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A. L T E T T E
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[LA MoRTE]
BY
OCTAVE FEUILLET
AUTHOR of “THE Boxſ ANCE OF A PooB. YoUNG MAN,” ETO., ETO.
TRANSLATED BY
J. H E N R Y H. A. G. E. R.
NEW YORK
D. A PPL E TO N A N D C O M P A NY
1, 3, AND 5 BOND STREET
1886
CoPYRIGHT, 1886,
By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
§
^
A L I H. T. T. E.
BERNARD’S JOURNAL.
LA SAVINIñRE, September, 187—.
I AM in the country, at my uncle's. His con-
versation is charming and—copious. Still, he
does sometimes allow me moments of leisure. It
has occurred to me to utilize them by undertak-
ing some literary work. People, as a rule, write
so badly nowadays, that I fancy I can handle a
pen quite as well as the majority, although hith-
erto I have written nothing but telegrams.
There is in a neighboring château, where
some friends of my uncle reside, quite a consider-
able library, of which I can avail myself. As it
is rich in documents relating to the seventeenth
century, I at first thought of making them useful
in rewriting the history of Louis XIV, in which
4. ALIETTE.
Voltaire failed; but, on reflection, I preferred to
write my own, which interested me more. The
reader—if I should ever have one—would no
doubt admit that it is far more agreeable to see
the reflection of one’s own features in a glass than
those of anybody else. I quite agree with him.
I am thirty — tall, supple, well formed — a
blonde, whose hair came near being of a warmer
tint than auburn. I waltz well, and am a good
horseman. As to the physical man, posterity will
never know more than this. As to my mental
accomplishments, I can say that I have read
somewhat; morally, I am not a bad sort of fellow.
In fact, strictly speaking, I only recognize in my-
self a single fault—that of never taking anything
seriously, either in earth or heaven. Some years
ago, when I saw disappear below the horizon the
figure of the being whom I was wont to call the
bon Diew, I remember I wept. From that mo-
ment a serene and imperturbable gayety has
formed the basis of my happy disposition.
It is commonly supposed by the inferior
classes of society that the French aristocracy is
a conservatory of antiquated superstitions. The
error, at least so far as I am concerned, is palpa-
ALIETTE. 5
ble. I no doubt make certain necessary conces-
sions to appearances, but, in other respects, I de-
clare that the most radical positivist, the most
obdurate Freemason, the craziest follower of Ma-
grianne, are but old women made up of preju-
dices, by the side of the gentleman who pens
these lines.
My uncle, however, has undertaken to marry
me to a young girl, who is not only herself excep-
tionally pious, but whose family seems plunged
in the lowest depths of devotion. It is this pi-
quant episode of my life that appears to me wor-
thy of being studied and sketched by a competent
observer. It is solely upon this portion of my
modest biography that I propose touching in
these pages, only recalling so much of my past as
may be necessary for the proper understanding of
the present, and leaving the future to the immor-
tal gods.
I am named Bernard-Maurice Hugon de Mon-
tauret, Wicomte de Vaudricourt. We have on
our coat-of-arms the besants of the crusades,
an agreeable distinction. My uncle is the Comte
de Montauret de Vaudricourt, the eldest and head
of our family. He lost, some years ago, his only
6 ALIETTE.
son, and I thus became the sole inheritor of the
name. We are both desirous that this name shall
not become extinct, but for some time differed as
to the manner in which it was to be perpetuated.
My uncle insisted on making it my especial duty,
while I, on the other hand, was unwilling to rob
him of the privilege. He was a widower, and I
urged him to marry again, calling his attention to
the fact that he was still vigorous, and had the
appearance of one who is warranted in counting
upon the future. I was unable, however, to over-
come his opposition, apparently based on reasons
of which he was the best judge.
My uncle seemed touched, though certainly
without cause, by what he considered my disin-
terestedness in urging him to marry. The truth
is, that of two evils I chose the least, and I pre-
ferred to hazard sacrificing the estate rather than
to risk my person, my liberty, and my honor, by
entering upon so formidable an undertaking as
marriage. Still, although I am not, as I have
already intimated, overburdened with beliefs, I
acknowledge the existence of a certain number of
duties. One of mine, no doubt, is to save from
extinction our old family name, as well as our
ALIETTE. 7
besants d'or sur fond de gueules ; and as, un-
fortunately, there is no other way of attaining
this end save through wedlock, it has been agreed
between us as a principle, for the past four
years, that I shall marry and raise a family.
This agreement arrived at, my uncle, urged
by a senile impatience, commenced to insist upon
my carrying it at once into effect. It was then
that I began to study with quite a new interest
a class of young persons in Society who had hith-
erto been altogether indifferent to me—I refer
to young girls. I had considered myself thor-
ough in my knowledge of women, having al-
ways entered upon its acquisition with the great-
est pleasure. As to young girls, I was igno-
rant, or believed I was ignorant. To my great
surprise, and, I should add, to my great regret, I
discovered that there was, at least in Paris, only a
very slight difference between the two varieties,
and that, at the present writing, many women
could take lessons on various subjects from young
girls.
I recall the fact that one day my old and
excellent friend, the Duchesse de Castel-Moret,
gave at her residence in the Rue Saint-Domi-
8 ALIETTE.
nique a bal blanc, the guests at which were almost
exclusively girls of from fifteen to twenty-two.
This little fête was really arranged for my espe-
cial benefit. I had confidentially informed the
duchesse of my matrimonial intentions, and she
had kindly suggested bringing together for my
inspection the fine fleur of marriageable young
ladies, assuring me that in that élite assemblage I
should have only to stretch forth my hand to
grasp a pearl. In fact, this crowd of graceful pink
and white beauties, nonchalantly dancing with
each other, presented such a spectacle of happy
innocence that, under the circumstances, my only
difficulty seemed to be that of making a choice.
It was a lovely day in June. After their sal-
tatory exercises, the young ladies wandered about
the gardens of the hôtel, where tea was served
upon the lawn. I had seated myself alone behind
a clump of rhododendrons and was trying to
bring my poor heart into something like order,
when a bevy of the charming creatures passed on
the other side of the flowery screen. There were
three of them, all talking in a somewhat subdued
tone, and punctuating their conversation with the
most delicious laughter.
ALIETTE, 9
I listened, but can not repeat what I was
thunderstruck at hearing fall from those maiden
lips.
The good old duchesse, who is a survival
from a purer age, assured me, when I reported
the conversation, that during her entire career
she had heard nothing like it—that, in fact, she
did not quite understand what the young ladies
meant. But many things are now frequently
said in Society that our mothers, to say nothing
of our grandmothers, would have failed to com-
prehend.
I am not of opinion, however, that the pre-
cocity of the young girls of our day should be
charged to the moral obliquity of the mothers.
I willingly do the latter the justice of saying
that, without exception, whatever may be their
personal morality, they wish to make their daugh-
ters good women. What is wanting in their
efforts to bring about so desirable a consumma-
tion is a few grains of the commonest of com-
IſlOOl SCI1S62.
The same blindness which frequently closes
the eyes of husbands to the short-comings of their
wives, frequently seems to fall upon the vision
10 ALIETTE.
of the mothers with regard to their daughters.
They seem to believe that everything in nature
can be corrupted except their offspring—that
their daughters can safely pass through the most
dangerous situations, witness the most suggestive
spectacles, and listen to the most equivocal
conversation. Everything that passes before the
eyes, into the ears, or through the minds of
these young people, according to the maternal
theory, becomes instantly pure. Their daughters
are, in short, moral Salamanders who can with
impunity pass through fire—even the fire of per-
dition
Imbued with this accommodating conviction,
a mother does not hesitate to expose her daugh-
ter to all the depraving excitements of the fash-
ionable world of Paris, where one sees in action
the seven deadly sins.
In other respects these poor mothers, in com-
mon with their unfortunate daughters, deserve
every indulgence at the hands of the thoughtful
observer. They are simply carried along by the
wave that bears us all on its crest—the wave
of a decaying civilization. A people in this
predicament is, if I mistake not, a people that
A LIETTE. 11
has lost its appetite for healthful nutriment,
and it seems to me that from the highest to the
lowest we are so afflicted. For the highest and
the lowest, selfish enjoyment is to-day the only
law, the only creed. Any other religion is
merely a matter of decorum. One must choose
some cult for appearance's sake, and my choice
has been made.
I confess that I was somewhat shaken in my
plans regarding marriage by the incident at the
duchesse's bal blanc. A little reflection, how-
ever, and the exercise of a sound philosophy,
restored my mental poise, and confirmed me in
my programme.
“By what right,” I asked myself, “do I
insist upon marrying a woman who is morally
better than I am? It is evident, from what I
chanced to overhear of these young girls' conver-
sation, that ideal virtue has very little place in
their thoughts—but has it any more in my own Ż
It is equally evident that they are Christians only
in name, and that they are immersed, body and
soul, in a thoroughly materialistic paganism—but
am I in any better position?
“In other words, a man should be satisfied
12 ALIETTE,
with the woman he deserves—and reciprocally.
And it is well that it should be sol Otherwise
there would be neither harmony nor equipoise in
the household. Am I marrying with chimerical
views? Do I expect to find a romance in matri-
mony ? If I can not contribute one, why should
I demand one { In fact, there is not one of these
charming young girls but could provide me with
what I seek in the marriage relation—decorum,
comfort, respectability, birth, good plain cooking.
That is enough ! My wife would bore me terribly
should she insist on taking moonlight walks in a
grove, and conversing upon the immortality of
the soul.”
In consequence of this conference with my-
self, I resolved to marry the first candidate that
presented herself, provided she fulfilled certain
elementary conditions. Somewhat cooled, how-
ever, in my first enthusiasm, I determined not to
hurry.
My uncle, at this very period—that is to say,
two years ago—left Paris to reside in the country,
and I was thus allowed a breathing-spell. His
reasons for leaving were mysterious. He wor-
shiped the Boulevard and worships it still. He
ALIETTE. 13
also worshiped many other things essentially
Parisian, but which no longer afforded him as
much pleasure as formerly; and that annoyed
him. In short, he abdicated, set out for his chá-
teau, La Savinière, situate between Brittany and
Normandy, and busied himself in cattle-raising.
Since that time I have, like a faithful and
attentive nephew, visited him once every three
months, passing a night en route in going and
coming, and never spending more than a day
at the château. I am not a stranger to family
affection, and am aware of the duties which it
imposes; but, to my mind, these duties have a
limit, and I should have exceeded that limit had
I spent more than twelve hours in the country—
the very smell of which was odious to me.
My uncle, who had a weakness for my society
—and, so far as that goes, I was not averse to
his—found, however, a way of keeping me for
several weeks at his château in the midst of the
detested country. I received from him, about
four months ago, the following letter:
“I have discovered on my estate, my dear
Bernard, a piece of land admirably adapted for
2
14 ALIETTE.
steeple-chasing—a vast hippodrome, with meadows
and heather, fences, banks, ditches, and an amphi-
theatre of hills for the spectators; in fact, every-
thing that one could wish for. It is half-way
between the château and the town of S , the
capital of the department—the two places being
three kilometres apart. The town could therefore
furnish certain requisites for a fête of this kind—
music, magnates, and a public. I have already
mentioned it to the préfet, the treasurer-general,
and to the mayor. These three dignitaries—all
of whom, the treasurer-general especially, are dis-
creetly republican—were heartily in favor of my
plan. The préfet promised to have the necessary
funds voted by the conseil-général; the mayor
will contribute the band and the firemen, while
the treasurer-general has made himself responsible
for the fire-works.
“It is for you and me, Bernard, to attend to
the rest. I know, my dear fellow, how fond you
are of this kind of sport, and how you lament
the infrequency of the opportunities that are af-
forded in France for indulging your taste. You
have only, I fancy, to say a word to Soulaville,
Verviers, and Cadières, to secure for us their en-
ALIETTE. 15
thusiastic assistance. I have myself written to
the duke, to Dawson, to Gardiner, and to Couran-
beaux. Let it be understood that I offer to your
friends, as well as to my own, the most liberal
hospitality. For their convenience as well as
yours, we will fix the date for the week after the
Caen races. In this way the journey to be taken
to reach here will be short, and we shall no doubt
have the good fortune to secure some of the
crowd that compose the brilliant assemblages at
Caen and Deauville.
“Don’t refuse, Bernard. This féte, which I
hope to make annual, is one of the few pleasures
left your old uncle in this world, and you would
not have the heart to prevent his enjoying it.”
My innocence is quite child-like, and I fell
headlong into the pit which my astute old rela-
tive had dug for me, by skillfully appealing to
one of my strongest passions—a fondness for
steeple-chasing. Without for a moment suspect-
ing the Machiavellian craft that lay concealed be-
neath this show of good nature, I at once placed
myself at his disposal.
I drummed up for him some recruits among
16 ALIETTE.
my friends; he did the same among his. On
the 8th of last August we found ourselves assem-
bled at my uncle's—Werviers, Gardiner, Dawson,
and myself. Others, on their way back from the
meetings at Caen and Deauville, lodged in the
neighboring town and created a pleasing bustle.
My uncle, an expert in such matters, had so clev-
erly laid out the track and arranged the hurdles,
that nothing had to be altered. The race was to
be run on the next day but one, the 10th, which
fell on a Sunday.
It was a fine sight ! The drummers had beat-
en the reveille in the streets at dawn. The “gen-
tlemen” of the neighborhood had brought out for
the occasion their hunting-boots and their knee-
breeches, and were airing them with much com-
placency. The local aristocracy occupied a range
of raised seats beneath an immense flag-decorated
canopy that had been erected by my uncle. The
rest of the population, in holiday attire, orna-
mented the semicircle of hills, and abandoned
themselves to the enjoyment of frugal lunches.
The band played the Marseillaise (there is no
such thing as unalloyed pleasure), and the firemen
acted as police in keeping back the crowd.
ALIETTE. 17
There were eight entries; I rode the duke's
horse, Talbot II. Gardiner and Werviers came
to grief in a ditch, while Couranbeaux dislocated
his shoulder against a bank. Meanwhile, I was
shooting along like an arrow, and came in first,
beating Carillon from seven to eight lengths.
The race had been quite an exciting one, and,
as the spectators manifested the liveliest interest,
I naturally received, as the winner, an enthusi-
astic ovation. As I was displaying my trium-
phant Talbot and my violet cloak before the trib-
une, I could not help noticing upon one of the
benches, amid the fluttering of handkerchiefs, a
petite lady with light hair who was not waving her
handkerchief, but whose lovely eyes, fixed on me,
manifested a curious interest quite unusual. She
was not alone, and her face, while she was looking
at me, did not at all wear the expression of common-
place admiration with which the winner of a race
is generally regarded. No ; it was evident that to
the ladies of her party, and especially to this
blonde creature, I was something more. No doubt
I had been described, and was expected, having
been preceded by a kind of Boulevard club and
sporting reputation—by a semi-scandalous re-
18 ALIETTE.
nown, a vague soupçon of gallantry and success
with the fair sex. I should regret to seem to be
wanting in modesty, but how could one fail to
realize that the appearance of this specimen of
the fine fleur of Parisian youth must naturally
lead to abnormal excitement in the provincial
imagination ?
To crown the fête, my uncle was to give a
ball in the evening, to which the town and neigh-
borhood were invited, and at which the wife and
daughters of the treasurer-general had kindly
offered to do the honors. I was waltzing with
one of these ladies, when my eyes suddenly en-
countered the gaze of the blonde young girl whom
I had noticed in the tribune. Her eyes followed
me through the dance with the same half-timid
but constant and Sedulous curiosity that had
already attracted my attention. My impetuous
manner of waltzing, which gave me the appear-
ance of being in the act of eloping with my part-
ner, seemed to astonish and delight her. I went
to look for my uncle.
“Uncle,” I said, “there is a young lady who
is dying to waltz with me. I shall be glad to
gratify her. Will you present me?”
ALIETTE. 19
A peculiar Smile, that set me to thinking, per-
vaded my uncle's tired features, while he has-
tened to lead me to the family group which
severely framed in my youthful admirer.
“Mademoiselle,” he said, “permit me, with
the consent of your mother, to present a waltzer to
you—my nephew, the Wicomte de Vaudricourt.
—My nephew, Mlle. Aliette de Courteheuse.”
Mlle. de Courteheuse blushed deeply.
“Very much obliged,” she murmured, “but I
do not waltz.”
She refused. Refused ? I was dumfounded
for some seconds, finding myself in the awkward
position of one who sees his favors rejected in
the most unexpected, not to say absurd, manner.
Then, collecting myself:
“Not even a mazurka, mademoiselle?”
“Not even a mazurka.”
“Might I dare to rely upon a quadrille 7 °
She smiled faintly, almost ironically, as she
replied:
“If you wish it.”
Upon this happy conclusion of a difficult
negotiation, the family group, composed of a
mother, an aunt, an uncle, and a brother, in-
20 ALIETTE.
dulged itself simultaneously in a sigh of relief
and satisfaction.
The quadrille was just forming, so I took my
place with Mlle. Aliette. Her hair—of a pe-
culiar ash-color—was somewhat disordered, and
had been ornamented with a few forest leaves.
She was charming. Not tall, with the tiny
feet of a fairy that dances over the grass, well
formed for her height, naturally elegant and
distinguée. There was something transparent
about her entire person. In her face and eyes
was a singular expression of mingled timidity and
boldness, of candor and earnestness. These same
peculiarities characterized her language, enlivened
now and then by a little harmless sarcasm.
Above and over all an air of purity and goodness
that could not be gainsaid. Such was the im-
pression she made upon you. Further than this,
too deeply impressed by the revelations of the
bal blanc, I did not care to speculate. At all
events, she was an interesting young person.
Naturally, my partner during the quadrille
was rather bashful and laconic. I did my best to
encourage her, and gently endeavored to put her
at her ease. A propos of the events of the day,
ALIETTE. 21
we talked “horse.” She rode herself, usu-
ally with her old uncle the admiral, and some-
times with her brother who was a midshipman.
“They both ride like sailors,” she added,
laughing. “It was I who taught them. And I.”
she continued in a graver tone, “was instructed
by my father.”
On taking her back to her seat, I addressed a
few polite words to the mother, the aunt, the
admiral, and the midshipman, and, leaving this
respectable family in a state of open-mouthed as-
tonishment at my condescension, was soon lost in
the crowd.
Such was my first meeting with Mlle. Aliette de
Courteheuse, who, I suspected from that moment,
it was my uncle's intention should be my fiancée.
The second took place two days later at the Château
de Varaville, the residence of the Courteheuses,
where my uncle had inveigled me under the pre-
text of showing a little neighborly courtesy. It
was an extensive manor-house, Surbased and with
pointed roofs, whose interior arrangements were
decidedly provincial. The fine massive furniture
was arranged in methodical order with that eye
for discomfort which so eminently characterized
22 ALIETTE.
our fathers. It was not the kind of nest one
would picture to one’s self for a little bluebird
like Mlle. Aliette. We found her there, how-
ever, very gay and lively and somewhat excited
by our visit. Although my uncle denied it, he
had evidently held out hopes to the parents, and
Mlle. Aliette had had an inkling of what was on
foot. All these good people, in fact, examined,
studied, and scrutinized me with an intensity that
must have proved very fatiguing.
That same day, as we were slowly wending
our way back to La Savinière, my uncle at last
opened his heart to me.
It was, he told me, one of those chances that
comes but once in a lifetime. A girl out of a
hundred, a charming physique, a superior educa-
tion, a noble name, a fortune already large, but
which would attain magnificent proportions in the
future; an old maiden aunt, an uncle an admiral
and a bachelor, another uncle a bishop, and also
of course single—in short, perfection 1
My uncle added a few figures and other de-
tails. From what he told me, and from my own
observation, I discovered that the Courteheuses
(coming of very ancient stock) formed a quite
ALIETTE. 23
original family group. With the exception of a
fondness for horses which they inherited, they
did not at all belong to our modern world. They
were believers and worshipers of another age,
whose calmness the gusts of the present century
had not even ruffled. One branch of the family
had emigrated to England with William the Con-
queror, and still ranks among the most exalted of
the aristocracy of the United Kingdom. The in-
tercourse of the French Courteheuses with their
English relatives is still frequent, and they have
assisted in giving them the peculiar bent that
characterizes the race.
Although Catholics, their habits are tinged
with a touch of Puritan formality. Thus they
seem to have borrowed from their relations be-
yond the sea the ancient English custom of hav-
ing family prayers before retiring. This trait
alone will serve to individualize them. The late
Baron de Courteheuse, brother of the admiral and
bishop, and Aliette's father, was, from all reports,
a grave and cultivated gentleman. He would not
allow his daughter either a governess, lessons in
town, a boarding-school, or a convent. With the
aid of several professors, chosen with the greatest
24 A LIETTE.
care and constantly watched, he had himself edu-
cated Aliette, so far as her intellect was con-
cerned, leaving to her mother her moral and
religious training.
It was certainly not from a model family like
this that a man of frivolous habits and no belief
at all, like myself, would naturally choose a wife.
There seemed to be a shocking inappropriateness
in the very idea. But let us argue the matter
a little. As I had decided, as I have said, to
marry the first of the young pagans of the rising
generation that might present herself, I certainly
could not object to Mlle. de Courteheuse. I even
admit that I was not displeased at the thought of
my wife being something of a Christian—not, be
it understood, because I exaggerated the strength
of the moral guarantees that feminine piety offers,
or because I considered the latter a synonym for
virtue. It, however, still remains true that with
women the idea of duty is rarely separated from
the idea of religion, and because religion does not
act as a preservative with all, it is wrong to con-
clude that it does not so act with any. Thus it is
just as well to have the strengthening power of
piety on one's side.
ALIETTE. 25
*
It is true that the Courteheuse family, and
Mlle. de Courteheuse herself, seemed to carry
their beliefs and religious habits to the verge of
fanaticism. As to the former, I did not propose
to worry; while as to the latter, I said to myself
that she could not pass a season in Paris without
parting with whatever excess or oddity there
might be in her religious life. In every respect
the advantages of such a union were indisputable.
At the first glance she suited me, and I did not
hesitate to tell my uncle so.
One thing, however, puzzled me not a little.
That a skeptic like myself should marry a dévote
seemed to me quite natural: I have stated my
reasons. But that a family of such rigid ortho-
doxy should not be repelled by the suggestion of
an alliance with one whose reputation, though
that of a man of the strictest honor, was in no
wise that of a saint, I must admit, surprised me.
From that day, by a tacit understanding and
with all necessary reservations, it was evident
that I was received by the Courteheuses on the
footing of a possible but not yet accepted suitor.
I had offered to give lessons in horsemanship to
the young sailor Gerard, Mlle. Aliette's brother.
3
26 ALIETTE.
After a little while, the young lady herself, under
the guidance of the admiral, condescended to take
part in our excursions. She gayly begged me not
to spare my criticisms in the matter of her riding.
She had, however, no need of them. This little
blonde dévote is quite a female Centaur, and, as
this is about the only kind of pleasure that is al-
lowed her, she throws her whole soul into it. She
was very carefully taught by her father, and her
seat is something wonderful.
On returning from our morning rides, it sev-
eral times happened that I stayed to breakfast at
Varaville. During this increasing intimacy, all
the Courteheuses continued to study with the
same care my physical, mental, and moral attri-
butes, seeming to be better and better satisfied
with the results of their observation. On my
side, with perhaps less Satisfaction, but with an
equal interest, I advanced each day more deeply
in the examination of this prehistoric group. I
came to understand that the Baron de Courte-
heuse, now no more, must have been, if not a
person of superior intellect, at least one endowed
with a character of great force and originality,
and that he had made and left a deep impression
ALIETTE. 27
upon all his relatives. The régime he had estab-
lished in his family had survived him, and his
mind still ruled the household under the graceful
form of Mlle. Aliette. Indeed, it was the young
lady herself who confirmed me in this theory, by
revealing the species of mania which had held
possession of her father, a large measure of which
she had inherited.
She one day showed me through the library,
which, as I have already said, was exceedingly
rich in works of the seventeenth century, and in
memoirs relating to that period. I also noticed
a curious collection of engravings of the same
epoch.
“Your father, mademoiselle,” I said to her,
“seems to have had a great predilection for the
time of Louis XIV.”
“My father,” she replied, gravely, “lived in it.”
And, as I seemed surprised, she added:
“And he made me live in it, too.”
The eyes of this strange girl filled with tears.
She turned and walked a few steps away to
repress her emotion; then, coming back, motioned
me to a seat, sat down herself on the steps of a
book-case, and continued:
28 ALIETTE
“I must explain my father to you.”
She was silent for a moment; then, speaking
with a freedom unusual to her, but hesitating and
blushing when about to say something that might
seem presumptuous in one so young, she went on :
“My father died from a wound received at
Patay. That is equivalent to saying that he
loved his country, but he did not love his time.
He had in the highest degree an appreciation of
order, and he saw none anywhere. He had a
horror of disorder, and he found it everywhere.
Especially in the last years of his life, all his be-
liefs, everything that he revered, all his tastes,
were trampled upon to the point of suffering by
all that was done, all that was said, all that was
written around him. Profoundly saddened by
the present, he accustomed himself to take refuge
in the past. The seventeenth century more espe-
cially afforded him the kind of society in which
he would have wished to live—a society well
regulated, polite, religious, lettered. He grew
more and more fond of burying himself in it.
IIe also grew more and more fond of introducing
into his household the moral discipline and the
literary tastes of his favorite epoch. You may
ALIETTE. 29
have noticed that he carried this predilection
even to general outlines and to ornaments. You
can see through this window the straight walks,
the borders of box and yew, and the clipped elms,
of our garden. You observe that in our beds we
have only plants of that period—lilies, hollyhocks,
amaranths, pinks—in short, what are called ‘the
curé's flowers.” Our old-fashioned forest-work
tapestry is also equally in keeping. You See,
too, that our furniture, from the wardrobes and
the buffets to the consoles and the arm-chairs, are
of the severest Louis XIV style. My father did
not appreciate the over-refinement of modern
luxury. He maintained that excessive comfort
demoralized soul as well as body.
“And that is why,” added the young girl,
laughing, “our chairs are so uncomfortable. You
will, of course, tell me that this has its compen-
sations. True.”
Then, resuming her grave tone:
“It was thus that my father sought by ap-
pearances and realistic effects to revive the epoch
in which he most delighted. As for myself,
monsieur, need I tell you that I was the confi-
dante of this beloved father—the confidante who
30 A LIETTE.
sympathized in his sadness, who was roused to
indignation by his anger, who was charmed when
he was pleased ? It was here, surrounded by the
books that we read together and that we learned
to love—it was here that I passed the sweet-
est hours of my youth. We used to grow en-
thusiastic over those days of unwavering faith
and peaceful existence, over the happy and secure
hours of leisure, the pure and beautiful French
tongue, the delicate taste, the noble urbanity
which were then the honorable characteristics of
our country, but which, alas! are so no longer.”
She stopped speaking, as if a little confused
by the warmth she had thrown into her last
words.
I then remarked, solely for the sake of saying
something:
“You recall, mademoiselle, an impression
which I have often received at your house,
and which took the form of a powerful though
agreeable illusion, the aspect of your household.
