^ 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRR 
 
Q^A-^y^^C^^ i^irvjjj^..^^ 
 
 The Soul of Pierre, 
 
 BT 
 
 GEORGE OHNET. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM TH« FRKNCH BY 
 
 Mary J. Serrano, 
 
 Translator of " Marie Bashkirtseff—the Journal of a 
 Young Artist," Etc. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 THE F. M. LUPTON PUBLISHING COMPANY. 
 
CopYiiicwr, 
 1890, 
 O. M. DUNHAM. 
 
 
 ABri^U 
 
 • • • • 
 
 • • • 
 
 • • • 
 
 • • » • 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE 
 
 DR. DA VI DOFF, an inspired look light, 
 ing up his rugged and strongly marked 
 countenance, turned toward the guests of Prince 
 Patrizzi and let fall in the midst of the discus- 
 sion the following remarkable words : 
 
 "Do you believe, then, in the power of sug- 
 gestion, urged with the sharpness and persist- 
 ence of a gimlet's point, to make a thought 
 enter your mind? Do you believe that this 
 thought can influence your moral condition to 
 such a degree as to alter your physical condi- 
 tion. You concede, do you not, that the 
 moral nature exercises a potent, — an irresistible 
 influence over the physical?" 
 
 "We do," tranquilly responded the Neapoli- 
 tan. "And for this reason — and here is the 
 
 X 
 
 ivil34591 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 ground on which I propose to meet you — it 
 would be necessary to conclude — " 
 
 This response to the Russian doctor's ques- 
 tion, which seemed to promise a lengthy dis- 
 cussion, was succeeded among the men and 
 women who had just finished dining in the 
 salon of the Hotel de Paris, on the terrace at 
 Monte Carlo, by a moment of stupefied silence. 
 Around the table, sumptuously laid, and on 
 which the flowers were dying, asphyxiated in 
 the heat of the lights and the smoke of the 
 cigarettes, glances of astonishment and ennui 
 were interchanged. Then a storm of remon- 
 strances and exclamations — the indignant pro- 
 test of these worldly people, compelled to 
 abandon for a moment the habitual frivolity of 
 their discourse to listen to the dry details of 
 a scientific discussion, broke forth. 
 
 "We have had enough of physiology !'* 
 "We are here to drink, to smoke, to laugh." 
 "This is a dining-room, not a clinic." 
 "Bah ! The doctor is crazy !" 
 "Listen, gentlemen, I beg of you ; it is very 
 curious!" 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 "These ladies are getting bored." 
 "Open the windows, this smells of science." 
 "For my part I would much rather be at the 
 Casino. I dreamed last night that red turned 
 up thirteen times — " 
 
 "That was a suggestion of the croupiers." 
 "Don't you want to come and dance?" 
 "Oh, Laura, come to the piano and play for 
 us." 
 
 "Well, my children, go where you will, but 
 let us have peace." 
 
 "How rude you all are!" 
 Several of the guests arose noisily and asked 
 their wraps from the maitre d'hStel, who 
 hastened to get them. Patrizzi remained 
 seated, looking with a smile at the beautiful 
 women, who with coquettish gestures shook out 
 their skirts, and gave a few touches to their 
 bodices. He extended his hand nonchalantly 
 to his friends, saying: 
 
 "Let every one follow his own inclination. 
 Go on before us. In an hour we will join 
 you." 
 
 Then turning toward the painter, Pierre 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 Laurier, his friend Jacques de Vignes, and Dr. 
 Davidoflf, who had not moved — 
 
 "Go on, my dear fellow," he said to the 
 doctor, "you iiUerest me amazingly/' 
 
 The Russian doctor threw away the cigar- 
 ette he was smoking, lighted another, and look- 
 ing at his three listeners with an authoritative 
 air, he continued the recital that had been 
 abruptly cut short by the interruptions of those 
 who had just withdrawn. 
 
 "I confess that the story I had begun to tell 
 our friends is strange enough, and that to 
 skeptical minds it may seem improbable, 
 although in our Slav countries, where the 
 atmosphere is foggy and gloomy, and which 
 seem the native land of spectres and phantoms, 
 it would not have awakened the least incre- 
 dulity. Half of our compatriots are uncon- 
 scious Swedenborgians, who believe with the 
 great philosopher, but without examination, 
 in the phenomena of the invisible world ; and if 
 you should state in their presence, as I state 
 now, the astonishing fact that the soul of a 
 dying person may enter into a living body, 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 through the will of the person about to die, 
 you would see them turn pale and tremble 
 indeed, but they would not dispute its truth. 
 In our country we believe in vampires who 
 issue from their tombs as soon as the first ray 
 of moonlight falls upon the stone ; we believe 
 in apparitions that announce an approaching 
 death. And by the sole fact of believing in 
 these miracles they are rendered possible. A 
 strong conviction is the most powerful of 
 forces, and spiritualism requires as its first con- 
 dition unquestioning belief. *If you doubt,' 
 the adepts will tell you, 'do not seek to pene- 
 trate our mysteries ; they will remain, for you, 
 unfathomable. The invisible world reveals 
 itself only to those who desire ardently to have 
 a knowledge of it. Scoffers and skeptics will 
 find it forever closed to them.* " 
 
 Jacques de Vignes was here taken with a 
 violent fit of coughing, which caused a death- 
 like pallor to overspread his handsome and 
 melancholy countenance. He recovered his 
 breath with difficulty, and turning to the 
 doctor, as if encouraged by a secret hope : 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 "And you yourself were a witness of the 
 occurrence?" he asked, in a choking voice. 
 **You saw this young girl re-born into exist- 
 ence, recover her sti-ength, her health, as if the 
 vitality of her betrothed had passed into her 
 undiminished?" 
 
 "I do not discuss the question whether the 
 material fact occurred," responded Davidoff, 
 "I give you solely and simply its psychological 
 consequences. Wladimir Alexievich, seeing 
 Maria Fedorowna, whom he adored, expiring 
 gradually, as the flame of a lamp expires for 
 want of oil, sought in vain, by turns, the help 
 of every physician in Moscow, and having sent 
 for me to St. Petersburg, — me, who am now 
 speaking to you — only to hear from my lips 
 her sentence of death, conceived the idea of 
 directing himself to an old Tongouze sorceress 
 who had brought with her from Nijni-Novgorod 
 the reputation of being able to work miracles. 
 He went one evening — Christmas eve it was — to 
 the wretched hovel outside the city in which 
 she lived, to consult lier. The witch, after 
 performing in his presence her terrific incant- 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 ations, gave him in a wooden cup a strangely 
 smelling beverage to drink. As he hesitated 
 to drink it she looked at him with a threaten- 
 ing air and said : 
 
 **You pretend to love a woman, and to desire 
 to save her life, even at the expense of your 
 own, and yet you are afraid to drink a liquid 
 because the nature of it is unknown to you, 
 and you think it may be poison. Oh, man ! son 
 of man, a coward like all men, suffer and shed 
 tears like a man, since you are not able to ele- 
 vate yourself above humanity !** 
 
 As she spoke, Wladimir Alexievich, touched 
 with shame, emptied the rude goblet at a 
 draught, and felt as if seized with a sudden 
 intoxication. A delicious warmth pervaded 
 his frame, and he felt himself become lighter 
 and lighter, until it seemed to him as if he 
 were floating in air. His eyes seemed veiled 
 in a luminous mist, as if his gaze, piercing 
 beyond the clouds, had been arrested by sud- 
 den splendors. His blood surged in his veins 
 and seraphic hymns sounded in his ears. He 
 felt himself transported into boundless realms 
 
8 THE SOUL OF PIERRB, 
 
 of light, and his brow was refreshed by delight- 
 ful breezes. Little by little he lost the con- 
 sciousness of terrestrial things, and in the midst 
 of a divine transport, an ecstatic beatitude, he 
 saw advancing toward him a celestial shape, 
 a shining and wondrous apparition, which, in 
 a voice sweet as the song of angels, thus 
 addressed him : 
 
 **Do you wish to purchase the life of her 
 you love? Then give your own in exchange 
 for it. Your soul in her body, and your body 
 in the cold earth — you will have nothing to 
 regret, since you will dwell in her, and in her 
 happiness will be your joy." 
 
 The celestial phantom vanished in a lumi- 
 nous mist, and Wladimir Alexievich regained 
 consciousness. He found himself in the hut 
 of the Tongouze, near a fire of spruce wood. 
 The old woman was muttering confused words, 
 without seeming to take any notice of her 
 guest of an hour. Terrified by what had been 
 revealed to him, the young man tried to collect 
 his thoughts, and get some clear idea of his 
 strange adventure. He saw before him only a 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 commonplace and filthy hag, who had placed 
 him en rapport with the spirits, as the door- 
 keeper of a temple opens to the worshiper 
 the sanctuary of the shining gods. He laid 
 his hand on the old woman's shoulder. She 
 turned toward him a dull glance, and in sar- 
 donic accents said : 
 
 "Well, have you learned what you desired 
 to know?" 
 
 "By what means did you deprive me of 
 consciousness of the external world?" he asked. 
 "What was it you gave me to drink?" 
 
 "What does it matter to you? Did you 
 behold the spirits ?" 
 
 "By what sorcery did you make them visi- 
 ble to me?" 
 
 "Ask that of them! They are here — all 
 around you. Do you doubt it? Remain then 
 without hope. Trust in them, and supreme 
 delights await you !" 
 
 The sorceress seemed to grow in stature. 
 Her countenance was ennobled with a rude 
 dignity, and pointing to the door she said to 
 Wladimir: 
 
10 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 "Do not tempt Heaven. Go I And believe! 
 believe!" 
 
 He dropped on the floor his purse, which 
 the old woman pushed disdainfully toward the 
 hearth with her foot. She extended her arms 
 as if about to make a final invocation, and, 
 her countenance glowing with an inspired light, 
 she repeated in accents that vibrated in the 
 breast of Wladimir Alexievich : 
 
 "Believe! poor child! In that is safety! 
 Believe !" 
 
 He left the hut, returned to his house, wrote 
 far into the night, and on the following day 
 was found dead in his room. 
 
 "And did his betrothed recover her health," 
 asked Pierre Laurier. 
 
 "She recovered her health," replied Davidoff, 
 "but although she was beautiful and adored, she 
 would give her hand to none of her suitors, and 
 remained unmarried, as if she had desired to 
 remain faithful to a mysterious and secret 
 love." 
 
 "And do you believe in this miracle ?" asked 
 Jacques de Vignes with an effort. 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. li 
 
 Davidoff shook his head, and answered in a 
 tone of raillery : 
 
 "Doctors do not believe in much, in the 
 age in which we live. Materialism has many 
 advocates among my colleagues. Yet magnet- 
 ism has, in these latter days, taken on strange 
 forms and opened new horizons to our gaze. 
 We walk side by side with spiritualism, which 
 testifies to the existence of the soul. And, to 
 admit the influence of mental suggestion over 
 subjects in the hypnotic sleep, is not this com- 
 ing very near to a belief in a superior principle 
 which directs and, as a consequence, governs 
 matter?" 
 
 "You philosophize, my dear fellow," re- 
 sponded the prince, "but you do not answer." 
 
 "Oh, as for you, Patrizzi," said Pierre Lau- 
 rier, laughing, "you beUeve in Saint Janua- 
 rius, and in serious cases you invoke the aid of 
 the Madonna ; you carry branches of coral as 
 a protection against the evil eye, and you turn 
 pale when you see a knife and fork laid cross- 
 wise on the tablecloth ; you are, consequently, 
 already a convert to the juggleries of Davidoff. 
 
ti THE SOUL OP PlEkRE, 
 
 But Jacques and I, we are tougher, and we 
 need some proofs to convince us." 
 
 "Yet it would be pleasant to believe in a 
 mysterious influence that could restore one to 
 health," murmured the sick man. "Ah, to be 
 able to cling to some supreme hope ! would not 
 that itself be health? Has not confidence half 
 the merit in effecting a cure." 
 
 "Parbleu ! Those are the most reasonable 
 words that have been uttered for the last two 
 hours," cried Pierre Laurier. " To the devil with 
 your witches, your Swedenborgians, your lunar 
 apparitions and your souls that pass from 
 body to body, like the ferret of Bois-Joli. To 
 give a sick person the assurance that he will 
 recover, is almost sure to cure him ; that is the 
 truth ! So take my friend Jacques de Vignes 
 here present, who has had himself ordered 
 south because he has taken a cold, make him 
 understand that his malady is purely imagin- 
 ary, that his lungs are not affected, that he 
 commits a great mistake in thinking that they 
 are, — in a word, prove to him that he has only 
 a slight ailment, of no consequence whatever, 
 
THE SOVL OF PIERRE. t% 
 
 and doing away with the cause, you do away 
 with the effect. The aforesaid Jacques de 
 Vignes will be obliged to renounce his languid 
 speech, his languishing airs, his Wertherian 
 glances. He will return to a love for life, for a 
 beefsteak, a cigar, a pretty woman — " 
 
 "Alas !" murmured Jacques, a severe fit of 
 coughing shaking his frame. "If it were only 
 possible for me to hope ! I love life, and every 
 day I feel my hold upon it growing weaker." 
 
 The painter laid his hand on the shoulder of 
 the sick man, and in a friendly voice said : 
 
 "You do not believe me when I tell you that 
 you are not seriously ill; you do not believe 
 Davidoff, who has examined you. You desire, 
 in spite of everything, to nurse your uneasiness, 
 and to torture yourself, as if for pleasure. 
 You make your mother wretched by so doing, 
 and you cause your sister to shed tears. Is 
 there nothing, then, that will convince you ; 
 Must I do for you what Wladimir Alexievich 
 did, and give you a soul in exchange for yours. 
 I have only my own, as you know, and that is 
 not of much account. Come, if I were to give 
 
t4 THE SOUL OF PlERkE. 
 
 it to you some night, in a fit of spleen, it would 
 not be a very splendid present. But one 
 should not look a gift-horse in the mouth, and 
 the important point is that you should live, 
 you who have everything to make you happy, 
 you who are loved, you who would be regret- 
 ted. Whilst I — I might throw myself this 
 moment from the terrace of the Casino into 
 the sea, and who would regret the fool called 
 Pierre Laurier, the artist powerless to grasp 
 his ideal, the gambler grown indifferent to the 
 emotions of the game, the lover scoffed at by 
 his mistress, the viveur weary of life!" 
 
 He made the table shake with a blow of his 
 clenched hand, his face distorted by a painful 
 emotion and his lips curled in a bitter smile. 
 
 "I am stupid indeed to persist in beginning 
 anew every morning the existence I curse 
 every night ! To the devil with it ! Jacques, 
 do you want my soul!" 
 
 "Come," said Jacques, "you have had 
 another quarrel to-day with Clemence Villa. 
 Give her up, my poor friend, since she makes 
 you suffer so much." 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 15 
 
 "As if I could !" cried Pierre, growing very 
 pale and pressing his hand to his forehead, 
 which suddenly grew clouded. 
 
 "Beat her, then," said Patrizzi tranquilly. 
 
 "If I only dared !" cried the young man, his 
 eyes flashing. "But I am the slave of that 
 girl. She does with me whatever she wishes. 
 Her vices, her follies, her infidelities, I put up 
 with them all. At times I would like to kill 
 her. And it is I myself I would strike in seek- 
 ing to escape from her tyranny. Ah, I am 
 cowardly and base. I know that she betrays 
 me. I surprised her the other day in a meet- 
 ing with an insignificant Italian baritone. She 
 ruins me, she degrades me, she lowers me 
 more than she does herself, yet I have not 
 the strength to break my chain. I am indeed 
 very unfortunate !" 
 
 "No, you are not unfortunate," said the 
 doctor, "you are sick. Let us go out : it is 
 stifling here." 
 
 "It is ten o'clock," said Jacques de Vignes. 
 "The carriage must be in waiting for me. I 
 am going back to Villefranche." 
 
1 6 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 "Wrap yourself up well," said the prince; 
 "the nights are cold." 
 
 The artist helped his friend on with his over- 
 coat, wrapped a plaid around him, and at the 
 foot of the stairs said to him in a voice that 
 still vibrated with his recent emotion : 
 
 **Good-night. And remember — count upon 
 my soul." 
 
 Dr. Davidoff put Jacques de Vignes into the 
 carriage, closed the door, and gave the coach- 
 man his orders. Then, after listening for a 
 moment to the noise of the carriage-wheels roll- 
 ing on the sand, he slowly returned to the 
 artist, who was looking at the stars while he 
 waited for him. 
 
 *'Shall we go to the Casino?" asked Patrizzi. 
 
 "What for? The night is so beautiful., let us 
 walk." 
 
 "Which way do you go?" 
 
 "Toward Mentone." 
 
 "And you will pause, three-quarters of a mile 
 from here, at the door of a villa of which the 
 gate is covered with roses?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 1 7 
 
 "And you will come out in a moment, furious 
 with others and with yourself. Do not go to 
 see that girl." 
 
 "And where would you have me go? If, 
 obedient to your wishes, I return to my hotel, 
 in the solitude of my chamber, I shall think 
 only of the woman you bid me shun. She 
 holds complete sway over me — I confess it, 
 and the ties that bind me to her must be strong 
 indeed, since, notwithstanding the desperate 
 efforts I have made, I have not been able to 
 break them. After each effort I return to her, 
 weaker and more enslaved than before, and I 
 hate and despise myself for it." 
 
 "It is an easy matter, nevertheless, to leave a 
 woman," said the Neapolitan, smiling. "Un- 
 happily one does not find it out until it is too 
 late. But one should make the effort, at all 
 events. It is easy, however, to counsel philo- 
 sophy to those who are suffering. Good-night, 
 gentlemen. I am going to break the bank." 
 
 He lit a cigar, and went away. Davidoff and 
 Pierre Laurier continued their walk through 
 the gardens bathed in the moonlight. The air 
 
1 8 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 was mild and fragrant. They left the town, 
 and to their right at the base of the rocks 
 along the shore they could see the sea, shining 
 like a silver mirror. The night was so bright 
 that the lights of the vessels in the distance 
 shone red and tremulous. They ascended the 
 acclivity in silence. They paused a moment 
 near a clump of mastic and cactus bushes, their 
 glances piercing into space, and oppressed, as 
 it were, by the expanse before them. A sud- 
 den noise, as of an animal rising abruptly from 
 a thicket, arrested their attention, and a mo- 
 ment later they saw running up the path on the 
 side of the acclivity a man carrying a gun that 
 glittered in the moonlight. 
 
 "What is that?" asked Davidoff, in surprise. 
 
 Pierre Laurier looked at the man attentively, 
 and then answered : 
 
 "A custom-house officer." 
 
 They paused. The man continued to ascend 
 the hill. Arrived on the flat, he looked at the 
 two pedestrians suspiciously. The spot was 
 deserted, although they had left the last 
 house not more than two miles behind them, 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 19 
 
 but the whole coast is a wild one and favorable 
 to the enterprises of smugglers. 
 
 "Do you take us for contrabandists?" said 
 the artist. 
 
 "No, sir," replied the officer, "not now that 
 I see you near by ; but below there, when I 
 saw you stand motionless, I thought you had 
 just given some signal." 
 
 "Are there smugglers in the country, then?" 
 
 "Oh, there always are. It is between 
 Monaco and Vintimille that smuggling is 
 most generally carried on. There is not a 
 week in which some smuggler is not caught. 
 And for the past four days we have been 
 watching a vessel which is waiting the chance 
 to escape us. But the scoundrels will pay for 
 the sleepless nights they have made us pass, 
 and if they make any resistance they will be 
 answered with musket-shots. Good-night, gen- 
 tlemen. Do not remain here. The place is a 
 bad one." 
 
 He raised his hand in a military salute to his 
 kepi, and then disappeared among the bushes 
 whi^h served hin) for his post of observation. 
 
20 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 Pierre Laurier and Davidoff resumed their 
 walk, turning their steps toward the town. 
 
 "I envy the adventurous lot of the men who 
 are the object of the threats of this fine sol- 
 dier. They are sailing on the water at this 
 moment, vigilant and circumspect, ready for 
 business or for battle. Their affair finished, 
 they depart on a new expedition to brave un- 
 known dangers. They have no thought but 
 for their hard and uncertain occupation. I 
 should like to be in their place." 
 
 "So ! Count Woreseff, whom I shall accom- 
 pany in his yacht, leaves Villefranche the day 
 after to-morrow. He is going to Egypt; we 
 touch at Alexandria, sail up the Nile as far as 
 the second cataract, visit Thebes, the desert, 
 and the Pyramids. It is an expedition that 
 will take two months, with the planks of a mag- 
 nificent vessel under foot and the splendors of 
 an Eastern sky overhead. You know how 
 happy the Count would be to take you with 
 him. You would be occupied ; you would hunt. 
 And above all, you would forget." 
 
 "No! I should be too tranquil, too much 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 2i 
 
 spoiled, too happy, in your company. I should 
 have to brave none of those dangers that absorb 
 all one's faculties. I should have no crushing 
 hardships to endure. Everything around me 
 would savor too much of civilization. What I 
 need is to lead the life of a savage. If you 
 could promise to have me captured by the 
 Touaregs, who should take me a prisoner to 
 Timbuctoo, I would follow you. In my case 
 that would be salvation!" 
 
 "I can promise you no such adventures/* re- 
 plied Davidoff, laughing. "I must therefore 
 abandon you to your fate." 
 
 They had stopped before a beautiful villa, 
 painted rose color, whose windows shone in the 
 moonlight through the thick foliage. 
 
 "It is settled — you will go in," said the doc- 
 tor. "Good-by, then, for I do not know if I 
 shall see you to-morrow, — and good fortune 
 attend you." 
 
 They shook hands, and while the Russian 
 took his way toward the city the artist crossed 
 the garden and rang the dopr-bell. A lackey 
 opened the door for him, and led him into a 
 
22 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 vestibule resembling a Moorish patio, with a 
 basin in the middle, on the blue bosom of 
 which floated cyprians with scales of gold. 
 Around the columns which adorned this court 
 roses twined. At the further end a white mar- 
 ble staircase led to the first story. 
 
 "Is Madame at home?" asked Pierre Lau- 
 der. 
 
 "She is in the little salon," responded the 
 domestic. 
 
 The young man pushed the door open and 
 softly entered. 
 
 On a large sofa, reclining among silken cush- 
 ions, Clemence Villa was turning over the leaves 
 of a book. She raised her head, stretched out 
 her arms, and then remained motionless. 
 
 Pierre approached her, and bending over 
 her delicately modeled face kissed her on the 
 eyes. 
 
 "How late you are!" said the actress, with a 
 tranquil indifference that formed a contrast to 
 the reproach conveyed in her words. 
 
 "Prince Patrizzi's dinner lasted longer tlian I 
 bad .supposed it would/' he answere4. 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 2% 
 
 "Did you enjoy yourself." 
 
 "Less than if you had been with us." 
 
 **I have a horror of Patrizzi." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I feel that he hates me." 
 
 "No, he does not hate you: but he loves 
 me." 
 
 "Well, can he not love you without hating 
 me?" 
 
 "He would like you if you did not make me 
 unhappy." 
 
 "Ah, the old story!" 
 
 The young woman snapped her fingers, 
 threw her book to the further end of the 
 salon, and with a gesture of displeasure turned 
 over on the sofa, with her face toward the 
 wall. 
 
 "Come, Clemence, let us be at peace," said 
 the artist ; "let us talk of something else." 
 
 The actress, however, her face buried among 
 the cushions, replied in a sharp voice, without 
 turning around • 
 
 "Your Patrizzi has been making advances to 
 me, as you already know, and it is because I 
 
H THE SOUL OF Pierre. 
 
 would have nothing to say to him that he dis- 
 likes me." 
 
 The countenance of Laurier was contracted 
 with pain, as he asked ironically: 
 
 *'And why did you make so unflattering an 
 exception in his case?" 
 
 Clemence Villa sprang to her feet at a bound, 
 and red with anger, her eyes sparkling, her 
 brow contracted in a frown, pointed to the 
 door with a trembling hand, saying : 
 
 "My dear fellow, if you have come here to 
 treat me with insolence, you can take yourself 
 off again." 
 
 "Oh, I know how little you care for me ; you 
 have never allowed me to remain in ignorance 
 on that point," said the painter with a des- 
 pondent gesture. 
 
 "Then why do you not leave me? If you 
 were good-tempered, even, I could understand 
 your obstinacy on that point. But you 
 divide your time between abusing me to your 
 friends and insulting me here. And all because 
 I will not yield to your caprices, and shut my- 
 self up to live alone with you. What an 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 25 
 
 enchanting prospect! In short, you are an 
 ingrate. I was very fond of you — oh, you 
 know it very well! For before you became 
 crazy, you were an agreeable and charming fel- 
 low. But the fact is that, for the past three 
 months, you have completely lost your head, 
 so, good-night. As for me, I don't know how 
 to take care of mad people: go to a lunatic 
 asylum.*' 
 
 She leaned against the chimney-piece as she 
 spoke, and, set off by her loose robe of ruby- 
 colored plush, her dark skin gleamed like ivory. 
 Her small head covered with curls, set on a 
 rather long neck, was of an exquisite grace, and 
 her bosom, enclosed, like a jewel in its setting, 
 in costly Malines lace, heaved with her haughty 
 anger. 
 
 Pierre slowly approached her, and seating 
 himself on a low seat, almost at her feet, — 
 
 "Forgive me," he said. "I am unhappy, 
 because I love you, and I am jealous." 
 
 She looked at him sternly and in a cutting 
 voice said : 
 
 "So much the worse. Because I am no 
 
26 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 more disposed to put up with your jealousy 
 than with your brutaHty. For some time past 
 I have had to make an effort not to tell you 
 so. But I have had enough of it now. It is 
 over ! it is over ! it is over ! You may spare 
 yourself the trouble of returning." 
 
 The artist grew a shade paler. 
 
 "You are dismissing me?" he said. 
 
 "Yes, I am dismissing you." 
 
 He remained silent for an instant, as if he 
 hesitated to put his thought into words. 
 Then in a low voice, as if he feared to provoke 
 the answer he foresaw he should receive, — 
 
 "Do you love another, then?" he asked. 
 
 "What does that matter to you? I love 
 you no longer; that is all it concerns you to 
 know." 
 
 A flush mounted to the face of the young 
 man ; his hands trembled, and he bit the ends 
 of his mustache, but affecting a smiling 
 indifference, — 
 
 "Tell me, at least," he said, "if you have 
 given me a worthy successor. One must have 
 a little pride." 
 
THE SOUL Of PIERRE. 27 
 
 "Make yourself easy on that score," inter- 
 rupted Clemence sharply; "I shall lose noth- 
 ing by the change. He is young, he is rich, 
 he is handsome. And then he has inter- 
 ested me for a long time past. Besides, you 
 know him; he is a friend of yours." 
 
 And while the artist, thunderstruck at such 
 audacity, asked himself whether he was dream- 
 ing or awake, the young woman continued, 
 with relentless cruelty and dropping her words 
 one by one like drops of poison : 
 
 **You have just left him ; you dined together 
 this evening." 
 
 "Davidoff?" exclaimed Pierre. 
 
 "Imbecile!" sneered Clemence. "That Rus- 
 sian cynic who despises women, and who 
 would rule them with the knout! Do you 
 think me so stupid? No, the man who has 
 captivated my fancy is a charming fellow, gen- 
 tle, melancholy, rather delicate in health, but 
 who believes in love and surrenders himself to 
 it without reserve." 
 
 Pierre started to his feet at these words, and 
 seizing the actress by the wrists, forced her to 
 
28 THk SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 listen to him, notwithstanding her resistance. 
 Their faces were close together, their glances 
 met for an instant. They remained thus for a 
 few moments, breathing hatred and rage. At 
 last the painter said in a trembling voice : 
 
 "You mean Jacques de Vignes." 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "Do you know that his lungs are seriously 
 affected?" 
 
 "Even so; he pleases me. I will nurse 
 him. A disinterested affection has always had 
 a charm for me." 
 
 "It is in order to torture me that you have 
 invented this story. Confess that there is not 
 a word of truth in all you have said." 
 
 "You shall see whether there is or not." 
 
 "Clemence, take care." 
 
 The young woman's eyes flashed with anger. 
 She turned to pull the bell, but in her haste 
 her feet caught in the folds of her gown. 
 Pierre was just in time to seize her arm and 
 prevent her from falling. 
 
 "You threaten me in my own house?" she 
 cried. "Well, then, I shall accept him. Yes, 
 
THE SOVL OP PIERRE. ^9 
 
 I shall accept him; and it will be all your 
 fault." 
 
 The painter, with a gesture of disgust, 
 pushed her from him so abruptly that she fell 
 backward on the sofa. He took his hat and in 
 a choking voice said : 
 
 "Infamous creature! I had rather die now, 
 than return to you. I shall never see you 
 again !'* 
 
 He pushed the door violently open with his 
 clenched hand, as if to vent on inert matter 
 the anger he could not vent on the woman who 
 had called it forth, and with rapid steps went 
 out into the garden. He heard the electric 
 bell ring behind him under the quick pressure 
 of an angry touch, the steps of the servant 
 sounding on the pavement of the vestibule, 
 and the sharp tones of Clemence issuing her 
 orders. He did not stay to hear further. He 
 felt a rage that gave him a desire to kill some 
 one. He had left Clemence lest he should be 
 tempted to strike her. But here under the 
 starry sky, his brow fanned by the cool sea- 
 breezes laden with the perfume of the orange- 
 
^O THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 blossoms, he began to feel a bitter sense of 
 shame. Was it possible that for this woman's 
 sake he had during the past year committed 
 all the miserable follies that now came throng- 
 ing to his memory? After spending all hi-, 
 fortune in order to supply the extravagance of 
 Clemence, he had borrowed for the same pur- 
 pose from his friends. His genius, dissipated 
 by a life of pleasure, had produced no fruit, and 
 he had spent whole days in his studio dream- 
 ing of pictures which he had never had the 
 courage to undertake. And all for this jade 
 who had deceived him. It was in truth too 
 stupid ; she was right to despise him for it, and 
 it was an undeserved piece of good fortune 
 for him that she had taken it into her head to 
 dismiss him. 
 
 He felt himself, at this moment, once more 
 master of his destiny. He was delivered from 
 the ghoul who had sapped his mental strength 
 at the same time that she had tortured his 
 heart. He was himself again, and he was de- 
 termined to prove by his works that he was 
 not, as people had begun to say, a wreck. 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. %\ 
 
 "Yes, she shall see what I am capable of, 
 now that I am free from her," he cried. "Be- 
 fore a month is past she shall wish me back 
 from vanity if not from love !" 
 
 While these thoughts were passing through 
 his mind he was walking along the sea-shore 
 on the road that led to Vintimille. In his 
 agitation he had walked a great distance with- 
 out being aware of it. The lights of Monaco 
 had disappeared in the distance, and he found 
 himself alone, at the foot of a rugged cliff. 
 At his feet stretched the rocky shore, on which 
 the waves broke with a monotonous sound. 
 Occasionally a stray cloud passing across the 
 moon hid its light, plunging everything into 
 obscurity. Pierre sat down on a sandy hillock 
 by the roadside, and lulled by the profound 
 peace surrounding him, he fell into a revery. 
 
 He had now become calmer; his anger had 
 vanished, and he tried to form a clear idea of 
 his situation. He had made excellent resolu- 
 tions, but would he have sufficient strength of 
 mind to carry them out? He knew how little 
 dependence he could place on his force of char- 
 
32 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 acter. A dozen times already he had sworn 
 never again to see the woman who had 
 wrecked his Hfe, and each time he had re- 
 turned to her, weaker than the last, and as a 
 consequence was more ill-treated than before. 
 But he had borne everything in order to obtain 
 a caress from her. Strange madness, which, 
 reducing him to this state of bondage, left him 
 sense enough to form a correct judgment of 
 the woman who held him in thrall, but not 
 enough courage to withdraw from her evil 
 dominion. 
 
 "After declaring so violently that I would 
 never see her again," he said to himself, "can it 
 be possible that I should be weak enough to 
 present myself before her to-morrow? No," 
 he cried aloud in the silence of the night. 
 But, as if to put his resolution to the test, the 
 face of Clemence with its brilliant and seduc- 
 tive eyes appeared before him. He could see 
 it distinctly, smiling with a defiant air, and it 
 seemed to him he could hear from her lips the 
 words he had heard so often : 
 
 "You leave me? You have not the strength 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 33 
 
 to do so. I might dismiss you and you would 
 come back to me again, like a beaten dog, 
 faithful to his master. Do you think you 
 could live without me? Am I not necessary 
 to your existence? Without me, the world 
 for you is a void, where you can find only 
 ennui, disgust, weariness, and regrets. Come 
 back to me then ! Pretend no silly pride. I 
 send you away to-day, but I expect you back 
 to-morrow. These are the quarrels of lovers, 
 who fall out, and then kiss each other all the 
 more passionately for their momentary anger." 
 
 The temptress evoked by his feverish imagi- 
 nation smiled at him, and with her white arm 
 beckoned him on. He could see her distinctly, 
 with the light falling upon her in her room. 
 His heart beat to suffocation, and with a sigh 
 he rose to his feet to go and rejoin her. 
 
 A cool breeze blowing across his forehead re- 
 called him from his dream, and he found him- 
 self once more at the foot of the cliff, the sea 
 stretching before him, far away from the town, 
 and the image of the woman who had so com- 
 pletely subjugated him, vanished in the moon- 
 
34 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 light. He trembled to find himself so com- 
 pletely in her power. If he had been in front 
 of her villa instead of on the sea-shore, in an 
 instant more, without giving himself time for 
 reflection, he would have been at her feet. A 
 paroxysm of rage seized him. She spoke 
 truly, then ; the apparition of a moment since 
 had dared him to break his chain. What 
 should he do then, so that he might never 
 again fall into the power of this fatal woman? 
 Would space sufifice to separate him from her? 
 How could he say that in some moment of 
 madness he would not again return to her? 
 Calm as he was now, completely in possession 
 of his senses, strong in the hatred which had 
 revived again within him, he did not dare to 
 question himself lest he should be obliged to 
 confess that there was no power strong enough 
 to keep him from her. 
 
 A feeling of despair and profound dis- 
 couragement came over him. Yet he compre- 
 hended all the unworthiness of his life, all the 
 baseness of his conduct, all the ignominy of his 
 complaisance. She deceived him and he knew 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 35 
 
 it, yet he had not sufficient pride to resolve to 
 see her no more. And what anguish, what re- 
 grets did this existence contain, that would 
 become more miserable, the weaker he showed 
 himself to be ! And what would be the end of 
 it? An unworthy death in some jealous trans- 
 port, a senseless and degrading suicide that 
 would drag his name into the newspapers, in- 
 flicting suffering on the few friends who should 
 still remain faithful to him. Would it not be 
 better to end everything at once, here, under 
 the deep blue sky, the sea stretching before 
 him, while he was still worthy to cause sincere 
 tears to flow? 
 
 He remained wrapped in meditation, bathed 
 in the tranquil light of the moon, surrounded 
 by fragrant odors. And little by little his 
 thoughts were turned away from the woman 
 who was his evil genius. 
 
 A peaceful and smiling dwelling, hidden 
 among trees, now appeared before his mind. 
 It was that in which his friend Jacques de 
 Vignes lived, with his mother and sister. Life 
 would have smiled upon them bad not illness, 
 
36 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 alarming and rapid in its progress, attacked this 
 handsome and once robust young man so 
 ardently attached to life. What did they lack 
 in order to be happy? Health, for the son 
 and brother so passionately loved, health only. 
 But, irony of fate, each day Jacques grew 
 more sad, more weak, more bent, as if to draw 
 nearer to the earth which must soon hide him 
 from view. And he was in despair about it, 
 while Pierre would so gladly have given up his 
 life at this moment when, overwhelmed with 
 vexations, he reckoned it of so little worth. If 
 he had been able to make a compact with 
 his friend, and to cede him his own supera- 
 bundance of strength, would this not be sufifi- 
 cient health for the sad and suffering young 
 man whom he loved so tenderly? 
 
