A N T O N I A
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by
ROBERTS BROTHERS,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
Copyright, 1898^
By Roberts Brothers.
University Press:
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S. A
©etrtcatiom
nno M. EDOUARD RODRIGUES, the father of the
fatherless, and friend of the friendless; who does
good for its own sake, with the same simplicity, the same
freedom and readiness, with which he interprets Mozart and
Beethoven.
GEORGE SAND.
226393
Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2008 with funding from
IVIicrosoft Corporation
http://www.archive.org/details/antoniaaOOsandrich
>• • • •,
' • • J» • »
•••.♦%••• .•
' ' On the next, night they met in the groves of
the gardens^
stud!
r
ANT ONI A.
TT was the month of April, in the year I785y in Paris ;
"■- the spring that year was a genuine spring. The gar-
dens were in holiday dress, the grass was enamelled with
daisies, the birds were singing, and the lilacs were grow-
ing in such profusion near Julien*s window, that their full-
blown thyrsi bent over into his very room, and scattered
tlieir little flowerets over the great white squares of the
floor of his studio.
Julien Thierry was a flowertpainter, like his father,
Andre Thierry, who had been very famous in the time
of Louis XV. as a decorator of friezes, panels of dining-
rooms, and ceilings of boudoirs. In his skilful hands
these graceful ornaments became real works of art ; so
much so, indeed, that he ceased to be an artisan, and
gained a great reputation as an artist ; he was highly
esteemed by persons of taste, his work commanded great
prices, and he was a person of consideration in society.
Julien, his pupil, devoted himself to painting upon canvas.
In his generation, the light and charming decorations
in the Pompadour style had ceased to be fashion-
able. The severer taste of the Louis XVI. era no longer
scattered flowers over ceilings and walls, it framed them.
Julien, therefore, painted flowers, fruits, pearl-shells,
brilliant butterflies, green lizards, and drops of dew, in
the manner of Mignon. He had a great deal of talent,
he was handsome, he was twenty-four years old, and his
father had left him nothing but debts.
The widow of Andre Thierry was with Julien, in this
studio where he was at work, and where the bunches of
lilac were being despoiled by the caresses of the \^ arm
breeze. Although a woman of sixty, she was well pre-
served : her eyes were still beautiful ; her hair was almost
black, and her hands were delicate. Small, slender,
fair, and dressed with exquisite neatness, although with
extreme simplicity, ^i\e was knitting, and every now
and then looked up at her son, absorbed in studying a rose.
*' Julien," she said, "why is it that you do not sing
any longer at your work? You might, perhaps, per-
suade the nightingale to let us hear its voice."
"Listen, mother, he is beginning now of his own ac-
cord," replied Julien ; " he does not require a leader."
In fact, the nightingale, for the first time in the year,
began at this very moment to pour forth his pure and re-
sounding notes.
" Ah ! it is really singing ! " cried Madam Thierry.
"A year has gone by. Do you see it, Julien ? " she
added, as the young man, interrupting his work, gazed
into the thick grove before the window.
" I thought that I saw her," he replied, with a sigh ;
" but I was mistaken."
He returned to his easel. His mother looked at him
anxiously, but asked no further questions.
" It is the same thing," she continued, after a pause,
"you have a beautiful voice also, and I love to hear the
pretty songs that your poor father sang so well — only a
year ago, at this time ! "
"Yes," said Julien, "you want me to sing his songs,
and then you weep. No, I will not sing them."
" I will not shed a tear, I promise you ! Sing me
sortiething gay, and I will laugh — as if he were here.'*
" No, do not ask me, mother ! It pains me as well as
you to hear those songs. Give me a little time. Let all
come about gently. Do not let us do violence to our sor-
row."
" Julien, you must not talk of sorrow any longer,"
said the mother firmly, although in an agitated voice.
" I was weak at first, but you will pardon me ! It was
no light blow to lose forty years of happiness in a single
day ! But I should have remembered that your loss was
ANTONIA. J
greater than mine, for you remain to me ; — while I — T
am good for nothing excepting to love you."
"And what more do I require?" said Julien, kneeling
at his mother's side. *' I know that you love me as no
one ever will love me. And do not say that you have
been weak. You have buried your sorrows in your own
heart as well as you could ; I have seen and understood
all your struggles, and I thank you for them, my poor
mother ! You have given me strength, and 1 have
needed your support, for I have had to suffer for you as
well as myself. Your courage gave me faith that God
would perform a miracle in my favor ; that He would
preserve your health and life in spite of the most cruel
trials ; and He has granted me this reward. You do not
feel ill now, do you, mother?"
" No, my child, I am really well ! You are right
in thinking that God will sustain those who are true to
themselves ; that He will give strength to those who pray
for it with their whole hearts. Do not think that I am
wretched ! I have wept a great deal, — how could I do
otherwise? He was so good, so amiable, so happy!
It seemed as if he had still many years to live. God
decreed otherwise. For my part, I have had so much
happiness in my life, that I had really no right to expect
anything more. And God was merciful, even while
afflicting me, for He has left me the best, the most be-
loved of sons ! What right have I, then, to weep, and
pray for death ? No, no ; I will rejoin your good father
when my hour comes, and when we meet he will say,
' You have done well to live, to linger in yonder lower
world, for the sake of our well-beloved child.' "
"You see, then," said Julien, embracing his mother,
" that we are neither of us unhappy any longer, and
that it is not necessary for me to sing for our amuse-
ment. We can think of hinn without bitterness ; we can
cherish each other without selfishness."
Madam Thierry folded her sou to her heart for a
moment, and they resumed their diiferent occupations.
This scene occurred in an old pavilion, dating back to
the reign of Louis XIH., that stood at the end of the
4 ANTONIA.
me de Babylone. The most modem building on this street,
and the one nearest to the pavilion, was a house now
demolished, which was then called the hotel d'Estrelle.
At the same time that Julien and his mother were
talking in the pavilion, two persons were chatting to-
gether in a pretty little saloon of the hotel d'Estrelle, —
a fresh, cosy drawing-room decorated in the taste of the
latter part of the reign of Louis XVI., — that is, a
graceful, bastard Greek style, a little cold in the lines,
but harmonious, and enriched with gilding on a white
and pearl ground. The Countess d'Estrelle was dressed
simply in a half-mourning gray silk ; the Baroness
d' Ancourt, her friend, was in demi-toilette, — a costume
adapted for informal visits ; that is to say, making a
great display of muslins, ribbons, and laces.
" My dear friend," she said to the countess, " I do not
understand you at all. You are twenty years old, beau-
tiful as an angel, and yet you persist in living alone, like
an insignificant bourgeoise. Your two years of mourning
have expired, and every one knows you had no occasion
to regret your husband ; no man ever lived who so little
deserved regret. He was considerate enough to leave
you a fortune, and that really was the only sensible act of
his life."
" Upon that point, dear baroness, you are utterly mis-
taken. The count left me a fortune, it is true, but it was
encumbered with debts. Assured that I might liberate it
in a few years by making certain sacrifices, and enduring
certain privations, I accepted the inheritance without
close examination ; and now, after two years of uncer-
tainty, — after endless explanations that I have never
understood at all, — my new lawyer, — who is a very
honest man, — assures me that I have been deceived, and
am poor instead of being rich. It was upon this subject,
ifiy dear, that I was consulting with my lawyer this morn-
ing, in order to decide whether or not I can keep the
hotel d'Estrelle."
" What ! sell your hotel ! Impossible, my dear I
It would be a disgrace to the memory of your husband.
His family would never allow it."
ANTONIA. 5
" They say they will not allow it ; but they say also
that they will not help me in any way. What do they
expect, and what would you have me do ? "
" They are a contemptible set, that family," cried the
baroness ; " but nothing would surprise me on the part
of the old marquis and his bigot of a wife."
At this momentjktj^arcel Thierry was announced.
" Show him in," saidtEe"coiitttess ; and, turning to the
baroness, she added, "it is the person of whom I was
just speaking, — my lawyer."
*' In that case I will go."
" That is by no means necessary. He will only have a
few words to say ; and, since you know my position — "
" You will allow me to remain. I thank you with all
my heart, for I am interested in all that concerns you."
The lawyer entered.
He was a fine-looking man, apparently forty years old,
and unusually bald for that age ; his face was frank,
cheerful and serene, although he had a remarkably pen-
etrating, and even scornful expression. His professional
experiences had made him practical, and perhaps scep-
tical ; but it was evident that they had not destroyed his
ideal of integrity and honor ; perhaps they had only made
him the better able to appreciate and recognize that ideal.
" Ah, well. Monsieur Thierry," said the countess,
pointing to a chair, "have you heard any news since
morning, that you take the trouble to return ? "
" Yes, madam," replied the lawyer ; " M. the Marquis
d'Estrelle has sent his business agent to me with an offer
that 1 only await your permission to accept. He proposes
to come to your assistance by relinquishing in your favor
certain small pieces of property, not of sufficient value
to cover the debts that harass you, but which will re-
lieve you for the moment, and delay the sale of your
hotel, by enabling you to pay something upon account to
}our creditors."
"Upon account! Is that all?" cried the baroness,
indignantly. " Is that all the family d'Estrelle can do
for the wife of a prodigal ? It is perfectly infamous ! "
**It is certainly not magnanimous," replied Marcel
6 ANTONIA,
Thierry, " but I have exerted my eloquence in vain, and so
the matter stands. As Madam d'Estrelle has no fortune
of her own, she is obliged, in order to retain a very mod-
erate dowry, to submit to the conditions of a family who
possess neither delicacy nor generosity."
" Say who possess neither heart nor honor," replied
the baroness, rhetorically.
" Say nothing at all," said the countess, who spoke at
last, after listening with resignation to all that had been
said. " These people are what they are, and I am not
the one to judge them, I who bear their name. We are
strangers in all other respects, and I have no excuse for
complaining, for it is I alone who am guilty."
" Guilty ! " said the baroness, rolling back in her arm-
chair in her surprise.
" Guilty ! " repeated the lawyer, with a smile of in-
credulity.
" Yes," repeated Madam d'Estrelle, " I have com-
mitted one great fault in my life : I consented to marry
a man to whom I felt an instinctive aversion. It was
cowardly. I was a child, and was compelled to choose
between a convent and a disagreeable husband. Afraid
of the eternal seclusion of the cloister, I accepted in-
stead the eternal humiliation of an uncongenial mar-
riage. Like so many others, I thought that wealth would
take the place of happiness. Happiness! I do not
know, I have never known what it was. I was taught
to believe that it consisted, above all things, in riding in
a carriage, wearing diamonds, and having a box at the
opera. I was bewildered, intoxicated, lulled to sleep
with presents. I will not say that I was forced to give
my hand, for it would not be true. Gratings, bars, bolts,
the life-long prison of the convent awaited me, in case I
had refused ; but not the axe of the executioner ; and, if
I had been brave, I might have said No, We women
have no courage, dear baroness, we may as well acknowl-
edge it ; we are not strong enough bravely to sacrifice
ourselves ; to hide the spring-time of our youth under
the black veil ; and yet it would be prouder, nobler, and
perhaps sweeter to do this than to let ourselves fall inta
ANTONIA. 7
tlie arms of the first stranger who is presented to us. I
was cowardly then, vain, self-forgetful ; I committed this
error, this folly, this crime, in a word ! It shall never
be repeated, but I cannot forget that I deserve my pun-
ishment. Misled by a frivolous ambition, I threw i>iy.
life away, and now I see how deceived I was ; I am not
even rich. I must sell my diamonds, aud soon, perhaps,
shall be forced to abandon the very house that bears my
coat of arms. This is right, — I feel, I recognize tho
justice of my fate ; I repent, but I do not wish to be
pitied, and I shall accept without discussion the alms
which the parents of my husband, in order to save his
honor, choose to bestow upon me."
When Julie d'Estrelle paused, perfect silence pre-
vailed, for her auditors were surprised and moved. She
had taken no pains to conceal her grief. Weary of the
discussion of her material interests, she seemed irresist-
ibly impelled to pour forth her spiritual life, and seek the
philosophical explanation of her position. The haughty
Amelie d'Ancourt was shocked, rather than touched, by
"ner~cb»fcssion, condemning, as it did, her own ideas and
tlie habits of her class ; she thought her friend imprudent,
moreover, in speaking so freely in the presence of an in-
significant lawyer.
As for the lawyer, he was really moved, but he had
been accustomed to similar scenes. He knew how fre-
quently people (even those in the highest rank) forget
conventionalities when carried away by emotion, and he
gave no expression to his sympathy.
" My beautiful client," he said to himself, " is a sweet
and sincere woman, but she is right in blaming herself;
when any one has resolved to say wo, there is no human
law that can force them to say yes. Like the rest of her
class, she allowed herself to be betrayed into sin by a
passion for shining toys, but she confesses her error
sadly, and, in so far, is superior to most of her compan-
ions. It is not my duty to console her ; I will confine
myself to saving her — if that is possible."
•' Madam," he said, after making these reflections,
'• your prospects are brigliter now than they have been.
8 ANTONIA.
The marquis will not consent to make you independent,
perhaps, but he will not let you suiFer. The small pres-
ent that he has just offered you is not the last ; I have
been given to understand this, and I am sure of what I
isay. Let his son's creditors threaten you again in the
course of a few months, and he will again put his hand
into his pocket, to prevent the sale of your hotel. For-
get these bickerings, therefore ; do not think of moving ;
trust to time and circumstances."
'' That is all very well, monsieur," said the baroness,
who was longing to put in her word and display her
aristocratic pride. " Your advice is excellent, but if I
were the countess I would not follow it. I would refuse
outright these contemptible little charities ! Yes, I
would blush to accept them. I would go proudly to live
in a convent, or, still better, with one of my friends, — the
Baroness d'Ancourt, for instance, — and I would say to
the marquis and marchioness, * Arrange matters as you
choose ; sell my property. These debts are not of my
contracting, and I shall not distress myself about the
debts of your son. Pay them with the fragments of the
fortune that he left me, and, if you dare, allow the world
to behold the spectacle of my destitution.* That is what
I would do, my dear Julie ; the second marriage of the
marquis has made him rich, and, I answer for it, that
the fear of scandal would force him to pursue a different
course."
''Will the Countess d'Estrelle follow this advice?"
said the lawyer. " Shall I break off negotiations ?"
" No," said the countess ; " tell me at once what my
father-in-law's present is ; whatever it may be, I shall
accept it."
" It consists," replied Marcel Thierry, " of a small
farm in Beauvoisis, worth about twenty thousand francs,
and a pavilion, old, but not dilapidated, situated in this
Btreet,^at the end of the garden of your hotel."
" Ah, that old pavilion of Richelieu's era," said the
countess, carelessly.
" A hovel," said the baroness ; " good for nothing but
to be torn down."
ANTONIA. 9
" That is possible," replied Thierry, "but the land is
valuable ; the street is being built up, and it can eapily
be sold for the site of a building."
" Do you think I would allow a building to be erected
so near nie," said Julie ; " a house overlooking my gar-
den, and almost my apartments?"
" You would have to require the house to turn its
back to you ; there need be no windows except on the
street, or overlooking my uncle's garden."
"Who? Your uncle?" said the baroness, disdain-
fully.
" M. Marcel Thierry," said the countess, " is the near
relative of my neighbor, the rich M. Antoine Thierry,
whom you must certainly have heard spoken of."
" Ah, yes ; an old merchant."
" Ship-owner," said Marcel ; " he made his fortune
in the Colonies, without ever putting his foot into a vessel ;
thanks to his skilful calculations, and to fortunate cir-
cumstances, he has gained several millions by his fire-
side, as you may say."
" Present my compliments to him," replied the baroness.
"And so he lives in this street? "
" His hotel fronts upon the new street, but there is only
a wall between his garden and that of the Countess
d'Estrelle ; the pavilion is in a corner between the two
estates. My uncle, I dare say, will be glad to purchase
this pavilion ; it will always be useful to him, whether he
tears it down to make room for his garden, or turns it
into a greenhouse or gardener's lodge."
" The rich M. Thierry then desires this pavilion," said
the baroness ; " perhaps he has already conmiissioned
you — "
"He has given me no commission at all," replied
Marcel, interrupting her, with dignity; "he knows
nothing about the affairs of my other clients."
" You are his lawyer, then, also ? "
" Naturally, madam ; but that would not prevent me
from asking the highest possible price, if the countess
chooses to sell ; nor wrould he owe me any grudge upon
that account. He understands business too well not to
lO ANTONIA.
know the value of a piece of real estate that he wishes
to own."
" But I have not yet decided to sell the pavilion," said
the countess, starting from a vague reverie ; " it does not
trouble me in any way, and I understand that it is occu-
pied by a very quiet and deserving person."
" Yes, madam," said Marcel, '' but the rent is so small
that it will add but little to your income. However, if
you choose to keep it, it will be useful as security for one
of your debts."
" We will see about it, M. Thierry. I will think the
matter over, and you will give me your advice. How
much is the property that the marquis has given me
worth?"
" About thirty thousand francs."
"Ought I to thank him for it?"
'' If I were you I would do nothing of the kind," cried
the baroness.
" Thank him by all means," said the lawyer, in a low
voice; "'a word of gratitude, expressed with gentle-
ness and resignation, can do no harm, and it will cost a
heart like yours nothing."
The countess wrote a few lines, and gave them to
Marcel.
" Let us hope," he said, rising, " that the Marquis
d'Estrelle will be touched by your goodness."
" He is not a bad man," replied Julie, " but he is very
old and very feeble, and his second wife governs him
completely."
" That ex-Madam d'Orlande is a veritable pest," cried
the baroness.
" You should not say anything against her, madam,"
replied Marcel ; " she belongs to your world, and holds
opinions which you accept as the law and the prophets."
" How so, Mr. Lawyer?"
" She detests new ideas, and regards the privileges of
rank as the holy arc of tradition."
" Do not insult me by comparing me with that woman,"
said the baroness ; " her ideas may be correct, but her
ANTONIA. II
conduct is abominable. She is avaricious, and it is said
would even betray her opinions for money."
" Oh, in that case," said Marcel, with a dubious smile,
which Madame d'Aucourt considered an expression of
homage, '' I can understand that you, madam, must re-
gard her witli profound aversion."
He bowed and withdrew.
" That is quite a well-bred man ! " said the baroness,
noticing the dignity and ease with which he left the room.
'* Is his name Thierry ? "
" Yes ; and that also of his wealthy uncle, and of still
another uncle, who had a far more desirable reputation :
Thierry, the flower-painter."
"Ah ! The painter? I came very near knowing that
worthy Thierry myself. My husband received him in the
morning."
" He was received by every one at all hours, my dear
child, — at least by all persons of taste and mind ; for he
was a charming old man, perfectly well-bred, and re-
markably agreeable."
"It seems, then, that the Baron d'Ancourt is not a
person of mind and taste, for he would not invite him — "
" I did not say that the baron — "
" Oh, say so, say so, if you choose ; it is the same
thing to me ; I have known him longer than you.'*
The baroness had a sovereign disdain for the intellect
of her husband, but she pardoned his stupidity in con-
sideration of his rank ; and, with this two-edged reply,
she burst into a fresh, joyous peal of laughter.
" Let us return to our conversation about these Thier-
rys," she said. " Were you acquainted with the artist? "
" No, I did not have that pleasure. You know that
the Count d'Estrelle was taken ill soon after our mar-
riage, and I accompanied him to the baths ; he sank
into a rapid decline, and the end of the matter was that
I did not see any one." »
" No wonder that you know nothing about the world,
since you have never caught even a glimpse of it. Poor
little thing ! After sacrificing yourself to make a bril-
liant marriage, what a life you have led ! Nursing a
*2 ANTON I A.
dying man, wearing mourning, and the bother of busi*
nuss. We must put a stop to this sort of thing, dear
Julie ; you must marry again ! "
" Ah, Heaven forbid ! " cried the countess.
" You don't propose to live alone, and bury yourself
alive, at your age ? Impossible ! "
" I cannot tell you what I propose to do, for I really
do not know. My life has been so different from that of
most young women, to whom marriage brings wealth and
liberty, that I do not know my own tastes. I know, how-
ever, that I was miserable during the two years of my
married life, and that I should be happier in my present
position than ever before, were it not for these pecuniary
embarrassments, which annoy me exceedingly, although
I try to endure them without bitterness. My mind is not
brilliant, and my character, perhaps, lacks the necessary
elasticity to enable me to rebound from misfortune.
Obliged to occupy myself to pass away the time, I have
acquired a taste for serious amusements. I read a great
deal, draw a little, study music, and write letters to my
old convent friends. I am acquainted with a few quiet,
but excellent people, who are my only visitors, and my life
is calm and well regulated. I am not unhappy, and do not
suffer from ennui, and that is saying a great deal for a
person who at one time was always weeping or yawning.
Do not, therefore, my dear friend, seek to disturb the
placid monotony of my existence. Come and see me
when you can, without interfering with your pleasures ;
but do not feel anxious about me, for I am really very
comfortable."
" That is all very well for the moment, my dear. You
show yourself to be a woman of character, by meeting bad
fortune courageously. But there is a time for everything ;
you must not forget the advantages that youth and beauty
procure, and allow them to escape you. Your family, — -
you will excuse me for saying so, — was not very good;
but you derived a distinguished name, at least, from your
melancholy marriage, and a title that elevates you in the
consideration of the world. You are a widow, and there-
fore independent ; you have no children, and therefore
ANTONIA. II
retain all the charm of your youth. You have no fortune
of your own ; but, as your dowry is incumbered with
debts, you can very well afford to renounce it and seek a
better match than your first one. Trust yourself to mc,
and I will find you a suitable husband ; I will agree to
arrange the sort of marriage that you have a perfect right
to look forward to."
" The sort of marriage ! What do you mean? I do
not understand you."
" I mean that you are too charming not to be married
for love."
"All very well; but I — , shall I be able to love the
person to whom you refer ? "
" Why not ; if he is really a man of wealth, and,
above all, of good family — it would be unpardonable in
you to marry below your present rank — instead of being
a spendthrift and a fool ? I will take care to select such
a person, and, moreover a man of honor, with experience,
knowledge of the world, and cultivated tastes ; what can
you ask more? You will not require, I presume, a
youthful Adonis, — a hero of romance ! Such brilliant
personages are not often to be met with ; and, when we
do see them, they are the last ones, as a usual thing,
inclined to select a bride for her beautiful eyes. Every
one, in this age, is more or less embarrassed."
" I understand you," replied Madam d'Estrelle, with
a sad smile ; " you would like me to marry some worthy
old gentleman whom you know and esteem, — for I don't
suppose you would ask me to accept a monster. Thanks,
my dear baroness, but I do not intend to hire myself out
again to a sick man for large fees, and, in plain terms,
this is what you want me to do. If my father were alive,
I would devote myself to him joyfully ; I would tend and
nurse an aged friend without repining, but never again
will I submit to be the slave of an infirm and morose
tyrant. I fulfilled my sad duties to M. d'Estrelle con-
scientiously, and every one gave me credit for my conduct,
but I shall not resign my present freedom. Although my
parents are no longer living, I have a few friends, and am
contented in their society. I ask nothing more, and I beg
H
ANTONIA.
you, most earnestly, not to try and make me happy fto
cording to an idea of happiness which I do not share.
You are still, my friend, what I was at sixteen years old,
when I married. Retaining the illusions that had been
instilled into me, — imagining that people cannot live with-
out wealth and display, — you are younger than I, So
much the better for you, since you have married a man
who allows you to gratify all your tastes. You ask noth-
ing more — is it not so ? For my part I am more exact-
ing. I desire to love. You laugh ! Oh yes ! I know
your theories ! ' The honey-moon is short ' ; you have
told me so a hundred times ; ' the golden moon is the only
one that never fades.* Very well ; if this is so, I am so
foolish as to say that I still wish to love and to believe ; —
if only for a single day, the first day of my marriage !
Without this, I know by experience that marriage is a
shame and a martyrdom."
"•If you feel so," said the baroness, rising, " I will
leave you, my sweet creature, to your reveries, and hum-
bly beg your pardon for having interrupted them."
She went away very much wounded ; for, although
frivolous, she was not without penetration ; and she felt
that the gentle Julie, in this flash of rebellion, had spoken
the truth. However, she was not vindictive, and after
an hour had forgotten her anger. She even felt a little
sad ; and at moments was ready to say, —
*' Julie is right, perhaps."
As for Julie, her courage abandoned her as soon as she
was left alone ; her pride melted into tears. She was only
strong in moments of nervous excitement, under the stim-
ulus, perhaps, of a more intense longing for affection than
she acknowledged to herself. She was naturally gentle,
and even timorous. She knew that the baroness had a
good heart, and did not fear a rupture with her ; but she
said in her turn, —
" Amelie is right, perhaps ! I am asking an impossi-
bility ; the advantages of wealth and rank, and love as
well ! Who obtains them all ? No one in my position !
While longing for the highest happiness, I shall, perhaps,
ANTONIA.
15
lose everything ; — condemn myself to the worst fate of
all, — isolation and melancholy."
She took her parasol, — one of those old-fashioned,
white, flat parasols, that produced a much prettier effect
in green groves than our modern mushrooms, — and
wandered pensively into her garden. The heels of her
little slippers patted the green turf, her dress was tucked
up gracefully over her straight under-skirt ; she wandered
amid the lilacs, breathing the spring air with a silent
agony, trembling at the voice of the nightingale, think-
ing of no one, and yet carried beyond herself by an im-
mense yearning.
From lilac-bed to lilac-bed she walked slowly on, until
she approached the pavilion, where Julien Thierry , the
son of the painter, the nephew of the rich man, and the
cousin of the lawyer, whoiST the rcadot^ -^droady knows,
hacTbeeir^at work »»-hour before. Madam d'Estrelle's
garden was unusually large and beautiful for a garden in
Paris ; the vegetation was rich, and it was laid out with
great taste. Every day she walked through it several
times, lingering amid the groves, and gazing sadly but
tenderly upon the flowers with which the turf was sown.
She did not turn aside on approaching the Louis XIII.
pavilion, or feel any anxiety about being observed, — for
this pavilion had been unoccupied for a long time. Julien
and his mother had been living there only for a month.
Madame d'Estrelle had complained to Marcel Thierry
that her father-in-law, rather than lose the rent of such a
small building, had let it to strange tenants. Marcel in-
formed lier that the new occupant was the widow of his
uncle, the artist, — a most worthy and respectable woman,
— and she had been completely reassured by this intelli-
gence. He did not mention Julien. The countess did
not know, perhaps, that the painter had had a son. At
all events, she had not thought of inquiring about him.
She liad never seen him at the windows, for two reasons :
in the first place she was near-sighted, and the young
women of that period did not use eye-glasses ; in the sec-
ond place, Julien, knowing that he was in the neighbor-
bood of a person of austere manners, had taken great
l6 ANTONIA.
pains to keep out of sight. At the windows of the upper
ptory Madam d'Estrelle had sometimes noticed a hidy
with a noble and delicate face, framed in a white cap, who
had bowed to her with polite reserve. She had returned
the salutation of the peaceful widow frankly and respect-
fully, but they had never exchanged a word.
To-day the windows on the ground-floor were half-
open, and Julie, seeing this, asked herself, for the first
time, why she had never entered into friendly relations
with Madam Thierry. She looked at the front of the
little building, and saw that the door opening into the
bottom of her garden was locked without, as it had been
before ihc pavilion was occupied. Madam ThieiTy had
bat a poor prospect ; the hotel, and greater part of the
lawn, were in a great measure concealed by the grove in
front of the pavillion. She had not even the right to seat
herself in the sun, by the wall of her own house, at the
foot of the flowering shrubs that grew there, or to pluck
the flowers that thrust themselves into her very apartment.
She was forbidden, in the strongest terms, by the condi-
tions of her lease, from taking a step in the garden. In
brief, the door was fastened, and the tenant had never
petitioned to have it opened.
In point of fact, the countess had expected some such
request, and had intended to comply with it ; but she did
not reflect that a feeling of timidity or pride might pre-
vent Madam Thierry from applying to her. She thought
of this to-day, — on this day of self-examination, — and
reproached herself for not anticipating the natural desire
of the poor widow.
" If some great lady in distress had been in her place,"
she thought, " I should not have forgotten the considera-
tion due to age and misfortune. This is another proof
of what I have so often told the baroness ; our minds are
perverted, and our hearts hardened by the aristocratic
prejudices in which we are educated. I have been selfish
and impolite in my conduct to this lady, who is said to be
infinitely respectable, and who is very poor. How could
I have been so forgetful ? Now, however, I have an op-
ANT ON I A. 17
portunity of repairing my neglect, and I will not lose it,
for I need, to-day, to be reconciled to myself."
The countess approached the window resolutely, and
coughed two or three times, to give intimation of her
presence. No one moved, and she ventured to tap upon
the ground-glass window-pane.
Julien had gone out, but Madam Thierry was still in
the studio. Surprised, she came forward ; and, when she
saw this beautiful lady, whom she knew very well by
sight, but to whom she had never yet spoken, she threw
the window wide open.
" Pardon me, madam," said the countess, " for intro-
ducing myself to you in such an informal way ; I am
still in half-mourning, as you see ; I am not yet making
visits, and, with your permission, I have something to
say to you. Can you, without ceremony, grant me a
moment's interview ? "
" Certainly, madam, and with a great deal of pleas-
ure," replied Madam Thierry, with cheerful dignity and
ease ; not at all in the manner of a petty bourgeoise, daz-
zled by the advances of a great lady.
The countess was struck by the refinement of her face,
the good taste of her dress, her sweet voice, and the sort
of perfume of elegance that seemed to exhale from her
whole person.
'^ You must sit down," she said ; " I do not want to
keep you standing."
'' But you, madam ? " said the widow, smiling. " Ah !
An idea occurs to me. If you will allow me, I will
hand you a chair."
"■ Oh, no, do not take so much trouble."
" It is no trouble at all ! Here is a light cane-chair,
and, both of us together — "
Both together, indeed, they passed the cane-chair over
the window-sill, the one lifting it, the other receiving it,
and both smiling at this familiar operation, which seemed
to place them at once upon a footing of intimacy.
'' This is what I wanted to say," said Madam d'Estrelle,
sitting down ; " hitherto, you have been living in a house
belonging to the Marquis d'Estrelle, my father-in-law ;
a
l8 ANTONIA.
but, from to-day, you are living in my house. I do not
yet know the conditions of your lease, but there is one
of them, I presume, that you will be willing to modify."
"Will you be so good as to tell me which one, madam ? '*
replied the widow, leaning slightly forward, while the fear
of some annoyance cast a shadow over her face.
" It is this abominable door that offends me," replied
the countess ; " this locked, worm-eaten door that sepa-
rates us. If you will allow me, I will have it opened to-
morrow, and I sincerely trust that you will walk as much
as you choose in my garden, whether for exercise or
amusement. It will always give me pleasure to meet
you there, and if you will sometimes stop and rest in my
house, where you will find that I live very much alone, I
will do what I can to make you like the neighborhood.''
Madam Thierry's countenance had brightened. The
offer of the countess gave her sincere pleasure. To see
a beautiful garden at all hours, and be unable to enter it,
is a sort of martyrdom. Besides, she was deeply touched
by the grace of Madam d'Estrelle's invitation, and felt at
once that she was in the presence of a thoroughly kind-
liearted and amiable woman. Without losing the sweet
dignity of her manner, she thanked her with grateful cor-
diality, and they began immediately to converse upon
other subjects like old friends, so sudden and strong was
their mutual sympathy.
'' You live alone, I understand ! " said Madam Thierry ;
*' it must be a temporary arrangement; — you cannot
like solitude."
'• Not altogether ; but I am afraid of the woWd, and
have no confidence in myself. And you, madam, do you
enjoy society? "
" I do not dislike it," said the widow. " I forsook the
world for love, and forgot it ; afterwards it sought me
out, and I reentered it without effort and without intox-
ication. Finally, I abandoned it again, out of necessity
and without regret. All this seems a little obscure to
you."
" I know that M. Thierry was very well off, that his
standing was excellent, that he was courted in society.
ANTONIA.
19
and received the most cultivated and best people at his
house."
*' But you do not know about our previous life ; it was
a good deal talked about at the time ; but that was long
ago, and you are so young."
" Wait a moment," said the countess. " I ask your
pardon for my forgetfulness. I remember, now ; you
were well-born ? "
" Yes, I was Mademoiselle de Meuil, of a good family
in Lorraine. I should have been rich also, if my mar-
riage had not displeased my guardians. M. Thierry, who
was then a poor artist without name or position, had won
my heart, and I abandoned my family, parted from all
my friends, abjured my rank, to become his wife. Grad-
ually he became celebrated, and, after he had made a for-
tune of his own, I received my inheritance. We were
well rewarded, therefore, for our constancy, not only by
thirty years of love and happiness, but also by the pros-
perity of our old age."
" And yet, now — "
'* Oh, now it is different ! I am still happy, but in a
different way. I have lost my well-beloved companion,
and with him all that we possessed ; but such great con-
solations remain to me."
Madam Thierry was about to speak of her son, when
a valet in livery appeared, and informed the countess that
her friend Madam des Morges was at her house.
" I will see you to-morrow," said Julie to Madam
Thierry, as she rose ; " we will talk together at our ease,
either at your house or mine. I am eager to know all
that concerns you, for I feel that I love you. Pardon
me for saying this so abruptly, but it is the truth ! My
visitor is an old lady, and I cannot keep her waiting, but
I shall order the workman to be sent to you to-morrow
without fail, so that your prison may be opened."
Madam Thierry was enchanted with Madam d'Estrelle.
Living, as she had done, in an atmosphere of enthusiasm,
with the man she loved, and that man an artist, she had
retained her life and spontaneity, and she was very ro-
mantic, as beseemed a woman who had sacrificed ambi-
20 ANTONIA.
tion to love. Her first impulse would have led her to
relate what had occurred to her son, with enthusiasm ;
but he was out, and she took it into her head to make the
most of the surprise that she had just enjoyed. Madam
Thierry had given up all her luxuries when they lost
their fortune, and Julien was often alarmed at the actual
privations that she was compelled to endure.
At Sevres, they had had a pretty little house, sur-
rounded by a beautiful garden, where she had cultivated
with her own hands the flowers that her husband and
son used as models. They had been obliged to sell
everything. JuUen's heart was heavy when he saw the
poor old lady shut up in Paris, in a small pavilion, for
which they paid the most moderate rent. He had hoped
at first that she would be able to enjoy the surrounding
gardens, especially as the street was obstructed with ma-
sonry and the materials for new buildings ; but the lease
informed him that neither the Marquis d'Estrelle, their
landlord, nor the rich Thierry, their near neighbor and
near relative, would allow them to enter their grounds.
" He has complained bitterly about this closed door,"
said Madam Thierry to herself, as she thought of her son ;
*' a dozen times he has been eager to go and beg the
countess to have it opened for ray benefit, promising that
he himself would never cross the door of the pavilion. I
would not allow him to do so, fearing that we might be
martified by a refusal. How glad he will be to know
that she has invited me of her own accord ! How shall I
arrange matters so as to surprise him most agreeably ? I
must give him a commission to-morrow morning, that
will keep him away while the workmen are busy."
She formed her plans, and just then Julien returned to
dinner. The cane-chair was still without, leaning against
the window-sill, and on the ground by this chair lay
Madam d'Estrelle's white parasol ; she had let it fall, and
had forgotten it. Madam Thierry had gone into the
kitchen to tell her servant, a great Normandy peasant-
girl, to bring in the chair. She had not noticed the par-
asol. Julien, therefore, saw these two objects without
knowing what had occurred. He guessed the truth in-
ANTONIA, 21
etantly ; a sudden giddiness, a violent palpitation of the
heart, seized him, and his mother found him so overcome,
80 agitated, so bewildered, that she was alarmed, think-
ing that some misfortune had occurred.
'^ What is the matter?" she cried, running up to him.
" Nothing, mother," replied JuUen, struggling to over-
come his emotion. " I came in quickly, I was very
warm, and the cool air of the studio gave me a chill, —
I am hungry. Come, let us go to dinner. You can
explain at table the meaning of the visit you have just
received.
He lifted in the chair, folded and unfolded the parasol,
and held it a long time in his hand ; he tried to seem in-
different, but his hands trembled, and he could not meet
his mother's eye.
'' Mon DieuT* she said to herself, " can it be that his
strange sadness for the last fifteen days, his unwillingness
to sing, his stifled sighs, his abstracted manner, his sleep-
lessness and loss of appetite, are because ? — but he does
not even know her, he has scarcely seen her even from a
distance. — Ah ! my poor child, can it be possible?"
They went to dinner. Julien questioned his mother
without embarrassment. She told him about the visit of
the countess with a good deal of reserve, repressing the
enthusiasm which, but for the discovery that she had
just made, or the danger that she began to apprehend,
would have made her eloquent upon the subject.
Julien felt that his mother was observing him, and
was very guarded. He had never had a secret from her
before ; within the last few days he had had one, and the
fear of alarming her taught him to dissimulate.
'' Madam d'Estrelle's conduct," he said, '' proves that
she is a kind and sensible person. She feels — rather
late, perhaps — the respect that she owes you. We ought
to be grate lul to her for her good heart. You told her, I
presume, that I have too much knowledge of the world to
consider myself included in the permission granted you."
*' That is understood, as a matter of course. I did not
even speak of you." ^
" So much the better ! She does not know, probably,
22 ANTONTA,
that there is such a person ; and, in order that she may
not repent of her kindness, it will be as well, perhaps, if
you never speak to her of your son."
" Why should I hesitate to speak of him? I will do so
or not, as it may happen ; — according to the chances of
conversation."
" You expect to see her frequently, then? to go to her
house, perhaps?"
" There is no sort of doubt that I shall meet her in the
garden ; whether I go to her house or not, will depend
upon how long she continues to welcome me as she did
to-day.'*
" Was she amiable?"
" Very amiable and very natural."
*' Is she a person of mind ? "
" I do not know ; she seemed sensible."
••' Any of the affectations of a great lady?"
" I did not see any."
'' Is she young?"
" Why certainly."
'^ And pretty, they say ? "
*' Ah, indeed ! Have you never seen her?"
" Only from a distance. These windows are always
closed, and I have never happened to be in your room
when she was passing our house."
" You know, however, that she passes here every day."
*' You have just told me so. You must think me very
curious about beautiful ladies and their walks. I am
no longer a school-boy, my dear mother, I am a man ;
my mind has been matured by misfortunes."
" Has Marcel told you of any new misfortune?"
"On the contrary, uncle Antoine has agreed to be our
security."
" Ah, at last ! — And you did not tell me ! "
" You were talking of something else."
'^ That interests you more."
" Yes, for the moment, I confess it freely. I am
really glad to think that you will be able to walk, when
you choose, in this garden. I shall not be able to accom-
pany you and give you the support of my arm, since —
ANTONIA. 23
naturally — since I ana not allowed to enter it ; but I shall
see you taking your walks, and you will return with a
little color and a better appetite, I hope."
" Appetite ! It is you who have no appetite ! To-day,
again, you have eaten scarcely anything, and you said
that you were hungry. Where are you going ? "
" To carry madam's parasol to the porter of the hotel
d'Estrelle. It would be impolite not to return it imme-
diately."
'' You are right, but let Babel take it. It is useless for
you to show yourself to the servants of the hotel. It
might make some talk."
Madam Thierry took the parasol, and put it into the
hands of the servant.
" Not like that," said Julien, taking it again. " Babel
will tarnish the silk with her warm hands."
He wrapped the parasol up carefully in white paper,
and gave it to Babel, not without regret, but without
hesitation. He saw plainly his mother's anxiety, and
tried to meet her eye without embarrassment.
Babel was gone ten minutes : longer than was necessary
to make the circuit of the garden, enter the court of the
hotel, and return. Finally she reappeared with the para-
sol, and a note from the countess.
" Madam, you will need a parasol, since you are gomg
to be exposed to the sun. Be so good as to use mine ; I
want to deprive you of every excuse for not coming to
visit your servant,
" Julie d'Estrelle."
Madam Thierry was still looking at Julien, who, with
as much composure as he could command, unrolled the
paper in which he had wrapped the parasol. As soon,
however, as her back was turned, he covered it with
kisses, like a romantic and passionate child as he was,
although he claimed to be a mature man. As for the
poor mother, doubtful and troubled, she said to herself,
sadly, that every pleasure in this world has its corres-
24 ANTONIA.
ponding danger, and that she might have cause to regret
the amiable advances of her too enticino; nei"jhbor.
The next day, the door swun<^ upon its hinges, the keys
were placed in the hands of Madam Thierry, and, per-
suaded by Julie n, she ventured into the flowering domains
of the countess. The latter had promised herself to do
the honors of her primroses and hyacinths in person, but
she had received a visit from Marcel Thierry who gave
her an unexpected piece of information, that changed the
current of her ideas and somewhat chilled her zeal.
The lawyer called to talk to her about her affairs.
She hastened to inform him that she had made the ac-
quaintance of his aunt, of whom she spoke in the kindest
manner possible.
" This amiable lady," she said, " told me about her
family, her affection for her husband, and her past hap-
piness ; she was going to tell me about what she called
her present happiness, when we were interrupted. I
imagine, on the contrary, that she is very unhappy. Did
you not tell me that she had been obliged to sell all that
she had?"
"That is true," replied Marcel, "but she never lost
her cheerfulness and courage. There is something in
the character of my noble aunt that every one cannot
understand, but which you, countess, can understand
perfectly. I will relate, briefly, the history of herself and
husband. My uncle, the artist, was a man with a noble
heart, genius, and a brilliant intellect, but he was care-
less, and excessively imprudent. In his youth he was
poor ; day by day he earned, at first, the necessaries of
lii'e, and afterwards its luxuries. Gradually he allowed
himself to be carried away by his natural temerity ; and
as he had rather princely tastes, — that is to say, the
tastes of an artist, — he soon began to live in a very agree-
able but very precarious way. He loved the world, he
was admired in society ; he did not visit on foot ! He
kept a carriage, he gave exquisite little dinners in his
Sevres cottage, as he called it : a beautiful house crowded
with objects of luxury, and works of art, that cost a for-
tune ; he lived so splendidly, in short, that he soon in-
ANTON I A. 25
volved himself in debt. His wife's fortune paid off past
oblisrations, and allowed him to continue this hazardous
but agreeable career. When he died, he had again accu-
mulated a fine array of debts. My good aunt foresaw
their approaching ruin, but was unwilling to sadden her
liusband's careless and frivolous old age by expressing
the least anxiety about the future of her son. ' My son
is a sensible young man/ she said ; ' he is studying his
art with enthusiasm, and has as much talent as his father.
He will be poor, and will make his fortune. He will
meet the trials that his father encountered with honor
and courage, and will achieve the success that he achieved ;
knowing him as I do, I cannot fear that he will ever re-
proach me for having trusted in his good heart.* Her
predictions were all fulfilled. When his father died,
Julien Thierry discovered that he had left him nothing
excepting debts ; he set bravely to work to pay them
off honorably, and, far from complaining, assured his
mother that she had done well in never contradicting the
best of fathers. For my part, I do not agree with him,
I confess. The best of fathers is he who sacrifices his
tastes and pleasures for the benefit of those who are to
survive him. My uncle, the painter, was a great man ;
I ought rather to say a great child. Genius is a very
beautiful gift ; but devotion to those you love is still more
noble, and (I shall have to say it in a whisper) it seems
to me that the widow and son of my uncle are much
greater than he. What is your opinion, madam ? "
The countess had listened to Marcel very attentively,
but with a dreamy expression.
" I agree with you. Monsieur Thierry," she answered,
'• and 1 admire these people with all my heart."
'•But it seems to me," replied Marcel, "that my story
has made you melancholy."
'^ Perhaps so ; it has given me something to think
about : I am very much struck, do you know, by
the example that is given by certain lives ! Madam
Thierry, for instance, is like myself, — a widow, and
ruined ; and yet, even under these circumstances, she is
happy, while I am far otherwise. She is proud to pay
26 ANTONIA,
the debts of a husband whom she tenderly loved ; — and
I — • But I will not refer again to the confession that
escaped me in your presence yesterday. There is only
one great question that I would like *to ask you. Her
son, — this excellent son of the worthy widow, — where
is he?"
'' In Paris, madam, where he is hard at work ; his
pictures, even now, are almost equal to his father's, and
he is rapidly freeing himself from his embarrassments.
He has influential friends who are interested in him, and
who would assist him more eiFectuaily if he were less scru-
pulous and less proud ; but with a little time he will make
a fortune in his turn. He has reduced his debts to a very
trifling sum, and uncle Antoine, — since he no longer
runs any risk in doing so, — has agreed to become his
security."
'' This rich uncle, then, is as timid and economical as
the marquis, my father-in-law."
" No, madam ; his selfishness is very different from that
of the marquis, but it would take me too long to tell you
about it now. This is my hour for being at court."
'' Ah, yes, Monsieur Thierry, another time. Hasten
to fulfil your duties. Here are the deeds, ready signed ;
return soon."
" As soon as your affairs require it, madam ; rely upon
my punctuality."
" Do not be so ceremonious. Come without regard to
business, whenever you have time. I ow^e you a great
deal. Monsieur Thierry. You have not only given me a
clear idea about my situation, which it was very necessary
for me to have, — you have given me good advice also,
and have not urged me to pursue a dishonorable course
in order to serve my interests. I feel that you have some
esteem for me, — a little friendship, perhaps, — and I
thank you with all my heart."
The countess had a way of saying these simple things,
that made them irresistible. Chaste and dignified in all
her actions and in all her words, there w^as, nevertheless,
a sort of agitation and tenderness in her manner that
marked a heart too full, — a heart that is seeking to place
ANTONIA.
27
worthily its overflowing affections. The baroness would
certainly have considered her too affectionate and too
grateful to this insignificant lawyer, only too highly hon-
ored in being allowed to serve her. She would have told
her that it is not right to spoil people of this description,
by letting thera see that they are necessary to you.
Julie, sure of herself, and always modest and humble,
was not at all afraid of degrading her friendship by be-
stowing it upon an honest and intelligent man. An insen-
sible but rapid reaction was going on within her, as we
have already seen, against the decrees and customs of the
world in which she had hitherto lived.
'' What an amiable woman ! " Marcel Thierry said to
himself, as he left her ; " the devil take me, if I were not
a lawyer, husband of the best woman in the world, and
father of a grown lad, — excellent guarantees for the
solidity of a man's character, — I should be in love with
this countess ! There is no doubt about it, — madly in
love ! I will tell my wife so this evening ; she will laugh
heartily at the idea."
" How was it," thought Madam d'Estrelle, at this mo-
ment, " that I should have failed to ask M. Thierry one
thing, which it is important for me to know? I thought
of it, and then forgot it. I shall have to inquire. If this
young Thierry is living with his mother, it will not be
proper for him to take his walks in my garden. After
all, he may be a mere boy. Did Thierry say that he
was a young man ? His father was very old ! Did he
say that he was so old? I really cannot remember.
Well, my people will know. Servants know everything."
She rang.
" Camille," she said to her femme de chamhre, " has
Madam Thierry, — the lady who lives in the old pavilion
at the foot of the garden, and a very worthy person, —
has she any children ? I was talking to her yesterday,
but I forgot to ask her."
" She has one son," replied Camille.
"How old, about?"
** He looks about twenty-five."
** He is married, I suppose? "
28 ANTONIA,
" No, madam."
" Where does he live ? "
'' In the pavilion, with his mother.**
" Is he well-behaved ? What is said of him ? *'
" He is very well-behaved, madam. Every one speaka
well of these people. They are very poor, but they pay
all their debts, and pay promptly. Moreover, they are
not suspicious or mean. One would really think that
they were well-born."
Camille was not seeking to flatter her mistress by
speaking thus. She, also, had pretensions to good birth,
and a reverse of fortune. She claimed to have had
aldermen among her ancestors.
'-'' Mon Dieul Camille, birth is nothing," said the
countess, who was often made impatient by the airs of
her chambermaid.
" Pardon me, madam," replied Camille, offended, " I
thought it was everything.**
"Just as you please, my dear. Go and bring me my
gray parasol. People nowadays, — one and all of them,
— have so many affectations," thought Madam d'Estrelle,
" that they Avill disgust me with all prejudices, and make
me admire Jean Jacques Rousseau more than is rea-
sonable. Really I have already begun to ask myself
whether we aristocrats do not belong to the past, and
whether our threadbare pretensions are not beginning to
))e good for nothing, except to amuse our valets.'*
She took her gray parasol with a feeling of vague an-
noyance, and sat down in her drawing-room, open to the
April sun ; she must no longer walk, she said to herself,
in the direction of the pavilion, and perhaps ought to
give up entirely going into her garden.
Just at this moment who should appear but Madam
Thierry. Not meeting the countess, as she expected, she
had ventured to come to her house, in order to express
her gratitude. Madame d'Estrelle received her with
great politeness ; but the widow was too penetrating not
to feel a certain coldness in her manner, and she was
scarcely seated when she thanked her, and arose to go.
" Must you go so soon? '* said the countess ; " you find
ANTONIA. 29
me dull, I am sure, and I acknowledge that I feel a Uttlo
embarrassed with you to-day. There is something weigh-
ing upon my mind that troubles me. Come, I will tell
you at once what it is, and let us have done with it for-
ever : you will pardon me. When I spoke to ycu
yesterday I did not know that you had a son, — a
very excellent young man, I am told, — living with
you — "
" Let me say the rest, countess, you are afraid — "
" Oh, mon Dieu 1 I am afraid people will talk, that is
all. I am young, alone in the world, bearing the name
of a family who received me with regret, — I learned it
only too late, — and who blame me for being unwilling
to pass my widowhood in a convent."
" I know it, madam ; my nephew. Marcel, has told me
your history. I am as anxious to guard your reputation
as you can be, and I will not allow your goodness to lead
you too far. You must not come to the pavilion again
while I am living there, and I must give up walking in
your garden, and visiting you. This is all that I need
eay. It is not necessary to add that my son never
dreamed, for a single moment, of considering himself
included in the permission you so graciously granted me
yesterday."
" Then it is all right," cried the countess ; " the latter
point is all that is necessary. I thank you for your deli-
cacy in excusing me from returning your visits, but I
shall agree to nothing more. You must walk in my gar-
den, as we arranged, and you must visit me."
''I should be wiser, perhaps, to refuse your kindness."
'' No, no," replied Julie, gayly ; " you must come, — 1
msist upon it! If you refuse, I shall have to go in
search of you, and tap at your window again, and that
will be very compromising. Now we will see," she
added, laughing, " whether you want me to be slandered
for your sake. I warn you that I am capable of any-
tJiing."
Madam Thierry could not resist the charm of her gen-
erous simplicity. She yielded, but not without prom-
ising herself, secretly, that she would fly to the othei end
30 ANT ON I A.
of Paris, if Julien's passion proved to be anything more
than a dream of her maternal imagination.
" Now," said the countess, " let us regulate at once
the conditions upon which we are to be neighbors, so as
to do away with all fear of scandal. The pavilion has
only four windows overlooking my garden. Two below,
— I do not know the premises — "
" The two windows on the ground-floor are in my
son's studio and my drawing-room. We are always
there ; but there is a frame in the lower sash of the win-
dows containing four panes of ground-glass, and we only
admit the air through the upper panes, which are often
open at this season."
"Then you cannot see into my grounds, after all!
Yesterday, however, the ground-glass panes were lifted ;
the window was half open."
" It is true, madam, one of the panes was broken, as
you may have noticed."
" No, I do not see well, and for that reason I seldom
observe closely."
" I opened the window yesterday, as an exceptional
thing ; early this morning it was repaired, and fastened as
usual. It would interfere seriously with my son's paint-
ing to admit the light from below ; and, in fact, he hangs
a curtain of green linen before the ground-glass panes, to
exclude it more eifectually. He would have to mount
upon a chair, therefore, for the express purpose, in order
to look into your garden, and as my son is a serious man,
and not at all an awkward school-boy — "
'' Enough, enough ! I am perfectly satisfied about the
ground-floor. The windows above — "
"Are in my chamber. My son's room is upon the
street."
"And does he never go into your room? Will you
promise me that no one in my house shall ever see a
man at your windows ? "
" That has never happened, and never shall happen, I
promise you."
" And he will never come to the door opening into the
garden ? You will tell him to be guarded ? "
ANTONIA,
31
" Be perfectly at ease upon that point, madam. My
eon is a man of honor."
" I do not doubt it. Warn him not to call mine in
question. And now say no more about it ; that is to say,
do not talk about me any longer ; to forbid you to speak
of him would be too cruel. I know that he is your pride
and happiness, and I congratulate you upon having so
good a son."
Madam Thierry had promised herself that she would
not say a word about Julien, but it was impossible for
her to keep her word. Reticent at first, she soon began
to express her idolatry for this worshipped son, so well-
beloved, and so well deserving her affection. The
countess listened to the enumeration of the talents and
virtues of the young artist without any misplaced delicacy.
She became a little melancholy, however, when the idea
occurred to her, that she, perhaps, would never have any
children to occupy her youth and console her old age.
IViadam Tiiierry divined her thoughts, and spoke of some-
tliing else.
And what was Julien doing while they were talking
about him in the little summer drawing-room of the hotel
d'Estrelle? He was at work, or pretending to be at
work. He paused frequently ; thought it too hot and
then too cold, and trembled at the least sound. He said
to himself that the countess might, by chance, be uttering
his name at that very moment, that she was perhaps ask-
ing questions about him, out of politeness, and without
listening to the reply. Finally he went to the window.
The lower sash was really fastened, and covered with a
piece of green linen, but in this linen there was an
im]>erceptible flaw, in the ground-glass there was a
transparent vein, and through this perfidious fissure,
skilfully discovered and skilfully concealed, he saw
Madam d'Estrelle every day wandering amid the groves
of her garden, and strolling along the walk which, from
the pavilion, was plainly visible. He knew to the mo-
ment at what hours she usually walked, and if, for any
reason, she made her appearance unexpectedly, the mys-
terious presentiments, the thrilUng intuitions that belong
32 ANTONIA.
only to love, and above all to a first love, warned Lim of
her approach. At such moments he had a thousand ex-
cuses, each more ingenious than the last, for avoiding his
mother's vigilant eye, and contemplating his beautiful
neighbor ; when everything else failed he went up stairs,
pretending that he wanted something in his room, and
going instead to his mother's room, — she remaining be-
low, — gazed upon her through the blinds. In a word, he
had adored Julie for the last fifteen days, and Julie did
not know that he had ever seen her ; and Madam Thierry
was deceiving her without knowing it, when she declared
that her son could not see her garden from liis studio, and
never looked from the windows of her chamber.
Julien was remarkably sensible in most respects, and
there was something in the sudden passion that had taken
possession of him that seemed even to himself almost
insane, or at least inexplicable ; but every effect has its
cause, and it is our duty to seek the cause of his love,
and not to admit that any human experience is altogether
improbable.
It was a frequent custom with Marcel Thierry to spend
part of the evening, — sometimes alone, and sometimes
accompanied by his wife, — with his aunt. Julien and
he loved each other tenderly, and, although they often
disagreed. Marcel considering Julien too romantic, and
Julien considering Marcel too practical, they would have
died for each other. The lawyer liked to talk about his
profession, in which he was rapidly gaining distinction.
He amused Julien by giving him a description of his
various clients. " There are some of my clients," he
said, "whom I find it more honorable than profitable to .
serve, and these are precisely the ones whom I esteem
the most highly." The Countess d'Estrelle he placed first
in rank among these clients who brought him no law-
suits, but whose society he found agreeable or advan-
tageous. He spoke of Madam d'Estrelle very often, and
in enthusiastic terms, — he referred with the utmost con-
tempt to the unworthy husband of this beautiful widow,
he denounced bitterly the inhuman avarice of his family,
expressed the highest admiration for Julie's sweet and
ANTONIA.
33
noble character, and involuntarily referred so often to her
beauty and grace, that Julien felt curious to see her. As
soon as his wish was gratified, he fell in love ; he may
have loved her unconsciously even before this.
Julien had never loved. He had lived simply and
honorably ; he had just experienced a great sorrow, and
was in all the plenitude of his physical and moral devel-
opment ; his sensibility was stimulated by the courageous
etforts that he had made, by the life he was leading with
his mother, — a life made up of a continual exchange of
tenderness between the two, — and by a disposition to
enthusiasm that he had acquired in his long intercourse
with an enthusiastic father. Since his father's death he
had lived like a hermit ; denying himself every amuse-
ment, and working desperately to preserve the honor of
his name, and save his mother from distress. It was
absolutely necessary that all these repressed emotions
should find a vent ; his generous heart was full to over-
flowing.
We shall say no more about it ; we have spent too
much time already in explaining an experience which
people call impossible, and see every day ; — an obstinate,
violent, ungovernable passion for an object that is known
to be unattainable. Long before this, la Fontaine had
written these sensible lines, which have ever since been
proverbial :
♦ Love, when we feel your magic spell,
To prudence straight we bid farewell.
• Amour, amour, quand tu nous tiens,
On pent bien dire : *' Adieu prudenM I *
34
ANTONIA.
II.
TTTHILE the countess was conversing with Madam
' ^ Thierry, and while Julien was holding communion
with himself, Marcel, not far off, was talking with his
uncle, Antoine Thierry, the old bachelor, the ex-ship-
owner, — the wealthy man of the family.
Kind reader, — as it was the fashion for authors to say
at the time when our story occurred, — be so good as to
follow us to the rue Blomet. Leave the hotel d'Estrelle in
the rue de Babylone, walk for about five minutes around
tlie wall of the garden, pass before the pavilion Louis
XIIL, follow the wall of another garden larger than that
of Madam d'Estrelle, running along another road bordered
with green turf, — but muddy and broken up in the middle,
in preparation for the continuing of the city street, — turn
to your left and enter another street bordered with green.
You have now turned the corner of the rue Blomet, and
are in front of a large house in the style of Louis XIV.
This is the old hotel Melcy, now owned and occupied by
M. Antoine Thierry. If M. Thierry v^ould have allowed
us to cross his immense enclosure, we could have gone
from Julien's house straight across the nurseries of the
garden to the back of the hotel. But uncle Antoine likes
to be master of his dominions, and allows no privileges
even to the widow and son of his brother. Marcel, there-
fore, when he left the countess, took the half-city, half-
country walk that we have described, and finally entered
the cabinet of the rich man, an old boudoir, crowded
with shelves and etageres covered with sacks of grain,
specimens of fruit moulded in wax, and baskets filled
with horticultural tools and instruments.
This cabinet is the chosen retreat of the proprietor.
