JY^EXOI^ELLE 
 
 jlOTHOF^ OP 
 
 JiBXP^oFXpKEY 1 
 
 V1^ 
 
 J
 
 
 Qoloni^l Alfred QaprlQur?,
 
 ,^^. 
 
 L I B R_A RY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N I VERS ITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 62,5 
 
 N4-7'mdidi 
 v.\
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/mademoiselledeme01norr
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC 
 
 BY 
 
 ^y. E. XOERLS 
 
 AUTHOR OF -HEAPS OF MOXET' 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE 
 
 1880 
 
 lAll rights reserved}
 
 ?23 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 PACK 
 
 m 
 
 LO 
 
 ^ CHAPTER I. 
 
 C^ The A^■CIENT Family of De Mehsac . . . . 1 
 
 ^ CHAPTER n. 
 
 In which Jeanne has a Disappointmlnt . . .37 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 M0N5IEUK LE MaDQUIS 5G 
 
 ^ CHAPTER IV. 
 
 r Mr. Baiikington 78 
 
 V CHAPTER V. 
 
 "" M. DE Saint-Luc 03 
 
 5V, CHAPTER VF. 
 
 ^Madame ie Tremonville'> Dance . . . . UG
 
 VI CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Barrington studies the Picturesque . . . 147 
 
 CHAPTER Vin. 
 
 Madame de Tremonville at Home . . , ,175 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Grande Kabylie 200 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 In which Mr. Harrington loses his Temper . . 231 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 In ^VHICH Mn. Barrington wins a Game of Billiards 255 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Lansquenet . . . , . . , .271 
 
 CriAPTER XHI. 
 Love v. Prudence 293
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE ANCIENT FAMILY OF DE MERSAC. 
 
 Beside a hedge of prickly cactus and spiked 
 aloes, a tall dark-haired girl stood erect and 
 motionless. She was shading her eyes ^\ith her 
 hand, and gazing intently at some distant object. 
 From the point at which she had taken up her 
 station the ground fell away in stony watercourses 
 and wooded ravines, till, far beneath, a silvery 
 hue of foam marked the shore of the wide ex- 
 panse of blue sea which stretched away from it to 
 meet the horizon. Behind her was a large garden, 
 in which feathery bamboos, ragged bananas, and 
 tall palms were intermingled wdth plants and 
 flowers more familiar to Enghsh eyes ; and directly 
 at her back a rugged old almond-tree spread over 
 her its branches loaded with bloom, but as yet 
 VOL. I. u
 
 2 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 bare of leaves ; for the season was the month of 
 February, and Northern Europe was still hard 
 frozen or dreary with gales and driving rain, 
 though here in Algeria the roses were in bloom, 
 and the air was full of the scent of spring. 
 
 Bareheaded she stood under the African sun, 
 a graceful, majestic figure ; and the breeze, as it 
 swept in fitfully from the seaward, set the rosy 
 almond-blossoms flying, and dropped a stray one 
 now and again upon her abundant dark tresses. 
 As to the fact of her beauty there could be no 
 question ; but there could be, and indeed was, a 
 considerable divergence of opinion as to its attrac- 
 tiveness — those of her own sex generally accord- 
 ing her their tribute of admiration without stint, 
 whereas men, while admitting that in form and 
 feature she was as perfect as an old Greek statue, 
 sometimes complained that she was almost as cold, 
 and that for so young a girl she was too impassive 
 and self-possessed to be fascinating. To be fasci- 
 nating was assuredly not one of her aspirations ; 
 that much might be guessed by the most super- 
 ficial of physiognomists from the proud pose of 
 her small, well-shaped head, from the slightly 
 drawn -up nostril, above all from the serene com- 
 posure of her curved hps. The owner of such a
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 3 
 
 face could no more be capable of coquetry than 
 Pallas Athene. Xoble she might be, or clever, or 
 generous ; but captivating never — unless, indeed, 
 qualities more captivating than the ordinary might, 
 by such as were at the pains to seek for them, be 
 found lying far beneath that calm surface, as 
 pearls lie hid in depths of the Southern Ocean. 
 
 Presently an old woman in a white hnen :ap 
 came out of the house, which stood some hundred 
 yards or so in the background, and peered about 
 her, blinking in the blaze of the sunhght. 
 
 ' Mademoiselle Jeanne ! ' she called, in a hig^h- 
 pitched quavering voice. 
 
 ' I am here, Fanchette,' answered the girl, 
 without changing her position. 
 
 The old woman advanced slowly, dragging her 
 list slippers over the gravel. 
 
 ' Madame la Duchesse sends to say that she is 
 not feeling well, and will breakfast in her own 
 room,' she announced. ' Will you be served now, 
 mademoiselle ? ' 
 
 ' Not yet,' answered the girl. ' The steamer 
 is in sight, Fanchette.' 
 
 ' Where, then ? I see nothing. Ah, that speck 
 in the distance ! Eh, mon Dieu ! mademoiselle, 
 you are never thinking of waiting for M. Leon ! 
 
 B 2
 
 4 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 Two hours it will be, at the very least, before the 
 steamer gets into harbour ; and then there is the 
 custom-house— they will not hurry themselves for 
 king or peasant, those lazy douaniers. If M. 
 L^on gets home by three o'clock, I shall be 
 astonished— and you have eaten nothing since 
 seven ! ' 
 
 ' I shall have the better appetite, Fanchette,' 
 said the girl, turning and looking down upon the 
 old servant with grave, brown, not unkindly eyes. 
 
 ' Appetite ? That is precisely where you are 
 deceived, mademoiselle. Appetite is a good 
 thing ; but hunger is a bad one. Neglect your 
 stomach when you are young, and it will refuse 
 to serve you when you are old — that is what 
 my father used to say ; and he was a man full 
 of good sense, my father.' 
 
 ' I don't doubt it, Fanchette ; but it will not 
 hurt me to fast for a few hours, just for once.' 
 
 ' Who knows ? You have hardly done grow- 
 ing yet; and "just once" may be just once too 
 often. If you were a little girl still, I would say, 
 " Jeanne, go in and eat your breakfast, and don't 
 argue with those who are four times your age, 
 and know better than you what is good for 
 
 you." '
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 5 
 
 ' But, as I am not a little girl any more, I 
 suppose I must have my own way, Fancliette,' 
 observed the young lady, with a smile. 
 
 ' Oh ! without doubt ; we all have the right 
 to do silly things, as soon as we are out of the 
 nursery. Come, mademoiselle, come in and eat. 
 M. Leon shall not starve when he arrives — it is I 
 who promised it you.' 
 
 ' Thank you, Fanchette ; but I think I would 
 rather wait.' 
 
 ' What for, hon Dieu ? When he comes, you 
 will find, most likely, that he has breakfasted on 
 board ; and so long as you have him with you, 
 what difference can it make whether you eat with 
 him or not ? ' 
 
 ' I should prefer to wait.' 
 
 Fanchette knew by experience that when her 
 young mistress spoke in that tone fm'ther insist- 
 ance was useless ; so she shrugged her shoulders 
 silently, and slowly made her way back towards 
 the house, into which she presently vanished. 
 
 The house was one of a type not uncommon 
 in the neighbourhood of Algiers. Having been in 
 the old corsair days which seemed so remote, but 
 which are still well within the memory of living 
 men, the countiy residence of some wealthy Moor,
 
 6 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 it had, at a later period, been altered and added to 
 so as to meet the requirements of a French family 
 of the present day ; that is to say, that a modern 
 villa, plain, tile-roofed, and uncompromising, had 
 been tacked, without rhyme or reason, or any 
 sense of the fitness of things, on to one end of it ; 
 — whereby it had gained much in comfort, and 
 lost as much in beauty. Yet no one could say 
 that the house was an ugly one. Artists, archi- 
 tects, and dilettanti were wont, after they had duly 
 admired the horseshoe arches, the twisted marble 
 pillars, the arabesques, and the blue glazed tiles 
 of the older part of the building, to shake their 
 heads and sadly moan over the civilised barbarism 
 which had affixed thereto an oblong and unorna- 
 mented excrescence with large windows, green 
 persiennes^ and a red roof; but, if they were 
 honest men and hard pressed, could not deny that 
 the general effect of the structure was not so bad 
 as by rights it should have been. Sometimes, in- 
 deed, when sitting after dinner, in the garden, over 
 a bottle of old Burgundy, while the slant rays of 
 the setting sun fell full upon the white walls, and 
 the sky beyond the Bouzareah was all aglow, 
 they could be brought to concede that even the 
 modern part of the edifice was not wholly devoid
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MEKSAC 7 
 
 of a certain picturesqueness of its own ; but it was 
 redeemed from ugliness (they would explain in 
 such moments) by three things only — firstly, by 
 honest incongruity, no attempt (which must needs 
 have proved futile) having been made by the 
 French builder to assimilate his work to that 
 which Moors alone could accomphsh ; secondly, 
 by whitewash, w^hich, under the African sun, 
 takes from shadow such soft and delicate tints 
 that the meanest of buildings are beautified by it ; 
 and thirdly, by a universal mantle of creepers — 
 jasmine, Banksia rose, and purple Bougainvillea — 
 the last a very gorgeous and luxmiant plant, for 
 which, let us hope, a less clumsy name may, at 
 some future time, be discovered. 
 
 But, whatever may have been the merits or 
 demerits of the building itself, there could be no 
 two opinions as to the lovehness of its position. 
 For it stood high on a breezy upland, the swelhng 
 hills of the Sahhel on its right, the sea far beneath 
 on its left, and in front a foreground of palm and 
 umbrella pines ; the heights of the Fort I'Em- 
 pereur hiding the old robber city which thev 
 command, for middle distance ; and bey and, a 
 ghmpse of the wide Bay of Algiers ; and beyond 
 that, again, the blue, snow-capped mountains of
 
 8 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 Kabylia melting into the sky. Behind the house 
 were fields of corn and maize, backed by a stretch 
 of broken ground, overgrown with palmetto, 
 which swelled into hills and culminated in the 
 headland called the Bouzareah, behind whose 
 shoulder the sun sank every evening into a peace- 
 ful saffron sky, flecked with tiny gold cloudlets, or 
 into an angry reddening storm-rack, sailing up 
 from the Atlantic, according as the seasons and 
 the wind were. 
 
 Algiers, alas ! is becoming fashionable. The 
 Grand Army which annually sets out from London, 
 Petersburg, New York, and other cities upon its 
 invasion of the once peaceful Eiviera has for some 
 years past been pushing reconnoitring parties into 
 Africa — ^parties which would doubtless have waxed 
 numerically stronger but for the inveterate turbu- 
 lence of the Gulf of Lyons. The prospect of forty- 
 eight hours, more or less, of sea-sickness — a very 
 terrible contingency to most Continental minds — 
 has hitherto prevented Algiers from being con- 
 verted into a second Nice, and will probably con- 
 tinue to do so, in spite of its undoubted superiority 
 of climate ; but, happily for the Algerian hotel- 
 keepers — unhappily perhaps for sundry unsociable 
 individuals — British matrons and maidens are less
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. \) 
 
 afraid of the sea ; and thus it has come to pass 
 that the Eiie Bab-Azoim and the Place du Gou- 
 vernement have added to their accustomed motley 
 crowd of costumes — turbaned Moors, white- 
 robed Arabs, scowling Spaniards, Maltese sailors, 
 grinning negroes, and a dozen other quaintly- 
 assorted types — a considerable sprinkling of the 
 ulsters, puggarees, sealskin jackets, and Mother- 
 Hubbard hats, by means of which our countrymen 
 and countrywomen are wont to exhibit their ap- 
 preciation of the picturesque element in dress. 
 During the winter months these good people not 
 only fill the few hotels of the town, but overflow 
 into the surroundmg country. The wooded hill- 
 side on the eastern arm of the great bay, with its 
 innumerable white villas, swarms with them ; and 
 if they have to pay somewhat highly for their ac- 
 commodation, no doubt they get the value of 
 their money ; for these villas, nesthng amid orange 
 groves, palms, aloes, and cypresses, and looking 
 out upon a prospect of ghttering city, blue sea, 
 and distant mountains, form as near an approach 
 to fairyland as can be obtained within four days' 
 jom-ney of our bleak shores. 
 
 It is not, however, in this fashionable su- 
 burb of Mustapha Superieur that the particular
 
 10 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 house with which we are concerned is to 
 be found. To get to it you must either pass 
 beyond that district, and, reaching the top of 
 the hill, strike across the promontory towards 
 the northern shore ; or, starting from Algiers 
 by the Bab-el-Oued — the Western Gate — you 
 must mount a steep, winding road, bordered with 
 acacias, and, leaving the town below you on the 
 left, gain the little village of El-Biar. Then, after 
 following the level high-road for ten minutes or 
 so, you will see a high white garden wall and 
 wooden folding gates, through which, if you 
 penetrate, you will find yourself in the garden of 
 the Campagne de Mersac. Looked upon merely 
 as a winter residence, it can hardly compare with 
 its neighbours of Mustapha, being colder and more 
 exposed than they ; but, on the other hand, it is 
 fresher in the hot season, and it has also — wdiat 
 the villas of Mustapha have not — a very respect- 
 able property attached to it. Many acres of 
 fertile land stretch away behind it, inland, from 
 which the owners, after contending for a quarter 
 of a century against much difficulty and disap- 
 pointment, may be said to have reaped, upon the 
 whole, an encouraging result. 
 
 Thither in the year 1 845, or thereabouts, had
 
 ]VL\DEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 11 
 
 come one Charles Leon, Marquis de Mersac, 
 hoping to find in the pursuit of agriculture in the 
 young colony at once peace and occupation for 
 the remaining years of a hfe wliich had hitherto 
 been passed amid more storms and troubles than 
 fiall to the lot of most men. He purchased his 
 land — land which, as his reading had told him, 
 had once been as fertile as any in the world, but 
 which had now lain waste, or nearly so, for cen- 
 turies — set himself manfully to struggle against 
 infinite natural difficulties, irrepressible growth of 
 useless palmetto, want of labour, siroccos, locusts, 
 and many other stubborn enemies which need not 
 be enumerated here ; and, in the end, achieved a 
 fair measure of success. He met with a good deal 
 of what is generally called bad luck ; but this did 
 not disappoint, or, at any rate, did not discourage 
 him. 
 
 'Disappointment — ca me connait !' he y^oxAdi 
 often say, with a smile and a shrug. ' Misfortune 
 and I are old acquaintances, and know how to meet 
 without quarrelling. After all, it is only a question 
 of habit. Sailors sleep quietly in a gale of wind 
 which frightens landsmen out of their senses ; and 
 I am too much accustomed to failure to be scared 
 by it.' So before his death the Marquis de Mersac
 
 12 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 had become a prosperous farmer, which is a rare 
 phenomenon in Algeria even at the present day. 
 
 For this result he was indebted partly, no doubt, 
 to his possession of a moderate amount of capital, 
 but in a much greater degree to his indomitable 
 perseverance and spirit, which carried him over 
 obstacles that would have disheartened a man of 
 weaker will. But for this resolute temperament, 
 indeed, he must have fainted far earher in his 
 career ; for he had seen little but adversity ever 
 since that dim winter's morning at the close of the 
 last century, when, as a child of eight years old, 
 he had been roused from his bed by his pale, 
 affrighted mother, and, after a long journey over 
 miry roads and through a country blazing into 
 anarchy, had been taken on board a small sailing- 
 boat bound for Dover. His father, a three-parts 
 ruined nobleman, who had held some office about 
 the court of Louis XVI., took a gloomy old house 
 at Hampstead ; and there it was that the young 
 Charles grew up to manhood, and received such 
 education as his parents could afford him. The old 
 Marquis seems to have borne ill-fortune with that 
 mixture of petulance and dignity which is the 
 peculiar characteristic of his nation. Proud, nar- 
 row-minded, hating England and the English,
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. IS- 
 
 he uttered no complaint, but accepted his lono- 
 years of exile merely as bad moments to be passed 
 through in silence and patience ; refiised all hospi- 
 tahty, being unable to retiu-n it ; and lived the 
 life of a hermit, looking forward always to a 
 brighter future, when right should triumph over 
 wrong, the good old times retm-n, and the king 
 come to his own again. In the great Eevolution 
 which had swept away for ever the old order of 
 things in his own land, and was bidding fair to 
 effect a like transformation all over Europe, he 
 saw only a successful uprising of the has peuple; 
 and knowing his compatriots — or beheving he 
 knew them — as he did, he never felt a moment's 
 doubt of the ephemeral nature of the newEepubhc. 
 Nor did the rise of the Empire occasion him any 
 fresh misgivings. Sometimes, indeed, the news of 
 one of Napoleon's victories would ehcit from him 
 a few angry expressions of contempt for the thea- 
 trical farceur (to use his own expression) who had 
 dubbed himself Emperor of the French ; but that 
 an obscure Corsican upstart should ever be able 
 to estabhsh a dynasty permanently upon the 
 throne of the Bourbons was a proposition too 
 absurd to merit refutation. 
 
 In serene expectation, then, of the ultimate
 
 14 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 undoing of the Devil and all his works, the old 
 gentleman sat in his dim little parlour one grey 
 morning in the year 1805, and as he listened to 
 the salvoes of artillery booming in honour of the 
 victory of Trafalgar, tapped his gold snufF-box 
 with a certain pensive complacency. But there 
 was another person in the room upon whom the 
 sound of those cannons produced an entirely 
 different effect, and who, at each fresh report, 
 fidgeted and frowned and drummed so impatiently 
 upon the table, that the Marquis was roused at last 
 from his reverie, and looked up with an air of 
 shghtly offended surprise. This was no other than 
 M. Charles, who had now developed into a tall, 
 broad-shouldered, and handsome young man of 
 three-and-twenty, and who, in the most reprehen- 
 sible manner, had begun to hold opinions and form 
 judgments of his own upon many matters ; opinions 
 and judgments which, if not speedily corrected, 
 might lead him Hea;Ven — or rather the Devil — 
 only knew where. 
 
 ' May I inquire, Charles,' said the Marquis, in 
 his high, thin voice, ' what is disturbing you ? ' 
 
 ' Sir,' says the young man, ' we have lost a 
 battle.' 
 
 ' Indeed ? I was not aware of it. I imagined.
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE 2kIERSAC. 15 
 
 on the contrary, that the fleet of M. Buonaparte 
 had received a crushing blow. But I do not 
 trouble myself much about such matters at pre- 
 sent ; no doubt you are better informed than I. 
 Where did this battle take place, Charles ? ' 
 
 ' I was speaking of the battle of Trafalgar, sir, 
 where, as you say, the French fleet has received a 
 crushing blow. The army, I beheve, continues to 
 be everywhere victorious. Father,' continued the 
 young man, in a more animated tone, ' let me go 
 and fight for France ! Ptepublic or Emphe, what 
 signifies the government when it is the nation 
 which is at war ? When peace comes it ^vill be 
 time enough to think of politics. And what is to 
 become of me if I am to remain here doincr nothino- 
 all my life ? Here I am neither English nor French, 
 nor boy, nor man. I cannot fight for my king — 
 let me at least draw my sword for my country ! ' 
 And with this Charles plumped down on his knees, 
 as people sometimes did in those days when they 
 were strongly moved and wanted a thing very 
 badly. 
 
 ' Hum,' muttered the Marquis, stroking his 
 chin. ' Your mother has to some extent prepared 
 me for this outbreak. It is a point upon which 
 we had better understand each other clearJy and
 
 16 MADEMOISELLE DE MEESAC. 
 
 finally. In the meantime you may as well rise ; 
 for your attitude will not affect the matter one 
 way or the other, and your frame is too large to 
 adapt itself readily to constrained postures. Will 
 you now take a seat and be so good as to favour 
 me with your attention for a few minutes? What 
 you propose to do is to enter the service of a man 
 who has usurped the throne of your sovereign — 
 that is to say, to commit the crime of high treason, 
 an offence punishable with death. To ask me ta 
 sanction such a course is to ask me to consent to 
 the degradation of our name — which is simply 
 absurd. I do not, however, lay any prohibition 
 upon you. You are of an age to be capable of 
 deciding upon your own course of action. If you 
 can bring yourself to dishonour your father and 
 be a traitor to your king, go. If you think you 
 will not be disgracing your family by caracoling 
 through Europe at the heels of an obscure and 
 theatrical Corsican whom unparalleled events have 
 raised for a time to the position of a successful 
 Eobespierre, by all means go. But do not, at any 
 future time, expect me to intercede on your behalf; 
 and remember that, in the event of your taking 
 this step, I shall cease immediately and for ever to 
 be in any way responsible for the result.'
 
 ILVDEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 17 
 
 This was not very encoui-aging, but it was 
 more than Charles had expected. 
 
 Many years afterwards, when he himself was 
 old and grey-headed, he described the scene to his 
 children, and explained that the old Marquis was 
 in the habit of expressing himself forcibly, and did 
 not expect his words to be taken quite in a hteral 
 sense. 'I think he saw,' the narrator would say, 'that 
 it was rather hard upon a young fellow, such as I 
 was then, to be forced to sit idle with his hands 
 in his lap, whilst others of his age were field- 
 officers, and had been through two or three cam- 
 paigns. Only he could not give an actual consent 
 to my wearing the unifonn of the Emperor, but 
 preferred to let me do so upon my own responsi- 
 bility. If I had known that I should see him but 
 seldom, and my mother never again, after that 
 day, I might have hesitated about leaving them ; 
 but I was young, and troubled myself very little 
 about the future, thinking only of glory and the 
 wars.' 
 
 To the wars M. Charles accordingly went ; 
 and thus we find him, about a year later, charging 
 gallantly as a lieutenant of Hussars at the battle 
 of Auerstadt, where he would very hkely have 
 distinguished himself more, had not a splinter of a 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 shell laid open his side early in the action, break- 
 ing three of his ribs, and nearly putting an end, 
 then and there, to his military career. 
 
 Nor were the adverse fates contented with 
 striking this devoted youth so sharp a corporeal 
 blow, but must needs proceed to direct their 
 arrows against the less easily curable region of the 
 heart. For when poor Charles was sufficiently re- 
 covered of his wound to drag a feeble and ema- 
 ciated body by slow stages in the direction of 
 France, it so chanced that he made a halt at 
 Coblenz, and there fell in with a lovely and fasci- 
 nating Louise, daughter of the Due and Duchesse 
 de Joigny, a highly aristocratic couple, whom the 
 Eevolution had forced to fix their home for a time 
 in that dreary town. JN ow the Due, who was bored 
 in his exile to the extent of almost dislocating his 
 noble jaws by continual yawns, was glad enough 
 to have the opportunity of showing some kindness 
 to the son of his old friend, the Marquis de Mersac,- 
 and, at the same time, of satisfying his own curi- 
 osity as to the appearance, habits, and manners of 
 the great man upon whom the eyes of the world 
 were, at that time, eagerly fixed. Charles de 
 Mersac, fresh from the battle-field, would, he 
 thought, be the very man to give him the gossip-
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 19 
 
 ing information for which he longed ; and it never 
 occurred to him to suspect that the young soldier's 
 ready acceptance of his proffered hospitality was 
 prompted by any other feeling than a desire for 
 intellectual conversation and refined com2Danion- 
 ship. To chat over the late campaign with one 
 who had taken part in it, and to state in detail 
 his own political views to a patient and courteous 
 listener, was an amusement in which, faute de 
 mieiLv, the old gentleman was wilhng to indulge 
 for an unlimited period ; but the idea that one 
 who had so far forgotten himself as to wear the 
 uniform of the usurper, should aspire to become 
 his son-in-law was evidently preposterous — parti- 
 cularly when, as in the present case, the individual 
 in question had but slender means and doubtful 
 prospects. 
 
 The result of this way of looking at things on 
 the part of the Due de Joigny was that M. Charles 
 left Coblenz rather suddenly, one bright summer 
 morning in the year 1806, taking with him an 
 exceedingly beautiful miniature slung round his 
 neck by a blue ribbon, and that the fair Louise 
 wept for twenty-four hours, more or less, after his 
 departure. 
 
 All things considered, the next six years of
 
 20 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 Charles de Mersac's life may be said to have been 
 tolerably happy. At least, the element of excite- 
 ment was not wanting in them. He returned to 
 active service, and was wounded over and over 
 again under Massena and Soult in the Peninsula. 
 Moreover he obtained the Cross of the Legion of 
 Honour, and rose to the rank of Colonel. Danger 
 was his delight, and neither pain, nor sickness, nor 
 hunger, nor even defeat could sadden him ; for 
 he wore always next his heart the miniature he 
 had carried away from Coblenz. He was natu- 
 rally of a healthy, sanguine temperament, and 
 doubted not that she who had sworn to remain 
 faithful to him through good report and evil re- 
 port would keep her vow as religiously as he had 
 kept his. So that when he returned from Spain 
 to Paris, invalided, in the year 1812, and weak 
 from the effects of a long fever, the news that 
 Louise de Joigny had been for some time the wife 
 of the old Due de Breuil, whose estates were 
 almost as broad as his descent was long, was 
 near being the death of him. 
 
 But though disappointment is a hard thing to 
 bear, and treachery cuts deep, and the sudden 
 wreck of the hopes and dreams of six years may
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 21 
 
 seem to overwhelm a man for a time, yet these 
 are ills which have seldom been known to prove 
 mortal. De Mersac did not die ; but he set out 
 with the Grand Army for Eussia with a heavy 
 heart, hoping for nothing better than that some 
 stray bullet might relieve him of a world which 
 he had now found to be altogether cruel, selfish, 
 and deceitful. 
 
 That disastrous campaign proved to be his 
 last. At the battle of Borodino he lost his sabre- 
 arm, and there took leave of soldiering for good 
 and all. 
 
 Brave as he was, and in spite of the philosophy 
 with which he had already accustomed himself to 
 look upon the vicissitudes of hfe, this last blow 
 went very near to crushing de Mersac's spirit. He 
 never loved to speak of the time that followed, 
 when he hved with his father in the dull old house 
 at Hampstead, which (his mother being now dead) 
 had lost all attraction for him. Nevertheless he 
 made the best of things, after his usual fashion, 
 setting himself to learn how to use his left hand ; 
 and so well did he succeed in this, that, in the 
 year 1814, when his father had departed to Paris 
 to claim his estates, and become a high dignitary
 
 22 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 at the court of Louis le Desire, he was able to 
 write with tolerable ease and rapidity, and needed 
 no one to cut up his dinner for him. 
 
 It now became necessary that he should be 
 presented to the King of France ; and the pros- 
 pect of this ceremony cost the old Marquis many 
 a sleepless night, it being so very uncertain how 
 that monarch would receive so erring a member 
 of his faithful aristocracy. 
 
 The interview, however, passed off more 
 smoothly than might have been expected. 
 
 ' They tell me you are covered with wounds, 
 sir,' said the King on that memorable occasion, 
 ' and that you have gained little except a decora- 
 tion. That is a poor reward for so many years 
 of devoted service.' 
 
 ' I fought for France, Sire,' replied de Mersac, 
 who did not like Louis XVIIL, and could never 
 be brought to address him with a tithe of the re- 
 spect he had shown to his mighty predecessor. 
 
 The old Marquis made a grimace when he 
 heard this curt answer ; but the King laughed 
 good-naturedly. 
 
 ' The whole nation did as you have done,' he 
 said. ' But the nation has returned to its alle- 
 giance, and so have you. I regret very much that
 
 MADEMOISELLE BE MERSAC. 23 
 
 circumstances liave deprived the army of the ser- 
 vices of so brave an officer ; but, if you do not 
 disdain civil employment, you may yet be able to 
 serve your country', M. le Colonel.' 
 
 The upshot of this was that a diplomatic 
 appointment was conferred upon the gallant 
 Colonel ; and in this branch of the public service 
 he remained, domg his work creditably, though 
 without much personal distinction, till the death 
 of the King. 
 
 He was sitting over his breakfast at the small 
 German Court to whicli he was accredited, one 
 morning, shortly after the news of that deplored 
 event had reached him, when his servant laid two 
 letters on the table before him. He took one of 
 them and broke the seal. It contained a brief 
 intimation that his Majesty, King Charles X., had 
 no further occasion for his services. ' Aha ! ' said 
 de Mersac, ' I expected as much. M. le Comte 
 d'Artois has little love for those who wear neither 
 pigtails nor soutanes.' Then he opened the other 
 letter, and over that he sighed more than once ; 
 for it amiounced the sudden death of the old 
 Marquis ; and though the father and son had 
 never had much sympathy with one another, the 
 latter was a man of stronger affections than the
 
 24 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 generality of mankind ; and to find oneself quite 
 alone in the world, at a period of life when most 
 men have a wife and children to take the place of 
 the last generation, is enough to afford matter for 
 sad reflection to the most philosophic mind. 
 
 And now the new Marquis de Mersac did a 
 thing so grievous and scandalous that his name 
 became a word of warning throughout the Fau- 
 bourg St. Germain, and moans over his conduct 
 were heard in the highest quarters. He actually- 
 sold his ancestral estates. It was considered no 
 palliation of this crime that the culprit was driven 
 thereto by what he chose to consider the necessity 
 of paying the heavy debts bequeathed to him by 
 his late father. The old Due de Chateauvieux, to 
 whom he ventured to put forward this excuse^ 
 had scarcely the patience to listen to him. 
 
 ' Sir,' said he, ' there are certain lines of action 
 which nothing can justify. As you are aware, I 
 have never been one of those who condemned you 
 and others, who were then young men, for wearing 
 the uniform of Buonaparte. You obeyed then a 
 natural and not igDoble impulse. But what you 
 have done now will alienate from you the sym- 
 pathies of every man who respects himself. One 
 raises money, parhleu ! — one borrows — one mort-
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MEllSAC. 2S 
 
 gages — one remains in debt — but sell one's es- 
 tates ! — never ! ' 
 
 Facilis descensus Averni! Having started 
 with so prodigious a downward step, what could 
 be expected but that the Marquis de Mersac should 
 plunge still deeper into the abyss of disgrace ? 
 His friends were grieved rather than surprised 
 when they heard that the misguided man had in- 
 vested his remaining capital in trade, and had 
 entered into partnership with a low-born West 
 Indian merchant. After that it was a relief to 
 learn that he had crossed the Atlantic to look after 
 the interests of his business, and that Parisian 
 society would no longer be shocked by the visible 
 presence of the criminal. 
 
 Parisian society saw him no more ; but those 
 whose memory carries them back as far as the 
 London seasons of 1838 and 1839 may recollect 
 having met pretty frequently a stalwart, grey- 
 haired, one-armed French gentleman, who bore 
 the title of Marquis de Mersac, and who was under- 
 stood to have amassed a moderate fortune in the 
 West Indies. 
 
 This gentleman was very well received by the 
 leaders of fashion in our metropolis, being, as was 
 well known, the representative of one of the oldest
 
 26 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 families in France, and having, besides, a comfort- 
 able fortune, agreeable manners, and an engaging 
 presence. Among the men he speedily acquired 
 popularity by his skill in horsemanship — a science 
 which then, as now, was not considered in this 
 country to be one of the strong points of his 
 nation ; while the ladies could not sufficiently 
 praise his old-fashioned, courtly politeness, his 
 readiness to oblige any one of them, old or young, 
 handsome or plain, and a certain youthful spright- 
 hness which yet clung to him in spite of his fifty- 
 six years. 
 
 It was a surprise to his friends — perhaps a 
 little disappointment to some of them — to hear 
 that he was about to be married to a certain Miss 
 Moreton, a plain-featured orphan, who already, at 
 the age of six-and-twenty, had assumed something 
 of the demeanour and habits of an old maid. It 
 was thought that the handsome Marquis, old as 
 he was, might have done better ; but he never had 
 reason himself to regret his choice. His wife — a 
 good, meek, and somewhat characterless person, 
 who adored him — behaved herself throughout her 
 married life in an entirely exemplary manner. 
 She embraced his religion, agreed in all his 
 opinions — even before he uttered them — accom-
 
 :nl\demoiselle de mersac. 27 
 
 panied him without a murmur to the African colony, 
 whither his longing for occupation of some kind 
 led him ; and there, some time after such an event 
 had ceased to appear probable, made him the 
 father of a little girl, who eventually grew up into 
 the stately young lady whom we saw just now 
 gazing over the garden wall. Two years later an 
 heir to the title of De Mersac saw the light ; and 
 shortly after the accomphshment of this latter feat, 
 Madame la Marquise, with a happy consciousness 
 that, in an unobtrusive way, she had done what 
 was required of her by God and man in this world, 
 slipped gently out of it. 
 
 The mdower was for some time very discon- 
 solate. Like many other apparent nonentities, 
 Madame la Marquise had been a helpful and valu- 
 able creature in her own restricted sphere; and 
 her husband found that his loss had cast upon him 
 many new responsibihties, not the least of which 
 was the care and education of a couple of small 
 children — a task for which he felt himself to be in 
 no way qualified. Help was, however, in store 
 for him in the carrying out of this last duty. 
 Early in the days of liis mourning a very old friend 
 of his appeared unexpectedly upon the scene. A 
 series of trivial circumstances — a slia'ht attack of
 
 28 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 bronchitis in the first place, a quarrel with her 
 doctor at Nice in the second, and a general weari- 
 ness of familiar localities in the third — induced the 
 Duchesse de Breuil to visit Algiers ; and, hearing 
 that M. de Mersac had taken up his abode in the 
 neighbourhood of the town, she hastened to renew 
 her acquaintance with him, after an interruption 
 of over forty years. 
 
 The former lovers met again, as one may 
 imagine, with a shock of surprise, half pleasant, 
 half painful, with a stirring of many old memories, 
 and a faint throbbing of wounds long since healed 
 over by merciful Time. Between the handsome, 
 wasp-waisted young hussar of Jena and the 
 bronzed, grey-headed farmer of El-Biar — between 
 the lovely, innocent Louise de Joigny and the 
 Duchesse de Breuil, a grande dame who had 
 played no inconsiderable part in the political and 
 social history of her country till she had been 
 shouldered aside to make room for the satellites of 
 a new regime — between 1806 and 1850, what a 
 difference ! They were, to all intents and pur- 
 poses, strangers to one another, and yet bound 
 together by a tie which both, in the sunset of their 
 lives, were eager to acknowledge. The ghost of 
 their dead youth rose up between them and joined
 
 M.\DEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 29 
 
 their trembling old hands. The Marquis showed 
 his old flame the miniature which had accom- 
 panied him through all his campaigns and wander- 
 ings ; and the old lady sighed over it, and cried a 
 little. This work of art is now in the possession 
 of the present Marquis ; and at the back of it, 
 under the velvet of the frame, still remains a 
 scrap of paper, on which is written, in faded 
 ink, ' Toujours fidele : Cohleiice^ 1806,' ... an 
 inscription of which the irony may have often 
 struck its original owner. 
 
 The Duchess, homeless, childless, and nearly 
 friendless — for she did not happen to be upon 
 good terms with the inheritor of her husband's 
 title and estates, and had no near relation of her 
 own family — was, ^vithout much difficulty, per- 
 suaded to take the lease of a villa adjoining that 
 which was now known as the Campagne de Mersac. 
 She said it would be useful to her as a winter 
 residence ; but by degrees her absences became 
 less and less frequent, and ever of shorter duration, 
 till at last it was imderstood that she considered 
 her home to be in Algeria. She took a great 
 interest in the children of her old admirer, and 
 charged herself with such elements of their brino-- 
 ing-up as generally fall to a mother's lot. Leon
 
 30 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 was her favourite ; as was perhaps natural, seeing 
 that the Marquis displayed a marked partiality for 
 the little Jeanne. 
 
 And so the years slipped by, and the Duchesse 
 de Breuil became, in some sense, a member of the 
 de Mersac houseliold. Leon declares that his 
 father and the Duchess used to flirt outrageously, 
 and that he never could understand why they did 
 not marry ; but Leon is a flippant young man, 
 and often says foolish things. It was Louise de 
 Joigny, and not the Duchesse de Breuil, with whom 
 the old Marquis had been in love ; and though he 
 had a very sincere admiration and respect for the 
 latter lady, it may be doubted whether, in his 
 heart of hearts, he ever connected her very closely 
 with the former. The friendship of the two old 
 people was probably not the less strong for the 
 romantic memories which a word or a hint from 
 either of them could summon up into the thoughts 
 of the other, as children by holding a shell to their 
 ear catch echoes of its native waves ; but the 
 romance itself had vanished long since beyond 
 recalling, and was no more a reality noAv than the 
 sea in the shell. He, being obliged to be often 
 away from home by the exigencies of his farming 
 operations and of his latest hobby, the breeding
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 31 
 
 of horses, thanked Heaven that he could leave his 
 children in the care of a lady, while she was not 
 less grateful for the new interests which preserved 
 her old age from utter loneliness. But for this 
 reciprocity of benefit, it is probable that the Jiances 
 of 1806 would not have renewed their intimacy. 
 
 The Marquis survived his wife about a dozen 
 years. A malarious fever, contracted at his stud- 
 farm in the Metidja plain, proved fatal to him in 
 the long run, chiefly owing to neglect. He had 
 an iron constitution, and from his youth up had 
 been accustomed to treat all maladies, as the Irish- 
 man treated the measles, ' with contempt ; ' but at 
 eighty years of age it does not take much to kill a 
 man, and so the Marquis failed to rally from his- 
 third bout of the fever. 
 
 His death left the immediate future of his 
 children in some uncertainty ; for though Fan- 
 chette, the old niu-se, was an excellent and devoted 
 creature, it would scarcely have been advisable 
 that they should be left under her sole care ; and 
 the only guardian appointed for them was M. de 
 Fontvieille, an old w^idower, who spent his time 
 between Algiers and Paris, and had no establish- 
 ment of his own. To the immense rehef of this 
 old gentleman, who had been greatly perturbed
 
 -32 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 by the responsibility thus cast upon him, the 
 Duchesse de Breuil came forward with a solution 
 of the difficulty, proposing to take up her abode 
 with the children of her old friend, and to treat 
 them in every respect as her own, so long as her 
 life should be spared. This seemed a highly 
 satisfactory arrangement ; but, before finally ac- 
 ceding to it, M. de Fontvieille thought it right to 
 put himself in communication with the few near 
 relations of the orphans — some cousins, resident 
 in Auvergne, and a Mrs. Ashley, a younger sister 
 of the late Marquise. The hearty and unreserved 
 approval of the scheme which reached him, by 
 return of post, from both these quarters, made 
 him chuckle sardonically ; for he was a somewhat 
 cynical old fellow, and enjoyed nothing more than 
 some fresh proof of the selfishness and insincerity 
 of his fellow-creatures. He took up his hat, his 
 snuff-box, and the two letters, and presented 
 himself in the drawing-room of his friend the 
 Duchess. 
 
 ' Madame,' said he, bending over her hand in 
 his old-fashioned way, ' you are free to carry out 
 your benevolent intentions : the family will not 
 oppose itself to you. They had been eager to 
 welcome their young relations, but they think
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 33 
 
 themselves bound to consult the dear children's 
 wishes rather than their own.' 
 
 *No one cares to add two strangers to his 
 family,' observed the Duchess, more charitably ; 
 ' to most people such a necessity would be a mis- 
 fortune ; to me, as it happens, it is a blessing.' 
 
 So she packed up her belongings, and moved 
 from her villa to the Campagne de Mersac, where 
 she was received with unfeigned joy. The young 
 people were fond of her, and infinitely preferred 
 remaining in the old hojne, under her tutelage, to 
 going among strangers ; and she, on her side, 
 loved them, and did her duty by them, according 
 to her lights. 
 
 With Jeanne she was not able to feel much 
 sympathy. The girl's inordinate grief at her father's 
 death — a grief which showed itself in no violent 
 form, but only by pallor, hstlessness, heavy eyes, 
 and a morbid shrinking from all amusements — 
 puzzled her at first, and then irritated her. To 
 show feeling in such a case, the Duchess admitted, 
 was only proper and becoming ; but then feeling 
 should be manifested in recognised ways, otherwise 
 one did not know how to deal wit1i it, and it be- 
 came an absolute nuisance. It was not natural 
 that a girl of fifteen should mope and mourn for 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 o4 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 a twelvemonth and more because things had taken 
 their natural course, and her father had gone to 
 his long home after reaching the extreme limit of 
 life accorded to man by the Psalmist. Moreover, 
 Jeanne was so proud, so reserved, so perfectly 
 imperturbable, that the Duchess, who was secretly 
 a little afraid of her, was conscious of a disinclina- 
 tion, which strengthened as the years went on, to 
 tell her of her faults ; and this, as everyone must 
 allow, is a sad obstacle in the way of any real 
 cordiality of intercourse. 
 
 So, although the Duchess and Jeanne were, 
 upon the whole, very good friends, by far the 
 larger share of the former lady's affections was 
 given to Leon, who certainly possessed what most 
 people would consider a more loveable character 
 than that of his sister. The education of the young 
 Marquis was conducted entirely at home — a sys- 
 tem not uncommon in France, and one perhaps 
 less disadvantageous to a boy in that country than 
 in this. The Cure of El-Biar grounded him in 
 his own language and in Latin, and continued to 
 superintend his daily lessons till he had reached an 
 age which was considered sufficiently advanced to 
 warrant the engiigement of a tutor for him; 
 Madame la Duchesse (who had every reason to
 
 ilADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 35 
 
 consider herself emiuently qualified for the task) 
 instructed him in manners and deportment ; M. 
 de Fontvieille (^\ith no less confidence in his 
 capacity) imparted to him a knowledge of men 
 and things, derived from many years' philo- 
 sophical study of an infinitesimal section of 
 humanity ; and Pierre Cauvin, a shrewd old 
 Auvergnat, who had been his father's factotum 
 ever since the first purchase of the Algerian pro- 
 perty, taught him agriculture and the art of break- 
 ing horses. And all these good people adored 
 and spoiled him in the most inexcusable manner. 
 The consequence of their co-operation was 
 much what might have been anticipated — or per- 
 haps it ought rather to be said that it was better 
 than might have been anticipated. At the time 
 our stor}' opens Leon was a singularly handsome 
 young fellow of one-and-twenty, tall, broad-shoul- 
 dered, sunburnt, a very fair shot, a good dancer, 
 and a really excellent rider. He was tolerably 
 well read, and quick at catching up any scraps of 
 Information that might come in his way. His 
 manner, always that of the old school, had, towards 
 strangers, a considerable tinge of frigidity and 
 hauteur \ but in the family circle he w^as given 
 to be talkative, and expressed his views upon all 
 
 d2
 
 36 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 matters with perfect freedom. He placed, indeed, 
 a somewhat exaggerated estimate upon the value 
 of his own opinions ; as was not unnatural, consi- 
 dering the nature of his training. That he did 
 not grow up an insufferable young prig was 
 probably owing partly to the bracing effects of 
 out-door life and the constant contact with un- 
 manageable agricultural difficulties, partly to a 
 certain hereditary simplicity of disposition, and 
 finally to the influence of his sister Jeanne, the 
 only person in the world of whom he felt any awe, 
 and who loved him far too well to flatter him. 
 Taking him altogether, he bade fair to become no 
 unworthy representative of a fine old Legitimist 
 family ; and, feeling this, the Duchess and M. de 
 Fontvieille looked upon the result of their labours 
 and were content.
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 37 
 
 CHAPTEE n. 
 
 IN TVHICH JEANXE HAS A DIS.\PPOINTMEXT. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Mersac, whose character ex- 
 hibited a good many traits of a kind more or less 
 puzzhng to her Mends, was in nothing more in- 
 comprehensible to them than in her prolonged 
 and voluntary spinsterhood. A young lady of the 
 quasi-mature age of three-and-twenty, beautiful, 
 well-dowered, of excellent family, and still un- 
 married, is no ordinary phenomenon in French 
 society ; but then Mademoiselle de Mersac was 
 not an ordinary person, nor were her circumstances 
 ordinary circumstances. Had she occupied a 
 position analogous to that of her neighbom^s, her 
 matrimonial affairs would, of course, have been 
 arranged for her long since by provident parents ; 
 but Fate had decreed that she should make her 
 debut in society as an orphan, and, further, that 
 she should do so in the exceptional character of 
 absolute mistress of her own destinies. For the
 
 38 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 late Marquis de Mersac, influenced by liis English 
 education, his English wife, and also perhaps by- 
 certain melancholy experiences of his own, had 
 harboured, and frequently expressed, an intention 
 that his daughter should choose her husband for 
 herself a la mode anglaise. Whether, after his 
 death, his desires would have been respected by 
 the Duchesse de Breuil (who, for her part, thought 
 them eminently injudicious), liad that lady pos- 
 sessed the power of opposing them, is at least open 
 to doubt ; but, happily or unhappily for Jeanne, 
 she had no such power. Mademoiselle de Mersac's 
 marriage portion Avas, by her father's will, held in 
 trust for her till the day of her wedding or the 
 completion of her thirtieth year, at either of which 
 dates it became her absolute property ; and thus, 
 as the Duchess sometimes complained bitterly to 
 her intimate friends, there was nothing to prevent 
 the young lady from marrying a negro if she felt 
 so disposed. By what possible means any further 
 restriction could have been laid upon her young 
 protegee the Duchess did not stop to inquire ; but 
 it was a sad reflection to her that the only weapon 
 at her disposal for coercing Jeanne into a suitable 
 alliance was that of moral force, and a still sadder 
 that this weapon had hitherto proved a wholly
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. o!) 
 
 ineffectual one. She did what she could. Slie 
 brought forward suitor after suitor of the most 
 unexceptionable sort ; but Jeanne would have 
 nothing to say to any of them, and showed herself 
 completely impervious to persuasion, scolding, or 
 tears. 
 
