LIBRARY OF 
 
 LEWIS BINGLEY WYNNE 
 
 A. B., A.M., COLUMBIAN COLLEGE. '71 .'73 
 WASHINGTON. □. C. 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 MRS. MARY A. WYNNE 
 
 AND 
 
 JOHN H. WYNNE 
 
 CORNELL 'SB 
 1922 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PQ 2242.V5 1893 
 
 Veuve (The widow 
 
 373 897 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924027373897 
 
LA VEUVE 
 
 (THE WIDOW) 
 BY OCTAVE FEUILLET 
 
 (MEMBER OF THE FRENCH ACADEMY) 
 AND 
 
 THE MOTHER OF 
 
 A MARCHIONESS 
 
 BY EDMUND ABOUT 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 OUSTAVE BEAUSEICNEUR 
 
 Chicago 
 
 HOMEWOOD PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 Publishers 
 
 3 
 
 1; 1^1- IS^^i 
 
 UKMVl- kV.\']\' 
 
COPYKIGHT, 1S93, 
 
 By MORRILL, HIGGINS & CO. 
 
 Copyright, 1893, 
 By W B. CONKEY COMPANY 
 
LA VEUVE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 In the year 1868 Ensign Robert de La 
 Pave, a young naval officer of very brilliant 
 prospects, was made lieutenant of his vessel. 
 At almost the same time. Maurice Du Pas- 
 Devant de Fr^meuse, his companion and 
 friend from childhood, was promoted to the 
 rank of captain of artillery in the army. 
 The nature of their callings had often been 
 the cause of separations between these two 
 young men, but without loosening the bonds 
 of their intimacy in the least. They were 
 both honorable in the highest degree; in 
 every other respect they were entirely differ- 
 ent, and got along all the better on that ac- 
 count all proverbs to the contrary notwith- 
 standing. Robert de La Pave, after having 
 been a violent, turbulent and generous child, 
 grew up into an energetic, passionate and 
 enthusiastic man. In appearance he was 
 5 
 
6 LA VEUVE 
 
 brown, squarely built and vigorous and had 
 flashing black eyes. One would have thought 
 that this robust young sailor could have bro- 
 ken de Fr^meuse in two over his knee, for the 
 latter young man had the form and build of a 
 girl; such a feat, however, might have proved 
 more difficult than it appeared, for beneath 
 the frail exterior of the young captain of artil- 
 lery were hidden nerves of steel and the heart 
 of a lion. 
 
 Maurice de Fr^meuse had joined the artillery 
 from choice as soon as he had finished his 
 course at the Ecole poly technique, and had 
 a great love for his calling. In appearance 
 he was distinguished and iii manner mild; his 
 eyes were blue and his mustache was fine and 
 silky. Nothing could animate him but the 
 roar of his cannons, and then his usually 
 charming countenance became as terrible as 
 that of the fighting archangel. To conclude 
 the description, he was not of a demonstra- 
 tive temperament; from his childhood his 
 disposition although very lively, had been 
 timid and reserved. He still remembered 
 having felt as much embarrassment as emo- 
 tion the day on which the impetuous Robert, 
 
THE WIDOW 7 
 
 then aged ten, had led him mysteriously to 
 the foot of an old stone cross that stood on a 
 deserted square on the outskirts of the village, 
 and had made him swear to a compact of 
 eternal friendship. 
 
 He took the oath, nevertheless, and both of 
 them had kept it faithfully. Their families 
 lived in Paris during the winter, and as they 
 were neighbors in the country in the summer, 
 they were naturally brought together when 
 the uncertainties of their professions allowed 
 them a few days of liberty. They took ad- 
 vantage of these occasions to fill up those 
 voids which the most exact correspondence 
 always leaves in the discharge of the duties of 
 an intimate friendship. They then familiar- 
 ized themselves more particularly with each 
 others' affairs, and with their brave hearts 
 cheered by the renewal of their compact, they 
 could return to their duties better equipped 
 soldiers for the battle of life. 
 
 In June, 1869, M. de La Pave returned, 
 somewhat worn out, from a campaign in the 
 distant Orient. He had only time to shake 
 Maurice warmly by the hand, for the com- 
 pany of the latter had been ordered to Africa, 
 
8 LA VEUVE 
 
 but he promised to join him at Algiers, and 
 spend some time with him here, when he had 
 recuperated somewhat at Vichy. Three weeks 
 later Maurice de Fremeuse, who was com- 
 mencing to be somewhat uneasy on account 
 of, having had no word from Robert, received 
 the following letter: 
 
 "Have you ever, anywhere in the world, met 
 Mademoiselle Marianne d'^fepinoy, daughter of 
 the late General d' fipinoy? Answer by, tel- 
 egram. Very urgent." 
 
 After having vainly tried to decipher the 
 meaning of this brief epistle, M. de Fremeuse 
 found it impossible to do so; and addressed 
 a telegram to Robert in these words: 
 
 "Never in my life." 
 
 Then he waited impatiently for a letter of 
 explanation, and a few days later he received 
 the one which we transcribe here; and to 
 which we add the comments which Maurice 
 made from time to time. 
 
 "Dear old friend: — I knew very well that 
 I had never been in love; (Ah, here is some- 
 thing new; I declare!) it is only for the last 
 forty-eight hours that I have really known 
 what love is. It is a thunder-bolt, (ta, ta, ta!) 
 
THE WIDOW 9 
 
 I know that I have sometimes imagined my- 
 self a lover, (Quite true!) but, ah, my friend, 
 how shabby, false and miserable all these 
 mistaken passions seem when, all at once, 
 the real love appears before you. When one 
 feels that it is he, at last — the master, — the 
 god — Deus ecce Deus. (He is insane, on my 
 word !) I am really convinced that we are 
 destined to love but one woman between us. 
 We have often thought that we had found 
 her; (Oh yes, very often!) but now she is 
 found at last, and what a light, what a shock! 
 By what all-powerful, mysterious, irresistible 
 force are we drawn, enveloped, chained! 
 (Well, he is done for. ) 
 
 "You understand now, dear friend, my 
 crazy note of a few days ago; (Not at all.) 
 when I felt myself seized by this tremendous 
 passion, when I knew that it was to engage 
 my heart, my soul, my life — everything — I 
 was seized also by a scruple — a terror. I 
 said to myself — you know my eccentricities — 
 that perhaps you had met this young lady in 
 Paris this winter, and that if you had met her, 
 you necessarily adored her. On such an im- 
 portant point, I wanted to enlighten myself 
 
lO LA VEUVE 
 
 at once; for, rather than compromise our 
 sacred friendship in an amorous rivalry, I 
 would flee to the ends of the earth. (Poor 
 boy!) But, thank God! you have not seen 
 Marianne; consequently you do not love her, 
 therefore I shall win her, at least that is my 
 intention, my dream and my hope. You 
 know, my friend, how fond I am of women, 
 (Yes, certainly!) when I came here Vichy, 
 from my point of view, was an enchanted 
 place. The number of pretty girls who prom- 
 enade in the parks when the bands play is 
 incalculable; I was at once charmed and dis- 
 turbed, as a man who is naturally fond of the 
 beautiful, and who has just returned from 
 Hindo-China besides, naturally would be. I 
 said to Charles Villedieu, whom I met here, 
 and vvho has been acting as my pilot, 'The 
 devil take me! but I am going to leave; there 
 are too many pretty girls here, it disturbs 
 me, it is affecting my heart. ' That was my 
 condition when, last Thursday at the, after- 
 noon serenade — the weather was magnificent 
 — never had there been a larger or more 
 brilliant crowd of people here — two ladies, 
 whom I had not yet seen, made their way 
 
THE WIDOW II 
 
 modestly through the crowd and sat down 
 within five steps of where I was. Immedi- 
 ately, dear friend, the pretty women of the 
 day before — objects of my most exalted en- 
 thusiasm — ceased to exist. I saw nothing 
 about me but homely women and ill-shaped 
 dolls. There is but one pretty woman in the 
 park, in Vichy — in the world! — it is sAe\ 
 
 "'Xjood Heavens!' I said to Villedieu, 
 'what is that.?' 
 
 "'That,' replied Villedieu, 'that is a god- 
 dess. ' 
 
 '"I can see that very well, but her name! 
 her earthly name?' 
 
 '"It is Mademoiselle d'fepinoy, first name 
 Marianne, daughter of the late General 
 d'fipinoy. Near her is her aunt, Madame de 
 Combaleu, mother of Combaleu of the Club. ' 
 
 "I asked him if he knew these ladies per- 
 sonally — he knew them personally ; I begged 
 to be introduced — I was introduced. That 
 night I met them again at the Casino. I 
 talked, rather I chattered, with Mademoiselle 
 d'lfepinoy, and I knew at once that my destiny 
 was settled. It was the following night, my 
 friend, that I was seized by those chimerical 
 
12 LA VEUVE 
 
 terrors of which I have spoken, and which 
 your excellent telegram has so happily dis- 
 persed. 
 
 "Now, my dear friend, shall I draw Made- 
 moiselle d*6pinoy's portrait? — Never would 
 I be so presumptuous as to make the attempt. 
 Beauty and grace are not to be described. 
 She is beautiful, undoubtedly; but that is 
 only a quality which she has in common with 
 many other women. That which belongs to 
 her alone is her manner, her style, her tour- 
 nure, that I don't know what, which is inde- 
 scribable, and which made Villedieu, the most 
 prosaic of men say, 'She- is a goddess.' Why 
 a goddess.? one does not know — incessu 
 patuit — that is all. 
 
 "I see you smile, my captain, and I unaer- 
 stand why you smile. 'What infatuation can 
 it be, ' you will say, 'that can make the worthy 
 Robert, whose physique is the most promi- 
 nent thing about him, flatter himself to such 
 an extent as to make him imagine that he can 
 win such an etherial creature.'' My dear 
 friend, I am very much surprised myself; 
 but, it seems to me, that she does not find me 
 unpleasant. In the first place, you know 
 
THE WIDOW 13 
 
 that when I want anything I want it very 
 much, then I have the eyes and general 
 appearance of a corsair, and the women do 
 not dislike that style; finally — for I must tell 
 you everything — the late misfortunes in my 
 family have made me the recipient of an 
 income of three hundred thousand livres a 
 year, and that is something that puts a halo 
 around the most ordinary brow. It is true 
 that Mademoiselle d'jfepinoy is not poor, she 
 will have a ciot of four or five hundred thou- 
 sand francs, that is to say, an income of from 
 twenty to twenty-five thousand francs; but 
 nevertheless, I would make her a very suitable 
 parti. The aunt seems to look upon me very 
 favorably; and, in short, my dear friend, in 
 spite of the innumerable shortcomings which 
 separate a pirate like me from this enchanting 
 creature, I have very good reasons to hope 
 that I may give you very soon a sister who 
 you will thank me for. For all of which I 
 embrace you — no I am too nearly stifled! 
 
 "Robert." 
 "P. S. — You know, besides, that marriage 
 has always been my dream." 
 
 "His dream," murmured M. de Fr^meuse as 
 
14 LA VEUVE 
 
 he folded the letter, "parbleu, yes! undoubt- 
 edly; it is a mania of theirs. There are two 
 things which these sailors love dearly, to ride 
 horseback and to get married — well!" 
 
 But he did not communicate these morose 
 reflections to M. de La Pave. He contented 
 himself with ridiculing him, just a little^ for 
 his susceptibility, and advised him affection- 
 ately not to precipitate matters, but to take 
 time to study the character and the mind of 
 the woman who seemed to have taken such 
 complete possession of his heart. 
 
 Robert de La Pave, notwithstanding the 
 natural ardor of his emotions, was not lacking 
 m good sense or even shrewdness; but he 
 paid no attention to the sage suggestion of his 
 friend to obtain, from people who would be 
 likely to know, an authentic account of Made- 
 moiselle d'^fepinoy's finances, and some in- 
 formation in regard to her general character 
 and disposition. He himself endeavored to 
 obtain thif information from personal observa- 
 tion and the result was, as is always the case, 
 that he found out nothing. Our customs 
 require a husband to know absolutely nothing 
 about bis wife before marriage so that nothing 
 
THE WIDOW 15 
 
 may lessen the surprise that is awaiting him 
 afterwards. 
 
 What follows of this story will show that, 
 beneath the impenetrable incognita of a well- 
 bred young lady, Marianne d'6pinoy did not 
 hide anything particularly monstrous. She 
 was simply a woman like her grandmother Eve, 
 a female upon whom all the charms of her 
 sex had been lavishly bestowed, and who was 
 not wanting in good sense to make the best 
 possible use of them. 
 
 As soon as she noticed that M. de La Pave 
 was in love with her, (She was not long in 
 making the discovery) she felt very strongly 
 inclined towards him. She knew, it is true, 
 that he had an income of three hundred 
 thousand francs, but she found him attractive 
 in other respects also ; for, as Robert himself 
 had hinted, his striking and imperious manly 
 beauty seldom failed to impress the women; 
 besides, he was a marvelous waltzer. 
 
 The marriage took place en the festival of 
 Saint Clotilde, three months after the young 
 people first became acquainted at Vichy; but, 
 as there is no such thing as unadulterated joy 
 in this world, Robert felt a tinge of sadness, 
 
1 6 LA VEUVE 
 
 even in his most exalted raptures, which was 
 caused by the absence of his friend Maurice, 
 who had been unable to obtain a leave, of 
 absence at the time. Among the other con- 
 sequences of this marriage, was one which, 
 we regret to say, is very unusual. The love 
 of M. de La Pave for his wife in place of fol- 
 lowing the usual course of such passion, that 
 is to say the descending plane, was even in- 
 creased by possession. His wife was certainly 
 greatly honored by such devotion; but, un- 
 fortunately, such a violent and absorbing 
 passion usually produces some corresponding 
 moral defect. When Robert's furlough had 
 expired and he was recalled to his vessel, 
 he could not summon the courage to leave 
 this idolized woman for several months. He 
 even preferred to abandon his career and lay 
 aside his epaulettes; so he sent in his resigna- 
 tion. Notwithstanding the fact that Robert 
 had the most perfect right to arrive at such a 
 determination, and that there was in it noth- 
 ing derrogatory to his honor. Captain de Fr6- 
 meuse was very much displeased. He saw in 
 his friend's conduct a disregard of duty, or at 
 least a certain weakness of character which, 
 
THE WIDOW 17 
 
 while it did not lessen his affection for him in 
 the least, caused him to entertain a feeling of 
 antipathy and malice towards Madame de La 
 Pave, whom he blamed for having placed a 
 distaff in the hands of Hercules. His corre- 
 spondence with Robert continued to be as 
 regular and affectionate as ever, but perhaps 
 he made it too apparent by a number of mildly 
 ironical compliments that he had a feeling of 
 preconceived hostility towards his wife. 
 
 When M. de Frdmeuse was in Constantine 
 the following spring he received a visit from 
 his mother, the Countess de Fr^meuse, a 
 shrewd, thin and clever old lady whose great- 
 est object in life was to repair the fortune for 
 her son, which had been considerably damaged 
 by the rash speculations of the late M.' de 
 Fremeuse. With this object in view, she 
 had retired to her country-place in Normandy, 
 which joined, as we have already said, the 
 Chateau de La Pave. The arrival of M. de 
 La Pave and his bride at the chateau, which 
 had for a long time been empty and desolate,- 
 was an event of considerable importance in 
 the solitary life of Madame de Fr6meuse. As 
 a matter of course, she did not fail to relate 
 
1 8 LA VEUVE 
 
 all the details to her son, who was very glad 
 to hear the beautiful Marianne described by a 
 less partial critic than her husband. 
 
 According to Madame de Fr^meuse's ac- 
 count of her, Marianne de La Pave was in 
 reality a very fascinating young woman. "She 
 is a veritable odalisque ," said the old lady, 
 "and your friend Robert did well in marrying 
 her; but what a jealous Turk he is! It was 
 jeaously that made him send in his resigna- 
 tion; and, if you will take my word for it, he 
 committed a great folly, for the wives of these 
 naval men hold it to be a point of holior that 
 they shall not misbehave while their husbands 
 are away, and they seldom do. In my opin- 
 ion, it would have been much better for 
 Robert to leave for a month or two from time 
 to time. It would at least have had the effect 
 of making it less likely that she would tire of 
 his very ardent love and jealous watchfulness. 
 My friends have written to me that, even this 
 winter at Paris, he looked like a cannibal 
 whenever she waltzed with another man. She 
 is perfect this young woman — so far at least 
 — and she is unusually honest, but then she 
 is a coquette by nature. She loves Paris, and 
 
THE WIDOW 19 
 
 it is her natural element; Robert knows this 
 and you will see that each year he will make 
 the stay at Paris shorter and shorter; and, 
 before long, he will have her securely clois- 
 tered in the country. Even this year, he 
 brought her back in the middle of April; and 
 it is amusing to hear the pretexts which he is 
 already making use of; how he extols the life 
 of the farmer, of the noble lord who leads a 
 peaceful existence on his estates and sets 
 good examples to his tenants. Yes truly, but 
 you should see the face of the fair Marianne 
 at such times; she does not seem to be over 
 anxious to set good examples, I assure you. 
 The other day, Robert spoke of selling the 
 hotel in the Rue de Varennes, and his wife near- 
 ly turned green. In every other respect they 
 get along splendidly, but that is the skeleton. 
 Dear knows ! that as far as I am concerned, 
 I would be delighted to have them for neigh- 
 bors all the year around; but that young 
 woman needs movement and excitement, and 
 if Robert confines her in that bit of a village, 
 she will become not only discontented, but 
 enraged and he will have gained nothing. 
 Elle prendera le not aire, vola tout." 
 
 2 La Veuve 
 
20 LA VEUVE 
 
 His mother's gossipy chatter, while it made 
 Maurice smile, did not by any means quiet his 
 anxieties. In these times oi moral relaxation 
 and skeptical indifference, it may seem strange 
 that a man should talse such a lively interest 
 in the happiness or misfortunes of his friend; 
 but friendship is a sentiment which is natural 
 to great souls, and that of M. de Fremeuse 
 was capable of those feelings which seem to 
 belong to another age. He was greatly an- 
 noyed by the pessimistic prophecies of his 
 mother in regard to the outcome of Robert's 
 marriage; and, although he knew that they 
 were in some measure purely fanciful, he 
 could not help realizing that they were not 
 without a reasonable foundation. He felt an 
 increased hostility towards the woman who, 
 after having weakened his friend's character, 
 threatened, from one day to the other, to 
 compromise his peace, and perhaps even his 
 honor. He promised himself that he would 
 use all his influence with Robert to dissuade 
 him from such foolish jealousy; and to arouse, 
 if possible, his lagging ambition. If this 
 could not be accomplished by letter, he re- 
 solved to ask for a furlough and advise his 
 
THE WIDOW 21 
 
 adopted brother in person ; but the destiny 
 that spared his friendship such a task, reserved 
 for him one which was to be but all the more 
 difHcult and unpleasant. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 The disastrous war of 1870 broke out at 
 this time; and Captain de FrSmeuse was 
 recalled to France and attached to MacMa- 
 hon's troops. After the battle of Sedan, Mac- 
 Mahon took to Belgium; at once recrossed 
 the frontier, and hurried to join the army of 
 the Loire under Orleans. After the battle of 
 Pattay, a few regiments from the army of 
 ftie North were sent to join the army of 
 Chanzy. It was at this time, and at the be- 
 ginning of the retreat towards Mans, that 
 Maurice found Robert de La Pave at the head 
 of a battalion of infantry. When the young 
 ofificers first met at this unhappy time, they 
 embraced each other affectionately without 
 having the courage to speak, but after this 
 meeting there were few days on which they 
 did not find an opportunity to see each other. 
 
 At the beginning of the war Robert de La 
 
 Pave had been chosen to command a battalion 
 
 of infantry from his department. Before 
 22 
 
THE WIDOW 23 
 
 leaving his wife in response to the call of duty 
 and honor, he wished to give her a final and 
 supreme proof of his love and, as he had no 
 relative, except distant collateral ones, he 
 willed her the whole of his fortune. • Up to 
 this time, Madame de La Pave had loved her 
 husband with a love that was sincere though 
 rather tranquil; but gratitude for such gener- 
 osity, the emotions attending separation, ab- 
 sence, uncertainty and the knowledge of the 
 dangers Robert would have to undergo, in- 
 spired her from the day of his departure with 
 a deeper and more impassioned love. The let- 
 ters which Robert received from her from time 
 to time, throughout the hazards of the cam- 
 paign, gave expression to this increased tender- 
 ness ;these.letters.he always showed to Maurice. 
 
 "She loves me," he said to him one day, 
 "she loves me as she never loved me before; 
 I feel it and, I feel also," he added, with a 
 strange melancholy smile, "that I shall never 
 see her again." 
 
 These were strange words from the lips of 
 a man of such a cheerful nature as Robert, 
 and Maurice heard them with surprise and 
 uneasiness. 
 
24 LA VEUVE 
 
 One night, as they were walking and smok- 
 ing before the camp-fires, Robert, whose brow 
 was knitted as had lately been his custom, 
 suddenly stopped in front of Maurice and said: 
 "Have you noticed that I have been shirking 
 lately?" 
 
 "That," replied Maurice, "is something of 
 which you are incapable, even if you wished." 
 
 "It is true, nevertheless, I am shirking. I 
 notice it myself, and I believe that my men 
 notice it also" — and he added after a moment, 
 "admit that you think me a sluggard.'" 
 
 "Nonsettse; you behave like a herp from 
 morning until night; every one says so." 
 
 "No, I feel that I am shirking." 
 
 The next day at sunset Major de Fr^meuse 
 -^he had lately been promoted to this rank — 
 had just placed his batteries, with all the men 
 he had left,' at the edge of the forest of Mar- 
 shenoire. The day had been a hard one, and 
 as he was excessively tired, he wrapped him- 
 self in his blanket and fell asleep on the snow. 
 About the middle of the night, he felt some 
 one pulling at his sleeve and calling him by 
 name. He raised himself upon his elbow, 
 and recognized a brave little lieutenant who 
 
THE WIDOW 2$ 
 
 belonged to Robert's battalion, and of whom 
 the latter was very fond. 
 
 "Major," said the young man in a trembling 
 voice, "Major de La Pave asks for you." 
 
 Maurice sprang to his feet. 
 
 "Wounded?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes, Major." 
 
 "Seriously?" 
 
 "I am afraid so. Come, it is not far. I 
 am very glad that I found you, for he is very 
 anxious to see you." 
 
 Major de Fremeuse followed and they, 
 walked rapidly for twenty minutes on a path 
 that ran along the edge of the woods. On 
 the way Maurice asked the little lieutenant 
 many anxious questions, and learned that 
 Robert had been wounded at the recapture of 
 the village of Origny, having been struck in 
 the chest with a piece of shell. 
 
 "It was sure to happen," said the young 
 officer, "you know him, you know how brave 
 he is; but to-day he was wild. I dbn't know 
 what was the matter with him; he acted so 
 strangely. He was laughing, which is some- 
 thing he does not often do lately, and he cried 
 tome: 'Ho, there little Julien!' I am not 
 
26 LA VEUVE 
 
 shirking to-day, am I ? ' and he fell as he was 
 speaking. This is the place, Major." 
 
 They stopped before a large hut which stood 
 along the edge of the woods, that had for- 
 merly been occupied by coal miners. They 
 could see the rays of light shining through the 
 window and trembling outside on the snow. 
 Several groups of soldiers were sleeping under 
 the trees, and three or four men were talking 
 in low tones before the door of the cabin 
 when Major de Fr^meuse entered. 
 
 Robert de La Pave was lying on a pile of 
 blankets on the floor of the hut ; his uniform 
 was open, and his shirt was covered with 
 crimson stains. A soldier who knelt beside 
 him held an earthen vessel filled with water 
 in which he soaked pieces of blood-stained 
 linen. An army physician, who was bending 
 over the. wounded man, stepped aside when 
 the door was opened, and this enabled Robert 
 to see Major de Fremeuse; his large eyes, 
 which were made still larger by fever, flashed 
 with joy. 
 
 "Ah!" he said in a loud firm voice, "I am 
 glad you came; very glad." 
 
 "Well, old friend," said Maurice, as he took 
 
THE WIDOW 27 
 
 the hand that was painfully held out to him, 
 "I see you have been scratched a little?" 
 
 "Yes, a little," replied Robert coldly. "How 
 much time have I yet, Doctor?" 
 
 "Why, years I hope!" replied the physician. 
 "Let me feel your pulse again^very well; be 
 careful not to remove the bandage. You 
 wish to speak to your friend so I will leave 
 and return to-morrow." 
 
 Robert made an effort to raise himself upon 
 his elbow, and looked at him with a fixed and 
 anxious glance; it was that rnute and terrible 
 interrogation of a dying man. 
 
 The physician ' s face became rigid : " Come, " 
 said he, "have courage, I will see you to- 
 morrow." ^ 
 
 "Thanks, monsieur," said the wounded man, 
 as he fell back heavily upon the blankets. 
 The soldier who had been in attendance soon 
 left the hut, and he raised his voice again': 
 
 "Julien," said he to the little lieutenant, 
 "leave me here a little with de Fremeuse; 
 and ask those men outside to move a little 
 farther away. Come now child! there is 
 nothing to cry about." 
 
 Little Julien could not restrain a sob as he 
 
28 LA VEUVE 
 
 left the hut; when he was gone, Robert took 
 Maurice's hand and held it tightly. 
 
 "My friend," he said, ''you must take all I 
 have about me, my watch, my cross and all 
 my trinklets, and keep them for my wife — 
 kiss me." 
 
 Two large tears rolled down his cheeks as 
 he spoke. Maurice kissed him fervently on 
 both cheeks and turned away his head. 
 
 "Maurice," continued the wounded man, 
 whose face was rapidly assuming a death-like 
 pallor, "there is something I must tell you: I do 
 not want her to marry again, you understand ? 
 I forbid it. If you love me, if you want me to 
 die in peace, if you do not want me to pass 
 into eternity with rage in my heart — " 
 
 "Oh, my dear friend!" sobbed Maurice, 
 unable to restrain his grief.. 
 
 "Well, promise me." 
 
 "Promise, but promise what?" 
 
 "Promise me," said Robert, whose sentences 
 were marked with an almost savage emphasis, 
 "promise me that if she should ever remarry, 
 if she should ever be guilty of such a crime, 
 rather than allow another to possess her, you 
 will kill her 1" 
 
THE WIDOW 29 
 
 "Robert," said Maurice, as he looked him 
 in the eyes. 
 
 "Swear that you will do it." 
 
 "But you must know that it is impossible 
 for me to make such a promise." 
 
 Neither spoke for some time, then Robert 
 said: 
 
 "I have left her all I had, why would she 
 need to marry again? You see, I can not 
 bear the thought of her belonging to another 
 man; it is impossible! — it drives me mad! 
 Have mercy on me, my dear friend, you see 
 that I am dying, have mercy on me!" 
 
 "My dear Robert, I beg of you to try to be 
 calm, "said Maurice as he knelt beside him. 
 
 "At least promise me," continued the un- 
 happy man, "that I have forbidden her to 
 marry again; that my dying wish is that she 
 shall remain single ; that I beg her — I implore 
 her — to observe it! that if she should ever 
 remarry, if she should ever give herself to any 
 one else, I would rise from my grave ! that 
 she should see my spectre! that she should 
 hear me curse her! will you tell her this; do 
 you promise?" 
 
 "Yes, that I can promise." 
 
30 LA VEUVE 
 
 Robert lightly pressed Maurice's hand and 
 continued: 
 
 "Ah, Maurice! never love a woman as I 
 love her, you see what comes of it, but you 
 have promised to tell her?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "On your honor?" 
 
 "On my honor." 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 During the rest of the night he held Mau- 
 rice's hand in his own. He soon became de- 
 lirious and talked incoherently, always about his 
 wife and the promise that Maurice had made 
 to him. At the first break of day he died. 
 
 Major de Fremeuse sadly gathered together 
 all the souvenirs that he had been told to 
 preserve for the widow. By the help of the 
 little lieutenant, he was able to make arrange- 
 ments with the priest and the mayor of the 
 nearest village for a Christian burial for his 
 friend When this sad duty was done he re- 
 turned to his regiment. 
 
 The next day he utilized a few spare 
 moments to write to his mother. He told her 
 in a few brief lines of the death of his boy- 
 hood friend, and imposed on her the sad duty 
 
THE WIDOW 31 
 
 of informing Madame de La Pave of the mis- 
 fortune which had befallen her. He said 
 that, as soon as the campaign was over, he 
 would take to the widow the last tokens of 
 her husband's love; and that he would at the 
 same time deliver to her a confidential mes- 
 sage which Robert had left for her with his 
 dying breath. He said that he could not 
 deliver this message by letter, as it was of too 
 delicate a nature to trust to the mails in those 
 hazardous times. 
 
 The battle of Mans took place a few days 
 later. The country-place of Madame de 
 Fremeuse, like that of the La Paves, was 
 situated in Perche, within twenty leagues of 
 Mans; and as soon as the old countess learned 
 that the retreating army was approaching 
 that town, she went there in the hope of 
 seeing her son. She arrived only in time to 
 hear, with all the anguish of a mother's 
 heart, the last echoes of the cannons after the 
 battle. The next day she learned at the 
 Prussian Military Bureau that Major de Fre- 
 meuse had been wounded and taken prisoner; 
 and that he formed part of a convoy of pris- 
 oners who were then on their way to Germany. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 After a month of the greatest anxiety, 
 Madame de Fremeuse received a letter from 
 her son, dated at Hamburg. He said that 
 he had entirely recovered from his wound, 
 which had only been a slight one on the head ; 
 but it was plain that he was prostrated by the 
 blow that had been dealt to his affections in 
 the death of his friend, and the patriotic sor- 
 row which he felt at the result of the war. In 
 hJ5 better he made respectful inquiries after 
 Madame de La. Pave. 
 
 His mother replied that the conduct of 
 Madame de La Pave was admirable in every 
 way; she had, of course, gone into the deep- 
 est mourning, and had .shut herself up in the 
 country; but besides that, she refused all 
 other company than that of her aunt, Madame 
 de Combaleu; which, according to Madame 
 de Fr6meuse was the crowning proof of the 
 young widow's distress. During the course 
 of the correspondence that followed between 
 83 
 
THE WIDOW 33 
 
 Maurice and his mother, he was more than 
 once tempted to confide to her the strange 
 message that Robert had asked him to deliver 
 to his widow; but he always concluded that 
 a task of such a delicate and confidential 
 nature should not be delegated. 
 
 This message, which he had almost forgot- 
 ten in the tumult of military life, began to 
 look much more troublesome now that he was 
 condemned to inactivity. He thought of it 
 night and day, and he became more and more 
 alarmed at the idea of making such a com- 
 munication to a young woman whom he had 
 never even seen. He tried to picture to him- 
 self the scene there would be when he would 
 tell Madame de La Pave of her husband's last 
 wishes. He thought of the words he would 
 use and imagined the confused, and perhaps 
 angry, appearance of the young woman. In 
 fact, the more he thought of it, the more em- 
 barrassing and difficult the task seemed to 
 
 become. 
 
 * 4f * * # 
 
 He had hardly returned to -France, after 
 peace was declared, when he was ordered to 
 join the army which was sent against the 
 
34 LA VEUVE 
 
 Commune; and it was not until the last of 
 June, 187 1 that it was possible for him to 
 obtain a furlough and go to see his mother. 
 In the excitement which he had gone 
 through, he had found diversion from his 
 troubles, but he was still unable to keep from 
 worrying over the unpleasant task Which he 
 had undertaken. The time had conie when 
 the duty must be performed, and he resolved 
 to consult his mother, in whose judgment and 
 tact he very justly placed the greatest con- 
 fidence. 
 
 The very evening of his arrival, after the 
 first demonstrations of the meeting were over, 
 he told his mother all the details of the death 
 of M. de La Pave, not omitting the solemn 
 promise that Robert had asked him to make. 
 This intelligence had a strange effect upon 
 , the old countess; for several minutes she 
 seemed completely dazed, and her tongue, 
 which was usually limber enough, seemed for 
 a moment to be completely paralyzed. All 
 the time that her son was talking, she kept 
 her hands clasped tightly together and gazed 
 at the ceiling. Maurice, who expected en- 
 couragement and advice from her, was very 
 
THE WIDOW 35 
 
 much surprised and nonplussed at such dem- 
 onstrations. 
 
