THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF ILLINOIS 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 825 
 GGGmo 
 V. 1

 
 MODERN 
 
 FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 EDITED 
 
 BY MRS. GORE. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1842.
 
 I. o ^f JO o X : 
 rni\TKu ur scuvlzk and co., 1.3, polaxd stkext.
 
 
 C^LS 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The following sketches of the manners of 
 the day in France, are selected from the works 
 of eminent writers by an able linguist, for 
 whom I have undertaken the task of revision. 
 They may be accepted as a candid and accurate 
 representation of the habits and spirit of " Mo- 
 dern French Life ;" and it needs no exercise of 
 trite morality to point out how widely and how 
 offensively they differ from our own. The 
 influence of conventional marriages on do- 
 mestic happiness may be fairly judged by the 
 exemplification of the following pages. Thefre- 
 quency of duelHng, of opening the letters of others 
 and listening at doors, introduced as incidents into 
 the various tales, and the effrontery with which 
 
 5-''J5i85
 
 IV PREFACE. 
 
 such actions are avowed by the perpetrators, 
 suffice to prove the total contrast between our 
 moral code, and that of our foreign neighbours. 
 For the sake of variety^, two stories of Ger- 
 many and Russia have been added to the collec- 
 tion, from the pens of two of the best Modern 
 French novelists; — Alexandre Dumas, and 
 Michel Masson. 
 
 C. F. Gore.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The clock of the College Bourbon had just 
 struck three^ and the hour was repeated by an 
 old fashioned time-piece standing on the marble 
 slab of a house in the Rue Joubert, the rich 
 embellishments of which were in the style of 
 Louis XIV. At that moment, a person pos- 
 sessing the crutch of Asmodeus, would have 
 seen the silken curtains of a luxurious bed sud- 
 denly drawn open, a man of a certain age 
 emerge with juvenile activity, ensconce his black 
 velvet slippers, wrap himself up in an embroi- 
 dered dressing gown, and, having lit the candies, 
 commence the peregrination of his chamber, 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 after the fashion of a bear revolving in his cage. 
 After a few minutes of this monotonous exercise, 
 he threw off his dressing gown, and dressed 
 himself with an alacrity unusual at his time of 
 life, muttering the following monologue : 
 
 " This state of uncertainty is intolerable ! I 
 will resolve my doubts, at any price. To lie 
 awake in my bed, or keep watch in the middle 
 of the street, is much the same annoyance ; and 
 in the street, I shall at least have air to breathe. 
 One thing is certain — he followed her home 
 from the Opera. But how he made his way 
 there as soon as ourselves, without getting up 
 behind the carriage, is unaccountable. He is 
 quite equal to such a feat ! I shall remind Bap- 
 tiste that it would be as well if he remained at 
 his post, instead of chattering on the box with 
 the coachman. If I had not been forced to take 
 back that old fool who acts as her chaperon, I 
 should have known what to do. I should have 
 returned there ; ay, returned, to be laughed at 
 by my own servants. What signifies who
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 3 
 
 laughs ! Let them only dare whisper a word ! 
 That woman will bring me to a premature old 
 age 1'^ said he, checking a sudden cough. " in 
 thought there were an understanding between 
 them ! — During the whole evening he never 
 withdrew his eyes. — She must have remarked 
 it ! — The other day, at the concert, it was the 
 same. It is time to put an end to his imperti- 
 nences, which may be easily done ; — but with 
 respect to Ermance, alas ! the case is diffe- 
 rent." As he uttered these last words, with a 
 hesitating voice, the old gentleman threw up 
 the window. The coldness of the night air 
 struck upon his chest, and he was forced to 
 have recourse to a dose of pectoral lozenges, to 
 allay the fit of coughing with which he was 
 seized. Nothing daunted by the chilhng atmos- 
 phere, however, he flung on his well-furred 
 cloak, intending to sally forth ; but paused sud- 
 denly. 
 
 ^' My cough is nothing !" said he ; " but at 
 
 B 2
 
 4 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 this hour of the nighty the Rue I'Ev^que is not 
 over safe, and to go forth unarmed would be 
 the height offolly.'^ 
 
 The tender-hearted old gentleman accordingly 
 took his pistols from their case, and put them 
 into his pocket. 
 
 " This is absurd !'' said he. " Of what use were 
 these weapons against several assailants ? — Such 
 a death would be more than sufficiently roman- 
 tic ! Imagine the effect of reading in the news- 
 papers, ^ Monsieur Lareynie was found assassi- 
 nated under the windows of Madame Dupas- 
 tel."^ 
 
 Having replaced the pistols, he took from 
 the chimney-piece a purse, containing a dozen 
 pieces of gold. 
 
 ^^ Forty-five francs will be enough," said he, 
 counting over the money he took out. " It is 
 not every night these pickpockets of the neigh- 
 bourhood meet with such good fortune. This 
 is more prudent than taking the pistols. To be 
 robbed is nothing ; but to be killed when my
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 5 
 
 life is not my own to throw away! I must 
 manage to get out unknown to Baptiste ; if not, 
 let him dare to say a word \" 
 
 Having thus arranged his plan, Monsieur 
 Lareynie opened and shut the doors with the 
 precaution of a truant school-boy, descended the 
 staircase on tiptoes^ passed the porter's lodge 
 like a phantom, disguising his voice when call- 
 ing out to have the door opened. 
 
 Once in the street, he resumed his presence 
 of mind and traversed the suspicious quar- 
 ter of the Madeleine^ at that time the favourite 
 haunt of thieves. Safe and sound, however, 
 did he arrive at the dwelling of the woman who 
 had so cruelly deprived him of his sleep. His 
 attention was first attracted towards a light 
 shining through the blinds of a room on the 
 first floor, as from the feeble flickering of a 
 night lamp. From the door-way under which 
 he stationed himself, the old gentleman fixed 
 his eyes upon this mysterious light, the only 
 one perceptible in the street. By degrees, the
 
 6 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 morning dawned with dim uncertain light upon 
 the upper stories of the houses. The stars 
 were gradually disappearing in the heavens, and 
 the ill supplied lamps of the streets were fol- 
 lowing their example. At last, the cock crowed; 
 on hearing which, Monsieur Lareynie experi- 
 enced a degree of remorse almost comparable 
 with that of St. Peter. 
 
 " I have calumniated her !'^ said he, putting 
 up the collar of his cloak to keep off the raw 
 morning air. " My suspicions were as ground- 
 less as they were absurd. It is day, and if the 
 coxcomb had dared introduce himself into the 
 house, he would not have waited until now to 
 come forth. Decidedly I have made an ass of 
 myself! Still, it was certainly him whom I saw 
 on this very spot. But what does that prove ? 
 only that he is in love with her, or at least that 
 he wants to make her believe so. But though 
 he have the impertinence to follow her, he can- 
 not say that she gives him encouragement. I 
 am persuaded she would not even look at him.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 7 
 
 We men are apt to be over hasty in our j udge- 
 ments. Women are on that score our supe- 
 riors. Poor dear Ermance ! She has been 
 sleeping the sleep of the just, little imagining 
 that I am passing the night under her windows. 
 Better she should never know it. Such follies 
 are unworthy of my age. I am half dead with 
 cold. At the Beresina to be sure, — but then 
 I was twenty-three years younger P^ 
 
 Prudence now suspended his soliloquy. The 
 workmen were proceeding to their daily occu- 
 pations, and the shops opening one after 
 the other. Paris was gradually awaking, as so 
 powerfully described by Desaugiers. At length, 
 the great gates of the house inhabited by 
 Madame Dupastel revolved upon their hinges, 
 a little crooked-legged girl appeared, wielding a 
 broom; whereupon Monsieur Lareynie drew 
 his cloak over his eyes, and retreated, his heart 
 relieved of its misgivings. The hour of 
 mystery ceases with the appearance of the 
 porter; though a favoured lover seldom
 
 8 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 quits the house by the street door. Convinced 
 of the injustice of his suspicions and the inno- 
 cence of the object of his affections, the old 
 soldier of the grand army slowly withdrew. 
 
 On reaching home he got into bed for a short, 
 time ; then took a bath, breakfasted, and com- 
 mitted himself to the hands of his valet-de- 
 chambre. According to the custom of old age 
 with juvenile pretensions. Monsieur Lareynie 
 performed the ceremonies of his toilet with 
 closed doors; and after operations as long as they 
 were mysterious, dismissed his servant in order 
 to survey the result in the glass. Upon his artis- 
 tically shaved face, figured two whiskers of the 
 deepest jet, harmonising with the luxuriant 
 curls of a wig of matchless perfection. 
 
 " This accursed night has made me ten years 
 older!" said he, rubbing his forehead with the 
 tip of his finger, as if to efface the wrinkles 
 which now appeared thrice as numerous as 
 usual. 
 
 " My hair is a trifle too dark to-day, which
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 9 
 
 hardens the expression of my countenance. I 
 must try a shade or two hghter. I am sure 
 brown would become me; but it is now too 
 late to change. She is so observant! What 
 would she think? I had formerly splendid hair ! 
 Had ! — why must I say had ! — and why oh ! 
 why must I add, that I had then a heart I 
 could call my own P' 
 
 The old gentleman repressed a rising sigh, 
 put on his hat, and ordered his cabriolet. It 
 was too cold for a tilbury, and any other 
 vehicle was too quizzical for his pretensions. 
 Half an hour afterwards, he entered the draw- 
 ing room of Madame Dupastel, presenting a 
 nosegay which had been waiting for him at the 
 famed shop of Madame Adde. 
 
 B 3
 
 10 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 The woman thus triumphant over the years 
 and reason of poor Monsieur Lareynie, was 
 scarcely twenty-five ; but her penetrating eye, 
 perfect self-possession, and supercilious smile, 
 announced a degree of sagacity and coquetry 
 calculated to drive a man in love to despair, 
 at least a dozen times in the course of the 
 day. Though attired as if prepared to go out, 
 she was writing close to the fire place ; but on 
 hearing him enter the room, turned her head, 
 to receive with a semi-afFectionate smile, her an- 
 tiquated admirer. 
 
 " It is you then. Colonel }" said she, aiFect- 
 ing surprise. " I did not expect you this
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 11 
 
 morning. What a beautiful bouquet. Pray 
 leave it in the dining-room, for I have a slight 
 head-ache.^^ 
 
 The Colonel submitted to this request with 
 amiable resignation ; then, came and stood 
 with his back against the mantle piece. 
 
 " You did not expect me ?" said he. " Did 
 you suppose it possible, I could pass a day 
 without seeing you ?^' 
 
 ^' You appear to have recovered your gal- 
 lantry !" replied Madame Dupastel ; '^ so much 
 the better ! Any thing rather than your strange 
 conduct of last night !" 
 
 '^ You are too severe 1^' said the old beau ; 
 " a friend would have called it melancholy, 
 — dejection, — preoccupation. 
 
 '' Caprice would be a more correct defini- 
 tion," said she, laughing ; " by what right do 
 you encroach upon the prerogative of my sex ? 
 What was the matter with you ? My aunt 
 informs me that you did not once address her 
 while taking her home !"
 
 12 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 '^ I was thinking of you^^ said the Colonel, 
 with fond emotion. 
 
 " Of me^ or him .?" — 
 
 "Do you allude to the young jackanapes, 
 Randeuil !" 
 
 "His name then is, Randeuil?^' — inquired 
 Madame Dupastel; "not an ugly name, by the 
 way/^ 
 
 " Perhaps you think him as prepossessing as 
 his name ?" — demanded the old beau, ironically. 
 
 " More so ; and I am sure you share my 
 opinion.^' 
 
 The Colonel bit his lips with vexation. 
 
 '• Ermance,'^ replied he, " you know how 
 much I love you. What pleasure can you 
 find in tormenting me thus ? Be more lenient 
 towards a weakness, of which you are the 
 origin ! True love is never exempt from jea- 
 lousy." 
 
 " Excuse me ! I do not authorise your 
 love, and will not endure your jealousy. It 
 is a failing I detest. If you wish, therefore.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 13 
 
 to please me, correct yourself of so vile a 
 frailty/' 
 
 " I win do my best !" said the Colonel, sub- 
 missively. " Are you writing to your cousin," 
 he continued a moment afterwards. 
 
 ^^ To my cousin, or to some other person," 
 said she, maliciously locking the letter into her 
 desk. 
 
 '^ Perhaps to that seductive Adonis ?" per- 
 sisted Monsieur Lareynie, with vexation. 
 
 '^That would be against all rule !^' said she. 
 " It is his business to commence the corres- 
 pondence." 
 
 The dra's\dng-room door was now softly 
 opened, and the female attendant of Madame 
 Dupastel entered, and presented a letter to her 
 mistress, who broke it open with perfect in- 
 difference. But after reading a word or two, 
 the signature caught her eye. A look of as- 
 tonishment and curiosity instantly pervaded 
 her countenance.
 
 14 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 " Is the bearer waiting ?" inquired she, after 
 reading the letter. 
 
 " He is waiting in the street/' replied the 
 attendant, with a mj^sterious air. '*' It was a 
 porter. Madam, who brought the letter.^' 
 
 Ermance seemed lost in reflection. 
 
 " And he is still waiting for an answer/' 
 added the attendant. 
 
 Madame Dupastel again cast her eyes upon 
 the letter, and abruptly added : " Let him 
 come up. Read this !" said she, handing the 
 letter to the Colonel ; who, eagerly seizing it, 
 perused the following lines : 
 
 *^Tax not with presumption or audacity, 
 Madam, the step I have taken in imploring 
 you to grant me the honour of an interview 
 upon which depends the happiness of my 
 life. My position is so critical, that the least 
 delay would produce consequences you would 
 be the first to regret. Five minutes' audience.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 15 
 
 I entreat you ! My name, as that of a stran- 
 ger, has no claim to indulgence. But I appeal 
 to your heart to perform an act of generosity. 
 
 " A single word, to relieve the anxiety of 
 your most obedient servant, 
 
 " HiPPOLYTE RaNDEUIL.'' 
 
 " Randeuil }" exclaimed the old beau, " is it 
 
 he, then, who has the impertinence to write to 
 
 you ?'* 
 
 " No great crime after all !" said Madame 
 
 Dupastel, aiFecting to look serious. 
 " And do you intend to receive him ?^' 
 " Why should I close my door against him }'' 
 " A man with whom you are unacquainted !" 
 "YoM know him, and if the proceeding be 
 
 irregular, can present him in form.^' 
 
 " Impossible, you cannot be serious ! You, 
 
 in general so rigidly correct, receive a man 
 
 who has so long importuned you ? — Your 
 
 conduct all but justifies his own P' 
 
 " Do you think me a woman likely to be
 
 IS MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 injured by such a concession ?" inquired Ma- 
 dame Dupastel, gravely. 
 
 " The angels themselves are liable to sus- 
 picion. It is my duty to prevent a proceeding, 
 of which you will one day see the impropriety. 
 I will receive him myself.^^ 
 
 The old Colonel was about to leave the 
 room, when Ermance rose, surveyed him with 
 an imperious air, 
 
 '' I accept only the services I have de- 
 manded," said she. 
 
 '^ A private audience,'^ exclaimed the Colonel, 
 in despair. 
 
 " You are mistaken. It is only an interview 
 he solicits; its being private depends upon 
 yourself.'' 
 
 Monsieur Lareynie sank into a chair. " After 
 all, Madam," said he, " what signifies a whim 
 more or less ?'' — 
 
 Before Madame Dupastel could reply, the 
 door opened again. A good looking young 
 man, of elegant appearance, and whose counte-
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 1? 
 
 nance betrayed the greatest emotion, entered, 
 and advanced towards the mistress of the house; 
 but suddenly paused, on perceiving the presence 
 of a third person, whose eyes ghstening under 
 his artificial eyebrows, announced that the for- 
 tress was not to be taken by storm. Madame 
 Dupastel quietly resumed her seat, unwilling 
 to increase the embarrassment of the visitor. 
 At last, he summoned courage to address her. 
 
 " When I took the liberty. Madam,'' said he, 
 with an air of deep respect, ^^ of soliciting the 
 honour of an interview, I hoped it would be a 
 private one.'' 
 
 ^^This gentlemanis an oldfriend of myfamily,'' 
 replied Ermance gravely ; "you can have nothing 
 to communicate which I do not wish him to 
 hear." 
 
 The Colonel, with a look of gratitude for this 
 concession, settled himself at ease in his arm 
 chair. 
 
 "What I have to say, Madam, must be 
 heard by you alone," replied Randeuil with a
 
 18 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 firm but mild voice, " allow me, therefore, to 
 speak to you without a witness." 
 
 '^ After the resolution expressed by Madame 
 Dupastel, you have no right, Sir, to persist," 
 said the Colonel abruptly; but Hippolyte turned 
 short round upon the old beau. 
 
 " I addressed myself to this lady, Sir,^^ said 
 he ; and advancing nearer towards the mistress 
 of the house, reiterated his petition. 
 
 " Madame Dupastel has already told you,'* 
 the Colonel was beginning, but he had not time 
 to conclude his observation. Ermance was one 
 of those women to whom despotism, under the 
 form of counsel, is insupportable. 
 
 "Excuse me, my dear Colonel,'' said she, 
 rising ; and proceeding towards the dining-room 
 door, threw it open, and beckoned Randeuil 
 to follow her ; then, with a despotic glance, 
 nailed the old beau into his easy chair. 
 
 " Now, Sir," said she, addressing Hippolyte, 
 who had followed her, "^ I wait your pleasure." 
 Randeuil would fain have closed the door. " It
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 19 
 
 is useless^'' said she^ with a mixture of irony 
 and gravity. 
 
 '^ But he will overhear me !" cried the young 
 man, glancing towards Monsieur Lareynie ; 
 who, seated despondingly in the arm chair, 
 seemed to suffer the martyrdom of St. 
 Lawrence. My friend is somewhat deaf/' 
 observed Ermance with a smile ; " perhaps you 
 know how to make yourself audible in a whis- 
 per ?"—
 
 20 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Having convinced himself that the old beau 
 could not overhear him^ Hippoly te adopted the 
 suggestion of Madame Dupastel, and addressed 
 himself to her in a voice of most earnest expres- 
 sion. " The subject, Madam, upon which I am 
 about to speak, is of so delicate a nature, that to 
 explain myself with propriety, requires more than 
 reflection. Unfortunately, both time and pre- 
 sence of mind are wanting. Every minute^s 
 delay may be productive of irreparable conse- 
 quences. Excuse, therefore, the discrepancies 
 which may occur in so hurried a narrative, and 
 the confusion which my extreme agitation must 
 communicate to my language.'^ 
 
 To this exordium, expressed with a degree
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 21 
 
 of vehemence indicative of the most violent 
 passion, Ermance replied by a smile far from 
 discouraging. "If the minutes be precious 
 to you" said she, "I also have little time 
 to lose. Let us dispense, therefore, with further 
 preamble. In a few brief words, explain your- 
 self." 
 
 "Willingly, Madam. I am desperately in love.^" 
 In spite of the love of authority so developed 
 in her nature by the blind submission of her 
 old beau, Madame Dupastel was embarrassed by 
 the ready and complete acquiescence of her new 
 friend. On hearing the avowal she had herself 
 provoked, she involuntarily averted her head, 
 like a young soldier who tries to avoid a shot. 
 Gluickly, however, recovering her weakness, she 
 raised her eyes and fixed upon her interlocutor 
 one of those winning glances which exercise 
 over confiding hearts the attractive infiiuence of 
 the magnet. 
 
 " Your explanation is somewhat vague," said
 
 22 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 she ; " but it is my fault. I fear I must extend 
 my indulgence to a few more words.'^ 
 
 Too preoccupied by his own ideas to be a 
 nice observer^ Randeuil, far from detecting her 
 meaning, ingenuously replied — "Again, Madam, 
 I obey you. I am desperately in love with 
 AbeiUe.'^ 
 
 "WithAbeille ?^' — said she, shrugging her 
 shoulders. 
 
 "With Mademoiselle Lareynie,'^ persisted 
 Hippolyte ; " with his daughter,'' said he, point- 
 ing in the direction of the impatient old beau. 
 " Judge then whether it be possible to talk to 
 you in his presence, and whether I were not 
 right to insist on a private interview '/' — 
 
 At this precise and clear explanation Madame 
 Dupastel experienced as much disappointment 
 as the child who beholds the premature over- 
 throw of the house of cards he was preparing to 
 blow down. — With unmeaning coquetry, she 
 regretted an opportunity of displaying the
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 23 
 
 power of her beauty, as well as the strength 
 of her virtue. It was not without secret satis- 
 faction that, for several days past, she had re- 
 marked the various manoeuvres of the elegant 
 young man, whose assiduities were the cause 
 of such restless nights to her sexagenarian 
 Lothario. She was prepared for a declaration, 
 and intended to reprove the presumption of its 
 author; but on receiving the confession for 
 which she had prepared a burst of irony, sud- 
 denly metamorphosed into a revelation at which 
 the most rigid prude could take no exception, 
 she was more vexed than if the elegant Hippo- 
 lyte had given her real cause of offence. Dis- 
 appointed of playing the principal personage in 
 this affair, she resolved to reject even that of 
 confidante. Vanity, however, got the better of 
 her vexation, dictating an answer through which 
 a certain degree of incredulity was perceptible, 
 "With Mademoiselle Lareynie?'^ said she. 
 " I see nothing that ought to displease her 
 father in the avowal of your love for a child.^^
 
 24 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 " A child of twenty-two, Madam/' — retorted 
 Randeuil. 
 
 " Twenty-two V exclaimed Madame Dupastel, 
 " you must be dreaming ! The Colonel always 
 speaks of her as a school-girl 1" 
 
 "How can you expect, Madam, that the Colo- 
 nel, with his painted eye-brows, and juvenile 
 pretensions, should confess before you that he 
 has a daughter who ought to be at the head of 
 his establishment, instead of being shut up in 
 a boarding-school to favour his affectation of 
 juvenility. A mere child indeed ! He would 
 doubtless, replace her in her cradle, if he could." 
 
 " Pray favour me with the sequel of the 
 romance,'' said Ermance, laughing. "I am pre- 
 pared to hear that, independent of the interest 
 attached to all victims of paternal despotism, 
 your heroine is a prodigy of grace and beauty." 
 
 "You may judge for yourself; since it is for 
 her I come to solicit your gracious protection.^' 
 
 " Explain yourself, pray," said Madame Du- 
 pastel fretfully. "Do you not see that I am
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 25 
 
 dying of impatience, while these phrases of 
 yours tell me less than nothing." 
 
 Keeping his eye on the door to ascertain 
 that no one was listening, Randeuil resumed in 
 a lower voice, 
 
 " As I have already mentioned, Madam,'^ said 
 he. "Monsieur Lareynie, in order to get rid 
 of his daughter^ has left her at school at an 
 age when the education of young ladies 
 leaves nothing further to desire. In an estab- 
 lishment at Chaillot, where one of my sisters 
 is also pursuing her studies, I made the 
 acquaintance of Mademoiselle Lareynie, whom 
 to see is to love. Her beauty, her amia- 
 bility, the slavery to which I saw her 
 condemned, soon inspired me with the most 
 sincere and ardent attachment; which, in 
 spite of myself, unforeseen circumstances have 
 seemed to render questionable. My conduct 
 has been marked by the utmost propriety and 
 respect. From the moment I discovered by 
 the expression of Abeille^s countenance, that she 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 26 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 both understood and forgave me, I addressed 
 her a proposal in marriage, the success of which 
 appeared but Uttle doubtful. It is not vain 
 presumption which prompts me to speak 
 thus ; for, even according to the interested 
 calculations of the world, I was at least a 
 suitable match. My fortune, position, and 
 although I say it, my character, merit some 
 consideration. A rational man would have 
 accepted my demand, or at least reflected upon 
 my proposition. But Monsieur Lareynie at 
 once rejected it, and I had scarcely made known 
 my pretentions, when he unceremoniously signi- 
 fied to me to withdraw them. Others have been 
 as uncourteously treated ; so that I have no 
 grounds to resent a personal humiliation. Mon- 
 sieur Lareynie finds the honors of paternity in- 
 supportable, and is still more in awe of those 
 of a grandfather. In his estimation, therefore, 
 a son-in-law is an enemy ! His bound- 
 less admiration of you. Madam, if one may 
 believe the report of the world, is only too
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 2? 
 
 natural to cause surprise ; but between this 
 second marriage, which is the fond hope of 
 Monsieur Lareynie, and the establishment of his 
 daughter, there exists no absolute incompati- 
 bility. Is it because his own prospects brighten, 
 that he is to condemn his child to per- 
 petual celibacy? — I cannot think it, Madam, 
 and trust you are of my opinion." 
 
 " I agree with you,'' exclaimed Ermance, 
 " that to prevent the reasonable marriage of a 
 daughter is worse than a folly — it is a crime. 
 But proceed V 
 
 '^ His refusal vexed, but did not discourage 
 me. I felt that against injustice, any step be- 
 came justifiable. From that moment, I re- 
 sorted to various devices affording me a 
 fair advantage. — Letters, stratagems, in a 
 word, every folly from which the sincerity of 
 my passion had preserved me, was now at- 
 tempted. By degrees, Abeille shared in the 
 spirit of revolt suggested by the selfishness of 
 her father. I even explained to her that there 
 
 c 2
 
 28 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 was a bold, but infallible step by which she 
 could frustrate paternal despotism. Alas ! 
 Madam, I even persuaded her to a desperate 
 extremity.^' 
 
 '^ You persuaded her, in short, to elope with 
 you ?" exclaimed Madame Dupastel, impatient 
 to learn the truth. 
 
 At this involuntary outburst, Monsieur La- 
 reynie, no longer able to contain himself, rushed 
 into the room. 
 
 •^ You called me, Madam ?'' said he in a loud 
 voice, advancing impetuously between them. 
 
 This ill-timed interruption roused the pre- 
 sence of mind of Madame Dupastel. 
 
 " You are mistaken. Colonel," replied she, 
 calmly. " I entreat you to return a moment 
 to the drawing-room." 
 
 " Madam !'' 
 
 " I entreat you,^^ she persisted — with a look 
 of authority — "It appears — it appears to me 
 that you had better comply." 
 
 " Doubtless !— but "
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 29 
 
 '^ Here, or there ?' said Madame Dupastel, 
 pointing successively to the door of the draw- 
 ing-room, and to the outward door. 
 
 Monsieur Lareynie raised his eyes towards 
 the ceiHng, while his arms stiffened to his sides, 
 with his hands grasped convulsively. Then 
 turning away like a wounded lion, he re-en- 
 tered the drawing-room, of which Ermance now 
 closed the door. 
 
 ^' I have guessed right,'^ said she, advancing 
 towards Randeuil, " have I not ?" 
 
 "You have. Madam," replied Hippolyte, 
 with a contrite air ; " but for God's sake, con- 
 demn me not without a hearing." 
 
 " An elopement ! — what madness ! — But lose 
 not your time in useless details." 
 
 " The catastrophe might have been avoided, 
 had you. Madam, exerted that influence 
 to which Monsieur Lareynie has nothing to 
 refuse. But how can we even now engage 
 your support ? By what right, can we claim 
 your benevolence ? —Stranger, as I am, I
 
 30 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 dared not even knock at your door. My 
 efforts to attract your attention could only 
 prove abortive, or be ill interpreted. I tried, 
 however, but in vain. You were never alone, 
 and he who was ever in your company, was 
 the person I was compelled to avoid. Last 
 night at the Opera, had it been possible to 
 approach you, a few words from your lips 
 would have prevented my rash proceeding of 
 this morning.'^ 
 
 '^ It was only this morning then, that this 
 event took place ? — Where then is Abeille ?" 
 
 "For several days past, all had been pre- 
 pared for our project. Abeille found means to 
 elude the vigilance of her guardians, a carriage 
 was in waiting, and we intended to take the 
 road to Brussels. She wept bitterly, poor 
 child ! and at the sight of her tears, the feverish 
 excitement, in which I had been some time 
 living, began to subside. Romance gave way to 
 reality ; and for the first time, the consequences 
 of my imprudence presented themselves
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 3-1 
 
 before me in their true light. An elopement ! 
 — her father's curse ! — what preliminaries for 
 a marriage ! I know not what mysterious 
 voice whispered, that, under such auspices, 
 happiness must be impossible. My parents 
 had taught me respect and submission. Mon- 
 sieur Lareynie had a right to exact the same 
 sentiments from his daughter. What was 
 I then, but a vile and dastardly seducer ? Con- 
 vinced of my delinquency, before it became 
 irreparable, I had but one step to take. Instead 
 of continuing my road, I returned to Paris. 
 But now that we are here, what is to become 
 of us ? If I take Abeille back to school, would 
 they receive her ? — If I take her elsewhere, 
 to my home for instance, her reputation is 
 lost. In this extremity, Madam, I bethought 
 me of you, who bear the name of being so in- 
 dulgent, so charitable. To whom better confide 
 my future wife, than to her who will shortly 
 possess a legal authority over her ? Your in-
 
 32 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 terference alone can redeem my error, and 
 silence the calumnies she has to fear. Say, I 
 entreat you, whether I presume too much upon 
 your goodness ; or rather tell me that from this 
 moment you will become the guardian angel 
 of Abeille ! — My most ferv^ent desire is that 
 you become her mother V 
 
 With the exception of the last hint, signify- 
 ing in reality mother in law, Madame Dupastel 
 was pleased by a confession, the imprudence of 
 which was a tribute to her generosity of cha- 
 racter. The part of a protectress seemed to 
 her, at that moment, more attractive and novel 
 than that of a coquette. 
 
 ^^ You have judged me rightly. Sir,'' replied 
 she. " I will not betray your confidence. Dis- 
 pose of me, though I confess myself little ex- 
 j)erienced in such matters ; and that I scarcely 
 know how to act under such circumstances 
 towards a school girl of twenty-two. I shall 
 make amends for my inexperience by sincere
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 33 
 
 good will. Above all^ Mademoiselle Lareynie 
 must return to school. Where is she at this 
 moment V' 
 
 " Close at hand, at the angle of the Place de 
 Louis XV.^' 
 
 '' You have left her in the street ? — Have you 
 lost your senses ?" 
 
 '^Nearly, Madam. After dismissing my 
 travelling carriage, I could think of nothing 
 better than to engage a hackney coach. I at 
 first intended to bring Abeille here ; but did 
 not dare, without previously addressing you. 
 I do not repent my precaution." 
 
 " To own the truth, the Colonel has a hasty 
 temper, and the thing might have ended tragi- 
 cally. You said, I think, at the angle of the Place 
 Louis XV ?'' 
 
 " Yes, Madam, — a brown carriage, — No. 
 157. 
 
 " Good !" — said Ermance ; " the rest is my 
 affair. Before an hour has elapsed, the truant 
 
 c 3
 
 34 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 shall be safe in her cage, and we will decide 
 what is to be done for the future.'^ 
 
 " Do you imagine that Madame Dunois, 
 the school-mistress, will make no difficulty ?'^ 
 demanded Randeuil. 
 
 Ermance shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 ^^ I cannot promise you that they will slay 
 the fatted calf, to celebrate the return of the 
 prodigal ; but you may be sure that the worthy 
 woman will not shut the door she so carelessly 
 left open this morning. The reputation of her 
 house will ensure her silence. There is not a 
 moment to be lost. The poor girl must be 
 suffering martyrdom in the vehicle in which 
 you have left her alone. I will hasten and 
 deliver her. During my absence, remain and 
 pay your respects to Monsieur Lareynie. Re- 
 member that your marriage depends upon him, 
 and if you conduct yourself rationally for the 
 future, I promise not to own that you have called 
 him egotist, despot, unnatural father, and what
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 35 
 
 he will be still less likely to pardon, — an old 
 beau !'^ 
 
 She now opened the drawing-room door, so 
 abruptly, that Monsieur Lareynie, who was at 
 the moment indulging in a most lackey-like cu- 
 riosity, had scarcely time to rise from applying 
 his eye to the key-hole. Without even looking 
 at the aged dandy, who blushed like a child at 
 being found in such an attitude, Madame Du- 
 pastel crossed the room, entered her bed- 
 chamber, put on her hat and pelisse, snatched 
 an approving look in the glass ; and seeing 
 herself so pretty, was only the better disposed 
 for the good action she was about to accom- 
 plish. 
 
 Hurrying down the back stairs, she left 
 her two visitors in possession of the field.
 
 36 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Randeuil. remained in the dining-room, 
 where he waited the return of Ermance^ while 
 the Colonel, recovered from his agitation, re- 
 turned to his place before the fire ; his brows" 
 knit, his chin sunk into his cravat, and his arms 
 folded over his chest, while he whistled a 
 charge of the imperial guard, to the sound of 
 which he had more than once passed over the 
 ranks of the Russians and Austrians. Thus 
 they remained for some time, eyeing each other 
 askance, like two armies, mutually observ- 
 ing each other previous to an attack. At last, 
 having eyed the clock several times. Monsieur 
 Lareynie, worn out by impatience and ill 
 temper, pulled the bell rope with the most
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 37 
 
 disastrous violence. On hearing the noise, the 
 lady^s maid hastened" to obey the summons, 
 astonished at the exercise of such an act of 
 atithority. 
 
 " He might as well wait till he is married," 
 thought she, "before he takes the liberty of 
 tearing down our bell ropes.^^ 
 
 ^' Madame Dupastel is busy in her room, I 
 suppose r" he dryly inquired. 
 
