, as well as for your own, and to be on the 
 safe side, send all your letters to the address of 
 Mariette — Madame Hubert." 
 
Expiation. 93 
 
 N a few weeks Bernard had suc- 
 ceeded in gaining the affections of 
 his pupil. •* This spoiled child shall 
 know what it is to be happy," he had said, and 
 although the pledge seemed a rash one to make, 
 he had been able to make it good. He was the 
 constant companion of Dimitri, who, under cer- 
 tain aspects, seemed to be his senior, thanks to 
 the satiety produced by an unlimited command 
 of money and what it will buy, and his own in- 
 vincible selfish and domineering habits. Thus 
 was justified Dr. Scharf's saying : " Russians are 
 only elderly children, and their children are little 
 old men." 
 
 Little by little the tastes of this small hot- 
 house abortion were modified and directed to- 
 ward natural objects, ingeniously disguised under 
 the garb of amusements suited to his age. How- 
 
 
 lfOHH\K 
 
94 Expiation. 
 
 ever desirous he might be for acquiring informa- 
 tion, he was incapable of sustained application. 
 A regular course of study, with its formal pre- 
 paration, would have frightened him, but his 
 freakish intelligence was not proof against the 
 wonders of Creation as exhibited in the shape of 
 stones and flowers. These were the allies that 
 Bernard produced to assist him in his work. An 
 insect, a grain of sand, a bit of moss, served for 
 a text for long talks that were entertaining while 
 they were instructive. 
 
 More than once, in those days, the Countess 
 was attracted by the unaccustomed sound of 
 laughter on the terrace, where her son had been 
 carried for the benefit of the sunlight. She took 
 her seat there, so that she might learn, if she 
 could, what this prescription was that seemed to 
 cure ennui. " Oh ! if only I could avail myself 
 of it ! " she sighed. 
 
 In reckoning Bernard up, the sum and sub- 
 stance of her judgement was that he was far too 
 good-looking to be a botanist and sick child's 
 nurse, and the expression of this opinion cost 
 the young Frenchman many a black look from 
 M. de Fossombrone, while Dr. Scharf redoubled 
 his hypocritical attentions. The latter was im- 
 
Expiation, 95 
 
 placable toward Bernard's success ; he could not 
 even pardon the change in Dimitri, who, he said 
 in his emphatic manner, seemed to have acquired 
 a new soul. There were no more of those dis- 
 mal wailings and fierce bursts of rage which had 
 formerly terrified all the household. Scharf had 
 preached and philosophized in vain to reach this 
 end ; he had vainly appealed to the nobler feel- 
 ings, which were entirely wanting in the child, to 
 his reason, to his piety ; the idea never occured 
 to him of utilizing his bad passions, as Bernard 
 did, above all, bringing into play Dimitri's most 
 glaring defect, an unconquerable pride, and by 
 its means inculcating resignation under the guise 
 of stoicism. 
 
 " You can be a man if you will ; it depends 
 entirely upon yourself," he kept repeating to 
 him on every occasion. And this quality of 
 manhood, which the blundering kindness of his 
 attendants had led him to believe consisted in 
 nothing but physical strength and activity, had 
 now, since he knew that he could gain it in its 
 best acceptation in spite of circumstances, 
 became the object of the little invalid's highest 
 ambition. Dimitri loved to command ; Bernard 
 allowed him to do so, provided he first learned 
 
g6 Expiation. 
 
 to command himself, and Fedor got no more 
 beatings. Alms-giving was associated in his 
 mind with the egotistical pleasure of doing as 
 he saw grown people do, and as his new-born 
 liberality brought around all the ragged little 
 blackguards of Sestri, who had formerly fled 
 before him in terror, the consoling illusion 
 took possession of him, that since they no longer 
 ran away from him, he could not be so repul- 
 sive as he had been. In fact, his ugliness did 
 decrease from day to day, in proportion as the 
 expression of hate disappeared from his features, 
 just as his physical health improved as his 
 sensitive nerves became calmer through his 
 exercising the only heroism that lay in his power, 
 that which consists in knowing how to endure 
 suffering. 
 
 By thus withdrawing his attention from his 
 own personality and encouraging an interest in 
 things foreign to himself, Bernard had accom- 
 plished a great work ; he infused into it all the 
 enthusiasm, the passionate devotion, the ardent 
 desire of doing good that in years gone by had 
 impelled him toward the priesthood. His 
 influence over this creature, whom it might 
 almost be said he had created, was boundless^ 
 
Expiation, 97 
 
 almost magnetic in its nature ; neither did it 
 destroy the familiarity which had sprung up 
 between them at first sight through the inter- 
 change of new impressions. 
 
 " You must call me Dima, as my parents do," 
 the boy said to him one day ; ** strangers never 
 call me by that name." 
 
 "Very well," the master answered; "I will 
 do so, provided you call me Bernard." 
 
 It was the love and confidence, rather than 
 the respect of this poor little dwarfed intellect, 
 that had to be gained, an intellect that had 
 hitherto remained a sealed book for every one. 
 The progress in this direction for a long time 
 constituted the staple topic of the letters to 
 Madame Desaubiers. 
 
 " Our intimacy has become closer still," wrote 
 Bernard, "since I have charged myself with 
 many cares that until now the servants, upon 
 whom the little tyrant vents his spite, have 
 acquitted themselves perfunctorily. Dima 
 had always felt very keenly the repugnance 
 that his infirmities caused the people who took 
 money for serving him, although they did their 
 best to conceal this feeling. He spoke of it to me: 
 
 "'While what you do for me,* he said, *is 
 
98 Expiation, 
 
 done from choice, from the goodness of your 
 heart, so that I am willing to be your debtor 
 for it, but I hated the others for being strong, 
 and for the services they rendered me.' 
 
 " He insists that I shall promise never to leave 
 him. His great argument is this : * Perhaps I 
 shall not live very long.' 
 
 " Last night, having arisen to see if my pupil 
 was asleep, he seized my hand in both his and 
 gave it a rapid kiss. It was the first caress that I 
 had received from him ; he is very chary of be- 
 stowing them, and I wished that his mother 
 might have received this one, for it would have 
 been to her as a recompense for many a trouble ; 
 however, she knows nothing, either of the trouble 
 or the reward." 
 
 Sometimes, also, Bernard in his letters, of 
 which we give detached fragments, spoke of the 
 increasing kindness manifested by M. Volonzoff : 
 
 " I want to make him understand that there 
 are services that cannot be paid for with money, 
 and which make even as great a man as he is a 
 debtor to a poor devil like me. Speaking serious- 
 ly, I would like to have him give me credit for 
 the honesty of my intentions. I feel that I have 
 aroused in him a kind of sympathetic curiosity. 
 
Expiation. 99 
 
 " Dima has doubtless told him that I am doing 
 some work for my own account, and that while I 
 watch over him at night I occupy my time in 
 writing, and the Count endeavors to discover 
 what my plans are for the future and see if he 
 cannot forward them. He seems to be constantly 
 saying : 'Let me be of assistance to you.' How- 
 ever, when the conversation turns upon myself 
 and my affairs, I always manage to bring it back 
 to some topic of general interest, which I treat 
 with the greatest freedom, thereby, perhaps, run- 
 ning the risk of offending the autocrat. But no, 
 to have the courage of one's opinions seems to 
 please him, though he is incapable of it himself. 
 I suppose that, like most Russians of high rank, 
 he has never had any great incentive to activity 
 beyond his fortune and his ambition ; when dis- 
 cussing general interests he is cold and unimpas- 
 sioned, although he can talk admirably upon 
 such subjects, as well as on all others. In the 
 conversation of others, he appreciates very high- 
 ly candor, moral independence, and above all 
 what he calls originality, being entirely disgusted 
 with that spirit of imitation which forms the 
 mortal evil of his country. 
 
 ** M. Scharfs judgement of him was based on 
 
loo Expiation, 
 
 their reciprocal relations. The Count detests 
 any webby display of science, and more than 
 anything else he detests the everlasting harangues 
 on German unity that the Doctor always indulges 
 in as soon as the conversation turns on politics ; 
 none the less has he acquired a fund of informa- 
 tion by his rapid and cursory reading ; there 
 is no subject on which he is entirely ignorant. 
 Unfortunately, the information that he has ac- 
 quired, has failed to penetrate his conscience and 
 his heart, and so he is destitute of that faith with- 
 out which our actions are of no avail. 
 
 " I notice many contrasts between his theo- 
 ries and his actions, so that it seems to me that 
 this sceptic might be deluded by a designing 
 person. 
 
 " His preference for me will cause many to envy 
 me, and will likely cause me some enemies. He 
 said to me the other day, with one of those 
 sighs that escape him whenever he speaks of what 
 Dima might have been if he had been strong : 
 
 " * I could have wished for no other guide than 
 you for the future Count Volonzoff ; my desire 
 would have been that he might have been like 
 you in every respect.' 
 
 " This was after a discussion in which I feared 
 
Expiation, loi 
 
 that I had exceeded the bounds of the defer- 
 ence that was his due. I cannot tell you how 
 flattering is the distinction between the exquisite 
 politeness that he uses in his intercourse with 
 every one, and the personal interest that he 
 evinces for me. 
 
 " * My father loves you,' Diraa often says to 
 me, with an air of pleasure." 
 
 "You ask me how I stand with the other 
 inhabitants of the villa. The Countess treats 
 me with the indifference of a finished coquette, 
 as she does every one else unless she desires 
 to be complimented on her beauty. When she 
 is getting up proverbs and charades, she comes 
 to me with an appeal to my intelligence ; 
 when she contemplates adding to her collec- 
 tions some of those apocryphal objects that 
 the Italian curiosity venders designate as Floren- 
 tine metal-work, old Venetian glass, or Lucca 
 della Robbia Faience, the appeal is made to my 
 good taste. She dotes on bric-a-brac. Some- 
 times, too, whether I will or no, she enlists 
 me to take part in her game of croquet, her 
 favorite out-door pastime, and this is the only 
 
102 Expiation. 
 
 opportunity we ever have of being together in 
 the morning. Generally speaking, I see but 
 very little of her ; she runs away on excursions 
 whenever and wherever the fancy seizes her. 
 Her last one was to Monaco, and was made on 
 the spur of the moment. The diligence chanced 
 to pass; she jumped in, laughing, and devoted 
 three of her precious days to breaking the bank 
 down there ; it seems, however, that an actress 
 from Paris snatched away the laurels from her 
 in this exploit. She came back with empty 
 pockets, but with a fine collection of rather 
 doubtful anecdotes, which she tells very droUy, 
 to the delectation of her little court, which is 
 not distinguished for elegance of manners ot 
 purity of taste. These provincial Italians are 
 wanting in tact, and the Russians who stop 
 here to pay their respects to their handsome 
 country-woman appear to be no better thaii 
 they, except that they maintain a certain affec- 
 tation ; their self-conceit is none the less repul- 
 sive for being slightly veiled. It should be said 
 that Countess Annette keeps the track open for 
 H^ the crowd of admirers, among whom M. de Fos- 
 sombrone, to use the turf slang which prevails 
 here, is a good first. Such conduct in a country 
 
Expiation, 103 
 
 less indulgent than this, would give rise to 
 scandal, a.nd another husband than the Count 
 would not endure it with impunity, but there 
 are men whom nothing can make ridiculous. 
 M. de Volonzoff is such a man. He apparently 
 considers that his honor is not endangered and 
 passes over his wife's freaks without either 
 approving or condemning them. I suspect that in 
 her heart this attitude of his is displeasing to her. 
 
 "While recently discussing with me the fre- 
 quenters of her drawing-room, she said, 'Prin- 
 cess K. is a happy woman.' 
 
 " I enquired what this enviable felicity of Ma- 
 dame K.'s could consist in, a woman with 
 blanched features, a wit so thick that it can 
 be aroused only by the interest of the gaming 
 table, and an apoplectic old husband, a regular 
 wild boar in uniform. The uniform, it is true, 
 was left behind at St. Petersburg, but the stiff- 
 ness of his corpulent form still gives evidence 
 of the tightly buckled sword belt. I remera* 
 bered that the General was said to place his 
 servants and his wife on an equal footing by the 
 brutality with which he treated them. 
 
 " * No doubt that he is repulsive and ridicu- 
 lous,' she answered, ' but that is of small conse- 
 
I04 Expiation, 
 
 quence ; perhaps he beats her, but he loves her, 
 or anyway he did love her at one time. Just 
 think ; she was a widow and had no settled in- 
 tention of marrying. He came to her with a 
 pistol in his hand and swore that he would blow 
 his brains out, unless she gave a favorable an- 
 swer to his suit.' 
 
 " ' It is very much to be deplored by us, who 
 have to receive his visits, that she did not let 
 him carry out his intention,' said the Count, who 
 was standing near. He cannot endure to be 
 compared with this hair-brained hero. The at- 
 titude that he assumes toward the mad scenes 
 that take place at the villa is that of a person 
 who has doggedly resigned himself to see to the 
 end a bad piece played by bad actors. Does it 
 cause him suffering ? I can't help thinking that 
 it does, for the retirement to which he has con- 
 demned himself in the prime of life is not com- 
 pensated by the repose of his own fireside, or 
 rather there is nothing here that is at all like 
 family life, with its community of joys and griefs; 
 that this is so is the unpardonable fault of this 
 worldly little actress, who is neither wife nor 
 mother." 
 
Expiation. 105 
 
 "I am more than ever inclined to think that 
 Scharf is in love, although he studiously conceals 
 his sentiments under a breastplate of German 
 impenetrability which he prides himself upon. 
 
 " * See how the moths scorch their wings in 
 the lamplight,' " said he, retreating to his dark 
 corner, like a bird of night. 
 
 " It is true that the Countess never failed to 
 call him forth again with some of those charm- 
 ing compliments which she lavishes on every- 
 body. His response shows that he mistrusts her, 
 but I have caught his blue eyes sending out 
 singularly ardent glances, and his mouth, the 
 corners of which are drawn closely by his habit 
 of self-repression, indicates as much sensuality 
 as it does hardness. I suspect that he places 
 great value upon his pedantic authority, and that 
 his ideas of virtue coincide with those that some 
 philosopher held upon knowledge, that he would 
 have none of it unless he could use it to make a 
 display with ; it is of assistance to him in his 
 calling and he makes skilful use of it. Scharf 
 at the same time despises, fears, and courts Ma- 
 dame Volonzoff, but what characterizes him be- 
 yond all else is his prudence ; he wants to retain 
 a position that pays him well, and would not com- 
 
io6 Expiation, 
 
 promise his prospects for a mere trifle. It is said 
 that the Countess' favors do not exceed the 
 bounds of a mild flirtation." 
 
 " I suppose that as Rose can only work on the 
 portrait which she promised me at stray mo- 
 ments, and as she has less and less leisure time, 
 I shall have to wait a long time for it. Dear, 
 good child ! I admire and respect her more and 
 more when I think how usefully she fills up her 
 life, and compare her course with that of others, 
 who squander what little intellect they have in a 
 fruitless pursuit of pleasure. Tell her, I beg you, 
 how lonely I feel, so far away from her." 
 
Expiation. 107 
 
 VI. 
 
 ERNARD'S letters continued in this 
 strain up to the middle of January, 
 when all at once they began to be 
 shorter and more infrequent. This change, it is 
 to be observed, coincided with the still greater 
 change which at this time occurred in the habits 
 of Countess Annette. 
 
 She had suddenly pulled up in her headlong 
 pursuit of pleasure, and no one could assign a 
 reason for her conduct. She said that the coun- 
 try was uncongenial to her, that hunting, the 
 only pleasure possible in the wintry days, was 
 out of the question, that it was colder than in 
 Russia, and she was no longer to be seen on 
 horseback or driving her pony chaise on the 
 Genoa road. Taking advantage of a too ardent 
 demonstration on the part of M. de Fossombronc 
 she requested him, with unwonted severity, to 
 
io8 Expiation. 
 
 make his visits less frequent, and almost ceased 
 altogether to receive him. A long journey which 
 the Count was compelled to take on urgent busi- 
 ness served her as a pretext for this, although 
 the presence or the absence of her husband had 
 never until now had much to do with influencing 
 her sayings and doings. She told Bernard that 
 the fact was that she was horribly weary of her 
 stupid surroundings ; she was eaten up with 
 innui^ and wanted to try some new method of 
 curing it ; could he not lend her some books, 
 and even give her a few lessons in French when 
 he had nothing better to do ? She ridiculed her 
 St. Petersburg jargon, and made excuses for her 
 accent, as if those soft, drawling inflections had 
 not contributed one of her attractions. Bernard 
 shied at the mention of the lessons, but he could 
 not well refuse to lend the books, although he 
 took care to select the driest and heaviest so that 
 she might the more quickly tire of her whim. 
 Unluckily the result was not as he wished ; she 
 read them, or at any rate, guessed at their con- 
 tents sufficiently to be able to talk about them 
 and keep him longer than was agreeable to him 
 at the side of her little embroidery frame, whose 
 only use was to allow a daintily shod little foot 
 
Expiation, 109 
 
 to peep out from beneath her skirt, and the slen- 
 der hand which held the needle to remain poised 
 in an attitude to compel admiration. While his 
 eye was thus riveted on the flashing of her rings 
 and the movements of her slipper, he was aston- 
 ished to find that this woman, whom he had set 
 down as a nonentity and absolutely frivolous, 
 doubtless because she strictly obeyed that law of 
 politeness which decrees that no one shall seem 
 to know more than his guests, had the capacity 
 of thinking, listening and talking. She had a 
 smattering of instruction, although what she had 
 acquired lacked arrangement in her mind, and a 
 seeming resolve to divest herself of all common 
 sense, impelled her frequently to look on serious 
 things under a comic aspect and to treat trifles 
 with gravity. 
 
 It would have been diflicult to say how much 
 of this was natural with her and how much the 
 effect of that assimilation, which comes so easy 
 to women, and especially to women of her 
 country ; the light woof, however, of which she 
 threw the threads so dexterously, was shaded 
 with touches of natural feeling, with sprightliness, 
 even sometimes with melancholy. What had at 
 first been a bore to Bernard, imperceptibly be- 
 
no Expiation, 
 
 came a pleasure ; then an absolute necessity. 
 He felt impatient for the time to come when she 
 should curl herself up in her easy chair as grace- 
 fully as a kitten, and begin to give him her im- 
 pressions and ask his explanations on what she 
 had been reading, always giving the preference 
 to the subject of love, some trace of which her 
 quick analysis would not have failed to discover 
 in solution in the dullness of sermons. 
 
 To be a good talker is not a German accom- 
 plishment. Scharf did not excel in this line, 
 and accordingly held it in light esteem. He was 
 too heavy to rise on the wings of wit, and to 
 touch lightly a hundred subjects in the course of a 
 half-hour's talk was something quite beyond him. 
 
 As he could not shine, he was accustomed to 
 beat a retreat and await the Countess' summons, 
 when she stood in need of a cavalier to attend 
 her in her walks. But it was soon observable 
 that she began to shorten her walks with the 
 Doctor, pretending either that she was tired or 
 that the weather was bad, while the clearness of 
 the sky and her sudden desire for exercise, 
 seemed to smile on the pedestrian excursions 
 which this whimsical young woman indulged in 
 in company with Bernard. One day she had 
 
Expiation, m 
 
 taken his arm to ascend with her light, sure step 
 the rocky heights that overlook the sea : 
 
 "You are an author," said she; "now don't 
 tell me you are not. For two weeks I have shown 
 a firmness that I never thought was in me by 
 receiving those great big books that you gave 
 me. Do you know why I did it ? It was that I 
 might be able to get hold of yours." 
 
 " I have never written a book," said Bernard, 
 blushing. 
 
 **0h! it may not be printed; perhaps it is 
 not finished. That makes no difference. You 
 must let me see a few leaves of it, even if nothing 
 more than a poor little sonnet. Unless," she said, 
 suddenly becoming serious, " you don't consider 
 me worthy of such confidence, and you are one 
 of those people who, having once formed a poor 
 opinion of any one, can never change it." 
 
 " It would be presumptuous in me," replied 
 the young man, mucli embarrassed, " to form an 
 opinion upon you, Madame." 
 
 " There is no dispute that you are well-bred ; 
 even if you were not, you could not have given 
 me any other answer. But I can tell the differ- 
 ence between politeness and sincerity. At the 
 very beginning I noticed that you had taken a 
 
112 Expiation. 
 
 dislike to me, or rather, if you prefer to have it 
 expressed that way, that I shocked your ideas 
 of respectability." 
 
 " Admitting such an impossibility to be a fact, 
 you surely would never have condescended to 
 notice it." 
 