To get to it you must cross long galleries and immense
saloons, loaded with gildings and projecting ornaments,
blackened by neglect and humidity. The windows are
always closed, the shutters are fastened ; the rich man
ANTONIA,
35
passes no time in these magnificent apartments, he enter-
tains no company, gives neither balls nor dinner-parties,
loves no one, distrusts every one. All his tenderness
he bestows upon rare flowers and exotic trees ; he feels an
esteem, also, for fruit-trees, and meditates incessantly
upon the pruning and grafting of his subjects. He over-
sees and directs in person a score of gardeners ; pays
them well, and protects their families. Never talk to
him about taking an interest in people who do not serve
his caprices or flatter his vanity.
It was chance that first inspired him with his passion
for gardening. One of the merchant-vessels trading upon
his capital, and for his profit, with distant parts of the world,
brought him a variety of seeds from China, specimens of
which he allowed carelessly to fall into a vase filled with
earth. The seeds germinated, a plant grew and put forth
beautiful flowers. The ship-owner, who had not antici-
pated this result, and who never in his life had looked at
a flower, took but little interest, at first, in the matter.
But a botanist happened to call at his house (a second
chance), and when this connoisseur saw the precious
plant, he was enraptured, and declared that it was abso-
lutely new, and unknown in science.
The life of M. Antoine was determined by this dis-
covery. He had always disdained flowers : he will never,
perhaps, understand them, for he is totally without ar-
tistic feeling ; but his vanity, starving from the lack of
nourishment, seized upon this windfall ; he devoted him-
self to horticulture because it was his only way of becom-
ing famous.
M. Antoine has a brother who paints flowers, who in-
terprets them, cherishes them, gives them life. This
brother is admired ; a slight sketch from his hand is
prized more highly than all the wealth of his elder brother.
The elder brother knows this, and is jealous of his re-
nown. He cannot hear art spoken of without shrugging
his shoulders. He thinks the world foolish and unjust to
be amused by such trifles, instead of admiring the force
of character of a man who has had the ability to gain
millions by his own exertions. He is sad, anxious. But
36 ANTONIA.
suddenly all this is changed : he will gain notoriety in
his turn. The flowers that his brother paints upon can-
vas he will produce, — he will make them grow out of
the earth ; not common flowers, that every one knows and
can name as soon as they see them ; his flowers shall be
rarities, — plants brought from the four quarters of the
globe, — plants that botanists will have to rack their
brains to define, classify, and christen. The most beau-
tiful of all shall bear his name, — his own name ! He
has been upon the point of giving it to several of his fa-
vorites, but he is in no haste, for every year his collection
is enriched by some wonder brought from afar. He can
afford to wait, and he is waiting now for a certain lily to
bloom, that promises to surpass all the others ; and to
which, ii'his expectations are fulfilled, he intends giving,
in addition to its generic name, the specific name of
Antonia Thierrii.
He has time enough, and to spare ; for uncle Antome,
although sixty-five years old, is still hardy and robust.
He is a short man, thin, and with quite a handsome face ;
he would be good-looking, but his hands, hardened by
constant dabbling in the earth, his skin tanned by con-
stant exposure to the wind, his neglected hair, dusty
clothes, and back bent by physical labor, make him re-
semble a peasant. His manners are rude, his prejudices
are obstinate, he has a hard, practical, and fault-finding
mind, and uses incorrect, peremptory, and dogmatical
language ; so that, in the heart of Paris, and in a palace
of which he is the careless and abstracted master, he pre-
sents the living image of a rustic boor. He never re-
ceived any education ; and, in regard to the refinements
and elegancies of life, has remained absolutely stupid.
Any reference to art or philosophy makes him almost
furious. He has really a great deal of intellect, but it
is exclusively concentrated upon practical calculations.
Hence it is that he has grown rich ; hence it is that he
has become a horticultural hermit.
Marcel saluted his uncle abruptly, and without the slight-
est deference. He knows that courtesy will be thrown
away upon uncle Antoine ; that it is only by struggling
ANTONIA.
37
with him obstinately and rudely, if necessary, that tlie
ex-ship-owner can be made to yield in anything what-
ever. He knows that his first impulse is always to say
no, that no very probably will be his final answer, and
that, to wring from him one poor aflirmative out of a
hundred negatives, he must be prepared to fight without
fainting. Marcel is well-tempered (it is a family trait),
and his professional habits of contention, and, above all,
his habit of fighting with his uncle, make him find a sort
of rude enjoyment in this occupation, by which an artist
would be instantly repelled.
" Look here ! " he opened the conversation by say-
ing; "I have brought you something to sign."
" I shall sign nothing ; my word is enough."
"Yes, for those who know you."
" Every one knows me."
"Almost every one; but I have got idiots to deal
with. Come — sign, sign ! "
" No, you might as well talk to a post ! My word is
as good as gold ; so much the worse for those who doubt
it."
" Then you want to see the house at Sevres sold? Your
brother's creditor will be delighted, no doubt, but he
will have good cause, from this time, to doubt my
word."
" It seems that you have a bad reputation."
" Apparently."
" You don't seem to mind it much ! "
" What would you have? If I talk in a different wayj
you won't sign ; I want to make you sign."
" Ah, you want it — and why?"
" Because I want to escape the annoyance and fa-
tigue of returning to Sevres, and waiting until the people
there make up their minds to come and see you ; not to
speak of the derangement that this will be to my busi-
ness. Sending this paper by my clerk will relieve all
difficulties, and save me trouble and expense. Do you
understand that ? "
" You make me do whatever you choose," replied the
fillip-owner, taking his pen. He dipped it three or four
38 ANTONIA.
times into the ink without deciding, read and reread
the deed making him responsible for six thousand livrea
in behalf of his brothers estate, — looked at Marcel, to
see whether he was anxious or impatient, and, at the
sight of his impassible face, renounced, with regret, the
hope of putting him into a passion. Finally, he signed
the deed, and threw it into his face, saying with an ill-
natured laugh, —
'' Go, beggar ! You never enter my house except to
get something out of me. You might have been their
security yourself, — you are rich enough."
" If I were, the affair would have been settled long ago ;
you may be sure of that. I have not yet paid off my own
obligations, and can no longer hide from Julien that what
I have done for him has embarrassed me. He is troubled
about it, his mother is grieved — "
"Oh! his mother, — his mother, — "said the rich
man, with an expression of profound aversion.
" Every one knows that you dislike her, and she will
never ask any favors from you, — you need not be afraid ;
but, with your permission, I love my aunt, and Julien
worships her. He will pay the whole debt himself before
two years are passed ; if necessary, I will help him, and
you, I flatter myself, will have nothing to disburse."
" I do not flatter myself with anything of the kind.
However, I will render them this service, — but it shall
be the last."
" And the first also, my dear uncle."
Marcel, by this time, had folded the deed and put it
in his pocket ; leaning his elbow upon the table, and look-
ing his uncle straight in the face, he added, —
" Do you know, my good uncle, that you would have
been a great brute if you had allowed your brother's
country-house to be sold ? "
" Ah ! that is what you are coming to," cried M. An-
toine, rising, and striking the table a blow that would have
done credit to the fist of a peasant. " You want me to
spend my money, gained by the sweat of my brow, in
paying the debts of a spendthrift? When was it necessary
for artists to have houses of their own, to fill them with
ANTONIA. yy
vain baubles more precious than the eyes in their heads ; to
have gardens with bridges and turrets, when they cannot
raise a single lettuce ? What is it to me, although my
brother's folly is sold, and although his widow can no
longer have first-rate cooks in her kitchen, and great
lords at her table? They were very well pleased, no
doubt, when they were entertaining counts and mar-
quesses, and when madame could say, ' My house, my
people, my servants ! ' I knew very well, for my part,
what such extravagance would lead to. And look at.
them now, crying out for the help of the old rat, wlio,
despising the world, disdaining luxury, and devoting hin>
self to useful works, lives in his comer, like a wise
man and a philosopher. They bow the head, they hold
out the paw, and he who would not give out of pity,
— such people do not deserve pity, — he gives out of
pride. It is in this way that he revenges himself. Go !
repeat that to your aunt, the beautiful princess in dis-
tress ! Your brute of an uncle gives you this commis-
sion. — Off with you, dog of a lawyer ! what do you mean
by trying to stare me out of countenance?"
In fact. Marcel had fixed his small, gray, brilliant eyes
upon his uncle's face, and was studying it as if he would
have liked to read his very soul.
" Bah ! '* he said, rising suddenly ; " you are a very hard
man, a great brute, I repeat ; but you are not so wicked
as you pretend ! You have some cause for hating your
sister-in-law that no one knows anything about, and
which you do not acknowledge, perhaps, to yourself.
Now I intend to find out your secret, my dear uncle, you
may be sure of that, for I shall make a special business
of it ; and when I set about a thing I am like you, — I
never give it up."
Marcel continued to watch the rich man as he spoke,
and he noticed a remarkable change in his expression.
The coarse flush that had covered his face, burnt by the
sun of the early spring, was succeeded by a sudden pale-
ness. His lips trembled, he pulled his hat over his black,
bushy brows, and, turning his back upon his nephew,
went into the garden without a word.
40
ANTONIA
Gardens imitating the sylvan style of Trianon, with arti-
ficial rocks, fantastic edifices, and miniature cows of coarse
earthenware, lying on the green grass, were the rage at
that time, but M. Antoine's was not of this description.
Nor was it, like that of the hotel d'Estrelle, an undulating
lawn, with winding walks, groves regularly planted, and
broken columns reflected in limpid pools ; one of the first
picturesque attempts in the style of the modern English
garden. Neither did it display the old-fashioned square
beds and ^ong regular borders of the time of Louis XIV".
The ground was cut up and intersected according to the
taste of M. Antoine. Everywhere you beheld baskets,
hearts, stars, triangles, ovals, shields, trifoils, surrounded
with green borders and with a labyrinth of little paths.
Flowers of every variety, — all beautiful or curious, —
glittered in these strange beds, but they seemed to have
lost all their natural grace. Imprisoned under bulrush
cages, brass net-wire, reed parasols ; protected and sup-
ported by props and stays of every description, preserving
them from the stains of the earth, heat of the sun, and
rude caresses/ of the wind, they no longer looked like
themselves. His rose-bushes, cut and pruned every hour,
were so clean and shining that they looked artificial.
His peonies were as large and round as the tufts on a
grenadier's cap, and his tulips glittered in the sun like
tin-foil. Around the flower-garden stretched immense
nurseries, poorly clad with foliage, and as melancholy as
rows of pickets. This spectacle delighted the eyes of the
horticulturist, and dissipated his melancholy.
There was only one agreeable walk in this immense
enclosure, and that was in the corner of the garden next
the pavilion occupied by Madam Thierry. There, for the
last twenty years, M. Antoine had acclimated ornamental
and exotic trees. These trees were already well grown,
and cast a fine shade ; but, as they no longer required
careful and minute attention, he had ceased to feel the
least interest in them, and greatly preferred the seed of a
piae-tree or a newly-sprouted acacia.
His greenhouse was marvellously beautiful, and it was
there tiiat he hastened to bury the bitter memories that
ANTONIA.
41
Alarcel had awakened. He walked through the depart-
ment of his favorite plants, — lilies, — and, after assuring
himself that those in bloom were in good condition, he
paused before a little china vase, where an unknown bulb
was beginning to put forth slender shoots of a dark and
brilliant green.
" What will it be like? " he thought ; '' will it make
an epoch in the history of horticulture, like so many
plants that owe their renown to me ? It is a long time
since I have produced anything new in my establishment,
and it seems to me that I am no longer talked about as
much as I ought to be."
Marcel, in the meanwhile, went away absorbed in
thought. There was one curious feature in the avarice
of M. Antoine, and this was that he was not avaricious.
He did not hoard up his money ; he did not practise
usury, and had never done so ; he denied himself nothing
that he took a fancy to, and sometimes, out of vanity, he
did good. How was it that he had refused to purchase
tlie property of his defunct brother for his nephew? This
act of liberality would have caused him to be talked about
more widely, and with more admiration, than the future
Antonia Thierrii. Why had he allowed such a fine op-
portunity of gaining notoriety to escape him? This point
Marcel souglit in vain to explain. He knew that the ship-
owner had always been jealous of his brother ; jealous,
not of his talent, — for that he despised, — but of his
celebrity, and the favor with which he was received in the
fashionable world. But surely this jealousy must have
died with the old Andre. Why should his widow and son
reap the sad inheritance?
A thought occurred to Marcel : he turned back, followed
M. Antoine to the greenhouse, and, interrupting his hor-
ticultural reveries, said, in a cheerful tone, —
" By the way, uncle, do you want to purchase the
pavilion of the hotel d'Estrelle ? "
'' Imbecile ! If the pavilion is for sale, why didn't
you tell me ? "
'* I forgot it. Well then, how much will you give for
it?"
42 ANTONIA,
" How much is it worth? "
" I have told you already. To the Countess d'Estrelle,
who has just accepted the property, it is worth ten
thousand francs ; as you are anxious to get it, and are
in want of it, it is worth double that to you. It remains
to be seen whether the countess will not ask you three
times as much."
" Of course ! That is the way with your great
ladies ! They are sharper and meaner than the plebeians
they despise."
" The Countess d'Estrelle despises no one."
"It is false ! she is just as great a fool as any of
them. She has lived at the hotel d'Estrelle four years,
and, during all that time, although there is only a wall
between us, has never had the curiosity to come and see
my garden."
'' Perhaps she don't know anything about rare plants."
" Say, rather, that she would consider herself disgraced
if she set foot in the house of a plebeian."
" Ah ! You want a young woman in mourning to
compromise herself by coming to walk in your garden,
— a bachelor of your age."
" My age ! Are you joking? How could a man of
my age be talked about ? "
"There is no knowing! You were a volcano at
one time."
" I ! What are you talking about, animal? '*
" You will never make me believe that you have
never been in love."
" What do you say that for? Surely I have never
been in love. I'm not such a fool."
"That is all false. You may call yourself a fool as
much as you choose, but you have been in love, at least
once ! Deny it if you can," Marcel added, as he saw
that the horticulturist was again becoming pale and
agitated.
" Have done with this nonsense ! " replied uncle An-
toine, stamping on the ground with vexation. " You aro
the lawyer of Madam d'Estrelle ; are you commissioned
to sell the pavilion ? "
ANTONIA.
43
" No, but T have a right to offer it ! How much will
/ou give for it?"
" Not a sou ! Take yourself off, and leave me in
peace."
"I am at liberty, then, to offer it to another pur-
chaser?"
"What other?"
" There has been no applicant as yet. I have no taste
for trickery, and will not betray your interests ; but you
know, as well as I do, that they are building up the street,
and that, this evening or to-morrow morning, a dozen
would-be purchasers may be quarrelling over the pavilion."
" If Madam d'Estrelle chooses to enter into negotia-
tions with me — "
"You want to pay her a visit? That can easily bt»
arranged."
"She will receive a visit from me?" said M. An-
toine, his eyes lighting up for an instant.
" Why not?" said Marcel.
" Ah, yes I she will grant me an interview in her
court, or, at the most, in her ante-chamber ; — she will
stand up between two doors and receive me, as she would
a dog, — or a lawyer I "
" You think a great deal of good manners, then ; you, who
never take your hat off before any one, no matter who.
But set your heart at rest. Madam d'Estrelle is as polite
to deserving people of our class, as to the greatest aristo-
crats. The proof of this is, that she is on the best terms
with my aunt Thierry ; they are already almost friends."
"Ah! there is nothing strange in that, — your aunt
is noble. The nobles, — bah ! they understand each
other like thieves in a fair."
" Sapristi I uncle, what have you now against your
sister-in-law?"
" I have this against her — that I detest her ! "
"I see that; but why?"
" Because she is noble. Don't talk to me about the
nobility. They have no hearts, and they are all un-
grateful ! "
" You were in love with her, then 1 **
44 ANTONIA.
M. Antoine was completely overcome by this direct
question. He grew first pale, and then purple, with rage ;
he swore, pulled his hair, and cried furiously, —
" She told you so — she pretends, she dares relate — "
" Nothing at all. I have never been able to make her
say a word about you ; but I have had my suspicions all
along, — and now you acknowledge the truth. Tell me
all about it, uncle, it will be worth your while, for the
confession will relieve you ; at least, once in your life, you
will have yielded to a good impulse, and will be at peace
with yourself."
A good half hour passed before the ex-ship-owner had
poured forth all the spite and bitterness with which his
heart was filled ; he abused Marcel, Madam Thierry, and
his defunct brother, with almost equal violence. Marcel
teased him cruelly ; but finally, when he liad succeeded in
exhausting him, he carried the day. Old Antoine related
the following story by fits and starts, forcing the lawyer to
draw from him by piecemeal the secret of liis life, which
was, at the same time, that of his character.
The elopement of Mademoiselle de Meuil and Andre
Thierry occurred forty years before the opening of our
story ; after their flight, the lovers came to M. Antoine
Thierry, who, although young, was already a rich man,
to beg an asylum. Hitherto the brothers had been good
friends. Mademoiselle de Meuil was secreted in the
house of the ship-owner, and regarded him with sincere
friendship and holy confidence. Pursued by the family
de Meuil, and exposed to the danger of being sent to the
Bastile, Andre was obliged to leave Paris so as to mis-
lead his enemies ; in the meanwhile powerful protectors,
interested in his favor, endeavored to bring about a
reconciliation, and finally succeeded in doing so.
Tlie separation of the lovers lasted several months ;
and, during this period. Mademoiselle de Meuil, a prey
to the most terrible anxiety, thought several times of
returning to her relatives, so as to save her lover from
the perils and misfortunes that threatened him. More
than once she discussed her plans confidentially with
bi other Andre; she asked his advice, and did not hide
ANTONIA.
AS
from him her grief and alarm. Thus appealed to, M.
Antoine conceived a really whimsical idea ; the plan that
the poor man formed was suggested neither by treachery
nor passion, but it very soon brought his morbid vanity
into full play. But let him speak for himself:
" That girl," he said, " was lost, although she and
my brother had never lived together as man and wife.
She was too much compromised to be received again by
her family, and could hope for nothing better than to
be sent to end her days in a convent. My brother
seemed to me in a still worse plight : they had obtained
a leitre de cachet against him, which, at that time, was
no joke. He might have been thrown into prison at any
moment, and have lain there for twenty years, — how
did I know ? — perhaps for his whole life ! The young
lady was constantly telling me all this herself; every
moment she cried, ' What shall we do, M. Antoine ?
Mon Dieul what shall we do?' So then the idea
occurred to me that I would save them both by marrying
her. I was not in love with her. No ! The devil take
me if I am lying. She belonged to a good family, and
that gave her a sort of distinction, — not in my eyes, for
I have no prejudices, but in the opinion of other people, —
and but for that she would not have been worth noticing.
You laugh ! What are you laughing at, ass of a
lawyer ? "
''I am not laughing," said Marcel. "Goon, — you
told her your fine idea."
"■ Plainly and fairly ; I was no more of a fool than my
brother, and could express myself just as well. Pray
was he an eagle in those days? He was an insignificant
dauber, who had not had sense enough to lay up two sous,
and who had no reputation at all. Was he more polite
than I, — younger, — better bred ? We had been brought
up together, and he had but one advantage ; I was five
years his senior. As far as appearances are concerned, I
was better looking than he ; Andre never was handsome.
He was a great babbler, and had always been so ; I did
not talk so much, but was more sensible. Brothers, born
of the same parents, with the same blood flowing in our
46 ANTONIA,
veius, we were alike plebeians. In the meanwhile I had
already made nearly a million that no one knew anything
about ! This gave me a good deal of poAver which my
brother did not possess. With a million you can lull
justice to sleep, pacify relatives, buy up protectors who
will not fail you ; you can even reach the ear of the king,
and are quite good enough to marry a girl of a noble
family with no dowry of her own. If people make an
outcry, it is because they would like to have your million
in their own pockets. Finally, my money proved, plainly
enough, that it was not from any lack of mind or genius,
that I was not such a fine talker as my brother. All this
the young lady ought to have understood. I did not ask
her to love me immediately, but to love her Andre well
enough to forget him, and save him from being sent to
rot in prison. Nothing of the kind ! She behaved like
a prude ; instead of recognizing my good sense and gen-
erosity, she flew into a passion, called me rude, treated
me like a bad brother and a dishonest man, and de-
(nimped from my house without telling me where she was
going. Running all sorts of risks to avoid seeing me
again, she departed ; and, by way of thanks, left me a
letter promising never to inform M. Andre of my treach-
ery. I acknowledge that I have never pardoned her for
that, and never will pardon her. As for my brother, his
conduct in the affair offended me almost as much as that
of madame. I had no idea of waiting until his haughty
wife should betray me. As soon as he had escaped from
his troubles, and married, I told him the whole story,
as I have just told it to you. Andre was not angry ;
he thanked me, on the contrary, for my good intentions,
but he began to laugh. You know how frivolous he was,
— a weak head! Well, he thought my idea comical,
and made fun of me. That put an end to our friendship
forever ; I would never consent to see either wife or hus-
band again."
" Good ! " said Marcel ; " finally that mystery is solved.
Bat Julien ! — What grudge can you have against Julien?
He was not born at the time of your grievances."
ANTONIA.
47
"I have no grudi^e against Julien, but he is the son
of his mother, and I ara sure that he hates me."
" Upon my honor, Julien knows nothing about the
facts that you have just related ; your conduct since his
father's death is all that he knows about you. Do you
think he can approve of that? Was it not your duty to
purchase the house for his mother, when he swore, in
the most solemn manner, that he would devote his life
to paying you ? "
" Fine security, the life of a painter ! What became
of his father, — and he was famous ? "
" Even if you had lost fifty thousand francs or so,
you who have more than — "
'•'' Hold your tongue ! The amount of a fortune should
never be mentioned. When such words are spoken, the
walls, the trees, the very flower-pots have ears."
" At any rate, you are rich enough to have purchased
the house at Sevres without inconvenience ; you will
acknowledge that ? "
'' Do you want to make me out a miser? "
" I know that you are not a miser, but I am forced to
believe that you are wicked, and that you love to see
those to whom you are hostile suffer."
"•Well, have I not the right to do so? Since when
have we been forbidden to revenge ourselves ? "
" Since we have ceased to be savages."
" I am a savage, then ! "
" Yes ! "
"Go away, — you have worn out my patience! —
Take care that I do not turn against you also 1 "
'' I defy you to do so ! "
"Why?"
" Because you know that I am the only person in the
world who, in spite of all your perversities, feels a little
affection and love for you."
" How discerning you are ! You acknowledge that
Julien detests me."
" Make him love you ! then you wiU have two friends
instead of one."
" Ah, of course ! you want me to purchase the housOv
48 ANTONIA,
Very well, when Julien becomes an orphan I will look
after his interests, on condition that he never speaks to
me of his mother."
""You would like him to kill her, perhaps? You are
a fool, uncle ; that is the long and the short of it. Yov.
are excessively vain, and you worship rank more than
those who can boast of their ancestors. I am certain
that you were not in love with Mademoiselle de Meuil ■,
but she belonged to a good family, and for that reason
you wanted to supplant your brother. You were furi-
ously jealous of poor Andre, not because you loved a
beautiful and noble woman, but because of the parch-
ments which were her marriage portion, and the sort of
glory reflected upon him by her affection. In a word,
you do not hate the nobility ; you worship them, you
envy them, you would give all your millions to have
been born noble. Your pretended fury against them
is nothing but the spite of a disdained lover, as your
hatred against my aunt is merely the malice of an
obstinate and humiliated plebeian. This, my poor
uncle, is your mania. We each of us have one, it is
said, but this of yours makes you a bad man, and I am
sorry for you."
The ex-ship-owner felt, perhaps, that Marcel was
right ; consequently he was prepared to work himself
up into a more violent rage than ever ; but Marcel
shrugged his shoulders, turned his back upon him, and
went away without paying the least attention to hia
invectives.
In his heart, Marcel was very glad to have got poss-
session of his uncle's secret, — the clue to his thoughts
and recollections. He promised himself that he would
turn his discovery to good account, and, by means of it,
would lead M. Antoine to amend. Will he succeed in
this effort? The sequel must show.
"Madam," said Marcel to the Countess d'Estrelle,
the next morning, " you must sell your pavilion."
" Wh/?" replied Julie. " It is so old, out of repair,
and is worth so little ! "
" It has a relative value which you should not despise
ANTONIA, 49
My uncle will give you ten thousand francs for it, -—
perhaps more."
" This is the first time, my dear lawyer, that you
have given me bad advice. I would never consent to
take advantage of a neighbor. Would not that be specu-
lating upon the need that he may have of this old
building?"
" A little patience, my noble client ! My uncle does
not need the pavilion ; he wants it : that, I assure you is
a very different thing. He is rich enough to pay for his
fancies. And what would you say if he thanked you for
your demands ? "
^'How can that be?"
"Make his acquaintance, and he will offer you a
consideration above the price."
" Fie, Monsieur Thierry ! Would you have me pay
court to his money ? "
" Not at all ; bestow a smile of patronizing goodness
upon it, and it will fly to you of its own accord. Be-
sides, you will be doing a good deed."
"How so?"
" Show my uncle that you feel an affection and esteem
for my aunt and cousin, — your tenants, — and you will
force the old man to help them effectually in their
distress."
" I will do that with all my heart, Monsieur Thierry,
and I already know your aunt well enough to appreciate
her. But what can I say of your cousin, whom I do not
know?"
" Do not hesitate upon that account. You can take
him upon trust fearlessly. Julien has a noble heart, — a
lofty mind, — a soul above his condition ; he is the best
of sons, the truest of friends, the most honest of men,
and, moreover, the most reasonable of artists. You can
suy all that, countess, and if Julien ever gives the lie to
your statements, I am willing to forfeit your confidence
and esteem."
Marcel spoke with so much enthusiasm, that Julie was
deeply impressed. She refrained from asking questions,
but listened, without losing a word, to the conclusion
4
50
ANTONIA.
of his eulogy, and Marcel entered into details with which
any one, not absolutely incapable of feeling, would have
been touched. He told her of Julien's devotion to his
mother, of the sufferings he had endured without her
knowledge ; how he even went without food in order that
she might not be deprived of it. In making this state-
ment. Marcel, like Madam Thierry on the preceding day,
uttered a falsehood without knowing it. Julien did not
eat, because he was in love ; and Marcel, who was far
from suspecting the truth, thought that he understood the
cause of his involuntary austerity. But Julien was cap-
able of doing a great deal more for his mother than
restraining his appetite : he would have given the last
drop of his blood for her ; so that Marcel, although he
did not state the exact truth in regard to a special fact,
stated far less than the truth.
His panegyric upon Julien was so enthusiastic and
heartfelt, that the countess had no excuse for hesitating.
She begged Marcel to inform uncle Antoine that she was
anxious to see his rare flowers, and to visit his immense
and curious plantations. Uncle Antoine received this
communication with an air of haughty scepticism.
" I understand all that," he said ; " she wants a high
price for the pavilion ; she will make me pay the eyes out
of my head for her politeness."
Marcel was not duped by his grumbling. The satis-
faction of the rich man was too apparent.
On the appointed day. Madam d'Estrelle dressed herself
once more in deep mourning, stepped into her carriage,
and drove to the hotel Melcy. Marcel was standing at
the door awaiting her. He offered her his hand, and, as
they ascended the great front steps, uncle Antoine made
his appearance in all his glory, in the dress of a gardener.
Considering the folly of the old man, this really was not
a bad idea. Without consulting Marcel, he had half
resolved to array himself magnificently. He was rich
enough to wear cloth of gold, if he desired it, but the fear
of looking ridiculous restrained him. Since he prided
himself, above everything else, upon being a great horti-
ANTONIA.
51
culturist, he had sense enough to appear before his distin-
guished visitor in a severely rustic costume.
In spite of his harsh character and habitually rude
manners, — in spite of his secret desire to assert his inde-
pendence and philosophical pride before Marcel, — he lost
countenance altogether when the beautiful Julie saluted
him graciously, and looked at him with her sweet, frank
expression. For the first time in thirty years, perhaps,
he took off his three-cornered hat, and, instead of re-
placing it immediately upon his head, held it awkwardly,
but respectfully, under his arm, during the whole time
that her visit lasted.
Julie was above the pettiness of trying to flatter his
caprices, but she took a genuine interest in the horti-
cultural wealth displayed to her. A flower herself, she
loved flowers ; and this is not a madrigal, to use the lan-
guage of that epoch. There are natural affinities in all
the creations of God, and in all times symbols have been
the expression of a reality.
The rich man, although in himself not at all like a
rose, felt his heart expand, nevertheless, at the sincere
praise bestowed upon his cherished plants. In presence
of the sylph who seemed to float over the turf without
touching it, and who glided along the borders of his
flower-beds like a caressing breeze, he gradually forgot
his affected pride. With perfect resignation, he waited
to learn the amount that she proposed to demand for
the pavilion.
" By the way," said Marcel, who saw that Madam
d'Estrelle had forgotten this affair, "tell the countess, my
dear uncle, how anxious you are to purchase — "
" Yes, in fact," said the rich man, without allowing
himself to be too much compromised, " I have had
some idea of purchasing the pavilion of the hotel
d'Estrelle ; but at present, if madame regrets parting with
it — "
" There is only one reason that makes me do so,"
replied Julie ; " it is occupied by persons for whom I
feel a great respect, and I do not wish to have them
disturbed."
52 ANTONIA.
" They have a lease, I suppose ? " said M. Thierry,
who knew perfectly <vell how matters stood.
" Certainly," said Marcel ; " and you will have to pay
them a large indemnity if they consent to annul it, for
they have just entered into possession."
"A large indemnity?" said uncle Antoine, frown-
ing."
" I will willingly undertake that duty," said Madam
d'Estrelle, if— "
" If I pay in proportion ! "
" That is not what I intended to say," said Julie, in
a tone of dignity that cut the discussion short. "I in-
tended to say, that if Madam Thierry, your sister-in-law,
is imwilling to leave her lodging, it is my intention to
maintain her rights to the full enjoyment of her lease.
I shall make this a condition of the sale, and no pur-
chaser will be allowed to elude it under any pretext."
" Such a condition will delay the sale of the pavilion,
and make it less advantageous to you, madams," said
M. Antoine, who was longing to pronounce the sweet
word countess^ but who could not make up his mind to
do so.
" That may be, Monsieur Thierry," replied Julie, in
a tone of indifference which the rich man thought as-
sumed, and very adroit.
'^To come to the point," he said, after a moment's
silence. " What will be the price demanded by — ? "
Marcel was going to reply ; but Julie, who certainly
did not understand business, did not notice this, and
answered, ingenuously, —
" Oh ! as to that, I really don't know. Your reputation
is that of an honest and just man ; you can fix the price
yourself."
Without paying any attention to the reproachful glance
of her lawyer, she continued, —
"You cannot suppose, M. Thierry, that I came to
visit your garden so as to drive a bargain Avith you
about my little piece of property. I know that you would
like to purchase it, and you know, probably, that my
affairs are embarrassed ; but this, surely, need not make
ANTONIA. 53
as unjust in our dealings with each other. The declaration
that I have just made I shall abide by. I will not con-
sent to have your sister-in-law annoyed upon any account,
— not for a million, — for I love and honor her. Consider
that point settled, therefore. As to the other matter,
reflect upon it, and let me know your decision ; for you
owe me a visit now, my good neighbor, and I shall not
excuse you from paying it, whether we conclude our
present negotiations or not."
The countess retired, leaving the rich man dazzled
by her sweetness and grace. Unable to conceal his satis-
faction from Marcel, he tried to attribute it to some
other cause than the true one,
"How now, lawyer?" he cried, with an air of tri-
umph. " You are caught, and look foolish enough !
What have you to say now about the demands of this
lady ? She is more sensible than you : she agrees to my
valuation — "
" Enjoy her pretty ways, and praise her politeness, to
your heart's content," replied Marcel ; " but, at the same
time, try to understand, and be equal to, the part she
expects you to play."
" In fact you are right ! " said Antoine, who was
very acute in matters of business. " When a great lady
says to a man like me, ' Do as you choose,' she means,
' Pay like a great lord ! ' Very well ; by the life of me,
I \vill pay dear ! The countess shall see that I am not
a miserly old pedant, like her father-in-law, the marquis !
There is only one thing that surprises me in a woman that
seems so sensible, and that is, the friendship that she
feels for my sister-in-law. I don't exactly know whether
she meant to be agreeable to me, or to vex me, by talk-
ing as she did."
'' She meant to be agreeable to you."
" I suppose so, since she wants to make use of me.
Still, my sister-in-law may have told her that I was a
miser."
" My aunt has not spoken of you at all. Behave so
that she will not have to complain about you."
"Let her complain, if she chooses! What harnj
54
ANTONIA.
would it do me ? Why should I care for the friendship
and respect of this countess ? "
" Why, indeed ! " replied Marcel, taking his hat. " It
'S evident enough how indifferent you are ! But no mat-
ter ; do your best to behave like a civilized being, and
name the day for your visit, so that I may announce it."
Antoine appointed the day after the morrow, and they
separated. On the very next day, without informing
Marcel, he took indirect but skilful measures for repur-
chasing the house at Sevres. Had he resolved to restore
his father's house to his nephew, to confer so great a
blessing upon his sister-in-law ? Certainly not ! No man
in the world was more vindictive than M. Antoine, for
he had never found a vent either for his good or bad pas-
sions, and repression had increased their violence. No
influences in his narrow life had softened the asperities
of his nature. But, at last, an impression was made
upon him. Without affectation and without calculation,
merely by unconsciously flattering his secret vanity, Julie
d'Estrelle had conquered this savage nature. He con-
sidered her condescension interested, he attributed it
entirely to her need of money ; and yet the irresistible
grace of her manner, and the tone of unaffected equality
in which she addressed him, had flattered him as he
had never before been flattered in his whole life. He
resolved, therefore, that he would pretend to feel a sort
of commiseration for Madam Thierry. He was really
afraid that she would injure him in Julie's estimation,
and by purchasing the house at Sevres he persuaded
himself that he would force his enemy to treat him with
respect, since she would naturally imagine that he in-
tended to confer it upon Julien.
Marcel, in the meanwhile, was doing his best to free
Madam d'Estrelle gradually from her embarrassments.
On the very evening of her visit to M. Antoine, he went
to scold her for her rashness, and to insist that she should
make her purchaser pay dearly for his sugar-plum. Ha
found her but little inclined to enter into his schemes.
" Do what you please, dear M. Thierry," she said,
^' but do not ask my assistance. You told me that youi
ANTONIA.
55
uncle was somewhat vain, that I could easily gain an
influence over him, thanks to my title, and might lead
him to ameliorate his sister-in-law's misfortunes. I hast-
ened to try my power, and you tell me that you hope
something from my efforts. I have done what my heart
dictated, but do not talk to me of any further projects.
Why are you so anxious to sell this pavilion ? You told
me yourself that my husband's creditors, since I hav6
acquired a little more real estate, would be less exacting ;
that the marquis would never allow the hotel d'P^strclle
to be sold ; and that, for some time at least, you would
allow me to forget my troubles. Keep your word with
me ! Let your uncle make his own offer for the pavilion,
since these negotiations will give me an excuse for plead-
ing Madam Thierry's cause. When I said that I diO
not wish her to be dispossessed of her lodging against liei
will, I spoke the simple truth, and I assure you that 1
shall regret exceedingly to have her leave the neighbor-
hood."
Marcel, finding that he could not change her resolution,
took his leave. He stopped at the pavilion, and told
Madam Thierry, and Julien, who was also present, of the
efforts that the generous countess had made in their be-
half, and the kind sentiments with which she regarded
them.
Madam Thierry was so touched, that she could not
restrain her tears. Julien had played his part so well,
that her fears in regard to him had been dissipated, and,
pouring forth, at last, the gratitude with which her heart
was full, and which she had with difiiculty repressed for
several days, she broke out into an enthusiastic eulogy of
Julie d'Estrclle. The poor mother, therefore, poured oil
herself upon the flames.
Still, however, from moment to moment, her suspicions
returned. At every word that she uttered she glanced
stealthily at Julien, to see how he received her remarks.
His perfect self-possession reassured her, until a sudden
outbreak revealed his true state of feeling. Madam
Thierry was saying to Marcel that she did not wish to
keep the countess from selling the pavilion, and would
^6 ANTONIA.
pretend that she felt no regret at giving up her lodging,
when Julien interposed vehemently :
" Move again ? " he cried. " We cannot do it. We
have spent too much, in proportion to our means, in get-
ting established here."
*' Your uncle will provide for that," said Marcel ; "if
he forces you to move, I will do my best to extort from
him — "
" My dear friend," Julien continued, with increased ani-
mation, " your zeal and goodness are incomparable ; but
you know perfectly well that my mother dislikes to have
you make any advances to uncle Antoine. All that you
have done hitherto has been against her will, and she
v.ould have forbidden you positively to make any appeal
to him, if it had not been out of consideration for me.
It is not for us to judge whether she is right or wrong in
detesting him as she does. For my part, I should have
been willing to make all possible concessions, even if I
suffered in d-oing so, to a man with such a singular
character ; but I cannot allow my mother's pride to be
wounded."
"' No, no ! I have no pride," cried Madam Thierry ; " I
cast my pride from me, Julien ! You are working too
much ; you will fall ill if we refuse to negotiate with M.
Antoine. Whatever Marcel's plans may be, they have
my approval ; even if I must be humiliated, I shall be
happy. Let us do our duty before everything else : let us
pay our debts. We will tell the countess that it is a mat-
ter of indifference to us whether we live here or else-
where, and beg her to conclude the sale ; and let Marcel
say to M. Thierry that we demand our rights, or that we
implore his generosity. I am willing to make every sac-
rifice so that you recover your repose and health."
'' My health is excellent," replied Julien, warmly ;
" and my repose will be very much disturbed by moving
again. I like my studio ; I have a work on hand — "
''But you are speaking selfishly, my child ! You do
not remember that this lady is being tormented by her
creditors, just as we are, and even more than we are, for
the present."
ANTONIA.
57
" And you think M. Antoine will relieve hei by pur-
chasing this hovel ? Marcel is not so foolish ! "
" My opinion is," said Marcel, *' that M. Antoine will
submit to all the conditions that the countess may choose
to impose ; he will pay a high price for the pavilion, and
will not compel you to move. Let me alone, and I may,
perhaps, lead him to do something still better."
" What?" said Madame Thierry.
" That is my secret. You shall know about it later,
if I do not fail."
" Ah, mon Dieu ! " said Madam Thierry, interrupting
the conversation, " I have forgotten my snuff-box ; go
and bring it to me, Julien."
Julien went up stairs, and his mother took advantage
of the moment's tete-a-tete that she had contrived to ob-
tain with Marcel, to say quickly, —
" Take care, my dear friend ! We are threatened with
a great danger : Julien is in love with the countess."
*^What are you saying?" cried Marcel, in perfect
amazement; "you are dreaming, my good aunt; it is
impossible."
"Speak lower. It is possible, — it is a fact. Do
what you can to get us out of this dangerous abode.
Find some means, without allowing him to suspect what
1 have told you. Save him, — save me I Silence, — he
is coming."
Julieu performed his errand with the utmost despatch.
He was eager to take part again in the conversation ; but
when he entered the room he noticed that his mother
looked embarrassed, and that Marcel seemed surprised
and troubled. He felt that his secret had been betrayed,
and immediately assumed an air of cheerful indifference
that no longer deceived Madam Thierry, but which com-
pletely reassured the lawyer. The latter went away
promising himself that he would sound his cousin when an
opportunity occurred, but persuaded that Madam Thierry,
agitated by the events of the last few days, was a little
out of her mind.
Marcel soon made a discovery much more surprising
58 ANTOMA,
than this, — so surprising, in fact, that we beg our readers
to prepare themselves for it a little in advance.
On the appointed day, uncle Antoine went to call upon
Madam d'Estrelle. He found her simple and natural as
ever, and quite as charming, — perhaps even more charm-
mir
05
than at their first interview. She greeted the hor-
ticulturist just as she would have done a person of her
own class. Unaccustomed to society, but endowed with
penetration, he felt that his reception was perfect, and
that he had never been treated so well by a person of her
social position.
He saw, also, that she was really indifferent to the
question of money. It was evident that her courtesy had
not been assumed to obtain any ulterior object whatever,
— even that of reconciling him to Madam Thierry, —
since she expressed her desire to see them reconciled
frankly and cordially.
M. Thierry returned from this interview radiant with
a delight that he no longer took any pains to conceal.
When Marcel saw him, he was obliged to confess that, in
certain cases, straiglit forward honesty is the best diplo-
macy ; and that Madam d'Estrelle had done more for her
proteges and herself, by following her natural instinct,
than she would have done if she had been more artful.
"• Now then," said M. Antoine, " we must settle this
matter of the pavilion. I consider it worth forty thou-
sand francs, and that is what I intend to pay for it. I
shall want to enter into possession immediately, and it ig
my duty, therefore, to meet any claims that Madam
Thierry may urge. I don't want to have any discussion
with that woman. Tell her that I release her from the
six thousand francs for which I am security ; here is my
receipt. Furthermore, if she requires a small amount
over and above this, to defray the expenses of moving,
she shall have it. Go, and don't let her break my head
any longer with her troubles. In the first place, how-
ever, take my offer, — which I think is very generous, —
to the countess, and tell her of my promise to indemnify
her proteges, according to her wish."
Marcel was amazed, but delighted. He carried this
ANTONIA.
59
good news, in the first place, to Madam Thierry, who
thanked her stars, and was ready to bless even her
brother-in-law, she was so grateful to him for forcing
her to move as quickly as possible, and at all costs.
Madam d'Estrelle was not so well pleased ; she had
had another interview with the amiable widow, she
enjoyed her society and regretted to lose it, and then her
delicacy was offended by M. Antoine's munificent offer,
which seemed to her the ostentatious folly of a plebeian.
She felt that she would be humiliated by accepting it.
" He will think," she said, " that I have been ma-
noeuvring to induce him to pay this extravagant price,
and that would annoy me exceedingly. No indeed ! I
shall only accept half that he offers ; I prefer to decline
his generosity, and retain his respect and my influence,
which I can exert in favor of the poor Thierrys. Tell
him the price of the pavilion is twenty thousand francs,
and that I ask, furthermore, the continuation of his sister-
in-law's lease."
•■' But my aunt is anxious to move," replied Marcel ;
" you must remember that the inducement he offers is
a matter of great importance."
" Then say nothing about her affairs in my name ;
but remember that my dignity is intrusted to you, and
do not allow it to be compromised."
This reply, transmitted to M. Antoine, led to an ex-
plosion by which the lawyer was dumbfounded.
" So," cried the rich man, " she refuses to accept a favor
from me ; for, knowing her embarassments, I was going
to do her a favor. I was going to treat her like a friend,
since she treated me like one. Ah ! you see, Marcel,
she is scornful, she despises me, she told me a lie when
she said that she thought higlily of me ! Very well,
since this is the case, I will be revenged ! Yes, cruelly
revenged ; she shall have her deserts I By heavens, I
will make her beg my help."
The face of the extravagant old man was still rather
handsome, and at this moment it looked unmistakably
wicked. Marcel gazed upon him in silence.
6o ANTONIA.
"What is this new mystery?" he said to himself,
scrutinizing his uncle's piercing black eyes, flashing with
spite and indignation. " Can wounded vanity culminate
in delirium? Is my uncle losing his senses? Has the
abstracted, solitary, monotonous life that he has led so
long, been too much for him? Will the rage that he
constantly expresses against all the feelings that warm
and illumine the heart, lead, in the long run, to insanity? "
Antoine, without noticing Marcel's scrutiny, continued
vehemently, —
" I understand what you are all about ! You want
Madam Thierry to get the benefit of my generosity.
Now, for my part, I have not the least idea of making
a fool of myself for the sake of Mademoiselle de Meuil.
For a long time I have ceased to feel either hatred or
friendship for that person. Let her go to the devil, — I
never want to hear her spoken of again. I will pay forty
thousand francs for the pavilion, or I will not purchase it.
That is my final decision."
The affair remained in this state for several days.
Madam d'Estrelle laughed good-humoredly at what she
considered the old plebeian's fit of insanity, while the lat-
ter, unknown to Marcel, acted as if his madness had
reached a climax.
Purchasing secretly the claims of all the creditors who
were threatening the widow of the Count d'Estrelle, he
put himself into a position that would enable him, —
according to her conduct to him, — to destroy, or restore
her to prosperity. Under a fictitious name he purchased,
also, the house at Sevres, with all its rich and precious
furniture, and put it under the charge of a housekeeper.
All this was accomplished in a short time, and with great
expenditure. Finally, one day, having found out from
Marcel about the intimate friends of Madam d'Estrelle,
he went to call upon the Baroness d'Ancourt. The
baroness received him in great state, but deigned, never-
theless, to listen to him attentively, when she learned that
he had come to enable her to save Madam d'Estrelle from
certain ruin.
Their conversation was long and mysterious. The
ANTONIA. 6 1
servants of the hotel d'Ancourt were very much puzzled
at this confereuce between their haughty mistress aud a
sort of presuming peasant, and still more so at the
nature of the interview. Now the resounding voice of
the baroness was heard breaking suddenly forth, and
then the harsh voice of her rustic visitor ; they were
quarrelling, in short, and their dispute was interrupted
with bursts of merriment or mockery ; for the baroness
laughed, at moments, so as to shake the glasses.
An hour after, the baroness hastened to call upou
Madam d'Estrelle.
^' My dear," she said, in an agitated voice, " I bring
you five millions, or misery ; — choose."
" Ah ! an old husband, is it not so ? " said Julie ; " you
keep to your idea."
'' A very old husband ; but five millions ! "
"And a great name, undoubtedly?"
" No name at all ! — a thorough plebeian ; but five mil-
lions, Julie I "
" An honest man, at least?"
" He is considered so ; have you decided?"
"Yes, I refuse him! "Would not you do the same?
Would you respect me if I should do otherwise ? "
" I told him you would say so. I ordered him out
of the house. I made fun of him. He replied, obstinately,
* Five millions, madam, five millions ! ' "
" And he convinced you, since you have come to
me I"
" Convinced or not, I was surprised, dazzled ; I said,
like, the queen, ' You urge me so strongly.' "
" Then you advise me to say yes?"
" Do not say yes, say perhaps^ and reflect ; I will re-
flect also, for, at this moment, my head is not clear.
These millions have intoxicated me. What would you
have? The man is old, — in a little while you will be
free : people will stop crying out against the mesalli-
ance ! besides, every one knows that you, yourself, are
not noble. You can open drawing-rooms that will dazzle
all Paris, and all Paris will rush to your fetes ; for, when
all is said, Paris has but one idea : to seek amusement,
62 ANTONIA.
and go where it is to be fotmd. You can give balls, con-
certs, private theatricals ; can fill your rooms with artists,
beautiful singers, fine talkers, brilliant people, in short,
able to entertain and amuse the stupid aristocrats. Ah !
if I had five millions, — if I had only two, — I should
know what to do with them ! Come, do not think me
a fool, and do not be a coward. Accept vulgarity and
opulence."
" And the old age of the husband?"
" A reason the more ! "
Julie was indi^niant and Amelie excited ; they quar-
relled. Madam d'Ancourt did not tell her the name of
her suitor, and Julie did not think to inquire. Fearing
that her impetuous friend might compromise her by
allowing her protege to hope, she commissioned Marcel
to find out w^ho he was, and tell him plainly of her re-
fusal. Marcel went to Madam d'Ancourt to learn the
name of the millionaire.
"Ah, she has reconsidered her decision?" cried the
baroness.
'' No, madam, quite the contrary."
" Very well, you shall not know his name. I promised
on my honor not to reveal it, in case he was rejected."
Marcel went to the hotel Melcy. He suspected the
truth, but had said nothing to the countess, for he
feared, with good reason, that she would reproach him
for having introduced her to an insane old man. Besides,
Marcel valued his uncle's fortune only at two millions, —
tliis was all that he claimed to be worth ; and still felt
doubtful, therefore, as to whether he really was the per-
son in question. He was in a measure misled by the
five millions that had been dinned into Julie's ears as
the amount of her suitor's fortune. "
'^ So, uncle," he said, abruptly, as soon as he entered,
"you are worth five millions?"
"Why not thirty?" said the old man, shrugging his
shoulders. "Have you gone crazy?"
It was in vain that Marcel teased him with questions ;
his uncle remained impenetrable. A great event had
just occurred in his establishment, that had really di-
ANTONIA.
63
verted his mind from his dreams of marriage, so that it
was more easy for liim to conceal the truth. The mys-
terious lily that he had so often contemplated, watched,
watered, and tended, — the flower that was to bear his
name, — during the last few days of neglect and abandon-
ment had suddenly put forth a vigorous shoot, already
covered with well-swollen buds. One of these buds was
already partly open, and within the calyx could be seen
silken petals of incomparable beauty, — white, lustrous,
and spotted with a brilliant rose. The horticulturist was
beside himself with joy. Animated, almost consoled for
his matrimonial mishaps, he walked up and down his
greenhouse in a great state of agitation, or paused to
watch the opening of his flower, while he cried, again
and again, —
" This shall be the one ! This shall be the one ! I
am settled. This shall be the Antonia Thierrii; and all
he amateurs of Europe, if they choose, may burst with
rage."
"Upon my word," said Marcel to himself, "I am
more in doubt than ever. Is it with the Antonia or
with the countess that my uncle is in love?"
III.
'' I ^11 E vanity of the horticulturist had resumed its
-*• sway over Autoine's mind. Seeing this, and reflect-
ing that be might turn his uncle's enthusiasm to account
for the benefit of his proteges. Marcel bestowed the
greatest praise upon the Antonia.
" You intend, I suppose, to send it to the Jar din des
Boi," he said. ** The botanists there ought to feel a
great esteem for you."
" They will count upon this one in vain," replied M.
Antoine. " They may look at it until they are tired, de-
scribe it in their beautiful language, give a scientific
account of it, as they say ; but the specimen is unique.
64 ANTONIA.
and I shall not part from it until I have a number of
offshoots.'*
" But if it dies without propagating? "
*' My name will live in the catalogues, even then."
" That is not enough ! If I were you, I would have
it painted, to provide against accidents."
''How painted? Do people paint flowers nowadays?
Oh, I understand ! you mean that I ought to have its
portrait taken? I have thought about that with my
other rare plants ; but I had quarrelled with my brother,
and the other painters whom I employed were fools ;
their daubs never satisfied me. I paid them a high price
for their work, and afterwards cut up the canvas, or tore
the paper."
" Did you never think of Julien?"
" Bah ! Julien, — an apprentice ! "
" Have you ever seen any of his work? "
•'No, faith, nothing."
" Would you like me to bring you — ?"
" No, nothing, I tell you. We have quarrelled."
" Not at all. lie has called upon you regularly every
year, on the first of January, and you have always been
pleased with him."
"That is true. He has been well brought up, he
is quite sensible, and is good-looking. But, since I
refused to advance the money to purchase the house at
Sevres — "
" Julien has never blamed you, or uttered a discon-
tented word on the subject. I can assure of you that,
upon my honor."
" That may be true, and yet he may not have the
necessary talent — "
" Hold ! a small specimen will do as well as a large
one. Take your magnifying-glass, and look at this."
Marcel drew from his pocket a pretty little shell snuff-
box, with a bouquet painted upon it in miniature, by
Julien, Although this was not his style, he had copied
one of his pictures on this microscopic scale, so as to
make this present to Marcel ; and the little painting was
a veritable chef d'oeuvre.
ANTONIA. ^3
Uncle A nioine was too ignorant of art to appreciate its
real merit ; but he understood the anatomy of every part
of a plant as well as the most thorough botanist, and
if his magnifying-glass did not enable him to count the
stamens of every flower, and the nerves of every leaf,
it proved to him, at least, that the artist, in sacrificing
details to produce his general effect, had not sinned against
nature ; that he had not been led astray by any error,
fancy, or heresy, contradicting the inviolable laws of
creation.
After examining it for a long time, he asked, inge-
nuously, whether Julien could paint as large as life ;
and, when Marcel replied in the affirmative, decided that
he would let him take the portrait of the Antonia
Thierrii. He added, however, that he would require
him to work under his own eyes, so that he might watch
over him, and see that he was exact in the most minute
details.
" I know what these painters are ! " he said ; " they
want to interpret, — they want to do better than nature.
They must have their atmosphere^ lights effect I Oh, I
remember all their stupid^words ! If Julien will be
obedient, both of us together, perhaps, may succeed in
producing something really beautiful. Go and tell him
wliat I want, and let him hold himself in readiness to
pass an hour here day after to-morrow ; it will be in
full bloom by that time."
Marcel went to consult Julien, and returned to tell
Antoine that the artist would require two days, at least,
for studying his model, and that he could not allow him
to see his sketches until they were completed, when he
would be willing to submit them to him and make such
alteration as he desired, if he did not find them satisfac-
tory.
'' He is very proud," said uncle Antoine, impatiently ;
"look at that, — he is already making difficulties just
like his father. Does he suppose I am asking him to
paint the flower as a favor ? I intend to pay him, and
will pay as high a price as any one, no matter who.
Pray wluit is a day of this gentleman's labor worth ? "
5
66 ANTONIA.
" He does not ask you to pay him. If you are pleaset*.
with what he does, he will ask your patronage."
"It is easy to know what that means ; he v/ill ask
me — "
" Nothing at all. You shall settle the matter yourself.
Every one knows that you are generous when you do not
dislike people, and you will not dislike Julien when you
know him better."
''Very well; let him come immediately, — let him
begin."
" No, he is very busy to-day ; he will give you several
hours, to begin with, to-morrow."
The next day, in fact, Julien began to study the plant,
and made several sketches, presenting it under different
aspects. M. Antoine, faithful to their agreement, did not
see these sketches until the artist submitted them to him.
He was more pleased than he cared to acknowled^^e.
This conscientious manner of studying its structure and
attitude surprised and delighted him. Julien talked very
little ; he looked constantly at his model, and he looked at
it with real artistic enthusiasm, as if he loved it pas:^ion-
ately. The horticulturist began immediately to feel a son
of respect for him, and, as Madam Thierry had nevei
told her son of her brother-in-law's foolish conduct, as
nothing in the face or manner of the young man indicated
that he regarded his uncle with the least aversion, An-
toine, who felt a real need of forming some human ties, —
a necessity that had increased in proportion with his
vanity, — conceived for him (if we may say so) a sort
of blind and unconscious friendship.
On the second day Julien began to paint ; his uncle
could no longer follow the progress that he was mak-
ing, and became uneasy. It was much worse when
Julien declared that he must finish the painting in his
studio, where the light was arranged to suit him, and
w^iere he had a number of little objects, all of which he
could not remember to bring with him, and which he
wanted to use. It was quite a distance from the pavilion
to the hotel Melcy, and, on the next day, they would have
no time to lose in coming and going ; he would have to
ANTONIA, 67
seize the expression of the plant on the wing, when it was
in full bloom.
But the model might be injured by being moved ; the
flower might wither prematurely, the stalk might be weak-
ened, its freshness might be tarnished! The artist was
firm, and uncle Antoine resolved that he would carry his
precious Antonia to the studio himself, even at the risk
of meeting Madam Thierry, and being forced to bow to
lier.
Julien, in compelling his uncle to make this hard sacri-
fice, had not yielded to the petty caprice of a fanciful
artist. He had followed the advice of Marcel, who was
anxious to bring about a reconciliation between the op-
posing members of the family ; and who, as he could not
persuade Madam Thierry to make any advances, thought
I lie best plan would be to surprise her by a chance inter-
view with her enemy.
We have represented Madam Thierry as perfect, —
and she really was about as perfect as a human being
can be; — still, however, she had one little fault. Al-
though free from coquetry, from vanity, and from the
weakness of thinking herself young, she had never really
said to herself, " I am old." What woman of her time
was more sensible and clear-sighted? Her youth had
bloomed perennially in madrigals, gallant speeches, and
delicate attentions. She had been so pretty, and was so
well-preserved ! Her husband, although he had ruined
her by his imprudence, had been in love with her up to
his last day ; and it really seemed as if this old couple
had been destined to bring Philemon and Baucis to life
again. As she had never ceased to hear that she was
still charming, — relatively to her age this was perfectly
true, — good Madam Thierry had never ceased to feel
like and consider herself a woman, and, after a laspe
of forty years, she had not forgotten how deeply her
pride and dignity had been wounded by the pretensions
of the ship-owner. This rude man, who had had the
audacity to say to her, " Look at me. I am rich ; you
can love me instead of my brother," had caused her the
only real mortification to which she had been exposed
68 ANT ON I A.
in consequence of her elopement, which the world, at the
time, had considered an unpardonable imprudence. Id
after years her beauty, agreeable manners, and noble
character, had caused her to be sought by her husband's
admirers. She had been able to lift her head, to triumph
over prejudices, and had occupied an exceptional and
enviable position in public opinion. She had been un-
usually happy, therefore ; but never had she forgotten
this one insult, nor could she think of it without bitter-
ness. It seemed to her that she had been contami-
nated once in her life, by the offers and hopes of M.
Antoine.
Marcel could not penetrate these subtle, feminine senti-
ments. He imagined that time must have taught Madam
Thierry to smile at this ridiculous adventure, and that
slie had been perfectly sincere in declaring her readiness
to pardon the past, so as to obtain the favor of their rich
relative for Julien.
Julien was not a man to covet his uncle Antoine's
wealth. He had never said to himself that, if he would
consent to flatter him, he might look forward to becoming
his principal heir. For a long time he had refused to
ask him the slightest favor ; but he longed to recover for
his mother the house where she had been so happy, and
this desire had conquered his pride. He had resolved
to devote his life, if necessary, to paying his debts, and
no longer blushed at Marcel's efforts to persuade Antoine
to advance the necessary funds.
Nevertheless, when he saw his uncle nearing the
house, Julien reproached himself for having deceived
his mother. He feared that the surprise would be too
much for her, and, at the last moment, tried to pre-
pare her for what she had to expect. Madam Thierry
did not lose couraue ; but, as soon as she had bowed
to M. Antoine, she made some excuse for going to her
room, and there she remained. It seemed to her impos-
sible to endure the presence of this disagreeable person-
age. Antoine, who had not seen her for forty years, did
not recognize her at first, and was not sufficiently self-
possessed to apologize for his forge tfulness. There was
ANTONIA. 69
a gate opening from his garden into the rue de Babylone,
quite near the pavilion, and he had taken this path to
the studio. Unwilling to let any one touch his variegated
lily, he had brought it himself. He placed it himself
upon the table of the little studio, he took off the great
horn of white paper protecting it, and, when the artist
began to work, took up a newspaper which Madam
d'Estrelle sent to Madam Thierry every morning, and
fell asleep over it in a corner of the studio.
