U'
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 , ^ THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 \^ OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 COLLEGE 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 Mrs. J. R, Sackrider 
 
 ■■ik^.-.:r.
 
 - :£ 
 
 
 >^
 
 Cbc Abbe donstanttn fjffi 
 Cuboric V}aUvy.
 
 THE 
 
 ABBE CONSTANTIN 
 
 BY 
 
 LUDOVIC HALEVY 
 
 OK THE FKENCH ACADEMY 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 MADAME MADELEINE LEMAIRE 
 
 XEW YORK: 46 East 14TI1 Street 
 
 THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY 
 
 BOSTON : 100 Pl'KCHase Stkeet
 
 BOSTON, U.S.A.
 
 P^ ■▲NTA BAKKARA COLLEGE UB&AftT 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PAGE 
 On the Terrace Frontispiece 
 
 The Domain for Sale i 
 
 The Cure's Garden . facing 6 
 
 News of the Sale " lo 
 
 The Castle of Longueval 22 
 
 Arrival at the Vicarage 23 
 
 Paclixe and Jean facing 34 
 
 In the Garden " 36 
 
 Mrs. Scott and Bettina 39 
 
 Dinner at the Vicarage 40 
 
 Mrs. Scott arraxchng Bettina's Hair, 
 
 facing 46 
 
 In the Ce.meti:ry " 58 
 
 Bettina Plavinc; the Mar.monium ... 59 
 
 The Hundred '-Louis" 61 
 
 At the Opera facing 68 
 
 Jean's Study " 70 
 
 The Cuke Praying 72 
 
 ' Mazette ! " 73
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 I'AGE 
 
 The Confession facing 86 
 
 Leaving the Railway Station . . " 88 
 
 " good-by, my loveks i " 92 
 
 The Dka\ving-rooai at Loxgueval ... 93 
 Mrs. Scott and her Children . . facing 106 
 
 Bettina at the Balcony 107 
 
 The Ride 108 
 
 The First Tete-X-tete facing 114 
 
 Child and Pony 116 
 
 At the Ball 117 
 
 "It is Raining!"' facing 128 
 
 Bettina's Room " 134 
 
 Rain and Wind " 138 
 
 ( jOod-by ! 141 
 
 Bettina at the Vicak.vge 142 
 
 Will it i-.e Fink? ....... facing 142 
 
 The First Kiss ..." 164 
 
 The Wedding 165
 
 ii-l k 
 
 
 THE ABB£ CONSTANTIN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 With a step still valiant and firm an old priest 
 walked along the dusty road in the full rays of a bril- 
 liant sun. For more than thirty years the Abbe 
 Constantin had been Cure of the little village which 
 slept there in the plain, on the banks of a slender 
 stream called La Lizotte. 
 
 The Abbe Constantin was walking by the wall 
 which surrounded the park of the castle of Longue- 
 val ; at last he reached the entrance gate, which 
 rested high and massive on two ancient pillars of 
 stone, embrowned and gnawed by time. The Cur6
 
 2 THE ABB A COXST.LVT/X. 
 
 stopped, and mfnirnfully regarded two immense blue 
 posters fixed on the pillars. 
 
 The posters announced that on Wednesday, May 
 i8, 1881, at one o'clock P.M., would take place, 
 before the Civil Tribunal of Souvit:;ny, the sale of the 
 domain of Longueval, divided into four lots. 
 
 1st. The castle of Longueval, its dependencies, 
 fine pieces of water, extensive offices, park of one 
 hundred and fifty hectares in extent, completely sur- 
 rounded by a wall, and traversed by the little river 
 Lizotte. Valued at six hundred thou.sand francs. 
 
 2d The iarm of Blanche-Couronne, three hun- 
 dred hectares, valued at five hundred thousand francs. 
 
 3d. The farm of La Rozeraie, two hundred and 
 fifty hectares, valued at four hundred thousand 
 francs. 
 
 4th. The woods and forests of La Mionne, con- 
 taining four hundred and fifty hectares, \alued at (wg. 
 hundred and fifty thousand francs. 
 
 And these four amounts added altogether at the 
 foot of the bill gave the respectable sum of two mil- 
 lions and fifty thousand francs. 
 
 Then they were really going to dismeml^er this mag- 
 nificent domain, which, escaping all mutilation, had 
 for more than two centuries always Ijjcn transmitted 
 intact from father to son in the family of Longueval. 
 The placards also announced that after the tempo- 
 rary division into four lots, it would be possible to 
 unite them again, and otTer for sale the entire 
 domain, but it was a very large morsel, and to all 
 appearance no purchaser would ]3resent himself. 
 
 The Marcjuise de Longueval had died six months
 
 THE abb£ constantin. 3 
 
 before ; in 1873 she had lost her only son, Robert de 
 Longueval ; the three heirs were the grandchildren of 
 the Marquise, — Pierre, H^l^ne, and Camille. It had 
 been found necessary to offer the domain for sale, as 
 H61^ne and Camille were minors. Pierre, a young 
 man of three and twenty, had lived rather fast, was 
 already half ruined, and could not hope to redeem 
 Longueval. 
 
 It was mid-day. In an hour it would have a new 
 master, this old castle of Longueval ; and this 
 master, who would he be ? What woman would 
 take the place of the old Marquise in the chimney 
 corner of the grand salon, all adorned with ancient 
 tapestry? — the old Marquise, the friend of the old 
 priest. It was she who had restored the churcli ; it 
 was she who had established and furnished a com- 
 plete dispensary at the vicarage under the care of 
 Pauline, the Curb's servant : it was she who, twice a 
 week, in her great barouche, all crowded with little 
 children's clothes and thick woollen petticoats, came 
 to fetch the Abbe Constantin to make with him what 
 she called -'la cliasse aux pauvres." 
 
 The old priest continu^-d his walk, musing over all 
 this; then he thought too — the greatest saints have 
 their little weaknesses — he thought too of the be- 
 loved habits of thirty years thus rudely interrupted. 
 Every Thursday and e\ery Sunday he had dined at 
 the castle. How he iiad been petted, coaxed, in- 
 dulged ! Little Camille — she was eight years old 
 — would come and sit on his knee and say to him : 
 " You know, Monsieur le Cur6, it is in your church 
 that I mean to be married, and grandmamma will
 
 4 THE ABB A CONSTANTIN. 
 
 send such heaps of flowers to fill, quite fill the 
 church — more than for the month of Mary. It 
 will be like a little garden — all wliite, all white, all 
 white : " 
 
 The month of Mary I It was then the month of 
 Mary. Formerly at this season the altar disappeared 
 under the flowers brought from the conservatories of 
 Longueval. None this year were on the altar, excejDt 
 a few bouquets of lily-of-the-valley and white lilac in 
 gilded china vases. Formerly, every Sunday at high 
 mass, and every evening during the month of Mary, 
 Mademoiselle Hebert, the reader to .Madame de 
 Longueval, played the little harmonium given by the 
 Marquise. Xow tlie poor harmonium, reduced to 
 silence, no longer accompanied the voices of the 
 choir or the children's hymns. Mademoiselle Mar- 
 beau, the post-mistress, would with all her heart 
 have taken the place of Mademoiselle Hubert, but 
 she dared not, though she was a little musical. She 
 was afraid of being remarked as of the clerical party, 
 and denounced by the Mayor, who was a Freethinker. 
 That might have been injurious to her interests, and 
 prevented her promotion. 
 
 He had nearly reached thj end of the wall of the 
 park, that park of which every corner was known to 
 the old priest. The road now followed the banks of 
 the Lizotte, and on the other side of the little stream 
 stretched the fields belonging to the two forms ; then, 
 still farther off, rose the dark woods of La Mionne. 
 
 Divided! The domain was going to be divided! 
 The heart of the poor priest was rent by this bitter 
 thought. All that for thirty years had been insepa-
 
 THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 5 
 
 rable, indivisible, to him. It was a little his own, 
 his very own, his estate, this great property. He 
 felt at Iionie on the lands of Longueval. It had 
 happened more than once that he had stopped com- 
 placently before an immense cornfield, plucked an 
 ear, removed the husk, and said to himself: 
 
 " Come ! the grain is fine, firm, and sound. This 
 year we shall have a good harvest ! '" 
 
 And witli a joyous heart he would continue his way 
 through Jiis fields, his meadows, liis pastures ; in 
 short, by every chord of Ids luart, by every tie of 
 his life, by all his habits, his memories, he clung to 
 this domain whose last hour had come. 
 
 The Abb6 perceived in the distance the farm of 
 Blanche-Couronne ; its red-tiled roofs showed dis- 
 tinctly against the verdure of the forest. There, 
 again, the Cure was at home. Bernard, the farmer 
 of the ]\Iarquise, was his friend, and when the old 
 priest was delayed in his visits to the poor and sick, 
 when the .sun was sinking below the horizon, and the 
 Abbd began to feel a little fatigue in his limbs, and a 
 sen.sation of exhaustion in his stomach, he stopped 
 and supped with Bernard, regaled himself with a 
 savory stew and potatoes, and emptied his pitcher 
 of cider; then, after supper, the farmer harnessed 
 his old black mare to his cart and took the vicar 
 back to Longueval. The whole distance they 
 chatted and quarrelled. The Abb(^ reproached 
 the farmer with not going to mass, and the latter 
 replied : 
 
 " The wite and the girls go for me. Vou know 
 verv well, Monsieur le Cure, that is iunv it is with
 
 6 THE ABB A CONSTA.VTIN. 
 
 us. The women have enough rehgion for tlie men. 
 They will open the gates of Paradise for us." 
 
 And he added maliciously, while giving a touch of 
 the whip to his old black mare : 
 
 "If there is one? " 
 
 The Cur6 sprang from his seat. 
 
 " What I if there is one ! Of a certainty there 
 is one." 
 
 " Then you will be there, Monsieur le Cure. You 
 say tliat is not certain, and I say it is. You will 
 be there, you will be there, at the gate, on the watch 
 for your parishioners, and still busy with their little 
 affairs: and you will say to St. Peter — for it is St. 
 Peter, is n't it, who keeps the keys of Paradise? " 
 
 " It is St. Peter." 
 
 "Well, you will say to him, to St. Peter, if he 
 wants to shut the door in my face under the pretence 
 that I did not go to mass, \-ou will say to him, ' Bah ! 
 let him in all the same. It is Bernard, one of the 
 farmers of Madame la Marquise, an honest man. 
 He was Common Councilman, and he voted for the 
 maintenance of tlie sisters when they were going to 
 be expelled from the village school." That will touch 
 St. Peter, who will answer, ' Well, well, you may 
 pass, Bernard, but it is only to please Monsieur le 
 Curd.' For you will be Monsieur le Cur6 up there, 
 and Cur6 of Longueval tt)o, for Paradise itself would 
 be dull for you if \-ou nuist give up being Curd of 
 Longueval." 
 
 Curd of Longueval ! Yes, all his life he had been 
 nothing but Curd of Longueval, had never dreamed 
 of anvthing else, and never wished to be anvtiiing
 
 ,-. )>o .^ 
 
 The Cure's Garden. (Opposite page 6.)
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTIM. 7 
 
 else. Three or four times excellent livings, with 
 one or two curates, had been offered to him, but 
 he had always refused them. He had loved his little 
 churcli, his little village, his little vicarage. There 
 he had it all to himself, saw to everything him- 
 self; calm, tranquil, he went and came, summer 
 and winter, in sunshine or storm, in wind or rain. 
 His frame became hardened by fatigue and exposure, 
 but his soul remained gentle, tender, and pure. 
 
 He lived in his vicarage, which was only a labor- 
 er's cottage separated from the church by the church- 
 )'ard. When tlie Cure mounted the ladder to train 
 his pear and peach trees, over the top of the wall 
 he perceived the graves over which he had said the 
 last prayer, and cast the first spadeful of earth. 
 Then, while continuing his work, he said in his 
 heart a little prayer for the repose of those among 
 his dead whose fate disturbed him, and who might 
 be still detained in purgatory. He had a tranquij 
 and childlike faith. 
 
 But among these graves there was one which 
 oftener than all the others received his visits and his 
 prayers. It was the tomb of his old friend Dr. Rey- 
 naud, who had died in his arms in 1871, and under 
 what circumstances I The doctor liad been like 
 Bernard ; he never went to mass or to confession ; 
 but he was so good, so charitable, so compassionate 
 to the suffering. This was the cause of the Curb's 
 great anxiety, of his great solicitude. His friend 
 Rcynaud, where was he? Where was he? Then 
 he called to mind the noble life of the country doc- 
 tor, all made up of courage and self-denial ; he
 
 8 THE ABB A COXSTAA'TIN. 
 
 recalled his death, above all his death, and said to 
 himself: 
 
 " In Paradise ; he can be nowhere but in Paradise. 
 The good God may have sent him to purgatory just 
 for form's sake — but He must have delivered him 
 after five minutes." 
 
 All this passed through the mind of tlie old man, 
 as he continued his walk towards Souvigny. He 
 was going to the town, to the solicitor of the Mar- 
 quise, to inquire the result of the sale, to learn who 
 were to be the new masters of the castle of Longue- 
 val. The Abbe had still about a mile to walk before 
 reaching the first houses of Souvigny, and was pass- 
 ing the park of Lavardens, when he heard above his 
 head voices calling to him. 
 
 " Monsieur le Cur6, Monsieur le Cur6." 
 
 At this spot adjoining the wall, a long alley of 
 lime-trees bordered the terrace, and the Abb6, raising 
 his head, perceived Madame de Lavardens and her 
 son Paul. 
 
 '• Where are you going. Monsieur le Cur(^?" asked 
 the Countess. 
 
 "To Souvigny, It) the Tribunal to learn — '" 
 
 " Stay here — Monsieur de Larnac is coming after 
 the .sale, to tell me the result.'' 
 
 The Abb6 Constantin joined them on the terrace. 
 
 Gertrude de Lannilis, Countess de Lavardens, had 
 been very unfortunate. At eighteen, she had been 
 guilty of a folly, the only one of lur life, but that 
 one — irreparable. She had married for love, in 
 a ])urst of enthusiasm and exaltation. M. de Lavar- 
 dens, one of the most fascinating and brilliant men
 
 THE ABB£. COySTANTIN. 9 
 
 of his time. He did not love lier, and only married 
 from necessity. He had devoured his patrimonial 
 fortune to the very last farthing, and for two or 
 three years had supported himself by various ex- 
 pedients. Mademoiselle de Lannilis knew all that, 
 and had no illusions on these points, but she said 
 to herself: 
 
 " I will love him so much, that he will end by 
 loving me." 
 
 Hence all her misfortunes. Her existence might 
 have been tolerable if she had not loved her hus- 
 band so much, but she loved him too mucli. She 
 had only succeeded in wearying him by her impor- 
 tunities and tenderness. He returned to his former 
 life, which had been most irregular. Fifteen years 
 had passed thus, in a long martyrdom, supported 
 by Madame de Lavardens with all the appearance of 
 passive resignation. Nothing ever could distract 
 her from, or cure her of, the love which was de- 
 stroying her. 
 
 M. de Lavardens died in 1869. He left a son 
 fourteen years of age, in whom were already visible 
 all the defects and all the good qualities of his 
 father. Without being seriously affected, the for- 
 tune of Madame de Lavardens was slightly compro- 
 mised, slightly diminished. Madame de Lavardens 
 sold her mansion in Paris, retired to the country, 
 where she lived with strict economy, and devoted 
 herself to the education of her son. 
 
 But here again grief and disappointment awaited 
 her. Paul de Lavardens was intelligent, aniia1:)le, 
 and affectionate, but tliorou^hlv rebellious against
 
 lO THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 
 
 any constraint and any species of work. He drove 
 to despair tliree or four tutors, wlio \ainly en- 
 deavored to force something serious into his head, 
 went up to the AliHtary College of Saint-Cyr, failed 
 at the examination, and began to devour in Paris, 
 with all the haste and folly possible, two or three 
 hundred thousand francs. 
 
 That done, he enlisted in the first regiment of 
 the Chasseurs dWfrique, had in the very beginning 
 of his military career tlie good fortune to make one 
 of an expeditionary column sent into tlie Sahara, 
 distinguished himself, soon became quartermaster, 
 and at the end of three years was about to be ap- 
 pointed sub-lieutenant when he was captivated by a 
 young person wlio played the " Fille de .Madame 
 Angot ■' at tlie tlieatre in .Vlgiers. 
 
 Paul liad tinislied his time ; he quitted tlie service, 
 and went to Paris witli liis charmer. . . . Then 
 it was a dancer. . . . Tlien it was an actress. 
 Then a circus-rider. Me tried life in every 
 form. He leel the brilliant and miserable existence 
 of the unoccupied. 
 
 But it was only tliree or four months that he 
 passed in Paris eacli year. His motlii-r matle liim 
 an allowance of thirty thousand francs, and had 
 declared to him, that never, wliile slie lived, should 
 he have another penny before his marriage. He 
 knew his mother ; he knew he must consider her 
 words as serious. Thus, wishing to make a good 
 figure in Paris, and lead a merry life, he S])ent his 
 thirty thousand francs in tliree monllis, antl then 
 docilelv returned to Lavardens, wiiere he was "out
 
 News of the Sale. (Opposite page lo.)
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. II 
 
 at grass." He spent his time hunting, fishing, and 
 riding witli the officers of the artillery regiment 
 quartered at Souvigny. The little provincial milli- 
 ners and " grisettes " replaced, without rendering 
 him oblivious of, the little singers and actresses of 
 Paris. By. searching for them, one may still tind 
 grisettes in country towns, and Paul de Lavardens 
 sought assiduously. 
 
 As soon as the Cure had reached Madame de 
 Lavardens, she said : 
 
 '•Without waiting for M. de Larnac, I can tell 
 you the names of the purchasers of the domain of 
 Longueval. I am quite easy on the subject, and 
 have no doubt of tlie success of our plan. In order 
 to avoid any foolisli disputes, we have agreed 
 amongst ourselves ; that is, between our neighbor 
 M. de Larnac, AL Gallard, a great Parisian banker, 
 and myself. AI. de Larnac will have La Mionne, 
 AI. Gallard the castle and Blanche-Couronne, and I 
 — La Rozeraie. I know you, ATonsieur le Cur^, — 
 you will be anxious about your poor; but comfort 
 yourself. These Gallards are rich, and will give you 
 plenty of money." 
 
 At this moment a cloud of dust appeared on the 
 road, from it emerged a carriage. 
 
 '•Here comes AI. de Larnac!" cried Paul; "I 
 know his ponies ! " 
 
 All three hurriedly descended from the terrace 
 and returned to the castle. They arrived there 
 just as AI. de Larnac's carriage drove up to the en- 
 trance. 
 
 "Well?" asked Aladame de Lavardens.
 
 12 the'abbA constantin. 
 
 "Well!" replied M. cle Laniac, '-we have noth- 
 ing." 
 
 "What? Nothing?"' cried Madame de Lavar- 
 dens, very pale and agitated. 
 
 "Nothing, nothing; absolutely nothing — the 
 one or the other of us." 
 
 And M. de Larnac, springing from his carriage, 
 related what had taken place at the sale before the 
 Tribunal of Souvigny. 
 
 "At first," he said, "everything went ujwn 
 wheels. The castle went to M. Gallard for six 
 hundred and fifty thousand francs. No competitor 
 — a rise of fifty francs had been suflicient. On the 
 other hand, there Avas a little battle for Blanche- 
 Couronne. The bids rose from five hundred thou- 
 sand francs, to five hundred and twenty thousand 
 francs, and again M. Gallard was victorious. An- 
 other and more animated battle for La Rozeraie ; at 
 last it was knocked down to you, Madame, for four 
 hundred and fifty-five thousand francs. ... I 
 got the forest of La Mionne without opposition at a 
 rise of one hundred fiancs. All seemed over, those 
 present had risen, our solicitors were surrounded 
 with persons asking the names of the purchasers. 
 
 " M. Brazier, the judge intrusted with the sale, 
 desired silence, and the bailiff of the court offered 
 the four lots together for two million one hundred 
 and fifty or sixty thousand francs, I don't remember 
 which. A murmur passed through the assembly. 
 ' No one will bid ' was heard on all sides. But little 
 Gibert, the solicitor, who was seated in the first row, 
 and till then had given no sign of life, rose and said
 
 THE ABB A CONSTA.VTIN. 13 
 
 calmly. ' I have a purchaser for the four lots to- 
 gether at two millions two liundred thousand francs.' 
 This was like a thunderbolt. A tremendous clamor 
 arose, followed Ijy a dead silence. The hall was 
 tilled witli farmers and laborers from the neighbor- 
 hood. Two million francs ! So much money for 
 the land tln-ew them into a sort of respectful stupor. 
 However, M. (iallard bending towards Sandrier, the 
 solicitor who had bid for him, whispered something 
 in his ear. The struggle began between Gibert and 
 Sandrier. The bids rose to two millions five hundred 
 thousand francs. AI. Gallard hesitated for a moment 
 — decided — continued up to three millions. Then 
 he stopped and the whole went to Gibert. Every 
 one rushed on him, the\- surrounded — they crushed 
 him, ' The name, the name of the purchaser? ' — 'It 
 is an American," replied Gibert, 'Airs. .Scott. ^ " 
 
 "Mrs. Scott!"' cried Paul de Lavardens. 
 
 "You know her?"' asked .\Iadame de Lavar- 
 dens. 
 
 "Do I know her?"" — -do 1 — not at all. But 
 I was at a l)all at her house six weeks ago."" 
 
 " At a ball at her house ! and you don"t know 
 her? Wliat sort of a woman is she, then?" 
 
 " Ciiarming, delightful, ideal, a miracle!" 
 
 "And is there a Mr. Scott?" 
 
 "Certainly, a tall, fair man. He was at her ball, 
 they pointed him out to me. He bowed at random 
 right and left. He was not much amused, 1 will 
 answer lor it. He looked at us as it he were think- 
 ing, 'Who are all tliese ])eople ? What are tliey 
 doin<i at mv house?" We went to see Mrs. .Scott
 
 14 THE ABB& CONSTAXTIN. 
 
 and Miss Percival, her sister. And certainly it was 
 well worth the trouble." 
 
 " These Scotts," said Madame de Lavardens, ad- 
 dressing M. de Larnac, " do you know who they are? " 
 
 "Yes, Madame, I know. Mr. .Scott is an Ameri- 
 can, possessing a colossal fortune, who settled him- 
 self in Paris last year. As soon as their name was 
 mentioned. I understood that the victory had never 
 been doubtful. Gallard was beaten beforehand. 
 The Scotts began bv I)U\ing a house in Paris for 
 two million francs : it is near the Pare Monceau." 
 
 "Yes, Rue .Murillo," said Paul; "I tell you I 
 went to a ball there. It was " — 
 
 " Let M. de Larnac speak. You can tell us pres- 
 ently about the ball at Mrs. Scott's." 
 
 "Well, now, imagine my Americans established 
 in Paris," continued M. de Larnac, " and the showers 
 of gold begun. In the orthodox parvenu style they 
 amuse tliemselves with tin-owing handfuls of gold 
 out of window. Their great wealth is (juite recent, 
 they say; ten years ago Mrs. Scott begged in the 
 streets of New York." 
 
 " Begged !" 
 
 " They .say so. Then she married tiiis Scott, the 
 son of a New York ])ankcr, and all at once a succes.s- 
 ful lawsuit ])ut into their hands not millions, but tens 
 of millons. Somewhere in America they have a 
 silver mine, but a genuine mine, a real mine — a 
 mine with silver in it. All I we shall see what 
 lu.Kury will reign at Longucval I We shall ail look 
 like i)aupers l)esid(; them I It is said that they have 
 one hundred tiiousand francs a day to s[)end."
 
 THE ABB£ CONSTANTIN. I5 
 
 "Such are our neighbors!" cried Madame de 
 Lavardens. " An adventuress ! and that is the least 
 of it — a heretic, Monsieur TAbb^, a Protestant ! " 
 
 A heretic ! a Protestant ! Poor Cur6 ; it was indeed 
 that of which he had immediately thought on hearing 
 the words, "An American, Mrs. Scott." The new 
 cliatelaine of Longueval would not go to mass. What 
 did it matter to him that slie had been a beggar ? 
 What did it matter to him if slie possessed her tens 
 and tens of millions ? She was not a Catholic. He 
 would never again baptize children born at Longueval ; 
 and the chapel in the castle, where he had so often 
 said mass, would be transformed into a Protestant 
 oratory, which would echo only the frigid utterances 
 of a Calvinistic or Lutheran pastor. 
 
 Every one was distressed, disappointed over- 
 whelmed ; but in the midst of the general depression 
 Paul stood radiant. 
 
 " A charming heretic, at all events," said he, " or 
 rather two charming heretics. You should see the 
 two sisters on horseback in the Bois, with two little 
 grooms behind tliem not higlier than that." 
 
 " Come, Paul, tell us all you know. Describe the 
 ball of which you speak. How did you liappen to go 
 to a ball at these Americans'?" 
 
 " By the gi-eatest chance. My aunt Valentine was 
 at home that night ; I looked in about ten o'clock. 
 Well, aunt Valentine's Wednesdays are not exactly 
 scenes of wild enjoyment, give you my word ! I liad 
 been there about twenty minutes when I caught sight 
 of Roger de Puymartin escaping furtively. I caught 
 him in the hall, and said:
 
 l6 THE abbA COXSTA.VTIN. 
 
 " ' We will go home together.' 
 
 " ' Oh! I am not going home.' 
 
 " 'Where are you going?' 
 
 " 'To the ball ' 
 
 ' ' ' Where ? ' 
 
 " ' At Mrs. Scott's. Will you come?' 
 
 " ' But I have not been invited.' 
 
 " ' Neither have I.' 
 
 " ' What ! not invited ? ' 
 
 " ' No. 1 am going with one of my friends.' 
 
 " ' And docs your friend know them? ' 
 
 "'Scarcely; but enough to introduce us. Come 
 along; you will see IMrs. Scott." 
 
 " ' Oh I I have seen her, on horseback in the 
 Bois.' 
 
 " ' P)Ut she does not wear a low gown on horse- 
 back ; vou have not seen her shoulders, and they are 
 shoulders which ought to be seen. There is nothing 
 better in Paris at this moment." 
 
 "And I went to the ball, and I saw Mrs. Scott's 
 red hair, and I saw Mrs. Scott's white shoulders, and 
 I hope to see them again when there are lialls at 
 Longueval." 
 
 "Paul!"" said Madame de Lavardens, ])ointing to 
 the Abb6. 
 
 " Oh ! Monsieur TAbbe, I beg a tliousand 
 pardons. Have I said anything? It seems to me — "' 
 
 The poor old priest had heard nothing ; his thoughts 
 were elsewhere. Already he saw, in the \-illage 
 streets, the Protestant pastor from the castle stopping 
 before each house, and slipping under the doors 
 little evangelical tracts.
 
 THE ABB& CONSTAMTIN. 1 7 
 
 Continuing his account, Paul launched into an 
 enthusiastic description of the mansion, wliich was 
 a marvel — 
 
 " Of bad taste and ostentation,'' interrupted 
 Madame de Lavardens. 
 
 " Not at all, mother, not at all ; nothing startling, 
 nothing loud. It is admirably furnished, everything 
 done with elegance and originality. An incompa- 
 rable conservatory, flooded with electric light ; the 
 buftet was placed in the conservatory under a vine 
 laden with grapes, which one could gather by hand- 
 fuls, and in the month of April ! The accessories 
 of the cotillon cost, it appears, more than forty 
 thousand francs. Ornaments, bonbonni^res, deli- 
 cious trifles, and we were begged to accept them. 
 For my part I took nothing, but tliere were many 
 who made no scruple. That evening Puymartin told 
 me Mrs. Scotfs liistory, but it was not at all like 
 M. de Larnac's story. Roger said that, when quite 
 little, Mrs. Scott had been stolen from her family by 
 some acrobats, and that lier father liad found her in 
 a travelling circus, riding on l^are-backed horses and 
 jumping through paper hoops." 
 
 "A circus-rider I ■■ cried Madame de Lavardens; 
 " I should have preferred the beggar." 
 
 "And while Roger was telling me tliis Petit 
 yoiinial roma.ncG^, I saw approaching from the end of 
 a gallery a wonderful cloud of lace and satin ; it sur- 
 rounded this rider from a wandering circus, and I 
 admired those shoulders, those dazzling shoulders, 
 on wliich undulated a necklace of diamonds as big 
 as the stopper of a decanter. Tliey .say that the
 
 l8 THE ABB& COA^STANTIN. 
 
 Minister of Finance had sold secretly to Mrs. Scott 
 half the crown diamonds, and that that was how, the 
 month before, he had been able to sliow a surplus of 
 fifteen hundred thousand francs in the budget. Add 
 to all this that the little acrobat had an air of good 
 breeding, and seemed perfectly at home in the midst 
 of all this splendor." 
 
 Paul was going so far that his mother was obliged 
 to stop him. Before M. de Larnac, who was ex- 
 cessively anno}"ed and disappointed, he showed too 
 plainly his delight at the prospect of having tliis 
 marvellous American for a near neighbor. 
 
 The Abb(§ Constantin was preparing to return to 
 Longueval, but Paul, seeing him ready to start, 
 said : 
 
 "No! no! Monsieur le Cure, you must not think 
 of walking back to Longueval in the heat of the day. 
 Allow me to drive you home. I am really grieved 
 to see you so cast down, and will try my best to 
 amuse you. Oh ! if you were ten times a saint I 
 would make you laugh at my stories." 
 
 And half an liour after, the two — tlie Cure and 
 Paul — drove side by side in tlie direction of the 
 village. Paul talked, talked, talked. His mother 
 was not there to check or moderate liis transports, 
 and his joy was overflowing. 
 
