UNIVERSITY OP 
 CALIFORNIA 
 SAN DIEGO
 
 BALZAC'S NOVELS. 
 
 Translated by Miss K. P. Wormeley. 
 
 Already Publiahed: 
 PÈRE GORIOT. 
 DUCHESSE DE LANGEAIS. 
 RISE AND FALL OF CÉSAR BIROTTEAU. 
 EUGÉNIE GRANDET. 
 COUSIN PONS. 
 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 
 THE TMTO BROTHERS. 
 
 THE ALKAHEST (La Recherche de l'Absolu). 
 MODESTE MIGNON. 
 
 THE MAGIC SKIN (La Peau de Chagrin). 
 COUSIN BETTE. 
 LOUIS LAMBERT. 
 BUREAUCRACY (Les Employés). 
 SERAPHITA. 
 
 SONS OP THE SOIL (Les Paysans). 
 FAME AND SORROW (Chat-qui-pelote). 
 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 
 URSULA. 
 
 AN HISTORICAL MYSTERY. 
 ALBERT SAVARUS. 
 BALZAC : A MEMOIR. 
 PIERRETTE. 
 THE CHOUANS. 
 LOST ILLUSIONS. 
 A GREAT MAN OP THE PROVINCES IN 
 
 PARIS. 
 THE BROTHERHOOD OF CONSOLATION. 
 THE VILLAGE RECTOR. 
 MEMOIRS OF TWO YOUNG MARRIED 
 
 WOMEN. 
 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI. 
 LUCIEN DE RUBEMPRÉ. 
 
 FERRAGUS, CHIEF OP THE DÉVORANTS. 
 A START IN LIFE. 
 THE MARRIAGE CONTRACT. 
 BEATRIX. 
 
 DAUGHTER OP EVE. 
 THE GALLERY OF ANTIQUITIES. 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, Boston.
 
 HONORÉ DE BALZAC 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 KATHARINE PRESCOTT WORMELEY 
 
 URSULA 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS 
 
 3 SOMERSET STREET 
 
 BOSTON 
 1896
 
 Copyright, 1891, 
 By Roberts Brothers. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 ®nt6etaitg Ipress: 
 John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. The Frightened Heiks 2 
 
 IL The Rich Uncle 21 
 
 III. The Doctor's Friends 39 
 
 IV. ZÉLIE 57 
 
 V. Ursula 74 
 
 VI. A Treatise on Mesmerism .... 90 
 
 VII. A Two-Fold Conversion Ill 
 
 VIII. The Conference 123 
 
 IX. A First Confidence 137 
 
 X. The Family of Portenduère . . . 153 
 
 XL Savinien Saved 169 
 
 XII. Obstacles to Young Love .... 191 
 
 XIII. Betrothal of Hearts 205 
 
 XIV. Ursula again Orphaned .... 227 
 XV. The Doctor's Will 240 
 
 XVI. The Two Adversaries 261 
 
 XVII. The Malignity of Provincial 
 
 Minds 273 
 
 XVIII. A Two-Fold Vengeance 293 
 
 XIX. Apparitions 311 
 
 XX. Remorse 333 
 
 XXI. Showing how Difficult it is to 
 Steal that which seems very 
 
 EASILY Stolen 344
 
 URSULA. 
 
 To Mademoiselle Sophie Sdrville : 
 
 It is a true pleasure, my clear niece, to dedicate to 
 you this book, the subject and details of which have 
 won the approbation, so difficult to win, of a 3'oung 
 girl to whom the world is still unknown, and who has 
 compromised with none of the loft}' principles of a 
 saintl}' education. Young girls are indeed a formida- 
 ble public, for the}' ought not to be allowed to read 
 books less pure than the purity of their souls ; they 
 are forbidden certain reading, just as the}' are carefully 
 prevented from seeing social life as it is. Must it not 
 therefore be a source of pride to a writer to find that 
 he has pleased you."* 
 
 God grant that your affection for me has not misled 
 
 you. Who can tell ? — the future ; which you, I hope, 
 
 will see, though not, perhaps. 
 
 Your uncle, 
 
 De Balzac.
 
 Ursula. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE FRIGHTENED HEIRS. 
 
 Entering Nemours by the road to Paris, we cross 
 the canal du Loing, the steep banks of which serve the 
 double purpose of ramparts to the fields and of pictur- 
 esque promenades for the inhabitants of that pretty 
 little town. Since 1830 several houses have unfor- 
 tunately been built on the farther side of the bridge. 
 If this sort of suburb increases, the place will lose its 
 present aspect of gi'aceful originality. 
 
 In 1829, however, both sides of the road were clear, 
 and the master of the post route, a tall, stout man about 
 sixty 3'ears of age, sitting one fine autumn morning at 
 the highest part of the bridge, could take in at a glance 
 the whole of what is called in his business a " ruban de 
 queue." The month of September was displaying its 
 treasures ; the atmosphere glowed above the grass and 
 tlie pebbles ; no cloud dimmed the blue of the sky, the 
 purity of which in all parts, even close to the horizon, 
 showed the extreme rarefaction of the air. So Minoret- 
 Levrault (for that was the post master's name) was 
 obliged to shade his ej'es with one hand to keep them 
 from being dazzled. With the air of a man who
 
 Ursula. 3 
 
 was tired of waiting, he looked first to the charming 
 n:>'iadows which lay to the right of the road where the 
 aftei'math was springing up, then to the hill-slopes 
 covered with copses which extend, on the left, from 
 Nemours to Bouron. He could hear in the valley of 
 the Loing, where the sounds on the road were echoed 
 back from the hills, the trot of his own horses and 
 the crack of his postilion's whip. 
 
 None but a post master could feel impatient within 
 sight of such meadows, filled with cattle worthy of Paul 
 Potter and glowing beneath a Raffaelle sk}', and beside 
 a canal shaded with trees after Hobbema. Whoever 
 knows Nemours knows that nature is there as beautiful 
 as art, whose mission it is to spiritualize it ; there, the 
 landscape has ideas and creates thought. But, on catch- 
 ing sight of Minoret-Levrault an artist would veiy likely 
 have left the view to sketch the man, so original was 
 his in his native commonness. Unite in a human being 
 all the conditions of the brute and ^'ou have a Caliban, 
 who is certainly a great thing. AYherever form rules, 
 sentiment disappears. The post master, a living proof 
 of that axiom, presented a physiognomy in which an 
 observer could with difficulty trace, beneath the vivid 
 carnation of its coarsely developed flesh, the semblance 
 of a soul. His cap of blue cloth, with a small peak, 
 and sides fluted like a melon, outlined a head of vast 
 dimensions, showing that Gall's science has not yet
 
 4 Ursula. 
 
 produced its chapter of exceptions. The gray and 
 rather shiny hair which appeared below the cap showed 
 that other causes than mental toil or grief had whitened 
 it. Large ears stood out from the head, their edges 
 scarred with the eruptions of his over-abundant blood, 
 which seemed ready to gush at the least exertion. His 
 skin was crimson under an outside layer of brown, due 
 to the habit of standing in the sun. The roving gray 
 eyes, deep-sunken, and hidden by bushy black brows, 
 were like those of the Kalmucks who entered France in 
 1815 ; if they ever sparkled it was onl}- under the in- 
 fluence of a covetous thought. His broad pug nose 
 was flattened at the base. Thick lips, in keeping with 
 a repulsive double chin, the beard of which, rarel}' 
 cleaned more than once a week, was encircled with a 
 dirt}^ silk handkerchief twisted to a cord ; a short 
 neck, rolling in fat, and heavy cheeks completed the 
 characteristics of brute force which sculptors give to 
 their caryatides. Minoret-Levrault was like those 
 statues, with this difference, that whereas they sup- 
 port an edifice, he had more than he could well do to 
 support himself. You will meet manj^ such Atlases 
 in the world. The man's torso was a block ; it was 
 like that of a bull standing on his hind-legs. His vig- 
 orous arms ended in a pair of thick, hard hands, broad 
 and strong and well able to handle whip, reins, and 
 pitchfork ; hands which his postilions never attempted
 
 Ursula. 5 
 
 to trifle with. The enormous stomach of this giant 
 rested on thighs which were as large as the body of an 
 ordinary adult, and feet like those of an elephant. 
 Anger was a rare thing with him, but it was terrible, 
 apoplectic, when it did burst forth. Though violent 
 and quite incapable of reflection, the man had never 
 done anything that justified the sinister suggestions 
 of his bodily presence. To all those who felt afraid 
 of hira his postilions would reply, "Oh ! he's not bad." 
 
 The master of Nemours, to use the common abbrevia- 
 tion of the country, wore a velveteen shooting-jacket 
 of bottle-green, trousers of green linen with green 
 stripes, and an ample yellow waistcoat of goat's skin, 
 in the pocket of which might be discerned the round 
 outline of a monstrous snuff-box. A snuflT-box to a 
 pug nose is a law without exception. 
 
 A son of the Revolution and a spectator of the 
 Empire, Minoret-Levrault did not meddle with poli- 
 tics ; as to his religious opinions, he had never set foot 
 in a church except to be married ; as to his private 
 principles, he kept them within the civil code ; all that 
 the law did not forbid or could not prevent he consid- 
 ered right. He never read anything but the journal of 
 the department of the Seine-et-Oise, and a few printed 
 instructions relating to his business. He was consid- 
 ered a clever agriculturist ; but his knowledge was only 
 practical. In him the moral being did not belie the
 
 6 Ursula. 
 
 physical. He seldom spoke, and before speaking he 
 always took a pinch of snuff to give himself time, not 
 to find ideas, but words. If he had been a talker j-ou 
 would have felt that he was out of keeping with him- 
 self. Reflecting that this elephant minus a trumpet 
 and without a mind was called Minoret-Levrault, we 
 are compelled to agree with Sterne as to the occult 
 power of names, which sometimes ridicule and some- 
 times foretell characters. 
 
 In spite of his visible incapacity he had acquired 
 during the last thirtA'-six 3'ears (the Revolution helping 
 him) an income of thirt}' thousand francs, derived from 
 farm lands, woods and meadows. If Minoret, being 
 master of the coach-lines of Nemours and those of the 
 Gâtinais to Paris, still worked at his business, it was 
 less from habit than for the sake of an onlj- son, to 
 whom he was anxious to give a fine career. This son, 
 who was now (to use an expression of the peasantry) 
 a monsieur, had just completed his legal studies and 
 was about to take his degree as licentiate, preparatory 
 to being called to the bar. Monsieur and Madame 
 Minoret-Levrault — for behind our colossus everj' one 
 will perceive a woman without whom this signal good- 
 fortune would have been impossible — left their son free 
 to choose liis own career ; he might be a notary in 
 Paris, king's-attorney in some district, collector of 
 customs no matter where, broker, or post master, as
 
 Ursula. 7 
 
 he pleased. "What fancy of his could they ever refuse 
 hiiu ? to what position in life might he not aspire as the 
 son of a man about whom the whole countryside, from 
 Montargis to Essonne, was in the habit of saying, 
 " Père Minoret does n't even know how rich he is "? 
 
 This sa^'ing had obtained fresh force about four j-ears 
 before this history begins, when Minoret, after selling 
 his inn, built stables and a splendid dwelling, and re- 
 moved the post-house from the Grand' Rue to the wharf. 
 The new establishment cost two hundred thousand 
 francs, which the gossip of thirty miles in circum- 
 ference more than doubled. The Nemours mail- 
 coach service requires a large number of horses. It 
 goes to Fontainebleau on the road to Paris, and from 
 there diverges to Montargis and also to Montereau. 
 The relays are long, and the sandy soil of the Montargis 
 road calls for the mythical third horse, alwaj's paid for 
 and never seen. A man of Minoret's build, and Min- 
 oret's wealth, at the head of such an establishment 
 might well be called, without contradiction, the master 
 of Nemours. Though he never thought of God or devil, 
 being a practical materialist, just as he was a practical 
 agriculturist, a practical egoist, and a practical miser, 
 Minoret had enjoyed up to this time a life of unmixed 
 happiness, — if we can call pure materialism happiness. 
 A physiologist, observing the rolls of flesh which covered 
 the last vertebrae and pressed upon the giant's cerebellum,
 
 8 Ursula. 
 
 and, above all, hearing the shrill, sharp voice which 
 contrasted so absurdly with his huge bod}', would have 
 understood why this ponderous, coarse being adored his 
 only son, and why he had so long expected him, — a 
 fact proved by the name, Desire, which was given to the 
 child. 
 
 The mother, whom the boy fortunately resembled, 
 rivalled the father in spoiling him. No child could long 
 have resisted the effects of such idolatry. As soon as 
 Desire knew the extent of his power he milked his 
 mother's coffer and dipped into his father's purse, mak- 
 ing each author of his being believe that he, or she, 
 alone was petitioned. Desire, who played a part in 
 Nemours far beyond that of a prince ro3'al in his father's 
 capital, chose to gratify his fancies in Paris just as he 
 had gratified them in his native town ; he had therefore 
 spent a yearly sum of not less than twelve thousand 
 francs during the time of his legal studies. But for that 
 money he had certainly acquired ideas that never would 
 have come to him in Nemours ; he had stripped off the 
 provincial skin, learned the power of mone}' and seen 
 in the magistracy a means of advancement which he 
 fancied. During the last j-ear he had spent an extra 
 sum of ten thousand francs in the company' of artists, 
 journalists, and their mistresses. A confidential and 
 rather disquieting letter from his son, asking for his 
 consent to a marriage, explains the watch which the
 
 Ursula. 9 
 
 post master was now keeping on the bridge ; for Madame 
 Minoret-Levrault, busy in preparing a sumptuous break- 
 fast to celebrate the triumphal return of the licentiate, 
 had sent her husband to the mail road, advising him to 
 take a horse and ride out if he saw nothing of the dili- 
 gence. The coach which was conveying the precious 
 son usually arrived at five in the morning, and it was 
 now nine ! What could be the meaning of such delay ? 
 Was the coach overturned? Could Desire be dead? 
 Or was it nothing worse than a broken leg ? 
 
 Three distinct volle3's of cracking whips rent the air 
 like a discharge of musketrj" ; the red waistcoats of the 
 postilions dawned in sight, ten horses neighed. The 
 master pulled off his cap and waA'ed it ; he was seen. 
 The best mounted postilion, who was returning with two 
 gray carriage-liorses, set spurs to his beast and came on 
 in advance of the five stout diligence horses and the 
 three other cai-riage-horses, and soon reached his master. 
 
 " Have 3'ou seen the ' Dueler ' ? " 
 
 On the great mail routes names, often fantastic, are 
 given to the different coaches ; such, for instance, as 
 the "Gaillard," the "Dueler" (the coach between 
 Nemours and Paris), the "Grand Bureau." Every 
 new enterprise is called the " Competition." In the 
 days of the Lecompte company their coaches were called 
 the " Countess." — " ' Caillard ' could not overtake the 
 'Countess'; but ' Grand Bureau ' caught up with her
 
 10 Ursula. 
 
 finely," 3"OU will hear the men saj'. If you see a postil- 
 ion pressing his horses and refusing a glass of wine, 
 question the conductor and he will tell you, snuffing the 
 air while his eye gazes far into space, " The ' Competi- 
 tion ' is ahead." — "We can't get in sight of her," cries 
 the postilion ; " the vixen ! she would n't stop to let her 
 passengers dine." — " The question is, has she got 
 an}' ? " responds the conductor. " Give it to Polignac ! " 
 All laz}' and bad horses are called Polignac. Such are 
 the jokes and the basis of conversation between postil- 
 ions and conductors on the roofs of the coaches. Each 
 profession, each calling in France has its slang. 
 
 " Have 3'ou seen the ' Dueler ' ? " asked Minoret. 
 
 " Monsieur Desire ? " said the postilion, interrupting his 
 master. " He}" ! you must have heard us, did n't our whips 
 tell you? we felt 30U were somewhere along the road." 
 
 " Wh}' is the diligence four hours late?" 
 
 " The tire of one of the rear wheels got loose between 
 Essonne and Ponthierry. But there was no accident ; 
 luckil}', CabiroUe saw what had happened in time." 
 
 Just then a woman dressed in her Sunday clothes, — for 
 the bells were pealing from the clock tower and calling 
 the inhabitants to mass, — a woman about thirt^^-six 
 years of age came up to the post master. 
 
 "Well, cousin," she said, " 3'ou wouldn't believe 
 me — Uncle is with Ursula in the Grand'Rue, and 
 the}' are going to mass."
 
 Ursula. 11 
 
 In spite of the modern poetic canons as to local 
 color, it is quite impossible to push realism so far as 
 to repeat the horrible blasphemy mingled with oaths 
 which this news, apparently so unexciting, brought 
 from the huge mouth of Minoret-Levrault ; his shrill 
 voice grew sibilant, and his face took on the appear- 
 ance of what people oddl3' enough call a sunstroke. 
 
 "Is that true?" he asked, after the first explosion 
 of his wrath was over. 
 
 The postilions bowed to their master as they and 
 their horses passed him, but he seemed to neither see 
 nor hear them. Instead of waiting for his son, Minoret- 
 Levrault hurried up the Grand'Rue with his cousin. 
 
 "Didn't I always tell you so?" she resumed. 
 " When Doctor Minoret goes out of his head that 
 demure little hypocrite will drag him into religion ; 
 whoever la3S hold of the mind gets hold of the purse, 
 and she '11 have our inheritance." 
 
 ' ' But, Madame Massin — " said the post master, 
 dumbfounded. 
 
 "There new!" exclaimed Madame Massin, inter- 
 rupting her cousin. " You are going to sa}-, just as 
 Massin does, that a little girl of fifteen can't invent 
 such plans and carr}' them out, or make an old man 
 of eight}'- three, who has never set foot in a church 
 except to be married, change his opinions, — now 
 don't tell me he has such a horror of priests that he
 
 12 Ursula. 
 
 would n't even go with the girl to the parish church 
 when she made her first communion. I 'd like to know 
 why, if Doctor Minoret hates priests, he has spent 
 nearly every evening for the last fifteen years of his 
 life with the Abbé Chaperon. The old hypocrite never 
 fails to give Ursula twenty francs for wax tapers every 
 time she takes the sacrament. Have 30U forgotten 
 the gift Ursula made to the church in gratitude to the 
 curé for preparing her for her first communion ? She 
 spent all her money on it, and her godfather returned 
 it to her doubled. You men ! j'ou don't pay attention 
 to things. When I heard that, I said to mj'self, 
 ' Farewell baskets, the vintage is done ! ' A rich 
 uncle does n't behave that wa}' to a little brat picked 
 up in the streets without some good reason." 
 
 " Pooh, cousin ; I dare saj* the goodman is only 
 taking her to the door of the church," replied the post 
 master. " It is a fine da^^ and he is out for a walk." 
 
 "I tell you he is holdmg a praj'er-book, and looks 
 sanctimonious — you '11 see him." 
 
 " The}- hide their game pretty well," said Minoret, 
 " La Bougival told me there was never an}' talk of 
 religion between the doctor and the abbé. Besides, 
 the abbé is one of the most honest men on the face 
 of the globe ; he 'd give the shirt oflT his back to a 
 poor man ; he is incapable of a base action, and to 
 cheat a famil}' out of their inheritance is — "
 
 Ursula. 13 
 
 "Theft," said Madame Massin. 
 
 " Worse ! " cried Minoret-Levrault, exasperated by 
 the tongue of his gossipping neighbor. 
 
 " Of course I know," said Madame Massin, " that 
 the Abbé Chaperon is an honest man ; but he is 
 capable of anything for the sake of his poor. He 
 must have mined and undermined uncle, and the old 
 man has just tumbled into piety. We did nothing, 
 and here he is perverted ! A man who never be- 
 lieved in anything, and had principles of his own ! 
 Well ! we 're done for. My husband is absolutely 
 beside himself." 
 
 Madame Massin, whose sentences were so many 
 arrows stinging her fat cousin, made him walk as 
 fast as herself, in spite of his obesity and to the great 
 astonishment of the church-goers, who were on their 
 way to mass. She was determined to overtake this 
 uncle and show him to the postmaster. 
 
 Nemours is commanded on the Gâtinais side by a 
 hill, at the foot of which runs the road to Montargis 
 and the Loing. The church, on the stones of which 
 time has cast a rich discolored mantle (it was re- 
 built in the fourteenth century by the Guises, for 
 whom Nemours was raised to a peerage-duch^-), stands 
 at the end of the little town close to a great arch 
 which frames it. For buildings, as for men, position 
 docs everything. Shaded by a few trees, and thrown
 
 14 Ursula. 
 
 into relief by a neatly kept square, this solitary church 
 produces a really grandiose effect. As the post master 
 of Nemours entered the open space, he beheld his 
 uncle with the young girl called Ursula on his ai-m, 
 both carrying prayer-books and just entering the 
 church. The old man took off his hat in the porch, 
 and his head, which was white as a hill-top covered 
 with snow, shone among the shadows of the portal. 
 
 "Well, Minoret, what do you say to the conversion 
 of your uncle?" cried the tax-collector of Nemours, 
 named Crémière. 
 
 "What do 3'ou expect me to say?" replied the post 
 master, offering him a pinch of snuff. 
 
 " Well answered, Père Levrault. You can't say 
 what 3'ou think, if it is true, as an illustrious author 
 says it is, that a man must think his words befoi^e he 
 speaks his thought," cried a 3'oung man standing near, 
 who played the part of Mephistopheles in the little 
 town. 
 
 This ill-conditioned youth, named Goupil, was head 
 clei'k to Monsieur Crémière-Dionis, the Nemours no- 
 tary. Notwithstanding a past conduct that was almost 
 debauched, Dionis had taken Goupil into his office 
 when a career in Paris — where the clerk had wasted 
 all the money he inherited from his father, a well-to-do 
 farmer, who educated him fora notary — was brought 
 to a close by his absolute pauperism. The mere sight
 
 Ursula. 15 
 
 of Goupil told an observer that he had made haste 
 to enjo}^ life, and had paid dear for his enjoyments. 
 Though ver}' short, his chest and shoulders were de- 
 veloped at' twenty-seven years of age like those of a 
 man of fort}'. Legs small and weak, and a broad 
 face, with a cloudy complexion like the sky before a 
 storm, surmounted b}' a bald forehead, brought out 
 still further tlie oddity of his conformation. His face 
 seemed as though it belonged to a hunchback whose 
 hunch was inside of him. One singularité' of that 
 pale and sour visage confirmed the impression of an 
 invisible gibbositj' ; the nose, crooked and out of 
 shape like those of many deformed persons, turned 
 from right to left of the face instead of dividing it 
 down the middle. The mouth, contracted at the cor- 
 ners, like that of a Sardinian, was alwa^'s on the 
 qui vive of iron}-. His hair, thin and reddish, fell 
 straight, and showed the skull in many places. His 
 hands, coarse and ill-joined at the wrists to arms 
 that were far too long, were quick-fingered and seldom 
 clean. Goupil wore boots onl}- fit for the dust- heap, 
 and raw silk stockings now of a russet black ; his coat 
 and trousers, all black, and threadbare and greasy 
 with dirt, his pitiful waistcoat with half the button- 
 moulds gone, an old silk handkerchief which served 
 as a cravat — in short, all his clothing revealed the 
 C3"nical poverty to which his passions had reduced
 
 16 Ursula. 
 
 him. This combination of disreputable signs was 
 guarded by a pair of eyes with yellow circles round 
 the pupils, like those of a goat, both lascivious and 
 cowardly. No one in Nemours was more feared nor, 
 in a wa3', more deferred to than Goupil. Strong in 
 the claims made for him by his very ugliness, he 
 had the odious style of wit peculiar to men who allow 
 themselves all license, and he used it to gratify the 
 bitterness of his life-long envy. He wrote the satirical 
 couplets sung during the carnival, organized charivaris, 
 and was himself a "little journal" of the gossip of 
 the town. Dionis, who was clever and insincere, and 
 for that reason timid, kept Goupil as much through 
 fear as for his keen mind and thorough knowledge of 
 all the interests of the town. But the master so dis- 
 trusted his clerk that he himself kept the accounts, 
 refused to let him live in his house, held him at arm's 
 length, and never confided any secret or delicate affair 
 to his keeping. In return the clerk fawned upon 
 the notary, hiding his resentment at this conduct, and 
 watching Madame Dionis in the hope that he might 
 get his revenge there. Gifted with a ready mind and 
 quick comprehension he found work eas}'. 
 
 "You ! " exclaimed the post master to the clerk, who 
 stood rubbing his hands, " making game of our mis- 
 fortunes already'?" 
 
 As Goupil was known to have pandered to Dionis'
 
 Ursula. 17 
 
 passions for the last five years, the post master treated 
 him cavalierly, without suspecting the hoard of ill-feel- 
 ings he was piling up in Goupil's heart with every 
 fresh insult. The clerk, convinced that money was 
 more necessary to him than it was to others, and know- 
 ing himself superior in mind to the whole bourgeoisie 
 of Nemours, was now counting on his intimacy with 
 Minoret's son Desire to obtain the means of buying one 
 or other of three town offices, — that of clerk of the 
 court, or the legal practice of one of the sheriffs, or 
 that of Dionis himself. For this reason he put up 
 with the affronts of the post master and the contempt of 
 Madame Minoret-Levrault, and plaj-ed a contemptible 
 part towards Desire, consoling the fair victims whom 
 that youth left behind him after each vacation, — de- 
 vouring the crumbs of the loaves he had kneaded. 
 
 " If I were the nephew of a rich old fellow, he never 
 would have given God to me for a co-heir," retorted 
 Goupil, with a hideous grin which exhibited his teeth — 
 few, black, and menacing. 
 
 Just then Massin-Levrault, junior, the clerk of the 
 court, joined his wife, bringing with him Madame Cré- 
 mière, the wife of the tax-collector of Nemours. This 
 man, one of the hardest natures of the little town, had 
 the physical characteristics of a Tartar : ej'es small and 
 round as sloes beneath a retreating brow, crimped hair, 
 an oily skin, huge ears without any rim, a mouth 
 
 2
 
 18 Ursula. 
 
 almost without lips, and a scanty beard. He spoke 
 like a man who was losing his voice. To exhibit him 
 thoroughly it is enough to say that he employed his 
 wife and eldest daughter to serve his legal notices. 
 
 Madame Crémière was a stout woman, with a fair 
 complexion injured by red blotches, always too tightl}'- 
 laced, intimate with Madame Dionis, and supposed to 
 be educated because she read novels. Full of preten- 
 sions to wit and elegance, she was awaiting her uncle's 
 money to " take a certain stand," decorate her salon, 
 and receive the bourgeoisie. At present her husband 
 denied her Carcel lamps, lithographs, and all the other 
 trifles the notar^^'s wife possessed. She was excessively 
 afraid of Goupil, who caught up and retailed her ' ' slap- 
 suslinquies " as she called them. One day Madame 
 Dionis chanced to ask what " Eau" she thought best for 
 the teeth. 
 
 "Tr}' opium," she replied. 
 
 Nearly all the collateral heirs of old Doctor Minoret 
 were now assembled in the square ; the importance of 
 the event which brought them was so generally felt that 
 even groups of peasants, armed with their scarlet 
 umbrellas and dressed in those brilliant colors which 
 make them so picturesque on Sunday's and fête-da3"s, 
 stood b}-, with their eyes fixed on the frightened heirs. 
 In all little towns which are midway between large vil- 
 lages and cities those who do not go to mass stand
 
 Ursula. 19 
 
 about in the square or market-place. Business is talked 
 over. In Nemours the hour of church service was a 
 weekl}' exchange, to which the owners of propert}' scat- 
 tered over a radius of some miles resorted. 
 
 " "Well, how would you have prevented it?" said the 
 post master to Goupil in repl}' to his remark. 
 
 "I should have made m^'self as important to him as 
 the air he bi'eathes. But from the ver}- first 30U failed 
 to get hold of him. The inheritance of a rich uncle 
 should be watched as carefully as a pretty woman — for 
 want of proper care they'll both escape 3-ou. If Ma- 
 dame Dionis were here she could tell yon how true that 
 comparison is." 
 
 " But Monsieur Bongi-and has just told me there is 
 nothing to worry about," said Massin. 
 
 " Oh ! there are plenty of wa3s of saying that ! " 
 cried Goupil, laughing. " I would like to have heard 
 your si}' justice of the peace say it. If there is nothing 
 to be done, if he, being intimate with ^our uncle, knows 
 that all is lost, the proper thing for him to sa\' to you 
 is, 'Don't be worried.'" 
 
 As Goupil spoke, a satirical smile overspread his face, 
 and gave such meaning to his words that the other heirs 
 began to feel that Massin had let Bongrand deceive him. 
 The tax-collector, a fat little man, as insignificant as a 
 tax-collector should be, and as mucli of a cipher as a 
 clever woman could wish, hereupon annihilated his
 
 20 Ursula. 
 
 co-heir, Massin, with the words: — "Did n't I tell 
 3'ou so ? " 
 
 Trick}' people alwaj'S attribute trickiness to others. 
 Massin therefore looked askance at Monsieur Bongrand, 
 the justice of peace, who was at that moment talking 
 near the door of the church with the Marquis du Rouvre, 
 a former client. 
 
 " If I were sure of it ! " he said. 
 
 "You could neutralize the protection he is now giv- 
 ing to the Marquis du Rouvre, who is threatened with 
 arrest. Don't j'ou see how Bongrand is sprinkling him 
 with advice ? " said Goupil, slipping an idea of retalia- 
 tion into Massin's mind. " But 3'ou had better go easy 
 with your chief ; he 's a clever old fellow ; he might use 
 his influence with your uncle and persuade him not to 
 leave everything to the church." 
 
 "Pooh! we sha'n't die of it," said Minoret-Levrault, 
 opening his enormous snuflT-box. 
 
 "You won't live of it, either," said Goupil, making 
 the two women tremble. More quick-witted than their 
 husbands, the}' saw the privations this loss of inherit- 
 ance (so long counted on for man}' comforts) would be 
 to them. " However," added Goupil, "we'll drown 
 this little grief in floods of champagne in honor of 
 Desire — sha'n't we, old fellow? " he cried, tapping the 
 stomach of the giant, and inviting himself to the feast 
 for fear he should be left out.
 
 Ursula. 21 
 
 II. 
 
 THE RICH UNCLE. 
 
 Before proceeding further, persons of an exact tilm 
 of mind may like to read a species of family inventor}-, 
 so as to understand the degrees of relationship which 
 connected the old man thus suddenly converted to 
 religion with these three heads of families or their 
 wives. This cross-breeding of families in the remote 
 provinces might be made the subject of many instruc- 
 tive reflections. 
 
 There are but three or four houses of the lesser 
 nobility in Nemours ; among them, at the period of 
 which we write, that of the family of Portenduere was 
 the most important. These exclusives visited none 
 but nobles who possessed lands or châteaus in the 
 neighborhood ; of the latter we may mention the 
 d'Aiglemonts, owners of the beautiful estate of Saint- 
 Lange, and the Marquis du Rouvre, whose property, 
 crippled by mortgages, was closely watched b}' the 
 bourgeoisie. The nobles of the town had no money. 
 Madame de Portenduère's sole possessions were a 
 farm which brought a rental of fortj'-seven hundred 
 francs, and her town house.
 
 22 Ursula. 
 
 In opposition to this very insignificant Faubourg 
 St. Germain was a group of a dozen rich families, 
 those of retired millers, or former merchants ; in short 
 a miniature bourgeoisie ; below which, again, lived and 
 moved the retail shopkeepers, the proletaries and the 
 peasantry. The bourgeoisie presented (like that of 
 the Swiss cantons and of other small countries) the 
 curious spectacle of the ramifications of certain autoch- 
 thonous families, old-fashioned and unpolished perhaps, 
 but who rule a whole region and pervade it, until nearly 
 all its inhabitants are cousins. Under Louis XI,, an 
 epoch at which the commons first made real names of 
 their surnames (some of which are united with those of 
 feudalism) the bourgeoisie of Nemours was made up of 
 Minorets, Massins, Levraults and Crémières. Under 
 Louis XIII. these four families had already produced 
 the Massin-Crémières, the Levrault-Massins, the Mas- 
 sin-Minorets, the Minore t-Minorets, the Crémière- 
 Levraults, the Levrault-Minoret-Massins, Massin-Lev- 
 raults, Minoret-Massins, Massin-Massins, and Crémière- 
 Massins, — all these varied with juniors and diversified 
 with the names of eldest sons, as for instance, Crémière- 
 François, Le vrault- Jacques, Jean-Minoret — enough to 
 drive a Père Anselme of the People frantic, — if the 
 people should ever want a genealogist. 
 
 The variations of this family kaleidoscope of four 
 branches was now so complicated by births and mar-
 
 Ursula. 23 
 
 liages that the genealogical tree of the bourgeoisie of 
 Nemours would have puzzled the bénédictines of the 
 Almanach of Gotha, in spite of the atomic science with 
 which they arrange those zigzags of German alliances. 
 For a long time the Minorets occupied the tanneries, 
 the Crémières kept the mills, the Massins were in trade, 
 and the Levraults continued farmers. Fortunately for 
 the neighborhood these four stocks threw out suckers 
 instead of depending only on their tap-roots ; the}' 
 scattered cuttings by the expatriation of sons who 
 sought their fortune elsewhere ; for instance, there are 
 Minorets who are cutlers at Melun ; Levraults at Mon- 
 targis ; Massins at Orléans ; and Crémières of some 
 importance in Paris. Divers are the destinies of these 
 bees from the parent hive. Rich Massins employ, 
 of course, the poor working Massins — just as Austria 
 and Prussia take the German princes into their service. 
 It may happen that a public office Is managed by a 
 Minoret millionnaire and guarded by a Minoret sen- 
 tinel. Full of the same blood and called b}' the same 
 name (for sole likeness), these four roots had cease- 
 lessly woven a human network of which each thread 
 was delicate or strong, fine or coarse, as the case might 
 be. The same blood was in the head and in the feet 
 and in the heart, in the working hands, in the weakly 
 lungs, in the forehead big with genius. 
 
 The chiefs of the clan were faithful to the little town,
 
 24 Ursula. 
 
 where the ties of family were relaxed or tightened 
 according to the events which happened under this 
 curious cognomenism. In whatever part of France you 
 may be, you will find the same thing under changed 
 names, but without the poetic charm which feudalism 
 gave to it, and which Walter Scott's genius reproduced 
 so faithfully. Let us look a little higher and examine 
 humanity as it appears in histor3^ All the noble fami- 
 lies of the eleventh centurj', most of them (except the 
 royal race of Capet) extinct to-day, will be found to 
 have contributed to the birth of the Rohans, Mont- 
 morencj's, Beauffremonts, and Mortemarts of our time, 
 — in fact they will all be found in the blood of the last 
 gentleman who is indeed a gentleman. In other words, 
 every bourgeois is cousin to a bourgeois, and every 
 noble is cousin to a noble. A splendid page of biblical 
 genealogy shows that in one thousand years three fami- 
 lies, Shem, Ham, and Japhet, peopled the globe. One 
 family may become a nation ; unfortunatelj^ a nation 
 may become one family. To prove this we need oxAy 
 search back through our ancestors and see their accumu- 
 lation, which time increases in a retrograde geometric 
 progression, which multiplies of itself ; reminding us of 
 the calculation of the wise man who, being told to choose 
 a reward from the king of Persia for inventing chess, 
 asked for one ear of wheat for the first move on the 
 board, the reward to be doubled for each succeeding
 
 Ursula. 25 
 
 move ; when it was found that the kingdom was not 
 large enough to pay it. The net-work of the nobiUt}-, 
 hemmed in by the net- work of the bourgeoisie, — the 
 antagonism of two protected races, one protected by 
 fixed institutions, the other by the active patience of 
 labor and the shrewdness of commerce, — produced 
 the revolution of 1789. The two races almost reunited 
 are to-day face to face with collaterals without a heri- 
 tage. What are they to do? Our political future is 
 big with the answer. 
 
 The family of the man who under Louis XV. was 
 simply called Minoret was so numerous that one of 
 the five children (the Minoret whose entrance into the 
 parish church caused such interest) went to Paris to 
 seek his fortune, and seldom returned to his native 
 town, until he came to receive his share of the inheri- 
 tance of his grandfather. After suffering many things, 
 like all young men of firm will who struggle for a place 
 in the brilliant world of Paris, this sou of the Minorets 
 reached a nobler destiny than he had, perhaps, dreamed 
 of at the start. He devoted himself, in the first in- 
 stance, to medicine, a profession which demands both 
 talent and a cheerful nature, but the latter qualification 
 even more than talent. Backed b}' Dupont de Nemours, 
 connected by a luckj- chance with the Abbé Morellet 
 (whom Voltaire nicknamed Mords-les), and protected by 
 the Enc^'clopedists, Doctor Minoret attached himself as
 
 26 Ursula. 
 
 liegeman to the famous Doctor Bordeu, the friend of 
 Diderot, D'Alembert, Ilelvetius, the Baron d'Holbach 
 and Grimm, in whose presence he felt himself a mere 
 bo}^ These men, influenced b}' Borden's example, 
 became interested in Minoret, who, about the year 
 1777, found himself with a very good practice among 
 deists, encyclopedists, sensualists, materialists, or what- 
 ever you are pleased to call the rich philosophers of 
 that period. 
 
 Though Minoret was very little of a humbug, he in- 
 vented the famous balm of Leliovre, so much extolled 
 by the " Mercure de France," the weekly organ of the 
 Enc3'clopedists, in whose columns it was permanently 
 advertised. The apothecary Lelievre, a clever man, 
 saw a stroke of business where Minoret had only seen 
 a new preparation for the dispensar}-, and he loj^ally 
 shared his profits with the doctor, who was a pupil of 
 Rouelle in chemistry as well as of Bordeu in medicine. 
 Less than that would make a man a materialist. 
 
 The doctor married for love in 1778, during the reign 
 of the " Nouvelle Héloise," when persons did occasion- 
 ally marr}' for that reason. His wife was a daughter of 
 the famous harpsichordist Valentin Mirouët, a celebrated 
 musician, frail and delicate, whom the Revolution slew. 
 Minoret knew Robespierre intimately, for he had once 
 been instrumental in awarding him a gold medal for a 
 dissertation on the following subject: "What is the
 
 Ursula. 27 
 
 origin of the opinion that covers a whole famil}' with 
 the shame attaching to the public punishment of a 
 guilt}' member of it? Is that opinion more harmful 
 than useful? If yes, in what way can the harm be 
 warded off." The Royal Academ\^ of Arts and Sci- 
 ences at Metz, to which Minoret belonged, must possess 
 this dissertation in the original. Though, thanks to this 
 friendship, the Doctor's wife need have had no fear, she 
 was so in dread of going to the scaffold that her terror 
 increased a disposition to heart disease caused by the 
 over-sensitiveness of her nature. In spite of all the 
 precautions taken b}' the man who idolized her, Ursula 
 unfortunatel}' met the tumbril of victims among whom 
 was Madame Roland, and the shock caused her death. 
 Minoret, who in tenderness to his wife had refused her 
 notliing, and had given her a life of luxur}-, found him- 
 self after her death almost a poor man. Robespierre 
 gave him an appointment as surgeon-in-charge of a 
 hospital. 
 
 Though the name of Minoret obtained during the 
 livclv debates to which mesmerism gave rise a certain 
 celebrit}' which occasionalh' recalled him to the minds 
 of his relatives, still the Revolution was so great a 
 destroyer of family relations that in 1813 Nemours 
 knew little of Doctor Minoret, who was induced to 
 think of returning there to die, like the hare to its form, 
 b}' a circumstance that was wholl}' accidental.
 
 28 Ursula. 
 
 Who has not felt in travelling through France, where 
 the eye is often wearied by the monoton}' of plains, the 
 charming sensation of coining suddenly, when the eye 
 is prepared for a barren landscape, upon a fresh cool 
 vallc}', watered b}' a river, with a little town sheltering 
 beneath a cliff like a swarm of bees in the hollow of 
 an old willow? Wakened b}' the " hu ! hu ! " of the 
 postilion as he walks beside his horses, we shake off 
 sleep and admire, like a dream within a dream, the 
 beautiful scene which is to the traveller what a noble 
 passage in a book is to a reader, — a brilliant thought 
 of Nature. Such is the sensation caused b}- a first 
 sight of Nemours as we approach it from Burgundy. 
 We see it encircled with bare rocks, gra}', black, white, 
 fantastic in shape like those we find in the forest of 
 Fontainebleau ; from them spring scattered trees, 
 clearlj' defined agaiust the sky, which give to this 
 particular rock formation the dilapidated look of a 
 crumbling wall. Here ends the long wooded hill 
 which creci)s from Nemours to Bouron, skirting the 
 road. At the bottom of this irregular amphitheatre 
 lie meadow-lands through which flows the Loing, form- 
 ing sheets of water with man}' falls. This delightful 
 landscape, which continues the whole wixy to Montargis, 
 is like an opera scene, for its eflTects reall}' seem to have 
 been studied. 
 
 One morning Doctor Minoret, who had been sum-
 
 Ursula. 2^ 
 
 moned into Burgundy by a rich patient, was returning 
 in all haste to Paris. Not having mentioned at the 
 last relay the route he intended to take, he was brought 
 without his knowledge through Nemours, and beheld 
 once more, on waking from a nap, the scenery in which 
 his childhood had been passed. He had lately lost 
 many of his old friends. The votary of the Encyclo- 
 pedists had witnessed the conversion of La Harpe ; 
 he had buried Lebrun-Pindare and Marie-Joseph de 
 Chénier, and Morellet, and Madame Helvetius. He 
 assisted at the quasi-fall of Voltaire when assailed 
 by Geoffroy, the continuator of Frcron. For some 
 time past he had thought of retiring, and so, when 
 his post chaise stopped at the head of the Grand' 
 Rue of Nemours, his heart prompted him to inquire 
 for his family. Minore t-Levrault, the post master, 
 came forward himself to see the doctor, who discov- 
 ered him to be the son of his eldest brother. The 
 nephew presented the doctor to his wife, the only 
 daughter of the late Levrault-Crémière, who had died 
 twelve 3'ears earlier, leaving him the post business and 
 the finest inn in Nemours. 
 
 "Well, nephew," said the doctor, "have I any 
 other relatives ? " 
 
 " My aunt Minoret, your sister, married a Massin- 
 Massin — " 
 
 "• Yes, I know, the bailiff of Saint-Lange."
 
 30 Ursula. 
 
 " She died a widow leaving an only daughter, who 
 has lately married a Crémière-Crémière, a fine 3'oung 
 fellow, still without a place." 
 
 "Ah! she is my own niece. Now, as my brother, 
 the sailor, died a bachelor, and Captain Minoret was 
 killed at Monte-Legino, and here am I, that ends the 
 paternal line. Have I any relations on the maternal 
 side? My mother was a Jean-Massin-Levrault." 
 
 "•Of the Jean-Massin-Levraults there's only one 
 left," answered Minoret-Levrault, "namely, Jean-Mas- 
 sin, who married Monsieur Crémière-Levrault-Dionis, 
 a purveyor of forage, who perished on tlie scaffold. 
 His wife died of despair and without a penny, leaving 
 one daughter, married to a Levrault-Minoret, a farmer 
 at Montereau, who is doing well ; their daughter has 
 just married a Massin-Levrault, notary's clerk at Mon- 
 targis, wliere his father is a locksmith." 
 
 "So I've plent}' of heirs," said the doctor gayly, 
 immediatel}' proposing to take a walk through Nemours 
 accompanied by his nephew. 
 
 The Loing runs tlirough the town in a wavnig 
 line, banked b}' terraced gardens and neat houses, the 
 aspect of which makes one fancy that happiness must 
 abide there sooner tlian elsewhere. When the doctor 
 turned into the Rue des Bourgeois, Minoret-Levrault 
 pointed out the property of LevraulL-Levrault, a rich 
 iron merchant in Paris wlio, he said, had just died.
 
 Ursula. 31 
 
 " The pince is for sale, nncle, and a veiy prett}' 
 house it is ; there 's a charming garden running down 
 to tlic river." 
 
 " Let us go in," said the doctor, seeing, at the 
 farther end of a small paA^ed courtyard, a house stand- 
 ing between the walls of the two neighboring bouses 
 which were masked by clumps of trees and climbing- 
 plants. 
 
 "■ It is built over a cellar," said the doctor, going up 
 the steps of a high portico adorned with vases of blue 
 and white pottery in which geraniums were growing. 
 
 Cut in two, like the majorit}- of provincial houses, 
 by a long passage which led from the courtyard to 
 the garden, the house had only one room to the right, 
 a salon lighted b}' four windows, two on the courtyard 
 and two on the garden ; but Levrault-Levrault had 
 used one of these windows to make an entrance to 
 a long greenhouse built of brick which extended from 
 the salon towards the river, ending in a horrible 
 Chinese pagoda. 
 
 "Good! by building a roof to that greenhouse 
 and laying a floor," said old Minoret, " I could put 
 ni}' books there and make a very comfortable study 
 of that extraordinary bit of architecture at the end." 
 
 On the other side of the passage, toward the garden, 
 was the dining-room, decorated in imitation of black 
 lacquer with green and gold flowers ; this was sep-
 
 32 Ursula. 
 
 arated from the kitchen by the well of the staircase. 
 Communication with the kitchen was had through a 
 Uttle pantry built behind the staircase, the kitchen 
 itself looking into the eourtjard through windows with 
 iron railings. There were two chambers on the next 
 flooi', and above them, attic rooms sheathed in wood, 
 which were fairh' habitable. After examining the 
 house rapidly, and observing that it was covered 
 with trellises fi'om top to bottom, on the side of the 
 courtyard as well as on that to the garden, — wdiich 
 ended in a terrace overlooking the river and adorned 
 with potteiy vases, — the doctor remarked : — 
 
 " Levrault-Levrault must have spent a good deal 
 of money here." 
 
 *'Ho! I should think so," answered Minoret- 
 Levrault. " He liked flowers — nonsense! ' What do 
 the}' bring in?' sa3s my wife. You saw inside there 
 how an artist came from Paris to paint flowers iu 
 fresco in the corridor. He ]}\xi those enormous mirrors 
 everywhere. The ceilings were all re-made with cor- 
 nices which cost six francs a foot. The dining-room 
 floor is in marquetiT — perfect folh' ! The house won't 
 sell for a penny the more." 
 
 "Well, nephew, buy it for me; let me know what 
 you do about it ; here 's m}- address. The rest I 
 leave to my notary. Who lives opposite?" he asked, 
 as thov left the house.
 
 Ursula. 33 
 
 " Emigrés," answered the post master, " named Por- 
 tend uc re." 
 
 The house once bought, the iUuslrious doctor, 
 instead of living there, wrote to his nephew to let 
 it. The Folie-Levrault was therefore occupied bj the 
 notary of Nemours, who about that time sold his 
 practice to Dionis, his liead-clerk, and died two years 
 later, leaving the house on the doctor's hands, just 
 at the time when the fate of Napoleon was being 
 decided in the neigliborhood. The doctor's heirs, at 
 first misled, had by this time decided tliat his thought 
 of returning to his native place was merely' a rich 
 man's fancj', and that probably he had some tie in 
 Paris which would keep him there and cheat them 
 of their hoped-for inheritance. However, Minoret- 
 Levrault's wife seized the occasion to write him a 
 letter. The old man replied that as soon as peace 
 was signed, the roads cleared of soldiers, and safe 
 communication established, he meant to go and live 
 at Nemours. He did, in fact, put in an appearance 
 with two of his clients, the architect of his hos- 
 pital and an upholsterer, who took charge of the re- 
 pairs, the indoor arrangements, and the transportation 
 of the furniture. Madame Minoret-Levrault pro[)osud 
 the cook of the late notary as caretaker, and the 
 woman was accepted. 
 
 When tlie heirs heard that their uncle and great- 
 
 3
 
 34 Ursula. 
 
 uncle Minoret was really- coming to live in Nemours, 
 the}' were seized (in spite of tiie political events wliich 
 were just then weigliing so heavily on Brie and on 
 the Gatinais) with a devouring curiosit}-, which was 
 not surprising. Was he rich? Economical or spend- 
 thrift? Would he leave a fine fortune or nothing? 
 Was his property in annuities? In the end they found 
 out what follows, but only b^' taking infinite pains 
 and employing much subterraneous spying. 
 
 After the death of his wife, Ursula Mirouët, and 
 between the j-ears 1789 and 1813, the doctor (who 
 had been appointed consulting physician to the Em- 
 peror in 1805) must have made a good deal of money ; 
 but no one knew how much. He lived simply, without 
 other extravagancies than a carriage by the year and 
 a sumptuous apartment. He received no guests and 
 dined out almost ever}' da}'. His housekeeper, furious 
 at not being allowed to go with him to Nemours, told 
 Zclie Levrault, the post master's .wife, that she knew 
 the doctor had fourteen thousand francs a year on the 
 " grand-livre." Now, after twenty years' exercise of 
 a profession which his position as head of a hospital, 
 physician to the Emperor, and member of the Institute, 
 rendered lucrative, these fourteen thousand francs 
 a year showed only one hundred and sixty thousand 
 francs laid by. To have saved only eight thousand 
 francs a year the doctor must have had either many
 
 Ursula. 35 
 
 vices or many virtues to gratif)-. But neither his 
 housekeeper nor Zéhe nor an}' one else could discover 
 the reason for such moderate means. Minoret, who 
 when he left it was much regretted in the quarter of 
 Paris where he had lived, was one of the most benev- 
 olent of men, and, like Larrej-, ke[)t his kind deeds 
 a profound secret. 
 
 The heirs watched the arrival of their uncle's fine 
 furniture and large librar}- with complacency, and looked 
 forward to his own coming, he being now an ofticer of 
 the Legion of honor, and lately appointed by the king 
 a chevalier of the order of Saint-Michel — perhaps on 
 account of his retirement, which left a vacancy for some 
 favorite. But when the architect and painter and up- 
 holsterer had ari'anged everything in the most comfort- 
 able manner, the doctor did not come. Madame 
 Minoret-Levrault, who kept an ej-e on the upholsterer 
 and architect as if her own property was concerned, 
 found out, through the indiscretion of a young man sent 
 to arrange the books, that the doctor was taking care 
 of a little orphan named Ursula. The news flew like 
 wild-fire through the town. At last, however, towards 
 the middle of the month of January, 1815, the old man 
 actually arrived, installing himself quietly, almost slyly, 
 with a little girl about ten months old, and a nurse. 
 
 "The child can't be his daughter," said the terrified 
 heirs ; "he is seventy-one years old."
 
 36 Ursula. 
 
 " Whoever she is," remarked Madame Massin, 
 "she '11 give us plenty of tintouin" (a word peculiar 
 to Nemours, meaning uneasiness, anxietj-, or more lit- 
 eralh', tingling in the ears). 
 
 The doctor received his great-niece on the mother's 
 side somewhat coldl}' ; her husband had just bought the 
 place of clerk of the court, and the pair began at once 
 to tell him of their difficulties. Neither Massin nor 
 his wife were rich. Massin's father, a locksmith at 
 Montargis, had been obliged to compromise with his 
 creditors, and was now, at sixty -seven j'ears of age, 
 working like a young man, and had nothing to leave 
 behind hnn. Madame Massin's father, Levrault-Min- 
 orct, had just died at Montereau after the battle, in 
 despair at seeing his farm burned, his fields ruined, 
 his cattle slaughtered. 
 
 " We shall get nothing out of your great-uncle," said 
 Massin to his wife, now pregnant with her second child, 
 after the interview. 
 
 The doctor, however, gave them privatel}^ ten thou- 
 sand francs, with which Massin, who was a great friend 
 of the notary and of the sheriff, began the business of 
 money-lending, and carried matters so briskly with the 
 peasantry that b}^ the time of which we are now writing 
 Goupil knew him to hold at least eighty thousand frajics 
 on their property. 
 
 As to his other niece, the doctor obtained for her
 
 Ursuia. 37 
 
 husband, through his influence in Paris, the collector- 
 ship of Nemours, and became his bondsman. Though 
 Minoret-Levrault needed no assistance, Zélie, his wife, 
 being jealous of the uncle's liberality to his two nieces, 
 took her ten-year old son to see him, and talked of the 
 expense he would be to them at a school in Paris, 
 where, she said, education costs so much. The doctor 
 obtained a half-scholarship for his great-nephew at the 
 school of Louis-le-Grand, where Desire was put into the 
 fourth class. 
 
 Crémière, Massin, and Minoret-Levrault, extremely 
 common persons, were " rated without appeal " by the 
 doctor within two months of his arrival in Nemours, 
 during which time the}- courted, less their uncle than 
 his property. Persons who are led by instinct have one 
 great disadvantage against others with ideas. The}' are 
 quick!}- found out ; the suggestions of instinct are too 
 natural, too open to the eye not to be seen at a glance ; 
 whereas, the conceptions of the mind require an equal 
 amount of intellect to discover them. After buying tlie 
 gratitude of his heirs, and thus, as it were, shutting 
 their mouths, the wily doctor made a pretext of his oc- 
 cupations, his habits, and the care of the little Ursula 
 to avoid receiving his relatives without exactly closing 
 his doors to them. He lilied to dine alone ; he went to 
 bed late and he got up late ; he had returned to his 
 native place for the very purpose of finding rest in soli-
 
 88 Ursula. 
 
 tude. These whims of an old man seemed to be natural, 
 and his relatives contented themselves with paying him 
 weeklj' visits on Sundays from one to four o'clock, to 
 which, however, he tried to put a stop b}- saying : 
 " Don't come and see me unless you want something." 
 
 The doctor, while not refusing to be called in consul- 
 tation over serious cases, especially if the patients were 
 indigent, would not serve as physician in the little hos- 
 pital of Nemours, and declared that he no longer prac- 
 tised his profession. 
 
 " I 'vc killed enough people," he said, laughing, to the 
 Abbé Chaperon, who, knowing his benevolence, would 
 often get him to attend the poor. 
 
 " He's an original ! " These words, said of Doctor 
 Minoret, were the harmless revenge of various wounded 
 vanities ; for a doctor collects about him a society of 
 persons who have raanj' of the characteristics of a set 
 of heirs. Those of the bourgeoisie who thought them- 
 selves entitled to visit this distinguished physician kept 
 up a ferment of jealousy against the few privileged 
 friends whom he did admit to his intimac}', which had 
 in the long run some unfortunate results.
 
 Ursula. 39 
 
 III. 
 
 THE DOCTOR'S FRIENDS. 
 
 Curiously enough, though it explains the old pro- 
 verb that "extremes meet," the materialistic doctor 
 and the curé of Nemours were soon friends. The old 
 man loved backgammon, a favorite game of the priest- 
 hood, and the Abbé Chaperon played it with about as 
 much skill as he himself. The game was the first tie 
 between them. Then Minoret was charitable, and the 
 abbé was the Fénelon of tlie Gâtinais. Both had had 
 a wide and varied education ; the man of God was the 
 only person in all Nemours who was fully capable of 
 understanding the atheist. To be able to argue, men 
 must first understand each other. What pleasure is 
 there in saying sharp words to one who can't feel them ? 
 The doctor and the priest had far too much taste and 
 had seen too much of good society not to practice its 
 precepts ; they were thus well-fitted for the little war- 
 fare so essential to conversation. Thev' hated each 
 other's opinions, but they valued each other's character. 
 If such conflicts and such sympathies are not true 
 elements of intimacy we must surely despair of societ}', 
 , whicli, especially in France, requires some form of
 
 40 Ursula. 
 
 antagonism. It is from the shock of characters, and 
 not from the struggle of opinions, tliat antipathies are 
 generated. 
 
 The Abbé Chaperon became, therefore, the doctor's 
 chief friend. This excellent ecclesiastic, then sixty 
 3"ears of age, had been curate of Nemours ever since 
 the re-establishment of Catholic worship. Out of at- 
 tachment to his flock he had refused the vicariat of the 
 diocese. If those who were indifferent to religion 
 thought well of him for so doing, the faithful loved him 
 the more for it. So, revered b}- his sheep, respected 
 by the inhabitants at large, the abbé did good witliout 
 inquiring into the religious opinions of those he bene- 
 fited. His parsonage, with scared}' furniture enough 
 for the common needs of life, was cold and shabby, like 
 the lodging of a miser. Charity and avarice mani- 
 fest themselves in the same way ; charity lays up a 
 treasure in heaven which avarice la3s up on earth. 
 The Abbé Chaperon argued with his servant over ex- 
 penses even more shai'ply than Gobseck witli his — 
 if indeed that famous Jew kept a servant at all. Tlie 
 good priest often sold the buckles off his slioes and 
 his breeclies to give their value to some poor person 
 who appealed to him at a moment wlien he had not a 
 penny. AVhen he was seen coming out of churcli 
 with the straps of his breeches tied into the button- 
 holes, devout women would redeem the buckles from.
 
 Ursula. 41 
 
 the clock-maker and jeweller of the town and return 
 them to their pastor with a lecture. He never bought 
 himself any clothes or linen, and wore his garments 
 till they scarcely held together. His linen, thick with 
 darns, rubbed his skin like a hair shirt. Madame de 
 Portenduère, and other good souls, had an agreement 
 with his housekeeper to replace the old clolhes with 
 new ones after he went to sleep, and the abbé did not 
 always find out the difference. He ate his food off 
 pewter with iron forks and spoons. When he received 
 his assistants and sub-curates on days of high solem- 
 nity (an expense obligatorv on the heads of parishes) 
 he borrowed linen and silver from his friend the atheist. 
 
 " M3' silver is his salvation," the doctor would say. 
 
 These noble deeds, always accompanied by spiritual 
 encouragement, were done with a beautiful naïveté. 
 Such a life was all the more meritorious because the 
 abbé was possessed of an erudition that was vast and 
 varied, and of great and precious faculties. Delicacy 
 and grace, the inseparable accompannnents of simpli- 
 city, lent charm to an elocution that was worthy of a 
 prelate. His manners, his character, and his habits 
 gave to his intercourse with others the exquisite savor 
 of all that is most spiritual, most sincere in tlie human 
 mind. A lover of gayety, he was never priest in a 
 salon. Until Doctor IVÏinoret's arrival, tlie good man 
 kept his light under a bushel without regret. Owning
 
 42 Ursula. 
 
 a rather fine library and an income of two thousand 
 francs when he came to Nemours, he now possessed, in 
 1829, nothing at all, except his stipend as parish priest, 
 nearly the whole of which he gave away during the 
 year. The giver of excellent counsel in delicate mat- 
 ters or in great misfortunes, many persons who never 
 went to church to obtain consolation went to the par- 
 sonage to get advice. One little anecdote will suffice 
 to complete his portrait. Sometimes the peasants, — 
 rarely, it is true, but occasionall}-, — unprincipled men, 
 would tell him they were sued for debt, or would get 
 themselves threatened fictitioush' to stimulate the abbe's 
 benevolence. They would even deceive their wives, 
 who, believing their -chattels were threatened with an 
 execution and their cows seized, deceived in their turn 
 the poor priest with their innocent tears. He would 
 then manage with great difficulty to provide the seven 
 or eight hundred francs demanded of him — with which 
 the peasant bought himself a morsel of land. When 
 pious persons and vestrymen denounced the fraud, 
 begging the abbé to consult them in future before 
 lending himself to such cupidity, he would sa}': — 
 
 "But suppose they had done something wrong to 
 obtain their bit of land? Isn't it doing good when 
 we prevent evil? " 
 
 Some persons may wish for a sketch of this figure, 
 remarkable for the fact that science and literature had
 
 Ursula. 43 
 
 filled the heart and passed through the strong head 
 without corrupting either. At sixty 3-ears of age the 
 abbe's hair was white as snow, so keenl}' did he feel 
 the sorrows of others, and so heavily had the events of 
 the Revolution weighed on him. Twice incarcerated for 
 refusing to take the oath he had twice, as he used to 
 say, uttered his In manns. He was of medium height, 
 neither stout nor thin. His face, much wrinkled and 
 hollowed and quite colorless, attracted immediate at- 
 tention by the absolute tranquillit3' expressed in its 
 shape, and b}" the purit}' of its outline, which seemed 
 to be edged with light. The face of a chaste man has 
 an unspeakable radiance. Brown eyes with lively 
 pupils brightened the irregular features, which were 
 surmounted by a broad forehead. His glance wielded 
 a power which came of a gentleness that was not de- 
 void of strength. The arches of his brow foi-med 
 caverns shaded by huge graj* e3'ebrows which alarmed 
 no one. As most of his teeth were gone his mouth 
 had lost its shape and his cheeks had fallen in ; but 
 this physical destruction was not without charm ; even 
 the wi'inkles, full of pleasantness, seemed to smile on 
 others. Without being gouty his feet were tender ; 
 and he walked with so much difficulty that he wore 
 shoes made of calfs skin all the 3ear round. He 
 thought the fashion of trousers unsuitable for priests, 
 and he alwaj's appeared in stockings of coarse black
 
 44 Ursula. 
 
 'yarn, knit by his housekeeper, and cloth breeches. He 
 never went out in his cassoclv, but wore a brown OA'cr- 
 coat, and still retained the three-cornered hat he had 
 worn so courageous^ in times of danger. This noble 
 and beautiful old man, whose face was glorified b}^ the 
 serenity of a soul above reproach, will be found to have 
 so great an influence upon the men and things of this 
 historj', tliat it was proper to show the sources of his 
 authoi'ity and power. 
 