The style, the tone, and the conduct of the
family transported me so completely two hun-
dred years backward, that I should not have
been at all surprised had I heard announced
ALIETTE. 31
at your house Monsieur the Prince, Mme. de la
Fayette, or even Mme. de Sévigné herself.”
“Would to Heaven you could !” exclaimed
Mlle. de Courteheuse. “Ah, monsieur, how I
love those people ! What good company How
they delighted in elevated subjects How much
more they were worth knowing than our world
of to-day!”
I tried to calm this retrospective enthusiasm
a little, so prejudicial to my contemporaries and
to myself.
“The period you sigh for, mademoiselle, cer-
tainly had its rare merits, which I appreciate
equally with yourself. Still, it must be acknowl-
edged that that society, so well regulated, so well
poised, so apparently select, had, after all, its
causes for regret, its disorders, like our own.
I see here many memoirs of this period. I can
not tell which of them you may have read, and
am somewhat embarrassed in—”
She interrupted me:
“O monsieur, I understand you quite well
I have not read everything here, but I have
read enough not to be ignorant that my friends
of that period, like people nowadays, had their
32 A LIETTE.
passions, their weaknesses, their errors. But, as
my father used to say, there was beneath all this
a substantial foundation of earnest belief, from
which they were never wholly shaken. There
were grievous faults, but there was sincere re-
pentance.”
She was blushing deeply, and rose hastily
from her seat.
“What a long story !” she continued. “I am
not always such a talker; but my father was the
theme, and I could wish to have his memory as
cherished and revered by you as it is by me.”
It was the first time that Mlle. Aliette had
used language which seemed to infer that I was
a friend rather than a mere acquaintance. I
would be representing myself as more unfeeling
than I really am, if I did not confess that I was
touched by it, and at the same time a little
frightened; for there was something in the ideas
and sentiments which the young girl had ex-
pressed that suggested a mild type of hereditary
insanity.
A few days afterward—it was yesterday—I
was placed, together with my uncle, in a some-
what unpleasant predicament. We had dined at
ALIETTE, 33
Waraville, and had proposed to retire almost im-
mediately after dinner, in order to pay due respect
to the patriarchal habits of the household. But
the beauty of the evening having kept us a long
while in the garden, it was half-past ten when we
re-entered the house to take leave of the admiral,
who had not been able to follow us out-doors,
owing to a slight touch of the gout. At that
instant a bell rang, and the servants of the châ-
teau and farm filed silently into the salon. As
my uncle, thunderstruck, looked at me, Mme. de
Courteheuse came forward :
“Will you not, gentlemen,” she said, address-
ing us, “remain to evening prayers?”
My uncle bowed, and I followed his example.
We each took one of the heavy Louis XIV chairs,
and assumed a half-kneeling posture, while the
admiral put on his spectacles and began gravely
reading, as if he were officiating on quarter-deck,
several pages of a large, clasped prayer-book.
I had promptly decided on my line of action. It
would have been in the worst possible taste to
select this occasion for making a profession of
atheism. I am, besides, in the habit of conform-
ing to the customs of the nations and individ-
34 ALIETTE.
uals from whom I receive hospitality. As I do
not hesitate to take off my shoes before entering
a mosque, and as I am equally careful to keep
On my hat when visiting a synagogue, so, under
the present delicate circumstances, I was careful
to exactly copy the attitudes of my hosts. At
the same time I did it simply and without exag-
geration. As to my uncle, he seemed to consider
a certain amount of zeal necessary, and I came
near losing my gravity on seeing this old sinner
assume the devout airs of a penitent, with a sigh-
ing accompaniment in B flat.
This happened last evening. Admitted to a
family ceremony so essentially private, I consider
myself thereby authorized, and even invited, to
openly declare my intentions. Besides, I have
quite made up my mind. The girl is a little
peculiar, but, once freed from her absurd Louis
XIV surroundings, I flatter myself that, while re-
taining the substantial morality of her education,
she will quickly get rid of its eccentricities, and
remain simply a young woman a little better and
a great deal prettier than the average. She is
really very agreeable to look at, especially when
she walks, having a way of raising her feet and
ALIETTE. 35
gliding along peculiar to herself. One would say
that she was about to fly. In fact, she may be an
angel. I have therefore decided to ask for her
hand this very day. I know that the ladies have
gone to the town, and that the admiral will be
alone. It is to him that I purpose addressing my-
self in the first instance, in order to Secure his
good offices.
But what can be passing in my uncle's vener-
able brain? When I told him this morning of
my intention, which should have made him leap
for joy, he seemed scarcely able to get his breath.
Too much emotion, no doubt l But it is not only
to-day that his manner and his language have sur-
prised me. Instead of appearing pleased at the
turn which affairs have taken, and in which he is
quite as much interested as I can be, since the
realization of his dream is involved, he seems
anxious and preoccupied. When he went with
me to call on the Courteheuses, his agitation and
uneasiness were extraordinary. When I went
alone, he questioned me on my return with ill-
concealed anxiety.
“What happened? What was the subject of
conversation?” etc., etc.
36 ALIETTE.
I imagine that the intensity of his hopes, and
the fear of a possible disappointment, keep him
in this condition of prolonged agony, for I can
not flatter myself with the hypothesis that my
uncle has secretly become my rival, and that the
demon of jealousy is gnawing at his heart.
September 24th. Evening.
I now know my uncle’s secret.
I mounted my horse after breakfast to go to
Varaville. My uncle accompanied me as far as
the grating in the court-yard. After having once
wished me good luck, he called me back.
“My dear fellow,” he said, “there is no
need of telling them that you believe in neither
God nor devil, is there?”
I replied by a slight movement of the head
and shoulders, which signified, “What nonsense !”
and rode away.
Mme. de Courteheuse and the aunt were, as I
had anticipated, absent; but I had the misfortune
of finding the admiral enjoying the society of
the curé of Waraville, and the two indulging in a
game of backgammon.
“Ah l ah! my young friend,” cried the ad-
ALIETTE. 37
miral, “always delighted to see you, but to-day
you are unfortunate; the ladies have gone to
town.”
“I was aware of it, admiral; it was you I
wished to see.”
(6 Ah ! 25
He looked at me intently, and then glanced
at the curé over the backgammon-board. From
that moment I noticed that the game was being
played hastily, without due regard to the rules, in
order to finish it.
“And tell me, my dear neighbor,” continued
the admiral, rattling the dice, “it seems that
your taste for the country grows stronger from
day to day. Bravo! But you don’t mean to
leave Paris altogether, at least not immediately,
do you? I would not advise such a step. I told
your uncle that, were I in your place, I would
keep a little foothold there. When one is mak-
ing serious changes in one’s plan of life, in one’s
habits, it is wise to go gently—by degrees. Be-
sides, I need not tell you how thoroughly I ap-
prove a taste that I entirely share. But you are
only a neophyte, and a neophyte should not be too
rash in his vows—should he, my dear curé?”
4
38 ALIETTE.
Coming from any one else, these allusions to
my liking for the country would have appeared to
me in the light of a simple compliment; but com-
ing from an old sailor, who was not in the habit of
saying what he did not mean, they astonished me.
But other subjects for wonder were in reserve.
“No doubt, no doubt, admiral,” I replied
like one in a dream.
“It is rare,” continued the admiral, “that
disgust with life and the necessity for truer and
more wholesome pleasures manifest themselves in
a man so young as yourself. It certainly does
you great credit, my dear vicomte; but there is
something that pleases me still more—and I am
glad to be able to mention it before the curé–I
mean your joyous and frank return, while in the
flower of youth, to those realities, a belief in
which, in your case as in that of many others, has
been temporarily shaken by the passions of the
twentieth year.”
I could not restrain a slight exclamation.
“No l no l’” the admiral went on, cutting
me short with a gesture, “do not defend yourself,
my dear neighbor. I myself was once a very dis-
sipated young fellow, and if I returned like you
ALIETTE. 39
to the ideas, the principles from which I ought
never to have separated myself—to religious faith,
in short—I did not come back as quickly as you
have done. I had first to experience the inroads
of advancing years, and their bitter disappoint-
ments. In short, I was less deserving than your-
self; and that’s the fact!”
At that moment the game of backgammon
came to an end. The curé rose, muttered some
words of apology, and discreetly retired. I rose
myself to bow to him. As soon as he had gone,
the admiral motioned me to resume my seat, his
smiling countenance clearly inviting me to pre-
sent the object of my visit. To his great sur-
prise, however, I held out my hand somewhat
awkwardly, left my compliments for the ladies,
and was gone.
I sent my horse on ahead with a servant, pre-
ferring to walk over to La Savinière. I needed
leisure to collect my thoughts, and above all did
not care to meet my uncle prematurely, lest I
might fail in paying him the respect that was his
due.
After the admiral's extraordinary expres-
sions, I could no longer doubt that my uncle, in
40 ALIETTE.
order to render certain a marriage on which he
had set his heart, had gravely compromised his
reputation for sincerity, as well as my own, by
presenting me to the Courteheuse family under
the falsest of false colors. I could not doubt
that since my arrival, and probably even before,
he had portrayed me to these good people as a
kind of converted Don Juan, who had resolved
to renounce Satan and all his works, and, aban-
doning the scene of his misdoings, had decided
to bury himself in the quiet of the country.
My uncle had completed this truthful portrait
by adorning me with a theological orthodoxy
and enthusiasm which, though temporarily ob-
scured by the storms of youth, had reappeared
triumphantly as from beneath a passing cloud.
In this way he seems to have believed that he
could forestall, or allay, the suspicion and dis-
trust that my reputation as a freethinker may
have excited in the Courteheuse mind.
That he had not confided his plans to me was
natural, since he well knew I should never have
consented to them. That he should have im-
agined that he could prolong the misconception
that he had secretly created until the marriage
ALIETTE. 41
had been agreed upon, was also conceivable; for,
on the one hand, the Courteheuses were too well
bred and too reserved to annoy me before the
proper time with direct questions on the subject
of my principles and future prospects; while,
on the other, I was too much of a gentleman
myself to antagonize their peculiar ideas and to
make before them, or, for that matter, before
any one else, a needless display of my infidelity.
In spite of this, however, the slightest accident
might at any moment have annihilated my uncle's
deplorable diplomacy, which fully explained the
anxiety from which he evidently suffered.
I upbraided my ancient relative, but I up-
braided him gently. He is my father's brother.
Besides, there is something indescribably painful
to me in the spectacle of an old man taken to
task by a young one, and in being a witness of
his humiliation. My uncle excused himself as
well as he was able, on the ground of an excess-
ive anxiety to bring about the marriage. He
even tried to persuade me that I might honestly
profit by his stratagems, since I was not his accom-
plice. In fact, he offered to go himself and con-
fess his misdeeds to the Courteheuses. I refused,
42 ALIETTE.
believing that I was justified in fearing lest his
confession might not be characterized by the
frankness that was now absolutely necessary.
I determined to write myself to the admiral.
This is the letter which I submitted to my uncle:
“MY DEAR ADMIRAL: I left you just now in
so abrupt and rude a manner that you must have
thought I had taken leave of my senses. I al-
most thought so myself for a moment. In the
first place, I owe you an apology, and respect-
fully hasten to offer it. I also owe you an ex-
planation, which I propose making with entire
frankness.
“I shall not, I believe, be telling you any-
thing new, my dear admiral, when I inform you
of the real object of my visit. The better I have
become acquainted with Mlle. de Courteheuse,
the better have I understood how entirely it is
within her power to render me happy, or miser-
able, for life. This was the secret that I wished
to confide to you, at the same time begging you
to be, as regards your sister-in-law and your niece,
the interpreter of my feelings and my wishes.
“But this disclosure was frozen on my lips,
ALIETTE, 43
admiral, when your language all at once revealed
to me the extraordinary misconception which,
through no fault of mine, had arisen between us.
I discovered with extreme astonishment that my
worthy uncle, through his partiality for me and
his very proper anxiety that I should make so
desirable an alliance, had involuntarily presented
me before your mind as having tastes that are
foreign to me, and virtues which I do not possess.
If one could acquire at will all the good qualities
which one would wish to have, I would certainly
at once endow myself with whatever attributes
could render me more worthy of Mlle. de Courte-
heuse. But, unfortunately, this power is denied
us. Faith, for instance, does not depend upon
our will. As regards this principal point, as well
as others which are merely accessory, my uncle
has mistaken his wishes for facts.
“I would say to you, without equivocation,
admiral, that, in the matter of religious beliefs, I
have, in common with my contemporaries, been
storm-swept by the winds of the nineteenth cent-
ury and of modern science, until I have not one
left. As to my liking for the country and my
intention to leave Paris, they have never existed
44 ALIETTE.
anywhere outside the imagination and affection
of my uncle.
“It is, indeed, painful for me to reflect, my
dear admiral, that these confessions will probably
destroy the hopes in which I had so passionately
indulged; but I shall never owe my happiness to
a falsehood. Though I may have grievous faults,
hypocrisy, at least, is not one of them.
“It is scarcely necessary to add, admiral,
that if, in your judgment, I ought to go away, it
is for you to name the hour of my departure. It
shall be to-morrow, if you desire it. I await
your commands, not without the deepest anxiety,
but with the most respectful acquiescence in your
good pleasure.
“B. DE MONTAURET DE WAUDRICOURT.”
A servant took the letter to Waraville this
evening, but returned without an answer.
September 30th
A special messenger this morning brought
me the admiral's reply:
“My DEAR WICOMTE: Your letter has caused
me the most painful surprise. Without know-
ALIETTE, 45
ing and without wishing to forestall the opinions
of my sister-in-law, and still less those of my
niece, I can say that I entertained for you so
great an amount of esteem and affection, that
I was not far from indulging on my own ac-
count in your uncle's dream. I need not assure
you, my dear vicomte, that the esteem and af-
fection are still yours, but as to the dream, to
imitate your own frankness, I must admit that
it can never be more than a remembrance. I am
convinced that the worst mésalliances are moral
'mésalliances; and since, in my opinion, religious
belief forms the very foundation of the moral
life, the antagonism that exists between my niece
and yourself on a matter so essential, places be-
tween you a gulf that can not be crossed.
“Without dwelling further on this aspect of
the case, I may add that I should be greatly
astonished if I did not, in this particular, repre-
sent the opinions of my relatives as well as my
OWI).
“Having said thus much, I do not see why
you should take to flight like a culprit, which
you certainly are not, or like a suitor who has
been politely shown the door, which rôle is still
46 ALIETTE.
less yours. For, in point of fact, you have
never made any demand upon us, and have con-
sequently never been refused. We will imag-
ine, if you wish, that you belong to the Protes-
tant communion, or to the Jewish faith. Al-
though either hypothesis would banish forever
any thought of an alliance between our two
families, it would raise no obstacle as regards
the friendly intercourse that we shall always be
delighted to hold with an amiable neighbor, and
which we should be glad to find have the effect
of prolonging his stay in this vicinity.
“Receive, my dear vicomte, with the assur-
ance of my thorough esteem, a cordial hand-
shake.
“ADMIRAL BARON DE CourTEHEUS.E.”
If I read the admiral aright, they do not wish
at Varaville that I should give cause for pro-
vincial gossip by an abrupt departure. They
prefer that our relations should not seem to be
suddenly interrupted, but to have come naturally
to an end. Well, so be it ! I shall announce
in the neighborhood that I contemplate return-
ing to Paris in a fortnight, and meanwhile I will
ALIETTE. 47
call at the Courteheuses from time to time on
the usual footing. The vague rumors of a pro-
jected marriage will thus die out of themselves.
They may also wish to prove to me, by ex-
hibiting this indifference to my departure, that
they have no fears for the peace of mind of
Mlle. de Courteheuse, and that she is still heart-
whole. We shall see.
October 7th.
I have just returned from Waraville. I
dropped in casually, like any other acquaint-
ance, on the way home from hunting. The
admiral was affable, but the ladies, having less
control over their feelings, could with diffi-
culty restrain themselves. Mme. de Courte-
heuse was grave and icy; her sister, Mme. de
Waraville, frankly disagreeable; and Mlle. Aliette
sad and silent. Her aunt affected to believe it
necessary that she should keep between us to
preserve her niece from contact with so improper
a person. As for the young brother, he had
returned to Cherbourg.
I left, highly exasperated.
“I will marry her I will marry her, by
Heaven! even if I have to elope; and she shall
48 ALIETTE.
be happy, and I will prove to them that, though
a man may have no religious convictions, he can
be honorable and affectionate, and make as good
a husband as any one else.”
Aliette pleased me. I can even go so far
as to say—admitting that I am capable of that
kind of feeling—that I am in love with Aliette.
I adore the way in which her hair—lustrous and
of ash-color—is drawn back, reminding one of
a fairy's distaff. But even if I did not love
Aliette, I would marry her if only to have the
satisfaction of vexing her mother and over-
whelming her aunt. The former; majestic and
pinched up, reminds me of that detestable Mme.
de Maintenon. The aunt is a clever imitation
of a fool. Never are ideas more trivial, nor
piety more narrow, than when finding lodgment
in the brain of an old maid.
What method shall I employ to satisfy alike
my love and my hatred ? I can not tell. But I
know I shall succeed, because my instinct, quite
keen in such matters, assures me that I have
friends in the fortress—that there is a traitor in
the enemy's camp. I refer to Aliette. Her sad-
ness is significant. In spite of all that separates
ALIETTE. 49
us, she still has a liking for me. I may add that
I am not surprised at it. She is pious, she is
good, she is perfect, but she is a woman, and who
knows but that the stories she has been told to
estrange her from me may have had the opposite
effect 7 Women are attracted by les mauvais su-
jets, and they are quite right, seeing that the
so-called bad are often more agreeable than the
good.
The main thing is to see Aliette alone—that
is the objective point upon which my remarkable
abilities must henceforth be concentrated.
My first thought naturally was to write to her,
but it only made me shrug my shoulders. In a
difficult undertaking, the man who writes instead
of acting is a littérateur—and nothing more.
October 13th.
I have been twice at the Courteheuses’.
The first time my reception was glacial, the
second I seemed only to inspire abhorrence.
Mme. de Courteheuse and her aged sister re-
ceived me as they might have received Anti-
christ had he had the hardihood to call. As to
Mlle. Aliette, she did not appear. I presume she
5
50 ALIETTE.
had been sent to her room, and that she will be
kept there as long as I remain in the neighbor-
hood.
It is well |
I do not hesitate to declare that henceforth I
consider myself at war with the Courteheuse fam-
ily, and that I propose going just as far as the
usages of war will permit. My motives are not
bad. I do not wish to harm Aliette, but only to
marry her; and if the marriage, regarded from a
selfish point of view, should prove advantageous
to me, it is only what my rank and position en-
title me to expect. I wage war, therefore, sim-
ply for my love, for justice, and for good sense
against the fanaticism of three old women (for
the admiral comes under this category). In such
a struggle every weapon, every stratagem known
to love militant—scaling walls included—seem to
me perfectly legitimate.
October 16th.
I have devoted several days to observing
the habits of Mlle. Aliette. Under pretense
of hunting, I have kept wandering about the
fields and woods which surround the turreted
château where this unfortunate young girl is
ALIETTE. 51
held a prisoner. If she strolls out, or goes to
church, or to the village, it is always with her
mother or her aunt. If she rides, her uncle ac-
companies her, or a servant follows. To accost
her under such circumstances would be useless.
I content myself with bowing gracefully, and
take my revenge by destroying much imaginary
game and wasting considerable powder. I thus
keep alive in Mlle. de Courteheuse's mind dis-
turbing thoughts regarding my perseverance and
my proximity. That is something, but it is not
enough. I intend to do better.
October 17th.
The only place where I can hope to meet
her alone is in the garden of the château.
There she is less watched. They are not afraid
of leaving her alone there, since the garden is
itself a prison. To reach it one must cross the
court-yard, and pass under the windows of the
rooms used by the family. It is very large,
but is surrounded on the right and on the left
by high walls. In the rear is a kind of labyrinth
of yoke-elms in the old-fashioned style, devi-
ous windings of which lead to a terrace also
52 * ALIETTE.
surrounded by trees. In the center of the terrace
rises one of those dome-shaped arbors that are
still called in the provinces “halls of verdure.”
The whole is separated from the adjoining woods
by a ditch, or ha-ha, filled with water, and about
four metres in width.
It is here only that one can hope to enter the
garden without being seen, and this is the place
that I have chosen. Yesterday morning, having
left my dog at home and my gun in the woods,
and cut a stout stick, by its aid I leaped the ha-
ha, for I am active and venturesome. I knew
that the large arbor on the terrace was a favor-
ite retreat for Mlle. de Courteheuse. She often
comes there to read, to work, or to dream, for she
is a romantic young person. Although I am less
so, it would have been exceedingly agreeable to
me to have caught a glimpse of her blonde head
through the foliage in the obscurity of this
grove. But I could see nothing; the arbor was
deserted.
I had not risked dislocating my spinal col-
umn for the pleasure of staying here. I there-
fore stole from elm to elm across the winding
paths with the caution of a Mohican. I soon
ALIETTE, 53
came in sight of the exposed part of the garden
—a place in reality used for raising vegetables,
and where the fruit-trees and the flowers mingled
with the box borders. At the first glance I saw,
over the bushy hedge behind which I was hiding,
Mlle. de Courteheuse herself, whom I recognized
by the color of her hair and her fresh morning
toilet, for otherwise her attitude was so peculiar
that it would have been difficult for me to iden-
tify her. She looked as if she were on her knees
at the corner of an allée before a garden-bed, her
body bent, and her head almost touching the
ground. My first thought was that she had been
taken suddenly ill, and had fallen in the midst of
her walk, yielding to the too powerful emotions of
disappointed love. It even seemed to me, from
certain movements of the head, that she was sob-
bing. Further observations, however, convinced
me that Mlle. de Courteheuse was taking her
early breakfast. Kneeling before a currant-bush,
she was picking the last clusters, already partially
dried by the advancing autumn, and also refresh-
ing herself by munching a large slice of kitchen
bread.
She may have made a pretty picture. Possi-
&
54 ALIETTE.
bly she did. But the picture proved to be such
a violent contrast to the thoughts that had ab-
sorbed me, and which, I believed, absorbed her,
too, that I was deeply shocked. What! at a
time when I had imagined her so wearied by her
passion and exhausted by insomnia, she was calm-
ly breakfasting by the side of a currant-bush!
Had she no heart?
Whether she had or not, the transition from
the scene which I had witnessed to that for which
I had prepared myself, seemed so abrupt and
difficult to be made that I gave up all thought of
profiting by the opportunity I had sought, and
which seemed to have presented itself. I re-
turned in a somewhat melancholy frame of mind
to the ha-ha, and crossed it again, but with less
enthusiasm than on my first attempt. It ap-
peared to have grown broader!
I shall not repeat this athletic performance,
not only because I do not care to make myself
ridiculous even in my own eyes, but because I do
not feel comfortable in resorting to underhand
methods. I am much better adapted for open-
and-above-board warfare and legitimate weapons
—and I am not sorry for it.
A LIETTE. 55
Things are not as bad as they might be. She
is not lost to me. I have a plan. I propose
making a bold attack.
October 18th.
My plan was to start this morning for Saint-
Méen, about fifteen leagues from here. It is
thé seat of the bishop, and the residence of Mon-
seigneur de Courteheuse, the admiral’s brother
and Aliette's uncle. He is reported to be a
good priest, liberal-minded, although a trifle
fiery. It is also said, which seems only nat-
ural, that he wields a preponderating influence
among his pious relatives. It is quite unrea-
sonable to suppose that he has not been kept
fully informed of my designs on the hand of
his niece, and of all the incidents that have
marked the course of our acquaintance. He
entertains for Aliette, if my uncle is to be be-
lieved, a father's affection. To win over this
prelate would be, to all appearances, to gain my
point. The attempt may not be easy, but I have
noticed that when one gallantly takes risks one
often gains the apparently impossible.
As I was about to step into the carriage to
drive to the station, my uncle came running up
56 ALIETTE.
with that distraught air which has never left
him since our schemes miscarried, and informed
me that Monseigneur de Courteheuse had just
arrived at Varaville. He added that the bishop
certainly came in answer to an urgent appeal,
since it was not his custom to come here at this
time of year. After a few moments’ reflection,
I replied that I considered the bishop's arrival
as one of those events which our fathers were
wont to call providential—in the first place,
because I was saved the trouble of making the
journey; and, in the second, because it seemed
to be an omen in our favor.
My uncle uttered an exclamation of dissent.
“It seems to me,” he said, “just the reverse,
and that the bishop has come to extinguish the
last of our hopes.”
“Don’t indulge,” I replied, “in such gloomy
pessimism. There would have been no need to
trouble the bishop, had harmony reigned in the
family on the question in which we are interest-
ed. If there are differing opinions, if the neces-
sity of an arbitrator is apparent, it shows that
the game is not lost, as we feared. Shall I be
frank with you, uncle? I am convinced that it
ALIETTE, 57
is Aliette who has insisted on having the bishop
summoned.”
“And what inference do you draw from that?”
“I infer that Mlle. de Courteheuse is neither
as resigned nor as indifferent as she seemed to
be the other morning by the side of her currant-
bush.”
For I had confided to my uncle the details
of my adventure of the day before.
I then went to my room and penned the fol-
lowing brief note:
“MONSEIGNEUR: I learned of your arrival as
I was preparing to start for Saint-Méen, in order
to solicit from your Highness a moment's audi-
ence. May I hope that you will kindly grant me
one during your stay at Waraville %
“On the eve of leaving this part of the coun-
try, probably forever, it would prove a cause of
lasting regret were I unable to express to you the
sentiments of which my heart is full.
“They are inseparable from the deep rever-
ence and extreme deference whose respectful ex-
pression I beg your Highness to accept.
“BERNARD DE WAUDRICOURT.”
58 ALIETTE,
An hour after I received this card:
“THE BISHOP OF SAINT-MáEN
“Will receive the Vicomte de Vaudrècourt at
four o’clock.”
At half-past three I entered the grounds of
Varaville by the main entrance. I was told that
the bishop was in the garden with Mlle. Aliette,
and that they would call him. I had waited quite
a while, when I caught a glimpse of the prelate's
violet cassock and gold hat-band emerging from
the labyrinth. Aliette was walking near him.
They did not see me at first, for they continued
their conversation in their usual tone, and I
caught here and there a word.
“Still, it is exceedingly delicate—even ter-
rible, my dear,” the bishop was saying in a
sharp, abrupt voice.
“O uncle! don’t take it back; don’t retract
anything!”
“I retract nothing, but we are both so excited,
so romantic, my poor child.”
“I have confidence, uncle.”
“No doubt l But, in case of disappointment,
how unhappy you will be, while I—”
A LIETTE. 59
This sudden termination of the conversation
warned me that I had been noticed. I walked
toward them and bowed. I could see that Aliette
had been crying, and, to my great surprise, there
were also traces of tears in the eyes and on the
face of the bishop. They must have been pray-
ing and weeping together. On Seeing their emo-
tion, and recalling the words that I had overheard
in spite of myself, I could not refrain from in-
dulging in certain painful reflections annoying to
my sense of delicacy, and which will be inferred
from my conversation with Aliette's uncle.
