THE FRENCH CLASSICAL ROMANCES
 
 F*' 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 FREDERIC THOMAS BLANCHARD
 
 
 
 The 
 French Classical Romances 
 
 Complete in Twenty Crown Octavo Volumes 
 Editor-in-Chief 
 
 EDMUND GOSSE, LL.D. 
 
 With Critical Introductions and Interpretative Essays by 
 
 HENRY JAMES PROF. RICHARD 3URTON HENRY HARLAND 
 
 ANDREW LANG PROF. F. C. DE bTMlCHRAST 
 
 THE EARL OF CREWE HIS EXCELLENCY M. CAMBON 
 
 I'ROF. WM. P. TRENT ARTHUR SYMONS MAURICE HEWLETT 
 
 DR. JAMES FITZMAURICE-KELLY RICHARD MANSFIELD 
 
 BOOTH TARKINGTON DR. RICHARD GARNETT 
 
 PROF. WILLIAM M. SLOANE JOHN OLIVER HOBBES
 
 OCTAVE FEUILLET 
 
 The 
 
 Romance of a 
 Poor Young Man 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH 
 BY C. G. COMPTON 
 
 WITH A CRITICAL INTRODUCTION 
 BY HENRY HARLAND 
 
 A FRONTISPIECE AND NUMEROUS 
 
 OTHKR PORTRAITS WITH 
 
 DESCRIPTIVE NOTES BY 
 
 OCTAVE UZANNE 
 
 P. F. COLLIER e- SON- 
 NEW YORK
 
 <;<>* YRfOHT, 1901 
 BY . M-PI.KTON fc COM
 
 College 
 Library 
 
 To be serious seriously is the way of medioc- 
 rity. To be serious gaily is not such an easy mat- 
 ter. To look on at the pantomime of things, and 
 to see, neatly separated, tragedy here, comedy op- 
 posite to miss the perpetual dissolution and reso- 
 lution of the one into and out of the other is 
 inevitable when eyes are purblind. Diis aliter 
 visum. Olympus laughs because it perceives so 
 many capital reasons for pulling a long face ; and 
 half the time pulls a long face simply to keep 
 from laughing. I imagine it is in some measure 
 the Olympian manner of seeing which explains 
 the gay seriousness of the work of Octave Feuillet. 
 
 Octave Feuillet possesses to an altogether re- 
 markable degree the art of being serious not only 
 gaily, but charmingly. This, to begin with, places 
 him and his stories in a particular atmosphere ; and, 
 if we consider it, I think we shall recognise that 
 atmosphere as something very like the old familiar 
 atmosphere of the fairy-tale. At any rate, there 
 
 V i Vol. 9
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 is a delicate, a fanciful symbolism in Feuillet's 
 work, which breathes a fragrance unmistakably 
 reminiscent of the enchanted forest. For an in- 
 stance, one may recall the chapter in Un Mariage 
 dans le Monde which relates the escapade of Lionel 
 and his betrothed on the day before their wedding. 
 A conventional mother, busy with preparations for 
 the ceremony, intrusts her daughter to the chap- 
 eronage of an old aunt, who is, we might suppose, 
 exactly the person for the office. But old aunts 
 are sometimes wonderfully made ; sometimes they 
 keep the most unlooked-for surprises up those 
 capacious old-fashioned sleeves of theirs. This one 
 was a fairy godmother in disguise, and, I suspect, 
 a pupil of the grimly-benevolent Blackstick. With 
 good-humoured cynicism, she remarks that the hap- 
 piest period of even the happiest married life is the 
 day before it begins, and she advises her young 
 charges to make the most of it chases them, 
 indeed, from her presence. " Be off with you, my 
 children ! Come, be off with you at once !" They 
 escape to the park, where they romp like a pair of 
 truant school-children. That is all ; but in Feuil- 
 let's hands it becomes a fairy idyl. It serves, be- 
 sides, the symbolic purpose of striking at the out- 
 set the note of joyousness which he means to re- 
 peat at the end, though the book is one that 
 
 vi
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 threatens, almost to the last page, to end on a 
 note of despair. For Un Mariage dans le Monde, 
 if far from being the most successful of Feuillet's 
 novels, exhibits, none the less, some of his cleverest 
 craftsmanship. He hoodwinks us into the fear 
 that he meditates disaster, only pleasantly, genial- 
 ly, at the right moment, to disappoint us with the 
 denouement we could have wished. 
 
 Feuillet's geniality, for that matter, runs through 
 all his books, and is one of the vital principles of 
 his talent. It is never the flaccid geniality, the 
 amiability, of the undiscerning person ; it is, rather, 
 the wise and alert geniality of the benign magician, 
 who is sometimes constrained to weave black 
 spells, because that is a part of the game, and in 
 the day's work, as it were, but who puts his heart 
 only into the weaving of spells that are rose-col- 
 oured. This is perhaps why Feuillet's nice people 
 nearly always take flesh and live and breathe, his 
 horrid people hardly ever another resemblance, 
 by-the-bye, between him and the writer of fairy- 
 tales. The nice women, with their high-bred lovers, 
 who step so daintily through his pages, to the flut- 
 ter of perfumed fans and the rustle of fine silks, 
 are as convincing as the palpitantly convincing 
 princesses of Hans Andersen and Grimm ; but 
 Feuillet's villains and adventuresses, like the ogres 
 
 vii
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 and the witches we never very heartily believe in, 
 are, for the most part, the merest stereotypes of 
 vice and wickedness, always artificial, too often a 
 trifle absurd. 
 
 In Monsieur de Cantors, for example, we have an 
 elaborate study of a man who has determined to live 
 by the succinct principle, " Evil, be thou my good " 
 a succinct enough principle, in all conscience, 
 though Feuillet requires a lengthy chapter and a 
 suicide to enunciate it. The idea, if not original, 
 might, in some hands, lend itself to interesting 
 development ; but not so in Feuillet's. From the 
 threshold we feel that he is handicapped by his 
 theme. It hangs round his neck like the mill-stone 
 of the adage ; it checks his artistic impulses, ob- 
 scures his artistic instincts. The quips and cranks, 
 the wreathed smiles, of Feuillet the humourist, 
 were out of place in a stupendous epopee of this 
 sort ; so, for the sake of a psychological abstrac- 
 tion, which hasn't even the poor merit of novelty, 
 we must look on ruefully, while our merryman, 
 divested of cap and bells, proses to the end of his 
 four sad hundred pages. There are novelists who 
 must work with an abstraction, who can see their 
 characters and their incidents only as they illustrate 
 an abstraction ; and these also achieve their effects 
 and earn their rewards. But Feuillet belongs in a 
 
 viii
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 different galley. A handful of human nature, a 
 pleasing countryside, and Paris in the distance 
 these are his materials. The philosophy and the plot 
 may come as they will, and it really doesn't much 
 matter if they never come at all. To give Feuil- 
 let a subject is to attach a chain and ball to his 
 pen. He is never so debonair, so sympathetic, so 
 satisfying a writer, as when he has something just 
 short of nothing to write about. 
 
 In Monsieur de Cantors he has a tre-mendous 
 deal to write about ; his subject weighs his pen to 
 the earth. The result is a book that's a monstros- 
 ity, and a protagonist who's a monster. Louis de 
 Camors is as truly a monster as any green dragon 
 that ever spat fire or stole king's daughters (though 
 by no means so exciting a monster), and he hasn't 
 even the virtue of being a monster that hangs to- 
 gether. For, while we are asked to think of him 
 as destitute of natural affections, he is at the same 
 time shown to us as the fond idolater of his wife, 
 his wife's mother, and his son. On his son's ac- 
 count, indeed, he goes so far as to spend a long 
 cold night in a damp and uncomfortable wood, 
 only to be dismissed in the morning without the 
 embrace, in the hope of gaining which he has vio- 
 lated his philosophy and taken the chances of rheu- 
 matism. Altogether a man devoid of affections, 
 
 ix
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 who loves his son, his wife, and his mother-in-law, 
 may be regarded as doing pretty well. Again 
 (since we are on the chapter of inconsistencies), 
 in that dreary and pompous letter written to Louis 
 by his father, which expounds the text of what 
 becomes the son's rule of conduct, he is gravely 
 charged to fling religion and morality out of the 
 window, but to cherish "honour" as it were his 
 life. " It is clear that a materialist can't be a saint, 
 but he can be a gentleman, and that is something," 
 complacently writes the elder Comte de Camors. 
 Louis, however, though he makes loud acts of 
 faith in this inexpensive gospel, never hesitates to 
 betray his friend, to seduce the wife of his bene- 
 factor, nor to marry an unsuspecting child, who 
 loves him, for the sheer purpose of screening an 
 intrigue with " another lady," which he still intends 
 to carry on. Feuillet, perhaps, saves his face by 
 heaping upon this impossible being's head all the 
 punishments that are poetically due to crime, but 
 he doesn't save Monsieur dc Camors. It is a dis- 
 mal volume, uncommonly hard to read. And yet 
 art will out ; and dismal as it is, it presents to 
 us one of Feuillet's most captivating women, Louis 
 de Camors' ingenuous little wife. Listen to her 
 artless pronouncement upon Monsieur's evangel 
 of "honour." "Mon Dieu," she says, "I'm not 
 
 x
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 sure, but it seems to me that honour apart from 
 morality is nothing very great, and that morality 
 apart from religion is nothing at all. It's like a 
 chain : honour hangs in the last link, like a flower ; 
 but when the chain is broken, the flower falls with 
 the rest." 
 
 If, however, Feuillet's villains are failures, his 
 adventuresses and bad women are grotesquer fail- 
 ures still. And no wonder. His reluctance to 
 fashion an ugly thing out of material that would, 
 in the natural course of his impressions, suggest to 
 him none but ideas of beauty, is quite enough to 
 account for it. Octave Feuillet is too much a 
 gentleman, too much a preux chevalier, to be able 
 to get any intellectual understanding of a bad 
 woman ; the actual operations of a bad woman's 
 soul are things he can get no rt realizing sense " of. 
 So he dresses up a marionette, which shall do all 
 the wicked feminine things his game necessitates, 
 which shall plot and poison, wreck the innocent 
 heroine's happiness, attitudinize as a fiend in wom- 
 an's clothing, and even, at a pinch, die a violent 
 death, but which shall never let us forget that it is 
 stuffed with saw-dust and moved by strings. Ma- 
 dame de Campvallon, Sabine Tallevaut, Madem- 
 oiselle Helouin, even Julia de Trecoeur the 
 more they change, the more they are the same: 
 
 xi
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 sister-puppets, dolls carved from a common parent- 
 block, to be dragged through their appointed ca- 
 reers of improbable naughtiness. You can recog- 
 nise them at once by their haunting likeness to 
 the proud beauties of the hair-dresser's window. 
 They are always statuesque, always cold, reserved, 
 mysterious, serpentlike, goddesslike everything, 
 in fine, that bad women of flesh and blood are not. 
 Octave Feuillet, the wit and the man of the world, 
 knows this as well as we do ; and knowing it, he 
 tries, by verbal fire-works, to make us forget it. 
 " She charms me she reminds me of a sorceress," 
 says some one of Sabine Tallevant. " Do you no- 
 tice, she walks without a sound ? Her feet scarcely 
 touch the earth she walks like a somnambulist 
 like Lady Macbeth." It is the old trick, the tra- 
 ditional boniment of the showman ; but not all the 
 boniments in Feuillet's sack can make us believe in 
 Sabine Tallevaut. 
 
 One can recognise Feuillet's bad women, too, 
 by the uncanny influence they immediately cast 
 upon his men. " More taciturn than ever, absent, 
 strange, as if she were meditating some profound 
 design, all at once she seemed to wake ; she lifted 
 her long lashes, let her blue eyes wander here 
 and there, and suddenly looked straight at Ca- 
 mors, who was conscious of a thrill " that is 
 
 xii
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 how Mme. de Campvallon does it, and the fact 
 is conclusive, so far as her moral character is in 
 question. None of Feuillet's good women would 
 ever dream of making a man "thrill" at her first 
 encounter with him. But Feuillet's bad women 
 will stop at nothing. Julia de Tre'coeur takes her 
 own step-father, a middle-aged, plain, stout, pro- 
 saic country gentleman, and throws him into a 
 paroxysm that has to be expressed in this wise : 
 " It was a mad intoxication, which the savour 
 of guilt only intensified. Duty, loyalty, honour, 
 whatsoever presented itself as an obstacle to his 
 passion, did but exasperate its fury. The pagan 
 Venus had bitten him in the heart, and injected 
 her poisonso A vision of Julia's fatal beauty was 
 present without surcease, in his burning brain, 
 before his troubled eyes. Avidly, in spite of 
 himself, he drank in her languors, her perfumes, 
 her breath." 
 
 Julia de Trtcceur has sometimes been called 
 Feuillet's master-piece. One eminent critic re- 
 marks that in writing it Feuillet " dived into the 
 vast ocean of human nature, and brought up a 
 pearl." Well, there are pearls and pearls ; there 
 are real pearls and artificial pearls ; there are white 
 pearls and black pearls, It might seem to some 
 of us that Julia de Trfroeur is an artificial black 
 
 Xlll
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 one. Frankly, as a piece of literature, the novel 
 is justr in three words a fairly good melodrama. 
 Julia herself is the proper melodramatic heroine. 
 Her beauty is " fatal," her passions are ungovern- 
 able, and she dearly loves a scene. Now she con- 
 templates retirement into a convent, now matri- 
 mony, now a leap from the cliffs ; and each 
 change of mood is inevitably the occasion for 
 much ranting and much attitudinizing. Her his- 
 tory is a fairly good melodrama. That it is not 
 a tip-top melodrama is due to the circumstance 
 that Feuillet was too intelligent a man to be able 
 to make it so. He can't keep out his wit ; and 
 every now and again his melodrama forgets itself, 
 and becomes sane comedy. He can't keep out 
 his touches of things simple and human ; the 
 high-flown, unhuman remainder suffers from the 
 contrast. 
 
 Why, one wonders, with his flair for the sub- 
 tleties of the normal, with his genius for extract- 
 ing their charm from trifles, why should Feuillet 
 have turned his hand to melodrama at all ? Is 
 it partly because he lived in and wrote for a 
 highly melodramatic period " the dear, good days 
 of the dear, bad Second Empire " ? Partly, too, 
 no doubt, because, as some one has said, the artist 
 can never forgive, though he can easily forget, his 
 
 xiv
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 limitations. Like the comic actor who will not 
 be happy till he has appeared as Hamlet, the 
 novelist, also, will cherish his unreasoning aspira- 
 tions. And then, melodrama is achieved before 
 you know it. Any incident that is not in itself 
 essentially ^dramatic will become melodramatic, 
 when you try to treat it, it will become forced 
 and stagey, if dramatic incidents are not the spon- 
 taneous issue of your talent. Dramatic incidents 
 are far from being the spontaneous issue of Feuil- 
 let's talent ; they are its changelings. His talent 
 is all preoccupied in fathering children of a quite 
 opposite complexion. Style, suavity, elegance, 
 sentiment, colour, atmosphere these are Feuil- 
 let's preoccupations. Action, incident, are, when 
 necessary, necessary evils. So his action, when 
 he is at his best, loiters, saunters, or even stops 
 dead-still ; until suddenly he remembers that, after 
 all, his story must some time reach its period, and 
 that something really must happen to advance it. 
 Thereupon, hurriedly, perfunctorily, carelessly, he 
 " knocks off" a few pages of incident of incident 
 fast and furious which will, as likely as not, read 
 like the prompt-book of a play at the Adelphi. 
 
 That absurd Sabine Tallevaut, whose feet 
 scarcely touch the earth, with poison in her hand 
 and adultery in her heart, is the one disfigurement 
 
 xv
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 upon what might otherwise have been Feuillet's 
 most nearly perfect picture. In spite of her, La 
 Morte remains a work of exquisite and tender 
 beauty ; and I'm not sure whether Aliette de 
 Vaudricourt isn't the very queen of all his women. 
 If Feuillet was too much a gentleman to be able 
 to paint a bad woman, he was too much a man 
 not to revel in painting a charming one. As we 
 pass through his gallery of delightful heroines, 
 from Aliette de Vaudricourt to Clothilde de Lu- 
 can, to Mme. de Te"cle, Marie FitzGerald, " Miss 
 Mary " de Camors, Marguerite Laroque, even to 
 Jeanne de Maurescamp, we can feel the man's 
 admiration pulsing in every stroke of the artist's 
 brush. He takes the woman's point of view, 
 espouses her side of the quarrel, offers himself 
 as her champion wherever he finds that a cham- 
 pion is needed. And he sticks to his allegiance 
 even after, as in the case of Jeanne de Maures- 
 camp, she might seem to have forfeited her claim 
 to it. Of Jeanne he can still bring himself to 
 say, at the end of UHistoire d'une Parisienne : 
 "Decidedly, this angel had become a monster; 
 but the lesson of her too-true story is, that, in 
 the moral order, no one is born a monster. God 
 makes no monsters. It is man who makes them." 
 In this instance, however, Feuillet is, perhaps, 
 xvi
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 rather the apologist than the champion. His con- 
 tention is that Jeanne was by nature virtuous, and 
 that her virtue has been destroyed by the stu- 
 pidity and the brutality of her ill-chosen hus- 
 band. But Feuillet has too fine and too judicious 
 a wit to insist upon the note of strenuousness. 
 Seeing the woman's point of view, he sees its 
 humours as well as its pathos. Admitting that 
 men for the most part are grossly unworthy of 
 her, and that woman has infinitely the worst of 
 it in the arrangements of society, admitting and 
 deploring it, he doesn't profess to know how to 
 set it right ; he has no practical reform to preach. 
 His business is to divert us, and, if he must be 
 serious, to be serious gaily and charmingly. And 
 perhaps he is most serious, not when composing 
 an epitaph for Jeanne de Maurescamp, but when 
 he is lightly saying (in the person of the Comtesse 
 Jules) : " Always remember, my poor dear, that 
 women are born to suffer and men to be suf- 
 fered." 
 
 Charmingly serious himself, Feuillet's heroines 
 likewise are always serious, in their different 
 charming ways. They may be wilful and capri- 
 cious, like Marguerite Laroque, or fond of the 
 excitements of the world, like Mme. de Rias, 
 or wise in their generation, like Mme. de la 
 
 xvii
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 Veyle, but they are always womanly and human 
 at the red-ripe of the heart, and they are almost 
 always religious. A sceptic, scepticlike, Feuil- 
 let utterly discountenances scepticism in woman. 
 Even his most recusant of masculine unbelievers, 
 the Vicomte de Vaudricourt, proclaims his prefer- 
 ence for a pious wife. " Not, of course," he says, 
 "that I exaggerate the moral guarantees offered 
 by piety, or that I mistake it for a synonym of 
 virtue. But still it is certain that with women 
 the idea of duty is rarely dissociated from religious 
 ideas. Because religion doesn't keep all of them 
 straight, it is an error to conclude that it keeps 
 none of them straight ; and it's always well to be 
 on the safe side." Elsewhere Feuillet gives us 
 his notion of the moral outlook of the woman 
 who is not religious. Evil for her, he tells us, 
 ceases to be evil, and becomes simply inconve- 
 nance. Tis a very mannish, a very Frenchman- 
 nish, way of viewing the thing. 
 
 One has sometimes heard it maintained that 
 only women can reveal themselves with perfect 
 grace in a form so intimate as letters or a diary ; 
 that a man's hand is apt to be too heavy, his 
 manner too self-conscious. Perhaps it is Feuil- 
 let's sympathy with women that has made him the 
 dab he is at this womanly art. In La Mortc, for 
 
 xviii
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 instance, we learn vastly more of Bernard's char- 
 acter from his diary than we should from thrice 
 the number of pages of third-personal exposition. 
 The letters from Marie to her mother, in Mon- 
 sieur de Cantors, furnish the single element of 
 relief in that lugubrious composition. Even those 
 that pass between Rias and Mme. de Lorris, in 
 Un Mariage dans le Monde though their sub- 
 ject-matter is sufficiently depressing, though the 
 man is an egotistical cad, and the great lady who 
 is giving him her help and pity ought rather to 
 despise and spurn him are exceedingly good and 
 natural letters ; and the letter from Mme. de Rias 
 to Ke>ern, which ends the book, is a very jewel 
 of a letter. But it is in the diary of his poor 
 young man that Feuillet's command of the first 
 person singular attains its most completely satis- 
 fying results. 
 
 Le Roman d'un Jeune Homme Pauvre is a tale 
 of youth, for the young ; and the eldest of us may 
 count himself still young if he can still enjoy it. 
 Here we have romance pure and simple, a thing 
 of glamour all compact ; and the danger-line that 
 so definitely separates romance from absurdity, yet 
 leaves them so perilously near together, is never 
 crossed. The action passes in the country, and in 
 the most delectable sort of country at that the 
 
 xix
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 country of the appreciative and imaginative cit. 
 Before all things a Parisian, Feuillet is never par- 
 ticularly happy in presenting Paris. His Paris is 
 correct enough in architecture and topography, no 
 doubt ; but the spirit of Paris, the whatever it is 
 which makes Paris Paris, and not merely a large 
 town, somehow evades him. Possibly he knew 
 his Paris too well ; familiarity had bred a kind of 
 inability to see, to focus, a kind of " staleness.'' 
 Anyhow, it is when he gets away from Paris that he 
 wakes to the opportuneness and the opportunities 
 of scenic backgrounds. His eye, "stale" to town, 
 is now all eagerness, all freshness. Impressions of 
 beauty crowd upon him. He sees the country as 
 it is doubtful whether the countryman ever sees 
 it the countryman who has been surfeited with 
 it, who has long since forgotten its first magical 
 effect. He brings to the country the sensitiveness 
 which is the product of the city's heat and strife. 
 Dew and wild flowers, the green of grass and trees, 
 the music of birds, the flutter of their wings, the 
 pure air, the wide prospects, the changing lights- 
 it is to the appreciative and imaginative townsman 
 that these speak their finest message. 
 
 But Feuillet is more than a townsman : he is 
 a teller of fairy-tales. To him the country is a 
 free playground for his fancy. There beautiful 
 
 xx
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 ladies and gallant knights have nothing to do but 
 to love and to sing ; and there, without destroying 
 our illusion, he can leave them to live happily for- 
 ever after. The Brittany, in which Maxime and 
 Marguerite meet and misunderstand and woo and 
 wed, is not that northwestern corner of France 
 that one can reach in a few hours by steamer from 
 Southampton ; it is a Brittany of fairy woods and 
 streams and castles, that never was, save in the 
 poet's dream. For if others of Feuillet's novels 
 have been only in part fairy-tales, or only rather 
 like fairy-tales, the Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 is a fairy-tale wholly and absolutely. The person- 
 ages of the story are the invariable personages of 
 the fairy-tale : the prince disguised as a wood-cut- 
 ter, in the Marquis de Champcey disguised as a 
 farm-bailiff ; the haughty princess, who will not 
 love, yet loves despite her will, and is rewarded by 
 the wood-cutter's appearing in all the prince's splen- 
 dour at the proper time, in Marguerite Laroque ; 
 the bad prince and the bad princess, in M. de 
 Be"vallon and Mile. Helouin ; the good magician, 
 in M. Laube*pin ; and the delightfullest of conceiv- 
 able fairy godmothers, in Mile, de Porhoet. And 
 the progress of the story is the wonted progress of 
 the fairy-tale. There is hardship, but it is overcome ; 
 there are perils, but they are turned ; misconceptions, 
 
 xxi
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 but they are cleared up. There are empty pockets, 
 but there is the bag of gold waiting to fill them. 
 The marvellous never shocks our credulity, the 
 longest-armed coincidences seem the most natural 
 happenings in the world. We are not in the least 
 surprised when, at the right moment, the bag of 
 gold appears at Maxime's feet, enabling him to 
 marry ; it is the foregone consequence of his hav- 
 ing a fairy godmother. We don't even raise the 
 eyebrow of doubt when the Laroques contemplate 
 relinquishing their fortune to the poor, so that 
 Marguerite may come to her lover empty-handed ; 
 that is the accepted device of the fairy-tale for 
 administering to the proud princess her well- 
 deserved humiliation. In one small detail only 
 does the fairy-tale teller lose himself, and let the 
 novelist supplant him ; that is where he implies 
 that the bad prince and princess, after their wicked 
 wiles had been discovered, took the train to Paris. 
 They did nothing of the sort. They were turned 
 into blocks of stone, and condemned to look on at 
 the happiness of the good prince and princess from 
 the terrace of the Chateau de Laroque. 
 
 But it must not be supposed, because the per- 
 sonages of the Romance of a Poor Young Man are 
 fairy-tale personages, that therefore they are not 
 human personages. It is, on the contrary, the 
 
 xxii
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 humanity of its personages that makes your fairy- 
 tale interesting. You stick to human men and 
 women, you merely more or less improve the con- 
 ditions of their existence, you merely revise and 
 amend a little the laws of the external universe 
 an easy thing to do, in spite of the unthinking 
 people who prate of those laws as immutable. 
 Then the fun consists in seeing how human nature 
 will persist and react. Surely none of Feuillet's 
 heroines is more engagingly human than Margue- 
 rite Laroque. It is true that we see her only 
 through the eyes of a chronicler who happens to 
 be infatuated with her, but we know what dis- 
 count to allow for that. We are confident from 
 her first entrance that if, as we hope, our poor 
 young man's head is screwed on as poor young 
 men's heads should be, Marguerite will turn it. 
 We learn that she is capricious, therefore Maxime 
 will be constant ; that she is proud, therefore, in 
 all humility, he will be prouder ; that she is hum- 
 ble, therefore, in all pride, he will humble himself 
 at her feet. But antecedent to all this, and just 
 because his ostensible business in Brittany is the 
 management of the Laroques' estate, no one needs 
 to warn us that his real business will be the con- 
 quest of the Laroques' daughter. We can foresee 
 with half an eye that the affairs of the estate are 
 
 xxiii
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 affairs which our disguised marquis will consci- 
 entiously neglect. Indeed, Mme. Laroque her- 
 self seems to have been haunted by something of 
 the same premonition. What does she say to the 
 sous-pre'fet ? " Mon Dieu, ne m'en parlez pas ; 
 il-y-a la un mystere inconcevable. Nous pensons 
 que c'est quelque prince de'guise'. . . . Entre 
 nous, mon cher sous-pre'fet, je crois bien que c'est 
 un tres-mauvais intendant, mais vraiment c'est un 
 homme tres-agre"able." 
 
 She might have added " un homme tres-digne." 
 For if we have a fault to find with Maxime, it is 
 that he seems just possibly a thought too " digne." 
 But that is a fault common to so many men in 
 fiction. French novelists, like English lady novel- 
 ists, are terribly apt to make their men too " digne " 
 when they don't make them too unspeakably in- 
 digne. Maxime, however, we mustn't forget, is his 
 own portraitist, and we'll hope in this detail the 
 portrait errs. For the rest, we are content to ac- 
 cept it as he paints it. He is a poor young man, 
 but he is also a fairy prince. Therefore he can 
 vaunt himself as an ordinary poor young man 
 could hardly do with taste. He can perform and 
 narrate his prodigies of skill and valour without 
 offending. He can rescue an enormous Newfound- 
 land dog from a raging torrent, for example, with 
 
 xxiv
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 the greatest ease in the world, an exploit you or I 
 might have found ticklish, and he can tell us of it 
 afterward, a proceeding you or I might have shrunk 
 from as vainglorious. For Maxime is a fairy prince ; 
 the dog belongs to the fairy princess ; and the bad 
 prince, the rival, who is standing by, doesn't know 
 how to swim. Again, with splendid indifference, 
 he can accomplish and record his leap from the 
 Tour d' Elven to save the fairy princess from a 
 situation that might, in Fairyland, have compro- 
 mised her ; hadn't the princess unjustly impugned 
 his honour, and insinuated that the situation was 
 one he had deliberately brought to pass ? " Mon- 
 sieur le Marquis de Champcey, y a-t-il eu beaucoup 
 de laches dans votre famille avant vous ? " superb- 
 ly demands Marguerite ; and we can see her kin- 
 dling eye, the scornful curl of her lip, we can hear 
 the disdainful tremor of her voice. Maxime 
 would be a poor-spirited poor young man, indeed, 
 if, after that, he should hesitate to jump. And 
 he has his immediate compensation. " Maxime ! 
 Maxime!" cries the haughty princess, now all 
 remorse, " par grace, par pitie" ! au nom du bon 
 Dieu, parlez-moi ! pardonnez-moi ! " So that, 
 though the prince goes away with a broken arm, 
 the lover carries exultancy in his heart. 
 
 Is Maxime perhaps just a thought too "digne," 
 
 XXV
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 also, in his relations with his little sister when 
 he visits her at school, for instance, and promises 
 to convey the bread she cannot eat to some deserv- 
 ing beggar ? At the moment he is the most de- 
 serving beggar he chances to know of, but he is 
 resolved to keep his beggary a secret from HeUene. 
 " Cher Maxime," says she, " a bientot, n'est-ce pas ? 
 Tu me diras si tu as rencontre* un pauvre, si tu lui 
 as donne" mon pain, et s'il 1'a trouve* bon." And 
 Maxime, in his journal : " Oui, Helene, j'ai ren- 
 contre" un pauvre, et je lui ai donne" ton pain, qu'il 
 a emporte" comme une proie dans sa mansarde soli- 
 taire, et il 1'a trouve" bon ; mais c'e*tait un pauvre 
 sans courage, car il a pleure" en devorant I'aum6ne 
 de tes petites mains bien-aime"es. Je te dirai tout 
 cela, He"lene, car il est bon que tu saches qu'il y a 
 sur la terre des soufTrances plus se"rieuses que tes 
 souffrances d'enfant : je te dirai tout, excepte* le 
 nom du pauvre." It certainly is " digne," isn't it ? 
 Is it a trifle too much so ? Isn't it a trifle priggish, 
 a trifle preachy ? Is it within the limits of pure 
 pathos ? Or does it just cross the line ? I don't 
 know. 
 
 I am rather inclined to think that Maxime is 
 at his best at once most human and most fairy 
 princelike in his relations with the pre-eminently 
 human fairy Porhoet. He is entirely human, and 
 
 xxvi
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 weak, and nice, when he blurts out to her the 
 secret of his high birth. Hadn't she just been 
 boasting of her own, and invidiously citing Mon- 
 sieur 1'intendant as a typical plebeian ? " En ce 
 qui me concerne, mademoiselle," he has the human 
 weakness to retort, " vous vous trompez, car ma 
 famille a eu 1'honneur d'etre allie'e a la votre, et 
 re'ciproquement." He remains human and weak 
 throughout the somewhat embarrassing explana- 
 tions that are bound to follow ; and if, in their 
 subsequent proceedings, after she has adopted him 
 as " mon cousin," he will still from time to time 
 become a trifle priggish and a trifle preachy, we 
 must remember that mortal man, in the hands of 
 a French novelist, has to choose between that and 
 a career of profligacy. 
 
 It is by his Roman d'un Jeune Homme Paiivre 
 that Feuillet is most widely known outside of 
 France ; it is by this book that he will " live," if 
 he is to live. Certainly it is his freshest, his sin- 
 cerest, his most consistently agreeable book. 
 
 HENRY HARLAND, 
 
 XXVll
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 
 
 OCTAVE FEUILLET was born at Saint-L6, in 
 the department of the Manche, on the nth of 
 August, 1821. His father, who belonged to one of 
 the oldest Norman families, was secretary-general 
 to the prefect, and a little later, in the revolution 
 of 1830, played a prominent part in politics. A 
 hereditary nervousness, amounting finally to a 
 disease, alone prevented him, according to Guizot, 
 from being given a portfolio in the new ministry. 
 Octave inherited his father's excessive sensibility, 
 although in later years he held it more under 
 control. After the death of his mother, which oc- 
 curred as he was developing in boyhood, he became 
 so melancholy that, at the advice of the physicians, 
 he was sent to a school in Paris, where his health 
 gradually became re-established ; afterward, at the 
 College de Louis-le-Grand, he greatly distinguished 
 himself as a scholar. It was his father s design 
 to prepare him for the diplomatic career, but 
 already the desire to write had awakened itself in 
 
 xxix 2 Vol. 9
 
 Biographical Note 
 
 him. When the moment came for choosing a pro- 
 fession, Octave timidly confessed his determination 
 to make literature his business in life ; the irascible 
 old gentleman at Saint-L6 t^lrned him out of the 
 house, and cut off his allowance. He returned to 
 Paris, and for three years had a hard struggle 
 with poverty. During this time, under the encour- 
 agement of the great actor Bocage, Octave Feuil- 
 let brought out three dramas, " Echec et Mat" 
 " Palma" and "La Vieillesse de Richelieu" under 
 the pseudonym of "De'sire 1 Hazard." These were 
 successful, and the playwright's father forgave and 
 welcomed him back to his favour. Octave remained 
 in Paris, actively engaged in literary work, mainly 
 dramatic, but gradually in the line of prose fiction 
 also. In 1846 he published his novel of " Polichi- 
 nelle" followed in 1848 by " Onesta" in 1849 by 
 " Redemption" and in 1850 by " Bellah" None of 
 these are remembered among Octave Feuillefs best 
 works, but he was gaining skill and care in compo- 
 sition. In 1850, however, he was suddenly sum- 
 moned home to Saint-L6 by the increased melan- 
 choly of his father, who could no longer safely be 
 left alone in the gloomy ancestral mansion which he 
 refused to leave. Octave, with resignation, de- 
 termined to sacrifice his life to the care of his 
 father, and in this piety he was supported by his 
 
 XXX
 
 Biographical Note 
 
 charming cousin, Vale"rie Feuillet, a very accom- 
 plished and devoted woman, whom he married in 
 1851. For eight years they shared this painful 
 exile, the father of Octave scarcely permitting them 
 to leave his sight, and refusing every other species 
 of society. Strangely enough, this imprisonment 
 was not unfavourable to the novelist's genius ; the 
 books he wrote during this period " JDalila" "La 
 Petite Comtesse" (1856), "Le Village" and finally 
 " Le Roman d'un Jeune Homme Pauvre (1858) 
 being not only far superior to what he had previ- 
 ously published, but among the very finest of all his 
 works. By a grim coincidence, on almost the only 
 occasion on which Octave Feuillet ventured to ab- 
 sent himself for a day or two, to be present at the 
 performance of his "Roman d*un Jeune Homme 
 Pauvre" when it was dramatized in 1858, the 
 father suddenly died while the son was in Paris. 
 This was a great shock to Feuillet, who bitterly 
 and unjustly condemned himself. He was now, 
 however, free, and, with his wife and children, 
 he returned to Paris. He was now very success- 
 ful, and soon became a figure at Compiegne and in 
 the great world. In 1862 he published " Sibylle? 
 and was elected a member of the French Academy. 
 A great favourite of the Emperor and Empress, 
 he was tempted to combine the social life at Court 
 
 xxxi
 
 Biographical Note 
 
 with the labours of literature. His health began 
 to suffer from the strain, and, to recover, he re- 
 tired again to Saint-L6, where he lived, not in the 
 home of his ancestors, but in a little house above 
 the ramparts, called Les Paillers ; for the future 
 he spent only the winter months in Paris. His 
 novels became fewer, but not less carefully pre- 
 pared ; he enjoyed a veritable triumph with "Mon- 
 sieur de Camors " in 1867. Next year he was ap- 
 pointed Royal Librarian at Fontainebleau, an office 
 which he held till the fall of the Empire. He then 
 retired to Les Paillers again, where he had written 
 "Julia de Trtcoeur " in 1868. The end of his life was 
 troubled by domestic bereavement and loss of health ; 
 he hurried restlessly from place to place, a prey 
 to constant nervous agitation. His later writings 
 were numerous, but had not the vitality of those 
 previously mentioned. Octave Feuillet died in 
 Paris, December 28, 1890, and was succeeded at the 
 French Academy by Pierre Loti. Octave was the 
 type of a sensitive, somewhat melancholy fine gen- 
 tleman ; he was very elegant in manners, reserved 
 and ceremonious in society, where he held himself 
 somewhat remote in the radiance of his delicate 
 wit ; but within the bosom of his family he was 
 tenderly and almost pathetically demonstrative. 
 The least criticism was torture to him, and it is 
 
 xxxii
 
 Biographical Note 
 
 said that when his comedy of " La Belle au Bois 
 Dormant " was hissed off the boards of the Vaude- 
 ville in 1865, for three weeks afterward the life of 
 Feuillet was in danger. Fortunately, however, for 
 a "fiery particle " so sensitive, the greater part of 
 his career was one continuous triumph. 
 
 E. G. 
 
 XXXlll
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PACES 
 
 v-xxvii 
 
 Octave Feuillet's Novels 
 
 Henry Harland 
 
 Life of Octave Feuillet xxix-xxxiii 
 
 Edmund Gosse 
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man . . 1-248 
 
 The Portraits of Octave Feuillet .... 249-256 
 Octave Uzanne 
 
 xxxv
 
 THE ROMANCE 
 OF A POOR YOUNG MAN 
 
 Sursum corda ! 
 
 PARIS, April 25, 185-. 
 
 THE second evening I have passed in this mis- 
 erable room, staring gloomily at the bare hearth, 
 hearing the dull monotone of the street, and feel- 
 ing more lonely, more forsaken, and nearer to 
 despair in the heart of this great city than a ship- 
 wrecked man shivering on a broken plank in mid- 
 ocean. 
 
 I have done with cowardice. I will look my 
 destiny in the face till it loses its spectral air. 
 I will open my sorrowful heart to the one 
 confidant whose pity will not hurt, to that pale 
 last friend who looks back at me from the 
 glass. I will write down my thoughts and my 
 life, not in trivial and childish detail, but without 
 serious omissions, and above all without lies. I 
 shall love my journal ; it will be a brotherly echo 
 to cheat my loneliness, and at the same time a 
 
 i
 
 second conscience warning me not to allow any- 
 thing to enter into my life which I dare not write 
 down calmly with my own hand. 
 
 Now, with sad eagerness I search the past for 
 the facts and incidents which should have long 
 since enlightened me, had not filial respect, habit, 
 and the indifference of a happy idler blinded me. 
 I understand now my mother's deep and constant 
 melancholy ; I understand her distaste for society, 
 and why she wore that plain, unvaried dress which 
 sometimes called forth sarcasms, sometimes wrath 
 from my father. " You look like a servant," he 
 would say to her. 
 
 I could not but be conscious that our family 
 life was broken by more serious quarrels, though 
 I was never an actual witness of them. All I 
 heard were my father's sharp and imperious tones, 
 the murmur of a pleading voice, and stifled sobs. 
 These outbursts I attributed to my father's violent 
 and fruitless attempts to revive in my mother the 
 taste for the elegant and brilliant life which she 
 had once enjoyed as much as becomes a virtuous 
 woman, but into which she now accompanied my 
 father with a repugnance that grew stronger every 
 day. After such crises, my father nearly always 
 ran off to buy some costly trinket which my 
 mother found in her table-napkin at dinner, and
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 never wore. One day in the middle of winter she 
 received a large box of rare flowers from Paris ; 
 she thanked my father warmly, but directly he 
 had left the room, I saw her slightly raise her 
 shoulders and look up to heaven with an expres- 
 sion of hopeless despair. 
 
 During my childhood and early youth I had a 
 great respect for my father, but not much affec- 
 tion. Indeed, throughout this period I saw only 
 the sombre side of his character the one side that 
 showed itself in domestic life, for which he was 
 not fitted. Later, when I was old enough to go 
 out with him, I was surprised and charmed to find 
 in him a person perfectly new to me. It seemed 
 as if, in our old family house, he felt himself con- 
 strained by some fatal spell ; once beyond its 
 doors, his forehead cleared, his chest expanded, 
 and he was young again. " Now, Maxime," he 
 would cry, " now for a gallop ! " And joyously 
 we would rush along. His shouts of youthful 
 pleasure, his enthusiasm, his fantastic wit, his 
 bursts of feeling, charmed my young heart, and I 
 longed to bring something of all this back to my 
 poor mother, forgotten in her corner at home. I 
 began to love my father ; and when I saw all the 
 sympathetic qualities of his brilliant nature dis- 
 played in all the functions of social life at hunts 
 
 3
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 and races, balls and dinners my fondness for him 
 became an actual admiration. A perfect horse- 
 man, a dazzling talker, a bold gambler, daring and 
 open-handed, he became for me the finished type 
 of manly grace and chivalrous nobility. Indeed, 
 he would speak of himself smiling with some 
 bitterness as the last of the gentlemen. 
 
 Such was my father in society ; but as soon 
 as he returned to his home my mother and I saw 
 only a restless, morose, and violent old man. 
 
 My father's outbursts to a creature so sweet 
 and delicate as my mother would certainly have 
 revolted me had they not been followed by the 
 quick returns of tenderness and the redoubled 
 attentions I have mentioned. Justified in my 
 eyes by these proofs of penitence, my father 
 seemed to be only a naturally kind, warm-hearted 
 man sometimes irritated beyond endurance by an 
 obstinate and systematic opposition to all his 
 tastes and preferences. I thought my mother was 
 suffering from some nervous derangement. My 
 father gave me to understand so, though, and as I 
 thought very properly, he only referred to this 
 subject with great reserve. 
 
 I could not understand what were my mother's 
 feelings towards my father ; they were for me 
 beyond analysis or definition. Sometimes a 
 
 4
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 strange severity glittered in the looks she fixed 
 on him ; but it was only a flash, and the next mo- 
 ment her beautiful soft eyes and her unchanged 
 face showed nothing but tender devotion and 
 passionate submission. 
 
 My mother had been married at fifteen, and I 
 was nearly twenty-two when my sister, my poor 
 He"ldne, was born. One morning soon afterwards 
 my father came out of my mother's room looking 
 anxious. He signed to me to follow him into 
 the garden. 
 
 " Maxime," he said, after walking in silence 
 for a little, "your mother gets stranger and 
 stranger." 
 
 " She is so ill just now, father." 
 
 " Yes, of course. But now she has the oddest 
 fancy : she wants you to study law." 
 
 " Law ! What ! Does my mother want me, 
 at my age, with my birth and position, to sit 
 among school-boys on the forms of a college class- 
 room ? It is absurd." 
 