 Minoret took three newspapers, — one liberal, one 
 ministerial, one ultra, — a few periodicals, and certain 
 scientific journals, the accumulation of which swelled 
 his library'. The newspapers, encj'clopîedias, and books 
 were an attraction to a retired captain of the Royal- 
 Swedish regiment, named Monsieur de Jord}', a Vol- 
 tairean nobleman and an old bachelor, who lived on 
 sixteen hundred francs of pension and annuity com- 
 bined. Having read the gazettes for several da3'S, by 
 favor of the abbé. Monsieur de Jordy thought it 
 proper to call and thank the doctor in person. At 
 this first visit the old captain, formerly a professor 
 at the Mihtarj' Academy, won the doctor's heart, 
 who returned the call with alacrity. Monsieur de 
 Jordy, a spare little man much troubled by his blood, 
 though his face was very pale, attracted attention by 
 the resemblance of his handsome brow to that of 
 Charles XII. ; above it he kept his hair cropped short,
 
 Ursula. 45 
 
 like that of the soldier-king. His blue eyes seemed 
 to sa}' that " Love had passed that wa}^" so mourn- 
 ful were they ; revealing memories about whicli he kept 
 such utter silence that his old friends never detected 
 even an allusion to his past life, nor a single exclama- 
 tion drawn forth by similarity of circumstances. He 
 hid the painful mj'stery of his past beneath a phil- 
 osophic gayety, but when he thought himself alone 
 his motions, stiffened b}' a slowness which was more 
 a matter of choice than the result of old age, betrayed 
 the constant pi'esence of distressful thoughts. The 
 Abbé Chaperon called him a Christian ignorant of his 
 Christianity. Dressed always in blue cloth, his rather 
 rigid demeanor and his clothes bespoke the old habits 
 of military discipline. His sweet and harmonious voice 
 stirred the soul. His beautiful hands and the general 
 cut of his figure, recalling that of the Comte d'Artois, 
 showed how charming he must have been in his 3'outh, 
 and made the mystery of his life still more mysterious. 
 An observer asked involuntarilj' what misfortune had 
 blighted such beauty, courage, grace, accomplishment, 
 and all the precious qualities of the heart once united 
 in his person. Monsieur de Jordy shuddered if Robes- 
 pierre's name were uttered before him. He took much 
 snuff, but, strange to say, he gave up the habit to please 
 little Ursula, who at first showed a dislike to him on 
 that account. As soon as he saw the little girl the
 
 46 Ursula. 
 
 captain fastened bis e^'es upon her with a look that 
 was almost passionate. He loved her play so extrava- 
 gantl}' and took such interest in all she did that the 
 tie between himself and the doctor grew closer every 
 day, though the latter never dared to say to him, 
 " You, too, have j'ou lost children? " There are beings, 
 kind and patient as old Jord}-, who pass through life 
 with a bitter thought in their heart and a tender but 
 sorrowful smile on their lips, carrying with them to 
 the grave the secret of their lives ; letting no one guess 
 it, — through pride, through disdain, possiblj- through 
 revenge ; confiding in none but God, without other 
 consolation than his. 
 
 Monsieur de Jordy, like the doctor, had come to die 
 in Nemours, but he knew no one except the abbé, who 
 was alwaj's at the beck and call of his parishioners, 
 and Madame de Portenduère, who went to bed at nine 
 o'clock. So, much against his will, he too had taken 
 to going to bed earl}-, in spite of the thorns that beset 
 his pillow. It was therefore a great piece of good- 
 fortune for him (as well as for the doctor) when he 
 encountered a man who had known the same world and 
 spoken the same language as himself; with whom he 
 could exchange ideas, and who went to bed late. After 
 Monsieur de Jordy, the Abbé Chaperon, and Minoret 
 had passed one evening together they found so much 
 pleasure in it that the priest and soldier returned every
 
 Ursula, 47 
 
 night regularly at nine o'clock, the hour at which, little 
 Ursula having gone to bed, the doctor was free. All 
 three would then sit up till midnight or one o'clock. 
 
 After a time this trio became a quartette. Another 
 man to whom life was known, and who owed to his 
 practical training as a lawyer, the indulgence, knowl- 
 edge, observation, shrewdness, and talent for conversa- 
 tion which the soldier, doctor, and priest owed to their 
 practical dealings with the souls, diseases, and educa- 
 tion of men, was added to the number. Monsieur 
 Bongrand, the justice of peace, heard of the pleasure 
 of these evenings and sought admittance to the doctor's 
 societ}'. Before becoming justice of peace at Nemours 
 he had been for ten years a solicitor at Melun, where 
 he conducted his own cases, according to the custom of 
 small towns, where there are no barristers. He became 
 a widower at forty-five years of age, but felt himself 
 still too active to lead an idle life ; he therefore sought 
 and obtained the position of justice of peace at Ne- 
 mours, which became vacant a few months before the 
 arrival of Doctor Minoret. Monsieur Bongrand lived 
 modestly on his salary of fifteen hundred francs, in 
 order that he might devote his private income to his 
 son, who was studying law in Paris under the famous 
 Derville. He bore some resemblance to a retired chief 
 of a civil service office ; he had the peculiar face of a 
 bureaucrat, less sallow than pallid, on which public busi-
 
 48 Ursula. 
 
 ness, vexations, and disgust leave their imprint, — a face 
 lined by thought, and also by the continual restraints 
 familiar to those who are trained not to speak their 
 minds freely. It was often illumined by smiles charac- 
 teristic of men who alternatel}^ believe all and believe 
 nothing, who are accustomed to see and hear all without 
 being startled, and to fathom the abj'sses which self- 
 interest hollows in the depths of the human heart. 
 
 Below the hair, which was less white than discolored, 
 and worn flattened to the head, was a fine, sagacious 
 forehead, the yellow tones of which harmonized well with 
 the scanty tufts of thin hair. His face, with the features 
 set close together, bore some likeness to that of a fox, 
 all the more because his nose was short and pointed. 
 In speaking, he spluttered at the mouth, which was 
 broad like those of most great talkers, — a habit which 
 led Goupil to say, ill-naturedly, " An umbrella would be 
 useful when listening to him," or, " The justice rains 
 verdicts." His eyes looked keen behind his spectacles, 
 but if he took the glasses off his dulled glance seemed 
 almost vacant. Though he was naturall}' gay, even 
 jovial, he was apt to give himself too important and 
 pompous an air. He usually kept his hands in the 
 pockets of his trousers, and only took them out to 
 settle his eye-glasses on his nose, with a movement that 
 was half comic, and which announced tlio coming of a 
 keen ol)scrvation or some victorious aro-ument. His
 
 Ursula. 49 
 
 gestures, his loquacity-, his innocent self-assertion, pro- 
 claimed the provincial lawj'er. These slight defects 
 were, however, superficial ; he redeemed them by an 
 exquisite kind-heartedness which a rigid moralist might 
 call the indulgence natural to superiority. He looked a 
 little like a fox, and he was thought to be ver}- wil}', but 
 never false or dishonest. His wiliness was perspi- 
 cacity' ; and consisted in foreseeing results and pro- 
 tecting himself and others from the traps set for them. 
 He loved whist, a game known to the captain and the 
 doctor, and which the abbé learned to play in a ver}' 
 short time. 
 
 This little circle of friends made for itself an oasis in 
 Minoret's salon. The doctor of Nemours, who was 
 not without education and knowledge of the world, and 
 who greatly respected Minoret as an honor to the pro- 
 fession, came there sometimes ; but his duties and also 
 his fatigue (which obliged him to go to bed earl}' and 
 to be up early) prevented his being as assiduously pres- 
 ent as the three other friends. This intercoiu'se of five 
 superior men, the only ones in Nemours who had suffi- 
 ciently wide knowledge to understand each other, ex- 
 plains old Minoret's aversion to his relatives ; if he 
 were compelled to leave them his mone}', at least he 
 need not admit them to his society. Whether the post 
 master, the sheriff, and the collector understood this 
 distinction, or whether they were reassured by the evi- 
 
 4
 
 60 Ursula. 
 
 dent lo3'alty and the benefactions of their uncle, certain 
 it is that they ceased, to his great satisfaction, to see 
 much of him. So, about eight months after the arrival 
 of the doctor these four players of whist and back- 
 gammon made a solid and exclusive little world which 
 was to each a fraternal aftermath, an unlooked for fine 
 season, the gentle pleasures of which were the more 
 enjoyed. This little circle of choice spirits closed 
 round Ursula, a child whom each adopted according to 
 his individual tendencies ; the abbé thought of her soul, 
 the judge imagined himself her guardian, the soldier 
 intended to be her teacher, and as for Minoret, he was 
 father, mother, and physician, all in one. 
 
 After he became acclimated old Minoret settled 
 into certain habits of life, under fixed rules, after the 
 manner of the provinces. On Ursula's account he re- 
 ceived no visitors in the morning, and never gave din- 
 ners ; but his friends were at liberty to conic to his 
 house at six o'clock and stay till midnight. The first- 
 comers found the newspapers on the table and read 
 them while awaiting the rest ; or they sometimes sallied 
 forth to meet the doctor if he were out for a walk. This 
 tranquil life was not a mere necessit}' of old age, it was 
 the wise and careful scheme of a man of the world to 
 keep his happiness untroubled by the curiosity of his 
 heirs and the gossip of a litlle town. He yielded notli- 
 iiig to tliat capricious goddess, public o[)iniou, wliose
 
 Ursula. 51 
 
 tyranny (one of the present great evils of France) was 
 just beginning to establish its power and to make the 
 whole nation a mere province. So, as soon as the child 
 was weaned and could walk alone, the doctor sent awa^' 
 the housekeeper whom his niece, Madame Minoret- 
 Levrault had chosen for him, having discovered that she 
 told her patroness everything that happened in his 
 household. 
 
 Ursula's nurse, the widow of a poor workman (who 
 possessed no name but a baptismal one, and who came 
 from Bougival) had lost her last child, aged six months, 
 just as the doctor, who knew her to be a good and hon- 
 est creature, engaged her as wetnurse for Ursula. 
 Antoinette Patris (her maiden name), widow of Pierre, 
 called Le Bougival, attached herself naturally to Ur- 
 sula, as wetnurses do to their nurslings. This blind 
 maternal affection was accompanied in this instance 
 by household devotion. Told of the doctor's intention 
 to send away his housekeeper. La Bougival secretly 
 learned to cook, became neat and handj', and discovered 
 the old man's waj-s. She took the utmost care of the 
 house and furniture ; in short she was indefatigable. 
 Not only did the doctor wish to keep his private life 
 within four walls, as the saying is, but he also had cer- 
 tain reasons for hiding a knowledge of his business af- 
 fairs from his relatives. At the end of tlie second year 
 after his arrival La Bougival was the onl^- servant in
 
 52 Ursula. 
 
 the house ; on her discretion he knew he could count, 
 and he disguised his real purposes by the all-powerful 
 open reason of a necessary econoni}'. To the great sat- 
 isfaction of his heirs he became a miser. Without 
 fawning or wheedling, solel}' hy the influence of her de- 
 votion and solicitude, La Bougival, who was forty-three 
 3-ears old at the time this tale begins, was the house- 
 keeper of the doctor and his protegee, the pivot on 
 which the whole house turned, in short, the confidential 
 servant. She was called La Bougival from the admitted 
 impossibilit}" of appl3ing to her person the name that 
 actuallj' belonged to her, Antoinette — for names and 
 forms do obe^' the laws of harmon}'. 
 
 The doctor's miserliness was not mere talk ; it was 
 real, and it had an object. From the year 1817 he cut 
 off two of his newspapers and ceased subscribing to 
 periodicals. His annual expenses, which all Nemours 
 could estimate, did not exceed eighteen hundred francs 
 a 3'ear. Like most old men his wants in linen, boots, 
 and clothing, were ver}' few. Every six months he 
 went to Paris, no doubt to draw and reinvest his income. 
 In fifteen 3'ears he never said a single word to any o\w. 
 in relation to his affairs. His confidence in Bongiand 
 was of slow growth ; it was not until after the révolu ■ 
 tion of 1830 that he told him of his projects. Nothing 
 further was known of the doctor's life either b}' tlie 
 bourgeoisie at large or by his heirs. As for his political
 
 Ursula. 53 
 
 opinions, lie did not meddle in public matters seeing 
 that he paid less than a hundred francs a year in taxes, 
 and refused, impartially, to subscribe to either royalist 
 or liberal demands. His known horror for the priest- 
 hood, and his deism were so little obtrusive that he 
 turned out of his house a commercial runner sent 
 by his great-nephew Desire to ask a subscription to the 
 " Curé Meslier " and the. " Discours du General F03'." 
 Such tolerance seemed inexplicable to the liberals of 
 Nemours. 
 
 The doctor's three collateral heirs, Minoret-Levrault 
 and his wife. Monsieur and Madame Massin-Levrault, 
 junior. Monsieur and Madame Crémière-Crémière — 
 whom we shall in future call simply Crémière, Massin, 
 and Minoret, because these distinctions among homo- 
 n3'ms is quite unnecessary out of the Gâtinais — met 
 together as people do in little towns. The post master 
 gave a grand dinner on his son's birthday, a ball during 
 the carnival, another on the anniversary' of his marriage, 
 to all of which he invited the whole bourgeoisie of Ne- 
 mours. The collector received his relations and friends 
 twice a year. The clerk of the court, too poor, he said, 
 to fling himself into such extravagance, lived in a small 
 wa}- in a house standing half-wa}' down the Grand'Rue, 
 the ground -floor of which was let to his sister, the letter- 
 postmistress of Nemours, a situation she owed to tlie 
 doctor's kind offices. Nevertheless, in the course of
 
 54 Ursula. 
 
 the year these three families did meet together fre- 
 quently, in the houses of friends, in the public prome- 
 nades, at the market, on their doorsteps, or, of a Sunday 
 in the square, as on this occasion ; so that one way and 
 another they met nearly every da}-. For the last three 
 years the doctor's age, his economies, and his probable 
 wealth had led to allusions, or frank remarks, among 
 the townspeople as to the disposition of his property, 
 a topic which made the doctor and his heirs of deep 
 interest to the little town. For the last six months 
 not a daj' passed that friends and neighbors did not 
 speak to the heirs, with secret env}-, of the day the 
 good man's e3'es would shut and the coffers open. 
 
 " Doctor Minoret may be an able physician, on 
 good terms with death, but none but God is eternal," 
 said one. 
 
 "Pooh, he'll bur}' us all; his health is better than 
 ours," replied an heir, hypocritically. 
 
 "Well, if j'ou don't get the mone}' 3-ourselves, 3'our 
 children will, unless that little Ursula — " 
 
 " He won't leave it all to her." 
 
 Ursula, as Madame Massin had predicted, was the 
 bete noire of the relations, their sword of Damocles ; 
 and Madame Crémière's favorite saying, "Well, who- 
 ever lives will know," shows that they wished at an}- 
 rate more harm to her than good. 
 
 The collector and the clerk of the court, poor in
 
 Ursula. 55 
 
 comparison with the post master, had often estimated, 
 by way of conversation, the doctor's propert}'. If they 
 met their uncle walking on the banks of the canal 
 or along the road they would look at each other 
 piteousl}^ 
 
 " He must have got hold of some elixir of life," 
 said one. 
 
 " He has made a bargain with the devil," replied 
 the other. 
 
 "He ought to give us the bulk of it; that fat 
 Minoret does n't need anything," said Massin. 
 
 "Ah! but Minoret has a son who'll waste his 
 substance," answered Crémière. 
 
 " How much do you really think the doctor has? " 
 
 "At the end of twelve j^ears, saj' twelve thousand 
 francs saved each 3'ear, that would give one hundred 
 and forty-four thousand francs, and the interest brings 
 in at least one hundred thousand more. But as he 
 must, if he consults a notary in Paris, have made 
 some good strokes of business, and we know that 
 up to 1822 he could get seven or eight per cent 
 from the State, he must now have at least four hundred 
 thousand francs, without counting the capital of his 
 fourteen thousand a year from the five per cents. 
 If he were to die to-morrow without leaving anything 
 to Ursula we should get at least seven or eight hundred 
 thousand francs, besides the house and furniture."
 
 56 Ursula. 
 
 "Well, a hundred thousand to Minoret, and three 
 hundred thousand apiece to you and m(!, that would 
 be fair." 
 
 "Ha, that would make lis comfortable!" 
 
 "If he did that," said Massin, "I should sell my 
 situation in court and buy an estate ; I 'd tr^^ to 
 be judge at Fontainebleau, and get myself elected 
 deputy." 
 
 " As for me I should buy a brokerage business," 
 said the collector. 
 
 " Unluckilj-, that girl he has on his arm and the 
 abbé have got round him. I don't believe we can 
 do anything with him." 
 
 " Still, we know very well he will never leave 
 anj'thing to the Church."
 
 Ursula. 57 
 
 IV. 
 
 ZÉLIE. 
 
 The fright of the heirs at beholding their uncle 
 on his way to mass will now be understood. The 
 dullest persons have mind enougli to foresee a danger 
 to self-interests. Self-interest constitutes the mind of 
 the peasant as well as that of the diplomatist, and 
 on that gi'ound the stupidest of men is sometimes 
 the most powerful. So the fatal reasoning, "If that 
 little Ursula has influence enough to drag her godfather 
 into the pale of the Church she will certainlj' have 
 enough to make him leave her his property," was now 
 stamped in letters of fire on the brains of the most 
 obtuse heir. The post master had forgotten about his 
 son in his hurr}' to reach the square ; for if the doctor 
 were really in the church hearmg mass it was a ques- 
 tion of losing two hundred and fift}' thousand francs. 
 It must be admitted that the fears of these relations 
 came from the strongest and most legitimate of social 
 feelings, family interests. 
 
 " Well, Monsieur Minore t," said the mayor (formerly 
 a miller who had now become royalist, named Levrault-
 
 58 Ursula. 
 
 Crémière), " when the devil gets old the devil a monk 
 would be. Your uncle, they say, is one of us." 
 
 " Better late than never, cousin," responded the 
 post master, trying to conceal his anno3'ance. 
 
 "How that fellow will grin if we are defrauded! 
 He is capable of marrying his son to that damned girl 
 — may the devil get her ! " cried Crémière, shaking his 
 fists at the mayor as he entered the porch. 
 
 " "What's Crémière grumbling about? " said the 
 butcher of the town, a Levrault-Levrault the elder. 
 "Isn't he pleased to see his uncle on the road to 
 Paradise ? " 
 
 "Who would ever have believed it!" ejaculated 
 Massin. 
 
 "Ha! one should never sa3% 'Fountain, I'll not 
 drink of your water,' " remarked the notary, who, 
 seeing the group from afar, had left his wife to go to 
 church without him. 
 
 " Come, Monsieur Dionis," said Crémière, taking the 
 notary by the arm, " what do you advise us to do under 
 the circumstances ? " 
 
 " I advise 3'ou," said the notary, addressing the heirs 
 collectively, "to go to bed and get up at your usual 
 hour ; to eat 3-our soup before it gets cold ; to put your 
 feet in jour shoes and 3'our hats on jour heads ; in 
 short, to continue j'our ways of life precisely as if 
 nQthing had happened."
 
 Ursula. 59 
 
 " You are not consoling," said Massin. 
 
 In spite of his squat, dumpj' figure and heavy face, 
 Crémière-Dionis was reall}' as keen as a blade. In 
 pursuit of usurious fortune he did business secretly with 
 Massin, to whom he no doubt pointed out such peasants 
 as were hampered in means, and such pieces of land as 
 could be bought for a song The two men were in a 
 position to choose their opportunities ; none that were 
 good escaped them, and they shared the profits of 
 mortgage-usury, which retards, though it does not 
 prevent, the acquirement of the soil b}' the peas- 
 antr}'. So Dionis tooii a lively interest in the doctor's 
 inheritance, not so much for the post master ancj 
 the collector as for his friend the clerk of the court ; 
 sooner or later Massin's share in the doctor's mone}' 
 would swell the capital with which these secret asso- 
 ciates worked the canton. 
 
 " "We must tr}- to find out through Monsieur Bon- 
 grand where the influence comes from," said the notary 
 ni a low voice, with a sign to Massin to keep quiet. 
 
 "What are j'ou about, Minoret? " cried a little 
 woman, suddenly descending upon the group in the 
 middle of which stood the post master, as tall and round 
 as a tower. " You don't know where Désiré is and 
 there you are, planted on your two legs, gossipping 
 about nothing, when I thought you on horseback ! — > 
 Oh, good morning, Messieurs and Mesdames."
 
 60 Ursula. 
 
 This little woman, thin, pale, and fair, dressed in a 
 gown of white cotton with a pattern of large, chocolate- 
 colored flowers, a cap trimmed with ribbon and frilled 
 with lace, and wearing a small green shawl on her flat 
 shoulders, was Minoret's wife, the terror of postilions, 
 servants, and carters ; who kept the accounts and man- 
 aged the establishment " with finger and eye " as they 
 say in those parts. Like the true housekeeper that she 
 was, she wore no ornaments. She did not give in (to 
 use her own expression) to gew-gaws and trumpery ; 
 she held to the solid and the substantial, and wore, 
 even on Sunda3's, a black apron, in the pocket of which 
 she jingled her household kej's. Her screeching voice 
 was agony to the drums of all ears. Her rigid glance, 
 conflicting with the soft blue of her ej-es, was in visible 
 harmony with the thin lips of a pinched mouth and a 
 high, projecting, and very imperious forehead. Sharp 
 was the glance, sharper still both gesture and speech. 
 " Zélie being obliged to have a will for two, had it for 
 three," said Goupil, who pointed out the successive 
 reigns of three 3'oung postilions, of neat appearance, 
 who had been set up in life by Zélie, each after seven 
 years' service. The malicious clerk named them Post- 
 ilion I., Postilion II., Postilion III. But the little 
 influence these young men had in the establishment, 
 and their perfect obedience proved that Zélie was 
 merely interested in worthy helpers.
 
 Ursula. 61 
 
 This attempt at scandal was against probabilities. 
 Since the birth of her son (nursed b}- her without any 
 evidence of how it was possible for her to do so) 
 Madame Minoret had thought only of increasing the 
 family fortune and was wholly given up to the manage- 
 ment of their immense establishment. ïo steal a bale 
 of hay or a bushel of oats or get the better of Zélie in 
 even the most complicated accounts was a thing im- 
 possible, though she scribbled hardly better than a cat, 
 and knew nothing of arithmetic but addition and 
 subtraction. She never took a walk except to look at 
 tlie hay, the oats, or the second crops. She sent '•'- her 
 man " to the mowing, and the postilions to tie the bales, 
 telling them the quantity, within a hundred pounds, 
 each field should bear. Though she was the soul of 
 that great body called Minoret-Levrault and led him 
 about by his pug nose, she was made to feel the fears 
 which occasionally (we are told) assail all tamers of 
 wild beasts. She therefore made it a rule to get into 
 a rage before he did ; tlie postilions knew very well 
 when his wife had been quarrelhng with him, for his 
 anger ricochetted on them. Madame Minoret was as 
 clever as she was grasping ; and it was a favorite 
 remark in the whole town, " Where would Minoret- 
 Levrault be witliout his wife?" 
 
 " When you know what has happened!," replied the 
 post master, ' *■ you '11 be over the traces 3'ourself."
 
 62 Ursula. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " Ursula has taken the doctor to mass." 
 
 Zelie's pupils dilated ; she stood for a moment j'ellow 
 with anger, then, crjing out, "I '11 see it before I 
 believe it ! " she rushed into the church. The service 
 had reached the Elevation. The stillness of the wor- 
 shippers enabled her to look along each row of chairs 
 and benches as she went up the aisle beside the chapels 
 to Ursula's place, where she saw old Minoret standing 
 with bared head. 
 
 If you recall the heads of Barbe-Marbois, Boiss}'' 
 d'Anglas, Morellet, Helvétius, or Frederick the Great, 
 you will see the exact image of Doctor Minoret, whose 
 green old age resembled that of those celebrated per- 
 sonages. Their heads coined in the same mint (for 
 each had the characteristics of a medal) showed a stern 
 and quasi-puritan profile, cold tones, a mathematical 
 brain, a certain narrowness about the features, shrewd 
 eyes, grave lips, and a something that was surely aris- 
 tocratic — less perhaps in sentiment than in habit, 
 more in the ideas than in the character. All men of 
 this stamp have high brows retreating at the summit, 
 the sigh of a tendencj' to materialism. You will find 
 these leading characteristics of the head and these 
 points of the face in all the Encyclopedists, in the 
 orators of the Gironde, in the men of a period when 
 religious ideas were almost dead, men who called them-
 
 Ursula. 63 
 
 selves deists and were atheists. The deist is an atheist 
 lucky in classification. 
 
 Minoret had a forehead of this description, furrowed 
 with wrinkles, which recovered in his old age a sort of 
 artless candor from the manner in which the silvery 
 hair, brushed back like that of a woman when making 
 her toilet, curled in light flakes upon the blackness of 
 his coat. He persisted in dressing, as in his youth, 
 in black silk stockings, shoes with gold buckles, 
 breeches of black poult-de-soie, and a black coat, 
 adorned with the red rosette. This head, so firmly 
 characterized, the cold whiteness of which was softened 
 by the j-ellowing tones of old age, happened to be, just 
 then, in the full light of a window. As Madame Mino- 
 ret came in sight of him the doctor's blue ejes with 
 their reddened lids were raised to heaven ; a new con- 
 viction had given them a new expression. His specta- 
 cles lay in his prayer-book and marked the place where 
 he had ceased to pray. The tall and spare old man, his 
 arms crossed on his breast, stood erect in an attitude 
 which bespoke the full strength of his faculties and the 
 unshakable assurance of his faith. He gazed at the 
 altar humbly with a look of renewed hope, and took 
 no notice of his nephew's wife, who planted herself 
 almost in front of him as if to reproach him for 
 coming back to God. 
 
 Zélie, seeing all eyes turned upon her, made haste to
 
 64 Ursula. 
 
 leave the church and returned to the square less hur- 
 riedly than she had left it. She had reckoned on the 
 doctor's money, and possession was becoming prob- 
 lematical. She found the clerk of the court, the col- 
 lector, and their wives in greater consternation than 
 ever. Goupil was taking pleasure in tormenting them. 
 
 " It is not in the public square and before the whole 
 town that we ought to talk of our affairs," said Zelie ; 
 " come home with me. You, too, Monsieur Dionis," 
 she added to the notary ; " 3'ou '11 not be in the wa}'." 
 
 Thus the probable disinheritance of Massin, Crémière, 
 and the post master was the news of the da}'. 
 
 Just as the heirs and the notary were crossing the 
 square to go to the post house the noise of the dili- 
 gence rattling up to the office, which was onl}- a few 
 steps from the church, at tlie top of the Grand'Rue, 
 made its usual racket. 
 
 "Goodness! I'm like j'ou, Minoret; I forgot all 
 about Desire," said Zehe. " Let us go and see him get 
 down. He is almost a lawyer ; and his interests are 
 mixed up in this matter." 
 
 The arrival of the diligence is alwa^'S an amusement, 
 but when it comes in late some unusual event is ex- 
 pected. The crowd now moved toward the '• Dueler." 
 
 " Here 's Desire ! " was the general cry. 
 
 The tyrant, and yet the life and soul of Nemours, 
 Desire always put the town in a ferment when he came.
 
 Ursula. 65 
 
 Loved by the young men, with whom he was invariably 
 generous, he stimulated them by his very presence. 
 But his methods of amusement were so dreaded by 
 older persons that more than one famil}' was very 
 thankful to have him complete his studies and study 
 law in Paris. Desire Minoret, a slight youth, slender 
 and fair like his mother, from whom he obtained his 
 blue e\'es and pale skin, smiled from the window on 
 the crowd, and jumped lightly down to kiss his mother. 
 A short sketch of the young fellow will show how 
 proud Zélie felt when she saw him. 
 
 He wore very elegant boots, trousers of white 
 English drilling held under his feet by straps of var- 
 nished leather, a rich cravat, admirably put on and 
 still more admirably fastened, a prett}' fancy waistcoat, 
 in the pocket of the said waistcoat a flat watch, the chain 
 of which hung down ; and, finally, a short frock coat 
 of blue cloth, and a gra}' hat, — but his lack of the 
 manner-born was shown in the gilt buttons of the 
 waistcoat and the ring worn outside of his purple kid 
 glove. He carried a cane with a chased gold head. 
 
 "You are losing ^our watch," said his mother, 
 kissing him. 
 
 " No, it is worn that wa}'," he replied, letting his 
 father hug him. 
 
 "Well, cousin, so we shall soon see j'ou a lawyer?" 
 said Massin.
 
 66 Ursula. 
 
 " I shall take the oaths at the beginning of next 
 term," said Desire, returning the friendly nods he 
 was receiving on all sides. 
 
 "Now we shall have some fun," said Goupil, shak- 
 ing him by the hand. 
 
 "Ha ! my old wag, so here you are ! " replied Desire. 
 
 " You take your law license for all license," said 
 Goupil, affronted by being treated so cavalierly' in 
 presence of others. 
 
 " You know my luggage, Cabirolle,' cried Desire 
 to the red-faced old conductor of the diligence ; " have 
 it taken to the house." 
 
 " The sweat is rolling off your horses," said Zelie 
 sharply to the conductor; "you haven't common- 
 sense to drive them in that way. You are stupider 
 than your own beasts." 
 
 " But Monsieur Desire was in a hurrj' to get here 
 to save 3'ou from anxiety," explained Cabirolle. 
 
 " But if there was no accident why risk killing 
 the horses?" she retorted. 
 
 The greetings of friends and acquaintance, the 
 crowding of the young men around Desire, and the 
 relating of the incidents of the journe}- took enough 
 time for the mass to be concluded and the worshippers 
 to issue from the church. By mere chance (which 
 manages many things) Desire saw Ursula in the porch 
 as he passed along, and he stopped short amazed at
 
 Ursula. 67 
 
 her beauty. His action also stopped the advance of 
 the relations who accompanied him. 
 
 In giving her arm to her godfather, Ursula was 
 obliged to hold her pra^'er-book in one band and her 
 parasol in the other ; and this she did with the innate 
 grace which graceful women put into the awkward 
 or difficult things of their charming craft of woman- 
 hood. If mind does trul}" reveal itself in all things, 
 we may be permitted to sa^- that Ursula's attitude 
 and bearing expressed divine simplicity. She was 
 dressed in a white cambric gown made like a wrapper, 
 trimmed here and there with knots of blue ribbon. 
 The pelerine, edged with the same ribbon run through 
 a broad hem and tied with bows like those on 
 the dress, showed the great beauty of her shape. 
 Her throat, of a pure white, was charming in tone 
 against the blue, — the right color for a fair skin. 
 A long blue sash with floating ends defined a slender 
 waist which seemed flexible, — a most seductive charm 
 in women. She wore a rice-straw bonnet, modestly 
 trimmed with ribbons like those of the gown, the 
 strings of which were tied under her chin, setting off 
 the whiteness of the straw and doing no despite to 
 tliat of her beautiful complexion. Ursula dressed her 
 own hair naturall}^ (à la Berthe, as it was then called) 
 in heavy braids of fine, fair hair, laid flat on either 
 side of the head, each little strand reflecting the
 
 68 ' Ursula. 
 
 light as she walked. Her gray eyes, soft and proud 
 at the same time, were in harmony' with a finely 
 modelled brow. A rosj' tinge, suffusing her cheeks 
 like a cloud, brightened a face which was regular 
 without being Insipid ; for nature had given her, by 
 some rare privilege, extreme purity- of form combined 
 with strength of countenance. The nobilit}' of her 
 life was manifest in the general expression of her 
 person, which might have served as a model for a 
 t^pe of trustfulness, or of modesty. Her health, 
 though brilliant, was not coarsely apparent ; in fact, her 
 whole air was distinguished. Beneath the little gloves 
 of a light color it was eas}' to imagine her pretty 
 hands. The arched and slender feet were delicatel}' 
 shod in bronzed kid boots trimmed with a brown silk 
 fringe. Her blue sash holding at the waist a small 
 flat watch" and a blue purse with gilt tassels attracted 
 the eA-es of every woman she met. 
 
 "He has given her a new watch!" said Madame 
 Crémière, pinching her husband's arm. 
 
 "Heavens! is that Ursula?" cried Désiré; "I 
 did n't recognize her." 
 
 " "Well, my dear uncle," said the post master, ad- 
 dressing the doctor and pointing to tlie whole popula- 
 tion drawn up in parallel hedges to let the doctor 
 pass, " eveiybody wants to see you." 
 
 " Was it the Abbé Chaperon or Mademoiselle
 
 Ursula. 69 
 
 Ursula who converted 3'ou, uncle," said Massin, bowing 
 to the doctor and his protegee, with Jesuitical humility. 
 
 " Ursula," replied the doctor, laconically, continuing 
 to walk on as if annoyed. 
 
 The night before, as the old man finished his 
 game of whist with Ursula, the Nemours doctor, and 
 Bongrand, he remarked, " I intend to go to church 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "Then," said Bongrand, "your heirs won't get 
 another night's rest." 
 
 The speech was superfluous, however, for a single 
 glance sufficed the sagacious and clear-sighted doctor to 
 read the minds of his heirs by the expression of their 
 faces. Zélie's irruption into the church, her glance, 
 which the doctor intercepted, this meeting of all the 
 expectant ones in the public square, and the expression 
 of their eyes as the}' turned them on Ursula, all proved 
 to him their hatred, now freshly awakened, and their 
 sordid fears. 
 
 "It is a feather in 3-our cap. Mademoiselle," said 
 Madame Crémière, putting in her word with a humble 
 bow, — "a miracle which will not cost 3'ou much." 
 
 " It is God's doing, madame," replied Ursula. 
 
 " God !" exclaimed Minoret-Levrault ; " m}' father- 
 in law used to saj- he served to blanket many horses." 
 
 " Your father-in-law had the mind of a jockc}'," said 
 the doctor severely.
 
 70 Ursula. 
 
 " Come," saîtl Minoret to his wife and sou, " why 
 don't you bow to my uncle ? " 
 
 " I should n't be mistress of myself before that little 
 hj'poerite," cried Zélie, carrying off her son. 
 
 " I advise you, uncle, not to go to mass without a 
 velvet cap," said Madame Massin ; " the church is very 
 damp." 
 
 "Pooh, niece," said the doctor, looking round on the 
 assembly, " the sooner I'm put Lo bed the sooner you'll 
 flourish." 
 
 He walked on quicklj', drawing Ursula with him, and 
 seemed hi such a hurry that the others dropped behind. 
 
 " Why do 3'ou say such harsh things to them ? it is n't 
 right," said Ursula, shaking his arm in a coaxing way. 
 
 " I shall always hate hypocrites, as much after as 
 before I became religious. I have done good to them 
 all, and I asked no gratitude ; but not one of my rela- 
 tives sent }ou a flower on your birthday, which they 
 know is the only day I celebrate.'' 
 
 At some distance behind the doctor and Ursula came 
 Madame de Portenduère, dragging herself along as if 
 overcome with trouble. She belonged to the class of 
 old women whose dress recalls the style of the last 
 century. They wear puce-colored gowns with fiat 
 sleeves, the cut of which can be seen in the portraits of 
 Madame Lebrun ; they all have black lace mantles and 
 bonnets of a shape gone by, in keeping with their slow
 
 Ursula. 71 
 
 and dignified deportment ; one might almost fancy that 
 they still wore paniers under their petticoats or felt 
 them there, as persons who have lost a leg are said to 
 fancy that the foot is moving. The}- swathe their heads 
 in old lace which declines to drape gracefullj* about 
 their cheeks. Their wan and elongated faces, their 
 haggard ej^es and faded brows, are not without a cer- 
 tain melancholy grace, in spite of the false fronts with 
 flattened curls to which they cling, — and yet these 
 ruins are all subordinate to an unspeakable dignit}' of 
 look and manner. 
 
 The red and wrinkled eyes of this old lady showed 
 plainl}' that she had been crying during the service. 
 She walked like a person in trouble, seemed to be 
 expecting some one, and looked behind her from time 
 to time. Now, the fact of Madame de Portenduère 
 looking behind her was reallj' as remarkable in its way 
 as the conversion of Doctor Minoret. 
 
 " Who can Madame de Portenduère be looking for? " 
 said Madame Massin, rejoining the other heirs, who were 
 for the moment struck dumb by the doctor's answer. 
 
 " For the curé," said Dionis, the notary, suddenly 
 striking his forehead as if some forgotten thought or 
 memor}' had occurred to him. '' I have an idea ! I 'II 
 save 3-our inheritance ! Let us go and breakfast gayly 
 with Madame Minoret." 
 
 We can well imagine the alacritv with which the heirs
 
 72 Ursula. 
 
 followed the notary to the post house. Goupil, who 
 accompanied his friend Desire, locked arm in arm with 
 him, whispered something in the youth's ear with an 
 odious smile. 
 
 " What do I care?" answered the son of the house, 
 slirugging his slioulders. "I am madly in love with 
 Florine, the most celestial creature in the world." 
 
 " Florine ! and who may she be ? " demanded Goupil. 
 " I 'm too fond of 3'ou to let 3'ou make a goose of your- 
 self with such creatures." 
 
 " Florine is the idol of the famous Nathan ; my pas- 
 sion is wasted, I know that. She has positivelj' refused 
 to marry me." 
 
 " Sometimes those girls who are fools with their 
 bodies are wise witli their heads," responded Goupil. 
 
 "If you could but see her — only once," said Desire, 
 lackadaisically, " you wouldn't sa}- such things." 
 
 " If I saw you throwing away your whole future for 
 nothing better than a fanc}'," said Goupil, with a warmth 
 which miglit even have deceived his master, " I would 
 break your doll as Varney served Amy Robsart in ' Kenil- 
 worth.' Your wife must be a d'Aiglemont or a Made- 
 moiselle du Rouvre, and get you made a deputy. My 
 future depends on yours, and I sha'n't let you commit 
 any follies." 
 
 " I am rich enough to care only for happiness," 
 replied Desire.
 
 Urmia. 73 
 
 " What are you two plotting together? " cried Zélie, 
 beckoning to the two friends, who were standing in the 
 middle of the courtjard, to come into the house. 
 
 The doctor disappeared into the Rue des Bourgeoig 
 with the activity of a young man, and soon reached his 
 own house, where strange events had lately taken place, 
 the visible results of which now filled the minds of the 
 whole community of Nemours. A few explanations 
 are needed to make this history and the notary's remark 
 to the heirs perfectly intelligible to the reader.
 
 74 Ursula. 
 
 V. 
 
 URSULA. 
 
 The fiither-in-law of Doctor Minoret, the famous 
 bavpsichordist and maker of instruments, Valentin 
 Mirouet, also one of our most celebrated organists, 
 died in 1785 leaving a natural son, the child of his old 
 age, whom he acknowledged and called by his own 
 name, but who turned out a worthless fellow. He was 
 deprived on his death bed of the comfort of seeing this 
 petted son. Joseph Mirouet, a singer and composer, 
 having made his début at the Italian opera under a 
 feigned name, ran away with a 3'oung lady in German}'. 
 The dj'ing father commended the 30ung man, who was 
 rcall}" full of talent, to his son-in-law, proving to him, 
 at the same time, that he had refused to marry the 
 mother that he might not injure Madame Minoret. 
 The doctor promised to give the unfortunate Joseph 
 half of whatever his wife inherited from her father, 
 whose business was purchased b}' the Erards. He 
 made due search for his illegitimate brother-in-law ; but 
 Grimm informed him one day that after enhsting in a 
 Prussian regiment Joseph had deserted and taken a 
 false name and that all efforts to find hira would be 
 frustrated.
 
 Ursula. 75 
 
 Joseph Mirouët, gifted by nature with a delightful 
 voice, a fine figure, a handsome face, and being more- 
 over a composer of great taste and much brillianc}', led 
 for over fifteen 3-ears the Bohemian life which Hoffmann 
 has so well described. So, by the time he was forty, 
 he was reduced to such depths of poverty that he took 
 advantage of the events of 1806 to make himself once 
 more a Frenchman. He settled in Hamburg, where he 
 married the daughter of a bourgeois, a girl devoted to 
 music, who fell in love with the singer (whose fame was 
 ever prospective) and chose to devote her life to him. 
 But after fifteen years of Bohemia, Joseph Mirouët 
 was unable to bear prosperity ; he was naturally a 
 spendthrift, and though kind to his wife, he wasted 
 her fortune in a very few years. The household 
 must have dragged on a wretched existence before 
 Joseph Mirouët reached the point of enlisting as a 
 musician in a French regiment. In 1813 the surgeon- 
 major of the regiment, by the merest chance, heard the 
 name of Mirouët, was struck by it, and wrote to Doctor 
 Minoret, to whom he was under obligations. 
 
 The answer was not long in coming. As a result, in 
 1814, before the allied occupation, Joseph Mirouët had 
 a home in Paris, where his wife died giving birth to 
 a little girl, whom the doctor desired should be called 
 Ursula after his wife. The father did not long survive 
 the mother, worn out, as she was, by hardship and
 
 76 Ursula. 
 
 poverty. When dying the unfortunate musician be- 
 queathed his daughter to the doctor, who was ah-eady 
 her godfather, in spite of his repugnance for what he 
 called the mummeries of the Church. Having seen his 
 own children die in succession either in dangerous con- 
 finements or during the first year of their lives, the 
 doctor had awaited with anxiety the result of a last 
 hope. When a nervous, delicate, and sickly woman 
 begins with a miscarriage it is not unusual to see her 
 go through a series of such pregnancies as Ursula 
 Minoret did, in spite of the care and watchfulness and 
 science of her husband. The poor man often blamed 
 himself for their mutual persistence in desiring chil- 
 dren. The last child, born after a rest of nearly two 
 years, died in 1792, a victim of its mother's nervous 
 condition — if we listen to physiologists, who tell us 
 that in the inexplicable phenomenon of generation the 
 child derives from the father by blood and from the 
 mother in its nervous system. 
 
 Compelled to renounce the jo3's of a feeling all power- 
 ful withm him, the doctor turned to benevolence as a 
 substitute for his denied paternity. During his mar- 
 ried life, thus cruelly disappointed, he had longed more 
 especially for a fair little daughter, a flower to bring joy 
 to the house ; he therefore gladlj' accepted Joseph 
 Mirouët's legacj', and gave to the orphan all the hopes 
 of his vanished dreams. For two years he took part.
 
 Ursula. 77 
 
 as Cato for Pompey, in the most minute particulars of 
 Ursula's life ; he would not allow the nurse to suckle 
 her or to take her up or put her to bed without him. 
 His medical science and his experience were all put to 
 use in her service. After going through many trials, 
 alternations of hope and fear, and the joys and labors 
 of a mother, he had the happiness of seeing this child 
 of the fair German woman and the French singer a 
 creature of vigorous health and profound sensibilit}'. 
 
 With all the eager feelings of a mother the happ}- old 
 man watched the growth of the prett}' hair, first down, 
 then silk, at last hair, fine and soft and clinging to the 
 fingers that caressed it. He often kissed the little 
 naked i'eet the toes of which, covered with a pellicle 
 through which the blood was seen, were like rosebuds. 
 He was passionately fond of the child. When she 
 tried to speak, or when she fixed her beautiful blue eyes 
 upon some object with that serious, reflective look which 
 seems the dawn of thought, and which she ended with 
 a laugh, he would stay by her for hours, seeking, with 
 Jordy's help, to understand the reasons (which most 
 people call caprices) underlying the phenomena of this 
 delicious phase of life, when childhood is both flower 
 and fruit, a confused intelligence, a perpetual move- 
 ment, a powerful desire. 
 
 Ursula's beauty and gentleness made her so dear to 
 the doctor that he would have liked to change the laws
 
 78 Ursula. 
 
 of nature in her behalf. He declared to old Jord}^ that 
 his teeth ached when Ursula was cutting hers. When 
 old men love children there is no limit to their passion 
 — they worship them. For these little beings they si- 
 lence their own manias or recall a whole past in their 
 service. Experience, patience, sympathy, the acquisi- 
 tions of life, treasures laboriousl}- amassed, all are spent 
 upon that young life in which they live again ; their 
 intelligence does actually take the place of motherhood. 
 Their wisdom, ever on the alert, is equal to the intui- 
 tion of a mother ; they remember the delicate percep- 
 tions which in their own mother were divinations, and 
 import them into the exercise of a compassion which is 
 carried to an extreme in their minds b\' a sense of the 
 child's unutterable weakness. The slowness of their 
 movements takes the place of maternal gentleness. In 
 them, as in the children, life is reduced to its simplest 
 expression ; if maternal sentiment makes the mother a 
 slave, the abandonment of self allows an old man to 
 devote himself utterly. For these reasons it is not 
 unusual to see children in close intimac}' with old 
 persons. The old soldier, the old abbé, the old doctor, 
 happ3' in the kisses and cajoleries of little Ursula, were 
 never weary of answering her talk and playing with her. 
 Far from making them impatient her petulances charmed 
 them; and thc}-" gratified all her wishes, making each 
 the ground of some little training.
 
 Ursula. 79 
 
 The child grew up surrounded by old men, who 
 smiled at her and made themselves mothers for her 
 sake, all three equally' attentive and provident. Thanks 
 to this wise education, Ursula's soul developed in a 
 sphere that suited it. This rare plant found its special 
 soil ; it breathed the elements of its true life and assim- 
 ilated the sun rays that belonged to it. 
 
 " In what faith do you intend to bring up the little 
 one ? " asked the abbé of the doctor, when Ursula was 
 six years old. 
 
 "In yours," answered Minoret. 
 
 An atheist after the manner of Monsieur Wolmar in 
 the " Nouvelle Héloise " he did not claim the right to 
 deprive Ursula of the benefits offered by the Catholic 
 religion. The doctor, sitting at the moment on a bench 
 outside the Chinese pagoda, felt the pressure of the 
 abbe's hand on his. 
 
 " Yes, abbé, ever}' time she talks to me of God I 
 shall send her to her friend ' Shapron,' " he said, imitat- 
 ing Ursula's infant speech, " I wish to see whether reli- 
 gious sentiment is inborn or not. Therefore I shall do 
 nothing either for or against' the tendencies of that 
 young soul ; but in my heart I have appointed you her 
 spiritual guardian." 
 
 "God will reward you, I hope," rephed the abbé, 
 gently joining his hands and raising them toward heaven 
 as if he were making a brief mental pra^'er.
 
 80 Ursula, 
 
 So, from the time she was six j'ears old the little 
 orphan lived under the religious influence of the abbé, 
 just as she had alread}' come under the educational 
 training of lier friend Jordy. 
 
 The captain, formerly- a professor in a military acad- 
 emy', having a taste for grammar and for the differences 
 among European languages, had studied the problem 
 of a single universal tongue. This learned man, patient 
 as most old scholars are, delighted in teaching Ursula to 
 read and write. He taught her also the French language 
 and all she needed to know of arithmetic. The doctor's 
 library afforded a choice of booivs which could be read 
 by a child for amusement as well as instruction. 
 
 The abbé and the soldier allowed the young mind 
 to enrich itself with the freedom and comfort which 
 the doctor gave to tlie bodj'. Ursula learned as she 
 played. Religion was given with due reflection. Left 
 to follow the divine training of a nature that was led 
 into regions of purity by these judicious educators, 
 Ursula inchned more to sentiment than to dut}* ; she 
 took as her rule of conduct the voice of her own 
 conscience rather than the demands of social law. In 
 her, nobility of feeling and action would ever be spon- 
 taneous ; her judgment would confirm the impulse of her 
 heart. She was destined to do right as a pleasure 
 before doing it as an obligation. This distinction is 
 the peculiar sign of Christian education. These prin-
 
 Ursula. 81 
 
 ciples, altogether different from those that are taught to 
 men, were suitable for a woman, — the spirit and con- 
 science of the home, the beautifier of domestic Ufe, the 
 queen of her household. All three of these old precept- 
 ors followed the same method with Ursula. Instead of 
 recoiling before the bold questions of innocence, they ex- 
 plained to her the reasons of things and the best means 
 of action, taking care to give her none but correct ideas. 
 When, apropos of a flower, a star, a blade of grass, her 
 thoughts went straight to God, the doctor and the pro- 
 fessor told her that the priest alone could answer her. 
 None of them intruded on the territory of the others ; 
 the doctor took charge of her material well-being and 
 the things of life ; Jordy's department was instruction ; 
 moral and spiritual questions and the ideas appertaining 
 to the higher life belonged to the abbé. This noble edu- 
 cation was not, as it often is, counteracted by injudicious 
 servants. La Bougival, having been lectured on the 
 subject, and being, moreover, too simple in mind and 
 character to interfere, did nothing to injure the work of 
 these great minds. Ursula, a privileged being, grew up 
 with good geniuses round her ; and her naturally fine 
 disposition made the task of each a sweet and easy one. 
 Such manly tenderness, such gravity lighted by smiles, 
 such libert}' without danger, such perpetual care of soul 
 and bod}' made little Ursula, when nine years of ago, a 
 well-trained child and delightful to behold. 
 
 6
 
 82 Ursula. 
 
 Unhappily, this paternal trinity was broken up. The 
 old captain died the following year, leaving the abbé 
 and the doctor to finish his work, of which, however, 
 he had accomplished the most difficult part. Flowers 
 will bloom of themselves if grown in a soil thus pre- 
 pared. The old gentleman had laid by for ten years 
 past one thousand francs a year, that he might leave 
 ten thousand to his little Ursula, and keep a place in 
 her memory during her whole Hfe. In his will, the 
 wording of which was ver}- touching, he begged his 
 legatee to spend the four or five hundred francs that 
 came of her little capital exclusively on her dress. 
 When the justice of peace applied the seals to the effects 
 of his old friend, they found in a small room, which the 
 captain had allowed no one to enter, a quantity of tojs, 
 many of them broken, while all had been used, — toys 
 of a past generation, reverently preserved, which Mon- 
 sieur Bongrand was, according to the captain's last 
 wishes, to burn with his own hands. 
 
 About this time it was that Ursula made her first 
 communion. The abbé employed one whole 3ear in 
 duly instructing the young girl, whose mind and heart, 
 each well developed, yet judiciously balancing one 
 another, needed a special spiritual nourishment. The 
 initiation into a knowledge of divine things which he 
 gave her was such that Ursula grew into the pious and 
 mistical young girl whose character rose above all
 
 Ursula. 83 
 
 vicissitudes, and whose heart was enabled to conquer 
 adversity. Then began a secret struggle between the 
 old man wedded to unbelief and the 3'oung girl full 
 of faith, — long unsuspected by her who incited it, — 
 the result of which had now stirred tlie whole town, and 
 was destined to have great influence on Ursula's future 
 by rousing against her the antagonism of the doctor's 
 heirs. 
 
 During the first six months of the 3'ear 1824 Ursula 
 spent all her mornings at the parsonage. The old doc- 
 tor guessed the abbe's secret hope. He meant to make 
 Ursula an unanswerable argument against him. The 
 old unbeliever, loved by his godchild as though she 
 were his own daughter, would surely believe in such 
 artless candor ; he could not fail to be persuaded by the 
 beautiful effects of religion on the soul of a child, where 
 love was like those trees of Eastern climes, bearing both 
 flowers and fruit, always fragrant, alwa3-s fertile. A 
 beautiful life is more powei'ful than the strongest argu- 
 ment. It is impossible to resist the charm of certain 
 sights. The doctor's ej'es were wet, he knew not how 
 or why, when he saw the child of his heart starting for 
 the church, wearing a frock of white crape, and shoes 
 of white satin ; her hair bound with a fillet fastened at 
 the side with a knot of white ribbon, and rippling upon 
 her shoulders ; her eyes lighted by the star of a first 
 hope ; hurrying, tall and beautiful, to a first union, and
 
 84 Ursula, 
 
 loving her godfather better since her soul had risen 
 towards God. When the doctor perceived that the 
 thought of immortality' was nourishing that spirit (until 
 then within the confines of childhood) as the sun gives 
 life to the earth without knowing why, he felt sorry that 
 he remained at home alone. 
 
 Sitting on the steps of his portico he kept his e^'es 
 fixed on the iron railing of the gate through which his 
 child had disappeared, saying as she left him: "Why 
 won't you come, godfather? how can I be happy with- 
 out 3'ou ? " Though shaken to his very centre, the 
 pride of the Enc^^clopedist did not as yet give way. He 
 walked slowl}' in a direction from which he could see 
 the procession of communicants, and distinguish his 
 little Ursula brilliant with exaltation beneath her veil. 
 She gave him an inspired look, which knocked, in the 
 stony regions of his heart, on the corner closed to God. 
 But still the old deist held firm. He said to himself: 
 "Mummeries! if there be a maker of worlds, imagine 
 the organizer of infinitude concerning himself with such 
 trifles ! " He laughed as he continued his walk along 
 the heights which look down upon the road to the 
 Gâtinais, where the bells were ringing a jo^'ous peal 
 that told of the jo}' of families. 
 
 The noise of backgammon is intolerable to persons 
 who do not know the game, which is reallv one of the 
 most difficult that was ever invented. Not to annov
 
 Ursula. 85 
 
 his godchild, the extreme delicacy of whose organs and 
 nerves could not bear, he thought, without injury the 
 noise and the exclamations she did not know the mean- 
 ing of, the abbé, old Jordy wiiile living, and the doctor 
 always waited till their child was in bed before the}' 
 began their favorite game. Sometimes the visitors 
 came early when she was out for a walk, and the game 
 would be going on when she returned ; then she resigned 
 herself with infinite grace and took her seat at the win- 
 dow with her work. She had a repugnance to the game, 
 which is really in the beginning ver}' hard and uncon- 
 querable to some minds, so that unless it be learned in 
 youth it is almost impossible to take it up in after 
 life. 
 
 The night of her first communion, when Ursula came 
 into the salon where her godfather was sitting alone, 
 she put the backgammon-board before him. 
 
 " Whose throw shall it be?" she asked. 
 
 "Ursula," said the doctor, "isn't it a sin to make 
 fun of 3'our godfather the day of 3'our first com- 
 munion ? " 
 
 "I am not making fun of 30U," she said, sitting 
 down. " I want to give you some pleasure — you who 
 are alwa^'s on the look-out for mine. When Monsieur 
 Chaperon was pleased with me he gave me a lesson in 
 backgammon, and he has given me so many that now 
 I am quite strong enough to beat you — you shall not
 
 86 Ursula. 
 
 deprive yourself any longer for me. I have conquered 
 all difficulties, and now I like the noise of the game." 
 
 Ursula won. The abbé had slipped in to enjoy his 
 triumph. The next day Minoret, who had always re- 
 fused to let Ursula learn music, sent to Paris for a 
 piano, made arrangements at Fontainebleau for a 
 teacher, and submitted to the annoyance that her con- 
 stant practising was to him. One of poor Jordy's pre- 
 dictions was fulfilled, — the girl became an excellent 
 musician. The doctor, proud of her talent, had lately 
 sent to Paris for a master, an old German named 
 Schmucke, a distinguished professor who came once a 
 week ; the doctor willingly paying for an art which he 
 had formerly declared to be useless in a household. 
 Unbelievers do not like music — a celestial language, 
 developed by Catholicism, which has taken the names 
 of the seven notes from one of the church h^'mns ; 
 ever}' note being the first syllable of the seven first 
 lines in the h^'mn to Saint John. 
 
 The impression produced on the doctor by Ursula's 
 first communion though keen was not lasting. The 
 calm and sweet contentment which prayer and the 
 exercise of resolution produced in that young soul 
 had not their due influence upon him. Having no 
 reasons for remorse or repentance himself, he enjoyed 
 a serene peace. Doing his own benefactions without 
 hope of a celestial harvest, he thought liimself on a
 
 Ursula. 87 
 
 nobler plane than religious men whom he alwajs ac- 
 cused for making, as he called it, terms with God. 
 
 "But," the abbé would say to him, "if all men 
 would do so, you must admit that society would be 
 regenerated ; there would be no more miser}'. To 
 be benevolent after your fashion one must needs be 
 a great philosopher; you rise to your pi'inciples 
 through reason, 3'ou are a social exception ; whereas 
 it suffices to be a Christian to make us benevolent 
 in ours. With you, it is an effort ; with us, it comes 
 naturall}'." 
 
 " In other words, abbé, I think, and you feel, — that's 
 the whole of it." 
 
 However, at twelve 3'ears of age, Ursula, whose quick- 
 ness and natural feminine perceptions were trained by 
 her superior education, and whose intelligence in its 
 dawn was enlightened by a religious spirit (of all spirits 
 the most refined), came to understand that her godfather 
 did not believe in a future life, nor in the immortality 
 of the soul, nor in providence, nor in God. Pressed with 
 questions b}' the innocent creature, the doctor was un- 
 able to hide the fatal seci'et. Ursula's artless conster- 
 nation made him smile, but when he saw her depressed 
 and sad he felt how deep an affection her sadness re- 
 vealed. Absolute devotion has a horror of every sort 
 of disagreement, even in ideas which it does not share. 
 Sometimes the doctor accepted his darling's reasonings
 
 88 Ursula. 
 
 as he would her kisses, said as they were in the sweet- 
 est of voices with the purest and most fervent feeling. 
 Believers and unbelievers speak different languages and 
 cannot understand each other. The j'oung girl plead- 
 ing God's cause was unreasonable with the old man, as 
 a spoilt child sometimes maltreats its mother. The 
 abbé rebuked her gentl}', telling her that God had power 
 to humiliate proud spirits. Ursula replied that David 
 had overcome Goliath. 
 
 This religious difference, these complaints of the 
 child who wished to drag her godfather to God, were 
 the onl}' troubles of this happy life, so peaceful, yet 
 so full, and wholly withdrawn from the inquisitive 
 eyes of the little town. Ursula grew and developed, 
 and became in time the modest and religiously trained 
 j-oung woman whom Desire admired as she left the 
 church. The cultivation of flowers in the garden, 
 her music, the pleasures of her godfather, and all the 
 little cares she was able to give him (for she had 
 eased La Bougival's labors b}' doing everything for 
 hun), — these things filled the hours, the days, the 
 months of her calm life. Nevertheless, for about a 
 year the doctor had felt uneasy about his Ursula, and 
 watched her health with the utmost care. Sagacious 
 and profoundly practical observer that he was, he 
 thought he perceived some commotion in her moral 
 being. He watched her like a mother, but seeing
 
 Ursula. 89 
 
 no one about her who was worthy of inspiring love, 
 his uneasiness on the subject at length passed awa}'. 
 At this conjuncture, one month before the day when 
 this drama begins, the doctor's intellectual life was 
 invaded b}' one of those events which plough to the 
 ver^' depth of a man's convictions and turn them over. 
 But this event needs a succinct narrative of certain 
 circumstances in his medical career, which will give, 
 perhaps, fresh interest to the story.
 
 90 Ursula. 
 
 VI. 
 
 A TREATISE ON MESMERISM. 
 
 Towards the end of the eighteenth century science 
 was sundered as widel}' by the apparition of Mesmer 
 as art had been by that of Gluck. After re-discovering 
 magnetism Mesmer came to France, where, from time 
 immemorial, inventors have flocked to obtain recog- 
 nition for their discoveries. France, thanks to her 
 lucid language, is in some sense the clarion of the 
 world. 
 
 "If homoeopathy gets to Paris it is saved," said 
 Hahnemann, recentlj'. 
 
 " Go to France," said Monsieur de Metternich to 
 Gall, " and if they laugh at your bumps 3' ou will 
 be famous." 
 