 At this moment the story of Dr. DavidofT 
 came back to his mind, and a bitter smile 
 crossed his lips. If this strange resurrection of 
 which the doctor had told were possible, if the 
 spell could be made to work, and if it were 
 granted to him to make his soul pass, miserable 
 and tortured as he was, into the languishing 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 37 
 
 body of his friend, in whom the force to live 
 was so completely wanting, would it not be a 
 blessed miracle? 
 
 He bowed down his head with sudden 
 grief. He said to himself: "She told me she 
 loved him. If I were to become he, I should 
 then be beloved by her? I should enjoy her 
 beauty and her grace. For me should be all 
 her smiles and all her kisses." He trembled. 
 It was so long since there had been tenderness 
 in the caresses of her he still adored. He felt 
 this now, without illusion or self-deceit, and 
 yet he could not resolve to leave her. 
 
 In the silence of the night, surrounded by 
 the rocks, before him the immensity of the sky 
 and sea, he gathered together all the strength of 
 his will for a supreme invocation. He called to 
 his aid all the invisible powers. "If they exist 
 as has been affirmed," he said to himself, 
 "around us, in the air; if, impalpable as the air, 
 mysterious beings surround us, let them reveal 
 themselves to me by some sign which I can 
 comprehend, and I shall be ready to obey them. 
 I deliver myself up to them in self-sacrifice. A 
 
38 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 being of flesh and blood, I shall enter the 
 realm of the spiritual and I shall leave exist- 
 ence with delight so that I be no longer 
 myself, and, as a consequence, be in pain no 
 longer, no longer groan and sigh. Let them 
 speak to me in the whisper of the breeze, the 
 murmur of the waves, the rustling of the 
 leaves, and to reach them I will pass through 
 the gate of death." 
 
 As he finished this incantation he shuddered, 
 terrified at the solitude in which he found him- 
 self. He looked fearfully around him. The 
 cliff, the sea, the sky were silent and solitary. 
 Suddenly the moon showed herself between 
 the clouds, and in the luminous space it 
 seemed to Pierre that white spectres passed. 
 He looked down at the expanse of waters 
 before him, and will-o'-the-wisps appeared 
 among the rocks on the shore. Hither and 
 thither they passed, brilliant and light, vanish- 
 ing and reappearing ceaselessly, like the souls 
 of shipwrecked mariners haunting the breakers 
 on which the bodies they had inhabited had 
 penshe4» 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 39 
 
 Fascinated, Pierre was unable to take his 
 eyes from these vaporous phantoms, these 
 wandering lights, and a species of torpor took 
 possession of him. Murmuring sounds filled 
 his ears. At first confused, they gradually 
 resolved themselves into these words, like a 
 chant : "Come with us, where suffering no 
 longer exists. Die in order to live again, 
 reincarnated in a being of your choice. Come 
 with us!" 
 
 Pierre made an effort to rid himself of this 
 hallucination, but without success. He felt 
 himself deprived of force, incapable of making 
 a movement, as if he were in a state of cata- 
 lepsy. His gaze penetrated the depths of the 
 sea and the sky, and supernatural accents 
 vibrated in his ears. He thought to himself: 
 "The revelation I demanded has been made. 
 Spirits have manifested themselves to me. 
 I believe in them, I will obey them, — but let 
 them cease to possess me." 
 
 As if he had pronounced a magic formula the 
 vision disappeared, the chant ceased. He rose 
 and walked along the deserted shore, and he 
 
40 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 might have thought that he had been dream- 
 ing. But he did not think so. He hoped the 
 vision might be real ; he saw in it the deHghtful 
 end of all his ills. 
 
 Ascending to the summit of the cliffs, he 
 stood there, took out his pocket-book, and 
 wrote these words on a card : 
 
 "My dear Jacques: I am of no use to 
 others and I am hurtful to myself. I wish to 
 end this. I ami going to try the experiment 
 which Davidoff described to us. You are the 
 being I love most on earth. I make you a 
 present of my soul. Live happy through me, 
 and for me." 
 
 He signed the card with his name, and tak- 
 ing his hat passed the folded paper between 
 the felt and the silk band. He tranquilly 
 divested himself of his overcoat and placed it 
 at the side of the path together with his hat ; 
 then with quick steps went down again toward 
 the sea. The coast curved at this point, form- 
 ing a little bay, where the waves died away 
 with a gentle murmur. A path, running up 
 the side of the cliff, led to a little fishing vil- 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 41 
 
 lage. The attention of Pierre was attracted by 
 a bark coming slowly toward him, impelled by 
 the breeze that swelled out its low sail. It 
 seemed to be empty, but when it reached the 
 strand sailors made their appearance every- 
 where. At the same time men sallied from 
 behind the rock, and entering the water went 
 toward the boat. Bales and casks encumbered 
 the stern of the vessel. 
 
 The painter, interested, notwithstanding his 
 depression, guessed that these were the smug- 
 glers of whom the custom-house officer had 
 spoken. He sought this latter with his glance 
 among the brushwood behind which he had 
 hidden himself. He had doubtless quitted his 
 post, for there was no sign of movement on the 
 cliff. The men from the rocks had joined 
 those on board the boat, which they had 
 already begun to unload, when a whistle from 
 the summit of the cliff interrupted the opera- 
 tion. The men ran along the beach, the sailors 
 hastened to put out to sea. At the same 
 moment a shot was heard in the silence, and a 
 red flame lighted up the rocks. It was the 
 
42 THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 
 
 custom-house officer who thus made known his 
 presence. At another point near by another 
 shot was heard, and shadowy forms ran up the 
 side of the rock. The men climbed up the 
 path with their bales, the smugglers pushed 
 their boat out into deep water. During this 
 maneuver a sailor fell overboard. Signals 
 were heard. It was the custom-house officers 
 assembling. The boat reached the open sea, 
 and the swimmer, left behind, cried out with 
 all the strength of his lungs. His movements 
 gradually became wilder and his voice more 
 feeble. Pierre felt touched by the heartrend- 
 ing accents of this fellow-creature. A moment 
 before he had thought only of dying, now he 
 wished to save life. He hurried toward the 
 beach, leaping from rock to rock, narrowly 
 escaping several shots as he ran, reached the 
 water, and throwing himself into the sea swam 
 vigorously toward the drowning man. A few 
 hundred yards away the boat had stopped. 
 The smugglers had disappeared in the brush- 
 wood at the summit of the cliff, and on the 
 sea, polished as a mirror, the moon cast her 
 cold and tranquil light. 
 
II. 
 
 NEAR the sea-shore, on the charming road 
 that leads from Monaco to Nice, between 
 Eze and Villefranche, but nearer to the latter, 
 in a little bay formed by an abrupt fissure of 
 the cliff stands a villa painted in red and white, 
 its terrace, covered with oranges and mimosas, 
 stretching down into the water. Fir trees, 
 with red trunks and large branches, juniper 
 trees with their blue-green foliage, black thuyas, 
 grow together on the side of the hill, among 
 fragments of rock, in the midst of briars, fram- 
 ing in with wild vegetation this tranquil valley, 
 isolated and silent. A little harbor, protected 
 by a natural jetty of reefs, against which the 
 waves break in clouds of spray, contains, two 
 pleasure-boats, motionless in the calm and trans- 
 parent waters to which the marine plants at 
 the bottom give an emerald-green tinge. The 
 red earth absorbs the rays of the sun and heats 
 43 
 
44 The soul of pierrE. 
 
 the atmosphere of this sheltered spot where all 
 day the temperature of a hothouse reigns. In 
 the evening the air is exhilarating and laden 
 with the exquisite odors exhaled by trees 
 whose leaves never fall, of flowers that renew 
 themselves ceaselessly. Little fishing-boats, 
 plying between Beaulieu and Monaco, sail 
 across the open sea and give an air of life to 
 the horizon as they slowly pass. The noise of 
 the railroad that runs behind the villa is the 
 only sound that disturbs the silence of this 
 peaceful spot. Here it was that, two months 
 before, Madame de Vignes came to establish 
 herself with her son and daughter, far from 
 the agitation of the Parisian world, in the 
 sweet and salubrious repose of this enchanting 
 country. 
 
 Left a widow at thirty, after a married life 
 made stormy by a dissipated husband, Madame 
 de Vignes had consecrated herself with exalted 
 intelligence and profound wisdom to the educa- 
 tion of her children. Jacques, a tall and hand- 
 some boy, of an impassioned soul and enthu- 
 siastic nature, in spite of prudent counsels daily 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 45 
 
 received, soon gave signs of having inherited 
 his father's faults. His sister Juliette, four 
 years younger than he, had, by a happy con- 
 trast, inherited all her mother's serious wisdom. 
 So. that if the one was a source of grave 
 anxiety to the mother, the other seemed made 
 to console her for it. With these two, so dif- 
 ferent from each other, Madame de Vignes, 
 up to the age of forty, lived a comparatively 
 tranquil life. Jacques, extremely intelligent 
 and tolerably industrious, had finished his 
 studies with brilliant success. His health, deli- 
 cate during his childhood, had become stronger 
 as he grew up, and when he attained his major- 
 ity, ho was, with his tall stature, his long blonde 
 mustache, and his blue eyes, one of the most 
 charming young men one could see. He made 
 !io delay in abusing these advantages. 
 
 Put in possession of his father's fortune, he 
 had freed himself from domestic restraints by 
 installing himself in a handsome bachelor's 
 apartment, and begun to lead a gay life. He 
 remembered, however, from time to time to ask 
 9^ invitation to dinner from his mother. On 
 
4^ THE SOUL OF PIERRR. 
 
 these occasions he was often accompanied by- 
 one of the companions of his childhood, Pierre 
 Laurier. On such evenings it was a festival at 
 the villa, and Juliette lavished her tenderest 
 attentions on her brother and her sweetest 
 smiles on his friend, who, she imagined, rightly 
 or wrongly, had an influence in bringing about 
 these returns of the prodigal son. The even- 
 ing passed joyously, thanks to the original turn 
 of mind of the painter. 
 
 And while these hours fled all too rapidly, 
 the young girl, for Mademoiselle de Vignes 
 was at that time only fourteen, was ecstati- 
 cally happy in the society of the two young 
 men. 
 
 Pierre Laurier with his intelligent and 
 mobile countenance, his piercing eyes, his sar- 
 castic mouth, and thoughtful brow, had for a 
 long time inspired her with fear. But she had 
 soon discovered that his strange moods were 
 only the consequence of his artistic preoccupa- 
 tions, and that his mocking accents served to 
 mask the confiding goodness of his heart. In 
 the midst of his fantastic discourse she could 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 47 
 
 very well discern his love for his art, to which 
 he was devotedly attached, and in his passion- 
 ate sallies she saw flash forth a love for the 
 true and the beautiful. She divined, with 
 singular penetration, that the painter made 
 every possible effort to restrain Jacques in his 
 dissipated life, and that the influence he ex- 
 ercised over him could not but prove favorable. 
 This had made her like him all the more. And 
 then his manner toward this child was like 
 that of a brother. For her he softened the 
 expression of his skepticism, and became inno- 
 cent and playful to adapt himself to her. 
 
 In this he showed want of penetration, for 
 Juliette, whose reasoning powers had been 
 early developed, was quite capable of compre- 
 hending him. But Pierre persisted in seeing in 
 her only a little girl, and it was always with 
 astonishment that he heard her, when she 
 allowed herself to be drawn into the conversa- 
 tion, put forth in a few timid phrases judg- 
 ment extraordinarily just. He did not give 
 her credit for them indeed; he said to himself: 
 "This little girl is surprising; she remembers 
 
48 THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 
 
 what she hears and brings it in in the right 
 place. In every woman there is something of 
 the ape, to imitate, and of the parrot, to 
 repeat !" 
 
 If Juliette, however, had, where art was 
 concerned, a precious faculty of assimilating 
 the knowledge of others, she was altogether 
 herself in the tender effusiveness of the thanks 
 she bestowed on Laurier for his protecting 
 care of her brother. Here she neither imitated 
 nor repeated. It was the very heart of the 
 child that spoke, and the painter, however 
 absorbed he might be by preoccupations of 
 which Mile, de Vignes was singularly ignorant, 
 could not avoid being struck by her emotion 
 and her gratitude. 
 
 A little incident, of which he had caught the 
 true significance, had just occurred, however, 
 which completely opened his eyes. He had 
 been in the habit of bringing this child, whom 
 he had known since her infancy, a present on 
 Saint Juliette's day. When she was a. child 
 these presents had been dolls, extraordinarily 
 attired in magnificent robes, made according 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 49 
 
 to the taste and after the suggestions of the 
 painter, as if they had been meant to pose for 
 one of his pictures. Each time he came to 
 partake of the family dinner, carrying in his 
 arms his annual gift, there were exclamations 
 of surprise and cries of joy. Laurier would 
 take the child by the shoulders, imprint a 
 sounding kiss upon each cheek, and say in his 
 sarcastic accents : 
 
 "This doll is beautiful, is it not? She is a 
 Venetian — of the time of Titian !" 
 
 Then he would begin to chat with Mme. de 
 Vignes and Jacques, without taking any further 
 heed of the little girl lost in ecstatic contem- 
 plation of the porcelain patrician dressed in 
 silk and gold. When Juliette was fourteen, 
 however, dolls, he began to think, were now out 
 of place, and he set about finding a more sensi- 
 ble gift. He selected a little work-box of the 
 eighteenth century, garnished with beautiful 
 implements in silver gilt, of exquisite design, 
 and, according to his habit, arrived with it at 
 the dinner hour. On this particular evening 
 only Jacques was in the salon. The two 
 
50 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 friends shook hands, and Laurier asking where 
 Juliette was, — 
 
 "My mother is dressing her," answered 
 Jacques. "It is an important affair — her first 
 long dress. Our friends have wished to cele- 
 brate the occasion. So, what do you think ! 
 Her hair also had to be arranged differently. 
 It would not do, as formerly, to wear one's 
 hair hanging loose over one's shoulders — a 
 chignon was a necessity!" 
 
 He was still laughing when the door opened, 
 and instead of the little girl Laurier expected 
 to see, a young girl, a little timid, a little awk- 
 ward, altogether changed, but charming, entered 
 the room. She did not run to the painter as 
 usual with girlish curiosity. She extended to 
 him her hand gracefully, and paused, silent 
 and embarrassed, before the two young men. 
 Pierre observed her with a smile. 
 
 "You look very well so, Juliette," he said. 
 "If I might be allowed to make a slight criti- 
 cism, I would say that I disapprove of the little 
 curls over the forehead. You have a beauti- 
 fully shaped face, and the hair well set. Put 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 5 1 
 
 them back then, uncompromisingly. It looks 
 younger, and I am sure it will be very becom- 
 ing to you." 
 
 Then, taking from his pocket the present he 
 had brought, — 
 
 "See," he said, "this is a useful article. I, 
 also, treat you like a grown-up person to-day." 
 
 "Oh, how pretty !" she cried, her eyes spark- 
 ling with joy. "Look, Jacques!" 
 
 "This is an object of art, my child. This 
 painter has committed an extravagance. You 
 should give him a kiss, at least." 
 
 This had been her habit. For many years 
 past Pierre had kissed Juliette on this day, and 
 yet they remained, for an instant, facing each 
 other in embarrassment. Was it the long 
 dress or the new mode of arranging her hair 
 that caused them both this embarrassment? 
 Or was it rather this sudden blooming of the 
 child into the young girl, like a rosebud open- 
 ing in the sunshine. Be that as it may, the 
 painter did not now feel, as on former oc- 
 casions, the spontaneous impulse to give a 
 l)rotherly kiss to Juliette, 
 
52 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 It was necessary for Jacques, who observed 
 them with some surprise, to say : 
 
 "Well, what's the matter? Don't you know 
 each other any longer?" 
 
 Then Mile, de Vignes took a step forward, 
 Pierre took two, and they found them- 
 selves in each other's arms. The young man 
 bent his face down toward that of his little 
 friend. She raised herself slightly on the 
 tips of her toes, and, with strange emotion, 
 Laurier saw that she trembled and turned 
 pale at his kiss. All the evening he remained 
 preoccupied, speaking rarely, as if absorbed by 
 some secret disquietude. 
 
 From this time on, in his intercourse with 
 Juliette, he showed himself more circumspect, 
 watching every word he said. At the same 
 time his gaze returned continually to the 
 young girl, whom a week before he had treated 
 like a baby. And he could not but confess 
 that a rapid transformation had taken place in 
 her. Her figure had acquired a flexible round- 
 ness, her complexion a velvety brilliance. Her 
 movements had lost the vivacity of childhood 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 53 
 
 and were more restrained and elegant. The 
 commonplace chrysalis had opened, and a brill- 
 iant butterfly, which irresistibly attracted the 
 attention, had emerged from it. This meta- 
 morphosis produced in the mind of Pierre an 
 agitation which he found difficulty in mas- 
 tering. 
 
 He began to dream of things altogether dif- 
 ferent from those which up till now had occu- 
 pied his thoughts. Artistic triumphs, the free 
 existence suited to them, the stimulus given 
 to thought by variety of sensation, all that had 
 constituted the programme of his life, in the 
 past, was now regarded by him as ridiculous 
 and contemptible. He thought now that the 
 tranquillity of domestic life, the peace of the 
 heart, the even course of days well employed 
 might contribute as surely as these to the 
 achievement of great works, and that there was 
 more probability of inspiration in regularity 
 of labor than in spasmodic efforts. Marriage 
 seemed to him like a fresh source at which to 
 acquire new vigor. He began to think of set- 
 tling down, of giving proof of wisdom, and be 
 
54 T^FTE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 allowed himself to regard Mile, de Vigncs with 
 a tenderness which had nothing in common 
 with the feeling he had entertained for her in 
 other days. 
 
 No one perceived this, but JuHette herself. 
 Neither her mother, too much occupied with 
 the dissipation in which Jacques lived, nor 
 Jacques, too much engaged with his own pleas- 
 ures, suspected for an instant what was passing 
 in the mind of the painter. Juliette, at first 
 astonished at this rapid change in the senti- 
 ments of her friend, then happy in thinking 
 herself loved by one whom she regarded as a 
 superior being, was soon destined to experience 
 the bitterness of disappointment. The flame 
 thus kindled, which had promised to burn with 
 ardor, was as suddenly extinguished. Pierre, 
 who of late had been a frequent visitor at the 
 house of Mme. de Vignes, now came only 
 occasionally, as before. And all the flattering 
 hopes, cherished in secret by the young girl, 
 vanished like a dream. 
 
 She did not easily resign herself to this 
 change, however, but determined to discover, 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 55 
 
 if possible, the cause of it. One evening, when 
 Jacques came to the house alone to spend 
 a few moments with his mother, Juliette 
 hazarded an expression of surprise at their no 
 longer seeing Pierre Laurier. 
 
 "Is he not now in Paris?" she asked. 
 
 "He is," responded Jacques, "but he 
 scarcely ever leaves his studio. He has a 
 fever for work." 
 
 The young girl breathed again. Work wa« 
 a rival she did not fear. 
 
 "And what is he painting?" she asked. 
 
 "A portrait." 
 
 At these words, uttered carelessly by her 
 brother, Juliette trembled. She felt as if they 
 contained a menace to her peace. This por- 
 trait could not be an ordinary one. And this 
 work, to which Pierre devoted himself with 
 such ardor, was destined to have an influence 
 over the destiny of them all. She saw 
 everything grow dark around her, as if the 
 sun had suddenly hidden himself behind a 
 cloud. Sorrowful presentiments oppressed her 
 heart. 
 
56 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 **And this portrait is that of some one he 
 knows?" she resumed. 
 
 **0h, of some one he knows very well." 
 
 "Of whom, then?" 
 
 "An actress." 
 
 "What is her name?" 
 
 Jacques began to laugh ; and looking at his 
 sister in surprise, he said : 
 
 "How inquisitive you are to-night ! I 
 should like to know how it can possibly inter- 
 est you to learn whether the original of 
 Pierre's portrait be called Mile. This or Mile. 
 That." 
 
 "It interests me, however." 
 
 "Well, then, the lady of the portrait is Mile. 
 Clemence Villa. She is small, dark, has black 
 eyes, beautiful teeth, an execrable reputation, 
 and very little talent. Notwithstanding, she 
 has been talked about and is a great success. 
 Do you wish to know what her age is? 
 Twenty-four or thereabouts. Her country? 
 Beautiful Italy, the land of vermouth and sau- 
 sages. Her belief? She advocates the com- 
 munity of goods, if not where money is con- 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 57 
 
 ccrned, at least where the heart is. But you 
 are making me say stupid things. This is 
 what comes of talking to children. Let it suf- 
 fice you to know that the portrait is good, 
 and that Pierre's reputation will not suffer 
 through it." 
 
 The conversation turned on other things, 
 but the painful impression received by Juliette 
 remained. Her thoughts dwelt, in spite of 
 herself, on this woman whom she could not 
 avoid thinking ill of. and she had a jealous fear 
 that she was loved by the artist who was paint- 
 ing her picture. "It is she who has taken him 
 away from me," she thought. *Tt is since he 
 has known her that he has ceased to visit us. 
 He is ashamed to come." 
 
 In her naive deductions Juliette was not far 
 from the truth. Pierre experienced now, when 
 at Mme. de Vignes' house, a feeling of embar- 
 rassment. He felt that he was observed by 
 the sister of his friend. His conscience was 
 not at rest, and he reproached himself with 
 having drawn back too suddenly after advanc- 
 ing with too little consideration. He deemed 
 
1 8 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 himself blamable, and divined that he was 
 blamed. This inspired him with a feeling of 
 dissatisfaction which kept him away from the 
 girl he respected too much to dream now of 
 loving. **You have behaved, my boy," he said 
 to himself, "like a veritable scoundrel. You 
 have risked endangering the peace of mind of 
 this child, in order to satisfy a nascent caprice, 
 and then you have changed in your feelings 
 and your thoughts at the will of the first 
 worthless woman you chance to meet. Keep 
 now to your jades ; you are fit only for them, 
 you are made to understand each other. As- 
 pire no more to the purity, the sweetness, the 
 joy of a chaste and holy affection; look no 
 longer for the innocence, the freshness of a 
 young girl. The snow that has not been trod- 
 den on is not for you ; you have chosen in- 
 stead the mud which has been trampled upon 
 by every passing foot." 
 
 And in order to conform to the rule of con- 
 duct imposed upon him by his bitter cynicism, 
 the painter threw himself into pleasure more 
 ardently than before, seeking the less to curb 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRR. 50 
 
 the excesses of Jacques now that he himself 
 participated in them. 
 
 Laurier seemed made of iron ; he carried 
 both pleasure and work to excess. After 
 the wildest nights he was to be found in his 
 studio, palette in hand, as if he had left his bed 
 refreshed after eight hours' sleep. A more 
 metallic vibration than ordinary in his voice, a 
 more pronounced feverishness in his move- 
 ments, alone betrayed his fatigue. And when 
 evening came, he was ready to begin the same 
 thing over again. 
 
 Jacques, on the contrary, his form more and 
 more bent, his chest more and more hollow, 
 and his glance more and more dull, bore in his 
 whole person the fearful traces of a physical 
 exhaustion every day more complete. His 
 mother tried to draw him back to her, to 
 snatch him from his killing mode of life. He 
 promised to remain with her, to take the reat 
 he needed, to break from his habits, his friend- 
 ships, his train of pleasures. He could not do 
 so, and Mme. de Vignes saw, with profound 
 despair, the son journey as the father had 
 
^O THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 done, on the road of which each stage, so 
 famiHar to her, was marked by anguish, and 
 whose end was swift and certain death. 
 
 The opening of the Exposition had mean- 
 time taken place, and, secretly impelled by a 
 sharp feeling of curiosity, Juliette asked her 
 mother to take her to it. Modern paintings 
 interested her only slightly. What attracted 
 her with irresistible power was the portrait of 
 Clemence Villa, the sitting for which had coin- 
 cided so fatally with the change in the senti- 
 ments of Pierre Laurier. Accompanied by 
 her mother, who had no suspicion of her feel- 
 ings. Mademoiselle de Vignes passed rapidly 
 and with indifference through the halls where 
 thousands of useless canvases were displayed 
 to view in their cold mediocrity. Suddenly 
 she stopped ; before her, at the end of the hall, 
 not twenty steps away, the portrait in a black 
 frame of a woman, small, dark, and pale, had 
 caught her eye. Instantly, without having 
 ever seen her, she had recognized whose it was. 
 It was she. There was no possibility of a 
 doubt. No other woman would have pos- 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 6l 
 
 sessed this beauty, fatal and almost evil, which 
 strikes a chill to the heart. Juliette, with an 
 effort, broke through the circle of admirers 
 standing before the picture, and approached it. 
 
 Her mother, following her, looked at the 
 portrait tranquilly, and said in a tone of satis- 
 faction : 
 
 "Stay, it is the picture of Pierre Laurier. 
 Ah ! it is indeed a remarkable portrait." 
 
 Juliette turned slightly pale. That which 
 her mother had just said, she herself had 
 thought at the same instant with a profound 
 pang. Yes, the picture was a remarkable one, 
 and the genius of the painter had never before 
 reached so high a point. In the fine lights of 
 the head covered with a hat adorned with 
 plumes, in the play of light and shade, in the 
 coloring of the shoulders, draped in a ravish- 
 ing costume of the time of Louis XVI., in the 
 coquettish pose of the hand resting on a walk- 
 ing-stick, in the brilliance of the eyes and in 
 the charm of the smile, the inspiration of love 
 was betrayed. He who had seen so much 
 beauty in this woman, and who had repro- 
 
62 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 duced it with so much passion, was madly in 
 love with her. And her voluptuous grace 
 made this comprehensible, if not excusable. 
 
 Tears came to the eyes of the young girl 
 and her heart beat to suffocation. Surrounded 
 by the admiring crowd, who repeated aloud the 
 names of the painter and of the model, Made- 
 moiselle de Vignes suffered horribly. Two 
 young men who had taken up their stand be- 
 fore the portrait, beside her, and who did not 
 care whether they were heard or not, ended 
 their eulogies by these words : 
 
 "Besides, he is her lover." 
 
 Juliette blushed as if she had received an 
 insult, and, trembling at the thought that she 
 might hear other words which should enlighten 
 her still more cruelly regarding the mystery 
 which she was at once eager and unwilling to 
 know, she drew her mother into the next hall. 
 
 From this day forth she became more grave, 
 with a gravity that had in it a shade of melan- 
 choly, which did not, however, attract the 
 attention of Madame de Vignes. The two 
 women had only too many reasons for sorrow, 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE 63 
 
 and Juliette would have astonished her mother 
 more by a display of gayety than of sadness. 
 The summer passed in the solitude of the 
 country, Jacques continuing at the watering 
 places, Trouville and Dieppe, his life of pleas- 
 ure, and presenting himself at longer and 
 longer intervals at his mother's house ; Pierre 
 had altogether disappeared, devoting himself 
 completely to work, as they saw by the fre- 
 quent appearance of canvases which bore his 
 name in the picture shops. Never did time 
 appear longer or more sad to the two women, 
 than did the months from June to October. 
 They had leisure to think of all the anxieties 
 the future had in store for them. 
 
 The weather was magnificent, the sky was 
 v/ithout a cloud, and a delicious warmth per- 
 vaded the atmosphere. In the evening the 
 mother and daughter walked in the garden, 
 watching the stars appearing one by one in 
 the clear heavens. And the calmness of na- 
 ture formed a painful contrast to the agitation 
 of their minds. They walked beside each 
 other without speaking, for each wished to 
 
64 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 hide her sorrow from the other, choosing the 
 darkest walks so that the expression on their 
 faces might not be seen. They felt as if sur- 
 rounded by a void. The two beings who for 
 them were all the world were far away, and 
 everything else had become indifferent to them. 
 The charms of nature were unnoticed by them. 
 The sweetness of the breeze laden with the 
 aromas arising from the earth, the clearness of 
 the mysterious depths of the heavens, the 
 rustling of the leaves shaken by the breeze 
 overhead, all that would have charmed them if 
 they had had beside them, to share their feel- 
 ings, the dear ones who were absent, left them 
 cold and unmoved. And every day, every 
 evening, the same sense of weariness weighed 
 heavily upon them. 
 
 JuHette was developing rapidly; she had 
 grown in stature and her face had become 
 charming. She was now seventeen, and her 
 gravity gave her a womanly air. Her mother 
 took delight in dressing her. The partiality 
 she had always had for her son did not blind 
 her so completely as to prevent her observing 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE, H 
 
 the budding charms of her daughter. She 
 said to the latter one day, after having looked 
 at her for a long time in silence : 
 
 "You are really growing pretty.*' 
 
 A smile flitted across Juliette's face, and she 
 shook her head without speaking. Of what 
 use was her beauty? He whom she wished to 
 admire it was not here. 
 
 The autumn had just set in, when an alarm- 
 ing piece of news summoned Madame de 
 Vignes unexpectedly to Paris. Her son, after 
 having struggled foolishly with a weakness that 
 gave him no respite, had fallen suddenly ill. 
 He had been seized with a haemorrhage, and, in 
 a dying condition, they had transported him to 
 his mother's house. The anguish of this blow 
 cut short the reveries of the young girl. She 
 adored her brother, and hastening to his side 
 with her mother, she had been terrified by the 
 state in which she had found him. He had 
 scarcely the strength to lift his head, when 
 they entered his room. Of the handsome 
 Jacques there remained nothing but a shadow. 
 A consultation of physicians, summoned at 
 
66 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 once, ordered his immediate departure for the 
 South, and since the last of November the de 
 Vignes had been installed in the villa washed 
 by the waters of the blue sea, and sheltered 
 by pine and juniper trees, among the red 
 rocks. 
 
 Here Jacques had grown better. Youth has 
 exhaustless resources. The warmth, the light, 
 the regularity of the life he led, had exercised 
 their salutary influence upon him, and if the 
 invalid was not completely cured, he had at 
 least regained so much strength as to leave 
 room for hope. He went about, pale, stooped, 
 with trembling steps, shaken by fits of violent 
 coughing, but he lived, and with great care he 
 might continue to live for a long time to come. 
 It was not enough, however, for Jacques to 
 have obtained this result, and the alleviation 
 he had experienced in his sufferings did not 
 satisfy him. With strength his old desires 
 had returned, and the impossibility of gratify- 
 ing them produced in him an irritation which 
 betrayed itself in bitter words and violent 
 recriminations. He was ceaselessly contrast- 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 67 
 
 ing, in his embittered mind, what he had been 
 with what he now was. His present state of 
 debility seemed insupportable when he com- 
 pared it with his past activity, and he made 
 use of his recovered strength only to give 
 utterance to complaints and curses. He ac- 
 cepted his fate, not with resignation or sweet- 
 ness, but with lamentation and bitterness. 
 
 The arrival of Pierre Laurier, however, had 
 made a happy diversion in his sufferings. He 
 felt more courageous and less hopeless in the 
 society of his friend. All that he had lately 
 looked on with indifference or disgust had 
 again begun to have an attraction for him. 
 He no longer remained the entire day stretched 
 in his chaise longiie, or buried in his willow 
 invalid chair, on the terrace. He walked and 
 drove during the warm hours of the day, and 
 the diversion had a favorable influence on his 
 health. He was less gloomy, he consented to 
 receive visitors, and he had not repulsed the 
 offer made him by the painter, to bring to the 
 villa a Russian physician, a strange character, 
 regarded as a charlatan by his colleagues, but 
 
68 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 celebrated for the extraordinary cures he had 
 made. 
 
 Dr. Davidoff, installed at Monaco with his 
 friend Count Woreseff, was the only son of a 
 grain merchant of Odessa, who had left a for- 
 tune of ten millions at his death. He had 
 therefore been able to follow the dictates of his 
 fancy, and, disdaining a regular practice, de- 
 vote himself to the study of humanity in its 
 physical ills and moral sufferings. He had 
 very soon succeeded in acquiring an influence 
 over the imagination of Jacques. His system 
 was to inspire those he treated with confidence, 
 assuring them that immediate well-being would 
 be the result of this feeling. 
 
 "Have the conviction that you will get 
 well," he said to Jacques, "and you are already 
 half-way on the road to recovery. Nature will 
 take care of the rest. She only asks to be 
 helped in her efforts to bring about a cure. 
 Above all things it is necessary that the sick 
 should not abandon hope. I have seen mira- 
 cles wrought by the power of the will and by 
 foith. The effects pf the waters of Salette ^nd 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 69 
 
 of Lourdes, in your country, are due to no 
 other cause. The virtue of the beverage is in 
 the soul of him who drinks. Having the cer- 
 tainty that the holy water will produce its 
 effect upon him, he already feels the ex- 
 pected benefit. This is why it is useless to 
 send the incredulous on those pilgrimages in 
 search of health, just as skeptics should not 
 assist at spiritual stances. They have within 
 them forces which react against the efforts of 
 the adepts and which neutralize the fluids. 
 Never, in such circumstances, will experiments 
 succeed. In the same way the mysterious 
 efforts of nature to efTect a cure will never 
 produce a favorable result in an organization 
 weakened by fear and depressed by doubt. 
 Jesus, who was one of the greatest thaumatur- 
 gists of antiquity, said to those who asked him 
 to cure them : * Believe ; in faith is everything.' " 
 These curious theories of the Russian doctor 
 had begun by interesting Jacques ; then the 
 seed sown had insensibly taken root in his 
 mind and rapidly borne fruit. There were 
 Jiours cjuring whiph the sick man hoped once 
 
^o THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 more, and said to himself, ''Why, indeed, 
 should I not recover?" He called to mind 
 examples of wonderful cures from maladies 
 further advanced than his, and from which the 
 patients had so completely recovered that not 
 a trace of their illness had remained. And the 
 subjects of these cures were now leading free 
 and joyous lives, like the healthiest and most 
 vigorous of men. Oh, to live, to go, to come, 
 without restraint, without uneasiness, to be 
 able to follow his inclinations, without fearing 
 the result. To be delivered from nurses and 
 doctors, to afford to despise precautions, and 
 not to have to think continually of his health ; 
 to be able to commit imprudences at his pleas- 
 ure. What a dream ! Should he ever be able 
 to realize it? In so ardently desiring health, 
 he had but one aim in view — to begin again the 
 life of dissipation which had brought him to 
 this miserable condition. When he gave vent 
 in the presence of Pierre to his regrets and his 
 aspirations, his friend would shake his head 
 with a m.elancholy air, and say with profound 
 bitterness : 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 7^ 
 
 "And is pleasure, then, worth longing so 
 ardently for? Could there be anything vainer 
 or more deceitful ? Ah ! to long for success 
 and fame — that I can understand ; to put forth 
 all one's energies in the struggle to conquer 
 them — that is worthy of a man. But to spend 
 one's days and nights in playing cards or court- 
 ing women — could anything more senseless or 
 more deplorable be conceived? Yet I who 
 criticise so severely this manner of life lead it 
 myself. But I am a stupid and contemptible 
 fool, who have no longer the energy to earn the 
 money by work which I expect from chance." 
 
 He laughed drearily. Then he resumed more 
 calmly : 
 
 "After all, I am wrong to judge others by 
 myself. You are loved, you are happy, and life 
 has pleasures for you still. I am mocked and 
 scorned, and the only joys I experience are so 
 bitter that their remembrance weighs more 
 heavily upon me than do my sorrows. What 
 is there for me to regret leaving? Nothing. 
 By whom should I be mourned? By no one. 
 Your life, on the contrary, is necessary to those 
 
It THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 who love you, to your mother, to your sister. 
 It is for their sakes that you must get well. 
 It is of them only that you must think. Ah, 
 if I had beside me always a sweet and charm- 
 ing companion whose affection would console 
 me for all my sufferings, I should have the 
 courage to make the effort to elevate my moral 
 nature and to become another man. In the 
 hours of my most profound dejection I have 
 often thought that if I had some one to whom 
 to devote my life I might show myself to be as 
 good a man as the best. But I am alone ! To 
 the devil with wisdom! When I shall have 
 committed follies enough, I shall dash my 
 brains out against one of those beautiful red 
 rocks at the foot of the cliff, and the waves will 
 lull me to rest in my last sleep, like a faithful 
 friend." 
 