 " So I think," said my father dryly, " but your 
 mother is ill, and there's no more to be said." 
 
 I was a young puppy then, puffed up by my 
 name, my importance, and my little drawing-room 
 successes ; but I was sound at heart, and I wor- 
 shipped my mother, with whom I had lived for 
 
 5
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 twenty years in the closest intimacy possible be- 
 tween two human souls. I hastened to assure her 
 of my obedience ; she thanked me with a sad 
 smile and made me kiss my sister who was sleep- 
 ing on her lap. 
 
 We lived about a mile and a half from Greno- 
 ble, so I could attend the law classes at the uni- 
 versity without leaving home. Day by day my 
 mother followed my progress with such intense 
 and persistent interest that I could not help think- 
 ing that she had some stronger motive than the 
 fancy of an invalid ; that perhaps my father's hatred 
 and contempt for the practical and tedious side of 
 life might have brought about a certain embarrass- 
 ment in our affairs which, my mother thought, a 
 knowledge of law and a business training would 
 enable me to put right. This explanation did 
 not satisfy me. No doubt my father had often 
 complained bitterly of our losses during the Revo- 
 lution, but his complaints had long ceased, and I 
 had never thought them well-founded, because, as 
 far as I could see, our position was in every way 
 satisfactory. 
 
 We lived near Grenoble in our hereditary 
 chateau, which was famous in our country as an 
 aristocratic and lordly dwelling. My fathei and I 
 have often shot or hunted for a whole day without 
 
 6
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 going off our own land or out of our own woods. 
 Our stables were vast, and filled with expensive 
 horses of which my father was very fond and very 
 proud. Besides, we had a town-house in Paris on 
 the Boulevard des Capucines, where comfortable 
 quarters were always reserved for occasional visits. 
 And nothing in our ordinary way of living could 
 suggest either a small income or close manage- 
 ment. Even as regards the table, my father in- 
 sisted upon a particular degree of delicacy and 
 refinement. 
 
 My mother's health declined almost imper- 
 ceptibly. In time there came an alteration in her 
 disposition. The mouth which, at all events in 
 my presence, had spoken only kind words, grew 
 bitter and aggressive. Every step I took beyond 
 the house provoked a sarcasm. My father was 
 not spared, and bore these attacks with a patience 
 that seemed to me exemplary, but he got more 
 and more into the habit of living away from home. 
 He told me that he must have distraction and 
 amusement. He always wanted me to go with 
 him, and my love of pleasure, and the eagerness 
 of youth, and, to speak truly, my lack of moral 
 courage, made me obey him too readily. 
 
 In September, 185-, there were some races 
 near the chateau, and several of my father's horses 
 
 7
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 were to run. We started early and lunched on 
 the course. About the middle of the day, as I 
 was riding by the course watching the fortunes of 
 a race, one of our men came up and said he had 
 been looking for me for more than half an hour. 
 He added that my father had already been sent for 
 and had gone back to my mother at the chateau, 
 and that he wanted me to follow him at once. 
 
 " But what in Heaven's name is the matter?" 
 
 " I think madame is worse," said the servant. 
 
 I set off like a madman. 
 
 When I reached home my sister was playing 
 on the lawn in the middle of the great, silent 
 courtyard. As I dismounted, she ran up to em- 
 brace me, and said, with an air of importance and 
 mystery that was almost joyful : 
 
 " The cure* has come." 
 
 I did not, however, perceive any unusual ani- 
 mation in the house, nor any signs of disorder 
 or alarm. I went rapidly up the staircase, and 
 had passed through the boudoir which communi- 
 cated with my mother's room, when the door 
 opened softly, and my father appeared. I stopped 
 in front of him ; he was very pale, and his lips 
 were trembling. 
 
 o 
 
 " Maxime," he said, without looking at me y 
 "your mother is asking for you." 
 
 8
 
 I wished to question him, but he checked me 
 with a gesture, and walked hurriedly towards a 
 window, as if to look out. I entered. My 
 mother lay half-reclining in an easy-chair, one 
 of her arms hanging limply over the side. Again 
 I saw on her face, now as white as wax, the ex- 
 quisite sweetness and delicate grace which lately 
 had been driven away by suffering. Already the 
 Angel of Eternal Rest was casting the shadow of 
 his wing over that peaceful brow. I fell upon 
 my knees ; she half-opened her eyes, raised her 
 drooping head with an effort, and enveloped me 
 in a long, loving look. Then, in a voice which 
 was scarcely more than a broken sigh, she slowly 
 spoke these words : 
 
 " Poor child ! . . . I am worn out, you see ! 
 Do not weep. You have deserted me a little 
 lately, but I have been so trying. We shall meet 
 again, Maxime, and we shall understand one an- 
 other, my son. I can't say any more. . . . Remind 
 your father of his promise to me. . . . And you, 
 Maxime, be strong in the battle of life, and for- 
 give the weak." 
 
 She seemed to be exhausted, and stopped for 
 a moment. Then, raising a finger with difficulty, 
 and looking at me fixedly, she said : " Your 
 sister ! " 
 
 9
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 Her livid eyelids closed ; then suddenly she 
 opened them, and threw out her arms with a rigid 
 and sinister gesture. I uttered a cry ; my father 
 came quickly, and, with heartrending sobs, pressed 
 the poor martyr's body to his bosom. 
 
 Some weeks later, at the formal request of my 
 father, who said that he was obeying the last wishes 
 of her whom we mourned, I left France, and be- 
 gan that wandering life which I have led nearly 
 up to this day. During a year's absence my heart, 
 becoming more affectionate as the selfish frenzy of 
 youth burnt out, urged me to return and renew 
 my life at its source, between my mother's tomb 
 and my sister's cradle. But my father had fixed 
 the duration of my travels, and he had not 
 brought me up to treat his wishes lightly. He 
 wrote to me affectionately, though briefly, show- 
 ing no desire to hasten my return. So I was the 
 more alarmed when I arrived at Marseilles, two 
 months ago, and found several letters from him, 
 all feverishly begging me to return at once. 
 
 It was on a sombre February evening, that I 
 saw once more the massive walls of our ancient 
 house standing out against the light veil of snow 
 that lay upon the country. A sharp north wind 
 blew in icy gusts ; flakes of frozen sleet dropped 
 like dead leaves from the trees of the avenue, and 
 
 10
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 struck the wet soil with a faint and plaintive 
 sound. As I entered the court a shadow, which 
 I took to be my father's, fell upon a window of 
 the large drawing-room on the ground floor 
 a room which had not been used during my 
 mother's last days. I hurried on, and my father, 
 seeing me, gave a hoarse cry, then opened his 
 arms to me, and I felt his heart beating wildly 
 against my own. 
 
 "Thou art frozen, my poor child," he said, 
 much against his habit, for he seldom addressed 
 me in the second person. " Warm thyself, warm 
 thyself. This is a cold room, but I prefer it now ; 
 at least one can breathe here." 
 
 "Are you well, father?" 
 
 " Pretty well, as you see." 
 
 Leaving me by the fireplace, he resumed his 
 walk across the vast salon, dimly lighted by two 
 or three candles. I seemed to have interrupted 
 this walk of his. This strange welcome alarmed 
 me. I looked at my father in dull surprise. 
 
 " Have you seen my horses?" he said sudden- 
 ly, without stopping. 
 
 " But, father " 
 
 " Ah, yes, of course, you've only just come." 
 After a silence he continued. " Maxime," he said, 
 " I have something to tell you." 
 
 ii
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 "I'm listening, father." 
 
 He did not seem to hear me, but walked about 
 a little, and kept on repeating, " I have something 
 to tell you, my son." At last he sighed deeply, 
 passed his hand across his forehead, and sitting 
 down suddenly, signed to me to take a seat oppo- 
 site to him. Then, as if he wanted to speak and 
 had not the courage to do so, his eyes rested on 
 mine, and I read in them an expression of suffer- 
 ing, humility, and supplication that in a man so 
 proud as my father touched me deeply. What- 
 ever the faults he found it so hard to confess, I 
 felt from the bottom of my heart that he was 
 fully pardoned. 
 
 Suddenly his eyes, which had never left mine, 
 were fixed in an astonished stare, vague and ter- 
 rible. His hand stiffened on my arm ; he raised 
 himself in his chair, then drooped, and in an 
 instant fell heavily on the floor. He was dead. 
 
 The heart does not reason or calculate. That 
 is its glory. In a moment I had divined every- 
 thing. One minute had been enough to show me 
 all at once, and without a word of explanation 
 in a burst of irresistible light, the fatal truth which 
 a thousand things daily repeated under my eyes 
 had never made me suspect. Ruin was here, in 
 this house, over my head. Yet I do not think 
 
 12
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 that I should have mourned my father more sin- 
 cerely or more bitterly if he had left me loaded 
 with benefits. With my regret and my deep sor- 
 row there was mingled a pity, strangely poign- 
 ant in that it was the pity of a son for his father. 
 That beseeching, humbled, hopeless look haunted 
 me. Bitterly I regretted that I had not been 
 able to speak a word of consolation to that heart 
 before it broke ! Wildly I called to him who 
 could no longer hear me, " I forgive you, I for- 
 give you." My God, what moments were these ! 
 As far as I have been able to guess, my mother, 
 when she was dying, had made my father promise 
 to sell the greater part of his property ; to pay off 
 the whole of the enormous debt he had incurred 
 by spending every year a third more than his 
 income, and to live solely and strictly on what he 
 had left. My father had tried to keep to this 
 engagement ; he had sold the timber and part of 
 the estate, but finding himself master of a con- 
 siderable capital, he had applied only a small por- 
 tion of it to the discharge of his debts, and had 
 attempted to restore our fortunes by staking the 
 remainder in the hateful chances of the Stock Ex- 
 change. He had thus completed his ruin. I have 
 not yet sounded the depths of the abyss in which 
 we are engulfed. A week after my father's death 
 
 13
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 I was taken seriously ill, and after two months of 
 suffering I was only just able to leave my ancient 
 home on the day that a stranger took possession 
 of it. Fortunately an old friend of my mother's, 
 who lives at Paris, and who formerly acted as 
 notary to our family, has come to my help. He 
 has offered to undertake the work of liquidation 
 which to my inexperienced judgment seemed be- 
 set with unconquerable difficulties. I left the 
 whole business to him, and I presume that now 
 his work is completed. I went to his house di- 
 rectly I arrived yesterday ; he was in the country, 
 and will not return till to-morrow. 
 
 These have been two cruel days ; uncertainty 
 is the worst of all evils, because it is the only one 
 that necessarily stops the springs of action and 
 checks our courage. I should have been very 
 much surprised if, ten years ago, any one had told 
 me that the old notary, whose formal language 
 and stiff politeness so much amused my father and 
 me, would one day be the oracle from whom I 
 should await the supreme sentence of my destiny. 
 
 I do my best to guard against excessive hopes ; 
 I have calculated approximately that, after paying 
 all the debts, we should have a hundred and twenty 
 to a hundred and fifty thousand francs left. A 
 fortune of five millions should leave so much sal- 
 
 14
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 vage at least. I intend to take ten thousand 
 francs and seek my fortune in the new States of 
 America ; the rest I shall resign to my sister. 
 
 Enough of writing for to-night. Recalling 
 such memories is a mournful occupation. Never- 
 theless, I feel that it has made me calmer. Work 
 is surely a sacred law, since even the lightest task 
 discharged brings a certain contentment and seren- 
 ity. Yet man does not love work ; he cannot fail 
 to see its good effects ; he tastes them every day, 
 and blesses them, and each day he comes to his 
 work with the same reluctance. I think that is a 
 singular and mysterious contradiction, as if in toil 
 we felt at once a chastisement, and the divine and 
 fatherly hand of the chastiser. 
 
 Thursday. 
 
 When I woke this morning a letter from old 
 M. Laubpin was brought to me. He invited me 
 to dinner and apologized for taking such a liberty. 
 He said nothing about my affairs. I augured 
 unfavourably from this silence. 
 
 In the meantime I fetched my sister from her 
 convent, and took her about Paris. The child 
 knows nothing of our ruin. In the course of the 
 day she had some rather expensive fancies. She 
 provided herself liberally with gloves, pink 
 
 15
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 paper, bonbons for her friends, delicate scents, 
 special soaps, and tiny pencils, all very necessary 
 useful things, but not as necessary as a dinner. 
 May she never have to realize this ! 
 
 At six o'clock I was at M. Laube"pin's in the 
 Rue Cassette. I do not know our old friend's 
 age, but to-day I found him looking just the same 
 as ever tall and thin, with' a little stoop, untidy 
 white hair, and piercing eyes under bushy black 
 eyebrows altogether a face at once strong and 
 subtle. I recognised the unvarying costume, the 
 old-fashioned black coat, the professional white 
 cravat, the family diamond in the shirt-frill in 
 short, all the outward signs of a serious, method- 
 ical, and conservative nature. The old gentle- 
 man was waiting for me at the open door of his 
 little salon. After making me a low bow, he took 
 my hand lightly between two of his fingers and 
 conducted me to a homely looking old lady who 
 was standing by the fire-place. 
 
 "The Marquis de Champcey d'Hauterive ! " 
 said M. Laube"pin, in his strong, rich, and em- 
 phatic voice, and turning quickly to me, added 
 in a humbler tone, " Mme. Laube"pin !" 
 
 We sat down. An awkward silence ensued. 
 I had expected an immediate explanation of my 
 position. Seeing that this was to be postponed, 
 
 16
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 I assumed at once that it was unfavourable, an 
 assumption confirmed by the discreet and com- 
 passionate glances with which Mme. Laube'pin 
 furtively honoured me. As for M. Laube'pin, he 
 observed me with a remarkable attention not 
 altogether kindly. My father, I remember, always 
 maintained that at the bottom of his heart and 
 under his respectful manner the ceremonious old 
 scrivener had a little of bourgeois democratic and 
 even Jacobin leaven. It seemed to me that this 
 leaven was working just now, and that the old 
 man found some satisfaction for his secret antip- 
 athies in the spectacle of a gentleman under tor- 
 ture. In spite of my real depression, I began to 
 talk at once, trying to appear quite unconcerned. 
 
 "So, M. Laubpin," I said, "you've left the 
 Place des Petits- Peres, the dear old Place. How 
 could you bring yourself to do it ? I would never 
 have believed it of you." 
 
 " Mon Dieu, marquis," replied M. Laube'pin, 
 " I must admit that it is an infidelity unbecoming 
 at my age ; but in giving up the practice I had to 
 give up my chambers as well, for one can't carry 
 off a notary's plate as one can a sign-board." 
 
 " But you still undertake some business?" 
 
 " Yes, in a friendly way, marquis. Some of 
 the honourable families, the important families, 
 
 I 3 Vol. 9
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 whose confidence I have had the good fortune to 
 secure in the course of forty-five years of practice, 
 are still glad, especially in situations of unusual 
 delicacy, to have the benefit of my experience, 
 and I believe I may say they rarely regret having 
 followed my advice." 
 
 As M. Laubepin finished this testimonial to 
 his own merits, an old servant came in and 
 announced that dinner was served. It was my 
 privilege to conduct Mme. Laubepin into the 
 adjacent dining-room. Throughout the meal the 
 conversation never rose above the most ordinary 
 commonplaces. M. Laubepin continued to look 
 at me in the same penetrating and ambiguous 
 manner, while Mme. Laube*pin offered me each 
 dish in the mournful and compassionate tone we 
 use at the bedside of an invalid. In time we left 
 the table, and the old notary took me into his 
 study, where coffee was served immediately. He 
 made me sit down, and standing before the fire- 
 place, began : 
 
 " Marquis," he said, " you have done me the 
 honour of intrusting to me the administration 
 of the estate of your father, the late Marquis 
 de Champcey d'Hauterive. Yesterday I was 
 about to write to you, when I learned of your 
 arrival in Paris. This enables me to convey to 
 
 18
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 you, vivd voce, the result of my zeal and of my 
 action." 
 
 " I foresee, M. Laubdpin, that the result is not 
 favourable." 
 
 " Marquis, it is not favourable, and you will 
 need all your courage to bear it. But it is my 
 rule to proceed methodically. In the year 1820 
 Mile. Louise Helene Dugald Delatouche d'Erou- 
 ville was sought in marriage by Charles-Christian 
 Odiot, Marquis de Champcey d'Hauterive. A tra- 
 dition a century old had placed the management 
 of the Dugald Delatouche affairs in my hands, and 
 I was further permitted a respectful intimacy with 
 the young heiress of the house. I thought it my 
 duty, therefore, to oppose her infatuation by every 
 argument in my power and to dissuade her from 
 this deplorable alliance. I say deplorable alliance 
 without reference to M. de Champcey's fortune, 
 which was nearly equal to that of Mile. Dela- 
 touche, though even at this time he had mort- 
 gaged it to some extent. I say so because I knew 
 his character and temperament, which were in the 
 main hereditary. Under the fascinating and chiv- 
 alrous 'manner common to all of his race I saw 
 clearly the heedless obstinacy, the incurable irre- 
 sponsibility, the mania for pleasure, and, finally, 
 the pitiless selfishness." 
 
 19
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " Sir," I interrupted sharply, " my father's 
 memory is sacred to me, and so it must be to 
 every one who speaks of him in my presence." 
 
 " Sir," replied the old man with a sudden and 
 violent emotion, " I respect that sentiment, but 
 when I speak of your father I find it hard to for- 
 get that he was the man who killed your mother, 
 that heroic child, that saint, that angel ! " 
 
 I had risen in great agitation. M. Laube"pin, 
 who had taken a few steps across the room, seized 
 my arm. " Forgive me, young man," he said to 
 me. " I loved your mother and wept for her. 
 You must forgive me." Then returning to the 
 fire-place, he continued in his usual solemn 
 tone : 
 
 " I had the honour and the pain of drawing up 
 your mother's marriage contract. 
 
 " In spite of my remonstrance, the strict settle- 
 ment of her property upon herself had not been 
 adopted, and it was only with much difficulty that 
 I got included in the deed a protective clause by 
 which about a third of your mother's estate could 
 not be sold, except with her consent duly and 
 legally authenticated. A useless precaution, mar- 
 quis ; I might call it the cruel precaution of an 
 ill-advised friendship. This fatal clause brought 
 most intolerable sufferings to the very person 
 
 20
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 whose peace it was intended to secure. I refer to 
 the disputes and quarrels and wrangles the echo 
 of which must sometimes have reached your ears, 
 and in which, bit by bit, your mother's last her- 
 itage her children's bread was torn from her ! " 
 
 " Spare me, M. Laube*pin ! " 
 
 " I obey. ... I will speak only of the present. 
 Directly I was honoured with your confidence, 
 marquis, my first duty was to advise you not to 
 accept the encumbered estate unless after paying 
 all liabilities." 
 
 " Such a course seemed to cast a slur on my 
 father's memory, and I could not adopt it." 
 
 M. Laubpin darted one of his inquisitorial 
 glances at me, and continued : 
 
 " You are apparently aware that by not having 
 availed yourself of this perfectly legal method, 
 you became responsible for all liabilities, even if 
 they exceed the value of the estate itself. And 
 that, it is my painful duty to tell you, is the case 
 in the present instance. You will see by these 
 documents that after getting exceptionally favour- 
 able terms for the town-house, you and your sister 
 are still indebted to your father's creditors to the 
 amount of .forty-five thousand francs." 
 
 I was utterly stunned by this news, which far 
 exceeded my worst apprehensions. For a minute 
 
 21
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 I stared at the clock without seeing the hour it 
 marked, and listened dazed to the monotonous 
 sound of the pendulum. 
 
 " Now," continued M. Laube*pin, after a si- 
 lence, " the moment has come to tell you, mar- 
 quis, that your mother, in view of contingencies 
 which are unfortunately realized to-day, deposited 
 with me some jewels which are valued at about 
 fifty thousand francs. To exempt this small sum, 
 now your sole resource, from the claims of the 
 creditors of the estate, we can, I believe, make use 
 of the legal resource which I shall have the honour 
 of submitting to you." 
 
 41 That will not be necessary, M. Laube"pin. I 
 am only too glad to be able, through this unex- 
 pected means, to pay my father's debts in full, and 
 I beg you to devote it to that purpose." 
 
 M. Laube*pin bowed slightly. 
 
 " As you wish, marquis," he said, " but I must 
 point out to you that when this deduction has 
 been made, the joint fortune of Mile. Helene and 
 yourself will consist of something like four or five 
 thousand livres, which, at the present rate of in- 
 terest, will give you an income of two hundred 
 and twenty-five francs. That being so, may I 
 venture to ask in a confidential, friendly, and re- 
 spectful way whether you have thought of any 
 
 22
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 way of providing for your own existence and for 
 that of your ward and sister? And, generally, 
 what your plans are ? " 
 
 " I tell you frankly I have none. Whatever 
 plans I may have had are quite impossible in the 
 state of destitution to which I am now reduced. 
 If I were alone in the world I should enlist, but I 
 have my sister, and I cannot endure the thought 
 of seeing the poor child subjected to toil and pri- 
 vations. She is happy in the convent and young 
 enough to stay there some years longer. I would 
 gladly accept any employment which would enable 
 me, by the strictest personal economy, to pay her 
 expenses each year and provide for her dowry in 
 the future." 
 
 M. Laube*pin looked hard at me. 
 
 " At your age, marquis, you must not expect," 
 he replied, "to achieve that praiseworthy object 
 by entering the slow ranks of public officials and 
 governmental functionaries. You require an ap- 
 pointment which will assure you from the outset 
 a yearly revenue of five or six thousand francs. 
 And I must also tell you that this desideratum 
 is not, in the present state of our social organiza- 
 tion, to be obtained by simply holding out your 
 hand. Happily, I am in a position to make some 
 propositions to you which are likely to modify 
 
 23
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 your present situation immediately and without 
 much trouble." 
 
 M. Laube"pin fixed his eyes on me more pene- 
 tratingly than ever. 
 
 "In the first place, marquis," he went on, " I 
 am the mouthpiece of a clever, rich, and influen- 
 tial speculator. This personage has originated 
 an idea for an important undertaking, the nature 
 of which will be explained to you at a later 
 period. Its success largely depends on the co- 
 operation of the aristocracy of this country. He 
 believes that an old and illustrious name like 
 yours, marquis, appearing among the originators 
 of the enterprise, would have great weight with 
 the special public to whom the prospectus will 
 be addressed. In return for this service, he en- 
 gages to hand over to you a certain number of 
 fully paid-up shares, which are now valued at ten 
 thousand francs, and which will be worth two or 
 three times that amount when the affair is well 
 launched. In addition, he " 
 
 "That is enough, M. Laube*pin. Such in- 
 famies are unworthy of the trouble you take 
 in mentioning them." 
 
 For a moment I saw his eyes flash and sparkle. 
 The stiff folds in his face relaxed as he smiled 
 faintly. 
 
 24
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " If you do not approve of this proposition, 
 marquis," he said unctuously, "neither do I. 
 However, I thought it was my duty to submit 
 it for your consideration. Here is another, which, 
 perhaps, will please you more, and which is really 
 more attractive. One of my oldest clients is a 
 worthy merchant who has lately retired from busi- 
 ness, and now passes his life with an only and 
 much-loved daughter, in the quiet enjoyment of 
 an aurea mediocritas of twenty-five thousand 
 francs a year. Two or three days ago my client's 
 daughter, by some accident, heard of your posi- 
 tion. I thought it right indeed, to speak 
 frankly, I was at some trouble to ascertain that 
 the young lady would not hesitate for a moment 
 to accept the title of Marquise de Champcey. 
 Her appearance is agreeable, and she has many 
 excellent qualities. Her father approves. I await 
 only a word from you, marquis, to tell you the 
 name and residence of this interesting family." 
 
 " M. Laubdpin, this quite decides me ; from 
 to-morrow I shall cease to use a title which is 
 ridiculous for one in my position, and which, it 
 seems, makes me the object of the most paltry 
 intrigues, My family name is Odiot, and hence- 
 forth I shall use no other. And now, though I 
 recognise gratefully the keen interest in my wel- 
 
 25
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 fare which has induced you to be the channel of 
 such remarkable propositions, I must beg you to 
 spare me any others of a like character." 
 
 " In that case, marquis, I have absolutely 
 nothing more to tell you," said M. Laube*pin, and, 
 as if suddenly taken with a fit of joviality, he 
 rubbed his hands together with a noise like the 
 crackling of parchment 
 
 " You ^re a difficult man to place, M. Max- 
 ime," he added, smiling. " Oh, very difficult ! 
 It is remarkable that I should not have already 
 noticed your striking likeness to your mother, 
 particularly your eyes and your smile . . . but 
 we must not digress ; and, since you are resolved 
 to maintain yourself by honest work, may I ask 
 what are your talents and qualifications ? " 
 
 " My education, monsieur, was naturally that 
 of a man destined for a life of wealth and ease. 
 However, I have studied law, and am nominally 
 a barrister." 
 
 " A barrister ! The devil you are ! But the 
 name is not enough. At the bar, more than in 
 any other career, everything depends on personal 
 effort ; and now let us see do you speak well, 
 marquis?" 
 
 " So badly that I believe I am incapable of 
 putting two sentences together in public." 
 
 26
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " H'm ! Scarcely what one could call a heaven- 
 born orator. You must try something else ; but 
 the matter requires more careful consideration. 
 I see you are tired, marquis. Here are your 
 papers, which you can examine at your leisure. 
 I have the honour to wish you farewell. Allow 
 me to light you down. A moment am I to 
 await your further instructions before applying 
 the value of those jewels to the payment of your 
 creditors ? " 
 
 " Oh, by no means. But I should wish you 
 rather to deduct a just remuneration for your 
 kind exertions." 
 
 We had reached the landing of the staircase ; 
 M. Laube*pin, who stooped a little as he walked, 
 sharply straightened himself. 
 
 " So far as your creditors are concerned," he 
 said, "you may count upon my obedience, mar- 
 quis. As to me, I was your mother's friend, and 
 I beg humbly but earnestly that her son will 
 treat me as a friend." 
 
 I gave my hand to the old gentleman ; he 
 shook it warmly and we parted. 
 
 Back in the little room I now occupy, under 
 the roof of the hotel, which is mine no longer, I 
 wished to convince myself that the full knowl- 
 edge of my misery had not depressed me to a 
 
 2;
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 degree unworthy of a man. So I have sat down 
 to write an account of this decisive day of my 
 life, endeavouring to preserve exactly the phrase- 
 ology of the old notary, a mixture of stiffness and 
 courtesy, of mistrust and kind feeling, which more 
 than once made me smile, though my heart was 
 bleeding. 
 
 I am face to face with poverty. Not the 
 haughty, hidden, and poetic poverty that among 
 forests and deserts and savannas fired my imagi- 
 nation, but actual misery, need, dependence, 
 humiliation, and something worse even the pov- 
 erty of the rich man who has fallen ; poverty in a 
 decent coat ; the poverty that hides its ungloved 
 hands from the former friends it passes in the 
 street. Come, brother, courage, courage . . . ! 
 
 Monday, April 27 th. 
 
 For five days I have been waiting in vain for 
 news of M. Laubepin. I had counted consider- 
 ably on the interest that he had appeared to feel 
 in me. His experience, his business connections, 
 and the number of people he knows, would 
 enable him to be of service to me. I was ready 
 to take all necessary steps under his direction, 
 but, left to myself, I do not know which way to 
 turn. I thought he was one of the men who 
 
 28
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 promise little and do much. I am afraid that 
 I have been mistaken. This morning I deter- 
 mined to go to his house on the pretext of return- 
 ing the papers he had given me, after verifying 
 their dreary exactitude. I was told that he had 
 gone to enjoy a taste of country life at some 
 chateau in the heart of Brittany. He would be 
 away two or three days longer. I was completely 
 taken aback. I had not only the pain of finding 
 indifference and desertion where I had looked for 
 the readiness of devoted friendship, I had, in addi- 
 tion, the bitter disappointment of returning, as 
 I went, with an empty purse. I had, in fact, 
 intended to ask M. Laube"pin to advance me 
 some money from the three or four thousand 
 francs due to us after full payment of our debts. 
 In vain have I lived like an anchorite since I 
 came to Paris. The small sum I had reserved 
 for my journey is completely exhausted so 
 completely that, after making a truly pastoral 
 breakfast this morning castanece molles et pressi 
 copia lactis I was obliged to have recourse to a 
 kind of trickery for my dinner to-night. I will 
 make melancholy record of it here. 
 
 The less one has had for breakfast, the more 
 one wants for dinner. I had felt all the force of 
 this axiom long before the sun had finished its 
 
 29
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 course. Among the strollers whom the mild air 
 had attracted to the Tuileries this afternoon to 
 watch the first smiles of spring playing on the 
 faces of the marble fauns, the observant might 
 have noted a young man of irreproachable appear- 
 ance who seemed to study the awakening of 
 nature with extraordinary interest. Not satisfied 
 with devouring the fresh verdure with his eyes, 
 he would furtively detach the young, appetizing 
 shoots and the half -opened leaves from their 
 stems, and put them to his lips with the curiosity 
 of a botanist. I convinced myself in this way 
 that this form of nourishment, suggested by 
 accounts of shipwrecks, is of very little value. 
 Still, I enriched my experience with some inter- 
 esting discoveries ; for instance, I know now that 
 the foliage of the chestnut has an exceedingly 
 bitter taste ; that the rose is not unpleasant ; that 
 the lime is oily and rather agreeable ; the lilac 
 pungent and I believe unwholesome. 
 
 Meditating on these discoveries, I walked 
 towards Helene's convent. I found the parlour 
 as crowded as a hive, and I was more than usu- 
 ally bewildered by the tumultuous confidences of 
 the young bees. Helene arrived, her hair in dis- 
 order, her cheeks flushed, her eyes red and spark- 
 ling. In her hand she had a piece of bread as 
 
 30
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 long as her arm. As she embraced me in an 
 absent way, I asked : 
 
 " Well, little girl, what is the matter? You've 
 been crying." 
 
 " No, Maxime, no, it's nothing." 
 
 "Well, what is it ? Now tell me. . . ." 
 
 In a lower tone she said : 
 
 " Oh, I am very miserable, dear Maxime ! " 
 
 " Really ? Tell me all about it while you eat 
 your bread." 
 
 " Oh, I shall certainly not eat my bread. I am 
 too miserable to eat. You know Lucy Lucy 
 Campbell, my dearest friend. Well, we've quar- 
 relled completely." 
 
 " Oh, mon Dieu ! Don't worry, darling, you'll 
 make it up. It will be all right, dear." 
 
 " Oh, Maxime, that's impossible. It was such 
 a serious quarrel. It was nothing at first, but you 
 know one gets excited and loses one's head. 
 Listen, Maxime ! We were playing battledore, and 
 Lucy made a mistake about the score. I was six 
 hundred and eighty, and she was only six hundred 
 and fifteen, and she declared she was six hundred 
 and sixty-five ! You must say that was a little 
 too bad. Of course I said my figure was right, 
 and she said hers was. ' Well, mademoiselle,' I 
 ; said to her, ' let us ask these young ladies. I
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 appeal to them.' ' No, mademoiselle/ she replied, 
 * I am sure I am right, and you don't play fair.' 
 'And and you, mademoiselle/ I said to her 
 ' you are a liar ! ' ' Very well, mademoiselle/ 
 she said then, ' I despise you too much to answer 
 you.' Just at that moment Sister Sainte-Fe"lix 
 came up, which was a good thing, for I am 
 sure I should have hit her. Now, you know 
 what happened. Can we possibly make it up ? 
 No, it is impossible ; it would be cowardly. 
 But I can't tell you how I suffer. I don't be- 
 lieve there's any one in the world so miserable 
 as I am." 
 
 " Yes, dear, it's difficult to imagine anything 
 more distressing ; but it seems to me that you 
 partly brought it on yourself, for it was you who 
 used the most offensive word. Tell me, is Lucy 
 in the parlour ? " 
 
 " Yes, there she is, in the corner." 
 
 With a dignified and careful movement of her 
 head she indicated a very fair little girl. Her 
 cheeks, too, were flushed, and her eyes were red. 
 Apparently she was giving an account of the 
 drama, which Sister Sainte-Fe"lix had so fortu- 
 nately interrupted, to an old lady who was listen- 
 ing attentively. 
 
 Mile. Lucy, while she talked with an earnest- 
 
 32
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 ness appropriate to the subject, kept looking 
 furtively at He"Jene and me. 
 
 " Dear child," I said to He*lene, " do you trust 
 me?" 
 
 " Yes, Maxime, I trust you very much." 
 
 "In that case I will" tell you what to do. Go 
 very gently behind Mile. Lucy's chair ; take her 
 head in your hands like this, when she is not 
 looking and kiss her on both cheeks like this, 
 with all your might and then you will see what 
 she will do in her turn." 
 
 For a second or two He*lene seemed to hesi- 
 tate ; then she set off at a great rate, fell like a 
 thunder-clap on Mile. Campbell, but nevertheless 
 gave her the sweetest of surprises. The two 
 young sufferers, at last eternally united, mingled 
 their tears in a touching group, while the respect- 
 able old Mrs. Campbell blew her nose with a noise 
 as of a bagpipe. 
 
 Helene came back to me radiant. 
 
 " Well, dear," I said, " I hope you're going to 
 eat your bread now." 
 
 " Oh, no ! I can't, Maxime. I am too much 
 excited, and besides, I must tell you to-day a 
 new pupil came and gave us quite a feast of 
 meringues, e*clairs, and chocolate-creams, and I am 
 not a bit hungry. And I am in a great difficulty 
 
 33
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 about it, because when we're not hungry we have 
 to put our bread back in the basket, and in my 
 trouble I forgot, and I shall be punished. But, 
 Maxime, as we're crossing the court when you go, 
 I shall try to drop it down the cellar without any 
 one seeing." 
 
 " What, little sister ! " I said, colouring a little, 
 "you are going to waste that large piece of 
 bread ? " 
 
 " It isn't good of me I know, because, perhaps, 
 there are poor people who would be very glad of 
 it, aren't there, Maxime ? " 
 
 " There certainly are, dear." 
 
 " But what do you want me to do ? The poor 
 people don't come in here." 
 
 " Look here, Helene, give me the bread, and 
 I'll give it in your name to the first poor man I 
 meet. Will you ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " 
 
 The bell rang for school. I broke the bread in 
 two and hid the pieces shamefacedly in my great- 
 coat pockets. 
 
 "Dear Maxime," said my sister, "you'll come 
 again soon, won't you ? Then you'll tell me 
 whether you met a poor man and gave him my 
 bread, and whether he liked it ? Good-bye, 
 Maxime." 
 
 34
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " Yes, He*lene, I met a poor man and gave him 
 your bread, which he seized and carried off to his 
 solitary garret, and he liked it. But this poor 
 man had not courage, for he wept as he ate the 
 food that had come from your dear little hands. 
 I will tell you all this, He*lene, because it is good 
 for you to know that there are sufferings more 
 serious than your childish woes. I will tell you 
 everything, except the name of the poor man." 
 
 Tuesday, April s8th. 
 
 At nine o'clock this morning I called at M. 
 Laubepin's in the vague hope that he might have 
 returned earlier than he intended, but he is not 
 expected until to-morrow. I thought at once of 
 seeing Mme. Laube*pin and explaining the awk- 
 ward position I was placed in through her hus- 
 band's absence. While I hesitated in a conflict of 
 shame and necessity, the old servant, alarmed, per- 
 haps, by my hungry gaze, settled the question by 
 suddenly shutting the door. I made up my mind 
 hereupon to fast until the next day. After all, I 
 said to myself, a day's abstinence does not kill 
 one. If this shov/ed an excessive pride, at all 
 events I was the only one to suffer, and conse- 
 quently it concerned no one but myself. I ac- 
 cordingly made my way to the Sorbonne, where I 
 
 35
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 attended several lectures, trying to fill up my cor- 
 poreal vacuum by spiritual sustenance. But when 
 this resource came to an end I found it had been 
 quite inadequate. And I had an attack of ner- 
 vous irritation which I tried to calm by walking. 
 It was a cold, misty day. As I crossed the Pont 
 des Saints-Peres I stopped for a minute in spite 
 of myself. Leaning on the parapet, I watched 
 the troubled water rushing under the arches. I 
 know not what unholy thoughts shot through my 
 worn and weakened brain. I saw in the gloomiest 
 colours a future of ceaseless struggle, of depend- 
 ence, and of humiliation, which I was approaching 
 by the dark gate of hunger ; I felt a profound and 
 utter disgust of life ; it seemed impossible to me 
 under such conditions. At the same time a flame 
 of fierce and brutal anger leaped up in me. 
 Dazed and reeling, I hung over the void, and saw 
 all the river glittering with sparks of fire. 
 
 I will not say, as is usual, God would not have 
 it so. I hate these cant phrases, and I dare to say 
 /would not. God has made us free, and if ever 
 before I had doubted it, this supreme moment 
 when soul and body, courage and cowardice, good 
 and evil, held mortal combat within me would 
 have swept my doubts away forever. 
 
 Master of myself again, those terrible waves 
 
 36
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 only suggested an innocent, and rather absurd 
 longing to quench the thirst that tortured me. I 
 soon remembered that I should find much purer 
 water in my room at home. I went quickly to- 
 wards the hdtel, imagining that the most delicious 
 pleasures awaited me there. With pathetic child- 
 ishness I delighted in this glorious device, and 
 wondered I had not thought of it sooner. On 
 the boulevard I suddenly came face to face with 
 Gaston de Vaux, whom I had not seen for two 
 years. After a moment's hesitation he stopped, 
 grasped my hand cordially, said a word or two 
 about my travels, and left me hurriedly. But he 
 turned back. 
 
 " My friend," he said to me, "you must allow 
 me to let you share a piece of good luck I've just 
 had. I have put my hand on a treasure ; I have 
 got some cigars which cost me two francs each, 
 but really they are beyond price. Here's one ; 
 you must tell me how you like it. Au revoir, 
 old man ! " 
 
 Wearily I mounted the six flights to my room, 
 and trembling with emotion, I seized my friendly 
 water-bottle and swallowed the contents in small 
 mouthfuls. Afterward I lighted my friend's 
 cigar, and smiled encouragement at myself in the 
 glass. Feeling that movement and the distraction 
 
 37
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 of the streets were good for me, I went out again 
 directly. Opening my door, I was surprised and 
 annoyed to see the wife of the concierge of the 
 hdtel standing in the narrow corridor. My sud- 
 den appearance seemed to disconcert her. This 
 woman had formerly been in my mother's service, 
 and had become a favourite with her, and when 
 she married, my mother had given her the profit- 
 able post she still held. For some days I had an 
 idea that she was watching me, and now, having 
 nearly caught her in the act, I asked her roughly 
 what she wanted. 
 
 " Oh, nothing, M. Maxime, nothing," she re- 
 plied, much confused. " I was seeing to the gas." 
 
 I shrugged my shoulders and went away. 
 
 Night was falling, so I could walk about in the 
 more frequented places without being fearful of 
 awkward recognitions. I was obliged to throw 
 away my cigar it made me feel sick. My prom- 
 enade lasted two or three hours, and painful hours 
 they were. There is something peculiarly poign- 
 ant in feeling oneself attacked, in the midst of 
 the brilliance and plenty of civilization, by the 
 scourge of savage life hunger. It brings you 
 near to madness. It's a tiger springing at your 
 throat in the middle of the boulevards. 
 
 I made some original reflections. Hunger, 
 38
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 after all, is not an empty word. There actually 
 is a complaint of that name, and there are human 
 beings who endure nearly every day what through 
 a mere accident I am suffering for once in my life. 
 And how many have their misery embittered by 
 troubles which I am spared ! I know that the 
 one being in the world whom I love is sheltered 
 from such sufferings as mine. But how many 
 cannot suffer alone ; how many must hear the 
 heart-rending cry of nature repeated on beloved 
 lips that ask for food ; how many for whom pale 
 women and unsmiling children are waiting in bare 
 cold rooms ! Poor creatures ! Blessed be holy 
 charity ! 
 
 After these thoughts I dared not complain ; 
 they gave me courage to bear my trial to the end. 
 As a matter of fact I could have shortened it. 
 There are two or three restaurants where I am 
 known, and where, when I was rich, I had often 
 gone in without hesitation, though I had forgotten 
 to bring my purse. I might have made some 
 such pretext. Nor would it have been difficult 
 for me to borrow a franc or two in Paris. But I 
 recoiled from such expedients. They suggested 
 poverty too plainly, and they came too near to 
 trickery. That descent is swift and slippery for 
 the poor, and I believe I would rather lose honesty 
 
 39
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 itself than the delicacy which gives distinction to 
 the commonplace virtue. I have seen too often 
 with what facility this exquisite sentiment of 
 honesty loses its bloom, even in the finest natures, 
 not merely under the breath of misery, but at the 
 slightest contact with privation. So I shall keep 
 strict watch over myself. I shall be on my guard 
 henceforth against even the most innocent com- 
 promise with conscience. When bad times come, 
 do not accustom your soul to suppleness ; it is 
 only too prone to yield. 
 
 Fatigue and cold drove me back about nine 
 o'clock. The door of the hdtel was open. Tread- 
 ing as lightly as a ghost, I had reached the stair- 
 case when the sound of a lively conversation came 
 from the concierge's room. They were talking 
 about me, for at this very moment the tyrant of 
 the house pronounced my name with unmistak- 
 able contempt. 
 
 " Be good enough, Mme. Vauberger," said 
 the concierge, " not to trouble me with your 
 Maxime. Did I ruin your Maxime ? Then what 
 are you talking to me about ? If he kills himself, 
 they'll bury him, won't they ?" 
 
 " I tell you, Vauberger," his wife answered, 
 11 it would have made your heart bleed to see him 
 drain his water-bottle. And if I believed you 
 
 40
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 meant what you say in that offhand manner just 
 like an actor ' If he kills himself, they'll bury 
 him ! ' I would But I know you don't, be- 
 cause you're a good sort, although you don't like 
 being upset. Fancy being without fire or bread ! 
 And that after being fed on dainties all your life, 
 and wrapped up in furs like a little pet cat. It's a 
 shame and a disgrace. A nice sort of government 
 yours is to allow such things ! " 
 
 " But it has nothing to do with the govern- 
 ment," said M. Vauberger, reasonably enough. 
 " And I'm sure you're wrong ; it's not so bad as 
 all that. He can't be wanting bread ; it's impos- 
 sible." 
 