 ** Madame has been out this half hour," re- 
 plied she, in the same tone. 
 
 *' Gone out ?" exclaimed the Colonel. 
 
 " Gone out ?" repeated Hippolyte. 
 
 "Gone out !'^ persiste(J the maid. "Did 
 you not know it, gentlemen ?" 
 
 " Know it indeed ? No ! But since your 
 mistress is "gone, you are at liberty to follow- 
 her \" cried Lareynie, in a voice that shook the 
 room. 
 
 "Wh&tis the matter with the old fool!'' 
 — muttered the femme-de-chambre, with a 
 compassionate glance towards Hippolyte.
 
 38 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 " If it were yonder handsome young fellow, 
 who were about to become my master !" said 
 she, closing the door. 
 
 Alone with his imaginary rival, Monsieur 
 Lareynie surveyed him from head to foot. 
 
 " Sir,^^ said he, with affected coolness, " till 
 now, the respect due to a woman's presence 
 has forced me to silence. Now we are alone, 
 and can discuss the matter freely, my conduct 
 shall be open, and I expect on your side equal 
 frankness. My sentiments for Madame Du- 
 pastel cannot be unknown to you. The report 
 of our marriage is notorious in the circle in 
 which we live. In fact, I have the most fer- 
 vent hope and desire to become her husband. 
 You know it, do you not? Answer me 
 briefly, yes or no 1" 
 
 •' I have indeed heard of your intended mar- 
 riage," replied Randeuil, unable to comprehend 
 the drift of this proceeding. 
 
 " It is more than a mere project, Sir. There 
 is a formal promise, a sacred engagement on
 
 MODKRN FRENCH LIFE. 39 
 
 both sides, which confers on me legitimate 
 rights, such as I shall enforce with regard to 
 you, as well as others, I look upon this house 
 as my home. Sir ; and beg to know the purpose 
 of your visit, as much as if you were in reality 
 my guest." 
 
 " Sir," said the young man, in a most cour- 
 teous tone, "another in my place might 
 question the rights you assert; but which 
 to others appear far from incontestable. As 
 to me, I will not refuse to acknowledge as well 
 as act upon your claim ; and declare to you, 
 upon ray honour, that my presence here has 
 no object at which your affection for Madame 
 Dupastel need take exception.'^ 
 
 " You can have no possible reason, then, 
 for not explaining your motive," said the 
 Colonel. 
 
 " I have no particular reason for refusing to 
 satisfy you," replied Randeuil. " But the im- 
 portance you attach to a visit most innocent 
 in its object, makes me think the intervention of
 
 40 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 Madame Dupastel more than necessary. From 
 the moment her name figures in a discussion, 
 it would be indecorous to continue it without 
 her presence. Meanwhile, I am able to afford 
 you considerable proof of the purity of my 
 intentions. Some time ago. Sir, I had the 
 honour to address you a proposition, the 
 favourable result of which would have gratified 
 my most sanguine wishes. Your ungracious 
 rejection of iny offer almost broken my heart, 
 though Tt did not extinguish my hopes. My 
 feelings are not changed, and you might cause 
 me to fall at your feet, the happiest of men. 
 What can I say more, Sir ? Surely you will 
 admit that my heart, engrossed by the image 
 of your daughter, cannot entertain a hope to 
 give you umbrage 1" 
 
 With difficulty did the old beau suppress his 
 indignation. 
 
 " This is just what I expected ?' exclaimed 
 he. "I felt sure that the name of my daughter 
 would enter into this discussion, though she
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 41 
 
 have nothing to do with the matter. Do you 
 suppose that I am to be deceived by such sen- 
 timental protestations? — by phrases filched 
 from novels ? Of course I am aware that you 
 would do Mademoiselle Lareynie the honour 
 of marrying her ! My daughter is rich^, beau- 
 tiful, well educated (for, though I say it, no- 
 thing has been neglected in her education). I 
 can conceive that such a marriage may appear 
 desirable to you. But my views remain un- 
 altered.'" 
 
 Monsieur Lareynie pulled up on either of his 
 parchment cheeks the two corners of his shirt 
 collar to conceal the corners of his mouth, 
 dilated by a contemptuous smile. 
 
 Randeuil began again to remonstrate. 
 
 " Oh ! [ perfectly understand your projects, 
 Sir,'^ exclaimed the old beau. " You want to 
 become my son-in-law, because the match is 
 by no means despicable ; and you wish to 
 make yourself acceptable to Madame Dupastel — 
 a conquest calculated to do you some honour
 
 42 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 in the world ; a double game not uncommon 
 now a daySj in which vanity and interest are 
 harmoniously combined, without regard to the 
 honesty or aifection/^ 
 
 " Nay, Sir," exclaimed Randeuil, eagerly, 
 " you have no right to accuse me of calcula- 
 tions so contemptible !'^ 
 
 "Contemptible indeed!", replied the old 
 beau. " But you cannot suppose that I shall 
 further your views, or lend a hand to your base 
 designs. I give you my daughter ? My daugh- 
 ter ?" exclaimed the Colonel, raising his voice. 
 " Entrust you with the welfare, happiness, ex- 
 istence of my child, my only child ? Introduce 
 you into my house, my family, after what hap- 
 pened only yesterday, after what I have witness- 
 ed, when hundreds of persons have remarked the 
 perseverance with which, in public and in pri- 
 vate, you have followed the lady I mean to 
 marry. You must take me for an idiot. Sir. 
 You must think me blind, Sir ! You must 
 fancy I have neither blood in my veins, nor
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 43 
 
 feeling in my soul ! But you insult me ^ ex- 
 claimed the Colonel in a voice as if still at the 
 head of a regiment of cuirassiers. 
 
 " Stupid, obstinate old ass !" was Hippolyte's 
 inward reflection ; " were it not for my adora- 
 tion of Abeille, what pleasure should I have in 
 affording you real ground for jealousy." 
 
 " Let us make an end of this f resumed 
 Monsieur Lareynie, in a calm and serious tone, 
 contrasting singularly with the ebullition of tem- 
 per in which he had just indulged. 
 
 ^^ Our discussion comprises two points, re- 
 quiring a prompt and decisive solution. As to 
 the first, which regards my daughter, for the 
 second and last time I refuse you her hand. 
 That I never intend to have the honour of 
 being your father-in-law, I trust my words 
 have made sufficiently clear to your compre- 
 hension.^^ 
 
 Instead of answering, Randeuil was in- 
 tensely repenting his delicacy of the morning. 
 
 " Oh, that I were still on the road to Brus-
 
 44 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 sels !'' thought he, " this surly old monster 
 should adopt another tone." 
 
 The Colonel now drew himself up, as if to 
 give greater importance to the words he was 
 about to utter. 
 
 " Let us proceed to the second point," said 
 he ; ^' the only one which is material, for after 
 my preceding refusal, you must allow me to 
 look upon your pertinacity as of questionable 
 taste. Listen to me attentively. In marrying 
 Madame Dupastel, I am fully alive to the 
 consequences of such an alliance. In the 
 world, the position of a husband at my time 
 of life, is an endless struggle. Such a destiny 
 I contemplate, but I will triumph or die in the 
 cause. Yes, Sir, die 1" gravely repeated the 
 enamoured old gentleman, by way of rebuke 
 to the sneer pourtrayed on the countenance of 
 Hippolyte. " My words may appear strange ; 
 but I swear to you, my honour shall be re- 
 spected. When Madame Dupastel shall bear 
 my name, more than one man perhaps will play
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 45 
 
 the part you have this day attempted ; each of 
 whom I shall regard as ray mortal enemy, and 
 treat as such ; — that is to say, one of us must 
 cease to live.'^ 
 
 In spite of his disappointment, Randeuil 
 could not refrain from admiring the energetic 
 expression suddenly reviving the withered 
 features of the old officer. Over all the ridi- 
 cule of amorous old age, the proud veteran 
 of the imperial army still predominated. 
 
 " The events of to-day convince me that the 
 combat may begin even before my marriage," 
 continued Monsieur Lareynie, with a resignation 
 worthy of a fatalist. '^ You have thrown 
 down the gauntlet. Sir. I accept the de- 
 fiance, and confess myself offended by your 
 conduct. I must have satisfaction, unless you 
 pledge me your honour that, from this mo- 
 ment, you resign your pretensions.'^ 
 
 At this unexpected provocation, Randeuil 
 stood confounded.
 
 46 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 " Is it a duel you propose. Sir?" said he, 
 unable to conceal his surprise. 
 
 " Yes, Sir — a duel,*' replied the old man, 
 coolly. 
 
 " And you think I would consent to fight 
 you r 
 
 " I have no reason for doubting your 
 courage." 
 
 '* You forget the respect due to your 
 age." 
 
 " My age only regards myself," answered 
 the old officer, dryly ; " and since I choose to 
 forget it, it would be a further impertinence 
 to remind me of it." 
 
 ^^ If you do not see yourself. Sir, I do," 
 observed Randeuil, becoming also irritable. 
 " I will not render myself ridiculous by 
 fighting with a man who, though he refuse 
 to be my father-in-law, might be my grand- 
 father.^^ 
 
 " You will compel me, then, to chastise you
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 4? 
 
 in public/^ exclaimed the old Colonel, wounded 
 to the quick. 
 
 Hippolyte, losing his patience, threw him- 
 self abruptly on the sofa. 
 
 " What are your weapons ?^' inquired M. 
 Lareynie, after a brief pause. 
 
 '^ Crutches !'' exclaimed Randeuil, greatly 
 exasperated. 
 
 " Take care that I do not give you cause for 
 wearing them 1^^ retorted the irate old man, 
 with the self-assurance of one certain of his 
 aim. " I sprained my arm out shooting 
 lately," (such was his version of a violent 
 attack of rheumatism, which no power on 
 earth could make him call by its right name) ; 
 " I therefore find it difficult to use a sword, so 
 that if you have objections to make against 
 pistols — " 
 
 " My objections are against fighting you on 
 any terms,'^ interrupted Randeuil, rising im- 
 patiently. " How am I to undeceive your
 
 48 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 unfounded suspicions and obtain peace ? 
 You talked of oaths — of solemn attestations ; 
 I am ready to comply with all you may exact." 
 
 " Swear^ then, that you do not love Madame 
 Dupastel/^ replied the jealous man, looking 
 daggers at Hippolyte. 
 
 ^^ I do swear that I neither love her, nor ever 
 have, nor ever will love her. What more do 
 you require ?" 
 
 "That you will not attempt to see her 
 again, to speak with her, or approach her." 
 
 "Since I have given you my word of honour 
 that I do not love Madame Dupastel," replied 
 Randeuil, eluding the question, " what need of 
 this ?'^ 
 
 In spite of his jealousy, the old man felt 
 almost convinced by these reiterated and un- 
 hesitating protestations. 
 
 " A word of honour is a serious pledge," 
 said he, " and I am not entitled to reject 
 yoitr's. Rather let me believe myself mis-
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 49 
 
 taken. I^ therefore, withdraw the words at 
 which you have taken umbrage. Your future 
 conduct will give the law to mine.^' 
 
 *^ In what sense am I to understand that 
 phrase ?" eagerly inquired the young man. 
 ^' May I interpret it in my favour ? Am I to 
 hope that, by dint of submission to your 
 wishes, I may at last succeed }'' 
 
 " As regards the hand of my daughter,^^ said 
 the Colonel, cutting him short, " obstinate as 
 you may be in your projects, I am not less so 
 in my decision. Do not compel me to the 
 ungracious task of a third time refusing your 
 proposals. After all that has passed, you have 
 less chance than ever of becoming my son-in- 
 law.'^ 
 
 At that moment, the drawing-room door 
 was thrown open, and Madame Dupastel, care- 
 fully enveloped in her pelisse, her cheeks 
 mantling with the cold, stepped lightly into 
 the room. Advancing towards the fire, she 
 stood shivering between the two men, who 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 stepped aside to make way for her ; then, with 
 a series of rapid and scarcely perceptible move- 
 ments, surveyed her fair disordered ringlets in 
 the glass, rolled them adroitly round her slen- 
 der fingers, smiled graciously upon Monsieur 
 Lareynie, to whose hands she confided the 
 elegant bonnet she had just taken off, signify- 
 ing meanwhile by a rapid glance to Hippolyte, 
 that all was safe. 
 
 A moment afterwards, the old beau, in the 
 full discharge of his functions, received the 
 pelisse, as he had already received the bonnet, 
 and placed it carefully on the ottoman, dis- 
 posing of both with as much veneration as if 
 they had been sacred relics ; while Ermance, 
 taking advantage of the opportunity, whispered 
 to Hippolyte, in stooping, to ring the bell : 
 
 "To-morrow, at two o'clock !" 
 
 Inspired by the peculiar instinct of jealousy, 
 the old man turned quickly round, although 
 he heard nothing. Madame Dupastel was 
 seated on the sofa, at the angle of the fire-
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 51 
 
 place, disarranging the fire, which, the minute 
 before, had been carefully renewed ; while Hip- 
 polyte stood with his hat in hand, in the atti- 
 tude of a man about to depart. In spite of 
 the affected calmness of both, Monsieur Larey- 
 iiie experienced a vague anxiety inexpressibly 
 painful. 
 
 " You went out on foot, then. Madam ?" said 
 he, seeing an almost imperceptible splash at the 
 bottom of her gown. 
 
 " On foot, and a famous march I have had. 
 Your old grenadiers could not have stepped 
 out better. I secured, at least, one advan- 
 tage. I saw the bills of the Opera ; they have 
 substituted Otello for Norma, which has com- 
 pletely changed my plans for the evening. 
 BelUni is the rage, I admit; but I am un- 
 shaken in my musical faith. I really must 
 persuade my aunt to come. Will you join 
 us r'^ 
 
 The conversation, thus skilfully merged in 
 common-place, continued some minutes; at 
 
 D 2
 
 52 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 the expiration of which, Eandeuil respectfully 
 took leave of the lady of the house, and ex- 
 changed a cold salutation with the man who 
 disdained him as a son-in-law. 
 
 " Now we are alone, Madam, do me the 
 favour to inform me what was the object of 
 that young man's visit }" said Monsieur Larey- 
 nie. 
 
 " Did he not tell you then ?" said Madame 
 Dupastel, with a smile. " Of what can you 
 have been talking for these last two hours ?" 
 
 " Betwixt man and man, there are certain ex- 
 planations which never take place in a lady's 
 drawing room.^' 
 
 " My dear Colonel,^' retorted Madame Dupas- 
 tel, " I am no great heroine, and if you draw 
 your imperial sword from its scabbard, shall 
 take the liberty to beat a retreat.^' Rising from 
 her seat, and humming a military air, she pro- 
 ceeded towards the piano. 
 
 " You refuse me then the word that would 
 restore me to ease of mind }'' said the old man
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 53 
 
 following her as if in leading-strings^ and adopt- 
 ing a tone of supplication. Ermance contem- 
 plating him the while with an expression of 
 mingled kindness, irony^ pity, and impatience. 
 
 "We will see about it/' said she, in the 
 caressing tone with which one soothes a child. 
 " You shall know all, if you are a good boy. But 
 in the first place, you have to ask my pardon 
 for having forgotten yourself." 
 
 Madame Dupastel was now seated on the 
 music stool before the piano. Subdued by her 
 winning expression of countenance, and the 
 magic of her voice, the Colonel fell at her feet, 
 regardless of the want of elasticity in the calves 
 of a sexagenarian. 
 
 " I forgive you," said she, trying to extricate 
 her hand from the grasp of the old man, who 
 was about to raise it to his lips ; and in order 
 to terminate a scene becoming so ridiculously 
 tender, she rose without ceremony, leaving 
 the old man fixed in his supremely critical 
 genuflection. " It is near five o'clock,'' added
 
 54 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 she, looking at the clock, ^^ I must dress, I dine 
 with my aunt. If you mean to be amiable, you 
 will come and take me to the Opera." 
 
 "At seven I will be with you," said the 
 Colonel, making a convulsive effort to get upon 
 his legs. 
 
 " Farewell then till this evening,^^ said Er- 
 mance, " and till then, heaven have you in its 
 holy keeping. Adieu.^^ 
 
 With infantine grace, she made a solemn 
 curtsey to the old beau, worthy of the court of 
 Louis XIV, and disappeared under the silken 
 curtain over-hanging the door. For a moment 
 Monsieur Lareynie stood motionless in the 
 centre of the room, as if his feet had taken root 
 to the carpet; then rushed towards the sofa 
 and pressed his lips to the hem of her pelisse. 
 
 "Dear, fatally dear, and most capricious 
 woman !" cried he, with a last glance towards 
 the door through which she had disappeared. 
 " You are fated to be the bane of my remaining 
 years ?'
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 55 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Next day, at two o^clock, Hippolyte Randeuil 
 proceeded to the house of Madame Dupastel, 
 whom he found alone, with a book in her hand 
 and comfortably seated by the chimney corner. 
 After a profound obeisance, he anxiously sur- 
 veyed the room, in a manner that did not escape 
 the quick observation of Ermance. 
 
 " Do not alarm yourself,^' said she, " he is not 
 here.'^ 
 
 " You have guessed right, Madam,^^ replied 
 Hippolyte, accepting the arm-chair graciously 
 pointed out to him. " I cannot conceal from 
 you, that the presence of Monsieur Lareynie 
 makes me tremble." 
 
 " Do you suppose I allow him to come here
 
 56 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 every day ? Every Friday, for instance, which 
 is to-day^ I close my doors and receive no one ; 
 the exception in your favour is the result of 
 pecuhar circumstances. Let me now give you 
 an account of my mission. In the first place, 
 the lady of your thoughts is decidedly hand- 
 some ; she has fine eyes, good features^ a plea- 
 sant expression of countenance. No great dis- 
 play of physiognomy, perhaps, but upon the 
 whole, a charming person. You are a man of 
 taste ; and I will accept such beautiful eyes as 
 an excuse for imprudence. I will not dwell 
 upon the alarm of Mademoiselle Lareynie, 
 when, expecting you, she saw me arrive in your 
 place ; she must have thought me as hideous 
 as I thought her pretty. I succeeded, however, 
 in making her understand that her sentimental 
 journey was at an end, and that she must 
 speedily return to school. At Chaillot, all was 
 settled according to my expectations. Madame 
 Dunois will be prudent enough to hold her 
 tongue ; so that part of the business is arranged.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 5? 
 
 And now, pray, what have you effected ? I did 
 not dare question Monsieur Lareynie yesterday; 
 but have you obtained no concession on his 
 part?" 
 
 ^' He has obhgingly rehnquished the idea 
 Madam, of cutting my throat on your account, 
 but nothing more. As to the marriage, it is 
 more distasteful to him than ever ; and you 
 behold a man who has undergone three several 
 rejections at his hands.'^ 
 
 "Cut your throat?" exclaimed Madame Du- 
 pastel. " What extraordinary ideas must he en- 
 tertain about you. I trust you have done all in 
 your power to undeceive him ?'^ 
 
 "Assuredly, Madam. But how is one to 
 reason with the frenzy of jealousy ?" 
 
 "You made him understand, I hope, that 
 you had never entertained the slightest preten- 
 sions to pleased me, or to interest my feel- 
 ings ?" 
 
 ^^ Alas, Madam, I own I was vile enough to 
 utter blasphemies to that effect. Last night, 
 
 D 3
 
 58 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 in recalling the events of the day, I felt con- 
 scious that I had acted like a child V 
 
 « How so ?'' 
 
 " Instead of concealing my game, I stupidly 
 threw down the cards before Monsieur Larey- 
 nie. I read in your eyes, Madam, that you 
 understand me !'^ 
 
 " I am afraid I do/^ said Madame Dupastel, 
 laughing ; — " but proceed/^ 
 
 '^ You are as well aware as myself. Madam,"' 
 replied Hippolyte, " that men are only governed 
 by their passions. The leading one of Mon- 
 sieur Lareynie is devotion to yourself. To this 
 exclusive sentiment, all other feelings have 
 yielded ; and the rest of the world, including 
 his daughter, are perfectly indifferent to him ; 
 such being the case, how should I have acted ? 
 Addressed myself to this dehcate chord, and 
 direct my attack against the only vulnerable 
 point ! Fearing me as a rival, Monsieur Larey- 
 nie would, sooner or later, have given me the 
 hand of his daughter in order to get rid of me.''
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 59 
 
 « You think so V' 
 
 " I am sure of it ; the jealousy of Monsieur 
 Lareynie was an offered means of salvation, 
 and my neglect of the advantage appears per- 
 fectly unaccountable. There are days on which 
 one's intelligence sinks beneath the instinct of 
 the meanest animal ! What has been the con- 
 sequence? Monsieur Lareynie entertains no 
 further anxiety. I have lost my cause by my 
 own irreparable folly."*' 
 
 " Irreparable indeed ?' exclaimed Ermance 
 with affected gravity. Randeuil hesitated for a 
 moment; but perceiving a slight smile upon 
 the lip of his charming protectress, like the 
 summer breeze that shakes the leaves of the 
 honeysuckle, resumed in an insinuating 
 voice : 
 
 " Irreparable, Madam, I repeat ; unless you 
 deign to repair my fault." 
 
 "What means these mysterious insinua- 
 tions }" rephed Ermance. " Yesterday, you 
 sent me off to Chaillot in the service of your
 
 60 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 love. Whither is it your pleasure I should go 
 to-day ? Do not, however, expect me to quit 
 my fireside. I prefer resigning my functions 
 as protectress." 
 
 " I refuse your resignation, Madam,^^ replied 
 Randeuil, in the same tone. " What would 
 become of me, were you to abandon me ? I 
 entreat you, vouchsafe the continuance of your 
 good will ! What I ask, would cost you so 
 little 1'* 
 
 '^ What is it you require ?" 
 
 " Your permission to justify, henceforward, 
 by my pretensions, the feeling with which Mon- 
 sieur Lareynie thinks proper to honour me.^^ 
 
 " Excellent 1*^ interrupted Madame Dupastel, 
 laughing immoderately. " You ought to write 
 for the stage. You have a decided genius for 
 dramatic intrigue. Yesterday, an elopement, 
 and now a mystification. And what part, pray, 
 do you design for me ? — I trust I am not to be 
 a walking lady ?" 
 
 " You shall retain the part you play so ad-
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 61 
 
 mirably well," replied Randeuil, joining in the 
 gaiety of Madame Dupastel. 
 
 " I am an actress, then, without knowing it ? 
 Tell me in what part ?^' 
 
 " That of a woman who pleases every one 
 so wholly without effort, that it is not her fault 
 if all the world be in love with her !'^ 
 
 Reclining against the back of the sofa, and 
 holding in her tiny hand the point of her dim- 
 pled chin, Madame Dupastel fixed her dark eyes 
 upon the admirer of Mademoiselle Lareynie. 
 
 " I am more inclined to laugh than scold," 
 said she, after a moment's pause. " I must 
 candidly confess to you my displeasure at your 
 extravagant ideas. Marriage is too serious a 
 thing to be trifled with.^^ 
 
 " I am willing to be serious if you prefer it," 
 said Randeuil, gravely. 
 
 " No, no ; if you love me at all, be it in 
 joke. Other women might, perhaps, regard the 
 proposition as an impertinence \ but in matters 
 of love, / prefer the parody to the drama."
 
 62 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 "Angel that you are !" exclaimed Hippolyte, 
 with involuntary enthusiasm. 
 
 "Not badly done for a first attempt ;^' ob- 
 served Ermance ; " but remember, the play is 
 not yet begun. If you prove a tolerable actor, 
 I should think a week might suffice for our 
 plot." 
 
 " Be generous, and give me a month," said 
 Randeuil, eagerly. 
 
 " A month ? do you want to kill the poor 
 old Colonel ? — My conscience will only allow 
 me to grant what is strictly necessary. A 
 fortnight must suffice. For fifteen days, you 
 are free to torment the Colonel, to the utmost 
 in your power, with the exception of an elope- 
 ment, for which I do not share the predilection 
 of his daughter. After that period, should you 
 not succeed, you must permit me to withdraw 
 from the scene of action.'^ 
 
 Hippolyte could scarcely suppress his re- 
 sentment at this indirect censure upon the 
 conduct of Mademoiselle Lareynie.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 63 
 
 "Coquette!" muttered he between his lips. 
 " It is not from kindness she renders me this 
 service, but merely for the sake of teazing the 
 old Celadon, who, in the bottom of her soul, I 
 am sure she detests. There is something in 
 her eyes, beautiful as they are, which make me 
 dread her as a mother-in-law. However, if 
 she promote my marriage, I have no right to 
 find fault !" 
 
 Madame Dupastel looked askance at the young 
 man during his momentary silence. With the 
 intuitiveness of quick intelligence, she partly 
 guessed the ironical reflection of which she 
 was the object ; and this discovery produced a 
 smile, of w^hich the melancholy expression, 
 possessed the eloquence of an unexpected 
 charm. 
 
 "Be frank with me V said she. " Just now, 
 you called me angel ; and now you seem dis- 
 posed to give me another name, and that too, 
 for an idle word that unwittingly escaped my 
 lips. 1 had no intention of wounding your
 
 64 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 feelings or disparaging your idol. While prais- 
 ing my goodness, I see you think me treache- 
 rous, and attribute to a caprice, which would be 
 almost a cruelty, my conduct towards Monsieur 
 Lareynie. Do not interrupt me/' said she, 
 with eagerness ; ^'^you are young, and I have 
 known you but a day. By so readily assenting 
 to your extraordinary project, I have proved 
 that you inspire me with feelings of esteem 
 and regard. Your proceeding yesterday, your 
 self-government after so reprehensible a com- 
 mencement, appeared to me a proof of excel- 
 lent feelings. On my part, I should be sorry to 
 have you entertain an unfavourable impression 
 of me. If we enter the same family, T shall 
 be your mother-in-law, but it would be painful 
 to me to owe your respect only to that title. 
 Having received your confession, I feel, I 
 know not why, the strongest inclination to 
 make you mine. Were you only thirty years 
 older^^' 
 
 " Since yesterday, Madam,'^ gravely inter-
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 65 
 
 rupted Randeuil, "my head has put forth 
 several grey hairs.'' 
 
 " I do not perceive them, though willing to 
 believe it/' replied Madame Dupastel, laugh- 
 ing. " My scruples, however, are diminished. 
 Listen, therefore, and make what excuses for 
 me you can. On seeing me about to give my 
 hand to Lareynie, you probably felt surprised 
 that, in a second marriage, I should not have 
 desired a more suitable alliance in point of age^'^ 
 
 " I confess. Madam, that the happiness des- 
 tined for Monsieur Lareynie seems somewhat 
 inexplicable !" 
 
 " Suffer me to explain it. In contracting 
 this marriage, I do not yield to the considera- 
 tions which usually induce young women to 
 marry men considerably older than themselves. 
 My fortune is equal to that of the Colonel ; and 
 the advantage, indeed, on my side, having 
 no daughter to estabhsh. It is not, therefore, 
 interest, but prudence, which influences my 
 choice. I was far from happy with my first
 
 66 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 husband. Monsieur Dupastel was very young, 
 of about my own age. Experience taught me 
 to regard this as a misfortune. In the world, I 
 am pronounced a coquette , yet the natural 
 bent of my character inclines me towards 
 genuine and simple feelings ; and though in 
 appearance frivolous, my object is to attain 
 happiness from a tranquil life. Monsieur 
 Dupastel, not participating in my tastes, 
 forced me to adopt his own. His age, for I 
 only accuse his age, attracted him into the 
 world, the pleasures and triumphs, of which 
 were essential to him. What I suffered during 
 three empty, dissipated years, my anxiety, 
 my jealousy, nay, why should I not confess 
 it ? the tears I have often shed upon leaving a 
 scene of gaiety, it were useless to describe. 
 My assumed coquetry dates from that period. 
 Women often smile the better to disguise their 
 tears. I became a coquette from pride ; but my 
 hours of solitude were only the more dreary 
 from temporary gaiety. On becoming a widow.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 6/ 
 
 I swore to retain my freedom ; but the disad- 
 vantage of being without a protector^ exposed 
 to ridiculous and irksome persecution, finally 
 overcame my resolution. My family urged me 
 to marry again ; and, while thus beset, Mon- 
 sieur Lareynie, the intimate friend of my aunt, 
 made me an overture of marriage, which in 
 the first instance provoked my smiles, but 
 at length made me serious. His age, which 
 would have caused others to hesitate, was 
 precisely his recommendation to my favour. 
 Experience determined me to seek in a future 
 alliance, the certainty of peace rather than 
 chances of happiness too often illusory. 
 Monsieur Lareynie's time of life affords the 
 guarantees I require. My affection will sufiice 
 him. His peculiarities of character do not alarm 
 me. After all, it is better to be the cause of 
 jealousy, than the victim ! Indeed, with the 
 exception of a few trifling failings, perfectly 
 supportable, the Colonel is a man of excellent 
 qualities. His honour and probity are beyond
 
 68 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 all praise. He has mind, information, is cour- 
 teous, amiable, and above all deeply at- 
 tached to me. In that respect, I have been 
 too little spoiled to remain indifferent to the 
 intense affection he has conceived for me. On 
 one point, alone — his apparent indifference for 
 his daughter — am I disposed to blame him. 
 But I hope to persuade him into kindlier 
 feelings. Such, Sir, is my confession. If just 
 now, I unintentionally offended you, you are free 
 to pay back again, by your condemnation.'* 
 
 " Since you can penetrate my inward heart, 
 Madam, you must see how I repent having, for 
 an instant, doubted your generosity," cried 
 Randeuil. " Do you pardon me ?'^ 
 
 As the young man was about to rise from 
 his chair, to reiterate the inquiry, there was a 
 ring at the bell. 
 
 *' Here is Monsieur Lareynie !" exclaimed 
 Ermance, somewhat agitated. 
 
 " Are you sure ?" inquired Hippolyte. 
 
 " Too sure. I know his ring full well. He
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 69 
 
 was not to have come to-day ! What will he 
 say at seeing you \" 
 
 '^ There will only be a repetition of the scene 
 of yesterday !" 
 
 " No, no ! I will not have it. Sit down. 
 He is already in the dining-room." 
 
 The young man instantly seized her hand. 
 
 " The opportunity is only too favourable,'* 
 said he ; and, unmindful of her commands, 
 he fell on his knees before her, at the moment 
 the door flew open. 
 
 Affecting the confusion of a discovered suitor, 
 he started up ; but not so as to prevent the 
 intruder from obtaining a full view of his 
 movements.
 
 70 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 On beholding a man at the feet of Madame 
 Dupastel, the Colonel rushed forward. But 
 his strength only supported him to the middle 
 of the room. There it failed him. His knees 
 bent, and he would have fallen, but for the 
 table standing close at hand ! Finding him 
 totter, Ermance, urged by an instinct of hu- 
 manity, rushed forward to assist him, while 
 Randeuil brought an arm chair, into which the 
 old beau sank pale and speechless. 
 
 " He is ill," said Ermance, somewhat alarm- 
 ed. ^' Go into my room ; on the toilet, you 
 will find a bottle of eau de Cologne,^' she 
 continued, addressing Hippolyte. 
 
 Randeuil obeyed, but at that instant the
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 71 
 
 Colonel suddenly rose^ as if the movement of 
 his imaginary rival had been sufficient to 
 rouse him from his attack. 
 
 " Into your room .^" — exclaimed the old gen- 
 tleman, looking wildly at Ermance. ^^ Into 
 your room ?" 
 
 Madame Dupastel arrested Randeuil by a 
 significant look ; while her hand, resting on her 
 aged admirer, gently compelled him to remain 
 seated. Wishing to be of use, but not know- 
 ing how, Randeuil picked up the hat and cane 
 of the Colonel, and laid them gently on the 
 table. But this act of politeness, far from 
 being agreeable to him, caused his eyes to flash 
 with anger. 
 
 "It is rather my glove you ought to pick 
 up," said he, with his reedy voice ; throwing 
 one of his gloves in the direction of Hippolyte, 
 which, like the bolt shot by Priam, fell far 
 short of its destination. 
 
 Hippolyte stooping again, picked up the 
 glove and placed it in the old man's hat, which
 
 72 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 served to exasperate him the more. Again, he 
 attempted to rise ; but without giving him 
 time, Ermance leant rapidly towards her con- 
 federate. 
 
 " You will kill him, if you persist,^' whis- 
 pered she. " Never have I seen him in such a 
 state. In the name of heaven leave us ! For 
 this time, I hope you have done enough ?' 
 
 Randeuil hesitated, but, considering that by 
 going too far he might injure his project, he 
 bowled graciously to his protectress, and left 
 the rooQi. ; 
 
 After his departure, Madame Dupastel was 
 as much agitated as if the scene had not been 
 one of excellent dissembling. She closed the 
 piano, threw the books about, as if to put them . 
 in order, arranged the fire, which had no 
 need of arrangement ; and having exhausted 
 these little subterfuges, seated herself on the 
 sofa. 
 
 " How do you find yourself, now, Colonel ?^* 
 said she, looking affectionately upon Monsieur
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 73 
 
 Lareynie ; who, during the time had main- 
 tained the most profound silence. 
 
 The old man raised his eyes, and contem- 
 plated his idol with a downcast air. 
 
 " Those who stab a man to the heart with 
 a dagger," said he, in a feeble voice, " do not 
 usually ask him how he finds himself/^ 
 
 The sadness with which these words were pro- 
 nounced, produced more eflfect than the utmost 
 bitterness or anger. The agitated features of 
 Monsieur Lareynie, who during the last few 
 minutes seemed to have grown older by several 
 years, so convulsed was his countenance, so in- 
 distinct and hoarse his voice, inspired Ermance 
 with a degree of compassion bordering upon 
 repentance. 
 