 Pierre Laurier did not give way to these fits 
 of melancholy when alone with his friend only. 
 Sometimes, in the presence of Madame de 
 Vignes and of Juliette, he had allowed his irri- 
 tation of mind to break forth in bitter words. 
 If, at such moments, he had chanced to look at 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 73 
 
 the young girl he would have discovered, in 
 the pained and distressed expression of her 
 countenance, one of those incentives for reform- 
 ing which he had desired of fate. But he did 
 not trouble himself about the effect his words 
 might produce. He thought only of giving 
 sincere expression to his despondent feelings. 
 Fool I The boon he so ardently longed for 
 shone like a luminous star in the darkness of 
 his sky. He wished for a sweet and charming 
 being to whom he might make the sacrifice 
 of his evil passions, and she was close beside 
 him, pitying his sorrows, and suffering with 
 his anguish. 
 
 Notwithstanding the grief caused her by 
 these dark moods of her brother's friend, Juli- 
 ette did not complain of her fate. She saw 
 Pierre — tortured with anxieties, sombre and 
 capricious indeed — but she saw him. In Paris 
 she never saw him, consequently she had 
 gained something by the change. She knew 
 that the woman who exercised so evil an influ- 
 ence over him was at Monte Carlo, but she 
 knew also that the painter no longer spent 
 
74 THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 
 
 all his time with her. If the chain was still 
 riveted the links were loosening, and some day- 
 would doubtless end by breaking. This was 
 her only hope. She had not much pride. But 
 has one ever any pride who loves? On the 
 day following the dinner which had been 
 so strangely terminated by Doctor Davidoff's 
 story, at about ten o'clock in the morning Juli- 
 ette, her blonde head protected by an umbrella, 
 and a little basket on her arm, was walking 
 along the terrace gathering flowers. The 
 weather was delightful. The blue of the sea 
 blended into the blue of the sky. A delicious 
 breeze laden with salt odors came from the 
 ocean. The waves, fringed with silver, died 
 away at the foot of the rocks that bordered 
 the solitary little bay. Accompanied by his 
 mother Jacques left the house and began to 
 walk slowly up and down in the sun. 
 
 Mme. de Vignes was a small and slender 
 woman with a delicate face, expressive black 
 eyes, and an intellectual forehead crowned 
 with hair which had turned prematurely white. 
 Her countenance wore the calm expression of 
 
THE SOUL OF PlERRE. 
 
 a resignation that had become habitual with 
 her. She walked softly and in silence, casting 
 a glance from time to time at her son as if to 
 measure the progress caused in his convales- 
 cence by the climate of the South. Jacques, 
 stopping in the middle of the terrace, and 
 seating himself on the stone parapet which 
 was warmed by the rays of the sun, watched 
 through the crystal clearness of the water the 
 strange colors of the submarine vegetation. 
 Sitting in the warm atmosphere, his head bared 
 to the breeze, he forgot his illness, and felt 
 stealing over him a vivifying sense of well- 
 being. His sister approached him, having 
 gathered her flowers, and softly kissing him 
 said : 
 
 "How do you feel this morning? Did you 
 sleep well last night? It seemed to me late 
 when you came home." 
 
 The sick man smiled at the recollection of 
 the follies in which he had once consumed his 
 nights, and taking a spray of mimosa from the 
 young girl's basket answered : 
 
 "Oh, very late, indeed ! It was past ten I" 
 
76 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 *'You are laughing at me. That does not 
 alter the fact, however, that you went out last 
 night for the first time since we have been 
 here." 
 
 **My doctor gave me permission to do so. 
 He was one of the guests — and a doctor never 
 finds the pleasures in which he himself partici- 
 pates hurtful." 
 
 Juliette remained silent for a moment, then 
 asked with a serious air : 
 
 "Do you like this Doctor Davidoff?" 
 
 "Yes, he is an agreeable companion, and his 
 scientific knowledge is genuine and profound 
 notwithstanding the satanic character it some- 
 times assumes. Besides, I do not believe he is 
 so demoniac as he tries to appear. But it is 
 an incontestible fact that since he has been 
 attending me I am better." 
 
 "Ah, my dear boy," cried Mme. de Vignes, 
 "that alone would make him seem divine to me. 
 Let him be what he will, if he will only cure 
 you. In any case he is perfect^ well-bred 
 and of good social standing. But he might 
 be a rustic and I would still adore him. All 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 77 
 
 I ask from him is to give you back your 
 health." 
 
 "He is to come this morning to see if my 
 last night's dissipation was injurious to me. 
 This will be, unfortunately, one of the last 
 visits he will make us. He starts very soon 
 for the East with his friend and patient Count 
 Woreseff." 
 
 "The Russian to whom the beautiful white 
 yacht anchored in the roadstead of Villefranche 
 belongs?" 
 
 "The same." 
 
 "Was he one of the guests last night?" 
 
 "No; he scarcely ever leaves his vessel. It 
 is said that he guards there, with jealous care, a 
 Circassian whom he has carried off, and who is 
 reputed to be the most perfect beauty it is 
 possible to imagine. Her apartment is fur- 
 nished with Oriental splendor. She is served 
 by women sumptuously attired. In the even- 
 ing the most exquisite music may be heard 
 from the vessel. It is produced by musicians 
 on board hired to divert the Count and his lady- 
 love. This is the person with whom DavidofI 
 
78 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 is to sail for the land of the Thousand and 
 One Nights." 
 
 "I do not think he is very much to be 
 pitied," said Mme. de Vignes gayly. 
 
 "Last night he did his best to persuade 
 Pierre to accompany them. Woreseff, who 
 adores artists, had thought of taking with him 
 a painter who might make some sketches of 
 the principal episodes of the journey." 
 
 "And your friend did not consent?" asked 
 Juliette with a forced smile. 
 
 "No, he is contemplating another journey, 
 but he wishes to make it alone." 
 
 These words, which had so ominous a sound, 
 were followed by a moment's silence. 
 
 Jacques, suddenly struck by the sinister mean- 
 ing which mJght be given t(3 words uttered 
 by him without any arri^re pe7is^e, remained 
 thoughtful, recalling the bitter expressions to 
 which Pierre had so often given utterance. 
 Juliette looked at her brother with a pang at 
 her heart, divining his painful emotion, and her- 
 self unable to recover from the shock she had 
 received. It seemed as if both of them were 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 79 
 
 about to meet with some misfortune of which 
 those words were the threatening presage. 
 And they were silent, assailed by lugubrious 
 presentiments. The rolling of carriage-wheels 
 on the route to Beaulieu recalled them from 
 their painful thoughts. They looked at one 
 another in silence, and each was frightened at 
 the other's pallor. Then they turned their 
 eyes to the gate of the villa, before which a 
 carriage had stopped. 
 
 The Russian doctor, dressed in black and 
 looking very serious, descended from the vehi- 
 cle and advanced toward them. Jacques rose, 
 and assuming a more cheerful look went for- 
 ward to meet his eaily visitor. 
 
 "Faithful to your promise, my dear David- 
 ofif," he said, pressing his friend's hand. "How 
 many thanks I owe you for all your atten- 
 tions to me!" 
 
 The doctor saluted Mme. de Vignes and 
 her daughter. His countenance was cold and 
 impassive. Jacques looked at him with aston- 
 ishment and Juliette with terror. Why this 
 constrained attitude, this silent greeting? 
 
8o THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 
 
 What was it he feared to tell? What had 
 happened that caused him to wear this mourn- 
 ful countenance and gloomy air? The Russian 
 raised his eyes toward Jacques, and slowly, as 
 if seeking to prolong a situation which deferred 
 some painful communication, said : 
 
 "Do you feel well this morning? Did you 
 sleep soundly last night? Have you any fever 
 to-day?" 
 
 He felt Jacques's pulse, holding his wrist for 
 a few moments between his fingers. 
 
 "No; it is stronger. You can be treated 
 like a man now," he added. 
 
 Jacques looked at the doctor and in a hollow 
 voice said : 
 
 "Has anything happened serious enough to 
 require such precautions?" 
 
 Davidoff nodded in the affirmative, without 
 speaking. 
 
 "And you hesitated to tell me of it?" 
 resumed Jacques. 
 
 '"Yes." 
 
 "And now?" 
 
 "And now I am ready to tell you." 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 8 1 
 
 He lowered his voice a little so as not to be 
 heard by the mother and sister of the young 
 man and said : 
 
 "It would be better, however, to wait until 
 we are alone." 
 
 They all walked slowly toward the house. 
 When they were in front of the veranda which 
 ran before the windows of the parlor, the 
 blinds of which were partly closed to shut out 
 the sun, Mme. de Vignes and Juliette paused. 
 The young girl looked at the doctor anxi- 
 ously. She felt that the mysterious words 
 he had just spoken had some secret connec- 
 tion with the thoughts that had troubled 
 her at the moment of his arrival. The 
 image of Pierre Laurier appeared before her, 
 pale and indistinct, and seeming as if van- 
 ishing into nothingness. The serious com- 
 munication which Davidoff had to make re- 
 lated, she was sure, to the painter. Of what 
 nature was it? A shudder passed through 
 her frame. On this beautiful sunny morn- 
 ing she felt cold. She saw the blue heavens 
 veil themselves in obscurity, the sea grow 
 
82 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 dark, the verdure of the pine trees lose its 
 color. A knell sounded in her ears. Over- 
 come by her funereal hallucination, her brain 
 whirled and the earth seemed slipping from 
 under her feet. 
 
 The voice of her mother pronouncing her 
 name recalled her to herself. Her eyes un- 
 closed, her vision grew clear, and the sky was 
 once more bright, the sea blue, the trees green. 
 Nature was still the same ; her heart alone v/as 
 oppressed with anguish, and her mind filled 
 with gloomy foreboding. 
 
 "Come, Juliette," repeated Mme. de Vignes. 
 **I think your brother wishes to be alone with 
 the doctor." 
 
 The young girl cast an appealing glance at 
 the Russian, as if it depended upon him 
 whether the calamity she feared had taken 
 place or not, then with a deep sigh she went 
 into the house. 
 
 The two men had seated themselves near 
 one of the iron columns supporting the glass 
 roof of the veranda, around which twined clus- 
 ters of fragrant heliotrope. They remained 
 
THE sour. OF PIERRE. 83 
 
 silent for a moment, each thinking of the revel- 
 ation which was to come. 
 
 Then Jacques, with the egotism of the inva- 
 lid, said tranquilly : 
 
 "What have you to tell me, my dear friend ? " 
 
 "A very sad piece of news, very sad indeed. 
 It was brought to me this morning, and I con- 
 fess that I am still completely overwhelmed by 
 it. If it were not .necessary that you should 
 be told of it, I would have deferred my pain- 
 ful task, but it so nearly concerns you — " 
 
 Jacques, grown suddenly nervous, inter- 
 rupted him: 
 
 "What a preamble! How am I concerned 
 in what you have to tell me?" 
 
 "That is what you are now about to learn," 
 replied Davidoff, looking at his patient so in- 
 tently that his glance seemed almost stern. 
 "At about one o'clock this morning a suicide 
 was committed, close by Monte Carlo. A man 
 threw himself from the cliff into the sea. 
 Some custom-house officers, making their 
 rounds, found his overcoat, his hat, and a few 
 words — addressed to you." 
 
84 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 "To me !" exclaimed Jacques, turning pale. 
 
 *'To you. The articles were taken to the 
 Governor, who, knowing how intimate we are, 
 caused me to be notified in order that I might 
 break the news to you." 
 
 Jacques's eyes seemed suddenly to recede in 
 his head, and his mouth twitched convulsively 
 as he said : 
 
 **It concerns some one, then, with whom I 
 am closely connected?" 
 
 "Very closely." 
 
 Davidoff slowly drew from his pocket the 
 card on the back of which the painter had writ- 
 ten his last farewell, and held it toward his pa- 
 tient. The latter, with something like terror, 
 took the thin piece of pasteboard in his hand 
 and read the name engraved upon it. A sud- 
 den flush mounted to his cheeks as he cried : 
 
 "Pierre! Pierre! Can this be possible?" 
 
 He remained speechless for a moment, his 
 gaze fixed on the Russian doctor, who ob- 
 served him in silence, motionless and sombre. 
 Both were silent as if fearing to hear the sound 
 of their own voices. They exchanged a glance 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 85 
 
 of horror and incredulity, so difficult was it for 
 them to believe that this being, a short time 
 since so full of life and vigor, should have van- 
 ished in a moment. Yet such was the fact. 
 Pierre would never again appear amongst 
 them. His place beside them was to be for- 
 ever vacant. 
 
 Jacques without a word looked once more 
 at the card, the name on which he had just 
 read, and brushing away with the back of his 
 hand the tears which filled his eyes, proceeded 
 to read the last farewell addressed to him by 
 his friend. He read aloud the lines traced in 
 pencil with a trembling hand on the preceding 
 night. His voice was choked by an over- 
 powering emotion. He understood, from what 
 he read, that his friend was weary of his suffer- 
 ing and his degradation, and that he desired to 
 die in order to escape from them. But he saw 
 also that in ending his life the thought had 
 come to him to make this strange compact 
 with fate, which should allow him to live again 
 in Jacques. He read slowly aloud : 
 
 "I am going to try the experiment of which 
 
86 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 Davidoff told us: I bequeath to you my soul. 
 Live happy through me and for me." 
 
 A horrible hope lighted up the eyes of the 
 sick man, at the same time that a sigh broke 
 from his lips. He was overwhelmed with grief, 
 but a vivifying faith had already taken root in 
 his heart. 
 
 "It was I who saw him last," said the Rus. 
 sian doctor. "He left me to visit Clemence 
 Villa. A violent scene, such as took place 
 daily between them, must have occurred. He 
 left the house, and after that no one knows 
 what happened. Some coast-guards who 
 chanced to be on the road to Vintimille during 
 the night on the lookout for smugglers, with 
 whom they exchanged shots, found the coat, 
 the hat, and the card near the spot where the 
 affray took place." 
 
 "And his body?" Jacques asked. 
 
 "The tide will doubtless wash it ashore later. 
 It can then be buried in holy ground, and his 
 friends can go shed their tears over his grave." 
 
 A deep groan, and the noise of a falling 
 body in the parlor, were heard at the same mo- 
 
The soul of pierre. ^7 
 
 ment. Jacques and the doctor started to their 
 feet in terror. Davidoff went hastily forward, 
 drew the blinds, and uttered an exclamation of 
 surprise. At two steps from the window Juli- 
 ette was lying unconscious on the floor. She 
 had caught a chair to support herself with, 
 which had fallen to the ground with her. Pale 
 and with closed eyes, she looked as if she were 
 dead. 
 
 The two men hurried into the house. At 
 the noise Mme. de Vignes had appeared. She 
 had no need to ask any questions. Through 
 the open door she had seen her daughter. 
 For this woman, apparently so frail, to take 
 Juliette in her arms was the work of an instant. 
 She laid her on the sofa, examined her counte- 
 nance, placed her hand upon her heart, felt it 
 beating, and, somewhat reassured, asked her 
 son: 
 
 "What has happened?" 
 
 Davidoff approached the young girl and 
 moistened her temples with water. Jacques 
 did not give his mother the card on which was 
 written the last will of his friend bequeath- 
 
THk SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 ing to him his soul. He only uttered the 
 words : 
 
 "Pierre is dead." 
 
 It seemed as if these words had power to 
 make themselves heard by Juliette, even in her 
 unconscious state. She sighed, opened her 
 eyes, recognized those around her, and return- 
 ing to life and to suffering at the same time, 
 burst into tears. 
 
 Mme. de Vignes and her son exchanged 
 glances. Jacques cast down his eyes. Then 
 the mother, divining the secret of the virginal 
 love of Juliette, uttered a deep sigh, and began 
 to weep with her. 
 
 Davidoff took Jacques by the arm and led 
 him out of the house. On the terrace the air 
 was mild ; the sun drew their fragrance from 
 the odorous plants ; the light breeze gladdened 
 the heart ; the sea was of a sapphire blue, the 
 swallows skimmed along the surface of the 
 water with joyful cries. It seemed to the doc- 
 tor that his patient was no longer the same; 
 he walked with a firm step, he held himself 
 erect ; his eyes, a moment before hollow and 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 89 
 
 dull, shone brightly. He did not speak, but 
 from the animated expression of his face one 
 could divine that a sudden exaltation had 
 taken the place of his former dejection. Davi- 
 doff, with an expression of bitter irony, looked 
 at him thus transformed by hope. 
 
 Then, as he thought of Pierre Laurier dead, 
 and of Juliette weeping, the Russian smiled 
 sardonically in silence. He thought that in 
 order to restore this selfish young man to life 
 the sacrifice of two human beings was a heavy 
 price to pay, and he could fancy that he saw a 
 pair of lovers, young and happy, walking arm 
 in arm in the intoxicating perfume of the 
 flowering orange-trees, on this beautiful ter- 
 race, under this cloudless sky. But the vision 
 swiftly passed, and Davidoff saw only Jacques, 
 revivified already by the blood of Pierre and 
 the tears of Juliette, walking by his side tri- 
 umphantly. 
 
III. 
 
 WHILE he was swimming with all his 
 strength toward the drowning man, 
 Pierre, his figure brought into sharp relief by 
 the light of the moon, at the moment un- 
 clouded, had been perceived by the custom- 
 house officers, who were in ambush on the 
 cliff. Two shots, passing close to him, a sharp 
 whizzing sound in his ears, a dash of spray 
 thrown up by the ball, told him that he had 
 been taken for a smuggler. He raised himself 
 on the crest of a wave and cast a rapid glance 
 around. Ten yards away a black form was 
 struggling in an eddy; two hundred yards 
 farther off the boat, impelled by the efforts of 
 the rowers, was making for the cutter, which 
 tacked about in the open sea. A few vigorous 
 strokes brought Pierre beside the wretch who 
 was struggling desperately though almost un- 
 consciously with the waves. Pierre grasped 
 him vigorously, raised his head above the 
 
 QI 
 
92 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 water, and with all the force of his lungs gave 
 a cry, which, borne from wave to wave, reached 
 the boat. The man at the tiller raised himself 
 up at this appeal, looked around attentively, 
 and perceiving the two men struggling in the 
 water in the moonlight, responded with a 
 sharp whistle. Immediately the oars ceased 
 to strike the surface of the water. The boat 
 stopped, and the cutter, as if obeying orders 
 previously received, headed toward the land. 
 Weighed down by his human freight, and col- 
 lecting all his strength, Pierre made slow prog- 
 ress. His clothes clinging to his body pre- 
 vented the free movement of his limbs, and he 
 could scarcely breathe. The waves now passed 
 over his head. He no longer made an effort to 
 swim. It seemed to him that an irresistible 
 power drew him downward, and that invisi- 
 ble bonds weighed heavily upon his limbs. 
 A buzzing sound filled his ears, and his dark- 
 ened vision could no longer behold the sky. 
 He thought to himself, *T shall never have the 
 strength to reach the boat, and I am going to 
 die along with this unfortunate wretch." He 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRA. 93 
 
 was seized with despair at not being able to 
 save this man, whom he had never seen before, 
 and whom he held as closely clasped as if he 
 had been a tenderly loved brother. He did 
 not think of himself; he had resolved to die, 
 and he felt a bitter joy in not sacrificing his 
 life uselessly, by a foolish and cowardly sui- 
 cide, but in the effort to rescue a fellow-being 
 from death. An ardent desire to succeed 
 restored to him his failing strength. He strug- 
 gled forward with a more powerful effort with 
 his inert burden, and once more rose to the 
 surface. The boat was not more than twenty 
 yards away. A choking cry escaped his lips, 
 closed by the contraction of the muscles. He 
 beat the water with his arm, while his paralyzed 
 legs remained motionless. The breaking of a 
 wave upon him turned him over, and the salt 
 water filling his throat strangled a last cry. 
 He sank into the green depths, the moon shin- 
 ing down upon him, with this idea clearly de- 
 fined in his mind, that if he released his hold of 
 his companion, lightened of the weight he 
 would be saved. 
 
94 THE SOUL OF PiERRB. 
 
 But he rejected the selfish counsel of human 
 weakness. He said to himself: "If I could 
 save his life by the sacrifice of my own I would 
 gladly do so. Courage, then ; one last effort in 
 order that he may not die with me." He rose 
 to the surface of the water, gave a deep breath, 
 saw once more the starry sky, and suddenly 
 found himself released from the burden which 
 was dragging him down. He heard voices say- 
 ing in Italian, "Here he is; take hold of 
 him." At the same moment a dark mass, 
 which seemed to Pierre of enormous size, rose 
 on the waves and fell heavily over upon him. 
 He felt a sharp pain in the forehead. He 
 seemed to see thousands of stars, then he lost 
 consciousness. When he returned to himself 
 he was stretched on a heap of sails in the fore- 
 part of a little vessel that swiftly cut the 
 waters in the moonlight. The furled jib flut- 
 tered in the wind above his head. The waves 
 roared, cut by the vessel's keel, and leaning 
 over him were three men with swarthy faces 
 who were anxiously awaiting his return to con- 
 sciousness. 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 95 
 
 He tried to rise, but two arms held him 
 down. One of the men, uncorking a wicker- 
 covered flask, offered it to him to drink. He 
 swallowed a mouthful of the strong brandy, 
 which restored him fully to the consciousness 
 of external things. A burning sensation in 
 the forehead recalled to his mind the shock 
 which had caused him to faint. He put his 
 hand to his face and drew it away covered 
 with blood. At the same time the night air, 
 freshened by the rapid movement of the vessel, 
 made him shiver, and he perceived that he was 
 soaked to the skin. Then, in a voice which had 
 not yet regained its strength, he said to the 
 men who surrounded him : 
 
 "My friends, if you take an interest in my 
 fate, as it would seem you do, in the first place 
 give me some dry clothing, for I am dying of 
 cold." 
 
 "Hold, our comrade is a countryman," said 
 one of the three sailors with a strong Proven- 
 gal accent. "Let me then have the privilege 
 of placing my wardrobe at his disposal." 
 
 The speaker disappeared through the hatch- 
 
96 THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 
 
 way, and reappeared in a moment with a pair 
 of trousers, a pair of shoes, a woolen shirt, and 
 a heavy coat. He laid them down beside 
 Pierre, and said with an air of satisfaction : 
 
 ''Agostino will get over it; he begins to 
 breathe again. Ah, if he was not struck by 
 the prow of the boat as you were, he swal- 
 lowed a great deal more water." 
 
 Pierre, at these words, recalled to mind the 
 enormous black mass that he had seen tower- 
 ing above him on the waters the instant be- 
 fore he lost consciousness. He comprehended 
 that it was the boat, rising on the crest of the 
 wave, which had fallen with all its weight over 
 upon him. While he was making these reflec- 
 tions, his companions quickly exchanged his 
 wet garments for dry ones. He found himself 
 at last seated on a coil of ropes, very dizzy, but 
 experiencing a profound sense of comfort from 
 the soft wool which communicated its warmth 
 to his numbed limbs. 
 
 "Who is Agostino?" he asked, turning to- 
 ward the three men, who were watching him 
 with an air of satisfaction. 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 97 
 
 "Agostino," replied the Proven9al, "is the 
 comrade whom you rescued from the waves 
 under the fire of the custom-house officers." 
 
 "And you yourselves," asked Pierre with 
 brusque authoritativeness, "who are you?" 
 
 The sailors consulted together before an- 
 swering. "There is no reason," said one of 
 them in a gutteral voice, in bad Italian, "why 
 we should mistrust him. And any way what 
 can he do to injure us?" 
 
 "Nothing at all," interrupted Pierre tran- 
 quilly. "And besides, even if I could injure 
 you, I should certainly have no desire to 
 do so." 
 
 "Ah, you understood what we were saying, 
 then," cried the Provencal, laughing. 
 
 "Almost entirely, but it seemed to me a 
 patois your comrades spoke." 
 
 "Yes, it is the Sardinian dialect. We are 
 poor sailors trying to pass, free of duty, and at 
 the risk of our lives, the goods intrusted to us 
 by the merchants of Leghorn and Genoa." 
 
 "You are smugglers, then?" 
 
 "Well, yes ! That is what they call us. We 
 
9^ THE SOUL OF PIERR&. 
 
 were about to land some silks, brandy and 
 cigars when we were interrupted, just in the 
 midst of our work, by those dogs of custom- 
 house officers. The goods were all passed on 
 shore except two bales of Virginias, that fell 
 into the sea for the fishes to smoke." 
 
 "But you, monsieur, how was it that you 
 chanced to be on the spot, just in time, to get 
 poor Agostino out of his fix?" 
 
 It was now Pierre's turn to be embarrassed. 
 He did not think it necessary to confide to his 
 hosts of a day the fatal project which had led 
 him to the beach at the point in question, in 
 order that he might there save another's life 
 instead of throwing away his own. The delay 
 he made in answering gave the sailors reason 
 to think that he had his own motives for not 
 giving an explanation of his conduct. How- 
 ever, they were not the men to be astonished 
 at this, and were by habit disposed to be dis- 
 creet. 
 
 "Your affairs concern no one but yourself," 
 said the Provencal, just as the painter was 
 beginning to invent an explanation of his pres- 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 99 
 
 — — f 
 
 ence on the scene, at the time mentioned, "and 
 we have nothing to do with them. Instead of 
 making you talk it would be better for us to 
 staunch the wound in your forehead. It has 
 bled, that is good for wounds in the head. 
 All it wants now is a linen bandage, and in a 
 couple of days there will oe no need to think 
 any more about it. Do you wish to come 
 downstairs with the comrades?" 
 
 "If you do not mind, I should prefer to 
 remain on deck. I am not very strong on my 
 legs just yet and the air will do me good.* 
 
 "As you choose." 
 
 A few moments later, Pierre, his head bound 
 up, stood leaning against the side of the cut- 
 ter, looking at the waves rolling past. Not a 
 sail was in sight". In the distance a light shone 
 through the mist, appearing and disappearing 
 alternately. The young man inhaled with 
 satisfaction the fresh sea-breeze. In the midst 
 of these strangers he Telt himself delivered 
 from a crushing weight. It seemed to him 
 that he was no longer the same person, and 
 that the insane and sick Pierre Laurier slept 
 
loo THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 now at the bottom of the sea, his pale and life- 
 less form rocked by the waves. He breathed 
 a profound sigh which vibrated through the 
 silence, and murmured softly : 
 
 "It is true, I am dead." 
 
 "Do you need anything?" asked the Proven- 
 cal, who had remained with him to attend to 
 his wants. 
 
 "My faith, my dear comrade, since you 
 smuggle cigars, you have doubtless a little 
 store of them on board. I confess that it 
 would give me pleasure to smoke one." 
 
 "That is easily done." 
 
 The sailor leaned over the hatchway, and 
 spoke a few words. He soon returned with a 
 package of cigars tied with yellow ribbons, 
 which he handed to Pierre. 
 
 "It is the captain who sends them to you," 
 he said, "and he charges me to tell you that 
 Agostino has entirely recovered consciousness. 
 Poor boy, if we had left him behind us at the 
 bottom of the sea there would have been 
 many a tear shed in Torrevecchio." 
 
 "Wher^ is Torrevecchio?" asked Pierre, 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. loi 
 
 The Provencal pointed toward the distant 
 horizon. 
 
 "Down there," he said, "in Corsica." 
 
 He struck a light and handing the burning 
 wood to Pierre, — 
 
 "Here is a light," he said. 
 
 Pierre chose a long, dark colored cigar, 
 lighted it carefully, and taking a few quick 
 puffs with keen delight, — 
 
 "Tell me," he said, "where is the vessel 
 bound for now?" 
 
 The Provencal shook his head. 
 
 "No one but the captain knows that," he said. 
 "We have rounded the point of the Island of 
 Elba." 
 
 "But what port is the vessel bound for — 
 Porto Ferraio or where?" 
 
 "That is what we shall know when we get 
 there. We are in God's hands." 
 
 Pierre smiled and nodded his head approv- 
 ingly. Walking slowly toward the heap of 
 sails on which he had found himself lying 
 when he returned to consciousness, he sat down 
 upon it, drew his woolen coat aroi^nd him, 
 
I02 THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 
 
 lowered the hood over his head, leaned against 
 a coil of rope for a pillow, and with his eyes 
 fixed on the resplendent sky, smoking slowly, 
 his mind tranquil, and his heart free, for the 
 first time in many years, he lost himself in a 
 revery, which ended sweetly in sleep. 
 
 When he awoke the slanting rays of the sun, 
 in which he was basking like a lizard in the 
 crevice of a wall, fell warmly upon him. At 
 first he could hardly remember where he was. 
 The sails and rigging presented to his eyes a 
 sight which they were not accustomed to see 
 on opening in the morning. Suddenly the 
 recollection of the events which had filled the 
 short hours of the night came to his mind. 
 His heart beat rapidly at the knowledge that 
 his accustomed way of life was at an end, that 
 nothing which he was accustomed to do was 
 any longer possible to him. Between his past 
 and his present yawned a gulf deeper than 
 the blue sea which separated the vessel from 
 the shore. And at the bottom a corpse, that 
 of a mad painter, named Pierre Laurier, lay 
 killed by a fatal fall. 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. I03 
 
 Yes, killed ! He repeated the word to him- 
 self that there might remain no possible doubt 
 in his still confused mind on this point. He 
 had announced his intention to kill himself ; he 
 had even written it to his friends. At this mo- 
 ment they must be plunged in astonishment or 
 in sorrow. He could not reappear before them 
 without danger of seeming ridiculous. Chance 
 had placed him in the midst of new surround- 
 ings where he was absolutely unknown to his 
 companions. All he had to do was to let him- 
 self drift along wherever chance might lead. 
 
 And then was it not silence, rest, peace that 
 his spirit longed for? Ah, to emerge from the 
 hell of a degrading intrigue, and find himself 
 suddenly cast into the paradise of a primitive 
 and altogether novel existence ! To exchange 
 the agitated atmosphere of a coquette's bou- 
 doir, the vitiated air of a gambling hall for the 
 fresh and wholesome odors of this vessel cleav- 
 ing the blue waters. His lungs expanded 
 in the fresh breeze. It seemed to him that his 
 chest broadened and a tremor of delight passed 
 through his frame. He rose, and seeing the 
 
104 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 crew assembled on deck, he went with a tran- 
 quil step toward his new friends. 
 
 The Provengal advanced to meet him. 
 
 "Have you slept well?" he asked. 
 
 "As never before !" 
 
 "Ah, the sea knows how to lull one to 
 sleep !" 
 
 "Where are we?" asked Pierre. 
 
 "Abreast of Leghorn — that line of white 
 coast which you see there to the left is Viareg- 
 gio. But here comes the captain with Agos- 
 tino, who wishes to thank you." 
 
 Hardly had Pierre time to turn round when 
 a young man of about twenty, with brown hair 
 and beard, an olive complexion, lighted up by 
 large eyes, and a kindly smile, rushed to him 
 and clasped him in his arms. 
 
 "It is you who saved my life!" he cried, 
 with a strong Italian accent. "You may count 
 on me in your turn : my life belongs to you." 
 
 "Well, well ! comrade," answered the painter, 
 gently disengaging himself. 
 
 He looked at Agostino, and placing his hand 
 on his shoulder; 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 105 
 
 "You were indeed too young to die," he said. 
 "But it is your companions who saved you ; as 
 for me, I was drowning with you." 
 
 "That is precisely what makes me grateful 
 to you," said Agostino. "You were sinking, 
 yet you did not leave me to the mercy of the 
 waters. Oh, you must come to our village so 
 that my mother and sister may thank you. 
 But what is your name?" 
 
 "Pierre." 
 
 In his turn Agostino examined his preserver. 
 
 *'You are neither a fisherman, a sailor, nor a 
 workman — you are a gentleman," he said. 
 
 "Indeed, you are mistaken. I am a work- 
 man, — I am a painter." 
 
 "Ah, you paint pictures, then? Faces of 
 men and women perhaps, looking out of win- 
 dows in villas, or perhaps signs for shops. 
 Perhaps Madonnas at the corners of the 
 streets." 
 
 "Precisely," said Pierre. "And if I could 
 find work to do in your country I would settle 
 down there for a time." 
 
 "The Corsicans are not rich," said the cap- 
 
io6 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 tain ; "but if you want to give a dash of paint 
 to Saint Laurent there, at the stern of the 
 vessel — " 
 
 "Certainly, when we arrive in port. It shall 
 be the price of my passage, if you do not 
 think it too little." 
 
 "It is we who are your debtors," interrupted 
 the smugglers. "Whatever you do to the ves- 
 sel, we shall take as a mark of friendship ; but 
 as for ourselves we shall still be in your debt." 
 
 "It is settled then," cried Pierre gayly. 
 "And might one know where we are going at 
 this pretty rate?" 
 
 "To Bastia." 
 
 "Be it Bastia, then," said the painter. "I 
 have no choice, and provided we do not make 
 the mainland, I shall be satisfied." 
 
 "Are you obliged to try change of climate, 
 then? Does not the air of France agree with 
 you?" asked the captain with an inquisitive 
 smile. 
 
 "Not at all." 
 
 "Have you got yourself into some scrape?" 
 
 "A very bad scrape Yes ! a love affair." 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. I07 
 
 A scornful expression crossed the smuggler's 
 face, and Pierre could see that he had fallen 
 in his estimation. But although he had suc- 
 ceeded in making himself out culpable only, 
 not criminal, he already felt himself more at 
 his ease with his companions. "Here I am," he 
 said to himself, "like Salvator Rosa among the 
 brigands. But is the occupation of the men 
 who surround me any worse than that of the 
 people to whom I give my hand every day? 
 The only difference is in station and in dress. 
 Only that these are more open to generosity 
 and gratitude than my former friends. These 
 are more simple and upright by nature, than 
 the others. These bad fellows, who have all 
 perhaps done something to deserve imprison- 
 ment, even the galleys, it may be, are less 
 corrupt, less thoroughly evil, than those with 
 whom I associate habitually." 
 
 This bitter philosophy strengthened him, 
 and he faced with tranquillity, almost with 
 satisfaction, his new situation. He no longer 
 thought of dying. He no longer had any rea- 
 son to curse life. It provided him with novel 
 
ioS THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 
 
 sensations which excited his active imagina- 
 tion. Capricious and impressionable, as easily 
 exalted as depressed, his artistic temperament 
 made him form in an instant the most flatter- 
 ing expectations which replaced all his former 
 anxieties. This change of environment made 
 him feel, not embarrassment nor annoyance, 
 but contentment and tranquillity. It seemed 
 to him as if he had just escaped from a prison 
 in which for long months he had dragged out 
 a weary existence. He rejoiced in his inde- 
 pendence, his freedom. His vision, refreshed 
 and sharpened, as it were, was struck by a 
 thousand details which had passed unnoticed 
 before. The green tint of the waves, fringed 
 with silver foam, charmed his sight. He stud- 
 ied the gradations of color in the sky, of an 
 intense blue at the zenith and of an opal-like 
 gray at the horizon. The slender masts of the 
 vessel, the rigging, the red sails defined against 
 the clear background, the profile of a sailor 
 seated on the bowsprit, making fast a rope, 
 these tableaux vivants, arranged without pre- 
 meditation, attracted his attention, and af- 
 
The soul of pierHe. to^ 
 
 forded him delightful enjoyment. Scarcely 
 was he released from the bondage of the 
 woman who had held him in her toils, than he 
 recovered his love for his art, and with extra- 
 ordinary fickleness, he retained only a vague 
 recollection, dimmed as if by distance, of her 
 who had been his torment. His degrading 
 passion had been dislodged from his heart, by 
 the violent moral shock he had sustained, as 
 a rotten fruit falls from the bough after a 
 storm. 
 