 " All right, Vauberger. I've more to tell you. 
 I've followed him. I've watched him, and made 
 Edouard watch him, too. Yes, I have. I'm cer- 
 tain he had no dinner yesterday, and no breakfast 
 to-day ; and as I've searched his pockets and all 
 the drawers, and not found so much as a red cent, 
 you may be sure he hasn't had any dinner to-day, 
 for he's much too high and mighty to go and 
 beg one." 
 
 " Oh, is he ? So much the worse for him. 
 Poor people shouldn't be proud," said the 
 worthy concierge, true to the sentiments of his 
 calling. 
 
 41 4 Vol. 9
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 I had had enough of this dialogue, and put an 
 end to it abruptly by opening the door and asking 
 M. Vauberger for a light. I could not have as- 
 tounded him more if I had asked for his head. 
 Though I particularly wished not to give way 
 before these people, I could not help stumbling 
 once or twice as I went up the stairs. My head 
 was swimming. Usually my room was as cold as 
 ice. Imagine my surprise at finding a bright, 
 cheerful fire, which sent a pleasant warmth through 
 the room. I wasn't stoic enough to put it out, 
 and I blessed the kind hearts there are in the 
 world. I stretched myself out in an old arm-chair 
 of Utrecht velvet, which, like myself, had been 
 brought by reverses from the first floor to the gar- 
 ret. I tried to sleep. For half an hour I had been 
 dreaming in a kind of torpor of sumptuous ban- 
 quets and merry junketings, when the noise of the 
 door opening made me jump up with a start. I 
 thought I was dreaming still when Mme. Vau- 
 berger came in, carrying a big tray with two or 
 three savoury dishes steaming on it. Before I 
 could shake off my lethargy she had put the tray 
 down and had begun to lay the cloth. At last I 
 started up hastily. 
 
 " Well," I said, "what does this mean ? What 
 are you doing ? " 
 
 42
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 Mme. Vauberger pretended to be greatly sur- 
 prised. 
 
 " I thought you ordered dinner, sir ? " 
 
 "Oh, no." 
 
 " Edouard told me that " 
 
 " Edouard made a mistake ; it's for one of the 
 other tenants ; you had better see." 
 
 " But there's no other tenant on this floor, 
 sir ... I can't make out ..." 
 
 " Well, it was not for me. What does all 
 this mean ? Oh, you annoy me ! Take it 
 away." 
 
 The pooi woman began to fold the cloth, 
 looking at me reproachfully, like a favourite dog 
 who has been beaten. 
 
 " I suppose you've had dinner already, sir," 
 she said, timidly. 
 
 " No doubt." 
 
 "That is a pity, because this dinner is quite 
 ready, and now it will be wasted, and the boy'll 
 get a scolding from his father. If you hadn't had 
 your dinner already, sir, you would have very 
 much obliged me if " 
 
 I stamped my foot violently. 
 
 " Leave the room, I tell you," I said, and as 
 she was going out I went up to her. " My good 
 Louison," I said, " I understand, and I thank 
 
 43
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 you ; but I am not very well to-night, and I have 
 no appetite." 
 
 "Ah, M. Maxime," she exclaimed, in tears, 
 "you don't know how you hurt my feelings. 
 Well, you can pay me for the dinner ; you shall 
 if you like ; you can give me the money as soon 
 as you get some . . . but if you gave me a hun- 
 dred thousand francs, it wouldn't make me so 
 happy as seeing you eat my poor dinner. You 
 would do me a great kindness, M. Maxime. You, 
 who are so clever, you ought to understand how 
 I feel. Oh, I know you will, M. Maxime ! " 
 
 " Well, my dear Louison, what am I to do ? 
 I can't give you a hundred thousand francs . . . 
 but . . o I am going to eat ypur dinner. All by 
 myself, too, if you don't mind." 
 
 " Certainly, sir. Oh, thank you, sir ; I thank 
 you very much indeed. You have a kind heart, 
 sir." 
 
 "And a good appetite, Louison. Give me 
 your hand oh, not to put money in, you may be 
 sure. There ! Au revozr, Louison." 
 
 The good woman went out sobbing, 
 
 I did justice to Louison 's dinner, and had just 
 finished writing these lines when a grave and 
 heavy footstep sounded on the stairs, and at the 
 same time I thought I heard the voice of my 
 
 44
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 humble providence whispering confidences in hur- 
 ried, nervous tones. A moment or two later 
 there was a knock, Louison slipped away in 
 the darkness, and the solemn outline of the old 
 notary appeared in the doorway. 
 
 M. Laube"pin cast a keen glance at the tray 
 where I had left the fragments of my dinner. 
 Then coming towards me and opening his arms, 
 at once confused and reproachful, he said : 
 
 " In Heaven's name, marquis, why did you 
 not " 
 
 He broke off, strode quickly about the room, 
 and then coming to a sudden halt, exclaimed : 
 
 " Young man, you had no right to do this ; 
 you have given pain to a friend, and you have 
 made an old man blush." 
 
 He was much moved. I looked at him, a 
 little moved myself and not knowing what to say, 
 when he suddenly clasped me in his arms and 
 murmured in my ear, " My poor child ... ! " 
 
 For a moment we said nothing. When we 
 had sat down, M. Laube"pin continued. 
 
 " Maxime," he said, "are you in the same 
 mind as when I left you ? Have you the cour- 
 age to accept the humblest work, the least im- 
 portant occupation, provided it is honourable, 
 and that it gives you a livelihood and preserves 
 
 45
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 your sister from the sufferings and dangers of 
 poverty ? " 
 
 " Most certainly I am ; it's my duty, and I am 
 ready to do it." 
 
 " Very well, my friend. Now listen to me. 
 I have just returned from Brittany. In that 
 ancient province there is a family called Laroque, 
 who have for many years past honoured me with 
 their entire confidence. This family is now rep- 
 resented by an old man and two ladies whom age 
 or disposition render incapable of business. The 
 Laroques have a substantial income derived from 
 their large estates in land, which have latterly 
 been managed by an agent whom I took the lib- 
 erty to regard as a rogue. The day following our 
 last interview, Maxime, I received intelligence of 
 the death of this man. I immediately set out foi 
 the Chateau Laroque and asked for the appoint- 
 ment for you. I laid stress on your having been 
 called to the bar, and dwelt particularly on your 
 moral qualities. Respecting your wishes, I did 
 not allude to your birth ; you are not, and will 
 not, be known in that house under any name but 
 that of Maxime Odiot. A pavilion at some dis- 
 tance from the house will be allotted to you, and 
 you will be able to have your meals there when, 
 for any reason, you do not care to join the family 
 
 46
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 at table. Your salary will be six thousand francs 
 a year. How will that suit you ? " 
 
 " It will suit me perfectly. You must let me 
 acknowledge at once how much I feel the consid- 
 eration and delicacy of your friendship. But to 
 tell you the truth, I am afraid I am rather a 
 strange kind of business man rather a novice, 
 you know." 
 
 "You need have no anxiety on that score, my 
 friend. I anticipated your scruples, and concealed 
 nothing from the parties concerned. ' Madame,' 
 I said to my excellent friend, Mme. Laroque, 
 'you require an agent and an administrator of 
 your income. I offer you one. He is far from 
 possessing the talents of his predecessor ; he is by 
 no means versed in the mysteries of leases and 
 farm-freeholds ; he does not know the alphabet 
 of the affairs you are so good as to intrust to him ; 
 he has had no experience, no practice, and no 
 opportunity of learning ; but he has something 
 which his predecessor lacked, which sixty years 
 of experience had not given him, and which he 
 would not have acquired in ten thousand years 
 and that is honesty, madame. I have seen him 
 under fire, and I will answer for him. Engage 
 him ; he will be indebted to you, and so shall I.' 
 Young man, Mme. Laroque laughed very much 
 
 47
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 at my way of recommending people, but in the 
 end it turned out to be a good way, for it has suc- 
 ceeded." 
 
 The worthy old gentleman then offered to 
 impart to me some elementary general notions 
 on the kind of administration I was about to 
 undertake, and to these he added, in connection 
 with the interests of the Laroque family, the 
 results of some inquiries which he had made 
 and put into shape for me. 
 
 " And when am I to go, my dear sir ?" 
 
 " To say the truth, my boy " (he had entirely 
 dropped the "marquis"), "the sooner the better, 
 for those good people could not make out a re- 
 ceipt unaided. My excellent friend, Mme. La- 
 roque, more especially, though an admirable woman 
 in many respects, is beyond conception careless, 
 indiscreet, and childish in business matters. She 
 is a Creole." 
 
 " Ah ! she is a Creole," I repeated with some 
 vivacity. 
 
 " Yes, young man, an old Creole lady," M. 
 Laube"pin said dryly. " Her husband was a Bret- 
 on ; but these details will come in good time. . . . 
 Good-bye till to-morrow, Maxime, and be of good 
 cheer. Ah ! I had forgotten. On Thursday morn- 
 ing, before my departure, I did something which 
 
 48
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 will be of service to you. Among your creditors 
 there are some rogues, whose relations with your 
 father were obviously usurious. Armed with the 
 thunders of the law, I reduced their claims on 
 my own responsibility, and made them give me 
 receipts in full. So now your capital amounts 
 to twenty thousand francs. Add to this reserve 
 what you are able to save each year from your 
 salary, and in ten years' time we shall have a good 
 dowry for Helene. Well, well, come and lunch 
 with Maitre Laubepin to-morrow, and we will 
 settle all the rest. Good-bye, Maxime ; good- 
 night, my dear child ! " 
 41 God bless you, sir ! " 
 
 CHATEAU DE LAROQUE (D'ARZ), May ist. 
 
 I left Paris yesterday. My last interview with 
 M. Laubepin was painful. I feel the affection 
 of a son for the old man. Then I had to bid 
 Helene farewell. It was necessary to tell her 
 something of the truth, to make her understand 
 why I was compelled to accept an appointment. 
 I talked vaguely of temporary business difficul- 
 ties. The poor child understood, I think, more 
 than I had said ; her large, wondering eyes filled 
 with tears as she fell upon my neck. 
 
 At last I got away. I went by train to 
 
 49
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 Rennes, where I stayed the night. This morning 
 I took the diligence, which put me down, four 
 or five hours ago, at a little Morbihan town not 
 far from the chateau of Laroque. We had trav- 
 elled ten leagues or more from Rennes, and still 
 I had seen nothing to justify the reputed pic- 
 turesqueness of our ancient Armorica. A flat, 
 green country without variety ; eternal apple-trees 
 in eternal fields ; ditches and wooded slopes shut- 
 ting off the view on both sides of the road ; 
 here and there a nook full of rural charm, and 
 a few blouses and glazed hats relieving the very 
 ordinary scene. All this strongly inclined me to 
 think that poetic Brittany was merely a preten- 
 tious and somewhat pallid sister of Lower Nor- 
 mandy. Tired of disillusions and apple-trees, I 
 had for more than an hour ceased to take any 
 notice of the country. I was dozing heavily, 
 when I felt suddenly that the lumbering vehicle 
 was lurching forward heavily. At the same 
 time the pace of the horses slackened, and a 
 clanking noise, together with a peculiar vibra- 
 tion, proclaimed that the worst of drivers had 
 applied the worst of brakes to the worst of dili- 
 gences. An old lady clutched my arm with the 
 ready sympathy excited by a sense of common 
 danger. I put my head out of the window ; we 
 
 50
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 were descending, between two lofty slopes, an 
 extremely steep hill, evidently the work of an 
 engineer too much enamoured of the straight 
 line. 
 
 Half-sliding, half-rolling, we soon reached the 
 bottom of a narrow valley of gloomy aspect. A 
 feeble brook flowed silently and slowly among 
 thick reeds, and over its crumbling banks hung a 
 few moss-grown tree-trunks. The road crossed 
 the stream by a bridge of a single arch, and, climb- 
 ing the farther hill, cut a white track across a wide, 
 barren, and naked lande whose crest stood out 
 sharply against the horizon in front of us. Near 
 the bridge and close to the road was a ruined 
 hovel. Its air of desolation struck to the heart, 
 A young, robust man was splitting wood by the 
 door ; his long, fair hair was fastened at the back 
 by a black ribbon. He raised his head, and I was 
 surprised at the strange character of his features 
 and at the calm gaze of his blue eyes. He greeted 
 me in an unknown tongue and with a quiet, soft, 
 and timid accent. A woman was spinning at the 
 cottage window ; the style of her hair and dress 
 reproduced with theatrical fidelity the images of 
 those slim chatelaines of stone we see on tombs. 
 These people did not look like peasants ; they had, 
 in the highest degree, that easy, gracious, and se-
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 rious air we call distinction. And they had, too, 
 the sad and dreamy expression often seen among 
 people whose nationality has been destroyed. 
 
 I had got down to walk up the hill. The 
 lande, which was not separated from the road, ex- 
 tended all round me as far and farther than I 
 could see ; stunted furze clung to the black 
 earth on every side ; here and there were ravines, 
 clefts, deserted quarries, and low rocks, but no 
 trees. 
 
 Only when I had reached the high ground I 
 saw the distant sombre line of the heath broken 
 by a more distant strip of the horizon. A little 
 serrated, blue as the sea and steeped in sunlight, it 
 seemed to open in the midst of this desolation the 
 sudden vision of some radiant fairy region. At 
 last I saw Brittany ! 
 
 I had to engage a carriage to take me the two 
 leagues that separated me from the end of my 
 journey. During the drive, which was not by any 
 means a rapid one, I vaguely remember seeing 
 woods, glades, lakes, and oases of fresh verdure in 
 the valleys ; but as we approached the Chateau 
 Laroque I was besieged by a thousand appre- 
 hensions which left no room for tourist's reflec- 
 tions. In a few minutes I was to enter a strange 
 family on the footing of a sort of servant in dis- 
 
 52
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 guise, and in a position which would barely secure 
 me the consideration and respect of the lackeys 
 themselves. This was something very new to me. 
 The moment M. Laube"pin proposed this post of 
 bailiff, all my instincts, all my habits, had risen in 
 violent protest against the peculiar character of 
 dependence attached to such duties. Neverthe- 
 less, I had thought it impossible to refuse without 
 appearing to slight my old friend's zealous efforts 
 on my behalf. Moreover, in a less dependent 
 position, I could not have hoped to obtain for 
 many years the advantages which I should have 
 here from the outset, and which would enable me 
 to work for my sister's future without losing time. 
 I had therefore overcome my repugnance, but it 
 had been very strong, and now revived more 
 strongly than ever in face of the imminent reality. 
 I had need to study once more the articles on 
 duty and sacrifice in the moral code that every 
 man carries in his conscience. At the same time 
 I told myself that there is no situation, however 
 humble, where personal dignity cannot maintain 
 itself and none, in fact, that it cannot ennoble. 
 Then I sketched out a plan of conduct towards the 
 Laroque family, and promised myself to show a 
 conscientious zeal for their interests, and, to them- 
 selves, a just deference equally removed from ser- 
 
 53
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 vility and from stiffness. But I could not conceal 
 from myself that the last part of my task, ob- 
 viously the most delicate, would be either greatly 
 simplified or complicated by the special characters 
 and dispositions of the people with whom I was 
 to come into contact. Now, M. Laube"pin, while 
 recognising that my anxiety on these personal 
 questions was quite legitimate, had been stub- 
 bornly sparing of information and details on the 
 subject. However, just as I was starting, he had 
 handed me a private memorandum counselling me 
 at the same time to throw it in the fire as soon as 
 I had profited by its contents. This memorandum 
 I took from my portfolio and proceeded to study 
 its sibylline utterances, which I here reproduce 
 exactly. 
 
 "CHATEAU DE LAROOUE (D'ARZ) 
 
 " LIST OF PERSONS LIVING AT THE AFORESAID CHATEAU 
 
 " i st. M. Laroque (Louis- Auguste), octogena- 
 rian, present head of the family, main source of 
 its wealth : an old sailor, famous under the first 
 empire as a sort of authorized pirate ; appears to 
 have enriched himself by lawful enterprises of 
 various kinds on the sea ; has lived in the colonies 
 for a long- while. Born in Brittany, he returned 
 and settled there about thirty years since, accom- 
 
 54
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 panied by the late Pierre-Antoine Laroque, his 
 only son, husband of 
 
 " 2d. Mme. Laroque (Josephine-Clara), daugh- 
 ter-in-law of the above-mentioned ; by origin a 
 Creole ; aged forty years ; indolent disposition ; 
 romantic temperament ; certain whimsies : a beau- 
 tiful nature. 
 
 " 3d. Mile. Laroque (Marguerite-Louise), the 
 grand-daughter, daughter, and presumptive heiress 
 of the preceding, aged twenty years ; Creole and 
 Bretonne ; cherishes certain chimseras ; a beautiful 
 nature. 
 
 " 4th. Mme. Aubry, widow of one Aubry, a 
 stock-broker, who died in Belgium ; a second 
 cousin, lives with the family. 
 
 " 5th. Mile. Htelouin (Caroline-Gabrielle), aged 
 twenty-six ; formerly governess, now companion ; 
 cultivated intellect ; character doubtful. 
 
 " Burn this." 
 
 In spite of its reticence, this document was of 
 some service to me. Relieved from the dread of 
 the unknown, I felt that my apprehensions had 
 partly subsided. And if, as M. Laubepin asserted, 
 there were two fine characters in the Chateau La- 
 roque, it was a higher proportion than one could 
 have expected to find among five inhabitants. 
 
 55
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 After a drive of two hours the coachman stopped 
 at a gate flanked by two lodges. 
 
 I left my heavy luggage there, and went to- 
 wards the chateau, carrying a valise in one hand, 
 while I used the other to cut off the heads of the 
 marguerites with my cane. After walking a little 
 distance between rows of large chestnuts I came 
 to a spacious circular garden, emerging into a park 
 a little farther on. Right and left I saw deep 
 vistas opening out between groves already verdant, 
 water flowing under trees, and little white boats 
 laid up in rustic boat-houses. 
 
 Facing me was the chateau, an imposing build- 
 ing in the elegant half-Italian style of the early 
 years of Louis XIII. At the foot of the double 
 perron, and under the lofty windows of the facade 
 stretched a long terrace, which formed a kind of 
 private garden, approached by several broad, low 
 steps. The gay and sumptuous aspect of this 
 place caused me a real disappointment, which was 
 not lessened when, as I drew nearer to the terrace, 
 I heard the noise of young and laughing voices 
 rising above the distant tinkle of a piano. Plainly 
 I had come to an abode of pleasure very different 
 from the old and gloomy donjon of my imagin- 
 ings. However, the time for reflection had passed. 
 I went quickly up the steps, and suddenly found 
 
 56
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 myself in the midst of a scene, which in any other 
 circumstances I should have thought extremely 
 pretty. 
 
 On one of the lawns of the flower-garden half 
 a dozen young girls, linked in couples and laugh- 
 ing at themselves, whirled in a flood of sunshine, 
 while a piano, touched by a skilful hand, sent 
 the rhythms of a riotous waltz through an open 
 window. 
 
 But I had scarcely had time to note the ani- 
 mated faces of the dancers, their loosened hair, 
 and large hats flapping on their shoulders. My 
 sudden appearance had been received with a cry 
 of general alarm, succeeded by profound silence. 
 The dancing ceased, and all the band awaited the 
 advance of the stranger in array of battle. But 
 the stranger had come to a halt with signs of evi- 
 dent embarrassment. Though for some time past 
 I had scarcely troubled my head about my social 
 claims, I must confess that at this moment I 
 should gladly have got rid of my hand-bag. But 
 I had to make the best of the situation. As I 
 advanced, hat in hand, towards the double stair- 
 case leading to the vestibule of the chateau the 
 piano ceased abruptly. A large Newfoundland 
 first presented himself at the window, putting his 
 lion-like head on the cross-bar between his two 
 
 57
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 hairy paws ; immediately after there appeared a 
 tall young girl, whose somewhat sunburnt face 
 and serious expression were framed in a mass of 
 black and lustrous hair. Her eyes, which I thought 
 extraordinarily large, examined the scene outside 
 with nonchalant curiosity. 
 
 "Well, what is the matter?" she asked in a 
 quiet tone. 
 
 I made her a low bow, and once more cursing 
 the bag which evidently amused the young ladies, 
 I crossed the perron hastily, and entered the house. 
 
 In the hall a gray-haired servant, dressed in 
 black, took my name. A few minutes later I 
 was shown into a large drawing-room hung with 
 yellow silk. There I at once recognised the 
 young lady I had just seen at the window. She 
 was beyond question remarkably beautiful. By 
 the fire-place, where a regular furnace was blazing, 
 a lady of middle age and of marked Creole type 
 of feature, sat buried in a large arm-chair among 
 a mass of eider-down pillows and cushions of all 
 sizes. Within her reach stood an antique tripod 
 surmounted by a brasero, to which she frequently 
 held her pale and delicate hands. Near Mme. 
 Laroque sat a lady knitting, whom I recognised 
 at once by her morose and disagreeable expression 
 as the second cousin, the widow of the stock- 
 
 $8
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 broker who died in Belgium. Mme. Laroque 
 looked at me as if she were more than surprised, 
 as if she were astounded. She asked my name 
 again. 
 
 " I beg your pardon . . . Monsieur . . . ?" 
 
 " Odiot, madame." 
 
 " Maxime Odiot the manager, the steward 
 that M. Laube"pin . . . ? " 
 
 " Yes, madame." 
 
 " You are quite sure ? " 
 
 I could not help smiling. 
 
 " Yes, madame, quite sure." 
 
 She glanced quickly at the widow of the 
 stock-broker, and then at the grave young girl, 
 as if to say, " Is it possible ? " Then she moved 
 slightly among her cushions, and continued : 
 
 " Pray sit down, M. Odiot," she said. " I 
 must thank you very much for placing your 
 talents at our service. We need your help badly, 
 I assure you, for it cannot be denied we have 
 the misfortune to be very wealthy." 
 
 Seeing the second cousin raise her shoulders 
 at this, Mme. Laroque went on : " Yes, my dear 
 Mme. Aubry, I do say so, and I hold to it. God 
 sent me riches to try me. Most certainly I was 
 born for poverty and privation, for devotion and 
 sacrifice ; but I have always been crossed. For 
 
 59
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 instance, I should have loved to have had an in- 
 valid husband. M. Laroque was an exceptionally 
 healthy man. That is how my destiny has been 
 and will be marred from beginning to end " 
 
 " Oh, don't talk like that ! " said Mme. Aubry 
 dryly. " Poverty would agree with you a person 
 who can't deny herself a single indulgence or 
 refinement!" 
 
 " One moment, my dear madame," returned 
 Mme. Laroque, " I do not believe in useless sacri- 
 fices. If I subjected myself to the worst priva- 
 tions, who would be the better for it ? Would 
 you be any happier if I shivered with cold from 
 morning till night ? " 
 
 By an expressive gesture Mme. Aubry signi- 
 fied that she would not be any happier, but that 
 she considered Mme. Laroque's language ex- 
 tremely affected and ridiculous. 
 
 "After all," continued Mme. Laroque, "good 
 fortune or ill fortune, what does it matter ? As I 
 said, M. Odiot, we are very rich, and little as I 
 may value our wealth, it is my duty to preserve 
 it for my daughter, though the poor child cares no 
 more for it than I. Do you, Marguerite ?" 
 
 A slight smile broke the curve of Mile. Mar- 
 guerite's disdainful lips at this question, and the 
 low arch of her eyebrows contracted momentarily ; 
 
 60
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 then the grave, haughty face subsided into repose 
 again. 
 
 " M. Odiot," resumed Mme. Laroque, "you 
 shall be shown the place, which, at M. Laube" pin's 
 explicit request, has been reserved for you ; but 
 before this I should like you to be introduced to 
 my father-in-law, who will be very much pleased 
 to see you. My dear cousin, will you ring ? M. 
 Odiot, I hope that you will give us the pleasure of 
 your company at dinner to-day. Good-bye for 
 the present." 
 
 I was intrusted to the care of a servant, who 
 asked me to wait in a room next to the one I had 
 just left, until he had ascertained M. Laroque's 
 wishes. He had not closed the door of the salon, 
 so it was impossible for me not to hear these 
 words spoken by Mme. Laroque with the good- 
 natured irony habitual to her : 
 
 "There! Can you understand Laub^pin ? He 
 talked of a man of a certain age ; very simple, very 
 steady, and he sends me a gentleman like that ! " 
 
 Mile. Marguerite said something, but so quietly 
 that I could not hear it, much to my regret, I con- 
 fess. Her mother replied immediately : 
 
 "That may be so, my dear, but it is none the 
 less absolutely ridiculous of Laube"pin. Do you 
 expect that a man of that kind will go running 
 
 61
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 about ploughed fields in sabots ? I will wager that 
 man has never worn sabots ; he doesn't know what 
 they are. Well, it may be a prejudice of mine, 
 dear, but sabots seem to me essential to a good 
 bailiff. Marguerite, it has just occurred to me, 
 you might take him to your grandfather." 
 
 Mile. Marguerite entered the room where I 
 was almost directly. She seemed vexed to find 
 me there. 
 
 " Pardon me, mademoiselle," I said, " but the 
 servant asked me to wait here." 
 
 " Will you be so good as to follow me, sir ? " 
 
 I followed her. She made me climb a stair- 
 case, cross many corridors, and at last brought me 
 to a kind of gallery, where she left me. I 
 amused myself by examining the pictures. They 
 were, for the most part, very ordinary sea pieces 
 painted to glorify the old privateersmen of the 
 Empire. There were several rather murky sea- 
 fights, in which it was very evident that the little 
 brig Aimable, Captain Laroque, twenty-six guns, 
 gave John Bull a great deal of trouble. Then 
 came several full-length portraits of Captain 
 Laroque, which naturally attracted my particular 
 attention. With certain slight variations they all 
 represented a man of gigantic height, wearing 
 a sort of republican uniform with large facings, as 
 
 62
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 luxuriant of locks as Kl6ber, and looking straight 
 before him with an energetic, glowing, and som- 
 bre expression. Altogether not exactly a pleasant 
 sort of man. While I studied this mighty figure, 
 which perfectly realized the general idea of a pri- 
 vateersman and even of a pirate, Mile. Marguerite 
 asked me to come into the room. I found myself 
 face to face with a shrivelled and decrepit old 
 man, whose eyes showed scarcely a spark of life, 
 and who, as he welcomed me, touched with trem- 
 bling hand the cap of black silk which covered a 
 skull that shone like ivory. 
 
 " Grandfather," said Mile. Marguerite, raising 
 her voice, "this is M. Odiot." 
 
 The poor old privateersman raised himself a 
 little, as he looked at me with a dull and wavering 
 expression. 
 
 I sat down at a sign from Mile. Marguerite, 
 who repeated : 
 
 " M. Odiot, the new bailiff, grandfather." 
 
 " Ah good-day, sir," murmured the old man. 
 
 An interval of most painful silence followed. 
 Captain Laroque, his body bent in two and his 
 head hanging down, fixed a bewildered look on 
 me. At last, having apparently found a highly 
 interesting subject of conversation, he said in a 
 dull, deep voice : 
 
 63
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " M. de Beauchene is dead !" 
 
 I was not provided with a reply to this un- 
 expected communication. I had not the slightest 
 idea who M. de Beauchene might be ; Mile. Mar- 
 guerite did not take the trouble to tell me ; so 
 I limited the expression of my regret at this 
 unhappy event to a slight exclamation of con- 
 dolence. But the old captain apparently thought 
 this was not adequate, for the next moment he 
 repeated, in the same mournful voice : 
 
 44 M. de Beauchene is dead ! " 
 
 This persistence increased my embarrassment. 
 I saw Mile. Marguerite impatiently tapping her 
 foot on the floor. Despair seized me, and, catch- 
 ing at the first phrase that came into my head, 
 I said : 
 
 " Yes ; and what did he die of ?" 
 
 I had scarcely asked the question, when an 
 angry look from Mile. Marguerite told me that 
 I was suspected of irreverent mockery. Though 
 I was not conscious of anything worse than a 
 foolish gaucherie, I did all I could to give the 
 conversation a more pleasant character. I spoke 
 of the pictures in the gallery, of the great emo- 
 tions they must recall, of the respectful interest 
 I felt in contemplating the hero of these glorious 
 scenes. I even went into detail, and instanced 
 
 64
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 with no certain warmth of feeling two or three 
 battles in which I thought the brig Aimable 
 had actually accomplished miracles. While I 
 thus expressed the courteous interest of good 
 breeding, Mile. Marguerite still, to my surprise, 
 regarded me with manifest dissatisfaction and 
 annoyance. 
 
 Her grandfather, however, listened attentively, 
 and I saw that his head was rising little by little. 
 A strange smile lighted up his haggard face and 
 swept away his wrinkles. All at once he rose, and, 
 seizing the arms of his chair, drew himself up to 
 his full height ; the glare of battle flashed from 
 the hollow sockets of his eyes, and he shouted in 
 a sonorous voice that made me start : 
 
 " Helm to windward ! Hard to windward ! 
 Larboard fire ! Lay to ; lay to ! Grapple, smart 
 now, we have them ! Fire, there above ! Sweep 
 them well, sweep the bridge ! Now follow me 
 together down with the English, down with the 
 cursed Saxon ! Hurrah ! 
 
 With this last cry, which rattled hoarsely in his 
 throat, he sank exhausted into his chair ; in vain 
 his grand -daughter sought to aid him. Mile. 
 Laroque, with a quick imperious gesture, urged 
 me to depart, and I left the room immediately. 
 I found my way as best I could through the 
 
 65 5 Vol. 9
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 labyrinth of corridors and staircases, congratu- 
 lating myself very much on the talent for apropos 
 which I had displayed in my interview with the 
 old captain of the Aimable. 
 
 Alain, the gray-haired servant who had received 
 me when I arrived, was waiting for me in the hall 
 to tell me from Mme. Laroque that I should not 
 have time to go to my quarters before dinner, and 
 that it would not be necessary for me to change 
 my dress. As I entered the salon, a company of 
 about twenty people were leaving it in order of 
 precedence on their way to the dining-room. This 
 was the first time I had taken part in any social 
 function since the change in my condition. Ac- 
 customed to the small distinctions which the eti- 
 quette of the drawing-room grants to birth and 
 fortune, I felt keenly the first symptoms of that 
 indifference and contempt to which my new situa- 
 tion must necessarily expose me. Repressing as 
 well as I could this ebullition of false pride, I gave 
 my arm to a young lady, well made and pretty, 
 though rather small. She had kept in the back- 
 ground as the guests passed out, and, as I had 
 guessed, she proved to be the governess, Mile. 
 He*louin. The place at table marked as mine was 
 next to hers. While we were taking our seats, 
 Mile. Marguerite appeared guiding like Antigone 
 
 66
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 the slow and dragging steps of her grandfather. 
 With the air of tranquil majesty peculiar to her, 
 she came and sat down on my right, and the big 
 Newfoundland, who seemed to be the official 
 guardian of this princess, took up his place as sen- 
 tinel behind her chair. I thought it my duty to 
 express at once my regret at having so maladroitly 
 aroused memories which seemed to have such an 
 unfortunate effect on her grandfather. 
 
 " It is for me to apologize," she answered. " I 
 should have warned you never to speak of the 
 English in my grandfather's presence. ... Do 
 you know Brittany well ? " 
 
 I said that I had not seen it till to-day, but 
 that I was perfectly delighted to know it, and to 
 show, moreover, that I was worthy so to do, I en- 
 larged in lyric style on the picturesque beauties 
 that had struck me during the journey. Just as I 
 was hoping that this clever flattery would secure 
 me the good graces of the young Bretonne, I was 
 surprised to see her show symptoms of impatience 
 and boredom. Decidedly I was not fortunate 
 with this young lady. 
 
 " Good ! I see," she said with a singular ex- 
 pression of irony, "that you love all that is beau- 
 tiful, all that appeals to the soul and the imagina- 
 tionnature, bloom, heather, rocks, and the fine 
 
 67
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 arts. You will get on wonderfully well with 
 Mile. He"louin, who adores all those things. For 
 my part I care nothing about them." 
 
 " Then in Heaven's name, mademoiselle, what 
 are the things you love ? " 
 
 I asked the question in a playful tone. Mile. 
 Marguerite turned sharply on me, flashed a 
 haughty look at me, and replied curtly : 
 
 " I love my dog. Here, Mervyn !" 
 
 She thrust her hand fondly into the New- 
 foundland's thick coat. Standing on his hind 
 legs, he had already stretched his huge head be- 
 tween my plate and Mile. Marguerite's. 
 
 I began to observe this young lady with more 
 interest, and to search for the outward signs of the 
 unimpressionable soul on which she appeared to 
 pride herself. 
 
 I had at first supposed that Mile. Laroque was 
 very tall, but this impression was due to the noble 
 and harmonious character of her beauty. She is 
 really of medium height. The rounded oval of 
 her face and her haughty and well-poised neck are 
 lightly tinged with sombre gold. Her hair, which 
 lies in strong relief upon her forehead, ripples at 
 every movement of her head with bluish reflec- 
 tions. The fine and delicate nostrils seem to have 
 been copied from the divine model of a Roman 
 
 68
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 Madonna, and cut in living pearl. Under the 
 large, deep, and pensive eyes, the golden sun-burn 
 of the cheeks deepens into an aureole of deeper 
 brown, which looks like the shadow of the eye- 
 lashes, or may be a circle seared by the burning 
 glances of her eyes. 
 
 It is hard to describe the sovereign sweetness of 
 the smile which animates this lovely face at inter- 
 vals, and tempers the splendour of the great eyes. 
 Of a surety, the goddess of poetry, of reverie, and 
 of fairy realms might boldly claim the homage of 
 mortals under the form of this child,- who loves 
 nothing but her dog. In her rarest creations 
 nature often reserves her most cruel deceptions 
 for us. 
 
 After all, it matters little to me. I see plainly 
 that I am to play in the imagination of Mile. 
 Marguerite a part something like that of a negro, 
 which, as we know, is not an object particularly 
 attractive to Creoles. For my part, I flatter my- 
 self that I am quite as proud as Mile. Marguerite. 
 The most impossible kind of love for me is one 
 which might lay me open to the charge of schem- 
 ing or self-seeking. But I fancy that I shall not 
 require much moral courage to meet so remote a 
 danger, for Mile. Marguerite's beaut y is of the 
 kind which attracts the contemplation of the 
 
 69
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 artist, rather than any warmer and more human 
 sentiment. 
 
 However, at the name of Mervyn, which Mile. 
 Marguerite had given to her body-guard, Mile. 
 He"louin, my left-hand neighbour, plunged boldly 
 into the Arthurian cycle, and was so good as to in- 
 form me that Mervyn was the correct name of the 
 celebrated enchanter, whom the vulgar call Mer- 
 lin. From the Knights of the Round Table she 
 worked back to the days of Cassar and all the hier- 
 archy of druids, bards, and ovates denied in tedious 
 procession before me. After them we fell, as a 
 matter of course, from dolmen to menhir and from 
 galgal to cromlech. 
 
 While I wandered in Celtic forests with Mile. 
 He"louin, who wanted only a little more flesh to 
 make quite a respectable druidess, the widow of 
 the stock-broker made the echoes- resound with 
 complaints as ceaseless and monotonous as those 
 of a blind beggar : They had forgotten to give 
 her a foot-warmer ! They gave her cold soup ! 
 They gave her bones without meat ! That was 
 how she was treated ! Still, she was used to it. 
 Ah, it is sad to be poor, very sad ! She wished 
 she were dead. 
 
 " Yes, doctor " she was speaking to her 
 neighbour, v:ho listened to her wailings with 
 
 70
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 slightly ironical interest "yes, doctor, I am not 
 joking ; I do wish I were dead. I am sure it 
 would be a great relief to everybody. Think 
 what it must be to have been in the position 
 I've been in, to have eaten off silver plate with 
 one's own coat of arms, and now to be reduced to 
 charity, to be the sport of servants ! No one 
 knows what I suffer in this house ; no one ever 
 will know. The proud suffer without complain- 
 ing, so I say nothing, doctor, but I think all the 
 more." 
 
 " Of course, dear lady," said the doctor, whose 
 name was Desmarets. " Don't say any more. 
 Take a good drink. That will calm you." 
 
 " Nothing but death will calm me, doctor." 
 
 " Very well, madame, I am ready when you 
 are," said the doctor resolutely. 
 
 Towards the centre of the table the attention 
 of the company was monopolized by the careless, 
 caustic, and animated braggadocio of a M. de 
 Bdvallan, who seemed to be allowed the latitude 
 of a very intimate friend. He is a very tall man, 
 no longer young, of a type closely akin to that of 
 Francis I. 
 
 They listened to him as if he were an oracle, 
 and Mile. Laroquc herself showed as much inter- 
 est and admiration as she seemed capable of feel*
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 ing for anything in this world. But, as most of 
 his popular witticisms referred to local anecdotes 
 and parish gossip, I could not adequately appre- 
 ciate the merits of this Armorican lion. 
 
 I had reason, however, to appreciate his cour- 
 tesy ; after dinner he offered me a cigar, and 
 showed me the way to the smoking-room, where 
 he did the honours to three or four extremely 
 young men, who evidently thought him a model 
 of good manners and refined wickedness. 
 
 " Well, Bevallan," said one of these young 
 fellows, "you've not given up hopes of the 
 priestess of the sun-god ? " 
 
 " Never!" replied M. de Bevallan. " I would 
 wait ten months ten years, if necessary but I 
 will marry her or no one shall ! " 
 
 " You're a lucky chap ! The governess will 
 help you to be patient." 
 
 " Must I cut out your tongue, or cut off your 
 ears, young Arthur?" said M. de Bevallan, going 
 towards him and indicating my presence with a 
 hasty gesture. 
 
 A delightful conversational pell-mell then fol- 
 lowed, which introduced me to all the horses, all 
 the dogs, and all the ladies of the neighbourhood. 
 It would not be a bad thing for ladies if, for once 
 in their lives, they could hear the kind of conver- 
 
 72
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 sation which goes on between men in the effusive 
 mood that follows a copious repast. It would 
 show them exactly the delicacy of our manners, 
 and the amount of confidence they are calculated 
 to inspire. I am not in the least prudish, but in 
 my opinion this conversation outran the limits 
 of the freest jesting ; it touched on everything, 
 gaily outraged everything, took on a gratuitous 
 tone of universal profanation. My education is, 
 perhaps, incomplete, for it has left me with a cer- 
 tain reserve of reverence, that I think should be 
 maintained even in the wildest extravagances of 
 high spirits. 
 
 But we have in the France of to-day our young 
 America, which is not happy unless it can blas- 
 pheme a little after drinking ; we have the future 
 hopes of the nation, those amiable little ruffians, 
 without father or mother, without God or country, 
 who seem to be the raw products of some heart- 
 less and soulless machine, which has accidentally 
 deposited them on this planet not at all to its 
 beautificalion. 
 
 In short, M. de Be'vallan, who had appointed 
 himself professor o^ cynicism to these beardless 
 routs, did not please me, nor do I think that I 
 pleased him. I retired very early on the ground 
 of fatigue. 
 
 73
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 At my request old Alain procured a lantern 
 and guided me across the park to my future quar- 
 ters. After a few minutes' walk, we crossed a 
 wooden bridge over a stream and found ourselves 
 in front of a massive arched doorway, flanked by 
 two small towers. It was the entrance to the 
 ancient chateau. A ring of aged oak and pine 
 shut in this feudal fragment, and gave it an air of 
 profound seclusion. It is in this ruin that I am 
 to live. My apartments run above the door from 
 one of the towers to the other, and consist of 
 three rooms very neatly hung with chintz. I am 
 not displeased with this gloomy abode ; it suits 
 my fortunes. As soon as I had got rid of 
 Alain I began to write the account of this event- 
 ful day, breaking off occasionally to listen to the 
 gentle murmur of the stream under my window, 
 and to the call of the legendary owl celebrating 
 his doleful loves in the neighbouring woods. 
 
 July ist. 
 
 I must now try to pick up the thread of my 
 personal and private life, which for the past two 
 months has been somewhat lost among the daily 
 duties of my post. 
 
 The day after my arrival I stayed at home for 
 some hours, studying the ledgers and papers of 
 
 74
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 my predecessor, le pere Hivart, as they call him 
 here. I lunched at the chateau, where only a few 
 of last night's guests remained. Mme. Laroque 
 had lived a great deal in Paris before her father-in- 
 law's health condemned her to perpetual rusticity. 
 In her retirement she had kept her taste for the 
 culture, elegance, or frivolity which had centred 
 in the Rue du Bac when Mme. de Stael and her 
 turban held sway. She had also visited most 
 of the large cities of Europe, and had brought 
 away from them an interest in literature far ex- 
 ceeding the ordinary Parisian curiosity and eru- 
 dition. She read a great many newspapers and 
 reviews, and endeavoured to follow, as far as it 
 was possible at such a distance, the movement of 
 that refined civilization of which museums and 
 new books are the more or less ephemeral fruit 
 and flowers. We were talking at lunch about a 
 new opera, and Mme. Laroque asked M. de Beval- 
 lan a question about it which he could not answer, 
 although he professes to be well informed of all 
 that takes place on the Boulevard des Italiens. 
 Mme. Laroque then turned to me with an air that 
 showed how little she expected her man of busi- 
 ness to be acquainted with such matters ; but it 
 happened, unfortunately, that these were the only 
 " affairs " with which I was familiar. I had heard
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 in Italy this very opera which had just been played 
 in France for the first time. The very reserve of 
 my answers excited Mme. Laroque's curiosity ; 
 she questioned me closely, and before long put me 
 in possession of all the enthusiasms, souvenirs, and 
 impressions she had got in her travels. Soon we 
 were discussing the most celebrated theatres and 
 galleries of the Continent like old friends, and 
 when we left the table our conversation was so 
 animated that, to avoid breaking the thread of it, 
 Mme. Laroque almost unconsciously took my arm. 
 We continued our exchange of sympathies in the 
 drawing-room, Mme. Laroque gradually dropping 
 the kindly, patronizing tone which had rather 
 grated on me hitherto. 
 