We exchanged, while walking, certain com-
monplace courtesies. Then, as we entered the
court-yard, Mlle. Aliette left us with a slight bow,
and the bishop ushered me into the apartment
which had been assigned to him on the ground-
floor of the château.
Monseigneur de Courteheuse does not seem to
be more than fifty. He is tall and very thin,
with piercing black eyes surrounded by dark-
brown circles. His words and gestures are ani-
mated, and, at times, even passionate. He often
appears to grow angry, but his wrath is short-
lived, and is immediately replaced by the kindly
60 A LIETTE.
smile of a thoroughly good man. He has fine
hair, streaked with threads of silver, and falling
in wayward locks over his forehead, and well-
shaped hands befitting a bishop. When he is
calm he has an imposing way of gently asserting
his sacerdotal dignity. In short, his appearance
is that of a man thoroughly in earnest, frank, and
sincere.
Scarcely were we seated, when he signified by
a gesture that he was waiting for me to speak.
“Monseigneur,” I said, “I come to you, you
must understand, as my last resource. This step
is almost the result of despair, since it would
seem that no member of the family of Mlle. de
Courteheuse would be more pitiless than yourself
in condemning the errors of which I am accused.
I am an unbeliever, while you are an apostle.
And yet, monseigneur, it is with holy men like
yourself that culprits often find the greatest in-
dulgence, and I am not even a culprit—only a
wanderer. I am refused the hand of your niece
because I do not share her belief—your belief.
But, monseigneur, infidelity is not a crime, it is
only a misfortune. I am well aware that it is
often said, ‘A man only denies God when he has
ALIETTE. 61
done something that makes him wish that He did
not exist,’ and that one thus becomes respon-
sible to some extent for his own want of faith.
As for myself, monseigneur, I have consulted my
conscience with entire sincerity, and, although my
youth may not have been irreproachable, I am
certain that my atheism is not the result of per-
sonal interest. On the contrary, I can say truth-
fully, monseigneur, that the day I felt my belief
leaving me—the day that I lost hope in God—I
shed the bitterest tears of my life.
“I am not, in spite of appearances, the vola-
tile person that I seem to be. I am not one of
those with whom a denial of the Deity involves
no regret. One, rest assured, may be a man
addicted to clubs, to sport, to worldly habits, and
still find time to devote hours to reflection and
meditation. At such moments can you imagine
that one does not feel, and feel deeply, the fright-
ful discomfort of an existence without moral
foundation, without principle, without any aim
beyond this life? And still, monseigneur, what
can one do? You are about to tell me, with the
goodness, with the compassion, that I read in
your eyes, ‘Confide to me your objections to
6
, 62 -- ALIETTE.
religion, and I will try and meet them.’ I should
not know what to say to you. My objections are
legion—they are as innumerable as the stars in
heaven; they come to me from all directions,
from the four quarters of the horizon, as upon
the wings of the wind, and they leave, in passing,
only shadows and death. Such has been my ex-
perience, and that of many others—an experience
as involuntary as its results are irreparable.”
“And I, sir?” asked the bishop abruptly, giv-
ing me one of his sternest glances—“do you
believe that I am playing a comedy in my cathe-
dral & 22
“Monseigneur !”
“No ! according to your theory, we have
reached a period in the world’s history when one
must be either an atheist or a hypocrite. Permit
me to assure you that I am neither!”
“Is it necessary that I should reply to this
charge? Need I say, monseigneur, that I did not
come here to offend you?”
“No doubt—no doubt Well, sir, I am will-
ing to admit, but not without many reservations,
understand, for one is always more or less respon-
sible for the surroundings amid which one lives,
ALIETTE. 63
the currents on which one drifts, and the habitual
direction of one's thoughts—I will admit, I say,
that you may possibly be the victim of the unbe-
lief of the age, and that yours may be a quite
innocent skepticism, or atheism, since you are not
afraid of plain speaking. But, admitting all this,
does it not still seem to you that the union of a
fervent believer like my niece with a man of your
views would be a moral blunder, the consequences
of which could not but be disastrous ! Do you
consider it my duty as the relative of Mlle. de
Courteheuse, as her spiritual father, as a bishop,
to aid in perpetrating such a blunder, to assist at
the union of two souls separated by the whole
expanse of the universe ? Do you believe this to
be my duty ? What is your answer?”
The prelate, while propounding this question,
kept his eyes steadily fixed on mine.
“Monseigneur,” I replied, after a momentary
embarrassment, “you are acquainted as well as,
nay, even better than I, with the condition of the
world, of our country, at this time. You know
that, unfortunately, I am no exception—that men
who believe are rare. Allow me to fully express
my thoughts, monseigneur. If it is to be my
64. ALIETTE,
bitter task to give up the happiness for which I
longed, are you quite sure that the man to whom
you will some day give your niece will not be
something worse than a skeptic, or even an
atheist 3’”
“A what, then º’’
“A hypocrite, monseigneur ! Mlle. de Courte-
heuse is handsome enough and rich enough to
excite the cupidity of those who may prove less
scrupulous than I, who, though a skeptic, am also
a man of honor.”
“A man of honor l a man of honor l’ mur-
mured the bishop, rather crossly and hesitatingly.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“No, monseigneur, you are sure of it,” I re-
plied, earnestly; “for, permit me to suggest that,
had I been less loyal, I should have been to-day
the fiancé of Mlle. Aliette.”
He drew himself up in his chair with dignity,
and said simply:
“You are right.”
After gazing into my eyes intently for a few
moments, he added:
“Well, sir, relying upon this honor of which
you boast, dare I ask you to assure me that my
ALIETTE. 65
niece's faith will suffer no deterioration through
you? That your manner of speech, your ill-
natured banter, or even your thoughtless irony,
will not sadden and trouble this spotless young
soul—nay, will not some day suggest doubts? Do
you believe that she would wish to expose her-
self, that I should wish to expose her, to such
risks 3 *
“Monseigneur, I will say to you frankly that
I should consider myself a villain if I did not
scrupulously respect my wife's convictions. No
word in ridicule of religious subjects has ever
fallen from my lips. I am an unbeliever, but I
am not impious. I have never insulted, and will
never insult what I have once worshiped. I
understand only too well how one can lose one's
faith, but I do not understand how a man who in
his childhood has knelt before the cross at his
mother's side can ever fail to see in that emblem
his childhood and his mother.”
I had spoken with some warmth. The priest's
eyes were wet, and I confess that his emotion
impressed me.
“Come, sir,” he said, gently, “you are not in
So desperate a condition as you seem to think.
66 ALIETTE.
My dear Aliette is one of those young enthusiasts
through whom God sometimes works miracles l’’
“Monseigneur, whatever it may cost, and even
at the moment when your heart seems opening to
me, I still must tell you the truth. I will not, I
repeat, owe my happiness to a lie. I confess to
you that I overheard just now, in spite of myself,
a portion of your conversation with your niece,
and I believe that I understand that the hope of
leading me back to the fold—of my conversion,
in short—might prove a motive strong enough to
secure your consent. Well, monseigneur, I must
tell you that, while you will have no cause for
fear, you will also have no reason to hope. I feel
that all belief in the supernatural has been de-
stroyed in me, and that the very roots have been
plucked up—that there is not a barren rock in
the Red Sea less likely to produce vegetation
than my soul to bring forth any germ of faith.”
“Since you are of this opinion,” answered
the bishop, “it is only honest to say so; but
God has his methods.”
He rose.
“My son,” he continued in a solemn tone,
“I shall conclude our interview with a sentiment
ALIETTE. 67
borrowed from a holy father: “An old man's
blessing can never harm.” Will you receive
mine 3’”
I bent low.
He traced in the air the mystic signs.
I bowed again and withdrew.
He called to me as I was leaving:
“Monsieur de Vaudricourt, do not go. Wait
for us in the garden.”
Here ends the journal with the termination
of the particular crisis in my life which suggested
it. Mlle. de Courteheuse, with the consent of
her family, has given me her hand. I receive it
with deep gratitude, and shall do all in my power
to make her as happy as a wife as she is beloved,
honored, and charming as a woman!
THE NARRATIVE.
THE journal of the Wicomte Bernard was not
ended, as he supposed. It was only interrupted.
M. de Vaudricourt was one day to resume it un-
der the pressure of a crisis at least equal to that
which at first caused him to take pen in hand.
An interval of several years separates the
two parts, or, to speak more correctly, the two
fragments, of Bernard's journal. We shall do
our best to bridge over this hiatus by the aid of
certain family papers and our personal recollec-
tions.
It would be doing gross injustice to the Wi-
comte de Vaudricourt to accept literally the por-
trait of himself which he has drawn in the fore-
going pages. But, amid the intentional exag-
geration and evident affectation of the artist, the
reader will be able to make out the features of
the real man. He will have concluded that the
Wicomte de Vaudricourt, at the period of his
ALIETTE, 69
intimacy with the Courteheuse family, was not
the insupportable coxcomb for which he seemed
to be fond of posing. He must have had real
merit in order to have exercised so great an in-
fluence upon a person of the decided character
of Mlle. de Courteheuse. No doubt Mlle. Ali-
ette, as a woman, and, though to be numbered
among the best of her sex, was struck by the
vicomte's many accomplishments, and the brill-
iancy and elegance of his personality. But it is
equally evident that, if these outward attractions
had not been based upon more solid attributes,
the girl's early curiosity would have soon changed,
in the case of Mlle. de Courteheuse, to indiffer-
ence and contempt. She had at first been sur-
prised and interested by a simplicity of manner
unlooked for in such a social hero. For this
young and dangerous Bernard, more than ordina-
rily insouciant in the privacy of his own apart-
ments, was characterized in Society, through a
kind of unconscious coquetry, by a high-bred
courtesy, an unobtrusive demeanor, an easy grace
that adapts itself to every one's humor, and a soft,
caressing manner which we find so agreeable
when met with among our social or intellectual
70 ALIETTE,
Superiors. His was, besides, a cultivated intellect
to which nothing was unfamiliar, and all whose
facets gave forth agreeable reflections—at least,
when it so pleased him. In short, one recognized
in him a spirit proud, generous, loyal, the thor-
ough-going enemy of all underhand methods—a
Soul of Superior quality. To save such a one, to
lead him back to God, was a temptation which
must have appealed very powerfully to a young
Christian of ardent faith. This was the excuse
that Mlle. de Courteheuse gave for an attachment
of which her heart rather than her judgment
approved. It was, as M. de Vaudricourt had in-
ferred, also the excuse which the worthy prelate,
Aliette's uncle, relied upon to justify his weak-
ness in his treatment of a niece whom he wor-
shiped. They were, as the good bishop had said,
two enthusiasts, two zealots; and who of us but
has known among the prelates of our time—and
among the best—one of these warm natures, these
fiery souls, romantic in a holy cause ? Blame
them who will! As for ourselves, we love and
bow to their enthusiasm, even when it seems to
lead astray. The worldling does not err in this
direction
I.
THE marriage of M. de Vaudricourt and of
Mlle. de Courteheuse took place early in Janu-
ary the following year. Several weeks were con-
sumed in getting settled in a handsome hôtel in
the Monceau quarter, after which M. and Mme.
de Vaudricourt started for Italy. A domestic
occurrence, which could not be said to have been
unexpected, somewhat shortened their jaunt, and
brought them back to Paris toward the end of
April. It was then, strictly speaking, that the
test of an existence in common commenced for
them.
Unless the lord and master is a monster in
human form—which is not often the case—it is
seldom that a wife does not experience more or
less happiness during the first year of her mar-
ried life. When, as in Mme. de Vaudricourt’s
case, she early becomes a mother, the difficulties
72 ALIETTE.
of her position are greatly lessened. This new
relation forms a ready and fruitful subject of
conversation between man and wife, and of equal
interest to both. In fact, if the husband, as
sometimes happens, still retains pleasing recollec-
tions of his former life—if he has commenced
to sigh for the pleasures of the club and other
masculine resorts—he takes heart of grace and
reasons with himself that the present condition
of things is only temporary, and that what is
deferred is not lost. In this way everything
goes smoothly in the new household, and every-
body is satisfied: the wife, because she is per-
suaded that her husband will always be thus
gentle, thus domestic; and the husband, be-
cause he is thoroughly convinced to the contrary.
However, this first and happy period of
married life was not to be without its bitter
experience for Mme. de Vaudricourt. Poor
Aliette, who was not ignorant of the fact that
both Bernard and his uncle based their hopes
for the perpetuity of their family name on his
marriage, had the misfortune of giving birth to
a daughter—a very pretty one, it is true, but still
a daughter. She begged M. de Vaudricourt's
A LIETTE. 73
*
pardon, weeping, and he soothed her with his
usual kindness.
The young mother devoted to the new ar-
rival her time and her attention with that deep
sense of duty and that ardent tenderness that
were natural to her. Her child also served as
a convenient pretext, in the early days, for re-
fusing to be attracted by the seductions of
Parisian salons, where her marriage with the
brilliant and courted Wicomte de Vaudricourt
would have insured her, if not a sympathetic
reception, at least one based on a large stock of
curiosity. Her present circumstances were also
of assistance in aiding her to carry out the plan
of life which, under the advice of her uncle
the bishop, she had drawn up, and in which
worldly pleasures found scant place. Monseigneur
de Courteheuse and his niece, though never hav-
ing lived in Paris, and only having sojourned
there for brief periods at infrequent intervals,
were still too intelligent and observant not to
have formed a quite accurate opinion of the real
character of fashionable Parisian society. They
were influenced in forming this opinion neither
by the gloomy prejudices of the religious fa-
7
74 ALIETTE.
natic, nor by the strait-laced prudery of provincial
morality. Though inexperienced, they well un-
derstood that the variety and multiplicity of
opportunities for dissipation afforded by a resi-
dence at the capital must lead to excesses which
would not harmonize with the ideas that each
had formed of the serious character of life.
Mme. de Vaudricourt, who was of a reflective
turn of mind, was not long in coming to the con-
clusion, as a result of her rare excursions into
the fashionable world, that it was not only the
number of the amusements offered, but their
quality, which was so little in accord with her
education and her sentiments. It is true that as
yet this phase of her life was little more than
a vague vision, an indefinite comprehension of
certain things unknown and displeasing; but
it served to cause her to confine herself still
more closely to the programme which she had
resolved to follow, not only because it conformed
to her tastes, but because it seemed better
adapted to the object kept in view in her medi-
tations—the conversion of her husband.
Her uncle's instructions, coinciding as they
did with her own feelings, had made her realize
A LIETTE 75
the danger of any direct attempt at proselytiz-
ing.
“Preach only by example,” the wise prelate
had said to her. “Never introduce religion in
your conversations with your husband, either by
direct attack, exhortation, or even allusion. You
will annoy and repel him. Show him only the
attractiveness of a Christian fireside amid the
whirl and worry of fashionable life. Make him
know, love, and bless you, that he may some day
come to know, love, and bless Him who has made
you what you are.”
After having completed the fatiguing round
of compulsory visits, Mme. de Vaudricourt made
her maternal duties the excuse for restricting
her social intercourse to the limited circle of
the relatives and particular friends of her hus-
band. For the rest, she remained at home as
much as possible, displaying for the adornment of
her dwelling all the qualities of a good provincial
housekeeper and all the taste of a cultivated
woman. Her salon and her boudoir, full of verd-
ure and flowers, presented, in their mysterious
arrangements, powerful attractions as charming
nooks for retirement and seclusion. By resorting
76 ALIETTE,
to these attractive and crafty combinations, in
perfecting which she passed hours daily, it must
be admitted that she had widely departed from
the severe style of Louis XIV; but, above all, it
was necessary to please her lord and to accommo-
date herself to his weaknesses. As a corrective to
these somewhat demoralizing practices, Aliette
had transformed one of her salons into a library,
and had there piously arranged, among the Roman
busts, her father's books which she had brought
from Varaville. She had dreamed of often going
over these beloved volumes with her young hus-
band no less beloved.
It is scarcely necessary to add that the apart-
ment especially reserved for M. de Vaudricourt
was the scene of many a surprise and delicate
attention which were certainly not arranged for
him by the servants. Very particular about his
person, but otherwise entirely wanting in system,
like most men worthy of the name, he still loved
order, provided he obtained it without effort.
It was therefore with keen satisfaction that he
saw a refined forethought pervading his private
domain, and found that he could not take up a
handkerchief, or a pair of gloves, that did not
ALIETTE. 77
breathe the pleasing odor communicated to them
by the sackets that the fairies had furtively slipped
into his wardrobe.
Among the various attractions upon which the
young vicomtesse relied for making her husband
in love with his home, the one upon which she
set least store was precisely the one on which she
had a right to place her chief reliance—namely,
herself. Not only was she pretty, but she had
the beauty of a sedate child. This, with her easy
carriage, her pure, shining brow, her glances, which
had something of the emerald's sheen, formed an
attractive whole quite unusual, and peculiar to
herself.
A few months of Parisian life had fully de-
veloped her naturally fine taste, and her costumes
were marked by that perfect elegance which wins
for their wearer the epithet distinguée. Her
mind, as we have already intimated, had been
seriously educated and adorned, after perhaps a
somewhat peculiar method, but one from which
the commonplace was certainly omitted.
The Wicomte Bernard was not insensible to
all these delicate attentions, but what somewhat
marred the pleasure he took in them was the fact
78 ALIETTE.
that he guessed the politic secret that inspired
them. He considered his wife good, kindly,
spirituelle; but he was none the less convinced
that she was plotting to put him in a cage, to
gradually tame him, and to teach him to sing the
airs that she loved. He laughed softly to him-
self, and while assisting her in her diplomacy
with the good nature of a man still in love and
naturally generous, he could not bring himself to
go so far as to carry his acquiescence to the point
of abandoning his liberty either of thought or
action. In spite of the just estimate he placed
upon Aliette's merits, it was with secret regret
that he saw her so entirely absorbed in maternal
duties, so completely turned aside from the cur-
rent of Parisian life, and so isolated in a kind of
religious seclusion.
He no doubt appreciated at their full value
his wife's exclusive society, her mental resources,
and the charm of her conversation; but he was
nevertheless somewhat ill at ease in her company,
from a cause that can easily be imagined. There
are few subjects of discussion, if there are any,
that, in one way or another, do not touch upon
the question of religion, which, in reality, lies at
ALIETTE, 79
the foundation of everything else. This may not
be at first apparent in a Society like ours, com-
posed as it is of those indifferent to sacred things
and of skeptics; but if the reader happens to find
himself in the company of an ardent believer,
whether art, Science, literature, or politics may be
under debate, he will feel uncomfortable—as if
he were liable at any moment to run foul of the
question of faith, and possibly antagonize opinions
he is anxious to respect. It was thus that M. de
Vaudricourt and his wife, in their private chats,
in their readings, in the interchange of their im-
pressions at the theatre and in museums, always
found themselves embarrassed by this forbidden
subject.
The Wicomte Bernard, it will be remembered,
when paying his attentions to Mlle. de Courte-
heuse, consoled himself with the reflection that a
residence in Paris would soon prune away his
fiancée's excessive piety, and would cut off what
might be called the overflow of her virtues, while
leaving her the necessary number. But if she
insisted on living in the capital with her peculiari-
ties unchecked, occupied only with her religion,
her husband, and her child, he might as well give
80 ALIETTE.
up in despair. As a man of honor, M. de Vaudri-
court realized how delicate a matter it would be
to even seem to force his wife into dissipation;
at the same time, he knew that, could he with
propriety prune away somewhat of her excessive
austerity, she, as well as himself, would be greatly
the gainer.
One evening, as he was smoking after dinner
in his library, it occurred to him that, without
being suspected of an assault upon his wife's
morals, he could propose to her to go to see, at a
little theatre on the Boulevards, a piece entitled
“Mollenchart's Six Wives,” which had just then
made a hit, and which was being quoted in all the
Salons.
“For, in fact, my dear Aliette,” Bernard said
to her, “you really are too much of a stranger to
what is going on around you. The majority of
the young girls to-day marry in order that they
may be allowed to visit the Folies Bergères. That
is going to the extreme in one direction, I admit;
but do not, I beg, fall into similar excess in the
opposite direction, by imagining that every the-
atre outside the Théâtre Français, or the Opéra, is
a sink of iniquity.”
ALIETTE. 81
“Mollenchart's Six Wives,’ my dear?” asked
Aliette, with an abstracted air.
“Exactly,” continued Bernard. “It is cer-
tainly not ‘The Cid,’ nor ‘Britannicus'—but what
then A Let us consult your oracles. Be good
enough, I beg of you, to pass me the second vol-
ume of Molière, the one which contains the Cri-
tique de l’École des Femmes. I read, in the dedi-
catory letter to Anne of Austria, these very words
—words that might have been addressed to the
Wicomtesse de Vaudricourt herself: “I congratu-
late myself on being able still to obtain the honor
of amusing your Majesty, who so well proves the
assertion that true piety is in no way opposed to
wholesome amusements, and who dares to laugh
with the same mouth with which she has prayed.’
Well, my dear, what have you to say?”
“I can refuse Molière nothing—nor you,” re-
plied the young wife, gayly. “We will see ‘Mol-
lenchart's Six Wives.’”
Every century has its own way of amusing
itself. That of the seventeenth was somewhat
gross and unrefined, but frank, wholesome, and
harmless. Our more delicate century likes to in-
hale, in its dramatic and even its literary witti-
82 ALIETTE.
cisms, a certain flavor of libertinism. Mme. de
Sévigné, who nevertheless loved to laugh, would
probably have sat unmoved throughout the repre-
sentation of “Mollenchart's Six Wives.” Mme.
de Vaudricourt, educated amid surroundings
similar to those of the illustrious marquise, had
the same frigid experience, and like a child born
in good circumstances, which had been suddenly
transported to some lower and disreputable re-
gion, she wanted to cry. She tried, however, to
Smile in order to please her husband, but the
effort was not successful, and he understood that
the first attempt at emancipation had failed.
During the course of the same year, M. de
Vaudricourt thought that he had discovered a
better way of weaning his wife from her extreme
austerity, and giving her some taste for fashion-
able life, to which she seemed so averse. There
were, as is usual toward the end of winter, in the
highest Parisian circles, several fétes organized
with some charitable end in view, and especially
a great ball at the Trocadéro, with one of those
Rºrmesses where pretty shops are attended and
touted for by pretty saleswomen. The Wicomte
de Vaudricourt, naturally very charitable, was ac-
A LIETTE. 83
customed to take an active part on these occa-
sions, when he found an opportunity to make
himself useful to the poor and agreeable to the
ladies. It seemed to him that the eminently
praiseworthy and almost religious object of these
festivities should awaken the sympathy of his
austere young wife and silence her scruples. He
therefore urged her to accept the duties of lady
patroness and saleswoman, which were earnestly
pressed upon her on account of her name, her po-
sition, and her beauty. But, to Bernard's great
surprise, Mme. de Vaudricourt refused the honor.
“She was too timid; she was too young ; she
knew too few people.” When her husband, not
a little vexed, charged her with being recreant to
her principles, and even to her faith, by refusing
her assistance in a good work—a pious work—she
ended the discussion with a laugh:
“My dear, the other day you read me a pas-
Sage from Molière. I have a good mind to re-
turn you a Roland for your Oliver by reading
a page from Pascal. It is entitled ‘Convenient
Piety.’”
M. de Vaudricourt joined in the laugh, and
did not press the subject further. Nevertheless,
84 A LIETTE.
he felt discouraged, and after having made sev-
eral additional attempts to make Aliette more
like other people, and to launch her into the so-
cial current, he gave up the effort. Aliette was
a person whose good qualities it would be difficult
to overrate, but who was for all that an unsocia-
ble little Puritan. It was necessary to accept her
as she was, to pardon her peculiarities in consid-
eration of her many virtues, to allow her to live
in the unsympathetic manner that suited her, and
to permit her to retire from the ball-room, like
Cinderella, just as the cotillon was being formed.
M. de Vaudricourt, however, believed himself
henceforth authorized to gratify his individual
tastes, and to allow himself to resume somewhat
his bachelor life, while at the same time exercis-
ing the care of a thoughtful husband who would
not wish to compromise either his wife's dignity
or her peace of mind.
Aliette thus saw herself more and more aban-
doned in that charming home prepared so care-
fully, and with so much of hope and love, that
her husband might be drawn and kept there.
What sad hours were those passed in longer and
longer periods of vain expectation What un-
ALIETTE 85
happy kisses were those lavished upon the little
one uselessly decked out like its mother to please
a father who was at once so forgetful and so
thankless! What burning tears fell upon the
sleeping child!
Bernard often surprised her with eyes still
red and wet from weeping, and became more
and more irritated. What did she want? He
believed, or pretended to believe, that she wished
to lure him from Parisian society and its pleas-
ures, and to cause him to lead by her side a
cloister-like existence. Aliette was too sensible
ever to indulge in such fantasies, but she did
not desire for her husband, any more than for
herself, the wild dissipations of fashionable life;
she considered them irreconcilable with a certain
gravity of thought. She had, therefore, eagerly
sought to withdraw him from them, and to create
with him one of those exceptional homes, no
doubt rare in Paris, but which do exist, and
which form an almost unknown social world,
where are to be met examples of dignified, culti-
wated, and happy lives. She keenly appreciated
the intellectual and refined pleasures which a
great center like Paris constantly offers to the
8
86 ALIETTE.
mind under an infinite variety of forms; but she
would have preferred to enjoy them in the midst
of a select, earnest, and quiet circle, entirely re-
moved from the disorderly rioting, the fashion-
able infatuation, the feverish gayety that were to
be seen like a scum on the surface of Parisian life.
When she permitted her husband to catch a
glimpse of the kind of home of which she
dreamed, he shrugged his shoulders and mut-
tered :
“Chimericall Hôtel de Rambouillet !”
Still, the misunderstanding between them in-
creased, and these two well-meaning people began
to suffer deeply on each other's account.
It happened that, in this unpleasant phase
of matrimonial experience, the same person was
simultaneously made the recipient of Mme. de
Vaudricourt’s tearful revelations and her hus-
band's complaints. This was the Duchesse de
Castel-Moret, the old friend of the Vaudricourts,
and the only woman with whom Aliette, since
her arrival in Paris, had become at all intimate.
The duchesse was far from being, either as to
morals or religion, as severely and ardently ortho-
dox as her young friend. Her career, it is true,
ALIETTE. 87
had been irreproachable, but less as a result of the
possession of fixed principles than from instinct
and natural good taste.
She admitted that she was born with an
inclination toward “the good, the beautiful, and
the true,” but claimed no other merit.
She was liked for her old-time courtesy, her
wit, and her worldly wisdom, which latter she
freely placed at the disposal of the public. She
now and then negotiated marriages, but her spe-
cialty consisted rather in being called upon in
cases where those already made had turned out
badly, and her position was no sinecure. She
thus passed the major part of her time in repair-
ing the hymeneal bonds which had been strained
or broken.