 " You are mistaken, sir ; I only disregard the 
 hostility of bad people and the recriminations of 
 the foolish. You are not to be counted as be- 
 longing to either camp, and I should feel flattered 
 if you would consent to take your place among 
 my friends. If it is not asking too much, give 
 me the proof of reconciliation — or of your 
 confidence, since you say there is no reconcilia- 
 tion necessary — and grant me the favor that I 
 ask for." 
 
 Bernard bowed. During the whole of the 
 walk that they had taken together, she had been 
 adroitly urging him on to confidences, to which 
 he had replied very guardedly; she doubtless 
 hoped to learn more from his pen than she could 
 from his lips ; he was provoked rather than flat- 
 tered, by this idle curiosity that took him for its 
 object. However, upon their return that same 
 evening, he yielded to her wish without hesita- 
 tion, though not without repugnance. He ex- 
 
Expiation, 115 
 
 perienced a secret feeling of enjoyment at the 
 disappointment which the Countess would meet 
 with ; the pages where she expected to find son- 
 nets inspired by her beautiful eyes, or revelations 
 which would satisfy her curiosity in regard to his 
 past life, were filled with sketches of character, 
 very frank and unreserved, no doubt, but inter^ 
 esting only from a psychological point of view. 
 There were bits of reflection and scattered frag- 
 ments, like the sketches that a painter uses in 
 preparing to paint his great picture. It was the 
 introduction of a solitary, thoughtful mind, at 
 once elevated and severe, turned upon itself and 
 seeking its sustenance in regions quite beyond the 
 ken of Countess Annette. There was material 
 there for more than one book, but as yet unco- 
 ordinated and wanting in dramatic movement 
 and the indispensible qualities of shape and sym- 
 metry. To reduce the interest to the lowest 
 point, Bernard cut out all the pages where love 
 was mentioned in any shape ; the image of Rose 
 was veiled with religious delicacy. As he placed 
 his mutilated journal on Countess Annette's 
 little table, among the bon-bons, flowers and 
 thousand knick-knacks that she liked to see 
 about her, the young man thought of de 
 
1 14 Expiation, 
 
 Mosset's parrot, who received " a bean 
 
 displayed in tissue paper, like a bon-bon made." 
 
 At the first glance she recognized the manu- 
 script among the other books and seized it as if 
 it had been her prey, crying, " You may keep the 
 rest." Then Bernard felt himself trembling a 
 little, as if this feminine criticism was of the 
 slightest importance in the world to him. He 
 excused himself to himself for his ridiculous 
 emotion by saying that she was merely the first 
 of that great public with which he was to have 
 relations. 
 
 Annette, however, proffered no opinion, neither 
 was she lavish with that hyperbole of admiration 
 which is common among the Russians, and which 
 would be too much even for an author's vanity. 
 Several days passed during which she spoke no 
 word ; at last, one evening, he came upon her in 
 the little nook which she had constructed with 
 screens for her own private retreat at the far end 
 of the great drawing-room. His manuscript was 
 on her knee, and she seemed to be meditating. 
 At his approach, she slowly raised her eyes, suf- 
 fused with tears ; without wiping them away, she 
 said, " See what you have done ! '* 
 
 Before Bernard, taken by surprise and greatly 
 
Expiation. 115 
 
 moved by this unexpected and apparently in- 
 voluntary tribute, could find a word in reply, she 
 continued : 
 
 " Take that chair. I do not intend to say 
 anything about your talent ; I don't even know 
 if you have any, and my opinion would carry no 
 weight with it. What impressed me, let me tell 
 you to my mortification, was that I did not think 
 that there existed in all the world such a noble 
 character as I met with in your book. Do not 
 laugh. I asked myself the question, what would 
 become of this soul in this world that I know 
 so well, where the best and noblest go to ruin ; 
 into whose hands it would fall, for sooner or 
 later it will find some one to claim it. It always 
 ends that way ; we love, and then our virtues 
 are forgotten, and our faults, perhaps, redeemed. 
 To what purpose do we live, if not for this ? " 
 • Bernard hardly knew what to think. Annette 
 seemed to pay no attention to him ; she sat 
 watching the fire. 
 
 " I could write a book," she said, " if I could 
 only hold a pen, and a curious one it would be. 
 I thought of it as I was reading yours. What a 
 contrast there would be between yours and mine! 
 On the one hand goodness, intelligence, strong 
 
ii6 Expiation, 
 
 principles and a youth devoted to religion and 
 study ; on the other, a pandemonium that you 
 cannot form an idea of, created by myself and 
 whose torments I am still condemned to suffer." 
 
 **It's a very merry pandemonium, anyhow," 
 Bernard could not refrain from interjecting. 
 
 She glanced at him reproachfully and then 
 began to laugh : 
 
 " Yes ; it is true that the people here are fond 
 of amusement, and I, too, like pleasure. Count- 
 ess Annette, the little fool, only needs a few toys 
 and some rags to make her happy, so that we 
 shall have to find a more interesting heroine 
 for the novel or the drama that is to be evolved 
 from the inspiration of your Epic here" — she 
 passed without transition from enthusiasm to 
 irony — " which was not written for me, it is 
 true ; but then I like everything that is new and 
 out of the common. To return to our heroine; 
 she was a friend of mine, and as I do not give 
 her name, I shall not be indiscreet if I tell you 
 her story. When, for the first time in my life, 
 I have thought of one thing for a whole hour, 
 it would be a sin and a shame to let my re- 
 flections and my recollections fade away with- 
 out imparting them to any one. Perhaps you 
 
Expiation, 117 
 
 will be able to utilize them some time if you 
 continue your analysis of the human heart, 
 though I warn you that they will make a less 
 innocent book than that little blue covered one 
 of yours." 
 
 Bernard was not very anxious to hear the 
 Countess' story, but he was there, shut in by 
 the silken leaves of the screen ; moreover an 
 unaccountable languor prevented him from mov- 
 ing away from the presence of the beautiful 
 silky hair, the rosy hand, the undulating, grace- 
 ful form which bent toward him and almost 
 touched him at every moment. The expressive 
 modulations of her voice came to him as one 
 in a dream. 
 
 " The childhood of my friend, whom we will 
 call Sacha, if you will, was passed far away from 
 great cities, and as she became old enough to 
 assume the burthen of responsibility, she became 
 absolute mistress of a lordly residence, whose 
 geographical position it is needless that I should 
 precisely mention. The only remaining mem- 
 ber of her family was a grandfather, under the 
 formative influence of whose example she had 
 grown up to be a little tyrant. Harsh and 
 severe with every one besides, he was the 
 
ii8 Expiation, 
 
 obedient slave of this slender child, whom he 
 feared to crush with his great hands every time 
 that he gave her a caress, for he was a giant, a 
 colossus. Sacha was the only one who dared to 
 take the brandy bottle away from him after din- 
 ner. When younger he had been a great hunter 
 and a great drinker, but now that by reason of his 
 corpulence he could no longer mount his horse, 
 or hardly even leave his easy-chair, he indem- 
 nified himself by drinking double rations. A 
 priest of the Greek Church, who was one of the 
 household, kept him company in these bouts 
 and taught little Sacha to say her prayers before 
 the holy images ; his instruction supplemented 
 that of the nurses who had taken care of her 
 from her infancy, fine-looking creatures gen- 
 erally, recruited by the old master from among 
 his peasantry. In this rustic harem were story- 
 tellers who would not have cast discredit on 
 those of the Arabian Nights ; from them my 
 friend acquired all the popular legends and 
 superstitions, forming them into a kind of 
 special and occult religion, in which the horo- 
 scope played an important part. 
 
 " Before the little one was ten years old, she 
 was constantly running over the cards in her 
 
Expiation, 119 
 
 search for that emperor, beautiful as the day, 
 whom the women had promised her for a hus- 
 band. The Gypsies, who sometimes came and 
 lighted their fires and put up their tents in the 
 neighborhood, inspired Sacha with a taste for 
 music. On one occasion she did not stop at 
 singing the songs of the Bohemians. Weary with 
 her long waiting for the prince who was to come 
 and carry her off, a fierce desire for liberty seized 
 her, and she determined to follow the wandering 
 band out on the steppe. The vagabond was 
 caught and chained up, or in other words, an 
 English governess was secured to direct her edu- 
 cation. You can't imagine what a sorry figure 
 the poor English girl cut at the coarse table, sur- 
 rounded by a crew of hangers-on, who, attracted 
 from the neighboring villages by the enticing 
 odor of abundant victual (may kind heaven 
 preserve you from an acquaintance with our 
 country hashes and meat pies !), came and set- 
 tled down in swarms like flies, guzzling, drinking 
 and exhaling their sooty odors, until they fell flat 
 upon the ground. 
 
 " Sacha presided at these orgies, and now and 
 then condescended to dance, like Salome before 
 Herod, when the dessert was on the table. She 
 
Expiation. 
 
 demanded no one's head as the reward of her at- 
 tractions, but admiration was a necessity to her ; 
 she had to have it, no matter from what quarter 
 it came. The pleasing incense, no matter how 
 coarsely mingled with tobacco smoke, went to her 
 head and intoxicated her, but she did not allow 
 this effect to appear ; on the contrary, she main- 
 tained the disdainful indifference of a queen. The 
 English governess was so outraged by these strange 
 proceedings that she handed in her resignation, a 
 step which pleased everybody, for her red nose 
 and her puritanic severity of contour had made 
 her no friends in the house. She was succeeded 
 by a Parisian ; a kind of milliner, a wide-awake 
 woman of ambitious disposition, who was so little 
 careful to observe the retiring manners which 
 the village beauties, it is due to them to say, had 
 always maintained in the old barracks, that it be- 
 came necessary to discharge her. Her abbre- 
 viated stay, however, was not entirely without re- 
 sults. It put Sacha on the track of the French 
 eighteenth century romances, with which one of 
 her great uncles, a disciple of Jean Jacques Rous- 
 seau and confidential officer of the Empress Cath- 
 erine, had enriched the shelves of their other- 
 wise scanty library. 
 
Expiation. 121 
 
 " Then there came a string of poor girls from 
 the different nations of Europe, and each one 
 contributed her stone to that composite structure 
 that was entitled Sacha's education. She learned 
 to speak several languages, but could not spell 
 her own correctly. 
 
 " She had reached her fifteenth year, when her 
 grandfather died in a fit of rage, brought on by 
 the efforts of one of his sisters, while on a visit 
 to him from St. Petersburg, to introduce modern 
 innovations upon his estate. After the funeral 
 ceremonies, this lady took charge of the orphan 
 and carried her away with her. 
 
 " At St. Petersburg there was a change, but it 
 was not for the better A clique of fashionable 
 old women took the little savage in hand and at- 
 tempted to tame her. All the artifices of coquetry 
 were regularly instilled into her mind as so many 
 principles to be observed. The Lord knows how 
 little need she had of instruction of this kind ! 
 The most risky questions were discussed in her 
 presence with the cold cynicism that is bom of 
 experience. All the gossip, all the scandal, all 
 the intrigues of fashionable life in the great city, 
 were commented on in her hearing. She was 
 initiated into that strategy of love which has for 
 
12 2 Expiation. 
 
 its beginning the conquest of a husband, she was 
 taught the use of rouge, she was supplied a whole 
 arsenal of fictitious sentiment, she was taught to 
 hatch plots, to set traps, to calculate effects, to 
 make herself mistress of the situation, and, above 
 all, to lie without blushing. 
 
 " There is a picture which represents a young 
 witch being washed and combed for the Sabbath 
 by the older hags, a fearful crew of veterans in 
 the devilish art. It always brought to my mind 
 Sacha's initiation into polite society. 
 
 " As soon as the time of mourning had expired 
 she was introduced to society by the relative 
 who had assumed charge of her, an old dowager, 
 whose snow-white hair had been dyed yellow, 
 who preserved the manners of a frisky young 
 matron, and every evening repaired her ruins so 
 as to exhibit them in half a dozen drawing-rooms 
 in succession. She was always attended by an 
 intrepid band of courtiers, whose number was 
 augmented to a legion when the dazzling Sacha 
 appeared at her side. Sacha created a sensation 
 at once ; mothers of marriageable daughters 
 showed their envy when they spoke of her, and 
 from the very day of her presentation at court, 
 she became the target for feminine calumny; 
 
Expiation. 1 23 
 
 which is, in my opinion, the greatest triumph that 
 a woman can achieve. It was told in the news- 
 papers how she could manage an unbroken horse 
 with the skill of the Cossack amazons, and how 
 she skated with the grace and vigor of a man. 
 Every head was turned by the remnant of uncul- 
 tivated barbarism which Sacha had been allowed 
 to preserve, in order to place the seal of individu- 
 ality upon her newly acquired notoriety. The 
 heaviest swells among the young men, in the 
 most gorgeous of uniforms, and with the most re- 
 sounding titles, threw themselves at her feet, but 
 Sacha was quick to see the ridiculous side of 
 everything, and was much addicted to caricature; 
 attentions which would have raised other young 
 girls to the seventh heaven of felicity only made 
 her laugh. The suitors who were brought be- 
 fore her for her approval were certainly splendid 
 dancers and very nice to flirt with, but when it 
 came to choosing a husband, she wanted a man^ 
 one who would command her and whom she 
 must respect and obey, not a dude nor a dandy» 
 These ideas were original and eccentric, but they 
 were Sacha's own. No one knew that she held 
 them, no one would have thought of advising her 
 in this direction, even when she came to make 
 
1 24 Expiation, 
 
 her choice, which, moreover, caused surprise to 
 no one. It was quite natural that she should se- 
 lect a husband much older than herself, since the 
 sacrifice was fully counterbalanced by his high 
 rank and eminent position at court. Every one 
 thought that she had married for ambition, and 
 congratulated her accordingly, while her motives 
 were altogether the opposite. Even her husband 
 failed to do her justice. It flattered his vanity 
 to have carried off the young and beautiful rich 
 heiress, the crowning ornament of the season, 
 over the heads of his younger rivals ; it was a su- 
 preme success, a glorious event in hi's career. 
 He never required from his wife qualities that he 
 had never expected to find in her, but he applied 
 himself resolutely to satisfy every desire of her 
 worldly imagination. To change her into a rea- 
 sonable, reasoning woman would have seemed to 
 him a miracle that he had not sufficient presump- 
 tion to undertake, and still I declare to you that 
 the miracle was not impossible. If he could have 
 but thought so, if he had cared to make the experi- 
 ment, Sacha would have been whatever he cared 
 to make her. But he had not married for the sake 
 of educating a little girl, and so Sacha remained 
 what she had always been ; she remembered the 
 
Expiation. 125 
 
 early lessons in evil that she had received, and 
 practiced them. 
 
 " Sensation must be deadened by some means 
 or other, and as real passion was wanting, she 
 needed the counterfeit article by which she saw 
 herself surrounded on every side. What can I 
 say ? She was angry and sore at the unruffled 
 composure with which her husband acceded to 
 her every caprice, and hoped to arouse his 
 jealousy. Of course, she was the subject of 
 many a scandalous story, but still she behaved 
 much more discreetly than did the majority of 
 her associates, as her husband knew very well. 
 I often wondered if he thought any more of her 
 for it. He doubtless thought that a coquette is 
 too heartless to feel real passion, and perhaps he 
 also reckoned on the pride of a woman who set 
 too high a value upon herself to derogate easily. 
 He would disinterestedly place before her his 
 sufficiently broad code of morality, in which she 
 was at liberty to look for his words of advice and 
 by which she was to shape her conduct. — ' Too 
 much importance, ' he would say, *is attached 
 to the language of gallantry ; after all, every 
 word has only its own specific meaning, and all 
 will go well, provided that the woman whose wits 
 
126 Expiation. 
 
 are sharpened in the contest will only select her 
 interlocutor from those who know enough to 
 answer in the same spirit that she talks to them. 
 The main thing is to assure yourself beforehand 
 that he is too much a man of the world to take 
 trifling for serious business.* 
 
 " Sacha found that he was right. Only once, 
 in selecting her admirers, did she make the 
 mistake of departing from that commonplace 
 type who are incapable of any violent emotion, 
 and on that account fitted for their role. It was 
 at the time when she was endeavoring to form a 
 salon that should be distinguished by something 
 more earnest than the usual frivolity ; a cer- 
 tain artist of distinction, upon whom she 
 depended to impart a flavor of genius to her 
 assemblies, responded to her advances in such a 
 manner that she was obliged to ring for her 
 servants. He thereupon took occasion to openly 
 calumniate her, and in consequence became 
 acquainted with the point of her husband's 
 sword, who, on this occasion, as well as on 
 several others, nobly defended the honor of a 
 foolish woman, who perhaps deserved to be 
 spoken ill of. It was, however, as she very well 
 knew, nothing but the question of honor which 
 
Expiation. 127 
 
 influenced his action. There was never a scene 
 caused by outbreaking jealousy ; hardly was 
 there even a taunting word." 
 
 ** Why," here Berna^rd tried to interrupt, "did 
 she not endeavor to conquer his esteem ? " 
 
 But this reflection did not shape itself in 
 words, or if it did, they were uttered so low 
 that the Countess did not hear them. 
 
 "At length," she continued, " Sacha gave up 
 in despair ; she could no longer rely even on 
 those pleasures in which she so long had sought 
 a factitious forgetfulness ; before her youth 
 should entirely depart from her, she wanted to 
 know what real love was. Yet a few years and 
 that talisman of beauty, without which a woman 
 is as nothing, would have forever left her ; she 
 felt that she had not made the best use 
 that she could of this great gift. She must 
 hasten to make the most of life while she had 
 it in her power. But when she would have 
 descended from the pedestal where she had 
 stood to receive the worship of her adorers, 
 Sacha was horrified to find that she experienced 
 only a feeling of disgust toward those who 
 professed to be her worshippers. Could it be 
 possible that the race of heroes of romance was 
 
128 Expiation. 
 
 extinct, or had this race never existed save in 
 the imagination of novel writers and the empty 
 brains of fools ? It was a bitter regret to her 
 that she could not twine a wreath of roses 
 around the head of some rustic clown or other, 
 as so many women have done since the time of 
 Titania, and close her eyes upon the ass' ears 
 and whatever other infirmity, moral or physical, 
 there might be. Notwithstanding her first un- 
 fortunate experience, which I have told you of, 
 it occured to her that perhaps she would be 
 more successful in her quest outside her own 
 society, but as she could not very well go and 
 hunt for this unattainable bird, it was very evi- 
 dent that she must wait for the bird to come to 
 her. And so Sacha was likely to wait until her 
 hair should turn gray, was likely to die without 
 having once tasted the only supreme joy that 
 life affords." 
 
 " Then your friend Sacha had no children ? " 
 enquired Bernard, in a tone that approached 
 rudeness. 
 
 She turned upon him with a movement of 
 impatience : '* Do you think that a child can fill 
 the place of every other interest, and that all 
 the activities of a woman's life are to be circum- 
 
Expiation. 129 
 
 scribed by her duties as a nurse and as a house- 
 keeper?" 
 
 " Her duties as a mother call for obedience," 
 gravely replied Bernard. 
 
 Annette sighed. " I read in your eyes," said 
 she, " a reproach that is leveled at another per- 
 son than Sacha. Do not be too hasty in your 
 judgment, or rather take pains to hear both sides 
 of the case. Dima's mother should have been a 
 sister of charity. I am utterly useless at a sick-bed. 
 I pity him, I weep, all that I can do is unavailing 
 and foolish. If, too, his trouble were one that 
 there is any hope of his recovering from " 
 
 ** Do you mean to say that we tire of the 
 spectacle of human suffering, or that by long 
 beholding it we become hardened to it ? " 
 
 " You are too severe. It is true that I am 
 wanting in duty toward my son, since at this 
 very moment I am keeping you away from him, 
 when you might be doing him some good and 
 directing your affection for him into a useful 
 channel. Pardon the length of my uninteresting 
 tale. Leave me and go to the child." 
 
 " No ; I would rather learn what was the fate 
 of that unhappy woman." 
 
 " You pity her ? Perhaps you are right. The 
 
130 Expiation. 
 
 last time that I saw her, she was in an extremely 
 critical condition. He, whom she had been 
 awaiting so long, who was to incarnate her young 
 dreams, the lover predicted by the horoscope, 
 had at last descended from fairy-land, I suppose, 
 so much at variance with his condition were his 
 face and his deserving, so wrapped in mystery 
 was his origin. 
 