Julien was expecting Marcel, who had promised to
try and bring about the proposed reconciliation ; but
Marcel, detained by business, did not arrive. Madam
Tliierry did not appear. Julien felt that he could not
break the ice without the help of his cousin : he did not
say a word, therefore ; he worked, did his best, and
thought of Julie.
Uncle Antoine was only asleep with half an eye. In
the house of the woman he hated, and so near the hotel
d'Estrelle, the abode of his new fancy, he felt restless,
disturbed, agitated ; he was more troubled than he would
have cared to confess. He got up, walked to and fro,
with his creaking boots ; sat down again, and finally,
forgetting his lily for a moment, began to talk to Julien.
*' How about your work," he said ; " have you a great
deal to do?"
** A great deal," replied Julien.
'' Do people pay you well?"
" Quite well ; I have no cause to complain."
" How much do you earn a day? "
*' A dozen francs or so," said Julien, smiling.
" That is very little ; but your father made still less
at your age, and I suppose you will increase your price
from year to year."
* I hope and intend to do so."
" You are prudent and systematic, I am told."
*' Yes, uncle ; I am obliged to be so."
Do you go much into society ? "
((
'' I have no lime to go." /
" You know, however, persons of good family?
*' My father's friends have not forgotten me."
70 ANTONIA.
" You sometimes return their visits?"
" Very seldom, and only when necessary."
" How about the Baroness d'Ancourt, — do you know
her?"
" Merely by name, — nothing more."
" She is a friend of Madam d'Estrelle ? **
" I have ho idea."
"But you must know Madam d'Estrelle?"
"No, uncle."
*' Have you never seen her ? "
" Never."
Julien uttered this lie courageously. It seemed to him
that every one was trying to find out his secret, and he
had resolved to hide it with the most savage resolution.
" That is curious," said uncle Antoine, who, perhaps,
really did feel some suspicion upon this point, if only to
be true to his habit of suspecting every one ; " your
mother spends hours, whole days, they say, in her gar-
den, and even in her drawing-room, and you — "
" I am not my mother."
" You mean that you are not noble."
" I mean that I am not of an age to seek the acquaint
ance of a lady who is living secluded, and who only
receives visits from elderly persons."
" You regret very much, no doubt, that you are too
young ? "
" On the contrary, I like very much to be young, I can
assure you," said Julien, laughing at his uncle*s whim-
sical reflections.
Antoine, defeated, began to walk up and down the
room again, with short, jerking steps ; again he paused,
and said to Julien, —
" How much longer will you have to work? "
" Two or three hours."
" Can I look at the picture?"
" If you choose."
" Ah ah ! " he cried, " that is not so bad ; that begins
to look like something ; but you are painting all the back-
gi'ound, — where will you put the name of the flower ?
i want it in large gilt letters."
ANTONIA. 71
" Then it must not be put auy where ; it would spoil the
effect."
•"^ You don't say so ! I must have my name, though ! '*
" Put it in large, black letters, upon a medallion in
relief, above or below the gilt frame."
" That is a good idea, upon my word ! Make a chef-
d'oeuvre, and I will invite you to the ceremony of tho
baptism."
" Bah, a ceremony ! "
" Yes ; the botanists of the Jar din du Box are going to
breakfast with me to-morrow morning. I have invited
them, and they have accepted. I am going to have a
sort of fete ; and, as it tires me to sit here with my arms
crossed, doing nothing, I will return to my house and see
how things are going on. Take care of my lily ; don't
let yourself be disturbed ; work without stopping ; I will
return in an hour."
Julien was working now with enthusiasm and rapidity ;
every stroke of his pencil seemed to transfer the life of
the wonderful plant to the canvas. Uncle Antoine was
struck by his aspect ; he smiled, and, becoming a little
humanized, tapped the young man upon the shoulder,
'' Courage, my lad, courage ! Satisfy me, and you
will have no cause to regret it."
He went out ; but, instead of returning to his garden,
went mechanically to the hotel d'Estrelle. Solitude,
wealth, ennui and vanity, had weakened and half-mad-
dened the old man's mind, and a world of confused ideas,
— cheerful, gloomy, and audacious, — were whirling
wildly through his brain.
*' I was wrong," he said, *' to confide my suit to that
foolish baroness. She performed her part badly, and
did not even mention my name I She said that I was an old
plebeian, and that was all ; the little countess never im-
agined that the person referred to was a well-preserved
man whom she herself had praised for his good health
and good looks, — a man whom she knows to be generous
and great, and whose talents as an agricultural amateur
and producer of rare plants are not to be despised. I
72
ANTQNIA.
must end the affair one way or the other : I will offef
myself, and find out whether I am to love or hate her."
He entered the hotel boldly, and asked to speak to
the countess on business. She hesitated for a moment
whether to admit him. Knowing that he was whim-
sical, and thinkini^ him a monomaniac, she would have
preferred to have Marcel present at the interview. But
she knew how sensitive her old neighbor was, and,
fearing that she might injure Madam Thierry's interests
by offending him, allowed him to enter. Madam d'Es-
trelle was alone ; but she would have considered it
absurdly prudish to feel alarmed about a tete-a-tete
with an old man, well known for the austerity of his
manners.
The rich man had called upon her prepared for battle ;
he imagined that he would have to fight to obtain an in-
terview. When he found, on the contary, that he was
admitted without opposition, after two minutes delay,
when he saw that his beautiful neighbor received him
kindly and affably, although with a little reserve, his
courage abandoned him. Like all people who live in
the world of their own thoughts, unchecked and uncon-
trolled, no one could be bolder in forming plans. It was
his audacity that had enriched him, and he confided in it.
But, as he had always acted from behind a curtain as
it were, he was as incapable of taking a step upon the
stage of social life, or of conversing with a woman, as
he would have been of commanding a ship, or conduct-
ing negotiations with the Algonquins. He grew pale,
stammered, put his hat on after taking it off, and, in
siiort, was so agitated, that Madam d'Estrelle felt sur-
prised and distressed, and was obliged to come to his
assistance by referring at once to the subject which she
supposed to be the object of his visit.
'' So, my neighbor," she said kindly, " we are at odds
about this unfortunate pavilion, which I had hoped
would be the means of bringing us to a good under-
standing and making us friends. Do you know that
1 feel like scolding you, and that I consider you very
unreasonable ? "
ANTONIA. 73
" Oh, it is well known that I am a fool," replied An-
toine, morosely ; " I hear it so often that I shall end by
believing it."
*' I only ask to be undeceived," replied Julie ; " can you
give me any good reason for accepting the sort of present
that you offer me ? I defy you to do so ! "
" You defy me ? Then you want me to speak. The
reason is clear enough, — I feel an interest in you ! "
"• You are very good," said Julie, with a smile, in
which there was a touch of irony, " but — "
" It is just so, countess ; you are a person that one can-
not help thinking about, and so I thought about you, —
what the devil would you have ? I said to myself, ' It is
a pity that a person so, — a lady who, — a person of
good family, in a word, should be in the hands of the
bailiffs. I am only a plebeian, but I am not such a miser
as the fine gentlemen and the fine ladies of her family.*
That is why I said what I did say ; but you misunderstood
it all, which proves that you despise me."
*' You are mistaken in that ! " cried the countess ; "de-
spise you for wanting to do a good action ? No ! a hun-
dred times no ! It would be impossible."
" Then why refuse my offer? "
" Listen to me. Monsieur Thierry ; will you give me
your word of honor as an honest man that you are per-
fectly convinced of the sincerity, — the personal disinter-
estedness, — of my conduct towards you? "
" Yes, madam, I give you my word of honor. The
devil ! do you suppose, otherwise, that I should ever have
come to see you again ? "
" Very well, I accept your offer," said Julie, holding
out her hand ; " but upon one condition, — that you will
give me back your friendship."
Old Antoine was completely beside himself when he felt
this little soft hand in his hard, dry palm. He had a sort
of vertigo ; and, as he did not know what to do with this
woman's hand, — to kiss it he would have thought an im-
propriety, and he dared not press it, — he let it drop, and
stammered out his thanks in a very confused manner, but
with heartfelt emotion.
74 ANTONIA.
" Since you treat me as if I were conferring a favor
upon you," said Madam d*Estrelle, " I warn you that
I shall become exacting. I really need only twenty thou-
sand francs for the present ; let me offer the other twenty
thousand from you to Madam Thierry."
" No, no ! it cannot be ! " said Antoine, losing his tem-
per ; " she would refuse. That woman detests me ! I
have just paid her a visit. She turned her back upon me,
and went and hid in her garret."
*' You must have wronged her in some way, my neigh-
bor?"
" Never ! If she tries to make you think otherwise,—
let her say what she chooses, — I am an honest man."
" She has never said otherwise."
" Has she never spoken to you about me ? Come now,
— tell me the truth, — upon your honor."
" Upon my honor, never ! "
" Then, — stop a, moment ! — tell her to respect me as
she ought, and don't talk about giving her money that
belongs to you ; for, — the devil take me, — if you make
much of me, and don't blush to acknowledge my friend-
ship, I will give her, — yes, I will give her a pretty
present ! I will buy her house at Sevres. There !
What will you say to that ? "
"I will say, M. Thierry," cried Madam d'Estrelle,
deeply touched, *' that you are the best of men ! "
^' The best, in truth?" cried the rich man, so flattered
that he was like a person intoxicated; — ''the best, do
you say ? "
" Yes, — the best rich man that I know ! "
" That is something worth while ! Will you breakfast
at my house to-morrow with some savants, — some very
famous and learned men, — and witness a baptism?
Will you be godmother, and accept me as godfather ? "
"Yes! at what hour?"
" At noon."
"I will go, — but in the company of some lady, since
you have persons at your house whom I do not know. I
will go with — "
" My sister-in-law. I see what is coming ! "
ANTONIA. 75
" Very well, — do you forbid it?"
" Forbid it? Do you know that you talk as if I were
your master?" he said, with a sort of mysterious fatuity.
" As if you were my father? " replied Julie, frankly.
An unchaste old man would have been wounded by
this speech, but Antoine was chaste in his folly ; we can
affirm, positively, that he was not in love with Julie ; it
was the countess only who was the object of his passion.
Whether she was his adopted daughter, or his wile, mat-
tered little to him. Provided that he could show her off
to his solemn company on the next day, — to the savants,
— Marcel, Julien, to Madam Thierry above all, and to all
his gardeners ; — provided that he could see her leaning
upon his arm or seated at his table, talking to him with
filial friendship, without any fear of what the world
might say, — provided that all this might be, it seemed to
him that he would be perfectly happy.
" And if I am not contented even then," he thought, —
talking to himself about himself, with a sort of ineffable
tenderness, — "I shall have time enough to tame her, and
lead her to think about marriage afterwards ; and when
she has sacrificed her title to be my wife, we will see
then whether the name of Thierry the elder will not be
worthy to stand by that of my brother, Thierry the
painter ! "
" Since you are so gracious," he said to Julie, " I will
be gracious also. I will do whatever you wish. I com-
mission you, for example, to give my invitation to Madam
Andre Thierry, and if she prevents you from keeping
your appointment to-morrow, tell her that I will never
pardon her in all my life."
'' 1 will take charge of her, my neighbor. Farewell,
until to-morrow ; have no fear ! "
"Would it annoy you to say my friend?" replied
Antoine, whose tongue was loosened by his secret hap-
piness.
" It would not annoy me at all," replied Julie, laugh-
ing ; "I will call you so to-morrow, if you keep your
word."
" You will call me so — publicly?"
76 ANTONIA.
" Publicly — and with all my heart."
The old man went away reeling like a drunken man.
In the street he talked to himself in a loud voice ; his
eyes flashed, and he made emphatic gestures. The passers-
by took him for an escaped lunatic.
He followed the wall of the hotel d'Estrelle mechanic-
ally, for his first idea was to return to the studio, in
order to see whether Julien was at work, and whether
his lily was safe. Suddenly he remembered that tlie
Baroness d'Ancourt might ruin all his hopes, by revealing
to Madam d'Estrelle the name of the suitor whose cause
she had espoused. Evidently Julie suspected nothing;
she had no reason to imagine that her old neighbor was
acting from an interested motive. He might gi'adually
lead her to accept him as her husband, by impressing her
duly with his wealth and magnificence ; but he had
wanted to go too fast, and had come very near spoiling
everything. Since the baroness was not opposed to him,
he must go to her house before doing anything else, tell
her how matters stood, and urge her to be silent. II3
called a carriage that M'as passing, and ordered the coach-
man to drive to the hotel d'Ancourt.
Julie was deeply moved ; like every generous person
who has sought to inspire a good deed, and has carried
her point, she lost all sense of her own personality in her
sincere joy at what she had accomplished. Impatient to
announce the important news to Madam Andre, and
make her promise to be her chaperon at the breakfast at
the hotel Melcy, she threw a light mantle of violet silk
over her shoulders, and, — so utterly had she forgotten
herself, — ran towards the pavilion. She thought no
more of Julien than if he had never existed ; or, at all
events, did not remember that it was her duty to avoid
him. She had never clearly understood how serious a
matter this was ; and, in her eagerness to see his mother,
would not probably have hesitated, even if she had re-
membered it. Besides, she was alone. There was no one
in the drawing-room, no one in the garden. Would the
roses be scandalized at her imprudence ? Would the
ANTONIA.
77
nightingales cry over the walls that Madam d'Estrelle
had entered a house where she might, perhaps, meet a
young man whom she had never seen ?
Julien, at this moment, had no time to be watching for
Julie's approach. He was wholly absorbed in his work.
The lily could not promise to remain fresh and unchanged,
until he had given the last touch to his picture. Madam
Thierry was in her room with Marcel ; he had arrived
finally, and, after exchanging a few words with Julien,
had gone to converse with his aunt. He wanted to lec-
ture her, to make her confess, and to persuade her that
the cause of her dislike to M. Antoine ought to remain
concealed, as it had hitherto been, from the young artist.
Madam d'Estrelle struck lightly at the door of the
pavilion. A great wagon, loaded with broken stones,
was passing at this moment in the street. The noise of
the wheels, the cries of the driver, and the cracking of
the whip, completely drowned her feeble knock. Eager
to sec Madam Thierry before some surly message from
the whimsical Antoine had informed her of his plans, and
perhaps made her unwilling to agree to them. Madam
d'Estrelle opened the outer door boldly ; she opened a
second door, and found herself in Julien's studio, alone
and lace to face with the young artist ; he had placed his
model in the light streaming from the window above this
door, and Julie entered in a blaze of glory ; it seemed aa
if she had come to him in a ray of sunshine.
Julien was so little prepared for this vision, that he
came very near falling, as if thunderstruck. The blood
rushed to his heart, and his face became whiter than M.
Antoiue's lily. He could neither speak nor bow ; he
stood motionless, with his pallet in his hand, his eyes
fixed, — absolutely petrified.
Did the beautiful countess experience any correspond-
ing emotion ? At the sight of this young man, whose
beauty was so faultless, — that type of beauty in which
the nobility of the lines is only exceeded by the intelli-
gence of the expression, — what took place in her heart
and soul? Her first feeling was one of instinctive re-
spect ; for Julien was not unknown to her. She had
78 ANTONIA.
heard all about his honest and self-saci ifieing life, his
patient industry, at the same time so ardent and regular,
his filial love, his noble sentiments ; she knew how well
he deserved the friendship and esteem of his devoted
friends. She had sometimes felt a curiosity to see him ;
and, either because she considered it childish, or from a
vague presentiment that their meeting would be danger-
ous to her peace, had forbidden herself to yield to this
desire.
Why investigate further? It is enough that her heart
was fully prepared for the reception of the sentiment that
was to govern her life. She experienced a terrible shock.
The agitation by which Julien was paralyzed overcame
her also, and she remained for a moment as silent and
motionless as he.
If any one had seen this beautiful couple, just as they
had come from the hand of God, in some region inacces-
sible to social prejudices, meeting under the simple and
glorious conditions reigning in an unfallen world, they
would have said, without hesitation, that they had been
destined for each other ; that God had made this superb
man for this charming woman, this tender and true
woman for this ardent and proud man. In Julie, all
was grace, tenderness, and sweetness ; Julien was full
of passion and magnanimity. When they beheld each
other at last, in the radiance of the May sunshine, humid
with the perfumes of a new life, each of them, as with
an irresistible cry of love, pronounced, in their souls,
the names that destiny (as if they had been intended to
have only one name) had given them, — Jalie^ Julien!
Upon either side a great effort was necessary, before
they could remember the social barriers by which they
were separated.
'' Ah me ! " thought Julie ; " this is the young painter.
I thougnt he was a demi-god."
" Alas ! " said Julien to himself, *' this is the great
lady. I thought she was half myself."
The countess was the first to bow, and ask whether he
was not M. Julien Thierry. He bowed deeply, saying,
with an expression of hypocritical doubt, —
ANTONIA, 79
"Madcam the Countess d'Estrelle?"
Mockery! As if these questions were necessary to
enable them to understand each other.
" Has your mother gone out?" said the countess.
" No, madam. I will go and call her."
And Julien did not stir ; his feet seemed nailed to the
floor.
" She is with my cousin, Marcel Thierry," he added.
" Shall I ask him also to come down and receive the
orders — ?"
" Do not disturb either of them ! If you will show
me the way, I will go to your mother's room. But
wait," she added, seeing that Julien was incapable of
moving ; " it will be better, perhaps, to prepare your
mother. I did not see her yesterday ; she may not be
well."
" She is a little unwell, it is true."
" Then, — yes, you must prepare her for a surprise, —
an agreeable surprise, God be praised ! — but one by
which she might be agitated. Make her understand,
gently, that I bring great and good news in regard to the
house at Sevres."
Julien could not resist his desire to thank Madam
d'Estrelle. His presence of mind had somewhat re-
turned. He blessed her for what she had done for his
mother, in terms as heartfelt as they were delicately
expressed. Julie was deeply moved, but not surprised.
With liis reputation, and his irresistible face, Julien
could not have spoken otherwise. After tliis the ice
was broken, and all ceremony forgotten. Distrust would
have seemed a mutual insult. They talked together for
a moment with extraordinary ease and familiarity,
" It affords me happiness to have rendered your mother
a service," said Julie, " you know this well. She must
have told you how well I love her ! "
*' You are right to love her ; you will never repent
giving her your friendship. Her heart is worthy of
yours."
" I wish I could feel that I was worthy of her confi-
dence. Oh, she has told me about you ! I know that
8o ANTONIA.
you worship her, and God will bless you for your devoted,
filial love."
" He has blessed me already, since you tell me that I
deserve His blessing."
" I tell you so most heartily. Why should I hesitate
to say so ? There are so few who are wholly worthy of
our esteem."
'' There are those whose esteem is so great a favor,
that to obtain it you would accept the hate and scorn of
all the rest of the world."
" Oh ! you only say that out of politeness ; you do not
know me sufficiently — "
" You are mistaken, madam, — I know your goodness,
the nobleness of your soul, the kindness of your heart. I
could not fail to understand you unless I were both deaf
and blind. And you, who scatter blessings upon all who
surround you, cannot feel surprised to have inspired one
whom you do not know with humble admiration and
gratitude."
It seemed to Julie that the very air she breathed was
on fire. She tried, mechanically, to recover herself, but
had not the courage to withdraw from this dangerous con-
versation.
"Will you also be glad," she said, "to regain the
house where you were brought up ? "
" I shall be glad for my poor mother's sake, most cer-
tainly ; but not upon my own account."
" Do you like Paris so well? "
" No, not at all ; — but — "
Julien's kindling eyes, darkened by a cloud of emotion,
expressed clearly enough what he thought. Julie under-
stood only too well. She tried to speak of something
else ; she looked at the artist's sketches, she praised his
talent, — that talent which had been revealed to her at the
same time with his love ; — she tried to tell him that she
understood his art, but, in fact, it was his passion that she
understood, and every word which they uttered betrayed
their real preoccupation. The agitation of the one was
communicated to the other ; both became so confused
that they scarcely knew what thf.y were saying; and
ANT ON I A, 81
finally Madam d'Estrelle turned to M. Antoine's lily, so
as to have something to talk about.
" What a beautiful flower ! " she said ; ^' and how
fragrant it is ! "
'' Do you like it? " cried Julieu. And, with the impet-
uosity of a lover intoxicated with joy, he broke the stalk
of the Antonia TJiierrii, and offered the superb stem to
Julie !
The countess had no idea of the interest attaching to
this plant ; she had not seen Marcel for several days ; and,
as Madam Thierry never mentioned her brother-in-law
when she could help it, she had not heard it spoken of.
Invited to a baptism on the following day at the hotel
Melcy, she had concluded, naturally, that the object of
M. Antoine's solicitude was the child of some retired
frardeuor. Slie was far enough from imagining that
Julien, in breaking this flower, severed all ties with his
uncle, and cast his whole future, — a future, perhaps, of
wealth and prosperity, — at the feet of his idol.
She uttered a cry of terror and surprise, however, at
the artist's rash act.
" Ah, moil Dieu I " she said ; " what have you done?
Your model?"
" I have finished," replied Julien, eagerly.
" No, you have not finished ; I can see that plainly ! "
" I will finish it without a model ; I know it by
heart ! "
For an instant, love of his art resumed its dominion
over him ; and, as he cast upon the lily a last glance of
intellectual possession, Julie replaced it upon its stem,
and said gayly and gracefully, with careless ease and self-
forgetfulness, —
" I will hold it, — finish ! it will not fade immediately.
Come, make haste ! Your picture is so beautiful ! I
shall never forgive myself for having interrupted you.
Work, — I wish it!"
*' You wish it?" said Julieu, distractedly.
There was a second piece of canvas behind his picture ;
this he seized, and, working with ardor, with fury, ho
sketched and painted the delicate and lovely hand of
6
82 ANTONIA.
Madam d'Estrelle. The lily made no progress. Julie,
although she knew it not, was holding it in vain, while
waiting until it should bow its proud head never to be
lifted again.
Oh, uncle Antoine, where were you while such a crime,
without remorse and without terror, was being commit-
ted, under the eye of a sleeping or malicious Providence?
A slight sound upon the staircase recalled Julie to
herself; it was Marcel, who was coming to tell Julien
that his mother had consented to see M. Thierry on his re-
turn. Madam d'Estrelle, ashamed of being surprised alone
with the artist, and on terms of such strange familiarity,
planted the stem of the lily hurriedly in the light, moist
earth of the vase. The Antonia did not seem aware of
what had occurred, and remained fresh and beautiful.
Marcel entered, and took no notice of the catastrophe.
The presence of the countess surprised him sufficiently ;
the latter was exceedingly disconcerted at meeting him,
and Julien perceived this. He immediately conquered
his emotion, with a manly eifort, and informed Marcel
that the countess had just entered, and wished to speak to
his mother. At the same time he offered Julie a chair,
as if she had not yet been seated ; and, bowing respect-
fully, went to inform Madam Thierry of her presence.
Madam d'Estrelle was infinitely grateful to the artist
for his presence of mind. This slight indication showed
her that she was not dealing with a child, capable of
compromising her by his awkardness and simplicity, but
with a man, — watchful, and armed at all points, — ready
to defend her from every danger, to preserve her, if
necessary, from her own rashness. She loved him with
her whole heart ; and she felt that he was the master of
her destiny, since there was already a secret between them,
to be concealed from the scrutinizing gaze of their mu-
tual friends.
While she was giving Marcel a rapid resume of her
conversation with M. Antoine, Julien entered his mother's
room. His ftice was so radiant, that she cried, —
" Mon Dieu I how beautiful you are to-day. What has
happened ? "
ANTONIA, 83
** Madam d'Estrelle is below," said Julien ; " she brings
you joy and consolation. She has persuaded M. Autoine
to purchase your house. Quick ! put on your cap, and
come and thank your good angel."
Surprised and delighted as Madam Thierry was, she
was at the same time deeply grieved. Her mother's eye
could no longer be deceived : she saw plainly the repressed
passion concealed by Julien's apparent frankness, and
was so moved that she burst into tears.
"■How now! how now! what is the matter?" cried
Julien. " My poor mother, you who have always been so
courageous in misfortune, can you be so overcome by
joy ? No matter ! Let your cap hang, since you cannot
fasten it, and come as you are. Madam d'Estrelle will
like to see you shed such tears as these ; they will not
trouble her, — come ! "
" Julien ! Julien ! I am not weeping for joy alone ;
my heart is oppressed by sorrow, and, above all, by
fear."
" You are afraid that you will have to thank M. An-
toine ! Nonsense, mother ! That is too childish, —
come ! "
Madam Thierry was ready to faint. Julien was al-
most angry with her, for her emotion was making him
lose the precious moments, — seconds that he might have
passed by Julie's side. Marcel, who was delighted with
the good news that the countess had brought, became im-
patient, in his turn, at his aunt's delay, and came up
stairs to hasten her. Julie remained alone in the studio,
therefore, for several moments.
These moments, — swiftly as they passed, — counted
in after years like an age in her life, for they brought hei
a divine revelation ; the light flashed into her soul in a
single dazzling flame. " Your happiness is found," said
an inward voice, endowed with sovereign authority ; " it
is here. A devoted love, — a simple, retired, domestic
life ; — it is this, and this alone, that can make you happy.
Julien's mother experienced this happiness during the
whole period of her youth. Intercourse with the world
and wealth did not add to her felicity. They diminished
84 ANTONIA.
it rather, by withdrawing her from her domestic life.
Forget the world, — it is worth your while ! Have done
forever with a past which has misled you, and brought
you into conflict with yourself. Reconcile yourself to your
origin, — derived from tlie middle classes far more than
from the nobility ; with your conscience, which reproaches
you for having been carried away by a desire for worldly
glory, and for having yielded to the threats of ambitious
parents ; seek the grace of God, who abandons the
worldly-minded ; be true, be strong, — like this young
man who worships you, and who has just revealed to you,
m a single glance, the grandest, the noblest passion that
you will ever inspire.'*
While listening to this mysterious voice of her own
soul, Julie gazed around her, and was surprised to feel
her agitation succeeded by a sense of divine repose.
This was due, in part, to a very simple, natural phe-
nomenon. Julie was short-sighted ; and in this room, so
much smaller than the apartments to which she was ac-
customed, she could see, in spite of her defective vision,
all the details of every object that surrounded her. The
pavilion Louis XIII. was a very humble abode ; but,
in spite of its simplicity, it was fitted up with artistic
taste and elegance. The building, in itself, was well-
proportioned. In the deep and large embrasure of the
window, as in a little sanctuary, the widow had placed
her arm-chair, her spinning-wheel, her candle-stand, and
her footstool, — giving this part of the studio the aspect
of a Flemish interior ; the rest of the room had been
thoroughly repaired, although with the strictest economy.
The wainscoting was painted gray, and was perfectly
plain, except for a few panels, whose lines were straight
throughout, but harmoniously proportioned ; the ceiling
was white, and, although not very high, it was not so low
as to be oppressive ; above each door was an oval gar-
land carved in wood, of quiet leafage, and painted, like
the headings of the panels, of a darker gray than the rest
of the woodwork. Two or three valuable flower and
fruit-pieces, by Andre Thierry, several sketches, and
two little studies, by Julien, hung upon the walls. On
ANTONIA. 55
A bracket, opposite a mirror, stood a large vase of Rouen
porcelain, full of natural flowers and long vines, grace-
fully arranged, and falling to the floor. A little carpet
before the sofa, two or three easels, shells, boxes of in-
sects, statuettes and engravings upon a large table, plain
oak furniture, and a harp, — the only costly object to
be seen, — its worn, gilt strings glittering in a dark cor-
ner, — completed the simple interior. Certainly there was
nothing elegant or luxurious in all this, but an air of
exquisite neatness and taste gave a charm to the quiet
room, and the soft, dreamy light made you feel inclined to
reverie. The lilacs growing in thick masses so near the
house, and the curtains before the lower part of the win-
dows, made the studio a little dark. But there was some-
tliing in this greenish light that was strangely poetical, and
a sentiment of holy meditation seemed floating in the at-
mosphere, that penetrated Julie's very soul. What more
would be necessary than such a retreat as this, — so
modest, so humble, — to enable her to enjoy spiritual hap-
piness, — the eternal ecstacy of a true moral life ? What
did Julie care for sumptuous furniture, etageres loaded
with a thousand baubles that she never looked at, — blue
ceilings spangled with stars of gold over her head. Gobe-
lins carpets under her feet, Sevres vases to hold her bou-
quets, liveried lackeys to announce her friends, boxes of
Chinese fans, and caskets full of diamonds? They had
amused her only for a day ; can playthings distract a weary
heart ? Julien*s simple and laborious life, — his touching
devoiion to his mother, — his secret, humble love, — as
he liiniself hod called it, — was there not something in
all tliis purer and greater than she could ever hope to find
iu tlie lile and devotion of a frivolous or blase seigneur f
A sparrow that Julien had tamed, and which lived in
freedom upon the neighboring trees, flew into the studio,
and lighted familiarly upon her shoulder. She was
amazed ; in this simple incident she saw for a moment a
prodigy, — au ancient augury, — an omen of happiness
or victory ! She was really intoxicated.
Madam Thierry entered the room at last, in the utmost
agitation. She had insisted upon being allowed to speat •
56 ANTONIA.
to the countess alone. She threw herself at her feet, and,
obliged by her to rise, spoke as follows : —
'' You are good as an angel, ray beautiful neighbor.
May God bless you a thousand times ! But I must show
you my grief as well as my joy ; my sou, my dear Julien,
will be lost unless he quickly renounces the hope of ever
seeing you again. He loves you, madam, — loves you
distractedly. When he told me that he had only seen you
from a distance, he was deceiving me : he sees you every
day ; he gazes at you by stealth, — he intoxicates himself,
kills himself by gazing upon you. He no longer eats,
no longer sleeps ; he is sad, his eyes are hollow, he is
consumed by fever. He has never loved, — but I know
how he will love, — how he loves already. His is a
nature full of enthusiasm, faith, devotion. Discourage
him, madam, if it is possible. Do not look at him, —
do not speak to him, — never see him again. Have
pity upon him and upon me. Never come to our house
again ; absence, perhaps, will cure him. If it does not
cure him, I do not know what I shall do to keep from
dying of gi'ief."
Madam Thierry's voice was stifled with sobs ; and these
sobs telling so eloquently of the sincerity of her grief,
fell upon Julie's heart like a blow. Her dream of happi-
ness, —^ must it not vanish before this maternal despair?
The delicious reverie by which she had been lulled to for-
getfiilness, was it not a fantastic delusion, at which she
herself would smile as soon as she crossed the threshold
of her hotel? Had she really resolved to forsake the
world forever, and throw herself into the arms of a man
whom she had just seen for the first time ? It was absurd
to think of such a thing ; and Madam Thierry was a
thousand times right in regarding it as impossible. Julie
made an effort to enter into her state of feeling, and to
throw off her momentary infatuation ; but the charm of
that moment of madness must have been potent indeed,
for the idea of submitting again to reason seemed to
rend her heart; and, instead of replying to the poor
mother with dignity and good sense, -^ instead of trying to
ANTONIA, 87
reassure her, — she threw herself into her arms, and, like
her, burst into tears.
Madam Thierry was so surprised by these tears, that
she felt as if she would go frantic. She dared not ask
the countess to explain her emotion, and, moreover, she
had no time to do so ; Julien and Marcel entered.
" Come, my dear mother," Julien said, ''you are crying
altogether too much. You have forgotten to thank
Madam d'Estrelle, I am sure, and to arrange your plans.
Marcel has just told me that you must express your grat-
itude to M. Thierry in person, and that you must go to-
morrow to his house, so as — "
Julie had turned her face to the window, and was trying
to conceal and dry her tears without attracting observa-
tion ; Julien, who had been watching her, saw at tliis
moment what she was about. He repressed a cry, and
involuntarily took a step towards her. Marcel, who
perceived the strange agitation of the two women, and
who could only suppose that Madam Thierry was suffer-
ing from a nervous attack, and had said something to
agitate the countess, took up Julien's interrupted sentence,
so as to renew the conversation.
" Yes, yes," he said ; " we must go to-morrow, so as to
witness the baptism of — "
Marcel was like Julien ; he remained with his eyes
fixed and mouth open, unable to articulate another word ;
for, happening to glance, not upon Julie, but upon tho
plant that he was about to name, he saw it reduced to
a cluster of bulbs and a broken stem, damp with the
sap oozing slowly forth, and falling in great drops, like
tears.
" Where is it? " he cried, stupefied. " Wliat have you
done with it? Great God, Julien, what have you done
with the Antonia ? "
No one replied. Madam Thierry looked at Julien ;
he gazed steadily at Madam d'Estrelle, while Madam
d'Estrelle, who was ignorant of the whole affair, did not
know what to think of the lawyer's strange alarm.
"What are you looking for?*' she said, rising. And,
as she rose, the Antonia, which, when she had been
88 ANTONIA.
left alone in the studio, she had taken from the vase
and placed tenderly upon her lap, fell at her feet.
Madam Thierry understood at once the real state of
the case. Marcel was not so clear-sighted.
"Ah, madam," he cried, " to anyone else who had
caused this accident, I should say that she had ruined us !
But what can I say to you? And, after all, why need we
be afraid of the consequences of your act? Uncle An-
toine will never visit his anger upon you ! You did not
know what you were doing ; Julien did not tell you ! "
"Undoubtedly," said Madam Thierry, "Julien ex-
plained nothing to our benefactress ; but she must see for
herself that every one in this house is not reasonable, and
that, while wishing to serve us, she runs the risk of
aggravating our sorrows — "
"It is you, mother, who are not reasonable," cried
Julien, vehemently. " Really, I do not understand you
to-day ! You are too much excited ; your words betray
your thoughts. It seems to me, that instead of thanking
Madam d'Estrelle, you have been imparting to her absurd
fancies — "
Julien scolded his mother, who began to cry again.
Marcel, seeing Madam d'Estrelle's astonishment, took her
apart, and in three words gave her the key to the mys-
tery, and at the same time the palpable proof, as it were,
of the young artist's ardent passion. Deeply moved at
first, she collected her strength, and recovered her pres-
ence of mind, to avert the blow that threatened the
family.
" Leave it all to me," she said to Madam Thierry, with
assumed cheerfulness ; " I will take everything upon my-
self ; it was I who committed the fault, and it is my duty,
therefore, to repair it."
" The fault ! what fault?" cried Julien.
" Yes, yes ; I took a fancy to the flower and begged
you for it. No ! that is not it ; how dull I am ! It
was I who picked it, yes, — a foolish fancy in a mo-
ment of abstraction ! — You were not here. I am near-
sighted, awkward ! I will explain it all to your uncle.
ANTONIA. 89
Mon Dieu ! what do you suppose he will do ? He will
not beat me. He is not so wicked ! "
'* Alas ! " said Madam Thierry, " unfortunately he is
very wicked when he is offended ; and if he knew that
Julien had committed this sacrilege — "
*' It really was Julien, then ? " said Marcel, astounded
in his turn. " It is incomprehensible ! "
" Certainly it was I, and I alone," replied Julien ;
" there is nothing strange in that — "
*' You are mistaken ! " said Marcel, in a low voice,
perceiving, at last, the real cause of the misfortune. *' You
are too audacious, ray lad ; and you must have become
both heartless and frivolous, to have sacrificed thus your
mother's future, and your own, without mentioning that
Madam d'Estrelle is too good, and ought rather to have
put you in your right place."
*' Silence, Marcel, silence ! " said Julien. " You do
not know what you are talking about ; you do not un-
derstand — "
" I understand only too well," said Marcel ; " and, on
my honor, I am like your mother now, — I say that
you have lost your senses — "
This dialogue was carried on in the recess of the
window, where Marcel had led Julien, while the two
hidies stood together by the despoiled vase, talking in low
voices, and without well knowing what they were say-
ing. Madam Thierry tried mechanically to plant anew
the stem of the decapitated lily, and Madam d'Estrelle
sought to console her in vain, for her greatest trouble
was not the loss of the Antonia^ but rather the storm of
passion that had led to its loss. Suddenly Julien, who was
in the habit of watching the curtain, and glancing at the
crevice through which he saw into the garden, started
violently. Seizing Marcel by the arm, and motioning
him to be silent, he said in a whisper, —
"Be quiet, for the love of God I Some one is lis-
90
ANTONIA,
IV.
OME one was listening, in fact, and it was too late to be
^ silent. Uncle Antoine had heard everything. How
he came to be spying about in Madam d'Estrelle's gar-
den, we shall soon learn. Marcel followed Julien's eye,
saw the crevice in the curtain, and, leaning forward in
his turn, saw Croquimitaine on the watch. He left the
window, and warned Madam d'Estrelle. For a moment,
they talked in pantomime. They had not yet decided
what to do, when Antoine, no longer hearing their voices,
struck at the garden door.
This arrival was something like that of the statue
in Don Giovanni. Julien was going promptly to open
the door, when Madam d'Estrelle remembered that her
presence might give rise to some ridiculous scene, and
that her absence would, without any fail, be made the
occasion of a stormy outbreak. She determined upon
her course in an instant : detained Julien, by authori-
tatively laying her hand upon his arm, and signing to
him and the others not to move, went into the hall,
opened the door herself, and stood face to face with M.
Antoine. Although he had prepared his part, he was a
little surprised, — he who imagined that he was going to
surprise every one.
'' What — you, M. Antoine ! " said Julie, pretending to
be perfectly astonished. ''What are you doing here?
You came back to the hotel, then ? Who told you where
1 was ? and what put it into your head to cross my gar-
den?"
Without waiting for his answer, she took the horticul-
turist's arm and led him quite a distance from the
pavilion, to the edge of a little lake in the centre of the
lawn fronting the hotel.
" But — I was going to the pavilion," stammered M.
Antoine.
"I suppose so, since I found you at the door."
" I was gr)ing — with very good intentions ; but — "
ANTONIA.
9*
** Who doubts it ? Certainly not I, my friend."
" Ah ! Now you talk as I want to have you ! So —
you would like to talk to me alone, — I see, — it is just
the same with me ; I want to tell you about an idea that
I have — "
" Sit down upon this bench, my neighbor, I will listen
to you ; but, first of all, you must hear me, for I have a
confession to make."
" All right — I know what it is ; you have picked my
lily?"
'' Ah, mon Dieu I How did you know that? "
" I heard a few words, and I guessed the rest. Why
did you break the poor flower? Could you not have
asked me for it? Could you not have waited until to-
morrow ? I intended to give it to you."
''But — supposing I did not do it on purpose?"
'' You did not do it on purpose?"
Julie felt that she was blushing, for Antoine was look-
ing at her attentively, and the expression of irony in his
little black eyes was at the same time bitter and tender.
'' No indeed," she answered, hoping to save herself
by a Jesuitical device ; " the accident happened against my
will ! "
'' Good, good ! " replied Antoine, who was still gazing
searcliingly into her face ; " say that, — I prefer that."
'' You prefer that, — what ? "
" Yes, mordie ! Come, abandon the bad cause that
you want to plead. Condemn, frankly, the folly and
treachery of Master Julien, and leave me to punish him
as he deserves."
'' But what makes you think that M. Julien? — "
" Ah, do not try to lie," cried M. Antoine, starting up
with a bound, his little body quivering with passion and
indignation ; " it does not suit you to lie ; you do not
know how ! And, besides, it is useless ; I tell you that
I heard, and, as I am not a fool, I have come to the con-
clusion Julien finds you to his liking ; and the rascal
would like to tell you so, if he dared 1 "
" Monsieur Thierry, what are you saying?"
" What am I saying ? — I am stating things aa they
92
ANTONIA.
are. Mademoiselle de Meuil was as proud as you can
be ; my brother Andre told her his fine stories, and
ended by making himself understood. All men and all
women are of the same clay ! Come, acknowledge the
truth ; do you like Julien or not, — yes or no ? "
" Monsieur Thierry, if I did not know your good heart,
the disagreeable tone of your conversation would disgust
me ! Please to speak differently, or I will leave you."
" Oh, now you are angry ! You remember your pride,
and are going to turn your back upon me. Why ? It is
not your affair ! Julien has committed a folly, — let him
pay the penalty."
" No, Monsieur Thierry, it was my fault, — I am the
unfortunate cause of the accident ; if I had not admired
and praised the flower indiscreetly, — he considered him-
self obliged to offer it to me, — politeness — "
" Bad reasons, bad reasons, my beautiful lady ! The
scoundrel knew perfectly well that I would have thrown
the flower, the plant, the garden, and the gardener into
the bargain, at your feet. If he did not know it, he
ought to have guessed it ; and, anyhow, he had no right
to play the generous with my property ; it was a rape,
an abuse of confidence, and a theft. He may eat his
fingers for the rest of his life ; and his mother will learn
what it costs to have brought up a son to play the courtier
improperly with great ladies."
'"'' Oh, my neighbor," cried Madam d'Estrelle, in great
distress, and quite out of patience, " you are not going to
withdraw your favor from them ; you are not going to
make it seem as if I had lied, — I, who placed you upon a
pedestal ; you are not going to break the bond of friend-
ship that we formed to-day ? For a flower more or less
in your collection, you would not cause so much unhap-
piness ? You are too rich to be troubled by a loss tha*.
can so easily be repaired."
" It is easy for you to talk ! There are some things
that millions cannot replace ; which a man of taste re-
gards as altogether priceless."
" Ah, mon Dieu I mon Dieu I Who could have sup-
posed such a thing ? "
ANTONIA, 93
" Julien knew it."
" No, it is impossible ! "
'' I tell you that he knew it."
" Then he is crazy : but it is not his mother's fault ;
she was not there."
'^ It is his mother's fault. She encourages him to love
you, she fawns upon you, so as to lead you to sacrifice
yourself, as she did for her husband."
*' No ! I swear to you that you are mistaken. Mon-
sieur Thierry ! She is desperate — "
''About what? Ah! you acknowledge that she has
talked to you about it, and that you know the feelings of
the young man."
Madam d'Estrelle struggled in vain. All the prudence
of her sex, all the pride of her rank, all her natural tact
and knowledge of the world were shipwrecked, as it were,
upon the brutal, straightforward logic of the old man.
Slie was caught in a vise ; and felt ashamed, awkward,
unmasked, without resources. What should she do?
order him out of her presence, and have done for-
ever with this rude vulgarian, and his odious questions ?
But that would be abandoning the cause of the poor
Thierrys, and giving them up to his vengeance ; she felt
that she ouglit rather to restrain her indignation, defend
herself as well as she could, and submit to being humili-
ated by his most misplaced admonitions.
'' It seems," she said, with melancholy resignation,
" that I committed a great fault in going to the pavilion,
and yet my intention was most innocent. I had never
seen M. Julien Thierry, I was overjoyed by your gen-
erous promises, and went to make the heart of his poor
mother glad ; I am well punished for having been so
enthusiastic about you, M. Thierry, since you think you
have a right to scold me, and to demand an explanation
of the most innocent, if not the wisest, step that one
woman ever took for the benefit of another."
'' And who says that I blame you ? " replied M. Antoine,
at the same time softened and irritated by her appeal ; '' I
condemn no one, except the real culprits. Do you know
what would have happened, if I had entered suddenly,
94 ANTONIA,
when Master Julien was breaking my lily? I should
have broken him. Yes, as truly as I tell you so, I would
have done it. Here is a cane that would have split his
painter's head for him."
The old man's wicked and excited expression alarmed
Madam d'Estrelle ; really afraid of him, she looked
around involuntarily, as if to seek protection in case she
should become the object of his rage. Just then there
was a tremulous movement in the thick foliage surround-
ing the bench ; it was only, perhaps, a bird hopping
about amid the branches, but she felt a vague sense of
security.
" No, M. Antoine," she resumed, with courageous
gentleness, " you will never make me believe that you
are a wicked man, or that you would behave cruelly to
any one. You must blame me alone for this accident.
Scold me, — you have a right to do so. I will promise
you what I have already promised myself, that I will
never again enter the pavilion. What can I do more?
Come, tell me ! "
At this moment the foliage stirred a little more vio-
lently, and Julien's tame sparrow, like a messenger
sent from him to implore her pardon, came and lighted
upon Madam d'Estrelle's shoulder. Moved by this tri-
fling incident more than she cared to acknowledge, she
took the friendly little animal in the hollow of her hand,
with a sort of tenderness.
'' Hum ! " said M. Antoine, whose piercing eyes seemed
to possess the power of divination. " That is a strange
companion ! Does it belong to you } "
" Yes," replied Julie, who feared that his vengeance
against Julien would fall upon the poor bird, if he knew
that it was his.
" A tame sparrow ! It is an ugly beast, and one that
does a great deal of mischief. If it were not yours —
Did Julien give it to you ? "
" There again ! You think of nothing but Julien ! "
cried Madam d'Estrelle, losing patience, " and I really
cannot understand the strange turn that our conversa-
tion has taken. I am very sorry that I went to the
ANTONIA.
95
pavilion ; I regret exceedingly the accident that has
occurred. How can I repair it ? Will you not tell me
that, instead of wounding me with all these unjust insin-
uations ? "
*' Do you wish me to tell you ? "
*' Yes ! did I not promise to go to a family festival at
your house lo-morrow? "
"The baptism of my poor Antoniaf That is done
witli. The child is dead, or at least disfigured. I must
invite my guests to a burial. And, besides, it no longer
suits me to invite Madam Andre, and to pretend to be
friendly with her son — at least, unless — "
Madam d'Estrelle imagined that the rich man had re-
pented of his munificence, and wanted, perhaps, to reduce
the sum that he had offered for the pavilion.
" Speak, speak ! " she cried eagerly ; " I will agree to
anything that can make you amends and console you."
There was no limit to M. Antoine's vanity. He had
seen Madam d'Ancourt an hour before, and she, out of
spite against Julie, had inflamed his imagination, and
encouraged him in his audacious hopes. He had re-
turned, intending to offer himself. Not finding Julie in
the drawing-room, he had been so bold as to follow her
into the garden. The incident of the broken lily hurried
forward the inevitable event. His folly had reached a
climax, — he declared himself.
*' Madam," ho said, '' you drive me to the point, with
your pretty words and sweet manners ; if you are offended
at what 1 say, it is your own fault. Consider a little !
You are not rich, and I know that you were not born
upon the steps of a throne. I do not consider you proud,
either, since you go to the studio of an insignificant
painter, and accept his homage, — at my expense ! A
ridiculous story ! but no matter. Laugh at it, but let us
end by being reasonable. Julien has good ancestors
upon his mother's side, but he is my nephew, nevertheless :
— he is a plebeian. Do you despise him for that?"
'' No, certainly ! "
"His fault, then, is that he is poor? But suppose
^ ANTONIA.
he was rich, very rich, — come, what would you say to
him then?"
" You want to give him a fortune, so that I may marry
him?" said Madam d'Estrelle, in a sort of stupor of
amazement.
"Who said anything of the kind?"
"• Excuse me, — I thought — "
" You thought that I was making you a very silly
proposition. What does an artist amount to ? Suppose
I should give him a fortune, would the money I have
earned elevate him in your eyes? Those who have
carved out their own destiny, who have shown that they
deserve respect by the talent they have displayed in busi-
ness, are the ones who deserve consideration. Come,
you understand me perfectly well. I am offering you a
good man, a large fortune, and a name that has made
some noise in the world ; a man who will fulfil all your
wishes during his life, and will leave you all his property
after his death ; a man who has neither mistresses, nor
illegitimate children, nor cares, nor responsibilities of
any kind ; and, finally, a man who will be your grand-
father, and w^hom no one will accuse you of selecting out
of caprice and gallantry. You will show your good sense
and delicacy, on the contrary, by choosing him, for you
have debts, — more debts than property ; and, if Marcel
calculates well, he cannot give you much encouragement.
Keflect, therefore ! If you say no, you will be certain to
meet with great misfortunes, while every one will honor
you for freeing yourself from your embarrassments by a
reasonable marriage. You seem to be very much sur-
prised ; and yet your friend the baroness gave you to
understand — but she did not tell you the amount, per-
haps?"
" Five millions, is it not?" said Julie, who had grown
pale and haughty. " You are the person to whom she
referred, and you are speaking of yourself? "
"What if I am? Does the idea shock you ? Does it
offend you ? "
"No, Monsieur Thierry," replied Julie, with a su-
ANTONIA. 97
preme effort; " I feel very mnch honored by your offer,
but — "
" But what? My age? Do you imagine that I want
to play the lover? No, God be praised! I never had
that weakness, and, at my age, I am not a fool. I want
to be your father by contract ; I want to marry you so
that I may have the right to make you my heiress.
Come, we have talked enough. You must say yes or no,
for I am not a man to be kept in suspense, and I do not
want to be humiliated. Do you understand ? "
M. Antoine spoke with singular authority. Julie was
afraid that a refusal would exasperate him.
" You are too hasty," she replied ; " my character is
undecided and timid. You must give me time for re-
flection."
"Then — you do not say no?" replied the old man,
evidently flattered at being allowed to hope.
" I do not say anything," replied Madam d'Estrelle,
who bad risen, and was approaching the house eagerly.
'' I am agitated, as you see, by an offer that I did not
expect. Give me several days for reflection, for consid-
eration, — I am deeply moved, deeply touched by your
friendship ; but I am alarmed, also, for I had sworn to
remain free ! Adieu, Monsieur Thierry, — leave me ! I
really need to be alone with my own heart ; do not try
and force me into a decision by your goodness."
Julie escaped into an inner room, and uncle Antoine
left the hotel. Devoured by a fever of hope that made
him more insane than ever, he ibrgot the pavilion, the
lily, the picture : he forgot everything ; but when lie
found himself in the rue de Babylone, in front of the pavil-
ion, he was seized by a furious desire to torment, puzzle,
and bewilder his relatives. He rang, and was admitted by
Marcel, who was waiting to learn the result of his con-
ference with Julie.
" So, here you are ! " he said, abruptly. " Where is
my plant ? Has Master Julien finished my picture ? "
" Come into the studio," said Marcel ; " the picture ia
fi lished, and your lily is as fresh as if nothing had hap»
pened."
T
^8 ANTONIA.
" Oh, of course ! " muttered Antoine, ironically ; <' it
has done it good to be broken."
He came into the studio with his hat on ; his sister-in-
law, with a sad countenance, and in a very dejected at-
titude, was seated upon her little cane-chair in the recess
of the window ; without seeeiug her, without glanc-
ing around, he went straight up to his lily, examined the
fracture, and gazed eagerly at the stalk, whicli continued
to bloom in the damp earth. Then he looked at the por-
trait of the Antonia^ and turning to Julien, said, —
" I like it very much ; but you sha'n't have my custom,
for all that."
He walked up and down the studio, passed before
Madam Thierry, saw her at last, and put his hand to his
hat, saying, in a surly tone, '^ Your servant, madam ! "
Returning to Marcel, he laughed in his face, like a
crazy man, without uttering a word ; and finally, furious
because he could not find any way of revenging himself
that would not deprive him of his fiancee's good opinion,
he rushed to the door. Marcel, who saw what he was
suffering, drew him back.
'' Come, uncle," he said, "we must know how we
stand ! Has the Countess d'Estrelle obtained our pardon,
or must I sell my practice to pay damages ? "
" The Countess d'Estrelle," replied the old man, " is
a prudent person, who knows the difference between hair-
brained fools and a sensible man. You will see the
proof of it some day."
Madam Thierry, who could not endure her brother-
in-law's insolence, and who thought he intended to insult
her, arose to go to her room. Antoine bowed slightly,
and continued, —
" I did not mean that for you, Madam Andre, I have
nothing at all to say to you ! — "
" And I have nothing at all to say to you," replied the
wddow, in a tone of disdainful bitterness, which she was
aot prudent enough to repress.
Julien, incapable of humiliating himself by making
excuses, devo/ired his indignation in silence, and Marcel
ANTONIA.
99
followed the embarrassed and disordered movements of
the horticulturist with a piercing eye.
" What is the matter, uncle ? " he said, when Madam
Thierry had left the room. " You are hatching out some-
thing, good or bad ! Be sensible, and tell the truth."
"Oh, the truth, the truth ! that is what you want ! "
replied M. Antoine ; " the truth will be seen and known
when the day and hour comes ! Every one, perhaps, will
not find it a laughing matter ! "
Julien, who was still painting, lost patience ; layiu^^
down his pallette and maul-stick, and taking off the hand-
kerchief rolled carelessly around his head (painters, at
that time, wore this head-dress in their studios instead
of caps), he went straight up to his uncle, and, forciu^'
him to interrupt his restless and noisy walk, demanded,
seriously and firmly, an explanation of his vague threats.
" Uncle," he said, " you are acting as if you wished
to drive me to extremities, but I shall not forget the ro
spect I owe you. I beg you, however, to remember that
I am not a child, to be frightened by a frown and loud
talking. It would be better for all, if you would see and
understand the real state of the case ; that is to say,
the real grief that I feel at having displeased you. Do
not ask me how this misfortune occurred ; a moment's
forgetfulness, a fit of absence of mind, cannot be ex
plained ; since it has occurred, what is to be my pun-
ishment, or what do you wish me to do in expiation ? I
am ready to prove my repentance, or submit to the con-
sequences of my fault. Decide, and stop threatening ; it
will be more worthy of both of us."
M. Antoine stood perfectly still, and tried to look in-
different ; but, in reality, he was very much mortified,
for he could not deny that the accused occupied a much
more dignified position, at this moment, than the judge.
He felt afraid, also, that he had been making himself
ridiculous ; and, at his wit's end, he formed a diabolical
plan, and resolved to carry it out.
"Everything depends upon Madam d'Estrelle," he
said ; " I will do all that I promised for your mother, and
will pardon you as well, in spite of your villanous con-
,CX) ANTONIA.
duct, if she desires and commands it ; but I will only do
this on condition that she keeps her word, and comes to-
morrow to my house, with your family."
'' Very well," said Marcel ;" if it is all arranged, why
did not you remind her of the appointment just now? "
" I am not talking to you, lawyer," replied Antoine,
''be so good as to take yourself off; I want to talk to
master Julien alone."
" Talk to your heart's content," said Marcel ; "I am
glad enough to go, for they have been expecting me at
my house for more than an hour. I will return after a
while, and find out what you have decided."
When Julieii was alone with his uncle, the latter
assumed a solemn manner, that was even more comical
than his previous rage.
'' Listen ! " he said ; " I want you to do an errand for
me. You must go to the hotel d'Estrelle."
" Excuse me, uncle, I cannot go there. I should not
be admitted."
" I know perfectly well that you would not be ad
mitted. But you can carry a letter there ; you can wait
for the reply in the ante-chamber, and bring it back to
me."
*' Nq.yj well," said Julien, who thought he would stop
at the porter's lodge. " Where is the letter?"
"• Give me writing materials."
'' Here they are," said Julien, opening the drawer of
liis table.
The horticulturist sat down, and wrote rapidly. Julien
changed his working-dress for a coat which was lying
upon a chair, and tried to conceal his impatience by so
doing. Soon his uncle called him.
^' Do you want a seal? " said Julien.
"• Not yet. You must correct my note. I do not
pride myself upon being learned, and I may have made
mistakes in orthography. Read it : read it alcud, and
then correct the points, the commas, — everything."
Julien. who suspected some trick, cast a rapid glance
over the few lines which his uncle had written in a bold
hand. A mist passed before his eyes, and he came very
antonia:*^ ; . r . , '* ; ^'»
uear crushing the paper with indignation ; but he imag-
ined that this whimsical and extravagant old man had
written this letter only so as to make him betray his
secret. He restrained himself, therefore, met the scruti-
nizing gaze fastened ferociously upon him without blench-
ing, and read the contents of the note with a firm voice :
" Madame and Friend, —
" We were so confused at our last interview, that we
parted without coming to an understanding about our
arrangements for to-morrow. I will not conceal from
you that your presence at my little fete will give me new
hope, and that I shall consider your absence as the sign
of a breach between us, or an unfortunate delay of
your decision. I have told you that I did not wish to be
trifled with, and you have promised me to be sincere.
Night brings wisdom. I shall depend upon to-morrow
to confirm the hopes you have allowed me to enter-
tain.
" Your friend and servant, who is impatient to call him-
self your fianc6,
" Antoine Thierry."
'' Very well," replied the horticulturist, when Julien
had finished reading it, " are there any faults?"
" Yes, uncle, a great many," said Julien, quietly tak-
ing his pen.
" Softly ! Don't let the corrections be seen. Be
careful ! "
" It is all done. Seal it, and write the address."
"What do you think of it?" said his uncle, writing
Madam d'Estrelle's name upon the envelope.
"Nothing at all," replied Julien. "I don't believe
you will send it."
" Will you believe so if you take the letter? "
" Yes."
" What will you say then ? "
" Nothing, It is not my affair."
" Lianlre I it is as much your affair as mine I ^
"How so, pray?"
iJOi ', ' ^'c c..\:^\ .ANTONIA.
" The recovery and deed of gift of your house at
Sevres depend upon it."
" Very well, uncle. I thank you, then, with all my
heart."
" You have an expression — "
'' I have no expression at all. Look at me ! "
Antoine could not meet Julien's bold and penetrating
glance.
" Come ! be quick ! " he said, ill-naturedly ; " carry my
letter."
" I fly to do so," replied Julien.
He took his hat.
" Where shall I bring you the answer?"
" I will wait for you in the street, at the door of the
hotel, and you can bring it to me there ; we will go out
together."
They left the house. Julien went straight to the por-
ter's lodge, his uncle keeping him in sight ; but, instead
of giving the letter to the porter, as he had intended doing
at first, he informed him that he wished to speak to the
valet-de-chambre, and crossed the court rapidly. When
he reached the ante-chamber, he gave his message ; and,
like a man who does not expect to be admitted, sat down
on a bench to wait ; he said to the valet, however, —
" Inform the countess that there is a reply, and that the
nephew of M. Antoine Thierry is here to carry it to
him."
After a moment's delay, the valet returned and
said, —
" The countess would like to ask you a few questions ,
be so good as to come this way."
He opened a side door, and led the way. Julien fol-
lowed him into a dark hall ; the valet opened another
door leading into a large apartment, brought a chair, and
retired.
Julien found himself in a beautiful dining-room, oppo-
site the principal door. In another moment this door
opened, and Madam d'Estrelle entered. She looked pale
and agitated.
"I receive you in this room," she said, "because!
ANTONIA.
103
have company in the drawing-room, and I cannot refer
to the subject that brings you here, before others. Did
M. Antoine give you this letter?"
" Yes, madam.'*
'' You have not read it, of course?"