“That will last for a while at least,” she
would say, “and every one knows that articles
skillfully mended are sometimes more durable
than new ones.”
The kind-hearted duchesse, gradually informed
by the partial disclosures of Bernard and Aliette
regarding the unsatisfactory nature of the con-
jugal situation, was not surprised when her skill
was one day invoked by M. de Vaudricourt, who
88 A LIETTE.
asked for a consultation concerning his particular
CàSe.
“My dear duchesse,” he had said to her, “you
know what has happened, and you see what is
happening now. I have absolutely done every-
thing in my power to withdraw my wife from
the monastic existence in which she delights,
but she persists in it. Be it sol I respect her
whim, but I can not shut myself up with her
in a cell and pass my time in praying to a Deity
in whom I do not believe, and—in wiping my
daughter's nose!”
“My dear sir,” commented the duchesse,
“you are angry.”
“Exactly I am angry, because I can not
see that I am to blame. If I go into society
alone three fourths of the time, if I have re-
sumed my club habits, is it not her fault! And
now she sits in a corner and weeps day and
night, and as I am such a fool as to be soft-
hearted, that alone imbitters my life, without
taking into account the gossip that her oddities
provoke, some saying that I am jealous and
others that she is ‘cracked.” Well! I ask you
if this is pleasant?”
ALIETTE. 89.
“You are certainly,” replied the duchesse,
* “an extraordinary person. You have by acci-
dent, right here in Paris, a wife who is not a fool,
and you are complaining about it. I only wish
you were harnessed for a fortnight to the amiable
person who afforded me so much amusement at
Dieppe last summer—a pure Parisienne; in fact,
the very essence of the gay capital. She stopped
at my hotel, and I never tired of watching her.
As soon as it was light, I use to hear her cane in
the corridors. I could see her go out with her
court—that is to say, with four or five fellows of
your stamp, and a husband into the bargain. I saw
her start with her skirts tucked up for the beach,
for the low-tide fishing, or for the bath. She re-
turned to breakfast, still accompanied by her cor-
tégé, and I saw her eat, to gain strength, a cucum-
ber-Salad, cold roast meat with mustard, and a
bowl of strawberries. She then went to kill a few
pigeons at the shooting-gallery; she afterward
strolled to the Casino, where she swallowed a
couple of ices and lost fifty louis on the ‘little
horses’; and from there proceeded to the pho-
tographer's. She then made a fresh start in a
“break” with bells, still accompanied by her oblig-
90 ALIETTE,
ing escort; stopped at the Pollet, where she ate
three pounds of shrimps; and finally went to dine
at the inn at Arques. On her return she again
visited the Casino, where she won back at bacca-
rat the fifty louis previously lost; after which she
ate Supper, indulged in a bock, stuck a flower in
her hair, waltzed a little, and came back in tri-
umph to the hôtel about three o’clock in the
morning, still with the same gentlemen, pale and
breathless, but without her husband, who no
doubt was dead! Well ! my dear vicomte, in
spite of all that, she was said to be a perfectly vir-
tuous woman. How would you like to have
been married to her ?”
“She would have converted me,” replied Ber-
nard, laughing.
“Such are the young women of to-day,” con-
tinued the duchesse, “for you know very well
.ºr-
*~~~,
that the one I have described is no exeeption, and
yotſ’ come to me lamenting because you have a
pearl of a little wife, who is good, witty, well in-
formed, earnest, and whose only fault lies in her
being a saint. In this direction she may go to
extremes, it is true, but she loves you so much
that you could easily make her listen to reason if
ALIETTE. 91.
you would only take the trouble. No 1 you think
that a bore? Well, I will undertake it for you.”
M. de Vaudricourt twice kissed the hand of
the duchesse and withdrew. The next day Mme.
de Castel-Moret, zealously carrying out her rôle of
Maître Jacques, called at Mme. de Vaudricourt's.
She found the young wife greatly discouraged,
cast down, distrustful of her own judgment—in
short, in an excellent mood for listening to ad-
vice and even to reproof. The duchesse gently re-
minded her that undertaking her husband’s moral
transformation, while doubtless a very praise-
worthy, was certainly a very delicate task, and
one which she would be wrong in attempting to
bring to too abrupt a conclusion. She had not
essayed the work with enough either of patience
or of tact; she had not kept in circulation a suffi-
cient quantity of the small coin of social inter-
course, and her husband had, in consequence, lost
his temper and abandoned her. A fashionable
Parisian dilettante so ingrained, so spoiled, so
skeptical to the very marrow, so infatuated with
the Boulevard, could not be brought to relish the
serious pleasures of the fireside by the simple
waving of a wand. There was no denying that
92 ALIETTE,
his conversion from worldly folly would be a
real miracle, and, while Aliette was no doubt more
competent than any one else to perform it, the
first condition of success was evidently to live as
near to her husband as possible, with her hand in
his—in short, to at once charm and control him.
It was necessary, in order to gradually give him
other tastes, to commence by yielding a little to
his, that she might not drive him from her.
Mme. de Vaudricourt, crushed by a sense of
her many disappointments, weakened by her se-
cret struggles, almost distracted by the thought of
entirely losing her husband's affection, plunged
with the eagerness of despair into the path the
old duchesse had marked out for her. The first
step cost her much. She recollected that, soon
after the birth of her child, when the arrange-
ment of her daily duties was under discussion, her
husband had seemed much annoyed because she
had refused to accompany him in his morning
rides in the Bois. She had conceived the idea
that it was her duty to give up a pleasure which
she passionately loved, because it could not be
indulged in without causing the abandonment of
one of the habits of her childhood, to which she
ALIETTE. 93
was greatly attached. She wished to attend mass
every morning at Saint Augustin, as she had been
accustomed to do in the little church of Wara-
ville. This was for her not the mere discharge
of a religious duty; it was a souvenir especially
pleasing to her imagination and to her heart. It
was the hour in which, kneeling on her chair, her
head between her hands, there came to her, min-
gled with her devotions, the remembrance of
years long past and peaceful; it was the moment
when she saw again the pathway that led through
the fields from the château to the church; when
she seemed to breathe the perfume of the roses in
the hedge, and to hear the old yew in the grave-
yard crack in the Sun.
Still, she had been wrong, and now she saw it.
On the day after she had received the visit from
the duchesse, she said to her husband that she
was burning with a desire to ride again, and
especially with him in the morning.
Bernard, greatly surprised, looked at her in-
tently, and then, taking her hand, said:
“You please me greatly, Aliette, for I am
proud of you, and like to show you off.”
Such words, so rare in a husband's mouth, and
94. ALIETTE,
especially a husband as reserved and satirical as
M. de Vaudricourt, could not but thrill the heart
of the young wife with a delicious pleasure, and
put her in the mood for further sacrifices.
She therefore, from that day, commenced to
go more into Society, accepted invitations, was
more frequently seen at the theatre in the winter
and on the race-course in the summer—in short,
allowed herself to be carried along by the current.
Bernard, to encourage her, made efforts to be
generous himself, somewhat modified his habits,
gave up certain recreations which he could only
enjoy alone, and frequently abandoned his club
that he might accompany his wife into society.
Thus their two lives again came together, and for
a time there was a kind of moral spring-time in
their relations, a sentiment of gratitude and ten-
der happiness in their intercourse, which no doubt
afforded Mme. de Vaudricourt some of the hap-
piest hours she ever knew.
II.
STILL, fashionable life in Paris is a terrible
tread-mill—a system of complicated machinery
—in which it is difficult not to become com-
pletely absorbed, when one has commenced to
take part in it. Mme. de Vaudricourt was not
long in finding herself being swept away by the
irresistible movement of the social world, where
invitation seems to engender invitation, where
one's acquaintances are multiplied indefinitely,
where pleasures become obligations, and where
engagements swarm like bees. She soon discov-
ered—and the discovery at first annoyed and then
frightened her—that her liberty, her time, nay,
her very individuality, were slipping away from
her, and that she no longer belonged to herself.
Dut in the midst of her new life, this was
not her only cause for apprehension and sadness.
She had by this time fully entered into the
turbulent social circle which complacently styles
96 ALIETTE.
itself “all Paris,” and which believes itself to
constitute the élite because one sees no other,
hears no other, talks of no other, and talks too
much of that.
What must at first have shocked this young
wife, who by birth, by affection, and by educa-
tion was so thoroughly French, was the cosmo-
politan character which seemed more and more to
pervade Parisian Society. It is well known what
a leading part strangers play in it. There are,
no doubt, many men, and also women, of foreign
birth, who are as agreeable as they are respect-
able, even in France. But at the same time one
sees Englishmen appear in our theatres in cos-
tumes which would secure their being thrown
out of their own, just as one sees strangers treat
Paris like a place of doubtful reputation where
liberties may be taken which would not be al-
lowed at home, and where the visitor may go
about in a kind of moral déshabillé. These in-
sulting, free-and-easy manners, this careless eccen-
tricity, this bad form, this disdain of public opin-
ion, are faults which are not French, but which
are in danger of becoming such through con-
stant importation.
ALIETTE. 97
This tendency—so characteristic of our time,
and which is more and more changing our na-
tional qualities (England, be it said in parenthe-
sis, knows better how to guard hers)—this tenden-
cy was not the only feature of the Paris world
that outraged the instincts, the opinions, and the
feelings of Aliette. The more she entered into
it, and the better she came to know it, the more
weary she grew, even to disgust, with the Super-
ficial tattle, food for which is so readily supplied
in Paris by the occurrences of each day, and
which seems to reduce all minds to the same
level of commonplace mediocrity. She heard
ten times a day, in ten different salons, the same
jargon, the same eager and empty gossip, the
same insupportable Boulevard Scandals, the same
rash judgments, the same expressions, the same
witticisms borrowed from the last piece, and
sometimes the idiotic slang of the concert-halls.
Never anything new, spontaneous, original, in
this tiresome waste of words!
She saw with secret amazement that this
crowd of fashionables was intent on nothing but
pleasure and keeping in motion, as if afflicted
with a moral Saint Vitus's dance that encircled
9
98 ALIETTE.
them from the cradle to the grave in a kind of
epileptic whirlwind. It recalled to her the un-
holy diversions of the middle ages, when men
were condemned to dance until death relieved
them in the grave-yards of the churches they had
desecrated. She asked herself what time could
be left, amid such infatuation, for family life, for
the home, for study, for the cultivation of the
mind, for the flights of the imagination into the
higher regions—in short, for the interval between
life and death. She was frightened at feeling
herself carried away in this turmoil, as by an
irresistible wave, and at no longer being able to
keep her foothold.
A deeper disgust possessed her when she
chanced to overhear a certain style of conversa-
tion that the laxity of taste and the corruption of
the moral sense, aided by a peculiar range of
reading, had made fashionable even in the salons,
during the course of which women of noble birth
talked glibly among themselves, and even with
men, of physiological curiosities, latent depravity,
revolting licentiousness—
“Et de vices peut-être inconnus aux enfers.”
ALIETTE. 99
Her sadness and indignation were still further
increased when she reflected that the tone and
manners of French society were inferred, both at
home and abroad, from this specimen of the so-
called élite, but who were in reality a promiscu-
ous and noisy set, whose fêtes, Scandals, and toi-
lets gave employment to the reporters, and fur-
nished to the general public an endless fund of
satirical amusement.
Standing as we do near the end of the present
century, and taking into consideration the mental
development in France, at a time when a kind of
moral uprising of the people against the aristoc-
racy would seem to have taken all restraint from
the gratification of the popular appetites, Mme.
de Vaudricourt, though not otherwise a politician,
was astonished to witness among the upper classes
such utter heedlessness and such complete absorp-
tion in the business of amusement. It seemed to
her as if the officers on a doomed vessel, instead
of attending to their duties, were becoming in-
toxicated with the crew.
What was worse, she felt her conscience
trouble her. Such a life of exceptional frivolity,
vanity, and sensuality is wholesome for no one,
:
o
:
.
wº
*
i
.
:
:
:
100 ALIETTE.
and even upon one as noble and as pure as Ali-
ette it had its effect. In this world, with which
she was so little in sympathy, which was so for-
eign to her habits, and so shut up to all ideas of
order, she sometimes became almost persuaded
that she was an eccentric person to whom an un-
usual mode of education had given peculiar and
false theories. While her religious belief was
not seriously undermined, it still seemed strange
to her at times that among so many she should be
the only one holding her own views. It was evi-
dent, for instance, that religion, which was for
her a thing most essential and important, was for
the great majority of those with whom she asso-
ciated little more than a dictate of good taste and
a custom of the best society; that, on coming out
of church on Sunday, one left it behind on the
steps until the Sunday following, and that in the
interval nobody troubled about it. In the com-
pany of the insane, the strongest reason is some-
times shaken; and Aliette asked herself, with a
shudder, whether the skepticism and indifference
of her companions might not some day prove
too powerful for her.
However, her daughter was growing, and
A LIETTE 101
Mme. de Vaudricourt began to feel anxious for
her little Jeanne as well as for herself. How was
she to educate her according to the dictates of her
conscience, amid surroundings where the very air
seemed heavy not only with unbelief, but with
impurity—in a city where she saw spread out for
sale, almost before the doors of the colleges and
establishments for young ladies, books with en-
gravings which were formerly hidden away in
the dimly-lighted stalls of Brussels and Geneva!
How preserve the dear little one from objection-
able associations, baleful teachings, the equivocal
sayings of the Salon and the antechamber, the
perverseness of some, and the moral carelessness
of all? In order to avoid at least one of these
dangers, Aliette had intrusted her daughter to
the exclusive care of an old servant named Vic-
toire Genest, who had nursed Aliette herself, and
whom she had brought with her from Varaville.
Old Victoire, who belonged to a race of honest,
devoted, and scolding domestics now almost ex-
tinct, went nearly every afternoon to walk with
Jeanne in the Parc Monceau or the Champs
Elysées.
If in the midst of her many cares Mme. de
102 ALIETTE.
Vaudricourt had had the consolation of seeing
that she was making some progress in influencing
the mind of her husband; if she could have wit-
nessed the least change, or the slightest improve-
ment in the wished-for direction, she would have
felt encouraged. But there was nothing of the
kind. Her sacrifices had apparently been made
in vain; he was as determined as ever, as decided
in his disheartening denials, and in his tranquil,
skeptical philosophy. It was not that he closed
his eyes to the loosening of social ties to which
Aliette was so keenly alive; that he approved the
disorders of the times, or despised the threatened
dangers. If, however, he saw the evil, he could
suggest no remedy; they were passing through a
period of decadence and transformation, and in
either case it was useless to struggle against the
progress of events.
Such was, naturally, not the opinion of Aliette,
and, taking advantage of the greater familiarity
which now existed between her and her husband,
she did not fear, as formerly, to enter upon dis-
cussions with him on these delicate subjects. He
did not, however, engage in them readily, and at
times displayed the harshness and irritability of a
ALIETTE. 103
man who suspects attempts at proselytism at his
own fireside, and who has quite decided not to
encourage them.
Thus it happened one day when the conversa-
tion had turned upon the moral condition of the
working classes, with whom Aliette's charitable
habits brought her frequently in contact, that the
young wife permitted herself to remark that, un-
fortunately, lessons in materialism were often
given by the upper classes.
“You are quite right,” said Bernard, “and I
have no idea in what direction we are tending, or
what terrible events are in preparation. As, how-
ever, we can do nothing, it is better not to think
about it.”
“Like Louis XV l’” returned Aliette. “But,
my dear, are you quite sure that nothing can be
done? Do you not think that the abolition of all
religious belief, all hope beyond this life, all trust
in God, counts for much in this furious and all-
absorbing eagerness for present pleasure, at which
even you are alarmed?”
“I am, on the contrary, convinced of it,” re-
plied Bernard; “but what then? What do you
propose? Is it my fault if the earth moves? Is
104 ALIETTE.
it my fault if unbelief rules high and low alike?
Do you mean to suggest that I should set the
people an example? An example of what, since
I have no belief? An example of hypocrisy and
sacrilege?”
Aliette turned very pale, but did not reply.
“My dear,” he continued, coldly, “you are
striving for the unattainable. You are a Chris-
tian in fact in a society which is Christian only in
name. You can not, however, reform your age.
You can not construct out of the Paris of the
nineteenth century a Port-Royal-des-Champs, of
which you will be the Mère Angélique. Aban-
don the idea, I beg of you; and give up all
thoughts of leading me personally back to your
faith. A mania for converting me has taken
possession of you, and I tell you frankly that it
annoys me, for I recognize it in your most trivial
phrases as well as in your most insignificant ac-
tions. I thought that I had dwelt long enough
on the subject before our marriage, and no one
knows this better than your uncle. I then con-
scientiously said all that a man could say not to
leave you, in this matter, with any vain hopes—
to spare you this very self-deception which lies at
A LIETTE. 105
the bottom of all your griefs, nay, which is, if you
will be honest, your only. grief. Give up this
dream forever; think of it no longer, and you
will see what solace will come to our wretched
lives.” Af
Aliette, speechless and with moist eyes, looked
at him with the suppliant expression of some
hunted animal that has been brought to bay.
His natural kindness of heart soon regained
the ascendency, and, sitting down by her, he said
in a pleasanter tone:
“Come, my dear, I am wrong. In the mat-
ter of conversion one must never despair of any-
thing or anybody. Do you remember M. de
Rancé? Was he in your time? Well! before be-
coming the reformer of La Trappe, he was, like
myself, very worldly and very skeptical—what
was then called a libertine. In spite of this, he
is now a saint. It is true, he was impelled to
the step by a terrible experience. Do you know
the circumstances that led to his conversion ?”
Aliette signified that she did not.
“Well! he was returning to Paris after a
few days’ absence; he ran to the residence of the
lady with whom he was in love—Mme. de Mont-
106 A LIETTE.
bazon, I believe—ascended a private staircase of
which he had the key, and the first thing he
saw, on a table, in the middle of the room, was
his darling's head, of which the physicians were
engaged in making an autopsy l’”
“If I were sure that the sight of my head
would produce a similar effect,” said Aliette, “I
should welcome death !”
She pronounced these words in a low tone,
but with such an accent of ardent sincerity, that
her husband was painfully affected.
He soon recovered himself, however, and,
gently stroking her cheek, said:
“What nonsense ! A pretty head like yours
does not need to be dead to work miracles!”
III.
IT was on such terms that they were living
some six years after their marriage, Aliette con-
tinuing to drag herself mechanically into a society
that she heartily disliked, and which sympathized
neither with her haughty sadness nor her en-
feebled health; Bernard distracted between con-
cealed anger and concealed pity, and both equally
unhappy.
Every year in the spring, while awaiting the
fated hour of the Grand Prix, the Parisian world
is fond of giving itself a foretaste of the free life
of the fields by prospecting some distance beyond
the fortifications. Thus it happened that in the
month of May, 1880, the select group, of which
M. and Mme. de Vaudricourt were members, one
day conceived the idea of indulging in a picnic at
Saint-Germain-en-Laye. In consequence, two or
three great mail-coaches, with post-horses, drew
up toward six in the evening in the court-yard of
108 A LIETTE.
the Pavillon Henri IV, and thence descended a
brilliant company of thirty or thirty-five persons.
The party dined merrily and then wandered into
the woods, while the apartment was being trans-
formed into a ball-room. The guests soon re-
turned to the hôtel and began dancing, with
piano accompaniment, and with that easy gayety
which the country seems to invite. In the mean
time some of the old roués of the party had dis-
covered the presence in the hôtel of two or three
actresses of their acquaintance—celebrities of the
minor theatres of the Boulevards, and one of
them even a singer out of a café-concert. Upon
the report of the game-beaters, the company, car-
ried away by the excitement of the moment, as
well as by the eager curiosity of the women of
fashion respecting their humble sisters of the the-
atre, it was resolved almost unanimously, there
being but one or two votes in the negative, that
these ladies should be invited to join in the fête.
A delegation was sent out, which soon returned
with the three “artistes,” who were greeted with
a double round of applause. It was whispered
that they had refused all proffers of compensa-
tion, which was somewhat annoying, but the party
ALIETTE. 109
soon accepted the situation. The new-comers
were surrounded, questioned, complimented, un-
til, delighted at the suavity of their hosts, they
seated themselves at the piano and Sang several
songs discreetly chosen. It seemed rather awk-
ward to dismiss them at the conclusion of the
music by way of thanks. Besides, the men of
the party, to say nothing of the women, did not
regret having the opportunity of becoming better
acquainted with them. In short, they were in-
vited to join in the cotillon that had been inter-
rupted by their arrival, and which was resumed in
their honor. They, however, entirely changed the
character of this harmless terpsichorean amuse-
ment by their singing and their immodest de-
meanor. Excited by the gayety and the cham-
pagne, and encouraged by several of the company,
they now rehearsed without hesitation some of
the most licentious morceaua of their public and
private répertoire.
The supper that followed was indefinitely pro-
longed amid snatches of indecent ballads, the
drunken clamor of the men, and the exclamations
of the frightened women.
Mme. de Vaudricourt, taking advantage of the
10
110 ALIETTE.
noise and the disorder, had left her seat, with
Some remark about the excessive heat, and had
gone to an open window. Day was breaking; the
wide valley of the Seine lay before her, and white
mists floated above it. All at once it seemed as
if she were losing her foothold, as if she were
plunging through space, and could feel herself
falling out of sight. She uttered a feeble cry,
threw out her arms as if to take flight, and fell
senseless on the floor.
The sound of her fall suddenly hushed the
songs and laughter. M. de Vaudricourt ran for-
ward; some one assisted him in raising his appar-
ently lifeless young wife and in carrying her into
one of the rooms of the hôtel. While a physician
was being summoned, salts, ether, and the other
common remedies were used in vain to bring
Aliette out of her swoon. The doctor, on his
arrival, found her still rigid and insensible, with
white, hollow cheeks. He was left alone in the
room with M. de Vaudricourt. While he was
feeling the invalid's pulse and briefly questioning
her husband, Aliette's eyelids half opened and
consciousness seemed to be returning; but it was
only for a moment. Her eyes again resumed their
ALIETTE. 111
vacant stare; her face, before so pale, was sudden-
ly suffused with color, and her forehead became
intensely red.
“A change is taking place,” remarked the
physician, in a grave tone.
He ordered a continued application of ice to
the head, prescribed a powerful revulsive for the
limbs, and himself watched the effect of these
remedies for several hours. Aliette, though no
longer in a swoon, had again become unconscious.
She tossed feverishly about; muttered indistinct-
ly, and impatiently pressed her hand to her head.
About noon, when she had grown calmer, the
physician withdrew, promising to return in the
evening.
“Monsieur,” he said to Bernard on leaving,
“if there is some moral rather than physical
trouble here, I am ignorant of it; but allow me
to give you one piece of advice—try to make your
wife weep.”
M. de Vaudricourt spent the long day at his
wife's bedside, standing most of the time, and
himself attending to the ice applications. He
lavished upon her the most endearing epithets,
but he saw that she did not understand. It was
112 ALIETTE,
only toward evening that Aliette's gaze fixeditself
upon him with a glimmer of intelligence, while
the young wife's bosom heaved convulsively and
she burst into tears.
The doctor returned soon after and found her
in this condition. He spoke a few words to Ber-
nard in a low tone, and again left the room. Con-
formably to his prediction, the attack gradually
became less violent, and was followed by drowsi-
ness on the part of the patient. Bernard, relieved
from extreme anxiety, and overcome by fatigue,
fell asleep at the foot of the bed.
He was awakened by Aliette's voice softly
calling—“Bernard l’”
“My darling !” he replied, suddenly sitting
up and bending over her.
She imprisoned him with both her arms, and,
straining him convulsively to her bosom, said,
amid her sobs:
“O Bernard! have pity on me, I beg of you!”
“Why, my child, what is it you wish **
“I can’t do it any more 1 I can’t any more
I am not saving you, and I am losing my own
soul! And my daughter's, too—my poor little
daughter l’” w
ALIETTE. 113
Overcome by her emotion, she was silent for
a moment; then she continued, with a wandering
look:
“I want to go ; I want to take her away.”
“You wish to leave me, Aliette 3’ asked Ber-
nard.
She again threw her arms around his neck.
“Never ! I could not. Only let me send my
daughter to my mother, who will take charge of
her. She, at least, will not be lost.”
“Aliette, I do not wish to separate you from
your child. Although, in my opinion, you exag-
gerate the dangers of a residence in Paris, not
only for yourself but for your daughter, if you
wish to go away with her, I consent.”
Aliette, shaking her head sadly, muttered
something that was lost in sobs.
“I will follow you,” added Bernard, greatly
moved.
“You?” she cried, earnestly, fixing on him a
questioning glance. “How could I ask such a
Sacrifice 3’”
“I am ready; I owe it to you. Something
occurred last night in your presence at which you
were justly indignant, and to which I had no
114 ALIETTE.
right to expose you; but I could not foresee that
matters would be carried so far. I beg your par-
don. I should have taken you away, but it
would have been equivalent to censuring others,
which might have led to disagreeable conse-
quences. In fact, I have been wrong, and owe
you reparation. Besides, when I married I prom-
ised myself, I promised your parents, I promised
you, to do everything, except the impossible, to
make you happy. I shall keep my word.
“Perhaps Paris might have been made more
agreeable for you if I had chosen your associates
with more care. That is an hypothesis, however,
which it is now too late to discuss. Rightly or
wrongly, Paris has become hateful to you, and
we will leave it. I have reflected deeply during
this sad day, and my mind is made up. I am
fearful, my poor child, that the difficulties caused
by the difference in our beliefs may follow us
wherever we may go, but I admit that our present
surroundings only aggravate them. I will ask
you not to take up your residence at Varaville.
Besides being otherwise inconvenient, it is too
far away even for you who may wish from time
to time to breathe the air of this unfortunate
ALIETTE, 115
Paris when you will no longer be condemned to
reside here. As to other matters, we will talk of
them at our leisure to-morrow. But be easy; you
have my promise. Go to sleep.”
She gave him a look of mingled astonishment
and delight; then, seizing one of his hands, she
drew it to her lips.
“How I love you!” she said.
“Go to sleep,” repeated Bernard, gently.
And she slept the sleep of childhood.
IV.
THE praiseworthy if painful sacrifice to which
M. de Vaudricourt had pledged himself, by prom-
ising to leave Paris, was scarcely the result of a
deliberate resolution. He had been led to offer
this proof of the strength of his affection, not
only by the spectacle of his wife's sufferings, but
also by a lively sense of the humiliating position
in which she had been placed. The events of the
night before now appeared in their true colors,
and aroused in him every sentiment of delicacy
and generosity. When Aliette, in her semi-de-
lirium, had made the despairing appeal, “I am
not saving you, and I am losing my own soul!”
he understood that she might have added, “And
you are ruining me !”
He recalled with keen self-reproach the ball
and supper in the Pavillon Henri IV, the dis-
graceful scenes to which circumstances had
seemed to lead up, and in which he had, in one
ALIETTE. 117
sense, compelled his wife to participate. In the
opinion of a man like Bernard de Vaudricourt,
who, though easy-going as a moralist, was as un-
yielding as iron in matters of honor, if there was
any one thing more absolutely and supremely in-
famous than another it was the action of a hus-
band who seeks to degrade and debauch his wife;
and it was the thought of being suspected of such
baseness, by a creature so pure and noble as Ali-
ette, that deeply wounded his self-respect.