 " Poor fellow !^' said she. " He loves me 
 more than I thought. Do you suffer much ?'^ 
 she inquired, in a tone of deep affection. 
 
 Monsieur Lareynie rose with an air of pro- 
 found solemnity, like a culprit about to undergu 
 his sentence. 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 " It is here that I suflPer !" said he, laying his 
 hand on his heart ; " Ermance ! you, whom 
 I adore, you who possess my whole affection, 
 and esteem, you, to deceive me thus — to betray 
 me ! — At my age, such a wound is death 1'^ — 
 
 It was the first time the Colonel had alluded 
 to his age ; and the avowal impressed her with 
 shame, for the deep injury she had inflicted on 
 the heart of her future husband. 
 
 " To talk in this style," thought she, " he 
 must feel the approach of death !" 
 
 Of the few real victims of their affections, 
 those in the decline of years are certainly 
 most in danger. Unrequited love expands 
 upon a youthful organization like oil upon the 
 polished marble ; but in that which is more 
 mature, it finds a thousand crevices by which 
 the corrosive poison instils itself into the heart. 
 Convinced of this, Ermance felt a sudden re- 
 morse, and began to repent the promise made 
 to Randeuil. She saw only her aged admirer 
 standing before her, his hand pressed upon his
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. J 5 
 
 heart, as if to staunch his wound ; his cheeks 
 so pale, his eyes so sunk, his brow so wrinkled, 
 his bearing so enfeebled, that she feared he 
 would sink exhausted on the carpet. To 
 avoid such a catastrophe, she made way for 
 him on the sofa, a favour he had never yet 
 obtained, desiring him to remain by her, with the 
 most copmassionate and earnest persuasions. 
 
 " My dear friend !^' said she, " be rea- 
 sonable. Let us argue calmly. Your jea- 
 lousy has not a shadow of foundation. You 
 are completely in the wrong.'^ 
 
 " Wrong ?" exclaimed he. 
 
 "You have taken for earnest a comedy, I 
 might say a tragedy, in which I regret having 
 accepted a part, seeing the deplorable effect 
 which has resulted !" said Ermance, kindly. 
 " The scene you witnessed, on entering, was 
 preconcerted between Monsieur Randeuil and 
 me. He loves your daughter, he wishes to marry 
 her; in furtherance of which^ he claims my 
 influence. Your reiterated refusals hav^e left 
 
 E 2
 
 76 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 little hope to the poor young man ; and in 
 order to force you to revoke your decision, we 
 thought of nothing better than to take advan- 
 tage of your attachment for me. It was a 
 stupid stratagem, I allow, and for the part 
 I took in it, I sincerely beg your pardon. One 
 should never trifle with feelings genuine as 
 yours ; and in all things, the straightest road 
 is the shortest. Fortunately, the grievance is not 
 irreparable. On this occasion, every body is 
 to blame : you the first. Colonel. Between 
 ourselves, your opposition to the marriage of 
 your daughter is unwarrantable. The world, 
 ever severe with respect to step-mothers, will 
 suppose that / am the cause. I do not choose 
 to pay the penalty of your errors. If you 
 mean me to pardon the ridiculous suspicions 
 which you presumed to entertain before my ex- 
 planation, you must promise to grant the hand 
 of your daughter to Monsieur Randeuil. 
 He is worthy of her ; he is a young man of 
 honour and refinement. The two weddings
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 77 
 
 shall take place on the same day. You must 
 give her a handsome fortune, for I will not 
 suffer the interests of your daughter to be 
 prejudiced by our marriage. Then, all will be 
 well. Your children will bless you, and your 
 wife approve. Come, Adolphe ! — Give me 
 your hand and say yes !" 
 
 The word " Adolphe,'^ was a talisman which 
 Madame Dupastel reserved for extreme occa- 
 sions; and which Monsieur Lareynie found 
 irresistible. Like all old men with youthful 
 pretensions, he retained a childish attach- 
 ment to his christian name. This time, 
 however, the cabalistic expression failed in its 
 effect, so completely had the foul fiend of jea- 
 lousy envenomed the tender heart of the veteran. 
 
 " Madam, madam !" exclaimed he bitterly ; 
 " spare me a justification I do not demand. I 
 never doubted the resources of your imagina- 
 tion ; but can you suppose the best constructed 
 plot ever imagined, capable of making me dis- 
 believe the evidence of my eyes ? Jealousy
 
 78 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 is not so blind as is supposed. It sees exceed- 
 ingly clear. Do not^ therefore, try to deceive 
 me. I am no longer a child to behevQ in 
 fables.^' 
 
 " I am fully aware that you are no longer a 
 child/' replied Ermance, mortified by his in- 
 creduHty ; " but reason may fail one at any age. 
 When I choose to give you an explanation of 
 my own free will, it appears to me that you 
 ought to be more than convinced.^' 
 
 " Yes, / am convinced," said Monsieur La- 
 reynie, in a tragical tone ; " but it is of your 
 perfidy — your insincerity — your treason V 
 
 " A truce to such gallantry,'^ replied Ermance, 
 roused by the energy of the implacable old 
 beau : " your w^ords are too kind^ too gracious. 
 But they would be much enhanced were they 
 more calmly delivered. You are not in a 
 council of war ; this is a lady's drawing-room, 
 and not a field of battle." 
 
 " Would to God I were on afield of battle !" 
 exclaimed the old soldier. 
 
 i
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 7^ 
 
 " With me for a foe }" said Ermance. '^ Your 
 victory would be easy. I own myself dead 
 beat.'^ 
 
 She now rose from her seat with the air of 
 a woman who deems her visitor tiresome. 
 Disdaining to resent this mute rebuff. Mon- 
 sieur Lareynie took up his hat and cane. 
 
 '^ Adieu, Madam !" said he, accompanying 
 the words by a solemn look. 
 
 " Adieu, Colonel," replied Ermance, with an 
 arch smile. ^^ You will return when you are 
 in better temper. Meantime, take care of 
 yourself. At your age, violent emotions are 
 sometimes fatal 1^' 
 
 " At my age, Madam,^' exclaimed the 
 superannuated beau, " one is not too old to 
 rid oneself of a coxcomb, or revenge oneself on 
 a coquette V 
 
 With this bitter retort, he quitted the room.
 
 80 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Next day, Hippolyte Randeuil was smoking 
 quietly by the fireside, dreaming alternately of 
 Abeille and Madame Dupastel, when his ser- 
 vant entered the room announcing, " General 
 Thorignon.'^ The young man immediately rose 
 on hearing this title to respect ; when lo ! there 
 entered a fine imposing old man, whose stately 
 person was further enhanced by his soldierly 
 bearing. His blue surtout buttoned close to 
 the chin, had ribbons of several colours at one 
 of the button holes ; and his forehead, in addi- 
 tion to a few grey locks, was embellished with 
 as handsome a scar as soldier could desire. 
 
 ^^ Sir," said the General, after accepting the 
 chair politely offered by Hippolyte, " I am
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 81 
 
 come to you on the part of my friend. Colonel 
 Lareynie. You, no doubt, anticipate the ob- 
 ject of my visit }" 
 
 Throwing his cigar into the fire, Hippolyte 
 calmly replied, " My surmises, General, are so 
 improbable, that, to be conA^nced, I require the 
 authority of your word.'^ 
 
 " I shall explain myself in a few words," 
 said the old soldier. " An altercation has 
 taken place between you and the Colonel, who 
 wishes things to take their usual course, and 
 insists that you appoint a day and hour for the 
 meeting.'^ 
 
 " Although you come hither as the friend of 
 Monsieur Lareynie, Sir," replied Hippolyte, 
 " allow me to beg you will arbitrate between us. 
 Judge if it be possible for me to accept this 
 challenge ?'^ 
 
 '' And why should it be impossible ?" calmly 
 inquired the plenipo. 
 
 " For many reasons. General, which you will 
 readily appreciate. First of all, the Colonel's
 
 82 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 " The Colonel's age is my own age ; indeed 
 I am his senior/' replied the General ; " and 
 had you offended me, g^ey though my hair \ 
 may be, you should infallibly fight me. That ' 
 reason is inadmissible ; let us pass to another.'^ 
 
 " His infirmities !" said Hippolyte. " Rheu- 
 matism in the right arm, which he chooses to 
 call a sprain." 
 
 *^And pray, who has not got the rheu- 
 matism?'^ — said the General. "There is but 
 one point for consideration ; the choice of arms, 
 which we had better promptly decide. When 
 you have appointed a second, I shall enter 
 into arrangements with him ; and I warn you, 
 I shall propose pistols. With swords, the dis- 
 advantage of the Colonel would be such as I 
 am sure you would not accept; while the 
 pistol places you on even terms. I have already 
 tried the capability of the Colonel's arm, so 
 that you need have no apprehension on that 
 score." 
 
 " But I respect Monsieur Lareynie," said 
 Hippolyte, full of reminiscences of Abeille.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 83 
 
 " What signifies that, Sir ? A duel is a mark 
 of respect. We do not fight with those whom 
 we despise.'^ 
 
 " General 1^' replied the young man driven 
 back into his last retrenchment. " You cannot 
 enter into my extreme repugnance to this 
 meeting. The cause of our dispute is an act 
 of folly. Is an arrangement impossible ?" 
 
 " Sir/' rephed the veteran, " had there been 
 a possibiHty of terminating this affair amicably, 
 believe me, it would have been done. But my 
 office is positive, and admits of no reconcilia- 
 tion. Give me a formal answer. Will you 
 fight, or no r'^ 
 
 "No, then,'' replied Hippolyte. ''I will 
 7iot r 
 
 " Neither I nor the Colonel could anticipate 
 so absolute a refusal,'^ said the General, aston- 
 ished. " I must apply for further instructions. 
 As soon as I have them, I will return. '^ 
 
 The idea of receiving a second visit, during 
 the day, from this messenger of war, did not
 
 84 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 suit the projects of Randeuil, who tried to ob- 
 tain a further delay. 
 
 " I require twenty-four hours' reflection/' 
 rephed he ; "at the expiration of which time, 
 it is I who will have the honour of waiting 
 upon you, for I cannot think of giving you the 
 trouble to return." 
 
 " As you please,'' said the General, placing 
 his card on the table ; " here is my address. I 
 shall expect you at two precisely." 
 
 As soon as the friend of Monsieur Lareynie 
 departed, Randeuil dressed himself, and pro- 
 ceeded to Madame Dupastel's. 
 
 " Here again ?" exclaimed the young widow, 
 seeing him. "Are you going to take my room 
 by storm, day after day ?" 
 
 " Our position," said Hippolyte, " is becom- 
 ing serious. If you do not interfere, I shall 
 find myself forced to kill Monsieur Lareynie, 
 or to let him kill me — a disagreeable alterna- 
 tive. I have obtained a delay of twenty-four 
 hours."
 
 MODERN FREiNCH LIFE. 85 
 
 " Such, then, is the catastrophe with which 
 he threatened me, in going away yesterday ? 
 And so you are not incUned to fight }" 
 
 " Place yourself in my situation. It would 
 be most disagreeable to be killed, above all by 
 a person of that age ; and if I have the misfor- 
 tune to kill him, how present myself afterwards 
 before Abeille?^' 
 
 " The Cid before Chimene 1" observed 
 Madame Dupastel, with a smile, implying that 
 she did not deem it a very serious matter. 
 
 " I implore you, my kind protectress, come 
 to my aid,^' said he, gravely ; " if not, I shall 
 never extricate myself from this perplexing 
 affair. Your redoubtable Colonel has just 
 dispatched to me a formidable emissary— a 
 General of the grand army, as ferocious as 
 himself, and both seem thirsting for my 
 blood.^^ 
 
 *^ Good !" replied Ermance ; *^ have you 
 nothing more to say in your own favour?" 
 
 "Is it not enough to obtain your pity?''
 
 86 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 " By no means enough, to excuse three visits 
 in three days' time. I have no doubt the ser- 
 vants are already making their observations. 
 Return home, remain there until you hear from 
 me." 
 
 " Promise me you will not allow me to be 
 killed 1" said Randeuil, affecting a boyish 
 fear. 
 
 " Not just yet — it would be a pity," replied 
 Ermance, contemplating with satisfaction the 
 manly and expressive physiognomy of her 
 future son-in-law ; and having thus despatched 
 him, the young widow, without loss of time, 
 wrote a laconic note, which was instantly for- 
 warded to Monsieur Lareynie. An hour after- 
 wards, the old beau, cited before a tribunal at 
 which love- stricken hearts are enchanted to 
 appear, entered the room with the determined 
 air of one, who^ foreseeing a mortal combat, 
 is resolved to conquer or die. 
 
 J
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 8-/ 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 Since the preceding day, Madame Dupastel 
 had repented having hazarded a shock to her 
 old friend which his age might render fataL 
 She eyed him closely as he entered the room, 
 and contrary to her expectations, found him 
 but httle altered. The possibility of a duel 
 had reanimated the old warrior ; who advanced 
 with a firm and resolute air, his head erect, his 
 shoulders squared. Observing this, her con- 
 science became tranquillized ; and as further 
 compassion was superfluous, she returned with- 
 out scruple to the exercise of her usual des- 
 potism. 
 
 " I beg pardon for having disturbed you,^' 
 
 said she, coldly to the old gentleman, after he 
 had seated himself. " I wdll not detain you
 
 88 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 long, for I have only two words to say, I have 
 just been informed that you have sent a chal- 
 lenge to Monsieur Randeuil." 
 
 "He was base enough to acquaint you of 
 the fact?" exclaimed the Colonel. 
 
 " Rather prudent enough. It is necessary 
 that young men be rational, when their seniors 
 forget themselves. You are the master of 
 your actions ; so is Monsieur Randeuil. Fight, 
 if you choose. I am neither a Clorinda nor a 
 Bradamante, and certainly shall not go on 
 the ground and throw myself between you. 
 But as I have a right to interfere in an affair 
 which originates with myself, I give you my 
 honour, if this duel take place, our marriage 
 is broken. You shall never set foot in this 
 house again.'' 
 
 Monsieur Lareynie stood transfixed, as if 
 about to receive his adversary's fire ; but far 
 less stout of heart, for the eyes of a fair 
 idol are more fearful than the cannon's mouth. 
 
 " You hear what I say," continued Ermance,
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 89 
 
 after a pause ; " I shall now dictate to you a 
 suitable letter which will put an end to this 
 ridiculous misunderstanding.'^ 
 
 " A letter ? to whom ?" inquired the 
 Colonel. 
 
 '- To Monsieur Randeuil.'* 
 
 *^ Never — never !'' 
 
 " If you do not sit down at my desk before 
 I leave the room, I will never see you again/^ 
 said Madame Dupastel, rising from her seat ; 
 and she was proceeding towards the adjoining 
 room without even turning her head, when 
 just as she had reached the door, the old man 
 rushed towards her, and impetuously seized her 
 arm. 
 
 '^ Ermance,^^ said he, " one step more, and I 
 die at your feet." 
 
 Extricating herself imperiously, Madame 
 Dupastel pointed to the desk, but did not 
 utter a word. At that moment, Lareynie's 
 features seemed almost convulsed. But after 
 shaking his head disconsolately several times.
 
 90 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 he sat down as he was ordered. The young 
 widow then placed before him a sheet of paper, 
 and dipping the pen in the ink, placed it in his 
 hand. 
 
 " Sir \" said she, beginning to dictate. 
 
 " At least explain to me the scene of yester- 
 day ?^' exclaimed the Colonel ; — " I saw him at 
 your feet.'* 
 
 " He was at my feet. Write on. Sir 1" 
 
 "A word Ermance, one word, I entreat 
 you \" 
 
 " To what purpose ? When I tell you the 
 truth, you do not believe me !'^ 
 
 " You have told the exact truth, then. You 
 swear it ? — Alas ! I fear I must believe your 
 justification !'' 
 
 " You should have believed me yesterday," 
 said Madame Dupastel proudly ; " it does not 
 suit me notv to justify myself. I will not expose 
 myself to the repetition of having my word 
 denied. Interpret my words as you will, it 
 signifies little." 
 
 i
 
 MODERN FRENXH LIFE. 91 
 
 " I believe you, I swear I believe you/' re- 
 plied the Colonel, confounded by this firmness 
 of language. " I even comprehend your sus- 
 ceptibiUty ; but if I stoop to the vile step you 
 require, promise me that the presuming cox- 
 comb shall never be received here again ? Oh, 
 promise me !'' 
 
 " To make such a concession, would be to 
 acknowledge myself wrong. Besides, I do 
 not choose to submit to conditions. You have 
 told me a hundred times that if I married you, 
 I should enjoy entire independence. Allow 
 me to pre- assert that privilege, now that I am 
 still free. It suits me to receive Monsieur 
 Randeuil, and I warn you, that my door will be 
 open to him." 
 
 " But he is in love with you !" exclaimed 
 the old man, wildly. 
 
 *' Puis-je emp6cher les gens de me trouver aimable ? 
 Et lorsque, pour me voir, ils me font de doux efforts 
 Dois-je prendre un baton pour les mettre dehors ?" 
 
 said Madame Dupastel, reciting the verses with
 
 92 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 an expression worthy of Mademoiselle Mars -, 
 and the new Celimene twirled round the 
 tassels of her sash till they flew into the old 
 man's face. 
 
 "Come, come — enough of jealousy, and 
 write !'* said she. '* You know very well you 
 always end by obeying me, then wherefore not 
 begin ?'' 
 
 '^ Do you suppose, then, I will consent to 
 meet that man in your house again ? — In the 
 name of God, how could I help killing him ?" 
 
 " You will do what all men of the world do 
 when they find a rival : you will try to excel 
 him in all that is amiable and interesting. A 
 surer way to win the heart of woman, than by 
 drawing your sword; — a fashion of the days of 
 the empire, perhaps, but we have now grown 
 more pacific. So remember, I bind myself to 
 nothing. For the present, my door will be 
 open to Monsieur Randeuil ; in fact, I choose 
 to be obeyed without conditions. Now, will 
 you write what I am about to dictate, or not }"
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 93 
 
 " No Madam \" ejaculated Monsieur Larey- 
 nie, flinging away the pen^ — " I will not.'* 
 
 Without uttering a word, Ermance turned 
 towards the bed-room ; and before she reached 
 the door, the old man, for the second time, 
 relented. 
 
 " Speak, Madam," said he, with an embit- 
 tered and irritated voice ! '^ What am I to 
 write ? I would fain trace this letter with the 
 last drops of my blood. Perhaps on seeing me 
 lie dead at your feet, you would repent the man- 
 ner in which you have treated me.^' 
 
 Madame Dupastel subdued a feeling of com- 
 passion, which might have endangered her 
 victory, and she forthwith dictated the follow- 
 ing letter : 
 
 "Sir, 
 " I beg you will consider the provocation I 
 offered you as revoked, and believe in my 
 sincere wish to live on the best terms with 
 you.''
 
 94 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 " Sign !" — said the young widow to the 
 Colonel, who obeyed her, although his hand 
 trembled with rage. 
 
 Ermance took up the letter, addressed and 
 forwarded it to its destination, without any fur- 
 ther interference on the part of her admirer. 
 Among their many talents, women incontestably 
 possess that of following up their successes. 
 Conquered upon the subject of the duel. Mon- 
 sieur Lareynie did not recover the defeat, but 
 remained in the position of a disarmed com- 
 batant who surrenders at discretion. The con- 
 spiracy against him not only proceeded, but 
 assuming a new and more decided character 
 every day, Randeuil visited Madame Dupastel, 
 and the Colonel was sure of meeting him, or 
 forestalling him in the drawing-room. Obe- 
 dient, though reluctantly, to the treaty of peace 
 he had signed, the least digression from which 
 would have condemned him to perpetual banish- 
 ment, the only means of giving vent to the old 
 man's grief, was the indulgence of satirical 
 
 J
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 95 
 
 allusions, on little vindictive inuendos ; and his 
 manner became suspicious, irritable, and sar- 
 donic. It was the season of balls ; and inde- 
 pendent of morning visits, Hippolyte found his 
 way into all the houses frequented by Madame 
 Dupastel. Three or four times a week, was the 
 Colonel persecuted by seeing the object of his 
 adoration enjoy the pleasure of the alluring 
 waltz in the arms of his imaginary rival, while, 
 long passed the age of dancing, he withdrew to 
 some corner of the room ; fixing upon the joy- 
 ous couple the keen exterminating look with 
 which the vulture pursues his flying prey. His 
 savage physiognomy redoubled the interest 
 which Erraance took in the conspiracy. Never 
 had the world appeared to her more amusing, or 
 gaiety more attractive. Randeuil was an accom- 
 plished waltzer, and, moreover, manifested such 
 amiability and assiduity, was at once so intelli- 
 gent and well bred, that she could not help 
 sometimes thinking — " it is a pity all this 
 should be mere acting !" 
 
 By dint of admiring the perfection with which
 
 96 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 the young man played his part, Madame Dupas- 
 tel became less an adept in her own. By an im- 
 perceptible progression, she felt a kind of vexa- 
 tion in anticipating the conclusion of this comedy. 
 The unaccountable antipathy she had conceived 
 from the beginning against Mademoiselle Abeille 
 slowly developed itself, without any apparent 
 reason. She seldom pronounced her name in 
 the presence of Hippolyte ; who, with a tact 
 unusual in lovers, observed the same silence. 
 Though apparently mutually losing sight of the 
 object of their scheme, they neglected no oppor- 
 tunity for its accomplishment. 
 
 Every day their increasing intimacy put the 
 passion of the old Colonel to some new test. 
 The assiduity of Randeuil, at first affected, now 
 became too natural. So warm was the cordi- 
 ality of his reception, that any one on witness- 
 ing the mute intelligence of these two beings, 
 apparently born for each other, might have 
 thought it the result of true and heart-felt attach- 
 ment. 
 
 One evening, the three personages of this
 
 MODERN FRE.NX'H LIFE. 97 
 
 drama were assembled at the house of Madame 
 Dupastel's aunt, to whom Hippolyte had found 
 means of getting presented. Monsieur Lareynie 
 could not avoid sitting down to piquet with the 
 lady, while Ermance placed herself at the 
 piano, much amused with the lugubrious counte- 
 nance of her aged swain. Randeuil, after affect- 
 ing for a moment to look at the game, seated 
 himself by her side. They conversed some time 
 without paying much attention to the music, 
 while the Colonel was throwing out his aces 
 and quatorzesj in order to abridge the game, 
 and fidgeting about in his arm-chair so as to 
 catch, in the glass, the figures of the couple to 
 whom he was turning his back. 
 
 " Are you aware that the time I granted you 
 expired more than a week ago ?" said Madame 
 Dupastel, running her fingers up and down the 
 keys. 
 
 " Impossible 1^^ replied Hippolyte, eyeing the 
 ivory hand which was performing these rapid 
 evolutions. 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 " Twenty-four days ! I have counted them 
 correctly." 
 
 " They appeared, then, very long to you ?" 
 inquired Hippolyte. 
 
 " Is it only the days that seem long to us we 
 are tempted to count ?" she retorted ; and, as if 
 to connect her words, she struck the chords 
 of the instrument with increased vigour. 
 " Might not one fancy he was in the plot ! 
 Sometimes I think he would kill you w4th plea- 
 sure, and perhaps me afterwards. Still he does 
 not give in, and it is now time that he decided. 
 Were he really attached to me, it would be 
 already done. But these old soldiers are so 
 obstinate.'^ 
 
 " You will see that he prefers this torture 
 to submission. He belonged to the old guard ; 
 and the guard dies but never yields.'^ 
 
 " Are we not to have some music," inquired 
 the old aunt ; "it would please the Colonel more 
 than cards. I never saw him so out of spirits 
 as to-night, and I have not the heart to win any 
 more of his money.^'
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 99 
 
 Ermance opened the opera of Guillaume 
 Tell, and began the duet of the second act. 
 Randeuil sang the part of x\rnold, and they 
 both executed their parts with a taste and pre- 
 cision which excited the admiration of the old 
 lady. The Colonel, however, refrained from 
 adding his approval. During the whole duet, 
 he paced up and down the room, regardless of 
 disturbing the singing. After the last bar, he 
 paused before the piano, and addressed himself 
 in the tone of one who has made up his mind 
 to an extreme measure. 
 
 " Since you are so fond of music,^' said he, 
 " I ask permission to present you a young 
 beginner.'^ 
 
 "Who is that?" inquired Madame Du- 
 pastel. 
 
 " My daughter, who returns home to-mor- 
 row," replied the old man, continuing his walk. 
 
 ^' The old guard is beginning to give way,'^ 
 said Hippolyte, in a low voice, to his fair 
 protectress. 
 
 F 2
 
 100 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 Ermance fixed her eyes upon the young man, 
 who was stooping to utter this whisper ; and, 
 vainly trying to smile, she left the piano, sat 
 down near her aunt, and during the remainder 
 of the evening, replied only in monosyllables 
 to the questions addressed to her. 
 
 The anticipations of Randeuil were now 
 fully realized. Monsieur Lareynie perceived 
 that some manoeuvring was positively neces- 
 sary to regain the ground which, from day to 
 day, he had lost. He suspected that the con- 
 duct of the parties was the result of some 
 vindictive scheme. But from the sudden altera- 
 tion in Madame DupasteFs manner, he saw that 
 she attached a more than ordinary value to the 
 attentions of which she was the object. How- 
 ever favourable the opinion an old man of a 
 certain age entertains of himself, there are cer- 
 tain moments in which the truth of his position 
 becomes apparent; at his toilet, for instance. 
 The Colonel was forced to confess that, in a 
 contest with a young man of twenty-five, the
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 101 
 
 issue would, in all probability, be to the ad- 
 vantage of the latter ; and the fear of finding in 
 Hippolyte a successful rival, got the better of 
 his repugnance to accept him as a son-in-law. 
 In consequence of this dilemma, Abeille was 
 brought home to assume her place upon the 
 field of action. 
 
 " She will be the Desaix division at Ma- 
 rengo," said the old soldier. ^' If the attack do 
 not succeed, I shall have to make an end of 
 this coxcomb, and shoot myself into the 
 bargain."
 
 102 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Some days afterwards, Randeuil, on enter- 
 ing the drawing-room of Madame Dupastel, 
 found Monsieur Lareynie and his daughter. 
 The interview was, on the whole, con- 
 strained and embarrassed ; though the jealous 
 father, affecting not to be aware of his pre- 
 sence, left them at liberty to do as they liked, 
 the better to further his personal projects. A 
 few stolen glances, and mysterious allusions, 
 were all that the young man could adventure j 
 while Abeille sat fixed upon her chair, her eyes 
 cast down, beautiful as an angel, but awkward 
 as a school-girl. Her agitation upon seeing 
 her admirer, partook more of vexation than
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 103 
 
 tenderness. A woman will forgive having 
 been carried off, but not having been brought 
 back again. Mademoiselle Lareynie, arrived at 
 her twenty-second year, had managed to read 
 a stray novel or two ; and in the course of these 
 perusals, had never found the heroine in the 
 midst of the adventure, and at the moment 
 most interesting to two persecuted lovers, 
 conveyed back to school. Far from expe- 
 riencing any gratitude towards Hippolyte^ she 
 resented an act of prudence which by no 
 means emanated from her. On reflection, she 
 suspected that such extreme caution originated 
 in diminished attachment, and could not 
 disguise her inward mortification in being the 
 object of so prosaic and unenthusiastic a 
 passion, instead of finding an admirer 
 worthy a descendant of Werter or Malek- 
 Adhel. The lovely Abeille, oppressed at heart 
 by a system of never-ceasing and persecuting 
 seclusion, had at length begun to attribute 
 to Randeuil, the sufferings of which formerly 
 she was wont to accuse her father.
 
 104 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 " Had he chosen, I should now be free/' 
 said she to herself; and she loved him all the 
 less for the reflection. Interpreting the im- 
 pressions of Abeille according to those which 
 he himself experienced, Hippolyte attributed to 
 the presence of the Colonel and Madame Du- 
 pastel the indifference with which he was re- 
 ceived ; this indiff'erence seemed to him out of 
 place, and made him conceive a resentful 
 feeling. Disposed to criticise, the young man 
 regarded with a more scrutinizing than ad- 
 miring eye, the appearance of the young lady, 
 who, till lately, he had only seen in the simple 
 attire of the school uniform. The examination 
 was little flattering to Mademoiselle Lareynie, 
 who, emancipated from the thraldom of school 
 discipline and simpUcity, fell into a style of 
 costum.e somewhat exaggerated. 
 
 " Who the deuce could have invented such 
 a hat as that ? Yellow, and with a bird of para- 
 dise !" thought Randeuil, minutely examining 
 the different details of her dress. " A bird of 
 Paradise upon a yellow hat ! And then, the
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 105 
 
 red shawl upon the flowered gown ! A perfect 
 masquerade ! May I die if I do not throw all 
 that into the fire the day after the wedding. 
 The most amusing is, that she thinks herself 
 divinely dressed ; and gives herself airs upon 
 the strength of her finery I'* 
 
 Involuntarily, Hippolyte turned towards 
 Madame Dupastel, who, as usual when at 
 home, was simply yet elegantly attired. 
 
 " There is a woman who knows how to 
 dress," thought he. " What perfect harmony 
 of taste ! How the dark colour of her wrap- 
 per sets oiF the admirable whiteness of her 
 skin. Coquette ! she knows it, and no doubt 
 it is to exhibit her graceful neck that she does 
 not wear a collar this morning. How perfect 
 too the effect of the black velvet bows in her 
 fair hair; and look at the slippers on her 
 fairy feet ! She sees me admiring them, and 
 hides them under her gown. She guesses 
 everything ! — I like that. Abeille would do 
 well to imitate her ; instead of shocking us 
 
 F 3
 
 10(5 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 with those nauseous green boots, with which 
 she seems enchanted. Ermance has a foot as 
 diminutive as it is well shaped. Her hand, too, 
 is so delicate and elegant, that, by comparison, 
 all others appear coarse and vulgar. Assuredly 
 Abeille is handsome, perhaps handsomer than 
 Madame Dupastel. Her features are more 
 regular, her eyes finer, her style more classical. 
 But still, I know not — seeing one by the side 
 of the other, it is impossible not to find 
 Abeille's face rather monotonous ; handsome 
 but ever the same ! Ermance has such a play 
 of features; never the same expression two 
 days running. To-day, for instance, how 
 thoughtful, ho\v melancholy, though habitually 
 so gay. She has been some days thus. Wh}^, 
 I wonder ? Is she unwell, or is it the 
 prospect of her marriage ? — That old Cassander 
 of hers is enough to give any woman the 
 nightmare ! Poor angel ! I don't wonder she 
 looks unhappy.'^ 
 At that moment, his eyes encountered those
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 107 
 
 of Ermance ; and after exchanging a longing 
 look, she relapsed into her thoughtfulness ; 
 while Randeuilj persisting in his comparisons, 
 discovered every minute some fresh subject of 
 criticism in the manners or conversation of his 
 former idol. 
 
 For some time, Hippolyte was sure to meet 
 Colonel Lareynie and his daughter, at every 
 visit he made to Madame Dupastel ; a circum- 
 stance too frequent to be purely accidental ; 
 but failing in the result anticipated by Mon- 
 sieur Lareynie. Mortification at her admirer's 
 neglect, imparted a cold and haughty expres- 
 sion to Abeille's countenance, as well as a 
 kind of premeditated reserve to her manner; 
 nor did Hippolyte seem disposed to revive the 
 fervour of which he was once the object. Far 
 from trying to conciliate her, he remained 
 reserved, comparing, analysing, and lost in a 
 state of hesitation, which became more and 
 more perplexing. Ermance seldom laughed, 
 rarely even smiled, and vainly tried to dissi-
 
 108 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 mulate her increasing melancholy. Polite to 
 Mademoiselle Lareynie^ she pointedly avoided 
 addressing Randeuil ; and with an ungenerous 
 tyranny, inflicted upon her aged admirer the 
 tedium of her own despondency. By degrees, 
 this state of depression assumed a more serious 
 character. Society wearied her, and one 
 morning, her door was denied to all 5 not ex- 
 cepting her aged admirer, and youthful pro- 
 tege'. 
 
 After four days, during which he did not see 
 Madame Dupastel, Randeuil fell into a kind of 
 apathy, the usual result of inertness. A letter 
 to the young widow, evincing the warmest 
 interest, produced an answer as reserved as 
 it was cold. — In order to occupy his even- 
 ings, he frequented the theatres ; and on one 
 occasion, met General Thorignon, whose visit 
 he had returned some days before. After 
 some common place observations, the old 
 soldier took Hippolyte familiarly by the 
 arm.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 109 
 
 " I owe you some reparation," said he, " for 
 I know all ; and your reluctance to fight v;ith 
 my old friend the Colonel, has nothing to sur- 
 prise me. A man should think twice, before 
 he goes out to kill his father-in-law/' 
 
 "Monsieur Lareynie is not my father-in- 
 law," replied Hippolyte. 
 
 ''Not yet, I know. Bat are you not impatient 
 that he should be so ?" rephed the old General, 
 smiling. 
 
 '^ It is impossible !" coldly replied Hippo- 
 lyte. 
 