" I have, madam."
" And you undertook the commissipn?"
" Yes, madam."
'•Why so?"
'' To find out whether my uncle is a fool, who ought to
be under lock and key, or whether he is atrociously
wicked."
" In other words, — you were not sure, — you wished
to find out, — whether I had given him the right to send
me such a letter ? "
"I did not suppose such a thing possible, and I took it
for granted that you would send me away without an an-
swer."
"And since I receive you, — you conclude — "
" Nothing, madam, excepting that it is unnecessary
cruelty to keep me in suspense."
" Why should you feel such an interest ? — What
account do I owe to you — ? "
" Ah, madam, do not speak in that tone," cried Julien,
almost beside himself. '' Either you have disregarded
the antipathy that you must feel for such a man, on ac-
count of my uncle's wealth, — and in that case I have
absolutely nothing to say, — or you have endured his inso-
lent offer with a patience that has deceived him ; and, if
this is so, I can easily understand the cause of your pa-
tience, — your goodness. You were afraid that M. An-
toine would visit his resentment upon us."
'' It is true, M. Julien : I thought of your mother, and
avoided making a repl)' ; I asked time for reflection ; I
hoped that, to please me, he would keep his word, and
restore Madam Thierry to comfort and happiness. It
was wrong, perhaps, for I am naturally sincere, and I
failed to be so in this case. But how could I suppose
that this violent and ill-mannered old man would begin
by trying to compromise me ? And yet he has done so,
I04 antonia.
and God only knows what will be the end of this dis-
agreeable affair ! But I ought not to think about that.
Since my negotiations in your favor have failed, it is sel-
fish in me to complain of my own troubles. In fact, I
regret more than anything else that I shall no longer be
able to serve you, after being the cause of a great dis-
aster. What is to be done with a man who mistakes my
fear for coquetry, and my silence for an avowal? "
Julien fell upon his knees ; and, as Madam d'Estrelle,
alarmed and surprised, was about to fly, he said, —
" Don't be afraid, madam ; this is not a theatrical
declaration ; I am not a madman, and I am performing a
serious duty in thanking you, upon my knees, in my
mother's name. Gratitude for such goodness as yours
must be expressed, not by words, but by adoration.
Now," added Julien, rising, " I must also tell you that I
am a man, and that I should despise myself if my love,
even for the most tender of mothers, could induce me to
accept the sacrifice that you propose. No, madam, no.
You must show no consideration for M. Antoine Thierry ;
you must not allow him to suppose, for an instant longer,
that he can aspire, — poor man ! he is a fool ; but fools
must be held in check, like troublesome and badly be-
haved children. I will undertake this duty, and I will go
at once, with your permission, to disabuse him forever."
" Ah, mon Dieu^ you yourself? " said Julie. " No ! do
not drive him to desperation, I will write — "
" And for my part," replied Julien, proudly, and with a
burst of passion that did not displease Madam d'Estrelle,
" I will not allow you to write. Do you suppose that I
am such a child as to be afraid of his anger, or so great
a coward as to allow you to be exposed to his importuni-
ties ? Do you think that my mother, any more than my-
self, would accept favors that would cost you the shadow
of a falsehood? We would give our lives to save you
from the least suffering ; and is it your place to suffer and
to be persecuted for us? No, madam, understand us
belter. My mother's sentiments are as noble as your
own ; it was with the greatest reluctance that she agreed
to accept M. Antoine's assistance. At present, she would
/
ANTONIA.
105
blu.^h to do so ; she will abhor the thought of his benefits,
vvhen she knows what they would cost you. As for me,
I am nothing, and will never be anything in your life ;
but let a man, speaking from his heart, assure you that
ho has no fear, either of poverty, or vengeance, or any
sort of persecution. I have done my duty, and will con-
tinue to do it ; I will support my mother until her last
breath ; I would fight with the universe, if it were neces-
sary, for her sake. Do not be troubled, therefore, about
her fate, you who love her so well. If she had nothing
else, she would prefer your friendship to all M. Antoine's
wealth. For my part, it is enough for me to have been
allowed the privilege of telling you ' 1 love you * in this
one moment of my life, without offending you and without
seeming insane : this recollection will always make me
proud and happy ; I am speaking to your soul, and there is
no feeling in my heart that is not worthy of you. Adieu,
madam ! Live happy and tranquil ; and if you ever
want some task performed that others find impossible,
remember there is a man living who will do it, — a man
poor, humble, unknown, but able to move mountains ;
for, when he is striving for his mother or for you, he is
Avill, — he is faith in person."
Without seeking or waiting for an ans^wer, Julien went
out, and was in the street in the twinkling of an eye.
Antoine was waiting for him with feverish impatience ;
he was just about rushing into the house like a bomb-
shell, when Julien reappeared.
" 80 you have come!" he cried ; "the answer must
be at least four pages long. Where is it ? "
" Come a little farther off", monsieur," replied Julien,
taking his arm, and leading him across the street ; " there
is so much noise here, that we cannot hear our own
voices,"
They went into an open lot, where there was a placard
bearing the inscription, — '' Land for sale.'' Julien con-
tinued, —
'' Madam d'Estrelle read your letter, uncle, and having
done so, summoned me into her presence, and intrusted
me with a verbal answer."
io6 ANTONIA,
"Verbal?"
" And brief."
"What is it?"
" When you offered the countess your hand, she iinag'*
ined that you were out of your senses, and was afraid of
being alone with you ; she promised to reflect, so as to
get rid of you. In point of fact, she needed no time for
reflection, and this is her answer : she regrets that she
will be unable to come to your house to-morrow, and she
sends you word that, from this time, she will not be at
home when you call."
" Is she going away? Where is she going?"
" It is not my place to explain her message ; you must
understand it."
" Oh ! it is my formal dismissal? "
" So it would seem."
"And she commissions you to inform me? "
" No ; I undertook to do so without asking her con-
sent."
" Why so, — I should like to know."
" You already know, monsieur. Did you not tell me
that my mother's fortune and mine depended upon the
encouragement given by Madam d'Estrelle to your mat-
rimonial hopes ? It was for this reason that I seized so
eagerly the excuse you gave me for going to her house ;
I hoped the strange character of your letter would in-
duce her to grant me an interview. You did not foresee
that?"
" On the contrary, mordieu ! " cried M. Antoine ; " I
said to myself plainly, that that very thing would hap-
pen, if — "
"If what, sir?"
" If I had guessed correctly. I understand now."
" For my part, I do not understand."
" It is the same to me."
"Excuse me, will you allow me to guess? You im-
agined that I was such a fool, such a madman, such an
impertinent fop, as to aspire to attract the attention of
this lady?"
" And now I am sure of it ! You have declared your
ANTONIA. 107
Bcntiments, — your triumphant manner tells me so ! You
are rubbing your hands with joy, to think that you have
occasioned my defeat. You will tell the story to your
dear mother ! You will say to her, 'The rich man is
cheated ! He thought to throw us a morsel of bread,
and take a young wife ; he was going to turn us into rid-
icule, and disinherit us. Look at him ! He has only
succeeded in covering himself with shame. He will grow
old alone, he will die an old bachelor, and, in spite of
him, we shall be rich.* "
" You are mistaken, sir," replied Julien, with perfect
self-possession ; "I have never made any such ignoble
calculations, and never will do so. You may marry to-
morrow, if you choose, and marry whom you choose ; I
shall be delighted, provided that you do not compromise my
dignity, and my mother's, in the transaction. I wished to
have an opportunity of saying this to Madam d'Estrelle ;
I repeat it to you. And now I have only to recall that
you are my uncle, and to take leave of you with due
respect."
Julien bowed deeply to M. Antoine, and was turning
away. The latter called him back imperiously.
"And my lily ? " he cried, " who will pay me for that?"
" Name the price, sir."
" Five hundred thousand francs."
" Are you talking seriously?"
" You ask me whether I am talking seriously?"
*' I believe you, knowing that you would be incapable
of deceiving any one who trusts you."
" Base flattery ! "
The face of the young artist flushed ; he looked steadily
at M. Antoine, and tried to pursuade himself that
he was so insane that a man in his senses ought not
to mind his invectives. Antoine read his thought, and
tried to be more calm.
" No matter for that," he said, " let it pass. I will
go take tlie ruin and the picture ; my loss is the price
that I must pay for my goodness and confidence ; it will
teach me to be true, hereafter, to my own ideas and prin-
ciples. Luud the way, and not another word ! "
io8 ANTONIA.
They returned to the studio. Silent as personified
spite, M. Antoine took up the plant, the broken stalk,
and the picture, and, without allowing any one to help
him, without looking at Julien or moving his lips, he
left the pavilion never to enter it again.
Marcel soon returned, to learn what had happened ;
and Julien, with frank sincerity, told him everything ia
Madam Thierry's presence.
" Now," he added, " I know that my thoughtless con-
duct has caused you great anxiety. You have thought
me as foolish as uncle Antoine, and my mother is fright-
ened about a sentiment that she imagines will be fatal to
me. Undeceive yourself, and recover your tranquillity,
dear mother ; and you, Marcel, give me back the respect
to which I am entitled, as a reasonable man. One can
be so, in spite of committing an imprudence ; and I
acknowledge that I was very thoughtless in ojQTering our
benefactress an object that did not belong to me. It
was a misplaced outburst of gratitude, but she was
not shocked, because she saw that my feeling was
worthy of her, and was perfectly respectful. I flatfer
myself that she is more than ever persuaded of this, since
granting me an interview, and I swear to both of you, by
everything that is most sacred, — by filial love and faith-
ful friendship, — that there shall be nothing in my future
conduct by which Madam d'Estrelle can be annoyed, or
you afflicted. Do not regret the house at Sevres, my
dear mother ; we can do without it ! At all events, you
don't want Madam d'Estrelle to become Madam Antoine
Thierry for the sake of obtaining it, and you certainly
don't suppose that such a thing could have happened. As
for you, my dear Marcel, I thank you for all the trouble
you have taken ; but you must be thoroughly convinced
that your efforts are thrown away, and that uncle An-
toine will never give anything without an equivalent.
Let us be composed, and resume the course of life which
this bad dream of fortune interrupted. I have still my
hands to work with, and a heart with which to cherish
you ; and believe me, from to day I shall be more active,
ANTONIA,
169
more courageous, and surer of the future than ever
before."
Julien was speaking the truth, and not making a dis-
play of courage to reassure his mother. Although far
from being tranquil, he felt strong : his two interviews
with Julie, succeeding each other so rapidly, had given a
new direction to his thoughts, — a new impulse to his
soul.
Inspired by her presence, he had expressed, imexpect-
cdly and without premeditation, his noble and devoted
passion. He was sure that he had opened his heart to her
freely, and that she had neither been alarmed nor offended.
Did he believe that she loved him? No; but he felt
vaguely, perhaps, that she did, and his heart was thrilled
with a mysterious ecstasy. Naturally inclined to an
ideal euthuj^iasm and self-sacrifice, he did not shrink
from the part that he felt called upon to perform. What
he had said, he meant to do, and he was strong enough
to do it. To love in silence, — to hope, seek, strive but
for one thing, — the opportunity of proving his devo-
tion, — this was his plan, his will, his confession of faith,
as it were.
" I may have to suffer a great deal for the present,"
he thought ; " but it will give me so much joy to suffer
nobly, and hide my love for her sake, that I shall rise
above my misery, and my mother will no longer be af-
flicted. In the struggle between my passions and duties,
I must be really great. And why not ? I have always
loved noble ai^pirations and elevated sentiments, and
ought, therefore, to be equal to the trial. Since I am a
man, and believe we can best fulfil our duties in a
domestic life, I suppose I shall do some day as Marcel
has done : marry a good woman, who thenceforth will be
my best friend. Up to that time, I will live free and
pure. This noble Julie, wJio can never be mine, I will
love without hope, and, if possible, without desire ; I
will love her with a sublime, fraternal friendship, and will
seek inspiration in this sentiment. Others will regard
me merely as a gentle, patient artist, seeking grace and
bloom in baskets of roses ; but, by studying the diviu»<
no ANTONIA.
mystery of purity in the bosom of flowers, one may leam
to comprehend the sanctity of love. It seems to me that
there is something great in being able to say to yourself
that you might seek to win a beloved woman, and love
her too well to wish to do so. My life will be one of
meditation and sentiment, and to this life I will be true
as long as possible. I will live in my thoughts as
others do in their acts, and perhaps I shall be happier
than any one else. My enthusiasm will not be wasted
upon delusions. I shall live in constant communion with
the beautiful, the pure, the great : more fortunate in this
than my poor father, who felt this longing, and thought to
satisfy it by external luxury, and the society of distin-
guished people, I shall not require so much ; and, asking
only the approval of my conscience, shall really be richer
than he."
In casting himself thus, of his own accord, into the
regions of the ideal, Julien obeyed a secret inclination
that had been developed in him at an early day. He had
received an excellent education, and had not only studied
his art with enthusiasm, but had read a great deal. His
severe enthusiasm would not allow him to enjoy all sub-
jects indiscriminately, or to take pleasure in every style.
Among all the authors who had nourished his youth,
the great Corneille was the one whom he had read
with the most satisfaction and benefit. It was in his
works that he had found the noblest aspirations, the most
heroic sentiments, clothed in the most elevated forms.
He preferred his teachings displayed in action, — the
picture that he presented of great virtues embodied in
living characters, — to the discussions of contemporane-
ous philosophy.
We do not mean that he disdained the spirit of his age,
or held himself aloof from the prodigious movement that
was going on at that time in ideas. On the contrary, he
was cue of the robust products of this epoch, so unique in
history for its grand illusions, leading the way to formid-
able resolutions. The last days of the monarchy had
come, but very few persons were thinking of overthrow-
in<j it. Julien, at least, was not among the number who
ANTONIA. 1 1 1
cherished this dream. He was far enough from attempt-
ing any enterprise whatever of a political nature. For
his part, he was intoxicated by the discoveries and dreams
of moral science and of natural science, recently extri-
cated in great blocks, as it were, from the quarries of the
past. Legrange, Bailly, Lalande, Berthollet, Monge,
Condorcet, Lavoisier, had already revolutionized thought.
When we glance at the rapid succession of fortunate efforts
that, in a few years, had transformed astrology into as-
tronomy, alchemy into chemistry, and, along the whole
line of human knowledge, had replaced blind prejudice
by experimental analysis, it is impossible to deny that the
philosophers of the eighteenth century, in warring against
superstition, had freed individual genius from its fetters, a8
well as the religious and social conscience of peoples. And
what audacity, what enthusiasm, what intoxication in
these first flights towards the future ! The human mind
had just saluted the sun of progress, and already imag
ined that it had taken possession of all its rays. The
first montgolfiere balloon had scarcely risen upon its
wings of fire, when two men ventured to cross the chan-
nel. At once humanity cried, '• We are masters of the
atmosphere, we are inhabitants of heaven ! "
At the very time when our story chances to occur, the
new idea of the age, just starting in its noble career, had
been summed up in the word 'perfectibility. Condorcet
had made a magnificent outline of the doctrine, and,
without allowing for human weakness, urged its infinite
destiny. He believed in the infinite to such an extent,
that he even hoped to discover the secret for annihilating
death itself, and all readers and thinkers were beginning
to believe with him in the indefinite prolongation of phys-
ical life. Parmentier believed that he had exorcised for-
ever the spectre of famine, by acclimating the potato.
Mesmer thought that he had discovered a mysterious
agent, the source of everything wonderful. Saint Mar-
tin announced the regeneration of the soul, and dissipated
the terrors of the old dogmas with the dogma of infinite
light. Cagliostro pretended to resuscitate magic in a
natural and comprehensible manner. In a word, aU
112 ANTONIA.
minds, the most practical as well as the most romantic,
were intoxicated by the wildest dreams of the future,
and, amid this over-excitement, the present seemed au
obstacle quite unworthy of any notice. The old mon-
archy, the inflexible clerfxy, were still erect, and were
endeavoring to seize again the power that was slipping
from them ; bat liberty had just been inaugurated in
America, and France felt that her day was near. No
bloodshed was anticipated. Delightful chimeras excluded
ideas of vengeance. Upon the eve of a terrible storm,
the people rejoiced, and a mysterious fever of ideas pre-
pared for the magnificent outburst of '89.
Julien was full of all that eager faith and resolution
that seem to descend providentially upon the earth at
periods preliminary to great conflicts ; but there was a
certain tranquillity about him, due to his habits, training,
and also to his natural disposition. He could not have
argued about it ; but one of his marked characteristics
was a philosophical mysticism, and a sort of inward ne-
cessity of sacrificing himself. If he had not loved a
woman, he would have loved liberty with fanaticism.
Love was revealed to him under the form of devotion.
As soon as Julie's image filled his soul, he thought of
himself merely as a force whose office was to serve and
protect Julie. Did the idea occur to him that she might
and ought to belong to him? Yes, undoubtedly, it oc-
curred to him in a confused, and sometimes in an impe-
rious manner ; but he resisted it bravely. He had no
prejudices, and was not like uncle Antoine, dazzled by the
rank, title, and elegance of the countess ; he knew Julie's
mediocre birth, and the embarrassed state of her finances.
He considered himself, moreover, her equal ; for he was
one of those men of the third estate, filled with a legiti-
mate and obstinate pride, who were beginning to say, —
The third estate is everything ; as people said afterwards, —
The people is everything ; as some day — without rejecting
any form of nobility, whether coming from the sword,
the robe, the workshop, or the plough — they will say, —
The individual is everything. Julien did not consider
Madam d'Estrelle as a woman placed above him by cir-
ANTON I A, 113
cumstances, but by her personal merit. That merit he
very probably exaggerated. It is the privilege of love to
see the objects of its worship through the medium of the
ideal, and to consider itself called upon to make conquests
of divinities. Thus, an admirable humility and bound-
less pride were united in his passion.
" I am not worthy of such a woman," he said to him-
self; "I must become so: and when, by being patient,
disinterested, devoted and respectful, I have made myself
worthy of her, — ah, then, perhaps, I shall feel that I
have the right to say, — ' Love me ! * "
Sometimes he asked himself whether this day would
come before Julie's life had been disposed of by the un-
expected circumstances of the future ; and to this doubt
he answered, —
"Supposing that it is so, she will respect me, — per-
haps will feel a friendship for me, — and the time I have
consecrated to governing myself nobly, will not have been
thrown away."
Madam Thierry, therefore, was both surprised and de-
lighted to see that her son, from the very day of the great
catastrophe, suddenly recovered his cheerfulness, and
every appearance of moral and physical health.
" My friend," she said to Marcel, as she was talking
with him alone, " I scarcely dare acknowledge what is in
my mind ; but he looks so happy ! Mon Dieu I do you
think it can be possible ? "
"What?" said Marcel. "Oh, yes, — his visit to
Madam d'Estrelle ! There is no saying, my good aunt ;
he is handsome and amiable enough to please a great
lady ; but the countess is ruined, and can only be relieved
from her embarrassments by a rich marriage. We ought
to wish to see her well married, provided that her hus-
band is not too old a man. She is not determined and
courageous, as you were, and, besides, the step that suc-
ceeded in your case is usually a failure. An absorbing
passion is a number that draws once out of a hundred
thousand times in the lottery of destiny. Do not desire
to see it tried, either by Julien or the countess."
" No, I do not wish anything of the kind ; it is too
8
114
ANTONIA.
hazardous, in fact ; but supposing she loves him : what
will happen ? "
" I do not know ; but she is virtuous, and he is an
honest man : they would both suffer. It would be better
if they could be separated."
" That is what I said at first. And yet what a pity !
They are both so beautiful, so young and so good ! Ah !
fate is sometimes very unjust ! If my poor husband had
left him our fortune, Julien would have been a good
match for her, since she is poor, and has no family pride.
Alas ! God pardon me ! This is the first time that I
have ever blamed my Andre ! Do not speak of it again.
Marcel, — never again ! "
•■' We must reflect, however," replied the lawyer,
" and not allow the fire in Julien's heart to blaze too
high ; to-day it is an illumination, probably because he
hopes ; to-morrow will be the conflagration."
" What shall we do then, Marcel? "
" I don't know. I wish I could find out what Madam
d'Estrelle feels, and, above all, learn about uncle Antoine ;
for I am not deceived by his pretended philosophy, and
I fear — "
"What do you fear?"
'' Everything ! With such a man, what may we not
expect ? "
The emotions of this eventful day made Madam d'Es-
trelle almost ill. Julien's visit completely unnerved her ;
but, when he had gone, the sort of fever into which she
had been thrown by M. Antoine's proposal, was suc-
ceeded by a languor that was not without sweetness.
" Every one would laugh at me," she said, " for feel-
ing such confidence in the word of a man whom I have
known only for a few hours ; and yet I am certain that
he is my friend, — my true friend. But ought I to ac-
cept this ardent friendship ? Will it not be dangerous for
him and for me ? It is true that he did not ask me to
accept it. He went away like a person who relies upon
himself alone, and who loves without asking permission.
Since he says that he has no hope, has he not the right to
love ? And how, indeed, could I prevent him ? "
ANTONIA. 1x5
Julie knew perfectly well, in her own heart, that she
ought not to have received Jiilien, after what Madam
Thierry had told her of his feeling towards herself.
" In fact," she said, " why did I receive him when my
first impulse was to send this simple and final message : —
' There is no answer ! ' That would have freed me both
from the uncle and nephew. But did the latter deserve
to be humiliated ? Did he not come for the purpose of
defending his honor from his uncle's contemptible trick-
eries ? Had he not the right to tell me what he did upon
this point ? And if he added a few tender words, — too
tender for his own good, perhaps, — was there anything
to wound me in what he said ? Is it my duty to be of-
fended ? I cannot tell. He offered himself, — he gave
himself to me, — without seeking anything in return. He
did not even give me time to answer him. Whether I
wish it or not, he has made me a present of his heart and
his life. Indeed, he did not talk like a lover, but like my
slave, and at the same time my master. It is all very
singular, and I cannot understand it. What I feel for
him I do not know ; but I am certain of one thing, and
that is, that I believe in him."
It seemed to Julie, as well as to Madam Thierry and
Marcel, that the morrow of this strange day would be
marked by the most important events. They wondered,
in vain, what M. Antoine's spite would induce him to do.
To their surprise, a number of days passed, and no change
occurred in their respective situations. The horticul-
turist had gone into the country, but no one knew where.
He had no country-seat, at least so Marcel thought, but
the lawyer was mistaken in supposing that he knew all
about his affairs. When convinced that he was really
absent, he became anxious. The people at his house,
however, showed him orders written by his hand which
the head gardener received every day, giving precise
directions about the treatment of certain delicate plants.
These horticultural bulletins had no date, and no post-
mark. They were brought by the valet-de-chambre of the
ex-ship-owner, — an old sailor, throroughly incorruptible,
devoted as a negro, silent as a log.
ir6 ANTONIA,
*'What are we to think?" said Marcel to Madam
Thierry ; " he is probably in a great rage, or he may
perhaps be ashamed of his folly, and feel like hiding for
a while. Let us hope that he will return cured of his
mania for matrimony, and that he will make it a point of
honor not to break off his negotiations in regard to the
pavilion. The indemnity will be of great service to you,
and I cannot hide from you that Madam d'Estrelle is in
great need of the sum that he promised hei. I cannot
imagine what venomous fly is stinging her creditors, but
they are beginning to show the strangest impatience and
anxiety. They have gone so far as to threaten that they
will yield their claims to a principal creditor, who will
certainly speculate upon the embarrassment of my client ;
nothing worse than that could happen."
A few days afterwards he had an interview with Mad-
am d'Estrelle ; her father-in-law was very ill, and she
had just returned from paying him a visit.
" I am not at all easy," he said ; "I fear that the
marquis will die without settling your affairs."
*' I do not count much upon his goodness," replied
Julie, " but I cannot believe that he will leave me strug-
gling with the count's creditors, when he can so easily put
an end to my trials. We must make allowance for the
childish fear that selfish old men feel of poverty ! but
after him — "
"After him? — "replied Marcel, "the devil is after
him, — I mean is at his heels. His wife is a terrible
woman. I am afraid of her. She does not love you ; and,
since your husband was not her son, you have no claims
upon her."
" Mon Dieu I you see the dark side of everything, my
dear lawyer ! The marquis is neither very old nor very
sick. He must have made his will. The marchioness
is exceedingly devout, and she will do from a sense of
duty what she would not do out of tenderness. Do not
discourage me, you who have always sustained me."
" I should not be discouraged myself, if I could lay
my hand upon my whimsical uncle. If he would buy
and pay for the pavilion, we should gain a delay of one
ANTONIA. 117
or two months. We should have time to sell the little
farm in Beauvoises, or to yield it at a moderate price ;
otherwise it will be seized brutally, and we shall lose al-
together remnants of property which are still valuable.*'
Julie, formerly, had been very much troubled about
her precarious position, but she was in a state of utter
lassitude, at present, that took the place of courage. So
much philosophy did she display, that Marcel was sur-
prised, and at last became irritated.
" The devil take me ! " he said, in a low voice, to
Madam Thierry, " one would swear that she asked
nothing better than to be put into the street."
Was this really Madam d'Estrelle's secret thought?
Had she said to herself that if her husband's family
abandoned her, left her poor, she would no longer owe
so much respect to the name she bore ; that she might
disappear from society, live as she chose, marry accord-
ing to her inclination ?
Yes and no ! At moments she abandoned herself to
the dream of obscure happiness which had come to her,
like a delightful vision, in Julien's studio. At other
times she became the Countess d'EstrcUe again, and
asked herself, with terror, how she could break away
from her surrouudings and habits, and, above all, endure
blame and contempt ; she who, up to this time, had been
so great a favorite in the small but aristocratic circle in
which she moved.
It is well known that there was at this time a violent
and desperate reaction in the aristocratic world against
the invasions of philosophy. Perhaps no other historical
epoch presents such strange contrasts ! On one side pub-
lic opinion, queen of the future, was proclaiming doctrines
of equality, scorn of social distinction, the philosophy of
Jean Jacques Rousseau, of Voltaire and Diderot. On the
other hand, the constituted authorities, terrified by a pro-
gress which they had not dared oppose, were now too
late trying a resistance, whose only effect was to plunge
them into an abyss. Still, to one whose horizon was 1 inc-
ited, and who could not foresee the morrow, this resist-
ance appeared formidable ; and a timid and gentle woman
Ii8 ANTONIA.
like the Countess d'Estrelle, was very naturally alarmed
by it. Like all of her class, she imagined that the con-
duct of the coui't would determine the destiny of France.
And there were moments, just at that time, when the
terrified king did his best to resuscitate the monarchy
of Louis XIV. His efforts were pitiful, and utterly use-
less ; but, regarded from a certain point of view, they
appeared of sufficient importance to irritate the people,
and augment the pride of the privileged classes. The
court and city had proclaimed the triumph of Voltaire ;
on the day after that triumph, the clergy refused to grant
him a tomb. Mirabeau had written a chef d'oeuvre
against the arbitrary power of the letire de cachet. The
king had said, in speaking of Beaumarchais, — "If his
piece is played (the Marriage of Figaro), the Bastile
must be torn down ! " The third estate was constantly
increasing in intelligence, ambition, and real importance ;
the court had reestablished the privileges of rank in the
army as well as in the clergy, and had decided, — what
Cardinal Richelieu would not have dared decide, — that
in order to become an officer or prelate, it should be nec-
essary to prove four generations of nobility. The Amer-
ican Constitution had just proclaimed the principles of the
Contract Social of Jean Jacques Rousseau ; Washington
and Lafayette were dreaming of freeing their slaves, and
the French minister had granted new encouragement to
the slave trade ; the lower ranks of the clergy were
becoming more and more democratic, day by day ; Sor-
bonne was seeking a quarrel with Buffon, and the higher
ecclesiastics had demanded a new law for repressing the
art of writing ; public opinion had raised its voice against
capital punishment ; examination hy torture was in full
vigor. The queen had protected Beaumarchais ; Raynal
was forced to become an exile.
These attempts at reaction, amid the general tenden-
cies of the age, were repeated in devout circles. The
principal nobility, however they may have differed in
other respects, agreed in blaming those of its members
who allowed themselves to be seduced by the new philos-
ophy. In conservative saloons, the king and queen were
ANTONIA. 119
overwhelmed with curses and sarcasms, as soon as they
seemed to abandon the theories of the king's good pleas'
ure. But, as soon as they laid a stone upon the feeble
dam that was erecting against the revolutionary spirit,
the devotees of these circles renewed their allegiance, and
imagined that everything was saved ; no one suspected the
rapidity of the torrent, and the nearness of the overflow.
Scoffs, scorns, and caricatures were the order of the
day. The coming danger was so utterly despised, that
it was laughed to scorn.
The set of people with whom Julie was intimate were
timid and gentle in disposition, like herself, and were
opposed to exaggeration of every kind ; but, beyond
this little coterie, she felt the influence of a larger and
more formidable circle, — that of the family of the Count
d'Estrelle. This haughty family disliked her, because
she silently resisted their tyranny ; and, although she
avoided them as much as possible, she suffered from the
consciousness of their displeasure. Still beyond this for-
midable circle, another, yet more powerful and more
threatening, — that of the second wife of the Marquis
d'Estrelle, — cast a shadow over her life. Excessively
bigoted, opposed to every sort of progress, despising the
philosophers, openly hostile to the great Voltaire himself,
imbued with all the prejudices of birth, and angrily occu-
pied about the preservation of its pretended rights, — this
coterie inspired Julie with the greatest alarm. Her fear
may have been childish, but it was excessive and irre-
sistible. The marchioness was known to be an avaricious,
wicked, and treacherous woman ; and we have seen that
the Baroness d'Ancourt herself, in spite of her conserva-
tive ideas, spoke of her, as well as of her friends, with the
greatest aversion. Julie was but slightly acquainied
with her, and tried to believe her piety sincere, but she
was afraid of her ; and when she asked herself why she
was living in such a state of timidity and melancholy,
the disagreeable spectre of this withered personage, with
green eyes and pitiless tongue, appeared before her. It
was therefore out of apprehension that she tried to defend
the marchioness in conversation, and to silence her
I20 ANTONIA.
friends when they ventured to call her a harpy and a
bird of ill-omen.
It was only natural that poor Julie should detest the
opinions of the marchioness and her friends, but she was
too inexperienced, and too ignorant of the general spirit of
the age, to understand how trifling the persecutions would
be that she would have to brave, if she had resolved to live
according to her heart and conscience. She was shut up
in a little cage of prejudices, like a bird who thinks that
the universe is all a cage around it, and who no longer
comprehends the murmur of the wind among the trees,
and the flight of other birds in space.
*' It may be that there are happy people, " she said to
herself, " but they are far away ! and how can I join
them?"
Thus it is, upon the eve of a terrible revolution, that
the prisoners of the past weep over their chains, and
think they are riveted upon them for all eternity. Usu-
ally, however, Julie forgot all these questions of external
facts, to lose herself in vague reveries, and in secret
anxieties, of a new kind. We will soon see what she was
reilectiug about, and how difficult it was for this generous,
but timid heart, to enter into harmony with itself.
Fifteen days had passed away since the catastrophe of
the Antonia^ and Madam d'Estrelle had neither seen or
heard of Julien. She could almost have imagined that
he had never existed, and that her two interviews with
him had been a dream. Madam Thierry had not entered
her garden. Julie, very much surprised at her absence,
had sent to inquire about her, and received word that she
was a little unwell ; — there was nothing serious the
matter, but she was obliged to keep her room.
She questioned Marcel, but without obtaining any sat-
isfaction ; he repeated that his aunt was somewhat indis-
posed, but entered into no details. Julie dared not
question him farther ; she saw plainly that her neighbor
wanted to break off every sort of relation, even the most
indirect, between her son and herself. Finally, Madam
Thi*».rry reappeared one morning, when the countess had
ANTONIA. 121
ceased to expect her. Interrogated by Julie with timidity
aud reserve, she replied, with affectionate confidence, —
" My dear and well-beloved countess, you must par-
don me for having had a bad dream, which is now
dissipated. Too hasty in judging, I allowed myself
to be foolishly alarmed, and alarmed you with my chi-
meras. I believed that my son had the audacity to love
you ; believed it so firmly, that it has required fifteen
days to disabuse me of the idea. Forget what I told
you, and let my poor child enjoy once more the respect
that he has never ceased to deserve. You are not the
object of his prayers and vows. He venerates you, as
he ought to do ; he would die for you, if necessary ; but
his feeling is not a romantic passion, but an ardent and
true gratitude. He swore that it was so ; I doubted his
word at first, but I was wrong. I have observed, nay,
more, have watched him for the last fifteen days, and I
am reassured. He eats, sleeps, talks ; he is interested
in everything, he comes and goes, works cheerfully ; in
a word, he is not in love. He makes no efibrt to see
you, he talks about you with tranquil admiration, he seeks
no opportunity of attracting your attention, and will
never do so. Pardon me for my folly, and love me as
before."
Julie accepted this statement, perfectly sincere upon
the part of Madam Thierry, with amiable satisfaction.
They talked about other things, and remained together
for an hour, after which they separated, congratulating
each other that they would have no further cause of
trouble, and would be able to renew their friendship
without agitation, and without fearing that it would be
dangerous to any one.
Why was it that Julie felt so strangely sad after this
interview? She could not think of any good reason for
her melancholy, aud laid the blame upon the visits
that she had happened to receive. She suddenly dis-
covered that her old friend Madam des Morges was an
insupportable gossip, that the old Duke de Quesnoy was
tiresome and monotonous as a sledge-hammer ; that her
cousin, the wife of the president, was a prude, and a
122 ANTON I A.
hypocrite ; and that the abbe (there was always an abb^
in every circle at that time) was personal and insipid.
Finally, when Camille came to make her toilette, she was
-TOSS, and sent her away, saying, —
"What's the use?"
Then she recalled her capriciously, and asked whether
the period of her half-mourning had not ended, three
days before.
• " Yes, madam," said Camille, " it is really over ! And
madam is very wrong not to throw aside her mourning-
dresses. If she wears them much longer, it will look
very badly."
"How so, Camille?"
" People will say that madam prolongs her regrets out
of economony, so as to wear out her gray dresses."
" That is a very powerful reason, my dear, and I
yield. Make haste, and bring me a rose-colored dress ! "
" Rose-colored ? No, madam, it is too soon for that I
They would say that madam had worn mourning against
her will, and that she has changed her mind as quickly as
her dress. Madam must wear a pretty toillette of chink
silk, royal blue, and embroidered with white bouquets."
" Very well. But have not all my dresses got out of
fashion during the two years that I have been in mourn-
ing?"
'* No, madam, I have taken care of that. I have
made the sleeves over, and changed the trimmings of the
waists. With white satin bows, and a lace coiiFure,
madam will be perfectly well dressed."
" But why should I care to dress, Camille, since I do
not expect any visitors ? "
" Has madam given orders that she was not at
home?"
" No ; but I shall, since you have suggested it. I
don*t want to see any one."
Camille looked at her mistress in surprise. Not un-
derstanding her mood, she said to' herself that madame
had the blues, and arranged her toilet without daring to
break the silence. Julie, sad and abstracted, allowed
herself to be adorned. When the servant had retired,
ANTONIA. 123
carrying off the gray robes that had become her property,
she looked at herself from head to foot, in a large mirror.
She was exquisitely dressed, and beautiful as an angel.
Therefore it was that her heart again cried, WhaCs the
use f She hid her face in her hands, and began to cry
like a child.
V.
TF Julien had been a roue, he could not have pursued
•*• a better course for winning Madam d'Estrelle's heart.
Day succeeded day, and they never met, even by accident.
And yet Julie, either from an excess of confidence, or
from heedlessness, passed more of her time in her garden
than in her drawing-room, and preferred a walk amid
its lonely groves to the conversation of her friends. On
some evenings she shut herself up, under the pretence of
restlessness or weariness, and, at such times, dressed
elegantly, as if expecting some unusual visit. She
would wander to the very bottom of her garden, hurry
back in alarm at the slightest sound, return to see what
had frightened her, and sink into a sort of amazed reverie,
on finding that all was quiet and that she was really alone.
One day she received a declaration of love, quite well
written, and without signature or family seal. She was
very much offended ; Julien, she said, had failed in all his
engagements, and deserved to be treated with cold disdain.
On the following day, she discovered that this attempt had
come from the brother of one of her friends, and her first
feeling was one of joy. No, certainly Julien would not
have written in such terms ; he would not have written at
all. The love-letter, which she had thought exceedingly
graceful, as long ao her uncertainty lasted, now seemed
to her in very bad taste, and she threw it away with scorn.
But what if Julien should take the same means of com-
municatin"? with her. Doubtless he wrote as well as he
talked. Why didn't he write ?
124 ANT ON I A.
As soon as Julie had asked herself this quesi.ion, tha
consciousness of her own weakness made her blush pain-
fully.
" What is the use of my self-control and my reason,"
she said to herself, '' if I allow my heart to go out in this
way in pursuit of a love that avoids me ? Really I am
only protected by the indifference with which I am re-
garded, and even this shame does not cure me. Why am
I so inconsistent? I thought at first that any advance
upon the part of this young man would offend me. and
that I would repulse him haughtily ; but, on the contrary,
I am irritated by his submissiveness, wounded by his
silence ; — angry with him because he has forgotten me.
My mind must be very morbid."
She was going into a perfumer's shop one day, and met
Julieu at the door. As he had no right to speak to her
in public, he pretended not to see her. She noticed upon
the counter a pretty little fan, which he had painted for
his mother, and had brought to the store to have mounted.
Imagining that it was intended for her, she made up her
mind to refuse it ; but how impatiently she waited for
this little present.
" He will send it to me mysteriously," she thought ; " it
will be an anonymous offering, and then — "
The present did not come ; it had not been intended
for her. How foolish she had been to suppose that it
was ! Julien was in love with some other woman, a
petty bourgeoise, or a woman of the demi-monde, — an
actress, perhaps. She could not sleep for two nights ;
and then, suddenly, she h;.aw the fan in Madam Thierry's
hands, and breathed again.
In spite of herself, she could not help talking about
Julien with Madam Thierry, and there was no end to
her devices for turning the conversation to this subject.
She wanted to learn w^hat sort of life a young artist led ;
and although very much afraid of hearing disagreeable
or painful details, asked questions continually. After
inquiring about the tastes and habits of artists in general,
she would refer suddenly to Julien. " Your son, for ex-
ample," she said one day, in the course of such a conver-
ANTONIA,
125
sation, " must have led a very brilliant and dissipated life,
— a very agreeable life, at all events, — before his father's
death and your present trials.'*
" My son's character has always been serious," replied
Madam Thierry, '' and I must say that young people of
all classes seem to me very different at present from those
whom I knew in my youth. My poor husband had a fertile,
brilliant, and graceful imagination ; he was one of those
persons who fill life with unexpected pleasures ; far from
being ambitious, and eager in the pursuit of glory, his
aim seemed to be the enjoyment of whatever is most
agreeable. Painting chef-d'oeuvres, was his amusement,
and he allowed nothing to trouble him. The artists of
the present day are impatient to excel their predecessors.
They have invented criticism. M. Diderot, with whom
my husband was very intimate, often taught him to
appreciate his own works more highly than he would
have dreamed of doing ; and, when my little Julien lis-
tened to this remarkable man, devouring him with his
great eyes beaming with attention and curiosity, M.
Diderot used to say, * That child has the sacred fire.'
But my husbaud did not want people to put too many
ideas into his head. He believed that the beautiful ought
to be deeply felt, and not too much studied. Was he right
in this ? The imagination, he thought, ought to be adorned,
and not oppressed. Julien was gentle and patient ;
he read and pondered a great deal. Real connoisseurs
admire his painting more than that of his father, and
when he speaks of art it is easy to see that he under-
stands it thoroughly ; but he is not so popular with
people in general, and is very indifferent to society.
His mind is full of a great many subjects, in which he
is interested ; and when I say to him, * You do not
laugh, you are not gay, you have not the recklessness
that belongs to your age,' he replies, 'I am happy as 1
am. I really do not care lor amusements, I have so
many things to think about. ' "
These confidential conversations with Madam Thierry
gradually enabled Madam d'Estrelle to understand Julien ;
and the respect with which he had inspired her at first
136 ANTONIA,
sight, changed to a feeling of tender timidity, that made
her love him the more. It was no longer possible for
her to regard him as an inferior, and yet this young artist
belonged to a class whom she had been in the habit of
hearing called those, 'peojple I In talking with her friends,
she sometimes tried to plead the cause of the intelligent
and virtuous, whatever might be their rank. Her friends
were sufficiently progressive to reply, ''You are per-
fectly right ; birth is nothing, — it is merit alone that is
important." But these were mere maxims, which it was
the fashion for educated people to employ ; they meant
nothing. Doctrines of equality had not yet begun to
influence manners. The very same people who made
these remarks, would not hesitate, a moment afterwards,
to blame vehemently a certain duke who had given his
hand to a plebeian for the sake of patching up his estates
with her dowry ; or some princess, so captivated with an
insignificant fortune-hunter, that, to the disgrace of all
honest people, she had consented to marry him. They
would allow a young girl, or a young widow, to fall in
love with a man of good family, even although poor ; but,
if he were not well-born, she was the victim of a shameful
infatuation, — an immodest attraction ; she was sacrificing
her principles to her senses ; marriage was no justification ;
she fell into public contempt. Julie, who had always been
treated with so much respect and consideration, — the only
compensation of her melancholy youth, — shuddered with
horror when she heard hex friends talking in this way ;
and if the object of her secret passion, at such moments,
had entered her little circle, apparently so liberal and pro-
gressive, she would have felt obliged to rise and say,
'' What do you want here, monsieur? "
But this little circle broke up at ten o'clock ; and,
ten minutes afterwards, Julie was in her garden. She
gazed upon the little light in the pavilion, trembling like
a green star through the foliage ; and imagined that if
Julien should meet her at the turning of one of the paths,
she would not be able to flee from him.
While poor Julie was going through all this agitation,
Julien was comparatively calm. His intentions were so
ANTONIA.
137
gincere, so upright, that he recovered his moral health,
and imagined that he had really subdued his passion.
"No," he said to himself, "I did not deceive my
mother ; " the feeling with which Madam d'Estrelle in-
spires me is that of friendship ; — a very intense, elevated,
and exquisite frieudsliip, and not, as I thought at first, a
violent and fatal passion. Possibly, indeed, I may have
had this fever in the beginning ; but it was dissipated on
the very day when I saw, face to face, this simple, good,
confiding woman ; on the very day when I heard her
sweet, pure voice, and comprehended that she was an
angel, to whom I am unworthy to aspire. I am not in
love with her, in the ordinary sense of the word ; I love
her with my whole heart, that is all, and I will not allow
my imagination to torment me. The grave has scarcely
closed over my poor father ; every hour is occupied in
laboring for my mother. No, no ; I have neither the
right nor the time to abandon myself to an absorbing
passion."
Marcel remarked Julien's tranquillity, and did not pay
much attention to the agitation that Madam d'Estrelle
sometimes betrayed. He called upon her one day when
she had just returned from another visit to her father-in-
law, the marquis. He was considered out of danger, and
Marcel hoped that he would consent, before long, to assist
his client more effectually.
" Oh, \mon Dieu I you take a great deal of trouble
about me," said Julie ; " but is it worthwhile? I assure
you that I should really like to be poor ; probably I should
not suffer from ennui so much as I do."
" And yet you look very elegant, and are going, I sup-
pose, to some great entertainment ? "
*•• No, I shall take my dress off. I do not intend to go
out. With whom can I go? I have quarrelled with
Madam d'Ancourt, my old convent friend, and she was
the only person whom I could visit alone in the evening.
I am not intimate enough with my other friends to go to
their houses without a chaperon. Madam des Morges,
who might accompany me, is horribly lazy ; ray cousin,
the wife of the president, is not received in the best so-
128 ANT ONI A,
ciety, and the Marchioness d'Orbe is in the country. 1 am
really suffering from ennui, Monsieur Thierry. I am too
much alone, and there are a great many days when I have
not the heart to do anything."
This was the first time that Julie had complained
about her situation.
Marcel looked at her earnestly, and reflected.
" You ought to have some amusement," he said ; " why
don't you go to the theatre sometimes ? "
" I have no box anywhere. You know that I cannot
afford to keep one."
" Why should that prevent you from 'going wherever
you choose ? Keeping a box the year round is a sort of
slavery. It makes you conspicuous, and compels yoa
to have a chaperon. We bourgeois allow ourselves little
diversions at slight expense, and requiring no inconve-
nient display. This evening, for example, I am going
to take my wife to the Gomedie-Francaise. We have
hired a closed box on the ground-floor."
" Oh, how delightful to go there ! You cannot be seen
at all, can you ? You can enjoy the play, laugh and cry
as much as you choose, without being criticised by the
gallery. Have you a place for me. Monsieur Thierry ? "
" I have two. I intended to offer one to my aunt."
" And the other to her son ? Then — "
" That makes no difference : he can go another time ;
but what will people think if they meet you in the lob-
bies leaning upon the arm of your lawyer ? Or, if you
are recognized seated by the side of Madam Marcel
Thierry, what will they say?"
"Let them say what they choose. They will be very
foolish to see anything wrong in that."
" I agree with you, but people are very foolish, and
they will say that you are in low company ; nay, more, I
have softened the word out of respect for my wife. They
will say that you are in had company."
"It is abominable, that people should be so foolish!
Your wife is a very amiable woman, I have been told,
and is very highly thought of. 1 will call upon her to-
morrow, for I know that it would not be polite to go to
ANT ON I A. 129
her box without ceremony, and without asking her per-
mission beforehand. Yes, I must make her acquaint-
ance ; and then, some time, we will go to the theatre to-
gether."
Marcel smiled, for he understood perfectly well tho
feeling of cowardice that had taken possession of his
noble client at the idea of being accused of associating
with bad company. She considered the opinion of the
world cruel, unjust, insolent and absurd ; but she was
afraid of it, nevertheless, and fear does not reason.
" You are perfectly right," Marcel replied. " I recog-
nize your delicacy and good heart in all that you say.
My wife will thank you for your kind intentions, and,
from this evening, will be flattered to offer you her box ;
but take my advice, countess, and do not leave your own
circle, either this evening, or to-morrow, or at any time ;
at all events, unless you have some very good reason,
well considered and well matured, for doing so. Eat if
you are hungry, but do not force yourself to eat to grat-
ify a caprice. The world to which you belong wishes to
be exclusive, and you ought not to defy it, unless to
obtain some great personal advantage, or to do a very
good deed. No one will believe that you are unconven-
tional merely for the sake of being so. People will be
surprised, at first, and then they will seek serious and
hidden motives to account for your simplest act."
"And what will they find?" said Julie, anxiously.
'^ Nothing," replied Marcel, '' consequently they will
invent some story ; and gossip of that kind is always
malicious."
" It follows, then, that I must be condemned to soli-
tude."
" You have accepted it courageously, hitherto, and you
know that it will cease whenever you choose."
'•Yes, if I choose to marry; but where will I find a
husband combining all the qualities required by the world
and by myself? Think for a moment ! According to you
he must be rich, according to my friends noble, and, to
please me, he must be amiable and lovable. I shall
never find such a man, and 1 would do better — "
9
i30
ANTONIA.
Julie dared not finish her sentence, and Marcel thought
he had no right to question her. There was a pause,
which both found awkward ; Julie interrupted it, by
exclaiming, suddenly, —
"Ah ! mon Dieu^ do not imagine that I am tempted to
forget my principles, and enter into a frivolous liason ! I
meant, — I may as avcU say it, — that I should do better
to seek happiness in an obscure marriage."
" It depends upon what you mean by obscure !" said
Marcel. " You ought to insist upon a fortune, at all
events ; for if you give rank the go-by, there is no
sort of doubt that the family d'Estrelle will abandon
you."
"Suppose they do?"
" If the husband of your choice is poor, and you bring
him a dowry of debts — "
"Oh, yes, you are right ! I should add to his pov-
erty all the anxiety, all the dangers, by which I am tor-
mented. I did not think of that. See how heedless 1
am ! Oh, Monsieur Thierry, there are some days when
I long to be dead ! You are wrong not to take me to the
theatre ; I feel gloomy this evening, and should like to
forget that I exist."
"Is it so bad as that?" replied Marcel, earnestly,
alarmed at her distressed expression. " Very well, then,
— put on a thick black hood, and a large black man-
tle. There is a carriage at the door, — we will take it,
and call for my wife ; I will explain the circumstances to
her in a few words, and we will go and hear Polyeucte.
That will change the current of your ideas. Be quick !
for if visitors arrive, you will not be able to go."
Julie jumped lor joy, like a child. She soon muffled
herself up, gave her servants their liberty foi the evening,
and started with Marcel. Divided between fear and de-
light, she was as much excited as if this little escapade
with a lawyer and his wife had been an alarming adven-
ture.
" And Madam Thierry? " she said, when they were on
the way.
" We will leave Madam Thierry where she is," said
ANTONIA. 131
Marcel ; " I have sent her no invitation, and we should be
kept waiting while she was dressing. Besides, if you are
recognized in spite of our precautions, I prefer that you
should not be seen with a lady who has a grown-up son,
— a young man, by the way, of whom uncle Antoine was
very jealous. My son is a little rascal, scarcely twelve
years old ; we will take him, and that will complete the
party, — bourgeoise and patriarchal."
They stopped at Marcel's house. Leaving Julie shut
up alone in the carriage, he hurried in, and soon returned
with his wife and son. Madam Marcel Thierry was a
good deal intimidated, but she was too intelligent to at-
tempt paying compliments ; and, after a moment, felt
perfectly at ease with the amiable Julie, who, fof her
part, thought her good and sensible. They got out of
the carriage a little in advance of the file, walked to the
theatre, entered it without meeting curious or impertinent
loungers, and were soon installed in a dark box, where
Madam Thierry and her son took the front seats, so as to
shield Madam d'Estrelle and the lawyer. They listened
to the tragedy with the greatest delight. Julie had never
enjoyed herself so much at the theatre. She felt per-
fectly free, and this bourgeoise family interested her.
She regarded them with curiosity, as the representatives
of a class that she knew nothing about ; and, although
they were a little restrained by her presence, husband,
wife, and child addressed each other with a tender fa-
miliarity that touched her heart. In the most interesting
scenes in the play, Madam Thierry would turn to her hus-
band, and say, in a low voice, —
"Dost thou see well, my dear? Is not my bonnet iu
thy way?"
" No, no, my child," the lawyer would reply, " don't
trouble thyself about me. Take care of thyself."
The child applauded when he saw the pit applaud.
He would clap his little hands in an important manner,
and then suddenly would lean his head upon his mother*3
shoulder, and kiss her. That meant that he was enjoying
himself very much, and thanked her for bringing him.
These simple manners, characteristic of the middle
132
ANTONIA,
classes, — this tender tliee and thou^ — these caressing
epitliets, at the same time so familiar and so sacred, —
sometimes made Julie feel like laughing, and then again
moved her so deeply as to bring tears to her eyes. Any-
thing of the kind would have been reputed bad style in her
circle ; this was the way in which common people lived
and talked. In Madam d'Estrelle's drawing-room, Mar-
cel assumed skilfully the language and bearing of a man
of the world acquainted with all classes of society. In his
household he threw off this formal manner, and, without
ever being gross, adopted the familiar tone that is natural
between intimate friends. Julie, therefore, surprised him
forgetful of his ceremonious bearing, — living to please
himself in a moment of cheerful ease and relaxation. At
first, she was both shocked and charmed ; but soon she
said to herself that these people were right ; that it would
be better for all husbands and wives to call each other thee
and thou, for all children to lean upon their mothers, and
all spectators to show an interest in the play. In aristo-
cratic circles, people said you ; they had no tender, heart-
felt epithets, — they refined away the meaning of every
sentiment. Elegance was the first consideration in lan-
guage, dignity in deportment. The heart could find
expression only accordiog to rule ; it was obliged to hide
its impulses, or clothe them in an affected and symbolical
style, that had given birth to the madrigal. Admiration
for genius was never allowed to rise to enthusiasm. They
enjoyed, appreciated ; their words were all carefully meas-
ured. Finally, they made it a rule never to be betrayed
into showing any emotion ; and, in this perpetual simper
of aristocratic grace, became so charming, that they al-
most ceased to be human.
Madam d'Estrelle now, for the first time, noticed these
things, and thought about them seriously. The little
Julio, — as he was called to distinguish him from Julien.
his godfather, — had an interesting face. He was a com-
ical little fellow, with a well-formed head, turned-up nose,
brilliant eyes, sarcastic mouth, and the cool, impudent
manner of a school-boy making the most of his vacation.
Even if he had been disguised like a grand seigneur, il
ANTONIA. 133
would have been impossible to confound him with the
genuine little nobles of the day, — so very pretty, polite,
and polished, that it was almost impossible to tell them
apart. Julio, no less than themselves, had the style of
his class, but this did not deprive hira of his piquancy.
Each person in the middle class must live for himself,
and make his own way according to the qualities that he
possesses, and hence the bourgeois genius does not seek
to efface individuality. The child had a bright mind,
and his eager curiosity betrayed his Parisian descent.
lie was at the same time inquiring and affectionate,
discerning and credulous. To keep him from getting
hold of Madam d'Estrelle*s name, which he might have
repeated in his father's office, his parents had told him
that she was a client who had recently arrived in Paris,
and that this was the first time that she had seen a play.
Julie amused herself by asking him questions ; and, be-
tween the acts, the little fellow did the honors of the cap-
ital and the theatre. He showed her the king's box, the
pit, and chandelier ; and even explained the play, and told
her about the relative importance of the characters.
" You are going to see a very beautiful piece,'* he said,
before the curtain rose ; " you will not understand it very
well, perhaps, because it is in verse. I read it with my
godfather Julien ; he likes it very much, and he explained
it all to me, just as if it had been in prose. If there is
anything you do not understand, mademoiselle, you must
ask me."
" You are chattering like a magpie," said his mother ;
'' do you suppose madam does not understand the great
Corneille better than you do ? "
'' Maybe she does ; but perhaps she is not so learned
as my godfather."
" Madam does not care about the learning of your god-
father ! You imagine that every one knows him."
*' If you don't know him," said Julio, turning to Madam
d'Estrelle, '" I will show him to you. There he is, close
by."
" What ! " said Marcel, feeling very much annoyed j
* is he here? Do you see him?"
134 ANTONIA,
"Yes, I have seen him this good while. He loveg
Polyeucte ever so much ! He's seen it played more than
ten times, I'm sure. There he is, in the pit, three
benches off. His back is turned, but I knew him right
off: he has got on his black coat, and opera hat."
Madam d'Estrelle's heart beat violently. She looked
at the bench to which the child pointed, but recognized
no one. Marcel did the same, with a like resuU. Julio
was mistaken ; the person whom he had thought to be
Julien turned, and proved to be a stranger. He was in
the theatre, however, in the second gallery, just above
Marcel's box, and far enough from imagining that, by
descending to the ground-floor, he might have seen
Madam d'Estrelle. But, even if he had known this, he
would have remained in his place. His resolution no
longer to seek chance interviews with the countess was
not to be shaken.
As an artist, he had his entrances to the Comedie-Fran-
caise. He listened intently to Polyeucte, as a devout person
listens to a sermon, and went out before it was concluded,
because he was afraid that his mother would sit up for
him. In crossing the vestibule, he was very much sur-
prised to meet uncle Antoine face to face. It was uncle
Antoine's invariable habit to go to bed at eight o'clock,
and probably he had never before entered a theatre.
Julien greeted him cordially ; it was the best way, even
if he was repulsed.
'' You have returned, then," he said ; " we have been
very anxious about you."
"Who do you mean by we?" replied Antoine, in a
surly tone.
" Marcel and I."
" You are very good. You thought, I suppose, that I
had gone to the Indies, you seem so surprised to see me."
" I acknowledge that I did not expect to meet you here.'*
" It was just the contrary with me ; I was perfectly
sure that I should meet you here."
This reply was quite enigmatical to Julien, and, with-
out condescending to explain it, uncle Antoine turned
his back upon him.
AJSITONIA. 135
'* It is useless to talk," thought Julien, " his mind is
seriously affected."
He passed on, but returned several times to see whether
the horticulturist was going out or coming in, and judge
whether he really knew where he was. Uncle Antoine
remained standing at the foot of the staircase, and
stared at him with a mocking expression, but gave no
other sign of frenzy.
A few moments afterwards, he was lost in the crowd
filling the vestibule. One of the first groups that he saw
was the family of the lawyer, with an unknown lady,
taller than Madam d'Estrelle, and completely enveloped
in a black hood. Uncle Antoine followed them to the
street, took the number of their carriage, and sent in pur-
suit of it the adroit and skilful spy who had informed
him that Madam d'Estrelle was going out with her law-
yer, and who, in all manner of disguises, and under all
sorts of pretexts, had been spying about, and sometimes
within, the hotel d'Estrelle for the last month.
In those days theatres closed at an early hour, so as
to allow time for supper after the play. Julie, at'ter re-
conducting Madam Marcel to the street des Petits Augus-
tins, arrived at her house at about ten o'clock. Marcel,
who had escorted her, was going away without entering,
when she recalled him. Her porter had just informed
her of an important piece of news : the old marquis,
her father-in-law, had died at eight o'clock that evening,
just as they imagined that he was cured. They had
sent for Julie, so that she might be present when he par-
took of the sacraments. Her absence, which it would be
dilBcult to account for, on account of the peculiar position
that she had herself explained to Marcel, might have the
most fatal consequences.
"Ah, that is what made me feel so ! " said Marcel
anxiousJy, and in a low voice, as they stood together upon
the great front steps. '' I told you not to go. I felt a
presentiment of some danger ; but there is no use in
lamenting over what cannot be helped. The most alarm-
ing thing is the sudden death of the old man. Come,
madam, you must make haste to show yourself at his
136 ANTONIA.
bed-side. Get into the carriage again, and I will ac-
company you to your mother-in-law's house. I will not
go in, for it would not do for you to make this visit of
condolence escorted by your lawyer. To-morrow, I will
take the field in your behalf, and we will learn the con-
tents of the will, if, as God grant, there is a will."
Julie, very much agitated, got into ihe carriage.
'' Stop a moment," said Marcel, " I cannot wait for
you at the dowager's door ; her people would see me, and
I have an idea that they tell their mistress everything.
You will have to drop me before driving into the court ;
and, as I should not like to have you return alone in this
cab, you had better order your servants to have your car-
riage got ready and sent after you."
"' You think of everything," said Julie ; " I don't know
what would become of me without you."
She gave directions, and they started.