 ' You will kill me with your wicked obstinacy ! ' 
 the poor old Duchess would cry after each of her 
 periodical failures ; and then Jeanne would kiss 
 her, wipe away her tears and comfort her, as a 
 mother comforts a fractious cliild. But tlie 
 Duchess, of course, did not die of vexation, and. 
 equally of course, Jeanne did not give way. 
 
 Algerian society, busying itself about its neigh- 
 bours' concerns witli no less gusto tlian all other 
 human communities, great and small, had several 
 explanations of Mademoiselle de Mersac's conduct 
 to offer. Some said she had formed an unfortu- 
 nate attachment ; others had discovered that the 
 one passion of her nature was an insatiable am- 
 bition, and that she aspired to some more splendid 
 alliance than could be looked for in a colony : 
 while the more charitable declared tliat she had 
 vowed to sacrifice her life to taking care of the 
 interests and well-being of her brother, to wlioni 
 her devotion was notorious, and whose habits, in-
 
 40 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 deed, had of late shown some dawning symptoms 
 of needing judicious supervision. Nobody, of 
 course, accepted the young lady's own assertion 
 that she had not yet met a man whom she cared 
 to contemplate as a husband, because nobody ever 
 does accept the most natural and probable solu- 
 tion of an enigma. It happened, however, to be 
 true. 
 
 At the same time, there was some foundation 
 for the statement that her brother's happiness, 
 rather than her own, was the chief aim and object 
 of Jeanne's existence. She had naturally strong 
 affections, and loved her species as well as most 
 of us and a good deal better than some ; but she 
 had not the power of interesting, or seeming to 
 interest, herself in the trivial concerns of people 
 of whom she knew nothing ; her manner was often 
 cold, and when she felt bored, she looked bored. 
 She was not, therefore, by any means universally 
 popular; nor, to tell the truth, did she greatly 
 covet popularity. Intimate friends she had none, 
 and, never having had any, did not regret their 
 absence. All the more did she long for the love 
 of those whom she herself loved ; and of this very 
 select few, Leon was, after her father's death, by 
 far the most important person. From his baby-
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 41 
 
 hood the boy had been her especial charge, and, 
 though she was by so Httle his senior, her influence 
 and authority over him were greater than those of 
 many a mother over her son. By instinct pro- 
 bably as much as by judgment she managed to 
 maintain that influence up to a time at which the 
 generahty of young men have httle respect for 
 their sisters' opinions. At the age of one-and- 
 twenty Leon had not abandoned the habit of con- 
 sulting Jeanne in every difficulty ; and if he had 
 any secrets from her, they were as yet few. In 
 matters connected with farming he woifld as soon 
 have thought of applying for advice to one of his 
 Arab grooms as to either of the excellent old 
 people who stood towards him, in some sort, in 
 the relation of parents ; but he seldom sold a 
 horse, or bought a strip of land, or concluded a 
 bargain of any kind, ^vithout having first taken 
 his sister's opinion ; and he was not far wrong, 
 for Jeanne had been at infinite pains to inform 
 herself upon all subjects affecting her brother's 
 welfare, and was not to be taken in as to the value 
 of horse or land by any sharp customer, whether 
 Christian or heathen. 
 
 Nor, while looking after Leon's pecuniary 
 interests, was Jeanne insensible to the advisability
 
 42 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 of his seeing something more of men and tlie 
 world than he could do in Algeria. She had 
 several battles to fight on this point with M. de 
 Fontvieille, who had seen the world in his time, 
 and thought that young men were best kept out of 
 it ; and with the Duchess, who considered that the 
 world had virtually come to an end with the deposi- 
 tion of Charles X., or at least that it was passing 
 through a period of interregnum during whicli 
 people of quality could but shrug their shoulders 
 and ignore it. She carried her point, however, 
 as quiet, persistent folks commonly do ; and thus 
 the young Marquis was jDcrmitted from time to 
 time to make journeys to Paris, upon one pretext 
 or another ; and derived therefrom amusement, 
 experience, and possibly some elements of ultimate 
 profit. 
 
 The periods of his absence were always di^eary 
 ones for Jeanne ; and on the ]}articular occasion 
 on which we have to make lier acquaintance, slie 
 was more than ordinarily anxious for the wan- 
 derer's return, both bec^ause he had been longer 
 away than usual, and because Ins trip had, this 
 time, extended as far as England, whither he liad 
 gone with the double object of juirchasing certain 
 articles of farm machinery and of introducing
 
 ^UDEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 43 
 
 himself to the surviving members of his mother's 
 family. Mademoiselle de Mersac, whose imper- 
 turbability was mistaken by most of her friends 
 for indifference, possessed (under proper control) 
 ■a very fair share of feminine inquisitiveness, and 
 she thought she would enjoy her breakfast more 
 if she put off eating it till she A\as able to combine 
 the necessary support of tlie flesh with gratifica- 
 tion of some legitimate curiosity as to the appear- 
 ance and manners of these unknown Engish 
 cousins. 
 
 She paced slowly up and down the gravel 
 paths, pausing every now and again to bend her 
 beautiful face over a freshly-opened rose or to 
 pull up a weed from the well-kept border. She 
 was not in a mood for occupation, and preferred 
 remaining out of doors, thougli the breeze had 
 died away and the sun was beating down with a 
 force which would have driven most people to seek 
 for shade. But Jeanne, unlike the generality of 
 Southerners, had no fear of tlie sun's ravs. She 
 seated herself presently upon a low bench, and 
 contemplated with dreamy satisfaction the broad, 
 ghttering stretch of sea which no longer separat d 
 her from her brother. 
 
 The air was hushed and drowsv ; there was
 
 44 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 not a breath of wind to set the bananas and bam~ 
 boos whispering ; the fountain had ceased to play 
 (for water is a precious commodity in Algeria, and 
 must not be too unsparingly made use of) ; the 
 house, behind whose closely-shut green persiennes 
 Madame la Duchesse was even now making her 
 toilette with the assistance of her maid, was silent 
 as the grave. Only, from the distant stables, 
 came the sound of an occasional stamp or a half- 
 smothered hinny. The world was taking its noon- 
 day siesta ; and it almost seemed to Jeanne as if 
 old Time himself had yielded to the slumberous 
 influence, and was indulging himself with a short 
 nap, so slowly did the minutes move. At length, 
 after having consulted her watch half-a-dozen 
 times, and held it to her ear to ascertain that it 
 had not stopped, she made a brief calculation. 
 
 ' Ten minutes to get on shore — a quarter of an 
 hour at the Custom-house — half an hour to canter 
 up the hill — and, say, another ten minutes to talk 
 to any friends he may meet in the town — that 
 makes an hour and five minutes,' she murmured. 
 ' According to that, he ought to be here almost 
 immediately.' 
 
 And, sure enough, before the words were well 
 past her lips, there came from the distance a sound
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 45 
 
 which made her start to her feet — the steady trot, 
 trot of a couple of horses upon the high road. 
 More faintly for a moment or two, then loud and 
 clear again came the rhythmic beat of the hoofs, 
 drawing rapidly nearer and nearer till they halted 
 at length within a few yards of the anxious 
 listener's ear. The creaking gates swung open ; 
 there was a stamping and crushing of the gravel ; 
 and Jeanne, stepping out from behind the cy- 
 presses which bordered the avenue, with a glad 
 smile of welcome illumining her face, met — a well- 
 mounted Arab groom conducting a led horse. 
 
 The man pulled up at once, threw his leg 
 over his horse's head, slid to the ground, thrust 
 his hand into one of the pockets of his baggy 
 breeches, and, after fumbling for a time in ap- 
 parently unfathomable depths, captured a scrap 
 of paper which, with a low bow, he held out to 
 his young mistress. Jeanne took it, and read the 
 following words, hastily scrawled in pencil : ' Ar- 
 rived safe and sound. Saint-Luc has persuaded 
 me to breakfast with him at the Hotel d' Orient. 
 Shall be with you before dinner-time. I embrace 
 you a thousand times. — Leox. If you were in- 
 chned to be very amiable you might just walk 
 round to the yard, and see that Hamid lets the
 
 46 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 grey cool before taking off his saddle. You know 
 what the rascal is ; and I cannot afford to have 
 another horse marked for life by a sore back/ 
 
 Jeanne had at all times an almost perfect com- 
 mand of feature. With a heart aching with dis- 
 appointment and mortification, and a sense of 
 injury somewhat greater perhaps than her brother's 
 thoughtless offence merited, she was nevertheless, 
 to all outward seeming, entirely unmoved. She 
 folded up the scrap of paper deliberately, dis- 
 missed the untrustworthy Hamid with a smile and 
 a nod, and presently, in pursuance of the direc- 
 tions she had received, followed him to the stable- 
 yard. A colony of dogs, large and small, came 
 out to meet her, and cringed at her feet, or leapt 
 up upon her, according to their several ages and 
 characters ; a jackal, chained to his kennel, flew 
 wildly backwards and forwards, at the utmost 
 limit of his tether, till he choked and nearly made 
 himself sick ; a wild boar, also chained, bounced 
 out from a barrel, in which he had been concealed, 
 and stood blinking his angry little red eyes, and 
 snorting a welcome ; and a peacock, after sidling 
 doubtfully round the outskirts of the canine escort 
 and establishing his authority by one or two 
 savage pecks at a small woolly pup, swept up to
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 47 
 
 her side with the conscious dignity of an assured 
 favourite. She had a caress for each and all of 
 them ; it was never Jeanne's way to vent her 
 vexation upon her surroundings. She scratched 
 the boar's back with the tip of her parasol, rea- 
 soned with the impetuous jackal, played with 
 the dogs, and fed the peacock just as usual ; and it 
 was not until she had seen the gTey horse led away 
 into his stable that she turned and walked slowly 
 towards the house. A huge white Pyrenean dog, 
 the only one of the pets who had the privilege of 
 crossing the threshold, stalked solemnly after her. 
 Meeting her old nurse in the hall, she begged 
 her to order breakfast, mentioning that M. Leon 
 had arrived safely, but that he would not be home 
 before dinner-time. ' Did I not teU you so ? * 
 cried Fanchette triumphantly. But Jeanne made 
 no reply. What Fanchette's prediction might 
 have been did not seem to her a matter of much 
 importance ; the lamentable fact was that her 
 brother had preferred the company of a chance 
 acquaintance to her own ; and she was foolish 
 enough to take this shght so much to heart that it 
 was only with difficulty that she managed to 
 swallow a small portion of the repast which was 
 shortly set before her.
 
 48 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 « 
 
 This task accomplished, she rose from the 
 table and betook herself to the drawing-room 
 followed by Tiirco, the hound before mentioned. 
 
 The salon of the Campagne de Mersac was the 
 pride of its owners and the envy of its neighbours. 
 It was in the older portion of the building, of 
 which, indeed, it occupied the entire length ; and, 
 after the usual Moorish plan, was oblong in shape 
 and had a deep recess, or marabout^ jutting out 
 on either side. One of these, which had several 
 narrow, pointed windows commanding a wide 
 view of the sea, was partly filled by a mass of 
 ferns and flowering- plants, while that facing it 
 had been fitted up as a small library, and displayed 
 well-bound editions of Eacine, Corneille, Montes- 
 quieu, Fenelon, and other unexceptionable writers ; 
 for the Duchesse de Breuil did not approve of 
 indiscriminate reading for young people, and kept 
 such unprofitable modern works as she required 
 for her own amusement carefully under lock and 
 key upstairs. The room was rather dark owing 
 to the smallness of the windows and the great 
 thickness of the walls — for here, as always, the 
 design of the old Moorish builders had been to ex- 
 clude sunshine and heat — but it was not too dark ; 
 only pleasantly dim, cool, and silent, and the
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 49 
 
 delicate tracery of the white plaster arabesques on 
 the walls showed to greater advantage in the 
 semi-obsciirity than it would have done in a 
 stronger light. The glazed blue and white tiles 
 of the floor had not been altogether hidden from 
 view by a carpet, as is the case in some Algerian 
 houses ; but some handsome Turkey rugs had 
 been placed here and there, and there were two 
 fine lion-skins, trophies of the success of the old 
 Marquis's gun in the days of his early life in the 
 African colony. The fmrniture, though not very 
 fresh or modern in type, was sohd and comfort- 
 able ; nor was there any lack of luxurious sofas 
 and arm-chairs. 
 
 Beside tlie fireplace, where a wood fire was 
 blazing cheerfully, stood a deep, low fauteuil^ 
 which Jeanne .now proceeded to prepare for the 
 only person who was ever pei*mitled to occupy it. 
 She arranged the cushions, dragged up a footstool 
 and a small table, on which last she placed a vase 
 full of fresh roses, and then, stationing herself in 
 the marabout^ stood, with her hands behind her 
 back, gazing out rather sadly on the sunny pros- 
 pect till the rustle of a silk dress behind her made 
 her turn round. 
 
 A little, bent, withered old lady, beautifully 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 MADEMOISELLE BE MERSAC. 
 
 (Tressed, came in, leaning on a stick, and glanced 
 sharply from side to side. Then slie walked 
 straight up to Turco, who was lying outstretched 
 in the middle of the room flapping his tail 
 sleepily in token of welcome, and prodded him 
 in the ribs. 
 
 ' That dog has sworn to bring about my death,* 
 said she, shaking her stick at the delinquent. 
 ' He knows very well that a fall would be fatal at 
 my age, and that I cannot see two inches before 
 my nose, when I come into this dark room from 
 outside ; and so lie deliberately places himself in 
 my path, hoping that I shall trip over him, come 
 down, and break every bone in my body. For- 
 tunately, Nature has made him white ; if he had 
 been a brown or a black monster, I should have 
 been in the Kingdom of Heaven months ago.' 
 
 Jeanne advanced and kissed the old lady's 
 hand, after the graceful old fashion to which she 
 had been trained, and led her to her armchair. 
 
 The Duchess sank down among the cushions, 
 aiTanged her dress so that it fell in graceful folds 
 about her, placed her tiny feet upon the footstool, 
 and then, raising her eyebrows interrogatively — 
 
 ' And Leon? ' said she. 
 
 'He will not be home before dinner-time,'
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 51 
 
 answered Jeanne. ' Hamid brought me a liiu' 
 from him to say that he had arrived, but tliat 
 he was stopping to breakfast in the town.' 
 
 * To breakfast in the town ! ' echoed the old 
 lady sharply; 'why should he do that? It is 
 not kind — it is a want of respect to nie. Oh, my 
 dear, I understand wluU you mean by your calm 
 face ! To you a few hours more or less may 
 seem a small matter ; but at my age every moment 
 of time has its value ; and besides that, I don't 
 like to think that my boy cares so little about 
 seeing us again that he is ready to turn aside, as 
 soon as he lands, to breakfast Avith tlie first one 
 he meets. Who is his friend ? ' 
 
 ' M. de Saint-Luc, I believe.' 
 
 The Duchess's features relaxed perceptibly. 
 ' Well, well,' she said, ' he might have remembered 
 that we should be longing to embrace him ; but 
 yoimg men will be thoughtless ; and at least I am 
 glad that he chooses his friends well. That M. (!<- 
 Saint-Luc is charming — quite charming ! ' 
 
 There is a certain method of assertion, as 
 everybody knows, which seems to court denial ; and 
 there is a certain kind of silence which is infinitelv 
 more aggravating than the flattest contradiction. 
 The Duchess found her encomium on M. de Saint- 
 
 E 2 
 
 ^'^;;;s.n of .amo,s
 
 52 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 Luc met with such imperturbable and emphatic 
 speechlessness on the part of Jeanne that she could 
 not help adding, with a considerable spice of 
 irritability — 
 
 ' You do not like M. de Saint-Luc. But this 
 is of course. If a man be clever, gentlemanly, 
 agreeable, superior to the ordinary run — if he 
 please me, in short — that is sufficient. You ask 
 no better reason for honouring him w^th your 
 detestation.' 
 
 Jeanne smiled slightly, and put a fresh log 
 upon the fire. 
 
 ' After all,' resumed the Duchess, ' what can 
 you have to say against M. de Saint-Luc ? ' 
 
 'I have said nothing against him, madame,' 
 replied Jeanne, who, it must be allowed, was far 
 more exasperating at times than she had any 
 knowledge or intention of being. 
 
 ' No ; but you look as if you could say a 
 great deal if you chose, and that is much worse. 
 And it is ridiculous, too, because it is impossible 
 that you can know anything to his disadvan- 
 tage.' 
 
 The latter part of this remark was made in so 
 interrogative a tone that Jeanne could scarcely 
 avoid making some reply to it. So she said in
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 58 
 
 her slow, deKberate way, ' I do not think liim a 
 good friend for Leon.' 
 
 The Duchess emitted a short, high laugh. 
 ' In that case of coiu:se there is nothing more to 
 be said. Your knowledge of the world is so gTeat, 
 your experience is naturally so much larger than 
 mine, you are so well acquainted with the private 
 lives of young men, that it only remains for us to 
 warn Leon against having anything further to do 
 with M. de Saint-Luc' 
 
 Speeches of this kind seldom annoyed Jeanne. 
 8he had too little amour propre to be stimg by 
 such tiny shafts of sarcasm. 
 
 'I have already done that,' she remarked 
 quietly. 
 
 ' Really ! and in spite of that it seems that 
 Leon persists in choosing his own friends for him- 
 self ]\Iight one ventm-e to inquke what M. de 
 Saint-Luc has done to incur your dislike ? ' 
 
 'I neither like nor dishke him,' answered 
 Jeanne, with a shght disdainful gesture ; ' I care 
 nothing about him. But I do not think his com- 
 pany is likely to do Leon any good. He is a 
 gambler ; he has dissipated his fortune by betting 
 and card-playing in Paris.' 
 
 This happened to be true, and the Duchess
 
 54 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 knew it. But she had her own reasons for wish- 
 ing to represent M. de Saint-Luc in a favourable 
 hght. 
 
 ' Bah I follies of youth — what w^ould you 
 have ? ' she returned, shrugging her shoulders. 
 ' The best of men are often a little wald at starting. 
 Look at our good M. de Fontvieille. I recollect 
 him as one of the most notorious viveurs of his 
 day. M. de Saint-Luc will settle down, and 
 become as good a husband and father as a 
 thousand others.' 
 
 ' Very possibly,' said Jeanne. ' I was not 
 thinking of M. de Saint-Luc's future, but of his 
 influence upon Leon, whom you would hardly 
 Hke to see following his example.' 
 
 ' Leon is different,' answered the Duchess de- 
 cisively. ' Leon is a man of principles : he will 
 not be easily lead astray.' 
 
 And this assertion Jeanne did not see fit to 
 contradict. 
 
 ' But I think,' resumed the Duchess, recurring, 
 after a pause, to her original grievance, ' I think 
 Leon should have paid me the compliment of 
 coming here before visiting other friends : age is 
 not respected now as it was in my time. He 
 might have remembered, too, that this is my
 
 M.\DEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. OO 
 
 reception-day, and that it would be liiglily incon- 
 venient if he should present himself when the 
 room is full of people. If he should arrive early, 
 Jeanne, you must go out and keep him away till 
 I am alone ; I cannot let myself be agitated in 
 the presence of strangers. I have no longer the 
 strength that I once had ; and I begin to dread 
 this weekly crowd of visitors. It is only for your 
 sake, my child, that I continue to receive at all. 
 Were I living alone, I should shut myself up with 
 my books and my memories till the time came for 
 me to leave this wearv world.'
 
 56 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAG. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MONSIEUR LE MARQUIS. 
 
 It was the Diicliess's custom to speak plaintively 
 of the necessity she felt herself to be under of 
 mixing in Algerian society. ' A crowd of colo- 
 nists, of small officials, of officers en retraite and 
 their wives —judge whether I find the conversation 
 of these people amusing ! ' she would sigh some- 
 times to her intimates. But in truth she greatly 
 enjoyed patronising the good folks of whom she 
 spoke so slightingly, and was happier on Monday 
 (which was her reception-day) than on any other 
 day of the seven. Nor was she wholly dependent 
 for companionship upon the three above-mentioned 
 classes. A few Legitimist families — offshoots, 
 more or less poverty-stricken, of the great houses 
 whose names they bore — had established them- 
 selves in the neighbourhood of Algiers ; and of 
 their support in the fatiguing task of entertaining 
 her inferiors the Duchess was as sure as she was
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 57 
 
 of their affection and reverence. Surrounded by 
 these, the old lady held her little weekly court, 
 and dispensed smiles and frowns with all the ju- 
 dicious tact of a reicrnincr sovereis^n. There had 
 been a time when the favourable notice of the 
 Duchesse de Breuil was not only a passport into 
 the highest circles of the Parisian world, but often 
 carried with it more substantial advantages ; but 
 those days were gone and well-nigh forgotten, 
 like the ministers, the great ladies, the oflSice- 
 seekers, and the toadies who had played their 
 little parts under Charles X., and had long since 
 been replaced by other sets of actors who knew 
 them not nor cared for them. Xow, in her old 
 age, it pleased the Duchess to think that some 
 remnant of power still clung to her, were it only 
 that of leading the most exclusive set in a colony. 
 If some of the younger and more fashionable 
 Algerian ladies laughed at her a httle behind her 
 back, we may be sure that they controlled their 
 features and were mighty respectful in her presence ; 
 for, after all, a duchess of the old nobility is a 
 duchess, be she never so antiquated and over- 
 looked ; and as Madame de Breuil's door was not 
 by any means open to all comers, such of the 
 officials of the Second Empire as she chose to re-
 
 58 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 ceive seldom missed an opportunity of paying 
 their respects to lier, and looked upon her re* 
 cognition of them as in some sort a brevet of 
 rank. 
 
 Monday afternoons, therefore, usually saw a 
 sufficiency of equipages and pedestrians toiling up 
 the hill to El-Biar, and the particular Monday 
 afternoon with which we are concerned was no 
 exception to the general rule. Shortly before 
 four o'clock the visitors began to arrive, and soon 
 the room was nearly filled by a somewhat hetero- 
 geneous assemblage. There were stern Legitimist 
 dames and sleek Imperial functionaries ; a tur- 
 baned Moor and a dignitary of the Church ; a 
 Chasseur d'Afrique or two, resplendent in blue 
 and silver and scarlet ; and a sprinkling of 
 foreigners domiciled temporarily in Algiers by 
 the doctor's orders. A little posse of Enghsh ladies 
 had walked up from the town to pay their re- 
 spects, and displayed their stout walking-boots 
 and short dresses in blissful unconsciousness that 
 by presenting themselves in such a costume they 
 were committing a solecism in good manners 
 which nothing but a profound conviction of the 
 utter barbarity of their nation could have induced 
 the Duchess to pardon. These good people were
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 59* 
 
 soon passed on to Jeanne, who liked the English 
 and spoke our language easily ; the Duchess pre- 
 ferred that the place of honour beside her chair 
 should be occupied by some more entertaining 
 person. She enjoyed gossip, though she affected 
 to despise it, and seldom failed to glean a large 
 fund of amusement from her reception day. She 
 was probably the only person in the room who 
 did ; for visits of ceremony, which are dismal 
 affairs enough, heaven knows, in this country, are 
 ten times worse in France ; and the Duchess chose 
 that her receptions should maintain a character of 
 the strictest formahty. 
 
 The ladies, who were grouped in the \icinity 
 of their hostess, seldom spoke unless she addressed 
 them ; their husbands, who sat in a band at a 
 sliort distance off, accurately dressed in frock- 
 coats and varnished boots, smoothed their chimney- 
 pot hats and conversed together in an undertone ; 
 there was no laughter ; no one was, or was in- 
 tended to be, quite at his ease. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon, and a good many 
 of the Duchess's friends had already effected their 
 escape, when a lady was announced, at the sound 
 of whose name all the matrons present assumed an 
 aspect of extreme severity, while the Duchess her-
 
 -60 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 self became very rigid about the backbone as she 
 rose slowly to receive her visitor. 
 
 ' How do you do, Madame de Tremonville ? ' 
 said she, extending a little, lifeless hand. 
 
 The new-comer, a young and very pretty 
 woman, dressed in the extreme of the fashion, but 
 in perfect taste, took the stiff five fingers thus 
 proffered to her between both her own primrose- 
 kidded palms, and pressed them affectionately. 
 
 'Charmed to see you looking so well, dear 
 madame,' she murmured, in a soft, caressing voice. 
 *You grow younger— positively younger — every 
 year.' 
 
 ' I am an old woman,' answered the Duchess 
 curtly ; ' but my health is tolerably good, thank 
 God ! For the rest, I did not ruin my constitu- 
 tion when I was young, like some people.' 
 
 ' Like me, riest-ce pas f Alas ! dear madame, 
 what would you ? There are some natures which 
 require excitement, and there are others which are 
 contented with mere existence. As for me, I 
 must be amused. If I shorten my life, ma foi ! 
 so much the better : I could never endure to grow 
 old and ugly. Ah, Madame de Vaublanc, a thou- 
 sand pardons ! I did not see you. Pray do not 
 think of giving up your chair to me — well, if you
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MEKSAC. 61 
 
 insist, I will take your place beside our dear 
 Duchess for a few minutes. Slie is a little deaf, 
 you know.' 
 
 And Madame de Tremonville sank into the 
 armchair vacated by the grim old lady to whom 
 she had addressed herself. 
 
 Now. as the Duchess was not in the least deaf, 
 as the chair at her side was never taken, even by 
 her most intimate friends, except by invitation, 
 and as its late occupant had never for a moment 
 entertained any notion of cedmg it, it will be per- 
 ceived that Madame de Tremonville was a lady of 
 considerable assurance and aplomb. She sank, 
 not ungracefully, into the vacant place, and bent 
 forward towards the Duchess in such a manner 
 as almost to turn her back upon the rest of the 
 company. 
 
 ' And when,' she asked, after having monopo- 
 lised the attention of her hostess during a good 
 five minutes, to the immense disgust of the old 
 ladies, who sat grimly and silently surveying her, 
 ' and when may we hope for the return of om- 
 httle Marquis ? ' 
 
 ' It is of my godson that you speak, madame ? 
 We expect him to-day,' answered the Duchess in 
 her iciest tone.
 
 62 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 ' A la bonne heure ! He will bring us news 
 from Paris — ah ! just heaven, how I wish I were 
 back there ! — yes ; he will have news to tell us ; 
 and he is very naif and amusing, your little Mar- 
 quis. He used to honour my poor house with 
 his company tolerably often before he went away. 
 You know that I have the pretension to make him 
 into a good Buonapartist.' 
 
 At the calm effrontery of this speech a thrill 
 of horror pervaded the entire room, starting with 
 Madame de Vaublanc, and ending with little M. 
 Moineau, who was sitting alone near the door 
 rubbing his nose with his gold-headed cane, and 
 who shuddered from head to foot when the words, 
 which were spoken rather loudly, as if in sheer 
 bravado, reached his ear. He was liimself a 
 staunch adherent of the established government — 
 by whose favour, indeed, lie held tlie small ap- 
 pointment to which he was indebted for his daily 
 bread — but he would no more have dared to 
 allude to his political opinions in the presence of 
 Madame la Duchesse than to mention the Comte 
 de Chambord before his own chief. 
 
 The Duchess, however, showed no sign of 
 anger, but merely replied with a slight, disdainful
 
 M.\DEMOISELLE BE MERSAC. G3 
 
 smile : ' I fear you have imposed upon yourself a 
 difficult task, madame.' 
 
 In truth the old lady did not think her anta- 
 gonist worth powder and shot, and honestly be- 
 lieved that Madame de Tremonville belonged to a 
 class so infinitely beneath her own as to preclude 
 even the possibility of an encounter between them. 
 The woman was very impertinent, certainly, Init 
 so are the gamins in the streets ; there is a kind 
 of impertinence which cannot rise to the level of 
 an affront. 
 
 But Madame de Vaublanc probably took a 
 less lofty view of lier station, for slie hastened to 
 accept the challenge which the Duchess liad 
 ignored. 
 
 ' It seems to me, madame,' said she, in her 
 thin, acid voice, that you misht well leave M. 
 le Marquis in peace. If all tliat I hear is true, 
 your house is frequented from morning to night 
 and from night to morning by every officer in 
 Alsders ; one youniz man more or less can 
 scarcely signify to you.' 
 
 ' Oh, madame, you flatter me ! ' answered 
 Madame de Tremonville, turning I'ound, with a 
 pleasant smile, to face her assailant. ' It i< true
 
 64 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 that some of these gentlemen are kind enough to 
 come, from time to time, and try to preserve me 
 from dying of ennui in this horrible place ; but 
 every officer in Algiers — oh, no ! my little villa 
 has neither accommodation nor attractions enough 
 for so large a society. Your friends have exag- 
 gerated to you, dear Madame de Vaublanc. Be- 
 sides, you conceive that one must have a little 
 variety. I have the greatest possible admiration 
 for our brave army, but I do not desire to live in 
 a world inhabited only by soldiers. M. de Mer- 
 sac, who, I assure you, honours me by his visits 
 entirely of his own free will, amuses me some- 
 times, and you would not be so cruel as to wish 
 to deprive me of any amusement I can get in this 
 deplorable country.* 
 
 ' If you do not like Algiers, why do you stay 
 here, madame ? ' cried Madame de Vaublanc. 
 ' M. de Tremonville, at least, has some reasons, I 
 suppose, for finding it advisable to remain where 
 he is.' 
 
 ' If so, he has not communicated them to me,' 
 returned Madame de Tremonville, with a slight 
 shrug of her shoulders. ' As for the miserable 
 httle salary which he receives from his appoint- 
 ment here, you will easily believe that that can
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 65 
 
 scarcely influence him. He accepted it, in the 
 first instance, out of regard for my lieahh, and he 
 has continued to hold it — heaven knows why ! I 
 daresay we shall go away soon. In the meantime 
 one endeavom^s to be as cheerful as one can. 
 Why do you never join our httle reunions, dear 
 madame? Come without ceremony any Thursday 
 evening ; we shall be enchanted to see you ; you 
 will be the life of our party.' 
 
 At this audacious proposition Madame de 
 Vaublanc nearly choked with anger. Madame 
 de Tremonville was young, pretty, and had not 
 the best of reputations. Shocking stories were 
 told of her extravagance, of her card parties, of 
 her flirtations. (There is no Frencli word for 
 flirtation, and Madame de Vaublanc qualified the 
 lady's conduct by a less ambiguous term.) She 
 had an indomitable courage, a perfect command 
 of herself, and a complexion as beautiful as the 
 best rouge and hlanc-de-perles could make it ; 
 whereas the poor old Vaublanc was ugly, wrinkled, 
 irreproachable, and cross, and turned of a dusky- 
 red colour when she w^as angered. The combat 
 was an unequal one, and the elder lady hastened 
 to retire from it. 
 
 ' Allow me, at least, to choose my own friends, 
 
 VOL. L P
 
 66 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 inaclame,' she muttered, drumming with her foot 
 on the floor. 
 
 ' PMt-il ? ' murmured Madame de Tremonville 
 softly, turning open eyes of innocent wonder upon 
 the silent company. 
 
 The ungrateful old Duchess laughed, and 
 several of tlie gentlemen put their hands over 
 their mouths aixl stroked their moustaches re- 
 flectively. 
 
 Nobody was very fond of Madame de Yaublanc, 
 who, like many other virtuous people, was apt to 
 be a little hard upon the pleasant vices of her 
 neighbours ; and some of those who had suffered 
 from her strictures upon their conduct were not 
 ill-pleased to see her thus publicly discomfited, 
 although her assailant was an Imperialist, a 
 woman of no family, and one who was only ad- 
 mitted upon sufferance into their coterie. Even 
 so, when certain statesmen are attacked in Parlia- 
 ment, and wince under the lash, those wdio sit 
 behind them may sometimes watch with perfect 
 equanimity the tribulation of their leaders, and 
 even quietly chuckle over the same. An occasional 
 touch of the rod is wholesome discipline for an 
 over-proud spirit. 
 
 Madame de Tremonville knew better than to
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 67 
 
 linger too long upon tlie scene of her small victory. 
 In a very few minutes she got up, took a cordial 
 farewell of the Duchess, and swept graceftdly down 
 the room, bowing as she went to several of the 
 company, who had risen to let her pass. Jeanne 
 held the door open for her. 
 
 ' Adieu, mademoiselle,' she said, with a fasci- 
 nating smile ; ' hien des chases a monsieur voire 
 rere. 
 
 Whereat Jeanne bowed gravely, but vouch- 
 safed no reply. 
 
 A torrent of shrill ejaculations followed the 
 audacious lady's exit. ' What a woman ! ' — 
 ' What insolence ! ' — ' What an impossible cos- 
 tume ! And did you remark that she was rouged 
 up to her eyes ? ' — ' Decidedly one must renounce 
 the idea of recei\ing these people, if they know so 
 httle how to conduct themselves.' — ' To say that 
 M. le Marquis was in the habit of visiting her — has 
 one ever heard such impertinence ! Xaturally there 
 could be no truth in what she said.' — ' Oh, madame, 
 one does not give oneself the trouble to contradict 
 falsehoods so transparent ! ' — '* Ah, dear Madame 
 de Yaublanc, you did well to put her back in her 
 proper place I ' 
 
 In the midst of this indignant chorus Fan-
 
 68 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 chette's withered face was thrust through the half- 
 open door. She beckoned stealthily to Jeanne, 
 who got up at once, and slipped unnoticed out of 
 the room. 
 
 ' Well ? * she said eagerly, as soon as she had 
 joined the old nurse in the hall. 
 
 ' Well — he has arrived ; he is waiting for you 
 in the dining-room. Come here, that I may 
 arrange your hair ; you have lost half-a-dozen 
 hair-pins.' 
 
 But Jeanne, waving the old woman off, passed 
 quickly into the dining-room, and closed the 
 door behind her. 
 
 A tall young man was standing, with his 
 hands in his pockets, looking out of the window 
 and whistling softl5^ He whisked round at the 
 noise of Jeanne's entrance, and showed a hand- 
 some, oval, beardless face, which broke into smiles 
 as he embraced his sister. 
 
 ' You good old Jeanne ! ' he cried. ' I knew 
 you would not be long in coming after you had 
 heard of my arrival. And how are you? 
 And what have you been doing with yourself all 
 these weeks ? I shall make it a habit to go away 
 oftener, that I may the oftener have the pleasure 
 of seeing your dear old face again. You may
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 69 
 
 believe me or not as you like, but it is infinitely 
 the most beautiful face I ever saw, alive or 
 painted.' 
 
 Jeanne laughed and sighed in a breath. ' How 
 long will you think that, I wonder ? ' she said. 
 
 • As long as I live,' replied the young man with 
 conviction. ' I flatter myself I am not a bad judge, 
 and I assure you that there is not a woman in 
 the world to compare with you. I am not alone 
 in my opinion either, let me tell you.' 
 
 ' I don't care what other people think of me,' 
 she answered quickly. ' If you love me better 
 than anyone else, that is all I want.' 
 
 ' You are glad to have me back, then ? ' 
 
 ' Glad ! ' Jeanne threw an emphasis into the 
 word which ought to have satisfied her hearer. 
 She clung to him, and kissed him again and again 
 with a vehemence which. Frenchman as he was, 
 disconcerted him a little. He reddened shghtly, 
 and laughed as he gently disengaged himself. 
 
 ' One would think you meant to stifle me,' he 
 said. ' What would your friends in the drawing- 
 room say, if they could see you? They would 
 hardly recognise the statuesque Mademoiselle de 
 Mersac' 
 
 ' I am not Mademoiselle de Mersac to you ; I
 
 70 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 am Jeanne, wlio is quite another person. Jeanne 
 has many defects which are not apparent in Ma- 
 demoiselle de Mersac — that of inquisitiveness 
 amongst others. Come and sit down in the arm- 
 chair, and tell me all about England and the 
 famille Ashley.' 
 
 Leon seated himself. ' The famille Ashley,' 
 said he, with a shrug of his shoulders, ' resembles 
 all other English families ; and as for their country, 
 I left it without any desire to see it again. AH 
 that one has read of the climate of that island is 
 not in the least exaggerated — quite the contrary. 
 During the whole time that I was at my uncle's 
 house w^e saw the sun twice, and even then you 
 could hardly have distinguished him from the 
 moon.' 
 
 ' It is a bad time of the year to go to Eng- 
 land, I suppose. But the people — what were they 
 like?' 
 
 ' Our relations you mean ? Ma foi I it is not 
 so easy to describe them : they are so very like all 
 their compatriots. Figure to yourself a hon papa 
 anglais, bald, rosy, stout ; a mother of a family, 
 badly dressed, rather untidy, always in a hurry ; 
 two young misses with pretty faces and fair hair, 
 but with feet of a size that would make you
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 71 
 
 shudder, and ill-fitting, one-buttoned gloves — 
 there you have the party. The sons are away 
 from home — in the army, in the navy — I know 
 not where. They received me very kindly, these 
 good people ; but I did not amuse myself very 
 well in their house. You know I have not yom* 
 love for the English. I find them rude and 
 brusque, and I do not understand the jokes at 
 which they laugh so immoderately. I was very 
 dull chez mon onde. Twice we went to the chasse 
 cm renard, and they were so kind as to compli- 
 ment me upon my riding ; other days we shot 
 pheasants, of which there is a great abundance in 
 the neighbourhood ; but, as my uncle has no 
 chasse of his own, we could only do this by invita- 
 tion, and there were several days on whicli I was 
 left to be entertained by my aunt and cousins. 
 Ah ! par exemple, it was then that I wished myself 
 back in Algiers. The misses are a little insipid : 
 they visit the poor ; they do a gTcat deal of fancy 
 work ; they drink tea half the afternoon ; they 
 have not much conversation. After dinner my 
 uncle falls asleep and snores; I play a partie of 
 billiards with the ladies ; and then comes the 
 evening prayer. I, as a Catholic, am invited to 
 retire, if the ceremony ofiends my prejudices. I
 
 72 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 reply that I am not a bigot ; and the ladies smile 
 upon me. Then the servants make their entry — a 
 formidable array. The butler and the house- 
 keeper seat themselves upon chairs ; but the others, 
 to mark the inferiority of their position, I presume, 
 carry in a long bench, and perch themselves un- 
 comfortably upon it ; some of them appear ill at 
 ease, and breathe noisily. My uncle puts on his spec- 
 tacles and reads a chapter hastily, stumbling over 
 the long words. Generally one of the dogs barks, 
 and the misses titter behind their hands. When 
 we rise from our knees everybody goes to bed, 
 and I seek my room disconsolately, not being 
 sleepy, and longing for tobacco. On the second 
 night I take my courage in both hands and ask 
 permission to smoke a cigar somewhere. My 
 uncle, who does not smoke hinaself, has no fiwioir 
 in his establishment ; so I am led by the butler to 
 a little dark room in the basement, where there 
 are black-beetles. He gives me a candle and bids 
 me good night. It is not gay. There, my sister, 
 you have life at Holmhurst. One day resembles 
 another, as the clothes, the habits, the pleasures of 
 one Englishman resemble those of another. It is 
 a country of monotony, and there is nothing the 
 average Englishman dreads so much as being
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE ifERSAC. 73 
 
 different from his neighbours. Here and tliere, 
 no doubt, there are exceptions ; and it was my 
 good fortune to come across such a one in the 
 person of a certain Mr. Barrington, a neighbour of 
 the Ashleys, who, I must admit, has all the good 
 qualities of his nation without its faults. He has 
 travelled a great deal ; he speaks very good 
 French ; he is without insular prejudices ; he is a 
 rider, a shot, a dancer, an artist — in short, every- 
 thing that he does he does admirably. I owe it to 
 him that I did not perish of ennui at that terrible 
 Holmhurst. He is a man altogether hors ligne.' 
 
 ' You are as enthusiastic as ever, Leon,' re- 
 marked Jeanne, smiling. ' You can praise no one 
 by halves.' 
 
 ' Oh, as for that, everybody joins in praising 
 Mr. Barrington ! They rave about him in his 
 province ; and as he has a nice little property of 
 his own and has no near relations, I leave you to 
 guess whether the young ladies of the neighbour- 
 hood look upon him with favourable eyes. I think 
 even that the eldest of the Ashley misses would 
 willingly consent to make his happiness. But he 
 has assured me that he means to remaui a bachelor 
 for the present ; he is not the man to marry la 
 premiere venue.'
 
 74 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 ' It seems that lie appreciates his own value — 
 your friend.' 
 
 ' Not at all ; he is the most modest man in the 
 world. For the rest, you will probably see 
 him to-morrow, and will be able to judge for 
 yourself.' 
 
 ' What ? Is he here, then ? ' asked Jeanne, in 
 some surprise. 
 
 Leon nodded. ' He generally goes abroad for 
 a month or two at this time of the year ; and as 
 he had never been in Algeria I easily persuaded 
 him to accompany me home. I am sure he will 
 please you — even you, who detest all men. Tenez^ 
 he has this advantage, Mr. Barrington — that, being 
 a heretic, the Duchess cannot wish you to marry 
 him.' 
 
 ' Certainly that is a point in his favour,' ob- 
 served Jeanne, gravely. ' And where have you 
 left this paragon ? ' 
 
 ' At the Hotel d'Orient. It was there that I 
 met Saint-Luc ; and I thought it a good oppor- 
 tunity to introduce him to Mr. Barrington, who 
 might have found it a little dull, having no friends 
 in the place.' 
 
 * So that was the reason of your staying to 
 breakfast with M. de Saint-Luc ? And I was so
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE :\IERSAC. tD 
 
 unjust as to blame you for not coming liome imme- 
 diately/ said Jeanne, with much contrition. ' I 
 might have known that you would not remain 
 away for your own pleasure.' 
 
 Leon laughed a little uneasily. He was \'ery 
 young, and had an intermittent conscience, which 
 asserted itself now and then — not always at the 
 most appropriate times. 
 
 ' I wanted to see Saint-Luc on my own account, 
 also,' he confessed ; ' I had a note from him, 
 while I was away, about the grey horse which he 
 wished to buy of me ; and I have the pleasure to 
 announce to you that I have now disposed of that 
 valuable animal on very favourable terms.' 
 
 ' The grey is a little gone in both fore-legs ; 
 M. de Saint-Luc knows that very well,' said 
 Jeanne quickl}'. 
 
 ' That has not prevented him from giving me 
 his httle brown ponies in exchange for him,' re- 
 pHed Leon, with modest triumph. ' It is not a bad 
 bargain, is it ? Saint-Luc told me you had diiven 
 them once, and were delighted with them.' 
 
 ' You cannot dispose of the grey upon those 
 terms,' said Jeanne decisively. 'M. de Saint -Luc 
 must be perfectly well aware that the grey is not 
 worth as much as one of his ponies.'
 
 76 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 ' That may or may not be ; but it was he who 
 suggested the exchange/ 
 
 ' Naturally ; I never imagined that you 
 would have proposed anything so absurd. The 
 affair is not difficult to understand. M. de Saint- 
 Luc has probably his reasons for wishing to be 
 agreeable to you, and therefore he offers you his 
 ponies at less than half their proper price. It is 
 the purest impertinence.' 
 
 'It is a pleasant form of impertinence at least,' 
 returned Leon, laughing. ' Parhleu ! I wish a 
 few other people would take it into their heads 
 to be impertinent in the same way.' 
 
 ' You do not understand,' said Jeanne, in great 
 vexation. ' Do you not see that M. de Saint-Luc 
 is making you a present ? ' 
 
 ' No, I don't,' answered Leon ; ' I don't see it 
 at all. A horse is not like a measure of oats or 
 corn ; you can't put a definite price upon him and 
 say, " That is his real actual value in the market." 
 Saint-Luc has taken a fancy to the grey, and is 
 determined to have him. I may think this or 
 that about the horse ; and you say he is weak in 
 his fore-legs — an opinion which may possibly be 
 a mistaken one ; but Saint-Luc has had plenty of 
 opportunities of judging for himself as to that.
 
 M.iDEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 77 
 
 If a man offers me a certain price for a certain 
 article, am I bound to tell him that, in my idea, 
 he is bidding too highly ? Believe me, my dear 
 Jeanne, in this wicked world every man looks after 
 his own interests ; and as for what you say about 
 the giving of presents, I never yet heard of an 
 instance of a present being given in the way 
 you suggest. People who give presents like to 
 be thanked for them, I can assure you ; and ' 
 
 ' Madame la Duchesse sends to inform M. 
 le Marquis that she waits him in the salon^ said 
 a servant, putting in his head at this juncture; 
 and so the remainder of Leon's harangue upon 
 the way of the world remained unspoken. 
 
 The truth was that the young man attributed 
 to his own acuteness the unquestionable fact 
 that he had concluded an excellent bargain ; and 
 was, consequently, neither more nor less pleased 
 with himself than the generality of his elders 
 would have been in a similar case.
 
 78 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 ME. BAREINGTON. 
 