 '^ Nothing is impossible,*' earnestly observed 
 the old soldier. "Listen to me. 1 am a poor di- 
 plomatist, but let us meet the question at once. 
 I have made inquiries concerning you; and find 
 that in spite of your too pacific intentions, you 
 made an example of one of the most awful lions 
 of the Opera. You are a right good fellow, and 
 would make a fitting protector for the daughter 
 of an old soldier, like Lareynie. The Colonel 
 is not so terrible as he looks ; and I can
 
 no MODERN FREiNCH LIFE. 
 
 always make him listen to reason. Have you 
 confidence in me ? Will you entrust me with 
 your interests ? The other day, I brought you 
 a hostile message. Here I am, ready to under- 
 take one of another nature, if you will only 
 trust me.^^ 
 
 " I thank you, General. But since you are 
 intimate with the Colonel, you must be aware 
 that he positively refused me the hand of his 
 daughter." 
 
 " Nonsense ! Lareynie is like the pretty 
 women, who always begin by saying no. / 
 wall engage to make him say yes. Odds 
 bombs, and bullets ! I have known him these 
 forty years. Did we not, at the passage of the 
 Beresina, eat cartouche boxes fried in gun- 
 powder, and together think ourselves too happy? 
 After such a dinner, men remain not only friends 
 for life, but brothers. Were I to say, give your 
 daughter to Randeuil, he must do it ! '^ 
 
 " I would not have Monsieur Lareynie do 
 violence to his feelings by accepting me for his
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. Ill 
 
 son-in-law ;'^ said Randeuil, whose matrimonial 
 ardour seemed to diminish in proportion as 
 the obstacles disappeared. 
 
 " But who talks of violence ?" replied Ge- 
 neral Thorignon. " May not the circum- 
 stances, as well as his sentiments have changed? 
 How do you know that the Colonel is not 
 disposed to renew the negociation ? You 
 must well imagine that would be unbecoming 
 the paternal dignity to make the first advance. 
 But if I make this offer, it is that T am sure of 
 your being accepted." 
 
 "Monsieur Lareynie, then, has commis- 
 sioned you General, to ascertain my actual feel- 
 ings as to marriage ?^^ inquired Randeuil, 
 maintaining the most diplomatic reserve. 
 
 " I did not say that ?' replied the old 
 General, laughing ; " do not fall into new 
 blunders. My intervention is of my own free 
 will. Is it your pleasure to accept it r'^ 
 
 ^•' Grant me a day's reflection,'^ said Hippo- 
 lyte, with an air of gravity. 
 
 ''Again?-' exclaimed the General. '^You
 
 112 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 are a man of most procrastinating habits. In 
 my youth, odds bombs, and batteries ! duels, 
 love, marriage, every thing was decided in the 
 twinkling of an eye. — After all, your system 
 may be the best. — Well ! I grant you your 
 twenty-four hours !" 
 
 The music announced the rising of the 
 curtain for the second act of the Sylphide, 
 which put an end to the conversation ; and the 
 two gentlemen separated, promising to meet 
 again at the GeneraPs, at the expiration of the 
 delay conceded.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 113 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Next day, about one o'clock, Randeuil pre- 
 sented himself at Madame Dupastel's. He 
 was denied admittance; but the femme-de- 
 chambre, to whom he was more acceptable than 
 the old Celadon, and who had interpreted the 
 melancholy of her mistress, with the sagacity 
 peculiar to her calling, took him under her 
 protection. 
 
 At sight of her admirer, Ermance, faintly 
 blushing, tried to rise but sank down again, 
 utterly depressed. 
 
 " I had given orders to them not to let any 
 body in,^' said she ; " the sight of a poor in- 
 valid is so insupportable, that I have con- 
 demned myself to absolute solitude. You
 
 114 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 do not find the person here whom you came to 
 seek/' 
 
 " Whom ?" inquired Randeuil, surveying 
 the fine fi)rm of the sufferer, half reclining 
 on the sofa, 
 
 " Mademoiselle Lareynie came here a short 
 time ago. I regret that I did not admit her ; 
 but how could I anticipate your visit ?" 
 
 " Had I wished to see Mademoiselle La- 
 reynie/' said Hippolyte, " I should have gone 
 to her father's, and not come here." 
 
 " The Colonel receives you then ? You go 
 there ?" said the young widow, raising herself. 
 
 " I could if I thought proper." 
 
 " I see you did not choose to avail yourself 
 of the privilege, before you had made it known 
 to me. Good ! In rendering you a trifling 
 service, my good intentions have not been 
 thrown away. I have not seen Monsieur Larey- 
 nie for some days — I suffer so much, I can see 
 no one. So then, all is settled. — When is to be 
 the marriage ?"
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 115 
 
 " Was it not decided that the two weddings 
 lould take place together ?'' inquired Ran- 
 juil, whose eyes seem fixed upon the graceful 
 ^re of his beautiful and desponding pro- 
 ctress. 
 
 '*' There will be but one/^ said she abruptly. 
 '^ Mine or your own ?'' 
 " Yours — yours — oh ! do not fear.'^ 
 "But yours!" said Hippolyte hesitating. 
 Forgive my anxiety. Is not Monsieur Larey- 
 e to marry you shortly \" 
 " Never \" exclaimed Ermance. 
 " Never ! I entreat you repeat that word 
 ain/^ 
 
 "What means this?^^ cried she earnestly 
 garding him. 
 
 " It means that I am happy ; that every 
 ing seems enchantment ! I breathe freely. 
 ) then, you will not marry him? — You said 
 ver ! a sacred word. Youth, beauty, grace, 
 .11 escape the profanation of that hor- 
 3le old man ! — You perceive at last, that
 
 116 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 such an alliance would be sacrilege ! Of what 
 avail your spring tide of hfe, enslaved by his 
 decrepitude ? One strews roses over a tomb, 
 one does not enclose them within. The first 
 condition of happiness, is harmony. You have 
 endured so much that your sorrows steel your 
 heart against the professions of youth. But 
 because a first ordeal was fraught with bitter- 
 ness, are your hopes to be for ever withered ? 
 Because one man was unable to appreciate the 
 treasure he possessed, do you deem the sanctity 
 of devotion impossible ? Is it because you 
 trample the buds and flowers of life under foot, 
 you boast of your experience and wisdom? 
 Ermance ! Love has a real and true existence ! 
 But I forgot myself in wishing to convince you 
 of that which you no longer doubt ! You are 
 free ! The blessings of liberty, youth, and love 
 may still be ours.'' 
 
 Madame Dupastel supported herself against 
 the back of the sofa, while Randeuil unbosomed 
 his feelings. Her hands were clasped together,
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 117 
 
 her eyes partly closed. On hearing her name 
 pronounced by a voice tremulous with adora- 
 tion, she experienced emotions long unfelt. 
 
 " You did not answer me/' said she, " when 
 I asked you when you were to marry ?" 
 
 " Because you know it better than I do V 
 replied Randeuil, to whom the first glance of 
 Ermance had betrayed her. " How should I 
 know it? — It depends wholly upon you," 
 
 " I thought it depended upon Mademoiselle 
 Abeille," observed the young widow. " It ap- 
 pears to me that you have rather forgotten the 
 heroine of your romance." 
 
 "My romance is ended, and my life now 
 begins," replied Hippolyte, seizing her lovely 
 hand, which this time was but reluctantly with- 
 held. " I confess myself to have been out of 
 my senses. But forgive me, I did not know you 
 then, and mistook for love the freaks of an irri- 
 table imagination thwarted by impediments. 
 In that young girl, it was the victim of pa- 
 ternal despotism with whom I sympathised.
 
 118 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 Behind bars and blinds, any woman appears an 
 angel. Upon a closer view, the wings of the 
 angel too often vanish, and in place of the 
 celestial being I thought to have discovered in 
 Abeille, I find a raw, graceless, insignificant 
 school-girl 1 Under any circumstances, the veil 
 would have fallen after half-a-dozen interviews. 
 But by your side, illusion was, from the first, 
 impossible. Seeing you both together, I 
 sought in vain a passion which was but a mere 
 shadow; but in its place, found another, of 
 whose existence I was unaware — a passion ge- 
 nuine, deep, and fervent !" 
 
 Hippolyte fell upon his knees, and his arms 
 quickly surrounded the waist of the irresistible 
 widow. She made an eifort indeed to escape, 
 but too feeble to avail. 
 
 '' How am I to know that this is not another 
 comedy }" said she, concealing her emotion 
 with a smile. 
 
 " No no ! — all, henceforward, is reality !" 
 
 " And what are we to do now ?''
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 119 
 
 '^Love each other, and be married as soon 
 as possible V exclaimed Hippolyte with enthu- 
 siasm. 
 
 " You take things coolly indeed 1 But even 
 were I to consent, you may forget the other two 1'^ 
 
 " I think only of you. Besides, what could 
 they say? We were two children — you to think 
 of marrying an old man; — I to run after 
 a half formed school girl 1 Now we are more 
 reasonable. Monsieur Lareynie must think of 
 his last will and testament. His daughter will 
 forget me, if she have not already done so ; and 
 we shall be perfectly happy. '^ A noise in the 
 adjoining room interrupted the interview, and 
 Hippolyte quickly started up, for the comedy 
 was over. 
 
 Monsieur Lareynie now entered the room 
 conducting his daughter, with her inevitable 
 bird of paradise ! 
 
 " You missed your angePs wing's,'^ whispered 
 Ermance ; " do you not see them on her hat ?'^ 
 
 Exchanging smiles, they began the reverse
 
 120 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 of the scene they had been playing. Indiffe- 
 rent, they had affected love ; — in love, they 
 affected indifference. But this time, they 
 were not equal to their parts. The heart is 
 but a clumsy actor. Their looks and words, 
 though most involuntarily, would have revealed 
 a secret understanding to the least observant 
 of observers. Convinced of this connivance, 
 which every moment betrayed itself by trifles, 
 insignificant in appearance only too significant 
 in his estimation. Monsieur Lareynie writhed 
 under the most painful tortures of jealousy. 
 His apprehensions were beyond doubt, when 
 he learnt from General Thorignon that Ran- 
 deuil positively renounced the honour of the 
 hand of Abeille. 
 
 " What does he expect, then ?" exclaimed 
 he, in a paroxysm of anger. " Does he hope 
 to marry Ermance ?" 
 
 Excruciated by the thought, the old beau 
 proceeded to the house of Madame Dupastel, 
 
 " Long, much too long, have you deferred
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 121 
 
 the climax of my happiness/' said he. " This 
 delay kills me^ and I will endure it no longer. 
 I ^A'ill not leave this house till you have fixed 
 our wedding day." 
 
 " I have already told you, that you must first 
 grant the hand of your daughter to Monsieur 
 Randeuil,'^ replied the young widow, dreading 
 to communicate the truth to the old beau. 
 
 " I have granted it, and it is he, now, who 
 does not choose to accept ; and I know the 
 reason of his refusal. He loves you. Madam, 
 nay, perhaps pretends to your hand.'^ 
 
 " Will you kill me if I grant it V' — asked 
 Ermance, affecting to laugh, though in reality 
 afraid of the violence to which Monsieur La- 
 reynie had just given way. 
 
 " You know I could not V' replied he ; " it 
 is he whom I would kill ! , If he refuse to 
 fight me now, on the day of the wedding and at 
 the foot of the altar, he should die.^^ 
 
 " What melo-drama did you see last night, 
 my dear Colonel ? I never saw you in so 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 sanguinary a humour !'^ said Ermance. "The 
 passage of the Beresina was a mere pastoral 
 compared with what you threaten/' 
 
 In spite of the assumed indifference with 
 which she listened to the vindictive threat of 
 the old man^ she was seriously alarmed ; and 
 would fain have imparted her terrors to her 
 admirer. 
 
 " What folly !'' said he. " The old fellow is 
 in his second childhood." 
 
 " You did not see the expression of his 
 eyes ! I tried to laugh, though I was horribly 
 frightened.^' 
 
 " Nonsense — nonsense P' 
 
 " I tell you, he is capable of any thing," 
 replied Ermance, disposed, like all women, to 
 exaggerate the intenseness of the passion of 
 which she is the object. '" I will not allow 
 you to meet each other here." 
 
 " That is to say, you will shut your door 
 against him ; just what I was about to ask you ! 
 I will not allow the old fop to come and pester
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 123 
 
 you to death with his antiquated rodomon- 
 tades," 
 
 "Shut my door! — can I?" — said she, as 
 if unwiUing to assent. 
 
 " What hinders you ?'* 
 
 " A thousand reasons. He has been so 
 long in a state of agitation, that such a 
 proceeding would overwhelm him. He is 
 more than sixty ; at that age, such emotions 
 have the most fatal consequences." 
 
 " I am astonished that he is still alive. Had 
 I only a good chest complaint at my dis- 
 posal !" 
 
 " Hippolyte, I never should forgive myself 
 if any thing happened on my account ; I 
 should be miserable. Poor old man 1^' 
 
 " Rather say intolerable old bore/^ 
 
 " Does it astonish you that he should love 
 me ?'" said Madame Dupastel. 
 
 " No, but I must be henceforward the only 
 one to love you to distraction." 
 
 Heaven seemed to propitiate the prayer of 
 
 G 2
 
 124 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 Randeuil. The violent agitation to which the 
 Colonel had been for some time subjected, had 
 an evil influence on his constitution, already 
 impaired by the fatigues of war. After leaving 
 a ball, in which he had seen his rival dance 
 three successive country dances with Madame 
 Dupastel, a trembling seized him — fever en- 
 sued ; and in spite of the skill of the physi- 
 cians, the man of a certain age was compelled 
 to take to his bed. When the attack had lost its 
 serious symptoms, he was still subjected to a 
 strict regimen, and absolute seclusion. Hip- 
 polyte was thus left master of the field, and 
 hastened to take advantage of his position. 
 The attachment of Madame Dupastel was 
 too deep — too sincere— not to obliterate the 
 remembrance of the old man, whom she now 
 saw no more, and for whom she had never en- 
 tertained any other interest than that of com- 
 passion. 
 
 On learning that Monsieur Lareynie was in 
 a state of convalescence, Ermance consented to
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 125 
 
 ix the day of the irmarriage — a step hourlyurged 
 Dy her admirer ; but with much good feehng, 
 ihe wished the ceremony to take place as pri- 
 vately as possible, lest the news, reaching 
 he ears of the Colonel, should oppose a fresh 
 ibstacle to his recovery. The lovers accom- 
 )lished the most solemn action of their lives, 
 observing as much mystery and precaution 
 ,s if they had meditated some act of guilt, 
 mmediately after the nuptial benediction, 
 hey quitted Paris, in order that they might 
 >void the scene which must infallibly take 
 )lace upon meeting Monsieur Lareynie. 
 
 One bright morning in spring, Ermance and 
 lippolyte took the road to Belgium in a 
 omfortable travelling carriage — a hideous road 
 7hich, to them, seemed strewed with roses. 
 i. short time before reaching the first stage, 
 he bridegroom pointed out to his bride a 
 lecayed elm which stood on the road side. 
 
 " I love that tree, and wish we had it in our 
 :arden !" said he.
 
 126 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 " It has surely no great beauty to recommend 
 it ?'^ replied Ermance. 
 
 " None whatever ; but it recalls the first day 
 of my happiness. It was here I turned back, 
 when carrying off Mademoiselle Lareynie.'^ 
 
 ^' How came you to select this ugly road ?'^ 
 asked the bride ; " it is detestable ! On this 
 occasion, I could willingly turn back/' 
 
 ^^ It is too late \" said Randeuil, laughing, 
 and with one arm rapturously encircling the 
 lovely waist of Ermance, he indulged in all the 
 protestations of the happiest of bridegrooms.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 127 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 About the middle of August, the newly 
 married couple, after \dsiting Belgium and 
 Holland, returned by the Rhine, so that they 
 might return to France by the duchy of Baden, 
 where they remained some days, the baths 
 having attracted a gay throng of strangers. 
 
 One of the first familiar faces met by Ran- 
 deuil, was that of General Thorignon. He quitted 
 his wife's arm for a moment, (who also recog- 
 nised a Parisian acquaintance), and went up to 
 the old soldier, whose reception, though 
 cordial, seemed to betray a certain embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 ^^ Who is the lady you are with }" inquired 
 the General, after some insignificant comments.
 
 ]28 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 " My wife," replied Randeuil ; " did you not 
 know I was married ?'^ 
 
 " But too well," answered the old man 
 shaking his head. " That then is Madame Du 
 pastel ! — pardon me, she who was Madame 
 Dupastel ! She is charming, most charming, 
 — and I am far from astonished at the ravings 
 of my poor friend Lareynie ?' 
 
 " What has become of him ?" inquired Hip- 
 poly te, really interested. 
 
 " Do not ask me V' replied Thorignon. " I 
 had rather he had remained in the snow with 
 his brave companions in Russia 1 Yes, Ma- 
 dame Dupastel, Randeuil I should say, can 
 boast of having been more fatal to the poor 
 Colonel than the frozen north, or the lances 
 of the Cossacks ! Such is the heart of man ! a 
 delicate foot, or expressive eye, is sufficient to 
 annihilate the most undaunted of us ! I who 
 speak to you, had well nigh lost my wits for 
 the sake of little Armandine of the Opera ! — 
 Luckily, I possess more moral courage than my
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 129 
 
 old friend Lareynie, and am come to forget my 
 sorrows in the gaiety of Baden. Poor La- 
 reynie ! shocking business ! But I know 
 there is no reproach to make you or Madame 
 Randeuil. You were both young — both in 
 love — marriage was inevitable ! Others would 
 have done the same in your place. I for one, 
 must confess you were much in the right to 
 prefer this marriage, to that which I undertook 
 to negociate. Had you married the other, 
 where would you be now !'' — 
 
 " What do you mean ?'^ inquired Randeuil. 
 
 "Have you not heard of the adventure of 
 Mademoiselle Lareynie V 
 
 '^No; we are just returned from Holland, 
 and for these three months past, have heard 
 nothing.'^ 
 
 " Know then, my dear Sir, that Mademoi- 
 selle Abeille — your former flame — who, thanks 
 to the negligence of her father, received a most 
 detestable education and got her head well 
 crammed with romances, decamped one fine 
 
 G 3
 
 130 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 morning — with her music master, and is now in 
 London. What say you to that? You have 
 had an escape I think.^^ 
 
 ^^And this time she was not brought back 
 again ! My wife was right ! Elopement was 
 a vocation with that poor little girl.'' 
 
 ^^ You may imagine the consequence of such 
 a history, disclosed to the Colonel, when 
 scarcely convalescent, after having suddenly 
 learnt your marriage ! I thought for several 
 days, he would have gone completely mad.'' 
 
 " But where is he ? what is he doing now ?" 
 inquired Hippolyte, more and more interested 
 in the fate of the wretched old man. 
 
 " He is here 1'' said the General ; " did you 
 not know it ?" 
 
 " Here ?" — exclaimed Randeuil, in surprise. 
 
 Ermance joining her husband, put an end 
 to this conversation ; and the latter, in pre- 
 senting the old General to his wife, enjoined 
 the strictest silence. The evening was ad- 
 vanced 3 and the happy couple left the old
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 131 
 
 soldier, and entered the public rooms crowded 
 by the gay visitors of the baths. 
 
 Having paraded the ball room, they entered 
 an adjoining apartment — in the centre of 
 which was a green table, upon which figured 
 a series of figures as incomprehensible at 
 first sight as the hieroglyphics of an Egyptian 
 obelisk, on either side of which were seated 
 certain individuals of a sombre and inflexible 
 countenance, holding wooden rakes in their 
 hands, and handling the piles of gold and 
 silver before them, with as much indiiference 
 as a child its playthings. Two ranks of either 
 sex, one seated, the other standing, hemmed in 
 the table, upon which were performed, under 
 the sanction of the Grand Duke of Baden, the 
 mysteries of Rouge et Noir. 
 
 Having watched with painful excitement the 
 distorted physiognomy of several distinguished 
 looking men and elegant women, who one and all 
 bore upon their forehead the mark of the demon 
 claw of play, Ermance and Hippolyte were
 
 132 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 about to quit the room ; when the latter sud- 
 denly halted, struck by the appearance of an 
 individual seated close to one of the ministers 
 of perdition. He was a man of a certain age, 
 of wild and sinister expression of countenance. 
 In his face, pale and emaciated, one detected 
 the trace of some ungovernable passion, which 
 had left marks of premature decrepitude. His 
 eyes were sunk into their orbits, while their 
 arches were denuded of eyebrows. From be- 
 neath an ill fitting wig, protruded importunate 
 grey hairs ; while his whole attire evinced com- 
 plete indifference as to personal appearance. 
 Leaning over the pile of gold and notes which 
 lay before him, he seemed absorbed by the 
 progress of the deal, every point of which he 
 carefully marked upon a card. 
 
 Hippolyte had no difficulty in discovering 
 in this stranger, whose exterior inspired such 
 compassion, his unfortunate rival ^ and he 
 would fain have taken away Ermance, so as to 
 spare her this mortifying scene. But the end
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 133 
 
 of the deal caused a general movement among 
 the lookers on. 
 
 While the croupier was preparing the cards 
 for the succeeding deal, several of the players 
 rose ; when suddenly. Monsieur Lareynie found 
 himself standing before the happy pair, so that 
 Randeuil could not well avoid him. 
 
 At sight of Ermance and her husband, the 
 old man appeared convulsed ; his sullen looks 
 brightened and his extinguished eyes flashed, 
 while a hectic colour rushed into his death-like 
 cheeks. In spite of the alteration which might 
 have made him difficult to recognise, Madame 
 Randeuil instantly sent forth a shriek of fear 
 and pity. 
 
 Monsieur Lareynie hesitated, as if suffering 
 from terrible internal excitement ; at last, inclin- 
 ing before his once adored idol, " Do I .frighten 
 you. Madam ?" said he in a broken voice, with 
 a smile as ghastly as that of a dead body sub- 
 jected to the operations of galvanism. 
 
 Ermance muttered some incoherent words.
 
 134 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 Her old admirer made no allusion to his former 
 attachment ; but his dreadful metamorphosis 
 spoke sufficiently. Between the sexagenarian 
 dandy, adonized, painted, perfumed, nursing 
 his decayed remains with the solicitude of a 
 coquette, and the ill-clad gamester, ther^ was 
 an immeasurable abyss — an abyss of her sole 
 creation ! A knock of the reckless croupier on 
 the table, recalled the victims to their mad vo- 
 cation ; and Monsieur Lareynie clasped his 
 forehead with his hands, and bade farewell to 
 Ermance. 
 
 " You are playing then?" said she, with a tone 
 of friendly reproach. 
 
 " I have just lost fifteen thousand francs," 
 repUed he coldly. 
 
 " But you will ruin yourself!" she persisted 
 with much emotion. 
 
 Monsieur Lareynie looked at her sternly. 
 " Not quite, but I am getting on. How else 
 was I likely to drive the past from my recollec- 
 tion?"
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 135 
 
 As he said this, he sat down, and threw down 
 a bank note, drawn in by the merciless instru- 
 ment of ruin, just as the wind carries off the 
 fallen leaf. 
 
 " Let us go," said Ermance to her husband ; 
 " the air of the place stifles me.'^ 
 
 They left the splendid den, and went out to 
 breathe the pure, uncontaminated air. The 
 night was calm, the orange trees in flower, and 
 the heavens dazzling with stars. 
 
 "We will go away to-morrow — shall we 
 not r^' said the young wife in atone of depression. 
 
 *' You seem unhappy ?" said Randeuil, affec- 
 tionately pressing her arm. 
 
 " Alas ! we have much to reproach ourselves 
 withl'^ 
 
 ^^ Something perhaps ; but his own folly is the 
 origin of all. In a man of his age, his passion 
 for you was almost as unbecoming as his pre- 
 sent infatuation for play. When he should 
 have thought only of being a father, he chose 
 to play the lover ; and see what have been the
 
 136 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 result for his neglected daughter ! — Remember 
 all his youthful airs, his idle vanities ! — He was 
 ever intent upon some folly unbecoming his 
 years 1" 
 
 " And dearly has he paid for them/' replied 
 Ermance gravely. 
 
 " Thank heaven that you, at least, have 
 escaped participation in the consequence of his 
 absurdities, dear Ermance. Human happiness 
 cannot be insured at a ratio of so much per 
 year, like human life. Trust me, you have a 
 better chance with a man of your own years, 
 habits, and pursuits, than with a frivolous and 
 vain-minded Man of a Certain Age.^'
 
 AN APT SCHOLAR.
 
 AN APT SCHOLAR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Towards the end of the carnival of 1835, a 
 long string of carriages, graced with armorial es- 
 cutcheons, was besieging the entrance of one 
 of the sumptuous mansions of the Faubourg 
 St. Germain, the gates of which were open, 
 while the windows remained closed ; though 
 common sense suggested the reverse, for 
 the internal air diminishing in proportion as 
 the guests increased, suifocation seemed to 
 threaten the brilliant throng. — Neverthe- 
 less, these sufferers of fashion, whether men 
 or women, especially the latter, supported with 
 admirable fortitude an atmosphere which
 
 140 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 would have been death to a negro. — Of 
 the old stagers, three or four took up their 
 positions, out of the vortex, in a group 
 composed of four or five men from twenty-five 
 to forty years of age, whose social position was 
 defined by certain symptoms in which the close 
 observer is seldom mistaken. Indifferent to the 
 splendour of the passing scene, they resigned 
 themselves listlessly to the entertainments of 
 the night ; in contradistinction to the newly 
 launched bumpkins from the provinces, whose 
 curiosity is rarely satisfied till they have ran- 
 sacked every corner of the house. Regardless 
 of the spectators, they conversed among them- 
 selves, interfered with no one, and listened to the 
 announcement of the most brilUant names in 
 France with complete indifference 3 not so much 
 as turning their heads for dukes or ambassa- 
 dors. When some woman of unquestion- 
 able fashion, however, made her entree, they 
 deigned to bestow a glance upon her, quickly 
 followed by some stroke of satire by way of
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 141 
 
 palliative to such involuntary deference^ that it 
 might not be ascribed to a vulgar or schoolbo}^- 
 like curiosity. 
 
 Three of these dandies, lions of the most dis- 
 tinguished ton, stood opposite the fourth, who, 
 ensconced in an arm-chair, his legs crossed, and 
 his arms carelessly folded, while his head, leaning 
 against the window, was thrown into relief by 
 the red damask curtains behind. 
 
 This last, the most remarkable of the four, 
 was a man about forty years old ; who at first 
 appeared somewhat younger, but upon a second 
 view, rather older. He was tall, well featured, 
 and of so taper a waist, that a sagacious tailor 
 would have suspected the existence of stays, 
 for the purpose of concealing nascent obesity. 
 Dressed with the most exquisite simplicity, the 
 three great attributes of birth, wealth, and in- 
 telligence, were manifest in his person. In the 
 street, the common herd forgave his straw- 
 coloured gloves in favour of his distinguished 
 appearance. In the drawing-room, every first-
 
 142 MODERN FRENCH LIFE, 
 
 rate woman pronounced him charming. His 
 superiority of soul, and the brilliant intelligence 
 of his physiognomy seemed to arise from men- 
 tal capacity ; and on beholding him, Diogenes 
 would at once have extinguished his lantern. 
 
 This favourite of nature was now the topic of 
 conversation in the little group. He bore the 
 pleasantries and quizzing of his friends with the 
 perfect good humour of one too sure of his 
 dignity to take offence; persuaded that he could 
 readily check the excess of familiarity by saying 
 like Louis XIV, — " Hold, gentlemen — the 
 king is coming.^^ 
 
 " As we are upon the chapter of Choisy/^ 
 said one of the talkers, " I must tell you the 
 most unheard of, the most extraordinary — '^ 
 
 "We have all read Madame de Sevigne's 
 letters,'^ interrupted the king of the lions ; " so, 
 to the fact.'^ 
 
 " The fact is this,^' said the young man who 
 in consideration of his youth dared not pretend 
 to a higher degree of dignity than that of a
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 143 
 
 lion's whelp. " This morning, in passing by 
 Tortoni's, I saw with horror our friend Choisy's 
 favourite mare, Rebecca, mounted — guess by 
 whom ?" 
 
 "^ You are mistaken Marcenay !" replied a 
 good looking young man, wearing the al- 
 most forgotten order of Malta, ^^ Choisy, upon 
 principle, never lends his horses." 
 
 " I tell you she was mounted by some lineal 
 descendant of Goliath, whose feet embarrassed 
 the mare's fetlocks, while his head came in con- 
 tact with the lanterns suspended across the 
 street. On seeing him pass, the people re- 
 peated the fable of La Fontaine, exclaiming with 
 one accord, ' poor beast ! — had heaven been just, 
 the rider should carry the horse !' " 
 
 "Is this true, Choisy?" said a spare little 
 man, who had not yet spoken, " you refused to 
 lend me Rebecca for Chantilly, and now suffer 
 her to drag about an elephant !" 
 
 "You may indeed say so," said the Viscount 
 de Choisy, smiling. " Rebecca returned home
 
 144 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 in such a condition^ that my groom got drunk 
 in despair. At this moment, she is lying on her 
 litter, with her groom beside her, both half 
 dead." 
 
 " And who pray is this Patagonian ?" inquired 
 Monsieur de Marcenay. 
 
 " Monsieur de Beaupre, a country neighbour 
 of mine in the Nivernais. During his short 
 stay in Paris, this is the third horse he has 
 destroyed. Orson is lamed, and Wallace has 
 broken both his knees. '^ 
 
 " Beaupre ?" replied the little spare man. 
 " That reminds me that, on Monday last, Ran- 
 deuil, du Bellay, a few others, and myself, were 
 shooting in the preserves of Choisy. After 
 four hours' walking, we had not so much as 
 seen the shadow of a hare or rabbit ; and on ex- 
 pressing our astonishment, the Viscount's 
 keeper replied to us, that since Monsieur de 
 Beaupre had permission to sport in those woods, 
 it was in vain to fire off a gun, for that he kills 
 and carries away every thing. This Nimrod
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 145 
 
 is, doubtless, the Goliath to whom Marcenay 
 alludes/' 
 
 " Himself/' replied the Viscount. 
 
 " And so you allow him to ransack your 
 woods, you who lately refused the Duke of 
 Boisbriant a day's shooting, of which, between 
 ourselves, he complains bitterly.'' 
 
 " Let him complain to Monsieur de Beau- 
 pre. I certainly gave him the right of life and 
 death over my rabbits." 
 
 " And your horses also ?" added the knight of 
 Malta. ^^ Such generosity cannot be without a 
 motive ; were you in debt, I could almost think 
 him some creditor, whose heart you would fain 
 soften.'' 
 
 '^ Were you ambitious," said the little spare 
 man, " I should fancy he had some influence in 
 the approaching election." 
 
 " And I," said the youngest, " bet ten to one 
 that he is simply a married man, in which case 
 I yield my absolution to Choisy." 
 
 " Good, Marcenay, very good !" repUed the 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 , MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 Viscount; '^ you come nearer the truth than the 
 others, only that Monsieur de Beaupre has 
 been a widower these fifteen years.'^ 
 
 " Enough of Beaupre !" said the knight of 
 Malta. " I have another grievance against 
 Choisy, on which you shall decide. Yesterday, 
 which is nothing new, he asked me to dinner." 
 
 " That is surely a pardonable offence/^ 
 replied Marcenay. 
 
 " Had the party consisted of two, or even 
 four. But whom do you think I found for third 
 and last ? — a disciple of the college of St. Sul- 
 pice, blushing at every word, in whose honour, 
 as it was Friday, we fasted, like three reverend 
 fathers of the church ; ay, devoutly fasted upon 
 turbot, mullet, and pine apples.'^ 
 
 " I am sorry my dinner did not suit you,'^ 
 said Choisy drily. 
 
 " It was not the dinner, it was the Jesuit who 
 displeased me. I could not imagine what he 
 was muttering as we sat down to table, which 
 proved to be the benedicite.'^ 
 
 " I beg to observe," replied the Viscoun 1
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 147 
 
 '• that a knight of Malta ought at least to call 
 cousins with a Jesuit ; besides^ Monsieur de 
 Luscourt is no more a Jesuit than yourself. 
 He is well born, and thanks to his mother has 
 received an education in which religion has not 
 been overlooked. I see nothing to laugh at in 
 this. Believe me, sneers, a la Voltaire, are out 
 of date." 
 
 "^ My dear fellow," said Marcenay, " you are 
 really too edifying ! I do not despair of seeing 
 you one day decked in pontificalibus, and 
 giving us a second volume of Frere Ange de 
 Joyeuse.^^ 
 
 " Pending which, Choisy is learning the 
 dowager game of boston/^ interrupted the little 
 spare man. ^^ At the last party at Madame de 
 Candeille's, I saw him seated as partner to a 
 strange looking being, commonly known by the 
 name of Escarbagnas, in consequence of her 
 florid style of dress exceeding any thing which 
 ever graced the circles of Brives la Gaillarde or 
 of Castelnaudary.^^ 
 
 H 2
 
 148 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 The four friends laughed immoderately at 
 this sally. 
 
 " Allow me," said Choisy, their hilarity 
 being somewhat abated, " to enlighten you 
 upon one or two of the subjects which excite 
 your mirth. Know, then, that the Coun- 
 tess of Escarbagnas mentioned by Bertier 
 is, in reality, the Marchioness de Gardagne, 
 mother to the virtuous Monsieur de Luscourt, 
 whom Villaret met yesterday at my table; 
 and that this same Luscourt, is son-in-law to 
 Monsieur de Beaupre, the terror of grooms 
 and gamekeepers. — You are all three geniuses. 
 Be pleased to guess.^' 
 
 ^^What?'^ inquired Bertier. 
 