 " Although the ideas of we Russians are more 
 liberal than is generally supposed, I was some- 
 what surprised that Sacha's aristocratic preju- 
 dices — for who is free from prejudice ? — had 
 not been a safeguard to keep her from being 
 captivated by a man of apparently obscure birth ; 
 but Sacha, who has most every kind of know- 
 ledge at her finger-ends, mythology among the 
 rest, asked me if Apollo had lost his divinity at 
 the time when his misfortune had made him a 
 shepherd ? You need not let this pretentious 
 comparison sway you to the inference that her 
 shepherd is any way like Apollo, who, after all, 
 was of an insipid kind of beauty, something after 
 the style of Fossombrone, I suppose." — Here 
 the Countess gave way to laughter. — " No, think 
 of him rather as one of those handsome pages, 
 that princesses and chatelaines used to fall in 
 
Expiation, 131 
 
 love with in old times, and who used to die at 
 the feet of Parisina, or in the arms of Frances- 
 ca — " she looked at Bernard through her half- 
 closed eyes with a smile that made him shiver — 
 " for there is no need to tell you that the end 
 of such adventures is always a poniard stroke, or 
 something of that nature. Still, our story may 
 have a less tragic ending; we will try and discover 
 the dinouement at some other time, if you wish." 
 
 When Bernard tried to arise, he had to ' shake 
 off a stupor that seemed like drunkeness. 
 
 " But tell me first," said the Countess, stop- 
 ping him, " do you think that Sacha can ever be 
 loved as she loves ? " 
 
 *' Her love will be repaid to her a thousand 
 fold," he replied, hardly knowing what he said. 
 " Women like that have no heart, only a de- 
 praved curiosity." 
 
 " I thank you in her behalf," replied Annette, 
 laughing. 
 
 As he retired with his blood boiling in his 
 veins, this sound of laughter, expressive at once 
 of emotion and triumph, rang in his ears, and 
 the perfume that the Countess habitually used 
 seemed to follow him, subtle and lasting as a 
 love charm. 
 
132 Expiation, 
 
 VII. 
 
 |HAT can be the matter with her? " 
 enquired Scharf, after the reunion 
 of the party at dinner. Madame 
 Volonzoff had scarcely opened her lips during 
 the whole evening, and the absent-minded way 
 in which she fitfully transfixed her embroidery 
 with her needle betrayed a preoccupation, which 
 rendered her insensible to what was going on 
 around her. The most astounding of all the 
 symptoms was that she had not changed her 
 dress. Bernard remembered having expressed 
 his admiration of the good taste of this dress, it 
 being plainer than those which she generally 
 wore. Was it by chance, or was it intentionally 
 that she still had it on ? 
 
 When, it was evident to the two young men 
 that she intended to persevere in this unwonted 
 silence, and that politeness commanded them to 
 withdraw, the Countess did nothing to retain 
 
Expiation. 133 
 
 them ; she waited until the Doctor had passed 
 the door-sill, then, as Bernard was about to fol- 
 low, she summoned him to her side. He turned 
 and advanced a few steps in her direction. 
 
 " I have been thinking over our conversation 
 of this morning," said she. '* Do you really think 
 that I ought to devote more of my time to Dima?" 
 
 " Your own heart, Madame, should be a bet- 
 ter adviser for you in this case than I can be." 
 
 " But you would approve of my doing so ? " 
 
 " Madame, most certainly ! " 
 
 "Very well!" 
 
 She looked at him submissively, with an ex- 
 pression that he had never seen on her face be- 
 fore, and she gave him her hand ; as he was about 
 to take it in his usual respectful manner, she of 
 her own accord raised it to his lips. She had 
 often allowed him to kiss her hand before, but it 
 had never caused him such mental disturbance 
 as now. 
 
 When, that night, after the story of Sacha's 
 education and trials had served to excuse a thou- 
 sand fold Madame Volonzoff's conduct, Bernard 
 at last fell into a troubled slumber, he dreamed 
 that he was tossing in the little gilded boat on 
 the artificial river in the park, which had now be- 
 
134 Expiation. 
 
 come a raging torrent. The Countess was at the 
 tiller, her hair flying in disorder. As he lay at 
 her feet, he called her by the familiar name of 
 Sacha. The little boat turned around and around, 
 whirled along by the current, while a female form 
 upon the shore, dimly visible through the mist, 
 seemed to be making signals of distress. As he 
 looked he seemed to recognize Rose, and turned 
 away his head. Annette's hair, blown around 
 him by the wind, enveloped him in a perfumed 
 caress which by degrees changed to keenest tor- 
 ture ; he seemed to be strangling, he tried to cry 
 out, but was voiceless; all around him the roar 
 of the seething waters kept continuously increas- 
 ing in volume. He heard the straining and 
 creaking of the boat's timbers; the dark pleas- 
 ure of such a death filled his mind, at the 
 same moment he heard a voice that seemed 
 to shatter his reason, crying : " You are mine ! " 
 When he at last awoke from the horrors and 
 delights of this night-mare, he was handed a 
 package from France, a few lines from Madame 
 Desaubiers accompanying the portrait that he 
 had been waiting for so long and so impatiently, 
 and which, now that it had come to hand, brought 
 with it an emotion that was very like remorse. 
 
Expiation. 135 
 
 Her excess of modesty had prevented the 
 artist from doing herself full justice. Rose 
 seemed to have grown thinner. Hard work and 
 constant mental strain never make a woman more 
 beautiful physically, whatever effect they may 
 have on her moral nature. To a stranger it 
 would have seemed an exquisite work of art, 
 rather than the picture of a pretty woman, and 
 for the space of a second Bernard looked at it with 
 the eyes of a stranger, whereas twenty-four hours 
 earlier he would have gone down on his knees be- 
 fore the ivory tablet that was at once the handi- 
 work and the image of Rose. It is true that tears 
 soon came and washed away the involuntary crime. 
 He thought of the hours that she had taken from 
 her needed rest in order to devote them to him, he 
 thought of the memories and fond hopes that had 
 accompanied every stroke of her brush, and of 
 her modest blush that had enhanced her beauty 
 as she pictured to herself his joy when he should 
 receive this portrait. There was her sweet, 
 patient smile, her naturally curling hair, refusing 
 to be confined, and escaping over her broad, 
 white forehead, the well-worn black dress that 
 she had worn the day he went away, unrelieved, 
 save by a single blue ribbon which he had begged 
 
136 Expiation. 
 
 from her, or rather which she had offered him, 
 anticipating the dearest wish of his heart. The 
 poor child was not one of those coquettes who 
 think that their favors are more highly valued 
 because they have to be prayed for. And Rose's 
 picture was not the only thing that he beheld 
 within the frame. There suddenly came back to 
 him, as in a mirror, the little work-room where 
 her sisterly words had made clear to him her 
 goodness and her depth of feeling ; the sad, com- 
 plaining mother, object of her tender care; M^id- 
 ame Desaubiers* garden, and the little stream in 
 whose murmurings had been lost the words that 
 he then looked upon as a betrothal, although, after 
 all no definite promise had been exchanged be- 
 tween them, absolutely none. Why was it that 
 he breathed more freely as he thought of this, as 
 if his affections were relieved from a load that 
 was bearing them down and were impatient to 
 take wing and settle in another quarter ? He 
 stubbornly recalled them again to Rose, and in 
 the process of this invocation became so insensi- 
 ble to what was passing that he failed to hear 
 some one knocking at his door. At least Scharf 
 afterward said that he had knocked several times, 
 quite loudly; what is certain is, that having made 
 
Expiation, 137 
 
 his entry, he stealthily approached Bernard, who 
 started and quickly shut the portrait in its case 
 when he saw the watchful face peering over his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Excuse lAe," said the Doctor, smiling. " I 
 am intruding. I have interrupted a tete-a-tete 
 with your betrothed." 
 
 " I don't understand you," Bernard shortly 
 replied. 
 
 " Heavens ! Can I have made a mistake ? 
 You seemed to be so completely absorbed in the 
 contemplation of that young lady. . .Pardon 
 me ! What an interesting face ! Will you allow 
 me to look at it again ? " And explaining to 
 Bernard the cause, or the pretext of his visit, the 
 Doctor applied himself to a scrutinizing examin- 
 ation of the picture. "What wonderful depth of 
 expression ! I would wager that this person has 
 talent that no obstacle can check the develope- 
 ment of. And what feminine sweetness withal ! 
 That is a woman who, when she loves, will make 
 her love her religion, and he would be a wretch who 
 should show himself unworthy of such a love. She 
 is your betrothed ! Why could you not have 
 told me so at first ? I am glad to know that you 
 have such a guardian angel." 
 
138 Expiation. 
 
 " Do you think that I am in danger ? Who is 
 there that I require to be guarded against ?" 
 
 " Against your own self, perhaps ; and against 
 Circe." 
 
 "You talk in riddles." 
 
 " You do not care to understand. As you will. 
 I will admit, if you force me to, that when the 
 Countess administers her poisons to a man as 
 young as you, and a Frenchman to boot, the effect 
 is to deprive him of reason." 
 
 " I was expecting this conclusion. Now let 
 fly your arrow against French frivolity and 
 French gallantry, as you always do." 
 
 " I am not an expert with the bow, and should 
 make a bad hand at shooting with it, but I can 
 give you some good advice. I say that a young 
 man and a Frenchman might be excused if he 
 allowed himself to be fooled by tricks which 
 have turned heads that are, to say the least, as 
 level as his own." 
 
 '* Doctor Scharf's, for example." 
 
 **For my part," seriously replied the Doctor, 
 **I have a mistress compared with whom all 
 others in the world are as nothing. Her name 
 is Science, and she soothes the imagination, which 
 on the other hand, is unduly excited by the pur- 
 
Expiation. 139 
 
 suits of literature, which I take to be your favor- 
 ite occupation, my dear sir. Moreover, I have 
 none of those physical advantages which attract 
 women." 
 
 Bernard could not help smiling, for he knew 
 that the Doctor was almost as vain of his well- 
 knit form, set off as it was by the delicate com- 
 plexion of a young girl, as he was of his mental 
 acquirements and his stern morality. 
 
 "Besides," pursued Scharf, with ill-disguised 
 vindictiveness, " no one has ever done me the 
 distinguished honor of closing the doors of a 
 house, which were formerly used to stand open 
 to all comers, so as to enjoy undisturbed the 
 pleasure of my society." 
 
 " How do you interpret a caprice that is like 
 so many others that have preceded it ? " 
 
 " It is not for me to give the interpretation. If 
 you had not interrupted me at every word, you 
 would have known that you are everywhere re- 
 garded as the Countess' lover." 
 
 ** Her lover ! " 
 
 " Don't get excited. It is hardly necessary to 
 say that such an idea could only have emanated 
 from Italians, who are democratic, like all artists, 
 in whose eyes personal beauty is of as much ac- 
 
I40 Expiation, 
 
 count as a patent of nobility ; or from that bare- 
 faced Princess K., who always selects such hand- 
 some little secretaries for her husband. But we 
 know very well that certain favors are to be at- 
 tributed only to the dearth of the moment, that 
 the doctor or the tutor are used as make-shifts 
 for an evening and have really nothing to boast 
 of. That is how I explained matters yesterday 
 to those good people from Genoa, who maintain 
 that there is a scandal ; haven't you noticed 
 that Fossombrone — he no longer gets any in- 
 vitations here, by the way, and his visits are 
 less frequent, and he is no longer the greatest 
 singer in the world — haven't you noticed that 
 that great ninny Fossombrone, whenever he 
 comes here, has hard work to keep himself from 
 cutting your throat ? We will let these cast-off 
 gallants talk as they please, and we will show the 
 Countess that we have no inclination to one day 
 swell their number." 
 
 " You may be assured that, as far as I am con- 
 cerned, there will never be any necessity of show- 
 ing the Countess anything of the kind," said 
 Bernard, keeping himself in countenance by put- 
 ting away Rose's portrait at the bottom of a lit- 
 tle casket, where Scharf, near-sighted as he was, 
 
Expiation, 141 
 
 could distinguish perfectly a bundle of letters 
 tied up with a blue ribbon. 
 
 " In any case, the remembrance of that sweet 
 child would be your defence, I suppose. Again, 
 pardon me ; I feel a sincere interest in you." 
 
 Smarting under the Doctor's insinuations, Ber- 
 nard entered his pupil's chamber. The Count- 
 ess was there ; it seemed to him that he was re- 
 lentlessly pursued by a phantom that was im- 
 placably bent on destroying his peace, and his 
 strength came back to him, as it always docs 
 come back to us in the presence of great peril. 
 He instantly resolved to steel himself against 
 those wiles which had disgusted him when they 
 were directed against others, and which were 
 now concentrated upon him alone with the ob- 
 ject of making him their victim. But the system 
 of defence which he had planned for himself in 
 his inexperience was disarranged by an unforseen 
 change of tactics on the part of the enemy ; he 
 did not encounter the foe whom he expected to 
 meet ; he only saw a watchful mother at the bed- 
 side of her son, tenderly and thoughtfully caring 
 for him, awkward, it is true, about many things 
 that were new to her experience, but apparently 
 trying tp atone for past neglect by her present 
 
142 Expiation, 
 
 zeal. Certainly the change had been a very sud- 
 den one. Had he any right, however, to doubt 
 its sincerity ? Moreover, had he the honest de- 
 sire of looking clearly at their reciprocal rela- 
 tions ? From this time, Madame Volonzoff made 
 it a point to pass many hours each day at Di- 
 ma's bedside. The child's puzzled glance, fall- 
 ing now upon his mother, and now upon Ber- 
 nard, seemed to enquire the reason of so great 
 a change, but as it was to his advantage he soon 
 became accustomed to it. Conversation and 
 reading were carried on at his side, apparently to 
 divert and please him. If Annette was base 
 enough to convert the most sacred of all feelings, 
 maternal love, into a lie and a snare, the trick 
 was well laid and cunningly concealed, but in 
 her attitude and her whole personality there was 
 an indescribable expression of tenderness and 
 humility, if I may say so, which exerted upon him, 
 on whom she seemed to have no designs, a charm 
 far greater than he had ever known before. 
 
 She watched his countenance, consulted him 
 with her eye without speaking, anticipated his 
 wishes, soothing him with the most delicious of 
 all flatteries, that which induces in a very young, 
 inartificial man, the belief that he decides all 
 
Expiation, 143 
 
 the doings of a woman older than himself, who 
 had previously been remarkable for imperious- 
 ness and strength of will. When by chance she 
 met his eyes, she would turn her own away, and 
 then Bernard would experience a thrill of pleas- 
 ure. The presence of the child, which seemed 
 to render their tete-a-tete safe and was its justi- 
 fication as well, while at the same time giving 
 them a means of escape from Scharf's prying 
 inquisition ; the dream of freeing from the 
 miserable, childish interests which had hitherto 
 possessed it, a soul created, as he believed, for 
 nobler objects ; Annette's reserve, which in- 
 creased day by day, and which had dissipated 
 not only her accustomed bold manner, but also 
 her familiar ways toward himself : all these 
 considerations contributed at once to reassure 
 Bernard and to lure him on to his destruction. 
 
 The effect upon the feelings of an early love, 
 disguised under the form of ideal tenderness, is 
 very misleading ; it requires more than man's 
 strength to go scot-free under such circum- 
 stances. Life slipped away deliciously at An- 
 nette's side, so changed as she was from her old 
 self, and so captivating in the new part she was 
 now playing. Bernard was as heedless of the 
 
44 Expiation, 
 
 present as the opium-eater, or as the plant 
 which keeps its face turned toward the sun as 
 it rises and sinks, and little by little all his moral 
 energy was exhausted in this condition of beati- 
 tude, this Nirvand. She was conscious of it, 
 and tightened the bonds which Delilah be- 
 queathed to her likes. At this time, as she 
 was nearing the goal of her ambition, she no 
 longer felt ennui ; with an eager curiosity that 
 was somewhat like passion, she counted the 
 stormy beatings of this fresh and impression- 
 able heart. She had reigned until she was 
 tired ; now she was a little, trembling creature, 
 and she found a piquant pleasure in her abdi- 
 cation. Bernard looked to Rose for the sup- 
 port which Scharf had foreseen he would need ; 
 a thousand times he read her letters, a thou- 
 sand times did he invoke her portrait. Why did 
 the letters always seem cold ? Why did the 
 portrait always seem to look at him with mute, 
 sad eyes, vainly reproaching him ? It ended by 
 his locking away in the casket, once for all, these 
 poor relics that were powerless to save him. If 
 he could have but also locked away the remem- 
 brances that haunted him without helping or 
 strengthening him ! What is the past under the 
 
Expiation, 145 
 
 enchantment of the present ? What was an 
 angel like Rose compared with a woman like 
 Countess Annette ? Perhaps he still continued 
 to worship one upon the purest alter of his 
 inmost thoughts, but he belonged body and 
 soul to the other. 
 
146 Expiation. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 lERNARD could not have told how 
 long this new phase of his existence 
 lasted. He was aroused from the 
 agreeable stupor which was daily enfolding him 
 more and more closely, and the delights of which 
 made him think that there was nothing to be 
 wished for beyond, by the sudden resurrection 
 of the mad Countess in her old nature. The 
 change was sudden and accompanied by a kind 
 of delirium. 
 
 It was the height of carnival. A note of invi- 
 tation reminded Madame Volonzoff of the ball 
 that she had promised to honor with her presence 
 in the character of Roussalka. The costume had 
 arrived from Paris, and the case in which it was 
 contained still remained unopened ; Annette 
 had said to Bernard with a smile, — her smile, that 
 concealed so much and was so eloquent with 
 a hidden meaning : 
 
Expiation. 147 
 
 ** You know that I do not intend to go." 
 
 So she thought all the morning. She did not 
 make her appearance at all in her son's room that 
 afternoon, and remained in the great drawing- 
 room, which was almost always deserted now, 
 but where the Doctor kept her company on this 
 occasion. When evening came, she dined by 
 herself in her apartment. 
 
 "You are not eating, Monsieur Bernard," said 
 Scharf, who seemed to be in high spirits. " For- 
 tunately they always have magnificent suppers at 
 the Palace Fossombrone." 
 
 " But I am not going to the ball." 
 
 ** Why not ? I am going, and I am a serious- 
 minded man at least you are pleased to so 
 
 designate me." 
 
 " And in what kind of a case do you propose 
 to pack away this seriousness of yours?" 
 
 "What do you think of my going as Clown, or 
 as Punch ? A Venetian domino is suited to all 
 ages and to all professions. You don't show much 
 curiosity. I would not miss seeing the Countess 
 make her entree for anything in the world." 
 
 "So she will go?" 
 
 ** Did you ever doubt it ? You know very 
 little about women. Their firmest resolutions 
 
148 Expiation. 
 
 yield before a new costume and the imperious 
 necessity of showing themselves in public." 
 
 That capped the climax. The day that he had 
 just got through had seemed to Bernard a cen- 
 tury. He had been constantly listening for the 
 sound of a footstep, which, light as it was, his 
 car could always distinguish when it sounded at 
 the end of the long gallery. Even Dima had 
 noticed how sad and absent-minded he was. 
 "What is the matter?" he asked, with tender 
 anxiety. ** Have you received bad news from 
 your friends at home ? Won't you tell me what 
 troubles you ? I am sure that I always tell you 
 everything. And perhaps I might comfort you, as 
 you always comfort me. Would you rather tell 
 mamma ? Why don't she come to-day ? " 
 
 He was conscious of an undefined feeling of 
 impatience under these innocent questions. 
 Abandoning his quest for information, Dima con- 
 tented himself with watching him whom he called 
 his master, but who to-day was only a poor child 
 as wretched as himself, as he gave way to the flood 
 of bitter thoughts, his head leaning against the 
 marble of the chimney-piece, his joined hands 
 clasping his knee. Suddenly the rustling of a 
 dress as it swept the stone pavement outside 
 
Expiation, 149 
 
 brought him to an erect position. He changed 
 color and arose with a beating heart, frightened 
 at the strength of his emotions. 
 
 **Ah! there comes mamma!" cried Dima, 
 clapping his hands. 
 
 The door opened, and the Countess advanced 
 with a rapid step toward her son, apparently 
 unconscious of Bernard's presence. She was 
 wrapped in a great, dark-colored mantle, 
 lined with fur, and all of her that was visible 
 was her head and face. Her hair this evening 
 was of that peculiar red that Titian has so 
 often depicted, though never so rich and abun- 
 dant and so artistically arranged as hers. 
 
 Her face, that seemed to be on fire beneath 
 its coating of rouge, her eyes, inordinately 
 lengthened and blackened by the pencil, gave 
 her a strange expression, that somehow reminded 
 one of the proud, disdainful anger of a god- 
 dess ; perhaps she had aimed at this effect 
 as suitable to the fantastic character that she 
 had selected for herself. Like the Roussalka 
 bursting from the shades of night, by a rapid 
 movement she caused the satin folds of her 
 mantle to fall on the floor at her feet. What 
 was disclosed was not a costume, using the 
 
150 Expiation. 
 
 word in its usual acceptation. There were knots 
 and bows, spangles, shells, reeds, drops of crys- 
 tal, golden and silver shells, billows of shimmer- 
 ing silk defining the form which it made a pre- 
 tence of concealing ; in a word, it was the get- 
 up of a fairy, but the fine proportions and the 
 lofty bearing of its wearer went far toward 
 lessening the effect of its immodesty and its 
 uncouth taste. 
 