 He lighted one of the long Virginias which 
 the Proven9al had given him the night before, 
 and leaning his elbow on the rail of the vessel 
 he let his gaze wander over the calm sea, to 
 which animation was lent by the fishing ves- 
 sels moving slowly, and the steamers more 
 rapidly, and leaving in their wake a trail of 
 black smoke, on their way to Civita Vecchia 
 or Naples. The wind filling the sails impelled 
 the cutter swiftly on, and already in the mists 
 in the distance could be seen the tall and pur- 
 ple mountains bathed in the warm sunshine. 
 
 Pierre called Agostino, and pointing to the 
 
tid THE SOUL OP PIERRE. 
 
 horizon, '*What is that country before us," he 
 asked. 
 
 "Corsica," said the sailor, in his gutteral 
 voice. "Those mountains over there stretch 
 from the point of Centuri to Bonifacio. The 
 Httle island close to the mainland on the left is 
 Giraghia. To-night we shall pass between her 
 batteries and Cape Corso to reach Bastia. If 
 it were not for the sea-mist you could see the 
 snow on Mount Calvo ; but you shall see for 
 yourself what a fine country it is. And there 
 is no monopoly of tobacco there, the trade is 
 free, not as in France, though its being illegal 
 does not prevent its being carried on there all 
 the same. But breakfast is ready. You must 
 be hungry." 
 
 "Yes, indeed." 
 
 "Well, then, come along with me." 
 
 In the fore-part of the vessel, on some empty 
 casks, a very simple repast was spread — bread, 
 ham, a Gorgonzola cheese, some apples, and 
 some bottles of white wine. 
 
 "Sit down, sir," said the captain, pointing out 
 to Pierre a place beside him ; "and help yourself.** 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE, m 
 
 The cheer was appetizing, and the painter 
 did honor to it. While he ate, he observed 
 that his companions remained silent. 
 
 "Is it on my account you are silent?" he 
 asked suddenly. "I should be sorry if it 
 were." 
 
 The captain looked at him tranquilly. 
 
 "No," he said, "but we are always together, 
 and we have little news to tell each other. 
 And then the sea prevents one talking much. 
 It talks always. It is a great babbler, and the 
 sailor listens to it." 
 
 The others nodded approvingly. Then 
 Pierre, pouring some wine into his tin cup, 
 raised it and said : 
 
 "To your health, my friends." 
 
 They all raised their cups and gravely re- 
 peated : 
 
 "To your health." 
 
 And after they had drunk some boiling hot 
 coffee and some excellent rum, without wast- 
 ing any more time at table they rose and each 
 one set about his work. The day passed with 
 incredible swiftness, and in the evening the 
 
112 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 cutter entered the port of Bastia. On the fol- 
 lowing morning, the Board of Health having 
 given permission, the crew of the little vessel 
 made ready to land. Agostino, following 
 Pierre, made him sit beside him in the fore- 
 part of the boat. It seemed as if he wished to 
 play the part of host and make him welcome 
 to his country. He pointed out to him the 
 various places of interest of the town : the 
 Place St. Nicolas, which overlooks the sea; the 
 Boulevard de la Traverse, a rich and populous 
 quarter, the convent of Saint Roch on the 
 heights, the citadel, and the ruins of the an- 
 cient donjons, destroyed by the cannons and 
 by fire, during the wars against the Genoese. 
 Framing in this amphitheatre of houses ex- 
 tending from the sea-shore half-way up the 
 mountain, were gardens, green and flourishing, 
 where the orange-trees and mimosas shed 
 around their exquisite perfumes. Above the 
 town the brushwood, the short and dry vegeta- 
 tion which covers the sides of all the moun- 
 tains of Corsica and constitutes what is called 
 le maquis — broom, heather, junipers, masticj 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 113 
 
 and small fir-trees, that, finding on the rock 
 hardly sufificient earth for their roots to cling 
 to offer an asylum which is almost impene- 
 trable to game and to bandits. On the sum- 
 mits of the mountains are fine groves of beech- 
 trees, the wealth of the country, plundered 
 by the peasants, and destroyed by the shep- 
 herds, who burn them to make pasture land. 
 
 All this Agostino told his preserver while 
 the boat sailed by the mole of the Dragon on 
 its way to the quay. 
 
 Arrived at the foot of the steps they dis- 
 embarked, and Pierre, a little dizzy, found him- 
 self once more on terra firma. He still wore 
 his coat, his coarse woolen trousers and his 
 coarse shoes. He had left behind his other 
 clothing, ruined by the salt water, and brought 
 with him only his money and his watch. On 
 the quay he looked at himself in the window 
 of a tavern, and with the bandage covering his 
 forehead, he fancied he had the air of a genuine 
 brigand. He seized Agostino by the arm and 
 stopped him. 
 
 "Where are we going at such a rate?" he said. 
 
114 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 "To breakfast, in the first place," said the 
 young man, "and then to our village. We 
 have a week's holiday while we are waiting for 
 other goods." 
 
 "Well then, come, breakfast with me. After- 
 ward you will show me the way to an inn." 
 
 "Wont you come with me to our village?" 
 said Agostino in a trembling voice. "I had 
 promised myself to make my mother kiss you." 
 
 "L would go with you very willingly," said 
 Pierre, laughing; "but have you forgotten that 
 I promised the captain to repaint his Saint 
 Laurent for him. What is promised must be 
 done." 
 
 "You are right," said Agostino gayly. "But 
 how long will it take you to do the work." 
 
 "The whole of to-morrow morning." 
 
 "So that to-morrow evening you will be 
 ready to accompany me." 
 
 "Yes, certainly." 
 
 "Then I will wait for you. Meantime I 
 shall go and engage the carriole of Father 
 Anton. In that way you will make the jour- 
 ney more comfortably." 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. Ii5 
 
 "Very well, it is settled then." 
 
 They soon reached the inn of Santa Maria, 
 where Agostino was held in high favor on 
 account of the excellent viands, smuggled from 
 Greece and Italy, which he brought there 
 every month. 
 
 Installed in a room on the ground floor, 
 Pierre was able, for the first time in three days, 
 to examine his situation and reflect upon his 
 future course. On the one hand he experi- 
 enced a profound disgust at the thought of 
 returning to France. On the other he was 
 loath to cause annoyance to Agostino. Every- 
 thing, then, conspired to keep him where he 
 was, and then the charm of this wonderful 
 country exercised its spell over him. Every, 
 thing around him allured him — the scenery, 
 savage and attractive at the same time, the 
 curious customs of the people, and, finally, the 
 fact of his being unknown, which allowed him 
 to live at his ease among the peasantry, so 
 interesting a subject for study in this country 
 where the beggars have the haughty airs of 
 grand seigneurs. All that Merim^e had writ- 
 
Ii6 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 ten about it recurred to his mind — the poetic 
 figure of the wild Colombe, the ferocious ha- 
 tred of the Baricini ; and it seemed as if time 
 had gone back two centuries, in this island, 
 divided now as of old by the animosities of its 
 rival parties, and agitated by the sanguinary 
 memories of vendettas. 
 
 He spent the afternoon wandering through 
 the streets of the town alone, for Agostino, 
 with great discretion, had left him to himself. 
 He did not feel a moment's ennui. The com- 
 ing and going of the inhabitants, grave and 
 reserved, the picturesque dress of the peasants 
 who had come in to market, almost all 
 armed with guns, the sombre garments of the 
 women with their black mezzaro headdresses 
 looking as if they were all in mourning, 
 enchanted him. 
 
 He entered a tailor's shop and bought a 
 complete suit of brown velvet, resembling the 
 costume of a Calabrian brigand, for he could 
 not decently continue to wear his coat, his 
 sailor trousers and his coarse shoes. At a 
 paint shop in La Trayerse he bought a box of 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 117 
 
 paints and some brushes of various sizes. And 
 his mind now at rest as to the manner in which 
 he should employ his time in the native land 
 of Bonaparte, he retraced his steps to the inn. 
 He dined with Agostino, made the tour of the 
 town afterward, went to bed at nine o'clock 
 and slept a dreamless sleep. 
 
 The sunshine streaming into his window 
 awoke him. He jumped out of bed, and 
 dressed himself. Then, taking his box under 
 his arm, he set out for the cutter. A boat, for 
 a few sous, transported him to the little vessel, 
 moored fast by its two anchors, and at the side 
 of which a rude plank, attached by two cords 
 to the bowsprit, formed a sort of swing in 
 front of the image of the Saint — the patron of 
 the vessel. 
 
 Guided by the captain and assisted to his 
 place by the crew, Pierre at once set himself to 
 his work. While he was painting the rude 
 image of carved wood, the two sailors support- 
 ing themselves by the rigging watched him 
 admiringly. 
 
 Under his touch the colors glowed, the fac^ 
 
IiS THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 
 
 assumed a lifelike expression, and the extended 
 arm seemed to command the waves. At ten, 
 the work being completed, Pierre, regarded by 
 them all with a new feeling of respect inspired 
 by his skill, breakfasted for the last time with 
 his companions of a day. 
 
 Toward midday he left the vessel, accom- 
 panied by all the crew, and after shaking hands 
 with those to whom he owed more than life, 
 he mounted with Agostino a sort of curricle, 
 drawn by a shaggy horse, and starting off at a 
 quick pace they soon left Bastia behind them. 
 
 From the town hall of the village the road 
 winds through enclosures planted with vines, 
 along olive groves and among little woods of 
 eucalyptus and green oaks. The soil is sandy 
 and the climate extremely mild. Streams, 
 descending from the mountains, spread them- 
 selves through the earth, forming marshes 
 covered with rose bushes, and broad green mea- 
 dow-land over which fly flocks of ducks and wild 
 geese. The road winds for half of the way along 
 the beach, passing through infrequent villages. 
 Agostino, urging his horse to a gallop, explained 
 
TUE SOUL OF PIERRE, " It9 
 
 to his companion the habits and customs of the 
 country, expressing himself with an effusion 
 and gayety that contrasted strongly with the 
 gravity he had shown on board. He seemed 
 like a school boy enjoying his vacation. 
 
 "You shall see how rich our country is," he 
 said. "We are not lazy keepers of flocks. At 
 Torrevecchio there is trade ! My father sold 
 his own wine, and our vineyard is of some 
 value. My brother-in-law cultivates it at pre- 
 sent and sells the produce. My mother and 
 youngest sister live in a village, where they 
 raise vegetables for the market of the neighbor- 
 ing town, and I let them want for nothing. 
 Ah, they will love you dearly when they know 
 what you have done for me !" 
 
 The painter smiled as he thought of the 
 grateful affection of these poor people. "I 
 shall not be a restraint upon them for long," he 
 thought. "I will soon get away. After a day 
 spent in the village a guide can conduct me 
 across the mountain, for I do not care to 
 remain by the sea-coast, in the low country. 
 I want to see the Corsican in his rude state— 
 
I20 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 the maquis and the brigands. If there are 
 sketches to be made they must be taken in the 
 neighborhood of Bocognano, the holy land of 
 the vendetta. I have twenty louis in my 
 pocket-book, and in my portfolio a note of a 
 thousand francs saved from the waves. That is 
 more than I need to live a couple of months 
 on in this primitive country in the midst of 
 these people who have no wants. And when 
 I have no more money I shall have my profes- 
 sion. I shall paint portraits, for a hundred 
 sous a sitting — that will take me back to my 
 youth." 
 
 The carriole, having crossed the bridge of 
 San Pancrazio, rolled along the precipitous 
 road between rows of century-old chestnuts. 
 The sun was sinking below the horizon, red- 
 dening the mountain with his last rays. Agos- 
 tino turned into a little path, along which he 
 drove, whistling gayly, like the blackbirds of 
 his country. At the end of a few hundred 
 yards he stopped before the wall of an en- 
 closed piece of land, and jumped to the 
 ground. A large dog, which had appeared at 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 121 
 
 the sound, barking with a ferocious air, rushed 
 between the young man's legs, now barking 
 joyfully. An old woman and a little girl 
 made their appearance in the orchard, and ran 
 to him with open arms. Agostino embraced 
 them with effusion, and then pushed them to- 
 ward his preserver, telling them of his adven- 
 ture, in the Corsican patois, with incredible 
 volubility. Pierre, received with open arms 
 by these good people, overwhelmed with their 
 gratitude, drawn into the whirlwind of their 
 extravagant joy, licked by the dog, embraced 
 by the mother and the children, soon found 
 himself installed in the house, a very modest 
 one, but exquisitely clean, seated at the family 
 table, and experiencing a feeling of tranquil 
 satisfaction to which he had been a stranger 
 for many months. 
 
 He retired early, thanking his hosts for their 
 hospitality, rose late on the following morning, 
 visited the surroundings of the house, made the 
 acquaintance of the brother-in-law of Agostino, 
 who was a great hunter, and his sister, who 
 was a notable housewife, played with the little 
 
122 THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 
 
 Marietta, who ever since the evening before 
 had been watching him with her piercing black 
 eyes, disclosing her white teeth in a smile, 
 but showing rustic timidity whenever she 
 approached him. 
 
 Night came with surprising rapidity, with- 
 out Pierre's having done anything more 
 than live. Alone in his room, stretched on 
 the fresh corn mattress, he smiled at him- 
 self. 
 
 "Here I am leading the innocent life of a 
 shepherd," he said, "and resolved to become 
 a new man, morally and mentally. What 
 would my companions and friends say if they 
 could see me indulging in these idyllic dreams? 
 They would say that the Madonna, in whom 
 every one here believes so firmly, has visibly 
 protected me. Pierre Laurier, my boy, you 
 were on a bad road. By a miracle, you have 
 been led into safety. Profit by the favor that 
 Providence has shown you, enjoy the years that 
 are left you, and turn them to account, working 
 untrammeled, a thing that up to the present 
 you have had little chance of doing. You 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE, ta^ 
 
 have been better treated than you deserve. 
 Be thankful for it." 
 
 He fell asleep in the midst of these sage 
 reflections, and dreamed that he was painting 
 a picture in which the evil genius had the fasci- 
 nating and Satanic features of Clemence Villa, 
 and the good genius the angelic ones of Juli- 
 ette de Vignes. Then on the canvas appeared 
 the image of Jacques, with his blonde locks and 
 his melancholy eyes. Clemence approached 
 the sick man, and speaking to him with anima- 
 tion, in a low voice, drew him toward her 
 slowly, encircling him with her arms. The 
 young man grew paler, his glance became 
 more melancholy, his lips more pallid than be- 
 fore. Then the gaze of the painter wandered 
 to Juliette, and he saw that she was oppressed 
 with a mortal sadness. Her hands were joined 
 together in the attitude of prayer, and it was 
 not for her brother alone she prayed. An- 
 other name also was on her lips, and Pierre 
 divined that it was his. He would then have 
 rushed to her to reassure and console her, 
 but the arm of Jacques was interposed to 
 
f24 THE SOUL OF PIERkit. 
 
 prevent him, and these words fell from his 
 Hps: 
 
 "You have bequeathed to me your soul. 
 You belong no longer to yourself. You have 
 not the right to return to life." 
 
 Then Pierre stopped, and gradually the pic- 
 ture vanished from his gaze, and he saw only 
 the little Marietta with her black locks flying 
 wildly, who, in the pastures shaded by ancient 
 chestnut trees, watched her goats. The night 
 passed in these troubled dreams, but when he 
 awoke Pierre recovered his calmness and set 
 out for the chase with Agostino and his 
 brother-in-law. The days passed, and at the 
 end of the week the sailor informed him that 
 he must return to his vessel. He was to be 
 away for three weeks, and counted on finding 
 his preserver here on his return. 
 
 Pierre was already at home in the family of 
 Agostino. These humble peasants showed for 
 him a sincere affection, such as he had not 
 often met with. As he was not more than 
 half inclined to leave them he allowed himself 
 to be persuaded to remain to paint the por- 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. I^S 
 
 trait of the little goat-keeper, and in these peace- 
 ful surroundings, in the midst of the luxuriance 
 of nature, his recovered inspiration blossomed 
 with a new grace and power. He worked 
 every day until four o'clock, and in the even- 
 ing he joined the family circle, which was in- 
 creased by the brother- n-law, who came after 
 dinner every day with his wife. 
 
 The mayor of Torrevecchio, a violent Bona- 
 partist, having learned that a painter was stay- 
 ing in the village, had ventured, accompanied 
 by the cur6 of the parish, to go and request 
 Pierre to restore the paintings on the walls 
 of the church, which were the work of an 
 Italian master and which were interesting, 
 dating from the Genoese occupation of the 
 country. Laurier had accepted the task, and 
 not content with r-etouching the defaced por- 
 tions of the mi/ al paintings of the little 
 church, h:id uwdf*. taken the decoration of the 
 chapel of the Virgin recently constructed. 
 Absorbed in his work, amusing himself with 
 hunting and fishing, without a moment to 
 spare, he had returned so completely to his old 
 
126 THE SOUL OF PIERRk. 
 
 self that he now never thought of the past. It 
 would have made him blush with shame if any 
 one had reminded him that one summer night, 
 when the breeze was laden with fragrance, and 
 the soft murmur of the sea and the splendor 
 of the heavens bore witness to the harmony 
 that reigned in the universe, a certain Pierre 
 Laurier had contemplated killing himself, for 
 the wicked eyes of a woman who made his 
 life miserable. He would have shrugged his 
 shoulders, lighted his pipe, and declared that 
 there was only one thing in the world worth 
 striving for — to get the values in a figure in 
 the open air. And he looked over the top of 
 his palette through his half-closed eyes at little 
 Marietta, who, seated on a chestnut-log in the 
 garden, her feet resting on the green grass, her 
 dog beside her, was posing for him, proud to 
 be his model. 
 
 Agostino came back from his trip to Leg- 
 horn, but went away again a few days later. 
 Pierre seemed to have accommodated, himself 
 to his new life and talked no more of leaving 
 the country. He had sought at Bastia some 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 1 27 
 
 necessary articles of furniture for the house, the 
 arrival- of which aroused the liveliest curiosity 
 among the villagers. They could readily dis- 
 tinguish the difference of station between the 
 painter and his hosts. The mayor and the 
 cure had both declared that Pierre was a supe- 
 rior man. His manners showed him to be 
 city-bred. His generosity would seem to indi- 
 cate that he was rich. Who was he? Pierre 
 was evidently only a Christian name. Was he 
 trying to conceal his identity? And if so, 
 why? 
 
 The mayor, piqued by curiosity, proceeded 
 quietly to investigate the matter. The prefect 
 of Ajaccio had already received a message 
 from the sub-prefect of Bastia, to the effect 
 that a mysterious visitor from the mainland 
 lived in the house of a humble family of Tor- 
 revecchio, that he painted wonderful pictures 
 on the walls of the church, and that although 
 everything about him indicated him to be per- 
 fectly honorable, it would yet be interesting 
 to find out who he was. The authorities, how- 
 ever, were less ceremonious. They simply 
 
128 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 sent a gen-d'arme to ask the stranger for his 
 passport. Fortunately the gen-d'arme took it 
 into his head to stop at the mayor's office on 
 his way in order to tell the mayor the object 
 of his mission. The latter seeing that his in- 
 trigues were about to lead to an unjustifiable in- 
 trusion of the poHce on the privacy of one for 
 whom he entertained particular consideration, 
 took the gen-d'arme, who was not to blame in 
 the matter, to task about it, and sent him back 
 to town with a letter for the prefect, thus spar- 
 ing Pierre, who was quietly pursuing his work, 
 suspecting nothing, a visit from the police. 
 So that after all, Pierre's identity remained 
 undiscovered. 
 
 Pierre had now been about two months at 
 Torrevecchio, hunting, fishing and painting, 
 and he had finished, not only the portrait of 
 Marietta and the painting in the church, but 
 also two genre pictures, when one day, during 
 his absence on a visit to the silver mines of 
 Cabor, a carriage coming from Bastia deposited 
 at the inn of Torrevecchio two travelers, 
 accompanied by their servants, who called for 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 129 
 
 breakfast. The innkeeper, being asked as to 
 what there was of interest to be seen in the 
 country, mentioned the paintings of the church, 
 and the younger of the travelers, whom his com- 
 panion called "Doctor," went to look at them. 
 
 Pausing before a picture of the Resurrection, 
 which at once attracted his attention, he 
 examined it with profound attention, and see- 
 ing the cur^ crossing the nave of the church, he 
 said to him : 
 
 "You have here. Monsieur le Cur^, a very 
 valuable work, by a French artist, evidently, 
 for the artist who painted this is assuredly not 
 an Italian." 
 
 "You are right. Monsieur," said the priest, 
 "he is a Frenchman." 
 
 "What is his name?" 
 
 "I do not know." 
 
 "Ah," said the doctor, "it is not known who 
 the artist is, then." 
 
 "But he lives in the village," replied the 
 cure, "and — * 
 
 A look of surprise crossed the doctor's face 
 and he said quickly : 
 
I30 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 "He has lived here about two months, is it 
 not so?" 
 
 The traveler, reflecting for a moment, said to 
 himself in a low voice : 
 
 **Can it be possible?" Then aloud: 
 
 "Do you know even his Christian name?" 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur, he is called Pierre." 
 
 "And he has chestnut hair, blue eyes, a 
 blonde mustache, and is of medium height," 
 said the traveler quickly. 
 
 "A blonde mustache? No," said the priest, 
 "but his eyes are blue, and he is not above 
 medium height." 
 
 "It is he, it must be he," cried the doctor. 
 "And then there is no one but himself who 
 could paint this Resurrection." 
 
 "You know this young man, then?" said the 
 priest. "Ah, if you would be so good as to 
 inform us — " 
 
 "Who he is? I cannot do that, since it 
 is his wish to remain unknown. But I may 
 at least tell you that the artist who has 
 done these paintings for you is one of the 
 most promising of the younger painters of the 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 131 
 
 French school — But I must see him ; where 
 is he?" 
 
 "He is away for a few days." 
 
 "Away? And we are going to-morrow ! No 
 matter. I must leave a sign of my presence 
 here for him." 
 
 He took a pencil from his pocket-book, and 
 proceeded to write on the whitewashed wall, 
 first saying to the priest : 
 
 "Will you permit me, Monsieur le Cur^?" 
 
 "Go on," answered the latter. 
 
 Then the stranger wrote these words below 
 the "Resurrection" painted by Pierre: 
 
 "Et idem resurrexit Petrus,"and underneath, 
 "Davidoff." 
 
 Then turning to the cur6, "When he 
 returns," he sard, "show him these words. He 
 will know what they mean." 
 
 He then took leave of the priest, and return- 
 ing to the inn, said to his companion: 
 
 "My dear Count, you made a mistake in not 
 coming out with me : you have missed some- 
 thing very curious." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
132 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 "I will tell you when we are on board. 
 While we are here it must be a secret." 
 
 The two travelers then lighted their cigars, 
 entered the carriage, and proceeded on their 
 way. 
 
 The next day but one, Pierre returned from 
 his expedition with the brother-in-law of Agos- 
 tino, bringing with him a pair of pretty silver 
 earrings for Marietta and a buckle for her 
 mother. He breakfasted early, and was pro- 
 ceeding to work, when the cur6, pushing open 
 the glass door of the parlor, entered. 
 
 "Ah, Monsieur le Cur^ !" cried Pierre. "To 
 what are we indebted for this pleasure?" 
 
 "A message with which I have been intrusted 
 for you." 
 
 "Ah! And by whom?" 
 
 "A stranger." 
 
 Pierre's forehead clouded, and in a voice that 
 trembled slightly, he said : 
 
 "Let me hear what it is." 
 
 "If you will accompany me to the church," 
 said the priest, "you will learn it more quickly 
 and more fully than I could tell you." 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 133 
 
 "I am at your orders." 
 
 He took his hat and went out with the 
 priest. 
 
 For some time they walked on in silence. 
 As they were nearing the great square the cure 
 said : 
 
 "A stranger has been looking at your paint- 
 ing, and he has assured me that you have 
 enriched our church with a picture of great 
 value." 
 
 Pierre did not answer. He nodded without 
 speaking and hastened his steps as if eager to 
 learn what was awaiting him. 
 
 He crossed the nave of the church, stopped 
 before his "Resurrection," and with an emotion 
 which he could not conceal read the Latin 
 inscription on the wall: "Et idem resurrexit 
 Petrus — Davidoff." He heaved a sigh, repeated 
 in a choking voice, "Davidoff," and then 
 relapsed into silence. 
 
 The cur^, translating the Latin phrase, said 
 behind him : 
 
 ** 'And in the same way, Pierre has arisen 
 from the dead.* Then a miracle has been 
 
134 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 wrought for you? My dear child, we must 
 pr-iise the mercy of God." 
 
 Pierrre passed his hand over his forehead, 
 smiled at the priest, who regarded him with 
 astonishment, and in a grave voice said : 
 
 "Yes, a miracle has been wrought for me, 
 and God be praised for it." 
 
 He relapsed once more into silent medita- 
 tion as if he were recalling the past. Then he 
 said softly : 
 
 "Monsieur le Cure, I thank you for having 
 taken this trouble. What you have told me 
 has a profound interest for me. Au revoir 
 Monsieur le Cur^." 
 
 And with a slow step and eyes bent upon 
 the ground, he returned to the house of Agos- 
 tino's mother. 
 
 On the following day one of the acolytes 
 brought him a letter which had been posted 
 at Ajaccio, bearing this address : 
 
 " Monsieur Pierre^ care of Monsieur le Cur^ 
 de Torrevecchioy 
 
 He opened the letter with emotion. It con- 
 tained these lines: 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 135 
 
 "My dear Friend : You are still among the 
 living; a more agreeable surprise could not 
 have awaited me. It was I who performed the 
 painful task of taking to Beaulieu the note in 
 which you announced your fatal resolution, 
 which happily was not carried out. He to 
 whom you bequeathed your soul, whether by 
 a miracle or through the power of imagination, 
 suddenly felt a renewal of life and is now 
 almost restored to health. But one who is 
 closely connected with him came near losing 
 her life in consequence of the news of your 
 death. In the depths of your retreat, know 
 that you passed close to happiness without 
 perceiving it, but that it is still in your power 
 to obtain it. 
 
 "Your sincere friend, 
 
 "Davidoff." 
 
 Having read the letter, Pierre folded it, put 
 it into his pocket and left the house. He 
 walked thoughtfully along the road to Bastia, 
 pausing when he reached the shore. The 
 calm blue sea sparkled in the sunshine, far as 
 the eye could reach. The vessels in the dis- 
 tance, their sails shining in the sunlight, glided 
 along so slowly as to seem almost motionless. 
 
13^' THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 The young man sat down on a rock, and, as on 
 the evening when he had contemplated suicide, 
 he fell into a revery. Slowly the image of 
 Jacques rose before him, his face no longer 
 pale and gloom}^ but radiant with health and 
 youth. He walked with buoyant step on the 
 verdant terrace of the house at Beaulieu. All 
 nature had awakened at the balmy breath of 
 spring, and Jacques, like the plants and the 
 flowers, seemed animated with new life. Sud- 
 denly Juliette appeared beside him, and now 
 it was she who was ill and sad. Under her 
 beautiful eyes were black rings, her cheeks 
 were hollow, and in her smile there was the 
 heart-rending sweetness of a last farewell. 
 
 A shudder passed through Pierre. It 
 seemed to him as if the gaze of the young girl, 
 fixed upon the sea, sought vainly in its blue 
 waters for something that was not there. He 
 saw this girl whose affection, reciprocated for 
 a moment, he had afterward disdained, dying 
 slowly of grief for his loss. He heard a voice 
 murmur beside him : "It is you who are the 
 cause of her tears, of her suffering, of her Ian- 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 137 
 
 guor. You have just heard it — she is dying 
 because she beheves that you are dead. 
 You had but to utter a word, and this inno- 
 cent heart, filled with your image, would have 
 opened to receive you. You had happiness 
 and peace in your grasp but you flung them 
 recklessly away. Why delay longer in trying 
 to regain them? Will you let her whom you 
 love perish? You have only to go to her and 
 she will revive again. Come, begin life anew. 
 The future is yours, since you are loved." 
 
 He heaved a sigh and tears sprang to his 
 eyes — the first he had shed since the tears of 
 rage and shame of which Clemence Villa had 
 been the cause. But he did not long give way 
 to his emotion. He wished to examine his 
 own heart, and judge himself with impartial 
 severity. Was he purified and regenerated by 
 this voluntary withdrawal from all he had held 
 dear? Did he feel himself capable of leading 
 a new life? If temptation came in his way 
 would he have the strength to resist it? He 
 trembled. A pale, dark face with gleaming 
 eyes rose before him. From its lips came a 
 
138 THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 
 
 sardonic burst of laughter as on the night 
 when he had resolved to end his life. What 
 was she laughing at, showing her white teeth 
 and the dimples at the corners of her mouth? 
 Was it at him? Was she then so sure of her 
 power to bring him to her feet, the day she 
 should take it into her head to do so? Was 
 he, then, her slave? 
 
 He feared so; — his weakness had been so 
 great, his follies so disastrous, his cowardice so 
 complete, his fall so low. At the thought of 
 again coming into the toils of this cruel and 
 heartless woman a cold sweat broke out upon 
 his forehead and his heart beat with anguish. 
 He fancied if he saw death before him a sec- 
 ond time he would again choose it in prefer- 
 ence to such humiliation. He dropped his 
 head between his hands dejectedly, and, gaz- 
 ing at the sea which was now reddened by the 
 splendors of the sunset, surrounded by the 
 peace and the grandeur of nature, he fell into 
 a revery. 
 
 Gradually his thoughts grew clearer, and he, 
 who had not prayed since his childhood, seeing 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 1^9 
 
 himself so solitary, so sad, and so forsaken, 
 raised his eyes to heaven in prayer. He asked 
 nothing for himself. However hard and 
 wretched his own lot might be, he accepted it 
 without a murmur. But this pure and gentle 
 creature, was she not innocent of blame, and 
 did she not deserve to be spared from suffer- 
 ing. For her he implored hope and peace. 
 Since he had the happiness to be loved bv her, 
 let her at least be endowed with the sirength 
 to live until his heart should be washed free 
 from its stains. Could Divine Justice refuse 
 her this peace? In the midst of the solitude 
 surrounding him he allowed himself to utter a 
 few words of prayer. 
 
 Suddenly his attention was arrested by an 
 occurrence which symbolized in an instant his 
 fears and hopes. 
 
 From a point of rock jutting out into the sea 
 at his feet a dove had just flown in terror. 
 An eagle followed close behind trying to cap- 
 ture her. She made desperate efforts to 
 escape, but the bird of prey gained upon her 
 steadily, uttering a shrill cry at every stroke of 
 
14<^ THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 his powerful wings. Pierre, struck by the 
 sight, said to himself, "Let this be a sign. If 
 the eagle captures his prey, all is over with 
 Juliette and me. If the dove succeeds in 
 escaping, then I may hope to appear before her 
 again, worthy of happiness." 
 
 From the moment in which he thus suc- 
 cinctly formulated the problem of his destiny 
 Pierre, in breathless suspense, followed with 
 his eyes the conflict between the two birds. 
 The eagle had lowered his flight, and was now 
 close to the dove and almost directly above 
 her, menacing her with his sharp beak and livid 
 claws. Terrified, the poor bird directed its 
 flight toward a clump of oaks, hoping to take 
 refuge there. But her ferocious enemy, divin- 
 ing her intention, hastened his flight toward 
 her. Pierre, his heart oppressed, his hands 
 trembling, longed to give some of his strength 
 to the dove : he saw the moment approach in 
 which she must succumb to her pursuer. Just 
 as the rapacious bird was about to seize his 
 victim, a shot was heard. The eagle turned 
 over in the air mortally wounded, and fell to 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 14 1 
 
 the ground, and the dove, saved from his 
 clutches, disappeared among the trees. 
 
 Pierre uttered a cry of joy. The response 
 to his question had been decisive and imme- 
 diate. Destiny had interposed in his favor in an 
 undeniable manner. The invisible marksman 
 whose intervention had thus settled the ques- 
 tion, had he not been guided to the spot in 
 order to put an end to Pierre's anguish? But 
 by a sudden return of his former mocking 
 humor he began to laugh at the thought that 
 a shot fired at a bird should thus be the arbiter 
 of his fate. He shook his head. 
 
 "Work, that is the true panacea," he said. 
 "The day I abandoned it, I was lost. I have 
 returned to it, it will save me.** 
 
 The sun sank into the sea, red as fire. 
 Pierre rose and returned to the village with a 
 more tranquil heart. 
 
IV. 
 
 IT was the first Sunday of the Carnival, and 
 the Casino at Nice, splendidly illuminated, 
 was thrown open for the grand veglione. In 
 the Place Mass^na a crowd of curious specta- 
 tors were watching the masqueraders entering 
 the building, grouped around the burlesque 
 throne on which King Carnival, in his spangled 
 robes, had been sitting solemnly for two days 
 past, the sceptre of Folly in his hand. The 
 strains of the band filled the air, and the gay 
 measures of waltz and quadrille, drowned by 
 the buzzing of the crowd that ceaselessly 
 surged through the vast edifice given up to 
 fun and frolic, could be heard in bursts from 
 time to time. 
 
 From the outside the scene looked like a 
 gay parterre. A crowd of elegantly dressed 
 figures, some with masks and some without, 
 and all wearing dominos, of various colors, 
 passed back and forth in the great hall, with 
 143 
 
144 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 bursts of laughter and lively repartee. In the 
 room where the orchestra was stationed, danc- 
 ing was going on, in the boxes conversation 
 and intrigue. All the lovely and seductive 
 women of Monaco, Nice, and Cannes, were 
 here assembled to delight the eye. 
 
 In a corner of the room, leaning against 
 the wall, Prince Patrizzi stood chatting and 
 watching the coming and going of the 
 dominos as they passed through the hall. 
 With the help of the gay friends who sur- 
 rounded him, he amused himself in guessing 
 the names of the women who participated in 
 the gayeties of the night under cover of their 
 masks. He had already succeeded in guessing 
 several, when suddenly he uttered an exclama- 
 tion of surprise : 
 
 "Why, there is Jacques de Vignes!" he 
 cried. 
 
 It was indeed Jacques, animated and erect, 
 his complexion fresh, his eyes clear. His blue 
 domino floated behind him, giving him the air 
 of a gallant cavalier of the Renaissance. He 
 came forward to meet them half-way, his hand 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 145 
 
 extended, smiling and happy, as he had been 
 before his illness ; not haggard and weary look- 
 ing, as he was on the evening, some months 
 before, on which Dr. Davidoff had related his 
 fantastic stories after a gay dinner. The trans- 
 formation was complete. Triumphant, almost 
 insolent, he seemed in the splendor of his 
 youth and health so miraculously regained. 
 
 "You are entirely recovered, Jacques?" asked 
 the Prince. 
 
 "Entirely," said the young man, "as you 
 see." 
 
 "All honor be to the climate that has 
 restored you to yourself and to us, for you 
 were a jolly fellow, and you will be one again." 
 
 The young man leaned against the column 
 beside Patrizzi, and letting his eyes wander over 
 the motley crowd, that streamed by noisily, — 
 
 "And I enjoy life, my dear Prince," he said 
 with ardor, "like a man who knows what it is 
 to have almost lost it. You have never been 
 seriously ill ; you do not know the melancholy 
 languor that takes possession of the spirit as 
 the strength of the body decreases. It seems 
 
146 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 as if a black veil covered all nature, so sombre 
 and desolate does everything appear. The 
 nnoments in which one might be happy are 
 poisoned by the thought that they may perhaps 
 be the last we shall enjoy, and the more beauti- 
 ful and peaceful one's surroundings are the more 
 does one execrate them. You may believe 
 what I say, for I have experienced it. There 
 can be nothing more cruel or more melancholy. 
 So that now, after the hell through which I 
 have passed, I am in paradise. Everything 
 pleases, captivates, enchants me. I have 
 learned the value of happiness, and I know 
 how to enjoy it. The sun seems to me milder, 
 the flowers more fragrant, the women more 
 charming than before. I was on the brink of 
 the grave, and thence springs my love for life." 
 "That's right," said Patrizzi ; "it is pleasant to 
 hear you. But your recovery is truly miracu- 
 lous. Now that I come to think of it — what 
 wonderful story is that we heard about it? 
 Did not some one make you a present of a new 
 soul? Davidoff pretends that it is not you 
 who are alive, but your friend Laurier, and he 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 147 
 
 adds that you are very lucky in the change, for 
 Pierre was of the stuff that centenarians are 
 made of." 
 