 She confessed that she was possessed by a 
 mania for the theatre, and that she thought of hav- 
 ing some theatricals at the chateau. She asked 
 my advice on the management of this amusement, 
 and I gave her some details of particular plays 
 that I had seen in Paris and St. Petersburg. 
 Then, as I had no intention of abusing her good- 
 nature, I rose quickly, saying that I meant to in- 
 augurate my work at once by examining a large 
 farm about two leagues from the chateau. This 
 announcement seemed to fill Mme. Laroque with 
 consternation ; she looked at me, fidgeted among 
 
 76
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 her cushions, held her hands to the brazier, and at 
 last said in a low voice : 
 
 " Oh, what does it matter ? You can put 
 it off." 
 
 And as I insisted, she replied with comical 
 embarrassment : 
 
 " But you cannot ; the roads are horrible. . . . 
 You must wait for the fine weather." 
 
 " No, madame," I said, smiling, " I will not 
 wait a minute ; if I am to be your bailiff I must 
 look after your affairs." 
 
 " Madame," said old Alain, who had come in, 
 " M. Odiot could have le plre Hivarfs old gig ; it 
 is not on springs, but it's all the more solid for 
 that." 
 
 Mme. Laroque darted a withering glance at 
 the miserable Alain for daring to suggest le plre 
 Hivarfs gig to an agent who had been to the 
 Grand Duchess Helene's theatricals. 
 
 "Wouldn't the buggy be able to do it, 
 Alain ? " she asked. 
 
 " The buggy, madame ? Oh, no ! I don't be- 
 lieve it could get into the lane, and if it did, it 
 would certainly not come out whole." 
 
 I declared that I could walk easily. 
 
 " No, no," declared Mme. Laroque ; " that's 
 impossible. I couldn't allow it. Let me see ... 
 
 77
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 We have half a dozen horses here doing nothing ; 
 but perhaps you don't ride ? " 
 
 " Oh, I ride, but you really need not I am 
 going to 
 
 " Alain, get a horse saddled for M. Odiot. . . . 
 Which do you suggest, Marguerite ? " 
 
 " Give him Proserpine," whispered M. de Be*- 
 vallan maliciously. 
 
 " Oh, no ! not Proserpine," declared Mar- 
 guerite. 
 
 " And why not Proserpine?" I asked. 
 
 " Because she'd throw you," said the girl 
 frankly. 
 
 " Oh, would she ? Really ? May I ask, mad- 
 emoiselle, if you ride her ? " 
 
 "Yes, I do, but she gives me some trouble." 
 
 " Oh, well, perhaps she'll give you less when 
 I've ridden her once or twice ! That decides me. 
 Have Proserpine saddled, Alain." 
 
 Mile. Marguerite's dark eyebrows contracted 
 as she sat down with a gesture that disclaimed all 
 responsibility for the catastrophe she foresaw. 
 
 " If you want spurs," said M. de B^vallan, 
 who evidently did not mean me to return alive, 
 " I have a pair at your service." 
 
 Without appearing to notice Mile. Mar- 
 guerite's reproachful look at the obliging gentle- 
 
 73
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 man, I accepted his offer. Five minutes later a 
 frantic scuffling announced the approach of Pros- 
 erpine, who was brought with some difficulty to 
 one of the flights of steps under the private 
 garden. She was a fine half-bred, as black as jet. 
 I at once went down the perron. Some kind 
 people, with M. de Be*vallan at their head, fol- 
 lowed me to the terrace from motives of hu- 
 manity, no doubt and at the same time the three 
 windows of the salon were opened for the use of 
 the women and old men. I would willingly have 
 dispensed with all this publicity, but it could not 
 be helped, and besides, I had very little anxiety 
 about the result of this adventure. I might be a 
 very young land agent, but I was an old horseman 
 I could scarcely walk when my father put me 
 upon a horse to my mother's great alarm and 
 afterward he took the greatest pains to render me 
 his equal in an art in which he excelled. Indeed, 
 he had carried my training to the verge of extrav- 
 agance, sometimes making me put on the heavy 
 ancestral armour to perform my feats of equi- 
 tation. 
 
 Proserpine allowed me to disentangle the reins, 
 and even to touch her neck without giving the 
 slightest sign of irritation ; but as soon as she felt 
 my foot in the stirrup she shied at once, and sent 
 
 79
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 a volley of kicks above the marble vases on the 
 staircase ; then sat comfortably down on her hind- 
 quarters and beat the air with her forefeet. After 
 this she rested, quivering all over. "A bit fidgety 
 to mount," said the groom, with a wink. 
 
 " So I see, my good fellow, but I shall astonish 
 her. See," and at the same time I sprang into the 
 saddle without touching the stirrup and got my 
 seat before Proserpine had quite realized what had 
 happened. The instant after we shot at a hard 
 gallop into the chestnut avenue, followed by some 
 clapping of hands, which M. de Be"vallan had the 
 grace to start. 
 
 That evening I could see, from the way 
 people treated me, that this incident, trifling as it 
 was, had raised me in the public opinion. Some 
 other talents of the same sort, which I owed to my 
 education, helped me to secure the only kind of 
 consideration I wished for one which respected 
 my personal dignity. Besides, I made it quite evi- 
 dent that I should not abuse the kindness and con- 
 sideration shown me, by usurping a position in- 
 compatible with my humble duties at the chateau. 
 I shut myself up in my tower as much as I could 
 without being boorish ; in a word, I kept strictly 
 in my place, so that none should be tempted to 
 remind me of it. 
 
 80
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 A few days after my arrival, during one of the 
 large dinners which at that season were of nearly 
 daily occurrence, I heard the sous-prtfet of the 
 neighbouring little town, who was sitting next to 
 the lady of the house, ask her who I was. Mme. 
 Laroque, who is rather forgetful, did not remem- 
 ber that I was quite close, and, nolens volens, I 
 heard every word of her reply. 
 
 " Please, don't ask me," she said. " There's 
 some extraordinary mystery about him. We think 
 he must be a prince in disguise. . . . There are so 
 many who like to see the world in this fashion. 
 This one has every conceivable talent : he rides, 
 plays the piano, draws, and does each to perfec- 
 tion ! . . . Between ourselves, my dear sous-prtfet % 
 I believe he is a very bad steward, but there's no 
 doubt he is a very agreeable man." 
 
 The sous-prtfet who also is a very agreeable 
 man, or thinks he is, which is just as satisfactory 
 to himself stroked his fine whiskers with his 
 plump hand and said sweetly that there were 
 enough beautiful eyes in the chateau to explain 
 many mysteries ; that he quite understood the 
 steward's object, and that Love was the legitimate 
 father of Folly, and the proper steward of the 
 Graces. . . . Then, changing his tone abruptly, 
 he added : 
 
 81
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " However, madame, if you have the slightest 
 anxiety about this person, I will have him interro- 
 gated to-morrow by the head constable." 
 
 Mme. Laroque protested against this excess 
 of gallantry. The conversation so far as it con- 
 cerned me went no further. But I was very 
 much annoyed, not with the sous-pr^fet^ who had 
 greatly amused me ; but with Mme. Laroque, who 
 seemed to have been more than just to my per- 
 sonal qualities, and not sufficiently convinced of 
 my official abilities. 
 
 As it happened, I had to renew the lease of one 
 of the larger farms on the day following. The 
 business had to be transacted with a very astute 
 old peasant, but, nevertheless, I held my own with 
 him, thanks to a judicious combination of legal 
 phraseology and diplomatic reserve. When we 
 had agreed on the details, the farmer quietly 
 placed three roideaux of gold on my desk. 
 Though I did not understand this payment, as 
 there was nothing due, I refrained from showing 
 any surprise. By some indirect questions, which 
 I asked as I unfolded the packets, I ascertained 
 that this sum was the earnest-money of the bar- 
 gain; or, in other words, a sort of bonus which the 
 farmers present to the landlord when their leases 
 are renewed. 
 
 82
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 I had not thought of claiming this, as I had 
 not found it mentioned in the leases drawn up 
 by my able predecessor, which had been my 
 models. For the moment I drew no conclusions 
 from his silence on this point, but when I handed 
 over the windfall to Mme. Laroque her surprise 
 astonished me. 
 
 "And what is this?" she said. 
 
 I explained the nature of the payment, and 
 had to repeat my explanation. 
 
 " And is it a usual custom ? " she continued. 
 
 " Yes, madame, whenever a lease is renewed." 
 
 " But, to my knowledge, there have been ten 
 leases renewed in the last thirty years. . . . How 
 is it we never heard of such a custom ?" 
 
 " I cannot say, madame." 
 
 Mme. Laroque fell into an abyss of reflec- 
 tions, in which, perhaps, she encountered the ven- 
 erable shade of le pere Hivart. At length she 
 slightly shrugged her shoulders, looked at me, 
 then at the gold, then again at me, and seemed 
 to hesitate. At last, leaning back in her chair, 
 sighing deeply, and speaking with a simplicity 
 which I greatly appreciated, she said : 
 
 "Very well, monsieur. Thank you." 
 
 Mme. Laroque had the good taste not to 
 compliment me on this instance of ordinary 
 
 33
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 honesty ; but, none the less, she conceived a 
 great idea of her steward's ability and virtues. A 
 few days later I had a proof of this. Her daugh- 
 ter was reading an account of a voyage to "the 
 pole to her, in which an extraordinary bird is 
 mentioned " qui ne vole pas" * 
 
 " Like my steward," she said. 
 
 I sincerely believe that from this time my 
 devotion to the work I had undertaken gave me 
 a claim to a more positive commendation. Soon 
 afterward, when I went to see my sister in Paris, 
 M. Laube"pin thanked me warmly for having so 
 creditably redeemed the pledges he had given on 
 my behalf. 
 
 " Courage, Maxime," he said. " We shall give 
 Helene her dowry. The poor child will not have 
 noticed anything unusual, and you, my friend, 
 will have nothing to regret. Believe me, you 
 possess what in this world comes nearest to hap- 
 piness, and I am sure you will always possess it, 
 thank Heaven ! It is a peaceful conscience and 
 the manly serenity of a soul devoted to duty." 
 
 The old man is right, of course. I am at 
 peace, but I cannot say that I am happy. My 
 soul is not yet ripe for the austere delights of 
 
 * " Which does not Jfy." But the French verb voler is also to 
 steal \ hence the application. 
 
 84
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 sacrifice ; it has its outbursts of youthfulness and 
 of despair. My life is no longer my own : it is 
 devoted and consecrated to a weaker, dearer life ; 
 it has no future : it is imprisoned in a cloister that 
 will never be opened. My heart must not beat, 
 my brain must not think, save for another. So 
 be it ! May Helene be happy ! Years are steal- 
 ing upon me. May they come quickly ! I pray 
 that they will ; the coldness that comes with them 
 will strengthen my courage. 
 
 Besides, I cannot complain of a situation 
 which has, in fact, fallen agreeably short of my 
 worst forebodings, and has even surpassed my 
 brightest expectations. My work, my frequent 
 journeys into the neighbouring departments, and 
 my love of solitude, often keep me away from 
 the chateau, where I particularly avoid all the 
 more festive gatherings. And perhaps it is be- 
 cause I go to them so seldom that I am welcomed 
 so kindly. Mme. Laroque, in particular, shows 
 a real affection for me ; she makes me the con- 
 fidant of her curious and perfectly sincere fancies 
 about poverty, sacrifice, and poetic abnegation, 
 which form such an amusing contrast to the chilly 
 Creole's multitudinous contrivances for comfort. 
 
 Sometimes she envies the gipsies carrying 
 their children on a wretched cart along the 
 
 85
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 roads, and cooking their food under hedges ; 
 sometimes it is the Sisters of Charity ; some- 
 times the cantinikres, whose heroic work she 
 longs to share. 
 
 And she never ceases to lament the late M. 
 Laroque's admirable health, which prevented his 
 wife from showing that nature had meant her for 
 a sick-nurse. Nevertheless, she has lately had 
 fixed to her chair a kind of niche like a sentry- 
 box, as a protection from draughts. The other 
 morning I found her triumphantly installed in 
 this kiosk, where she really awaits her martyr- 
 dom in considerable comfort. 
 
 I have scarcely less reason to be satisfied with 
 the other inhabitants of the chateau. Mile. Mar- 
 guerite, who is always plunged like a Nubian 
 sphinx in some mysterious vision, nevertheless 
 condescends to treat me to my favourite airs with 
 the utmost good-nature. She has a fine contralto 
 voice, which she uses with perfect art, but at the 
 same time with an indifference and coldness 
 which I think must be deliberate. Sometimes, in 
 an unguarded moment, I have heard her tones 
 become impassioned, but almost immediately she 
 has returned to an icy correctness, as if ashamed 
 of the lapse from her character or from her role. 
 
 A few games of piquet with M. Laroque, 
 
 86
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 which I had the tact to lose, won me the favour 
 of the poor ol'd man. Sometimes I find his dim 
 and feeble gaze fixed on me with strange intent- 
 ness, as if some dream of the past, some fanciful 
 resemblance, had half revived among the mists of 
 an exhausted memory, in which the images of 
 a century hover confusedly. 
 
 They actually wanted to return me the money 
 I lost to him. Mme. Aubry, who usually plays 
 with the old captain, accepts these restitutions 
 without scruple ; but this does not prevent her 
 from winning pretty frequently, on which occa- 
 sions she has furious encounters with the old 
 corsair. M. Laube"pin was lenient when he 
 described this lady merely as embittered. I have 
 no liking for her, but, out of consideration for the 
 others, I have made an effort to gain her good- 
 will, and have succeeded in doing so by listening 
 patiently first to her lamentations over her pres- 
 ent position, and then to her impressive descrip- 
 tion of her former grandeur, her silver, her furni- 
 ture, her lace, and her gloves. 
 
 It must be confessed that I have come to the 
 right school to learn to despise the advantages I 
 have lost. Every one here by their attitude and 
 language eloquently exhorts me to the contempt 
 of riches. Firstly, Mme. Aubry, who might be 
 
 87
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 aptly compared to those shameless gluttons whose 
 greediness takes away one's appetite, and who 
 disgust one with the dishes they praise ; the old 
 man, perishing as sadly among his millions as 
 Job on his dunghill ; the good woman, romantic 
 and blas^ who in the midst of her inopportune 
 prosperity dreams of the forbidden fruit of suffer- 
 ing ; and lastly, the haughty Marguerite, who 
 wears like a crown of thorns the diadem of 
 beauty and opulence which Heaven has forced 
 on her brow. A strange girl ! 
 
 Nearly every fine morning I see her ride past 
 the windows of my belfry ; she bows gravely to 
 me, the black plume of her felt riding hat dip- 
 ping and waving in the wind ; and then she 
 slowly disappears along the shaded path that runs 
 trough the ruins of the ancient chateau. Some- 
 times old Alain follows her, and sometimes her 
 only companion is the huge and faithful Mervyn, 
 who strides at the side of his beautiful mistress 
 like a pensive bear. So attended, she covers all 
 the country round on her errands of charity. 
 She does not need a protector, for there is not a 
 cottage within six leagues where she is not known 
 and worshipped as the goddess of good works. 
 The poor people call her " Mademoiselle," as if 
 they were speaking of one of those daughters of 
 
 88
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 kings who give poetry to their legends, and whose 
 beauty and power and mystery they recognise 
 in her. 
 
 I, meanwhile, am seeking the key to the som- 
 bre preoccupation that clouds her brow, the 
 haughty and defiant severity of her eyes, the cold 
 bitterness of her tongue. I ask myself if these 
 are the natural traits of a strange and complex 
 character, or the symptoms of some secret suffer- 
 ing, remorse, or fear, or love, which preys on this 
 noble heart. However slightly one may be inter- 
 ested in the question, it is impossible not to feel a 
 certain curiosity about a person so remarkable. 
 Last night, while old Alain, with whom I am a 
 favourite, was serving my solitary repast, I said : 
 
 " Well, Alain, it's been a lovely day. Have 
 you been riding ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, this morning, with mademoiselle." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! " 
 
 " You must have seen us go by, sir." 
 
 " Very likely. I sometimes do see you pass. 
 You look well on horseback, Alain." 
 
 " You're very kind, sir. But mademoiselle 
 looks better than I do." 
 
 " She is a very beautiful young lady." 
 
 " You're right, sir, and she's fair inside as well 
 as outside. Just like her mother. I'll tell you 
 
 89 6 Vol. 9
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 something, sir. You know, perhaps, that this 
 property belonged to the last Comte de Castennec, 
 whom I had the honour of serving. When the 
 Laroques bought the chateau I must own that I 
 was rather upset, and not inclined to stay with the 
 new people. I had been brought up to respect 
 the nobility, and it went against my feelings to 
 live with people of no birth. You may have no- 
 ticed, sir, that I am glad to wait upon you ; that 
 is because I think you look like a gentleman. 
 Are you quite sure you don't belong to the nobil- 
 ity, sir ? " 
 
 " Quite sure, my poor Alain." 
 
 " Well, it's of no consequence, sir, and this is 
 what I wanted to tell you," said Alain, with a 
 graceful inclination. " In the service of these 
 ladies I have learned that nobility of the heart 
 is as good as the other, more especially that of the 
 Comte de Castennec, who had a weakness for 
 beating his servants. Still, sir, it's a great pity 
 mademoiselle cannot marry a gentleman with a 
 fine old name. Then she would be perfect." 
 
 " But, Alain, it seems to me that it only de- 
 pends on herself." 
 
 " If you refer to M. de Be>allan, sir, it cer- 
 tainly does, for he asked for her more than six 
 months ago. Madame was not opposed to the 
 
 90
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 marriage, and, in fact, after the Laroques, M. de 
 Be'vallan is the richest man hereabouts ; but 
 mademoiselle, though she didn't positively refuse, 
 wanted time to think the matter over." 
 
 " But if she loves M. de Be'vallan, and can 
 marry him whenever she likes, why is she always 
 so sad and thoughtful ? " 
 
 " It's very true, sir, that mademoiselle has 
 changed a good deal in the last two or three years. 
 Before that she was as merry as a bird ; now she 
 seems to have something on her mind, but, if I 
 may say so, it is not love for this gentleman." 
 
 " You don't seem very fond of M. de Be'vallan 
 yourself, Alain. But his family is excellent." 
 
 " That does not prevent him from being a bad 
 lot, sir, always running after the country girls, and 
 for no good either. And if you used your eyes, 
 sir, you might see that he is quite ready to play 
 the sultan here in the chateau itself while he's 
 waiting for something better." 
 
 After a significant pause Alain went on. 
 
 " Pity you haven't a hundred thousand francs 
 a year, sir." 
 
 "And why, Alain?" 
 
 " Because . . ." and Alain shook his head 
 thoughtfully.
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 July 25th. 
 
 During the past month I have made one 
 friend and two enemies. The enemies are Mile. 
 Marguerite and Mile. He"louin. The friend is a 
 maiden lady of eighty-eight. Scarcely a compen. 
 sation ! I will first make up my account with 
 Mile. HeUouin, an ungrateful young lady. What 
 she considers my offences should rather have se- 
 cured her esteem. But she is one of the many 
 women who do not care either to give, or to in- 
 spire, such a commonplace sentiment. From the 
 first I had been inclined to establish friendly rela- 
 tions with her. The governess and the steward 
 were on a similar footing ; we had a common 
 ground in our subordinate posi-;..on at the chateau. 
 I have always tried to show to ladies in her posi- 
 tion the consideration which seems to me due to 
 those in circumstances so precarious, humiliating, 
 and hopeless. Besides, Mile. Helouin is pretty, 
 intelligent, and accomplished, though she rather 
 deducts from these qualities by the exaggerated 
 liveliness of manner, the feverish coquetry, and 
 the tinge of pedantry which are the failings of her 
 profession. 
 
 I do not claim any credit for my chivalrous at- 
 titude towards her. It seemed to me a sort of 
 duty when, as various hints had warned me, I be- 
 
 Q2
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 came aware that a devouring lion in the semblance 
 of King Francis I was prowling round my young 
 protegte. This duplicity, which did credit to M. 
 de Be"vallan's audacity, was carried on, under cover 
 of a friendly interest, with an astuteness and confi- 
 dence well calculated to deceive the careless and 
 unsuspecting. Mme. Laroque and her daughter, 
 especially, are too little acquainted with the wick- 
 edness of this world, and too little in touch with 
 realities to have the slightest suspicion. For my 
 own part, I was angry with this insatiable lady- 
 killer, and did my best to spoil his plans. More 
 than once I secured the attention he desired to 
 monopolize ; and I tried more especially to coun- 
 teract or diminish the bitter sense of neglect and 
 isolation, which makes women in Mile. Helouin's 
 position ready to accept the kind of consolation 
 which was being offered to her. Have I ever 
 throughout this ill-advised contest outstepped the 
 delicate limits of brotherly protection ? I think 
 not. The very words of the brief dialogue which 
 has suddenly altered the character of our rela- 
 tions bear witness to my discretion. One even- 
 ing last week we were taking the air on the ter- 
 race. During the day I had had occasion to 
 show some kindly attention to Mile. He"louin, 
 and she now took my arm and said, as she 
 
 93
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 bit at an orange-blossom with her small white 
 teeth : 
 
 " M. Maxime, you are very good to me." 
 
 Her voice was a little unsteady. 
 
 " I hope so, mademoiselle." 
 
 " You are a true friend." 
 
 "Yes, indeed." 
 
 " But what kind of a friend ?" 
 
 " A true friend, as you say." 
 
 " A friend who loves me ? " 
 
 " Surely." 
 
 "Much?" 
 
 " Most decidedly." 
 
 " Passionately ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 At this word, which I uttered very clearly and 
 with a steady look, Mile. Helouin flung the 
 orange-blossom away and dropped my arm. Since 
 this unlucky hour I have been treated with a con- 
 tempt I do not deserve, and I should have been 
 convinced that friendship between man and 
 woman is a mere illusion, if I had not had on the 
 following day something like an antithesis to this 
 adventure. 
 
 I had gone to spend the evening at the cha- 
 teau, and as the two or three families who had 
 been staying there for the last fortnight had left 
 
 94
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 in the morning, I met only the habituts the cure*, 
 the tax-collector, Dr. Desmarets, and General de 
 Saint-Cast and his wife, who, like the doctor, 
 lived at the neighbouring little town. 
 
 When I came in, Mme. de Saint-Cast, who 
 had apparently brought her husband a handsome 
 fortune, was in close conversation with Mme. 
 Aubry. As usual, these ladies were in perfect 
 agreement. In language in which distinction of 
 form rivalled elevation of thought, they, like two 
 shepherds in an eclogue, alternately lauded the in- 
 comparable charms of wealth. 
 
 " You are perfectly right, madame," said Mme. 
 Aubry. " There is only one thing in the world 
 worth having, and that is money. When I had 
 money I utterly despised every one who had not, 
 and now I think it quite natural for people to de- 
 spise me, and I don't complain if they do." 
 
 " No one despises you on that account, 
 madame," replied Mme. de Saint-Cast, " most 
 certainly not ; but all the same there's a very great 
 difference between poverty and riches, I must 
 confess, as the general knows well enough. Why. 
 he had absolutely nothing when I married him 
 except his sword and one doesn't get fat on a 
 sword, does one, madame?" 
 
 "No, no, indeed, madame!" exclaimed Mme. 
 95
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 Aubry, delighted with this bold metaphor. 
 " Honour and glory are all very well in novels, 
 but a nice carriage is much better in practice, isn't 
 it, madame ? " 
 
 " Of course it is, madame ; and that's just what 
 I was saying to the general this morning as we 
 came here. Isn't it, general ? " 
 
 "Eh, what?" growled the general, who was 
 playing cards in a corner with the old corsair. 
 
 "You hadn't a penny when I married you, 
 general, had you?" continued Mme. de Saint- 
 Cast. " You won't think of denying that, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 " We've heard it often enough, I should say," 
 growled the general. 
 
 "That doesn't alter the fact that if it hadn't 
 been for me, general, you'd have had to travel on 
 foot, and that wouldn't have been a fine thing for 
 you with your wounds. Your half-pay of six or 
 seven hundred francs wouldn't have kept a car- 
 riage for you, my friend. I was saying this to 
 him to-day apropos of our new carriage, which is 
 as easy as an arm-chair. Of course I paid a good 
 price for it ; it's four thousand francs out of my 
 pocket, madame." 
 
 " I can well believe it, madame. My best car- 
 riage cost me fully five thousand, including the 
 
 96
 
 tiger-skin mat, which was worth five hundred francs 
 alone." 
 
 "Yes," replied Mme. de Saint-Cast; "but I 
 have had to be a little careful, for I've just been 
 getting new drawing-room furniture ; the carpet 
 and curtains alone cost me fifteen thousand francs. 
 You'll say it's too good for a country hole like 
 this. You're right. But the whole town is lost 
 in admiration, and, after all, one does like to be 
 respected, madame ! " 
 
 " Of course, madame," replied Mme. Aubry, 
 "we like to be respected, and we are respected 
 according to the money we have. For my part, I 
 console myself for not being respected now, by 
 remembering that if I were as well off as I once 
 was, I should see all the people who despise me at 
 my feet again." 
 
 " Except me, by God ! " cried Dr. Desmarets, 
 jumping up. " You might have a hundred mil- 
 lions a year, and I give you my word of honour 
 you wouldn't see me at your feet ! And now I'll 
 go and get some air, for, devil take me, if one can 
 breathe here ! " 
 
 So saying, the honest doctor left the room, and 
 my heart went out to him for the outburst that 
 had relieved my own sense of disgust and indig- 
 nation, 
 
 97
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 Although M. Desmarets was received at the 
 house as a Chrysostom to whom great license of 
 speech was allowed, his language had been so for- 
 cible that it had produced a certain embarrassment 
 in the company, and an awkward silence ensued. 
 Mme. Laroque broke it adroitly by asking her 
 daughter whether it was eight o'clock. 
 
 " It can't be, mother," replied Mile. Mar- 
 guerite, "for Mile, de Porhoet has not come 
 yet." 
 
 The minute after, as the clock struck, the door 
 opened, and Mile. Jocelynde de Porhoet-Gael en- 
 tered the room, with astronomical punctuality, on 
 the arm of Dr. Desmarets. 
 
 Mile, de Porhoet-Gael, who had this year 
 seen her eighty-eighth spring, and whose appear- 
 ance suggested a tall reed wrapped in silk, is the 
 last scion of a noble race, whose earliest ancestors 
 must be sought among the legendary kings of 
 ancient Armorica. Of this house, however, there 
 is no authentic record in history until the twelfth 
 century, when Juthai'l, son of Conan le Tort, who 
 belonged to the younger branch of the reigning 
 family of Brittany, is mentioned. Some drops of 
 the Porhoet blood have mingled with that of the 
 most illustrious veins of France those of the 
 Rohans, the Lusignans, the Penthievres, and these 
 
 98
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 grands seigneurs had admitted that it was not the 
 least pure of their blood. I remember that when 
 in a fit of youthful vanity I studied the alliances 
 of my family, I noticed the strange name of Por- 
 hoet, and that my father, who was very learned in 
 such matters, spoke highly in its praise. Mile, de 
 Porhoet, who is now the sole bearer of the name, 
 had always refused to marry, because she wished 
 to preserve as long as possible in the firmament 
 of the French nobility the constellation of those 
 magic syllables, Porhoet-Gael. It happened one 
 day that the origin of the house of Bourbon was 
 referred to in her presence. 
 
 " The Bourbons," said Mile, de Porhoet, stick- 
 ing her knitting-needle into her blond peruke, 
 " the Bourbons are a good family, but " (with an 
 air of modesty) " there are better." 
 
 However, it is impossible not to render hom- 
 age to this august old lady, who bears with sur- 
 prising dignity the heavy and triple majesty of 
 birth, age, and misfortune. A wretched lawsuit in 
 some foreign country which she has persisted in 
 carrying on for fifteen years, has gradually reduced 
 a fortune, which was but small to begin with ; and 
 now she has scarcely a thousand francs a year. 
 Privation has not broken her pride or embittered 
 her temper. She is gay, good-humoured, and 
 
 99
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 courteous. She lives, no one quite knows how, 
 in her small house with her little servant, and con- 
 trives even to find money for charity. To their 
 great honour, Mme. Laroque and her daughter 
 are devoted to their poor and noble neighbour. 
 At their house she is treated with a respectful at- 
 tention which amazes Mme. Aubry. I have often 
 seen Mile. Marguerite leave the gayest dance to 
 make a fourth for Mile, de Porhoet's rubber, for 
 the world would come to an end if Mile, de Por- 
 hoet's whist (halfpenny points) was omitted for a 
 single day. I am one of the old lady's favourite 
 partners, and on this particular evening soon 
 found myself, with the cure" and the doctor, seated 
 at the whist-table with the descendant of Conan 
 le Tort. 
 
 I ought to mention here that at the com- 
 mencement of the last century a grand-uncle of 
 Mile, de Porhoet, who held an office in the estab- 
 lishment of the Duke d'Anjou, crossed the Pyr- 
 enees in the suite of the young prince, who be- 
 came Philip V, settled in Spain, and prospered 
 there. His posterity became extinct about fif- 
 teen years ago, and Mile, de Porhoet, who had 
 never lost sight of her Spanish relatives, at 
 once declared herself heiress to their considera- 
 ble property. Her claims were contested, only 
 
 100
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 too justly, I fear, by one of the oldest Castil- 
 ian families allied to the Spanish branch of the 
 Porhoets. 
 
 Hence the lawsuit which the unfortunate 
 octogenarian maintained at great expense, going 
 from court to court with a persistence akin to 
 mania, which her friends deplored and other peo- 
 ple ridiculed. Dr. Desmarets, despite his respect 
 for Mile, de Porhoet, belongs to the party who 
 laughs ; more particularly, because he strongly 
 disapproves of the use to which the poor lady has 
 prospectively devoted her fictitious heritage. She 
 intends to build in the neighbouring town a 
 cathedral in the richest flamboyant style, which 
 shall perpetuate the name of the foundress and of 
 a great departed race to all future generations. 
 This cathedral dream begotten of a dream ! is 
 the harmless hobby of the old lady. She has had 
 the plans made ; she spends her days and some- 
 times her nights brooding on its splendours, alter- 
 ing its arrangements, or adding to its decoration. 
 She speaks of it as already existent : " I was in 
 the nave of my cathedral ; to-night I noticed 
 something very ugly in the north aisle of my 
 cathedral ; I have altered the uniform of the 
 suisse ;" etc., etc. 
 
 " Well, mademoiselle," said the doctor, shuf- 
 
 IOJ
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 fling the cards, " have you been working at the 
 cathedral since yesterday ? " 
 
 " Yes, of course I have, doctor ; and I've had 
 a rather happy idea. I have replaced the solid 
 wall, which you know separates the choir from 
 the sacristy, by a screen of carved foliage in imi- 
 tation of the Clisson chapel in the church at Jos- 
 selin. It is much lighter." 
 
 " No doubt ; but in the meanwhile what is 
 the news from Spain ? Can it be true, as I think 
 I saw in the Revue des Deux Mondes this morn- 
 ing, that the young duke of Villa-Hermosa pro- 
 poses to put an end to the case in a friendly way, 
 by offering to marry you ? " 
 
 Mademoiselle de Porhoet disdainfully shook 
 the plume of faded ribbons attached to her cap. 
 
 " I should refuse absolutely," she said. 
 
 "Ah, yes, you say so, mademoiselle ! But how 
 about the guitar that's been heard under your win- 
 dows the last few nights ? " 
 
 "Bah!" 
 
 " Bah ? And that Spaniard who has been 
 prowling about the country in a mantle and yel- 
 low boots, sighing as if his heart would burst ?" 
 
 " You are a feather-head, Dr. Desmarets," said 
 Mademoiselle de Porhoet, calmly opening her 
 snuff-box. " Still as you wish to know I may 
 
 102
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 say that my man of business wrote to me from 
 Madrid a day or two ago that with a little more 
 patience we should see the end of all our troubles." 
 
 " I can quite believe that ! Do you know 
 where your man of business comes from, madame ? 
 Straight from Gil Bias' cavern. He'll drain you 
 of your last shilling, and then he'll laugh in your 
 face. How much better it would be to give up 
 this folly for good and all, and live at ease quietly ! 
 What good will these millions do you ? Aren't 
 you happy and respected . . . what more do you 
 want ? ... As for your cathedral, I won't speak 
 of it, because it is a bad joke." 
 
 " My cathedral is not a bad joke to any but 
 bad jokers, Dr. Desmarets ; besides, I am defend- 
 ing my rights, I am fighting for justice ; the prop- 
 erty belongs to me. I have heard my father say 
 so a hundred times, and never, with my consent, 
 shall it go to people who are actually as much 
 strangers to our family as yourself, my friend, or," 
 she added, indicating me, "this gentleman." 
 
 I was childish enough to resent this remark, 
 and at once replied : "As far as I am concerned, 
 mademoiselle, you are mistaken ; for my family 
 has had the honour of being allied to yours, and 
 "vice versa." 
 
 At this startling announcement Mile, de Por- 
 103
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 hoet hastily brought her cards, which she held 
 spread out fanwise, nearer to her pointed chin, 
 and straightening her spare figure, looked me 
 in the face as if she doubted my sanity. By a 
 tremendous effort she recovered her self-posses- 
 sion, and said, as she carried a pinch of Spanish 
 snuff to her thin nose, " Young man, you will 
 have to prove what you say to me." 
 
 Ashamed of my foolish boast, and embarrassed 
 by the attention it had aroused, I bowed awk- 
 wardly without speaking. Our rubber was played 
 in gloomy silence. It was ten o'clock, and I was 
 preparing to slip off, when Mile, de Porhoet 
 touched my arm. 
 
 " Sir," she said, " will you be so kind as to ac- 
 company me to the end of the avenue ? " 
 
 I bowed again and followed her into the park. 
 The little servant in Breton costume went first, 
 carrying a lantern ; then came Mile, de Porhoet, 
 stiff and silent, carefully holding up her worn silk 
 frock ; she had coldly declined the offer of my 
 arm, and I walked humbly at her side, feeling 
 very much dissatisfied with myself. After a few 
 minutes of this funeral march the old lady spoke. 
 
 " Well, sir ?" she said. "You may speak; I 
 am waiting. You have asserted that your family 
 is allied to mine, and as an alliance of this kind is 
 
 104
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 a piece of history entirely new to me, I shall be 
 greatly obliged if you will enlighten me on the 
 subject." 
 
 I had decided that I must at all costs keep the 
 secret of my incognito. 
 
 " I venture to hope, mademoiselle, that you 
 won't take a mere joke quite seriously." 
 
 "A joke ! " exclaimed Mile, de Porhoet. " A 
 nice subject to joke upon ! And, sir, what do 
 you people of to-day call the jokes that can be 
 boldly addressed to an old and defenceless woman, 
 but which you would not dare to utter in the 
 presence of a man ? " 
 
 " Mademoiselle, you leave me no choice ; I 
 must trust to your discretion. I do not know 
 whether the name of Champcey d'Hauterive is 
 familiar to you ? " 
 
 " I know the Champcey d'Hauterives perfectly 
 well, sir. They are a good, an excellent Dauphin 
 family. What inference am I to make from your 
 question?" 
 
 " I am the present representative of that 
 family." 
 
 " You ! " exclaimed Mile, de Porhoet, coming 
 to a sudden halt. " You are a Champcey d'Hau- 
 terive ? " 
 
 " Yes, the male representative, mademoiselle." 
 105
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " That alters the question," she said. " Give 
 me your arm, cousin, and tell me your history." 
 
 I thought that in the circumstances it would 
 be better not to conceal anything from her. As 
 I finished the painful story of my family troubles, 
 we found ourselves opposite a small house, re- 
 markably low and narrow. On one side stood a 
 kind of low pigeon-house with a pointed roof. 
 
 " Enter, marquis," said the daughter of the 
 kings of Gael at the threshold of her lowly palace. 
 " I beg that you will enter." 
 
 The next moment I stepped into a little salon 
 meanly paved .with brick ; on the faded tapestry 
 of the walls hung portraits of ancestors gorgeous 
 in ducal ermine. Over the mantel-piece sparkled 
 a magnificent clock in tortoise-shell and brass, sur- 
 mounted by a group representing the chariot of 
 the sun. Some oval-backed arm-chairs and an old 
 spindle-legged couch completed the furniture of 
 the room. Everything shone with cleanliness, and 
 the air was filled with mingled odours of iris, 
 Spanish snuff, and aromatic essences. 
 
 " Pray be seated," said the old lady, taking her 
 place on the couch ; " pray be seated, my cousin. 
 I call you cousin, though we are not related, and 
 cannot be, as Jeanne de Porhoet and Hugues de 
 Champcey were so ill-advised as to leave no issue. 
 
 1 06
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 But, with your permission, I should like to treat 
 you as a cousin when we are alone, if only to 
 make me forget for a moment that I am alone in 
 the world. 
 
 "So, cousin, I see how you are situated; the 
 case is a hard one, most assuredly. But I will 
 suggest one or two reflections which have solaced 
 me, and which I think are likely to bring consola- 
 tion to you. 
 
 " In the first place, my dear marquis, I often 
 tell myself that among all the charlatans and ex- 
 lackeys one now sees rolling in carriages, poverty 
 has a peculiar perfume of distinction and 'good 
 taste. And also I am inclined to believe that 
 God has brought some of us down to a poor and 
 narrow life, that this coarse, materialistic, money- 
 grubbing age may have before it the type of a 
 merit, dignity, and splendour which owes nothing 
 to money, that money cannot buy that is not 
 for sale. In all probability, my cousin, such is the 
 providential justification of your situation and of 
 mine." 
 
 I conveyed to Mile, de Porhoet my satisfac- 
 tion at having been chosen with her to give the 
 world the noble example it needs so much, and 
 shows itself so ready to profit by. 
 
 " For my own part," she went on, " I am 
 107
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 inured to privation, and I do not feel it much. 
 When, in the course of a life that has been too 
 long, one has seen a father and four brothers, 
 worthy of their father, perish before their time, 
 by sword or bullet ; when one has lost, one by 
 one, all the objects of one's affection and worship, 
 one must have a very paltry soul to be much con- 
 cerned about more or less ample meals and more 
 or less dainty clothing. Certainly, marquis, you 
 may be sure that if my personal comfort only 
 were at stake, I should not trouble about my 
 Spanish millions; but to me it seems but right 
 and proper and exemplary that a house like mine 
 should not disappear without leaving some per- 
 manent sign, some striking monument of its gran- 
 deur and its faith. And that is why, cousin, I 
 have, in imitation of some of my ancestors, 
 thought of the pious foundation of which you 
 must have heard, and which, while I have life, 
 I shall not relinquish." 
 
 Assured of my sympathy, the noble old lady 
 seemed to lose herself in meditation, and as she 
 looked sadly at the fading portraits of her ances- 
 tors, only the beat of the hereditary clock broke 
 the silence of midnight in the dim room. 
 
 " There will be," Mile, de Porhoet suddenly 
 resumed, in a solemn voice, " there will be a chap- 
 
 108
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 ter of regular canons attached to the church. 
 Each day at matins, a mass will be said in the pri- 
 vate chapel of my family, for the repose of my 
 soul and the souls of my ancestors. The feet of 
 the celebrant priest will tread a slab of unlettered 
 marble, which will form the step of the altar and 
 cover my ashes." 
 
 I bent towards her with evident emotion, with 
 visible respect. Mile, de Porhoet took my hand 
 and pressed it gently. 
 
 " Cousin," she said, " I am not mad, whatever 
 they may say. My father, who was truth itself, 
 always declared that when the direct line of our 
 Spanish branch became exhausted we should be 
 sole heirs to the estate. Unfortunately, his sud- 
 den and violent death prevented him from giving 
 us more exact information ; but, as I cannot doubt 
 his word, I do not doubt my rights. However," 
 she added, after a little pause, and in accents of 
 touching sadness, " if I am not mad, I am old, 
 and the people in Spain know it. For fifteen 
 years they have dragged me on from one delay 
 to another ; they are waiting for my death to 
 finish everything. And . . , they will not have 
 to wait long. Some morning, very soon now, I 
 must make my last sacrifice. My dear cathedral 
 my only love, which has taken the place of so 
 
 109
 
 many broken or suppressed attachments will 
 have but one stone that of my tomb." 
 
 She was silent ; her thin hands wiped away 
 two tears that flowed down her worn face, as, 
 striving to smile, she said : 
 
 " Forgive me, cousin, you have enough troubles 
 of your own. Besides, it is late you must go. 
 You will compromise me ! " 
 
 Before leaving, I again recommended the 
 greatest discretion in reference to the secret I 
 had intrusted to her. She replied, a little naively, 
 that I need not be anxious, and that my peace of 
 mind and dignity were safe in her hands. Never- 
 theless, during the next few days, I suspected, 
 from Mme. Laroque's increased attentions, that 
 my excellent friend had handed on my confidence. 
 Indeed, Mile, de Porhoet admitted the fact, de- 
 claring that the honour of her family demanded 
 this, and assured me that Mme. Laroque was 
 incapable of betraying a secret intrusted to her, 
 even to her own daughter. 
 
 Our interview had filled me with sympathetic 
 respect for the old lady, which I tried to express 
 by my actions. The evening of the next day I 
 taxed all the resources of my pencil in the inven- 
 tion of decorations, internal and external, for her 
 beloved cathedral. The attention seemed to please 
 
 no
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 her very much, and I soon got into the habit of 
 working on the cathedral every evening after our 
 whist, enriching the ideal edifice with a statue, a 
 pulpit, and a rood-loft. Mile. Marguerite, who 
 seems to feel a kind of adoration for her old 
 neighbour, associated herself with my work of 
 charity by devoting a special album to the Basilica 
 Porhoet, which it is my duty to fill with designs 
 and drawings. 
 