 "The matter seems to be a very delicate 
 one, does it not, mother?" he asked. 
 
 "Delicate!" cried the old lady, "it is mon- 
 strous ! What did you mean by making such 
 a promise? it is monstrous." 
 
 "What, could I refuse anything to a dying 
 friend?" 
 
 "But, my dear boy, he was delirious; one 
 is not obliged to keep promises made to a 
 man who had a fever. I hope you have no 
 real intention of disturbing the mind afad the 
 conscience of that young woman by delivering 
 such a ridiculous message." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, mother, but a promise 
 made under such circumstances is absolutely 
 sacred and you may be sure that I shall not 
 fail to keep it." 
 
 "But listen, my child, when a man is delir- 
 ious, one promises him everything he asks; 
 just as one promises the moon to a child." 
 
 "Robert was not delirious, mother, at that 
 time; his mind wps perfectly clear. He died 
 confiding in my word, and I shall certainly 
 keep it; although, I admit, that the task is 
 
 3 La Veuve 
 
36 LA VEUVE 
 
 extremely embarrassing, and that I had 
 counted on your help to get through with the 
 unpleasant business as well as possible." 
 
 "Ah, my dear child, it would be very hard 
 for me' to refuse you anything; but I declare 
 that if you expect me to deliver such a mes- 
 sage, I must tell you that I have not the 
 heart to .do it." 
 
 "I do not ask anything of the kind, mother. 
 I think that poor Robert's words and his 
 wishes will be more kindly received if they 
 are told to his widow by one who heard them 
 from his dying lips. All I ask is that as you 
 are acquainted with Madame de La Pave, 
 who is an entire stranger to me, you Ayill be 
 so kind as to advise me how I should proceed, 
 what precautions to take and what language 
 to use; and that you will also tell me how 
 you think she will take it." 
 
 "She will think the whole proceeding 
 abominable; no matter how you go about it, 
 that much you may be sure of. Really! a 
 young woman of twenty-three — and who is 
 beautiful besides — to be a widow for the re- 
 mainder of her days. It is barbarous ! it is 
 immoral ! I can not even imagine anything 
 of the kind." 
 
THE WIDOW 37 
 
 "My dear mother," said Maurice, as he took 
 her hands and looked her straight in the eyes, 
 "who was it that taught me, when I was a 
 very little boy, that one's word of honor is 
 not to be argued with, and that when once 
 given, life itself would not be a compensation 
 for breaking it." 
 
 She kissed him affectionately. 
 
 "You are a good son," she said, deeply, 
 moved, "and a brave man. I beg your pardon; 
 but I was never so greatly disappointed in 
 jnylife." 
 
 "Disappointed.'" repeated Maurice, as he 
 looked at her attentively, 
 
 "Undoubtedly," she replied with some con- 
 fusion, "I was thinking of that young woman, 
 who will naturally take a dislike to you for 
 your part in the matter, to say nothing of the 
 fact that she does not love you any too well 
 already." 
 
 Maurice shrugged his shoulders in resigna- 
 tion. 
 
 The truth was that what she had just heard 
 utterly demolished a most splendid castle 
 which Madame de FrSmeuse had been build- 
 ing in the clouds. Ever since the death of 
 
38 LA VEUVE 
 
 M. de La Pave, she had been planning a 
 marriage between her son and the rich heiress. 
 Such a marriage would have been the greatest 
 comfort to her; she had that very common 
 maternal anxiety that her son should marry 
 well; and, so far Maurice had shown but little 
 interest in matrimonial matters. In spite of 
 this, she counted on the exceptional charms 
 of Madame de La Pave to enthuse him; and 
 at the same time, she relied on the many ex- 
 cellent qualifies of her son to make an impres- 
 sion on the young widow, and also to make 
 amends for the difference in their fortunes. 
 The fact that they were neighbors in a quiet 
 country-place was a" circumstance that cer- 
 tainly would be conducive to mutual appre- 
 ciation. Madame de FrSmeuse herself had 
 lived in the country so long that she had 
 acquired for it the taste, or rather the passion, 
 of the Normandy peasants. The immense 
 La Pave estate was continually before her 
 eyes, with its beautiful lawns, its trees, its 
 woods and its farms; and she thought it the 
 ideal country-place. By careful management 
 she had considerably improved her own little 
 property; and she thought that to annex it to 
 
THE WIDOW 39 
 
 the La Pave domains would be such another 
 act of statesmanship as the annexation of the 
 Duchy of Savoy to the kingdoms of Italy. 
 For the success of her diplomatic scheme, the 
 old countess would have risked her very life. 
 
 One can easily understand, therefore, the 
 consternation with which she heard the an- 
 nouncement which destroyed this delightful 
 dream. That M. de La Pave had on his 
 deathbed implored his wife never to marry, 
 and that Maurice was the agent charged with 
 the presentation of his supplication, seemed 
 to her to be a misfortune which threatened to 
 ruin her dearest and deepest hopes. How- 
 ever, when the first shock of her disappoint- 
 ment was over, she again began to gather 
 courage. It did not seem impossible to her 
 that, between feminine weakness and mascu- 
 line ambition, Robert's message might yet 
 become a dead letter. 
 
 The morning after his arrival, Maurice sent 
 a servant to take a note to the chateau. 
 He addressed it to Madame de La Pave, and 
 asked her to be so kind as to set a time when 
 she would do him the honor of granting him 
 an interview. She answered that she would 
 
40 LA VEUVE 
 
 be pleased to see Major de Frfemeuse at any 
 time that day that would be the most conven- 
 ient to him; so at three o'clock in the after- 
 noon Maurice started for the chateau. The 
 idea of the intended interview did not please 
 him, and he was dreadfully afraid of a scene; 
 yet he was very curious to see the woman 
 who had been so idolized by his friend. For 
 a number of reasons, he made up his mind to 
 dislike her; and, as his mother had given him 
 to understand, he could expect a like feeling 
 from her in return. 
 
 The path to the chateau led through the 
 fields and woods which had been such familiar 
 scenes in his childhood, and the recollections 
 which they recalled made a profound and 
 melancholy, although still pleasant, impres- 
 sion upon him now. When he came to the 
 end of the path he saw an old stone cross 
 which had, for time out of mind, been the 
 starting and ending place of the religious 
 processions which were held in the parish 
 every feast of Corpus Christi. Maurice found 
 a still fresh piece of evergreen that had been 
 left on the cross at the time of the last pro- 
 cession, which had taken place only a week 
 
THE WIDOW 41 
 
 before. Here it was that, years before, 
 Robert had led him in such a mysterious way; 
 it was here that the two children had sworn 
 to a compact of eternal friendship, with all 
 the ardor and sincerity of youth. When 
 Maurice reached the old cross he hesitated, 
 paused, and then sat down on the steps that 
 formed the pedestal, and, as memories of his 
 childhood, his youth and his lost friend 
 crowded upon him, his eyes became filled 
 with tears. 
 
 The chateau de La Pave is a magnificent, 
 antique edifice which, to judge from the archi- 
 tecture, was built about the beginning of the 
 13th century. It is not without surprise that 
 one sees this stately structure in an obscure 
 corner of Perche. It has one large main 
 building, and two narrow projecting wings. 
 The roof is flat, in the Italian style, and the 
 cornice is decorated with carved stone work. 
 The whole place has a splendid appearance 
 from the main road, with its lawns and 
 terraces and its shrubbery. A large garden 
 back of the chateau is laid out in walks, 
 shaded by stately elms and decorated with 
 evergreen shrubbery. One could still sfc& 
 
42 LA VEUVE 
 
 twenty years ago — and no doubt they are 
 there still — tall yew-trees, trimmed in the 
 shape of pyramids, and carefully tended flower 
 beds, laid out in the most tasteful shapes. 
 
 When Maurice entered the gate of the 
 chateau, Madame de La Pave and her aunt, 
 Madame de Combaleu, both attired in the 
 heaviest mourning, were walking slowly in 
 a shaded path in the garden and talking in 
 low tones. If the young major could have 
 heard their conversation, his uneasiness would 
 not have been by .any means lessened. 
 
 It is not often that a woman can find it 
 possible to like her husband's old friends, or 
 allow them to obtain any kind of influence in 
 her household if she can prevent it. They 
 are influential rivals, and have a certain share 
 of her husband's affections, of which she is 
 always more or less jealous. Madame de La 
 Pave was not above these prejudices of her 
 sex by any means, and as far as Major de 
 Fremeuse was concerned, every circumstance 
 tended to make them unusually better and 
 strong. She was even then pouring her griev' 
 ances into the sympathetic ear of Madame de 
 Combaleu. In one hand she carried a small 
 
THE WIDOW 43 
 
 embroidered handkerchief, and in the other a 
 bottle of smelling salts which she frequently 
 raised to her nostrils. 
 
 "It is very trying, aunt," said she. "Of 
 course, I must receive him, and receive him 
 politely at that; for my husband was very 
 fond of him, and he himself proved a faithful 
 friend to Robert to the very last. I know 
 all that, and I will try to be as gracious to 
 him as duty requires me to be; but you can 
 not imagine how hard it is. He has always 
 been my enemy; I have always known that, 
 and I have always felt that he was between 
 my husband and me. I have lately read all 
 the letters that he wrote to Robert; and I can 
 see very plainly, in spite of the politeness 
 with which every phrase is wrapped, that he 
 dislikes and despises me. He even calum- 
 niates me, for he would have it that I was my 
 husband's evil genius; and he thinks that I 
 have weakened Robert's sense of duty and 
 honor. Oh, I can see all that, notwithstand- 
 ing his pariphrases and his compliments! Is 
 it not hateful.' I have no doubt that he now 
 accuses me of being the cause of Robert's 
 death. Can anything be more odious than 
 
44 LA VEUVE 
 
 to be obliged to be polite to that man?" 
 
 "It is very hard, my dear, and I can fully 
 understand your feelings ; for, if there is any- 
 thing I detest, it is a hypocrite; but my child, 
 this annoyance can not last long, it is only a 
 matter of a few days. Monsieur will call two 
 or three times, and then he will go back to 
 his cannons, and you need never see him 
 again if you do not wish." 
 
 "Yes, my aunt, I know it will not last long; 
 but to be obliged to put up with him, even 
 for a few days, it is hateful?" 
 
 Their conversation was interrupted by a 
 servant who announced that Major de Fre- 
 meuse was in the salon. Madame de La 
 Pave became as pale as death. 
 
 "Shall I go with you, my dear?" asked 
 Madame de Combaleu. 
 
 "No, my aunt, I beg of you," and she 
 started for the chateau with her head erect, 
 and with a slight swaying motion of her form 
 as she walked that reminded one of the grace- 
 ful and rhythmical movements of a swan. 
 
 When she came to the door of the salon, 
 she sighed deeply, and then with abrupt 
 resolution, she opened the door. 
 
THE WIDOW 45 
 
 The woman who appeared before Major de 
 Frdmeuse did not correspond to the stately 
 beauty that he had pictured in his mind. 
 Madame de La Pave seemed to him to be 
 graceful and pretty rather than beautiful. 
 Her features were delicate and regular, her 
 complexion was of a pale olive, her hair, 
 which was very black, was arranged gracefully 
 about her forehead and her neck was beauti- 
 fully shaped. She was built with that har- 
 monious proportion of parts which makes 
 every movement of such a woman seductive. 
 
 Madame de La Pave did not return Mau- 
 rice's bow, but walked straight towards him, 
 murmuring something which he could not 
 understand, and gave him her hand; he took 
 it with a firm grip, and sat down on the chair 
 that she pointed out to him. The young 
 widow took a chair opposite and placed her 
 elbow on a small table, which gave her an 
 opportunity to rest her head on her hand. 
 
 "Tell me all," she said. 
 
 Maurice then related, in that solemn sweet 
 tone of veice that was peculiar to him, all 
 the particulars of Robert's death. He spoke 
 of the last day of his life, dwelling at some 
 
46 . LA VEUVE 
 
 length on the battle of Origny and Robert's 
 heroic conduct there. He then told Madame 
 de La Pave how Julien had come for him the 
 following night, and all that had passed in 
 the miner's hut. Sometimes he stopped to 
 steady his voice, which trembled in spite of 
 all the efforts he could make, and he tried to 
 abridge his story in places that Madame de 
 La Pave might be spared useless emotion, 
 but she insisted, in an imperious and dignified 
 way, that he omit none of the details of 
 Robert's last night on earth. He came at 
 last to the message which Robert had charged 
 him to deliver to his wife, but he first went 
 to a table and took an ebony box, that he had 
 left there when he entered, and placed it in 
 the hands of Madame de La Pave, she opened 
 the lid and gazed fixedly at all the sad relics 
 that the box contained, a watch, a cross, 
 several trinkets of different kinds, a lock of 
 black hair and a piece of blood-stained linen. 
 
 The young widow, who had been impassi- 
 ble up to this said, almost in a whisper, 
 "Poor Robert! poor boy!" 
 
 Then she threw her arms over the back of 
 her chair and sobbed violently; her bosom 
 
THE -WIDOW 47 
 
 heaved and fell, and Maurice could see the 
 tears flowing between her taper fingers. The 
 tears came to his own eyes; and, in the midst 
 of the sympathetic emotion which he felt at 
 that time, he was greatly troubled. He had 
 not finished his task, he had only told the 
 least painful part of his message; and how 
 was he to tell the balance to this distressed 
 and sobbing woman.' If she had shown the 
 least suspicion of indifference to the memory 
 of her husband at that time, he could have 
 felt a malicious pleasure in telling her of his 
 last wishes, but, when he saw this outburst 
 of sorrow and genuine grief, he could not raise 
 the courage to deliver the message which, 
 however delicately he might proceed, must 
 appear to be the most unmerited of injuries. 
 
 Was he not running the risk of lessening, 
 rather than increasing, the tenderness which 
 the young woman had for the memory of her 
 husband.' 
 
 Maurice hurriedly thought the matter over 
 and concluded, not without a strong show of 
 reason, that it would be best to reserve the 
 balance of his message for an other time, 
 when Madame de La Pave would have recov- 
 
48 LA VEUVE 
 
 ered from the first paroxysms of her emotion. 
 Considerably comforted by the conclusion he 
 had arrived at, he waited until she was some- 
 what calmer and arose to leave. 
 
 "Thanks, Monsieur," she said simply, as 
 she held out her hand ; "you will come back 
 again, will you not?" 
 
 Maurice bowed and retired. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Maurice returned to his home with a 
 clouded brow. He found his mother seated 
 under a lime-tree in the garden knitting with 
 nervous haste. 
 
 "Well," she said as soon as she saw him, 
 "what is the matter? You seem disturbed 
 about something?" 
 
 "And I am disturbed, mother; I had hoped 
 to get through, once for all, with this un- 
 pleasant business which has been bothering 
 me for so long, and here I have brought my 
 burden home with me again, almost intact." 
 
 He then told her all that had taken place 
 at the chateau, and of the scruple that had 
 prevented him from finishing his task. One 
 can easily understand how thoroughly Madame 
 de Fr^meuse approved of the scruple. 
 
 "You will see, my dear child," said she, 
 "that the more you think of it, the more 
 doubtful will it appear whether duty requires 
 you to make any such communications to 
 
 49 
 
so LA VEUVE 
 
 Madame de La Pave. I will tell you ! Let 
 us consult the priest, who is a very good and 
 intelligent man, his opinion maybe valuable." 
 
 "But, my dear mother," replied Maurice 
 who could not help smiling at the suggestion, 
 "this is no matter for a priest. If I am 
 doubtful as to the proper time to perform this 
 duty, it does not follow that there is the 
 least doubt as to the duty itself; that is as 
 plain as day. I am sure that you yourself 
 would be very much grieved if I should fail. 
 You would have very good reasons for being 
 ashamed of me as long as you live; even if 
 you should have the pleasure of seeing me 
 become the husband of the beautiful Marianne, 
 and the owner of the three thousand acres 
 that would go with her." 
 
 When Madame de Fr^meuse found that her 
 plan was discovered, she felt as if a thunder- 
 bolt had fallen at her feet. She looked at 
 Maurice for a moment in a confused and 
 embarrassed way, and then putting on a bold 
 front, she said: 
 
 "Well then, yes, I will not deny it; that 
 was my dream. How was I to know any 
 thing of the posthumous absurdities of the 
 
THE WIDOW 51 
 
 unfortunate Robert? I had even taken the 
 good priest into my confidence; and, to tell 
 you everything, he thought it all very suitable 
 and possible." 
 
 "Ah, my dear mother," said the young 
 man, with a smile, "you wanted me to con- 
 sult the priest and you already had him on 
 your side, that was decidedly wrong, but, 
 even if Robert's last wishes had not been an 
 insurmountable obstacle, what could have led 
 you to imagine that Madame de La Pave 
 would ever have accepted me ? She has an 
 income of three hundred thousand francs and 
 we have twenty-five or thirty." 
 
 "Thirty-two, my son, and I must tell you 
 that a man who has an income of thirty-two 
 thousand francs, who is handsome and has a 
 good name and good prospects besides, can, 
 in all honor, aspire to anything. I had hoped 
 all my life," she admitted with a smile, "that 
 you would find such an opportunity as this, 
 and such a wife as Marianne; for, in truth, 
 she is a Venus." 
 
 "Well, for my part," said Maurice gayly as 
 he kissed the old lady's white hair, "I care 
 more for my mother than for the richest and 
 most beautiful woman on earth." 
 
 4 LeVeuve 
 
52 LA VEUVE 
 
 "Heavens! how foolish you are," said his 
 mother, as she tenderly returned his caress. 
 
 While Madame de Frfemeuse was catechis- 
 ing her son in regard to the impression that 
 Madame de La Pave had ' made upon him, 
 Madame de Combaleu was with equal curios- 
 ity interrogating her niece with the intention 
 of finding out what opinion she had formed 
 of the young major. She also had her reasons 
 for keeping an eye on the relations that 
 might be .established between Maurice and 
 the young widow. Madame de Combaleu 
 was a tall thin woman, with a nose like an 
 eagle's, and with eyebrows that were so black 
 and well curved that one might have thought 
 they were pencilled. This was all she had 
 left of the beauty with which, in the opinion 
 of some more rigid and less attractive ladies 
 of that time, certain contemporary gallants 
 of her youth had been almost too familiar. 
 However this might be, she was austere 
 enough now. Her entire affection was con- 
 centrated on an only son, whom she had 
 spoiled dreadfully; and who, in return, gave 
 her all the trouble that the fondest mother 
 could hope for. This son, Gerard de Com- 
 
THE WIDOW 53 
 
 baleu, was a tall good-natured and worthless 
 young man of twenty-seven, who was con- 
 sidered rather entertaining, especially when 
 he was in bad company. His mother, in the 
 hope of keeping him from the gambling tables 
 and wine houses, was anxious to see him well 
 and safely married. She had at one time 
 thought of having him espouse his cousin, 
 Marianne d'Epinoy, but as at that time the 
 fortune of Marianne was inferior to that of 
 Gerard, she had abandoned the idea. Now 
 however the situation was very different; her 
 niece, as the heiress of Robert de La Pave, 
 would make a most desirable wife for her son. 
 Gerard himself had been carefully sounded 
 on the matter, and he did not seem to be' at 
 all averse to becoming the practical owner of 
 his cousin's millions, which would give him 
 the opportunity to gratify his extravagant 
 tastes with royal magnificence. 
 
 This marriage had become the dearest hope 
 of Madame de Combaleu, and she surveyed 
 the rfield with a jealous eye. Although she 
 had only the nose, and not the eye, of an 
 angel, she had a sort of a vague consciousness 
 of the rival pretensions of Madame de Frh- 
 
54 LA VEUVE 
 
 meuse. She had noticed that in all of the old 
 countess's conversations with Madame de La 
 Pave, her favorite themes were the many ex- 
 cellent qualities and achievements of her son; 
 and it rather seemed to Madame de Combaleu 
 as if she wished to see Maurice quietly in- 
 stalled at the chateau as the natural successor 
 of his friend. She had paid little attention 
 to this, for she well knew the dislike that her 
 niece had for Major de Frfemeuse; but the 
 personal appearance of the young officer on 
 the field was a circumstance which made her 
 somewhat uneasy. 
 
 As soon as Maurice was gone, she rejoined 
 her niece in the salon and found her still in 
 tears. They wept in company for a while 
 and then, for the sake of withdrawing the 
 mind of the young woman from her grief, 
 Madame de Combaleu asked her what she 
 thought of Major de Fr^meuse. 
 
 "I do not know, my aunt, I don't believe 
 that I have thought of him at all. You may 
 imagine that I have had other things to 
 occupy my mind." 
 
 "But does he resemble his photograph, my 
 love?" 
 
THE WIDOW 55 
 
 "Naturally," replied Madame de La Pave. 
 
 "I have no doubt," continued Madame de 
 Combaleu, "that he has a deceitful looking 
 eye, like all hypocrites?" 
 
 "Naturally," again replied her niece in an 
 absent-minded way. 
 
 She sighed deeply, raised her smelling salts 
 to her nostrils and took the ebony box under 
 her arm. 
 
 "I am going to sleep for a little while," she 
 said, "my head feels as if it were on fire." 
 
 Then she walked majestically across the 
 room with her head slightly raised and thrown 
 back. Madame de Combaleu had found out 
 nothing. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 At the end of three or four days, Maurice 
 concluded that a second visit to the chateau 
 could not be put off any longer. The more 
 he thought of it, the more he regretted that 
 he had not acquitted himself of his whole 
 obligation the first time he was; there'; as it 
 now seemed all the harder since he had no 
 available excuse for introducing the subject. 
 
 In the midst of his anxieties, the happy 
 idea occurred to him that perhaps there would 
 be some one else who would be just as suita- 
 ble a messenger as he. The parish priest, 
 Abbs Desmortreux, whom his mother had 
 wished him to consult, was Marianne's spirit- 
 ual director; and in that capacity, with all 
 the authority of his office, was he not the 
 proper person to inform Madame de La Pave 
 of her husband's last wishes.' Did not such 
 duty belong to the profession of a priest.' 
 Maurice had several times met the old abbe, 
 
 and had found him to be a man of rare intel- 
 56 
 
THE WIDOW 57 
 
 ligence, but entirely lacking in ambition. He 
 had, by his own choice, grown old in this 
 little country village; where he occupied his 
 time with local matters, corresponding with 
 the members of the learned societies of his 
 religion, taking care of the sick, saving the 
 souls of his parishioners and fishing with a 
 hook and line in a small stream that flowed 
 by his garden. 
 
 Major de Frfemeuse called upon this amia- 
 ble philosopher and theologian; and, after 
 having asked him to consider the story he 
 was about to tell as being as confidential as 
 a secret of the confessional, he told him of the 
 last wishes of Robert de La Pave, and asked 
 him if he would be so extremely kind as to 
 communicate them to his widow. "No one," 
 said Maurice, "was so well qualified to deliver 
 this message, which was essentially a matter 
 of conscience, as Marianne's confessor and 
 spiritual director." 
 
 The abbe Desmortreux, whose honest and 
 cheerful face^ had been growing more and more 
 grave while Maurice was speaking, remained 
 silent for some time and ran his fingers nerv- 
 ously through his white hair. 
 
58 LA VEUVE 
 
 "My dear sir," he said at last, "this is a bad 
 business — very bad — and it would be v^ry 
 likely to put me on bad terms with my peni- 
 tent, if I should be so imprudent as to under- 
 take your commission. I do not deny that I 
 have selfish reasons for refusing. In the first 
 place, I am old, I dislike to assume annoying 
 responsibilities, and I like to~ keep on good 
 terms with my parishioners; but, besides all 
 that, as a priest and confessor, I am of all 
 the world the last man who should undertake 
 to perform the task. Why? my dear sir, just 
 because I am the spiritual director of Madame 
 de La Pave ; and the first thing she will ask 
 me will be to tell me to tell her just how far 
 her conscience is bound by her husband's last 
 wishes. Well I know nothing about it; I do 
 not want to be called upon to pass judgment 
 upon that question. As a theologian, I can 
 not say how far a woman — a young woman — 
 is bound to observe the command of a de- 
 ceased husband who has forbidden her to 
 marry again. I admit that the question is 
 outside of my experience and its solution is 
 beyond my abilities. If she should ever con- 
 fide in me, it will then be time enough for me 
 
THE WIDOW 59 
 
 to think about it ; but I do not want to inter- 
 fere in such an entirely personal matter when 
 it in no way concerns me. I beg of you, 
 Monsieur, that you will not even hint to 
 Madame de La Pave that I am in possession 
 of the secret, for you must know that he who 
 shares this secret with her must become either 
 her enemy or her accomplice." 
 
 "I am sorry to have disturbed you. Mon- 
 sieur le Cure," said Maurice coldly, as he 
 arose to leave. 
 
 "It would be either one or the other," re- 
 peated the old priest as though he had not 
 heard him, "enemy or accomplice." 
 
 As he was showing Maurice to the door, he 
 stopped suddenly, tapped his forehead with 
 his finger and said: 
 
 "But, my dear sir, there is one way out of 
 the matter for the present at least, and per- 
 haps forever." 
 
 "Ah, Monsieur le Curd, how good you are!" 
 
 "Let us see, Monsieur, have you ever heard 
 that Madame de La Pave has the least inten- 
 tion of marrying again?" 
 
 "No, thank Heaven!" 
 
 "Well then, why not wait until such a thing 
 
60 LA VEUVE 
 
 is likely to happen before telling her anything? 
 It will do her no sort of an injury, but rather 
 it will spare her the mortification of listening 
 to an unpleasant story which, so far, she does 
 not need to hear, and perhaps she shall never 
 need to hear it. What was it that Robert de 
 La Pave wished? that his wife would remain 
 single. Well if she does so of her own free 
 will, is it not more than useless to command 
 her?" 
 
 "On my word! Monsieur le Cur^, you 
 seem to be in the right; still I am a soldier, 
 and you know that we allow ourselves but 
 little margin in keeping a promise. At any 
 rate, I thank you very much, and I will think 
 of your suggestion." 
 
 When a man has a disagreeable duty on 
 hand, he finds it a great comfort to have 
 plenty of time before him, and to be able to 
 choose the proper moment for its performance. 
 
 When Major de Fr^meuse left the priest's 
 house he breathed more freely. Without 
 coming to any definite conclusion on the 
 subject, he no longer felt under the same 
 obligation to appear at once before the young 
 widow as the bearer of evil news and threat- 
 
THE WIDOW 6 1 
 
 ening commands. He could at least wait 
 until he was better acquainted with her, and 
 until friendship opened the way and suggested 
 the time when this duty might be performed 
 without any violence to the young woman's 
 feelings. The first thing to be done was to 
 establish the necessary relations of friendly 
 confidence between himself and Madame de 
 La Pave. It is true that he had fully made 
 up his mind to dislike her, but he was not 
 very strongly inclined to continue a feeling of 
 preconceived antipathy tpwards a woman 
 whom he saw for the first time with her eyes 
 filled with tears. 
 
 He called at the chateau that very day and 
 found Madame de La Pave alone, Madame 
 de Combaleu having gone to Paris to spend 
 a few days with her son. The young widow 
 had seen and noticed Maurice more closely 
 than she had given her aunt to understand, 
 and she was not at all sorry to see him again. 
 Although she did not like him, she was not 
 indifferent towards him; and, owing to the 
 lonely existence which she led, his presence 
 caused an emotion which, while there was 
 much about it that was necessarily painful. 
 
62 LA VEUVE 
 
 was still a welcome excitement. It would 
 have given her much pleasure to have found 
 her rival and her enemy to be a coarse vulgar 
 person, or a man who was her social inferior, 
 and she would have been delighted to treat 
 him accordingly. Unfortunately, she could 
 see by the delicate features of the young man, 
 by his intelligent brow, by his manners and 
 his language, that he was a singularly well- 
 bred gentleman; and she admitted it reluct- 
 antly. 
 
 She was really sorry to be disliked and mis- 
 understood by a man who seemed to have 
 such good taste, and who was himself so pre- 
 possessing- — by this young officer whose face 
 was grave and whose smile was so sweet. 
 During the course of their conversation, 
 which naturally turned on Robert and the 
 war, and later, on Maurice's imprisonment in 
 Germany, it appeared to Madame de La Pave 
 that her supposed enemy spoke to her with 
 charming frankness and the most respectful 
 courtesy, as if their slight acquaintance had 
 already changed the unjust opinion he had 
 formed of her. This was decidedly interest- 
 ing, and she was greatly pleased at what she 
 
THE WIDOW 63 
 
 looked upon as a little personal triumph, 
 which she meant to follow up. It was with 
 great sincerity, therefore, that when Maurice 
 left the chateau she asked him to come to see 
 her very often while his visit lasted. 
 
 Nothing could have been more acceptible 
 to Maurice at that time than the friendship of 
 Madame de La Pave. His visits to the 
 chateau became more and more frequent; 
 sometimes he came alone, sometimes with his 
 mother, and he was already on terms of de- 
 cided intimacy with the young widow when, 
 a couple of weeks later, Madame de Com- 
 6aleu decided to leave Paris to return to her 
 niece, after having spent a couple of days 
 with friends at Alencon. 
 
 The first time that Maurice called after 
 Madame de Combaleu's return, she took great 
 care to be present, and she then had the op- 
 portunity of seeing him for the first time. 
 She was more than sorry to find that he was, 
 in fact, as unobjectionableayoung man as she 
 had ever known, and that he spoke to her 
 niece as if there had been a friendship of long 
 standing between them. Decidedly dis- 
 pleased at this discovery, she was still more 
 
64 LA VEUVE 
 
 alarmed when she learned that Major da Fr6- 
 meuse and his mother had been invited to 
 dine at the chateau the following day. She 
 passed the remainder of the day in trying 
 to familiarize herself with the situation, medi- 
 tating on the dangers and gathering up her 
 forces for the defense. She understood her 
 niece thoroughly; she knew that she was ex- 
 tremely proud, and that, beneath great calm- 
 ness of manner, she hid a deep fund of 
 passion. Madame de Combaleu was npt long 
 in deciding where to begin the attack. 
 
 The next day, about half an hour before 
 dinner, Madame de La Pave and her aunt, 
 after having finished their toilettes, met in the 
 salon. Madame de Combaleu began the con- 
 versation by saying very sweetly: 
 
 "You have not told me, my dear, what you 
 think of Major de Fr^meuse?" 
 
 "You have seen him for yourself, my aunt," 
 was the reply. 
 
 "He is civilized, after all, one would judge ?" 
 
 "So one would judge," repeated Madame de 
 La Pave, and a faiiiit ironical smile played 
 about the corners of her mouth 
 
 "He is not making love to you, I hope?" 
 
THE WIDOW 6$ 
 
 "Oh, no! I could hardly say that it has 
 gone so far as that; he despises me a little 
 less than he did, that is all." 
 
 "And you, my dear?" 
 
 "Oh, I?" said the young widow with a 
 strange movement of her lids, "I am studying 
 him; I am trying to understand him" — then 
 she added seriously: "There is no use in 
 denying it, he has formed a better and more 
 just opinion of me, and I am glad he has. 
 Before he had seen me, he had misjudged me, 
 and the more he sees of me, the more willing 
 he is to lay aside his prejudices. I can tell 
 by his manner and his conversation that he 
 is making every effort to make honorable 
 reparation without going into tiresome and 
 offensive explanations. Well, I admit, my 
 aunt, that all this is very pleasant from a man 
 whom we also had misjudged; and who is, 
 after all, entirely unobjectionable. I am 
 forced to say that it gives me great pleasure 
 to find that we were both mistaken in the 
 opinions we had formed of each other." 
 
 "Ah, my poor child, how young you are !" 
 said Madame de Combaleu, as she wrung her 
 hands tragically. 
 
66 LA VEUVE 
 
 "What do you mean, my aunt?" 
 
 "In the first place, my dear, you must tell 
 me the honest truth — you do not need to 
 mind being perfectly frank with your old aunt 
 — what impression has Major de Frfemeuse 
 made on you; is your heart involved in any 
 way? 
 