 Dima uttered an exclamation of astonishment, 
 rather than of admiration, covering his face 
 with his hands as if he were dazzled : 
 
 "It is beautiful," said he, "but it is not 
 mamma ! " 
 
 "Mamma is a Roussalka this evening. Adieu! 
 You need not kiss me, you will disarrange my 
 hair ; I am going to the ball." 
 
 " You are going to the ball ? But you are 
 not going dressed like that, are you ? " 
 
 The child's exclamation expressed so much 
 terror that Bernard breathlessly waited to see 
 what effect would follow. He imagined that he 
 caught her blushing a little beneath her paint, 
 and she hurriedly picked up her outer covering 
 from the floor and placed it around her shoulders. 
 
 "You foolish fellow!" said she. "it is the 
 
Expiation, 151 
 
 fashion ; all ladies dress like this for the car- 
 nival fetes. You have seen me disguised many 
 a time, haven't you ?" 
 
 " Yes, but never so much as now," stammered 
 the child, with averted eyes. 
 
 The mother just touched with her painted 
 lips the cheek which the boy did not venture 
 to offer her lest he might do some damage to 
 the so-called toilette, then casting a strange 
 look of defiance toward Bernard, who stood 
 motionless, she left the room. 
 
 He slowly fell back into the seat which he 
 had left upon her entrance, at a loss to under- 
 stand how it was that he had not thrown him- 
 self at her feet to pray her to have pity on him, 
 or that he had not prevented her from going at 
 any risk, even if he had to kill her. He 
 thought that he would follow her ; it seemed 
 as if a new nature, whose violence he could 
 not restrain, had taken possession of his being. 
 Annette and the Roussalka were two distinct 
 images in his mind ; for the latter he felt only 
 scorn and fierce desire, but the former, the 
 woman^ who had appeared to him during the 
 few days that he now called his life-time, he 
 felt that he could not resign himself to lose 
 
152 Expiation. 
 
 and he would have brought her back and saved 
 her. Suddenly, when his madness was at its 
 height, he remembered that Dima was by. He 
 was mindful of the child to whom he had for- 
 merly taught those virtues that he himself val- 
 ued so little that he could forget them in a 
 minute, who now saw him giving way to a des- 
 pair of which he could not tell the cause. He 
 mechanically went and sat upon the side of the 
 bed and spoke to the boy. 
 
 " Be silent, I beg you," Dima interrupted, put- 
 titig his arm around Bernard's neck ; ** remem- 
 ber what you said to me once when I ran away 
 and hid myself to cry : * Shed your tears in my 
 presence, if you love me.' I know that a man 
 never cries, but don't pretend to seem cheerful 
 when you are grieved." 
 
 Bernard received in silence the embrace of 
 the only friend who could extend his pity to 
 him, as being too innocent to guess his secret ; 
 and then the tone of Dima's voice, changed by 
 emotion, had reminded him of the mother's : it 
 was a recollection of her. The bitterness that 
 filled his heart overflowed in one of the infre- 
 quent and burning tears that are unknown to 
 childhood. 
 
Expiation. 153 
 
 He made no effort to sleep that night. He 
 walked his room to and fro, now picturing in 
 imagination with all the torments of hopeless jeal- 
 ousy everything that was passing at the Palace 
 Fossombrone, and the insolent admiration of 
 which Annette was the object, now trying to ac- 
 count for the sudden change that had taken 
 place in her, and why it was that this change had 
 caused him such mortal despair. Was it possi- 
 ble that he was in love ? Could he be in love 
 with her ? Was this love, this terrible, unrecog- 
 nizable sensation, with its delirium like that of 
 fever ? He pressed his heavy head, where the 
 ideas seemed to be whirling in inextricable 
 chaos, against the cool glass of the window. The 
 stars were glittering like great diamonds set in 
 the black vault of heaven ; the white railings of 
 the terrace and the shadows of the pines, spread 
 out like parasols, were clearly defined ; the pool 
 reflected the cold rays of the wintry moon in its 
 unruffled mirror. This contrast of the calm sever- 
 ity of nature, sleeping in somber nakedness, with 
 the ferment of the poor heart that was no longer 
 under his control, might have impressed Bernard; 
 but then we are not prone to philosophize while 
 We are smarting under the lash of suffering. 
 
154 Expiation, 
 
 Through the window it seemed as if there was 
 nothing visible except the long galleries of the 
 Palace Fossombrone, where the allegorical fig- 
 ures on the walls seemed to live and breathe in 
 the dazzling light from the chandeliers, in the 
 intoxicating odor of hot-house plants, while by 
 hundreds characters from history and ro- 
 mance, of all times and all countries, jostled each 
 other in grand disorder at her feet, around her^ 
 for her delight and amusement. The fete was 
 at the height of its splendor, the music played 
 in delirious time, the waltzers floated by on 
 wings, the senses were excited to a point of 
 exaltation ; every one seemed to be imbued with 
 the spirit of her costume. For was she not a 
 born Roussalka, deceitful and cruel siren ? The 
 tongues of the mothers were loosened, no con- 
 sideration restrained their words ; what whis- 
 pered avowals was she receiving, and what reply 
 was she making ? How quickly she had forgot- 
 ten him, and those hours of delicious friendship, 
 during which he had thought that he had learned 
 to know her ! And all the time she had been 
 playing with him. To what end ? 
 
 Unable to remain longer in his room with such 
 thoughts for companions, he stopped in his me- 
 
Expiation. 155 
 
 chanical walk, lighted a fresh cigar at one of the ex- 
 piring candles and descended to the terrace, where 
 at least he would no longer hear the eternal tick- 
 tack of the clock as it measured the slow-paced 
 hours of her absence. The night air did really 
 exert a calming influence. He remained a few 
 minutes without thinking, all his faculties be- 
 numbed and inoperative. But this relief from ex- 
 treme tension, this appearance of repose, was not 
 of long duration. The sound of wheels again made 
 his blood boil in his veins. But it could not be she 
 as yet. She would not return before morning. 
 The sound drew nearer, however ; the great gate 
 creaked as it swung upon its hinges. He entered 
 the house, determined that she should not have 
 the pleasure of witnessing the agitation that she 
 had been the cause of. To return so early, her 
 stay at the ball must have been very short. What 
 motive could have induced her to return ? In 
 his astonishment, the Countess came up with him 
 in the vestibule. She uttered a low cry as she 
 saw him. 
 
 " What, still up ? It is really not so very late, 
 though, but the evening seemed long to me be- 
 cause I was dreadfully bored." 
 
 Bernard stammered out some kind of a confused 
 
156 Expiation. 
 
 explanation about his having been to the library 
 for a book. 
 
 Listening to him with an incredulous air, she 
 went up the marble staircase, preceding him by 
 two or three steps. Suddenly she turned and 
 confronted him with a frown upon her face ; her 
 expression was troubled and sad. The rouge 
 had fallen from her face ; the marble statue be- 
 neath them, filling his post of torch bearer, was not 
 whiter than she was under the shadow of her hood. 
 She had twisted her lace handkerchief in her 
 nervous fingers until it was torn to shreds. 
 
 " Listen," said she, in a low voice, but dwell- 
 ing upon every word with solemn emphasis ; 
 
 ** since you are here, I wish to know Tell 
 
 me, is it true that you left behind you in France 
 a young girl whom you love and whom you are 
 engaged to marry?" 
 
 So, what he had taken for scorn and cruelty 
 was jealous anger and revenge, and this was 
 her way of confessing it. 
 
 Everything seemed to Bernard to be whirling 
 before his eyes ; he reeled and steadied himself 
 against the baluster, which appeared to recede 
 from him. He could never understand how it 
 was that in this moment of surprise and nameless 
 
Expiation, 157 
 
 rapture he could cnnunciate the words : " I 
 love you. I have never loved any one but you ! " 
 His very soul came to his lips, as it were, in spite 
 of himself, and he could not recognize the voice, 
 that told him of it. A triumphant motion of the 
 head, that meant, there was no mistaking its mean- 
 ing: "At last!" had escaped the Countess. 
 She bent over toward the young man, who saw her 
 face close to his and felt her warm, sweet breath 
 upon his cheek. He stretched out his arm, but 
 as he suddenly drew it back, she said aloud : 
 
 ** Till to-morrow." 
 
 A chambermaid, awaiting the Countess, had 
 appeared at the head of the staircase. The door 
 of a neighboring apartment closed, and Bernard, 
 alone on the deserted staircase, might have fan- 
 cied that it had all been a dream. 
 
 The next morning, as he descended these same 
 stairs, he met M. Volonzoff, who gave him a 
 cordial shake of the hand. M. Volonzoff had 
 not returned unexpectedly ; he had been ex- 
 pected for several days, but Bernard had given 
 no thought either to his return or to anything 
 that had no bearing upon his great happiness. 
 
 The sight of Annette's husband troubled him. 
 The liking that he had formerly felt for the 
 
158 Expiation. 
 
 Count, however, like all the warm feelings that 
 he had experienced up. to this time, was now 
 overmastered by that fever of the imagination 
 and the senses, to which the severe way of life of 
 his youth and his want of experience in adven- 
 tures of this description, rendered him so much 
 the more liable ; but he dreaded that clear in- 
 sight which he had already had occasion to see 
 in operation, and which was never at fault when 
 it was called upon. Under such circumstances, 
 he wondered at and envied the imperturbable 
 self-control that a woman of the world can main- 
 tain when she is brought face to face with the 
 most delicate situation. 
 
 At the breakfast table Annette gaily scolded 
 her husband for not having returned in time for 
 the Fossombrone ball, as he had promised he 
 would do. She gave him a comic description of 
 the festivities which he had missed, and rallied 
 Scharf upon his mysterious appearance in a 
 Venetian domino. Thanks to her rattle, Bernard's 
 silence passed unnoticed. As they left the table, 
 M. Volonzoff amicably took the young man's 
 arm and carried him off to talk about his son. 
 
 " I might have got home yesterday," said he, 
 " if I had not stopped at Dresden to see a spe- 
 
Expiation, 159 
 
 cialist whom Scharf is in correspondence with. 
 All that can be done now is to let nature take her 
 course. That is the ultimatum which I bring 
 home with me, and a discouraging one it is too, 
 isn't it ? For it is a declaration from the most 
 skilful doctors that they can do nothing further 
 in the case. Well, in spite of all that, when I saw 
 my poor boy again, I regained a little of my con- 
 fidence. Perhaps there is no progress visible to 
 you, who have been constantly at his side, but it 
 is different with me after having been away two 
 months. He is better, and we are indebted to 
 you for it. You have done for him what no one 
 else has succeeded in doing, and how he feels it ! 
 How he speaks of you ! Really I ought to be 
 jealous ! " 
 
 This last word, perhaps the only one that had 
 reached Bernard's ear, engrossed, as he was, in 
 other thoughts, caused him to start ; he thought 
 that his secret was discovered, and yet he dis- 
 played a kind of unconcern in arriving at a reso- 
 lution as to his course. " In such a case as this," 
 he said to himself, " a duel generally follows. It 
 will be better to die thus for her than to live a 
 long life." Suddenly the thought of his inferior, 
 dependent position struck him like the sharp lash 
 
i6o Expiation, 
 
 of a whip across the face. " Would he fight me?" 
 The prospect that he would be discharged 
 seemed much more probable, and all the galling 
 pride that was in him filled him with hatred for 
 the man who, but a moment ago, had been tell- 
 ing him of his gratitude and his friendship. 
 
Expiation, i6i 
 
 IX. 
 
 LITTLE after this time Bernard 
 broke the last link that connected 
 him with the past by writing Mad- 
 ame Desaubiers a letter, which he could never 
 read in after days without a feeling of shame. 
 The letter was long, but was written in vague 
 terms. He thanked her for the advice which she 
 had given him and gave her credit for its wis- 
 dom ; she had surely done well in dissuading 
 him from one of those premature engagements 
 to which young people sacrifice their freedom 
 before they have a chance to enjoy this 
 most precious of all gifts. Experience alone 
 enables us to read our own heart clearly, and 
 to distinguish between friendship and real love. 
 If, before his departure, he had asked Rose 
 for her hand, the idea of recalling his promise 
 would never have occurred to him, but as no 
 such demand had been expressed in words, he 
 
i62 Expiation, 
 
 trusted that sisterly affection would succeed 
 those dreams which had doubtless deluded him 
 alone, as Rose had never admitted that there 
 was any hope of their realization. 
 
 Bernard's pen travelled more slowly here, for 
 through this oblivion of the past that was in- 
 vading his faculties more and more every day, 
 he seemed to hear the echo of his own words, 
 spoken by the side of the Seine : " In all the 
 world I shall find nothing so dear as what I 
 am leaving here — I shall return to you." But 
 then the pain of separation is responsible for 
 many a silly speech. He had loved Rose, and 
 he loved her now, but not in a way to conflict 
 with a passion that was stronger than his will. 
 Was not this convincing proof that he had made 
 a blunder when he ceased to look upon her as 
 a sister? Fortified by this reasoning, he took 
 up his pen again, for although he could not 
 admit that there was any formal betrothal be- 
 tween himself and Rose, he was anxious to 
 avoid any misunderstanding. The language, 
 the letters of this child had been those of a 
 friend, but what could he say about the gift of 
 her portrait, or the remembrance of her tears ? 
 He knew that her loyalty was sufficient to make 
 
Expiation. 163 
 
 her reject any proposition of marriage if she 
 had reason to fear that it would bring to him 
 any tinge of grief or disappointment ; it would 
 be better that she should know the change 
 that had been wrought in him by time, by the 
 course of events, above all by his own reflec- 
 tions, and Madame Desaubiers was the only one 
 to whom could be entrusted so delicate a mis- 
 sion. 
 
 To make his bad action easier for him, Ber- 
 nard heaped falsehoods on the top of sopliisms; 
 th-* letter was burned and rewritten several 
 times before he was satisfied with it. He was 
 angry with himself, and consequently hard and 
 unjust. What was the use of all this consider- 
 ation ? She, too, must have mistaken the nature 
 of her feelings toward him. Love was the in- 
 toxication which he drank in at Annette's eyes, 
 that irresistible force which brought them 
 together in spite of everything. Rose did not 
 love him so much as she loved her mother, so 
 much as she loved her art ; he knew that she 
 was too strong and self-contained to suffer long 
 or deeply. In a word, she was an obstacle that 
 was to be avoided or destroyed by calumny, in 
 order that he might be spared remorse. 
 
164 Expiation, 
 
 He felt a sense of relief when he had got his 
 letter off, and when he next saw Annette experi- 
 enced tumultuous delight in telling her that he 
 was hers alone. It was hardly necessary for 
 him to say so in words, his actions proved it so 
 well. Only virgin hearts are capable of such a 
 passion, that blazes up in a day and consumes 
 everything outside of itself. Annette had suffi- 
 cient experience to understand it, and showed 
 great relish for a romance the like of which she 
 had never read before. That she might enjoy it 
 at her ease and lose no portion of it, she now 
 employed every device that she liad formerly 
 used in awakening his love in restraining it 
 within sentimental and platonic limits. She used 
 her boundless power over him to prolong the 
 timid ecstasies of a pure love. The sweet pre- 
 cocious Italian spring-time was also favorable to 
 this project. Over the distant palaces of Genoa 
 were spread the beautiful transparent tints of 
 azure and pink that are reflected to and fro from 
 sea and sky ; the mountain ranges rose from the 
 opal waters of the gulf, forming a girdle for the 
 prospect whose minutest indentation the purity 
 of the atmosphere made visible at great distance; 
 the fresh verdure of the gardens, where the loves 
 
Expiation, 165 
 
 of Albano might have dwelt, was variegated by 
 the most beautiful flowers. The surroundings 
 and the season could not have been more favor- 
 able for an idyl. Their interviews, though inno- 
 cent, were attended with precaution, for mystery 
 and the dramatic element were dear to Annette's 
 heart. Possibly this prudence was not altogether 
 assumed, perhaps it had become really necessary. 
 M. Volonzoff's surprise at this new-born liking 
 of hers for a quiet life exceeded that which any 
 of her previous caprices had ever aroused in 
 him ; this conversion appeared to him more dan- 
 gerous than the various mad fancies that he had 
 so long been acquainted with. The Count had 
 not a very favorable opinion of women ; he 
 thought that the Orientals did very wisely in 
 keeping them under lock and key, but in the ab- 
 sence of a barred and grated harem, it was his 
 opinion that a numerous troop of admirers served 
 as well as anything else for a guard. But his 
 Celimene had abdicated ; her court, upon the 
 vigilance of which he had relied, had been dis- 
 missed ; it appeared to him to be a bad sign. 
 Henceforth Bernard felt that he was watched. 
 He could not indulge in the reveries and abstrac- 
 tions that lovers are so addicted to without being 
 
1 66 Expiation, 
 
 conscious of a penetrating gaze fixed upon him, 
 accompanied by a kind of scrutinizing pity. The 
 doctor, too, kept his eye on him pretty faithfully, 
 and his attitude expressed distrust, almost open 
 hostility. 
 
 One evening, when M. Volonzoff had gone to 
 Genoa to dine with Fossombrone, leaving his 
 wife at home suffering with a pretended head- 
 ache, she thought that she recognized Scharf in 
 a dark form that flitted rapidly beneath the bal- 
 cony where she was sitting, not alone. He had 
 withdrawn a few minutes before, under the pre- 
 tence of some work that had to be done ; tlien 
 Annette had left her piano to come and sit by 
 Bernard and look at the stars, discoursing the 
 while, in a voice full of promises for the future, 
 upon the folly of squandering one's happiness 
 too rapidly, there being possibly more pleasure 
 in anticipation than in possession. The Count- 
 ess was now and then pleased to embroil herself 
 in far-fetched paradoxes and subtleties that 
 would have been worthy of Scud^ry. Suddenly 
 she exclaimed : " There is some one listening ! " 
 and closed the window, while Bernard, without 
 the loss of a second, hurriedly mounted the 
 stairs to the Doctor's room, where he found that 
 
Expiation. 167 
 
 gentleman deep among his books. On his return 
 to the drawing-room, he found M. Volonzoff 
 there, chatting pleasantly. 
 
 This immovable calmness and good humor was 
 humiliating to Bernard. Had there been a danger 
 to meet, it would have quieted his conscience 
 and would even perhaps have been an additional 
 inducement for him to persevere, but thus to 
 betray with impunity a man whose guest he was, 
 and who was his friend, was one of those coward- 
 ly actions to which youth, generous even in the 
 midst of its follies, can never resign itself with- 
 out a feeling of shame. Still, his letter to Mad- 
 ame D^saubiers had in a measure checked this 
 feeling, for even if he were guilty, he had re- 
 deemed his fault, in this quarter at least, by his 
 frankness. Her answer to his letter came at 
 last ; he had dreaded it, while he anxiously 
 awaited it. It struck him like a thunderbolt. 
 
 " The painful charge which you place in my 
 hands to execute, my child, is useless. Rose was 
 aware before you were that you love her no more. 
 For a long time I have seen the tears gather in 
 her eyes whenever she speaks of your future, and 
 resolutely parts it from her own. Remember 
 that we have always read your letters together. 
 
1 68 Expiation. 
 
 We have seen their tone gradually change, with- 
 out your being conscious of it, perhaps. With- 
 out speaking of it to each other, we found in 
 them something more than you thought you had 
 written. Rose was the first to discover the truth 
 concealed under your reticence, for she loves ycu 
 as no one will ever love you again. Deny every- 
 thing, if you will, but do not deny her love, even 
 if it has become a burden to you, and above all, be- 
 ware of attempting to convince the poor girl that 
 you were the victim of an illusion, when you ap- 
 peared to share it. She will suffer less, thinking 
 you faithless. Do not tell her that you wish to 
 give her back her liberty ; the changes of her heart 
 are not for you to control ; moreover, she does not 
 complain, and she accuses no one. Neither will 
 I weary you with reproaches or advice. My 
 letter has another object, entirely foreign to Rose. 
 "I have to ask your forgiveness. Perhaps 
 with the best intentions of doing good, I shall 
 have only succeeded in doing you an injury. 
 Bernard, if I had said to you, when a chance 
 that seemed to me providential so unexpectedly 
 decided your future : ' You will live beneath 
 the roof of your own father, you will meet him 
 in your daily intercourse,' would you have ac- 
 
Expiation, 169 
 
 cepted that dependent position with Count 
 Volonzoff? The feeling of uncertainty which 
 has beset me since I sent you away has become 
 a burthen too heavy for endurance. At first 
 I flattered myself that my inspiration to be silent 
 was a good one : God had decreed that you 
 should come together ; unconsciously to you 
 both, blood would speak, in him as well as in 
 you, and nature would assert her rights. So 
 ready are we to believe that which we desire ! 
 