 " Now, look here, Monsieur FAl^be, you are wrong 
 to take things in this tragic manner. . . . Stay, look 
 at my little mare, how well she trots ! what good 
 action slic lias I \'o\\ liavc not seen licr l)cfore ? What 
 do you tliiiik I paid for Iilt? Four hundred francs. 
 I discovered her a fortnight ago, between tlie shafts
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 19 
 
 of a market-gardener's cart. She is a treasure. I 
 assure you she can do sixteen miles an hour, and 
 keep one's hands full all the time. Just see how 
 she pulls. Come, tot, tot, tot I You are not in a 
 hurry. Monsieur TAbb^, I hope. Let us return 
 through the wood ; the fresh air will do you good. 
 Oh, Monsieur TAbbc^, if you only knew what a 
 regard I have for you, and respect too I I did not 
 talk too much nonsense before you just now, did I ? 
 I should be so sorry — " 
 
 " No, my child, I heard nothing." 
 " Well, we will take the longest way round."' 
 After having turned to the left in the wood, Paul 
 resumed his subject. 
 
 "I was saying. Monsieur I'Alibe," he went on, 
 "that you are wrong to take things so ' seriously. 
 Shall I tell you what I think? This is a very 
 fortunate aft'air." 
 " Very fortunate? " 
 
 "Yes, very fortunate. I would rather see the 
 Scottsat Longueval than the Gallards. Did you not 
 hear Monsieur de Larnac reproach these Americans 
 with spending their money foolishlv. It is never 
 foolish to spend money. The folly lies in keeping 
 it. Your poor — fjr 1 am perfectly sure that it is 
 your poor of whom you are thinking — your poor 
 have made a good th.ing of it to-day. That is mv 
 opinion. The religion? Well, they will not go to 
 mass, and that will be a grief to you, that is only 
 natural ; but they will send vou monev, ])lcnty of 
 mone}', and vou will take it, and nou will be f|uite 
 right in doing so. You will see that you will not
 
 20 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 
 
 say no. There will be gold raining over the whole 
 place ; a movement, a bustle, carriages with four 
 horses, postillions, powdered footmen, paper chases, 
 hunting-parties, balls, fireworks, and here in this 
 very spot I shall perhaps find Paris again before 
 long. I shall see once more the two riders and the 
 two little grooms of whom I was speaking just now. 
 If you only knew how well those two sisters look on 
 horseback ! One morning I went right round the 
 Bois de Boulogne behind them ; I fancy I can see 
 them still. They had high hats, and little black 
 veils drawn very tightly over their faces, and long 
 riding-habits made in the princess form, with a single 
 seam right down the back ; and a woman must be 
 awfully well made to wear a riding-habit like that, 
 because, you see, Monsieur TAbb^, with a habit of 
 that cut there is no deception possible." 
 
 For some moments the Cure had not been listen- 
 ing to PauKs discourse. They had entered a h^ig, 
 perfectly straight avenue, and at the end of this 
 avenue the Cur6 saw a horseman galloping aU)ng. 
 
 "Look," said the Cure to Paul, "your eyes are 
 better than mine : is not that Jean?" 
 
 " Yes, it is Jean. I know his gray mare." 
 
 Paul loved horses, and before looking at the rider 
 looked at the horse. It was indeed Jean, who, when 
 he saw in the distance the Cur6 and Paul de Lavar- 
 dens, waved in the air his kepi, adorned with two 
 golden stripes. Jean was lieutenant in tlic regiment 
 of artillery quartered at Souvigny. 
 
 Some moments after he stopped by the little car- 
 riage, and, addressing the Cur6, said:
 
 TFIE ABB& CONSTANTLY. 3 1 
 
 " I liave just been to your liouse, inon parrain. 
 I'auline told me tliat you had gone to Souvigny about 
 the sale. Well, who has bought the castle?" 
 
 "An American — Mrs. Scott." 
 
 " And Blanche-Couronne? "' 
 
 "The same Mrs. Scott." 
 
 " And La Rozeraie?" 
 
 " Mrs. Scott again." 
 
 " And the forest? Mrs. Scott again?" 
 
 "You have said it," replied Paul; •■ and I know 
 Mrs. Scott, and I can promise you that there will be 
 something going on at Longneval. I will introduce 
 you. Only it is distressing to Monsieur I'Abbe be- 
 cause she is an American — a Protestant." 
 
 "Ah! that is tme," said Jean, sympathizingly. 
 " However, we will talk about it to-morrow. I am 
 going to dine with you, godfather; I have warned 
 Pauline of my visit ; no time to stop to-day. I am 
 on duty, and must be in quarters at three o'clock." 
 
 " Stables?" asked Paul. 
 
 " Yes. Good-by, Paul. To-morrow, godfather." 
 
 The lieutenant galloped away. Paul de Lavardens 
 gave his little horse her head. 
 
 " What a capital fellow Jean is ! " said Paul. 
 
 " Oh, yes, indeed." 
 
 "There is no one on earth better than Jean." 
 
 " No, no one." 
 
 The Cur6 tiuuied round to take another look at 
 Jean, who was almost lost in the depths of the 
 forest. 
 
 " Oh, yes, there is, — yon. Monsieur le Curd;." 
 
 " No, not I ! not I !
 
 22 
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTIX. 
 
 "Well, .Monsieur TAbb^, shall I tell you what 
 I think? — ! think there is no one better than you 
 two — vou and Jean. That is the truth, if I must 
 tell you. Oh, what a splendid place for a trot ! I 
 shall let Niniche go; I call her Niniche." 
 
 With the tip of his whip Paul caressed the flank 
 of Niniche, who started off at full speed, and Paul, 
 delighted, cried : 
 
 "Just look at her action, .Monsieur TAhljc I Just 
 look at her acti<Mi ! So regular — just like clock- 
 work. Lean over and look." 
 
 To please Paul de Lavardens the Abb6 Constantin 
 did lean over and look at Niniche's action, but the 
 old priest's thoughts were far away.
 
 .'f. :^ 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 This sub-lieutenant of artillery was called Jean 
 Reynaud. . He was the son of a country doctor who 
 lay in the churchyard of Longueval. 
 
 In 1846, wlien the Al^lje Constantin took posses- 
 sion of liis little living, the grandfather ot Jean 
 was residing in a pleasant cottage on the road to 
 Souvigny, between the castles of Longueval and 
 Lavardens. 
 
 Marcel, the son ofth.it Dr. Ruvnaud, was finishing 
 liis medical studies in I'aris. He possessed great 
 industry, and an elevation of sentiment and mind 
 extremely rare. He passed his e.\aminations witli 
 great distinction, and had decided to fi.x his abode 
 in Paris and tempt fortune there ; and everything 
 seemed to promise him the most prosperous and 
 brilliant career, when in 1852 he received the news
 
 24 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 
 
 of his father's death — he had been struck down by a 
 fit of apoplexy. Marcel hurried to Longueval over- 
 whelmed with grief, for lie adored his father. He 
 spent a month with his mother, and then spoke of 
 the necessity of returning to Paris. 
 
 " That is true," .said his mother; " you must go." 
 
 "What! I must go! ]\^c must go, you mean. 
 Do vou tliink tliat I would leave you here alone? 
 I shall take you with me." 
 
 " To live in Paris? to leave the place where I was 
 born, where your father lived, where he died? I 
 could never do it, my child, never ! Go alone ; your 
 life, your future, are there. I know you; I know 
 that you will never forget me, that you will come and 
 see me often, very often."" 
 
 " No, mother,'" he answered; ■• I will stay here." 
 
 And he stayed. 
 
 His hopes, his ambitions, all in one moment van- 
 ished. He saw only one thing — dul\ — the duty of 
 not abandoning his aged motlicr. In this duty, simply 
 accepted and simply discliarged, he found happiness. 
 After all, it is only thus that one does find happiness. 
 
 Marcel bowed with courage and good grace to his 
 new existence. He continued his father's life, en- 
 tering the groove at the very spot where he had left 
 it. He devoted himself without regret to the obscure 
 career of a country doctor. His father had left him 
 a little land and a little money; he lived in the 
 simplest manner ])ossible, and one-half of his life 
 belonged to the poor, from whom he would never 
 receive a penny. 
 
 This was his only luxury.
 
 THE abb£ constantin. 25 
 
 He found in liis wav a young girl, charming, pen- 
 niless, and alone in the world. He married her. 
 This was in 1855, and the following year brought to 
 Dr. Reynaud a great sorrow and a great joy, — the 
 death of his old mother and the birth of his son Jean. 
 
 At an interval of six weeks, the Abbe Constantin 
 recited the prayers for the dead over the grave of the 
 grandmother, and was present in the position of god- 
 father at the baptism of the grandson. 
 
 In consequence of constantly meeting at the bed- 
 side of the suffering and dying, the priest and the 
 doctor had been strongly attracted to each other. 
 They instinctively felt that they belonged to the same 
 family, the same race, — the race of the tender, the 
 just, and the benevolent. 
 
 ^'ear followed year — calm, peaceful, fully occupied 
 in labor and duty. Jean was no longer a child. 
 His father gave him his tirst lessons in reading and 
 writing, the priest his first lessons in Latin. Jean 
 was intelligent and industrious. He made so much 
 progress that the two teachers — particularly the 
 Cure — foimd themselves at the end of a few years 
 rather cast into the shade by their pupil. It was at 
 tliis moment that the Countess, after the death of 
 her husband, came to settle at Lavardens. She 
 brought with her a tutor for her son Paul, who was 
 a very nice l)ut very lazy little fellow. The two 
 children were of the same age ; they had known 
 each other from llieir earliest years. 
 
 Madame de La\ardens had a great regard for Dr. 
 Reynaud, and one day she made him the following 
 proposal :
 
 26 THE ABB A CONST ANTIN. 
 
 " Send Jean to me every morninij," said she; " I 
 will send him home in the evening, l^aul's tutor 
 is a very accomplislied man ; he will make tlie 
 cliil(h'en work together. It will ]3e rendering me a 
 real .service. Jean will set Paul a good example." 
 
 Things were thus arranged, and the li^ttle bourgeois 
 set the little nobleman a most excellent e.xample of 
 industry and application ; l)ut this excellent example 
 was not followed. 
 
 The war broke out. On November 14, at seven 
 o'clock in llie morning, the " Reserves" of Souvigny 
 assembled in the great square of tlie town ; their 
 chaplain was the .^bbe Constantin. their surgeon- 
 major Dr. Reynaud. The same idea had come at 
 the same moment to both : the priest was si.xty-two, 
 the doctor fifty. 
 
 When thev started, thi- battalion followed the 
 road wliicli led through Longueval. and passed 
 before the doctoi'"s house. Madame Reynaud and 
 Jean were waiting by the roadside. 
 
 The child threw himself into his father's arms. 
 
 " Take me too, papa ! take me too I " 
 
 Madame Reynaud wept. 'Hie doctor held them 
 botii in a long embrace: then he continued his way. 
 
 A hundred steps farther the road made a sharp 
 curve. The doctor tui'ned, cast one long look at 
 his wife and child — the last : lie was never to see 
 them again. 
 
 On January S, iSyi, the tr()0])s of .Souvigny at- 
 tacked tiie village of V'illersexel, occupied by the 
 Prussians, who had jjarricaded themselves. The 
 tiring began. A soldier wlio marched in the front
 
 THE ABBA CONSTANTIiY. 27 
 
 rank received a ball in the chest and fell. There 
 was a short moment of trouble and hesitation. 
 
 " Forward ! forward ! " shouted tlie officers. 
 
 The men passed over the body of their comrade, 
 and under a hail of bullets entered the town. 
 
 Dr. Reynaud and the Abb6 Constantin marched 
 with tlie troops : tliey halted near the wounded man : 
 the blood was rushing in floods from his mouth. 
 
 "There is notliing to bj done," said the doctor. 
 " He is dying: he belongs to you." 
 
 The priest knelt down by the dying man, and tlie 
 doctor rose to go towards the village. He had not 
 taken ten steps when he stopped, beat the air with 
 both hands, and fell all at once to the ground. The 
 priest ran to him; he was dead — killed on the spot 
 by a bullet through the temples. That evening the 
 village was ours, and the next day they placed in the 
 cemetery of Villersexel the body of Dr. Reynaud. 
 
 Two months later the Abb6 Constantin took jjack 
 to Longueval the coffin of his friend, and behind the 
 coffin when it was carried from the church walked an 
 orphan. Jean had also lost his mother. At the 
 news of hjr husband's death Madame Reynaud had 
 remained for twenty-four hours overwhelmed, crushed, 
 without a word or a tear ; then fever had seized her, 
 tlien delirium, and after a fortnight, death. 
 
 Jean was alone in the world ; he was fourteen 
 years old. Of tliat family, w^liere for more than a 
 century all had been good and honest, there remained 
 only a child kneeling beside a grave ; but he, too, 
 l)romised to l)e what his father and his grandfather 
 before him had been, — good and honest and true-
 
 28 THE ABB& CONSTAXriN. 
 
 There are families like that in France, and many 
 of them, more than one ventures to say. Our poor 
 country is in many respects cruelly calumniated by 
 certain novelists, who draw exaggerated and distorted 
 pictures of it. It is true the history of good people 
 is often monotonous or painful. This story is a 
 proof of it. 
 
 The grief of Jean was the grief of a man. He re- 
 mained long sad and long silent. The evening of 
 his father's funeral the Abb6 Constantin took him 
 home to tlie vicarage. The day had been rainy and 
 cold. Jean was sitting ])y the fireside ; the priest 
 was reading his breviary opposite him. Old Pauline 
 came and went, attending to her duties. 
 
 An hour i)assed witliout a word, wlien Jean, rais- 
 ing his head, .said : 
 
 " Godfather, did my father leave me any money?" 
 
 This question was so extraordinary tliat the old 
 priest, stupefied, could scarcely believe that he heard 
 aright. 
 
 " You ask if vour father — "" 
 
 " 1 asked if my father left me some money? " 
 
 " Yes; lie must have left you some." 
 
 "A good deal, don't you think? 1 have often 
 heard people say that my father was rich. Tell me 
 aljout how mucli he has left me ? "' 
 
 " But I don't know. You ask — " 
 
 Tlie poor old man felt his lieart rent in Iwaiii. 
 .Such a (jucstion at such a moment I Yet he thouglit 
 he knew the boy's heart, and in that Iieart there 
 should not be room for such thoughts. 
 
 "Pray, dear godfather, tell me," continued Jean-
 
 THE ABB A COIVSTANTIN. 29 
 
 gently. •• I will explain to you afterwards why I ask 
 that." 
 
 " Well, they say your father had two or three 
 hundred thousand francs."' 
 
 •• And is that much?" 
 
 " Yes, it is a great deal." 
 
 " And it is all mine? " 
 
 " Yes, it is all yours." 
 
 " Oh ! I am glad, because, you know, the day that 
 my father was killed in the war, tiie Prussians killed 
 at the same time 'the son of a poor woman in Lon- 
 gueval, — old C16mence, you know ; and they killed, 
 too, Rosalie's brother, whom I used to play with 
 when I was quite little. Well, since I am rich 
 and they are poor, I will divide with Clemence and 
 Rosalie the money my father has left me." 
 
 On hearing these words the Cure rose, took Jean by 
 both hands, and drew him into liis arms. The white 
 head rested on the fair one. Two large tears escaped 
 from the old priest's eyes, rolled slowly down his 
 cheeks, and were lost in the furrows of his face. 
 
 However, the Cur^ was obliged to explain to Jean 
 that, though he was his father's heir, he had not the 
 right of disposing of his heritage as he would. There 
 would be a family council, and a guardian would he 
 appointed. 
 
 " You, no doubt, godfather? " 
 
 "No, not I, my child; a priest is not allowed 
 to exercise the functions of a guardian. They will, 
 I think, choose M. Lenient, the lawyer in Souvigny, 
 who was one of your father's best friends. You can 
 speak to him and tell him what you wish."'
 
 30 THE abbA constantin. 
 
 M. Lenient was eventually appointed guardian, and 
 Jean urged his wishes so eagerly and touchingly that 
 the lawyer consented to deduct from the income a 
 sum of two thousand four hundred francs, which, 
 every year till Jean came of age, was divided between 
 old Clemence and little Rosalie. 
 
 In these circumstances Madame de Lavardens was 
 perfect. She went to the Abbe and said : 
 
 " Give Jean to me, give him to me entirely till he 
 has finished his studies. I will bring him back to 
 you every year during the holidays. It is not a ser- 
 vice I am rendering you ; it is a service which I 
 ask of you. I cannot imagine any greater good for- 
 tune for my son than to have Jean for a companion. 
 I must resign myself to leaving Lavardens for a 
 time. Paul is bent \\\wn being a soldier and going 
 up to Saint-Cyr. It is oniy in Paris that I can 
 ol)tain the necessary masters. I will take the two 
 boys tliere : they will study together under my own 
 eyes like brothers, and I will make no difference 
 between them ; of that you may be sure." 
 
 It was difficult to refuse such an offer. The old 
 Cur6 would have dearly liked to keep Jean with him, 
 and his heart was torn at the thought of this separa- 
 tion ; but what was for the child's real interest? 
 That was the only question to be considered ; the 
 rest was nothing. They summoned Jean. 
 
 " My child,"' said Madame de Lavardens to him, 
 "will you come and live with Paul and me for 
 some years? I will take you both to Paris." 
 
 "You are very kind, Madame, but I should have 
 liked so much to stay here."
 
 THE ABB£ COySTAMTIN. 31 
 
 He looked at the Cure, who turned away Iiis 
 eyes. 
 
 " W^iy must we go?" he continued. "Why 
 must you take Paul and me away ? " 
 
 " Because it is only in Paris that you can have all 
 the advantages necessary to complete your studies. 
 Paul will prepare for his examination at Saint-Cyr. 
 You know he wants to be a soldier." 
 
 " So do 1, iMadame. I wish to be one too." 
 
 "You a soldier!" exclaimed the Curd; "but 
 you know that was not at all your father's idea. In 
 my presence he has often spoken of your future, 
 your career. You were to be a doctor, and like him, 
 doctor at Longueval, and like him, devote yourself 
 to the sick and poor. Jean, my child, do you re- 
 member? " 
 
 "I remember; I remember." 
 
 "Well, then, Jean, you must do as your father 
 wished : it is your duty, Jean ; it is your duty. You 
 must go to Paris. You would like to stay here, I 
 understand that well, and I should like it too ; but 
 it cannot be. You must go to Paris, and work, 
 work hard. Not that I am anxious about that ; you 
 are your father's true son. You will be an honest 
 and industrious man. One cannot well l)e the one 
 without the other. And some day, in your father's 
 house, in the place where he has done so much 
 good, the poor people of the country round will find 
 another Dr. Reynaud, to whom they may look for 
 help. And I, — if by chance I am still in this world, 
 — when that day comes, I shall be so happy ! But 
 I am wrong to speak of myself; I ought not, I do
 
 32 THE ABB A CONSTAXTIN. 
 
 not count. It is of your father that you must think. 
 I repeat it, Jean, it was his dearest wish. Vou can- 
 not have forgotten it." 
 
 " No, I have not forgotten; but if my father see.s 
 me, and hears me, I am certain, that he understands 
 and forgives me, for it is on his account."' 
 
 " On his account? "' 
 
 " Yes. When I heard tliat he was dead, and 
 when I heard how he died, all at once, without any 
 need of reflection, I said to myself that I would be 
 a soldier : and I will be a soldier ! Godfather, and 
 you, Madame, I beg you not to prevent me."' 
 
 The child burst into tears — a perfect flood ot 
 passionate tears. The Countess and the Abb6 
 soothed him with gentle words. 
 
 "Yes — yes — it is settled," they said; "any- 
 thing that you wish, all that you wish." 
 
 P)Oth had the same thought, — leave it to time; 
 Jean is only a child : he will change his mind. 
 
 In this both were mistaken; Jean did not change 
 his mind. In the month of September, 1876, Paul 
 de Lavardens was rejected at Saint-Cyr, and Jean 
 Reynaud passed eleventh at the Ecole Polytechnique. 
 The day when the list of the candidates who had 
 passed was published he wrote to the Abbe Con- 
 stantin : 
 
 " I have passed, and passed too well, for I want 
 to go into the army, and not the Civil Service ; how- 
 ever, if I keep my place in tlie school, that will be 
 the good fortune of one of my comrades : he will hav^e 
 my chance." 
 
 It happened so in the end. Jean Reynaud did
 
 THE ABB A CONSTANTIN. 33 
 
 better tlian keep his place ; the pass hst showed his 
 nime seventh, but instead of entering " TEcole des 
 Fonts et Chauss^es," he entered the miHtary college 
 at Fontainebleau in 1878. 
 
 He was then just twenty-one ; he was of age, 
 master of his fortune, and tlie first act of tlie new 
 administration was a great, a very great piece of 
 extravagance. He bouglit for old Clemence and 
 little Rosalie two shares in government stock of 
 fifteen hundred francs a 3'ear each. That cost him 
 70,000 francs, almost the sum that Paul de Lavardens, 
 in his first year of liberty in Paris, spent for Made- 
 moiselle Lise Bruyere, of the Palais Royal Theatre. 
 
 Two years later Jean passed first at the examina- 
 tion, and left Fontainebleau with the right of choos- 
 ing among the vacant places. There was one in 
 the regiment quartered at Souvigny, and Souvigny 
 was three miles from Longueval. Jean asked for 
 this, and obtained it. 
 
 Thus Jean Reynaud, lieutenant in the ninth regi- 
 ment of artillery, came in the month of October, 
 1880, to take possession of the house that had been 
 his father's ; thus he found himself once more in the 
 place where his childhood had passed, and where 
 every one had kept green the memory of the life and 
 death of his father : thus the Abb6 Constantin was 
 not denied che hapjMness of once again having near 
 him the son of his old friend, and. if the truth must 
 be told, he no longer wished that Jean had become 
 a doctor. 
 
 When the old Cure left his church after saving 
 mass, when he saw coming along the road a irreat
 
 34 THE ABB A CONSTANTIN. 
 
 cloud of dust, when lie felt the earth tremble under 
 the rumbling cannon, he would stop, and like a 
 child amuse himself with seeing the regiment pass ; 
 but to him the regiment was — Jean. It was this 
 robust and manly cavalier, in whose face, as in an 
 open ])ook, one read uprightness, courage, and 
 goodness. 
 
 The moment Jean perceived the Cure he would 
 put his horse to a gallop, and go to have a little chat 
 with his godfather. The horse would turn his head 
 towards the Cure, for he knew \-ery well there was 
 always a piece of sugar for him in tlie pocket of that 
 old black soutane — rusty and worn — the morning 
 soutane. The Abb6 Constantin had a beautiful new 
 one of which he took great care, to wear in society 
 
 — when he w'ent into society. 
 
 The trumpets of the regiment sounded as they 
 passed througii the village, and all eyes sought Jean 
 
 — " little Jean" — for to the old people of Longue- 
 val he was still little Jean. Certain wrinkled, 
 broken down, old peasants had never been able 
 to break them.selves of the habit of saluting him 
 when he passed with, •' pjonjour, gamin, c^a va 
 bien ? " 
 
 He was six feet higii, this "gamin," and Jean 
 never crossed the village without i)erceiving at one 
 window the old furrowed parchment skin ol CI6m- 
 ence, and at another the smiling countenance of 
 Rosalie. The latter had married during the previous 
 year, Jean had given lui- away, and joyously on the 
 wedding night had he danced with the girls of 
 Longueval.
 
 Paulim-. am>Jian. < ii'l"
 
 THE ABBf^ COXSTANTIN. 35 
 
 Such was the lieutenant of artillery who on 
 Saturday, May 28, 1881, at half-past four in the 
 afternoon, sprang from his horse before the door of 
 the vicarage of Longueval. He entered the gate, 
 the horse obediently followed, and went by himself 
 into a little shed in the yard. Pauline was at the 
 kitchen window ; Jean approached and kissed her 
 heartily on both cheeks. 
 
 " Good-evening, Pauline. Is all well?"' 
 
 "Very well. I am busy preparing your dinner; 
 would you like to know what you are going to have? 
 — potato soup, a leg of mutton, and a custard." 
 
 '•That is excellent: I shall enjoy everything, for 
 I am dying of hunger." 
 
 'And a salad; I had forgotten it; you can help 
 me cut it directly. Dinner will be at half-past six 
 exactly, for at half-past seven Monsieur le Cure has 
 his service for the month of Mary." 
 
 "Where is my godfather?" 
 
 " Vou will find him in tlie garden. He is very 
 sad on account of yesterday's sale." 
 
 " Ves, I know. I know." 
 
 "It will cheer him a little to see you; he is 
 always so happy when you are here. Take care ; 
 Loulou is going to eat the climbing roses. How hot 
 he is ! " 
 
 " I came the long way by the wood, and rode very 
 fast." 
 
 Jean captured Loulou, who was directing liis steps 
 towards the climbing roses. He unsaddled him, 
 fastened him in the little shed, rubbed him down 
 with a great handful of straw, after which he en-
 
 2,6 THE ABB& CONSTANTIM. 
 
 tered the house, relieved himself of his sword and 
 k^pi, replaced the latter by an old straw hat, value 
 sixpence, and then went to look for his godfather in 
 the garden. 
 
 The poor Abbe was indeed sad ; he liad scarcely 
 closed an eve all night — he who generally slept so 
 easily, so quietly, the sound sleep of a child. His 
 soul was wrung. Longueval in the hands of a for- 
 eigner, of a lieretic, of an adventuress ! 
 
 Jean repeated what Paul had said the evening 
 before . 
 
 " You will have nioncv, plenty of money, for your 
 poor."' 
 
 "Money! money! Yes, my poor will not lose, 
 perhaps they will even gain liy it ; but I must go and 
 ask for this money, and in the salon, instead of my 
 old and dear friend, 1 shall find this red-haired 
 American. It seems that she has red liairl I will 
 certainly go for the sake of my poor — 1 will go — 
 and she will give me the money, but she will give 
 me nothing but money; the Marquise gave me some- 
 thing else, — her life and her heart. Every week we 
 went together to visit the sick and the j^oor ; she 
 knew all the sufferings and the miseries ot the coun- 
 try round, and when the gout nailed me to my easy- 
 chair she made the rounds alone, and as well, or 
 better llian I." 
 
 Pauline inlerrupled this conversation. .She car- 
 ried an immense eartlienware salad-dish, on which 
 bloomed, violent and startling, enormous red 
 flowers. 
 
 " Here 1 am," said Pauline, " I am going to
 
 Jn the (Jardex. (Oiipositc p-.igc 36.)
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTIM. 37 
 
 cut the salad. Jean, would you like lettuce or en- 
 dive ? " 
 
 "Endive,'" said Jean, gayly. " It is a long time 
 since I have had any endive." 
 
 "Well, you shall have some to-night. Stay, take 
 the dish." 
 
 Pauline began to cut the endive, and Jean bent 
 down to receive the leaves in the great .salad-disli. 
 The Cur6 looked on. 
 
 At this moment a sound of little Ijells was heard. 
 A carriage was approaching ; one heard the jan- 
 gling and creaking of its wheels. The Curb's little 
 garden was separated from the road only by a low 
 hedge, in the middle of which was a little trellised 
 gate. 
 
 All three looked out, and saw driving down the 
 road a hired carriage of most primitive construction, 
 drawn by two great white horses, and driven by an 
 old coachman in a blouse. Beside this old coachman 
 was seated a tall footman in livery, of the most severe 
 and correct demeanor. In the carriage were two 
 young women, dressed both alike in very elegant, 
 but very simple travelling costumes. 
 
 When the carriage was opposite the gate the 
 coachman stopped his horses, and addressing tlie 
 Abbd' : 
 
 " Monsieur le Cure," said he, "these ladies wisli 
 to speak to you." 
 
 Then, turning towards the ladies : 
 
 " This is Monsieur le Cur6 of Longueval." 
 
 The Abb6 Constantin approached and opened the 
 little gate. The travellers alighted. Their looks
 
 38 THE ABB& CONSTANThV. 
 
 rested, not without astonishment, on the young 
 officer, who stood there, a httle embarrassed, with 
 his straw hat in one hand, and his salad-disli, al! 
 overflowing with endive, in the other. 
 
 The visitors entered the garden, and the elder — 
 she seemed about twenty-five — addressing the Abb6 
 Constantin, said to him, with a little foreign accent, 
 very original and very peculiar — 
 
 "I am obliged to introduce myself — Mrs. Scott; 
 I am Airs. -Scott ! It was I who bought the castle 
 and farms and all the rest here at the sale yesterday. 
 I hoi)e that I do not disturb you. and that you can 
 spare me five minutes."' Then, pointing to her 
 travelling companion, "Miss Bettina Percival, my 
 sister; you guessed it, I am sure. We are very 
 much alike, are we not? .Ah! P>ettina, we have left 
 our bags in the carriage, and we shall want them 
 directly." 
 
 " I will get them." 
 
 And as Miss Percival prepared to go fcM- the two 
 little bags Jean .said to her : 
 
 " Pray allow me." 
 
 " I am really very sorry to give you so much 
 trouble. The servant will give them to you : they 
 are on the front seat." 
 
 .She had the same accent as her sister, the same 
 large eyes, black, laughing, and gay, and the same 
 hair, not red, but fair, with golden shades, where 
 daintily danced the light of the sun. She bowed to 
 Jean with a pretty little smile, and he, having re- 
 turned to Pauline the salad-dish hill of endive, went 
 to look for the two little bajjs. Meanwhile, much
 
 THE ABB& CONSTAiVT/.V. 39 
 
 agitated, sorely disturbed, the Abb6 Constantin in- 
 troduced into his vicarage tlie new Chdtelaine of 
 Longueval.
 
 CHAPTER 111. 
 
 This vicarage of Longueval was far from being a 
 palace. The same apartment on the ground floor 
 served for dining and drawing room, communicating 
 directly with the kitchen by a door, which stood al- 
 ways wide open ; this room was furnished in the 
 most scanty manner : two old arm-chairs, six straw 
 chairs, a sideboard, a round table. Pauline had al- 
 readv laid the cloth for the dinner of the Abbe and 
 Jean. 
 