 Me. Baerington, making his way leisurely up 
 the steep streets of the Arab town on the day 
 following that of his arrival in Algiers, and ob- 
 serving, with eyes appreciative of colour and 
 outline, a hundred perfect little pictures of 
 Oriental life as he went, marvelled greatly that 
 it had never occurred to him before to visit so 
 charming a city. Mr. Barrington was an amateur 
 artist, and therefore, of course, even more prone 
 to the discovery of picturesque effects than a 
 professional wielder of the brush and maulstick. 
 The high white houses that rose on either side 
 of tlic narrow street — windowless generally, or 
 at most with but a small grated aperture or two 
 close under the overhanging roof; the projecting 
 wooden buttresses that flung long blue shadows 
 upon the whitewash; the broad glossy-leaved 
 bananas and sombre cypresses that reared their
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 79 
 
 heads, here and there, above the avails, suggestmg 
 visions of cool courtyards and luxurious Eastern 
 interiors to the artistic mind ; the tiny shops — 
 mere recesses in the wall — whose owners sat 
 cross-legged smoking their long pipes, in ap- 
 parently absolute indifference to the sale of 
 their wares — all these were to him novel and 
 delightfid sights. Overhead, the strip of skv 
 was of a deep melting blue ; the sun caught the 
 upper pai't of the houses, but left the basements 
 in deep shadow ; before liim the street trended 
 upwards in broad shallow steps, down which all 
 sorts of queerly-costumed figures came to meet 
 him. Xow it was a grave, majestic Moor, hi- 
 burnous thrown over his shoulder and displaying 
 his gay-coloured jacket and ample nether gar- 
 ments ; now a grev-bearded Jew shrinkincr alon^*- 
 close to the wall in the cat-hke way peculiar to 
 his race ; now a Mauresque, enveloped in fold 
 upon fold of white, her black eyes gleaminrr 
 through her yashmak ; now a stalwart negress in 
 blue and white checked haik. Mr. Barriucrton 
 
 o 
 
 surveyed them all with benevolent approbation. 
 Indeed, the habitual expression of this young man's 
 features was one of good-humoured patronaixe. 
 The world had always treated him so well that the
 
 80 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 least he could do was to smile back upon it; 
 and from his childhood he had had so much of 
 his own way, and rough places had been made 
 so smooth for him, that it was scarcely strange if 
 he looked upon most men and things from an 
 imaginary standpoint rather above than below 
 them. 
 
 Left an orphan almost in his infancy, he 
 had been brought up by a small junta of uncles 
 and aunts who had done their best to spoil him, 
 and who, to his mind, had very efficiently replaced 
 the parents whom he could scarcely remember ; 
 and upon attaining his majority he had stepped 
 into a comfortable property, together with a for- 
 tune not so large as to be embarrassing, yet large 
 enough to make him what most people would 
 consider a rich man. He was now about thirty 
 years of age, and had never known an ache or a 
 pain, a care or a sorrow, worth speaking of, in 
 his life. Without having any special title to 
 beauty of feature, he was nevertheless pleasant 
 to look upon, having big bones, well- developed 
 muscles, and perfect health. He was the incar- 
 nation of prosperity and contentment. Crossing- 
 sweepers approached him with confidence ; and 
 when he took his place upon the magisterial
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 81 
 
 bench the heart of the poacher rejoiced. As a 
 good landlord, a good sportsman, a tolerable 
 Hngiiist, and a lover of the arts, he had claims 
 upon the sympathies of various classes of society ; 
 and in fact few men could have enjoyed a larger 
 acquaintance or a more widely-spread popularity 
 than he. He made friends with everybody. He 
 had made friends with Leon, he had made friends 
 already with M. de Saint-Luc, and he was now on 
 his way to call at the Campagne de Mersac and 
 make friends with the young lady of whom he had 
 received a description from her iDrother which 
 had somewhat excited his curiosity. He had 
 none of the shyness with which many Enghshmen 
 are afflicted, experience having taught him to 
 look for a hearty welcome wherever he went ; 
 nor had he any distiurbing doubts as to the nature 
 of his reception in this particular instance. 
 
 Emerging from the tortuous streets of the 
 Arab town, and passing through the Kasbah, or 
 citadel, in which it culminates, to the open coun- 
 try beyond, he turned — not to take breath — he 
 was too sound, wind and limb, to require auysuch 
 respite — but to feast his eyes upon the glorious 
 prospect that lay beneath him. 
 
 ' Good heavens ! ' he muttered, * what a queer, 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 uneven business life is, and how few people ever 
 get a chance of knowing the beauty of the world 
 they live in ! How I should like to turn a whole 
 town-full of factory hands out here for a day or 
 two ! ' 
 
 A drove of little donkeys, laden with sacks of 
 earth, came pattering down the road behind him, 
 their driver, clothed in ragged sackcloth, seated 
 sideways very close to the tail of the last of them, 
 and swinging his bronze legs while he urged on 
 his charges with guttural cries. 
 
 ' Now look at that fellow,' moralised Barring- 
 ton. ' Thousands in London, not a bit worse off 
 than he, are leading lives of the most utter and 
 hopeless misery ; and as for him, he looks as jolly 
 as a sandboy — by Jove ! he is a sandboy, or at 
 least an earthboy, which, I suppose, is much the 
 same — odd thing that ! Yes, there you have the 
 effect of air and sunshine. Well, one can't ship 
 all St. Giles's over here ; and perhaps Bushey 
 Park would be more in their hue, after all.' 
 
 Consoled by this reflection, he pulled out of 
 his pocket the note-book which, like a man of 
 method as he was, he always carried about him, 
 and noted down : ' Mein. Send cheque to Drud- 
 gett to give poor people a day in the country 
 when warm weather comes.' — Drudgett being a
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 83 
 
 hard-working parson in an East London parish. 
 After which he resumed his walk. 
 
 His charity was mostly of this kind. It did 
 not cost him very much ; but it was not, on that 
 account, the less welcome, and it had earned him 
 a name for benevolence which extended beyond 
 the limits of his own county. 
 
 ^Ir. Barrino'ton, althousrh he had mixed a sood 
 deal with foreigners, and prided himself upon 
 nothing so much as liis cosmopolitan character, 
 had all an EngUshman's dislike to asking his way. 
 He therefore made several unnecessary circuits, 
 and presented himself at the doors of two villas 
 before he discovered the one of which he was in 
 search. 
 
 ' M. le Marquis was out,' the servant said, who 
 answered his ring ; ' but Madame la Duchesse was 
 at home. Would monsieur give himself the trouble 
 to enter .^' 
 
 Monsieur consented willingly. He was always 
 ready to make fresh acquaintances ; and though 
 he had not the remotest idea of who Madame la 
 Duchesse might be, he was not at all reluctant to 
 introduce himself to her. 
 
 ' Presumably an elderly relative of our yoimg 
 friend,' lie thought, as he followed the servant 
 
 g2
 
 84 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 across the hall, and heard himself announced as 
 ' M. de Barainton.' 
 
 The Duchess, on her side, knew perfectly well 
 who her visitor was, having heard all about him 
 from Leon on the previous evening ; but, for all 
 that, it did not suit her to manifest any immediate 
 recognition of the stranger's identity. She had 
 always been a very punctilious person, even in the 
 days of her supremacy in Paris, and was tenfold 
 more so in these latter times, when there seemed 
 to be occasional danger of her claims to veneration 
 being ignored. 
 
 Nor was she over- well pleased by the easy, 
 unembarrassed manner in which Mr. Barrington 
 introduced himself, explained the origin of his 
 acquaintance with her godson, and, seating him- 
 self beside her, entered at once into conversation 
 in free and fluent French. She had often com- 
 plained of English gaucherie ; but, at the bottom 
 of her heart, she thought a little timidity on enter- 
 ing her presence not out of place in a young man. 
 So, for once in his life, Mr. Barrington failed to 
 make a favourable impression. 
 
 Some extracts from a rather lengthy epistle 
 which he despatched a few days later to a friend 
 in England may be appropriately inserted here: —
 
 MADEilOISELLE DE MERSAC. 85 
 
 ' That old Ducliesse de Breuil was a charming 
 study ; I never met with a more perfect type of a 
 great lady of the vieille roclie. She has a fine hook 
 nose, and faded, sunken blue eyes ; her hair is as 
 white as snow — just as it ought to be ; she wore a 
 dress of stone-grey silk so rich, and at the same 
 time so soft, that I would have asked her where 
 she got it if I had not been afraid ; and her 
 withered old neck and wrists were half- concealed 
 by clouds of old yellow Mechlin lace. I don't 
 think very old people can ever be beautiful, looked 
 upon as human beings ; but they may undoubtedly 
 be beautiful as pictures ; and this dear old soid, 
 sitting bolt upright in her armchair by the fire- 
 place, holding up a huge black fan to shield her 
 from the blaze, was quite a gem in her way. I 
 could have sat and looked at her with perfect 
 contentment for half an hour ; only the bother 
 was one had to talk, and, for some reason or other, 
 she didn't choose to exert her conversational 
 powers. I was just beginning to feel rather 
 bored, and was thinking about taking my leave, 
 when the door opened and in walked — the god- 
 dess Minerva. Pallas- Athene herself, I give you 
 my word — in a brown holland gown — and, oh ! 
 how I wished the fashions of this inartistic acre
 
 86 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 had permitted lier to wear her ancient costume of 
 sleeveless tunic, peplus, helmet, and lance ! Her 
 modern name is Mademoiselle Jeanne de Mersac ; 
 and she held out her liand to me and began talk- 
 ing in a grave, condescending sort of way about 
 England and her cousins the Ashleys, just as if 
 she had been an ordinary mortal. Her voice was 
 very soft and musical — rather deep for a woman ; 
 but that is no defect. I called her Pallas- Athene 
 because she is so tall and proud and cold ; but she 
 is not yy^avKwTTig ; on the contrary, her eyes are 
 large, brown, and soft, like Juno's, and she is as 
 graceful as the Venus Anadyomene, and as free 
 and stately in her gait as Diana the huntress. So 
 you see she is altogether divine. There was a 
 time when I must have fallen head over ears in 
 love with her on the spot ; but you and I, old 
 man, have left that era behind us. Militavi non 
 sine gloria. I have gone through a fair share of 
 flirtations in my day, and liave had one or two 
 narrow shaves of matrimony ; now I am grown 
 tough with years about the region of the heart, 
 and can worship beauty from a purely aesthetic 
 point of view, and without arrih^e pensee. I am 
 too old a bird to fall unwarily into the meshes of 
 the fowler. Not tliat I mean to insinuate that
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 8< 
 
 Mademoiselle de Mersac is spreading a net for me, 
 which will, I know, be the first idea to suggest 
 itself to your coarse mind. Heaven forbid ! I am 
 blushing all over, as I write, at the bare thought 
 of such profanity. Mademoiselle de Mersac has 
 no need to angle for a husband. She might marr^' 
 anybody, and has already refused many brilHant 
 ofiers, a:ivino' it to be understood, I believe, that 
 her intention is to remain unmaiTied. in order that 
 she may be the freer to give herself up to the care 
 of her brother, who is a decent voung; fellow 
 enough, but is all the better, I daresay, for having 
 a protecting goddess to warn him off from oc- 
 casional dangers, such as harpies, sirens, and so 
 forth. It certainly seems possible that, being now 
 come to years of discretion, he may soon find a 
 sister's supervision superfluous ; and it is also not 
 unlikely that Mademoiselle Jeanne may eventually 
 see fit to modify the programme she has laid 
 down for herself ; but in the meantime the 
 spectacle of a woman who really does not want 
 to get married is a novel and refreshins^ one. You, 
 who go in for cynicism of a more or less shallow 
 kind, and who think yourself clever for discovering 
 a selfish motive at the root of all your neighbours' 
 actions, should be the first to admit this.
 
 88 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 ' The picturesque old Duchess, who is worldly- 
 wise and experienced, is racking her wits and 
 breaking her heart in the effort to " establish " 
 Mademoiselle Jeanne ; but as yet she has only 
 succeeded in inspiring the young lady with a pro- 
 found mistrust of, and prejudice against, all 
 members of the male sex. This, of course, you 
 don't believe ; but I can't help that. Mademoiselle 
 is charitable and visits the poor, Arab and Christian 
 alike ; but her good deeds are mostly done sub 
 rosd — just what I should have expected of her. 
 She is kind and generous to poor, timid, or 
 ugly people ; but a little inclined to be haughty 
 towards those with whom the world goes well — 
 there again I recognise the character which I was 
 sure from the first must go with so superb a 
 physique. By the poor she is adored, but she is 
 less popular among her equals. Few people un- 
 derstand her ; some dislike her ; but all admire 
 her. There is a prevalent notion that when her 
 brother marries she will take the veil. 
 
 ' The greater part of this information I have 
 gleaned from a certain Vicomte de Saint-Luc, who 
 is staying at this hotel — a half-ruined Parisian of 
 the new school, who gets his clothes from an 
 English tailor, rides in steeple-chases at Yin-
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 89 
 
 cennes, plays baccarat all night, and sleeps all 
 day. You know the kind of man — or rather, on 
 second thoughts, you probably don't ; but I do, 
 and it is not a type that I much admire. I sus- 
 pect him of being somewhat epris of Mademoiselle, 
 or her fortune — she has a fortune of her own, by- 
 the-by — but I don't imagine he has much chance 
 of success. He is going to sell me a horse ; and 
 I daresay he will try to get the better of me. I 
 flatter myself he won't find that a particularly 
 easy task. 
 
 ' Well, after all I have said about this divine 
 Mademoiselle de Mersac, you will understand, 
 without my telling you, that I shall never be 
 content till I have got her to sit to me. The 
 question is, in wliat pose and surroundings to take 
 her. In her garden there is a httle fountain 
 which splashes lazily into a marble basin where 
 there are water-HHes. All round it are standard 
 rose-trees ; and for background you have a row 
 of black cypresses, with the blue sky showing 
 between and above them. I thought of painting 
 her standmg there, dressed all in white, with 
 perhaps a pomegranate blossom in her hair, and 
 looking out upon you from the frame with her great 
 solemn eyes. But then, again, I don't know that
 
 90 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 I should not like her better half-reclining on a 
 low divan — there are several such in the de 
 Mersacs' drawing-room — with a panther-skin at 
 her feet, and a hand-screen made of a palmetto- 
 leaf in her hand. Over the back of the couch one 
 would throw one of those Arab rugs that they 
 make at Tlemcen, in which all the colours of the 
 rainbow, and a great many more, meet, but never 
 "swear." There would be a glimpse of sharp- 
 pointed arches and clustered marble pillars for 
 background ; and the light would fall from above. 
 But the fact is, that she would look well in any 
 posture ; and I can't imagine a situation that 
 would be unbecoming to her. 
 
 ' Of course I have not had the audacity to 
 broach the subject yet ; nor shall I, until we have 
 become a good deal better acquainted than we 
 are at present. However, as I am determined 
 that the picture shall be painted, I haven't much 
 doubt as to my ultimate success ; and, indeed, 
 Mademoiselle was very gracious to me — more so, 
 I believe, than she is to the generality of visitors. 
 Saint-Luc says this is because I am not a possible 
 suitor ; and that if I had been a Frenchman she 
 would not have , troubled herself to address two 
 words to me. I don't know how this may be ;
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 91 
 
 but, at all events, I think I may congratulate my- 
 self upon having made some advance towards 
 intimacy in the course of my first interview. It 
 was rather uphill work at starting ; but I exerted 
 all my powers to be amusing, and at length I 
 succeeded in making her laugh a little, which was 
 a great point gained. Even the old Duchess 
 thawed when she found that I was acquainted 
 with some of her friends in the Faubourg, and was 
 good enough to entertain me with some long 
 yarns about Tallep-and and Polignac and the 
 Duchesse de Berri. Then young de Mersac came 
 in and offered to drive me home ; and so I took 
 my leave. We rattled down to the town at no 
 end of a pace — the way these Frenchmen drive 
 down hill is a caution ! — but ^ve arrived without 
 broken bones at the hotel, where we found M. de 
 Saint-Luc ; and presently my young friend and he 
 went off to dine together somewhere. They were 
 so kind as to invite me to join them ; but as I 
 heard something about baccarat, and as that is a 
 game which I have played in Paris, consule Planco, 
 and don't mean to play again, except perhaps in 
 the company of sober folks like you, I excused 
 myself, and dined at the tahle-cVlwte. We had 
 green peas at dinner, and this morning they
 
 92 MADEMOISELLE DE MEKSAC. 
 
 brought me bananas and strawberries, and the 
 most dehcious little mandarin oranges, with my 
 breakfast. I am writing by my open window, and 
 it is so hot that I have had to close the outside 
 shutters. And the last thing you said to me 
 before I left was, that you couldn't understand a 
 fellow going out of England before the hunting 
 was over ! Gracious powers ! aren't oranges, and 
 bananas, and sunshine, and Mademoiselle de Mer- 
 sac worth six weeks of indifferent hunting? I 
 enjoy a good day's sport as much as anybody, but, 
 thank heaven ! I can enjoy other things as well. 
 Most men lose half the pleasures of life because 
 they will select one pursuit and stick to it ; it is 
 
 the greatest mistake in the world. Now, I ' 
 
 Here the letter proceeds to treat discursively 
 of various topics, and ceases to have any bearing 
 upon matters connected with the present history.
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 93 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 M. DE SAIXT-LUC. 
 
 Charles Casimir Louis, Vicomte cle Saiiit-Luc, 
 had, for more years than he cared accurately to 
 reckon up, enjoyed a considerable amount of 
 notoriety and admiration in the gay world of 
 Paris. A member of the Jockey Club, a duellist 
 of proved skill and intrepidity, a leader of cotil- 
 lons in the most fashionable salons, a bold game- 
 ster, and an imperturbable loser, he seemed to 
 have fulfilled all the conditions necessary to being 
 considered a fine gentleman by the habitues of the 
 society which he frequented. Among the ignohile 
 vulgus, too, which, in France even more than in 
 England, is liable to be dazzled by profusion, 
 ghtter, and display, his name had become a 
 famihar word ; nor did his well-known colours 
 ever fail to ehcit applause at Longchamps, La 
 Marche, or Vincennes, especially when, as was
 
 94 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 often the case, the noble owner was himself the 
 wearer of them. 
 
 M. de Saint-Lnc had begun life as a sub- 
 lieutenant in the Chasseurs d'Afrique, in which 
 distinguished corps he had risen to the rank of 
 captain before the death of his father, a quiet old 
 gentleman, the greater part of whose life had been 
 spent parsimoniously upon his estate in Normandy, 
 placed him in command of a very respectable 
 fortune. 
 
 The young Vicomte, to whom a vast supply 
 of ready money was an altogether new and de- 
 lightful sensation, immediately abandoned his 
 military career, took a commodious flat in the 
 Cliaussee d'Antin, and set to work to enjoy life 
 in Paris, where his handsome face, his lively 
 manners, and his superb indifference to expendi- 
 ture soon made him a prime favourite with both 
 sexes. In a very short time he had achieved a 
 reputation. A few duels, a cleverly- won race or 
 two, and a suspicion of sundry bonnes fortunes 
 sufficed to place him very near to the highest 
 eminence of fame attainable by those who lived 
 the life which he had adopted. All the opera- 
 glasses in the house w^ere brought to bear upon 
 him when he lounged into his place at the
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MEKSAC. 95 
 
 Italiens or the Francais ; lie could not walk a 
 hundred yards from his door without becoming 
 aware that the passers-by were nudging one 
 another and whispering his name ; the horrible 
 little newspapers, which busy themselves with such 
 subjects, chronicled his extravagances, and called 
 upon their readers to admire his freaks ; pro- 
 \'incials gaped at him ; fine ladies ogled him ; he 
 was envied by his inferiors, and emulated by his 
 equals. At the time of the Exhibition of 1867, 
 though at that time he was already a httle past 
 the zenith of his glory, he was pointed out to 
 foreigners as a Avorthy representative of high life 
 under the Second Empire. It was, perhaps, no 
 great honour to be thus distinguished ; but, such 
 as it was, hundreds of Parisians would have sriven 
 their ears to share it. As the times are so will 
 the men be ; and the times just then were bad, in 
 more ways than one. An idle Englishman, with 
 a sufficiency of money in his pocket, may, and 
 from the nature of his position probably will, suc- 
 ceed in leading a life which, if not profitable, is, 
 at any rate, in a great measure healthy and manly, 
 even if he have no higher object before him than 
 pleasure ; but the resources of a Frenchman, simi- 
 larly situated, are far more restricted, and seldom
 
 96 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 extend beyond the walls of a town. To rise at 
 mid-day, to dawdle through the afternoon in pay- 
 ing visits or driving in the Bois, to look in at the 
 theatre or at a ball during the evening, and to 
 devote the rest of the twenty-four hours to gam- 
 bling, may not seem a specially inviting programme 
 to look forward to for the remainder of a man's 
 days ; such, however, in so far as it is possible to 
 indicate it here, was the mode of killing time 
 chosen by M. de Saint-Luc and his friends, and 
 very few of them w^ere ever heard to complain of 
 it. Habit, which renders most things supportable 
 — else, where could you find coal-miners, stokers, 
 or dentists? — had so inured these gentlemen to 
 their manner of life that most of them really be- 
 lieved their lot to be an enviable one. 
 
 To do the Vicomte justice, such was not his 
 opinion. After three or four years of Parisian 
 life he became heartily sick of the whole business. 
 He grew tired of astonishing people, and ceased to 
 care in the least whether they were astonished or 
 not. He wearied of the eternal mill-round of 
 so-called pleasure, and longed to escape from it, 
 without very well seeing his way to do so. In 
 cards only he found some remnant of excitement ; 
 but then the cards were not always propitious.
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 97 
 
 and, as his income dwindled, he began to think 
 that they also were vanity. Wandering home 
 forlornly, in the grey morning, with empty 
 pockets, an aching head, grimy hands, and an 
 utter distaste and disgust for the world, he not 
 unfrequently asked himself whether it would 
 not be best to put a pistol to his head, and 
 have done with it. Generally he answered the 
 question in the affirmative; but there he stopped. 
 ' One has always plenty of time to kill oneself,' 
 he would reflect as he tumbled into bed ; and the 
 next evening saw him seated before the card-table 
 again as usual. 
 
 So time w^ent on, and symptoms of crow's-feet 
 began to manifest themselves about the corners of 
 M. de Saint-Luc's eyes, and a grey hair or two 
 cropped up about the region of his temples, and 
 with each succeeding year his banker's book 
 became a less agreeable study. How long he 
 might have maintained his position in the fi'ont 
 rank of Parisian society if his horse had come in 
 first for the Grand Prix of 1869, it is impossible 
 to say; but it was M. Lupin's Glaneur who won 
 the race, and our poor Yicomte drove home, down 
 the crowded Champs Elysees, with a face some- 
 what graver than usual, and an uncomfortable 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 98 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 suspicion that he was very nearly ruined. He 
 looked into his affairs with an ultimate result less 
 discouraging than he had ventured to hope for. 
 He found that, after paying all outstanding debts, 
 and disposing of his stud and other superfluities, 
 there would remain to him an income sufficient 
 for moderate comfort, besides his chateau and 
 estates in Normandy. This Norman chateau, 
 which he had hitherto visited barely once a year 
 during the shooting season, should henceforth, he 
 determined, be his home. He had been one of 
 the bright particular stars of the Parisian firmament, 
 and preferred extinction to diminished shining as 
 an indistinguishable member of the nebulae which 
 had once surrounded him. 
 
 One fine day in the end of June, therefore, 
 the Vicomte de Saint-Luc might have been seen 
 taking his ticket at the station of Saint-Lazare, 
 while his servant watched over a pile of luggage 
 whose imposing dimensions sufficiently showed 
 that its owner was bound upon no ordinary plea- 
 sure-trip. ' Adieu, Paris ; adieu, nos heaux jours ! * 
 muttered the Vicomte, as he installed himself in a 
 corner of the railway carriage. 
 
 In thus turning his back upon old associations 
 M. de Saint-Luc had, as a matter of course, con-
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 99 
 
 templated marriage as an essential part of his 
 scheme for the future. He did not much want 
 to be married ; but that was not the question. 
 To live in the coimtry as a bachelor would be 
 insupportable ; besides, it was the recognised thing 
 that a landed proprietor should marry after a 
 certain aize. He had heroically resolved to aban- 
 don pleasure in favour of dull respectabihty, and 
 a wife and children were among the lesser evils 
 which he anticipated from the change. But be- 
 fore he had been a day in the home of his fathers 
 he perceived the impossibility of asking any lady 
 to share it with him while in its present condi- 
 tion, and fully reahsed how necessary it was that 
 the future Vicomtesse should have her share of 
 this world's gear. 
 
 M. de Saint-Luc's chateau was situated, not 
 in that sunshiny, apple-bearing, prosperous Nor- 
 mandy so familiar to English tourists, but in the 
 less frequented and bleaker district which forms 
 the north-western extremity of the province. 
 With its steep roofs and its wrought-iron balco- 
 nies, it was a sufficiently picturesque object in the 
 landscape, and the woods which siu:rounded it 
 looked doubly green, cool and leafy by contrast 
 with the heathy moorland which stretched away 
 
 h2
 
 100 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 from them to the seaward. But then picturesque- 
 ness and comfort are so seldom alHed ! The house 
 was cold, damp, and mildewed ; it had been 
 uninhabited, so far at least as its salons and best 
 bedrooms were concerned, for many years, and 
 the rats, the mice, and the moths had had it all 
 their own way with the furniture. As for the 
 domain, that was well enough in fine summer 
 weather. The neglected garden, the moss-grown 
 sundial, the broken statues, the marble balustrades 
 stained with the rain and snow of many winters, 
 the pond where the ancient carp were, the dense 
 woods and the long grassy avenues that inter- 
 sected them — all these had a peaceful, dignified 
 repose not unpleasing to a jaded Parisian. There 
 was a charm, too, in the healthy freedom of the 
 moors, where a salt-laden wind always blew 
 freshly, where you might gallop for leagues 
 without injuring anybody's crops, and where a 
 gentleman who had won steeple-chases in his 
 time might indulge himself occasionally by popping 
 over a stone wall. It was in this way that M. de 
 Saint-Luc employed the greater portion of his 
 days, his rides not unfrequently terminating at the 
 neighbouring chateau of M. de Marcigny, whose 
 charming wife — a lady of fashion, whom Saint-
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 101 
 
 Luc had known ever since lie had known fashion- 
 able society at all — had charged herself "with the 
 delicate task of finding a suitable mate for the 
 reformed Vicomte. 
 
 He got through the summer satisfactorily 
 enough, on the whole, though not without occa- 
 sional hankerings after the flesh-pots of Egypt ; 
 but his heart began to sink with the fall of the 
 leaf, and early in October his courage failed him 
 altogether. For then the mighty south-west wind 
 arose in his strength, and roaring in, day after 
 day, from the Atlantic, with pelting rain and 
 driving mist, stripped the tossing boughs, whistled 
 through the ill-fitting windows of the chateau, and 
 finally sent the Vicomte to bed with such a cold 
 and cough as he had never had before in his life. 
 The days were bad enough, but the nights were 
 simply appalling. When the old woman who 
 officiated as his housekeeper had brought him his 
 lait-de poule, and stolen away, after wishing him 
 good night, Saint Luc could not sleep for the 
 awful and unaccountable noises that became 
 audible in the deserted corridors. Such ghostly 
 rustlings and moanings, such a weird, nameless 
 stirring, reached his ears from the unoccupied 
 rooms, that he was fain to slip out of bed and
 
 102 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 lock his door. Every now and again a gust of 
 wind whirled away a loose slate from the roof 
 with crash and clatter. 
 
 On the third day Saint-Luc got up and dressed 
 himself, vowing that he could not and would not 
 stand this any longer. He ordered his horse and 
 galloped off, through the rain, to see Madame de 
 Marcigny, whom he found packing up her trunks. 
 
 ' What, madame, do you, too, desert us ? ' he 
 exclaimed in dismay. 
 
 ' We leave for Paris to-morrow,' she answered : 
 ' I adore the country, but I detest bad weather ; 
 and I see by your face that you share my opinion. 
 You know I always told you you w^ould renounce 
 your project of hving in Normandy from January 
 to December.' 
 
 ' You were right, madame, as you always are. 
 I renounce everything — cliateau, wife, respecta- 
 bility — all ! I have the mal dupays. What the 
 Eanz des Yaches is to tlie Swiss, and the cornemuse 
 to the Scot, that is the asphalte of Paris to me. A 
 whifF of it would bring the tears into my eyes. 
 Only, as I have sworn never to live in Paris again, 
 I think I will spend my winter at Nice. There, 
 at last, I shall meet friends, I shall perhaps get 
 rid of this cough which is shaking me to pieces,
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE :MERSAC. 103 
 
 and I can finish ruining myself pleasantly at 
 Monaco/ 
 
 ' If I were you, my friend,' said Madame de 
 Marcigny gravely, ' I would remain away from 
 Monaco.' 
 
 ' Your advice is excellent, madame,' answered 
 Saint-Luc, with a smile and a bow ; ' but, unhap- 
 pily, I know myself too well to imagine that I shall 
 have the fortitude to follow it. If I go to Nice, 
 you may be siu-e that M. Blanc wiU profit by my 
 residence in the South.' 
 
 Madame de Marcigny considered. 
 
 ' Then do not go to Xice,' she said at length. 
 ' Go rather to Algiers. You will be at home 
 there — you wlio have served in the Chasseurs 
 d'Afrique and fought against Abd-el-Kader ; you 
 will find a charming climate and an agreeable 
 society ; and, what is best of all, you will make 
 acquaintance with Mademoiselle de Mersac' 
 
 ' And who is Mademoiselle de Mersac, if you 
 please ? ' 
 
 ' Well, I cannot tell you much about her, ex- 
 cept that she is young, weU provided for and ex- 
 ceptionally beautiful, and that she is the niece — 
 or some other relation — of my old friend the 
 Duchesse de Breuil, who is anxious to establish
 
 104 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 her, and to whom I will give you an introduction. 
 It seems to me that she may be worth the trouble 
 of a journey to Algeria.' 
 
 Thus it came about that M. de Saint-Luc pre- 
 sented himself, one day, at the Campagne de Mer- 
 sac, and was received by the Duchess with the 
 friendliness due to a gentleman of ancient lineage 
 and a protege of Madame de Marcigny. He was 
 not disinclined to marry the young lady whose 
 advantages had been enumerated to him as above 
 recorded — or, indeed, any young lady equally 
 eligible ; but he felt no enthusiasm or interest 
 about her, and certainly had no suspicion of the 
 influence that she was destined to exercise upon 
 his future life. At what age, and after how much 
 experience, dare a man consider himself superior 
 to the absurd passion of love at first sight ? Saint- 
 Luc, whose amours had been so many that he had 
 forgotten three-fourths of them, and who could no 
 longer be called a young man, except by courtesy, 
 might perhaps, without undue arrogance, have 
 smiled at the notion that he could be assailed by 
 any such malady ; yet, after he had passed a 
 quarter of an hour in the same room with Jeanne 
 de Mersac and had exchanged half-a-dozen sen- 
 tences with her, he returned to his hotel conscious
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 105 
 
 of a singular inward change, and, at the end of 
 a week, was fain to admit to himself, not without 
 consternation, that, for the first time in his hfe, he 
 was really in love. He was half-happy, half- 
 vexed, at the discovery. It was not displeasing to 
 him, as a man whose lease of existence, according 
 to the Biblical standard, had already run into its 
 second term, to find that some remnant of the 
 freshness of youth still clung to him ; but, on the 
 other hand, it was a little ridiculous to lose one's 
 heart to a beautiful face, like a raw boy from 
 Saint-Cyr. Moreover, it is inconvenient to be in 
 love with your wife. Great passions do not suit 
 with domesticity ; or so, at least, the Yicomte 
 thought. However, whether for good or for evil, 
 this strange thing had befallen him, and could not 
 be striven against, so he lost no time in adopting 
 what he believed to be the proper line of conduct 
 in such circumstances. He went to the Duchess, 
 announced his desire, and laid before her an esti- 
 mate of his income as nearly correct as he could 
 make it. He was met with a reply which some- 
 what staggered him. 
 
 ' As far as I am concerned,' the Duchess said, 
 'I should be charmed if this aUiance could be 
 arranged ; but, unhappily, the decision rests neither
 
 106 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 with me nor with the young Marquis, but with 
 Jeanne herself. It is absurd, it is unreasonable, 
 but it is so. My poor friend, the late Marquis, 
 took it into his head to marry an Englishwoman, 
 from whom he imbibed I know not what fantastic 
 notions, which, among other results, have had that 
 of causing me an immensity of annoyance and 
 trouble.' Here the Duchess expatiated at some 
 length upon the inconvenience occasioned to her 
 by Jeanne's independence of authority. ' II vous 
 faudra lui faire la cour, monsieur^' she concluded, 
 spreading out her hands and raising her shoulders. 
 ' It is a troublesome process if you will — I am not 
 sure that it is even convenahle ; but it is the only 
 way that I know of to gain her for your wife. 
 I^othing that I can say will influence her in the 
 least — that I can promise you ; but you have my 
 best Avishes. You see I treat you with perfect 
 frankness : if you think the prize is not worth the 
 time and exertion it will cost you (and I warn you 
 in advance that you will have to expend a great 
 deal of both, and also a large supply of patience), 
 I shall not be astonished. 
 
 Saint-Luc answered, with a smile, that if no- 
 thing more than labour and patience were demanded 
 of him, these should not be wanting on his part.
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 107 
 
 He did not allow the Duchess to suppose that he 
 entertained any warmer feehng for Mademoiselle 
 de Mersac than that safe one of esteem which 
 Frenchmen consider the surest basis of matri- 
 monial fehcity; but he secretly rejoiced in the 
 prospect of winning so beautiful a bride by some 
 more romantic method than that which had at first 
 suggested itself to him, and perhaps thought the 
 task would not prove so difficult a one as the old 
 lady seemed to anticipate. 
 
 If he did deem success a probabihty he was 
 not wholly inexcusable in so thinking. Fortune 
 had smiled so persistently upon him in all his 
 previous affaires de cceur that he was entitled, 
 without inordinate vanity, to consider himself a 
 favourite with the fair sex. Was it hkely that lie 
 who had known how to please the great ladies of 
 Paris would fail with an inexperienced girl whose 
 life had been passed in remote Algeria? Of 
 course, as a matter of fact, nothing was more 
 likely — inexperienced girls being usually far more 
 exacting than women of the world, and the quali- 
 ties which find favour in the eyes of the latter 
 class being seldom those which recommend them- 
 selves to the former ; but this Saint-Luc did not 
 know. His acquaintance with femmine nature
 
 108 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 was, indeed, far more restricted than he had sup- 
 posed, and so he was fain to admit in the very 
 initiation of his courtship. Advancing to the attack 
 with easy confidence in his time-honoured system 
 of tactics, he fell back, dismayed and bewildered, 
 from the wall of icy impassibility behind which 
 Jeanne entrenched herself. He had wit enough to 
 perceive that his old weapons — compliments, kill- 
 ing glances, and small attentions — would be of 
 little service to him here, but he did not see what 
 efficient substitutes he could find for them. A 
 passing remark of Jeanne's gave him a clue. 
 Speaking of an old man whom everybody disliked, 
 she said, ' He is not perfect ; but, for all that, I will 
 allow no one to speak against him before me. He 
 was kind to Leon once, and whoever does Leon 
 a kindness does one to me.' M. de Saint-Luc 
 immediately resolved that he would cultivate 
 Leon's acquaintance. It was not a happy inspira- 
 tion. With the most innocent intentions in the 
 world, he took to inviting the young man often to 
 dine with him at his liotei ; but the young man 
 liked a game of cards, at the officers' club or else- 
 where, after his dinner ; and what could be more 
 natural than that his entertainer should join in the 
 amusement ? So Leon generally got to bed at a
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 109 
 
 much later hour than was good for one whose 
 avocations necessitated early rising ; and Jeanne, 
 discovering, T\ithout difficulty, the manner in 
 which her brother's evenings were spent, set down 
 the poor Yicomte as a corrupter of youth. She 
 made a few inquiries about M. de Saint-Luc, and 
 learned enough of his past career to confirm her 
 bad opinion of him. Never prone to conceal her 
 likes and dislikes, she now began to treat her un- 
 lucky admirer with a mixture of scorn and anger 
 which must have disgusted him with her had he 
 not been so very much in love. As it was, his 
 passion was increased rather than diminished bv 
 Jeanne's harshness, though she often made him 
 wince by her sharp speeches. She never lost an 
 opportunity of snubbing him, and seemed to delicfht 
 in causing him pain or humiliation ; but he bore 
 it all meekly enough, telling himself that by 
 gentleness and perseverance he might conquer in 
 the long run. lEean while he continued to be very 
 civil to Leon, httle supposing that by so doing he 
 was injuring his own cause. 
 
 His chief object, indeed, in asking the young 
 man to dinner was to have an excuse for talkino- 
 about Jeanne — a subject upon which the latter was 
 always ready to dilate with enthusiasm ; but as for
 
 110 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 Leon, it is to be feared that baccarat and lans- 
 quenet, not Saint-Luc's society, were the attrac- 
 tions that led him, night after night, to the Hotel 
 d'Orient. 
 
 ' Don't let us waste any more time out here,' 
 he said, one evening shortly after his return, when 
 he had been dining with Saint-Luc as usual, and 
 the pair were leaning over the parapet of the 
 Boulevard de I'Luperatrice, smoking their cigars 
 in the moonlight. ' Doncourt and Delamarre and 
 the rest must have been expecting us this last 
 half-hour.' 
 
 It was a still, warm, cloudless night. The 
 great white mosque in the Place du Gouvernement, 
 the lighthouse at the end of the Mole, the silent 
 ships in the harbour, and the gently heaving sea 
 beyond, lay bathed in such a soft brilliant moon- 
 hght as we, in these Northern latitudes, have no 
 knowledge of. The broad boulevard was thronged 
 with loungers, Jew, Turk, and Christian ; and in 
 one of the cafes down by the waterside somebody 
 was singing to the tinkling accompaniment of a 
 guitar 
 
 ' Let them expect us a little longer,' answered 
 Saint-Luc ; ' one can lose one's money any night 
 of the year, but one cannot always have fine
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. Ill 
 
 weather. Here comes your English friend ; let 
 us ask him what he thinks. Mr. Barrington, is it 
 not better to sit out here doing nothing than to 
 spend the night over a card-table in an atmo- 
 sphere laden with the fumes of bad cigars ? ' 
 
 'A great deal better, I should say,' replied 
 Barrington, with a quick glance of distrust at 
 Saint-Luc and of commiseration at Leon, which 
 did not escape the notice of either of them. ' Take 
 my advice, de Mersac, and don't play for high 
 stakes ; it is very nearly as exciting to play for 
 sous, if you only knew it. For my own part, I 
 gave up loo and lansquenet, and such games, 
 years ago.' 
 
 ' M. Barrington a j^cisse par la,' said Leon, 
 with a laugh, which imperfectly concealed some 
 natural annoyance at being lectured ; ' he has 
 tasted all the forbidden pleasures, and found them 
 worthless. As for me, I suppose I am not old 
 enough or wise enough to give up cards.' 
 
 ' And I,' remarked Saint-Luc, ' am too old. 
 Life has not so many amusements that I can afford 
 to sacrifice one of them ; unless, indeed, I could 
 discover some equivalent,' he added, with a half- 
 sigh. 
 
 ' Equivalent ! ' echoed Bamngton, rather
 
 112 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 scornfully. ' I don't know what your idea of an 
 equivalent for gambling may be ; but if you only 
 look upon it as a means of making time pass, it 
 ought not to be a hard matter to find some sub- 
 stitute for it.' 
 
 ' Everybody has not your talents, monsieur,' 
 returned Saint-Luc. ' You have art to fall back 
 upon, which I, unfortunately, have not.' 
 
 ' Oh, I don't pretend to any talent,' said Barring- 
 ton generously. 'Anybody who is not colour- 
 blind can learn to paint well enough to make an 
 amusement for himself with a little study and per- 
 severance ; and, if he have no turn for drawing, 
 he can easily take up something else. The world 
 is full of pleasant occupations, if idle people would 
 only take the trouble to look for them.' 
 
 Saint-Luc did not dispute the accuracy of the 
 statement. He smiled, lighted a second cigar, 
 and puffed at it in silence for a few minutes ; then, 
 ' Do you go to Madame de Tremonville's dance 
 to-morrow, Leon? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Undoubtedly ; and you ? ' 
 
 ' I hardly know ; it will depend upon how I 
 may feel disposed when the time comes. She 
 wearies me, this Madame de Tremonville, whom 
 you admire so much. Has she sent an invitation 
 to Madame la Duchesse, and your sister ? '
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 113 
 
 Leon laughed. ' Madame de Tremonville does 
 not want courage,' he said, ' but she has not yet 
 had the audacity to ask the Duchess to one of her 
 dances. I have been begged to bring Jeanne, 
 though.' 
 
 ' And will she go ? ' 
 
 ' Ah ! that I can't say. She is a little capri- 
 cious, as all women are, even the best of them,' 
 said Leon, who flattered himself that he had 
 some acquaintance with this subject. ' Will you 
 accompany us, Mr. Barrington ? It may amuse 
 you to have a glimpse of our Algerian society.' 
 
 ' I don't know the lady,' answered Barrington. 
 
 ' Oh ! that is of no consequence ; she will be 
 delighted to receive any friend of mine. Shall I 
 ask her to send you a card ? ' 
 
 ' Thank you. I should like very much to go, 
 especially if I am to have the pleasure of meeting 
 Mademoiselle de Mersac. She did not say any- 
 thing: about it this mornins^.' 
 
 Saint-Luc stared. He had known Made- 
 moiselle de Mersac much longer than this Eng- 
 hshman, but it had never occurred to him to take 
 the liberty of calling upon her on any other day 
 than that on which she was accustomed to receive 
 visitors ; still less would he have dreamt of enter- 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 ing her presence before three o'clock in the after- 
 noon, at tlie earUest. He was fairly startled out 
 of his good manners, and exclaimed, half in- 
 voluntarily, ' You were at El-Biar this morning, 
 monsieur ? ' 
 
 Barrington saw his dismay, and rather enjoyed 
 it. ' I rode up after breakfast,' he answered ; ' I 
 wanted to try the horse you sold me.' 
 
 ' And I hope you found him satisfactory,' said 
 Saint-Luc, recovering himself. 
 
 Barrington would have liked to say that the 
 horse was a little touched in the wind ; but, not 
 being quite sure of his French, had to smile and 
 reply, ' Perfectly.' 
 
 ' I am charmed to hear it. For the rest, I was 
 sure you would be contented with him. — ^What 
 is it, Leon ? Ah, mauvais sujet ! you are longing 
 for the green clotli. As you will, then ! Come, 
 let us go and earn a headache for to-morrow 
 morning. Monsieur will not be of the party? 
 Alt revoir, then.' 
 
 And so the two gamesters strolled away. 
 
 ' Do you know,' oaid Leon, confidentially, as 
 soon as they were out of earshot, ' I am not sure 
 that I like Mr. Barrington so well as I did at first. 
 Sometimes I think he is a little too conceited and 
 dictatorial/
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 115 
 
 'You say that because he gave you good 
 advice,' laughed the other good-humouredl3\ 
 ' Bah ! he was right, mon gar con ; high play leads 
 to no good ; aud if my past gave me the right to 
 offer advice to anyone, I should back him up. 
 Unhappily for you, you made the acquaintance of 
 a worthless fellow when you met me. What 
 would you have ? It is too late to mend now. 
 Video meliora prohoque ; deteriora sequor! 
 
 And, having made this classic confession with 
 a fine sonorous ring, the Yicomte hnked his arm 
 in that of his young friend, and led him through 
 the open doors of the Cercle. 
 
 As for Barriugtou, he made his way back to 
 the Hotel d'Orient, and, happening to meet an 
 acquaintance in the hall, took occasion to express 
 his opinion of M. de Saint-Luc with perfect 
 candom\ 
 
 ' A man who can find nothing better to do 
 than to lead boys into mischief ought to be kicked,' 
 said he. ' I don't know what name you have for 
 that sort of fellow in French : in England we 
 should call him a "leg."' 
 
 I 2
 
 116 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 CHAPTEE VT. 
 
 M.ADAME DE TREMONVILLE'S DANCE. 
 
 It was admitted on all hands that Madame de 
 Tremonville's entertainments were invariably 
 brilliant and successful. Her abode was one of 
 the most spacious of the many charming villas 
 which cover the hillside of Mustapha ; she never 
 overcrowded her rooms, she paid special attention 
 to the excellence of the refreshments provided ; 
 and she even affected a certain exclusiveness, 
 declining to know people who had not something 
 
 whether beauty, rank, wealth, or talent — to 
 
 recommend them. Without much diiSculty she 
 succeeded in becoming a leader of Algerian so- 
 ciety, and those whom she invited to her soirees 
 seldom sent her a refusal. The Duchesse de 
 Breuil and a few other Legitimist ladies looked 
 down upon her, it is true ; but that was a matter 
 of course. They would have looked down upon 
 anybody whose husband held office under the
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 117 
 
 then existing Government, and this disdain gave 
 Madame de Tremonville very httle concern. She 
 rather enjoyed an occasional passage-of-arms with 
 Madame de Yaublanc ; and for the rest she took 
 good care that these ladies should recognise her 
 when they met in any public place, and in- 
 sisted upon visiting them, whether they liked it 
 or not. 'It is chic to be upon good terms ^vith 
 the old noblesse,' she would sometimes say. 
 
 Her reputation was not wholly free from 
 reproach ; nor was she well spoken of by the 
 ladies of her acquaintance. As, however, nothing 
 had as yet been proved against her, as she was 
 very hospitable, and, as she had a retentive me- 
 mory and a sharp tongue, she was always able 
 to fill her ball-room with members of the best 
 society Algiers could produce. 
 