 "I suppose, my aunt, that you are indulging 
 in a pleasant jest," said the young woman in 
 a calm tone, though her eyes flashed fire. 
 
 "No, my dear, I am perfectly serious. I 
 am older than you are, and better acquainted 
 with the world; there is something that I 
 must tell you which it is well that you should 
 know, for it may save you from a great deal 
 of embarrassment and humiliation. You have 
 a habit of being perfectly frank and honest 
 with every one which is very commendable, 
 but it may sometime lead you into trouble. 
 Now here is Major de Fr^meuse, who has 
 always been your declared enemy — we know 
 that from his letters, and your poor husband 
 himself used to speak of it in jest — and now, 
 all at once, this enemy becomes a friend, the 
 wolf becomes a lamb. According to your 
 explanation, it is because he has discovered 
 
THE WIDOW 6^ 
 
 his mistake; he repents, and wants to make 
 honorable amends. That may be true or it 
 may not — I am not prepared to say — what I 
 do know is that he openly pretends to be your 
 suitor, and that every one is already speaking 
 of your marriage." 
 
 "You are certainly jesting again, my aunt." 
 "Nothing is farther from my mind, my dear, 
 I assure you. Dear knows ! if he suits you I 
 have nothing to say, as a matter of course; 
 but it is well that you should know what is 
 going on, and what is the real reason of this 
 sudden metamorphosis. Why, even at Alen- 
 con when I arrived there, this marriage was 
 all that was talked about. Madame de Fr6- 
 meuse has had no other idea since your poor 
 husband's death and she is not sensible 
 enough to keep it to herself. She speaks of 
 it to the priest, to her servants, to every one. 
 You know yourself how avaricious she is. I 
 have no doubt, her son has inherited this 
 failing from her; and you can easily under- 
 stand what a temptation three hundred 
 thousand francs of an income would be to 
 almost any one. Of course, it is quite proba- 
 ble that he really loves you in the bargain — ■ 
 
 5 LeVeuve 
 
68 LA VEUVE 
 
 you are attractive enough to win the love of 
 any man — but his mother really talks too 
 much, and he is in too much of a hurry." 
 
 There was indeed a grain of truth in 
 Madame de Combaleu's story, though for the 
 most part it was made up of calumny, per- 
 fidoius misrepresentation and pure falsehoods. 
 A few ill-considered words uttered by Mad- 
 ame de Fremeuse, and a few chance allusiops 
 made by the priest, had formed the text from 
 which had been spun this plausible tale. 
 Nevertheless, the venomous shaft went straight 
 to its mark and made a painful wound in the 
 heart of Madame de La Pave. She was, like 
 many other women, bright and clever rather 
 than profound, and passionate rather than 
 wise. There was such an appearance of truth 
 in her aunt's explanation of Maurice's change 
 of conduct that she accepted it without doubt. 
 
 "All this is simply ridiculous," said she, as 
 she slightly shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 But even as she spoke these words in a 
 supremely disdamful tone, the brightness of 
 her eyes, the color of her cheeks and the in- 
 creased pallor of the rest of her face, indicated 
 the angry storm that was raging within her. 
 
THE WIDOW 69 
 
 The mere fact that her vanity had been 
 gratified by the courtesy of Major de Fre- 
 meuse, and that she had felt a personal 
 trimph in the delicate reparation which she 
 imagined he was making for having misjudged 
 her, made it all the more humihating to dis- 
 cover that this atonement was made not to 
 her, but to her fortune. All her old dislike 
 for Maurice returned with increased bitter- 
 ness, and she thought him to be a man capa- 
 ble of any kind of treachery, not only to her, 
 but also to the memory of her husband. She 
 was greatly hurt, and she determined to be 
 revenged. 
 
 Her meditations were disturbed by the 
 arrival of Major de Fremeuse and his mother. 
 She received them very graciously, and 
 Madame de Combaleu also extended them the 
 most cordial welcome. 
 
 The abhh Desmortreux came a few moments 
 later, and they all went to the table. Mad- 
 ame de La Pave seemed to be gayer and more 
 animated than usual, and she talked and 
 chatted pleasantly with every one. From 
 time to time, she would remain silent and 
 abstracted for a moment, and then she would 
 
JO LA VEUVE 
 
 again amuse the company with an epigram or 
 a witticism. In short, she had the appear- 
 ance of a woman who had undertaken to play a 
 part which she found extremely painful, but 
 which she was determined to carry out to the 
 end. Maurice noticed her unusual liveliness of 
 manner, but he thought that she had some- 
 thing on her mind which she was trying to 
 hide. He noticed also that she drank more 
 champagne than he thought a young woman 
 should; and attributed this to the desire to 
 raise her mind above her troubles that she 
 might show the proper attention to her guests. 
 After they had had coffee in the salon, 
 Madame de La Pave led her guests to the 
 garden and insisted that Maurice light a cigar. 
 She walked beside him as he smoked so that 
 she might fully enjoy the fragrant aroma, 
 which she said she adored; for she remem- 
 bered that her husband had been a great 
 smoker. As they walked on, chatting about 
 one thing and another, they kept getting 
 farther and farther away from the rest of the 
 company, and soon found themselves entirely 
 alone in a distant part of the garden. This 
 did not seem to frighten Madame de La Pave 
 
THE WIDOW 71 
 
 in the least ; she stopped under a huge elm, 
 whose shade was but dimly lighted by the 
 feeble rays of the setting sun, and walked 
 slowly up and down for a few moments, keep- 
 ing all the while within the shadow of the tree ; 
 and then, raising her head and throwing back 
 her chin with a characteristic gesture, she 
 said: 
 
 "Monsieur de Fr6meuse?" 
 
 Her voice was always grave, musical and 
 very womanly, but there was a strangely iron- 
 ical accent about it now that made Maurice 
 wonder what she was about to say. 
 
 "Madame?" he replied. 
 
 "You know how generous Robert was to 
 me.?" 
 
 He made an affirmative inclination of the 
 head. 
 
 "He left me his whole fortune." 
 
 "Yes, Madame, he told me so." 
 
 "Ah, I thought you knew it. Well, would 
 you believe that I am an ingrate, and that 
 I sometimes feel like reproaching my husband 
 for his generosity .'" 
 
 "I am unable to understand why that should 
 be," replied Maurice quietly. 
 
72 LA VEUVE 
 
 "Why? It is because this immense fortune 
 will bring me — has brought me already — in- 
 numerable and endless troubles. It makes 
 me too rich, and all the ruined noblemen and 
 fortune-hunters in France are getting ready 
 to besiege me as soon as my period of mourn- 
 ing shall be over. I shall be exposed to all 
 the machinations of avarice, and all the arti- 
 fices of deceit; I shall be the subject of gossip 
 and of the most disgraceful calumnies — in 
 fact I am so already. Have you not heard 
 that I am to be married again?" 
 
 "No, Madame," replied Maurice. 
 
 "No, really? Well then ask your mother, 
 she knows more about it than any one." 
 
 It was impossible for Maurice to misunder- 
 stand her meaning. He was too greatly sur- 
 prised to speak for several seconds, and then 
 he said: 
 
 "If I have the honor of understanding you 
 rightly, you mean to accuse me of aspiring to 
 your hand — or rather to your fortune — under 
 a false show of friendship. My answer shall 
 be a plain one, and I think I can succeed in 
 convincing you that you are mistaken. If 
 there is a man in the world who, more than 
 
THE WIDOW 73 
 
 anyone else, would never allow such an idea 
 to enter his head, it is I — you shall know why 
 this very instant. I have deferred telling you 
 something which you must now hear, in the 
 hope that the time would come when, having 
 obtained your friendship and your confidence, 
 I might acquit myself of my responsibility 
 with less violence to your feelings and less 
 embarrassment to myself. I see, however, ■ 
 that that time will never be, and I beg of you 
 to be so kind as to listen now to what I have 
 to say: I have not yet unburdened my con- 
 science of the entire obligation I assumed the 
 night of your husband's death. His last 
 wishes remain to be told to you. His dying 
 supplication was that, in return for the great 
 love that he had for you and the substantial 
 proof which he made to you of his esteem, 
 you would never marry again. He begged 
 of you — he implored you with his latest breath 
 — to never show such a lack of respect to his 
 memory as to contract a second marriage." 
 
 A faint cry escaped the lips of the young 
 widow. 
 
 "Do you wish me to tell you," continued 
 Maurice, "the language in which your husband 
 
74 LA VEUVE 
 
 related to me his apprehensions and his fears 
 — the agonized tone in which he made his last 
 supplication? I can do so if you wish, for 
 there is not a single word that he uttered that 
 night which is not yet ringing in my ears, but 
 spare me — spare yourself — those harrowing 
 details, listen only to his last words: 
 
 "'Tell her,' he said, 'that if she should 
 ever marry another, I would rise from my 
 grave ! she should see my spectre ! — I would 
 comeback to curse her!' — and he said to 
 me in his agony: 'Swear to me, Maurice, 
 that you will tell her this. ' 
 
 '"On your honor'. 
 
 '"On my honor. ' Now Madame, you know 
 all." 
 
 She had stopped walking to listen to him. 
 He could not see her face, for by this time 
 it was quite dark; but a few moonbeams that 
 shone through the leaves fell upon a stone 
 bedch which was under the tree. She sat 
 down upon it, and he could see how pale she 
 was. She trembled violently; and as she 
 held her head in her hands, he could see that 
 she was weeping bitterly. 
 
 "Do you wish me to retire," asked the 
 young man. 
 
THE WIDOW 75 
 
 She shook her head to signify that she did 
 not; so he remained standing within a few 
 feet of her and listened to her sobs. As soon 
 as she could speak, she said very quietly: 
 
 "Monsieur de Fr^meuse?" 
 
 He approached, undecided. 
 
 She arose from the bench and held out her 
 hand. 
 
 "Pardon.'" said she. 
 
 Maurice accepted her hand with great dig- 
 nity, and she said: 
 
 "Will you be so kind as to lend me your 
 arm? I do not feel very well." 
 
 He offered her his arm and they started for 
 the chateau, some of the windows of which 
 were already lighted. As they passed a 
 marble fountain where a stream of water 
 flowed from the open jaws of a huge dragon, 
 she released his arm and dipping her hand- 
 kerchief in the basin, she bathed her eyes and 
 temples. 
 
 "I do not want them to know that I have 
 been crying," she said. 
 
 She took his arm ag'ain, and they walked 
 on at a slower pace. 
 
 "I really do not know," she continued, 
 
76 LA VEUVE 
 
 "why I did cry, for it is a long time since I 
 have been so happy." 
 
 "Happy?" said Maurice in surprise. 
 
 "Yes, happy — very happy — to discover that 
 I have been entertaining unjust suspicions, 
 to know that I can rely upon an honest affec- 
 tion which is absolutely free from all self- 
 interest and deceit; and to know that I can 
 lean with confidence upon the arm of a true 
 friend — for you are still my friend, are you 
 not?" 
 
 Standing in this beautiful old garden, on a 
 magnificent night, with the silver moon- 
 beams falling as if from Heaven on the white 
 marble ,of the fountain, and with the delicious 
 fragrance of the flowers permeating the 
 atmosphere, these sweet words had for Mau- 
 rice an additional sweetness which they bor- 
 rowed from the surroundings; and the voice 
 that uttered them seemed all but magical. 
 While she was speaking, he could feel the 
 pressure of her form against his side and, as 
 the moonlight fell full upon her face, he 
 thought that he had never seen a woman so 
 beautiful. He felt her tremble with emotion, 
 and the blood tingled in his own finger-tips 
 
THE WIDOW TJ 
 
 as he murmured some confused words assur- 
 ing her of his devoted affection. 
 
 She replied by lightly pressing his arm, and 
 they walked on in silence. When they came 
 to the steps of the chateau, she stopped as 
 though undecided about something, and then, 
 suddenly withdrawing her arm from his, she 
 said: 
 
 "Come, let us go in." 
 
 He followed her into the salon, the door of 
 which opened into the garden, and found 
 Madame de Combaleu, Madame de Fremeuse 
 and the old priest, all three of whom seemed 
 surprised that they should have taken such a 
 long tete-a-tete, and remained silent as if ex- 
 pecting some kind of an explanation; but, as 
 none was forthcoming Madame de Fr6meuse 
 pleaded a head-ache and arose to leave. 
 Madame de La Pave, after having cast a 
 withering look at her aunt, said to Maurice : 
 
 "When did you say you would be so kind 
 as to take a horseback ride with me.'" 
 
 "It will give me great pleasure to go any 
 time you wish," he replied. 
 
 "Well then, to-morrow morning at ten 
 o'clock." 
 
78 LA VEUVE 
 
 He bowed, and giving his arm to his mother, 
 they left the chateau. 
 
 As soon as they were alone, he anticipated 
 li\s mother's questions and said: 
 
 "My dear mother, your hopes are ruined; 
 the message is delivered." 
 
 He then told her how the unmerited sus- 
 picion of Madame de La Pave had caused him 
 to tell her of her husband's last supplication, 
 and how the young widow had received the 
 communication. 
 
 "But I am happy to say, my dear mother," 
 he continued, "that your fears as to the result 
 of my embassy were entirely groundless; and 
 Madame de La Pave has not declared war 
 against the embassador, as you predicted." 
 
 "My son," said the old lady, gaily, "I had 
 forgotten that to correctly prophesy a woman's 
 conduct in a crisis in which her affections are 
 involved, one should begin by consulting 
 Satan." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Madame de Fremeuse was surprised and 
 even alarmed when, at seven o'clock the next 
 morning, she saw her son enter her chamber. 
 He was very pale and he had the general 
 appearance of a man who has passed a rest- 
 less night. 
 
 "Ah, Maurice, what is the matter?" asked 
 his mother. 
 
 "Nothing is the matter, mother, nothing 
 whatever." 
 
 He approached her bed and kissed her. 
 
 "You are going to be disappointed a little, 
 mother," he said, "that is all. I have been 
 ordered back to my regiment, and I must 
 leave this morning for Rennes." 
 
 "This morning.' impossible! Your furlough 
 was to last for six weeks. Have you received 
 a telegram? — No, I would have known it — 
 Maurice, you scamp! you are not telling me 
 the truth." 
 
 "Well then," he replied with a smile, "I 
 79 
 
8o LA VEUVE 
 
 was telling a falsehood — trying to rather — 
 but really I can't to my mother. I will tell 
 you the real reason why I am leaving so sud- 
 denly, and you will see that there is nothing 
 alarming about it, and nothing of which you 
 can not approve." 
 
 He sat down beside his mother's bed, and 
 taking one of her hands, he said: 
 
 "My dear mother, you know that a man 
 sometimes receives impressions which, though 
 light and superficial enough at the time, gain 
 in intensity and depth the more he allows his 
 mind to dwell upon them. That is what has 
 happened to me as the result of my interview 
 last night with Madame de La Pave. The 
 events of yesterday evening were so exciting 
 and so rapid, that I could not then grasp their 
 full significance. I have passed a restless 
 night thinking about them; and, it seems to 
 me, that the consequences of that interview 
 might become so serious, so delicate and so 
 dangerous that I have made up my mind to 
 show my bravery in flight. Do you under- 
 stand me sufficiently, dear mother, or am I 
 under the embarrassing necessity of explaining 
 my meaning more fully?" 
 
THE WIDOW 8 1 
 
 "What!" cried Madame de Fr6meuse, "are 
 you in love with Marianne?" 
 
 "In love with Marianne! About as much 
 as Marianne is in love with me; but by mere 
 force of circumstances, and of the complica- 
 tions with which you are familiar — and, I have 
 no doubt, the devil has had a hand in it, as 
 you yourself said last night — I had one of those 
 extremely emotional experiences with Mad- 
 ame de La Pave that a man cannot go through 
 without great agitation of the feelings and 
 some kind of a disturbance of the heart. 
 Should we now see each other every day for 
 several weeks, with all the privileges of an 
 intimate friendship and with the still lively 
 remembrance of that night of reproaches, 
 tears and tender reconciliation, it certainly 
 would not be dangerous for Madame de La 
 Pave, but I could not answer for myself; I 
 admit frankly that I would be in danger. It 
 is a matter in which my peace of mind and 
 my honor are both at stake; and, I assure you 
 that I do not want to risk either the one or 
 the other, that is why lam leaving." 
 
 "What! my dear boy," said Madame 
 de Fr^meuse, "is your heart so weak as 
 
82 LA VEUVE 
 
 that, and you a soldier and cannoneer?" 
 
 "It is all very well, mother, to be a soldier 
 and a cannoneer, but when a man walks on a 
 splendid moonlight night with a beautiful 
 woman at his side, who weeps and tenderly 
 presses his arm, he finds that he is but a poor 
 weak son of Adam, after all." 
 
 "Well!" said the old countess with a sigh, 
 "I have a son who is an honorable man, and 
 that is one consolation. There is nothing I 
 can say to you, my dear child, but farewell. 
 Where are you going.'" 
 
 "I am going to meet my regiment at Ren- 
 nes. I shall take the noon train at Alengon." 
 
 "But you are to take a horseback ride with 
 Madame de La Pave at ten o'clock?" 
 
 "I have written to her." 
 
 An hour later Major de Fr6meuse, seated 
 in his mother's little coup^, was already on his 
 way to Alencon. 
 
 Half an hour after his departure, Madame 
 de La Pave received the following note: 
 
 "Madame, and very dear neighbor: — 
 
 "I have suddenly' been recalled to my regi- 
 ment, and I regret exceedingly the necessity 
 which compels me to leave without having 
 
THE WIDOW 83 
 
 had the pleasure of seeing you again. Allow 
 me to hope that you also will hear, with some 
 degree of regret, the farewell of one whom 
 you have been so kind as to call your friend. 
 Believe me, I shall always endeavor to merit 
 that title by the most respectful and faithful 
 devotion. 
 
 "MAURICE DU PAS-DEVANT DE FREMEUSE." 
 
 Madame de La Pave, after having read this 
 brief epistle, closed her beautiful dark eyes 
 and dreamed for a moment. As a general 
 rule, the feelings which agitated her were not 
 revealed in her face; only this morning Mad- 
 ame de Combaleu, who had been briefly told 
 of Maurice's sudden departure, noticed that 
 her niece was unusually silent at breakfast, 
 and that she seemed to have lost all appetite. 
 Later in the day, Marianne ordered her car- 
 riage and went to call on Madame de Fr^- 
 meuse. 
 
 Maurice had made his mother promise that 
 she would not, under any circumstances, tell 
 Madame de La Pave the real reason of his sud- 
 den departure. Madame de Fr6meuse kept to 
 her promise, but in the way of a person who is 
 dying to reveal a secret. In replying to the 
 
 6 LaVeuve 
 
84 LA VEUVE 
 
 young woman's questions with the ready made 
 answers that Maurice had given her, she would 
 sigh, look embarrassed, and keep up a general 
 air of mystery, which flatly contradicted her 
 words. The two women understood each 
 other perfectly; and, from the mute language 
 and vague insinuations of the old countess, 
 the young widow deduced the real state of 
 affairs with tolerable accuracy. 
 
 When she returned to the chateau, she went 
 to her desk and hurriedly wrote three letters 
 to Mau|-ice, one after the other. The first 
 was sarcastic and imprudent, the second 
 friendly and kind and the third was cold and 
 supremely indifferent; then she destroyed all 
 three, and decided that it was better not to 
 write at all. 
 
 It would have been impossible for Madame 
 de La Pave herself to describe the conflicting 
 emotions which she felt on account of the 
 sudden departure and strange conduct of the 
 young major. She was conscious of a strange 
 mixture of anger and disdain, of sorrow and 
 admiration. What was particularly distress- 
 ing was the fact that she could relate to no 
 one, not even to him, the many feelings which 
 
THE WIDOW 8S 
 
 agitated her. She would have loved dearly 
 to tell this peculiar young man the contempt 
 she had for his weakness, or the admiration 
 she had for his delicate chivalry — she did not 
 know which, only she was quite sure that she 
 would like to tell him something. Then came 
 doubts as to his real motive for leaving. Was 
 it not possible, after all, that he had told the 
 simple truth ; that he had really been obliged 
 to go back to his regiment, and that she had 
 misinterpreted the mysterious insinuations of 
 Madame de Fr^meuse? In that case, he would 
 certainly write her another letter besides the 
 laconic one that he had sent that morning; 
 and she waited impatiently for some further 
 word from him. 
 
 But the letter which she waited for so 
 anxiously did not coi:pe, and she was suffi- 
 ciently acquainted with the delicate tact of 
 Major de Fremeuse, to understand from his 
 prolonged silence that he had chosen that 
 method for breaking ofi all relations with her 
 entirely. 
 
 In the latter part of August she left the 
 chateau and returned to Paris to spend the 
 winter. She lived in great seclusion for awhile, 
 
86 LA VEUVE 
 
 as became a young widow in her first year of 
 mourning; but after the month of December, 
 which was the anniversary of her husband's 
 death, a kind of relaxation was visible. Her 
 dresses were less severely plain, she occasion- 
 ally entertained her intimate friends and she 
 sometimes even went to the opera. 
 
 She was on all occasions accompanied by 
 her aunt, and sometimes by Gerard de Com- 
 baleu, whose manners and habits, owing to 
 the good influence of his cousin, seemed to be 
 decidedly improving. A rumor soon began to 
 be circulated very quietly that a marriage be- 
 tween the rich heiress and the gay Gerard was 
 not entirely among the impossibilities. This 
 rumor reached the ear of Madame de Fremeuse 
 who from her quiet country home managed to 
 keep herself posted on what was going on in 
 the metropolis by keeping up an active cor- 
 respondence with intimate friends that she had 
 there. She at once wrote to her son what 
 she had heard; and Maurice replied in a per- 
 fectly respectful, but rather laconic letter, in 
 which he spoke of the rumor as a piece of 
 senseless gossip. 
 
 About the first of the following April, Mad- 
 
THE WIDOW 87 
 
 ame de La Pave returned to the chateau, and 
 her aunt and Gerard came with her. From 
 this time on, Madame de Fr^meuse saw un- 
 mistakable confirmations of the rumor she had 
 heard. The prolonged stay of Gerard at the 
 chateau the bouquets which he was continually 
 presenting to Marianne, the presents of all kinds 
 which came from Paris almost every morning, 
 and the carriage rides which Madame de La 
 Pave took regularly with her cousin, made it 
 very plain that she recognized him as a suitor. 
 At last one day, about six weeks after Mad- 
 ame de La Pave had returned, Madame de 
 Combaleu called upon Madame de Fr^meuse 
 and began the converastion in her most 
 gracious manner by saying: 
 
 "My dear Madame, I have always appre- 
 ciated your kind friendsip so much, and I 
 realize so well the generous interest which 
 you always take in everything that concerns 
 me or my dear niece, that I am sure you will 
 be pleased to hear of the happy event that is 
 to take place in our family. My son is en- 
 gaged to be married to dear Marianne." 
 
 Madame de Fremeuse seemed to be enrap- 
 tured at the news. 
 
S8 LA VEUVE 
 
 "Ah," said she, "allow me to embrace you. 
 I am sure I could hear nothing which could 
 give me so much pleasure." ^ 
 
 The two ladies kissed each other in the 
 most affectionate way imaginable, and Mad- 
 ame de Combaleu continued: 
 
 "No one can understand so well as you, my 
 dear, how happy I am ; for you also have a 
 son, whom you no doubt wish to marry well 
 and you know how anxious we mothers are 
 about such things, and how much we are to 
 be congratulated when we have been success- 
 ful." 
 
 "My dear," replied Madame de Fr^meuss, 
 "do not speak to me about my son, I am un- 
 fortunate enough to be the mother of a ridic- 
 ulously quixotic young soldier who, for the 
 very reason that he is poor himself, could 
 never be persuaded to marry a woman with 
 a fortune. He has actually thrown away 
 many splendid chances for such an absurd 
 reason." 
 
 "One can not have everything, my dear. 
 You have the rare distinction of being the 
 mother of a phoenix; and, as the phoenix is a 
 strange bird and has a peculiar way 'of repro- 
 
THE WIDOW 89 
 
 ducing its species, it can have no possible use 
 for a mate. Good bye! I must go now to 
 tell the priest; but I made up my mind that 
 you should be the first." 
 
 Madame de Fr^meuse again thanked her 
 for having been so remarkably kind, and the 
 two ladies took affectionate leave of each 
 other. 
 
 In spite of her bitter disappointment, Mad- 
 ame de Fr^meuse could not help feeling a sort 
 of malignant triumph in informing Maurice of 
 the official confirmation of the rumor which 
 he had been pleased to look upon as idle gos- 
 sip. By one of those strange contradictions 
 of human nature, she both blamed and admired 
 the conduct of her son. She appreciated the 
 honorable motive which prompted him to 
 avoid Madame de La Pave, and admired the 
 delicate way in which he had withdrawn him- 
 self from unpleasant entanglements; yet, at 
 the same time, she also felt a certain antip- 
 athy towards these very principles which 
 had proved so antagonistic to her maternal 
 hopes. 
 
 "You see, my dear son," she wrote Maurice, 
 "that Madame de La Pave was mocking you 
 
90 LA VEUVE 
 
 with her outburst of noble sentiments. I would 
 not go so far as to say that your honor has 
 succeeded in making a dupe of you, but your 
 scruples have been the cause of an unworthy 
 marriage for Marianne, and of the triumph 
 of the horrible Combaleu. In place of choos- 
 mg an honorable man, Madame de La Pave 
 is going to marry a worthless scamp, who will 
 disgrace her and squander her fortune besides; 
 that is just the difference, and I must confess 
 that I am unable to see how the shade of 
 poor Robert gains by it." 
 
 As she received no reply to her letter, Mad- 
 ame de Fr^meuse concluded that Maurice was 
 indignant at Madame de La Pave for showing 
 such a lack of respect for the memory of her 
 husband, and that .he preferred to remain 
 silent on a subject which must necessarily be 
 painful to him. She did not suppose for an 
 instant that the announcement of the engage- 
 ment would cause her son anything more than 
 a few heart-pangs from which he would soon 
 recover. He had now been gone nearly a 
 year; during that time she had spent a couple 
 of weeks with him at Rennes, and had had 
 many letters from him, and neither in his 
 
THE WIDOW 91 
 
 letters nor his conversation, h^d he ever said 
 anything that might lead her to imagine that 
 he entertained any other feehng for Marianne 
 than sincere and respectful friendship. 
 
 One evening, about two weeks later, as the 
 Countess de Fremeuse was doing some needle 
 work in her boudoir she heard the noise of a 
 hprse's feet on the pavement of the yard. She 
 
 rin to the window and saw her son dismount- 
 
 i 
 
 ing from his steed. She vaguely understood 
 tliit this sudden return was a reply to the 
 leiter she had sent him, and that such a move 
 oil his part was likely to involve serious con- 
 sequences. 
 
 laurice entered the room with a smile on 
 hisllips, but his face was very pale. His 
 moper seized the two hands which he held 
 out CO her, and as he kissed her, she said: 
 Tou ! why what brought you here .'" 
 
 "Icame to rest myself, mother. I have 
 beenrather worn out and indisposed for some 
 time,and my old wound in the head has given 
 me shme trouble. The physician recom- 
 mends rest and country air; and, as I did 
 not tate my full furlough last year, I had no 
 troublain getting another now, so here I am!" 
 
92 LA VEUVE 
 
 <' Maurice," said his mother, as she looked 
 him straight in the eyes, "you are trying to 
 deceive me again." 
 
 He commenced to laugh, kissed her again 
 and made her sit down beside him. 
 
 "My dear mother," said he, "I know what 
 you mean. You think I have come home to 
 do something tragic because I have heard of 
 our fair neighbor's engagement, just as they 
 do in 'Lucie de Lammermoor'; and that I 
 want the blood of Bernard-Gerard, what's lis 
 name .' but I assure you that I have no inten- 
 tion of doing anything so ferocious or so ridic- 
 ulous. I would not be telling the truth hew- 
 ever," he continued, somewhat haughtily, "if I 
 should say that this engagement has had 
 nothing to do with my coming home. Tlere 
 are some things which one cannot allov to 
 happen without protesting against then, at 
 least. If Madame de La Pave wishes U get 
 married, she is at perfect liberty to dc so; 
 but Robert has said that if that should ever 
 be she would see his spectre, and I shill be 
 that spectre. It is the last service tha I can 
 render my ppor friend, and I will not tesitate 
 in doing it. I will remonstrate wih her, 
 
THE WIDOW 93 
 
 nothing more. You need not be afraid of any- 
 thing in the way of publicity or scandal. I 
 am not insane, and I am proud, you know 
 that very well; so you need no be at all 
 alarmed." 
 
 His mother wiped a tear from her eye, and 
 made no answer. 
 
 "My dear mother," said he, affectionately, 
 "what would you have me do.' Do you want 
 me to promise that I shall not go to see Mad- 
 ame de La Pave without taking you with me; 
 would that reassure you any.'" 
 
 "A little," replied the old lady, as she con- 
 tinued to weep. 
 
 "Well then, I promise." 
 
 But it was Madame de Fr^meuse herself 
 who, the very next afternoon, urged her son 
 to go to the chateau. Since she could not 
 prevent a meeting between them, she thought 
 she would be more at her ease when the ice 
 had been broken, and new relations between 
 Maurice and the young woman had been estab- 
 lished. She had heard from a neighbor that 
 Gerard de Combaleu had gone to Paris tor a 
 few days, and she was very glad that her son's 
 first visit could be made in his absence. 
 
94 LA VEUVE 
 
 When mother and son presented themselves 
 at the chateau, they were very cordially re- 
 ceived by Madame deCombaleu; who, having 
 heard of Maurice's return, had been watching 
 all the approaches to the chateau with the 
 eye of a field major. She begged her guests 
 to excuse her niece for not appearing, but it 
 would be entirely impossible for the poor child 
 to do so. She was not well, and was obliged 
 to remain in her room. 
 
 "My son is in Paris," said Madame de Com- 
 baleu; "it is the first time they have been 
 separated since their betrothal, and you can 
 imagine how distressed dear Marianne is. 
 She has been in tears all day." 
 
 Just as Madame de Combaleu was saying 
 these words in a loud tone, the door of the 
 salon was opened, and Marianne herself came 
 in, not with any show of languid grief such as 
 one might have expected from her aunt's 
 description, but beautiful, radiant and gay. 
 
 "Ah, what a happy surprise !" she cried, as 
 she held out both her hands, one to Maurice 
 and the other,to Madame deFr^meuse. 
 
 Her appearance and her manner were not 
 by any means what Maurice had expected. 
 
THE WIDOW 95 
 
 He had fondly flattered himself that the sight 
 pf him would have the effect of a Medusa's 
 head upon the faithless widow, and, instead 
 of that, she seemed to be decidedly pleased 
 to see him. It was he who felt uncomfortable, 
 and his mother also was decidedly ill at ease. 
 Madame de La Pave seemed to enjoy the em- 
 barrassment of her guests and the discomfiture 
 of her aunt. As no one else seemed inclined 
 to talk, she chattered gayly herself and seemed 
 to be in excellent spirits. Maurice was de- 
 cidedly puzzled, for neither in her manner nor 
 in her speech did she show the least sign of 
 affectation. 
 
 When he and his mother were about to 
 leave, she said: 
 
 "Well, Major, that horseback ride that you 
 owe me for nearly a year.?" 
 
 Maurice was too much surprisd to reply for 
 a moment, then he said: 
 
 "When you please, Madame." 
 
 "Yes, she replied, laughing," you always say, 
 when you please; and then when I please you 
 are not to be found, you have run away." 
 
 "I beg of you to give me one more trial," 
 said the young man. 
 
96 LA VEUVE 
 
 "Admit that I am good-natured — well then, 
 to-morrow at ten o'clock." 
 
 While Maurice and his mother were dis- 
 cussing the strange conduct of the young 
 widow on their way home, Madame de Com- 
 baleu was asking her niece whether she thought 
 it exactly the proper thing to ride t^e-a-t^e 
 with a stranger so soon before her marriage. 
 