 " Again, pardon me ! I know not what feeling 
 of dread suddenly came and mingled with these 
 hopes and gained the upper hand, with all the 
 strength of a presentment. Perhaps I ought to 
 continue silent ; but I cannot ; I should seem 
 to be an accomplice in a crime. It is not 
 always easy, my child, to know the right. We 
 lose our guiding star when we have once de- 
 parted from the way of truth. With bitter re- 
 pentance I acknowledge this, and I tender you, 
 by my tardy confession, the only assistance that 
 I have it in my power to give you. God grant 
 that it may be the means of showing you the 
 right way, and may this way bring you back to 
 us ! " 
 
I70 Expiation, 
 
 X. 
 
 N the garden of the villa, as in most 
 Italian gardens, there were several 
 buildings, each designated by some 
 high-sounding name : there was Erminia's cave, 
 Angelica's rock, the tomb of the Guelf, etc.; 
 then in the centre of a verdant plot, where sev- 
 eral walks converged, there was a dilapidated, 
 moss-covered pavilion of rock-work which had 
 long been condemned to disuse on account of 
 its evil antecedents. The country people called 
 it the Chamber of Love, and made a kind of 
 little Tour-de-Nesle of it ; insisting that the 
 ghosts of the numerous lovers of a certain 
 Princess Livia, who had had it built for her own 
 private use, sometimes came and walked there 
 at night. There were not many persons who 
 had ever seen the interior of this little house. 
 Madame Volonzoff had taken the key under 
 pretence of seeing if it could not be converted 
 
Expiation. 17 1 
 
 into a summer house, but subsequently seemed 
 to have abandoned her project. Still, on the 
 day when she took it into her head to receive 
 Bernard there, the old boudoir presented quite 
 a gay appearance with its tarnished mirrors, its 
 crumbling cornices, and its figured, rat-eaten 
 tapestries. Seated in the dim light that filtered 
 through the lowered blinds, somewhat pale, as 
 is fitting when one acknowledges one's self 
 conquered (it was the first serious appointment 
 that she had accorded Bernard, and the probable 
 end of the Platonic chapter), Annette, to judge 
 by the portrait of a powdered nymph who had 
 long been subject to the ravages of dust and 
 damp, was more irresistible than the Countess 
 Livia had ever been. Her morning dress of 
 lace and muslin was in perfect harmony with 
 the scene and the situation. At the sound of a 
 footstep in the distance, she placed her hand 
 upon her heart. " I really love him ! " said she. 
 
 The shutters were tightly closed and there 
 was nothing to indicate from the outside that 
 there was any one in the pavilion. Annette had 
 guarded against every contingency, and there 
 was nothing to fear ; still she trembled, a chill 
 passed through her, she was more dead than 
 
172 Expiation. 
 
 alive. These sensations, so different from the 
 comedy of coquetry in which she had been pre- 
 eminent until now, affected her with a singular 
 trouble and made her still more beautiful. 
 
 " You let me wait already ! " said she, 
 
 with a smile which, the day before, would have 
 brought him to her feet. He knelt, in fact, but 
 more like a condemned man suing for mercy 
 than a happy lover. His features showed such 
 change that she cried : "What is the matter? 
 You frighten me." Then with the incoherence 
 of despair, he stammered that he was unworthy 
 of her, that he prayed she would forget his 
 boldness, that honor commanded him to fly, 
 that he appeared in her presence for the last 
 time, that he would die rather than carry her 
 down with him into such a foul abyss. At first 
 Annette was disposed to pity this madness. 
 " The poor child," she thought, " is out of his 
 head ; his happiness has proved too much for 
 him ; " and half in joke and half in earnest, she 
 tried to reassure him ; but when he mentioned 
 her husband, she said, drawing herself up haught- 
 ily, "I did not suppose that you were here 
 to talk about him. Again I ask you, what has 
 happened since yesterday ? " 
 
Expiation, 173 
 
 This was the only question that he could not 
 answer. Determined to keep his secret, un- 
 nerved by his tortures, the bitterest of which at 
 the moment was the sense that he had made him- 
 self supremely ridiculous, he talked without 
 knowing what he was saying, unable even to rec- 
 ognize the sound of his own voice, until at last the 
 Countess, passing by him with an air of disdain, 
 cast at him from the door these crushing words, 
 accompanied by a low, cutting, scornful laugh : 
 
 " It is very evident. Monsieur, that you have 
 been in the neighborhood of the theological 
 school. You have been preaching me a sermon; 
 you forget that sermons are not to my taste, es- 
 pecially when the time is so ill-chosen." 
 
 She turned and left him, swift as an arrow, 
 grazing the long laurel hedge as she went. But 
 she lessened her speed and looked back, waiting 
 for him to follov/ her. But no; the path was 
 silent and deserted. Suddenly she stopped and 
 listened, with laboring breath, tempted on the 
 one hand to return to the pavilion, on the other, 
 restrained by a last remnant of pride. There 
 are some women who can never bring themselves 
 to admit that a man, whatever he may be, can 
 resist or escape them. 
 
174 Expiation, 
 
 Madame Volonzoff' s attention had first been 
 attracted toward Bernard by his extreme reserve 
 and by the chilling disapprobation of her which 
 was frequently visible in his manner. She had 
 next amused herself, there being no more excit- 
 ing pastime at hand, by trying to bedevil his 
 senses, and the mischief that she had hatched for 
 him recoiled upon herself, without, however, 
 taking full possession of her. When, contrary to 
 all probability, he would have nothing more to do 
 with her and repulsed her advances, she at last 
 felt how much he was to her. 
 
 Was this love story, then, whose incidents she 
 had controlled with such art, in expectation of a 
 very different termination, to wind up with a 
 simple adieu, supplemented with a lesson in mo- 
 rality ? She allowed her clenched hands to fall 
 to her side upon her dress, and there they found 
 the traces of Bernard's tears. " He was crying ! " 
 she said to herself. " I was too quick in my 
 anger. These fears are childish, but they are 
 touching ; they always exist in company with a 
 fresh, tender, submissive love, a first love, in a 
 word. I failed to understand him." Annette 
 continued with fresh anger, this time directed 
 against herself, " But he will come back to me, 
 
Expiation. 175 
 
 and the quicker that I shall use no means to 
 bring him back." 
 
 The fear that he should not find her there with 
 his pardon all ready and awaiting him, made her 
 press on more quickly. She wished him to think 
 that she was angry with him. " Who wouldn't 
 have been ? " She was ashamed of her weakness. 
 
 As she entered the house she came upon her 
 husband, talking with Doctor Scharf. He seemed 
 troubled and anxious. 
 
 "Well!" said he impulsively, '' you know that 
 Bernard is going to leave us ?" 
 
 Annette felt her knees giving way under her ; 
 not daring to trust her voice in reply, she fell into 
 the nearest chair. 
 
 " You are as much astonished as I was myself," 
 continued M. Volonzoff. " This morning he told 
 me that necessity compelled him to return to 
 France at once. I tried vainly to make him tell me 
 why ; he is impenetrable. I wanted him at least to 
 give me his promise to return, for I dread Dima's 
 grief. The child has had more fever the last few 
 days. I was just talking to the Doctor about it. 
 It is really a great annoyance." 
 
 " Is there no way of keeping him ? Money 
 changes so many plans," Scharf insinuated. 
 
176 Expiation, 
 
 " You are not a good judge of men. Our 
 friend's disinterestedness is above all suspicion. 
 If he says that he cannot even grant us a respite, 
 there are doubtless motives that we must respect, 
 much as we regret that they should exist. An- 
 nette," the Count continued without raising his 
 eyes, " have you any idea of the cause of this 
 departure ? " 
 
 Her only answer was a gesture in the negative. 
 
 "No one knows anything of M. Bernard," 
 said the Doctor, " either from whence he comes 
 or whither he is going." 
 
 " Oh ! it is very well known that you have 
 always looked upon him as a rival," drily replied 
 the Count. And he commenced to silently per- 
 ambulate the room, as was his habit whenever he 
 was trying to overcome his anger or mature some 
 plan. He was angry with womankind in general 
 and with his own wife in particular. He thought 
 that Bernard was doubtless flying of his own ac- 
 cord from a foolish passion which he knew there 
 was no hope of being returned ; he cared noth- 
 ing for the love episode, but why must Dima be 
 made to suffer ? 
 
 In the meantime rapid glances Aad been ex- 
 changed between Annette and the Doctor, which 
 
Expiation, 177 
 
 signified on the one side, " I have something to 
 say to you," and on the other " I am at your dis- 
 posal." After one more turn from the fireplace 
 to the door, Mr. Volonzoff left the room without 
 having devised any remedy for the trouble which 
 he thought he now had a clear idea of, although 
 it seemed to him of very small importance. 
 
 ** Doctor," the Countess then said with forced 
 calmness, " what do you think of all this ? " 
 
 '* What ! about the tutor ? I think that the 
 lady who is awaiting him down yonder, mistress 
 or betrothed, or whatever she may be, is becom- 
 ing impatient, that she wants to see him again, 
 and that he is obedient to orders. His love for 
 her is stronger than his pretended attachment 
 
 "You have already mentioned this woman 
 more than once," Annette interrupted, and her 
 eyes all at once assumed a greenish hue and 
 emitted feline glances that augured ill for some- 
 body. The Doctor made a sign of assent. 
 
 " Well, I don't know how you could have been 
 deceived so, for there is no such woman in ex- 
 istence." 
 
 " Ah ! he told you so, did he, and you believed 
 him ? You believed him in preference to me?" 
 
178 Expiation, 
 
 " You did not give me any proof." 
 
 " Because I could not have supposed that the 
 love affairs of an inferior would interest you." 
 
 '*I would not say that they interest me; that 
 is too strong an expression; but I am curious. 
 This sudden departure perplexes me." 
 
 " Still there can be nothing plainer ; he spoke 
 to the Count after the arrival of the postman, 
 who brought him a letter." 
 
 " Are you certain ? Pshaw! a letter from his 
 family, probably." 
 
 " You know that he has no family. That is 
 all that our mysterious young friend has conde- 
 scended to tell us about his affairs." 
 
 " But perhaps he has a gentleman friend who 
 writes to him." 
 
 " Is it probable, Madame, that he would keep 
 such letters under lock and key, tied up with 
 ribbon, and in company with a likeness, a tress 
 of hair and pressed flowers ? " 
 
 "Have you seen all that ?" 
 
 " And then I can assure you that this friend 
 has magnificent eyes — in a word just as like a 
 young lady of eighteen as you can imagine." 
 
 The Countess gave a little shrug of her 
 shoulders. To a casual observer she would 
 
f ^" OF 
 
 tlVERSITY 
 
 OF 
 
 Expiation, 179 
 
 have appeared incredulous and indifferent, but 
 it was not easy to deceive Doctor Scharf. Be- 
 neath that palpitating breast there was a raging 
 storm of outraged pride, rage, jealousy, and a 
 burning thirst for vengeance. So he had dared 
 to lie to her ! While sitting by her side, his 
 thoughts had been with another, and this person, 
 some Parisian grisette, no doubt, thougli far 
 away, had worsted her in the conflict and was 
 about to deprive her of her prey ! 
 
 " Of course, it doesn't matter much to you," 
 continued Scharf, "but you doubted my veracity 
 once because I could not produce my proofs. I 
 should like to show you that I am right. Would 
 you like to see these proofs ? " 
 
 The Countess, in her eagerness, stretched forth 
 her hand, but disguised the involuntary move- 
 ment by taking her fan from a table that stood 
 near. "I don't believe that you can produce 
 them," said she. Her lips, to which she sum- 
 moned a forced smile, were pale and trembling. 
 Scharf drew near and stood before her, looking 
 her in the eyes. 
 
 " Madame," said he, " to satisfy a desire of 
 yours, I would dare anything." She drew back 
 her chair, disconcerted by the brutal intentness 
 
I So Expiation. 
 
 of his gaze. " I am yours, body and soul. I 
 have no doubt that you are well aware of this, 
 although I have never said so in words. I am 
 no longer satisfied to be counted as one among 
 the throng of your adorers, and that, too, in the 
 rear rank — to stoop to pick up the crumbs of love 
 that you condescend to scatter around you. I 
 was never cut out for the Angelic r61e; that is 
 too suitable to beardless young Frenchmen. It 
 is my ambition to leave you something that will 
 make you remember me, even if it be at the 
 price of my life, and in exchange to receive from 
 you a favor that you have never granted to 
 any one." 
 
 " A favor for a service ; what you propose 
 seems to me very like a bargain," said the 
 Countess with disdain. 
 
 " Everything in this world is a matter of 
 purchase and sale, Madame. I cannot endure 
 to be a dupe. Reflect, that theft will have to be 
 committed here. I spoke of my life ; I would 
 risk even more than that at a word from you. 
 Are you unwilling, in return, to run the risk of 
 compromising yourself ? This evening, this 
 very night, at an hour that we shall agree on, 
 I will bring you, or rather you shall come and 
 
Expiation. i8i 
 
 demand from me, the proofs which will clear up 
 every doubt in regard to what you desire to 
 know. I have in my mind that lonely pavilion, 
 the Chamber of Love, as it is called, among the 
 trees of the park." 
 
 " I fail to see the use of such romantic pre- 
 paration." 
 
 " Pardon, Madame, it is to be all my recom- 
 pense. Let your accomplice bear away with 
 him the illusion of having been once received 
 as your lover." 
 
 The Countess had listened to this strange 
 speech, swayed by the magnetism of an overpow- 
 ering will which seemed to stupefy her. As 
 Scharf finished, she raised her eyes and was ter- 
 rified by the expression which she read in his 
 face, from which he had let fall the mask that 
 habitually concealed it. 
 
 " To-morrow, perhaps, he will be gone, and 
 you will never learn what you want to know. Do 
 you accept my offer, or do you refuse to trust 
 me, and my respect for you ? " 
 
 She hesitated ; then in a voice that betrayed 
 deep agitation and at the same time expressed an 
 undefined threat, she said : " Let it be as you 
 will." 
 
1 82 Expiation. 
 
 XI. 
 
 O any one who could have read the 
 minds of the inhabitants of the villa 
 there would have been an exhibition 
 of the most conflicting passions. Annette's 
 wounded susceptibilities, in connection with her 
 burning curiosity, had displaced the mistrust 
 with which she had at first regarded the Doctor's 
 impudent offer. Women who consider nothing 
 in the world but themselves and their passing 
 fancies always go straight to their end, using 
 every available means, disregarding every risk. 
 Scharf was, in her eyes, the tool that is to be 
 broken after it has been used ; perhaps he was 
 a more formidable instrument than it suited her 
 to believe. It was the first time that this man 
 had given free rein to instincts of the strength of 
 which he was himself ignorant. For three long 
 years he had subordinated them with stern inflex- 
 ibility to calculations that were more important to 
 
Expiation. 183 
 
 him than anything else — to the task of building 
 up his fortune. Fdr three years the Countess 
 had been to him as the star is to the child who 
 would seize it in his grasp, set high in the heavens 
 at an immeasurable distance beyond his reach. 
 But when he saw her descend from the firmament 
 where she gravitated in company with her satel- 
 lites, Russian generals and Italian princes, to 
 throw herself into the arms of a little French 
 tutor, he made oath to himslf that he would at 
 least stand on as good footing as this contempt- 
 ible rival. When he burned his ships, it was 
 with a kind of rage against himself and against 
 her who had thus made him recreant to the 
 principles of his whole life ; but it behooved him 
 to see that the ships were not burned without 
 something to show for it. The Doctor's plan 
 embraced three objects : Revenge on Bernard, 
 whom he was jealous of ; also on M. Volonzoff, 
 who had so often wounded his personal pride 
 and patriotic susceptibilities ; finally to retaliate 
 on a coquette, from whose influence he could not 
 abstract himself, while at the same time he held 
 her in detestation. He felt assured that this 
 libertine Frenchman had been carrying on two 
 love affairs at once ; he knew where to find the 
 
184 Expiation. 
 
 documents that would denounce him, and he 
 trusted to the Countess' indignation at sight of 
 them, to darkness and solitude, to his own elo- 
 quence, to other and more decisive arguments if 
 they had to be used, to gain for him the reward 
 of his stratagem. This euphemistic way of put- 
 ting it sufficed to quiet the hypocrite's not very 
 troublesome conscience. 
 
 It was an easy matter to get possession of the 
 casket of letters, for Bernard was devoting his 
 entire evening to his pupil, whom he now in his 
 mind called brother, and who now seemed to 
 have a closer claim than ever upon his tenderest 
 attentions, although he knew that he should have 
 to leave him before long. The effect of Madame 
 Desaubiers' revelation had been like that of an 
 alarm-cry sounded in the ears of a man sleeping 
 on the verge of a precipice and awakening him 
 from some intoxicating dream. His first impulse 
 was to banish his criminal passion ; he was filled 
 with horror at the nearness of the danger he had 
 escaped. He could not forget Annette quite yet, 
 but neither could he forget that she was his 
 father's wife. His father ! How often had he 
 dreamed of finding him and making himself 
 known to him by some heroic action ! He had 
 
Expiation, 185 
 
 accomplished a noble deed, it is true, but silent- 
 ly and in the dark ; there was no apparent merit, 
 and there could be no possible reward. It was 
 to be followed, too, by another, no less incom- 
 prehensible and almost equally painful, the part- 
 ing with Dima. Twenty times did Bernard's 
 lips part to say the word Farewell^ and each 
 time the word was arrested on his tongue by 
 some fond word from the poor child. Besides 
 the feverish little hand which clasped his own 
 interceded more powerfully than the most touch- 
 ing speech could have done ; it seemed to say : 
 
 " I shall not have many favors to ask from you. 
 Do not rob me of a single one of the minutes 
 that you can pass at my bedside, which are now 
 so few. Let the sunshine which your presence 
 has always brought to me continue to irradiate 
 what little remains to me of life. When you are 
 gone, what will become of me ? Suppose that I 
 should die while calling upon you, reproaching 
 you with your forgetfulness ? Could you ever 
 pardon yourself for my death, which would be 
 so sad without you at my side, which would be 
 so sweet and resigned if only you would let it be 
 so?" 
 
 These were the words that Bernard heard in 
 
1 86 Expiation. 
 
 imagination, and passing his arm around the 
 child as if to protect him, he could only murmur 
 in his ear, "My child! My poor child! " — so that 
 Dima went to sleep without having learned of 
 his instructor's intended departure on the follow- 
 ing day. 
 
 " Were it not for seeing her again," he thought 
 with a shudder, " I would remain another day. 
 I may have more courage to-morrow, or perhaps 
 he will be stronger and better able to bear the 
 parting." 
 
 M. Volonzoff was greatly agitated. After a 
 close examination of the motives which could 
 have induced Bernard's sudden resolution, he had 
 abandoned his first conjectures. He had no 
 doubt that the young man was in love, but was 
 it despair that had influenced him to go away ? 
 Might not Annette at last have fallen victim to 
 her own wiles, and experienced the love which 
 she was only trying to inspire in another ? It 
 was possible that there was an understanding be- 
 tween them, and that a lingering delicacy re- 
 strained Bernard from betraying him in his own 
 house ; or did he wish to place himself on a more 
 equal footing with the Countess by renouncing 
 his salaried, dependent position, which he felt as 
 
Expiation, 187 
 
 a humiliation ? These considerations occupied 
 M. Volonzoff' s thoughts during a portion of the 
 night ; he was turning them over in his mind 
 with all the coolness that he was capable of, 
 when a watch-dog barked under his windows and 
 then was silent, as if he had recognized some 
 one of the inmates of the house. Under the in- 
 fluence of his present preoccupation, the Count 
 went to the window and looked out, taking care 
 to let fall the curtains behind him, so that the 
 front of the villa might remain in darkness and 
 not betray his wakefulness. The night, which 
 in the Italian spring-time is generally bright with 
 stars, was dark ; great storm-clouds were 1 ang- 
 ing low over the grounds ; still he thought that 
 he saw a shadow cautiously leave a small turret 
 in which was a private staircase leading to the 
 apartments of the Countess. This was sufficient 
 to make him leave the house, first slipping a 
 loaded pistol into his pocket. The figure was 
 some distance ahead of him, but having once 
 seen it plunge into the labyrinth of shrubbery, 
 M. Volonzoff promptly skirted the long hedge, 
 on the other side of which he was conscious of 
 rapid feet skimming over the gravel. When he 
 reached the turn where stood a great marble 
 
1 88 Expiation. 
 
 vase, the apparition that he was following van- 
 ished within the pavilion which stood there. 
 