 Barrington, whom Leon in fulfilment of his 
 promiee duly escorted to Madame de Tremon- 
 ville's next dance, was enchanted with the scene 
 that met his eye as he passed through the door- 
 way, where the mistress of the house stood 
 smihng impartially upon each fresh arrival. The 
 large square room into which he looked, with its 
 white walls, its polished parquet and its multitude 
 of fights, was all ablaze with showy uniforms and
 
 118 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 jewels. As far as apjoearance went, Madame de 
 Tremonville's modest salon might have been the 
 reception-room of an ambassadress — so closely do 
 ordinary mortals resemble their more exalted 
 brethren if decked out in sufficiently fine clothes. 
 The ladies were all well dressed — as indeed any 
 community of French women would be sure to 
 be, however remote their habitation — and if the 
 Orders which adorned the coats of the gentlemen 
 were not invariably of the first or second class, 
 they did not on that account make a less brave 
 show. To the uninitiated eye one ribbon or star 
 is very much like another. 
 
 Barriiigton, while scrutinising with pleased 
 surprise so refined and civilised a gathering, was 
 a little disappointed at failing to discover Ma- 
 demoiselle de Mersac among the guests. He 
 watched the dancers from the beginning to the 
 end of a waltz ; he sauntered through the ball- 
 room, the card-room beyond it, and out on to 
 the verandah, lit by hanging Moorish lamps of 
 coloured glass ; but nowhere could he discover 
 the graceful, majestic figure of which he was in 
 search. Leon offered to introduce him to a part- 
 ner, and in common courtesy he could not decline ; 
 but as soon as he had walked through a set of
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 119 
 
 Lancers he returned to the doorway, and resumed 
 his patient watch. The only entry he witnessed 
 for his pains was that of M. de Saint-Luc, who 
 lounged in very late, and siurveyed the assemblage 
 with a look of anxiety gradually deepening into 
 intense annoyance and disgust, which caused the 
 other disappointed watcher to chuckle in his 
 corner. 
 
 Madame de Tremonville advanced to meet 
 her guest with marked cordiality. In him she 
 recognised one of the most prominent men of 
 the epoch. Algiers generally knew little of M. 
 de Saint-Luc, except that he had dissipated a 
 large fortune by riotous living ; but Madame 
 de Tremonville was not as those barbarians. 
 She knew her Paris ; and was proud to welcome 
 the man whom Imperialism had dehghted to 
 honour. Thanks to her sedulous study of cer- 
 tain Parisian journals, as well as to sundry private 
 sources of information, she could have given him 
 a tolerably accurate account of all his escapades 
 in chronological order. Some years back, being 
 at Longchamps, she had seen him leaning on 
 the carriage-door of one of the famous ladies 
 who frequented the Emperor's Court. The great 
 race of the day had just been lost and won, and
 
 120 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 the crowd was beginning to disperse. A by- 
 stander, nudging his companion, had said, 'Do 
 you see that man? That is the Yicomte de Saint - 
 Luc, who has just lost a hundred thousand francs 
 — there is one who ruins himself gaily ' — and 
 Madame de Tremonville, overhearing the re- 
 mark, had watched the imperturbable loser with 
 increased interest, had seen him slowly make 
 his way through the lines of carriages, bow- 
 ing to one lady, shaking hands with another, 
 and exchanging a few w^ords witn a third, till 
 he reached the equipage of a notorious leader 
 of the demi-monde, into which he had stepped 
 and had been driven away with the eyes of all 
 Paris upon him. Madame de Tremonville, wit- 
 nessing this little scene, had felt a momentary 
 thrill of noble enthusiasm. ' That is my ideal of 
 a man I ' she had exclaimed. So strange are the 
 masculine ideals which some ladies have come to 
 set up for themselves in the days in Avhich we live. 
 She donned her most winning smile, therefore, as 
 she held out a tiny white- gloved hand to this hero, 
 and thanked him for honouring her poor soiree 
 with his presence. 
 
 ' You will not find our little society amusing, 
 monsieur,' she said, deprecatingly ; ' but what can
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 121 
 
 you expect ? With the best will in the world, 
 it is impossible to trausplant the Tuileries to 
 Africa.' 
 
 Saint-Luc expressed contented acquiescence 
 in this indisputable geographical fact, and took 
 an early opportunity of escaping from his amiable 
 hostess. He leant against the wall, and contem- 
 plated the company with a gloomy disapproval 
 for which their provincialism was in no way 
 responsible. There was M. de Tremonville, 
 elderly, smooth-shaven, and dapper, rubbing his 
 hands and beaming through his spectacles — the 
 incarnation of a bureaucrat. (His real name 
 was Bonjean ; but, following the example of 
 many others of the Emperor's servants, he had 
 tacked the name of his native place on to his 
 own plebeian patronymic, and now signed him- 
 self Bonjean de Tremonville, Avlien he did not 
 forget the Bonjean altogether. ' After all,' as 
 Madame de Yaublanc was wont to say, in her 
 good-natured way, ' tlie man must have been 
 born somewhere, and why not at Tremonville — if 
 there be such a place ? Let us at least be thank- 
 ful that he did not first see the light at Conde 
 or Montmorency.') Then there was Madame 
 Waranieff, a fat Eussian lady, who was at Algiers
 
 122 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 for her health, with her two fuzzy-haired marriage- 
 able daughters on either side of her ; there was 
 little M. de Fontvieille, with his nose in the air, 
 conversing with Monseigneur the Archbishop, 
 who had condescended to show himself for a few 
 minutes at the house of so devout a member of 
 his flock as Madame de Tremonville ; there were 
 the Sous-Gouverneur, the Prefet, the Sous-Prefet, 
 the Mayor, half-a-dozen generals, and their wives, 
 their daughters, their aides-de-camp, and their 
 secretaries. 
 
 ' Parhleu ! they are all here,' growled Saint- 
 Luc under his breath — " all except the one person 
 whom I came to meet.' 
 
 But before the words had well escaped his 
 lips he heard the voice of his hostess behind him 
 welcoming some new-comer in her most honeyed 
 accents. ' Ah, dear madame, is it possible that my 
 poor little dance can have induced you to break 
 through your rule of going to bed at half-past 
 nine ? It is too great an honour that you do 
 me — really too great an honour ! ' And turn- 
 ing round to see who this distinguished guest 
 might be, he became aware of Madame de 
 Vaublanc's sour visage, above which, serene and 
 beautiful, towered the head and shoulders of
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 123 
 
 Mademoiselle de Mersac. At tliis sight M. de 
 Saint-Luc's features, which had hitherto worn 
 an expression of the deepest dejection, became 
 suddenly cheerful and animated. He made a 
 hurried move in the direction of the doorway ; 
 but here his progress was interrupted by Madame 
 de Vaublanc, who was eagerly explaining to her 
 hostess that she was not there for her own 
 pleasure. 
 
 ' I never ofo to balls, not even to those eiven 
 by my most intimate friends, much less — that 
 is, I really never enter a ball-room. It was 
 Mademoiselle de Mersac who persuaded me — she 
 had no chaperon, and I did not wish her to be 
 deprived of a little amusement — she does not have 
 too much, poor child I — otherwise ' 
 
 ' Then we are doubly indebted to made- 
 moiselle,' returned Madame de Tremonville, 
 sweetly. ' It was already very amiable of her 
 to join a party of which she will be the chief 
 ornament : but since she has brought you too 
 with her, madame, I have no more fear as to the 
 success of my evening.' 
 
 ' Oh, madame, your compliment is intended 
 to be ironical, no doubt ; ugly old women are no 
 attraction in any salon,''
 
 124 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 ' Kindness and courtesy, madame, are attrac- 
 tive in persons of all ages.' 
 
 Saint-Luc waited patiently till these amenities 
 should be exhausted, and Madame de Vaublanc 
 should see fit to leave the gangway free. Mean- 
 while Mr. Barrington, being less scrupulous, 
 had pushed his way past the old lady, with a 
 brief ' Pardon, madame ; ' and having shaken 
 hands with Jeanne, who received him cordially, 
 was writing his name upon her card. He wrote 
 it more than once, as Saint-Luc observed with 
 jealous surprise. What could there be in this 
 self-satisfied Englishman to make Jeanne, who 
 treated all men alike Avith the same hauteur^ un- 
 bend towards him as towards an old friend? 
 Was it because he was a Protestant, a foreigner, 
 a man whom she could never be asked to marry, 
 that she allowed him to take her ball-card from 
 her hand, and only laughed when he held out 
 her fan at arm's length and pretended to criticise 
 the painting upon it with an artist's eye ? Saint - 
 Luc would fain have believed so ; but there was 
 a look of frank admiration in Mr. Barrington's 
 blue eyes which he could not but perceive, and 
 which caused him a good deal of uneasiness. At 
 length Madame de Vaublanc moved on into the
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 125 
 
 room, and then his opportunity came. He had 
 already bowed to Jeanne from afar, and had re- 
 ceived a cold acknowledgment of his salute. He 
 now stepped to her side as she swept past him. 
 ' Mademoiselle will accord me a dance, I hope ? 
 he said, humbly. 
 
 She stopped at once, and drawing out her card, 
 answered with that chilly politeness which always 
 froze poor Saint -Luc's pretty speeches before they 
 were uttered, ' With pleasure, monsieur ; which 
 dance shall it be ? ' 
 
 He named a waltz half-way down the pro- 
 gramme, and, with a slight bend of her head, she 
 had left him before he had found courage enough 
 to ask for a second one. He fell back, almost 
 inclined to laugh at his own timidity. The trutli 
 is that the Yicomte de Saint-Luc, who had led 
 cotillons in the presence of royalty, who had 
 danced with princesses, and whose audacity in 
 pushing his advances towards any lady whom he 
 might chance to honour with his preference was a 
 matter of notoriety, was as diffident as any school- 
 boy in the presence of the girl whom he loved. 
 
 ' I am an imbecile — a veritable imbecile,' he 
 murmured impatiently, as he lounged up to do his 
 duty to the lady of the house.
 
 126 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 Witli her, at all events, he was quite at ease. 
 She belonged to a species with whose habits and 
 tastes he was thoroughly conversant ; and he 
 managed, without any effort, to dance with her 
 and take his fair share of the conversation, while, 
 at the same time, his whole attention was fixed 
 upon Jeanne, not one of whose movements es- 
 caped him. Many other eyes besides his were 
 turned in the same direction. Mademoiselle de 
 Mersac did not often appear in Algerian ball- 
 rooms ; but when she did honour them by her 
 presence she never failed to excite more admi- 
 ration than anyone else in the room. Her beauty 
 was of that superb kind which refuses to be ig- 
 nored ; it eclipsed the mere prettiness of other 
 women as the moon outshines the stars, and 
 extorted an unwilhng tribute even from those who 
 would gladly have depreciated it — for unfortu- 
 nately the people who had been, or imagined 
 themselves to have been, slighted by the imperious 
 Jeanne formed no inconsiderable portion of any 
 society in which she was likely to show herself 
 This evening her praises were sung with more 
 cordiality than usual, for she was in an exception- 
 ally gracious mood, and, contrary to her custom, 
 had engaged herself for every dance. She refused
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 127 
 
 no partner till her card was full ; she waltzed 
 impartially with !Mr. Barrington, with M. de 
 Choisy, the Governor- General's aide-de-camp, 
 with little Martin, a sub -lieutenant in a line regi- 
 ment, who was only admitted into Society because 
 his uncle was a bishop — and with a dozen others. 
 She wore a dress of pale primrose silk (it was her 
 habit to affect costumes somewhat richer than 
 those generally adopted by unmarried ladies), and 
 had steel ornaments on her neck, ears, and hair, 
 which flashed with every turn of her graceful 
 head. She was incontestably the most striking 
 figure in the room. 
 
 This did not please Madame de Tremonville, 
 who had no hking for the part of second fiddle, 
 and who, previous to the arrival of this magnifi- 
 cent rival, had flattered herself that she had 
 nothing to fear from comparison with any of her 
 guests. ' Do you admire gigantic women ? ' she 
 whispered to Saint-Luc. ' For my part, I think 
 excessive size is as much a defect in us as it is a 
 beauty in you.' 
 
 Saint-Luc, who stood six feet two in his socks, 
 answered mechanically that he had no eye for 
 proportions, but that those of madame were, with • 
 out doubt, the standard by which the whole sex
 
 128 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 should be judged ; and received a playful tap on 
 the shoulder from his partner's fan, in acknow- 
 ledgment of this novel and delicate compliment. 
 Madame de Tremonville's green velvet and Brus- 
 sels lace, her exquisite complexion, and her won- 
 drous coiffure were altogether thrown away upon 
 him. He had not even noticed the diamonds 
 which encircled her throat and sparkled amid her 
 golden locks. 
 
 ' All paste,' sneered Madame de Vaublanc, 
 scrutinising these jewels from the corner where 
 she had ensconced herself beside a congenial 
 friend — ' bought in the Palais Eoyal for a few 
 hundred francs, you may be sure. Is it likely 
 that that poor man would accept a small em- 
 ployment in Algeria if he could afford to give 
 his wife such diamonds as those ? Absurd ! ' 
 
 ' Perhaps he did not buy them,' suggested the 
 other amiable matron ; ' perhaps they were a 
 present. It is said that M. de Tremonville does 
 not object to his wife's receiving occasional 
 marks of esteem from her friends. They were 
 talking of her the other night at the Palace — and 
 
 between ourselves ' Here the good lady's 
 
 voice IS lowered to so confidential a pitch that we 
 can't quite catch what she says. Very likely we
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 129 
 
 don't lose much. Communications of a somewhat 
 similar nature are to be heard every night in all 
 countries and in all classes of society. What is 
 an old woman without daughters to do at a ball, 
 except to take away the character of the young 
 ones ? Madame de Tremonville, whose conduct, 
 it must be allowed, had more than once exhibited 
 a target for the arrows of scandal to be aimed at, 
 knew very well that ladies of Madame de Yau- 
 blanc's calibre could do her very httle real injury ; 
 it amused her to know that they were on her 
 track, and she hked to lead them on, and double, 
 and baffle them when she was in the humoiu'. 
 Partly with this laudable object in view, and 
 partly for her own gratification, she made a dead 
 set at Saint -Luc during the early part of the 
 evening, dismissing her other partners to dance 
 with him again and again, till, seeing a large 
 figure 9 hung out in firont of the orchestra, he 
 quitted her side rather abruptly. 
 
 ' At last ! ' he muttered, as he made his way 
 through the crowd to a small boudoir which he 
 had seen Jeanne enter with Barrington at the end 
 of the last dance. He found her seated on a low 
 divan, the Englishman sprawling at her side, and 
 presented himself with a bow. She glanced up at 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 him enquiringly, then down at her card, and rising 
 immediately placed her hand within the arm 
 which he offered her ; and so they re-entered the 
 ball-room. 
 
 ' You have danced a great deal this evening, 
 mademoiselle,' said Saint-Luc, with that strange 
 difficulty in opening the conversation which he 
 had never experienced in his intercourse with any 
 woman except Jeanne. 
 
 'Yes; a good deal.' 
 
 ' More than usual, I think.' 
 
 ' Yes ; rather more than usual.' 
 
 ' I fancied you did not care much for balls.' 
 
 ' Cest selonJ 
 
 ' I suppose you mean that it depends upon 
 your partners,' said Saint-Luc, with a tinge of 
 annoyance in his voice. Her manner was dis- 
 agreeable enough to justify some resentment; but 
 it was more with himself than with her that he 
 was vexed ; for he felt that, somehow or other, he 
 Avas not showing to advantage. 
 
 ' Naturally,' she answered. 
 
 ' Is that Mr. Barrington a good dancer ? ' 
 
 ' Mr. Barrington ? Yes, he dances well.' 
 
 ' He must differ then from the rest of his 
 nation. Without vanity, 1 will venture to assert
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 131 
 
 that you 'will find ten good dancers in France for 
 one in England.' 
 
 'Eeally?' 
 
 ' Yes. There are exceptions, of course ; but, 
 as a rule, Englishmen are not made for society. 
 They always seem to me to require the open air. 
 Out of doors they have a certain rough good 
 humour, which excuses a good deal of gaucherie ; 
 but put them in a salon, and they become insup- 
 portable.' 
 
 ' You have been in England, monsieur ? ' 
 
 ' No ; but I have met a great many English- 
 men. Perhaps I am prejudiced, but frankly I do 
 not like them. After all, the French and EngHsh 
 are hereditary enemies.' 
 
 ' My mother was an EngHshwoman ; and, for 
 my own part, I have always been proud of being 
 half English,' said Jeanne. 
 
 After that Saint-Luc thought he would change 
 the subject. 
 
 ' Is it an impertinence, mademoiselle,' he said, 
 ' to congratulate you upon your charming toilette ? 
 I have seen nothing like it since I left Paris.' 
 
 A very sHght bend of the head, combined with 
 a supercilious droop of the eyelids and an upward 
 curve of the lips, seemed to imply, as plainly as 
 
 x2
 
 132 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 politeness would permit, that Mademoiselle de 
 Mersac did consider the remark an impertinence. 
 
 Saint-Luc felt this to be rather hard ; it was 
 so utterly at variance with all his experience that 
 any lady should object to hear her dress praised. 
 He was completely silenced, and bit his moustache 
 moodily. It was Jeanne who spoke next. 
 
 ' Shall we not dance ? ' she said ; ' the waltz is 
 half over.' 
 
 It really seemed the only thing to be done. 
 In this particular, at all events, Saint-Luc felt that 
 he could hardly give offence. His Parisian ap- 
 prenticeship had lasted so long that he knew him- 
 self to be a complete master of the art of waltzing ; 
 and as he piloted his partner smoothly and swiftly 
 through the throng, never losing time, and never 
 so much as brushing against another couple, he 
 took some comfort from the thought that though 
 it appeared impossible for him to open his mouth 
 in Jeanne's presence without angering her, she 
 could not, at least, complain of him as a partner. 
 
 When the dance was at an end, he got a little 
 disdainful compliment for his pains. 
 
 ' You have a right to criticise the dancing of 
 others, Monsieur de Saint-Luc,' said Jeanne ; ' your 
 own is perfect.' If she had added, * You are fit
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE iMERSAC. 133 
 
 for nothing better than dancmg,' she could not 
 have conveyed her meaning more clearly to the 
 mind of her hearer. 
 
 The poor Yicomte was as much puzzled as he 
 was hurt. He could not in the least understand 
 the girl, nor what she was driving at. He would 
 have liked to ask her point-blank what he had 
 done to be so cruelly snubbed, and why she 
 should regard a man who had never willingly 
 offended her with such determined aversion. Had 
 he done so, he would have risen several de- 
 grees in her estimation, and would probably have 
 got an honest answer into the bargain ; but he 
 thought that conventionality debarred him from 
 so straightforward a course — and, after a minute's 
 consideration, he could find no better rejoinder 
 than a rather aggrieved one to the effect that he 
 did not care about dancing, and would not have 
 been where he was that night, had he not been 
 told that he would be rewarded by meeting 
 Mademoiselle de Mersac. 
 
 ' You do not like dancing ? ' said Jeanne, in- 
 credulously, passing by his reference to herself. 
 ' I thought you were such a famous leader of co- 
 tillons. A propos, who leads the cotillon this 
 evening ? '
 
 134 MADEMOISELLE BE MERSAC. 
 
 ' I suppose you know tliat I am to do it,' an- 
 swered Saint-Luc, with a little vexed laugh. ' I 
 should have preferred to refuse ; but what could I 
 do when that woman insisted ? She is one of those 
 people who are no more disturbed by a refusal 
 than a rhinoceros by a discharge of small shot.' 
 
 ' If you do not like her, why do you dance so 
 much with her ? ' asked Jeanne, gravely. ' You 
 have scarcely left lier side the whole evening, and 
 now you compare her to a rhinoceros. I wonder 
 what flattering likeness you will discover for me 
 when my back is turned.' 
 
 Saint-Luc was very patient, and very much in 
 love ; but this unremitting hostility was becoming 
 too much even for him. 'When you know me 
 better, mademoiselle,' he said, coldly, ' you will 
 find that I do not speak ill of my friends. As 
 for Madame de Tremonville, she is no friend of 
 mine. Here comes your partner for the next 
 dance. I suppose I must not hope to be honoured 
 by another.' 
 
 Mademoiselle de Mersac regretted that she 
 was engaged for the remainder of the evening ; 
 and so, with a slight inclination of her head, 
 passed back into the ball-room on the arm of the 
 happy M. Martin, leaving Saint-Luc to meditate
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 135 
 
 over the progress of his suit. He shrugged his 
 shoulders in contemptuous wonder at his own in- 
 fatuation as he made his way into the card-room, 
 where three old gentlemen were playing whist 
 with dummy ; and there he remained, not car- 
 ing to dance again, till the time came for him to 
 fidfil his cotillon duties. 
 
 The cotillon, without which no French ball is 
 complete, has failed to take root as an insti- 
 tution in England, probably because it has never 
 been rightly understood in this country, where, 
 indeed, it is usually considered to be a sort of 
 organised romp, of which the principal features 
 are the stationing of a lady in the middle of the 
 floor with a looking-glass in her hand, the throw- 
 ing of a ball to be scrambled for by a hue of male 
 competitors, and the affixing of a set of harness, 
 adorned with jingling-bells, to the shoulders of 
 foiu' unhappy and self-conscious men, who are 
 then driven round the room, feebly endeavour- 
 ing to mitigate the absurdity of their position 
 by an agonised imitation of the pawing and 
 prancing of a spirited team. What Madame 
 de Tremonville understood by a cotillon was 
 something infinitely more intricate, more ar- 
 tistic, and more decorous than this. With its
 
 13 G I^L\DEM01SELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 complicated figures, its crossings of hands, its fre- 
 quent changes of partners, its involutions and evo- 
 lutions, and its stately rhythmic measures which 
 melted into waltzes, it was a performance which 
 required some study and management, and no 
 one was expected to take part in it who was not 
 familiar with its more ordinary figures, and who 
 was not quick at catching up the new ones which 
 were constantly being introduced into it. The 
 inevitable looking-glass, the bouquets, and the 
 badges were not omitted from the programme ; 
 but they were by no means its chief feature, nor 
 did they lead to anything in the semblance of a 
 romp. Not that Madame de Tremonville had 
 any objection to the latter method of passing 
 the time when her more intimate friends were 
 gathered about her — on the contrary, she had 
 a strong predilection for it, derived like her 
 Ultramontanism, her penchant for bric-a-brac, and 
 many other incongruous tastes, from quarters 
 whence she obtained her notion of the prevailing 
 fashion — but, in mixed society, she judged it 
 best to earn a character for elegance rather than 
 eccentricity. 
 
 ' Are you not ashamed of yourself? ' she cried, 
 seeking out Saint-Luc in the card-room, towards 
 two o'clock in the morning, and rousing him
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. id( 
 
 by her thin falsetto voice from the reverie in 
 which he had been pkinged. ' Does one go to 
 balls to look on at a game of whist ? ' 
 
 ' What pleasure could it have given me to 
 remain in the ball-room and see you dancing witli 
 others ? ' returned Saint -Luc, in his pohtely per- 
 functory manner. 
 
 ' Ah, bah ! you were lazy. I would have 
 danced with you if you had taken the trouble to 
 ask me. In your absence, I have been amus- 
 ing myself with your friend the little marquis, 
 whom I found much improved by his travels. 
 He will develope himself. I have great hopes of 
 him. But now I am Q:oiiJ<? to make vou work, 
 whether you will or no. Here is the list of 
 our figures for the cotillon. With which would 
 you advise me to begin ? ' 
 
 Saint-Luc took the strip of paper which she 
 handed to him, and having perused it, briefly 
 delivered his opinion as to one or two points 
 in the programme ; Madame de Tremon\'ille 
 listening to him with as much reverence as a 
 newly -joined subaltern displays in listening to 
 his colonel. Li truth, Saint-Luc had long ago 
 reached the highest grades in that service of 
 fashionable society of which the lady was but 
 a hanger-on and exiled admirer.
 
 138 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 Entering the ball-room presently, laden with 
 the paraphernalia of flowers, ribbons, hoops, and 
 so forth, necessary for the task set before him, he 
 was surprised to see Jeanne seated upon one of the 
 chairs which had been ranged round the room 
 for the convenience of the dancers. Knowing 
 how seldom she lingered at any entertainment 
 after midnight, he had not counted upon seeing 
 her again that evening, and perhaps the sight of 
 her might have pleased as well as surprised him 
 if the tenant of the chair next to hers had not 
 been Mr. Barrington. As it was, he frowned 
 uneasily. Of Barrington in the character of a 
 possible husband for Jeanne he had no fear ; 
 diflference of nation, rehgion, and language were 
 sufficient guarantees against the chance of such 
 a match being proposed ; but he was jealous, 
 furiously jealous, of the man who, without any 
 apparent effort, had managed to make hmiself 
 acceptable to Mademoiselle de Mersac during an 
 entire evening, and who was even now bending 
 over her with a familiarity which he — Saint-Luc 
 — would never have dared to assume. Had he 
 been a vain man he would have been mortified 
 at the ease with which another had succeeded 
 where he had so lamentably failed ; but vain he
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 139 
 
 was not — only envious and jealous, as was but 
 natural under the circumstances. 
 
 Saint-Luc had reduced the leading of a 
 cotillon to a science. He could direct its most 
 intricate movements, and at the same time re- 
 serve a large portion of his attention for some 
 other subject. He was able, therefore, to acquit 
 himself to the entire satisfaction of his hostess, 
 while watching with increasing pain and wonder 
 the progress of the sudden intimacy which had 
 sprung up between Jeanne and the Englishman. 
 Observing the unconscious couple thus closely, he 
 soon became aware of a phenomenon for which 
 he was at first at a loss to account ; namely, that, 
 whereas Barrington was evidently in the best of 
 spirits, and grew more talkative and merry with 
 each successive figure, Jeanne, on the contrary, 
 was as evidently dissatisfied, and became gradually 
 graver and more pre-occupied, till at last she 
 ceased to speak to or notice her partner at all. 
 It was not till the cotillon was three parts over 
 that Saint-Luc discovered the clue to this change 
 of mood. A most decided frown upon Jeanne's 
 straight brows and an impatient tap of her foot 
 enhghtened him. He followed the direction of 
 her glance, and was just in time to catch the cou-
 
 140 MADEMOISELLE BE MERSAC. 
 
 elusion of a little scene which the rest of the 
 company had been watching with more or less 
 of satirical interest. Exactly in the centre of the 
 room, before the eyes of all Algiers, Madame de 
 Tremonville, having selected a flower from a 
 bouquet which she held in her hand, was 
 presenting it to Leon, who, with the sublime 
 fatuity of which only a very young Frenchman 
 can be capable, raised it to his lips before fixing 
 it into his button-hole. The figure which had 
 just come to an end was that in which gentlemen 
 are permitted to select their partners by the pre- 
 sentation of a bouquet, and it was in the above- 
 mentioned way that the mistress of the house 
 chose to manifest her recognition of the compli- 
 ment paid her by the young marquis. Saint-Luc 
 recollected immediately that Madame de Tremon- 
 ville had invariably singled out Leon when she 
 had been called upon to choose a partner, and the 
 reason of Jeanne's displeasure became obvious to 
 him. Li her place he would have been disposed 
 rather to laugh than to be angry ; but, regarding 
 Jeanne as he did with a reverential awe, as a 
 being of infinitely greater purity and nobility than 
 himself, he understood that, in her eyes, any 
 semblance of flirtation with a married woman
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 141 
 
 must be a heinous crime, and more with a view 
 to saving her annoyance than to rescuing his young 
 friend from any possible peril, he resolved to take 
 an early opportunity of speaking a few words of 
 friendly caution to Leon. His own bouquet, 
 which he ought by rights to have presented to 
 some lady, lay unheeded on the floor at his side. 
 He had not taken the trouble to offer it to any- 
 one, seeing that the only person in the room 
 whose good-will he valued in the least had shown 
 him in the most unmistakable manner that his 
 attentions were unwelcome. 
 
 But now humihty was unexpectedly rewarded. 
 For, the order of the dance being changed, and it 
 being the tiun of the ladies to choose the partners 
 most agreeable to them, who should come gravely 
 up to the diffident Yicomte, with a httle badge of 
 red ribbon outheld between her finger and thumb, 
 but Mademoiselle de Mersac ? 
 
 Saint-Luc started, half- delighted, half-doubt- 
 ful. For a second he thought the stately youno- 
 lady who stood before him must have made some 
 mistake ; but no — there was the knot of red ribbon 
 within an inch of his nose, proffered a trifle 
 disdainfully, it is true, yet distinctly intended for 
 him. He pinned it on his coat, too much be-
 
 142 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 wildered to find any words, and mechanically 
 placed Ms arm round Jeanne's slender waist. 
 But before he had taken half a turn round the 
 room, his partner let him know that she wished 
 to stop. They were then exactly opposite the 
 door. 
 
 ' I am going away,' she said in that quiet, 
 commanding tone, as of a superior to an inferior, 
 which she always used in addressing Saint-Luc. 
 ' If they can spare you for a few minutes, I should 
 be much obliged if you would take me out to get 
 my wraps.' 
 
 ' They must spare me,' he answered joyfully, 
 leading her out into the dim hall, where Madame 
 de Vaublanc, with a wonderful peaked hood on 
 her head and a multiplicity of cloaks and mufflers 
 about her small person, was awaiting her charge. 
 'If they want me, they must do without me. I 
 should be perfectly wilHng to send them all to 
 purgatory for the chance of doing you the smallest 
 service.' 
 
 ' That will not be necessary,' answered Jeanne, 
 with a slight smile ; but it happens that I have 
 to ask you to do me a small service — in fact, I 
 brought you out here for that purpose.' 
 
 ' If it be in my power to do what you wish.
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 143 
 
 mademoiselle, you may consider it an accomplished 
 fact.' 
 
 ' It is certainly in your power,' slie said, and 
 paused for a moment. Then she resumed, rather 
 hurriedly — ' You have great influence over my 
 brother — more, I think, than I have, in some 
 things. I want you to use it to keep liim away 
 from Madame de Tremonville. You will under- 
 stand what I mean. You saw what took place 
 to-night ; and Leon is a young man ; and — and I 
 suppose all young men are the same. And he 
 will hsten to you, though I doubt whether he 
 would listen to me. I would not ask you to do 
 me this favour,' she concluded, ' if it were hkely to 
 give you any trouble or inconvenience ; but, so far 
 as I can see, it will do neither. After all, you can 
 scarcely have any interest in bringing my brother 
 and Madame de Tremonville together.' 
 
 For an instant the colour rose to Saint-Luc's 
 pale cheeks, and his eyes flashed ; but he had 
 perfect self-control, and it was without any show 
 of anger, though more coldly than usual, that he 
 answered, ' I do not know from whence you have 
 derived your opinion of me, mademoiselle ; but it 
 does not appear to be a high one. For the rest, 
 you are quite right — I am not worth much ; yet
 
 144 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 I am capable occasionally of acting from other 
 motives than those of self-interest ; and as to the 
 subject of which you speak, I had already intended 
 to take the liberty of saying a few words to your 
 brother about it — so that you need not feel 
 annoyed by the thought that you are under any 
 obligation to me — however small — in the matter/ 
 
 And as Jeanne looked at him a little doubtfully, 
 he added, ' Some day, mademoiselle, you will per- 
 haps acknowledge that, whatever my faults may 
 be, I am, at least, not untrue to my friends.' 
 
 Jeanne, not being as yet convinced of the 
 truth of this statement, and finding nothing to 
 say in answer to it, merely bowed, and turned to 
 follow Madame de Vaublanc, whom M. de Tre- 
 monville was now helping into her carriage. But 
 when she had taken a few steps, she wheeled 
 round, and marching back to Saint-Luc, said 
 abruptly — 
 
 ' It is possible that I have been unjust to you, 
 monsieur ; if so, I am sorry for it. And I think 
 I treated you rather rudely earlier in the evening ; 
 I am very sorry for that also, and I beg your 
 pardon. Now you had better return to the ball- 
 room, or they will wonder what has become of 
 you. Good-night.'
 
 ilADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 145 
 
 The apology was not a very graceful one, nor 
 ■was it delivered by any means in a contrite tone ; 
 but, such as it was, Saint-Luc gladly accepted it, 
 and went back to conclude his duties with a some- 
 what lighter heart. As for Jeanne, she left the 
 house telling herself that she neither liked the 
 man nor trusted him, but that, upon the whole, 
 she had perhaps been wrong in letting him see so 
 plainly what her feelings with regard to him were. 
 She had, therefore, offered him her excuses — and 
 what more could be expected of her ? 
 
 At the door she inet Barrington, who came 
 up, hat in hand, and said eagerly, 'You won't 
 forget your promise, will you ? ' 
 
 ' My promise ? ' she returned interrogatively. 
 * Oh, you mean about the picture. Xo, I will not 
 forget, and if the Duchess has no objection, I shall 
 be happy to appear in it. When will you come 
 and make your arrangements ? To-morrow? 
 Very well ; then we will expect you at breakfast- 
 time — twelve o'clock. Good-night.' 
 
 She spoke incUfferently enough, being at the 
 moment occupied with reflections in which the 
 Englishman and his artistic tastes had no share, 
 but her voice had a perceptibly more friendly ring 
 than that in which she liad addressed Saint-Luc ; 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 and Barrington, as he lit liis cigar, and strolled 
 down towards the town, through scented orange- 
 groves, and under the shade of ohves and carob- 
 trees, grey and ghostly in the starhght, laughed 
 triumphantly to himself. ' I was sure I should get 
 her to sit to me,' he thought. ' Eeally, if people 
 only knew it, the best way to gain anything is to 
 ask for it. Most men don't understand that, and 
 lose what they want because they wait for it to be 
 offered to them. Heavens ! what a splendid crea- 
 ture she is, and how mad that poor devil of a 
 Frenchman is about her. I doubt whether his 
 asking for what he wants would be of much use ; 
 yet he would have a better chance if he came 
 straight to the point with her, instead of throwing 
 himself down at her feet to be trampled upon. I 
 could give him a hint or two, if I wanted him to 
 succeed — only I don't.'
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 CHAPTEE Vn. 
 
 BAERINGTOX STUDIES THE PICTURESQUE. 
 
 ' Colour,' said Barrington sententiously, leaning 
 back in his rocking-chair and pointing with the 
 end of his cigarette to the hquid blue sky above 
 him with lazy approbation — ' colour is one of the 
 chief delights of existence. It is wonderful how 
 few people realise that truth. And yet all human 
 beings are more or less under the influence of 
 colour, and are made happy by the sight of it, or 
 dispirited by its absence, as they would know if 
 they took the pains to analyse their sensations. 
 The man who has the room next to mine at the 
 Hotel d'Orient is djing of consumption ; his doctor 
 has sent him here, without a single relation or 
 friend, to get well — which he has about as much 
 chance of doing as I have of becoming Pope ; and 
 he doesn't speak more than a few words of French, 
 and he doesn't like foreign cooking, and he says 
 the fleas bite him, and he wishes to goodness he 
 
 L 2
 
 148 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 was back in England. One can't help taking an 
 interest in one's next door neighbour — though I 
 must say I wish he didn't cough so much at 
 nights ; but that is not his fauU, poor beggar ! — so 
 I generally look in after breakfast and try to cheer 
 him up a little. Well, this morning when I went 
 to see him as usual, I found him sitting at the 
 open window, twirling a bunch of violets between 
 his finger and thumb, and wliistling as merrily as a 
 cricket. I asked him what made him so cheerful 
 and he said he really didn't know, unless it was 
 that there was a fine warm sun to-day. Stuff ! 
 Take the man's violets away from him, and plant 
 him in his arm-chair in the middle of the Sahara, 
 and do you suppose he would whistle ? Not he ! 
 I knew, though he didn't, that it was the sight of 
 the cobalt sea and the far-away purple hills, and 
 the Moors in the street below, and the children 
 selling flowers, and of a hundred subtle effects 
 produced by refraction, that was making him 
 happy ; and I declare, when I looked at him, I 
 wished with all my heart that his relations would 
 come out here to him, and that he would not live 
 to return to England. One feels nearer Heaven 
 in such a climate as this ; and, for my part, I 
 never can understand how it is that there is as
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 149 
 
 much crime in the South of Europe as in the 
 North. Hang it all ! you have no right to be 
 wicked in a country where Nature is so kind to 
 you. Thanks ; I will take just one drop of that 
 green Chartreuse, and then, if you will allow me, 
 I will go and find your sister, and set to work.' 
 
 Mr, Barrington was sitting in the verandah at 
 the Campagne de Mersac. Through the open 
 ^vindows of the dininor-room at his back might 
 have been seen a deserted breakfast-table, whose 
 snowy damask, heaped-up fruit, half-empty decan- 
 ters, and profusion of flowers formed a combina- 
 tion of colour which he had already duly appre- 
 ciated while rendering justice to the merits of his 
 friends' cook. At his side w^as a small table, on 
 which stood a silver Moorish coffee-pot, two cups, 
 and a liqueur-decanter, and beyond it, Leon, clad 
 in a complete suit of white duck, reclined in an 
 easy chair, puffing at his cigarette with a some- 
 what bewildered expression of countenance, having 
 had some difficulty in following the foreign idiom 
 in which the above harangue had been couched. 
 
 ' One has no right to be wicked anywhere,' he 
 observed, with undeniable justice, in reply to the 
 speaker's last words. 
 
 * Of course not ; but don't you see what a
 
 150 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 difference surroundings ought to make ? A man 
 who at the end of his day's work finds himself in 
 a dismal, filthy street, with the rain chilling him 
 to the bones, and no object that his eyes can rest 
 upon but what is hideous and melancholy, natur- 
 ally betakes himself to the first place where he 
 can get liquor enough to make him forget his 
 misery — after which he goes home, and, by way 
 of protest against the hopelessness of his existence, 
 knocks his wife down and kicks her about the 
 head.' 
 
 ' I do not think we do that in Algeria,' said 
 Leon ; ' but there are often cases of stabbing, 
 especially among the Spaniards, whose knives are 
 always ready. And as to the climate, you cannot 
 judge of its effects till you have spent a summer 
 here, and have felt the influence of a three days' 
 sirocco upon your nerves. I can assure you that 
 after twenty-four hours of it, you would be 
 capable of taking your own mother by the hair if 
 she irritated you ; and, as a fact, there is far more 
 violence at such times than ordinarily.' 
 
 ' Indeed ? So it all works round to much the 
 same thing in the end ; and there is compensation 
 in everyone's lot — or at least, a grievance, which 
 is still pleasanter. All the same, I don't think I
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 151 
 
 should mind living in Algeria ; in fact, I tliink I 
 should very much like it, and I am not sure that 
 I wouldn't do it if I were a free man, and hadn't 
 my own poor acres to look after in England. I 
 wonder now whether one could make a small farm- 
 here pay its way ; it would be an excuse for running 
 over for a few months every year.' 
 
 Leon shook his head. 'You would be 
 robbed,' he said. • Even if you hved upon your 
 farm, it is not likely that you would make money 
 by it, and if you were absent it is certain that 
 you would lose a great deal. Besides, the life 
 would not suit you, even for a few months. For 
 me it is different. I have been accustomed to it 
 from a child, and I have no dislike either to the 
 heat or the loneliness of the summer. Some day 
 I will take you out to the little farm where I 
 breed my horses, beyond Koleah, and we ^vill get 
 up a boar-hunt to amuse you. You will be pleased 
 with it at this season of the year, for it stands 
 high, overlooking the Metidja plain and facing 
 the Atlas mountains, and the air is strong and 
 fresh, and though there is no cultivation just in 
 the neighboiu-hood, you can see the corn-fields 
 and orange-groves beneath you, and the white 
 houses of Bhdah far away under the opposite
 
 152 MADEMOISELLE DE MEESAC. 
 
 hills ; but in summer it is melancholy enough. 
 Then the whole country is parched and burnt 
 brown ; there is generally a mist over the moun- 
 tains, and most people find the silence oppressive. 
 Nevertheless old Pierre Cauvin and I generally 
 spend three weeks or so there in August, and 
 sometimes Jeanne comes with us, and then we are 
 as happy as children. Early every morning, and 
 again at sunset, we gallop over the country for 
 miles, and the young horses follow us in a troop, 
 squealing and kicking up their heels, and we feel 
 as if the whole world belonged to us. Ah, that 
 is the life ! I like the world and society and 
 amusement, but I don't think I ever enjoy myself 
 so well as when I am quite free, and away from 
 civilisation. I suppose living so much among the 
 Arabs has made me a little of a savage at heart. 
 Jeanne, Mr. Barrington says he would like to buy 
 a farm in Algeria, and I tell him he would lose 
 his money if he did, and would hate the country 
 and the climate into the bargain. It is not every- 
 one who can transform himself into a Bedouin like 
 you and me, ma sceur.' 
 
 Leon had spoken in his own language, but 
 Jeanne, who now showed herself at the window, 
 with Turco at her side, turned to Barrington with
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 153 
 
 a bright smile and addressed him in English, 
 which she spoke quite correctly, but with just 
 enough of foreign accent to lend it a charm not 
 its own. 
 
 ' You really think of buying land here ? ' she 
 said. ' How delightful that would be ! ' 
 
 Barrington was so much pleased and flattered, 
 that if Leon had offered to sell him a few hundred 
 acres off-hand, he would very likely have con- 
 sented to the bargain then and there ; but before 
 he had time to reply, Jeanne broke into a laugh 
 at the absurdity of her own notion. ' Of course 
 you were not speaking seriously,' she said. 
 ' Algiers is pleasant enough in the winter time, 
 and when you have a comfortable hotel to lodge 
 in ; but to hve in one of our rough farmhouses — 
 that is another thing ! I think you would not 
 remain with us long. Now, when will you begin 
 your picture ? ' 
 
 ' Whenever you are ready,' answered Barring- 
 ton. 'I thought, if you did not mind taking up 
 your position in that chair at the end of the 
 verandah, I might station myself in the garden 
 below, so as to get in the marabout, which is 
 really the most characteristic part of the house.' 
 
 It was the house that this artful schemer had
 
 154 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 requested permission to delineate. He represented 
 himself as an enthusiastic admirer of Moorish 
 architecture, and only suggested as an innocent 
 afterthought that a portrait of Mademoiselle de 
 Mersac, seated on the balcony, would add life to his 
 picture. He went off in search of his materials, 
 and, on his return, found that he was likely to 
 have a tete-a-tete interview with his fair model, 
 Leon having slipped away to look after his farm 
 duties. 
 
 ' So much the better ; two is company, three 
 is none,' he thought, as he set up his easel within 
 a few feet of the carved balustrade beside which 
 Jeanne was sitting in a low chair, Turco resting 
 his great head on her knee, and blinking lazily 
 from his shady position at the painter out in the 
 sunshine. 
 
 ' Surely you are placing yourself too close,' 
 Jeanne said, turning to look down upon him ; 
 ' you will only be able to take a very small 
 corner of the house from where you are sitting.' 
 
 ' It is only a very small corner that I want,' 
 replied Barrington, without hesitation. ' As far as 
 general effect goes, these Moorish buildings are 
 not striking ; their beauty lies in their carved 
 woodwork and arabesques and marble pillars.
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 155 
 
 and, and, and — in detail, in short. If I were a 
 dozen yards away, I couldn't possibly do justice 
 to the detail — don't you see.' 
 
 ' Could you not ? I am veiy glad, at all 
 events, that you are obliged to approach so near, 
 for now we can talk,' said Jeanne, unsuspectingly. 
 'I am anxious to hear what you think of our 
 Httle colonial society. Did you enjoy your.<elf 
 last night ? ' 
 
 'Immensely,' answered Barrington with a 
 strong emphasis on the word. ' I don't know when 
 I have enjoyed a ball so much. Would you mind 
 turning round a httle, so that I may get your 
 face quite in profile ? I shaU have to take one 
 or two sketches before I begin the picture itself. 
 Thank you very much. How could I do other- 
 wise than enjoy myself when — when everybody 
 was so kind and hospitable? And you — ^were 
 you tolerably weU amused ? ' 
 
 'Oh, yes,' answered Jeanne, a slight cloud 
 coming over her face, ' it was very pleasant — at 
 least for part of the evening. I got a httle tired 
 of it towards the end ; but I am not very fond of 
 balls.' 
 
 ' I am afraid you must have repented of your 
 kindness in giving me the cotillon,' said Barring-
 
 156 MADEMOISELLE DB MERSAC. 
 
 ton, executing a few rapid strokes, and surveying 
 the result with his head thrown back. ' I am not 
 a first-rate waltzer, I know.' 
 
 ' First-rate, no ! ' answered Jeanne, candidly ; 
 *but you dance very well — remarkably well, 
 indeed, for an Englishman. Besides, I am not 
 exacting^.' 
 
 ' I suppose we English are a clumsy people,' re- 
 marked Barrington, with just a tinge of disappoint- 
 ment in his tone — for indeed he was considered 
 an excellent dancer both in his own county and 
 in London — ' our education does not include a 
 great many useful little accomplishments. As for 
 me, I have perhaps had rather more advantages 
 than other fellows — not that I am conceited about 
 it, or anything of that kind, you know — still I 
 did learn to dance at Vienna.' 
 
 ' Did you ? ' said Jeanne, stroking Turco's head 
 and gazing absently out to sea. ' The Austrians 
 are the best waltzers in the world, are they not ? ' 
 
 She was evidently so little interested in the 
 subject that Barrington did not think it worth 
 while to reply to her last question, and returned 
 to his sketch with an uncomfortable impression of 
 having vaunted himself without effect. 
 
 There was a silence of nearly fiwe minutes.
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MEESAC. 157 
 
 which Jeanne broke at last by taking up the con- 
 versation exactly where she had left it. 
 
 ' You do not care to be thought a good dancer, 
 do you ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' I ? Oh, I don't know— yes, I think I do. 
 One always likes to do everythiug as well as one 
 can.' 
 