 "In the first place," replied Madame de La 
 Pave, "Major de Fremeuse is not a stranger, 
 then we will not be t^e-a-t^e for the stable- 
 man, Francois, shall accompany us; and 
 finally, my aunt, I am not a young girl but a 
 widow, and in that capacity I think that I 
 may go wherever I wish, and with whom I 
 please." 
 
 "But my dear, are you not afraid of offend- 
 ing Gerard?" 
 
 "Not in the least," replied Marianne as she 
 left the room. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "The fact of the matter," said Maurice to 
 his mother on their way home, "is that I have 
 made a mistake in taking that woman seriously. 
 I supposed her to have considerable strength 
 of character, asd attributed a certain depth 
 to her feehngs which would have made her 
 present conduct very culpable, but it is very 
 evident that it is not. Her surprising gayety 
 when she met me proves that she does not 
 realize what she is doing. She is in reality a 
 child, and I should rather laugh at her than 
 be angry." 
 
 Madame de Fr^meuse was not so ready as 
 her son to believe that Marianne was irre- 
 sponsible for her conduct, but she was greatly 
 relieved to find that there was no occasion to 
 fear that Maurice would do anything violent; 
 which she had greatly dreaded, in spite of his 
 assurances to the contrary; arid that night she 
 slept,, which was something she had not done 
 
 since her son's sudden return. 
 97 
 
98 LA VEUVE 
 
 The next morning Maurice arrived at the 
 chateau a little before ten. An old servant 
 was holding by the bridles two beautiful 
 young horses who were restlessly pawing the 
 ground and champing their bits. Before he 
 reached the steps Marianne herself appeared, 
 looking entirely bewitching in her neat riding- 
 habit. She crossed the lawn with a light step, 
 snapping her riding-whip gayly in the air. 
 
 "Good morning, monsieur," said she, with 
 a smile, as she held out her hand to be helped 
 into the saddle. 
 
 They started up the main road, followed at 
 a short distance by the old servant. The 
 young widow was in the same high spirits as 
 the day before; but, in spite of her gayety, 
 Maurice fully expected that at the first oppor- 
 tunity she would make some allusion to the 
 secret which they held between them, and 
 would apologize in some way for her approach- 
 ing marriage. He was prepared to listen to 
 her with cold indifference, and to treat her 
 like the child he supposed her to be. 
 
 But the truth was that the child who rode 
 beside him, talking the lightest kind of non- 
 sense and snapping the leaves from the trees 
 
THE WIDOW 99 
 
 with her riding-whip, was in reality a woman, 
 and one who was fully conscious of what she 
 had done and intended to do. She had un- 
 dertaken to play a dangerous part; had won 
 a first success, and she now felt herself en- 
 veloped in an atmosphere of danger and ex- 
 citement, which made every feminine instinct 
 within her pulsate with pleasure. 
 
 They were riding along at a brisk gallop, 
 when she suddenly reined in her horse and 
 looked inquiringly at Maurice. 
 
 "What is the matter.'" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, nothing but my usual f orgetf ulness ; 
 will you be so kind as to call Francois }" 
 
 He motioned to the old servant who came 
 up quickly, and Madame de La Pave said: 
 
 "Fran9ois, I will have to ask you to go back 
 to the chateau; I have left a letter on my desk 
 which must go on the noon train. Come 
 back as soon as you have mailed it." 
 
 Francois started back at once, and Mari- 
 anne ^gain took her place at Maurice's side. 
 They rode on for several minutes in silence, 
 then turning suddenly in her saddle, she said: 
 
 "You think that I am doing wrong.'" 
 
 "Yes, madame," he replied, gravely, "I 
 think you are doing very wrong." 
 
 7 La Veuve 
 
lOO LA VEUVE 
 
 "I know it," said she, "I know that I am 
 terribly wicked, but it is you who are the 
 cause of it." 
 
 "I?" 
 
 "Yes you. Why did you abandon me? If 
 you really were called back to your regiment 
 — which I never believed for a moment — could 
 you not have written to me once in awhile; 
 could you not have given me some sign of 
 your interest and affection, some indication 
 that you were still alive .' If I am condemned 
 to live without love, do you think that I can 
 get along without friendship also? Well, in 
 the situation in which I was placed, you were 
 the only person upon whom I could rely as 
 a true friend — you knew it, for I told you so. 
 The friendship of such a man as you might 
 have been some consolation for the blank 
 destiny that I have drawn; it was the only 
 hope I had, and you abandoned me — you ran 
 away. Do you think I could stand all that 
 and do nothing? Heavens, monsieur, you 
 must take me for one of the stone statues in 
 my garden. I am going to be perfectly frank 
 with you. If I marry it is to revenge myself 
 for your desertion, for your distrust, for your 
 
THE WIDOW lOI 
 
 hardness of heart; it is to strike back in my 
 turn, and cause you whatever pain I can." 
 
 "If that has been your object, madame, 
 allow me to congratulate you upon your suc- 
 cess; for you have indeed pained me griev- 
 ously. In regard to the charges which you 
 make against me, they are perfectly true; 
 and in explaining them I will follow the ex- 
 ample which you have set and be perfectly 
 candid. I went away because I thought the 
 role of an intimate friend to a woman so 
 charming as you was too difficult and too 
 dangerous for me to assume." 
 
 "I suppose that speech deserves a bow," 
 said Madame de La Pave, as she checked her 
 horse and saluted him with mock seriousness ; 
 then she said after a pause. 
 
 "I suppose the same programme is to be 
 gone over, you are going away again .'" 
 
 "Since you are to be married, it can make 
 no difference whether I go or stay." 
 
 "Ah," said she, "that is true." 
 
 She remained silent for a few moments, 
 her body gracefully following the movements 
 of her horse, then looking straight at Maurice, 
 she said: 
 
102 LA VEUVE 
 
 "And if I should not marry, what then?" 
 
 Before he could reply to her pointed and 
 embarrassing question, their tfte-}[-tfte was 
 interrupted by the appearance of a horseman 
 a short distance ahead of them who was com- 
 ing in their direction. 
 
 "It is Gerard!" cried the young widow, and 
 turning to Maurice she said: 
 
 "This is a surprise; I did not expect him 
 until to-night. He must have taken a night 
 train — amiable impatience— Monsieur de Fre- 
 meuse, I ask as a favor to myself, that you be 
 civil to him." 
 
 Maurice bowed. 
 
 Gerard de Combaleu was a robust, well- 
 built young man, whose face did not yet show 
 any sign of the many dissipations in which he 
 indulged. He was not without a certain 
 manly beauty, though it was of a low order; 
 and was a sort of a Don Juan of the wine 
 houses and the theaters. He was not afraid 
 of any man's sword, and was considered 
 sufificiently honorable, judged from a worldly 
 standpoint. 
 
 Madame de La Pave went ahead to meet 
 him and held out her hand. 
 
THE WIDOW 103 
 
 "Welcome, cousin," said she, then turning 
 in her saddle — "Monsieur de Fremeuse, my 
 cousin, Monsieur de Combaleu — Gdrard, 
 Major de Frdmeuse, my husband's dearest 
 friend." 
 
 The two gentlemen bowed to each other 
 coldly, for if there was a man in the world 
 whom Maurice would have loved to caress 
 gently with the point of his sword, it was the 
 fiancf of Madame de La Pave; and, on the 
 other hand, M. de Combaleu, good-natured 
 though he was, could not find it in his heart 
 to be pleased to find his intended bride riding 
 alone with such a distinguished young officer. 
 Still on second thoughts Gerard, who thought 
 himself as good as married to his cousin, 
 decided to be agreeable, and the frown on his 
 brow cleared at the first courteous words 
 which Maurice, who remembered his promise, 
 felt obliged to speak to him. 
 
 While Gerard was helping her from her 
 horse at the gate of the chateau, Madame de 
 La Pave asked Maurice if he would remain for 
 lunch. He declined discreetly, and she did 
 not insist; so he started on his way to his 
 home. When he arrived there he told his 
 
I04 LA VEUVE 
 
 mother that the ride had been entirely un- 
 eventful, and that she could now sleep in 
 peace. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 After lunch Madame de a La Pave, who 
 complained of a headache, retired to her 
 room, were she remained all the afternoon 
 restlessly pacing the floor. Of what could 
 she be thinking.-' What was it that was 
 agitating the very depths of her soul.' For it 
 was very evident from her manner that she 
 was turning some serious question over and 
 over in her mind, the solution of which was 
 beyond her. Could it be that her engage- 
 ment with her cousin, after having served to 
 accomplish some secret end, now seemed irk- 
 some to her .' Was it possible that she wished 
 to break it .-' Her marriage was to fake place 
 in six weeks; the preparations had been 
 already made, all the questions in regard to 
 the settlements had been settled and the very 
 day had been fixed. Under such circumstan- 
 ces, upon what honorable pretext could the 
 engagement be broken > How could she escape 
 
 without scandal, and with due regard to the 
 
 105 
 
I06 LA VEUVE 
 
 conventionalities of society and the world? 
 
 If Madame de La Pave really asked herself 
 these questions, she must have been unable to 
 answer them, for, from that day, she received • 
 her cousin's attentions with greater cordiality 
 than before. She teased him pleasantly about 
 his reputation as a fast young man; and at 
 the table she said to her aunt, who was 
 frowning at G6rard for doing too much honor 
 to his cousin's wines: 
 
 "My dear aunt, what is the use of being so 
 severe. Let Gerard drink what he will. For 
 my part, I am delighted that his head and 
 his stomach are both so good that he can 
 drink a reasonable amount of wine without 
 being any the worse for it. I can not bear an 
 effeminate man. Look at our forefathers, 
 they drank like fishes, and were none the less 
 genteel on that account. Just the other day, 
 I was reading the Memoires de Bassompierre. 
 Certainly Bassompierre was the very type of 
 a gentleman, yet he could hold his own with 
 the heaviest drinkers of permany. Then 
 think of those chivalrous knights of the time 
 of the Stuarts — all of those valorous cavaliers 
 could drink as well as they could fight. In 
 
THE WIDOW 107 
 
 my opinion, society nowadays has grown 
 supercilious on that subject, which simply 
 indicates that we are growing weaker. So 
 my dear Gerard, do not drink enough to in- 
 jure yourself, that would grieve me greatly, 
 but do not stint yourself for any prudish 
 reasons and you will give me great pleasure." 
 
 "My dear cousin," said Gerard, deeply 
 moved, for his heart could not have been 
 reached in a surer way, "I admire the liberal- 
 ity of your views. Be assured I shall not 
 abuse your kindness, but I appreciate it 
 thoroughly. I am entirely of your opinion 
 in regard to Bassompierre, he was a bon 
 vivant such as we no longer see — I drink this 
 glass of your excellent Madeira to your gener- 
 ous heart." 
 
 Gerard de Combaleu, who was more accus- 
 tomed to bad company than good, had never 
 felt entirely at his ease in his cousin's pres- 
 ence, for her well-bred manners and dignified 
 bearing intimidated him; but a few little en- 
 couragements such as this soon gave him more 
 confidence in himself and he began to grad- 
 ually overcome his embarrassment. In spite 
 of the coarseness of his tastes, he was far from 
 
I08 LA VEUVE 
 
 being indifferent to Marianne's refined beauty; 
 and, in his own way, was very much in love. 
 He stood in great awe, however of the straight- 
 laced restrictions of good society. "The 
 devil take mq," he once admitted confiden- 
 tially to some intimate friends at the Club, 
 "if I know how to act with women of that 
 kind." 
 
 Madame de La Pave seemed to know of 
 Girard's misgivings and, laying aside her 
 usual haughty reserve, made every effort to 
 dispel them. She made tender little speeches 
 to him, put roses in his button-holes and 
 found pretexts for passing her lovely per- 
 fumed hands before his eyes as though she 
 wished to enchant him by some magic spell. 
 
 With such gracious advances on the part of 
 his cousin, it would have been hard for Gerard 
 to continue to be as diffident as he had at 
 first shown himself, but he soon felt embar- 
 rassment of another kind. He was but little 
 versed in the art of making love except to 
 grisettes, and did not know how to respond 
 to Marianne's amiable cajoleries. He always 
 felt that he was running great risks of offend- 
 ing a person of her refined breeding when in 
 
THE WIDOW 109 
 
 his honest heart he had the least intention of 
 anything of the kind, and this fear made him 
 even more reserved than ever. When they 
 were on one of their horseback rides Madame 
 de La Pave, who was no doubt surprised to 
 see her attentions so coldly received, said to 
 him: 
 
 "Gerard, is it really true that you have 
 been so very fast?" 
 
 "Well, my dear cousin, you know how it is 
 — I have been young like the rest of the 
 world." 
 
 "And you are young still, thank Providence ! 
 but you must have been slandered dreadfully.'" 
 
 "Very likely, my cousin." 
 
 "Or perhaps," continued Madame de La 
 Pave, "it is I who have been mistaken — you 
 know that we women have but very vague 
 ideas about such things — but I had heard so 
 often that you were a mauvais sujet that I 
 had formed a terrible opinion of you. I was 
 really afraid to meet you; and there is nothing 
 about you to frighten one, after all." 
 
 "I am very happy, dear cousin, to correct 
 your error." 
 
 "Well no! — you must not be so very happy 
 
no LA VEUVE 
 
 about it. Of course, I am very glad to find 
 that you do not correspond to the idea I had 
 formed of a mauvais sujet, but still I am a 
 little disappointed. You know how curious 
 we women are — the women of our set espec- 
 ially. To us a mauvais sujet is a formid- 
 able, mysterious kind of a personage, of whom 
 the mere thought gives us little chills of terror, 
 and of whom we would expect the most ex- 
 traordinary things. He is a sort of a monster 
 whom we are dreadfully afraid of meeting, 
 and yet who rather disappoints us if he does 
 not present himself to be subdued." 
 
 "Well, thank Heaven! you can see that you 
 have no reason to be alarmed." 
 
 "Oh, none whatever," replied Marianne, as 
 she started off at a gallop. 
 
 A new idea entered Gerard's head as he 
 followed her. His perceptions were not 
 remarkably keen, yet he was not too dull to 
 see the point of his cousin's speech ; which 
 made it plain to him that, in his excessive 
 efforts to observe the proprieties, he had 
 simply succeeded in making himself insipid 
 and uninteresting. 
 
 He remembered having heard from some 
 
THE WIDOW III 
 
 of the gallant beaux of the club that even the 
 most virtuous women have often a secret ad- 
 miration for men whose morals are just suffic- 
 iently questionable to make them interesting. 
 This seemed to him to explain the vexation 
 and disappointment which Madame de La 
 Pave had not been able to hide. It was very 
 evident that, having heard of his reputation 
 as a mauvais sujet, she expected from him, 
 not coarseness nor vulgarity, but greater ani- 
 mation and demonstrativeness of manner, 
 something to make her feel the delightful 
 emotions attending adventure and danger. 
 
 Yes, he had undoubtedly b.een very stupid. 
 He had been too much on his good-behavior 
 . and had simply made himself insipid. He 
 had disappointed this charming little woman 
 who had hoped, for the first time in her life, 
 to be able to rise with him, just a little, 
 ahove the platmdes of conventional love. 
 
 M. de Combaleu was still pondering over 
 his error when he went to dinner, and in the 
 frame of mind in which he found himself, he 
 was very glad to imbibe his cousin's wines 
 with the perfect freedom which she had been 
 so kind as to allow him. He soon began to 
 
112 LA VEUVE 
 
 show the coarse gayety which formed the 
 basis of his character, and which was so fully 
 appreciated at the club. He saw his mother 
 frown, but a look from Marianne reassured 
 him. Madame de La Pave seemed to relish 
 humor a la Rabelais, which, undoubtedly, 
 struck her delicate ears now for the first time. 
 
 After dinner they retired to a cosy little, 
 boudoir where the now exuberant Gerard 
 received from the Jiands of Marianne, first a 
 cigar for which she lighted the match herself, 
 then a cup of coffee and a glass of liqueur. 
 As she performed these little services, he 
 would bow his thanks until his mustache 
 almost touched her hair, murmuring, in a 
 husky voice, compliments which made her 
 smile and blush at the same time. Madame 
 de Combaleu, who saw the young people 
 getting along so well together, was discreet 
 enough to leave, saying that she thought that 
 a walk in the garden would be good for her 
 nerves. 
 
 When Gerard found himself alone with his 
 cousin, he fell heavily upon the divan where 
 she was already seated, and gazed at her at- 
 tentively. His eyes were watery, his cheeks 
 
THE WIDOW EI3 
 
 inflamed and he slightly coughed and raised 
 his head several times as a man does when he 
 can not find words sufficiently strong for the 
 adequate expression of his feelings. Finding 
 himself unable to overcome this sudden 
 deficiency in his vocabulary, Gerard took his 
 cousin's hands and pressed them to his lips 
 with unusual ardor. 
 
 "It seems to me, Gerard," she said, "that 
 you are unusually gay this evening; and that 
 you are rather inclined to be forward. Is it 
 because I have seemed to be disappointed be- 
 cause you are not a mauvais sujetf" 
 
 "My dear cousin, "replied Gerard, "I will 
 admit that I have never before had such a 
 desire to relax a little from the conventional 
 rules of behavior. Can you wonder that I 
 should — you know that you yourself have 
 given me some encouragement?" 
 
 "Oh! I hope that you have understood," 
 said the young woman who appeared to be 
 decidedly ill at ease, and who really was so — 
 "that I was only joking." 
 
 "What, my dear cousin — my beautiful and 
 delightful Marianne ! am I not allowed at this 
 stage of our engagement to place one kiss 
 upon that charming forehead?" 
 
114 LA VEUVE 
 
 She hesitated, and then slowly bowed her 
 head until her brow met his lips. 
 
 Gerard was decidedly too much encouraged 
 by this first victory; and immediately endeav- 
 ored, somewhat violently, to steal a less 
 Platonic kiss. 
 
 Partly offended, but unable to restrain her 
 laughter, Marianne arose from the divan, 
 murmuring some undecided words. 
 
 "Come now, Gerard! compose yourself, I 
 beg of you — seriously — you must not behave 
 in that way!" 
 
 Probably the unfortunate Gerard remem- 
 bered at that time such unfortunate proverbs 
 as "None but the brave deserve the fair" and 
 "Nothing ventured, nothing won;" or, more 
 likely, he remembered nothing and simply 
 obeyed the blind prompting of passion as he 
 encircled the young woman's waist with his 
 arm and pressed her to his bosom with almost 
 brutal force. She made an effort to push him 
 away, and gave vent to a scream, which this 
 time was not in jest, for she was greatly in- 
 censed at such conduct, never having been 
 treated in this way before — perhaps not even 
 knowing that such things were possible. He 
 
THE WIDOW IIS 
 
 kept his hold, however, and drew her towards 
 the divan at the same time kissing her several 
 times on the cheeks, in spite of all the resis- 
 tance she could make. 
 
 "You horrible wretch ! will you let me go ?" 
 she cried; and then escaping by a supreme 
 effort, she ran to the mantelpiece and pulled 
 the bell-rope several times. 
 
 The door was opened instantly and her 
 aunt appeared, followed by two servants. 
 
 It was with great amazement that Madame 
 de Combaleu saw her niece standing, erect, 
 defiant, her hair loose and her cheeks in- 
 flamed; and, in a corner of the room, Gerard 
 sitting mute, pale and crushed. 
 
 "My aunt," said the young woman, "it is 
 to you that I wish to speak." 
 
 The two servants immediately left the room. 
 
 "My aunt," continued Madame de La Pave, 
 "your son has just been guilty of conduct 
 which would be an insult to the meanest 
 servant girl. Never shall a man capable of 
 such vulgarity become my husband — never! 
 — Not one word, my aunt, I declare to you 
 that it is useless! You will have some prep- 
 arations to make — take all the time you wish 
 
 8 Le Veuve 
 
Il6 LA VEUVE 
 
 — but from this moment a home in common 
 for the two of us is entirely out of the question. 
 I shall go to my cousin's in Alencon while you 
 remain here." 
 
 Then quickly rearranging her hair with a 
 deft movement of her hand she left the room 
 with tragic dignity and left mother and son 
 to their own reflections. 
 
 Three quarters of an hour later, having 
 absolutely refused any kind of an interview 
 to her aunt, Marianne ordered her carriage 
 and started on her way to Alen(^on. 
 
 From the confused and evasive answers 
 that Gerard made to her questions, Madame 
 de Combaleu did not learn anything that might 
 lead her to suppose that her licentious and 
 thick-witted son had simply f^en into a_trap 
 that had been very^c3injQingly_jaid__for_him; 
 nor that Madame de La Pave had contrived 
 to have herself treated with a lack of respect 
 for the purpose of providing herself with an 
 excuse for breaking an engagement which no 
 longer served her ends; yet she quickly saw 
 that there must be some sort of , connection 
 between the rupture with Gerard and the 
 sudden return of Major de Fr^meuse, for 
 
THE WIDOW 117 
 
 whom she had always felt that her niece had 
 a secret liking. If anything could add to her 
 horror of the situation, it was to know that 
 this catastrophy, which completely ruined her 
 own hopes, would, in all probability, result 
 in the triumph of her detested neighbor and 
 rival Madame de Fremeuse. Nevertheless, 
 she dared not mention her suspicions to the 
 son, for she well knew that a single impru- 
 dent word might bring about a meeting be- 
 tween that humiliated and exasperated young 
 man and an adversary who was just as cour- 
 ageous and, in all probability, much more 
 skillful. Madame de Combaleu could only 
 nourish her rage in silence; and, hastily mak- 
 ing what preparations were necessary, she 
 left the chSteau the following night. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 For several days Major de Fr^meuse had 
 been thinking of the strange incidents of his 
 ride with Madame de La Pave, and was very 
 much surprised at receiving no further word 
 from her; when, about a week later, a strange 
 rumor began to be circulated in the ;ieighbor- 
 hood. It was said that a terrible scene had 
 taken place at the chateau between Madame 
 de La Pave and her fiance, that an insur- 
 mountable incompatibihty of temperament 
 had been made manifest, in short, that 
 Gerard had been deposed and the engagement 
 broken. 
 
 This news caused Madame de Fremeuse 
 ecstasies of pure joy, for they entirely dis- 
 pelled her anxieties, and at the same time 
 restored all her hopes. Her son heard the 
 announcement with less enthusiasm, though, 
 as a matter of course, he was greatly pleased. 
 
 "I have no doubt," said he, "that though 
 
 she has broken this particular engagement, 
 lis 
 
THE WIDOW 119 
 
 she is likely to marry some one else at any 
 time. It is a consolation, however to know 
 that it will not be so soon after poor Robert's 
 death ; and we may hope that the next time 
 she will display better taste in making her 
 selection. There was something particularly 
 disagreeable in seeing such a beautiful and 
 refined young woman falling into the hands of 
 a brute — 'it was like a horrible dream." 
 
 The idea occurred to him that perhaps 
 Madame- de La Pave, after having taken such 
 a decisive step — and one for which he might 
 be in some part responsible — expected from 
 him some expression of his sympathy and ap- 
 proval , and, for the purpose of performing this 
 act of courtesy and approval he went to the 
 chateau. 
 
 He was ushered into the library where he 
 found Madame de La Pave writing at her desk. 
 
 "Ah," said she, as she arose to meet him, 
 "you have anticipated my intentions; I was 
 in the very act of writing to you." 
 
 They were entirely alone; and she ap- 
 proached him, placing her hand lightly on his 
 sleeve, looked him straight in the eyes and 
 said: 
 
I20 LA VEUVE 
 
 "Well, are you satisfied?" 
 
 "Entirely satisfied," replied Maurice, "and 
 very happy. If I have had anything to do 
 with the step you have taken, I congratulate 
 myself sincerely." 
 
 "You have had everything to do with it," 
 she replied, emphatically; then as he sat 
 down on a low chair, she pointed to the chair 
 in front of her and said: 
 
 "Sit there." 
 
 He obeyed her and she continued: 
 
 "Monsieur, my greatest desire is that you 
 will understand me. Like many other 
 women, I am often fickle and sometimes 
 heartless — my cousin can testify to that — but 
 as a rule, I am honest and sincere enough, 
 as you know already, and shall know still 
 better. Listen then to what I have to say: 
 I loved my husband, perhaps not with all the 
 impassioned tenderness of which I am capa- 
 ble, but I loved him sincerely. I loved him 
 living; and I loved him after his death, until 
 the day on which you told me of his last wish 
 — or rather his last command. You must 
 know. Monsieur de Fremeuse, as well as one 
 person can answer for the feelings of another, 
 
THE WIDOW 121 
 
 that 1 would have been capable of the devo- 
 tion and eternal fidelity to his memory which 
 he asked; but such devotion and such a sacri- 
 fice can have no value nor sweetness unless 
 they are entirely voluntary. My husband, in 
 presuming to place such a charge upon my 
 conscience and such a burden upon my life, 
 showed a lack of confidence in me which I can 
 never pardon. I am obeying him, it is true, 
 but understand well that it is entirely for 
 your sake — not his. After I had misunder- 
 stood and even hated you for a long time, I 
 learned to esteem you greatly; so much so 
 that I would not now do anything for which 
 you would despise me. I have told you the 
 truth, monsieur — the whole truth. You may 
 now judge me as you wish, and do as you 
 wish. I shall always admit that you are in 
 the right." 
 
 As she stopped talking, two tears trembled 
 at the ends of her long lashes and fell upon 
 her cheeks. 
 
 "Madame," said Maurice, as he mastered 
 his own emotion with difficulty, "such an im- 
 passioned soul as yours must be able to under- 
 stand all the weaknesses, all the extrava- 
 
122 LA VEUVE 
 
 gances, of passion. I beg of you to pardon 
 poor Robert who loved you so madly, for my 
 sake — " 
 
 There was at that time such a variety of 
 emotions in the young man's heart, that he 
 was obliged to pause for a moment; then he 
 continued: 
 
 "For my sake, for the sake of the" friend- 
 ship I had for him, and which I must now 
 have for his widow; for from this moment I 
 consecrate myself to you absolutely. I shall 
 always try to be the true and devoted friend 
 you have hoped for." 
 
 "Thank you," was all she said, as she held 
 out her hand. 
 
 Marianne mingled with her most cunning 
 stratagems a sincerity of passion which was, 
 at the same time, an excuse for them and the 
 secret of their success. She had found the 
 means of making Maurice look upon devotion 
 to her as an act of generosity and a charge 
 upon his honor. This devotion brought their 
 friendship to a point which was almost love, 
 and this love, which they were so dangerously 
 near was almost a crime. From that day he 
 belonged to her and it was impossible for him 
 
THE WIDOW 123 
 
 to free himself from the web which she had 
 spun around him. He surrendered himself 
 entirely to this strange liaison, from the 
 charms and the dangers of which he had once 
 thought it necessary to flee. Experience now 
 taught him that he had mistaken neither the 
 charms nor the dangers. He understood 
 now, better than ever before, how difficult it 
 would be to remain on terms of such extreme 
 intimacy with this fascinating young woman 
 without jeopardizing his honor or hers. 
 
 Madame de La Pave was not only a woman 
 of that idealistic grace and irresistible charm 
 of manner which has been the favorite theme 
 of poets ever since the dawn of literature, 
 but she had also the fatal fascingition of a 
 Circ^, a kind of magic beauty which does not 
 appeal to the better instincts of a man's true 
 nature, but to the influence of which all men 
 are subject. She was one of those sorceresses 
 who, in their languid graces, their deep caress- 
 ing eyes and their seductive smiles, seem to 
 hold the secret of unimaginable and voluptu- 
 ous love. The friendship of such women will 
 satisfy no man, but they produce in all who 
 are brought under the influence of their 
 
124 LA VEUVE 
 
 witchery a furious desire of complete pos- 
 session or a crushing and bitter disappoint- 
 ment which lasts until death. 
 
 It is said that certain serpents envelop their 
 victims in a magic spell which, though fatal, 
 is entirely painless, and is not without its 
 own voluptuous secret. Maurice felt himself 
 subdued in such a spell whenever he was in 
 the presence of the young widow. It was a 
 charm against which he made no effort to 
 defend himself, and which made him forget 
 everything but the enchantress ; but he wais 
 no sooner out of her sight, and beyond the 
 hearing of her voice, than the spell was 
 broken, and — merciful Heavens! what was 
 he doing.' What was to be the final end of 
 this nameless liaison which, so far, was inno- 
 cent enough, but which was already becoming 
 the subject of gossip, and endangering the 
 reputation of the woman whose honor should 
 be dearer to him than his own .' And when 
 his furlough should be expired, what then.? 
 Would he go.' Could he leave her now.' 
 Was he going to do that for which he had 
 blamed Robert so much, for the same woman, 
 and without Robert's excuse? Was he, also, 
 
THE WIDOW 125 
 
 ■ going to lay aside his epaulettes and allow his 
 sword to rust for the sake of a woman whom 
 it would be a crime to love? Was not this 
 the sheerest folly and the deepest disgrace ? 
 But, if she asked him, could he refuse her 
 anything? Finally, and above all, was he 
 not wildly in love with her? 
 
 One night as he was returning from the 
 chateau, and, as he was out of sight of the 
 enchantress, being again seized by his scruples 
 and his doubts, he saw a light in the Abbe 
 Demortreux's study window. This light as 
 it fell upon the shrubbery in the yard, gave 
 him an idea of peace which seemed almost 
 divine, and which made him envy the old 
 priest who could spend his declining years in 
 this quiet retreat. He hesitated for an in- 
 stant, and then suddenly entered the yard and 
 knocked at the door of the parsonage. 
 
 The Abb6 Demortreux, armed with a mag- 
 nifying-glass, was busy examining some 
 medals when the servant announced Major 
 de Fremeuse. He welcomed his visitor cor- 
 _ dially, but not without an anxious expression 
 en his face. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Mon.sieur le Cur^, 
 
126 LA VEUVE 
 
 said Maurice, "for disturbing you at such a 
 late hour; but I am so troubled and so un- 
 happy that, I have come once more to ask 
 your advice." 
 
 The old Abbe bowed and waited for him 
 to go on. 
 
 "I have no doubt, that my mother has 
 already told you something of what has passed 
 between Madame de La Pave and me .'" 
 
 The priest bowed again. 
 
 "Undoubtedly I could consult with my 
 mother, whose judgment I highly appreciate, 
 but, under the circumstances, I fear that she 
 would not be an impartial judge; so I have 
 come to you, Monsieur le Cure, in what I 
 have no doubt is the greatest crisis of my life. 
 I have come to ask the opinion of a wise man, 
 a priest and, allow me to say, a friend. Not 
 only my own welfare is concerned, but, per- 
 haps, also that of our neighbor, Madame de 
 La Pave; and, as her confessor and spiritual 
 director, you, if any one, can direct us 
 , properly." 
 
 "Well, my son.?" 
 
 "I have already told you, Monsieur le Cur6, 
 that I was charged to tell Robert de La Pave's 
 
THE WIDOW 127 
 
 last wishes to his wife, and you remember 
 what they were: he forbade her, with tragic 
 solemnity, to marry again. You know also 
 what my relations are to-day with Madame 
 de La Pave, how delicate, equivocal and im- 
 possible they are. Well in the name of 
 Heaven! what must I do — what can I do — 
 and remain an honorable man.'" 
 
 "My son," said the old priest, "I think I un- 
 derstand the situation fully, and it distresses 
 me greatly. I blame neither of you, for you 
 have premeditated nothing. Unavoidable 
 circumstances have brought you together and 
 have put you on a footing of intimate and 
 confidential friendship. It was impossible for 
 this friendship to last; you now love each 
 other, which is a misfortune— a great misfor- 
 tune — but such is the situation, and let us 
 look at it carefully. At the first view, your 
 duty seems to be perfectly plain; summon all 
 your courage, stifle all sentiment, brave re- 
 proaches, tears and even ridicule, and go 
 away never to return; but, if I know Madame 
 de La Pave as well as I think, if you do that 
 she is a lost woman. To revenge herself 
 against you, against me — even against the 
 
128 LA VEUVE 
 
 good God — she would become desperate, pos- 
 sessed — I need not say what she would do, 
 you know it but too well already." 
 