 The Viscount shrugged his shoulders, and 
 looked inquiringly at the other two. 
 
 ^^ I imagine you to have organised a plan of 
 seduction against this family of antidiluvians,^' 
 said the knight of Malta ; " but for what pur- 
 pose, I am as ignorant as Bertier.^' 
 
 " And you, Marcenay ?" inquired the Prince 
 of fashion of the aspiring whelp.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 1^9 
 
 At this appeal to his acuteness, the youth 
 seemed to ponder. 
 
 " Is there not a fourth person of the family, 
 as yet unmentioned ?'* said he, with a smile. 
 
 " Marcenay, you will make your way in the 
 world," repUed Choisy ; " your seniors ought to 
 blush in listening to you. Yes, there exists a 
 fourth — ^but somewhat less antidiluvian than the 
 rest." 
 
 The voice of the servant, announcing the 
 names at the door, now predominated over 
 the confused murmur of the assembly; and 
 two names immediately re-echoed one after 
 the other — " The Marchioness de Gardagne !" 
 — " The Countess de Luscourt !" 
 
 The same feeling of curiosity caused each of 
 the friends to turn round. The Viscount also 
 rose ; and the eyes of all four were fixed upon 
 the entrance of the room.
 
 150 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The first person who entered was a fat man 
 of jovial appearance, whose head, half grey, 
 half bald, towered six inches above the others, 
 like the brow of Ajax in the Iliad. Pro- 
 fiting by his colossal weight, the gift of nature, 
 he penetrated the crowd in line direct, without 
 meeting with the least resistance ; for one 
 might as well have obstructed the road to a 
 horse in full gallop, as impede his progress. 
 This living bastion escorted an elderly lady, 
 dressed in a dark brown gown, her head 
 covered with one of those dowager caps, which 
 might be the work of Macbeth^s witches, so 
 impossible is it to assign them an exact defi- 
 nition. Under a black velvet brim, fantasti-
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 151 
 
 cally distorted, and tricked up with little red 
 feathers, were two weasel-like eyes, and a nose 
 peeping inquisitively at her teeth. Behind this 
 couple, came another no less remarkable, but of 
 a different kind ; a young man about twenty- 
 five, of distinguished appearance, but with a 
 face whose meekness of expression was almost 
 sanctimonious, giving his arm to one of the 
 most fascinating women who had as yet made 
 her appearance. To describe her, one must 
 have recourse to the palette of the old son- 
 neteers, on which white and red, ebony, 
 auburn, and celestial blue, are alone admitted. 
 To adopt their language, in speaking of our 
 heroine, her eyes were diamonds, surmounted 
 by arches of jet, her glossy hair divided upon 
 her brow, resembled two raven^s wings, symme- 
 trically enclosing a globe of alabaster. Upon 
 her cheek, raged a war betwixt the lily and the 
 rose; her lips, when closed, were of rubies, 
 when open, pearls. To be brief, and replacing 
 the delicate pencil of Dorat in its musky case.
 
 152 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 the lady upon whom the attention of Choisy 
 and his friends was concentrated, was one of 
 the most enchanting specimens of dark beauty 
 well to be imagined. The magic contour of 
 her waist was displayed to the utmost advan- 
 tage in a dress of bright crimson velvet, and had 
 her numerous diamonds been united in a crown 
 upon her head, her air of youthful royalty 
 would have rendered her the fitting occupant 
 of a throne. Beautiful and proud, she passed 
 on with easy dignity, her companion seeming 
 rather to derive support from her than to im- 
 part it. 
 
 "Well," said the Viscount, turning with a 
 smile towards his friends, " what say you ?" 
 
 " Beautiful !" repUed Bertier ; « but ill 
 dressed, and carrying her head too high. She 
 takes up too much room in the world; something 
 in the style of her father, the drum-major.^' 
 
 "That is precisely what pleases me most 
 in her,'' said the knight of Malta. " She is 
 only twenty, fresh from the provinces, as one
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 153 
 
 may perceive, by the blazing gown and dia- 
 monds of the date of Louis XIV. Neverthe- 
 less, in spite of these two incongruities, she has 
 produced a great eflfect here. She puts me in 
 mind of the Queen of Sheba approaching the 
 throne of Solomon.^* 
 
 " Had she less colour, I should think her 
 irreproachable," observed Marcenay, who, as the 
 slave of fashion, was devoted to the worship of 
 paUid beauties of the interesting school. 
 
 Choisy eyed his friends with an air of dis- 
 dain. 
 
 " You are right," said he ; " she dresses ill, 
 walks ill, and has many other defects, not in- 
 stantly perceptible. Her education is not 
 complete. But do not alarm yourselves — it has 
 begun." 
 
 " You have undertaken it, then ?" inquired 
 Marcenay. "I congratulate you, my dear 
 fellow ! I would fain dispute the task with 
 you, had I not urgent occupations. Above all, 
 
 H 3
 
 154 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 bleach her, I entreat. Rose colour is the type 
 of vulgarity." 
 
 " How far have you proceeded ?" inquired the 
 knight of Malta. " Is it summer or harvest 
 time?" 
 
 Choisy muttered a few indistinct words. 
 
 Meanwhile, the lane so victoriously achieved 
 by the irresistable progress of Madame de 
 Beaupre, had allowed Madame de Gardagne 
 and her daughter-in-law, to penetrate as far 
 as the second drawing-room, where they were 
 seated side by side. Monsieur de Luscourt 
 took up a position behind his wife's chair, to 
 which he appeared screwed down ; an assiduity 
 generally attributed to jealousy, but which pro- 
 ceeded solely from shyness. On the other 
 hand. Monsieur Beaupre indulging in the lo- 
 comotion for which lazy people have so trou- 
 blesome a tendency, began a peregrination 
 through the apartments, seeking out his ac- 
 quaintances, rushing through the compactest 
 masses, and totally regardless of the ladies*
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 155 
 
 trimmings, or the superlative varnish of the 
 men. One of the first persons he met, was 
 the Viscount de Choisy, whom he immediately 
 seized by the button. 
 
 " My dear fellow !" said he, in a double 
 bass voice which would have put to the proof 
 the nerves of a young elephant — "thanks to 
 you, I have had an enchanting ride ! Rebecca 
 is the pleasantest hack I ever mounted. I 
 fear, though, she will give you a sad account 
 of me. I fancy I tired her.'' 
 
 " She will recover,^' replied the Viscount, 
 politely. 
 
 " In taking her back to her stable, I per- 
 ceived another horse, and for the first time : 
 dark bay, short tail, Norman head, which would 
 just suit me. A horse's head should always 
 cover its rider. In the army, we consider that 
 a first rate advantage. What is the name of 
 the dark bay ?" 
 
 " Mario," replied the Viscount, suppressing 
 a sigh.
 
 156 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 *' Well, then, to-morrow I will make his ac- 
 quaintance ; that is to say, with your permis- 
 sion/' 
 
 " I need not assure you that my whole stud 
 is at your orders/* replied Choisy, who secretly 
 felt that he deserved expulsion from the jockey 
 club. 
 
 ^* Have you wished the ladies good even- 
 ing?" inquired Beaupre. 
 
 " I was looking for them." 
 
 " You will find them at the other end of the 
 drawing-room. Pray thaw the deportment of 
 that mummy of a son-in-law of mine. He 
 bores me to death with his quaker-like style of 
 dress and manners. — Are there cards ?'' 
 
 " Yes, in the room to the right.^' 
 
 " I saw a gun at Lepage's yesterday. If I 
 could only win five hundred francs, your rab- 
 bits should tell you news of it." 
 
 At length left to himself, the Viscount began 
 by adjusting the lappel of his coat, somewhat 
 deranged by the energetic twitchings of Beau-
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 137 
 
 pre's colossal fingers ; who^ among other fami- 
 liarities, had a trick of seizing those he ad- 
 dressed by the collar. He then crossed the 
 room, and halted before Madame de Luscourt, 
 seated between her mother-in-law and husband. 
 In spite of his meek appearance, Choisy could 
 not but compare the latter with the dragon of 
 the Hesperides, As to the Marchioness, he 
 had long since exhausted the vocabulary of 
 epithets applicable to an inconvenient duenna. 
 
 The swain of forty stood transfixed, when 
 the Countess d'Agost, the lady of the house, 
 stood before him, with the confiding smile 
 which women sometimes bestow upon men of 
 the world. 
 
 " I am in a sad dilemma," said she ; " the 
 old Duchess of Rieux is just come in, and if I 
 cannot make up her Boston, she will never 
 forgive me ! I see only Monsieur Martonie 
 who is wiUing to sacrifice himself.^^ 
 
 " Here is Madame de Gardagne, to whom
 
 158 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 such a proposition will be too acceptable, and 
 by no means a penance." 
 
 "And will you be the fourth, then?" asked 
 Madame d'Agost, smiling. " I hear that at 
 Madame de Candeille's you edified all the 
 world." 
 
 " I entreat you, be generous ! Allow me to 
 enjoy the pleasures of this delightful party,'^ 
 said he, in a persuasive tone. 
 
 '' Provided you find me a substitute." 
 
 Choisy looked rapidly around him, and seeing 
 Marcenay close at hand, fondly caressing his 
 mustachios, led him up to the mistress of the 
 house. 
 
 " Thank the Countess," said he, in a solemn 
 tone, " who has done you the honour of 
 naming you as partner of the Duchess of 
 Rieux.'^ 
 
 The young man bowed mechanically, but on 
 raising his head, his countenance had assumed 
 an expression of amazement which provoked
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 159 
 
 an unavoidable burst of laughter from Madame 
 d^Agost. 
 
 " Come/^ said she, " I will present you to a 
 charming partner^ who, I trust, will prove a 
 compensation for your disappointment with the 
 dowager duchess/' 
 
 Without allowing him time to hesitate, she 
 took him straight up to Madame de Gardagne, 
 to whom Marcenay found himself compelled 
 to offer his arm to proceed to the card-room ; 
 which he did with the resignation of a criminal 
 about to be executed, after a glance of furious 
 indignation at his friend. 
 
 The duenna was thus disposed of. The con- 
 jugal dragon remained. 
 
 Without loss of time, Choisy went in search 
 of the knight of Malta, who was wandering 
 from room to room. 
 
 "You must pay me my yesterday's dinner,^' 
 said he, smiling. 
 
 Villaret put his hand in his pocket. 
 
 " For twenty francs, I should have fared bet-
 
 160 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 ter at the Cafe de Paris. What is your 
 price y' 
 
 *' Half an hour's conversation with Monsieur 
 de Lus court. ^' 
 
 " Dear at the price ! Of what can I talk to 
 such a man^ except the council of Trent, or the 
 Pragmatic sanction ?" 
 
 " Talk to him of the last work of Abbe de la 
 Mennais, or a chapter concerning your beloved 
 order. He is a paragon of erudition on all use- 
 less subjects.'' 
 
 " Thank you ! Well ! I owe you something for 
 the games of billiards you won of old Darient, 
 for the sake of his wife and me. I will do my 
 best." 
 
 The Chevalier de Villaret now made the round 
 of the room, and found himself, as if by chance, 
 at the side of Monsieur de Luscourt, whom he 
 addressed most graciously. The provincial 
 received him with the awkwardness of a man 
 who approaches the shores of a world to which 
 he is an utter alien. A servant entered, carry-
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 161 
 
 ing a tray of refreshment^ when Villaret 
 gently pushed Monsieur de Luscourt in order 
 to free the passage ; but yielding to the reflux 
 of the crowd, he accidentally hustled him into 
 the recess of the window, where he contrived 
 to mask his view completely by the curtains. 
 The knight of Malta instantly looked out for 
 his friend, but he had already quitted his 
 place. Choisy attached himself to the side of 
 the lady thus deprived of both her guardians.
 
 1G2 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 On perceiving the Viscount approach with a 
 smile on his countenance, Madame de Luscourt 
 felt an internal satisfaction which a coquette 
 would have suppressed, and in which vanity 
 had a larger share than sympathy. Her looks 
 brightened as if by enchantment. Scarcely per- 
 mitting her admirer to finish the compliment 
 he was about to address her, she observed ^' Are 
 you not afraid of compromising yourself by ac- 
 knowledging one so little known as I am ?'^ and 
 while pronouncing these words as emphatically 
 as if she had underlined them, her expressive 
 eyes turned resentfully towards a group of 
 females near at hand.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 163 
 
 Choisy closely observing this disdainful pan- 
 tomime, guessed that the provincial beauty had 
 received one of those humiliating rebuffs to 
 which strangers, newly embarked in Parisian 
 society are so often exposed; the proverbial 
 vanity of old France being an absolute phrase. 
 In proportion as the aristocratic principle is 
 banished from our laws, it appears to take re- 
 fuge in our manners, entrenching itself in a 
 spirit of exclusiveness becoming more confirmed 
 by every successive political shock. That 
 which is called the world in Paris, is composed 
 of a series of drawing rooms. To pass from 
 one to another is a social promotion, sure of 
 provoking envy on the one hand, and malice 
 on the other. 
 
 Provincial in all her connections, Madame de 
 Luscourt found herself coldly received in the 
 circle to which she was introduced through the 
 influence of her mother-in-law. Her un- 
 questionable beauty, by at once achieving the 
 conquest of the men, had deprived her of all 
 claim to the benevolent sympathy of her own
 
 164 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 sex. Insignificant, she might have been tole- 
 rated ; but being distinguished, she was a topic 
 of discussion. At this moment, even the group 
 near her, of which every individual had the 
 most obvious reasons for declaring war to pretty- 
 faces, was subjecting her to one of those piti- 
 less dissections, like that of a flower pulled leaf 
 from leaf in the hands of the botanist till it re- 
 mains devoid of colour and perfume. 
 
 Readily penetrating their views, Choisy, like 
 a man of experience, resolved to turn it to ac- 
 count. Instead of answering the question 
 addressed to him, he replied by an interroga- 
 tion. 
 
 '^ My prophecy then is accomplished ?" asked 
 he, with a smile. 
 
 '^ What prophecy ?" replied Madame de Lus- 
 court, with affected surprise. 
 
 "Alas for my humiliation! Is such the 
 value you attach to my words ? Did I not 
 tell you, that upon coming to Paris, you need 
 not hope to win the admiration of your 
 own sex?''
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 165 
 
 " I did not understand you at the time, and 
 still hesitate to believe you. How can I have 
 become an object of aversion, harmless and 
 insignificant as I am ? With what can those 
 ladies reproach me, whom I scarcely know, and 
 who seem to be so unkindly busy ?'^ 
 
 ^' You are guilty of many offences, of which 
 you little dream,^' said the Viscount signifi- 
 cantly. " How can you hope to please Madame 
 de la Chatenede for instance, who, till now, 
 boasted the finest eyes in Paris }'' 
 
 '' Have I disparaged her eyes ? On the con- 
 trary, I admire them, and see none to be com- 
 pared with them in the room.'^ 
 
 " Others have better opportunities, which 
 she will never forgive you.'^ 
 
 This compliment was too direct to be mis- 
 understood by Madame de Luscourt. 
 
 " I rather think,^' said she, " that the Gothic 
 fashion of my diamonds, and my unfortunate 
 velvet dress, are bringing down upon me their 
 impertinent scrutiny. I fear I look very ridicu- 
 lous.'^
 
 166 MODERN FRENCH LIFE, 
 
 "You would bring ridicule itself into fashion," 
 replied Monsieur de Choisy, with the trite 
 gallantry of a middle aged man. "But since 
 you appeal to my frankness, why, upon the 
 subject of dress, do you not consult your own 
 taste in preference to that of other people/' 
 
 " What can I do ?" said Madame de Lus- 
 court. "This dress is a present from my hus- 
 band, my diamonds from my mother-in-law; 
 and both are so sacred in my eyes, that were I 
 to look like a shopkeeper's wife of the Rue St. 
 Denis, I should not change them." 
 
 To this confidence, accompanied by a look 
 of involuntary irony, the Viscount inclined his 
 head with an air of hypocritical veneration. 
 
 " I am silenced !" said he. " The taste of 
 Madame de Luscourt must of course be law. 
 But allow me to suggest another grievance with 
 which you offend the world, and of which, I, 
 more than any one, presume to complain. 
 Why allow your enemies to triumph by refusing 
 every invitation ? Yesterday, I expected to see 
 you at Madame Laurencin^s.^'
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 167 
 
 ''My husband was indisposed/' said Madame 
 de Luscourt. 
 
 " But to-morrow you will come to Madame 
 d'Albenay's ?" 
 
 " To-morrow is my mother-in-law's favourite 
 day for being ill." 
 
 " How provoking !'^ said the confidant^ with 
 a serious air. 
 
 "On Monday, you will at least go to the 
 Opera? They give the Huguenots. I shall 
 take care that you have your favorite box." 
 
 Madame de Luscourt hesitated, before she 
 ventured to reply. 
 
 " I am quite concerned for the trouble you 
 have taken,^^ said she, somewhat embarrassed, 
 " but pardon me if I do not profit by your offer. 
 For reasons which command my utmost respect, 
 Monsieur de Luscourt does not frequent the 
 theatre. Though my own free agent, it would 
 be little decorous in me to appear less rigid 
 than my husband. Believe me, it is a sacrifice 
 which merits appreciation," said she smiling.
 
 168 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 "To a provincial recluse, the Opera presents 
 such temptation ! But what merit would there 
 be in renouncing a pleasure for which there was 
 no regret r^^ 
 
 "Monsieur de Luscourt appears little dis- 
 posed to admit the maxim, ' the husband reigns 
 but does not govern/^' replied the Viscount with 
 a sneer. " His inquisitorial administration 
 descends to details. He has already inter- 
 dicted novel reading and waltzing. Now, it 
 is the Opera to-morrow it will be dancing; or 
 riding. I am rather surprised he should 
 still tolerate music and embroidery ! Be 
 patient ; the interdiction will soon arrive. 
 Some would call this tyranny. I only see a 
 very logical system of government, maintain- 
 ed with the most marvellous perseverance. 
 Yes, Monsieur de Luscourt has conquered, 
 I will not say my regard, (you would not 
 believe me,) but my admiration. His policy is 
 as profound as it is courteous. Had he at 
 once overwhelmed you with the weight of his
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 169 
 
 pretensions, you would have probably resisted. 
 With much foresight, he has proceeded step by 
 step, so that passive obedience, on your part, has 
 become a matter of course. This result is the 
 more admirable, that, in seeing you together, 
 one is more inclined to believe in the mild sway 
 of the queen, than the despotism of the king." 
 
 Madame de Luscourt listened to these 
 sarcasms with calmness and without inter- 
 ruption. But she quickly assumed the dig- 
 nity of a woman w^ho respects herself and 
 the will of her husband. 
 
 " I cannot see any thing ridiculous in the 
 fulfilment of a duty," said she, with a serious 
 air. "Besides, it is the advice of Monsieur 
 de Luscourt, and not his dictation in which I 
 acquiesce.^^ 
 
 " It is more polite and less hazardous, to 
 advise than to command,'^ replied the wary 
 middle-aged man. 
 
 Madame de Luscourt now opened and shut 
 her fan several times with nervous impatience. 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 While watching this passing cloud, the Viscount 
 relapsed into an air of tender resignation. 
 
 ^^ Pardon me/' said he in his softest voice, 
 " in speaking of him, I have again disobeyed 
 you. Bat could I persuade you how much I 
 suffer in seeing you condemned to such seclu- 
 sion, such slavery, you would be more forbear- 
 ing with me. Your mother-in-law has trans- 
 formed your house into an actual fortress, to 
 which I am forced to lay siege, that T may 
 enjoy the happiness of seeing you once in ten 
 times. Must I also give up all hope of meet- 
 ing you in the world ?" 
 
 " I believe so,'^ replied Madame de Luscourt, 
 gravely. 
 
 " Explain yourself, I entreat P' cried the 
 Viscount. 
 
 " Paris pleases neither my husband nor my 
 mother-in-law ; and as the minority does not 
 give the law, we depart in two days for the 
 country house of one of my aunts, Madame de 
 Selve. Do you know her ?"
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. l7l 
 
 ^^ You are actually going away ?' exclaimed 
 the Viscount, with the vivacity of a lover of 
 twenty years of age. But he had not time to 
 conclude ; for at that moment, the clerical 
 figure of Monsieur de Luscourt appeared be- 
 hind his wife, having at last escaped from the 
 insidious civilities of the knight of Malta ; and 
 Choisy, compelled to enter into general con- 
 versation, soon bowed and left the room. 
 
 Shortly after, Choisy accosted a middle aged 
 man, who was passing the evening in peram- 
 bulating from one room to another; bowing, 
 smiling, simpering, shaking hands, and saying 
 civil things to every body in turn. 
 
 " D'Agost !" said he, " I wish to write a 
 letter. Where shall I find all I want ?" 
 
 " In my study," replied the master of the 
 house. " Go there, and you will find some 
 small rose-coloured paper, which I suspect is 
 what you want.'^ 
 
 " Precisely !'' 
 
 I 2
 
 172 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 The two men exchanged a smile of intelli- 
 gence, and d'Agost resumed his civilities ; while 
 the Viscount, preceded by a servant, ascended 
 to the second story, on descending from which, 
 about twenty minutes afterwards, he returned 
 to the drawing-room, where he found the 
 newly married couple precisely in the position 
 in which he had left them. Monsieur de Lus- 
 court had taken root behind his wife's chair, 
 who, regardless of his presence, was playing 
 with her bouquet, with an air of absence of 
 mind. 
 
 " Decidedly he is insupportable !" thought 
 her admirer. " But he must be a good senti- 
 nel if he prevent this letter from reaching its 
 address.^' 
 
 To convey a note to a married woman, in 
 the presence of her husband, if she be willing 
 to receive it, is a feat worthy of a school-boy ; 
 neither does forcing her to accept it against her 
 will, offer any insurmountable difficulty. The
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 173 
 
 feats of the Viscount of that nature rendered 
 the present an affair of mere experience. 
 Having decided his plans, he seated himself by 
 the side of Madame de Luscourt. 
 
 " Could the envy of the world secure a 
 triumph^ yours is indeed complete," said he, 
 with an insidious smile. " Your very bouquet 
 is the subject of jealousy.^* 
 
 The Viscount held out his hand for the 
 object to which he alluded, admired it, in- 
 haled the perfume, examined the flowers one 
 after the other, then, with a dexterity worthy 
 of a conjuror, inserted the tiny rose-coloured 
 note under the petals of a beautiful ca- 
 mellia ! Enchanted with his own adroitness, 
 he returned the bouquet to Madame de Lus- 
 court, who presented it to her husband, as if 
 to punish, by a piece of conjugal coquetry, the 
 rash familiarity of her admirer. 
 
 ^* Maxime," said she, " all these compliments 
 are your due. See how they approve your 
 taste.''
 
 174 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 The ingenuous husband inserted his nose 
 amongst the precious exotics, without per- 
 ceiving in the midst of them a slight odour of 
 amber, which announced the hidden snake in 
 the grass. In spite of his self-possession. 
 Monsieur de Choisy felt alarmed on seeing his 
 note in the possession of the husband ; and 
 inclining towards the guileless woman, whis- 
 pered, 
 
 "Take back your bouquet 1'^ Madame de 
 Luscourt looked surprised. "Open it when 
 alone, you will then understand me/' said the 
 Viscount de Choisy. 
 
 Agitated by these mysterious words, the 
 young wife instinctively extended her hand 
 to her husband ; but at the moment he ac- 
 quiesced in that mute demand, the intervention 
 of a fourth personage gave a new feature to the 
 scene. Like one of those malicious fairies, 
 who in a fairy-tale, appear when least ex- 
 pected, the old Marchioness de la Gardagne pre- 
 sented herself suddenly behind her daughter-in-
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 175 
 
 law's chair. With an eagerness remarkable 
 for her age, she grasped the insidious bouquet, 
 before the former was able to lay hold of it ; 
 giving the Viscount a look, which almost 
 put the man of the world out of countenance. 
 
 " Where the deuce does she start from ?" 
 said he to himself. " Impossible that she 
 should have seen me ! But these old hags 
 have an instinct of mischief equivalent to a 
 sixth sense.'' 
 
 Recovering his self-possession, he offered 
 his arm-chair to the old lady, with the most 
 formal poKteness ; but while thanking him with 
 icy politeness, instead of sitting down, she 
 addressed her daughter-in-law : 
 
 '^ Your carriage is waiting,'^ said she ; " shall 
 we go r" 
 
 Madame de Luscourt rose without answer- 
 ing, and looked alternately at the bouquet anJ 
 the Viscount, whom she dared not interrogate. 
 An expressive glance from him soon prompted 
 that marvellous presence of mind which, in
 
 176 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 sudden perplexities^ endows the sex with such 
 wonderful superiority. Leaning her hand upon 
 the back of her chair, she let fall the boa 
 she had placed there. Monsieur de Choisy, 
 quickly picked up the fallen sable, and in order 
 to present it, leant closely towards her, indiffe- 
 rent to the observations of the old Marchioness. 
 
 " What does all this mean ?^^ briefly inquired 
 Madame de Luscourt. 
 
 " I have written what I dared not utter !'* 
 replied he. 
 
 ^^How?— a letter ?'' 
 
 " And concealed, alas ! in the bouquet.^' 
 
 Collecting himself, Choisy now took leave 
 of the party, completed by the arrival of 
 Monsieur de Beaupre. Madame de Luscourt 
 forgot her admirer as soon as departed, and 
 only thought of recovering her bouquet. She 
 succeeded without even a request, her mother- 
 in-law giving it to her as soon as they were side 
 by side in the carriage. But it was in vain 
 she searched the flowers : she found nothing.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. l77 
 
 " H9 only wanted to frighten me P' thought 
 she ; " and I was stupid to have imagined him 
 in earnest. He can have nothing to write, and 
 must be aware that I am not a woman to 
 read that to which I should not think proper 
 to listen.'^ 
 
 I 3
 
 178 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 That evening, or rather that night, no sooner 
 was Madame de Gardagne alone, than she 
 carefully emptied her pockets ; immense sacks 
 in which she could deposit her lap-dog, with- 
 out personal inconvenience. On this occasion, 
 in addition to her purse and snuff-box, she 
 drew forth the tiny rose-coloured note 1 
 Her withered hand seemed to grate the 
 surface of the vellum, as she opened it ; and 
 after placing her spectacles upon her nose, 
 began to read it — a humiliation little anticipated 
 by the Viscount. 
 
 Having deciphered the tender epistle with 
 the utmost minuteness of attention, the Mar-
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. l79 
 
 chioness relapsed into a meditation too impor- 
 tant to the development of this recital, not to 
 demand attention. 
 
 Madame de Gardagne was one of those cold, 
 harsh, serious women, whose manners are 
 rather the result of sad experience of life, 
 than natural austerity of character. Twice 
 married, she had tasted the bitterest lees of the 
 cup into which a short honeymoon sheds 
 deceitful sweetness. 
 
 Her first husband, the Count de Luscourt, 
 a nobleman of the old school, an indefatigable 
 sportsman, a hard drinker, a prodigal — gallant 
 with the ladies, even with his wife — terminated 
 his existence in a duel at the age of fifty ; re- 
 alizing one of those destinies which reduce the 
 task of the genealogists, to a name and a 
 couple of dates. 
 
 Exceeding the aristocratic delinquencies ol 
 his predecessor, Monsieur de Gardagne had 
 ruined himself at play ; and fortunately for his 
 wife, a timely death interposed to save her
 
 180 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 dower from the gulph from which neither fame 
 nor fortune return. A bitter want of faith in 
 the possibiUty of happiness, a sincere contempt 
 for men, justified by double experience, con- 
 stituted the dower with which she entered 
 widowhood for the second time. On the other 
 hand, the tree of misfortune had put forth 
 wholesome fruits. Taking refuge in religion, 
 the consolation of suffering hearts, Madame de 
 Gardagne had acquired, on the flinty road of 
 fate, an experience never found in a path of 
 flowers. Religion and knowledge of the busi- 
 ness of life simultaneously developed them- 
 selves in her mind. Without losing sight of 
 heaven, the supreme consolation, she engaged 
 in the complicated duties caused by a double 
 widowhood, as well as the care of an only son, 
 the issue of her first marriage. Renouncing 
 all hope of personal happiness, she concen- 
 trated her solicitude upon this her only 
 child. In a few years, one of those female 
 administrations, which more than one economist
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 181 
 
 might accept as model, closed the breach 
 made, by paternal prodigality, in the inheritance 
 of young Luscourt. The redemption of her 
 son's fortune would have seemed to her the first 
 of worldly duties ; but that a duty superior to 
 the claim of positive interests, pervaded 
 every faculty of her soul. 
 
 To render Maxime a being wholly different 
 from the two husbands assigned her by the 
 wrath of destiny, became, for Madame de Gar- 
 dagne, the most important care of her ex- 
 istence. 
 
 The faults of her two husbands had always 
 appeared the result of the frivolous education 
 of the French nobility, previous to the revolu- 
 tion ; and the Marchioness, passing to another 
 extreme, fell into the errors of excessive 
 severity. Immured till the age of twenty in 
 a secluded country house, in the heart of 
 the Nivernais, the youth of Maxime was shel- 
 tered from the corruption of the age under 
 the shield of maternal solicitude, while pur- 
 suing his studies under the eye of a priest, as
 
 182 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 learned as he was austere. As the custom of 
 the times compelled her to adopt the rules of 
 university education, Madame de Gardagne 
 at length conducted her son to Paris, where 
 she did not lose sight of him an instant during 
 the period of his more critical studies. Every 
 day, at the termination of his studies at the 
 College as well as afterwards at the School of 
 Law, the spotless lamb returned to the fold 
 which his mother had provided him in a re- 
 tired street near the Church of St. Sulpice. 
 At twenty three years of age, he took the degree 
 of licentiate ; ignorant, except by name, of the 
 resorts usually frequented by the young stu- 
 dents of Paris. 
 
 The projects of the Marchioness had thus 
 fully succeeded. In return for her solicitude, 
 too, she had secured the most profound grati- 
 tude on the part of her charge ; the most un- 
 limited obedience, and a respect worthy of the 
 olden time. After steering safely through the 
 Parisian archipelago, in which so many youth- 
 ful fortunes are wrecked, the mother's next
 
 MODERN FREiNXH LIFE. 183 
 
 desire was to complete her work by steering 
 her new Telemachus into the salutary port of 
 marriage. She thought it right and prudent 
 that the finer feelings of the heart should no 
 longer remain inactive under an abnegation as 
 unnatural as perilous. The youth of Maxima 
 had been wasting in a garden undecked with 
 flowers. It was time the fragrant rose should 
 embellish this arid sterility. 
 
 Her choice soon fixed itself upon Mademoi- 
 selle de Beaupre, w^ho, to the endowments of 
 birth and fortune, added those of beauty. 
 She had been brought up in the country ; a 
 paramount advantage in the estimation of her 
 mother-in-law, w^io indulged in a provincial 
 prejudice against girls brought up in Paris. 
 Maxime, in this instance, exhibited the im- 
 plicit docility to which he had been constant 
 from his infancy ; and as the woman to whom 
 he was to be united was charming, the fulfil- 
 ment of a duty promised to be the source 
 of genuine happiness.
 
 184 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 Marriage emancipates women from maternal 
 restraint. Brought up like a girl, Maxime had 
 some right to the benefit of the law, and in 
 equity, his mother resolved not to contest 
 it. Madame de Gardagne saw, however, 
 that the power she had till then possessed, 
 would be usurped by the influence of another ; 
 and though the mother would have abdicated 
 without regret, the mother-in-law exercised 
 more imperious pretensions, than ever, to the 
 family throne. 
 
 The education of Madame de Luscourt 
 offered, in every particular, a direct contrast to 
 that of her husband. Deprived from child- 
 hood of maternal care, she had always lived 
 in the country with Monsieur de Beaupre ; 
 and the dictatorial habits of the portly gentle- 
 man ended in imparting a certain independence 
 to the manners of his daughter. 
 
 Till her marriage, Flavie de Beaupre evinced 
 little taste for the accomplishments in which 
 young ladies usually excel. She was awkward
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 185 
 
 with her needle and pencil, and held the piano 
 in supreme contempt. To make amends, she 
 rode with an intrepidity recalling the fable of 
 the amazons ; shot flying — and, thanks to the 
 lessons of her father, handled the foils like a 
 Bradamante. In a word, she excelled in all 
 the exercises which Madame de Gardagne, 
 in her maternal foresight, had interdicted to her 
 son. 
 
 So complete a contrast in the habits of the 
 newly married couple was somewhat embar- 
 rassing ; and for some time, they contemplated 
 each other with a curiosity bordering upon 
 anxiety. In the most daring flights of his 
 imagination, Maxime had foreseen in his wife 
 some gentle sister of the angelic choir 3 while 
 Flavie, on the contrary, had never dreamt of 
 a future husband but with a sword flashing in 
 his hand. The young man was well content 
 to exchange his visions for so charming a 
 reality; but Madame de Luscourt was less 
 prompt in the modification of her opinions.
 