 For a long time the Count had systematically 
 treated his wife with the extreme of toleration, 
 but this toleration had its restrictions and its 
 limits ; there was no one less likely than he to 
 assume a place among complaisant or deceived 
 husbands. " At this time of night she can only 
 be expecting a lover," he thought, as he took his 
 position, leaning against a tree. "Well ! let him 
 come ; there is a warm reception awaiting him!" 
 
 With a concentrated, cold rage that made even 
 his lips white, but which did not cause his hand 
 to tremble, he cocked his pistol and stood wait- 
 ing with his finger on the trigger ; five minutes 
 scarcely, but they seemed five centuries to him. 
 He would have been glad to have less time for 
 reflection. 
 
 "I am right," he thought ; "she has brought 
 it on herself. Still, it will be a merciful act to 
 spare her. Yes, I will leave her to her remorse. 
 
 As for him, miserable fool ! Will he 
 
 never come ? " 
 
 A thousand other thoughts came to him, min- 
 gled with his resolves for vengeance. He recalled 
 Bernard's youth, and the esteem, confidence and 
 
Expiation. 189 
 
 friendship which he, usually so sparing of such 
 feelings, had always evinced toward thisingrate. 
 
 His just anger was almost overmastered by a 
 bitter feeling of sorrow. It was not a night that 
 invited murder, although it was dark and mys- 
 terious. Heavy odors floated in the moist, 
 motionless air. Everything seemed to slumber ; 
 beneath the thick shade of the foliage faint little 
 sounds were heard, like half-drawn sighs. An un- 
 utterable peace, source of deep, voluptuous de- 
 light, diffused itself from the veiled sky and arose 
 from the sleeping earth; all nature seemed instinct 
 with the sense of love, while here there stood a 
 man, defiant of all these sweet influences, given 
 over to hatred, waiting to shed blood. 
 
 At length footsteps were heard again, and a 
 second phantom, masculine in form this time, 
 emerging from the shadows of the shrubbery, 
 advanced in the direction of the pavilion. Quick 
 as lightning M. Volonzoff had covered him with 
 his pistol, but his hand fell to his side involun- 
 tarily. 
 
 "No," he murmured, "I will not kill him in 
 cold blood." He could not bring himself to fire 
 upon his enemy from behind, without warning. 
 Already, however, the dark figure was knocking 
 
1 90 Expiation. 
 
 at the shutter, which creaked upon its hinges. 
 " One word ! " said he, coming forward from his 
 place of concealment. 
 
 The other person turned with a start. ** The 
 Count ! " he exclaimed, thunderstruck. The 
 exclamation sufficed to tell tliat it was Scharf. 
 M. Volonzoff experienced a strange sensation of 
 relief as he recognized the voice. 
 
 "What ! it is you?" he said in turn. "Will 
 you explain wliat you are doing here ?" And as 
 the Doctor hesitated to answer, seeking to collect 
 his thoughts, " Perhaps you would rather that 
 I should kill you like a dog?" 
 
 Scharf felt the pistol against his throat; he 
 pushed it away, and in a tone of injured inno- 
 cence : "If you kill me," he said, "you will be 
 punishing an act of blind devotion on my part. 
 I know that appearances are against me, the most 
 faithful of your servants. You would not believe 
 the truth that I can tell about this affair." 
 
 "Tell it without further words. And first, 
 this assignation " 
 
 "There was no assignation," replied Scharf, 
 intentionally raising his voice, while the Count 
 spoke in low tones ; " I am alone ; I came here 
 to leave some papers that are to convince a 
 
Expiation, 191 
 
 certain person, whom I respect beyond all else 
 in the world, of a deceit that her generous nature 
 would not have allowed her to believe without 
 these proofs. She resented the insulting ad- 
 vances of a coxcomb by driving him from her 
 presence, but that is not sufficient ; she must 
 know the exact degree in which the wretch was 
 guilty toward her." 
 
 " And so you came in the depth of niglit " 
 
 " It was not I who selected the time for assur- 
 ing the safety of these letters that Madame the 
 Countess will read and acquaint herself with 
 when she sees fit." 
 
 " Come, come ! you are trifling, Monsieur 
 Scharf," the Count interjected, angrily pushing 
 open the shutter of the pavilion. " Let us 
 make an end of this ridiculous story. Do you 
 think that I don't know that there is some one 
 waiting here for you ? " 
 
 Without relaxing his hold on his prisoner, he 
 entered the building and struck a match. Its 
 light showed the room to be untenanted. Like 
 all structures of its kind, the place had two 
 doors. Annette, therefore, at the first sound of 
 high words, had made her escape by one of the 
 covered alleys which terminated at the round- 
 
92 Expiation. 
 
 point. The Doctor, who had anticipated this, 
 breathed more freely. M. Volonzoff was thought- 
 ful, glad perhaps that the scandal was no greater, 
 though his inmost convictions on the subject 
 remained unchanged. After a short pause, he 
 resumed, in a sharp, imperious tone : 
 
 " Where are those papers that you spoke of ? " 
 Scharf had the casket concealed beneath his 
 cloak ; he produced it and placed it on the table. 
 " They are here ; but I shall only deliver them," 
 he added, with returning boldness, " to the per- 
 son whom they concern." 
 
 " I will see that the person gets them," said 
 the Count, laying a firm hand upon the stolen 
 letters. " You will understand, sir, that I am 
 curious to see for myself what there is in all 
 these underhand proceedings. As regards your- 
 self, let me say to you that I can allow no one 
 to be, unknown to me, so jealously careful of my 
 honor ; excessive zeal is a mistake. You will 
 receive letters from your family to-morrow, 
 summoning you home in all haste, and you will 
 leave this house. You understand me ? " And 
 as the Doctor was on the point of making further 
 explanations, he added : " You need say noth- 
 ing more. I understand you perfectly." 
 
Expiation. 193 
 
 The words thief and traitor were not uttered, 
 but none the less Scharf could read them in 
 the scornful look that burned into his soul like 
 a red hot iron. He was blind with rage, and 
 would have had recourse to violence had he not 
 luckily remembered that he had to do with a 
 man of equal, if not of superior, strength to him- 
 self. The cocked pistol, too, was particularly 
 efficacious in bringing him to his senses. He 
 yielded, therefore, with the comforting thought 
 that he had discharged this Parthian arrow 
 against Bernard by accusing him as he had done, 
 and that the arrow was poisoned and would 
 prove fatal. 
 
 A few moments later the Count was back in 
 his room, bending over his desk, on which lay 
 Madame Desaubiers' letters. The first words to 
 meet his eye, after he had broken open the 
 casket, in which he had expected to discover 
 matter of a different kind, were these : *' When 
 that chance which to me seemed providential so 
 unexpectedly decided your future, if I had said 
 to you * You will be living under the same roof 
 with your own father, you will meet him in your 
 daily intercourse,' would you have accepted the 
 position with Count Volonzoff ?" He read the 
 
194 Expiation. 
 
 letter over many times, and the light which he 
 dreaded, while he desired it, dawned upon his 
 mind. All beside, compared to this, was as 
 nothing. Memory carried him back to years 
 long past, to a bright spring morning when, 
 among the roses that were blooming around her, 
 he had met a little rose of flesh and blood that 
 his passing caprice had breathed upon and 
 blasted ; he had never turned back to see what 
 became of her after she had been trodden under 
 foot in the mire which God never intended for 
 her. Poor forgotten little rose ! the memories 
 of her that now arose in him were tenderer than 
 ever they had been before ; a fragment of his 
 vanished youth came back to him with her. 
 And then there passed before his inner vision a 
 second form, purer than the first, nobler, loved 
 with a deeper and better love ; the only one of 
 her sex who had ever inspired in his heart that 
 tender feeling that he could not bestow upon a 
 mother or a sister, being an orphan and an only 
 child ; the only woman who had ever succeeded in 
 really reaching his heart, from which that death, 
 which we call absence, had never been able to dis- 
 place her. He could not recall her without at 
 the same time waking in her company a train of 
 
Expiation. 195 
 
 the tenderest feelings ; he felt that he could not 
 look upon her with indifference, even if she 
 were grown old and changed beyond recog- 
 nition ; she would always be in his eyes, as she 
 had always been, the ideal woman ; for others, 
 no matter in what station of society, he felt only 
 disdain. Why had he always made pleasure his 
 supreme end in his intercourse with women ? 
 Why had he made birth and wealth the condi- 
 tion of his ill-mated marriage ? His sad thoughts 
 were turned to the bitter fruits that had been 
 the product of this union, the result of the 
 dictates of a senseless pride, vexations without 
 number, and a frail scion that was doomed to 
 die. If the present outlook was gloomy, the 
 future was no less so. Involuntarily M. Volon- 
 zoff took refuge in the past, which lay in the 
 bottom of this Pandora's box that had been 
 stolen by fraud and opened by violence, and 
 the past was presented to him in the features 
 of this young man, so like the son that he would 
 have wished for to worthily carry down his 
 name. " And he is really my son ! " he thought 
 with an ineffable, confused feeling of joy and 
 stupefaction. 
 
 In the eyes of this man, who attached a 
 
196 Expiation. 
 
 supreme inportance to the laws and customs, and 
 even the slightest prejudices of the world, it 
 appeared a monstrous injustice that one of his 
 children, who had acquired his education in 
 obscurity and retirement by dint of sheer hard 
 work, should have been produced by such a 
 train of circumstances to undertake the educa- 
 tion of another child of his. He was moved as 
 he thought of the blooming youth of the one 
 sacrificed to the sickly childhood of the other, 
 and a mist, which he brushed away with his 
 hand, arose before his dry eyes, which knew not 
 how to weep. 
 
 " What is to be done ? " he asked himself. It 
 did not seem as if he could let Bernard go, and 
 still he saw no way of preventing him ; he could 
 not open his heart to the woman to whom he 
 must shortly appear in the character of master 
 and judge. He spent the remainder of the night 
 in anxious deliberation upon this dilemma. The 
 candles had burned down to their sockets and 
 the bluish daylight was beginning to appear 
 through the windows when he arose from his 
 chair saying : " In the first place I will test him." 
 
 And this is how he made his test. 
 
 Very early in the morning, the Count, ex- 
 
Expiation, 197 
 
 tremely pale, entered Bernard's bed-chamber. 
 " Do you still persist," he asked, " in the resolu- 
 tion that you spoke to me of yesterday ? " 
 
 " There is no other course for me to take," the 
 young man replied. 
 
 "We are in great trouble. Doctor Scharf is 
 obliged to absent himself for a time, and then 
 again change of air is recommended for Dima, 
 who is suffering from a feverish attack. I want 
 him to go and take up his summer quarters 
 among the Alps, but who will go with him, if you 
 are unwilling to take charge of him ? " 
 
 " Will you not be there with the Countess ? " 
 
 M. Volonzoff shook his head. " We shall not 
 go until a little later on. For the present, there 
 is no one that he needs so much as you." 
 
 Bernard had no suspicion of the true state of 
 affairs ; he wondered whether the Count was 
 proceeding on guess-work, or whether he had 
 discovered everything. This latter hypothesis 
 seemed the more probable to him when later on 
 he became aware, with an agitation that may be 
 readily conceived, of the disappearance of the 
 letters. At all events, circumstances seemed to 
 favor him, and he yielded to their guidance. 
 
 " Such being the condition of affairs," he an- 
 
198 Expiation, 
 
 swered, " I cannot refuse to remain at my post — 
 temporarily at least — no matter what the sacri- 
 fice," There was something more than gratitude 
 in the look which the Count bestowed on him as 
 he thanked him. 
 
 He did not see Annette again. One of those 
 indispositions, which nervous women know so 
 well how to summon up when needed, explained 
 the reason why Dima, before he set out, was the 
 only person that she said good-by to. The child 
 came from the interview in tears ; his mother, too, 
 had wept, so he told Bernard, as if she never ex- 
 pected to see him again. " And still," he re- 
 peated in a tone that was half interrogative, " we 
 shall all be together again in Switzerland." 
 
Expiation. 199 
 
 XII. 
 
 IHE Chalet that had been hired for 
 Bernard and Dimitri was too near 
 Clarens for us to attempt to compete 
 wiih Rousseau by venturing on a description 
 of this bank of Lake Leman. It stood in front of 
 a well-shaded slope covered with chestnut groves, 
 in full view of the mountains of Savoy, whose 
 stern beauty contrasts admirably with the fertile, 
 pastoral aspect of the Pays de Vaud. On one 
 hand were vineyards, pastures and orchards ; on 
 the other the domes, peaks and gigantic pyramids 
 known as the Aiguille du Midi^ the Dents d'Oche^ 
 the Chaumeny^ the Velan^ and the dark walls 
 from which rise the rocks of Meillerie were 
 grouped in a panorama that defies description ; 
 but the nearest object to attract the gaze was the 
 Castle of Chillon, mirrored in the lake, deep 
 sunk in whose depths, like roots of stone, lie its 
 courses of masonry, hewn from the living rock, 
 
200 Expiation. 
 
 and that square tower, gazing from between 
 whose bars Byron has shown us the sad, stern 
 features of the prisoner, who, so powerful is time, 
 at last came to love his chains. There is a feel- 
 ing that is well known to all who have travelled, 
 or rather sojourned, among the Alps ; it is the 
 sensation of restfulness that is instilled into the 
 most troubled minds by various natural causes 
 acting in concert ; the grandeur of the scenery, 
 the purity and clearness of the air, the prattling 
 murmur of the water courses, and the awful 
 silence of the glaciers in their resistless, never 
 ceasing march. Bernard, after the violent efforts 
 that he had made to regain his self-control, his 
 energy exhausted, had sunk into a discouraged 
 state of doubt and perplexity. What might be 
 M. Volonzoff' s intentions ? If he was ignorant 
 of his guilty passion, why had he afforded him 
 the opportunity of going away, and if, on the 
 other hand, he was cognizant of it, why did he 
 give him a mark of such absolute confidence as 
 to entrust to his care that which was dearest to 
 him in all the world? He sometimes suspected 
 Scharf's treachery, whose departure he was un- 
 able to account for ; but more frequently he 
 seemed to be merely a passive instrument in the 
 
Expiatioyi, 201 
 
 hands of a father, who was powerful to do with 
 him as he would. His face, too, would flush and 
 blaze with shame at the thought that she, who was 
 the cause and the witness of his weakness, would 
 never understand that conduct which he could 
 never explain and which she would retaliate by 
 her ineradicable contempt. What must Annette 
 think of him ? It seemed to him that there could 
 be no more dreadful punishment than to see her 
 again, and meet the silent reproach of that scorn- 
 ful smile. He interdicted himself from thinking 
 of her, and he no longer dared to think of Rose. 
 The mocking dream had faded, and the holy, 
 sweet reality had been banished by his fault. 
 There was left to him, nothing, nothing only this 
 child, who, thank God, had need of him ; 
 nothing, only a task which must be sufficient for 
 his wounded feelings ; for self-devotion, much 
 more than mere personal happiness is the end and 
 object of our existence. 
 
 Such was the sublime lesson that Bernard 
 learned among the valleys of the Alps. Day by 
 day he saw the same sun vainly cast its everlast- 
 ing beams upon the immemorial snows which 
 never melt ; he saw the unchanging verdure of 
 the pines smile upon the Cyclopean ruin that the 
 
202 Expiation. 
 
 avalanche had torn in the mountain side, and the 
 great waves of the lake, excited to fury by the 
 storm, fall back tamed into repose and quiet. In- 
 sensibly his troubled spirit was penetrated by the 
 peace, the harmony, the grandeur of its sur- 
 roundings. Passion, born of a flash and dissi- 
 pated by a breath, seemed to him nothing more 
 than a fit of delirium by the side of love which 
 resists everything and survives all things. But 
 that true love — he had cruelly wounded it, and 
 felt that he was no longer worthy of it. 
 
 Bernard's whole life was now devoted to Dima, 
 of whose condition he wrote every day apprizing 
 M. Volonzoff. Their time was passed in the 
 open air, often in a boat, rowing on the lake, a 
 pastime which afforded the sick boy great pleas- 
 ure. Lying on his cushions, he yielded himself 
 to the gentle rocking of the little waves, while 
 the oars, plied by his sturdy companion, struck 
 the clear water with measured strokes. 
 
 " I do not regret now the amusements of other 
 children, whom I used to envy so," he would 
 say. " I would give them all up only to be here 
 with you." 
 
 Sometimes they took a light carriage and 
 drove over the by-roads, of which there are many 
 
Expiation, 203 
 
 in this frequented portion of the Alps. Dima pre- 
 tended to have a great desire to climb with Ber- 
 nard's legs and see with his eyes. So he sent 
 him to explore those elevations that were inac- 
 cessible to him on account of his weakness, as if 
 he comprehended the moral benefit that is de- 
 rived from contending with the obstacles of 
 nature, compared with which the accidents of 
 our poor little lives are so mean and transitory. 
 As we rise above the earth, the ghosts of times 
 that are past and gone vanish like a wreath of 
 smoke on the horizon, and the noxious exhala- 
 tions of the world are under our feet, like the 
 clouds that interposed between us and the pure 
 ether while we were in the valley. The sadness 
 that had lain so heavily on Bernard at his de- 
 parture, passed away, and Dima's watchful eye 
 observed that he was regaining his old cheerful 
 calmness. The rare flowers that his young friend 
 had sent him to look for on the mountain tops 
 were health, quiet and oblivion. Inured to 
 every extremity of suffering in his own person, 
 he could not bear to see a trace of it in his 
 friend. As regards himself, on the other hand, 
 he had learned to be resigned, and his intelli- 
 gence was developing to such a degree as almost 
 
204 Expiation. 
 
 to cause alarm. Bernard could not help think- 
 ing of those fruits which ripen too quickly and 
 fall prematurely. The ardor of an affection that 
 swayed them both to such an extent served to 
 increase the anxiety which he felt on this score. 
 Every time that he received a letter from the 
 Count, he trembled with the fear that it con- 
 tained the announcement of his coming, which 
 would be for him the signal of separation. But 
 M. Volonzoff seemed to be in no hurry to end 
 his respite, beyond which Bernard could descry 
 nothing but the anguish of another parting. He 
 asked himself. What would there be left for him 
 to do then ? 
 
 His question did not remain long unanswered. 
 That year of 1870 saw the outbreak of war be- 
 tween France and Germany. The unwarranted 
 hurrah of victory which we raised at the begin- 
 ning of the struggle was immediately succeeded 
 by the most overwhelming disaster. Like so 
 many others, Bernard's love for his country had 
 been weak so long as he thought her invincible ; 
 when the day came that France was in danger, 
 he felt that he was a Frenchman. The impossi- 
 bility flashed upon him of his remaining any 
 longer in this mountain retreat, outside of which 
 
Expiation, 205 
 
 only the day before he had seen no place for 
 himself in all the world, and the day after Reichs- 
 hoffen he notified the Count of his intention to 
 enlist. M. Volonzoff answered his letter in per- 
 son ; he must have been much disturbed by Ber- 
 nard's resolve, for he did not lose a moment in 
 coming to dissuade him from his purpose. He 
 arrived unexpectedly at evening ; as he entered 
 the low room of the chalet where the two friends 
 were engaged in following the advance of the 
 German troops on the map, Dima uttered a cry 
 of joy, immediately followed by a sigh of disap- 
 pointment : 
 
 " Where is Mamma ? " 
 
 "Your mother could not come just now," 
 shortly answered the Count. Then, turning to 
 Bernard, he went on impetuously : " Did you 
 mean to ask for my advice ? " 
 
 Bernard shook his head. " If I had asked 
 you for advice, it would have presupposed in- 
 decision." 
 
 " Your mind is made up then — you are resolved 
 to commit a folly? Do you think that one recruit 
 more will materially strengthen your army ? " 
 
 " If every one looked at it in that light, no 
 one would do his duty." 
 
2o6 Expiatio7i. 
 
 " Do you believe that the French army, re- 
 duced by its successes in Italy, as well as by its 
 reverses in Mexico, is anything like that army 
 which whipped us in the Crimea ? In the state 
 that it is now, without allies and without lead- 
 ers, it will have no chance against a nation of 
 fighters. It is doomed to defeat." 
 
 '* Even admitting that you are right, which I 
 very much doubt, glory is not the only incentive 
 to love of country." 
 
 " But your patriotism is only a young man's 
 vanity. The poorest peasant will make better 
 food for powder than an educated man like 
 you, and his life is not so valuable." 
 