 Mrs. Scott and AIiss Percival went and came, ex- 
 amining the domestic arrangements of the Cure with 
 a sort of childish wonder. 
 
 " But the garden, the house, everything is charm- 
 ing," said Mrs. Scott. 
 
 They both boldly penetrated into the kitchen; the 
 Abbe Constantin followed them, scared, bewildered, 
 
 40
 
 THE ABB& CO.VSTANT/I^. 41 
 
 stupefied at the suddenness and resolution of this 
 American invasion. 
 
 Old Pauline, with an anxious and gloomy air, 
 studied the two foreigners. 
 
 " Here they are, then,"' she said to herself, " these 
 Protestants, these accursed heretics ! " 
 
 " I must compliment you," .said Bettina ; "your 
 little kitchen is so beautifully kept. Look, Suzie, is not 
 the vicarage altogether exactly what you wished?" 
 
 "And .so is the Cur6," rejoined Mrs. Scott. 
 " Yes, Monsieur le Cur^, if you will permit me to say 
 so, you do not know how happy it makes me to 
 tind you just what you are. In the railway car- 
 riage what did I say to you, Bettina? And again 
 just now, when we were driving here ? " 
 
 "My sister .said to me, Monsieur le Cur6, that 
 what she desired above everything was a priest, not 
 young or melancholy or severe, l)ut one with white 
 hair and a kind and gentle manner. And that is ex- 
 actly what you are, Monsieur le Cure, exactly. No, 
 we could not have been more fortunate. Excuse me 
 for speaking to you in this manner; the Parisians 
 know how to make pretty phrases, but I do not, and 
 in speaking French I should often be quite at a loss 
 if I did not say everything in a simple and childish 
 way, as it comes into my head. In a word, I am 
 satisfied, quite satisfied, and I hope that you too. 
 Monsieur le Cur6, will be satisfied with your new 
 parishioners."' 
 
 " My parishioners ! " exclaimed the Cur6, all at 
 once recovering speech, movement, life, everything 
 which for some moments had completely abandoned
 
 42 THE ABB£ CONSTANTLW 
 
 him. "My parishioners! Pardon me, Madame, 
 Mademoiselle, I am so agitated. Vou will be — you 
 are Catholic^ ? '" 
 
 " Certainly we are Catholics." 
 
 "Catholics! Catholics!" repeated the Cur6. 
 
 " Catholics ! Catholics ! " echoed old Pauline. 
 
 Mrs. Scott looked from the Cur6 to Pauline, from 
 Pauline to the Cure, nuich surprised that a single 
 word should produce such an effect, and, to complete 
 the tableau, Jean appeared carrying the two little 
 travelling-bags. 
 
 The Cur^ and Pauline saluted him with tlie same 
 words — 
 
 " Catholics ! Catholics ! " 
 
 " Ah ! i begin to understand," .said Mrs Scott, 
 laughing. "It is our name, our countrv : nou 
 thought that we were Protestants. Not at all. 
 Our motlier was a Canadian, French and Catholic by 
 descent ; that is why my sister and 1 both speak 
 Frencli, with an accent, it is true, and witli certain 
 American idioms, but yet in such a manner as to be 
 able to express nearly all we want to say. My hus- 
 band is a Protestant, but he allows me complete lib- 
 erty, and my two children are Catholics. That is 
 why, Monsieur I'Abbe, we wishi'd to come and see 
 you the very first day." 
 
 " Tiiat is one reason," continued liettina, " l)ut 
 there is also another; but for that reason we shall 
 want our little bags." 
 
 " Mere they are," .said Jean. 
 
 While the two little bags i)assed from tlie hands 
 of the officer to those of Mrs. Scott and Pettina, the
 
 THE ABB& COArSTAyrnV. 43 
 
 Cure introduced Jean to the two American ladies, 
 but liis agitation was so great tliat the introduction 
 was not made strictly according to rule. Tlie Cure 
 only forgot one thing, it is true, but that was a thing 
 tolerabh' essential in an introduction, — the family 
 name of Jean. 
 
 "This is Jean," said he, •• my godson, lieutenant 
 of artillery, now quartered at Souvigny. He is one 
 of the family." 
 
 Jean made two deep bows, the ladies two little 
 ones, after which they foraged in their bags, from 
 which each drew a rouleau of 1,000 francs, daintily 
 enclosed in green sheaths of serpent skin, clasped 
 with gold. 
 
 "1 have brought you this for your poor," said 
 JMrs. Scott. 
 
 "And I have jjrought you this." said IJettina. 
 
 "And besides that. Monsieur le Cure, 1 am going 
 to give \'ou five hundred francs a month,"' said Mrs. 
 Scott. 
 
 "And I will do lil<e my sister."' 
 
 Delicately tliey slipped their otierings into tlie 
 right and left hands of the Cure, who, lool<ing at 
 each hand alternately, said : 
 
 "What are these little things? They are very 
 heavy; there must be money in tliem. Yes, but 
 how mucii. how much?"" 
 
 The Al)l)e Constantin was seventy-two, and nuich 
 money had passed through his hands, but this 
 money had come to him in small sums, and the idea 
 of such an oiTering as this had never entered his 
 head. Two thousand francs I Never had he had
 
 44 THE ABB A CONSTANTIN. 
 
 two thousand francs in his possession — no. not 
 even one thousand. He stammered : 
 
 "I am ver\' grateful to you, Madame; you are 
 very good. Mademoiselle — '" 
 
 But after all he could not thank them enough, and 
 Jean thought it necessary to come to his assistance. 
 
 " These ladies have just given you two thousand 
 francs I "" 
 
 And then, full of warmest gratitude, the Cur6 
 cried : 
 
 "Two thousand francs I Two thousand francs 
 for my poor I "" 
 
 Pauline suddenly reappeared. 
 
 "Here, Pauline," said the Cure, "put away this 
 moncv, and take care — " 
 
 Old Pauline tilled manv positions in this simple 
 household, — cook, maid-of-all-work, treasurer, dis- 
 penser. Her hands received with a respectful trem- 
 ble these two little rouleaux, which represented so 
 much misery alleviated, so much sutVering relieved. 
 
 " A thousand francs a month ! But there will be 
 no poor left in tlie countrw" 
 
 "That is just what I wish. 1 am rich, verv rich, 
 and so is my sister: she is even richer than I am, 
 because a young girl has not so many expenses, 
 while I — Ah ! well, I spend all that I can — all 
 that I can. When one has a great deal of money, 
 too much, more than one feels to be just, tell me, 
 Monsieur le Cure, is there any other way of obtain- 
 ing pardon than to keep one's hands o])en, and give, 
 give, give, all one can, and as usefully as one can? 
 Besides, you can give me something in return," and,
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTLY. 45 
 
 turning to Pauline, •• Will you l)e so kind as to give 
 me a glass of water? No. nothing else, a glass of 
 cold water; I am dying of thirst." 
 
 "And I," .said Bettina, laughing, while Pauline 
 ran to fetch the water. " I am dying of something 
 else — of hunger, to tell the truth. Monsieur le 
 Cure, — I know that 1 am going to be dreadfully 
 intrusive; I .see your cloth is laid, — could you not 
 invite us to dinner? "" 
 
 " Bettina ! "' said Mrs. .Scott. 
 
 " Let me alone, Suzie, let me alone. Won't you. 
 Monsieur le Cure? I am sure you will."' 
 
 But he could tind no reply. Tlu old Cure hardly 
 knew where he was. They had taken his vicarage 
 by storm : they were Catholics ; they had promised 
 him a thousand francs a month, and now they wanted 
 to dine with him. Ah ! that was the last stroke. 
 Terror seized him at the thought of having to do the 
 honors of his leg of mutton and custard to these 
 two absurdly rich Americans. He murmured : 
 
 " Dine I — you would like to dine here? "" 
 
 Jean thought he must interpose again. •• It 
 would be a great pl';asure to my godfather," said he, 
 " if you would kindly stay. But I know what dis- 
 turbs him. We were going to dine together, just 
 the two of us, and you must not expect a feast. 
 You will be very indulgent ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes, very indulgent," replied Bettina: then, 
 addressing her sister, "Come, Suzie, you must not 
 be cross, because I have been a little — you know it 
 is my way to be a little — Let us stay, will you ? 
 It will do us good to jjass a quiet hour here, aftei
 
 46 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 
 
 such a dav as \vc have had I On the railway, in tlie 
 carriage, in the heat, in the dust; we had such a 
 horrid lunclieon, in such a horrid liotel. We were 
 to have returned to the same hotel at seven o'clock 
 to dine, and then take the train back to Paris, but 
 dinner here will be really much nicer. You won't say 
 no? Ah I how good you are, Suzie I "" 
 
 She embraced her sister fondly ; then turning 
 towards the Cure — 
 
 " If you onlv knew, Monsieur le Cure, how good 
 she is ! " 
 
 " Bettina! Bettina ! " 
 
 "Come,"' said Jean, "quick. Pauline, two more 
 plates; I will help you." 
 
 " And so will I," said Bettina; ■• I will help too. 
 Oh I do let me; it will I^e so anuising. Monsieur le 
 Cure, vou will let me do a little as if I were at 
 home ? " 
 
 In a moment she had taken off her mantle, and 
 Jean could admire, in all its excjuisite perfection, a 
 ligure marvellous for suppleness and grace. Mi.ss 
 Percival then removed her hat. but with a little too 
 much haste, for this was the signal for a charming 
 catastrophe. .\ whole avalanche descended in tor- 
 rents, in long cascades, over Bettina's shoulders. 
 She was standing before a window flooded by the 
 rays of the sun, and this golden light, falling full on 
 this golden hair, formed a delicious frame for the 
 sparkling beauty of the young girl. Confused and 
 blushing, Bettina was obliged to call her sister to her 
 aid, and Mrs. Scott had much trouble in introducing 
 order into this disorder.
 
 MKb. bCOi I AKKAXl.l.NG LiliiriX-V's. llAlK. (Opp. pUgC: 40.)
 
 THE ABBA CONSTANTFN. 47 
 
 When this disaster was at length repaired, nothing 
 could prevent I^ettina from rushing on plants, knives, 
 and forks. 
 
 "Oh! indeed,"' said she to Jean, "I know very 
 well how to lay the cloth. Ask mv sister. Tell 
 him, Su/.ie, when I was a little girl in New York, I 
 used to lay the cloth very well, didn't I ? '" 
 
 " Very well indeed," said Mrs. Scott. 
 
 And then, while begging the Cure to excuse Bet- 
 tina's want of thought, she, too, took off her hat and 
 mantle, so that Jean had again the very agreeable 
 spectacle of a charming figure and beautiful hair ; 
 but, to Jean's great regret, the catastrophe had not a 
 second representation. 
 
 In a few minutes, Mrs. Scott, Miss Percival, the 
 Cur6, and Jean were seated round the little vicarage 
 table ; then, thanks partly to the impromptu and ori- 
 ginal nature of the entertainment, partly to Bettina's 
 good-humor and perhaps slightly audacious gayety, 
 the conversation took a turn of the frankest and 
 most cordial familiarity. 
 
 "Now, Monsieur le Cure," said Biittina, "you 
 shall see if I did not speak the truth when I said I 
 was dying of hunger. I never was so glad to sit 
 down to dinner. This is such a delightful finish to 
 our day. Both mv sister and I are perfectly happy 
 now we have this castle and these farms and the 
 forest." 
 
 " .Vnd then." said .Mrs. Scott, " to have ail tliat in 
 such an extraordinary and unexpected manner I We 
 were so taken by surprise." 
 
 " You may indeed sav so, Suzie. You must know,
 
 48 THE ABB A CONSTANTTM. 
 
 Monsieur rAbb(§, that yesterday was my sister's 
 birthday. But first, pardon me, Monsieur — Jean, 
 is it not? "' 
 
 "Yes, Miss Percival, ]\ronsieur Jean." 
 
 " Well, Monsieur Jean, a little more of that ex- 
 cellent soup, if you please."' 
 
 The Al^be was beginning to recover a little, but he 
 was still too agitated to perform the duties of a host. 
 It was Jean who had undertaken the management of 
 his godfather's little dinner. He tilled the plate of 
 the charming American girl, who fixed upon him the 
 glance of two large eyes, in which sparkled frankness, 
 daring, and gayety. Jean"s eyes, meanwhile, repaid 
 Miss Percival in the same coin. It was scarcely 
 three-quarters of an hour since the young American 
 lady and the young ofticer had made acquaintance 
 in the Cure's garden, yet both felt already perfectly 
 at ease with each other, full of confidence, almost 
 like old friends. 
 
 " 1 told you. Monsieur I'Abbci," continued Bet- 
 tiiia, "that yesterday was my sister's birthday. A 
 week ago my JKothcr-in-law was obliged to return to 
 America, but at starting he said to mv sister. • I 
 shall not be with you on \our birthdaw but \'ou will 
 hear from me.' So yesterday presents and bouquets 
 arrived from all quarters, but from my brother-in- 
 law, up to five o'clock, nothing — nothing. We 
 were just starting for a ride in the Bois, and a propos 
 of riding" — she stopped, and looking curiously at 
 Jean's great dusty boots — "Monsieur Jean, you 
 have spurs on." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Percival."
 
 THE ABB£ CONSTANTIN. 49 
 
 " Then you are in the cavalry? "' 
 
 " I am in the artillery, and that, you know, is 
 cavalry." 
 
 " And your regiment is quartered — "' 
 
 " Quite near here." 
 
 " Tlien you will be able to ride with us?" 
 
 "With the greatest pleasure." 
 
 " Tliat is settled. Let me see ; where was I?" 
 
 "You do not know at all where you are, Bettina, 
 and you are telling these gentlemen things which 
 cannot interest them." 
 
 " Oh I I beg your pardon," said the Cure. " The 
 sale of this estate is the only subject of conversation 
 in the neighl:)orhood just now, and Miss Percival's 
 account interests me very much." 
 
 "You see, Suzie, my story interests Monsieur 
 le Cure very much ; then I shall continue. We 
 went for our ride, we returned at seven o'clock — 
 nothing. We dined, and just when we were leaving 
 the table a telegram from .America arrived. It con- 
 tained only a few lines : 
 
 " ' I have ordered the purchase to-day, for you 
 and in your name, of the castle and lands of 
 Longueval, near .Souvigny, on tlie northern railway 
 line." 
 
 " Tlien we Ijolli burst into a wild tit of laughter at 
 the thought." 
 
 "No, no, liettina; you calumniate us botii. Our 
 first thought was one of very sincere gratitude, for 
 both my sister and I are very fond of the country. 
 My husljand knows that we had longed to have an 
 estate in France. For si.\ months he had been
 
 5© THE ABB A CONSTANTTN. 
 
 looking out, and found nothing. At last he dis- 
 covered this one, and without telling us ordered it 
 to be bought for my Ijirthdav. It was a delicate 
 attention." 
 
 '•Yes, Suzie, you are right, but after tlie little fit 
 of gratitude we had a great one of gayety." 
 
 "Yes, I confe.ss it. When we realized that we 
 had suddenly become possessed of a castle, witliout 
 knowing in the least where it was. what it was like, 
 or how much it had cost, it seemed so like a fairy 
 tale. Well, for five good minutes we laughed with 
 all our hearts, then we seized the map of France, 
 and succeeded in discovering Souvigny. Wiien we 
 had finished with the map. it was tlie turn of the 
 railway guide, and this morning, by the ten o'clock 
 express, we arrived at Souvigny. '• We have passed 
 the whole day in visiting the castle, the woods, the 
 stables. We are delighted with what we have seen. 
 Only, Monsieur le Cur6, there is one thing about 
 which I feel curious. I know that the place was sold 
 yesterday by auction ; I saw the placards all along ; 
 I)ut I have not dared to ask either agent or farmer 
 who accompanied me in my walk — for my ignorance 
 would have seemed too absurd — I have not dared to 
 ask how much it cost. In the telegram my husband 
 does not mention the sum. Since I am so delighted 
 with the place, the price is only a detail, but still I 
 should like to know it. Tell me. Monsieur le Cur6, 
 do you know what it cost ? " 
 
 "An enormous price,"' replied the Cur^, "for 
 many hopes and many ambitions were e.xcited about 
 Lonsueval."
 
 THE ABB A CONSTANT IN. 51 
 
 "An enormous price! You frighten me. How 
 much exactly? " 
 
 " Three millions ! " 
 
 -Is that all? Is that all?" cried Mrs. Scott. 
 '•The castle, the farms, the forest, all for three 
 millions." 
 
 "But that is nothing." said Bettina. "That 
 delicious little stream which wanders tlirough the 
 park is alone worth three millions." 
 
 "And you said just now, Monsieur le Cure, that 
 there were several persons who were our rivals at 
 the sale ? " 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Scott." 
 
 " And, after the sale, was my name mentioned 
 among these persons ? " 
 
 " Certainly it was." 
 
 "And when my name was mentioned was there 
 no one there who spoke of me? Yes, yes, your 
 silence is a sufficient answer; they did speak of me. 
 Well, Monsieur le Cure, 1 am now serious, very 
 serious. I beg you as a favor to tell me what was 
 said." 
 
 " But," replied the poor Cur6, who felt himself 
 upon burning coals, " they spoke of your large 
 fortune." 
 
 " Yes, of course, they would be obliged to speak 
 of that, and no doubt they said tiiat 1 was very rich, 
 but had not been rich long — that I was a parvenuc. 
 Very well, but that is not all ; they must have said 
 something else." 
 
 " No, indeed; 1 have heard nothing else." 
 
 "Oh! Monsieur le Cure, that is what you may
 
 52 THE ABB& CONSTANTTN. 
 
 call a white lie, and 1 am making you very unhap]3y, 
 because naturally you are the soul of truth, but if I 
 torment you thus it is because I have the greatest 
 interest in knowing what was said." 
 
 "You are right,"' interrupted Jean, "you are 
 right. They said you were one of the most elegant, 
 the most brilliant, and the — "' 
 
 " And one of the prettiest women in Paris. With 
 a little indulgence they might say that ; but that is 
 not all yet — there is something else." 
 
 " Oh! I assure you — " 
 
 "Yes, there is something else, and I should like 
 to hear it this very moment, and 1 should like the 
 infor)riation to be very frank and very exact. It 
 seems to me that I am in a lucky vein to-day, and I 
 feel as if you were both a little inclined to be my 
 friends, and that you will be so entirely some day. 
 Well, tell me if I am right in supposing that should 
 false and absurd stories be told about me, you will 
 help me to contradict tlicin ? " 
 
 " Yes ! " replied Jean, with great eagerness, " you 
 are right in believing that."' 
 
 "Well, then, it is to you that I address myself. 
 You are a soldier, and courage is part of your pro- 
 fession. Promise mc to be brave. Will you promise 
 me ? '" 
 
 " What do you understand l)y being brave?" 
 
 "Promise, promise — without explanations, witli- 
 out conditions." 
 
 " Well, 1 promise." 
 
 " You will then reply frankly, 'Yes' or 'No,' to 
 my questions ? "
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANT/N. 53 
 
 "I will." 
 
 " Did they say that I had begged in the streets of 
 New York ? " 
 
 " Yes, they said so." 
 
 " Did they say I had been a rider in a travelling 
 circus ? " 
 
 " Yes, they said that too." 
 
 " Very well; that is plain speaking. Now remark 
 first that in all this there is nothing that one might 
 not acknowledge if it were true ; but it is not true, 
 and have I not the right of denying it? My history 
 — I will tell it you in a few words. I am going to 
 pass a part of my life in this place, and I desire that 
 all should know who I am and whence I come. To 
 begin then. Poor! Yes, I liave been, and very 
 poor. Eight years ago my father died, and was 
 soon followed by my mother. I was then eighteen, 
 and Bettina nine. We were alone in the world, 
 encumbered with heavy debts and a great lawsuit. 
 My father's last words had been, • Suzie, never, 
 never compromise. Millions, my children, you will 
 have millions." He kissed us both; soon delirium 
 seized him, and he died repeating, ' Millions ! mil- 
 lions ! " The next morning a lawyer appeared, who 
 offered to pay all our debts, and to give us besides ten 
 thousand dollars, if we would give up all our claims. 
 I refused. It was then that for several months we 
 were very poor. 
 
 "And it was then," said Hettina, " tliat I used to 
 lay the cloth." 
 
 " I spent my life among the solicitors of New 
 York, but no one would take up my case ; every-
 
 54 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 
 
 where I received the same reply, ' Your case is 
 very doubtful ; you have rich and formidable adver- 
 saries ; you need money, large sums of money, to 
 bring such a case to a conclusion, and you have 
 nothing. They offer to pay your debts, and to give 
 you ten thousand dollars besides. Accept it, and 
 sell your case.' But my father's last words rang in 
 my ears, and I would not. Poverty, however, might 
 soon have forced me to, when one day I made 
 another appeal to one of my father's old friends, a 
 banker in New York, Mr. William Scott. He was 
 not alone ; a young man was sitting in his office. 
 
 "'You may speak freely,' said Air. Scott; ' it is 
 my son Richard.' 
 
 " 1 looked at the young man, lie looked at me, and 
 we recognized each other. 
 
 " ' Suzie ! ' 
 
 " ' Richard ! ' 
 
 " Formerly, as children, we had often played to- 
 gether and were great friends. Se\'en or eight years 
 before this meeting lie had been sent to Europe to 
 finish liis education. We sliook hands ; liis father 
 made me sit down, and asked what my errand was. 
 He listened to my tale, and replied : 
 
 " ' You would require twenty or thirty thousand 
 dollars. No one would lend you such a sum upon 
 the uncertain chances of a very complicated lawsuit. 
 If you are in difficulties; if you need assistance — ' 
 
 " ' It is not that, father,' said Richard, eagerly. 
 'That is not what Miss Percival asks.' 
 
 *' ' I know that very well, but what she asks is im- 
 possible.'
 
 THE ABR& CONSTANTTN. '^'^ 
 
 " He rose to let me out. Tlien the sense of my 
 helplessness overpowered me for the first time since 
 my father's death. I burst into a violent flood of 
 tears. An hour later Richard Scott was at my house. 
 
 " ' Suzie,' he said, ' promise to accept what I am 
 going to offer." 
 
 " I promised him. 
 
 " ' Well,' said he, ' on the single condition that 
 my father shall know nothing about it, I place at your 
 disposal the necessary sum.'' 
 
 " ' But then you ought to know what the lawsuit 
 is — what it is worth.' 
 
 " ' I do not know a single word about it, and I do 
 not wish to. Besides, you have promised to accept 
 it; you cannot withdraw now.' 
 
 " He offered it to me with such frankness that I 
 accepted. Three months later the case was ours. All 
 this vast property became beyond dispute the prop- 
 erty of Bettina and me. The other side offered to 
 buy it of us for five millions. 1 con.sulted Richard. 
 
 " ' Refuse it and wait,' said he ; ' if they offer you 
 such a sum it is because the property is worth double.' 
 
 "'However, I must return you your money; I 
 owe you a great deal.' 
 
 " 'Oh! as for that there is no hurry; I am very 
 easy about it; my money is quite safe now.' 
 
 " ' But I should like to pay you at once. I have 
 a horror of debt ! Perhaps there is another way 
 witliout selling the property. Richard, will you be 
 my husband ? ' 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur le Cure, — yes," said Mrs. Scott, 
 laughing, " it is thus that I threw myself at ni)- hus-
 
 56 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 
 
 band's head. I asked his hand. But really I was 
 obliged to act thus. Never, never would he have 
 spoken : I had become too rich, and as he loved 
 me, and not my money, he was becoming ter- 
 ribly afraid of me. That is the history of my mar- 
 riage. As to the history of my fortune, it can be 
 told in a few words. There were indeed millions in 
 those wide lands of Colorado : the}' discovered there 
 abundant mines of silver, and from those mines we 
 draw every year an income which is beyond reason, 
 but we have agreed — my husband, my sister, and 
 myself — to give a very large share of this income to 
 the poor. You see. Monsieur le Cur6, it is because 
 we have known very hard times that you will always 
 find us ready to Iielp those who are, as we have been 
 ourselves, involved in the difficulties and sorrows of 
 life. And now, Monsieur Jean, will you forgive me 
 this long discourse, and offer me a little of that cream, 
 which looks so very good ? " 
 
 This cream was Pauline's custard, and while Jean 
 was serving Mrs. Scott — 
 
 " I have not yet finished,'" slie continued. •' You 
 must know what gave rise to tlicse extravagant 
 stories. A year ago, when we settled in Paris, we 
 considered it our duty on our arrival to give a certain 
 sum to the poor. Who was it spoke of that? None 
 of us, certainly, but the thing was told in a news- 
 paper, with the amount. Immediately two young 
 reporters liastened to subject .Mr. Scott to a little 
 examination on his past history ; they wished to give 
 a sketch of our career in the — what do you call 
 them? — society papers. Mr. Scott is sometimes a
 
 THE ABB A CONSTANTIN. S7 
 
 little hasty ; he was so on this occasion, and dismissed 
 these gentlemen rather Ijrusquely without telling 
 them anything. So, as tliey did not know our real 
 history, they invented one, and certainly displayed a 
 very lively imagination. One of them related how I 
 had begged in the snow in New York ; the next day 
 appeared a still more sensational article, which made 
 me a rider in a circus in Philadelphia. You have 
 some very funny papers in France ; so have we in 
 America, for the matter of that."' 
 
 During the last five minutes Pauline had been 
 making desperate signs to the Cur6, who persisted 
 in not understanding them, till at last the poor 
 woman, calling up all her courage, said : 
 
 " Monsieur le Cur6, it is a quarter-past seven." 
 
 "A quarter-pa.st seven! Ladies, I must beg you 
 to excuse me. This evening I have the special 
 service for the month of Mary." 
 
 " The month of Mary? And will the service be- 
 gin directly?" 
 
 "Yes, directly." 
 
 " And when does our train start for Paris?" 
 
 "At half-past nine," replied Jean. 
 
 " Suzie, can we not go to church first?" 
 
 " Yes, we will go," replied Mrs. Scott; " but be- 
 fore we separate. Monsieur le Cure, I have one favor 
 to ask you. 1 sliould like very much, the first time 
 I dine at Longueval, that you would dine witli me, 
 and you too. Monsieur Jean, just us four alone as 
 to-day. Oil ! do not refuse my invitation ; it is given 
 with all my heart." 
 
 " And accepted as heartily," replied Jean.
 
 58 THE abb£ constantin. 
 
 " I will write and tell you the day, and it shall be 
 as soon as possible. You call that having a house- 
 warming, don't you? Well, we will have the house- 
 warning all to ourselves."' 
 
 Meanwhile Pauline had drawn Miss Perci\al into 
 a corner of the room, and was talking to her with 
 great animation. The conversation ended with these 
 words : 
 
 " You will be there?" said Bettina, '-and you will 
 tell me the exact moment?" 
 
 " I will tell you, but take care. Here is Monsieur 
 le Cure; he must not suspect anything." 
 
 The two sisters, the Cur6, and Jean left the house. 
 To go to the church they were obliged to cross the 
 churchyard. The evening was delicious. Slowly, 
 silently, under the rays of the setting sun the four 
 walked down a long avenue. 
 
 On their way was the monument to Dr. Reynaud, 
 very simple, but which yet, by its proportions, showed 
 distinctly among the other tombs. 
 
 " Mrs. Scott and Bettina stopped, struck with this 
 inscription carved on the stone : 
 
 " Here lies Dr. Marcel Reynaud, Surgeon-Major of 
 the Souvigny Reserves; killed January 8, 1871, at 
 the battle of Villersexel. Pray for him." 
 
 When they had read it, the Cur6, pointing to 
 Jean, said these simple words : 
 
 " It was his father ! '' 
 
 The two sisters drew near tiie tomb, and with bent 
 heads remained there for some minutes, pensive, 
 touched, contemplative. Then both turned, and at 
 the same moment, by the same impulse, offered their
 
 In the Ckmetery. (Opposite page 5S.)
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 59 
 
 hands to the young officer ; then continued their 
 walk to the church. Their first prayer at Longueval 
 had been for Jean's father. 
 
 The CuriJ went to put on his surphce and stole. 
 Jean conducted Mrs. Scott to the seat which belonged 
 to the masters of Longueval. 
 
 Pauline had gone on before. She was waiting for 
 Miss Percival in the shadow behind one of the pillars. 
 By a steep and narrow staircase slie led Ikctina to 
 the gallery, and placed her before the harmonium. 
 
 Preceded by two little chorister boys, the old Cur6 
 left the vestry, and at the moment when he knelt on 
 the steps of the altar — 
 
 " Now ! mademoiselle,"' said Pauline, whose heart 
 beat with impatience. " Poor, dear man, liow pleased 
 he will be ! " 
 
 When he heard the sound of tlie music rise, soft
 
 6o THE ABB& CONST. INTTN. 
 
 as a murmur, and s^sread through the little churcli, 
 the Abb6 Constantin was filled with such emotion, 
 such joy, that the tears came to his e\'es. He could 
 not remember having wept since the day when Jean 
 had said that he wished to share all that he possessed 
 with the mother and sister of those who had fallen 
 by his father's side under the Prussian bullets. 
 
 To bring tears to the eyes of tlie old priest a young 
 American girl had been brought across the seas to 
 play a revery of Chopin in the little church of 
 Longueval.
 
 tmS 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Thk next day, at half-past live in the morning, the 
 bugle-call rang through the barrack-yard at Souvigny. 
 Jean mounted his horse, and took his place with his 
 division. By the end of May all the recruits in the 
 army are sufficiently instructed to be capable of shar- 
 ing in the general evolutions. Almost every day 
 manoeuvres of the mounted artillery are executed on 
 the parade ground. Jean loved his profession ; he 
 was in the habit of inspecting carefully the grooming 
 and harness of the horses, the ecjuipment and car- 
 riage of his men. This morning, however, he be- 
 stowed I)ut scant attention on all the little details 
 of his duty. 
 