" You must remember another thing," said Marcel,
while they were driving ; " you will not find the widow
in tears, but at her prayers ; do not be reassured as to
her state of mind by this apparent sanctity. Be sure that
she has taken note of your absence, and will be prepared
to subject you to an examination in the very midst of her
orisons. Do not forget that she hates you, and, as an
excuse for robbing you, would like nothing so well as to
find you out in a fault."
Julie wondered how she could best explain her inno-
cent adventure.
'' You will find nothing better to say than the truth,"
said Marcel ; " tell her that you were at my house."
" If that were all ; — but the play ! In the eyes of my
mother-in-law, going to the theatre is a frightful sin ; she
would consider it so, whoever had accompanied me."
" Don't refer to it, then ; say that my wife v^as sick,
— that you feel a friendship for my wife, — because, —
because she has done you some service, — because she is
charitable, and helps you in doing good. Burnish it up
with a little varnish of devotion ; who will blame you?"
They arrived at their destination. Marcel stopped
the carriage, jumped out, and Julie drove into the court
ANTONIA. 137
of the hotel d'Ormonde, rue de Grenelle-Samt-GeiTQain.
This hotel was the property of the Dowager d'Ormonde ;
since her second marriage with the Marquis d'Estrelle,
the marquis had lived with her in the house of her first
husband.
The dowager was very rich, and her house had a
stately, but forbidding and formal aspect ; she had few
servants, and made but little display ; all was splendid,
cold, and lifeless. The hotel consisted of a number of
buildings, the principal one of which, containing the apart-
ments occupied by the marchioness, stood in an inner
court, enclosed by a grating. At this grating Julie was
obliged to stop and ring, but, sure of being admitted,
and knowing that Marcel would have to return on foot,
unless she sent the carriage after him without delay, she
dismissed the coachman as soon as she saw some one
preparing to open the door.
Instead of admitting her, the porter entered into a
strange discussion. The marquis could not see any one,
he said, because he was dead. The priests had come
to administer the sacraments, and the marchioness was
shut up with him and the deceased. She could give
audience to nobody at such a time. Julie insisted in
vain that she had, as a near relative, a right to enter.
The porter, either intentionally or from forgetfulness, left
her standing outside the door, and went to inquire. Re-
turning, he informed her that madame had given strict
orders that she was not to be disturbed.
As these negotiations had lasted for some time, the
Countess d'Estrelle felt no sort of doubt that the mar-
cliioness had been communicated with, and had refused
to receive her. Slie had fulfilled her duty, and had noth-
ing further to urge. Her carriage ought naturally to have
come a great deal faster than the cab ; thinking that it
must have arrived, she retraced her steps, crossed the
first court, and went out at the street-door, which was
kept by the wife of the porter, who immediately, with
rude haste, shut it after her. There was really a carriage
in the street, but, in spite of her short-sightedness, Julie
saw at once that it was only a cab.
138 ANTONIA.
Supposing that the coachman had not undei stood her
order, or that Marcel had sent him back as a precaution,
she imagined that this was the very carriage in which
she had come, and called the driver, who had fallen
fast asleep upon his seat. It was impossible to wake
him without pulling the flap of his cloak. Those who
remember what cab-drivers were forty years ago, can
judge what they were forty years earlier. This one
was so dirty, that Julie hesitated to touch him with her
gloved hand. She held up with care her ample silk skirts,
so that they might not rub against the muddy wheels.
Never had she been in such an embarrassing position !
She was frightened at being alone in the open street at
near midnight. The few people who passed, stopped and
stared at her, and she trembled lest, out of kindness or
impertinence, they would offer to come to her assistance.
Finally the coachman woke up ; and stated, in reply
to her questions, that he did not know her, that he had
brought two priests of the parish to admister to a dying
man, and had been ordered to wait for them. He would
not move for any consideration. Julie looked around
anxiously. Her carriage did not arrive. She lifted the
heavy knocker of the door, so as to return to the court
of the hotel, but knocked in vain. Either special orders
had been given about her, or the porter was always in-
flexible ; at all events he did not open the door.
She became excessively alarmed. The idea of going
away alone, and on foot, was not to be thought of; to re-
main standing before this door was equally impossible.
There was not a single store in sight ; and, provided that
it was not in the street, she would have to wait for her
carriage, it mattered not where. The dependences of
the hotel d'Ormonde extended quite a distance to the
right and left. An abbey was upon one side, and upon
the other was the convent of the Visitation. There, per-
haps, she might have obtained shelter, but it was quite a
distance off; and, after walking ten minutes, at least, to
get to it, she w^ould have had to enter into a discussion
before being admitted. Opposite the hotel d'Ormonde,
there was a tall grating, enclosing a a alley midway be«
ANTONIA. 139
tween the hotel de Puisieux, and the hotel d'Estrees.
Thlnkiog that she might persuade the keeper of this grat-
iug to let her wait in his room, by giving liim a louis, she
crossed the street ; but, when upon the point of ringing,
noticed that there was neither a keeper nor a bell. It
was a private gate, used only by the owners of the two
enclosures. Julie lost courage ; and when, just at this
moment, a man appeared suddenly by her side, as if he
had risen from the earth, she was so frightened that she
came very near fainting. As soon as he named himself,
however, she uttered an exclamation of joy : it was Ju-
lien. She explained her mishaps in a few confused
words, which Julien, as he was already partly acquainted
with the facts, and had not come to this place by chance,
understood without difficulty.
''It is useless for you to wait here for your carriage,"
he said ; "it will probably be some time before it ar-
rives."
" IIow do you know?"
" I went this evening to the Comedie-Francaise."
" Did you see me there?
" Were you there, madam? I did not know it."
"Then — "
" That enables me to explain my meeting with M.
Antoine Thierry, and his remarks. He, without doubt,
knew that you were to be there, and was playing the spy.
He made an ironical observation, which, although I did
not understand it, gave me food for reflection. In return-
ing to the pavilion, I felt a little uneasy, and stopped
bcibre your hotel. Your people were in great excite-
meui. It seems that the coachman could not be found.
The porter knows me by sight, and seeing that he was in
trouble, I went up to him, and inquired whether you had
met with any accident. He informed me of the death of the
Marquis d'Estrelle, and of the fact that you had been
escorted here by my cousin Marcel. The coachman, in
the meanwhile, arrived, dead drunk, and utterly incap-
able of understanding your orders. The porter left me,
saying that Bastien would go all right, when once upon
his seat. Not being so phlegmatic as your porter, I
i^o ANTON I A.
hastened to follow you. My hope was to find Marcel
still here, and warn him not to leave you alone with a
drunken coachman, but I was a few minutes too late.
You were really alone, and have been very much fright-
ened."
'•• It is over," said Julie. '* I am calm now. Take
me back on foot. Providence has sent you to be my
guide."
" It is too far to go on foot," replied Julien, '* and
your shoes are not suitable for walking. The cab yon-
der shall carry you, with or without the consent of the
coachman : I answer for that. I will ride on the out-
side, and will reconduct you in safety."
Julien led Madam d'Estrelle to the carriage, put her
into it, and ordered the coachman to drive on. He re-
fused. Julien jumped upon the seat by his side, took
the reins, and swore that he would throw him into the
river if he offered any resistance. The uobie bearing
and determined air of the young man frightened him so,
that he submitted ; but, before they had gone a hundred
rods, he stopped, and began shouting, " Robbery ! Mur-
der ! " A group of men were coming from a house, and
the poor devil hoped that they would come to his assist-
ance, and enable him to resist Julien's violent assault.
Chance decreed that these persons were fashionable
young men, just coming from a late supper, and a good
deah intoxicated. It was one of those moments of excite-
ment when people are very ready to become the redress-
ors of wrongs, especially if they are four to one. They
speedily stopped the horses, and one of them tried to open
the carriage door ; for the malicious coachman cried at
the top of his voice, —
" Help ! help ! A villain running away with a nun ! "
" Let us see whether she is worth the trouble ! " cried
the group, with one voice.
Before they could get the door open, Julien was upon
his feet, and had repulsed the foremost of these inquisitive
gallants in an energetic manner. The young man so
roughly handled began to insult him, and drew his sword ;
his companions followed his example. Julien had no
ANTONIA.
141
time to draw his sword. He defended himself with his
cane, and used it with so much coolness, vigor and address,
that one of his opponents fell, and the others drew back.
Julien, who had not left the carriage steps, took advan-
tage of this fortunate respite to jump in and lift Julie
out by the opposite door. After carrying her some dis-
tance in his arms, he stopped, and turned to wait for his
adversaries ; but, either seriously wounded, or sobered by
the approach of the watch, they were hurrying rapidly
away in the opposite direction.
" Walk quickly, madam," said Julien to Madam d'Es-
trelle ; "let us avoid the curiosity of the police."
Julie walked quickly and well. Fear had paralyzed
lier for a moment, but the sight of the danger to which
her protector was exposed, restored her energy. After
making several turns to mislead the police, they came out
in safety upon the new street, now called the boulevard
des Invalids. It was scarcely built up at all, and, at this
iiour, was completely deserted. Julie had not noticed a
stain upon her gloved hand, but she felt the moisture of
the blood upon her wrist, and pausing, cried, —
" Ah ! mon Dieu^ you are wounded ! "
Julien had not felt anything, and was sure that he was
not seriously hurt. He tied up his wounded hand in a
handkerchief, and offered Julie his other arm.
" I assure you that it is nothing," he said ; " and what
if it were? Unluckily, my opponents were not very
formidable, and I deserve but little credit for driving
them off. Handsome dandies ! Petits-viaitres I And
yet these are the people who constitute our nobility."
" Do you despise the nobility so much?"
" I do not despise them, but I hate impertinence ; and
as nobles are not always ready to fight duels with plebei-
ans, I am very glad to have thrashed them as a plough-
boy would have done."
" Alas ! " said Julie, thinking aloud, " and yet these
people have the power to insult and to oppress the
feeble."
" The feeble ! Who do you mean by the feeble?" re-
phed Julien, misunderstanding her. "The man without
142 ANTONIA.
a title ? Undeceive yourself, madam ; it is to this man
tliat the future belongs, for he has upon his side right,
real justice, and the determination to overthrow the
abuses of the past."
Julie did not understand him, and began once more to
tremble ; not because she was still afraid of meeting their
enemies, but at the mysterious power that seemed to her
to emanate from Julien. She gazed upon him stealthily,
and thought his countenance shone in the moonlight.
She imagined that her feeble hand was resHng upon the
arm of a giant.
And yet Julien's nature was perfectly simple ; a thor-
ough artist, he was not at all ambitious, as far as he was
concerned, of a public career. Dedicated to art, pro-
posing to devote his life to the study of nature, he did not
feel called upon to play a fiery part in revolutionary tem-
pests. The terrible power with which he was clothed in
Julie's eyes, was only the reflection of the divine power
descending upon the neiy class; — the class to which he
belonged. He was one of the hundred thousand among
the millions of crushed and disappointed men, who were
soon to say, " The measure is full, — the past has had its
day." The state of feeling to which he had referred was
almost universal, and allusions to it were constantly being
made ; but Madam d'Estrelle did not know this, and
imagined that she had listened to a momentous pro-
phecy, uttered by an exceptional man. This was the first
time she had ever heard opinions and customs that she
regarded as invincible, braved and despised. A feel-
ing of ardent confidence mingled with the superstitious
terror that she experienced ; a desire to lean so much the
more upon this vigorous arm, which, animated by a
noble heart, had just defended her, singly, against four
assailants.
'' You think, then," she said, continuing to walk rap-
idly, '' that it is possible to shake off the yoke of this
unjust world which oppresses consciences and condemns
new ideas ? I wish I could believe so."
" You do, since you wish to believe it."
" Perhaps ; but when will this state of freedom begin ? *
ANTONIA. i\%
" No one knows how or when ; we only know that
justice must finally prevail. The present state of things
may last fifty, or it may last a hundred years longer
Why should you care, madam ? You are one of those
who profit innocently by the misfortunes of others."
" No indeed ; I have no advantages at all. I have
nothing of my own, and am nothing in the world."
" But you are of the world, — you belong to it ; it is
bound to protect you, and would never wound you per-
sonally."
" Who knows? " said Julie.
Fearing that she had said too much, she reverted to
their late adventure, to change the subject :
" It frightens me to think," she said, " that a great
misfortune might have occurred ! Ah, your poor mother J
how she would have cursed me, if I had occasioned — "
" No, madam, that could not have happened," replied
Julien ; " I had the right on my side."
*' Do you believe, then, that Providence interferes in
such cases?"
" Yes, since Providence is within us. It gives strength
and presence of mind. A man who is defending the
honor of a woman against villains has every chance in his
favor. It is easy for him to be courageous ; he feels that
he cannot yield."
"IIow much faith you have," said Julie, deeply moved.
" Yes, I remember, you told me when you were at my
house, the other day^ that faith removes mountains, and
that you were faith in person."
'' The other day T' replied Julien, simply, "why it
was more than a month ago ! "
Julio dared not acknowledge that she did not know how
many days and nights had succeeded that brief interview,
fcjhe was silent. Julien was so respectful that he would
not resume the conversation of his own accord, and the
longer it lasted the less capable she felt of breaking it,
w^ithout betraying her emotion. Finally they reached the
pavilion.
'' Do you not think," he said, " that I ought to leave
you here, so that I may not be seen by your people?
142 ANTONIA,
a title ? Undeceive yourself, madam ; it is to this man
tliat the future belongs, for he has upon his side right,
real justice, and the determination to overthrow the
abuses of the past."
Julie did not understand hira, and began once more to
tremble ; not because she was still afraid of meeting their
enemies, but at the mysterious power that seemed to her
to emanate from Julien. She gazed upon him stealthily,
and thought his countenance shone in the moonlight.
She imagined that her feeble hand was resHng upon the
arm of a giant.
And yet Julien*s nature was perfectly simple ; a thor-
ough artist, he was not at all ambitious, as far as he was
concerned, of a public career. Dedicated to art, pro-
posing to devote his life to the study of nature, he did not
feel called upon to play a fiery part in revolutionary tem-
pests. The terrible power with which he was clothed in
Julie's eyes, was only the reflection of the divine power
descending upon the new; class; — the class to which he
belonged. He was one of the hundred thousand among
the millions of crushed and disappointed men, who were
soon to say, " The measure is full, — the past has had its
day." The state of feeling to which he had referred was
almost universal, and allusions to it were constantly being
made ; but Madam d'Estrelle did not know this, and
imagined that she had listened to a momentous pro-
phecy, uttered by an exceptional man. This was the first
time she had ever heard opinions and customs that she
regarded as invincible, braved and despised. A feel-
ing of ardent confidence mingled with the superstitious
terror that she experienced ; a desire to lean so much the
more upon this vigorous arm, which, animated by a
noble heart, had just defended her, singly, against four
assailants.
'' You think, then," she said, continuing to walk rap-
idly, '' that it is possible to shake off the yoke of this
unjust world which oppresses consciences and condemns
new ideas ? I wish I could believe so."
'' You do, since you wish to believe it."
" Perhaps ; but when will this state of freedom begin ? *
ANTONIA, i\%
" No one knows how or when ; we only know that
justice must finally prevail. The present state of things
may last fifty, or it may last a hundred years longer
Why should you care, madam ? You are one of those
who profit innocently by the misfortunes of others."
" No indeed ; I have no advantages at all. I have
nothing of my own, and am nothing in the world."
"But you are of the world, — you belong to it; it is
bound to protect you, and would never wound you per-
sonally."
" Who knows? " said Julie.
Fearing that she had said too much, she reverted to
their late adventure, to change the subject :
" It frightens me to think," she said, " that a great
misfortune might have occurred ! Ah, your poor mother J
how she would have cursed me, if I had occasioned — "
" No, madam, that could not have happened," replied
Julien ; " I had the right on my side."
" Do you believe, then, that Providence interferes in
such cases?"
" Yes, since Providence is within us. It gives strength
and presence of mind. A man who is defending the
honor of a woman against villains has every chance in his
favor. It is easy for him to be courageous ; he feels that
he cannot yield."
" IIow much faith you have," said Julie, deeply moved.
" Yes, I remember, you told me when you were at my
house, tlie other day, that faith removes mountains, and
that you were faith in person."
" IVie other day I" replied Julien, simply, "why it
was more than a month ago ! "
Julio dared not acknowledge that she did not know how
many days and nights had succeeded that brief interview.
•She was silent. Julien was so respectful that he would
not resume the conversation of his own accord, and the
longer it lasted the less capable she felt of breaking it,
without betraying her emotion. Finally they reached the
pavilion.
" Do you not think," he said, " that I ought to leave
you here, so that I may not be seen by your people?
«46 ANTOJSriA.
and God to yield to conventional ideas, — fear, calcuW
tion, the consideration of personal interests improperly
understood. According to this way of reasoning, every-
thing was measured by six-franc pieces. Marcel had
proved it to her. Julie had no right to love, because she
had not enough six-franc pieces. Was Marcel right?
Must her soul be sacrificed to the grossest of all facts, —
to the implacable menace of misery ?
" No," said Julie, '' it shall not be ! I will sell all that
I possess, own nothing, be poor, work, — beg, if necessary,
but I will love. Besides, he will take care of me, he
who already so tenderly cares for his mother. If he
loves me, he will accept the additional burden that I will
be to him, and accept it with joy. In his place, I would
do as much."
Tormented by a strange agony, she began to walk to
and fro.
" Does he love me well enough to devote himself to
me," she said, " with the passion that I thought h^ be-
trayed at our first meeting ? Ah ! I am continually ask-
ing myself that question, and it torments me in vain ;
neither my conscience, my reason, nor my heart can re-
ply. He may regard me merely with a feeling of friend-
ship. He is a good son, and respects me because I was
anxious to assist his mother. He is grateful, and proves
his gratitude by an admirable devotion. What more?
Why should I believe that he loves me madly, and longs
to pass his life at my feet ? It cannot be that he feels
this longing, since he never seeks me except when I am
in need of his assistance. At other times he is absorbed
by active duties ; he devotes himself to his mother, his
art, perhaps to some young girl of his own class, whose
dowry, when he marries her, will make him well off,
while I, — involved in debt, — but am I so? What if
my husband's father has given me a fortune? How
changed my life will be ! In that case, shall I forget this
young man so beneath me in position ? Shall I marry a
man of rank, whose alliance will bring me honor and
distinction ? Never ! At present, it is he who n I love,
and he alone ; no longer an unknown ideal. 1 love him
ANTONIA.
H7
and I do not know whether I can ever change, — can ever
forget. I fear not, since I have tried in vain to conquer
my heart ; since I am vanquished, when I forbid myself
to feel. My God, my God, love then is a positive terror,
a positive torture. It is the fear that he does not love me
that is killing me. How shall I learn the truth? I
will never do so, perhaps. How can I live without
knowing?"
While thus tormenting herself, she wandered heedlessly
into a side-walk, quite near the pavilion. The door was
open, a dark shadow detached itself from the house.
Julien, as if he had heard her thought, as if he had
been irresistibly drawn to reply to it, came straight up to
her.
Julie immediately recovered her self-possession and
pride. Surprised, she was going to address him like an
offended queen, but he did not give her time to speak.
^ Why are you here, madam ? " he said ; " will no one
open the door for you ? Are your people all asleep, or
waiting for you on the other side of the hotel? You
cannot pass the night in this garden, dressed as you are.
It is two o'clock in the morning. The dew is falling ;
you will be cold, — ill. And see, your hood is on your
shoulders, your head is bare, your arms are scarcely cov-
ered. Stay, here is a cloak belonging to my mother ;
take it, and pardon me for being here."
''But how did you know? — "
" I heard you walking on the sand ; — heard a light step,
that could only be yours. You stopped every few mo-
ments, but always began again. I was in my studio ; the
door was half open. I said to myself, ' She is still out
of doors, she cannot make herself heard, she is cold, —
fatigued, suffering, alarmed, perhaps.* I could no longer
remain within. Besides, it was my duty — . No, madam,
such a state of things could not continue. Whatever
may be said or thought, I do not wish to see you die."
At last Julien was moved, his voice trembled as he
spoke, his hands trembled as he placed his mother's cloak
around Julie's shoulders. His agitation, however, did
not proceed from an effort to resist the impulses of pas-
148 ANTONIA,
sion ; he was troubled and excited as a father is whose
child is in danger. It did not even occur to him that he
could be accused of seeking Julie with a selfish or treach-
erous design. Forgetting all conventionality, therefore,
he expressed his solicitude in an ardent tone, that com-
pletely overwhelmed her. She seized both his hands in
hers, and, carried away by an impulse of exalted passion,
— the first of her life, — as unexpected as it was ungov-
ernable, — cried distractedly, —
" You love me, you love me ! I am sure of it !
Speak ! tell me that it is so ; — let me hear it, know it ;
you love me as I wish to be loved ! "
Julien stifled a cry, and, obeying a first impulse, car-
ried Julie into his studio. But he recovered in a mo-
ment all the respect which he naturally felt for a person
of her extreme purity of character. Falling at her feet,
he covered the tips of her icy fingers with kisses, and im-
plored her not to doubt him.
" Have confidence in me," he said, " I have sworn that
I would be your brother ; I will be like a brother to you
now. Do not doubt me, for it is your confidence that
will save me. I told you that I adored you, and it was
true, — how true I did not know myself! My love is
stronger than you think, — more terrible than I myself
imagined ; but I would kill myself rather than cause you to
shed a tear ! Do not be alarmed, — you shall never blush
for having ordered me to love you."
Would he have been able to keep his word ? Amid all
the delirium of his joy he believed that he would, and
Julie added to his strength by her courage.
*' No, I do not want to blush," she said, with the frank
sincerity of an earnest love, " I intend to be your wife.
Frivolous intrigues are not suited to a man like you ; to
a woman like me gallantry is impossible. Rather than
Ibrget my honor, I also would kill myself. Julien, what-
ever may happen, — whether I am rich or poor, — for
there is an equal chance of the one as of the other, — let
us swear that we will be married. If I am poor, you must
not lose courage ; without weakness, without faltering,
you must support, cherish me. If I am rich, no foolish
ANTONIA. 149
pride must keep you from sharing my fate. Let us ar-
range all our plans now, — decide, — bind ourselves by
an oath. I warn you that I am not courageous, and
therefore I wish to be engaged too far to retreat, for then
I know that I shall look neither to the right nor left.
Fidelity to my love will be my duty, and that thought will
give me strength, decision, coolness. True religious prin-
ciples enabled me to accept despair in my married life ; I
will accept happiness now, and will struggle to be happy,
as I have struggled, hitherto, not even to desire to be so.
Swear, my friend ! we must be all to each other, or never
meet again ; for it is certain that we love each other, and
that our love is stronger than ourselves. The world has
nothing to do with this. For the last fifteen days I have
no longer lived, — it has seemed to me that I was dying.
To-day I do not know myself; just now, if you had told
me that you did not love me, I should have followed you
in despair. Oh, no, no ! I should have thrown myself
to the bottom of the lake, with the moon and glittering
star. Julien, I am losing my senses ! I have never
said such things before ; I did not know that I would dare
speak so, and I am talking so to you ; — what spirit is
speaking through me ? Have pity upon me, — sustain
me, — guard my honor, which is yours ; preserve for your-
self the purity of your wife."
" Yes, my wife, I swear that I will ! " cried Julien, in a
transport of enthusiasm ; '' and you, Julie, swear also,
before God, that you will be mine ! "
'' Mon Dieu I " said Julie, bewildered, and suddenly be-
coming a little cowardly again, '' and we have only known
each other for a month ! *'
" No, not even for a month," replied Julien ; " a month
ago we met for quarter of an hour in this studio, and
for quarter of an hour in your house ; this evening we
have passed half an hour together in the street ; so that
altogether we have known each other only for an hour.
We may as well acknowledge, Julie, that we do not know
each other at all, according to all appearances. But, not-
withstanding, we love each other ! A love like this comes
from God. He hears us now, and comprehends all that
150 ANTONIA,
we feel ; for it was His will that we should love ; He de
sires it."
" Yes, you are right," she replied, with renewed en-
thusiasm, inspired once more by her lover's exalted fai^h.
" We know nothing of each other beyond the fact of
our mutual love. Is not that enough? Does not this
consciousness render everything else superfluous ? What
remains? All that the world knows of you is that you
are a skilful artist, a worthy young man, a good son.
Do I love you because you possess these qualities?
You have heard people say that I am kind, gentle, gen-
erous ; but this is not the reason that you love me !
There are other good men, other estimable women, for
whom we should never have dreamed of forming an af-
fection. We love because we love, — that is the whole
thing."
•' Yes," replied Julien, " love is like God ; it is because
it is, — it is absolute ! What matters it that we shall
discover in each other, hereafter, such and such pecu-
liarities of mind and character ? The great, the absorbing
interest of our life, is our affection ; sure of that, we have
known each other a hundred years, — forever, — love
has neither beginning nor end."
They talked in this incoherent way for more than an
hour, in low voices, in the studio, vaguely lighted by the
moon glimmering through the trees. Julie was seated ;
Julien knelt before her, and held her hands in his, al«
though they had not ventured to exchange a kiss. The
moon was sinking towards the horizon, and yet the light
became stronger and stronger : they were obliged to
confess that the dawn was breaking.
Julie arose, and made her escape, after swearing, and
making Julien swear a hundred times, that their union
was indissoluble.
Camille was very much surprised, when she opened
the door for her mistress, to see that it was nearly three
o'clock.
" Are my people still waiting for me.^" said Madam
d'Estrelle.
" Yes, madame, they supposed that madame would re*
the door of the hotel d Ormonde.
" No, it delayed so long that I did not wait. M. Thierry
escorted me home by way of the pavilion, and I stopped
there to talk about my affairs. Tell the servants that they
can go to bed ; the carriage will probably return when the
coachman becomes sober."
" Ah, mon Dieu ! madame knows what happened, then ?
Poor Basticn ! I can swear to madame that he only got
drunk out of spite, because madame drove in a cab."
If this explanation made Julie smile, the account she
gave of her own proceedings appeared singular to her cham-
bermaid ; but she suspected nothing. Julie's life was so
simple and pure, that she was above suspicion. Camille
merely thought that her affairs must be very much involved,
since she had to pass the night in talking with her laAvyer.
She imparted her anxiety to the other servants, who took
the matter greatly to heart, although resolving, at the same
time, that they would not let their wages be in arrears.
The valet de chambre, who was the friend of Camille,
and protector of Bastien, went to the hotel d'Ormonde
in search of the latter, but did not find him, Bastien
had understood that he was ordered back to the tavern.
He had returned thither, and was sleeping the sleep of
an angel, — no other is reputed delicious enough to be
compared wiih that of a drunkard. The carriage was
waiting at ihe door under the charge of the footman, his
subordinate, who had consented to hold the lioracs, on
condition that he should be supplied, every quarter of an
hour or so, with something to keep him warm. Tlie rogues
did not reappear at the hotel until broad daylight, and
did not recover their senses for twenty-four hours. Un-
der otlier circumstances, Julie would have discharged
ihcm ; but she foresaw that this Bachanal adventure would
cast her own romantic adventure into the shade, and
keep it from being brought into discussion in the ante-
chamber and the lodge. This really happened ; and, as
Madam d'Estrelle's servants were not at ail spiteful, it
15-
ANTONIA.
seemed as if no inquiries would ever be made about the
employment of this unusual night.
On the following evening, the lovers considered it pru-
dent to remain within doors ; but, on the next night,
although they had made no appointment, they met in the
groves of the garden, and repeated, with new delight, the
vows they had so lately made. For some time they con-
tinued to meet in this way, without trouble or apparent
danofer. Nothinor was easier than for Madam d'Estrelle
to slip from her apartments ; she could do so openly,
since her people had been in the habit of seeing her take
the fresh air alone, and at quite a late hour, during the
summer nights.
What a happy life, if it could only have lasted ! These
meetings had all the charm of mystery, and no remorse
troubled their delight. Free, both of them, — aspiring only
to the most holy union, and sustained by a love strong
enough to be patient, — they met together in the night,
amid thickets of flowers, in the splendor of the summer,
just opening and still retaining all the graces of the
spring, like two fiancees who are privileged to love, and
who, without abusing their liberty, withdraw from obser-
vation, so as not to make others jealous. It was the
honeymoon of sentiment preceding that of passion. Pas-
sion, indeed, they felt, but resisted it, or rather held it in
reserve by common consent, for the period of conflict and
danger that could not long be delayed. They knew that
they would lia^ e to fight a battle in defence of their love,
and Julien sometimes said to his friend, —
'•' You will have to suffer for my sake, I know,
and I shall suffer from the consciousness that you are
being annoyed ; but we will belong to each other then,
and our happiness will render us invulnerable to outside
attacks. Even if you were not made sacred to me by
your modesty and my veneration, it seems to me that
selfishness itself, properly understood, would teach me not
to exhaust all my happiness at once."
At other times Juiien was more agitated, and less re-
signed to delay ; but, at such moments, Julie calmed
k
ANTONIA. 153
him by imploring him to remember what he had said on
the previous day.
" I have been so happy since we have loved each other
thus ! " she suid. '' Do not change a situation full of de-
light. Think : on the day when I acknowledge openly
that I have chosen you as the companion of ray life, peo-
ple will laugh at me, denounce me, accuse me of yielding
to a vulgar infatuation ; I know virtuous women, who will
Fay to me scornfully, — ' Accept him for a lover, since
you must have a lover, but see him in secret, — do not
marry him ! ' How shall I be able to rebuke their im-
pertinence, if my conscience is not clear, — if I have no
longer the right to say, ' No, he is not my lover, he is my
betrothed, whom I love, and who has proved his respect
for me as no other man would have been able to do ! *
We shall need all our strength, Julien, and truth is the
most powerful of all weapons with which to struggle
against false ideas."
Julien submitted from devotion, and also out of respect
to the heroic sentiment (that sentiment by which Corueille
was animated) that had governed his life and restrained
the first impetuosity of his youth. He could govern his
senses, since he had never allowed them to rule him.
And then, this romance of pure love, celebrated in the
balmy night, appealed to his imagination ; for the artist,
these poetic meetings were intoxicating festivals. There
were gloomy recesses, and dense masses of foliage in this
garden, such as we see in the compositions of Watteau,
And Julie herself, with her rather tall figure, so simply
and gracefully clad in ample, flowing skirts, harmonized
vvitii the very feeling which made Watteau a painter
without trickery, an Italian realist, although living in a
society of conventionalism, and an age of affectation. In
a certain retired corner, sharply defined upon the dark
background of the groves, and leaning forth vaguely in
the night like a ghost, stood a high pedestal encircled with
ivy, and surmounted by a large white vase. Faint gleams
of light, vanishing, intangible, glimmered amid the foliage,
and the shadows of the branches fell upon the marble.
As the twilight deepened, the outlines of the vase gradu*
154 ANTON I A.
ally became iDdistinct, but its form never ceased to be
elegant and majestic.
It was to this spot, as soon as his mother had retired,
that Julien went to await Julie ; and, when she ap-
proached, smiling, tranquil as an embodied dream of hap-
piness, with her silk robes shining in the darkness, and
her beautiful bare arms, holding some light satin drapery,
he imagined that she was a modern muse presiding over
his destiny, bringing him all the promises of the future,
and all the delights, all the enchantments that belong to
the real life of the present.
It was well for them to enjoy the present without think-
ing too much of the morrow, for the future was too uncer-
tain to admit of their forming definite plans. They did
not yet know how long they would be allowed to remain
in happy tranquillity, forgotten and abandoned by the
world, in this garden, which Love had transformed into a
terrestrial paradise. Soon, perhaps, inexorable creditors
would even drive them from the pavilion, and force
them to seek in some suburb a cottage with a garden
under its windows. Whatever their fate might be, they
were resolved to meet it together ; this was the only thing
that was certain, — their only irrevocable determina-
tion.
VI.
'T^HE marquis d'Estrelle had been dead two weeks,
-^ and still, in spite of all possible investigations, there
was no trace of a will. People believed that there had
been one, although no one dared assert distinctly that
the marchioness had destroyed it. A number of indica-
tions persuaded Marcel that this was the case, but there
was no use in expressing suspicions that could not be
proved true, and things quietly took their legal course.
The marchioness, that is, according to the terms of her
marriage settlement, inherited all the property of the
deceased, and she made no mention of any sum set apart
ANTONIA.
^55
for paying the debts of the late ccant. The terms of
Julie's settlement, however, seemed to call for such a
provision. It was a question for the law to decide ; and
Marcel advised Julie to begin a suit, if only to stop the
suits against herself, that were already threatened. Julie
was opposed to going to law. She thought that in law-
suits both parties were almost sure to lose, and Marcel
confessed that slie was not very far wrong.
'' I am very well aware," she said, *' that the mar-
chioness does not like me, and it may be that she does
not legally owe me anything ; but her standing is very
high, and, wealthy as she is, it is impossible that she
will allow a person bearing her name to be left entirely
destitute. It would not do to speak to her about money
matters so soon as this, and would be imprudent, as you
yourself observed, to appear in too much haste. When-
ever the right time comes, I will speak to her, although
the task will be a very disagreeable one. You shall tell
me when."
Some time afterwards, Marcel notified her that she
must take her measures without delay.
" You must go at once,*' he said, " there is no time
to lose ; your creditors are proposing to begin proceed-
ings against you to-morrow."
Without being discouraged at the untoward result of
her first visit, Julie had called a second time upon the
marchioness a few days after the decease of the marquis.
On this occasion she had been received coldly, but civilly.
The will being destroyed, her presence, perhaps, was no
longer feared. The marchioness referred to her absence
on the evening of her father-in-law's death, and made
several tart observations about the worldly pleasures
which were attending the end of Madam d'Estrelle's
mourning. In reply, Julie gave the explanation agreed
upon with Marcel. The marchioness listened with an
air of impolite curiosity, and added, —
"It is unfortunate for you, countess, that you will
have to go into mourning again ! "
Julie continued to visit the dowa;:jer without makin«»
any reference to her own embarrassed circumstances.
156 ANTONIA.
When delay was no longer possible, she called ; and,
with her usual sweetness of manner, explained her posi-
tion : brief and gentle as her words were, however, she
could not manage to make them very humble.
"I really beg your pardon," answered the marchion-
ess, '' but not having the advantage of being intimate
with attorneys, I know nothing about such matters. If
you will send your lawyer to mine, he shall examine into
ray rights as well as my obligations, and he will be satis-
fied that you were not one of the persons left under my
care."
" This is not the answer, madam, that I expected from
a person of your uprightness of character. Very possi-
bly you do not owe me anything. Since you assert that
it is so, I am bound to believe you. But I had supposed
that family considerations — "
*' I have not the honor of belonging to your family,"
interrupted the marchioness, dryly.
'' You mean to imply," answered Julie, indignant at
this provocation, " that the Marquis d'Estrelle married
beneath him, in selecting from a family one-half of whose
nobility was of the sword, and one-half of the robe. That
intimation does not offend me. I am not ashamed of my
ancestors, who were magistrates, nor do I consider my-
self inferior to anybody. But I did not come here to
discuss my right to the honor of bearing the same name
with yourself. As a matter of fact, I am the Countess
d*Estrelle. Is it right that I should lose the support
promised to me, and supposed to be assured to me ? Al-
though the marquis may have forgotten me upon his
death-bed, he must have informed you of his intentions ;
and does it not follow that you ought to pay his son*s
debts, in his place, or at least a part of them ? "
'' No, madam," answered the dowager, " no such ob-
ligation follows from any intention that he ever expressed
to me. It was the opinion of the marquis that you ought
at once to surrender your right of dower, since it is not
worth enough to pay your husband's debts ; and that in
that case, measures should be taken to pay what remained
of them."
ANTONIA,
157
" This has often been suggested to me, madam ; and I
have asked whether, in consideration of this sacrifice, it
was proposed to settle any income upon me."
"Are you entirely without means? Have you inher-
ited nothing at all from your own family?"
" Twelve hundred francs a year, madam, and no more,
as you yourself know."
" Oh, well, you can live upon that, my dear ! It will
enable you to drive in a fiacre, to hire a box at the
theatre, to visit attorneys* wives, and to run about the
streets at midnight, leaning upon the arms of sign-
painters. Your tastes are of this description, from what
I hear. Gratify them, by all means. Surrender your
dower-right, or sell at any sacrifice all the property
which you have derived from the d'Estrelle family ; I
don't care which. My only wish in the matter is, that
30U should be married to somebody, so as to change your
name, and prevent you from being confounded with me
by people who don't know us."
"You shall have that satisfaction, madam," said Julie,
rising, " for I should dislike such a disagreeable confu-
sion as that, as much as yourself."
She bowed, and withdrew.
Marcel was waiting at her house, and saw her come
in, pale, and with her eyes flashing with indignation.
" All is lost," he exclaimed, " I see that ! Tell me
quickly, madam, what has happened. You frighten
me!"
" My dear Thierry, I am ruined without remedy," re-
plied Julie, " but it is not that which is choking me. I
have been insulted, — trodden under foot. At the very first
word, although I had said nothing rash, had offered her
no provocation, she insulted me to my very face. I have
been followed by spies, too, and the most innocent circum-
stances have been reported, and most venomously misrep-
resented. Thierry," she continued, sinking upon a chair,
" you are a virtuous man ; I swear to you that I am a
strictly virtuous woman."
" No one but a scoundrel could think of denying it," cried
Marcel. " But come, take courage, — explain ! "
1^8 ANTONIA.
Tlie countess gave him a full account of her interview
with the marchioness, but did not refer to her understand-
ing with Julien ; for they had resolved, for the present,
not to reveal their secret, even to Madam Thierry herself.
When Marcel knew all, he was very much discour-
aged, and seemed to think the situation altogether des*
perate.
" You have no alternative, as far as I can see," he
said, "between sudden and absolute destitution, — a ter-
rible trial for a person of your habits, — and a lawsuit,
of which the result is extremely uncertain. I do not
know how to advise you. My worst apprehensions are
realized. The plan is to rob you, and to set the world
against you, too, by blackening your reputation. The
marchioness has been sharpening her weapons for some
time ; she provided herself with them on seeing that the
marquis was failing, and even at the very moment of his
death made use of them. She has been plotting your
destruction in cold blood, has set spies upon you, and fol-
lowed you about — "
" Stay, M. Thierry ; has not M. Antoine had a hand
in all this?"
" Julien believes he has. For my part, I am still in
doubt. I will ascertain, however ; and, if necessary, will
organize a spy system in opposition to his ; but the first
thing is not to know who has been betraying you, but to
resolve upon your own line of conduct."
" First of all, no lawsuit ! "
" Very well, but we will not say so. We will make
great demonstrations of fighting. I will attend to that.
They want you to surrender your dower-rights for noth-
ing. For my part, I mean that they shall pay for it, and
I phall hold out for a right good price, too."
" In the meanwhile," observed Julie, " I have quar-
relled with my husband's family ; for, as you can very
well imagine, I shall never enter the house of the mar-
chioness again."
" I cannot recommend you to pursue a different course,
tor she has evidently resolved to push you to extremities
ANTONIA. 159
War has been declared ; and, although we did not pro-
voke hostilities, we must not draw back."
Marcel, however, had no time to prepare for battle.
Two or three lawyers, of rather bad character, who were
talkiuij about a forced sale at auction, and who declined
to hear of any further delays, were pursumg him vigor-
ously. He made up his mind that it would be necessary
to comply, therefore, with the demands of the mar-
chioness, and he went to Julie to tell her so.
'• They intend to rob you," he said, " and I am afraid
that, in case of resistance, they will force you to give up
even the small capital that you inherit from your own
family. It is very certain that the count's debts, with the
arrears of interest, will amount to more than what is left
of his fortune. The Marchioness d'Estrelle means to
come and live in the hotel d'Estrelle, or, at all events, to
get it into her hands."
''And its dependencies as well? "asked Julie; "the
pavilion also?"
'' Tiie pavilion also. My aunt will be entitled to an
indemnity for quitting the premises, but that is a question
to be discussed separately, and does not concern you."
Julie made no reply, and sank into a fit of deep melan-
choly. The idea of being ruined, — of being reduced
to an income of twelve hundred francs a year, — had
not really assumed distinct form in her mind. But to
leave at once and forever this elegant mansion, — this
delicious garden, which had within the last few weeks be-
come so dear to her, — to lose the neighborhood of tho
pavilion, — to forego her interviews with Julien, so full
of charm and security, — this was indeed a catastrophe !
A whole world of delights was crumbling beneath her
feet. A phase of existence, filled with the purest happi-
ness, was ended with brutal violence, and without allowing
her the least time for preparation.
Marcel at once went to see the notary of the mar-
chioness, and found that he took a very high tone, not-
withstanding the concessions that he was prepared to
make. This was not the fault of the notary, who was
really an excelleut man, but he was forced to follow his
i6o ANTON I A.
client's directions as to the conduct of her business. He
had, moreover, been prejudiced against Julie, and re-
garded her as a foolish young woman, ready to sacrifice
everything to the gratiiication of her unregulated pas-
sions. This was more than Marcel could bear ; he was
highly indignant, and swore upon his honor that there was
no secret connection between the countess and his cousin,
— that they were scarcely acquainted, — and that Julie
was the purest of women, and the most entitled to respect
and to pity. Marcel was known to be an exceedingly
honorable man, and the notary was rather staggered by
the warmth of his conviction. But, coming back to the
question of the legal rights of the marchioness, he de-
monstrated that she was mistress of the situation, and
that Julie might even consider herself fortunate to be al-
lowed to do as she required.
He promised, however, to do all in his power to inspire
his client with more liberal views respecting the widow
of her step-son. The next day he wrote to Marcel, to say
that the marchioness desired to see the hotel d'Estrelle,
which she had not entered for a long time. She wished
to examine the condition of the premises with her own
eyes, and to have an appraisement made in her presence,
with his assistance and that of the lawyer of the countess.
It was easy to see, from the turn of this letter, that the
notary had displeased his client, by pleading Julie's cause,
as he had promised, from a moral point of view, and that
he himself was far from being satisfied with the suspicion
and harshness of the dowager.
He made his appearance, along with her, the same day.
Julie, unwilling to see her cruel enemy again, locked her-
self into her boudoir, leaving all the other doors open.
The Marchioness d'Estrelle was of a harsh disposition,
even for a Norman ; in Madam d'Aucourt's circle they used
to call her " Madame de Pimbeche," " Madame d'Or-
beche," and so on. She was accused of borrowing money
by the year, and lending it again for short terms, at hard
rates. Perhaps there was some exaggeration about this,
but if she was proposing to advance a large sum in order
to settle with the creditors of the Count d'Estrelle, and
ANTON I A, 161
obtain possession herself of Julie's property, it is certain
that slie meant to get some of it back again in the details
of the business. This was proved clearly enough, by her
promptness in causing an appraisement.
She went all over the house, inspecting everything
with keen and unerring eyes. She made objections, and
noted deductions for every little rub on the wall, depre-
ciated as much as she could the value both of the real
and personal property ; and both in speech and action
showed a disgusting avarice, and aversion for her rela-
tive, that astounded Marcel, and more than once made
the notary blush. When they came to the boudoir in
which Julie had taken refuge, she ordered the door to be
opened. She was obeyed instantly. Julie had heard
her coming, and not choosing to be compelled to receive
an odious visit in spite of herself, — such an insult was
too much to be endured, — she had gone out by way of the
garden, leaving orders with Camille to open the door when
required. Camille was very proud, — there had been
aldermen among her ancestors ! She could not resist
the temptation of giving the dowager a lesson ; going to
a table where she had hastily laid out a few articles on
purpose, she said, in a tone of sarcastic humility, —
'' Perhaps madam would like to count the linen ? Here
are some of my mistress's neck-handkerchiefs and rib-
bons."
The dowager usually would have cared little for the
talk of a servant, but her hatred of Julie was stung and
exasperated by the blow. She looked hastily through the
window, and saw Madam d'Estrelle crossing the garden
towards the pavilion.
Julie, no doubt, made a great mistake in going to the
pavilion, but she was angry also. It seemed to her that
fcshe was driven out of her house, her own room, her most
private sanctuary, by this impudent persecution. She
tied for a refuge ; and, too irritated lor consideration,
instinctively, and without stopping to reflect, ran to
Madam Thierry, — to Julien.
" They will not come and hunt me down over there,"
she said to herself; " they will not dare. 1 am the owner
II
102 ANTONIA,
of that property yet; no one except myself has the
right to enter premises occupied under a lease from me.
Besides, it is time to avow my friendship for Madam
Thierry ; from this time forward, I shall take the lib-
erty of visiting her as I do other ladies who have brothers
and sons."
Just as she was resolutely entering the pavilion, the
marchioness, with a resolution not less sudden, issued
from the boudoir and rushed into the garden.
" Where are you going, madam?" said Marcel, who
had not noticed Julie's flight, but who mistrusted the glit-
tering eyes and abrupt manoeuvres of the active and
vigorous old woman.
The marchioness, active as a plucked magpie, flew
onward, without condescending to reply. Unable to stop
her, Marcel and the notary followed.
She knew the way perfectly well, although she had not
been upon the premises for a long time, having, since her
second marriage, quarrelled with the count, her step-sou.
She reached the pavilion a few minutes after Julie, found
the outer door open, and sprang into the studio as if she
had been shot into it.
Julien was there alone ; he did not even know that
Madam d'Estrelle had come in and gone up stairs to his
mother's room. Since his secret interviews with Julie
he no longer watched for her approach. Their under-
standing with each other was so good, that they could
afibrd to dispense with accidental meetings. He was at
work, and singing. Julie, as she entered the little ves-
tibule, had felt a sudden vague presentiment that she
would be pursued, and had gone up stairs, thinking that
the widow's chamber would aftbrd her an inviolable re-
treat. Julien had never seen the old dowager; aud,
startled by her sudden apparition, he rose up, thinking that
she had entered from the street, and that he was going,
perhaps, to receive some commission. This flushed and
breathless personage, with her harsh and wrathful coun-
tenance, inspired him, however, with a feeling of dislike
rather than of expectation.
ANTONIA. 163
" That woman would haggle like a second-hand dealer,"
he said to himself; " perhaps she really is one."
The old lady's mean dress gave no indication of her
rank and fortune.
" Are you alone here?" she inquired, without any sort
of salutation.
Marcel and the notary now made their appearance,
and Julien, astonished, looked inquiringly at Marcel, who
made haste to say, —
" This lady thinks of buying the pavilion, and she — "
*' It is unnecessary to present me to this person," re-
turned the marchioness, sharply, " and I am quite able to
make my own explanations."
" Very well, madam," said Julien, smiling, " this per-
son is very much at your service."
" I asked you a question," continued the marchioness,
not at all disconcerted ; " let me make it plainer. Which
way did the Countess d'Estrelle go ? "
Julien started back. Marcel, wishing to avoid a ridic-
ulous scene, caught his eye, and pointed to his forehead,
as much as to say, " The lady is out of her mind ! "
" Ah, I understand ! " said Julien ; and continued in
the tone that people use to children or idiots, " the
Countess d'Estrelle, madam, — I do not know her."
*' That is a very foolish reply, Mr. Painter, and quite
useless besides. I want to speak to that lady, and I
know that she stays here, — from time to time."
" Marcel," said Julien to his cousin, " was it you who
brought this woman here } "
Marcel, in an agony, shook his head.
"Was it you, then, monsieur?" said Julien to the no-
tary.
" No, monsieur," said the notary, promptly ; " I fol-
lowed her, and I don't know at all for what reason she
came here."
'' Then you would have done much better not to have
followed me," replied the marchioness, dryly and quietly ;
*' I had a reason for coming into this picture-shop, and
you had none. Do me the favor to allow me to transact
my business in my own way."
164
ANTONIA.
'' I wash my hands of it," said the notary ; and, bowing
to Julien with much politeness, he went out, cursing the
cross-grained, fantastic humor of his client.
" As to you, Mr. Attorney — " began the marchioness
to Marcel —
"As to me, madam," interrupted Marcel, "this is my
own family, and I shall receive no orders except from tlie
lady of the house, who is my aunt."
" I know all that. I know that you are relatives. I
know what good friends you are among yourselves, and
what good neighbors you are to the widow of the Count
d'Estrelle. Stay if you choose, or put me out if you
dare ! "
" Let us have done, madam, with this disagreeable dis-
cussion," said Julien, losing patience ; "I am not in the
habit of being disrespectful to women, however aston-
ishing their conduct may appear. But I am an artist, —
a mechanic, if you will. This is my house, — my picture-
shop, as you very properly observed. I am at work, and
cannot aiford to lose my time. You are speaking of
things that I know nothing about, and of a lady that I
have not the honor of receiving. If you have no better
reason for interrupting me, allow me to leave you."
Taking his canvas and his palette, Julien left the
studio, after casting an expressive glance at Marcel, as
much as to say, " Now get out of it as well as you
can.*-
"Very well," said the marchioness, by no means
abashed at this formal dismissal, "I remember what
the old song says : ' Let's search the house a little.* I
will not let you off at all. I mean to see the whole of
the pavilion, inside and out, up stairs and down, just as
1 have seen the hotel."
" This way, then," said Marcel, " since you insist
upon it. But allow me to speak to my aunt, whose room
is up stairs."
" No, by no means," said the dowager, moving to-
wards the door. " I'll speak to her myself; and if they
turn me out, — well, I shall be very glad of it, Mr. At-
torney.'*
ANTON I A. 165
"You are certainly out of your senses," exclaimed
Marcel, involuntarily. " Is it possible that you really
suppose Madam d'Estrelle is hidden up there? Come
and see ! I will show you the way. When you are per-
fectly satisfied — "
Marcel was a hundred leagues away from imagining
that Julie was in his aunt's room. All at once, as ho
suddenly opened the door of the studio, he saw Madam
d'Estrelle and Madam Thierry standing before him. He
stopped short, with an expression of the most pitiable
disappointment.
Julie had heard the uproarious entrance of the mar-
chioness into the studio, and Julien had come up stairs
to tell his mother that a crazy woman was below making
a disturbance. He was surprised to see Julie, and, when
he learned that the crazy woman was the dowager her-
self, was distressed enough at her presence. Julie had
recognized her voice ; and as she knew perfectly well that
the old lady would hunt her to the very garret, she made
up her mind at once what to do. Taking Madam
Thierry's arm, she said, —
" Come, it does not suit me at all to be found in this
room, like a criminal hiding himself. I prefer to face
the storm ; and, since it is my duty to do so, I shall not
falter."
Julien, desperate, and ready to give free vent to his
anger, remained standing at the head of the staircase,
listening, and asking himself whether Marcel alone would
be able to protect the two women, whom, of all the world,
he loved and respected the most, from being insulted by
this old fury.
But, most unexpectedly, as soon as she found herself
in the presence of the two ladies, the face of the dow-
ager cleared up, and her anger seemed to disappear. All
that she had wanted was to see with her own eyes that
she had not been misinformed about Julie's friendship
for Madam Thierry, and consequently her intimacy with
Julien, It was rather a far-fetched conclusion, indeed,
to suppose that she was the mistress of the son because
she knew the mother ; but as Julien had told the mar-
i66 ANTONIA.
chioness that he did not know Julie, she had some show
of reason for believing what she desired to believe.
Quieted by her supposed discovery, as a vulture is
quieted when it seizes its prey, she burst into an ill-
natured laugh, glanced triumphantly at Marcel, and pre-
pared to depart without saluting any one, or waiting to
be spoken to.
" Come, Mr. Lawyer," she said, " I am satisfied ; I
have seen all that I wanted to. Let us attend now to
business."
Julie was about to reply to this insolent and sarcastic
speech. She felt so exasperated that she was ready to
reveal lier secret before them all. Calumniated, treated
with contempt, as if guilty of a crime, she felt that she
could recover her dignity only by avowing her sincere
and legitimate affection. This was very courageous in a
woman like her, who had never known what it was to
contend with others. She would not probably have been
capable of forming such an extreme resolution with cool
deliberation, at least without Julien*s consent, but indig-
nation gave her courage.
She was not allowed, however, to carry out her pur-
pose. Marcel and Madam Thierry each of them seized
one of her hands, and cried, as if in unison, —
" Do not reply ; it is beneath you to notice her."
While they held her in this way, the dowager, without
condescending to look at her, left the house, and returned
to the hotel, followed by the honest lawyer, who had
been waiting for her outside, and who, as he left, bowed
to Julie in a peculiarly deferential manner.
" You see," said Marcel, " even her own lawyer pro-
tests against such insulting conduct ; and now that the
woman has taken off her mask, nobody will be upon her
side as against you. But, for God's sake, madam, how
could you have allowed yourself to be surprised in this
house, where you never come ? I must say that you are
very imprudent."
" My dear Thierry," said Julie, " I have something to
tell you. Go and wind up your business with the mar-
chioness, yield everything as far as the money questions
ANT ONI A. 167
are concerned, save only my own little fortune, and come
back to the pavilion. I will wait for you."
*'But why in the pavilion?" asked Marcel.
" I will tell you when you return," said Julie.
" In fact, madam," said Julien, as soon as Marcel had
gone, " what unlucky accident can have induced you to
honor my mother with a visit on the very day when your
mortal enemy was lying in wait for you ? And why do
you remain here now, as if on purpose to confirm her
strange suspicions? "
In spite of Julien's respectful and modest tone, his
words implied a sort of reprimand that astonished Madam
Thierry.
"Julien," replied Madam d'Estrelle, with spirit, " the
moment for our confession has come. It has come sooner
than we expected, but it is inevitable, and I will not
shrink from the duty it imposes."
" My excellent friend," she cried, throwing herself into
Madam Thierry's arms, " learn the truth. 1 love Julien !
I have engaged myself to him in the most sacred man-
ler. Embrace your daughter, and bless her."
" Ah, mon Dieu ! " cried Madam Thierry, bewildered,
and pressing Julien to her heart ; " are you married? "
" Without your consent? Certainly not," cried Julien,
embracing his mother in his turn. " But we have only
been waiting to beg your consent, until we could do so
without fear of distressing and alarming you. Julie has
spoken sooner than I should have wished, but, since she
has spoken, what can I add? I have deceived you, my
dear mother : I love her to distraction, and I am the
happiest of men, for she loves me too."
Madam Thierry was so affected by this unexpected
intelligence, that it was a long time before she could
speak. Even while overwhelming both her children with
the tenderest caresses, she trembled ; her hands were
cold, her eyes were dim with tears ; she felt a singular
mingling of apprehension and joy. The former senti-
ment was perhaps predominant, for her first question was
to ask Julien why, in spite of his happiness, he had
seemed inclined to reprove Julie for being too hasty
1 68 ANTON I A.
"This was the reason," exclaimed Julie; "we
agreed yesterday evening, — for we meet and talk to-
gether every evening, dear mother, — that we would
wait until my business affairs should be definitely settled,
before revealing our secret to our friends, or even to
you. I saw plainly that I should soon be ruined, and
Julien was not at all alarmed at the prospect. He
wished, however, for my sake, that every provocation
should come from the marchioness ; and it is certain that
my resolution to marry him, when it is known, will
secure her numerous partizans, at least among the re-
ligious hypocrites and social prudes of her own circle.
He was right, I know, but I cannot endure to be called
a woman of gallantry, and they will be sure to give me
that reputation if I fear to acknowledge the whole truth."
" There is no doubt of it," said Julien ; " it is neces-
sary to acknowledge everything now, but your conduct,
dear Julie, has precipitated this necessity. I adore you
all the more for your rashness, but it was my duty not to
lend myself to it. Love and fate have overcome my
prudence, and made my self-sacrifice unavailing. It is no
longer time to hesitate ! Bless your children, my dear
mother ! Julie entreats you, — she wishes it ; and you, I
know, will be as happy in giving us your blessing as we
in receiving it."
While the inmates of the pavilion were thus indulging
their affection., the marchioness had established herself
in the drawing-room of the hotel, and was presiding at a
rigidly conducted appraisement of both houses. Marcel
fought bravely for his client, and the notary made hon-
orable but useless efforts to reconcile the conflicting
claims of the opposing parties. The conclusion finally
arrived at was very mortifying to Marcel : it proved im-
possible to save even Julie's furniture from the claws of
her enemy. The marchioness considered that she was
doing a great deal in allowing her to retain her diamonds
and laces. It was necessary to submit to these hard
conditions, for the sale of the property could no longer
be delayed, and no competitor had appeared in the field.
Slarcel had written to uncle Antoine, in hopes that he
ANTONIA. 169
would take a fancy to the garden, and would buy it at a
fair rate, in spite of his displeasure ; but uncle Antoine
liad made no answer.
There was half an hour of final discussion over the
draft of the agreement ; a few erasures were made, and
some blanks filled. The dowager signed, and Marcel,
although very discontentedly, and with many protests,
prepared to submit the paper to Julie for her accept-
ance.
" Why isn't she here ? " cried the dowager, abruptly.
*' She ought to be willing to leave her dear pavilion for a
few minutes, to attend to such an important matter."
" You will acknowledge, madam," observed Marcel,
" that you have not treated Madam d'Estrelle so kindly
as to make her particularly desirous to meet you again."
'' Bah ! bah ! She is mighty touchy ! Come, Lawyei
Tiiierry, go and fetch her, — I am in haste to go ; and if,
on reading the agreement, she should be disposed to raise
objections, I, for my part, am not at all disposed to sub-
mit to delay. Let her come and talk it over here, — we
shall get through all the sooner. What is she afraid of?
I luive no further observations to make on her conduct.
Indeed, as things now stand, I care very little about it,
and I have not reproached her either. Did I say a single
word to her just now? If I have offended her formerly,
it was because she chose to appeal to sentiments which I
am not under any obligation to entertain. Let her avoid
recriminations, and I will promise not to humiliate her."
" If you will send her a conciliatory message," said
Marcel, " expressed in polite and friendly language, I
will do my best to persuade her to come."
" Besides," added the notary, " the marchioness has
no doubt some arrangements to suggest beyond the mere
terms of the agreement. ' She will, of course, allow
Madam d'Estrelle time to find a lodging, before vacating
the hotel."
" Certainly, certainly I will," said the marchioness ;
'' I intend to do so. Come, Master Thierry, go ! "
Marcel hurried to the pavilion, and persuaded Julie to
return with him. He imagined that the marchioness,
170 ANTONIA.
in her satisfaction at having made a good bargain,
wished to offer some little reparation for her ill-natured
conduct ; and he appealed to Julie's generosity, and per-
haps to her prudence, not to reject the formal reconcilia-
tion which is customary in such cases.