 Mesmer had disciples and antagonists as ardent for 
 and against his theories as the Piccinists and the 
 Gluckists for theirs. Scientific France was stirred to 
 its centre ; a solemn conclave was opened. Before 
 judgment was rendered, the medical facult}' proscribed, 
 in a body, Mesmer's so-called charlatanism, his tub, 
 his conducting wires, and his theory. But let us at 
 once admit that the German, unfortunateh', compro-
 
 Ursula. 91 
 
 mised his splendid discovery by enormous pecuniary 
 claims. Mesmer was defeated b}' the doubtfulness of 
 facts, b}' universal ignorance of the part played in na- 
 ture by imponderable fluids then unobserved, and by 
 his own inability to stud}' on all sides a science possess- 
 ing a triple front. Magnetism has many applications ; 
 in Mesmer's bands it was, in its relation to the future, 
 merely what cause is to effect. But, if the discoverer 
 lacked genius, it is a sad thing both for France and 
 for human reason to have to say that a science con- 
 temporaneous with civilization, cultivated by Egypt 
 and Chaldea, by Greece and India, met in Paris in 
 the eighteenth centur}' the fate that Truth in the person 
 of Galileo found in the sixteenth ; and that magnetism 
 was rejected and cast out by the combined attacks of 
 science and religion, alarmed for their own positions. 
 Magnetism, the favorite science of Jesus Christ and one 
 of the divine powers which he gave to his disciples, 
 was no better apprehended by the Church than b}' 
 the disciples of Jean-Jacques, Voltaire, Locke, and 
 Condillac. The Encyclopedists and the clergy were 
 equally averse to the old human power which they 
 took to be new. The miracles of the convulsionaries, 
 suppressed by the Church and smothered b}' the in- 
 différence of scientific men (in spite of the precious 
 writings of the Councillor, Carré de Montgeron) were 
 the first summons to make experiments with those
 
 92 Ursula. 
 
 human fluids which give power to emplo}' certain in- 
 ward forces to neutralize the sufferings caused by 
 outward agents. But to do this it was necessary 
 to admit the existence of fluids intangible, invisible, 
 imponderable, three negative terms in which the sci- 
 ence of that day chose to see a definition of the 
 void. In modern philosophy there is no void. Ten 
 feet of void and the world crumbles awa}- ! To ma- 
 terialists especially the world is full, all tilings hang 
 together, are linked, related, organized. "The world 
 as the result of chance," said Diderot, "is more ex- 
 plicable than God. The multiplicity of causes, the 
 incalculable number of issues presupposed by chance, 
 explain creation. Take the Eneid and all the letters 
 composing it ; if 3'ou allow me time and space, I can, 
 by continuing to cast the letters, arrive at last at the 
 Eneid combination." 
 
 These foolish persons who deify all rather than admit 
 a God recoil before the infinite divisibility of matter 
 which is in the nature of imponderable forces. Locke 
 and Condillac retarded by fifty j-ears the immense pro- 
 gress which natural science is now making under the 
 great principle of unity due to Geoff'roy de Saint- 
 Hilaire. Some intelligent persons, without an}' S3'stem, 
 convinced b}'^ facts conscientiousl}' studied, still hold ta 
 Mesmer's doctrine, which recognizes the existence of a 
 penetrative influence acting from man to man, put in
 
 Ursula. 93 
 
 motion by the will, curative by the abundance of the 
 fluid, the working of which is in fact a duel between 
 two forces, between an ill to be cured and the will to 
 cure it. 
 
 The phenomena of somnambulism, hardl}- perceived 
 by Mesmer, were revealed hy de Puységur and Deleuze ; 
 but the Revolution put a stop to their discoveries and 
 played into the hands of the scientists and scoffers. 
 Among the small number of believers were a few phy- 
 sicians. They were persecuted by their brethren as 
 long as they lived. The respectable bod}' of Parisian 
 doctors displa3-ed all the bitterness of religious warfare 
 against the Mesmerists, and were as cruel in their 
 hatred as it was possible to be in those days of Vol- 
 tairean tolerance. The orthodox ph3-sicians refused to 
 consult with those who adopted the Mesmerian heres}'. 
 In 1820 these heretics were still proscribed. The miser- 
 ies and sorrows of the Eevolutiou had not quenched the 
 scientific hatred. It is only priests, magistrates, and 
 physicians who can hate in that wa}'. The official robe 
 is terrible ! But ideas are even more implacable than 
 things. 
 
 Doctor Bouvard, one of Minoret's friends, believed in 
 the new faith, and persevered to the day of his death in 
 studying a science to which he sacrificed the peace of 
 his life, for he was one of the chief bêtes noires of the 
 Parisian faculty. Minoret, a valiant supporter of the
 
 94 Ursula. 
 
 Enc3'clopedists, and a formidable adversary of Deslon, 
 Mesmer's assistant, whose pen had great weight in the 
 controversy, quarrelled with his old friend, and not only 
 that, but he persecuted him. His conduct to Bouvard 
 must have caused him the only remorse which troubled 
 the serenity of his declining years. Since his retire- 
 ment to Nemours the science of imponderable fluids 
 (the only name suitable for magnetism, which, by the 
 nature of its phenomena, is closel}' allied to light and 
 electricity) had made immense progress, in spite of the 
 ridicule of Parisian scientists. Phrenology and phj'si- 
 ognomy, the departments of Gall and Lavater (which 
 are in fact twins, for one is to the other as cause is to 
 effect) , proved to the minds of more than one physiolo- 
 gist the existence of an intangible fluid which is the 
 basis of the phenomena of the human will, and from 
 which result passions, habits, the shape of faces and 
 of skulls. Magnetic facts, the miracles of somnambu- 
 lism, those of divination and ecstas3-, which open a way 
 to the spiritual world, were fast accumulating. The 
 strange tale of the apparitions of the farmer Martin, so 
 clearly proved, and his interview with Louis XVIII. ; 
 a knowledge of the intercourse of Swedenborg with the 
 departed, carefully investigated in Germany ; the tales 
 of Walter Scott on the effects of '' second sight ; " the 
 extraordinary faculties of some fortune-tellers, who prac- 
 tise as a single science chiromancy, cartomancy, and the
 
 Ursula. 95 
 
 lioroscope ; the facts of catalepsj', and those of the ac- 
 tion of certain niorhid affections on the properties of 
 the diaphragm, — all such phenomena, curious, to say 
 the least, each emanating from the same source, were 
 now undermining many scepticisms and leading even 
 the most indifferent minds to the plane of experiments. 
 Minoret, buried in Nemours, was ignorant of this 
 movement of minds, strong in the north of Europe 
 but still weak in France where, however, man}' facts 
 called marvellous b}' superficial observers, were happen- 
 ing, but falling, alas ! like stones to the bottom of the 
 sea, in the vortex of Parisian excitements. 
 
 At the beginning of the present 3'ear the doctor's 
 tranquillit}^ was shaken b}' the following letter : — 
 
 My old comrade, — All fripndship, even if lost, has 
 rights which it is difficult to set aside. I know that you are 
 still living, and I remember far less our enmity than our 
 happy days in that old hovel of Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre. 
 
 At a time when I expect to soon leave the world I have it 
 on my heart to prove to you that magnetism is about to 
 become one of the most important of the sciences — if indeed 
 all science is not one. I can overcome your incredulity by 
 proof. Perhaps I shall owe to your curiosity the happiness 
 of taking you once more by the hand — as in the days before 
 Mesmer. Always yours, 
 
 Bouvard. 
 
 Stung like a lion by a gadfly the old scientist rushed 
 to Paris and left his card on Bouvard, who lived in the
 
 96 Ursula. 
 
 Rue Férou near Saint-Sulpice. Bouvard sent a card 
 to his hotel on which was written " To-morrow ; nine 
 o'clock, Rue Saint-Honoré, opposite the Assumption." 
 
 Minoret, who seemed to have renewed his ^outh, 
 could not sleep. He went to see some of his friends 
 among the faculty to inquire if the world were turned 
 upside down, if the science of medicine still had a school, 
 if the four faculties an}- longer existed. The doctors 
 reassured him, declaring that the old spirit of opposi- 
 tion was as strong as ever, onh', instead of persecut- 
 ing as heretofore, the Academies of Medicine and of 
 Sciences rang with laughter as the}' classed magnetic 
 facts with the tricks of Comus and Comte and Bosco, 
 with juggler}' and prestidigitation and all that now 
 went by the name of " amusing physics." 
 
 This assurance did not prevent old Minoret from 
 keeping the appointment made for him by Bouvard. 
 After an enmity of fort3'-four j'cars the two antago- 
 nists met beneath a porte-cochere in the Rue Saint- 
 Honoré. Frenchmen have too manj' distractions of 
 mind to hate each other long. In Paris especiall}', pol- 
 itics, literature, and science render life so vast that 
 ever}' man can find new woi'lds to conquer whei'c all 
 pretensions may live at ease. Hatred requires too 
 many forces fully armed. None but public bodies can 
 keep alive the sentiment. Robespierre and Danton 
 would have fallen into each other's arms at the end of
 
 Ursula. 97 
 
 forty-four 3'ears. However, the two doctors each withheld 
 his hand and did not offer it. Bouvard spoke first : — 
 
 " You seena wonderful! v well." 
 
 " Yes, I am — and you? " said Minoret, feeling that 
 the ice was now broken. 
 
 " As you see." 
 
 "Does magnetism prevent people from d^'ing?" 
 asked Minoret in a joking tone, but without sharpness. 
 
 " No, but it almost prevented me from living." 
 
 " Then j'ou are not rich? " exclaimed Minoret. 
 
 " Pooh 1 " said Bouvard. 
 
 " But I am ! " cried the other. 
 
 "It is not your mone^' but your convictions that I 
 want. Come," replied Bouvard. 
 
 " Oh ! you obstinate fellow ! " said Minoret. 
 
 The Mesmerist led his sceptic, with some precaution, 
 up a dingy staircase to the fourth floor. 
 
 At this particular time an extraordinary man had 
 appeared in Paris, endowed by faith with incalculable 
 power, and controlling magnetic forces in all their appli- 
 cations. Not only did this great unknown (who still 
 lives) heal from a distance the worst and most inveter- 
 ate diseases, suddenly and radically, as the Saviour of 
 men did formerly-, but he was also able to call forth 
 instantaneously the most remarkable phenomena of 
 somnambulism and conquer the most rebellious will. 
 The countenance of this mysterious being, who claims 
 
 7
 
 98 Ursula. 
 
 to be responsible to God alone and to commnnicate, 
 like Swedenborg, with angels, resembles that of a lion ; 
 concentrated, irresistible energy shines in it. His 
 features, singularly contorted, have a terrible and even 
 blasting aspect. His voice, which comes from the 
 depths of his being, seems charged with some magnetic 
 fluid ; it penetrates the hearer at every pore. Dis- 
 gusted by the ingratitude of the public after his many 
 cures, he has now returned to an impenetrable solitude, 
 a voluntary nothingness. His all-powerful hand, which 
 has restored a dying daughter to her mother, fathers 
 to their grief-stricken children, adored mistresses to 
 lovers frenzied with love, cured the sick given over by 
 physicians, soothed the sufferings of the dymg when 
 life became impossible, wrung psalms of thanksgiving 
 in synagogues, temples, and churches from the lips of 
 priests recalled to the one God by the same miracle, — 
 that sovereign hand, a sun of life dazzling the closed 
 eyes of the somnambulist, has never been raised again 
 even to save the heir- apparent of a kingdom. Wrapped 
 in the memory of his past mercies as in a luminous 
 shroud, he denies himself to the world and lives for 
 heaven. 
 
 But, at the dawn of his reign, surprised by his own 
 gift, this man, whose generosity equalled his power, 
 allowed a few interested persons to witness his miracles. 
 The fame of his work, which was miglity, and could
 
 Ursula. 99 
 
 easily be revived to-morrow, reached Dr. Bouvard, who 
 was then on the verge of the grave. The persecuted 
 mesmerist was at last enabled to witness the startling 
 phenomena of a science he had long treasured in his 
 heart. The sacrifices of the old man touched the heart 
 of the mysterious stranger, who accorded him certain 
 privileges. As Bouvard now went up the staircase he 
 listened to the twittings of his old antagonist with ma- 
 licious delight, answering onl}', " You shall see, you 
 shall see ! " with the emphatic little nods of a man who 
 is sui'e of his facts. 
 
 The two physicians entered a suite of rooms that were 
 more than modest. Bouvard went alone into a bedroom 
 which adjoined the salon where he left Minoret, whose 
 distrust was instantly awakened ; but Bouvard returned 
 at once and took him into the bedroom, where he saw 
 the mysterious Swedenborgian, and also a woman sit- 
 ting in an armchair. The woman did not rise, and 
 seemed not to notice the entrance of the two old men. 
 
 "What! no tub?" cried Minoret, smiling. 
 
 "Nothing but the power of God," answered the 
 Swedenborgian gravely. He seemed to Minoret to be 
 about fifty years of age. 
 
 The three men sat down and the mysterious stranger 
 talked of the rain and the coming fine weather, to the 
 great astonishment of Minoret, who thought he was 
 being hoaxed. The Swedenborgian soon began, how-
 
 100 Ursula. 
 
 ever, to question his visitor on his scientific opinions, 
 and seemed evidently to be talking time to examine him. 
 " You have come here solely from curiosity, mon- 
 sieur," he said at last. " It is not ray habit to prosti- 
 tute a power which, according to my conviction, ema- 
 nates from God ; if I made a frivolous or unworthy use 
 of it, it would be taken from me. Nevertheless, there 
 is some hope, Monsieur Bouvard tells me, of changing 
 the opinions of one who has opposed us, of enlightening 
 a scientific man whose mind is candid ; I have therefore 
 determined to satisfy 3-ou. That woman whom yon see 
 there," he continued, pointing to her, '' is now in a 
 somnambulic sleep. The statements and manifestations 
 of somnambulists declare that this state is a delightful 
 other life, during which the inner being, freed from the 
 trammels laid upon the exercise of our faculties by the 
 visible world, moves in a world which we mistakenly 
 term invisible. Sight and hearing are then exercised 
 in a manner far more perfect than any we know of here, 
 possibly without the help of the organs we now employ, 
 which are the scabbard of the luminous blades called 
 sight and hearing. To a person in that state, distance 
 and material obstacles do not exist, or they can be 
 traversed b}- a life within us for which our body is a 
 mere receptacle, a necessar}' shelter, a casing. Terms 
 fail to describe effects that have lately been rediscovered, 
 for to-day the words imponderable, intangible, invisible
 
 Ursula. 101 
 
 have no mcfining in relation to the fluid whose action is 
 demonstrated by magnetism. Light is ponderable b}' 
 its heat, which, by penetrating bodies, increases their 
 volume ; and certainly electricitj' is only too tangible. 
 We have condemned things themselves instead of blam- 
 ing the imperfection of our instruments." 
 
 " She sleeps," said Minoret, examining the woman, 
 who seemed to him to belong to an inferior class. 
 
 " Her body is for the time being in abeyance," said 
 the Swedenborgian. " Ignorant persons suppose that 
 condition to be sleep. But she will prove to you that 
 there is a spiritual universe, and that the mind when there 
 does not obej' the laws of this material universe. I 
 will send her wherever you wish her to go, — a hundred 
 miles from here or to China, as you will. She will tell 
 you what is happening there." 
 
 " Send her to my house in Nemours, Rue des Bour- 
 geois ; that will do," said Minoret. 
 
 He took Minoret's hand, which the doctor let him 
 take, and held it for a moment seeming to collect him- 
 self; then with his other hand he took that of the woman 
 sitting in the arm-chair and placed the hand of the doc- 
 tor in it, making a sign to the old sceptic to seat himself 
 beside this oracle without a tripod. Minoret observed 
 a slight tremor on the absolutely calm features of the 
 woman when their hands were thus united by the 
 Swedenborgian, but the action, though marvellous in 
 its effects, was ver}' simply done.
 
 102 Ursula. 
 
 " Obe}' him," said the unknown personage, extending 
 his hand above the head of the sleeping woman, who 
 seemed to imbibe both light and life from him, " and 
 remember that what 3'ou do for him will please me. — 
 You can now speak to her," he added, addressing 
 Minore t. 
 
 " Go to Nemours, to my house. Rue des Bourgeois," 
 said the doctor. 
 
 " Give her time ; put 3-our hand in hers until she 
 proves to you b}' what she tells you tliat she is where 
 you wish her to be," said Bouvard to his old friend, 
 
 " I see a river," said the woman in a feeble voice, 
 seeming to look within herself with deep attention, 
 notwithstanding her closed eyelids. "I see a pretty 
 garden — " 
 
 " Why do 3'OU enter by the river and the garden ? " 
 said Minoret. 
 
 " Because they are there." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " The 30ung girl and her nurse, whom 30U are think- 
 ing of." 
 
 " What is the garden like?" said Minoret. 
 
 " Entering by the steps which go down to the river, 
 there is to the right, a long brick galleiy, in which I 
 see books ; it ends in a singular building, — there are 
 wooden bells, and a pattern of red eggs. To the left, 
 the wall is covered with climbing plants, wild grapes.
 
 Ursula, 103 
 
 Virginia jessamine. In ttie middle is a sun-dial. There 
 are many plants in pots. Your child is loolving at the 
 flowers. She shows them to her nurse — she is making 
 holes in the earth with her trowel, and planting seeds. 
 The nurse is raking the path. The 3'oung girl is pure 
 as an angel, but the beginning of love is there, faint 
 as the dawn — " 
 
 "Love for whom?" asked the doctor, who, until 
 now, would have listened to no word said to him by 
 somnambulists. He considered it all jugglery. 
 
 " You know nothing — though 3'ou have latel}' been 
 uneas}- about her health," answered the woman. " Her 
 heart has followed the dictates of nature." 
 
 "A woman of the people to talk like this!" cried 
 the doctor. 
 
 " In the state she is in all persons speak with ex- 
 traordinary perception," said Bouvard. 
 
 " But who is it that Ursula loves ? " 
 
 "Ursula does not know that she loves," said the 
 woman with a shake of the head; " she is too angelic 
 to know what love is ; but her mind is occupied hy him ; 
 she thinks of him ; she tries to escape the thought ; but 
 she returns to it in spite of her will to abstain. — She 
 is at the piano — " 
 
 "But who is he?" 
 
 " The son of a lad} who lives opposite." 
 
 "■ Madame de Portenduère?"
 
 104 Ursula. 
 
 " Portenduère, did yo\x saj'?" replied the sleeper. 
 " Perhaps so. But there 's no danger ; he is not in the 
 neighborhood." 
 
 " Plave they spoken to each other?" asked the 
 doctor. 
 
 " Never. The}- have looked at one another. She 
 thinks him charming. He is, in fact, a fine man ; he 
 has a good heart. She sees him from her window ; they 
 see each other in church. But the young man no longer 
 thinks of her." 
 
 " His name?" 
 
 " Ah ! to tell you that I must read it, or hear it. 
 He is named Savinien ; she has just spoken his name ; 
 she thinks it sweet to sa^' ; she has looked in the 
 almanac for his fète-day and marked a red dot against 
 it, — child's play, that. Ah ! she will love well, with as 
 much strength as purity ; she is not a girl to love twice ; 
 love will so dye her soul and fill it that she will reject' 
 all other sentiments." 
 
 " Where do 3'ou see that? " 
 
 " In her. She will know how to suffer ; she inherits 
 that ; her father and her mother suffered much." 
 
 The last words overcame the doctor, who felt less 
 shaken than surprised. It is proper to state that be- 
 tween her sentences the woman paused for several 
 minutes, during which time her attention became more 
 and more concentrated. She was seen to see ; her
 
 Ursula. 105 
 
 forehead had a singular aspect ; an inward effort ap- 
 peared there ; it seemed to clear or cloud by some 
 m3'sterious power, the effects of which Minoret had 
 seen in dying persons at moments when they appeared 
 to have the gift of prophecy. Several times she made 
 gestures which resembled those of Ursula. 
 
 "Question her," said the mysterious stranger, to 
 Minoi'et, " she will tell you secrets yon alone can know." 
 
 " Does Ursula love me? " asked IMinoret. 
 
 " Almost as much as she loves God," was the answer. 
 " But she is very unhapp}' at 3'our unbelief. You do 
 not believe in God ; as if 3'ou could prevent his exis- 
 tence ! His word fills the universe. You are the 
 cause of her onl}' sorrow. — Hear ! she is playing 
 scales ; she longs to be a better musician than she is ; 
 she is provoked with herself. She is thinking, ' If I 
 could sing, if my voice were fine, it would reach his 
 ear when he is with his mother.' " 
 
 Doctor Minoret took out his pocket-book and noted 
 the hour. 
 
 " Tell me what seeds she planted ? " 
 
 "Mignonette, sweet-peas, balsams — " 
 
 " And what else? " 
 
 " Larkspur." 
 
 " Where is my money ? " 
 
 " With your notary ; but j^ou invest it so as not to 
 lose the interest of a single day."
 
 106 Ursula. 
 
 " Yes, but where is the money that I keep for my 
 monthl}' expenses ? " 
 
 " You put it in a large book bound in red, entitled 
 'Pandects of Justinian, Vol. II.' between the last two 
 leaves ; the book is on the shelf of folios above the 
 glass buffet. You have a whole row of them. Your 
 money is in the last volume next to the salon — See ! 
 Vol. III. is before Vol. II. — but you have no money, it 
 is all in — " 
 
 ' ' — thousand-franc notes," said the doctor. 
 
 " I cannot see, they are folded. Xo, there are two 
 notes of five hundred francs." 
 
 " You see them? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " How do they look? " 
 
 ''One is old and yellow, the other white and new." 
 
 This last phase of the inquiry petrified tiie doctor. 
 He looked at Bouvard with a bewildered air ; but 
 Bouvard and the Swedenborgian, who were accustomed 
 to the amazement of sceptics, were speaking together 
 iu a low voice and appeared not to notice him. Mino- 
 ret begged them to allow him to return after dinner. 
 The old philosopher wished to compose his mind and 
 shake off this terror, so as to put this vast power to 
 some new test, to subject it to more decisive experi- 
 ments and obtain answers to certain questions, the truth 
 of whicli should do away with every sort of doubt.
 
 Ursula. 107 
 
 " Be here at nine o'clock this evening," said the 
 stranger. " I will return to meet you." 
 
 Doctor Minoret was in so convulsed a state that he 
 left the room without bowing, followed by Bouvard, who 
 called to him from behind, "Well, what do you say? 
 what do you say ? " 
 
 " I think I am mad, Bouvard," answered Minoret 
 from the steps of the porte-cochere. " If that woman 
 tells the truth about Ursula, — and none but Ursula can 
 know the things that sorceress has told me, — I shall 
 say that you are right. I wish I had wings to fly to 
 Nemours this minute and verify her words. But I shall 
 hire a carriage and start at ten o'clock to-night. Ah ! 
 am I losing ni}' senses ? " 
 
 " What would you say if you knew of a life-long 
 incurable disease healed in a moment ; if you saw 
 that great magnetizer bring sweat in torrents from an 
 berj^etic patient, or make a paralyzed woman walk? ' 
 
 " Come and dine, Bouvard ; sta^- with me till nine 
 o'clock. I must find some decisive, undeniable test ! " 
 
 " So be it, old comrade," answered the other. 
 
 The reconciled enemies dined in the Palais-Royal. 
 After a lively conversation, which helped Minoret to 
 evade the fever of the ideas which were ravaging his 
 brain, Bouvard said to him : — 
 
 " If you admit in that woman the faculty of annihi- 
 lating or of traversing space, if j'ou obtain a certainty
 
 108 , Ursula. 
 
 that here, in Paris, she sees and hears what is said and 
 done in Nemours, you must admit all other magnetic 
 facts ; they are not more incredible than these. Ask 
 her for some one proof which you know will satisfy you 
 — for you might suppose that we obtained informa- 
 tion to deceive you ; but we cannot know, for instance, 
 what will happen at nine o'clock in jour goddaughter's 
 bedroom. Remember, or write down, what the sleeper 
 w-ill see and hear, and then go home. Your little 
 Ursula, whom I do not know, is not our accomplice, 
 and if she tells you that she has said and done 
 what you have written down — lower thy head, proud 
 Hun ! " 
 
 The two friends returned to the house opposite to the 
 Assumption and found the somnambulist, who in her 
 waking state did not recognize Doctor Minoret. The 
 eyes of this woman closed gentl}' before the hand of 
 the Swedenborgian, which was stretched towards her at 
 a little distance, and she took the attitude in which 
 Minoret had first seen her. When her hand and that of 
 the doctor were again joined, he asked her to tell him 
 what was happening in his house at Nemours at that 
 instant. " What is Ursula doing?" he said. 
 
 " 3he is undressed; she has just curled her hair; 
 she is kneeling on her prie-Dieu, before an ivory cru- 
 cifix fastened to a red velvet background." 
 
 "' What is she saying? "
 
 Ursula. 109 
 
 " Her evening pra3'ers ; she is commending lierself 
 to God ; she implores him to save her soul from evil 
 thoughts ; she examines her conscience and recalls 
 what she has done during the day ; that she may know 
 if she has failed to obey his commands and those of 
 the church — poor dear little soul, she lays bare her 
 breast ! " Tears were in the sleeper's eyes, " She has 
 done no sin, but she blames herself for thinking too 
 much of Savinien, She stops to wonder what he is 
 doing in Paris ; she prajs to God to make him happy. 
 She speaks of you ; she is praying aloud." 
 
 "Tell me her words." Minoret took his pencil and 
 wrote, as the sleeper uttered it, the following prayer, 
 evidently composed by the Abbe Chaperon. 
 
 "My God, if thou art content with thine handmaid, 
 who worships thee and pra^-s to thee with a love that is 
 equal to her devotion, who strives not to wander from 
 th3' sacred paths, who would gladly die as thy Son died 
 to glorif)' thy name, who desires to live in the shadow 
 of thy will — O God, who knoweth the heart, open 
 the eyes of my godfather, lead him in the waj' of 
 salvation, grant him thy Divine grace, that he ma}' 
 live for thee in his last days ; save him from evil, and 
 let me suffer in his stead. Kind Saint Ursula, dear 
 protectress, and 3'ou, Mother of God, queen of heaven, 
 archangels, and saints in Paradise, hear me ! join your 
 intercessions to mine and have mercy upon us."
 
 110 Ursula. 
 
 The sleeper imitated so perfeetl}' the artless gestures 
 and the inspired manner of his child that Doctor 
 Minoret's e3es were filled with tears, 
 
 " Does she saj' more?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Eepeatit." 
 
 '' ' My dear godfather ; I wonder who plan's back- 
 gammon with him in Paris.' She has blown out the 
 light — her head is on the pillow — she turns to sleep ! 
 Ah, she is off! How pretty she looks in her little 
 night-cap." 
 
 Minoret bowed to the great Unknown, wrung Bou- 
 vard b}' the hand, ran downstairs and hastened to a 
 cab-stand which at that time was near the gates of a 
 house since pulled down to make room for the Rue 
 d'Alger. There he found a coachman who was willing 
 to start immediately for Fontainebleau. The moment 
 the price was agreed on, the old man, who seemed to 
 have renewed his youth, jumped into the carriage and 
 started. According to agreement, he stopped to rest the 
 horse at Essonne, but arrived at Fontainebleau in time 
 for the diligence to Nemours, on which he secured a 
 seat, and dismissed his coachman. He reached home 
 at five in the morning and went to bed, with his life-long 
 ideas of physiologv, nature, and metaphysics in ruins 
 about him, and slept till nine o'clock, so wearied was 
 he with the events of his journey.
 
 Ursula. Ill 
 
 VIT. 
 
 A TWO-FOLD CONVERSION. 
 
 On rising, the cloctoi-, sure that no one had crossed 
 the thresliold of his house since he re-entered it, 
 proceeded (but not witliout extreme trepidation) to 
 verify his facts. He was himself ignorant of any 
 difference in the bank-notes and also of the misplace- 
 ment of the Pandect vohimes. The somnambulist was 
 right. The doctor rang for La Rougival. 
 
 " Tell Ursula to come and speak to me," he said, 
 seating himself in the centre of his library-. 
 
 The girl came ; she ran up to him and kissed him. 
 The doctor took her on his knee, where she sat con- 
 tentedly, mingliug her soft fair curls with the white 
 hair of her old friend. 
 
 "Do 3-ou want something, godfather?" 
 
 " Yes ; but promise me, on your salvation, to an- 
 swer frankly, without evasion, the questions that I 
 sliall put to you." 
 
 Ursula colored to the temples. 
 
 "Oil! I'll ask notliing tliat you cannot speak of," 
 he said, noticing how the bashfuhiess of J'oung love 
 clouded the hitherto childlike purity of the girl's blue 
 eyes.
 
 112 Ursula. 
 
 "Ask me, godfather." 
 
 " What thought was in 5-our mind whsn j-ou ended 
 your prayers last evening, and what time was it when 
 you said them." 
 
 " It was a quarter-past or half-past nine." 
 
 " "Well, repeat your last prayer." 
 
 The girl fancied that her voice might conve}' her faith 
 to the sceptic ; she slid from his knee and knelt down, 
 clasping her hands fervently ; a brilliant light illumined 
 her face as she turned it on the old man and said : — 
 
 " What I asked of God last night I asked again 
 this morning, and I shall ask it till he vouchsafes 
 to grant it." 
 
 Then she repeated her prayer with new and still 
 more powerful expression. To her great astonishment 
 her godfather took the last words from her mouth 
 and finished the prajer. 
 
 "Good, Ursula," said the doctor, taking her again 
 on his knee. '' When you laid your head on the 
 pillow and went to sleep did 3-ou think to yourself, 
 'That dear godfather; I wonder who is playing back- 
 gammon with him in Paris'?" 
 
 Ursula sprang up as if the last trumpet had sounded 
 in her ears. She gave a cr^- of terror ; her eyes, wide 
 open, gazed at the old man with awful fixity. 
 
 " Who are yon, godiather? From whom do j-ou 
 get such power?" she asked, imagining that in his
 
 Ursula. 113 
 
 desire to deny God he had made some compact with 
 the devil. 
 
 " What seeds did you plant yesterday in the garden? " 
 
 "Mignonette, sweet-peas, balsams — " 
 
 " And the last w^ere larkspur? " 
 
 She fell on her knees. 
 
 " Do not terrify me ! " she exclaimed. " Oh you must 
 have been here — you were here, were you not ? " 
 
 "Am I not always with you?" replied the doctor, 
 evading her question, to save the strain on the young 
 girl's mind. " Let us go to your room." 
 
 " Your legs are trembling," she said. 
 
 " Yes, I am confounded, as it were." 
 
 "Can it be that you believe in God?" she cried, 
 with artless joy, letting fall the tears that gathered in 
 her eyes. 
 
 The old man looked round the simple but dainty 
 little room he had given to his Ursula. On the floor 
 was a plain green carpet, very inexpensive, which she 
 herself kept exquisitely clean ; the walls were hung with 
 a gray paper strewn with roses and green leaves ; at 
 the windows, which looked to the court, were calico 
 curtains edged with a band of some pink material; 
 between the windows and beneath a tall mirror was 
 a pier-table topped with marble, on which stood a 
 Sèvres vase in which she put her nosegays ; opposite 
 the chimney was a little bureau-desk of charming
 
 114 Ursula. 
 
 marquetiy. The bed, of chintz, with chintz curtains 
 lined with pink, was one of those duchess beds so 
 common in the eighteenth century, which had a tuft 
 of carved featliers at tlie top of eacli of the four 
 posts, which were fluted on the sides. An old clock, 
 inclosed in a sort of monument made of tortoise-shell 
 inlaid with arabesques of Ivor}", decorated the mantel- 
 piece, the marble shelf of which, with the candlesticks 
 and the mirror in a frame painted in cameo on 
 a gray ground, presented a remarkable harmony of 
 color, tone and stj'le. A large wardrobe, the doors 
 of which were inlaid with landscapes in different woods 
 (some having a green tint which are no longer to 
 be found for sale) contained, no doubt, her linen 
 and her dresses. The air of the room was redolent 
 of heaven. The precise arrangement of everything 
 showed a sense of order, a feeling for harmon}-, which 
 would certainly have influenced an}^ one, even a Minoret- 
 Levrault. It was plain that the things about her 
 were dear to Ursula, and that she loved a room wliich 
 contained, as it were, her childhood and the wliole 
 of her girlish life. 
 
 Looking the room well over that he might seem to 
 have a reason for his visit, the doctor saw at once how 
 the windows looked into those of Madame de Porten- 
 duere. During the night he had meditated as to the 
 course he ought to pursue with Ursula about his discov-
 
 Ursula. 115 
 
 ery of this dawning passion. To question her now 
 would commit him to some course. He must either ap- 
 prove or disapprove of her love ; in either case his posi- 
 tion would be a false one. He therefore resolved to 
 watch and examine into the state of things between 
 the two young people, and learn whether it were 
 his duty to check the inclination before it was irre- 
 sistible. None but an old man could have shown such 
 deliberate wisdom. Still panting from the discovery of 
 the truth of these magnetic facts, he turned about and 
 looked at all the various little things around the room ; 
 he wished to examine the almanac which was hanging 
 at a corner of the chimne}' -piece. 
 
 "These ugly things are too heavy for your little 
 hands," he said, taking up the marble candlesticks 
 which were partly covered with leather. 
 
 He weighed them in his hand ; then he looked at the 
 almanac and took it, saying, " This is ugly too. Why 
 do 3'ou keep such a common thing in j'our pretty 
 room ? " 
 
 " Oh, please let me have it, godfather." 
 " No, no, you shall have another to-morrow." 
 So saying he carried off this possible proof, shut him- 
 self up in his study, looked for Saint Savinlen and found, 
 as the somnambulist had told him, a little red dot at the 
 19th of October ; he also saw another before his own 
 saint's da}'. Saint Denis, and a third before Saint John,
 
 116 Ursula. 
 
 the abbe's patron. This little dot, no larger than a pin's 
 head, had been seen by the sleeping woman in spite of 
 distance and other obstacles ! The old man thought 
 till evening of these events, more momentous for him 
 than for others. He was forced to yield to evidence. 
 A strong wall, as it were, crumbled within him ; for his 
 life had rested on two bases, — indifference in mat- 
 ters of rehgion and a firm disbelief in magnetism. 
 When it was proved to him that the senses — faculties 
 purely physical, organs, the effects of which could be 
 explained — attained to some of the attributes of the 
 infinite, magnetism upset, or at least it seemed to him 
 to upset, the powerful arguments of Spinoza. The 
 finite and the infinite, two incompatible elements ac- 
 cording to that remarkable man, were here united, the 
 one in the other. No matter what power he gave to the 
 divisibility and mobilit}' of matter he could not help 
 recognizing that it possessed qualities that were almost 
 divine. 
 
 He was too old now to connect these phenomena to a 
 S3'stem, and compare them with those of sleep, of vision, 
 of light. His whole scientific belief, based on the asser- 
 tions of the school of LocIvC and Condillac, was in ruins. 
 Seeing his hollow idols in pieces, his scepticism stag- 
 gered. Tlius the advantage in this struggle between 
 the Catholic child and the Voltairean old man was on 
 Ursula's side. In the dismantled fortress, above these
 
 Ursula. 117 
 
 ruins, shone a light ; from the centre of these ashes 
 issued the path of prayer ! Nevertheless, the obstinate 
 old scientist fought his doubts. Though struck to the 
 heart, he would not decide, he struggled on against God. 
 
 But he was no longer the same man ; his mind showed 
 its vacillation. He became unnaturally- dreamy ; he 
 read Pascal, and Bossuet's sublime " History- of Spe- 
 cies ; " he read Bonald, he read Saint-Augustine ; he 
 determined also to read the works of Swedenborg, and 
 the late Saint-Martin, which the mysterious stranger 
 had mentioned to him. The edifice within him was 
 crackmg on all sides ; it needed but one more shake, 
 and then, his heart being ripe for God, he was destined 
 to fall into the celestial vinej-ard as fall the fruits. 
 Often of an evening, when playing with the abbé, his 
 goddaughter sitting by, he would put questions bearing 
 on his opinions which seemed singular to the priest, 
 who was ignorant of the inward workings b}- which 
 God was remaking that fine conscience. 
 
 "Do you believe in apparitions?" asked the sceptic 
 of the pastor, stopping short in the game. 
 
 " Cardan, a great philosopher of the sixteenth centur\- 
 said he had seen some," replied the abbé. 
 
 " I know all those that scholars have discussed, for 
 I have just reread Plotinus. I am questioning \o\x as a 
 Catholic might, and I ask you if j'ou think that dead 
 men can return to the living."
 
 118 Ursula. 
 
 " Jesus reappeared to his disciples after his death," 
 said the abbé. " The Church ought to have faith in the 
 apparitions of tlie Saviour, As for miracles, they are 
 not lacking," he continued, smiling. " Shall I tell you 
 the last? It took place in the eighteenth century." 
 
 ' ' Pooh ! " said the doctor. 
 
 " Yes, the blessed Marie-Alphonse of Liguori, being 
 very far from Rome, knew of the death of the Pope at 
 the very moment the Holy Father expired ; there were 
 numerous witnesses of this miracle. The sainted bishop 
 being in ecstasy, heard the last words of the sovereign 
 pontiff and repeated them at the time to those about 
 him. The courier who ])rouglit the announcement of 
 the death did not arrive till thirty hours later." 
 
 "Jesuit!" exclaimed old Minoret, laughing, " I did 
 not ask you for proofs ; I asked you if 3'ou believed in 
 apparitions." 
 
 •' I think an apparition depends a good deal on who 
 sees it," said the abbé, still fencing with his sceptic. 
 
 " My friend," said the doctor, serioush', " I am not 
 setting a trap for you. What do you really believe 
 about it? " 
 
 " I believe that the power of God is infinite," replied 
 the abbé. 
 
 " When I am dead, if I am reconciled to God, I will 
 ask him to let me appear to you," said the doctor, 
 smiling.
 
 Ursula. 119 
 
 "That's exactl}' the agreement Cardan made with 
 his friend," answered the priest. 
 
 "Ursula," said Minoret, "if danger ever threatens 
 you, call me, and I will come." 
 
 " You have put into one sentence that beautiful eleg}- 
 of ' Néère ' by André Chénier," said the abbé. " Poets 
 are sublime because they clothe both facts and feelings 
 with ever-living images." 
 
 " Why do you speak of 3-our death, dear godfather?" 
 said Ursula in a grieved tone. " We Christians do not 
 die ; the grave is the cradle of our souls." 
 
 "Well," said the doctor, smiling, "we must go out 
 of the world, and when I am no longer here you will 
 be astonished at 3'our fortune." 
 
 "When you are here no longer, m}' kind friend, my 
 onl}' consolation will be to consecrate my life to you." 
 
 "To me, dead?" 
 
 " Yes. All the good works that I can do will be 
 done in your name to redeem your sins. I will praj- 
 God every dav for his infinite mercy, that he ma}' not 
 punish eternally the errors of a day. I know he will 
 summon among the righteous a soul so i^ure, so beauti- 
 ful, as yours." 
 
 That answer, said with angelic candor, in a tone of 
 absolute certaint}', confounded error and converted 
 Denis Minoret as God converted Saul. A ray of 
 inward light overawed him ; the knowledge of this
 
 120 Ursula. 
 
 tenderness, covering his 3'ears to come, brought tears 
 to his eyes. This sudden effect of grace had something 
 that seemed electrical about it. The abbé clasped his 
 hands and rose, troubled, from his seat. The girl, 
 astonished at her triumph, wept. The old man stood 
 up as if a voice had called him, looking into space as 
 though his eyes beheld the dawn ; then he bent his 
 knee upon his chair, clasped his hands, and lowered his 
 eyes to the ground as one humiliated. 
 
 " My God," he said in a trembling voice, raising his 
 head, " if any one can obtain my pardon and lead me to 
 thee, surely it is this spotless creature. Have mercy 
 on the repentant old age that this pure child presents 
 to thee ! " 
 
 He lifted his soul to God ; mentall}^ praying for the 
 light of divine knowledge after the gift of divine grace ; 
 then he turned to the abbé and held out his hand. 
 
 " My dear pastor," he said, " I am become as a little 
 child. I belong to you ; I give my soul to your care." 
 
 Ursula kissed his hands and bathed them with her 
 tears. The old man took her on his knee and called 
 her gayl}' his godmother. The abbé, deeply moved, 
 recited the Veni Creator in a species of religious 
 ecstasy. The hymn served as the evening prayer of 
 the three Christians kneeling together for the first time. 
 
 " What has happened? " asked La Bougival, amazed 
 at the sisht.
 
 Ursula. 121 
 
 " My godfather believes iu God at last ! " replied 
 Ursula. 
 
 " Ah ! so much the better ; he only needed that to 
 make him perfect," cried the old woman, crossing her- 
 self with artless gravity. 
 
 " Dear doctor," said the good priest, " you will soon 
 comprehend the grandeur of religion and the value of 
 its practices ; you will find its philosophy in human 
 aspects far higher than that of the boldest sceptics." 
 
 The abbé, who showed a joy that was almost infan- 
 tine, agreed to catechize the old man and confer with 
 him twice a week. Thus the conversion attributed to 
 Ursula and to a spirit of sordid calculation, was the 
 spontaneous act of the doctor himself. The abbé, who 
 for fourteen years had abstained from touching the 
 wounds of that heart, though all the while deploring 
 them, was now asked for help, as a surgeon is called 
 to an injured man. Ever since this scene Ursula's 
 evening prayers had been said in common with her god- 
 father. Day after day the old man grew more con- 
 scious of the peace within him that succeeded all his 
 conflicts. Having, as he said, God as the responsible 
 editor of things inexplicable, his mind was at case. 
 His dear child told him that he might know by that 
 how far he had advanced already* in Gods kingdom. 
 During the mass which we have seen him attend, he 
 had read the prayers and applied his own intelligence
 
 122 Ursula, 
 
 to them ; from the first, he had risen to the divine 
 idea of the communion of the faithful. The old 
 neoph3-te understood the eternal s3'mbol attached to 
 that sacred nourishment, which faith renders needful 
 to the soul after conveying to it her own profound and 
 radiant essence. When on leaving the church he had 
 seemed in a hurry to get home, it was mereh' that he 
 might once more thank his dear child for having led 
 him to "enter religion," — the beautiful expression of 
 former days. He was holding her on his knee in the 
 salon and kissing her forehead sacredly- at the very 
 moment when his relatives were degrading that saintly 
 influence with their shameless fears, and casting their 
 vulgar insults upon Ursula, His haste to return home, 
 his assumed disdain for their company, his sharp replies 
 as he left the church were naturally attributed by all 
 the heirs to the hatred Ursula had excited against them 
 in the old man's mind.
 
 Ursula. 123 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE CONFERENCE. 
 
 While Ursula was pla3'ing variations on Weber's 
 " Last Thought " to her godfather, a plot was hatching 
 in the Minoret-Levraults' dining-room which was des- 
 tined to have a lasting effect on the events of this 
 drama. The breakfast, noisy as all provincial break- 
 fasts are, and enlivened by excellent wines brought to 
 Nemours by the canal either from Burgund}" or Tou- 
 raine, lasted more than two hours. Zélie had sent for 
 oysters, salt-water fish, and other gastronomical deli- 
 cacies to do honor to Desire's return. The dining- 
 room, in the centre of which a round table offered a 
 most appetizing sight, was like the hall of an inn. 
 Content with the size of her kitchens and offices, Zélie 
 had built a pavilion for the family between the vast 
 courtyard and a garden planted with vegetables and 
 full of fruit-trees. Ever3'thing about the premises was 
 solid and plain. The example of Levrault-Levrault 
 had been a warning to the town. Zélie forbade her 
 builder to lead her into such follies. The dining-room 
 was, therefore, hung with varnished paper and fur- 
 nished with walnut chairs and sideboards, a porcelain
 
 124 Ursula. 
 
 stove, a tall clock, and a barometer. Though the plates 
 and dishes were of common white china, the table 
 shone with handsome linen and abundant silverware. 
 After Zélie had served the coffee, going and coming 
 herself like shot in a decanter, — for she kept but one 
 servant, — and when Desire, the budding lawyer, had 
 been told of the event of the morning and its probable 
 consequences, the door was closed, and the notary 
 Dionis was called upon to speak. By the silence in 
 the room and the looks that were cast on that authori- 
 tative face, it was easy to see the power that such men 
 exercise over families. 
 
 " My dear children," said he, " 3'our uncle having 
 been born in 1746, is eighty-three 3'ears old at the pres- 
 ent time ; now, old men are given to foil}', and that 
 little — " 
 
 " Viper I " cried Madame Massin. 
 
 " Hussy ! " said Zélie. 
 
 " Let us call her by her own name," said Dionis. 
 
 " Well, she 's a thief," said Madame Crémière. 
 
 " A prett}' thief," remarked Desire. 
 
 " That little Ursula," went on Dionis, " has man- 
 aged to get hold of his heart. I have been thinking of 
 3'Our interests, and I did 'not wait until now before 
 making certain inquiries ; now this is what I have 
 discovered about that 3'oung — ' 
 
 " Marauder," said the collector.
 
 Ursula. 125 
 
 " Inveigler," said the clerk of the court. 
 
 "Hold your tongue, friends," said the notary, "or 
 I '11 take my hat and be off." 
 
 " Come, come, papa," cried Minoret, pouring out a 
 little glass of rum and offering it to the notary ; " here, 
 drink this, it comes from Home itself; and now go 
 on." 
 
 " Ursula is, it is true, the legitimate daughter of 
 Joseph Mirouët ; but her father was the natural son of 
 Valentin Mirouët, your uncle's father-in-law. Being 
 therefore an illegitimate niece, anj' will the doctor 
 might make in her favor could probabl}' be contested ; 
 and if he leaves her his fortune in that wa}' you could 
 bring a suit against Ursula. This, however, might 
 turn out ill for you, in case the court took the view 
 that there was no relationship between Ursula and the 
 doctor. Still, the suit would frighten an unprotected 
 girl, and bring about a compromise — " 
 
 " The law is so rigid as to the rights of natural 
 children," said the newly fledged licentiate, eager to 
 parade his knowledge, " that by a judgment of the 
 court of appeals dated Jul^' 7, 1817, a natural child 
 can claim nothing from his natural grandfather, not 
 even a maintenance. So 3'ou see the illegitimate 
 parentage is made retrospective. The law pursues the 
 natural child even to its legitimate descent, on the 
 ground that benefactions done to grandchildren reacn
 
 126 ' Ursula, 
 
 the natural son through that medium. This is shown 
 by articles 757, 908, and 911 of the civil Code. The 
 ro3-al court of Paris, by a decision of the 26th of 
 January of last 3'ear, cut off a legacy made to the 
 legitimate child of a natural son by the grandfather, 
 who, as grandfather, was as distant to a natural grand- 
 son as the doctor, being an uncle, is to Ursula." 
 
 "All that," said Goupil, "seems to me to relate 
 only to the bequests made by grandfathers to natural 
 descendants. Ursula is not a blood relation of Doctor 
 Minoret. I remember a decision of the royal court at 
 Colmar, rendered in 1825, just before I took my degree, 
 which declared that after tlie decease of a natural child 
 his descendants could no longer be prohibited from 
 inheriting. Now, Ursula's father is dead." 
 
 Goupil's argument produced what journalists who 
 report the sittings of legislative assemblies are wont to 
 call " profound sensation." 
 
 "What does that signif}-?" cried Dionis. "The 
 actual case of the bequest of an uncle to an illegitimate 
 child may not yet have been presented for trial ; but 
 when it is, the sternness of Fi'ench law against such 
 children will be all the more firmly applied because we 
 live in times when religion is honored. I '11 answer for 
 it that out of such a suit as I propose j-ou could get a 
 compromise, — especially if the}' see you are deter- 
 mined to cany Ursula to a court of appeals."
 
 Ursula. 127 
 
 Here the joy of the heii's ah-eady fingering their gold 
 was made manifest in smiles, shrugs, and gestures 
 round the table, and prevented all notice of Goupil's 
 dissent. This elation, however, was succeeded by deep 
 silence and uneasiness when the notary uttered his, next 
 word, a terrible " But ! " 
 
 As if he had pulled the string of a puppet-show, 
 starting the little people in jerks by means of machinery, 
 Dionis beheld all ej'es turned on him and all faces 
 rigid in one and the same pose. 
 
 " But no law prevents your uncle from adopting or 
 marrying Ursula," he continued. " As for adoption, 
 that could be contested, and you would, I think, have 
 equity on your side. The ro3al courts never trifle 
 with questions of adoption ; you would get a hearing 
 there. It is true the doctor is an officer of the Legion 
 of honor, and was formerl}' surgeon to the ex-emperor ; 
 but, nevertheless, he would get the worst of it. More- 
 over, you would have due warning in case of adoption 
 — but how about marriage ? Old Minoret is shrewd 
 enough to go to Paris and marrj' her after a 3-ear's 
 domicile and give her a million b}' the marriage con- 
 tract. The only thing, therefore, that really puts 3'our 
 propert}' in danger is your uncle's marriage with the 
 girl." 
 
 Here the notar}' paused. 
 
 " There 's another danger," said Goupil, with a
 
 128 Ursula. 
 
 knowing air, — "that of a will made in favor of a 
 tliird person, old Bongrand for instance, who will hold 
 the property in trust for Mademoiselle Ursula — " 
 
 " If 3-ou tease 3-our uncle," continued Dionls, cutting 
 short his head-clerk, " if 3'ou are not all of you very 
 polite to Ursula, 3'ou will drive him either into a mar- 
 riage or into making that private trust which Goupil 
 speaks of, — though I don't think him capable of that ; 
 it is a dangerous thing. As for marriage, that is eas3' to 
 prevent. Desire there has only got to hold out a finger 
 to the girl ; she 's sure to prefer a handsome young 
 man, cock of the walk in Nemours, to an old one." 
 
 "Mother," said Desire in Zélie's ear, as much allured 
 b3' the millions as by Ursula's beaut3', " If I married 
 her we should get the whole propert3'." 
 
 "Are 3'ou craz3'? — you, who'll some da3' have 
 fift3' thousand francs a year and be made a deputy ! 
 As long as I live you never shall cut 3'our throat b3- a 
 foolish marriage. Seven hundred thousand francs, 
 indeed ! Why, the mayor's only daughter will have 
 fifty thousand a 3^ear, and the3- have aliead3' proposed 
 her to me — " 
 
 This reply, the first rough speech his mother had ever 
 made to him, extinguished in Desire's breast all desire 
 for a marriage with the beautiful Ursula ; for his father 
 and he never got the better of an3- decision once wi'itten 
 in the terrible blue eyes of Zelie Minoret.
 
 Ursula. 129 
 
 " Yes, but see here, Monsieur Dionis," cried Cré- 
 mière, whose wife had been nudging him, " if the good- 
 man took the thing seriously and married his god- 
 daughter to Desire, giving lier the reversion of all the 
 property, good-by to our share of it ; if he lives five 
 years longer uncle may be worth a million." 
 
 "Never!" cried Zelie, "never in my life shall 
 Desire marry the daughter of a bastard, a girl picked 
 up in the streets out of charity. My son will represent 
 the Minore ts after the death of his uncle, and the 
 Minorets have five hundred ^ears of good bourgeoisie 
 behind them. That 's equal to the nobility. Don't be 
 uneas}', an}' of you ; Desire will marr^' when we find a 
 chance to put him in the Chamber of deputies." 
 
 This lofty declaration was backed b^- Goupil, who 
 said : — 
 
 " Desire, with an allowance of twentj'-four thousand 
 francs a 3'ear, will be president of a royal court or 
 solicitor-general ; either office leads to the peerage. A 
 foolish marriage would ruin him." 
 
 The heirs were now all talking at once ; but they 
 suddenly held their tongues when Minoret rapped on 
 the table with his fist to keep silence for the notary. 
 
 "Your uncle is a worthy man," continued Dionis. 
 " He believes he 's immortal ; and, like most clever 
 men, he '11 let death overtake him before he has made 
 a will. My advice therefore is to induce him to invest 
 
 9
 
 130 Ursula. 
 
 his capital in a way that will make it difficult for him 
 to disinherit you, and I know of an opportunity, made 
 to hand. That little Portenduere is in Saint-Pélagie, 
 locked-up for one hundred and some odd thousand 
 francs' worth of debt. His old mother knows he is in 
 prison ; she is crying like a Magdalen. The abbé is to 
 dine with her : no doubt she wants to talk to him about 
 her troubles. Well, 1 '11 go and see your uncle to-night 
 and persuade him to sell his five per cent consols, which 
 are now at 118, and lend Madame de Portenduere, on 
 the security of her farm at Bordières and her house 
 here, enough to pay the debts of the prodigal son. 
 I have a right as notary to speak to him in behalf 
 of young Portenduere ; and it is quite natural that I 
 should wish to make him change his investments ; I 
 get deeds and commissions out of the business. If 
 I become his adviser I '11 propose to him other land 
 investments for his surplus capital ; I have some excel- 
 lent ones now in m}' office. If his fortune were once 
 invested in landed estate or in mortgage notes in this 
 neighborhood, it could not take wings to itself very 
 easily. It is eas}' to make difficulties between the wish 
 to realize and the realization." 
 
 The heirs, struck with the truth of this argument 
 (much clevei-er than that of Monsieur Josse), mur- 
 mured approval. 
 
 " You must be cai-eful," said the notary- in conclu-
 
 Ursula. 131 
 
 sion, " to keep 3'our uncle in Nemours, where his habits 
 are known, and where 3'ou can watch him. Find him 
 a lover for the girl and you '11 prevent his marrying her 
 himself." 
 
 "Suppose she married the lover?" said Goupil, 
 seized by an ambitious idea. 
 
 "That wouldn't be a bad thing; then you could 
 figure up the loss ; the old man would have to say how 
 much he gives her," replied the notary. " But if ^-ou 
 set Desire at her he could keep the girl dangling on till 
 the old man died. Marriages are made and unmade." 
 
 "The shortest way," said Goupil, " if the doctor is 
 likely to live much longer, is to marr}- her to some 
 worthy young man who will get her out of your way by 
 settling at Sens, or Montargis, or Orléans with a hun- 
 dred thousand francs in hand." 
 
 Dionis, Massin, Zelie, and Goupil, the only intelli- 
 gent heads in the compan}', exchanged four thoughtful 
 smiles. 
 
 " He'd be a worm at the core," whispered Zelie to 
 Massin. 
 
 " How did he get here? " returned the clerk. 
 
 " That will just suit 3'ou ! " cried Desire to Goupil. 
 " But do you think you can behave decentl}' enough to 
 satisfy the old man and the girl ? " 
 
 " In these da3-s," whispered Zelie again in Massin's 
 ear, " notaries look out for no interests but their own.
 
 132 Ursula. 
 
 Suppose Dionis went over to Ursula just to get the old 
 man's business ? " 
 
 " I am sure of him," said the clerk of the court, giv- 
 ing her a sh' look out of his spiteful little ej'es. He was 
 just going to add, " because I hold somethmg over 
 him," but he withheld the words. 
 
 " I am quite of Dionis's opinion," he said aloud, 
 
 " So am I," cried Zélie, who now suspected the no- 
 tary of collusion with the clerk. 
 
 " My wife has voted ! " said the post master, sipping 
 his brand^', though his face was already purple from 
 digesting his meal and absorbing a notable quantity of 
 liquids. 
 
 " And verj' properlj'." remarked the collector. 
 
 " I shall go and see the doctor after dinner,"' said 
 Dionis. 
 
 " If Monsieur Dionis's advice is good," said Madame 
 Crémière to Madame Massin, " we had better go and 
 call on our uncle, as we used to do, every Sunda}- even- 
 ing, and behave exactly as Monsieur Dionis has told 
 us." 
 
 "Yes, and be received as he received us!" cried 
 Zélie. " Minoret and I have more than fort}- thousand 
 francs a 3'ear, and yet he refused our invitations ! We 
 are quite his equals. If I don't know how to write pre- 
 scriptions I know how to paddle my boat as well as 
 he — I can tell him that ! "
 
 Ursula. 133 
 
 " As I am far from having forty thousand francs a 
 j-ear," said Madame Massin, rather piqued, " I don't 
 want to lose ten thousand." 
 
 " We are his nieces ; we ought to take care of him, 
 and then besides we shall see how things are going," 
 said Madame Crémière ; " you 'II thank us some day, 
 cousin." 
 
 "Treat Ursula kindl}'," said the notary, lifting his 
 right forefinger to the level of his lips ; " remember old 
 Jord}' left her his savings." 
 
 " You have managed those fools as well as Desroches, 
 the best lawyer in Paris, could have done," said Goupil 
 to his patron as they left the post-house. 
 
 " And now the}' are quarrelling over my fee," re- 
 plied the notaiy, smiling bitterly. 
 
 The heirs, after parting with Dionis and his clerk, 
 met again in the square, with faces rather flushed from 
 their breakfast, just as vespers were over. As the no- 
 tary predicted, the Abbé Chaperon had Madame de 
 Portendiière on his arm. 
 
 " She dragged him to vespers, see ! " cried Madame 
 Massin to Madame Crémière, pointing to Ursula and 
 the doctor, who were leaving the church. 
 
 " Let us go and speak to him," said Madame Cré- 
 mière, approaching the old man. 
 
 The change in the faces of his relatives (produced by 
 the conference) did not escape Doctor Minoret. He
 
 134 Ursula. 
 
 tried to guess the reason of this sudden amiabihty, and 
 out of sheer curiosity encouraged Ursula to stop and 
 speak to the two women, who were eager to greet her 
 with exaggerated affection and forced smiles. 
 
 " Uncle, will you permit us to come and see y on 
 to-night?" said Madame Crémière. " We feared some- 
 times we were in your way — but it is such a long time 
 since our children have paid you their respects ; our 
 girls are old enough now to make dear Ursula's ac- 
 quaintance." 
 
 "Ursula is a little bear, like her name," replied the 
 doctor. 
 
 " Let us tame her," said Madame Massin. " And 
 besides, uncle/' added the good housewife, trying to 
 hide her real motive under a mask of economy, " they 
 tell us the dear girl has such talent for the forte that we 
 are very anxious to hear her. Madame Crémière and 
 I are inclined to take her music-master for our children. 
 If there w^ere six or eight scholars in a class it would 
 bring the price of his lessons within our means." 
 
 "Certainly," said tlie old man, "and it will be all 
 the better for me because I want to give Ursula a 
 singing-master." 
 
 " Well, to-night then, uncle. We will bring your 
 great-nephew Désiré to see you ; he is now a lawyer." 
 
 " Yes, to-night," echoed Minoret, meaning to fathom 
 the motives of these pett}' souls.
 
 Ursula. 135 
 
 The two nieces pressed Ursula's band, saying, with 
 affected eagerness, " Au revoir." 
 
 " Oil, godfather, ^'ou have read my heart ! " ci-ied 
 Ursula, giving him a grateful look. 
 
 " You are going to have a voice," he said ; " and I 
 shall give you masters of drawing and Italian also. A 
 woman," added the doctor, looking at Ursula as he 
 unfastened the gate of his house, " ought to be edu- 
 cated to the height of every position in which her 
 marriage ma}' place her." 
 
 Ursula grew as red as a cherry ; her godfather's 
 thoughts evidentl}' turned in the same direction as her 
 own. Feeling that she was too near confessing to the 
 doctor the involuntary attraction which led her to think 
 about Savinien and to centre all her ideas of affection 
 upon him, she turned aside and sat down in front of a 
 great cluster of climbing plants, on the dark back- 
 ground of which she looked at a distance like a blue 
 and white flower. 
 
 "Now you see, godfather, that 3'our nieces were 
 ver}' kind to me ; yes, the}' were ver}' kind," she re- 
 peated as he approached her, to change the thoughts 
 that made him pensive. 
 
 "■ Poor little girl ! " cried the old man. 
 
 He laid Ursula's hand upon his arm, tapping it 
 gently, and took her to the terrace beside the river, 
 where no one could hear them
 
 136 Ursula. 
 
 " Why do you say, ' Poor little girl '?" 
 
 " Don't you see how they fear you? " 
 
 " Fear me, — why ? " 
 
 " My next of kin are very uneas}' about my con- 
 version. The}' no doubt attribute it to your influence 
 over me ; they fanc}' I shall deprive them of their 
 inheritance to enrich you." 
 
 "But you won't do that?" said Ursula naivel}', 
 looking up at him. 
 
 " Oh, divine consolation of my old age ! " said the 
 doctor, taking his godchild in his arms and kissing her 
 on both cheeks. " It was for her and not for m3-self, 
 oh God ! that I besought thee just now to let me live 
 until the da}' I give her to some good being who is 
 worthy of her ! — You will see comedies, ray little 
 angel, comedies which the Minorets and Crémières and 
 Massins will come and play here. You want to brighten 
 and prolong my life ; they are longing for m}- death." 
 
 "God forbids us to hate any one, but if that is — 
 Ah, I despise them?*' exclaimed Ursula. 
 
 " Dinner is read}' ! " called La Bougival from the 
 portico, which, on the garden side, was at the end of 
 the corridor.
 
 Ursula. 137 
 
 IX. 
 
 A FIRST CONFIDENCE. 
 