 186 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 The rare qualities of her husband^ his fihal 
 obedience, his exaltation of character, and his 
 strict religious observances, commanded in- 
 voluntary respect. But she was not bHnd to 
 the wretchedness of his seat on horseback, or 
 to his timidity of manner. From this con- 
 sciousness, resulted a feeling more akin to pity 
 than to love, in which some particles of 
 irony occasionally insinuated themselves. In 
 a short time, Flavie conceived an invincible 
 aversion to the qualities which at first 
 commanded her profound veneration. The 
 almost monastic rigidity of Monsieur de Lus- 
 court seemed a reproof to the genuine, though 
 less austere piety in which she had been reared. 
 Every night, did Maxime prolong his prayers 
 and meditations ; still his wife, content 
 only with rational piety, could not but 
 consider these conjugal orisons an hour or 
 two too long. On Sundays, the high mass 
 at which his wife attended, did not suffice 
 for Maxime, who returned to vespers, and
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 18/ 
 
 could scarcely tear himself away at the conclu- 
 sion of the service. 
 
 " I am almost afraid/' thought she, " he 
 would have done better to take holy orders 
 than enter the estate of matrimony." 
 
 Poets have sometimes maintained that 
 women are visible angels, intermediating be- 
 tween man and the divinity ; and, by a tacit 
 acquiescence, mankind have conceded this 
 polite error. A woman will consequently par- 
 don all superiority in a husband save that which 
 infringes her divine prerogative. 
 
 The most intolerant devotee bends to the 
 control of a sinner she is likely to convert, 
 sooner than to a saint whose example is a re- 
 proof, preferring to give the example, rather 
 than receive it. Madame de Luscourt grew 
 impatient under the supremacy of virtue she 
 was perpetually compelled to acknowledge. 
 Her husband's ascetic perfection, and the scru- 
 pulous discharge of his religious duties, seemed 
 so many feathers plucked from her angehc wings.
 
 188 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 In spite of the frankness and vivacity of her 
 character, the young wife contrived to mask 
 her progressive displeasure under a semblance 
 of humility and deference towards her husband 
 of which he was the dupe. But Madame de 
 Gardagne, on seeing the clouded state of 
 the conjugal horizon^ experienced considerable 
 anxiety. 
 
 There exist in the world, individuals who 
 assume towards women the cruel despotism of 
 birds of prey towards the more timid of the 
 feathered tribe. As we have already intimated 
 the Viscount de Choisy was one of these 
 vultures, ever hovering over guileless innocence 
 and unsuspecting virtue. Conformably to the 
 habits of the day, he had pity upon the un- 
 married portion of the sex ; though there were 
 occasions in which his self-denial made excep- 
 tions. Residing in the neighbourhood of 
 Monsieur de Beaupre, he had manifested to- 
 wards Flavie only the most careless at- 
 tentions \ but on her marriage, she suddenly
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 189 
 
 assumed the value of a diamond in the hands 
 of an expert lapidary. To the Viscount, Ma- 
 dame de Luscourt presented a triumph to be 
 achieved, as uniting all the qualities which tend 
 to gratify self-love and vanity, the supreme 
 stimulus of lady killers. The project of this 
 modern Don Juan was instantly decided. A 
 favourable opportunity was alone wanting, 
 and the journey of the newly married couple to 
 Paris being decided, without loss of time he set 
 to work. 
 
 At forty, the chances of such success are 
 doubtful. The nobler portal of the heart is 
 open only to youth ; though the various ca- 
 prices of feminine vanity offer encouragement 
 too frequently to the pretensions of male flirts. 
 The Viscount adopted a system of persuasive 
 gallantry, which, though in appearance tame, 
 took an oblique line not unlikely to attain 
 its object. While aiming at the part of a 
 lover, he contented himself with that of confi-
 
 190 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 dant ; a part of secondary importance in ap- 
 pearance, but possessing innumerable resources 
 for those who know how to profit by them. 
 
 By degrees, in spite of the vigilance of the 
 mother-in-law and the sanctimoniousness of 
 the husband, Madame de Luscourt became 
 engaged with him in terms of intimacy, limited 
 at first to an exchange of insignificant gossip 
 such as usually forms the staple of fashionable 
 conversation -, but which daily assumed a more 
 serious tone, renouncing the passing fancies 
 of the mind for the outpourings of sen- 
 timent. The respectable age of Monsieur 
 de Choisy, his craftiness of mind, his persuasive 
 manners, and more than all, his profound 
 knowledge of the sex, permitted him to take 
 up a position in which many more skilful 
 champions might have failed. Under the pre- 
 tence of doing the honours of Paris to the 
 provincials, he established his intimacy in the 
 family ; and we have seen at what cost of
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 191 
 
 broken-kneed horses, heads of game, and 
 games of boston, he purchased his footing in 
 the house. 
 
 Applying the rules of military art to his 
 present siege, the Viscount began by mining 
 the three formidable bastions with which 
 Madame de Luscourt was flanked. The mother- 
 in-law was dismantled without firing a shot ; 
 thanks to the spirit of revolt peculiar to daugh- 
 ters-in-law, in which the besieger had found a 
 powerful auxiliary. The husband still held 
 firm, but the constant praises of the merits of 
 Maxime by his young wife appeared almost an 
 affectation. As to Monsieur de Beaupre, 
 any precaution on his account was quite super- 
 fluous, for the lusty gentleman belonged to 
 that class of fathers of families, who as soon 
 as their daughters are married, think they 
 have accomplished their paternal duties, and 
 say in the joy of their heart, " the rest regards 
 my son-in-law.^* 
 
 At the period of the commencement of this
 
 192 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 recital. Monsieur de Choisy had so dexterously 
 managed these preliminaries, that he fancied 
 all scruples as to a declaration were unne- 
 cessary. In abstaining from an explicit avowal, 
 he seemed rather to forego a right, than submit 
 to a necessity. Congratulating himself on the 
 ground he had gained, he was satisfied with his 
 slow, but gradual progress, as a traveller pauses 
 to view the landscape at leisure. 
 
 The sudden announcement of Madame de 
 Luscourt's departure, however, induced him 
 no longer to temporize. The Viscount felt 
 that he must anticipate the coming blow ; and 
 the result was the letter which was now causing 
 such acute uneasiness to the mother of Maxime.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 193 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Madame de Gardagne sat reflecting upon 
 the Viscount^s letter with profound attention. 
 After reading it, she was on the point of com- 
 mitting it to the flames; but she suddenly- 
 locked it up as carefully, as though she had 
 been a beauty, and the billet a love-letter of her 
 own. 
 
 '^ It is the first," said she ; ^' my fears are 
 relieved ! But my vigilance may not always be 
 equally successful. This man is of the most 
 unceasing perseverance. Obstacles only serve 
 to incite him. How am I to act ? How ward 
 off the misfortune which threatens my son ? 
 In spite of his piety, Maxime is a man of spirit ; 
 and had he the least suspicion, I am convinced 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 he would insult this reckless hero. A duel 
 must ensue, in which he would fall like his 
 father. I could not survive such an ordeal ! 
 One does not mourn for a son as for a husband, 
 — one dies of grief! — These professed gal- 
 lants are, after all, so many assassins I Mon- 
 sieur de Beaupre has boasted to me of Mon- 
 sieur de Choisy's prowess, and my poor boy 
 has never had a lesson in fencing. Maxime 
 shall know nothing of it. His noble, innocent 
 soul is unfitted for such torments. I will pro- 
 tect him. Flavie is only a coquette. There 
 may be time to check the disease before it in- 
 vades her mind and heart. Not a moment is 
 to be lost. In a few days, it were perhaps 
 too late V 
 
 To rekindle in the soul of her daughter-in- 
 law, in the absence of conjugal love, the princi- 
 ples of duty so nearly extinct, was her first 
 object ; and among those around her to whom 
 she could look for support, she fixed upon 
 Monsieur de Beaupre, her natural ally on a 
 family question.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 195 
 
 " What think you of Monsieur de Choisy ?" 
 said she to the old gentleman, taking him 
 aside after breakfast. 
 
 " Of Choisy ? an excellent fellow 1^' replied 
 he, '^a bit of a coxcomb, but a safe friend. 
 They accuse him of giving himself airs, but / 
 have nothing to say against him. He has the 
 finest horses in Paris, and I ride them when- 
 ever it suits me.^^ 
 
 " Do you esteem his character ?" 
 
 " Of course I do. A man who lends his 
 horses like a true friend ! Look at his stable ! 
 — a palace ! — all marble and mahogany. — His 
 horses are small, indeed, or possibly I am a 
 leetle heavy .^' 
 
 " I want your opinion of his character, 
 not of his horses,^' interrupted Madame de 
 Gardagne. 
 
 " A capital fellow, as I told you before. — 
 I am to ride Mario this morning, for the first 
 time. I wonder he is not here.'^ 
 
 The Marchioness grew impatient. 
 
 K 2
 
 196 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 "Cannot you answer me seriously? The 
 question I put to you has a serious motive, to 
 which you would do well to attend. — Is it 
 possible you have never noticed the assiduities 
 of Monsieur de Choisy towards " 
 
 " His assiduities ? He hardly comes here ;" 
 replied Flavie's father. 
 
 The dowager smiled ironically. 
 
 '^ While you ride his horses or shoot his 
 rabbits/' said she, " he is sure not to meet 
 you. But I tell you that he comes here much 
 too often, and that his visits have been re- 
 marked. Flavie is too beautiful for the atten- 
 tions of Monsieur de Choisy not to receive an 
 ill founded interpretation. Yesterday evening, 
 for instance, they were the topic of severe 
 observations.'^ 
 
 " Mere envy ! Because Choisy is successful 
 in the world.'' 
 
 " In our house, at least, his success shall be 
 moderate. In a word," continued the Mar- 
 chioness, " the conduct of Monsieur de Choisy
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 197 
 
 is such as, if it do not commit Fla\4e, must at 
 least embarrass her, which is a sufficient reason 
 for any step I may take. To-morrow we go 
 into the country to Madame de Selve. It is 
 useless to attempt anything in the interim. 
 But at our return to Paris, I beg you will 
 make the Viscount understand that his visits 
 would be more agreeable if less frequent." 
 
 " Lucky enough,'^ rephed Beaupr^, '^ for I 
 asked him to pass a fortnight at my sister-in- 
 law's.^^ 
 
 " You have actually invited him ?'^ exclaimed 
 Madame de Gardagne. " In that case, we 
 will not go.'^ 
 
 "Come, come, my dear Marchiones'^^ .Ic 
 not mount the high horse !" cried Beaupre, 
 good-humouredly. '' Why select Monsieur 
 de Choisy more than many others who ad- 
 mire Flavie ? Believe me, he is a thousand 
 leagues from any idea of that sort. He has 
 too much to think of. I can speak pertinently 
 upon the subject, for I possess his confidence.
 
 198 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 First of all, he is going to be married, not to 
 mention the little girl at the Opera- — and very 
 pretty she is. Pardon me, I forgot you knew 
 nothing of that kind. How should he think of 
 Flavie, whom he has known from a child ? He 
 is not more attentive to her than he is to 
 other women ; and let me tell you, that, as 
 far as that goes, your son would do well to take 
 him for a model, for really poor Luscourt is 
 far from gallant ! A regular soldier of the 
 Pope. Flavie told me yesterday — '^ 
 
 " What did she tell you ?" 
 
 " Nothing of any consequence — mere child- 
 *^Wi-£as. After all, if she found Choisy more 
 J: ir. Lining in conversation last night than your 
 sanctimonious son, it is no crime. It is not 
 for such absurdities I will close my doors 
 against a friend of twenty years' standing, and 
 who has the first horses in Paris. Here is a 
 specimen," said Monsieur de Beaupre, ad- 
 vancing to the w^indow, and his eye fixed upon 
 a full bred horse,, led by the groom of Monsieur
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 199 
 
 de Choisy. In a moment, the old gentleman 
 took up his hat, whip, and gloves, previously 
 laid upon a chair. 
 
 " I never keep a good horse waiting ; it is 
 a matter of principle with me," said he. 
 " Pray, dear Marchioness, cease bothering my 
 brain with these absurdities. At our age, we 
 must leave young people to themselves. I 
 have delegated my paternal power to Maxime ; 
 the rest is his affair. ' Never hazard your 
 linger twixt bark and wood,^ says the proverb ; 
 and I have sworn never to interfere betwixt 
 my son-in-law and his wife." 
 
 " Egotist !'^ muttered Madame de Gar- 
 dagne, as soon as he was gone. " Provided he 
 get his riding and shooting, what signifies the 
 rest ?" 
 
 Finding it in vain to seek the support of 
 Monsieur de Beaupre, the Marchioness re- 
 mained thoughtful and undetermined. At 
 length, she made up her mind, and proceeded
 
 200 MODERN FRENCH LIFE, 
 
 to a little sitting-room, where she found her 
 daughter-in-law occupied in reading the news- 
 paper. 
 
 On seeing her mother-in-law, Madame de 
 Luscourt rose, and offered her easy chair to 
 the old lady. Madame de Gardagne usually 
 accepted this place of honour with the dignity 
 of a dowager of high and noble lineage, in the 
 assertion of her precedence. But this time, she 
 refused. 
 
 " Do not disturb yourself, my child,'^ said 
 she, graciously taking another chair. '^ Why 
 keep your room this divine weather ? I 
 thought you were airing with Maxime. The 
 Boulevarts are, I am sure, covered with equi- 
 pages.'^ 
 
 " It is Sunday, is it not ?'' replied Flavie, 
 coldly. " Maxime is, doubtless, gone to ves- 
 pers, and I shall pass my day in the English 
 fashion ; only that instead of reading sermons, 
 I venture on a newspaper. Rather worldly.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 201 
 
 I fear ; and when you opened the door, I 
 thought of hidhig it, lest it might be my hus- 
 band." 
 
 ^' You make out poor Maxime more strict 
 than he really is. I do not suppose he forbids 
 your reading what you Hke.'^ 
 
 ^^ Pardon me/' said the young wife. " Yes- 
 terday, I sent for a new novel ; this morning, 
 Maxime, upon finding it on my table, sent it 
 back to the library.^' 
 
 " That was rather despotic, I admit. But 
 in your place," said the Marchioness, trying to 
 smile, '^ I should deem it a proof of affection, 
 more than any thing else. After all, dear 
 Flavie, there are better books than the last 
 new novel. In seeking to direct your taste in 
 the choice of your studies, Maxime testifies a 
 mark of respect. Cannot you see this ?" 
 
 " Yes, I understand it all, appreciate it all, 
 submit to it all. If required, I will return to 
 fairy tales, and nursery rhymes.'' 
 
 "I wish to consult you, my dear child, on the 
 
 K 3
 
 202 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 subject of our departure/' interrupted the Mar- 
 chioness, in a persuasive voice. 
 
 '^ I do not see the use of giving my opinion 
 upon a thing almost decided/' replied Madame 
 de Luscourt. 
 
 ^^ Which means that the journey does not 
 suit you ?" 
 
 "On the contrary^ I rejoice in it. The 
 country in March is delicious. It is true the 
 trees have no leaves, but on the other hand, 
 there is plenty of snow. One may at least 
 enjoy the pleasures of the fireside. How in- 
 conceivable that people persist in remaining in 
 Paris till the end of the carnival ?' 
 
 Since she had become acquainted with Mon- 
 sieur Beaupre s invitation to the Viscount, Ma- 
 dame de Gardagne looked forward with horror 
 to the projected journey. In spite of her seve- 
 rity of conscience, she concealed the motive of 
 her change of mind ; attributing to her son 
 the merit of a decision which she thought might 
 be agreeable to his young wife.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 203 
 
 *' This sudden passion for the country is inop- 
 portune/^ repUed she smiUng ; '• how will you 
 manage ? Maxime desires to remain in Paris, 
 thinking it might not be disagreeable to you/^ 
 
 " My duty is to obey/' replied Flavie, also 
 smiling, for her ill humour vanished at this 
 unexpected intelligence. 
 
 The countenance of the young wife having 
 resumed its usual serenity, a symptom which 
 a skilful diplomatist ought never to undervalue, 
 the Marchioness found herself more embar- 
 rassed than at the beginning of the conversa- 
 tion ; but her hesitation was brief, for active 
 minds decide rapidly, though they may after- 
 wards repent their precipitation. Till now, she 
 had avoided, in conversing with her daughter- 
 in-law, all reference to the Viscount, knowing 
 full well that to speak of a man gives him con- 
 sequence, and that contradiction often confirms 
 ill-disposed feehngs. But she now determined 
 to put the heart of Flavie to the test. 
 
 " It is settled then, that we remain in Paris,"
 
 204 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 said she. " In the course of the summer, we 
 shall find means of paying our visit to your 
 aunt. It would have been a pity not to be 
 here for the wedding of Mademoiselle de 
 Cheneceaux.^^ 
 
 " It will be magnificent/' replied Flavie, " I 
 heard of nothing else at Madame d'Agost's." 
 
 " Spring is decidedly the season for mar- 
 riages," replied Madame de Gardagne ; " yester- 
 day, I heard of half-a-dozen, of which the only 
 one I remember is that of our friend Monsieur 
 de Choisy. — Did you hear of it V 
 
 Flavie replied to this interrogation with a 
 look of defiance ; while a nervous tremor of 
 the lips succeeded to her previous smiles. 
 
 " Monsieur de Choisy about to be married ?" 
 said she. "To whom ?" 
 
 ^'I have not heard," replied the dowager, 
 pretending not to perceive the anxiety of her 
 daughter-in-law, "but the thing is certain. 
 Monsieur de Choisy has already informed your 
 father of it."
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 205 
 
 " True/^ said Flavie, recovering her smiles, 
 and this time speaking with irony, ''his mar- 
 riage with Mademoiselle Villemars, — an old 
 stor)'.'' 
 
 ^' Old or new, it appears certain, and all the 
 world approves Monsieur de Choisy's abandon- 
 ment of the school of romance for that of 
 reality." 
 
 " Does he really write romances ?^' inquired 
 Madame de Luscourt, unable to suppress a look 
 of incredulity. 
 
 '^ I forgot you liked that kind of reading, or 
 I should not have made use of the word to 
 define what is the very reverse of romantic,^' 
 said the Marchioness. "Actresses and figu- 
 rantes are apt to prefer the positive to the 
 ideal." 
 
 "Monsieur de Choisy, then, has an attachment 
 for an actress r" said the young wife, whose in- 
 dignation now betrayed itself by a crimson 
 blush.
 
 206 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 " She is perhaps a singer or dancer, I know 
 not which. Your father is my informant. But 
 your expression is not applicable. At Mon- 
 sieur de Choisy's age, passion is out of the 
 question.'^ 
 
 "There are young men equally unim- 
 passioned/^ replied Flavie abruptly. 
 
 And the Marchioness could not but under- 
 stand this direct retort upon her son. 
 
 " You will allow " said she, " that with a 
 young and pure heart, there is a fairer chance 
 than with one prematurely withered. Though 
 Monsieur de Choisy be a little too mellow to 
 play the gay gallant, he may still make a most 
 excellent husband. At forty- five, it is time to 
 be reasonable.^' 
 
 " You mean thirty-five !" observed Madame 
 de Luscourt, suppressing with difficulty her 
 peevishness. 
 
 " Forty-five, if not more. Remember that 
 Monsieur de Choisy is as coquettish about his
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 207 
 
 looks as a middle-aged woman. Madame 
 d'Agost assured me the other day that he 
 wears stays. Did you ever perceive it }'' 
 
 " There are many awkward men in the world 
 who would do well to follow his example." 
 
 " Unfortunately there is no repairing the 
 pitiless havoc of time," resumed Madame de 
 Gardagne. "The Viscount ages. Yesterday^ I 
 watched him closely and discovered signs of 
 maturity, which I had not previously remarked. 
 His hair is getting wonderfully gray.'^ 
 
 Flavie remarked with emphasis, 
 
 " In him one never notices such trifling 
 defects. Monsieur de Choisy is clever, dis- 
 tinguished, amiable, and were I a man, he 
 would be my model.^' Then, by way of changing 
 the conversation, " As we do not go to Selve," 
 said she, " it would be as well to inform my 
 aunt, who expects us. With your permission, 
 I will write to her." 
 
 Without waiting for her mother-in- law^s 
 answer, Madame de Luscourt left the room,
 
 208 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 slamming the door with puerile impatience. 
 Women are sometimes more vexed by the dis- 
 covery of their follies, than of their sen- 
 timents ; and being well versed in the subtile 
 mysteries of feminine organisation, the Mar- 
 chioness felt much satisfaction in witnessing 
 the ill humour of her daughter-in-law. 
 
 " If she really liked him/^ thought she, 
 " she would be more cautious. Were she to 
 blame, her language would be less irritable. 
 Since she resents, she is irreproachable !^' 
 
 As the old lady made this inference, the 
 door of the drawing room suddenly opened, 
 and Monsieur de Choisy was announced '
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 209 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The man of fashion advanced with a gra- 
 cious air, without betraying disappointment, 
 at perceiving that a third person was to be 
 present at the interview; while, at sight of 
 the being, whom she regarded as a prowHng 
 w^olf, the Marchioness determined upon one of 
 those measures before which prudence recoils, 
 but w^hich are sometimes prompted by the 
 exigency of the moment. 
 
 '^ It is a hopeless case with Monsieur de 
 Beaupre,'' thought she, receiving with an ambi- 
 guous smile, the compliments of the Viscount. 
 "He would sell his daughter for a horse, or his 
 soul for a buck. To speak rationally to Flavie,
 
 210 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 would be the very means to urge her to some 
 imprudence. My son must know nothing, 
 for with the education he has received, his in- 
 tervention would be only prejudicial ; it is 
 therefore to this man I will address myself. 
 Monsieur de Choisy !'' said she, cutting short 
 the graceful courtesies of the Viscount, " I 
 rejoice in the opportunity of speaking to you 
 alone. I desire your advice upon a subject 
 which, in consideration of my provincial pre- 
 judices, I fear you will judge too severely. It 
 would flatter me to find the opinion of a man 
 like yourself, whose foible is not that of strict 
 severity, in accordance with my own." 
 
 " Plague take the old woman," thought the 
 Viscount ; " does she take me for a casuist ? 
 What the devil are her confidences to me? 
 Pray proceed. Madam," said he, more respect- 
 fully; " but in truth, I fear that, in consulting 
 me, you do too much honour to my feeble 
 judgment.^' 
 
 " What should you think," said the Mar-
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 211 
 
 chioness^ " of a man who, after being introduced 
 into a family upon the sacred plea of friendship, 
 takiiig advantage of the confidence reposed 
 in him, should, in return for the hospi- 
 tality, he receives, be guilty of a design as trea- 
 cherous as it is deliberate/' 
 
 " A hit !" thought Choisy, though his 
 countenance was not the least embarrassed. 
 " The crime to which you allude, Madani,^^ 
 said he, '^ is one of such frequent occurrence 
 in the world, that to presume to judge the 
 question, one must be oneself irreproachable. 
 Unfortunately such is not my position ; and as 
 you rightly observed just now, rigidity would 
 ill becom-e me. Permit me therefore to decline 
 expressing an opinion. I have enough to do 
 with the examination of my own conscience, 
 without presuming to animadvert on the errors 
 of others.'^ 
 
 " I did not require any examination of your 
 conscience,^' said Madame de Gardagne, with 
 perfect imperturbability. " On the contrary,
 
 212 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 I will at once admit the man to whom I 
 allude, to be yourself. Do not deny it. Suffice 
 it that you have already warranted my doubts 
 of your delicacy of feeling. I will deal frankly 
 with you. For these last six months, you have 
 been paying attentions to Madame de Lus- 
 court — '' 
 
 " Can you believe. Madam, that '^ 
 
 " Excuse me. Sir, I am an old fashioned 
 woman, unacquainted with the intrigues of 
 society ; you, a man of acknowledged skill and 
 experience. The advantage is therefore on 
 your side, but do not presume too much upon 
 your superiority. On certain points, women 
 never grow old, and seldom fail in their judg- 
 ment. I repeat to you, your conduct for six 
 months has been most reprehensible. Dare 
 you deny it?" 
 
 To this close inquiry, to which a fixed 
 and penetrating eye imparted an impos- 
 ing authority, the Viscount felt that all de- 
 negation would be superfluous. His vanity
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 213 
 
 rebelled against playing the school boy who 
 descends to a lie to escape the cane of the 
 usher. 
 
 " Since you exact the avowal, Madam/' said 
 he, " however strange it may appear, I own 
 that I much admire Madame de Luscourt." 
 
 " Your declaration will never reach her 
 through me^^ said the old lady, " spare your- 
 self therefore the trouble of deceit. You 
 cannot swear, your hand upon your heart, that 
 you truly love Madame de Luscourt ?'^ 
 
 ^^ How Madam ! do you doubt the sincerity 
 of my admiration for her ?" 
 
 '• To save time, I will admit your senti- 
 ments to be genuine. Forget for a moment 
 that I am her mother-in-law and let us discuss 
 the question, as if not individually concerned 
 in it. I can understand such a sentiment to 
 exist in extreme youth 3 but at your age. Mon- 
 sieur de Choisy, with your usage of the world 
 and acute turn of mind, how am I to believe 
 you the dupe of such self-delusion ? No ! you
 
 214 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 do not love her, I maintain it; it is your 
 vanity and not your heart that speaks. If 
 report speak only half the truth, you are 
 somewhat weary of your Parisian triumphs ; 
 Madame de Luscourt, fresh and beautiful, 
 and new, presents a fit interlude to vary the 
 monotony of your ordinary triumphs and 
 diversions." 
 
 " Alas ! Madam !" said the middle-aged 
 swain, " in how odious a point of view do you 
 regard my conduct ?' 
 
 ^' Odious, indeed !'^ exclaimed Madame de 
 Gardagne; ^^and my great ambition is to make 
 you share in my opinion. You perceive that 
 I have anticipated your designs ; I need 
 scarcely explain my own. You will find in 
 me a vigilant, untiring adversary. It is not in 
 the cause of virtue that I take up the defence 
 of outraged morality ; but as a mother defend- 
 ins: the character of her child — which is 
 more precious than her life. The question 
 stands clear before us. I look upon you as an
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 215 
 
 enemy. I shall be upon my guard. Be frank 
 in your turn, and tell me what are your 
 hopes }" 
 
 " I respect Madame de Luscourt too much 
 to have even dared to hope/' replied the Vis- 
 count, less unconstrained. 
 
 " An honest sentiment, for which I give you 
 credit 1" said the mother of Maxime. " You 
 admit such hopes to be an outrage? To 
 what then do you pretend ! I cannot much 
 fancy you to be a man capable of the disin- 
 terested gallantry of a knight errant.^^ 
 
 Instead of answering, Monsieur de Choisy 
 smiled with an affectation that scarcely con- 
 cealed his embarrassment. 
 
 " How bad must be your cause \" resumed 
 Madame de Gardagne, drawing the slip knot 
 of her argument tighter and tighter. " You 
 cannot utter a word that does not turn against 
 yourself! Still, I appreciate your respect for 
 my daughter-in-law. I would never have 
 pardoned your bad opinion of her. Madame
 
 216 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 de Luscourt is full of feeling and honour, with 
 judgment beyond her age ; and her strong good 
 sense replaces the maturer experience of 
 age. I have full confidence in her. Do not, 
 therefore, attribute to a mistrust at which she 
 would be justly indignant, a step entirely 
 arising from my sense" of propriety. The 
 opinions of the world are so rash, that one 
 cannot be too cautious in averting them. ' The 
 wife of Csesar must not be suspected.' '^ 
 
 " Now for some choice examples from an- 
 cient history !'^ thought the Viscount. '* What 
 chance have I against this virtuous matron, 
 who has the courage to compare her asinine 
 son with imperial Ceesar !" 
 
 The Marchioness paused, as if to give her 
 listener time to reply. But as Choisy remained 
 silent, she resumed in a more gracious tone : 
 
 " My sermon is long, is it not ? I see you 
 are weary of my moralities. I feel myself to 
 be the person you detest most in the world, 
 and would not leave such impressions on your
 
 MOJ)ERN FRENCH LIFE. 217 
 
 mind. Though old, I am coquettish, and hold 
 that your hatred be not too deep. Perhaps, 
 Monsieur de Choisy, we may still be friends. 
 Though I doubted the reality of your passion, 
 I never doubted that of your honour. One 
 word from you would end this painful subject. 
 Come, come ! Set my mind at ease. Are 
 there not pretty women enough in Paris, who 
 would be proud of the attentions which you 
 now fruitlessly lavish upon another ? See 
 what egotistical, worldly arguments you com- 
 pel me to use ! But Heaven will pardon the 
 sin, in consideration of the motive. Shew me 
 then, that in believing you accessible to nobler 
 feelings, I am not mistaken. The esteem of 
 an old woman is but a poor reward for the 
 generous conduct I expect from you. But you 
 have admitted that you are hopeless ; why, 
 therefore, prefer the humiUation of disappoint- 
 ment, to the merit of self-denial ?^' 
 
 During this peroration, cheerfully pro- 
 nounced by the Marchioness, Choisy had been 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 occupied in twisting one of the buttons of his 
 waistcoat. 
 
 " It is written that old women will ever be 
 fatal to the victorious !" thought he, with sup- 
 pressed rage. Every syllable of the sexage- 
 narian Marchioness had fallen upon him ver- 
 tically, like the tile which ended the days of 
 Pyrrhus. 
 
 " I am beaten out of the field, and an 
 honourable retreat is my only resource, 
 Madam,^' said he ; " your appeal to my honour 
 shall not be made in vain. You judged 
 severely in attributing my conduct to cold 
 calculation, and not to the ardour of passion. 
 But as my transgression is not the less heinous, 
 I do not attempt to justify myself. To con- 
 fess my fault, is to tell you that I am ready 
 to atone it. Speak, Madam ! What do you 
 require of me? I am prepared to obey.** 
 
 " Monsieur de Choisy,'^ replied the Mar- 
 chioness, " you speak like a man of honour ! 
 I am happy to find I judged you rightly."
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 219 
 
 " What do you exact of me ?'^ inquired the 
 Viscount, affecting to conceal, under a smile of 
 resignation, his bitter disappointment. " Do 
 you banish me from the country ? Am I to fly 
 to Germany, England, or Italy? If you 
 choose, I will fall ill, as a pretext for boring 
 myself to death at Hyeres !" 
 
 " I do not doubt your talent for dissimula- 
 tion,'^ replied Madame de Gardagne, laughing ; 
 " but to say the truth, you do not look like 
 a man in a decline. Besides, I do not wish to 
 interfere with your plans and projects. Your 
 word of honour is sufficient. I exact nothing, 
 not even that you diminish the number of your 
 visits. So sudden a change in your relations 
 with us, might be remarked. There is a pru- 
 dence of conduct, a discretion of deportment, 
 which you may easily adopt, without any par- 
 ticular suggestion of mine. Be sure, my dear 
 Monsieur de Choisy, that which appears so 
 difficult now to accomplish, will one day be a 
 source of pure and unmixed satisfaction to you, 
 
 L 2
 
 220 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 and you will learn to thank me. In the mean 
 while, I must forgive a little resentment. I 
 cannot expect your reformation to be imme- 
 diate/' 
 
 The middle-aged dandy rose to take leave. 
 
 " Madam/^ said he, with an air of profound 
 respect, " if ever I marry, it is to your sug- 
 gestions I will refer myself for a wife.*' 
 
 "You think me lucky, then, in my selec- 
 tions ?" said the Marchioness, with a mahcious 
 smile. 
 
 ^' Spare me your reproof !" cried Choisy, 
 reddening. 
 
 " I am to blame,'^ she replied. " You con- 
 duct yourself so well, that I ought to respect 
 your feelings. Pardon my being in high 
 spirits, for it is to you I owe them ; and let us 
 part friends.'' 
 
 Monsieur de Choisy advanced to accept the 
 proffered hand, and pressed it to his lips with 
 a respectful energy to which the Dowager was 
 far from insensible.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 221 
 
 "Adieu 1^' said she. '^ Depart in peace^ and 
 sin no more." 
 
 Again bowing with the grace peculiar to the 
 men of the old court, the Viscount left the 
 room. As he opened the door, he perceived 
 Madame de Luscourt standing in the dining- 
 room, apparently just arrived. The undulation 
 of her gown seemed to indicate that she had 
 suddenly halted. Choisy instantly closed the 
 door, and advanced towards the Countess, 
 whose cheeks were of a vermillion dye ; then, 
 eagerly seizing her hand, he placed in it a 
 letter which he drew from his pocket. Choisy 
 was not partial to the epistolary system, so 
 dear to novices in love. But he knew that 
 after one step on the road, it was difficult to 
 pause; love-letters succeeding better by their 
 quantity than their quality. 
 
 Madame de Luscourt was for a moment 
 startled, and her cheeks assumed a still deeper 
 hue. Without uttering a word, but with a 
 movement expressive of vexation and resent-
 
 222 MODRN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 ment, she dashed the note upon the floor. 
 The Viscount did not attempt to pick it up, 
 the sudden entrance of a servant compelUng 
 him to retire; but turning towards the door, 
 and with the most admirable self-possession, 
 he disappeared, not without having remarked 
 the Countess conceal the note by placing her 
 foot upon it. 
 
 After the disappearance of the middle-aged 
 Lothario, Flavie, dismissing the servant, 
 picked up the note, and entered the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 '^ What is the matter ?'^ inquired Madame 
 de Gardagne. " Your dazzling colour and 
 sparkling eyes speak wonders !" 
 
 " I am come to confess a fault which you 
 will, I trust, pardon," replied the young wife, 
 in a tremulous voice. " I was there /" said 
 she, pointing to the door. " I heard all that 
 passed between you and Monsieur de 
 Choisy.^'
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 223 
 
 The Marchioness listened to this communi- 
 cation without the slightest embarrassment. 
 