They had no time to make any explanation to Marcel
at the pavilion. Julie, however, said to Madam Thierry,
in a low voice, —
" You know what my means are now ; my income
is very small, but, by selling my jewels, we shall have
enough to purchase the house at Sevres. I am a suitable
match, therefore, for Julien, and I am thankful that the
affair has terminated in this way."
The marchioness concealed her impatience at being
kept waiting for a few minutes, and begged Julie to read
the agreement, and sign it, with something like polite-
ness. Julie took up the pen, but, hearing nothing of
the friendly demonstrations that Marcel had led her to
anticipate, she hesitated a little, and looked at the notary
as if asking his advice. The deference that this showed
did not escape the quick perception of the lawyer, who
felt a decided sympathy for her.
" This is the proper time," he said to his harsh old
client, "to state to Madam d'Estrelle your kind intentions
about taking possession under the agreement."
" Ah, oh yes, undoubtedly," said the marchioness ;
" I wish to take possession of the hotel at once : to-mor-
row, at farthest. I will allow madam, however, the use
of the pavilion for three or four months."
"The pavilion?" said Marcel, in surprise. "The
pavilion is leased. The marchioness is surely aware
that it is occupied under a nine years' lease."
" The lease is void, M. Thierry, for I did not sign it ;
and, by the terms of my marriage settlement, the Mar-
quis d'Estrelle could not dispose of his property in any
way without my signature."
"• Then Madam Thierry will have to move, and without
obtaining an indemnity."
" I am sorry for her, but you know my marriage con
ANTONIA.
171
tract by heart. Look at the lease, and you will see that
it is void."
She took the lease out of her pocket, and showed it
to him. He examined it, and was silent.
'' What is the matter?" said the marchioness, laughing
at Marcel's consternation. •' The countess will still be
in a condition to make up to Madam Thierry for this
little annoyance. One does not reckon closely with one's
friends."
"You are quite, right madame," answered Julie, with
dignity ; " and I thank you for affording me an oppor-
tunity of proving my devotion to Madam Thierry. I
decline your very kind offer. Madam Thierry and I
will leave your premises together, within an hour."
" Together ?" said the marchioness. "It is unnec-
essary to be so open about it as that, madam ! "
Julie was upon the point of replying, when a vigorous
ring at the door of the ante-chamber startled the mar-
chioness.
" Well, well, let us have no useless quarrelling," she
said, suddenly changing her tone ; " there are some visi-
tors, — sign, my dear, and be done with it."
Just at this moment, the valet de chambre entered to
announce somebody, and she cried out, —
" Say that we can see no one just now. Let them
wait."
" Pardon mc, madam," interrupted Julie, offended at
this assumption of dignity in her presence, " it is my
house yet."
Marcel, who had noticed the sudden impatience of the
marchioness, felt impelled by a vague, but irresistible im-
pulse, to gain time. He took the pen out of Julie's hands.
The marchioness turned pale. Marcel saw it.
" Sliall I announce ? " inquired the servant of Julie.
*' Yes ! " exclaimed Marcel, vehemently, for he had
espied the visitor's face through the half-open door.
" Yes," repeated Julie, agitated because she saw Mar-
cel's excitement.
" M. Antoine Thierry I " said the servant, in a loud
voice.
172
ANTON I A.
Julie, in surprise, arose. The marchioness, who wag
stauding, sat down with an angry gesture. The horti-
culturist came in, embarrassed and awkward as usual,
but carrying as high as ever that irascible face of his,
which always, with its resolute, haughty expression, con-
trasted so strangely with his timid manner. Without
exactly saluting any one, and advancing in a zig-zag
course, but very quickly, he went up to the table where
lay the contract, with the inkstand beside it. Then he
turned to Julie :
'' Have you just been concluding some transaction ? "
he said, in an angry tone, and yet with a certain expres-
sion of anxiety and solicitude.
'' Nothing at all is concluded," answered Marcel, " since
you have got here. Possibly you may have some offer
to make, uncle.*'
*' No one can make any offer," cried the marchioness,
in a great state of excitement ; " the bargain is closed.
I appeal to the good faith — "
'' Good faith has nothing to do with it, madam," said
Marcel ; " we were just about submitting to extremely
hard conditions. No one can blame a criminal condemned
to death, no matter how resigned he might be, for ac-
cepting a pardon that reached him unexpectedly. Come,
uncle ; you have a fancy for the hotel d'Estrelle. I
can say more than that : you need it ; you can remove
the boundary wall, and make a splendid addition to your
garden. The hotel de Melcy is cold, old, gloomy, and
badly situated. This house is cheerful and agreeable ;
cool in summer, warm in winter. You want it. You
mean to buy it. Don't you ? "
" This is infamous," cried the marchioness. " The
consent of the countess is equivalent to a signature. No
one ever withdrew from a promise so late as this ! "
"Pardon me, madam," retorted Marcel, '*you had
fair warning. I waited up to the very last moment ; I
told you three times over, while we were discussing, that
if the door should open that moment, and any other pur-
chaser whatever should appear, I would at once tear up
this agreement, which I consider an altogether deplorable
ANTONIA,
173
one for my client. I only submitted, — I did not consent ;
I appeal to my colleague here to witness that it was so.
Uncle, you are yourself a recognized authority in busi-
ness transactions. Say, have I the right to put a stop to
further proceedings until you shall have had an oppor-
tunity to speak?"
" Certainly,'* answered M. Antoine ; " and the more
80, since my rights in the matter take precedence over
those of the marchioness. Let's see what this instru-
ment is ! "
He read it, and observed, —
" This is not my appraisement at all, marchioness ;
you pluck the bird too close, and oblige me to remind you
of our little understanding.'*
" Go on, sir ; make your bid ! " cried the dowager ;
" I can't contend with a man that possesses millions.
I withdraw altogether, and leave the field to you."
*' Wait, wait ! " replied Antoine ; " you and I can come
to an understanding in half a word, madam ! I can ar-
range this affair in a way to satisfy all parties. But it
depends upon you. "
"' Never ! " cried the marchioness, indignantly ; " you
are a fool, and I am ashamed to have accepted your ser-
vices ! "
She went straight out of the room, forgetting all about
her lawyer. Antoine, with his face turned towards the
door through which she had departed, remained silent,
darkly frowning, and plunged in some mysterious medi-
tation.
'^ They have an understanding against me," whispered
Julie to Marcel ; " what are they going to do now? "
*' Have patience," answered Marcel ; " I think I can
guess."
They had no time for further observations. M. An-
toine started from his reverie, and turned to the lawyer.
*' Well," he said, " how do we stand? What has been
decided."
'' So far as I am concerned, monsieur," replied the
notary, gathering up his papers, and looking for his spec-
tacles, " the transactions between yourself and the mar-
174
ANTONIA
chioness are at an end. My client seems to have given Uf
the object she was in pursuit of, and I must take new
orders from her before moving further in the matter."
" Then it is entirely between you and me?" said M.
Antoine to Julie, while the notary was taking his de-
parture.
''No, monsieur," she said, referring him to Marcel-,
"I beg permission to leave you together."
" But why?" asked Antoine, in a strange sort of hearts
broken tone, and making a gesture as if to detain her,
although without venturing even to touch her sleeve.
" Wiiy are you angry with me, Madam d'Estrelle? All
that I have done has been in your interest. Why will
you not let me tell you so ? "
" Very true," said Marcel ; " why should she refuse?
Come, madam, have patience, and listen ; it seems to be
our lot to have to face the enemy along the whole line to-
day ! "
Julie resumed lier seat, casting upon M. Antoine a
cold and severe look, which completely disconcerted him.
He hesitated, stammered, and uttered only unintelligible
sounds.
" Come," said Marcel, " you will never get it out, my
poor uncle ! Let me cross-question you. To begin at
the beginning : why was it that you mysteriously left
Paris on the morning after a certain tragic experience
which befell one of your plants?"
"What, are you going to talk about that?" cried
Antoine, his little round eyes beginning to flash furi-
ously.
'' Yes, about everything. Answer, or I will carry off
the judge, and you will remain condemned."
'' Condemned to what?" said Antoine, looking towards
Julie ; " to her hatred? "
Marcel was trying to bring his uncle to acknowledge
his repentance, but, in spite of his signs to the contrary,
Madam d'Estrelle interrupted him.
" No, monsieur," she said, " to my blame and pity."
"Your pity ! Pity for me ! " he cried, in a rage.
ANTON I A, 175
" No one ever used that word to me before, and if you
were not a woman — "
He paused, and turned to Marcel :
" Pity is another word for contempt," he said ; " and
if it is by your advice that she talks to me so, I'll make
you pay well for it."
^"Thcn justify yourself if you can," answered Marcel,
bolrUy ; " for if your conduct has really been as treacher-
ous as it seems, you are simply a detestable man, and
every honorable woman whom you have insulted has a
right to tell you so."
" How have I insulted her ? I have insulted nobody.
I saw that she was going to throw herself away. I
wanted to keep her from — "
" Throw herself away ! You don't know what you are
talking about. There are certain dangers that a woman
like Madam d'Estrelle never knows, by which she cannot
be assailed."
" Words ! Words ! I don't trouble myself about
phrases learned out of books. When a woman gives
rendezvous to a young man — "
'* Rendezvous ? Where did you pick up such non-
sense ? Whoever told you that, is a liar ! "
"You are a liar yourself ! You, the accomplice, the
confidant — "
" There, stop, uncle ! Damnation ! You will drive
me beyoud all bounds."
" Get beyond all bounds, if you want to ! I saw you
coming out of the theatre with my own eyes."
" And what of that ? My wife — "
" Bah ! Your wife is a goose ! I saw Julien coming
out too."
" Julien was not with us. He did not know that we
were on the ground-floor in the theatre any more than
we knew that he was in the gallery. And, besides, sup-
pose he had been with us, what is the meaning of this
mania for bringing accusations — "
" Accusations ! " cried M. Antoine. " I accuse no-
body except those who are guilty ! And how about
walking arm-in-arm in the night from the hotel d'Or-
176 ANTONIA,
monde to the pavilion, where, by the way, madam
remained until three o'clock in the morning? It is pos-
sible that Madam Andre may have been present during the
interview, I don't deny that ; but that is only an additional
reason for bringing accusations, as you say, you ass of a
lawyer ! And how about all the meetings at night in the
garden, that always keep her out until two o'clock, and
sometimes later?"
'* Where on earth did you pick up this footman's scan-
dal?" cried Marcel. " In what servants' hall have you
raked together such a heap of slanders ? "
"• I don't hang about servants' halls, and I don't get
my information from footmen. I have a secret police of
my own. I have money enough to pay a few sharp peo-
ple, who keep on the look-out, and tell me the truth. I
don't deny it. I wanted to know what madam's feelings
were, and what her reason was for insulting me by com-
missioning Julien to turn me off. I had a right to do so,
and if I revenged myself as I could, I had a right to do
that too."
Madam d'Estrelle, who had fully resolved to reveal
everything, and take the consequences, listened to uncle
Antoine with proud indifference. The brutality of his
discourse, — which she attributed to a diseased mind, and
excused on account of his want of education, — did not
wound her like the intentional and deliberate impertinence
of the marchioness. While his uncle was making his
agreeable remarks. Marcel observed her, and, in her dis-
dainful and smiling serenity, read a denial of his slan-
ders more eloquent than any words.
'' Look," he cried, actually shaking the old man to
make him hold his tongue, " look for a moment at the
woman whose reputation you are daring to assail ! See
how superior she is to the dreams and lies with which
you have been crammed ! You cannot bring the faintest
blush to her forehead ; her silence confounds your noisy
brutality ! "
" I shall speak when the time comes," said Julie.
" Let M. Thierry go on. You see that he does not pro-
voke me ; and, after he has fully exposed my conduct, i
ANTONIA. 177
shall expect him to give me an account of his. You are
suffering under my just indignation, Monsieur Antoine
Thierry : do not forget that. You pretend that you are
innocent. It remains for you to prove your assertion."
The old man was silenced for a moment, but he quickly
recovered himself.
'' Very well," he said, " despise me if you choose. I
shall be able to bear up under your contempt easily
enough. My own good opinion will be sufficient for mc.
I have been angry, it is true enough. I have spoken
about you in anger, and have tried to revenge myself. I
sliiill deny nothing that I have done. And yet I do
not hate you, — it only depends on you to have me for a
friend."
" Confess before you beg for absolution," cried Mar-
cel ; "what has happened? what have you been doing?
Tell us."
" What has happened? This is what has happened.
Mordi 1 Chance helped me to gratify my anger. The
Dowager d'Estrelle applied to me to do her a service.
Two or three days before her husband's death I was asked
to call upon her. I had known her long ago in connec-
tion with some land that she sold me, and cheap enough
too. She was not so good a business woman then as now.
Well, I went. She said to me : ' My husband cannot
last long, as every one knows. I am his heir, but I will
not pay his son's debts unless the countess surrenders her
dower to me, and I want to buy up the debts so as to
force her to do this. Furnish me the money, and you
shall have part of the spoils. I will pay you for the ac-
commodation.* So I answered : ' Pardon me, madam ,
I want myself to show that lady that she is in my power ;
but I want, also, to be in a position to forgive her if I
should choose.' Says she : • Ah, what ! What have
you against her ? ' And says I : ' Just what I have.*
* But what is it?* 'No matter.* ' Tell me — * and so
forth. In short, to come to an end of the matter, from
one word to the other, I did finally tell her the whole
story ; I said that I had wanted to be a friend to the
countess, ar'1 had been treated like a pirate, and that the
178 ANTONIA.
reason was she had been influenced by the intrigues of
Madame Andre Thierry, who wanted to marry her son
to a great lady, out of vanity, and to get others in the
same fix with herself, — like the fox who had his tail cut
off, in the story. The marchioness was pleased to find
out all this, and she led me on to say perhaps more than
I meant to, especially as I found it agreeable to tell her
about my troubles. Finally, when she had got it all out
of me, she said : ' M. Thierry, we must let this splendid
marriage go on ; it suits me ! * And said I : ' But it
doesn't suit me ! ' ' What ! In love at your age ? — an-
gry ? — jealous ! — who would have believed it ? ' ' No,
madam, I am not in love at my age ; but at my age one
does not like to be fooled, and I have been fooled. I am
not a bad man, but I have power, and I mean it to be
understood. It does not suit me to proceed against her
myself; but, if it amuses you to torment her, do it ; plague
her well ! When you have got through, if she asks my
pardon, I will forgive her.' ' Very good,' the marchioness
said, ' I swear to abide by this understanding with you in
good faith ; so advance me the money. Here is my
note of hand, and you have my word besides.* She sent
for me again after the old marquis was buried. I had
plenty of fine stories by that time about the doings in this
house ; I told her all of them, and the idea of bringing
down the pride of the countess pleased us both. The
dowager said to me then: 'Now revenge yourself; I
mean to follow her to the uttermost.* But I always an-
swered : ' Go on, but keep me informed. I shall redeem
the property, if she will reform.* Now you understand ;
madam dowager deceived me, but I got here in time.
That breaks up all my arrangements with her. She is a
craity woman, but she shall pay me for it, — that's all ! *'
" You ha\e not told the whole, uncle. There was some
other question discussed between you. You said to her
just now, ' It only depends upon you to arrange all these
matters.' '*
" Oh, that's my business. It has nothing; to do with
you at all."
ANTONIA. 179
" Excuse me ; and in what an angry tone she an«
swered, Never 1 "
'' She's an old fool ! "
" But really, what did she mean ? "
"Why? Goto the devil, will you ? Mind your own
business ! "
" Confess the truth, then ; you have some other pro-
ject on foot."
" I tell you I have not."
Marcel persisted that he had.
" It is all perfectly clear to me, uncle," he said ; " un-
able to marry a countess, you took it into your head to
marry a marchioness. In fact, it was a much more rea-
sonable plan than your first one : the age and the fortune
of the marchioness are suited to yours ; but I see that you
have failed in that quarter also. She encouraged you,
lured you on, for the sake of obtaining a little money ;
and all the while she was working secretly, and without
your knowledge, to get possession of the property of the
countess. If you had come a few minutes later, she
would have accomplished her designs, and you would
neither have been married nor revenged."
Antoine listened to this expostulation with his head
down. He seemed to be meditating ; but from under his
eyebrows he looked at Madam d'Estrelle, and saw her
surprise, and the ironical smile which she could not conceal,
"As for |Dot being married to that sharper of an old
woman," he said at last, rising, " I thank God for my
escape. But as for my revenge, I intend to have it.
The devil shall not rob me of it."
" What is it to be ? " said Julie, calmly.
"Who said that it was going to be against you?"
cried uncle Antoine, whose tongue always broke loose
when there was least occasion to expect it ; "I have
known three women in my life, and they have all laughed
at me, as if I were a little boy. Women indeed ! They
don't know any better ! The first was Madam Andre
Thierry, who called me her brother and friend, and so
gave me confidence. You were the second, — you who
called me your good friend and dear neighbor, so as to
I So ANT ON I A.
get me to give your lover a fortune ; and the third, — oh !
that one called me her dear monsieur and her excellent
creditor, — and she is the Voorst of all the three, for she
only wanted to pluck me, — the miserly old thing ! Con-
sequently I shall make her pay for both the others. As
for you. Madam d'Estrelle, I pardon and excuse you !
Love makes people commit great follies, but, at all events,
it is love ; a sort of infatuation which, as it would seem,
confuses the brain and disables the reason. So be it,
madam ! Give me your friendship again, and do not
talk any longer of marrying either me or the other one.
I wish you nothing but good ; and I shall prevent you from
having my nephew the painter, because my nephew the
painter has not done what was right by me, and because
it is not suitable for you to marry a painter."
" There, then !" interrupted Marcel, "you were just
beginning to talk sense, and now your mania has seized
you again. You seem to be really insane upon that
point. Who the devil suggested it to you ? '*
"It is time for this discussion to end," said Julie;
" you and I, M. Marcel, do not understand each other.
Perfectly sincere in my intentions, — which I avowed
plainly enough in your presence to the marchioness, — I
am tired of seeming to feign. Listen to me, therefore : I
declare to both of you, that my marriage to Julien Thierry
is agreed upon and sworn to beyond recall. Yes, Marcel,
you are to be my cousin ! Yes, M. Antoine, you are to
be my uncle ! All your information was perfectly cor-
rect, and you can pay your spies liberally. And now
tliat 1 have made this declaration, you will understand
that I must withdraw the harsh expressions that I have
used in referring to your conduct towards me. What-
ever that conduct may have been, respect for a kinsman
will keep me silent. You are free to abuse me, to slander
me, to rob me. I will not reply, but neither will I en-
treat your forbearance. I have done nothing for which
to ask your forgiveness, and, if you reduce me to poverty,
you will only increase my esteem and gratitude towards
him who, even under such circumstances, is willing to be
my guardian and protector."
ANTONIA. l8i
Marcel was too surprised to speak. His uncle looked
at him with an expression of triumph ; but when he saw
how genuine his astonishment was, he became more
gloomy and irritated than ever at the idea of being defied
to his face by Madam d'Estrelle.
" It is decided, then," he said, rising ; " you are re-
solved : vou will not even listen to my final proposi-
tions?"
'' By no means," cried Marcel. " State them. For
my part, I do not approve Madam d'Estrelle's deter-
mination, and I declare to you plainly that I shall oppose
this marriage with all my power. Speak, uncle ; fur-
nish me with arguments."
" You are right, for once," said M. Antoine ; " but
she don't think so ! See how contemptuous she is ; see
with what an obstinate, scornful look she turns her head
away ! — Oh, she is w^orthy to be the niece of my-sister-
in-hiw, — she will treat me just as she did ! Tell her your-
self, Marcel, what I propose to do, provided she will give
up her dauber of tulips ! I will give her a release from
all her debts ; I will leave her in possession of her hotel,
her garden, her pavilion, her diamonds, her farm du
Beauvoisis ; in short, of all her property."
" Stay, stay ! " said Marcel to Julie, as she was about
to reply.
*' No," exclaimed Julie ; " I will accept nothing from
a person who speaks of Julien and Madam Thierry with
such aversion and contempt. I do not mind the injury
he has done me. I pardon monsieur for having ex-
posed me to the sarcasms and insults of the marchioness,
and her circle ; but the enemies of those whom I love
can never be my friends, and I reject their benefits as
an insult."
" Wait, wait until you hear all ! " cried M. Antoine,
stamping upon the floor. "Are you possessed by a devil?
You think 1 mean to ruin your friends. Not at all ; I shall
give them the house at Sevres, which belongs to me yet,
if you please ; I will secure them an income and a good
part of my inheritance, for my property is to be divided
among yourself, Julien, and this ass of a lawyer here ! I
l82 ANTONIA,
propose to make you all rich and happy, on one single
condition ; and that is, that the pavilion be vacated in-
stantly, and that you all swear upon your honor, and
sign your names to the oath, that Madam d'Estrelle will
never see Julien again."
This time it was Julie who was struck dumb. Al-
though there was really something of insanity in this
inexorable old man, there was also a sort of fierce gran-
deur in the magnificent way in which he accepted any
sacrifice necessary to secure the success of his jealousy.
He showed great shrewdness, moreover, in putting
Madam d'Estrelle in a position where, if she ventured
to oppose him, Julieu's interests, Madam Thierry's,
and Marcel's, would be sacrificed. Marcel, however, de-
termined not to be made use of in any way, hastened to
reply, with great dignity and nobility :
••' Uncle," he said to M. Autoine, " you will make
such future arrangements in regard to me as you may
see fit. You know me too well to imagine that any ex-
pectations of the kind would weigh against my con-
science. I said, a moment ago, that I did not approve of
Madam d'Estrelle's determination, and it will be my duty
to submit to her certain suggestions upon the subject.
But understand me at once : if she is not persuaded by
ray arguments, I shall never hint to her that her resistance
has injured me with you; my conduct shall never be
influenced by a regard for my own interests. Lastly, if
she and Julien shall persist in their intention of marry-
ing, 1 will assist them in every possible Vv'ay with my
advice, my services ; I will be eternally their friend,
their kinsman, and their obedient servant."
Julie silently held out her hand to the lawyer. Her
eyes were full of tears. She looked at Antoine, but
could read nothing but immovable obstinacy in his horny
and copper-colored visage.
'' Let us go to Madam Thierry and Julien," she said,
rising ; " it is for them to decide."
''Not by any means ! " cried M. Antoine. " I'll have
no one taken unawares. At first, I know very well that
the painter will play the great man, and that his mother
ANTONIA. 1S5
will put on her grand airs. Besides, they will be ashamed
to yield before madame : it will not do to be loss
proud than she ; although they repent an hour after-
wards, they will say exactly what she does. I will wait
for my answer until to-morrow, and I will come here to
receive it. In the meanwhile, lawyer, carry ray final
proposition to your protegees, and you, my beautiful
friend, reflect upon it also. We shall see whether you
four will agree to refuse both my present gifts, and my
future bequests. Good-day, Madam d'Estrelle. To-
morrow, at this place, at noon ! "
As he went out, Julie, pale and exhausted, fell back
upon her chair. He returned a moment after he had
gone out of the room, and looked in at her. Certain
that he had succeeded in breaking down even her pride
and courage, he departed in triumph.
VII,
"V/TARCEL was a prudent man ; this was his natural
^^ disposition, and his professional career had strength-
ened it. It is possible to be both practical and generous.
It was under the influence of both these sentiments
that he considered the position of the two lovers, and
argued with Julie.
" Madam,'* he said, taking her hand with an affec-
tionate good-will, in which there was nothing oflTensive,
" to begin with, I must be left out of the account in this
whole business. Provided Julien and his mother are as
courageous and devoted as you are, instead of dissuading
them from making the sacrifice in question, I shall admire
it. And, at the outset, do not exaggerate the consequences
of your present determination upon the future. M. Au-
toiue is undoubtedly a man of his word ; both in good and
evil he does as he agrees. It is impossible, however, to
conjecture anything about the provisions of his will, since
he may marry at any moment. It is certainly strange to
184 ANT ON I A.
see an old bachelor, — a hater of women and of love, —
seized, in his declining years, with a rage for matrimonj.
But for the very reason that it is a sort of monomania, no
promises or resolutions that he may make will save him.
He will find, without doubt, what he is looking for ; some
woman with a title, no matter whether young or old, re-
spectable or otherwise, handsome or ugly, will be tempted
by his money, and will get possession of all his estate.
This simplifies the question, since we need not take the
final division of the property among ourselves into con-
sideration. We can only reckon on present arrangements
as certain ; and in these, you know, I am not a party.
Let us examine, then, the questions immediately before
us. These are important enough. I know uncle An-
toine ; he will do what he proposes within twenty-four
hours, or not at all. He will come here to-morrow with
his papers all ready, — drafted by himself; and, in spite
of the rudeness of his style, not one iota requisite to make
them perfectly valid in law (which he understands better
than I do) will be omitted. It is by no means likely that
you will be required to make a formal rupture with this
or that person, — such a stipulation would be strange and
uidvuown to the law, — but you will have to bind your-
self not to marry again without M. Antoine's consent,
and a clause in the grant will make it revocable in case
you violate this condition. It would be in vain, there-
fore, to hope to evade the proposed agreement ; and, in
any event, your character is a sufficient guarantee that
you would not think of attempting such a thing."
*• You are quite right, my friend," said Julie, with a
sigh, '' I will never make a promise without keeping it."
'' Very well, then," continued Marcel, " the project sub-
mitted to us is unprecedented ; but it has actually been
formed, it cannot be evaded, and it will determine the
destiny of two persons most dear to you, — Julien and
his mother. I myself, as I explained, am not involved
in this business. You are bound to consider it most se-
riously. Do you prefer to think it over by yourself, or
may I say plainly to you all that I would have said, if
AN TON I A. 185
you had made me your confidant before the appeArance
of M. Antoine ? "
" Go on, Marcel ; it is best to tell tne all."
" Let us suppose then, madam, that M. Antoine, in
jspite of his anger, makes you a better offer than the mar-
chioness : your means will even then be very moderate ;
you will have, perhaps, an income of two or three thou-
sand francs a year ! You marry Julieu, who has nothing
t> depend upon except his labor; you will have chil-
dren, and you will have Madiini Thierry to support.
You will be able to keep a maid for her, a nurse for your-
self, and a mau-of-all-work, — unless Julien himself lays
down liis brush to do the drudgery that is necessary even
in the most modest household. You will live respectably,
no doubt, for Julien will work ; Madam Thierry will knit
all the stockings of the family, and you will be econom-
ical. You can afford one silk dress, and will commonly
wear calico. You will go about on foot ; you can't even
allow yourself a bow of ribbon without counting on your
fingers to see if you can afford it. That is the way my
wile began when I bought my practice, and I assure you,
madam, that we did not enjoy it much, although we were
very fond of each other. My wife was not a frivolous
woman ; we had never been in easy circumstances, and
were unacquainted with luxury. We knew very well
how to be sparing, but we were both of us troubled. My
wife was anxious at seeing me working half the night,
and running about at all liours and in all weathers, tired
to death, and with a cold in the head. I was anxious at
seeing her shut up without fresh air and good food, and
harnessed, without intermission, to the housework and to
her responsibilities as a mother. This solicitude for each
other was a constant and wearing burden. I give you
my word, that the more we loved each other the more
tormented we were, and prevented from enjoying real
happiness. We lost our first two children. One we
were obliged to put out to nurse in the country, and it
was not well cared for ; the other we tried to bring up at
home, and it died in consequence of the bad air of Paris,
together with the feeble health which it inherited frc m its
i86 ANTONIA.
mother. If we have contrived to keep our third alive, W
is because, by economy and industry, we have succeeded
in making ourselves a little more comfortable. At present
we are contented, and are quite well off; but we are I'orty
years old, and we have suffered a great deal ! Our youth
was always a warfare, and often a martyrdom. !Such is
the life of a poor citizen in Paris, madam ; and that of a
poor artist is harder still, because his profession is far less
sure than mine. People are always having questions of
business to decide that bring them to a lawyer ; they are not
always in want of pictures, and most people care nothing
about them. They are superfluities. Julien will never
amass a fortune, as his father did. His talents and his
character, perhaps, will be more highly estimated, but he
has not the amiable frivolity, — the social tastes and bril-
liant manners necessary to make him a favorite in cer-
tain circles, which, when they fall in love with an artist,
have the power to bring him forward, and insure his rep-
utation and success. You must remember that my uncle
Andre would never have gained the position he lield, in
spite of his genius, if he had not been a capital singer, a
great wit, and a good story-teller ; and moreover, if cer-
tain frivolous but influential ladies had not, at various
times, tempted him from his allegiance to his wife. Ho
adored her, notwithstanding ; but he used to say, confiden-
tially and very frankly, that he must deceive her a little
once in a while, for his own advantage. You turn pale ;
Julien will never follow that example, for it belongs to a
past age. But even if Julien should create clief-d'ceuvres
of art, he will always be poor. The world does not run
after modest merit, nor does it take the trouble to seek
after unknown virtue. His marrying you will, it is true,
make some noise, — it will be a little scandal that will do
something towards bringing him into notice. That was
the case with his father's marriage, but, as I said, the
times are changed. Nowadays people are more austere,
— or more hypocritical, — than in the time of Madamvi de
la Pompadour. And then the same thing never succeeds
twice over. People will say, ' That young fellow has
been trying to ape his father,' and you will bring him more
ANT ONI A. 1S7
enemies than protectors. Against you there will be a
great outcry. I do not suppose that the old marchioness
will try to have you thrown into a convent, and Julien into
the Bastile, for the crime of mesalliance, for she has no
authority over you ', but she will do you even greater
harm by talking against you, while you will not have a
rigorous persecution to help make you interesting. You
are well known as a person of virtuous character, and
that very fact will make the feeling against you more
violent and implacable. All the old prudes will go about
saying that such marriages are becoming altogether too
common, — that they must be put down, and utterly dis-
countenanced. Even the literary people, — and some of
them are good friends of Julien, — will not dare defend
you. They themselves belong to good society nowadays ;
instead of being persecuted, they are feted and caressed ;
Paris is excited yet over the triumph that was granted to
M. de Voltaire after his long exile. People laugh at
Jean Jacques Rousseau for fancying himself the victim
of a conspiracy ; he could have lived, they say, comfort-
ably and respectably, if it had not been for his sour dis-
posiiion and diseased mind. The philosophers take the
wall of everybody now, and they are very careful no
longer to attack people's prejudices ; while those who re-
main of the great crusade of free-thinkers will neither
mend their pens nor open their mouths for the sake of
defending you against the verdict of the drawing-rooms.
And all these cowardly insults will strike Julien. He
will live in constant uneasiness and apprehension ; he
will quarrel with all his friends, and probably will fight
Bome of them — "
•' Enough, enough, Marcel," cried Julie, weeping, " I
sec plainly how foolish I have been : I have taken counsel
of a selfish passion, or rather have acted without under-
standing social necessities. I see now what a burdea
I should be to Julien ; that his marriage to me would
expose him to constant danger, and fill his whole life with
bitterness. Ah, Marcel, you have broken my heart !
But it was your duty to do so, and I esteem you the more
for your courage. Go and tell Julien that I wish our en-
1 88 ANTON I A,
gagement broken. Mon Dieu! How can I tell lilm
so?"
" Julien will not believe you. Eager to suffer for your
sake, he will smile at your generous magnanimity. He
has courage, and force of character, and I have no doubt
that he adores you. If you consult him he will instantly
cry, ' Let us be true to our love at whatever cost, in spite
of misery, in spite of persecution ! ' He will have no
misgivings about himself; and his mother, — who is as
courageous and disinterested as he is, — will uphold him
in his determination. But imagine Julien a year or
two hence, when he sees his mother suffering ! It is by
unheard-of efforts even now that he keeps her from actual
poverty ; and in spite of him and of herself, — in spite of
all their mutual forbearance, — there can be no doubt that
she does suffer. Madam Thierry is an enthusiast, not a
stoic. She was not brought up to any employment, and all
she is fitted for is to sit comfortably in her arm-chair and
knit or read. Besides, her health was always delicate.
She could never stand on her feet until midnight to finish
ironing her son's shirts, as my wife could do ; her pretty
hands know as little about hard work as yours. How
will it be, then, when Julien shall have a wife and chil-
dren? He will reproacli himself with your unhappiness ;
and if remorse once gain admission into so proud a heart
as his, farewell to courage, and perhaps even to the
ability to work in his profession ! "
" My dear Marcel, I told you that you had said enough.
Advise me ; direct me. Give your orders, and I will
obey. You think I ought not even to see him and speak
to him."
" I think so, most certainly, my dear countess. He
must not know anything about what has just happened ;
he must receive M. Antoine's gifts without suspecting the
conditions upon which they are granted. Otherwise, he
would refuse them."
" Marcel," said the countess, rising, and ringing the
bell, '' I must leave my home at once, and never return
to it."
The servant entered.
ANTONIA. I {59
" Send for a carriage," she said, " and tell Camillc tlial
I want her."
" I shall take nothing with me," she continued to
Marcel. " You must make it your duty to pay off tbo
servants, and to send after me such of my things as ma/
be necessary."
" But where will you go ? "
" Into some convent out of Paris. It makes no differ-
ence, as long as you alone know where I am."
Camille made her appearance. Julie put on her mantle,
and when she had left the room continued :
" It must be, my friend. Madam Thierry will be
anxious to know what has happened, and will come to
inquire ; if I stay a single moment longer, I may see her.
And even if I could deceive her, in the evening, — ah !
in the evening Julien will wait for me in the garden ;
and when he sees that I do not join him, he cannot help
coming to rap at my window. I could never have tlio
strength to leave him in mortal anxiety, and I could not
utter an untruth to him. No, no, — let us go away. There
is the carriage in the court-yard. Come, let me not lose
wliat little courage I have."
Marcel felt that she was right, and offered her his
arm.
^' Come, madam," he said ; " it is God who inspires
you, and He will support you ! "
They drove off, pretty much at random ; the countess
gave the coachman the address, first of one convent and
then of another, without really knowing where she
wished to go. Marcel at last bethought him of a cousin
of his family who was at the Ursulines, at Chaillot, and
suggested that institution. They went there, and he
himself arranged for her accommodation ; paying for a
week's board and lodging in advance, with an under-
standing that the lady, if satisfied, was to have the privi-
lege of remaining longer. Julie assumed the name of
Madam d'Erlange. Marcel charged his cousin to vouch
for her, and see that she was properly cared for, but did
not admit her into their confidence. As Julie entered the
convent merely as a boarder, she had the privilege of
190 ANT ON I A.
seeing Marcel in her room, where she gave him her final
instructions.
" In any event," she said, " I will not accept any favors
from M. Antoine ; they would be odious to me, and 1 no
longer need his assistance. Since he is my only creditor,
let him sell all my property, and pay himself in full. I
will retain nothing, except my twelve hundred francs a
year ; and as I intend to live alone, that will be quite
enough. Do not let him reserve my furniture for me, or
send me my diamonds, — I will not accept them. He may
draw up the engagement himself, stating that I will never
marry. I will sign it, in return for the conveyance
which he is to execute to Madam Thierry of the house at
Sevres, and of an income whose amount you shall act for
me in adjusting. You are also to stipulate that neither
Madam Thierry nor her son are to be informed of any
of the facts about me. You can tell them that I am
gone, that I cannot see them, that I do not wish to do so,
because — Ah, mon Dieu ! what can you tell them? I
do not know. Tell them whatever you choose, but let it be
irrevocable, without being cruel ; do not torment them with
false hopes, for they are weakening, and it is agonizing to
wake from them. Tell them — tell them nothing — Ah !
I can neither think nor wish any longer — my strength is
all gone ! "
'' I will consider what to say," said Marcel ; "I will
think it over as I return. I leave you in despair, and
yet I must go. My duty for the present is to get you
settled here, to keep Julien from being frightened out of
his senses at your disappearance, and to reassure your
servants, who will be waiting for you, and who, when
they see that you do not return, may make inconvenient
inquiries or observations. Come, madam, be heroic !
Be calm ; I will return this evening, — sooner if possible,
— and will try and bring you some comfortable news from
the pavilion. I must deceive Julien in some way, but
how, I don't know any more than you do. Good-by ;
wait for me ; don't write to anybody. It would not do
for us to be contradicting each other. You will weep
ANTONIA, 191
bitterly. I have pained you terribly, my poor friend,
and now I must leave you alone. It is frightful ! "
As he spoke, Marcel wept without knowing it. Touched
by this evidence of his grief and devotion, Julie assumed
an appearance of fortitude that she did not possess, and
urged him to depart. But as soon as he had gone, she
locked herself up, threw herself upon her poor little bcd^
hid her face, and weeping, sobbing, wringing her hands,
abandoned herself to her grief, until she lost all conscious-
ness of where she was, and of the events that had so
suddenly torn her from her home and former associa-
tions.
Marcel, when he reentered the coach, wiped his eyes,
reproached himself for his weakness, and tried to reason
himself out of it.
" What we resolve," he said, " we must have courage
to perform."
lie had one last hope that he had not mentioned to
Julie, — that of changing M. Antoine's resolution. To
him, therefore, he went first of all, but his sensible ar-
guments and heartfelt eloquence fell alike upon a deaf
ear. The selfish old man was happy and triumphant.
He was draining his sweet draught of vengeance, enjoy-
ing it, and did not mean to leave a drop at the bottom of
the goblet. They both gave vent to stormy reproaches
and invectives, but Marcel could not change his resolu-
tion ; he consented at last, — and this was the only con-
cession he wo.dd agree to, — that Julien and his mother
should remain ignorant of the cruel bargain that was to
purchase their prosperity.
" You will find it difficult, as it is, to carry out your
scheme," said Marcel ; '* take care, or you will make it
impossible. Madam d'Estrelle is the only one Avho has
consented to it as yet. Julien would have refused. You
must deceive him, or else you will gain no advantage
from Julie's submission."
^' I'm tired to death of your Julie !" cried M. Antoine.
"Much she has to comphiin of; a woman to whom I
am giving everything, — fortune, position, and liberty ! "
" Yes, the liberty to die of sorrow 1 "
192
ANTONIA.
'* Nonsense ! Do people die of love ? That is fine
talk for a lawyer ! Let her many to suit herself in
her own rank of life ; I will make no opposition, — slie
may select whom she pleases. I object to no one, except
tlie dauber. Before a fortnight has passed, she will have
opened her eyes, and will thank me. She will acknowl-
edge my greatness of soul, and will call me her benefac-
tor. The fact is, that you are all crazy together. I take
hundreds of thousands of francs out of my pocket, and
fling them about to a lot of ungrateful fools, and they turn
around and call me a bad relative, a hard-hearted fellow,
an old dog, an old miser, and I don't know what besides.
Upon my word of honor, the whole world seems to be
crazy, at present."
'' Nobody has called you those names, uncle ; no-
body has called you any names at all. There is no name
that would describe your extraordinary character ; and
no other man in the world has found out the secret of
making people curse the hand that enriches them."
" Come, you are making a speech ; you imagine you
are in court. Go along, you bore me ! Tell your Julien
whatever you please. I don't want to see either him, or
you, or anybody. I am going back into the country."
^^ That means that you are going to shut yourself up
here, and barricade yourself against all the good reasons
that I could give you."
" Possibly. Now you know what a fine time your
good reasons will have waiting outside the door."
Marcel took good care not to tell his uncle that there
was a far simpler and cheaper way than the one he had
adopted of preventing the marriage to Avhich he was so
violently opposed : that, namely, of allowing Madam
d'Estrelle to lose her fortune, and trusting to the influ-
ence of her own prudent and generous reflections. Nor
did he consider it his duty to tell him that she had refused
his gift.
" After all," he thought to himself, '' who knows how
long tliis passion will last.? Julie may, perhaps, recover
from it alter a time ; and, in that event, she will not bo
displeased to find herself at liberty, and wealthy."
ANTONIA.
193
He drew up, along with M. Antoine, a simple condi-
tional release of all Madam d'Estrelle's debts, and suc-
ceeded in having this important modilication inserted in
the document, that, except with a person not hearing a
title, Madam d'Estrelle was free to contract a second mar-
riage with any one she chose. After M. Antoine had
signed this paper. Marcel put it into his pocket, quietly
resolving that he would not submit it to the countess,
until she should be more calm.
The conveyance of the house at Sevres to Julien and
his mother, together with an income of five thousand
francs, was in readiness. Marcel had a terrible struggle
to prevent Antoine from inserting a restriction in this
paper, similar to the one by which Julie was bound. lie
remonstrated that as she had promised not to marry
Julien, it was entirely useless to make him promise not
to marry her,
'^ But your Julie may take it into her head to renounce
her fortune,*' said M. Antoine ; " and then, if the other
has enough to live upon, I shall have accomplished a
pretty piece of work ! I shall have married them ! By
no means ! I must have a letter from that lady, in
which she promises, solemnly and religiously, never in all
her life to see that personage again. It must all be
stated in so many words. Women think there's a great
deal more in their little gilt-edged notes, than in all your
parchments. They are a gi-eat deal more afraid of scan-
dal than of the law. Yes, I must have that little love-letter
sent to my address, or I will do nothing."
" You shall have it," said Marcel.
lie left, and hastened to the pavilion.
Julien had not ventured to seek any information at the
hotel, and he was very much agitated. His mother had
gone to reconnoitre, and had reported that the house was
entirely closed on the side of the garden. He did not
know whether the dowager was still thens ; he knew
nothing of M. Antoine's visit, or of Julie's departure.
After confiding in Madam Thierry so fully, he was aston-
ished that she could not find time to send her a few lines,
in order to set her at ease about the consequeoces of the
13
194
ANTONIA.
dowager's scandalous proceedings. He was anxiously
waiting for the evening, and dark suspicions were begin-
ning to creep into his mind.
"Who knows," he thought, " whether the dowager and
M. Antoine have not joined in a conspiracy to have Julie
carried off and confined in a convent, on a charge of mis-
demeanor } "
It was no longer easy to obtain lettres de cachet ; but,
by means of certain formalities, an ex-post facto judgment
could be procured, and an unlawful imprisonment legal-
ized. This would have been quite practicable in the present
case, since a love affair with a plebeian was still con-
sidered among the ruling classes a scandal such as a
family of rank might rightfully punish.
By the time Marcel arrived, tfulien was almost out of
his senses. Madam Thierry looked troubled and de-
jected. Marcel saw that this was not the moment to
speak plainly.
"There is news," he began, assuming a calm, and even
satisfied expression. " We were just about to sigu, when
uncle Antoine appeared amongst us, like a god out of tlie
clouds at the opera. He got angry, and had a quarrel
with the dowager, who up to that moment had had some
understanding with him against the interests of Madam
d'Estrelle. This showed him his mistake. He has re-
pented of all his foolishness, and offers you a splendid
indemnity ; indeed he is going to seize this occasion to
make up for all his shortcomings, and I must say that
he is acting with great disinterestedness. I hope you
will feel kindly towards him, not only on account of his
offer to you, but for his handsome proposition to Madam
d'Estrelle. He will pay her probably double the amount
offered by the dowager. He behaved so well, indeed,
that she considered it her duty to thank him, and to
leave the hotel at once, in compliance with his wish.**
" She is gone?'* cried Julien, turning pale.
" Certainly ! She has gone to stay a few days in the
country. What is there surprising in that ? "
" Ah, Marcel," said Madam Thierry, " you evidently
do not know — '*
ANTONIA.
'95
'* I do not desire to know anything outside of the very
important concerns that require all my attention," re-
plied Marcel, with decision. '' I have listened to-day to
a great many foolish remarks, to a great many injurious
and impertinent insinuations ; but I do not intend either
to believe or to remember any of them. The name of
Madam d'Estrelle is a sacred one to me ; but I have
advised her to keep out of sight for a few days."
" Keep out of sight ? " repeated Julien, whose appre-
hensions still continued.
" Farbleu I One would suppose that we were in
Madrid, and that somebody had been buried alive in
the convent cellar. Why are you so tragic about it?
I have only persuaded her to be dead, so to speak, for
a week or two, until I can ascertain the state of her
affairs, and adjust them. Let us be entirely quiet, and
show neither dissatisfaction nor uneasiness about her
absence. Why should we revive the evil designs of the
marchioness, just as M. Antoine has succeeded, for the
moment, in baffling them? Above all, we must be care-
ful not to act in such a way as to deprive Julie of the
protection and regard of our rich old friend. There is
no need of undertaking to explain that gentleman's sin-
gular mode of reasoning, for the devil himself could not
do it. We can, however, take advantage of his pecu-
liarities ; and no one here ought to think about himself.
The point is, to consider the good of Madam d'Estrelle."
Marcel now went into details, and referred to figures
which compelled Julien's attention. He showed that Julie,
by acting with prudence, could secure a modest compe-
tence, and that, by displaying too much pride, she would
lose it. So far, the plot formed against her by M. Antoine
and the marchioness had come to nothing ; they had been
waiting until she should provoke its explosion by trying
to resist the dowager's claim. It was M. Antoiue's duty
to protect Julie against the accusations which he him-
self had originated ; and he was the only person who
could do this, since his wealth provided him with suflicient
resources against the common enemy. He sliowed a
disposition to do what was right, he was repentant, after
196 ANT ON r A.
his fashion • he had come to hate the marchioness, and
all that he asked was to be allowed to manage the whole
matter himself. It was absolutely necessary to acqui-
esce, and to wait silently upon his movements.
Julien v/as not altogether satisfied with this explana-
tion ; one thing still troubled him. Was not M. An-
toine trying to influence Madam d'Estrelle's plans, and to
get the control of her property, with the extravagant
idea of entrapping her into a marriage with himself?
Marcel reassured him entirely upon this point ; he gave
him his word of honor that the old sphinx had altogether
abandoned this project. Lastly, Julien asked Marcel
whether he could also give him his word that he had
advised Julie to depart thus suddenly ; whether she was
able to come back whenever she should see fit ; and if
she was perfectly convinced that her absence would be
advantageous to herself, and to herself exclusively.
Marcel could conscientiously reply that all this was
<^o.
•' You know, of course, where she is," continued
Julien.
''I do," replied Marcel; "but I cannot tell, for she
made me promise not to. If she chooses to inform any
one else, she will write ; but as she desires to keep M.
Antoine and the dowager entirely ignorant of her where-
ahouts my opinion is that she had better have no con-
fidant except me. And now that I have explained
everything, let me tell you what compensation M. Antoine
proposes to give you for resigning your lease."
" Wait one moment," said Julien ; "was this compen-
sation insisted on by Madam d'Estrelle ? Is it not the
price of some additional torment inflicted upon her high
spirit, or of some sacrifice on her part?"
" There was no discussion whatever about it," said
Marcel; "M. Antoine stated his intentions himself,
without waiting for any one to make any demands, or to
propose any conditions. It is probable that he has in-
tended for a long time to endow you with this property,
for he owns the house at Sevres, and he gives it to you.
Here are the deeds."
ANTON I A.
197
" Ah, mon Dieul** cried Madam Thierry, looking at
the papers, " aud an income too ! It seems like a dream,
— I am both rejoiced and alarmed ! "
" Yes," said Julien, who was still suspicious, " there is
something back of all this ; some trap, perhaps."
Marcel had a great deal of trouble in making them
accept the perfidious gift of M. Antoine ; and had to say,
and even to give his oath to it, that such was the express
desire of Madam d'Estrelle. Before he left them, how-
ever, they had become quite composed. Julien was still
anxious, but he concealed his apprehensions, so as not to
disturb his mother's joy at the idea of returning to the
home where she had lived so long and so happily. Mar-
cel now hurried to the hotel d'Estrelle, and directed
Camille to pack up whatever her mistress would need for
a short stay in the country.
" Ah, mon Dieu I " exclaimed Camille, in surprise ;
" aud did not the countess send for me to come and join
her?"
" It is unnecessary, for so short a time.'*
" But madame does not know how to put up her hair,
nor how to dress herself! Why, think of it ! A person
who has always been waited upon according to her
rank."
" She will find servants enough in the house where
she is staying."
" They must be poor people, at all events, if madame
thinks they can't afford to keep her servants for her.
Perhaps she is quite ruined herself. Oh dear, oh dear !
Such a kind and generous mistress,"
Camille began to cry, and her grief was perfectly sin-
cere ; but she added, notwithstanding, —
" And my wages, Mr. Attorney ; who will pay me? "
" I will pay everything to-morrow," said Marcel, who
had often witnessed similar demonstrations of sensibility
mingled with prudential considerations, — a state of mind
that is naturally developed by sudden disasters, *' Have
all the accounts of the household made out, and df you
take the keys until then. Be responsible for everything
until to-morrow."
198 ANTON I A,
" Very well, monsieur, I will," answered the lady's
maid, beginning to sob again ; " but are we to leave
madam's employment? Is she not coming back at
all?"
" I did not say that, and I have received no orders to
dismiss you."
Marcel sent word to his wife that he would have no
time to return either to dinner or supper, and that she
need not expect him until ten or eleven at night. Then
he went back to the convent. Julie, after pouring out
all her life in tears, had risen, and bathed her face in
water ; but it was pale and cold as marble. She was
very quiet and depressed in manner, and seemed like a
dead person moving about. She revived a little on learn-
ing that Marcel had succeeded in misleading Julien, and
in quieting his suspicions sufficiently to induce him to
accept the means of living that M. Antoine had conveyed
to his mother and himself. At Marcel's request, and
under his dictation, she wrote a note to M. Antoine, en-
gaging never to see Julien again as long as she lived, on
condition that the house at Sevres, and the annuity,
should never be taken from him. She would not make
any similar condition about her own property, and Mar-
cel did not yet venture to speak to her about accepting
M. Antoine's release from her debts. For the rest, she
made no complaint, but looked worn out with fatigue ;
and when he took her hand, Marcel perceived that she
was feverish. He persuaded her to see his cousin, sister
Sainte-Juste, and arranged with the latter to have some-
one sleep in the next room ; nor did he leave until, in the
most fatherly manner, he had make every arrangement
for her comfort.
Julie had a quiet night; she was not one of those
strong natures that can maintain a long struggle. Her
conscience told her that she had done her duty, and her
first passionate outburst of sorrow had been so sudden and
violent, that she very soon yielded to exhaustion, and fell
asleep. The next morning, after thanking the person who
had watched near her, she stated that she wished to be
alone, and sent her away. She made her own toilette,
ANTONIA.
199
and finding that she was a little awkward in performing
this unaccustomed task, she resolved to form new habits,
and went to work at once to clear up her room, make her
bed, put her things in order, and establish herself in this
poor little cell, as if she had expected to spend all her life
there. All this she did almost mechanically, and without
either effort or reflection.
When everything was arranged, she sat down in a
chair, with her hands clasped on her lap, and remained
for a long time looking out of the open window, without
seeing anything, listening to the convent bells without
paying any attention to them, and not even remembering
to eat, although she had not taken anything for twenty-
four hours. A clap of thunder, exploding in the very
room, would not have made her tremble.
Towards noon, sister Sainte-Juste came in, and found
her absorbed in a melancholy reverie, which she mistook
for a state of beatitude. Some natures, when crushed by
affliction, are so sweet and gentle, that their actual suffer-
ing is unsuspected. The sister, however, in passing
through the little room that served as Julie's ante-cham-
ber and dining-room, noticed that the breakfast which tJie
servant had brought had grown cold, without bemg
touched.
" But you have forgotten to eat anything," she said to
Julie.
" No, my sister," replied the poor desolate creature,
unwilling to complain ; " I was waiting until my appetite
should return."
The nun persuaded her to sit down at the table, waited
upon her very kindly, and tried to divert her with her own
simple and insignificant gossip. Julie listened with inex-
haustible patience, and even exerted herself to show an in-
terest in all the minutiae of the recluse's life, in the details of
the establishment, in all the stupid little events with which
nuns in such a community occupy their leisure. What
difference did it make whether she listened to that or t4
something else ? Nobody could annoy or fatigue her any
more. Her soul seemed perfectly void, and was incapable
of receiving a new impression.
200 ANTON I A,
TV hen Marcel came again in the afternoon, his cousin
said to him, —
•"*■ What made you tell me that this lady was ill, and in
trouble ? She slept well, and without a sound ; she break-
fasted reasonably well, although rather late, and she
showed great interest in conversing with me. She is very
amiable, and is not seriously unhappy. I will answer for
that — I know about such matters ! "
Marcel was alarmed at this patient sorrow incapable of
reaction. He had come to tell her what had happened
that morning at the hotel d'Estrelle ; but she made no in-
quiries, excepting about Julien and his mother. On
learning that they had moved, and would sleep that night
at Sevres, she was satisfied, and refused to hear anything
more.
" I do not want to hate anybody," she said ;• " such a feel-
ing would only injure me, and would do no good. Do not,
therefore, say anything more to me about M. Antoine for
several days. I beseech you, my friend, let me reconcile
myself to my lot as I best can. You see that I do not
rebel against it. That is as much as is necessary."
As time went on, she became more and more quiet.
She was extremely pale ; but the nun assured Marcel,
and with truth, that she ate and slept sufficiently. She
did nothing all day, and disliked to see any one, but con-
stantly affirmed, — and truly again, — that she did not
sulfer from ennui. Absorbed in thought, she was patient
and serene. Marcel could not understand anything about
such a case. He persuaded her to see the physician of
the convent, and he reported that her pulse was a little
feeble, and her complexion a little phlegmatic — an ex-
pression used at that time to denote a predominance of
lymph in the system. He prescribed quinine, and told
Marcel that nothing serious was the matter.
In fact, nothing was the matter, except that her soul
was quietly sinking, and her life fading away. She obe-
diently took the quinine, took walks in the convent-garden,
consented to receive visits from some of the nuns, who
thought her a very nice person, promised to read some
new books that Marcel brought her, but which she did not
ANTONIA. 20I
open, and laid out a piece of embroidery which she did
not begin. So extremely quiet were her ways, that she
lived ahnost invisible in the convent, and continued
to fade away, slowly, without a crisis of any kind, but
steadily.
Marcel was deceived by her apparent tranquiUity.
Mistaking the sudden destruction of her will for an im-
mense force of will exerted in the struggle to conquer her
love, he tried to cure her with mistaken remedies, lie
occupied himself in endeavoring to restore her physical
health. Telling JuUe that he had purchased a little
country-house at Nanterre, which, in fact, was only rented,
he persuaded her to move there ; and, satisfied as to Ca-
milJe's discretion and devotion, sent her there too. He
furnished Camille with money enough to hire a good cook,
and made arrangements to supply the table of the countess
with more delicate and nourishing food than she had had
in the convent. The cottage was in a healthy situation,
the air was good, and it had quite a large garden, walled,
and not too much shaded to prevent the sun from warm-
ing it thoroughly. Books, work, innocent games, and
JuUe's harp (in those days every lady played more or less
upon this graceful instrument, and Marcel did not forget
to send hers to her new retreat) gave the drawing-room
a cheerful aspect. Camille, whom the lawyer had in-
structed, kept her mistress in ignorance about what had
happened at the hotel d'Estrelle, and of the condition of
her own property. She made her believe that ever^'thing
was extremely cheap at Nanterre, and that she might
therefore indulge herself in comforts, to a certain extent,
without exceeding the amount of her little revenue. Julie
chose to be poor, rather than to receive any favors from
M. Antoine. On this point, only. Marcel had found her
opposition invincible. He had had to tell her a down-
right falsehood, and to make her believe that M. Antoine
had taken possession of her hotel, her diamonds, and all
that she owned.
The diamonds, in reality, were safe in Marcel's hands ;
the hotel was kept in good repair ; the horses were in tho
stable, well groomed and fed, and the carriages in the
202 ANTONIA.
coach-house. The servants had been paid off and dis«
charged, but with an understanding that for a certain
agreed term they should hold themselves in readiness to
return at any time when Madam d'Estrelle herself should
come back. The porter had charge of the house, and
tended and exercised" the horses ; his wife dusted, aired,
and closed the rooms. M. Antoine's head gardener had
charge of the flowers and the turf, and M. Antoine him-
self made the rounds of the place every morning. The
pavilion, deserted by Madam Thierry, was shut up and
silent. Otherwise, nothing was changed since Julie's de-
parture. All the furniture was in its place, and the sun
shone on the deserted threshold.
Two months thus passed away. Uncle Antoine acted
only as the guardian and business superintendent of the
hotel. He proposed to retain this office about the place
until such time as it should please Julie to resume the
management of her property, when he meant to deliver it
up to her unchanged, and even to see that any of her
household whom she wished to recall should be ready to
serve her. The porter had orders to inform visitors that
his mistress still retained the ownership of the property
temporarily, and had gone to inspect her estates in Beau-
voisis, with a view to adjust some final arrangements.
In other words. Marcel and M. Antoine, for the sake
of appearances, had agreed to represent the situation of
Madam d'Estrelle, as the coutinuation of a truce arranged
with her creditors. This state of things had already ex-
isted for two years, and it was therefore the best explana-
tion that could be given of her present position. It
vTDuld be easy enough to find some final statement, when
ever the countess should return.
Nevertheless, Julie's friends, the old Duke de Qiiesnoy,
the president's wife, Madame des Merges, the abbe de
Nivieres, etc., began to feel greatly surprised at not hear-
ing from her. Her sudden departure, — thanks to the
reports adroitly circulated by the lawyer, — had been
satisfactorily accounted for ; but why did she not write ?
She must be very lazy ; or, perhaps, she was ill. Was
she really in Boauvoisis? They asked these questiona
ANTONIA.
203
amoDg themselves, but the old Duke do Quesnoy had to
go to the waters of Vichy ; the president's wife was ab-
sorbed in attending to her daughter's .uarriage ; the abbo
was a good deal like a cat, which forgets all about a
house when the fire goes out on its hearth, and Madam
des Morges was indolence personified. The Marchioness
d'Estrelle was the only person who would have made
serious inquiries, and her malice was paralyzed by M.
Antoine, who threatened sharply to publish an account
of her conduct, and reclaim his money, if she entered into
any investigation, or ventured to make any unkind re-
mark about Julie.
In all that related to the reputation, the safety, and the
pecuniary interests of his victim, it cannot be denied,
therefore, that M. Antoine acted with remarkable good
faith, prudence, and devotion. He took counsel with
Marcel, discussed various plans, as if he were seeking to
promote the welfare of his own daughter, and followed
his advice with perfect exactitude. J3ut upon the main
question of all, — the union of the two lovers, — he was
inflexible ; Marcel tried, in vain, to soften him. When
pressed too hard about it, he got angry, sulked, and shut
the door in the lawyer's face ; so that, upon this point.
Marcel saw nothing in the future but indefinite delays.
Meanwhile, Madam Thierry and Julien were luxuri-
ously established in their pretty little house, where they
had found intact most of their furniture, and a number
of works of art of great value. The latter M. Antoine
was too ignorant to appreciate, and had quite disdained.