 One problem agitated, tormented him, and left 
 him always undecided, and this ])roblem was one of 
 those the solution of which is not siiven at the Ecole
 
 62 THE ABB A CONSTANTIN. 
 
 Polyteclinique. Jean could find no convincing reply 
 to this question, " Wliich of tlie two sisters is tlie 
 prettier? '' 
 
 At the butts, during the first part of the n-'anoeuvre, 
 each battery worked on its o\\n account, under tlie 
 orders of the captain; l)ut he often reHncjuished tlie 
 place to one of his lieutenants, in order to accustom 
 them to the management of the six field-pieces. It 
 happened on this day that the command was intmsted 
 to the hands of Jean. To the great surprise of the 
 captain, in whose estimation his lieutenant held the 
 first rank as a well-trained, smart, and capable officer, 
 everything went wrong. The captain was obliged to 
 interfere; he addressed a little reprimand to Jean, 
 which terminated in these words : 
 
 " I cannot understand it at all. What is the mat- 
 ter with you this morning? It is the first time such 
 a thing has happened with you." 
 
 It was also the first time that Jean had seen any- 
 thing at the ]:)utts at Souvigny but cannon, ammuni- 
 tion-wagons, horses, or gunners. 
 
 In the clouds of dust raised by the wheels of the 
 wagons and the hoofs of tlie liorses Jean beheld, not 
 the second mounted l)attcry of the ninth regiment 
 of artillery, l)ut the distinct images of two American 
 women with black eyes and golden hair ; and, at the 
 moment when he listened respectfully to the well- 
 merited lecture from his captain, he was in tlie act 
 of saying to himself: 
 
 " The prettier is Mrs. Scott I " 
 
 Every morning the exercise is divided into two 
 parts by a little interval often minutes. Tiie officers
 
 THE ABB& COiVSTANTIN. 63 
 
 gathered together and talked; Jean remained apart, 
 alone with his recollections of the previous evening. 
 His thoughts obstinately gathered round the vicarage 
 of Longueval. 
 
 " Yes ! the more charming of the two sisters was 
 Mrs. Scott : Miss Percival was only a child."' 
 
 He again saw Mrs. Scott at the Curb's little table. 
 He heard her story told with sucli frankness, such 
 freedom. The harmony of that very peculiar, very 
 fascinating voice, still enchanted his ear. He was 
 again in the church ; she was there before him, bend- 
 ing over her prie-Dieu, her pretty head resting in her 
 two little hands ; then the music arose, and far off, 
 in the dusk, Jean perceived Bettina's fine and deli- 
 cate profile. 
 
 ' ' A child — was she only a child ? "' 
 
 The trumpets sounded, the practice recommenced ; 
 this time, fortunately, no command, no responsi- 
 bility. The four batteries executed their evolutions 
 together : this immense mass of men, horses, and 
 carriages, deployed in every direction, now drawn 
 out in a long line, again collected into a compact 
 group. All stopped at the same instant along the 
 whole extent of the ground ; tlie gunners sprang 
 from their horses, ran to their pieces, detached each 
 from its team, which, went off at a trot, and prepared 
 lo fire witli amazing rapidity. Then the horses 
 returned, the men re-attached their pieces, sprang 
 quickly to saddle, and the regiment started at full 
 gallop across the field. 
 
 Very gently in the thoughts of Jean, Bettina re- 
 gained her advantage over Mrs. Scott. She appeared
 
 64 THE ABB A CONSTANTIN. 
 
 to him smiling and blushing amid the sun-lit clouds 
 of her floating hair. Monsieur Jean, she had called 
 him — Monsieur Jean; and never had his name 
 sounded so sweet. And that last pressure of the 
 hand on taking leave, before entering the carriage. 
 Had not Miss Percival given him a more cordial 
 clasp than Mrs. Scott had done? Yes, positi\-ely a 
 little more. 
 
 "I was mistaken," thought Jean; "the prettier 
 is Miss Percival."' 
 
 The day's work was finished ; the pieces were 
 ranged regularly in line one behind the other ; they 
 defiled rapidly, with a horrible clatter and in a cloud 
 of dust. When Jean, sword in hand, passed before 
 his colonel, the images of the two sisters were so 
 confused and intermingled in his recollection that 
 they melted the one in the otiier, and became in 
 some measure the image of one and the same person. 
 Any parallel became impossible between them, 
 thanks to tliis singular confusion of the two points 
 of comparison. Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival re- 
 mained tluis inseparable in the thoughts of Jean until 
 the day when it was granted to him to see them 
 again. The impression of tliat meeting was not 
 effaced ; it was always there, persistent, and very 
 sweet, till Jean began to feel disturbed. 
 
 " Is it possiI)le " — so ran his meditations — " is 
 it po.ssible that 1 have been guilty of the folly of fall- 
 ing in love madly at first sight? No; one might fall 
 in love with a woman, but not with two women at 
 once."' 
 
 That thouglit reassured him. He was very young.
 
 THE ABB A CONSTANTIN. 65 
 
 this great fellow of four-and-twenty ; never had love 
 entered fully into his heart. Love ! He knew very 
 little about it, except from books, and he had read 
 but few of them. Hut he was no angel; he could 
 find plenty of attractions in the " grisettes " of 
 Souvigny, and when tliey would allow him to tell 
 them that tliey were charming he was cjuite ready to 
 do so, i)ut it had never entered his head to regard as 
 love those passing fancies, which only caused the 
 slightest and most superficial disturbance in his 
 heart. 
 
 Paul de Lavardens iiad marvellous powers of en- 
 tluisiasm and idealization. His lieart sheltered 
 alwavs two or three " grandes passions,"' which lived 
 there in perfect harmony. Paul had been so clever 
 as to discover, in this little town of fifteen thousand 
 souls, numbers of pretty girls, all made to be adored. 
 He always believed himself the discoverer of Amer- 
 ica, when, in fact, he had done nothing but follow in 
 tile track of other navigators. 
 
 Tlie world — Jean had scarcely encountered it. 
 He had allowed himself to be dragged by Paul, a 
 dozen times, perhaps, to soirees or balls at the great 
 houses of the neighborhood. He had invariably 
 returned thoroughly bored, and had concluded that 
 these pleasures were not made for him. His tastes 
 were simple, serious. He loved solitude, work, long 
 walks, open spaces, horses, and books. He was a 
 son of Nature — somewhat of a peasant. He loved his 
 village, and all the old friends of his childhood. A 
 quadrille in a drawing-room caused him unspeakable 
 terror; but every year, at the festival of tiie patron
 
 66 THE ABB A CONSTANTIN. 
 
 saint of Longueval, he danced gayly with tlie young 
 girls and farmers' daughters of the neighborhood. 
 
 If he had seen Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival at 
 home in Paris, in all the splendor of their luxury, in 
 all the perfection of their costly surroundings, he 
 woukl have looked at them tVom afar, with curiosit}', 
 as e-xcjuisite works of art. Then he would have re- 
 turned home, and would have slept, as usual, the 
 most peaceful slumber in the world. 
 
 Yes, but it was not thus that the thing had come 
 to pass, and hence his excitement, hence his dis- 
 turbance. These two women had shown themselves 
 before him in the midst of a circle with which he 
 was familiar, and which had been, if only for this 
 reason, singularly favorable to them. Simple, good, 
 frank, cordial, such they had shown themselves the 
 very iirst day, and delightfully pretty into the bar- 
 gain — a fact which is pever insignificant. Jean fell 
 at once under the charm ; he was there still I 
 
 At the moment when he dismounted in the bar- 
 rack-yard, at nine o'clock, the old priest began his 
 campaign joyously. Since the previous evening the 
 Abbe's head had been on lire : Jean had not .slept 
 much, but he had not slept at all. lie had risen 
 very early, and with closed doors, alone with 
 Pauline, he had counted and re-counted his money, 
 spreading on the tal)le his hundred " louis d'or," 
 gloating over them like a miser, and like a miser 
 finding exquisite pleasure in handling his hoard. 
 All that was his I for him! — that is to say, for the 
 poor. 
 
 "Do not be too lavish. Monsieur le Cur6," said
 
 THE ABB A CONSTANTIN. 6"] 
 
 Pauline; "be economical. 1 tliink that if 3-011 
 distriljiite to-day a hundred francs — "" 
 
 "That is not enough, Pauline. I shall onlv have 
 one such da_\- in mv life, but one I will have. How 
 much do you think I shall give to-day?" 
 
 " How much. Monsieur le Cure? "■ 
 
 " A thousand francs ! " 
 
 ' ' A thousand francs ! ! "' 
 
 "Yes. We are millionaires now; we possess all 
 the treasures of America, and you talk about econ- 
 omy? Not to-day, at all events; indeed, I have no 
 right to think of it." 
 
 After saying mass, at nine o'clock he set out and 
 showered gold along his way. All had a share — ■ 
 the poor who acknowledged their poverty and those 
 who concealed it. Each alms was accompanied by 
 the same little discourse : 
 
 " This comes from the new owners of Longueval 
 — two American ladies, Mrs. Scott and Miss 
 Percival. Remember their names and pray for 
 them." 
 
 Then he made off without waiting for thanks, 
 across the fields, through the woods, froni hamlet to 
 hamlet, from cottage to cottage — on, on, on. A 
 sort of intoxication mounted to his brain. Every- 
 where were cries of joy and astonishment. All 
 these " louis d'or" fell, as if by a miracle, into the 
 poor hands accustomed to receive little pieces of 
 silver. The Cur6 was guilty of follies, actual follies. 
 He was out of bounds ; he did not recognize him- 
 self; he had lost all control over himself; he even 
 gave to those who did not ask anvthing.
 
 68 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 
 
 He met Claude Rigal, the old sergeant, wlio had 
 left one of his arms at Sevastopol. He was growing 
 gray — nay, white, for time passes, and the soldiers 
 of the Crimea will soon be old men. 
 
 " Here," said the Cur6, " I have twenty francs for 
 you."' 
 
 "Twenty francs! But I never asked for any- 
 thing; I do n"t want anything; I have my pension." 
 
 His pension ! Seven hundred francs I 
 
 " Very good ! It will be something to buy you 
 cigars. Listen : it comes from America."'' 
 
 And then followed the Abbe's little speech about 
 the new owners of Longueval. 
 
 He went to a poor woman, whose son had just 
 gone to Tunis. 
 
 " Well, how is your son getting on? " 
 
 "Not so bad. Monsieur le Cur6 ; 1 had a letter 
 from him yesterday. He does not complain, he is 
 very well, only he says there are no Kroomirs. 
 Poor boy ! I have been saving for a montli, and I 
 think I shall soon be able to send him ten francs.'' " 
 
 " You shall .send liim thirty. Take this."" 
 
 " Twenty francs ! Monsieur Ic Cure, you give me 
 twenty francs? "' 
 
 " Yes, that is for you." 
 
 " For my boy? "' 
 
 " For your boy. But listen ; you must know from 
 whom it comes, and you must take care to tell your 
 son when you write to him." 
 
 Again tiic little speech about Mrs. Scott and Miss 
 Percival, and again the adjuration to remember 
 them in their prayers. At six o'clock he returned
 
 At the Oi'eka. (Opposite page 6S.)
 
 THE ABB A CONSTANTIN. 69 
 
 home exhausted with fatigue, Ijut with his soul tilled 
 with joy. 
 
 " I have given awav all ! " he cried, as soon as he 
 saw Pauline ; " all ! all ! all ! " 
 
 He dined, and then went in the evening to per- 
 form the usual service for the month of Mary. But 
 this time the harmonium was silent ; Miss Percival 
 was no longer there. 
 
 The little organist of the evening before was at 
 that moment much perplexed. On two couches in 
 her dressing-room were spread two dresses, — a white 
 and a blue. Bettina was meditating which of these 
 two dresses she would wear to go to the Opera that 
 evening. After long hesitation she fi.xed on the white. 
 At half-past nine the two sisters ascended the grand 
 staircase at the Opera House. Just as they entered 
 their box the curtain rose on the second scene of the 
 second act of .Ihia, that containing the ballet and 
 march. 
 
 Two young men, Roger de Puymartin and Louis 
 de Martillet, were seated in the front of a stage-bo.x. 
 The young ladies of the corps de ballet had not yet 
 appeared, and these gentlemen, having no occupa- 
 tion, were amusing themselves with looking about the 
 house. The appearance of Miss Percival made a 
 strong impression upon both. 
 
 " Ah I ah!" said Puymartin, "there she is, the 
 little golden nugget ! "' 
 
 " She is perfectly dazzling this evening, this little 
 golden nugget," continued Martillet. " Look at her, 
 at the line of her neck, the fall of her shoulders, — 
 still a young girl, and already a woman.''
 
 70 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 
 
 "Yes, she is charming, and tolerably well off into 
 the bargain." 
 
 " Fifteen millions of her own, and the silver mine 
 is still productive."' 
 
 " B^rulle told me twenty-five millions, and he is 
 very well up in American affairs." 
 
 "Twenty-five millions I A pretty haul for Ro- 
 manelli I " 
 
 ' * What ! Romanelli ? " 
 
 " Report says that that will be a match; that it is 
 already settled." 
 
 "A match may be arranged, but with Alontessan, 
 not with Romanelli. Ah I at last I Here is the ballet." 
 
 They ceased to talk. The ballet in Aida lasts 
 only five minutes, and for those live minutes they 
 had come. Conseciuently they must be enjoyed 
 respectfully, religiously, for it is a peculiarity among 
 a number of the habitues of the Opera, that they 
 chatter like magpies w'hen they ought to be silent, 
 to listen, and that they observe the most absolute 
 silence when they might be allowed to speak, while 
 looking on. 
 
 The trumpets of "Aida" had given their last 
 heroic fanfare in honor of Radames before the great 
 sphinxes under the green foliage of the palm-trees, 
 the dancers advanced, the light trembling on their 
 spangled roljes, and took possession of the stage. 
 
 With much attention and pleasure Mrs. Scott fol- 
 lowed the evolutions of the ballet, but Bettina had 
 suddenly become thoughtful, on perceiving in a box, 
 on the other side of the house, a tall, dark young 
 man. Miss Percival talked to herself, and said :
 
 
 Jean's Stldv. ((Jppositc page 70,)
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 71 
 
 "What shall I do? What shall I decide on? 
 Must I marry him, that handsome, tall fellow over 
 there, who is watching me, ... for he is looking 
 at me? He will come into our box as soon as this 
 act is over, and then I have only to say, ' I have de- 
 cided ; here is my hand ; I will be your wife,' and 
 then all would be settled ! I should be Princess ! 
 Princess Romanelli ! Princess Bettina ! Bettina Rom- 
 anelli ! The names go well together ; they sound 
 very pretty. Would it amuse me to be a Princess? 
 Yes — and no ! Amongst all the young men in Paris 
 who during the last year have run after my money, 
 this Prince Romanelli is the one who pleases me best. 
 One of these days I must make up my mind to marry. 
 I think he loves me. Yes, but the question is, do I 
 love him? Xo. I don't think I do, and I should so 
 much like to love — so much, so much ! " 
 
 At the precise moment when these retiections were 
 pa.ssing through Bettina's pretty head, Jean, alone in 
 his study, seated before his desk with a great book 
 under the shade of his lamp, looking through the his- 
 tory of Turenne's campaigns, and was taking notes. 
 He had been directed to give a course of instruction 
 to the non-commissioned officers of the regiment, and 
 was prudently preparing his lesson for the next day. 
 
 But in the midst of his notes — Nordlingen, 1645 ; 
 les Dunes, 1658; Mulhausen and Turckheim, 1674- 
 1675 — he suddenly perceived (Jean did not draw 
 very badly) a sketch, a woman's portrait, which all 
 at once appeared under his pen. What was she 
 doing there, in the middle of Turenne's victories, 
 this pretty little woman? And then who was she —
 
 72 THE ABB A CONST ANTIN. 
 
 Mrs. Scott or Miss Percival? How could lie tell? 
 They resembled each other so much ; and laboriously, 
 painfully, Jean returned to the history of the cam- 
 paigns of Turenne. 
 
 And at the same moment the Abbe Constantin, 
 on his knees before his little wooden bedstead, was 
 calling down, with all the strength of his soul, the 
 blessings of Heaven on the two women through 
 whose bounty he had passed such a sweet and 
 happy day. He prayed Ciod to bless Mrs. Scott in 
 her children, and to give to Miss Percival a hus- 
 band after her own heart.
 
 r^,^ 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Formerly Paris belonged to the Parisians, and 
 that at no very remote period, — tliirty or forty years 
 ago. At that epoch the P'rench were tlie masters of 
 Paris, as the English are the masters of London, 
 the Spaniards of Madrid, and the Russians of St. 
 Petersburg. Those times are no more. Other 
 countries still have their frontiers ; there are now 
 none to France. Paris lias become an immense 
 Babel, a universal and international city. Foreigners 
 do not come merely to visit Paris ; they come there to 
 live. At the present day we have in Paris a Russian 
 colony, a Spanish colony, a Levantine colony, an 
 American colony. The foreigners have already con- 
 quered from us the greater part of the Champs- 
 Elys^es and the Boulevard .Malesherbes ; they 
 
 73
 
 74 THE ABB A CONSTANTIM. 
 
 advance, they extend their outworks : we retreat, 
 pressed back by the invaders ; we are obliged to 
 expatriate ourselves. We have begun to found 
 Parisian colonies in the plains of Passy, in the plain 
 of Monceau, in quarters which formerly were not 
 Paris at all, and which are not quite even now. 
 Amongst the foreign colonies, the richest, tlie most 
 populous, the most brilliant, is the American colon v. 
 There is a moment when an American feels himself 
 rich enough ; a Frenchman, never. The American 
 then stops, draws breath, and while still husbanding 
 the capital, no longer spares the income. He knows 
 how to spend ; the Frenchman knows only how to 
 save. 
 
 The Frenchman has only one real luxury. — his 
 revolutions. Prudently and wisely he reserves him- 
 self for them, knowing well that they will cost France 
 dear, but that, at the same time, they w'ill furnish 
 the opportunity for advantageous investments. The 
 Frenchman says to himself: 
 
 " Let us hoard ! let us hoard ! let us hoard ! Some 
 of these mornings there will be a revolution, which 
 will make the five per cents fall fifty or sixty francs. 
 I will buy then. Since revolutions are inevitable, let 
 us try at least to make them profitable." 
 
 They are always talking about tlie people wlio are 
 ruined by revolutions, but perhaps the number of 
 those enriched by revolutions is still greater. 
 
 The Americans experience the attraction of J'aris 
 very strongly. There is no town in the world where 
 it is easier or more agreeable to spend a great deal 
 of money. Ft)r many reasons, both of race and
 
 THE ABB& COMSTAiVTIN. 75 
 
 origin, this attraction exercised over Mrs. Scott and 
 JVIiss Percival a very remarkable power. 
 
 The most French of our colonies is Canada, wliich 
 is no longer ours. The recollection of their first 
 home has been preserved faithfully and tenderly in 
 the hearts of the emigrants to Montreal and Quebec. 
 Suzie Percival liad received from her mother an 
 entirclv French education, and she had brought up 
 her sister in the same love of our country. The two 
 sisters felt themselves Frenchwomen : still better, 
 Parisians. As soon as the avalanche of dollars had 
 descended upon them, the same desire seized them 
 both, — to come and live in Paris. They demanded 
 France as if it had been their fatherland. Mr. Scott 
 made some opposition. 
 
 "If I go away from here,"' he said, "your in- 
 comes will suffer." 
 
 "What does that matter? ■' replied Suzie. *'We 
 are rich — too rich. Do let us go. We shall be so 
 happy, so delighted ! " 
 
 Mr. Scott allowed himself to be persuaded, and 
 at the beginning of January, 1880, Suzie wrote the 
 following letter to her friend, Katie Norton, who had 
 lived in Paris for some years : 
 
 "Victory! It is decided! Richard has con- 
 sented. I shall arrive in April, and become a 
 Frenchwoman again. You offered to undertake all 
 the preparations for our settlement in Paris. 1 am 
 horribly presuming — I accept! When I arrive in 
 Paris, I should like to be able to enjoy Paris, and 
 not be obliged to lose my first month in nmning 
 after upholsterers, coach-builders, horse-dealers. I
 
 76 THE abbA constantin. 
 
 should like, on arriving at the railway station, to find 
 awaiting me iiiv carriage, my coacliman, my horses. 
 That very day I should like you to dine with me at 
 my home. Hire or buy a mansion, engage the ser- 
 vants, choose the horses, the carriages, the liveries. 
 I depend entirely upon you. As long as the liveries 
 are blue, that is the only point. This line is added 
 at Bettina's request. 
 
 "We shall bring only seven persons with us. 
 Richard will have his valet, Bettina and 1 two ladies'- 
 maids ; then there are the two governesses for the 
 children, and, besides these, two grooms, Toby and 
 Boljbv, who ride to perfection. We should never 
 find in Paris such a perfect jjair. 
 
 " Everything else, people and things, we shall 
 leave in New York. No, not cjuite everything; I 
 had forgotten four little ponies, four little gems, 
 black as ink. We have not the heart to leave them ; 
 we shall drive them in a phaeton; it is delightful. 
 Bolli Bettina and 1 drive fi>ur-in-]ian(l very well. 
 Ladies can drive four-in-hand in the • Bois * very 
 early in tiie marning, can't they? Here it is quite 
 possible. 
 
 "Above all, my dear Katie, do not consider 
 money. Be as extravagant as you like, that is all I 
 ask."' 
 
 The same day that .Mrs. Xorton received this 
 letter witnessed the failure of a certain (larneville. 
 He was a great speculator who had been on a false 
 scent. Stocks had fallen just when he had ex- 
 pected a rise. This Garneville had, six weeks 
 before, installed himself in a brand new house,
 
 THE ABR& CONSTANTIN. 77 
 
 wliicli luid no other foult tlian ;i too startlin<^ mag- 
 hiticcnce. 
 
 Mrs. Norton signed an agreement — one hundred 
 thousand francs a year, with tlie option of buying 
 house and furniture for two milUons during the first 
 year of possession. A famous upholsterer under- 
 took to correct and subdue the exaggerated splendor 
 of a loud and gorgeous luxury. 
 
 That done, Mrs. Scott's friend had the good 
 fortime to lay her hand on two of those eminent 
 artists without whom the routine of a great house 
 can neither be established nor carried on. The first, 
 a tlicf of tiie first rank, who had just leit an ancient 
 mansion of the Faubourg St. -Germain, to his great 
 regret, iox he had aristocratic inclinations. 
 
 " Never," said he to Mrs. Norton, — " never would 
 I have left the service of Madame la Duchesse if she 
 had kept up her estal)lishment on the same footing 
 as formerl)- ; but Madame la Duchesse has four 
 children, — two sons who have run through a good 
 deal, and two daughters wiio will soon be of an age 
 to marry; they must have their dowries. There- 
 fore Madame la Duchesse is obliged to draw in a 
 little, and the house is no longer important enough 
 for me." 
 
 This distinguished character, of course, made his 
 conditions. Though excessive, they did not alarm 
 Mrs. Norton, who knew that he was a man of the 
 most serious merit ; but he, before deciding, asked 
 permission to telegraph to New York. He wished 
 to make certain inquiries. The reply was favorable ; 
 he accepted.
 
 yS THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 
 
 The second great artist was a stud-groom of the 
 rarest and highest capacity, who was just about to 
 retire after having made his fortune. He consented, 
 however, to organize the stables for Mrs. Scott. It 
 was thoroughly understood that he should have 
 every liberty in purchasing the horses ; that he 
 should wear no livery ; that he should choose the 
 coachmen, the grooms, and every one connected 
 with the stables ; that he should never have less than 
 fifteen horses in the stables, that no bargain should 
 be made with the coach-builder or saddler without 
 his intervention ; and that he should never mount the 
 box, except early in the morning, in plain clothes, 
 to give lessons in driving to the ladies and children, 
 if necessary. 
 
 The cook took possession of his stores, and the 
 stud-groom of liis stables. Everything else was only 
 a question of money, and with regard to this Mrs. 
 Norton made full use of her extensive powers. She 
 acted in conformity with the instructions she had 
 received. In the short space of two months she 
 performed prodigies, and that is Iiow, when, on the 
 15th of April, 1880, Mr. Scott, Su/.ie, and Bettina 
 alighted from th^' mail train Irom Havre, at lialf-past 
 four in the afternoon, they found Mrs. Norton at tlie 
 station of St. Lazarre, who said : 
 
 " \'oitr caleche is there in the yard: IjL'hind it is a 
 landau for the children; and behind the landau is an 
 omnibus for the servants. The three carriages ])ear 
 your monogram, are driven by your coaciimen, and 
 drawn by your horses. \'()ur address is 24 Rue 
 Murillo, and liere is the menu of vour dinner to-ni";ht.
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 79 
 
 You invited me two months ago ; I accept, and will 
 even take the liberty of bringing a dozen friends with 
 me. 1 shall furnish everything, even the guests. 
 But do not be alarmed ; you know them all ; they are 
 mutual friends, and this evening we shall be able to 
 judge of the merits of 3-our cook.'' 
 
 The tirst Parisian who had the honor and pleasure 
 of paying homage to the beauty of Mrs. Scott and 
 Miss Percival was a little " marmiton " or baker's boy 
 of fifteen years old, who stood there in his white 
 clothes, his wicker basket on his head, just as Mrs. 
 Scott's carriage, entangled in the multitude of vehi- 
 cles, was slowly working its way out of the station. 
 The baker's boy stopped short' on the pavement, 
 opened wide his eyes, looked at the two sisters with 
 amazement, and boldly cast full in their faces the 
 single word : 
 
 " Masettc .'"' 
 
 When Madame Recamier saw her first wrinkles 
 and first gray hairs, she said to a friend — 
 
 " Ah ! my dear, there are no more illusions left for 
 me ! From tlie day when 1 saw that the little chimney- 
 sweeps no longer turned round in the street to look at 
 me, I understood that all was over.'' 
 
 The opinion of confectioners' boys is, in simi- 
 lar cases, of equal value with the opinion of the little 
 chimney-sweeps. All was not over for Suzie and 
 Bettina ; on the contrary, all was only beginning. 
 
 Five minutes later, Mrs. Scott's carriage was as- 
 cending the Boulevard Haussmann to the slow and 
 measured trot of a pair of admirable horses. Paris 
 counted two Parisians the more.
 
 8o THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 
 
 The success of Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival was 
 immediate, decisive, like a flash of Hghtning. The 
 beauties of Paris are not classed and catalogued 
 like the beauties of London ; they do not publish 
 their portraits in the illustrated papers, or allow their 
 photograph to be sold at the stationers'. However, 
 there is always a little staff, consisting of a score of 
 women, wlio represent the grace, and charm, and 
 beauty of Paris, which women, after ten or twelve 
 years' service, pass into the reserve, just like the old 
 generals. Suzie and Bettina imn\ediately became 
 part of this little staff. It was an affair of four-and- 
 twenty hours — of less than four-and-twenty hours, 
 for all passed between eight in the morning and mid- 
 night the day after their arrival in Paris. 
 
 Imagine a sort of little '■'■ fcerie,"' in three acts, the 
 success of which increases from tableau to tableau. 
 
 1st. A ride at ten in the morning in the Bois, with 
 the two marvellous grooms imported from America. 
 
 2d. .\ walk at six o'clock in the " Alice des 
 Acacias."' 
 
 3d. An appearance at tlie Oi)cra at ten in the 
 evening in .Mrs. Norton's box. 
 
 The two new-comers were immediately remarked, 
 and appreciated as they deserved to be, by the thirty 
 or forty persons who constitute a sort of mysterious 
 tribunal, and wlio, in the name of all Paris, pass sen- 
 tences beyond appeal. Tiiese thirty or forty persons 
 have from time to time tlie fancy to declare "deli- 
 cious '' some woman who is manifestly ugly. That 
 is enough; she is "delicious" from that moment. 
 
 The beauty of the two sisters was unquestionable.
 
 THE ABB A CONSTANTIN. 8 1 
 
 In the morning it was their grace, their elegance, 
 their distinction that attracted universal admiration ; 
 in the afternoon it was declared that their wall< had 
 tlie freedom and ease of two young goddesses ; in 
 the evening there was but one cry of rapture at the 
 ideal perfection of their shoulders. From that mo- 
 ment all Paris had for the two sisters the eyes of the 
 little " marmiton " of the Rue d'Amsterdam ; all Paris 
 repeated his " Alazette," though naturally with the 
 variations and developments im[)osed by the usages 
 of the world. 
 
 Mrs. Scott's drawing-room immediately became 
 the fashion. The Jiahititcs of three or four great 
 American liouses transferred themselves in a body 
 to tlie Scotfs, wlio liad three hundred persons at 
 their first Wednesday. Their circle rapidly in- 
 crea.sed ; there was a little of everything to be found 
 in their set, — Americans, Spaniards, Italians, Hun- 
 garians, Russians, and even Parisians. 
 
 When she had related her story to the Abb6 
 Con.stantin, Mrs. Scott had not told all — one 
 never does tell all. In a word, she was a coquette. 
 Mr. Scott had tlie most perfect confidence in his 
 wife, and left her entire liljerty. He was very little 
 seen; he was an lionorable man, who felt a vague 
 embarrassment at iiaving made such a marriage, at 
 having married so much money. Having a taste for 
 business, he had great pleasure in devoting himself 
 entirely to the administering of tlie two immense 
 fortunes which were in his hands, in continually 
 increasing them, and in saying every year to his 
 wife and sister-in-law :
 
 82 THE ABB& COXSTANTIN. 
 
 " You are still richer than you were last year!" 
 
 Not content with watching with much prudence 
 and ability over the interests which he had left in 
 America, he launched in France into large specula- 
 tions, and was as successful in Paris as he had been 
 in New York. In order to make money, the tirst 
 thing is to have no need of it. 
 
 They made love to Mrs. Scott to an enormous 
 extent ; they made love to her in French, in Italian, 
 in English, in Spanish, for she knew those four 
 languages, and there is one advantage that foreigners 
 have over our poor Parisians, who generally known 
 only their mother tongue, and have not the resource 
 of international passions. 
 