 The Abb6 Demortreux paused for a moment, 
 and seeing that Maurice, who did not raise 
 his head, did not intend to reply, he con- 
 tinued : 
 
 "Now, monsieur, allow me to forget for a 
 moment that I am a priest, and let me speak 
 to you simply as a man. If you remain here, 
 if you attempt to continue with Madame de 
 La Pave those relations of pretended friend- 
 ship, in one month, or in one year, your 
 friend's widow will be your mistress. You 
 know this as well as I. Well, she had better 
 be your wife " 
 
 Maurice became as pale as death. 
 
 "Oh, I know," continued the priest, "how 
 terrible is the obstacle. I do not underesti- 
 mate it. To marry this young woman when 
 her husband, who was your dearest friend, 
 has implored her to never contract a second 
 marriage, and when you yourself heard his 
 supplication and were the trusted messenger 
 whom he selected to deliver it to his wife — 
 all this is terrible — but again I say, that under 
 
THE WIDOW 129 
 
 the circumstances it is the only way in which 
 you can save Robert's widow from dishonor." 
 
 "But, merciful Heaven! Monsieur le Cur6, 
 is there no way in which I can save her honor 
 without sacrificing my own?" 
 
 "None, my son, none whatever. I may be 
 mistaken, but it seems to me that if I had 
 remained in the world and had ever been 
 placed in such a situation, I would rather 
 have sacrificed something of my own honor 
 than endanger that of the woman I loved." 
 
 Maurice sighed deeply as he arose to leave. 
 
 "Pardon me. Monsieur le Cur6," said he, 
 "for having kept you up so late." As he took 
 the old priest's hand at the door he said: 
 
 "It is just as you predicted, 'enemy or ac- 
 complice,' and now I am an accomplice." 
 
 During the restless night which he passed, 
 Maurice de Fr^meuse made a resolution. 
 He would have a final understanding with 
 Madame de La Pave which would settle the 
 matter one way or the other. He had been 
 excusable for not doing this as long as he 
 could delude himself as to the real nature of 
 their so-called friendship, but his consultation 
 with the priest had opened his eyes. If he 
 
I30 LA VEUVE 
 
 undertook to keep up his present relations 
 with her any longer, he would be acting the 
 part of a hypocrite and a coward — anything 
 would be better than that. 
 
 The next morning the weather was beautiful, 
 but in the afternoon the air became somewhat 
 sultry. When Maurice started for the 
 chateau, the sun was still shining brightly, 
 but a dark cloud had appeared in the Western 
 horizon and was spreading itself rapidly over 
 the sky. In the woods and the fields there 
 was that ominous silence of all things which 
 indicated an approaching storm. 
 
 Maurice was told that Madame de La Pave 
 was in the garden. He went to join her 
 there and found her seated on a stone bench 
 with a book in her hands. It was the same 
 bench on which she had sat the night of their 
 quarrel and reconciliation and the place was 
 dear to both of them. This afternoon 
 Madame de La Pave had come there to escape 
 from the extreme heat; but now the sky was 
 entirely covered by the storm cloud, the sun 
 no longer shone and the garden was as silent 
 as a church. The happy smile that came to 
 her lips when she saw him coming gave place 
 
THE WIDOW 131 
 
 to a more serious expression when she noticed 
 the rigid look in his face. 
 
 "You have something to tell me, my friend?" 
 she asked timidly. 
 
 He sat down beside her and, as she fixed 
 her beautiful dark eyes on his face he saw the 
 anxious frightened look in their depths, he 
 was greatly tempted to abandon his resolution; 
 but, gathering up all his courage, he said: 
 
 "Yes, Marianne, I have something to tell 
 you: The existence we are leading now can 
 not last. Your reputation might suffer, and 
 I myself can not endure it; for, if the truth 
 must be told, I love you as a lover and not 
 as a friend. We must come to an under- 
 standing, otherwise you would soon have 
 reason to distrust me, as I already distrust 
 myself. I shall not leave you if you want me 
 to stay; but, if I remain, you must do me the 
 honor of taking my name — of becoming my 
 wife. I know quite well what I am doing — 
 what I propose is a crime — but there is but 
 one alternative. It is for you to choose; I 
 shall be entirely subject to your decision." 
 
 She hid her face in her hands and remained 
 silent for several minutes, her head moving, 
 from side to sid@. then she said: 
 
 9 LeVeure 
 
132 LA VEUVE 
 
 "As far as I am concerned, I love you well 
 enough to do anything; I would not want to 
 give you up; but, if I understand you rightly, 
 you would be very unhappy ?" 
 
 "Very," repeated Maurice. 
 
 She sprang to her feet. 
 
 "Very well then," she cried, "not another 
 sentence! Not a single word ! Go, I wish it! 
 Go, I command you! Farewell!" 
 
 She gave him her two hands and bent her 
 brow towards his face. 
 
 Maurice coldly kissed her hair. 
 
 She gave him one despairing, agonized 
 look and started to leave, but her strength 
 failed her, and she sank to the ground, almost 
 at his feet. 
 
 He took her in his arms and folded her to 
 his bosom, pressing burning kisses upon hei 
 lips. All was over, they were betrothed. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 Madame de La Pave bore her triumph with 
 wise discretion. She had accomplished her 
 purpose, and asked for nothing more. She 
 did not say nor do anything that might lead 
 Maurice to expect that she would ask him to 
 resign from the army; so he simply asked for 
 an extension of his furlough on the occasion 
 of his marraige, which was not refused. 
 
 With her usual delicate tact, the young 
 widow proceeded to let the world know of her 
 engagement with Major de Fr^meuse. Mau- 
 rice remained at home, but Madame de Fr6- 
 meuse, at the solicitation of her future 
 daughter-in-law, took up her residence at the 
 chateau. At the same time, Madame de La 
 Pave began to entertain her neighbors and 
 invited several relatives, among whom there 
 were four young women, to the chlteau. She 
 also persuaded several gentlemen friends from 
 Paris, who were returning from the races at 
 
 Dieuville, to remain; and the old chateau, for 
 133 
 
,134 LA VEUVE 
 
 the first time in many years, was filled with 
 guests. 
 
 The gayety in which Maurice was forced to 
 take part diverted his mind from the burden 
 that was on his conscience; and, since his 
 resolution had been made, he saw that the 
 old priest's argument was entirely unanswer- 
 able, and that he yvas only submitting to a 
 sort of fatal necessity. He thought also of 
 the great happiness of his mother, and, above 
 all, he was sustained by the ardent love with 
 which his heart was filled, and the responsive 
 passion of his adored one; which made sor- 
 row, and even remorse, seem sweet with such 
 a recompense. 
 
 The day of the wedding was fixed for the 
 last Monday in September. When that day 
 arrived the civil and religious ceremonies, 
 according to the custom of the province, were 
 performed on the same morning; and the 
 wedding party left church about one o'clock 
 in the afternoon. As there were a great many 
 relatives and guests present, after a short 
 time spent in the garden, a dance was held 
 in the salon to pass the time that still re- 
 mained before dinner. 
 
THE WIDOW 1 35 
 
 The walls of the salle k manger were elab- 
 orately decorated with flowers; and the 
 dinner, which consisted of some forty courses, 
 was a most sumptuous one, and lasted until 
 late in the evening. The young major and 
 his bride exchanged tender glances from time 
 to time, but were careful not to transgress the 
 decorum which society and the world expect 
 from newly married couples of high rank. 
 Confident as they were of each other's love, 
 they did not need to make a publiq display 
 of their ardor nor to take the world into their 
 confidence. 
 
 Maurice, who was dressed in the uniform 
 of his regiment, seemed the very type of a 
 graceful and well-bred groom. He was re- 
 markably polite to women at all times, but 
 his attentions to his wife sprang from his 
 he^rt. When speaking to her, his most in- 
 significant expressions were words of love 
 and his very silence adoration. None knew 
 this better than she, and her happiness was 
 complete. 
 
 When the guests left the salle a manger, 
 the young bride lost sight of her husband in 
 the attendant confusion. As soon as she 
 
136 LA VEUVE 
 
 noticed that he was gone, she made some 
 inquiries from a servant, who told her that 
 Major de Fremeuse had gone to smoke a cigar 
 in the garden. As the air was very chilly, 
 she was rather uneasy for fear that he would 
 take cold, but she was told that he had 
 thrown his military cloak over his shoulders. 
 
 Maurice, who was tired of the noise and 
 the crowd, had gone to take a solitary smoke 
 on the terrace. After standing there a 
 moment, he descended the steps and walked 
 out upon the main road. Lost in his 
 thoughts, he walked on, leaving the avenue 
 for a narrower path, and soon found himself 
 at the foot of the old stone cross. 
 
 He had avoided the place for softie time, 
 for the cross recalled painful memories; but, 
 to-night, he rather seemed to seek these 
 memories than avoid them. He stood for a 
 long time, entirely motionless; but a mighty 
 tumult was taking place in his mind and in his 
 conscience. He had reached the time when 
 his crime was to become formal and irrevo- 
 cable; and, like a man who awakes from a 
 dream, he saw all the horror of the situation 
 for the first time. The past came up before 
 
THE WIDOW 137 
 
 him ; and, at the foot of the cross, he saw 
 two children kiss each other as they swore 
 eternal love and confidence. He saw also 
 the cabin in the forest of Marshenoir, where 
 his friend had died the death of a hero. He 
 witnessed his despair, and heard his agonized 
 supplication; and then he saw the grateful 
 look that came to his eyes when he had been 
 given the promise of his trusted friend. 
 
 "Do you promise, Maurice?" 
 
 "Yes, I promise." 
 
 "On your honor?" 
 
 "On my honor." 
 
 And it was he who was disturbing that 
 friend's last sleep — who was outraging his very 
 memory. 
 
 And then the young officer threw far away 
 from him, with disgust and repulsion, all the 
 vain arguments and idle sophistries with 
 which he had endeavored to excuse himself. 
 
 He thought only of his honor, which he had 
 always held dearer than anything on earth, 
 and which he had now violated. Would he 
 ever dare to mentionthenameof honor again? 
 Does honor know anything of equivocations 
 and compromises? Did not a man who had 
 
138 LA VEUVE 
 
 broken his word become unfit for the company 
 of honest people? Was he going to lead the 
 life of a hypocrite — No, anything but that. 
 
 The following notice appeared in the Alen- 
 con newspapers two days later: 
 
 "A very tragic event has just occurred 
 which is the cause of the greatest grief to two 
 of the most illustrious families in France. 
 Day before yesterday, September 29th., 
 Major Du Pas-Devant de Fremeuse was 
 married to Madame de La Pave, widow of the 
 late naval lieutenant of that name. After the 
 ceremony, the guests were entertained at the 
 chateau de La Pave; and, after dinner, Major 
 de Fremeuse went, as he said, to smoke a 
 cigar on the terrace. About half an hour 
 later, those who were in the chateau were 
 startled by the report of a pistol which to 
 judge from the sound had been discharged in 
 the park of the chateau. No particular atten- 
 tion was paid to this as the report was sup- 
 posed to have been from the gun of some 
 hunter, the hunting season of the province 
 having lately opened; but at ten o'clock, one 
 
THE WIDOW 139 
 
 of Madame de La Pave's tenants presented 
 himself at the chateau, and brought the dis- 
 tressing news that, as he was passing an old 
 stone cross that stands just outside the grounds 
 of the chateau, he came upon the lifeless body 
 of Major de Fremeuse stretched upon the sod 
 and bathed in his own blood. A small revol- 
 ver, which was identified as one that the 
 deceased was in the habit of carrying about 
 with him, was found within a couple of feet 
 of the corpse. There is not the slightest 
 reason to suppose that the man was murdered. 
 The only possible explanation of the rash act 
 is that the major received a wound in the 
 head at the battle of Mans which must have 
 produced sudden and temporary insanity. It 
 is impossible to even imagine that he could 
 have done the deed in his sober senses; for 
 Major de Fremeuse was a young man of the 
 most brilliant prospects, had that very day, 
 been married to a beautiful woman whom he 
 dearly loved, and was rich in his own name 
 as well as that of his wife. We refrain from 
 mentioning the grief of the Countess de Fr6- 
 meuse, his mother, and her distressed daugh- 
 ter-in-law." 
 
THE MOTHER OF 
 
 A MARCHIONESS, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 On the 14th of April, 1846, the following 
 notice appeared in all the large journals of 
 Paris: 
 
 "A young man, of good family, who is a 
 graduate of a government school, and who 
 has made a special study of mines, foundries 
 and forges, desires to obtain a situation. 
 Write to M. L. M. D. O., Paris." 
 
 Mme. Benoit, the proprietress of the forges 
 of Arlange, was in Paris at that time ; but 
 she did not read the newspapers. Why 
 should she have read them? She was not in 
 search of a superintendent for her forges, but 
 of a husband for her daughter. 
 
 Mme. Benoit was, at that time, a remarka- 
 bly amiable woman, in the full enjoyment of 
 that second youth which nature does not 
 
 accord to all women, and which usually comes 
 141 
 
142 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 between the fortieth and fiftieth years. Her 
 plumpness gave her the appearance of a 
 flower in full bloom, but did not by any means 
 suggest a flower that has begun to fade. Her 
 little eyes shone with as much brightness as 
 twenty years before; her hair had not turned 
 gray, nor had her teeth grown long, while 
 her arms and shoulders might have been the 
 envy of many a young girl. Her foot was 
 rather crushed beneath the weight it had to 
 carry, but her little hand, covered with rings 
 and bracelets, looked like a jewel among 
 jewels. 
 
 The inner qualities of Mme. Benoit were in 
 perfect harmony with her external ones. Her 
 mind was as bright as her eyes, and her face 
 was not more open than her character; She 
 was generous to a fault, and, like all generous 
 people, she was happy. To those who won- 
 dered at her invariable gayety and open- 
 l^anded benevolence, she would say: 
 
 "Que voulez-vous? I^was born happy, and 
 I like to make others happy, also. There has 
 been nothing unpleasant about my past, ex- 
 cept a few hours that I have long since for- 
 gotten; my present is like an unclouded sky, 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 1 43 
 
 and as for the future, if it holds anything un- 
 pleasant for me, it will be time enough to 
 worry about that when it comes. You see 
 that I would have to be insane to complain 
 of destiny, or to be otherwise than satisfied 
 with the world." 
 
 As there is no such thing as perfection in 
 this world, Mme. Benoit had a fault; but that 
 fault was an innocent one whida never injured 
 anyone but herself: She was passionately am- 
 bitious. I regret that I can not find a more 
 suitable word to express my meaning, for the 
 ambition of this good woman had nothing in 
 common with the ambition of other people. 
 She coveted neither riches nor honors; the 
 good forges of Arlanges brought her in an 
 annual revenue of fifty thousand francs with 
 invariable regularity, and Mme. Benoit was 
 not the woman to accept any favors of the 
 government of 1846. What then did she 
 desire.' Nothing much; so little that you 
 will not understand, unless I give you a short 
 account of the earlier years of Mme. Benoit, 
 n^e Lopinot. 
 
 Gabrielle-Auguste-Eliane Lopinot was born 
 in the heart of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, 
 
144 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 on the banks of the little stream of the Rue 
 du Bac, which Madame de Stael preferred to 
 all the rivers of Europe. Her parents, who 
 were bourgeois to their finger-tips, were 
 notion dealers and amassed a colossal fortune. 
 M. Lopinot practiced some strange business 
 principles; he made it a rule never to send 
 in a bill until it was asked for; and it was 
 never said that he brought a delinquent debtor 
 to justice. His prices were so arranged that 
 those who paid made up for those who did 
 not, which arrangement was satisfactory to all 
 the parties concerned. The estimable mer- 
 chant was surrounded by illustrious person- 
 ages, some of whom robbed him while the 
 others allowed themselves to be robbed, and 
 he learned, gradually, to mistrust them all. 
 He was very humble and respectful at his 
 shop, but at home he would astound his wife 
 and daughter by the pessimism of his opinions 
 and the audacity of his maxims. "I am very 
 fond of marquises," he would say, "and they 
 are very pleasant people to do business with, 
 but, under no circumstances, would I have 
 one for a son-in-law." At which blasphemous 
 utterance, his wife felt it almost necessary to 
 cross herself. 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 1 45 
 
 Mme. Lopinot was not of her husband's 
 opinion. She did not see any reason why 
 noblemen should be objectionable as sons-in- 
 law, and, as all people have their particular 
 fancies, she even preferred a marquis. As 
 for Mile. Lopinot, when she was twelve years 
 old a great name had a strange fascination for 
 her ears; and, at fifteen, she had a profound 
 respect for the Faubourg Saint-Germain; that 
 is to say, for that incomparable aristocracy 
 which considers itself superior to the balance 
 of human kind by mere right of birth. When 
 she arrived at a marriageable age, her first 
 thought was that perhaps a lucky stroke of 
 fortune might make it possible for her to enter 
 those great houses which she had never seen 
 except from the outside, and associate on 
 terms of equality with the grandes dames 
 whom she hardly dared to look in the face. 
 
 "After all," she thought, "my face and my 
 dot should be sufficient to make the conquest 
 of some count, or duke or marquis." Her 
 ambition aspired in particular to a marquisate 
 and for a very good reason; there were 
 counts and dukes who had received their 
 peerages but lately, and who were not re- 
 
146 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 ceived in the Faubourg, whereas there have 
 been no marquises created since the time 
 of Moli^re. 
 
 It is probable that if she had been left alone 
 she would have found her marquis, but she 
 lived under her mother's guardianship, in 
 profound seclusion, where M. Lopinot came, 
 from time to time, to offer the hand of a mer- 
 chant or a notary. She refused all offers with 
 great disdain until the year 1829; but, one 
 day, she realized that she was already twenty- 
 five, and she suddenly decided to accept M. 
 Morel, the proprietor of the Arlange forges. 
 He was a very worthy man, whom she could 
 have loved if he had been a marquis ; but he 
 died in 1830, six months after the birth of his 
 daughter. The pretty widow was so greatly 
 interested in the revolution of July that she 
 almost forgot to weep for her husband. Busi- 
 ness matters called her to Arlange, where she 
 remained until 1832, in which year both her 
 parents died of the cholera. She returned to 
 Paris; sold her father's shop, and bought, a 
 house in the Rue Saint-Dominique, between 
 those of the Count de Preux and Marshall de 
 Lens. 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 1 47 
 
 It was not without a great deal of pride, 
 that she found herself and her daughter resid- 
 ing in a splendid house, with a count on one 
 side and a marshal on the other. Her furni- 
 ture was more costly than that of her neigh- 
 bors; her conservatory was larger, and her 
 horses were of better blood; still she would 
 willingly have given furniture, conservatory 
 and horses for the privilege of being a little 
 more neighborly. The walls of her garden 
 were not more than three metres high, and, 
 in the quiet summer nights, she could hear 
 voices, sometimes in the count's garden, 
 sometimes in the marshal's; but, unfortu- 
 nately, she was not permitted to take part in 
 the conversation. 
 
 One morning, the gardener brought her a 
 parrot which he had caught on a tree in the 
 garden. She blushed with pleasure, for she 
 knew the bird belonged to the marshal. She 
 did not think of allowing any one else to 
 return it, and, braving all damage that the 
 bird might do with beak and claws, she took 
 it home herself; but she was met by a fat 
 butler who received the parrot on the steps 
 and thanked her profusely. A few days later, 
 
 10 La Veuve 
 
148 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 a toy balloon which belonged to the count's 
 children fell in her yard. For fear of being 
 thanked by another servant, she sent her maid 
 with the balloon and a very clever letter, 
 written in the most aristocratic style. The 
 letter was answered by a governess, and the 
 pretty widow — she was then in the height of 
 her beauty — gained nothing by her kindness. 
 
 "It is very ridiculous," said she, "I may 
 enter No. 57 as much as I please, but I am 
 not allowed in 55 or 59 for a quarter of an 
 hour." Her only acquaintances in the Fau- 
 bourg were a few debtors of her father, whom 
 she never asked for money. In return for 
 such delicate consideration, these illustrious 
 people sometimes received her in the morn- 
 ing. After twelve o'clock, she could dress in 
 deshabille; all her social duties were attended 
 to. 
 
 Business matters called her away from this 
 intolerable life; and, at Arlange, she found 
 what she had vainly sought for in Paris, the 
 key to the Faubourg Saint-Germain. M. le 
 Marquis de Kerpry, captain of the second 
 regiment of dragoons, was visiting one of her 
 neighbors. He was a man about forty years 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 1 49 
 
 old, who had the reputation of being a poor 
 officer and a bon vivant. He was celebrated 
 for his debts, his duels, and his intrigues. "I 
 have caught rtiy bird," thought the beautiful 
 Eliane, and she began at once to make love 
 to the marquis, who, two months later, sent 
 in his resignation to the Minister of War, and 
 led the widow of M. Morel to the altar. 
 
 Notice of the marriage was published, in the 
 lOth arondissement of Paris and in the Com- 
 mune of Arlange, in due observance of the 
 law. The act de naissance of the marquis, 
 which had been written during the Reign of 
 Terror, mentioned only the vulgar name of 
 Benoit, but there was a certificate of a notary 
 attached stating that, "for time out of mind," 
 M. Benoit had been known as the Marquis de 
 Kerpry. 
 
 The new marchioness began by opening her 
 salon to the Faubourg Saint-Germain of the 
 neighborhood, for this Faubourg extends to 
 the very frontiers of France. After having 
 astounded all the country gentry of Arlange 
 with her elegance, she wanted to go to Paris 
 to take her revenge upon the past, and told 
 her project to her husband. The captain 
 
I so THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 knitted his eybrows and declared that he was 
 very comfortable in Arlange; that the cooking 
 was to his taste; the wine-cellar was good, 
 and the hunting excellent; he asked for 
 nothing more. The Faubourg SaintjGermain, 
 he said, was a country as unknown to him as 
 if it were in America; he had neither rela- 
 tions, friends nor acquaintances there. "Mer- 
 ciful Heaven thought poor Eliane, "is it 
 possible that I have married the only marquis 
 in the world who is not known in the Fau- 
 bourg Saint-Germain?" 
 
 But this was not her only trial ; she noticed, 
 before long, that her husband drank absinthe 
 four times a day; not to mention another 
 liqueur called Vermouth, which came from 
 Paris for his personal use. The Captain's 
 reason cotild not always resist the effects of 
 these repeated libations, and when he recov- 
 ered his senses, he was usually in a very ill 
 humor; so much so, that Eliane soon began 
 to realize that the life of a marchioness was 
 not what it was represented to be. 
 
 One morning, the captain was paying the 
 penalty for having been too convivial the 
 night before; his eyes were heavy and his 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS I51 
 
 head ached. His wife was standing before a 
 samovar, pouring out cup after cup of tea, 
 when a servant came to announce M. le 
 .Compte de Kerpry. The captain, sick as he 
 was, sprang suddenly to his feet. 
 
 "Did you not tell me that you have no rel- 
 atives?" asked Eliane, somewhat astonished. 
 
 "I know of none, "replied the captain, "and 
 the devil take me; but we will see." 
 
 He smiled disdainfully when he saw a young 
 man, about twenty years old, whose face was 
 almost effeminate in its beauty. The count 
 was of ordinary height, but so frail and deli- 
 cate of build that, had it not been for a small 
 brown mustache on his upper lip, he might 
 have been taken for a girl disguised in boy's 
 clothes. His large blue eyes glanced about 
 the room with a sort of timidity, and he 
 blushed deeply when they fell upon the fair 
 Eliane. 
 
 "Monsieur," said he to the captain, 
 "although I have not the honor of your ac- 
 quaintance, I have come to speak to you 
 about family affairs. As our conversation 
 will be long, and very likely tedious, I am 
 afraid madame will not find it interesting." 
 
152 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 "You are mistaken, monsieur," replied 
 Eliane, "the Marchioness de Kerpry should 
 know all the affairs of the family, and, since 
 you are related to my husband — " 
 
 "I do not know about that, madame, but it 
 is that which I have come to discuss." Turn- 
 ing towards the captain, he said: 
 
 "Monsieur, I am the eldest son of the Mar- 
 quis de Kerpry, who lives in the Rue Saint- 
 Dominique and is well known in the Faubourg 
 Saint-Germain." 
 
 "What good rfortune!" exclaimed Eliane, 
 involuntarily. 
 
 The count replied by a ceremonious bow 
 and continued: 
 
 "My father, my grandfather and my great 
 grandfather were only sons, and, as there are 
 not two branches to the family, you will pardon 
 me for having been astonished when I read the 
 announcement of the marriage df Marquis de 
 Kerpry." 
 
 "Had I not the right to get married.?" asked 
 the captain, as he rubbed his eyes. 
 
 "I did not say that, monsieur. I have at 
 home all the papers which establish my right 
 to the name of Kerpry. If you are related to 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 153 
 
 me, as I sincerely hope, I have no doubt that 
 you, also, have some family papers.'' 
 
 "What is the use? papers prove nothing, 
 and all the world knows who I am." 
 
 "But, monsieur, very little is necessary, to 
 prove a substantial claim; it suffices that 
 there be an act de naissance with — " ' 
 
 "Monsieur, my act de naissance bears the 
 name of Benoit, because it was written during 
 the Reign of Terror; do you understand.'" 
 
 "Perfectly, monsieur, and, in spite of that 
 fact, I still retain the hope of being your 
 relative. Were you born in Kerpry, or the 
 suburbs V 
 
 "Kerpry, Kerpry.' Where is Kerpry?" 
 
 "Why, where it has always been; three 
 leagues from Dijon, on the road to Paris. 
 
 "How does that concern me, since Robes- 
 pierre sold the family rights?" 
 
 "You have been wrongly informed, mon- 
 sieur. It is true that the chateau was put 
 up for sale, but there were no bidders, and 
 His Majesty Louis XVHI was gracious enough 
 to give it back to my father." 
 
 The captain had been gradually rousing 
 himself from his stupor, and at this last intel- 
 
I 54 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 ligence, he became completely awake. He 
 stood on his feet and, shaking his fist in the 
 count's face, he said: 
 
 "My little monsieur, for forty years I have 
 known no other name than that of Kerpry, 
 and he who takes it from me must have a 
 more skillful hand than I!" 
 
 The count's face became pale with anger, 
 but, recollecting that Eliane was present, he 
 simply said. 
 
 "My great monsieur, as trial by wager of 
 battle has gone out of fashion, permit me to 
 return to Paris; the Tribunal shall decide 
 which of us is usurping the name of the other." 
 
 Thereupon, he made a formal bow to 
 Eliane, another to the pretended marquis, and 
 turning on his heel, he was out of the house 
 before the captain thought of detaining him. 
 
 The tea in the samovar was no longer boil- 
 ing; but it was not that neglect on the part 
 of Eliane that caused the unpleasantness be- 
 tween her and her husband. Naturally, she 
 wished to know whether or not she was a 
 marchioness; and when she asked the simple 
 question, the impetuous captain, who had ex- 
 hausted all his patience in his conversation 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 1 5 5 
 
 with the count, forgot himself to .such an ex- 
 tent as to strike the most beautiful woman in 
 the province. It was to this incident, in 
 particular, that Mme. Benoit alluded when 
 she spoke of the few unpleasant hours in her 
 life, which she had since forgotten. 
 
 The suit of Kerpry versus Kerpry was begun 
 at once. It was in vain that M. Benoit re- 
 peated, in the person of his attorney, that he 
 had always been known as the Marquis de 
 Kerpry; he was sentenced to sign himself 
 Benoit and to pay the costs. The day on 
 which he received notice of his defeat, he 
 wrote the young count a vulgar and insulting 
 letter; and, the next Sunday at eight o'clock 
 in the morning, he was carried home on a 
 stretcher, with ten inches of steel in his body. 
 
 He had fought a duel; and the count's 
 sword had broken in the wound. Eliane, 
 who was still asleep when he arrived, reached 
 his bed just in time to receive his apologies 
 and his adieux. 
 
 If all this had not raised a commotion in 
 the neighborhood, the province would have 
 ceased to be provincial. The scandal was 
 the sole topic of conversation in Arlange for 
 
IS6 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 some time, and some of the ladies were 
 greatly distressed because they could not take 
 back the visits they had made on the false 
 marchioness. The widow heard what was 
 said but she was too greatly distressed to pay 
 any attention. It was not the loss of Benoit 
 that she mourned, so much as her misplaced 
 confidence, her ruined hopes and her impo- 
 tent ambition. Through the smoke of her 
 forges, she gazed at the Faubourg Saint-Ger- 
 main as the exiled Eve looked back upon 
 Paradise. One morning, she was seated on 
 a rustic bench in her garden weeping over her 
 sorrows, when her little daughter ran by her 
 in hot pursuit of a butterfly. She caught the 
 child by the dress and kissed her several times, 
 reproaching herself for having thought less of 
 her daughter than of her own troubles. When 
 she had done caressing her, she gazed intently 
 into the child's face and saw that little Lucile 
 already gave promise of great beauty, of the 
 most aristocratic type. Eliane kissed the 
 child again, and dried her tears; from that 
 day she wept no more. 
 
 "Where have my eyes been.'" she murmured, 
 is the old smile came back to her lips; "all 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS IS7 
 
 is not lost; everything may yet be arranged 
 — shall be arranged! It will take time and 
 patience; but those proud doors shall yet be 
 opened to receive me. I shall never be a 
 marchioness, that is true — I have'had enough 
 of marriage, and I shall not be caught again 
 — but there is the marchioness in the garden, 
 staining her mouth with strawberries. My 
 experience will be of use to me; I will choose 
 her a marquis, a real one, and I will be the 
 real mother of a real marchioness. She will 
 be received everywhere, and I also; dined 
 everywhere, and I also; she will dance with 
 dukes, and I — will look on." 
 
 From that day, her greatest care was to 
 train her little daughter for the role of a mar- 
 chioness. She dressed her like a doll; taught 
 her to curtesy, and to make various grimaces 
 a la grande dame, before the child had learned 
 her alphabet. Unfortunately, little Lucile did 
 not live in the Rue de Bac: she was wakened 
 each morning by the songs of the birds and 
 not the rumbling of carriages; she saw more 
 peasants in blouses than lackies in liveries, 
 and she paid no more attention to the lessons 
 her mother gave her in Faubourg manners 
 
I $8 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 than Eliane had paid to the cavil of M. Lopinot 
 against marquises. Mme. Benoit might teach 
 and scold all she pleased, the greatest pleas- 
 ures of the future marchioness were to fight 
 with the little girls of the village, and to roll 
 in the sand in her best dresses; to steal the 
 eggs from the coop, and make a huge mastiff 
 drag her about, while she held on to his tail. 
 Her mother was greatly distressed to find in 
 her no symptoms of vanity nor pride, nor even - 
 of the most innocent coquetry. She waited 
 impatiently for the day when her daughter 
 would mistrust some one, but Lucile opened 
 her heart to every one, including Margot, the 
 milk maid, and the workmen of the forges. 
 
 •Mme. Benoit was so impatient to begin 
 life in the Faubourg, that she would have mar- 
 ried her daughter at fifteen if such a thing 
 had been possible; but, at fifteen, Lucile was 
 still a child. It is a well known fact that 
 children of the provinces mature later than 
 those of the cities, and, undoubtedly, it is for 
 the same reason that wild flowers bloom later 
 than those of the conservatories. At sixteen 
 however, Lucile began to develop. She was 
 still rather thin, but her face was pretty, and, 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS I 59 
 
 on the whole, she was attractive enough, in her 
 mother's opinion, to become the bride of a 
 marquis. One morning, Mme. Benoit said 
 to her: 
 
 "I am going to Paris to find a marquis* for 
 you to marry." 
 
 "Yes, mamma," she replied, without the 
 least objection, for she had known for a long 
 time that she was destined to marry a mar- 
 quis. She had but one uneasiness on the 
 subject: in the salon of one of her mother's 
 friends, she had seen the portrait of a marquis. 
 He was a little old man, attired in the costume 
 of the time of Louis XIV, with knee breeches, 
 shoes with gold buckles, a plumed hat and a 
 sword in his hand. This picture was so vivid 
 in her memory that it appeared before her 
 mind's eye at the mere name of a marquis. 
 The poor child thought all marquises were 
 made on the same design, and wondered how 
 she could keep from laughing in church when 
 she gave her hand to such a husband. 
 