 Ursula and her godfather were sitting at dessert in 
 the prett}- dining-room decorated with Chinese designs 
 in black and gold lacquer (the foil}- of Levrault-Levrault) 
 when the justice of peace arrived. The doctor offered ' 
 him (and this was a great mark of intimac)') a cup of 
 his coffee, a mixture of Mocha with Bourbon and Mar- 
 tinique, roasted, ground, and made by himself in a 
 silver apparatus called a Chaptal. 
 
 " Well," said Bongrand, pushing up his glasses and 
 looking slyly at the old man, "the town is in commo- 
 tion ; your appearance in church has put 3'our relatives 
 beside themselves. You have left your fortune to the 
 priests, to the poor. You have roused the families, 
 and the}' are bestirring themselves. Ha ! ha ! I saw 
 their first irruption into the square ; the}' were as busy 
 as ants who have lost their eggs." 
 
 "What did I tell you, Ursula?" cried the doctor. 
 "At the risk of grieving you, my child, I must teach 
 you to know the world and put you on your guard 
 against undeserved enmity."
 
 138 Ursula. 
 
 " I should like to sa}- a word to 3'ou on this subject," 
 said Bongrand, seizing the occasion to speak to his old 
 friend of Ursula's future. 
 
 The doctor put a black velvet cap on his white head, 
 the justice of peace wore bis hat to protect him from 
 the night air, and the}' walked up and down the terrace 
 discussing the means of securing to Ursula what her 
 godfather intended to bequeath to her. Bongrand 
 knew Dionis's opinion as to the invalidit}' of a will 
 made b}' the doctor in favor of Ursula ; for Nemours 
 was so preoccupied with the Minoret affairs that the 
 matter had been much discussed among the law3'ers of 
 the little town. Bongrand considered that Ursula 
 Mirouèt was not a relative of Doctor Minoret, but he 
 felt that the whole spirit of legislation was against the 
 foisting into families of illegitimate off-shoots. The 
 makers of the Code had foreseen only the weakness of 
 fathers and mothers for their natural children, without 
 considering that uncles and aunts might have a like 
 tenderness and a desire to provide for such children. 
 Evidenth' there was a gap in the law. 
 
 " In all other countries," he said, ending an explana- 
 tion of the legal points which Dionis, Goupil, and Desire 
 had just explained to the heirs, " Ursula would have 
 nothing to fear ; she is a legitimate child, and the 
 disabilit}' of her father ought onl}' to affect tlie inheri- 
 tance from Valentint Miroiict, her grandfather. But in
 
 Ursula. 139 
 
 France the magistracy is unfortunatel}'' overwise and 
 v&ry consequential ; it inquires into the spirit of the 
 law. Some lawyers talk moralit}', and might try to 
 show that this hiatus in the Code came from the simple- 
 mindedness of the legislators, who did not foresee the 
 case, though, none the less, the}' established a princi- 
 ple. To bring a suit would be long and expensive. 
 Zelie would carr}' it to the court of appeals, and I might 
 not be alive when the case was tried." 
 
 "The best of cases is often worthless," cried the 
 doctor. " Here 's the question the lawyers will put, 
 ' To what degrees of relationship ought the disability 
 of natural children in matters of inheritance to extend? ' 
 and the credit of a good lawj'er will lie in gaining a bad 
 cause." 
 
 "Faith!" said Bongrand, "I dare not take upon 
 myself to affirm that the judges would n't interpret the 
 meaning of the law as increasing the protection given 
 to marriage, the eternal base of society." 
 
 Without explaining his intentions, the doctor rejected 
 the idea of a trust. When Bongrand suggested to him 
 a marriage with Ursula as the surest means of securing 
 his property- to her, he exclaimed, " Poor little girl ! I 
 might live fifteen years ; what a fate for her ! " 
 
 " Well, wliat will you do, then? " asked Bongrand. 
 
 " We '11 think about it — T '11 see," said the old man, 
 evidently at a loss for a reply.
 
 140 Ursula. 
 
 Just then Ursula came to say that Monsieur Dionis 
 wished to speak to the doctor. 
 
 "Alread}'!" cried Minoret, looking at Bongrand. 
 " Yes," he said to Ursula, " send him here." 
 
 " I '11 bet m}' spectacles to a bunch of matches that 
 he is the advance-guard of yoxxv heirs," said Bongrand. 
 " They breakfasted together at the post house, and 
 something is being engineered." 
 
 The notary, conducted b}^ Ursula, came to the lower 
 end of the garden. After the usual greetings and a 
 few insignificant remarks, Dionis asked for a private 
 interview ; Ursula and Bongrand retired to the salon. 
 
 The distrust which superior men excite in men of 
 business is ver}' remarkable. The latter den}' them the 
 lesser powers while recognizing their possession of the 
 higher. It is, perhaps, a tribute to them. Seeing 
 them always on the higher plane of human things, 
 men of business believe them incapable of descending 
 to the infinitely petty details which (like the dividends 
 of finance and the microscopic facts of science) go to 
 equalize capital and to form the worlds. They are 
 mistaken ! The man of honor and of genius sees all. 
 Bongrand, piqued by the doctor's silence, but impelled 
 by a sense of Ursula's interests which he thought en- 
 dangered, resolved to defend her against the heirs. He 
 was wretched at not knowing what was taking place 
 between the old man and Dionis.
 
 Ursula. 141 
 
 " No matter how pure and innocent Ursula may be," 
 he thought as he looked at her, "there is a point on 
 which young girls do make their own law and their own 
 morality. I'll test her. The Minore t-Levraults," he 
 began, settling his spectacles, " might possibly ask you 
 in marriage for their son." 
 
 The poor child turned pale. She was too well 
 trained, and had too much delicacy to listen to what 
 Dionis was saying to her uncle ; but after a moment's 
 inward deliberation, she thought she might show her- 
 self, and then, if she was in the way, her godfatlier 
 would let her know it. The Chinese pagoda which 
 the doctor made his study had outside blinds to the 
 glass -doors ; Ursula invented the excuse of shutting 
 them. She begged Monsieur Bongrand's pardon for 
 leaving him alone in the salon, but he smiled at her and 
 said, "Go! go!" 
 
 Ursula went down the steps of the portico which led 
 to the pagoda at the foot 'of the garden. She stood for 
 some minutes slowly arranging the blinds and watching 
 the sunset. The doctor and notary were at the end of 
 the terrace, but as they turned she heard the doctor 
 make an answer which reached the pagoda where she 
 was. 
 
 " M}' heirs would be delighted to see me invest my 
 propert}' in real estate or mortgages ; they imagine it 
 "would be safer there. I know exactly what they are
 
 142 Urmia. 
 
 saying; perhaps you come from them. Let me tell 
 30U, my good sir, that my disposition of my property 
 is irrevocably made. My heirs will have the capital I 
 brought here with me ; I wish them to know that, and 
 to let me alone. If any one of them attempts to inter- 
 fere with what I think proper to do for that young girl 
 (pointing to Ursula) I shall come back from the other 
 world and torment him. 80, Monsieur Savinien de 
 Portenduère will staj' in prison if they count on me to 
 get him out. I shall not sell my property in the 
 Funds." 
 
 Hearing this last fragment of the sentence Ursula 
 experienced the first and only pain which so far had 
 ever touched her. She laid her head against the blind • 
 to steady herself. 
 
 " Good God, what is the matter with her? " thought 
 the old doctor. "She has no color ; such an emotion 
 after dinner might kill her." 
 
 He went to her with open arms and she fell into 
 them almost fainting. 
 
 " Adieu, Monsieur," he said to the notary-, " please 
 leave us." 
 
 He carried his child to an immense Louis XV. sofa 
 which was in his study, looked for a phial of hartshorn 
 among his remedies and made her inhale it. 
 
 " Take my place," said the doctor to Bongrand, who 
 was terrified ; " I must be alone with her."
 
 Ursula. 143 
 
 The justice of peace accompanied the notary to the 
 gate, asking him, but without showing an}' eagerness, 
 what was the matter with Ursula. 
 
 " I don't know," replied Dionis. " She was stand- 
 ing by the pagoda, listening to us, and just as her uncle 
 (so-called) refused to lend some money at my request 
 to 3'oung de Portendu^re who is in prison for debt, — 
 for he has not had, like Monsieur du Rouvre, a Mon- 
 sieur Bongrand to defend him, — she turned pale and 
 staggered. Can she love him? Is there anything 
 between them ? " 
 
 " At fifteen ^-ears of age? pooh ! " replied Bongrand. 
 
 " She was born in February, 1813 ; she '11 be sixteen 
 in four months." 
 
 " I don't believe she ever saw him," said the judge. 
 " No, it is only a nervous attack." 
 
 "Attack of the heart, more likely," said the notaiy. 
 
 Dionis was delighted with this discovery, which would 
 prevent the marriage in extremis which the}' dreaded, 
 — the onl}' sure means by which the doctor could de- 
 fraud his relatives. Bongrand, on the other hand, saw 
 a private castle of his own demolished ; he had long 
 thought of marrying his son to Ursula. 
 
 "If the poor girl loves that youth it will be a mis- 
 fortune for her," replied Bongrand after a pause. 
 "Madame de Portenduère is a Breton and infatuated 
 with her noble blood."
 
 144 Ursula. 
 
 "Luckily — I mean for the honor of the Porten- 
 duères," replied the notary, on the point of betraying 
 himself. 
 
 Let us do the faithful and upright Bongrand the 
 justice to say that before he re-entered the salon he had 
 abandoned, not without deep regret for his son, the 
 hope he had cherished of some day calling Ursula his 
 daughter. He meant to give his son six thousand 
 francs a year the day he was appointed substitute, and 
 if the doctor would give Ursula a hundred thousand 
 francs what a pearl of a home the pair would make ! 
 His Eugène was so loyal and charming a fellow ! Per- 
 haps he had praised his Eugène too often, and that had 
 made the doctor distrustful. 
 
 " I shall have to come down to the mayor's daugh- 
 ter," he thought. " But LTrsula without any money is 
 worth more than Mademoiselle Levrault-Crémière with 
 a million. However, the thing to be done is to ma- 
 nœuvre the marriage with this little Portenduère — if 
 she reall}' loves him." 
 
 The doctor, after closing the door to the library and 
 that to the garden, took his goddaughter to the window 
 which opened upon the river. 
 
 " What ails you, my child?" he said. " Your life is 
 my life. Without your smiles what would become of 
 me?" 
 
 " Savinien in prison ! "' she said.
 
 Ursula. 145 
 
 With these words a shower of tears fell from her eyes 
 and she began to sob. 
 
 " Saved ! " thought the doctor, who was holding her 
 pulse with great anxiet}-. " Alas ! she has all the sen- 
 sitiveness of my poor wife," he thought, fetching a 
 stethoscope which he put to Ursula's heart, applying 
 his ear to it. " Ah, that 's all right," he said to him- 
 self. " I did not know, my darling, that you loved 
 any one as 3'et," he added, looking at her ; " but think 
 out loud to me as you think to yourself; tell me all 
 that has passed between 3'ou." 
 
 "I do not love him, godfather; we have never 
 spoken to each other," she answered, sobbing. "But 
 to hear he is in prison, and to know that you — harshly 
 — refused to get him out — you, so good ! " 
 
 " Ursula, my dear little good angel, if you do not 
 love him why did you put that little red dot against 
 Saint Savinien's day just as you put one before that of 
 Saint Denis? Come, tell me everything about ^our 
 little love-affair." 
 
 Ursula blushed, swallowed a few tears, and for a 
 moment there was silence between them. 
 
 " Surely j'ou are not afraid of your father, 3'our 
 friend, mother, doctor, and godfather, whose heart is 
 now more tender than it ever has been." 
 
 " No, no, dear godfather," she said. " I will open 
 my heart to you. Last May, Monsieur Savinien came 
 
 10
 
 146 Ursula. 
 
 to see his mother. Until then I had never taken 
 notice of him. When he left home to live in Paris I 
 was a child, and I did not see any difference between 
 him and — all of you — except perhaps that 1 loved 
 you, and never thought of loving an}' one else. Mon- 
 sieur Savinien came b}' the mail-post the night before 
 his mother's fête-day ; but we did not know it. At 
 seven the next morning, after I had said m}' praj^ers, I 
 opened the window to air my room and I saw the win- 
 dows in Monsieur Savinien's room open ; and Monsieur 
 Savinien was there, in a dressing-gown, arranging his 
 beard ; in all his movements there was such grace — I 
 mean, he seemed to me so charming. He combed his 
 black moustache and the little tuft on his chin, and I 
 saw his white throat — so round ! — must I tell you all? 
 I noticed that his throat and face and that beautiful 
 black hair were all so different from yours when I 
 watch you arranging your beard. There came — I 
 don't know how — a sort of glow into nay heart, and 
 up into m}- throat, ni}- head ; it came so violently that 
 I sat down — I could n't stand, I trembled so. But 
 I longed to see him again, and presently I got up ; 
 he saw me then, and, just for play, he sent me a kiss 
 from the tips of his fingers and — " 
 
 "And?" 
 
 " And then," she continued, " I hid mj'self — I was 
 ashamed, but happj^ — why should I be ashamed of
 
 Ursula. 147 
 
 being happy ? That feehng — it dazzled my soul 
 and gave it some power, but I don't know what — it 
 came again each time I saw within me the same 
 young face. I loved this feeling, violent as it was. 
 Going to mass, some unconquerable power made me 
 look at Monsieur Savinien with his mother on his arm ; 
 his walk, his clothes, even the tap of his boots on the 
 pavement, seemed to me so charming. The least little 
 thing about him — his hand with the delicate glove 
 — acted like a spell upon me ; and 3'et I had strength 
 enough not to think of him during mass. When the 
 service was over I sta^'ed in the church to let Madame 
 de Portenduère go first, and then I walked behind liim. 
 I could n't tell you how these little things excited me. 
 When I reached home, I turned round to fasten the 
 iron gate — " 
 
 " Where was La Bougival? " asked the doctor. 
 
 " Oh, I let her go to the kitchen," said Ursula sim- 
 ply. " Then I saw Monsieur Savinien standing quite 
 still and looking at me. Oh ! godfather, I was so pj-oud, 
 for I thought I saw a look in his e3'es of surprise 
 and admiration — I don't know what I would not do to 
 make him look at me again like that. It seemed to me 
 I ought to think of nothing forevermore but pleasing 
 him. That glance is now the best reward I have for 
 an}' good I do. From that moment I have thought of 
 him incessantly, in spite of myself Monsieur Savinien
 
 148 Ursula. 
 
 went back to Paris that evening, and I have not seen 
 him since. The street seems empt}- ; he took my heart 
 awa}^ with him — but he does not know it." 
 
 " Is that all? " asked the old man. 
 
 " All, dear godfather," she said, with a sigh of regret 
 that there was not more to tell. 
 
 "My little girl," said the doctor, putting her on his 
 knee; "you are nearly sixteen and your womanhood 
 is beginning. You are now between 30ur blessed 
 childhood, which is ending, and the emotions of love, 
 which will make your life a tumultuous one ; for you 
 have a nervous system of exquisite sensibility-. What 
 has happened to you, my child, is love," said the old 
 man with an expression of deepest sadness, — " love in 
 its hoi}' simplicity ; love as it ought to be ; involuntaiy, 
 sudden, coming like a thief who takes all — 3-es, all! 
 I expected it. I have studied women ; man}- need 
 proofs and miracles of affection before love conquers 
 them ; but others there are, under the influence of sym- 
 pathies explainable to-day b}' magnetic fluids, who are 
 possessed b}' it ir an instant. To you I can now tell 
 all — as soon as 1 saw the charming woman whose 
 name you bear, I felt that I should love her forever, 
 solel}- and faitlifull}', without knowing whether our 
 characters or our persons suited each other. Is there a 
 second-sight in love ? What answer can I give to that, 
 I who have seen so man}' unions formed under celestial
 
 Ursula. 149 
 
 auspices only to be ruptured later, giving rise to hatreds 
 that are well-nigh eternal, to repugnances that are un- 
 conquerable. The senses sometimes harmonize while 
 ideas are at variance ; and some persons live more by 
 their minds than by their bodies. The contrary is also 
 true ; often minds agree and persons displease. These 
 phenomena, the varying and secret cause of many sor- 
 rows, show the wisdom of laws which give parents 
 supreme power over the marriages of their children ; for 
 a young girl is often duped by one or other of these 
 hallucinations. Therefore I do not blame you. The 
 sensations you feel, the rush of sensibility which has 
 come from its hidden source upon your heart and upon 
 yonv mind, the happiness with which you think of Sa- 
 vinien, are all natural. But, my darling child, societ}' 
 demands, as our good abbé has told us, the sacrifice of 
 many natural inclinations. The destinies of men and 
 women differ. I was able to choose Ursula Mirouët for 
 m}^ wife ; I could go to her and sa}' that I loved her ; 
 but a young girl is false to herself if she asks the love 
 of the man she loves. A woman has not the right 
 which men have to seek the accomplishment of her 
 hopes in open day. Modest}' is to her — above all to 
 you, my Ursula, — the insurmountable barrier which 
 protects the secrets of her heart. Your hesitation in 
 confiding to me these first emotions shows me you would 
 suffer cruel torture rather than admit to Savinien — "
 
 150 Ursula. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " she said. 
 
 " But, m}^ child, you must do more. You must re- 
 press these feelings ; you must forget them." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because, my darling, you must love onl}- the man 
 you many ; and, even if Monsieur Savinien de Porten- 
 duère loved you — " 
 
 " I never thought of it." 
 
 " But listen : even if he loved 30U, even if his mother 
 asked me to give huu jour hand, I should not consent 
 to the marriage until I had subjected him to a long and 
 thorough probation. His conduct has been such as to 
 make families distrust him and to put obstacles between 
 himself and heiresses which cannot be easily overcome." 
 
 A soft smile came in place of tears on Ursula's sweet 
 face as she said, "Then poverty is good sometimes." 
 
 The doctor could find no answer to such innocence. 
 
 " What has he done, godfather?" she asked. 
 
 " In two jears, mj' treasure, he has incurred one 
 hundred and twenty thousand francs of debt. He has 
 had the foil}' to get himself locked up in Sainte- 
 Pélagie, the debtor's prison ; an impropriety which will 
 always be, in these daj^s, a discredit to him. A spend- 
 thrift who is willing to plunge his poor mother into 
 povert}- and distress might cause his wife, as your poor 
 father did, to die of despair." 
 
 " Don't you think he will do better? " she asked.
 
 Ursula. 151 
 
 " If his mother pays his debts he will be penniless, 
 and I don't know a worse punisliment than to be a 
 nobleman without means." 
 
 This answer made Ursula thoughtful ; she dried her 
 tears, and said : — 
 
 " If you can save him, save him, godfather ; that 
 service will give you a right to advise him ; you can 
 remonstrate — " 
 
 " Yes," said the doctor, imitating, her, " and then he 
 can come here, and the old lady will come here, and we 
 shall see them, and — " 
 
 " I was thinking only of him," said Ursula, blushing. 
 
 " Don't think of him, m}' child ; it would be folly," 
 said the doctor gravel}'. " Madame de Portenduère, 
 who was a Kergarouët, would never consent, even if she 
 had to live on three hundred francs a 3'ear, to the mar- 
 riage of her son, the Vicomte Savinien de Portenduère, 
 with whom? — with Ursula Mirouet, daughter of a 
 bandsman in a regiment, without mone}', and whose 
 father — alas ! I must now tell 3*ou all — was the bas- 
 tard son of an organist, my father-in-law." 
 
 "O godfather! you are right; we are equal only in 
 the sight of God. I will not think of hnn again — ex- 
 cept in my pra3-ers," she said, amid the sobs which this 
 painful revelation excited. " Give him what you meant 
 to give me — what can a poor girl like me want? — ah, 
 in prison, he ! — "
 
 152 Ursula. 
 
 " Offer to God yonv disappointments, and perhaps 
 he will help us." 
 
 There was silence for some minutes. When Ursula, 
 who at first did not dare to look at her godfather, raised 
 her eyes, her heart was deeplj' moved to see the tears 
 which were rolling down his withered cheeks. The 
 teai's of old men are as terrible as those of children are 
 natural. 
 
 "Oh what is it?" cried Ursula, flinging herself at 
 his feet and kissing his hands. " Are you not sure of 
 me?" 
 
 " I, who longed to gratif}' all ^our wishes, it is I who 
 am obliged to cause the first great sorrow of ^our life ! " 
 he said. " I suffer as much as you. 1 never wept be- 
 fore, except when I lost my children — and, Ursula — 
 Yes," he cried suddenly-, " I will do all you desire ! " 
 
 Ursula gave him, through her tears, a look that was 
 vivid as lightning. She smiled. 
 
 " Let us go into the salon, darling," said the doctor. 
 " Try to keep the secret of all this to yourself," he 
 added, leaving her alone for a moment in his study. 
 
 He felt himself so weak before that heavenly smile 
 that he feared he might say a word of hope and thus 
 mislead her.
 
 Ursula. 153 
 
 X. 
 
 THE FAMILY OF PORTENDUÈRE. 
 
 Madame d:. Portenduère was at this moment alone 
 with the abbé in her frigid little salon on the ground- 
 floor, having finished the recital of her troubles to the 
 good priest, her only friend. She held in her hand 
 some letters which he had just returned to her after 
 reading them ; these letters had brought her troubles 
 to a climax. Seated on her sofa beside a square table 
 covered with the remains of a dessert, the old lad}- was 
 looking at the abbé, who sat on the other side of the 
 table, doubled up in his armchair and stroking his 
 chin with the gesture common to valets on the stage, 
 mathematicians, and priests, — a sign of profound med- 
 itation on a problem that was difficult to solve. 
 
 This little salon, lighted by two windows on the 
 street and finished with a wainscot painted gra}-, was 
 so damp that the lower panels showed the geometrical 
 cracks of rotten wood when the paint no longer binds 
 it. The red-tiled floor, polished by the old lad^-'s one 
 servant, required, for comfort's sake, before each seat 
 small round mats of brown straw, on one of which the 
 abbé was now resting his feet. The old damask cur-
 
 154 Ursula. 
 
 tains of light green with green flowers were drawn, and 
 the outside blinds had been closed. Two wax candles 
 lighted the table, leaving the rest of the room in semi- 
 obscurit3\ Is it necessary to say that between the two 
 windows was a fine pastel by Latour representing the 
 famous Admiral de Portenduère, the rival of the Suff- 
 ren, Guichen, Kergarouet and Simeuse naval heroes? 
 On the panelled wall opposite to the fireplace were por- 
 traits of the Vicomte de Portenduère and of the mother 
 of the old lad}', a Kergarouet-Ploegat. Savinien's great- 
 uncle was therefore the Vice-admiral de Kergarouet, 
 and his cousin was the Comte de Portenduère, grandson 
 of the admiral, — both of them very rich. 
 
 The Vice-admiral de Kergarouet lived in Paris and 
 the Comte de Portenduère at the château of that name 
 in Dauphiné. The count represented the elder branch, 
 and Savinien was the only scion of the younger. The 
 count, who was over forty years of age and married to 
 a rich wife, had three children. His fortune, increased 
 by various legacies, amounted, it was said, to sixt}' 
 thousand francs a year. As deputy from the Isère he 
 passed his winters in Paris, where he had bought the 
 hotel de Portenduère with the indemnities he obtained 
 under the Villèle law. The vice-adnn'ral had recently' 
 married his niece by marriage, Mademoiselle de Fon- 
 tauie, for the sole purpose of securing his money to her. 
 
 The faults of the young viscount were therefore likely
 
 Ursula. 155 
 
 to cost him the favor of two powerful protectors. If 
 Savinien had entered the nav^-, young and handsome 
 as he was, with a famous name, and backed b}' the 
 influence of an admiral and a deput}', he might, at 
 t went}'- three years of age, have been a lieutenant ; but 
 his mother, unwilling that her only son should go into 
 either naval or military service, had kept him at Ne- 
 mours under the tutelage of one of the Abbé Chaperon's 
 assistants, hoping that she could keep him near her 
 until her death. She meant to marr}- him to a demoi- 
 selle d'Aiglemont with a fortune of twelve thousand 
 francs a year ; to whose hand the name of Portenduere 
 and the farm at Bordiëres enal)led him to pretend. 
 This narrow but judicious plan, which would have car- 
 ried the family to the second generation, was already 
 balked by events. The d'Aiglemonts were ruined, 
 and one of the daughters, Hélène, had disappeared, 
 and the mystery of her disappearance was never solved. 
 The weariness of a life without atmosphere, without 
 prospects, without action, without other nourishment 
 than the love of a son for his mother, so worked upon 
 Savinien that he burst his chains, gentle as they were, 
 and swore that he would never live in the provinces — 
 compreliending, rather late, that his future fate was 
 not to be in the Rue des Bourgeois. At twenty-one 
 years of age he left his mother's house to make ac- 
 quaintance with his relations, and tiy his luck in Paris.
 
 156 Ursula. 
 
 The contrast between life in Paris and life in Nemours 
 was likely to be fatal to a 3'oung man of twenty-one, 
 free, with no one to sa}' him nay, naturally eager for 
 pleasure, and for whom his name and his connections 
 opened the doors of all the salons. Quite convinced 
 that his mother had the savings of man}' years in her 
 strong-box, Savinien soon spent the six thousand francs 
 which she had given him to see Paris. That sum did 
 not defray his expenses for six months, and he soon 
 owed double that sum to his hotel, his tailor, his boot- 
 maker, to the man from whom he hired his carriages 
 and horses, to a jeweller, — in short, to all those traders 
 and shopkeepers who contribute to the luxury of young 
 men. 
 
 He had only just succeeded in making himself known, 
 and had scarcely learned how to converse, how to pre- 
 sent himself in a salon, how to wear his waistcoats and 
 choose them and to order his coats and tie his cravat, 
 before he found himself in debt for over thirt}' thousand 
 francs, while still seeking the right phrases in which to 
 declare his love for the sister of the Marquis de Ron- 
 querolles, the elegant Madame de Sériz}, whose youth 
 had been at its climax during the Empire. 
 
 " How is that you all manage? " asked Savinien one 
 da}', at the end of a gay breakfast with a knot of young 
 dandies, with whom he was intimate as the young men 
 of the present day are intimate with each other, all
 
 Ursula. 157 
 
 aiming for the same thing und all claiming an impos- 
 sible equality. " You were no richer than I and yet 
 3-ou get along without anxietj' ; you contrive to main- 
 tain 3'ourselves, while as for me I make nothing but 
 debts." 
 
 " We all began that waj," answered Rastignac, laugh- 
 ing, and the laugh was echoed by Lucien de Rubempré, ■ 
 Maxime de Trailles, Emile Blondet, and others of the 
 fashionable young men of the da}'. 
 
 " Though de Marsay was rich when he started in 
 life he was an exception," said the host, a parvenu 
 named Finot, ambitious of seeming intimate with these 
 3'oung men. "Any one but he," added Finot bowing 
 to that personage, " would have been ruined b}- it." 
 
 " A true remark," said Maxime de Trailles. 
 
 " And a true idea," added Rastignac. 
 
 " Mj" dear fellow," said de Marsaj', gravely, to Sa- 
 vinien ; " debts are the capital stock of experience. A 
 good university education with tutors for all branches, 
 who don't teach you anything, costs sixt}' thousand 
 francs. If the education of the world does cost double, 
 at least it teaches you to understand life, politics, men, 
 — and sometimes women." 
 
 Blondet concluded the lesson b}' a paraphrase from 
 La Fontaine : ' ' The world sells dearly what we think 
 it gives." 
 
 Instead of laying to heart the sensible advice which
 
 158 Ursula. 
 
 the cleverest pilots of the Parisian archipelago gave 
 him, Savinien took it all as a joke. 
 
 " Take care, my dear fellow," said de Marsay one 
 da}-. " You have a great name ; if you dont obtain the 
 fortune that name requires you'll end your days in 
 the uniform of a cavalry-sergeant. ' We have seen the 
 fall of nobler heads,'" he added, declaiming the line 
 of Corneille as he took Savinien's arm. " About six 
 years ago," he continued, "a young Comte d'Esgrignon 
 came among us ; but he did not staj' two 3'ears in the 
 paradise of the great world. Alas ! he lived and moved 
 like a rocket. He rose to the Duchesse de Maufrig- 
 neuse and fell to his native town, where he is now 
 expiating bis faults with a wheezy old father and a 
 game of whist at two sous a point. Tell Madame de 
 Sérizy your situation, candidl}', without shame ; she 
 wall understand it and be very useful to you. Whereas, 
 if you play the charade of first love with her she 
 will pose as a Raffaelle Madonna, ^)ractise all the 
 little games of innocence upon 30U, and take 3'ou 
 journeying at enormous cost through the Land of 
 Sentiment." 
 
 Savinien, still too 3'oung and too pure in honor, dared 
 not confess his position as to money to Madame de 
 Sérizy. At a moment when he knew not which wa}' to 
 turn he had written his mother an appealing letter, to 
 which she replied by sending him the sum of twenty
 
 Ursula. 159 
 
 thousand francs, which was all she possessed. This 
 assistance brought him to the close of the first year. 
 During the second, being harnessed to the chariot of 
 Madame de Sériz^", who was serious!}' taken with him, 
 and who was, as the saying is, forming him, he had 
 recourse to the dangerous expedient of borrowing. 
 One of his friends, a deputy and the friend of his cousin 
 the Comte de Portenduère, advised him in his distress 
 to go to Gobseck or Gigonnet or Palma, who, if duly 
 informed as to his mother's means, would give him an 
 easy discount. Usur}^ and the deceptive help of re- 
 newals enabled him to lead a hapi')y life for nearh' 
 eighteen months. Without daring to leave Madame de 
 Sériz}- the poor bo}' had fallen raadl}' in love with the 
 beautiful Comtesse de Kergarouet, a prude after the 
 fashion of young women who are awaiting the death of 
 an old husband and making capital of their virtue in 
 the interests of a second marriage. Quite incapable of 
 understanding that calculating virtue is invulnerable, 
 Savinien paid court to Emilie de Kergarouet in all the 
 splendor of a rich man. He never missed either ball 
 or theatre at which she was present. 
 
 " You have n't powder enough, m}' boy, to blow up 
 that rock," said de Marsn\'. laughing. 
 
 That young king of fashion who did, out of commis- 
 eration for the lad, endeavor to explain to him the 
 nature of Emilie de Fontaine, merci}' wasted his words;
 
 160 Ursula. 
 
 the gloomy lights of misfortune and the twilight of a 
 prison were needed to convince Savinien. 
 
 A note, iraprudentl^y given to a jeweller in collusion 
 with the money-lenders, who did not wash to have the 
 odium of arresting the young man, was the means of 
 sending Savinien de Portend uère, in default of one 
 hundred and seventeen thousand francs and without 
 the knowledge of his friends, to the debtor's prison at 
 Sainte-Pélagie. So soon as the fact was known Ras- 
 tignac, de Marsa}', and Lucien de Rubempré went 
 to see him, and each offered him a banknote of a 
 thousand francs when thej' found how really destitute 
 he was. Everything belonging to him had been seized 
 except the clothes and the few jewels that he wore. 
 The three ^oung men (who brought an excellent dinner 
 with them) discussed Savinien's situation while drink- 
 ing de Marsay's wine, ostensibly to arrange for his 
 future but really, no doubt, to judge of him. 
 
 " When a man is named Savinien de Portenduère," 
 cried Rastignac, " and has a future peer of France for a 
 cousin and Admiral Kergarouet for a great-uncle, and 
 commits the enormous blunder of allowing himself to 
 be put in Sainte-Pélagie, it is very certain that he must 
 not stay there, my good fellow." 
 
 "Why didn't you tell me?" cried de Marsay. 
 " You could I'.ave had m\- travelling-carriage, ten thou- 
 sand francs, and letters of introduction for Germany.
 
 Ursula. 161 
 
 We know Gobseck and Gigonnet and the other croco- 
 diles ; we could have made them capitulate. But tell 
 me, in the first place, what ass ever led you to drink of 
 that cursed spring." 
 
 " Des Lupeaulx." 
 
 The three 3'oung men looked at each other with one 
 and the same thought and suspicion, but they did not 
 utter it. 
 
 " Explain all your resources ; show us 3-our hand," 
 said de Marsay. 
 
 When Savinien had told of his mother and her old- 
 fashioned ways, and the little house with three windows 
 in the Rue des Bourgeois, without other grounds than a 
 court for the well and a shed for the wood ; wlien he 
 had valued the house, built of sandstone and pointed \n 
 reddish cement, and put a price on the farm at Bor- 
 dières, the three dandies looked at each other, and all 
 three said with a solemn air the word of the abbé 
 in Alfred de Musset's "Marrons du feu" (which had 
 then just appeared), — " Sad ! " 
 
 " Your mother will pav if you write a clever letter," 
 said Rastignac. 
 
 " Yes, but afterwards? " cried de Marsay. 
 
 " If you had mereh' been put in the fiacre," said 
 Lucien, "the government would find you a place in 
 diplomac}', but Sainte-Pélagie is n't the antechamber 
 of an embass}'." 
 I 11
 
 162 Ursula. 
 
 " You are not strong enough for Parisian life," said 
 Rastignae. 
 
 " Let us consider the matter," said de Marsa}', look- 
 ing Savinien over as a jockey examines a horse. " You 
 have fine blue e^-es, well opened, a white forehead well 
 shaped, magnificent black hair, a little moustache 
 which suits those pale cheeks, and a slim figure ; a'ou 've 
 a foot that tells race, shoulders and chest not quite 
 those of a porter, but solid. You are what I call an 
 elegant male brunette. Your face is of the style 
 Louis XII., hardly any color, well-formed nose; and 
 you have the thing that pleases women, a something, I 
 don't know what it is, which men take no account of 
 themselves ; it is in the air, the manner, the tone of the 
 voice, the dart of the eye, the gesture, — in short, in a 
 number of little things which women see and to which 
 they attach a meaning which escapes us. You don't 
 know yowY merits, my dear fellow. Take a certain tone 
 and st3ie and in six months 3'ou '11 captivate an English- 
 woman with a hundred thousand pounds ; but 30U must 
 call yourself viscount, a title which belongs to 3-ou. 
 M}' charming step-mother, Lady Dudley*, who has not 
 her equal for matching two hearts, will find j'ou some 
 such woman in the fens of Great Britain. What you 
 must now do is to get the payment of your debts post- 
 poned for ninety daj's. Whj' did n't you tell us about 
 them ? The money-lenders at Baden would have spared
 
 Ursula. 163 
 
 j'ou — served you perhaps ; but now, after 3'ou have 
 once been in prison, they '11 despise you. A money- 
 lender is, like society, like the masses, down on his 
 knees before the man who is strong enough to trick 
 him, and pitiless to the lambs. To the ej^es of some 
 persons Sainte-Pélagie is a she-devil who burns the 
 souls of 3'oung men. Do you want my candid advice ? 
 I shall tell you as 1 told that little d'Esgrignon : ' Ar- 
 range to pay 3'our debts leisurel}' ; keep enough to live 
 on for three jears, and marry some girl in the prov- 
 inces who can bring 30U an income of thirt}- thousand 
 francs.' In the course of three jears you can surcl}' 
 find some virtuous heiress who is willing to call her- 
 self Madame la Vicomtesse de Portenduère, Such is 
 virtue, — let's drink to it. I give 3'ou a toast: 'The 
 girl with money ! ' " 
 
 The young men did not leave their ex-friend till the 
 official hour for parting. The gate was no sooner 
 closed behind them than they said to each other: 
 "He 'snot strong enough!" "He's quite crushed." 
 "1 don't believe he'll pull through it?" 
 
 The next day Savinien wrote his mother a confession 
 in twentj'-two pages. Madame de Portenduère, after 
 weeping for one whole da^', wrote first to her son, 
 promising to get him out of prison, and then to the 
 Comte de Portenduère and to Admiral Kergarouet. 
 
 The letters the abbé had just read and which the
 
 1G4 Ursula. 
 
 poor mother was holding in her hand and moistening 
 
 with tears, were the answers to her appeal, which had 
 
 arrived that morning, and had almost broken her 
 
 heart. 
 
 Paris, September, 1829. 
 To Madame de Portenduère : 
 
 Madame, — You cannot doubt the interest which the ad- 
 miral and I both feel in your troubles. What you ask of 
 Monsieur de Kergarouet grieves me all the more because our 
 house was a home to your son; we were proud of him. If 
 Savinien had had more confidence in the admiral we could 
 have taken him to live with us and he would already have 
 obtained some good situation. But, unfortunately, he told 
 us nothing ; he ran into debt of his own accord, and even 
 •involved himself for me, who knew nothing of his pecuniary 
 position. It is all the more to be regretted because Savinien 
 has, for the moment, tied our hands by allowing the authori- 
 ties to arrest him. 
 
 If my nephew had not shown a foolish passion for me and 
 sacrificed our relationship to the vanity of a lover, we could 
 have sent him to travel in Germany while his affairs were 
 being settled here. Monsieur de Kergarouet intended to get 
 him a place in the War office ; but this imprisonment for 
 debt will paralyze such efforts. You must pay his debts; let 
 him enter the navy ; he will make his way like the true Por- 
 tenduère that he is ; he has the fire of the family in his beau- 
 tiful black eyes, and we will all help him. 
 
 Do not be di.slieartened, madame; you have many friends, 
 among whom I beg you to consider me as one of the most 
 sincere ; I send you our best wishes, with the respects of 
 Your very affectionate servant, 
 
 Emilie de Kergarouet.
 
 Ursula. 1G5 
 
 The second letter was as follows : — 
 
 PORTENDUÈRE, AugUSt, 1889. 
 
 To Madame de Portenduèke : 
 My dear Aunt, — I am more annoyed than surprised at 
 
 Savinien's pranks. As I am married and the father of two 
 
 sons and one daughter, my fortune, already too small for my 
 
 position and prospects, cannot be lessened to ransom a Por- 
 
 tenduere from the hands of the Jews. Sell your farm, pay 
 
 his debts, and come and live with us at Portenduère. You 
 
 shall receive the welcome we owe you, even though our views 
 
 may not be entirely in accordance with yours. You shall be 
 
 made happy, and we will manage to marry Savinien, whom 
 
 my wife thinks charming. This little outbreak is nothing ; 
 
 do not make yourself unhappy ; it will never be known in 
 
 this part of the country, where there are a number of rich 
 
 girls who would be delighted to enter our family. 
 
 My wife joins me in assuring you of the happiness 
 
 you would give us, and I beg you to accept her wishes for 
 
 the realization of this plan, together with my affectionate 
 
 respects. 
 
 Luc-Savinien, Comte de Portenduère. 
 
 " What letters for a Kergarouet to receive!" cried 
 the old Breton lad}', wnping her ej^es. 
 
 "The admiial does not know his nephew is in 
 prison," said the Abbé Chaperon at last ; " the countess 
 alone read your letter, and has answered it for him. But 
 3'ou must decide at once on some course," he added 
 after a pause, " and this is what I have the honor to 
 advise. Do not sell your farm. The lease is just out, 
 having lasted twenty-four years ; in a few months 3-011
 
 1G6 Ursula. 
 
 can raise the rent to six thousand francs and get a 
 premium for double that amount. Borrow what you 
 need of some honest man, — not from the townspeople 
 who make a business of mortgages. Your neighbor 
 here is a most worthy man ; a man of good society, 
 who knew it as it was before the Revolution, who 
 was once an atheist, and is now an earnest Catholic. 
 Do not let your feelings debar 3'ou from going to his 
 house this very evening ; he will fully understand the 
 step 3'Ou take ; forget for a moment that you are a 
 Kergarouet." 
 
 " Never ! " said the old mother, in a sharp voice. 
 
 " Well, then, be an amiable Kergarouet ; come 
 when he is alone. He will lend you the mone}- at three 
 and a half per cent, perhaps even at three per cent, and 
 will do 3'ou this service delicately ; 3'ou will be pleased 
 with him. He can go to Paris and release Savinien 
 himself, — for he will have to go there to sell out his 
 funds, — and he can bring the lad back to 30U." 
 
 " Are you speaking of that little Minoret? " 
 
 " That little Minoret is eighty-three years old," said 
 the abbé, smiling. ''My dear ladj-, do have a little 
 Christian charit}- ; don't wound him, — he might be 
 useful to you in other ways." 
 
 "What ways?" 
 
 " He has an angel in his house; a precious young 
 girl-"
 
 Ursula. 167 
 
 " Oh ! that little Ursula. What of that? " 
 
 The pool" abbé did not dare pursue the subject after 
 these significant words, the laconic sharpness of which 
 cut through the proposition he was about to make. 
 
 " I think Doctor Minoret is very rich," he said. 
 
 " So much the better for him." 
 
 " You have indirectly caused your son's misfortunes 
 by refusing to give him a profession ; beware for the 
 future," said the abbé sternlj'. "Am I to tell Doctor 
 Minoret that you are coming ? " 
 
 " Why cannot he come to me if he knows I want 
 him? " she replied. 
 
 "Ah, madame, if you go to him you will pa}' him 
 three per cent ; if he comes to you 3'ou will pa}' him 
 five," said the abbé, inventing this reason to influ- 
 ence the old lady. " And if you are forced to sell 
 your farm by Dionis the notary, or by Massin the 
 clerk (who would refuse to lend you the money, know- 
 ing it was more their interest to buy), you would lose 
 half its value. I have not the slightest influence on 
 the Dionis, Massins, or Levraults, or any of those rich 
 men who covet your farm and know that your son is 
 in prison." 
 
 "They know it! oh, do they know it?" she ex- 
 claimed, throwing up her arms. "There! my poor 
 abbé, you have let your coflTee get cold ! Tiennette, 
 Tiennette ! "
 
 168 Ursnla. 
 
 Tiennette, an old Breton servant sixty years of age, 
 wearing a short gown and a Breton cap, came quickly 
 in and took the abbe's coffee to warm it. 
 
 " Let be, Monsieur le recteur," she said, seeing that 
 the abbé meant to drink it, "I'll just put it into the 
 bain-marie, it won't spoil it." 
 
 "Well," said the abbé to Madame de Portenduère 
 in his most insinuating voice, " I shall go and tell the 
 doctor of A^our visit, and you will come — " 
 
 The old mother did not yield till after an hour's dis- 
 cussion, during which the abbé was forced to repeat his 
 arguments at least ten times. And even then the proud 
 Kergarouet was not vanquished until he used the words, 
 " Savinien would go.'' 
 
 " It is better that I should go than he," she said.
 
 Ursula. 169 
 
 XI. 
 
 SAVINIEN SAVED. 
 
 The clock was striking nine when the little door 
 made in the large door of Madame de Portenduère's 
 house closed on the abbé, who immediately crossed the 
 road and hastily rang the bell at the doctor's gate. 
 He fell from Tiennette to La Bougival ; the one said to 
 him, "Why do you come so late, Monsieur l'abbé?" 
 as the other had said, " Why do you leave Madame so 
 earl}' when she is in trouble ? " 
 
 The abbé found a numerous company assembled in 
 the green and brown salon ; for Dionis had stopped at 
 Massin's on his wa}' home to re-assure the heirs by 
 repeating their uncle's words. 
 
 " I believe Ursula has a love-affair," said he, " which 
 will be nothing but pain and trouble to her ; she seems 
 romantic " (extreme sensibility is so called by notaries), 
 "and, 3'ou'll see, she won't marry soon. Therefore, 
 don't show her any distrust ; be very attentive to her 
 and very respectful to 3'our uncle, for he is slyer than 
 fifty Goupils," added the notary — without being aware 
 that Goupil is a corruption of the word viilpes, a fox.
 
 170 Ursula. 
 
 So Mesdames Massin and Crémière with their hus- 
 bands, the post master and Désiré, together with the 
 Nemours doctor and Bongrand, made an unusual and 
 noisy part}' in the doctor's salon. As the abbé entered 
 he heard the sound of the piano. Poor Ursula was 
 just finishing a sonata of Beetlioven's. With girlish 
 mischief she had chosen that grand music, which must 
 be studied to be understood, for the purpose of dis- 
 gusting these women with the thing the}- coveted. The 
 finer the music tlie less ignorant persons like it. So, 
 when the door opened and the abbe's venerable head 
 appeared they all cried out: "Ah! here's Monsieur 
 l'abbé ! " in a tone of relief, delighted to jump up and 
 put an end to their torture. 
 
 The exclamation was echoed at the caid-table, where 
 Bongrand, the Nemours doctor, and old Miuoret were 
 victims to the presumption with which the collector, in 
 order to propitiate his great-uncle, had proposed to 
 take the fourth hand at whist. Ursula left the piano. 
 Tlie doctor rose as if to receive the abbé, but really to 
 put an end to the game. After many compliments to 
 their uncle on the wonderful proficiency of his god- 
 daughter, the heirs made their bow and retired. 
 
 " Good-niglit, m}' friends," cried the doctor as the 
 iron gate clanged. 
 
 "■Ah! that's where the mone}' goes," said Madame 
 Crémière to Madame Massin, as they walked on.
 
 Ursula, 171 
 
 " God forbid that I should spend money to teach 
 m}^ little Aline to make such a diu as that ! " cried 
 Madame Massin. 
 
 " She said it was Beethoven, who is thought to be a 
 fine musician," said the collector; "he has quite a 
 reputation." 
 
 " Not in Nemours, I'm sure of that," said Madame 
 Crémière. 
 
 " I believe uncle made her play it expressly' to drive 
 us away," said Massin ; " for I saw him give that little 
 minx a wink as she opened the music-book." 
 
 "If that's the sort of charivari they like," said 
 the post master, " the}' are quite right to keep to 
 themselves.'' 
 
 " Monsieur Bongrand must be fond of whist to stand 
 such a dreadful racket," said Madame Crémière. 
 
 " I shall never be able to play before persons who 
 don't understand music," Ursula was sa3ing as she sat 
 down beside the whist-table. 
 
 "In natures richl}' organized," said the abbé, " sen- 
 timents can be developed onl}' in a congenial atmos- 
 phere. Just as a priest is unable to give the blessing 
 in presence of an evil spirit, or as a chestnut-tree dies 
 in a cla^' soil, so a musician's genius has a mental 
 eclipse when he is surrounded bj* ignorant persons. In 
 all the arts we must receive from the souls who make 
 the (Mivironnient of our souls as much intensity as we
 
 172 Ursula. 
 
 convey to them. This axiom, which rules the human 
 mind, has been made into proverbs : ' Howl with the 
 wolve? ; ' ' Like meets like.' But the suffering 30U felt, 
 Ursula, affects delicate and tender natures onlv." 
 
 " And so, friends," said the doctor, " a thing which 
 would merely give pain to most women might kill my 
 little Ursula. Ah ! when I am no longer here, I charge 
 3'ou to see that the hedge of which Catullus spoke, — 
 Ut flos^ etc., — a protecting hedge is raised between 
 this cherished flower and the world." 
 
 " And 3'et those ladies flattered you, Ursula," said 
 Monsieur Bongrand, smiling. 
 
 " Flattered her grosslj^," remarked the Nemours 
 doctor. 
 
 " I have always noticed how vulgar forced flattery 
 is," said old Minoret. " Why is that? " 
 
 "A true thought has its own delicacy," said the 
 abbé. 
 
 "Did you dine with Madame de Portenduère?" 
 asked Ursula, with a look of anxious curiosit}'. 
 
 "Yes; the poor lad}^ is terribly distressed. It is 
 possible she may come to see you this evening, Mon- 
 sieur Minoret." 
 
 Ursula pressed lier godfather's hand under the table, 
 
 " Her son," said Bongrand, " was rather too simple- 
 minded to live in Paris without a mentor. When I 
 heard that mquiries were being made here about the
 
 Ursula. 173 
 
 propert}' of the old lad}' I feared he was discounting 
 her death." 
 
 "Is it possible yo\x think him capable of it?" said 
 Ursula, with such a terrible glance at Monsieur Bon- 
 grand that he said to himself rather sadl}-, ' ' Alas ! 3'es, 
 she loves him." 
 
 " Yes and no," said the Nemours doctor, repl3-ing to 
 Ursula's question. " There is a great deal of good in 
 Savinien, and that is wh}- he is now in prison ; a 
 scamp wouldn't have got there." 
 
 "Don't let us talk about it an}- more," said old 
 Minoret. " The poor mother must not be allowed to 
 weep if there 's a way to dr}' her tears." 
 
 The four friends rose and went out ; Ursula accom- 
 panied them to the gate, saw her godfather and the 
 abbé knock at the opposite door, and as soon as Tien- 
 nette admitted them she sat down on the outer wall 
 with La Bougival beside her. 
 
 " Madame la vicomtesse," said the abbé, who entered 
 first into the little salon, " Monsieur le docteur Minoret 
 was not willing that you should have the trouble of 
 coming to him — " 
 
 " I am too much of the old school, madame," inter- 
 rupted the doctor, " not to know what a man owes to a 
 woman of 3-our rank, and I am ver}- glad to be able, as 
 Monsieur l'abbé tells me, to be of service to you." 
 
 Madame de Portenduère, who disliked the step the
 
 174 Ursula. 
 
 abbé had advised so much that she had almost decided, 
 after he left her, to apply to the notary instead, was 
 surprised by Minoret's attention to such a degree that 
 she rose to receive him and signed to him to take a- 
 chair. 
 
 "■Be seated, monsieur," she said with a regal air. 
 " Our dear abbé has told you that the viscount is in 
 prison on account of some 3'outhful debts, — a hundred 
 thousand francs or so. If you could lend them to him 
 I would secure you on my farm at Bordieres." 
 
 " We will talk of that, madame, when I have brought 
 your son back to 3'ou — if you will allow me to be your 
 emissar}' in the matter." 
 
 " Very good, monsieur," she said, bowing her head, 
 and looking at the abbè as if to say, " You were right ; 
 he really is a man of good society." 
 
 " You see, madame," said the abbé, " that my friend 
 the doctor is full of devotion to 3'our family." 
 
 " We shall be grateful, monsieur," said Madame de 
 Portenduère, making a visible effort; "a journey to 
 Paris, at your age, in quest of a prodigal, is — " 
 
 " Madame, I had the honor to meet, in '65, the illus- 
 trious Admiral de Portenduère in the house of that 
 excellent Monsieur de Malesherbes, and also in that of 
 Monsieur le Comte de Buffon, who was anxious to 
 question him on some curious results of his vo^'ages. 
 Possiblv Monsieur de Portenduère, your late husband.
 
 Ursula. 175 
 
 was present. Those were the glorious days of the 
 French navy ; it bore comparison with that of Great 
 Britain, and its officers had their full quota of courage. 
 With what impatience we awaited in '83 and '84 the 
 news from St. Roch. I came very near serving as sur- 
 geon in the king's service. Your great-uncle, who is 
 still living. Admiral Kergarouet, fought his splendid 
 battle at that time in the ' Belle-Poule.' " 
 
 " Ah ! if he did but know his great- nephew is in 
 prison ! " 
 
 " He would not leave him there a day," said old 
 Minoret, rising. 
 
 He held out his hand to take that of the old lady, 
 which she allowed him to do ; then he kissed it respect- 
 full}-, bowed profoundly', and left the room ; but returned 
 immediately to say : — 
 
 " My dear abbé, may I ask 3'ou to engage a place in 
 the diligence for me to-morrow ? " 
 
 The abbé stayed behind for half an hour to sing the 
 praises of his friend, who meant to win and had suc- 
 ceeded in winning the good graces of the old lad}'. 
 
 "He is an astonishing man for his age," she said. 
 " He talks of going to Paris and attending to my son's 
 affairs as if he were only twenty-five. He has certainly 
 seen good societj'." 
 
 " The very best, madame ; and to-day more than one 
 son of a peer of France would be glad to marry his
 
 176 Ursula. 
 
 goddaugbter with a million. Ab ! if that idea should 
 come into Savinien's bead ! — times are so changed 
 that the objections would not come from j'our side, 
 especially after bis late conduct — " 
 
 The amazement into which the speech threw the old 
 lad^' alone enabled him to finish it, 
 
 " You have lost your senses," she said at last. 
 
 " Think it over, madame; God grant that 3-our son 
 may conduct himself in future in a manner to win that 
 old man's respect." 
 
 " If it were not you, Monsieur 1' abbé," said Madame 
 de Portenduère, "if it were an}' one else who spoke to 
 me in that wa}- — " 
 
 " You would not see him again," said the abbé, smil- 
 ing. " Let us hope that your dear son will enlighten 
 you as to what occurs in Paris in these da3-s as to mar- 
 riages. You will think only of Savinien's good ; and 
 as 3'ou really have helped to compromise his future you 
 will not stand in the wa}^ of his making himself another 
 position." 
 
 " And it is 3-ou who say that to me? " 
 
 " If I did not sa}- it to j-ou, who would?" cried the 
 abbé rising and making a hast}' retreat. 
 
 As he left the house be saw Ursula and her godfather 
 standing in their courtyard. The weak doctor had 
 been so entreated by Ursula that he had just yielded to 
 her. She wanted to go with him to Paris, and gave a
 
 Ursula. Vil 
 
 thousand reasons. He called to the abbé and begged 
 him to engage the whole coupé for him that very even- 
 ing if the booking-office were still open. 
 
 The next day at half-past six o'clock the old man 
 and the 3'oung girl reached Paris, and the doctor went 
 at once to consult his notary-. Political events were 
 then very threatening. Monsieur Bongraud had re- 
 marked in the course of the preceding evening that 
 a man must be a fool to keep a penn^' in the public 
 funds so long as the quarrel between the press and the 
 court was not made up. Minoret's notary now indi- 
 recth" approved of this opinion. The doctor therefore 
 took advantage of his journe}- to sell out his manufact- 
 uring stocks and his shares in the Funds, all of which 
 were then at a high value, depositing the proceeds in 
 the Bank of France. The notar}- also advised his 
 client to sell the stocks left to Ursula b^' Monsieur de 
 Jord}'. He promised to employ an extremeh- clever 
 and wil}' broker to treat with Savinien's ci'editors ; but 
 said that in order to succeed it would be necessary for 
 the 30ung man to stay several da3S longer in prison. 
 
 " Haste in such matters always means the loss of at 
 least fifteen per cent," said the notary. " Besides, 
 you can't get ^-our money under seven or eight days." 
 
 When Ursula heard that Savinien would have to stay 
 at least a week longer in jail she begged her godfather 
 to let her go there, if only once. Old Minoret refused. 
 
 12
 
 178 Ursula. 
 
 The uncle and niece were staying in a hotel in the Rue 
 Croix des Petits-Champs where the doctor had taken a 
 ver^' suitable apartment. Knowing the scrupulous honor 
 and propriet}' of his goddaughter he made her promise 
 not to go out while he was away ; at other times he 
 tooli her to see the arcades, the shops, the boulevards ; 
 but nothing seemed to amuse or interest her. 
 
 " What do 30U want to do? " asked the old man. 
 
 " See Sainte-Pélagie," she answered obstinately. 
 
 Minoret called a hackne^'-coach and took her to the 
 Rue de la Clef, where the carriage drew up before the 
 shabby front of the old convent then transformed into 
 a prison. The sight of those high gra}' walls, with 
 everj^ window barred, of the wicket through which none 
 can enter without stooping (horrible lesson!), of the 
 whole gloom}' structure in a quarter full of wretched- 
 ness, where it rises amid squalid streets like a supreme 
 miserj', — this assemblage of dismal things so oppressed 
 Ursula's heart that she burst into tears. 
 
 "Oh! " she said, "to imprison young men in this 
 dreadful place for money ! How can a debt to a 
 mone3'-lender have a power the king has not? He 
 there!" she cried. "Where, godfather?" she added, 
 looking from window to window. 
 
 " Ursula," said the old man, "you arc making me 
 commit great follies. This is not foi'getting him as 
 you promised."
 
 Ursula. * 179 
 
 *' But," she argued, " if I must renounce him must I 
 also cease to feel an interest in him ? I can love him 
 and not marr}' at all." 
 
 " Ah! " cried tlie doctor, "there is so much reason 
 in 3-our unreasonableness that I am sorr}' I brought 
 you." 
 
 Three days later the worthy man had all the receipts 
 signed, and the legal papers read}' for Savinien's release. 
 The pa3'ments, including the notaries' fees, amounted to 
 eight}' thousand francs. The doctor went himself to 
 see Savinien released on Saturday at two o'clock. 
 The young viscount, already informed of what had hap- 
 pened by his mother, thanked his liberator with sincere 
 warmth of heart. 
 
 " You must return at once to see your mother," the 
 old doctor said to him. 
 
 Savinien answered in a sort of confusion that he had 
 contracted certain debts of honor while in prison, and 
 related the visit of his friends. 
 
 " I suspected there was some personal debt," cried 
 the doctor, smiling. " Your mother borrowed a hun- 
 dred thousand francs of me, but I have paid out only 
 eighty thousand. Here is the rest ; be careful how you 
 spend it, monsieur ; consider what you have left of it as 
 your stake on the green cloth of fortune." 
 
 During the last eight days Savinien had made many 
 reflections on the present conditions of life. Competi-
 
 180 Urmia. 
 
 tion in everything necessitated hard work on the part of 
 whoever sought a fortune. Illegal methods and under- 
 hand dealing demanded more talent than open efforts in 
 face of ùixy. Success in society, far from giving a man 
 position, w^asted his time and required an immense 
 deal of mone}-. The name of Portenduère, which his 
 mother considered all-powerful, had no power at all in 
 Paris. His cousin the deput\', Comte de Portenduère, 
 cut a very poor figure in the Elective Chamber in pres- 
 ence of the peerage and the court ; and had none too 
 much credit personally. Admiral Keigarouët existed 
 on!}- as the husband of his wife. Savinien admitted to 
 himself that he had seen orators, men from the middle 
 classes, or lesser noblemen, become influential person- 
 ages. Monc}' was the pivot, the sole means, the onlj- 
 mechanism of a societ}' which Louis XVIII. had tried 
 to create in the likeness of that of England. 
 
 On his wa}' from the Rue de la Clef to the Rue Croix 
 des Petits-Champs the young gentleman divulged the 
 upshot of these meditations (which were certainly- in 
 keeping with de Marsay's advice) to the old doctor. 
 
 " I ought," lie said, " to go into oblivion for three or 
 four years and seek a career. Pcrhai)s I could make 
 myself a name by writing a book on statesmanship or 
 morals, or a treatise on some of the great questions of 
 the day. While I am looking out for a marriage 
 with some young lady who could make me eligible to
 
 Ursula'. 181 
 
 the Chamber, I will work hard in silence and in 
 obscurit}'." 
 
 Studying the j'oung fellow's face with a keen eye, the 
 doctor saw the serious purpose of a wounded man who 
 was anxious to vindicate himself. He therefore cor- 
 diallj' approved of the scheme. 
 
 " M}' friend," he said, " if 3'ou strip off the skin of 
 the old nobilit}' (which is no longer worn in these days) 
 I will undertake, after you have lived for three or four 
 j^ears in a steady and industrious manner, to find you a 
 superior young girl, beautiful, amiable, pious, and pos- 
 sessing from seven to eight hundred thousand francs, 
 who will make you happy and of whom you will have 
 every reason to be proud, — one whose onl}- nobility is 
 that of the heart." 
 
 " Ah, doctor! " cried the \'oung man, " there is no 
 longer a nobilit}' in these days, — nothing but an 
 aristocracy." 
 
 " Go and pay ^-our debts of honor and come back 
 here. I shall engage the coupé of the diligence, for 
 n\v niece is with me,"' said the old man. 
 
 That evening, at six o'clock, the three travellers 
 started from the Rue Dauphine. Ursula had put on a 
 veil and did not sa}' a word. Savinien, who once, in a 
 moment of superficial gallantr}', had sent her that kiss 
 which invaded and conquered her soul like a love-poem, 
 had completely forgotten the young girl in the hell of
 
 182 Ursula. 
 
 his Parisian debts ; moreover his hopeless love for 
 Emilie de Kergarouet hindered him from bestowing a 
 thought on a few glances exchanged with a little coun- 
 try girl. He did not recognize her when the doctor 
 handed her into the coach and then sat down beside 
 her to separate her from the 3'oung viscount. 
 
 " I have some bills to give 3'ou," said the doctor to 
 the 3'oung man. " I have brought all your papers and 
 documents." 
 
 " I came very near not getting off," said Savinien, 
 " for I had to order linen and clothes ; the Philistines 
 took all ; I return like a true prodigal." 
 
 However interesting were the subjects of conversa- 
 tion between the young man and the old one, and how- 
 ever witty and clever were certain remarks of the 
 viscount, the young girl continued silent till after dusk, 
 her green veil lowered, and her hands crossed on her 
 shawl. 
 
 '* Mademoiselle does not seem to have enjoyed Paris 
 very much," said Savinien at last, somewhat piqued. 
 
 " I am glad to return to Nemours," she answered in 
 a trembling voice raising her veil. 
 