 And in addition, I offered my old confidant to 
 take my share in the inquiries and other matters 
 of business connected with her lawsuit. The 
 poor lady confessed that I should do her a serv- 
 ice ; that though she could still keep up her ordi- 
 nary correspondence, her sight was too weak to 
 decipher the manuscripts of her archives. Hith- 
 erto she had not associated any one with her 
 in this important work, for fear of giving more 
 occasion to the rustic humourists. In short, she 
 accepted me as counsellor and collaborator. 
 Since this, I have conscientiously studied the 
 voluminous documents of her lawsuit, and I have 
 been convinced that the case, which must be 
 sooner or later definitively settled, is absolutely 
 hopeless from the beginning. M. Laub6pin 
 agrees with me in this opinion, which as far as 
 possible I have concealed from the old lady. 
 
 in
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 Meanwhile I have pleased her by going through 
 her family archives piece by piece ; she still hopes 
 to find among them some incontestable proof in 
 favour of her claim. Unfortunately, the records 
 are very copious, and fill the pigeon-house from 
 floor to roof. Yesterday I went early to Mile. 
 de Porhoet's to finish before lunch the examina- 
 tion of packet No. 115, which I had begun over- 
 night. The lady of the house had not risen yet, 
 so, with the help of the little servant, I quietly 
 installed myself in the salon and settled down to 
 my dusty work. About an hour later, as I was 
 going joyfully through the last sheet of packet 
 No. 115, Mile, de Porhoet came in, dragging a 
 huge bundle neatly wrapped up in a white linen 
 cover. 
 
 " Good-morning, my dear cousin," she said. 
 "I've heard how you have been working for me 
 this morning, so I determined to work for you. 
 Here is packet No. 116." 
 
 I must confess that at this moment Mile, de 
 Porhoet reminded me of the cruel fairy of folk- 
 lore, who shuts the princess up in a lonely tower 
 and imposes a succession of extraordinary and 
 impossible tasks on her. 
 
 " Last night," she continued, " I dreamed that 
 the key of my Spanish treasure lay in this packet. 
 
 112
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 So you will very much oblige me by examining it 
 at once. Afterward I hope you will do me the 
 honour to share a frugal repast in the shade of my 
 arbour." 
 
 There was no help for it. I obeyed, and I 
 need not say that the wonderful packet No. 116 
 contained, like its predecessors, nothing more 
 valuable than the dust of centuries. Precisely at 
 noon, the old lady came to offer me her arm and 
 conduct me formally to a little box-bordered gar- 
 den which, with a bit of adjoining meadow, now 
 constitutes the sole domain of the Porhoets. 
 The table was set out under an arched bower of 
 foliage, and through the leaves the sunshine of 
 a fine summer's day dappled the spotless, sweet- 
 smelling table-cloth. I had done justice to the 
 chicken, the fresh salad, and the bottle of old 
 Bordeaux, which made up the menu of the ban- 
 quet, when Mile, de Porhoet, who seemed 
 charmed with my appetite, turned the conversa- 
 tion on to the Laroque family. 
 
 " I will own," she said to me, "that I do not 
 care for the old buccaneer. When he first came 
 here he had a large and favourite ape, which he 
 dressed up like a servant, and which he seemed to 
 be able to communicate with perfectly. The ani- 
 mal was a nuisance to the whole country, and 
 
 H3 7 Vol. 9
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 only a man without education or decency could 
 have kept it. I agreed when they told me that 
 it was an ape, but, as a fact, I have always be- 
 lieved that it was a negro, more especially as I 
 had always suspected its master of having traf- 
 ficked in that commodity in Africa. But M. La- 
 roque, the son, was a good sort of man, and quite 
 a gentleman. As to the ladies I refer, of course, 
 to Mme. Laroque and her daughter, and in no 
 way to the widow Aubry, an extremely common 
 person as to the ladies, I say, they deserve every 
 good thing one can say of them." 
 
 Just then we heard the hoofs of a horse on the 
 path that runs outside the garden wall, and the 
 next moment some one was knocking sharply at a 
 small door near the arbour. 
 
 "Yes," said Mile, de Porhoet. "Who goes 
 there?" 
 
 I looked up, and saw a black plume above the 
 top of the wall. 
 
 " Open," said a gay voice outside, full of musi- 
 cal intonations. " Open. Tis the fortune of 
 France ! " 
 
 " What ? Is it you, my darling ?" said the old 
 lady. " Quick, cousin, run ! " 
 
 As I opened the door Mervyn rushed between 
 my legs, nearly throwing me down. Mile. Mar- 
 
 114
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 guerite was tying up her horse to the fence by his 
 reins. 
 
 " Bonjour, M. Odiot," she said, without show- 
 ing any surprise at finding me there. Throw- 
 ing the long folds of her habit over her arm, she 
 entered the garden. 
 
 " Welcome this lovely day, my lovely girl ! " 
 said Mile, de Porhoet. " Kiss me, dear. You've 
 been riding too fast, you foolish child. I can tell 
 by your colour and the fire that literally seems to 
 flash from your eyes. What can I offer you, my 
 beauty ? " 
 
 " Let me see," said Mile. Marguerite, glancing 
 at the table. "What have you got? Has M. 
 Odiot eaten up everything ? Not that it matters. 
 I am thirsty, not hungry." 
 
 " I utterly forbid you to drink while you're so 
 hot. But wait a moment ; there are some straw- 
 berries left in that bed." 
 
 " Strawberries ! O gibia ! " sang the girl. 
 " Take one of those fig-leaves, M. Odiot, and come 
 with me. Quick ! " 
 
 While I chose the largest of the fig-leaves, 
 Mile, de Porhoe't half-closed one eye, and fol- 
 lowed her favourite with the other, as she walked 
 proudly along the sunlit alley. 
 
 " Look at her, cousin," she whispered, with
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 an approving smile; "isn't she worthy to be one 
 of us?" 
 
 Meanwhile, Mile. Marguerite, bending over the 
 bed and catching her foot in her train at every 
 step, greeted each strawberry she found with a 
 little cry of delight. I kept near to her, holding 
 out the fig-leaf, in which she put one strawberry 
 for every two she ate, to help her to be patient. 
 When she was satisfied with the harvest we re- 
 turned in triumph to the arbour. The rest of the 
 strawberries were sprinkled with sugar, and crushed 
 by the prettiest teeth in Brittany with great relish. 
 
 " Oh, that's done me good ! " exclaimed Mile. 
 Marguerite, throwing her hat on the seat and lean- 
 ing back against the side of the bower. "And 
 now, dearest lady, to complete my happiness, you're 
 going to tell me stories of the old days when you 
 were a fair warrior." 
 
 Mile, de Porhoet, smiling and charmed, needed 
 no pressing, and began to tell us some of the 
 most striking events of her famous expeditions 
 with Lescure and La Rochefoucauld. And on this 
 occasion my old friend gave me another proof of 
 her nobility of nature, for she paid her tribute to 
 the heroes of those troublous wars without dis- 
 tinction of party. She spoke of General Hoche, 
 whose prisoner she had been, with almost tender 
 
 116
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 admiration. Mile. Marguerite listened with an 
 impassioned attention which surprised me. At 
 one moment, half-buried in her leafy niche, her 
 long eyelashes a little lowered, she sat as motion- 
 less as a statue ; at another, when the story became 
 more exciting, she put her elbows on the table, 
 plunged a beautiful hand into the masses of her 
 loosened hair, and fixed the lightning of her bril- 
 liant eyes eagerly on the old Vendienne. 
 
 Among the sweetest hours of my dull life, I 
 shall always count those I spent watching that 
 noble face, irradiated by the reflections of the 
 glowing sky and the impressions of a valiant 
 heart. 
 
 When the story-telling was over, Mile. Mar- 
 guerite embraced her old friend, and waking up 
 Mervyn, who was asleep at her feet, declared that 
 she must return to the chateau. As I was sure it 
 would cause her no embarrassment, I had no hesi- 
 tation in leaving at the same time. Apart from 
 my personal insignificance in the sight of the rich 
 heiress, Mile. Laroque was quite at her ease with- 
 out a chaperon. Her mother had given her the 
 same kind of liberal education she had herself 
 received in one of the British colonies. And we 
 know that the English method accords to women 
 before marriage all that independence which we 
 
 117
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 so wisely give them only when the abuse of it be- 
 comes irreparable. So we went out of the garden 
 together. I held her stirrup while she mounted, 
 and we set off towards the chateau. 
 
 " Really, M. Odiot," she said, after a few 
 steps, " I am afraid I spoiled your t$te-a-t$te in the 
 garden. You seemed to be very happy." 
 
 " Certainly, mademoiselle, but as I had already 
 been there a long time, I forgive you ; nay, more, 
 I thank you." 
 
 " You are very good to our poor friend. My 
 mother is very grateful to you." 
 
 " And your mother's daughter?" I said, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Oh, I'm not so easily impressed. I am 
 afraid you will have to wait a little before you get 
 any praises from me. I don't judge people's ac- 
 tions leniently ; there is generally more than one 
 explanation of them. I grant that your behav- 
 iour towards Mile, de Porhoet looks very well, 
 
 but " she paused, shook her head, and went 
 
 on in a serious, bitter, and frankly insulting tone, 
 " but I am not at all certain that you are not pay- 
 ing court to her in the hope that she may make 
 you her heir." 
 
 I felt myself grow pale. But, seeing how ab- 
 surd it would be to answer this young girl angrily, 
 
 118
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 I controlled myself, and replied grandly, " Allow 
 me, mademoiselle, to express my sincere pity for 
 you." 
 
 She appeared very much surprised. " Your 
 sincere pity ? " 
 
 " Yes, mademoiselle, the respectful pity to 
 which I think you have a right." 
 
 " Pity ! " she said, stopping her horse and slow- 
 ly turning her disdainful, half-closed eyes towards 
 me. " I am not so fortunate as to understand you." 
 
 " It is really quite simple, mademoiselle ; if 
 disillusion, doubt, and callousness are the bitterest 
 fruits of long experience, nothing in the world 
 deserves pity so much as a heart withered by mis- 
 trust before it has even seen life." 
 
 " Sir," said Mile. Laroque, with a strange ve- 
 hemence, " you do not know what you are talk- 
 ing about. And," she added more harshly, "you 
 forget to whom you are speaking ! " 
 
 " That is true, mademoiselle," I answered 
 gently, bowing. "I may have spoken without 
 much knowledge, and perhaps I forgot, to some 
 extent, to whom I was speaking. But you set me 
 the example." 
 
 Her eyes fixed on the top of the trees that 
 bordered the road, Mile. Marguerite asked, with 
 haughty irony : 
 
 119
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " Must I beg your pardon ?" 
 
 " Most certainly, mademoiselle," I replied 
 firmly, "if either of us should ask pardon, it is 
 you. You are rich, I am poor ; you can humble 
 yourself. ... I cannot." 
 
 There was silence. Her tightened lips, her 
 quivering nostrils, and the sudden whiteness of 
 her forehead, showed what a struggle was going 
 on within her. Suddenly lowering her whip as if 
 to salute, she said : 
 
 " Very well, I beg your pardon." 
 
 At the same moment she gave her horse a 
 sharp cut and set off at a gallop, leaving me in 
 the middle of the road. 
 
 I have not seen her since. 
 
 July soth. 
 
 The calculation of probabilities is never more 
 misleading than when it has to do with the 
 thoughts and feelings of a woman. After the 
 painful scene between Mile. Marguerite and my- 
 self, I had not been very anxious to encounter her. 
 For two days I had not been to the cb^teau and 
 I scarcely expected that the resentment I had 
 aroused in this proud nature, would have subsided 
 in this short interval. However, about seven 
 o'clock on the morning of the day before yester- 
 day, when I was working at the open window of 
 
 1 20
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 my tower, I heard my name called out in a most 
 friendly way by the very person of whom I 
 thought I had made an enemy. 
 
 "M. Odiot, are you there?" 
 
 I went to the window and saw Mile. Mar- 
 guerite standing in the boat that was kept by the 
 bridge. She was holding back the brim of her 
 brown straw hat and looking up at my dark tower. 
 
 " Here I am, mademoiselle," I said eagerly. 
 
 " Are you coming out ? " 
 
 After my well-founded apprehension of the 
 last two days, so much condescension made me 
 think, to use the accepted formula, I was the dupe 
 of a disordered fancy. 
 
 " I beg your pardon. . . . What did you say?" 
 
 " Will you come out for a little with Alain, 
 Mervyn, and me ? " 
 
 " With pleasure, mademoiselle." 
 
 " Very well bring your album." 
 
 I went down quickly and hurried to the bank. 
 
 "Ah! ah !" said the girl, laughing, "you're in 
 a good-humour this morning, it seems." 
 
 I awkwardly murmured something to the 
 effect that I was always in a good-humour, but 
 Mile. Marguerite scarcely seemed convinced of 
 the fact. Then I stepped into the boat and sat 
 down at her side: 
 
 121
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " Row away, Alain," she said immediately ; and 
 old Alain, who prides himself on being a first-rate 
 oarsman, set to work steadily, the long oars mov- 
 ing to and fro at his sides, making him look like 
 a heavy bird trying to fly. 
 
 " I was obliged to come and save you from 
 your donjon," said Mile. Marguerite, " where you 
 have been ailing for two whole days." 
 
 " Mademoiselle, I assure you that only con- 
 sideration for you respect fear of . . ." 
 
 " Respect ! Fear ! Oh, dear, no ! You were 
 sulking, that is all. We behave much better than 
 you. My mother, for some reason or other, 
 thinks you ought to be treated with special con- 
 sideration, and has implored me to sacrifice myself 
 on the altar of your pride ; so, like an obedient 
 daughter, I sacrifice myself." 
 
 I expressed my gratitude frankly and warmly. 
 
 " Not to do things by halves," she continued, 
 " I have determined to give you a treat to your 
 taste. So here you have a lovely summer morn- 
 ing, woods and glades with all the proper light 
 effects, birds warbling in the foliage, a mysterious 
 bark gliding on the waves. As this is the sort of 
 thing you like, you ought to be satisfied." 
 
 " Mademoiselle, I am charmed." 
 
 "Well, that's all right." 
 
 122
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 For the moment I was fairly contented with 
 my fate. The air was sweet with the scent of the 
 new-mown hay lying in swaths on either bank ; 
 the sombre avenues of the park, dotted with 
 patches of sunshine, slipped past us, and from the 
 flower-cups came the happy drone of myriads of 
 insects feasting on the dew. Opposite me, old 
 Alain smiled complacently at me with a protecting 
 look at each stroke of his oars, and closer to me 
 Mile. Marguerite, dressed in white contrary to 
 her custom beautiful and fresh and pure as a 
 periwinkle blossom, shook with one hand the 
 pearls of dew from her veil while she held out the 
 other as a bait for Mervyn, who was swimming 
 after the boat. I should not have wanted much 
 persuasion to go to the end of the world in that 
 little white boat. 
 
 As we passed under an arch in the wall that 
 bounds the park the young Creole said to me : 
 
 " You do not ask where I am taking you ?" 
 
 " No, mademoiselle, I do not. It is all the 
 same to me." 
 
 " I am taking you into fairyland." 
 
 " I thought so, mademoiselle." 
 
 " Mile. He*louin, more versed in poetic lore 
 than I am, has no doubt told you that the thickets 
 that cover the country for twenty miles round are 
 
 123
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 the remains of the ancient forest of Brouliande, 
 the hunting-ground of those beings of Gael, an- 
 cestors of your friend Mile, de Porhoet, and the 
 place where Mervyn's ancestor, wizard though he 
 was, came under the magic spells of a damsel 
 called Vivien. Now we shall soon be in the cen- 
 tre of that forest. And if this is not enough to 
 fire your imagination, let me tell you that these 
 woods are full of remains of the mysterious relig- 
 ion of the Celts ; they are paved with them. In 
 every shady nook you picture to yourself a white- 
 robed Druid, and in every ray of sunlight the glit- 
 ter of a golden sickle. The religion of these old 
 bores has left near here, in a solitary and romantic 
 place, a monument before which people subject to 
 ecstasy are usually in raptures. I thought you 
 would like to sketch it, and as it is not easy to 
 find, I will show you the way, on condition that 
 you suppress the explosions of an enthusiasm I 
 cannot share." 
 
 " Agreed, mademoiselle, I will control myself." 
 
 " Yes, please do." 
 
 " I promise. And what is the name of this 
 monument ?" 
 
 " I call it a heap of big stones, but the anti- 
 quaries have more than one name for it. Some 
 call it simply a dolmen, others, more pedantic, say 
 
 124
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 it's a cromlech, and the country people I do not 
 know why call it the migourdit? ' 
 
 Meanwhile we glided gently with the current 
 of the stream between two strips of wet meadow. 
 Here and there, small black cattle with large 
 pointed horns turned and looked fiercely at us. 
 The valley through which the widening river crept, 
 was shut in on both sides by a chain of hills, some 
 covered with dry heather and furze, and some with 
 green brushwood. Sometimes, at the end of a 
 transversal cleft between two hills, we could see 
 the crest of a mountain, blue and round in the dis- 
 tance. In spite of her indifference, Mile. Mar- 
 guerite was careful to draw my attention to all 
 the beauties of this austere and peaceful country, 
 and careful also, to qualify each remark with some 
 ironic comment. 
 
 For a little while a dull, continuous sound had 
 told us that we were approaching a waterfall. 
 Suddenly the valley narrowed into a wild and 
 lonely gorge. On the left stood a high wall of 
 rock overgrown with moss ; oaks and firs mixed 
 with ivy and straggling brushwood rose one above 
 the other in every crevice till they reached the top 
 of the cliff, throwing a mysterious shade on to the 
 
 * In the wood of Cadoudal (Morbihan). 
 125
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 deeper water at the foot of the rocks. A hundred 
 paces in front of us, the water boiled and foamed, 
 and then disappeared all at once, and the broken 
 line of the stream stood out in a veil of white 
 spray, against a distant background of vague 
 foliage. On our right, the bank opposite to the 
 cliff had only a narrow margin of sloping meadow, 
 fringed with the sombre velvet of the wooded 
 hills. 
 
 " Land, Alain," said the young Creole. Alain 
 moored the boat to a willow. 
 
 " Now, sir," she said, stepping lightly on to 
 grass, " aren't you overcome ? Aren't you troubled, 
 petrified, thunderstruck ? You ought to be, for 
 this is supposed to be a very pretty place. I like 
 it because it is always fresh and cool. But follow 
 me through the woods if you are not too much 
 afraid and I will show you the famous stones." 
 
 Bright, alert, and gay as I had never seen her 
 before, Mile. Marguerite crossed the fields with 
 a bounding step, and took a path which led along 
 the hills to the forest. Alain and I followed 
 in Indian file. After a few minutes' quick walk- 
 ing our guide stopped and seemed to hesitate, and 
 looked about her for a moment. Then, deliber- 
 ately separating two interlaced branches, she left 
 the beaten track and plunged into the under- 
 
 126
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 growth. It was very difficult to make way 
 through the thicket of strong young oaks whose 
 slanting stems and twisted branches were knotted 
 together as closely as Robinson Crusoe's palisade. 
 At least Alain and I, bent double, advanced very 
 slowly, catching our heads against something at 
 every step, and at each of our clumsy movements 
 bringing down a shower of dew upon us. But 
 Mile. Marguerite, with the greater dexterity and 
 the catlike suppleness of her sex, slipped without 
 any apparent effort through the meshes of the 
 labyrinth, laughing at our sufferings, and care- 
 lessly letting the branches spring back after her 
 into our faces. At last we reached a narrow 
 glade on the top of the hill. There, not without 
 emotion, I saw the dark and monstrous table of 
 stone supported by five or six huge blocks half 
 sunk in the earth, forming a cavern full of sacred 
 horror. At first sight this perfect monument of a 
 time almost fabulous, and of a primitive religion, 
 has an aspect of eternal verity and of a real mys- 
 terious presence, that takes hold of the imagina- 
 tion, and fills the mind with awe. 
 
 The sunshine streaming through the leaves 
 stole through the interstices in the roughly joined 
 blocks, played about the sinister slab, and lent 
 an idyllic charm to this barbarous altar. Even 
 
 127
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 Mile. Marguerite seemed pensive and brooding. 
 For my part I entered the cavern, and, after ex- 
 amining the dolmen thoroughly, set to work to 
 sketch it. For ten minutes I had been absorbed 
 in this work, forgetting everything that was going 
 on about me, when Mile. Marguerite suddenly 
 spoke : 
 
 " Do you want a Velleda to enliven your 
 picture ? " 
 
 I looked up. She had wound a wreath of 
 oak-leaves round her forehead and stood at the 
 head of the dolmen, leaning lightly against a 
 sheaf of saplings. In the half-light, under the 
 branches, her white dress looked like marble, and 
 her eyes shone with strange fire in the shadow of 
 the oaken crown. She was beautiful, and I think 
 she knew it. I looked at her and found it hard 
 to speak. 
 
 " If I am in the way, I'll move," she said. 
 
 " Oh, no ! please don't." 
 
 " Well, make haste ; put Mervyn in too. 
 He'll be the Druid and I the Druidess." 
 
 I was so lucky thanks to the vagueness of a 
 sketch as to reproduce this poetic vision pretty 
 faithfully. Evidently interested, she came and 
 looked at the drawing. 
 
 " It isn't bad," she said, laughing, as she threw 
 128
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 her crown away. "You must admit that I am 
 very good to you." 
 
 I did. I might even have added, if she had 
 asked me, that she was not without a spice of 
 coquetry. But without that she would not have 
 been a woman. Perfection is detestable, and 
 even goddesses need something besides their 
 deathless beauty to win love. 
 
 We went back through the tangled under- 
 wood to the path in the wood, and thence re- 
 turned to the river. 
 
 " Before we return," said the young girl, " I 
 want to show you the waterfall, more especially 
 as I am looking forward to a little diversion on 
 my own account. Come, Mervyn, come along, 
 dear dog. Oh, you are lovely ! " 
 
 We soon reached the bank facing the rocks 
 which blocked the bed of the river. The water 
 fell from a height of many feet into a large and 
 deeply sunk circular basin, which seemed to be 
 shut in on all sides by an amphitheatre of vegeta- 
 tion, broken by dripping rocks-. But there were 
 unseen outlets for the overflow of the little lake, 
 and the streams so formed reunited a little lower 
 down. 
 
 " It is not exactly a Niagara," said Mile. Mar- 
 guerite, raising her voice against the noise of the 
 
 129
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 falling waters, " but I have heard connoisseurs 
 and artists say that it is rather pretty, neverthe- 
 less. Have you admired it ? Good ! Now I 
 hope you'll bestow any enthusiasm you may have 
 left on Mervyn. Here, Mervyn !" 
 
 The Newfoundland ran to his mistress, and, 
 trembling with impatience, watched her while she 
 tied some pebbles into her handkerchief. She 
 threw it into the stream a little above the fall, 
 and at the same moment Mervyn fell like a block 
 into the lower basin and struck out swiftly from 
 the edge. The handkerchief followed the cur- 
 rent, reached the rocks, danced in an eddy for 
 a minute, and then, shooting like an arrow past 
 the smooth rock, swept in a mass of foam under 
 the eyes of the dog, who seized it dexterously in 
 his mouth, after which Mervyn returned proudly 
 to the bank, where Mile. Marguerite stood clap- 
 ping her hands. 
 
 This feat was performed several times with 
 great success. At the sixth repetition, either 
 because the dog started too late or because the 
 handkerchief was thrown too soon, Mervyn 
 missed it. The handkerchief swept on by the 
 eddies from the fall, was carried among some 
 thorny brushwood that overhung the water a 
 little farther on. Mervyn went to fetch it, but 
 
 130
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 we were very much surprised to see him suddenly 
 struggle convulsively, drop his booty, and raise 
 his head towards us, howling pitifully. 
 
 "My God! what has happened?" exclaimed 
 Mile. Marguerite. 
 
 " He seems to be caught among the bushes. 
 He'll free himself directly, no doubt." 
 
 But soon one had to doubt, and even to de- 
 spair, of this issue. The network of creepers in 
 which the dog had been caught lay directly below 
 one of the mouths of the sluice, which poured a 
 mass of seething water continuously on Mervyn's 
 head. The poor beast, half-suffocated, ceased to 
 make the slightest effort to release himself, and 
 his plaintive cries sounded more and more like 
 a death-rattle. At this moment Mile. Marguerite 
 seized my arm, and whispered almost in my 
 ear : 
 
 " He is lost. It's no use. . . . Let us go." 
 
 I looked at her. Grief, pain, and her violent 
 effort to control herself had distorted her pale 
 features and brought dark circles under her 
 eyes. 
 
 "It is impossible," I said, "to get the boat 
 down there ; but if you will allow me, I can swim 
 a little, and I'll go and give a hand to the poor 
 fellow."
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " No, no ; don't attempt it. It's too far. 
 And they say it's very deep and dangerous under 
 the fall." 
 
 " You needn't fear, mademoiselle ; I am very 
 cautious." 
 
 At the same moment I took off my coat and 
 went into the water, taking care to keep a good 
 distance from the fall. It was very deep, and I 
 did not find a footing till I reached the exhausted 
 Mervyn. I do not know whether there had been 
 an islet here which had dwindled and crumbled 
 away, or whether a sudden rising of the river had 
 swept away part of the bank, and deposited the 
 fragments in this place ; but, whatever the cause, 
 there was an accumulated and flourishing mass 
 of entangled brushwood and roots under this 
 treacherous water. I got my feet on a trunk from 
 which the bushes seemed to spring, and man- 
 aged to release Mervyn. Feeling himself free, 
 he recovered at once, and struck out for the bank, 
 leaving me to my fate with all the goodwill im- 
 aginable. This was scarcely acting up to the 
 chivalrous reputation of his breed, but Mervyn 
 has lived a long while among men, and I sup- 
 pose has become a bit of a philosopher. But 
 when I tried to follow him, I found, to my 
 disgust, that, in my turn, I was caught in the 
 
 132
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 nets of the jealous and malignant naiad who 
 reigns in the pool. One of my legs was en- 
 tangled in the creepers, and I could not free it. 
 It is difficult to exert all one's strength in deep 
 water, and on a bed of sticky mud. And besides, 
 I was half-blinded by the bubbling spray. In 
 short, my situation was becoming awkward. I 
 looked towards the bank ; Mile. Marguerite, hold- 
 ing to Alain's arm, hung over the gulf, and 
 watched me with mortal anxiety. I told my- 
 self that it rested with me to be wept for by 
 those bright eyes, and to end a miserable exist- 
 ence in an enviable fashion. Then I shook off 
 such maudlin fancies vigorously, and freed myself 
 by a violent effort. I tied the little handkerchief, 
 now in rags, round my neck, and easily regained 
 the shore. 
 
 As I landed, Mile. Marguerite offered me her 
 hand. It trembled a little, and I was pleased. 
 
 " What rashness ! You might have been 
 drowned, and for a dog ! " 
 
 " It was yours," I whispered in the same low 
 tone she had used to me. 
 
 This speech seemed to annoy her ; she with- 
 drew her hand quickly, and turning to Mervyn, 
 who lay yawning and drying himself in the sun, 
 began to punish him. 
 
 133
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " Oh, the stupid! the big stupid!" she said. 
 44 What an idiot he is ! " 
 
 But the water was streaming from my clothes 
 on to the grass. I did not quite know what to do 
 with myself, till Mile. Marguerite came back, and 
 said very kindly : 
 
 " Take the boat, M. Maxime, and get away as 
 fast as you can. You'll keep warm rowing. I 
 will come back with Alain through the wood ; it 
 is the shortest way." 
 
 I agreed to this arrangement, which was in 
 every way the best. I said farewell, touched her 
 hand for the second time, and got into the boat. 
 To my surprise, when I was dressing at home I 
 found the little handkerchief still round my neck. 
 I had forgotten to restore it to Mile. Marguerite, 
 who must have given it up for lost, so I shame- 
 lessly determined to keep it as the reward of my 
 watery adventure. 
 
 I went to the chateau in the evening. Mile. 
 Laroque received me with her habitual air of dis- 
 dainful indolence, sombre preoccupation, and em- 
 bittered ennui, which was in singular contrast with 
 the gracious friendliness and playful vivacity of 
 my companion of the morning. 
 
 During dinner, at which M. de Be'vallan was 
 present, she spoke of our excursion in a manner
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 that stripped it of all sentiment, and as she went 
 on, said some sharp things about lovers of nature, 
 and finished with an account of Mervyn's misad- 
 venture, without mentioning my share in it. If, 
 as I thought, this was meant as a hint of the line 
 I was to take, the young lady had been at needless 
 trouble. However that may be, M. de Be>allan, 
 on hearing the story, nearly deafened us with his 
 cries j of despair. What ! Mile. Marguerite had 
 endured such anxiety, the brave Mervyn had been 
 in such danger, and he, Be"vallan, had not been 
 there. Cruel fate ! He would never get over it. 
 There was nothing for him to do but hang himself, 
 like Crillon. 
 
 " Well," said Alain, " if it depended on me to 
 cut him down, I should take my time about it." 
 
 The next day did not begin so pleasantly for 
 me as its predecessor. In the morning I received 
 a letter from Madrid, asking me to inform Mile. 
 de Porhoet that her lawsuit was finally lost. Her 
 agent also informed me that her opponents would 
 not profit by their victory, as the Crown, attracted 
 by the millions at stake, claimed to succeed under 
 the law by which the property escheats to the 
 state. 
 
 After careful consideration, I decided that it 
 would be kinder not to let my old friend know of 
 
 135
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 the total destruction of her hopes. I intend, 
 therefore, to secure the assistance of her agent in 
 Spain ; he will allege further delays, and on my 
 side I shall continue my researches among the 
 archives, and do my best to preserve the poor 
 soul's cherished delusions to the end. However 
 innocent and legitimate this deception might be, 
 I could not feel at rest until it had been approved 
 by some one whose judgment in such matters I 
 could trust. I went to the chateau in the after- 
 noon, and made confession to Mme. Laroque, 
 who approved of my plan, and commended me 
 rather more than the occasion warranted. And to 
 my great surprise she finished the interview with 
 these words : 
 
 " I must take this opportunity of telling you, 
 M. Odiot, that I am deeply grateful for your de- 
 votion to my interests, that each day I appreciate 
 your character more truly, and enjoy your company 
 more thoroughly. I could wish you must for- 
 give my saying it, as you are scarcely likely to 
 share my wish I could wish that you could 
 always remain with us ... and I humbly pray 
 heaven to perform the miracles necessary to bring 
 this about . . . for I know that only miracles 
 can do so." 
 
 I did not quite grasp the meaning of this 
 136
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 language, nor could I explain the sudden emotion 
 that shone in the eyes of the excellent lady. I 
 acknowledged her kindness properly, and went 
 away to indulge my melancholy in the fields. 
 
 By an accident not purely fortuitous, I must 
 admit I found myself, after an hour's walking, 
 in a deserted valley, and on the brink of the pool 
 which had been the scene of my recent prowess. 
 The amphitheatre of rocks and greenery which 
 surrounds the small lake realizes the very ideal of 
 solitude. There you are at the end of the world, 
 in a virgin country, in China where you will ! I 
 lay down among the heather, recalling my expe- 
 dition of yesterday, one not likely to occur again 
 in the course of the longest life. Already I felt 
 that if such good fortune should come to me a 
 second time, it would not have that charm of sur- 
 prise, of peacefulness, and in one word of inno- 
 cence. I had to own that this fresh romance of 
 youth, which gave a perfume to my thoughts, 
 could have but one chapter, one page, and that I 
 had read it. Yes, this hour, this hour of love, to 
 call it by its true name, had been royally sweet, 
 because it had not been premeditated, because I 
 had not known what it was till it had gone, be- 
 cause I had had the rapture, and had been spared 
 remorse. Now my conscience was awake. I saw 
 
 137 5 Vol. 9
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 myself on the verge of an impossible, a ridiculous 
 love, and worse, of a culpable passion. Poor and 
 disinherited as I am, it is time to keep a strict 
 watch over myself. 
 
 I was addressing these warnings to myself in 
 this solitary place any other would have served 
 my purpose as well when the sound of voices 
 interrupted my reflections. I rose, and saw a 
 company of four or five people who had just 
 landed, advancing towards me. First came Mile. 
 Marguerite leaning on M. de Be*vallan's arm ; 
 next Mile. Helouin and Mme. Aubry, followed 
 by Alain and Mervyn. The sound of their ap- 
 proach had been drowned in the roar of the water- 
 fall ; they were only a few yards off ; there was 
 no time for retreat, so I had to resign myself to 
 being discovered in the character of the romantic 
 recluse. But my presence did not excite any 
 particular attention, though I saw a shadow of 
 annoyance on Mile. Marguerite's face, and she 
 returned my bow with marked stiffness. 
 
 M. de Be>allan, standing at the verge of the 
 pool, wearied the echoes with the clamour of his 
 conventional admiration. " Delicious ! How pic- 
 turesque ! What a feast ! The pen of George 
 Sand. . . . The pencil of Salvator Rosa ! " 
 
 All this was accompanied by violent gestures, 
 138
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 by which he appeared to be snatching from these 
 great artists, the instruments of their genius. 
 
 At last he became calmer, and asked to be 
 shown the dangerous channel where Mervyn had 
 nearly been drowned. Again Mile. Marguerite 
 related the adventure, and again she suppressed the 
 part I had taken in the denouement. With a kind 
 of cruelty, evidently levelled at me, she enlarged 
 on the cleverness, courage, and presence of mind 
 her dog had shown in his trying situation. Ap- 
 parently she seemed to think that her transient 
 good-humour, and the service I had been so for- 
 tunate as to render her, had filled my head with 
 some presumptuous notions, which it was neces- 
 sary to nip in the bud. 
 
 As Mile. He"louin and Mme. Aubry partic- 
 ularly wished to see Mervyn repeat his wonderful 
 exploit, his mistress called the Newfoundland, 
 and, as before, threw her handkerchief into the 
 current. But at the signal the brave Mervyn, in- 
 stead of jumping into the lake, rushed up and 
 down the bank, barking furiously, lashing about 
 with his tail, showing, in fact, the greatest interest 
 in the proceedings, but at the same time an excel- 
 lent memory. Evidently the head controls the 
 heart in this sagacious beast. In vain Mile. Mar- 
 guerite, angry and confused, first tried caresses 
 
 139
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 and then threats to overcome her favourite's ob- 
 stinacy. Nothing could persuade the intelligent 
 creature to trust himself again in those dangerous 
 waters. After such high-flown announcements, 
 Mervyn's stubborn prudence was really amusing. 
 I had a better right to laugh than any one present, 
 and I did so without compunction. Besides, the 
 merriment soon became general, and in the end 
 Mile. Marguerite herself joined in, rather half- 
 heartedly. 
 
 " And now," she said, " I've lost another hand- 
 kerchief." 
 
 The handkerchief, carried along by the eddies, 
 had naturally landed among the branches of the 
 fatal bush, not far from the further bank. 
 
 " Rely upon me, mademoiselle," cried M. de 
 Be>allan. " In ten minutes you shall have your 
 handkerchief, or I shall exist no longer." 
 
 At this magnanimous declaration I thought 
 that Mile. Marguerite looked stealthily at me, as 
 much as to say, " You see, there are others who 
 are devoted to me ! " Then she answered M. de 
 Be'vallan. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, don't be so foolish ! The 
 water is very deep. ... It is really dangerous." 
 
 " It is all the same to me," said M. de Be'- 
 vallan. " Have you a knife, Alain ?" 
 
 140
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " A knife?" said Mile. Marguerite, surprised. 
 
 " Yes, a knife. Please allow me ... I know 
 what I mean to do." 
 
 41 But what do you mean to do with a 
 knife?" 
 
 " I mean to cut a switch," said M. de B6- 
 vallan. 
 
 The girl looked at him gravely. 
 
 " I thought," she murmured, " that you were 
 going to swim for it." 
 
 "To swim!" said M. de Be"vallan ; "excuse 
 me, mademoiselle. . . . Firstly, I am not in 
 swimming costume ; next, I must admit that 
 I cannot swim." 
 
 "If you cannot swim," she said dryly, "the 
 question of costume is not important." 
 
 " You are quite right," said M. de Be"vallan, 
 with amusing coolness ; " but you are not particu- 
 larly anxious that I should drown myself, are 
 you ? You want your handkerchief, that is the 
 point. When I have got it, you will be satis- 
 fied. Isn't that so ? " 
 
 "Well, go and cut your switch," she said, sit- 
 ting down resignedly. 
 
 M. de Be*vallan is not easily disconcerted. 
 He disappeared into the nearest thicket, and soon 
 we heard the branches crack. He came back 
 
 141
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 armed with a long switch from a nut-tree, and 
 proceeded to strip the leaves off. 
 
 " Do you think you'll reach the other side 
 with that stick?" asked Mile. Marguerite, who 
 was beginning to be amused. 
 
 " Allow me to manage it my own way. That 
 is all I ask," said the imperturbable gentleman. 
 
 We left him alone. He finished his switch, 
 and then set out for the boat. We at last under- 
 stood that he meant to cross the river in the boat, 
 to land above the waterfall, and to harpoon the 
 handkerchief, which he could easily do from the 
 bank. At this discovery there was an indignant 
 outcry from the ladies, who, as we all know, are 
 extremely fond of dangerous adventures in 
 which they are not themselves concerned. 
 
 "A pretty contrivance, M. de Be"vallan. 
 Aren't you ashamed of yourself ? " 
 
 " Tu-tu, ladies ! Remember Columbus and 
 the egg. The idea is everything, you know." 
 
 Contrary to our expectation, this apparently 
 harmless expedition was not to be carried through 
 without some emotions, and some risks, for 
 M. de Be"vallan, instead of making for the bank 
 immediately opposite the little bay, where the 
 boat had been moored, unluckily decided to land 
 nearer the cataract. He pushed the boat into the 
 
 142
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 middle of the stream and let it drift for a mo- 
 ment, till he saw that as the river approached the 
 fall, its pace increased with alarming rapidity. 
 We appreciated the danger when we saw him put 
 the boat across the current, and begin to row 
 with feverish energy. For a few seconds he 
 struggled with doubtful success. But, little by 
 little, he got nearer to the bank, though the 
 stream still swept him fiercely towards the cata- 
 ract, which thundered ominously in his ears. 
 He was only a few feet from it, when a su- 
 preme effort brought him near enough to the 
 shore to put him out of danger. With a vigor- 
 ous spring he leaped on to the slope of the bank, 
 sending the boat out among the rocks, where it 
 was at once overturned. It presently floated into 
 the pool keel upward. While the danger lasted, 
 our only feeling was one of keen anxiety, but 
 when it was over, the contrast between the comic 
 denouement and its hero's usual coolness and self- 
 confidence, could not fail to tickle our sense of 
 humour. Besides, laughter is a natural relief 
 when a danger is happily past. Directly we saw 
 that M. de Be"vallan was out of the boat, we all 
 gave ourselves up to unrestrained merriment. I 
 should say, that at this moment his bad luck was 
 completed by a truly distressing detail. The 
 
 143
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 bank on which he had jumped sloped sharply and 
 was very wet. His feet had scarcely touched it 
 when he fell backwards. Fortunately there were 
 some strong branches within his reach. He hung 
 on to them desperately, his legs beating the shal- 
 low water like two angry oars. As there was no 
 danger, his situation became purely ridiculous, 
 and I suppose that this thought made him strug- 
 gle so frantically and awkwardly, that his efforts 
 defeated their purpose. He succeeded, however, 
 in raising himself and getting another footing on 
 the slope. Then, all of a sudden, we saw him 
 slide down again, tearing the bushes and brush- 
 wood as he went, and renewing his wild panto- 
 mime in the water in evident desperation. It 
 was irresistible. Never, I believe, had Mile. 
 Marguerite been at such an entertainment. She 
 had utterly lost all care for her dignity. Like 
 some mirthful Bacchante, she filled all the grove 
 with bursts of almost convulsive gaiety. Be- 
 tween her shouts of laughter she clapped her 
 hands and called out in a half-suffocated voice : 
 
 " Bravo ! bravo ! M. de Be*vallan! Very pretty ! 
 Delicious ! Picturesque ! Salvator Rosa ! " 
 
 At last M. de Be"vallan succeeded in dragging 
 himself to terra firma. Then, turning to the 
 ladies, he made them a speech which the noise of 
 
 144
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 the waterfall prevented us from hearing distinctly ; 
 but, from his animated gestures, the illustrative 
 movements of his arms, and his air of forced good- 
 humour, we understood that he was giving us a 
 reasoned explanation of his disaster. 
 
 " Yes, yes," replied Mile. Marguerite, continu- 
 ing to laugh with a woman's implacable barbarity, 
 " it was a great success. I congratulate you ! " 
 
 When she was a little more serious, she asked 
 me how we should recover the capsized boat, 
 which, by-the-bye, was the best we had. I prom- 
 ised to bring some men the next day, and superin- 
 tend the rescue. Then we struck across the fields 
 towards the chateau. M. de Be"vallan, not being 
 in swimming costume, could not rejoin us. With 
 a melancholy air he disappeared behind the rocks 
 above the farther bank. 
 
 August 2oth. 
 
 At last this extraordinary girl has revealed the 
 secret of her stormy soul to me. Would that she 
 had preserved it forever ! 
 
 During the day that followed the scenes I have 
 just described, Mile. Marguerite, as if ashamed of 
 the impulses of youthful frankness to which she 
 had yielded, wrapped herself more closely than 
 ever in her veil of mournful pride, disdain, and
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 mistrust. In the midst of the noisy pleasures, the 
 fites, and dances that succeeded one another, she 
 passed like a ghost, indifferent, icy, and sometimes 
 angry. 
 
 Her irony vented itself with inconceivable bit- 
 terness, sometimes on the purest pleasures of the 
 mind, those that come from contemplation and 
 study, sometimes on the noblest and most sacred 
 sentiments. If an instance of courage or virtue 
 was mentioned in her presence, she examined it 
 minutely in search of its selfish motive ; or if by 
 chance one burned the smallest grain of incense 
 on the altar of art, she extinguished it with a dis- 
 dainful wave of her hand. With her short, abrupt, 
 and terrible laugh, like the mocking of a fallen 
 angel, she seemed determined to blight (wherever 
 she saw a trace of them) the most generous facul- 
 ties of the human soul enthusiasm and passion. 
 I noticed that this strange spirit of disparagement 
 took on a special character of persecution positive 
 hostility when directed against me. I did not 
 understand, and even now I do not quite under- 
 stand, why I have attracted these particular atten- 
 tions. True, I carry in my heart the worship of 
 things ideal and eternal, which only death can tear 
 from me (great God, what would be left me if I 
 had not that !) ; but I am not given to public 
 
 146
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 ecstasies, and my admiration, like my love, will 
 never be obtrusive. In vain I maintained more 
 scrupulously than ever the modesty which springs 
 from real feeling. I gained nothing by it. The 
 most romantic fancies were attributed to me just 
 for the pleasure of combating them, and perpetu- 
 ally some kind of grotesque harp was thrust into 
 my hands, solely for the amusement of breaking 
 its strings. 
 