 ' But dancing is such an effeminate thing I For 
 women it is very well, but men have so many 
 better ways of distinguishing themselves. I like 
 Eughshmen, because they are more manly in their 
 amusements than Frenchmen. A man ought to 
 be a man ; and that is why I always tell Leon to 
 imitate the English in everything except — except 
 in a few small particulars. He talks a great deal 
 about your riding and shooting, and says you are 
 de premiere force in everything of that kind.' 
 
 ' Oh dear no ! I don't think I am really what 
 you could call good at anything. I can slioot 
 pretty fairly some days, but not by any means 
 always ; and shooting, I believe, is my chief 
 accomphshment. You see an idle man is bound 
 to take up all sorts of different pursuits, and it 
 would be odd if he couldn't succeed in any of 
 them. I am a Jack-of-all-trades and master of 
 none, as we say in England. Ycur iTother
 
 158 mademoiselle; de mersac. 
 
 thinks me a wonderful fellow because I can speak 
 French and play the piano and paint a little ; but 
 your brother, I fancy, is rather inclined to magnify 
 the talents of his friends. He is a little enthusiastic, 
 isn't he?' 
 
 ' Leon ? Yes, a little : he is young,' answered 
 Jeanne in a tone of kind toleration, as though she 
 and youth had nothing in common. 
 
 ' At his age,' resumed Barrington, with that 
 sententiousness which some of his friends occa- 
 sionally found rather trying, ' one receives impres- 
 sions rather than forms judgments. A lad of 
 twenty or twenty-one seldom sees far below the 
 surface, and is very apt to make friends with 
 associates who may do him incalculable harm 
 before he finds them out.' 
 
 ' You are not speaking of yourself, I suppose ? ' 
 
 ' Well, no ; I do not push modesty quite so 
 far. But frankly, I do think that your brother is 
 getting into a set here which is not likely to do 
 him any good. I hope I don't offend you by 
 saying so.' 
 
 ' Not at all ; on the contrary, you would do me 
 a great kindness if you would tell me in what way 
 you think he is in danger. He is his own master 
 now,' said Jeanne with a half sigh ; ' but I have
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 159 
 
 still more power with him, I beheve, than anyone 
 eke.' 
 
 ' Exactly. I knew that, or I should not have 
 ventured to broach the subject. The fact is, that, 
 if I were you, I should try to keep him away from 
 that fellow, Saint-Luc' 
 
 ' You do not hke M. de Saint-Luc ? ' 
 
 ' No ; I dishke him particularly. But it is not 
 a question of hking or disliking. He might be the 
 pleasantest fellow in existence, and yet a very bad 
 companion for a lad just entering the world. He 
 belongs to a class which I happen to know some- 
 thing of, and which includes a great many very 
 agreeable and entertaining people ; only unfortu- 
 nately they have not got a vestige of a principle 
 among them. The first time I saw M. de Saint - 
 Luc, I knew at once what he was — a man who 
 would do anything, except perhaps cheat at 
 cards.' 
 
 ' I don't think he means any harm to. Leon,' 
 said Jeanne, who had a dislike to speaking ill of 
 the absent. 
 
 ' Means ! — well, possibly not ; but example is 
 more powerful than intention. Then there is 
 Madame de Tremonville. From the little I sa^\' 
 of her, she is another person whom I should be
 
 160 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 inclined to warn any young brother of mine 
 against.' 
 
 ' Why do you say that ? ' asked Jeanne sharply, 
 wheeling round in her chair, and facing Mr. Bar- 
 lington with an anxious look, which he saw, 
 though he pretended to be still occupied with his 
 work. 
 
 ' I have no special reason,' he answered — ' I 
 am afraid I must trouble you to place yourself in 
 the same position that you were in just now. 
 Thank you very much. I have no particular 
 reason for condemning Madame de Tremonville ; 
 but for all that you may take my word for it that 
 she is not a safe friend for an impressionable young 
 man. When you joined us, he was saying how 
 he enjoyed life at his farm in the country ; if I 
 w^ere you, I w^ould induce him to go out there 
 now for a change of air.' 
 
 ' He would not do that,' answered Jeanne. 
 ' And, besides, he has been so long away that we 
 could not spare him again just at present. But it 
 is kind of you to take an interest in him,' she 
 added, after a pause, ' and I shall think over what 
 you have said.' 
 
 She dismissed the subject as a queen dismisses 
 an audience ; and Barrington, amused though he
 
 ilADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 161 
 
 was by her unconscious imperiousness, was not 
 bold enough to say any more. He worked on 
 silently at the rough sketch which he had begun, 
 indulging himself, from time to time, with a furtive 
 study of the beautiful, composed face which 
 showed no consciousness of his scrutiny. ' I wonder 
 Avhat her futm^e will be,' he mused. ' Xot an 
 altogether happy one, I should hope ; I doubt 
 whether happiness would be becoming to her. 
 Those great melancholy eyes and that calm sweet 
 mouth were made to triumph over adversity, not 
 to lose their meaning in commonplace domestic 
 bhss. Imagine her married to a fat Frenchman, 
 and the mother of three or four squalling brats 
 with cropped heads — oh, odious thought ! No ; 
 she must have some more exciting — more roman- 
 tic history than that. I think I should prefer 
 her to remain unmarried — perhaps have an unfor- 
 tunate attachment in early life, so as to subdue 
 her a little, and soften down that occasional hard- 
 ness of manner which is her one defect. Then 
 she must have her share of trouble — that, no 
 doubt, will be provided by our young friend Leon 
 — and gradually withdraw from the world, giving 
 herself up more and more to good works. Of 
 course her house will always be open to receive 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 an old friend, though — that I shall certainly re- 
 quire of her, and ' 
 
 At this juncture the subject of his day-dream 
 interrupted him by remarking — 
 
 ' It is very tiring to sit so long in the same 
 attitude. Can you not draw the balcony for a 
 few minutes, and allow me to move ? Ah, here 
 is M. de Fontvieille. A la bonne heure ! Now 1 
 shall be obliged to get up and shake hands with 
 him.' 
 
 Old M. de Fontvieille, who had just appeared 
 round the corner of the house, came forward, 
 holding in his hand the broad-leaved Panama hat 
 which the exigencies of the climate compelled him 
 to wear rather against the grain. In the town, 
 or when paying visits of ceremony, he affected the 
 tall, very tall black hat of a bygone period of 
 fashion, and at all times and in all places the rest 
 of his costume was a model of scrupulous neat- 
 ness. 
 
 His erect and dapper httle figure was evidently 
 not unacquainted with artful appliances in the 
 shape of stays and padding ; liis tightly-fitting 
 grey trowsers were strapped under a tiny pair of 
 boots, so highly polished that it was impossible to 
 look at them, on a sunshiny day, without blink-
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 163 
 
 ing ; and his grey moustache and imperial were 
 carefully waxed. 
 
 As he bent over Jeanne's outstretched hand, 
 he threw up at her one of those languishing 
 glances which had done terrible execution in the 
 days when the world was forty years younger. 
 They were innocent enough now, those speaking 
 looks from eyes which age had long since dimmed, 
 and were meant to express nothing more than 
 that respectful homage which M. de Fontvieille 
 had never in his life failed to render to any mem- 
 ber of the fair sex, whether old or young, plain or 
 pretty. The old gentleman had retained the man- 
 ner, as well as the costume, of a youth which had 
 been prolonged beyond the limits of middle age, 
 and ogled grandmothers and grandchildren with 
 perfect impartiality. 
 
 ' I have been paying my respects to Madame 
 la Duchesse,' he said ; ' and I have made her 
 promise to come out into the garden shortly to 
 enjoy this divine sunshine. She left me in the 
 drawing-room, saying that she would put on her 
 bonnet and return in two minutes. I waited for 
 her half an hour, and then, as I was beginning to 
 tire of my own company, I thought I might ven- 
 ture to step round and wish you good-morning.
 
 164 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 So you are about to be immortalised, Jeanne? 
 Will you do me the honour to present me to 
 monsieur ? ' 
 
 Barrington rose and bowed, as Jeanne made 
 the requested introduction, and M. de Fontvieillo 
 bent his grey head till it was almost in a line with 
 his knees, and brushed the gravel with a backward 
 sweep of his Panama hat. 
 
 ' You are an amateur artist, monsieur ? ' said 
 the elder gentleman. ' I envy you your talent : 
 you are in a country which should be the paradise 
 of artists ; and you have a magnificent landscape 
 before you. May I be permitted to glance at your 
 canvas ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly,' answered Barrington, standing 
 back to allow" the other to approach his easel ; 
 ' but it is not precisely the landscape that I pro- 
 pose to paint. As you see by the rough sketch 
 before you, I am attempting nothing more ambi- 
 tious than a souvenii' of this exquisite old building; 
 and mademoiselle has very kindly consented to let 
 me have a likeness of herself in the foreground.' 
 
 ' Ah, I perceive,' said the old gentleman, peer- 
 ing inquisitively at the outline through his double 
 eye-glass — ' a study of the Campagne and made- 
 moiselle ; or perhaps I ought rather to say, of
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MEKSAC. 165 
 
 mademoiselle and the Campagae. Both charming 
 subjects, monsieur, and I admire your taste in 
 having accorded the largest portion of your space 
 to the more deserving of the two.' 
 
 'Mademoiselle is in the foreground,' began 
 Barrington, explanatorily. 
 
 ' Naturally. It would have been impolite to 
 place her anywhere else,' returned M. de Font- 
 vieille, with a twinkle in his eye. ' Do you paint 
 in oils or in water-colours, monsieur ? ' 
 
 ' In oils.' 
 
 ' Ah ! and that requires many sittings, does it 
 not ? — a picture in oils.' 
 
 Barrington answered vaguely that it was im- 
 possible to fix in advance the time required for 
 the completion of any picture ; and then, to his 
 rehef, the Duchess joined the group, leaning upon 
 her stick, and M. de Fontvieille desisted from his 
 queries. 
 
 The two old people went away together pre- 
 sently, and began a steady, slow promenade up and 
 down over the gravel walks, while Barrington re- 
 turned to his work, and Jeanne to her reflections. 
 
 ' And how does the affaire Saint-Luc pro- 
 gress ? ' enquired M. de Fontvieille, as soon as he 
 and his old friend were out of earshot.
 
 166 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 The Duchess made a grimace. 'As far as I 
 can see, it does not progress at all,' she answered. 
 ' You know how perverse Jeanne is ; it is mere 
 waste of time and temper to attempt to influence 
 her. Happily M. de Saint-Luc is of a very- 
 patient disposition ; and, moreover, he is despe- 
 rately in love with the girl. I trust in time, and 
 say nothing ; but I wish the matter could be set- 
 tled one way or the other. At my age, Time is 
 an uncertain friend ; I may have to part with him 
 for ever before I am a year older, and then what 
 is to become of Jeanne ? Ah, the poor old Mar- 
 quis! If he had not taken it into his head to 
 marry an Englishwoman, how much trouble we 
 might all have been spared ! ' 
 
 ' Jeanne, for one, would have been spared the 
 trouble of existence,' observed M. de Fontvieille. 
 ' Her father's marriage may have been no blessing 
 for her ; but it has provided you and me, madame, 
 with an interest for our old age. Does M. de 
 Saint-Luc come here often ? ' 
 
 ' No, not very often. He is ceremonious, and 
 will not visit us without an invitation. Certainly 
 he is invited tolerably frequently ; but then, you 
 understand, it is I who ask him, and he is not 
 always well received.'
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 167 
 
 'It is a pity,' remarked M. de Fontvieille, 
 meditatively, with a glance in tlie direction of tlie 
 house, where Barrington and Jeanne were to be 
 seen apparently engaged in animated conversa- 
 tion — ' it is a pity that M. de Saint-Luc is not an 
 artist.' 
 
 ' Ah, bah ! ' returned the Duchess, following 
 his look and his thought ; ' there is no danger. 
 Jeanne, if she is deficient in some good qualities, 
 has at least that of common sense ; and that Mr. 
 Barrington (who, j9ar imrentlihe^ is a much better 
 informed and more agreeable person than most of 
 his compatriots) is no longer young enough to 
 make a fool of himself. Everybody knows that 
 mixed marriages always end in misery. If, how- 
 ever, you have any fears,' she added with a short 
 sardonic laugh, ' I will tell Jeanne that the Eng- 
 lishman is an excellent jyarti^ and that I have a 
 high opinion of him. That ^vill dispose of him 
 effectually.' 
 
 ' He is rich, they say.' 
 
 ' My dear monsieur, of what are you dream- 
 ing ? If he had all the wealth of the Eoth- 
 schilds, do you suppose that would make any 
 difference ? No, no ! we have had enough of 
 English marriages in the de Mei-sac family. But
 
 168 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 I tell you there is no danger at all. Come, let us 
 talk of something else. I am weary of vexing 
 myself, night and day, with the question of Jeanne's 
 future.' 
 
 ' The future ? My dear madame, we have 
 reached an age — you and I — at which most mor- 
 tals cease to have any control over future events, 
 and retain very little over present ones. We 
 have acted our part and said our say in this 
 world, and must now stand aside to make room 
 for a younger generation. All that we can do is 
 to offer good advice — which we may be pretty 
 sure will not be accepted. Did you act upon ad- 
 vice when you were young, madame ? For my 
 part, nothing short of coercion had any influence 
 upon me ; and Jeanne is not precisely a person to 
 be coerced. Wh}^, then, vex yourself? Jeanne 
 will take her own way, and very likely it will not 
 be a bad way. Only, if I were in your place, and 
 if I were determined that she should marry M de 
 Saint-Luc, I should seriously recommend that 
 gentleman to develop a talent for drawing. But 
 I see that the subject is displeasing to you ; par- 
 don me if I have been indiscreet in pursuing it.' 
 M. de Fontvieille stood still in the gravel path.
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 169 
 
 took off his hat, and bowed profoundly as he 
 made this apology. 
 
 ' Will you come now and see my sapphires F ' 
 he continued. ' They are good stones — that I 
 know ; but I want the benefit of your taste as to 
 the best setting for them.' 
 
 M. de Fontvieille had for some years been 
 the tenant of the neighbouring villa, which the 
 Duchess had taken upon her first arrival at Algiers, 
 and which she had occupied up to the time of the 
 old Marquis's death. He had filled the house 
 with curiosities and works of art of one kind and 
 another, being a well-to-do old gentleman, and 
 having some difficulty in disposing of the super- 
 fluity of his income ; but his chief craze was his 
 collection of precious stones. These, the possession 
 of which was doubly dear to him by reason of 
 many a well -remembered haggle and protracted 
 bargain preceding their purchase, he kept in cer- 
 tain strong boxes fitted, for that purpose, with 
 velvet-covered trays, and exhibited, with just 
 pride, to appreciative friends. 
 
 ' What ? More gems ! ' cried the Duchess. 
 ' You will ruin yourself, my friend ; and, one of 
 these fine mornings, yom' servant will murder you,
 
 170 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 and run away with your treasures. I will see the 
 sapphires, though : I am not too old to take de- 
 light in looking at pretty things/ 
 
 So the two old people disappeared from the 
 garden ; and were a considerable time absent ; 
 for, once the boxes were unlocked, neither of 
 them could resist going through the entire col- 
 lection. When they returned, the western sky 
 was flooded with a glow of orange hght, upon 
 which tiny golden cloudlets floated ; the flower- 
 beds were barred with long black shadows from 
 the cypresses, and the air was sharp with the 
 chill which in southern latitudes invariably heralds 
 the sunset. Jeanne had left her post in the veran- 
 dah, and was standing beside the artist, who had 
 already packed up his easel, paint-box, and other 
 belongings. 
 
 ' Mademoiselle is going to introduce me to her 
 live stock,' said the latter. 
 
 ' Oh, indeed,' answered the Duchess. ' Are 
 you fond of animals, Mr. Barrington ? ' 
 
 ' Devoted to them.' 
 
 'Mafoi! then I envy you your taste. If I 
 could share it my life would be far pleasanter 
 than it is ; but unluckily for me, I have never had 
 any love for menageries. That dog Turco is bad
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 171 
 
 enough : he keeps me in constant terror by his 
 habit of bouncing out unexpectedly from behind 
 doors, and oversetting the unwary ; but he is an 
 angel in comparison wdth the ^vild boar, or with 
 Jeanne's jackal, whom we call Jeremie on account 
 of his ceaseless lamentations. Do you know what 
 it is, monsieur, to be kept awake, the whole night 
 through, by the howhng of a jackal ? But of 
 course you do not. If a jackal howled under 
 your window, you would take a gun, in the 
 course of five minutes, and go out and kill him. 
 That is also what I should do if I were a man ; 
 but being only an old woman, and timid of hi'e- 
 arms, I have to lie still, and listen to the senseless 
 cries of that evil beast till I'm almost maddened, 
 and ' 
 
 ' I had no idea that you could hear him on 
 your side of the house, madame,' interposed 
 Jeanne, apologetically. ' If he disturbs you, we 
 will send him away into the coimtry.' 
 
 ' Useless, dear child ! His empty kennel would 
 remain, and neither you nor Leon would aUo^^- 
 it to stand long unoccupied. 1 prefer present 
 known evils to futiure indefinite ones. Would you 
 beheve, monsieiu*, that we once had a hyasna 
 chained in the backyard for three days ? On the
 
 172 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 fourth day he broke loose, and was found at 
 night scratching at the graves in the churchyard. 
 Imagine what a sc^andal ! He was summarily put 
 to death. As for that depraved Jeremie, I have 
 become accustomed to him after a fashion ; and 
 how do I know what his successor might be? 
 Very probably a porcupine, who would wander 
 about the house, and who would be sure to take a 
 delight in remaining motionless whenever I en- 
 tered one of those dark rooms, so that I might 
 take him for a divan, and seat myself upon him. 
 But I must not keep you standing an}^ longer in 
 this chilly air. You will excuse me, I am sure, if 
 I do not offer to accompany you to the yard.' 
 
 And so the old lady vanished through the 
 doorway, followed by M. de Fontvieille, who, 
 after a moment's hesitation between dread of rheu- 
 matism and doubt as to the prudence of leaving 
 Jeanne alone any longer with the Englishman, 
 found the former consideration the w^eig^htier of 
 the two, and yielded to it accordingly. 
 
 Barrington was very willing to excuse both the 
 old people. He followed Jeanne across the court- 
 yard to the stable, whose tenants squealed and 
 hinnied, as only Arab horses can, at the entrance 
 of their mistress ; was presented to the unattrac-
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 173 
 
 live Jeremie, to the wild boar, to numerous dogs, 
 and finally to a pair of beautiful soft-eyed gazelles, 
 the male of whom no sooner espied the stranger 
 than, w^ith a grunt of defiance, he put his head 
 down, dashed at him like an express train, and 
 would probably have succeeded in producing a 
 humiliating catastrophe, had not his mistress 
 caught him deftly by the horns in mid-career, 
 and held him captive in her strong white hands. 
 
 Shortly afterwards Barrington took his leave, 
 having obtained permission to return on the fol- 
 lowing day, and set to work in earnest upon his 
 picture. 
 
 In a letter which he addressed, about this 
 time, to the same friend at whose correspondence 
 we have already had a glimpse, occurs, inter 
 alia, the following passage : — 
 
 ' It is a great mistake to suppose, as many 
 people do, that feminine beauty of form consists 
 solely in rounded outlines, and that any appear- 
 ance of strength is a defect in a woman. I hate 
 fat arms, and flabby, dimpled, powerless hands. 
 Xature no more intended bands and arms to look 
 like that than she intended a prize ])ig to be so 
 heavy that his legs will not support his weight. 
 Women ought to be able to use their hmbs freely.
 
 174 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 And if ever you meet a beautiful girl with strong 
 wrists in whom you feel an interest, take my ad- 
 vice and buy her a gazelle — or if you can't get a 
 gazelle, perhaps a billy-goat might do. Encourage 
 the beast to charge at her, and teach her to catch 
 him neatly by the horns when he is going full 
 tilt. Of course he will bowl her over as clean as 
 a whistle at first, but she mustn't mind that. 
 Once she has acquired the knack of seizing him 
 at the right moment, she will find the result will 
 be worth any bruises he may have given her in 
 teaching her the lesson; and it will be worth ten 
 times the money you have paid for him to see the 
 picture the girl will make as she holds the strug- 
 gling brute in a perfectly firm grasp, but without 
 any unbecoming exertion.'
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 175 
 
 CHAPTER Yin. 
 
 MADAi^fE DE TREMOXVILLE AT HOME. 
 
 The grave, silent Arabs, who, with their lon^r 
 strings of camels, leave Algiers by the Bab-Azoun. 
 and, following the curve of the bay, set their faces 
 in a south-easterly direction ; the sturdy Kabyles, 
 trudging towards their native mountains, with 
 money, well earned by a month or so of hard 
 labour in the town, in their purses ; the farmers 
 and butchers, on their way to the great weekly 
 cattle-market at Boufiarik ; the strangers, whose 
 guide-books command them to \dsit Bhdah and 
 the far-famed Gorge of the Chiffa — all these, 
 before they have well accomj^lished three miles of 
 their joiu-ney, pass, on their left hand, a pleasant, 
 shady domain, where avenues of palm and j^lane 
 and eucalyptus, parterres gay with many-tinted 
 flowers, and cool, dark vistas, at the edge of which 
 a glint of foam shows where the breakers meet the 
 shore, might tempt the wayfarer to timi aside out
 
 176 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 of the heat and dust, and rest awhile, if the 
 exigencies of business permitted of such delay. 
 This property, which bears the modest title of the 
 'Jardin d'Essai,' was set aside by the French 
 Government, shortly after the conquest of Algiers, 
 for the establishment of a great nursery-garden, 
 and for the acclimatisation of tropical plants. It 
 lias answered its purpose well ; and at the present 
 time it is not only a boon to colonists, but a 
 charming, cool retreat, where lazy people can 
 dream away an hour or two in that contentment 
 of idleness which can only be enjoyed in its per- 
 fection under southern skies. 
 
 Thither wandered M. de Saint-Luc, on a warm, 
 still afternoon ; and seating himself at the end of 
 one of the alleys, fell, as of late it had become 
 habitual to him to do, into a melancholy reverie. 
 From the point at which he had taken up his 
 position the shore took an inward sweep, so that 
 a broad stretch of blue and glittering sea inter- 
 vened between him and the town of Algiers, which 
 rose abruptly from the water, white and dazzling, 
 like a city of marble, against its green background. 
 
 Saint-Luc surveyed the prospect with a sigh. 
 His thoughts reverted to the time — infinitely 
 remote, as it now seemed — when, as a gay young
 
 3L\DEM0ISELLE DE MER5AC. J77 
 
 Chasseur d'Afriqiie, without much money to spend, 
 but with a fine stock of health and animal spirits, 
 he had fought in Kabyha under old Marshal 
 Eandon, and when, the campaign being ended, he 
 had been ordered to Algiers with his regiment, 
 and had come in sight of the town on just such a 
 fine afternoon as this. There had been a good 
 deal of laughing and joking between him and his 
 brother officers, he remembered — much mutual 
 congratulation upon their safe return to civilised 
 luxuries ; and it had been agreed that they were 
 to treat themselves that evening to the best dinner 
 that Algiers could produce, and to go to the 
 theatre afterwards. But he had not gone to 
 either dinner or theatre ; for, on his arrival, a 
 letter had been handed to him which briefly 
 announced that his old father was dead, and had 
 left him a rich man. 
 
 ' It was my last day of happiness,' sighed Saint- 
 Luc, forgetful of the commencement of his Parisian 
 career, which had been merry enough until satiety 
 had robbed it of its charm. ' When I sailed for 
 France, I left my youth behind . me, and never 
 knew what I had lost till it was far past retrieving. 
 Ah! if I had met her then! Or if I could be 
 young now ! ' How many years was it since Saint- 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 Luc and his comrades had ridden gallantly home 
 from the hill country of the discomfited Kabyles ? 
 How many years ? And how much had they 
 held that a man could look back upon with any 
 kind of comfort or pride ? Once he had broken 
 his right arm in a steeple-chase at La Marche, and 
 had scrambled on to his horse again and won the 
 ]'ace, amidst roars of applause ; once he had broken 
 the bank at Baden ; and once he had disarmed the 
 famous Due de Chaumont St.-Hilaire in a duel. 
 These were his triumphs; and time had been 
 Avhen he had contemplated them with some self- 
 approval. In his present mood, he recalled them 
 with profound disgust. Such feats might com- 
 mand the homage of a Madame de Tremonville ; 
 but with Jeanne, as lie knew, they were not likely 
 to count for much. 
 
 ' She despises me,' he thought ; * and parhleu ! 
 I am inclined to share in her sentiments. If she 
 felt any admiration for me, it is I who should 
 despise her. What right have I to expect that 
 she, in her proud purity, should stoop to marry a 
 half-ruined spendthrift ? The wisest thing I could 
 .do would be to take myself off back to France — 
 only that is no longer possible. I must wait on, 
 and take my dismissal from her own lips. It
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 179 
 
 will not kill me — but I wish I had illusions enougli 
 left to be able to believe that it would ! ' 
 
 The sound of approaching wheels interrupted 
 his dismal self-communing, and at the same 
 moment he heard himself called by name. 
 
 Leon de Mersac, driving a low pony-carriage, 
 had pulled up a few yards from the dreamer, and 
 was contemplating him in undisguised astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 ' You here ! ' he exclaimed. ' What in the 
 world are vou doincr in the Jardin d'Essai, all bv 
 yourself?' 
 
 ' I am doing nothing,' answered Saint-Luc, 
 getting up. ' It is the habit of the country, is it 
 not ? ' 
 
 ' It is not my habit,' said Leon ; ' I have 
 always plenty to do — too much even. For in- 
 stance, I ought to be at the market at BoujQTarik 
 to-day ; instead of which, I have to go and cal^ 
 upon Madame de Tremonville. Will you come ? 
 
 ' I would rather send my card by you.' 
 
 Leon shook his head. ' She would not like 
 that. She always expects her friends to call ui 
 person.' 
 
 ' Am I one of her friends ? I did not know it,' 
 said Saint-Luc ; ' but if I must go, I may as well 
 
 N 2
 
 180 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 go with you. And by-the-by, Leon,' he added, 
 as he seated himself in the pony-carriage, ' I was 
 thinking of saying a word or two to you about 
 that lady, if you will not think it too great a 
 liberty.' 
 
 ' Say what you please. I shall think nothing 
 a liberty that comes from you,' answered Leon, 
 politely. 
 
 ' I am going to make you angry, nevertheless. 
 Well, you must try to forgive me. Do you know 
 that this good Madame de Tremonville is amusing 
 herself by trying to make a fool of you ? ' 
 
 ' No,' answered Leon, decidedly ; ' I do not 
 know it. You misunderstand her ; and I am not 
 surprised at your doing so, for she is fond of 
 admiration, like all women who are young and 
 pretty ; but she is not a coquette. If you were as 
 well acquainted with her as I am, you would have 
 no feeling towards her but one of the deepest 
 compassion ; for, though perhaps you might not 
 suppose it from seeing her in public, she is very 
 unhappy.' 
 
 ' So those perennial smiles, and that charming 
 flow of animation, only disguise an aching heart. 
 How sad ! ' 
 
 ' It is easy to sneer,' returned Leon ; ' but
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MEKSAC. 181 
 
 what would you have her do ? Would you prefer 
 that she should go about moaning, and depress 
 everybody by showing a dismal face ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly not. I was only admuing the for- 
 titude -sdth which she bears the neglect of an 
 unsympathetic husband — for that, I presume, is 
 the affliction she suffers from.' 
 
 ' How did you guess that ? ' exclaimed Leon, 
 quite astonished at this striking proof of Saint- 
 Luc's penetration. 'But, to be sure, anybody 
 might see how ill-suited to her that dull, vulgar 
 old man is. They have not a thought nor a taste 
 in common ; and he treats her w^th the most os- 
 tentatious indifference. Sometimes, when she 
 speaks of him, she cannot restrain her tears.' 
 
 ' And you dry them for her ? Allojis, allons^ 
 my friend ; you are accepting a part in a very old 
 comedy. It is one that I have played more than 
 once myself, and I know it by heart. If my own 
 past hfe gave me the right to offer counsel to a 
 young man, I should recommend you to decUne 
 such a role, though it involves little risk, except 
 that of exliibiting yourself in a somewhat ridicu- 
 lous aspect to your friends, so long as you re- 
 member that you are merely acting. But if you 
 take it into vour head to be in earnest over the
 
 182 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 affkir, the case is different, and you may incur a 
 good deal of needless unhappiness. Whatever 
 you do, don't take Madame de Tremonville 
 seriously. Believe me, she is not wortli it, and 
 does not expect it. Amuse yourself with her, if 
 you must ; but don't put faith in all she says ; 
 above all, don't be absurd enough to fall in love 
 with her. Formerly there were two classes of 
 Avomen — devotes and women of the world : one 
 knew what to expect of each of them, and suited 
 one's conduct towards them accordingly ; but in 
 these days a third class has sprung up, and is 
 becoming more numerous than either of the others * 
 — a class of women who are worldly without being 
 witty ; whose religion, of which they make a con- 
 spicuous display, is nothing but a superstition ; 
 Avho are mostly very ignorant, wlio have no merit, 
 except that of dressing well, and no passions but 
 vanity and a certain mean ambition. It is a mass 
 of such charming creatures that forms the upper 
 layer of fashionable society in France, under his 
 Majesty Napoleon III., whom Heaven preserve ! 
 There are exceptions here and there, of course, 
 but I am much mistaken if your Madame de Tre- 
 monville is one of them.' 
 
 ' You are a man of the world,' said Leon, ' and 

 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 183 
 
 naturally know more of the state of society at large 
 than I can pretend to do. Also, like most men of 
 the world, you have a habit of generalising which 
 is apt to lead you into errors with regard to indi- 
 viduals. You are altogether wrong, for instance, 
 in your judgment of Madame de Tremonville, who 
 is neither ignorant, nor vain, nor irrehgious. But 
 you can discover her true character for yourself, if 
 you care to take the trouble : I have no particular 
 wish to influence your opinion.' 
 
 ' As you please. Let us admit her to be an 
 angel. I still don't see what good result you pro- 
 pose to gain by making love to her.' 
 
 ' I propose nothing, and I am not making love 
 to her,' answered Leon, flicking the near pony 
 impatiently with his whip. 'And, Avith yom* 
 permission, I should prefer to change the sub- 
 ject.' 
 
 ' I told you I should make you angry,' remarked 
 Saint-Luc, as the carriage tiurned in at Madame de 
 Tremonville's gates. 
 
 ' I am not in the least angry,' returned Leon ; 
 ' but I see no use in discussing a state of affairs 
 which does not exist — that is all.' 
 
 And so he pulled up at the door of the villa ; 
 and Saint-Luc, with the conviction, common to
 
 184 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 most wise counsellors, that he might as well have 
 held his tongue, got out and rang the bell. 
 
 The visitors were at once admitted into the 
 presence of the lady of the house, whom they 
 found sitting on a footstool, surrounded by officers 
 in staff-uniforms, all of whom were busily engaged 
 in tearing up newspapers into small scraps. 
 
 ' Ah messieurs ! you arrive a propos,' she 
 cried. ' You shall take part in our chasse, M. 
 de Saint-Luc, you, no doubt, are already acquainted 
 with the rules of the game. A bag full of paper 
 is given to one of the party, who represents the 
 hare, and who starts in any direction he pleases, 
 scattering the paper behind him. The rest, who 
 act as hounds, follow, after the interval of a 
 minute, upon his track, and the chase continues 
 till the hare is caught, or the scent exhausted. 
 The hare, if he is captured, pays fifty francs into 
 the box which you see, for the benefit of the poor ; 
 if, on the other hand, he escape, each of the 
 hounds must contribute twenty francs to the same 
 object. There is also a fine of twenty francs for 
 any hound who leaves the scent, or gives up the 
 pursuit.' 
 
 In this manner Madame de Tremonville com- 
 bined amusement with benevolence. It has
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 185 
 
 already been said that she was not averse to such 
 forms of romping as she conceived to be sanc- 
 tioned by the decrees of fashion ; and this notion 
 of a paper-chase, wafted to her by some echo 
 from Compiegne, had taken her fancy as well as 
 that of her admirers. ' It will be no novelty to 
 you, monsieur,' she continued, addressing Saint- 
 Luc ; ' but you will hardly expect to meet with 
 novelty in our barbarous colony. It is some- 
 thing to do — one runs about and one laughs — 
 voila ! ' 
 
 It struck Saint-Luc as possible that one might 
 sit still and laugh, or even sit still without laugh- 
 ing; either of which alternatives he would have 
 preferred to the one suggested to liim ; but he 
 was not so ungrracious as to oive utterance to his 
 sentiments, and began to tear up paper with poHte 
 resignation. 
 
 ' Will not you sing us something, madame, 
 while we prepare the scent ? ' asked one of the 
 officers ; and Madame de Tremonville consented, 
 without waiting to be pressed . She seated herself 
 at the piano, and sang, with a good deal of spirit, 
 a ballad, the words of which were hardly open to 
 objection, though there was something in the 
 manner of their dehvery which the performer
 
 186 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 mentally qualified as ' cliic^' aud her audience as 
 ' risque.' 
 
 The officers glanced at one another and smiled 
 furtively ; Saint-Luc preserved a countenance of 
 blank impassibiUty ; but Leon, mindful of the 
 conversation which had occupied his drive from 
 the Jardin d'Essai, reddened and frowned. 
 
 Madame de Tremonville was not slow to detect 
 these signs of displeasure. ' Look at M. de Mer- 
 sac ! ' she cried. ' He is actually blushing for me. 
 And yet I had chosen the most innocent song in 
 my repertoire^ out of special deference to his 
 prejudices. M. le Marquis has lately become of 
 a simplicity quite Arcadian. I think even that 
 his thoughts wander sometimes to some shep- 
 herdess or other — is it not so, monsieur ? Ah ! 
 you blush still more. I would stake my diamond 
 ring against the straw hat whose brim you are 
 trying to pull off, that you are in love.' 
 
 ' Then you would lose your ring, madame. I 
 beg to assure you that I am not in the very least 
 in love with any human creature.' 
 
 Madame de Tremonville laughed. ' You speak 
 with such emphasis that we must believe you,* 
 she said ; ' but you need not be angry. It is no
 
 J 
 
 M.\DE^IOISELLE DE MERSAC. 187 
 
 disgrace to be in love ; is it M. cle Longueil ? 
 You ouglit to know.' 
 
 ' I hope not ; I know it is a misfortune,' re- 
 plied the officer addressed, ^^ith a languishing 
 look at his hostess. 
 
 'M. de Longueil is always in love, and is 
 always successM — at least, so he says,' continued 
 the lady. 'Ah! these beaux sabreursl who can 
 withstand them? Since his Mexican campaign, 
 M. de Longueil has been irresistible.' 
 
 The young man, who in truth had been inva- 
 Hded home almost immediately after his landing 
 in Mexico, and had had to put up with some good- 
 humoured raillery from his comrades on the sub- 
 ject, winced perceptibly under this unexpected 
 attack, to the great joy of his assailant. She 
 liked to say occasional sharp things to her adorers. 
 to hurt their feelings, and set them against one 
 another. It was her way of paying them out for 
 the free-and-easy fashion in -which they usually 
 treated her ; and she was the more able to in- 
 dulge her taste, inasmuch as she was j)erfectly 
 well aware that she could at any moment, with a 
 slight effort, disperse the clouds which her re- 
 marks might have called up. She soon found
 
 188 IVUDEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 means to restore M. de Longueil to good humour ; 
 and, seeing that Leon still sat, silent and sulky, 
 by himself, she took an opportunity to cross the 
 room to him, and whisper confidentially, ' They 
 are so scandalous — they had remarked that you 
 were constantly here. I was obliged to say some- 
 thing to divert their suspicions.' 
 
 Whereupon that infatuated youth immediately 
 recovered his spirits, and joined in the general 
 entreaty that the paper-chase might now be 
 allowed to begin. 
 
 Lots were drawn to decide who should first 
 act as hare, and the lot fell upon M. de Longueil. 
 He took up his bag and started at once through 
 the open door, and they heard his footsteps dying 
 away on the gravel outside, while Madame de 
 Tremonville, watch in hand, awaited the expira- 
 tion of the stipulated minute. Then, time being 
 up, the whole party set out in hot pursuit, keep- 
 ing scrupulously to the scent, and imitating, with 
 indifferent success, the baying of a pack in full 
 cry. Out into the blazing sunshine they rushed, 
 helter-skelter, down the slope of the garden, 
 through a hedge of aloes, into a narrow shady 
 lane, still paved with the slabs which the Eomans 
 had left there in the days of Julius Caesar ; then
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 189 
 
 up the hill again, panting and laughing, across 
 a meadow, through another hedge or two, over a 
 low wall, into the chinks of which the affrighted 
 lizards darted, and so back to their starting-point. 
 Madame de Tremonville kept the lead with Leon 
 at her elbow ; the others were close behind ; and 
 far in the rear Saint-Luc, who had no special apti- 
 tude for playing the fool, trotted resignedly, 
 emitting from time to time, as in duty bound, a 
 brief, moiurnful bark. The hare was now in sio-ht, 
 and, confident in his powers of outstripping his 
 pursuers, began to amuse himself by doubling, 
 passing within a foot or two of the distressed pack, 
 and stimulating their ardour with sundry insulting 
 jeers. But his triumph was short. Looking over 
 his shoulder to fling back a derisive shout, he 
 stumbled on the edge of a flower-bed, and, failing 
 prone into a cluster of rose-bushes, was ignomi- 
 niously captured by Madame de Tremonville, to 
 whom he ruefully handed over his fine of fifty 
 francs. 
 
 Fate now selected as victim M. de Saint-Luc, 
 who promptly offered to pay fine in default ; but 
 this proposition being received with marked dis- 
 favour, he was fain to accept the bag of paper 
 handed to him ; his disgust bein^ somewhat miti-
 
 190 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 gated by the permission accorded to liis request 
 that he might, if he so pleased, confine his pro- 
 gress to the house. For he thought, ' So long as 
 I remain within four walls, I shall at least escape 
 the risk of sunstroke, and, what is more important, 
 I shall be in no danger of being seen in this very 
 ridiculous position by any chance acquaintance 
 who may be passing in the neighbourhood.' 
 
 He left behind him, therefore, a tortuous 
 track, leading now into one room, now into an- 
 other, out into the verandah and back again, and 
 finally up the staircase. It was not until he had 
 darted in and out of M. de Tremonville^s dressing- 
 room, and was becoming hard pressed by the 
 hounds, who, with shouts of laughter, were 
 following closely upon his heels, that a happy 
 inspiration occurred to him. Why should he not 
 escape from the house, run down to the high road, 
 beyond which nobody would be likely to follow 
 him, and so slip quietly down home? Full of 
 this idea, he dashed down the stairs, three steps 
 at the time, flung open the iront door, and — 
 plunged headlong into the arms of Madame do 
 Vaublanc, who, in her very best clothes, was 
 coming to pay a visit of ceremony after the 
 ball.
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 191 
 
 ^ Mais, monsieur r shrieked that astonished 
 lady, reeling back and involuntarily ringing a 
 tremendous peal with the bell-handle which she 
 had grasped for support. 
 
 Saint' Luc felt it to be rather hard luck that 
 Madame de Vaublanc should have chosen that 
 day of all others for paying her respects at the 
 Villa de Tremonville ; but it w^as worse that she 
 should have brought Mademoiselle de Mersac with 
 her ; and what was worst of all was, that his 
 lively hostess, unconscious of the appearance of 
 any fresh personages upon the scene, must needs 
 bounce out through the half-open door, and fling 
 her arms round him with a cry of triiunph. Leon, 
 who, as usual, was following close upon her heels, 
 opened his mouth to re-echo the shout, but shut 
 it again abruptly when he became aware of his 
 sister's calm brown eyes fixed upon him in won- 
 dering interrogation. The rest of the pack, having 
 had time to perceive the state of affairs, quietly 
 and discreetly vanished. 
 
 There was a brief, uncomfortable pause, durincr 
 which the five persons w^ho stood face to face in 
 the full light of the sinking sun, contemplated one 
 another with varied feeUngs. Leon looked, as he 
 felt, very much like a schoolboy caught out of
 
 192 3IADEM01SELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 bounds ; Madame de Tremonville, for once in her 
 life, was a little disconcerted ; Saint-Luc leant 
 against the wall, with folded arms, the picture of 
 calm despair ; and Jeanne, remembering the 
 promise she had extorted from this unfortunate 
 delinquent, was at no pains to hide the disgust 
 and contempt with whicli his duplicity filled her. 
 Only Madame de Vaublanc, scrutinising the flushed 
 cheeks and disordered hair of her enemy, smiled 
 with grim satisfaction, and sang an inward psean 
 at the shrine of Nemesis the Just. 
 
 ' An orgy, mesdames — a veritable orgy ! ' she 
 hissed, describing the scene subsequently to an 
 eager circle of listeners. ' If you had seen her, 
 with her hair down her back and her eyes blazing, 
 clutch M. de Saint-Luc round the neck, you would 
 have thought, as I declare I did for a moment, 
 that she had gone out of her mind. The poor 
 Vicomte,who did not appear to enjoy his position, 
 fumbled in his pocket and handed her two or 
 three napoleons. It was to save himself from 
 some penalty, I presume — though what worse 
 punishment he could have feared than being em- 
 braced by that woman, I do not pretend to say. 
 You will easily beheve that I declined to enter 
 the house, though she recovered herself, after a
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 193 
 
 minute, and begged us to do so, suggesting even, 
 in the insolent manner that you know of, that we 
 should join in the game we had interrupted. 
 " Many thanks, madame," said I ; '' but, from what 
 I have seen of your game, it seems to me to be 
 one fitted neither for old women nor for young 
 girls ! " And with that I took my leave. The 
 two gentlemen followed immediately, and caught 
 us up before we were out of the avenue. I was 
 glad to see that they both looked very much 
 ashamed of themselves.' 
 
 Ashamed of themselves they undoubtedly 
 were, but in very different degrees of intensity. 
 Leon's humihation was lessened by a strong ad- 
 mixture of that odd pride which youths of all 
 nations would appear to take in publicly exposing 
 their idiocy where a pretty woman is concerned ; 
 whereas that of Saint- Luc contained no consoling 
 element whatever, and was the more bitter because 
 he felt it to be wholly undeserved. 
 
 It was in the hope of exculpating himself in 
 some degree, that he hurried after Madame de 
 Vaublanc and Jeanne. 
 
 ' You are taking the wrong tiu-ning, M. de 
 Saint-Luc,' said the latter lady. ' Our road leads 
 directly away from the town.' 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 ' I am going to make my way back by El 
 Biar and the Frais Vallon/ he explained. ' It is 
 a much prettier walk.' 
 
 To this Jeanne vouchsafed no rejoinder; and, 
 somehow or other, Saint-Luc found himself pre- 
 sently walking beside slow-paced Madame de 
 V^aublanc, while the two tall figures of Mademoi- 
 selle de Mersac and her brother were drawing 
 rapidly away in front. It is highly improbable 
 hat he would have got speech of Jeanne again 
 that day, if the old lady at his side had not hap- 
 pened to be cognisant of the Duchess's wishes 
 with respect to him, and a staunch supporter of 
 them. As it was, she soon gave him his oppor- 
 tunity. 
 
 ' Stop, my children, stop ! ' she cried, when 
 they reached the entrance of a narrow stony lane ; 
 ' let us take the short cut.' 
 
 'You will find it rough walking, madame,' 
 said Jeanne, doubtfully. 
 
 ' Eh, mon Dieu ! I prefer spoiling my boots to 
 making a circuit of two miles. M. le Marquis 
 will kindly lend me the support of his arm, I have 
 no doubt.' 
 
 And so, the path being too narrow to admit 
 of more than two persons walking abreast, Jeanne
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE ^CERSAC. 195 
 
 had to fall back, and accept Saint-Luc's society, 
 whether she liked it or not. Silently they scram- 
 bled over the rocks and boulders, Saint-Luc offer- 
 incf an assistinor hand from time to time, and beinir 
 as often politely but firmly waved aside. At 
 length he stopped short, and faced his companion. 
 
 ' Mademoiselle,' said he. 
 
 ' Monsiem-.' 
 
 ' You are angry with me.' 
 
 ' I assure you I was not thinking about you.' 
 
 She looked down upon him from the rocky 
 ledge upon which she was standing. A tangled 
 growth of cactus and myrtle and asphodel, over- 
 spread with festoons of the pale green clematis, 
 rose behind her, and from between the silvery 
 leaves of the olive-tree over her head rays of sun- 
 hght streamed down and made moving patterns 
 of hght and shade upon her white dress. Her 
 beautiful lips were curved into a smile of innocent 
 candour, into which a touch of perfect disdain had 
 somehow found its way. It was not the least 
 strange feature in Saiut-Luc's infatuation that the 
 small stabs which Jeanne was always inflicting 
 upon him never angered, but only hurt him. In 
 the old Paris days he had not borne the reputa- 
 tion of a man easily snubbed, and had never
 
 196 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 failed to hold his own against any man or woman 
 who had shown a disposition to attack him ; but 
 he had no retort ready now, and had no wish to 
 seek for one. He resumed, quite humbly, 'I 
 ought perhaps to have said that, as far as appear- 
 ances go, you have reason to be angry with me. 
 T promised, you know, to try and keep your 
 brother away from Madame de Tremonville, and 
 in truth I have done what I could. I was speak- 
 ing to him about her this very afternoon, and my 
 visit to her was meant to be as much one of cere- 
 mony as your own. I certainly should not have 
 gone, if I had had any idea that I should be forced 
 into playing that ridiculous game.' 
 