 Notwithstanding the dim light Savinien then recog- 
 nized her by the heav}' braids of her hair and the bril- 
 liancy of her blue e^-es. 
 
 " I, too, leave Paris to bury m3'self in Nemours 
 without regret now that I meet mv charmino- neighbor
 
 Ursula. 183 
 
 • 
 
 again/' he said; "I hope, Monsieur le docteur that 
 
 you will receive me in jour house ; I love music, and I 
 remember to have listened to Mademoiselle Ursula's 
 piano." 
 
 "I do not know," replied the doctor gravel}', 
 " whether your mother would approve of your visits to 
 an old man whose duty it is to care for this dear child 
 with all the solicitude of a mother." 
 
 This reserved answer made Savinien reflect, and he 
 then remembered the kisses so thoughtlessly wafted. 
 Night came ; the heat was great. Savinien and the 
 doctor went to sleep first. Ursula, whose head was 
 full of projects, did not succumb till midnight. She had 
 taken off her straw-bonnet, and her head, covered with 
 a little embroidered cap, dropped upon her uncle's 
 shoulder. When they reached Bouron at dawn, Savi- 
 nien awoke. He then saw Ursula in the slight disarray 
 naturally caused b}' the jolting of the vehicle ; her cap 
 was rumpled and half off; the hair, unbound, had fallen 
 each side of her face, which glowed from the heat of the 
 night ; in this situation, dreadful for women to whom 
 dress is a necessary auxiliary, j-outh and beauty tri- 
 umphed. The sleep of innocence is always lovely. The 
 half-opened lips showed the pretty teeth ; the shawl, un- 
 fastened, gave to view, beneath the folds of her muslin 
 gown and without offence to her mqdest}', the graceful- 
 ness of her figure. The purity of the virgin spirit shone
 
 184 Ursula. 
 
 on the sleeping countenance all the more plainly because 
 no other expression was there to interfere with it. Old 
 Minoret, who presently woke up, placed his child's 
 head in the corner of the carriage that she might be 
 more at ease ; and she let him do it unconsciously, so 
 deep was her sleep after the many wakeful nights she 
 had spent in thinking of Savinien's trouble. 
 
 "Poor little girl! " said the doctor to his neighbor, 
 "she sleeps like the child she is." 
 
 " You must be proud of her," replied Savinien ; " for 
 she seems as good as she is beautiful." 
 
 " Ah ! she is the jo}' of the house. I could not love 
 her better if she were mj- own daughter. She will be 
 sixteen on the 5th of next February. God grant that 
 I may live long enough to marr}- her to a man who will 
 make her happy. I wanted to take her to the theatre in 
 Paris, where she was for the first time, but she refused ; 
 the Abbé Chaperon had forbidden it. 'But,' I said, 
 ' when you are married ^our husband will want you to 
 go there.' 'I shall do what m}' husband wants,' she 
 answered. ' If he asks me to do evil and I am weak 
 enough to yield, he will be responsible before God — 
 and so I shall have strength to refuse him, for his own 
 sake.' " 
 
 As the coach entered Nemours, at five in the morn- 
 ing, Ursula woke up, ashamed at her I'umpled condi- 
 tion, and confused by the look of admiration wliich she
 
 • Urmia. 185 
 
 encountered from Savinien. During the hour it liad 
 taken the diligence to come from Bouron to Nemours 
 the young man had fallen in love with Ursula ; he had 
 studied the pure candor of that soul, the beauty of that 
 bod}', the whiteness of the skin, the delicac}' of the 
 features ; he recalled the charm of the voice which had 
 uttered but one expressive sentence, in which the poor 
 child said all, intending to say nothing. A presenti- 
 ment seemed suddenly to take hold of him ; he saw in 
 Ursula the woman the doctor had pictured to him, 
 framed in gold b}- the magic words, " Seven or eight 
 hundred thousand francs." 
 
 " In three or four 3'ears she will be twent}', and I 
 shall be twenty-seven," he thought. " The good doctor 
 talked of probation, work, good conduct ! Sly as he 
 is I shall make him tell me the truth." 
 
 The three neighbors parted in the street in front of 
 their respective homes, and Savinien put a little court- 
 ing into his eyes as he gave Ursula a parting glance. 
 
 Madame de Portenduère let her son sleep till mid- 
 day ; but the doctor and Ursula, in spite of their 
 fatiguing journe}', went to high mass. Savinien's 
 release and his return in compan}' witli the doctor had 
 explained tlie reason of the latter's absence to the news- 
 mongers of the town and to the heirs, who were once 
 more assembled in conventicle on the square, just as 
 they were two weeks earlier when the doctor attended
 
 186 Ursula. 
 
 his first mass. To the great astonishment of all the 
 groups, Madame de Portenduère, on leaving the church, 
 stopped old Minoret, who offered her his arm and took 
 her home. .The old ladj' asked him to dinner that 
 evening, also asking his niece and assuring him that 
 the abbé would be the onlj'^ other guest. 
 
 " He must have wished Ursula to see Paris," said 
 Minore t-Levrault. 
 
 "Pest!" cried Crémière; "he can't take a step 
 without that girl ! " 
 
 " Something must have happened to make old Por- 
 tenduère accept his arm," said Massin. 
 
 " So none of 50U have guessed that your uncle has 
 sold his Funds and released that little Savinien ? " cried 
 Goupil. "He refused Dionis, but he didn't refuse 
 Madame de Portenduère — Ha, ha ! 3'ou are all done 
 for. The viscount will propose a marriage-contract 
 instead of a mortgage, and the doctor will make the 
 husband settle on his jewel of a girl the sum he has 
 now paid to secure the alliance." 
 
 "It is not a bad thing to marr}' Ursula to Savinien," 
 said the butcher. " The old lady gives a dinner to-day 
 to Monsieur Minoret. Tiennette came earlj' for a 
 filet." 
 
 "Well, Dionis, here 's a fine to-do!" said Massin, 
 rushing up to the notary, who was entering the square. 
 
 "What is? It's all going right," returned the
 
 Ursula. 187 
 
 notary. " Your uncle has sold his Funds and Madame 
 de Portenduère has sent for me to witness the signing 
 of a mortgage on her property for one hundred thou- 
 sand francs, lent to her by your uncle." 
 
 "Yes, but suppose the 3'oung people should marr}'? " 
 
 "That's as if you said Goupil was to be my suc- 
 cessor." 
 
 " The two things are not so impossible," said Goupil. 
 
 On returning from mass Madame de Portenduère 
 told Tiennette to inform her son that she wished to see 
 him. 
 
 The little house had three bedrooms on the first floor. 
 That of Madame de Portenduère and that of her late 
 husband were separated by a large dressing-room lighted 
 by a skylight, and connected by a little antechamber 
 which opened on the staircase. The window of the 
 other room, occupied b}- Savinien, looked, like that of 
 his late father, on the street. The staircase went up at 
 the back of the house, leaving room for a little study 
 lighted bj' a small round window opening on the court. 
 Madame de Portenduère's bedroom, the gloomiest in the 
 house, also looked into the court ; but the widow spent 
 all her time in the salon on the ground-floor, which com- 
 municated b}' a passage with the kitchen built at the 
 end of the court, so that this salon was made to answer 
 the double purpose of drawing-room and dining-room 
 combined.
 
 188 Ursula. 
 
 The bedroom of the late Monsieur de Portenduère 
 remained as he had left it on the day of his death ; 
 there was no change except that he was absent. 
 Madame de Portenduère had made the bed herself; 
 laj-ing upon it the uniform of a naval captain, his 
 sword, cordon, orders, and hat. The gold snufF-box 
 from which her late husband had taken snuff for the 
 last time was on the table, with his pra3'er-book, his 
 watch, and the cup from which he drank. His white 
 hair, arranged in one curled lock and framed, hung 
 above a crucifix and the hoi}' water in the alcove. AH 
 the little ornaments he had worn, his journals, his furni- 
 ture, his Dutch spittoon, his spj'-glass hanging by the 
 mantel, were all there. The widow had stopped the 
 hands of the clock at the hour of his death, to which 
 they always pointed. The room still smelt of the pow- 
 der and the tobacco of the deceased. The hearth was as 
 he left it. To her, entering there, he was again visible 
 in the many articles which told of his daily habits. His 
 tall cane with its gold head was where he had last 
 placed it, with his buckskin gloves close by. On a 
 table against the wall stood a gold vase, of coarse work- 
 manship but worth three thousand francs, a gift from 
 Havana, which city, at the time of the American War 
 of Independence, he had protected from an attack by 
 the British, bringing his convoy safe into port after an 
 engagement with superior forces. To recompense this
 
 Ursula. 189 
 
 service the King of Spain had made him a kniglit of 
 his order ; the same event gave him a riglit to the next 
 promotion to the rank of vice-admiral, and he also 
 received the red ribbon. He then married his wife, Avho 
 had a fortune of about two hundred thousand francs. 
 But the Revolution hindered his promotion, and Mon- 
 sieur de Portenduère emigrated. 
 
 " Where is my mother? " said Savinien to Tiennette. 
 
 " She is waiting for you in your father's room," said 
 the old Breton woman. 
 
 Savinien could not repress a shudder. He knew his 
 mother's rigid principles, her worship of honor, her 
 loyalt}', her faith in nobility, and he foresaw a scene. 
 He went up to the assault with his heart beating and 
 his face rather pale. In the dim light which filtered 
 through the blinds he saw his mother dressed in black, 
 and with an air of solemnity in keeping with that 
 funereal room. 
 
 " Monsieur le vicomte," she said when she saw him, 
 rising and taking his hand to lead him to his father's 
 bed, '•' there died your father, — a man of honor ; he died 
 without reproach from his own conscience. His spirit 
 is there. Surel}' he groaned in heaven when he saw 
 his son degraded hy imprisonment for debt. Under 
 the old monarchy that stain could have been spared you 
 by obtaining a lettre de cachet and shutting you up for 
 a few daj's in a military prison. — But you are here ;
 
 190 Ursula. 
 
 you. stand before yonr father, who hears j'ou. You 
 know all that you did before 3011 were sent to that 
 ignoble prison. Will you swear to me before 3-our 
 father's shade, and in presence of God who sees all, 
 that 3'ou have done no dishonorable act ; that your 
 debts are the result of youthful foil}-, and that 3'our 
 honor is untarnished? If 3'our blameless father were 
 there, sitting in that armchair, and asking an explana- 
 tion of your conduct, could he embrace you after having 
 beard it?" 
 
 " Yes, mother,'' replied the young man, with grave 
 respect. 
 
 She opened her arms and pressed him to her heart, 
 shedding a few tears. 
 
 " Let us forget it all, mj' son," she said ; " it is only 
 a little less mone}'. I shall pray God to let us recover 
 it. As you are indeed worthy of your name, kiss me — . 
 for I have suffered much." 
 
 " I swear, mother," he said, laying his hand upon 
 the bed, " to give 3'ou no further unhappiness of that 
 kind, and to do all I can to repair tliese first faults." 
 
 " Come and breakfast, my child," she said, turning 
 to leave the room.
 
 Ursula. 191 
 
 XII. 
 
 OBSTACLES TO YOUNG LOVE. 
 
 In 1829 the old noblesse had recovered as to manners 
 and customs somethnig of the prestige it had irrevocably 
 lost in politics. Moreover, the sentiment which governs 
 parents and grandparents in all that relates to matri- 
 monial conventions is an imperishable sentiment, closely 
 allied to the very existence of civilized societies and 
 springing from the spirit of family. It rules in Geneva 
 as in Vienna and in Nemours, where, as we have seen, 
 Zelie Minoret refused her consent to a possible marriage 
 of her son with the daughter of a bastard. Still, all 
 social laws have their exceptions. Savinien thought he 
 might bend his mother's pride before the inborn nobility 
 of Ursula. The struggle began at once. As soon as 
 they were seated at table his mother told him of the 
 horrible letters, as she called them, which the Kerga- 
 rouets and the Portendueres had written her. 
 
 " There is no such thing as famil}' in these days, 
 mother," replied Savinien, "nothing but individuals! 
 The nobles are no longer a compact body. No one 
 asks or cares whether I am a Portenduere, or brave, or 
 a statesman ; all the}' ask now-a-daj's is, 'What taxes 
 does he pay ? ' "
 
 192 Ursula. 
 
 " But the king ?" asked the okl lady. 
 
 " The kuig is caught between the two Chambers like 
 a man between his wife and his mistress. So I shall 
 have to marry some rich girl without regard to famil}', 
 — the daughter of a peasant if she has a million and is 
 sufRcientlj- well brought-up — that is to sa}', if she has 
 been taught in school." 
 
 "Oh ! there 's no need to talk of that," said the old 
 lady. 
 
 Savinien frowned as he heard the words. He knew 
 the granite will, called Breton obstinac}', that distin- 
 guished his mother, and he resolved to know at once 
 her opinion on this delicate matter. 
 
 " So," he went on, " if I loved a 3oung girl, — take 
 for instance your neighbor's godchild, little Ursula, — 
 would you oppose my marriage ? " 
 
 " Yes, as long as I live," she replied ; " and after my 
 death you would be responsible for the honor and the 
 blood of the Kergarouets and the Portendueres." 
 
 " Would you let me die of hunger and despair for the 
 chimera of nobilit}', which has no reality to-da}' unless 
 it has the lustre of great wealth ? " 
 
 " You could serve Fi-ance and put faith in God." 
 
 " Would 30U postpone my happiness till after 30ur 
 death?" 
 
 " It would be horrible if you took it then, — that is 
 all I have to say."
 
 Ursula. 193 
 
 " Louis XIV. came very near marrying the niece of 
 Mazarin, a parvenu." 
 
 " Mazarin himself opposed it." 
 
 " Remember the widow Scarron." 
 
 " She was a d'Aubigne. Besides, the marriage was 
 in secret. But I am very old, my son," she said, 
 shaking her head. " When I am no more you can, as 
 you sa}', marrj- whom you please." 
 
 Savinien both loved and respected his mother ; but 
 he instantly, though silently, set himself in opposition 
 to her with an obstinacy equal to her own, resolving to 
 have no other wife than Ursula, to whom this opposition 
 gave, as often happens in similar circumstances, the 
 value of a forbidden thing. 
 
 When, after vespers, the doctor, with Ursula, who 
 was dressed in pink and white, entered the cold, stiff 
 salon, the girl was seized with nervous trembling, as 
 though she had entered the presence of the queen of 
 France and had a favor to beg of her. Since her con- 
 fession to the doctor this little house had assumed the 
 proportions of a palace in her eyes, and the old ladj' 
 herself the social value which a duchess of the Middle 
 Ages might have had to the daughter of a serf. Never 
 had Ursula measured as she did at that moment the 
 distance which separated the Vicomte de Portenduère 
 from the daughter of a regimental musician, a former 
 opera-singer and the natural son of an organist. 
 
 13
 
 194 Ursula. 
 
 " What is the matter, m}^ dear?" said the old lad}', 
 making the girl sit down by her. 
 
 "Madame, 1 am confused by the honor you have 
 done me — " 
 
 " M}' little girl," said Madame de Portenduère, in 
 her sharpest tone. " I know how fond 50ur uncle is 
 of 3'ou, and I wished to be agreeable to him, for he has 
 brought back m}^ prodigal son." 
 
 " But, my dear mother." said Savinien, cut to the 
 heart by seeing the color fly into Ursula's face as she 
 struggled to keep back her tears, " even if we were 
 under no obligations to Monsieur le Chevalier Minoret, 
 I think we should always be most grateful for the 
 pleasure Mademoiselle has given us b}' accepting your 
 invitation." 
 
 The 3'oung man pressed the doctor's hand in a sig- 
 nificant manner, adding: "I see 30U wear, monsieur, 
 the order of Saint-Michel, the oldest order in France, 
 and one which confers nobilit}'." 
 
 Ursula's extreme beauty, to which her almost hope- 
 less love gave a depth which great painters have some- 
 times conveyed in pictures where the soul is brought 
 into strong relief, had struck Madame de Portenduère 
 suddenly', and made her suspect that the doctor's appar- 
 ent generosity masked an ambitious scheme. She had 
 made the speech to which Savinien replied with the in- 
 tention of wounding the doctor in that which was dearest
 
 Ursula. 195 
 
 to him ; and she succeeded, though the old man could 
 hardly restrain a smile as he heard himself styled a 
 " chevalier," amused to observe how the eagerness of 
 a lover did not shrink from absurdit^^ 
 
 " The order of Saint-Michel which in former days 
 men committed follies to obtain," he said, " has now, 
 Monsieur le vicomte, gone the wa}- of other privileges ! 
 It is given onl}' to doctors and poor artists. The kings 
 have done well to join it to that of Saint-Lazare who 
 was, I believe, a poor devil recalled to life by a miracle. 
 From this point of view the order of Saint-Michel and 
 Saint-Lazare may be, for man}- of us, s3-rabolic." 
 
 After this reply, at once sarcastic and dignified, 
 silence reigned, which, as no one seemed inclined to 
 break it, was becoming awkward, when there was a rap 
 at the door. 
 
 " There is our dear abbé," said the old lady, who 
 rose, leaving Ursula alone, and advancing to meet the 
 Abbé Chaperon, — an honor she had not paid to the 
 doctor and his niece. 
 
 The old man smiled to himself as he looked from his 
 goddaughter to Savinien. To show offence or to com- 
 plain of Madame de Portenduère's manners was a rock 
 on which a man of small mind might have struck, but 
 Minoret was too accomplished in the ways of the world 
 not to avoid it. He began to talk to the viscount of 
 the danger Charles X. was then running bv confidinsc
 
 196 Ursula. 
 
 the affairs of the nation to the Prince de Polignac. 
 When sufficient time had been spent on the subject to 
 avoid all appearance of revenging himself by so doing, 
 he handed the old lady, in an easy, jesting waj', a packet 
 of legal papers and receipted bills, together with the 
 account of his notary. 
 
 " Has mj- son verified them ? " she said, giving Savi- 
 nien a look, to which he replied by bending his head. 
 "Well, then the rest is my notary's business," she 
 added, pushing awaj' the papers and treating the affair 
 with the disdain she wished to show for money. 
 
 To abase wealth was, according to Madame de Por- 
 tenduere's ideas, to elevate the nobility and rob the 
 bourgeoisie of their importance. 
 
 A few moments later Goupil came from his employer, 
 Dionis, to ask for the accounts of the transaction be- 
 tween the doctor and Savinien. 
 
 " Why do you want them ? " said the old lady. 
 
 " To put the matter in legal form ; there have been 
 no cash payments." 
 
 Ursula and Savinien, who both for the first time ex- 
 changed a glance with this offensive personage, were 
 conscious of a sensation like that of touching a toad, 
 aggravated by a dark presentiment of evil. They both 
 had the same indefinable and confused vision into the 
 future, which has no name in an}' language, but which 
 is capable of explanation as the action of the inward
 
 Ursula. 197 
 
 being of which the mysterious Swedenborgian had 
 spoken to Doctor Minoret. The certainty that the 
 venomous Goupil would in some way be fatal to them 
 made Ursula tremble ; but she controlled herself, con- 
 scious of unspeakable pleasure in seeing that Savinien 
 shared her emotion. 
 
 " He is not handsome, that clerk of Monsieur Dionis," 
 said Savinien, when Goupil had closed the door. 
 
 " What does it signify whether such persons are 
 handsome or ugly ? " said Madame de Portenduère. 
 
 " I don't complain of his ugliness," said the abbé, 
 "but I do of his wickedness, which passes all bounds ; 
 he is a villain." 
 
 The doctor, in spite of his desire to be amiable, grew 
 cold and dignified. The lovers were embarrassed. If 
 it had not been for the kindly good-humor of the abbé, 
 whose gentle gayet^' enlivened the dinner, the position 
 of the doctor and his niece would have been almost 
 intolerable At dessert, seeing Ursula turn pale, he 
 said to her : — 
 
 " If you don't feel well, dear child, we have only the 
 street to cross." 
 
 "What Is the matter, my dear?" said tlie old lady 
 to the girl. 
 
 "Madame," said the doctor severely, "her soul is 
 chilled, accustomed as she is to be met b}' smiles." 
 
 " A ver^' bad education, monsieur," said Madame de 
 Portenduère. " Is is not. Monsieur l'abbé?"
 
 198 Ursula. 
 
 "Yes," answered Minoret, with a look at the abbé, 
 who knew not how to reply. '• I have, it is true, ren- 
 dered life unbearable to an angelic spirit if she has to 
 pass it in the world ; but I trust I shall not die until I 
 place her in securit}', safe from coldness, indifference, 
 and hatred — " 
 
 "Oh, godfather — I beg of you — sa}' no more. 
 There is nothing the matter with me," cried Ursula, 
 meeting Madame de Portenduère's e^es rather than 
 give too much meaning to her words b}- looking at 
 Savinien. 
 
 " I cannot know, madame," said Savinien to his 
 mother, " whether Mademoiselle Ursula suffers, but I 
 do know that 3'ou are torturing me." 
 
 Hearing these words, dragged from the generous 
 young man b}' his mother's treatment of herself, Ursula 
 turned pale and begged Madame de Portenduère to 
 excuse her ; then she took her uncle's arm, bowed, left 
 the room, and returned home. Once there, she rushed 
 to the salon and sat down to the piano, put her head in 
 her hands, and burst into tears. 
 
 " AVhy dfm't you leave the management of 3'our 
 affairs to m}' old experience, cruel child ? " cried the doc- 
 tor in despair. " Nobles never think themselves under 
 an}' obligations to the bourgeoisie. When we do them 
 a service they consider that we do our dut}', and that 's 
 all. Besides, the old lady saw that you looked favor- 
 ably on Savinien ; she is afraid he will love you."
 
 Ursula. 199 
 
 "At am' rate, he is saved!" said Ursula. "But 
 ah ! to tr}' to humiliate a man like you ! " 
 
 " Wait till I return, my child," said the old man 
 leaving her. ^ 
 
 When the doctor re-entered Madame de Portenduère's 
 salon he found Dionis tlie notary, accompanied by 
 Monsieur Bongrand and the raa3or of Xemours, wit- 
 nesses required by law for the validit}' of deeds in all 
 communes where there is but one notary. Minoret 
 took Monsieur Dionis aside and said a word in his ear, 
 after which the notary read the deeds aloud officially ; 
 from which it appeared that Madame de Portenduère 
 gave a mortgage on all her property to secure paj-ment 
 of the hundred thousand francs, the interest on which 
 was fixed at five per cent. At the reading of this last 
 clause the abbé looked at Minoret, who answered with 
 an approving nod. The poor priest whispered some- 
 thing in the old lady's ear to which she replied, — 
 
 " I will owe nothing to such persons." 
 
 " My mother leaves me the nobler part," said Savi- 
 nien to the doctor; "she will repa}' the money and 
 charges me to show^ our gratitude." 
 
 " But you will have to pay eleven thousand francs 
 the first year to meet the interest and the legal costs," 
 said the abb*'-. 
 
 "Monsieur," said Minoret to Dionis, " as Monsieur 
 and Madame de Portenduère are not in a condition to
 
 200 Ursula. 
 
 pay those costs, add them to the amount of the mort- 
 gage and I will pa}' them." 
 
 Dionis made the change and the sura borrowed was 
 fixed at one hundred and seven thousand francs. 
 When the papers were all signed, Minoret made his 
 fatigue an excuse to leave the house at the same time 
 as the notary and witnesses. 
 
 "Madame," said the abbé, "why did you affront 
 that excellent Monsieur Minoret, who saved you at 
 least twenty-five thousand francs on those debts in 
 Paris, and had the delicacy to give twenty thousand to 
 your son for his debts of honor? " 
 
 " Your Minoret is sly," she said, taking a pinch of 
 snuff. " He knows what he is about." 
 
 " My mother thinks he wishes to force me into 
 marrying his niece by getting hold of our farm," said 
 Savinien ; "as if a Portenduere, son of a Kergarouet, 
 could be made to marry against his will." 
 
 An hour later, Savinien presented himself at the 
 doctor's house, where all the relatives had assembled, 
 enticed by curiosity. The arrival of the young vis- 
 count produced a lively sensation, all the more because 
 its effect was different on each person present. Mes- 
 demoiselles Crémière and Massin whispered together 
 and looked at Ursula, who blushed. The mothers said 
 to Désiré that Goupil perhaps was right about the mar- 
 riage. The eyes of all present turned towards the
 
 Ursula. 201 
 
 doctor, who did not rise to receive the young nobleman, 
 but merely bowed his head without laying down the 
 dice-box, for he was playing a game of backgammon 
 with Monsieur Bongrand. The doctor's cold manner 
 surprised ever}- one. 
 
 " Ursula, my child," he said, " give us a little 
 music." 
 
 While the young girl, delighted to have something 
 to do to Iceep her in countenance, went to the piano and 
 began to move the green-covered music-books, the heirs 
 resigned themselves, with many demonstrations of 
 pleasure, to the torture and the silence about to be 
 inflicted on them, so eager were they to find out what 
 was going on between their uncle and the Porteudueres. 
 
 It sometimes happens that a piece of music, poor in 
 itself, when played by a 3'oung girl under the influence 
 of deep feeling, makes more impression than a fine 
 overture played by a full orchestra. In all music there 
 is, besides the thought of the composer, the soul of tlie 
 performer, who, by a privilege granted to this art only, 
 can give both meaning and poetry- to passages which 
 are in themselves of no great value. Cliopin proves, 
 for that unresponsive instrument the piano, the truth 
 of this fact, already proved b}' Paganini on the vioUn. 
 That fine genius is less a musician than a soul which 
 makes itself felt, and communicates itself through 
 all species of music, even simple chords. Ursula, by
 
 202 Ursula. 
 
 her exquisite and sensitive organization, belonged to 
 this rare class of beings, and old Schmucke, the master, 
 who came ever}- Saturday and who, during Ursula's 
 stay in Paris was with her every da}', had brought his 
 pupil's talent to its full perfection. " Rousseau's 
 Dream," the piece now chosen by Ursula, composed by 
 Hérold in his 3'oung da^'s, is not without a certain depth 
 which is capable of being developed b}- execution. 
 Ursula threw into it the feelings which were agitating 
 her being, and justified the term " caprice " given by 
 Hérold to the fragment. With soft and dream}^ touch 
 her soul spoke to the young man's soul and wrapped it, 
 as in a cloud, with ideas that were almost visible. 
 
 Sitting at the end of the piano, his elbow resting on 
 the coN'er and his head on his left hand, Savinien ad- 
 mired Ursula, whose eyes, fixed on the panelling of the 
 wall beyond him, seemed to be questioning another 
 world. Man}- a man would have fallen deeply in love 
 for a less reason. Genuine feelings haA-e a magnetism 
 of their own, and Ursula was willing to show her soul, 
 as a coquette her dresses to be admired. Savinien en- 
 tered that delightful kingdom, led by this pure heart, 
 which, to interpret its feelings, borrowed the power of 
 the only art that speaks to thought by thought, without 
 the help of words, or color, or form. Candor, openness 
 of lieart have the same power over a man that child- 
 hood has ; the same charm, the same irresistible seduc-
 
 Ursula. 203 
 
 tions. Ursula was never more honest and candid than 
 at this moment, when she was born again into a new 
 life. 
 
 The abbé came to tear Savinien from his dream, re- 
 questing him to take a fourth hand at whist. Ursula 
 went on playing ; the heirs departed, all except Desire, 
 who was resolved to find out the intentions of his uncle 
 and the viscount and Ursula. 
 
 " You have as much talent as soul, mademoiselle," 
 he said, when the young girl closed the piano and sat 
 down beside her godfather. " Who is your master? " 
 
 " A German, living close to the Rue Dauphine on 
 the quai Conti," said the doctor. " If he had not given 
 Ursula a lesson every day during her stay in Paris he 
 would have been here to-day." 
 
 " He is not onl}' a great musician," said Ursula, "but 
 a man of adorable simplicit}' of nature." 
 
 " Those lessons must cost a great deal," remarked 
 Desire. 
 
 The players smiled ironically. When the game was 
 over the doctor, who had hitherto seemed anxious and 
 pensive, turned to Savinien with the air of a man who 
 fulfils a duty. 
 
 "Monsieur," he said, "lam grateful for the feel- 
 ing which leads 30U to make me this earlj' visit ; but 
 3'our mother attributes unworth}- and underhand motives 
 to what I have done, and I should give her the risht to
 
 204 Ursula. 
 
 call them true if I did not request you to refrain from 
 coming here, in spite of tlie honor 3'our visits are to me, 
 and the pleasure I should otherwise feel in cultivating 
 your society. Tell 3'our mother that if I do not beg 
 her, in m}^ niece's name and my own, to do us the 
 honor of dining here next Sunday it is because I am 
 very certain that she would find herself indisposed on 
 that da}'." 
 
 The old man held out his hand to the young viscount, 
 who pressed it respectfully, saying : — 
 
 " You are quite right, monsieur." 
 
 He then withdrew ; but not without a bow to 
 Ursula, in which there was more of sadness than dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 Desire left the house at the same time ; but he found 
 it impossible to exchange even a word with the young 
 nobleman, who rushed into his own house precipitately.
 
 Ursula. 205 
 
 XIII. 
 
 BETROTHAL OF HEARTS. 
 
 This rupture between the Portendueres and Doctor 
 Minoret gave talk among the heirs for a week ; they 
 did homage to the genius of Dionis, and regarded their 
 inheritance as rescued. 
 
 So, in an age when ranks are levelled, when the 
 mania for equality puts everybody on one footing and 
 threatens to destroy all bulwarks, even military subor- 
 dination, — that last refuge of power in France, where 
 passions have now no other obstacles to overcome than 
 personal antipathies, or differences of fortune, — the 
 obstinacy of an old-fashioned Breton woman and the 
 dignity of Doctor Minoret created a barrier between 
 these lovers, which was to end, as such obstacles often 
 do, not in destroying, but in strengthening love. To an 
 ardent man a woman's value is that which she costs 
 him ; Savinien foresaw a struggle, great efforts, many 
 uncertainties, and alread}' the young girl was rendered 
 dearer to him ; he was resolved to win her. Perhaps 
 our feelings obey the laws of nature as to the lasting- 
 ness of her creations ; to a long life a long childhood. 
 
 The next morning, when thej' woke, Ursula and Savi- 
 nien had the same thought. An intimate understanding
 
 206 Ursvla. 
 
 of this kind would create love if it were not already its 
 most precious proof. When the 3'oung girl parted her 
 curtains just far enough to let her eyes take m Savi- 
 nien's window, she saw the face of her lover above the 
 fastening of his. When one reflects on the unmense 
 services that windows render to lovers it seems natural 
 and right that a tax should be levied on them. Hav- 
 ing thus protested against her godfather's harshness, 
 Ursula dropped the curtain and opened her window to 
 close the outer blinds, through which she could continue 
 to see without being seen herself. Seven or eight times 
 during the da}' she went up to her room, always to find 
 the 3'onng viscount writing, tearing up what he had 
 written, and then writing again — to her, no doubt ! 
 
 The next morning when she woke La Bougival gave 
 her the following letter : — 
 
 To Mademoiselle Ursula . 
 
 Mademoiselle, — I do not conceal from myself the dis- 
 trust a young man inspires when he has placed himself in 
 the position from which your godfather's kindness released 
 me. I know tliat I must in future give greater guarantees 
 of good conduct than other men ; therefore, mademoiselle, it 
 is with deep humility that I place myself at your feet and 
 ask you to consider my love. This declaration is not dic- 
 tated by passion, it comes from an inward certainty which in- 
 volves the whole of life. A foolish infatuation for my young 
 aunt, Madame de Kergarouet, was the cause of my going to 
 prison; will you not regard as a proof of my sincere love the 
 total disappearance of those wishes, of that image, now
 
 Ursula. 207 
 
 effaced from ray heart by yours ? No sooner did I see you, 
 asleep and so engaging in your childlike slumber at Bouron, 
 than you occupied my soul as a queen takes possession of 
 her empire. I will have no other wife than you. You have 
 every qualification I desire in her who is to bear my name. 
 The education you have received and the dignity of your 
 own mind, place you on the level of the highest positions. 
 But I doubt myself too much to dare describe you to your- 
 self ; I can only love you. After listening to you yesterday 
 I recalled certain words which seem as though written for 
 you ; suffer me to transcribe them : — 
 
 " IVIade to draw all hearts and charm all eyes, gentle and 
 intelligent, spiritual yet able to reason, courteous as though 
 she had passed her life at court, simple as the hermit who 
 has never known the world, the fire of her soul is tempered 
 in her eyes by sacred modesty." 
 
 I feel the value of the noble soul revealed in you by many, 
 even the most trifling, things. This it is which gives me the 
 courage to ask you, provided you love no one else, to let me 
 prove to you by my conduct and my devotion that I am not 
 unworthy of you. It concerns my very life; you cannot 
 doubt that all my powers will be employed, not only in trying 
 to please you, but in deserving your esteem, which is more 
 precious to me than any other upon earth. With this hope, 
 Ursula — if you will suffer me so to call you in my heart — 
 Nemours will be to me a paradise, the hardest tasks will bring 
 me joys derived through you, as life itself is derived from God. 
 Tell me that I may call myself Your Savixien. 
 
 Ursula kissed the letter; then, having re-read it and 
 clasped it with passionate motions, she dressed herself 
 eagerly to carry it to hor uncle.
 
 208 Ursula. 
 
 " Ah, my God ! I nearl}' forgot to say my prayers ! " 
 she exclaimed, turning back to kneel on her prie-Dieu. 
 
 A few moments later she went down to the garden, 
 where she found her godfather and made hmi read the 
 letter. They both sat down on a bench under the arch 
 of climbing plants opposite to the Chinese pagoda. 
 Ursula awaited the old man's words, and the old man 
 reflected long, too long for the impatient ^oung girl. At 
 last, the result of their secret interview appeared in the 
 following answer, part of which the doctor undoubtedl}' 
 dictated. 
 
 To Monsieur le Vicomte Savinien de Portenduère ■ 
 
 Monsieur, — I cannot be otherwise than greatly lionored 
 by the letter in whicli you offer me your hand; hut, at my age, 
 and according to the rules of my education, I have felt bound 
 to communicate it to my godfather, who is all I have, and 
 whom I love as a father and also as a friend. I must now 
 tell you the painful objections which he has made to me, and 
 which must be to you my answer. 
 
 Monsieur le vicomte, I am a poor girl, whose fortune de- 
 pends entirely, not only on' my godfather's good-will, but also 
 on tlie doubtful success of the measures he may take to elude 
 the schemes of his relatives against me. Though I am the 
 legitimate daughter of Joseph Mirouet, band master of the 
 45th regiment of infantry, my father himself was my god- 
 father's natural lialf-brother; and therefore these relatives 
 may, though without reason, bi'ing a suit against a young 
 girl who would be defenceless. You see, monsieur, that the 
 smallness of my fortune is not my greatest misfortune. I 
 have many things to make me humble. It is for your sake,
 
 Ursula. 209 
 
 and not for my own, that I lay before you these facts, which 
 to loving and devoted hearts are sometimes of little weight. 
 But I beg you to consider, monsieur, that if I did not submit 
 them to you, I might be suspected of leading your tenderness 
 to overlook obstacles which the world, and more especially 
 your mother, regard as insuperable. 
 
 I shall be sixteen in four months. Perhaps you will admit 
 that we are both too young and too inexperienced to under- 
 stand the miseries of a life entered upon without other for- 
 tune than that I received from the kindness of the late 
 Monsieur de Jordy. My godfather desires, moreover, not to 
 marry me until I am twenty. Who knows what fate may 
 have in store for you in four years, the finest years of your 
 life? do not sacrifice them to a poor girl. 
 
 Having thus explained to you, monsieur, the opinions of 
 my dear godfather, who, far from opposing my happiness, 
 seeks to contribute to it in every way, and earnestly desires 
 that his protection, which must soon fail me, may be replaced 
 by a tenderness equal to his own ; there remains only to tell 
 you how touched I am by your offer and by the compliments 
 which accompany it. The prudence which dictates my letter 
 is that of an old man to whom life is well-known ; but the 
 gratitude I express is that of a yoimg girl, in whose soul no 
 other sentiment has arisen. 
 
 Therefore, monsieur, I can sign myself, in all sincerity, 
 Your servant, 
 
 Ursula Mirouët. 
 
 Savinien made no reply. Was he trying to soften 
 his mother? Had this letter put an end to his love? 
 Man}' such questions, all insoluble, tormented poor 
 Ursula, and, by repercussion, the doctor too, who suf- 
 
 14
 
 210 Ursula. 
 
 fered from every agitation of his darling child. Ursula 
 went often to her chamber to look at Savinien, whom 
 she usuall3' found sitting pensively before his table 
 with his e^-es turned towards her window. At the end 
 of the week, but no sooner, she received a letter from 
 him ; the delay was explained by his increasing love. 
 
 To Mademoiselle Ursula Mikodët : 
 
 Dear Ursula, — I am a Breton, and when my mind is 
 once made up nothing can change me. Your godfather, 
 whom may God preserve to us, is right ; but does it follow 
 that I am wrong in loving you ? Thei'efore, all I want 
 to know from you is whether you could love me. Tell me 
 this, if only by a sign, and then the next four years will be 
 the finest of my life. 
 
 A friend of mine has delivered to my great-uncle, Vice- 
 admiral Kergarouet, a letter in which I asked his help to 
 enter the navy. The kind old man, grieved at my misfor- 
 tunes, replies that even the king's favor would be thwarted 
 by the rules of the service in case I wanted a certain rank. 
 Nevertheless, if I study three months at Toulon, the minister 
 of war can send me to sea as master's mate ; then after a 
 cruise against the Algerines, with whom we are now at war, 
 I can go through an examination and become a midshipman. 
 Moreover, if I distinguish myself in an expedition they are 
 fitting out against Algiers, I shall certainly be made ensign 
 — but how soon ? that no one can tell. Only, they will 
 make the rules as elastic as possible to have the name of 
 Portenduère again in the navy. 
 
 I see very plainly that I can only hope to obtain you from 
 your godfather ; and your respect for him makes you still 
 dearer to me. Before replying to the admiral, I must have
 
 Ursula. 211 
 
 an interview with the doctor; on his reply my whole future 
 will depend. Whatever comes of it, know this, that rich or 
 poor, the daughter of a band master or the daughter of a 
 king, you are the woman whom the voice of my heart points 
 out to me. Dear Ursula, we live in times when prejudices 
 which might once have separated us have no power to pre- 
 vent our marriage. To you, then, I offer the feelings of my 
 heart, to your uncle the guarantees which secure to him your 
 happiness. He has not seen that I, in a few hours, came 
 to love you more than he has loved you in fifteen years. 
 Until this evening. 
 
 Savinien. 
 
 " Here, godfather," said Ursula, holding the letter 
 out to him with a proud gesture. 
 
 " Ah, mj' child ! " cried the doctor when he had read 
 it, " I am happier than even you. He repairs all his 
 faults by this resolution." 
 
 After dinner Savinien presented himself, and found 
 the doctor walking with Ursula b}* the balustrade of 
 the terrace overlooking the river. The viscount had 
 received his clothes from Paris, and had not missed 
 heightening his natural advantages by a careful toilet, 
 as elegant as though he were still striving to please the 
 proud and beautiful Comtesse de Kergarouet. Seeing 
 him approach her from the portico, the poor girl clung 
 to her uncle's arm as though she were saving herself 
 from a fall over a precipice, and the doctor heard the 
 beating of her heart, which made him shudder.
 
 212 Ursula. 
 
 " Leave us, m}' child," he said to the girl, who went 
 to the pagoda and sat upon the steps, after allowing 
 Savinien to take her hand and kiss it respectfully. 
 
 ' ' Monsieur, will 3'ou give this dear hand to a naval 
 captain ? " he said to the doctor in a low voice. 
 
 "No," said Minoret, smiling; "we might have to 
 wait too long, but — I will give her to a lieutenant." 
 
 Tears of joy filled the 3'oung man's eyes as he pressed 
 the doctor's hand affectionately. 
 
 "I am about to leave," he said, "to stud^y hard 
 and try to learn in six months what the pupils of the 
 [Naval School take six years to acquire." 
 
 "You are going?" said Ursula, springing towards 
 them from the pavilion. 
 
 " Yes, mademoiselle, to deserve you. Therefore the 
 more eager I am to go, the more I prove to 3'Ou my 
 affection." 
 
 " This is the 3d of October," she said, looking at 
 him with infinite tenderness ; " do not go till after 
 the 19th." 
 
 " Y'es," said the old man, " we will celebrate Saint- 
 Savinien's da}-." 
 
 " Good-b}-, then," cried the 3'oung man. " I must 
 spend this week in Paris,, to take the preliminary steps, 
 bu}^ books and mathematical instruments, and try to 
 conciliate the minister and get the best terms that I can 
 for myself."
 
 Ursula. 213 
 
 Ursula and her godfather accompanied Savinien to 
 the gate. Soon after he entered his mother's house they 
 saw him come out agam, followed by Tiennette canying 
 his valise. 
 
 " If ^'ou are so rich," said Ursula to her uncle, " why 
 do you make him serve in the navj'? " 
 
 " Presently it will be I who incurred his debts," said 
 the doctor, smiling. " I don't oblige him to do any- 
 thing ; but the uniform, my dear, and the cross of the 
 Legion of honor, won in battle, will wipe out many 
 stains. Before six 3'ears are over he may be in com- 
 mand of a ship, and that's all I ask of him." 
 
 " But he may be killed," she said, turning a pale face 
 upon the doctor. 
 
 " Lovers, like drunkards, have a providence of their 
 own," he said, laughhig. 
 
 That night the poor child, with La Bougival's help, cut 
 off a sufficient quantity of her long and beautiful blond 
 hair to make a chain ; and the next daj' she persuaded 
 old Scihmucko, the music-master, to take it to Paris and 
 have the chain made and returned b}' the following 
 Sunday. When Savinien got back he informed the 
 doctor and Ursula tliat he had signed his articles and 
 was to be at Brest on the 25th. The doctor açked him 
 to dinner on the 18th, and he passed near!}- two whole 
 daj's in the old man's house. Notwithstanding much 
 sage advice and man\' resolutions, the lovers could not
 
 214 Ursula. 
 
 help betra3'ing their secret understanding to the watch- 
 ful eyes of the abbé, Monsieur Bongrand, the Nemours 
 doctor, and La Bougival. 
 
 " Children," said the old man, " 30U are risking your 
 happiness by not keeping it to 3'ourselves." 
 
 On the fête-day, after mass, during which scA'eral 
 glances had been exchanged, Savinien, watched b}' 
 Ursula, crossed the road and entered the little garden 
 where the pair were practicall}' alone ; for the kind old 
 man, by way of indulgence, was reading his newspapers 
 in the pagoda. 
 
 "Dear Ursula," said Savinien; "will you make a 
 gift greater than m^' mother could make me even if — " 
 
 " I know what you wish to ask me," she said, inter- 
 rupting him. " See, here is my answer," she added, 
 taking from the pocket of her apron the box containing 
 the chain made of her hair, and offering it to him with 
 a nervous tremor which testified to her illimitable hap- 
 piness. " Wear it," she said, " for love of me. Ma}* 
 it shield you from all dangers hy reminding 3-ou that 
 my life depends on yours." 
 
 "Naughty little thing! she is giving him a chain of 
 her hair," said the doctor to himself. "How did she 
 manage to get it? what a pit}' to cut those beautiful fair 
 tresses ; she will be giving him my life's blood next." 
 
 " You will not blame me if I ask j-ou to give me, 
 now that I am leaving you, a formal promise to liave no
 
 Ursula. 215 
 
 other liusband than me," said Savinien, kissing the 
 chain and looking at Ursula with tears in his eyes. 
 
 "Have I not said so too often — J who went to 
 see the walls of Sainte-Pélagie when you were behind 
 them? — " she replied, blushing. "I repeat it, Savi- 
 nien ; I shall never love any one but you, and I will be 
 yours alone." 
 
 Seeing that Ursula was half-hidden hy the creepers, 
 the 3'oung man could not deny himself the happiness of 
 pressing her to his heart and kissing her forehead ; 
 but she gave a feeble cry and dropped upon the bench, 
 and when Savinien sat beside her, entreating pardon, he 
 saw the doctor standing before them. 
 
 " My friend," said the old man, " Ursula is a born 
 sensitive ; too rough a word might kill her. For her 
 sake you must moderate the enthusiasm of your love — 
 Ah ! if 3'ou had loved her for sixteen 3'ears as I Jiave, 
 you would have been satisfied with her word of prom- 
 ise," he added, to revenge himself for the last sentence 
 in Savinien's second letter. 
 
 Two da3's later the 3'oung man departed. In spite 
 of the letters which he wrote regularl3' to Ursula, she 
 fell a pre3' to an illness without apparent cause. Like 
 a fine fruit with a worm at the core, a single thought 
 gnawed her heart. She lost both appetite and color. 
 The first time her godfather asked her what she felt, 
 she replied : —
 
 216 Ursula. 
 
 " I want to see the ocean." 
 
 "It is difficult to take 3-ou to a sea-port in the depth 
 of winter," answered the old man. 
 
 " Shall I really go? " she said. 
 
 If the wind was high, Ursula was inwardly convulsed, 
 certain, in spite of the learned assurances of the doctor 
 and the abbé, that Savinien was being tossed about in 
 a whirlwind. Monsieur- Bongrand made her happy for 
 days with the gift of an engraving representing a mid- 
 shipman in uniform. She read the newspapers, imagin- 
 ing that the}' would give news of the cruiser on which 
 her lover sailed. She devoured Cooper's sea-tales and 
 learned to use sea-terms. Such proofs of concentration 
 of feeling, often assumed by other women, were so genu- 
 ine in Ursula that she saw in dreams the coming of 
 Savinien's letters, and never failed to announce them, 
 relating the dream as a forerunner. 
 
 "Now," she said to the doctor the fourth time that 
 this happened, "I am easy; wherever Savinien may 
 be, if he is wounded I shall know it instantly." 
 
 The old doctor thought over this remark so anxiously 
 that the abbé and Monsieur Bongrand were troubled by 
 the sorrowful expression of his face. 
 
 "What pains you?" they said, when Ursula had 
 left them. 
 
 " Will she live?" replied the doctor. " Can so ten- 
 der and delicate a flower endure the trials of the heart ? "
 
 Ursula. 217 
 
 Nevertheless, the " little dreamer," as the abbé called 
 her, was working hard. She understood the impor- 
 tance of a fine education to a woman of the world, and 
 all the time she did not giA^e to her singing and to the 
 study of harmony and composition she spent in read- 
 ing the books chosen for her by the abbé from her god- 
 father's rich library. And yet while leading this busy 
 life she suffered, tliough without complaint. Sometimes 
 she would sit for hours looking at Savinien's window. 
 On Sundays she would leave the church behind Madame 
 de Portenduère and watch her tended}' ; for, in spite of 
 the old ladj's harshness, she loved her as Savinien's 
 mother. Her piet}' increased ; she went to mass every 
 morning, for she firmly believed that her dreams were 
 the gift of God. 
 
 At last her godfather, frightened b}- the effects pro- 
 duced b}' this nostalgia of love, promised on her birth- 
 da}' to take her to Toulon to see the departure of the 
 fleet for Algiei's. Savinien's ship formed part of it, but 
 he was not to be informed beforehand of their inten- 
 tion. The abbé and Monsieur Bongrand kept secret the 
 object of this journey, said to be for Ursula's health, 
 which disturbed and greatly puzzled the relations. 
 After beholding Savinieu in his naval uniform, and 
 going on board the fine flag-ship of the admiral, to 
 whom the minister had given 3'oung Portenduère a 
 special recommendation, Ursula, at her lover's entreaty,
 
 218 Ursula. 
 
 went with her godfather to Nice, and along the shores 
 of the Mediterranean to Genoa, where she heard of the 
 safe arrival of the fleet at Algiers and the landing of 
 the troops. The doctor would have liked to continue 
 the journey through Ital}', as much to distract Ursula's 
 mind as to finish, in some sense, her education, b^- 
 enlarging her ideas through comparison with other man- 
 ners and customs and countries, and by the fascina- 
 tions of a land where the masterpieces of art can still 
 be seen, and where so many civilizations have left their 
 brilliant traces. But the tidings of the opposition by 
 the throne to the newh' elected Chamber of 1830 
 obliged the doctor to return to France, bringing back 
 his treasure in a flourishing state of health and pos- 
 sessed of a charming little model of the ship on which 
 Savinien was serving. 
 
 The elections of 1830 united into an active bod}' the 
 various Minoret relations, — Desire and Goupil having 
 formed a committee in Nemours by whose eflîbrts a 
 liberal candidate was put in nomination at Fontaine- 
 bleau. Massin, as collector of taxes, exercised an 
 enormous influence over the country electors. Five of 
 the post master's farmers were electors. Dionis repre- 
 sented eleven votes. After a few meetings at the 
 notary's, Crémière, Massin, the post master, and their 
 adherents took a habit of assembling there. B>' the 
 tniie the doctor returned, Dionis's office and salon were
 
 Ursula. 219 
 
 the camp of his heirs. The justice of peace and the 
 ma^or, who had formed an alliance, backed by the 
 nobilitj' in the neighboring castles, to resist the liberals 
 of Nemours, now worsted in their efforts, were more 
 closely united than ever by their defeat. 
 
 B3' the time Bongrand and the Abbé Chaperon were 
 able to tell the doctor by word of mouth the result of 
 the antagonism, which was defined for the first time, 
 between the two classes in Nemours (giving incident- 
 ally such importance to his heirs) Charles X. had left 
 Rambouillet for Cherbourg. Desire Minoret, whose 
 opinions were those of the Paris bar, sent for fifteen of 
 his friends, commanded by Goupil and mounted on 
 horses from his father's stable, who arrived in Paris on 
 the night of the 28th. With this troop Goupil and 
 Desire took part in the capture of the Hôtel-de-Ville. 
 Desire was decorated with the Legion of honor and 
 appointed deput}^ procureur du roi at Fontainebleau. 
 Goupil received the July cross. Dionis was elected 
 mayor of Nemours, and the city council was composed 
 of the post master (now assistant-ma3or), Massin, Cré- 
 mière, and all the adherents of the family faction. Bon- 
 grand retained his place onlj- through the influence of 
 his son, procureur du roi at Melun, whose marriage 
 with Mademoiselle Levrault was then on the tapis. 
 
 Seeing the three-per-cents quoted at forty-five, the 
 doctor started by post for Paris, and invested five hun-
 
 220 Ursula. 
 
 dred and forty thousand francs in shares to bearer. The 
 rest of his fortune which amounted to about two hun- 
 dred and seventy thousand francs, standing in his own 
 name in the same funds, gave him ostensibly an income 
 of fifteen thousand francs a 3ear. He made the same 
 disposition of Ursula's little capital bequeathed to her 
 by de Jord}', together with the accrued interest thereon, 
 which gave her about fourteen hundred francs a year in 
 her own right. La Bougival, who had laid by some 
 five thousand francs of her savings, did the same b}^ the 
 doctor's advice, receiving in future three hundred and 
 fifty francs a year in dividends. These judicious trans- 
 actions, agreed on between the doctor and Monsieur 
 Bongrand, were carried out in perfect secrec}^ thanks 
 to the political troubles of the time. 
 
 When quiet was again restored the doctor bought 
 the little house which adjoined his own and pulled it 
 down so as to build a coach-house and stables on its 
 site. To employ a capital which would have given him 
 a thousand francs a j'ear on outbuildings seemed actual 
 folly to the Minoret heirs. This folly, if it were one, 
 was the beginning of a new era in the doctor's exist- 
 ence, for he now (at a period when horses and carriages 
 were almost given away) brought back from Paris three 
 fine horses and a calèche. 
 
 When, in the early part of November, 18.30, the old 
 man came to church on a rainy da}' in the new carriage,
 
 Ursula. 221 
 
 and gave his hand to Ursula to help her out, all the in- 
 habitants flocked to the square, — as much to see the 
 calèche and question the coachman, as to criticise the 
 goddaughter, to whose excessive pride and ambition 
 Massin, Crémière, the post master, and their wives at- 
 tributed this extravagant foil}' of the old man. 
 
 " A calèche ! Hey, Massin ! " cried Goupil. "Your 
 inheritance will go at top speed now ! " 
 
 " You ought to be getting good wages, Cabirolle," 
 said the post master to the son of one of his conductors, 
 who stood b}' the horses ; " for it is to be supposed an 
 old man of eighty -four won't use up many horse-shoes. 
 What did those horses cost?" 
 
 " Four thousand francs. The calèche, though second- 
 hand, was two thousand ; but it 's a fine one, the wheels 
 are patent." 
 
 "Yes, it's a good carriage," said Crémière; "and 
 a man must be rich to buy that style of thing." 
 
 "Ursula means to go at a good pace," said Goupil. 
 "She's right; she is showing you how to enjoy life. 
 Why don't you have fine carriages and horses, papa 
 Minoret? I wouldn't let myself be humiliated if I 
 were you — I 'd bu}' a carriage fit for a prince." 
 
 "Come Cabirolle, tell us," said Massin, "is it the 
 girl who drives our uncle into such luxury? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Cabirolle ; " but she is almost 
 mistress of the house. There are masters upon masters
 
 222 Ursula. 
 
 down from Paris. They say now she is going to 
 study painting." 
 
 " Then I shall seize the occasion to have my portrait 
 drawn," said Madame Crémière. 
 
 In the pi'ovinces they always say a picture is drawn^ 
 not painted. 
 
 "The old German is not dismissed, is he?" said 
 Madame Massin. 
 
 " He was there j-esterda}'," replied CabiroUe. 
 
 "Now," said Goupil, "you may as well give up 
 counting on your inheritance. Ursula is seventeen 
 years old, and she is prettier than ever. Travel forms 
 3^oung people, and the little minx has got your uncle in 
 the toils. Five or six parcels come down for her by 
 the diligence ever}' week, and the dressmakers and 
 milliners come too, to tr}* on her gowns and all the rest 
 of it. Madame Dionis is furious. Watch for Ursula 
 as she comes out of church and look at the little scarf 
 she is wearing round her neck, — real cashmere, and it 
 cost six hundred francs ! " 
 
 If a thunderbolt had fallen in the midst of the heirs 
 the effect would have been less than that of Goupil's 
 last VA'ords ; the mischief-maker stood b}' rubbing his 
 hands. 
 
 The doctor's old green salon had been renovated by 
 a Parisian upholsterer. Judged by the luxury dis- 
 played, he was sometimes accused of hoarding immense
 
 Ursula. 223 
 
 wealth, sometimes of spending his capital on Ursula. 
 The heirs called him in turn a miser and a spendthrift, 
 but the saying, " He 's an old fool ! " summed up, on the 
 whole, the verdict of the neighborhood. These mis- 
 taken judgments of the little town had the one advan- 
 tage of misleading the heirs, who never suspected the 
 love between Savinien and Ursula, which was the secret 
 reason of the doctor's expenditure. The old man took 
 the greatest delight in accustoming his god(îhild to her 
 future station in the world. Possessing an income of 
 over fifty thousand francs a year, it gave him pleasure 
 to adorn his idol. 
 
 In the month of February, 1832, the day when Ursula 
 was eighteen, her eyes beheld Savinien in the uniform 
 of an ensign as she looked from her window when she 
 rose in the morning. 
 
 " Why did n't I know he was coming?" she said to 
 herself. 
 
 After the taking of Algiers, Savinien had distin- 
 guished himself b}' an act of courage which won him 
 the cross. The corvette on which he was serving was 
 many months at sea without his being able to communi- 
 cate witli the doctor ; and he did not wish to leave the 
 service without consulting him. Desirous of retaining 
 in the navy a name already illustrious in its service, the 
 new government had profited by a general change of 
 officers to make Savinien an ensign. Havino; obtained
 
 224 Ursula. 
 
 leave of absence for fifteen daj'S, the new officer arrived 
 from Toulon b}' tlie mail, in time for Ursula's fête, in- 
 tending to consult the doctor at the same time. 
 
 " He has come ! " cried Ursula rushing into her god- 
 father's bedroom. 
 
 "Very good," he answered; "I can guess what 
 brings him, and he may now stay in Nemours." 
 
 " Ah ! that 's m}' birthday present — it is all in that 
 sentence," she said, kissing him. 
 
 On a sign, which she ran up tp make from her win- 
 dow, Savinien came over at once ; she longed to admire 
 him, for he seemed to her so changed for the better. 
 Military service does, in fact, give a certain grave de- 
 cision to the air and carriage and gestures of a man, 
 and an ei-ect bearing which enables the most superficial 
 observer to recognize a military man even in plain 
 clothes. The habit of command produces this result. 
 Ursula loved Savinien the better for it, and took a 
 childlike pleasure in walking round the garden with 
 him, taking his arm, and hearing him relate the part he 
 pla3'ed (as midshipman) in the taking of Algiers. Evi- 
 dently' Savinien had taken the city. The doctor, who 
 had been watching them from his window as he dressed, 
 aoon came down. Witliout telling the viscount ever}'- 
 thing, he did say tliat, in case Madame de Portenduère 
 consented to his marriage with Ursula, the fortune of 
 his godchild would make his naval pa}' superfluous.
 
 Ursula. 225 
 
 " Alas ! " said Savinien. " It will take a great deal 
 of time to overcome ray mother's opposition. Before I 
 left her to enter the nav}' she was placed between two 
 alternatives, — either to consent to my marrying Ursula 
 or else to see me only from time to time and to know 
 me exposed to the dangers of the profession ; and you 
 see she chose to let me go." 
 
 "But, Savinien, we shall be together/' said Ursula, 
 taking his hand and shaking it with a sort of 
 impatience. 
 
 To see each other and not to part, — that was the all 
 of love to her ; she saw nothing beyond it ; and her 
 prett}' gesture and the petulant tone of her voice ex- 
 pressed such innocence that Savinien and the doctor 
 were both much moved b}' it. The resignation was 
 written and despatched, and Ursula's fête received full 
 glory from the presence of her betrothed. A few 
 months later, towards the month of Maj-, the home- 
 life of the doctor's household had resumed the quiet 
 tenor of its way but with one welcome visitor the more. 
 The attentions of the 30ung viscount were soon inter- 
 preted in the town as those of a future husband, — all 
 the more because his manners and those of Ursula, 
 whether in church, or on the promenade, though dig- 
 nified and reserved, betra3-ed the understanding of 
 their hearts. Dionis pointed out to the heirs that the 
 doctor had never asked Madame de Portenduère for 
 
 15
 
 226 Ursula. 
 
 the interest of his money, three years of which was 
 now due. 
 
 " She '11 be forced to yield, and consent to this deroga- 
 tory marriage of her son," said the notary. " If such a 
 misfortune happens it is probable that the greater part 
 of your uncle's fortune will serve for what Basile calls 
 * an irresistible argument.' "
 
 Ursula. 227 
 
 XIV. 
 
 URSULA AGAIN ORPHANED. 
 
 The irritation of the heirs, when convinced that their 
 uncle loved Ursula too well not to secure her happi- 
 ness at their expense, became as underhand as it was 
 bitter. Meeting in Dionis's salon (as they had done 
 every evening since the revolution of 1830) the}- in- 
 veighed against the lovers, and seldom separated with- 
 out discussing some way of circumventing the old man. 
 Zelie, who had doubtless profited by the fall in the 
 Funds, as the doctor had done, to invest some, at least, 
 of her enormous gains, was bitterest of them all against 
 tlie orphan girl and the Portenduères. One evening, 
 when Goupil, who usually avoided the dulness of these 
 meetings, had come in to learn something of the affairs 
 of the town which were under discussion, ZéUe's hatred 
 was freshly excited ; she had seen the doctor, Ursula, 
 and Savinien returning in the calèche from a coiintr}- 
 drive, with an air of intimacy that told all. 
 
 " I'd give thirt}' thousand francs if God would call 
 uncle to himself before the marriage of young Por- 
 tenduère with that affected minx can take place," she 
 said.
 
 228 Ursula. 
 
 Goupil accompanied Monsieur and Madame Minoret 
 to ttie middle of their great court3'ard, and there said, 
 looking round to see if they were quite alone : 
 
 ' ' Will you give me the means of buying Dionis's 
 practice? If you will, I will break off the marriage 
 between Portenduère and Ursula." 
 
 " How?" asked the colossus. 
 
 " Do 3"0u think I am such a fool as to tell 3'ou my 
 plan?" said the notar^-'s head clerk. 
 
 "Well, my lad, separate them, and we'll see what 
 we can do," said Zélie. 
 
 "I don't embark in any such business on a 'we'll 
 see.' The young man is a fire-eater M'ho might kill 
 me ; I ought to be rough shod and as good a hand with 
 a sword or a pistol as he is. Set me up in business, 
 and I '11 keep ni}' word." 
 