 Although this open warfare against anything 
 higher than the material interests and sordid reali- 
 ties of life, was not a new trait in Mile. Mar- 
 guerite's character, it had been suddenly exagger- 
 ated and embittered to the point of wounding the 
 hearts most devoted to this young girl. One day 
 Mile, de Porhoet, weary of this incessant mocking, 
 said to her in my presence : 
 
 " My darling, for some time past you have 
 been possessed by a devil which you would do 
 well to cast out as soon as possible, or you will 
 finish by making up a trio with Mme. Aubry 
 and Mme. de Saint-Cast. For my part, I do not 
 pride myself on being, or ever having been, par- 
 ticularly romantic, but I like to think that there 
 are still some people in the world who are capable 
 of generous sentiments ; I believe in disinterested- 
 ness, if only in my own, and I even believe in 
 
 147
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 heroism, because I have known heroes. More, I 
 love to hear the little birds singing under my 
 arbour, and I like to build my cathedral in the 
 drifting clouds. All this may sound very ridicu- 
 lous, my dear, but I venture to remind you that 
 these illusions are the riches of the poor, that 
 M. Odiot and I have no other kind of wealth, 
 and that we are so singular as not to com- 
 plain." 
 
 On another occasion, when I had just received 
 Mile. Marguerite's sarcasm with my usual impassi- 
 bility, her mother drew me aside. 
 
 " M. Maxime," she said, " my daughter teases 
 you a little, but I hope you will excuse her. You 
 must have noticed that she has changed very 
 much lately." 
 
 "Your daughter seems to be more preoccu- 
 pied than usual." 
 
 " And not without good reason ; she is about 
 to come to a very serious decision, and at such a 
 moment young girls are apt to be capricious." 
 
 I bowed and said nothing. 
 
 " You are now a friend of the family," con- 
 tinued Mme. Laroque, " and as such I ask you to 
 give me your opinion of M. de Bevallan." 
 
 " I believe, madame, that M. de Be*vallan has 
 a very handsome fortune not so large as yours, 
 
 148
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 but undeniably handsome about a hundred and 
 fifty thousand francs a year ! " 
 
 "Yes, but what do you think of him per- 
 sonally, and of his character?" 
 
 " M. de BeVallan is what the world calls a per- 
 fect gentleman. He has wit ; he is considered an 
 honourable man." 
 
 " But do you think he will make my daughter 
 happy ? " 
 
 " I do not think he will make her unhappy. 
 He is not unkind." 
 
 " What do you think I ought to do ? I am 
 not entirely satisfied with him . . . but he is the 
 only one Marguerite at all cares for ... and 
 there are so few men with a hundred thousand 
 francs a year. You can understand that my 
 daughter in her position has had plenty of 
 offers. For the last two or three years we have 
 been literally besieged. . . . Well, it is time we 
 decided. ... I am not strong. ... I may go 
 any day. . . . My daughter would be unprotected. 
 Here is an unexceptionable suitor whom the 
 world will certainly approve it is my duty to 
 welcome him. Already people say that I have 
 filled my daughter's head with romantic notions 
 which is not the truth. She has her own ideas. 
 Now, what do you advise me to do ?" 
 
 149
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 "May I ask what is Mile, de Portion's 
 opinion ? She is a lady of great judgment and 
 experience, and besides, entirely devoted to you." 
 
 "Oh, if I listened to Mile, de Porhofit I 
 should send M. de Be*vallan about his business. 
 But it is all very well for Mile, de Porhot to 
 talk. When he's gone, she won't marry my 
 daughter for me." 
 
 " But, madame, from the monetary point of 
 view, M. de Be*vallan is certainly a fine match. I 
 do not dispute it for a moment, and if you stand 
 out for a hundred thousand francs a year." 
 
 " But, my dear sir, I care no more for a hun- 
 dred thousand francs than for a hundred pence ! 
 However, I am not talking of myself, but of my 
 daughter. Well, I can't let her marry a mason, 
 can I ? I should have rather liked to be the wife 
 of a mason, but it does not follow that what would 
 have made me happy would make her so. I 
 ought, in marrying her, to be guided by received 
 opinion, not merely by my own." 
 
 " Well, then, madame, if this marriage suits 
 you, and suits your daughter equally well ..." 
 
 " Ah, no ! ... it does not suit me ... nor 
 does it suit my daughter any better. It is a mar- 
 riage ... to speak plainly, it is un mariage de 
 convenance" 
 
 150
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " Am I to understand that it is quite settled ? " 
 
 " No, or I should scarcely ask your advice. If 
 it were, my daughter would be more at ease. Her 
 misgivings disturb her, and then ..." 
 
 Mme. Laroque sank back into the shadow of 
 the hood over her chair and added : 
 
 " Have you any idea of what is going on in 
 that unfortunate head ? " 
 
 " None, madame." 
 
 She fixed her sparkling eyes on me for a mo- 
 ment, sighed deeply, and said, gently and sadly : 
 
 " You may go ... I won't detain you any 
 longer." 
 
 The confidence with which I had just been 
 honoured, had not surprised me much. For some 
 time it had been evident that Mile. Marguerite 
 reserved for M. de Be*vallan whatever sympathy 
 she had left for humanity. But she seemed to 
 show rather a friendly preference than an impas- 
 sioned tenderness. And I ought to say that the 
 preference was quite intelligible. I have never 
 liked M. de Be"vallan, and in these pages I have, 
 in spite of myself, given a caricature rather than a 
 portrait of him, but I admit that he combines 
 most of the qualities and defects that are popular 
 with women. He is absolutely devoid of mod- 
 esty, which is a great advantage, as women do not
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 like it. He has the cool, mocking, and witty 
 assurance which nothing can daunt, which easily 
 daunts others, and which gives to its possessor a 
 kind of domination and a factitious superiority. 
 His tall figure, his bold features, his skill in ath- 
 letic exercises, his reputation as a sportsman, give 
 him a manly authority which impresses the timid 
 sex. And he has an air of daring, enterprise, and 
 conquest which attracts and troubles women, and 
 fills their souls with secret ardour. Such advan- 
 tages, it is true, are, as a rule, chiefly impressive to 
 vulgar natures ; but though, as usual, I had at first 
 been tempted to-put Mile. Marguerite's nature on 
 a level with her beauty, she had for some time 
 past seemed to make a positive parade of very 
 mediocre sentiments, and I believed she was 
 capable of yielding without resistance as without 
 enthusiasm, and with the passive coldness of a 
 lifeless imagination, to the charms of a common- 
 place lady-killer, and, later, to the yoke of a 
 respectable marriage. 
 
 All this made it necessary for me to accept 
 the inevitable, and I did so more easily than I 
 should have thought possible a month ago. For 
 I had summoned all my courage to combat the 
 first temptations of a love, equally condemned by 
 good sense and by honour. And she who had 
 
 152
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 unwittingly imposed this combat on me, had also 
 unwittingly powerfully helped me in my resist- 
 ance. If she could not hide her beauty from me, 
 she also unveiled her soul, and mine had recoiled. 
 Small loss, no doubt, for the young millionaire, 
 but a good thing for me. 
 
 Meanwhile I had to go to Paris, partly on 
 Mme. Laroque's business and partly on my own. 
 I returned two days ago, and as I arrived at the 
 chateau I was told that old M. Laroque had 
 repeatedly asked for me since the morning. I 
 hurried to his apartment. A smile flickered 
 across his withered cheeks as he saw me. He 
 looked at me with an expression of malignant joy 
 and secret triumph ; then he said, in his dull, hol- 
 low voice : 
 
 " M. de Saint-Cast is dead." 
 
 This news, which the strange old man had 
 wanted to tell me himself, was correct. On the 
 previous night poor General de Saint-Cast had 
 had a stroke of apoplexy, and an hour later had 
 been snatched from the life of wealth and luxury 
 which he owed to his wife. Directly the news 
 came 'to the chateau, Mme. Aubry had started off 
 to her friend, and the two had, as Dr. Desmarets 
 told us, passed the day chanting a sort of litany of 
 original and piquant ideas on the subject of death 
 
 153
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 the swiftness with which it strikes its prey, the 
 impossibility of preventing or guarding against it, 
 the futility of regrets, which cannot bring back the 
 departed, the consoling effects of time, etc., etc. 
 
 After which they sat down to dinner, and 
 gradually recovered their spirits. " Madame," 
 said Mme. Aubry, "you must eat, you must keep 
 yourself alive. It is our duty and the will of 
 God." 
 
 At dessert Mme. de Saint-Cast had a bottle of 
 the poor general's favourite Spanish wine, and 
 begged Mme. Aubry to taste it for his sake. But, 
 as Mme. Aubry firmly refused to be the only one 
 to partake of it, Mme. de Saint-Cast allowed her- 
 self to be persuaded that God also wished her to 
 have a glass of Spanish wine and a crust of bread. 
 The general's health was not drunk. Early yester- 
 day morning, Mme. Laroque and her daughter, 
 both in mourning, took their places in the car- 
 riage. I accompanied them. About ten o'clock 
 we were at the little town. While I attended the 
 general's funeral, the ladies joined the widow's 
 circle of official sympathizers. After the service 
 I returned to the house, and with some other 
 friends I was introduced into the famous drawing- 
 room, the furniture of which had cost fifteen 
 thousand francs. In the funereal half-light I dis- 
 
 154
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 tinguished the inconsolable Mme. de Saint-Cast 
 sitting on a twelve-hundred-franc sofa, enveloped 
 in crape, the price of which we were told before 
 long. At her side was Mme. Aubry, an image of 
 physical and moral prostration. Half a dozen 
 friends and relatives completed this doleful group. 
 As we took up our positions in line at the farther 
 end of the salon, there was a sound of shuffling 
 feet and some cracking of the parquet, then 
 gloomy silence fell again on this mausoleum. 
 Only from time to time a lamentable sigh, faith- 
 fully echoed by Mme. Aubry, rose from the 
 sofa. 
 
 At last a young man appeared. He had lin- 
 gered in the street to finish the cigar he had lighted 
 as he left the cemetery. As he slipped discreetly 
 into our ranks Mme. de Saint-Cast perceived him. 
 
 " Is that you, Arthur ? " she said in a lugu- 
 brious voice. 
 
 " Yes, aunt," said the young man, advancing 
 in front of the line. 
 
 " Well," continued the widow, in the same 
 plaintive drawl, "is it over?" 
 
 "Yes, aunt," said Arthur, in curt, deliberate 
 accents. He seemed to be a young man who was 
 perfectly satisfied with himself. 
 
 There was a pause, after which Mme. de Saint- 
 155
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 Cast drew from the depths of her expiring soul 
 this new series of questions : 
 
 "Did it go off well?" 
 
 44 Very well, aunt, very well." 
 
 44 Were there many people ?" 
 
 44 The whole town, aunt, the whole town." 
 
 "The military?" 
 
 4< Yes, aunt, the whole garrison, and the band." 
 
 Mme. de Saint-Cast groaned, and added : 
 
 "The fire brigade?" 
 
 " The fire brigade too, aunt certainly." 
 
 I do not quite see why this last detail should 
 have particularly affected Mme. de Saint-Cast, but 
 she could not resist it. A sudden swoon, accom- 
 panied by infantile waitings, summoned all the 
 resources of feminine sensibility to her aid, and 
 gave us the opportunity of slipping away. I was 
 glad of it. I could not bear to see this ridiculous 
 vixen performing her hypocritical mummeries 
 over the tomb of the weak, but good and loyal 
 fellow, whose life she had embittered, and whose 
 end she had probably hastened. 
 
 A few moments later, Mme. Laroque asked 
 me to accompany her to the Langoat farm, five or 
 six leagues farther on towards the coast. She 
 intended to dine there with her daughter. The 
 farmer's wife, who had been Mile. Marguerite's 
 
 1*6
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 nurse, was ill, and the ladies had for some time 
 meant to give her this proof of their interest in 
 her welfare. We started at two o clock in the 
 afternoon. It was one of the hottest days of this 
 hot summer. Through the open windows of the 
 carriage, the heavy, burning gusts which rose in 
 waves from the parched lande under the torrid 
 sky, swept across us. 
 
 The conversation suffered from our oppression. 
 Mme. Laroque, who declared that she was in para- 
 dise, had at last thrown off her furs and remained 
 sunk in a gentle ecstasy. Mile. Marguerite fanned 
 herself with Spanish gravity. While we slowly 
 climbed the interminable hills, we saw the calcined 
 rocks swarming with legions of silver-coated liz- 
 ards, and heard the continuous crackling of the 
 furze opening its ripe pods to the sun. 
 
 In the middle of one of our laborious ascents 
 a voice suddenly called out from the side of the 
 road : 
 
 " Stop, if you please." 
 
 At the same time a big girl with bare legs, 
 holding a distaff in her hand, and wearing the an- 
 cient costume and ducal coif of the peasants of 
 this country, leaped quickly across the ditch, knock- 
 ing over as she came along some of the sheep she 
 was tending. She perched herself with a kind of
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 grace on the carriage-step, and stood before us 
 with her brown, self-possessed, and smiling face 
 framed in the window. 
 
 " Pardon, ladies," she said in the quick, melo- 
 dious tones of her country, " will you be so kind 
 as to read this to me ? " 
 
 She took from her bodice a letter folded in the 
 ancient fashion. 
 
 " Read it, M. Odiot," said Mme. Laroque, 
 laughing, " and read it aloud, if necessary." 
 
 It was a love-letter, addressed very carefully to 
 Mile. Christine Ogadec, 's Farm, in the com- 
 mune of , near . It was written by an 
 
 awkward but sincere hand. The date showed that 
 Mile. Christine had received it two or three weeks 
 ago. Not being able to read, and fearing to trust 
 her secret to the ill-nature of her associates, the 
 poor girl had kept the letter in the hope that some 
 passing stranger, at once good-natured and edu- 
 cated, would interpret the mystery that had been 
 burning in her bosom for more than a fortnight. 
 Her blue, wide-opened eyes were fixed on me with 
 an air of ineffable satisfaction as I laboriously read 
 the sloping lines which conveyed this message : 
 
 " Mademoiselle, this is to tell you that my in- 
 tentions have not changed since the day we spoke 
 on the lande after vespers, and that I am anxious 
 
 158
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 about yours. My heart is all yours, mademoiselle, 
 and I wish yours to be all mine ; and if it is you 
 may be sure and certain that no one alive is hap- 
 pier on earth or in heaven than your friend who 
 does not put his name here, but you know quite 
 well who he is, mademoiselle." 
 
 "And do you know, Mile. Christine?" I said, 
 returning the letter. 
 
 " Very likely I do," she said, with a smile that 
 showed her white teeth, while she gravely nodded, 
 her young face radiant with happiness. " Thank 
 you, ladies and gentleman ! " 
 
 She jumped off the step and soon disappeared 
 among the bushes, chanting as she went the deep 
 and joyful notes of some Bretonne ballad. 
 
 Mme. Laroque had followed with evident rap- 
 ture all the details of this pastoral scene, which 
 harmonized deliciously with her favourite fan- 
 cies. She smiled and dreamed at the vision of 
 this happy, barefooted girl as if she were under a 
 spell. However, when Mile. Ogadec was out of 
 sight, a strange notion came into Mme. Laroque's 
 head. After all, she thought, it would not have 
 been a bad thing to have given the girl a five-franc 
 piece in addition to her admiration. 
 
 " Call her back, Alain," she cried. 
 
 " But, mother, why ? " said Mile. Marguerite 
 159
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 quickly, though so far she had apparently taken no 
 notice of the incident. 
 
 " My dear child, perhaps this girl does not 
 thoroughly understand how much I should enjoy, 
 and how much she ought to enjoy, running about 
 barefooted in the dust. It would be nice, at any 
 rate, to leave her some little souvenir." 
 
 " Money ! " replied Mile. Marguerite. " Oh, 
 mother, don't ! Don't soil her happiness with 
 money." 
 
 This delicate sentiment which, by the way, 
 poor Christine might not have appreciated was 
 astonishing enough in the mouth of Mile. Mar- 
 guerite, who did not, as a rule, pride herself on 
 such subtlety. Indeed, I thought she was joking, 
 though she showed no signs of amusement. How- 
 ever that may be, her mother took the caprice 
 very seriously. It was decided enthusiastically to 
 leave this idyll to innocence and bare feet. 
 
 After this pretty episode Mme. Laroque re- 
 lapsed into her smiling ecstasy, and Mile. Mar- 
 guerite fanned herself more seriously than ever. 
 An hour later we reached our destination. Like 
 most of the farms in this country, where the up- 
 lands and plateaux are the sterile lande, the farm 
 of Langoat lies in the hollow of a valley, with 
 a water-course running through it. 
 
 1 60
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 The farmer's wife was better, and at once set 
 to work preparing dinner, the chief elements of 
 which we had been careful to bring with us. It 
 was served on the natural lawn of a meadow, 
 under the shade of an enormous chestnut. Mme. 
 Laroque, though sitting in a most uncomfortable 
 attitude, on one of the cushions from the carriage, 
 seemed perfectly radiant. She said our party re- 
 minded her of the groups of reapers we see 
 crowding under the shade of a hedge, whose rus- 
 tic feasts she had always envied. As for me, I 
 might perhaps at another time have found a sin- 
 gular sweetness in the close and easy intimacy, 
 which an outdoor meal of this kind usually cre- 
 ates among the guests. But, with a painful feel- 
 ing of constraint, I thrust away an enjoyment 
 that might inflict regret, and the bread of this 
 transient fraternity was bitter in my mouth. 
 
 " Have you ever been up there ? " said Mine. 
 Laroque to me as we finished dinner. She indi- 
 cated the top of a lofty hill which commanded 
 the meadow we were in. 
 
 " No, madame." 
 
 " Oh, but you should go. You get such a 
 lovely view. You must see it ... Marguerite 
 will take you while they're putting the horses in. 
 Won't you?" 
 
 l6l 9 Vol. 9
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " I, mother ? I have only been there once, 
 and it was a long time ago . . . However, I 
 daresay I can find the way. Come, M. Odiot, 
 and be prepared for a stiff climb." 
 
 Mile. Marguerite and I started at once to 
 climb a very steep path which wound along the 
 side of the mountain, passing in some places 
 through clumps of trees. The girl stopped from 
 time to time in her swift and easy ascent to see if 
 I were following her, and, panting a little, smiled 
 at me without speaking. On reaching the bare 
 heath which formed the plateau, I saw, a short 
 way off, a village church, the lines of its little 
 steeple sharply defined against the sky. 
 
 " That's where it is," said my young guide, 
 quickening her pace. 
 
 Beyond the church was a cemetery shut in by 
 walls. She opened the gate, and made her way 
 with difficulty through the tall grass and trailing 
 brambles, which choked the place of rest, towards 
 a kind of semicircular perron which stood at the 
 farther end. Two or three rough steps, defaced 
 by time and rather strangely ornamented with 
 massive balls, led to a narrow platform raised to 
 the level of the wall. A granite cross stood in 
 the centre of the semicircle. 
 
 Mile. Marguerite had scarcely reached the 
 162
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 * 
 
 platform and looked into the space that opened 
 before her, when I saw her place her hand before 
 her eyes as if she were suddenly dazzled. I has- 
 tened to join her. The beautiful day, nearing to 
 its end, lighted with its last splendours a scene so 
 vast, so strange, and so sublime, that I shall never 
 forget it. 
 
 Facing us, and at a great depth below the 
 platform, extended, farther than we could see, a 
 sort of marsh studded with shining patches, and 
 looking like a region slowly emerging from a 
 deluge. This great bay stretched from under our 
 feet to the heart of the jagged mountains. On 
 the banks of mud and sand which separated the 
 shifting lagoons, a growth of reeds and sea plants 
 tinged with a thousand shades, sombre but dis- 
 tinct, contrasted sharply with the gleaming sur- 
 faces of the waters. At each of its rapid strides 
 to the horizon, the sun lit up or darkened some 
 of the many lakes which checkered the half-dried 
 gulf. He seemed to take in turn from his celes- 
 tial casket the most precious substances, silver 
 and gold, ruby and diamond and make them 
 flash on each point of this gorgeous plain. As 
 the planet neared the end of his career, a strip 
 of undulating mist at the farther limit of the 
 marshes, reddened all at once with the glare of a 
 
 163
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 conflagration, and for a moment, kept the radiant 
 transparency of a cloud furrowed by lightning. 
 I was absorbed in the contemplation of a pic- 
 ture so full of divine grandeur, and enriched as 
 with another ray of glory by the great memory 
 of Caesar, when a low, half -stifled voice mur- 
 mured : 
 
 " Oh, how beautiful it is ! " 
 
 I had v not expected this sympathetic outburst 
 from my companion. I turned eagerly towards 
 her with a surprise that was not lessened, when the 
 emotion in her face, and the slight trembling of 
 her lips, had convinced me of the profound sincer- 
 ity of her admiration. 
 
 "You admit that it is beautiful?" I said 
 to her. 
 
 She shook her head ; but at the same moment 
 two tears fell slowly from her great eyes. She 
 felt them rolling down her cheeks, made a gesture 
 of annoyance, and then throwing herself suddenly 
 on the granite cross, on the base of which she was 
 standing, she embraced it with both hands, pressed 
 her head close against the stone, and sobbed 
 convulsively. 
 
 I did not think it right to say a word that 
 might trouble the course of this sudden emotion, 
 and I turned reverently away. After a moment, 
 
 164
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 seeing her raise her forehead, and hastily replace 
 her loosened hair, I came nearer. 
 
 " I am ashamed of myself," she murmured. 
 
 " You have more reason to rejoice. Believe 
 me, you must give up trying to destroy the source 
 of those tears ; it is holy. Besides, you will never 
 succeed." 
 
 " I must," said the girl desperately. " See, it 
 is done ! This weakness took me by surprise. I 
 want to hate everything that is good and beau- 
 tiful." 
 
 " In God's name, why?" 
 
 " Because I am beautiful, and I can never be 
 loved." 
 
 Then, as a long-repressed torrent bursts its 
 barriers at last, she continued, with extraordinary 
 energy : 
 
 " It is true." 
 
 She put her hand on her heaving bosom. 
 
 " God had put into this heart all the qualities 
 that I ridicule, that I blaspheme every hour of 
 the day. But when he condemned me to be rich, 
 he withdrew with one hand all that he had lavished 
 with the other. What is the good of my beauty ? 
 What is the good of the devotion, tenderness, and 
 enthusiasm which I feel burning within me? 
 These are not the charms which make so many 
 
 165
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 cowards weary me with their homage. I see it 
 I know it I know it too well. And if ever 
 some disinterested, generous, and heroic soul loved 
 me for what I am, and not for what I have . . . 
 I should never know . . . never believe it. Eter- 
 nal mistrust ! That is my sentence that is my 
 torture. So I have decided ... I will never 
 love. I will never pour into some vile, worthless, 
 and venal heart the pure passion which is burning 
 in mine. My soul will die virgin in my bosom. 
 Well, I am resigned, but everything that is beau- 
 tiful, everything that sets me dreaming, everything 
 that speaks to me of realms forbidden, everything 
 that stirs these vain fires in me I thrust it away, 
 I hate it, I will have nothing to do with it." 
 
 She stopped, trembling ; then, in a lower tone, 
 she said : 
 
 " Monsieur, I did not seek this opportunity. 
 I have not chosen my words ... I did not mean 
 to tell you, but I have spoken . . . you know all, 
 and if at any time I have wounded your feelings, 
 I think you will forgive me now." 
 
 She held out her hand. When my lips touched 
 that soft hand, still wet with tears, a mortal Ian- 
 gour stole through my veins. Marguerite turned 
 her head away, looked into the sombre sky, and 
 then slowly descended the steps. 
 
 166
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " Let us go," she said. 
 
 Another road, longer, but easier than the steep 
 ascent of the mountain, brought us into the farm- 
 yard. Neither of us spoke a single word the 
 whole way. What could I have said, I who was 
 more to be suspected than any other ? I felt that 
 every word from my overcharged heart would 
 separate me still further from this stormy, but 
 adorable soul. 
 
 Night had fallen, and hid from every one the 
 signs of our common emotion. We drove away. 
 After telling us again how much she had enjoyed 
 her day, Mme. Laroque gave herself up to dream- 
 ing about it. Mile. Marguerite, invisible and mo- 
 tionless in the deep shadow, seemed also to be 
 sleeping ; but when a bend in the road caused a 
 ray of pale light to fall upon her, the fixed and 
 open eyes showed that she was wakeful and silent, 
 beset by the thought that caused her despair. I 
 can scarcely say what I felt. A strange sensation 
 of deep joy and deep bitterness possessed me en- 
 tirely. I yielded to it as one sometimes yields 
 consciously to a dream the charm of which we are 
 not strong enough to resist. 
 
 We reached home about midnight. 
 
 I got down at the beginning of the avenue, 
 and took the short way through the park to my 
 
 167
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 quarters. Entering a dim alley, I heard a faint 
 sound of voices and approaching footsteps, and 
 saw vaguely in the darkness two shadowy figures. 
 It was late enough to justify me in stepping into 
 a clump of trees, to watch these nocturnal wan- 
 derers. They passed slowly in front of me. I 
 \ecognised Mile. Helouin ; she was leaning on M. 
 de Be*vallan's arm. At this moment the sound of 
 the carriage alarmed them ; they shook hands and 
 separated hurriedly, Mile. Helouin going towards 
 the chateau, the other to the woods. 
 
 In my own room, fresh from my adventure, I 
 asked myself indignantly whether I was to allow 
 M. de Be*vallan to carry on his double love affair 
 uninterrupted, and to let him find a fiancde and a 
 mistress in the same house. I am too much a 
 man of my age and time to feel the Puritan's hor- 
 ror of certain weaknesses, and I am not hypocrite 
 enough to affect what I do not feel. But I be- 
 lieve that the morality which is easiest and most 
 indulgent in this respect, still demands some de- 
 gree of dignity, self-respect, and delicacy. Even 
 in these devious ways a man must walk straight to 
 some extent. The real excuse of love is that it is 
 love. But M. de B6vallan's catholic tendernesses 
 exclude all possibility of self-forgetful passion. 
 Such love-affairs are not even sins ; they are some- 
 
 168
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 thing altogether lower in the moral scale ; they are 
 but the calculations and the wagers of brutalized 
 horse-dealers. 
 
 The various incidents of this evening, com- 
 bined to convince me, that this man was utterly 
 unworthy of the hand and heart he dared to covet. 
 Such a union would be monstrous. But I saw at 
 once, that I should not be able to prevent it by 
 using the weapons that chance had put into my 
 hands. The best of objects does not justify base 
 methods, and nothing can excuse the informer. 
 This marriage will take place, and heaven will per- 
 mit one of its noblest creatures to fall into the 
 arms of a cold-hearted libertine. It will permit 
 that profanation. Alas, it allows so many others ! 
 
 I tried to imagine how this young girl could 
 have chosen this man, by what process of false 
 reasoning she had come to prefer him to all others. 
 I think I have guessed. M. de Be*vallan is very 
 rich ; he brings a fortune nearly equal to the one 
 he acquires. That is a kind of guarantee ; he 
 could do without this additional wealth ; he is 
 assumed to be more disinterested than others, 
 because he is better off. 
 
 How foolish an argument ! What a terrible 
 mistake to estimate people's venality by the amount 
 of their wealth ! In nine cases out of ten, opu- 
 
 169
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 lence increases greed ! The most self-seeking are 
 not the poorest ! 
 
 Was there, then, no hope that Marguerite 
 would see the worthlessness of her choice, no hope 
 that her own heart would give her the counsel I 
 could not suggest ? Might not a new, unlooked- 
 for feeling arise in her heart, and, breathing on the 
 vain resolutions of reason, destroy them ? Was 
 not this feeling already born, indeed, and had I 
 not received irrefutable proofs of it ? The strange 
 caprices, the humiliations, struggles, and tears of 
 which I had been so long the object, or the wit- 
 ness, proclaimed beyond doubt a reason that wa- 
 vered, not mistress of itself. I had seen enough 
 of life, to know that a scene like that of which 
 chance had this evening made me the confidant, 
 and almost the accomplice, does not, however 
 spontaneous it may seem, occur in an atmosphere 
 of indifference. Such emotions, such shocks, prove 
 that there are two souls already shaken by the 
 same storm, or about to be so shaken. 
 
 But if it were true, if she loved me, as too cer- 
 tainly I loved her, I might say of that love what 
 she had said of her beauty: " What is the good of 
 it ? " For I could never hope that it would be 
 strong enough to triumph over the eternal mis- 
 trust, which is at once the defect, and quality, of 
 
 170
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 that noble girl. My character, I dare say it, re- 
 sents the outrage of this mistrust ; but my situa- 
 tion, more than that of any other, is calculated to 
 rouse it. What miracle is to bridge the abyss 
 between these suspicions, and the reserve they 
 force upon me ? 
 
 Finally, granting the miracle, if she offered me 
 the hand for which I would give my life, but for 
 which I will never ask, would our union be 
 happy ? Should I not have to fear, early or late, 
 in this restless imagination, the slow awakening of 
 a half-stifled mistrust ? Could I, in the midst of 
 wealth not mine, guard myself against misgivings? 
 Could I really be happy in a love that is sullied 
 by being a benefit as well ? Our part as the pro- 
 tector of women is so strictly laid upon us by all 
 sentiments of honour, that it cannot, even from 
 the highest motives, be reversed for an instant 
 without casting upon us some shadow of doubt 
 and suspicion. Truly, wealth is not so great an 
 advantage that we cannot find some counterpoise 
 to it. I imagine that a man who brings his wife> 
 in exchange for some bags of gold, a name that 
 he has made illustrious, acknowledged worth, a 
 great position, or the promise of a great future, 
 does not feel that he is under a crushing obliga- 
 tion. But my hands are empty, my future is no 
 
 171
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 better than my present ; of all the advantages 
 which the world worships I have only one my 
 title and I am determined not to bear it, that it 
 may not be said it was the price of a bargain. I 
 should receive all and give nothing. A king may 
 marry a shepherdess ; that is generous and charm- 
 ing, and we congratulate him with good reason ; 
 but a shepherd who lets a queen marry him does 
 not cut so fine a figure. 
 
 I have spent the night thinking these things 
 over, and seeking a solution that I have not yet 
 found. Perhaps I ought to leave this house and 
 this place at once. Prudence counsels it. This 
 business cannot end well. How often one minute 
 of courage and firmness would spare us a lifetime 
 of regret I I ought at least to be overwhelmed by 
 sadness ; I have never had such good reason for 
 melancholy. But I cannot grieve. My brain, 
 distracted and tortured, yet holds a thought which 
 dominates everything, and fills me with more than 
 mortal joy. My soul is as light as a bird of the 
 air. I see I shall always see that little cemetery, 
 that distant ocean, that vast horizon, and on that 
 glowing hilltop, that angel of beauty bathed in 
 divine tears ! Still, I feel her hand under my lips, 
 her tears in my eyes and in my heart. I love 
 her.' Well, to-morrow, if so it must be, I will
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 decide. Till then, for God's sake, let me have a 
 little rest. I have not been overdone with happi- 
 ness. I may die of this love, but I will live in 
 peace with it for one day at least. 
 
 August s6th. 
 
 That day, the single day I asked, has not been 
 granted me. My brief weakness has not had long 
 to wait for its punishment, which will be lasting. 
 How could I have forgotten ? Moral laws can 
 no more be broken with impunity than physical, 
 and their invariable action constitutes the perma- 
 nent intervention of what we call Providence in 
 the affairs of this world. A great, though weak 
 man, writing the gospel of a sage with the hand 
 of a quasi-maniac, said of the passions that were at 
 once his misery, his reproach, and his glory : 
 
 " All are good while we are their masters ; all 
 are bad when we let them enslave us. Nature 
 forbids us to let our attachments exceed our 
 strength ; reason forbids us to desire what we 
 cannot obtain ; conscience does not forbid us to 
 be tempted, it does forbid us to yield to tempta- 
 tion. It does not rest with us to have or not to 
 have passions, but it does rest with us to control 
 them. All the feelings which we govern are legit- 
 imate ; all those that govern us are criminal.
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 Attach your heart only to the beauty that does 
 not perish ; limit your desires by your conditions ; 
 put your duties before your passions ; extend the 
 law of necessity to things moral ; learn to lose 
 what may be taken from you ; learn to give up 
 everything at the command of virtue ! " 
 
 Yes, such is the law. I knew it ; I have 
 broken it ; I am punished. It is right I had 
 scarcely set foot on my cloud of folly when I was 
 thrown violently off, and now, after five days, I 
 have barely courage to recount the almost ridicu- 
 lous details of my downfall. 
 
 Mme. Laroque and her daughter had gone in 
 the morning to pay another visit to Mme. de 
 Saint-Cast, and to bring back Mme. Aubry. I 
 found Mile. He*louin alone at the chateau. I had 
 brought her quarter's salary ; for, though my 
 duties do not, in a general way, trench on the 
 maintenance and internal discipline of the house, 
 the ladies had wished, no doubt from considera- 
 tion for Mile. Helouin and for me, that I should 
 pay both our salaries. The young lady was sit- 
 ting in the small boudoir near the dining-room. 
 She received me with a pensive sweetness which 
 touched me. For at that moment I felt in myself 
 that fulness of heart which inclines us to confi- 
 dence and kindness. I quixotically resolved to
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 hold out a helping hand to this poor lonely 
 creature. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," I said, abruptly, "^you have 
 withdrawn your friendship from me, but my 
 friendship for you remains unaltered. May I 
 give you a proof of it ? " 
 
 She looked at me and murmured a timid 
 assent. 
 
 " Well, my poor child, you are bent on your 
 own ruin." 
 
 She rose quickly. 
 
 "You saw me in the park that night!" she 
 cried. 
 
 " I did." 
 
 "My God!" 
 
 She came towards me. 
 
 "M. Maxime, I swear to you that I am a 
 virtuous girl." 
 
 " I believe it, mademoiselle, but I must warn 
 you that in this little romance, perfectly innocent, 
 no doubt, on your side, whatever it may be on the 
 other, you are imperilling your reputation and 
 your peace of mind. I beg you to reflect seri- 
 ously on this matter, and at the same time I beg 
 to assure you that no one but you will ever hear a 
 word on this subject from me." 
 
 I was leaving the room, when she sank on her 
 175
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 knees before a couch, and burst out sobbing, lean- 
 ing her forehead against my hand, which she had 
 seized. It was not long since I had seen sweeter 
 and nobler tears, but still I was touched. 
 
 " Come, my dear young lady," I said ; " it is 
 not too late, is it ? " 
 
 She shook her head decisively. 
 
 " Very well, my child. Be brave, and we will 
 save you. What can I do to help you tell me ? 
 Has this man any proof, any letter, I can demand 
 from him on your behalf ? Command me as if I 
 were your brother." 
 
 She released my hand angrily. 
 
 " How hard you are !" she said. " You talk 
 of saving me ... it is you who are ruining me. 
 After pretending to love me, you repulsed me 
 . . . you have humiliated me and made me des- 
 perate. You are the sole cause of what has hap- 
 pened." 
 
 " Mademoiselle, you are unjust. I never pre- 
 tended to love you. I had a sincere affection for 
 you, and I have it still. I admit that your 
 beauty, your wit, and your talents fully entitle 
 you to look for more than fraternal friendship 
 from those who see you every day. But my 
 situation, and my duties to my family preclude my 
 indulging any other feeling for you without being 
 
 176
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 dishonourable. I tell you frankly that I think 
 you are charming, and I assure you that in re- 
 stricting my sentiments towards you within the 
 limits imposed by loyalty, I have not been with- 
 out merit. I see nothing humiliating for you in 
 that ; what might, indeed, humiliate you, mad- 
 emoiselle, would be the determined pursuit of a 
 man determined not to marry you." 
 
 She gave me an evil look. 
 
 "What do you know about it?" she said. 
 " Every man is not a fortune-hunter." 
 
 " Oh ! mademoiselle, are you a spiteful little 
 person ?" I said, very calmly. " If so, I will wish 
 you good-day." 
 
 " M. Maxime ! " she cried, rushing forward to 
 stop me, " forgive me ! have pity on me ! Alas ! 
 I am so unhappy. Imagine what must be the 
 thoughts of a poor creature like me, who has been 
 given cruelly a heart, a soul, a brain . . . and 
 who can only use them to suffer . . . and to 
 hate ! What is my life ? What is my future ? 
 My life is the perception of my poverty, cease- 
 lessly aggravated by the luxury which surrounds 
 me ! My future will be to regret, some day, to 
 weep bitterly for even this life this slave's life, 
 odious as it is ! You talk of my youth, my wit, 
 and my talents. Would that I had never had the 
 
 177
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 capacity for anything higher than breaking stones 
 on the road ! I should have been happier. My 
 talents ! I shall have passed the best part of my 
 life in decking another woman with them, and 
 giving her thereby additional beauty, power and 
 insolence. And when my best blood has passed 
 into this doll's veins, she will go off on the arm of 
 a happy husband to take her part in the best 
 pleasures of life, while, old, solitary, and deserted, 
 I shall go to die in some hole with the pension of 
 a lady's maid. What have I done to deserve this 
 fate, tell me that ? Why should it be mine rather 
 than that of those other women ? Because I am 
 not as good as they are ? If I am bad, it is be- 
 cause suffering has envenomed me, because injus- 
 tice has blackened my soul. I was born with a 
 disposition as great as theirs perhaps greater to 
 be good and loving and charitable. My God ! 
 benefits cost little when you're rich, and kindness 
 is easy when you're happy. If I were in their 
 place, and they in mine, they would hate me ... 
 as I hate them. . . . We do not love our masters. 
 Ah ! this is horrible what I am saying to you. 
 I know it, and this is the crowning bitterness I 
 feel my own degradation, I blush for it ... and 
 I increase it. Alas ! now you despise me more 
 than ever . . . you, whom I could have loved so 
 
 178
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 much, if you would have let me ; you, who could 
 have given me all that I have lost hope, peace, 
 goodness, self-respect ! Ah ! there was a moment 
 when I believed that I was saved . , . when for 
 the first time I dreamed of happiness, of hope, of 
 pride ! . . . Poor wretch ! . . ." 
 
 She had seized both my hands ; her head fell 
 on them, and she wept wildly under her long, 
 flowing curls. 
 
 " My dear child," I said to her, " I know bet- 
 ter than any one the trials and humiliations of 
 your position, but let me tell you that you increase 
 them greatly by nourishing the sentiments you 
 have just expressed. They are hideous, and you 
 will end by deserving all the hardships of your lot. 
 But, after all, your imagination strangely exag- 
 gerates those hardships. As for the present, what- 
 ever you may say, you are treated like a friend 
 here ; as to the future, I see nothing to prevent 
 you from leaving this house on the arm of a 
 happy husband, too. For my part, I shall be 
 grateful for your affection throughout my life ; 
 but I will tell you once more, and finish with the 
 subject forever I have duties that bind me, and 
 I do not wish, nor am I able, to marry." 
 
 She looked at me suddenly. 
 
 "Not even Marguerite?" she said. 
 179
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " I do not see that it is necessary to introduce 
 Mile. Marguerite's name." 
 
 With one hand she threw back the hair which 
 fell over her face, and the other she held out at 
 me with a menacing gesture. 
 
 " You love her ! " she said in a hoarse voice. 
 " No, you love her money, but you shall not 
 have it ! " 
 
 " Mademoiselle He*louin ! " 
 
 "Ah!" she continued, "you must be a child 
 indeed if you think you can deceive a woman who 
 was fool enough to love you. I see through your 
 manoeuvres. Besides, I know who you are. I 
 was not far off when Mile, de Porhoet conveyed 
 your well-calculated confidence to Mme. La- 
 roque " 
 
 " So you listen at doors, mademoiselle ! " 
 
 " I care nothing for your insults. . . . Besides, 
 I shall avenge myself, and soon, too. . . . Oh, 
 there's no doubt you're very clever, M. de Cham- 
 cey ! I congratulate you. Wonderfully well 
 have you played your little part of disinterested- 
 ness and reserve, as your friend Laubdpin advised 
 you to do when he sent you here. He knew the 
 person you would have to deal with. He knew 
 well enough this girl's absurd mania. And you 
 think you've already got your prey, don't you ? 
 
 1 80
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 Adorable millions, aren't they ? There are queer 
 stories about their origin. But, at any rate, they 
 will serve very well to furbish up your marquisate, 
 and regild your escutcheon. Well, from this mo- 
 ment you can give up that idea ... for I swear 
 you shall not keep your mask a day longer, and 
 this hand shall tear it from you." 
 
 " Mile. Helouin, it is quite time we brought 
 this scene to an end ; we are verging on melo- 
 drama. You have given me an opportunity 
 of forestalling you in tale-bearing and calumnia- 
 tion ; but you are perfectly safe. I give you 
 my word of honour that I shall not use those 
 weapons. And, mademoiselle, I am your humble 
 servant." 
 
 I left the unhappy girl with a feeling of 
 mingled disgust and pity. I have always thought 
 that the highest organization must, from its very 
 nature, be galled and warped in a situation as 
 equivocal and humiliating as that which Mile, 
 Helouin occupies here. But I was not prepared 
 for the abyss of venom that had just opened 
 under my eyes. Most assuredly when one 
 thinks the matter out one can scarcely conceive 
 a situation which subjects a human soul to more 
 hateful temptations, or is better calculated to de- 
 velop and sharpen envy, to arouse the protests 
 
 181
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 of pride, and to exasperate feminine vanity and 
 jealousy. Most of the unhappy girls who are 
 driven to this occupation only escape the troubles 
 Mile. Helouin had not been able to guard herself 
 against, either by the moderation of their feeling, 
 or, by the grace of God, through the firmness 
 of their principles. Sometimes I had thought 
 that our misfortunes might make it necessary for 
 my sister to go as governess into some rich family. 
 I swore then that whatever future might be re- 
 served for us, I would rather share the hardest 
 life in the poorest garret with He*lene than let 
 her sit at the poisoned banquets of an opulent 
 and hateful servitude. 
 