 Naturally Mrs. Scott did not chase her adorers 
 from her presence. She had ten, twenty, thirty at 
 a time. No one could boast of any preference; 
 to all she opposed the same amiable, laughing, joy- 
 ous resistance. It was clear to all that the game 
 amused her, and that she did not for a moment 
 take it seriously. Mr. Scott never felt a moment's 
 anxietv, and he was perfectly right. More, he en- 
 joyed his wife's successes ; he was happy in seeing her 
 hai)py. He loved her dearly — a little more than 
 she loved him. She loved him very much, and 
 that was all. There is a great difference between 
 dearly and 7>c)y much when these two adverbs are 
 placed after the verb to lo\e. 
 
 As to Bettina, around her was a maddening whirl, 
 an orgy of adulation ! Such a fortune ! such beauty ! 
 Miss Percival arrived in Paris on the 15th of April; 
 a fortnight had not passed before the offers of mar-
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANT fN. S3 
 
 riage began to pour upon her. In the course of that 
 first year she might, had she wished it, have been 
 married thirty-four times, and to what a variety of 
 suitors ! 
 
 Her hand was asked for a }oung exile, who, 
 under certain circumstances, miglit be called to 
 ascend a throne — a very small one, it is tnie, but 
 a throne nevertheless. 
 
 Her hand was asked for a young Duke, who 
 would make a great figure at Court when France — 
 as was inevitable — sliould recognize her errors, 
 and bow down before iier legitimate masters. 
 
 Her hand was asked for a young Prince, who 
 would have a place on the steps of the throne when 
 France — as was inevitable — should again knit 
 together the chain of the Napoleonic traditions. 
 
 Her hand was asked for a young Republican 
 deputy, who JTad just made a brilliant dlbitt in the 
 Chamber, and for wliom the future reserved the 
 most splendid destiny, for the Republic was now 
 established in France on the most indestructible 
 basis. 
 
 Her hand was asked for a young Spaniard of the 
 purest lineage, and she was given to understand that 
 the contrat would be signed in the palace of a queen 
 who does not live far from the Arc de TEtoile. 
 Besides, one can find her address in' the " Almanach 
 Bottin," for at the present day there are queens who 
 have their address in Bottin between an attorney 
 and a druggist : it is only the kings of France 
 who no longer live in France. 
 
 Her hand was asked for tlie son of a peer of
 
 §4 THE ABB A CONS7\L\'7VX. 
 
 England, and for the son of a member of the highest 
 Viennese aristocracy ; for the son of a Parisian 
 banker, and for tlie son of a Russian anil)assador ; 
 for a Hungarian Count, and for an Italian Prince; 
 and also for various excellent \'oung men who were 
 nothing and had nothing — neither name nor for- 
 tune; but Bettina had granted them a waltz, and, 
 believing themselves irresistible, they lioped tliat 
 they had caused a flutter of that little heart. 
 
 But up to the present moment nothing had 
 touched that little heart, and the re])lv had been 
 the same to all, — '• No ! "' " No ! " again " No ! " 
 always " No ! '' 
 
 Some days after that jH-rformance of .IhLi, the 
 two sisters had a ratlier long conversation on tliis 
 great, this eternal question of marriage. A certain 
 name had been jironounced by Mrs. Scott which 
 had provoked on the part of Miss Percival the most 
 decided and most energetic refusal, and .Suzie had 
 laughingly said to her sister: 
 
 " But, Bettina. vou will be obliged to end by 
 marrying." 
 
 " Yes, certainly, l)ut I should be so sorry to 
 marry without love. It seems to me that before I 
 could resolve to do such a thing I must Ix' in dan- 
 ger of dying an old maid, and I am not yet that." 
 
 '♦ No, not yet." 
 
 " Let us wait, let us wait."' 
 
 " Let us wait. But among all these lovers whom 
 you have been dragging after you ior the last year, 
 there have been some very nice, \-ery amiable, and it 
 is reallv a little strange if none of them — "
 
 THE ABB& COXSTANTIN. "^S 
 
 " Not one, my Suzie, not one ; absolutely not one. 
 Why should I not tell you the truth ? Is it their fault ? 
 Have they gone unskilfully to work? Could they, in 
 managing better, have found the way to my heart? 
 or is the fault in me? Is it, perhaps, that the way 
 to my heart is a steep, rocky, inaccessible way, 
 by which no one will ever pass? Am I a horrid 
 little creature, arid, cold, and condemned never to 
 love ? "' 
 
 "I do not think so." 
 
 "Neither do 1. but up to the present time that 
 is my history. No, I have never felt anything 
 which resembled love. You are laughing, and I can 
 guess why. You are saying to yourself, ' A little girl 
 like that pretending to know what love is ! '' You 
 are right ; 1 do not know, but I have a pretty good 
 idea. To love — is it not to prefer to all in the 
 world one certain person ? " 
 
 " Yes ; it is really that." 
 
 " Is it not never to weary of seeing that person, 
 or of hearing him? Is it not to cease to live when 
 he is not there, and to immediately begin to revive 
 when he reappears?" 
 
 " Oh ! but this is romantic love." 
 
 "Well, that is the love of which I dream, and 
 that is the love which does not come — not at all till 
 now ; and yet that person preferred by me to all 
 and everything does e.xi.st. Do you know who 
 it is?" 
 
 " No, I do not know: 1 do not know, but I have 
 a little suspicion." 
 
 " Yes, it is you, my dearest ; and it is perhaps
 
 86 THE ABB& CONSTANTLY 
 
 you, naughty sister, who makes me so insensible and 
 cruel on this point. I love you too much; you 
 fill my heart ; you have occupied it entirely ; there is 
 no room for any one else. Prefer any one to you ! 
 love any one more than you ! That will never, never 
 be!" 
 
 " Oh, yes, it will I ''" 
 
 "Oh, no I Love differently, perliaps. Init more — 
 no. He must not count upon that, this gentleman 
 whom I expect, and who do2s not arrive." 
 
 "Do not be afraid, my Betty; there is room in 
 your heart for all whom you should love, — for your 
 husband, for your children, and that without your 
 old sister losing anything. The lieart is very little, 
 but it is also very large." 
 
 Bettina tenderly kissed her sister; then resting 
 her head coaxingly on Suzie's shoulder, she .said : 
 
 " If, however, you are tired of keeping me with vou, 
 if you are in a hurrv to get rid of me, do vou know 
 what 1 will do? I will put the names of two of these 
 gentlemen in a basket, and draw lots. There are 
 two who at the last extremity would not be absolutely 
 disagreeable." 
 
 •• Which two ?" 
 
 " Guess." 
 
 " Prince Romanelli." 
 
 " For one I And the other?" 
 
 " Monsieur de Montessan." 
 
 " Those are the two ! It is just that. Those two 
 would be acceptable, but onlv acceptal)le, and that is 
 not enough." 
 
 This is why Piettina awaited with extreme im-
 
 
 v^. 
 
 I'liE CoNi EsbioN. (Oppo^iu- page so )
 
 TfTE ABB& CONSTANTIN. Sj 
 
 patience the day when they should leave Paris, and 
 take up their abode in Longueval. She was a little 
 tired ot so much pleasure, so much success, so many 
 offers of marriage. The whirlpool of Parisian 
 gayety had seized her on her arrival, and would not 
 let her go, not for one hour of halt or rest. She 
 felt the need of being given up to herself for a few 
 days, to herself alone, to consult and question her- 
 self at her leisure, in the complete solitude of the 
 country — in a word, to belong to herself again. 
 
 So was not Bettina all sprightly and joyous when, 
 on the 14th of June, they took the noon train for 
 Longueval? As soon as she was alone in a com- 
 partment with her sister — 
 
 "Ah," she cried, '-how happy I am! Let us 
 breathe a little, quite alone, you and me, for a few 
 days. The Nortons and Turners do not come till 
 the 25th, do they ?" 
 
 " No, not till the 25th." 
 
 "We will pass our lives riding or driving in the 
 woods, in the tields. Ten days of lil^erty ! And 
 during those ten days no more lovers, no more 
 lovers ! And all those lovers, with what are they 
 in love, — with me or my money ? That is the 
 mystery, the unfathomable mystery." 
 
 The engine whistled ; the train put itself slowly 
 into motion. A wild idea entered Bettina's head. 
 She leant out of the window and cried, accompany- 
 ing her words wilii a little wave of the hand: 
 
 " Good-by, my lovers, good-by ! " 
 
 Then she threw herself suddenly into a corner of 
 the compartment with a hearty burst of laughter.
 
 88 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 
 
 " Oh ! Suzie, Suzie ! " 
 
 " What is the matter ? " 
 
 " A man with a red flag in his hand ; lie saw me, 
 and he looked so astonished." 
 
 ' ' You are so irrational ! "' 
 
 "Yes, it is true, to have called out of the window 
 like that, but not to be happy at thinking that we 
 are going to live alone, en gm-qons."' 
 
 "Alone! alone! Not exactly that. To begin 
 with, we shall have two people to dinner to-night.'' 
 
 " Ah I that is true. But those two people, I shall 
 not be at all sorry to see them again. Yes, I shall 
 be very pleased to see the old Cure again, out es- 
 pecially the young officer."' 
 
 "What! especially?" 
 
 "Certainly; because what the lawyer from Sou- 
 vigny told us the other day is so touching, and what 
 that great artilleryman did when he was quite little 
 w^as so good, so good, that this evening I shall seek 
 for an opportunity of telling liim what I think of it, 
 and I shall find one." 
 
 Then Bettina, abruptly clianging the course of the 
 conversation, continued : 
 
 " Did they send the telegram yesterday to lOdwanls 
 about the ponies ? " 
 
 "Yes, yesterday l)efore dinner."' 
 
 '• Oil ! you will let nie drive tiicm up to the house. 
 It will be such fun to go through the town, and to 
 drive u]) at full speed into the court in front of the 
 entrance. Tell me, will you ? "" 
 
 " Yes, certainly, you shall drive the ponies." 
 
 "Oh, how nice of vou, Suzie!"
 
 LtAVlNG Tiiii Kaii-WAV STATION. (Opposite page SS.)
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 89 
 
 Edwards was the stud-groom. He had arrived at 
 Longueval three days before. He deigned to come 
 himself to meet Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival. He 
 brought tlie phaeton drawn by tlie four black ponies. 
 He was waiting at the station. Tlie passage of the 
 ponies through the principal street of the town had 
 made a sensation. The population rushed out of 
 their houses, and asked eagerly : 
 
 ' ' What is it ? What can it be ? " 
 
 Some ventured the opinion : 
 
 " It is, perhaps, a travelling circus." 
 
 But exclamations arose on all sides : 
 
 " You did not notice the style of it — the carriage 
 and the harness shining like gold, and the little 
 horses with white rosettes on each side of their 
 heads."' 
 
 The crowd collected around the station, and those 
 who were curious learnt that they were going to 
 witness the arrival of the new owners of Longueval. 
 They were slightly disenchanted when the two sisters 
 appeared, very pretty, but in very simple travelling- 
 costumes. These good people had almost expected 
 the apparition of two princesses out of fairy tales, 
 clad in silk and brocade, sparkling with rubies and 
 diamonds. But they opened wide their eyes when 
 they saw Bettina walk slowly round the four ponies, 
 caressing one after the other lightly with her hand, 
 and examining all the details of the team with the 
 air of a connoisseur. 
 
 Having made her inspection, Bettina, without the 
 least hurry, drew off her long Swedish gloves, and 
 replaced them by a pair of dog-skin which she took
 
 90 THE ABB£ CONSTANTTN. 
 
 from the pocket of the carriage apron. Then she 
 slipped on to the box in the place of Edwards, re- 
 ceiving from liim the reins and whip witli extreme 
 dexterity, without allowing the already excited horses 
 to perceive that they had changed hands. 
 
 Mrs. Scott seated herself beside her sister. The 
 ponies pranced, curvetted, and threatened to rear. 
 
 ■•'Be very careful, mademoiselle," said Edwards; 
 " tlie ponies are very fresh to-day." 
 
 "Do not be afraid," replied Bettina. "I know 
 them." 
 
 Miss Percival had a hand at once very firm, very 
 light, and very just. She held in the ponies for a few 
 moments, forcing them to keep their own places ; 
 then, waving the long thong of licr wliip round tlie 
 leaders, she started licr little team at once, with in- 
 comparable skill, and leil tlie station witli an air of 
 triumph, in the midst ol a long murmur of astonish- 
 ment and admiration. 
 
 The trot of the black ponies rang on the little oval 
 paving-stones of Souvigny. Bettina held them well 
 together until she had left the town, I)ut as soon as 
 she saw I)efore her a clear mile and a lialf of high- 
 road — almost on a dead level — she let them 
 gradually increase tlieir speed, till tliey went like the 
 wind. 
 
 " Oh, how happy 1 am, Suzie ! " cried she ; " and 
 we shall trot and gallop all alone on these roads. 
 Suzie, would you like to drive.'' It is such a delight 
 when one can let them go at full speed. They 
 are so spirited and so gentle. Come, take the 
 reins."
 
 THE ABBi COXSTANTIN. 91 
 
 " No; keep them. It is a greater pleasure to me 
 to see you happy. ^' 
 
 " Oh ! as to that, I am perfectly happy. I do like 
 so much to drive four-in-hand with plenty of space 
 before me. At Paris, even in the morning, I did 
 not dare to any longer. I was stared at so, it 
 annoyed me. But here — no one! no one! no 
 one ! " 
 
 At the moment when Bettina, already a little in- 
 toxicated with the bracing air and liberty, gave forth 
 triumphantly these three exclamations, " No one ! no 
 one ! no one ! " a rider appeared, walking his horse 
 in the direction of the carriage. It was Paul de 
 Lavardens. He had been watching for more tlian 
 an hour for the pleasure of seeing the Americans 
 pass. 
 
 " You are mistaken,"' said Suzie to Bettina, 
 " there is some one.'' 
 
 " A peasant : they don't count ; they won't ask me 
 to marry them." 
 
 " It is not a peasant at all. Look ! '' 
 
 Paul de Lavardens, while passing the carriage, 
 made the two sisters a highly correct bow, from 
 which one at once scented the Parisian. 
 
 The ponies were going at such a rate that the 
 meeting was over like a flash of lightning. 
 
 Bettina cried : 
 
 " Wlio is that gentleman wlio has just bowed to 
 us?" 
 
 " I had scarcely time to see, but I seemed to 
 recognize him." 
 
 " You recosinized him?"
 
 92 
 
 THE ABB A CONSTANTIN. 
 
 " Yes, and I would wager that I have seen hhn at 
 our house this winter." 
 
 " Heavens ! if it should be one of the thirty- four ! 
 Is all that going to begin again?"
 
 i 
 
 ■IP 
 
 1 
 
 / 
 
 "m':'^-^ 
 
 1 
 
 r 
 
 
 I 
 
 i^ 
 
 ^-y^/'^ 
 
 ■■ii 
 
 
 -.m/C. 
 
 , , 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 That same clay at half-past seven Jean went to 
 fetch the Cure, and the two walked together up to 
 the house. During the last month a perfect arniy 
 of workmen had taken possession of I.ongueval ; 
 all the inns in the village were making their for- 
 tunes. Immense furniture wagons brought cargoes 
 of furniture and decorations from Paris. Forty- 
 eight hours before the arrival of Mrs. Scott, Ma- 
 demoiselle Marbeau, the post -mistress, and Madame 
 Lormier, the mayoress, had wormed themselves into 
 the castle, and the account they gave of the interior 
 turned every one's head. The old furniture had 
 disappeared, banished to the attics ; one moved 
 amongst a perfect accumulation of wonders. And 
 the stables ! and the coach-houses ! A special train 
 had brought from Paris, under the high superintend- 
 
 93
 
 94 THE ABB A CONSTANTIN. 
 
 ence of Edwards, a dozen carriages — and such car- 
 riages ! Twenty horses — and such horses ! 
 
 The Abb6 Constantin thouglit that he knew what 
 luxury was. Once a year he dined with his bishop, 
 Monseigneur Faubert, a rich and amiable prelate, 
 who entertained rather largely. The Cur6, till now, 
 had thought that there was nothing in the world 
 more sumptuous than tlie episcopal palace of 
 Souvigny, or the castles of Lavardens and Longue- 
 val. 
 
 He began to understand, from what he was told 
 of the new splendors of Longueval, that the luxury 
 of the great houses of the present day must surpass 
 to a singular degree the solder and severe luxury of 
 the great houses of former times. 
 
 As soon as the Cure and Jean had entered the 
 avenue in the park, wliicli led to the liouse — 
 
 " Look ! Jean," said the Cur6 ; " wliat a change ! 
 All this part of the park used to be quite neglected, 
 and now all the paths are gravelled and raked. I 
 shall not be able to feel myself at home as I u.sed to 
 do; it will l)e too grand. I shall not lind again my 
 old I)r()wn velvet easy-chaii', in whicli I so often fell 
 asleep after dinner ; and if I fall asleep this evening 
 what will become of me? You will think of it, 
 Jean, and if you see that I begin to forget myself, 
 you will come behind me and pinch my arm gently, 
 won't you? You promise me?" 
 
 "Certainly, certainly, 1 promise you." 
 
 Jean paid but slight attention to the convensation 
 of the Cur6. He felt extremely impatient to see 
 Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival again; but this impa-
 
 THE ABBA CONSTANTIN. 9$ 
 
 tience was mingled with very keen anxiety. Would 
 he find them, in the great salon at Longueval, the 
 same as he had seen them in the little dining-room 
 at the vicarage? Perhaps, instead of those two 
 women, so perfectly simple and familiar, amusing 
 themselves with this little improvised dinner, and 
 who, the very first day, Iiad treated liim with so 
 much grace and cordiality, perhaps he would find 
 two pretty dolls, — worldly, elegant, cold, and cor- 
 rect? Would his first impression be eifaced? 
 Would it disappear? or, on the contrary, would the 
 impression in his heart become still sweeter and 
 deeper? 
 
 They ascended the six steps at tlie entrance, and 
 were received in the hall by two tall footmen of the 
 most dignified and imposing appearance. This hall 
 had been a vast, frigid apartment, with bare stone 
 walls. These walls were now covered with admirable 
 tapestry, representing mythological subjects. The 
 Cur6 dared scarcely glance at this tapestry ; it was 
 enough for him to perceive that the goddesses who 
 wandered through these shades wore costumes of 
 antique simplicity. 
 
 One of the footmen opened wide the folding-doors 
 of the salon. It was there that one had generally 
 found tlie old .Marquise, on tlie right of the high 
 chimney-piece, and on the left Iiad stood the l)rown 
 velvet easy-chair. 
 
 No brown easy-chair now ! That old relic of the 
 Empire, which was the basis of the arrangement of 
 the salon, had l)een replaced Ijy a marvellous speci- 
 men of tapestry of the end of the last century.
 
 96 THE ABBi, COXSTAiVTIN. 
 
 Then a crowd of little easy-chairs, and ottomans of 
 all forms and all colors, were scattered here and 
 there with an appearance of disorder wiiich was the 
 perfection of art. 
 
 As soon as Mrs. Scott saw tlie Cure and Jean 
 enter, she rose, and going to meet them, said : 
 
 " How kind of you to come. Monsieur le Cur6, 
 and you too. Monsieur Jean. How pleased I 
 am to see you, my first, my only friends down 
 here ! '' 
 
 Jean breathed again. It was tlie same woman. 
 
 "Will you aUow me,'' added Mrs. Scott, "to 
 introduce my children to you. Harry and Bella, 
 come here."' 
 
 Harry was a very pretty little boy of six, and 
 Bella a very charming little girl of five years old. 
 They had their motlier's large dark eyes and lier 
 golden liair. 
 
 After the Cure had kissed the two cliildren, 
 Harry, who was looking witli admiration at Jean's 
 uniform, said to his niotlier: 
 
 " And tlie soldier, mamma, must we kiss him 
 too? ■' 
 
 " If vou like," replied .Mrs. Scott. " and if he will 
 allow it." 
 
 A moment after, the two children were installed 
 upon Jean"s knees, and overwhelming him with 
 questions. 
 
 " Are you an oflicer?" 
 
 " Yes, I am an olificer." 
 
 " What in?" 
 
 "In the artillery."
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 97 
 
 "The artillery! Oh! you are one of the men 
 who fire the cannons. Oh, how I should like to be 
 quite near when tliey fire the cannons ! "' 
 
 " Will you take us some day \vhen they fire the 
 cannons? Tell me, will you?"' 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Scott chatted with the Cure, and 
 Jean, while replying to the children's questions, 
 looked at Mrs. Scott. She wore a white muslin 
 dress, but the muslin disappeared under a complete 
 avalanche of little flounces of Valenciennes. The 
 dress was cut out in front in a large square, her 
 arms were bare to the cll)ow, a large bouqviet of red 
 roses at the opening of her dress, a red rose fi.xed 
 in her hair with a diamond agraffe — nothing 
 more. 
 
 Mrs. Scott .suddenly perceived that the children 
 had taken entire possession of Jean, and ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 "Oh! I beg your pardon. Harry, Bella!" 
 
 " Oh ! pray let them stay with me." 
 
 " I am so sorry to keep you waiting for dinner; 
 my sister is not down yet. Oh, here she is ! " 
 
 Bcttina entered. The same dress of white 
 muslin, the same delicate mass of lace, tlie same 
 red roses, the same grace, the same beauty, and the 
 same smiling, amiable, candid manner. 
 
 " How do vou do. Monsieur Ic Cure? I am 
 delighted to see you. Have you pardoned my 
 dreadful intrusion of tlie other day?'" 
 
 Then turning toward Jean and offering him her 
 hand : 
 
 '* How do vou do. Monsieur — .Monsieur — Oh !
 
 98 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 
 
 I cannot remember your name, and yet we seem to 
 be already old friends. Monsieur — " 
 
 " Jean Reynaud." 
 
 "Jean Reynaud, tliat is it. How do you do. 
 Monsieur Reynaud? I warn you faithfully that 
 when we really are old friends — that is to say, in 
 about a week — I shall call you Monsieur Jean. It 
 is a pretty name, Jean."' 
 
 Dinner was announced. Mrs. Scott took the Cure's 
 arm ; Bettina took Jean's. I'p to the moment when 
 Bettina appeared Jean had said to himself, " Mrs. 
 Scott is the prettier I '" When lie felt Bettina's little 
 hand slip into his arm, and when she turned towards 
 him her delicious face, he said, " Miss Percival is 
 the prettier I " 
 
 But his perplexities gathered round him again 
 when he was seated between the two sisters. If he 
 looked to the right, love threatened liim from that 
 direction, and if he looked to tlie left, tlie danger 
 removed immediately, and pas.sed to the left. 
 
 Conversation began, easy, animated, contidential. 
 The two sisters were charmed; they had already 
 walked in tlie park : they promised themselves a 
 long ride in the forest to-morrow. Riding was their 
 delight, their passion. It was also Jean's passion, 
 so that after a quarter of an liour they begged him 
 to join them' tlie ne.xt (la\-. He gladly accepted. 
 There was no one who knew the country round 
 better than lie did : it was iiis native j^lace. He 
 would be so liappy to do the honors of it, and to 
 show them numbers of delightful little spots which, 
 without him, they would never discover.
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTTN. 99 
 
 " Do you ride every day? " asked Bettina. 
 
 "Every day, and sometimes twice. In the morn- 
 ing I am on duty, and in tlie evening I ride for my 
 own pleasure/' 
 
 " Early in the morning?" 
 
 " At half-past five." 
 
 " At half-past five every nTorning?" 
 
 "Yes, except Sunday." 
 
 " Then you get up — " 
 
 " At half-past four.'' 
 
 " And is it light?" 
 
 "Oh I just now, broad daylight." 
 
 "To get up at half-past four is admirable; we 
 often finish our day just when yours is beginning. 
 And are fond of your profession ? " 
 
 "Very. It is an excellent thing to have one's 
 life plain before one, with exact and definite 
 duties." 
 
 "And yet," said Mrs. Scott, "not to be one's 
 own master — to be always obliged to obev I " 
 
 "That is perhaps what suits me best; there is 
 nothing easier than to obey, and then to learn to 
 obey is the only way of learning to command." 
 
 " Ah I since you say so, it must be true."' 
 
 " Yes, no douI)t," added the Cure ; " Init he does 
 not tell you that lie is the most distinguished otificer 
 in his regiment, that — " 
 
 " Oh I pray do not." 
 
 The Cure, in spite of Jean's resistance, was about 
 to launch into a panegyric on his godson, when 
 Bettina, interposing, said : 
 
 " It is unnecessary. Monsieur le Cur6, do not say
 
 TOO THE ABB& CONSTAXTIN. 
 
 anything, we know already all that you would tell us, 
 we have been so indiscreet as to make in(]uiries 
 about Monsieur — Oh ! I was just going to say 
 Monsieur Jean — about Monsieur Reynaud. Well, 
 the information we received was excellent ! " 
 
 " 1 am curious to know," said Jean. 
 
 •'Nothing! nothing! you sliall know nothing. 
 I do not wisli to make you blush, and you would 
 be obliged to l)lush." 
 
 Tlien turning towards the Cur6, " And about you, 
 too. Monsieur rAbl)6. we have had some informa- 
 tion. It appears that you are a saint." 
 
 " Oh ! as to tliat, it is perfectly true," cried 
 Jean. 
 
 It was the Cure this time who cut short the elo- 
 quence of Jean. Dinner was almost over. The 
 old priest had not got through this dinner without 
 experiencing many emotions. Tliey had repeatedly 
 presented to him complicated and scientific construc- 
 tions upon wliicli lie liacl only ventured with a 
 trembling hand. He was afraid of seeing the whole 
 crumble beneath his touch ; the trembling castles of 
 jelly, the pyramids of truffles, the fortresses of 
 cream, the liastions of pastry, the rocks of ice. 
 Otherwise the Abbe Constantin dined witli an ex- 
 cellent api)etite. and did not recoil before two or 
 three glasses of champagne. He was no foe to 
 good cheer ; perfection is not of this world ; and 
 if gormandizing were, as they say, a cardinal sin, 
 how many good priests would be damned ! 
 
 Coffee was served on the terrace in honl of the 
 house; in tlie distance was heard the harsh voice
 
 THE ABB^ COXSTANTLV. lOl 
 
 of the old village clock striking nine. Woods and 
 fields were slumbering ; the avenues in the park 
 sliowcd only as long, luululating, and undecided 
 lines. The moon slowly rose over the tops of the 
 great trees. 
 
 Bettina took a bo.x of cigars from the talile. 
 
 " Do you smoke? "' said she. 
 
 "Yes, Miss Percival.'" 
 
 " Take one, Monsieur Jean. It can't l)e helped, 
 I have said it. Take one — but no, listen to me 
 first."' 
 
 And speaking in a low voice while offering him 
 the box of cigars — 
 
 '• It is getting dark, now you may blush at your 
 ease. I will tell you what I did not say at dinner. 
 An old lawyer in Souvigny, who was your guardian, 
 came to see my sister in Paris about the payment 
 for the place ; he told us what you did after your 
 father's death, when you were only a child, — what 
 you did for that poor mother, and for that poor 
 young girl. Both my sister and I were much touched 
 by it." 
 
 " Yes," continued Mrs. Scott, "and that is why 
 we have received you to-day witli so much pleasure. 
 We should not have given such a reception to every 
 one, of that you may be sure. Well, now take your 
 cigar, my sister is waiting." 
 
 Jean could not find a word in reply. Bettina 
 stood there with the bo.x of cigars in her two hands, 
 her eyes fixed frankly on Jean's countenance. At 
 the moment she tasted a true and keen pleasure 
 which may be expressed by this phrase : 
 
 UNIVERSITY UK CAUrUKNiA 
 AANTA JiAUfiARA COLLKiU UBRAl^
 
 102 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 
 
 " It seems to me that I see before me a man of 
 honor." 
 
 " And now," said Mrs. Scott, " let us sit here and 
 enjoy this dehcious night ; take your coffee, smoke " — 
 
 " And do not let us talk. Suzie, do not let us 
 talk. This great silence of the country, after the 
 great noise and bustle of Paris, is delightful I Let us 
 sit here without speaking ; let us look at the sky, the 
 moon, and the stars." 
 
 All four, with much pleasure, carried out this little 
 program. Suzie and Bettina, calm, reposeful, abso- 
 lutely separated from their existence of yesterday, 
 already felt a tenderness for the place which liad 
 just received them, and was going to keep them. 
 Jean was less tranquil ; Miss Percival's words had 
 caused him profound emotion, his heart had not yet 
 quite regained its regular tlu'ol). 
 
 But the happiest of all was t^ic Abbe Constantin. 
 Tliis Httle episode wliich had caused Jean's modesty 
 such a rude, yet sweet trial, had brought him ex- 
 quisite joy, the Abb6 bore his godson such alTection. 
 The most tender father never loved more warmly the 
 dearest of his children. When the old Cure looked 
 at the young officer he often said to Jiimself : 
 
 " Heaven has been too kind ; 1 am a priest, and I 
 have a son I " 
 
 The Abbe sank into a very agreeable revery ; he 
 felt himself at home, he felt liimself too much at 
 home ; by degrees his ideas became hazy and con- 
 fused, revery became drowsiness, drowsiness be- 
 came slumber, tlie disaster was soon complete, 
 irreparable ; the Cure slept, and slept profoundly.
 
 THE ABB& COXSTAXriN. 103 
 
 This marvellous dinner, and the two or three glasses 
 of champagne, may have had something to do with 
 the catastrophe. 
 