 ' Why should you not play any game that you 
 find amusing ? ' returned Jeanne, indifferently. 
 ' It was foolish in me to speak to you about Leon 
 and Madame de Tremonville at all. Will you 
 please forget that I ever said anything upon the 
 subject ? ' 
 
 ' Just as you please, mademoiselle ; but why 
 do you say that your speaking to me was foolish ? ' 
 
 ' I will say useless, if you prefer it. Pray let 
 us talk no more about it.' 
 
 Saint-Luc was silent for a few minutes ; then 
 he broke out abruptly — ' Why do you mistrust me
 
 M.U)EMOISELLE DE MEKSAC. 197 
 
 SO, mademoiselle? I could not prevent your 
 brother from calling upon Madame de Tremonville 
 this afternoon. I told him what I thought of her, 
 and advised him to drop her acquaintance. What 
 more could I, or anyone, do ? I have been un- 
 fortunate enough to inciu: yom' dislike : I have 
 seen that for some time, and have no right to 
 complain of it ; but at least I have never given 
 you any reason to suppose that I do not tell the 
 truth. What makes you think so ill of me ? ' 
 
 Jeanne had resumed her march ; but she faced 
 about upon this challenge. ' It is not that I dis- 
 like or distrust you, M. de Saint-Luc,' she said ; 
 ' and I don't think that you mean unkindly towards 
 Leon ; but sometimes I feel afraid for him — he 
 has changed so much of late. After wdiat you 
 have said. I am sure that you have done your best 
 to warn him, though I confess I did not think so 
 just now. But I suppose the truth is, that Leon 
 has reached an age at which warnings are not of 
 much service. He is at an age, too, when young 
 men generally imitate those about them.' 
 
 ' I understand. And I am not an example to 
 be imitated. You are perfectly right, mademoi- 
 selle ; no one could have wasted his Hfe more 
 hopelessly than I have done ; also no one could
 
 198 MADEMOISELLE ]JE MERSAC. 
 
 be more conscious of liis wortlilessiiess than I am. 
 At the same time, I don't think your brother has 
 learnt much harm from me since I have been 
 here. The only bad habit of any sort or kind 
 that he has seen me indulge in is occasional gam- 
 bling ; and if you wish it, I will gladly promise 
 you now never to touch a card again so long as I 
 am in Algiers.' 
 
 ' No, no ! ' she interrupted, hastily ; ' let us 
 have no promises. Who knows whether it w^ould 
 be possible to keep them ? I cannot expect you 
 to change all your habits to suit my convenience ; 
 and, indeed, I should not wish it. We will try to 
 be better friends for the future,' she added, ex- 
 tending her hand to him frankly. 
 
 He took it, held it in his own for a second, 
 and then let it fall. It was probably the very 
 first time in his life that he had allowed a woman's 
 hand to escape from his possession without a 
 pressure. 
 
 ' You know that the will is not Avantiiig on my 
 part,' he answered, in a low voice. 
 
 Her brow clouded, but cleared again almost 
 at once, and she looked at him not unkindly. 
 
 ' I wish ' she began, and then broke off. 
 
 And Saint-Luc never knew in what manner
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 199 
 
 she had intended to finish her sentence; for at 
 that moment Madame de Vaublanc's shrill voice 
 was heard calling, '- Jeanne, make haste ! you will 
 keep Madame la Duchesse waiting for dinner.' 
 And so the colloquy came to an end
 
 200 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 GRANDE KABYLIE. 
 
 In selecting for narration a ])ortion ont of the 
 lives of certain people, and endeavouring to in- 
 terest others therein, the veracious historian is apt, 
 ere long, to find himself hemmed in between two 
 difficulties. For whereas if, upon the one hand, 
 he attempt to follow the subjects of his story 
 through those uneventful scenes in which, gene- 
 rally speaking, their desires, their characters, and 
 their destinies slowly develop themselves, he is in 
 danger of becoming tedious to his readers, it is 
 certain, upon the other, that if he pass over such 
 periods in silence, he must risk the charge of in- 
 consequence. The former peril appearing, all 
 things considered, the more formidable of the two, 
 it seems wisest to the present chronicler to dismiss 
 in as few sentences as may be all account of the 
 months of April and May, 1870 — precisely the 
 two months, as it happens, of which the person-
 
 MADEMOISELLE BE MERSAC. 20i 
 
 acres with whom he is concerned have since de- 
 
 o 
 
 clared that they cherish a keener, fonder memory 
 than of any other period of then' career. 
 
 The fact is, that nothing whatever took place 
 during these two months but what might have 
 been anticipated from the outset. Barrington 
 finished his pictiure, began a second one, and 
 estabhshed himself upon a footing of complete 
 intimacy at the Canipagne de Mersac ; Leon went 
 on flirting foolishly with Madame de Tremonville ; 
 Saint-Luc, though more at his ease with Jeanne, 
 and more kindly received by her after the conver- 
 sation recorded in the last chapter, made but little 
 advance towards the fulfilment of his hopes ; the 
 Duchess and M. de Fontvieille continued their 
 abortive support of the luckless suitor ; and old 
 Time plodded on in his dogged, relentless way, 
 bringing all of them nearer and nearer to the 
 inevitable end. Here is an extract from Barring- 
 ton's correspondence — the last with which the 
 reader shall be troubled — whence the results of 
 eight weeks of glorious weather, combined with 
 lamentable supineness on the part of those who 
 should have been able to exercise some control 
 over the march of events, may be succinctly 
 gleaned.
 
 202 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 ' Your last letter tickled me immensely. That 
 you should claim credit for penetration in having 
 discovered the very thing that I have been labori- 
 ously striving for some time past to make clear to 
 you, is such a good joke that I am sure you will 
 never see the point of it. " Mark my words," 
 you observe in that pithy and sagacious style 
 which is all your own, " you are falling in love 
 with that Mademoiselle Thingummy; and if I 
 don't see you home before the Derby is run, I 
 shall look upon your case as a hopeless one ! " 
 I had been laughing at your letter from the com- 
 mencement ; but when I reached that sentence, 
 I positively roared. Why, my dear, good soul, of 
 course I am in love with Mademoiselle de Mersac 
 (of whom, by the way, I will thank you not to 
 speak as " Mademoiselle Thingummy " again). 
 The indisputable fact that nobody could be as 
 much in her society as I have been without falling 
 in love with her, is one Avith which you cannot be 
 expected to be acquainted ; but if you haven't 
 Imrnt my previous letters, and will refer back to 
 them, you will surely admit that I have never 
 drawn the thinnest veil over my attachment — or 
 at least, if I have (for I don't exactly remember 
 all I may have said), it has been one that any fool
 
 .ALiDEMOlSELLE DE MERSAC. 203 
 
 might have seen through. Heavens and earth ! 
 what is it that makes people tallv of love as though 
 there were something ridiculous in it — something 
 to be ashamed of? Is it ignorance, or folly, or 
 envy? Ignorance it cannot be, for everybody 
 must have been in love at least once ; in your case, 
 I should imagine it to be a mixture of the two 
 latter causes. Come, old fellow, you and I have 
 been friends ever since we wore jackets and turn- 
 down collars, and played fives against the chapel- 
 wall on Saturday afternoons, because we were too 
 small to be allowed possession of one of the fives- 
 courts ; we have wintered one another and sum- 
 mered one another, and I have a right to put any 
 question I please to you, and to expect a truthful 
 reply. Divest yourself for a few minutes of your 
 twopenny-halfpenny cynicism, and tell me honestly 
 — Wouldn't you give a year's income to be in 
 love yourself? Wouldn't your heart leap with 
 joy if you could feel again the dehcious tremors, 
 the exquisite joys, the doubts, the fears, the hopes 
 of bygone days ? Wouldn't you, if you could, 
 choose to live again, in a queer, delightful, glori- 
 fied world, inhabited, for all practical purposes, 
 by one person only besides yourself? Wouldn't 
 you, on the approach of that person, like to
 
 204 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 experience a certain odd spasm, half painful, 
 half delightful, somewhere about the middle of 
 your waistcoat ? — it is a physical sensation, and 
 you know it as well as I do, if your memory is 
 not growing feeble. Ah, my dear old boy, there's 
 nothing half so sweet in life as love's young 
 dream ! Love's middle-aged dream is a very 
 close imitation of it — experto credel Oh, talk 
 not to me of a name great in story ! What are 
 honours and wealth and gratified ambition in 
 comparison with this divine ecstasy? It is a 
 disease, you will grunt. I don't say no ; but it is 
 sent straight from heaven. 
 
 Oh, Fame, if I e'er took delight in thy praises, 
 'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases 
 Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover 
 She thought that I was not unworthy to love her. 
 
 You will perhaps pardon my bursting into poetry ; 
 it is a trick incidental to my condition. I see you 
 reading this in your arm-chair at the club, doubled 
 up with merriment, your long nose almost touch- 
 ing your chin, as it does in moments when you 
 are enjoying a fancied superiority over one of 
 your fellow-creatures. My dear fellow, you are 
 most heartily welcome to your joke. Your cor-
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 205 
 
 respondence is often so irresistibly comical to me, 
 that it would be hard indeed if I were to urudore 
 YOU an occasional chuckle ; and in the present 
 instance I can't help thinking that I have the best 
 of the laugh. 
 
 ' Yes, I am in love with Jeanne de Mersac : 
 and I rejoice in being so ! Your sage and trite 
 warnings against what you are pleased to term a 
 " romantic marriage with a foreigner," and your 
 doubts as to how a Frenchwoman and a CathoHc 
 would be received by the society of Surrey, are 
 altogether irrelevant to the subject, and I am not 
 going to discuss their soundness. The notion 
 that love and marriage are inseparably connected, 
 and that the one is invariably and necessarily a 
 prelude to the other, always seems to me to arise 
 out of a certain vulgarity of mind. You, who 
 are nothing if not conventional, probably hold a 
 different opinion ; but really, if you will think for 
 a moment of the refining, ennobling influence of 
 love — of how it takes us out of ourselves and 
 raises us above the level of this commonplace, 
 sordid world ; and if you will then consider the 
 jDerfectly earthly character of marriage, with its 
 dull respectabilities and tedious monotony — 
 you will perceive the bathos of degrading the
 
 206 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC 
 
 former into a mere stepping-stone towards tlie 
 latter. 
 
 Ach ! des Lebens schonste Feier 
 Endigt auch den Lebensmai, 
 Mit dem Giirtel, mit dem Schleier 
 Eeiszt der schone Wahn entzwei ! 
 
 I don't, of course, mean to assert that a man 
 should not marry the woman he loves, or even 
 that matters may not end that way in my own 
 case; I simply say that love is enough. I de- 
 cline to be worried with remote contingencies. 
 I fall down and worship at the feet of this beauti- 
 ful goddess ; I bask in the sunshine of her smiles, 
 and I am content. I don't know, and don't want 
 to know, towards what rocks and shoals I may be 
 drifting. I have not even the slightest clue as to 
 the state of her feelings towards myself I know 
 that she likes me, but more than that I cannot 
 say. Sometimes I get a look or a word which 
 makes me tremble with hope ; sometimes I am 
 greeted with the most discouraging friendliness. 
 I accept it all with such equanimity as I can 
 muster ; and am thankful that at least I am spared 
 the pangs of jealousy ; for my one rival (that 
 Saint-Luc of whom I have already written to you) 
 is scarcely formidable. I pity that poor devil.
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 207 
 
 I don't like him, as I think I have said before, 
 but I am genuinely sorry for him. He is a man 
 with whom you would find yourself in complete 
 sympathy, for his love is of that uncompromising 
 kind which leads direct to the Mairie and the 
 altar, and will be satisfied with nothing less. 
 Humihty appears to. be his idea of courtship. In 
 Jeanne's presence he is silent, and rather awkward. 
 He gazes at her with great eyes of despair, he 
 agrees with every word that she utters, and he 
 sends her bouquets three or four times a week. 
 Bouquets ! That of itself is sufficient to stamp 
 the man, and to show how httle he understands 
 the lady whose afiections he hopes to captivate. 
 Cut flowers, if you like — though she has more 
 roses in her own garden than she knows what to 
 do with ; but bouquets — stiff, acciuate bouquets 
 — arranged by means of wires and surrounded by 
 a border of perforated paper — to her ! But what 
 can you expect of a man who says, " Mademoi- 
 selle, permit me to congratulate you upon your 
 exquisite toilette ! " or, " Mademoiselle, allow me 
 to offer you my compliments upon your charming 
 coiffure ! " and then imagines that he has made 
 himself agreeable ? I think she would hate him, 
 but for her goodness and generosity. I can't
 
 208 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 believe that anything would ever induce her to 
 become his wife, though all her friends and rela- 
 tions favour the match, and make no secret of 
 their wishes. 
 
 ' It is not likely that you will see me at the 
 Derby this year. I don't care a brass farthing 
 what wins, and shall not take advantage of your 
 tip about Macgregor. The life which I am now 
 leading — and which entirely satisfies my soul — 
 has interests independent of horse-racing ; and, 
 indeed, of the world (in your sense of the word) 
 altogether. I very seldom glance at a newspaper. 
 I haven't the faintest idea of what is taking place 
 in the Parliament of Great Britain ; it is as much 
 as I can do to get up a feeble excitement over 
 the Emperor's plebiscite, which is making a great 
 stir in this rather Eadical community. You ask 
 how I manage to kill time, and whether I have 
 had any sport. Well, I have shot a wild boar 
 and an eagle and an old Kabyle woman whom I 
 peppered about the legs in mistake for a quail, 
 and who raised no end of hullabaloo, refusing to 
 be pacified at any less price than a hundred 
 francs ; but the fact is, I don't care about going 
 very far away from the town. I have always 
 plenty to do ; and, whether it is the delicious
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 209 
 
 climate, or whether it is the result of my mental 
 condition, I can't say, but I am always in the best 
 of health and spirits. I begin to whistle quite 
 natm-ally as soon as I wake in the morning. I get 
 up and have a bathe in the sea ; then I come home 
 to breakfast ; then 1 paint a httle ; and then I 
 pretty generally ride up to El Biar, where the De 
 Mersacs live. Tliere is often a dance somewhere 
 in the evening. Failing that, I play a game or 
 two of billiards with one or other of the young 
 French officers quartered here — not half bad 
 fellows, by the way — or else I climb up the nar- 
 row streets of the old town and get a peep at 
 some weird Moorish ceremony or fete. I have 
 no plans at present, and have no wish to form 
 any. It is possible that 1 may be at home for 
 Ascot, but it is not probable. I suppose the heat 
 will drive me north eventually ; but, as far as I 
 can see, there will be no necessity for a move on 
 that score for some time to come ; and I don't see 
 why I should pack up before I am obliged. The 
 London season has no temptations for me. Indeed, 
 setting aside all personal feehng in the matter, I 
 am convinced that Algiers is an infinitely more 
 agreeable place of residence in the month of May 
 than London.' 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 MADEMOISELLE 1)E MERSAC. 
 
 Here we may take leave of Mr. Barrington's 
 rather long-winded narrative. The impression 
 produced by it upon the mind of its recipient was 
 one which may very possibly be shared in by the 
 reader. ' Just like Barrington ! ' he muttered, as 
 he restored the bulky epistle to its envelope. 
 * For a man who goes in for philanthropy and 
 that kind of thing, I must say he is about the 
 most selfish beggar out. Making love is very 
 good fun, as everybody knows ; but, hang it all ! 
 if a man don't mean anything by it, it's deuced 
 hard lines on the girl.' 
 
 Mademoiselle de Mersac would have been 
 very much astonished if this expression of opinion 
 c^ould have reached her ears. That her peace of 
 mind was likely to become in any way endan- 
 gered through the proximity of Mr. Barrington 
 was a notion which certainly had not as yet sug- 
 gested itself to her. She had liked him from the 
 outset ; he belonged to a different species from 
 that of the men Avho liad hitherto come in her 
 way ; she fancied, rightly or wrongly, that he was 
 more honest and manly than they ; and, as she 
 grew to know him better, her liking for him in- 
 creased, till his visits became almost a necessary 
 part of her daily life. She knew also, of course,
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 211 
 
 that he admired her. But frora admii'ation, or 
 likiog, to love is a long step, and Jeanne did not 
 choose to thiuk that Mr. Barrington had taken it 
 — much less that she could have done so herself. 
 
 So, as the Duchess had a happy faculty of 
 disbelieving in inconvenient potentialities ; as M. 
 de Fontvieille found it wisest, as a general thing, 
 to hold the same opinions as the Duchess ; as 
 Leon was too much occupied with his own con- 
 cerns to keep a watchful eye upon those of -his 
 sister ; and, as Saint-Luc had no powder to speak 
 a warning word, it came to pass that Barrington 
 arrived at the Campagne de Mersac every day as 
 regularly as the post, and that poor M. de Saint- 
 Luc, who never ventured to present himself more 
 than twice in the course of a week, invariably 
 found his rival installed in the drawing-room when 
 he was announced, and was not unfrequently 
 made to feel that his entrance had interrupted a 
 pleasant conversation. 
 
 In the first days of June, when the Hotel 
 d'Orient and the Hotel de la Eegence had bidden 
 adieu to the last of their winter guests ; when the 
 Governor-General had misrated from the town to 
 his fairy-like palace on the leafy heights of Mus- 
 tapha ; when the smaller fry of ofiicials were, in
 
 212 MADEMOISELLE DE MKRSAC. 
 
 imitation of him and in preparation for the hot 
 season, transplanting themselves and their families 
 to the coolest attainable villas ; when the aloes 
 were in flower and the air was full of a hundred 
 faint scents, and the corn and barley fields were 
 very nearly ripe for the sickle — at the time of 
 year, in short, Avhen the luxuriant life and rich 
 beauty of Algeria were at their climax — it oc- 
 curred to L^on that it would be a good thing to 
 make a journey into Kabylia. For in the grassy 
 plains of that region, near the first spurs of the 
 great Djurdjura range, dwelt one Seiior Lopez, a 
 Spanish colonist and a breeder of horses, who was 
 generally open to a deal, and who, at this par- 
 ticular time, had a nice lot of foals on hand, out 
 of some of which a discriminating 3^oung man 
 might see his way to make honest profit. But as 
 few people, be they never so self-confident, like 
 to rely upon their own judgment alone in so deli- 
 cate a matter as the purchase of a foal, Leon con- 
 ceived it to be a siiie qua non that his sister 
 should accompany him. And then M. de Saint- 
 Luc, hearing of the projected expedition, must 
 needs declare that he could not possibly leave 
 Algeria without revisiting the scene of his former 
 campaigns, and that the opportunity of doing so in
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 213 
 
 congenial society was one that he would not miss 
 for any imaginable consideration. After which, 
 oddly enough, Mr. Barrington, too, found out that 
 to make acquaintance with the mountain scenery 
 of Kabyha had always been one of his fondest 
 dreams, and added — wliy not push on a little far- 
 ther, and see some of the hill-villages and the 
 famous Fort Napoleon ? 
 
 Neither Leon nor Jeanne offered any objection 
 to this plan ; but when it was communicated to 
 the Duchess, she held up her hands in horror and 
 amazement. 
 
 ' And your chaperon, mademoiselle ? ' she 
 ejaculated. And the truth is that both the young 
 folks had overlooked this necessary addition to 
 their party. 
 
 Now, as the Duchess herself would no more 
 have thought of undertaking a weary drive of 
 three or four days' duration over stony places 
 than of ordering a fiery chariot to drive her 
 straight to heaven, and as no other available lady 
 of advanced years could be discovered, it seemed, 
 for a time, as if either Mademoiselle de Mersac or 
 her two admirers would have to remain in Al- 
 giers ; but at the last moment a deus ex machind 
 was found in the person of M. de Fontvieille, who
 
 214 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAG. 
 
 announced his willingness to join the party, and 
 who, as Leon pohtely remarked, when he was out 
 of ear-shot, was, to all intents and purposes, as 
 good as any old woman. 
 
 Poor old M. de Fontvieille ! Nobody thanked 
 him for what was an act of pure good-nature and 
 self-sacrifice — nobody, at least, except Jeanne, 
 who, by way of testifying her gratitude, spent a 
 long morning with him, examining his collection 
 of gems and listening to the oft-told tale of their 
 several acquisitions, and, at the end, presented 
 him with an exquisite Marshal Niel rose-bud for 
 his button-hole. 
 
 ' Ah, mademoiselle,' said he, as he pinned tlie 
 flower into his coat, ' you do well to reserve your 
 roses for old men, who appreciate such gifts at 
 their right value. Give none to the young fel- 
 lows ; it would only increase their vanity, which 
 is great enough already.' 
 
 ' I never give roses to anybody,' said Jeanne. 
 
 ' So much the better. Continue, my child, to 
 observe that wise rule. And remember that if 
 the Lily of France is a stiffer flower than the Eose 
 of England, it is still our own, and French women 
 ought to love it best.'
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 215 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' asked Jeanne, who 
 objected to insinuations. 
 
 ' I mean nothing, my dear ; lilies, I am aware, 
 are out of fashion ; choose violets if you prefer 
 them,' answered the old gentleman, with a chuckle. 
 
 And Jeanne, having no rejoinder ready, took 
 up her sunshade in dignified silence, and went 
 home. 
 
 In the garden she met Barrington and Leon, 
 and to them she communicated her design for the 
 journey in her usual brief, authoritative fashion. 
 ' We will take the light carriage,' she said. ' Pierre 
 Cauvin can drive us ; and M. de Fontvieille, Mr. 
 Barrington, and I can occupy it. M. de Saint- 
 Luc can ride with you, Leon.' 
 
 ' But I think Saint-Luc woidd like to drive 
 part of the way,' answered Leon. 
 
 ' Oh, no ; why should he ? He is sure to 
 prefer riding.' 
 
 'We can change about,' said Barrington, mag- 
 nanimously ; and then the subject dropped. 
 
 But wlieii the appointed day came, M. de 
 Saint -Luc rode up to the door, with a very long 
 face, and announced that it would be impossible 
 for him to leave Algiers for the next forty-eight
 
 216 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 hours at least. * An old friend and brother-officer 
 of mine arrived from Oran last night,' he said. 
 * He has made a detour on his way back to France 
 on purpose to see me, and he would not like me 
 to go away immediately.' 
 
 ' Of course you could not think of such a 
 thing,' Jeanne answered, decisively ; ' but you will 
 be able to go into Kabylia some other time ; it will 
 not be at all too hot for another month at least.' 
 
 The Vicomte made a grimace. ' If I do not 
 go with you, Kabylia will have to make its 
 arrangements for doing without me this year,' he 
 said. ' I suppose — I suppose you could not post- 
 pone your departure for a day or two ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no ; I am afraid not. Leon has made an 
 appointment with Seiior Lopez.' 
 
 ' Then I can only trust to overtaking you 
 before you have finished your tour. I shall start 
 on horseback as soon as my friend leaves, and, as 
 I suppose you will stay a day or two at Fort 
 Napoleon, I may perhaps have the good fortune 
 to find you there — that is, if you do not object to 
 my following you.' 
 
 ' Not in the least,' replied Jeanne, not very 
 cordially ; ' but it will be hardly worth while — 
 wiUit?'
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 217 
 
 ' If you were going to the Cape of Good Hope, 
 instead of to Fort ISTapoleon, I should think it 
 worth while to follow you,' said poor Saint-Luc. 
 
 Whereupon Jeanne turned impatiently away. 
 
 An hour later, she and Barrington were seated 
 opposite to one another in the dilapidated wag- 
 gonette which Leon used for country journeys. 
 It was an ancient vehicle, with patched cushions 
 and travel- stained leather roof and curtains ; but 
 its springs were strong, and it had outlived the 
 jolts and shocks of many an unmetalled road and 
 stony watercourse. Jeanne loved it for associa- 
 tion's sake ; and Barrington, in his then state of 
 mind, would not have changed it for the car of 
 Aurora. 
 
 It is nine years or more since Mr. Barrington 
 was borne swiftly along the dusty road which 
 leads eastward from Algiers, in that shabby old 
 shandrydan — and in nine years, the doctors tell 
 us, our whole outer man has been renewed, so 
 that the being which calls itself I to-day inhabits 
 a changed prison from that which it dwelt in a 
 hundred and eight months ago, and will, if it 
 survive, occupy a hundred and eight months hence. 
 Mental statistics are less easy to arrive at, and it 
 may be that our minds are not as subject to the
 
 218 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 inexorable law of change as our bodies. Barring- 
 ton, at all events, whose views upon more subjects 
 than one have unquestionably become modified 
 by the lapse of nine years, still asserts, in confiden- 
 tial moments, that he looks back upon that drive 
 into Kabylia as the happiest episode in his exist- 
 ence. 'Life,' he says, in that melancholy tone 
 which perfectly prosperous men have a trick of 
 assuming, ' is a dull enough business, take it all in 
 all ; but it has its good days here and there.' And 
 then he sighs, and puffs silently at his cigar for a 
 minute or two. ' Old de Fontvieille sat on the 
 box,' he goes on presently, ' and talked to the 
 driver. Young de Mersac had ridden ahead, and 
 she and I were as completely alone together as if 
 we had been upon a desert island. It was a 
 situation in which human nature instinctively 
 shakes itself free of commonplace conventionality. 
 We did not flirt — thank Heaven, Ave were neither 
 of us so vulgar as to think of flirting ! — but we 
 talked together as freely and naturally as Adam 
 and Eve in the Garden of Eden.' And then he 
 generally heaves another sigh, and rhapsodises on 
 and on till, patient as one is, one has to remind 
 him that it is long past bedtime. 
 
 As (to use a hackneyed illustration) the
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 219 
 
 traveller looks back upon distant purple moun- 
 tains, forgetting, as he contemplates their soft 
 beauty, the roughness of the track by which he 
 crossed them, so Barring ton recalls the happy 
 bygone days of his Kabylian journey, and ignores 
 the petty annoyances which somewhat marred his 
 enjoyment of it while it lasted. To hear him talk, 
 you would think that the sun had never been too 
 hot, nor the roads too dusty, during that memor- 
 able excursion ; that good food was obtainable at 
 every halting-place, and that he had never had 
 cause to complain of the accommodation provided 
 for him for the nic^ht. Time has blotted out from 
 his mental vision all retrospect of dut, bad food, 
 and the virulent attacks of the African Hea — a 
 most malignant insect — imjnger, iracundus, inex- 
 orabilis, acer — an animal who dies as hard as a 
 rhinoceros, and is scarcely less venomous than a 
 mosquito. He dwells not now upon the horrors 
 of his first night at Bon-Douaou, during which he 
 sat up in bed, through long wakeful hours, dog- 
 gedly scattering insecticide among his savage 
 assailants, and producing about as much effect 
 thereby as a man sHnging stones at an ironclad 
 might do. The place where there was nothing 
 but briny bacon to eat, the place where there was
 
 220 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 nothin<? but a broken-down billiard-table and a 
 rug to sleep upon, and the place where there was 
 nothing to drink, except bad absinthe — all these 
 have faded out of his recollection. But, in truth, 
 these small discomforts were soon forgotten, even 
 at the time. 
 
 For when the baking plain was left behind, 
 and the travellers stood upon the windy summit 
 of the Col Ben-Aicha, with Great Kabylia beneath 
 their feet, and the tumbled mass of the Djurdjura 
 mountains, towering, snow-crowned, against a 
 cloudless sky, before them, even M. de Fontvieille 
 — no great enthusiast in respect of scenery — was 
 fain to confess that so magnificent a prospect and 
 such a strong, bracing air were well worth the 
 inconvenience it had cost him to obtain them ; 
 while Barrington broke forth into the most 
 exaggerated expressions of eulogy, gladdening 
 thereby the heart of Jeanne, who felt something 
 of the pride of ownership in the beauty of her 
 beloved Algeria. 
 
 When Thomas of Ercildoune took his famous 
 ride with the Queen of the Fairies, and reached a 
 region unknown to man, it will be remembered 
 that the fair lady drew rein for a few minutes and 
 indicated to her companion the various paths that
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 221 
 
 lay before them. There was the thorny way of 
 righteousness and the broad road of iniquity — 
 neither of which have ever been found entirely 
 free from drawbacks by mortals — but besides 
 these, there was a third path. 
 
 O see ye not that bonny road. 
 That winds about the fernie brae ? 
 That is the road to fair Elfland, 
 Where thou and I this night maun gae. 
 
 And Thomas seems to have offered no objection 
 to his leader's choice. 
 
 Even so Barrington, though capable of dis- 
 tinguishing between broad and narrow paths, and 
 their respective goals ; capable also — which is 
 perhaps more to the purpose — of forecasting the 
 results of prudence and folly, chose at this time to 
 close his eyes, and wander, with Jeanne, into that 
 fairy-land of which every man gets a glimpse in 
 his time, though few have the good fortune to 
 linger within its precincts as long as did Thomas 
 the Ehymer. 
 
 And so there came to him five days of Avhich 
 he will probably never see the hke again. Five 
 days of glowing sunshine ; five luminous, starlit 
 nights — eighty hours, more or less (making de-
 
 222 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 ductions for sleeping time) of unreasoning, 
 unthinking, unmixed happiness — such was Bar- 
 rington's share of Fairyland — and a very fair 
 share too, as the world goes. He would be puz- 
 zled now — and indeed, for that matter, he would 
 have been puzzled a week after the excursion — 
 to give any accurate description of the country 
 between Algiers and Fort Napoleon. The sum 
 of his reminiscences was that, in the dewy morn- 
 ings and the cool evenings, he drove through a 
 wooded, hilly country with Jeanne ; that he 
 rested in the noonday heat at spacious white- 
 washed caravanserais or small wayside taverns, 
 and talked to Jeanne ; that her tall, graceful 
 figure was the first sight he saw in the morning 
 and the last at night ; that he never left her side 
 for more than ten minutes at a time ; that he dis- 
 covered some fresh charm in her with each suc- 
 ceeding hour ; and that when he arrived at Fort 
 Napoleon, and the limit of his wanderings, he was 
 as completely and irretrievably in love as ever 
 man was. 
 
 In truth, the incidents of the journey were 
 well calculated to enhance the mixture of admira- 
 tion and reverence with which Barrington had 
 regarded Mademoiselle de Mersac from the mo-
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 223 
 
 ment of Ms first meeting with her. Her progress 
 through Kabyha was hke that of a gracious queen 
 among her subjects. The swarthy Kabyle women, 
 to whom she spoke in their own language, and 
 for the benefit of whose ragged children she had 
 provided herself with a multitude of toys, broke 
 into shrill cries of welcome when they recognised 
 her ; the sparse French colonists, at whose farms 
 she stopped, came out to greet her with smiles 
 upon their careworn faces ; at the caravanserai of 
 the Issers, where some hundreds of Arabs were 
 assembled for the weekly market, the Caid of the 
 tribe, a stately grey-bearded patriarch, who wore 
 the star of the Legion of Honour upon his white 
 burnous, stepped out from his tent, as she ap- 
 proached, and, bowing profoundly, took her hand 
 and raised it to his forehead ; even the villanous. 
 low-browed, thin-lipped Spanish countenance of 
 Senor Lopez assumed an expression of deprecating 
 amiability when she addi'essed him ; he faltered 
 in the tremendous lies which, from mere force of 
 habit, he felt constrained to utter about the pedi- 
 gree of his colts ; his sly httle beady eyes dropped 
 before her gi'eat gi'ave ones, he listened silently 
 while she pointed out the inconsistencies of his 
 statements, and finally made a far worse bargain
 
 224 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 with M. Leon than he had expected or intended 
 to do. 
 
 And if anything more had been needed to 
 complete Barrington's subjugation, the want would 
 have been supplied by Jeanne's demeanour to- 
 wards himself. Up to the time of this memo- 
 rable journey she had treated him with a 
 perceptible measure of caprice, being kind or 
 cold as the humour took her — sometimes receiv- 
 ing him as an old friend, sometimes as a complete 
 stranger, and even snubbing him without mercy, 
 upon one or two occasions. It was her way to 
 behave so towards all men, and she had not seen 
 fit to exempt Mr. Barrington altogether from the 
 common lot of his fellows. But now — perhaps 
 because she had escaped from the petty trammels 
 and irritations of every-day life, perhaps because 
 the free air of the mountains which she loved 
 disposed her to cast aside formality, or perhaps 
 from causes unacknowledged by herself — her in- 
 tercourse with the Englishman assumed a wholly 
 new character. She wandered wilhngly with him 
 into those quaint Kabyle villages which stand each 
 perched upon the apex of a conical hill — villages 
 which took a deal of fighting to capture, and 
 might have to be taken all over again, so Leon
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 225 
 
 predicted, one fine day ; she stood behind him 
 and looked over his shoulder while he dashed off 
 hasty hkenesses of such of the natives as he could 
 induce, by means of bribes, to overcome their 
 strong natural aversion to having their portraits 
 taken ; she never seemed to weary of liis com- 
 pany ; and if there was still an occasional touch 
 of condescension in her manner, it is probable 
 that Barrington, feeling as he then did, held such 
 manifestations to be only fitting and natural as 
 coming from her to him. 
 
 And then, by degrees, there sprang up between 
 them a kind of natural understanding, an intuitive 
 perception of each other's thoughts and wishes, and 
 a habit of covertly alluding to small matters and 
 small jokes unknown to either of their companions. 
 And sometimes their eyes met for a second, and 
 often an unintelligible smile appeared upon the 
 lips of the one to be instantaneously reflected upon 
 those of the other. All of which things were 
 perceived by the observant M. de Fontvieille, and 
 caused him to remark aloud every night, in the 
 sohtude of his own chamber, before going to 
 bed : ' Madame, I was not the instigator of 
 this expedition ; on the contrary, I w^arned you 
 against it. I had no power and no authority to 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 prevent its consequences, and I wash my liands 
 of them.' 
 
 The truth is, that the poor old gentleman was 
 looking forward with some trepidation to an inter- 
 view with the Duchess which his prophetic soul 
 saw looming in the future. 
 
 Fort Napoleon, frowning down from its rocky 
 eminence upon subjugated Kabylia, is the most 
 important fortress of that once turbulent country, 
 and is rather a military post than a towm or vil- 
 lage. It has, however, a modicum of civilian 
 inhabitants, dwelling in neat little white houses 
 on either side of a broad street, and at the eastern 
 end of the street a small church has been erected. 
 Thither Jeanne betook herself, one evening, at the 
 hour of the Ave Maria, as her custom was. Tlie 
 sun was sinking in the glow of a cloudless sky ; 
 the breeze, which had rioted all day among the 
 heights, had died away into a dead calm, and the 
 universal rest and silence was broken only by tlie 
 ting-ting of tlie little church-bell — 
 
 Clie paia il giorno pianger die si muore. 
 
 Jeanne passed in to her devotions, and the 
 heretic Englishman lounged at the door and 
 listened to the slumberous droning of the priest 
 within. After a time the voice ceased, and then
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 227 
 
 the worshippers — two or three old crones and a 
 couple of black-robed Sisters of Charity — trooped 
 out, and passed away down the sunny street. 
 Then there was unbroken stillness for five minutes ; 
 and then the door swung back on its hinges, and 
 Jeanne emerged from the gloom of the church 
 and met the dazzling blaze of the sunset, which 
 streamed full upon her, making her cast her eyes 
 upon the ground. 
 
 She paused for a moment upon the threshold, 
 and as she stood there, with her pale face, her 
 drooped eyelids, and a sweet, grave smile upon 
 her lips, Barringtoii, whose imagination was for 
 ever playing him tricks, mentally likened her to 
 one of Fra An^rehco's angels. She did not in 
 reality resemble one of those ethereal beings much 
 more than she did the heathen goddess to whom 
 he had once before compared her ; but something 
 of the sanctity of the church seemed to cling about 
 her, and that, together mtli the tranquillity of the 
 hour, kept Barrington silent for a few minutes 
 after they had walked away side by side. It was 
 not until they had reached the western ramparts, 
 and, leaning over them, were gazing down into 
 purple valleys lying in deep shade beneath the 
 glowing hill-tops, that he opened his lips.
 
 228 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 ' So we really go back again to-morrow,' he 
 sighed. 
 
 ' Yes, to-morrow,' she answered, absently. 
 
 ' Back to civilisation — back to the dull, mono- 
 tonous world ! What a bore it all is ! I wish I 
 could stay here for ever ! ' 
 
 ' What ? You would like to spend the rest 
 of your life at Fort Napoleon ? ' said Jeanne, with 
 a smile. ' How long would it take you to tire of 
 Kabylia ? A week — two weeks ? Not perhaps 
 so much.' 
 
 ' Of what does not one tire in time ? ' he an- 
 swered. ' I have tried most things, and have 
 found them all tolerably wearisome in the end. 
 But there is one thing of which I could never 
 tire.' 
 
 ' And that ? ' — inquired Jeanne, facing liim 
 with raised eyebrows of calm interrogation. 
 
 He had been going to say ' Your society,' but 
 somehow he felt ashamed to utter so feeble a 
 commonplace, and substituted for it, rather tamely, 
 ' My friends.' 
 
 ' Ah ! there are many people who tire of them 
 also, after a time,' remarked Jeanne. ' As for 
 me, I have so few friends,' she added, a little 
 sadly.
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MEESAC. 229 
 
 ' I hope you will always think of me as one of 
 those few/ said Barrington. 
 
 ' You ? Oh, yes, if you wish it,' she answered, 
 rather hurriedly. Then, as if desiring to change 
 the subject, ' How quiet everything is ! ' she ex- 
 claimed. ' Quite in the distance I can hear that 
 there is somebody riding up the hill from Tizi- 
 Ouzou ; listen ! ' 
 
 Barrington bent his ear forward, and managed 
 just to distinguish the faint ringing of a horse's 
 hoofs upon the road far below. Presently even 
 this scarcely perceptible sound died away, and a 
 universal hush brooded over the earth and air. 
 Then, for a long time, neither of them spoke again 
 — Jeanne because her thoughts were wandering ; 
 Barrino^ton because he was half afraid of wdiat 
 he might say if he trusted himself to open his 
 lips. 
 
 The sun dipped behind the mountain ridge ; a 
 little breeze rose, shivered, and fell, and then the 
 galloping of a horse smote once more loud and 
 clear upon the ears of the listeners. Xearer and 
 nearer it sounded, till at last horse and rider shot 
 out from behind a shoulder of rock directly 
 beneath them ; showed, for a moment, huge and 
 black, against the ruddy sky ; and then, clattering
 
 230 MADEMOISKLLK DE MERSAC. 
 
 under the arched gateway of tlie town, disap- 
 peared. 
 
 ' It is M. de Saint-Luc ! ' ejaculated Jeanne, in 
 a tone of some dismay. 
 
 And Barrington, beneath his breatli, muttered 
 ' Hang him ! ' with most heartfelt emphasis.
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 2:U 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 IX WHICH MR. BARRIXGTOX LOSES HIS TEMPER. 
 
 Love, which set Trojaus and Greeks by the ears of 
 old, involvmg pious JEneas and many-counselled 
 Ulysses in a peck of troubles — which led Eoman 
 Antony to his death — which was nearly becoming 
 the ruin of David, King of Israel — and which, in 
 all ages, has been the cause of many a wise man's 
 doing many a foolish thing — love it was tliat had 
 led Saint-Luc — a person noted for his tact and 
 good sense — into the stupid blunder of thrusting 
 himself into the company of four people who 
 were perfectly happy together without him. 
 
 The very thought, indeed, which in hi> 
 normal state of mind would have kept him from 
 tacking himself on to the party — namely, a strong 
 suspicion that he was not wanted — had now exer- 
 cised a directly opposite influence upon liim. A 
 perpetual vision of Jeanne and Yir. Barrington 
 wanderim:^ tOi]^ether in wild Kab\]ian solitudes
 
 232 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 had so beset Lim by day, and driven sleep from 
 his pillow by night, ever since he had found him- 
 self alone in Algiers, that at last he could bear it 
 no longer, and, feeling that reality could have no 
 pangs in store for him more bitter than those of 
 imagination, he packed what clothes he required 
 into a small valise, strapped it on to the front of 
 his saddle, and galloped off on the track of the 
 wanderers. And so, having done the distance in 
 a much shorter time than a prudent man would 
 have allowed, he reached Fort Napoleon at length, 
 and earned a chill welcome for himself and a pair 
 of puffy fore-legs for his horse. 
 
 M. de Fontvieille, who happened to be stand- 
 ing at the door of the little inn, enjoying the even- 
 ing air, pulled a wry face when he recognised 
 the impetuous horseman who drew rein beside 
 liim. 
 
 ' What — is it you, M. le Yicomte ? ' he cried, 
 in anything but a joyous tone. 
 
 " Saint-Luc did not seem to notice any want of 
 cordiality in his reception. He swung himself out 
 of the saddle, and held out his hand, exclaim- 
 ing— 
 
 ' What good fortune that I find you still 
 here ! '
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 233 
 
 ' How, good fortune ? I don't understand 
 you,' returned the old gentleman rather testily. 
 ' Of course we are liere. Where else should we 
 be?' 
 
 ' I feared you might have altered your route 
 and gone to Dellys, or somewhere else,' answered 
 Saint-Luc, rather abashed. ' I thought,' he con- 
 tinued apologetically, ' that as I was unable to 
 start with you, I might venture to follow as soon 
 as I found myself free ; so I set out from Algiers 
 yesterday morning — and here I am." 
 
 ' So I perceive,' grunted M. de Fontvieille, not 
 at all mollified ; • and charmed as I am to see you, 
 monsieur, I can only regret that you should have 
 put yourself to so much inconvenience, for I fear 
 you will have had your ride for your pains. We 
 start on our return journey early to-morrow 
 morning. Heaven be praised ! I confess that 
 years have deprived me of all taste for rough 
 travelling.' 
 
 ' To-morrow morning ! ' echoed Saint-Lu?, 
 rather blankly. ' H'm I — nothing can be more 
 certain than that my horse will not be in a state 
 to leave the stable for another four-and -twenty 
 hours at least. But I can easily get him sent 
 back from here in a dav or two,' he added.
 
 234 ]\fADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 brightening. 'Perhaps you would kindly allow 
 me to take a seat in your carriage. Or would 
 that incommode you too much ? ' 
 
 Poor M. de Fontvieille was not in the best of 
 tempers. As he had said, he was no longer of 
 an age to enjoy roughing it, and any pleasure he 
 might have derived from the contemplation of fine 
 scenery had been completely neutralised of late 
 by the discovery of the growing intimacy between 
 Jeanne and the Englishman. Moveover, he had 
 been kept waiting more than half an hour for his 
 dinner, and the inopportune appearance of Saint- 
 Luc was, at this especial moment, ahnost too much 
 for him. The carriage does not belong to me,' he 
 replied crossly ; ' but I dare say Leon will have no 
 objection to your taking a place in it ; it is made 
 to hold six people at a pinch, I believe. For 
 myself, I have hitherto sat on the box, and I 
 intend to do so for the remainder of the trip. I 
 do not like the box-seat ; it is exposed to the sun 
 and the dust, and I am compelled to lean back 
 upon an iron rail which eats into my spine ; but I 
 prefer that to making one of three inside. It is 
 you who will occupy that enviable position to- 
 morrow, monsieur.' 
 
 This was not very pleasant. Saint-Luc began
 
 3LVDEM0ISELLE DE MERSAC. 235 
 
 to wish that he had remained in Algiers. But 
 while he was doubting what reply to make, a 
 friendly slap on his shoulder made him turn 
 round with a start, and he found liimself face 
 to face with Leon. 
 
 ' So you have come at last ! * cried that innocent 
 young man. ' We had quite given up all hope of 
 you. Why did you not start sooner? ' 
 
 ' I could not get away,' the poor Yicomte 
 answered ruefully ; ' and now I am not sure 
 whether I shall do well to return with you. 
 JkF. de Fontvieille has just been telling me that I 
 shall be de trop in the carriage ; and I cannot 
 take my horse out to-morrow.' 
 
 *- De trop ? — nonsense — how can you be de trop ? 
 M. de Fontvieille was joking,' said Leon rather 
 confusedly ; for he understood what the old gen- 
 tleman had meant, and wondered how he could 
 have been so foolish as to stk up unnecessary 
 jealousies. He (Leon) would never liave com- 
 mitted such a gaucherie. By way of repahing 
 the mischief, and making things comfortable, he 
 went on to say that, so far from making an unwel- 
 come addition to the party, Saint-Luc's arrival 
 would be an immense comfort to them all — 
 ' especially to Jeanne, who must be getting tired
 
 236 MADEMOISELLE DE MEKSAC. 
 
 of Mr. Barrington by this time, charming as he is. 
 I have had business in one place and another, 
 which has forced me to perform nearly the whole 
 journey in solitude ; and so, of course, the duty of 
 entertaining the stranger has fallen upon Jeanne, 
 though in reality he is rather my friend than hers. 
 It will be a pleasant change for her to have 
 some one else to talk to during the long drive 
 home.' 
 
 ' You think so ? ' said Saint-Luc with a faint 
 smile. ' But that, after all, is hardly the question. 
 M. de Fontvieille only pointed out to me that 
 three is an awkward number — and I quite agree 
 with him.' 
 
 Pierre might ride my horse, and then we 
 could all go in the carriage together,' suggested 
 the accommodating Leon. And then Barrington 
 and Jeanne came in sight, strolling up the street 
 in the twilight as leisurely as if three hungry men 
 were not waiting dinner for them. 
 