 " I aiii no better than the peasant that you 
 speak of. I hope that I shall fight as bravely as 
 he would, and then I shall not have the fear of 
 leaving a family unprovided for, which would 
 harass him." 
 
 " So the fact that you are alone in the world 
 is what decides you ? " said the Count in a 
 changed voice. " If you had a mother to be- 
 seech you " 
 
 ''What is the use of forming suppositions ?" 
 said Bernard, looking his interlocutor in the 
 face. " My mother is dead." 
 
Expiation. 207 
 
 "Would you disobey the orders of a father ?" 
 said the Count with a violence of feeling that he 
 hardly tried to conceal. 
 
 " If my father were alive, he would not exact 
 that his son should disgrace himself by a coward- 
 ly action." 
 
 " It is not cowardly to await the summons, 
 instead of anticipating it." 
 
 " You do not take into account, sir, that there 
 is more due to my country from me than there 
 is from other men. It adopted me from my 
 birth, almost, and has been all in all to me, father 
 and mother at once." 
 
 M. Volonzoff bowed his head ; then, pointing 
 to Dima, who had been a breathless witness of 
 the scene : " I thought that you loved him ! " 
 said he reproachfully. Bernard's only answer 
 was to embrace the child. 
 
 " Go ! " cried Dima with energy. " I would 
 do as you are doing, if I were in your place, and 
 I, too, will show that I am brave by giving you 
 up. We shall meet again — I feel sure we shall ! 
 I will wait for you." 
 
 M. Volonzoff had turned away to conceal his 
 emotion. '* He has instructed the boy in honor, 
 too," he murmured. " You are two against one. 
 
2o8 Expiation. 
 
 Can I not do anything for you ? " he added, 
 addressing Bernard in mute anguish. 
 
 "For me, nothing," replied Bernard; "but 
 should I fall — don't be afraid, Dima ; as you 
 said, we shall meet again — if I should fall, there 
 is one person in the world whom I should like to 
 recommend to your protection. Who can foresee 
 what will happen in a campaign ? The young 
 girl is poor, with no one to befriend her. ..." 
 
 " I know whom you mean ; Mademoiselle 
 Rose Aymes." 
 
 A gesture that escaped Bernard showed his 
 surprise. 
 
 " Chance placed your secrets in my hands. 
 They are safe with me. You may depend upon 
 me to do what you ask. And is that all that you 
 have to say to me before you go away ? " 
 
 The two men looked each other in the eyes 
 again. Bernard's gaze expressed a silent prayer 
 that could not be set in words. The Count an- 
 swered it by opening wide his arms to his son 
 without speaking. 
 
Expiation, 209 
 
 XIII. 
 
 [HE first thing that Bernard did when 
 he reached Paris was to enlist in a 
 regiment of the line. When by doing 
 this he had reinstated himself in his own esteem, 
 he felt courageous enough to do something that 
 he could not have done before. He felt that he 
 could now present himself before Rose, for he 
 was commencing a new life, and was becoming 
 worthy at least of her esteem. Full of that deep- 
 seated and honestly earned contentment that 
 arises from a duty accomplished, he bent his 
 steps in the direction of the lonely quarter and 
 the gloomy old house where she lived. When at 
 a distance he descried the balcony, way up near 
 the sky, from whence she used in old days to 
 watch for his coming, a wealth of tender 
 memories arose within him, while the more re- 
 cent occurrences disappeared like a dream. No, 
 they had never been parted ; he would soon hear 
 
Expiation, 
 
 her cheerful, ringing voice calling to him from 
 the distance ; already he thought he heard it. 
 As he was half way up the staircase, the con- 
 cierge stopped him and asked where he was going. 
 Mademoiselle Aymes, he told him, had left the 
 house after her mother's death, and was living in 
 the country. 
 
 "Her mother's death!" Bernard repeated. 
 He made enquiries about the lingering illness, 
 which had not been unlooked for, to which 
 Madame Aymes had succumbed. It was less 
 the news of her death that upset him than Rose's 
 silence, the thought that he was so completely 
 obliterated from her affection, from her memory, 
 from her life. 
 
 All the bright images which had so cheered 
 him but a few moments ago died out, one by one, 
 in presence of this heart-breaking evidence of 
 her indifference. For a few minutes he was un- 
 decided as to what he should do. Should he go 
 to Madame Desaubiers ? He had no doubt that 
 Rose was there. How would she receive him ? 
 After all, he thought, I shall only trouble her a 
 moment. I will go. The way there had never 
 seemed to him so long, and yet he dreaded to 
 reach the house. The sight of every well-known 
 
Expiation, 211 
 
 spot was a pang to him. Why is it that inani- 
 mate objects always look the same, while our 
 feelings change so ? 
 
 Sending away the conveyance that had brought 
 him thus far, he followed, as he had so often 
 done before, the tow-path along the margin of 
 the Seine ; there he had taken many a walk with 
 
 Rose, there he had . Suddenly Bernard 
 
 came to a halt. A few steps in advance he be- 
 held a slender form clad in black. Her step 
 had lost its old freedom and elasticity, but he 
 still recognized her. She stood out in relief 
 against the bright sunlight on the level strip of 
 sand, which stretched away between its two mar- 
 gins of turf like a long white ribbon. He was 
 conscious of the weary droop of her head, of the 
 black veil that concealed her tresses, of the neg- 
 lected book that she held open in her hand. On 
 the flowery slope of a little cove that he knew 
 well, she stopped and seemed to look at some- 
 thing ; perhaps a swallow, skimming the water 
 in his swift flight, perhaps the reeds, concealing 
 the slippery treacherous bank with their waving 
 stalks ; but no, she was not conscious of any of 
 these things, nor of anything else that was within 
 her ken. She was saying to herself that here 
 
212 Expiation. 
 
 was the place where she had caught her first 
 glimpses of that deceptive happiness in which 
 she had trusted, as she trusted in her God, and 
 that she would have waited for its fruition with 
 a patience that nothing could have wearied, had 
 not he, from whose hands she was to receive it, 
 himself disabused her hopes. He saw her wipe 
 away her tears. Ah ! how many tears had he 
 caused her by his unfeeling abandonment of her, 
 more bitter to her than death ! The blazing 
 summer sun shot his fierce rays down on this 
 sorrowful little black speck among the surround- 
 ing brightness, a mute protest, as it were, against 
 the brilliant beauty of the landscape, but she 
 would have been insensible to the flames of a 
 seven times heated furnace ; perhaps she was un- 
 conscious as well of the sound of hurrying foot- 
 steps behind her ; she only turned when she felt 
 a hand laid lightly upon her shoulder. Could it 
 be the phantom which she had been invoking 
 that now appeared before her ? She gave a weak 
 cry, tottered, and would have fallen^ had not 
 Bernard supported her. 
 
 " You were weeping," he said, not daring to 
 press the hand which she had given him. Her 
 only response was to point to her black dress. 
 
Expiation. 
 
 " And you did not let me know ! How could 
 you treat me as if I was a stranger ? The 
 punishment was greater than the fault, however 
 guilty I may have been. Rose, do you know 
 what I was thinking of just now, before I met you? 
 I was thinking that, no matter how hard I may 
 try, I shall never accomplish anything good or 
 great in this world, unless you give me the sup- 
 port and assistance of your friendship. You 
 were too hasty in depriving me of it ; I did not 
 deserve to lose everything at a single blow." 
 
 " You have always had my kindest feelings," 
 stammered Rose confusedly, " and if I had 
 thought that my friendship would have been an 
 
 assistance to you, and not a burthen " The 
 
 poor girl checked herself, and a vivid blush 
 overspread her features. It was tender feeling 
 for him, and not anger or jealousy, that had 
 prompted her to cease writing to him, and had 
 enjoined upon Madame Desaubiers to refrain 
 from mentioning her name in writing to him. 
 Why should she step in and interfere with his 
 new love ? The greatest pain of all would have 
 been to know that she had inflicted on him the 
 sufferings of remorse, or had even caused him 
 one distressing recollection. If she could have 
 
214 Expiation, 
 
 obliterated herself and her feelings more com- 
 pletely still, she would have done so ; but how 
 could she tell him that ? 
 
 " I would at least like to have your pardon," 
 humbly said Bernard. 
 
 She blushed again, and her habitually serious 
 expression, which contrasted so singularly with 
 her childish features, assumed an aspect of 
 sternness. " I have nothing to pardon ; you have 
 not wronged me." 
 
 " Do you mean that you hold the wrong I 
 have done you in such utter scorn that you 
 refuse to acknowledge its existence ? Ah ! I 
 appeal from your pride to your compassion ; it 
 will teach you kinder words ; reflect that what 
 you say now will perhaps be the last words that 
 I shall ever hear from your mouth." 
 
 " The last words — what do you mean ? " 
 
 "I have joined the army and am going to 
 meet the Prussians. I am a soldier, passing his 
 last free day at your side." 
 
 She did not wound his feelings by any ex- 
 pression of astonishment. " It is well," she only 
 said, but extending to him, this time with 
 warmth, her hand, which she allowed to linger 
 in his own. Wordy protestations would have 
 
Expiation. 215 
 
 found no favor with her and would have left her 
 cold and incredulous ; her favorite proverb, 
 which she lived up to, was, " Deeds are better 
 than words." Actions alone had power to con- 
 vince her, and this action of his seemed to her 
 to be worthy of a man of feeling. 
 
 " And so," she said in a gentler tone," you want 
 me to pardon you. A resolution such as that 
 which you have come to atones for many a fault! " 
 
 "But many a man makes this resolve without 
 having any faults to atone for." 
 
 " Yes, all will come to it, no doubt ; otherwise 
 they would be less than men ; but the merit in 
 your case is greater than it is with most." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " There were so many ties, so many interests, 
 to detain you yonder in Switzerland." 
 
 "You are mistaken," quickly replied Bernard; 
 *'you are mistaken, upon my word you are. Ah ! 
 if I could only tell you all, if this secret did not 
 concern others beside myself " 
 
 " I would not let you tell me," the young girl 
 feelingly interrupted ; " I wish never to know it. 
 There is but one thing that I care anything about: 
 that you have done your duty to-day, and that 
 you came to me to tell me about it." 
 
2i6 Expiation. 
 
 " I thank you ! How I am running into debt 
 to you again, dear Rose ! " 
 
 " Pay it to your country. We all owe every- 
 thing to her." 
 
 •' But whether I live happily or die nobly, I have, 
 and shall always have, need of you. Tell me that, 
 if I never come back, you will think of me without 
 anger or bitterness for the wrong I have done you." 
 
 **0f all the past I shall remember only one 
 thing, and that is, how fondly I loved you," 
 cried Rose, maidenly reserve yielding to a great 
 wave of kindness. 
 
 " As a friend ? " Bernard whispered. She was 
 silent. "Answer, Rose. Who can tell if we 
 shall ever meet again as we are now ? " 
 
 " No separation is eternal," she said, fixing 
 upon him her eyes that were so full of trust, " I 
 have felt that ever since my mother left me." 
 
 " Ah, Rose ! If I should come back alive — 
 and if you could love me ! " 
 
 '* Come back ! " she said, and the words con- 
 tained every pardon and every promise. 
 
 They went together to find Madame Desau- 
 biers, and Rose explained what Bernard had 
 done. And the return of the prodigal was never 
 celebrated in grander style. 
 
Expiation, 217 
 
 XIV. 
 
 |lOLENT emotions and unexpected 
 visits now followed rapidly on each 
 other's heels in the little house that 
 had so long stood peaceably by the water's side. 
 Bernard had scarcely got away to join his regi- 
 ment when one morning old Mariette, her eyes 
 still red with weeping over the young soldier's 
 departure, came hastening to her mistress with a 
 wild look in her eyes, and announced that there 
 was a magnificent gentleman down stairs, whom 
 she did not know, and who had given her his 
 card. Madame Desaubiers upon reading the 
 name on the card trembled and became so pale 
 that Mariette exclaimed : 
 
 " Madame is ill ! " 
 
 " No," she replied, with a quivering of the lips 
 that bore but faint resemblance to a smile, " it is 
 nothing but surprise." 
 
 But it was something more than surprise, it 
 
2i8 Expiation. 
 
 was terror as well. " Count Volonzoff ! " And 
 he was there, in her house ! What purpose could 
 have brought him there ? It was no doubt to 
 reproach her for having brought shame and 
 trouble to his house by her romantic imprudence 
 and seeming duplicity. A single sentence of 
 Bernard had caused her the greatest perplexity : 
 
 " The Count knows all ! " What answer could 
 she make to his reproaches ? What justification 
 had she against what was, to all appearances, a 
 base conspiracy ; against what was, under what- 
 ever light it might be regarded, a wrong against 
 
 him? for nothing could have given her 
 
 any right to impose on the father the presence 
 of a son whom he had disowned. She could not 
 rid herself of her responsibility by shifting it 
 over upon blind destiny ; our will was given us 
 that we might counteract, when necessary, the 
 decrees of fate. What use had she made of her's ? 
 
 These reflections distressed Madame Desau- 
 biers horribly, and at the same time overmastered 
 the joy which she would otherwise have felt in 
 beholding a face that for many a long year she 
 had ceased to consider as being among the liv- 
 ing. His every feature was engraved upon her 
 heart, illuminated by that ideal halo which sur- 
 
Expiation. 219 
 
 rounds everything that has been long past and 
 gone. And now, alas ! they were at last about 
 to meet again, changed, no doubt, both of 
 them, in more ways than one. His first words 
 to her would be words of bitterness, and she, 
 upon whom he had once looked with admiration 
 and esteem, was to appear before him as an ac- 
 cused person ! With faltering steps Madame 
 Desaubiers descended the stairs that led to the 
 drawing-room. When she reached the vestibule 
 she hesitated again and stopped with her hand 
 upon the door-knob. A sound which struck her 
 ear tended to reassure her ; it was Rose's voice; 
 then she heard the tones of another voice which 
 recalled the happiest days of her life, those rest- 
 ful, well-filled evenings, when M. Volonzoff used 
 to come and knock at that same door, putting 
 behind him the great world for which a sincere 
 attachment had for the time being inspired him 
 with disgust. " I have only to cross your thresh- 
 old," he was wont to say, " to feel that I am in 
 the refreshing shade of your calmness and your 
 goodness, my whole being penetrated by a de- 
 licious sense of repose, like the devotee in his 
 temple." Reassured at last by the remembrance 
 of her old-time power over him, and by the 
 
220 Expiation, 
 
 thought that there was a third party present, she 
 entered the room. 
 
 M. Volonzoff had taken the place by the chim- 
 ney that he had always preferred of old. He 
 was absently twisting a little agate chaplet around 
 his fingers, as he had invariably been wont to do 
 in those days, like most talkers, who are at a loss 
 without a plaything of some kind in their hands. 
 
 Madame Desaubiers might have thought that 
 there had never been any break in the old rou- 
 tine, so naturally did he return to it. Rose, mod- 
 est and self-possessed, was seated at a short dis- 
 tance from him, answering his questions briefly 
 and to the point. Any one who knew how to read 
 her thoughts in her eyes could easily have told 
 that she was deeply interested in what he was 
 saying, and profoundly sympathetic. When Ma- 
 dame Desaubiers appeared and the stranger ad- 
 vanced to meet her with outstretched hands, she 
 arose discreetly and would have retired, but a 
 slight gesture, which still did not escape M. Vol- 
 onzoff, stopped her. 
 
 *' In your absence, I have taken the liberty of 
 presenting to Mademoiselle Aymes one of your 
 old friends, and one of the best of them, I 
 hope," said the Count. "I am not mistaken in 
 
Expiation, 
 
 221 
 
 supposing this to be Mademoiselle Aym^s, am 
 I ? I should have known her, I think, even if I 
 had not seen a certain miniature, which leaves 
 me no room for doubt." He looked with inter- 
 est toward the young girl, who was visibly 
 moved at the mention of the love-token which 
 she had formerly given Bernard. " You did 
 well in not allowing her to leave the room ; for 
 we shall need her concurrence in a plan which 
 I propose to lay before you presently." 
 
 The situation could never be difficult in the 
 presence of a man like the Count. His readi- 
 ness and his perfect ease of manner, if they 
 were unavailing to restore to Madame D^sau- 
 biers the faculty of speech, at least rendered 
 it easier for her to breathe and raise her 
 eyes. 
 
 It was he ; there could be no doubt as to his 
 identity. The only change that the lapse of 
 years had brought to him was to bring out 
 more strongly his resemblance to certain por- 
 traits of Van Dyck and Velasquez, in which the 
 haughty cavaliers seemed to have gained rather 
 than to have lost by their being no longer young, 
 thanks to their noble bearing, to their dignified 
 carriage, and the strength and power clearly mani- 
 
222 Expiation. 
 
 fested beneath their elegant forms. Madame D^s- 
 aubiers glanced rapidly at the mirror that 
 faced her ; a woman is none the less a woman 
 for her being a saint. As she looked, her fine 
 features lighted up with something of their youth- 
 ful beauty under the touching, wistful look that 
 her eyes expressed. He, too, could look back 
 into his thoughts and find her unchanged from 
 his memories of her. Their conversation was 
 serious and restrained on either side, but through 
 it all there vibrated a note of deep affection. It 
 is generally believed that love can be trans- 
 formed to friendship at will. This is not the 
 case when a worn-out love is in question, or 
 when by love is meant that form of passion 
 which is just as violent and just as selfish as 
 hate. When the ups and downs of life bring 
 together again two persons who have once been 
 lovers, either absolute indifference, bitter hatred, 
 or some painful emotion, whether it be regret 
 or whether it be remorse, must be the feelings 
 that lie beneath those ashes that are partly ex- 
 tinguished, or else grown wholly cold ; while on 
 the other hand friendship is always the end and 
 reward of a courageous struggle against an 
 inclination which has been overcome, and the 
 
Expiation, 223 
 
 thought of which therefore carries with it no 
 feeling of shame. 
 
 In view, however, of the delicate circum- 
 stances in which they were placed, there could 
 not be entire unconstraint between them. Neither 
 of them spoke of Bernard. Nevertheless they 
 talked freely on every subject, and particularly 
 on that which was of such distressing interest 
 in those terrible days. The war and the ap- 
 proaching siege afforded them an inexhaustible 
 topic. 
 
 " And what do you intend to do ? " M. Volon- 
 zoff finally asked. *' You cannot stay here, in a 
 country place like this, and wait for the Prussians 
 to come. It is not a safe place for two women." 
 
 " It is my intention," replied Madame Desau- 
 biers, "to go into Paris before they close the 
 gates. There will be the sick and wounded to 
 take care of. Every woman has a duty plain be- 
 fore her." 
 
 M. Volonzoff tried ineffectually to persuade 
 her to seek refuge in the provinces or abroad. 
 Would she not come to Switzerland? He was 
 wholly at her orders. 
 
 " You might as well try to make a soldier de- 
 sert on the day of battle," said she, shaking her 
 
224 Expiation. 
 
 head with the smile which he very well knew de- 
 noted an unchangeable resolution. 
 
 " And is Mademoiselle Rose to go with you ? 
 Young and delicate as she is ? " 
 
 " Oh ! " said Rose impetuously, " there is 
 nothing that I am not ready to undertake, nothing 
 that I cannot go through, now ! " 
 
 ** Now ? " the Count repeated. 
 
 " Yes," Madame Desaubiers explained, " hap- 
 piness makes us fearless, and after having en- 
 dured much suffering, Rose is happy now." 
 
 The young girl's eyes sank under M. Volon- 
 zoff's penetrating look. 
 
 " Our strength," said he, after a moment's 
 pause, " is not alwciys equal to our courage." 
 
 " A1.1S ! " replied Madame Desaubiers, " I have 
 thought of that. She is nervous and impres- 
 sionable, and her recent trials have nearly broken 
 her down. No doubt she will suffer greatly from 
 the privations that must be expected in a city in 
 a state of siege." 
 
 " I shall suffer in good company, and there 
 will be plenty of it," said Rose unconcernedly. 
 
 *' You would soon be one of Madame Desau- 
 biers' sick folks," said the Count, "and you 
 would only be a care and hindrance to her. As 
 
Expiation. 225 
 
 I have been intrusted with the care of looking 
 after you, Mademoiselle (possibly you may not 
 be aware of it), I cannot give my consent to any 
 such rash proceeding Do you feel inclined 
 toward deeds of charity ? Let me tell you of 
 one which will take you away from Paris. There 
 is a poor friendless, sick boy, who needs 
 some one to console him in his grief for the 
 loss of his only friend, of whom this wretched 
 war has bereft him." 
 
 " Your son?" ventured Rose. " Oh ! I know 
 him very well already, and I love him ! " 
 
 *' And he needs your love. You may be as- 
 sured that nowhere could your tenderness and 
 goodness find a better object for their employ- 
 ment." 
 