 The Prince gave a burst of laughter which 
 made Jacques turn pale, and called the mois- 
 ture to his brow. 
 
 "I beg of you," said the young man, "not to 
 speak of that again ; it is very painful to me. 
 Laurier was the friend of my childhood, and 
 his loss will be long and deeply felt by me. If 
 the case had been reversed and it were I who 
 had given my life to him, the world would 
 have gained by the change, for Pierre was an 
 artist of indubitable genius, and I shall never 
 be worth anything." 
 
 As he uttered these words, feverishly and 
 in a trembling voice, Jacques's pallor increased. 
 His gaze was clouded, and his features sud- 
 denly seemed to contract, giving greater prom- 
 inence to the cheek-bones and the teeth. 
 
 He was seized with a sort of trembling as if 
 he had a fever. He bit his lips, which had be- 
 come livid, and tried to smile. But for a mo- 
 ment, as if in a vision of death, he presented 
 
148 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 to his friends, instead of his former healthy 
 and happy look, the ghastly appearance of a 
 dying man. 
 
 A moment later the blood returned to his 
 cheeks, his look brightened, and Jacques was 
 once more what he had been before, brilliant 
 and haughty. He seemed to wish to shake off 
 a painful impression, and taking a turn in the 
 room he cried, with a gayety that was some- 
 what forced : 
 
 "What a lovely evening, made indeed for 
 pleasure ! In the street all is noise and gayety, 
 and here everything is lovely and seductive." 
 
 As he ceased speaking, a white domino, 
 emerging from a group, approached him, and 
 said in a disguised voice : 
 
 **Lovely and seductive? Let us see if your 
 acts will accord with your words." 
 
 Through her mask, the domino fixed upon 
 Jacques a brilliant glance. The young man 
 felt a supple arm slip through his own, and he 
 asked gayly : 
 
 ''Are you in the humor for an adventure? 
 Well, then, capture me and I will be your 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 149 
 
 slave ; the one will no doubt be as easy as the 
 other." 
 
 The domino gave him a gentle tap on the 
 cheek with her fan and answered : 
 
 "I forgive you the impertinence for the sake 
 of the compliment." 
 
 Jacques looked at his friends with a mali- 
 cious smile, and slipped through the crowd 
 with his conquest leaning on his arm. 
 
 "Well, Patrizzi, you who have guessed the 
 names of so many women, tell us that of the 
 woman who has carried away de Vignes?" 
 
 "Parbleu ! May the devil fly away with me 
 if it is not Clemence Villa !" 
 
 "She has soon forgotten that poor Laurier," 
 said one of the group surrounding the Prince. 
 
 "But Jacques has not forgotten him. Did 
 you note his suffering when I spoke to him of 
 his friend? His face, a moment before so 
 fresh and smiling, was ghastly and distorted. 
 It was frightful. He looked like a death's- 
 head. Our friend Davidoff, you will remem- 
 ber, described with curious minuteness the 
 moral condition of the sick man cured through 
 
150 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 faith. The foundation of this recovery is 
 frail," he said ; "a word would suffice to de- 
 stroy it. The passionate conviction which 
 brought Jacques back to life, once weakened, 
 he would relapse into a condition worse than 
 before. He is under a sort of spell. He is 
 possessed by an idea, and this gives him 
 wonderful strength." 
 
 "That is what makes charlatans and quacks 
 succeed," said the doctor. 
 
 "And then, there are besides imaginary in- 
 valids whom it is easy to cure, and our friend 
 Jacques seems to be one of them." 
 
 Patrizzi shook his head and said gravely : 
 
 "I hope it may be so, for his mother's sake." 
 A noisy exclamation cut short his words. A 
 group of masqueraders pushed through the 
 crowd, in the midst of exclamations and bursts 
 of laughter. The group of which, the Neapoli- 
 tan was the centre broke up, and each of the 
 young men went his way. Jacques, his new 
 acquaintance on his arm, had gone out into 
 the corridor, examining curiously the masked 
 and hooded woman who drew him along, with 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. iS^ 
 
 a rapid step, as if she feared to be recognized 
 or spoken to. Arrived at the door of one of 
 the stage boxes, she gave two quick knocks. 
 A woman opened the door, and drawing aside, 
 with a silent smile, allowed them to pass. She 
 then discreetly left the room and closed the 
 door of the box. Here Jacques and the 
 domino found themselves alone. 
 
 The young man approached his companion 
 and attempted to seize her hand. 
 
 "Be sensible, or I shall send you back to 
 your friends." 
 
 "How can one be sensible near you?" he 
 cried, smiling. "Ask something that is possi- 
 ble, not something that is impossible." 
 
 "You must obey me, however, or I shall go 
 away, and we will never meet again.*^ 
 
 "And if I consent to everything you exact, 
 shall we see each other again then?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 She sat down on the divan in the box, and 
 leaned back, showing between her mask and 
 her domino her white neck, and under the 
 ruching of her hood an ear delicate and pink 
 
tS2 TI/£: SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 as a rose-leaf. He sat down beside her, with 
 an air of respectful propriety, although his 
 heart beat passionately, so soon had this m3^s- 
 terious and fascinating creature succeeded in 
 bewildering his senses. 
 
 Hidden in the obscurity of the box, close 
 beside each other, Jacques and the masked 
 woman were absolutely alone, more free than 
 if silence and solitude reigned around them. 
 In a low and insinuating voice he said : 
 
 "It seems to me that you are not unknown 
 to me, and that we have met before. Will you 
 not show me your face? I am sure you would 
 not lose by doing so. You are young, and I 
 am sure you are beautiful. Have you any 
 reason, then, for wishing to remain unknown? " 
 
 She nodded affirmatively. 
 
 "Even to me?" 
 
 She nodded again. 
 
 The young man drew nearer. 
 
 "Where have I seen you?" he asked. "Here? 
 In Paris?" 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 He resumed; 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. I53 
 
 "Do you live in Nice?'* 
 
 She remained silent. 
 
 "We have met before, however, have we 
 not?" 
 
 A smile crossed the lips of the unknown. 
 She pushed Jacques away gently, her gaze 
 seeming to dwell on him with pleasure, and 
 said in a low voice : 
 
 "You are very inquisitive." 
 
 "And why should I not be so? Everything 
 tells that it is my fate to love you, and yet it 
 surprises you that I should wish to know who 
 you are! I shall know to-morrow or the day 
 after, or next week. Why not gratify me to- 
 night, this very instant, and permit me to see 
 your face? Would you have me love you, 
 then, without knowing who you are?" 
 
 "Perhaps," she murmured. 
 
 "What are you afraid of? The anger of 
 some jealous tyrant? Or perhaps you have 
 not confidence in my discretion?" 
 
 She did not stir, thus giving room to the 
 most romantic suppositions in his mind. 
 
 He smiled, and said passionately : 
 
154 THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 
 
 "Be it so then ! I will love you as you 
 are, — unknown, masked, mysterious." 
 
 He tried to take her hand again. Suddenly 
 the hood of her domino fell back, and her mask, 
 becoming displaced, disclosed to view her face. 
 
 Jacques started to his feet, stepped back, and 
 cried in amazement : 
 
 "Clemence Villa!" 
 
 At the sound of her name the actress 
 became calm and cold. She looked at 
 Jacques, who, pale and motionless, was devour- 
 ing her with his eyes. Throwing back her 
 domino with a quick movement, she rose and 
 stood before him in all her radiant beauty. 
 
 **You desired to know my name," she said. 
 "You know it now." 
 
 Jacques, without looking at her, said slowly : 
 
 "It is a very short time since poor Pierre 
 killed himself on your account." 
 
 "On my account?" she returned quickly. 
 "Are you quite sure of that?" 
 
 Jacques grew paler still, and looking at Cle- 
 mence with a glance of terror : 
 
 "Do you believe it was on some other 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. I55 
 
 person's account, then?" he said, resuming his 
 seat on the sofa beside her. 
 
 "Do you not know that it was?" 
 
 She looked at him fixedly; he turned his 
 head away, but seizing his arm with au- 
 thority : 
 
 "It was with me he spent his last evening," 
 she said. "It was to me he addressed his last 
 words. I know what every one else, even 
 Davidoff, is ignorant of. Pierre, weary of his 
 feverish existence, disillusionized regarding his 
 genius, and hopeless of the future, grew des- 
 pondent, and in obedience to I know not what 
 superstitious idea resolved to sacrifice his life 
 for the sake of a beloved friend." 
 
 "Be silent!" interrupted Jacques, almost 
 menacingly. 
 
 "Why should I be silent? Are you afraid 
 of his ghost ? It would neither injure nor 
 reproach you. He knew that I loved you. 
 He said to me, at the moment when he took 
 his fatal resolution : 'He will love you better 
 than I can. And if anything of what I was 
 survives in him it will be a bond that shall 
 
15^ THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 attach me to earth and make me thrill with joy 
 in my grave.' " 
 
 At this sacrilegious falsehood the young man 
 cast a glance of terror at Clemence. He made 
 an effort to rise and leave her, but his limbs 
 refused him their support, and he sank back on 
 the sofa faint and trembling. He felt that she 
 had spoken the truth, and that a mysterious 
 tie bound him already to this woman, as if 
 Pierre had transmitted his unconquerable pas- 
 sion for her to him with his soul. He rebelled 
 against this bondage, however, and forgetful of 
 his recent eagerness to win her favor he now 
 desired to leave the woman he had so ardently 
 wooed while she was as yet unknown to 
 him. He rebelled against the thought of 
 obeying a dead man's command ; he could not 
 consent to be the executor of his posthumous 
 caprices. He called to his aid a last remnant 
 of his former courage, coolness, and resolution, 
 and rising turned a calm countenance toward 
 Clemence. 
 
 "I shall not allow myself to be vanquished 
 by your spells, beautiful enchantress," he said. 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 157 
 
 "Besides, it was useless to call in the aid of 
 ghosts to enslave me. Your lips and your eyes 
 would have been sufficient. You made a great 
 mistake in mingling sorcery with love. I 
 should be afraid now of your philters." 
 
 "I shall have no need to use them with 
 you," responded Clemence in a tranquil voice, 
 "and whether you wish it or not you shall 
 acknowledge my power." 
 
 He opened his lips to answer her in the 
 negative, but before he could speak she had 
 glided to the door and vanished like a phan- 
 tom from the box. 
 
 Left alone, Jacques remained for a moment 
 thoughtful. The dancing went on, noisy and 
 uproarious, raising clouds of dust through which 
 the lights of the ball-room shone dimly. In the 
 boxes, the spectators, leaning their elbows on 
 the velvet-covered railings, formed gay and bril- 
 liant groups. This overheated room, with its 
 glare and noise, was pervaded by a sense of 
 intense life. The young man suddenly remem- 
 bered the miserable existence he had so short a 
 time ago been leading, and an ardent joy filled 
 
15 S THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 his heart at the thought that he was once more 
 well and strong, and free to share in the enjoy- 
 ment of a scene like this, after having given up, 
 as he had done, the hope of ever being able to 
 do so again; 
 
 How often had he said to himself with bitter 
 longing: *'0h, if I could but cast aside this 
 languor, if I could be well and strong again, 
 with what zest would I enjoy life!" And this 
 dream had become a reality. The charm had 
 produced its miraculous effects. Death had 
 abandoned his prey. Or rather he had chosen 
 another victim in his place, nobler and more 
 brilliant than he. At this thought the pale 
 face of Pierre Laurier rose before Jacques's 
 mental vision. With closed eyes, a bitter 
 smile upon his lips and purple shadows on his 
 temples, the painter slept his last sleep, rocked 
 by the ceaseless motion of the waves, caressed 
 by the sunlight, lulled by the murmur of the 
 breeze. A wanderer on the surface of the 
 ocean, he rose and fell with the tide, forever 
 approaching and forever receding from the 
 earth on which he had suffered so much. 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 159 
 
 Jacques followed with his mental gaze this 
 corpse, this waif of the waters, terrified by 
 the sinister apparition, yet, egotist as he was, 
 reassured by the thought that his friend was 
 indeed dead, since it was with his life he now 
 lived. He desired to shake off the nightmare 
 that so painfully oppressed him. He rose to 
 his feet, and the spell was broken. 
 
 Before him he saw only the gallery filled 
 with spectators of the scene below, at his feet 
 the floor of the parquette, occupied by a 
 motley crowd of dancers. What had seemed 
 the noise of the waves was the sound of their 
 voices and the stamping of their feet upon the 
 floor: the murmur of the wind was the strains 
 of the orchestra. There had been no appari- 
 tion, everything was real. He felt eager and 
 vigorous. And pleasure was within his grasp. 
 
 He passed his hand over his forehead ; a 
 smile crossed his face, he opened the door of 
 the box, went out into the corridor, and 
 walked nonchalantly through the crowd. 
 Near the foyer he saw Patrizzi, who was flirt- 
 ing with a pretty woman. He ^ipproached the 
 
l6o THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 prince with all the boisterous gayety of his 
 wildest days, and said : 
 
 "Shall we go and have some supper, prince? 
 There must be at least a dozen of our 
 friends here whom we might get to join us. I 
 think we have had all the enjoyment there is 
 to be had in this place. Shall we leave it?" 
 
 "What have you done with the domino 
 who carried you off so unceremoniously just 
 now?" asked the Neapolitan. "Have you asked 
 her to be one of the party? Is she to accom- 
 pany us?" 
 
 "Oh, I came away and left her by herself.** 
 
 "You did not find the interview amusing, 
 then?" 
 
 "It was lugubrious. ** 
 
 "Did she not give you a rendezvous for to- 
 morrow?'* 
 
 "Yes, but I shall not go." 
 
 As he pronounced these words a crowd of 
 masqueraders poured into the corridor, and a 
 shrill laugh was heard. Jacques turned pale. 
 He looked around in terror for the white 
 domino. But he saw only a group of young 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. l6l 
 
 men hurrying past in pursuit of some women 
 in fancy dress. A voice murmured in his ear: 
 "Why do you boast and lie? Do you not 
 know that you will keep your appointment?" 
 And it seemed to him that the voice was that 
 of Clemence Villa. He turned around. Only 
 Patrizzi was near him. "I am losing my 
 senses," he said to himself. He took the arm 
 of the prince, and saying with feverish eager- 
 ness, "Come, let us go," he drew him away. 
 
 Next day when he awoke in his chamber at 
 the villa of Beaulieu at about eleven in the 
 morning, he had only a vague recollection of 
 what had taken place the night before. He 
 remembered that at supper he had drunk a 
 great deal of champagne, and that he had 
 played a waltz for the women to dance to. 
 
 From this moment everything was buried 
 in oblivion. He had been taken home in a 
 carriage by a friend who was returning to Eze. 
 What had he said? What had he done? All 
 was shrouded in a mystery which he had no 
 desire to penetrate. 
 
 Stretched on his bed, his eyes drinking in 
 
i62, THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 the sunlight that flooded the room, he felt an 
 exquisite sense of well-being. This recumbent 
 posture, which had seemed to him so irksome 
 when he was shaken by his violent fits of 
 coughing that left him bathed in perspiration, 
 weak and exhausted, he now enjoyed with de- 
 light, his brain clear, his blood flowing calmly 
 in his veins, his respiration regular. He had 
 stayed up all night, he had supped, he had 
 squandered his strength in one of those orgies 
 which formerly would have cost him a week's 
 illness and depression, and yet he found him- 
 self fresh and vigorous. He experienced a 
 sense of profound satisfaction. The cure, so 
 confidently predicted by the doctor, but of 
 which he himself had had so little hope, had 
 indeed been effected. 
 
 He remained thus for a time, enjoying the 
 mere sense of being; then, springing at abound 
 from the bed, he began to dress. He went 
 about his room, humming an air, careless and 
 happy. He opened his window, and the warm 
 breeze entered and played around his brow. 
 The fragrance of the clematis reached him 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 163 
 
 from the garden below, and on the terrace, 
 walking toward him slowly, as he had walked 
 a few months before, he perceived his sister. 
 
 Her eyes were cast on the ground with an 
 air of sadness, and she seemed, in her dark 
 gown, as if she were in mourning for her lost 
 happiness — her health, her youth, her gayety. 
 The ^contrast between what she had been and 
 what she now was, was so striking that 
 Jacques could not repress a sigh. Disease 
 had abandoned her grasp on him, but, as if a 
 victim were necessary, she had seized instead 
 upon poor Juliette. And in proportion as he 
 became more erect and vigorous, she grew 
 more bowed and feeble. The malady from 
 which she suffered was one that medical 
 science could not reach. From the day on 
 which Dr. Davidoff had brought them the fatal 
 news of Pierre's death, she had declined hourly 
 in health. A profound languor had taken pos- 
 session of her; she seldom spoke, and seized 
 every opportunity to be alone. She seemed 
 to feel a pleasure in her suffering. She dis- 
 liked to be questioned about her health ; she 
 
1 64 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 made an effort, when with her mother and 
 brother, to shake off her melancholy, but as 
 soon as she found herself alone, she relapsed 
 into her habitual sadness. At the moment 
 when Jacques perceived her she was walking 
 with languid step, a prey to her own sad 
 thoughts, and under the brilliant sunshine, 
 amid the vivid green of the trees and the gay 
 colors of the flowers, her face looked like 
 a dark blot upon the landscape. Jacques 
 descended into the garden, and observing his 
 mother in the drawing-room went in and kissed 
 her. She looked at him attentively, and 
 seeing him so radiant with health, she smiled. 
 
 "You returned home late," she said. "It is 
 hardly prudent for you to sit up so late, when 
 you have so recently recovered from your 
 illness." 
 
 "It is so long since I have had any pleas- 
 ure," he answered. 
 
 "You enjoyed yourself, at least?" she asked. 
 
 "Very much." 
 
 "Do not abuse your health, my child. Do 
 not be ungrateful to Providence who h^s 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 165 
 
 restored it to you. And do not add to my 
 anxieties. I am troubled enough about your 
 sister's condition." 
 
 "Is she worse to-day." 
 
 "No. And then how should we know it if she 
 were? She utters no complaint. She makes 
 every effort to conceal her dejection. But she 
 cannot deceive me. Day by day I see her 
 grow weaker. Ah, if Davidoff, who benefited 
 you so much, were only here now!" 
 
 At these words the young man turned pale. 
 
 He fancied he saw the sardonic countenance 
 of the Russian doctor rise before him. What 
 could Davidoff do? Was he to be asked to 
 work another miracle? Jacques knew very 
 well how powerless was medical science. He 
 knew how useless it had proved in his own 
 case. The help he had received had come to 
 him from an unknown source. But was it not 
 at the price of a terrible sacrifice that this help 
 had been obtained. Had it not been necessary, 
 to vitalize and purify his blood, that the blood 
 of another should be shed for him? And was 
 not this voluntary sacrifice of a human life to 
 
1 66 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 save that of another, marked out for destruc- 
 tion by the hand of fate, a repetition of the 
 human sacrifices offered up on the altars of the 
 pagan gods of antiquity. Could the miracle 
 be wrought a second time? And who should 
 make the sacrifice? Pierre had made it for 
 him. Who would make it for Juliette? 
 
 The sound of his mother's voice drew him 
 from his meditation. 
 
 "Besides," she added, "even if the doctor 
 were here, would Juliette follow his directions? 
 When she is asked about her health she 
 answers that she is not ill, that she is only a 
 little tired ; that there is no cause for anxiety. 
 But this very indifference which she manifests 
 regarding herself makes me all the more uneasy, 
 because in it I see the indication of a moral 
 cause for her malady, more difficult to combat 
 than any physical one." 
 
 "A moral cause!" repeated Jacques. 
 
 "Yes ; the child has a secret grief, and not- 
 withstanding the courageous efforts she makes 
 to conceal it, she cannot deceive me. Each 
 morning I see that she is paler than the last 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 1^7 
 
 from the sleepless hours she has spent during 
 the night. And it has been so for the past 
 two months. Oh, I know the exact date of 
 the commencement of her malady. It has 
 remained indelibly fixed upon my memory. 
 It is both a sad and a happy one for me, for it 
 marks at once the beginning of your recovery 
 and the beginning of the illness of your sister. 
 Yes, Juliette received the blow from which she 
 is now suffering on the day when Dr. Davidoff 
 came to announce to us the death of Pierre 
 Laurier." 
 
 If Madame de Vignes had been observing 
 Jacques she would have been terrified by the 
 look of anguish that distorted his features. 
 What he had already vaguely suspected his 
 mother had put into words. The death of 
 Pierre had produced at once a salutary and a 
 pernicious effect ; it had restored him to life 
 and given her death-blow to Juliette. 
 
 At this plain statement of facts a sudden 
 anger was kindled in his heart against the 
 innocent girl, whose interests were so directly 
 opposed to his own that what was advantage- 
 
l6g THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 ous to him was fatal to her, and that it seemed 
 impossible to make the brother live without 
 causing the death of the sister. A fantastic 
 idea presented itself to his mind, symbolizing 
 their destinies under the colors of the cards, 
 red and black — the one the color of blood, the 
 other the color of mourning. If red turned up 
 Juliette was to die; if black, he must fall back 
 into his previous state of suffering. 
 
 A frenzy of selfishness seized upon him, and 
 all his energies were concentrated in the desper- 
 ate desire for life. He felt himself capable of 
 anything to preserve it — even a crime. He 
 carried his baseness as far as to raise his eyes 
 to the sick girl, walking pensively in the 
 garden, and to say to himself with fiendish 
 satisfaction: "Two months ago it was I who 
 dragged myself along that sunny walk, and I 
 am now strong and able to enjoy life. All my 
 regrets, all my complaints, which then seemed 
 so unavailing, I may now cast to the winds, 
 and indulge without restraint my desires and 
 my hopes. All that I came so near losing 
 I have regained. Life surges triumphantly 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 169 
 
 within me, what matters the price I have paid 
 for it !" 
 
 His conscience was silent. No voice rose up 
 within him to protest against this monstrous 
 deification of self. His heart was dumb, his 
 mind was closed to every generous thought. 
 No feeling within him rebelled against this 
 horrible absolution which he gave himself for 
 all the evil his useless existence had caused, 
 and was yet to cause. 
 
 Yet in the midst of this moral insensibility 
 a few words uttered by his mother caused him 
 to tremble. 
 
 "I believe," she said, "that Juliette loved 
 Pierre Laurier in secret. I have not dared to 
 question her, fearing to hear her answer in the 
 affirmative. For I could give her no consola- 
 tion, and what can there be more cruel for a 
 mother than to see her child grieving without 
 being able to hold out to her a ray of hope? 
 Yet if this be the case we ought to know it, 
 for here, perhaps, is the wound we must seek 
 to heal." 
 
 Jacques felt as if a power which he could not 
 
lyo THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 resist impelled him to try to clear up this pain- 
 ful mystery. Everything relating to his friend's 
 death had a terrifying effect upon him, yet he 
 felt attracted to the subject with invincible 
 curiosity; he desired and, at the same time, 
 feared to know the truth. He wished to be 
 silent, yet he could not forbeaf saying: 
 
 "What if I were to speak to her? She might 
 confide her secret to me." 
 
 "Question her very gently, then, and if she 
 seems reluctant, do not urge her to answer. 
 Leave her at liberty to keep her secret." 
 
 "Have no fear." 
 
 Juliette was approaching. Mme. de Vignes 
 made a last mute appeal to Jacques's tender- 
 ness and compassion for his sister, and went 
 into the house. 
 
 The young girl, raising her eyes, saw her 
 brother standing before her as if waiting for 
 her. Her countenance lighted up, and a flush 
 mounted to her cheeks. She seemed trans- 
 formed, and the Juliette of the past, happy, gay, 
 and blooming, reappeared for an instant. But 
 her brow clouded again, her features relaxed, 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE, I? I 
 
 her mouth lost its smile, and she was once more 
 grave and sad, as usual. Of her own accord 
 she took her brother's arm, and leaning on it 
 with evident pleasure, — 
 
 "You are now entirely well, my dear 
 Jacques," she said. 
 
 He nodded affirmatively, pressing Juliette's 
 hand gently at the same time. 
 
 "What a joy it is not to see you any longer 
 sick and unhappy," she continued ; "for you 
 did not bear your illness with patience; you 
 were not disposed to be resigned." 
 
 She shook her head gently as if to say: 
 "Women are more courageous; they bear suf- 
 fering better." They had reached the very 
 spot in the veranda in front of the house where 
 Davidoff had announced to Jacques the 
 death of Pierre Laurier. The window of the 
 drawing-room, concealed by the blinds, was now 
 as then half open, but Juliette was no longer 
 on the watch for evil tidings. She knew her 
 fate, and she awaited only the end of her suf- 
 ferings. But no one on earth could give it to 
 her. This deliverance must come to her from 
 
172 THE SOUL OP PIERRE. 
 
 heaven. She seated herself, tranquil and indif- 
 ferent, in one of the willow chairs, and fixed her 
 gaze on the sea. "I must question her," said 
 Jacques to himself. "What shall I say to her. 
 and how begin the conversation? Her little 
 head is so clear! She will weigh each one of 
 my words and guess from them the meaning of 
 my questions. The slightest blunder would 
 put her on her guard. And if she mistrusts 
 me in the least I shall get nothing from her. 
 Her lips will be sealed." 
 
 *'Here we are in the middle of March," he 
 began with a meditative air. "We must soon 
 return to Paris. Will you not be sorry to leave 
 this place, dear?" 
 
 "It matters little to me where I am," she 
 answered indifferently, as if she thought to her- 
 self, "There is but one place where I can be at 
 rest, — in the peaceful and silent tomb." 
 
 "I had fancied our departure would not please 
 you, that perhaps it might grieve you, and I 
 was going to ask our mother to stay here a few 
 weeks longer." 
 
 She bent her head with a frown, and seemed 
 
TtJE SOUL OF PIERkE. 173 
 
 determined to betray nothing of her thoughts. 
 Her brother watched her with attention, in 
 the hope of intercepting a quicker throb than 
 usual of this poor wounded heart. 
 
 "As for me," he pursued, "I should not 
 have been sorry to remain here longer. I shall 
 leave this place with regret, for I am now 
 bound to it by a most painful tie." 
 
 His voice failed him. He could never men- 
 tion Laurier's name without a secret shudder, 
 as if he felt he himself were in some way 
 accountable for his tragic fate. 
 
 "Here I lost my dearest friend," he resumed, 
 "a loss for which I can never be consoled. I 
 fancy that in leaving this place I shall be going 
 farther away from him ; although I know not 
 where his last resting-place is, since the waves 
 have not given him back to us, and we have 
 not been permitted the supreme consolation of 
 saying a last prayer over his remains. This 
 spot, where I saw him for the last time, has 
 a fascination for me, as if I had a secret hope 
 that I should here see him one day reappear." 
 
 At these words Juliette trembled, and she 
 
174 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
   _ _ . * T 
 
 raised her eyes to her brother's with a question* 
 ing look. She felt a movement of joy, quickly 
 repressed, however. 
 
 "Do you think it possible, then, that he is 
 not dead?" she asked. 
 
 "His body has never been recovered," he 
 answered in a hollow voice. 
 
 "And is he, alas ! the only one that the jeal- 
 ous sea has refused to give up," cried the 
 young girl, with a heart-rending look. "No! 
 we ought not to cherish any illusions, or lull 
 ourselves with false hopes. He had lost faith 
 in the future, he had lost confidence in his 
 friends, life had ceased to possess any attrac- 
 tion for him. Our loss is certain, irreparable. 
 We shall never see him again ! He has left us 
 forever. We shall never again hear his voice, 
 nor his laughter — nor even his complaints. 
 He has gone to the land from which no one 
 returns — and we may weep for him without 
 any fear of our tears being causelessly shed." 
 
 She spoke with increasing agitation, and her 
 grief, no longer restrained, overflowed from 
 her heart to her lips like a torrent, swollen 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 175 
 
 by a sudden rain-storm. Surprised, Jacques 
 looked at his sister, seeking to discover, in the 
 midst of the bitterness of the grief which she 
 expressed, some trace of a reproach addressed 
 to himself. 
 
 "Does she suspect the terrible secret?" he 
 asked himself. "If she had to decide between 
 Pierre and me, which would she choose? 
 Would she sacrifice her brother or her 
 lover?" 
 
 Juliette wiped away the tears which flowed 
 down her cheeks, and remained silent for a 
 moment ; then she said : 
 
 "Heaven, in compensation, has delivered us 
 from our anxiety in regard to your health. 
 Enjoy life, Jacques, employ it in loving us 
 dearly." 
 
 She made a movement as if to go. He de- 
 tained her, and looking at her fixedly said : 
 
 "This, then, is the secret of your illness and 
 your dejection. You loved him." 
 
 She answered without hesitation and with- 
 out embarrassment : 
 
 "With all my soul. Besides my mother and 
 
176 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 you he was the only one who occupied my 
 thoughts." 
 
 "You are not yet twenty. At your age 
 there is no sorrow which is eternal. The fut- 
 ure is still before you." 
 
 She bowed her head dejectedly ; then said 
 with great sweetness : 
 
 "Promise me never to speak on this subject 
 again, will you? It would only cause me use- 
 less suffering. I am not one of those who can 
 forget their sorrows, or be consoled for them. 
 In the secret depths of my heart, the memory 
 of Pierre will be the object of my worship. 
 I shall think ceaselessly of him, but to hear 
 his name uttered is more than I can bear. I 
 promise you, on my part, to take care of 
 myself and to neglect nothing that might 
 contribute to my health. I do not wish to 
 distress you, nor cause you anxiety ; but leave 
 me at liberty to indulge my grief." 
 
 She smiled sweetly at her brother, and 
 resumed her solitary walk up and down the 
 terrace. 
 
 Much affected, Jacques entered the hous^ 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. I77 
 
 and went up to his mother's room. Madame 
 de Vignes was anxiously waiting for him. 
 
 "Well?" she asked as soon as she saw him 
 enter. 
 
 "Well, I have spoken to her as we agreed, 
 and I found her, if not reasonable, at least 
 very calm. She grieves deeply and does not 
 wish to be consoled. I had thought that a 
 prolongation of our stay here might be bene- 
 ficial to her, but I was mistaken. I think the 
 best course to take would be to return to Paris 
 at once, and make the child resume her former 
 way of living. Solitude is not good for her. 
 She has too much time in which to let her 
 thoughts dwell on the one theme. Our friends 
 will take possession of her. She will be di- 
 verted in spite of herself and this will have a 
 favorable effect on her spirits, I hope." 
 
 "Do you think it would be well to make 
 preparations for our departure at once, 
 then?" 
 
 "No, that would seem too sudden. In a 
 couple of weeks we might go.'' 
 
 "But you, my dear boy, would not the 
 
178 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 change of climate be prejudicial to you? We 
 are still in March ; in Paris it is still cold." 
 
 "No matter! My health is now excellent, 
 and it is of Juliette alone that we must think." 
 
 **Very well, I will do as you advise then." 
 
 Jacques kissed his mother's hand tenderly. 
 The breakfast bell rang, and they went into 
 the dining-room, where Juliette soon joined 
 them. Mme. de Vignes and her son spoke on 
 indifferent subjects: Juliette was silent. The 
 repast was a short one. A restraint seemed to 
 weigh upon them all, and each wished to be 
 alone. As soon as the meal was over they 
 rose. The mother and daughter returned to 
 their rooms in silence. Jacques lighted a cigar 
 and went to take a solitary walk on the sea- 
 shore. 
 
 In an indentation of the coast bordered by 
 red rocks, the tide ebbed and flowed, forming a 
 little creek. Vegetation stopped at the edge 
 of the water, but on the sand mosses of a 
 grayish-green color, resembling lichens,, grew 
 vigorously. Jacques seated himself here, and 
 soothed by the delicious mildness of the sun- 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 179 
 
 shine fell into a revery. Silence and solit*ide 
 reigned around. Immensity of space was be^ 
 fore him, and above him. The sea and the 
 sky met, blending imperceptibly together in 
 the blue distance. Jacques's eyes, fixed upon 
 the far horizon, were dazzled by the clear 
 brightness of the atmospliere, and fascinated 
 by the monotonous motion of the waves. 
 
 Little by little the scene before him faded 
 from his view, and he saw again the ball-room 
 as on the night of the veglione. He heard 
 again the noise of the crowd, the stamping of 
 the dancers on the floor, and the strains of the 
 orchestra. He saw pictured before him the 
 whole scene of the evening of the Carnival, and 
 among the promenaders he could distinguish 
 the white domino. She smiled seductively 
 under the lace of her mask, and her eyes glit- 
 tered like diamonds through the apertures i   
 the satin. The subtle and penetrating odor 
 which emanated from her enveloped Jacques, 
 and in this solitary spot he had so lively a 
 sense of the proximity of this fascinating 
 V^oman that he stretched out his arms vaguely 
 
i8o THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 as if to embrace her. The spell of the vision 
 was broken, and he found himself once more 
 alone. A feeling of irritation took possession 
 of him at the thought that he should be 
 haunted thus by the remembrance of Clem- 
 ence — that she should have such power over 
 him, that he could not abandon himself to his 
 thoughts for a moment without being at the 
 mercy of this sorceress. She had said to him, 
 "Whether you wish it or not." It was in vain 
 for him to try to resist her. He felt that she 
 had woven her toils around him, triumphant and 
 perfidious, the mistress of his thoughts and of 
 his heart, and the despotic sovereign of his will. 
 He asked himself why he resisted her, why he 
 had an instinctive repugnance or rather fear of 
 her. He knew she was dangerous; all who 
 had approached her had suffered through her. 
 And yet how beautiful she was, with her red 
 lips, her velvety eyes, her divine form ! What 
 had he to fear? The remembrance of Pierre 
 came to him. Had she not also loved him, the 
 great artist? And with the same love of 
 change which nriade it impossible for her to be 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. i8i 
 
 constant to any one, had she not soon grown 
 tired of him and cast him off? For her he had 
 allowed the exquisite flower of his genius to 
 wither. Like a high-mettled horse harnessed 
 to a heavy load he had worked in order to earn 
 money, to heap gifts upon her, and when he 
 could no longer work, he had tried to win at 
 play what his genius, strained and enervated, 
 could no longer procure. All the various 
 stages in the miserable story of Laurier's pas- 
 sion were known to Jacques. He had seen the 
 painter pass through them one by one, in his 
 lucid moments full of shame and exasperation 
 at his folly, but ready to return to his bond- 
 age the moment the woman, at once hated and 
 adored, beckoned to him with her rosy finger 
 or let fall a word of tenderness. What was 
 there, then, so satanic or so divine in this creat- 
 ure that she should exercise over men's hearts 
 so potent a spell? 
 
 The only rival who could- have triumphed 
 over her was death. Why had his friend in a 
 manner bequeathed her to him? Was it that 
 he might avenge him? And did he think him 
 
ita THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 capable of inspiring this enchantress with 
 love? 
 
 He saw Pierre's face as it had haunted him 
 so often of late in his terrible dreams. It wore 
 a look of indescribable sadness ; he fancied he 
 saw the lips move and that he heard them say : 
 "Take care ; I have bestowed life upon you, but 
 she will destroy it. Destruction is her mission 
 on earth. Avoid her, beware of her! See to 
 what she has brought me. She lied to you 
 when she told you that it was my wish that you 
 should love her. No, I have fled from her into 
 the bosom of oblivion ! Do not believe her, do 
 not listen to her, do not look at her. With- 
 draw from her path. When you are with her 
 you cannot resist her. This is the decisive 
 moment in which you must choose between 
 life and death." 
 
 The sombre countenance of Laurier faded 
 away, and Jacques found himself once more 
 alone, beside the restless sea in this enchanted 
 solitude, where nature bloomed radiantly under 
 a cloudless sky. He said to himself: "I am 
 growing superstitious. What dp the fears ^ncj 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 1^3 
 
 the scruples that torment me mean? Can my 
 life depend upon this woman? I have not yet 
 so completely recovered from my illness as I 
 had thought. But what is the cause of the 
 anxiety I feel? Through what moral crisis am 
 I passing? Because Pierre loved this woman 
 is it then criminal in me to love her? For this 
 is the thought from which my scruples spring. 
 And after all is there not a great deal of indi- 
 vidual caprice and of conventionality in what 
 people have agreed to call right and wrong?" 
 