 Barrington, distinguishing the little silent group 
 at the inn-door, guessed at once that they had been 
 talking about him. M. de Fontvieille fidgeted in 
 his cane chair, and glanced sharply from him to 
 Jeanne and from Jeanne back to him again. 
 Leon looked embarrassed, and Saint-Luc, leaning
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 237 
 
 against the door-post with folded arms and eyes 
 gloomily riveted upon the ground, remained im- 
 movable as a statue. And now, for the first time, 
 Barrington reahsed with a transient jealous twinge 
 what a singularly handsome man his rival was. An 
 oval face, an ohve complexion, a heavy black mous- 
 tache, a small head w^ell set on to a pair of broad 
 shoulders, a tall, lithe, muscular frame — what 
 more could anyone desire in the shape of manly 
 beauty? Saint-Luc wore a sun-helmet, tightly 
 fitting cords, and high riding-boots, and, flung 
 back from his shoulders, was the short cahan or 
 white, hooded cloak which is worn by officers in 
 Algeria when on up-country duty, and is also in 
 much favour among such civiUans as have an eye 
 for effect. It is of no earthly use, but it is un- 
 questionably a picturesque and becoming garment. 
 Barrington was neither tall nor specially good- 
 looking. He wore, on the present occasion, a 
 tweed suit, not in its first freshness, a wide-awake 
 hat, and a puggaree soiled with a week's dust. 
 ' Why didn't I get one of those confounded sun- 
 helmets ? ' he thought ; and then inwardlv laucrhed 
 a httle at his own vanity. Was Jeanne the 
 woman to draw comparisons between sun-helmets 
 and wide-awakes ?
 
 238 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 A few minutes later the whole party were 
 seated at a round table in the low-roofed salle-a- 
 manger, discussing what by courtesy was called 
 their dinner by the light of an evil-smelling 
 paraffin lamp. They had not noticed the offen- 
 siveness of the oil before, but they all remarked 
 upon it now ; they discovered, too, that the food 
 was bad, and the wine execrable, and the table- 
 cloth dirty. Conversation flagged somewhat, nor 
 did anyone venture upon a foolish little joke, 
 such as had been wont of late to crop up about 
 this hour. Jeanne was cold, stately, and reserved 
 — the Jeanne of the Campagne de Mersac in her 
 least expansive moments — a very different person 
 from the girl who had driven with Barrington 
 over the Col Ben-Aicha and the lowlands of the 
 Issers. And so one, at least, of the company was 
 there and then summarily ejected from Fairyland, 
 and falling roughly upon hard, practical earth, 
 lost his temper a little m the process. That is the 
 worst of aerial castle-building : one touch from a 
 clumsy, unconscious, not malevolent hand, and 
 away goes the whole flimsy fabric, leaving no 
 trace behind it. The poor stupid paw that has 
 swept it into space has only forestalled time a 
 little, and ought not, perhaps, to be blamed, but it
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 239 
 
 can hardly expect to escape some momentary 
 hatred. Barrington, for whom all rough places 
 had been carefully made smooth from his child- 
 hood up, resented a stroke of bad luck like a 
 personal affront, and was always angry with 
 anyone who hurt him, whether intentionally or 
 not. He was very angry now with Saint-Luc, 
 which was perhaps pardonable ; he was angry 
 also with Leon and M. de Fontvieille, which was 
 hardly fair ; and lastly, he was angry with Jeanne 
 for not devoting her whole attention to him, 
 which was most unjust. At his time of hfe 
 he ought to have known better than to show his 
 annoyance ; but he did not. He sulked openly, 
 returned curt answers when he was addressed, 
 contradicted Saint-Luc half-a-dozen times in an 
 entirely uncalled-for manner, and generally did 
 his best to render an uncomfortable situation 
 worse than it need have been. 
 
 Everybody was thankful when the dreary 
 meal was at an end ; and the old commandant 
 of the place happening to drop in at that mo- 
 ment, and challenging M. de Fontvieille to a 
 game of dominoes, Jeanne gladly seized the op- 
 portunity to propose to the others that they should 
 go ^outside into the cool evening air. 'It is
 
 240 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 impossible to breathe in this atmosphere,' she 
 said ; ' I am stifling.' 
 
 So they all passed from the glare and heat of 
 the room, through the doorway, where the land- 
 lord and a few of his friends were chatting over 
 their cigarettes, and out into the solemn starlight ; 
 Jeanne first, then Saint-Luc, then Leon, Barring- 
 ton bringing up the rear. 
 
 The latter was still at loggerheads with the 
 world. He wanted to walk Avith Jeanne, but he 
 did not choose to make the first advance, and 
 loitered behind, thinking that she would perhaps 
 make some sign to him to join her. As a matter 
 of course she did no such thing. She gave him 
 his chance by standing for a minute before the 
 inn to wrap the light burnous which she had 
 brought out with her about her shoulders ; but 
 as he did not take advantage of it, she marched 
 away up the street at a steady pace without 
 casting a glance behind her, and Saint-Luc 
 strode by her side. Barrington made no effort to 
 follow them. He hghted a cigar with much de- 
 liberation, stuck his hands into his pockets, and 
 strolled across the road to a bench, upon which 
 he seated himself. Leon, after a moment of 
 hesitation, followed his example, remarking
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 241 
 
 blandly as he did so : ' It is a charming night for 
 a walk.' 
 
 ' So your sister and M. de Saint -Luc appear 
 to think. I can't understand how people can 
 enjoy posting off at the rate of five miles an hour 
 directly they have swallowed their dinner,' re- 
 marked BaiTington. 
 
 ' Why, you liave walked after dinner every 
 night yourself till this evening,' cried Leon inno- 
 cently. 
 
 Barrington made no reply. He was gazing 
 after two figures which were rapidly diminishing 
 into the gloom. They vanished for a second 
 under the deep shadow of some acacia trees ; then 
 they emerged, and he caught a ghmpse of the 
 shimmer of Jeanne's burnous and Saint-Luc's 
 short white cloak fluttering in the night breeze ; 
 then the interveniug angle of a house shut them 
 out again, and they were gone. 
 
 Barrington sighed, and puffed silently at his 
 cigar. After all, he was only playing at being 
 jealous ; he was not really afraid of the handsome 
 Yicomte ; he was only chagrined that his happy 
 dream should have been so rudely dispelled ; and, 
 moreover, if he had analysed his feehngs, he 
 would have found that no small part of his annoy- 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 ance was due to the first stirring in his mind of 
 that disquieting question which must, sooner or 
 later, arise out of love-making — how is it to end ? 
 He had dodged out of the way of this pertinacious 
 little note of interrogation ; he had tried to stifle 
 it, and pretended to ignore it, but, spite of all he 
 could do, there it was ; and now what could be 
 expected but that it should grow larger and 
 larger and daily more obtrusive till it got a plain 
 answer out of its victim ? As yet, however, Bar- 
 i-ington had not begun to disturb himself with 
 reference to the future, and was conscious only of 
 a vague uneasiness, together with a strong pre- 
 sent desire to arise up and follow Jeanne and 
 Saint-Luc into the darkness. But as such a pro- 
 ceeding would involve loss of dignity, he decided 
 to resist his inclinations and remain where he 
 was. ' She will come back presently,' he thought, 
 ' and then I can apologise for having been surly 
 at dinner. I believe I did make myself rather 
 mipleasant, now I come to think of it.' 
 
 Ten minutes passed slowly away, while Leon 
 discoursed about the conquest of Kabylia and 
 wasted some interesting anecdotes upon a pre- 
 occupied hearer ; but Jeanne did not return. 
 There was a stir and a scraping of chairs in the
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE .AIERSAC. 243 
 
 inn over the way ; M. le Commandant, wrapped 
 in his military cloak, stepped out into the street 
 and strode away Avitli ringing spurs ; a light 
 appeared in M. de Fontvieille's bed-room and 
 ere long was extinguished. That unworthy 
 chaperon had gone to bed leaving his charge 
 to roam about with young men under the stars. 
 The church-clock struck the half-hour, and 
 Barrinorton becran to fidoret. Leon had sjot out 
 of the refiions of historv now, and was discuss- 
 ing the respective merits of mihtary and civil 
 government in Algeria — ' Cercles militaires' — 
 ' Bureaux Arahes ' — ' two hundred thousand 
 Europeans against two millions and a half of 
 indigenes ' — ' the necessity of keeping an active 
 force always before ^the eyes of half-civilised races.' 
 Disjointed fragments of Leon's harangue fell 
 meaningless upon Barrington's inattentive ears, 
 and he threw in a ' Yes ' or a ' Xo,' or an ' Exactly 
 so,' as occasion appeared to require. 
 
 ' Your sister is taking a very long walk,' he 
 said at length, anxiety getting the better of self- 
 respect. 
 
 ' Xot longer than usual, is she ? it is so warm 
 and fine to-night. Well, you see these vile 
 Eepublicans — a set of beggarly ruffians whose 
 
 E 2
 
 24:4 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 only policy is to uproot every existing institution, 
 in order that they may have a chance of picking 
 up something when there is a scramble for fresh 
 places — are agitating for a civil government. 
 They complain of this and that, and point to 
 abuses here and there ; and abuses there are, 
 sure enough, but what would you have ? Are 
 civilians likely to be honester men than soldiers P 
 For my part, I believe that officials of all 
 classes will invariably fill their pockets out of 
 the public exchequer, whenever they see an op- 
 portunity of doing so without being found in 
 the act. ]!^o, no ; what we want is security — 
 security for our lives, security for our property.' 
 
 ' Quite right, I'm sure. Security, as you say, 
 is the essential thing, and without security, you 
 know — why, where are you, you know ? Your 
 sister and M. de Saint-Luc have been away 
 exactly three-quarters of an hour. Is it pos- 
 sible that they can have lost their way ? ' 
 
 ' Quite impossible. The gates of the town 
 are shut, and they cannot be very far a^vay from 
 us at this moment. What I maintain is that 
 the Arab will never understand nor fear a ruler 
 in a black coat. The Governor-General ought 
 always to be a man who is ready to enforce
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 245 
 
 obedience at the head of an army, if need l^e, 
 and those who imagine that there will be no more 
 fighting in Algeria ai'e very much mistaken. Tliis 
 idea of a Civil Governor is only the first step in a 
 policy which must end in disaster. The same men 
 who clamour for a reformed system of rule, declare 
 that we have many more regiments in the country 
 than are necessary for our protection. If they 
 carry out their programme, the Algerian forces 
 will be gradually reduced till, some fine morning, 
 we shall wake to find that the Arabs have risen 
 and the whole colony is in a blaze. We poor 
 farmers shall lose our property ; hundreds of un- 
 fortunate Europeans will be massacred, and — oh, 
 here is Jeanne.' 
 
 ' When is the massacre to take place, Leon ? ' 
 asked that young lady, appearing suddenly out of 
 the gloom, followed by M. de Saint-Luc. ' More 
 people die of fever than of massacre in this 
 country, Mr. Barrington, and the very best way to 
 catch a fever is to sit out at night when the dews 
 are fallinir. For Leon it does not matter, he is 
 acclimatised ; but he ought to have made you 
 walk about.' 
 
 ' I meant to have walked, but I was waiting 
 for you. I could not tell that you w^ould be such
 
 246 MADEMOISELLE DE MEESAC. 
 
 a very long time a^vay,' said Barrington, in a 
 slightly aggrieved tone. 
 
 ' I am sorry that you should have been kept 
 waiting,' she answered, rather coldly ; ' and now it 
 is too late to think of anything but bed. I am so 
 tired that I think I will bid you all good-night at 
 once.' 
 
 She turned as slie spoke, and, crossing the road, 
 vanished into the inn, and Barrington, being out of 
 temper with the world generally and M. de Saint- 
 Luc particularly, threw away the end of his cigar 
 and announced that he was going to bed too. 
 
 ^ We will all go to bed ; we shall have to start 
 earlj^ to-morrow morning,' said Leon ; but Saint- 
 Luc laid his hand upon the young man's arm, 
 saying, ' Wait for another quarter of an hour ; I 
 want to have a chat with you ' — so Barrington 
 entered the house alone. 
 
 Saint-Luc linked his arm within that of his 
 young friend, led him back to the bench which 
 the Englishman had just vacated, and, throwing 
 himself down upon it, sighed out : ' Well, it is all 
 over 1 She will have nothing to say to me.' 
 
 Leon could not pretend to misunderstand his 
 meaning. He was sincerely sorry to hear such 
 bad news, for he liked Saint-Luc, and would
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 247 
 
 gladly have welcomed liini as a brother-in-law, 
 and, moreover, the Duchess and M. de Fontvieille 
 had taken a great deal of trouble lately to convince 
 him of the desirability of his sister's speedy 
 marriage. At the same time experience had 
 taught him that Jeanne always knew her own 
 mind, and that when she said no, she meant no ; 
 and this knowledge made it difficult for him to 
 find any consolatory reply for the benefit of the 
 luckless wooer. At length, however, he asked — 
 ' Are you quite sure of that ? ' which was perhaps 
 the best thing he could have said under the 
 circumstances. 
 
 ' It is not her fault if I am not,' returned Saint- 
 Luc, with a dreary laugli. ' She told me she could 
 no more marry me than M. de Fontvieille.' 
 
 ' That,' said Leon, feeling very uncomfortable, 
 and wishing most heartily that his friend could 
 have chosen some other confidant — ' that is, of 
 course, only a way of speaking. Jeanne often 
 expresses herself strongly ; but she does not always 
 mean quite all that she says, and I am sm:e that 
 she did not intend to be unkind or rude to you.' 
 
 ' She was neither the one nor the other ; on 
 the contrary, she was most kind. I think she has 
 not quite understood me till now. She thought I
 
 248 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 was seeking a mariage de convenance, whereas — 
 but it does not mucli signify. No one could have 
 been more gentle and compassionate than she 
 was, but that does not alter the fact that she has 
 broken my heart. Do not laugh, Leon. A year 
 ago I no more believed in broken hearts than you 
 do ; but when a man suffers such pain as I suffer, 
 he must cease to be a sceptic, whether he will or 
 no. I know what you would say — " On ne meurt 
 pas de cette maladie-la " — but that is just what 
 makes it a more infernal torture than any physical 
 one. Tenez ! if it were not that I dread causing 
 annoyance to others, I would put a pistol to my 
 head this very night. Bon Dieu! what is this 
 wretched thin<T called life that a man should care 
 to keep it in his body ? What has my life been ? 
 The life of a dog — what do I say — of a lap-dog — 
 a useless, dull, over-fed brute. Looking back 
 upon past years, I connot recall a single day or a 
 single hour that I would choose to hve over again : 
 it is all idleness, and satiety, and disgust. I don't 
 know how far I have been to blame ; there must 
 be some atom of good in me, or I should not so 
 abhor myself; but I suppose it has not had force 
 to struggle against the bad side of my nature. 
 Before I met your sister I looked forward to
 
 MADEMOISELLE UE MERSAC. 249 
 
 dawdlinsj throufrh the rest of mv life in ii resis^ned, 
 discontented sort of way. I knew I should never 
 be of the smallest good to myself or anybody else 
 in the world, and I did not much care ; but then 
 I saw her, and fell in love with her (God knows 
 why or wherefore — we wretched humans have no 
 control over our fate), and that changed every- 
 thing. I thought I might possibly become — I 
 won't say worthy of her — but as worthy as a man 
 with my past could be. I had dreams and pro- 
 jects, all of which have been blown into space by 
 one word, so that I need not trouble you with 
 them. Ah, why did I ever see her .^ Why was 
 I not left in my brutish indifference, if I was to 
 spend all the rest of my life in hopelessness and 
 solitude ? If I believed in the Christian religion 
 — which I do not, unfortunately ; the world that 
 I have lived in has honestly rejected that faith, 
 finding it impossible to make it fit in with its own 
 system of morality — I say, if I were a Christian. I 
 would turn Trappist. It is a kind of suicide 
 which the Church, knowing that some loophole 
 out of the world must be left open for desperate 
 men, permits, and is even kind enough to reward 
 with a palm and a crown, instead of ^\dth hell-fire. 
 But that door is closed to me. I have no faith in
 
 250 [NfABEMOISELLE DE MEESAC. 
 
 the palm or the crown, and should not know what 
 to do with them when I had got them. There 
 remains the pistol. I shall not use it just yet, for 
 reasons that you may surmise ; but before many 
 months are over, I hope to rid society of one of 
 its most useless members.' 
 
 So poor Saint-Luc raved on, pacing to and fro 
 in the dust and throwing his arms about as French- 
 men will do when they are in despair, or fancy 
 themselves so. We English are a less demonstra- 
 tive race ; still one has heard a deal of nonsense 
 talked by one's own compatriots under similar 
 circumstances. The difficulty is to know what to 
 say by way of comfort to a man who has just 
 been refused. To tell him that he will get over 
 it in time may be true, but savours of brutality, 
 while encouragement to make another attempt 
 may only lead him on to a second repulse. 
 Practically, however, I believe that everybody 
 does adopt the latter alternative. Leon, at all 
 events, did so upon the present occasion. 
 
 ' I think you would be wrong to take Jeanne's 
 decision as final,' he said, as soon as he could get 
 a hearing. ' You have been a little abrupt with 
 her, and then, too, it seems to me that you have 
 not chosen a very appropriate occasion.'
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 251 
 
 ' Do you seriously mean to tell me,' broke in 
 Saint-Luc, ' that it would lia\-e made the slightest 
 difference if I had spoken last week, or had put oil" 
 doing so till next ? Bali I I found myself alone 
 with her — a thing which does not happen to me 
 every day, let me remind you — I was tired of 
 suspense, and I said to myself that I would know 
 the worst — Voila ! ' 
 
 ' That is just it. You made up your mind 
 that you would know the worst, and you let her 
 see that you expected the worst, and therefore 
 you failed. All women are the same; throw 
 yourself at their feet, and they will trample upon 
 you ; face them boldly, and they will yield,' said 
 Leon, whose youthfid assumption of knowledge of 
 a subject which the wisest of men have failed to 
 fathom will perhaps be pardoned by those who 
 remember that he was really sorry for his friend, 
 and was doing Avhat in him lay to console the 
 afflicted one. ' I grant you that Jeanne is not 
 hke other girls,' continued this successful student 
 of character ; ' her education and position are 
 different from those of other girls — else you could 
 hardly have spoken to her as you have done this 
 evening — but for all that, she is a woman, and 
 women require humouring. The fact is that you
 
 252 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 have addressed yourself to her at the wrong 
 moment.' 
 
 ' The wrong moment ! ' interrupted Saint-Luc 
 — ' why the wrong moment ? Because that Eng- 
 ghslnnan is here ? Is there ever a moment when 
 he is not with her ? My good Leon, I am as 
 much in love as it is possible to be, but I am not 
 therefore blind. It is sufficiently evident to me 
 that your sister will marry the Englishman, 
 against whom I have nothing to say. If he be 
 not more worthy of her than I, he must be a far 
 worse man than I take him for. Whether he 
 loves her as devotedly as I do, is another ques- 
 tion.' 
 
 ' Jeanne marry Mr. Barrington ? Absurd ! ' 
 cried Leon. ' Neither M. de Fontvieille, nor the 
 Duchess, nor I, would ever consent to her becom- 
 ing the wife of a foreigner and a Protestant ' 
 
 ' But I thought she was free to marry whom 
 she pleased ? ' 
 
 ' Well, yes, so she is, in a certain sense ; but 
 of course she Avould never think of disregarding 
 the wishes of — of all her friends. Besides, she 
 would never have been so friendly with Mr. Bar- 
 rington if she had had an idea of such an end to 
 this intimacy. No, no. my friend ; believe me,
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 253 
 
 there is nothing of that kind. Try again in a 
 month's time ; be less diffident, and you will very 
 likely be successful. I think Jeanne knows that 
 all our sympathies are with you.' 
 
 ' Will you speak to her on the subject ? ' asked 
 Saint-Luc, who was only too willing to be per- 
 suaded into hope, against his own judgment. 
 
 ' Why, no,' answered Leon, hesitatingly ; ' I 
 don't think I could quite do that ; she would not 
 like it. You see, she is a little older than I am, 
 and she has always been accustomed to take the 
 lead, and she is not precisely one of those people 
 whom one can interfere with easily, and — and — 
 in point of fact, I really doubt ^^-hether my speak- 
 ing would not do more harm than good. If I am 
 to be quite candid with you, I must confess that 
 neither I nor anybody else has much authority 
 over Jeanne ; but she is so good and so self- 
 sacrificing that she would do a great deal to please 
 any one of us, and ' 
 
 'I don't wish her to sacrifice herself,' inter- 
 rupted Saint-Luc. 
 
 'I express myself badly. What I meant to 
 say was that our wishes would have a good deal 
 of weight with her. As I told you just now, I 
 believe she knows what our wishes are, and we
 
 254 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 will try to make them more apparent. I don't 
 see that we can do anything more for you.' 
 
 ' I suppose not,' sighed Saint-Luc. ' I will try 
 iigain then ; it is a forlorn hope, but it is better 
 than nothing. Thank you for your sympathy. 
 'Now you are dying to get to sleep, and I will not 
 keep you up any longer. Good-night.' 
 
 So Leon went to his bed, and Saint-Luc 
 roamed about the silent town till daylight, 
 mentally balancing himself against Barrington, 
 and deriving no encouragement from the process. 
 
 It is perhaps needless to add that he did not 
 occupy the varant seat in the waggonette on the 
 following day.
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 255 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 IX WHICH ^[R. B.ARRIXGTOX WIXS A GAME OF 
 BILLIARDS. 
 
 One of the most grievous burdens attaching to 
 royal bn-th must be, one would think, the impos- 
 sibihty of getting from one country to another 
 without well-meant but tedious demonstrations of 
 loyalty and respect. An unfortunate emperor, 
 king, or prince lands from the steamer in w^hich, 
 perhaps, he has been wofully sea-sick, or steps out 
 of his special train, dirty and weary, and there, 
 upon the platform, stands his worship the mayor, 
 in furred gown and gold chain, Avitli an attendant 
 body of aldermen and town-councillors, and pro- 
 ceeds to entertain the illustrious traveller with a 
 loyal and long-winded address of welcome. The 
 poor royal personage knows perfectly well the 
 stereotyped, meaningless phrases which are about 
 to be hurled at him, and knows also the terms in 
 which it will be expected he should reply thereto.
 
 256 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 The whole business must be to him a monstrous 
 vmnecessary bore ; still, it has to be gone through, 
 and he goes through it as cheerfully as may be. 
 IF, however, he be a shifty royal personage, and 
 can manage to get his luggage moved with extra 
 rapidity, there is a reasonable mode of escape 
 open to Mm. It may be announced that his 
 Majesty, or his Eoyal Highness, as the case may 
 be, is compelled to proceed on his journey with 
 all possible despatch, and must deny himself the 
 pleasure of hearing or delivering speeches on his 
 way ; the loyal address, therefore, will be « taken 
 as read.' So the illuminated parchment is hastily 
 shoved in at the carriage window, the exalted 
 creature inside advances, l^ows and smiles with 
 such affability as nature has granted to him, and 
 is presently whisked away in a manner satisfactory, 
 it is to be hoped, both to himself and others. 
 
 If only certain days of our life, the net result 
 of which can be easily foretold — days of mere 
 barren vexation and weariness of the flesh — could 
 be thus summarily dismissed, and taken as lived, 
 how thankful some of us would be ! In real life, 
 unfortunately, there is no stealing a march upon 
 Time : we must take the rough with the smooth, 
 and all we have to consider is how to swallow
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 257 
 
 measureless tedium with a minimum of yawns ; 
 but when it comes to be a question of fiction, to 
 which, it may be presumed, nobody resorts unless 
 with some faint expectation of amusement, nature 
 revolts against dulness, and nimbly skips over the 
 prosy passages. Those prosy passages need never 
 be written at all, and much labour might be 
 spared to writer as well as reader could the former 
 but guess when he is about to become wearisome ; 
 but that, no doubt, is past hoping for. Of one 
 thing, however, every narrator may be sure — 
 that when, in the course of his story, he feels 
 disposed to dwell upon any particular subject, he is 
 getting upon dangerous ground, and had best 
 quit that subject w^ithout further dela}-. The 
 present writer, being conscious of an inclination 
 to linger among the sunny valleys and breezy 
 heights of Kabylia, now, therefore, resolutely 
 turns away from that pleasant land, and shutting 
 out his background of mountains and blue sky, 
 narrows the limits of his stage to the four walls 
 of a heated and not over w^ell-lighted billiard- 
 room. 
 
 It is a long, low-roofed room, occupying the 
 whole entresol above one of the principal cafes of 
 Algiers, and containing several tables. At one of 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 these Barrington and a friend, picked up at the 
 Hotel d'Orient, are hard at work in their shirt- 
 sleeves, endeavouring, not very successfully, to 
 master the science of the cannon game, while at a 
 more distant one, M. de Saint-Luc, with pale face 
 and downcast mien, is absently knocking the balls 
 about, pausing every now and again to emit a 
 half-smothered sigh. Leon, outstretched upon 
 a sofa, with a cigarette in his mouth and a tall 
 glass of vermouth ajid water on a table at his side, 
 contemplates with the serene smile of a man who 
 has dined well, the blue smoke clouds that slowly 
 drift away from him ; and, on the opposite side 
 of the room, a diminutive, close-cropped waiter, 
 worn out by the labour and heat of the day, is 
 snatching a well-earned snooze, perched on a high 
 stool, on whose slippery summit he perilously 
 sways and lurches. From the cafe beneath rises 
 a confused hubbub, a clinking of glasses, a clat- 
 tering of dominoes, a roar of excited voices, such 
 as in England would convey the idea of nothing 
 less than an imminent free-fight, but here means 
 only that a few good bourgeois and line-officers 
 are enjoying a quiet evening after their habitual 
 manner ; in the street below a shrill-voiced boy 
 is shouting, ' Moniteur d'Algerie, journal du soir !
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 259 
 
 Achetez le Moniteur d'Algerie ! ' and from time to 
 time, when the tmiiult abates for a second or two,' 
 the monotonous thrum, thrum, thrum of a guitar 
 can be heard faintly rising from a Moorish cafe 
 down by the water-side. 
 
 Here, in the bilhard-room, there is silence un- 
 broken save by the click of the balls and the 
 occasional execrations of Mr. Barrington's friend, 
 Avho plays a very fair game at the club at home, 
 and is surprised and disgusted to find how little 
 mastery he has over foreign balls and cues. 
 
 ' Never saw such a beastly game in my life ! ' 
 he exclaims wrathfully, throwing himself down 
 upon a chair. ' Might as well play with footballs 
 and barge-poles, by Jove I I'll trouble you for the 
 tip of that cue ! Just look at it, will you ! Why, 
 it's a couple of inches broad.' 
 
 ' Ah, it's a game you have to get accustomed 
 to,' remarks Barrington, scoring rather neatly ; 
 ' but Y/hen you understand it, it's less flukey than 
 ours, and I really think there is more play in it.' 
 
 ' Don't see any play in it at all,' growls the other ; 
 and then there is another long period of silence. 
 The little waiter, with head thrown back and open 
 mouth, begins to snore, and the clock in the tower 
 of the great mosque chimes half-past ten. Pre-
 
 260 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 sently Saint-Luc lays down liis cue, and strolls 
 dejectedly towards the sofa u])ou wliicli Leon's 
 long body is extended. 
 
 ' Leon,' says he, in a sepiilcliral voice, ' when 
 did you last have an earthquake here ? ' 
 
 ' An earthquake ? Oh, I hardly remember. 
 We have a few slight shocks every year, but no- 
 body ever thinks anything of them. Once, I 
 remember, there was a great alarm in the middle 
 of the night, and a good many people rushed out 
 into the streets in very scanty apparel, and one 
 silly old woman jumped out of window and broke 
 her leg. But, after all, there was no damage 
 done. Why do you ask ? ' 
 
 'Because I am quite convinced that we are 
 going to have an earthquake to-night. I have never 
 in my hfe felt in such low s[)irits as I do at this 
 moment, and I have a sort of unaccountable sen- 
 sation of dread, Avhich, I take it, nmst mean that 
 the earth is about to open and swallow me up. 
 Not that that would be such a great misfortune 
 after all.' 
 
 ' Bah ! It is a hot evening, and you are tired 
 and out of sorts, as anyone would be who had 
 spent three days all by himself at Fort Napoleon 
 and then ridden back upon a lame horse. Come
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 261 
 
 and have a game of billiards, and let us think no 
 more about earthquakes. For my part, I can 
 assure you that, whatever your wishes may be, I 
 should disHke nothing more than being pounded 
 to death by a falling house ; and if I thought 
 there was the shf^htest dano-er of such a thing 
 happening, I should be out of this room in another 
 moment. Come and play.' 
 
 Saint-Luc drops into a chair and shakes his 
 head. ' I cannot playvbilliards to-night,' he says : 
 ' I should not be able to make a single stroke. 
 Ah, Leon, I have my own good reasons for being 
 miserable, as you know ; and I suppose there is 
 no chance of an earthquake, or why should I alone 
 be affected by it P You seem in excellent spirits. 
 I saw you driving ^vith that de Tremonville 
 woman to-day, and she gave you a rose, and you 
 blushed, and stuck it in your button-hole, you 
 foolish boy. Is that why you lie smihng there 
 like a young god on Olympus ? Don't be angry ; 
 we men are all made fools of by women ; we can't 
 escape our destiny, and would not, perhaps, if we 
 could. Imagine yourself in paradise while you 
 can — that is the truest wisdom. That tumbler at 
 your elbow contains nothing but bitter vermouth 
 and half-tepid water, but if you can bring your-
 
 262 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 self to quaff it under the impression that it is 
 nectar, why it is nectar as far as you are con- 
 cerned. kSome day you will discover that Madame 
 de Tremonville is — well, is a different person from 
 what you now think her to be ; but so long as 
 you can keep your illusions, why not do so? 
 That Englishman looks liappy too. Did he drive 
 back with her? But of course he did.' 
 
 ' Well, yes ; but M. de Fontvieille also took a 
 ssat inside the carriage. I heard Jeanne ask him 
 to do so.' 
 
 ' You did ? She asked him to take a seat 
 inside ? ' cried Saint-Luc eagerly. ' I wonder 
 what made her do that.' 
 
 ' How can I tell ? She was tired of Mr. Bar- 
 rington very likely. It seemed to. me that they 
 were not quite such good friends after you ap- 
 peared as they had been before. Believe me, 
 mon cher, you have no cause for jealousy. Mr. 
 Barrington must return to England very soon 
 now, and then ' 
 
 'Ah, then!' 
 
 Bang ! Bang I from the further end of the 
 room. Barrington's friend, in a frantic effort to 
 ' screw,' has driven his cue through the cloth, and 
 sent one of the balls spinning off the table. The
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 263 
 
 little waiter, rudely awakened from his slumbers, 
 loses his balance, falls from his perch with a loud 
 crash, and then, picking himself up, and imme- 
 diately recovering his presence of mind, pipes 
 out 
 
 • Cest cinquanie francs le premier accroc, mes- 
 sieurs.' 
 
 ' Oh, oh I I like that I ' cries the delinquent, 
 indignantly. ' Cinquante francs — rubbish ! Look 
 here, you httle beggar ! Eegardez ici — et la — et 
 Ik,' pointmg to the traces of several previous in- 
 juries to the cloth. ' Coupe all over the place, 
 you know. Je paierai cinq francs, and not 
 another centime — so you needn't say any more 
 about it.' 
 
 The waiter shrugs his shoulders doubtfully, 
 and says he will consult the ' patron ; ' and peace 
 being restored, Barrington resumes his cue, and, 
 adroitly drawing the balls into a corner, finishes 
 the game with a break of ten. 
 
 The defeated player paid his stake, settled 
 with the waiter, and after making some brief but 
 trenchant observations upon the game of French 
 billiards, took himself ofi*. Then Barrington, who 
 was in high good humoiur, both because he had 
 won his game and on account of other reasons,
 
 264 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 strolled across the room and poked Leon in the 
 ribs with his cue. 
 
 ' Well, de Mersac,' said he, ' what have you 
 been doing with yourself all day ? I was at your 
 house this afternoon, and thought I should have 
 seen you there. How do you do, M. de Saint- 
 Luc ? You have just come back from Fort Na- 
 poleon, I suppose ? ' 
 
 Old Mr. Ashley, whose property adjoins Ear- 
 rington's more extensive one, and who has always 
 lived upon the best of terms with his neighbour, 
 has been heard to say that the latter would be one 
 of the pleasantest-mannered men in England if 
 only he could get out of the habit of talking to 
 others as though he were the Prince of Wales ; 
 and, indeed, it is true that there is a certain pros- 
 perous affability in the demeanour of this fortunate 
 gentleman which men who are out of luck or out 
 of temper sometimes find it hard to bear. Saint- 
 Luc was too well-bred to answer his rival other- 
 wise than politely ; but if he could have followed 
 the bent of his own inclinations, and reverted to 
 the customs of a primitive state of society, he 
 would then and there have arisen and pommelled 
 him soundly. That the man should look so dis- 
 gustingly contented and happy was, perhaps, not
 
 3fADEM0ISELLE DE MERSAC. 265 
 
 his fault ; but that alkision to Fort Xapoleon 
 might surely have been spared. 
 
 Then there was an interval of silence, after 
 which Leon swung his long legs off the sofa, 
 stretched himself, yawned, and said he thought he 
 would go and look in at the club. 
 
 ' I am going home to bed ; and if you are 
 wise you will follow my example,' observed Bar- 
 rington, who knew very well what ' looking in at 
 the club ' meant. 
 
 ' Ah, but I am not wise,' rejoined Leon, 
 rather tartly ; for, in common with the rest of 
 humanity, he dishked nothing so much as good 
 advice. 
 
 He added, ' You are cominsr. are vou not, 
 Saint-Luc?' 
 
 The Vicomte fumbled in his waistcoat pocket, 
 and drew out a handful of coins and notes, which 
 he proceeded to count. 'Yes,' he answered, 
 when he had finished his sum ; ' I find I have 
 aot three hundred francs about me. That much 
 I am prepared to lose, but I shall retire as soon 
 as my pockets are empty.' 
 
 ' And I,' observed Leon, ' have got exactly 
 fifty-five francs fifty centimes ; and I have no 
 intention of retiring before I am sleepy.'
 
 266 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 ' Then I can only hope, for your sake, that 
 you will be sleepy soon,' said Barrington, putting 
 on his hat. ' Good-night, monsieur. Good-night, 
 de Mersac. I daresay I shall see you to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Virtue has spread her wings and flown,' re- 
 marked Saint-Luc, as the swing door closed behind 
 the Enghshman. ' You are now alone with Vice, 
 as fitly represented in my humble person. I beg 
 you to observe, however, that I decline the ad- 
 ditional role of Temptation— I will even take upon 
 myself to say that, much as I enjoy your society, 
 I should prefer to say good-night now.' 
 
 ' Why ? ' asked Leon, rather affronted. 
 
 ' Firstly, because they are playing lansquenet 
 at the club to-night, and lansquenet is, of all 
 games that I know, the one at which large sums 
 are most easily lost. Secondly, because there is 
 no luck in the air to-night. Thirdly, because you 
 have not got enough money in your pockets. I 
 have three hundred francs, the loss of which will 
 sober me. You will lose what you have in a few 
 minutes, after which you will take to paper, and 
 become reckless. Also, your head is not so cool 
 as mine to start with.' 
 
 Looked upon as a deterrent, the observation 
 was scarcely a happy one. Nobody — above all,
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 267 
 
 no youug man — likes to be told that his head is 
 not cool ; nor is it flattering to l^e cautioned against 
 the seductive nature of any amusement by a man 
 who is himself about to engage in it. 
 
 ' You talk as if I were a baby,' Leon answered 
 in a tone of some annoyance. ' I have played 
 lansquenet before now, and I am not such a fool 
 as not to know when to stop.' 
 
 Saint-Luc shrugged his shoulders. ' I have 
 warned you,' said he ; • I could do no more. I 
 hope you will recollect that to-morrow morning 
 when you wake up with a headache, and try to 
 calculate the amount of your losses. Probably, 
 however, you ^vill blame me — and so will others. 
 That will be nothing more than my usual luck.' 
 
 ' I shall do nothing of the sort,' answered 
 Leon ; ' and I don't know whom you mean by 
 others. When I lose my money, I generally keep 
 the fact to myself.' 
 
 ' Do you ? ' said Saint-Luc. ' I have never 
 been able to achieve such reticence. But it does 
 not much matter. Things can hardly be much 
 worse with me than they are already. Shall 
 we go ? ' 
 
 Leon understood it all, and was not best 
 pleased. Jeanne had been the kindest of sisters
 
 268 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 to him, and he had a reverence and respect for 
 her rather fih'al than fraternal ; still few sons can 
 bear with equanimity the idea that their mother 
 has requested a stranger to keep them out of mis- 
 chief, and Leon, as he held open the door for his 
 friend to pass out, said to himself that the time 
 had come for him to shake off feminine rule. 
 
 The two men descended the stairs together in 
 silence, and a few steps brought them to the door 
 of the club, which occupied the first floor of a 
 large corner house. The room which they pre- 
 sently entered was a lofty and spacious one, 
 lighted by a big crystal chandelier, and furnished 
 with a multiplicity of easy chairs. In some of 
 these a few members were dozing ; a little knot 
 of idlers were smoking on the balcony, and at the 
 further end of the room some eight or ten men, 
 mostly officers in the Chasseurs d'Afrique, were 
 congregated round a card-table. One of the lat- 
 ter wheeled round as the newcomers approached, 
 and beckoned to them. 
 
 ' Come and bring us a change of luck,' he 
 cried. ' There never was such a dull game as 
 this since the world began ! Would you believe 
 that we have been playing for three quarters of
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 269 
 
 an hour, and that nobody has lost a sou except 
 myself, who am minus three napoleons.' 
 
 ' I have lost five,' said another man, in a 
 rather aggrieved tone. 
 
 ' And ought to have lost five hundred,* re- 
 torted the first speaker. • What is the use of 
 playing with a man like you, wlio always make a 
 point of throwing good money after bad, if no- 
 body is ever to get a deal ? I don't think any 
 single dealer has had more than two turns.' 
 
 ' Be comforted, de Monceaux,' said Saint-Luc, 
 seatincr himself on the left hand of the srrumbler. 
 ' I have brought three hundred francs witli me for 
 the express purpose of losing them, and perhaps 
 some sliai'e of the plunder may find its way into 
 your pocket.' 
 
 ' Xot if you sit there,' rejoined the other. 
 ' Your stake will be covered three times over 
 before I get a chance of putting anything on. If 
 you think you are going to have bad luck, for 
 Heaven's sake seat yourself above ins ead of 
 below me.' 
 
 But Leon had taken the chair next to that 
 which Saint-Luc now occupied, and the kind- 
 hearted Vicomte thought it migrht be for the
 
 270 MADEMOISELLE DE MEKSAC. 
 
 young man's benefit that he should have a mentor 
 at his elbow, so he shook his head. 
 
 ' It is hardly worth while to change places 
 now,' he said. 'But we are interrupting the 
 game. Whose deal is it ? ' 
 
 ' It is mine, I believe,' answered de Monceaux ; 
 ' but I have no confidence in these cards. I pro- 
 pose that we have fresh ones, and begin over 
 again.' 
 
 So two new packs were brought, and being 
 dealt round, the lowest card fell to Saint- Luc, 
 who thus became dealer, much to the disgust of 
 his neighbour. 
 
 ' Is that what you call bad luck ? ' exclaimed 
 that ill-used person, indignantly. ' I might have 
 known how it would be ! And now I will lay a 
 hundred francs to fifty that you win six times, 
 provided you leave the stake up.' 
 
 Saint-Luc took the bet, laid a napoleon on the 
 table as his stake, and began to deal.
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 271 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 LANSQUENET. 
 
 Most people, probably, are acquainted with the 
 rules of lansquenet ; but, for the benefit of those 
 who are not, a short explanation shall be given — 
 the more willingly as the game is one of an en- 
 gaging simplicity. The dealer, after laying down 
 a stake, the amount of which is left to his option, 
 turns up the first two cards of the pack, one for 
 himself and one for the table ; he then proceeds 
 to deal out the cards till one of the same number 
 as either of those displayed appears. Should the 
 table win, he loses his stake and the deal passes ; 
 but if his own card prove successful, he may either 
 pocket his \vinnings and surrender his deal to the 
 next player, or leave both winnings and stake up, 
 and continue. The stake may be covered by one 
 or more of the players, the left-hand neighbour of 
 the dealer having the first choice. In the present 
 instance, Leon being seated next to Saint-Luc, at
 
 272 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 once covered the modest napoleon staked by his 
 friend. 
 
 Saint-Luc won, and left the two gold pieces on 
 the table, and L^on once more monopohsed the 
 play. The dealer won again, and again, and yet 
 again, but at the fifth time the luck turned, and 
 the young marquis had the satisfaction of receiv- 
 ing back the scraps of paper on wliich he had 
 scribbled the amount of his debts, together with 
 twenty francs of winnings. 
 
 ' That is not the way to play lansquenet, my 
 friend,' whispered Saint-Luc ; but Leon, in answer 
 to the good-natured warning, only slinigged his 
 shoulders impatiently, and muttered, ' Je sais ce 
 ^i^^ 7'^/a«'S',' which, if true, was a statement little 
 creditable to his understanding. H^ ]Hit up forty 
 francs and lost them immediately. Tlien, for a 
 time, he 2;ot no chance of losing or winning, and 
 sat drumming on the table and fidgeting restlessly 
 in his chair after the manner of inexperienced 
 cramblers, who are seldom contented unless they 
 can be in the thick of the fray. 
 
 The o-ame did not at first prove an exciting 
 one. There were no long deals, very little money 
 changed hands, and at the end of an liour the 
 only player upon whom Fortune seemed to have
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 273 
 
 smiled at all was Saint-Luc, who had a little pile 
 of gold before liim ; whereas Leon, whose few 
 coins had long since vanished, had sent some three 
 hundred francs worth of his signatures to different 
 parts of the table, and was a little inclined to be 
 querulous over his losses. 
 
 Poor Leon had not yet learnt that the first 
 duty of a gambler is to preserve an aspect of 
 equanimity, and that though men will bear with 
 fools, and Avill even show marvellous patience 
 with rogues, they will not tolerate one who bursts 
 into lamentations over his bad luck. He offended 
 in this Avay more than once in the course of the 
 evening, but, perhaps, in consideration of his in- 
 experience, he might have been allowed to escape 
 unrebuked, liad he not had the misfortune to fall 
 foul of M. de Monceaux. That gentleman, who 
 w^as no longer in his first youth, and had long 
 since discovered that the pastimes of this world 
 are but weariness and vexation of spirit, unless 
 they can be made to conduce to its comforts, was 
 accustomed in card-playing, as in all other pur- 
 suits, to regulate his conduct in accordance with 
 certain well-defined principles. Throughout the 
 evening he had been playing with more skill 
 than good fortune, but he serenely bided his time, 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 knowiDg that to liirn who waits opportunity will 
 surely arrive. Now it came to pass that Leou, in 
 pursuance of his absurd system of doubling, had 
 taken up the whole of the stake during a rather 
 longer deal than usual. He was some distance 
 away from the dealer, but none of the intervening 
 players had cared to interfere with the young 
 man after the first round, till some eight hundred 
 francs were on the table. It was then that M. de 
 Monceaux, having carefully calculated that the 
 chances were now about ten to one in his favour, 
 stepped in, and, in the exercise of his undoubted 
 right as next player to the dealer, covered the 
 whole sum, won it, and quietly swept it down. 
 
 ' Cest trop fort ! ' exclaimed Leon, throwing 
 himself back in his chair. And indeed it must 
 be admitted that the incident v/as one which 
 might have tried the patience of many an older 
 man. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon,' said de Monceaux 
 suavely, bending forward as he spoke, ' you said 
 something ? ' 
 
 Leon frowned, but made no reply. 
 
 'Perhaps,' continued de Monceaux, with in- 
 creasing politeness, ' M. le Marquis has not often 
 played this game. Am I wrong in conjectming
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 275 
 
 from his manner that he beheves me to have in- 
 fringed some rule ? In such a case he would do 
 well to refer the matter to the committee of the 
 club. Or if anything in my personal conduct 
 should have displeased M. le Marquis, nothing 
 would give me greater pleasure than to ' 
 
 ' Xonsense ! ' interposed Saint-Luc hastily. 
 ' Xobody is complaining of you, de Monceaux ; 
 and we are all waiting for you to deal.' 
 
 De Monceaux shrugged his shoulders, picked 
 Up the cards, won three times runniug, and then 
 took down his gains. 
 
 'I trust M. le Marquis does not object to the 
 deal passing,' lie remarked, as he handed the 
 pack to his neighbour. 
 
 ' I object to nothing,' returned Leon, wrath- 
 fuUy ; ' but this I must say ' 
 
 He was cut short by a smart blow across his 
 shins. Saint-Luc had opened his long legs hke 
 a pair of scissors and bestowed this gentle cor- 
 rection impartially on his right hand and on his 
 left. 
 
 ' Be quiet, Leon,' he muttered ; and then, 
 turning to de Monceaux, ' Hold your tongue, you 
 old fire-eater, and don't quarrel with boys. K 
 you must fight, come out with me to-morroW' 
 
 t2
 
 276 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 morning, and yon shall see whether I am still as 
 good a match for you as I used to be with the 
 foils at Saint-Cyr.' 
 
 At this de Mouceaux, who was a good- 
 natured fellow enough, laughed and said, 'No, 
 thank you,' and so peace w^as restored. 
 