Jiilien felt no confidence in the unexpected generosity
of his relative, attended, as it had been, by so many mys-
terious circumstances, and for which he had been forbid-
den to thank him. He was so uneasy, indeed, about
the whole affair, that he would have refused the gift
altogether, if it had not been for the obvious duty of slc-
rific'ing his pride to insure his mother's comtort. Mate-
rially, they were really well off. The annuity of five
thousand francs enabled them to live in a modest way,
without waiting every week, in feverish anxiety, for the
proceeds of weary labor. Madam Thierry could not help
204
ANTONIA.
feeling extreme delight in returning to her own house,
her dearest recollections, her old habits and her old ac-
quaintances. The circle that gathered around her was
less numerous than in the days when she used to keep an
open table, but it was composed of reliable people. Only
her true friends sought her out ; and, knowing that her
income was not large, they took pains to secure a good
sale for Julien's pictures. It is only when free from dis-
tress that one's talents can be used to advantage. Julicn
no longer found it necessary to fatigue himself with over-
work ; patronized by an intelligent and friendly coterie,
he achieved, without difficulty, an assured success. When
his mother expressed the secret dissatisfaction which she
still felt at being under obligation to M. Autoine, he was
able to console her.
" Don't be troubled," he said, " I will pay off all that
we owe him, and in spite of himself, if necessary. It is
only a question of time. Take comfort. You see that I
don't allow Julie's absence to make me unhappy, and that
1 am waiting an explanation of her conduct, confidently
and firmly."
Julien had not altered in behavior or manner, — not
even the expression of his face had changed, — since the
unhappy day of Julie's disappearance. At first, he be-
lieved every word that Marcel had told him ; but, when
be received no letter from the countess, his suspicions
began to be aroused. He made inquiries which satisfied
him that she was not in Beauvoisis, and gradually began to
paess some part of the fatal truth. Julie was free, —
there could be no doubt about that, — for Marcel had
sworn that she was so, repeatedly. But he refused to
swear, or even to afiirm anything about her state of
feeling ; upon that point, everything was left to the
artist's conjectures. Marcel persistently refused to be the
recipient of his cousin's confidence, and this made it easier
for him to elude his questions. The Machiavelian plot
of M. Antoine was too strange to occur to a straight-
forward mind like Julien's. Jealousy, without love, he
had never even conceived of; and he would have con-
sidered it an iusult to Julie, and a sort of sacrilege, to
ANTONIA.
205
admit that the old man was in love with her. Nor was
the old man in love with lier ; nothing is more certain
than that. And yet, notwithstanding, he was as jealous
of Julien as a tiger ; and it is true, also, that the most
implacable form of jealousy is that which is unaccom-
panied by love. Julien thought he was insane. Who
can conjecture the schemes of a crazy man ?
But, whatever these schemes may have been, he was
firmly pursuaded that they could not have had any cfl'ect
upon Julie's resolution.
" No ! " he said to himself; " no money consideration
could ever have weighed with a heart so noble. Julie
wishes to break off her engagement with me ; she be-
lieves this to be necessary, and, although at the cost of
great suffering, she severs the tie in silence. She is ap-
prehensive about her reputation ; the marchioness has
threatened to destroy it ; and her friends have persuadec
her that if she marries a plebeian, she can never regain
her social position. That is the opinion of the world.
Julie believed, for an instant, that she was superior to
such prejudices ; her love for me made her overestimate
her strength. Her character is proud and noble, but her
intellect, perhaps, is not very powerful ; and, at present,
she is exerting all her force of character in favor of
prejudices which destroy her love. Poor dear Julie !
she must be unhappy, for she has a kind heart, and
must feel that I am suffering. But for herself, I am
almost certain that she wishes to forget me.*'
Marcel felt more hopeful about Julien's mental recovery
than that of the countess. He saw the young man as
seldom and for as short a time as possible, in order to
avoid his questions. One day, being obliged to come to
the house to report to his aunt on a matter of business
with which she had intrusted him, he found her alone.
" Where is Julien?" he asked her ; " in his studio? "
" No, he has taken to gardening. It seems to be a
consolation to him to sow and plant in this dear plot
of ground which we have recovered. He has been ip
trouble, Marcel, — in far greater trouble than you kuov
2o6' ANTONIA,
of. He was in love with Madam d'Estrelle ; I was quite
right about that ; and even — "
'' Well, well," said Marcel, who wished to avoid any
disclosures, "it is all over now, is it not? There's an
end of it?"
" Oh yes," replied the widow, " I believe so. If he
has been deceiving me — . No, after all the hopes which
he entertained, he could not do so ; is it not true. Mar-
cel? He could not deceive the eyes of a mother who
adores him?"
'' Undoubtedly not. Good-night, and pleasant dreams,
aunt ! I will go and bid good-day to Julien."
" If he is deceiving his mother after the destruction of
his hopes," thought Marcel, as he looked for Julien in the
shrubbery, '' he's a devilish resolute fellow ! "
Julien was digging a trench to transplant some young
trees. He had on a linen smock, and was bare-headed.
Standing in the loose earth, with his hands resting on the
handle of his spade, — like a laborer pausing to take
breath, — he was in such a profound reverie that he did
not hear Marcel coming ; and the latter, seeing his profile,
was struck by the expression of his face. The grief
which had already altered Julie's beauty had not yet left
any traces upon that manly countenance, but he had the
sauie strained expression, — the same look of fixed, mel-
ancholy hopelessness, — which Marcel had noticed in her.
When Julien saw his cousin he smiled, but without any
start of surprise. It was precisely so, with this same
cold, patient smile, that Julie received him ; a smile sweet,
but terrible, like that which sometimes flits over the lips
of the dying.
'' That is bad," thought Marcel ; " he is devilish reso-
lute, that's the fact ; and yet he is, perhaps, the most un-
happy of the two."
So distressed did he feel, that he could not hide his
emotion. He was very fond of Julien, and his prudence
failed him.
''What is the matter? " he said ; "you are unhappy ! "
" My friend, you know very well that I am unhappy,"
answered the artist, quitting his spade, and walking
ANTONIA. 207
under the trees with his cousin ; '' how could it possibly
be otherwise? You know there is a woman I am in
love with, — my mother has told you so. That woman
has disappeared. You need not tell me she will
return ; I know perfectly well that she must return. But
I know, also, that I ought never to enter her presence
again, — that she is dead to me."
" And — have you the courajre to accept your fate ? "
" Ah — if it is my duty ! You know one always ac-
cepts one's duty."
" One submits to it with more or less fortitude ; still,
a man is a man, and cannot help feeling."
" That is true I I suffer exceedingly, Marcel, but I
have kept my disappointment to myself hitherto, and
shall continue to do so ; you need have no doubt about
that. Why, then, do you refuse to help me a little? It
seems to me that you might do so. You have been very
cruel for the last two months."
" How can I help you?" inquired Marcel, who feared
that he would try and persuade him to reveal Julie's
retreat.
" Mon Dieu I " answered Julien, divining his friend's
thoughts, " you can tell me that she's happier than I
am. I will ask nothing more of you."
" But how should I know? "
" You see her two or three times a week. Come, my
friend, you have done your duty. Proving your de-
votion to her, and to me also, perhaps, you have endured
my distress with a terrible courage. But I have found
out some of your secrets. I learned yesterday, from your
eon, where she is living."
" Julio don't ku< w what he is talking about ; he don't
know her."
" He saw her one day at the theatre, and, although
he don't know her name, — he calls her " the country
client," — he has never forgotten her. Her grace and
sweetness made a great impression upon him, and he has
often talked to me about her."
"Well; goon."
*'• He went last Sunday to the fete at Nanterre, with a
2o8 ANTONIA,
friend of his own age, did he not? You put him under
the care of the little fellow's parents."
'' Yes, it's true."
" The boys escaped from their elders for a few minutes,
and ran about the village. The little rogues were
tempted by a tree loaded with fruit, and hanging over
a low wall. Julio got upon his comrade's shoulders,
reached some of the boughs, and, while he was fdling his
pockets, saw a woman go by underneath, whom he
recognized. I know the street, and made him describe
the appearance of the house. Going to Nanterre, I made
inquiries, and learned that a Madame d'Erlange (that is
Julie, — she has taken an assumed name) was living there
with her maid ; that she never went out, but was under no
sort of surveillance, and was living alone by choice ; also,
that she was not supposed to be ill, although your son said
that she was changed. What is the meaning of all this ?
either she is a prisoner on parole, or is afraid of being im-
portuned by me. Marcel, tell me the real truth. If the
latter is the case, bring her home, I implore you, and
assure her that she need feel no anxiety ; tell her I
swear by all that is most sacred never to see her again.
Do you hear. Marcel ? Answer, and relieve me from the
torment of this uncertainty."
" Well, it is very much as you say," answered Mar-
cel, after a little hesitation ; " Madam d'Estrelle is a
prisoner on parole ; but the engagement into which she
has entered is with herself, and nobody can force her tc
keep it. She is free to return, but she cannot see you any
more."
'' Cannot, or does not wish to ? "
" She neither can, nor wishes to."
" Very well, Marcel. That is enough ! Inform her
of my determination to submit to her decision, and bring
her back from her banishment. She is poorly lodged
over there, and must be terribly lonely. Let her
return to her friends, her comforts, her liberty. Go at
once, won't you? Hasten ! Don't allow her to s?ifFer a
single moment longer upon my account ! "
ANTONIA.
209
"Very well, I will go," said Marcel ; " I'm going ; but
about yourself? "
" Don't think of me," cried Julien ; " what 1 haven't
you gone yet ? "
He cordially embraced Marcel, but, at the same time,
fairly put him out of the door by the shoulders.
As soon as he was out of sight, Julien went to his
mother.
" Well, mother," he said, with a cheerful countenance,
" things look better than I had hoped. Madam d'Estrelle
is not a captive, and she is soon coming home."
As he said this, he watched his mother. She uttered
an exclamation of joy, but at the same time a shadow
passed over her face. Julien sat down by her side, and
took both her hands.
"Tell me the truth,'* said he ; " the idea of this mar-
riage troubles you a little ? "
" How can I help earnestly desiring an event that
would make you happy? I was only a little startled,
because I thought you no longer hoped."
" I have been very resigned, as you advised. You
told me not to be discouraged, but to wait, and not to
think too much about her ; you warned me that she
would perhaps forget me, and that I ought then to forget
her."
" And you promised me that you would forget, if nec-
essary. 13 ut now I see that you are thinking of iicr
more than ever."
"And don't you think I have reasons for rejoicing?
Tell me frankly if I am deceiving myself; you ought to
prevent me from doing so."
"Ah, my child, what shall I tell you? She is an
adorable being ! I am like you, — I love her ; but will
she be happy with us ? "
" You know that M. Antoiue is doing almost as well by
her as by you ; that he has placed her above want. You
were afraid we would suffer on account of our pov-
erty, but that need no longer be feared. Now, what is it
that troubles you ? "
" Nothing, if she loves you I '*
14
2IO ANTONIA.
" You sif^h as you say that. Do you doubt it ? "
" I have doubted it thus far, nor can you blame me !
If I do her an injustice, it is your fault and hers. You
did not take me into your confidence, allow me to watch
the growth of your love, to follow its phases ; and when
you told me one morning, ' We love each other to dis-
traction,* I must say I thought your passion too sudden
to be very serious. It seemed to me that you hardly
knew each other ! When I confessed my love to your
father, he had been three years at work decorating
our house, and I had seen him every day. I had had
many good offers, and v^^as perfectly sure that I loved no-
body but him. Julie's position in regard to you is very
different. She has lived secluded, and has not yet
received proposals from persons of good position, whom
she might have loved. She was longing for affection,
and w^as suffering terribly from ennui, without acknowl-
edging it. She saw you, and esteemed you, as you deserve.
You pleased her, naturally. Peculiar circumstances have
thrown you together, and she imagined that she loved you
passionately. Did she deceive herself? The future will
show ; but she disappeared at the very moment when she
had promised to avow her engagement, and has let
you suffer and wait without sending you one word of
consolation. If I have doubted her, you must admit
that appearances are against her."
" You think, then, that her prejudices are stronger than
her love? You think she was not speaking the truth
when she told me with what enthusiasm she would em-
brace a humble position in life, and how little she cared
for rank and titles ? "
" I do not say that, I say that she may have deceived
herself about the strength of her attachment for you, and
the reality of her disgust for the world."
"And you would not be much surprised if you should
be told that you had judged correctly? "
" Not much."
" Nor much distressed ? "
" That would depend upon you ; I should be afflicted
in proportion to the bitterness of yoar regrets. If you
ANTONIA. ail
bore the blow bravely, I should say that it was the best
thing that could have happened ; and that you will soma
day secure the love of a wiser and stronger woman."
" Poor Julie ! " thought Julien to himself, " even my
own mother regards her love for me as a mistake and
weakness."
" Well, mother," he continued aloud, " take comfort !
She has renounced the dream we indulged in together ;
she no longer believes in it, and is only afraid I will
seek to recall it to her mind. All that you foresaw has
happened. Marcel has just been telling me about it, and
I have given him my word that I would never see her
again."
" Ah, mon Dieu ! " cried Madam Thierry, startled and
alarmed ; " how can you tell me such a thing so quietly?
Can you really be so indifferent to her as that ? "
" You see for yourself. I was very much disturbed
the first few days, nor did I hide this from you ; but, as
time passed on, I have understood perfectly the silence
of Madam d'Estrelle. My tranquillity now is the result
of two months reflection. You need not be astonished,
therefore, and I hope you will believe that I have enough
pride and good sense to recover from any sorrow that I
may have felt."
Julien's firmness was not assumed, he spoke in perfect
good faith. But he did not confess the whole truth. He
was suffering too much to make even a half-way avowal
of his misery safe. It was absolutely necessary for him
to keep it entirely to himself.
In the evening it was very warm, and he went out to
take a swim in the river. He usually joined, for this
amusement, a few young artists engaged in the porcelain
manufactory, whom he was in the habit of assisting with
advice and instruction. But to-day, wishing to be alone,
he avoided them, and selected a solitary spot on the mar-
gin of a shady meadow. The weather was dull and
gloomy. He threw himself mechanically into the water,
and all of a sudden the thought came into his head, as he
was swimming along, —
'* I do not feel as if I could ever recover from this atro-
212 ANT ONI A.
cious pain. If I should stop striking out for a few in.
stants, this water would swallow up my sorrow, and keep
the secret of my discouragement."
As these thoughts passed through his mind, he stopped
swimming, and sank quickly. But he rememhered his
mother's despair, and, as he touched bottom, sent himself
to the top again with one spring. He was a fine swim-
mer, and perhaps ran no risk in this trifling with death ;
but the temptation was powerful, and there is a terrible
fascination in the idea of suicide. Three times he
yielded, with more and more longing, and saved himself
with less and less resolution. A fourth time the bewil-
dering frenzy seized him, and with more violence than
ever. He threw himself upon the shore, frightened at
himself, and, lying upon the sand, cried, —
" My poor mother, pardon me ! "
Then he wept bitterly ; for the first time since his
father's death.
His tears afforded him no relief. The weeping of a
strong man is a frightful agony ; stifled cries, terrible
suffocations convulsed his frame. He blushed at his own
weakness, and at being obliged to confess that he could
not rally from it, and might, perhaps, never do so. He
returned home, discontented with himself, and almost
cursing the days of happiness that he had enjoyed. Then
he began to be angry ; and, while his mother was asleep,
he lingered alone in the garden, watching the lightning
that played along the horizon, and reproaching his mother
for loving him too much, and depriving him of the lib-
erty of disposing of himself.
" It is slavery," he cried, " to be always living for
somebody besides yourself. I have not even the right
to die. Why should I have a mother? Those are most
fortunate who have no ties. If they still desire to pre-
serve a life that is ruined, they can plunge into bewilder-
ing dissipation, into intoxicating debaucheries, and so find
forgetfulness. For my part, I have not even that right.
I cannot even have the consolation of being melancholy
and ill. I am to die by a slow fire, and with a smile ;
— to shed a tear is a crime ! I cannot breathe hard,
ANTONIA.
213
I c mnot have a dream, or speak in my sleep, but my
mother is up, ill herself with alarm. Nor can I make
any change in my way of living ; I cannot travel, try to
find forgetfalness or distraction in motion and fatigue ;
anything of that kind would make her unhappy. To live
without me would kill her. I must be either a hero or
saint, in order to keep my mother alive ! Happy are or-
phans and abandoned children ! They are not condemned
to carry a burden too great for their strength."
As soon as he had given way to this rebellion against
ftite, other blasphemies rushed into his mind. Why had
Julie come to interrupt his dream of devoted ness and vir-
tue? He had accepted all the obligations of his position,
and had fulfilled them thoroughly. What right had she
to take possession of his life, because weary of her own
solitude? Was it not wicked and cowardly in her to
have revealed to him the joys of heaven, — to him who
had neither hoped for nor asked her love, — only to leave
him afterwards to the humiliation of having believed in
her?
" You have made me a wretch ! " he cried, rage and
grief contending within him ; " you have robbed me of
my self-respect, of all love of my art ; you have made me
curse the love of my own mother, distrust my strength,
abandon myself to the stupid and shameful notion of sui-
cide ! It would serve you right if I should revenge
myself, — seek you out amid your friends, and reproach
you with the loss of my faith, my peace, my dignity. I
will do it, — yes ! You, also, shall be crushed by my
misery."
The idea of Julie's future life, such as it would prob-
ably be, occurred to him, and his heart was tortured by
all the pangs of jealousy. He saw her in the arms of
another, and thought of a hundred ways of murdering his
rival.
Going off into the fields, he wandered about at ran-
dom, until he found himself once more at the edge of the
water. The storm had become violent, and a tree, not
far off, was struck by lightning. He rushed up to it,
hoping that the same bolt would strike him. The raiu
214 ANTONIA.
fell in torrents, but he scarcely felt it ; it was almost
daylight when he returned, ashamed lest any one should
see him in such a demented condition. He slept two
hours, and awoke exhausted, frightened at what had
taken place within him, and determined not to let him-
self be carried away again by the violence of a passion^
whose extreme danger he had not before understood. It
was with a good deal of difficulty that he got up and took
breakfast with his mother.
'' Since love is the supreme good of life," he said to
her, " I had always believed that it must elevate and
sanctify. I see, however, that it is nothing but an exag-
gerated selfishness, and that it makes us either madmen
or fools. Love must be conquered, but it cannot be
broken off like a material chain ; it must be gradually
extinguished."
Julien had a violent attack of fever, and was delirious.
In his frenzy he revealed all his agony to his mother,
and she also, in her heart, cursed poor Julie.
Marcel, in the meanwhile, had gone to see Julie.
"Madam," said he, "you ought now to go back to
your house."
" Never, my friend," she replied, with her melancholy
sweetness. " I am very well off here ; living on my little
income, and with all I want, why should I be discon-
tented? Unless you obJ3Ct to having me remain in your
house — "
" The house is not mine. I deceived you as to that ;
but you can remain in it, unless you will do what I ask
you, out of regard for Julien."
" For Julien ? — How so ? "
" Julien knows where you are. He knows that it is
your wish not to see him again, and he has given his
oath that he will not attempt to disobey you. He sub-
mits entirely to a decision, whose motives he does not
know. You have, therefore, no reason for concealing
yourself any longer."
" Ah ! very well," said Julie, in a bewildered sort of
way ; — " but where shall I go ? "
" To Paris ; to your own home."
ANTONIA. 215
'* I have no home."
" That is possible ; but you are supposed to be tempo-
rarily in possession of your hotel. You are supposed to
be arranging a settlement with M. Antoine. It is best
that you should be seen ; if you prolong your mysterious
absence too much, it will give rise to suspicions and cal-
umnies."
" What would people say ? "
" Whatever can be said of a woman who is supposed to
have something to hide."
" What difierence does it make to me?"
" For Julien's sake, you should guard your reputation.
So far we have succeeded in preventing any insinuations
from being made against you."
" Julien knows very well that I have nothing with
which to reproach myself."
" It is for that very reason that he will cut the throat
of the first man who says a word to your disadvantage."
" Let us go, then," said Julie, ringing for Camille.
*' I will do whatever you wish, my friend, provided I
never need see M. Antoine again."
" Do not say that, madam ; I had one single hope
left."
" Ah, you have one single hope left, have you ? " said
Julie, with her wistful smile.
" It would not be the truth to call it a very well-founded
one," answered Marcel, sadly ; " but I must not abandon
it, except at the last extremity. Do not deprive me of
the means of subduing the obstinacy of M. Antoine."
" To what purpose?" answered Julie. " Did you not
explain to me that it is a misfortune for a plebeian to
marry a woman of rank ; that in such a case his life be-
comes a torment, a martyrdom, a frightful struggle.?"
" Ah, madam, but if the plebeian is very wealthy, most
people would pardon you."
'* And so I must ask your uncle to enrich the man I
love ? I must dishonor myself in my own eyes, and per-
haps in Julien's, in order to obtain the pardon of a cruel
and heartless world. You ask too much of me. Marcel ;
you are taking advantage of my weakness and submis-
2i6 ANT ON I A.
siveness. May God give me strength for one thing, — *
to resist you in this ; for, after such a shame, I should
feel that I had lived too long."
Poor Marcel was overwhelmed with fatigue and vexa-
tion. He had exhausted himself in running about, in
arguing, in efforts of all kinds, and all he had accom-
plished was to rescue his friends from poverty, and place
them in a condition of material comfort. As far as re-
gards their spiritual state he could do nothing ; and he
said to his wife that evening, —
" My good friend, nothing is falser than the real. I
have been trying to secure them the means of living, and
have only succeeded in killing them."
VIII,
JULIE returned to Paris and to her former luxury ; she
found her equipages, her jewels and servants awaiting
her. M. Antoine had been a faithful guardian, and the
hotel d'Estrelle was unchanged. She paid no attention to
anything. Marcel had vainly hoped that she would at
least feel some sort of instinctive happiness on being sur-
rounded once more by these familiar scenes. He was
alarmed, and almost vexed at her immovable indifference.
He had sent word of her return to such of her friends as
he could communicate with, and imagined that she would
feel obliged to arouse herself in their presence. She met
them, however, without emotion ; and when they ex-
pressed alarm at her paleness and evident exhaustion, she
attributed her changed appearance to a cold which she
had taken on the journey, and which had detained her in
the country longer than she expected. It was nothing,
she said ; she had been worse, and was now improving ;
and had preferred not to write, in order not to alarm any-
body. She promised to see her physician, and get well.
The Baroness d'Ancourt called a few days after her
arrival.
ANT ONI A. 217
" I have treated you badly," she said. " I am sorry,
my dear Julie, and I have come to ask yom* pardon."
'' I have no ill feelings towards you," replied Madam
d'Estrelle.
" Oh, of course not, I know you are a great philos-
opher, or else a great saint. But you are a woman, too,
my friend. You have been persecuted, and you suffer."
" I do not understand you."
"Oh, mon Dieu ! You have been tormented by your
creditors so long, that you have become quite accustomed,
I know, to being persecuted by them. But it seems there
came a crisis when you were in danger of losing every-
thing. It is said that you have secured a further delay,
although with a great deal of difficulty, and with the cer-
tainty that they are only drawing back to make a surer
spring. You told Madam des Morges so, did you not? "
" Yes, it is true. I am only stajdng here while a final
adjustment is being made."
"But you will be able to save something for your
self?"
" I do not wish to retam any of M. d'Estrelle's prop-
erty. I ought to surrender it, and I prefer to."
" No wonder, then, that you are so pale and changed.
I was told that you were wonderfully resigned, and it is
perfectly true ; but y9u are ill with sorrow. You do
^vrong, my dear friend, to reject the consolations of
friendship. You are playing a very grand part, but it
will kill you ! If I were in your place, I would make a
great lamentation and outcry. It would not help me at
all, I suppose, but it would be a comfort. And then I
should be talked about, society would feel an interest in
me, and it is always a consolation to attract attention.
You, on the contrary, are allowing yourself to be buried
alive without saying a single word ; and the world, which
is selfish, will forget that there is any such person in ex-
istence. Only yesterday evening, they were talking about
you at the Duchess de B — *s. ' That poor Madam d'Es-
trelle,* said some one, * she is quite ruined ; have you
heard about it? She won't have *he means of hiring a
fiacre to make calls.'
2i8 ANT ON I A,
"'What?' said the Marquis de S — , 'must we see
such a pretty woman as that going about on foot ? Im-
possible ! Shocking ! Is she very unhappy ? ' — ' Not
at all/ answered Madam des Morges ; ' she says she
will do perfectly well. She is an astonishing person ! *
And then they changed the subject. The moment you
show that you have courage, nobody has any more com-
passion for you, and all the more since it is easiest to be
thinking only about one's self."
Julie only smiled.
" It frightens me to see you smile in that way ! " con-
tinued the baroness. " Do you know, my dear, I think
you are very ill. What is the use in being so reserved ?
If you are so very sensitive, you will grow careless about
yourself, and die, or languish along, and lose your beauty,
which is worse than dying. Take care of yourself, JuKe,
and do not give way as you are doing. We are not as
much deceived as you think, by your wonderful courage.
We all know perfectly well that it is impossible to lose a
fortune, without regret. Do you know, — I must repeat
it, even if it does vex you, — I think you made a great
mistake in not marrying that rich old man ; and perhaps
it is not too late to revoke your decision. Nobody would
blame you now ; when a woman is utterly ruined — "
"Are you commissioned to make me another offer
upon his part ? " said Julie, with a little bitterness.
" No, I have not seen him since the day we quarrelled
upon his account. He has called several times, but I
gave orders that he was not to be admitted. Don't, at
any rate, feel disgusted with the idea because I have
referred to it. K he should return to you, don't refuse
him ; and if he marries you, be sure that I wiU receive
him for your sake."
" You are too kind ! " said Julie.
" You insist on being stiff and proud with me, do you?
And yet I am your friend, and have proved it. I fought
a battle in your defence a little while ago. One of the
Marchioness d'Estrelle's friends, some cowardly fellow,
ventured to utter an insinuation against you in connection
with an insignificant painter, son of the famous Thierry,
ANTONIA.
219
— you know who I mean, — the artist who lived at the
end of your garden. I said that a woman like you would
never degrade herself out of pure frivolity, and ordered
him to be silent. I was promptly seconded by the abbe
de Nivieres, who stated that the young man did not even
know you ; that he had gone to live at Sevres with his
mother ; that he was a capital fellow, and that he declared
expressly that he had never seen Madam d'Estrelle the
whole time he had lived near her, and that this was the
truth. By the way, you used to take an interest in those
people, did you not — in the mother, at least? Do you
Rtill see them?"
*' She has no need of my services any longer, so that I
have no reason for seeing them."
" It is only your health, then, about which I feel very
much concerned, that is troubling you ? Stay, I am going
to spend a month in Chantilly ; suppose you accompany
me. We shall see a great deal of company, and it will
do you good. If you regain your pretty color, perhaps
we will find a husband for you."
The baroness at last took leave. Chattering, offering
her services, and lamenting over her friend to the very
step of her carriage, she made a great outcry against the
selfishness of the world, and all the while did not care
the least in the world for anybody except herself.
" Julie is a great deal too proud and suspicious," she
thought ; " I declare I won't call there again in a hurry.
She is vexatious enough. If she wants anything of me,
she knows where I am to be found."
It was pretty much the same with all Madame d'Es-
trelle's acquaintances. She had never realized, before,
the neglect into which those fall who abandon themselves ;
and she ceased all the more to care for. herself, because
her heart was withered by this indifference.
After passing several days in this way, without seem-
ing to consider about taking any measures of any kind,
she waked up, as it were, one morning, and said to
Marcel, —
" I have done as you wished. I have shown myself to
my friends, explained my absence, and informed them
220 ANTONIA,
that I was soon going away again. It is time to wind
up my affairs definitely, and resign my house to M. An-
toine. My purpose is to live in one of the provinces, —
in some solitary place where no one knows me. Camille
will accompany me, and I shall take no one else. Will
you be so good as to direct me in selecting some lonely
neighborhood and exceedingly humble abode ? "
'' There is one great difficulty in the way," said Mar-
cel ; " M. Antoine will not allow any liquidation to be
made. His release in full is in my portfolio, and he has
no idea, so far, but that it has been accepted."
" And you received that release from him ! " cried
Julie, indignantly ; ^' he believes that I have accepted it !
You were not courageous enough to tear it up, and throw
it in his face ! Ah, I beg your pardon, Marcel ! I forgot
that he is your kinsman, and that you must necessarily
treat him with respect. Very well ; give me the docu-
ment, and bring M. Antoine here. The transaction must
be closed to-day, and I will attend to it myself."
" Be careful, madam," said Marcel, encouraged by the
gleam of energy that Madam d'Estrelle displayed when
this one vulnerable point was touched ; '' M. Antoine is
himself extremely irritable, and it gratifies his vanity tc
feel that you are indebted to him. Do not quarrel with
him, for in that case he will revenge himself upon Julien."
" Is not Julien's fortune secured? "
'' Yes, if all the conditions of the agreement are ob-
served, but I should deceive you if I affirmed that M.
Antoine is aware of your refusal to accept your part of
them."
'' Oh, mon Dieul Marcel, into what a situation have
you brought me ! In your blind devotion to practical
matters, your obstinate determination to save me from
poverty, you have disgraced me ! This man believes that
I have sold my heart, — that he has bought it with his
money, and Julien, — he also must suppose that I have
betrayed my love for wealth ! Ah, it would have been
better if you had killed me ! I feel to-day distinctly that
I cannot endure such a life any longer, — that I must
die I"
ANT ON I A. 221
Julie, who had not wept for a long time, sobbed as if
her heart would break. Marcel preferred to see her even
thus, rather than changed into a statue. Hoping that the
consequences of a violent crisis would be favorable, he
resolutely provoked one.
" Reproach me, curse me, if you choose," he said,
*' but I did it for Julien's sake."
" That is true," replied Julie, " and I was wrong to
find fault with you. You feel sure, then, if I should
offend M. Antoine by refusing his offer, that all he has
done for Julien will become a matter of uncertainty again ?"
" Undoubtedly ; and, what is more, he would have
justice on his side. He is beginning to make me uneasy,
— so impatient is he becoming to have you proclaim his
merits, and cease being ashamed of accepting his kind-
ness. You must drink the cup ; it must be done, for the
love of Julien, — if indeed, as I suppose, that love still
exists."
" Do not say anything about that. I will drink it to
the very lees. But hovv are we to explain to the world
the generosity with which I am treated ? To what mo-
tive will it be attributed? People will think I have been
paying court to this old man, — that I have fascinated him
by some discreditable coquetry. Perhaps they will say
even worse ! "
" Yes, madam," said Marcel, who wished to make one
decisive experiment, in order to ascertain Julie's senti-
ments. " Evil speakers will say all that ; and I do not
see, now, how to prevent it. We will try ; but, if it can-
not be done, will your devotion to Julien enable you to
endure even this ? "
" Yes," said Madam d'Estrelle ; " I will endure to the
end. There is something to sign, is there not?"
And she thought to herself, —
*' Afterwards, I will kill myself."
" You will not have any new engagements to make,"
said Marcel ; " but it will be necessary for you to receive
M. Antoine, and thank him. I am absolutely certain
that he will make Julien's fortune, if you will consent to
some sort of reconciliation."
222 ANTONIA,
" Go and bring M. Antoine," said Julie. " I will kill
myself to-night," she said to herself, when Marcel had
gone.
Despair had so intensified Julie's love, that she v/as no
longer capable of reasoning calmly. She had accepted
the fate of a niartyr, and a martyr's enthusiasm was the
only feeling that still bound her to life.
She wrote to Julien :
" Here is the key of the pavilion. Come at mid-
night ; you will find me there. I am going a long jour-
ney, and want to bid you an eternal farewell."
This letter, with the key enclosed in it, she sealed, and
gave to the most trustworthy of her servants ; ordering
him to take a horse, to ride as fast as possible to Sevres,
and bring her an answer. It was now five o'clock in the
afternoon.
While waiting for M. Antoine, she went out into the
garden, and paused by the edge of the little lake. It was
not deep, but, if she chose to lie down in it, would an-
swer her purpose ! One who really wishes to die, can
always do it. The thought of suicide, which had tempted
Julien so violently a few days before, filled her mind with
a frightful tranquillity.
*' Nobody on earth cares for me except him," she said
to herself; " and, as I cannot be his, I owe no obligations
to any one else. An infernal hatred seized and stran-
gled me in the very bloom of my life, — in the very bloom
of my happiness. Not satisfied with robbing me of my
love and my liberty, they want to rob me of my honor as
well. Marcel said so ; I must be supposed to be the mis-
tress of this odious old man. Ah ! if Julien knew that,
vvhat a horror he would feel of the comfort which his
mother is enjoying ! And if she should suspect it herself!
— They shall never know it : I will make that sure ; my
death shall appear to be an accident. When I am out
of the way, there will be no excuse for changing the con-
tract. Julien will be rich and honored, and nobody will
ever guess at what a cost."
Then she remembered, once more, that it rested with
ANTONIA, 223
Julien and herself to break all these chains, and marry in
spite of poverty.
*' Perhaps he would be happier so," she said ; " per-
haps my sacrificing myself will be only a misfortune to
him. But who can tell how far M. Antoine's hate would
carry him ! An irritable lunatic is capable of anything.
He might have him assassinated. Has he not secret
agents, spies, brigands, at his service ? "
Bewildered, she walked about the little lake, as if im-
patiently waiting the hour of her death. Then, remem-
bering that she was to see Julien again, a wild longing for
life seized her, and her heart beat as if it would break.
IShe felt no remorse, and not even a conscientious scruple
at violating an engagement forced from her by the most
cruel moral violence.
'• Oue who is going to die," she said to herself, " has
a right to protest, before God, against the iniquity of her
tormentors."
A violent reaction, like the ebullition of a quiet lake
below which a volcano has suddenly broken out, or the
sudden flashing up of an expiring flame, transformed he»-
sweet, yielding nature, and gave her, for the moment, ex-
traordinary strength.
She saw M. Antoine approaching with Marcel, and sat
down mechanically upon a stone bench, to receive them.
It was there that she had sat with the old man three months
before, when he had made her the strange and ridiculous
proposition whose rejection had cost her so dear.
As on that day, she heard a rustling among the leaves,
and saw the sparrow that Julien had tamed fluttering its
wings, and seeming to hesitate whether to perch on her
shoulder. The little creature had become rather wild
again. When Julien moved from the pavilion, it was
nowhere in sight, and he had left it, hoping that Julie,
whose long absence he had not foreseen, would be pleased
to find it there. Since her return, she had seen it several
times, not very far off*, friendly, and yet mistrustful, but
had tried in vain to coax it to come nearer. This time
it allowed itself to be caught, and she was holding it in
her hand when M. Antoine joined her.
224
ANTONIA.
She smiled, and bade him good-day with a v/'ld expres*
sion, and he addressed her without knowing what he
said ; for, in spite of his tyrannical disposition, he could
not conquer his bashfulness at first meeting any one. After
his moment of incorrigible stammering, he could find
nothing better to say than this :
'' Well, you still have your tame sparrow, I see?"
" It is Julien's sparrow, and I love it," replied Julie.
" Do you want to kill it? Here it is."
The way in which she said this, her death-like pale-
ness, and the sort of fierce indifference with which she
held out the poor little bird, all warm with her kisses,
made a great impression upon M. Antoine. He looked
at Marcel, as if to ask, " Is she crazy?" and instead of
twisting the sparrow's neck, as he would have readily
done three months before, he pushed it away, saying,
awkwardly, —
" No matter ! keep it. It will not do any harm."
" You are so kind ! " said Julie, in the same dry, fever-
ish way. " You have come to receive my thanks, have
you not ? You are aware that I accept everything ; that
I am very happy ; that I no longer love anything nor any-
body ! that you have done me a very great service, and
can say to God every night, ' I have been good and great,
as You are Yourself.' "
M. Antoine stood with his mouth open ; too subtle to
believe that Madam d'Estrelle meant what she said, and
yet too coarse to understand her, he was uncertain
whether she intended to thank him or to laugh at him.
" She defies me to my face," he said aside to Marcel ;
" you rascal, you have fooled me ! "
*' No, uncle," answered Marcel, aloud ; " the countess
thanks you. But she is very ill, as you can see. Do not
require her to talk any longer."
Marcel had calculated that the alteration in Julie's ap-
pearance would make an impression upon M. Antoine, —
and it did make a vivid one. He gazed at her with a
strange expression, at once stupid, cruel, and timid, and
said to himself, with a joy not unmingled with terror,
" That is my doing."
ANTONIA.
225
" Madam," he said, after hesitating a moment, " I said
I would be revenged on you ; that I would make you ask
my pardon for your ofFeuces. Are you willing to end
the whole matter by confessing that you were in the
wrong ? That is all I require."
" What wrong have I done?" said Julie ; " explain it
to me, so that I may confess it."
Antoine was very much at a loss for an answer ; and,
as always happened with him when he could find nothing
sensible to say, his anger, — which he had almost for-
gotten, — suddenly revived.
" Ah ! You think you have done nothing to offend
me ! " he said ; " very well, mordi I You must ask my
pardon fairly and squarely, or I will have satisfaction out
of Julien."
" Must I ask your pardon on my knees?" asked Julie,
with a sort of sorrowful haughtiness in her tone.
"Well, what if I do require it?" answered the old
man, dizzy with anger, and still thinking himself defied.
" So be it, — have your will ! " said Madam d'Estrelle,
— and she knelt before him.
This was the crowning act of her martyrdom, — the
public expiation extorted from the innocent victim, as he
stands with halter on neck and torch in hand, before
mounting the pile. In this moment of sublime self-
immolation her troubled soul suddenly became calm, —
her countenance was transfigured, — she smiled the
ecstatic smile of a saint, and her eyes shone with an
ineffable sweetness, as if heaven had opened and was
reflected there.
Antoine could not understand this sudden change, and
it startled him. His anger ceased, — not because his
heart was softened, but under the influence of a feeling
of superstitious terror.
'' Very good," he said, " I am satisfied, and I pardon
Julien. Adieu ! "
He turned and fled.
Marcel paused for a moment to say a few encouraging
words to Julie, — which she did not hear, or did not try
to understand, — and then hastened after M. Antoine.
*5
226 ANTONIA,
" Now, my good uncle," he said, in a bolder and
sharper tone than he had yet assumed to him, "you ought
really to be satisfied ; you have killed Madam d'Es-
trelle ! "
" Killed her?" said uncle Antoine, turning short upon
him. "What piece of stupidity is that? "
" The stupidity would be in thinking her joy and grat-
itude sincere. You cannot be such a fool. That woman
is desperate ; she is dying of sorrow."
" You lie ! you are all wrong, I tell you. She is still
angry, and the annoyances I have caused her to suffer
of late have made her ill with vexation. But she is
satisfied, at last, that it was all for the best ; she
pulls at the bit, but she knows I am saving her in spite
of herself."
" You are saving her from the chances of the future, —
that is perfectly true ; and you are taking the surest way
to do it, — by depriving her of life."
" Pshaw ! That's another subterfuge ! She caught
cold spending the nights in the garden with her lover ;
and she found it extremely tiresome in the convent of
Chaillot, and still more so in that old barrack at Nan-
terra, where she was absolutely alone. You see she
sought in vain to conceal herself, — I know every place
she has been in. I have not once lost track of her.
You can't cheat me ! I saw the convent physician ; he
told me that she was inclined to melancholy by her tem-
perament, and had no serious ailment. I saw her doctor
in Paris, and he said he could not understand anything
about her illness. The devil ! if it had been anything
serious he would have known what it was well enough.
For my part, I know what it is : she has had a disap-
pointment. That doesn't kill people, and I guarantee
that she is going to get well."
'' And I guarantee," said Marcel, " that if she is left
to the despair into which you have plunged her for an-
other week, she will be lost beyond recovery."
" Pho ! Then she is very much in love with the
dauber ? And is he thinking about her too ? "
" Julien is as ill as she, and in a conditiouof mind quite
ANTONIA. 227
as alarmin*,'. I took pains to satisfy myself upon this
point, and succeeded in doing so with a great deal of
difficulty, for he is not a man to complain. As for her, '
have not been able to make her speak a single word fo.
two months. To-day, I undertook to push her to thA
last extremity ; — I succeeded, and from this day I have
made up my mind as to my own course."
" Your course ? What do you mean ? What are you
going to do ? "
'^ To destroy a couple of papers that I have in my
pocket, — the release with which you intrusted me for
Madam d'Estrelle, and her promise never to see Julieu
again, — which I have never delivered to you. You both
of you put yourselves into my hands when you authorized
me to exchange these reciprocal obligations. I shall place
you on an equal footing by destroying them both. Then
the whole affair must be begun over again, and, as I am
aware of the intentions of both parties, I declare to you
that Madam d'Estrelle will accept nothing from you, and
that you may take possession of all her property at once
Up to this time, she has followed my advice implicitl}' ;
and, as I don't wish to see her die, 1 shall advise her to
retract all that she has thus far agreed to."
" Why, you abominable scoundrel ! " cried M. Antoine,
stopping short in the middle of the street, and speaking in
a loud voice. '' I don't know why I don't break my stick
over your shoulder ! "
" A scoundrel, when I return you all your money, and
reserve to my client only the right of living in poverty?
If that is so, go and bring a suit against me, carry the
affair into court, and cover yourself with ridicule and
disgrace ! "
" But, Julieu ! I have made Julien rich, you rascal.
I suspected as much all along ! You have extorted from
me — "
"Nothing at all! Julien has been seriously ill for
several days, and is so still. I hinted to his mother the
true state of the case, and she answered, 'Give all the
property back to M. Antoine, and let Julie be restored to
us.' You see, therefore, that you do not lose one penny,
228 ANTONIA,
You will recover principal and interest, and we shall be
at liberty to live as we choose, without being bound hy
any stipulation, legal or private."
'' Why, you miserable wretch, you are completely
backing out ! I thought you were a reasonable man.
You took my view of the matter entirely ; you disap-
proved of the marriage, and were helping me establish
them comfortably."
^' Yes, until I saw that this comfort was going to carry
them straight into their graves."
" They are a parcel of fools."
" Yes, uncle, they are : love is nothing but foolishness ;
but when it is incurable, we must yield to it ; for my
part, I yield."
" Very well," replied M. Antoine, pounding his three-
cornered hat down over his eyes with a desperate blow
of the fist. " Go and order that lady to clear out of her
house, — that is, out of my house, — this instant. I
shall go to Sevres, and turn the others out myself. If every
one of them is not in the street within two hours, I'll
send sheriffs' officers, policemen — I'll set the buildings
onfire — I'll — "
By this time he was running so fast that his foolish
threats could no longer be heard. Leaving Marcel in the
street, he rushed into his house, a capital caricature, al-
though he did not know it, of Orestes pursued by the
furies. Marcel followed quietly, without allowing him-
self to be alarmed, and forced his way in, although orders
had been already given that the master was not at
home. He had resolved to fight his way in, had it been
necessary.
'' You are going to Sevres, are you ? " he began ; " I'll
go with you."
" As you please," said uncle Antoine, gloomily.
" Have you notified Madam Julie to vacate my hotel?"
"Yes, I have," said Marcel, who saw that the old
man was completely beside himself, and had no idea how
short a time had elapsed since their altercation in the
street.
" Is she packing up .? Will she carry off — ? "
ANTONIA.
229
" Nothing," said Marcel ; " she leaves everything.
Are we ^^oing to Sevres ? Have you ordered a coach ? *'
*' My covered wagon and work-horse will go faster.
They are harnessing."
He sat down on the corner of a table, and remained
plunged in his own reflections. Marcel, who had deter-
mined not to lose sight of him, sat down opposite ; he
feared for his reason, and was also apprehensive that his
rage would suggest some diabolical trick to him by which
his friends would be victimized. When they started, it
was seven o'clock in the evening. Marcel was the first
to break the silence.
" What are we going to do at Sevres? " he said.
" You will see," answered M. Antoine.
After quarter of an hour, Marcel spoke again :
" It will do no good for you to go there. The papers
are at my office. All that is necessary is to destroy them,
and I give you notice that I will not permit you to make
an absurd scene with my aunt. She is in trouble, and
Julien is very ill, as I told you."
" And you lied like a dog ! " replied M. Antoine ; " see
there ! "
He pointed to a hired cabriolet that was just passing
them. In it sat Julien, pale and haggard, darkly frown-
ing, and with an abstracted but determined expression.
He had received Julie's note, had forced himself to rise,
and, desiring to question Marcel before keeping his
appointment, was on his way to Paris in good season.
'•If it is with him that you wish to speak," said Mar-
cel, "let us turn back. I wager anything that he is
going to my house."
" I don't want to speak to him," answered M. Antoine
ironically, " since he is dying."
" Did you think he looked well?" asked Marcel.
M. Antoine relapsed into his sinister silence, and they
drove on in the direction of Sevres. Did he really know
what he meant to do there ? To confess the truth, he
had not the least idea. His mind was in a terribly
confused state, and he was thinkin'^ about this fact^
230
ANTONIA.
and this alone, for he really began to be alarmed about
himself.
" After all," he thought, " I shall be the sickest of the
three, if I don't take care. Anger is a good thing, it
keeps a man alive, and strengthens him in his old age ;
an old man who allows others to manage him is done
for. Still, one must not indulge in too much at a time ;
I must be more quiet.'*
And upon this, with a power of will that would have
made him a remarkable man, if he had possessed better
tendencies, or had been better directed in life, he resolved
to take a nap, and actually slept quietly until the wagon
began to rumble over the pavements of Sevres.
Marcel had been tempted to try and turn back without
his uncle's knowing it, but it was a question whether
M. Antoine's servant would obey him ; and, in any event,
since Julien was out of the way, was it not the best plan
to wait and see what M. Antoine would have to say to
Madam Thierry? He was a good deal afraid of her.
Would he dare tell her to her face that he took back all
he had given ?
Sleep restored M. Antoine to himself, — that is, to his
chronic condition of deliberate aversions, jealous self-love,
and brooding resentment. They found Madam Thierry
standing before a beautiful portrait of her husband, as
if she had hoped, by gazing upon the serene and cheer-
ful countenance, to inspire herself with the confidence in
the future that had always characterized that charming
man. Marcel had but just time to step in first, and
warn her briefly :
'' M. Antoine is close at my heels," he said. " He is
furious ; but, with patience and firmness, you may still
be able to save everything."
" Mon Dieu I What shall I say ? "
" Tell him that you resign all his gifts, but that you
are grateful to him for them. Julie adores Julien.
Everything depends on my uncle, — he is coming."
" Shall you leave me alone with him?"
" Yes, he insists upon it : but I will stay clo?e by, and
be ready to interpose, if necessary."
ANT ON I A. 231
He stepped quickly into a little cabinet, and, leaving
the door ajar, sat down and listened. M. Antoine came
into the drawing-room by the other door. He was less
timid now that he no longer felt Marcel's scrutinizing eye
fastened upon him.
" Your servant. Madam Andre," he said, as he came
in ; " are you alone ? "
Madam Thierry rose, answered that she was, and
politely invited him to sit down.
Her face also was greatly altered. She had been
watching with her son for several nights ; and now that
he had risen and departed in spite of her remonstrances,
she felt that the great crisis of his life drama was come.
" Is your son ill?" asked M. Antoine.
" Yes, monsieur."
"Seriously?"
" God grant that he will recover.**
"Isheinbed?"
" He has just got up."
"Could I see him?"
" He has gone out, monsieur."
" Then he is not so very ill?"
" He was extremely so until last night ; since then he
has been a little better."
" What was the matter? "
" Fever and delirium."
" A sunstroke ? "
"No, monsieur."
" Trouble, perhaps ? "
" Yes, monsieur ; great trouble.**
" Because he is in love ? "
" Yes, monsieur."
" But it is a silly business, to be in love, when he
might be rich."
" That cannot be reasoned about, monsieur."
" Do you know that I came to make you a proposi-
tion?"
" No, I did not."
" If you will send your son to America, I will furnish
him with a handsome capital, I will direct his operations,
233
ANTONIA.
and in ten years he will come honoie with an income of
thirty thousand francs."
"On what conditions, monsieur?"
" That he bids farewell to a certain lady of our ac-
quaintance ; nothing more than that."
" And if he refuses?"
" If he refuses, — and that is what I expect, for I
have been advised that it is likely, — in that event an
agreement entered into between a certain lady and my-
self respecting him becomes null and void."
" Very good, monsieur ; I understand. You have the
right to do what you choose with your own, and we
submit."
'' But you might resist, if you chose. You were not
consulted about accepting my gifts ; you did not know
cf the conditions agreed upon by Madam d'Estrelle
and myself. There is sufficient ground for a lawsuit,
and I shall be very likely to lose it, if my opponents act
in bad faith."
"If by your opponents you mean my son and myself,
make yourself perfectly easy, monsieur. We surrender
your benefactions without any hesitation whatever."
" Ah, yes, my benefactions ! They are burdensome to
you ; you are ashamed of them."
" As long as we did not know that they restrained the
liberty of one who is dear to us, we were not ashamed
of them; and even, — you may be assured," continued
Madam Thierry, making a great effort for her son's sake,
" we were grateful to you ; — if we had been certain that
we owed this generosity to your solicitude for our welfare,
we should have blessed your name. But whatever caused
your kindness, and however short its duration, it has
made us happy, notwithstanding our troubles and anx-
ieties, to see this house again, and to find ourselves in the
midst of our dearest recollections. You order us to
leave it, and we shall obey ; but I want to thank you for
myself — "
" You, madam ! " said Antoine, looking steadily at her.
" Yes, — to thank you for the two months that you
have allowed us to stay here. The thought of never re-
ANT ON I A.
233
turning to iny home was always distressing to me :
henceforth it will be less so ; I shall remember this
short visit as a last beautiful dream casting a gleam of
sunshine over my life, and which I owe to you."
Madam Thierry had an agreeable voice and a pecu-
liarly refined accent, wliich were extremely attractive.
In his fits of anger, M. Antoine was in the habit of call-
ing her "The fine-spoken lady." He felt, nevertheless,
the influence of this sweet voice, still fresh and pure,
caressing his ear with kind and almost reverential words.
He did not understand the delicacy of her sentiments,
but he saw that she seemed humble and submissive ; and
this it was that he so eagerly craved.
" Come, Madam Andre," he said, in the gruff manner
which he was accustomed to assume when his anger be-
gan to be dissipated, " you know how to say exactly what
you want, but confess that in your heart you can't abide
me!"
" I hate nobody, monsieur ; but you oblige me to con-
fess that I am afraid of you ! "
Nothing could have been shrewder than this answer.
To inspire fear was, according to M. Antoine, the highest
attribute of power. Wonderfully softened, he said, in a
tone that was almost good-natured, —
" And what the devil makes you so afraid of me ? "
Madam Andre possessed the penetration peculiar to
women who have lived much in society, and the tact of a
mother arguing the cause of her child. Seeing how
important an advantage she had gained, she proceeded to
forget, — very opportunely, under the circumstances, —
that she was sixty years old, and courageously decided to
be a little coquettish, although M. Antoine was a man
with whom it was dangerous to be too condescending.
*' Brother," said she, " it was your fault if you did not
retain my confidence. I do not reproach you with having
betrayed it, for your intentions were good, and it was I
who did not understand them. I was very young, and
my unhappy position made me peculiarly sensitive. Ut-
terly inexperienced, I thought you were trying to persuade
me to abandon Andre, when — "
234
ANTONIA,
"When, in reality, I was telling you in good faith to
save him."
" Yes, you were acting out of affection for him. I waa
blind, obstinate, — whatever you choose ; but you must
confess that it was your place to overlook my folly. You
ought to have treated me like the child that I was, and to
have become my brother again, as before."
"You want me to confess all that, do you? But you
always treated me haughtily afterwards — "
"Why didn't you laugh at my haughtiness? Why
didn't you take me by the hand, and say, ' Sister, you are
a little goose. Embrace me, and let bygones be bygones/
That's what you ought to have done."
" What ! You think I ought — "
" The mosi reasonable is under an obligation to be the
most generous."
" And would you like matters arranged on that footinc;
now?"
" It is never too late to understand each other, and to
bring back kind feelings that should never have been cast
aside."
"Well, then, are you sorry now to think that you
wounded me?"
" I am sorry, and I ask your pardon. Will you grant
it?"
"Ah, diantre ! That is a different thing, my dear
lady I You are in want of me now ; — you want my
help ! "
" Yes, M. Antoine, I do. My son is crazy with grief.
Marry him to the woman he loves."
" Ah, there you are again ! " cried M. Antoine, flash-
ing out in another burst of rage.
" It is where we began," answered Madam Thierry ;
" I have asked but one thing of you since you came here,
— freedom of action for Madam d'Estrelle."
" Yes, and plenty of money besides, for everybody."
" No, no money ; nothing at all ! I told you we w^ere
ready to resign your property. If you will allow us to
rent this house of you, we will live here, and pay you the
rent, with pleasure. If you refuse, we must submit ta
ANTONIA.
235
your will. But let U8 depart without anger, and for-
give us for being happy ; for, if our hearts are only sat-
isfied with each other, and if we can only feel that our
happiness docs not annoy you, we shall be so in spite of
our trials and privations."
M. Antoine was conquered. Ashamed, he caught at
a last twi": of arjmment :
*' How proud you are ! " he said ; " it is always the
same thing, and you are all alike ! You haye a contempt
for the rich man's money ! You despise it ! ' Take it
back again,* you say ; ' we don't want any of it ; we
have no need of it ; we can live on the air ! What is
money, after all ? Mere pebbles, to an intelligent mind ! '
And yet, my dear madam, money honestly earned by a
man who began life with nothing but his wits, ought to
be of some account ! It is the honey of a working bee ;
it is a tropical flower, made to bloom in an artificial cli-
mate by the patience and skill of the master gardener.
And you think it is worth nothing? With ail his genius,
my poor brother knew no better than to spend what he
worked like a drudge to obtain. I have a better way of
using my money : I keep it ; I increase it every day,
and I make people happy with it when I choose."
" But what are you coming at, M. Antoine ? " asked
Madam Thierry, to whom Marcel, through the door be-
hind the horticulturist, was making signs which she did
not understand.
" This is what I am coming at : that you are not so
good a mother as you imagine. You are very willing to
sacrifice everything else for your son, except your con-
tempt for the money I have given you. I believe you
think I stole my fortune ; I believe you think my money
has a bad smell."
'' But for heaven's sake why do you say that? What
makes you suppose that I esteem you less than you de-
serve ? **
" Because if you really were a good motjber, instead of
talking such nonsense as that, you would say, ' Brother,
we are unfortunate, and you are rich ; you can save us.
We are a little foolish for wishing to pay court to Madam
236 ANTONIA.
d*Esirelle, but that is no reason why you should leave us
without bread. Pardon us altogether, and once for all !
Let us have the privilege of loving and of eating too ; if
your goodness humiliates us, so much the worse for us.
We know that you are a great man, — a magnificent
man ; you will take pity on us, and grant all that we ask ! *
There, Madam Andre, that is what you would say, —
that is what you would beg on your kuces, if necessary,
if you were really a good mother, instead of being a lady
of rank."
Madam Thierry was mute with astonishment. She
looked at Marcel, who, without being seen by M, An-
toine, was energetically telegraphing to her, by gesture
and pantomime, to yield to the old capitalist's fancy. The
poor lady felt a most painful reluctance, yet she did not
hesitate ; she glided down from her chair to her footstool,
and kneeling there, took both of M. Antoine's hands.
^^ You are right, brother," she said, " I ought to do as
you say. I yield. Be the noblest of men ; pardon all ;
give us all ! "
*' You have done it at last, then ! And just in time ! "
cried M. Antoine, raising her ; " and when people are
reconciled they embrace, don't they? "
Madam Thierry embraced M. Antoine, and Marcel en-
tered Justin season to applaud.
" There, now, Mr. Pettifogger," said the amateur gar-
dener, " a pretty figure you cut ! A fine plan of opposi-
tion you had ! You were going to break and smash up
everything, to fling your client and your family into pov-
erty, and all for the sake of not surrendering to a rich man,
— a powerful man, — the natural enemy of poor people,
and of those who don't know how to make money ! A fine
lawyer you are, upon my word ! a lawyer who can secure
your clients nothing but love and dry bread ! Luckily,
the women have more sense. Here are two of them who
have been wishing me at the devil, and both of them
have gone down on their knees to me this very evening !
Well, sister, this closes the whole matter. I will never
recall it to your mind, for I am a generous man ; and,
when people satisfy me, I know how to reward them.
ANTONIA.
237
Your son shall marry the pretty countess. I must turn
her out of her house to keep people from talking, but
I will give Julien the hotel d'Estrelle, and an ineomo
of twenty-five thousand francs, as a marriage portion.
That's the way I do things ! I know very well that you
have been acting to-day out of policy, — I haven't been
fooled as to that, — and that you will thank me to-morrow,
once for all, and forget everything. But no matter ; you
have done as I wished, — you have submitted, and I ask
no more."
" We will give you a great deal more," replied Madam
Thierry, " for you will not be able to refuse the affection
of warm and sincere hearts. You will experience a hap-
piness that you ought to have known before, but we will
try and make up for lost time."
" Oh, that's all talk," said M. Antoine ; " happiness
is in being your own master, and I don't want any one's
help to make me that. I don't like brats and senti-
mentality. I never was meant for the father of a family ;
but, if I had been born a king, I should have governed
my people excellently. To command has always been a
favorite idea of mine ; and I reign over the kingdom I
have, a great deal better than plenty of monarchs, who
don't know what they are about."
In spite of her anxiety as to what might be the reason
of Julien's absence, and her desire to send Marcel to find
him, Madam Thierry felt obliged to invite M. Antoine to
supper.
'' Oh ! " he said, " for my part, my supper consists of a
crust of hard bread and a glass of cheap wine. That is
my way ; I never cared much for eating."
What he wanted was set before him, and when he had
supped. Marcel hastened his departure.
" I am sure," he said to his aunt, " that Julien is wait-
ing for me at my house. He is probably impatient be-
cause I do not return ; but my wife will try and make
him comfortable, Julio will amuse him, and if he should
feel worse, you can depend upon it he will be well cared
for."