 " You heard that which was little hkely to 
 please you/' she replied. 
 
 ^^ I heard only that I possessed the best and 
 most indulgent of mothers !" repHed Flavie, 
 giving way to her emotion. 
 
 " Enough — enough, my dear child/^ inter- 
 rupted the kind mother-in-law, in the most 
 affectionate tone. " Thank God, we have 
 neither of us forgotten our duty, and I trust 
 that Choisy will fulfil his, for I believe him to 
 be sincere.'^ 
 
 " Here is a proof of his sincerity !" said 
 Flavie, with a tremulous voice, offering the 
 treacherous note to her mother-in-law. 
 
 The Marchoiness started from her seat ; 
 her countenance suddenly assuming an expres- 
 sion of anger and indignation. 
 
 " So then, he was deceiving me !" said she, 
 eagerly. " Some good angel must have
 
 224 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 prompted him to such conduct, for now you 
 cannot do otherwise than despise him !" 
 
 '' I hate him !" replied the Countess, more 
 and more excited. " I may have been thought- 
 less, unguarded, coquettish, perhaps ; but 
 never did I give him the right to outrage me 
 thus. His mode of forcing me to receive this 
 letter was in itself an act of violence. It is 
 the first he has addressed me, and you see that 
 I have not read it.'^ 
 
 " It is the second !" gravely replied the 
 Marchioness, producing the former one ; " and 
 I must confess that I have been less discreet 
 than yourself.'^ 
 
 On finding her mother so well acquainted 
 with their proceedings, Flavie raised her eyes 
 to heaven, as if in gratitude for its protection. 
 Madame de Gardagne took the two epistles 
 as if she were about to cast them into the 
 fire. 
 
 " If you burn them, will he not think that
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 225 
 
 I have read them, and that I keep them ?" said 
 the young wife, retaining her arm. 
 
 *' Right, my dear child,^' resumed the old 
 lady. " But you cannot return them yourself. 
 Be it my business," 
 
 Madame de Gardagne immediately put the 
 letters into her pocket, then bidding her daugh- 
 ter-in-law sit beside her, took her hands 
 in hers, and in terms of endearing affection, 
 offered the most parental advice. She spoke 
 with all the eloquence habitual to women, when 
 expatiating upon the sentiments of the heart, 
 and in requital for her maternal tenderness, 
 received an answer as unexpected as it was 
 rational. 
 
 ^^ Dear mother, let us set out for Luscourt. 
 Paris has no charms for me. Here life appears 
 to teem with perfidious allurements. I require 
 tranquillity and solitude. I long to escape 
 from this dangerous vortex, in which my head 
 reels. I long to be with you, my father, and 
 
 L 3
 
 226 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 Maxime, who alone truly love me. Let us 
 go, I implore you/^ 
 
 " Yes, dear Flavie, we will go, since you 
 require it/' answered Madame de Gardagne, 
 too happy in receiving a proposition which 
 at the moment was hovering on her own 
 lips. Her plans had succeeded beyond her 
 hopes.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 227 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 On that day, contrary to his usual habits, 
 Maxime de Luscourt was late for dinner. At 
 length, he made his appearance, half famished, 
 but full of spiritual nourishment from a 
 sermon preached by the Abbe Lacordaire. 
 According to the custom of bigoted people, 
 enamoured of their own impressions, the 
 enthusiast imagined nothing better than to 
 make the family share in the lesson with 
 which he had been so edified, Harcily 
 had he unfolded his napkin, when he com- 
 menced an attack upon the philosophical doc- 
 trines of the school of the eighteenth century,
 
 228 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 and as the sermon was under three heads, and 
 the dinner had but three courses, the dessert 
 came in before Maxime had finished the anni- 
 hilation of Voltaire and Rousseau — those two 
 eternal targets of ecclesiastical riflemen ! 
 
 Monsieur de Beaupre listened to his son-in- 
 law's homily with the praiseworthy resignation 
 of a man who is enjoying a good dinner. 
 Flavie was, to all appearance, strictly attentive ; 
 but for the first time, Madame de Gardagne 
 bent upon her son an eye less kindly than 
 scrutinizing. Impressed by the worldly ideas 
 which had invaded the habitual austerity of 
 her mind in the course of the last two days, 
 the film fell from eyes long sealed by the 
 duties of religion and maternity. In spite of 
 her affection, she could not but remark that 
 Maxime, with his long black coat and lonj 
 fair hair, had a scholastic appearance, fitter 
 for an ecclesiastic than for a man of the world ; 
 and all the more flagrant as the supreme ele- 
 gance of Monsieur de Choisy challenged a
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 229 
 
 ridiculous comparison. In spite of her own 
 profound piety, she could not help perceiving 
 that her son, though an admirable theologian, 
 was deficient in the tone and manners of 
 poUshed society. 
 
 " Will he never have done with Voltaire ?'^ 
 murmured she, unable to resist her ill hu- 
 mour. " Nobody here presumes to contradict 
 him. He should be more attentive to Flavie, 
 whom he is worrying to death. My son. is 
 quite insupportable. His voice, naturally so 
 agreeable, becomes harsh when excited, and 
 his gesticulations are devoid of all ease or 
 grace. People are right to say that mothers 
 are bhnd. Till now, I never was aware of 
 Maxime's failings. He possesses both head 
 and heart, with great rectitude of character. 
 His rehgious principles, thank Heaven, are 
 unassailable ; and he is every thing that is 
 noble or honourable. But after all, appear- 
 ance — appearance is something ! nay, of para- 
 mount consequence in the eyes of frivolous
 
 230 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 people, and of what are we women made but 
 frivolity ? If, to enhance his excellent 
 qualities, Maxime possessed only a quarter of 
 Monsieur de Choisy's worldly advantages, 
 which he turns to such ill account, he would 
 be a finished gentleman, and Flavie would 
 adore him '/' 
 
 Maxime was now once more giving vent, in 
 the dryest prose, to his peculiar opinions ; 
 when Madame de Gardagne abruptly rose, 
 and terminated the tedious homily of her 
 son. She passed the evening and part of 
 the night in meditating in her own apartment 
 on the fallacies of a system to which she had 
 been wedded for the last twenty years, and 
 which, to all appearance, had acquired a 
 permanent footing in the family. A mind 
 naturally benevolent, at length, penetrated 
 the mists of intolerance ; and the Marchioness 
 perceived that if virtue be at all times indis- 
 pensable, it is in some instances insufficient; 
 and that the education of Maxime, exclusively
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 231 
 
 devoted to the practice of virtue, was un- 
 fitted to the corruptions of civilized life. 
 Piety and simplicity of mind, so excellent in 
 solitude, become, in the world, a source of 
 endless peril. The just man is sure to fall a 
 sacrifice if he .present his bare throat to the 
 knife of the assassin. In their struggle with 
 the evil spirits, the angels, if we are to believe 
 Raphael and Milton, assumed in imitation of 
 their adversaries, the spear and the sword; 
 and Piety, from the moment she descends to 
 the terrestrial arena, must secure herself in 
 the panoply of worldly wisdom, or sink in the 
 strife. 
 
 The Marchioness did not flinch from the 
 results of her new views and projects. 
 
 " I have been to blame,^' said she, '* in 
 listening to my personal feelings. I have con- 
 ducted myself like one who sends her son into 
 a forest full of thieves, forbidding him the use 
 of arras, for fear of wounding himself. Paris 
 is fatal to matrimonial happiness, and my poor
 
 232 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 Maxime as I have brought him up, defenceless 
 against the specious traitors who surround us. 
 His purity of mind, if it secure salvation in 
 the world to come, secures perdition in this ; 
 and I would fain have him reach the heavenly 
 goal by a less thorny road than I have followed. 
 My boy must live, as well as die, happy ; and 
 happiness is impossible for him without the 
 love of Flavie. It is not too late to acquire 
 it. He must become like other men of his 
 age and condition — amiable, elegant, attractive. 
 Conscious of the mischief engendered by my 
 own austerity, I will pray night and day — I 
 will do even penance for him, and Heaven 
 will pardon the failings of a mother who has 
 loved much V 
 
 Next day, Madame de Gardagne sent for 
 Maxime. 
 
 " Yesterday,'^ said she, " your wife decided 
 that instead of going to Madame de Selve^s, 
 we would immediately return home. Flavie 
 is fatigued with her balls, and I find that a
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 233 
 
 Paris life does not suit me ; so we shall go 
 without delay — perhaps to-morrow/' 
 
 " I would rather it were to-day/' said Max- 
 ime, greatly pleased ; " I long to be at Lus- 
 court, and return to a life of tranquillity and 
 simplicity. The vortex of Parisian life is 
 contrary to my tastes and habits, and every 
 day I grow more impatient to quit them." 
 
 " You must, nevertheless, submit to it a 
 few days longer," said his mother-in-law. 
 
 '^ How, do I not accompany you ?" 
 
 "You forget your law-suit !" 
 
 " It will not go before the court of appeal 
 these two months." 
 
 "True ! but you must visit the judges, con- 
 sult your counsel, in fact, attend to all the 
 circumstances arising out of the progress of the 
 suit. Business before every thing, Maxime. 
 Remember, you are now a man, and respon- 
 sible for the management of your fortune. 
 Whether it please you or no, you must remain 
 here till the decision of the court of appeal."
 
 234 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 i 
 
 " As you please/' replied the obedieijji-son. 
 " But it is a cruel sacrifice ! What am I to do 
 when you are both gone ?" 
 
 " Have you not a thousand ways of employ- 
 ing your time ?" 
 
 " Certainly. In the first place, study ; and 
 I promise you that the Royal Library will 
 oftener receive my visits than the drawing- 
 rooms of our fashionable friends." 
 
 " Study ?' exclaimed Madame de Gardagne, 
 pettishly. " Listen, dear Maxime. It is pos- 
 sible to study too much. You may, perhaps, 
 think me frivolous for my time of life, and 
 influenced by the brilliant society in which we 
 have been living this winter. Nevertheless, 
 permit me to suggest a plan of life somewhat 
 at variance with yours, to which you would do 
 well to apply yourself during our separation.'^ 
 
 " I am all attention, dear mother,'^ replied 
 Luscourt, smiling. " Are you not my guide, 
 my oracle ? To what am I to apply myself ? 
 Hebrew or Sanscrit ?^*
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 235 
 
 "On the contrary, to every thing that is 
 most French in the world. Certain branches 
 of your education have been hitherto neglected, 
 and to which you would do well to give your 
 attention. Riding, for instance — music, danc- 
 ing, fencing — '^ 
 
 '^ Fencing ! — dancing !" exclaimed Maxime, 
 in utter amazement. 
 
 '^ I need scarcely tell you that it is not with 
 a view to fighting or going to balls. But all 
 bhese exercises, innocent enough in themselves, 
 are conducive to health. They fortify the body, 
 and promote an ease and grace of person far 
 from despicable.^^ 
 
 '*I fear you think me very awkward!'^ ob- 
 served Maxime, inwardly mortified. 
 
 ^' Between an awkward deportment and 
 Snished manners, there are many degrees, my 
 child," she rephed. " Pardon my maternal 
 pride, if I desire to see your personal advan- 
 ;;ages in their best light.^' 
 
 " That others judge me awkward, dear mo- 
 ther, is a matter of perfect indifference,'^ replied
 
 23G MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 the young Count ; " but your slightest wishes 
 must ever be my law. In order, then, to 
 please you, I shall take the lessons you sug- 
 gest/' 
 
 " As regards your dress," said the mother, 
 delighted to have gained the first point, 
 " I cannot imagine who you employ for a 
 tailor ! One would think you were dressed 
 in the cast off clothes of Monsieur de 
 Beaupre !" 
 
 " Dearest mother, I never knew you so 
 anxious about my exterior before. Since when 
 have you taken to heart the cut of my coat ?'' 
 cried Maxime, with a glance at his costume, in 
 which comfort more than elegance seemed to 
 have been studied. 
 
 " Of whom ought I to be vain, if not of my 
 son ?'^ cried the Marchioness. 
 
 '^ I do not aspire to become a coxcomb," 
 said the young husband, indignantly. 
 
 " There is a wide difference between being 
 a coxcomb, and the acquirement of certain
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 237 
 
 qualities, superficial, if you will, but essential 
 to your position of life. Your principles are 
 too firm to be influenced by the frivolous ex- 
 amples of society. After all^ one may be vir- 
 tuous, yet elegant ; a model of propriety, and 
 yet fashionably dressed. In former times, 
 when a young man appeared in the world, he 
 selected some one of acknowledged taste and 
 elegance for his model, and thus acquired the 
 brilliant and graceful exterior exacted by 
 society. Why should you not follow the ex-^ 
 ample ? Among the men of your acquaintance 
 there are three or four competent to give you 
 valuable advice on the subject ; Monsieur de 
 Choisy, for instance. I do not allude to his 
 manners or his reputation, which I appreciate 
 much less than his taste.'' 
 
 ^' Believe me, Choisy is calumniated,'' said 
 the Count, gravely. '^ I have ever found in 
 him the strictest probity and delicacy. He 
 knows my principles, and though we differ on 
 many points, he strictly respects them. On
 
 238 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 Friday, for instance, I dined with him. There 
 was not, a single dish of meat on the table ! — 
 a trifle I allow ; but coming from a man not 
 over scrupulous in religious matters, i\> was a 
 mark of deference to which I am sensible.^' 
 
 At this panegyric of the vulture from the 
 throat of the dove, the Marchioness felt not a 
 little inclined to unseal the eyes of her son. 
 Prudence however forbad. 
 
 " It is precisely that good taste of his, that 
 knowledge of life," said she, '^ which I would 
 fain see you acquire. The acquaintance of 
 Monsieur de Choisy may, in that sense, be use- 
 ful. I could wish you to frequent men of your 
 own age, more than has been your habit. Such 
 intercourse would modify a certain rigidity of 
 deportment not altogether advantageous to you. 
 I hope to be agreeably surprised on your re- 
 turn to Luscourt ; and be assured that Flavie 
 will be no less pleased with the metamor- 
 phosis than myself.'^ 
 
 " I conclude from all this, that you both
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 239 
 
 pronounce me deficient in personal attraction !" 
 said Maxime, not a little piqued. " But as I 
 have at heart only to please you, I will strive 
 to correct myself; after all, the acquiring of 
 qualities to which so many young men owe 
 their success in the world, ought not to be more 
 difficult than greek or algebra." 
 
 With joy did the Marchioness observe the 
 tone of pique in which this was spoken. " He 
 is touched to the quick," thought she, " and 
 already asks nothing better to try the strength 
 of his own wings." 
 
 Her only fear was that the fledgling, whom 
 she was thus banishing from the nest, might be 
 induced to push his flight too far into the new 
 regions before him.
 
 240 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Next morning, Madame de Gardagne and 
 her daughter-in-law, accompanied by Monsieur 
 de Beaupre quitted Paris ; for the Marchio- 
 ness was prompt in decision, and in this in- 
 stance deemed it prudent to take speedy 
 advantage of the laudable determination of 
 her daughter-in-law. Maxime lost no time in 
 presenting himself at Monsieur de Choisy's. 
 
 " You see me a widower, and an orphan,^' 
 said he, more at his ease than usual, for the 
 advice of his mother had already extended the 
 horizon of his notions. On learning the de- 
 parture of the ladies, the Viscount could scarcely 
 conceal his surprise.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 241 
 
 " TartufFe in petticoats!" thought he; "is 
 it thus you execute your treaties ; your 
 homily of yesterday then was a mere decoy ? 
 Luckily I am too old a fox to bd" caught ! Stra- 
 tagem against stratagem ! Flavie dare not resist 
 the will of her duenna ; but at least she carries 
 away a talisman that forbids her to forget me. 
 Under any other circumstances^ to write would 
 have been a fault worthy a school boy ; but our 
 separation considered, my two letters may 
 become exceedingly useful. In absence, words 
 are forgotten, but letters are read. She has 
 concealed mine, I am convinced, next her heart 
 — the usual repository of clandestine corres- 
 pondence.^' 
 
 "" Here are some documents relative to the 
 woods of La Chesnaie which my mother de- 
 sired me to deUver to you," interrupted the 
 young Count, taking from his pocket a packet 
 carefully sealed with the huge family arms of 
 the house of Luscourt. 
 
 The Viscount tore open the envelope ; and 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 in the midst of the papers, perceived a small 
 packet on which was inscribed, " Two letters 
 read by Madame de Gardagne alone, and sent 
 back to the Viscount de Choisy, who will com- 
 prehend the absurdity of a correspondance 
 which only serves to divert the dull hours of a 
 dowager/^ 
 
 The middle aged swain read the superscrip- 
 tion twice, before he could venture to trust his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Allow me to place these papers in my 
 bureau,'^ said he to Maxime, trying to look 
 unconcerned and proceeding to his own room ; 
 where, in a state of phrensy, he tore asunder 
 the seal of the vexatious envelope, in which he 
 found the two letters he had addressed to 
 Madame de Luscourt. In the midst of his 
 confusion, his eyes turned involuntarily towards 
 a glass, where his face expressed such lamentable 
 consternation, that, after a moment's contem- 
 plation, he relaxed into an immoderate fit of 
 laughter.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 243 
 
 *' Delicious, upon my soul '/' said he. " I 
 write letters for the benefit of the mo- 
 ther-in-law, and the husband returns them 
 to me, without his having the most remote 
 idea of the nature of his errand. That old 
 woman is a lynx ; but how did my letters 
 fall into her hands ? If my provincial beauty 
 made them over to her, I did not think her 
 capable of such simplicity — for it is either that 
 or profound duplicity. To expose a confiden- 
 tial communication, is as sacrilegious as to 
 betray the secret of the confessional ; and I, 
 who made so favourable an inference from 
 seeing her place her foot upon the note ! Well, 
 well, Easter is at hand ; and I have always 
 remarked that Lent is fatal to my hopes. 
 To have been repulsed, unmasked and dis- 
 tanced by an old woman ! No matter ! I am 
 not used to lower my colours, and have gained 
 battles as desperate as this.^' 
 
 Choisy having now recovered his usual as- 
 surance, returned to the drawing room. 
 
 M 2
 
 244 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 After some minutes' conversation Maxime 
 communicated to him his intention of remain- 
 ing in Paris two months longer ; which informa- 
 tion readily suggested a project of retaliation. 
 ^^ This old mother-in-law is my evil genius/' 
 thought he, after the departure of Luscourt. 
 ^^ She sees and divines all, as though she 
 possessed the gift of the fairy Fine-ear, who 
 the plants growing. As long as Flavie 
 remains under her protection, my efforts will 
 avail me nothing ; but the' little woman is ripe 
 for revolt, and if I can make a tool of 
 Luscourt, may still reconquer my influence. 
 I must modify his principles, and his conduct 
 will modify itself. Two or three months' 
 absence from the mother's eye, will suffice to 
 give him a taste for the delights of liberty. 
 We shall manage to get rid of the dowager ; 
 and Flavie who enjoys Paris, will want to re- 
 turn here, when the mother-in-law will have 
 retired to her chateau, like other deposed sove- 
 reigns. From that moment, my star, now in
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 245 
 
 eclipse, vnW shine forth again. My first object 
 must be to influence the conduct and character 
 of Luscourt.^' 
 
 Having thus digested his plans, the Viscount 
 proceeded next day to visit Maxime. 
 
 " My dear fellow," said he, " I have a plan 
 to propose to you. Now that the ladies are 
 gone, why continue this expensive apartment, 
 where you must needs be dull, for nothing is 
 more dispiriting than a place abandoned by 
 those we love. Come and pitch your tent 
 with me. Far from inconveniencing me, I shall 
 be delighted with your coming ; by that means, 
 you will avoid solitude, which must be insup- 
 portable to a man usually domesticated v/ith 
 his family. You will meet at my house, Mar- 
 cenay, Villaret, and a few other good fellows -, 
 a rather worldly company, you will say, but 
 your conscience has nothing to fear, for you 
 will be perfectly at home in my house, and your 
 habits shall be scrupulously respected. What 
 say you ?"
 
 246 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 " One would think him acting at my mo- 
 ther's instigation," thought Maxime. " I should 
 not be astonished if the thing had been pre- 
 concerted/'' 
 
 He consented to the treacherous proposition 
 of his friend, in whose house he established 
 himself that very evening. It is usual for the 
 wolf to seek the fold ; but on this occasion the 
 lamb accepted the hospitality of the wolf. By 
 a singular coincidence, the Dowager and the 
 Viscount, two implacable enemies, had chosen 
 the same road, though the object of one was 
 directly opposed to that of the other; and 
 Maxime gladly obeyed this double impulsion. 
 His wounded self-love suggested that, since 
 even his mother accused him of deficiency of 
 manner and address, he must be indeed in 
 fault ; and deeply was he mortified at the idea 
 that his wife was not less alive to his defects. 
 
 " I admit that I dress ill,'' said he, after 
 comparing himself with the elegant friends of 
 the Viscount; and next day, at breakfast,
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 247 
 
 he begged Choisy to give him the address of his 
 tailor. 
 
 " I will take you myself to Blin/' replied 
 the man of fashion unable to refrain from a 
 smile. '^ The first step has succeeded/' thought 
 he. 
 
 " Since you are so good, would you be also 
 kind enough to recommend me to a good riding 
 school ?'' resumed Maxime. 
 
 '^ With all my heart/' cried Choisy. 
 
 " Is Grisier still the best fencing master in 
 Paris }'' inquired Maxime ; while the Vis- 
 count found it difficult to conceal his amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 The emancipation from which he anticipated 
 such auspicious results, was already half ef- 
 fected. Maxime soon discovered a charm in 
 the improvement produced by his change of 
 dress. He gradually learned to estimate those 
 personal advantages which his rigidity of prin- 
 ciple had till now, treated with contempt. 
 He still went regularly to mass, and observed
 
 248 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 the fasts of the church ; but his predilection 
 for pious meditations and theological discus- 
 sions gradually subsided. One evening, 
 Maxime found himself at the Opera, almost 
 without knowing to what evil inspiration to 
 attribute such a secession from his principles. 
 
 ^' What strikes you most at the Opera ?" in- 
 quired the Viscount. 
 
 ^' Precisely what surprised the famous doge 
 of Venice — to find myself there at all," replied 
 he. 
 
 But it is needless to trace, step by step, the 
 progress of the proselyte. After passing three 
 months, with the Viscount, with whom he 
 lived upon the most familiar and confiden- 
 tial terms the Court of Appeal pronounced 
 a favourable decision on his suit ; but so httle 
 did he think of taking his departure, that he 
 invented new pretexts to prolong his stay in 
 Paris. One day Madame de Gardagne re- 
 ceived a letter from her son, which produced 
 a smile on her countenance.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 249 
 
 • " Perfumed paper, I protest !'^ exclaimed 
 she ; " the prodigal son could not have made 
 more progress in the same space of time.'^ And 
 that very evening, she despatched an answer, 
 enjoining Maxime to return to the chateau, 
 where family affairs required his presence. 
 
 M 3
 
 250 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Early in the month of July, a travelling- 
 carriage entered the court-yard of the Chateau 
 de Luscourt. On perceiving Monsieur de 
 Choisy step out of the carriage, the two ladies 
 were mute with astonishment; nor did they 
 recover their surprise on beholding a second 
 individual appear, in the person of Maxime, 
 so utterly metamorphosed, as to be scarcely 
 recognizable. 
 
 A well-cut coat displayed his elegant figure 
 to the utmost advantage ; the tie of his black 
 cravat was unimpeachable, his hair becomingly 
 arranged, while his well-trimmed moustachios 
 relieved the expression of his physiognomy.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 251 
 
 His eyes, formerly so dull, now flashed like 
 those of the eagle prepared to brave the ardour 
 of the sun. After respectfully embracing his 
 mother, he pressed his wife so tenderly to his 
 bosom, that Madame de Luscourt stood blush- 
 ing and confused at his change of deportment. 
 Madame de Gardagne seemed to forget the 
 presence of the Viscount. She beheld nothing 
 but her son, whom she contemplated from 
 head to foot, in a state of ecstasy bordering 
 upon terror. At length, the vanity of the 
 mother prevailed over her scruples. 
 
 " Scapegrace ?' said she, playfully, " what 
 excuse do you make for your long absence ?" 
 
 " Dear mother," replied he, " did you 
 not exile me ? I waited only your sum- 
 mons.^' 
 
 " Somewhat patiently, I suspect," said she, 
 accepting his arm to return to the chateau. 
 
 "Are you going to scold me for having 
 obeyed you so well ?" replied Maxime. 
 
 '' But if you have exceeded my ins true-
 
 252 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 "In that case, you must be indulgent. 
 Excess of obedience can scarcely be considered 
 a crime/' 
 
 During the rest of the day, he evinced a 
 freedom of mind and ease of manner, exciting 
 the wonder of his family, to whom he gave the 
 news of Paris, talking politics, literature, and 
 fashion, with the assurance of an old stager. 
 His mother, as she hstened, became somewhat 
 thoughtful, probably from recollecting the 
 expiatory offices imposed upon her by the 
 sudden expansion of her son's worldly ideas. 
 But Flavie watched every movement, and lis- 
 tened to every word from her husband's lips, 
 with gratified attention ; and Monsieur de Beau- 
 pre laughed outright at his son-in-law's newly 
 acquired elegance of deportment. The Vis- 
 count, meanwhile, sat surveying the family 
 groups as so many puppets destined to be 
 pulled by his wires. After dinner, a shower 
 of rain having confined them to the house, 
 Beaupre, to whom quiet was insupportable 
 proposed a game of billiards to the Viscount.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 253 
 
 " Let US play a pool," said he, " and then 
 Maxime can join us.'^ 
 
 And to the surprise of all present, the young 
 Count not only accepted the proposal, but beat 
 them in every game. 
 
 " My dear Maxime !" exclaimed Beau- 
 pre, " I see you have not lost your time in 
 Paris ! If you only handle a foil as well as 
 you do a cue, my congratulations will be un- 
 limited." 
 
 ^^ Let us try,^' said Luscourt, coolly ; and 
 they proceeded to the hall, and took up the 
 foils, masks, and gloves. This time, the young 
 Count was defeated by the old gentleman, who, 
 in spite of his obesity, would have made a 
 formidable opponent to St. George. On taking 
 off his mask at the end of the assault, he frankly 
 accosted his adversary. 
 
 " Well done 1" cried he. " In three months' 
 lessons, you have done wonders. Your thrusts 
 and parries want vigour; but we will soon im- 
 prove them. I congratulate you with all my
 
 254 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 heart ; and trust that^ with your other ex- 
 ercises, you have not omitted riding. You 
 used to look hke a pair of tongs when 
 mounted.'^ 
 
 " To-morrow I trust you will find me im- 
 proved,'^ said Maxime, with modesty. 
 
 ^' Your husband is grown perfectly charm- 
 ing,'^ cried Monsieur de Beaupre to Flavie, 
 who was contemplating with delight the im- 
 provement in Maxime's appearance. 
 
 From the moment of his arrival, Monsieur 
 de Choisy conducted himself towards the 
 Countess and the Marchioness with the 
 supreme self-sufficiency of a man of the world. 
 But in the course of the evening, he judged it 
 better to renounce his diplomatic reserve; and 
 in seeking the eyes of Flavie, resumed the ex- 
 pressive looks in which he had presumed to 
 indulge three months before. The young wife, 
 however, pertinaciously evaded his gaze ; and 
 from these manoeuvres, there resulted a mute 
 and significant scene, which Maxime could not
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 255 
 
 but perceive, though he affected ignorance of 
 what was passing. On a renewal of the 
 same attempts the following day, the Count 
 requested an interview of his wily friend. 
 " My dear Choisy,^* said he, " for these 
 three months past, I have so far profited by 
 the lessons you have kindly given me, that I 
 know not how to thank you. My gratitude 
 overpowers me.'^ 
 
 " You are laughing at me, Luscourt !" re- 
 joined the Viscount. " For what on earth are 
 you indebted to me ?'^ 
 
 " For much, of which at present you are 
 not aware," replied Maxime. "Among other 
 things, for more quick-sightedness than of 
 old." 
 
 " I was not aware of my talents as an ocu- 
 list,^^ said the Viscount, laughing. 
 
 "They are not the less remarkable,'^ rejoined 
 his friend ; " for, thanks to your useful instruc- 
 tions, I saw you last night looking at my wife 
 in the tenderest manner."
 
 256 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 " Viper that I have fostered in my bosom !" 
 thought Choisy, confounded by the result of 
 his instructions. "You are indeed an apt 
 scholar.'^ 
 
 " Under these circumstances, my dear Vis- 
 count," continued Luscourt, with perfect cool- 
 ness, " I confess myself to be under the greatest 
 obligation to you ; but I warn you, that the 
 acquittal of my debt, which you seem inclined to 
 propose, does not suit me. My wife made me 
 certain communications yesterday, unnecessary 
 to repeat. I would fain avoid quarrels; to 
 secure which, I will thank you to point the 
 artillery of your seductions in some other 
 direction.^* 
 
 Detected and put to shame, like the fox 
 in the fable, the Viscount attempted an 
 awkward explanation. Monsieur de Luscourt 
 appeared satisfied, and the conversation 
 dropped. On leaving the son, however, he 
 fell in with the mother, who had just had 
 a conversation with her daughter-in-law.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 257 
 
 which seemed to render her twenty years 
 younger. 
 
 " Monsieur de Choisy," said the Marchio- 
 ness, " I have a few commissions for Paris. 
 Will you be good enough to take charge of 
 them r 
 
 And the discomfited roue could scarcely 
 suppress his indignation at this bold hint that 
 his company was unacceptable. 
 
 "Are your commissions urgent?" said he, 
 affecting to misunderstand her meaning. 
 
 " I own I am in a hurry. By exercising 
 your utmost diligence, you will increase the 
 vast debt of gratitude I already owe you." 
 
 " Gratitude, Madam ? " exclaimed poor 
 Choisy. 
 
 '' Gratitude the most profound,'^ replied 
 Madame de Gardagne, with a sarcastic smile. 
 " You intended, I am told, to perfect the 
 education of Madame de Luscourt. The pro- 
 ject was shght ; the accompHshraent might 
 have been important to the happiness of my
 
 258 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 family. How can I sufficiently thank you, 
 therefore, for having transferred your educa- 
 tional plans to my son ? Admit that he has 
 profited by them ! Monsieur de Beaupre, 
 Madame de Luscourt, all of us, are of opinion 
 that you have reason to be proud of your 
 pupil." 
 
 The Viscount was too accustomed to con- 
 quest, not to accept with a good grace this 
 single defeat. 
 
 "Your commissions shall be executed the 
 day after to-morrow, Madam,'^ replied he, 
 coldly, *^as I start for Paris this evening. 
 As to your thanks, I accept them freely, 
 for they are better deserved than you ima- 
 gine.^^ 
 
 " Explain yourself," said the Dowager, de- 
 liberately opening her snuff-box. " Pray ex- 
 plain yourself." 
 
 The Viscount hesitated. 
 
 " The happiness of pleasing Madame de 
 Luscourt, Madam," said he, " is a pretension
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 259 
 
 which T have long renounced. But I could 
 not so easily abjure the desire to secure her 
 from pretenders more dangerous than myself. 
 The experience your son has acquired in my 
 society, will suggest to him the necessity of 
 setting at defiance, by dint of his own affec- 
 tion and influence, the ambition of others 
 more persevering than your humble ser- 
 vant." 
 
 " Se non e vero, e ben trovato ?' cried the 
 old Marchioness, with a cunning smile. " You 
 have a charming talent, my dear Viscount, for 
 getting out of a scrape, and pouring balm into 
 wounds. I confess myself so far converted to 
 your faith, that I believe knowledge of the 
 world and superficial accomplishments essen- 
 tial to the husband of so pretty a woman 
 as Madame de Luscourt. He could scarcely 
 have found a more accomplished preceptor 
 than yourself. Admit, in your turn,*" she con- 
 tinued, pointing through the window to the
 
 260 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 shrubberies, through which the young couple 
 were strolling, arm in arm, in the enjoyment 
 of the utmost conjugal confidence — " admit, 
 my dear Monsieur de Choisy, that you have 
 also had — An Apt Scholar."
 
 THE STIGMA.
 
 THE STIGMA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 One cold and cloudy night of March, 
 sudden crusts of wind were raisino^ thick clouds 
 of dust along the high road, and the usual still- 
 ness of rural life prevailed at the close of day. 
 The herds having returned to their folds, not a 
 voice was heard ; not even that of the vigilant 
 dogs entrusted with the security of the farms. 
 The white walls of the cottages appeared here 
 and there, their uncertain line forming a broad 
 and unequal street. 
 
 The most prominent of these dwellings was 
 at the entrance of the village, a house newly
 
 264 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 stuccoed and the roof being embellished with 
 a creaking weather-cock. Over the door, was 
 suspended a sign^ the humble effort of some 
 self-taught rural genius, representing a half 
 naked woman, wearing a pointed cap and bells, 
 and holding in her scarlet hands, a gaudy 
 bauble. The simple-minded peasants persisted 
 in tracing in this grotesque performance, a 
 symbol of Republicanism ; but better enlight- 
 ened individuals at once appreciated the pranc- 
 ing goddess, over whose head the artist had 
 inscribed in broad yellow letters, " The Charm- 
 ing Folly. Good entertainment for man and 
 horse." The sign was not very attractive ; for 
 nine times in ten, the hostess and her servant 
 were found standing at the door, with their 
 arms folded, surveying the waggoners, whose 
 ponderous loads w^ere ever rolling along the 
 road from Strasbourg to Paris. 
 