 "Prevent the marriage and I will set 3'OU up," said 
 the post master. 
 
 " It is nine months since 3'oa have been thinking of 
 lending me a paltr3' fifteen thousand francs to buv 
 Lecœur's pi'actice, and you ex[)ect me to trust you 
 now ! Nonsense ; you '11 lose 3-our uncle's propert3', 
 and serve you right." 
 
 "If it were onl3' a matter of fifteen thousand francs 
 and Lecœur's practice, that might be managed," said 
 Zélie ; " but to give securit3' for you in a hundred and 
 fift3' thousand is another thing."
 
 Ursula. 229 
 
 " But I '11 do m}' part," said Goupil flinging a seduc- 
 tive look at Zëlie, whicli encountered the imperious 
 glance of the post mistress. 
 
 The effect was that of venom on steel. 
 
 " We can wait," said Zélie. 
 
 " The devil's own spirit is in you," thought Goupil. 
 *' If I ever catch that pair in ra^' power," he said to 
 himself as he left the yard, "I'll squeeze them like 
 lemons." 
 
 By cultivating the society of the doctor, the abbé, 
 and Monsieur Bongrand, Savinien proved the excel- 
 lence of his character. The love of this 3'oung man for 
 Ursula, so devoid of all self-interest, and so persistent, 
 interested the tliree friends deeph-, and thej' now never 
 separated the lovers m their thoughts. Soon the mon- 
 otony of this patriarchal life, and the certainty' of a 
 future before them, gave to their affection a fraternal 
 character. The doctor often left the pair alone together. 
 He judged the ^oung man riglitly ; he saw him kiss her 
 hand on arriving, but he knew he would ask no kiss 
 when alone with her, so deeply did the lover respect 
 the innocence, the fi-ankness of the young girl, whose 
 excessive sensibilité', often tried, taught him tliat a 
 harsh word, a cold look, or the alternations of gentle- 
 ness and roughness might kill her. The onl}' freedoms 
 between the two took place before the eyes of the old 
 man in the evenings.
 
 230 Ursula. 
 
 Two years, full of secret happiness, passed thus, — 
 without other events than the fruitless efforts made by 
 the young man to obtain from his mother her consent 
 to his marriage. He talked to her sometimes for hours 
 together. She listened and made no answer to his 
 entreaties, other than by Breton silence or a positive 
 denial. 
 
 At nineteen 3'ears of age Ursula, elegant in appear- 
 ance, a fine musician, and well brought up, had nothing 
 more to learn ; she was perfected. The fame of her 
 beauty and grace and education spread far. The doc- 
 tor was called upon to decline the overtures of Madame 
 d'Aigiemont, wh'o was thinking of Ursula for her eldest 
 son. Six months later, in spite of the secrec}' the doc- 
 tor and Ursula maintained on this subject, Savinien 
 heard of it. Touched by so much delicacy, he made 
 use of the incident in another attempt to vanquish his 
 mother's obstinac}' ; but she merelj' replied : — 
 
 " If the d'Aiglemonts choose to ally themselves ill, 
 is that any reason why we should do so?" 
 
 In December, 1834, the kind and now truly pious old 
 doctor, then eighty-eight 3'ears old, declined visiljlj*. 
 When seen out of doors, his face pinched and wan and 
 his eyes pale, all the town talked of his approaching 
 death. "You'll soon know results," said the com- 
 munit}' to the heirs. In truth the old man's death had 
 all the attraction of a problem. But the doctor himself
 
 Ursula. 231 
 
 did not know he was ill ; he had his illusions, and 
 neither poor Ursula nor Savinien nor Bongraud nor 
 the abbé were willing to enlighten him as to his condi- 
 tion. The Nemours doctor who came to see him ever}- 
 evening did not venture to prescribe. Old Minoret felt 
 no pain ; his lamp of life was gently going out. His 
 mind continued Arm and clear and powerful. In old 
 men thus constituted the soul governs the body, and 
 gives it strength to die erect. The abbé, anxious not 
 to hasten the fatal end, released his parishioner from 
 the dut}' of hearing mass in church, and allowed him 
 to read the services at home, for the doctor faithfully' 
 attended to all his religious duties. The nearer he 
 came to the grave the more he loved God ; the lights 
 eternal shone upon all difficulties and explained them 
 more and more clearly to his mind. Early in the 3'ear 
 Ursula persuaded him to sell the carriage and horses 
 and dismiss Cabirolle. Monsieur Bongraud, whose un- 
 easiness about Ursula's future was far from quieted by 
 the doctor's half-confidence, boldlj' opened the subject 
 one evening and showed his old friend the importance 
 of making Ursula legall}' of age. Still the old man, 
 though he had often consulted the justice of peace, 
 would not reveal to him the secret of his provision for 
 Ursula, though he agreed to the necessity of securing 
 her independence by majority. The more Monsieur 
 Bongraud persisted in his efforts to discover the means
 
 232 Ursula. 
 
 selected by his old friend to provide for his darling the 
 more war}- the doctor became. 
 
 " Wh}' not secure the thing," said Bougrand, " why 
 run an}- risks ? " 
 
 " When y on are between two risks," replied the 
 doctor, " avoid the most risk}-." 
 
 Bongrand carried through the business of making 
 Ursula of age so promptly that the papers were ready 
 by the da}- she was twenty. That anniversary was the 
 last pleasure of the old doctor who, seized perhaps with 
 a presentiment of his end, gave a little ball, to which he 
 invited all the young people in the families of Diouis, 
 Crémière, Minoret, and Massin. Savinien, Bongrantl, 
 the abbé and his two assistant priests, the Nemours 
 doctor, and Mesdames Zélie Minoret, Massin, and Cié- 
 mière, together with old Schmucke, were the guests at 
 a grand dinner which preceded the ball. 
 
 " I feel I am going," said the old man to the notav}- 
 towards the close of the evening. " I beg you to come 
 to-morrow and draw up m}' guardianship account with 
 Ursula, so as not to complicate my own property after 
 my death. Thank God ! I have not withdrawn one 
 penny from ni}' heirs, — I have disposed of nothing but 
 my income. Messieurs Crémière, Massin, and Minoret 
 my nephew are members of the famil}' council ap- 
 pointed for Ursula, and I wish them to be present at the 
 rendering of my account."
 
 Urmla. 233 
 
 These words, heard by Massin and quickly passed 
 from one to another round the ball-room, poured balm 
 into the minds of the three families, who had lived in 
 perpetual alternations of hope and fear, sometimes 
 thinking they were certain of wealth, oftener that they 
 were disinherited. 
 
 When, about two in the morning, the guests were all 
 gone and no one remained in the salon but Savinien, 
 Bongrand, and the abbé, the old doctor said, pointing 
 to Ursula, who was charming in her ball dress: "To 
 you, my friends, I confide her ! A few days more, 
 and'I shall be here no longer to protect her. Put your- 
 selves between her and the world until she is married, 
 — I fear for her." 
 
 The words made a painful impression. The guard- 
 ian's account, rendered a day or two later in presence 
 of the family council, showed that Doctor Minoret owed 
 a balance to his ward of ten thousand six hundred 
 francs from the bequest of Monsieur de Jordy, and also 
 from a little capital of gifts made hy the doctor himself 
 to Ursula during the last fifteen years, on birthdays and 
 other anniversaries. 
 
 This formal rendering of the account was insisted on 
 by the justice of the peace, who feared (unhappily, with 
 too much reason) the results of Doctor Minoret's death. 
 
 The following da}' the old man was seized with a 
 weakness which compelled him to keep his bed. In
 
 234 Ursula. 
 
 spite of the reserve which always surrounded the doc- 
 tor's house and kept it from observation, the news of 
 his approaching death spread through the town, and the 
 heirs began to run hither and thither through the streets, 
 like the pearls of a chaplet when the string is broken. 
 Massin called at the house to learn the truth, and was 
 told by Ursula herself that the doctor was in bed. The 
 Nemours doctor had remarked that whenever old Mino- 
 ret took to his bed he would die ; and therefore in spite 
 of the cold, the heirs took their stand in the street, on 
 the square, at their own doorsteps, talking of the event 
 so long looked for, and watchnig for the moment when 
 the priests should appear, bearing the sacrament, with 
 all the paraphernalia customar}^ in the i)rovinces, to the 
 dying man. Accordingly, two days later, when the 
 Abbé Chaperon, with an assistant and the choir-boj's, 
 preceded by the sacristan bearing the cross, passed 
 along the Grand'Rue, all the heirs joined the proces- 
 sion, to get an entrance to the house and see that noth- 
 ing was abstracted, and laj' their eager hands upon its 
 coveted treasures at the earliest moment. 
 
 When the doctor saw, behind the clerg}', the row of 
 kneeling heirs, who instead of praying were looking at 
 him with eyes that were brighter than the tapers, he 
 could not restrain a smile. The abbé turned round, 
 saw them, and continued to say the prayers slowl}'. 
 The post master was the first to abandon the kneeling
 
 Ursula. 235 
 
 posture ; his wife followed him. Massin, fearing that 
 Zélie and her husband might lay hands on some orna- 
 ment, joined them in the salon, where all the heirs were 
 presently assembled one by one. 
 
 " He is too honest a man to steal extreme unction," 
 said Crémière ; " we may be sure of his death now." 
 
 " Yes, we shall each get about twenty thousand 
 francs a year," replied Madame Massin. 
 
 " I have an idea," said Zélie, " that for the last three 
 years he has n't invested anything — he grew fond of 
 hoarding." 
 
 "Perhaps the money is in the cellar," whispered 
 Massin to Crémière. 
 
 " I hope we shall be able to find it," said Minoret- 
 Levrault. 
 
 " But after what he said at the ball we can't have 
 any doubt," cried Madame Massin. 
 
 " In any case," began Crémière, " how shall we 
 manage ? Shall we divide ; shall we go to law ; or could 
 we draw lots? We are adults, you know — " 
 
 A discussion, which soon became angry, now arose 
 as to the method of procedure. At the end of half an 
 hour a perfect uproar of voices, Zélie's screeching organ 
 detaching itself from the rest, resounded in the court- 
 yard and even in the street. 
 
 The noise reached the doctor's ears ; he heard the 
 words, "The house — the house is worth thirty thou-
 
 286 Ursula. 
 
 sand francs. I '11 take it at that," said, or rather 
 bellowed b}' Crémière. 
 
 "Well, we'll take what it's worth," said Zélie, 
 sharply. 
 
 ''Monsieur l'abbé," said the old man to the priest, 
 who remained beside his friend after administering the 
 communion, "■ help me to die in peace. My heirs, like 
 those of Cardinal Ximenes, are capable of pillaging the 
 house before my death, and I have no monkey to revive 
 me. Go and tell them I will have none of them in my 
 house." 
 
 The priest and the doctor of the town went down- 
 stairs and repeated the message of the dying man, add- 
 ing, in their indignation, strong words of their own. 
 
 " Madame Bougival," said the doctor, " close the 
 iron gate and allow no one to enter ; even the dying, it 
 seems, can have no peace. Prepare mustard poultices 
 and apply them to the soles of Monsieur's feet." 
 
 " Your uncle is not dead," said the abbé, " and he 
 ma}' live some time longer. He wishes for absolute 
 silence, and no one beside him but his niece. What a 
 difference between the conduct of that young girl and 
 yours ! " 
 
 "Old hypocrite!" exclaimed Crémière. "I shall 
 keep watch of him. It is possible he 's plotting some- 
 thing against our interests." 
 
 The post master had already disappeared into the
 
 Ursula. 237 
 
 garden, intending to watch there and wait his chance 
 to be admitted to the house as an assistant. He now 
 returned to it very softly-, his boots making no noise, 
 for there were carpets on the stairs and corridors. He 
 was able to reach the door of his uncle's room without 
 being heard. The abbé and the doctor hud left the 
 house ; La Bougival was making the poultice. 
 
 "Are we quite alone?" said the old man to his 
 godchild. 
 
 Ursula stood on tiptoe and looked into the court- 
 yard. 
 
 "Yes," she said; "the abbé has just closed the 
 gate after him." 
 
 " M}' darling child," said the dying man, " my hours, 
 my minutes even, are counted. I have not been a 
 doctor for nothing ; I shall not last till evening. Do 
 not cry, m}' Ursula," he said, fearing to be interrupted 
 by his godchild's weeping, " but listen to me carefully ; 
 it concerns your marriage to Savinien. As soon as La 
 Bougival comes back go down to the pagoda, — here is 
 the key, — lift the marble top of the Boule buffet and 
 3'ou will find a letter beneath it, sealed and addressed 
 to you ; take it and come back here, for I cannot die 
 easy unless 1 see it in your hands. When I am dead 
 do not let any one know of it immediatel}-, but send for 
 IMonsieur de Portenduère ; read the letter together ; 
 swear to me now, in his name and your own, that you
 
 238 Ursula. 
 
 will carry out my last wishes. When Savinien has 
 obeyed me, then announce m}' death, hut not till then. 
 The comedy of the heirs will begin. God grant those 
 monsters may not ill-treat you." 
 
 " Yes, godfather." 
 
 The post master did not listen to the end of this 
 scene ; he slijjped away on tip-toe, remembering that 
 the lock of the study was on the libraiy side of the 
 door. He had been present in former days at an argu- 
 ment between the architect and a locksmith, the latter 
 declaring that if the pagoda were entered by the win- 
 dow on the river it would be much safer to put the lock 
 of the door opening into the library on the librar}' side. 
 Dazzled by his hopes, and his ears flushed with blood, 
 Minoret sprang the lock with the point of his knife as 
 rapidl}' as a burglar could have done it. He entered the 
 study, followed the doctor's directions, took the package 
 of papers without opening it, relocked the door, put 
 everything in order, and went into the dining-room and 
 sat down, waiting till La Bougival had gone upstairs 
 with the poultice before he ventured to leave the house. 
 He then made his escape, — all the more easilj' because 
 poor Ursula lingered to see that La Bougival applied 
 the poultice properl}'.' 
 
 "The letter! the letter!" cried the old man, in a 
 dying voice. "Obey me; take the ke3\ I must see 
 3-ou with that letter in your hand."
 
 Ursula. 239 
 
 The -words were said with so wild a look that La 
 Bougival exclaimed to Ursula : — 
 
 " Do what he asks at once or you will kill him." 
 She kissed his forehead, took the ke}- and went down. 
 A moment after, recalled by a cry from La Bougival, 
 she ran back. The old man looked at her eagerl}'. 
 Seeing her hands empt}', he rose in his bed, tried to 
 speak, and died with a horrible gasp, liis eyes haggard 
 with fear. The poor girl, who saw death for the first 
 time, fell on her knees and burst into tears. La Bou- 
 gival closed the old man's eyes and straightened him 
 on the bed ; then she ran to call Savinien ; but the heirs, 
 who stood at the corner of the street, like crows watch- 
 ing till a horse is buried before the}' scratch at the 
 ground and turn it over with beak and claw, flocked in 
 with the celerity of birds of prey.
 
 240 Ursula, 
 
 XV. 
 
 THE DOCTOR'S WILL. 
 
 While these events were taking place the post mas- 
 ter had hurried home to open the mysterious package 
 and know its contents. 
 
 To MY DEAR Ursula Mirooet, daughter op my natural 
 
 HALF-BROTHER, JoSEPH MiROUET, AND DiNAH GrOLLMAN : 
 
 My dear Angel, — The fatherly affection I bear you — 
 and which you have so fully justified — came not only from 
 the promise I gave your father to take his place, but also 
 from your resemblance to my wife, Ursula jNIirouët, whose 
 grace, intelligence, frankness, and charm you constantly re- 
 call to my mind. Your position as the daughter of a natural 
 son of my father-in-law might invalidate all testamentary 
 bequests made by me in your favor — 
 
 " The old rascal ! " cried the post master. 
 
 Had I adopted you the result might also have been a law- 
 suit, and I shrank from the idea of transmitting my fortune 
 to you by marriage, for 1 might live years and thus interfere 
 with your happiness, which is now delayed only by Madame 
 de Portenduère. Having weighed these difficulties carefully, 
 and wishing to leave you enough money to secure to you a 
 prosperous existence — 
 
 " The scoundrel, he has thought of everything I " 
 — without injuring my heirs —
 
 Ursula. 241 
 
 " The Jesuit ! as if he did not owe us ever}' penny of 
 his mone}' ! " 
 
 — I intend you to have the savings f rona my income which 
 I have for the last eighteen years steadily invested, by the 
 help of my notary, seeking to make you thereby as happy as 
 any one can be made by riches. Without means, your edu- 
 cation and your lofty ideas would cause you unhappiness. 
 Besides, you ought to bring a liberal dowry to the fine young 
 man who loves you. You will therefore find in the middle 
 of the third volume of Pandects, folio, bound in red morocco 
 (the last volume on the first shelf above the little table in the 
 library, on the side of the room next the salon), three certifi- 
 cates of Funds in the three-per-cents, made out to bearer, 
 each amounting to twelve thousand francs a year — 
 
 " What depths of wickedness! " screamed the post 
 master. " Ah ! God would not permit me to be so 
 defrauded." 
 
 Take these at once, and also some uninvested savings made 
 to this date, which you will find in the preceding volume. 
 Remember, my darling child, that you must obey a wish that 
 has made the happiness of my whole life; a wish that will 
 force me to ask the intervention of God should you disobey 
 me. But, to guard against all scruples in your dear conscience 
 — for I well know how ready it is to torture you — you will 
 find herewith a will in due form bequeathing these certifi- 
 cates to Monsieur Savinien de Portenduère. So, whetlier 
 you possess them in your own name, or whether they come 
 to you from him you love, they will be, in every sense, your 
 legitimate property. 
 
 Your godfather, 
 
 Denis Minoret. 
 16
 
 242 Ursula. 
 
 To this letter was annexed the following paper 
 written on a sheet of stamped paper. 
 
 This is my will : I, Denis Minoret, doctor of medicine, 
 settled in Nemours, being of sound mind and body, as the 
 date of this document will show, do bequeath my soul to 
 God, imploring him to pardon my errors in view of my 
 sincere repentance. Next, having found in Monsieur le 
 Vicomte Savinien de Portenduère a true and honest affec- 
 tion for me, I bequeath to him the sum of thirty-six thou- 
 sand francs a year from the Funds, at three per cent, the 
 said bequest to take precedence of all inheritance accruing 
 to my heirs. 
 
 Written by my own hand, at Nemours, on the 11th of 
 January, 1831. 
 
 Denis Minoret. 
 
 Without an instant's hesitation the post master, who 
 had locked himself into his wife's bedroom to insure 
 being alone, looked about for the tinder-box, and re- 
 ceived two warnings from heaven b}^ the extinction 
 of two matches w^hich obstinately refused to light. 
 The third took fire. He burned the letter and the will 
 on the hearth and buried the vestiges of paper and 
 sealing-wax in the ashes by wa}' of superfluous caution. 
 Then, allured by the thought of possessing thirty-six 
 thousand francs a year of which his wife knew nothing, 
 he returned at full speed to his uncle's house, spurred 
 by the only idea, a clear-cut, simple idea, which was 
 able to pierce and penetrate his dull brain. Finding
 
 Ursula. 243 
 
 the house invaded by the three famiUes, now masters of 
 the place, he trembled lest he should be unable to ac- 
 complish a project to which he gave no reflection what- 
 ever, except so far as to fear the obstacles. 
 
 " What are 3'ou doing here? " he said to Massin and 
 Crémière. " We can't leave the house and the prop- 
 ert}' to be pillaged. We are the heirs, but we can't 
 camp here. You, Crémière, go to Dioms at once and 
 tell him to come and certify to the death ; I can't draw 
 up the mortuary certificate for an uncle, though I am 
 assistant-ma^'or. You, Massin, go and ask old Bon- 
 gi-and to attach the seals. As for you, ladies," he 
 added, turning to his wife and Mesdames Crémière 
 and Massin, " go and look after Ursula ; then nothing 
 can be stolen. Above all, close the iron gate and don't 
 let any one leave the house." 
 
 The women, who felt the justice of this remark, ran 
 to Ursula's bedroom, where thej- found the noble girl, so 
 cruelly suspected, on her knees before God, her face 
 covered with tears. Minoret, suspecting that the 
 women would not long remain with Ursula, went at 
 once to the library, found the volume, opened it, took 
 the three certificates, and found in the other volume 
 about thirty bank notes. In si)ite of his brutal nature 
 the colossus felt as though a peal of bells were ringing 
 in each ear. Tiie blood whistled in his temples as he 
 committed the theft ; cold as the weather was, his shirt
 
 244 Ursula. 
 
 was wet on his back ; his legs gave wa}' under him and 
 he fell into a chair in the salon as if an axe had fallen 
 on his head. 
 
 " How the inheritance of money loosens a man's 
 tongue! Did 3-ou hear Minoret?" said Massin to 
 Crémière as they hurried through the town. " ' Go 
 here, go there,' just as if he knew everything." 
 
 " Yes, for a dull beast like him he had a certain 
 air of — " 
 
 " Stop ! " said Massin, alarmed at a sudden thought. 
 " His wife is there ; the}' 've got some plan ! Do you 
 do both errands ; I '11 go back." 
 
 Just as the post master fell into tlie chair he saw at 
 the gate the heated face of the clerk of the court who 
 returned to the house of death with the céleri tj- of a- 
 weasel. 
 
 " Well, what is it now?" asked the post master, un- 
 locking the gate for his co-heir. 
 
 "Nothing; I have come back to be present at the 
 sealing," answered Massin, giving him a savage look. 
 
 " I wish those seals were alread}' on, so that we 
 could go home," said Minoret. 
 
 "We shall have to put a watcher over them," said 
 Massin. " La Bougival is capable of anything in the 
 interests of that minx. We '11 put Goupil there." 
 
 " Goupil ! " said the post master ; " put a rat in the 
 meal ! "
 
 Ursula. 245 
 
 " Well, let 's consider," returned Massin. "To-night 
 they '11 watch the body ; the seals can be affixed in an 
 hour; our wives could look after them. To-morrow 
 we '11 have the funeral at twelve o'clock. But the In- 
 ventory can't be made under a week." 
 
 "Let's get rid of that girl at once," said the 
 colossus; " then we can safely leave the watchman of 
 the town-hall to look after the house and the seals." 
 
 " Good," cried Massin. " You must manage it; you. 
 are the head of the Minoret family." 
 
 " Ladies," said Minoret, " be good enough to sta}' in 
 the salon ; we can't think of dinner to-day ; the seals 
 must be put on at once for the security of all interests." 
 
 He took his wife apart and told her Massin's propo- 
 sal about Ursula. The women, whose hearts were full 
 of vengeance against the minx, as they called her, 
 hailed tlie idea of turning her out. Bongi'and arrived 
 with his assistants to apply the seals, and was indig- 
 nant when the request was made to him, by Zelie and 
 Madame Massin, as a near friend of the deceased, to 
 tell Ursula to leave the house. 
 
 " Go and turn her out of her father's house, her bene- 
 factor's house yourselves," he cried. "Go! you who 
 owe 3'our inlieritance to the generosity of her soul ; 
 take her by the shoulders and fling her into the street 
 before the eyes of the whole town 1 You think her 
 capable of robbing you? Well, appoint a watcher of
 
 246 Ursula. 
 
 the seals ; )'ou have a right to do that. But I tell j'ou 
 at once I shall put no seals on Ursula's room ; she has 
 a right to that room, and everything in it is her own 
 property. I shall tell her what her rights are, and tell 
 her too to put everything that belongs to her in this 
 house in that room — Oh ! in your presence," he said, 
 bearing a growl of dissatisfaction among the heirs 
 
 " What do 3'ou think of that? " said the collector to 
 the post master and the women, who seemed stupefied 
 by the angry address of Bongrand. 
 
 " Call him a magistrate ! " cried the post master. 
 
 Ursula meanwhile was sitting on her little sofa in a 
 half-fainting condition, her head thrown back, her braids 
 unfastened, while every now and then her sobs broke 
 forth. Her eyes were dim and their lids swollen ; she 
 was, in fact, in a state of moral and physical prostra- 
 tion which might have softened the hardest hearts — 
 except those of the heirs. 
 
 " Ah ! Monsieur Bongrand, after my happy birthday 
 comes death and mourning," she said, wilh the poetry 
 natural to her. " You know, you., what he was. In 
 twent}' years he never said an impatient word to me. 
 I believed he would live a hundred years. He has 
 been my mother," she cried, " my good, kind mother." 
 
 These simple thoughts brought torrents of tears 
 from her eyes, interrupted by sobs ; then she fell back 
 exhausted.
 
 Ursula. 247 
 
 " M3' child," said tlie justice of peace, hearing the 
 heirs on the staircase. " You have a lifetime before 
 3*ou in which to weep, but 3'ou have now onh' a moment 
 to attend to your interests. Gather everything that 
 belongs to 3'ou in this house and put it into j'our own 
 room at once. The heirs insist on my affixing the 
 seals." 
 
 " Ah ! his heirs may take everything if the}' choose," 
 cried Ursula, sitting upright under an impulse of savage 
 indignation. " I have something here," she added, 
 striking her breast, " which is far more precious — " 
 
 " What is it? " said the post master, who with Massin 
 at his heels now showed his brutal face. 
 
 "The remembrance of his virtues, of his hfe, of his 
 words — an image of his celestial soul," she said, hei 
 eyes and face glowing as she raised her hand with a 
 glorious gesture. 
 
 " And a kej' ! " cried Massin, creeping up to her like 
 a cat and seizing a key which fell from the bosom of lier 
 dress in her sudden movement. 
 
 "Yes," she said, blushing, "that is the key of his 
 study ; he sent me there at the moment he was dying." 
 
 The two men glanced at each otlier with horrid 
 smiles, and then at Monsieur Bongrand, with a mean- 
 ing look of degrading suspicion. Ursula who inter- 
 cepted it, rose to her feet, pale as if the blood had left 
 her bod}-. Her eyes sent forth the lightnings tliat per-
 
 248 Ursula. 
 
 haps can issue onl}' at some cost of life, as slie said in 
 a cholcing voice : — 
 
 " Monsieur Bongrand, every tiling in this room is 
 mine through the kindness of my godfather ; they may 
 take it all ; I have nothing on me but the clothes I 
 wear. I shall leave the house and never return to it." 
 
 She went to her godfather's room, and no entreaties 
 could make her leave it, — the heirs, who now began to 
 "be slightly ashamed of their conduct, endeavoring to 
 persuade her. She requested Monsieur Bongrand to 
 engage two room.s for her at the "Vieille Poste" inn 
 until she could find some lodging in town where she 
 could live with La Bougival. She returned to her own 
 room for her prayer-book, and spent the night, with the 
 abbé, his assistant, and Savinien, in weeping and pray- 
 ing beside her uncle's body. Savinien came, after his 
 mother had gone to bed, and knelt, without a word, 
 beside his Ursula. She smiled at him sadly, and thanked 
 him for coming faithfully to share her troubles. 
 
 " My child," said Monsieur Bongiand, bringing her 
 a large package, "one of your uncle's heirs has taken 
 these necessary articles from your drawers, for the seals 
 cannot be opened for several days ; after that you will 
 recover everything that belongs to you. I have, for 
 3'our own sake, placed the seals on your room." 
 
 "Thank you," she replied, pressing his hand. " Look 
 at him again, — he seems to sleep, does he not? "
 
 Ursula. 249 
 
 The old man's face wore that flower of fleeting beauty 
 which rests upon the features of the dead who die a 
 painless death ; light appeared to radiate from it. 
 
 " Did he give you anything secretly before he died?" 
 whispered M. Bongrand. 
 
 " Nothing," she said ; "he spoke only of a letter." 
 
 "Good! it will certainly be found," said Bongrand. 
 " How fortunate for you that the heirs demanded the 
 sealing." 
 
 At daybreak Ursula bade adieu to the house whei-e 
 her happ3^ 30uth was passed ; more particularly, to the 
 modest chamber in which her love began. So dear to 
 her was it that even in this hour of darkest grief tears 
 of regret rolled down her face for the dear and peaceful 
 haven. With one last glance at Savinien's windows 
 she left the room and the house, and went to the inn 
 accompanied by La Bougival, who carried the package, 
 b^' Monsieur Bongrand, who gave her his arm, and by 
 Savinien, her true protector. 
 
 Thus it happened that in spite of all his etforts and 
 cautions the worst fears of the justice of peace were 
 realized ; he was now to see Ursula without means and 
 at the mercy of her benefactor's heirs. 
 
 The next afternoon the whole town attended the doc- 
 tor's funeral. When the conduct of the heirs to his 
 adopted daughter was publicly kno\Yn, a vast majority 
 of the people thought it natural and necessaiy. An
 
 250 Ursula. 
 
 inheritance was involved ; the goodraan was known 
 to have hoarded ; Ursula might think she had rights ; 
 the heirs were only defending their property ; she had 
 humbled them enough during their uncle's lifetime, for 
 he had treated them like dogs and sent them about 
 their business. 
 
 Desire Minoret, who was not going to do wonders in 
 life (so said those who envied his father), came down 
 for the funeral. Ursula was unable to be present, for 
 she was in bed with a nervous fever, caused partly 
 by the insults of the heirs and parti}' hy her heavy 
 affliction. 
 
 " Look at that h^'pocrite weeping," said some of the 
 heirs, pointing to Savinien, who was deepl}' affected by 
 the doctor's death. 
 
 " The question is," said Goupil, " has he any good 
 grounds for weeping. Don't laugh too soon, my 
 friends; the seals are not yet removed." 
 
 "Pooh!" said Minoret, who had good reason to 
 know the truth, " 30U are always frightening us about 
 nothing." 
 
 As the funeral procession left the church to proceed 
 to the cemetery, a bitter mortification was inflicted on 
 Goupil; he tried to take Desire's arm, but the latter 
 withdrew it and turned away from his former comrade 
 in presence of all Nemours. 
 
 ''I won't be angry, or I couldn't get revenge,"
 
 Ursula. 251 
 
 thought the notary's clerk, whose dry heart swelled in 
 his bosom like a sponge. 
 
 Before breaking the seals and making the inventory, 
 it took some time for the procureur du roi, who is the 
 legal guardian of orphans, to commission Monsieur 
 Bongrand to act in his place. After that was done the 
 settlement of the Minoret inheritance (nothing else 
 being talked of in the town for ten da3's) began with all 
 the legal formalities. Dionis had his pickings ; Goupil 
 enjoyed some mischief-making ; and as the business 
 was profitable the sessions were man3^ After the first 
 of these sessions all parties breakfasted together ; no- 
 tary, clerk, heirs, and witnesses drank the best wines 
 in the doctor's cellar. 
 
 In the provinces, and especially in little towns where 
 every one lives in his own house, it is sometimes very 
 difficult to find a lodging. When a man buys a business 
 of any kind the dwelling-house is almost always in- 
 cluded in the purchase Monsieur Bongrand saw no 
 other wa}' of removin'g Ursula from the village inn than 
 to bu}' a small house on the Grand'Rue at the corner 
 of the bridge over the Loing. The little building had a 
 front door opening on a corridor, and one room on the 
 ground floor with two windows on the street ; behind this 
 came the kitchen, with a glass door opening to an inner 
 courtyard about thirt}' feet square. A small staircase, 
 lighted on the side towards the river by small windows,
 
 252 Ursula. 
 
 led to the first floor where there were three chambers, and 
 above these were two attic rooms. Monsieur Bongrand 
 borrowed two thousand francs from La Bougival's sav- 
 ings to pay the first instalment of the price, — six thou- 
 sand francs, — and obtained good terms for pa^'ment 
 of the rest. As Ursula wished to buy her uncle's books, 
 Bongrand knocked down the partition between two 
 rooms on the bedroom floor, finding that their united 
 length was the same as that of the doctor's librarj', 
 and gave room for his bookshelves. 
 
 Savinien and Bongrand urged on the workmen who 
 were cleaning, painting, and otherwise renewing the 
 tin}' place, so that before the end of March Ursula was 
 able to leave the inn and take up her abode in the ugly 
 house ; where, however, she found a bedroom exactly 
 like the one she had left ; for it was filled with all her 
 furniture, claimed b}' the justice of peace when the seals 
 were removed. La Bougival, sleeping in the attic, 
 could be summoned by a bell placed near the head of 
 the 3'oung girl's bed. The room intended for the books, 
 the salon on the ground-floor and the kitchen, though still 
 unfurnished, had been hung with fresh papers and re- 
 painted, and only awaited the purchases which the 
 young girl hoped to make when her godfather's effects 
 were sold. 
 
 Though the strength of Ursula's character was well 
 known to the abbé and Monsieur Bongrand, they both
 
 Ursula. 253 
 
 feared the sudden change from the comforts and ele- 
 gancies to which her uncle had accustomed her to this 
 barren and denuded life. As for Savinien he wept over 
 it. He did, in fact, make priA'ate paj-ments to the 
 workman and to the upholsterer, so that Ursula should 
 perceive no difference between the new chamber and 
 the old one. But the 3'oung girl herself, whose happi- 
 ness now la}' in Savinien's own eyes, showed the gentlest 
 resignation, which endeared her more and more to her 
 two old friends, and proved to them for the hundredth 
 time that no troubles but those of the heart could make 
 her suffer. The grief she felt for the loss of her god- 
 father was far too deep to let her even feel the bitter- 
 ness of her change of fortune, though it added fresh 
 obstacles to her marriage. Savinien's distress in seeing 
 her thus reduced did her so much harm that she whis- 
 pered to him, as they came from mass on the morning 
 of the da}' when she first went to live in her new house : 
 
 "Love could not exist without patience; let us 
 wait." 
 
 As soon as the form of the inventory was drawn up, 
 Massin, advised by Goupil (who turned to him under 
 the influence of his secret hatred to the post master), 
 summoned Monsieur and Madame de Portenduère to 
 pay off the mortgage which had now elapsed, together 
 with the interest accruing thereon. The old ladv was 
 bewildered at a summons to pay one hundred and
 
 254 Ursula. 
 
 twent3^-nine thousand five hundred and seventeen francs 
 within twenty-four hours under paui of an execution in 
 her house. It was impossible for her to borrow the 
 nione}'. Savinien went to Fontainebleau to consult a 
 lawyer. 
 
 " You are dealing with a bad set of people who will 
 not compromise," was the lawj-er's opinion. "They 
 intend to sue in the matter and get 3'our farm at Bor- 
 dières. The best way for you would be to make a vol- 
 untary sale of it and so escape costs." 
 
 This dreadful news broke down the old lad}'. Her 
 son very gentl}' pointed out to her that had she con- 
 sented to his marriage in Minoret's life-time, the doctor 
 would have left his propert}' to Ursula's husband and 
 they would to-da}' have been opulent instead of being, 
 as they now were, in the depths of povert}'. Though 
 said without reproach, this argument annihilated the 
 poor woman even more than the thought of her coming 
 ejectment. When Ursula heard of this catastrophe she 
 was stupefied with grief, having scarcel}' I'ecovered from 
 her fever, and the blow which the heirs had alread}' 
 dealt her. To love and be unable to succor the man she 
 loves, — that is one of the most dreadful of all sufferings 
 to the soul of a noble and sensitive woman. 
 
 " I wished to bu}' my uncle's house," she said, " now 
 I will buy your mother's." 
 
 " Can yon? " said Savinien. " You are a minor, and
 
 Ursula. t 255 
 
 you cannot sell out your Funds without formalities to 
 which the procureur da roi, now your legal guardian, 
 would not agree. We shall not resist. The whole 
 town will be glad to see the discomfiture of a noble 
 family. These bourgeois are like hounds after a quarr}-. 
 Fortunately, I still have ten thousand francs left, on 
 which I can support m}' mother till this deplorable 
 matter is settled. Besides, the inventor}- of your 
 godfather's property- is not yet finished ; Monsieur Bon- 
 grand still thinks he shall find something for yon. He 
 is as much astonished as I am that you seem to be left 
 without fortune. The doctor so often spoke both to 
 him and to me of tlie future he had prepared for you 
 that neither of us can understand this conclusion." 
 
 " Pooh ! " she said ; " so long as I can buy my god- 
 father's books and furniture and prevent their being 
 dispersed, I am content." 
 
 " But who knows the price these infamous creatures 
 will set on anything 3-ou want ? " 
 
 Nothing was talked of from Montargis to Fontaine- 
 bleau but the million for which the Minoret heirs were 
 searching. But the most minute search made in every^ 
 corner of the house after the seals were removed, 
 brought no discover}'. The one hundred and twenty- 
 nine thousand francs of the Portenduere debt, the capi- 
 tal of the fifteen thousand a year in the three per cents 
 (then quoted at 7G),the house, valued at forty thousand
 
 256 Ursula. 
 
 francs, and its handsome furniture, produced a total of 
 about six hundred thousand francs, which to most per- 
 sons seemed a comforting sum. But what had become 
 of the money the doctor must have saved? 
 
 Minoret began to have gnawing anxieties. La Bou- 
 gival and Savinien, who persisted in believing, as did 
 the justice of peace, in the existence of a will, came 
 every day at the close of each session to find out from 
 Bongrand the results of the day's search. The latter 
 would sometimes exclaim, before the agents and the 
 heirs were fairl}' out of hearing, " I can't understand 
 the thing ! " Bongrand, Savinien, and the abbé often 
 declared to each other that the doctor, who received no 
 interest from the Portenduère loan, could not have kept 
 his house as he did on fifteen thousand francs a j'ear. 
 This opinion, openl}' expressed, made the post master 
 turn livid more than once. 
 
 " Yet they and I have rummaged everywhere," said 
 Bongrand, — " they to find money, and I to find a will 
 in favor of Monsieur de Portenduère. The}' have sifted 
 the ashes, lifted the marbles, felt of the slippers, bored 
 into the wood- work of the beds, emptied the mattresses, 
 ripped up the quilts, turned his eider-down inside-out, 
 examined every inch of paper piece b}- piece, searched 
 the drawers, dug up the cellar floor — and I have urged 
 on their devastations." 
 
 " What do you think about it? " said the abbé.
 
 Ursula. 257 
 
 " The will has been suppressed by one of the heirs." 
 
 " But Where's the propert}'?" 
 
 " We may whistle for it ! " 
 
 " Perhaps the will is hidden in the library," said 
 Savinien. 
 
 " Yes, and for that reason I don't dissuade Ursula 
 from buying it. If it were not for that, it would be 
 absurd to let her put every penny of her ready money 
 into books she will never open." 
 
 At first the whole town believed the doctor's niece 
 had got possession of the unfound capital ; but when it 
 was known positively that fourteen hundred francs a 
 year and her gifts constituted her whole fortune the 
 search of the doctor's house and furniture excited a 
 more wide-spread curiosity than before. Some said the 
 money would be found in bank bills hidden awa}' in the 
 furniture, others that the old man had slipped them 
 into his books. The sale of the effects exhibited a 
 spectacle of the most extraordinary precautions on the 
 part of the heirs. Dionis, who was doing duty as 
 auctioneer, declared, as each lot was cried out, that 
 the heirs sold only the article (whatever it was) and 
 not what it might contain ; then, before allowing it to 
 be taken awa}' it was subjected to a final investigation, 
 being thumped and sounded ; and when at last it left 
 the house the sellers followed with the looks a father 
 might cast upon a son who was starting for India. 
 
 17
 
 258 Ursula. 
 
 "Ah, mademoiselle," cried La Bougival, returning 
 from the first session in despair, " I shall not go again. 
 Monsieur Bongrand is right, you could never bear the 
 sight. Everj-thing is ticketed. All the town is coming 
 and going just as in the street ; the handsome furni- 
 ture is being ruined, they even stand upon it ; tlie whole 
 place is such a muddle that a hen could n't find her 
 chicks. You 'd think there had been a fire. Lots of 
 things are in the court3ard ; the closets are all open, 
 and nothing in them. Oh ! the poor dear man, it 's 
 well he died, the sight w^ould have killed him." 
 
 Bongrand, who bought in for Ursula certain articles 
 which her uncle cherished, and which were suitable for 
 her little house, did not appear at the sale of the 
 librar}'. Shrewder than the heirs, whose cupidity 
 might have run up the price of the books had the}- 
 known he was buying them for Ursula, he commis- 
 sioned a dealer in old books living in Melun to bu}' 
 them for him. As a result of the heirs' anxietj' the 
 whole library was sold book by book. Three thousand 
 volumes were examined, one b\' one, held by the two 
 sides of the binding and shaken so that loose papers 
 would infallibly fall out. The whole amount of the 
 purchases on Ursula's account amounted to six thousand 
 five hundred francs or thereabouts. The book-cases 
 were not allowed to leave the premises until carefull3' 
 examined by a cabinet-maker, brought down from Paris
 
 Ursula. 259 
 
 to search for secret drawers. When at last Monsieur 
 Bongrand gave orders to take the books and the book- 
 cases to Mademoiselle Mirouet's house the heirs were 
 tortured with vague fears, not dissipated until in course 
 of time they saw how poorl}^ she lived. 
 
 Minoret bought his uncle's house, the value of which 
 his co-heirs ran up to fifty thousand francs, imagining 
 that the post master expected to find a treasure in the 
 walls ; in fact the house was sold with a reservation on 
 this subject. Two weeks later Minoret disposed of his 
 post establishment, with all the coaches and horses, to 
 the son of a rich farmer, and went to live in his uncle's 
 house, where he speut considerable sums in repairing 
 and refurnishing the rooms. B}' making this move he 
 thoughtlessly condemned himself to live within sight of 
 Ursula. 
 
 " I hope," he said to Dionis the day when Madame 
 de Portenduère was summoned to pay her debt, " that 
 we shall soon be rid of those nobles ; after the}' are 
 gone we '11 drive out the rest.'' 
 
 " That old woman with fourteen quarterings," said 
 Goupil, "-won't want to witness her own disaster; 
 she'll go and die in Brittany, where she can manage to 
 find a wife for her son." 
 
 " No," said the notary", who had that morning drawn 
 out a deed of sale at Bongrand's request. '' Ursula 
 has just bought the house she is living in."
 
 260 Ursula. 
 
 " That cursed fool docs everything she can to annoy 
 me ! " cried the post master imprudently. 
 
 *' What does it signify to you whether she lives in 
 Nemours or not?" asked Goupil, surprised at the 
 annoyance which the colossus betrajed. 
 
 " Don't 3'ou know," answered Minoret, turning as 
 red as a poppj", " that my son is fool enough to be in 
 love with her ? I 'd give five hundred francs if I could 
 get Ursula out of this town."
 
 Ursula. 261 
 
 XVI. 
 
 THE TWO ADVERSARIES. 
 
 Perhaps the foregoing conduct on the part of the 
 post master will have shown already that Ursula, poor 
 and resigned, was destined to be a thorn in the side of 
 the rich Minoret. The bustle attending the settlement 
 of an estate, the sale of the propertj-, the going and 
 coming necessitated b}' such unusual business, his dis- 
 cussions with his wife about the most trifling details, 
 the purchase of the doctoi''s house, where Zélie wished 
 to live in bourgeois st3'le to advance her son's interests^ 
 — all this hurl3--burl\', contrasting with his usually' tran- 
 quil life hindered the huge Minoret from thinking of his 
 victim. But about the middle of May, a few days after 
 his installation in the doctor's house, as he was coming 
 home from a walk, he heard the sound of a piano, saw 
 La Bougival sitting at a window, like a dragon guarding 
 a treasure, and suddenly became aware of an impor- 
 tunate voice within him. 
 
 To explain why to a man of Minoret's nature the 
 sight of Ursula, who had no suspicion of the theft com- 
 mitted upon her, now became intolerable ; why the 
 spectacle of so much fortitude under misfortune im-
 
 262 Ursula. 
 
 pelled him to a desire to drive the girl out of the town ; 
 and how and why it was that this desire took the form 
 of hatred and revenge, would require a whole treatise 
 on moral philosoph3^ Perhaps he felt he was not the 
 real possessor of thirty-six thousand francs a year so 
 long as she to whom they really belonged lived near 
 him. Perhaps he fancied some mere chance might 
 betray his theft if the person despoiled was not got rid 
 of. Perhaps to a nature in some sort primitive, almost 
 uncivilized, and whose owner up to that time had never 
 done anything illegal, the presence of Ursula awakened 
 remorse. Possiblj' this remorse goaded him the more 
 because he had received his share of the property legiti- 
 matel}' acquired. In his own mind he no doubt attrib- 
 uted these stirrings of his conscience to the fact of 
 Ursula's presence, imagining that if she were removed 
 all his uncomfortable feelings would disappear with her. 
 But still, after all, perhaps crime has its own doctrine 
 of perfection. A beginning of evil demands its end ; 
 a first stab must be followed by the blow that kills. 
 Perhaps robbery is doomed to lead to murder. Minoret 
 had committed the crime without the slightest reflec- 
 tion, so rapidly had the events taken place ; reflection 
 came later. Now, if 3'on have thorouglil}- possessed 
 3'ourself of this man's nature and bodil}' presence 3'ou 
 will understand the mighty effect produced upon him b^' 
 a thought. Remorse is more than a thought ; it comes
 
 Ursula. 263 
 
 from a feeling which can no more be hidden than love ; 
 like love, it has its own tyrann}'. But, just as Minoret 
 had committed the crime against Ursula without the 
 slightest reflection, so he now bhndl}' longed to drive 
 her from Nemours when he felt himself disturbed by the 
 sight of that wronged innocence. Being, in a sense, 
 imbecile, he never thought of the consequences ; he 
 went from danger to danger, driven b}' a selfish instinct, 
 like a wild animal which does not foresee the hunts- 
 man's skill, and relics on its own rapidity or strength. 
 Before long the rich bourgeois, who still met in Dionis' 
 salon, noticed a great change in the manners and be- 
 havior of the man who had hitherto been so free of 
 care. 
 
 " I don't know what has come to Minoret, he is all 
 no hoio" said his wife, from whom he was resolved 
 to hide his daring deed. 
 
 Everybody' explained his condition as being, neither 
 moi'e nor less, ennui (in fact the thought now expressed 
 on his face did resemble ennui), caused, they said, by 
 tlie sudden cessation of business and the change fz'om 
 an active life to one of well-to-do leisure. 
 
 While Minoret was thinking onl}' of destroying Ur- 
 sula's life in Nemours, La Bougival never let a da}' go 
 b}' without torturing her foster child with some allusion 
 to the fortune she ought to have had, or without com- 
 paring her miserable lot with the prospects tlie doctor
 
 264 Urmia. 
 
 had promised, and of which he had often spoken to her, 
 La Bongival. 
 
 " It is not for m3'self I speak," she said, " but is it 
 hkel}^ that monsieur, good and kind as he was, would 
 have died without leaving me the merest trifle? — " 
 
 "Am I not here?" rephed Ursula, forbidding La 
 Bougival to say another word on the subject. 
 
 She could not endure to soil the dear and tender 
 memories that surrounded that noble head — a sketch 
 of which in black and white hung in her little salon — 
 with thoughts of selfish interest. To her fresh and 
 beautiful imagination that sketch sufficed to make her 
 see her godfather, on whom her thoughts continually 
 dwelt, all the more because surrounded with the thuigs 
 he loved and used, — his large duchess-sofa, the furni- 
 ture from his study, his backgammon-table, and the 
 piano he had chosen for her. The two old friends who 
 still remained to her, the Abbé Chaperon and Monsieur 
 Bongrand, the only visitors whom she received, were, 
 in the midst of these inanimate objects representative 
 of the past, like two living memories of her former life 
 to which she attached her present b}' the love her god- 
 father had blessed. 
 
 After a while the sadness of her thoughts, softening 
 gradually, gave tone to the general tenor of her life and 
 united all its parts in an indefinable harmony, expressed 
 bj' the exquisite neatness, the exact symmetry of her
 
 Ursula. 265 
 
 room, tlie few flowers sent by Savinien, the dainty 
 nothings of a young girl's life, the tranquillity which 
 her quiet habits diffused about her, giving peace and 
 composure to the little home. After breakfast and 
 after mass she continued her studies and practised ; 
 then she took her embroidery and sat at the window 
 looking on the street. At four o'clock Savinien, re- 
 turning from a walk (which he took in all weathers), 
 finding the window open, would sit upon the outer 
 casing and talk with her for half an hour. In the even- 
 ing the abbé and Monsieur Bongrand came to see her, 
 but she never allowed Savinien to accompany them. 
 Neither did she accept Madame de Portenduère's 
 proposition, which Savinien had induced his mother to 
 make, that she should visit there. 
 
 Ursula and La Bougival lived, moreover, with the 
 strictest economy ; the}^ did not spend, counting ever}'- 
 thing, more than sixty francs a month. The old nurse 
 was indefatigable ; she washed and ironed ; cooked 
 only twice a week, — mistress and maid eating their 
 food cold on other days ; for Ursula was determined to 
 save the seven hundred francs still due on the purchase 
 of the house. This rigid conduct, together with her 
 modest}' and her resignation to a life of povert}' after 
 the enjo3-ment of luxury and the fond indulgence of all 
 her wishes, deeply impressed certain persons. Ursula 
 won the respect of others, and no voice was raised
 
 2G6 Ursula. 
 
 against her. Even tlio heirs, once satisfied, «Tul her 
 justice. Savinien admired the strenj^lh of clianielrr of 
 so young a girl. Fiuni lime to time Machimc do l'or- 
 tendut're, when thev iiu-t in eluneh, would address a 
 I'vw kind words to hrr, and twice she insisted on her 
 coming to dinner and fetched her herself. If all this 
 was not happiness it was at least tranquillity. Hut a 
 benefit which came to Ursula through tlie U-gal care and 
 ability of liongrand started the smouldering pcnsecu- 
 ti(^n wliich up to lli'is time had lain in Minoret's breast 
 as a dumb desire. 
 
 As soon as the legal settlement of tlie doctor's estate 
 was fMushcd, the justice of peace, urged by Ursula, 
 took the cause of the I'ortcnduires in hand and [irom- 
 ised her to get them out of their troulile. In dealing 
 with the old lady, whose oi)position to Ursula's happi- 
 ness made him furious, he did not allow her to be 
 ignorant of the fact that his devotion to her service was 
 solely to give pleasure to Mademoiselle MirouOt. He 
 chose one of his former clerks to act for the I'orten- 
 dubres at Fontainebleau, and himself put in a mo- 
 tion for a stay of proceedings. He intended to profit 
 by the interval which must elapse between the stoppage 
 of the present suit and some new step on the part of 
 Massin to renew the lease at six thousand francs, get a 
 premium from the present tenants and the payment in 
 full of the rent of the current vear.
 
 Ursula. 267 
 
 At this time, when these matters had to be dis- 
 cussed, the former whist-purtics were again organized 
 in Madame de Portenduère's salon, between himself, 
 the abbé, Savinien, and Ursula, whom the abbé and 
 he escorted there and back every evening. In June, 
 Bongrand succeeded in quashing the proceedings ; 
 whereupon the new lease was signed ; he obtained a 
 premium of thirt3'-two thousand francs from the farmer 
 and a rent of six thousand a year for eighteen years. 
 The evening of the day on whieh this was finally settled 
 he went to see Zélie, whom he knew to be puzzled as 
 to how to invest her money, and proposed to sell her 
 the farm at Bordières for two hundred and twenty 
 thousand francs. 
 
 " I 'd buy it at once," said Minoret, " if 1 were sure 
 the Portendueres would go and live somewhere else." 
 
 " Wh}-? " said the justice of peace. 
 
 " We want to get rid of nobles in Nemours." 
 
 " I did hear the old lady say that if she could settle 
 her atfuirs she should go and live in Brittany, as she 
 would not have means enough left to live here. She is 
 thinking of selling her house." 
 
 " Well, sell it to me," said Minoret. 
 
 " To you? " said Zélie. " You talk as if you were 
 master of everytliing. What do you want with two 
 houses in Nemours?'' 
 
 " If I don't settle this matter of the farm with vou
 
 268 Ursula. 
 
 to-night," said Bongrand, " our lease will get known, 
 Massin will put in a fresh claim, and I shall lose this 
 chance of liquidation which I am anxious to make. So 
 if you don't take ray offer I shall go at once to Melun, 
 where some farmers I know are ready to bu}" the farm 
 with their eyes shut." 
 
 " Why did you come to us, then? " asked Zélie. 
 
 "Because you can pa}' me in cash, and m\' other 
 clients would make me wait some time for the moncj'. 
 I don't want difficulties." 
 
 " Get her out of Nemours and I '11 pay it," exclaimed 
 Minoret. 
 
 "You understand that I cannot answer for Madame 
 de Portenduère's actions," said Bongrand. " I can 
 only repeat what I heard her say, but I feel certain 
 they will not remain in Nemours." 
 
 On this assurance, enforced b}' a nudge from Zélie, 
 Minoret agreed to the purchase, and furnished the funds 
 to pa}' off the mortgage due to the doctor's estate. 
 The deed of sale was immediatel}' drawn up b}' Dionis. 
 Towards the end of June Bongrand brought the balance 
 of the purchase money to Madame de Portenduère, 
 advising her to invest it in the Funds, where, joined to 
 Savinien's ten thousand, it would give her, at five per 
 cent, an income of six thousand francs. Thus, so far 
 from losing her resources, the old lady actually gained 
 by the transaction. But she did not leave Nemours.
 
 Ursula. 269 
 
 Minoret thought he had been tricked, — as though Bon- 
 grand had had an idea that Ursula's presence was intol- 
 erable to him ; and he felt a keen resentment which em- 
 bittered his hatred to his victim. Then began a secret 
 drama which was terrible in its effects, — the struggle 
 of two determinations ; one which impelled Minoret 
 to drive his victim from Nemours, the other which gave 
 Ursula the strength to bear persecution, the cause of 
 which was for a certain length of time undiscoverable. 
 The situation was a strange and even unnatural one, 
 and yet it was led up to by all the preceding events, 
 which served as a preface to what was now to occur. 
 
 Madame Minoret, to whom her husband had given a 
 handsome silver service costing twent}- thousand francs, 
 gave a magnificent dinner every Sunday, the day on 
 which her son, the deputy procureur, came from Fon- 
 tainebleau, bringing with him certain of his friends. On 
 these occasions Zélie sent to Paris for delicacies — 
 obliging Dionis the notary to emulate her displa}'. 
 Goupil, whom the Miuorets endeavored to ignore as a 
 questionable person who might tarnish their splendor, 
 was not invited until the end of Jul}'. The clerk, who 
 was fully aware of this intended neglect, was forced to 
 be respectful to Désiré, who, since his entrance into 
 office, had assumed a haught}' and dignified air, even in 
 his own family. 
 
 "■ You must have forgotten Esther," Goupil said to
 
 270 Ursula. 
 
 him, "as yon are so imioh in love with Mademoiselle 
 Mironet." 
 
 " Jn the fust place, Esther is dead, monsieni ; and 
 in the next I have never even thought of Ursula," said 
 the new magistrate. 
 
 " Why, what did you tell me, papa Minoret?" cried 
 Goupil, insolently. 
 
 Minoret, caught in a lie by a man whf)in he feared, 
 would have lost countenance if it had not been for a 
 project in his head, wliich was, in fact, the reason why 
 Goupil was invited to dinner, — INIinoret having remem- 
 bered the proposition the clerk had once made to pre- 
 vent the marriage between S:ivinien and Ursula For 
 all answer, he led Goupil hurriedly to the end of the 
 garden. 
 
 "You'll soon be twenty-eight yeara old, my good 
 fellow," he said, " and I don't see that you are on the 
 road to fortune. I wish you well, for after all you were 
 once my son's companion. Listen to me. If you can 
 persuade that little Mirouët, who possesses in her own 
 right forty thousand francs, to marry you, I will give 
 3'ou, as true as my name is Mirouët, the means to buy 
 a notary's practice at Orléans." 
 
 " No," said Goupil, " that's too far out of the way ; 
 but Montargis — " 
 
 " No," said Minoret ; "Sens." 
 
 "Very good, — Sens," replied the hideous clerk.
 
 Ursula. 271 
 
 " There 's an archbishop at Sens, and I don't object to 
 devotion ; a little hypocris}' and there 3'ou are, on the 
 way to fortune. Besides, the girl is pious, and she '11 
 succeed at Sens." 
 
 "It is to be fully understood," continued Minoret, 
 " that I shall not pay the luoiioy till you marry my 
 cousin, for whom I wish to provide, out of consideration 
 for my deceased uncle." 
 
 " Why not for me too?" said Goupil maliciously, in- 
 stantly suspecting a secret motive in Minoret's conduct. 
 " Is n't it through information you got from me that 
 you make twenty- four thousand a year from tliat land, 
 without a single enclosure, round the Château du 
 Kouvre? The fields and the mill the other side of the 
 Loing make sixteen thousand more. Come, old fellow, 
 do you mean to play fair with me? " 
 " Yes." 
 
 " If I wanted to show my teeth I could coax Massin 
 to buy the Rouvre estate, park, gardens, preserves, and 
 timber — " 
 
 " You 'd better think twice before you do that," said 
 Zélie, suddenl}' intervening. 
 
 " If I choose," said Goupil, giving her a vipensh 
 look ; '' Massin would buy the whole for two hundred 
 thousand francs." 
 
 " Leave us, wife," said the colossus, taking Zélie by 
 the arm, and shoving her away; " I understand him.
 
 272 Ursula. 
 
 We have been so veiy bus3%" he continued, returning to 
 Goupil, ' ' that we have had no time to think of 30U ; 
 but I rely on your friendship to buy the Rouvre estate 
 for me." 
 
 "It is a ver}' ancient marquisate," said Goupil, 
 maliciously ; " which will soon be worth in 3'our hands 
 fifty thousand francs a year ; that means a capital of 
 more than two millions as money is now." 
 
 "My son could then many the daughter of a mar- 
 shal of France, or the heiress of some old family whose 
 influence would get him a fine place under the govern- 
 ment in Paris," said Minoret, opening his huge snufl"- 
 box and offering a pinch to Goupil. 
 
 " Ver}' good ; but will you play fair? " cried Goupil, 
 shaking his fingers. 
 
 Minoret pressed the clerk's hands replying : — 
 
 " On my word of honor."
 
 Ursula, 273 
 
 XVII. 
 
 THE MALIGNITY OF PROVINCIAL MINDS. 
 
 Like all crafty persons, Goupil, fortunatel}' for 
 Minoret, believed that the proposed marriage with 
 Ursula was only a pretext on the part of the colossus 
 and Zelie for making up with him, now that he was 
 opposing them with Massin. 
 
 "It isn't he," thought Goupil, "who has invented 
 this scheme ; I know m}^ Zelie, — she taught him his 
 part. Bah ! I '11 let Massin go. In three years time 
 I '11 be deputy from Sens." Just then he saw Bon- 
 grand on his way to the opposite house for his whist, 
 and he rushed hastil}^ after liim. 
 
 " You take a great interest in Mademoiselle Mirouët, 
 my dear Monsieur Bongrand," he said. " 1 know you 
 will not be inditferent to her future. Her relations are 
 considering it, and here is the programme ; she ought to 
 marry a notary whose practice should be in the chiof 
 town of an arrondissement. This notary, who would of 
 course be elected deputy in three years, should settle a 
 dower of a hundred thousand francs on her." 
 
 ' ' She can do better than that," said Bongrand coldl}'. 
 " Madame de Portenduère is greatly changed since her 
 
 18
 
 274 Ursula. 
 
 misfortunes ; trouble is killing her. Savinicn will have 
 six thousand francs a 3'ear, and Ursula has a capital of 
 forty thousand. I shall show them how to increase it à 
 la Massin, but honestly, and in ten years they will have 
 a little fortune." 
 
 " Savinien will do a foolish thing," said Goupil; 
 " he can marry Mademoiselle du Rouvre whenever he 
 likes, — an only daughter to whom the uncle and aunt 
 intend to leave a fine propert}'." 
 
 " Where love enters farewell prudence, as La Fon- 
 taine sa3's — By the bye, who is your notar}' ? " added 
 Bongrand from curiosit}'. 
 
 " Suppose it were I?" answered Goupil. 
 
 "You!" exclaimed Bongrand, without hiding his 
 disgust. 
 
 "Well, well! — Adieu, monsieur," replied Goupil, 
 with a parting glance of gall and hatred and defiance. 
 
 " Do you wish to be the wife of a notary who will 
 settle a hundred thousand francs on 3'ou?" cried Bon 
 grand entering Madame de Portenduère's little salon, 
 where Ursula was seated beside the old lady. 
 
 Ursula and Savinien trembled and looked at each 
 other, — she smiling, he not daring to show his un- 
 easiness. 
 
 "I am not mistress of myself," said Ursula, hold- 
 ing out her hand to Savinien in such a way that the 
 old lady did not perceive the gesture.
 
 Ursula. 275 
 
 " Well, I have refused the offer without consulting 
 you." 
 