It was, therefore, because impelled by an out-
burst of generous pity and a sense of outraged
honor, that he had decided, almost on the spur of
the moment, to dry the tears and win back the es-
teem of his young wife by sacrificing his personal
tastes and changing the whole plan of his life.
That so sudden and important a decision was
likely to be regretted, is true; but it was none the
less creditable to him who had made it under the
impulse and inspiration of Sentiments so noble.
It proved how worthy, in many respects, Aliette
and her husband were of each other, although
mutually responsible for each other's unhappi-
IleSS.
We will here remark that if the story of M.
118 ALIETTE.
and Mme. de Vaudricourt had been nothing more
than the commonplace story of an ill-assorted
marriage between an intelligent and pious woman
and some vulgar rascal of a man, it would not
have attracted our attention, nor appeared to
merit that of the public. But the union of two
sympathetic natures, of equal fortune and social
position, and only separated by the question of
religious belief, appears to us to offer in its de-
velopment and its results an interesting if not a
useful field for investigation.
Bernard, some two years after his marriage,
had, through the death of his uncle, become the
Comte de Vaudricourt, and had at the same time
received a considerable inheritance. He was,
therefore, at the period at which we have ar-
rived, the master of a large fortune, which would
have permitted him, while fixing his principal
residence outside of Paris, to retain his hôtel
in the Parc Monceau. He desired, however, to
make the sacrifice complete and to cut through
all obstacles. The hôtel was announced for sale,
and he could not, in that fashionable quarter, have
long to wait for a purchaser.
Bernard had also had a perfect understanding
ALIETTE. 119
with Aliette, to the effect that they were to settle
in the country rather than in some provincial
town. They were equally agreed—for it can
readily be imagined that Aliette did not dispute
about trifles—that, when Bernard came to Paris
alone to pass a day or two, he should stop at his
club, and that when he was accompanied by his
wife they were to go to a hotel, in order to be
able to taste the pleasures of the capital without
again becoming hopelessly involved in and en-
slaved by them.
It was out of the question that they should
settle at La Savinière, as not only had Bernard
rented it after the death of his uncle, but it was
as far away from Paris as Varaville. After con-
siderable searching within a radius of twenty or
thirty leagues of the capital, M. de Vaudricourt’s
notary found for him, beyond Fontainebleau, in
the direction of Nemours and Gien, a handsome
estate, which bore the name of the neighboring
market-town, Walmoutiers, and which seemed to
combine a sufficient number of attractions to de-
cide Bernard and Aliette in its favor. The dis-
tance from Paris was sufficiently great to prevent
their being overrun by unwelcome visitors, but
120 ALIETTE.
not great enough to excuse their own permanent
absence from the gay capital. There was good
hunting in the vicinity, and surrounding the cha-
teau were extensive forests. The building itself
was an imposing edifice in the style of Louis
XIII, with a court-of-honor of lordly dimensions,
and spacious servants’ quarters. The last owner,
as fond of horses as M. de Vaudricourt himself,
had maintained the stables on a footing of un-
usual comfort, not to say luxury. At the same
time he had secured in the neighborhood land
suitable for cattle-raising. Bernard noted these
details, and promised himself a little of the rec-
reation that he craved in this land of his
exile.
While needed repairs and other changes were
being made at Walmoutiers, Mme. de Vaudricourt
went to spend several weeks with her family at
Varaville, as she was in the habit of doing every
summer; and her husband, as was also his wont,
joined her for a few days' sojourn. He was sure
of a hearty welcome, as his many attractive quali-
ties had, in spite of religious differences, over-
come all prejudices and conquered all hearts—
even that of Mlle. de Varaville, Aliette's maiden
ALIETTE. 121
aunt, to whom Bernard had made such impolite
references in his journal.
Our readers are by this time too well ac-
quainted with Aliette's character to be surprised
that a person of her delicacy of feeling had care-
fully kept to herself, and concealed from her
family, the sad experiences that had fallen to her
lot since her marriage. She had not exceeded
the truth when she had said that her husband was
thoroughly kind, attentive, respectful, and liberal.
As to their religious differences—the true cause
of all their domestic troubles—she had too much
good sense and too much pride to make them the
subject of complaint after having accepted him
almost against the wishes of her family.
Monseigneur de Courteheuse had alone pos-
sessed her confidence to some extent on this sub-
ject. She had not sought to disguise from him
the unhappiness that she felt in Paris amid moral
surroundings so turbulent, and so inferior to those
to which she had been accustomed. As regarded
the conversion of her husband, she had allowed
him to infer something of her self-deception and
her discouragement. But the worthy prelate, who
met Bernard every year at Waraville, still retained
11
122 ALIETTE.
a strong predilection for this prodigal son. He
did not despair of the future, especially when he
was informed of the sacrifice that M. de Vaudri-
court had made for his wife, in giving up Paris.
He saw, as did all Aliette's family, in this unself-
ish act, not only an example of conjugal devotion,
but, in a broader sense, a precious token and an
omen of better things to come. What valuable
results might one not expect hereafter from the
influence of Aliette, which now seemed to be so
powerful with her husband 7
It was toward the end of September of the
same year that M. and Mme. de Vaudricourt
finally took possession of their Walmoutiers châ-
teau. It was the hunting-season, which was a
fortunate circumstance, since it would serve, in
the early days, to soften for M. de Vaudricourt
the abruptness of the transition from his old
to his new life. For Aliette, these early days
were naturally days of unalloyed happiness. She
breathed again It seemed to her like entering
port, after a long voyage marked by danger, dis-
gust, and disappointment. She felt, with a deli-
cious sense of relief, that she had again become
mistress of herself and of her daughter, and had
A LIETTE. 123
even entered into possession of her husband. She
had never loved him so much, and she applied
herself with redoubled ardor to the task of pleas-
ing him. She rode with him a little nearly every
day, and they made joyous reconnaissances to-
gether into this unfamiliar neighborhood. She
learned how to handle a gun, in order to be able
to accompany him in hunting ; but she never be-
came skillful, being too nervous and too tender-
hearted in the presence of game. She invited,
by detachments, several hunting companions for
her husband, chosen from among their friends in
Paris and their acquaintances in the neighborhood.
She thus endeavored to gradually accustom him to
a country life, that he might not at first be op-
pressed by its solitude, and herself anticipating
with keen relish the téte-à-têtes to be enjoyed dur-
ing the long winter evenings when snow would
have covered the woods.
M. de Vaudricourt, to whom the long winter
evenings were less attractive in prospect, enjoyed
in the mean time his present mode of life, which
did not differ materially from that he usually led
at this season of the year. Only, heretofore he
had hunted on the estates of his friends; now he
124 ALIETTE.
was shooting over his own forests, and for the
first time the pleasures of the sportsman were
tempered by the annoyances of the proprietor.
He lived in fear and terror of the poachers who
laid siege to his woods. He urged his two keep-
ers, morning and evening, to renewed vigilance,
and in his denunciations of this impious race he
displayed an earnestness and a sincerity so in
contrast with his usual careless, satirical manner,
that Aliette was greatly amused.
One morning, as he was walking with his gun
and his dog on the edge of the wood, a shot was
fired not far off in the meadow beyond, and a
hare, breaking cover across the dry leaves, fell
dead at his feet. At the same moment a quite
peculiar-looking person cleared at a bound the
grassy bank that separated the woods from the
field and found herself suddenly within two steps
of the hare and of M. de Vaudricourt.
“Pardon, monsieur,” said the stranger, with
entire equanimity, “the hare has just died in your
copse, but, as I shot him in the open, I believe
he belongs to me.”
The Comte de Vaudricourt did not at once re-
ply to this abrupt summons, having been struck
A LIETTE. 125
dumb with surprise and indignation. The per-
son before him was a young woman of twenty, of
unusual beauty. She wore a simple hunting-cos-
tume composed of a short blouse of some brown
woolen material, with wide trousers of the same,
yellow leather leggings, and a light Tyrolean
hat.
“Madame !” said Bernard at last, “as a ques-
tion of principle, I might argue the matter; but
since you have taken the trouble to state the
case, it is already decided in your favor. Here's
the hare.”
She took the innocent subject of the discus-
sion from the comte's hands, made the slightest
apology for a bow by way of thanks, and was leav-
ing the woods, when Bernard's dog, whom the
slaughter of the hare had somewhat demoralized,
clumsily started in the copse a score of young
pigeons. M. de Vaudricourt took aim hastily and
fired twice. But he was a little disconcerted, and
not a bird fell, although all were within easy
range.
The young girl, who had stopped on the slope
of the bank, exclaimed, in a deep but musical
voice:
126 ALIETTE.
“A miss!” and then lightly leaped the ditch
and disappeared.
The Comte de Vaudricourt kept his eyes fixed
on her, with no very amiable expression of counte-
nance, until she was out of sight, muttering be-
tween his teeth, “Who can that very extraordi-
nary young person be 8” and proceeded to reload
his gun, after which he continued his rounds with
an abstracted air. A few moments later he met
one of his keepers, and the following dialogue
ensued:
“Reep your hat on, Lebuteux—keep your
hat on! Tell me, Lebuteux, what lady is that,
dressed like a boy, who hunts in the neighbor-
hood, and who, after calmly shooting one of my
hares at my very feet, has the audacity to come
and ask for him into the bargain?”
“Ah, monsieur le comte,” said Lebuteux,
with that sad smile which old soldiers have,
“that must be the young lady from La Saulaye
—Mlle. Sabine.”
“Oh! it’s a young lady,” returned the comte.
“Excuse me. Then it's the person who lives at
La Saulaye with the old savant—the doctor?”
“He’s not so old,” said the keeper. “But
A LIETTE. 127
he's always buried in his books—he's no sports-
man. As to the young lady, ah! when she goes
to work she doesn’t care whether it's yours or
mine. She's like all women, she can’t reason.
She's all the time prowling around your grounds,
and she doesn’t hesitate to follow up the game,
hairy or feathered, dead or alive, on to your land.”
“And you stand there and tell me that quiet-
ly, Lebuteux! Why, it's shameful! I’ll com-
mence legal proceedings against her—when you
catch her.”
“Certainly, if monsieur wishes it. Only, those
folks at La Saulaye, now, monsieur le comte—
you wouldn’t care to trouble them.”
“Why not? Are they sorcerers?”
“No, monsieur le comte, and if it were not
for mamSelle's poaching habits, one might call
them decent sort of people, who do a deal of good
in the neighborhood.”
“Yes, yes, perhaps sol But for all that, Mam-
selle Sabine had better not try it again. Good-
day, Buteux, good-day—and mind, no child’s
play, Buteux!”
And M. de Vaudricourt continued his walk,
shaking his head as if deeply offended at the bold
128 ALIETTE,
huntress. After a few steps, however, his irri-
tation had given place to gentler feelings, as the
following remark, addressed to himself, proved:
“She’s a splendid girl! Very insolent, but
very well built.”
During breakfast he laughingly recounted to
his wife and his guests his adventure with the
damsel of La Saulaye, in which he had come out
second best.
“La Saulaye?” said Aliette. “Is not that the
melancholy-looking dwelling on the left on the
Cormiers road, with great willows drooping over
a black-looking stretch of water?”
“The very same,” said Bernard. “We both
noticed it. It is a kind of English house, to
which the willows give a forbidding aspect.
"Who lives there 3’”
There were several residents of the neighbor-
hood among the guests who gave the desired in-
formation, but in somewhat equivocal terms. It
appeared that the residents of La Saulaye were
not held in very high esteem by the local aristoc-
racy. The owner was a physician named Talle-
vaut, who had long ago given a home to a poor
relative, an infirm old aunt, with her daughter,
ALIETTE. 129
whose guardian he was. He had formerly prac-
ticed medicine in Paris; then, having inherited
quite a considerable fortune, had parted company
with his patients, already numerous, and had re-
tired to the country to indulge his taste for study
and devote himself to pure science. Absorbed
in his labors, and compelled to use the greatest
care in the disposition of his time, he only at-
tended medically the very poorest classes, abso-
lutely refusing all who were able to pay for the
services of a physician. He had thus seriously
offended a large number of people whom his
reputation as a man of science and a skillful prac-
titioner had brought from a distance, and who
were compelled to accept his pitiless refusals.
In return, he was much talked about. As to
his attainments, there could be no dispute, the
Institute having quite recently rewarded his in-
vestigations in the cause of science by conferring
the title of “corresponding member”; but his
avowed sentiments as a philosophic freethinker,
the mystery of his home-life, the beauty of his
ward, the peculiar education he had given her—
all suggested comments the reverse of agreeable,
and principally in the neighboring châteaux.
130 ALIETTE.
Although, during the next few days, the
Comte de Vaudricourt assiduously patrolled the
boundaries of his estate, he was not again re-
warded by seeing the bright, cold eyes of Mlle.
Tallevaut glisten among the foliage. Perhaps
the audacious huntress had received a hint from
Keeper Lebuteux of the comte's unfriendly dis-
position, and recoiled before the prosaic threat of
legal proceedings. Perhaps, as sometimes hap-
pened, her services had been put in requisition
by her learned guardian, who had educated her
to serve either as secretary in his office or as
assistant in his laboratory, since experiments in
chemistry and physics played as prominent a part
in his researches as in his recreations.
However this may be, for the rest of the sea-
son Mlle. Tallevaut was invisible. Once only,
when passing before La Saulaye with his wife in
the evening, Bernard thought he had caught a
glimpse of his handsome enemy gliding, like a
shadow, across the cottage-garden. Aliette also
shared her husband’s interest regarding the deni-
zens of La Saulaye. The air of mystery that
hung over this solitary and silent house appealed
strongly to the romantic element in her imagina-
ALIETTE. 131
tion. She called it “the alchemist's house.” It
was quite a large brick structure, with many trees
in front and rear, and badly kept grass-plots and
flower-beds, that had evidently been left to the
care and skill of a country gardener. Since the
great willows by the pond had lost their leaves,
the house looked less melancholy, but it still wore
a forbidding aspect; and the stretch of water, on
whose surface the leaves were rotting, had the
same dull look.
However, after a little delay, winter had set
in sharp and boisterous. Even the most obliging
guests had returned to Paris, and left M. and
Mme. de Vaudricourt alone by their fireside. The
condition of the roads, blocked by Snow, or ren-
dered impassable by rain, had put an end to the
infrequent visits of the neighbors. The inclem-
ency of the weather rendered hunting discourag-
ing, when not absolutely impossible. Recreation
was thus greatly restricted, and one was compelled
to fall back on one’s own resources. Bernard,
who had beforehand summoned up his courage to
undergo this anticipated experience, did his best
to get through it with equanimity. He made a
practice of going to meet the postman in the ave-
132 ALIETTE.
nue in the morning, which was always something
to look forward to, and read his newspapers with
great deliberation. He exhibited a praiseworthy
activity in the care of his horses, his stables, and
his magnificent saddle-room. He deciphered
scores on the piano with his wife; and had taken
up water-color painting again, with which he had
once amused himself, and gave Aliette lessons.
In the evening they read together some of the
favorite old authors, memoirs, a few modern po-
ets, the celebrated criticisms of the present day,
and English novels. It was a delightful existence
for Aliette, for whom her correspondence, her
household cares, the education of her daughter,
and her devotional duties left not a moment for
ennui. She was, besides, naturally fond of the
country, and rural sights and sounds had for her,
even in winter, a quite poetic interest.
Her happiness was, however, marred by a con-
stant source of anxiety. Was her husband as
happy as herself ; In spite of the show of spirits
which he forced himself to keep up, she often
surprised on his face, and even in his language,
symptoms of Somber reverie, impatience, and dis-
Content.
ALIETTE. 133
The truth was, that he was bored to death.
He restrained himself as much as possible before
his wife, but, when he had retired to his room in
the evening, he smoked cigar after cigar in the
vain attempt to banish the melancholy that was
gnawing at his vitals. He stopped in his monoto-
nous pacing up and down before the window, and
looked out into the thick darkness that hid field
and wood, listening to the north wind that swept
through the tops of the trees with a sound like
far-off waves; and his thoughts wandered back to
his dear Boulevard, which at that very hour was
glittering like the milky-way ! He saw in imagi-
nation the dazzling peristyles of the theatres, the
animated crowds that pressed before the shop-
windows, the swarming life of Paris. He seemed
to breathe the peculiar odors of the Boulevard in
the evening—the mixture of gas and tobacco, the
fumes from underground kitchens, and the puffs
of perfumed air from the florists' shops. He
breathed again the heated atmosphere of the club
Salons, the coulisses and the actresses’ dressing-
rooms of the theatres. He recognized the effluvi-
um of the stairways and the vestibules when the
crowd is coming out from the play, and the strong
12
134 ALIETTE,
odors from costly furs, and he looked on embroid-
ered pelisses and bare shoulders. All these more
or less pure pleasures of the senses, in which the
Parisian dilettante delights, attacked the imagi-
nation of Bernard surrounded by the solitude and
the silence of the country, with a terrible power,
at once attracting and saddening him.
In this respect he fell into a singular but very
common error: he imagined that it was through
his intellect that he felt the absence of the cus-
tomary sights and sounds of Paris, whereas it was
only through his senses. He was an intelligent
man; he had even been a student up to the pe.
riod when blank skepticism had robbed him of
every taste save the taste for pleasure. Like the
majority of Parisians exiled in the provinces, he
fancied he missed the intellectual activity of the
capital, while in reality he only regretted the
ready means of amusement, the innumerable
pleasures, the absorption in trifles that is the char-
acteristic of the fashionable world, and, above all,
the presence of feminine charms.
Aliette, who knew exactly what was passing
in her husband's mind, mustered all her courage
One evening.
ALIETTE, 135
“My dear,” she said, playfully placing both
his hands upon her shoulders, “do you know
what you must do º You must spend eight or
ten days in Paris.”
“Why?” said Bernard, a little confused; “I
am very comfortable here.”
“That's the very reason,” returned his charm-
ing young wife, laughing. “I don’t intend that
you shall be surfeited with happiness. Besides, I
have a whole heap of commissions for you. In
the first place, I want a large screen for the chim-
ney in the red salon; a bracket for the dining-
room; a Louis XIV movable frame — Louis
XIV, understand: that is, covered with old tap-
estry—for the library; and several other things,
a list of which I will give you in the morn-
ing.”
“It would be better, my dear,” said Bernard,
“if you came with me and selected these things
yourself.”
“Not at all; your taste is better than mine.
I will go and spend six weeks in Paris after
Easter, but, until then, you shall go every month
to execute my commissions. That's the pro-
gramme I’ve arranged for you in my head—in
136 ALIETTE,
this little head,” she added, tapping her forehead
with her pretty fingers.
M. de Vaudricourt kissed brow and fingers,
and, while assuming the air of a man whose plans
are interfered with, but who submits gracefully,
made no further objection.
The next day, during a fine January frost, he
started, with concealed eagerness; and, three or
four hours later, he was treading the sacred as-
phalt that stretches from the Rue Vivienne to the
Boulevard de la Madeleine.
Two days afterward, he was breakfasting at
his club, near his favorite window, and running
over the morning papers.
“Ma foi /?” he said gayly to himself, “this
kind of life may after all become possible. Eight
or ten days in Paris every month would prevent
a man from quite going back to the condition of
the ancient lake-dwellers, or to wearing wooden
shoes.—What is that, Charles, a dispatch?”
“Yes,” replied the servant, who came up with
a salver in his hand. “It is a telegram for mon-
sieur le comte.”
The comte took the telegram and opened it.
He found inside this line:
ALIETTE. 137
“Jeanne very seriously ill.
“ALIETTE.”
“Of course,” he muttered.
And then with considerable irritation :
“Charles' give me an Indicateur.”
The servant brought the Indicateur, which
Bernard consulted in no very good humor.
“Please tell Pierre that we are going back by
the three-o'clock train. Let him have everything
ready.”
“Very good, monsieur le comte.”
At three o’clock, M. de Vaudricourt joined
his valet at the Lyons station.
“Monsieur le comte has not received any bad
news?” asked Pierre, respectfully.
“My daughter is ill.”
“Sol” he said to himself, as he made himself
comfortable in his compartment, “that is under-
stood l Every time when I have been absent for
two days, Jeanne will fall ill, or something else
will happen! I shall always have the telegraph
wire around my wrist. How delightful!”
He ruminated on this text the greater part of
the journey, with the same amount of irritation
and of justice. It was only when the train was
138 ALIETTE.
approaching Walmoutiers that his anger abated,
and gave place to anxiety. He soon remembered
that Aliette was not a woman to change her mind
capriciously, and that she was still less the kind
of woman to make use of stratagems and false-
hoods to serve her ends. He also remembered
that he loved his daughter tenderly.
A coupé was waiting for him at the Walmou-
tiers station, the château being several kilometres
distant. He at once noticed that his old coach-
man's features did not wear their usual impassive
aspect.
“Well!” he asked eagerly, “how is my
Child 22°
“Mlle. Jeanne is not at all well, monsieur.”
“Drive fast !”
V.
ON the evening of the day that her father had
left for Paris, little Jeanne, at that time a very
pretty and very bright child of from six to seven,
had been attacked by a sore throat accompanied
by great prostration and chills. It was at first
thought to be nothing more than an ordinary
cold, with a slight swelling of the tonsils. A
violent fever had, however, come on during the
night, and the child, who could not sleep, com-
plained of severe pains in the head. The old Wal-
moutiers physician, Dr. Raymond, was summoned
at daybreak, and, as soon as he had seen the pa-
tient, seemed anxious. He did not leave her.
The symptoms became more alarming during the
day, and by night were really serious. The ap-
pearance of false membranes in the larynx, the
labored and wheezy breathing, the frequent fits of
choking, and the hoarse, animal-like cough, left
no doubt as to the real character of the malady.
140 ALIETTE.
It was croup—the disease with the ominous name,
the despair of mothers
As often happens, the disease, after seeming
to hesitate at the outset, now increased with fright-
ful rapidity. Dr. Raymond, who was not without
reputation in his profession, and who possessed,
besides, the wisdom and skill that come from
long practice, made frequent use during the first
two days of all the remedies prescribed by science
to combat diphtheritic poisoning. But every rem-
edy had failed to bring relief, and the disease con-
tinued to make alarming progress. It was then
that Aliette had sent her telegram.
When M. de Vaudricourt reached his daugh-
ter's bedside, the poor child, with pale face, pur-
ple lips, and swollen throat, was writhing convul-
sively in one of those prolonged fits of coughing
that so strongly resemble the throes of the last
agony. It was a heart-rending scene, whose de-
tails we shall not dwell upon.
The violence of the attack was soon over.
Little Jeanne, although lying in a kind of stupor,
recognized her father, and gave him a look of
agonized entreaty that went to his heart. He
smiled, however, as he kissed her, and then led
ALIETTE. 141
the old physician into an adjoining room, which
formed one of the suite occupied by the little
sufferer. Aliette followed them.
“Monsieur,” said the comte, “kindly tell me
the truth.”
“It is my duty to do so, monsieur. The
child is in great danger. These terrible choking-
spells will return with greater and greater fre-
quency until they result in Suffocation. I have
exhausted all the resources of my science, and
there is now no hope save in surgical treatment;
but I confess to you, with all humility, that the
operation needed would require a younger and
more skillful hand than mine.”
“Is there time to telegraph to Paris?” asked
Bernard.
“I am afraid not.”
“Can you not direct me to one of your con-
jºrères in some neighboring town, Nemours or
Gien, for instance, who may be capable of un-
dertaking the case?”
“Monsieur, I should not dare to take such a
responsibility. Besides, I know but one man in
the vicinity, and within reach, who could, if he
would, attempt, with some chance of success, so
142 ALIETTE.
delicate and so dangerous an operation. I refer
to Dr. Tallevaut.”
“Dr. Tallevaut 32°
“M. Tallevaut !” exclaimed Aliette, sadly;
“he would refuse us, as you know he refuses
everybody.”
“I am afraid he would ! Nevertheless, I am
going there ! Courage, Aliette!”
He at once left the room, ran to the stables,
and himself saddled one of his horses, at the
same time ordering his coachman to get a coupé
ready at once and wait for him before the gar-
den-gate at La Saulaye.
A few moments later M. de Vaudricourt was
galloping by the light of the stars along the
dusky woods, on a road hardened and whitened
by the frost. It was nearly nine o'clock when
he reached the doctor's residence. He leaped
from his horse, passed through the garden-door
which he found open, and rang the house-bell.
He gave his card to the servant, who answered
the summons, and waited with deep anxiety on
the threshold. The servant returned almost im-
mediately.
“Have the goodness to enter, monsieur.”
ALIETTE. ' 143
The comte asked him to hold his horse, and
followed a woman-servant whom curiosity had
drawn to the spot, and who served as guide.
She ushered him into a large library salon.
which communicated with the doctor's laboratory,
and which was pervaded by a pungent odor of
drugs and chemicals. M. de Vaudricourt's first
glance fell upon a young girl, who was leaning
upon a table before the door, reading a book.
The light from a lamp lit up her handsome feat-
ures, and, despite her calm and thoughtful face,
her simple black silk dress, and the modest ar-
rangement of her hair, the comte at once recog-
nized the bold huntress whom he had met in the
woods.
At some distance from the young girl, before
a larger table heaped with books and papers, sat a
man of about forty, whose black frock-coat, orna-
mented by a red rosette, gave him the neat and
studied appearance of an officer in civil dress.
His features were rather large and strongly
marked, and his somewhat heavy head was almost
disproportioned to the size of his body; but his
eyes had an attractive expression of energy, in-
telligence, and amiability.
144 A LIETTE.
He had risen at Bernard's entrance, and re-
turned his salutation with an engaging and smil-
ing courtesy. His appearance and manner were
so entirely different from the sullen incivility
which M. de Vaudricourt had prepared himself to
encounter, that he took heart of grace from the
OIOleIl.
“Doctor,” he said, refusing the offered chair,
“I come to you as a suppliant. My daughter is
dying—dying of croup ! Dr. Raymond, who has
her in charge, has given her up. There is now
only one operation that can save her, and there is
no time to telegraph to Paris or elsewhere. In
short, doctor, you alone can bring my child back
to life ”
From the comte's first words, the smiling
countenance of Dr. Tallevaut had become very
grave.
“Monsieur,” he said, “I am deeply sorry, but
you know that I have been compelled to lay
down a law for myself never again to practise
medicine. Did I yield once, I should be com-
pelled to leave the country, for I should not know
a quiet day, and be forced to abandon my stud-
ies.”
ALIETTE. 145
“Monsieur,” replied Bernard, “every one says
that you are humane, charitable, and still you
commission me to deliver to a mother the death-
warrant of her child !”
And he quickly wiped away the tears, that in
spite of himself had started to his eyes, and had
trickled down his pale cheeks.
Dr. Tallevaut looked at him intently for a
moment. Then, turning-to the young girl who
had watched the scene curiously but calmly—
“Sabine,” he said, “get everything ready.