 "The only object of life is happiness," selfish- 
 ness answered. And was not the love of this 
 woman necessary to his happiness? His heart, 
 filled with her image, was deaf to the voice of 
 reason. At this very moment, seated on this 
 sunny rock, the waves dashing their spray up 
 to his feet, silence and solitude around, he felt 
 himself drawn toward the enchantress, and he 
 trembled with impatience. He knew that 
 within half an hour's distance the Battle of 
 Flowers at Nice was drawing all the world 
 of fashion to the Promenade des Anglais. 
 Clemence would be there waiting for him, 
 
1 84 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 expecting him. He had but a step to take to 
 join her. 
 
 His heart palpitated violently. His whole 
 being reached out toward her. His reason, 
 though vanquished, still protested: "But she 
 has defied you. She has told you she would 
 hold you in her chains, willing or unwilling. 
 Are you then going to obey her as if you were 
 her slave? Truly you have very little pride 
 or courage. Stay where you are, do not 
 go. Avoid her." 
 
 But he was already on his feet. The magne- 
 tic influence which had always drawn Laurier 
 back to her, no matter how much he might 
 resist it, now exercised its sway over Jacques. 
 The spell of this woman who, ghoul-like, sapped 
 the power of will of those over whom she 
 wished to cast her spells, triumphed over dis- 
 tance, over prudence, and over reason. It was 
 in vain for Jacques longer to resist ; she had 
 already conquered. He went back to the 
 house, took his hat and coat, and went . away 
 without bidding his sister good-by. 
 
V. 
 
 THE passion with which Clemence had 
 inspired Jacques was all the more violent 
 for having been so long resisted. And it was 
 shared by her, and with equal ardor. For a 
 time they lived apart from the world, devoted 
 exclusively to each other, wandering among 
 the flowering orange-trees of the garden, or 
 reclining among the silken cushions of the 
 Moorish salon in the smiling villa on the Men- 
 tone road. 
 
 In the evening Jacques tore himself away 
 with difficulty from the enchantress and 
 returned to Beaulieu. His mother and sister 
 saw him only for an instant in the morning 
 before he went out. And with profound sad- 
 ness Mme. de Vignes saw that the unlooked- 
 for restoration of her son to health had been 
 the signal for the resumption of the dissipated 
 life he had formerly led, and which had so nearly 
 brought him to his grave. She had ventured a 
 185 
 
1 86 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 remonstrance, which had been received with a 
 smile. Jacques, in a hurry to go, had kissed 
 his mother, assuring her that he had never felt 
 stronger in his life, which was true, and that 
 she had no cause for uneasiness. And without 
 staying further to listen to her counsels or her 
 entreaties he had taken the train for Monte 
 Carlo. 
 
 The two women were thus left entirely alone 
 and the days passed in silence and sadness. 
 
 Meantime Jacques lived under the influence 
 of the spell that had sapped the strength, intel- 
 lectual and moral, of Pierre Laurier, that had 
 degraded his character and changed the bril- 
 liant artist into the helpless being who had 
 resolved to seek relief from his misery in death. 
 
 Clemence, all the more dangerous from the 
 sincerity of her passion, loved now as she had 
 never loved before. In the fair and somewhat 
 effeminate beauty of this young man she found 
 the charm she had needed to captivate her 
 stronger nature. She dominated him com- 
 pletely, and left him not a thought nor a feeling 
 that was not inspired by her. 
 
The soul of pierre. 1S7 
 
 In the midst of this intoxication the time 
 fixed upon for the departure of the de Vignes 
 arrived, and Clemence, unable to support the 
 thought of separating from Jacques, prepared 
 to return to Paris. They left with regret this 
 enchanting country which seemed made for 
 love. But they consoled themselves by think- 
 ing that in the city they should have greater 
 facilities for enjoying each other's society with- 
 out restraint than here. 
 
 Their return to Paris produced a very differ- 
 ent effect upon Jacques from that which it pro- 
 duced upon Clemence. Jacques experienced 
 an intense joy in being once more in the city 
 he had thought at one time during his illness 
 that he should never see again. 
 
 The bustle and animation of Paris captivated 
 him. The intoxication of Parisian life had 
 taken possession of him. He had left a 
 delightful climate, he was fresh from scenes 
 that enchanted the eye, yet the cloudy sky of 
 Paris, the stone pavements of the streets had a 
 charm for him which he had not found in them, 
 and he said to himself that there was nothing 
 
1 88 THE SOUL OF PJERkE. 
 
 in the world more beautiful. He installed 
 himself again joyfully in his bachelor apart- 
 ments, and felt delightfully at home in them. 
 
 Clemence, established once more in her 
 magnificent house in the Avenue Hoche, 
 returned to the luxury and the cares of her 
 former existence. In Monte Carlo she had 
 lived like any bourgeoise. In Paris she was 
 once more the celebrated actress, whose estab- 
 lishment cost three hundred thousand francs a 
 year to support. She no longer seemed the 
 same person to Jacques. A sudden transfor- 
 mation had taken place in her. Her appear- 
 ance, her manner, her walk had entirely 
 changed. 
 
 She spoke abruptly, her glance was imper- 
 ious. Everything about her revealed the 
 woman armed for the battle of life, always on 
 her guard, lest she should be taken at a dis- 
 advantage and conquered. She showed the 
 liveliest tenderness for Jacques and repeatedly 
 assured him of her affection, but the fact of her 
 doing so showed already a diminution of his 
 influence, which gave the young man food for 
 
THE SOUL OF PlERkE, 1^9 
 
 thought. Clemence observed this feeling, and 
 tried to dissipate it. She grew gentle and cares- 
 sing, and for a time was fond and amiable as 
 before. 
 
 But the feeling of security in her affection 
 which Jacques had entertained was at an end. 
 In the little villa at Monte Carlo he might 
 have cherished the illusion that she had never 
 loved any one as she loved him. In her sump- 
 tuous house at Paris, everything spoke too 
 plainly of her past for this to be the case. A 
 feeling of disquietude took possession of him. 
 He became sombre and irritable. He was no 
 longer sure of her affection for him, and his love 
 for her increased in consequence. 
 
 They had said they would never separate, 
 and they saw less of each other than before. 
 Not by the wish of Clemence, but her existence 
 was no longer the same, and the exigencies of 
 her establishment took up her time at the 
 expense of her affection. Jacques acquired 
 the habit of visiting her only at stated times, 
 and gradually learned to set bounds to the 
 expression of his passion for her. This was 
 
t90 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 unfortunate. At Monte Carlo he would doubts 
 less soon have wearied of her. But the obsta. 
 cles his passion encountered in Paris inflamed 
 it still further instead of weakening it. 
 
 Clemence> with the keenness of observation 
 of a woman of the world, discerned at once the 
 state of his feelings. She had learned long ago 
 that security soon engenders indifference, and 
 that the sharpest spur to love is uncertainty. 
 Seeing Jacques thus uneasy and on the point 
 of becoming a jealous lover, she took a mali- 
 cious pleasure in holding him in suspense, 
 letting him hope and fear by turns. 
 
 Taciturn when he was not with Clemence, 
 Jacques caused his mother grave anxiety by 
 the languor and apathy of his manner. He 
 would spend hours stretched on the sofa in his 
 smoking-room, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, 
 smoking opium cigarettes which dulled his 
 brain, without moving, without uttering a word, 
 and seemingly lost in this species of haschisch 
 dream. His health still remained good, 
 although the fresh color he had brought with 
 him from the south had disappeared. He 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 191 
 
 grew thin, but his nervous force sustained him 
 in the life of pleasure he still continued to lead. 
 
 He went to his club every day at five, and 
 later on in the evening when he was not with 
 Clemence. He played heavily, and in the 
 beginning had extraordinary luck. He won 
 large sums at ^cart^. He thought nothing of 
 winning five hundred louis before dinner, and 
 this money, so easily obtained, he squandered 
 with superb indifference. It gave him pleasure 
 to add to the luxuries that surrounded Clem- 
 ence. He desired to heap princely gifts upon 
 her instead of the roses and violets he had 
 brought to her at Monte Carlo, and from this 
 forth his life became a hell. 
 
 His gains at 6cart^ no longer suflficed to sup- 
 ply his wants ; and baccarat seemed to offer him 
 a wider field. Play, which had at first been a 
 distraction, then a means to obtain money, 
 now became a passion. He loved it not only 
 for the money with which it supplied him, but 
 also for its excitement. He cut the cards with 
 a sublime impassivencss that masked devour- 
 ing anxiety. He would lose on a card 10,000 
 
192 THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 
 
 francs, without a change in his countenance or 
 a tremor in his voice. But he boiled inwardly, 
 and the strain on his nerves was all the greater 
 for the efforts he made to conceal it. When, 
 after a couple of hours of alternate successes 
 and reverses, fortune finally took his side, the 
 tension of his mind, excited by the desire to 
 triumph, relaxed and he fell into a delicious 
 state of beatitude. He experienced an in- 
 stant of indescribable intoxication during 
 which he forgot everything that was not 
 play. 
 
 Clemence was not long in discovering that 
 she did not reign alone in the heart of Jacques, 
 but she did not take umbrage at the presence 
 there of this victorious rival, to whom she owed 
 so large a share of her luxuries. Besides, a 
 modification had taken place in her own senti- 
 ments. The feeling to which she had yielded 
 herself completely in the solitude of the coun- 
 try was not strong enough to resist the dis- 
 tractions of Paris. She resumed her former 
 mode of life. Seeing once more her friends 
 and acquaintances, the daily round of pleas- 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 19^ 
 
 ures in which she engaged left her less time 
 than before to devote to Jacques. 
 
 And then Jacques himself, whose resistance 
 to her power at first had added to the intensity 
 of her passion for him, now, yielding to all her 
 caprices, began to weary her. From the mo- 
 ment in which she saw that he was her slave 
 he ceased to possess attractions for her. And 
 in this the actress was no worse than the gener- 
 ality of women, and the blame for what must 
 soon take place lay with Jacques. He had 
 modified, of his own accord, the conditions of 
 his intimacy with Clemence. He had ignored 
 the fundamental axiom of the philosophy of 
 love that the affection of a woman is in direct 
 proportion to the sacrifices it exacts from her. 
 Secure as she was in the possession of his love, 
 his hold upon her affections had weakened. 
 But because she no longer loved him was no 
 reason that she should give him back his 
 liberty. It was not in her nature to show such 
 generosity. She had held Laurier in her toils 
 a full year after she had ceased to care for him, 
 and it was during this time that the artist, de- 
 
194 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 graded, humiliated, and tortured, had resolved 
 to put an end to an existence which had be- 
 come intolerable to him. Jacques as yet sus- 
 pected nothing. Practised in the arts of deceit, 
 Clemence charmed him as before by the grace 
 of her smile, the sweetness of her words, the 
 tenderness of her endearments. 
 
 He now scarcely ever went to visit his 
 mother. The atmosphere of the house was 
 too gloomy for him, and inspired him with no 
 wish to return to it. His sister, although the 
 malady which was sapping her life had devel- 
 oped no recognizable symptoms, drooped more 
 and more every day — grew every day paler and 
 more fragile. But by an effort of her will she 
 succeeded in appearing cheerful, in order to 
 keep up her mother's spirits. But Mme. de 
 Vignes was not deceived, and the two women, 
 each trying to appear cheerful to the other, 
 lived in secret anguish. 
 
 The doctors had decided that the malady of 
 Juliette was anaemia. They found no organic 
 trouble, either of the heart or the lungs. They 
 saw, however, that her strength visibly de- 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 195 
 
 clined. It almost seemed as if Jacques had 
 drawn from his sister all her vitality, and given 
 her his own weakness in exchange. It was a 
 matter of no slight astonishment to the physi- 
 cians who had attended the brother the year 
 before, to see him now leading the dissipated 
 life he led, while Juliette, radiant in health last 
 spring, had grown sickly and feeble. And 
 Jacques, whom these two women had sur- 
 rounded with so much care and tenderness, 
 wearied by his mother's sadness, chilled by the 
 sorrowful smile of his sister, made his visits 
 rarer and rarer, throwing himself with desper- 
 ate ardor into his old life. 
 
 The month of June had arrived, and Clem- 
 ence wished, according to her custom, to instal 
 herself at Deauville. Selim Nufio, for some 
 years past, had placed his splendid villa every 
 summer at the actress's disposal. Jacques, who 
 viewed with displeasure the visits of the old 
 financier to Clemence, opposed the project as 
 soon as she mentioned it to him. To go to 
 the sea-shore, good ; to choose Deauville, very 
 good, also. But to accept the hospitality of 
 
19^ THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 Nufio, what for? To this question Clemence 
 responded without hesitation. 
 
 "For ten years past, my dear Jacques, Selim 
 has been my true and constant friend. Men 
 are changeable. You love me to-day ; to-mor- 
 row you may forget me. The friends on 
 whom one may depend under any circum- 
 stances are rare; their affection is not to be 
 thrown away. And then, to speak frankly, 
 Jacques, you cannot be jealous of this old 
 man? He is like a father to me. And you 
 know very well besides you have no reason to 
 be afraid of any one." 
 
 She tried to coax him out of his opposition, 
 but the young man's objections were based on 
 a solid foundation. He shook his head as he 
 listened to her, without being convinced by 
 her arguments. 
 
 "I should not like to be a visitor at M. 
 Nufio's house," he said, "for although he will 
 not reside in the villa, you will be none the less 
 his guest. Let us go back to Monte Carlo, to 
 the delightful solitude of the country, where 
 you will be free to devote all your time to me. 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 197 
 
 Here you are so taken up with your occupa- 
 tions and your friends, that I enjoy scarcely any 
 of your society. There I should have you all 
 to myself, and no one could take you away 
 from me." 
 
 He spoke with passion, and Clemence lis- 
 tened to him with a curious sensation. His 
 voice, formerly so sweet to her ears, now 
 seemed commonplace and failed to awaken any 
 emotion within her. His hands, which clasped 
 hers, no longer sent a thrill through her. She 
 saw in him only a fair, handsome young man 
 whose exactions began to weary her. To his 
 importunities she responded with a smile which 
 Jacques took as a presage of victory and a 
 proof of her affection. She, however, knew 
 that the flame was extinguished and that noth- 
 ing could relight it. Scarcely four months 
 had passed and the sentiment with which he 
 had inspired her was dead forever. 
 
 Her thoughts went back to the night of the 
 veglione when they had first met. How vivid 
 the emotion she had experienced then ! And 
 now how weary and indifferent she felt, He 
 
ipS THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 was still under the influence of his passion, but 
 as for her, her infatuation for him was at an 
 end. 
 
 While he clasped her hands she was saying 
 to herself: 
 
 **No, no, it is over. He adores me and I am 
 v/eary of him. Am I never then to find a man 
 who will refuse to acknowledge my power, or 
 to whom I could prove constant." 
 
 She rose from the sofa where she had been 
 sitting beside Jacques, and leaning against the 
 chimney-piece with a thoughtful air, said : 
 
 "Very well, then, be it as you wish. Any other 
 house will do as well, provided only it be large, 
 well situated, and have good stables for the 
 horses, for I shall take all my establishment 
 with me. But I must tell you beforehand 
 that Nufio shall visit me there with as much 
 freedom as anywhere else, for I have no inten- 
 tion of breaking off with my friends, nor of 
 living in seclusion." 
 
 "And has such an idea ever occurred to me?" 
 protested Jacques. . "Have I not confidence 
 in you?" 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 199 
 
 Clemence looked at him in silence for a 
 moment, and a fugitive smile crossed her lips; 
 then she said slowly : 
 
 "You are right to have confidence in me : if 
 you mistrusted me it would not make the 
 slightest difference !** 
 
 The evening was warm and fine. They went 
 together to dine at the "Ambassadors." At 
 eleven, Clemence, who was cross and com- 
 plained of not feeling well, sent Jacques away. 
 Irritated, he went to the club, and as a game at 
 baccarat was going on, he took the bank and 
 proceeded to deal the cards. Curious contra- 
 diction : fortunate at cards so long as he had 
 been fortunate in love, the very hour in which 
 Clemence discovered that she no longer loved 
 him seemed to be the turning-point in his luck 
 also. Fortune suddenly withdrew her favor, 
 and when he left the club he was a loser to the 
 amount of three thousand louis. 
 
 He had won so much during the past few 
 months that he attached but little importance 
 to these reverses, which he looked upon as 
 accidental. He was only all the more eager to 
 
206 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 have his revenge; but he lost more heavily 
 than before. He could not believe that his ill- 
 luck was going to continue, and he obstinately 
 persisted in his efforts to retrieve his ill- 
 fortune, but with ever worse results. 
 
 The house at Trouville was hired, and as 
 Clemence was ready to leave Paris he deter- 
 mined at last to cut short this continued run 
 of ill-luck, and they set out for the Norman 
 coast. 
 
 There they continued the same life as at 
 Paris, only seeing more of each other, which 
 augmented the coldness of Clemence, forced 
 as she was to make the effort to appear agree- 
 able to a man who now wearied her. She 
 revenged herself by employing her ingenuity in 
 devising ways to make him spend money. At 
 this time Jacques, his means of supply being 
 cut off, was obliged to draw upon the fund he 
 had in reserve. The difficulties of the situa- 
 tion seemed to excite him, and he had never 
 loved Clemence as much as now, when she was 
 beginning to tire of him. 
 
 The establishment of Clemence was main- 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 201 
 
 tained on a large scale and the excursions she 
 was daily getting up were the talk of the place. 
 
 Parties, composed of the young people of 
 Trouville, were constantly to be seen dashing 
 alonp- the Honfleur or Villers road. The house 
 on such days was empty and there was not a 
 horse to be had in the whole place. The 
 women of the party went in carriages, and 
 they all stopped to breakfast at one of the 
 pretty and excellent inns on the road. Amid 
 clouds of dust raised by the horses* feet, and 
 under the brilliant sunshine, the cavaliers dis- 
 mounting helped the women to descend from 
 the coaches, in the midst of joyful cries and 
 bursts of laughter, the villagers standing 
 motionless in their doorways in open-mouthed 
 wonder at the vision of gay costumes and little 
 feet that flew rapidly past. 
 
 At other times they would take the steam 
 yacht of Baron Tr^sorier and sail along a placid 
 sea to Fecamp or Cherbourg. In the evening 
 all the gay party would assemble in the Casino 
 of Trouville, and dance till midnight. Then 
 they would return home, weary of the pleasures 
 
2®2 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 of the day, and an hour later, the men of the 
 party would meet again at the club and spend 
 the rest of the night, till day dawned, at cards. 
 Jacques, with stern but impassive countenance, 
 played with persistent ill-luck, and saw the last 
 remnant of his little fortune disappearing by 
 degrees. He was not discouraged, however, 
 and with incomprehensible faith in his luck 
 awaited its return. Fortune, he said to him- 
 self, could not always prove faithless to him, 
 and a few nights' winnings would retrieve his 
 losses. A method of reasoning common with 
 all gamblers ; a confidence common to all losers, 
 which is seldom justified by the event. 
 
 One evening when he had been playing with 
 his habitual ill-luck, the bank being put up for 
 bids, he heard a voice which he recognized 
 utter the sacred words : "The bank is open 
 for play." He raised his eyes, and, separated 
 from him only by the length of the table, he saw 
 Patrizzi before him. His glance encountered 
 that of the Prince, who gave him a friendly 
 smile. At the same moment a man who had 
 been standing behind the Neapolitan emerged 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. iO^ 
 
 from the group, and Jacques, with a horrible 
 tightening of the heart, recognized Dr. Davi- 
 doff. 
 
 The young man stood rooted to the spot. 
 A cold perspiration broke out on his forehead, 
 and he heard a buzzing sound in his ears. It 
 seemed to him as if the ghastly image of death 
 had risen up before him. He was still motion- 
 less, without the power to advance or retreat, 
 fascinated by the mocking glance of the Rus- 
 sian, when Patrizzi coming behiiid him laid 
 his hand upon his shoulder. Ja':ques turned 
 round with an effort, and with a haggard look 
 gave his attention to the Prince, who was 
 speaking to him. He hardly understood what 
 the Neapolitan was saying, but the thought 
 that he was being observed, and that his man- 
 ner must awaken surprise, restored to him his 
 strength in a measure ; he passed his hand over 
 his forehead and made the effort to say to 
 Patrizzi : 
 
 "Have you been here long?" 
 
 "About a quarter of an hour," the Prince 
 answered. "Davidoff and I came in just as 
 
264 THE SOUL OP PIERRE, 
 
 your bank was being most vigorously attacked. 
 Those Englishmen have made some rude 
 assaults upon you, my dear friend." 
 
 "I am not very lucky just now," stammered 
 Jacques. 
 
 "That is what those gentlemen were just 
 saying. But excuse me, they are waiting for 
 me to deal. I am going to try to avenge you. 
 Stay, here is Davidoff." 
 
 He took his place on the high chair, shuffled 
 the cards, and when they were cut, began the 
 game. Davidoff withdrew slowly from the 
 group of which he formed a part and advanced 
 toward Jacques. As he did so he examined 
 the latter attentively. When he was close 
 beside him he took his outstretched hand in 
 his rather like a physician than a friend. He 
 felt his pulse, and shaking his head, said : 
 
 "You are feverish, Jacques: the life you are 
 leading is bad for you." 
 
 These words of warning, uttered by the 
 doctor, broke the spell which had held the 
 young man. He no longer saw in Davidoff 
 the mysterious personage, possessor of the 
 
THE SOUL OF PlEkRE. 265 
 
 secret by means of which life had been restored 
 to his exhausted body, but a man like other 
 men. He recovered his self-possession and 
 said gayly: 
 
 "It would be bad for anybody. Yet as you 
 see, it does not affect me greatly. But it is 
 excessively warm here. Shall we go out into 
 the air?" 
 
 He took his overcoat, and linking his arm 
 through Davidoff's they went out on the ter- 
 race. The night was a lovely one. The sky 
 sparkled with stars. The waves died away 
 noiselessly on the beach. To the north the 
 lights of Havre shone in the distance. A pro- 
 found calm reigned around. The two men 
 walked for a few moments without speaking, 
 turning over in their minds the events in which 
 they had taken a part, and which bound them 
 so strongly together. They had a thousand 
 questions to ask each other. But the fear of 
 saying too much made them hesitate about 
 asking them. Jacques was the first to speak. 
 
 "You have just arrived in Trouville?" he 
 asked the doctor with affected indifference. 
 
2o6 THE SOUL OP PIERRE. 
 
 **The yacht of Count Woreseff, v/hose guest 
 I am," answered the doctor, "arrived in port at 
 about five this afternoon. We dined at the 
 'Roches Noires.' As the Count was tired, he 
 remained on board, and Patrizzi and I came 
 here to the Casino, where I knew we should 
 find you." 
 
 **Ah, you have been hearing about me, 
 then?" 
 
 "That you have been here for the last three 
 weeks with Clemence Villa, that you play 
 heavily, but with persistent ill-luck, and that 
 your health is good — this is what I have been 
 hearing about you." 
 
 Jacques frowned. "And you have heard 
 the truth," he said. 
 
 "Is this, then, the use you make of your 
 recovered health?" asked the doctor gently. 
 "Oh, you know I do not wish to pose as a 
 moralist or a preacher! You know that if I 
 speak thus it is because I take a friendly 
 interest in you. Clemence Villa! This is the 
 woman in whose train 1 find you. And it is 
 for her you play so desperately. Come, my 
 
THE SOUL eP PIERRE, 207 
 
 dear friend, are you sure you are in your 
 senses?" 
 
 "I am sure I am madly in love with her!** 
 returned Jacques in a stifled voice. "But I am 
 not sure that it is in my power to avoid 
 being so.** 
 
 He fixed a troubled glance upon the doctor. 
 
 "I must not give myself time for reflection," 
 he resumed, "for if I did I should easily ar- 
 rive at the conviction that my existence was 
 fraught with danger to others and to myself. 
 No, no, I must not reflect. And the life you 
 reproach me with leading is the only one that 
 I can endure.'* 
 
 "But you are not strong enough to stand it,** 
 said Davidoff ; "it will kill you.*' 
 
 Jacques laughed nervously. 
 
 "Do you think so?" he said. "Does it de- 
 pend upon me to give it up? Am I not pushed 
 on by a sort of fatality?" 
 
 "Take care," said the doctor with severity. 
 "This way of reasoning, which would relieve 
 you from a personal' responsibility in your 
 actions, might serve as an excuse for a great 
 
2o8 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 many errors. You feared you were going to 
 die and you are still alive — this is what is cer- 
 tain. Do not attribute this to any super- 
 natural cause. You are cured of the malady 
 from which you suffered. Are you the first to 
 be cured of an apparently fatal disease? It 
 was I who attended you ; give me the credit of 
 your cure, and do not put any faith in Pytha- 
 gorean fancies that would make a child laugh." 
 
 "Did you laugh at them that night at 
 Monte Carlo when you told us that story?" 
 
 "Eh! did I say I believed in what I was tell- 
 ing you? After an excellent dinner spiritual- 
 ism was brought on the tapis, and the transmi- 
 gration of souls discussed in all its bearings. I 
 took my part in the discussion, but if you wish 
 to know my real opinion in the matter, I am a 
 materialist. Consequently I cannot admit that 
 a body is animated by an element of which I 
 do not acknowledge the existence." 
 
 "How then was I saved from death?" asked 
 Jacques with a trembling voice. 
 
 "You were saved because the disease you 
 were suffering from took a favorable turn and 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 209 
 
 the abscess in your lung was healed, thanks to 
 the treatment you followed, aided by the salu- 
 tary influence of the climate. What do you 
 see miraculous in that? Every year cures 
 equally wonderful occur, without their sub- 
 jects suffering on that account any mysterious 
 disturbance of mind." 
 
 They had stopped at the edge of the water, 
 which gleamed in the moon*s rays like silver. 
 Jacques was silent for a moment ; then, as if he 
 wished to cast off a weight that was pressing 
 the life out of him, he said : 
 
 "And Pierre Laurier?" 
 
 "Pierre Laurier had lost his senses,** re- 
 sponded Davidoff in a grave voice, "and you 
 know what made him lose them. Jacques, I 
 wish I could restore you to yourself, and show 
 you how fatal is the life you are leading, and 
 what is the true character of the woman for 
 whom you sacrifice everything.'* 
 
 "Be silent!" cried Jacques with violence. 
 "I cannot permit you to speak of her in this 
 way before me.*' 
 
 "On the night of Laurier's disappearance,** 
 
2IO THE SOUL OF PIRRR^:, 
 
 continued the Russian physician, **he it was, 
 not I, who launched out in abuse of Clemence. 
 He cursed her. Yet he returned to her. — 
 Come, Jacques, be reasonable for an instant, 
 and see things as they are. What I said to 
 Pierre on that fatal night, standing on the sea- 
 shore, as we are standing now, under a starry 
 sky and on a night like this, I repeat to you. 
 He answered me that it was no use, that he 
 had not the strength to follow my advice. He 
 left me, and I never saw him again. But at 
 least he was alone in the world. You have a 
 mother, a sister, — think of them. Do you wish 
 to make them wretched?" 
 
 "I make them wretched already, Davidoff," 
 answered Jacques with anguish. "I cause 
 them many anxieties, many cares, many tor- 
 ments. They are very unhappy, and through 
 my fault. Oh, I know how culpable I am, and 
 I am all the more so because they are so gentle 
 and resigned. You have not seen my sister 
 since your return. It will frighten you to see 
 how feeble and dejected she is. None of the 
 doctors have been able to discover the cause of 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 her malady. But my mother and I know what 
 it is. You, too, may have guessed it. The 
 wound from which she is suffering, and which 
 will finally kill her, is in the heart. She loved 
 Pierre Laurier, and she cannot be consoled for 
 his death. She confessed it to me before we 
 returned to Paris. And I, wretch that I am, 
 received the avowal of her hopeless passion 
 with distrust, almost with hatred. It seemed 
 to me as if she reproached me with the death 
 of him she mourned, and I turned away with 
 irritation from the poor child, instead of con- 
 soling her and mingling my tears with hers. I 
 felt the life of Laurier flow in my veins ; he 
 had bequeathed it to me ; it belonged to me. 
 I had passed so recently through the anguish 
 of sickness, I was so impressed with the horror 
 of death, that I think I would have committed 
 murder in defense of the life so miraculously 
 saved. And I threw myself like a madman 
 into a life of pleasure to silence my reason, to 
 make my conscience dumb. But I am a cow- 
 ard, — yes, a coward. And the life I lead is 
 the proof of it ! Davidoff, if I had but the 
 
212 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 power to recall Laurier to life ! It would be 
 the salvation of poor Juliette — who knows, 
 perhaps mine also. Yes, if I saw Laurier 
 alive, I should recover confidence in my own 
 strength, and I should cease to believe in the 
 supernatural aid which, whatever you may 
 think, has sustained me up to the present. I 
 should then have the proof that I could live as 
 others live. Or if not, the slender flame of life 
 would be extinguished, and then I should 
 enjoy rest, tranquillity, oblivion. Ah, it would 
 be delightful ! For I am weary of it all; — yes, 
 weary !" 
 
 Jacques heaved a sigh, and his head sank 
 upon his breast. A shudder ran through him, 
 and his forehead was bathed in perspiration. 
 The Russian observed him with compassionate 
 attention. 
 
 "You are ill, Jacques," he said. "The sea- 
 breeze is chilly; you must not stay here." 
 
 "What does it matter?" answered the young 
 man with indifference. "Neither the cold nor 
 the heat can affect me. I feel a great relief'at 
 having told you what you have just heard. I 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 213 
 
 am a poor creature, and for a long time past I 
 have been the victim of evil influences, which I 
 do not know how to overcome.'* 
 
 "Very well, then, if you are aware of your 
 fault do not persist in it. You told' me a 
 moment since that your mother is unhappy 
 and your sister ill on your account. Let 
 us leave this place to-morrow, and return to 
 Paris. Let us go to them. You will console 
 your mother and I will take care of your 
 sister. Your presence will do them both 
 good — not to speak of the benefit you yourself 
 will derive from your visit. After your act of 
 confession, make an act of reparation! Are 
 you a man, and do you wish to behave like a 
 man?" 
 
 Jacques seemed disturbed by the plainness 
 of the doctor's proposition. His features were 
 contracted. The sole thought of leaving Clem- 
 ence agitated him, afraid as he was of the 
 way in which she should spend her time during 
 his absence. 
 
 "Is it then necessary that we should go to- 
 morrow?" he said. "Can we not defer our 
 
214 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 departure for a few days? I want time to get 
 ready." 
 
 "No!" replied Davidoff, brusquely. "If we 
 put it off you will not go. To-morrow, or I 
 will never again speak to you, or recognize you 
 as a friend." 
 
 As the young man still hesitated, — 
 
 "Why do you hesitate?" he asked. "Are 
 you not a free agent, or must you ask permis- 
 sion to go away? Has it come to that? That 
 would be worse than I had supposed." 
 
 "You are mistaken," cried Jacques, "and I 
 will give you the proof of it. Till to-morrow, 
 then." 
 
 "Without fail? Without any putting off or 
 making excuses?" 
 
 "Count upon me." 
 
 "Very well. Let us retire, then, so as to be 
 ready for the morning." 
 
 They passed through the Casino out into the 
 air. Before the railing a carriage was in atten- 
 dance. They awakened the coachman, who 
 was fast asleep upon his seat, and entered the 
 vehicle after Jacques had given orders to stop 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 21^ 
 
 at the entrance to the town. They rolled 
 slowly through the sleeping streets. They 
 were both silent, meditating on the engage- 
 ment they had just made. The stopping of 
 the carriage drew them from their reflections. 
 They were now on the quay before the harbor. 
 A hundred yards away, fastened by a cable to 
 the land, the beautiful white yacht lay at 
 anchor. The doctor alighted frorh the car- 
 riage, and once more pressing Jacques's hand 
 in his, as if to give him strength, said : 
 
 "Courage ! Good-night. I will call for you 
 in the morning — it is on my way." 
 
 "No, no," said Jacques quickly. "Spare 
 yourself the trouble; we will meet at the 
 station." 
 
 "Be it so — an hour, then, before the train 
 starts we will dine together at the buffet." 
 
 They separated, and the carriage drove off in 
 the direction of Deauville. The doctor, cross- 
 ing to the yacht, sprang on board. 
 
 Toward nine o'clock in the morning Davidoff 
 was wakened from his sleep by a hand laid 
 upon his shoulder. He opened his eyes: 
 
2i6 THE SOUL OF PIEkRB, 
 
 Count Woreseff stood before him. Through 
 the porthole of the cabin could be seen the 
 blue sky, and the rays of the sun, reflected 
 from the undulating surface of the water, 
 played capriciously on the maplewood parti- 
 tion. 
 
 **You have slept soundly this morning," said 
 the Russian nobleman with a smile. "This 
 is the second time I have tried to waken 
 you." 
 
 "What is the matter, my dear Count? Is 
 any one ill on board?" cried the doctor. 
 
 "Happily, no. I only wanted to know what 
 your plans for the day were, before giving my 
 orders. I have a fancy to go to Cherbourg. 
 Would you like to go?" 
 
 "Excuse me, my dear Count," answered the 
 doctor, "but I am going to Paris for a few days, 
 if you have no objection to interpose." 
 
 "None whatever. Please yourself. But you 
 see how right I was in speaking to you. What 
 would you have said if we were out at sea 
 when you awoke?" 
 
 "You do not know how serious the conse- 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 217 
 
 quences might have been if such a thing had 
 happened," answered Davidoff. 
 
 **Well, get up. When I have set you on 
 shore I shall put out to sea, and on your return 
 here you will find me in the same place. But 
 what takes you to Paris, where it is so warm, 
 when it is so delightfully cool here?" 
 
 "A love-affair," responded the doctor seri- 
 ously. **A poor young man whom I am trying 
 to separate from a coquette, who — " 
 
 "Say at once a woman," interrupted the 
 Count; **that will be shorter and express the 
 same thing. My dear fellow, trust a man 
 who has been made frightfully unhappy by 
 them, there is only one system to adopt 
 with women, — that which the Orientals have 
 adopted — slavery pure and simple. Tell your 
 friend this from me." 
 
 "To tell it to him is easy enough : the diffi- 
 culty is to make him believe it. He has 
 indeed arrived at your system of slavery, only 
 it is he who is the slave !" 
 
 "Poor devil! — Good luck to you, then, 
 Davidof!." 
 
2l8 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 The Count lighted a cigarette, pressed his 
 friend's hand, and left the cabin. An hour 
 later the yacht was steaming out to sea. 
 
 On reaching the railway station the doctor 
 found it vacant. The train was not to leave 
 for some time yet. He went into the waiting- 
 room ; there was no one there. In the dining- 
 room the woman at the desk was yawning over 
 yesterday's paper. A commercial traveler, his 
 box of samples on the floor beside him, was 
 taking an appetizer. Davidoff went out and 
 walked slowly in the sunshine, looking around 
 to see if Jacques were coming. At the end of 
 twenty minutes he grew impatient, and walked 
 in the direction of Clemence's house at Deau- 
 ville. As he went on he thought to himself: 
 
 "What does this delay mean? Has he given 
 up the thought of accompanying me? What 
 new idea has taken possession of him? Yet he 
 appeared to be in earnest yesterday. But he 
 has seen that accursed woman again, and all his 
 good resolutions have vanished. Who knows? 
 perhaps he has told her of our interview, mak- 
 ing a merit of his treachery. In the state 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 219 
 
 of impatience in which he is, anything is 
 possible." 
 
 The doctor, thus soliloquizing, had now 
 reached the house. He raised his eyes to the 
 windows. They were wide open. In the 
 courtyard a groom was washing a victoria, 
 rapidly turning round the wheels, whose wet 
 spokes sparkled in the sunlight. 
 