 In the meantime, her mother was on the 
 hunt of a marquis who did not wear knee 
 breeches, and she was not long in finding one. , 
 Of all her father's debtors, the most amiable 
 
l6o THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 was the old Baron de Subressac; not only was 
 he always at home when she called, but he 
 sometimes did her the honor of taking break- 
 fast at her house tete-a-tete, such familiari- 
 ties being permissable to a man of seventy- 
 five. 
 
 One morning, after the baron had just 
 finished the last glass of a bottle of Tokay, 
 Mme. Benoit said: 
 
 "Monsieur le baron, do you ever have any- 
 thing to do with arranging marriages?" 
 
 "Never, my dear," — he called her "My dear" 
 in a paternal sort of a way — "I leave that in- 
 teresting occupation to the women." 
 
 "But, monsieur le baron, supposing that 
 you could render a service to two of your 
 friends?" 
 
 "If you were one of them, my dear, I would 
 do anything you would ask." 
 
 "Well, monsieur le baron, I know a young 
 girl of sixteen who is pretty, well-bred, and 
 who has never been to a boarding school — in 
 fact she is an angel. There is no use of being 
 mysterious; I am speaking of my daughter. 
 For her dot, she will have, in the first place, 
 this house; then four hunderd hectares of 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS l6l 
 
 land in the province; and, finally, the forges, 
 which bring in a revenue of one hundred and 
 fifty thousand francs in the dullest years. 
 From that, we must deduct fifty thousand 
 francs a year for my own use, which, added 
 to a little property which I hold in my own 
 right, will suffice for my modest needs." 
 
 "All that is very grand." 
 
 "Listen: for reasons which I can not ex- 
 plain to you, my daughter must marry a mar- 
 quis. I will not be very particular in regard 
 to age, beauty, intelligence or any exterior 
 qualities; what I want is a marquis whose 
 title is unquestionable; who is known every- 
 where in the Faubourg, and who will be re- 
 ceived everywhere, with his wife and me. 
 Do you know, monsieur le baron, a marquis 
 who is worthy of a pretty wife, and one hun- 
 dred thousand francs of an income.?" 
 
 "On my word, my dear, it just happens that 
 I do. If your daughter accepts him, she will 
 wed a man whom I love as if he were my own 
 son. I am' giving you much more than you 
 ask." 
 
 "Really.'" 
 
 "In the first place, he is young; only 
 twenty-eight." 
 
1 62 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 "That is but a detail; what next?" 
 
 "He is very handsome." 
 
 "Vanity of vanities!" 
 
 "Your daughter will not say so. Heisverj 
 intelligent." 
 
 "A useless quality in the household, and in 
 society." 
 
 "He is well educated; a graduate of the 
 Ecole Polytechnique. "Besides, he has made 
 some special studies that will not come out of 
 place in — " 
 
 "What next, monsieur le baron.'" 
 
 'In regard to his fortune, he fills the pro- 
 gram exactly; he left the jfecole Polytechnique 
 because — " 
 
 "We will pardon his poverty, monsieur le 
 baron." 
 
 "The last time I saw him, the poor boy was 
 thinking of advertising for a situation." 
 
 "His situation is found; but tell me, mon- 
 sieur le baron, is he very noble.?" 
 
 "As noble as Charlemagne; one of his an- 
 cestors came near being made king of Antioch 
 in 1098." 
 
 "And his connection.'" 
 "All the Faubourg." 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 1 63 
 
 "Is his name well known?" 
 
 "Like that of Henry IV. I am speaking of 
 the Marquis d'Outreville; you must have 
 heard the name." 
 
 "I think I have; it is a pretty one. I will 
 have a marble slab put over the parte cocker e 
 ' Hotel d'Outreville.' But will he accept my 
 daughter.? Will it not be considered a mes- 
 alliancef" 
 
 "Ah, my dear, a man does not make a 
 mesalliance. I understand that a young lady, 
 whose name is Mile. -Noaille, or Mile. 
 Choiseule, does not like to have it changed to 
 Mme. Mignolet; but a man keeps his name, 
 and loses nothing. Besides, the Marquis 
 d'Outreville has none of the prejudices of his 
 caste. I will see him this very day, and re- 
 port to-morrow." 
 
 "Do better than that, monsieur le baron; if 
 you find him willing, bring him here to dine. 
 Has he family papers, a geneological tree.'" 
 
 "Undoubtedly." 
 
 "Try to bring them with you." 
 
 "Never mind, my dear, I will come myself 
 one of these days and attend to all that. Au 
 revoir. " 
 
 11 La Veuve 
 
164 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 The baron started for No. 34, Rue Saint- 
 Benoit, which is a large lodging house occu- 
 pied, at that time, by students. He mounted 
 the steps to the second story and knocked at 
 the door of room No. 9. The marquis, who 
 was in his shirt-sleeves, opened the door. He 
 was a handsome young man; very tall, but 
 admirably proportioned. The delicate shape 
 of his hands and feet indicated that his ances- 
 tors had been people of leisure for centuries. 
 He had a well-shaped head; large blue eyes; 
 a nose proudly arched, the nostrils of which 
 trembled at the least emotion. His mouth 
 was father large, but his teeth were white 
 and regular. His thick black mustache dis- 
 played the ripe color of his lips to great ad- 
 vantage. On the whole, he was in everv way 
 a desirable parti. 
 
 When the baron entered the room, the 
 young man was busy covering a large draught- 
 ing-board with China ink. On the bottom of 
 the board was written: "Plan and Design 
 for a Fuel-Saving Furnace." The table was 
 covered with designs of different kinds, and 
 books on mining, engineering and various in- 
 dustrial subjects. Besides the table, the 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 1 65 
 
 room contained a small bed, half a dozen 
 cane-bottom chairs, an arm-chair, upholstered 
 in red velvet, a pair of red curtains, a small 
 book case, filled with books, a portrait of 
 Lafayette and one of General Foy, besides 
 various articles of bric-a-brac. 
 
 "My son," said the baron, "it is eight long 
 days since I have seen you; how have you 
 been prospering?" 
 
 "Splendidly, monsieur; my note in the 
 papers brought me a situation. One of my 
 old schoolmates, who is superintending the 
 construction of the mines at Poullaoen, guessed 
 my name beneath the initials. He recom- 
 mended me to his employers j and they have 
 offered me a situation of three thousand francs 
 a year to begin the ist. of May. It was just 
 in time, for I have changed my last bill of a 
 hundred francs. I will leave in two weeks 
 for Brittany. Poullaoen is an unpleasant place, 
 where it rains ten months in the year; and I 
 am very fond of the sunshine, but I will have 
 an opportunity to continue my studies and 
 make my experiments; it is a great opening." 
 
 "Then, I have come at a bad time; I had 
 something else to propose." 
 
1 66 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 "State it, at any rate; I have not yet ac- 
 cepted." 
 
 "How would you like to get married?" 
 
 The marquis made a gesture expressing com- 
 plete disdain of the proposition. 
 
 "You are very good to take so much interest 
 in me," said he to the baron; "but I have 
 never thought of matrimony; I haven't time. 
 You know how much I have to do: science is 
 a, jealous mistress." 
 
 "Ta, ta, ta !" laughed the baron. "Let us 
 be sensible; you are twenty-eight years old; 
 and you live here like an old book- worm. I 
 have come to offer you the hand of a young 
 girl who is clever, well-bred, pretty and six- 
 teen years old, and this is how I am received." 
 
 A bright flash lighted up Gaston's blue eyes 
 for a moment, but it was as quickly gone- 
 "A thousand thanks, monsieur le baron," he 
 replied; "but I cannot spare the time. Mar- 
 riage would involve duties which are not to 
 my taste, and occupations which would 
 simply bore me." 
 
 "It would do nothing of the kind. The 
 father has been dead for fifteen years; the 
 family is made up of a mother, who is an 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 1 67 
 
 excellent bourgeoise, in spite of her preten- 
 sions, and a charming daughter. To give you 
 an idea of the mother's originality, I will tell 
 you that I am charged to bring you to dine 
 to-morrow at her house, if you are willing to 
 consider the proposition You see that all 
 ceremony has been left aside." 
 
 "Thank you, monsieur, but I have Poul- 
 laoen in my mind." 
 
 "What a man! You are offered, for B.dot, 
 a house in the Rue Saint-Dominique; four 
 hundred hectares of provincial lands, and an 
 income of a hundred thousand francs. Will 
 you get so much at Poullaoen.'" 
 
 "No, but I will be in my natural element; 
 would you offer a fish an income of a hundred 
 thousand francs to live on land?" 
 
 "Very well; we will say nothing more about 
 it; but I thought it just as well to let you 
 know. I have some visits to make, so au 
 revoir. You will not leave without coming 
 to bid me farewell.'" 
 
 The baron walked toward the door with a 
 malicious smile on his lips; just as he was 
 crossing the threshold, he turned and said: 
 
 "By the way, I forgot to mention that the 
 
1 68 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 hundred thousand francs are the annual profits 
 of a magnificent forge in the provinces." 
 
 The expression of Gaston's face changed at 
 once. "A forge! Am I to marry a forge.' 
 That is different. Allow me to stop for you to 
 morrow; we will go to dine at my future 
 mother-in-law's." 
 
 "No, no; perhaps you had better go to 
 PouUaoen." 
 
 "My old friend!" 
 
 "Very well then, to-morrow." 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 As soon as the baron had left, Gaston 
 d'Outreville threw himself in his arm-chair, 
 buried his face in his hands, and reflected for 
 such a length of time that the China ink had 
 plenty of time to dry. What does this worthy 
 woman mean, he asked himself, by offering 
 me her daughter and a hundred thousand 
 francs of an income? Most young men would 
 not have found the situation so wonderful; 
 they would simply have attributed the mag- 
 niiicent offer to their personal attractions; 
 but Gaston was as absolutely devoid of vanity 
 as Lucile was of coquetry. The only explana- 
 tion that occurred to him was that Mme. 
 Benoit wanted a well-bred son-in-law to 
 manage her forges. "Some one has told her 
 of my studies and my patents," he thought. 
 "I was quite well known in the Faubourg be- 
 fore I realized the vanity and the shallowness 
 of that gilded society. She evidently needs 
 a man in the family ; a mother and her daugh- 
 169 
 
I70 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 ter do not make a manager for the forges. 
 Who knows but the business is failing and 
 the enterprise in danger? Well, if it is, we 
 will put it on its feet again, that is all !" This 
 meditation over, he took up the bottle of 
 China ink again and continued his task with 
 conscientious care. 
 
 The next morning, he took a walk in the 
 gardens of the Luxembourg which lasted until 
 breakfast time. In the afternoon, he went 
 to a public library and turned over all the 
 periodicals of the last month; it was a long 
 time since he had dissipated to such a reckless 
 extent. "It is well," he thought, "that one 
 does not need to get married often; there 
 would be but little work done." At five 
 o'clock he began his toilette, which took a 
 long time, and at half past six he presented 
 himself at the baron's lodging. He had 
 hoped that his old friend would tell him how 
 it came that Mme. Benoit had been , so 
 gracious as to choose him for her son-in-law, 
 but the baron kept up an appearance of 
 mystery and wisdom which would have done 
 credit to an oracle. When they arrived at 
 the house in the Rue Saint-Dominique, they 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS I /I 
 
 saw two workmen perched upon ladder^ who 
 were busy measuring something above the 
 porte cochere. "What do you suppose," asked 
 the baron, "that those men are doing up 
 there ? They are taking the measure for a 
 marble slab, upon which will be written, 
 'Hotel d'Outreville.'" 
 
 "That is a pleasant jest," replied' Gaston, 
 as he blushed painfully. 
 
 "You do not believe me? Well, just stop 
 a minute. Hola! there. Monsieur Renaudot; 
 is it not you that I see up there.'" 
 
 "Yes, monsieur le baron," replied the 
 marble-cutter, as he quickly descended the 
 ladder. 
 
 "How long do you think it will take you to 
 make the slab.?" 
 
 "A month, at least, because the coat of 
 arms is to be in bas-relief." 
 
 "How so.' you were but two weeks in mak- 
 ing a slab for the Marquis de Croix-Maugars." 
 
 "Ah, monsieur le baron, the d'Outreville 
 arms are of a much more complicated design." 
 
 "That is true. Good-night, M. Renaudot." 
 
 "What do you think now, skeptic?" 
 
 "My dear friend, am I one of the characters 
 in a fairy tale?" 
 
172 THE' MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 " It is something like 'Puss in Boots, ' for 
 there is a marquis in it." 
 
 "I am greatly complimented. 
 
 "Or like the 'Sleeping Beauty, ' since the 
 marchioness, who has never heard of you is 
 sleeping away, in serene unconsciousness, in 
 the depths of the forest of Arlange." 
 
 "What! is she not here?" 
 
 "We will send her word that you regret 
 that you were unable to see her." 
 
 Madame Benoit received her guests with 
 open arms — figuratively speaking. As con- 
 versation flows more smoothly at the table 
 than anywhere else, but little time was spent 
 in the salon. Gaston sat next to Madame 
 Benoit, and he at once began to talk about 
 Arlange; she answered with something about 
 the Faubourg, from which she passed on to 
 questions of titles, pedigrees, etc. , and Gaston 
 made a circuit and came back to the forges. 
 This was kept up for some time and no one 
 was enlightened, not even the baron, who, 
 availing himself of the opportunity to indulge 
 himself in the only pleasure possible to a man 
 of his age, was doing greater honors to the 
 dinner than to the conversation. 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 1 73 
 
 Mme. Benoit knew nothing about Gaston's 
 love for mechanics, and he did not suspect her 
 passion for the Faubourg. He said to himself: 
 "Either, from, bourgeoise vanity, she wants 
 to avoid the subject which she is most inter- 
 ested in, or else she does not wish to tire the 
 baron, who is not listening to us." 
 
 Mme. Benoit was thinking: "The popr boy 
 thinks he is doing me a kindness by talking 
 of things with which I am familiar; he does 
 not dream that I know as much about the 
 Faubourg as he." 
 
 In spite of this misunderstanding, Madame 
 Benoit managed to find out that Gaston had 
 dined at a certain great house, and that he 
 had danced at another; that he was "theed" 
 
 and "thoud" by the Duke de and related 
 
 to the Count de ; that he had played at 
 
 ten years with the Marquis de , and 
 
 ridden at twenty with the Prince de . 
 
 All this she inscribed in her memory. 
 
 After they had had coffee, the hostess took 
 her guests to the garden. The night was mag- 
 nificent, and the moon was at its full. Mme. 
 Benoit showed them the adjoining gardens. 
 
 "This," said she, "belongs to the Count de 
 Freux; do you know him?" 
 
1 74 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 "He is my cousin, in the Brittany fashion; 
 that is to say, my first cousin." 
 
 The happy bourgeoise put this down, 
 triumphantly, on her tablets. "There," she 
 continued, "is the garden of the Marshal de 
 Lens; it would be a strange coincidence if 
 he, also, were related to you." 
 ' "No, madame, but he was the godfather of 
 a brother whom I have lost." 
 
 "Good!" thought Mme. Benoit; "ifthatfat 
 butler is still alive we will have him dis- 
 charged. Such a son-in-law is a treasure." 
 
 If Gaston had been inclined to say: "Let 
 us jump over the fence and surprise the Mar- 
 shal," Mme. Benoit would have jumped. 
 
 When the Baron and Gaston took their 
 leave, they found Mme. Benoit's carriage 
 waiting for them on the pavement. 
 
 "My dear son," said the baron, when they 
 had taken their seats, "I have eaten an enor- 
 mous dinner; and you — but one does not dine 
 at your age. How do you like yoi^ mother-in- 
 law.?" 
 
 She is all that I could ask : a vain and 
 shallow woman, who will not meddle with the 
 forges, nor contradict my practical experi- 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS I75 
 
 "So much the better if she suits you. On 
 your part, you have made a conquest; she 
 told me so by a sign when I kissed her hand." 
 
 "Already?" 
 
 "But that is the way things are done in the 
 fairy tales. When the prince awoke the 
 Sleeping Beauty, he proposed to her on the 
 spot, without even going through the formality 
 of consulting her parents." 
 
 "For my part, I, unfortunately, have no 
 one to consult." 
 
 "If you think to-morrow is too soon to make 
 the proposal, we will wait a few days; will 
 always find me at your service. In the mean- 
 time, you must lend me your act de naissance 
 and a few other necessary papers." 
 
 "Whenever you want them. I have all my 
 papers in a box; you can take what you need." 
 
 When the carriage stopped before the 
 baron's house, Gaston descended also, and 
 continued the rest of his way on foot to make 
 sure that he was not dreaming. 
 
 The next day. Baron de Subressac came 
 to get the act de naissance and the other 
 papers and took them to Mme. Benoit. She, 
 recollecting her former mistake, took them to 
 
176 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 an archiviste paleographe, who was a graduate 
 of the &ole de Chartres, and an officer of 
 some kind in the Royal Library. This gentle- 
 man pronounced the genuineness of the papers 
 to be beyond question, and, the next day, the 
 baron made the official demand for Lucile's 
 hand, which was granted by acclamation. 
 
 The happy widow was undecided for some 
 time whether her daughter should be married 
 in Paris or in the little church at Arlange. 
 On the one hand, it would have been very 
 pleasant to have the grand ceremony per- 
 formed at the church de Saint-Thomas 
 d' Aquin, and inconvenience half the Faubourg 
 by having the nuptial mass at eleven o'clock; 
 but it was necessary that the last traces of 
 the Marquis de Kerpry should be effaced at 
 Arlange, and, after careful consideration, she 
 decided for the latter place; but with the firm 
 intention of returning to Paris as soon as 
 possible. 
 
 She remembered that it was her daughter 
 who was to lead her into the world, and this 
 idea prompted her to write to Lucile, who 
 was not accustomed to receiving many letters 
 from her mother, as follows: 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 1^7 
 
 "My dear child, my adored Lucile! I have 
 found the husband for you that I was looking 
 for. You will be the Marchioness d'Outreville, 
 I have everything arranged. The marquis, 
 my dear, is young, handsome; intelligent, of 
 a very good family and related to many of the 
 most illustrious families in Firance. Dear 
 child, your happiness is assured. You will 
 soon leave that frightful Arlange, where you 
 have lived like a beautiful butterfly in a black 
 chrysalis. You will come to Paris, where you 
 will be received in the greatest houses. I will 
 lead you from pleasure to pleasure, and from 
 triumph to triumph; what a spectacle for 
 the eyes of a doting mother !" 
 
 Mme. Benoit was radiant with happiness; 
 her feet scarcely touched the ground, and she 
 seemed to have grown ten years younger. 
 She danced while she sang, and wept while 
 she laughed. She felt hke stopping all the 
 passers-by to tell them of her success. She 
 was so kind to the marquis, and showed him 
 so many tender little attentions, that Gaston, 
 who had been no one's spoilt child for many 
 years, felt a genuine affection for her. He 
 seldom left her; took her everywhere and 
 
178 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 never felt bored in her presence, notwith- 
 standing the fact that she was deaf to the 
 least word about the Arlange forges. 
 
 The day before she started for Arlange, 
 Mme Benoit told Gaston that she needed him 
 for the day, and took him, first, to Tahan's, 
 where she selected a large rose-wood box, 
 which was ingeniously divided in the inside 
 into places of different sizes. 
 
 "For what is that strange chest.'" asked 
 Gaston, when they had left the shop. 
 
 "It is my daughter's corbeille de marriage.''^ 
 
 "But," replied the marquis, with all the 
 pride of poverty, "it seems to me that it is 
 I-" 
 
 "You are mistaken, my dear marquis, when 
 you are married to Lucile you may buy her 
 all the presents you please, but, until then, I 
 will not surrender the privilege of providing 
 her with everything she needs. I do not ap- 
 prove of the custom which allows the fianc^ 
 of a young woman to make her fifty thousand 
 francs worth of presents before they are mar- 
 ried, and before he has acquired any rights to 
 her. You may think that my prejudices are 
 ridiculous, but I am too old to correct them. 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 1 79 
 
 I am going now to select my wedding presents; 
 in a month, I will go with you, if you wish, 
 to help you to select yours." 
 
 The reasoning of Mme. Benoit would have 
 been easy to refute, but she spoke in such a 
 maternal way, and in such a caressing tone, 
 that Gaston could make no reply, although 
 he had spent three days in negotiations with 
 the Jews on account of that corbeille. The 
 widow started for Arlange the following day, 
 and assumed all responsibility of the publi- 
 cations in the chiirch, and attending to her 
 daughters preparations for the wedding, while 
 Gaston remained in Paris in the hands of his 
 furnisher and his tailor. In the confusion 
 attending the packing of the trunks, Mme. 
 Benoit thoughtlessly took along with her all 
 the papers belonging to the house of d'Outre- 
 ville. 
 
 When Lucile saw Mme. Benoit, she could 
 hardly believe that she was the same mother 
 whom she had always known. Never had the 
 pretty widow been so indulgent. Everything 
 Lucile did was well done ; everything she said 
 was well said. Never could the devoted mother 
 leave spch an accomplished daughter; she 
 
 12 Le Veuve 
 
l8o THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 would follow her everywhere, and nothing but 
 death should ever separate them. Lucile 
 was delighted to learn that some marquises 
 were young and handsome, and that they did 
 not all wear knee breeches, and gold buckles 
 on their shoes. 
 
 The day after Mme. Benoit's arrival, her 
 neighbor, Mme. Melier came to announce the 
 coming marriage of her daughter with M. 
 Jordy, a sugar refiner of Paris. M. Jordy 
 was a very rich young man, and Mme. Melier 
 did not attempt to conceal her joy at finding 
 such a husband for her daughter. Mme. 
 Benoit rewarded this confidence by telling 
 Mme. Melier that Lucile was to be married 
 to the Marquis d'Outreville. Congratulations 
 were exchanged, and the, ladies kissed each 
 other several times in their joy. When Mme. 
 Melier was gone, Lucile who had all her life 
 been the bosom friend of the future Mme. 
 Jordy, cried: 
 
 "What happiness! when I go to Paris I will 
 be near my dear Celine. We can see each 
 other every day." 
 
 "My dear," replied her mother, "you shall 
 go to see her in your carriage, but receiving 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS l8l 
 
 her at your house will be another matter. 
 In Paris, one must make some concessions 
 to the society in which one lives. When a 
 duchess comes to your salon, she must not 
 brush her skirts against those of the wife of 
 a refiner. That is no reason for looking so 
 sad, my dear. Come! you shall receive Celine 
 in the mornings." 
 
 "Heavens! what a frightful place is Paris; 
 I would rather live in Arlange, where one can 
 receive one's friends at any time in the day." 
 
 Mme. Benoit replied very gravely: "A 
 woman must follow her husband." 
 
 News of the great event which was to take 
 place at the forges was soon known all ovei* 
 Arlange and the suburbs. Mme. Melier was 
 making a round of visits, ^and, as her object 
 was to announce a marriage, it involved no 
 extra trouble to announce two. In all of the 
 houses at which she stopped, she repeated a 
 formula which she had arranged when she left 
 the house of Mme. Benoit: "Madame, as I 
 am proud to count you among my most inti- 
 mate friends, I have come to announce the 
 betrothal of my daughter. It is true, she is 
 not marrying a marquis, like Mademoiselle 
 
1 82 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 Lucile Benoit, but a manufacturer, M. Jordy, 
 who, although he is but thirty-three years old, 
 is already one of the richest refiners in Paris." 
 
 •Mme. Melier had good horses, and her 
 carriage traveled ten leagues before night. 
 The Faubourg Saint-Germain of the neighbor- 
 hood began at once to pity Lucile, and to 
 laugh at Mme. Benoit for having found 
 another Marquis de Kerpry. The clever 
 widow soon heard what was said. She took 
 all the d'Outreville papers and called upon 
 Mme. la Baroness de Sommerfogle, who was 
 the acknowledged leader of society in the 
 province. 
 
 "Mme, la Baroness," began the widow, 
 "although I have had the honor of receiving 
 you only two or three times, I have never- 
 theless, learned to appreciate your judgment 
 in matters pertaining to pedigrees and titles. 
 You know that I had the misfortune of marry- 
 ing a man who had stolen, I do not know 
 where, an honorable name. That experience 
 has taught me to be prudent. To-day, an 
 apparently unobjectionable parti asks for the 
 hand of my daughter. It is the Marquis 
 d'Outreville. I have here his act de nai- 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 1 83 
 
 sance and all the family papers, but I am but 
 a poor bougeoise, and I know nothing about 
 such things, — I made the discovery with much 
 sorrow — so I do not dare to rely upon my 
 own judgment. Would you be so kind, my 
 dear madame, as to examine these papers,''^ 
 that I can have an opinion ao.- them tKat is 
 final, and beyond appeal?" 
 
 The speech was a clever one; it flattered 
 the baroness and aroused her curiosity at the 
 same time. She took the papers, and assumed 
 the task with evident satisfaction. That very 
 day, all the papers of the house d'Outreville 
 passed under the eyes of at least twenty of 
 the nobility and gentry of Arlange. This was 
 exactly what Mme. Benoit wished; she knew 
 that a true aristocratic odor emanated from 
 the old parchment which could not fail to make 
 an impression upon the delicate nostrils of the 
 people who had once disdained her. The most 
 hostile of her enemies were anxjous to sign a 
 treaty of peace. InMme. de Sommerfogel's 
 salon there was held a concert of praises of 
 the future mother of the marchioness, in 
 which the old baroness filled the position of 
 chef d'orchestre. 
 
184 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 "The marriage will be a great consolation 
 to poor Mme. Benoit, and I am delighted to 
 hear of it; she is a deserving woman." 
 
 "That Benoit was a brute! If we had 
 known her at that time, we would have put 
 her on her guard." 
 
 "After all, for what can she be reproached.' 
 for having aspired to associate with the aris- 
 tocracy. That only, proves the refinement of 
 her taste." 
 
 "She is a pretty woman; I would like to 
 know how she manages to remain young." 
 
 "Her daughter is a little angel!" 
 
 "We will see her often; she shall belong to 
 our set!" 
 
 "She is prepared for it already by education. 
 Her mother always intended her to be a 
 marchioness." 
 
 "Mme. Benoit shall belong to our set, also; 
 a mother must be received where her daugh- 
 ter is." 
 
 "The marquis will be a great addition to the 
 aristocracy of Arlange." 
 
 "They say he is immensely rich!" 
 
 "They will build a' grand house!" 
 
 "They will give splendid balls!" 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 185 
 
 "We shall be invited to the wedding!" 
 
 The next day, Mnae. Benoir'* salon was in- 
 vaded by a horde o l" intimate v triends whom 
 she had not seen for twel>^years. 
 
 The marquis arrived on the 12th. of May. 
 
 Although he and Lucile had never met, 
 they both felt that they had been created for 
 each other. When their eyes first met, they 
 were friends; and, at the first words ex- 
 changed between them, they were lovers. 
 
 Beauty attracts beauty, and youth wins 
 youth. There was not the least embarrass- 
 ment between them, and they looked each 
 other in the face. The heart of Gaston was 
 almost as fresh as that of Lucile, and their 
 love rose like the summer sun in a cloudless 
 sky. There is no more beautiful spectacle in 
 this world than that of a mutual and legitimate 
 passion advancing peacefully along a flowery 
 road, with Honor on the right and Confidence 
 on the left. 
 
 Mme. Benoit was too happy, and too well 
 satisfied to hinder the progress of a passion 
 which served her ends so well. She allowed 
 the lovers that sweet liberty which is permitted 
 in the provinces. Their morning walks were 
 
1 86 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 but long tete-a-tetes ; Lucile showed Gaston 
 the house, the garden and the forest; and, in 
 the afternoon, the forge had its turn. Gaston 
 had had the courage to resist the temptation 
 to go there alone, but when he found that, 
 unlike her mother, Lucile had not the least ob- 
 jection to taking him there; that she knew the 
 workmen by their names; and that she was 
 not afraid that their blouses might touch her 
 skirts, bis cup of happiness was full. When 
 Mme. Benoit saw them returning, with their 
 faces black with smoke, she exclaimed: 
 
 "How happy young people are! they can 
 find joy anywhere, even at the forges." 
 
 To rest themselves, they sat upon a bench 
 in the garden, beneath the shade of an im- 
 mense elm. They promised each other that 
 they would spend their lives in the woods of 
 Arlange; not a word was spoken of Paris, of 
 the Faubourg nor of the vanities of the world. 
 Lucile ignored the fact that happiness could 
 be found outside of Arlange ; Gaston had for- 
 gotten it. 
 
 One morning, Mme. Benoit announced that 
 the marriage articles would be signed that 
 night. The day of the wedding had been 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 1 87 
 
 fixed for the ist of June. As there is no 
 pleasure without its pain, the signing of the 
 articles was preceded by an interminable din- 
 ner, at which all the personages of the 
 province, of the least pretensions were present. 
 All eyes were upon the marquis, and all the 
 guests expected a smile from him or a pleasant 
 word, but his two passions occupied his atten- 
 tion too much to permit him to take much 
 notice of the people present. He sat opposite 
 his affianced, and next to a young engineer 
 of the salt mines of Dieuze, and, throughout 
 the dinner, he had no eyes except for Lucile 
 and no ears except for the engineer. The 
 gentlemen engaged in a semi-political conver- 
 sation which was replete with condemnation 
 of all that existed, and with regret for all that 
 which existed no longer. This discourse, 
 which certainly would have interested a mar- 
 quis of the old school floated about Gaston's 
 ears, without penetrating as far as his mind. 
 
 In an interval of silence, they hear him say 
 to the engineer: 
 
 "You say that you are building an under- 
 ground railway at the mines; how much do 
 you pay. for the rails?" 
 
1 88 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 "36.0 francs per 1000 kilos, delivered in 
 France. The English ton, which has 1 5 kilos 
 more, is worth — " 
 
 " I think, that by using a fuel-saving furnace 
 that I am drawing a plan of, we can manu- 
 facture rails here that will be just as good as 
 the English ones for two hundred francs a 
 ton; perhaps less." 
 
 "It would be a great saving." 
 
 "Do your cables ever break.'" 
 
 "Yes, and it is quite serious when they do; 
 we had four men killed last month by accidents 
 of that kind." 
 
 "I think i can suggest a remedy for that." 
 
 "Have you invented a cable that does not 
 break.?" 
 
 "Not exactly, but I have a way to stop the 
 car in the shaft. I tried the system for three 
 years at Saint-Etienne, and we did not have 
 a single accident in all that time." 
 
 The Viscount de Bougatroff edged himself 
 timidly into the dialogue: 
 
 "Does mo'nsieur le marquis own coal mines 
 in the department of the Loire.'" 
 
 "No, monsieur, I was a superintendent 
 there." 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 1 89 
 
 At this, Mme. Benoit realized suddenly that 
 her guests had had enough desert, and arose 
 from the table. Before the articles were 
 signed the corbeille was brought out, and it 
 won the hearts of all the ladies for Gaston. 
 The poor young man was so overwhelmed 
 with the compliments showered upon him 
 that he could not defend himself; but he 
 explained to Lucile, the next day, that it was 
 her mother whom she had to thank for the 
 corbeille and not he. 
 
 "When the notary unrolled his papers, every 
 one crowded about him. It was not that they 
 wanted to learn the size of Lucile 's dot, for 
 that was known already; but they expected 
 to hear an enumeration of the lands and 
 property of the marquis. Their curiosity was 
 not satisfied; the Marquis d'Outreville was 
 marrying simply with his civil rights. 
 
 The next day, Gaston and Lucile again 
 took up the chain of their pleasures, and the 
 last days of the month passed like so many 
 hours. On the 31st. the civil marriage was 
 celebrated, and they both answered "Yes" 
 without hesitation or embarrassment. When 
 the Mayor, with the code in his hand, re- 
 
igo THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 peated that "A woman must follow her hus- 
 band," Mme. Benoit nodded to her daughter 
 in approval of the sentiment. After they 
 returned to the house, the triumphant mother- 
 in-law said to Gaston, in the presence of 
 Lucile: 
 
 "My dear son-in-law, to-morrow I will pay 
 you the first installment of your income." 
 