Julien was, in fact, excessively impatient, notwitlistand-
238 ANTONIA.
ing all Madam MarcePs care and attention. Feeling very
weak when he reached the house, he had attempted to
eat a little, and to entertain himself with the prattle of his
little godson ; but when he heard the clock strike eleven,
and saw that Marcel did not return, he could no longer
endure his mortal suspense. Saying that his mother
would be uneasy if he did not return by midnight, and
promising to take a carriage to Sevres, he departed. In
fact, he proceeded on foot, and by a roundabout way, to the
rue de Babylone ; he thought it necessary to take every
precaution in order to guard against being seen and fol-
lowed, as before, by some of M. Antoine's agents. He
arrived, however, safely, and without attracting any ob-
servation. M. Antoine had maintained his espionage
upon Julie long enough to be quite certain that she and
Julien never met, and then had given it up.
As it struck twelve, Julien entered the pavilion and
found Julie there ; he had been waiting outside the door,
and she inside of it, for quarter of an hour.
At this very moment. Marcel, M. Antoine, and Madam
Thierry were entering Paris on their return from Sevres.
M. Antoine's frugal supper, and his not very entertaining
conversation, had exhausted the widow's patience. She
was anxious about her son, and insisted upon having a
seat in the wagon, so that she might join him at Marcel's
house.
Julien, before meeting Julie, had armed himself with
all his courage. He was expecting a painful explana-
tion, and had sworn to himself to show no anger, to
utter no reproaches, to betray no weakness ; and yet, as
he opened the door, his hand shook : overwhelmed by a
sudden passion of fury and despair, he hesitated, and
drew back ; but, on seeing him, Julie uttered a wild cry
of joy, threw her arras about his neck, and pressed him
passionately to her heart. It was so dark that neither
of them could see how changed the other was. Their
burning kisses made them forget the fever raging in
their veins. The fever of love, which revivifies, was
victorious over that which destroys.
Julien was the first to recover from this moment of
ANTONIA.
339
delirium. Alarmed, rather than intoxicated bj Julie*8
caresses, he suddenly repulsed her.
''If you still love me," he said, "how can you consent
to leave me ? "
" Bah ! " she answered, " it is not, perhaps, for so
long."
" You wrote that you wanted to bid me an eternal
farewell ! "
" I do not know what I wrote ; I was out of my senses*
But it is not possible for those who love as we do to part
forever."
'' It is true then that you are going away ? — And will
you come back ? "
" Yes, — if I can. But do not talk about that. To-
night is our own ; give it all to love."
Amid their transports of happiness, Julien was again
seized with terror. In the passionate words that escaped
Julie there was a mysterious gloom, — a sinister fore-
boding, which seemed to freeze the blood in his veins.
"What is the matter with you?" he cried suddenly.
" You are deceiving me. Either you are going away,
or you think you are going to die ! You are ill ; I
know you are ; — the physicians have given you up,
perhaps."
" No, I give you my word that they promise to cure
me."
" Let me see your face ! I cannot see you ; let us go
out from here. I am afraid ! It seems to me, at mo-
ments, that I am dreaming, and that it is only your ghost
I am holding in my arms."
He carried her into the garden, but it was almost as
dark there as in the pavilion.
" Mon Dieu ! I do not see you ; I cannot see your
face at all," cried Julien, devoured with anxiety. " Your
arms have grown thin, — you are wasted away. You
are like a shadow ; it seems to me that your feet do not
touch the ground. Tell me ; are you a dream ? Am I
here, close to you, in this garden where we have been so
happy? I am afraid I shall go mad ! "
They approached the little lake, in which the clear moon-
240
ANTONIA.
less sky, with all its stars, was perfectly mirrored, and there
Julien saw that Madam d'Estrelle was pale ; the glirn^
mering radiance of the water reflected upon her face,
made her seem even more wan than she really was. Her
great, hollow eyes, shining in the night with a glassy
brightness, showed him how thin she had become.
" You are dying ! " he cried ; '' I am sure of it ! That
is what made you send for me. Very well, Julie ; I will
never leave you again. If I must lose you, I will re-
ceive your last sigh, and I will die too."
" Oh no, Julien, you cannot ! — Your mother ! "
"She shall die with us then; will that satisfy you?
She wanted to die when she lost my father ; she said
BO, in spite of herself, in her first outbreak of sorrow,
and I know very well that she has continued to live only
for my sake. Since we three have only one soul, we will
depart together, and we will go to a world where the
purest love will not be considered a crime. There must
lae such a world for those who cannot understand the un-
just prejudices of this. Let us die, Julie, without any
remorse or vain regret. Give me your breath, — your
fever, — the death that is in your veins. I swear that I
will not survive you ! "
" Ah me ! " cried Julie, who could not repress the
passionate cry of her heart, " and I could have been
well."
" What did you say? " cried Julien, with an exclama-
tion of horror ; " you have taken poison I Tell me, —
have you ? I will know."
" No, no, I meant nothing ! " she said, drawing him
forward with a sudden, desperate grasp, that startled
him.
Bending over the edge of the water, she had seen the
vague reflection of her face and white dress, and had re-
membered that in an hour she would lie there, stretched
out, motionless, — dead. She had sworn it! In expia-
tion of her violated oath, she must die, and as the
price of Julien's prosperity. An agonizing fear of death
had made her tremble and draw back.
" What are you afraid of ? " he asked. " What did
ANTONIA. 241
you see down there in the water? Wliat arc you think-
ing about now? And why did you start? Stay, — I
know ; you mean to die, now, at once, as soon as I am
gone away. But you must not. You are my wife.
Since you love me wholly, you are mine. I do not
know what oath you have taken, nor to what constraint
you have been subjected ; but I am your lover, your
husband, your master ; and I disallow all such obliga-
tions ! I will run away with you ; rather, I will carry
you away with me, as I have a right to do. I will not
allow you to die, and my mother shall live also, and give
you her blessing. I have strength enough to protect
you both ; no matter what hardships are before us, we
will meet them. Do not hesitate any longer. If you
are not strong enough to walk, I will carry you. Let
us go at once, Julie. The time has come when you must
acknowledge that no one except me has any rights over
your life."
He drew her away in the direction of the pavilion, and
as they again approached the water, the struggle between
her love and her remorse became so violent that she gave
a cry of horror, and clung to him with all her strength.
" I gave my word of honor to leave you," she said,
" and I have broken it. And I am bringing your mother
to poverty. Can you take away that reproach from me ? **
"You are frantic," said Julien, ''Since you have
known my mother, have you seen her in want ? Will any
one cut my right arm off to prevent me from working ? If
so, I will work with my left ! Now I understand every-
thing. This was the revenge that M. Antoine threatened.
I ought to have guessed sooner why he gave us my father's
house ! Poor Julie ! You have sacrificed yourself for
our sake. But the contract is void : I have not given
my consent ; I have accepted nothing at all ; I submitted,
but without knowing anything of the circumstances.
Do not tremble so. I absolve you from your promise,
and woe to him who undertakes to remind you of it. If
you hesitate, or are alarmed, I shall think you are regret-
ting your fortune, and have less courage and less love
than I."
16
242 ANTONIA.
" Ah ! that is what I was so afraid oft " said Julie ;
*' come, let us go ! But where ? How can I ever find
courage to go to your mother, and say, ' I bring you only
poverty and sorrow ? ' "
" Julie, if you doubt my mother, you no longer love
us!"
" Let us go, then, and find her. She shall decide for
me. Take me away, — save me ! "
Exhausted by so many emotions, Julie's strength quite
failed ; and, as he caught her in his arms, Julien saw that
she had fainted. There were no means of restoring her
in the pavilion ; he carried her back to her house and to
her own room, where she had left the door opening upon
the garden unfastened, and where he found a light burn-
ing. When he had placed Julie upon a sofa, she quickly
recovered her consciousness ; but, on attempting to rise,
she fell back,
" Ah, my friend ! " she said, " I cannot move. Am I
going to die ? Is it too late for you to save me ? Hark !
There is some one knocking at the street-door, is there
not?"
" No," said Julien, who had heard nothing.
He tried to inspire her with a confidence that was be-
ginning to desert his own mind, when they were both of
them startled by a violent ringing at the outer door.
*' They are coming after me, — to carry me ofi*, per-
haps ! " cried Julie, bewildered with fear ; " they will
throw me into a convent ! The marchioness, — M. An-
toine, — one or both of them ! And I cannot move !
Carry me away, Julien ! Hide me ! "
" Wait, wait ! " said Julien, who had opened an inner
door to listen ; " it is Marcel ; he is making a great up-
roar, and calling Camille. Something important has
happened, and he wants to warn you. Open the door,
and see him."
" I cannot ! " she answered in despair, after a vain
effort.
" Well, then, I will go," said Julien, resolutely ; "he
may just as well see me here, for I will not leave the
house without you."
ANTONIA. 243
He hastened to the outer door, where Marcel was ring-
ing at a furious rate, and, before any of the servants
had time to rise and see what was wanted, Julien ad-
mitted Marcel and Madam Thierry, brought them in, and
closed the doors again.
" Ah, my child," cried Madam Thierry, " I was sure
that we should find you here ! Victory, my dear Julien,
my poor Julie ! Ah, I don't know what I am saying ;
you must get well now ; we bring you happiness ! *'
When Julie learned what had taken place at Sevres,
she revived like a dying plant in a shower of rain. Ht^r
nervous excitement passed off in joyful tears. As for
Julien, who had been dangerously ill the day before, and
utterly exhausted that very morning, he was like a paral-
ytic, cured by a fortunate stroke of lightning, who sud-
denly begins to walk and leap again.
After an hour of heartfelt happiness and congratula-
tions. Marcel committed Julie to Camille, who undertook
to keep the servants from babbling about this nocturnal
visit, and carried Madam Thierry home with him to get
a little rest. Julien had already made his escape by way
of the pavilion. Julie sank into a sweet and deep sleep
such as she had not known since her separation from
Julien.
Fortunately, M. Antoine, as we have said, had long
discontinued his watch upon the hotel d'Estrelle ; and
fortunately, also, the servants there were devoted and
discreet ; for if he had heard of the interview between
his relatives and Madam d'Estrelle, the consequences
might have been disastrous. He had signified his inten-
tion of informing the countess in person of her pardon,
but he was himself fatigued ; his nerves were unstrung ;
and he was, at the same time, in a great state of self-sat-
isfaction and pride. Accordingly he slept very soundly,
and did not get up until a quarter of an hour later than
usual. He made up for this, however, as soon as he was
on his feet, by flying into a state of extra activity, that
threw his whole household into alarm ; for M. Antoine
was a man energetic in giving orders, prompt in uttering
threats, and still more prompt in lifting bis cane against
244
ANTONIA.
delinquents. In the twinkling of an eye the old hotel
de Melcy was opened, swept, and put in complete order.
Messengers were sent off in all directions, and at noon a
sumptuous dinner was served. His guests, assembled in
the great gilded saloon, awaited some mysterious event.
Marcel ushered in Madam Thierry and Madam d'Estrelle,
whom he had invited in behalf of the host. Julien had
also received an invitation, and was present. Julie was
welcomed by Madam d'Ancourt, and Madam des Morges,
with her daughter and son-in-law. The Duke de Ques-
noy had not yet returned, but the abbe de Nivieres was
on hand, resolved to eat for both of them. The presi-
dent's wife did not keep them waiting, and, lastly, Marcel
was empowered to present to the ladies a number of bot-
anists, both professional men and amateurs, whom M.
Antoine was accustomed to assemble around him on great
occasions.
" It's enough to make one die of laughter," said the
baroness to Julie, drawing her into the recess of a win-
dow. " The old gentleman sent me an express at six
o'clock in the morning, to invite me to be present at the
baptism of a rare plant which is to be called by his name !
You can imagine what a temper I was in, at being waked
up for such a thing as that ! I was furious ! But when I
had read the postscript, stating that you were to be pres-
ent at the ceremony, I resolved to come. So, my dearest
friend, you are reconciled with your old neighbor ? Very
well, so much the better. You took my advice, and re-
signed yourself to your fate. That's right. Mr. Gar-
dener is not particularly agreeable, but five millions !
Think of that!"
Julie's other friends took a different view of the matter.
They imagined that her creditor had been making a set-
tlement witli her in an amicable way, on terms satisfactory
to both parties ; and that they would be rendering Madam
d'Estrelle a service by accepting M. Antoine's invitation.
They questioned her, under this supposition, and she did
not undeceive them.
As for the savants, they were far from considering
the baptism of the new plant as a piece of puerile osten-
ANTONIA.
245
tatio 1. M. Antoine had made several interesting addi-
tions to horticulture. He had promoted the acclimation
of useful trees, and was justly entitled to have his name
recorded in the anuals of science. A good dinner, in such
cases, is never objectionable ; nor is the presence of a
number of agreeable ladies absolutely inconsistent with a
proper discussion of the grave interests of botany.
When all were assembled, M. Antoine assumed a
modest and good-natured manner ; always, on the rare
occasions when he displayed it, a sure indication that he
was certain of having achieved some great victory. He
phiced the company around a large table with an object
of considerable height concealed under a great dome of
white paper standing in the centre, and proceeded to draw
from his pocket a manuscript of his own inditing, very
short, fortunately, but which it was difficult to hear with-
out laughing, since it took unceremoniously the most
fearful liberties both with French and Latin. This trea-
tise began with " Ladies and Gentlemen ; " it proceeded
to discuss the importation and cultivation of the finest
known plants of the lily species, and ended thus : " Hav-
ing been so fortunate (in my opinion) as to obtain, raise,
and bring to perfect flowering a specimen, unique in
France, of a LiliaceaB, surpassing all those above enume-
rated in size, perfume and splendor, I call the attention
of the honorable company to the individual in question,
and invite them to give it a name."
As he ended the reading, M. Antoine, who was armed
with a long rod, dexterously lifted the paper-covering
from the object before him, and Julien uttered a cry of
surprise ; for there, fresh and blooming in all its glory,
he beheld the Antonia Thierrii. He thought, at first,
that it was a trick, — a perfect artificial imitation of the
original Antonia ; but as soon as the plant was released
from its covering, it exhaled a perfume that reminded
him, as well as Julie, of the happy hour of their first
meeting. A murmur of sincere admiration ran around
the table, and M. Antoine added :
" Learned gentlemen, you will please to know that this
plant has put forth two flower-stems ; one, a pretty fine
246
ANTONIA.
one, in the end of May, which was broken off by acci»
dent, and is preserved in my herbarium ; the second in
August, twice as large and twice as luU as the other,
which has bloomed, as you see, on the tenth day of the
said month."
'' Baptize it, baptize it ! " cried Madam d'Ancourt.
" I would like to be the godmother of this beautiful lily ;
but I suppose somebody else — "
She paused, and looked over at Julie, good-naturedly,
and yet ironically. The savants, witliout noticing her,
unanimously proclaimed the name of Antonia Thierrii*'
" You are very good, gentlemen," said M. Antoine, blush-
ing with pleasure and stammering with emotion, " but 1
desire to suggest a modification. It is fair enough that
the plant should bear my name ; but I should like to join
to it the first name of a person who — of a lady — in
fact, I want to name it Julie- Antonia- Thierrii.^*
^' It's rather long," observed Marcel ; " but then it's
such a tall plant ! "
*' Very good ; hurrah for the Julie- Antonia- Thierrii I "
answered the scientific gentlemen, with great readiness.
" There ! At last ! Bravo ! It is decided, then ! "
cried the Baroness d'Ancourt, in so loud a voice as to at-
tract the attention of the whole table. Pointing to Julie,
she clasped her plump, white hands, as a sign of an anti-
cipated marriage.
Everybody looked at Julie, whose vivid blush brought
back all the splendor of her beauty.
" Pardon me, baroness," said uncle Antoine, with a
sly expression ; "I deceived you when I applied to you
to make an offer of marriage in my behalf to the Countess
d'Estrelle. I wanted to see what you would say, and
you did not refuse ; on the contrary, you advised the
young lady to accept me. This decided me to propose to
her the person whom I really had in my mind ; for I said
to myself, ' If an old fellow like me is considered a proper
match for the young lady because I have money, my
nephew, who is youug, and who will inherit a large share
of my money, will stand a good chance of being really
accepted.' Accordingly, ladies and gentlemen, with the
ANTONIA.
247
consent of Madam d'Estrelle, I announce that the various
discussions that have taken place between her and myself
are terminated, and that peace is concluded by the be-
trothal of Madam d'Estrelle and my nephew Julien
Thierry, whom I do myself the honor to present to
you."
" Ah, bah ! the young painter ! " cried Madam d'An-
court, irritated, without knowing why, at Julien*s good
looks and ardent expression.
"A painter?" cried Madam des Morges, greatly
shocked ; " ah, my dear, it was true then? "
" Yes, my friends, it was true," answered Julie,
bravely ; " we loved each other before we knew that M.
Antoine would rescue us from the poverty which threat-
ened us both."
" I declare that M. Antoine is a great man, and a true
philosopher ! " cried the abbe de Nivieres. *' If we could
only liave dinner ! "
" Let us go to dinner, ladies and gentlemen ! " replied
M. Antoine, offering Julie his arm ; " you will consider
this marriage a mesalliance for the countess, but each of
my nephews will have three millions, — that will polish
up the family, and my grand-nephews will be rich enough
to purchase titles."
This final argument had its effect upon Julie's friends,
who, after a little hesitation, offered her their congratula-
tions. She was obliged to accept the imputation of hav-
ing sacrificed the dignity of rank for wealth. But what
did it matter, after all? Julien knew what she really
felt.
Julie, — who was still in mourning for her father-in-
law, — went to Sevres to pass the rest of the summer.
Sevres is an oasis in Normandy, about two leagues from
Paris. Th» orchards have a rural perfume, and the hill-
sides, thickly dotted with rustic gardens, were just as
lovely, and more simple in those days than they are at
present. Not that we would undervalue the smiling villas
of the Sevres of to-day, with their splendid shade-trees,
their picturesque ravines, and bold precipices descending
abruptly to the river. The railroad has not yet robbed
248 ANTONIA.
this woody region of all its poetry, and it is very delight-
ful to be able, in a quarter of an hour, to reach grassy
footpaths and meadows sloping to the water. From the
top of the hill, through the groves of trees grouped in the
foreground, you can see Paris, grandly outlined upon the
blue horizon. Three steps off, at the bottom of the ra-
vine, you lose sight altogether of the great city ; and,
escaping even from the glaring white of the villas, can
wander about in the real country, — a little old-fashioned,
hut fresh, serene, and everywhere gay with flowers.
Here Julie recovered her health, which for some time
was seriously impaired ; and before their marriage, as well
as after it, she and Julien were all in all to each other.
What society said and thought about their marriage, they
did not even wish to know. They had a sufiicient number
of real friends, and Madam Thierry was the happiest of
mothers. It is true that their repose was disturbed by
the political troubles, whose approach Julien had fore-
seen, although he had not anticipated such swift and
radical changes. Frank and generous, he made himself
extremely useful in the neighborhood bv his efforts to re-
lieve the misery of the poor, and to prevent them from
indulging in acts of fatal violence. For a long time he
preserved great influence over the workmen of the Sevres
factory, and those of the faubourg surrounding the hotel
d'Estrelle. On certain occasions he was overborne ; but
nothing could induce him to pursue a course that his con-
science disapproved, and he found himself threatened in
his turn, and on the point of being denounced as a sus-
picious person. The firmness with which he repelled these
suspicious, the generosity of his personal sacrifices, and
his confidence when in the midst of danger, saved him.
.Julie was not less brave : her character was transformed ;
she lost her timidity, and her mind was strengthened and
developed by her union with a noble and courageous
nature. She suffered great anguish at seeing num-
bers of her old friends seized by the revolutionary offi-
cials, in spite of all that Julie could do to protect them.
By wise advice and sensible measures she succeeded in
saving several of these victims. Two she concealed in
ANTONIA. 249
her own house ; but she could not preserve the Baroness
d'Aiicourt, who betrayed herself by the very excess of
her terror, and suffered an extremely severe imprison-
ment. The unlucky Marchioness d'Estrelle could not
contain her fury at having to contribute her savings to
the forced loans, and perished on the scaffold. The Duke
de Quesnoy emigrated. The abbe de Nivieres, more pru-
dent, became a Jacobin.
After the Reign of Terror, the suppression of the
monopoly of the royal establishments enabled Julien to
accomplish a favorite design : to introduce, practically,
the industrial and artistic improvements, which, in his
leisure at Sevres, he had been studying and experiment-
ing on. He gained no profit by doing this, nor did he
desire any ; in fact, he lost money, but he succeeded in
elevating the condition of many poor families. Accord-
ingly he did not become rich, but his wife was happy in
seeing him pursue his artistic labors and take pleasure
in superintending the education of his children.
Marcel bought a little house at Sevres, near Julien's,
and the two families passed together as many holidays
and leisure days as the worthy lawyer, now an advocate,
and absorbed in business, could spare from his professional
duties. He acquired, by honest industry, a respectable for-
tune, and Julien learned to manage his property with the
prudence which his father had lacked. It was well he
did so, for M. Antoine's property was confiscated in the
Revolution. The old man, who felt no desire for family
ties, continued to live alone ; he was as gracious as his na-
ture allowed him to be with his relatives, whose gratitude
flattered his pride, but he refused to enter into any rela-
tions which could interfere with his own mode of life.
Having promised Marcel to abandon his idea of mar-
rying, he kept his word ; but another mania seized him.
He became interested in politics, and denounced with
equal fury whatever party chanced to be uppermost.
They were all, according to him, crazy, or blind, or
stupid. The king was too weak, the people were
too patient, the guillotine was by turns too idle or too
voracious. Finally, the swift succession of tragedies
250
ANTONIA.
convulsing France seemed to confuse his mind, which
had always been unsound rather than evil disposed. He
changed his views, and, after advocating the most ultra
sans-culotte doctrines, became ridiculously conservative.
All these vagaries were quite harmless, for he attempted
no intrigues, but contented himself with railing against
people and events, on the few occasions when he made his
appearance in society. He was, however, denounced by
some workman whom he had ill-treated, and came very
near losing his head to pay for his unbridled bursts of ob-
scure eloquence.
Julien and Marcel, by persevering efforts, induced him
to quit the hotel de Melcy, where he was every day in
danger of bringing down a storm upon his head. They
kept him in concealment at Sevres, where he tormented
them greatly with his ill-humor, besides compromising
them more than once by his imprudence. His property
having been placed in sequestration, he only recovered
fragments of it ; but he supported this great loss with
much philosophy. He was like those pilots who curse
and swear during the storm, but who are quite calm
while trying to save something from the wreck. Julien
urged him to take back the property settled upon himself,
but he refused to touch it. His garden was not seized ;
and having ultimately recovered it almost untouched, he
resumed his old habits, and became relatively good-
humored. He lived in the hotel de Melcy until the year
1802, and was strong and active to the last. One day he
was found dead, sitting on a bench,in the sun, his watering-
pot half full by his side, and on his knee an unintelligible
manuscript, — the last lucubration of his exhausted brain.
He died without any warning. Only the day before, he
had said to Marcel, —
" Don't be alarmed ; the millions that you were to have
inherited from me, you shall have. Let me only live ten
years longer, and I will make a greater fortune than I
made before. I have a plan for a constitution that will
save France from further disturbance ; when that is set-
tled, I will give some attention to my own affairs, and re-
Bume my export trade."
GEORGE SAND,
By JUSTIN M'CARTHY.'
Reprinted from " The Galaxy'* for May, 1870.
\JI7E are all of us probably inclined, now and then, to
waste a little time in vaguely speculating on what
might have happened if this or that particular event had
^ot given a special direction to the career of some great
man or woman. If there had been an inch of difference
in the size of Cleopatra's nose ; if Hannibal had not lin-
gered at Capua ; if Cromwell had carried out his idea of
emigration ; if Napoleon Bonaparte had taken service
under the Turk, — and so on through all the old familiar
illustrations dear to the minor essayist and the debating
society. I have sometimes felt tempted thus to lose my-
self in speculating on what might have happened if the
woman whom all the world knows as George Sand had
been happily married in her youth to the husband of her
choice. Would she ever have taken to literature at all?
Would she, loving as she does, and as Frenchwomen so
rarely do, the changing face of inanimate nature, — the
fie)'ls, the flowers and the brooks, — have lived a peace-
2 GEORGE SAND,
fill and obscure life in some happy country place, and
been content with home, and family, and love, and never
thought of fame ? Or if, thus happily married, she still
had allowed her genius to find an expression in liter-
ature, would she have written books with no passionate
purpose in them, — books which might have seemed
like those of a good Miss Mulock made perfect, — books
which Podsnap might have read with approval, and put
without a scruple into the hands of that modest young
person, his daughter? Certainly one cannot but think
that a different kind of early life would have given a
quite different complexion to the literary individuality of
George Sand.
Bulwer Lytton, in one of his novels, insists that true
genius is always quite independent of the individual suf-
ferings or joys of its possessor, and describes some
inspired youth in the novel as sitting down, while sorrow
is in his heart, and hunger gnawing at his vitals, to
throw off a sparkling and gladsome little fairy tale.
Now this is undoubtedly true, in general, of any high
order of genius ; but there are at least some great and
striking exceptions. Rousseau and Byron are, in modem
days, remarkable illustrations of genius, admittedly of a
very high rank, governed and guided almost wholly by
the individual fortunes of the men themselves. So, too,
must we speak of the genius of George Sand. Not
Eousseau, not even Byron, was in this sense more ego-
tistic than the woman who broke the chains of her ill-
assorted marriage with a crash that made its echoes
heard at last in every civilized country in the world.
Just as people are constantly quoting nous avons change
tout cela who never read a page of Moliere, or pour en-
courager les autres without even being aware that there
GEORGE SAND. 3
IS a story of Voltaire's called " Candide," so there have
been thousands of passionate protests uttered in America
and Europe, for the last twenty years, by people who
never saw a volume of George Sand, and yet are only
echoing her sentiments and even repeating her words.
In a former number of The Galaxy^ I expressed
casually the opinion that George Sand is probably the
most influential writer of our day. I am still, and delib-
erately, of the same opinion. It must be remembered
that very few English or American authors have any
wide or deep influence over peoples who do not speak
English. Even of the very greatest authors this is true.
Compare, for example, the literary dominion of Shake-
speare with that of Cervantes. All nations who read
Shakespeare read Cervantes : in Stratford-upon-Avon
itself Don Quixote is probably as familiar a figure in
people's minds as Falstaff; but Shakespeare is little
known indeed to the vast majority of readers in the
country of Cervantes, in the land of Dante, or in that
of Racine and Victor Hugo. In something of the same
way we may compare the influence of George Sand with
that of even the greatest living authors of England and
America. What influence has Charles Dickens or
George Eliot outside the range of the English tongue?
But George Sand's genius has been felt as a power in
every country of the world where people read any man-
ner of books. It has been felt almost as Rousseau's
once was felt ; it has aroused anger, terror, pity, or
wild and rapturous excitement and admiration ; it has
rallied around it everyJnstinct in man or woman which
is revolutionary ; it has ranged against it all that is con-
servative. It is not so much a literary influence as a
great disorganizing force, riving the rocks of custom,
4 GEORGE SAND.
resolving into their original elements the social combi*
nation which tradition and convention would declare to be
indissoluble. I am not now speaking merely of the sen-
timents which George Sand does or did entertain on the
subject of marriage. Divested of all startling effects
and thrilling dramatic illustrations, these sentiments
probably amounted to nothing more dreadful than the
belief that an unwedded union between two people who
love and are true to each other is less immoral than the
legal marriage of two uncongenial creatures who do not
love and probably are not true to each other. But the
grand, revolutionary idea which George Sand announced
was that of the social independence and equality of
woman, — the principle that woman is not made for man
in any other sense than as man is made for woman.
For the first time in the history of the world woman
spoke out for herself with a voice as powerful as that of
man. For the first time in the history of the world
woman spoke out as woman, not as the servant, the
satellite, the pupil, the plaything, or the goddess of man.
Now, I intend at present to write of George Sand
rather as an individual, or an influence, than as the
author of certain works of fiction. Criticism would now
be superfluously bestowed on the literary merits and
peculiarities of the great woman whose astonishing intel-
lectual activity has never ceased to produce, during the
last thirty years, works which take already a classical
place in French literature. If any reputation of our day
may be looked upon as established, we may thus regard
the reputation of George Sand. She is, beyond com-
parison, the greatest living novelist of France. She has
won this position by the most legitimate application of
the gifts of an artist. With all her marvellous fecundity,
GEORGE SAND. ^
ehe has hardly ever given to the world any work which
does not seem, at least, to have been the subject of the
most elaborate and patient care. The greatest tempta-
tion which tries a story-teller is perhaps the temptation
to rely on the attractiveness of story-telling, and to pay
little or no attention to style. Walter Scott's prose, for
example, if regarded as mere prose, is rambling, irreg-
ular, and almost worthless. Dickens's prose is as bad a
model for imitation as a musical performance which is
out of tune. Of course, I need hardly say that attention
to style is almost as characteristic of French authors in
general, as the lack of it is characteristic of English
authors ; but, even in France, the prose of George Sand
stands out conspicuous for its wonderful expressiveness
and force, its almost perfect beauty. Then, of all
modern French authors, — I might, perhaps, say of all
modern novelists of any country, — George Sand has
added to fiction, has annexed from the worlds of reality
and of imagination the greatest number of original char-
acters, — of what Emerson calls new organic creations.
Moreover, George Sand is, after Rousseau, the one only
great French author who has looked directly and lov-
ingly into the face of Nature, and learned the secrets
which skies and waters, fields and lanes, can teach to
the heart that loves them. Gifts such as these have won
her the almost unrivalled place which she holds in living
literature ; and she has conquered at last even the public
opinion which once detested and proscribed her. I
could therefore hope to add nothing to what has been
already said by criticism in regard to her merits as a
novelist. Indo gd, I think it p robab|y„t|j,fft,,t,,hfii majority
of readers in this country know more of Qeprge Sand
through the interpretation of tlie critics than through the\
6 GEORGE SAND.
pages of her books. And in her case criticism is so
nearly unanimous as to her literary merits, that I may
safely assume the public in general to have in their
minds a just recognition of her position as a novelist.
My object is rather to say something about the place
which George Sand has taken as a social revolutionist,
about the influence she has so long exercised over the
world, and about the woman herself. For she is assur-
edly the greatest champion of woman's rights, in one
sense, that the world has ever seen ; and she is, on the
^ther hand, the one woman out of all the world who has
been most commonly pointed to as the appalling example
to scare doubtful and fluttering womanhood back into its
sheepfold of submissiveness and conventionality. There
is hardly a woman's heart anywhere in the civilized
world which has not felt the vibration of George Sand's
thrilling voice. Women who never saw one of her
books, — nay, who never heard even her nom de plume^
have been stirred by emotions of doubt or fear, or repin-
ing or ambition, which they never would have known
but for George Sand, and perhaps but for George Sand's
uncongenial marriage. For, indeed, there is not now,
and has not been for twenty years, I venture to think, a
single "revolutionary" idea, as slow and steady-going
people would call it, afloat anywhere in Europe or Amer-
ica, on the subject of woman's relations to man, society,
and destiny, which is not due immediately to the influence
of George Sand, and to the influence of George Sand's
unhappy marriage upon George Sand herself.
The world has of late years grown used to this extra-
ordinary woman, and has lost much of the wonder and
terror with which it once regarded her. I can quite
remember, — younger people than I can i-emember,— •
GEORGE SAND. 7
the time when all good and proper personages in Eng^
land regarded the authoress of '' Indiana " as a sort of
feminine fiend, endowed with a hideous power for the
destruction of souls, and an inextinguishable thirst for
the slaughter of virtuous beliefs. I fancy a good deal
of this sentiment was due to the fearful reports wafted
across the seas, that this terrible woman had not merely
repudiated the marriage bond, but had actually put off
the garments sacred to womanhood. That George Sand
appeared in men's clothes was an outrage upon conse-
crated proprieties far more astonishing than any theo-
retical onslaught upon old opinions could be. Reformers,
indeed, should always, if they are wise in their gener-
ation, have a care of the proprieties. Many worthy peo-
ple can listen with comparative fortitude when sacred
and eternal truths are assailed, who are stricken with
horror when the ark of propriety is never so lightly \
touched. George Sand's pantaloons were, therefore, I
regarded as the most appalling illustration of George I
Sand's wickedness. I well remember what excitement, |
scandal, and horror were created in the provincial town
where I lived, some twenty years ago, when the editor
of a local Panjandrum (to borrow Mr. Trollope's word)
insulted the feelings and the morals of his constituents
and subscribers by polluting his pages with a translation
from one of George Sand's shorter novels. Ah me ! the
little novel might, so far as morality was concerned,
have been written every word by Miss Phelps, or the
authoress of the " Ileir of Redcliff " ; it had not a word,
from beginning to end, which might not have been read
out to a Sunday-school of girls ; the translation was
made by a woman of the purest soul, and, in her own
locality, of the highest name ; and yet how virtue did
5 GEORGE SAND.
shriek out against the publication ! The editor perse-
vered in the publishing of the novel, spurred on to bold-
ness by some of his very young and therefore fearless
coadjutors, who thought it delightful to confront public
opinion, and liked the notion of the stars in their courses
fighting against Sisera, and Sisera not being dismayed.
That charming, tender, touching little story ! I would
submit it to-day cheerfully to the verdict of a jury of
matrons, confident that it would be declared a fit and
proper publication. But at that time it was enough that
the story bore the odious name of George Sand ; public
opinion condemned it, and sent the magazine which ven-
tured to translate it to an early and dishonored grave. I
remember reading, about that time, a short notice of
George Sand by an English authoress of some talent
and culture, in which the Frenchwoman's novels were
described as so abominably filthy that even the denizens
of the Paris brothels were ashamed to be caught read-
ing them. Now, this declaration was made all in good
faith, in the simple good faith of that class of persons
who will pass wholesale and emphatic judgment upon
works of which they have never read a single page.
For I need hardly tell any intelligent person of to-day
that, whatever may be said of George Sand's doctrines,
she is no more open to the charge of indelicacy than the
authoress of " Romola." I cannot, myself, remember
any passage in George Sand's novels which can be called
indelicate ; and, indeed, her severest and most hostile
critics are fond of saying, not without a certain justice^
that one of the worst characteristics of her works is thff
delicacy and beauty of her srtyle, which thus commends
to pure and innocent minds certain doctrines that,
broadly stated, would repel and shock them. Were I
GEORGE SAND. 9
one of George Sand's inveterate opponents, this, or
something like it, is the ground I would take up. I
would say : " The welfare of the human family demands
that a marriage, legally made, shall never be questioned
or undone. Marriage is not a union depending on love
or congeniality, or any such condition. It is just as
sacred when made for money, or for ambition, or for
lust of the flesh, or for any other purpose, however ig-
noble and base, as when contracted in the spirit of the
purest mutual love. Here is a woman of great power
and daring genius, who says that the essential condition
of marriage is love and natural fitness ; that a legal
union of man and woman without this is no marriage at
all, but a detestable and disgusting sin. Now, the more
delicately, modestly, plausibly she can put this revolu-
Lionary and pernicious doctrine, the more dangerous she
becomes, and the more earnestly we ought to denounce
her." This was, in fact, what a great many persons did
oay ; and the protest was at least consistent and logical.
But horror is an emotion which cannot long live on
the old fuel, and even the world of English Philistinism
soon ceased to regard George Sand as a mere monster.
Any one now taking up " Indiana," for example, would
perhaps find it not quite easy to understand how the
book produced such an eff*ect. Our novel-writing women
of to-day commonly feed us on more fiery stuff than this.
Not to speak of such accomplished artists in impurity as
the lady who calls herself Ouida, and one or two others
of the same school, we have young women, only just pro-
moted from pantalettes, who can throw you off such glow,
ing chapters of passion and young desire as would make
the rhapsodies of " Indiana" seem very feeble milk-and-
water brewage by comparison. Indeed, except for some
lO GEORGB SAND.
of the descriptions in the opening chapters, I fail to se«
any extraordinary merit in " Indiana " ; and toward the
end it seems to me to grow verbose, weak, and tiresome,
I" Leone Leoni " opens with one of the finest dramatic
outbursts of emotion known to the literature of modern
fiction ; but it soon wanders away into discursive weak-
ness, and only just toward the close brightens up into a
burst of lurid splendor. It is not those which I may call
the questionable novels of George Sand, — the novels
which were believed to illustrate in naked and appalling
simplicity her doctrines and her life, — that will bear up
her fame through succeeding generations. If every one
of the novels which thus in their time drew down the
thun lers of Society's denunciation were to be swept into
the wallet wherein Time, according to Shakespeare, car-
ries scraps for oblivion, George Sand would still remain
where she now is, — at the head of the French fiction of
her day. It is true, as Goethe says, that "miracle-
working pictures are rarely works of art." The books
which make the hair of the respectable public stand on
end are not often the works by which the fame of the
author is preserved for posterity.
It is a curious fact that, at the early time to which I
have been alluding, little or nothing was known in Eng-
land (or, I presume, in America) of the real life of
Aurora Amandine Dupin, who had been pleased to call
herself George Sand. People knew, or had heard, that
she had separated from her husband, that she had writ-
ten novels which depreciated the sanctity of legal mar
riage, and that she sometimes wore male costume in the
streets. This was enough. In England, at least, we
were ready to infer any enormity regarding a woman
who was unsound on the legal marriage question, and
GEORGS SAND. H
who did not wear petticoats. What would have been
said had people then conunonly known half the stories
which were circulated in Paris, — half the extravagances
into which a passionate soul, and the stimulus of sudden
emancipation from restraint, had hurried the authoress
of '' Indiana " and " Lucrezia Floriani " ? For it must be
owned that the life of that woman was, in its earliei
years, a strange and wild phenomenon, hardly to be com-
prehended, perhaps, by American or English natures. I
have heard George Sand bitterly aiTaigned even by
persons who protested that they were at one with her as
regards the early sentiments which used to excite such
odium. I have heard her described by such as a sort of
Lamia of literature and passion, — a creature who could
seize some noble, generous, youthful heart, drain it of its
love, its aspirations, its profoundest emotions, and then
fling it, squeezed and lifeless, away. I have heard it
declared that George Sand made " copy " of the fierce
and passionate loves which she knew so well how to
awaken and to foster ; that she distilled the life-blood of
youth to obtain the mixture out of which she derived her
inspiration. The charge so commonly (I think unjustly)
made against Goethe, that he played with the girlish love
of Bettina and of others in order to obtain a subject for
literary dissection, is vehemently and deliberately urged
in an aggravated form, — in many aggravated forms, —
against George Sand. Where, such accusers ask, is that
young poet, endowed with a lyrical genius rare indeed in
the France of later days, — that young poet whose imag-
ination was at once so daring and so subtle, — w^ho might
have been Beranger and Heine in one, and have risen to
an atmosphere in which neither Beranger nor Heine ever
floated ? Where is he, and what evil influence was it which
i2 GEORGE SAND.
sapped the strength of his nature, corrupted his geuius,
and prepared for him a premature and shameful grave ?
Where is that young musician, whose pure, tender, and
lofty strains sound sweetly and sadly in the ears, as the
very hymn and music of the Might^Have-Been, — where
is he now, and what was the seductive power which
made a plaything of him and then flung him away?
Here and there some man of stronger mould is pointed
out as one who was at the first conquered, and then
deceived and trifled with, but who ordered his stout heart
to bear, and rose superior to the hour, and lived to
retrieve his nature and make himself a name of respect ;
but the others, of more sensitive and perhaps finer organ-
izations, are only the more to be pitied because they were
so terribly in earnest. Seldom, even in the literary his-
; tory of modern France, has there been a more strange
\ and shocking episode than the publication by George
Sand of the little book called " EUe et Lui," and the
\^^ rejoinder to it by Paul de Musset, called " Lui et Elle."
I can hardly be accused of straying into the regions of
private scandal when I speak of two books which had a
wide circulation, are still being read, and may be had, I
presume, in any New York book-store where French lit-
erature is sold. The former of the two books, " She
and He," was a story, or something which purported to
be a story, by George Sand, telling of two ill-assorted
beings whom fate had thrown together for awhile, and
of whom the woman was all tenderness, love, patience,
the man all egotism, selfishness, sensuousness, and eccen-
I tricity. The point of the whole business was to show
f how sublimely the woman suffered, and how wantonly
' the man flung happiness away. Had it been merely a
piece of fiction, it must have been regarded by any
GEORGB SAND. 13
healthy mind as a morbid, imwholesome, disagreeable
production, — a sin of the highest aesthetic kind against
true art, which must always, even in its pathos and it8
tragedy, leave on the mind exalted and delightful impres-
sions. But every one in Paris at once hailed the story
as a chapter of autobiography, as the author's vindication
of one episode in her own career, — a vindication at the
expense of a man who had gone down, ruined and lost,
to an early grave. Therefore the brother of the dead
man flung into literature a little book called " He and
She," in which a story, substantially the same in its out-
lines, is so told as exactly to reverse the conditions under
which the verdict of public opinion was sought. Very
curious indeed was the manner in which the same sub-
stance of facts was made to present the two principal
figures with complexions and characters so strangely
altered. In the woman's book the woman was made the
patient, loving, suffering victim ; in the man's reply this
same woman was depicted as the most utterly selfish and
depraved creature the human imagination could conceive.
Even if one had no other means whatever of forming an
estimate of the character of George Sand, it would be
hardly possible to accept as her likeness the hideous pic-
ture sketched by Paul de Musset. No woman, I am glad
to believe, ever existed in real life so utterly selfish, base,
and wicked as his bitter pen has drawn. I must say that
the thing is very cleverly done. The picture is at least
consistent with itself. As a character in romance it might
be pronounced original, bold, brilliant, and, in an artistic
sense, quite natural. There is something thoroughly
French in the easy and delicate force of the final touch
with which de Musset dismisses his hideous subject.
Having sketched this woman in tints that seem to flame
14 GEORGE SAND.
across the eyes of the reader, — having described with
wonderful realism and power her affectation, her deceit,
her reckless caprices, her base and cruel coquetries,
her devouring wantonness, her soul-destroying arts, her
unutterable selfishness and egotism, — having, to use a
vulgar phrase, "turned her inside out," and told her
story backwards, — the author calmly explains that the
hero of the narrative in his dying hour called his brother
to his bedside, and enjoined him, if occasion should ever
arise, if the partner of his sin should ever calumniate
him in his grave, to vindicate his memory, and avenge
the treason practised upon him. " Of course," adds the
narrator, " the brother made the promise, — and I have
since heard that he has kept his word." I can hardly
hope to convey to the reader any adequate idea of the
effect produced on the mind by these few simple words
of compressed, whispered hatred and triumph, closing a
philippic, or a revelation, or a libel of such extraordinary
bitterness and ferocity. The whole episode is, I believe
and earnestly hope, without precedent or imitation in
literary controversy. Never, that I know of, has a living
woman been publicly exhibited to the world in a por-
traiture so hideous as that which Paul de Musset drew
of George Sand. Never, that I know of, has any woman
gone so near to deserving and justifying such a measure
of retaliation.
For if it be assumed, — and I suppose it never has been
disputed, — that in writing " Elle et Lui" George Sand
meant to describe herself and Alfred de Musset, it is hard
to conceive of any sin against taste and feeling, — against
art and morals, — more flagrant than such a publication.
The practice, to which French writers are so much ad-
dicted, of making " copy " of the private lives, charac-
GEORGE SAND. 15
ters, and relationships of themselves and their friends,
seems to me in all cases utterly detestable. Lamartine*8
sins of this kind were grievous and glaring ; but were
they red as scarlet, they would seem whiter than snow
when compared with the lurid monstrosity of George
Sand*s assault on the memory of the dead poet who was
once her favorite. The whole affair, indeed, is so unlike
anything which could occur in America or in England,
that we can hardly find any canons by which to try it, or
any standard of punishment by which to regulate its cen-
sure. I allude to it now because it is the only substan-
tial evidence 1 know of which does fairly seem to justify
the worst of the accusations brought against George Sand ;
and I do not think it right, when writing for grown men
and women, who are supposed to have sense and judg-
ment, to affect not to know that such accusations are
made, or to pretend to think that it would be proper not
to allude to them. They have been put forward, replied
to, urged again, made the theme of all manner of contro-
versy in scores of French and in some English publica-
tions. Pray let it be distinctly understood that I am not
entering into any criticism of the morality of any part of
George Sand's private life. With that we have nothing
here to do, I am now dealing with the question, fairly
belonging to public controversy, whether the grent artist
did not deliberately deal with human hearts as the painter
of old is said to have done with a purchased slave, — in-
flicting torture in order the better to learn how to depict
the struggles and contortions of mortal agony. In an-
swer to such a question I can only point to " Lucrezia
Floriani " and to " Elle et Lui," and say that unless the
universal opinion of qualified critics be wrong, these books,
and others too, owe their piquancy and their dramatic
l6 GEORGE SAND,
force to the anatomization of dead passions and discarded
lovers. We have all laughed over the pedantic surgeon in
Moliere*s " Malade Imaginaire," who invites his fiancee,
as a delightful treat, to see him dissect the body of a
woman. I am afraid that George Sand did sometime?
invite an admiring public to an exhibition yet mort
ghastly and revolting, — the dissection of the heart of h
dead lover.
But, in truth, we shall never judge George Sand and
her writings at all, if we insist on criticising them from
any point of view set up by the proprieties or even tha
moralities of Old Endand or New Endand. When the
passionate young woman, — in whose veins ran the wild
blood of Marshal Saxe, — found herself surrendered by
legality and prescription to a marriage bond against which
her soul revolted, society seemed for her to have resolved
itself into its original elements. Its conventionalities and
traditions contained nothing which she held herself bound
to respect. The world was not her friend, nor the world's
law. By one great decisive step she sundered herself
forever from the bonds of what we call '' society." She
had shaken the dust of convention from her feet ; the
world was all before her where to choose. No crea-
ture on earth is so absolutely free as the Frenchwoman
who has broken with society. There, then, stood this
daring young woman, on the threshold of a new, fresh,
and illimitable world ; a young woman gifted with
genius such as our later years have rarely seen, and
blessed or cursed with a nature so strangely uniting the
most characteristic qualities of man and woman, as to be
in itself quite unparalleled and unique. Just think of
it, — try to think of it ! Society and the world had no
longer any laws which she recognized. Nothing was
GEORGE SAND.
17
sacred ; nothing was settled. She had to evolve from her
own heart and brain her own law of life. What wonder
if she made some sad mistakes? Nay, is it not rather a
theme for wonder and admiration that she did somehow
come right at last ? I know of no one who seems to me
to have been open at once to the temptations of woman's
nature and man's nature, except this George Sand. Her
soul, — her brain, — her style may be described, from one
point of view, as exuberantly and splendidly feminine ;
yet no other woman has ever shown the same power of
understandings and entering into the nature of a man. If
Balzac is the only man who has ever thoroughly mastered
the mysteries of a woman's heart, George Sand is the
only woman, so far as I know, who has ever shown that
she could feel as a man can feel. I have read stray pas-
sages in her novels which I would confidently submit to
the criticism of any intelligent men unacquainted with
the text, convinced that they would declare that only a
man could have thus analyzed the emotions of manhood.
I have in my mind, just now especially, a passage in the
Qovel " Piccinino " which, were the authorship unknown,
would, I am satisfied, secure the decision of a jury of lit-
erary experts that the author must be a man. Now this
gift of entire appreciation of the feelings of a different
sex or race is, I take it, one of the rarest and highest
dramatic qualities. Especially is it difficult for a woman,
as our social life goes, to enter into the feelings of a man.
While men and women alike admit the accuracy of cer-
tain pictures of women drawn by such artists as Cer-
vantes, Moliere, Balzac, and Thackeray, there are few
women, — indeed, perhaps there are no women but one, —
Oy whom a man has been so painted as to challenge and
compel the recognition and acknowledgment of men. Id
J
l8 GEORGE SAND,
" The Galaxy," some months ago, I wrote of a great
Englishwoman, the authoress of " Romola,'* and I ex-
pressed my conviction that on the whole she is entitled to
higher rank, as a novelist, than even the authoress of
" Consuelo." Many, very many men and women, for
whose judgment I have the highest respect, diifered
from me in this opinion. I still hold it, nevertheless ;
but I freely admit that George Eliot has nothing like the
dramatic insight which enables George Sand to enter into
the feelings and experiences of a man. I go so far as to
say that, having some knowledge of the literature of
fiction in most countries, I am not aware of the existence
of any woman but this one, who could draw a real, living,
struggling, passion-tortured man. All other novelists of
George Sand's sex, — even including Charlotte Bronte, —
draw only what I may call " women's men." If ever the
two natures could be united in one form, — if ever a
single human being could have the soul of man and the
soul of woman at once, — George Sand might be de-
scribed as that physical and psychological phenomenon.
Now the point to which I wish to direct attention, is the
peculiarity of the temptation to which a nature such as this
was necessarily exposed at every turn when, free of all re-
straint and a rebel against all conventionality, it confronted
the world and the world's law, and stood up, itself alone,
against the domination of custom and the majesty of tra-
dition. I claim, then, that when we have taken all these
considerations into account, we are bound to admit that
Aurora Dudevant deserves the generous recognition of
the world for the use which she made of her splendid
gifts. Her influence on French literature has been, on
the Avhole, a purifying and strengthening power. The
cynicism, the recklessness, the wanton, licentious disr»«
GEORGE SAND.
19
^ard of any manner of principle, the debasing parade of
disbelief in any higher purpose or nobler restraint, which
are the shame and curse of modem French fiction, find
no sanction in the pages of George Sand. I remember
no passage in her works which gives the slightest encour-
agement to the " nothing new, and nothing true, and it
don't signify " code of ethics which has been so much in
fashion of late years. I find nothing in George Sand
which does not do homage to the existence of a principle
and a law in everything. This daring woman, who broke
with society so early and so conspicuously, has always in-
sisted, through every illustration, character, and catas-
trophe in her books, that the one only reality, the one only
thing that can endure, is the rule of right and of virtue.
Nor has she ever, that I can recollect, fallen into the en-
feebling and sentimental theory so commonly expressed in
the works of Victor Hugo, that the vague abstraction
society is always to bear the blame of the faults commit-
ted by the individual man or woman. Of all persons in
the world, Aurora Dudevant might be supposed most likely
to adopt this easy and complacent theory as her guiding
principle. She had every excuse, every reason for en-
deavoring to preach up the doctrine that our errors are
societ/s and our virtues our own. But I am not aware
that she ever taught any lesson save the lesson that men
and women must endeavor to be heroes and heroines for
themselves, heroes and heroines though all the world else
were craven, and weak, and selfish, and unprincipled.
Even that wretched and lamentable " Elle et Lui" affair,
utterly inexcusable as it is when we read between the lines
its secret history, has, at least, the merit of being an earn-
est and powerful protest against the egotistical and debas-
ing indulgence of moral weaknesses and eccentricities
ao GEORGE SAND.
which mean and vulgar minds are apt to regard as tha
privilege of genius. " Stand upon your own ground ; bo
your own ruler ; look to yourself, not to your stars, for
your failure or success ; always make your standard a
lofty ideal, and try persistently to reach it, though all the
temptations of earth, and all the power of darkness strive
against you " — this, and nothing else, if I have read her
books rightly, is the moral taught by George Sand. She
may be wrong in her principle sometimes, but, at least,
she always has a principle. She has a profound and gen-
erous faith in the possibilities of human nature ; in the
capacity of man's heart for purity, self-sacrifice, and self-
redemption. Indeed, so far is she from holding counsel
with wilful weakness or sin, that I think she sometimes
falls into the noble error of painting her heroes as too
glorious in their triumph over temptation, in their subju-
gation of every passion and interest to the dictates of duty
and of honor. Take, for instance, that extraordinary
book which has just been given to the American public
in Miss Virginia Vaughan's excellent translation, ''Mau*
prat." If I understand that magnificent romance at all,
its purport is to prove that no human nature is ever
plunged into temptation beyond its own strength to resist,
provided that it really wills resistance ; that no character
is irretrievable, no error inexpiable, where there is sincere
resolve to expiate, and longing desire to retrieve. Take^
again, that exquisite little story, " La Demiere Aldini " ;;
I do not know where one could find a finer illustration ot
the entire sacrifice of man's natural impulse, passion, in-
terest, to what might almost be called an abstract idea of
honor and principle. I have never read this little story
without wondering how many men one ever has known
who, placed in the same situation as that of Nello, tha
^ GEORGE SAND, 21
hero, would have done the same thing ; and yet so simply
and naturally are the characters wrought out, and the in-
cidents described, that the idea of pompous, dramatic self-
sacrifice never enters the mind of the reader, and it seems
to him that Nello could not do otherwise than as he is
doing. I speak of these two stories particularly, because
in both of them there is a good deal of the world and the
flesh ; that is, both are stories of strong human passion
and temptation. Many of George Sand's novels, the
shorter ones especially, are as absolutely pure in moral
tone, as entirely free from even a taint or suggestion of
impurity, as they are perfect in style. Now, if we cannot
help knowing that much of this great woman's life was far
from being irreproachable, are we not bound to give her
all the fuller credit, because her genius, at least, kept so-
far the whiteness of its soul ? Revolutions are not to be
made with rose-water ; you cannot have omelettes without
breaking of eggs. I am afraid that great social revolu-
tionists are not often creatures of the most pure and per-
fect nature. It is not to patient Griselda you must look
for any protest against even the uttermost tyranny of so-
cial conventions. One thing I think may, at least, be
admitted as part of George Sand's vindication, — that the
marriage system in France is the most debased and debas-
ing institution existing in civilized society, now that the
buying and selling of slaves has ceased to be a tolerated
system. I hold that the most ardent advocates of the
irrevocable endurance of the marriage bond are bound, by
their very principles, to admit that, in protesting against
the so-called marriage system of France, George Sand
stood on the side of purity and right. Assuredly, she
often went into extravagances in the other direction. It
8eems to be the fate of all French reformers to rush sud*
22 GEORGE SAND.
denly to extremes ; and we must remember that George
Sand was not a Bristol Quakeress, or a Boston transcend-
€ntalist, but a passionate Frenchwoman, the descendant
■of one of the maddest votaries of love and war who ever
fitormed across the stage of European history.
Regarding George Sand, then, as an influence in litera-
ture, and on society, I claim for her at least four great
.and special merits : First, she insisted on calling public
attention to the true principle of marriage ; that is to say,
■she put the question as it had not been put before. Of
course, the fundamental principle she would have enforced
is always being urged more or less feebly, more or less
sincerely ; but she made it her own question, and illumin-
ated it by the fervid, fierce rays of her genius and her
-passion. Secondly, her works are an exposition of the
tremendous reality of the feelings which people who call
themselves practical are apt to regard with indifference or
-contempt as mere sentiments. In the long run, the pas-
sions decide the life-question one way or the other. They
are the tide which, as you know or do not know how to
use it, will either turn your miU and float your boat, or
drown your fields and sweep away your dwellings. Life
•and society receive no impulse and no direction from the
influences out of which the novels of Dickens, or even of
Thackeray, are made up. These are but pleasant or ten-
der toying with the playthings and puppets of existence.
■George Sand constrains us to look at the realities through
the medium of her fiction. Thirdly, she insists that man
can and shall make his own career ; not whine to the
stars, and rail out against the powers above, when he has
weakly or wantonly marred his own destiny. Fourthly,
— and this ought not to be considered her least service to
the literature of her country, — she has tried to teach
GEORGE SAND.
23
people to look at Nature with their own ey^s, and to invite
the true love of her to flow into their hearts. The great
service which Ruskin, with all his eccentricities and ex-
travagances, has rendered to English-speaking peoples by
teaching them to use their own eyes when they look at
clouds, and waters, and grasses, and hills, George Sand
has rendered to France.
I hold that these are virtues and services which
ought to outweigh even very grave personal and
artistic errors. We often hear that this or that great
poet or romancist has painted men as they are ; this
other as they ought to be. I think George Sand paints
men as they are, and also not merely as they ought to be,
but as they can be. The sum of the lesson taught by
her books is one of confidence in man's possibilities, and
hope in his steady progress. At the same time she is
entirely practical in her faith and her aspirations. She
never expects that the trees are to grow up into the
heavens, that men and women are to be other than men
and women. She does not want them to be other ; she
finds the springs and sources of their social regeneration
in the fact that they are just what they are, to begin
with. I am afraid some of the ladies who seem to base
their scheme of woman's emancipation and equality on the
assumption that, by some development of time or
process of schooling, a condition of things is to be
brought about where difference of sex is no longer to be
a disturbing power, will find small comfort or encourage-
ment in the writings of George Sand. She deals in
realities altogether ; the realities of life, even when they
are such as to shallow minds may seem mere sentiments
and ecstacies ; the realities of society, of suffering, of
passion, of inanimate nature. There is in her nothing
24 GEORGE SAND.
unmeaning, nothing untrue ; there is in her much error,
doubtless, but no sham.
I believe George Sand is growing into a quiet and
beautiful old age. After a life of storm and stress, a life
which, metaphorically at least, was " worn by war and
passion," her closing years seem likely to be gilded with
the calm glory of an autumnal sunset. One is glad to
think of her thus happy and peaceful, accepting so
tranquilly the reality of old age, still laboring with hef
unwearied pen, still delighting in books, and landscapes,
and friends, and work. The world can well afford to
forget as soon as possible her literary and other errors.
Of the vast mass of romances, stories, plays, sketches,
criticisms, pamphlets, political articles, even, it is said,
ministerial manifestoes of republican days, which she
poured out, only a few comparatively will perhaps be
always treasured by posterity ; but these will be enough
to secure her a classic place. And she will not be
remembered by her writings alone. Hers is probably
the most powerful individuality displayed by any mod-
ern Frenchwoman. The influence of Madame Roland
was but a glittering unreality, that of Madame de
Stael only a boudoir and coterie success, when com-
pared with the power exercised over literature, human
feeling, and social law, by the energy, the courage, the
genius, even the very errors and extravagances of George
Sand.
MO!
o
m
T
srn
rc
m
o
m
<
m
o
J^
rr
-19
3jr- D >
n O m 1^
s > z •-
X
o
O
>
Z
OS
Is
m Z "1 09
?. T ^ o
s
-o
i^
?^n:?o
m
m
T ^
y. ~ tn ^
TO
C
</>
m
o
o
c r X •"
— '
ro?
5f
H^
Ln
To
1", m>
Q 5
r J (/if
-• J
D -
' ^
r-7
J^
— • V
. ??o
—\ •
:]^
Q C
-^ s
: s^^
< E
cv<
■
- JK/»
^
< <
J
,n (-T
~
a
S|
O
O
«
u
4
H
r
o
I—*
o
*^
C
/— ^
m
C-/
5
CD
ni
OO
UNIVERSITY OF CAUFORNIA LIBRARY
f^i^i^^^*^Mm