 " Wh}' did 30U do that?" said Madame de Por- 
 tenduère. "I think the position of a notary is a very 
 good one." 
 
 " I prefer m}* peaceful poverty," said Ursula, " which 
 is really wealth compared with what ni}' station m life 
 might have given me. Besides, ray old nurse spares 
 me a great deal of care, and I shall not exchange the 
 present, which I like, for an unknown fate." 
 
 A few weeks later the post poured into two hearts 
 the poison of anonymous letters, — one addressed to 
 Madame de Portenduère, the other to Ursula. The 
 following is the one to the old lady : — 
 
 " You love your son, you wish to marry him in a manner 
 conformable with the name he bears ; and yet you encourage 
 his fancy for an ambitious girl without money and the 
 daughter of a regimental band-master, by inviting her to 
 yom' house. You ought to marry him to Mademoiselle du 
 Rouvre, on whom her two uncles, the Marquis de Ronque- 
 rolles and the Chevalier du Rouvre, who are worth money, 
 would settle a hand.some sum rather than leave it to that old 
 fool the Marquis du Rouvre, who runs through everything. 
 Madame de Sérizy, aunt of Clémentine du Rouvre, who has 
 just lost her only son in the campaign in Algiers, will no 
 doubt adopt her niece. A person who is your well-wisher 
 assures you that Savinien will be accepted." 
 
 The letter to Ursula was as follows : —
 
 276 Ursula. 
 
 Dear Ursula, — There is a young man in Nemours who 
 idolizes you. He cannot see you working at your window 
 without emotions which prove to him that his love will last 
 through life. This young man is gifted with an iron will 
 and a spirit of perseverance which nothing can discourage. 
 Receive his addresses favorably, for his intentions are pure, 
 and he humbly asks your hand with a sincere desire to make 
 you happy. His fortune, already suitable, is nothing to that 
 which he will make for you when you are once his wife. 
 You shall be received at court as the wife of a minister and 
 one of the first ladies in the land 
 
 As he sees you every day (without your being able to see 
 him) put a pot of La Bougival's pinks in your window and he 
 will understand from that that he has your permission to 
 present himself. 
 
 Ursula burned the letter and said nothing about it to 
 Savinien. Two dajs later she received another letter 
 in the following language : — 
 
 " You do wrong, my dear Ursula, not to answer one who 
 loves you better than life itself. You think you will maiTy 
 Savinien — you are very much mistaken. That marriage 
 will not take place. Madame de Portenduère went this 
 morning to Rouvre to ask for the hand of Mademoiselle 
 Clémentine for her son. Savinien will yield in the end. 
 What objection can he make ? The uncles of the young 
 lady are willing to guarantee their fortune to her; it amounts 
 to over sixty thousand francs a year." 
 
 This letter agonized Ursula's heart and afflicted her 
 with the tortures of jealousy, a form of suffering hitherto
 
 Ursula. 277 
 
 unknown to her, but which to this fine organization, so 
 sensitive to pain, threw a pall over the present and 
 over the future, and even over the past. From the 
 moment when she received this fatal paper she la}' on 
 the doctor's sofa, her eyes fixed on space, lost in a 
 dreadful dream. In an instant the chill of death had 
 come upon her warm joung life. Alas, worse than 
 that ! it was like the awful awakening of the dead to 
 the sense that there was no God, — the masterpiece of 
 that strange genius called Jean Paul. Four times La 
 Bougival called her to breakfast. "When the faithful 
 creature tried to remonstrate, Ursula waved her hand 
 and answered in one harsh word, "Hush!" said des- 
 potically, in strange contrast to her usual gentle manner. 
 La Bougival, watching her mistress through the glass 
 door, saw her alternately red with a consuming fever, 
 and blue as if a shudder of cold had succeeded that 
 unnatural heat. This condition grew worse and worse 
 up to four o'clock ; then she rose to see if Saviuien 
 were coming, but he did not come. Jealous^" and dis- 
 trust tear all reserves from love. Ursula, who till then 
 had never made one gesture b^- which her love could 
 be guessed, now took her hat and shawl and rushed into 
 the passage as if to go and meet him. But an after- 
 thought of modesty sent her back to her little salon, 
 where she stayed and wept. When the abbé arrived in 
 the evening La Bougival met him at the door.
 
 278 Ursula. 
 
 " Ah, monsieur ! " she cried ; " I don't know what 's 
 the matter with mademoiselle ; she is — " 
 
 "I know," said the abbé sadly, stoppnig the words 
 of the poor nurse. 
 
 He then told Ursula (what she had not dared to 
 verify) that Madame de Portenduère had gone to dine 
 at Rouvre. 
 
 " And Saviuieu too? " she asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Ursula was seized with a little nervous tremor which 
 made the abbé quiver as though a whole Lejxlen jar 
 had been discharged at him ; he felt moreover a lasting 
 commotion in his heart. 
 
 "So we shall not go there to-night," he said as 
 gently as he could ; " and, my child, it would be better 
 if you did not go there again. The old lady will receive 
 you in a way to wound your pride. Monsieur Bon- 
 grand and 1, who had succeeded in bringing her to 
 consider your marriage, have no idea from what quar- 
 ter this new influence has come to change her, as it 
 were in a moment." 
 
 " I expect the worst ; nothing can surprise me now," 
 said Ursula in a pained voice. "In such extremities 
 it is a comfort to feel that we have done nothing to 
 displease God." 
 
 " Submit, dear daughter, and do not seek to fathom 
 the ways of Providence," said the abbé.
 
 Ursula. 279 
 
 " I shall not unjustly distrust the character of Mon- 
 sieur de Portenduère — " 
 
 " Why do 3'ou no longer call him Savinien," asked 
 the priest, who detected a slight bitterness in Ursula's 
 tone. 
 
 ''Of my dear Savinien," cried the girl, bursting into 
 tears. " Yes, my good friend," she said, sobbing, 
 " a voice tells me he is as noble in heart as he is in 
 race. He has not onl}- told me that he loves me alone, 
 but he has proved it in a hundred delicate wa3-s, and by 
 restraining heroically his ardent feelings. Latel}- when 
 he took the hand I held out to him, that evening when 
 Monsieur Bongrand proposed to me a husband, it was 
 the first time, I swear to you, that I had ever given it. 
 He began with a jest when he blew me a kiss across 
 the street, but since then our affection has never out- 
 wardly passed, as j'ou well know, the narrowest limits. 
 But I will tell you, — you who read mv soul except 
 in this one region where none but the angels see, — 
 well, I will tell you, this love has been in me the secret 
 spring of manj' seeming merits ; it made me accept my 
 povert}' ; it softened the bitterness of my irreparable 
 loss, for my mourning is more perhaps in m^' clothes 
 now than in m}- heart — Oh, was I wrong? can it be 
 that love was stronger in me than my gratitude to my 
 benefactor, and God has punished me for it? But 
 how could it be otherwise? I respected in mj-self
 
 280 Ursula. 
 
 Savinien's future wife ; j-es, perhaps I was too proud, 
 perhaps it is that pride which God has humbled. God 
 alone, as yoxx have often told me, should be the end and 
 object of all our actions." 
 
 The abbé was deeply touched as he watched the tears 
 roll down her pallid face. The higher her sense of 
 security had been, the lower she was now to fall. 
 
 "But," she said, continuing, "if I return to my 
 orphaned condition» I shall know how to take up its 
 feelings. After all, could I have tied a mill-stone 
 round the neck of him I love ? What can he do here ? 
 "Who am I to bind him to me? Besides, do I not love 
 him with a friendship so divine that I can bear the loss 
 of my own happiness and my hopes? You know I have 
 often blamed myself for letting my hopes rest upon 
 a grave, and for knowing they were waiting on that 
 poor old lady's death. If Savinien is rich and happy 
 with another I have enough to pay for my entrance to 
 a convent, where I shall go at once. There can no 
 more be two loves in a woman's heart than there can 
 be two masters in heaven, and the life of a religious is 
 attractive to me." 
 
 " He could "not let his mother go alone to Rouvre," 
 said the abbé, gently. 
 
 " Do not let us talk of that, my dear good friend," 
 she answered. " I will write to-night and set him free. 
 I am glad to have to close the windows of this room,"
 
 Ursula. 281 
 
 she continued, telling her old friend of the anoi\yraous 
 letters, but declaring that she would not allow any in- 
 quiries to be made as to who her unknown lover 
 might be. 
 
 "Why! it was an anonymous letter that first took 
 Madame de Portenduère to Rouvre," cried the abbé. 
 " You are annoyed for some object by evil-minded 
 persons." 
 
 "How can that be? Neither Savinien nor I have 
 injured an}^ one ; and I am no longer an obstacle to the 
 prosperity of others." 
 
 " Well, well, my child," said the abbé, quietl}-, " let 
 us profit by this tempest, which has scattered our little 
 circle, to put the library in order. The books are still 
 in heaps. Bongrand and I want to get them in order ; 
 we wish to make a search among them. Put your 
 trust in God, and remember also that in our good Bon- 
 grand and in me 3'ou have two devoted friends." 
 
 " That is much, very much," she said, going with 
 him to the threshold of the door, wdiere she stretched 
 out her neck like a Inrd looking over its nest, hoping 
 against hope to see Savinien. 
 
 Just then Minoret and Goupil, returning from a walk 
 in the meadows, stopped as they passed, and the 
 colossus spoke to Ursula. 
 
 "Is anything the matter, cousin; for we are still 
 cousins, are we not? You seem changed."
 
 282 Ursula. 
 
 Goupil looked so ardenth' at Ursula that she was 
 frightened, and went back into the house without 
 replying. 
 
 " She is cross," said Minoret to the abbé. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Mirouët is quite right not to talk to 
 men on the threshold of her door," said the abbé ; 
 "she is too 3'oung — " 
 
 "Oh ! '' said Goupil. " I am told she does n't lack 
 lovers." 
 
 The abbé bowed hurriedl}' and went as fast as he 
 could to the Rue des Bourgeois. 
 
 " Well," said Goupil to Minoret, " the thing is work- 
 ing. Did 3'ou notice how pale she was. Within a 
 fortnight she '11 have left the town — j-ou '11 see^." 
 
 " Better have you for a friend than an eneni}-," cried 
 Minoret, frightened at the atrocious grin which gave to 
 Goupil's face the diabolical expression of the Mephis- 
 topheles of Joseph Brideau. 
 
 "I should think so!" returned Goupil. "If she 
 does n't marr}- me I '11 make her die of grief." 
 
 ' ' Do it, mj' bo3^ and I '11 give you the mone}^ to buy 
 a practice in Paris. You can then marry a rich 
 woman — " 
 
 "Poor Ursula! what makes 3'ou so bitter against 
 her ? what has she done to you ? " asked the clerk in 
 surprise. 
 
 " She anno^'s me," said Minoret, gruffly.
 
 Ursula. 283 
 
 "Well, wait till Monda}- and you shall see how I 'II 
 rasp her," said Goupil, studying the expression of the 
 late post master's face. 
 
 The next day La Bougival carried the following 
 letter to Savinien. 
 
 " I don't know what the dear child has written to 
 3'ou," she said, " but she is almost dead this morning." 
 
 Who, reading this letter to her lover, could fail to 
 understand the sufferings the poor girl had gone through 
 during the night? 
 
 My dear Savinien, — Your mother wishes you to marry 
 Mademoiselle du Rouvre, and perhaps she is riglit. You are 
 placed between a life that is almost poverty-stricken and a 
 life of opulence ; between the betrothed of your heart and a 
 wife in conformity with the demands of the world ; between 
 obedience to your mother and the fulfilment of your own 
 choice — for I still believe that you have chosen me. Savi- 
 nien, if you have now to make your decision I wish you to 
 do so in absolute freedom ; I give you back the promise you 
 made to yourself — not to me — in a moment which can 
 never fade from my memory, for it was, like other days that 
 have succeeded it, of angelic purity and sweetness. That 
 memory will suffice me for my life. If you should persist in 
 your pledge to me, a dark and terrible idea would henceforth 
 trouble my happiness. In the midst of our privatioiis — 
 which we have hitherto accepted so gayly — you might re- 
 flect, too late, that life would have been to you a better 
 thing had you now conformed to the laws of the world. If 
 you were a man to express that thought, it would be to me
 
 284 Ursula. 
 
 the sentence of an agonizing death ; if you did not express it, 
 I should watch suspiciously every cloud upon your brow. 
 
 Dear Savinien, I have preferred you to all else on earth. 
 I was right to do so, for my godf athei', though jealous of you, 
 used to say to me, " Love him, my child; you will certainly 
 belong to each other one of these days." "When I went to 
 Paris I loved you hopelessly, and the feeling contented me. 
 I do not know if I can now return to it, but I shall try. 
 What are we, after all, at this moment ? Brother and sister. 
 Let us stay so. Marry that happy girl who can have the joy 
 of giving to your name the lustre it ought to have, and which 
 your mother thinks I should diminish. You will not hear of 
 me again. The world will approve of you; I shall never 
 blame you — but I shall love you ever. Adieu, then ! 
 
 "Wait ! " cried the 3'oung man. Signing to La Bou- 
 gival to sit down, he scratched off hastily the following 
 reply : — 
 
 My dear Ursula, — Your letter cuts me to the heart, in- 
 asmuch as you have needlessly felt such jiain ; and also 
 because our hearts, for the first time, have failed to under- 
 stand each other. If you are not my wife now, it is solely 
 because I cannot marry without my mother's consent. 
 Dear, eight thousand francs a year and a pretty cottage on 
 the Loing, why, that 's a fortune, is it not ? You know we 
 calculated that if we kept La Bougival we could lay by half 
 our income every year. You allowed me that evening, in your 
 uncle's garden, to consider you mine ; you cannot now of 
 yourself break those ties which are common to both of us. — 
 Ursula, need I tell you that I yesterday informed Monsieur 
 du Rouvre that even if I were free I could not receive a
 
 Ursula. 285 
 
 fortune from a young person whom I did not know? My 
 mother refuses to see you again ; I must therefore lose the 
 happiness of our evenings ; but surely you will not deprive 
 me of the brief moments I can spend at your window ? 
 This evening, then — Nothing can separate us. 
 
 " Take this to her, my old woman ; she must not 
 be unhappy one moment longer." 
 
 That afternoon at four o'clock, returnhig from the 
 walk which he always took expressly to pass before 
 Ursula's house, Savinien found his mistress waiting for 
 him, her face a little pallid from these sudden changes 
 and excitements. 
 
 " It seems to me that until now I have never known 
 what the pleasure of seeing you is," she said to him. 
 
 " You once said to me," replied Savinien, smiling, — 
 "for I remember all your words, — 'Love hves by 
 patience ; we will wait ! ' Dear, 3'ou have separated 
 love from faith. Ah ! this shall be the end of our 
 quarrels ; we will never have another. You have claimed 
 to love me better than I love you, but — did I ever 
 doubt you?" he said, offering her a bouquet of wild- 
 flowers arranged to express his thoughts. 
 
 " You have never had an}' reason to doubt me," she 
 replied ; " and, besides, you don't know all," she added, 
 in a troubled voice. 
 
 Ursula had refused to receive letters by the post. 
 But that afternoon, without being able even to guess at
 
 286 Ursula. 
 
 the nature of the trick, she had found, a few moments 
 before Savinien's arrival, a letter tossed on her sofa 
 which contained the words: "Tremble! a rejected 
 lover can become a tiger." 
 
 Withstanding Savinien's entreaties, she refused to 
 tell him, out of prudence, the secret of her fears. The 
 delight of seeing him again, after she had thought him 
 lost to her, could alone have made her recover from the 
 mortal chill of terror. The expectation of indefinite evil 
 is torture to ever}- one ; suffering assumes the propor- 
 tions of the unknown, and the unknown is the infinite of 
 the soul. To Ursula the pain was exquisite. Something 
 within her bounded at the slightest noise ; yet she was 
 afraid of silence, and suspected even the walls of col- 
 lusion. Even her sleep was restless. Goupil, who 
 knew nothing of her nature, delicate as tliat of a flower, 
 had found, with the instinct of evil, the poison that 
 could wither and destroy her. 
 
 The next da}' passed without a shock. Ursula sat 
 pla3'ing on her piano till very late ; and went to bed 
 easier in mind and very sleep3\ About midnight she 
 was awakened b}' the music of a band composed of a 
 clarinet, hautboy, flute, cornet à piston, trombone, bas- 
 soon, flageolet, and triangle. All the neighbors were 
 at their windows. The poor girl, already- frightened 
 at seeing the people in the street, received a dreadful 
 shock as she heard the coarse, rough voice of a man
 
 Ursula. 287 
 
 proclaiming în loud tones : "For the beautiful Ursula 
 Mirouët, from her lover." 
 
 The next day, Sunday, the wliole town had heard of 
 it ; and as Ursula entered and left the church she saw 
 the groups of people who stood gossiping about her, 
 and felt herself the object of their horrible curiosity. 
 The serenade set all tongues wagging, and conjectures 
 were rife on all sides. Ursula reached home more 
 dead than alive, determined not to leave the house 
 again, — the abbé having advised her to say vespers in 
 her own room. As she entered the house she saw l3'ing 
 in the passage, which was floored with brick, a letter 
 that had evidently been slipped under the door. She 
 picked it up and read it, under the idea that it would 
 contain an explanation. It was as follows : — 
 
 " Resign yourself to becoming my wife, rich and idolized. 
 I am resolved. If you are not mine living you shall be mine 
 dead. To your refusal you may attribute not only your own 
 misfortunes, but those which will fall on others. 
 
 *' He who loves you, and whose wife you will be." 
 
 Curiousl}' enough, at the very moment that the gentle 
 victim of this plot was drooping like a cut flower, Mes- 
 demoiselles Massin, Dionis, and Crémière were envying 
 her lot. 
 
 "She is a lucky girl," the}- were saying; "people 
 talk of her, and court her, and quarrel about her. The 
 serenade was charming ; there was a cornet-à-pistou."
 
 288 Ursula. 
 
 " What's a piston?" 
 
 "A new musical instrument, as big as this, see!" 
 replied Angélique , Crémière to Pamela Massin. 
 
 Earl}' that morning Savinien had gone to Fontaine- 
 bleau to endeavor to find out who had engaged the 
 musicians of the regiment then in garrison. But as 
 there were two men to each instrument it was impossi- 
 ble to find out wliich of them had gone to Nemours. 
 The colonel forbade the band to play for any private 
 person in future without his permission. Savinien had 
 an interview with the procureur du roi, Ursula's legal 
 guardian, and explained to him the injury these scenes 
 would do to a young girl naturally so delicate and sen- 
 sitive, begging him to take some action to discover 
 the author of such wrong. 
 
 Three nights later three violins, a flute, a guitar, and 
 a hautboy began another serenade. This time the 
 musicians fled toward Montargis, where there liappened 
 then to be a company of comic actors. A loud and 
 ringing voice called out as they left: "To the daugh- 
 ter of the regimental bandsman Mirouet." By this 
 means all Nemours came to know the profession of 
 Ursula's father, a secret the old doctor had sedulously 
 kept. 
 
 Savinien did not go to Montargis. He received in 
 the course of the day an anonymous letter containing a 
 prophec}' : —
 
 Ursula. 289 
 
 *' You will never marry Ursula. If you wish her to live, 
 give her up at once to a man who loves her more than you 
 love her. He has made himself a musician and an artist to 
 please her, and he would rather see her dead than let her be 
 your wife." 
 
 The doctor came to Ursula three times in the course 
 of that day, for she was really in danger of death from 
 the horror of this mysterious persecution. Feeling 
 that some infernal hand had plunged her into the mire, 
 the poor girl lay like a martyr ; she said nothing, but 
 lifted her eyes to heaven, and wept no more ; she seemed 
 awaiting other blows, and prayed fervently. 
 
 " I am glad I cannot go down into the salon," she 
 said to Monsieur Bongrand and the abbé, who left her 
 as little as possible ; " Ae would come, and I am now 
 unworthy of the looks with which he blessed me. Do 
 you think he will suspect me? " 
 
 "If Savinien does not discover the author of these 
 infamies he means to get the assistance of the Paris 
 police," said Bongrand. 
 
 " Whoever it is will know I am d^'ing," said Ursula; 
 " and will cease to trouble me." 
 
 The abbé, Bongrand, and Savinien were lost in con- 
 jectures and suspicions. Together with Tiennette, La 
 Bougival, and two persons on whom the abbé could 
 rel}', they kept the closest watch and were on their 
 guard night and day for a week ; but no indiscretion 
 
 19
 
 290 Ursula. 
 
 could betray Goupil; whose machinations were known 
 to himself only. There were no more serenades and 
 no letters, and little by little the watch relaxed. Bon- 
 grand thought the author of the wrong was frightened ; 
 Savinien believed that the procureur du roi to whom he 
 had sent the letters received by Ursula and himself and 
 his mother, had taken steps to put an end to the 
 persecution. 
 
 The armistice was not of long duration, however. 
 When the doctor had checked the nervous fever from 
 which poor Ursula was suffering, and just as she was 
 recovering her courage, a rope-ladder was found, early 
 one morning in July, attached to her window. The 
 postilion of the mail-post declared that as he drove 
 past the house in the middle of the night a small man 
 was in the act of coming down the ladder, and though 
 he tried to pull up, his horses, being startled, carried 
 him down the hill so fast that he was out of Nemours 
 before he stopped them. Some of the persons who 
 frequented Dionis's salon attributed these manoeuvres to 
 the Marquis du Rouvre, then much hampered in means, 
 for Massin held his notes to a large amount. It was 
 said that a prompt marriage of his daughter to Savinien 
 would save the Chateau du Rouvre from his creditoi*s ; 
 and Madame de Portenduère, the gossips added, would 
 approve of anything that would discredit and degrade 
 Ursula and lead to this marriage of her son.
 
 Ursula. 291 
 
 So far from this being true, the old lady was well- 
 nigh vanquished by the sufferings of the innocent girl. 
 The abbé was so painfully overcome by this act of in- 
 fernal wickedness that he fell ill himself and was kept 
 to the house for several days. Poor Ursula, to whom 
 this last insult had caused a relapse, received by post a 
 letter from the abbé, which was taken in by La Bougival 
 on recognizing the handwriting. It was as follows : — . 
 
 My child, — Leave Nemours, and thus evade the malice 
 of your enemies. Perhaps they are seeking to endanger 
 Savinien's life. I will tell you more when I am able to go 
 to you. Your devoted friend, 
 
 Chaperon. 
 
 "When Savinien, who was almost maddened by these 
 proceedings, carried this letter to the abbé, the poor 
 priest read it and re-read it ; so amazed and horror- 
 stricken was he to see the perfection with which his 
 own handwriting and signature were imitated. The 
 dangerous condition into which this last atrocit}' threw 
 poor Ursula sent Savinien once more to the procureur 
 du roi with the forged letter. 
 
 " A murder is being committed b}' means that the 
 law cannot touch," he said, " upon an orphan whom the 
 Code places in your care as legal guardian. What is 
 to be done ? " 
 
 "If you can find an}- means of repression," said the 
 official, "I will adopt them ; but I know of none.
 
 292 Ursiila. 
 
 That infamous wretch gives the best advice. Mademoi- 
 selle Mirouët must be sent to the sisters of the Adora- 
 tion of the Sacred Heart. Meanwhile the commissary 
 of police at Fontainebleau shall at my request author- 
 ize you to carry arms in your own defence. I have 
 been myself to Rouvre, and I found Monsieur du 
 Rouvre justly indignant at the suspicions some of the 
 Nemours people have put upon him. Minoret, the 
 father of my assistant, is in treat}' for the purchase of 
 the estate. Mademoiselle du Rouvre is to marry a rich 
 Polish count ; and Monsieur du Rouvre himself left the 
 neighborhood the day I saw him, to avoid arrest for 
 debt." 
 
 Desire Minoret, when questioned by his chief, dared 
 not tell his thought. He recognized Goupil. Goupil, 
 he fully believed, was the only man capable of carrying 
 a persecution to the ver}' verge of the penal code with- 
 out infringing a hair's-breadth upon it.
 
 Ursula. 293 
 
 XVIII. 
 A TWO-FOLD VENGEANCE. 
 
 Impunity, secrecy, and success increased Goupil's 
 audacit3% He made Massin, who was completel}- his 
 dupe, sue the Marquis du Rouvre for his notes, so as to 
 force him to sell the remainder of his property to 
 Minoret. Thus prepared, he opened negotiations for 
 a practice at Sens, and then resolved to strike a last 
 blow to obtain Ursula. He meant to imitate certain 
 young men in Paris who owed their wives and their 
 fortunes to abduction. He knew that the services he 
 had rendered to Minoret, to Massin, and to Crémière, 
 and the protection of Dionis and the mayor of Nemours 
 would enable him to hush up the affair. He resolved 
 to throw off the mask, believing Ursula too feeble in 
 the condition to which he had reduced her to make any 
 resistance. But before risking this last throw in the 
 game he thought it best to have an explanation with 
 Minoret, and he chose his opportunity^ at Rouvre, where 
 he went with his patron for the first time after the 
 deeds were signed. 
 
 Minoret had that morning received a confidential 
 letter from his son asking him for information as to
 
 294 Ursula. 
 
 what was happening in connection with Ursula ; infor- 
 mation that he desired to obtain before going to 
 Nemours witli the procureur da roi to place her under 
 shelter from these atrocities in the convent of the Ador- 
 ation. Desire exhorted his father, in case this perse- 
 cution should be the work of any of their friends, to 
 give to whoever it might be warning and good advice ; 
 for even if the law could hot punish this crime it would 
 certainly discover the truth and hold it over the delin- 
 quent's head. Minoret had now attained a great object. 
 Owner of the chateau du Rouvre, one of the finest es- 
 tates in the Gâtinais, he had also a rent-roll of some 
 forty odd thousand francs a year from the rich domains 
 which surrounded the park. He could well afford to 
 snap his fingers at Goupil. Besides, he intended to 
 live on the estate, where the sight of Ursula would no 
 longer trouble him. 
 
 " My boy," he said to Goupil, as i\\Qy walked along 
 the terrace, " let my young cousin alone, now." 
 
 "Pooh!" said the clerk, unable to imagine what 
 such capricious conduct meant. 
 
 " Oh ! I 'm not ungrateful ; yon have enabled me to 
 get this fine brick château with the stone copings 
 (which could n't be built now for two hundred thousand 
 francs) and those farms and preserves and the park and 
 gardens and woods, all for two hundred and eighty 
 thousand francs. No, I'm not ungrateful; I'll give
 
 Ursula. 295 
 
 you ten per cent, twent}- thousand francs, for j'our ser- 
 vices, and 30U can bu}' a sheriff's practice in Nemours. 
 I '11 guarantee you a marriage with one of Crémière's 
 daughters, the eldest." 
 
 " The one who talks piston ! " cried Goupil. 
 
 " She '11 have thirty tliousand francs," replied Mino- 
 ret. " Don't you see, xnj dear boy, that you are cut 
 out for a sheriff, just as I was to be a post master? 
 People should keep to their vocation." 
 
 "Very well, then," said Goupil, falling from the 
 pinnacle of his hopes; "here's a stamped cheque; 
 write me an order for twenty thousand francs ; I want 
 the mone}^ in hand at once." 
 
 Minoret had eighteen thousand francs b}' him at that 
 moment of which his wife knew nothing. He thought 
 the best wa}' to get rid of Goupil was to sign the draft. 
 The clerk, seeing the flush of seignorial fever on the 
 face of the imbecile and colossal Machiavelli, threw him 
 an "au revoir," b}" way of farewell, accompanied with 
 a glance which would have made any one but an idiotic 
 parvenu, lost in contemplation of the magnificent château 
 built in the style in vogue under Louis XIII., tremble in 
 his shoes. 
 
 "Are not yon going to wait for me?" he cried, 
 observing that Goupil was going away on foot. 
 
 "You'll find me on your path, never fear, papa 
 Minoret," replied Goupil, alhirst for vengeance and re-
 
 296 Ursula. 
 
 solved to know the meaning of the zigzags of INIinoret's 
 strange conduct. 
 
 Since the day when the last vile calumny had sullied 
 her life Ursula, a pre}' to one of those inexplicable 
 maladies the seat of which is in the soul, seemed to be 
 rapidly nearing death. She was deathly pale, speaking 
 only at rare intervals and then in slow and feeble 
 words ; everything about her, her glance of gentle in- 
 difference, even the expression of her forehead, all 
 revealed the presence of some consuming thought. She 
 was thinking how the ideal wreath of chastit}', with 
 which throughout all ages the Peoples crowned their 
 virgins, had fallen from her brow. She heard in the 
 void and in the silence the dishonoring words, the 
 malicious comments, the laughter of the little town. 
 The trial was too heavy, her innocence was too delicate 
 to allow her to survive the murderous blow. She com- 
 plained no more ; a sorrowful smile was on her lips ; 
 her ej'es appealed to heaven, to the Sovereign of angels, 
 against man's injustice. 
 
 When Goupil reached Nemours, Ursula had just 
 been carried down from her chamber to the ground floor 
 in the arms of La Bougival and the doctor. A great 
 event was about to take place. When Madame de 
 Portenduère became reallj- aware that the girl was 
 d3àng like an ermine, though less injured in her honor 
 than Clarissa Harlowe, she resolved to go to her and
 
 Ursula. 297 
 
 comfort her. The sight of her son's anguish, who dur- 
 ing the whole preceding night had seemed beside him- 
 self, made the Breton soul of the old woman 3ield. 
 Moreover, it seemed worthy of her own dignit}- to 
 revive the courage of a girl so pure, and she saw in her 
 visit a counterpoise to all the evil done by the little 
 town. Her opinion, surel}' more powerful than that of 
 the crowd, ought to carry with it, she thought, the in- 
 fluence of race. This step, which the abbé came to 
 announce, made so great a change in Ursula that tlie 
 doctor, who was about to ask for a consultation of 
 Parisian doctors, recovered hope. They placed her on 
 her uncle's sofa, and such was the character of her 
 beauty that as she lay there in her mourning garments, 
 pale from suffering, she was more exquisitel}- lovely 
 than in the happiest hours of her life. When Savinien, 
 with his mother on his arm, entered the room she 
 colored vivid!}-. 
 
 " Do not rise, m}' child," said the old lad}- impera- 
 tiveh" ; " weak and ill as I am myself, I wished to come 
 and tell you my feelings about what is happening. I 
 respect you as the purest, the most religious and excel- 
 lent girl in the Gâtinais ; and I think you worthy to 
 make the happiness of a gentleman." 
 
 At first poor Ursula was unable to answer ; she took 
 the withered hands of Savinien's mother and kissed them. 
 
 " Ah, madame," she said in a faltering voice, " 1 should
 
 208 Ursula. 
 
 never have had the boldness to think of rising above 
 m}- condition if 1 had not been encouraged by promises ; 
 mv onl}' claim was that of an affection without bounds ; 
 but now thcv have found the means to sei)arate nic 
 from him I love, — they have made me unworthy of 
 him. Never ! " she cried, with a ring in her voice which 
 painfully affected those about her, " never will I con- 
 sent to give to any man a degraded hand, a stained 
 reputation. I loved too well, — yes, I can admit it in 
 my present condition, — I love a creature almost as I 
 love God, and God — " 
 
 " Hush, my child! do not calumniate God. Come, 
 9711/ daur/hter" said the old lady, making an effort, '' do 
 not exaggerate the harm done by an infamous joke in 
 which no one believes. I give you mv word, you will 
 live and you shall be happy." 
 
 " We shall be happy ! " cried Savinien, kneeling be- 
 side Ursula and kissing her hand; "my mother has 
 called you her daurjhter." 
 
 " P^nough, enough," said the doctor feeling his 
 patient's pulse; "do not kill her with joy." 
 
 At tliat moment Goupil, who found the street door 
 ajar, opened that of the little salon, and showed his 
 hideous face blazing with thoughts of vengeance which 
 had crowded into his mind as he hurried along. 
 
 " Monsieur de Portenduère," he said, in a voice 
 like the hissing of a viper forced from its hole.
 
 Ursula. 299 
 
 "What do j-ou want?" said Savinien, rising from 
 his knees. 
 
 " I have a word to saj to j'ou." 
 
 Saxinien left the room, and Goupil took him into the 
 little court3'ard. 
 
 " Swear to me b}' Ursula's life, by 30ur honor as a 
 gentleman, to do by me as if I had never told 3'ou what 
 I am about to tell. Do this, and I will reveal to 3'OU 
 the cause of the persecutions directed against Made- 
 moiselle Mirouet." 
 
 " Can I put a stop to them? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 *' Can I avenge them ? " 
 
 " On their author, yes — on his tool, no." 
 
 "AVliynot?" 
 
 " Because — I am the tool." 
 
 Savinien turned pale. 
 
 *' I have just seen Ursula — " said Goupil. 
 
 "Ursula?" said tlie lover, looking fixedly at the 
 clerk. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Mirouet," continued Goupil, made 
 respectful by Savinion's tone ; " and I would undo with 
 my blood the wrong that has been done ; I repent of it. 
 If you were to kill me, in a duel or otherwise, what 
 good would my blood do you? can you drink it? At 
 this moment it would poison you." 
 
 The cold reasoning of the man, together with a feel-
 
 300 Ursula. 
 
 iug of eager curiosity, calmed Savinien's anger. He 
 fixed his ej'es on Goupil with a look which made that 
 moral deformity writhe. 
 
 " Who set you at this work? " said the young man. 
 
 " Will you swear? " 
 
 " What, — to do you no harm?" 
 
 " I wish that you and Mademoiselle Mirouët should 
 forgive me." 
 
 " She will forgive 3'ou, — I, never ! " 
 
 " But at least you will forget?" 
 
 What terrible power the reason has when it is used to 
 further self-interest. Here were two men, longing to 
 tear one another in pieces, standing in that courtyard 
 within two inches of each other, compelled to talk 
 together and united hy a single sentiment. 
 
 " I will forgive you, but I shall not forget." 
 
 " The agreement is off," said Goupil coldl}'. Savi- 
 nien lost patience. He applied a blow upon the man's 
 face which echoed through the courtj-ard and nearly 
 knocked him down, making Savinien himself stagger. 
 
 "It is onl}' what I deserve," said Goupil, "for 
 committing such a folly. I thought you more noble 
 than you are. You have abused the advantage I gave 
 you. You are in my power now," he added with a look 
 of hatred. 
 
 " You are a murderer ! " said Savinien. 
 
 " No more than a dagger is a murderer."
 
 Ursula. 301 
 
 " I beg j'our pardon," said Savinien. 
 
 "Are you revenged enough?" said Goupil, with 
 ferocious irony; "will j'ou stop here?" 
 
 " Reciprocal pardon and forgetfulness," replied 
 Savinien. 
 
 " Give me your hand," said the clerk, holding out 
 his own. 
 
 "It is 3'ours," said Savinien, swallowing the shame 
 for Ursula's sake. "Now speak; who made you do 
 this thing?" 
 
 Goupil looked into the scales as it were ; on one side 
 was Savinien's blow, on the other his hatred against 
 Minoret. For a second he was undecided ; then a 
 voice said to him: "You will be notary!" and he 
 answered : — 
 
 "Pardon and forgetfulness? Yes, on both sides, 
 monsieur — " 
 
 " Who is persecuting Ursula?" persisted Savinien. 
 
 " Minoret. He would have liked to see her buried. 
 Why? I can't tell 30U that ; but we might find out the 
 reason. Don't mix me up in all this ; I could do nojth- 
 ing to help you if the others distrusted me. Instead of 
 annoying Ursula I will defend her ; instead of serving 
 Minoret I will trj' to defeat his schemes. I live only 
 to ruin him, to destroy him — I'll crush him under 
 foot, I '11 dance on his carcass, I '11 make his bones into 
 dominoes ! To-morrow, every wall in Nemours and
 
 302 Ursula. 
 
 Fontainebleau and Rouvre shall blaze with the letters, 
 Minoret is a thief/ Yes, I '11 burst him like a gun — 
 There ! we 're allies now b}' the imprudence of that out- 
 break ! If you choose I '11 beg Mademoiselle Mirouët's 
 pardon and tell her I curse the madness which impelled 
 me to injure her. It may do her good ; the abbé and 
 the justice are both there ; but Monsieur Bongrand must 
 promise on his honor not to injure my career. I have 
 a career now." 
 
 " Wait a minute ; " said Savinien, bewildered b}' the 
 revelation. 
 
 " Ursula, my child," he said, returning to the salon, 
 " the author of all your troubles is ashamed of his 
 work ; he repents and wishes to ask your pardon in 
 presence of these gentlemen, on condition that all be 
 forgotten." 
 
 "What! Goupil?" cried the abbé, the justice, and 
 the doctor, all together. 
 
 "Keep his secret," said Ursula, putting a finger on 
 her lips. 
 
 Goupil heard the words, saw the gesture, and was 
 touched- 
 
 " Mademoiselle," he said in a troubled voice, " I 
 wish that all Nemours could hear me tell 3"ou that a 
 fatal passion has bewildered my brain and led me to 
 commit a crime punishable b}' the blame of honest men. 
 What I say now I would be willing to say everywhere,
 
 Ursula. 303 
 
 deploring the harm done by such miserable tricks — 
 which may have hastened your happiness," he added, 
 rather maliciously, " for I see that Madame de Porten- 
 duère is with 3'ou." 
 
 "That is all very well, Goupil," said the abbé. 
 " Mademoiselle forgives you ; but 3'ou must not forget 
 that you came near being her murderer." 
 
 "Monsieur Bongrand," said Goupil, addressing the 
 justice of peace. " I shall negotiate to-night for Le- 
 cœur's practice ; I hope the reparation I have now 
 made will not injure me with 3'ou, and that you will 
 back my petition to the bar and the ministiy." 
 
 Bongrand made a thoughtful inclination of his head ; 
 and Goupil left the house to negotiate on the best terms 
 he could for the sheriff's practice. The others remained 
 with Ursula and did their best to restore the peace and 
 tranquillit}' of her mind, already much relieved by 
 Goupil's confession. 
 
 " You see, my child, that God was not against you," 
 said the abbé. 
 
 Minoret came home late from Rouvre. About nine 
 o'clock he was sitting in the Chinese pagoda digesting 
 his dinner beside his wife, with whom he was making 
 plans for Desire's future. Désiré had become very 
 sedate since entering the magistrac}^ ; he worked hard, 
 and it was not unlikely that he would succeed the ^res- 
 Qut procureur du roi at Fontainebleau, who, they said,
 
 304 Cfrsula. 
 
 was to be advanced to Meliin. His parents felt that 
 the}' must find him a wife, — some poor girl belonging 
 to an old and noble family ; he would then malce his 
 wa}' to the magistrac}' of Paris, Perhaps the}' could 
 get him elected deputy from Fontainebleau, where Zélie 
 was proposing to pass the winter after living at Rouvre 
 for the summer season. Minoret, inwardh' congratu- 
 lating himself for having managed his affairs so well, 
 no longer thought or cared about Ursula, at the very 
 moment when the drama so heedlessl}^ begun by him 
 was closing down upon him in a terrible manner. 
 
 " Monsieur de Portenduère is here and wishes to 
 speak to you," said CabiroUe. 
 
 " Show him in," answered Zélie. 
 
 The twilight shadows pi'evented Madame Minoret 
 from noticing the sudden pallor of her husband, who 
 shuddered as he heard Savinien's boots on the floor of 
 the galler}', where the doctor's librar}- used to be. A 
 vague presentiment of danger ran through the robber's 
 veins. Savinien entered and remained standing, with 
 his hat on Iiis head, his cane in his hand, and both 
 hands crossed in front of him, motionless before the 
 husband and wife, 
 
 " I have come to ascertain. Monsieur and Madame 
 Minoret," he said, "3'our reasons for tormenting in an 
 infamous manner a 3'oung lady who, as the whole town 
 knows, is to be my wife. Why have 3'ou endeavored
 
 Ursula. 305 
 
 to tarnish her honor ? why have j'ou wished to kill her ? 
 wh}' did 3-0U deliver her over to Goupil's insults ? — 
 Answer ! " 
 
 " How absurd 3'ou are, Monsieur Savinien," said 
 Zelie, " to come and ask us the meaning of a thing we 
 think inexplicable. I bother myself as little about 
 Ursula as I do about the year one. Since Uncle Min- 
 oret died I 've not thought of her more than I do of my 
 first tooth. I 've never said one word about her to 
 Goupil, who is, moreover, a queer rogue whom I 
 would n't think of consulting about even a dog. Wh}' 
 don't you speak up, Minoret? Are you going to let 
 monsieur box your ears in that waj' and accuse you of 
 wickedness that 's beneath you ? As if a man with 
 forty-eight thousand francs a 3*ear from landed prop- 
 ert}', and a castle fit for a prince, would stoop to 
 such things ! Get up, and don't sit there like a wet 
 rag ! " 
 
 " I don't know what monsieur means," said Minoret 
 in his squeaking voice, the trembling of which was all the 
 more noticeable because the voice was clear. '• What 
 object could I have in persecuting the girl? I may 
 have said to Goupil how annoyed I was at seeing her 
 in Nemours. Mj' son Desire fell in love with her, and I 
 didn't want him to marr3' her, that 's all." 
 
 " Goupil has confessed ever3'thing, Monsieur Minoret." 
 
 There was a moment's silence, but it was ten'ible, 
 20
 
 306 Ursula. 
 
 when all three per'sons examined one another. Zélie 
 saw a nervous quiver on the heavy face of her colossus. 
 
 " Though 3'ou are onl}^ insects," said the young noble- 
 man, " I will make you feel my vengeance. It is not 
 from you, Monsieur Minoret, a man sixty-eight years of 
 age, but from your son that I shall seek satisfaction for 
 the insults offered to Mademoiselle Mirouët. The first 
 time he sets his foot ni Nemours we shall meet. He 
 must fight me ; he will do so, or be dishonored and 
 never dare to show his face again. If he does not 
 come to Nemours I shall go to Fontainebleau, for I will 
 have satisfaction. It shall never be said that 3'ou were 
 tamel}' allowed to dishonor a defenceless young girl — " 
 
 " But the calumnies of a Goupil — are — not — " be- 
 gan Minoret. 
 
 " Do you wish me to bring him face to face with 3'ou? 
 Believe me, 3'ou had better hush up this afll'air ; it lies 
 between you and Goupil and me. Leave it as it is ; 
 God will decide between us when I meet 30ur son." 
 
 "But this sha'n't go on!" cried Zélie. "Do vou 
 suppose I '11 stand by and let Desire fight 30U, — a sailor 
 whose business it is to handle swords and guns? If 
 3-ou 've got an3^ cause of complaint against Minoret, 
 there 's Minoret ; take Minoret, fight Minoret ! But do 
 3^ou think m3' boy, who, b3' 3our own account, knew 
 nothing of all this, is going to bear the brunt of it? 
 No, my little gentleman ! somebody's teeth will pin 3'our
 
 Ursula. 307 
 
 legs first ! Come, Mînoret, clou't stand staring there 
 like a big canary ; 3'ou are in your own house, and you 
 allow a man to keep his hat on before your wife ! I say 
 he shall go. Now, monsieur, be off I a man's house is 
 his castle. I don't know what you mean with your 
 nonsense, but show me your heels, and if you dare 
 touch Desire you '11 have to answer to me, — you and 
 your minx Ursula." 
 
 She rang the bell violenth' and called to the servants. 
 
 " Remember what I have said to you," repeated 
 Savinien to Minoret, paying no attention to Zrlie's 
 tirade. Suspending the sword of Damocles over their 
 heads, he left the room. 
 
 "Now, then, Minoret," said Zélie, "j-ouwill explain 
 to me what all this means. A young man does n't rush 
 into a house and make an uproar like that and demand 
 the blood of a family for nothing." 
 
 " It's some mischief of that vile Goupil," said the 
 colossus. " I promised to help him bu}' a practice if 
 he would get me the Rouvre property cheap. I gave 
 him ten [3er cent on the cost, twent}' thousand francs in 
 a note, and I suppose he isn't satisfied." 
 
 " Yes, but wh}' did he get up those serenades and 
 the scandals against Ursula?" 
 
 " He wanted to marry her." 
 
 " A girl without a penn}' ! the sly thing ! Now 
 Minoret, you are telling me lies, and j'ou are too much
 
 308 Ursula. 
 
 of a fool, ID}' son, to make me believe them. There is 
 something under all this, and yo\x are going to tell me 
 what it is." 
 
 " There 's nothing." 
 
 " Nothing? I tell j'ou you lie, and I shall find it 
 out." 
 
 " Do let me alone ! " 
 
 " I '11 turn the faucet of that fountain of venom. Gou- 
 pil — whom you *re afraid of — and we '11 see who gets 
 the best of it then." 
 
 " Just as you choose." 
 
 " I know very well it will be as I choose ! and what 
 I choose first and foremost is that no harm shall come 
 to Desire. If an3'thing happens to him, mark you, 1 '11 
 do something that ma}- send me to the scaffold — and 
 you, you have n't any feeling about him — " 
 
 A quarrel thus begun between Minoret and his wife 
 was sure not to end without a long and angry strife. 
 So at the moment of his self-satisfaction the foolish 
 robber found his inward struggle against himself and 
 against Ursula revived bj' his own fault, and compli- 
 cated with a new and terrible adversar}'. The next 
 day, when he left the house earl}' to find Goupil and trj- 
 to appease him with additional money, the walls were 
 alread}' placarded with the words: "Minoret is a 
 thief." All those whom he met commiserated him and 
 asked him who was the author of the anonymous pla-
 
 Ursula. 309 
 
 card. Fortunately for him, everybqdy made allowance 
 for his equivocal replies by reflecting on his utter stu- 
 pidity ; fools get more advantage from their weakness 
 than able men from their strength. The world looks 
 on at a great man battling against fate, and does not 
 help him, but it supplies the capital of a grocer who 
 may fail and lose all. Why? Because men Hke to feel 
 superior in protecting an incapable, and are displeased 
 at not feeling themselves the equal of a man of genius. 
 A clever man would have been lost in public estimation 
 had he stammered, as Minoret did, evasive and foolish 
 answers with a frightened air. Zélie sent her servants 
 to efface the vindictive words wherever they were 
 found ; but the effect of them on Minoret's conscience 
 still remained. 
 
 The result of his interview with his assailant was 
 soon apparent. Though Goupil had concluded his bar- 
 gain with the sheriff the night before, he now impu- 
 dently refused to fulfil it. 
 
 " My dear Lecœur," he said, " I am unexpectedly 
 enabled to bu}- up Monsieur Dionis's practice ; I am 
 therefore in a position to help you to sell to others. 
 Tear up the agreement ; it 's only the loss of two 
 stamps', — here are sevent}- centimes." 
 
 Lecœur was too much afraid of Goupil to complain. 
 All Nemours knew before night that Minoret had given 
 Dionis security to enable Goupil to buy his practice.
 
 310 Ursula. 
 
 The latter wrote to Savinien denying his charges against 
 Minoret, and telling the young nobleman that in his 
 new position he was forbidden by the rules of the 
 supreme court, and also by his respect for law, to fight 
 a duel. But he warned Savinien to treat him well in 
 future ; assuring him he was a capital boxer, and would 
 break his leg at the first otTence. 
 
 The walls of Nemours were cleared of the inscription ; 
 but the quarrel between Minoret and his wife went on ; 
 and Savinien maintained a threatening silence. Ten 
 daj's after these events the marriage of Mademoiselle 
 Massin, the elder, to the future notary was bruited about 
 the town. Mademoiselle Massin had a dowr}' of eighty 
 thousand francs and her own peculiar ugliness ; Goupil 
 had his deformities and his practice ; the union seemed 
 therefore suitable and probable. One evenmg, towards 
 midnight, two unknown men seized Goupil in the street 
 as he was leaving Massin's house, gave him a sound 
 beating, and disappeared. The notar}' kept the matter 
 a profound secret, and even contradicted an old woman 
 who saw the scene from her window and thought that 
 she recognized him. 
 
 These great little events were careful!}' studied by 
 Bongrand, who became convinced that Goupil held some 
 mj'sterious power over Minoret, and he determined to 
 find out its cause.
 
 Ursula. 811 
 
 XIX. 
 
 APPARITIONS. 
 
 Though the public opinion of the little town recog- 
 nized Ursula's perfect innocence, she recovered slowl}-. 
 While in a state of bodily exhaustion, which left her 
 mind and spirit free, she became the medium of phe- 
 nomena the effects of which were astounding, and of a 
 nature to challenge science, if science had been brought 
 into contact with them. 
 
 Ten days after Madame de Portenduère's visit 
 Ursula had a dream, with all the characteristics of 
 supernatural vision, as much in its moral aspects as in 
 the, so to speak, ph3'sical circumstances. Her god- 
 father appeared to her and made a sign that she should 
 come with him. She dressed herself and followed him 
 through the darkness to their former house in the Rue 
 des Bourgeois, where she found everything preciseh' as 
 it was on the da}' of her godfather's death. The old 
 man wore the clothes that were on him the evening 
 before his death. His face was pale, his movements 
 caused no sound ; nevertheless, Ursula heard his voice 
 distinctl}', though it was feeble and as if repeated b}- a 
 distant echo. The doctor conducted his child as for as
 
 312 Ursula. 
 
 the Chinese pagoda, where he made her lift the marble 
 top of the little Boule cabinet just as she had raised it 
 on the day of his death ; but instead of finding nothing 
 there she saw the letter her godfather had told her to 
 fetch. She opened it and read both the letter addressed 
 to herself and the will in favor of Savinien. Tlie writ- 
 ing, as she afterwards told the abbé, shone as if traced 
 by sunbeams — '' it burned my eyes," she said. When 
 she looked at her uncle to thank him she saw the old 
 benevolent smile upon his discolored lips. Tlien, m a 
 feeble voice, but still clearly, he told her to look at 
 Minoret, who was listening in the corridor to what he 
 said to her ; and next, slipping the lock of tliu libraiy 
 door with his knife, and taking the papers from the 
 stud}-. "With his right hand the old man seized his god- 
 daughter and obliged her to walk at the i)ace of death 
 and follow Minoret to his own house. Ursula crossed 
 the town, entered the post house and went into Zélie's 
 old room, where the spectre showed her Minoret unfold- 
 ing the letters, reading them and burning them. 
 
 " He could not," said Ursula, telling her dream to the 
 abbé, " light the first two matches, but the third took 
 fire ; he burned the papers and buri-ed their remains in 
 the ashes. Then m}- godfather brought me back to 
 our house, and I saw Minoret-Levrault slipping into the 
 library, where he took from the third volume of Pan- 
 dects three certificates of twelve thousand francs each ;
 
 Ursula. 313 
 
 also, from the preceding volume, a number of bank- 
 notes. ' He is,' said my godfather, ' the cause of all the 
 trouble which has brought you to the verge of the tomb ; 
 but God wills that you shall yet be happy. You will 
 not die now ; you will marry Savinien. If 30U love me, 
 and if you love Savinien, I charge you to demand your 
 fortune from my nephew. Swear it.' " 
 
 Resplendent, as though transfigured, the spectre had 
 so powerful an influence on Ursula's soul that she prom- 
 ised all her uncle asked, hoping to put an end to the 
 niglitmare. She woke suddenl}* and found herself 
 standing in the middle of her bedroom, facnig her god- 
 father's portrait, which had been placed there during 
 her illness. She went back to bed and fell asleep after 
 much agitation, and on waking again she remeniburcd 
 all the particulars of this singular vision ; but she dared 
 not speak of it. lier judgment and lier delicacy both 
 shrank from revealing a dream the end and object of 
 ^vhich was her pecuniar}' benefit. She attributed the 
 vision, not unnaturall}-, to remarks made b}' La Bou- 
 gival the preceding evening, when the old woman talked 
 of the doctor's intended liberality and of her own con- 
 victions on that subject. But the dream returned, with 
 aggravated circumstances which made it fearful to the 
 poor girl. On the second occasion the ic}' hand of 
 her godfather was laid upon her shoulder, causing her 
 the most horrible distress, an indefinable sensation-
 
 314 Ursula. 
 
 " You must obey the dead," he said, in a sepulchral 
 voice. " Tears," said Ursula, relating her dreams, " fell 
 from his white, wide-open eyes." 
 
 The third time the vision came the dead man took 
 her by the braids of her long hair and showed her the 
 post master talking with Goupil and promising money if 
 he would remove Ursula to Sens. Ursula then decided 
 to relate the three dreams to the Abbe Chaperon. 
 
 "Monsieur l'abbé," she said, "do you beUeve that 
 the dead reappear?" 
 
 "My child, sacred histor}', profane history, and 
 modern history, have much testimonj' to that effect ; 
 but the Church has never made it an article of faith ; 
 and as for science, in France science laughs at the 
 idea." 
 
 " What do you believe? " 
 
 " That the power of God is infinite." 
 
 " Did my godfather ever speak to 3'ou of such 
 matters ? " 
 
 " Yes, often. He had entirely changed his views of 
 them. His conversion, as he told me at least twenty 
 times, dated from the day when a woman in Paris 
 heard you praying for him in Nemours, and saw the 
 red dot 3-ou made against Saint-Savinien's daj- in j-our 
 almanac." 
 
 Ursula uttered a piercing cry, which alarmed the 
 priest; she remembered the scene when, on returning
 
 Ursula. 315 
 
 to Nemours, her godfather read her soul, and took awa}' 
 the almanac. 
 
 " If that is so," she said, " then my visions are pos- 
 sibly true. My godfather has appeared to me, as Jesus 
 appeared to his disciples. He was wrapped in yellow 
 light ; he spoke to me. I beg you to saj^ a mass for the 
 repose of his soul and to implore the help of God that 
 these visions may cease, for the}- are destro3-ing me." 
 
 She then related the three dreams with all their de- 
 tails, insisting on the truth of what she said, on her own 
 freedom of action, on the somnambulism of her inner 
 being, which, she said, detached itself from her bod}' 
 at the bidding of the spectre and followed him with 
 perfect ease. The thing that most surprised the abbé, 
 to whom Ursula's veracity was known, was the exact 
 description which she gave of the bedroom formerly 
 occupied b}' Zelie at the post bouse, where Ursula had 
 never entered and about which no one had ever spoken 
 to her. 
 
 " By what means can these singular apparitions take 
 place?" asked Ursula. "What did my godfather 
 think?" 
 
 " Your godfather, my dear child, argued by hypothe- 
 sis. He recognized the possibilit}' of a spiritual world, 
 a world of ideas. If ideas are of man's creation, if 
 they subsist in a life of their own, they must have forms 
 which our external senses cannot grasp, but which are
 
 316 Ursula. 
 
 perceptible to our inward senses wlien brouglit under 
 certain conditions. Thus your godfather's ideas might 
 so enfold you that 3'ou would clothe them with his 
 bodil}' presence. Then, if Minoret really committed 
 those actions, they too resolve themselves into ideas ; 
 for all action is the result of man}- ideas. Now, if 
 ideas live and move in a spiritual world, your spirit 
 must be able to perceive them if it penetrates that 
 world. These phenomena are not more extraordinary 
 than those of memory ; and those of memory are quite 
 as amazing and inexplicable as those of the perfume of 
 plants — which are perhaps the ideas of the plants." 
 
 " How you enlarge and magnif\' the world ! " ex- 
 claimed Ursula. "But to hear the dead speak, to see 
 them walk, act — do you think it possible ? " 
 
 " In Sweden," replied the abbé, " Swedenborg has 
 proved by evidence that he communicated with the 
 dead. But come with me into the library and you shall 
 read in the life of the famous Due de Montmorency, 
 beheaded at Toulouse, and who certainly was not a man 
 to invent foolish tales, an adventure very like yours, 
 which happened a hundred years earlier at Cardan." 
 
 Ursula and the abbé went upstairs, and the good man 
 hunted up a little edition in 12mo, printed in Paris in 
 1666, of the " History of Henri de Montmorcnc}'," 
 written by a priest of that period who had known the 
 prince.
 
 Ursula. 317 
 
 " Read it," said the abbé, giving Ursula the volume, 
 which he had opened at the 175th page. " Your god- 
 father often re-read that passage, — and see ! here 's a 
 little of his snuff in it.' 
 
 " And he not here ! " said Ursula, taking the volume 
 to read the passage. 
 
 " The siege of Privât was remarkable for the loss of a 
 great number of officers. Two brigadier-generals died there' 
 — namely, the Marquis d'Uxelles, of a wound received at 
 the outposts, and the Marquis de Portes, from a musket-shot 
 through the head. The day the latter was killed he was to 
 have been made a marshal of France. About the moment 
 when the marquis expired the Due de Montmorency, who 
 was sleeping in his tent, was awakened by a voice like that 
 of the marquis bidding him farewell. The affection he felt 
 for a friend so near to him made him attribute the ilhision 
 of this dream to the force of his own imagination ; and 
 owing to the fatigues of the night, which he had spent, ac- 
 cording to his custom, in the trenches, he fell asleep once 
 more without any sense of dread. But the same voice dis- 
 turbed him again, and the phantom obliged him to wake up 
 and listen to the same words it had said as it first passed. 
 The duke then recollected that he had heard the philosopher 
 Pitrat discourse on the possibility of the separation of the 
 soul from the body, and that he and the marquis had agreed 
 that the first who died should bid adieu to the other. On 
 which, not beiijg able to restrain his fears as to the truth of 
 this warning, he sent a servant to the marquis's quarters, 
 which were distant fi'om his. But before the man could get 
 back, the king sent to inform the duke, by persons fitted to 
 console him, of the great loss he had sustained.
 
 318 Ursula. 
 
 " I leave learned men to discuss the cause of this event, 
 which I have frequently heard the Due de Montmorency 
 relate ; I think that the truth and singularity of the fact 
 itself ought to be recorded and preserved." 
 
 "' If all this is so," said Ursula, " what ought I to 
 do?" 
 
 " M}" child," said the abbé, "it concerns matters so 
 important, and which may prove so profitable to 30U, 
 that 3'ou ought to keejD absolutely silent about it. Now 
 that you have confided to me the secret of these ap- 
 paritions perhaps the}' may not return. Besides, you 
 are now strong enough to come to church ; well, then, 
 come to-morrow and thank God and pray to him for 
 the repose of your godfather's soul. Feel quite sure 
 that you have entrusted your secret to prudent hands." 
 
 " If you knew how afraid I am to go to sleep, — 
 what glances m}' godfather gives me ! The last time 
 he caught hold of m}- dress — I awoke with my face all 
 covered with tears." 
 
 "Be at peace; he will not come again," said the 
 priest. 
 
 Without losing a moment the Abbé Chaperon went 
 straight to Minoret and asked for a few moments niter- 
 view in the Chinese pagoda, requesting that they might 
 be entirelj' alone. 
 
 " Can any one hear us? " he asked. 
 
 " No one," replied Minoret.
 
 Ursula. 319 
 
 " Monsieur, m}' character must be known to you," 
 said the abbé, fastening a gentle but attentive look on 
 Minoret's face. "I have to speak to \o\x of serious 
 and extraordinary matters, which concern yon, and 
 about which you ma}- be sure that I shall keep the 
 profoundest secrecy ; but it is impossible for me to do 
 otherwise than give you this information. While j'our 
 uncle lived, there stood there," said the priest, pointing 
 to a certain spot in the room, "• a small buffet made by 
 Boule, with a marble top " (Minoret turned livid), " and 
 beneath the marble your uncle placed a letter for 
 Ursula — " The abbé then went on to relate, without 
 omitting the smallest circumstance, Minoret's conduct 
 to Minoret himself. When the late post master heard 
 the detail of the two matches refusing to light he felt 
 his hair begin to writhe upon his skull. 
 
 " Who invented such nonsense? " he said, in a stran- 
 gled voice, when the tale ended. 
 
 " The dead man himself." 
 
 This answer made Minoret tremble, for he himself 
 had dreamed of the doctor. 
 
 " God is very good, Monsieur l'abbé, to do miracles 
 for me," he said, danger inspiring him to make the sole 
 jest of his life. 
 
 '* All that God does is natural," replied the priest. 
 
 "Your phantoms don't frighten me," said the co- 
 lossus, recovering his coolness.
 
 320 Ursula. 
 
 " I did not come to frighten 3'ou, for I shall never 
 speak of this to an^' one in the world," said the abbe. 
 " You alone know the truth. The matter is between 
 you and God." 
 
 " Come now, Monsieur l'abbé, do you reall}' think 
 me capable of such a horrible abuse of confidence ? " 
 
 " I believe only in crimes which are confessed to me, 
 and of which the sinner repents," said the priest, in an 
 apostolic tone. 
 
 ' ' Crime ? " cried Minoret. 
 
 " A crime frightful in its consequences." 
 
 " What consequences? " 
 
 "In the fact that it escapes human justice. The 
 crimes which are not expiated here below will be 
 punished in another world. God himself avenges 
 innocence." 
 