 "Have patience, my dear mother," replied 
 Gaston, who was looking at Lucile, how can 
 you expect me to think of money matters 
 now?" 
 
 "Ah, do not disdain money; you will need 
 a great deal of it in a few days at Paris." 
 
 "At Paris ! Why what would I do at Paris .'" 
 
 "Assume your position in society; receive 
 our friends and relatives, and prepare yourself 
 for the winter and for life. 
 
 "But, madame, I am fully decided to not 
 live in Paris; it is an unhealthful place, where 
 all the women are sick, and where families 
 become extinct in three or four generations. 
 X Do you know that Paris would become a 
 
 desert in a hundred years, if the people of the 
 provinces were not foolish enough to repopu- 
 late it?" 
 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS I9I 
 
 "It is to prevent it from becoming a desert 
 that my daughter and I wish to go there as 
 soon as possible." 
 
 "You said nothing to me about that, made- 
 moiselle ?" 
 
 Lucile dropped her eyes without replying; 
 her mother's presence intimidated her. 
 
 "It is useless to say that which is necessarily 
 understood," continued Mme. Benoit; "my 
 daughter is the Marchioness d'Outreville, and 
 her place is in the Faubourg Saint-Germaine. 
 Is it not so, Lucile?" 
 
 Lucile murmured an inaudible "Yes;" it 
 was not thus she had said "Yes" to the mayor. 
 
 "The Faubourg!" cried Gaston, "the Fau- 
 bourg! you wish to enter the Faubourg.'" For 
 some personal reason which he had never 
 divulged, he had conceived an uncompromising 
 antipathy against the Faubourg. "Do you 
 know, mademoiselle, of what the Faubourg 
 society is composed.' Of young girls, as 
 insipid as hot-house fruits; young women who 
 are lost in their vanities; matrons, prema- 
 turely aged; old men who have »been made 
 stupid by whist, and young ones who utter 
 the names of their fiancees, their mistresses 
 
192 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 and their race horses in the same sentence. 
 That is the Faubourg, mademoiselle; you know 
 it as well as if you had seen it. What would 
 you have.' you live in a charming country 
 place, surrounded by people who love you — 
 not to speak of myself who adore you ; you 
 have the wealth which will enable you to 
 make many people happy ; the health, without 
 which nothing can be enjoyed ; the pleasures 
 of summer and the more domestic amusements 
 of winter. Your present is like an unclouded 
 sky, and the future is peopled with rosy -faced 
 children; and you wish to abandon all this 
 for a life of shallow pleasures and absurd 
 vanities in Paris ! I will not be a party to 
 such a resolution, mademoiselle; if you wish 
 to enter the Faubourg, I refuse, decidedly, to 
 take you there." 
 
 Mme. Benoit's face wore such an expression 
 as that of a child who has built a tower of 
 blocks, and who sees the structure falling be- 
 fore his eyes. She could scarcely find the 
 breath to say to Lucile: 
 
 "Answer him!" 
 
 Lucile gave her hand to Gaston, and, look- 
 ing at her mother, she said: 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 193 
 
 "A woman must follow her husband." 
 
 He paid no further attention to Mme. 
 Benoit, but, taking Lucile in his arms, he 
 kissed her tenderly. 
 
 Mme. Benoit spent the balance of the day 
 in forming her plans, giving her orders to her 
 servants and deciding how she would proceed. 
 
 The next morning, after the religious mar- 
 riage, she said to her son-in-law: 
 
 "Am I to understand that you are fully de- 
 cided to not introduce us into the Faubourg?" 
 
 "Why, madame, did not Lucile renounce 
 the Faubourg of her own free will.'" 
 
 "And what if I do not renounce it.' What 
 if I tell you that for the last thirty years, (I 
 am now forty two) my sole ambition has been 
 to enter there ? What if I tell you that — such 
 was my desire to associate with the nobility 
 . — I married, in my blindness, a bogus mar- 
 quis, who beat me.' Finally, what if I tell 
 you that I have chosen you, not for your face 
 nor your talents, but for your name, which is 
 a key to all the doors in the Faubourg.' Ah, 
 do you think I have given you an income of 
 one hundred thousand francs that you might 
 waste your time working.'" 
 
194 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 "I beg your pardon, madame, but, in the 
 first place, I have the vanity to thiiik that, at 
 the present price of stainless names, mine 
 was not dear at the price; but, besides, you 
 have given me nothing. The forges, and all 
 the Arlange property, is the inheritance of 
 Lucile, the fifty thousand francs which you 
 will draw annually fully covers the interest of 
 all the money which you have ever put into 
 the enterprise, as well as on the two hundred 
 thousand francs which you paid for the house 
 in the Rue Saint-Dominique. It is to Lucile 
 that I owe everything, and, with her, I think 
 I will have no difficulty in agreeing." 
 
 "But it is to me that you are indebted for 
 Lucile, and you are ingrates, both of you, if 
 you refuse me that for which I have hoped all 
 my life!" 
 
 "Madame, I would refuse you nothing that 
 it is in my power to give, with that single ex- 
 ception ; but I have sworn that I will never 
 again put my foot in the Faubourg." 
 
 "In the name of Heaven why did you not 
 tell me so.'" 
 
 "You never asked me." 
 
 When Mme. Benoit left the room she 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 1 95 
 
 whispered three words to her maid and four 
 to the coachman. She said nothing more to 
 the marquis about the first installment of his 
 income. 
 
 At the ball in the evening, Lucile won the 
 admiration of all eyes. None of the ladies 
 present remembered ever having seen a bride 
 who was more frankly happy. All the young 
 men envied Gaston, and it can not be said 
 that none of the young ladies envied Lucile. 
 At two o'clock in the morning, the dancers 
 were all gone. Mme. Benoit asked for per- 
 mission to speak to her daughter for a quarter 
 of an hour, and led her to the bridal chamber, 
 while Gaston, in the meantime retired to his 
 own room. When he descended the steps 
 again, he was surprised to hear the noise of 
 a carriage passing by at a rapid speed. He 
 went to the bridal chamber and found it 
 empty, as well as the rooms of Lucile and 
 Mme. Benoit. He rang but no one came. 
 He went out into the yard where he met 
 Jacquet, the groom, to whom he said: 
 
 "Did I not hear a carriage go bye, a 
 moment ago?" 
 
 "Yes, monsieur; of course you did." 
 
 13 I^eVeure 
 
196 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 "Who was leaving SO late? I thought all 
 the people had been gone for some time." 
 
 "Why, monsieur, it was madame and 
 mademoiselle, with Mile. Julie. Pierre is 
 driving." 
 
 "Very well. Have they left any word for 
 me?" 
 
 "Yes, monsieur, madame has left a letter." 
 
 "Where is it?" 
 
 "Here, monsieur, under the lining of my 
 hat." 
 
 "Well give it to me, idiot!" 
 
 "You see, I put it there for fear of losing it; 
 here it is." 
 
 Gaston ran to the lamp in the vestibule and 
 read: 
 
 "My dear maqruis: — In the hopes that 
 Cupid and cupidity will induce you to leave 
 your beloved Arlange, I have taken your wife 
 and your money to Paris; come and get 
 them." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 Gaston put the note in his pocket, and re- 
 turned to the garden where Jacquet was still 
 standing, turning his cap nervously in his 
 hands. 
 
 "Did madame la marquis say anything to 
 you?" asked Gaston. 
 
 "Mademoiselle.' No, monsieur, she did not 
 even look at me " 
 
 "Is there any other road to Dieuze than 
 the regular highway.'" 
 
 "Yes, monsieur, there is a by-road." 
 
 "Is it shorter?" 
 
 "Yes, monsieur, a full mile." 
 
 "Saddle Forward and Indiana at once! 
 Come, I will help you ! A louis for you if 
 we arrive at Dieuze before the carriage !" 
 
 Half an hour later, Jaquet in his blouse, and 
 Gaston in his wedding clothes, arrived at the 
 poste at Dieuze. Jaquet awakened a stable 
 boy and asked if any one had passed by during 
 the night; he was answered in the negative. 
 197 
 
198 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 "Here Jaquet", said the marquis, "are the 
 twenty francs I promised you." 
 
 "Monsieur," asked the groom, very tiiriidly, 
 "is not a louis twenty-four francs any more?" 
 
 "iJot for years; stupid!" 
 
 "It was my grandfather who told me so; 
 in his time a louis and forty sous made fifty 
 francs." 
 
 Gaston did not reply; he was listening for 
 the carriage. Jaquet continued to murmur 
 to himself: 
 
 "How does it come that those pretty gold 
 pieces have fallen to such a price as that.'" 
 
 "Listen!" said the marquis, "did you not 
 hear a carriage .'" 
 
 "No, mosnieur. Ah, it is too bad." 
 
 "What.?" 
 
 "That a louis has fallen to twenty francs." 
 
 "Here is another, you miser! Now keep 
 quiet." 
 
 Jaquet was silent for a moment, but pretty 
 soon he began again, still speaking to him- 
 self: 
 
 "It is all the same; if a louis were still 
 worth twenty-four francs, the two louis which 
 I have, added to the forty sous which madame 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 1 99 
 
 gave me, would make me just fifty francs; but 
 the times are hard, as my grandfather used to 
 say." 
 
 Gaston waited for an hour, and, at the end 
 of that time, he began to fear that the carriage 
 had met with an accident; but Jaquet reas- 
 sured him. 
 
 "Monsieur, there is another road, which 
 they may have taken, which does tjot come 
 by Dieuze." 
 
 "Let us go there!" 
 
 "It is useless, monsieur, they have two 
 hours start of us." 
 
 "Well then, let us go back." 
 
 On his return, Gaston's first thought was 
 that he had better make sure that Jaquet 
 would not reveal the secret of his nocturnal 
 ride to the gossips of Arlange, and he could 
 think of no better plan than to send him to 
 Paris. "Take the coach for Nancy," he said; 
 "at Nancy you can take the train for Paris. 
 You will go to No. S7, Rue Saint-Dominique, 
 and tell madame la marquis that I will come 
 in two days. Here is the money to pay your 
 fare." 
 
 "Monsieur," asked Jaquet, with his usual 
 
200 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 timidity, "if I should make the trip on foo*, 
 would the money be mine?" 
 
 For answer, he received a kick which sent 
 him three steps on his way. 
 
 Gaston, who was greatly fatigued, went to 
 his room and threw himself upon the bed to 
 rest, but not to sleep. Lucile's flight seemed 
 inexplicable ♦'O him. Evidently, it had been 
 premeditated; it would have been impossible 
 to make the preparations in a quarter of an 
 hour. But, in that case, her conduct had 
 been false fr.om beginning to end; the happiness 
 which shone in her eyes, the tender pressure 
 of her hand in the quadrille, and the ,sweet 
 words which she had whispered in his ear just 
 a few hours before, were but deceitful strat- 
 agems. Still if she did not love him, why 
 had she married him? Her mother would 
 not have compelled her, since she favored 
 her flight. Then he remembered the discus- 
 sion, almost amounting to a quarrel, which 
 he had had with Mme. Benoit the day before. 
 Doubtless, she wished to be avenged. But 
 how had the ambitious mother been able, in 
 less than a day, to convert her daughter to 
 her opinions? Why had Lucile not written 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 20I 
 
 one word of explanation? This thought 
 naturally led him to look in his pocket for 
 Mme. Benoit's note, and he noticed in it a 
 phrase that had escaped his attention in th^ 
 first rapid glance which he had given to the 
 brief epistle: "your wife and your money." 
 And it was with money that they expected to 
 allure him ! As if money were a consideration 
 to a man who sees all upon which he had 
 relied for happiness crumbling before his eyes ! 
 What signifies gold to him who has lost that 
 which money cannot buy? Gaston imagined, 
 very naturally, but still unjustly, that his 
 mother-in-law wished to remind him of the 
 poverty from which she had raised him, and 
 his natural pride revolted at the insinuation. 
 The more he read the unfortunate note, the 
 more firmly he became convinced that he 
 would be sacrificing his dignity in pursuing a 
 wife who chose to remain away from him, 
 especially since he could not make it plain that 
 he was pursuing her and not her money. He 
 resolved that he would not go to Paris until 
 his wife had written to him. 
 
 The news of Lucile's departure was told 
 from mouth to mouth in the neighborhood, 
 
202 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 and Gaston was besieged by sympathizing 
 visitors. He received the curious horde in a 
 way that convinced even the most fastidious 
 that he could be a man of the world when it 
 suited him and he could spare the time. The 
 visitors, who had been attracted by the scent 
 of scandal, were astounded at his tranquility 
 and his happy and smiling face. He told 
 every one that Mme. Benoit had urgent busi- 
 ness in Paris which required her presence 
 there as well as that of her daughter. That, 
 being an indulgent mother, she had not wished 
 to postpone the marriage on that account; 
 and, being at the same time a wise business 
 woman, she had wished to leave the forges in 
 the hands of a reliable man. As a gracious 
 hostess, she had not wished to throw cold 
 water over the festivities of the wedding-night 
 by telling her guests of her intention. If any 
 one assumed an expression of condolence, 
 Gaston hastened to assure the good soul that, 
 in a few days, husband, wife and mother-in- 
 law would be definitely reunited. Not content 
 with disappointing their curiosity, he took the 
 trouble to make himself popular with them. 
 By the help of his natural and acquried 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 203 
 
 graces of manner, he won the admiration of 
 all the women and the esteem of all the men. 
 The result of this comedy was that he made a 
 hundred and fifty devoted friends, and he suc- 
 ceeded, also, in making them believe that his 
 account of Lucile's departure was the truth. 
 
 The truth was this: After the ball Lucile, 
 radiant with happiness, followed her mother 
 into the bridal chamber. She had hardly 
 crossed the threshold, when Mme. Benoit 
 laid hands upon her and quickly removed her 
 ball-dress, which she replaced with one of 
 heavier material, while Julie took off the satin 
 slippers and quickly buttoned on a pair of 
 boots. All this was done so quickly that 
 Lucile had not even time to be surprised. 
 She heard her mother say: 
 
 "My dear child, the obstinate Gaston has 
 surrendered; we are going to Paris!" 
 
 "So soon.'' He said nothing to me about 
 it." 
 
 "That is because he wanted to surprise you, 
 my dear; for you know that, in your heart, 
 you really want to see this beautiful Paris." 
 
 "No, Mamma." 
 
 •'You do, my child; I know you better than 
 you know yourself." 
 
204 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 "There was a knock at the door, and Mme. 
 Benoit asked, uneasily: 
 
 "Who is there?" 
 
 It was Pierre, who replied: 
 
 "Madame, the carriage is waiting. 
 
 The widow hurriedly led her daughter out 
 of the house. "Quick!" she said, "the people 
 are still dancing; if they knew that we are 
 going we would have to bid them farewell!" 
 
 "But I think we should say farewell to 
 them," replied Lucile. 
 
 Her mother pushed her into the carriage, and 
 entered after her. 
 
 "And where is Gaston.?" asked the young 
 woman. 
 
 Mme. Benoit turned to the coachman: 
 
 "Pierre, where is monsieur le marquis.'" 
 
 Pierre, who had learned his lesson by heart, 
 replied: 
 
 "Monsieur le marquis has charge of the 
 baggage, and he is going in the chaise as far 
 as Dieuze. He told me to tell madame that 
 he would meet her there." 
 
 tLucile suspected treason, and attempted 
 to open the right hand door of the carriage, 
 but, either from accident or design, it was 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 2 ©5 
 
 locked. She knew that she could not escape 
 by the other door without walking over her 
 mother's dead body, and her courage was not 
 equal to that. 
 
 Madame Benoit whispered to Pierre: 
 
 Drive straight to Moyenvic; do not go by 
 way of Dieuze." 
 
 Lucile saw that she was betrayed, but she 
 could only weep. 
 
 "Your husband," said her mother, "was 
 obstinate and refused to take you into the 
 world; for your sake, I have resorted to this 
 method of compelling him to do so. He will 
 come to Paris within twenty-four hours, if he 
 loves you. That is no reason why you should 
 be weeping there, like Hagar in the desert! 
 I am your mother, and I know, better than 
 any one else, what will make you happy. I 
 am taking you to Paris to save you from 
 Arlange." 
 
 "But I do not want to be saved; I only 
 want Gaston," sobbed Lucile. 
 
 "Of what can you complain.' You love 
 him, and you have married him; what more 
 can you ask.'" 
 
 "But, if this is all that marriage is good for, 
 
206 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 I am sorry that I am married ; I saw him every 
 day when we were single." 
 
 ^yhen they arrived at their destination, 
 Lucile thought that Paris without Gaston was 
 but an immense solitude, and the Faubourg a 
 desert within a desert. 
 
 One day passed, and then a whole week, 
 without any news of the marquis. Mme. 
 Benoit endeavored to conceal her disappoint- 
 ment, and Lucile, who did not dare to let her 
 mother see her grief, shed her tears at night. 
 
 Mother and daughter drove about in the 
 carriage from morning until night. Every- 
 where that fashionable people went, and no 
 invitation was required, they went. They 
 went to the Champs Elysfee and the Bois de 
 Bologne in the day time, and, in the evening, 
 to the opera, but Lucile took no pleasure in 
 seeing or in being seen; she was always anx- 
 ious to return home in the hope of finding 
 Gaston there. 
 
 Mme. Benoit guessed that the marquis had 
 resolved to be obstinate, and, as there was 
 considerable obstinacy in her own character, 
 she said to herself: "So monsieur my son- 
 in-law can get along without us.? Well we 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 207 
 
 will show him that we also can dispense with 
 him." All at once a happy idea occurred to 
 her. "I will go to see my debtors, my dear 
 debtors ! They could patronise the daughter 
 of a notion dealer, but the mother of a mar- 
 chioness is a different person." 
 
 The first whom she visited was the old 
 Baron de Subressac. She did not take Lucile 
 with her, for she did not want the child to 
 know how much it cost to open the doors of 
 the Faubourg. 
 
 "Ah, my dear baron," she said, as soon as 
 he had kissed her hand, "what an accursed 
 fool you have given my daughter." 
 
 The baron looked at her for a moment, 
 quite bewildered, and then he replied, sortie- 
 what angrily: 
 
 "Madame, the fool who has honored you by 
 marrying your daughter is, taking it all in all, 
 the most exemplary young man I have ever 
 known." 
 
 "But alas! you do not know what he has 
 done; he has been married but a week and 
 he has already deserted his wife." 
 
 Then she related all the events of the last 
 eight days, which the reader already knows. 
 
208 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 As she advanced with her story, the smile 
 came back to the baron's lips. When he had 
 heard everything, he took her hands and said 
 gayly: 
 
 "You are right, my dear; the marquis is a 
 very wicked man; he has abandoned his wife 
 just as Menelaus abandoned Helen." 
 
 "Monsieur, Menelaus pursued Helen. I 
 maintain that a husband who sees any one 
 take his wife away and does not pursue her 
 deserts her." 
 
 "Happily, in this case, there is no Paris in 
 the scene. You must take your daughter back 
 to her husband; it is your duty. Whom God 
 has joined together let no one put asunder." 
 
 The widow made a gesture which meant 
 "never." 
 
 "What then do you intend to do.'" asked 
 the baron. 
 
 "Monsieur le baron, can I count upon your 
 friendship .'" 
 
 "Have I not often told you so, and proved ' 
 it besides.'" 
 
 "And I will never forget it, monsieur le 
 baron. If you do not abandon me now, I think 
 we can get along without the Marquis d'Out- 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 209 
 
 reville. What I have asked all my life, from 
 God and man, is to enter the Faubourg; to 
 enter there myself, it is necessary that Lucile 
 be admitted first. She has all possible rights; 
 all she needs is some one to introduce her. 
 Do you refuse to do that for us, monsieur 
 le baron?" 
 
 "Absolutely. In the first place, that honor 
 belongs to a baroness, rather than to a baron, 
 and then I will not be a party to anything 
 which will retard Gaston '.s happiness; finally, 
 even if I wished, to help you, I could not do 
 so. Your daughter certainly has the right to 
 enter everywhere, but on what title ? Because 
 she is the Marchioness d'Outreville. As 
 Gaston's wife, she will be received wherever 
 her husband is known, that is to say, anywhere 
 in the Faubourg; but with what grace could 
 I say: 'Ladies and gentlemen, you know and 
 esteem the Marquis d'Outreville; you are his 
 relatives and his friends, permit me to intro- 
 duce you to his wife who will not live with 
 him.'' Believe me, my dear, it is the experi- 
 ence of seventy-five years that is speaking to 
 you. A young woman can not make a very 
 good appearance in the world without her 
 
2IO THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 husband; and the mother who attempts to 
 take his place, does not play a part which 
 society will applaud. If you are determined 
 to associate with duchesses, make another 
 effort to persuade your son-in-law to come to 
 Paris. He naturally feels slighted, and, I for 
 one, can not blame him for being sulky. I 
 know him very well, and I assure you that, if 
 you wait for him here, you will wait for a long 
 time. Go back to Arlange. When Mahomet 
 found that the mountain would not come to 
 him, he went to the mountain; do not be 
 prouder than he." 
 
 The baron's speech was a good one, but 
 Mme. Benoit was not convinced. In the 
 afternoon she called upon a half a dozen of 
 her debtors. None of them denied her 
 daughter's marriage, but none expressed any 
 desire to know her. They all spoke well of 
 the marquis; regretted that he was such a 
 misanthrope, and that he so seldom allowed 
 himself to be seen. They inquired after his 
 health, and asked if he would spend the 
 winter in Paris, but there was none of them to 
 whom the widow felt that she might look to 
 for aid. 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 211 
 
 Still she did not give up the chase; she had 
 one arrow left, which she had reserved for an 
 extremity. The Countess de Mamesy owed 
 her more than any other of her debtors, and 
 it was from her that she had the most to 
 expect. The countess was an old lady who 
 was still pretty, in spite of her sixty years. 
 She had never been reproached with any- 
 thing but her vanity, her passion for gam- 
 bling, her greediness and her extravagance. 
 Mme. Benoit thought, with very good reason, 
 that a woman who had so many weak spots 
 in her armor would be found vulnerable by 
 some means or other, and went to see her. 
 
 While her mother was visiting the countess, 
 the Marchioness d'Outrveille went to her own 
 room, and, without asking for any one's 
 advice, wrote her husband the following letter : 
 
 "What are you doing, Gaston.' When will 
 you come to Paris.' You promised to join us 
 here in two days. How have you been able 
 to live ten long days without me .' When we 
 were in Arlange, you did not want to leave 
 me for an hour. Heavens, how long the days 
 are in Paris ! Mamma says hard things about 
 you, but, at the mere sound of your name, 
 
 14 La Veuve 
 
212 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 there is such a beating in my heart that I can 
 not hear her. She says that you have aban- 
 doned me, but you may be sure I do not be- 
 lieve her. Sometimes I imagine that I am 
 not really your wife, and that the wedding at 
 the church and the ball, where we were so 
 happy, were but a beautiful dream from which 
 I awakened too soon. Can you imagine how 
 much I miss you .' All I have seen in Paris, 
 so far, is that you are not here. Is it possi- 
 ble that I should think so much of you and 
 that you have forgotten me.' Perhaps, you 
 are angry because I left so suddenly. If you 
 only knew! It was not I who went away, 
 but mamma who carried me off. I thought 
 you were going to meet us at Dieuze ; mamma 
 told me so, and so did Julie and Pierre. I 
 would cry all the time, but I do not want 
 mamma to know how badly I feel, and, be- 
 sides, I do not want you to find me with my 
 eyes red when you come. You must not be 
 angry with me for not having written sooner; 
 you sent word that you were coming, and I 
 did not write because I was expecting you. 
 Now, I am going to write every day until you 
 come. Do come and get me! If you do not 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 2l3 
 
 like Paris any better than I do, you may be 
 sure we will not stay long. Something tells 
 me that you will certainly come when you get 
 this letter. Think of two little hands which 
 are extended towards you !" 
 
 Mme. Benoit returned while Jaquet was 
 taking the marchioness' letter to the post- 
 office. 
 
 "Have you not been lonesome while I was 
 away, my dear.'" asked the widow. 
 
 "No mamma," repHed the marchioness, 
 "not at all." 
 
CHAPTER I.V. 
 
 The next three days were anxious ones for 
 Mme. Benoit and her daughter. While Lucile 
 walked in the garden meditating on the future, 
 Mme. Benoit sat by a window in the salon 
 and kept her eyes upon the port Shoch^re, but 
 none of her noble debtors appeared. They 
 paid her neither in money nor in politeness 
 and returned nothing, riot even her visits. 
 
 She was seated behind a curtain, meditating 
 
 sadly upon the ingratitude of man, when she 
 
 saw a carriage stop at her door. She felt her 
 
 heart palpitatQ, for it was the first time that 
 
 another carriage than her own had stopped 
 
 there since she occupied the house. She saw 
 
 a middle-aged man ascend the steps. It was 
 
 not a debtor but, a thousand times better, 
 
 the Count de Preux in person. She cast a 
 
 hurried glance at the furniture, another at her 
 
 toilette, and began to prepare her first words 
 
 of welcome. The count was slow in making 
 
 his appearance, and she began to grow angry 
 214 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 2 1 J 
 
 at Jaquet for keeping him waiting in the vesti- 
 bule. Finally, the door was opened and a 
 man entered, it was Jaquet. 
 
 "Show him in!" said Mme. Benoit, impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 "Who, madame.'" asked Jaquet, in that 
 drawling tone which is characteristic of the 
 Lorraine peasants. 
 
 "The count!" 
 
 "So it was a count; well he is gone." 
 
 Mme. Benoit ran to the window and saw 
 the Count de Preux enter his carriage, without 
 once turning his head. 
 
 Returning to Jaquet, she cried: 
 
 "You blundering fool, what did you say 
 to him?" 
 
 "Madame, the gentleman asked for mon- 
 sieur le marquis I told him he was not at 
 home, that is all." 
 
 "Idiot! did you not say that madame la 
 marquise was at home.'" 
 
 "I did, madame, but he did not seem to 
 hear." 
 
 "Why did you not repeat it.'" 
 
 "I did not have time. He asked me when 
 monsieur le marquis would return, and, as he 
 
2l6 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 is a very pleasant gentleman, an^ not at all 
 proud, I told him the good joke you and 
 mademoiselle had played upon monsieur." 
 
 "You wretch. You are discharged. How 
 much is coming to you.'" 
 
 "I do not know, madame." 
 
 "How much do you earn a month.?" 
 
 "Nine francs, madame. Do not discharge 
 me; I have dond nothing and will never do it 
 again." Then some tears. 
 
 "When were you last paid.'" 
 
 "Two months ago, madame. What will 
 become of me if you discharge me.'" 
 
 "Come here. Here are your eighteen 
 francs, and here are twenty more to help, you 
 to find another place. Now go!" 
 
 Jaquet took the money ; counted it to see 
 that no mistake had been made, and fell upon 
 his knees. 
 
 "Pardon me, madame, I have not done 
 anything; I have never harmed any one!" 
 
 "Monsieur Jaquet, you must learn that 
 stupidity is worse than all the vices." 
 
 "Why so, madame.'" 
 
 "Because it is incurable." 
 
 Mme. Benoit left him and threw herself 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 21/ 
 
 upon a divan in another room. Jaquet left 
 the house, carrying, like the philosopher, all 
 his fortune on his person. Had any one fol- 
 lowed him he might have heard him say: 
 "Sixty-two and eight make seventy, and 
 ten, eighty, and twenty, one hundred; but I 
 
 have killed the hen; I will get no more golden 
 eggs." 
 
 Lucile heard of Jaquet's disgrace at dinner, 
 but she did not dare to ask the cause. The 
 mother and daughter, each occupied with her 
 own sorrows, were eating in silence when a 
 servant brought in a letter for the Marchion- 
 ess d'Outreville. . 
 
 "From Gaston.'" cried Lucile. 
 
 Unfortunately it was not, but from Celine 
 Jordy, nte Melier, who wrote to her friend 
 as follows: 
 
 "My dear Lucile: — I am sending a letter 
 both to Paris and to Arlange, for, since your 
 wedding, I have not known where to find you. 
 I am happy, happy, happy! that is all I can 
 tell you now; if you want the details, come 
 and get them, or let me know where you are 
 hiding. Robert is the most perfect man on 
 earth, with the possible exception of the 
 
2l8 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 Marquis d'Outreville, whom I have not yet 
 seen. I have a thousand secrets to tell you, 
 but I can not write them. Come to-morrow 
 if you are in Paris, and whenever you can, if 
 you are in Arlange. I do not want to think 
 that you are going to be a marchioness as far 
 as I am concerned. Let us go to see each 
 other as often as we can, without counting the 
 visits. You must see our house; it is- the 
 most delightful bourgeois nest you can im- 
 agine. I suppose I will be dazzled when I 
 see your palace, but I must see it, and I will 
 not be envious. Come soon ! I send you a 
 
 kiss, wherever you are. " 
 
 "Your Celine." 
 "No. 1 6, Rue des Tilleuls," 
 
 "Dear Celine! I will go to spend the day 
 with her to-morrow. You will not need me, 
 mamma.?" 
 
 "No, I am going to see one of my friends." 
 
 "Who is it, mamma.'" 
 
 "You do not know her; the Countess de 
 Malesy." 
 
 Mme. BenoTt had not seen the venerable 
 friend upon whom she placed her last hope 
 for at least twelve years. She found her but 
 
I 
 
 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 219 
 
 little changed. The countess had grown ^ 
 little deaf, from continual listening to the 
 upbraidings of her creditors, but it was a con- 
 venient sort of an infirmity, which did not ! 
 prevent her from hearing anything that j 
 pleased her. Her eye was still clear, and her ' 
 digestion admirable. She recognized her ! 
 creditor, and received her with great famil- ( 
 iarity. 
 
 "Bon/our, petite, bonjour\ I have never 
 refused to see you; you have too much sense 
 to come to ask me for money." 
 
 "Ah, madame la countesse, avarice has 
 never prompted the visits I have made you." 
 
 "DeSiT petite, you are just like your father. 
 Ah, my child, Lopinot was a good man !" 
 
 "You are very kind, madame la countess." 
 
 "Can you understand that they should 
 come to ask a poor old woman like me for 
 money.' It is less than a year since I married 
 my daughter to the Marquis de Croix-Maugars. ] 
 It was a good match, and I am well pleased 
 with it, but it nearly cost me the eyes from 
 my head." 
 
 -TMlle. de Malesydid not receive one centime 
 for a dot.^ 
 
220 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 "I, madame, have just married my daugh- 
 ter to the Marquis d'Outreville." 
 
 "What did you say the man's name is?" 
 
 Mme. Benefit made a trumpet of her two 
 hands, and shouted: 
 
 "The Marquis d'Outreville." 
 
 "Very well; I can hear you. But which 
 family? There are the genuine d'Outrevilles 
 and the bogus d'Outrevilles." 
 
 "One of the genuine." 
 
 "Are you sure? Is he rich?" 
 
 "He had nothing." 
 
 "So much the better for you; the bogus 
 d'Outrevilles have millions. They have 
 bought the lands and chatea:u, and have taken 
 the name in the bargain. What kind of a 
 nose has he?" 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Your son-in-law." 
 
 "Aquiline." 
 
 "I congratulate you; the bogus d'Outre- 
 villes have snub noses." 
 
 "This is the one who graduated from 
 V Ecole Poly technique.''^ 
 
 "Yes, I know him; rather eccentric, but 
 he is genuine. But tell me — you will not 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 221 
 
 mind the question — how did he come to make 
 such a blunder." 
 
 It was Mme. Benoit's turn to be deaf. 
 
 The countess continued: 
 
 "I mean the blunder of marrying your 
 daughter. Is she very rich?" 
 
 "An income of a hundred thousand francs 
 goes with her. We bourgeois have preserved 
 the habit of giving dots to our daughters. 
 Digest that !" 
 
 "All the same, I am astonished at him. I 
 thought he was too proud. You understand, 
 petite, that I would not say that if he were 
 here, but we are speaking confidentially. 
 Who is it, Rosine .?" 
 
 "It is the notion dealer, madame," replied 
 the maid. 
 