 Jean perceived nothing : he had forgotten the 
 promise made to his godfather. And why had he 
 forgotten it? Because Airs. Scott and Miss Percival 
 had thought proper to put their feet on the foot- 
 stools, placed in front of their wicker garden-chairs 
 filled with cushions ; then they had thrown themselves 
 lazily back in their chairs, and their muslin skirts had 
 become raised a little, a very little, but yet enough to 
 display four little feet, the lines of which showed 
 very distinctly and clearly beneath two pretty clouds 
 of white lace. Jean looked at these little feet, and 
 asked himself tliis question : 
 
 " Which are the smaller? " 
 
 While he was trying to solve this problem, Bet- 
 tina all at once said to him in a low voice : 
 
 " Monsieur Jean ! Monsieur Jean ! " 
 
 " Miss Percival I '" 
 
 " Look at the Cure ; he is asleep." 
 
 " Oh ! it is my fault." 
 
 "How your fault?" asked Mrs. Scott, also in a 
 low voice. 
 
 " Yes; my godfather rises at daybreak, and goes 
 to bed very early ; he told me to be sure and pre- 
 vent his falling asleep ; when Madame de Longueval 
 was here, he very often had a nap after dinner. You 
 have sliown him so mucli kindness that he has 
 fallen back into his old habits." 
 
 "And he is perfectly right," said Bettina ; "do 
 not make a noise, do not wake him."
 
 I04. THE ABBI^ CONSTAMTIN. 
 
 " You are too good, Miss Percival, but the air is 
 getting a little fresh." 
 
 "Ah! that is true, he might catcli cold. Sta}', 
 I will go and fetch a wrap for him."' 
 
 " I think, Miss Percival, it would be better to 
 try and wake him skilfully, so tliat he should not 
 suspect that you had seen him asleep." 
 
 "Let me do it," said Bettina. " Suzie, let us 
 sing together, very softlv at first, then we will raise 
 our voices little l)y little ; let us sing." 
 
 " Willingly ; but what shall we sing ? " 
 
 " Let us sing ' (2uelque chose d'enfantin,' the 
 words are appropriate." 
 
 Suzie and Bettina began to sing: 
 
 If I had l)iit two little wings, 
 And were a little feathery bird. 
 
 Their sweet and penetrating voices had an exquisite 
 sonority in that i)rofound silence. The Abb^ heard 
 notiiing, did not move. Ciiarmed with this little 
 concert, Jean said to himsclt : 
 
 " Heaven grant that my godfatlier may not wake 
 too soon ! " 
 
 The voices became clearer and louder: 
 
 But in niy sleep to you I fly, 
 
 I 'ni always with you in my sleep. 
 
 Yet the Abb6 did not stir. 
 
 " How he sleeps! " said Suzie ; " it is a crime to 
 wake him."
 
 THE ABRA CONSTANTIN. \0<, 
 
 " But we must; louder, Suzie, louder." 
 Suzie and Bettina both gave free scope to the 
 power of their voices. 
 
 Sleep stays not, though a monarch liids, 
 So I love to wake ere hreak of day. 
 
 The Cur6 woke with a start. After a short mo- 
 ment of anxiety he breathed again. Evidently no 
 one had noticed that he had been asleep. He col- 
 lected himself, stretched himself prudently, slowly — 
 he was saved ! 
 
 A quarter of an hour later the two sisters accom- 
 panied the Cur6 and Jean to the little gate of the 
 park, which opened into tlie village a few rods 
 from the vicarage ; they liad nearly reached the gate 
 when Bettina said all at once to Jean : 
 
 " Ah ! all this time I have had a question to ask 
 you. Tliis morning when we arrived, we met on the 
 way a slight young man, with a fair mustache, he 
 was riding a ]:)lack horse, and bowed to us as we 
 pa.ssed." 
 
 "It was Paul de Lavardens, one of my friends; 
 he has already had the honor of being introduced 
 to you, but rather vaguely, and his ambition is to 
 be presented again." 
 
 "Well, you shall bring liim one of these days," 
 said Mrs. Scott. 
 
 "After the twenty-hftli ! " cried Bettina. "Not 
 before ! not before ! No one till then ; till then we 
 will see no one but you. Monsieur Jean. But you, — 
 it is very extraordinary, and I don't quite know how
 
 Io6 THE ABB A CONSTANTLY. 
 
 it has happened, \ou do n"t seem anybody to us. 
 The compliment is perhaps not very well turned, 
 ])ut do not make a mistake, it is a compliment. I 
 intended to be excessively amiable in speaking to 
 you thus." 
 
 '• And so you are, Miss Percival." 
 
 " So much the better if I have been so fortunate 
 as to make myself understood. Cood-by, .Mon- 
 sieur Jean — till to-morrow I " 
 
 Mrs. Scott and Miss I'ercival returned slowly 
 towards the castle. 
 
 " And now, Suzie," said liettina, " scold me well, 
 — I expect it, I have deserved it." 
 
 "Scold you! Why?" 
 
 "You are going to say, I am sure, that I have 
 been too familiar with that young man." 
 
 " No, I shall not .say that. P'rom the first day 
 that young man has made the most f;ivoral)le im- 
 pression upon me ; he inspires me with perfect con- 
 fidence." 
 
 " And so he does me." 
 
 " I am persuaded that it would l)e well for us 
 both to try to make a friend of him." 
 
 "With all my heart, as far as I am concerned, so 
 much the more as I have seen many young men 
 since we have lived in France. Oh, yes, I have, 
 indeed! Well, this is the tirsl, positively the lirst, 
 in whose eyes I have not clearlx' read, 'Oh how 
 glad I should be to marrv that little body's millions!" 
 That was written in tiie eyes of all the others, but 
 not in his eyes. Now, here we are at home again. 
 (Jood-nighl, Suzie — lo-morrow."
 
 Mrs. Scott and heu Ciulukkn. (Opposiiu page loo.j
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTIhL 
 
 107 
 
 Mrs. Scott went to see and kiss her sleeping 
 children. 
 
 Bettina remained long, leaning on the balustrade 
 of her balcony. 
 
 " It seems to me," said she, " that I am going 
 to be very fond of this place."
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The next morning, on returning from drill. Je.in 
 found Paul de Lavardens waiting for him at the bar- 
 racks ; he scarcely allowed him time to dismoimt. and 
 the moment he had him alone — 
 
 " Quick," said he, "describe your dinner-party of 
 yesterday. I saw them myself in the morning ; the 
 little one was driving four ponies, and with an 
 amount of audacity. I bowed to them; did you 
 mention me? Did they recognize me? When will 
 you take me to Longueval? Answer me." 
 
 " Answer? yes. lUit which (luestion first?"' 
 
 " The last."' 
 
 "When will I take you to Longueval?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 loS
 
 THE ABB A CONSTANTIN. 109 
 
 " Well, in ten days; they do n't want to see any 
 one just now." 
 
 "Then you are not going back to Longueval for 
 ten days ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I shall go back to-day at four o'clock. 
 But I do n't count, you know. Jean Reynaud, the 
 Curb's godson. That is why I have penetrated so 
 easily into the confidence of these two charming 
 women. I liave presented myself under the patron- 
 age and with the guarantee of the Church. And 
 then they have discovered that I could render them 
 little services. I know the country very well, and 
 they will make use of me as a guide. In a word, I 
 am nobody ; while you, Count Paul de Lavardens, 
 you are somebody ; so fear nothing, your turn will 
 come with the fetes and balls. Then you will be re- 
 splendent in all your glory, and I shall return very 
 humbly into my obscurity." 
 
 " You may laugh at me as much as you like ; it is 
 none the less tnie that during these ten days you 
 will steal a marcli upon me — upon me 1 " 
 
 " How upon you?" 
 
 "Now, Jean, do you want to make me believe 
 that you are not already in love with one of these 
 two women? Is it possible? Such beauty, such 
 luxury ! Perhaps the luxury even more than the 
 beauty. Luxury to that degree upsets me. Those 
 black ponies with their white rosettes ! I dreamt of 
 them last night, and tliat little — Rettina, is it not?" 
 
 " Yes, Bettina." 
 
 " Bettina — Countess Bettina de Lavardens ! 
 Doesn't that sound well enough ? and what a perfect
 
 no THE ABB& CONSTANTIN 
 
 husband she would have in nie ! To be the husband 
 of a woman possessing boundless wealth, that is my 
 destiny. It is not so easy as one may suppose. One 
 must know how to l^e rich. I have already run through 
 something, and — if my mother had not stopjjcd me 
 — but 1 am quite ready to begin again. Oh, how 
 happv that girl would be with me ! 1 would create 
 around her tlie existence of a fairv (]ueen. In all 
 her luxurv she would feel her luisband"s taste, art, 
 and skill. I would pass mv life in adoring her, in 
 displaying her beauty, in petting her, in bearing her 
 triumphant through the world. I would study her 
 beauty in order to give it the frame tliat best suited 
 it. ' If he were not there,' she would sav, ' I should 
 not be so beautiful, so dazzling.' I slu)uld know not 
 only how to love her, l)ut how to amuse her. She 
 would have something for hei' money, — she would 
 have love and pleasure. Come, Jean, do a good 
 action, take me to Mrs. Scott's to-day." 
 
 " I cannot, I assure you." 
 
 "Well, then, in ten days; but I give vou fair no- 
 tice, I shall install myself at Longueval, and shall not 
 move. In the first place, it would please my mother; 
 she is still a little prejudiced against these Ameri- 
 cans. She says that she shall arrange not to see 
 them ; but I know my mother. Some day, when I go 
 home in tlie evening and tell her: Mother, I have 
 won tlie heart of a charming little person who is bur- 
 dened with a capital of twenty millions — they exag- 
 gerate when they talk of hundreds of millions. You 
 know these are the correct figures, and tliey are 
 enoutrh for me. That evenimr, then, mv mother
 
 THE ABB& CONSrA\^TIN. HI 
 
 will be delighted, because in her heart what is it she 
 desires for me? What all good mothers desire for 
 their sons, — a good marriage, or a discreet liaisoii, 
 with some one in society. At Longueval I find these 
 two essentials, and I will accommodate myself very 
 willingly to either. You will have the kindness to 
 warn me in ten days — you will let me know which 
 of the two you aliandon to me, Mrs. Scott or Aliss 
 Percival." 
 
 " \(^^x are mad, you are quite mad ! I do not, I 
 never shall think — " 
 
 " Listen, Jean. You are wisdom personified; you 
 may say and do as you like, hut remember what I 
 say to you. Jean, you will fall in love in that house." 
 
 "I do not believe it," replied Jean, laughing. 
 
 " But I am absolutely sure of it. Good-bv. I 
 leave you to your duties." 
 
 That morning Jean was perfectly sincere. He 
 had slept very well the previous night ; the second 
 interview with the two sisters had, as if by enchant- 
 ment, dissipated the slight trouble which had agi- 
 tated his soul after the first meeting. He prepared 
 to meet them again with much pleasure, but also 
 with much tranquillity ; there was too much money in 
 that house to permit the love of a poor devil like 
 Jean to find place honestly there. 
 
 Friendship was another affair ; with all his heart 
 he wished, and with all his strength he would seek, to 
 establish himself peacefully in the esteem and regard 
 of the sisters. He would try not to remark too 
 much the ])eauty of Suzie and Bettina ; he would try 
 not to forget himself as he liad done the previous
 
 112 THR ABR& CONSTANTTN. 
 
 evening, in the contemplation of tlie four little feet 
 resting on their footstools. They had said, very 
 frankly, very cordially, to him, "You shall be our 
 friend."" That was all he desired — to be their friend 
 — and that he would l)e. 
 
 During the ten days that followed, all conduced to 
 the success of this enterprise. .Suzie, Rettina. the 
 Cure, and Jean led the same life in the closest and 
 most cordial intimacy. 
 
 Jean did not seek to analyze his feelings. He felt 
 for these two women an equal affection ; he was per- 
 fectly happv, perfectly tranquil. Then he was not 
 in love, for love and tran(|uillity seldom dwell at 
 peace in the same heart. 
 
 Jean, however, with a little anxietv and sadness, 
 saw the day approach which would bring to Longue- 
 val the Turners and the Nortons and the whole force 
 of the .Vmerican colonv. The day came too soon. 
 
 On Friday, the 24th of June, at four o'clock, Jean 
 arrived at the castle. IJettina received him alone, 
 looking quite vexed. 
 
 " How annoying it is,"" said she, " my sister is not 
 well ; a little headache, nothing of con.sequence, it 
 will l)e gone by tc-morrow, but I dare not ride with 
 you alone. In America I might, Init here it would 
 not do, would it ? "" 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Jean. 
 
 " I must send you back, and I am so sorry." 
 
 " And so am I — I am very sorry to be obliged to 
 go, and to lose this last day, which I had hoped to 
 pass with vou. However, since it must be, I will 
 come to-morrow to intjuire after your sister."
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTLY. 113 
 
 " She will see you herself to-morrow: I repeat, it 
 is nothing serious. But do not run away in such a 
 hurry, pray ; \\\\\ you not spare me a little quarter of 
 an hour's conversation ? I want to speak to you ; sit 
 dow^n there, and now listen to me attentively. My 
 sister and I had intended this evening after dinner to 
 blockade vou into a little corner of the drawing-room, 
 and then she meant to tell you what I am going to 
 try to say for us both. But I am a little nervous. 
 Do not laugh ; it is a very serious matter. We wish 
 to thank you for having been, ever since our arrival 
 here, so good to us both." 
 
 "Oh! .Miss Percival, pray, it is you who — " 
 
 " Oh ! do not interrupt me, you will quite confuse 
 me. I do not know how to get through with it. I 
 maintain, besides, that the thanks are due from us, 
 not from you. We arrived here two strangers. We 
 have been fortunate enough to find friends imme- 
 diately. Yes, friends. You have taken us by the 
 hand, you have led us into th(; homes of our farmers, 
 of our keepers ; while your godfather took us to his 
 poor people — and everywhere you were so much 
 beloved, that from their confidence in you, they 
 began, on your recommendation, to like us a little. 
 You are adored about here ; do you know that ? "' 
 
 "I was born here — all these good peojile have 
 known me froni my infancw and are grateful to me 
 for what my grandfather anti father did for them ; 
 and then I am of their race, the race of the peas- 
 ants ; my great-grandfather was a farmer at Barge- 
 court, a village two miles from here." 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! you api)ear very proud of that ! ""
 
 114 ^'^^^ arbA constantin. 
 
 " Neither ])roud nor ashamed." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, you made a little movement 
 of pride. Well, 1 can tell you that my mother's 
 great-grandfather wa.s a farmer in Brittany. He 
 went to Canada at the end of the last century, when 
 Canada belonged still to France. And you love very 
 much this region where you were l)orn ? " 
 
 ••\'erv much. Perhaps I shall soon be obliged to 
 leave it." 
 
 "Why ?" 
 
 "When I get promotion, I shnll have to exchange 
 into another regiment, and 1 shall wander from 
 garrison to garrison ; but certainly, when 1 am an 
 old commandant or old colonel, on half-pay. I shall 
 come back, and live and die here, in the little house 
 that was my father's." 
 
 " Always quite alone ? "" 
 
 " Why (|uite alone ? I certainly hojje not." 
 
 " You intend to marry." 
 
 " Yes, certainly." 
 
 " You are trying to get married ? " 
 
 " No; one may think of marrying, but one ought 
 not to try to marry." 
 
 " And yet there are people who do try. Come, I 
 can answer for that, and you, even ; peoi)Ie have 
 wished to find you a wife." 
 
 '• How do you know that ? " 
 
 " Oh I I know all your little afiairs so well; you 
 are what they call a good match, and 1 repeat it, 
 they have wished to find you a wife." 
 
 " Who told you that ? " 
 
 " Monsieur le Cure."
 
 
 illt I'IKSr Ttl l-.-A-lE,! !■. . ;_()l)l)iisilu l)a<JC II4.)
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 115 
 
 " Then he was very wrong/" said Jean, witli a 
 certain sliarpness. 
 
 " No. no, he was not wrong." If any one lias 
 been to blame it is I. I soon discovered that your 
 godfather was never so happy as when he was speak- 
 ing of you. So when I was alone with him during 
 our walks, to please him. I talked of you, and he 
 related your history to me. You are well off, you 
 are verv well off; from Government you receive 
 every month two hundred and thirteen francs and 
 some centimes ; am I correct ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Jean, deciding to endure with a good 
 grace his share in the Cure's indiscretions. 
 
 " You have eight thousand francs income." 
 
 " Nearly, not quite." 
 
 "Add to that vour house, which is worth thirty 
 thousand francs. Moreover, you are in an excellent 
 position, and people have asked for \-our hand." 
 
 " Asked for my hand ! No, no." 
 
 " They have, they have, twice, and you have 
 refused two very good marriages, two very good 
 fortunes, if you prefer it — it is the same thing tor 
 so manv people. Two hundred thousand francs in 
 the one case, three hundred thousand in the other. 
 It appears that these fortunes are enormous for the 
 country ! Yet you have refused ! Tell me why. 
 If you only knew how eager I am to know ! " 
 
 " Well, it concerned two charming girls." 
 
 " That is understood. One always says that." 
 
 " 15ut whom I scarcely knew. They forced me — 
 for I did resist — they forced me to spend two or 
 three evenings with them last winter," 
 
 " And then ? "
 
 ii6 
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANT/AT. 
 
 " Then — I don't quite know how to explain it to 
 you. I did not feel the slightest touch of embarrass- 
 ment, emotion, anxiety, or disturbance — " 
 
 "In fact," said Bettina, resolutely, '• not the 
 least suspicion of love." 
 
 "No, not the least; and I returned quite calmly 
 to my bachelor den, for 1 thin)-: it is better not to 
 marry than to marrv without love." 
 
 " And I think so too." 
 
 Slie looked at him, he looked at lier. and sud- 
 denly, to the great surprise of both, tiiey found 
 nothing more to say, — nothing at all. 
 
 At this moment Harry and Bella rushed into tlie 
 room with cries of joy. 
 
 " Monsieur Jean ! Are you there ? Come and see 
 our ponies." 
 
 " ,\h I " said Bettina, her voice a little uncertain, 
 "Edwards has just come back from Paris, and has 
 brought two microscopic ponies for the children. 
 Let us go and see them, shall we ? " 
 
 Thev went to see the ])onies, which were indeed 
 worthv to figure in the staljles of the King of 
 Lilliijul.
 
 "-■'-■^ 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Three weeks have glided by ; another day and 
 Jean will be obliged to leave with his regiment for 
 the artillery practice. He will lead the life of a 
 soldier. Ten days' march on the high road going 
 and returning, and ten days in the camp at Cercottes 
 in the Forest of Orleans. The regiment will return 
 to Souvigny on the loth of August. 
 
 Jean is no longer tranquil ; Jean is no longer 
 happy. With impatience, and at the same time with 
 terror, he sees the moment of his de])arture approach. 
 With impatience — for he is suffering an absolute 
 martyrdom, he longs to escape it; with terror — for 
 to pass twenty days without seeing her. without 
 speaking to her, without her, in a word — what will 
 become of him? Her I It is Bettina ; he adores 
 her! 
 
 117
 
 liS THE ABBk CONSTANT/X. 
 
 Since when? Since the tirst day, since that meet- 
 ing in the month of May in the Curd's garden. That 
 is the truth ; but Jean struggles against and resists 
 that truth. He believes that he has only loved 
 Bettina since tlie day when the two chatted gayly, 
 amicablv. in the little drawing-room. She was sit- 
 ting on the blue couch near the window, and while 
 talking amused lierself with repairing the disorder 
 of the dress of a Japanese princess, one of Bella's 
 dolls, which had been left on a chair, and which Bet- 
 tina had mechanically taken up. 
 
 Why had the fancy come to Miss I'ercival to talk 
 to him of those two young girls whom he might have 
 married? The question in itself was not at all em- 
 barrassing to him. He had replied that, if he had 
 not then felt any taste for marriage, it was because 
 his interviews with these two girls had not caused 
 him any emotion or any agitation. He had smiled 
 in speaking thus, but a few minutes after he smiled 
 no more. This emotion, this agitation, he had 
 suddenly learnt to know them. Jean did not de- 
 ceive himself; he acknowledged the depth of the 
 wound ; it had penetrated to his very heart's core. 
 
 He, however, did not abandon himself to this 
 emotion. He .said to himself: 
 
 " Yes, it is serious, very serious, but I shall re- 
 cover from it." 
 
 He sought an excuse for his madness ; he laid 
 the blame on circumstances. For ten days this de- 
 lightful girl had been too much with him, too much 
 with him alone ! How could he resist such a temp- 
 tation? He was intoxicated with her charm, with
 
 THE ABB A CONSTANriN. 119 
 
 her grace and beauty. But the next day a troop of 
 visitors would arrive at Longueval, and tliere would 
 be an end of this dangerous intimacy. He would 
 be courageous ; he would keep at a distance ; he 
 would lose himself in the crowd, would see Bettina 
 less often and less familiarly. To see her no more 
 was a thought lie could not support ! He wished 
 to remain Bettina"s friend, since he could be nothing 
 but her friend ; for there was another thought which 
 scarcely entered liis mind. Tliis thought did not 
 appear extravagant to him : it appeared monstrous. 
 In the whole world there was not a more honorable 
 man than Jean, and he felt for Bettina's money 
 horror, positive horror. 
 
 From the 251)1 of June the crowd had been in 
 possession of Longueval. Mrs. Norton arrived witli 
 her son, Daniel Norton, and Mrs. Turner witli her 
 son, Philip Turner. Both of them, the young Philip 
 and the young Daniel, formed a part of the famous 
 brotherhood of the thirty-four. They were old 
 friends, Bettina had treated them as such, and had 
 declared to tliem witli perfect frankness that they 
 were losing their time. However, they were not 
 discouraged, and formed tlie centre of a little court 
 which was always very eager and assiduous around 
 Bettina. 
 
 Paul de Lavardens had made his appearance on 
 this scene, and had very rapidly become everybody's 
 friend. He had received tlie l)rilliant and com- 
 plicated education of a young man destined for 
 pleasure. Wliile it was a question only of amuse- 
 ment, riding, croquet, lawn tennis, polo, dancing,
 
 I30 THE ABB A COXSTANTIN. 
 
 cliarades, and theatricals, he was ready for every- 
 thing, he excelled in everythinij;. His superiority 
 was evident, unquestionable, i'aul became in short 
 time, by general consent, tlie director and organizer 
 of the fitcs at Longueval. 
 
 Bettina had not a moment of hesitation. Jean 
 introduced Paul de Lavardens, and tiie latter had 
 scarcely concluded tlie customar\- little compliment 
 when iVIiss Percival. leaning towards her sister, 
 whispered in her car : 
 
 " The thirty-tifth ! " 
 
 However, she received Paul ver\- kindly, so kindly 
 that for several da\s he had tlie weakness to mis- 
 understand iier. He believed that it was his personal 
 graces wliich had obtained for liim this very flatter- 
 ing and cordial reception. It was a great mistake. 
 Paul de Lavardens had been introduced by Jean; 
 he was Jean's friend. In Bettina"s e\es therein lay 
 all his merit. 
 
 Mrs. Scott's castle was open house ; people were 
 not invited for one evening oniv. but for every even- 
 ing, and Paul, with enthusiasm, came everv evening, 
 liis dream was at last realized ; he had found Paris 
 at Longueval. 
 
 But Paul was neither blind nor a fool. No doubt 
 he was, on Miss PercivaPs part, tlie object of very 
 particular attention antl faxor. It i)leased her to 
 talk long, very long, alone with him. lUil what was 
 the eternal, the inexhaustible subject of ilair con- 
 versations? Jean, again Jean, and alwavs Jean! 
 
 Paul was thoughtless, dissipated, frivolous, but he 
 became in earnest when Jean was in question; he
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 121 
 
 knew how to appreciate him, he knew how to lo\e 
 him. Nothing to liim was sweeter, nothing was 
 easier, than to say of tlie friend of his childhood all 
 the good that he thought of him ; and as he saw 
 that Bettina listened with great pleasure, Paul gave 
 free rein to his eloquence. 
 
 Only Paul wished one evening — and lie was quite 
 right — to rea]) the benefit of his chivalrous conduct. 
 He had just been talking for a quarter of an hour 
 with Bettina. The conversation finished, lie went 
 to look for Jean at the other end of the drawing- 
 room, and said to him : 
 
 " You left the field open to me. and I have made 
 a bold stroke for Miss Percival." 
 
 "Well, you have no reason to be dissatisfied 
 with the result of the enterprise. You are tlie best 
 friends in the world." 
 
 " Yes, certainly, pretty well, but not quite satis- 
 factory. Tliere is no one more amiable or more 
 charming than .Miss Percival, and reallv it is very 
 good of me to acknowledge it, for, between ourselves, 
 she makes me play an ungrateful and ridiculous part, 
 — a part which is quite unsuited to my age. I am, 
 you will admit, of the lover's age, and not of that of 
 tlie confidant." 
 
 " Of the confidant? " 
 
 " Yes, my dear fellow, of the confidant! That is 
 my occupation in this liouse. You were looking at 
 us just now. Oh I I have very good eves : you 
 were looking at us. Well, do you know what we 
 were talking about? Of you, my dear fellow, — of 
 vou, of nothing but vou. And it is the same
 
 123 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 
 
 thing every evenin<;'; tliere is no end to the 
 questions. 
 
 " ' You were Ijrought up together? You took 
 lessons together from the Abb6 Constantin?" 
 
 " ' Will he soon l^e captain? And then? ' 
 
 " ' Commandant.' 
 
 " ' And tlien? ' 
 
 " ' Colonel, etc., etc., etc." 
 
 " All ! I can tell you, my friend Jean, if you liked, 
 you might dream a very delicious dream." 
 
 Jean was annoyed, almost angry. Paul was much 
 astonished at this sudden attack of irrita])ility. 
 
 " What is the matter? Have I said anything — "'' 
 
 "I hcg your pardon; I was wrong. Rut how 
 could _\"ou take such an absurd idea into yoiu" liead ? " 
 
 "Absurd! 1 don't see it. 1 have entertained tlie 
 absurd idea on mv own account." 
 
 " Ah : you — " 
 
 "Why 'Ah! me?" If I have had it vou may 
 have it; you are more wortiiv of it than 1 am." 
 
 " Paul, I entreat \ou ! " 
 
 Jean's discomfort was evident. 
 
 " We will not speak of it again ; we will not speak 
 of it again. What I wanted to say, in short, is that 
 Miss Percival thinks me verv nice, very nice; but as 
 to thinking of me seriously, tiiat little person will 
 never think of me .seriously. I must fall l)ack upon 
 Mrs. .Scott, l)ut without much contidence. You see, 
 Jean, I shall amuse myself in this house, but I sliall 
 make nothing out of it." 
 
 Paul de Lavardens did fdl back upon Mrs. Scott, 
 but tlie next day was surprised to stumble ujion Jean.
 
 THE ABB A CONSTANTIIV. 1 23 
 
 who had taken to placing himself very regularly in 
 Mrs. Scott's particular circle, for like Bettina she had 
 also her little court. But what Jean sought there 
 was a protection, a shelter, a refuge. 
 
 The day of that memorable conversation on mar- 
 riage without love, Bettina had also, for the tirst 
 time, felt suddenly awake in her that necessity of 
 loving which sleeps, but not very profoundly, in the 
 hearts of all young girls. The sensation had been 
 the same, at the same moment, in Bettina's soul and 
 in Jean's. He, terrified, had cast it violently from 
 him. She, on the contrary, had yielded in all the 
 simplicity of her perfect innocence to this flood of 
 emotion and of tenderness. 
 
 She had waited for love. Could this be love? 
 The man who was to be her thought, her life, her 
 soul — could this be he — this Jean ? Why not ? 
 She knew him better than she knew all those who 
 during the past year had haunted her for her fortune, 
 and in what she knew of him there was nothing to 
 discourage the love of a good girl. Far from it ! 
 
 Both of them did well ; both of them were in the 
 way of duty and of truth, — she in yielding, he in re- 
 sisting ; she in not thinking for a moment of Jean's 
 obscurity, of his comparative poverty ; he in recoiling 
 before her mountain of wealth as he would have re- 
 coiled before a crime ; she in thinking that she had 
 no right to parley with love ; he in thinking he had 
 no right to ]jarle\- with honor. 
 
 This is whv, in proportion as Bettina showed her- 
 self more tender, and abandoned herself with more 
 frankness to the first call of love — this is why Jean
 
 134 THE ARB& CONSTANTIN. 
 
 became day b)- day more gloomy and more restless. 
 He was not only afraid of loving : he was afraid of 
 being loved. 
 
 He ought to have remained away ; he should not 
 have come near her. He had tried : he could not ; 
 the temptation was too strong ; it carried him away ; 
 so he came. She would come to him, her hands ex- 
 tended, a smile on her lips, and her heart in her 
 eyes. Everything in her said : 
 
 " Let us try to love each otlier, and if we can we 
 will love ! " 
 
 Fear seized him. Those two hands wliich offered 
 themselves to the pressure of his hands, he scarcely 
 dared to touch. He tried to escape those eyes 
 wliicli, tender and smiling, anxious and curious, tried 
 to meet his eyes. He trembled before the necessity 
 of speaking to Bettina, before the necessity of listen- 
 ing to her. 
 
 Then Jean took refuge with Mrs. Scott, and tlirn 
 Mrs. Scott caught those uncertain, agitated, troubled 
 words which were not addressed to her, and which 
 she took for herself nevertheless. She could hardly 
 have failed to be mistaken. 
 
 For of these still vague and confused sentiments 
 which agitated her Bettina iiad as yet said nothing. 
 She guarded and caressed the secret of her budding 
 love as a miser guards and caresses the first coins 
 of his treasure. The da\- when she should see 
 clearly into her own heart, tlie day that slie should 
 be .sure that she loved — ah ! she would speak that 
 day, and how happy she should be to tell all to 
 Suzie !
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 125 
 
 Mrs. Scott had ended by regarding herself as the 
 cause of Jean's melancholy, which day by day took a 
 more marked character. She was flattered by it — 
 a woman is never displeased at thinking herself 
 beloved — she was flattered and vexed at tlie same 
 time. She held Jean in great esteem, in great affec- 
 tion, but she was distressed at tlie tliought that if he 
 were sad and unhappy, it was because of lier. 
 