You know what is necessary. You will go with
me. Quick, my child!” * ,
Mlle. Sabine, who had risen, at once left the
Salon.
The Comte de Vaudricourt, without uttering
a word, seized M. Tallevaut by the hand and
wrung it with convulsive energy. *
“Monsieur,” continued the physician, “I could
not resist your appeal, but I must warn you that
this operation is exceedingly dangerous, and even
when successful may be followed by fatal results.
It is thus only undertaken as a last resort. Have
you a carriage 8 °
“Yes, doctor.”
13
146 *** ALIETTE.
“Pardon,” said M. Tallevaut, “but I must
have three assistants. Let me see—there will be
Sabine my niece, and Dr. Raymond; but the
third—”
“I, doctor l’”
“You—the father? Oh, no l monsieur, im-
possible! Have you no confidential servant?—
some devoted and steady man?”
“One of my game-keepers. I will notify him
on my way back.”
“One of your keepers? Wery well, then.”
Mlle. Tallevaut now reappeared, still grave
and calm, and stepping Softly. She carried in
one hand a large box covered with morocco, in
the other a bag of stiffened cloth, and on her
arm two aprons of coarse muslin.
The doctor hastily opened the box and took
a rapid survey of the shining steel instruments
with which it was filled. He then opened the
bag, which contained a supply of small sponges,
waxed thread, and other articles used in surgical
operations.
“That's right,” he said. “Let us go.”
He hurriedly drew on a top-coat; the girl
threw a hooded cloak over her shoulders, and
ALIETTE, 147
both entered the coupé, while M. de Vaudricourt
galloped on before them. On passing Lebuteux's
cottage, which was very near the château, he left
word for the keeper, who succeeded in reaching
the house as soon as the doctor and his niece.
The former, guided by Aliette, who had run
to the entrance at the sound of the carriage, was
quickly in the invalid's room. He began by put-
ting a few brief questions to Dr. Raymond, and
then leaned over the child’s bed, took her hand,
and gazed intently.
“It is high time,” he said in a low tone.
Then, turning to Aliette and Bernard—
“Madame,” he said, “my dear lady, and you,
too, monsieur, I shall ask you to kindly remain
in this room. We are going to take the child
into the little side Salon. I see there a can-
delabrum and a chandelier. Have them lighted,
and two or three other lamps brought in be-
sides. Place the table in the middle of the room,
and take away the carpet.”
M. Tallevaut, going from one room to the
other, continued to give his orders in simple lan-
guage; and, in scarcely half an hour after his
arrival, poor Jeanne, wrapped in a blanket, was
148 ALIETTE
laid upon the table in the small salon which was
lighted as if for a fête. Her father stood in the
doorway, while the mother, on her knees beside
the empty bed, her head buried in her hands, was
praying.
The child, half suffocated, seemed uncon-
scious. Dr. Raymond held her head tightly
with both his hands; at the other end of the
table, the old game-keeper, on his knees, bore
his weight upon the patient's limbs. On the
right, near the head of the bed, stood Mlle. Sa-
bine, on the left, Dr. Tallevaut, having at hand
all the surgical apparatus. Both had donned the
blouses of black stuff used in infirmaries. The
good old Victoire, whose coolness and intelli-
gence during the final preparations the doctor
had noticed, held a lighted candle close to the
bare neck of the dying child.
It is well known that the operation of trache-
otomy, one of the miracles of modern surgery,
has for its object the prevention of threatened
suffocation by re-establishing by artificial means
the breathing of the patient, obstructed by the
false membranes which have filled up the larynx.
The operation consists in making an opening in
ALIETTE. 149
the throat below the closed larynx, and inserting
in the windpipe a hollow tube, which restores
freedom to the respiratory organs, and, at the
same time, aids the patient in expelling the en-
croaching membranes.
One can imagine what exact scientific knowl-
edge, what manual dexterity, and what presence
of mind must be at the command of the physi-
cian who undertakes such a task. Without here
entering upon repulsive details, it may at least
be said that, during the progress of this formi-
dable operation upon so delicate, so complex, and
So vital a portion of the human organism, the
keen edge of the bistoury ought neither to hesi-
tate nor to deviate a hair's breadth from the right
direction; and this, notwithstanding the fact that
the copious loss of blood, which always follows
its course, leaves to the man of science only the
sense of feeling in his fingers for a guidel
M. de Vaudricourt, not being able, like his
wife, to take refuge in prayer at this agonizing
moment, experienced in its intensity all the hor-
ror of the situation. Without actually disobey-
ing the injunction of Dr. Tallevaut, and entering
the Salon, to which the little Jeanne had been
150 ALIETTE.
carried, he had imposed it upon himself as a
manly duty not to lose sight of his child during
the supreme moments when the question of her
life or death was being decided. Standing in
the doorway, himself as motionless and as pale
as the dead, he viewed in a kind of stupor, as if
passing through some horrible dream, this strange
drama, in which his child, apparently overpow-
ered and strangled by pitiless hands, seemed to
be submitting under the steel to some hideous
martyrdom. Despite his powerful emotion, no
detail of the scene escaped him. He heard dis-
tinctly the few brief words that passed between
Dr. Tallevaut and his young ward, who acted as
his chief assistant. Oftener the former gave his
orders by a sign or a gesture, and the young girl
did not always wait even for these. She watched
with extreme attention the bloody progress of the
bistoury, her ready and delicate hand employing
by turns, to aid the operator, the sponges, the
threads for tying, and the hooks for opening the
wounds. This beautiful creature, with her im-
passive grace, seemed, with her hands red with
blood, to be assisting at the rites of some Savage
cult.
ALIETTE. 151
The deep incision having been made, Mlle.
Sabine handed her guardian the hollow tube. He
at once inserted it in the opening in the wind-
pipe with wonderful precision. Immediately a
noise like a sonorous whistling was heard in the
Salon. Sabine quickly knotted the ribbons that
held the tube in its place, and tied a light cravat
around the patient's throat. Then the doctor
raised the child in his arms, quickly carried her
into the adjoining room, and again laid her on
her bed.
The father and the mother, uncertain as to
the result, wild-eyed, pressed around their little
one. They could hardly believe what they saw.
Jeanne's face had suddenly lost its harrowing
look of mortal agony, and now wore an expression
that betokened relief and peace. Aliette and
Bernard turned eagerly to Dr. Tallevaut. He
was Smiling.
“All goes well!” he said.
They seized both his hands with deep emo-
tion, trying to speak, but unable to utter a syl-
lable. Their feelings overcame them, and they
burst into tears.
After so cruel an experience, Dr. Tallevaut
152 A LIETTE,
wished to give to the father and mother of little
Jeanne an entire night of untroubled joy and
rest; but the next day (he and Sabine had slept
at the château) he was unable to conceal from
them the fact that the operation, successful as it
had been, was not the end of the disease; that
the morbid tendency still remained to be cured,
although its gravest and most threatening symp-
tom had been removed, and that the very opera-
tion itself might pave the way for other and very
serious complications. In short, it was still neces-
sary that the greatest care should be taken in
nursing, and caring for the invalid. Entire confi-
dence, however, might be placed in his excellent
confrère, Dr. Raymond, who had, besides, agreed
to notify him when any new symptom appeared.
M. Tallevaut had just finished giving M. and
Mme. de Vaudricourt this somewhat alarming
piece of intelligence, when he was informed that
the carriage was waiting for him in the court-
yard. It was scarcely eight o'clock in the morning.
“What l” exclaimed Aliette, “you are al-
ready leaving us, my dear, good sir? You do not
even remain to breakfast !”
“My dear lady,” said M. Tallevaut, “you
ALIETTE 153
know that I am a kind of wild man, and that in
coming here last evening I made a quite unusual
departure from my ordinary habits. Now, you
will kindly allow me to return to my work, which
is urgent, will you not ?”
Aliette clasped her hands, in sign of distress,
and her beautiful face assumed an expression of
such deep despair that M. Tallevaut was greatly
moved.
“Let me see l’” said he ; “you are one of
those to whom it is difficult to refuse anything.
What do you wish **
“I want to keep you several days near my
poor little restored one !”
“Diable / But, supposing, dear madame, I
should leave you my niece Sabine, here present
—I call her my niece, although she is only my
cousin—supposing I should leave her ? I assure
you it will be just the same as if I remained my-
self. She is a hospital nurse of the highest at-
tainments, and even better than that, for at the
first alarming symptom she would summon me.
Besides, I promise to come to see the child every
evening until it is entirely well. Is it a bar-
gain?”
154 ALIETTE.
Aliette had turned timidly toward Mlle. Talle-
vaut, who was listening to the conversation with
her usual calmness, ready to leave, and arrayed in
her hooded cloak.
“Mademoiselle, it would be placing us under
unspeakable obligation.”
“If you desire it, madame, and if my uncle
allows me,” said the young girl, slightly bending
her superb figure.
“Ah! how grateful I am, mademoiselle !” ex-
claimed Aliette, who pressed Sabine's hands to
her heart.
A brief, private consultation between the doc-
tor and his niece and ward ensued, after which
M. Tallevaut took leave of his hosts. On seeing
him to his carriage, M. de Vaudricourt said, with
emotion:
“I have not words enough, monsieur, to fully
express our obligation to you!”
“Don’t mention it; it is certainly a real pleas-
ure to be of service to your wife and yourself.
Until this evening, then?”
VI.
MLLE. TALLEVAUT was now installed in the
château, where, as may well be imagined, she re-
ceived the most bountiful and the most cordial
hospitality. Introduced thus abruptly to the in-
timacy of two persons of the highest social posi-
tion, and in a household where were to be found
all the appliances of wealth and refinement, this
young girl appeared neither embarrassed nor out
of place. To a woman’s quick intelligence, she
added a reserve and even a kind of natural dig-
nity which placed her on a sure footing in the
best circles. Her pride, which was considerable,
also kept her from showing astonishment, or dis-
playing provincial awkwardness. It was only by
the rapid play of her eyelids, or the curious in-
tensity of her glance, that one could detect her
surprise in presence of certain refinements to
which she had evidently not been accustomed.
She was, besides, especially at the commencement
156 ALIETTE,
of her visit, extremely cautious in associating with
her hosts. She passed, at different times, several
hours of the day in hovering around Jeanne's
bed, ministering to her wants, or dressing her
wound, after which she would retire to her room,
taking with her some books borrowed from the
library of the château. It was only after meals,
and according to the weather, that she walked
awhile in the park with Aliette and her hus-
band, or remained with them in the salon. She
spoke rarely but well, using language remarkable
for conciseness and vigor, thus affording glimpses,
but without affectation, of the possession of a
copious fund of exact information on nearly all
subjects, and a kind of lofty and somewhat ironi-
cal indifference which was rather alarming. M.
de Wandricourt recognized, on these occasions,
the haughty and satirical wood-nymph who had
braved him one morning in the exercise of his
rights as proprietor.
Under other circumstances Aliette would
have said that it was scarcely wise to introduce
a person of such rare beauty and interesting origi-
mality of mind into her family circle; but at pres-
ent, solely occupied with her daughter's health,
ALIETTE, 157
and scarcely yet feeling sure of her life, she could
not entertain respecting Sabine any sentiments
but those of gratitude, and could not but admire
the graceful skillfulness of her hands in the atten-
tions lavished upon the little convalescent. Later
on, when her mind was more at ease, she play-
fully took her husband to task for the evident
impression that Mlle. Tallevaut had made upon
him.
“I can not say that she pleases me,” she said;
“please is not the word—she charms me, like a
magician. Do you notice how noiselessly she
steps? Her feet do not seem to touch the
ground. She walks like a somnambulist—like
Lady Macbeth, I suppose. But she is a friendly
magician—a kind of Lady Macbeth Sister of
Charity.”
“A magician, a Lady Macbeth, indeed! Why,
my dear, she is only a handsome governess—that's
all.”
Thanks to the united attention of Sabine and
Dr. Raymond, and, above all, to the personal
supervision of Dr. Tallevaut, Jeanne was pre-
served from the apprehended symptoms that too
often follow operations of the character to which
14
158 ALIETTE.
she had been subjected. At the end of three
weeks M. Tallevaut declared that every shadow
of danger had disappeared, and that there was no
longer any cause for his niece's prolonging her
sojourn at Walmoutiers. It was in vain that Ber-
nard, while renewing his earnest protestations of
gratitude, endeavored to induce him to accept a
fee.
“No l’” said he, “not for the world ! I can
not—I do not even belong to the profession—I
only practise out of charity or friendship.”
“As you please, doctor,” returned Bernard;
“I recall my proposal—friendship be it in life
and death !” t
“Still,” continued M. Tallevaut, as Aliette
entered the salon, “speaking of fees, if Mme. de
Vaudricourt should propose to me to kiss her, I
confess I should not have the heart to refuse—it
being understood that I have fallen very deeply
in love with her.”
“Oh! with all my heart, monsieur,” cried
the young wife, and, running up, presented both
her cheeks in succession to receive the doctor's
Salute.
It will readily be imagined that persons as
A LIETTE. 159
generous as Bernard and Aliette would not per-
mit such a service, rendered with such disinterest-
edness, to be soon forgotten. In fact, from that
time they employed themselves in devising plans
for giving to M. Tallevaut and his niece proofs,
both great and trivial, of the permanent character
of their feelings. As to M. Tallevaut personally,
it was difficult to devise any method of giving
him pleasure; all his enjoyment being found
in studies that gratified every taste, the ordinary
courtesies of society could only incommode and
annoy him. It was therefore directly to his niece
almost exclusively that they were obliged to offer
the tokens of their gratitude.
Mlle. Tallevaut, although the reverse of com-
municative, had naturally been led to enter into
details, with Aliette and Bernard, regarding her
family—her mother, long since stricken with pa-
ralysis, and her own position in M. Tallevaut's
household. She even confirmed, by certain allu-
sions, the report which had gained currency re-
garding her proposed marriage with her guardian.
This auspicious event, which appeared to have
been fixed for the following autumn, when Sabine
would come of age, would afford to the Vaudri-
160 ALIETTE,
courts a fitting occasion on which to insist upon
the young girl's accepting some valuable souvenir.
In the mean time she was treated with the greatest
consideration, and overpowered with constant at-
tentions and neighborly courtesies.
Aliette called frequently at La Saulaye, and
often brought her handsome neighbor back to re-
main for a day or two. M. Tallevaut readily con-
sented to these absences, although they deprived
him temporarily of his useful fellow-worker, as he
was happy and flattered by the intimacy of his
Jiancée with a young wife whose moral worth he
had learned to appreciate. He was also glad to
See his ward escape for a while from the some-
what austere mode of life to which he sometimes
reproached himself for confining her.
Among the amusements that M. and Mme.
de Vaudricourt hastened to offer to Mlle. Talle-
vaut, it may easily be imagined that that offered
by the extensive forests was not forgotten. When
informing her that she could thenceforth hunt
over his estate either with gun, Snares, or in any
other way that suited her fancy, without fear of
legal process, Bernard amused himself by calling
to her recollection the details of their first meet-
ALIETTE. 161
ing, pleasantly dwelling on the revengeful rage
that she had inspired in his breast. This seemed
to greatly excite her hilarity, two dimples reveal-
ing themselves in her brown cheeks, while her
lips, opening like the calyx of some lovely red
flower, displayed the fine enamel of her teeth.
“What a pity,” said M. de Vaudricourt to
himself, “that she laughs so seldom, for she's
irresistible when she laughs l’”
The trouble was, that he found her equally ir-
resistible when she did not laugh.
Mlle. Tallevaut thus fell into the habit of
often hunting in company with the châtelains of
Walmoutiers, and essayed, but without great suc-
cess, to initiate Aliette into the secret of her cool-
ness and calmness in the presence of game. In
return, Aliette, with the assiduous assistance of
her husband, gave Mlle. Tallevaut lessons in
horsemanship, by which the young girl made
wonderful progress. Well formed, dexterous and
bold, she had all the necessary qualifications for
succeeding and even shining in this kind of sport,
the riding-habit bringing into sharp relief the full
yet slender proportions of her figure. One of
the handsomest animals in the Walmoutiers stables
162 ALIETTE.
was especially trained for her by the comte him-
self, and was kept for her sole use, while awaiting
the time when it could be presented to her as a
wedding-gift.
This almost daily association, these incidents
of the chase, these lessons in riding, in connection
with some instruction in waltzing after dinner,
could not but gradually engender between Mlle.
Tallevaut and her hosts of Walmoutiers a playful
familiarity. M. de Vaudricourt, in particular,
without overstepping the dictates of the most
profound respect, was not long in assuming with
Sabine his favorite habit of light and constant
raillery. But on this ground he found that Mlle.
Tallevaut was quite able to hold her own, and
even contended with him for the prize in their
contests of delicate persäflage and ironical innuen-
does. Her deep and evenly modulated voice was
especially fitted for accenting the slight sarcasms
which she was not slow to employ in her inter-
course with her professor of riding and dancing.
It sometimes happened that Aliette being
kept at home by domestic duties, Bernard and
Sabine started alone on their hunting expeditions
or on their rides. Although always followed by
A LIETTE. 163
a game-keeper or a servant, these were genuine
tête-d-têtes, a fact which, however, was not consid-
ered improper by those who knew that Mlle. Tal-
levaut had been educated to enjoy the freedom
vouchsafed only to young American girls. Be-
sides, what actually passed on these occasions
would not have afforded the slightest cause for
gossip. The conversation was strictly confined to
subjects connected with horses and hunting, or,
when it strayed away from them, it was only to
resume the petty warfare of harmless verbal skir-
mishes. Thus, as Bernard one day was noticing
Sabine's perfect insensibility to the agonies of a
dying roe—
“I am decidedly afraid, my fair neighbor,” he
said, “judging from a thousand-and-one circum-
stances, that you have no heart.”
She glanced at him quickly, and quietly re-
plied:
“And I, also judging from a thousand-and-
one circumstances, am afraid that you have too
big a one.”
On another occasion—
“Do you know, mademoiselle and dear neigh-
bor, what pleases me most in you? It is your
164 A LIETTE,
not having any of the ordinary feminine vir-
tues.”
“Yes,” was the prompt reply, “but you hope
that I have all the feminine failings.” . .
“Possibly.” ,
“There is no doubt of it.” " t
Such was the general tone of their harmless
interviews.
*
Between two and three months had now
elapsed since little Jeanne had been pronounced
completely cured, without the Comte de Vaudri-
court's having manifested the slightest desire to
visit Paris for the purpose of restoring his men-
tal tone after the monotony of a country sojourn.
It was in vain that Aliette urged his departure
from time to time, and referred to their previous
understanding on the subject.
“So long as I am not bored, why should I
take the trouble?” Bernard would reply. “I am
getting acclimated, becoming hardened, and must
be let alone until the crystallization is complete.
Besides, my dear, since you propose going to
Baris yourself in April, after Easter, I can easily
wait until then.”
April came and went, but the projected
ALIETTE. 165
journey still remained to be made. It was dis-
covered about this time that Aliette's health,
which had suffered from the shock at Saint-Ger-
main, and which her daughter's illness had again
seriously affected, occasioned some anxiety. The
young wife had become subject to frequent faint-
ing-fits, which sometimes terminated in complete
syncope. As the opinion of M. Tallevaut coin-
cided entirely with that of Dr. Raymond, being
to the effect that the malady was not serious,
that no vital organ was affected, and that the
trouble resulted solely from an anaemic condition
caused by the exhausting anxiety to which Mme.
de Vaudricourt had recently been subjected, Ali-
ette insisted on adhering to her plans and going
to Paris, but Bernard refused.
“You only wish to go to please me,” he had
said, “and it will not at all please me to see you
dragging yourself about in your delicate condi-
tion. Take care of yourself, gain strength, calm
your poor nerves, and we will take our little Paris
vacation in the autumn on your return from your
mother’s.”
Mme. de Vaudricourt did her best to calm
her poor nerves as her husband had advised, but
166 ALIETTE.
it was quite necessary, in order to insure success,
that he should assist her; but unfortunately—as
the reader may have suspected—he did nothing
of the kind.
Her anxiety regarding her daughter being
allayed, and again in possession of all her natural
keenness of discernment, it was impossible for
Aliette to remain long insensible to the impro-
priety, not to say the danger, of the almost forced
intimacy which had been established between the
residents of La Saulaye and Valmoutiers. Her
husband’s new fondness for country life, and his
unwillingness to go away even for a few days, had
effectually opened her eyes. It was too evident
that he was kept there by some unacknowledged
attraction, which occupied and amused him. Mme.
de Vaudricourt perfectly understood the strong
influence which the peculiar personality of Mlle.
Tallevaut—her strange beauty, her intellectual
power, and her mysterious habits—must exercise
upon a world-weary mind like Bernard's, especial-
ly in the idleness of a country life. She not only
feared her as a woman capable of making the con-
quest of her husband's heart, but as a hostile in-
tellect, an ironical and unfriendly being, a kind of
ALIETTE. 167
wicked angel, who came to destroy her own influ-
ence on her husband’s soul, and to put to flight
all the dreams and all the hopes of the Christian
wife. She was not ignorant that Sabine had been
educated by her guardian to reject the religious
beliefs that were dear to her; but, without well
knowing why, she was conscious that the acknowl-
edged infidelity that scarcely seemed to disturb her
in the case of Dr. Tallevaut, when professed by the
young girl appeared hateful and repulsive to her.
And, yet, what could she do? M. Tallevaut
had saved her daughter from certain death, while
Mlle. Tallevaut had herself taken an active and
self-sacrificing part in securing this consumma-
tion, and it was not the least of Aliette’s torments
that this heavy weight of obligation and good-will
was due to one whom she must now regard as the
evil genius of her home.
These contradictory sentiments, mingling con-
fusedly in Aliette's mind, seriously disturbed its
quiet, and compelled her to exercise so painful
and so constant a self-restraint that her health be-
came greatly impaired.
During this period, M. de Vaudricourt, without
being as deeply moved as his wife, was scarcely
168 A LIETTE,
more at ease. Aliette's jealous pangs and appre-
hensions were not the cause of his agitation, since
he did not even suspect them. Absolutely the
dupe of the self-deception that Aliette, with the
clairvoyance of her sex, had seen through, he was
too entirely absorbed in Mlle. Tallevaut to waste
any attention on what did not immediately con-
cern her. Like all enslaved by a similar passion,
he was quite indifferent to exterior objects. He
had eyes for nothing but his infatuation, and per-
suaded himself, as is usual, that no one else sus-
pected its existence. His relations with his dan-
gerous neighbor, moreover, were, in his opinion,
beyond criticism. If he took advantage, when-
ever possible, of the ties of neighborhood and
intimacy that chance had created between them;
if he sought with careful eagerness every oppor-
tunity to approach her, to feel her near him, to
note her infrequent observations, to catch her
breath, no imprudent act, no inconsiderate word,
had thus far betrayed his secret. He believed,
therefore, that it was his secret, and his alone;
and, in fact, with the exception of the two persons
whom that secret chiefly interested—his wife and
Mlle. Tallevaut—he was right in so believing.
ALIETTE. 169
M. de Vaudricourt, as we know, was neither
a child, a fool, nor a madman. On the contrary,
he was one of the frankest and most considerate
of men; but he was in love, passionately in love,
probably for the first time in his life, and conse-
quently the major part of his intellectual faculties
were temporarily under an almost total eclipse.
Fortunately, his moral qualities were still in-
tact, and he was far from yielding without a com-
bat, without manly struggles, to his fatal passion.
He did not hide from himself that the love of
Mlle. Tallevaut was forbidden him by the most
elementary principles not only of morality but
of honor. She was the relative, the ward, the
fiancée of the man whose science and devotion
had restored his daughter to life. He could only
woo her from those obligations by rendering him-
self guilty of the vilest ingratitude, the basest
treason. He was well aware of this, and in real-
ity did everything that lay in his power to avoid
being dragged into the shameful abyss—every-
thing, except making use of the only means that
still remained to him—except employing the only
knife that would have cut the Gordian knot.—
flight!
15
170 ALIETTE.
Not having the moral strength to shield him-
self from the charm which this beautiful and
singular girl threw over him, he quieted his con-
science by recalling the various considerations—
the width and depth of the gulf—that separated
them. He would go through life with the sou-
venir of an unholy passion and ungratified de-
sires; but, let him suffer more or less, it con-
cerned him alone. For the rest, he would blow
out his brains rather than be guilty of wantonly
injuring one who had preserved the life of his
child.
As if to increase and still further strengthen
the obstacles between Sabine and himself, he
daily associated on terms of greater and greater
intimacy with M. Tallevaut, for whom he had
really conceived a growing esteem and sympathy.
He knew, through his keepers and his tenants,
that not only did the physician give to the poor
of the neighborhood assistance in the shape of
provisions and money to a very considerable ex-
tent, considering his own modest fortune, but he
made for them what was a still greater sacrifice,
by visiting them and granting them consultations
every morning, thus consuming valuable time
ALIETTE. 171
taken from his precious hours of labor. He ad-
mired this charity so discreet, so prodigal, and
so disinterested, the more since he was not igno-
rant with what passionate ardor his neighbor de-
voted himself to scientific studies and to the great
work of his life, for which they were prepara-
tory. This work, which for the past two or three
years had been in course of publication in half-
yearly parts, and whose early numbers had al-
ready received the indorsement of the Institute,
was a kind of historical abstract of the progress
of the natural sciences from the commencement
to the end of the present century, and which bore
as a title, “Scientific Inventory of the Nineteenth
Century.” The very idea of such an enterprise,
involving, as it did, the necessary conditions of
development and method, is overwhelming to the
imagination. M. Tallevaut had devoted himself
to it from his earliest youth with the enthusiasm
of an apostle, for he not only loved science for
the intellectual delights it procured him, he loved
it with an almost pious affection, by reason of the
grand results he expected it would secure for
the moral and religious future of humanity.
It was a curious fact that, although this mis-
172 A LIETTE.
sionary of science and free thought could not be,
from Mme. de Vaudricourt’s standpoint, anything
more than a kind of dangerous Nihilist, she still
felt kindly toward him; while the doctor, on the
other hand, despite his strong prejudices against
church and priesthood, did not forbid himself in-
dulging for his very Catholic neighbor an affec-
tionate predilection. It would seem as if these
two worthy persons were drawn together by their
contradictory but thoroughly genuine good quali-
ties. In fact, M. Tallevaut rigidly abstained, be-
fore Aliette, from any remark that could possibly
be considered as reflecting on her religious belief.
Naturally, he was not equally guarded with Ber-
nard, whose entire freedom in matters of faith he
quickly inferred.
When Sabine had been residing temporarily
at the château, her guardian sometimes came to
dinner. He usually walked back, and M. de Wau-
dricourt not unfrequently accompanied him a part
of the way. In these repeated and prolonged in-
terviews, their conversations became more and
more friendly. They more than once discussed
the religious question, and it was with no little
surprise that Bernard found the sentiments of M.