 "I must know, in any case, what to count 
 upon," he said. 
 
 And he deliberately mounted the steps lead- 
 ing to the terrace, and entered the hall. 
 
 A servant came toward him. 
 
 **M. Jacques de Vignes?" the doctor asked. 
 
 "M. de Vignes is not here," answered the 
 servant. 
 
 "Is he expected to return?" 
 
 "I do not know." 
 
 "Is Mme. Villa at home?" 
 
 "Madame is in the conservatory." 
 
 "Give her this card and ask her if she will 
 receive me." 
 
 The servant withdrew. The doctor took a 
 few steps in the hall, letting his gaze dwell 
 
526 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 absently on the furniture of sculptured oak, 
 the jardinieres filled with flowers, the faience 
 plaques fastened to the walls, and the large 
 Chinese porcelain jar filled with parasols of 
 various colors and with canes of different kinds 
 of woods. "Clemence may give me a useful 
 hint," he was saying to himself. "I am going 
 to beard the lion in his den. Bah ! I am not 
 afraid of her. She devours only those who are 
 willing to be her prey." 
 
 A portiere was drawn aside and the servant 
 reappeared. 
 
 "If Monsieur will follow me — " he said. 
 
 They crossed a drawing-room and a boudoir, 
 and stopped before a glass door that led into 
 the conservatory. The servant stepped aside 
 to allow Davidoff to pass. Along a little path, 
 bordered with lycopods, which wound among 
 palm trees, dates, and acacias, Clemence, 
 dressed in a rose-colored foulard silk, fastened 
 around the waist by a girdle of chased 
 silver set with garnets, a little watering-pot 
 in her hand, advanced smilingly to meet 
 him. 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 42 1 
 
   \ 
 
 "Good-day, doctor," she said. "What happy 
 
 chance brings you here?" 
 
 With a graceful gesture she showed him her 
 hand, blackened with earth, and continued 
 gayly: 
 
 "I am the physician of the flowers. I was 
 just holding a consultation respecting these 
 plants." 
 
 "Are they doing well?" 
 
 "Not so badly, thanks.'* 
 
 She showed him her watering-pot. "I have 
 just been giving them some tisane," she 
 added. "But to what am I indebted for the 
 pleasure of your visit?" 
 
 "May I not have come simply to see you?" 
 
 She looked at him coldly. 
 
 "You are very amiable. I am obliged for 
 your politeness, but I know you. You are not 
 a lady's man. If you come to see me it is be- 
 cause you have some serious reason for it." 
 
 "Well, then, I have a reason. I had an 
 appointment with Jacques this morning, which 
 he failed to keep. I feared he might be 
 ill—" 
 
222 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 "Ah !" interrupted Clemence, with a thought- 
 ful air. 
 
 She went toward a little bridge on which 
 were an iron table and some chairs, and seating 
 herself, said: 
 
 "111! He is so indeed!*' 
 
 And tapping her forehead with her finger, 
 "111 here, especially," she added. 
 
 As Davidoff remained silent, curious to learn 
 the secret of this friendship which he deemed 
 perilous to Jacques, she resumed : 
 
 "He made a terrible scene, this morning, 
 without any reason whatever. A scrap of a 
 letter, which he saw lying on my table, was the 
 cause of it all. As if I could not have con- 
 cealed it if I had wished. But he was in a jeal- 
 ous mood. He scolded, he threatened, he 
 wept. Yes, he wept. What stupidity! A 
 man who weeps does not move me at all. He 
 only makes me think him ridiculous." 
 
 "You do not love him, then?" 
 
 "I do not love him as I did six months ago. 
 Such an affection is delightful, but of course 
 it cannot last." 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 22$ 
 
 "Oh, I know you are a practical woman.** 
 
 "You say that as a sarcasm. I accept it as 
 a compliment. Yes, I am a practical woman, 
 and I am proud of it. Jacques has behaved 
 very well toward me, but he gambles, and for 
 some time past he has been losing. This sours 
 his temper. He torments me, and he torments 
 himself. Why should I bear this, I ask you? 
 If I were tired of him, could I not show him 
 the door? If he is tired of me, can he not 
 remain away? But in that case let us do so 
 decently and without making a scene.'* 
 
 "Would it not be well to tell him so?** 
 
 "If you wish." 
 
 "But where can I see him?" 
 
 "Here.** 
 
 "He had not left the house, then, as the 
 servant told me?** 
 
 "Not at all. Go and give him a lecture.** 
 
 "I came here for that purpose." 
 
 "Then you are doubly welcome. Do you 
 wish me to take you to him?" 
 
 "It would be very amiable on your part to 
 do so." 
 
224 THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 
 
 She rose with a laugh, and said : 
 
 "Ah, there is no one like me for amiability !** 
 
 "That is what they tell me." 
 
 "They are very indiscreet." 
 
 "And why so? That is the way good repu 
 tations are established." 
 
 They crossed the drawing-room. 
 
 "You are with Woreseff on his yacht?** she 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes.** 
 
 "Does he still play the r61e of Sultan, the 
 dear Count? 
 
 "Still." 
 
 "There is a man who knows how to live." 
 
 "Perfectly." 
 
 They had reached the first landing. She 
 stopped, and pointing to a door, — 
 
 "Jacques is in there," she said. 
 
 The actress, standing here in her rose- 
 colored gown, with her fresh complexion and 
 her brilliant eyes, the light falling on her from 
 a window that overlooked the sea, was so beau- 
 tiful that DavidofT paused an instant to look at 
 her. He could understand the irresistible spell 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 22^ 
 
 wielded by this fascinating and feline creature. 
 He could understand the pleasure a man might 
 feel in allowing himself to be torn by these 
 polished, sharp, and delicate claws. In her he 
 saw the sphynx who devours those who are 
 bold enough to attempt to solve the eternal 
 riddle she propounded. His eyes expressed 
 his thoughts so clearly that Clemence said with 
 a smile : 
 
 "What would you have? One must protect 
 one's-self.** 
 
 And she ran lightly downstairs. Davidoff 
 knocked, and a voice responded, "Come in." 
 
 He turned the knob and opened the door, 
 and beside the open window, buried in the 
 depths of a large sofa, he saw Jacques, his eyes 
 hollow, his lips livid. As he recognized the 
 doctor the young man grew a shade paler and 
 his brow clouded. He rose, and going toward 
 his visitor slowly stretched out his hand. 
 
 "You are angry with me," he said. 
 
 "A little." 
 
 "Only a little? I do not deserve so much 
 indulgence. I told you last night that I was a 
 
^26 THE SOUL 0F PtERRE. 
 
 coward. Well, you have received the proof 
 of it soon enough." 
 
 He spoke through his clinched teeth, with a 
 slight contraction of the features. Davidoff, 
 whom he inspired with pity, sat down beside 
 him and said affectionately : 
 
 "What has happened since we parted to pre- 
 vent you keeping your engagement with me? 
 It ought to have been a pleasant one to keep." 
 
 "Can anything be pleasant to me?" res- 
 ponded Jacques, in a low voice. "All that I 
 do is hateful and miserable. An evil spirit 
 has taken possession of me, and inspires me 
 with the most fatal thoughts." 
 
 "Resist it," returned the doctor. "You 
 allowed yourself to yield to my influence a 
 few hours ago; do so again. Take your hat 
 and overcoat and follow me. There is still 
 time." 
 
 "No," answered Jacques, with determina- 
 tion. "I shall not leave this." 
 
 "What Clemence has told me, then, is true?" 
 
 "Ah, you have seen her? And she com- 
 plained of me, did she not? The wretch! It 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 227 
 
 is she who is the cause of all my misery. Yes, 
 she is destroying me, she is killing me. It 
 would be impossible to conceive what she 
 makes me suffer. I know not what madness 
 she has inspired me with. Can you under- 
 stand that I should be jealous of her? This 
 morning we had a frightful scene. She for- 
 bade me the house, and I am here still ! I am 
 here still! And why? Because I cannot live 
 without her. Because I would sue for her 
 smiles on my knees if it were necessary !" 
 
 "Make the effort to keep away from her for 
 a few days." 
 
 "No, no, that would be impossible. What a 
 void in my existence if she should pass out of 
 it. No ! I have sacrificed everything for this 
 woman. I have made everything yield to my 
 love for her. To ^vw^ her up now would be to 
 end everything." 
 
 He buried his face in his hands and was 
 silent for a few moments ; then in an accent of 
 desperation : 
 
 "When I am at the end of my resources," he 
 said, "then I will see her no more. Ah, that 
 
2 28 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. ' 
 
 day is not far off, for luck is against me. But I 
 keep on playing although I know perfectly well 
 what the end must be. You see it is not easy 
 to preach to me, for I am beforehand with you. 
 Abandon me to my fate, my friend. I am 
 not worth the efforts you would make to 
 save me." 
 
 Davidoff had listened to Jacques's words with 
 a pang at his heart, studying with mingled 
 curiosity and compassion this pitiable form of 
 insanity. He was familiar with the feeling 
 which had led so many men to madness or 
 suicide. He knew it was made up of the 
 intoxication of the senses, the exasperation of 
 wounded vanity, and a sort of mysterious terror 
 which takes possession of those who, habituated 
 to the tumult of a feverish existence, see them- 
 selves condemned suddenly to a life of isola- 
 tion and silence. The transition was like pass- 
 ing from the gayety of a ball-room to the still- 
 ness of a Trappist monastery Only a strong 
 soul and a steady head could bear it with 
 calmness. 
 
 "Conie with me," ^^id the doctor to Jacqueg. 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 229 
 
 "I give you my word that I will not quit you 
 until you are cured, mentally and physically." 
 
 Jacques burst into a fit of nervous laughter 
 that sounded harsh and painful in the doctor's 
 ears. 
 
 "No, no, abandon me to my fate," he cried. 
 "I do not want to be cured ! I am already 
 sentenced, and nothing can change the decrees 
 of fate. I have lived only for happiness. 
 Anguish and misery are my doom!" 
 
 He lowered his voice as if with sudden 
 terror. 
 
 **You know well it is not I who act, who 
 speak, who suffer, and who complain. There 
 is another within me who is leading me on to 
 my fate. Even if I wished to stop myself I 
 could not do so. Ah, I feel this implacable 
 soul agitating itself furiously. It is jealous I 
 It takes vengeance of me on myself. So long 
 as it inhabits my body I must suffer. On the 
 day on which I shall be delivered from it — " 
 
 DavidofT interrupted Jacques with a quick 
 gesture; he knitted his brow and was on the 
 point of saying: "Yoq ar^ ma4! Laqrier hH3 
 
2$0 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 disappeared, it is true, but Laurier is still alive. 
 I humored your fancy because I had a convic- 
 tion that only faith would give you back the 
 strength to live. But since you have reached 
 such a state of hallucination as to make your 
 recovered health the cause of your ruin, it is 
 my duty to declare the truth to you." 
 
 One thought, however, made him pause. 
 "He will not believe me!" he said to himself. 
 **I must show him his friend restored to 
 mental health in order to prove to him that he 
 himself may recover his sanity." He turned 
 toward the young man and said very gently : 
 
 "Since you do not wish to accompany me to 
 Paris I will go alone, then. I shall see your 
 mother and sister there." 
 
 A shadow passed over Jacques*s face, and his 
 eyes shone as if moist with tears. 
 
 "Thanks," he said in a choking voice; "try 
 to make them forgive me the evil I have 
 done them. They are so good, so affection- 
 ate!" 
 
 He rose, and a quick shudder passed through 
 his frame. 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 231 
 
 "Oh, I am a wretch !" he cried. "It would 
 be better for me to be dead !" 
 
 At this moment the sound of a clear voice 
 calling "Jacques!" in the garden below, was 
 heard. 
 
 He advanced hastily to the window. Clem- 
 ence was gathering roses. She saw him, and 
 cried gayly : 
 
 "Well, is your sulking over? The air is 
 delightful. Come down, and we will go to 
 Villers to breakfast." 
 
 Jacques turned to Davidoff, and cried in 
 agitation : 
 
 "She calls me, you see. She is waiting for 
 me. She is not so bad as I said. She has 
 terrible moments, it is true, but at heart she 
 loves me. Come, my friend." 
 
 He drew Davidoff toward the stairs. They 
 went down into the hall. There Jacques 
 pressed the doctor's hand tightly, and as if 
 impatient to be alone with Clemence said : 
 
 "Adieu. Once more, pardon me. Reassure 
 my mother and cure my sister — Ah, that above 
 all! Poor child! Adieu." 
 
^3* THE SOUL OF PlERkE. 
 
 And with rapid steps he hurried toward 
 the garden where his pitiless tyrant awaited 
 him. Davidoff, already in the street, strode 
 quickly away. 
 
 Through an opening to the shore he caught a 
 glimpse of the yacht, which was steaming out to 
 sea, leaving in its wake a trail of black smoke. 
 
 "I am free," he cried ; "let me profit by it." 
 
 He went to the telegraph office, took a sheet 
 of paper, and standing at the desk wrote these 
 words : 
 
 "Pierre Laurier, Care of Monsieur le Curi 
 de Torrevecchio, Corsica : 
 ^'Return at once. Your presence has be- 
 come indispensable. When you arrive here 
 wait for nothing, but join me immediately at 
 the Grand Hotel. Davidoff." 
 
 He gave the telegram to the clerk, paid ioi 
 it, and went out murmuring: 
 
 *Tf I do not succeed in saving the brother, I 
 shall at least try to save the sister." And he 
 took the train for Paris. 
 
VI. 
 
 DAVIDOFF'S telegram was delivered to 
 Pierre Laurier on the very day of Agos- 
 tino's marriage with the daughter of a well-to- 
 do farmer of San Pellegrino. The young sailor 
 had prospered in his trading expeditions to the 
 Mediterranean ports, and he brought a fortune 
 of six thousand francs to his bride. The lat- 
 ter, a rosy brunette of sixteen from the moun- 
 tains, had a house and some olive groves of her 
 own. The young people had loved each other 
 for a year past, and on the understanding that 
 Agostino was to give up his seafaring life the 
 marriage had now been celebrated. 
 
 On emerging from the church of San Pelle- 
 grino the newly-married pair were greeted by 
 a succession of shots fired in their honor. One 
 might have thought from the noise that the 
 villagers were engaged in a vendetta and were 
 trying to exterminate each other; vivas broke 
 forth from the guests. Every face beamed 
 233 
 
234 THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 
 
 with joy, and the bright sunshine, the heat and 
 the smell of the powder seemed to produce a 
 general feeling of intoxication. 
 
 Pierre, giving his arm to the little Marietta, 
 whose companion he had been in the church, 
 followed with delighted eyes every detail of 
 the animated and novel scene, dreaming 
 already of the beautiful picture he would paint 
 of it, and which has since become so famous 
 under the title of "A Corsican Marriage." 
 
 His heart was at peace, and his mind had re- 
 covered its balance. Not a shadow darkened 
 his soul. He was completely absorbed in the 
 contemplation of the happiness of these people 
 whom he loved, and in the simplicity and tran- 
 quillity of whose patriarchal life he had been able 
 to forget his unworthy passion and to regain 
 the dignity of his manhood. The wedding 
 guests now proceeded to the house of the 
 bride's father, there to partake of the banquet 
 set forth in honor of the newly-married pair. 
 As they assembled in tlie grounds, a little boy, 
 who served the good cur6 of Torrevecchio as 
 an acolyte, pushed through the crowd and run- 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 235 
 
 ning up to the venerable priest, handed him 
 a blue envelope which had just been left at 
 the vicarage. To cover the distance between 
 Torrevecchio and San Pellegrino, the little fel- 
 low, with his mountaineer's legs, had taken 
 only an hour. He arrived breathless, his face 
 covered with dust and perspiration. 
 
 The cur^ read the address on the envelope 
 and then handed it to Pierre, saying affection- 
 ately : 
 
 "Here, my dear child, this is for you." 
 
 A group had already formed around the 
 young man, who, with clouded brow and lips 
 tightly drawn, held within his fingers the des- 
 patch he had received, without power to open it. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Agostino anxiously. 
 
 "That blue paper," said the boy, "which was 
 brought a little while ago from Bastia by the 
 postman. He made a special trip with it as it 
 seemed to be urgent, so Maddalena, the ser- 
 vant of M. le Cur^, said to me, *Run Hke a 
 flash ; do not stop until you have given it to 
 Monsieur. Something serious must have hap- 
 pened, for in three years or more there has not 
 
2^6 THE SOtJL OP PIERRE. 
 
 come to Torrevecchio a paper like that !' So 
 I set out without a moment's delay, and here 
 I am." 
 
 As he spoke, he wiped off with the back of 
 his hand the perspiration which was running 
 down his face, showing his white teeth in a 
 broad smile of delight at having performed his 
 mission so successfully. 
 
 "You are going to drink a glass of ToUano 
 and to eat a morsel of bread with us, Jacopo," 
 said Agostino. He pushed the child toward 
 his father-in-law, and then, greatly troubled by 
 the uneasiness which Pierre's face betrayed, he 
 said to him anxiously : 
 
 "What is the matter?" 
 
 Pierre opened the envelope slowly, unfolded 
 the telegram, and read the imperious summons 
 addressed to him by his friend. He turned 
 pale and his brow clouded. His heart sud- 
 denly seemed to contract. 
 
 "Is there any bad news?" asked Agostino. 
 
 "No," returned the painter, "at least I hope 
 not. But I must leave you. I must go at 
 once to Paris." 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 237 
 
 "Leave us ! And now !" cried the bride- 
 groom sorrowfully. "Wait at least until to- 
 morrow." 
 
 "If they had told you when the sea was be- 
 tween you that your sweetheart was ill and 
 might die during your absence," gravely an- 
 swered Pierre, "would you have delayed going 
 to her?" 
 
 Agostino pressed his preserver's hand with 
 emotion and tears filled his eyes. 
 
 "No, you are right," he said. "But you 
 must know how much your departure will 
 grieve us." 
 
 Pierre drew the young man aside, and there 
 speaking to him with a sudden emotion, which 
 threw a new light on his friend's character and 
 past life for Agostino, said : 
 
 "There is no need to cast a gloom over the 
 feast. From here to Torrevecchio by the high- 
 road is a matter of twelve miles. I can hire a 
 carriole at the inn, and go there alone. Once 
 I am on the other side of the mountain, you 
 will explain my absence to your guests, and 
 thank each one of those present for the cordial 
 
^3^ THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 reception they gave me when I came here. 1 
 shall never forget the time I have spent among 
 you. I was grievously ill, both in heart and 
 mind. In the peaceful and laborious existence 
 I have led here I have forgotten the sorrows 
 that I thought were incurable, and it is to you 
 I owe all this — to your mother who has been 
 so good to me, to your little sister who has so 
 often brought* to my mind by her naive and 
 winning grace the young girl who is waiting for 
 me now ; and finally to you, my brave fellow, 
 to save whose life I gave up my intention of 
 putting an end to my own when, driven to de- 
 spair, I was on the point of doing so. You 
 have restored me to myself. It is for your 
 sake that I feel myself still bound to humanity. 
 No! I shall never forget you, and whether 
 in sadness or in joy, my thoughts will often 
 recur to you." 
 
 Agostino could sarcely restrain his tears at 
 these words, and, more affected by Pierre's de- 
 parture than he would have been by that of 
 some member of his own family, he began to 
 sob, while the wedding guests, giving them- 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 239 
 
 selves up to merriment, were laughing, singing, 
 and shouting in the garden. Pierre, after he 
 had in some measure succeeded in calming the 
 young man's grief, said quietly: 
 
 "And now, listen to me. It is necessary that 
 1 should reach Paris at the earliest possible 
 moment. When does the next boat leave 
 Bastia, and where does it stop?" 
 
 "There is a steamer of the Morelli line leav- 
 ing for Marseilles on Tuesday," answered 
 Agostino. "By going to town to-night you 
 can engage your passage on her, and to-mor- 
 row at daybreak you will be out at sea. From 
 Bastia to Marseilles there are thirty hours." 
 
 "In three days, then," said Pierre, "I shall 
 be in Paris. From there, my dear Agostino, 
 you must allow me to send some tokens of 
 remembrance to your dear ones. You need 
 have no scruples in the matter. I have lived 
 here with you, wearing the garb of a peasant, 
 almost a year, but I am not poor. Put away 
 your Corsican pride; from your brother your 
 mother, your sister, or your wife may accept 
 anything. Do not forget me, and be assured 
 
240 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 that you shall one day see me again. When I 
 return to your island, perhaps, if Heaven so far 
 favors me, it will not be alone. Embrace me, 
 and adieu until then !" 
 
 The two men embraced each other as on the 
 night on which they were tossed about by the 
 engulfing waves under the pale light of the 
 moon ; and when they separated it was with 
 mingled smiles and tears. 
 
 Half an hour later, Pierre was driving rap- 
 idly toward Torrevecchio, and on the same even- 
 ing, after packing up his pictures and sketches, 
 arrived at Bastia. He alighted at the inn 
 where he had passed his first night on Corsican 
 soil, went to engage his passage on board the 
 steamer, and then entered a clothier's, where he 
 replaced his velveteen garments by a complete 
 suit of blue cloth which became him very well. 
 
 When he found himself dressed again, after 
 the unrestraint of so many months, in close- 
 fitting waistcoat and coat, he gave a sigh. It 
 seemed to him that he ceased to be the free 
 and active Pierre Laurier who had worked so 
 joyfully ten hours a day in the open air, inhal- 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 24 1 
 
 ing the invigorating odors of juniper and fir- 
 tree, and that he became once more the Pierre 
 Laurier of the past, who, cursing his art and 
 despairing of the future, spent his hours be- 
 tween the boudoir of a coquette and the gam- 
 bHng saloon of the club. 
 
 He raised his eyes. Night was falling, but 
 behind the chestnut groves, bathing in its 
 pallid light the frowning rocks, the moon 
 shone, like a silver crescent in the sky. The 
 forest breeze, warm and fragrant, passed over 
 the young man's brow, soft as the caressing 
 touch of a wing. He looked at the sea, which 
 rolled, profound and calm, at his feet, and mur- 
 mured : "You may bear me away. I fear 
 neither you nor those from whom you separate 
 me." His transitory discontent passed away, 
 and at this moment, when he was about to 
 take the supreme step that was to decide his 
 fate, he found himself master of his thoughts 
 and of his feelings. 
 
 No emotion stirred his heart at the thought 
 of the woman he had so passionately loved. 
 He dared to evoke her imae^e. He saw her 
 
24^ THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 with her low brow crowned with its raven 
 tresses; her beautiful eyes with their long 
 lashes, her intoxicating glance, — but he re- 
 mained indifferent and disdainful. He loved 
 her no longer, all was over; the charm had 
 ceased ; the philter was powerless. He had re- 
 covered possession of himself, and his heart, 
 freed from its bondage, was once more worthy 
 of a good woman's acceptance. And tears of 
 emotion came to Laurier's eyes. His trem- 
 bling lips murmured a confession of love, and 
 his whole being reached through space toward 
 the adored object. 
 
 On the following day at nine o'clock the 
 boat sailed. Pierre again saw the dock beside 
 which the Saint Laurent lay at anchor, while he 
 was painting its figurehead of carved wood, 
 the mole, the bastion of the Dragon, and, in 
 succession. Cape Corso, Giraglia, and the Itc.l- 
 ian coast. On board the boat, which sailed rap- 
 idly, he retraced the route taken by the little 
 smuggling vessel. 
 
 As they drew nearer the French coast he 
 asked himself with growing uneasiness what 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 243 
 
 could be the cause of Davidoff' s hasty sum- 
 mons. A vague disquietude took possession 
 of him, and he began to fear that some misfor- 
 tune had happened. To whom? The words 
 of the letter written to him at Torrevecchio by 
 the doctor, recurred to him : 'The report that 
 you had been drowned, came very near caus- 
 ing the death of one closely connected with 
 Jacques." These words had changed every- 
 thing in his life. Was this person Juliette, and 
 was she now in danger? Should he arrive only 
 in time to see her, in whom his only hope now 
 lay, expire? But the letter contained these 
 words also: "You passed close to happiness 
 without knowing it, but there is still time 
 for you to regain it." Was this happiness 
 going to escape him anew? Was it not proba- 
 ble that this young girl, who was so beautiful, 
 was loved, and that another, during his ab- 
 sence, had succeeded in curing the wound her 
 heart had received? 
 
 A profound sadness took possession of 
 Pierre, at the thought that this last throw 
 upon which he had staked his happiness should 
 
244 THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 
 
 lose. A feeling of mental lassitude overpow- 
 ered him, and he felt that it would be a mortal 
 blow for him, should this prove to be the case. 
 He was consumed by impatience to learn the 
 truth. On board the vessel, as its keel cleaved 
 the blue waters, he longed for some means of 
 corresponding with Davidoff. He stretched 
 out his hands toward the shore, as if the reas- 
 suring news he desired were there awaiting 
 him. He envied the albatross its swift wings 
 as it sailed in its melancholy flight through the 
 blue air. He walked the deck nervously, as if 
 his impatience could lend added speed to the 
 motion of the vessel. 
 
 He could not sleep, and he remained on 
 deck, his gaze fixed on the horizon. They 
 passed in succession Genoa, Monaco, Nice, 
 Antibes, and Toulon; sailing along this en- 
 chanting coast, bordered down to the water's 
 edge with gardens on whose sands of gold the 
 waves die languorously away. His heart beat 
 quickly as he saw the Chateau d'lf looming 
 darkly in the distance, its lights gleaming 
 through the night like eyes looking into 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 245 
 
 immensity. He had but little baggage, and 
 on arriving at Marseilles he gave it to a street 
 porter, and crossing the gangway hastily, took 
 a carriage and drove to the railway station. 
 He paused not an instant ; his only thought 
 was to reach his destination as soon as possi- 
 ble. The express was to leave at half-past 
 eleven, and he had still an hour at his disposal. 
 He went to the telegraph office and sent the 
 following despatch to Davidoff: "Arrived in 
 Marseilles : will be in Paris to-morrow evening 
 at six." 
 
 When he saw the message pass from the 
 hands of the clerk to those of the operator he 
 felt a sense of relief, as if some part of himself 
 had already gone on in advance. He went to 
 the restaurant, where he breakfasted, though 
 without an appetite, to kill time. The' gates 
 being at last opened and the train ready to 
 start, he installed himself in a compartment 
 and gave himself up with a new sense of de- 
 light to the pleasure of being rapidly borne 
 through space. Buried in a corner of the car- 
 riage, his eyes closed although he was not 
 
Jt4^ THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 asleep, he remained motionless, counting as 
 they passed them the stations which still sepa- 
 rated him from the end of his journey, as a 
 prisoner counts on the calendar the days which 
 still separate him from liberty. 
 
 Toward dawn, however, he grew exhausted 
 and fell into a doze. For two days and nights 
 he had not slept. When he awoke he saw 
 with delight that he had gained upon time dur- 
 ing his sleep, for it was broad daylight, and the 
 train was approaching Macon. Before him, 
 bathed in sunshine, stretched on either hand 
 the rich and smiling fields of Burgundy. 
 Pierre felt as if he had almost reached his jour- 
 ney's end. He found himself again in the 
 midst of scenery which, for a year, he had not 
 seen. No longer olives, firs, and cactus, grow- 
 ing among the sparse and yellow vegetation, 
 met his gaze; no longer reddish rocks and 
 foaming torrents ; no longer shepherds armed 
 with guns watching from some eminence with 
 a proud and serious air their scanty flock or 
 their unruly goats at pasture. Instead he saw 
 peasants, at once stout and active, guiding the 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 247 
 
 plow, drawn by large white oxen, yoked in 
 pairs, along the brown furrows; fields covered 
 with crops, vines bending under their load of 
 grapes, forests of a vivid green traversed by 
 grassy paths leading into cool, green glades. 
 It was the severe beauty of the central prov- 
 inces of France, not the soft and radiant 
 beauty of Provence or the wild grandeur of 
 Corsica. 
 
 Space fled before them: the train passed 
 swiftly by hillsides, valleys, and rivers, and 
 Pierre gave himself up more and more to his 
 own thoughts. He fell into an uneasy reverie, 
 in which he asked himself with a vain persist- 
 ence what it was that had caused Davidoff to 
 recall him so suddenly; and a feverish agita- 
 tion seized him as they approached Paris. He 
 consulted his watch more than twenty times 
 between the great city and Melun. Passing 
 the fortifications he stood up preparing already 
 to leave the train. At last the engine, whist- 
 ling shrilly, slowed up, the turnplates sounded, 
 and the train stopped at the station. 
 
 Pierre, standing on the platform ready to 
 
248 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 leave the train, leaped to the ground and was 
 caught in the embrace of two strong arms. 
 He r'xised his eyes, recognized Davidoff, 
 utters d a cry of joy, and, pressing in his turn 
 the 'land of his faithful friend, drew him 
 aside. 
 
 "Well?" he cried, putting all his eagerness 
 into this one question. 
 
 "Calm yourself," said the Russian, who 
 understood Laurier's anxiety. "Juliette is in 
 no present danger." 
 
 Pierre breathed a profound sigh as if his 
 heart had been relieved from a heavy weight. 
 
 "And Jacques?" he asked. 
 
 "Ah! Jacques!" responded Davidoff. "It 
 is he, more than any one else, who gives me 
 cause for uneasiness. But let us not remain 
 here. We are attracting notice." 
 
 He put his arm through the painter's and 
 drew him away through the crowd now hurry- 
 ing out of the station. 
 
 "What luggage have you?" he asked. 
 
 "This valise and a box which is in the 
 wagon." 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 249 
 
 "Come, we will have the trunk taken to the 
 hotel. For you must accompany me. I shall 
 not leave you. Instead of waiting for you as I 
 had said I would in my dispatch, I preferred 
 coming to meet you. I feared some indiscre- 
 tion on your part. Do you know that if Mile, 
 de Vignes were to see you appear suddenly 
 before her the shock might prove fatal to her 
 in her present condition?" 
 
 They drove along the boulevard conversing 
 together, and Laurier was too confused to take 
 in fully all there was to see and hear. The 
 bustle of Paris, after leaving the train in which 
 for twenty hours he had been shaken, succeed- 
 ing the profound calm and retirement of his 
 life at Torrevecchio, fevered his brain, dazzled 
 his eyes, and deafened his ears. He was 
 obliged to make an effort in order to listen to 
 and understand Davidoff. He felt weary in 
 body and over-excited in mind. 
 
 "My journey has tired me greatly," he said, 
 "and yet I feel that I cannot rest — '* 
 
 "You have been living for the past three 
 days on your nerves," returned the doctor. "I 
 
250 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 am going to set you right again. Trust to 
 me. If I never had patients more difficult to 
 cure than you — " 
 
 The carriage rolled into the courtyard of the 
 Grand Hotel. They alighted, and followed 
 by a boy carrying Laurier's vaHse ascended to 
 Davidoff's apartment. Laurier's chamber was 
 separated from the Russian's by a parlor. Left 
 alone they examined each other silently for 
 an instant : then the doctor, pointing out a seat 
 to his friend, said : 
 
 "Sit down ; we will dine here and talk at the 
 same time, and if you are reasonable I may do 
 something for you this very evening." 
 
 Pierre's eyes lighted up. "What?" he asked. 
 "Will you permit me to see her?" 
 
 Davidoff laughed. 
 
 "You are at least frank," he said. "To see 
 her! It seems, then, she is the only subject 
 you and I have to talk about ! Well, you are 
 right, and it was of her I was going to speak. 
 Since the beginning of the week I have been 
 here, and I have gradually accustomed her to 
 the thought of your reappearance. In the 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 25' 
 
 depths of her heart she has mourned you as 
 dead for many months past. From the first 
 words spoken by me, casting the shadow of a 
 doubt on your death, she has revived, but in a 
 manner to terrify her mother and myself. A 
 violent fever has taken possession of her. Her 
 weakness was so great ! She has been fading 
 slowly ever since your disappearance, growing 
 paler and paler every day, like a flower can- 
 kered at the heart. As to her brother— but it 
 is better to speak only of her." 
 
 "Is the news you have to give me of Jacques, 
 then, so painful?" 
 
 "Heart-breaking, morally and physically. 
 This week, spurred on by an imperious need 
 for money, he put for sale the property belong- 
 ing jointly to his mother, his sister, and him- 
 self. The remonstrances of the notary and the 
 entreaties of Mme. de Vignes were alike use- 
 less. He desires to realize the money, no 
 matter at what cost, without troubling himself 
 about the loss that must result from this hasty 
 sale. He is insane, and his insanity has taken 
 a dangerous form." 
 
252 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 "And who or what has been the cause of 
 this insanity?" asked Pierre. 
 
 "Love. A woman has been the ruin of this 
 unhappy man, whose moral nature was never 
 strong." 
 
 "And is this woman so fascinating that he 
 cannot be turned away from her; has she so 
 powerful an influence over him that he cannot 
 be torn from her?" 
 
 "She is the most fascinating, the most 
 dangerous of women. If I were to name her 
 to you — " 
 
 At these words Pierre turned pale ; he looked 
 eagerly at Davidoff, the name upon his lips 
 which he divined the doctor was about to pro- 
 nounce, when the latter, smiling bitterly and 
 looking at the painter as if he would pierce the 
 inmost recesses of his soul, said : 
 
 "Ah, you have understood me. Yes, it is 
 into the hands of Clemence that Jacques has 
 fallen. She loved him ardently, he loved her 
 in return — well, as men love her. At the end 
 of six months she has grown cold as marble, 
 he is more passionately in love than ever. But 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 253 
 
 why should I seek to describe the condition 
 of his mind to you? To understand it you 
 have only to recall your own feelings." 
 
 Laurier remained silent and motionless, his 
 head sunk upon his breast, and the Russian 
 resumed with force : 
 
 "He adores her, do you understand, Pierre? 
 He lives only for her." 
 
 The painter raised his head and exclaimed 
 in compassionate accents: 
 
 "Unhappy man! For such a woman, to 
 have given up everything, to have forgotten 
 every duty ! But he is to be pitied rather than 
 blamed ; she has such dangerous power." 
 
 At these words Davidoff's countenance 
 cleared up ; his eyes sparkled with joy : he 
 went to his friend, and with affected irony said : 
 
 ''So, then, there is no feeling in your heart 
 for Jacques but one of pity." 
 
 "And what other feeling should I have for 
 him?" answered Pierre. "Ought I to blame 
 him after showing myself weaker and more 
 culpable than he? No, I can only pity 
 him!" 
 
254 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 Davidoff took Pierre's hand in his and shook 
 it vigorously. 
 
 "And you feel no thrill of emotion at the 
 recollection of the old love, no return of your 
 former tenderness, no feeling of anger against 
 your friend?" he said. 
 
 "So this is what you feared?" said Laurier, 
 a flush mounting to his pale face. "You 
 doubted that I was completely cured of my 
 insensate passion, and you wished to put me 
 to the proof? Oh, do not be afraid: speak 
 plainly. You doubted me?" 
 
 "Yes," returned Davidoff, with firmness. "I 
 desired to know whether unconsciously — " 
 
 "Ah !" cried Pierre, "question me then, look 
 into the secret recesses of my heart. You will 
 find there no other feeling than one of bitter 
 regret for my folly and the ardent desire to 
 atone for it. If I had not judged myself 
 worthy of a pure affection and capable of 
 responding to it by a constant love, you would 
 never have seen me again. Fear nothing on 
 my account, Davidoff. The Pierre Laurier you 
 know is dead — killed on a tempestuous night. 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 255 
 
 and the man you see before you, though he 
 has the same features, fortunately has not the 
 same heart !" 
 
 'That s right," cried Davidoff gayly. "Ah, 
 a heavy weight has been removed from my 
 conscience. If I had not been able to count 
 upon you with certainty I do not know how I 
 could have carried through my undertaking. 
 It is surrounded on all sides by difficulties and 
 anxieties. It will be necessary for you to 
 meet Clemence — " 
 
 "If it is absolutely necessary," returned 
 Pierre, "I will make the effort, but I shall do 
 it with great reluctance." 
 