 Though I had firmly resolved to leave the 
 field free to Mile. Helouin, and on no account to 
 engage personally in the recriminations of a de- 
 grading contest, I could not regard without mis- 
 giving the probable consequences of the treacher- 
 ous war just declared against me. Evidently, I 
 was threatened where I was most sensitive in my 
 love and in my honour. Mistress of the secret 
 of my heart, mingling truth and falsehood with 
 the skilful perfidy of her sex, Mile. He'louin 
 might easily show my conduct in an unfavourable 
 light, turn all the precautions and scruples of my 
 delicacy against me, and give my simplest actions 
 
 182
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 the appearance of deliberate intrigue. I could 
 not foresee the form her malevolence would take, 
 but I could depend upon her to choose the most 
 effectual methods. Better than any one, she 
 knew the weak places in the imaginations she 
 wished to impress. Over Mile. Marguerite and 
 her mother she had the advantage which dissim- 
 ulation usually has over frankness, and cunning 
 over simplicity. They trusted her with the trust 
 that is born of long use and daily association. 
 Her masters, as she called them, were not likely 
 to suspect that under the pretty brightness and 
 obsequious consideration which she assumed with 
 such consummate art she concealed a frenzy of 
 pride and ingratitude which was eating her miser- 
 able heart away. It was too probable that a hand 
 so sure and skilful would pour its poison with 
 complete success into hearts thus prepared. It 
 was true Mile. Helouin might be afraid that by 
 yielding to her resentment she would thrust Mile. 
 Marguerite's hand into that of M. de Be'vallan, 
 and hasten a marriage which would be the ruin 
 of her own ambition ; but I knew that the woman 
 who hates does not calculate, and risks everything. 
 So I awaited from her the swiftest and blindest 
 of vengeance, and I was right. 
 
 In painful anxiety I passed the hours that 
 183
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 should have been given to sweeter thoughts. All 
 that a proud spirit finds most galling in depend- 
 ence, the suspicion hardest for a loyal conscience, 
 the scorn most bitter to a loving heart, I endured 
 in anticipation. Never in my worst hours had 
 adversity offered me a cup so full. However, I 
 tried to work as usual. About five o'clock I went 
 to the chateau. The ladies had returned during 
 the afternoon. In the drawing-room I found Mile. 
 Marguerite, Mme. Aubry, M. de Be"vallan, and 
 two or three casual guests. Mile. Marguerite did 
 not appear to be aware of my presence, but con- 
 tinued to talk to M. de Be*vallan in a more ani- 
 mated style than usual. They were discussing an 
 impromptu dance, which was to take place the 
 same evening at a neighbouring chateau. She was 
 going with her mother, and urged M. de Be*vallan 
 to accompany them. He excused himself on the 
 ground that he had left his house that morning 
 before receiving the invitation, and that his cos- 
 tume was inadmissible. With an eager and affec- 
 tionate coquetry which evidently surprised even 
 him, Mile. Marguerite persisted, saying that 
 there was still time to go back and dress and 
 return to fetch them. She promised that a nice 
 little dinner should be kept for him. M. de Be*- 
 vallan said that his carriage horses were not avail- 
 
 184
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 able, and that he could not ride back in evening 
 dress. 
 
 " Very well," replied Mile. Marguerite ; " they 
 shall drive you over in the dog-cart." 
 
 At the same moment she turned towards me 
 for the first time, with a look in which I saw the 
 thunderbolt that was about to fall. 
 
 " M. Odiot," she said in a sharp, imperious 
 tone, "go and tell them to put the horse in." 
 
 This imperious order was so little in harmony 
 with such as I was accustomed to receive here, or 
 such as I could be expected to tolerate, that the 
 attention and curiosity of the most indifferent were 
 excited. 
 
 There was an awkward silence. M. de Be*val- 
 lan glanced in surprise at Mile. Marguerite ; then 
 he looked at me, and got up with a very serious 
 air. If they thought I should give way to some 
 mad prompting of anger they were mistaken. It 
 was true that the insulting words which had just 
 fallen on me from a mouth so beautiful, so be- 
 loved, and so cruel, had struck the icy coldness of 
 death to the very depths of my being. A blade 
 of steel piercing my heart could hardly have caused 
 me keener pain. But never had I been calmer. 
 The bell which Mme. Laroque uses to summon 
 her servants stood on a table within my reach. I 
 
 185 io Vol. 9
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 touched it with my finger. A man-servant entered 
 almost directly. 
 
 " I think," I said to him, " Mile. Marguerite 
 has some orders to give you." 
 
 At this speech, which she had heard in amaze- 
 ment, Marguerite shook her head quickly, and dis- 
 missed the man. I longed to get out of this 
 room, where I seemed to be choking, but, in view 
 of M. de Be*vallan's provoking manner, I could 
 not withdraw. 
 
 " Upon my word," he murmured, " there's 
 something very strange about all this." 
 
 I took no notice of him. Mile. Marguerite 
 said something to him under her breath. 
 
 " I obey, mademoiselle," he said in a louder 
 tone ; " but you will allow me to express my sin- 
 cere regret that I have not the right to interpose 
 here." 
 
 I rose immediately. 
 
 " M. de Be*vallan," I said, standing within a 
 pace or two of him, " that regret is quite super- 
 fluous, for though I have not thought fit to obey 
 Mile. Laroque's orders, I am entirely at yours . . . 
 and I shall expect to receive them." 
 
 " Very good, very good, sir ; nothing could be 
 better," replied M. de Be'vallan, waving his hand 
 airily to reassure the ladies. 
 
 1 86
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 We bowed to one another and I went out. I 
 dined alone in my tower. Poor Alain waited on 
 me as usual. No doubt he had heard of what 
 had occurred, for he kept looking at me mourn- 
 fully, sighed often and deeply, and, contrary to his 
 custom, preserved a gloomy silence, only breaking 
 it to reply, in answer to my question, that the 
 ladies had decided not to go to the ball. 
 
 After a hurried meal, I put my papers in order 
 and wrote a few words to M. Laub6pin. In view 
 of a possible contingency I recommended He*lene 
 to his care. The thought that I might leave her 
 unprotected and friendless nearly broke my heart, 
 without in the least affecting my immovable prin- 
 ciples. I may deceive myself, but I have always 
 thought that honour in our modern life is para- 
 mount in the hierarchy of duties. It takes the 
 place of so many virtues which have nearly faded 
 from our consciences, of so many dormant beliefs ; 
 it plays such a tutelary part in the present state of 
 society, that I would never consent to weaken its 
 claims, or lessen its obligations. In its indefinite 
 character, there is something superior to law 
 and morality : one does not reason about it ; one 
 feels it. It is a religion. If we have no longer 
 the folly of the Cross, let us keep the folly of 
 Honour ! Moreover, no sentiment has ever taken 
 
 187
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 such deep root in the human soul without the 
 sanction of reason. It is better that a girl or a 
 wife should be alone in the world, than that she 
 should be protected by a dishonoured brother or 
 husband. 
 
 Each moment I expected a letter from M. de 
 Be*vallan. I was getting ready to go to the col- 
 lector of taxes in the town, a young officer who 
 had been wounded in the Crimea, and ask him to 
 be my second, when some one knocked at my 
 door. M. de Be*vallan himself came in. Apart 
 from a slight shade of embarrassment, his face ex- 
 pressed nothing but a frank and joyful kindliness. 
 
 " M. Odiot," he said, as I looked at him in 
 surprise, " this is rather an unusual step, but, 
 thank Heaven, my service-records place my cour- 
 age beyond suspicion. On the other hand, I have 
 such good reason for feeling happy to-night that I 
 have no room for rancour or enmity. Lastly, I 
 am obeying orders which will now be more sacred 
 to me than ever. In short, I come to offer you 
 my hand." 
 
 I bowed gravely and took his hand. 
 
 " Now," he went on as he sat down, " I can 
 execute my commission comfortably. A little 
 while ago Mile. Marguerite, in a thoughtless 
 moment, gave you some instructions which most 
 
 188
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 assuredly did not come within your province. 
 Very properly, your susceptibility was aroused, 
 we quite recognise that, and now the ladies 
 charge me to beg that you will accept their re- 
 grets. They would be in despair if the miscon- 
 ception of a moment could deprive them of your 
 good offices, which they value extremely, and put 
 an end to relations which they esteem most highly. 
 Speaking for myself, I have this evening acquired 
 the right to add my entreaties to those of the 
 ladies. Something I have long desired has been 
 granted me, and I shall be personally indebted 
 to you if you will" prevent the happy memories 
 of this day from being marred by a separation 
 which would be at once disadvantageous and 
 painful to the family into which I shall shortly 
 enter." 
 
 " M. de Be*vallan," I said, " I fully recognise 
 and appreciate all that you have said on behalf of 
 the ladies, as well as on your own account. You 
 will excuse me from giving a final answer immedi- 
 ately. This is a matter which requires more judi- 
 cial consideration than I can give it at present." 
 
 " At least," said M. de Etevallan, " you will let 
 me take back a hopeful report. Come, M. Odiot, 
 since we have the opportunity, let us break 
 through the barrier of ice that has kept us apart 
 
 189
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 till now. As far as I am concerned, I am quite 
 willing. In the first place, Mme. Laroque, with- 
 out revealing a secret that does not belong to her, 
 has given me to understand that under the kind 
 of mystery with which you surround yourself, 
 there are circumstances which reflect the highest 
 credit on you. And, besides, I have a private 
 reason for being grateful to you. I know that 
 you have lately been consulted in reference to 
 my intentions towards Mile. Laroque, and that 
 I have cause to congratulate myself on your 
 opinion." 
 
 " My dear sir, I do not think I deserve " 
 
 " Oh, I know !" he continued, laughing. " You 
 didn't praise me up to the skies, but, at all events, 
 you did me no harm. And I admit that you 
 showed real insight. You said that though Mile. 
 Marguerite might not be absolutely happy with me, 
 she would not be unhappy. Well, the prophet 
 Daniel could not have spoken better. The truth 
 is, the dear child will never be absolutely happy 
 with any one, because she will not find in the 
 whole world a husband who will talk poetry to 
 her from morning to night. . . . They're not to 
 be had. I am no more capable of it than any one 
 else, I own ; but as you were good enough to 
 say I am an honourable man. And really, when 
 
 190
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 we know one another better, you will be con- 
 vinced of it. I am not a brute ; I am a good 
 fellow. God knows I have faults . . . one espe- 
 cially : I am fond of pretty women. ... I am, 
 I can't deny it. But what does it matter? It 
 shows that one has a good heart. Besides, here I 
 am in port . . . and I am delighted, because 
 between ourselves I was getting into a bit of a 
 mess. In short, I mean only to think about my 
 wife and children in future. So, like you, I 
 believe Marguerite will be perfectly happy that 
 is to say, as far as she could be in this world with 
 ideas like hers. For, after all, I shall be good to 
 her; I shall refuse her nothing, and I shall do 
 even more than she desires. But if she asks me 
 for the moon and the stars, I can't go and fetch 
 them to please her . . . that's not possible. . . . 
 And now, my dear friend, your hand once more." 
 
 I gave it him. He got up. 
 
 " Good ! I hope that you will stay with us 
 now. . . . Come, let me see that a brighter 
 face ! We will make your life as pleasant as pos- 
 sible, but you'll have to help us a bit, you know. 
 You cultivate your sadness, I fancy. You live, if 
 I may say so, too much like an owl. You're a 
 kind of Spaniard such as one rarely sees. You 
 must drop that sort of thing. You are young 
 
 191
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 and good-looking, you have wit and talents ; 
 make the best of those qualities. Listen. Why 
 not try a flirtation with little He"louin. ... It 
 would amuse you. She is very charming, and she 
 would suit you. But, deuce take me ! I am 
 rather forgetting my promotion to high dignities ! 
 . . . And now, good-bye, Maxime, till to-morrow, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 "Till to-morrow, certainly." 
 
 And this honest gentleman who is the sort 
 of Spaniard one often sees ! left me to my reflec- 
 tions. 
 
 October ist. 
 
 A strange thing has happened. Though the 
 results are not, so far, very satisfactory, they have 
 done me good. The blow I had received had left 
 me numb with grief. This at least makes me feel 
 that I am alive, and for the first time for three long 
 weeks I have had the courage to open this book 
 and take up my pen. Every satisfaction having 
 been given to me, I thought there was no longer 
 any reason for leaving, at least suddenly, a posi- 
 tion and advantages which, after all, I need, and 
 could not easily replace. The mere prospect 
 of the personal sufferings I had to face, which, 
 moreover, were the result of my own weakness, 
 
 192
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 could not entitle me to shirk duties which in- 
 volved other interests than my own. And more ; 
 I did not intend that Mile. Marguerite should in- 
 terpret my sudden flight as the result of pique at 
 the loss of a good match. I made it a point of 
 honour to show her an unruffled front up to the 
 altar itself. As for my heart that she could not 
 see. So I contented myself with informing M. 
 Laube"pin that certain things incident to my situ- 
 ation might at any moment become unbearable, 
 and that I eagerly desired some less lucrative but 
 more independent occupation. 
 
 The next day I appeared at the chateau, where 
 M. de Be"vallan received me cordially. I greeted 
 the ladies with all the self-possession I could com- 
 mand. There was, of course, no explanation. 
 Mme. Laroque seemed moved and thoughtful ; 
 Mile. Marguerite was a little highly strung still, 
 but polite. As for Mile. He*louin, she was very 
 pale, and kept her eyes fixed on her work. The 
 poor girl could not have been very much delighted 
 with the final result of her diplomacy. She en- 
 deavoured once or twice to dart a look of scorn 
 and menace at M. de Be*vallan ; but though this 
 stormy atmosphere might have troubled a neo- 
 phyte, M. de Be*vallan breathed, moved, and flut- 
 tered about in it entirely at his ease. His regal 
 
 103
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 self-possession evidently irritated Mile. Helouin, 
 but it quelled her at the same time. I am sure, 
 however, that she would have played him the 
 same sort of trick she had played me the day be- 
 fore, and with far more excuse, if she had not been 
 afraid of ruining herself as well as her accomplice. 
 But it was most likely that if she yielded to her 
 jealous rage, and admitted her ingratitude and du- 
 plicity, she would ruin herself only, and she was 
 quite clever enough to see this. In fact, M. de 
 Bvallan was not the kind of man to have run any 
 risks with her, without having provided himself 
 with some very effective weapon which he would 
 use with pitiless indifference. Of course, Mile. 
 He'louin might tell herself that the night before 
 they had believed her when she made other false 
 accusations, but she knew that the falsehood 
 which flatters or wounds is much more readily be- 
 lieved than mere general truth. So she suffered 
 in silence, not, I suppose, without feeling keenly 
 that the sword of treachery sometimes turns 
 against the person who makes use of it. During 
 this day and those which followed I had to bear a 
 kind of torture I had foreseen, though without 
 realizing how painful it would be. The marriage 
 was fixed for a month later. All the preparations 
 had to be made at once and in great haste. Reg- 
 
 194
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 ularly each morning came one of Mme. Pre* vest's 
 bouquets. Laces, dresses, jewels poured in and 
 were exhibited every evening to interested and 
 envious ladies. I had to give my opinion and my 
 advice on everything. Mile. Marguerite begged 
 for them with almost cruel persistence. I re- 
 sponded as graciously as I could, and then re- 
 turned to my tower and took from a secret 
 drawer the tattered handkerchief I had won at 
 the risk of my life, and I dried my tears with it. 
 Weakness again ! But what would you have? 
 I love her. Treachery, enmity, hopeless misun- 
 derstandings, her pride and mine, separate us for- 
 ever ! So let it be, but nothing can prevent me 
 from living and dying with my heart full of her. 
 
 As for M. de Be*vallan, I did not hate him ; he 
 was not worthy of it. He is a vulgar but harmless 
 soul. Thank God ! I could receive the overtures 
 of his shallow friendliness without hypocrisy, and 
 put my hand tranquilly in his. But if he was too 
 insignificant for my resentment, that did not lessen 
 the deep and lacerating agony with which I recog- 
 nised his unworthiness of the rare creature he 
 would soon possess and never know. I cannot, 
 and I dare not, describe the flood of bitter 
 thoughts, of nameless sensations which have been 
 aroused in me at the thought of this odious 
 
 195
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 sallmnce, and have not yet subsided. Love, real 
 true love, has something sacred in it, which gives 
 an almost superhuman character to its pain as to 
 its joy. 
 
 To the man who loves her, a woman has a sort 
 of divinity of which no other man knows the 
 secret, which belongs only to her lover, and to see 
 even the threshold of this mystery profaned by 
 another gives us a strange and indescribable shock 
 a horror, as of sacrilege. It is not merely that 
 a precious possession is taken from you ; it is an 
 altar polluted, a mystery violated, a god defiled ! 
 This is jealousv. At least, it is mine. In all sin- 
 cerity it seemed to me that in the whole world I 
 only had eyes to see, intelligence to understand, 
 and a heart to worship in its full perfection the 
 beauty of this angel. With any other she would 
 be cast away, and lost ; body and soul, she was des- 
 tined for me from all eternity. So vast was my 
 pride ! I expiated it with suffering as immeasur- 
 able. 
 
 Nevertheless, some mocking demon whispered 
 that in all probability Marguerite would find more 
 peace and real happiness in the kindly friendship 
 of a judicious husband, than she would have en- 
 joyed in the poetic passion of a romantic lover. 
 Is it true ? Is it possible ? I do not believe it. 
 
 196
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 She will have peace ! Granted. But peace, after 
 all, is not the best thing in life, nor the highest 
 kind of happiness. If insensibility and a petrified 
 heart sufficed to make us happy, too many people 
 who do not deserve it would be happy. By dint 
 of reasoning and calculation we come to blaspheme 
 against God, and to degrade his work. God 
 gives peace to the dead ; to the living he gives 
 passion ! Yes, in addition to the vulgar interests 
 of daily life, which I am not so foolish as to ex- 
 pect to set aside, a certain poetry is permitted, 
 nay, enjoined. That is the heritage of the im- 
 mortal soul. And this soul must feel, and some- 
 times reveal itself, whether by visions that tran- 
 scend the real, by aspirations that out-soar the 
 possible, by storms, or by tears. Yes, there is suf- 
 fering which is better than happiness, or, rather, 
 which is itself happiness that of a living creat- 
 ure who knows all the agonies of the heart, and 
 all the illusions of the mind, and who accepts 
 these noble torments with an equable mind and 
 a fraternal heart. That is the romance which 
 every one who claims to be a man, and to justify 
 that claim, may, and indeed is bound to put into 
 his life. 
 
 And, after all, this boasted peace will not be 
 hers. The marriage of two stolid hearts, of two 
 
 19;
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 frozen imaginations, may produce the calm of 
 lifelessness. I can believe that, but the union of 
 life with death cannot be endured without a hor- 
 rible oppression and ceaseless anguish. 
 
 In the midst of these personal miseries, which 
 increased each day in intensity, my only refuge 
 was my poor old friend, Mile, de Porhofit She 
 did not know, or pretended not to know, the 
 state of my heart ; but with her remote and per- 
 haps involuntary allusions she touched my bleed- 
 ing wounds with a woman's light and delicate 
 hand. And this soul the living symbol of sacri- 
 fice and resignation, which seemed already to float 
 above our earth, had a detachment, a calmness, 
 and a gentle firmness, which seemed to descend 
 on me. I came to understand her innocent delu- 
 sion, and to share it with something of the same 
 simplicity. Bent over the album, I wandered with 
 her for hours through the cloisters of her cathe- 
 dral, and breathed for a while the vague perfumes 
 of an ideal serenity. 
 
 I further found at the old lady's house another 
 kind of distraction. Habit gives an interest to 
 every kind of work. To prevent Mile, de Porhoe*t 
 from suspecting the final loss of her case, I regu- 
 larly continued the exploration of the family 
 archives. Among the confused mass I occasion- 
 
 198
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 ally came across traditions, legends, and traces of 
 old-world customs which awakened my curiosity 
 and carried back my thoughts to far-off days 
 remote from the crushing reality of life. My 
 perseverance maintained Mile, de Porhoet in her 
 illusions, and she was grateful to me beyond my 
 deserts. For I had come to take an interest in 
 this work now practically useless which repaid 
 me for all my trouble, and gave me a wholesome 
 distraction from my grief. 
 
 As the fateful day approached, Mile. Mar- 
 guerite lost the feverish vivacity which had 
 seemed to inspire her since the date of the mar- 
 riage had been fixed, and relapsed at times into 
 the fits of indolence and sombre reverie formerly 
 habitual to her. Once or twice I surprised her 
 watching me in wondering perplexity. Mme. 
 Laroque, too, often looked at me with an anx- 
 ious and hesitating air, as if she wished and yet 
 feared to discuss some painful subject with me. 
 The day before yesterday I found myself by 
 chance alone with her in the salon, which Mile. 
 Helouin had just left to give some order. The 
 trivial conversation in which we had been en- 
 gaged ceased suddenly, as by common consent. 
 After a short silence, Mme. Laroque said, in a 
 voice full of emotion : 
 
 199
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " M. Odiot, you are not wise in your choice 
 of confidants." 
 
 " Confidants, madame ? I do not follow you. 
 Except Mile, de Porhoe't, I have had no confidant 
 in this place." 
 
 " Alas ! " she replied, " I wish to believe 
 you . . . I do believe you . . . but that is not 
 enough " 
 
 At this moment Mile. He*louin came in, and 
 no more could be said. 
 
 The day after yesterday I had ridden over 
 in the morning to superintend some wood-cutting 
 in the neighbourhood. I was returning to the 
 chateau about four in the afternoon, when, at a 
 sharp turn of the road, I found myself face to 
 face with Mile. Marguerite. She was alone. I 
 prepared to pass her with a bow, but she stopped 
 her horse. 
 
 " What a fine autumn day ! " she said. 
 
 "Yes, mademoiselle. You are going for a 
 ride?" 
 
 "As you see. I am making the best of my 
 last moments of independence, and, in fact, I 
 have been rather abusing my liberty, for I am 
 somewhat tired of solitude. But Alain is wanted 
 at the house. . . . Poor Mervyn is lame. . . . 
 You weuld not care to take his place ? " 
 
 200
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " With pleasure. Where are you going ? " 
 
 " Well . . I thought of riding as far as the 
 tower of Elven." 
 
 With her whip she indicated the misty sum- 
 mit of a hill which rose on the right of the road. 
 
 " I think," she went on, " you've never made 
 that pilgrimage ? " 
 
 " I have not. I have often meant to, but 
 until now I have always put it off. I don't 
 know why." 
 
 " Well, that is fortunate ; but it is getting 
 late ; we must make haste, if you don't mind." 
 
 I turned my horse and we set off at a gallop. 
 
 As we rode along, I tried to account for this 
 unexpected fancy which had an air of premedita- 
 tion. I imagined that time and reflection had 
 weakened the first impression that calumnies had 
 made on Mile. Marguerite. Apparently, she had 
 conceived some doubts of Mile. HeUouin's ve- 
 racity, and had seized an opportunity to make, in 
 an indirect way, a reparation which might be due 
 to me. My mind full of such preoccupations, I 
 gave little thought to the particular object of this 
 strange ride. Still, I had often heard the tower 
 of Elven described as one of the most interesting 
 ruins of the country. I had never gone along 
 either of the roads from Rennes or from Jos- 
 
 20 1
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 selin which lead to the sea, without looking 
 longingly at the confused mass rearing up sud- 
 denly among the distant heaths like some huge 
 stone on end. But I had had neither time nor 
 opportunity to examine it. 
 
 Slackening our pace, we passed through the 
 village of Elven, which preserves to a remarkable 
 extent the character of a mediaeval hamlet. The 
 form of the low, dark houses has not changed for 
 five or six centuries. You think you are dream- 
 ing, when, looking into the big arched bays which 
 serve as windows, you see the groups of mild-eyed 
 women in sculpturesque costume plying their dis- 
 taffs in the shade, and talking in low tones an un- 
 known tongue. These gray spectral figures seem 
 to have just left their tombs to repeat some 
 scene of a bygone age, of which you are the 
 only witness. It gives a sense of oppression. 
 The sluggish life that stirs around you in the 
 single street of the village has the same stamp 
 of archaic strangeness transmitted from a van- 
 ished world. 
 
 A little way from Elven we took a cross-road 
 that brought us to the top of a bare hillock. 
 Thence, though still some distance off, we could 
 plainly see the feudal colossus crowning a wooded 
 height in front of us. The lande we were on 
 
 202
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 sloped steeply to some marshy meadows inclosed 
 by thickets. 
 
 We descended the farther side and soon en- 
 tered the woods. Then we struck a narrow cause- 
 way, the rugged pavement of which must once 
 have rung to the hoofs of mail-clad horses. For 
 some time I had lost sight of the tower of Elven, 
 and could not even guess where it was, when all 
 at once it stood out like an apparition from among 
 the foliage a few paces in front of us. The tower 
 is not a ruin ; it preserves its original height of 
 more than a hundred feet, and the irregular 
 courses of granite which make up its splendid oc- 
 tagonal mass give it the appearance of a huge 
 block cut out but yesterday by some skilful chisel. 
 It would be difficult to imagine anything more 
 proud, sombre, and imposing than this old donjon, 
 impassible to the course of ages, and lost in the 
 depths of the forest. Full-grown trees have 
 sprung up in the deep moats which surround it, 
 and their tops scarcely touch the openings of the 
 lowest windows. This gigantic vegetation, which 
 entirely conceals the base of the edifice, completes 
 its air of fantastic mystery. In this solitude, 
 among these forests, before this mass of weird ar- 
 chitecture, which seems to start up suddenly out 
 of the earth, one thinks involuntarily of those 
 
 203
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 enchanted castles in which beautiful princesses 
 slept for centuries awaiting a deliverer. 
 
 " So far," said Mile. Marguerite, to whom I 
 had endeavoured to convey these impressions, 
 " this is all I have seen of it, but if you want to 
 wake the princess, we can go in. I believe there is 
 always somewhere near a shepherd or shepherdess 
 who has the key. Let us tie up the horses and 
 search, you for the shepherd, and I for the shep- 
 herdess." 
 
 We put the horses into a small inclosure near 
 and separated for a little while, but found neither 
 shepherd nor shepherdess. Of course this in- 
 creased our desire to visit the tower. Crossing 
 a bridge over the moat, we found to our great sur- 
 prise that the heavy door was not closed. We 
 pushed it and entered a dark and narrow space 
 choked with rubbish, which may have been the 
 guard-room. We passed thence into a large, al- 
 most circular hall, where an escutcheon in the 
 chimneypiece still displayed the bezants of a 
 crusader. A large window faced us, divided by 
 the symbolic cross clearly carved in stone. It 
 lighted all the lower part of the room, leaving the 
 vaulted and ruined ceiling in shadow. At the 
 sound of our steps a flock of birds whirled off, 
 sending the dust of ages on to our heads. 
 
 204
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 By standing on the granite benches, which ran 
 like steps along the side of the walls, in the em- 
 brasure of the window, we could see the moat 
 outside and the ruined parts of the fortress. But 
 as we came in we had noticed a staircase cut out 
 of the solid wall, and we were childishly eager 
 to extend our discoveries. We began the ascent, 
 I leading, and Mile. Marguerite following bravely, 
 and managing her long skirts as best she could. 
 The view from the platform at the top is vast 
 and exquisite. The soft hues of twilight tinged 
 the ocean of half-golden autumnal foliage, the 
 gloomy marshes, the fresh pastures, and the dis- 
 tant horizons of intersecting slopes, which mingled 
 and succeeded each other in endless perspective. 
 Gazing on this gracious landscape, in its infinite 
 melancholy, the peace of solitude, the silence of 
 evening, the poetry of ancient days fell like some 
 potent spell upon our hearts and spirits. This 
 hour of common contemplation and emotions of 
 purest, deepest pleasure, no doubt the last I should 
 spend with her, I entered into with an almost 
 painful violence of enjoyment. I do not know 
 what Marguerite was feeling ; she had sat down 
 on the ledge of the parapet, and was gazing into 
 the distance in silence. 
 
 I cannot say how many moments passed in 
 205
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 this way. When the mists gathered in the lower 
 meadows, and the distant landscape began to fade 
 into the growing darkness, Marguerite rose. 
 
 " Come," she said in a low voice, as if the 
 curtain had fallen on some beautiful spectacle; 
 " come ; it's over." 
 
 She began to descend the stairs, and I fol- 
 lowed her. 
 
 But when we tried to get out of the donjon, to 
 our great surprise we found the door closed. Most 
 likely the doorkeeper, not knowing that we were 
 there, had locked it while we were on the plat- 
 form. At first this amused us. The tower was 
 really an enchanted tower. I made some vigor- 
 ous efforts to break the spell, but the huge bolt 
 of the old lock was firmly fixed in its granite 
 socket, and I had to give up all hope of moving 
 it. I attacked the door itself, but the massive 
 hinges and the oak panels studded with iron 
 stolidly resisted all my efforts. Some stone mul- 
 lions, which I found among the rubbish and 
 hurled against the door, only shook the vault 
 and brought some fragments from it to our feet 
 Mile. Marguerite at last made me give up a task 
 that was hopeless, and not without danger. I then 
 ran to the window and shouted, but no one re- 
 plied. For ten minutes I continued shouting, and 
 
 206
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 to no purpose. We took advantage of the last 
 rays of light to explore the interior of the don- 
 jon very carefully. But the door, which was as 
 good as walled up for us, and the large window, 
 thirty feet above the moat, were the only exits 
 we could discover. 
 
 Meanwhile, night had fallen on the fields, and 
 the shadows deepened in the old tower. The 
 moonbeams shone in through the window, streak- 
 ing the steps with oblique white lines. Mile. Mar- 
 guerite's gaiety had gradually died away, and she 
 had even ceased to answer the more or less prob- 
 able conjectures with which I still tried to calm 
 her apprehensions. While she kept silent and 
 immovable in the shadow, I sat in the full light 
 on the step nearest the window, still shouting at 
 intervals for help ; but, to speak the truth, the 
 more uncertain the success of my attempts be- 
 came, the more I was conscious of a feeling of 
 irresistible joyfulness. For suddenly I saw the 
 eternal and impossible dream of lovers realized 
 for me ; I was shut in the heart of a desert and 
 in the most complete solitude with the woman I 
 loved. For long hours there would be but she 
 and I in the world, but her life and mine. I 
 thought of all the sweet evidences of protection 
 and of tender respect it would be my right and 
 
 207
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 my duty to show her. I imagined her fears at 
 rest, her confidence restored, finally her slumbers 
 guarded by me. I told myself, in rapture, that 
 this auspicious night, though it could not give 
 me her love, would at least insure me her unalter- 
 able respect. 
 
 As I yielded, with the egotism of passion, to 
 my secret ecstasy, some trace of which, perhaps, 
 expressed itself in my face, I was suddenly awak- 
 ened by these words, spoken in a dull tone, and 
 with affected calm : 
 
 " M. le Marquis de Champcey, have there been 
 many cowards in your family before you ? " 
 
 I rose, and immediately fell back again on the 
 stone bench, looking stupidly into the darkness, 
 where I saw dimly the ghostly figure of the 
 young 'jirl. Only one idea occurred to me a 
 terrible *dea that grief and fear had affected her 
 reason that she was going mad. 
 
 " Marguerite ! " I cried, without knowing that 
 I spoke. 
 
 The word no doubt put a climax to her irri- 
 tation. 
 
 " My God, this is hateful ! " she continued. 
 "It is cowardly. I repeat, it is cowardly." 
 
 I began to see the truth. I descended one of 
 the steps. 
 
 208
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 "What is the matter?" I said coldly. 
 
 She replied with abrupt vehemence : " You 
 paid that man or child, whichever it was, to shut us 
 up in this wretched tower. To-morrow I shall be 
 ruined . . . my reputation lost . . . then I shall 
 have perforce to belong to you. That was your 
 calculation, wasn't it ? But, I warn you, it will 
 not serve you any better than the rest. You still 
 know me very little if you think I would not 
 prefer dishonour, the convent, death, anything, to 
 the vileness of yielding my hand my life to 
 yours. And suppose this infamous trick had 
 succeeded, suppose I had been weak enough- 
 which of a surety I never shall be to yield my- 
 self, and what you covet more, my fortune to 
 you, what kind of a man can you be ? What 
 mud are you made of, to desire wealth and a 
 wife by such means ? Ah ! you may thank me 
 for not yielding to your wishes. They are im- 
 prudent, believe me ; for if ever shame and pub- 
 lic ridicule drove me to your arms, I have such 
 a contempt for you that I would break your 
 heart. Yes, were it as hard and cold as these 
 Stones, I would press blood and tears from it ! " 
 
 "Mademoiselle," I said, with all the calm I 
 could command, " I beg you to return to your- 
 self, to your senses. On my honour I assure you 
 
 209 ii Vol. 9
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 that you do me injustice. Think for a moment. 
 Your suspicions are quite absurd. In no possible 
 way could I have accomplished the treachery of 
 which you accuse me ; and even if I could have 
 done so, when have I ever given you the right to 
 think me capable of it ? " 
 
 " Everything I know of you gives me this 
 right ! " she cried, lashing the air with her whip. 
 " I will tell you once for all what has been in my 
 thoughts for a long time. Why did you come 
 into our house under a false name, in a false 
 character? My mother and I were happy and 
 at peace. You have brought trouble, anxiety, 
 and sorrow upon us. To attain your object, to 
 restore your fallen fortunes, you usurped our con- 
 fidence . . . you destroyed our peace . . . you 
 have played with our purest, deepest, and holiest 
 feelings . . . you have bruised and shattered our 
 hearts without pity. That is what you have done 
 or tried to do, it doesn't matter which. Well, I 
 am utterly weary of, utterly disgusted with, all 
 this. I tell you plainly. And when now you 
 offer to pledge your honour as a gentleman, the 
 honour that has already allowed you to do so 
 many unworthy things, certainly I have the right 
 not to believe in it I do not believe in it." 
 
 I lost all control of myself. I seized her 
 210
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 hands in a transport of violence which daunted 
 her. " Marguerite, my poor child, listen. I love 
 you, it is true, and a love more passionate, more 
 disinterested, more holy, never possessed the heart 
 of man. But you you love me too ! Unhappy 
 girl, you love me and you are killing me. You 
 talk of a bruised and a broken heart. What have 
 you done to mine ? But it is yours. I give it up 
 to you. As for my honour, I keep it . . . it is 
 intact, and before long I shall compel you to ac- 
 knowledge this. And on that honour I swear 
 that if I die, you will weep for me ; that if I 
 live worshipped though you are never, never, 
 were you on your knees before me, would I 
 marry you unless you were as poor as I, or I as 
 rich as you. And now pray ! pray ! Ask God 
 for a miracle ; it is time ! " 
 
 Then I pushed her roughly far from the em- 
 brasure, and sprang on to the highest step. A 
 desperate idea had come to me. I carried it 
 out with the precipitation of positive madness. 
 As I have said, the tops of the beeches and 
 oaks that grew in the moat were on the level 
 of the window. With my bent whip I drew the 
 ends of the nearest branches to me, seized them 
 at random, and let myself drop into the void. I 
 heard my name " Maxime ! " uttered with a wild 
 
 211
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 cry above my head. The branches I held bent 
 their full length towards the abyss ; there was 
 an ominous crack, and they broke under my 
 weight. I fell heavily on the ground. The 
 muddy nature of the soil must have deadened 
 the shock, for I felt that I was alive, though a 
 good deal hurt. One of my arms had struck the 
 stonework of the moat, and I was in such pain 
 that I fainted. Marguerite's despairing voice re 
 called me to myself. 
 
 " Maxime ! Maxime ! " she cried, " for pity's 
 sake, for God's sake, speak to me ! Forgive me ! " 
 
 I got up and saw her in the bay of the win- 
 dow, standing in an aureole of pale light, her head 
 bare, her hair loose, her hands grasping the bar of 
 the cross, while her glowing eyes searched the 
 dark abyss. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed," I said ; " I'm not hurt. 
 Only be patient for an hour or two. Give me 
 time to get to the chateau that is the best place 
 to go. You may be sure I shall keep your secret 
 and save your honour, as I have just saved my 
 own." 
 
 I scrambled painfully out of the moat and 
 went to look for my horse. I used my handker- 
 chief as a sling for my left arm, which was quite 
 disabled and gave me great pain. The night was 
 
 212
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 clear and I found the way easily. An hour later 
 I was at the chateau. They told me that Dr. 
 Desmarets was in the drawing-room. I hurried 
 there and found him and a dozen others, all look- 
 ing anxious and alarmed. 
 
 " Doctor," I said lightly as I came in, " my 
 horse shied at his own shadow and came down in 
 the road. I think my left arm is put out. Will 
 you see ? " 
 
 "Eh, what? put out?" said M. Desmarets, 
 after he had removed the handkerchief. " Your 
 arm's broken, my poor boy." 
 
 Mme. Laroque started up with a little scream 
 and came towards me. 
 
 " It seems we are to have an evening of mis- 
 fortunes," she said. 
 
 " What else has happened ? " I asked, as if sur- 
 prised. 
 
 "I am afraid my daughter must have had an 
 accident. She went out on horseback about 
 three ; it is now eight, and she has not returned ! " 
 
 " Mile. Marguerite ? Why, I met her ... " 
 
 "Met her ? When ? Where ? Forgive a 
 mother's selfishness, M. Odiot." 
 
 " Oh, I met her on the road, about five. She 
 told me she thought of going as far as the tower 
 of Elven." 
 
 213
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " The tower of Elven ! She has lost her way 
 in the woods. We must send at once and search." 
 
 M. de Be"vallan ordered horses to be got ready 
 immediately. At first I pretended that I meant 
 to be of the party, but Mme. Laroque and the 
 doctor would not hear of it. Without much 
 trouble I was persuaded to take to my bed, which, 
 truth to tell, I needed badly. M. Desmarets at- 
 tended to my arm, and then drove away with 
 Mme. Laroque, who was to await the result of 
 the search inaugurated by M. de Be"vallan at the 
 village of Elven. 
 
 About ten o'clock Alain came to tell me that 
 Mile. Marguerite had been found. He related 
 the story of her imprisonment without omitting 
 any details, except, of course, those known only 
 to me and the young girl. The news was soon 
 confirmed by the doctor, and afterwards by Mme. 
 Laroque, and I had the satisfaction of seeing that 
 no one suspected what had actually occurred. 
 
 I passed the night in repeating the dangerous 
 leap from the window of the donjon with all the 
 grotesque complications of fever and delirium. I 
 did not get used to it. Every moment the sensa- 
 tion of falling through emptiness caught me by 
 the throat, and I awoke breathless. At last day 
 came, and I got calm. At eight o'clock Mile, de 
 
 214
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 Porhoet came in and took her place at my bedside 
 with her knitting in her hand. She did the hon- 
 ours of my room to the visitors who followed one 
 another throughout the day. Mme. Laroque was 
 the first after my old friend. As she held my 
 hand and pressed it earnestly I saw tears on her 
 face. Has her daughter confided in her ? 
 
 Mile, de Porhoet told me that old M. La- 
 roque had been confined to his bed since yester- 
 day. He had a slight attack of paralysis. To- 
 day he cannot speak, and they are much alarmed 
 about him. The marriage is to be hastened. 
 M. Laube*pin has been sent for from Paris; he 
 is expected to-morrow, and the contract will be 
 signed the following day, under his direction. 
 
 I have been able to sit up for some hours this 
 evening, but, according to M. Desmarets, I should 
 not have written while the fever was on me, and 
 I am a great idiot. 
 
 October jd. 
 
 Really it seems as if some malign power were 
 hard at work devising the strangest and most 
 cruel tests for my conscience and heart alter- 
 nately. 
 
 M. Laubepin not having arrived this morning, 
 Mme. Laroque has asked me to give her some 
 
 215
 
 of the information necessary for drawing up the 
 general conditions of the contract, which is to be 
 signed to-morrow. As I am obliged to keep my 
 room for some days yet, I asked Mme. Laroque 
 to send me the title-deeds and private documents 
 in her father-in-law's possession, as they were in- 
 dispensable for the clearing up of the points she 
 had mentioned to me. 
 
 Very soon they brought me two or three 
 drawers full of papers which they had taken out of 
 M. Laroque's cabinet while he was asleep, for the 
 old gentleman would never let any one touch his 
 secret archives. On the first paper that I took 
 up I saw my family name repeated several times. 
 My curiosity was irresistibly aroused. Here is 
 the literal text of the document : 
 
 To MY CHILDREN 
 
 The name I bequeath to you, and which I 
 have honoured, is not mine. My father's name 
 was Savage. He was overseer of a large planta- 
 tion in the Island of St. Lucia (then French), 
 which belonged to a rich and noble family of 
 Dauphine* the Champcey d'Hauterives. In 1793 
 my father died, and, though I was quite young, I 
 succeeded to the trust the Champceys reposed in 
 him. Towards the end of that disastrous year 
 
 216
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 the French Antilles were taken by the English or 
 given up to them by the rebel colonists. The 
 Marquis of Champcey d'Hauterive (Jacques- Au- 
 guste), whom the orders of the Convention had 
 not yet struck down, then commanded the Thetis 
 frigate, which had been cruising on this coast for 
 three years. A good number of the French colo- 
 nists of the Antilles had succeeded in realizing 
 their fortunes, which had been in imminent peril. 
 They had arranged with the Commandant de 
 Champcey to get together a fleet of light trans- 
 ports, to which their property had been trans- 
 ferred, and which was to sail for France under the 
 protection of the guns of the Thetis. In view of 
 imminent disasters, I had myself received, a long 
 time back, an order and authority to sell the planta- 
 tion at any price. On the night of November 14, 
 1 793, I put out alone in a boat for the Point of 
 Morne-au-Sable and secretly left St. Lucia, already 
 occupied by the enemy. I brought with me in 
 English notes and guineas the amount I had 
 received for the plantation. M. de Champcey, 
 thanks to his intimate knowledge of the coast, 
 had slipped past the English cruiser and had 
 taken refuge in the dangerous and unknown 
 channel of Gros-Ilet. He had instructed me to 
 join him there this night, and only awaited my 
 
 217
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 arrival to leave the channel with his convoy and 
 make for France. In crossing, I fell into the 
 hands of the English. These experts in treason 
 gave me the choice of being shot on the spot or 
 of selling them, for the million I had with me, 
 which they agreed to leave in my hands, the 
 secret of the channel where the fleet was hiding. 
 I was young . . . the temptation was too great 
 Half an hour later the Thetis was sunk, the convoy 
 taken, and M. de Champcey seriously wounded. 
 A year passed a year without sleep. ... I was 
 going mad. ... I determined to make the 
 cursed English pay for the remorse I suffered. 
 I went to Guadeloupe ; I changed my name ; I 
 devoted the larger part of the money I had re- 
 ceived to the purchase of an armed brig, and 
 I fell upon the English. For fifteen years I 
 washed in their blood and my own the stain 
 that in an hour of weakness I had brought on 
 my country's flag. Though three parts of my 
 fortune have been acquired in honourable com- 
 bats, its origin was, nevertheless, the price of my 
 treachery. 
 