 Rose was silent ; she seemed to hear Bernard's 
 voice appealing to her to say yes. 
 
 "Well ! what is your answer ?" urged M. Vo- 
 lonzoff. " I will take good care of you on the 
 trip down there, you will have a place of safety 
 in which to await the cessation of the storm, and 
 afterward, if you require it, you shall have your 
 freedom again. You will have done a good 
 deed, and will have carried out," he added with 
 marked emphasis, " the heart-felt desire of one 
 
2 26 Expiation. 
 
 who is fondly attached to you and who is now 
 far away." 
 
 Rose requested time for reflection and con- 
 sultation ; alleging this as her reason, she left 
 the room as the Count was saying to Madame 
 D^saubiers : 
 
 " And now, let us talk about him ! " 
 
 The ice was broken and any preliminary ex- 
 planation was unnecessary ; she understood what 
 he wanted, and they talked at length of the past. 
 She told him everything, from the day when she 
 had received the abandoned child, standing by 
 the bedside of his dying mother, and how the 
 boy had grown up under her wing without her 
 ever having detected in him a single impulse 
 that was otherwise than good and noble. 
 
 The Count listened eagerly, as if he would 
 have put back the clock of time and regained 
 that which he had lost ; he made minute inqui- 
 ries, and seemed to understand by intuition any- 
 thing that was omitted from the narrative, so that 
 Madame Desaubiers stopped more than once to 
 say : " Why, you know him as well as I know 
 him myself." 
 
 It was a delightful hour that, stolen from the 
 cares and troubles of the present. However 
 
Expiation. 227 
 
 slight the ties which united them, they still had 
 that interest in common which sanctifies love and 
 makes it eternal, a child whom each could love 
 and to whom each had equal claim, for Madame 
 Desaubiers had been a mother to him in the high- 
 est sense of the word ; she had developed his 
 soul and formed his understanding. " Our child," 
 she would say when mentioning Bernard, with 
 an ingenuousness that an honest woman can dis- 
 play, even when her hair is gray, without making 
 herself ridiculous. But the Count, with great 
 tenderness, would reply : 
 
 "He is yours, yours only ; for you gnve him 
 your care during his childhood, and whatever he 
 is, you have made him." 
 
 " Ah ! " said she, " I should have been faith- 
 less to m.y trust, if I had failed to teach him, 
 above everything else, his duty toward you. 
 
 "Duty — tome? He owes me no duty," said 
 M. Volonzoff, " since I have neglected mine. If 
 I could only hear him say that he does not hate 
 me, that he can make some allowance for my 
 neglect of him ! He is gone to risk his life, and 
 I shall lose him at the very moment when he was 
 restored to me ; it is only what I have deserved." 
 
 " May God preserve him ! " was Madame De- 
 
2 28 Expiation, 
 
 saubiers' fervent prayer. "But consider, we 
 must place our firm belief in that kmgdom where 
 whatever is obscure shall be made clear, and 
 where those shall be reunited who have been 
 separated by earthly accidents." 
 
 The Count sighed and shook his head. He 
 was wanting in that great virtue of Faith, 
 which carries with it its own reward, by afford- 
 ing courage and consolation to those who pos- 
 sess it. 
 
 " Well ! " said he, in reply to Madame Desau- 
 biers* heaven-ward glance, " intercede for me 
 with your God, who is about to condemn me, 
 so nearly an old man, to bitter solitude ! If He 
 can read all our thoughts, as you believe. He 
 should pity me, for truly I am more wretched 
 than you can imagine, more than I care to tell, 
 wounded as I am at once in my pride, in my af- 
 fection, in my honor. I have nothing left, noth- 
 ing, nothing." 
 
 " Ah, poor friend ! if you could but pray ! " 
 He made a gesture of impatience. " But you 
 will come to it yet," said she. 
 
 When alone with Rose after this conversation, 
 Madame Desaubiers strongly urged her not to 
 reject the offer which had been made her. 
 
Expiation. 229 
 
 The young girl hesitated. " What, and meet 
 that woman ! Perhaps live in the same house 
 with her ! " 
 
 ** There can be nothing to distress you, or 
 even embarrass you, in any hospitality which M. 
 Volonzoff may offer," confidently replied the 
 older woman. '' I do not fully understand what 
 he is aiming at, but you may be sure that you 
 can trust in his good faith and incur no risk in 
 doing it." 
 
 ** He said that Bernard would approve of my 
 going." Rose thoughtfully remarked. 
 
 Their deliberations ended in their assenting to 
 \he plan. 
 
230 Expiation. 
 
 XV. 
 
 EVERAL months have passed. Ber- 
 nard has returned, as he promised 
 he would, but even Rose would have 
 found it difficult to recognize him in the emaci- 
 ated, swarthy, sad-faced man who stepped briskly 
 ashore at Villeneuve one stormy evening from 
 the Geneva boat. The worthy citizens who had 
 been his travelling companions in the sail across 
 the lake had whispered to each other : " He is a 
 French officer ! " They had seen that same ex- 
 pression on so many other faces that they had 
 come to know it well. He gave them no opportu- 
 nity, however, of entering into conversation; en- 
 grossed in his thoughts, Bernard stood leaning 
 against the bridge, communing with the lake, on 
 whose dark surface he seemed to read a heart- 
 rending and heroic story, his country's and his 
 own. The threatening West is red with the 
 blood and fire of war. The black clouds passing 
 
Expiation, 231 
 
 with wild, quick flight over the rising waves are 
 the devastating hordes of the invader. The 
 great mirror shows him every one of the tragic 
 episodes in which he has played his part. He 
 sees the regiment to which he belonged sent to 
 the front before the men had learned the manual; 
 he sees prodigies of individual bravery achieved 
 without result, for lack of that military educa- 
 tion which produces discipline. He was a 
 hero in those days, as who indeed was not ! 
 While the old army, the only army in fact, was 
 held captive in Germany, the new troops, hastily 
 levied, without arms, ammunition or clothing, 
 stood and took their inevitable defeats. 
 
 The food was insufficient; the fatigue of forced 
 marches, the cold winter nights passed shelter- 
 less in the snow, the disease that is engendered 
 by such misery, cost more lives than did even 
 shot and shell. Bernard had experienced all 
 these sufferings, cold, hunger, want ; and what 
 was bitterer yet, he had felt the rage and despair 
 of surviving a disgrace that was worse than all 
 else combined. Himself sorely wounded, he was 
 forced to witness, sorrowfully and impotently, 
 the death-struggle of France, and lying on his hos- 
 pital cot, from which he prayed that he might 
 
232 Expiation. 
 
 never rise again, the dreadful sentence: — "It is 
 all over! " — sounded in his ear. It rings there yet 
 in the depths of his heart, like a funeral knell, but 
 at the same time he hears a low and supplica- 
 ting voice, Dima's voice, urging him to hurry — 
 and he fears to be too late. And so at last he 
 steps on shore. 
 
 It is a brilliant season at the lake, and the 
 hotels are filled with tourists ; from all the pro- 
 jecting balconies that adorn the front of the hotels 
 and boarding houses comes the sound of con- 
 versation in every language of Europe ; now and 
 then the notes of the inevitable piano burst out 
 and summon the English girls to more exercise : 
 they climb all day and dance all night : others 
 are walking by the lake-side, trying to find a 
 breath of fresh air, for it has been very warm 
 all day ; red and white wraps flit to and fro in 
 the twilight, and the sound of stifled laughter indi- 
 cates that flirtation is brisker when carried on 
 in the open air than in the drawing-room. A 
 belated excursion party makes its way down the 
 rocks of Naye by the winding pathway of Re- 
 courbes. Bernard has to stand aside and wait to 
 let it pass ; there is a lively clatter of cracking 
 whips, jingling bells, female cries and shrieks, and 
 
Expiation, 233 
 
 guides calling to their mules ; he looks with 
 amused impatience, dashed with a little contempt, 
 upon the scatter-brained party that is so easily- 
 amused. But down yonder, nestling among a 
 clump of larches, which rear their heads like 
 funeral hangings under the lead-colored light of 
 the storm, more like a child's toy in its fantas- 
 tic outlines, is the Chalet from which he went 
 forth a while ago, full of martial ardor, to answer 
 the summons of the cannon which he seems to 
 hear again to-day in the thunder reverberating 
 among the mountains. How mournful and sul- 
 len it sounds ! And the rain, which now begins 
 to fall in slow drops, seems to him like tears. 
 
 Catherine, Dima's old nurse, is sitting before 
 the door. Bernard's fears oppress him : "There 
 is nothing wrong ? " he asks. 
 
 She shakes her head and points to a dog that 
 lies stretched out at her feet, sleeping with his 
 muzzle on his paws : " He has whined all day, 
 and that is a bad omen," says she. *' Our little 
 dove is going to take his flight. Oh ! my God ! 
 that he should be called away before me ! " 
 
 She arises with what alacrity her great age 
 permits and shows Bernard into the vestibule. 
 As he puts foot in it, he hears these words pain- 
 
234 Expiation, 
 
 fully articulated from an adjoining room : " I 
 know his step ! " 
 
 Dima had been placed in this great room so 
 that he might breathe more easily, and also that 
 he might watch for the coming of his friend 
 and be the first to welcome him. " I want to 
 speak to him before any one else does,"' he 
 keeps repeating, under the returning influence 
 of his old time jealousy. 
 
 There is not a breath of air stirring, and the 
 windows are opened wide to admit the invigor- 
 ating odor of the fir-trees ; still only a dim light 
 falls upon the objects, animate and inanimate, in 
 the room. Bernard imperfectly distinguishes 
 M. Volonzoff, the doctor from Geneva, and a 
 woman whom he does not dare to look at closely. 
 She is using her fan to create a current of cooler 
 air around the sick boy. At his approach they 
 all draw back from the bed. 
 
 "It is he !" cries Dima, raising himself upon 
 his elbow, and a hectic flush appears upon his 
 cheeks. Bernard runs straight to the bed and 
 wraps the wasted little form in his arms ; he 
 feels his short, labored breath upon his cheek. 
 " You have come at last ! I told you that I 
 would wait for you ! " 
 
Expiation, 235 
 
 They hold each other in a long embrace, then 
 Bernard releases himself with all the gentleness 
 at his command, and replaces the pale face, 
 illuminated by an ecstatic smile, back upon its 
 pillow. A lamp is brought in, which serves to 
 disclose this smile, and also shows only too 
 plainly the ravages of the disease. 
 
 Bernard gives a start and trembles at the 
 sound of a female voice close beside him : " Do 
 not fatigue him too much." It is Rose, whom 
 he liad mistaken for the Countess in the uncer- 
 tain evening light. 
 
 " What ! you here, Rose ? " 
 
 " She has tried her best to fill your place," 
 says the child, summoning up his remaining 
 energy to make the pretty speech. 
 
 "Do you not think," said the Count, coming 
 forward, " that Mademoiselle Aym^s was better 
 here than she could have been anywhere else? I 
 thought that I knew what you wanted, and I 
 acted accordingly. While you were away, we 
 cheered ourselves by hoping that we might greet 
 your return by more than one pleasant surprise, 
 but a stronger will than ours has decreed other- 
 wise." The Count's voice failed him as he 
 uttered these words. 
 
236 Expiation. 
 
 " Why do you talk like that ? " Dima inter- 
 rupted : '* I do not wish that things should be 
 different, and Mademoiselle Aymes, too, is satis- 
 fied. She has been very good to me ! We talked 
 a great deal about you, Bernard ; I could not 
 have got along without her, and she must stay 
 here always, although I shall not need any one's 
 assistance much longer ; but you are here ! " 
 
 " You are talking too much," says the doctor, 
 and a spasm which convulses his patient shows 
 that he is right. 
 
 In the profound silence which now reigns, 
 nothing is heard but the ticking of the clock 
 and the echoes of the retreating storm. Bernard 
 presses his lips to Rose's hand and casts a look 
 of thanks toward M. Volonzoff ; his heart is full 
 to overflowing, but death, hovering about them 
 and filling the room with his solemn, threathen- 
 ing presence, checks any expression of his grati- 
 tude or his love. 
 
 Dima is the first to speak : " How many 
 things you must have to tell me ! and I too have 
 a great deal to say to you. It seems as if there 
 will never be time enough." 
 
 " I will sit up with you to-night, if you would 
 like to have me." 
 
Expiation. 2$y 
 
 " Oh ! yes ! I should like so much to have 
 you all to myself ! " 
 
 As every wish of Dima's is a command, they 
 are left alone together. As soon as the door is 
 closed, he says to Bernard : " Raise me a little ; 
 I do not breathe easily." Bernard draws him to 
 himself and places his head upon his shoulder, 
 where he appears to rest contentedly. 
 
 " How beautiful the stars are ! " the child 
 sighs, turning his great eyes toward the dark- 
 ness which is becoming more and more impene- 
 trable ; no doubt his vision penetrates it and is 
 conscious of things beyond, "And that music, 
 too ! Listen ! " The storm had passed away, 
 and the rippling melody of the waterfall is dis- 
 tinctly audible, and from time to time there 
 comes to them on the night air another sound 
 of harmony, pure and liquid as the falling 
 waters. " It is mamma's voice," continues Dima 
 joyfully ; " it is so long since 1 have heard it ! 
 I did not tell them so," he said, pointing to the 
 door with his trembling finger, " but I feel that I 
 am going to meet mamma." 
 
 Can this be delirium ? Bernard trembles 
 from head to foot as he asks : "Is she here ? " 
 
 "You know that she is not. The angels have 
 
238 Expiation, 
 
 taken her away. Hush ! Papa has only spoken 
 of her to me once since I parted from her at 
 Sestri ; then he told me that I would never see 
 her again. I cried a great deal, but now that I 
 have seen you again, there is nothing to keep me 
 from going to meet her. If you could only 
 come too ! Shall I have to wait for you long ? " 
 He lets his heavy head decline upon the shoul- 
 der where it has been pillowed so many times, 
 and shuts his eyes. Bernard forgets him for the 
 moment. His thouglits are with Annette, who is 
 no more. Can it be ? Is it possible that nothing 
 remains of that dazzling beauty, of all those 
 dangerous charms ? Can that form, so young, 
 so overflowing with life, have become food for 
 worms ? He tries to picture to himself the end 
 of such a woman : Annette in sickness, Annette 
 gradually wasting away beneath her sufferings. 
 But no ! his imagination quickly turns and 
 dwells upon another, the most dreadful of all 
 pictures that can be conceived : suicide, the log- 
 ical consequence of ill-directed passions, the 
 last refuge for lives without principle and with- 
 out faith, for violence and weakness. With all 
 sense of responsibility gone, so to speak, so suc- 
 cessful had she been in stifling conscience ; de- 
 
Expiation. 239 
 
 ceived and led astray by her idle fancies ; with 
 no firm anchorage ground, and her desire of 
 pleasure unsatiated, although she saw its futil- 
 ity ; she must at last have reached the abyss that 
 yawns for us in our weariness and despair, and 
 have seen no other way of putting an end to the 
 evils that she had brought upon herself. Had 
 she not said to him more than once : " The 
 drama of life, to be interesting, should not be too 
 long. I have reached the last act of mine, and 
 I want it to touch the audience. Cleopatra's asp, 
 or Phaedra's poison, would have no terrors for 
 me at a pinch." Probably she was not in earnest, 
 but she had always been accustomed to treat the 
 most serious affairs lightly. 
 
 Thus under the influence of spectre-breeding 
 night, and still more, tortured by the remorseful 
 feeling that he might have been for something in 
 the inception of this crime, the idea of suicide, that 
 had gratuitously presented itself to Bernard's im- 
 agination, assumes the proportions of a dreadful 
 reality. Scarcely conscious of what he does or 
 says, he sits on the edge of Dima's bed and me- 
 chanically sustains the child. " Wretch ! " he 
 says, addressing himself, " you have considered 
 only your own repose, your own conscience ! 
 
240 Expiation. 
 
 What you called virtue was only selfishness 
 and cruel obduracy. She loved you, and her 
 blood is on your hands just as much as if you 
 had struck her with a knife and slain her." 
 
 He had fled from her without looking back ; 
 were she alive, perhaps, he would have hated 
 her, but dead, she has become holy in his eyes. 
 Bernard will not learn the whole disgusting truth 
 for some time yet. Annette, seeing no better 
 course for herself, and thirsting to be i;^venged 
 on her husband, had prevailed on M. de Fossom- 
 brone to run away with her. The severity of the 
 Russian laws against crimes like hers having es- 
 tranged her from her family and put a barrier 
 between her and society, she pitched her tents in 
 the east in company with her lover, who had al- 
 ready begun to feel the embarrassment of so 
 great a happiness. 
 
 It is far better for Dima that he should think 
 he is motherless. But what a night it is for 
 Bernard, alone, save for the company of his hor- 
 rible illusion and the child, already motionless 
 as if he were in his coffin ! Only once again 
 during the long night does he open his eyes, 
 calling his friend by name : 
 
 " Do you believe what Catherine says, that I 
 
Expiation, 241 
 
 shall have wings up there ? Only think, wings !" 
 repeats the poor helpless creature, with a yearn- 
 ing for space and liberty that causes his frame 
 to thrill. It was the last word he spoke, and 
 when M. Volonzoff comes to relieve Bernard at 
 daybreak, Dima seems to be sleeping peacefully. 
 
 Bernard had gone to his room and thrown him- 
 self on the bed that had been made ready for 
 him, but he cannot sleep. There seems to be a 
 mysterious presence in the room, something that 
 floats about him and surrounds him, something 
 like a loving little spirit, that has followed him 
 there and lingers, unwilling to say farewell ; it 
 seems to him that Dima is at his side and whis- 
 pers in his ear. It may be so. The sun has 
 hardly risen when old Catherine, her rigid feat- 
 ures contracted in the solemnity and holiness of 
 her grief, enters his room : " Come ! " 
 
 Rose, her tears falling freely, is waiting for 
 him ; she puts her arms around his neck. It is 
 the Heaven-appointed mission of woman to as- 
 suage our sufferings with the balm of their pity 
 and the sweet consoling tenderness of their love. 
 Rose gives him her first kiss in coramiseratioaof 
 his bereavement ; had he felt his loss less keenly 
 he would not have received it then. 
 
242 Expiation. 
 
 " Let us not lament over his deliverance," she 
 says ; "his sufferings are ended, he passed away 
 without awakening." 
 
 Morning, with its odorous freshness and its 
 indescribable harmonies, enters the room be- 
 tween the parted curtains, and fills it with floods 
 of light. Are these crystalline vibrations which 
 fill the blue transparent atmosphere of heaven or 
 of earth ? Where does earth end ? Where does 
 heaven begin ? Everything is pervaded by light 
 and gladness. The burning bush of scripture 
 blazes on every mountain side ; the majestic, 
 towering summits are seen dimly through a 
 golden mist which rises from the bosom of the 
 sparkling lake that lies beneath, unruffled by a 
 wave. Never was there a more resplendent 
 glimpse into eternity and the infinite vouchsafed 
 to mortal vision ; the glory of it is too great for 
 the eye of man ; yet the glory, and the blessed- 
 ness, and the beauty which are immortal, are still 
 more faithfully depicted on the transfigured line- 
 aments of him who so short a while ago was 
 Dima. The sun wreathes his forehead with a 
 saintly aureok, the wounded bird has found his 
 
Expiation. 243 
 
 wings, he is victorious over life. M. Volonzoff 
 has at last bent the knee before the avenging 
 God whose presence he recognizes by the side of 
 this bed of death. He seems to be listening for 
 something rather than praying, there, with his 
 face covered by his hands. 
 
 " What could have been the reason of sum- 
 moning him to earth, where he has suffered 
 so ? " he asks himself. " What was it appointed 
 that he should do, except suffer and endure? 
 Is there such a thing as justice ? " 
 
 And a voice that he had never heard before 
 answers : 
 
 " He was a stainless victim ; it was appointed 
 that he should yield his life in loving and ex- 
 piating, that he should bring together those who 
 were separated and should be united, that he 
 should fill the place of another until the time 
 should come to yield it up." 
 
 The father understands ; he will obey. Slow- 
 ly he turns toward Bernard, who has moved 
 back a little, influenced by his grief for the 
 dead and his respect for the living : he has met 
 death on the battle-field in its most fearful forms, 
 but never has he been affected like this, even 
 when he had seen the arrow pointed at himself. 
 
244 Expiation. 
 
 M. Volonzoff signs to him to come forward : 
 "We^will submit," he says, endeavoring to 
 restrain the sobs by which, spite of his efforts, 
 his form continues to be shaken. " It was 
 Diraa who brought you to me, Dima adjures 
 you to pardon me my son ! " 
 
 FINIS. 
 
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