 " Do you think God concerns himself with such 
 trifles?" 
 
 " If he did not see the worlds in all their details at a 
 glance, as 3-ou take a landscape into your e^e, he would 
 not be God." 
 
 "Monsieur l'abbé, will 3'Ou give me 3'our word of 
 honor that you have had these facts from my uncle ? " 
 
 " Your uncle has appeared three times to Ursula and 
 has told them and repeated them to her. Exhausted 
 by such visions she revealed them to me privately ; she 
 considers them so devoid of reason that she will never
 
 Ursula. 321 
 
 speak of them. You ma}' make 3'ourself easy on that 
 point." 
 
 " I am eas}' on all points, Monsieur Chaperon." 
 " I hope you are," said the old priest. " Even if I 
 considered these warnings absurd, I should still feel 
 bound to inform you of them, considering the singular 
 nature of the details. You are an honest man, and 3'ou 
 have obtained your handsome fortune in too legal a way 
 to wish to add to it b}' theft. Besides, 3'ou are an 
 almost primitive man, and 3'Ou would be tortured by 
 remorse. We have within us, be we savage or civil- 
 ized, the sense of what is right, and this will not permit 
 us to enjo}' in peace ill-gotten gains acquired against 
 the laws of the societj' in which we live, — for well- 
 constituted societies are modelled on the system God 
 has ordained for the universe. In this respect societies 
 have a divine origin. Man does not originate ideas, he 
 invents no form ; he answers to the eternal relations 
 that surround him on all sides. Therefore, see what 
 happens ! Criminals going to the scaffold, and having it 
 in their power to carry their secret with them, are im- 
 pelled by the force of some mysterious power to make 
 confessions before their heads are taken off. There- 
 fore, Monsieur Minoret, if your mind is at ease, I go 
 my way satisfied." 
 
 Minoret was so stupefied that he allowed the abbé to 
 find his own wa}- out. When he thought himself alone 
 
 21
 
 322 Ursula. 
 
 he flew into the fury of a choleric man ; the strangest 
 blasphemies escaped his lips, in which Ursula's name 
 was mingled with odious language. 
 
 " Wh}-, what has she done to you? " cried Zélie, who 
 had slipped in on tiptoe after seeing the abbé out of 
 the house. 
 
 For the first and only time in his life, Minoret, drunk 
 with anger and driven to extremities b}- his wife's 
 reiterated questions, turned upon her and beat her so 
 violently that he was obliged, when she fell half-dead 
 on the floor, to take her in his arms and put her to bed 
 himself, ashamed of his act. He was taken ill and the 
 doctor bled him twice ; when he again appeared in the 
 streets everybody noticed a great change in him. He 
 walked alone, and often roamed the town as though 
 uneas}^ When an}' one addressed him he seemed pre- 
 occupied in mind, he who had never before had two 
 ideas in his head. At last, one evening, he went up 
 to Monsieur Bongrand in the Grand'Rue, the latter be- 
 ing on his way to take Ursula to Madame de Porten- 
 duere's, where the whist parties had begun again. 
 
 " Monsieur Bongrand, I have something important 
 to saj' to m}' cousin," he said, taking the justice b}' the 
 arm, "and I am very glad 3'ou should be present, for 
 you can advise her." 
 
 Thej' found Ursula studying ; she rose, with a cold 
 and dignified air, as soon as she saw Mmoret.
 
 Ursula. 323 
 
 " M}' child, Monsieur Minoret wants to speak to yow 
 on a matter of business," said Bongrand. " By the 
 bye, don't forget to give me your certificates ; I shall 
 go to Paris in the morning and will draw your dividend 
 and La Bougival's." 
 
 " Cousin," said Minoret, " our uncle accustomed 3'ou 
 to more luxury than you have now," 
 
 "We can be very happy with very little mone}-," 
 she replied. 
 
 " I thought money might help your happiness," con- 
 tinued Minoret, " and I have come to offer you some, 
 out of respect for the memory of my uncle." 
 
 " You had a natural way of showing respect for him," 
 said Ursula, sternl}- ; " you could have left his house as 
 it was, and allowed me to buy it ; instead of that you 
 put it at a high price, hoping to find some hidden treas- 
 ure in it." 
 
 " But," said Minoret, evidently troubled, " if you had 
 twelve thousand francs a year 3-ou would be in a posi- 
 tion to marr\' well." 
 
 " I have not got theai." 
 
 " But suppose I give them to 3-ou, on condition of 
 your buying an estate in Brittany near Madame de 
 Portenduère, — you could then marr}' her son." 
 
 " Monsieur Minoret," said Ursula, " I have no claim 
 to that money, and I cannot accept it from ^-ou. We 
 are scarcely relations, still less are we friends. I have
 
 324 Ursula. 
 
 suffered too much from calumny to give a handle for 
 evil-speaking. What have I done to deserve that 
 mone^? "What reason have 3'ou to make me such a 
 present ? These questions, which I have a right to ask, 
 persons will answer as they see fit ; some would con- 
 sider your gift the reparation of a wrong, and, as such, 
 I do not choose to accept it. Your uncle did not bring 
 me up to ignoble feelings. I can accept nothing except 
 from friends, and I have no friendship for 30U." 
 
 "Then j'ou refuse?" cried the colossus, into whose 
 head the idea had never entered that a fortune could be 
 rejected. 
 
 " I refuse," said Ursula. 
 
 " But what grounds have 3'Ou for offering Mademoi- 
 selle Ursula such a fortune? " asked Bongrand, looking 
 fixedly at Minoret. "You have an idea — have y on 
 an idea ? — " 
 
 " Well, 3'es, the idea of getting her out of Nemours, 
 so that my son may leave me in peace ; he is in love 
 with her and wants to marr}- her." 
 
 " Well, we 'U see about it," said Bongrand, settling 
 his spectacles. " Give us time to think it over." 
 
 He walked home with Minoret, applauding the solici- 
 tude shown by the father for his son's interests, and 
 slightl}' blaming Ursula for her hasty decision. As 
 soon as Minoret was within his own gate Bongrand 
 went to the post house, borrowed a horse and cabriolet,
 
 Ursula. 325 
 
 and started for Fontainebleau, where be went to see 
 the deputy procureur., and was told that he was spending 
 the evening at the house of the sub-prefect. Bongrand, 
 delighted, followed him there. Desire was pla^'ing whist 
 with the wife of the procureur du roi., the wife of the sub- 
 prefect, and the colonel of the regiment ni garrison. 
 
 " I come to bring 3'ou some good news," said Bon- 
 grand to Desire; "you love your cousin Ursula, and 
 the marriage can be arranged." 
 
 "I love Ursula Mirouét ! " cried Desire, laughing. 
 '' Where did 3'ou get that idea? I do remember seeing 
 her sometimes at the late Doctor Minoret's ; she cer- 
 tainly is a beauty ; but she is dreadfull}' pious. I 
 certainly took notice of her charms, but I must sa}' I 
 never troubled my head seriously for that rather insipid 
 little blonde," he added, smiling at the sub-prefect's 
 wife (who was a piquante brunette — to use a term of 
 the last century). "You are dreaming, mj' dear Mon- 
 sieur Bongrand ; I thought every one knew that mj- 
 father was lord of a manor, with a rent roll of fort}'- 
 eight thousand francs a year from lands around his 
 château at Rouvre, — good reasons wh}' I should not 
 love the goddaughter of ni}' late great-uncle. If I were 
 to marry a girl without a penu}' these ladies would 
 consider me a fool." 
 
 "Have you never tormented your father to let you 
 marry Ursula ? "
 
 326 Ursula. 
 
 " Never." 
 
 "You hear that, monsieur?" said the justice to the 
 procureur du roi, who had been listening to the con- 
 versation, leading hiin aside into the recess of a window, 
 where they remained in conversation for a quarter of 
 an hour. 
 
 An hour later Bongrand was back in Nemours, at 
 Ursula's house, whence he sent La Bougival to Minoret 
 to beg his attendance. The colossus came at once. 
 
 " Mademoiselle — " began Bongrand, addressing 
 Minoret as he entered the room. 
 
 " Accepts? " cried Minoret, interrupting him. 
 
 " No, not yet," replied Bongrand, fingering his 
 glasses. "I had scruples as to your son's feelings; 
 for Ursula has been much tried lately about a supposed 
 lover. We know the importance of tranquillity. Can 
 3"ou swear to me that your son truly loves her and that 
 you have no other intention than to preserve our dear 
 Ursula from any further Goupilisms ? " 
 
 " Oh, I '11 swear to that," cried Minoret. 
 
 " Stop, papa Minoret," said the justice, taking one 
 hand from the pocket of his trousers to slap Minoret 
 on the shoulder (the colossus trembled) ; " Don't swear 
 falsely." 
 
 " Swear falsely? " 
 
 " Yes, either you or jour son, who has just sworn at 
 Fontainebleau, in presence of four persons and the
 
 Ursula. 327 
 
 procureur du roi, that he has never even thought of 
 liis cousin Ursula. You have other reasons for offering 
 this fortune. I saw you were inventing that tale, and 
 went myself to Fontainebleau to question your son." 
 
 Minoret was dumbfounded at his own foil}*. 
 
 " But Where's the harm, Monsieur Bongrand, in pro- 
 posing to a 3'oung relative to help on a marriage which 
 seems to be for her happiness, and to invent pretexts 
 to conquer her reluctance to accept the money." 
 
 Minoret, whose danger suggested to him an excuse 
 which was almost admissible, wiped his forehead, wet 
 with perspiration. 
 
 " You know the cause of my refusal," said Ursula; 
 " and I request 30U never to come here again. Though 
 Monsieur de Portenduère has not told me his reason, I 
 know that he feels such contempt for 30U, such dislike 
 even, that I cannot receive you in m}- house. M3' hap- 
 piness is m}' onl}' fortune, — I do not blush to sa}- so ; 
 I shall not risk it. Monsieur de Portenduère is onlj* 
 waiting for mj' majority to marr}' me." 
 
 " Then the old saw that ' Money does all' is a lie," 
 said Minoret, looking at the justice of peace, whose 
 observing eyes annoyed him much. 
 
 He rose and left the house but, once outside, he found 
 the air as oppressive as in the little salon. 
 
 " There must be an end put to this," he said to him- 
 self as he re-entered liis own home.
 
 328 Ursula. 
 
 When Ursula came clown, bringing her certificates 
 and those of La Bougival, she found Monsieur Bon- 
 grand walking up and down the salon with great 
 strides. 
 
 " Have you no idea what the conduct of that huge 
 idiot means?" he said. 
 
 " None that I can tell," she replied. 
 
 Bongrand looked at her with inquiring surprise. 
 
 "Then we have the same idea," he said. "Here, 
 keep the number of your certificates, in case I lose 
 them ; yon should alwa3-s take that precaution." 
 
 Bongrand himself wrote the number of the two cer- 
 tificates, hers and that of La Bougival, and gave them 
 to her. 
 
 " Adieu, my child, I shall be gone two days, but 3'ou 
 will see me on the third." 
 
 That night the apparition appeared to Ursula in a 
 singular manner. She thought her bed was in the 
 cemetery of Nemours, and that her uncle's grave was 
 at the foot of it. The white stone, on which she read 
 the inscription, opened, like the cover of an oblong 
 album. She uttered a piercing cr}', but the doctoi-'s 
 spectre slowl}' rose. First she saw his yellow head, 
 with its fringe of white hair, which shone as if sur- 
 rounded b}' a halo. Beneath the bald forehead the 
 e3'es were like two gleams of light ; the dead man rose 
 as if impelled b}' some superior force or will. Ursula's
 
 Ursula. 329 
 
 body trembled ; her flesh was like a burning garment, 
 and there was (as she subsequently said) another 
 self moving within her bodily presence. "Mere}'!" 
 slie cried, " mere}', godfather!" "It is too late," he 
 said, in the voice of death, — to use the poor girl's own 
 expression when she related this new dream to the 
 abbé. ' ' He has been warned ; he has paid no heed to 
 the warning. The days of his son are numbered. If 
 he does not confess all and restore what he has taken 
 within a certain time he must lose his son, who will die 
 a violent and horrible death. Let him know this." The 
 spectre pointed to a line of figures which gleamed upon 
 the side of the tomb as if written with fire, and said, 
 " There is his doom." When her uncle la}' down again 
 in his grave Ursula heard the sound of the stone fall- 
 ing back into its place, and immediatel}' after, in the dis- 
 tance, a strange sound of horses and the cries of men. 
 
 The next day Ursula was prostrate. She could not 
 rise, so terribly had the dream overcome her. She 
 begged her nnrse to find the Abbé Chaperon and bring 
 him to her. The good priest came as soon as he had 
 said mass, but he was not surprised at Ursula's revela- 
 tion. He believed the robbery had been committed, 
 and no longer tried to explain to himself the abnormal 
 condition of his "little dreamer." He left Ursula at 
 once and went directl}- to Minoret's. 
 
 " Monsieur l'abbé," said Zélie, " my husband's
 
 330 Ursula. 
 
 temper is so soured I don't know what he mightn't 
 do. Until now he 's been a child ; but for the last two 
 months he 's not the same man. To get angr}' enough 
 to strike me — me, so gentle ! There must be some- 
 thing dreadful the matter to change him like that. 
 You '11 find him among the rocks ; he spends all his 
 time there, — doing what, I 'd like to know? " 
 
 In spite of the heat (it was then September, 1836), 
 the abbé crossed the canal and took a path which led 
 to the base of one of the rocks, where he saw Minoret. 
 
 "You are greatl}- troubled, Monsieur Minoret," said 
 the priest going up to him. " You belong to me 
 because you suffer. Unhappily, I come to increase 
 your pain. Ursula had a terrible dream last night. 
 Your uncle lifted the stone from his grave and came 
 forth to prophecy a great disaster in A'our famil}-. I 
 certainly am not here to frighten you ; but 3'ou ought 
 to know what he said — " 
 
 " I can't be easy anywhere, Monsieur Chaperon, not 
 even among these rocks, and I 'm sure I don't want to 
 know anything that is going on in another world." 
 
 "Then I will leave 3'ou, monsieur; I did not take 
 this hot walk for pleasure," said the abbé, mopping his 
 forehead. 
 
 " Well, what do you want to say? " demanded 
 Minoret. 
 
 "You are threatened with the loss of your son. If
 
 Ursula. 331 
 
 the dead man told things that 3'ou alone know, one 
 must needs tremble when he tells things that no one 
 can know till the}' happen. Make restitution, I sa^', 
 make restitution. Don't damn your soul for a little 
 mone}'." 
 
 " Restitution of what? " 
 
 " The fortune the doctor intended for Ursula. You 
 took those three certificates — I know it now. You 
 began by persecuting that poor girl, and 3'ou end by 
 offering her a fortune ; 3'ou have stumbled into lies, you 
 have tangled yourself up in this net, and yo\i are taking 
 false steps ever}' day. You are very clumsy and un- 
 skilful ; 3-our accomphce Goupil has served you ill ; he 
 simply laughs at 30U. Make haste and clear 3'our mind, 
 for you are watched bj' intelligent and penetrating eyes, 
 — those of Ursula's friends. Make restitution ! and if 
 you do not save 3'Our son (who ma}^ not really be 
 threatened), you will save j'our soul, and you will save 
 your honor. Do 3'ou believe that in a societ}- like 
 ours, in a little town like this, where ever3-body's e3'es 
 are everywhere and all things are guessed and all 
 things are known, 3'ou can long hide a stolen fortune? 
 Come, my son, an innocent man would n't have let me 
 talk so long." 
 
 " Go to the devil ! " cried Minoret. " I don't know 
 what you all mean b3' persecuting me. I prefer these 
 stones — the3' leave me in peace."
 
 332 Ursula. 
 
 " Farewell, then ; I have warned you. Neither the 
 poor girl nor I have said a single word about this to 
 an}- living person. But take care — there is a man who 
 has his e3'e upon 3-ou. May God have pity upon 
 you ! " 
 
 The abbé departed ; presentl}' he turned back to 
 look at Minoret. The man was holding his head in his 
 hands as if it troubled him ; he was, in fact, partly 
 crazy. In the first place, he had kept the three certifi- 
 cates because he did not know what to do with them. 
 He dared not draw the money himself for fear it should 
 be noticed ; he did not wish to sell them, and was still 
 trying to find some way of transferring the certificates. 
 In this horrible state of uncertainty he bethought him 
 of acknowledging all to his wife and getting her advice. 
 Zclie, who always managed matters for him so well, she 
 could get him out of his troubles. The three-per-cent 
 Funds were now selling at eight}'. Restitution ! why, 
 that meant, with arrearages, giving up a million ! Give 
 up a million, when there was no one who could know 
 that he had taken it ! — 
 
 So Minoret continued through September and a 
 part of October irresolute and a prey to his torturing 
 thoughts. To the great surprise of the little town he
 
 Ursula. 333 
 
 XX. 
 
 REMORSE. 
 
 An alarming circumstance hastened the confession 
 which Minoret was inclined to make to Zelie ; the 
 sword of Damocles began to move above their heads. 
 Towards the middle of October Monsieur and Madame 
 Minoret received from their son Désiré the following 
 letter : — 
 
 My dear Mother, — If I have not been to see you since 
 vacation, it is partly because T have been on duty during the 
 absence of my chief ; but also because I knew that Monsieur 
 de Portenduère was waiting my arrival at Nemours, to j^ick 
 a quarrel with ine. Tired, perhaps, of seeing his vengeance 
 on our family delayed, the viscount came to Fontainebleau, 
 whei'e he had appointed one of his Parisian friends to meet 
 him, having already obtained the help of the Vicomte de 
 Soulanges commanding the troop of cavalry here in garrison. 
 
 He called upon me, very politely, accompanied by the two 
 gentlemen, and told me that my father was undoubtedly the 
 instigator of the malignant persecutions against Ursula 
 Mirouet, his futiu'e wife; he gave me proofs, and told me of 
 Goupil's confession before witnesses. He also told me of 
 my father's conduct, first in refusing to pay Gonpil the price 
 agreed on for his wicked invention, and next, out of fear of
 
 334 Ursula. 
 
 Goupil's malignity, going security to INIonsieur Dionis for the 
 price of his practice which Goupil is to have. 
 
 The viscount, not being able to fight a man sixty-seven 
 years of age, and being determined to have satisfaction for 
 the insults offered to Ursula, demanded it formally of me. 
 His determination, having been well-weighed and considered, 
 could not be shaken. If I refused, he was resolved to meet 
 me in society before persons whose esteem I value, and in- 
 sult me openly In France, a coward is unanimously 
 scorned. Besides, the motives for demanding reparation 
 should be explained by honorable men. He said he was 
 sorry to resort to such extremities. His seconds declared it 
 would be wiser in me to arrange a meeting in the usual man- 
 ner among men of honor, so that Ursula INIirouet might not 
 be known as the cause of the quarrel -, to avoid all scandal it 
 was better to make a journey to the nearest frontier. In 
 shorty my seconds met his yesterday, and they unanimously 
 agreed that I owed him reparation. ' A week from to-day I 
 leave for Geneva witli my two friends. Monsieur de Porten- 
 duère. Monsieur de Soulanges, and Monsieur de Trailles will 
 meet me there. 
 
 The preliminaries of the duel are settled ; we shall fight 
 with pistols ; each fires three times, and after that, no 
 matter what happens, the affair terminates. To keep this 
 degrading matter from public knowledge (for I find it im- 
 possible to justify my father's conduct) I do not go to see 
 you now, because I dread the violence of the emotion to 
 which you would yield and which would not be seemly. If 
 I am to make my way in the world I must confoi-m to the 
 rules of society. If the son of a viscount has a dozen reasons 
 for fighting a duel the son of a post master has a hundred. 
 I shall pass the night in Xemours on my way to Geneva, and 
 I will bid you good-by then.
 
 Ursula. 335 
 
 After the reading of this letter a scene took place 
 between Zélie and Minoret which ended in the latter 
 confessing the theft and relating all the circumstances 
 and the strange scenes connected with it, even Ursula's 
 dreams. The million fascinated Zulie quite as much as 
 it did Minoret. 
 
 " You stay quietly here," Zélie said to her husband, 
 without the slightest remonstrance against his folly. 
 " I '11 manage the whole thing. We '11 keep the monej-, 
 and Desire shall not fight a duel." 
 
 Madame Minoret put on her bonnet and shawl and 
 carried her son's letter to Ursula, whom she found 
 alone, as it was about midday. In spite of her assur- 
 ance Zélie was discomfited by the cold look which the 
 young girl gave her. But she took herself to task for 
 her cowardice and assumed an eas}' air. 
 
 " Here, Mademoiselle Mirouët, do me the kindness to 
 read that and tell me what 3-ou think of it," she cried, 
 giving Ursula her son's letter. 
 
 Ursula went through various conflicting emotions as 
 she read the letter, which showed her how truly she 
 was loved and what care Savinien took of the honor 
 of the woman who was to be his wife ; but she had 
 too much charity and true religion to be willing to 
 be the cause of death or suflîering to her most cruel 
 enemy. 
 
 "I promise, madame, to prevent the duel; ^-ou may
 
 336 Ursula. 
 
 feel perfectly easy, — but I must request you to leave 
 me this letter." 
 
 "My dear little angel, can we not come to some 
 better arrangement. Monsieur Minoret and I have 
 acquired property' about Rouvre, — a really' regal castle, 
 which gives us forty-eight thousand francs a year ; we 
 shall give Desire twenty-four thousand a year which we 
 have in the Funds ; in all, sevent}' thousand francs a 
 year. You will admit that there are not man}' better 
 matches than he. You are an ambitious girl, — and 
 quite right too," added Zélie, seeing Ursula's quick 
 gesture of denial ; "I have therefore come to ask your 
 hand for Desire. You will bear your godfather's name, 
 and that will honor it. Desire, as 3"ou must have seen, 
 is a handsome fellow ; he is very much thought of at 
 Fontainebleau, and he will soon be procureur du roi 
 himself. You are a coaxing girl and you can easily 
 persuade him to live in Paris. We will give you a fine 
 house there ; you will shine ; you will pla}" a distin- 
 guished part ; for, with seventv thousand francs a year 
 and the salary of an office, 3'ou and Desire can enter the 
 higliest society. Consult your friends ; 3'ou '11 see what 
 they tell you." 
 
 " I need only consult my heart, madame." 
 " Ta, ta, ta I now don't talk to me about that little 
 lady-killer Savinien. You 'd pay too high a price for 
 his name, and for that little moustache curled up at the
 
 Ursula. 337 
 
 points like two Liooks, and his black hair. How do yoxx 
 expect to manage on seven thousand francs a year, 
 with a man who made two hundred thousand francs of 
 debt in two years ? Besides — though this is a thing 
 you don't know yet — all men are alike ; and without 
 flattering myself too much, I ma}' sa}' that m}- Desire is 
 the equal of a king's son." 
 
 "You forget, madame, the danger your son is in at 
 this moment ; which can, perhaps, be averted only by 
 Monsieur de Portenduère's desire to please me. If he 
 knew that you had made me these unworthy proposals 
 that danger might not be escaped. Besides, let me tell 
 you, madame, that I shall be far happier in the moder- 
 ate circumstances to which you allude than I should be 
 in the opulence with which you are trying to dazzle me. 
 For reasons hitherto unknown, but which will 3'et be 
 made known, Monsieur Minoret, b}' persecutmg me in 
 an odious manner, strengthened the atïection that exists 
 between Monsieur de Portenduère and mj'self — which 
 I can now admit because his mother has blessed it. I 
 will also tell 3'ou that this affection, sanctioned and 
 legitimate as it is, is life itself to me. No destiny, how- 
 ever brilliant, however lofty, could make me change. 
 I love without the possibility of changing. It would 
 therefore be a crime if I married a man to whom I 
 could take nothing but a soul that is Savinien's. But, 
 madame, sinc^ you force me to be explicit, I must tell 
 
 22
 
 338 Ursula. 
 
 3"ou that even if I did not love Monsieur de Portenduère 
 I could not bring myself to bear the troubles and joys 
 of life in the conipau}' of your son. If Monsieur Savi- 
 nien made debts, j'ou have often paid those of 30ur son. 
 Our characters have neither the similarities nor the dif- 
 ferences which enable two persons to live together with- 
 out bitterness. Perhaps I should not have towards him 
 the forbearance a wife owes to her husband ; I should 
 then be a trial to him. Pray cease to think of an 
 alhance of which I count myself quite unworth}', and 
 which I feel I can decline without pain to you ; for with 
 the great advantages you name to me, you cannot fail 
 to find some girl of better station, more wealth, and 
 more beauty than mine." 
 
 "Will you swear to me," said Zélie, "to prevent 
 these young men from taking that journe}- and fighting 
 that duel ? " 
 
 "It will be, I foresee, the greatest sacrifice which 
 Monsieur de Portenduère can make to me, but I shall 
 tell him that my bridal crown must have no blood upon 
 it." 
 
 " Well, I thank you, cousin, and I can onl^' hope 3'ou 
 will be happ}-." 
 
 "And I, madame, sincerely wish that you ma^' real- 
 ize all 3-our expectations for the future of your son." 
 
 These words struck a chill to the heart of the mother, 
 who suddenh' remembered the predictions of Ursula's
 
 Ursula. 339 
 
 last dream ; she stood still, her small eyes fixed on 
 Ursula's face, so white, so pure, so beautiful in her 
 mourning dress, for Ursula had risen too to hasten her 
 so-called cousin's departure. 
 
 " Do 3-ou believe in dreams?" asked Zélie. 
 
 " I suffer from them too much not to do so." 
 
 " But if 3'ou do — " began Zélie. 
 
 "Adieu, madame," exclaimed Ursula, bowing to 
 Madame Minoret as she heard the abbe's entering 
 step. 
 
 The priest was surprised to find Madame Minoret 
 with Ursula. The uneasiness depicted on the thin and 
 wrinkled face of the former post mistress induced him 
 to take note of the two women. 
 
 " Do you believe in spirits?" Zélie asked him. 
 
 " What do you believe in? " he answered, smiling. 
 
 " The}' are all slj'," thought Zélie, — " every one of 
 them ! They want to deceive us. That old priest and 
 the old justice and that young scamp Savinien have got 
 some plan in their heads. Dreams ! no more dreams 
 than there are hairs on the palm of my hand." 
 
 With two stiff, curt bows she left the room. 
 
 " I know why Savinien went to Fontainebleau," said 
 Ursula to the abbé, telling him about the duel and beg- 
 ging him to use his influence to prevent it. 
 
 " Did Madame Minoret offer you her son's hand?" 
 asked the abbé.
 
 340 Ursula. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 *•' Minoret has no doubt confessed his crime to her," 
 added the priest. 
 
 Monsieur Bongrand, who came in at this moment, 
 was told of the step taken by Zélie, whose hatred to 
 Ursula was well known to bim. He looked at the abbé 
 as if to sa}': " Come out, I want to speak to you of 
 Ursula without her hearing me." 
 
 " Savinien must be told that you refused eight}- thou- 
 sand francs a year and the dandy of Nemours," he said 
 aloud. 
 
 "Is it, then, a sacrifice?" she answered, laughing. 
 " Are there sacrifices when one truly loves? Is it any 
 merit to refuse the son of a man we all despise? Others 
 ma}' make virtues of their dislikes, but that ought not 
 to be the morality of a girl brought up by a de Jordy, 
 and the abbé, and my dear godfather," she said, look- 
 ing up at his portrait. 
 
 Bongrand took Ursula's hand and kissed it. 
 
 "Do you know what Madame Minoret came about?" 
 said the justice as soon as they were in the street. 
 
 "What?" asked the priest, looking at Bongrand 
 with an air tliat seemed merely curious. 
 
 " She had some plan for restitution." 
 
 " Then you think — " began the abbé. 
 
 " I don't think, I know ; I have the certainty — and 
 see there ! "
 
 Ursula. 341 
 
 So saying, Boiigrand pointed to Minoret, who was 
 coming towards them on his way home. 
 
 " When I was a lawj'er in the criminal courts," con- 
 tinued Bongrand, " I naturall}' had many opportunities 
 to stud}' remorse ; but I have never seen any to equal 
 that of this man. What gives him that flaccidity, that 
 pallor of the cheeks where tlie skin was once as tight as 
 a drum and bursting with the good sound health of a 
 man without a care ? What has put those black circles 
 round his eyes and dulled their rustic vivacity? Did 
 3'ou ever expect to see lines of care on that forehead ? 
 Who would have supposed that the brain of that colos- 
 sus could be excited? The man has felt his heart! 
 I am a judge of remorse, just as you are a judge of 
 repentance, my dear abbé. That which I have hitherto 
 observed has developed in men who were awaiting pun- 
 ishment, or enduring it to get quits with the world ; 
 the}' were either resigned, or breathing vengeance ; 
 but here is remorse without expiation, remorse pure and 
 simple, fastening on its prey and rending him." 
 
 The judge stopped Minoret and said : " Do you 
 know that Mademoiselle Mirouët has refused your sou's 
 hand ? " 
 
 "But," interposed the abbé, "do not be uneasy; 
 she will prevent the duel." 
 
 "Ah, then m}- wife succeeded?" said Minoret. "I 
 am very glad, for it nearl}- killed me."
 
 342 Ursula. 
 
 " You are, indeed, so changed that 3'ou are no longer 
 like yourself," remarked Bongrand. 
 
 Minoret looked alternately at the two men to see if 
 the priest had betrayed the dreams ; but the abbe's face 
 was unmoved, expressing only a calm sadness which 
 reassured the guilty man. 
 
 " And it is the more surprising," went on Mon- 
 sieur Bongrand, "because you ought to be filled with 
 satisfaction. You are lord of Rouvre and all those 
 farms and mills and meadows and — with your invest- 
 ments in the Funds, you have an income of one hundred 
 thousand francs — " 
 
 " I have n't anything in the Funds," cried Minoret, 
 hastily. 
 
 "Pooh," said Bongrand; "this is just as it was 
 about your son's love for Ursula, — first he denied it, 
 and now he asks her in marriage. After tr3-ing to kill 
 Ursula with sorrow you now want her for a daughter- 
 in-law. M3' good friend, 3'ou have got some secret in 
 your pouch." 
 
 Minoret tried to answer ; he searched for words and 
 could find nothing better than : — 
 
 " You 're very queer, monsieur. Good-da}', gentle- 
 men ; " and he turned with a slow step into the Rue des 
 Bourgeois. 
 
 " He has stolen the fortune of our poor Ursula," said 
 Bongrand, " but how can we ever find the proof? "
 
 Ursula. 343 
 
 " God ma}' — " began the abbé. 
 
 " God has put into us the sentiment that is now 
 appeaUng to that man ; but all that is mereh' what is 
 called presumptive, and human justice requires some- 
 thing more." 
 
 The abbé maintained the silence of a priest. As 
 often happens in similar circumstances, he thought 
 much oftener than he wished to think of the robbery, 
 now almost admitted b}' Minoret, and of Savinien's 
 happiness, dela3'ed onl}' by Ursula's loss of fortune — for 
 the old lad}' had privately owned to him that she knew 
 she had done wrong in not consenting to the marriage 
 in the doctor's lifetime.
 
 344 Ursula. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 SHOWING HOW DIFFICULT IT IS TO STEAL THAT 
 WHICH SEEMS VERY EASILY STOLEN. 
 
 The following day, as the abbé was leaving the altar 
 after saying mass, a thought struck him with such force 
 that it seemed to him the utterance of a voice, lie 
 made a sign to Ursula to wait for him, and accompanied 
 her home without having breakfasted. 
 
 " M}' child," he said, "I want to sec the two vol- 
 umes your godfather showed 3-ou in your dreams — 
 where he said that he placed those certificates and 
 banknotes." 
 
 Ursula and the abbé went up to the library and took 
 down the third volume of the Pandects. AVhen the old 
 man opened it he noticed, not without surprise, a mark 
 left by some enclosure upon the pages, which still kept 
 the outline of the certificate. In the other volume he 
 found a sort of hollow made bv the long-continued 
 presence of a package, which had left its traces on the 
 two pages next to it. 
 
 " Yes, go up, Monsieur Bongrand." La Bougival was 
 heard to say, and the justice of peace came into the 
 library just as the abbé was putting on his spectacles
 
 Ursula. 345 
 
 to read three numbers in Doctor Minoret's hand-writing 
 on the fl\-leaf of colored paper with which the binder 
 had lined the cover of the volume, — figures which 
 Ursula had just discovered. 
 
 "What's the meaning of those figures?" said the 
 abbé ; " our dear doctor was too much of a bibliophile 
 to spoil the fl^'-leaf of a valuable volume. Here are 
 three numbers written between a first number preceded 
 by the letter M and a last number preceded by a U." 
 
 " What are you talking of? " said Bongrand. " Let 
 me see that. Good God ! " he cried, after a moment's 
 examination ; " it would open the eyes of an atheist as 
 an actual demonstration of Providence ! Human justice 
 is, I believe, the development of the divine thought 
 which hovers over the worlds." He seized Ursula and 
 kissed her forehead. " Oh ! my child, you will be rich 
 and happ}-, and all through me ! " 
 
 " What is it?" exclaimed the abbé. 
 
 "Oh, monsieur," cried La Bougival, catching Bon- 
 grand's blue overcoat, " let me kiss you for what you've 
 just said." 
 
 " Explain, explain! don't give us false hopes," said 
 the abbé. 
 
 " If I bring trouble on others b}- becoming rich " said 
 Ursula, forseeing a criminal trial, "I — " 
 
 " Remember," said the justice, interrupting her, "the 
 happiness you will give to Savinien."
 
 346 Urëida. 
 
 " Are 3'ou mad? " said the abbé. 
 
 "No, m}' dear friend," said Bongrand. "Listen; 
 the certificates in tlie Funds are issued in series, — as 
 many series as tliere are letters in the alphabet ; and 
 each number bears the letter of its series. But the cer- 
 tificates which are made out to bearer cannot have a 
 letter ; they are not in any person's name. What 3'ou 
 see there shows that the da}' the doctor placed his money 
 in the Funds, he noted down, first, the number of his 
 own certificate for fifteen thousand francs interest which 
 bears his initial M ; next, the numbers of three inscrip- 
 tions to bearer ; these are without a letter ; and thirdly, 
 the certificate of Ursula's share in the Funds, the num- 
 ber of which is 23,534, and which follows, as you see, 
 that of the fiftcen-thousand-franc certificate with letter- 
 ing This goes far to prove that these numbers are 
 those of five certificates of investments made on the 
 same da}' and noted down b}' the doctor in case of loss. 
 I advisee! him to take certificates to bearer for Ursula's 
 fortune, and he must have made his own investment 
 and that of Ursula's little property the same da}'. I '11 
 go to Dionis's oflfice and look at the inventoiy. If the 
 number of the certificate for his own investment is 
 23,533, letter M, we may be sure that he invested, 
 through the same broker on the same day, first his own 
 property on a single certificate ; secondl}', his savings 
 in three certificates to bearer (numbered, but without
 
 Ursula. 347 
 
 the series letter) thirdly, Ursula's own property ; the 
 transfer books will show, of course, undeniable proofs 
 of this. Ha ! Minoret, you deceiver, I have 3'ou — 
 Mbtus, mj^ children ! " 
 
 Whereupon he left them abruptly to reflect with ad- 
 miration on the ways b}' which Providence had brought 
 the innocent to victory. 
 
 " The finger of God is in all this," cried the abbé. 
 
 " Will they punish him? " asked Ursula. 
 
 " Ah, mademoiselle," cried La Bougival. "I'd give 
 the rope to hang him." 
 
 Bongrand was alread}' at Goupil's, now the appointed 
 successor of Dionis, but he entered the office with a 
 careless air. " I have a little matter to verify about 
 the Minoret propert}-," he said to Goupil. 
 
 " What is it? " asked the latter. 
 
 " The doctor left one or more certificates in the three- 
 per-cent Funds ? " 
 
 "He left one for fifteen thousand francs a year," 
 said Goupil ; " I recorded it m3'self." 
 
 " Then just look on the inventory," said Bongrand. 
 
 Goupil took down a box, hunted through it, drew out 
 a paper, found the place, and read : — 
 
 " 'Item, one certificate' — Here, read for 3'ourself 
 — under the number 23,533, letter M." 
 
 " Do me the kindness to let me have a copy of that 
 clause within an hour," said Bongrand.
 
 348 Ursula. 
 
 " What good is it to you? " asked Goupil. 
 
 "Do you waut to be a notary?" answered the 
 justice of peace, looking sternly at Dionis's proposed 
 successor. 
 
 " Of course I do," cried Goupil. " I 've swallowed 
 too many affronts not to succeed now. I beg you to 
 believe, monsieur, that the miserable creature once 
 called Goupil has nothing in common with Maître Jean- 
 Sébastien-Marie Goupil, notary of Nemours and hus- 
 band of Mademoiselle Massin. The two beings do not 
 know each other. They are no longer even alike. Look 
 at me ! " 
 
 Thus adjured Monsieur Bongrand took notice of 
 Goupil's clothes. The new notary wore a white cravat, 
 a shirt of dazzling whiteness adorned with rub}- but- 
 tons, a waistcoat of red velvet, with trousers and coat 
 of handsome black broad-cloth, made in Paris. His 
 boots were neat ; his hair, carefuU}- combed, was per- 
 fumed — in short he was metamorphosed. 
 
 " The fact is you are another man," said Bongrand. 
 
 " Morall}' as well as physicalh'. Virtue comes with 
 practice — a practice ; besides, mone}' is the source of 
 cleanliness — " 
 
 " Morally as well as physically," returned Bongrand, 
 settling his spectacles. 
 
 "• Ha ! monsieur, is a man worth a hundred thousand 
 francs a vear ever a democrat? Consider me in future
 
 Ursula. 349 
 
 as an honest man who knows what refinement is, and 
 who intends to love his wife," said Gonpil ; "and 
 what 's more, I shall prevent my cUents from ever doing 
 dirt}^ actions." 
 
 " Well, make haste," said Bongrand. " Let me 
 have that copy in an hour, and notary Goupil will have 
 undone some of the evil deeds of Goupil the clerk." 
 
 After asking the Nemours doctor to lend him his 
 horse and cabriolet, he went back to Ursula's house for 
 the two important volumes and for her own certificate 
 of Funds ; then, armed with the extract from the inven- 
 tory, he drove to Fontainebleau and had an interview 
 with the promireiir du roi. Bongrand easily convinced 
 that official of the theft of the three certificates by one 
 or other of the heirs, — presumabl}' b}- Minoret. 
 
 " His conduct is explained," said the jyrocureicr. 
 
 As a measure of precaution the magistrate at once 
 notified the Treasury to withhold transfer of the said 
 certificates, and told Bongrand to go to Paris and ascer- 
 tain if the shares had ever been sold. He then wrote a 
 polite note to Madame Minoret requesting her presence. 
 
 Zélie, ver}' uneasy about her son's duel, dressed her- 
 self at once, had the hoi'ses put to her carriage and 
 hurried to Fontainebleau. The procureicr's plan was 
 simple enough. B3' separating the wife from the hus- 
 band, and bringing the terrors of the law to bear upon 
 her, he expected to learn the truth. Zélie found the
 
 350 . Ursula. 
 
 official in his private office and was utterly annihilated 
 when he addressed her as follows : — 
 
 " Madame," he said ; " I do not believe you are an 
 accomplice in a theft that has been committed upon the 
 Minoret property', on the track of which the law is now 
 proceeding. But you can spare your husband the shame 
 of appearing in the prisoner's dock by making a full 
 confession of what you know about it. The punish- 
 ment which your husband has incurred is, moreover, 
 not the only thing to be dreaded. Your son's career is 
 to be thought of; you must avoid destroying that. 
 Half an hour hence will be too late. Tlie police are 
 already under orders for Nemours, the warrant is made 
 out." 
 
 Zélie nearly fainted ; when she recovered her senses 
 she confessed ever^'thing. After proving to her that 
 she was in point of fact an accomplice, the magistrate 
 told her that if she did not wish to injure either son or 
 husband she must behave with the utmost prudence. 
 
 " You have now to do with me as an individual, not 
 as a magistrate," he said. " No complaint has been 
 lodged b}' the victim, nor has any publicity been given 
 to the theft. But 3'our husband has committed a great 
 crime, which may be brought before a judge less inclined 
 than myself to be considerate. In the present state of 
 the affair I am obliged to make 3-ou a prisoner — oh, in 
 my own house, on parole," he added, seeing that Zélie
 
 Ursula. 351 
 
 was about to faint. "You must remember that my 
 official duty would require me to issue a warrant at once 
 and begin an examination ; but I am acting now indi- 
 vidually, as guardian of Mademoiselle Ursula Mirouët, 
 and her best interests demand a compromise." 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed Zélie. 
 
 " Write to your husband in the following words," he 
 continued, placing Zélie at his desk and proceeding to 
 dictate the letter : — 
 
 " My Friend, — I am arrested, and I have told all. 
 Return the certificates which uucle left to ^lonsieur de Por- 
 tenduere in the will which you burned ; for the procureur 
 du roi has stopped payment at the Treasury." 
 
 "You will thus save him from the denials he would 
 otherwise attempt to make," said the magistrate, smil- 
 ing at Zélie's orthography. "We will see that the 
 restitution is properly made. My wife will make yowY 
 sta}' in our house as little disagreeable as possible. I 
 advise you to say nothing of this matter and not to 
 appear anxious or unhappy." 
 
 Now that Zélie had confessed and was safely im- 
 mured, the magistrate sent for Désiré, told him all the 
 particulars of his father's theft, which was really to 
 Ursula's injury but, as matters stood, legally to that of 
 his co-heirs, and showed him the letter written bj' his 
 mother. Désiré at once asked to be allowed to go to
 
 352 Ursula. 
 
 Nemours and see that bis father made immediate 
 restitution. 
 
 "It is a ver}' serious matter," said the magistrate. 
 " The will having been destroyed, if the matter gets 
 wind, the co-heirs, Massin and Crémière ma}- put in a 
 claim. I have proof enough against 3-our father. I 
 will release your mother, for I think the little ceremony 
 that has already taken place has been sufficient warning 
 as to her dut}-. To her, I will seem to have yielded to 
 your entreaties in releasing her. Take her with you to 
 Nemours, and manage the whole matter as best you 
 can. Don't fear an\- one. Monsieur Bongrand loves 
 Ursula Mirouët too well to let the matter become 
 known." 
 
 Zélie and Desire started soon after for Nemours. 
 Three hours later the 2'^'^^^^''^^'^^''' ^^'^ ^^* received b}- a 
 mounted messenger the following letter, the ortho- 
 graph}- of which has been corrected so as not to bring 
 ridicule on a man crushed by affliction. 
 
 To Monsieur le procureur du roi at Fontainebleau : 
 Monsieur, — God is less kind to us than you ; we have 
 met with an irreparable misfortune. AVhen ray wife and 
 son reached the bridge at Nemours a trace became unhooked. 
 There was no servant behind the carriage ; the horses smelt 
 the stable ; my son, fearing their impatience, jumped down 
 to hook the trace rather than have the coachman leave the 
 box. As he turned to resume his place in the carriage be- 
 side his mother the horses started ; Desire did not step back
 
 Ursula. 353 
 
 against the parapet in time ; the step of the carriage cut 
 through both legs and he fell, the hind wheel passing over 
 his body. The messenger who goes to Paris for the best sur- 
 geon will bring you this letter, which my sou in the midst of 
 his sufferings desires me to write so as to let you know our 
 entire submission to your decisions in the matter about which 
 he was coming to speak to me. 
 
 I shall be grateful to you to my dying day for the manner 
 in which you have acted, and I will deserve your goodness. 
 
 François Minoket. 
 
 This cruel event convulsed the whole town of Ne- 
 mours. The crowds standing about the gate of the 
 Minoret house were the first to tell Savinieu tiiat his 
 vengeance had been taken bj' a hand more powerful 
 than his own. He went at once to Ursula's house, 
 where he found both the abbé and the joung girl more 
 distressed than surprised. 
 
 The next day, after the wounds were dressed, and 
 the doctors and surgeons from Paris had given their 
 opinion that both legs must be amputated, Minoret 
 went, pale, humbled, and broken down, accompanied b^' 
 the abbé, to Ursula's house, where he found also Mon- 
 sieur Bongrand and Savinien. 
 
 '' Mademoiselle," he said ; " I am ver}- guilty towards 
 you ; but if all the wrongs I have done you are not 
 wholly reparable, there are some that I can expiate. 
 M3' wife and I have made a vow to make over to you 
 in absolute possession our estate at Rouvre in case our 
 
 23
 
 354 Ursula. 
 
 son recovers, and also in case we have tlie dreadful 
 sorrow of losing him." . 
 
 He burst into tears as he said the last words. 
 
 " I can assure you, m}' dear Ursula," said the abbé, 
 "that .you can and that you ought to accept a part of 
 this gift." 
 
 "Will 3'ou forgive me?" said Minoret, humbly 
 kneeling before the astonished girl. "The operation 
 is about to be performed by the first surgeon of the 
 Hôtel-Dieu ; but I do not trust to human science, I rely 
 only on the power of God. If you forgive us, if you 
 ask God to restore our son to us, he will have strength 
 to bear the agony and we shall have the joy of saving 
 him." 
 
 " Let us go to the church ! " cried Ursula, rising. 
 
 But as she gained her feet, a piercing cry came from 
 her lips, and she fell backward fainting. When her 
 senses returned, she saw her friends — but not Minoret 
 who had rushed for a doctor — looking at her with 
 anxious eyes, seeking an explanation. As she gave it, 
 terror filled their hearts. 
 
 "I saw my godfather standing in the doorway," 
 she said, " and he signed to me that there was no 
 hope." 
 
 The àa.j after the operation Desire died, — cai'ried off 
 by the fever and the shock to the system that succeed 
 operations of this nature. Madame Minoret, whose
 
 Ursula. 355 
 
 heart had no other tender feeling than maternity, be- 
 came insane after the burial of her son, and was taken 
 b}" her husband to the establishment of Doctor Blanche, 
 where she died in 1841. 
 
 Three months after these events, in January, 1837, 
 Ursula married Savinien with Madame de Portenduère's 
 consent. Minoret took part in the marriage contract 
 and insisted on giving Mademoiselle Mirouët his estate 
 at Rouvre and an income of twentj'-four thousand 
 francs from the Funds ; keeping for himself onl}' his 
 uncle's house and ten thousand francs a year. He has 
 become the most charitable of men, and the most relig- 
 ious ; he is churchwarden of the parish, and has made 
 himself the providence of the unfortunate. 
 
 " The poor take the place of my son," he sa3-s. 
 
 If j'ou have ever noticed by the wa3side, in countries 
 where they poll the oaks, some old tree, whitened and 
 as if blasted, still throwing out its twigs though its 
 trunk is riven and seems to implore the axe, you will 
 have an idea of the old post master, with his white hair, 
 — broken, emaciated, in whom the elders of the town 
 can see no trace of the jovial dullard whom 3'ou first 
 saw watching for his son at the beginning of this his- 
 tory ; he does not even take his snuff as he once did ; 
 he carries something more now than the weight of his 
 bod}'. Beholding him, we feel that the hand of God 
 was laid upon that figure to make it an awful warning.
 
 356 Ursula. 
 
 After hating so violentl}' his uncle's godchild the old 
 man now, like Doctor Minoret himself, has concen- 
 trated all his affections on her, and has made himself 
 the manager of her property in Nemours. 
 
 Monsieur and Madame de Portenduère pass five 
 months of the year in Paris, where the}- have bought a 
 handsome house in the Faubourg Saint-Germain. Ma- 
 dame de Portenduère the elder, after giving her house 
 in Nemours to the Sisters of Charitj' for a free school, 
 went to live at Rouvre, where La Bougival keeps the 
 porter's lodge. Cabirolle, the former conductor of the 
 " Dueler," a man sixt}' 3-ears of age, has married La 
 Bougival and the twelve hundred francs a 3ear which 
 she possesses besides the ample emoluments of her 
 place. Young Cabirolle is Monsieur de Portenduère's 
 coachman. 
 
 If, you happen to see in the Champs-El3-sées one of 
 those charming little low carriages called escargots^ 
 lined with gra}' silk and trimmed with blue, and con- 
 taining a pretty young woman whom you admire because 
 her face is wreathed with innumerable fair curls, her 
 eyes luminous as forget-me-nots and filled with love ; 
 if \on see her bending slightl}- towards a fine 3'oung 
 man, and, if you are, for a moment, conscious of envy 
 — pause and I'eflect that this handsome couple, beloved 
 of God, have paid their quota to the sorrows of life 
 in times now past. These married lovers are the
 
 Ursula. 357 
 
 Vicomte de Portenduère and bis wife. There is not 
 another such home in Paris as theirs. 
 
 "• It is the sweetest happiness I have ever seen," said 
 the Comtesse de I'Estorade, speaking of them latel}-. 
 
 Bless them therefore, and be not envious ; seek an 
 Ursula for ^-ourselves, a 3'oung girl brought up b^- three 
 old men, and by the best of all mothers — adversity. 
 
 Goupil, who does service to everybody and is justl}' 
 considered the wittiest man in Nemours, has won the 
 esteem of the little town, but he is punished in his 
 children, who are ricket}' and hydrocephalous. Dionis, 
 his predecessor, flourishes in the Chamber of Deputies, 
 of which he is one of the finest ornaments, to the great 
 satisfaction of the king of the French, who sees Madame 
 Dionis at all his balls. Madame Dionis relates to the 
 whole town of Nemours the particulars of her recep- 
 tions at the Tuileries and the splendor of the court of 
 the king of the French. She lords it over Nemours b^^ 
 means of the throne, which therefore must be popular 
 in the little town. 
 
 Bongrand is chief-justice of the court of appeals at 
 Melun. His son is in the way of becoming an honest 
 attorney -general. 
 
 Madame Crémière continues to make her delightful 
 speeches. On the occasion of her daughter's marriage, 
 she exhorted her to be the working caterpillar of the 
 household, and to look into everything with the CA'es
 
 358 Ursula. 
 
 of a sphinx. Goupil is making a collection of her 
 " slapsus-linquies," which he calls a Crémièrana. 
 
 " We have had the great sorrow of losing our good 
 Abbé Chaperon," said the Vicomtesse de Portenduère 
 this winter — having nursed him herself during his ill- 
 ness. "The whole canton came to his funeral. Ne- 
 mours is very fortunate, however, for the successor of 
 that dear saint is the venerable curé of Saint-Lange." 
 
 THE END.
 
 Messrs. Roberts BrotJiers' Ptiblicatio7is. 
 
 BALZAC IN ENGLISH. 
 
 A Great Mm of the Provinces in Paris. 
 
 By honoré de BALZAC. 
 
 Being the second part of " Lost Illusions." Translated by Kath- 
 arine Prescott Wormeley. i2mo. Half Russia. Price, J1.50. 
 
 We are beginning to look forward to the new translations of Balzac by Katha- 
 rine Wormeley almost as eagerly as to the new works of the best contemporary 
 writers. But, unlike the writings of most novelists, Balzac's novels cannot be 
 judged separately. They belong together, and it is impossible to understand the 
 breadth and depth of the great writer's insight into human life by reading any 
 one volume of this remarkable series. For instance, we rise from the reading of 
 this last volume feeling as if there was nothing high or noble or pure in life. But 
 what would be more untrue than to fancy that Balzac was unable to appreciate 
 the true and the good and the beautiful ! Compare " The Lily of the Valley " 
 or " Seraphita " or " Louis Lambert" with "The Duchesse of Langeais" and 
 " Cousin Bette," and then perhaps the reader will be able to criticise Balzac with 
 some sort of justice. — Bostoti Transcript. 
 
 Balzac paints the terrible verities of life with an inexorable hand. The siren 
 charms, the music and lights, the feast and the dance, are presented in voluptu- 
 ous colors — but read to the end of the book! There are depicted with equal 
 truthfulness the deplorable consequences of weakness and crime. Some have 
 read Balzac's " Cousin Bette " and have pronounced him immoral ; but when 
 the last chapter of any of his novels is read, the purpose of the whole is clear, and 
 immorality cannot be alleged. Balzac presents life. His novels are as truthful 
 as they are terrible. — Springfield Union. 
 
 Admirers of Balzac will doubtless enjoy the mingled sarcasm and keen analy- 
 sis of human nature displayed in the present volume, brought ont with even more 
 than the usual amount of the skill and energy characteristic of the author. — 
 Pittsburgh Post. 
 
 The art of Balzac, the wonderful power of his contrast, the depth of his 
 knowledge of life and men and tilings, this tremendous story illustrates. How 
 admirably the rise of the poet is traced ; the crescendo is perfect in gradation, yet 
 as inexorable as fate! As for the fall, the effect is more depressing than a 
 personal catastrophe. This is a book to read over and over, an epic of life in 
 prose, more tremendous than the blank verse of " Paradise Lost " or the 
 " Divine Comedy" Miss Wormeley and the publishers deserve not congratula- 
 tions alone, but thanks for adding this book and its predecessor, " Lost Illusions," 
 to the literature of English. — San Francisco Wave. 
 
 Sold by all booksellers. Mailed, post-paid, by the 
 Publis/iers, 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston.
 
 Messrs. Roberts Brothers' Publications. 
 
 BALZAC IN ENGLISH. 
 
 THE BROTHERHOOD OF CONSOLATION. 
 
 (UENVERS DE L'HISTOIRE CONTEMPORAINE.) 
 
 By honoré de BALZAC. 
 
 l. Madame de la Chanterie. 2. The Initiate. Translated by 
 Katharine Prescott Wormeley. i2mo. Half Russia. Price, 
 $1.50. 
 
 There is no book of Balzac which is informed by a loftier spirit than 
 "L'Envers de l'Histoire Contemporaine," which has just been added by Miss 
 Wormeley to her admirable series of translations under the title. " The Brother- 
 hood of Consolation." The title which is given to the translation is, to our 
 thinking, a happier one than that which the work bears in the original, since, after 
 all, the political and hisiorical portions of the book are only the background of the 
 other and mote absorbing theme, — the development of the brotherhood over 
 which Madame de la Chanterie presided. It is true that there is about it all 
 something theatrical, something which shows the French taste for making godli- 
 ness itself liislrionically effective, that quality of mind which would lead a Parisian 
 to criticise the coming of the judgment angels if their entrance were not happily 
 arranged and properly executed ; but in spite of this there is an elevation such as 
 it is rare to meet with in literature, and especially in the literature of Balzac's age 
 and land. The story is admirably told, and the figure of the Baron Bourlac is 
 really noble in its martyrdom of self-denial and heroic patience. The picture of 
 the Jewish doctor is a most characteristic piece of work, and shows Balzac's 
 intimate touch in every line. Balzac was always attracted by the mystical side 
 of the phvsical nature ; and it might ahnost be said that everything that savored 
 of mystery, even though it ran obviously into quackery, had a strong attraction 
 for him. He pictures Halpersohn with a few strokes, but his picture of him has 
 a striking vitality and reality. The volume is a valuable and attractive addition to 
 the series to which it belongs; and the series comes as near to fulfilling the ideal 
 o' what translations should be as is often granted to earthly things. — Boston 
 Courier. 
 
 The book, which is one of rare charm, is one of the most refined, while at the 
 same time tragic, of all his works. — Public Opinion. 
 
 His present work is a fiction beautiful in its conception, just one of those 
 practical ideals which Balzac nourished and believed in. There never was greater 
 iiomage than he pavs to the book of books, " The Imitation of Jesus Christ." 
 Miss Wormeley has here accomplished her work just as cleverly as in her other 
 volumes of Balzac. — N. V. Times 
 
 Sold bv all booksellers. Mailed, post-paid, by the 
 Piiblishers, 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston.
 
 Messrs. Roberts Brothers Publications. 
 
 25aÏ5ac in ^ngïi^t), 
 
 THE VILLAGE RECTOR. 
 
 By Honoré de Balzac. 
 
 Translated by Katharine Prescoft Wormeley. i2mo. 
 Half Russia. Price, $1.50. 
 
 Once more tliat wonderful acquaintance wliich Kalzac had with all callings 
 appears manifest in this work. Would you get to the bottom of the engineer's 
 occupation in France? Balzac presents it in the whole system, with its aspects, 
 disadvantages, and the excellence of the work accomplished. We write to-day 
 of irrigation and of arboriculture as if they were novelties ; yet in the waste lands 
 of Montagnac, Balzac found these topics ; and what he wrote is the clearest 
 exposition of the subjects. 
 
 Hut, above all, in "The Village Rector" is found the most potent of religious 
 ideas, — the one that God grants pardon to sinners. Balzac had studied and 
 appreciated the intensely human side of Catholicism and its ada|itiveness to the 
 w.mts of mankind. It is religion, with Balzac, " that opens to us an inexhaustible 
 treasure of indulgence." It is true repentance that saves. 
 
 The drama which is unrolled in "The Village Rector " is a terrible one, and 
 perhaps repugnant to our sensitive minds. The selection of such a plot, pitiless 
 as it is, Balzac made so as to present the darkest side of human nature, and to 
 show how, through God's pity, a soul might be saved. The instrument of mercy 
 is the Rector Bonnet, and in the chapter entitled "The Rector at Work" he 
 shows how religion " extends a man's life beyond the world." It is not sufficient 
 to weep and moan. "That is but the beginning; the end is action." Th« 
 rector urges the woman whose sins are great to devote what remains of her lifst 
 to work for the benefit of her brothers and sisters, and so she sets about reclaim- 
 ing the waste lands which surround her chateau. With a talent of a superlative 
 order, which gives grace to Véronique, she is like the Madonna of some old panel 
 of Van Eyck's Doing penance, she wears close to her tender skin a haircloth 
 vestment. For love of her, a man has committed murder and died and kept his 
 secret. In her youth, Veronique's face had been pitted, but her saintly life had 
 obliterated that spotted mantle of smallpox. Tears had washed out every blemish. 
 If through true repentance a soul was ever saved, it was Veronique's. This 
 work, too, has afiforded consolation to many miserable sinners, and showed them 
 the way to grace. 
 
 The present translation is to be cited for its wonderful accuracy and its literary 
 distinction. We can hardly think of a more difficult task than the Englishing of 
 Balzac, and a general reading public should be grateful for the admirable manner 
 in which Miss Wormeley has performed her task. — AViw ï'ork Times. 
 
 Sold by all booksellers. Mailed, post-paid, on receipt 
 of p? ice by the Publishers, 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS. Boston. Mass.
 
 Messrs. Roberts BrotJiers' Publications. 
 
 25al5ac in «Êngli^sfî). 
 
 Memoirs of Two Young Married Women. 
 
 By Honoré de Balzac. 
 
 Translated by Katharine Prescott VVormeley. i2mo. 
 Half Russia. Price, $1.50. 
 
 "There are," says Henry James in one of his essays, "two writers In 
 Balzac, — the spontaneous one and the reflective one, the former of 
 which is much the more dehghtful, while the latter is the more extraordi- 
 nary." It is the reflective Balzac, the Balzac with a theory, whom we 
 get in the "Deux Jeunes Mariées," now translated by Miss Wormeley 
 under the title of " Memoirs of Two Young Married Women." The 
 theory of Balzac is that the marriage of convenience, properly regarded, 
 is far preferable to the marriage simply from love, and he undertakes to 
 prove this proposition by contrasting the careers of two young girls who 
 have been fellow-students at a convent. One of them, the ardent and 
 passionate Louise de Chaulieu, has an intrigue with a Spanish refugee, 
 finally marries him, kills him, as she herself confesses, by her perpetual 
 jealousy and exaction, mourns his loss bitterly, then marries a golden- 
 haired youth, lives with him in a dream of ecstasy for a year or so, and 
 this time kills herself through jealousy wrongfully inspired. As for bel 
 friend, Renée de Maucombe, she dutifully makes a marriage to please her 
 parents, calculates coolly beforehand how many children she will have and 
 how they shall be trained; insists, however, that the marriage shall be 
 merely a civil contract till she and her husband find that their hearts are 
 indeed one; and sees all her brightest visions realized, — her Louis an 
 ambitious man for her sake and her children truly adorable creatures. 
 The siory, which is told in the form of letters, fairly scintillates witli 
 brilliant sayings, and is filled with eloquent discourses concerning the 
 nature of love, conjugal and otherwise. Louise and Renée are both 
 extremely sophisticated young women, even in their teens ; and those 
 who expect to find in their letters the demure innocence of the Anglo- 
 Saxon type will be somewhat astonished. The translation, under the 
 circumstances, was ratlier a daring attempt, but it has been most felicit- 
 ously done. — The Beacon. 
 
 Sold by all booksellers. Mailed, postpaid, on receipt of 
 price by the Publishers, 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS. Boston. Mass.
 
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