A LIETTE 173
Tallevaut on this subject as far removed from
Woltairean raillery as from the coarse sarcasm of
the anti-clericals. He brought to the discussion
the gravity, the respect, and the gentleness of a
great intellect, which rises superior to all odious
passions. Not only this, but he also brought a
deeply religious feeling, for he had a faith, and as
it was sincere and enthusiastic, he expressed him-
self with somewhat of the ardor of one desirous
of making converts. What he had little respect
for in religious matters was indifference, and he
endeavored to instill into Bernard, on this sub-
ject, certain delicate truths, which the latter cor-
dially accepted, the affectionate kindliness of the
manner in which they were presented tempering
the sternness of the facts themselves.
It was, according to M. Tallevaut, unworthy
of a man to renounce all belief in an ideal because
he had lost faith in the Christian ideal. It was
necessary, above all things, to attach himself to
some belief, if he did not wish to gradually de-
cline to the level of the beasts. A man of good
birth who no longer believes in anything, and is
satisfied with his unbelief, is sustained for a time
by the impulse given him by his early education,
174 A LIETTE,
and by the outward observances of his social class;
but, in reality, the sentiment of duty and of moral
dignity, no longer having any foundation to rest
upon, becomes more and more obliterated. He
no longer has an object in life beyond the enjoy-
ment of low and facile pleasures; and gradually
sinks, in spite of his veneer of civilization, to the
moral plane of the negro. It is also to be noted
that the older he grows, the lower he falls. Even
his intellect becomes deteriorated, and he takes
little interest in things intellectual, save those of
the most frivolous, the most superficial, and even
materialistic character. As to reading, he con-
fines himself to novels and newspapers; in the
matter of theatres, he only fancies works of an
inferior order, and spectacles that appeal solely to
the senses.
Is not this the history of men and of nations
who have lost their ideal 7
The religious sentiment, the belief in an ideal,
can alone give to man the will, the strength, and
the taste to fulfill his destiny wisely, by devoting
his life to the cultivation of the good, the true,
the beautiful; and it became the duty of every
intelligent being to reach this belief in an ideal
ALIETTE. 175
by the contemplation and the study of Nature—
that is to say, through scientific research. It was
thus only through science that one could hope to
fill the frightful void which the extinction of the
ancient religions had left in the moral world. It
was by means of science that M. Tallevaut him-
self had attained to the faith that sustained him
in his severe scientific labors—which were, at the
same time, destined to make disciples; it was sci-
ence that impelled him to the works of charity
and benevolence in which he engaged.
What, indeed, was this philosophic religion
whence he drew his courage and his good works?
He explained it to Bernard with an eloquence of
language and an elevation of thought which we
are unable to reproduce, but the theory of which
we may briefly state :
M. Tallevaut had been led, by the course of
his studies, to the conviction that the divine work
of creation was constantly going forward in the
universe; that every intelligent being is called
upon in some way to contribute to and assist in
this labor of progressive perfection and harmony;
that it is his duty to do this, and that he should
find in the simple accomplishment of that duty,
176 ALIETTE.
and in the consciousness of working toward a
higher end, the reward and joy of his life.
“But,” said Bernard, “since it is necessary to
fill up the place occupied by religions that have
become extinct, do you ever hope, doctor, to con-
vert the great mass of the human race—the peo-
ple, in short—to your philosophical religion, the
grandeur of which I do not deny, but which re-
quires a powerful intellect for its comprehen-
Sion ?”
“I entertain,” replied the doctor, “no such
delusion; but it does not matter: it will be suffi-
cient to convert a chosen few—a few who will
one day become powerful enough to govern the
masses, and to compel them to do their duty by
moral authority and by force.”
“But, doctor,” interrupted Bernard, again
laughing, “are you aware that you are a terrible
aristocrat 8 °
“Certainly. You did not take me for a dema-
gogue because I am a man of science, did you?
It is a singular though common error. The op-
posite, on the contrary, is true. Science is the
natural enemy of democracy, because it is the
natural enemy of ignorance—and still more of
ALIETTE. 177
mediocrity. But how can democracy be made, if
not by elevating the ignorant to the rank of medi-
ocrities?—a deplorable advancement l As for my-
self, I pity the ignorant, the weak, the wretched;
but, as for flattering their passions, or submitting
to their domination—never !”
Then, returning to the question of religion :
“Believe me, my friend,” he continued, “there
is boundless comfort in feeling that one is in the
right way, and in walking, so to speak, hand in
hand with the Eternal, because one works with
Him. Thus, for my own part, I live in a serenity
which, I may truthfully say, is almost that of
paradise. If it is sometimes disturbed, it is only
by the fear that I shall not be able to prosecute
to the end the work to which I have devoted my
life.”
“Why indulge in such fears, my dear doctor?
You are well and strong !”
“No doubt. But—ars longa, vita brevis /
Besides, my head is somewhat affected, and also
my heart. This is my only sorrow !”
VII.
THE same evening on which Dr. Tallevaut and
Bernard had had the foregoing conversation on
the road to La Saulaye, Mme. de Vaudricourt,
after having played and sung a little at Sabine's
request, feeling tired, excused herself to the
young girl, and kissing her, as was her nightly
custom, retired to her own room. It was then
about the middle of May. The day had been un-
usually mild and fine, and the evening was not
less so. Aliette, before disrobing for the night,
had leaned out of one of the windows of her room
to breathe the faint odors with which the fresh
vegetation, the early violets, and the May lilies
filled the air. Upon the budding foliage of the
woods, and over the expanse of field and meadow,
the heavens, glittering with stars, threw a white
sidereal light. In the midst of the dreamy reverie
into which she had fallen, the young châtelaine
of Walmoutiers slightly shuddered—she had just
ALIETTE. 179
seen the shadow of Mlle. Tallevaut passing
along the path in the park, and taking the direc-
tion of an avenue which came out, while shorten-
ing the distance, not far from La Saulaye.
It was about eleven when M. de Vaudricourt,
having parted from Dr. Tallevaut, and returning
to Walmoutiers across the woods, espied, amid the
shadows of the trees, a woman coming toward
him, walking with a noiseless, elastic step, her
arms hanging down, and a Spanish mantilla
thrown over her head and shoulders. He soon
saw that it was she whose disturbing image he
was at that very moment engaged in summoning
before his imagination, framed in by this charm-
ing night of spring. His emotion was so great
that his heart seemed to stop beating as if para-
lyzed by sudden passion, and then started again
after a sharp struggle and continued its rhythmic
movement.
They were soon within a few steps of each
other.
“What mademoiselle,” exclaimed Bernard,
in his most self-possessed manner, “is it you? I
thought it was your ghost.”
“No,” replied the young girl in the same tone,
180 A LIETTE.
“it is not my ghost, it is I. The beauty of the
evening tempted me, and I took this avenue with
some hope of meeting you.”
“I don’t believe anything of the kind—I be-
lieve you came out to gather magic herbs in the
forest by starlight.”
“Like a sorceress 2 °
“Like a young and beautiful sorceress.”
“You are too polite. Shall we go back?”
“If you wish.”
“Of course, I wish.”
She then turned toward the château with M.
de Vaudricourt. She appeared unlike herself and
somewhat embarrassed, abstractedly pulling on and
off one of her gloves.
“It is almost incredible,” she said, “what
strange sounds one hears in the woods at night.”
“You are not afraid 3’”
“How absurd l No, but it seemed to me sev-
eral times as though I heard some one walking in
the underbrush.”
“Not unlikely, as poachers abound herea-
bout.”
“Male and female,” she added, laughing.
“The feminine variety doesn’t trouble me
ALIETTE. I81
much,” said Bernard in the same tone. “Will
you take my arm, mademoiselle?”
“No, thanks.”
There was a moment's silence; then she con-
tinued:
“What were you discussing with my guard-
ian 2 °
“Very grave subjects—science, philosophy,
religion.”
“Such discussions can not but be beneficial
to you,” she commented.
“I trust so,” said Bernard; “but, as far as
we have gone, I can do little more than realize
the immense distance that separates me from a
man like your guardian. If, following his ex-
ample, I had devoted my life to study, to science,
instead of wasting it in brainless dissipation, I
should now be better and happier.”
“You think so, Monsieur de Vaudricourt
Better, no doubt—that is not saying much—but,
as to the happiness, I am somewhat skeptical. I
have studied a great deal, as you are aware.
There is not one of those constellations overhead
the name, the group, and the orbit of which I
am not acquainted with ; there is not an insect
16
182 ALIETTE.
asleep in this copse, the mysteries of whose or-
ganism, whose genus, whose species, whose habits
I do not know; not a stone under our feet whose
age I could not tell you; not a piece of moss, or
a drop of dew, of which I could not give you the
last analysis—and still I am not at all sure that I
am any the better or the happier for it all.”
“You alone under the heavens, I believe,
know what is passing in your head and in your
heart.”
“Perhaps.”
“Mademoiselle Tallevaut—”
“Monsieur de Vaudricourt’ ”
“Might I ask you, in the midst of this soli-
tude, what may be your religion ?”
“My guardian’s, of course.”
“And you believe that it would prove suffi-
cient to enable you to resist all the temptations
of this life, even the most powerful and the most
terrible % ''
“It has proved equal to all emergencies
hitherto.”
“You ought, then, mademoiselle, to be will-
ing to impart it to me, for your uncle, in spite
of his earnest belief in it and his eloquence, has
ALIETTE. 183
not yet succeeded; and I never stood in greater
need of the certainty and steadfastness of con-
science that faith in an ideal alone can give.”
“You really wish me, Monsieur de Vaudri-
court, to preach my religion to you?”
“I really wish it.”
“That would be inflicting pain on your ami-
able wife.”
“My wife,” said Bernard, gravely, “is well
aware that I have wandered too far away from
her beliefs ever to return.”
“No,” repeated Mlle. Tallevaut, “it would
give her too much pain, and I like your wife—
much. Besides, I see lights in the château, and
time would fail us, for it would be no easy matter
to convert you; and then—”
“And then, what?”
“You are not initiated ; you would not un-
derstand.”
“You are very kind, but try. I like to hear
your voice so much that, even when I fail to
comprehend your words, its music will be suffi-
cient for me.”
“Monsieur de Vaudricourt, no compliments,
please. I prefer your rude speeches, which I
184 ALIETTE,
like to return with interest, because it is the only
tone we can adopt toward each other. You un-
derstand, do you not ?”
She had turned her face toward him, and,
with lips parted by a Sphinx-like Smile, stood
illumined by the light of the stars.
He stopped, bent toward her, and said, in a
voice hoarse with passion:
“Sabine ! why must there be this gulf be-
tween us?”
As if to chide and calm him, she laid her
ungloved hand on his.
“Come! monsieur,” said she, gently.
He kept her hand, which was a rather large
one, but beautifully shaped.
“Happy, indeed, will he be,” he murmured,
“who shall lean forever on this hand, so beauti-
ful, so gentle, so good!”
And, with a sudden movement, he pressed it
passionately to his lips.
She drew it quickly away, and stepping
back—
“What!” she cried, in a stifled voice, “an
unprotected girl—who trusted in you!”
“Pardon l?”
ALIETTE. 185
“Was I deceived? Are you not a man of
honor 22’
“You may rely on it.”
“We shall see.”
They continued their walk in silence, and en-
tered the château without exchanging another
word.
A little later, Mme. de Vaudricourt also re-
turned by way of her private staircase, the door
of which she had left open on going out.
The brief sojourn which Sabine had been
making at Walmoutiers ended on the following
day. Dr. Tallevaut, on coming for his niece in
the evening, found Mme. de Vaudricourt more
indisposed than usual. She had fainted several
times since the previous evening, and had not
been able to come to dinner. The doctor ques-
tioned and examined her with unusual care. He
again indorsed Dr. Raymond's diagnosis, declar-
ing that the trouble was not at all a serious
one, and that it proceeded entirely from nerv-
ous disturbance. He recommended the continu-
186 ALIETTE,
ance of the regimen of tonics, moderate exer-
cise, and nourishing food.
However, before leaving with Sabine, he led
M. de Vaudricourt aside in a retired portion of
the grounds.
“My dear neighbor,” he said to him, “you
must excuse me, but I am about to ask you
several delicate questions which my duty as a
physician and a friend compel me to put to
you.”
“Heavens!” cried Bernard, “you don’t mean
with reference to my wife?”
“No, it is nothing serious, but this continued
anaemic condition exceeds all my prognostications.
Mme. de Vaudricourt has had sufficient time to
recover from the shock caused by Jeanne's ill-
ness. It would seem, therefore, that there must
be some other cause. I see in your wife's daily
life only the elements of happiness. Without tak-
ing into account the enjoyments which a great
fortune secures, she has an excellent husband,
relatives and friends who worship her, and, still
with all that, the disease of an unhappy woman—
a woman who suffers from some mental ailment,
who has some great anxiety weighing upon her.
ALIETTE, 187
Do you know of anything that she has to worry
about 3"
“Ah! mon Dieu / yes,” said Bernard, in
tones of genuine Sorrow; “what troubles her is
what, since our marriage, has imbittered life for
each of us. You are acquainted, as well as I am,
with my wife's piety and ardent faith; you are
equally aware that I do not share them with her.
Still, her dream, since the first day, has been to
bring me back to that faith—this idea has com-
plete mastery over her. She imagined that it was
the amusements, the dissipations of Paris life that
prevented my return to religion. I left Paris to
free her from that anxiety—Heaven only knows
at what cost! She finds that I am no more of a
believer in the country than I was in the city, and
doubtless she is in despair, for I can not conceive
of any other explanation of the mental suffering
you believe she undergoes. But you discover no
cause for alarm, physically, do you?”
“I do not see any.”
“Ah! doctor, do you know it is becoming
very difficult, no matter how well disposed one
may be, to find happiness in married life? What
can one do? As a rule, to-day, the man who
188 ALIETTE.
marries is not religious. If he weds a young
girl who has been educated in the modern style—
that is to say, in the devil's style—he runs the
risk of wedding a person of questionable morals.
If he marries a girl brought up according to the
old-fashioned ideas, he will probably have, intel-
lectually, nothing in common with her, and mar-
riage thus becomes a moral divorce. Is the insti-
tution of matrimony, then, to fall into disuse, or
would it not be better to abolish it altogether ?”
“The best thing, my dear friend,” replied Dr.
Tallevaut, “would be to give women an educa-
tion better suited to the times in which we live,
and more in harmony with our present intellect-
ual development—in short, to substitute in their
minds another ideal for the Christian ideal.
This is what will be done in the future, nay, is
being done even now; this is, if you will permit
me to say so, what I have myself accomplished
in my own house. It is true that circumstances’
favored me, placing in my hands the child whom
you know. Her father died ruined; her mother
shortly afterward was stricken with paralysis. I
was their daughter's only relative; she was con-
fided to my exclusive care; she had been happily
A LIETTE, 189
gifted, and I was able to educate her according
to my own theories, my own principles, and to
gradually prepare her to become some day the
companion of my life, of my thoughts. I need
not add that I waited, before marrying her, until
she had reached an age when she could act inde-
pendently, and, in case her views should not ac-
cord with mine, I had made her future secure.”
“That was worthy of you,” said Bernard;
“but permit me to call your attention to the
fact that Mlle. Sabine is exceptionally endowed.
Women like her will always be exceptional.”
“I do not agree with you. I am of opinion
that in the not distant future an intellectual and
moral type of woman, like Sabine, no doubt an
unusual one to-day, will become the almost gen-
eral type of young girls. One must indulge this
hope, unless one is willing to adopt the improba-
ble hypothesis of a return to revealed religion;
for, outside these two conditions, marriage, which
is a social necessity, would not be possible.”
M. Tallevaut and Bernard now rejoined Sa-
bine, who, having said good-by to Aliette, was
waiting for them. As the weather was still fine,
she had preferred to walk back. They therefore
190 A LIETTE.
took the direction of La Saulaye, M. de Vaudri-
court accompanying his guests half-way. After
he had left them, Sabine walked for some time
at her guardian's side in silence; then suddenly
her deep and melodious voice pleasantly broke
the stillness:
“Uncle,” said she, “I fear that Mme. de
Vaudricourt is going to be seriously ill. Don't
you think so?”
“No, my child, thank God! People don't
die of nothing.”
“She just now had so complete and pro-
longed a swoon that I was startled.”
“No doubt; there's nothing more alarming
than a swoon, but, when there is no organic af-
fection, it is not a serious incident. Mme. de
Vaudricourt has no heart trouble; it is simply
anaemia.”
“But, uncle, have I not read somewhere that
certain kinds of anaemia. Sometimes terminate fa-
tally * *
“Undoubtedly. Anaemic subjects have been
known to pass away suddenly in a syncope, but
such cases are of the rarest occurrence, and in
that of Mme. de Vaudricourt—whose constitution
ALIETTE, 191
is scarcely affected at all—one would say it was
almost an impossibility.”
“From what she says, she has had these faint-
ing-fits a long time already.”
“Yes, poor little woman, her mind is troubled;
she indulges in chimeras.”
“You are not anxious, then 3 °
“Not at all—at least at present.”
“So much the better, uncle.”
They had by this time reached La Saulaye,
and their shadows were soon lost in the dense
gloom of the overhanging branches of the old
willows.
At the end of the same week, several Paris
acquaintances, attracted by the beauty of the sea-
son, came to spend a few days at Walmoutiers.
It was the old friend of Bernard and Aliette, the
Duchesse de Castel-Moret, who had organized the
party. The letters of Aliette and her husband
had naturally kept her informed regarding the
illness of little Jeanne and the details of her mar-
velous cure. Hardly had she arrived, when she
manifested curiosity to become acquainted with
the young neighbor whose strange personality
had been described to her.
192 ALIETTE,
“And your beautiful Jewess,” she said to
Bernard, “shall we not see her?” "
“What Jewess, my dear duchesse?”
“The one who nursed Jeanne.”
“Mademoiselle Tallevautº She is not a Jew-
ess.”
“No 2 I thought she was—probably from
associating her with those handsome turbaned
Jewesses, who practiced medicine in the middle
ages, and who dressed the wounds of the knights
that had been worsted in battle—like Rebecca,
in ‘Ivanhoe.” Well! Jewess or not, she inter-
ests me; can’t I see her?”
To please the duchesse, a carriage was sent to
La Saulaye, with a note from Aliette, addressed
to Dr. Tallevaut. In it she apologized for again
taking his niece from him in order to enable her
to meet some friends who had just arrived.
Sabine came in the afternoon, and received
all the compliments from the guests at Walmou-
tiers that her beauty and her superior intellectual
attainments merited.
“A stately Venus,” was the duchesse's com-
ment.
Mme. de Vaudricourt, whose duties as hostess
A LIETTE. 193
had apparently fatigued her, was seized with
another attack of weakness when rising on the fol-
lowing morning, and, acting under the advice of
Dr. Raymond, decided to keep her room. She
saw no one during the day but her husband, Mlle.
Tallevaut, and the duchesse who, not wishing to
tire her friends, returned to Paris that evening
with those whom she had brought.
Mlle. Tallevaut was also on the point of going
back to her uncle's, when, just as she was leav-
ing, Aliette was seized with a fresh syncope that
lasted several minutes, and greatly alarmed her
husband. He earnestly urged Sabine to remain
at the château, and, not daring to send for Dr.
Tallevaut, whose good nature he feared to impose
upon, he summoned Dr. Raymond. The latter
stated that the last prolonged fainting-spell had
left the pulse a little weaker and less regular than
usual. Otherwise there did not seem to be any
alarming change in the condition of the invalid.
He merely ordered that the same medicines, in
slightly increased doses, should be continued,
with the design of alternately strengthening and
calming the patient—Peruvian bark, ether, and
valerian being chiefly used.
17
194 A LIETTE.
On the morrow, although Mme. de Vaudri.
court was still able to rise, the partial swoons con-
tinued during the day, being succeeded by periods
of much discomfort and great agitation. Toward
evening she again fell into a state of complete un-
consciousness, out of which she was brought with
difficulty. When she recovered, she asked for
her daughter, whom she had not seen since the
evening before. She smiled upon her, gently
shaking her weak head, clasped her in a long em-
brace, and said to the child, who was quite aston-
ished to see tears upon her mother's cheeks:
“Go, play, my darling.”
M. de Vaudricourt and Sabine, actively sec-
onded by old, ever-ready Victoire, relieved each
other day and night in the sick-room, caring for
the invalid with equal devotion, and affecting
before her an entire absence of alarm. M. de
Vaudricourt, however, began to feel very ill at
ease, and, having managed to catch Sabine alone
for a moment, said to her : *—
“Are you quite sure, mademoiselle, that there
is no mistake? I must of course place the most
implicit confidence in Dr. Tallevaut s diagnosis,
but still I can not help seeing great changes—a
ALIETTE, % 195
decided alteration for the worse in the appear-
ance of the face, for instance. Has it not struck
you?”
“Mon Diew / monsieur,” replied Mlle. Talle-
vaut, “I can only recall and repeat to you what
my uncle said to me only two days ago—that
there is no organic disease, and that people do not
die of nothing.”
She left him in the court-yard of the château,
where he was walking with long strides around
the grass-plot. All at once he saw appear at the
grating the curé of Walmoutiers, who had evi-
dently come in haste; and, at the same time, he
perceived old Victoire, who seemed to be watch-
ing for the priest at the head of the staircase.
“Was it you, wretch,” he called out, angrily,
“who sent for the curé 3’”
“Yes, monsieur,” she replied, gazing at him
steadily.
“Did madame ask for him : *
“No, monsieur; but, let them say what they
will, I consider madame very sick.”
“And it is you, wretch, who will kill her by
giving her such a shock!”
Before Victoire could answer, the sudden ap-
196 A LIETTE.
pearance of Mlle. Tallevaut on the threshold of
the vestibule abruptly ended the discussion.
“Monsieur,” said Sabine, with more emotion
than usual, “I think I ought to ask you to send
for my uncle without delay.”
M. de Vaudricourt glanced questioningly at
her, and then, with an exclamation of despair,
and clasping his hands, gave rapid orders to a
servant, who hastened to the stables.
Then, turning to the curé of Walmoutiers—
“Monsieur le curé,” said Bernard, “have
the goodness to follow me, but allow me, I beg,
to let my wife know you are coming.”
The priest bowed.
Bernard ascended to Aliette's room. She was
lying in an easy-chair, and seemed to be asleep;
her eyes half opened when her husband entered.
“My dear child,” said he, clasping one of her
hands, which she allowed him to take, “I have
been scolding old Victoire. She is really losing
her head. Despite the repeated assurances of the
physicians, she is frightened to death because you
are a little weaker than usual to-day, and she has
sent for our curé—will you see him ?”
“Yes, please.”
ALIETTE, 197
She sighed painfully, and fixed upon her hus-
band her great blue eyes, which seemed to ex-
press such poignant and peculiar agony that he
felt the very marrow freeze in his bones.
He could not help saying, with deep emo-
tion :
“Do you no longer love me, Aliette?”
“Always,” murmured the poor child.
He leaned over her and imprinted a passion-
ate kiss on her brow. She saw tears come into
his eyes, and seemed surprised.
He turned toward the door, signed to the
priest, who was waiting on the stairs, to enter,
and left the room.
During a half-hour that seemed as though it
would never end, M. de Vaudricourt paced up
and down the grand salon of his château, stop-
ping every few moments before the window
which looked into the court. Mlle. Tallevaut,
pale and silent, was seated near a table, leaning
on it in her favorite attitude, with her head rest-
ing on her hand. From time to time, Bernard, in
his agitation, muttered indistinct words and sen-
tences.
“But it is not possible. Of what could she
198 ALIETTE.
die? It is like a thunder-clap !—no, it is impos-
sible.”
“Let us wait for my uncle,” was Sabine's
only reply.
It was announced to M. de Vaudricourt, as he
had ordered, that the curé had left his wife's
room. He at once went up, and Sabine followed
him. But Aliette, who appeared to be deeply
absorbed, did not seem to see them. She, how-
ever, took from her husband's hand the draught
he offered her. Victoire informed Bernard that
the curé, at the request of the patient, would re-
turn later in the evening with the Sacraments.
About seven o’clock, Dr. Tallevaut arrived.
As soon as he saw Aliette an expression of amaze-
ment passed over his face like a cloud. Then,
Suddenly regaining his professional calmness, he
raised the ice-like arm of the young wife, felt her
scarcely perceptible pulse, gazed a moment on her
colorless features — her half-closed eyes—and,
bending over her, murmured a few tender words
of encouragement in the tone that one would use
in speaking to a child.
He then led Bernard into an adjoining bou-
doir, and, grasping him by the hand—
ALIETTE. 199
“Monsieur,” said he, “I have to ask your par-
don. It is a terrible thing I have to tell you; but
my wretched science has been at fault, and now it
is powerless—your wife will die!”
A cry was heard in the sick-room—then a
sound of sobbing. M. de Vaudricourt rushed out
in the greatest alarm.
Aliette was dead!
After the first shock of a catastrophe that
seemed by its terrible suddenness to affect mind
and body alike, M. de Vaudricourt sufficiently re-
covered from his mental and physical prostration
to be able to abruptly put to the doctor this ques-
tion:
“Eut of what did she die?”
“Of an affection of the heart.”
M. Tallevaut then briefly explained that anae-
mic ailments sometimes resulted thus fatally, but
only in exceptional cases that baffled the previs-
ions of science. He added that it would be a
perennial source of regret to him that he had not
provided against the improbable, nay, even the
impossible, when the health and life of one so pre-
cious was in jeopardy.
200 AZIETTE.
It was eleven o’clock when Dr. Tallevaut and
his niece said good-night to their host. A coupé
was waiting for them. Sabine took a seat by the
side of her uncle, but so absorbed was each in
meditation that neither spoke during the drive to
La Saulaye. The coupé rolled noiselessly around
the gloomy stretch of water and deposited them
at the threshold of the cottage.
VIII.
AccorDING to his daily custom, M. Tallevaut
conducted his ward to the door of her room,
kissed her forehead, pressed her hand, and retired
to his own apartment.
About an hour and a half later, when he sup-
posed that Sabine was asleep, Dr. Tallevaut, who
had not gone to bed, left his room, very cautiously
traversed the long corridor, and descended the
staircase. The candle in his hand illumined his
pale and contracted features. He entered the
large apartment on the ground-floor which served
as Salon and library alike, and thence, raising a
heavy tapestry portière, passed into his laboratory.
Pſe went straight to a kind of buffet of old oak,
built into one of the angles of the wall, where
were kept the dangerous substances used in his
practice or experiments. This buffet shut with a
keyless lock, whose secret mechanism required to
be known in order to open it. After he had deft-
202 ALIETTE,
ly turned the metal plate by which the lock was
moved, Dr. Tallevaut seemed to hesitate several
seconds before opening the panel through which
entrance was gained to the interior of the buffet
—then with a violent gesture he drew it aside.
His pale forehead immediately became livid.
In a row of flasks ranged on the highest shelf
of the buffet he had at once noted a vacancy.