 Suzie was, besides, conscious of her own inno- 
 cence. With others slie had sometimes been 
 coquettish, very coquettisli. To torment them a 
 little, was that such a great crime? They had 
 nothing to do, they were good-for-nothing, it occu- 
 pied them while it amused her. It helped them to 
 pass their time, and it helped her too. But Suzie 
 had not to reproach herself for lia\ing flirted with 
 Jean. She recognized his merit and liis superioritv : 
 he was worth more than the others ; he was a man to 
 suffer seriously, and that was what Mrs. Scott did 
 not wish. Already two or three times she had been 
 on the point of speaking to him very seriously, very 
 affectionately, but she had reflected Jean was going 
 away for three weeks : on Iiis return, if it were still 
 necessary, slie would read Iiim a lecture, and would 
 act in such a manner that love sliould not come 
 foolishly to interfere in their friendship. 
 
 .So Jean was to go the ne.xt day. Bettina had 
 insisted that he should spend this last day at Lon- 
 gueval, and dine at the chateau. Jean had refused, 
 alleging that lie had much to do the night before his 
 departure. 
 
 He arrived in the evening, about lialf-past ten ; he
 
 126 THE ABB/i CONSTANTLY. 
 
 came on fool. Several times on the wav he had 
 I)een inclined to return. 
 
 " If I had courage enougli," he said to himself, 
 "I would not see her again. I shall leave to-mor- 
 row, and return no more to Souvignv while she is 
 there. My resolution is taken, and taken forever.'' 
 
 But he continued on his way ; he would see her 
 again — for the last time. 
 
 As soon as he entered tlie (h-awing-room, Bettina 
 hastened to him. 
 
 " Here you are at last ! How late you are I " 
 
 " I have been very busy." 
 
 ' ' And you are going to-moirow ? " 
 
 "Yes, to-morrow." 
 
 "Early?" 
 
 " At five in the morning." 
 
 " You will go by the road wliich runs by tlie park 
 wall, and goes through the village.'' " 
 
 " Yes, that is the way we shall go." 
 
 "Why so earlv in the morning? I would have 
 gone out on the terrace to see you pass and to wish 
 you good-by." 
 
 Bettina detained for a moment Jean's burning hand 
 in hers. He drew it mournfully away, with an effort. 
 
 " I must go and speak to your sister," said lie. 
 
 " Directly. . . . she has not seen you. . . . there 
 are a do/en ]jeople round lier. Come and sit here 
 a little while, near me." 
 
 He was obliged to seat himself beside her. 
 
 " We are going away too," said siie. 
 
 ' ' You are ! " 
 
 " Yes. An hour ago, we received a telegram from
 
 THE ABB A CONSTANTIM. 127 
 
 my Ijrother-in-law, wliicli lias caused us great jo\'. 
 We did not expect him for a month, but he is coming 
 Ijack in a fortnight. He will embark the day after 
 to-morrow at New York, on board the Labrador. 
 We are going to meet him at Havre. We shall also 
 start the day after to-morrow. We are going to take 
 the children ; it will do them a great deal of good to 
 spend a few days at the seaside. How pleased my 
 brother-in-law will be to know \ou — do I say ' know 
 vou"? he knows you already : we have spoken of you 
 in all our letters. I am sure you and Mr. Scott will 
 get on extremely well together, he is so good. How 
 long will you stay away? "' 
 
 " Three weeks."' 
 
 " Three weeks in a camp? '" 
 
 " Yes, Miss Percival, in the camp of Cercottes." 
 
 " In the middle of the forest of Orleans. I made 
 your godfather explain all about it to me this morn- 
 ing. Of course I am delighted to go to meet my 
 brother-in-law, but at tlie same time I am a little 
 sorry to leave here, for I would ha\"e gone every 
 morning to pav a little visit to Monsieur I'Abbe. He 
 would have given me news of _\ou. Perhaps, in 
 about ten davs. vou will write to mv sister, — a little 
 note of three or four lines, — it will not take much 
 of your time — just to tell her how you are, and that 
 you do not forget us." 
 
 "Oh! as to forgetting you, as to losing the re- 
 membrance of your extreme kindness, your good- 
 ness, never. Miss Percival, never ! "' 
 
 His voice trembled, he was afraid of his own emo- 
 tion ; he rose.
 
 138 THE ABB A CONSTANTTN. 
 
 " I assure you, Miss Percival, I must go and speak 
 to your sister. She is looking at me. She must be 
 astonished." 
 
 He crossed tlie room ; Bettina followed him with 
 her eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Norton had just placed herself at the piano 
 to play a waltz for the young people. 
 
 Paul de Lavardens approached Miss Percival. 
 
 "Will you do me the honor, Miss Percival? " 
 
 " I believe I have just promised this dance to 
 Monsieur Jean," she replied. 
 
 " Well, if not to him, will you give it to me?" 
 
 " That is understood." 
 
 Bettina walked towards Jean, who had seated 
 himself near Mrs. Scott. 
 
 " I have just told a dreadful story," said she. 
 " Monsieur de Lavardens has asked me for this 
 dance, and I replied that 1 liad promised it to 
 you. You would like it, wouldn't you?" 
 
 To hold her in his arms, to l)reathe the perfume 
 of her hair — Jean felt his courage could not support 
 this oi'deal, he d.ircd not accept. 
 
 " I regret extremely I cannot. I am not well 
 to-night. I persisted in coming because I would not 
 leave without wishing you good-by ; ])ut dance I no, 
 it is impossible I " 
 
 Mrs. Norton began the prelude of the waltz. 
 
 " Well." said Paul, coming up c|uite joyful, " who 
 is it to be, he or 1 ? " 
 
 " You," she said sadlv, without removing her eyes 
 from Jean. 
 
 She was much disturbed, and replied without
 
 It is kaining!" (Opposite page 12S.;
 
 THE ABB& CONSTAA'TIiV. 129 
 
 knowing well what she said. She immediately re- 
 gretted having accepted ; she would have liked to 
 stay there, near him. But it was too late, Paul 
 took her hand and led her away. 
 
 Jean rose ; he looked at the two, Bettina and 
 Paul. -A. haze floated before his eyes, he suftered 
 cruelly. 
 
 "There is onlv one thing I can do," thought he, 
 — •' profit l^y this waltz, and go. To-morrow I wmII 
 write a few lines to Mrs. Scott to excuse myself." 
 
 He reached the door, he looked no more at Bet- 
 tina; had he looked, he would have stayed. 
 
 But Bettina looked at him ; and all at once she 
 said to Paul : 
 
 "Thank you very much, but I am a little tired: 
 let us stop, please. You will excuse me, will you 
 not?" 
 
 Paul offered his arm. 
 
 " No, thank you," said .she. 
 
 The door was just closing, Jean was no longer 
 there. Bettina ran across the room. Paul remained 
 alone, much surprised, understanding nothing of 
 what had passed. 
 
 Jean was alreadv at the hall door, when he heard 
 some one call : " Monsieur Jean ! Monsieur Jean ! " 
 
 He stopped and turned. She was near him. 
 
 " You are going without wishing me good-by? " 
 
 " I beg )our pardon, I am very tired." 
 
 " Then you must not walk Ikmiic, the weather is 
 threatening," — she put her hand out of doors — " it 
 is raining alread}." 
 
 " Oh, not much."
 
 130 rilE ABB A CONSTANTLY. 
 
 " Come and liavc a cup of tea with me in tlie little 
 drawing-room, and I will tell them to drive you home : "' 
 and turning towards one of the footmen, •• I lave them 
 send a carriage round directly." 
 
 "No, iMiss Percival, pray, the oi)en air will revive 
 me. I must walk : let me go." 
 
 " Go, then, but vou have no great-coat ; lake some- 
 thing to wrap yourself in." 
 
 "I shall not be cold — while you with that open 
 dre.ss. I shall go, to oblige you to go in." .Xnd 
 without even offering his hand, he ran (|uickl\- down 
 the steps. 
 
 "If 1 touch her hand," he thought, "I am lost; 
 mv secret will escape me." 
 
 His secret I He did not know that Hettina read 
 his heart like an open book. 
 
 When Jean had descended the steps, he hesitated 
 one short moment ; these words were upon iiis lips : 
 
 " I love you, I adore you, and that is why I will 
 see you no more ! " 
 
 But he did not utter these words, he tied away and 
 was soon lost in the darkness. 
 
 Jkttina remained there against the brilliant back- 
 ground made by the light from the hall. Great 
 drops of rain driven by the wind swept across her 
 bare shoulders and made her shiver ; she took no 
 notice, she distinctly heard her heart beat. 
 
 " I knew verv well that he loved me," she thought, 
 "but now I am very sure that I too — oh I yes! I 
 too ! — " 
 
 All at once in one of the great mirrors in the hall 
 door she saw the reffection of the two footmen who
 
 THE ABR& COySTANTTN. 13 1 
 
 stood there motionless, near the oak table in tliehall. 
 She took several steps toward the drawing-room. 
 She heard bursts of laughter and the strains of the 
 waltz; she stopped. She wished to be alone, com- 
 pletely alone, and addressing one of the servants she 
 said : 
 
 " Go and tell your mistress tliat I am verv tired, 
 and have gone to my own room." 
 
 Annie, her maid, had fallen asleep in an easy-chair. 
 She sent her away. She would undress herself. She 
 let herself sink on a couch ; she was oppressed with 
 delicious emotion. 
 
 The door of her room opened ; it was Mrs. Scott. 
 
 " You are not well, Bettina? " 
 
 " Oh ! Suzie, is it you, my Suzie? how nice of you 
 to come. Sit here, close to me, quite close to me." 
 
 She hid herself like a child in her sister's arms, 
 caressing witli lier burning brow Suzie's fresh shoul- 
 ders. Then she suddenly burst into sobs, great sobs, 
 which stifled, suffocated her. 
 
 " liettina, my darling, what is the matter? " 
 
 " Nothing, nothing! it is my nerves ... it is joy 
 — joy ! '" 
 
 "joy?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, wait — let ne cry a little, it will do me 
 so much good. I)Ut do not be friglitened, do not be 
 frightened." 
 
 Beneath her sister's caress, Bettina grew calm, 
 soothed. 
 
 " It is over. I am better now, and I can talk to you. 
 It is about Jean." 
 
 " Jean ! You call him Jean? "^
 
 133 THE ABB A CONSTANTIN. 
 
 "Yes, I call him Jean. Have you not noticed for 
 some time that he was dull and looked (juite melan- 
 choly? " 
 
 " Yes, I have." 
 
 "Whenever he came, he would go and post him- 
 self near you, and stay there, silent, absorbed, to such 
 a degree, that for several days I asked myself — par- 
 don me for speaking to \ou with such frankness, it is 
 mv wav, \'ou know — I asked myself if it were not 
 you whom he loved, Su/ic ; you are so cliarming, it 
 would have been so natural. l!ut no, it was not 
 you, it was I! "' 
 
 "You!" 
 
 "Yes, I. Listen, he scarcely dared to look at 
 me, he avoided me, he Hed from me, he was afraid 
 of me, evidently afraid. Now, in justice, am I a 
 person to in.spire fear? I am sure I am not!" 
 
 " Certainly not ! " 
 
 "Ah! it was not 1 of whom he was afraid, it was 
 my mone}', mv horriil money! This money wliich 
 attracts all the others and tempts them so much, this 
 money terrifies him. drives him desjjerate because he 
 is not like the others, because he — " 
 
 "My child, take care, perhaps you are mistaken." 
 
 "Oh! no, I am not mistaken. Just now, at the 
 door, when he was going away he said some words 
 to me. These words were nothing. But if you had 
 seen his distress in spite of all his efforts to control 
 it! Suzie, dear Su/.ie, by the affection which I bear 
 you, and God knows how great is that affection, this 
 is my conviction, my absolute conviction, — if instead 
 of being Miss Percival 1 had been a poor young girl
 
 THE ABB& CO.VSTAN'TLV. 133 
 
 without a penny, Jean would tlien have taken mv liand, 
 and have told me that he loved me : and if he had 
 spoken to me thus, do vou know what I should have 
 replied ? " 
 
 " That you loved him too? " 
 
 " Yes ; and that is why I am so happy. With me 
 it is a fixed idea that I must adore the man who will 
 be my husband. Well, I don't sav that I adore 
 Jean ; no, not yet. but still it is beginning, Suzie, and 
 it is beginning so sweetly ! " 
 
 " Bettina, it really makes me uneasy to see you in 
 this state of excitement. I do not deny that Mon- 
 sieur Reynaud is much attached to \ ou — "" 
 
 " Oh ! more than that, more than that I " 
 
 " Loves you, if you like; yes, you are right, you 
 are quite right. He loves you ; and are you not 
 worthy, my darling, of all the. love that one can bear 
 you? As to Jean — it is progressing decidedly ; here 
 am I also calling him Jean — well, you know what I 
 think of him. 1 rank him \er\', very high. But in 
 spite of that, is he reallv a suitable husband for you? "' 
 
 " Yes, if I love him." 
 
 " I am tr}'ing to talk sensibly to you, and you, on 
 the contrary — Understand me. Bettina ; I have an 
 experience of the world which you cannot have. 
 Since our arrival in Paris we have been launched into 
 a verv brilliant. \'er\' animated, very aristocratic 
 society. You might have been already, if you had 
 liked, a marchioness or a i^rincess." 
 
 " Yes, but I did not like." 
 
 " It would not matter to you to be called Madame 
 Kevnaud ? "
 
 134 THE ABB& CO.VSTAIVTLY. 
 
 " Not in tlie least, it" I love him." 
 
 " Ah I you return always to — " 
 
 " Because that is the true question. There is no 
 other. Now I will be sensible in my turn. This 
 question — I grant that this is not quite settled, and 
 that I have, perhaps, allowed myself to be too easily 
 persuaded. You see how sensible I am. Jean is 
 going away to-morrow. I shall not see him again for 
 three weeks. During these three weeks I shall have 
 ample time to question myself, to examine myself, in 
 a word, to know my own mind. Under my giddy 
 manner, I am serious and thoughtful, you know 
 that ? " 
 
 " Oh ! yes, I know it."' 
 
 " Well, I will make this petition to you, as I 
 would have addressed it to our motiier had she been 
 here. If in three weeks I sav to vou, ' Suzie, I am 
 certain that I love him," will you allow me to go to 
 him myself, quite alone, and ask him if he will have 
 me for liis wife? That is what xou did with Richard. 
 Tell me, Su/.ie, will vou allow me? '" 
 
 " Yes, I will allow vou." 
 
 IJettina cml)raced her sister, and murmured these 
 words in her ear : 
 
 " Thank you, mamma." 
 
 " Mamma, mamma! So vou used to call me when 
 you were a child : when we were alone in the world 
 together; when 1 used to undress \i)u in our ])oor room 
 in New \'()rk ; when I held \()U in niv arms; wlien 1 
 laid you in your little l)ed ; when 1 sang }ou to sleep. 
 And since then, Bettina, I have had only one desire in 
 the world, — your ha])i)iness. That is why I beg you
 
 Bkttina's Uoo.m. (Opposite page 134.)
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTTN. 1 35 
 
 to reflect well. Do not answer me ; do not let us talk 
 any more of that. 1 wish to leave you very calm, 
 very tranquil. Vou hue sent away Annie, would you 
 like me to be your little mamma again to-night, to 
 undress you, and put you to bed as I used to do? "' 
 
 " Yes, I should like it verv much."' 
 
 " And when you are in bed, you promise me to be 
 very good ? " 
 
 " As good as an angel." 
 
 " You will do your best to go to sleep? "' 
 
 " My very best." 
 
 "Very quietly, without thinking of anything?" 
 
 "Very quietlv, witliout thinking ol" anything." 
 
 " Very well, then." 
 
 Ten minutes later, Bettina's prettv liead rested 
 gently amidst embroideries and lace. -Suzie said to 
 her sister : 
 
 " I am going down to those people, who bore me 
 dreadfully this evening. Before going to my own 
 room, I shall come back and see if you are asleep. 
 Do not speak. i\o to sleep." 
 
 She went away. Bettina remained alone ; she 
 tried to keep her word ; she endeavored to go to 
 .sleep, but only half-succeeded. She fell into a half- 
 slumber, which left her floating between dream and 
 reality. She liad promised to think of nothing, and 
 yet slie thought of him, always of him, of nolln'ng 
 but liim. vaguely, confusedly. 
 
 How long a time passed tlnis she could not 
 tell. 
 
 All at once it seemed to her that some one was 
 walking in iier room ; she half-opened lier e\es, and
 
 136 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 
 
 thought she recognized her sister. In a ver\- sleepy 
 voice she said to her : 
 
 " \'ou know I love him." 
 
 " Hush ! (Jo to sleep." 
 
 ' ' I am asleej) I I am asleep I '' 
 
 At last she really fell asleep, but slept less pro- 
 foundly than usual, for about four o'clock in the 
 morning she was .suddenlv awoke by a noise, wliich 
 the night before would not have disturbed her slum- 
 ber. The rain was falling in torrents, and l)eating 
 against her window. 
 
 "Oh, it is raining !"' she thought; ••he will get 
 wet ! " 
 
 That was her first thought. She rose, crossed the 
 room barefooted, half-opened the siiutters. The day 
 had broke, grav and lowering : the clouds were 
 heavv witli rain, the wind blew tempestuously, and 
 drove the rain in gusts before it. 
 
 Bettina did not go back to bed, she telt it would 
 be quite impossible to sleep again. Slie piU on a 
 dressing-gown, and remained at the window; she 
 watched the falling rain. Since lie positively must 
 go, she would liave liked the weatiier to be line; she 
 would lia\e liked briglU sunshine to cheer his fu'st 
 day's march. 
 
 When she came to Longueval a month ago, IJet- 
 tina did not know what niic itapc or day"s march 
 meant. But she knew now. A day's march for the 
 artillery is twenty or thirty miles, with an hour's halt 
 for luncheon. The Abbe Constantin had taught her 
 that ; wlien going their rounds in the morning among 
 the poor, Bettina overwhelmed the Cuie with (|ues-
 
 THE ABRfi COXSTAXTLV. 1^7 
 
 tions about military atiairs, and particularly alxnit the 
 artillery service. 
 
 Twenty or thirtv miles under this pouring rain ! 
 Poor Jean I liettina thou^dit of young Turner, 
 voung Norton, of I'aul de Lavardens, who would 
 sleep calmlv till ten in the morning, while Jean was 
 exposed to this deluge. 
 
 Paul de Lavardens ! 
 
 Thi.? name awoke in her a painful memory, the 
 memory of that waltz the evening before. To have 
 danced like that, while Jean was so obviously in 
 distress I That wait/, took the proportions ot a crime 
 in her eves ; it was a horrible thing that she had 
 done. 
 
 And then, had she not been wanting in courage 
 and frankness in that last interview with Jean? He 
 neither could nor dared say anything ; but she 
 might ha\'e shown more tenderness, more expansive- 
 ness. Sad and suffering as he was, she should never 
 have allowed Iiini to go buck on foot. She ought to 
 have detained him at any price. Her imagination 
 tormented and excited her; Jean must have carried 
 away with him the impression that she was a bad 
 little creature, heartless and pitiless. And in half 
 an hour he was going awav, — awa_\' for three weeks. 
 Ah! if she could bv any means — but there is a 
 way I The regiment is to pass along by the park 
 wall below the terrace. 
 
 Bettina was seized with a wild desire to see Jean 
 pass; he would understand well, if he saw her at 
 such an hour, that she had come to beg his pardon 
 for her cruelty of the previous evening. Yes, she
 
 13S THE ADBli, CONST AN TIN. 
 
 would go I But she had promised Suzie that she 
 would be as good as an angel, and to do what she 
 was going to do, was that being as good as an angel? 
 She would make up for it by acknowledging all to Suzie 
 when she came in again, and Suzie would forgive her. 
 
 She would go ! She had made up her mind. Only 
 how should she dress ? She had nothing at hand 
 but a jjall dress, a muslin dressing-gown, little high- 
 heeled slippers, and blue satin shoes. She might 
 wake her maid. Oh ! never would she dare to do 
 that, and time pressing ; a quarter to ti\'e ! the regi- 
 ment would start at five o'clock. 
 
 She might, perhajxs, manage with the muslin dress- 
 ing gown and the satin slippers : in the liall she 
 might find her hat, her little ])oots whicli she wore 
 in the garden, and the large tartan cloak for driving 
 in wet weather. .She half-opened her door with 
 infinite precautions. Everything was asleep in the 
 house ; she crept along the corridor, she descended 
 the staircase. 
 
 If onlv the little boots are there in their place; 
 that is her great anxietv. There the\- are I She 
 .slips them on over her satin shoes, she wraps herself 
 in the great mantle. 
 
 She hears that tlie rain has redoubled in violence. 
 She notices one of those large umbrellas which the 
 footmen use on the box in wet weather; she seizes 
 it ; she is ready ; but when she is ready to go she 
 sees that the hall door is fastened by a great iron 
 bar. She tries to rai.se it; but the bolt holds f;ist, 
 resists all her efforts, and the great clock in the hall 
 slowly strikes five. He is starting at that moment.
 
 Uain and Wind. (Opposite page 13S.)
 
 THE ABB A COy^STANTlN. 139 
 
 She will see him ! she will see him ! Her will is 
 excited b_\' these obstacles. She makes a great effort ; 
 the bar yields, slips back in the groove. But Bettina 
 has made a long scratch on her hand, from which 
 issues a slender stream of blood. Bettina twists her 
 handkerchief round her hand, takes her great um- 
 brella, turns the key in the lock, and opens the 
 door. 
 
 At last she is out of the house ! 
 
 The weather is frightful. The wind and the rain 
 rage together. It takes five or six minutes to reach 
 the terrace which looks over the road. Bettina darts 
 forward courageously : her head bent, hidden under 
 her immense vmibrella. She has already taken a few 
 steps when all at once, furious, mad, blinding, a squall 
 bursts upon Bettina, blows open her mantle, drives 
 her along, lifts her almost from the ground, turns 
 the umbrella violently inside out ; that is nothing, 
 the disaster is not yet complete. 
 
 Bettina has lost one of her little boots : they were 
 not practical sabots, they were onlv prettv little 
 things for fine weather; and at this moment, when 
 Bettina is desperately struggling against the tempest 
 with her blue satin shoe half buried in the wet gravel, 
 at this moment the wind bears to her the distant echo 
 of a trumpet-call. It is the regiment starting. 
 
 Bettina makes a desperate effort, abandons her 
 umbrella, finds her little boot, fastens it on as well 
 as she can, and starts ofi" running with a deluge de- 
 scending on her head. 
 
 At last she is in the wood ; the trees protect her 
 a little. Another call, nearer this time. Bettina
 
 140 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 
 
 fancies she hears the rolHng of tlie gun-carriages. Slie 
 malves a last effort : here is the terrace, slie is there 
 just in time. 
 
 Twenty yards off she perceived the white horses 
 of the trumpeters, and along the road she caught 
 glimpses of the long line of guns and wagons vaguely 
 rolling through the fog. 
 
 She sheltered herself under one of the old limes 
 which bordered the terrace. She watched, she 
 waited. He is there among that confused mass of 
 riders. Will she be able to recognize him? And 
 he, will he see her? Will any chance make him 
 turn his head that way? 
 
 Bettina knows that he is lieutenant in tiic second 
 battery of his regiment ; she knows tliat a battery is 
 composed of six guns and six ammunition wagons. 
 Of course the Al)l)e Constantin taught her that. 
 Thus she must allow the first battery to pass, that 
 is to sav, count six guns, si.x wagons, and then — 
 he will be tlu're. 
 
 There he is at last, wrapped in his great cloak, 
 and it is he who sees, who recognizes her first. A 
 few moments before he had been recalling to his mind 
 a long walk which he had taken with her one evening 
 on that terrace, when night was falling. He raised 
 his eyes, and the very spot where he rememliered 
 having seen her, was the spot where he fnmd her 
 again. He bowed, and, bare-headed in the rain, 
 turning round in his saddle, as long as he could see 
 her he looked at her. He .said again to himself 
 what he had said the previous evening : 
 
 " It is for the last time."
 
 THE ARRf: CONSTANTIN. 
 
 141 
 
 Witli a charming gesture of botli liands she re- 
 turned liis farewell, and tliis gesture, repeated many 
 times, brought her hands so near, so near her lijjs, 
 that one might have fancied — 
 
 "Ah!" she thought, "if after that he does not 
 understand that I love him, and does not forgive me 
 my money."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 It is tilt' tLMith of Aim'ust, tlie dav whicli is to 
 ljrin<( Jean l)ack to Loiii;ueval. 
 
 Bettina \vai<cs very early, rises, and runs immedi- 
 ately to the window. The evening before tlie sky 
 liad looked threatening, heavy with clouds. Bettina 
 slept l)ut little, and all night prayed that it might 
 not lain tlie next dav. 
 
 In the earlv morning a dense fog envelops the 
 jKirk of Longueval, the trees of which are hidden 
 from view as by a curtain. But gradually the rays 
 of the sun dissipate the mist, the trees become 
 vaguely discernible through the vapor ; then, sud- 
 denly, the sun shines out brilliantly. Hooding with 
 light the park, and the fields beyond ; and the lake
 
 Will it he Fine? (Opposite pajrc 142.)
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 143 
 
 where the black swans are disporting themselves in 
 the radiant light, appears as bright as a sheet of 
 polished metal. 
 
 The weather is going to be beautiful. Bettina is 
 a little superstitious. The sunshine gives her good 
 hope and good courage. " The day begins well, so 
 it will finish well."' 
 
 Mr. Scott had come some days before. Suzie, 
 Ikttina, and the children were waiting on the quay 
 at Havre, for the arrival of his steamer. 
 
 They exchanged many tender embraces, then 
 Richard, addressing his sister-in-law, says laugh- 
 ingly : 
 
 " Well, when is the wedding to be?" 
 
 "What wedding?" 
 
 " Yours." 
 
 " My wedding? " 
 
 " Yes, certainly." 
 
 " And to whom am I going to be married? " 
 
 " To Monsieur Jean Reynaud." 
 
 " Ah ! Suzie has written to j'ou? " 
 
 " Suzie? Not at all. Suzie has not said a word. 
 It was you, Bettina, who wrote to me. For the last 
 two months, all your letters have been occupied with 
 this young officer." 
 
 ' ' All my letters ? " 
 
 "Yes; and vou have written to me oftener and 
 more at length than usual. 1 do not complain of 
 that, but I do ask when you are going to present me 
 with a brother-in-law." 
 
 He speaks jestingly, but Bettina replies : 
 
 " Soon, I hope."
 
 144 ^^^^ ABB A CONSTANTIN. 
 
 Mr. Scott perceives that tlie affair is serious. When 
 returning in tlie carriage, Bettina asks Mr. Scott if 
 he has kept her letters. 
 
 " Certainly," he replies. 
 
 She reads them again. It is indeed only with 
 "Jean" that all these letters have been filled. She 
 finds therein related, down to the most trifling de- 
 tails, their first meeting. There is the portrait of 
 Jean in the vicarage garden, with his straw hat and 
 his earthenware salad-dish — and then it is again 
 Monsieur Jean, always Monsieur Jean. 
 
 She discovers that she has loved him much longer 
 than she had suspected. 
 
 Now it is the tenth of August. Luncheon is just 
 over, and Harry and liella arc impatient. Tliey know 
 that between one and two o'clock the regiment must 
 go through the village. They have been promised 
 that they shall be taken to see the soldiers pass, and 
 for tliem as well as for Bettina the return of the 9th 
 Artillery is a great event. 
 
 ••Aunt ]>etty," .said Bella, — " .\unt Betty, come 
 with us." 
 
 "Yes, do come," said Harry, — "do come; we 
 shall see our friend Jean on his big gray horse." 
 
 Bettina resists, refu.ses — and yet how great is the 
 temptation. 
 
 But no, she will not go, she will not see Jean 
 again till evening, when she will give him tliat 
 decisive explanation for which she has been prepar- 
 ing herself for the last three weeks. 
 
 The children hasten away with their governesses. 
 Bettina, Suzie, and Richard go and sit in the park.
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTTN. 145 
 
 quite close to the castle, and as soon as they are 
 established there — 
 
 " Suzie," says Bettina, '* I am going to remind you 
 to-day of your promise ; you remember what passed 
 between us the night of his departure ; we settled that 
 if on the day of his return I could say to you, ' Suzie, 
 I am sure that I love him/ — we settled that you 
 would allow me to speak frankly to him, and ask him 
 if he would have me for his wife." 
 
 "Yes, I did promise you. But are you very 
 sure? " 
 
 "Absolutely — and now the time has come to 
 redeem your promise. I warn you that I intend to 
 bring him to this very place " — she added, smiling, 
 " to this seat; and to use almost the same language 
 to him that you formerl\- used to Richard. You 
 were successful, Suzie, you are perfectly happy, and 
 I — that is what I wish to l)e."' 
 
 " Richard, Suzie has told vou about Monsieur 
 Reynaud ? " 
 
 " Yes, and she has told me that there is no man 
 of whom she has a higher opinion, but — "" 
 
 " l>ut she has told you that for me it would be a 
 rather quiet, rather commonplace marriage. Oh, 
 naughty sister I Will you believe it, Richard, that 
 I cannot get this fear out of her head? She does 
 not understand that before everything I wish to love 
 and be loved ; will you believe it, Richard, that only 
 last week she laid a horrible trap for me? You know- 
 that there exists a certain Prince Romanelli?" 
 
 " Yes, 1 know you might have been a princess." 
 