 Returning to France in my old age, I ascer- 
 tained the position of the Champcey d'Hauterives, 
 and found that they were happy and wealthy. I 
 kept my own counsel. I ask my children to for- 
 
 218
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 give me. While I lived I had not the courage to 
 blush before them. My death will reveal this 
 secret to them. They must use it as their con- 
 sciences may direct. For myself I have only one 
 prayer to address to them. Soon or late there 
 will be a final war between France and her neigh- 
 bour. We hate one another too much ; there's 
 nothing else to be done ; either we must devour 
 them or they must devour us. If this war should 
 be declared during the life of my children or grand- 
 children, I desire that they give to the state a cor- 
 vette fully armed and completely equipped, on 
 one condition, that it shall be called the Savage, 
 and be commanded by a Breton. At each broad- 
 side she shall send on to the Carthaginian shore 
 my bones will tremble with joy in my grave. 
 
 RICHARD SAVAGE, called LAROQUE. 
 
 The memories that this terrible confession 
 awakened convinced me that it was correct. 
 Twenty times I had heard my father relate with 
 pride and indignation this incident in my ances- 
 tor's career. But in the family we believed that 
 Richard Savage I remember the name quite well 
 had been the victim, and not the contriver of 
 the treason or mischance which had betrayed the 
 commandant of the Thetis. Now I understand 
 
 219
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 the peculiarities I had often noticed in the old 
 sailor's character, and especially his thoughtful and 
 timid bearing towards me. My father had always 
 told me that I was the living portrait of my 
 grandfather, the Marquis Jacques, and perhaps 
 some dim perception of this resemblance had pen- 
 etrated to the old man's troubled brain. 
 
 This revelation threw me into a terrible per- 
 plexity. I felt but little resentment against the 
 unhappy man who had redeemed a moment of 
 weakness by a long life of repentance, and by a 
 passion of desperation and hatred which was not 
 without greatness. Nor could I, without admira- 
 tion, breathe the wild blast which animated the 
 lines written by this guilty but heroic hand. Still, 
 what was I to do with this terrible secret ? My 
 first thought was that it removed all obstacles be- 
 tween Marguerite and me ; that henceforth the for- 
 tune that had kept us apart would be almost an 
 obligatory bond, for I was the only person in the 
 world who could regularize her title to it by shar- 
 ing it with her. But in truth this secret did not 
 belong to me, and though I had learned it by 
 the purest of accidents, strict honesty, perhaps, 
 demanded that I should leave it to come at its 
 own time into the hands for which it was destined. 
 But while I waited for that moment the irrepa- 
 
 220
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 rable would be accomplished. Eternal bonds were 
 to be forged. The tomb was to close over my 
 love, my hopes, and my sorrowful heart. And 
 should I allow it when I might prevent it by a 
 single word? And the day these poor women 
 learned the truth, and blushed with shame to learn 
 it, perhaps they would share my regret and de- 
 spair. They would be the first to cry : 
 
 " Ah ! if you knew, why did you not speak ? " 
 No, neither to-day nor to-morrow, nor ever, 
 shall those noble women blush for shame if I can 
 prevent it. My happiness shall not be bought at 
 the price of their humiliation. This secret is mine 
 alone. The old man, henceforth speechless, can- 
 not betray himself. The secret does not exist; 
 the flames have destroyed it. I pondered it well. 
 I know what I have dared to do. It was a will, a 
 sacred document, and I have destroyed it. More- 
 over, it did not benefit me alone. My sister, who 
 is intrusted to my care, might have found a for- 
 tune there, and, without consulting her, I have 
 plunged her back into poverty. I know all that, 
 but I will not allow two pure proud souls to be 
 crushed and dishonoured by the burden of a crime 
 of which they are ignorant. There is a principle 
 of equity at stake far superior to mere literal jus- 
 tice. If, in my turn, I have committed a crime, I 
 
 221
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 will answer for it. But the struggle has exhausted 
 me. I can do no more now. 
 
 October 4th, 
 
 M. Laube'pin, after all, arrived yesterday. He 
 came to see me. He was brusque, preoccupied, 
 and seemed ill-pleased. He spoke briefly of the 
 marriage. 
 
 "A very satisfactory business!" he said; "in 
 all respects an excellent combination, where na- 
 ture and society both receive the guarantees they 
 have the right to require in such matters. And 
 so, young man, good-night. I have to smooth 
 the delicate ground of the preliminary agreements, 
 that the hymeneal car of this interesting union 
 may reach its goal without jolting." 
 
 At one o'clock this afternoon the family as- 
 sembled in the drawing-room with all the prepa- 
 rations and formalities observed at the signing of 
 a marriage contract. I could not attend this cere- 
 mony, and I blessed my broken arm for sparing 
 me the trial. About three I was writing to little 
 He*lene, and taking care to assure her more 
 strongly than ever of my complete devotion to 
 her, when M. Laube'pin and Mile, de Porhoet 
 came into my room. In his frequent visits to 
 Laroque, M. Laube'pin has learnt to appreciate my 
 
 222
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 venerable friend, and the two old people have 
 formed a respectful and Platonic attachment, 
 which Dr. Desmarets tries in vain to misrepresent. 
 After an exchange of ceremonies, of interminable 
 bows and courtesies, they took the chairs I offered 
 them, and both set about considering me with an 
 air of grave beatitude. 
 
 "Well," I said, "it's over?" 
 
 "Yes," they replied in chorus, "it's over." 
 
 " It went off well ? " 
 
 " Very well," said Mile, de Porhoet. 
 
 " Wonderfully well," said M. Laub^pin. After 
 a pause he added : " B^vallan's gone to the 
 devil!" 
 
 " And the young Hdlouin after him ! " con- 
 tinued Mile, de Porhoet. 
 I exclaimed in surprise : 
 " Good God ! what has happened ? " 
 "My friend," said M. Laubpin, "the contem- 
 plated union had every possible advantage, and it 
 would have without doubt insured the common 
 happiness of both the parties concerned, if mar- 
 riage were a purely commercial partnership ; but 
 it is nothing of the sort. As my assistance had 
 been asked, I thought it my duty to bear in mind 
 the inclination of the hearts and the agreement of 
 the character just as much as the relative propor- 
 
 223
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 tions of the estates. Now, from the first, I had 
 the impression that the contemplated marriage 
 had one drawback. It pleased no one, neither my 
 excellent friend Mme. Laroque, nor the amiable 
 fiancee, nor their most sensible friends no one, in 
 fact, except perhaps the fiaiict, about whom I 
 trouble myself very slightly. It is true (I quote 
 here from Mile, de Porhoet), it is true, I say, that 
 the fiance 1 is gentilhomme. ..." 
 
 " A gentleman, if you please," Mile, de Porhoet 
 interrupted severely. 
 
 "A gentleman" continued M. Laubepin, ac- 
 cepting the correction, " but it is a kind of gentle- 
 man I don't care for." 
 
 " Nor I," said Mile, de Porhoet. " There are 
 curious specimens of the kind. Dissipated stable- 
 men, such as those whom we saw last century de- 
 serting their English stables under the direction of 
 the Due de Chartres to come over here and pre- 
 pare the Revolution." 
 
 " Oh, if they had only prepared the Revolu- 
 tion," said M. Laubepin, sententiously, "we should 
 forgive them." 
 
 " A million apologies, my dear sir ; but speak 
 for yourself ! Besides, that is not the question ; 
 will you go on ? " 
 
 " So," continued M. Laube*pin, " seeing that 
 224
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 every one was approaching this wedding as if it 
 were a funeral, I searched for some honourable 
 and legal means, not to break the engagement 
 with M. de BSvallan, but to get him to withdraw 
 voluntarily. This proceeding was the more justi- 
 fiable, as in my absence M. de Be*vallan had prof- 
 ited by the inexperience of my excellent friend, 
 Mme. Laroque, and the weakness of my colleague 
 in the neighbouring town, to make the most exor- 
 bitant demand in his own interests. Without de- 
 parting from the wording of the agreements, I suc- 
 ceeded in materially altering their spirit. But 
 there were limits which honour and the engage- 
 ments already entered into forbade me to pass. 
 And the contract remained favourable enough 
 to be accepted with confidence by any high-minded 
 man who had a sincere affection for his betrothed. 
 Was M. de Be"vallan such a man ? We had to 
 take that risk. I confess that I was not free from 
 emotion when I began to read the irrevocable 
 document before an imposing audience this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 "As for me," interrupted Mile, de Porhoet, 
 " I hadn't a drop of blood left in my veins. The 
 first part of the contract conceded so much to the 
 enemy that I thought all was lost." 
 
 " No doubt, mademoiselle ; but, as we augurs 
 225
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 say among ourselves, ' the sting is in the tail,' in 
 cauda venenum. 
 
 " It was comical, my friend, to see the faces 
 of M. de Bdvallan and my confrere from Rennes, 
 who assisted him, when I suddenly unmasked 
 my batteries. At first they looked at each other 
 in silence ; then they whispered together ; at 
 last they rose, and, coming to the table where 
 1 sat, asked me in a low voice for an explana- 
 tion. 
 
 " ' Speak up, gentlemen, if you please,' I said 
 to them. ' We must have no mysteries here. 
 What have you to say ? ' 
 
 " The company began to prick up their ears. 
 Without raising his voice, M. de Bevallan sug- 
 gested to me that the contract showed mistrust. 
 
 " ' Mistrust, sir ! ' I replied, in my most impres- 
 sive tone. ' What do you intend to convey by 
 that ? Do you make that strange imputation 
 against Mme. Laroque, or against me, or against 
 my confrere here present ?' 
 
 " ' S-s-sh ! Silence ! No wrangling ! ' said the 
 Rennes notary discreetly ; ' But listen : it was 
 agreed in the first place that the legal system 
 of dotation should not be insisted on.' 
 
 " ' The legal system ? And where do you find 
 that mentioned ? ' 
 
 226
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " ' Oh, my dear sir, you know that you have 
 practically reconstituted it by a subterfuge.' 
 
 " ' Subterfuge, monsieur ? Allow me, as your 
 senior, to advise you to withdraw that word from 
 your vocabulary.' 
 
 " ' But, after all/ murmured M. de Bevallan, 
 ' I'm tied hand and foot, and treated like a 
 school-boy.' 
 
 " ' Indeed, sir ! What, in your opinion, are we 
 here for at this moment a contract or a will ? 
 You forget that Mme. Laroque is living ; that 
 her father is living, and that it is a question of 
 marriage, not of inheritance at least, not yet. 
 . . . Really, you must have a little patience ; you 
 must wait a little.' 
 
 " At these words Mile. Marguerite rose. 
 
 " ' That is enough/ she said. ' M. Laubepin, 
 throw that contract into the fire. Mother, let 
 this gentleman's presents be returned.' 
 
 " Then she rose and left us like an outraged 
 queen. Mme. Laroque followed her, and at the 
 same time I threw the contract into the fireplace. 
 
 " ' Sir/ said M. de BeVallan in a threatening 
 tone, 'there's some trickery in this, and I will 
 find it out.' 
 
 " ' Sir/ I replied, ' allow me to explain it to 
 you. A young lady, who, with a just pride, 
 
 227
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 values herself very highly, feared that your offer 
 might have been influenced by her wealth ; she 
 wished to be certain ; she has no longer any 
 doubts. I have the honour to wish you good- 
 day!' 
 
 "Thereupon, my friend, I went after the 
 ladies, and upon my honour they embraced me. 
 
 "A quarter of an hour later, M. de Be"vallan 
 left the chiteau with my colleague from Rennes. 
 His departure and disgrace have naturally loos- 
 ened the servants' tongues, and very soon his 
 imprudent intrigue with Mile. He'louin was re- 
 vealed. The young lady, already suspected on 
 other grounds for some time past, has asked to be 
 released from her duties, and the request has been 
 granted. It is needless to say that our ladies will 
 secure her future. 
 
 "Well, my dear fellow, what do you say to 
 all this ? Are you worse ? You're as pale as 
 death ! " 
 
 This unexpected news had aroused so many 
 emotions pleasant and painful that I felt my- 
 self on the point of losing consciousness. 
 
 M. Laube"pin, who has to leave at daybreak 
 to-morrow, came back this evening to wish me 
 farewell. After some embarrassed remarks from 
 us both, he said : 
 
 228
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " Never mind, my dear boy, I'll not cross- 
 examine you on what is going on here ; but if 
 you should require a confidant and a counsellor, 
 I ask you to give me the preference." 
 
 As a matter of fact, I could not confide in a 
 heart more sympathetic or more friendly. I gave 
 the worthy old gentleman the particulars of my 
 relations with Mile. Marguerite. I even read 
 some pages of this journal to him to show him 
 more exactly the state of affairs, and also the state 
 of my heart. I hid nothing from him save M. 
 Laroque's secret. 
 
 When I had finished, M. Laubpin, who had 
 suddenly become very thoughtful, began : 
 
 " It is useless to conceal from you, my friend, 
 that when I sent you here I intended you to 
 marry Mile. Laroque. At first everything went 
 as I wished. Your hearts, which I believe are 
 worthy of one another, could not associate with- 
 out sympathizing, but this strange event, of which 
 the tower of Elven was the romantic scene, en- 
 tirely disconcerts me, I must confess. Allow me 
 to tell you, my young friend, that to jump out 
 of window at the risk of breaking your neck 
 was in itself a more than sufficient proof of your 
 disinterestedness. It was quite superfluous to 
 add to this honourable and considerate proceeding 
 
 229
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 a solemn oath never to marry this poor girl ex- 
 cept in contingencies we cannot possibly expect 
 to see realized, I pride myself on being a man 
 of resource but I fully recognise that I cannot 
 give you two hundred thousand francs, or take 
 them away from Mile. Laroque." 
 
 " Then tell me what to do, sir. I have more 
 confidence in you than in myself, for I see that 
 misfortune, which is always exposed to suspicion, 
 has made me excessively susceptible on questions 
 of honour. Speak. Do you counsel me to for- 
 get the imprudent but still solemn oath which 
 alone at this moment separates me from the happi- 
 ness you had imagined for your adopted son ? " 
 
 M. Laube*pin rose ; his thick eyebrows drawn 
 down over his eyes, he strode about the room for 
 some minutes, then, stopping in front of me and 
 seizing my hand, he said : 
 
 " Young man, it is true that I love you like 
 my own child ; but, even at the cost of breaking 
 your heart and my own, I will not be false to 
 my principles. It is better in matters of honour 
 to do too much than too little, and as regards 
 oaths, all those that are not extorted at the point 
 of the knife or the mouth of a pistol, should 
 either not be taken or should be kept That is 
 my opinion." 
 
 230
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " It is mine too. I will leave with you to- 
 morrow morning." 
 
 " No, Maxime, stay here a little longer. I do 
 not believe in miracles, but I believe in God, who 
 seldom allows us to be ruined by our virtues. 
 Give Providence more time. I know that I am 
 asking a very courageous effort from you, but I 
 claim it formally from your friendship. If within 
 a month you do not hear from me well then 
 you can leave." 
 
 He embraced me and left me to my quiet 
 conscience and my desolate heart. 
 
 October I2tk. 
 
 It is now two days since I have been able to 
 leave my retirement and appear at the chateau. 
 I had not seen Mile. Marguerite since we sepa- 
 rated at the tower of Elven. She was alone in 
 the salon when I entered. Recognising me, she 
 made involuntarily an effort to rise. Then she 
 sat motionless, and a flood of burning crimson 
 dyed her face. It was infectious, for I felt that I 
 was blushing to the forehead. 
 
 " How are you, M. Odiot ? " she said, holding 
 out her hand, and she spoke these simple words so 
 gently, so humbly alas ! so tenderly too that I 
 longed to throw myself on my knees before her. 
 
 231
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 But I had to answer in a tone of icy polite- 
 ness. She looked sadly at me, lowered her great 
 eyes with an air of resignation, and went on with 
 her work. 
 
 Almost at the same moment her mother 
 called to her to come to her grandfather, whose 
 condition had become most alarming. For some 
 days now he had lost voice and movement ; the 
 paralysis was almost total. The last gleams of 
 mental life were extinguished ; only physical sen- 
 sibility and the capacity for suffering remained. 
 The end was not far off, but in this energetic 
 heart life was too deeply rooted to be relin- 
 quished without an obstinate struggle. The doc- 
 tor had foretold that his agony would last a long 
 time. Still, at the first appearance of danger, 
 Mme. Laroque and her daughter had tended him 
 with the passionate self-sacrifice and utter devo- 
 tion which are the special virtue and glory of 
 their sex. The day before yesterday they broke 
 down exhausted. M. Desmarets and I offered to 
 take their places by M. Laroque to-night, and 
 they agreed to have a few hours' rest. The doc- 
 tor, who was very much fatigued, soon told me 
 that he was going to throw himself on the bed in 
 the next room. 
 
 44 1 am no use here," he said ; " the thing is 
 232
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 over. You see the poor old fellow doesn't suffer 
 any more. That lethargic state is not painfuL 
 The awakening will be death. So we can be 
 quiet. Call me if you see any change, but I think 
 it won't come till to-morrow. I'm dying for a 
 sleep." 
 
 He gave a great yawn and went out. His 
 language and his conduct before the dying man 
 had shocked me. He is an excellent man ; but 
 to render to death the respect that is due to it, 
 one must not see only the brute matter it dis- 
 solves, but believe in the immortal essence it 
 releases. 
 
 Left alone in the chamber of death, I sat near 
 the foot of the bed, where the curtains had been 
 withdrawn, and I tried to read by a lamp that 
 stood on a little table near me. The book slipped 
 from my hands. I could think only of the strange 
 combination of events which, after so many years, 
 gave this guilty old man the grandson of his vic- 
 tim as witness and guardian of his last sleep. 
 Then, in the tranquility of that hour and place, 
 I recalled, in spite of myself, the scenes of 
 tumult and bloody violence which had filled the 
 life that was now ebbing away. I looked for 
 traces of it on the face of the dying old man and 
 on the large features defined in the shadow with 
 
 233 12 Vol. 9
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 the pale distinctness of a plaster mask. I saw 
 only the solemnity and premature peace of the 
 tomb. At intervals I went to the bedside to make 
 sure that the weakened breast still heaved with 
 vital breath. Towards the middle of the night an 
 irresistible torpor seized me, and I slept, leaning 
 my forehead on my hand. Suddenly I was awak- 
 ened by a strange and sinister sound. I looked 
 up, and a shudder ran through the marrow of my 
 bones. The old man was half-sitting up in bed, 
 staring at me with an intent, astonished look, 
 and an expression of life and intelligence that 
 I had not seen in him before. When our eyes 
 met he started, stretched out his arms, and 
 said, in a beseeching voice, whose strange un- 
 known quality almost stopped the beating of 
 my heart : 
 
 " Marquis, forgive me ! " 
 
 In vain I tried to rise, to speak. I sat petri- 
 fied in my chair. 
 
 After a silence, during which the dying man's 
 eyes were still fixed on mine beseechingly, he 
 repeated : 
 
 " Marquis, deign to forgive me." 
 
 At last I summoned up strength to go to him. 
 As I approached he drew back fearfully, as if 
 shrinking from a dreadful contact. I raised my 
 
 234
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 hand, and lowering it gently before his staring 
 and terror-stricken eyes : 
 
 " Rest in peace," I said ; " I forgive you." 
 
 Before I had done speaking, his withered face 
 lighted up with a flash of joy and youth. Two 
 tears burst from his dry and sunken orbits. He 
 stretched a hand to me, then suddenly the hand 
 stiffened in a threatening gesture, and I saw his 
 eyes roll between their dilated lids, as if a ball had 
 gone through his heart. 
 
 "Oh, the English !" he whispered, and imme- 
 diately fell back on the pillow like a log. He 
 was dead. I called quickly, and the others came. 
 Soon he was surrounded by pious mourners, weep- 
 ing and praying for him. I retired, my soul 
 deeply moved by this extraordinary scene, which 
 I had resolved should ever remain a secret between 
 myself and the dead man. 
 
 This sad event brought me cares and duties 
 which I needed to justify me in my own eyes 
 for remaining in the house. I cannot fathom 
 M. Laube'pin's motives for advising me to delay 
 my departure. What did he hope from it ? To 
 me he seems to have yielded to a vague presenti- 
 ment and childish weakness, to which a man of 
 his stamp should never have given way, and to 
 which I also was wrong to submit. Why did he 
 
 235
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 not see that besides bringing additional suffering 
 on me, he put me in a position that is neither 
 manly nor dignified ? What am I to do here now ? 
 Would they not have good reason to reproach me 
 with trifling with sacred feelings ? My first inter- 
 view with Mile. Marguerite had shown me how 
 hard and how unbearable was the trial to which I 
 had been condemned. The death of M. Laroque 
 would make our relations easier, and give my 
 
 presence a sort of propriety. 
 
 
 
 October 26th, Rennes. 
 
 All is over ! God, how strong that tie was ! 
 How it held my heart, and how it has torn it as it 
 broke ! Yesterday evening about nine, as I leaned 
 on my open window, I was surprised to see a faint 
 light coming towards my house through the dark 
 alleys of the park, and from a direction which the 
 servants at the chateau do not frequent. A mo- 
 ment afterward there was a knock at my door arid 
 Mile, de Porhoet came in breathless. 
 
 " Cousin," she said, " I have business with 
 you." 
 
 I looked straight at her. 
 
 "A misfortune?" I said. 
 
 " No, it is not precisely that. Besides, you 
 shall judge for yourself. My dear child, you have 
 
 236
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 passed two or three evenings this week at the chd- 
 teau. Have you noticed nothing unusual, nothing 
 peculiar, in the attitude of the ladies ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Have you not even noticed an unusual se- 
 renity in their appearance ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I have. Allowing for the melan- 
 choly due to their recent sorrow, they seemed 
 calmer and happier than before." 
 
 " No doubt. Other things would have struck 
 you if, like me, you had lived in daily intimacy 
 with them for fifteen years. Thus, I have ob- 
 served signs of some secret understanding and 
 mysterious agreement between them. Moreover, 
 their habits have been largely altered. Mme. 
 Laroque has given up her brastro, her sentry-box, 
 and all her little Creole fancies. She rises at mar- 
 vellous hours, and at daybreak instals herself with 
 Marguerite at the work-table. They are both 
 taken with a sudden passion for embroidery, and 
 have ascertained how much a woman can earn at 
 that work in a day. In short, there is a riddle to 
 which I cannot find the answer. But it has been 
 told me, and though I may be intruding on your 
 secrets, I thought it right to inform you at once." 
 
 I assured Mile. Porhoet of my absolute confi- 
 dence in her, and she continued : 
 
 237
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " Mme. Aubry came to see me this evening 
 secretly. She began by throwing her wretched 
 arms round my neck, which displeased me very 
 much. Then, to the accompaniment of a thou- 
 sand jeremiads about herself which I will spare 
 you she begged me to stop her relations on the 
 brink of ruin. This is what she has heard, 
 through listening at doors, according to her pretty 
 habit : The ladies are trying to get permission to 
 transfer all their property to a community at 
 Rennes, so as to do away with the difference of 
 fortune which separates you and Marguerite. As 
 they can't make you rich, they will make them- 
 selves poor. I thought it impossible to let you 
 remain ignorant of this determination, which is 
 equally worthy of those generous souls and of 
 those Quixotic heads. You will forgive my add- 
 ing that it is your duty to put an end to this de- 
 sign at any cost. I need not point out the regrets 
 it will infallibly bring to our friends, nor the ter- 
 rible responsibility it will throw on you. That 
 you will see at a glance. If, my friend, you can 
 from this moment accept the hand of Marguerite, 
 everything will end in the best way possible. But 
 in that respect you have tied yourself by an en- 
 gagement which is not the less binding because it 
 was made imprudently and blindly. There is then 
 
 238
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 only one thing for you to do to leave this coun- 
 try and resolutely extinguish all the hopes that 
 your presence here must inevitably encourage. 
 When you are no longer here I shall have less 
 difficulty in bringing these two children to 
 reason." 
 
 " Very well. I am ready. I will go this very 
 night." 
 
 "Good!" she said. "When I give you this 
 advice I obey a very rigorous law of honour. 
 You have made the last moments of my long 
 solitude pleasant, and you have given me back 
 the illusion of the sweet attachments of life, 
 which I had lost for so many years. In send- 
 ing you away I make my last sacrifice ; it is 
 immense." 
 
 She rose and looked at me for a moment with- 
 out speaking. 
 
 "At my age we do not embrace young peo- 
 ple," she continued, smiling sadly; "we bless 
 them. Adieu, dear child, and thank you. May 
 God keep you ! " 
 
 I kissed her trembling hands, and she left me 
 hastily. 
 
 I hurriedly prepared for my departure, and 
 then wrote a few lines to Mme. Laroque. I 
 begged her to renounce a decision the effect of 
 
 239
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 which she could not foresee, and which, for my 
 part, I was determined to have no share in. I 
 gave her my word which she knew she could 
 rely on that I would never accept my happiness 
 at the cost of her ruin. And I finished for the 
 sake of dissuading her from her fantastic project 
 by speaking vaguely of a future which might 
 bring me fortune. 
 
 At midnight, when everything was silent, I 
 said farewell, a bitter farewell, to the old tower 
 where I had suffered and loved so much. I 
 slipped into the chateau by a secret door of 
 which I had the key. Furtively, like a criminal, 
 I passed along the empty and resounding gal- 
 leries, guiding myself as I best could in the dark. 
 At last I reached the salon where I had first seen 
 her. She and her mother had not long left it, 
 and their recent presence was revealed by a sweet 
 and pleasant perfume which transported me. I 
 searched, and I touched the basket where a few 
 moments before she had replaced her embroidery. 
 Alas, my poor heart ! 
 
 I fell on my knees before the seat she gen- 
 erally occupies, my forehead against the marble. 
 I wept. I sobbed like a child. God, how I 
 loved her ! 
 
 The last hours of the night I spent in reaching 
 240
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 the little town secretly, and thence I drove to 
 Rennes this morning. 
 
 To-morrow evening I shall be in Paris. O 
 poverty, solitude, and despair, which I had left 
 there, I shall find you again ! Last dream of 
 youth dream of heaven, farewell ! 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 The next day, in the morning, as I went to 
 the railway station, a post-chaise stood in the 
 courtyard of the hotel, and I saw old Alain get 
 out. His face brightened as he saw me. 
 
 " Oh, sir, what good luck ! You've not 
 gone ! Here is a letter for you." 
 
 I recognised M. Laube"pin's writing. He said 
 that Mile, de Porhoet was seriously ill and was ask- 
 ing for me. I only allowed time to change the 
 horses, and threw myself into the chaise, after 
 forcing Alain to get in with me. I questioned 
 him eagerly, and made him repeat his news, which 
 seemed incredible. 
 
 The evening before, Mile, de Porhoet had 
 received an official despatch through M. Laube*- 
 pin, announcing her succession to the entire Span- 
 ish property. 
 
 " And it seems," said Alain, " that she owes it 
 to you, sir, for finding some old papers in the 
 
 241
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 pigeon-house that have proved the old lady's title. 
 I don't know how much truth there is in this, but 
 if it is so, what a pity she has those ideas about 
 the cathedral and won't give them up, for she's 
 more bent on it than ever. When she first got 
 the news she fell flat on the floor, and we thought 
 she was dead. But an hour after she began 
 talking about her cathedral, the choir, and the 
 nave, the north aisle and the south, the chap- 
 ter, and the canons. To calm her we had to 
 fetch an architect and masons, and put the 
 plans of her blessed building on her bed. At 
 last, after three hours of that kind of talk, she 
 quieted down a bit and dozed. When she awoke 
 she asked for you, sir M. le Marquis " (Alain 
 bowed, closing his eyes) " and I had to run 
 after you. It seems she wants to consult you 
 about the rood-loft." 
 
 This strange event took me entirely by sur- 
 prise. Nevertheless, my memory, aided by the 
 confused details given me by Alain, enabled me to 
 find an explanation, which more precise informa- 
 tion completely confirmed. As I have before 
 said, the affair of the Spanish inheritance of the 
 Porhoets had gone through two phases. There 
 had first been a long lawsuit between Mile, de 
 Porhoet and one of the great families of Cas- 
 
 242
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 tile, which my old friend had finally lost. Then 
 there had been a new suit between the Spanish 
 heirs and the Crown, the latter claiming on the 
 grounds of intestacy. 
 
 Shortly after this, while pursuing my re- 
 searches in the Porhoet archives, I had, about 
 two months before leaving the chateau, laid hands 
 upon a curious document, which I will here tran- 
 scribe : 
 
 " Don Philip, by the Grace of God, King of 
 Castile, Leon, Aragon, the two Sicilies, Jerusa- 
 lem, Navarre, Grenada, Toledo, Valencia, Gali- 
 cia, Majorca, Seville, Sardinia, Cordova, Cadiz, 
 Murcia, Jaen, of the Algarves, of Algeciras, 
 Gibraltar, the Canary Islands, the West and 
 East Indies, the islands and continents of the 
 ocean, the Archduchy of Austria ; Duke of Bur- 
 gundy, Brabant, and Milan ; Count of Hapsburg, 
 Flanders, the Tyrol, and Barcelona ; Lord of Bis- 
 cay and Molina, etc. 
 
 "To thee, Herve\Jean Jocelyn, Lord of Por- 
 hoet-Gae'l, Count of Torre Nuevas, etc., who hast 
 followed me throughout my dominions, and served 
 me with exemplary fidelity, I promise, by special 
 favour, that in case of the extinction of thy direct 
 and legitimate progeny, the possessions of thy 
 
 243
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 house shall return, even to the detriment of my 
 Crown, to the direct and legitimate descendants 
 of the French branch of the Porhoet-Gaels, as 
 long as any such shall exist. 
 
 " And I make this covenant for myself and 
 for my successors on my royal faith and word. 
 
 "Given at the Escorial, April 10, 1716. 
 
 "Yo EL REY." 
 
 Together with this document, which was 
 merely a translator's copy, I found the original 
 text, bearing the arms of Spain. The impor- 
 tance of this document had not escaped me, but 
 I had feared to exaggerate it. I greatly doubted 
 whether the validity of a title of such ancient 
 date, and prior to so many momentous events, 
 would be recognised by the Spanish Government. 
 I even doubted whether it would have the power 
 to give effect to it, even if it had the will. I 
 had therefore decided to say nothing to Mile, de 
 Porhoet about a discovery, the consequences of 
 which seemed to me most problematic, and I had 
 contented myself with sending the document to 
 M. Laube*pin. As I had heard nothing more of 
 it, I had soon forgotten it in the midst of the per- 
 sonal cares with which I was overwhelmed at tr^e 
 time. However, contrary to my unjust suspi- 
 
 244
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 cions, the Spanish Government had not hesitated 
 to carry out Philip V's covenant, and at the very 
 moment when a supreme decree had handed 
 over the vast possessions of the Porhoets to the 
 Crown, it had nobly restored them to the legiti- 
 mate heir. 
 
 About nine that evening I stopped at the 
 humble house where this royal fortune had arrived 
 so tardily. The little servant opened the door. 
 She was crying. 
 
 From the staircase above came the grave voice 
 of M. Laubepin. 
 
 " It is he," said the voice. 
 
 I went up the stairs quickly. The old man 
 grasped my hand warmly, and took me into Mile, 
 de Porhoet's room. The doctor and the cur6 
 stood silent in the shadow of the window. Mme. 
 Laroque knelt at the bedside ; her daughter was 
 arranging the pillow where the pale face of my 
 old friend rested. When the sick woman saw me 
 a faint smile flickered across her face. Painfully 
 she moved one of her arms. I took her hand ; I 
 fell on my knees ; I could not keep back my 
 tears. 
 
 " My child/' she said, " my dear child ! " 
 
 Then she looked intently at M. Laube"pin. 
 The old notary took from the bed a piece of pa- 
 
 245
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 per, and, as if he were continuing to read after an 
 interruption, he went on : 
 
 " For these reasons," he read, " I appoint by 
 this holograph will Maxime-Jacques-Marie Odiot, 
 Marquis de Champcey d'Hauterive, noble by heart 
 as by descent, sole and universal legatee of all my 
 property in Spain as well as in France, without 
 reserve or condition. Such is my will. 
 
 "JOCELYNDE JEANNE, 
 "COMTESSE DE PORHOET-GAEL." 
 
 In my astonishment I had risen and was about 
 to speak, when Mile, de Porhoet, gently retaining 
 my hand, placed it in Marguerite's. At this sud- 
 den contact the dear creature trembled. She bent 
 her young forehead on the mournful pillow, and, 
 blushing, whispered something in the dying wom- 
 an's ear. I could not speak. I fell on my knees, 
 and prayed to God. Some minutes passed in 
 solemn silence, when Marguerite suddenly with- 
 drew her hand with a gesture of alarm. The doc- 
 tor came up hastily. I rose. Mile, de Porhoet's 
 head had fallen hack ; with a fixed and radiant 
 glance she looked towards heaven ; her lips half- 
 opened, and as if she were speaking in a dream, 
 she whispered : 
 
 246
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 " God ! the good God ! I see Him there . . . 
 up there. . . . Yes . . . the choir . . . the golden 
 lamps . . . the windows . . . the sun every- 
 where. . . . Two angels kneeling before the 
 altar ... in white robes . . . their wings 
 move . . . God, they are alive ! " 
 
 This cry died on her lips, which remained 
 smiling. She closed her eyes as if she were going 
 to sleep, and suddenly an air of immortal youth 
 fell on her face, making it almost unrecognisable 
 to us. 
 
 Such a death, after such a life, had lessons 
 with which I desired to fill my soul. I begged to 
 be left alone with the priest in the room. This 
 pious vigil will not, I believe, be unavailing. 
 From that face, irradiated with a glorious peace, 
 where a supernatural light seemed to glow, more 
 than one forgotten or questioned truth came home 
 to me with irresistible force. Noble and holy 
 friend, well I knew that the virtue of sacrifice was 
 yours ! Now I see that you have entered into 
 your reward. 
 
 About two hours after midnight, yielding to 
 fatigue, I longed to breathe the fresh air for a mo- 
 ment. I went down the dark staircase and into 
 the garden, avoiding the salon on the ground 
 floor, where I had seen a light. The night was 
 
 247
 
 The Romance of a Poor Young Man 
 
 profoundly dark. As I approached the arbour at 
 the end of the little inclosure, I heard a faint 
 sound, and at the same moment a shadowy form 
 detached itself from the foliage. I felt a sudden 
 rapture ; my heart leaped, and I saw the heavens 
 fill with stars. 
 
 " Marguerite ! " I cried, holding out my arms. 
 I heard a little cry, then my name murmured 
 faintly, then silence . . . and I felt her lips on 
 mine. I thought that my soul was escaping 
 from me. 
 
 I have given He*lene half my fortune. Mar- 
 guerite is my wife. I close these pages forever. 
 I have nothing more to intrust to them. What 
 has been said of nations may be said of men : 
 " Happy are those who have no history." 
 
 248
 
 THE PORTRAITS 
 OF OCTAVE FEUILLET 
 
 13 Vol. 9
 
 THE PORTRAITS 
 OF OCTAVE FEUILLET 
 
 IN spite of the fash- 
 ionable popularity 
 achieved by Octave 
 Feuillet as early as 
 the year 1855, a pop- 
 ularity which never 
 waned to his last 
 hour, it seems that 
 his life, which we 
 should have pictured 
 excessively brilliant 
 
 After a drawing by the engraver Monciau. and DUbllC WaS in 
 
 reality quiet and retired. The author of M. de 
 Camors and of the Roman (Tun Jcune Homme 
 Paiivre was, as his portraits attest, melancholy 
 of temperament and contemplative of mind, a 
 man who was happiest in his own study, who 
 preferred the distant echoes of his literary tri- 
 umphs in his home, to noisy manifestations there- 
 of in the world of social pleasure. 
 
 251 
 
 OCTAVE FEUILLET 
 
 In 1850.
 
 The Portraits of Octave Feuillet 
 
 Feuillet was the official novelist of the Second 
 Empire, the pet writer of the Revue des Deux 
 Mondes. He was received at Court among the 
 distinguished guests who had the cntrc'e at Com- 
 piegne and Fontainebleau. His plays and proverbes 
 were acted in the Imperial theatres, at fashionable 
 watering-places, and on the miniature stages of 
 
 marionettes. The Em- 
 press treated him with 
 marked distinction. It 
 is difficult to under- 
 stand why an author so 
 honoured and so much 
 sought after should 
 have left so few por- 
 traits canvases, me- 
 dallions, water-colours, 
 or engravings. Feuillet 
 evidently was not lav- 
 ish of his time in his sittings to artists, for neither 
 Dubufe, nor Carolus-Duran, nor Winterhalter re- 
 produced his features a fact we find it almost 
 hard to believe of a man who enjoyed the popu- 
 larity of Feuillet. But we must accept the fact. 
 
 Mme. Octave Feuillet, to whom I went for 
 final confirmation of this supposed dearth of 
 artistic documents relating to her deceased hus- 
 
 252 
 
 ' OCTVVE rnrn.LET 
 In iSyg. 
 
 After a sketch made in Geneva.
 
 The Portraits of Octave Feuillet 
 
 OCTAVE FEUILLET. 
 
 After a photograph taken in 1880. 
 
 band, showed me every- 
 thing she had as memen- 
 toes of the delicate psy- 
 chologist to whose suc- 
 cess she so largely con- 
 tributed by her feminine 
 diplomacy, her social ob- 
 servations, and her sub- 
 tle and very cultivated 
 mind. 
 
 " Alas ! " she said, 
 " I do not know why I 
 am not richer in pictures of my clear lost one, for 
 he had endless opportunities of being painted, 
 but he was always too' nervous and too busy 
 
 to undertake the sit- 
 tings proposed by va- 
 rious artists. This is 
 why I can only show 
 you a little portrait 
 painted by Bonvin just 
 before 1850, which rep- 
 resents him with a 
 Musset-like face, and 
 agrees pretty closely 
 
 OCTAVE FEUILLET. With & dWmg OI tllC 
 
 The last photograph taken in 1889. Same period by the Cn-
 
 The Portraits of Octave Feuillet 
 
 graver Monciau, which could easily be repro- 
 duced." 
 
 " Beyond these souvenirs of Octave Feuillet as 
 a young man," continued his widow, " I have 
 
 OCTAVE FEUILLET. 
 
 Sketch by Dantan, about 1878. 
 
 nothing but a drawing by Dantan, made at the 
 time of the great success of the Sphinx at the 
 Comedie Francaise, that is to say, about ten years 
 before his death, and a large canvas by Ilirch, a 
 full-length, painted after 1880. But isn't it too 
 dark for reproduction?" 
 
 To these portraits of the author of Julia de 
 254
 
 The Portraits of Octave Feuillet 
 
 Trtcoeur we may add a number of photographs, 
 all of them taken after 1860. First, the large full- 
 length portrait published by Goupil about 1869 in 
 the Galerie Contemporaine. In spite of the de- 
 fects inherent in all photographs, this is the most 
 like him of all his portraits ; it is reproduced as 
 the frontispiece of this volume. We have given 
 several others, among them one from Monciau's 
 drawing, which shows us an Octave Feuillet of 
 thirty-five, who is nevertheless somewhat morose- 
 looking, and various presentments of the quinqua- 
 genarian Academician, with the white hair and gray 
 beard of a man still in his prime, which offer a 
 much nobler and more attractive semblance of the 
 writer who has been called "The family Musset." 
 
 After the death of the famous novelist and 
 playwright, the sculptor Crauck executed a fine 
 bust of him with the aid of instructions given him 
 by one of the author's sons, Richard Feuillet. 
 Another bust, of little interest and a poor likeness, 
 is at the Hotel de Ville of St. Lo, where Feuil- 
 let was born, and where he often came to rest at 
 his property during the summer. 
 
 Octave Feuillet's iconological record certainly 
 does not arrest attention by any curious, startling, 
 or hitherto unpublished elements. We have no 
 childish or youthful portraits, nothing but the cold 
 
 255
 
 The Portraits of Octave Feuillet 
 
 countenance of the man who had already " arrived " ; 
 no whimsical artistic sketch, not even any satirical 
 caricature, to compromise, enliven, or give a Bo- 
 hemian touch to the dignified attitude and severe 
 correctness of the writer of the Rcvuc dcs Deux 
 blondes. It is, we think, to be regretted. Octave 
 Feuillet remains an over official-figure for us, bear- 
 ing too obviously the stamp of the photographer's 
 solemn poses, and sacramental " Quite still, please." 
 
 OCTAVE UZANNE. 
 
 THE 
 
 256
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES 
 
 COLLEGE LIBRARY 
 
 This book is due on the last date stamped below. 
 
 May 755 
 
 Book Slip-25m-9,'60(.B2 1 936s4)4280
 
 UCLA-College Library 
 
 PQ 2242 R6E5 1902 
 
 L 005 688 071 9 
 
 Colli 
 Libr 
 
 PQ 
 224; 
 
 R6E, 
 
 190; 
 
 A 001 146476