 "I am not at home! Those merchants are 
 becoming insupportable. Ah, petite, your 
 father was a good man ! I was saying that 
 the whole world will criticise the marquis. 
 Not pB. his face, of course, for a man's name 
 belongs to him, and he can drag it where he 
 chooses, but — Who is it now, Rosine.?" 
 
 "Madame, it is M. Majou." 
 
 "I am not at home! I am out for the day! 
 
222 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 The merchants, nowadays, are worse than 
 the beggars; you can chase them away, but 
 they always come back. Your father was 
 the only one among them who understood his 
 business. Is your daughter pretty, at least .'" 
 
 "Madame, I will have the honor of present- 
 ing her to you one of these afternoons. My ' 
 son-in-law is, at present, at our country 
 place." 
 
 "Is that it. Bring her some morning. 
 Another one, Rosine? Are they having a 
 procession this morning?" 
 
 "Madame, it is M. Bouniol." 
 
 "Tell him I have gone to the country." 
 
 "I have already told him that you are not 
 at home, and he replied that he had been here 
 five times within a week, and that he would 
 not return." 
 
 "Show him in then; I will tell him what I 
 think about him. Permit me to say, arevoir, 
 petite; you see I have business to attend to." 
 
 As Mme. Benoit entered her carriage, she 
 said to herself: 
 
 "You may patronise as much as you please, 
 you impudent old butterfly; you have debts 
 and I have money. You are in my power, 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 223 
 
 and you shall lead me by the hand as far as 
 your daughter's salon, even if it should cost 
 me five thousand louis." 
 
 Lucile had for many hours been with her 
 friend. She left the house in the Rue Saint- f 
 Dominique at eight o'clock, and, an hour ' 
 later, she descended at the prettiest house in 
 the Rue des Tilltfels. The morning was 
 beautiful, and there were so many flowers in 
 the garden that it looked like an immense 
 bouquet. The morning breeze brought to the .' 
 nostrils the refreshing fragrance of a huge | 1 
 acasia. All the vines that climb were clinging j 
 to the walls, and the place reminded Lucile 
 so much of Arlange that she would, at that ' 
 moment, ha.ve been willing to give away, to . 
 any one who would accept it, the little house 
 in the Rue Saint-Dominique, with its narrow 
 garden, where the flowers died within the ■ 
 shade of the walls. 
 
 Celine welcomed h6r friend with girlish 
 rapture. Have you ever noticed, at the 
 theater, the meeting between Orestes and 
 Pylades.' No matter how clever the actors 
 may be there is always something ridiculous 
 in the scene. It is because the friendship of 
 
224 THE MOTHER OF, A MARCHIONESS 
 
 men is in its nature neitlier expansive nor 
 graceful. A heavy clasp of the hand; the 
 arm of one grotesquely passed around the neck 
 of the other and the absurb rubbing of two 
 beards can not charm any one. How much 
 more elegant and fascinating is the tenderness 
 of women. The most unapt among them are 
 artists in friendship. 
 
 Celine was a tiny blonde, with a turned-up 
 nose, who was always showing her teeth, 
 white and pointed as those of a terrier. She 
 laughed simply because she was alive, cried 
 for no reason at all, and changed the expression 
 of her face twenty times an hour. Her 
 features were irregular and she could not have 
 been called pretty; but her face had a power 
 that beauty does not always give, that of 
 pleasing all eyes which beheld it. 
 
 Lucile was a striking contrast to Mme. 
 Jordy, and, if friendship depends upon con- 
 trast, theirs was built upon an enduring 
 foundation. The young marchioness was a 
 head taller than her friend, and not nearly so 
 plump. Have you, ever seen in the illustra- 
 tions of the delightful books of M. Carnot, 
 those nymphs with the slender and graceful 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 22$ 
 
 forms who dance around a tree, holding each 
 other by the hand? If the Marchioness 
 d'Outreville had come to join their games, 
 without other garment than a tunic, or other 
 ornament than a golden arrow in her hair, 
 they would have opened to give her a place, 
 and the game would have gone on with one 
 sister more. 
 
 "How good it was of you to come!" said 
 Celine to the marchioness, as she kissed her 
 again and again. "I dreamed about you last 
 night. How long have you been in Paris.'" 
 "Since the day after I was married." 
 "Ten days lost for me: how terrible!" 
 "If I had only known that you were here! 
 I wanted to see you so much." 
 
 "And I! In the first place, look me in the 
 face; do I look like a married woman.' 
 Will people still call me mademoiselle.''" 
 
 "It is true; there is something more of 
 dignity, or somethingof that kind, about you." 
 "You have not changed at all. 
 "What a beautiful garden you have!" 
 "Do not call it my garden. Every one sees 
 it; every one stops to admire it, and it be- 
 longs to every one. My garden is over there 
 
226 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 where you see the green door. No one ever 
 walks there but Robert and I. You shall be 
 the third- Let us go there." 
 
 "This," said Celine, when they entered 
 the little garden, "is our private park. "We 
 walk here every morning before Robert goes 
 to his office. It was he who planted those 
 vines and hung those hammocks, and he had 
 those benches ard that pretty little table put 
 in here. You never knew such taste as he 
 has; he is an artist, an architect, a gardener, 
 everything!" 
 
 After the garden had been admired suifi- 
 ciently, they went into the house, and Celine 
 was still enumerating the many excellent 
 qualities of her husband when M. Jordy him- 
 self entered. He was whistling a merry air, 
 and twirling his straw hat about on his finger. 
 At the sight of the marchioness, he stopped 
 and made a respectful bow. Celine without 
 any ceremony, flew to his arms and kissed 
 him upon both cheeks. "Do not mind Lucile," 
 she said, as she noticed a look of admonition 
 on his face, "she has been married only two 
 weeks, and she is .just as crazy as we are. 
 But I had forgotten that you have not been 
 
THE MOTHER OF. A MARCHIONESS 22; 
 
 introduced — Robert, this is Lucile," she said, 
 with a simple but graceful gesture. 
 
 This was all of the introduction. M. Jordy 
 paid Lucile a pleasant little compliment, to 
 show her that he had heard of her very often 
 and that he did not look upon her as a 
 stranger, and, as it was twelve o'clock, they 
 all went to breakfast, which was served under 
 the trees in the garden. All conventionality 
 was left aside at the meal, and everything 
 was talked about, except their neighbors and 
 the latest opera. Such was their own happi- 
 ness, that neither M. Jordy nor his wife 
 noticed that there was something of con- 
 straint in Lucile 's gayety. 
 
 At two o'clock, M. Jordy returned to his 
 office, and the two friends again took up the 
 chain of their confidences. The slightest in- 
 cident furnished them material for an hour's 
 conversation. Women are admirably consti- 
 tuted for microscopic labors; they enter into 
 the minutest details of their pleasures and 
 their sorrows. 
 
 When the dinner hour approached, Celine 
 was still doing all the talking, and Lucile 
 listened as well as she could, but her friend's 
 
 15 LaVeuve 
 
228 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 happiness recalled her own grief to her mind 
 so vividly that she finally burst into tears. 
 
 "Why Lucile! what is the matter?' You 
 are crying!" 
 
 "Ah, Celine, I am very unhappy! Mamma 
 took me away the night of the ball, and I 
 have not seen Gaston since. 
 
 Celine's face took on a severe expression. 
 
 "Why that is treason!" she cried "Why 
 did you not tell me sooner.?" 
 
 Lucile then told her the whole story. 
 
 "Why did you not write to your husband.-'" 
 asked Celine. 
 
 "I did" 
 
 "When.?" 
 
 "Four days ago" 
 
 "Well then, do not cry any more ; he will 
 come to-night. He could not have come 
 sooner." 
 
 During the dinner, Mme. Jordy preserved 
 the dignity of a Roman matron. At ten 
 o'clock Lucile took her departure. When 
 they escorted her to her carriage, the sight 
 of the coachman gave Celine a sudden inspira- 
 tion. 
 
 "Pierre," she asked, in a tone of indifference, 
 "has monsieur le marquis arrived.'" 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 229 
 
 "Yes madame." 
 
 Lucile uttered a cry, and threw herself into 
 the arms of her friend. 
 
 "What is the matter?" asked M. Jordy. 
 "Nothing," replied Celine. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 When Gaston received Lucile'^s letter, he 
 said what any man would have done under 
 the same circumstances; he kissed the signa- 
 ture a hundred times, and started at once for 
 Paris. Fortune, which sometimes handles us 
 in about the same way that a little girl does 
 her dolls, brought him to his mother-in-law's 
 house, in the Rue Saint-Dominique, on 
 Tuesday evening, precisely two weeks from 
 the day of his marriage. This time he was 
 fully resolved to resist the maternal tyfanny 
 of Mme. Blnott, and to fight the battle to a 
 finish. 
 
 He had hardly entered the door before 
 Julie ran to her mistress crying: 
 
 "Madame, madame! monsieur le marquis!" 
 
 The widow, who did not know that Lucile 
 had written to Gaston, thought he had sur- 
 rendered. With ill-concealed joy she said to 
 the maid: 
 
 "There is nothing to scream about, Julie; I 
 
 expected him." 
 
 230 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 23 1 
 
 When Gaston entered the room, he looked 
 about him in an enquiring sort of way. Mme. 
 Benoit, whose powers of observation were 
 keener than formerly, said: 
 
 "You are looking for Lucile? She is dining 
 with a friend; but she will return within an 
 hour. Well you have come at last! Kiss me, 
 my son; I pardon you." 
 
 "Well, my amiable mother, you have taken 
 the words from my mouth; the first thing I 
 wanted to say is that all your wrongs are 
 effaced by this kiss." 
 
 "If I have done wrong, you have justified 
 it in advance by that ridiculous mania, from 
 which, I am happy to see, you are now cured. 
 Admit that you were wrong, and thank me 
 for having enlightened you. Are you not 
 more contented here than anywhere else.' 
 Can anything else than necessity persuade a 
 mortal to live anywhere than in Paris ?" 
 
 "Pardon me, madame, but I have not come 
 to Paris to live." 
 
 "And for what have you come.-' To die.'" 
 
 "I do not intend to remain long enough 
 even for that. I have come to Paris to get 
 my wife, and also on business." 
 
232 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 "Do you intend to take my daughter back 
 to Arlange?" 
 
 "As soon as possible." 
 
 "Do you think she will be willing to go." 
 
 "It semes to me it is her duty." 
 
 "Do you intend to take advantage of your 
 legal rights.' Is your love sufficient to lead 
 her there, or do you intend to have it rein- 
 forced by a couple of gendarmes.'" 
 
 "Madame, I would renounce my rights, if I 
 had to claim them before the Tribunal; but 
 there will be no necessity for; that. Love 
 will be a sufficient inducement for Lucile." 
 
 "Love of you, or of Arlange.'" 
 
 "Of one or the other." 
 
 "Are you sure.'" 
 
 "Quite sure." 
 
 "We will see. May I ask the nature of 
 the business which shares with my daughter 
 the honor of having brought you to Paris.'" 
 
 "It is of a kind in which you are not at all 
 interested." 
 
 "Who is the privileged personage whom 
 you have come to see ?" 
 
 "The Minister of the Interior." 
 
 "The Minister of the Interior! Aad for 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 233 
 
 what purpose? What would the Faubourg 
 say, if it were known that you have called 
 upon the minister?" 
 
 "It shall be known! In the interests of the 
 forges and of Arlange, I want to sit in the 
 Council-General. There is at present a 
 vacancy; and I have come to ask the minister 
 to announce me as a candidate." 
 
 "But you will put me on bad terms with all 
 the aristocracy!" 
 
 "I beg your pardon, but one can be on bad 
 terms only with people one knows. If you 
 had taken the pains to ask me my political 
 opinions, I would have told you that I do not 
 belong to the Opposition." 
 
 "At any rate, you have come here because 
 I compelled you to do so. Will you sign a 
 treaty of peace?" 
 
 "With great pleasure, if you are reasona- 
 ble." 
 
 "You will find me so. You love Arlaagc 
 and wish to return there. You want to take 
 your wife with you, which is very natural. I 
 have no objection to that." 
 
 "That is all I ask. Let us sign at once." 
 
 "Wait! On the other hand, I love Paris 
 
234 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 as you love the forges, and the Faubourg as 
 you love Lucile. If I cannot enter it, I have 
 nothing to live for. Would it be too much 
 trouble for you, while you are here, to intro- 
 duce your wife and me in half a dozen houses 
 of that terrestial paradise from which I have 
 always been excluded because of — " 
 
 "Of original sin! I must tell you again that 
 I hold against the Faubourg an old-time grudge 
 which absolutely prohibits me from ever 
 appearing there again. You may think you 
 have claim enough upon me to ask me to lay 
 aside my prejudices for the time being; but 
 upon what ground can you ask me to endan- 
 ger Lucile's whole future? The quiet pleas- 
 ures of country life suffice for her ambition ; 
 she has told me so. Who can assure me that 
 a view of- the life where all is show and glitter 
 will not turn her head; that if her eyes are 
 once dazzled by the brilliant illuminations of 
 the Faubourg, they can ever accustom them- 
 selves to the soft light of the lamps in Arlange, 
 that if she once listens to the gossip and bab- 
 ble of the world, she will always be attentive 
 to the voices of her children and my own? 
 So far, she is still the Lucile of Arlange; she 
 is very unhappy in Paris." 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 235 
 
 "What makes you think so?"' 
 
 "I am sure of it; but I am not sure that in 
 six months she would feel the same as she 
 does to-day. A ball is sufficient to change the 
 heart of a young woman, and a waltz can 
 cause greater upheavals than an earthquake." 
 
 "You think so.' Well, let us grant that. 
 Lucile is yours; you can do with her as you 
 please; but with nie it is different. Listen 
 well! Here is my ultimatum, and if you 
 refuse to accept it, we will no longer attempt 
 to agree: What is to prevent you from pre- 
 senting me in five or six houses of your con- 
 nection.'" 
 
 "Without "my wife.? Believe me, my dear 
 madame, you are as well known among the 
 aristocracy as your father was. Your persever- 
 ing ambition has become the fable of the Fau- 
 bourg; the baron has written as much to me. 
 It is said that with your milHons, you have 
 bpught the right to fly through the world as 
 the tail piece to a marchioness' kite. If I 
 were to t^ke you out to-day, to-morrow they 
 would count the visits we have made and 
 calculate, within a centime, the amount I 
 have realized from each one. In a week my 
 
236 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 wife and I will leave for Arlange. We would 
 be very glad to offer you a home with us, but 
 that is all that duty and common sense re- 
 quire us to do." 
 
 Mme. Benoit was strongly tempted to 
 scratch the eyes from the head of this model 
 son-in-law, but she managed to conceal her 
 vexation. 
 
 "My friend," said she, "you have been 
 traveling for two days; you are tired and 
 sleepy, and I have been very foolish in trying 
 to convert you at such a time. You will be 
 more agreeable after a night's rest. Wait for 
 me here while I send a servant to prepare 
 your room." 
 
 When she was returning to the room, she 
 was saying to herself: 
 
 "He has come here to defy me; well I will 
 show him that I can get along without him; 
 the Countess de Malesy shall help me. But 
 I must act quickly ; he might take Lucile back 
 to Arlange sooner than he said, and then, 
 farewell to the Faubourg!" 
 
 Just then, Pierre opened the porte c^chere 
 and Lucile ran into the vestibule. Mme. 
 Benoit ran into the salon in order to be there 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 237 
 
 before her, for there was nothing she dreaded 
 more than the first interview between Gaston 
 and his wife, and she wished to dampen with 
 her presence the enthusiasm of those young 
 hearts. Lucile expected to run into the arms 
 of her husband, but it was her mother who 
 received her, with her usual volubility and 
 with unusual tenderness. 
 
 "My dear child, have you returned at last? 
 You staid so long that I was beginning to 
 grow uneasy. My heart seems to be suspended 
 by a single thread when you are away; the 
 least thing shakes it. How have you passed 
 the day.' Are you feeling better than you 
 have been for the last few days.' You see, 
 monsieur, how changed she is; the mer§ 
 sight of you makes her blush and turn pale 
 at the same time. Emotion is fatal to her. 
 And you, my dear marquis, look badly also. 
 You pretend that the air of Arlange agrees 
 with you, but your face does not show it. I 
 hope you will be better after you have had a 
 night's rest. 
 
 The next day, Mme. Benoit made her final 
 attack. She had hes^td that Gaston was to 
 have an audience with the Minister of the 
 
238 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 Interior at eleven o'clock. The Marchioness 
 de Croix-Maugars' ball was to be held two 
 days later. All the aristocracy was to be 
 there, for balls are rare in Paris in the latter 
 part of June, and when there is an opportu- 
 nity to dance under a pavilion, every one 
 goes. The widow took advantage of her son- 
 in-law's absence to leave Lucile at home, 
 while she went to see the old countess. 
 
 "Madame," she began, bluntly, "you owe 
 me about eight thousand francs." 
 
 "What did you say.'" asked the countess, 
 who was always deaf when money was men- 
 tioned. 
 
 "I did not come to collect them nor to re- 
 proach you." 
 
 "Well that is better!" 
 
 "I care so little for money that I would be 
 willing to cancel the debt, and even to make 
 some other sacrifices, to accomplish my pur- 
 pose. I wish to enter the society of the Fau- 
 bourg with my daughter, the Marchioness 
 d'Outreville, and that at once. It is the day 
 after tp-morrow that your daughter gives her 
 ball; you are her mother, and she can refuse 
 you nothing. Would I be abusing the right 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 239 
 
 which I have acquired to your good will if I 
 should ask you for two invitations?" 
 
 "Alas! my dear," replied the countess, with 
 tears in her eyes, "you do not understand. 
 My daughter is my daughter, there is no deny- 
 ing that, but she is in her husband's power. 
 Do you know Croix-Maugars.'" 
 
 "If I knew him, I would not need your help." 
 
 "That is true. Well, petite, all I have to 
 do is to ask him to do me a favor to be sure 
 of a refusal. I am the most unhappy woman 
 in Paris! My creditors are persecuting-, me, 
 although I have never done them any harm ! 
 My son-in-law is a man and he should pro- 
 tect me, but he abandons me I I do not know 
 where to turn my head! How have you the 
 heart to speak of balls and pleasures to a 
 distressed woman like me .' I have no doubt, 
 they will sell my furniture!" Here the 
 countess began to weep. 
 
 Mme. Benoit took out her handkerchief and 
 said to herself: , 
 
 "Since weeping is in order, let us weep. 
 After all, my tears are as sincere as hers." 
 
 Speaking aloud, she said: 
 
 "Come, madame la comptesse, have cour- 
 
240 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 age. Nothing can conquer a heart like yours. 
 How much do you owe.'" 
 
 "Alas! petite, I hardly know." 
 
 "That is a great misfortune. 
 
 "Yes, it is a misfortune, assented the 
 Countess de Malesy, "to be the mother of a 
 Marchioness de Croix-Maugars, to be received 
 everywhere, and to be unable to pay a few 
 hundred francs. I make you sad, do I not ? 
 Adieu, my dear, adieu! It but doubles my 
 grief to see your tears; leave me to my 
 misery!" 
 
 "How much do your most pressing debts 
 amount to.' 
 
 "Ah, how much.' I do not know myself; I 
 am loosing my memory, but here they are in 
 my desk. First comes M. Bouinol; I owe 
 him two thousand francs." 
 
 "Will you permit me to call upon him; I 
 will take charge of the matter.'" 
 
 "I forbid you! — Or rather, yes; go there. 
 You can get along with him better than I 
 can. You merchants do not eat each other. 
 You can buy the claim for half, and it will 
 be to you that I will owe the two thousand 
 francs." 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 24t 
 
 "Vey well, madame. Who are the others ?" 
 
 "Here is a baker in the Rue de Poitiers, 
 who claims five hundred francs for a few 
 miserable cakes that I bought at his shop." 
 
 "I will say a word to him." 
 
 "Yes, tell him that he should be ashamed, 
 and that I never want to hear of him again." 
 
 "He will not trouble you any more." 
 
 "Then here is M. Majou, with his biU for a 
 few cases of wine." 
 
 "That is but a bagatelle. Give me the bill. 
 How much is it.' A thousand francs! 
 Heavens! madame la comptesse, it is an 
 excellent quality of wine you use." 
 
 "Here is the bill of the furniture dealer ; he 
 asks for fifteen hundred francs, but if one 
 knew how to go about it, he would take half." 
 
 "I will try, madame la comtesse," said Mme. 
 Benoit, as she took the four bills and folded 
 them carefully together. "It is twelve o'clock 
 and I will go now and look after your affairs. 
 Now that your mind is more at ease, will you 
 not try the effect of your eloquence upon the 
 Marquis de Croix-Maugars.'" 
 
 "Yes, my dear, my mind is more at ease, 
 but you do not yet know all my grief. " 
 
242 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 She went to the desk again and took from 
 it a portfeuille filled with papers. 
 
 "Five thousand francs," said Mnie. Benoit to 
 herself, "is not a high price for a passport 
 into the Faubourg, but if I remain here, 
 the old lady will want me to buy her the 
 Louvre or the Tuilleries as I pass by." 
 
 She laid the bills she had taken upon the 
 table, and said: 
 
 "Alas! madame, I am afraid your sorrows 
 are beyond cure." 
 
 "No, no; they are not," quickly replied the 
 countess. "I will be sure to get out of 
 difficulty one of these days; and you have 
 raised my courage. The bills I have shown 
 you are the most urgent ones, the others can 
 wait. I will go to see my daughter at once, 
 and I will get an invitation for the Marchion- 
 ess d'Outreville. There will be no need for 
 two ; you can come with your daughter. In 
 the meantime, go to see those tradesmen, and 
 return here at three o'clock with the receipts. 
 You can exchange them for the invitation." 
 
 The Marquis de Croix-Maugars made a 
 grimace when he saw his mother-in-law enter 
 his house. Her needs were so many that he 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 243 
 
 had grown accustomed to look upon the old 
 countess as a bill of exchange. When he 
 found that she did not ask for money, he had 
 nothing to refuse her, but smilingly gave her 
 the blank card she asked for, without dream- 
 ing of its value. 
 
 Mme. Benoit, happy as a sailor when he 
 enters his native port, called upon the , four 
 creditors of the Countess de Malesy and paid 
 them all without disputing an account. At 
 three o'clock the countess pocketed her re- 
 ceipts and the widow returned to her house, 
 with the precious invitation in her hand. "At 
 last", she said, "I have my naturalization 
 papers; I am a citizen of the Faubourg Saint- 
 Germain !" 
 
 When she alighted from her carriage, she 
 saw the victim of her former rage, the undis- 
 cerning Jaquet, standing in the yard. 
 
 "Come here, my boy," she said; "you do 
 not need to be afraid. I have pardoned you. 
 You want to be taken back.'" 
 
 "Oh, thank you madame, monsieur le mar- 
 quis has given me a place." 
 
 "The marquis has given you a place! You 
 are fortunate." 
 
 16 LeVeuve 
 
244 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 "Yes madame, very fortunate; I earn fifty 
 francs a month." 
 
 "I congratulate you. Is that all you have 
 come to say.'" 
 
 "No, madame, I have brought you two 
 letters." 
 
 "Where are they.?" 
 
 "I have to get them out of the lining of my 
 hat; here they are:" 
 
 One of the letters was from Gaston; the 
 other from Lucile. Gaston said: 
 
 "My dear mo'ther-in-law:— With the confi- 
 dent hope that maternal love will induce you 
 to leave the Paris which you love too well, I 
 have taken your daughter to Arlange. We 
 would be delighted to have you join us there." 
 
 "Who gave you this.'" cried Mme. Benoit; 
 but Jaquet was gone, like a bird before the 
 storm. She unsealed the other letter and 
 found three pages of apologies and excuses, 
 which terminated with: "A woman should 
 follow her husband." 
 
 When Mme. Benoit read these letters, she 
 thought neither of the treason of her daughter, 
 nor the ingatitude of her son-in-law, nor of 
 the rupture of any domestic tie; she thought 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 24$ 
 
 only that she had bought an invitation for five 
 thousand francs; that it was in the name of 
 the Marchioness d'Outreville, that it could not 
 be of the least possible use to Mme. Benoit 
 and that they would dance without her at the 
 marchioness' ball. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Gaston, confident of his rights and of 
 Lucile's love, was not afraid of being pursued 
 by his mother-in-law. The trip to Arlange 
 was made one of pleasure. They chose their 
 route and stopped when they pleased. It 
 took them three weeks to reach their destina- 
 tion, and although Lucile had made the same 
 journey with her mother in less than two days, 
 the second journey seemed shorter to her than 
 the first. 
 
 The arrival of the bride and groom was the 
 occasion of aff^e in Arlange, for Lucile was 
 adored by all the people in the village. The 
 workmen of the forge told her in their patois, 
 that they had found the time very long while 
 she was away. The companionsof her child- 
 hood presented themselves, with awkward , 
 timidity, to extend their congratulations, and 
 she received them in her arms. She inquired 
 after the absent and the sick, and made the 
 whole village radiant with the joy which filled 
 her heart. 
 
 346 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 247 
 
 After she had shown proper appreciation of 
 the overtures which were made to her, Lucile 
 would have been willing to lock herself up at 
 the forges with Gaston^and see no one else 
 than him; but he persuaded her to make and 
 receive visits, and he even had the heroism 
 to take her to call upon the Baroness de 
 Sommerfogel. He joined her in sending an 
 invitation to M. and !^Ime. Jordy tocome and 
 spend their summer vacation with them in 
 Arlange, and he dictated to Lucile half a dozen 
 letters intended to -pacify Mme. Benoit and 
 bring her back to Arlange. These marks of 
 filial affection served only to exasperate the 
 disappointed widow. She had no use what- 
 ever for those idle letters, which could not 
 serve to open the door of a single salon. If 
 she had forgotten for an instant what she 
 called the treason of her daughter, the invita- 
 tion to the Croix-Maugars' ball, which she 
 always carried about with her, would have 
 served to remind her. She thought that the 
 whole nobility of France had formed a plot 
 against her, and she looked upon the Marquis 
 d'Outreville as the chief conspirator. If she 
 did not bid an eternal farewell to the scene of 
 
248 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 her failures, it was because she did not wish 
 to admit herself vanquished, for she knew that 
 she had nothing to expect, except from chance. 
 
 She no longer visited any of her debtors, 
 except the Baron de Subressac. It was not 
 that she expected any favors from him, but 
 she was at least sure of his good will, and the 
 good will of a baron is not to be disdained. 
 
 M. de Subressac was more aged than a 
 man of seventy-five should be, and, unfortu- 
 nately for him, he had forgotten to marry in 
 time. He lived upon an income of six thou- 
 sand francs, in an upper story, with a valet 
 and a cook, who serve'Tiim from force of habit 
 and who did not mind the irregularity of their 
 pay. Every morning, after breakfast, he 
 made his toilet with all the coquetry of a 
 woman whose beauty is beginning to fade. It 
 was said that he used rouge, but this assertion 
 has never been substantiated. When he was 
 once dressed, he made his visits. He was 
 well received everywhere, and was invited to 
 dine seven times a week. On the whole, he 
 was as happy as a man who is seventy-five 
 years of age, and who has to look in the 
 homes of other people for his pleasures, can 
 possibly be. 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 249 
 
 He had no infirmities, but, in the winter 
 of 1845, ^is most intimate friends noticed that 
 he was beginning to fail. His conversation 
 was less lively than formerly, and he had 
 absent moods. One evening, after dinner at 
 the Marquis de Croix-Maugars, he fell asleep 
 in his chair. The Countess de Malesy, who 
 noticed him, made the lugubrious observation: 
 "Insomnia in youth, or drowsiness in age, is 
 a forecast of death." In April, he was seized 
 in the rue Bellechasse with a spell of dizzi- 
 ness, and he would have fallen had it not been 
 for a gendarme who caught him in his arms. 
 After this, he staid at home most of the time, 
 and he regretted more than ever that he could 
 not afford a carriage. He was well received 
 everywhere but few people came to see him. 
 Mme. Benoit was the first person to care for 
 him, and she placed at his disposal the easiest 
 of her carriages. The baron felt a tender 
 gratitude for her kindness. Aged people are 
 like children; they become attached instinct- 
 ively to those who guard their weakness. He 
 came to dine in the Rue Saint-Dominique 
 every day. The dinners were gotten up ex- 
 pressly for him, and he was given the dishes 
 
250 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 he was most fond of, as well as the best wine 
 in the cellar. At desert, he would relate his 
 sorrows and Mme. Benoit would listen. After 
 he had exhausted his real woes, he would 
 enumerate imaginary ones, and then she 
 would weep. As tears are contagious, the 
 baron would always weep with her. One 
 night in the latter part of September, he said 
 to the widow: 
 
 "My dear, I resemble an old carpet whose 
 design is faded, and which shows only cords 
 and strings; but, such as I am, I can still give 
 you what you have wanted all your life. Do 
 you wish to be a baroness.' Something tells 
 me that you will not have to endure me very 
 long; I even think you will have to make 
 haste if you want to become Mme. de 
 Subressac. I have many relatives in the Fau- 
 bourg, and I am rather popular everywhere. 
 I will only have time to present you to my 
 friends; but, after my dea^h, they will con- 
 tinue to receive you for my sake. Reflect 
 upon this proposition. Take a week to de- 
 cide; take two, I am still good for two weeks. 
 Write to your children; perhaps fear of this 
 marriage will induce them to do as you wish. 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 25 1 
 
 For my part, whatever happens, I will die 
 more tranquilly if I have the consolation of 
 knowing that I have contributed to your hap- 
 piness." 
 
 Mme, Benoit was not prepared for such 
 overtures, but she did not need two weeks to 
 decide. An hour after the baron was gone, 
 her mind was made up. She said to herself: 
 "I have sworn that I would never marry 
 again; but I have sworn, also, that I would 
 enter the Faubourg. This time, I can at least, 
 be sure that my husband will not beat me." 
 
 She sent her reply to M. Subressac, and 
 began the preparations for her marriage with- 
 out writing to her daughter of her intention. 
 A slight indisposition of the baron warned her 
 that she had no time to lose. While he was 
 confined to his room she attended to the 
 publications in the church and all the legal 
 formalities. The ceremony was fixed for the 
 fifteenth of October. On the fourteenth, M. 
 de Subressac complained of a slight pain in 
 his head, but, towards evening, he was better 
 and he dined with his prospective bride with 
 his usual appetite. 
 
 While Mme. Benoit was pursuing her barony 
 
2 53 THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 
 
 M. and Mme. Jordy were spending their 
 autumn vacation of three weeks in Arlange. 
 Mme. Melier entertained them for a week, 
 and allowed them to spend the balance of the 
 time at the forges. The marquis and M. 
 Jordy soon became almost as firm friends as 
 Celine and Lucile. The day on which Gas- 
 ton was to gain a father-in-law and lose a 
 fortune — for Mme. Benoit had determined to 
 leave her own wealth to a hospital, and thus 
 disappoint whatever expectations her son-in- 
 law might have — both couples arose almost 
 at break of day and had a picnic in the forest, 
 3t which they all enjoyed themselves greatly, 
 little dreaming of the important events that 
 were taking place at Paris. 
 
 At ten o'clock in the morning, Mme. Benoit 
 took her seat in her carriage and started for 
 the baron's lodging, for, contrary to the usual 
 custom, it was the bride who was going for 
 her groom. When she ascended the steps, 
 she was met by the two servants who were 
 in tears. The baron had died suddenly dur- 
 ing the night. She asked to see the remains 
 and, holding the cold hand, she sat for an 
 hour beside the bed, stupefied and tearless. 
 
THE MOTHER OF A MARCHIONESS 253 
 
 It was Mme. Benoit who presided at the 
 baron's funeral. She took his two servants 
 into her service, and assumed all his debts. 
 "For," said she, "am I not his widow in the 
 eyes of God?" At the grave, when she saw 
 the long line of carriages behind her own, she 
 burst into tears and cried, between her sobs: 
 
 "How unhapy I am; all those aristocratic 
 people would have danced at my house." 
 ***** 
 
 Gabrielle-Auguste-Eliane Benoit died, like 
 Moses on Mount Nebo, without having placed 
 her foot in the promised land. 
 
 THE END 
 
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