 "That would not have been immenselv dilificult,
 
 146 THE ABB A CO.VSTA.VTLV. 
 
 I believe. Well, one day I was so foolish as to say 
 to Suzie, tliat. in extremity, I might accept the 
 Prince Romanelli. Now, just imagine what she did? 
 The Turners were at Trouville. Suzie arranged a 
 little plot. We lunched with the Prince, hut the 
 result was disastrous. Accept him I The two hours 
 that I passed with him I ])assed in asking myself how 
 I could have said such a thing. Xo. Richard; no, 
 Suzie ; I will l)c neither princess, nor marchioness, 
 nor countess. My wish is to be Madame Jean Ray- 
 naud ; if, however, M. Jean Reynaud will agree to 
 it, and that is by no means certain." 
 
 The regiment is entering the village, and suddenly 
 a burst of music, martial and jovous. sweeps across 
 the space. All three remain silent : it is the regi- 
 ment ; it was Jean passing : the sound becomes 
 fainter, dies away, and Bettina continues: 
 
 " No, that is not certain. He loves me, however, 
 and much, but without knowing well what I am ; I 
 think that 1 deserve to be loved diflerently : I think 
 that I should not cause him .so much terror, so much 
 fear, if he knew me belter, and that is why I ask you 
 to ])ermit me to speak to him tliis evening freely 
 from my heart." 
 
 " We will allow you," replied Richard ; " you shall 
 speak to him freely, for we know, both of us, Bet- 
 tina, that you will never do anvthing but what is 
 noble and generous." 
 
 " At least I will try." 
 
 The children run up to them, they have seen Jean, 
 he was quite white with dust, he said good-morning 
 to them.
 
 TffF. APBf: CONSTANTIN. T47 
 
 "Only," ;idds Bella, "he is not very nice, he 
 did not stop to talk to us. Generally he stops, and 
 this time he wouldn't."" 
 
 "Yes, he would," replies Harry; "for at first he 
 seemed as if he were going to — and tlien he would 
 not. He went away." 
 
 " Well, he didn"t stop, and it is so nice to talk to 
 a soldier, especially when he is on horseback.*" 
 
 "It is not that only, but we are very fond of 
 Monsieur Jean : if you knew, papa, how kind he is, 
 and how nicely he plays witli us."" 
 
 "And what beautiful drawings he makes. Harry, 
 you remember that great Pimch wlio was so funny, 
 with his stick, you know."" 
 
 "And the cat, there was the little cat too, as in 
 the show."" 
 
 The two children go away talking of their friend 
 Jean. 
 
 "Decidedly,"" savs Air. Scott, "every one likes 
 liim in this house."" 
 
 " .\nd you will be like every one else when you 
 know him,"' replies Bettina. 
 
 The regiment broke into a trot along the high 
 road, after leaving the village. There is the terrace 
 where Bettina had been the other morning. Jean 
 says to himself: 
 
 " Supposing she should be there."' 
 
 He dreads and hopes it at the same time. He 
 raises his head, he looks, she is not there. 
 
 He has not seen her again, he will not see her 
 again, for a long time at least. He will start that 
 very evening at six o"clf)ck for Paris ; one of the head
 
 148 THE ABB A CONSTANTIh\ 
 
 men in the War Office is interested in him ; lie will 
 try to get exchanged into another regiment. 
 
 Alone at Cercottes, Jean has had time to reflect 
 deeply, and this is the result of his reflections. He 
 cannot, he must not, l)e Bettina PercivaTs husband. 
 
 The men dismount at the barracks, Jean takes 
 leave of his colonel, his comrades: all is over. He 
 is free, he can go. 
 
 But he does not go yet ; he looks around him. . . . 
 How happy he was three months ago, when he rode 
 out of that great yard amidst the noise of the can- 
 non rolling over the jiavement of Souvigny, but how 
 sadly he would ride away to-day! Formerlv his life 
 was there: where would it l)e now? 
 
 He goes home, he goes up to his own room, he writes 
 to Mrs. Scott : he tells her that his duties oblige him 
 to leave immediately; he cannot dine at the castle, 
 and begs Mrs. Scott to remember him to .Miss Bettina. 
 Ikttina, ah I what trouble it cost him to write that 
 name; he closes his letter; he will send it directly. 
 
 He makes liis preparations for departure ; then he 
 will go to wish his godfather farewell. That is 
 what costs him most: he will only speak to him of a 
 short absence. 
 
 He opens one of the drawers of his biu'eau to take 
 out some money. The lirst thing that meets his 
 eyes is a little note on bluish paper, it is the only 
 note which he has ever received from her. 
 
 "Will you have the kindness to give to the ser- 
 vant the book of which you s])oke vesterdav evening? 
 I*erha]js it will be a little heavv foi- me, but yet I 
 should like to try to read it. We shall see you
 
 THE ABB A CONSTANTIN. 149 
 
 to-niglit ; come as early as possible." It is signed 
 •' Bettina." 
 
 Jean reads and re-reads these few lines, but soon 
 he can read them no longer, his eyes are dim. 
 
 " It is all that is left me of her," he thinks. 
 
 At the same moment the Abbe Constantin is 
 holding conference with old Pauline ; they are mak- 
 ing up tlieir accounts. The financial situation is 
 admirable: more than two thousand francs in hand! 
 And the wishes of Su/.ie and Ik'ttina are accom- 
 plished ; there are no more poor in the neighbor- 
 hood. His old servant, Pauline, has even occasional 
 scruples of conscience. 
 
 " You see. Monsieur le Curt'," says she, " perhaps 
 we give them a little too much. Then it will be 
 spread about in other parishes that here they can 
 always lind charit\'. And do \-ou know what will 
 happen one of these days ? Poor people will come 
 and settle at Longueval." 
 
 The Cure gives fifty francs to Pauline. She goes 
 oft" to take them to a poor man who had broken his 
 arm a few days before bv falling from the top ot a 
 hay-cart. 
 
 The Abbe Constantin remains alone in the vicarage. 
 He is rather anxious. He has watched for the pass- 
 ing of the regiment ; but Jean only stopped for a 
 moment; he looked sad. For some time the Abbe 
 had noticed that Jean had no longer the flow of good 
 humor and gayety he once possessed. 
 
 The Cur6 had not disturbed himself too much about 
 it, believing it to be one of those little youthful 
 troubles which did not concern a poor old priest.
 
 150 THE ABB& COXSTANTIN. 
 
 But on this occasion Jean's disturbance was very 
 perceptible. 
 
 " I will conic baclv (lirccll\'." lie said to the Cure. 
 " I want to speal< lo you." 
 
 He turned abruptlv away. The Ablie Constantin 
 had not even had time to give Loulou his piece of 
 sugar, or rather his pieces of sugar, for he had put 
 five or si.K in his pocket, considering that Loulou had 
 well deserved this feast by ten long days" march, and 
 a score of nights passed under the open sky. 
 
 Besides, since Mrs. Scott had lived at Longueval 
 Loulou had very often had se\eral pieces of sugar; 
 the Abb6 Constantin had become extravagant, prodi- 
 gal ; he felt himself a millionaire ; the sugar for 
 Loulou was one of his follies. One day even he had 
 been on the point of addressing to Loulou his ever- 
 lasting little speech : 
 
 "This comes from the new mistresses of Longue- 
 val ; pray for them to-night."" 
 
 It was three o'clock wlien Jean arrived at the 
 vicarage, and the Cur6 said immediately: 
 
 " You told me that you wanted to speak tome; 
 what is it about ? "" 
 
 " About something, mv dear godfatlier, which will 
 surprise you, will grieve you — - "" 
 
 " Grieve me ! "" 
 
 " Yes, and wliich grie\es me too — I ha\'e come to 
 bid you farewell."" 
 
 " Farewell I \'ou are going away ? "' 
 
 " Yes, I am going away."' 
 
 ""When?"" 
 
 " To-dav, in two hours.""
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 151 
 
 *' In two hours ? But, my dear boy, we were 
 going to dine at the castle to-niglit." 
 
 " I have just written to Mrs. Scott to excuse me. 
 I am positively obliged to go."' 
 
 " Directly? " 
 
 " Directly."' 
 
 " And where are you going? " 
 
 " To Paris."" 
 
 " To Paris ! Why tins sudden determination? " 
 
 " Not so very sudden. I have thought about it 
 for a long time." 
 
 "And you have said nothing about it to me! 
 Jean, something has happened. You are a man, 
 and I have no longer the right to treat you as a child ; 
 but 3'ou know how much I love \ou ; if you have 
 vexations, troubles, why not tell them to me? I 
 could perhaps advise you. Jean, why go to Paris?" 
 
 " I did not wish to tell you ; it will give you pain ; 
 but you have the right to know. I am going to Paris 
 to ask to be exchanged into another regiment." 
 
 " Into another regiment ! To leave Souvigny ! " 
 
 " Yes, that is just it. 1 must leave Souvigny for a 
 short time, for a little while only ; but to leave Sou- 
 vignv is necessary : it is what I wish above all things."' 
 
 " And what about me, Jean; do you not think of 
 me? A little while ! A little while ! But that is all 
 that remains to me of life. — a little while. And dur- 
 ing these last days, that I owe to the grace of God, 
 it was my happiness, yes, Jean, my happiness, to 
 feel you here, near me, and now you are going 
 away I Jean, wait a little patiently, it cannot be for 
 very lomr now. Wait until the irood God has called
 
 152 TriF. ABB A CO-VSTANrnV. 
 
 me to Himself; wait till I shall be gone, to meet 
 there, at His side, your father and your mother. Do 
 not go, Jean, do not go I " 
 
 " If you ]o\e me, I love you too, and \-ou know it 
 well."" 
 
 " Yes, I know it." 
 
 " I have just the same affection for you now that I 
 had when 1 was quite little, wiien you took me to 
 yourself, when }ou ])rought me up. My heart has 
 not changed, will never change. lUit if duty — if 
 honor — o])lige me to go? " 
 
 " Ah I if it is duty, if it is honor. I say nothing 
 more, Jean; that stands before all! — all! — all! I 
 have alwavs known you a good judge of your duty, 
 vour honor, do, my bov, go; I ask you nothing 
 more. 1 wish to know no more."' 
 
 " Hut I wish to tell you all,"" cried Jean, vanquished 
 by his emotion, "and it is better that you should 
 know all. You will stay here, you will return to the 
 castle, \ou will see her again — her ! "' 
 
 ' ' See her ! Who ? "' 
 
 ' ' Bettina ! "' 
 
 " 15ettina?'" 
 
 " I adore her. I adore her ! " 
 
 " Oh, my poor boy ! "' 
 
 " Pardon me for speaking to you of these things; 
 hut 1 tell you as I would have told my father. And 
 then, I have not been able to speak of it to any 
 one, and it stifled me : yes, it is a madness which 
 has seized me, which has grown upon me little by 
 little against m\ will, for you know very well — My 
 God ! It was here that I began to love her. You
 
 THE ABB A CONSTANIVN. 153 
 
 know, when she came here with her sister — the Httle 
 rouleaux of a thousand francs — her hair fell down 
 — and tlien the evening, the month of Mary. Then 
 I was permitted to see her freely, familiarl\-, and you 
 yourself spoke to me constantly of her. You praised 
 her sweetness, her goodness. How often have you 
 told me that there was no one in the world better 
 than she is ! "" 
 
 " And I thought so, and I think so still. And no 
 one here knows her better than I do, for I alone have 
 seen her with the poor. If you only knew how ten- 
 der and how good she is ! Neither wretchedness nor 
 suftering are repulsive to her. But, my dear boy, I 
 am wrong to tell you all this." 
 
 " No, no, I shall see her no more, but I like to 
 hear you speak of her." 
 
 " In your whole life, Jean, you will never meet a 
 better woman, nor one who has more elevated senti- 
 ments. To such a point, that one day — she had 
 taken me with her in an open carriage, full of 
 toys — she was taking these toys to a poor little 
 sick girl, and when she gave them to her, to make 
 the poor little thing laugh, to amuse her, she talked 
 so prettily to her that I thought of you, and I said 
 to myself, I remember it now, ' Ah, if she were 
 poor ! ' " 
 
 " Ah, if .she were poor ! but she is not." 
 
 " Oh, no ! But what can you do, my poor boy? 
 If it gives you pain to see her, to live near her, above 
 all, if it will prevent you suffering — go away, go — 
 and yet, and yet — " 
 
 The old priest became thoughtful, let his head fall
 
 154 THE ABB A CONSTANTLY. 
 
 between liis liands, and remained silent for some 
 moments ; tlien he continued : 
 
 "And yet, Jean, do you know what I think? I 
 have seen a great deal of Mademoiselle Bettina since 
 she came to Longueval. Well — when I reflect — it 
 did not astonish me then that any one should be in- 
 terested in you, for it seemed so natural — but she 
 talked always, yes, always of you." 
 
 "Of me?"' 
 
 " Yes, of you, and of your father and mother; she 
 was curious to know how you lived. She begged me 
 to explain to her what a soldier's life was, the life of 
 a true soldier who loved his profession, and performed 
 his duties conscientiously. . . . it is extraordinary, 
 since you have told me this, recollections crowd upon 
 me, a thousand little things collect and group them- 
 selves together. . . . She returned from Havre day 
 before vesterdav at three o'clock. Well, an hour 
 after her arrival she was here. And it was of you 
 of whom she sj^oke directly. She asked if you had 
 written to me, if you had not been ill, when you 
 would arrive, at what hour, if the regiment would 
 pass through the village." 
 
 " It is useless at this nioment. my dear godfather," 
 said Jean, ■• to recall all these memories." 
 
 " No, it is not useless. . . . She seemed so 
 pleased, so happy even, at the thought of seeing you 
 again ! She would make quite a fite of the din- 
 ner this evening. She would introduce you to her 
 brother-in-law, who has come back. There is no one 
 else at the chateau at this moment, not a single 
 visitor. She insisted strongly on this point, and I
 
 THE ABB& CONS TAN TIN. 155 
 
 remember l\er last words — she was tlierc, on the 
 threshold of the door — 
 
 " 'There will onlv be five of us,' she said, 'you 
 and Monsieur Jean, my sister, my brother-in-law, 
 and myself.' 
 
 "And then she added, laughini;. ' Quite a family 
 party." 
 
 " With these words she went, she almost ran 
 away. Quite a family party ! Do you know what 
 I think, Jean? Do you know?" 
 
 " Vou must not think that, you must not." 
 
 "Jean, I believe that she loves you!" 
 
 " And I believe it too." 
 
 " You too ! "' 
 
 " When I left her, three weeks ago, she was so 
 agitated, so moved I She saw me sad and unhappy, 
 she would not let me go. It was at the door of the 
 chateau. I was obliged to tear myself, yes, literally 
 tear myself, away. 1 should have spoken, burst out, 
 told her all. After having gone a few steps I stopped 
 and turned. She could no longer see me, I was lost 
 in the darkness ; but I could see her. She stood 
 there motionless, her shoulders and arms bare, in 
 the rain, her eyes fixed on the wa\' by which I had 
 gone. Perhaps I am mad to think that. Perhaps 
 it was only a feeling of pity. But no, it was some- 
 thing more than pity, for do you know what she did 
 the next morning? She came at five o'clock in the 
 most frightful weather to see me pass with the regi- 
 ment — and then — the way she bade me adieu — 
 oh, my friend, my dear old friend ! " 
 
 " But then," said the poor Cur6, completely be-
 
 156 THE ABB A CONSTANTIN. 
 
 wildered, completely at a loss, "but then I do not 
 understand you at all. If you love her, Jean, and 
 if she loves you." 
 
 " But that is, alx)ve all, tlie reason wliy 1 must go. 
 If it were onl\- me, if I were certain that she had not 
 perceived mv love, certain that she had not been 
 touched l)y it. I would stay. 1 would stay — for noth- 
 ing but for the sweet joy of seeing her ; and I would 
 love her from afar, without any hope, for nothing but 
 the happiness of loving lier. But no, she has under- 
 stood too well, and far from discouraging me — that 
 is what forces me to go."' 
 
 "No, I do not understand it I 1 know well, mv 
 poor boy, we are speaking of things in which 1 am 
 no great scholar, but you are both good, young, and 
 charming; you love her, she would love you, and 
 you will not ! " 
 
 " And her money I her money I " 
 
 "What matters her money. If it is onlv that, is 
 it because of her money that you have loved her? 
 It is rather in spite of her money. Your conscience, 
 my .son, would Ije quite at jjcace with regard to that, 
 and that would suffice."' 
 
 " No, that would not sullice. To ]ia\"e a good 
 opinion of one's self is not enough ; that opinion 
 must be shared by others." 
 
 " Oh, Jean ! Among all who know vou. who can 
 doubt you ? '' 
 
 "Who knows? And then there is another thing 
 besides this question of monev, another thing more 
 .serious and more grave. 1 am not tiie luisband 
 suited to her."
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANT/JV. 157 
 
 •' And who could be more worthy than you? '' 
 
 " The question to be considered is not my wortli ; 
 we have to consider what she is and wliat I am, to 
 ask what ouglit to be her Hfe and wliat ouglit to be 
 my Hfe. . . . One day, Paul — you know he has 
 rather a blunt way of saying things, but that very 
 bluntness often places thoughts much more clearly 
 before us — we were speaking of her; Paul did not 
 suspect anything ; if he had, he is good-natured, 
 he would not have spoken thus — well, he said to 
 me : 
 
 "'What she needs is a husband wlu) would be 
 entirely devoted to her, to her alone ; a husband who 
 would have no other care than to make her ex- 
 istence a perpetual holiday ; a husband who would 
 give himself, his whole life, in return for her 
 money/ 
 
 " You know me ; such a husband I cannot, I must 
 not be. I am a soldier, and will remain one. If 
 the chances of my career sent me some day to a 
 garrison in the depths of the Alps, or in some 
 almost unknown village in Algeria, could I ask her 
 to follow me? Could I condemn her to the life of a 
 soldier's wife, which is in some degree the life of 
 a soldier himself ? Think of the life which she leads 
 now, of all that luxury, of all those pleasures ! '' 
 
 " Yes," said the Abb^, " that is more serious than 
 the question of money." 
 
 " So serious that there is no hesitation possible. 
 During the three weeks that I passed alone in the 
 camp I have well considered all that ; I have thought 
 of nothing else, and loving her as I do lo\e, the
 
 158 THE ABB It CONSTANTIN. 
 
 reason must indeed be strong \vliicli sliows me 
 clearly my dutw 1 must go. I must go far, \ery 
 far away, as far as possible. I shall suffer much, 
 but I must not see her again I 1 must not see 
 her again I '" 
 
 Jean sank on a chair near the fire-place. He re- 
 mained there quite overpowered with his emotion. 
 The old jjriest looked at him. 
 
 "To see you suffer. m\' ])oor l)()v I That such 
 suflfering should tall ujjon you' It is too cruel, too 
 unjust I " 
 
 At that moment some one knocked gently at the 
 door. 
 
 "Ah!" said the Curt", "do not ])e afraid, Jean. 
 I will send them awav." 
 
 The Abl)e went to the door, opened it, and re- 
 coiled as if before an unexpected api)ariti()n. 
 
 It was Bettina. In a moment she had seen Jean, 
 and going direct to him — 
 
 " You ! ■' cried she. "Oh. how glad I am ! " 
 
 He rose. She took both his hands in hers, and 
 addressing the Cure, she said : 
 
 " I beg your pardon. Monsieur le Cur6, for going 
 to him first. I saw }ou yesterda\-. but I have not 
 seen him for three whole weeks, not since a certain 
 nigiit when he left our house sad and suffering." 
 
 She still held Jean's hands. lie had neither 
 power to make a movement nor to utter a sound. 
 
 "And now," continued Bettina, "are you better? 
 No, not yet, I can see; still sad. Ah. 1 have done 
 well to come! It was an insjiiiatioii I However, 
 it embarrasses me much to find vou here. You will
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTIN. 159 
 
 understand why when you know wliat I have come 
 to ask of your godfather." 
 
 She rehnquished his hands, and, turning towards 
 the Abb6, said : 
 
 '• I liave come to beg you to hsten to my confes- 
 sion — yes, my confession. But do not go away. 
 Monsieur Jean ; I will make my confession publicly. 
 I am quite willing to speak before you, and now I 
 think of it, it will be better thus. Let us sit down, 
 shall we ? "' 
 
 She felt herself full of confidence and daring. 
 She burnt with fever, but with that fever which 
 on the field of battle gives to a soldier ardor, heroism, 
 and disdain of danger. The emotion which made 
 Bettina's heart beat quicker than usual was a high 
 and generous emotion. She said to herself: 
 
 " I wish to be loved I I wish to love I I wish to 
 be happy ! I wish to make him happy ! And since 
 he cannot ha\e the courage to do it, I must have it 
 for both. I must march alone, my head high and 
 my heart at ease, to the conquest of our love, to the 
 conquest of our happiness ! "' 
 
 From her first words Bettina had gained over the 
 Abb6 and Jean a complete ascendancy. They let her 
 say what she liked, they let her do as she liked, they 
 felt that the hour was supreme ; they understood 
 that what was happening would be decisive, irre- 
 vocable, but neither was in a position to foresee. 
 
 They sat down obediently, almost automatically ; 
 they waited, they listened. Alone of the three, Bet- 
 tina retained her composure. It was in a calm and 
 even voice that she began.
 
 l6o THE ABB A CONSTANTLY. 
 
 " I must tell you first, Monsieur le Cur6, to set 
 your conscience (]uite at rest, — I must tell you that 
 I am here witli the consent of my sister and my 
 brother-in-law. They know why I have come ; they 
 know what I am goins; to do. They not only know, 
 l)ut llicv ap])n)vc. That is settled, is it not? Well, 
 what brings me here is your letter. Monsieur Jean. — 
 that letter in which you tell my sister that you cannot 
 dine with us this evening, and that you are positively 
 obliged to leave here. This letter has unsettled all 
 my plans. I had intended this evening — of course 
 with the permission of my sister and brother-in-law 
 — I had intended after dinner to take you into the 
 jjark. .Monsieur Jean, to seat myself with you on a 
 bench ; I was childish enough to choose the place 
 beforehand. There I should have delivered a little 
 speech, well prepared, well studied, almost learnt by 
 heart, for since your departure I ha\'e scarcely thought 
 of anything else ; I repeat it to myself from morning 
 to night. That is what I had proposed to do. and you 
 understand that your letter caused me much embar- 
 ra.ssment. I reflectetl a little, and thought that if I 
 addressed my little speech to your godfather it would 
 be almost the same as if I addres.sed it to nou. So 
 I have come, Monsieur le Cure-, to beg you to listen 
 to me." 
 
 " I will listen to you. Miss Percival,"' stammered 
 the Abbe. 
 
 " I am rich. Monsieur le Cure, I am very rich, and, 
 to speak frankly, I love my wealth very much — yes, 
 very much. To it I owe the luxury which surrounds 
 me, luxury which, 1 acknowledge, — this is a con-
 
 THE ABB A CONSTANTTN. l6l 
 
 fession, — is by no means disagreeable to me. My 
 excuse is tliat 1 am still very young ; it will perhaps 
 pass as I grow older, but of that 1 am not very sure. 
 I have another excuse : it is. that if I love money a 
 little for the pleasure that it procures me, I love it 
 still more for the good which it allows me to do. I 
 love it — selfishly, if you like — for the joy of giving ; 
 but I think that my fortune is not very badly placed 
 in my hands. Well, Monsieur le Cure, in the same 
 way that you have the care of souls, it seems that I 
 have the care of money. I have always thought, ' I 
 wish, above all things, that my husband should be 
 worthy of sharing this great fortune. I wish to be 
 very sure that he will make a good use of it with me 
 while I am here, and after me if 1 must leave this 
 world first." I thought of another thing ; I thought, 
 ' He who will be my husband must be some one I can 
 love ! " And now. Monsieur le Cur6, this is where 
 my confession really begins. There is a man who 
 for the last two months has done all he can to con- 
 ceal from me that he loves me, but I do not doubt 
 that this man loves me. . . . You do love me, 
 Jean? "" 
 
 " Yes," said Jean, in a low voice, his eyes cast 
 down, looking like a criminal, " I do love you ! " 
 
 ' ' I knew it very well, but I wanted to hear you say 
 it ; and now, I entreat you, do not utter a single 
 word. Any words of yours would be useless, would 
 disturb me, would prevent me from going straight to 
 my aim, and telling you what I positivelv intend to 
 .say. Promise me to stav there, sitting still, without 
 moving, without speaking. You promise me.''"
 
 l62 THE ABB A CONSTAXTIN. 
 
 " I promise you." 
 
 Bettina, as she went on speaking, began to lose a 
 little of her contklence : her voice trembled slightly. 
 She continued, however, witli a gayety that was a 
 little forced. 
 
 " Monsieur le Cure, 1 do not blame you for what 
 has happened, yet all this is a little your fault." 
 
 " My fault!" 
 
 " Ah ! do not speak, not even you. Yes, I repeat 
 it, your fault. ... I am certain that you have spoken 
 well of me to Jean, much too well. Perliaps without 
 that he would not have thought — And at tlie same 
 time, you have spoken very well of him to me. Not 
 too well — no, no — but yet very well I Tlien 1 had 
 so mucli confidence in you that I began to look at 
 him, and examine him with a little more attention. 
 I began to compare iiini with those who. during the 
 last year, had asked my hand. It seemed to me that 
 he was in every respect superior to them. 
 
 "At last it happened on a certain day, or rather 
 on a certain evening — three weeks ago. the evening 
 before you left here, Jean — I discovered that I loved 
 you. . . . Yes, Jean, I love you! ... I entreat 
 you, do not speak ; stay wiiere }ou are : do not 
 come near me. 
 
 " Before 1 came here I thouglit I had supplied 
 mvself with a good stock of courage, but you see I 
 iiave no longer my fine composure of a minute ago. 
 I5ut I liave still sometiii ng to tell you. and the most 
 important of all. Jean, listen to me carefully; I do 
 not wish for a reply torn from you in your emotion ; 
 1 know that \ou love me. If you marry me, 1 do
 
 THE ABB A CONSTANTIN. 163 
 
 not wish it to be only for love ; I wish it to be also 
 for reason. During the fortnight before you left 
 here, you took so much pains to avoid me, to escape 
 any conversation, that I have not been able to show 
 myself to you as I am. Perhaps there are in me 
 certain qualities which you do not suspect. . . . 
 
 "Jean, I know what you are, I know to what I 
 should bind myself in marrying )ou, and I would be 
 for you not only the loving and tender woman, but 
 the courageous and constant wife. 1 know your 
 entire life ; your godfather has related it to me. I 
 know why you became a soldier ; I know what duties, 
 what sacrifices, the future may demand from you. 
 Jean, do not suppose that I will turn you from any 
 of these duties, from any of these .sacrifices. If I 
 could be disappointed with you for anything, it would 
 be, perhaps, for this thought, — oh! you must have 
 had it. — that I should wish you free, and quite my 
 own, that 1 should ask you to abandon your career. 
 Never ! never ! Understand well, 1 will never a.sk 
 such a thing of you. . . . 
 
 " A young girl whom I know did that when she 
 married, and she did wrong. I love you, and I wish 
 you to be just what you are. It is because you live 
 differently from, and l^etter than, those who have 
 before desired me for a wife, that I desire you for a 
 husband. I should love you less — perhaps I should 
 not love you at all, though that would be very diffi- 
 cult — if you were to begin to live as all those live 
 whom I would not have. When I can follow you, 
 I will follow you ; wherever you are will be my duty, 
 wherever you are will be my happiness. And if the
 
 164 THE ABB& CONSTANTTN. 
 
 day comes when you cannot take me, tlie day when 
 you must go alone, — well. Jean, on that day I prom- 
 ise you to be ])rave, and not take your courage from 
 you . 
 
 " And now. .Monsieur le Cur6, it is not to him, 
 it is to you that 1 am speaking : I want yon to answer 
 me, not him. Tell me, ... if he loves me, and 
 feels me worthy of his love, would it be just to make 
 me expiate so severely the fortune that I possess? 
 Tell me, should he not agree to be my husband?" 
 
 " Jean," said the old priest gravely, " marry her. 
 It is vour duty, and it will be your happiness I "' 
 
 Jean approached Bettina, took her in his arms, 
 and pressed uix)n her brow the first kiss. 
 
 Bettina gently freed herself, and addressing the 
 Abb6 said : 
 
 " And now. Monsieur TAbbe, I have still one tiling 
 to ask you. 1 wish — I wish — " 
 • " You wish? ■■ 
 
 " Pray, Monsieur le Cur6, kiss me too." 
 
 The old priest kis.sed her paternally on both 
 cheeks, and then Bettina continued : 
 
 " \'ou have often told me, Monsieur le Curd', that 
 Jean was almost like your own son. and I shall be 
 almost like your own daughter, shall I not? So you 
 will have two children, that is all." 
 
 A month after, on the 12th of September, at mid- 
 day, Bettina, in tlie simplest of wedding dresses, 
 entered the churcli of Longueval while, placed be- 
 hind the altar, the trumpets of the 9tli .Vrtillery rang 
 joyously through the arches of the old eluu'ch.
 
 ■rufinw, 
 
 The Fiust Kiss. (Opposite page 164.)
 
 THE ABB& CONSTANTJN. 165 
 
 Nancy Turner had begged for the honor of pla3ing 
 the organ on this solemn occasion, for the poor little 
 harmonium had disappeared ; an organ with resplen- 
 dent pipes rose in the gallery of the church — it 
 
 ^ 
 
 was Miss Percivars wedding present to the Abb6 
 Constant! n. 
 
 The old Cur6 said mass, Jean and Bettina knelt 
 before him, he pronounced the lienediction, and 
 then remained for some moments in prayer, his arms 
 extended, calling down with his whole soul the 
 blessings of Heaven on his two children. 
 
 Then floated from the organ the same re very of
 
 1 66 THE ABB£ COXSTAA'T/N. 
 
 Chopin's whicli Bcttina liacl played tlic first time that 
 she had entered that village church, where was to be 
 consecrated the happiness of her life. 
 And this time it was Bettina who wept.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 Santa Barbara College Library 
 Santa Barbara, California 
 
 Return to desk from which borrowed. 
 This book is DU^ ou-th^ast date stamped belo 
 
 20WI-8, '54 (647284)470 
 
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