 Often afterwards Saint-Luc wondered whether 
 it was destiny or mere absence of mind that led 
 him to begin his deal by putting up so large a 
 stake as two hundred francs. He had hitherto 
 taken little interest in the game, having altogether 
 failed to find sufficient excitement therein to 
 divert his thoughts from the channel in which 
 they had so steadily run of late ; and though the 
 corporeal presence of the Vicomte de Saint-lAic 
 had been visible at the card-table, pale, handsome, 
 imperturbable, staking according to the dictates 
 of prudence and winning moderately — the man 
 himself had been wandering sadly enough in 
 distant places — under the stars at Fort Napoleon, 
 in the garden of the Campagne de Mersac, througli 
 the empty rooms of his own deserted Norman 
 chateau — who knows where ? The little dispute 
 between Leon and de Monceaux had brought him 
 back to realities for a moment, but now he had 
 drifted away again, and pushed up the ten gold
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 277 
 
 pieces ineclianically, forgetting, perbiips, that he 
 was no longer in Paris, but in an Algerian club, 
 where such sums were more or less of a phe- 
 nomenon. 
 
 Leon immediately covered the stake. The 
 occurrences of the last five minutes had not tended 
 to soothe the irritability of that foolish young man, 
 or to bring him to a calmer and Aviser frame of 
 mind. He was angry with himself, which was 
 reasonable enough ; he was very angiy with de 
 Monceaux, which was perha])s excusable ; but it 
 was certainly most unjust of him to be furious 
 against Saint-Luc, who had just got him out of 
 an awkward scrape. It must, however, be ad- 
 mitted that gratitude for such good offices is 
 seldom forthcoming upon the spur of the moment. 
 But, lastly, and most foolishly of all, Leon was 
 indignant with Luck ; and it was with an insane 
 determination to conquer that pitiless abstraction 
 that he pushed a slip of paper representing two 
 hundred francs in front of ^^aint-Luc's ten napo- 
 leons, and lost it Four hundred, then eight 
 hundred, then sixteen hundred francs went the 
 sume way. Saint-Luc went on dealing, and Leon 
 set his teeth and continued to stake. 
 
 The rest of the players, being thus debarred
 
 278 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 from taking any part in the game, looked on with 
 calmness not unmixed with disgust. 
 
 When a man begins his deal by putting up 
 two hundred francs, it is natural to expect that 
 the greater part of the company may be able to 
 secure some interest in the result, or failing that, 
 that they may at least have the consolation of 
 witnessing an exciting contest between him and 
 the adventurous gambler who has chosen to 
 oppose him alone. But in the present instance 
 there was no prospect of any such solace. It was 
 evident enough that Saint -Luc did not choose to 
 win his friend's money ; that he would go on till 
 he lost ; that the original stake would be the only 
 sum that would change hands, and that the turn- 
 ing up of card after card was, therefore, a pure 
 waste of time. 
 
 ' I will never sit down to a card-table with 
 that young imbecile again,' muttered de Monceaux 
 to his neighbour. To which the other replied — 
 
 ' Nor I — unless he likes to play with me 
 alone.' 
 
 Meanwhile Saint-Luc was liaving a run of good 
 fortune such as had not been witnessed in that 
 club for many a long day. Time after time the 
 dealer's card came up victorious, and some Ian-
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 279 
 
 guid interest began to be manifested in the large 
 amount of money on the table, which had now 
 reached no less a sum than fifty thousand francs 
 odd. The figures might be nearly nominal, still 
 more than one person present felt a thrill on 
 seeing before him the palpable result of a two 
 hundred francs' stake and nine successive wins. 
 A few bets were exclian^^ed as to how lonc^ the' 
 luck would hold : and when Leon, with hands 
 that trembled a little, added another piece of 
 paper to those already before the dealer, thus 
 making up a total of over one hundred thousand 
 francs, there was a general hush and expectancy, 
 and all eyes were turned upon the dealer. 
 
 Saint-Luc, impassive and indifierent, took the 
 pack in his hand and turned up the first two 
 cards — two tens. There was a general stir and 
 hum, and somebody called out — 
 
 ' The dealer takes down half the stakes.' 
 
 ' Not unless he likes, I think,' said Saint-Luc, 
 looking up. ' I prefer to leave it as it is.' 
 
 ' You have no choice,' said de Monceaux. 
 ' We made it a rule here long ago that where two 
 cards of equal value were turned up, the dealer 
 must either take down the whole stake and let 
 the deal pass, or half of it, and continue to deal.'
 
 280 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 ' I never heard of such a rule in Paris,' an- 
 swered Saint-Luc, manifestly annoyed. 
 
 ' It is the rule here though,' persisted de Mon- 
 ceaux. ' We had several discussions about the 
 matter, and we all agreed that it would be more 
 satisfactory to oblige the dealer to take advantage 
 of exceptionally favourable circumstances. There 
 were some people who felt a delicacy — you 
 understand.' 
 
 Of course there was nothing more to be said. 
 If you play in a club you must conform to its 
 rules, however absurd. Saint-Luc, Avith a slightly 
 clouded brow, withdrew paper to tlie amount of 
 fifty one thousand two hundred francs. The like 
 amount remaining on the table was at once 
 covered by Leon, whose agitation had now 
 passed his powers of concealment. Come what 
 might, he must now lose over two thousand 
 pounds, and how to raise the money he scarcely 
 knew. 
 
 Saint-Luc turned up the next two cards — two 
 sevens ! Leon might have used any language he 
 pleased about his luck now without fear of shock- 
 ing anyone's sense of propriety. The sympatlnes 
 of the whole company were with him, and found 
 vent in a subdued murmur which circled round the
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 281 
 
 table. It was indeed a more cruel blow tlian any 
 roan could have anticipated that he should not only 
 lose his money twice running through an altogether 
 exceptional coincidence, but that he should lose it 
 to a man who had plainly shown that he did not 
 desire to win it. Leon, however, held his peace. 
 He had defied luck, and had got thoroughly 
 beaten ; the shock had stunned and sobered him 
 at the same time. One thing only remained for 
 him to do. He once more covered the dealer's 
 stake, and, resting his head on his hand, awaited 
 the end. 
 
 What that end would be no one could doubt. 
 The appearance of another tie would have been 
 little short of a miracle ; the dealer had already 
 won eleven times in succession, and the chances 
 against his doing so again were almost incalcu- 
 lable. Moreover, it was quite cleai' that he in- 
 tended to go on till he should lose. Leon himself 
 could not but perceive this ; yet his hands grew 
 cold and his heart thumped as Saint-Luc proceeded 
 to turn up the cards — a nine for Inmself and a 
 two for liis antagonist. With calm, almost cruel, 
 deliberation, and in a profound silence, the 
 Vicomte went on through the pack. Ten — king 
 — three — five — would it never come ? Some-
 
 282 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 body in the distance slammed a door, and Saint- 
 Luc paused for a moment and looked over his 
 shoulder. Then he continued as slowly as before. 
 Eight — six — ace — seven — four — nine ! For the 
 twelfth time the stake had fallen to the dealer. 
 
 ' And I who never, in the course of a long 
 and eventful career, have won as much as six 
 times running ! ' exclaimed de Monceaux, natu- 
 rally indignant at such a waste of Fortune's best 
 gifts. ' Mon cher^ he added, turning to Saint- 
 Luc, ' I propose to you that we. start to-morrow 
 for Monaco. I will get a week's leave from my 
 general ; I will watch your play and humbly 
 follow it, and I will return here rich enough to 
 offer the best dinner that Algiers can produce to 
 all the company.' 
 
 But Saint-Luc paid no attention to him. He 
 glanced round the table, looked rather oddly for 
 an instant at Leon's pale face and flashing eyes, 
 and then, gathering together the accumulation of 
 paper before him, delivered up the cards to his 
 neighbour, remarking calmly, as he leant back in 
 his chair, ' The deal passes.' 
 
 The reader may, perhaps, at some time have 
 happened to watch two dogs playing at fighting 
 — snapping, snarling, showing glistening fangs,
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 283 
 
 and rolling one another over in the dust, but all 
 the time with an evident tacit understanding that 
 there was no real quarrel betw^een them. And 
 then he may have seen one of them, with a swift, 
 sudden change from play into grim earnest, fasten 
 upon the other and kill him then and there, before 
 even the poor brute has had time to understand 
 w^liat is happening to him. Greyhounds, colUes, 
 and other sharp-nosed dogs will do so sometimes. 
 Anyone who has witnessed such a little tragedy, 
 and recollects what his feehngs were at the time 
 towards the murderer, may form an idea of the 
 light in which Saint-Luc's unexpected action 
 caused him to be regarded by those who sat at the 
 table with him. No one spoke — indeed, there 
 was nothing to be said ; what had been done was 
 strictly in accordance with the rules of the game ; 
 but there was not a man present wdio did not feel 
 that the poor young marquis had been not only 
 cruelly treated by his friend, but morally de- 
 frauded. Who could suppose that he would have 
 gone on staking in the mad w^ay he had done if 
 he had not shared the general conviction that his 
 enormous losses were not meant to be serious ? 
 And the fact that Saint-Luc had actually won 
 over foiu: thousand pounds already made his con-
 
 284 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 duct the more inexcusable. In tlie first glow of 
 tlieir generous sympathy and indignation, these 
 young fellows would willingly have placed their 
 purses at the disposition of the victim, though, to 
 be sure, that would have helped but little, for not 
 one of them covdd have paid a twentieth part of 
 what he owed. 
 
 Leon, in this trying crisis of his life, bore 
 himself with a dignity and fortitude which at 
 once blotted out the memory of his previous 
 petulance. He rose slowly, and stood for a mo- 
 ment, resting his hands upon the table and look- 
 ing round him. To his dying day Leon will 
 remember that scene. The great airy room, with 
 its polished floor and its lace curtains swaying in 
 the niglit breeze ; the green card- table flooded 
 with soft light from above, the gold-laced staff- 
 uniforms and the pale blue jackets of the Chas- 
 seurs d'Afrique, the circle of curious, startled, 
 upturned faces, de Monceaux frowning a little and 
 twisting his waxed moustache, Saint-Luc staring 
 steadily before him, with a countenance devoid 
 of any expression whatever — all 'these, together 
 with a dozen other petty details, make up a 
 picture which Leon can summon up at will, and 
 which has often revisited him when he would have
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 285 
 
 been very glad to forget it. He remembers, too, 
 the odd feeling of imreality which took hold of 
 him, the half doubt as to his own identity, his 
 wonder at findinof liis voice so clear and steadv 
 and mider control. 
 
 ' I think I will go away now,' he said. ' I 
 have lost a good deal of money — rather more 
 than I can afford. I shall be able to pay every- 
 body to-morrow, except M. de Saint-Luc, whom I 
 shall have to ask for a little time.' In truth the 
 poor lad hardly knew what he was saying, but felt 
 only that something must be said, and that he must 
 not disgrace himself. He paused — then bowinor, 
 added, ' Good-night, messieurs,' and walked across 
 the room and out of the house. 
 
 Those who were left sat in silence till his 
 echoing footsteps died away in the distance, and 
 then de Monceaux remarked, ' That youno- man 
 will go and drown himself.' 
 
 ' Xo, he will not,' answered Saint-Luc, with a 
 quiet smile. ' He is a brave fellow, and will turn 
 out well yet.' 
 
 ' Parbleu I^^-if you have left him the means, 
 he may,' returned de Monceaux, rather roughly, 
 for he was disgusted at his friend's cynicism. 
 
 Saint-Luc turned in his chair, so as to face
 
 286 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 the aide-de-camp, and looked him full in tlie 
 eyes. ' A little time ago,' he said, ' you were 
 ready to kill young de Mersac because he did not 
 seem satisfied with your manner of playing. Do 
 you want to quarrel with me now for following 
 your example ? ' 
 
 ' I seek no quarrels, and refuse none,' replied 
 de Monceaux, cmlly. 'For the moment I am 
 going home to bed ; I have had enough of play 
 for one night.' And so saying, he rose, buckled 
 on his sword, and strode away. 
 
 Perhaps he was not sorry to escape without 
 further words. Had it been a question of chal- 
 lenging any other man than Saint-Luc, be might 
 have been less placable, but he knew that he 
 might as well stand up against a mitrailleuse as 
 against that notorious duellist. And, after all, it 
 was not his business to fight other men's battles. 
 His departure was the signal for a general move, 
 and presently Saint-Luc found himself the sole 
 tenant of the club. 
 
 Leon, meanwhile, had wandered out into the 
 street, with no very distinct idea as to where he 
 was or what he intended to do. After a time he 
 found himself sitting on one of the benches in 
 the empty Place du Gouvernement, and, taking
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 287 
 
 out a pencil and a bit of paper, began to add up 
 his losses. The calculation did not take long. 
 To de Monceaux and one or two other players he 
 owed some small sums amounting in all to some- 
 thing over fifty pounds, and to Saint-Luc exactly 
 two hundred and fifty-five thousand eight hun- 
 dred ft^ancs. For a long time he sat staring 
 stupidly at the figures, and strugghng in vain to 
 realise the magnitude of the catastrophe that had 
 occurred ; then, all of a sudden, the true nature 
 of his position seemed to flash across him with 
 horrible distinctness. He was very nearly ruined. 
 Every invested penny he had in tlie world would 
 not realise the required amount. He had sold 
 out a large portion of his patrimony since he had 
 come of age, acting under good advice in so doing, 
 and expending the ready money thus acquired in 
 the purchase of fresh land and in farm improve- 
 ments. Within the last few months he had bought 
 a great many costly agricultural machines, which 
 would, he was convinced, make him a richer man 
 in the long run, though it was only too certain 
 that, if sold at the present time, they would not 
 fetch half their value. Upon the whole, it would 
 cost him a great deal more than ten thousand 
 pounds to pay Saint-Luc. Nor was there anyone
 
 288 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 to whom he could apply for temporary aid. The 
 Duchess had only a life-interest in her income, 
 M. de Fontvieille had long since sunk his ^mall 
 fortune in an annuity, and Jeanne's share of her 
 father's estate was, of course, held in trust for her. 
 What was to be done ? Leon could see nothing 
 for it but tliat lie must sell his house and part of 
 his lands for what they would fetch, and retire to 
 that lonely farm on the Metidja plain of which 
 mention has already been made. Jeanne, he 
 thought, might live, till her marriage, with the 
 Duchess, who would now have to seek a new 
 home. It was all very hard, poor Leon could not 
 help thinking. A man makes a fool of himself 
 during one brief half-hour, and is crippled for 
 the rest of his life. Surely the punishment is out 
 of all proportion to the offence! And not the 
 least part of his misery was the anticipation of 
 the story he Avould have to relate at home in the 
 course of a few hours. How should he ever bring 
 himself to tell what must be told ? Could he call 
 his sister, who had devoted her whole life to him, 
 and the kindly, worldly, fussy old woman who 
 had treated him with all a mother's fondness, if not 
 with quite a mother's discretion, and who had 
 spoilt, admired, and idolised him from his^ cradle
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 289 
 
 — could he face them, and say, ' My good people, 
 I am very sorry, but you will have to leave your 
 old home, and the familiar rooms, and the garden, 
 and the orchard, and the woods that you loved, 
 and look out for some much less spacious habita- 
 tion. I lost a small fortune at lansquenet last 
 night, and now I have got to sell house and land, 
 and make a fresh start. As for you, you will be 
 a little pinched ; ycu will have to economise here 
 and there, and do without some of the small 
 luxuries which you have come to consider as 
 necessaries. I shall not be able to live with you 
 myself ' 
 
 'My God I I can't do it ! ' broke off poor Leon 
 aloud. 
 
 And then, for a moment, some such thought 
 as that which had occurred to de Monceaux did 
 cross his mind. Yonder lay the sea, calm, silent, 
 and grey with the first glimmer of dawn. It 
 would be easy enough to take a boat and row out 
 beyond the breakwater, after sunrise, and bathe. 
 The best of swimmers may be seized with cramp 
 — there would be no scandal. But here common 
 sense stepped in, and pointed out that in this 
 direction lay no hope of honourable escape. It 
 was certain that Saint-Luc must be paid ; and 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 Leon- even if he avoided the grief and shame of 
 meeting those dearest to him again, must leave 
 them, as a legacy, some record of his debt. He 
 tried to summon up all his courage, and said to 
 himself that since he was obhged to do what he 
 would rather die than do, he would at least go 
 through it without flinching. He would tell his 
 story in as few words as possible, he thought, and 
 get it over. There would be no use in weeping, 
 or execrating his folly, or entreating for pardon. 
 They would understand better than he could ex- 
 press to them how miserable he was. Yes, he 
 would tell Jeanne first and then the Duchess, and 
 in ten minutes it would all be done. He had 
 heard of surgical operations which had lasted much 
 longer than that, and men had lived through 
 them, and been able to speak of them calmly in 
 after years. But when he pictured to himself 
 what would follow — the Duchess's tears and 
 lamentations, as she made her preparations for 
 departure — Jeanne moving silently from room to 
 room, packing and arranging, with a grave, sor- 
 rowful face, worse than any outspoken reproach, 
 his fortitude gave way, and throwing his arms 
 over the back of the bench lie hid his face in 
 them and groaned.
 
 3fADEM0ISELLE DE MERSAC. 291 
 
 After a time some one came behind him and 
 touched him gently on the shoulder. 
 
 He started up, and saw Saint-Luc. 
 
 ' Oh, is it you, Saint-Luc ? ' said he, in a hurried, 
 confused manner. ' I will be with you directly. 
 I must just speak to my sister and the Duchess 
 — it will not take ten minutes — and then I will 
 come back. I have added up what I owe you, 
 and it comes to two hundred and fifty-five thou- 
 sand eight hundred francs, I think. I shall be 
 able to pay you before very long ; but you will 
 understand that it takes a little time.' 
 
 Saint-Luc did not reply, but, passing his arm 
 through Leon's, led him away towards the Hotel 
 d'Orient. The young man made no resistance 
 till they had reached the door, then he started 
 and drew back. ' Where are we ? ' he asked, 
 pushing his hat back frona his forehead. ' This 
 is your hotel, is it not? I think I must have 
 fallen asleep. I must be going home now.' 
 
 'Not at this hoiu-,' said Saint-Luc, quietly. 
 ' It is morning already, and you would disturb 
 them. You can have the bedroom next to mine, 
 and if you have anything to say about money 
 matters, we will discuss it at breakfast. In the 
 
 V 2
 
 292 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC* 
 
 meantime, the best thing you can do is to take 
 off your clothes and get to sleep.' 
 
 The young man made some faint effort at oppo- 
 sition, but he was too confused and weary to hold 
 out long ; and half an hour afterwards he was in 
 bed, sleeping as soundly as if the events of the 
 evening had been merely a troubled dream. 
 
 Saint-Luc peeped in at him presently through 
 the half-open door, and then stealing away on 
 tip-toe to his own window, lighted a cigar and 
 watched the sun rise from behind the shadowy 
 Djurdjura range.
 
 MADE>fOISELLE DE MERSAC. 293 
 
 CHAPTEE Xin. 
 
 LOVE V. PRUDEXCE. 
 
 Leon's non-appearance at breakfast did not give 
 rise to any anxiety at the Campagne de Mersac. 
 In that easy-going household no one was expected 
 to give an account of him or herself before the 
 dinner-hour ; and, as for its master, if, as often 
 happened, business or pleasure took him into the 
 country for a day or two at a time, it was only 
 by chance that he gave notice of his intended 
 absence. Jeanne, therefore, when she heard from 
 Fanchette that M. le Marquis had not returned on 
 the previous evening, felt no misgivings as to her 
 brother's safety, but only some slight disappoint- 
 ment ; for the Duchess, who had aged a good 
 deal of late, seldom showed herself now before 
 three o'clock, and eating alone is dull work at the 
 best of times. Jeanne, who was not of an age or 
 temperament to care about food for its own sake, 
 soon disposed of her sohtary repast. She took a
 
 294 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 book into the dining-room with her, hastily swal- 
 lowed, while she read, such amount of sustenance 
 as seemed necessary to support life, and then 
 stepped out on to the verandah. 
 
 It was a cloudless summer morning ; the town 
 below was baking and sweltering in the heat, but 
 here, on the breezy hill top, little pulOfs of cool 
 wind rose and fell, bending the heads of the roses 
 and the stiff white lilies, driving the spray of the 
 fountain across the gravel walks, and rousing a 
 soft sleepy whispering among the pine branches. 
 The winter and spring were at an end ; the rains 
 were done with now till October at earliest, and 
 soon the long, weary, hot season would set in, and 
 the grass would grow browner day by day, and 
 the leaves would wither on the trees, and the 
 spikes of the aloes blacken and fall, and there 
 would be no more roses, and every babbhng 
 stream would be silenced. But as yet the woods 
 and meadows were still of a vivid green, the 
 garden was ablaze with flowers, many-coloured 
 butterflies fluttered and poised themselves over 
 the beds, little bright-eyed lizards darted hither 
 and thither upon the stone-walls. All nature 
 was astir and rejoicing in the sunshine and warmth ; 
 and the heat was not too great for comfort, but
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 295 
 
 only sufficient to afford a good excuse for idle- 
 ness. 
 
 Jeanne, who was by no means an idle person, 
 had got through her day's duties long ago. She 
 had ordered the dinner, added up her accounts, 
 visited the animals, read aloud to the Duchess for 
 an hour, and had now earned the right to drop 
 into a rocking-chair and rest. She swayed gently 
 to and fro, one foot resting on the ground, and 
 presently her book slipped from her hand and she 
 began to dream. Facing her, beyond the glitter- 
 ing blue bay and the sultry haze of the plain, 
 rose the distant purple mountains behind whose 
 shadowy folds and ridges Fort Napoleon lay 
 hidden. Was M. de Saint-Luc still there ? she 
 wondered, or was he even now wending his way 
 homewards, lonely and disconsolate ? Poor M. 
 de Saint-Luc ! Jeanne had never known how 
 much she really liked him till she had found her- 
 self obliged to deal him the cruellest blow that a 
 woman can inflict upon a man. Eemembering, 
 with a pang of conscience, how unjust she had 
 been to him, how she had snubbed him and tried 
 to hurt his feelings, and with what quiet patience 
 he had borne it all, she could almost have found 
 it in her heart to wish that it had been possible to
 
 296 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 her to give him a different answer. But that could 
 never have been ; and since things were as they 
 were, how much better it was that he should have 
 spoken out and heard the truth. She would be 
 able to treat him as a friend now ; there would be 
 no more misunderstanding ; and probably he, on 
 his side, would abstain from uttering those weari- 
 some, laboured compliments which had sometimes 
 made his presence positively hateful to her. ' If 
 he had only known,' thought Jeanne, ' what a 
 foolish thing flattery is, and how it disgusts all 
 sensible people ! How different Mr. Barrington 
 is ! With him one can talk and feel at one's ease ; 
 he does not sigh and roll his eyes, and nauseate 
 one with silly speeches.' 
 
 But when Jeanne reached this point in her 
 soliloquy, a slight conscious smile rose to her eyes 
 and lips, and the faintest flush in the world ap- 
 peared upon her cheeks. For the truth was that 
 Mr. Barrington had spent the greater part of the 
 preceding day with her, and had said some very 
 flattering things indeed. But then, to be sure, 
 they had not been silly — or she had not thought 
 so. Alas ! one man may steal a horse and another 
 must not look over a hedge. Who gets justice in 
 this world? And, for the matter of that, who
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 297 
 
 wants it? If some people rate us below our 
 proper value, others, no doubt, think of us more 
 highly than we deserve ; and were it possible to 
 strike a balance and induce everybody to view 
 our failings and merits with the same eyes, all the 
 sunshine w^ould fade out of life, and a dull busi- 
 ness become duller yet. As for Barrington, he 
 has been over-estimated on all hands throughout 
 his life, and will doubtless continue to be so to 
 the end of the chapter. Here was Mademoiselle 
 de Mersac, who was worth a thousand of him, 
 thinking over his wise and witty sayings, dwelling 
 upon his many accomphshments, mentally reca- 
 pitulating the long talks she had had with him 
 during that Kabyhan excursion and since, and 
 finding so much pleasure in this employment that 
 she failed to note the passage of time, and was 
 quite startled when a clock in the room behind 
 her struck two. Then, remembering that she had 
 some work to take to the sisters at the neighboiu-- 
 ing convent, she rose, with a half sigh, fetched 
 her hat and a huge white umbrella, and whistling 
 to Turco, moved slowly away in the hot sunshine. 
 Five minutes' walk across the dusty high road 
 and through a corn-field brought her to the vast, 
 white, dreary building, with its long rows of small
 
 298 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 windows and its arched gateway surmounted by 
 an iron cross. One of the sisters peered at her 
 through a lattice, and then opened the door and 
 let her into the cool gloom of the hall. Turco 
 stretched liimself out upon the doorstep, and 
 panted, and snapped at the flies. 
 
 When Jeanne emerged, half an hour after- 
 wards, and gazed with dazzled eyes into the 
 blinding glare without, she became aware of 
 somebody on a chestnut horse who dismounted 
 as she drew nearer to him, and took off his hat, 
 exclaiming, ' So you have come at last ! I saw 
 your dog at the door, and I thought I would wait 
 for you ; but you were such a long, long time in 
 appearing that I began to be afraid that you were 
 not in the convent after all.' 
 
 ' How do you do, Mr. Barrington? ' said Jeanne, 
 holding out her hand in her grave, composed way. 
 ' I am sorry that you waited in the heat.' 
 
 ' Why are you sorry ? For my sake, or for 
 your own ? If I am a bore, I will go away.' 
 
 ' Oh, no ! ' answered Jeanne, smiling a little. 
 ' On the contrary, I am very glad to see you ; 
 only if I had known you were there, I would 
 have come out sooner. I was chatting with old 
 Sister Marthe, who is fond of a gossip, and I
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 299 
 
 always like the convent, it is so quiet and peaceful 
 there/ 
 
 ' Isn t it a little like a prison ? ' asked Barring- 
 ton, glancing back at the cold, bare structure. 
 He had passed his arm through his horse's bridle, 
 and was walking beside Jeanne towai'ds the high 
 road. 
 
 ' I do not find it so,' she answered. ' Often I 
 think that I shall end by taking the veil.' 
 
 ' Good gracious, how horrible ! ' exclaimed 
 Barrington aghast. ' What can have put such an 
 idea into your head ? You, of all people ! Why, 
 you would not be able to bear the life for a 
 week.' 
 
 ' How can you tell that ? ' asked Jeanne, 
 raising her grave eyes to his for a moment. ' You 
 have not seen the life, and perhaps you do not 
 know very well what would suit me. I think I 
 could be happy enough in a convent ; all the 
 sisters are contented. I do not speak of the pre- 
 sent, of coiu^e ; I have other things to do — Leon 
 to look after, and Madame de Breuil. But 
 changes will come : Leon will marry, and the 
 Duchess is very old. One must think of the 
 future sometimes.' 
 
 ' I hope,' said Barrington, ' that the future
 
 300 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 has some brighter destiny than that in store fbip: 
 you/ 
 
 She made no reply, and the pair walked on 
 silently side by side for another hundred yards or 
 so. Barrington, when he alluded to the possibility 
 of some bright future destiny for his companion, 
 had a very distinct idea in his own mind of what 
 he wished that destiny to be, but he had not yet 
 quite decided that he would offer it to her. Or 
 rather, though he believed his decision to be firm, 
 and, indeed, had declared to himself more than 
 once during the past four-and-twenty hours that 
 it was so, he was not quite sure that he would 
 take the present opportunity of revealing it. He 
 was generally considered to be an impetuous, 
 enthusiastic, romantic sort of fellow; but those 
 who knew him best were aware that his character 
 contained, by way of counterpoise, a strong under- 
 lying vein of prudence ; and, moreover, that this 
 prudence had a way of coming forward just in the 
 nick of time, and had on many occasions snatched 
 back its favoured possessor from the very brink 
 of some rash action. He was very much in love 
 with Jeanne de Mersac — more so, he thought, 
 than he had ever been with any woman ; but 
 then he was also very much in love with himself,
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 301 
 
 and the latter attachment, being of longer stand- 
 ing, was probably more deeply seated than the 
 former. He would not, of course, have admitted 
 this — indeed, he considered himself to be a man 
 of singularly unselfish proclivities — but he had 
 always looked upon marriage as a very serious 
 step indeed, and one not to be taken without much 
 forethought and deliberation. Without having 
 given the subject any very profound consideration, 
 he had nevertheless been, for some years past, 
 pretty firmly convinced that, when the time should 
 come for him to take a wife, his wisest course 
 would be to select a lady for whom he could feel 
 a sincere respect and esteem without having any 
 romantic affection for her. The eldest Miss Ashley 
 might do, or Lady Jane East, or one of the Fether- 
 ston girls. Any one of these ladies, and a good 
 many others too, would, as he was aware, be per- 
 suaded without difficidty to share his humble lot, 
 and dispense the hospitalities of Broadridge Court. 
 The very best kind of wife obtainable — so Bar- 
 rington had thought — was a woman neither above 
 nor beneath her husband in rank, neither strik- 
 ingly handsome nor absolutely plain, neither too 
 clever nor too stupid — a woman who would dress 
 well and manage her household properly, and
 
 302 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 keep on good terms with the neighbours, and 
 raise no objection if her husband proposed to 
 leave her for a few months at a time while he 
 sought a relaxation in a yachting or shooting trip. 
 Such had been his not very lofty ideal, and to it 
 he had remained faithful through many a desperate 
 flirtation. And was he now to throw all prudence 
 to the winds for the sake of this pale, stately girl, 
 whom he knew to be proud and fond of her own 
 way, who might not improbably prove exacting, 
 and who was a Frenchwoman and a Eoman 
 Catholic? He had put this question to himself, 
 with some anxiety, the night before, and had 
 finally answered it in the afiirmative. True love, 
 he thought, should be strong enough to survive 
 sacrifices, and if any such should be called for 
 from him, was she not worth them ? He would 
 find an opportunity of seeing her the next day, 
 and would tell her all. A tinge of uncertainty 
 as to what her reply might be contributed to 
 strengthen this heroic determination. And yet, 
 now that the propitious moment had come, he 
 found himself doubting, hesitating, weighing the 
 old pros and cons over again. The upshot of it 
 all was that when he broke the silence, it was only 
 to say : —
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 303 
 
 ' I suppose you will be at the Governor-Gene- 
 ral's ball to-night ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I think so. Madame de Vaublanc has 
 offered to take me. And you ? ' 
 
 ' I shall certainly go if you do.' 
 
 Then there was another pause, which lasted 
 until the gates of the Campagne were reached. 
 
 ' May I come in ? ' asked Barrington. ' I want 
 to consult your brother about my horse, who has 
 not been feeding properly for the last day or two. 
 I fancy the heat affects him.' 
 
 The pretext was a sufficiently shallow one, but 
 it answered its purpose. 
 
 ' Yes, pray do,' answered Jeanne. ' I am not 
 sure whether Leon is at home, but I will find out.' 
 
 She hfted a small silver whistle which she 
 carried at her belt, and blew a shrill summons 
 upon it, in answer to which one of the Arab 
 grooms presently came running out. 
 
 ' Yes,' the man said, in answer to his mistress's 
 inquiry, 'M. le Marquis had returned, and had 
 asked for mademoiselle ; but, hearing that she 
 was out, he had ridden away again.' 
 
 ' I daresay he will be back before long,' Jeanne 
 remarked. ' Shall we go into the house and wait 
 for him ? It is too hot to sit out of doors.'
 
 304 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 Barrington followed her into the cool, darkened 
 drawing-room, and, sinking into an easy-chair by 
 her side, let his eyes roam abstractedly over the 
 glazed tiles, the Persian rugs, the low divans, the 
 nooks and recesses which had become so famihar 
 to him. The piano had been left open, with a 
 piece of music on the desk ; his own picture of 
 Jeanne on the balcony stood on an easel in one 
 corner ; on every table were vases and bowls filled 
 with roses. 
 
 ' What a charming room this is ! ' he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 ' Yes, it is a nice room,' said Jeanne. Barring- 
 ton had made the same remark so many times 
 before that the subject appeared to her to be 
 pretty well exhausted. 
 
 ' How commonplace and vulgar English houses 
 will look to me after this!' he went on. 'My 
 own drawing-room is tastefully furnished with 
 white and green-striped satin ; the carpet is white, 
 with gigantic ferns and cabbage-roses sprawling- 
 over it, and the paper, which also has a white 
 ground, exhibits a series of wonderful green birds 
 sitting in gold cages. I often think it is the most 
 appallingly hideous room I ever beheld.' 
 
 ' Why do you not re -furnish it then ? ' asked 
 Jeanne, laughing.
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 305 
 
 ' I suppose I shall one of these clays. Just 
 now it would be hardly worth while, for nobody 
 ever enters it. The rest of the house is well 
 enough, and I have an affection for the old place, 
 though it is dreary work living there all alone. I 
 wonder whether you would like it ? ' 
 
 Jeanne not feeling herself called upon to 
 hazard any conjecture as to whether Mr. Bar- 
 rington's house were likely to please her or not, he 
 resumed presently, ' I am sure you would like 
 the garden. People tell me that the turf at 
 Broadridge is the oldest in the county, and we 
 have always been famous for our roses. There 
 are some fine old trees in the park too. I should 
 like you to see it all. Isn't there a chance of your 
 paying your cousins a visit some time or other ? ' 
 
 'Not very much, I am afraid,' answered 
 Jeanne. ' They have asked me several times, and 
 I have always wished to go to England ; but it 
 is difficult for me to get away, especially in the 
 summer, for then I go to Switzerland with the 
 Duchess, and, as Leon does not accompany us, it 
 would be impossible for me to leave her.' 
 
 ' To Switzerland ? Dear me ! I was thinkino- 
 of going to Switzerland myself this summer,' said 
 Barrington, who had not until that moment had 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 any intention of the sort. 'I wonder whether 
 we are hkely to meet.' 
 
 Jeanne's face brightened perceptibly. ' I hope 
 we may,' she repHed cordially. ' Shall you be 
 there in August, do you think ? Apropos^ when 
 do you go back to England ? ' 
 
 'I am not sure that I shall go back at all,' 
 answered Barrington slowly. * I hate London, 
 and I don't want to go home. Why should I not 
 stay here, and start when you do ? Perhaps I 
 might be of some service to you on the journey.' 
 
 ' Oh, how dehghtful that would be ! ' exclaimed 
 Jeanne, half involuntarily, clasping her hands. 
 
 And then Barrington suddenly lost his head. 
 He saw that perfect pale face bent towards him, 
 with parted lips and soft brown eyes with a glad 
 light in them ; he saw a blue dress upon -which a 
 stray shaft of sunlight fell, and a glittering silver 
 necklace and a pair of joined hands, and he forgot 
 everything except that he was alone with Jeanne, 
 and that he loved her better than the whole 
 world. Good-bye, caution ! Good-bye, prudence 
 and hesitation and cold common sense ! He 
 caught her hands in his, stammering in his eager- 
 ness, ' Would it be dehghtful ? Would you think 
 it dehghtful?' 
 
 She drew back with a troubled, startled look.
 
 M.\DEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 307 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' she murmured. ' I — I do 
 not understand ' 
 
 ' Don't you understand that, if you will only 
 speak one word, I will never leave you again ? 
 Don't you understand ' 
 
 At this most interesting and critical juncture 
 a tap upon the tiles and the sound of an opening 
 door caused the speaker to break off abruptly. 
 He wheeled round just in time to see the Duchess 
 de Breuil make her entrance, leaning upon her 
 stick. 
 
 Happily, the old lady's powers both of hearing 
 and vision had become a good deal impaired of 
 late ; otherwise she could scarcely have failed to 
 remark the agitation of the couple whose tete-a- 
 tete she had so inopportunely disturbed. As it 
 was, she noticed nothing, and sank back into her 
 chair with some amiable expressions of the plea- 
 sure that it gave her to find ]\Ir. Barriugton in the 
 room. She had taken a fancy to the Englishman, 
 whom she had discovered to be not only a fair 
 French scholar and a man of the world, but, what 
 was better still, a patient listener ; and, as she was 
 in a good humour that afternoon, and felt garru- 
 lously disposed, she graciously made a sign to him 
 to take a chair by her side, and began to talk 
 
 X 2
 
 308 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 
 
 politics. ' She had been reading the newspapers 
 upstairs, she said, and from what she had been 
 able to gather, it appeared to her that a crisis was 
 imminent in France. That poor M. Bonaparte, 
 with his plebiscites and his Olliviers, his carica- 
 tures of constitutional government, his failing 
 health, and his disreputable relations, who carried 
 revolvers in their pockets and murdered casual 
 visitors, was evidently near the term of his rule. 
 ' They have begun to laugh at him already,' said 
 the old lady, nodding her head sagaciously ; ' and 
 believe me, monsieur, when a man is laughed at 
 in France it is time for him to pack up his trunks. 
 You will see that before long we shall have a Eed 
 Eepublic ; and when that has lasted a few months, 
 the nation will return to its allegiance, and the 
 king will ascend the throne of his fathers at last. 
 Ah, I am an old woman, monsieur, and I have 
 seen many things, and I know what my compa- 
 triots are. There was a time when I myself had 
 some influence over the course of politics ; but 
 that is long ago, and everybody has forgotten all 
 about it now. M. de Talleyrand, who scarcely 
 ever missed one of my Thursdays, used to say 
 that my salon was the only one in Paris in which 
 he could count upon meeting everybody whom he 
 wanted to see. That was when we lived in the
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC. 309 
 
 Kue Saint-Dominique, and my poor husband was 
 Garde des Sceaux.' And so forth, and so forth. 
 
 Barrington bore it all with exemplary patience. 
 A very small proportion of the Duchess's recollec- 
 tions reached his understanding ; but he continued 
 to look as if he were all attention, and, while he 
 encouraged her to prattle on, stole occasional fur- 
 tive glances at Jeanne, who was sitting a httle 
 apart, her hands loosely clasped on her lap, and a 
 little bewilderment still visible in her face, but 
 withal a certain soft joyousness which lent a new 
 and wondrous charm to her beauty, and caused 
 the heart of her wooer to beat high with happi- 
 ness and hope. 
 
 He rose to go at length, and, as he bade her 
 good-bye, held her hand a httle longer than he 
 need have done, and whispered, ' Till to-night, 
 then.' 
 
 She said nothing, but raised her eyes to his 
 for a moment, and dropped them again. And 
 then he knew that he had got his answer. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 SpotUstccode <t Co., Printers, Seic-street Square, London,
 
 SMITH, ELDER, & CO.'S NEW BOOKS. 
 
 Under tJie Sanction of HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN. 
 In the press, demy 8vo. with 3 Portraits, a Facsimile, and Index, iSj. 
 THE FIFTH AND LAST VOLUME OF THE 
 
 LIFE OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRIHCE CONSORT. 
 
 By THEODORE MARTIN. 
 
 LIFE OF LIEUT. -GEN. SIR JAMES OUTRAM. 
 
 By Major-Gen. Sir FREDERIC J. GOLDSMID, C.B., K.C.S.I. 
 
 2 vols, demy 8vo. [/« the press. 
 
 THE CRIMINAL CODE OF THE JEWS. (According 
 
 to the Talmud.) Massecheth Synhedrin. Reprinted from the Pall Mall 
 Gaz^^/f, Avith Additions. By Philip B. Benny. Crown 8vo. i^s. (>d. 
 
 THE AMATEUR POACHER. By the Author of The 
 Gamekeeper at Home,' 'Wild Life in a Southern County.' Crown 8vo. 5^. 
 
 A RULE OF PROPORTION FOR THE HUMAN 
 
 FIGURE. By John- Marsh.\ll, F.R.S., F.R.C.S., Professor of Anatomy, 
 Royal Academy of Arts. Illustrated by John S. Cuthbert. Folio, in 
 \\Tapper, 8j. ; in portfolio, gj. 
 
 COLLECTED VERSES. By Violet Fane, Author of 
 
 ' The Queen of the Fairies,' ' Denzil Place,' ' Anthony Babington,* &c. 
 Crown 8vo. 55. 
 
 THE POETRY OF ASTRONOMY. By Richard A. 
 
 Proctor, Author of 'The Borderland of Science,' 'Science Byways,' &c. &c. 
 Crown 8vo. \_Shortly. 
 
 NOVEL BY THE AUTHOR OF 'THE GAMEKEEPER AT HOME.' 
 
 GREENE FERNE FARM. 
 
 By RICHARD JEFFERIES, 
 Author of ' The Gamekeeper at Home,' ' Wild Life in a Southern County,' ' The 
 Amateur Poacher.' Crown 8vo. 7.^. 6</. [Now ready. 
 
 NOVEL BY A NEW WRITER. 
 
 MARY BROVVTNE. 
 
 By L. E. WILTON. 
 
 3 vols. [Shortly. 
 
 NEW NOVEL BY HOLME LEE. 
 
 MRS. DENYS OF COTE. By Holme Lee, Author of 
 
 * Sylvan Holt's Daughter.' 3 vols. [Ready. 
 
 NEW NOVEL BY THE AUTHOR OF 'THE ROSE GARDEN.' 
 THE WHITE MONTH. By the Author of 'The Rose 
 Garden,' 'Unawares.' Crown 8vo. [Shortly. 
 
 MARTHA AND MARY. 2 vols. [imhepress. 
 
 London: SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 Waterloo Place.
 
 NEW AND CHEAPER ILLUSTRATED EDITION 
 
 OF 
 
 THE COMPLETE WORKS OF W. M. THACKERAY. 
 
 In Twenty-four "Volumes, crown 8vo. price 3s. 6d. each ; 
 
 Or in Sets of Twenty-four Volumes, handsomely bound in half-morocco, 
 
 price £S. 
 
 Containing nearly all the small Woodcut Illustrations of the fmnnvr 
 Editions 
 
 And many New Illustrations by Eminknt Artists, 
 this edition contains altogether 1,626 illustrations. 
 
 BY 
 
 Thk Author, 
 
 liUKK FlLDKS, A.R.A. 
 
 Mrs. Btjtlku (Miss Elizabeth 
 
 Thompson). 
 Gkoiiom du Matirier. 
 Htchard Doyle. 
 Fi! K dp; RICK Walkku. A.R.A. 
 George Cuuikshank. 
 
 John Leech. 
 Frank Dicksee. 
 
 LiNLEY SAMUODRNE. 
 
 F. Barnard. 
 
 E. J. Wheeler. 
 
 F. A. Eraser. 
 Charles Keene. 
 R. B. Wallace. 
 
 &c. &c. &c. 
 
 J. P. Atkinson. 
 w. J. Webb. 
 T. R. Macquoid. 
 M. Fitzgerald. 
 W. Ralston. 
 John Collier, 
 h. furniss. 
 
 G, G. KiLBURNH. 
 
 VANITY FAIR. Illustrated by the Author. 2 vols. 
 
 PENDENNIS. Illustrated by the Author. 2 vols. 
 
 THE NEWCOMES. Illustrated by Richard Dotle. 2 vols. 
 
 ESMOND. Illustrated by Gborge du M aurier. 
 
 THE VIRGINIANS. Illustrated by the Author. 2 vols. 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. Illustrated by the Author, Fredkrick 
 Walker, and R. B. Wallace. 2 vols. 
 
 THE GREAT HOGGARTY DIAMOND; A LITTLE DINNER AT TIM- 
 MINS'S ; CORNHILL TO CAIRO. Illustrated by the Author, J. P. Atkinson, and 
 W.J.Webb. 
 
 THE BOOK OF SNOBS; TRAVELS AND SKETCHES. Illustrated by tlie 
 Author. 
 
 CHRISTMAS BOOKS. Illustrated by the Author and Richard Doyle. 
 
 BURLESQUES. Illustrated by the Author and George Cruikshank. 
 
 PARIS SKETCH BOOK; LITTLE TRAVELS ; and ROADSIDE SKETCHES. 
 Illustrated by the Author. T. R. Macquoid, and J. P. Atkinson. 
 
 THE YELLOWPLUSH PAPERS; THE FITZBOODLE PAPERS; COX'S 
 DIARY ; CHARACTER SKETCHES. Illustrated by the Author and Georgk 
 Cruikshank. 
 
 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK ; CRITICAL REVIEWS. Illustrated by the 
 Author, George Cruikshank, John Leech, and M. Fitzgerald. 
 
 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON ; THE FATAL BOOTS. Illus- 
 trated by J. E. Millais. R.A., George Cruikshank, and W. Ralston. 
 
 CATHERINE: a Story; MEN'S WIVES; THE BEDFORD ROW CON- 
 SPIRACY. Illustrated by the Author, Luke FiLDES, A.R.A., and R. B. WALLACE. 
 
 BALLADS : THE ROSE AND THE RING. Illustrated by the Author, Mrs. 
 Butlkk (Miss Elizabeth Thompson"), George du Mauuikb, John Collier, H. 
 
 FURNISS, G. G. KILBURNE, M. FITZGERALD, and J. P. ATKINSON. 
 
 ROUNDABOUT PAPERS. To which is added THE SECOND FUNERAL 
 OF NAPOLEON. Illustrated bytheAuthor,CHARLEsKEENE,andM. Fitzgerald. 
 
 THE FOUR GEORGES, and THE ENGLISH HUMOURISTS OF 
 THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. Illustrated by the Author, Frank Dickskk. 
 
 LiNLEY SAMBOURNE, FREDERICK WALKER, and F. BARNARD, 
 
 LOVEL THE WIDOWER; THE WOLVES AND THE LAMB; DENIS 
 DUVAL. To which is ndrtcrt an Ersqv on the Writincr'^ of W. M. Thackeray by Leslth 
 Stephen. Illustrated by the Author and Fkedeuick Walker. 
 
 London : SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 Waterloo Place.