 On the dark and tempestuous night in ques- 
 tion, the hostess of the Folly maintained her 
 usual station longer than usual, in the hope 
 
 J
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 265 
 
 that some benighted traveller would seek the 
 hospitality of her house. A brisk fire of faggots 
 was flaming on the hearth, and threw its light 
 across the road ; the table was laid^ chairs ranged 
 around the table, while the bright flaggons stood 
 in array upon a cloth of spotless whiteness. 
 
 '' Not a soul !" murmured the hostess, 
 eyeing with a feeling of ill humour, the symbol 
 that carelessly swung over her head. " This 
 wretched house does not so much as bring me 
 in a farthing ! There is an end of all business ! 
 The fast coaches have proved our ruin. It is 
 really worth while to dress oneself daily, from^ 
 head to foot, and pay ten crowns for the most 
 beautiful sign on the Strasbourg road, yet 
 never see a soul within the doors ! I shall soon 
 stick up, ' Entertainment gratis for man and 
 horse." Perhaps it might bring me customers. 
 In the mean time, not a soul comes, and we 
 have laid the cloth for nothing this evening !" 
 
 " The same as every other evening !" said 
 the little waiting maid with a heavy sigh. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 ^^ Hold your tongue, saucy child/' said the 
 hostess, sourly ; " what are you doing there 
 with your arms crossed ? Is it to look at the 
 moon that I pay your board and wages ? Go in 
 and shut the door." 
 
 " Nay, nay, dear Madame Babillon, not yet. 
 I see something yonder,'' faltered the girl, 
 pointing out a light in the distance. 
 
 " It is the Nancy diligence." 
 
 " No, no ; the diligences have only one lamp, 
 and this has two." 
 
 " Then it must be a travelling carriage. No 
 use to me. Such fine people don't frequent my 
 house. There is another nice invention, posting ! 
 — the ruin of horses and inns, to say nothing 
 of the still newer invention, where they travel 
 without horses or post boys," said the hostess, 
 with a sneer ; '^ but it is not in our beautiful 
 Lorraine, I trust, we shall ever see such non- 
 sense !" 
 
 " Madam, Madam," interrupted the gir], 
 " the carriage yonder is coming down upon us 
 like the wind."
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 267 
 
 The two luminous points were indeed ra- 
 pidly advancing and the smacking of the post 
 boy's whip was distinctly heard, urging the 
 horses to a gallop. 
 
 " It is not travellers in such a hurry, 
 that do any good to inns, and be hanged to 
 them !'' cried the hostess. But as she pro- 
 nounced the words, the sound of a heavy 
 mass falling to the ground was heard, the 
 lights suddenly disappeared, and cries were 
 audible in the distance. 
 
 " The carriage is upset, a customer at last ?' 
 exclaimed the hostess, in a transport of joy. 
 " Martine, fetch the lantern, throw some wood 
 on the fire — tie up the dog — light the lamp — 
 come — quick — stir yourself. The carriage is 
 fallen into the ditch and must be broken to 
 pieces. If they should only prove English 
 people ; or if by chance there were some broken 
 limbs, what a God-send for us all ! Quick, Mar- 
 tine, let us go help these poor unfortunate 
 people !'' 
 
 N 2
 
 268 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 The carriage was indeed upset, close to the 
 pubhc house of the Folly, in a deep ditch lined 
 with brambles ; and the rapacious heart of the 
 hostess thrilled with dehght, when, by the light 
 of her lantern, she discovered the importance 
 of the disaster. The carriage was completely 
 destroyed. The horses struggling in their har- 
 ness, lashed out tremendous kicks ; while the 
 postiUion stood uttering the most tremendous 
 oaths. Stifled groans proceeded from the inte- 
 rior of the carriage, from which the travellers 
 had attempted in vain to extricate themselves. 
 
 The valet and maid who travelled in the 
 rumble^ were luckily ejected into a field of 
 clover, and escaped with trifling contusions: 
 but the hostess, aided by the postillion, was 
 trying to open the door of the carriage, when a 
 young man rushed forward, exclaiming : 
 
 '' Dearest mother, are you hurt ?^' 
 
 " Grievously !" replied a most Britannic 
 accent, with a degree of phlegm somewhat sin- 
 gular in such a situation.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 269 
 
 '• Oh, Albert ! what a horrible fall 1" ex- 
 claimed another voice ; " take us out of this, I 
 entreat you." 
 
 " Do not be frightened, my dear little lady,^' 
 said the hostess, thrusting her robust arm into 
 the interior of the carriage, '^ you are safe, I 
 have hold of you; take my arm, and jump 
 out.^' 
 
 A slight and pretty figure now sprang through 
 the door, and fell lightly to the ground. 
 
 " Thank heaven, you are not hurt, .Diana!" 
 exclaimed the young man ; " but my mother — 
 my poor mother !" 
 
 They now extricated an old lady from the 
 carriage, and laid her on the road-side, wrapt 
 in her cloak. 
 
 " Take me to the nearest inn,^' said she, to 
 her son as calmly as if coming out of a bath, " I 
 feel ill, extremely ill.^' 
 
 " My dear aunt, how dreadful !'^ exclaimed 
 the young lady, averting her eyes with horror ; 
 then, supporting herself on the arm of the
 
 270 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 lady's maid, she faltered in a faint voice, 
 " Nancy, take me away ; were she to expire 
 before us, it would be too shocking ! I have 
 never seen any one die. I am frightened to 
 death, Nancy ; — pray do not leave me !" 
 
 '^ My dear son," resumed the old lady, with 
 the same presence of mind;, " I think my right 
 leg is fractured and my arm dislocated, which 
 will prevent our continuing our journey. 
 Where are we ?" 
 
 " At P , Madam, between Ligny and 
 
 Bar-le-Duc, department of the Meuse,^' in- 
 terposed the hostess, holding up her lantern, 
 as if to shew the country. " My house is close 
 by, where you will find every thing you de- 
 sire." 
 
 '• Call all your people here, my good wo- 
 man," said the young man, " and send for a 
 medical man.^' 
 
 ^' Martine, Martine,'^ cried the hostess, 
 " come this way. My house is yonder. Sir — the 
 large white house by the road-side; we can 
 carry the lady thither with ease, and in two
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 271 
 
 hours, shall have the doctor from Bar-le-Duc, 
 even if I go and fetch him myself/' 
 
 " From Bar-le-Duc ? We are then in a vil- 
 lage far from all assistance. Alas ! my poor 
 suffering mother V said the young man in des- 
 pair. 
 
 ** If she would only die here/' thought the 
 hostess, beginning to calculate what such a 
 catastrophe might produce ; " what a stroke 
 of luck I/' 
 
 A quarter of an hour afterwards, the tra- 
 vellers were installed at the sign of the Folly. 
 The suffering lady was placed in a spacious 
 room, whose mysterious depths were scarcely 
 discernible by the aid of two lights placed at 
 the corners of the chimney piece. The wind 
 whistled through the cracked and shutterless 
 windows, raising the dust from the hearth, on 
 which hissed a faggot of green wood. Scanty 
 serge curtains surrounded the bed, the worm- 
 eaten feet of which, protruded from under a 
 deeply flounced counterpane. A rickety table
 
 272 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 and three or four broken-backed chairs com- 
 pleted the furniture of the apartment, which 
 the hostess persisted in styling the state 
 chamber, and in which no traveller had slept 
 for several years. 
 
 The young man, seated at the head of the 
 bed, was absorbed in reverie. His eyes were 
 fixed upon his suffering mother ; and, with a 
 face of ghastly paleness, he waited the arrival 
 of the doctor. The young lady was standing 
 before the fire, leaning against the mantle-piece, 
 her pretty little foot resting upon the iron 
 fender. Her features were striking and regular, 
 her fair locks fell profusely around her face 
 and delicate white throat. She had an ex- 
 quisite complexion, a slender and elegant form 
 and stature, and the blue limpid eye, peculiar 
 to the Northern tribes. She evidently be- 
 longed to that island so famed for the fresh 
 and radiant beauty of its women 5 but there was 
 wanting that infantine grace, that expression 
 of modest timidity, which usually impart
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 273 
 
 a charm to English faces. Her face announced 
 ill humour, rather than grief or anxiety ; and 
 she cast a look of contempt upon the mean and 
 naked room, though the best that could be 
 placed at the disposal of travellers, by the 
 hostess of the Folly. The lady's maid, raising 
 her eyes to heaven, was likewise horror-struck 
 by prospects of such unusual privation. 
 
 When the doctor arrived, Diana retired into 
 a room close to that of her aunt, where she 
 waited the opinion about to be given. On 
 finding the consultation prolonged, she took up 
 a book, and soon evinced its influence by 
 wrapping herself in her pelisse, and indulging 
 in a gentle yawn ; then, sinking back in her 
 chair, she closed her eyes, and her charming 
 head resting on one of her hands, fell fast 
 asleep. 
 
 At the close of an hour, a slight knock at 
 the door suddenly awoke her. She was sur- 
 prised and confused on seeing her cousin 
 stand before her. 
 
 N 3
 
 274 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 " Well V said she, without rising. 
 
 " Thank heaven, the doctor, in whom I 
 place much confidence, assures me that my 
 mother is in no danger !'^ said the young man, 
 with much emotion. "But what a horrible 
 accident ! The bone is crushed, and the ope- 
 ration was most painful. My poor mother! 
 How cruelly she suifered, yet without uttering a 
 word ! You heard nothing, Diana ? — How 
 long the time must have appeared to you l'^ 
 
 As he pronounced these words, his eyes 
 fell upon the book open on the table, and a 
 smile of bitterness played upon his lips. He 
 turned away his head, but the movement was 
 unperceived by Diana. 
 
 '^^Does the doctor think my aunt can be 
 removed to Bar-le-Duc ?" she inquired. 
 
 "Certainly not !'' replied he, coldly. "We 
 shall be here a month or six weeks. Good 
 night, Diana. It is late. Take some rest ; / 
 will watch over my mother." 
 
 And he retired, without offering his hand, 
 as was his custom, to his lovely cousin.
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 275 
 
 " A month or six weeks here !^^ murmured 
 the young lady. " But it will be enough to kill 
 one ! What will become of me in this horrible 
 place ?" 
 
 "Did you call. Madam?" said the hostess, 
 entering at that moment. '^Your room is 
 quite ready.'' 
 
 " My room ? YOu presume to call that 
 dirty garret you showed me, with two straw 
 chairs and a bed without curtains, a room ? 
 Am I to sleep there, pray ?'' 
 
 •••The apartment is clean," said the as- 
 tonished hostess, " and commands a pretty 
 view of the high-road and the meadows beyond. 
 To be sure you would have been better off in 
 the great room ; but — *' 
 
 " The one is as bad as the other !" said 
 the young lady, abruptly. " Be so good as to 
 let me have something to eat. I suppose we 
 are to sup ? Where is the dining-room ?" 
 
 "The dining-room ? — You passed through 
 it, Madam, down stairs — as you enter.''
 
 276 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 " The kitchen ! — Are we among savages ?" 
 cried ^liss Diana^, with a degree of consterna- 
 tion somewhat ludicrous. " I will sup in my 
 own room, then. You may retire." 
 
 " This young damsel does not seem very 
 accommodating," said the hostess, grumbling 
 as she went down stairs. 
 
 " How should she ?" cried the lady's maid, 
 who was following. " A rich and noble 
 heiress, like Miss Diana Neville, has a right 
 to give herself airs.'' 
 
 "•' The old lady seems rather more agree- 
 able,'' observed the hostess. 
 
 " Do you allude to the Countess de 
 Guercy ?" demanded the waiting woman scorn- 
 fully. 
 
 " A Countess in my house !" exclaimed the 
 hostess, in ecstacy, " a thing that never hap- 
 pened before, even in the time of my grand- 
 father !" 
 
 An hour later, the doors and windows were 
 closed ; all was still in the village inn. Some
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 277 
 
 there were, however, who did not sleep. Miss 
 Diana, stretched, for the first time in her hfe, 
 on a bed without curtains, reviled the destiny 
 which had reduced her to an obscure inn in 
 the heart of Lorraine, with far more sympathy 
 than she bestowed upon the sufferings of her 
 aunt. 
 
 The young man, meanwhile, seated at the 
 head of his mother's bed, reflected, with a 
 heavy heart, on his present grievances ; more 
 especially as the future presented prospects 
 as unpromising as they w^ere uncertain. He 
 thought of Diana, his beautiful cousin, with 
 whom he had only a week's acquaintance, and 
 to whom he was shortly to be united ; and as 
 the circumstances of their recent intercourse 
 recurred to him, his mind sorely misgave him. 
 
 The only inmate of the house whose mid- 
 night meditations were perfectly satisfactory^ 
 was the astonished hostess of the Folly.
 
 278 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Next day, Albert de Guercy and Miss 
 Diana Neville breakfasted in the chamber of 
 the Countess. The old lady had passed a 
 good night, supporting her sufferings with 
 courage, resignation, and patience, sanguine of 
 a prompt recovery. Her son, somewhat re- 
 assured, had resumed his calm and happy 
 countenance, and the good humour of a young 
 man accustomed to the ease and elegancies of 
 a life spent in refined amusements and agree- 
 able occupations. He had all the appearance 
 of a person enjoying a good position in the 
 world, and uninterrupted happiness. His ex- 
 pression of countenance was not remarkable ;
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 279 
 
 but his jet black hair, elegant figure, and deli- 
 cate features, imparted an air of peculiar dis- 
 tinction. Born of a French father, and educated 
 in a French college, he had occasionally a slight 
 accent of English, that one would have ima- 
 gined he purposely imitated from his mother. 
 The Countess, on the other hand, was of the 
 true English character— phlegmatic, resolute, 
 original, full of noble qualities and eccentrici- 
 ties ; yet a worthy woman, devoting herself to 
 the happiness and prospects of her son, with 
 more affection than discernment. She was 
 passionately fond of travelling, and for ever 
 furnishing residences in which she did all but 
 reside. At the time of her recent accident, 
 she was returning from Germany, with the 
 only daughter of her brother. Miss Diana 
 Neville, whose mother had recently died at 
 Weimar, and who was to pass the spring with 
 her in Paris. A marriage was projected be- 
 tween the heiress and the young Count, of 
 which the young lady was still ignorant.
 
 2 so MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 Miss Diana was neither speculative nor far- 
 sighted. Young and handsome as she was, her 
 selfishness might still pass for the result of a 
 wayward temper and the caprice of a spoilt 
 child. But Albert was beginning to suspect 
 that his pretty cousin possessed a cold and 
 arid heart, and an obstinate disposition. As 
 they now sat opposite to each other, with the 
 weary faces of two persons having little sym- 
 pathy, the conversation soon flagged. Luckily 
 the hostess, followed by Martine, entered the 
 room, and gave a well-timed fillip to the con- 
 versation. 
 
 " As we are here for some time, my good 
 woman,^' said Diana, " you really must make 
 your house more habitable.'^ 
 
 " What is wanting, then, in my house ?'' 
 muttered the irritated hostess. " Every thing 
 is nice and clean, bright and shining. You 
 have only to ask for what you want.^' 
 
 " In the first place," said Diana, " I must 
 have a lamp instead of those horrible can- 
 dles/'
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 281 
 
 " Nothing easier !" replied the hostess. 
 ^^ You have got one in your room." 
 
 " That horrible brass thing, which burns all 
 night in the chimney V cried Diana. " I tell 
 you I want a lamp, — a lamp that burns with a 
 white flame." 
 
 " A lamp with a white flame ! what can she 
 mean r" ejaculated the humiliated hostess. 
 
 "She means. Madam,'' said Martine, "a 
 lamp like those of Madame Vialart ; things as 
 tall as a church steeple, and as full of mecha- 
 nism as a barrel organ. They give out light 
 like sun-shine.'^ 
 
 " Perhaps Madame Vialart would be kind 
 enough to lend me one of her lamps for a few 
 days," mused the hostess. 
 
 " I must also have an arm-chair," said 
 Diana. 
 
 " Mademoiselle has one already in her 
 room." 
 
 " That old straw-bottomed ricketty concern ?
 
 282 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 No, no ! I want a well- stuffed chair, in which 
 I can repose/^ 
 
 "Like those at Madame Vialart's/' added 
 Martine; " arm-chairs into which one sinks 
 like eider-down.'^ 
 
 " Madame Vialart is so obliging, that perhaps 
 she would lend me one. I would take care to 
 put on a cover,^^ said the hostess, apart. 
 
 " We must also have a clock, carpets, and 
 foot-stools," continued Diana ; " in fact, every 
 thing indispensable to a house, and which is 
 wanting here.^' 
 
 " Mercy on me !" thought the hostess, 
 " where is all this to be found }" 
 
 The fair damsel now resumed her inventory 
 with a haughty air ; and at every object suc- 
 cessively enumerated, Martine did not fail to 
 say, with a certain air of pride, 
 
 " I know where to find it. Madame Vialart 
 has plenty of such things, besides books and 
 pictures."
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 283 
 
 " And who is Madame Vialart }" suddenly- 
 inquired Albert. 
 
 " To own the truth. Sir, I cannot say V 
 
 " Madame Vialart is a good charitable lady," 
 interposed Martine, " who lives at the end of 
 the village, sir, in a pretty new house. Ask 
 the poor people, Sir; thei/ will tell you." 
 
 '' Does she reside alone ?" inquired Albert. 
 
 " No, Sir, she has a young lady with her." 
 
 " Is she young, then, and pretty ?" de- 
 manded Miss Neville. 
 
 " Young, but for her beauty, I cannot say 
 much,^' said the hostess, with the disparaging 
 propensity peculiar to old women when ugly 
 and crabbed. " The poor lady is not in good 
 health, I fear. She is as white as wax. Per- 
 haps she is in trouble ; but nobody knows 
 anything about her. It is now four years 
 since she came here, and she has not yet re- 
 ceived a single visit. She seems to have no 
 relations, and at first, we had our suspicions. 
 But as she never gets into debt, gives work to
 
 284 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 the poor^ and never beats down the shop- 
 keepers, we now respect her. Whenever I 
 have a service to ask, it is to her I address 
 m yself/' 
 
 " She ought to be grateful for the pre- 
 ference/^ said Diana, ironically. 
 
 That evening, the poor hostess returned 
 from Madame Vialart's, with an air of 
 triumph. 
 
 " There 1^' said she^ placing a beautiful lamp 
 upon a bronze tripod ; " and this is not all. 
 We are to have carpets, arm-chairs^ and 
 stools !" 
 
 " How V said the Count ; " have you asked 
 for all these things for us ? It is being too 
 troublesome !" 
 
 " By no means, Sir ! When I mentioned 
 that a lady lay ill at my house from an accident, 
 she placed all at my disposal. She has such 
 a generous heart, a heart of gold ! I thanked 
 her from the bottom of my soul." 
 
 Shortly afterwards, the furniture was
 
 MODERN FREN'CH LIFE. 285 
 
 brought^ which proved to be of the simplest 
 elegance. Albert remembered having seen 
 such in Paris ; and his surprise was the greatest 
 on finding it accompanied by some English books 
 of travels and poetry^ and a portfolio of engrav- 
 ings. All these things revealed habits of 
 luxury and elegance^ characteristic of a woman 
 whose life must have passed in circles rarely 
 found out of the latitude of Paris. 
 
 A strong feeling of interest and curiosity 
 soon preoccupied the mind of Count Albert. 
 He was ardently desirous of making the ac- 
 quaintance of one whose tastes and habits 
 seemed in such direct contradiction to the 
 seclusion in which she lived. Involuntarily, 
 he found himself sympathising in her complete 
 isolation ; — in that existence which rolled away, 
 blank and monotonous as the horizon of the 
 desert. He even founded a romance upon the 
 life of Madame Vialart ; and made a thousand 
 suppositions and inquiries, in which Martine 
 could give little information.
 
 286 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 Diana was somewhat pacified by the aspect 
 of the furniture placed at her disposal. Hav- 
 ing installed herself in a luxurious velvet arm- 
 chair, close to a charming sofa-table, upon 
 which were placed some amusing volumes, 
 her ill humour gave way to a fit of ennui, 
 which, upon so beautiful a face, took the aspect 
 of melancholy. By degrees, her ennui assumed 
 a tone of reflection. She discovered that her 
 cousin was one of the most distinguished look- 
 ing men she had ever seen. An instinct of 
 coquetry, the desire to please, awoke within 
 her, imparting to her beauty the only charm in 
 which it was deficient. Albert was for a mo- 
 ment dazzled. Although he did not love his 
 cousin, his mother's project of a marriage be- 
 tween them commanded his implicit deference. 
 
 During the first day or two. Count Albert 
 did not quit the invalid, to whom Diana was 
 equally assiduous in her attentions. But one 
 morning, the weather appeared unusually mild, 
 a beautiful April sun warmed the surface of the
 
 MODERN FREN-CH LIFE. 287 
 
 earth, and the air seemed gladdened by the 
 return of spring. 
 
 ^' To-day, dear Albert,'^ said the Countess, 
 addressing her son, " you must quit the at- 
 mosphere of this sick room." 
 
 "Where would you have me go, dearest 
 mother?'^ inquired the young man, with a 
 smile. " Diana, who walks every morning, 
 assures me there is nothing to admire in this 
 neighbourhood." 
 
 " It is too true !" said she. " Impossible to 
 find a less interesting landscape. I have seen 
 nothing fit for my sketch-book, but a pretty 
 \'illa peeping out of a clump of trees.^* 
 
 Albert immediately recalled to mind the 
 description of Martine. 
 
 " I will go out, as you desire it," said he 
 " for I have a visit to make." 
 
 " A visit to make ?" repeated the two 
 ladies. 
 
 " A visit of ceremony. Ought I not go
 
 288 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 thank the lady who so kindly lent us the fur- 
 niture ?'^ 
 
 " Certainly ! I shall go myself with Diana, 
 as soon as I am sufficiently well.'^ 
 
 The young lady said nothing, but cast a look 
 of vexation on her cousin, which he did not 
 appear to understand, but, slightly bowing, 
 left the room. 
 
 Count Albert now pursued his way along 
 the street which, with intermingling gardens, 
 
 formed the village of P . The influence 
 
 of a genial spring day gave rise to those feel- 
 ings of calm happiness and vague expectation, 
 so often conceived in hearts unacquainted with 
 the stern realities of life. To him, the past 
 was but a remembrance of all that is calm and 
 blest in human life. Weariness of spirits, 
 which, in the absence of real sorrow, often 
 attacks an excitable mind, had never yet beset 
 him. Travel had hitherto constituted his 
 chief excitement; but while his imagination
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 289 
 
 had been enlivened, his heart maintained com- 
 plete inaction. 
 
 The Count having halted at the end of the 
 village, eagerly sought the spot described by 
 Martine. The villa was easy to distinguish. 
 It was such a house as Rousseau would have 
 chosen ; white, with green blinds, the lazy 
 waters of the Ornain traversing the meadows 
 which surrounded it. At some distance, it 
 looked like a swan basking in the sun, wdth 
 wings extended. 
 
 The Count proceeded along the avenue, his 
 heart beating as if some urgent event were at 
 hand, and not a simple act of politeness and 
 courtesy. All was silent round the house. 
 
 The flight of a bird, or the murmur of a 
 rippling fountain concealed among the trees, 
 alone interrupted the stillness. It might have 
 passed for the abode of the Sleeping Beauty, 
 waiting for the prince who was to awaken her 
 at the end of a hundred years. 
 
 The Count entered the hall, of which the 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 290 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 doors were open, when a maid presented her- 
 self, apparently startled at his appearance. 
 Never had she yet announced a visit to her 
 mistress ; and without giving Albert time to 
 mention his name, she opened the door, saying 
 abruptly, 
 
 " Here is a gentleman." 
 
 Two ladies were seated beside the fire-place ; 
 one, on hearing the voice of the Count, laid 
 down her book, and rose, slightly blushing. 
 The other remained at her embroidery, like 
 one whom the visit did not concern, but who 
 was there on suiFerance. 
 
 With graceful courtesy, Albert expressed his 
 acknowledgements, which were accepted with 
 perfect ease and good taste. Still, with this 
 elegance of manner, there was combined a 
 certain timidity as well as singular reserve. 
 The interview was such as generally takes place 
 between two people who meet for the first 
 time ; but Madame Vialart had such a happy 
 facility of expression, as to confer a grace upon
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 291 
 
 tlie tritest subjects. Albert had not been ten 
 minutes in her presence, before he decided 
 that he had never seen a woman resembUng the 
 stranger. Though her round delicate features 
 gave her an air somewhat infantine, it was 
 united with the pensive look of mature age ; 
 the look announcing that all the joys of the 
 soul are dead — all the hopes of life extinct, 
 and that nothing remains but reminiscences of 
 the past. She had not even the freshness of 
 youth. Her face was unusually pale, and 
 her jet black hair arranged in two even bands 
 upon her marble forehead. 
 
 A. rigid simplicity of costume contrasted 
 with the refined luxury that surrounded her; 
 and her plain black gown looked almost like 
 mourning. Her companion was less young, 
 but far handsomer than Madame Vialart; 
 her physiognomy announcing an energetic and 
 passionate nature, but devoid of delicacy and 
 intelligence. It was regular and perfect beauty, 
 deficient in the peculiar air of distinction 
 
 o 2
 
 292 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 which constituted the charm of Madame Via- 
 lart. The conversation soon became more 
 hvely ; and the fair stranger appeared to have 
 found in Albert an echo of the world from 
 which she was separated. Not an allusion 
 escaped her^ however, to that world ; which 
 seemed to be her natural sphere, and in which 
 she was probably deeply regretted. She was 
 suddenly startled by an inquiry from the 
 Count, whether there were any family in the 
 neighbourhood with whom they could establish 
 relations of civility and intercourse. 
 
 " Not one ?' — she replied, with a pensive 
 smile, and a glance implying the abso- 
 lute isolation in which she lived. Her com- 
 panion, who had left her work, was hstening 
 with attention to the conversation in which 
 she did not join ; but at the last observation, 
 which seemed to express a kind of regret, she 
 observed, with an air of affection : ^' Neverthe- 
 less, our solitude has its charms. Our years 
 roll quietly away — do they not, dearest Lucy ?"
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 293 
 
 ^^ A life so calm and quiet, elapses almost 
 without one's being aware of it/^ replied Ma- 
 dame Vialart ; and this was uttered in such a 
 tone of resignation, that Albert was touched to 
 the quick. An involuntary comparison pre- 
 sented itself to his mind. He reflected on the 
 haughty assurance of Diana ; till the fate of 
 this poor woman, whose hopes and desires 
 were limited to an existence all but negative, 
 inspired him with earnest pity. He even ven- 
 tured to tax the justice of heaven in conferring 
 so brilliant a destiny on the one hand, and so 
 scanty a portion of happiness on the other. 
 
 On taking leave, the Count begged permis- 
 sion to return ; and upon his departure, Ma- 
 dame Vialart inquired of her young friend 
 whether the visit had not been a painful inter- 
 ruption. 
 
 " Oh ! that I could forget the existence of a 
 world different from that in which we live !" 
 exclaimed she ; and when the young lady looked 
 up, the eyes of her friend were overflowing 
 with tears. o 3
 
 ^94 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 " Are you not happy, dear Lucy, that you 
 weep ?"^ she inquired, throwing her arms round 
 her neck. 
 
 '^ It is merely a sudden depression, that will 
 quickly pass,'' said Madame Vialart. " See ! 
 it is already over ! — I am calm ; — while you, 
 poor soul, still weep to see me in trouble — '^ 
 
 " Which does me more harm than your- 
 self,'' added the young lady, her large black 
 eyes fixed upon Madame Vialart. " I would 
 risk my life for you, if necessary." 
 
 " Dear Eleanor," said she, " so long as you 
 are with me, T cannot be unhappy. And you 
 will never leave me, will you ? Let us content 
 ourselves, then, with the present, and endea- 
 vour to forget the past." 
 
 Meanwhile, the Count returned home, in a 
 disturbed state of mind. Never had he been 
 so pre-occupied. Scarcely replying to the 
 questions of Diana, he merely informed his 
 mother that Madame Vialart was a woman of 
 distinguished mind and manners. 
 
 The following day was Sunday. Early in
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 295 
 
 the morning, Albert placed himself close to the 
 window which commanded the church of 
 
 P , standing in the midst of a churchyard, 
 
 full of mallows growing over a few black 
 wooden crosses. — Madame Vialart and her 
 young friend soon made their appearance, pro- 
 ceeding to mass. The face of the fair stranger 
 was concealed under a dark capote ; but from 
 the diminutive size of her foot, Albert recog- 
 nised her at once, as well as from her light and 
 airy figure. She passed on modestly, amid 
 the salutations of the peasants, who, by their 
 eagerness to approach her, announced the gene- 
 rosity and benevolence of her intercourse with 
 her poorer neighbours. The observations of 
 the young Count were unceremoniously inter- 
 rupted by Martine. 
 
 " What are you doing here. Sir ?'^ said she. 
 " Looking out for Madame Vialart ? There 
 she goes ! See how the people bow to her. It 
 is just the same every Sunday. She is wor- 
 shipped here ; and it is said she is thinking of
 
 296 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 purchasing an estate among us — all the land 
 that lies between the forest and the river." 
 
 " A magnificent property 1'^ — observed the 
 County somewhat astonished. 
 
 " Worth T know not how many hundred 
 thousand francs/' continued Martine. " What 
 happiness to be so rich V 
 
 " I, too, am rich/' thought Albert, " and 
 fortune need be no obstacle between us. Per- 
 haps, after all,'' thought he, rebuking the wild- 
 ness of his fancies, " Monsieur Vialart may be 
 still alive. What folly to waste two hours 
 here, for the sake of a mere glimpse of her. 
 In a few days, I shall be far away, and she will 
 scarcely remember the stranger who passed 
 through her village." 
 
 Then, hastily quitting the window, he re- 
 sumed his place by the side of Diana. 
 
 A few days afterwards, Albert returned to 
 Madame Vialart's, urged by feelings of inte- 
 rest for which he could not possibly account. 
 He found her again, seated in the same room,
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 297 
 
 in company with her companion. Her occu- 
 pations were unvarying. She either worked 
 with her needle, or was engaged in reading. 
 The Count, remarking a magnificent piano, 
 placed between the doors opening upon the 
 garden, inquired of Madame Vialart whether 
 she were fond of music. 
 
 The question seemed to awake some painful 
 reminiscence, and stir up bitter reflections ; for 
 looking mournfully towards the piano, she re- 
 plied, — •' I have renounced music — it gives me 
 pain." 
 
 The Count observed that Madame Vialart 
 received neither newspapers nor new publica- 
 tions. Some periodicals, of old date, were the 
 most recent novelties in her collection. It 
 seemed as if she did not wish to be re- 
 minded in her solitude, of the world she had 
 abandoned. 
 
 The acquaintance, which in the beginning 
 was only a source of amusement to Count Al-
 
 298 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 bert, soon became indispensable to his happi- 
 ness. Whether the hfe he led at P had 
 
 favoured the impulses of his heart, or whether 
 his hour were arrived, certain it was that he 
 loved Madame Vialart, as a man loves only for 
 the first time, with fervor, impetuosity, and 
 anxiety. Giving way to emotions so new to 
 him, he lived from day to day, happy in the 
 unsuspected consciousness of his passion, 
 without hope, without desire. At length, he 
 reflected on the inevitable result of these de- 
 lightful terms of intimacy, and on his ap- 
 proaching departure, became miserable. Al- 
 bert was conscious of anticipating nearly with 
 regret, the convalescence of his mother ! 
 
 The health of the Countess was nearly re- 
 established. One day, she observed with that 
 peculiar phlegm, and the tone of authority that 
 rendered her most trivial words impressive : 
 ^' Do you not find this country very agreeable, 
 Albert ? — I would wilhngly pass the summer 
 here, if you consented.'^
 
 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 299 
 
 " Dear mother, I will do exactly as you 
 please \" he replied ; but though accustomed 
 to the eccentricities of his mother, he had not 
 anticipated such a proposal. 
 
 " I could have workmen from Bar le Due, 
 and make all this comfortable enough,'^ said 
 she. " I might superintend them myself, which 
 would amuse me as soon as I am able to walk. 
 The summer must be beautiful in Lorraine. 
 Diana will amuse herself with sketches ; you, 
 with the sports of the field, and if we get tired 
 we can only depart.'' 
 
 " But what will Diana say ?" — urged the 
 young Count. 
 
 " I have spoken to her on the subject, and 
 she consents to pass some months here." 
 '' Consents ?"— 
 
 " Ay !" replied the Countess, with a smile ; 
 " she desires no better residence ! — Albert, Al- 
 bert 1 you have very little penetration !" 
 
 " What do you mean, dear mother ?'' cried 
 he, as if some new idea had struck his mind.
 
 300 MODERN FRENCH LIFE. 
 
 " I mean/^ said the Countess, with an air 
 of triumphant satisfaction, " that our Hly of 
 Albion, our proud and charming Diana, will 
 stay wherever you choose, and prefer it to any 
 other spot on earth. — She loves you, Albert !" 
 
 "Impossible, mother!" exclaimed the Count, 
 " I have made no effort to merit such a distinc- 
 tion. God forbid that my cousin should love 
 me ; for know that my whole heart is given to 
 another !'^ 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 PRINTED BY SCHULZE AND CO. 13, POLAND STREET.

 
 /