 "No doubt it will be with greater reluctance 
 than in former days," answered the Russian 
 with a smile. "But we must try and save 
 Jacques from her clutches, and nothing less 
 than your intervention will enable us to suc- 
 ceed. Let us leave that for the future, how- 
 ever, and occupy ourselves with the present. 
 Let us speak of Mile, de Vignes." 
 
 Pierre's brow cleared. At this moment din- 
 ner was served, and the two friends seated 
 
2 $6 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 themselves at table and spent the next hour in 
 exchanging confidences. 
 
 Pierre gave an account of his sojourn at 
 Torrevecchio to the doctor, and the latter 
 recounted to the painter all that had taken 
 place during his absence. In this way they 
 were able to arrive at the conviction, Davidoff 
 that Laurier was, as he affirmed, radically cured 
 of his fatal passion, and Laurier that Davidoff, 
 in recalling him as hastily as he had done, 
 had acted with as much wisdom as decision. 
 Toward nine o'clock they left the hotel and set 
 out for the house of Mme. de Vignes. In the 
 boulevard, in the mild air of the summer night, 
 Pierre felt his heart swell with joy and hope. 
 He raised his eyes to heaven with a feeling of 
 repentance at having so insanely despaired of 
 happiness. 
 
 During the past few days Mme. de Vignes, 
 forewarned by Davidoff, had seen the future, 
 which had appeared to her so dark, lighted up 
 by a faint ray of hope. The certainty that 
 Pierre Laurier lived, the positiveness with 
 which Davidoff affirmed that the painter loved 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 2^7 
 
 Juliette, and loved only her, had given the 
 mother some little consolation. In the midst 
 of the misfortunes which overwhelmed her, 
 v/ith everything to fear from her son, and 
 everything to fear for her daughter, the possi- 
 bility of seeing Juliette once more restored to 
 health and tranquillity was a source of sweet 
 satisfaction to her. What were pecuniary 
 cares compared to the anxieties caused by her 
 daughter's increasing weakness and dejection? 
 Davidoff had been welcomed as a savior. 
 Communicating his news to Juliette with wise 
 precaution, he had planted at first a seed of 
 hope in her mind which had found fertile soil. 
 By degrees the seed cast roots which spread 
 vigorously; and now the flower, ready to 
 bloom, awaited only a last ray of sunshine. 
 Since the beginning of the week Juliette, with- 
 out proof, without any other plausible reason 
 than the ardent desire to see the miracle she 
 hoped for wrought, had become convinced that 
 Pierre was living. 
 
 The ''on dW of Davidoff had been seized 
 on with avidity by this young heart. Why 
 
25^ TliE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 should not Pierre have been rescued from the 
 waves, as was said, and taken on board a pass- 
 ing trading-vessel bound for Corsica, where he 
 had been seen by persons who declared they 
 had recognized him? What was there strange 
 in his remaining all these months hidden from 
 his friends, ashamed perhaps of not having 
 carried into effect the suicidal purpose which 
 he had announced? And was it not natural 
 that he should leave the de Vignes in ignor- 
 ance of his being alive? All this was admis- 
 sible. And the young girl was so eager to 
 believe it that she would have thought still 
 stranger things likely. 
 
 Each day Davidoff, pursuing the same 
 course, gave Juliette an account of the results 
 of the investigations he told her he was mak- 
 ing. And each day he saw this benumbed and 
 frozen heart slowly reawakening to life. It 
 was a delightful spectacle !o the doctor to see 
 it timidly putting forth new buds. Juliette 
 hoped, but with fear and trembling, and at 
 times she would stop short suddenly on the 
 road whither her imagination would lead her. 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 259 
 
 What if, after indulging in these dreams, she 
 should have to fall back again into her former 
 state of despair? What if the reports they 
 had heard should prove untrue, and Pierre had 
 not been rescued? 
 
 Her heart was tortured by these conflicting 
 hopes and fears. It seemed to her impossible 
 that death should have snatched away in an 
 instant this young man so full of life and 
 vigor. She recalled to mind what her brother 
 had said to her at Beaulieu : "His body has 
 not been recovered." She had not at the time 
 accepted these words as a ground for hope. 
 But now was it not evident that if the sea had 
 not cast his body back upon the shore, it was 
 because he had been saved from its treacherous 
 waves, and that he still lived? This hope was 
 now so deeply rooted in her heart that to tear 
 it thence nothing less than positive proof 
 would have sufficed. For her who loved him, 
 it would be necessary to see Pierre dead in 
 order to believe that he no longer lived. 
 
 This very morning Davidoff had ventured to 
 say to Juliette: 
 
26o THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 "I dined yesterday with some people who 
 met our friend in Italy and spoke to him. 
 We may expect to see him make his appear- 
 ance one of these days." 
 
 She looked fixedly at the doctor for a few 
 moments, and then said : 
 
 "Why do you not tell me everything? Are 
 you afraid of the effect my joy would have 
 upon me? You are wrong. I am certain now 
 that he lives. I saw him last night in my 
 dreams. He was in a church, a poor village 
 church, and he was painting a sacred picture. 
 His face was sad — sad, and from time to time 
 a tear rolled down his cheek. I had a convic- 
 tion that he was thinking of me. I wished to 
 cry out, 'Pierre, enough of sorrow, enough of 
 separation. Come back ; we are waiting for 
 you, and it would make us so happy to wel- 
 come you.' But a sort of mist arose between 
 us, and I could only see him faintly, in vague 
 outline, and I could hear distinctly the noise of 
 the waves, like the surf beating against the 
 rocks at Beaulieu. Then this mist disappeared, 
 like a veil which is torn away, and I saw him 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 261 
 
 once more clearly. He came toward me, a 
 smile upon his lips. He made a gesture as if 
 to say, 'Have patience: I am coming,' and 
 then I awoke, trembling and exhausted. But I 
 have faith. He is near us — in Paris, perhaps?" 
 
 "Can you describe to me the church of 
 which you speak?" asked Davidoff, greatly 
 surprised. 
 
 "Yes," returned Juliette. "It stood facing 
 the square of a village. The gateway to it 
 was of red sandstone, surmounted by a sloping 
 roof of brick. The walls were whitewashed, 
 and everything in it was of the humblest 
 description — a few wooden benches, a plain 
 chair, and a very simple altar." 
 
 "And the picture Pierre was painting," asked 
 the doctor, "did you see it? Can you remem- 
 ber what it was like?" 
 
 "Yes, there was an open grave in it — from 
 which a dead man was rising. I saw in this an 
 omen." 
 
 Davidoff shook his head in silence, greatly 
 impressed by this extraordinary revelation. It 
 was evidently he who, by the power of 
 
262 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 thought, had made Mile, de Vignes see the 
 church at Torrevecchio, and the picture of the 
 Resurrection ; but the noise of the waves strik- 
 ing the ear of the young girl, at the very hour 
 in which Pierre was on the sea, how explain 
 this? 
 
 He remained silent, and despite all Juliette 
 could do gave her no further information. 
 But his attitude, his words, all had announced 
 a coming event. The doctor left the young 
 girl in a state of agitation which he thought 
 favorable to his plans, and took his departure. 
 In the evening when he stopped before Mme. 
 de Vignes's door, accompanied by the man 
 whose presence was so ardently desired, his 
 heart beat violently. He pressed his friend's 
 arm with force, and pointing to the last win- 
 dow of the entresol he said : 
 
 "Remain here and keep your eyes fixed on 
 that window. When you see me appear at it, 
 come in, but not before. I am going to pre- 
 pare the way for you. I am more uneasy than 
 I can tell you." 
 
 He entered the house, leaving the painter on 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 263 
 
 the sidewalk below. Laurier, left thus alone, 
 was seized by an emotion similar to that which 
 he had experienced standing on the rocky 
 point at Torrevecchio, the sea rolling at his 
 feet, when, after receiving Davidoff' s letter, he 
 had questioned his own heart to know if he 
 were worthy of Juhette. A solemn emotion 
 took possession of him while he thus waited 
 the moment to present himself to the young 
 girl. He was grave and thoughtful with the 
 sense that he was making an act of reparation. 
 He had none of the impatience, the joyful 
 peace of a convert who is about to abjure his 
 errors, obtain pardon for his sins, and live 
 henceforward in peace with God and man. 
 
 He stood leaning against the wall, his eyes 
 fixed on the window, thinking of the scene that 
 was taking place in the darkened apartment 
 within. There was no sign of life; every- 
 thing was silent. A great calm pervaded the 
 young man's soul. One feeling absorbed every 
 other within him — his love for Juliette. He 
 recalled to mind the timid and innocent love 
 of the young girl, he remembered the sorrows 
 
264 THE SOUL OF PIERM, 
 
 he had made her suffer, and face to face with 
 himself in the silence of the night, he swoi-e to 
 make her forget them. 
 
 At this moment the window was faintl}^ 
 illuminated, and Dr. Davidoff gave the signal 
 for his friend to enter. 
 
 Laurier hurried forward and with beating 
 heart mounted the steps. The door was 
 open, he crossed the hall, entered the drawing- 
 room, and standing by her mother's side in 
 front of the chimney-piece he saw Juliette. 
 He paused motionless, his limbs trembling, 
 gazing at her with an unsteady glance. 
 
 She seemed to him taller than before, per- 
 haps because she had grown thinner and had 
 lost her color. Her white hands showed deli- 
 cate and transparent against her black robe. 
 Her eyes, filled with tears, shone with a soft 
 brightness. She smiled, and examined Pierre 
 as Pierre was examining her. She thought he 
 had grown handsomer, with his sunburned face 
 framed by the brown beard he had allowed to 
 grow. She read on his brow traces of what 
 he had suffered, and this compensated her for 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 265 
 
 something of her own suffering. Her smile 
 ended in tears, and putting her handkerchief 
 quickly to her eyes she sank into an arm-chair 
 and burst into sobs. 
 
 Pierre uttered a cry, and rushing toward her 
 threw himself at her feet, entreating her for- 
 giveness. Mme. de Vignes in much alarm 
 hastened to her side, but Davidoff reassured 
 her with a glance. Then the mother and the 
 physician, seeing that the two young people 
 had forgotten everything but themselves, left 
 them to enjoy in freedom the first moments of 
 their happiness. 
 
 When they returned they found Pierre and 
 the young girl seated beside each other, her 
 hand clasped in his. Juliette was telling him 
 of her past sorrows. She smiled at the recol- 
 lection of them now, but Pierre could not hear 
 of them without emotion. 
 
 "My friends," said Davidoff to the lovers, 
 **we have kept our promise to you, and you 
 are now happy. This is very well, but even of 
 the best things it is possible to have too much. 
 Mile, de Vignes is not yet strong enough to 
 
266 THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 
 
 allow of her enjoying anything, even happi- 
 ness, in excess. She has had enough now for 
 one occasion. Besides, you will have plenty 
 of time to see each other in the future." 
 
 But Juliette pleaded with her mother for a 
 quarter of an hour's grace, and Mme. de Vignes 
 had not the courage to cloud, by a refusal, the 
 lovely face which was now radiant with joy for 
 the first time in so many months. She felt 
 that the victory was already gained, and that 
 youth and love had triumphed over death. 
 And the feeling of bitterness which she had cher- 
 ished against Laurier as the cause of so much 
 unhappiness vanished when she saw the trans- 
 formation his presence had effected in Juliette. 
 
 They sat, then, oblivious of time, listening to 
 the account Pierre gave of his life in the Httle 
 Corsican hamlet. Juliette already loved Agos- 
 tino. Marietta, the old mother and the good 
 cur6. And the promise made by Pierre to his 
 friends at Torrevecchio to return to see them 
 was mentally renewed by her in the fullness of 
 her heart. It struck midnight before they 
 separated. 
 
l^HE SOUL OF PIERRE. 267 
 
 **You will not see us to-morrow," said Davi- 
 doflf to his patient with a smile. 
 
 And as her face suddenly clouded, — 
 
 "We must not think of you alone, dear 
 child," he said gently. "We have still to per- 
 form another cure, more difficult than yours. 
 We start for Trouville to-morrow morning, to 
 see your brother." 
 
 In an instant the momentary selfishness, 
 which had caused her to forget everything but 
 her own happiness, disappeared. She remem- 
 bered the painful position in which she and her 
 mother were placed, and all the clearness of 
 her judgment at once returned to her. She 
 pressed Davidoff 's hand, and said to Pierre : 
 
 "You are right ; go, both of you, and do for 
 my brother what you have done for me ! If 
 you succeed you cannot indeed make me more 
 grateful, but you can make me more happy." 
 
 Then, taking her lover by the hand, she led 
 him to her mother. Mme. de Vignes opened 
 her arms to the prodigal son, and as Pierre re- 
 ceived her kiss, he felt that now indeed he was 
 absolved. 
 
VII. 
 
 THERE was to be a grand breakfast at the 
 house of Clemence on this day, which was 
 the first day of the races. A number of her 
 friends had arrived from Paris the evening be- 
 fore, and the actress, who had met them at the 
 Casino, had then invited them. Among them 
 were Prince Patrizzi, Duverney, a painter of 
 the nude of the modern school, and a wit 
 who still preserved the gay good-humor of his 
 youthful days: Baron Tr^sorier, a stock-broker 
 and one of the best swordsmen of Paris; 
 Berneville a sportsman who rode like a profes- 
 sional jockey, and who had broken his collar- 
 bone seven times riding steeplechases; the 
 Duke de Faucigny, the youngest member of 
 the Chamber of Deputies, an uncompromising 
 legitimist who had strenuously advocated the 
 claims of Don Carlos; Burat, the theatrical 
 lawyer, the possessor of the most biting 
 tongue of any member of the profession, a reg- 
 969 
 
270 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 ular attendant at first nights, and an ardent 
 collector of paintings; and Selim Nufio, who 
 had come to see his mare run for the Agricultu- 
 ral Sweepstakes, and who concealed his anxiety 
 as to the result under an affected gayety. The 
 women were Andr^e de Taillebourg, Mariette 
 de Fontenoy, Laure d'Evreux, and Sophie 
 Viroflay, all beautiful women, dressed to per- 
 fection. The party was arranged for the entire 
 day. After breakfasting at Clemence's they 
 were to be driven on Nufio's coach to the race- 
 course. On their return, after making some 
 changes in their toilettes, they were to meet 
 at half-past seven at the Roches-Noires, where 
 Tresorier had invited them to dine. After- 
 wards they were all to go to the Casino for a 
 dance. Jacques took a turn through the gar- 
 dens with Patrizzi, while Clemence chatted 
 with Nufio, who had seated himself beside her. 
 "Do you know that Jacques offers ten to 
 one against Mandragora?" she said. "He has 
 won so much at play during the last, few days 
 that he thinks everything is going to succeed 
 with him." 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 271 
 
 Nuflo reddened with anger, and rising to his 
 feet with an effort, — 
 
 "I'll take his bet, and for more than he 
 would be willing to stake," he said. "I am 
 sure of my mare." 
 
 "But are you sure of your jockey?" asked 
 Berneville. "You know that Chadwal pulled 
 La Bouverie's horse the other day at Caen." 
 
 "I am not uneasy: Petersen cannot get as 
 much from any one else for losing as he can 
 get from me for winning." 
 
 "But, my dear Nuflo," said Andr^e de Taille- 
 bourg, "what you have promised to Petersen 
 will not give legs to Mandragora." 
 
 "The mare is a first-rate animal," retorted 
 the banker. 
 
 "Bah, she is not worth a straw." 
 
 "Til lay even odds on her against the field," 
 cried Nuflo furiously. 
 
 "Nuflo you will make yourself ill," said 
 Sophie Viroflay. "There is nothing so dan- 
 gerous as to fly into a passion before eating." 
 
 At this moment the doors leading into the 
 dining-room were thrown open, and the ma'itre 
 
272 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 d'hotel announced breakfast. Clemence took 
 the arm of Faucigny; Jacques, who had re- 
 entered with Patrizzi, offered his to Sophie 
 Viroflay, and the guests proceeded to the din- 
 ing-room. 
 
 This was a magnificent apartment hung with 
 Chinese silk, with furniture of carved wood, 
 which opened into the conservatory on the one 
 side and into the garden on the other. Three 
 large bay-windows of stained glass, represent- 
 ing strange flowers and fantastic birds, looked 
 on a terrace, in the centre of which was an im- 
 posing flight of steps leading to a lawn bor- 
 dered with flowers. Through these windows, 
 open to the breeze, the sunlight streamed in. 
 The turf of the lawn was of an emerald green, 
 and the sanded walks shone dazzling white in 
 the sunshine. The blue sky faded in the dis- 
 tance into a violet hue. The heat and silence 
 tended to produce a feeling of well-being, and 
 the guests of Clemence, yielding unconsciously 
 to the influence of the day, gave themselves 
 up to unrestrained gayety. 
 
 In the midst of the general merriment, 
 
The soul of Pierre. 2)3 
 
 Jacques alone remained grave, as if some se- 
 cret remorse preyed upon his mind. Delivered 
 for the time being from his pecuniary anx- 
 ieties, his thoughts reverted to those whom he 
 had so cruelly wronged in order to procure this 
 last supply of money. In the midst of this 
 gay company he was possessed by the most 
 lugubrious ideas. He looked at the brilliant 
 table laden with flowers, silver, and crystal ; he 
 observed those who were seated around it, and 
 he saw that they were careless and happy. 
 He alone felt the pangs of remorse for an ill- 
 spent life. None of the others were troubled 
 either in mind or heart. He heard their bursts 
 of laughter and their jests; and thus it was 
 with them everyday; the same unconcerned 
 gayety, the same round of pleasure. 
 
 For him, too, every day was the same, em- 
 bittered by an anguish which he could not 
 subdue. His eyes were fastened on Clemence 
 and Faucigny, who were talking together in a 
 low voice opposite him. He could not hear 
 their words, but he divined what they were 
 saying. The duke in his soft and insinuating 
 
iU THE 30UL OF PlERPE. 
 
 voice was paying court to the actress, and she 
 was listening to him with a smile. Jacques's 
 brow contracted with a look of pain. "It is 
 because I am growing morose that she is 
 getting tired of me," he said to himself. He 
 emptied one after another the glasses that 
 stood beside his plate, and this mingling of the 
 different wines brought a flush to his cheeks. 
 
 Suddenly he heard Patrizzi calling to him 
 across the table. 
 
 "Tell me, Jacques," he said, "does not this 
 breakfast remind you of our dinner at Monte 
 Carlo? Some of the men and most of the 
 women here to-day were present on that occa- 
 sion. We were not as gay as we are now. 
 And the stories that were told! Do you 
 remember?" 
 
 "And that reminds me, how is it that the 
 Russian doctor who is traveling with Woreseff 
 is not here?" said Andr^e de Taillebourg. 
 
 "He has been in Paris for the last five days," 
 said Patrizzi. 
 
 At these words Jacques fancied he saw the 
 pale and sorrowful image of Juliette rise 
 
TitE SOUL OF PtERR^. ^75 
 
 before him. She was seated in the drawing- 
 room where he had spent so many evenings 
 while he was still an obedient son and an affec- 
 tionate brother. Madame de Vignes was 
 bending anxiously over her daughter, and 
 Davidoff, standing beside them, was looking at 
 them, with pitying eyes. It seemed to the 
 young man that his mother had uttered his 
 name, and that the doctor had answered her 
 by shaking his head sadly. Was it not he who 
 ought to be at the side of those two women? 
 Why should it be left to this stranger to con- 
 sole his mother and his sister? A voice mur- 
 mured in his ear: "It is because you have 
 refused to fulfill your duty ; because you have 
 sacrificed your mother to your passion for 
 gambling, and your sister to your love for a 
 coquette; because you are a coward and an 
 ingrate." 
 
 He burst into a sudden fit of laughter, inex- 
 plicable and terrible to those who heard him, 
 which drew upon him the attention of all the 
 guests. His face was pale, his lips were tightly 
 drawn, and his eyes were gleaming. 
 
276 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 "Yes, yes," he cried without heeding their 
 astonishment. "The dinner at Monte Carlo 
 was not so gay as this breakfast. I was dying 
 then, for one thing, and to-day I am well — oh, 
 very well, thanks to DavidolT, who has pro- 
 pounded an admirable theory respecting the 
 transmigration of souls. You have not forgot- 
 ten it, Patrizzi? Nor you, Tr^sorier? He told 
 us a story about a young Russian girl — a cu- 
 rious story indeed ! And what an amusing 
 story-teller Davidoff is! No one among us 
 took his story seriously, not even you, Patrizzi, 
 although you are a Neapolitan, and conse- 
 quently superstitious. For you believe in the 
 evil eye, do you not, Prince." 
 
 "Do not jest about those things," responded 
 Patrizzi, who became suddenly grave, and 
 made with the two fingers of his left hand a 
 quick gesture behind his back. 
 
 "Ah, ha!" cried Jacques sarcastically; "did 
 you see the gesture of the Prince? He wants 
 to charm away ill-luck. He believes in 
 the jettaturaf yet he did not believe in 
 
 * The evil eye. 
 
T?rE SOUL OF FIERkM. ^77 
 
 the theories of Davidoff. No one believed 
 in tb.cm, no one — except Pierre Laurier. 
 But every one knows the poor fellow was 
 mad!" 
 
 The silence of death succeeded these strange 
 words. All the guests felt an icy chill creep 
 over them. One would have thought that the 
 ghost of the man whom they had once known 
 and loved was about to appear before them. 
 The men looked at each other, vexed by this 
 sudden outburst, which cast a gloom over 
 the feast which had begun so joyously. The 
 women began to laugh, without comprehending^ 
 what was taking place. Clemence, however, 
 furious, bit her livid lips, and striking the tabic 
 sharply with her knife, her glass fell with a 
 crash on the floor. 
 
 "A broken glass!" cried Laure d'Evreux. 
 "That is an unlucky omen." 
 
 "All this is truly absurd, Jacques," cried 
 Clemence in a voice that trembled with anger. 
 "Our friends have not come here to listen to 
 such nonsense." 
 
 "He has drunk too much, our good Jacques," 
 
27^ THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 cried Sophie Viroflay. "It is only half-past 
 twelve, which is a little too early." 
 
 "No, I am not intoxicated," cried the young 
 man, whose face assumed a terrible expression. 
 "I said that Laurier was mad. Does any 
 one here doubt it? Among you all, who saw 
 him during the last few months of his life, and 
 who witnessed the anguish he endured, is there 
 one who denies the truth of what I say? Ah! 
 you are silent. Clemence herself does not 
 speak. It is because she knows well that Lau- 
 rier was mad, and why he was mad." 
 
 The countenance of the actress at this 
 speech became yellow with rage, as if gall had 
 replaced the blood in her veins. Her beauti- 
 ful bosom swelled with rage, and in a hissing 
 voice she cried : 
 
 "You make us regret him. It is a pity he 
 is not in your place, and you in his!" 
 
 "Patience. I shall soon be there," said 
 Jacques with a terrible smile; "for I, in my 
 turn, am leading the same life of torture which 
 drove him to suicide. I can judge of his suf- 
 ferings by what I myself endure, and I can 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRF:. 279 
 
 understand how he resolved to bear them no 
 longer. We were speaking just now of Dr. 
 Davidoff, and we recalled the fantastic stories 
 he related to us on a certain night. Patrizzi, 
 do you remember how Laurier, after listen- 
 ing in silence to Davidoff, cried suddenly: 
 'Jacques, if I should ever grow tired of life I 
 will bequeath my soul to you?' I see you 
 have not forgotten it. Well, before that very 
 night was over he was dead, and I, who had 
 barely a breath of life, recovered my health. 
 A few days later. Prince, meeting me at a 
 masked ball at Nice, you said to me jestingly : 
 'It seems that you have now an entirely new 
 soul, that of your friend Laurier.' You little 
 knew how true was what you said. This soul 
 was in me. I felt it, strong and ardent, with all 
 its passions, those same passions that had been 
 the ruin of the unfortunate Pierre — an inordi- 
 nate love of pleasure, a desire to be madly loved, 
 an unconquerable passion for play — that con- 
 sumed me in their fires. A woman crossed 
 my path ; she attracted me irresistibly, fatally. 
 It was impossible for it to be otherwise, for I 
 
28o THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 
 
 had within me the soul of Pierre, filled by the 
 ardent love he had cherished for this woman. 
 Oh, I had a gleam of reason ; I foresaw for an 
 instant my fate, and I tried to resist her power, 
 but the spell of the enchantress was upon me 
 and my efforts were vain. All my being 
 impelled me toward her. I obeyed her as a 
 dog obeys his master — she had only to raise 
 her finger and I returned to her after swearing 
 I would never see her again. Thus I have 
 followed step by step the same path that led 
 Pierre Laurier to his ruin. Like him I gam- 
 bled, because I had need of money — a great 
 deal of money. Like him I forgot everything 
 but the woman I at once hated and adored. 
 He had sacrificed to her his genius and his 
 fame. I betrayed for her those dearest to 
 me. I plundered my mother and neglected 
 my sister. He was base and I have been 
 baser. And now do you think I am 
 in my right mind and that I can reason 
 clearly?" 
 
 He rose to his feet ; his lips foamed slightly, 
 his hands trembled, and he gave a forced laugh. 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 281 
 
 He raised his glass filled with champagne and 
 said : 
 
 "I drink to all of you, friends and rivals in 
 the affections of the woman I love. And I 
 drink to the memory of the absent one — 
 Pierre Laurier!" 
 
 He raised his glass to his lips, but he did not 
 drink. His glance, directed toward the ter- 
 race, had become fixed as if in terror. He 
 uttered a hoarse cry and took a step backward. 
 He had caught sight of the man whose name 
 he had just uttered, — Pierre Laurier, mount- 
 ing the steps with Davidoff. While he was 
 advancing toward them Jacques devoured him 
 with his eyes, breathless, stupefied, a cold 
 sweat upon his forehead. 
 
 When the two men paused at the threshold 
 of the room, he made a wild gesture as if to 
 shut them out from his terrified vision, then 
 put his hand to his throat as if suffocating, 
 and cried in a hollow voice : 
 
 "Pierre, what do you come to seek here? 
 You know well that we cannot both exist upon 
 the earth together! If you live I must die!" 
 
282 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 "Jacques!" cried Laurier, advancing toward 
 him with outstretched hands. 
 
 De Vignes tried to push him back, but sud- 
 denly turned pale, and uttering a hoarse cry 
 sank into the arms of his friend. 
 
 **He is dead!" said Berneville in a tremb- 
 ling voice. "Let some one call for help — " 
 
 "Do not stir," said Davidoff: "he is not 
 dead, and we need no help." 
 
 He poured some water into a glass, and with 
 it moistened the temples of the unfortunate 
 man, who gave a deep sigh. 
 
 Of all those who had gathered around him 
 hastily, Clemence was the first to recover her 
 self-possession. 
 
 "What do you want to do?" she asked 
 Davidoff. 
 
 "To take M. de Vignes away," returned the 
 Russian. 
 
 Pierre took a step toward Clemence, and 
 placing himself in front of her, — 
 
 "Do you mean to oppose our doing so?" he 
 asked coldly. 
 
 The actress raised her eyes to his face. She 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 283 
 
 saw that he was calm ; his eyes were sad, his 
 lips wore a disdainful smile. He was again 
 the Pierre Laurier of the early days of their 
 acquaintance, with his haughty and thoughtful 
 brow, his manly air, and there was a melan- 
 choly sweetness in his voice that stirred the 
 heart of Clemence to its very depths. She 
 wished to treat him with insolence, but a sud- 
 den humility softened her heart. She glanced 
 at Pierre with a timid smile, and approaching 
 closer to him said : 
 
 "Is it prudent to take him away now? 
 Come with me; I will show you to a room 
 where he can be cared for, and where he will 
 not be disturbed." 
 
 "It is useless," responded Pierre. "Neither 
 he nor we will remain here a moment longer." 
 
 "Why?" asked Clemence. "Arc we then 
 enemies?" 
 
 Laurier pointed to Jacques, gasping for 
 breath in the arms of Davidoff, and with- 
 out anger, but with unalterable firmness, an- 
 swered : 
 
 "I have forgiven you the injury you have 
 
284 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 done me. I will never forgive you the injury 
 you have done him. Adieu." 
 
 Davidoff and Pierre carried Jacques, still un- 
 conscious, across the garden, to the carriage 
 which had brought them. 
 
 Hardly were they out of sight than the 
 restraint which had weighed upon the guests 
 disappeared. 
 
 "Ah, my children !" cried Burat, "what a 
 termination for a feast !" 
 
 "They did well to take him away," said 
 Mariette de Fontenoy ; "it was becoming unen- 
 durable ; I have a horror of scenes at table." 
 
 "You have the consolation of knowing, how- 
 ever, Clemence," said Duvernay, "that the men 
 who kill themselves for your sake, always come 
 back to life again." 
 
 Clemence remained silent for a moment, her 
 head sunk thoughtfully on her breast. Then 
 looking around at her guests with a sardonic 
 glance, — 
 
 "You may say what you choose of Pierre 
 Laurier," she said abruptly, "but among you 
 all there is not gne who is his equal ! — And 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE, 285 
 
 now it is near two o'clock. Let us go to the 
 
 race-course to see Selim's horse come in a bad 
 
 last." 
 
 •jfr * * * * * * 
 
 Pierre and Juliette had been married for 
 three months. The young wife had recovered 
 the bloom of health. Laurier, overwhelmed 
 with orders, worked all day, and he and Juli^ 
 ette spent the evenings with Mme. de Vignes 
 and Jacques. Slowly but surely Jacques was 
 sinking to the tomb. Cured of his dangerous 
 madness he had become amiable and gentle. 
 It seemed as if he was resolved upon making 
 those around him forget the anguish he had 
 caused them to suffer, and not once, since he 
 had been brought to his mother's house, had 
 he been heard to utter a complaint. It seemed 
 as if he accepted suffering and death as an 
 expiation for his faults. 
 
 Emaciated and hollow-eyed, his hair almost 
 white, there remained not a trace of the beauty 
 that had turned so many heads. He looked 
 like an old man. He now scarcely ever rose 
 from his easy-chair. A plaid thrown over his 
 
286 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 knees, his thin hands stretched out before him, 
 he would sit for hours by the window, sunk in 
 a revery, or gazing idly at the passers-by as 
 they hastened along the street. He refused 
 even to drive with his mother to the Bois 
 to take the air. He would answer with a 
 smile : 
 
 *'I must have a little vanity, and not show 
 myself looking so weak and miserable to those 
 who remember me young and vigorous. Go 
 you, my dear mother, and when you come 
 back you will tell me about what you have 
 seen; thus I shall enjoy the pleasure of the 
 drive without its fatigue." 
 
 Only when his sister came would his melan- 
 choly countenance light up with pleasure. He 
 could not bear Juliette out of his sight, and 
 would excuse himself for so selfishly depriving 
 her husband of her society, by saying : 
 
 "Let him bear with me. I have only a lit- 
 tle while more left in which to enjoy it, and he 
 has a life-time." 
 
 One day he said to her : 
 
 "Do you remember, Juliette, the terrace at 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 287 
 
 Beaulieu, and the conversation we had there 
 together?" 
 
 The young girl shuddered with horror at 
 this recollection. She wished to interrupt her 
 brother, to prevent him from recalling those 
 sad days. But he insisted with an obstinacy 
 unusual with him. 
 
 "The remorse I endure is so bitter," he said, 
 "that at all costs I want to be delivered from 
 it. At night, during my sleepless hours, it tor- 
 tures me. It envenoms every moment of my 
 life. I have been very guilty toward you who 
 are so sweet and innocent. Ah, so long as 
 you do not forgive me I cannot be at rest !" 
 
 "But what have you done, my poor brother, 
 that you should thus accuse yourself?" said 
 Juliette. "Our sorrow was the same, and we 
 mingled our tears together." 
 
 "No, our sorrow was not the same," said 
 Jacques in a low voice, "for my sorrow was as- 
 sumed. I believed that I lived with the life of 
 Pierre, and I did not regret his death. Oh, 
 what I tell you is terrible, but the truth must 
 be said. I had the certainty that you would 
 
288 THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 
 
 die of your grief, yet I felt regret at the con- 
 viction only because your death would seem 
 like a reproach to my joy. Yes, I was such 
 a monster that I accepted the thought that 
 Pierre was dead and that you also were going 
 to die. But what were all those deaths to me 
 compared to the certainty of my living? I 
 dared to allow this thought to enter my mind. 
 Man is indeed a cowardly and miserable 
 brute." 
 
 His cheeks were burning. He resumed in a 
 gasping voice : 
 
 "Between your life and mine, I was satisfied 
 that yours should be the sacrifice. And 
 instead of mourning my lost friend I was 
 rejoiced to live in his stead. I was, as you 
 see, my dear sister, for a time mad. In order 
 to cure me DavidofT tried a dangerous experi- 
 ment. He wished to prove the power of the 
 moral nature over the physical, of the spirit 
 over the body. He desired to learn if faith 
 could produce material results. The experi- 
 ment, unfortunately, was tried on a weak 
 nature, an impressionable imagination. It pro- 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 2S9 
 
 duced only too powerful a result. Like the 
 miracle workers of old who played upon the 
 credulity of the ignorant, he said to me : 'You 
 are cured; you have received within you 
 another hfe: live then.' And I was so eager 
 to believe what he told me that I ended by 
 believing it. But at the price of what mental 
 hallucinations, what deterioration of character ! 
 I had been amiable and good ; I became cruel 
 and selfish. And in order to forget, in order 
 to silence the protestations of my conscience, 
 I threw myself into a life of pleasure, I gave 
 myself up to vice. The transformation that 
 had taken place made me so different from 
 what I had been that I seemed to live with a 
 double life. There was in me the physical 
 being whose acts were inspired by a species of 
 madness, and an intellectual being who pro- 
 tested with groans against all these excesses. 
 For nearly a year I have lived like a criminal, 
 hating my crime and condemning myself for it. 
 Such is the life I have been leading. And 
 it was to prolong this hell that I was wil- 
 ling that Laurier should die, and thought it 
 
igo THE SOUL OF PtERRE. 
 
 right that you should follow him. But a just 
 God interposed. Pierre and you are alive, and 
 it is I who am about to die." 
 
 "Jacques !" interrupted the young wife, bend- 
 ing over her brother's hand and letting her 
 tears fall upon it. 
 
 The dying man recovered his breath with 
 difficulty, and said with solemnity : 
 
 "Tell me that you forgive me, and that when 
 I am no longer among you, you will some- 
 times think of me with pity and afTection." 
 
 "Ah, yes! I forgive you," returned Juliette, 
 "since you insist on my saying those unneces- 
 sary words, and there is no merit in my doing 
 so, for I love you." 
 
 Jacques smiled gently. 
 
 "Decidedly," he said, "women are better 
 than we are." 
 
 "But, Jacques, you will live," cried Juliette. 
 
 "To what purpose?" 
 
 Then his expression changed, and with a 
 pathetic attempt at gaye' y he said : 
 
 "Besides, that would not be possible; for 
 now it is you who possess the soul of Pierre." 
 
THE SOUL OF PIERRE. 291 
 
 Six weeks later, as the autumn was drawing 
 to its close, and the last leaves were falling 
 from the trees, they all set out for the south. 
 They saw again with mingled pleasure and sad- 
 ness the Villa of Beauville, the pine wood, the 
 thuyas and the fir-trees, and the little bay en- 
 circled by its red rocks, where the waves died 
 murmuringly away on the beach. Jacques 
 seemed for a time to revive under the influence 
 of the southern sun ; then he grew weaker and 
 more sombre than before, and one evening, 
 surrounded by those who loved him, he gently 
 exhaled his latest breath. 
 
 He sleeps upon a hillside sheltered by 
 orange-trees, lulled by the fragrant breezes, 
 and on his tomb may be read these words : 
 
 JACQUES DE VIGNES. 
 God has taken to Himself his poor suffering soul, 
 
 THE END. 
 
W 14 DAY USE 
 
 RtlURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED 
 
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YB 54950 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CAUFORNIA UBRARY