At the same moment his lips parted slightly,
and a single word—scarcely to be distinguished
from a sigh—fell from them:
“Aconite l’”
Suddenly he seemed to hear a noise in the
interior of the house. He put out his light,
and listened. A few moments later he could
clearly distinguish the sound of a stealthy step
and a rustling of silk in the next room. He
drew nearer to the door and waited. The clear,
starlit night was further illumined by a crescent
moon, which threw into the laboratory, through
the garden-windows, a few whitish rays. The
portière was raised, and Sabine entered. In an
instant Dr. Tallevaut's hand had fallen on his
ward’s arm.
The young girl uttered a stifled exclamation,
ALIETTE. 203
and in her surprise letting a flask drop which re-
sounded on the flag-stone, ran back into the ad-
joining room. Near the large table that occu-
pied the middle of the apartment she stopped
abruptly, and, resting one hand upon it, turned
and faced her guardian.
In the library, as well as in the laboratory,
the windows opening on the garden were shut-
terless, and permitted the polar brightness of
the heavens to make in patches a kind of half-
light. M. Tallevaut could see in the eyes and
on the face of Sabine an air of wild bravado.
“Wretched woman'?” he exclaimed, in a hol-
low voice, “defend yourself Tell me that you
made a mistake — aconite is a medicine—you
have seen me use it sometimes. Perhaps you
were imprudent—lost your self-possession, and
were afraid I would blame you ; that was
why you sought to keep it a secret. Come!
speak l’”
“What would be the use?” she replied, with
a disdainful gesture of the hand; “you would
not believe me—you do not even believe your-
Self l’”
The unhappy man, overcome by his emotions,
204 ALIETTE.
sank down into his office-chair, speaking aloud to
himself in his great agitation:
“No,” he murmured, “it is true l—it is im-
possible l—she is incapable of making so gross a
blunder. Alas! she knew only too well what she
was doing ! And with what infernal skill she
selected the poison—the effect of which imitates
the very symptoms of the disease itself —be-
comes confounded with them, and gradually ag-
gravates them until death supervenes! Yes, it is
a crime !—a crime plotted with devilish malignity
against that amiable and gentle creature l’”
After a pause—
“Oh, what a wretched dupe I have been l’”
Then, turning toward Sabine—
“Say, at least, that her husband was your ac-
complice—that it was he who urged you to this
infamous deed!”
“No!” said Sabine, “he was ignorant. I love
him, and I know that I am loved in return. That
is all !”
Dr. Tallevaut, after several moments of mute
dejection, continued in a firm tone, but in a weak-
er voice :
“Sabine, if you relied upon any exhibition of
ALIETTE, 205
criminal weakness on my part, you were mistaken.
My duty now is to hand you over to justice, and,
terrible as that duty may be, I shall fulfill it!”
“You will take time to consider first,” coldly
replied Sabine, who remained standing in front of
her uncle, but separated from him by the table;
“for if you give me up to the law, if you accord
to society the satisfaction of a trial, you should
consider what society will say. It will say that I
am your pupil—and it will only say the truth !”
“My pupil, wretch When have I ever
taught you principles other than those I myself
practised? Have I ever given you, either by
word or example, other lessons than those of rec-
titude, justice, humanity, honor?”
“You surprise me, uncle. How could a mind
like yours ever doubt that I might draw from
your doctrines and from our common studies de-
ductions and precepts differing from those you
drew yourself? The tree of science, uncle, does
not produce the same fruit on all soils | You
speak to me of rectitude, of justice, of humanity,
of honor l You are astonished that the same the-
ories which have taught you these virtues have
not taught them to me! The reason is, however,
18
206 ALIETTE.
plain. You know as well as I do that these so-
called virtues are in reality merely optional—
since they are only instincts—veritable prejudices
with which Nature endows us because she needs
them for the preservation and advancement of
her work. You are willing to submit to these in-
stincts; I am not—that is the only difference.”
“But have I not told you, wretch, and repeat-
ed it a thousand times, that duty, honor—nay,
happiness itself—consisted in submission to these
natural, these divine laws?”
“You have told me so, and you believe it.
I, on the contrary, believe that the honor of a
human being forces him to rebel against this
slavery—to shake off these fetters with which
Nature, or God if you like, burdens and oppresses
us, to make us labor to achieve an unknown end ;
to accomplish a work in which we have no concern.
Yes, indeed, you have repeatedly told me that
you considered it not only a duty but a pleasure
to contribute humbly, by your labors and your
virtues, to some divine achievement—to bring
about some superior and mysterious consumma-
tion toward which the universe is progressing.
But these are pleasures to the charms of which I
ALIETTE. 207
am insensible. I care little, I swear to you, for
undergoing privations, for keeping a restraint on
myself, for suffering all my life, in order to pre-
pare for some future installment of the human
race a condition of happiness and perfection
which I can not enjoy—fétes in which I shall not
take part, and a paradise I can never enter!”
Under the sway of the emotions that con-
vulsed her in this terrible crisis, Sabine's lan-
guage, at first calm and icy, grew gradually ani-
mated, and by degrees became marked by violent
excitement. She had abandoned the position
she had assumed on first entering the room, and
had begun to pace slowly from one end of the
library to the other, stopping at intervals to em-
phasize her utterances by some energetic gest-
ure. M. Tallevaut, still seated motionless in his
chair, only replied by disconnected outbursts of
indignation, and seemed to be following with
looks of stupefied surprise this ghost-like shadow
that was now lost in the gloom and anon stood
revealed in the pale light that came through the
windows.
“Shall I tell you all?” she went on. “I am
tired to death—tired of the present, the past, the
208 ALIETTE
future | The thought of passing my life here,
bent over your books or your retorts, with a per-
spective of the final perfection of the universe for
my reward and consolation—such a thought is
unbearable. A life like that might be sufficient
for a being all brain, like yourself, but for those
who have nerves under their skin, blood in their
veins, and emotions in their hearts, never! I am
a woman, and have all the aspirations, all the pas-
sions of a woman. These latter are even more
powerful in me than in others of my sex, since I
have neither the superstitions nor the prejudices
which tend to weaken them. I dreamed of the
love of the great, a luxurious existence, pleasures,
elegance, amid a round of fashionable dissipation.
I felt that I had been gifted by nature with the
faculties that would enable me to enjoy all this
keenly, and I was called to renounce it forever.
Of what profit, then, this mental independence
that I have achieved? Of what avail all my sci-
ence, if I could not through it minister to my
ambition, or draw from it a single weapon that
could be used in the service of my passions?
“Chance gave me the opportunity,” she contin-
ued. “I loved this man, and knew that he loved
A LIETTE, 209
me in return, and that, were he free, he would
marry me—and then I did what I have done. A
crime?—bah a mere name! What is good, and
what is evil? What is truth, and what is false-
hood? You know very well that the moral code
of humanity is to-day only a blank page on which
each writes what he pleases for himself, according
to his intelligence and his disposition. There are
no more individual catechisms. Mine is compre-
hended in the belief that Nature teaches me by
example. She destroys with impassive egotism
everything that stands in her way. She over-
throws every obstacle that rears itself between her
and the end she has in view : she crushes the weak
to make room for the strong—and it is not to-day,
be assured, that this doctrine has been for the first
time adopted by men of really superior and liber-
ated intellects. It has always been said, ‘The
good are passing away.” No, it is the weak that
are passing away—and they but fulfill their mis-
sion. When one, therefore, aids them a little in
the task, one, after all, is only assisting Nature.
Read your Darwin again, uncle!”
But he to whom she spoke could no longer
hear her. On turning to launch at him her wild
- 210 ALIETTE.
apostrophe, she saw that his body had fallen for-
ward, and that his head was lying lifeless on
the table. He had been powerless to withstand
the terrible shock which had shattered heart and
brain alikel Under this stunning blow his feel-
ings, his thoughts, his belief, his courage—his
whole intellectual and moral being—had crumbled
into ruins ! His young ward had not only been
his companion, his beloved fiancée, but through
her strange beauty she had become for him the
embodiment of his philosophic religion, which
in her person had dazzled, smiled upon, and en-
chanted him. On seeing suddenly appear the
monster that had masqueraded under this seduc-
tive disguise, his powers of reasoning had been
paralyzed and the light of life had gone out—a
congestion had killed him
What passed at that moment in the mind and
soul of the young creature whom a cloudy phi-
losophy had driven outside the pale of humanity,
who can tell? After the first shock, when she
had placed her hand on the heart, forever chilled
in death, of one who, for so many years, had over-
whelmed her with benefits and tenderness, she
fell upon her knees and sobbed convulsively.
ALIETTE. 211
Raising herself suddenly, she reflected a mo-
ment while drying her eyes, and, entering the
laboratory, picked up the flask which was still ly-
ing on the flag-stone and restored it to its place
in the oak buffet. She then cautiously ascended
the stairs and retired to her own room.
At daylight the sound of hurrying steps, con-
fused exclamations, and appeals for help, informed
her that the melancholy discovery had been made.
A servant, in great excitement, came in hastily
to tell her. She ran down-stairs, and shed a few
tears — doubtless sincere ones — over the dead
body of her guardian.
To Dr. Raymond, who could only state that
the deceased had succumbed to congestion, Sabine
simply said, that she had left her uncle in the
library the previous evening very deeply affected
by the death of Mme. de Vaudricourt, for whom
he had entertained a warm affection. She had
heard him, she added, take himself severely to
task for having, through his want of foresight,
been to some extent the cause of this unhappy
event. She had been surprised, and even ren-
dered anxious, at seeing him take the matter so
seriously. Dr. Raymond admitted that M. Talle-
212 ALIETTE.
A
vaut, fatigued and exhausted by overwork, might
possibly have been prostrated by emotion caused
by violent grief. This version of the affair was
circulated and believed in the neighborhood, and
there was thus created in the public mind a sort
of connection between the two catastrophes,
which somewhat explained each other.
The theory that the death of Mme. de Wau-
dricourt was in any way the result of a crime had
not occurred, and was not likely to occur, to any
one. It was generally known that for several
months her health had been affected, and the
well-understood disease from which she suffered
had apparently followed its usual course, and the
final symptoms, which had accompanied her Sud-
den demise, had not differed from those to which
she had long been subject. A cunning craftiness
had known how to so choose and administer the
poisonous substance as to conceal its effects under
the ordinary symptoms of the malady, while ag-
gravating and rendering them fatal. As to the
traces of the deadly drug which might have led
to discovery, the science and superior Sagacity
of Dr. Raymond alone might have caused him to
suspect its presence. Besides, it is well known
ALIETTE. 213
that, among the vegetable poisons—usually so
difficult to be detected by scientific analysis—
aconite leaves in the body, either externally or
internally, the fewest evidences of its presence.
While Mlle. Tallevaut, her uncle's heiress, con-
tinued to reside at La Saulaye with her invalid
mother, the Comte de Vaudricourt, after paying
his wife the last tributes of respect, started with
little Jeanne for Waraville. He remained there
several weeks, grieving over his loss in company
with Aliette’s mother and other relatives. This
sorrow was sincere. If M. de Vaudricourt had
suffered from his ill-advised marriage; if he more
than once cursed the day that had bound him to
a woman all whose feelings and whose tastes were
opposed to his; if he had, in fact, conceived a
violent affection for another woman, he none the
less, especially in these last days, experienced, at
the thought of her who was no more, a feeling of
genuine if vague regret, in which keen pity was
largely mingled.
Toward autumn Bernard went to England to
visit the relatives of the Courteheuse family, and
remained there a part of the winter, hunting and
traveling. On his return to France, after an-
214 ALIETTE.
other sojourn at Waraville with his daughter, he
visited Walmoutiers for the first time since his
bereavement. He had left without having seen
Sabine again, but on his arrival at Varaville he
had written to convey to her his respectful sym-
pathy and intense regret at the death of M. Tal-
levaut. She had replied in the same tone of brief
and formal politeness. Later, when in England,
he had sent one or two letters worded a little
more familiarly, gradually resuming the friendly
and playful manner which had once marked their
intercourse, but without making the slightest al-
lusion to the tender scene which had occurred so
short a time before Aliette's death.
When he again saw her she was still in
deep mourning, and her simple costume still fur-
ther heightened her beauty—that somber beauty
which had followed him beyond the seas, and
which was gradually effacing the image of the
unhappy dead.
Still, he hesitated for some time before com-
ing to the decision which destiny seemed to
force upon him. Something within him strove
blindly against the thought of his marriage with
Mlle. Tallevaut, but he finally persuaded himself
ALIETTE, 215
that after what had passed between them—after
the confession of love he had made to her—a
high sense of honor demanded that he should
ask her to be his wife, since they were now free
to enter into that relation. Besides, he was too
young to remain unmarried, and, after his first
unfortunate experience, why should he not choose
this young girl, who had received an exceptional
education, and in whom he would find neither
the vices of precocious fashionable depravity nor
the narrow-mindedness of the religious fanatic,
but instead, united to high mental culture, the
sentiments and the principles honored among
men ;
He wished the anniversary of Aliette's death
to pass, and it was only in the month of June
that he returned to Varaville to inform Mme. de
Courteheuse of his decision. He explained to
her that, not having a son, he felt it due to his
family name and to the memory of his uncle not
to remain single. He proposed to marry Mlle.
Tallevaut, who was a person of unusual cultiva-
tion and refinement, and who had also additional
claims on his esteem through the devotion she
had shown in caring for his daughter and his
216 ALIETTE,
wife. To soften the intelligence to Aliette's
mother, he also informed her that he intended
confiding little Jeanne to her care, only asking
permission to visit her frequently at Waraville.
It was not, however, without a struggle that he
decided thus to separate himself from his daugh-
ter, whom he tenderly loved. But it was an un-
acknowledged tribute that in spite of himself he
paid to the memory of one who was no longer
able to watch over her child.
Three months later, Sabine Tallevaut had be-
come Bernard's wife, and during the winter of
the same year, after traveling extensively over
Europe, the Comte and Comtesse de Vaudricourt
took up their quarters in Paris in a sumptuous
suite of apartments on the Avenue des Champs-
Elysées.
It was about two years after his marriage with
Sabine, that M. de Vaudricourt again felt called
upon to take up his pen, and add to his private
journal, so long neglected, the following pages.
CONTINUATION OF BERNARD’S
JOURNAL.
PARIs, February, 188—.
My life is certainly destined to be one of
the most extraordinary of the period. Were I
only an observer, it would already have inter-
ested me deeply—as I am the chief actor, it nat-
urally absorbs me still more. To-day, as was the
case ten years ago, I am passing through a crisis.
This crisis is an exciting one, and I yield to a de-
sire to formulate for my own benefit the thought
to which it gives rise. Possibly, matured by age,
I may be able to enrich these pages with certain
philosophic deductions which may prove to be
valuable. A word only regarding the sad past,
of which I will never speak save with respect. I
was not happy with my first wife, and she was
not happy with me. I have even—to my great
regret—been forced to believe that her young life
was shortened by unavailing sorrow. But in
19
218 A LIETTE.
what way was I to blame? She believed, and I
did not—that was all! My fatal error was in not
foreseeing the inevitable consequences of a union
between those who looked at life from such dia-
metrically opposite standpoints—one regarding it
as the gift of God, the other as the accident of
blind Chance; the one as a probation and a pref-
ace, the other as a pleasure limited only by the
term of existence, an adventure without a to-
morrow. It is evident that the uses to which
each would put this gift, according to one or
other of these antagonistic theories, must widely
vary.
Let us say no more about it.
If my first wife distressed me, the second
amuses me immensely. I will even say, to use a
popular locution, that she is not “stifled ” by her
religion, or, rather, by her science. She knows
much about many things, but I am afraid her
knowledge has not been well digested. I am suf-
ficiently imbued with the spirit of the age, and I
have read, or at least skimmed over, enough books
to be able to follow her philosophic theories; but
it seems to me that she abuses them and carries
her logic a little too far. She has a scientific ar-
ALIETTE. 219
gument to cite in support of her every action, her
likes and her dislikes.
I believe I shall laugh even in my grave at
her reply when, shortly after our marriage, I ex-
pressed a wish to have a son.
“Mon ami,” she said, “do not reckon on me
for that. Maternity is one of those burdens to
which Nature forces us to submit for her own
gratification and in the interest of her work. But
you are aware that, so far as natural laws are con-
cerned, I am a rebel. My principles—which, I
think, greatly resemble yours—incline me to
snatch as many of the enjoyments of life as pos-
sible, while thrusting aside its sorrows.
“You tell me,” she went on, “that, if every
one held similar opinions, the world would come
to an end. I reply that, as to that, I am entirely
indifferent. Nature, you know, has but one anxi-
ety—the preservation of the species. This se-
cured, she may be said to despise the individual.
Well, like her, I despise the individual, but, un-
like her, I also despise the species 1’’
She added, it is true, with her feminine grace
and her dimpled Smile:
“Besides, mon, ami, maternity is the despoiler
220 A LIETTE.
of beauty, and, since you consider me beautiful, I
prefer to remain so!”
And, in truth, she is still very handsome; but
I fear that the preservation of her good looks is
not entirely for my honor and glory. More than
ever determined, as I am, to view all mundane
events through an agreeable medium, I will enter
upon this branch of the subject as delicately and
playfully as possible.
At the conclusion of our wedding tour, dur-
ing which I must admit that Sabine's rare intelli-
gence and entire frankness greatly pleased me, we
took up our residence in Paris, where I was per-
Sonally very well satisfied at again finding myself.
But I feared that my wife only accompanied me
out of pure good nature, and that she would find
it difficult to accustom herself to the turmoil of
Parisian society, for which her previous retired
and absorbed life had been but a poor preparation.
In this particular, I was destined to experience
a surprise which at first was most agreeable. Sa-
bine plunged into the round of gayeties as readily
as though they had constituted her native ele-
ment. It even seemed to me as if she entered
into them with a somewhat excessive enthusiasm,
ALIETTE. 221
which I could compare mentally to nothing so
well as to the impetuosity of a nun just escaped
from a convent, and who devours ravenously a
long-dreamed-of but hitherto forbidden fruit.
I then recalled—but perhaps a little later—
with what singular curiosity Mlle. Tallevaut used
to question me, during our walks in the woods,
regarding the pleasures and amusements of the
fortunate inhabitants of Paris. She now had
the opportunity of enjoying these pleasures and
amusements on her own account, and, so to speak,
gorged herself with them as though she proposed
exhausting them. Dinners, balls, theatres, races,
private theatricals, fashionable dissipations of all
kinds—in short, every attraction of Parisian life
which can enthrall the mind, the senses, or satisfy
vanity—she investigated with the same indefati-
gable ardor. Hers was not the stupid infatua-
tion of the ordinary Parisian; she acted on a de-
termination to methodically know and test, dur-
ing her residence on this planet, every agreeable
or peculiar sensation that can be experienced—a
resolution, in the carrying out of which she was
supported by nerves of steel and a will of iron.
My wife is a sphinx. She is also a page of
222 ALIETTE.
manuscript—a page that I have from the first
studied with an interest not always, I must con-
fess, free from anxiety, since I had not failed to
observe that this extraordinary young person, in-
stead of imitating the example of her worthy and
unfortunate guardian, and deriving from her sci-
entific researches a higher faith and an elevated
mysticism, had only succeeded in deducing re-
pulsive negations and a profound feeling of con-
tempt for, and rebellion against, every species of
natural or supernatural restraint—every law, hu-
man or divine. I asked myself what would re-
sult, in following out her unbridled logic, from
the turning loose, in unfettered freedom, of this
feminine passion in the world. I asked myself
where this insatiable curiosity would stop. I
asked, above all, whether, in the matter of affec-
tion, it would stop at me.
It was my wife herself who, anticipating my
wishes, gave me the answer.
It came d propos of a trifling occurrence. A
first night of Sarah Bernhardt had been an-
nounced, and my wife, who never failed to be
present on such occasions, had instructed me, ac-
cording to custom, to procure a box at any cost.
ALIETTE. 223
I did not succeed. In fact, I confess that I was
not very zealous in the execution of her commis-
sion, since she maintains such a pace day and
night that even I, old stager as I am, begin to
experience a sense of weariness. My physician
advises me to moderate the speed. I was there-
fore not at all sorry at the prospect of passing
an evening at home, and especially as I was to
spend it in my wife's company, whose terrible
beauty, in spite of its inconveniences—per-
haps, alas! on account of these very inconven-
iences—still strongly appealed to my imagina-
tion.
After dinner, during which she had seemed
displeased and silent, I followed her into her
boudoir, where a cozy fire was crackling, and said,
while gracefully offering her a cigarette :
“You are not going anywhere this evening,
my dear?”
“Where would you have me go? All Paris
is at this representation—except us.”
“Well! I can’t say I envy “all Paris, and
“all Paris’ ought to envy me, since I am here
alone with you.” y
She had thrown herself into an easy-chair.
224 A LIETTE.
Half rising and bestowing on me one of her
haughtiest and coldest glances, she replied:
“Pardon, mon ami / do you mean me to in-
fer that you still love me?”
And as my eyes, very widely opened in aston-
ishment, were my only answer, she continued:
“Really You surprise me. As for myself,
I no longer love you.”
And, leaning comfortably back in her chair,
she added:
“I say this, mon, am?, because I have noticed
for some time that you were becoming jealous,
and I wished to spare you the humiliation of
making yourself absurd. Besides, I have also
observed that you are growing tired of accom-
panying me everywhere like my shadow, and it
seems to me that you are not as well as usual in
consequence. Now, after this frank declaration,
you will be able to give yourself a little rest.”
“Thanks for your kindness,” I replied; “but
pray be so good as to explain yourself a little
more fully. Do you really mean to say that you
intend to be false to your marriage vows?—to
come short of the fidelity you owe me?”
“The fidelity I owe you? In virtue of what,
ALIETTE. 225
mon am? § In virtue of the oath that we have
both taken before the altar of a God in whom
neither of us believes? Come! you are not a
child, and you know very well that on that occa-
sion we simply complied with a formality pre-
scribed by custom and decorum. Society, as to-
day constituted, permits only those who have
complied with this formality to enjoy the privi-
leges of the married state. On this condition
only she makes them welcome, receives them into
her Salons and gives them a recognized place in
the world. We were therefore compelled to sub-
mit to the custom; but, beyond this, mon, ami,
what is marriage to such as you and me ! You
are very well aware that it is a simple association,
having for its object the securing of certain mutual
advantages—and which, while no doubt including
a kind of reciprocal attraction, is in no respect
based on the absurd and unnatural theory of the
eternal love of the same man for the same wo-
man, or of the same woman for the same
man.”
“My dear Sabine,” I replied, “one certainly
could never fall asleep in your society. As one
grows older, as I am doing, one sometimes in-
226 ALIETTE.
dulges in a nap by the fire. Rest assured I shall
never fall into so reprehensible a practice, so long
as you continue to honor me with your cheerful
communications.”
“I knew, my dear Bernard, that you would
have the sense to take what I have just told you
in good part. A fool would have lost his temper.
I admit that I may have been a little hard in my
manner, but I was wild at losing the play. Why
have you spoiled me?”
“So, my dear, I am to consider as a jest all
that you have had the goodness to tell me this
evening?”
“Not at all, not at all! I have nothing to re-
tract—except my ill humor. Besides, you must
feel that I have only told the truth, and that mar-
riage should be for us what it was for the liberal
minds of the last century — a decorous institu-
tion under which each preserves his or her entire
independence. We are friends, and I trust we
shall remain sol—but lovers—forever? Is it nat-
ural 2 is it possible? You know that it is not.
What then & Shall we continue to pretend to de-
ceive ourselves with these wretched subterfuges?
No; there is in reality only one reasonable line of
A LIETTE. 227
conduct worthy of both of us, and that is to con-
tinue to enjoy the privileges which marriage se-
cures us in the world, while at the same time tast-
ing the pleasures which entire liberty places with-
in our reach. This, mon anni, is the true theory
of life—to make use of society as we do of Na-
ture, by accepting the advantages that it offers,
while rejecting every species of restraint that it
seeks to impose upon us.”
“My dear child,” I responded, “you presume
too much on my powers of digestion, when you
believe me capable of assimilating every twenty-
four hours your theories on Nature and her obli-
gations. I am too plain a man to try to combat
doctrines based on researches so recondite. This
is why I ask permission to kiss your hand and to
say good-night!”
Upon this I withdrew. I believe that I can
assert that my retreat from so embarrassing a
situation was not badly conceived, or undignified
—but I am not otherwise proud of it.
The tone which marked our relations during
this agreeable evening has since continued to char-
acterize them. There exists a sullen enmity, not
to say an increasing hatred, which conceals itself
228 ALIETTE.
under the garb of pleasant irony. Life in com-
mon is still rendered possible for us through the
numerous fashionable dissipations which absorb
much time. Notwithstanding this, one fact im-
presses itself on me more and more—and that
is that my second marriage bids fair to prove as ,
unhappy as the first—if not more so. This time,
however, I have the consolation of having before
me an adversary who can defend herself, and am
no longer matched against a creature so sensitive
and delicate that it would have been cruel to
even brush against her. Since it has been said
that marriage is a combat, ought one not to con-
sider one's self favored when the struggle can be
entered upon with equal weapons? That sustains
—that excites. I admit that it may not be happi-
ness, but it is life!
March 30th.
I was much amused last evening—but let me
proceed in order.
After my wife's very frank statements, I
could not doubt but that sooner or later I should
be forced to struggle not for life, but for honor.
I have tried to convince myself that, as my wife
suggested, our charming ancestors of the last
A LIETTE. 229
century were right when they mutually con-
doned and even discussed their matrimonial fri-
volities. Although I had got rid of many preju-
dices, I could not rise to this philosophic level.
I confess that, regarded from a purely logical
standpoint, my wife's theories on the subject of
marriage were reasonable. She was right in as-
serting that the exclusive and perpetual love of
the same man for the same woman, and recipro-
cally, is absurdly opposed to natural laws. It is
only spiritual beliefs that can assume to give the
Quality of eternal duration to conjugal fidelity,
since it not only consecrates by the marriage cere-
mony the passing attraction of two bodies and
two minds, but it claims to unite two immortal
souls. It is equally certain that, between avowed
materialists like my wife and myself, wedlock,
losing its basis in religion, becomes merely a so-
cial contract, and it thus seems reasonable that
married people should unite in an amicable un-
derstanding to enjoy its advantages while ignor-
ing its restraints.
Yes, all this is thoroughly scientific; but we
must come to the conclusion that scientific meth-
ods are not always applicable to mundane affairs,
20
230 ALIETTE.
and that they are especially inapplicable to those
that come within the province of morals. As
for myself, I will admit that, about a fortnight
ago, I had almost persuaded myself, on purely
logical grounds, that my wife’s arguments were
legitimate, and that I ought, like her, to make
trial of a higher conception of life by entering
into the compact of reciprocal independence
which she had proposed to me. But, as I was
about opening my mouth to inform her of my
resolution, the words seemed to cleave to my
throat, since, in spite of all the logic in the
world, I could not but feel that I was about to
commit a base and cowardly action. There are,
apparently, certain prejudices that I shall never
lose, and I fear that I shall ever remain weak-
minded—from a certain point of view
To return to last evening. There was at the
residence of the old duchesse a dramatic repre-
sentation, including tableaua vivants, in which
my wife was to assume several characters. Her
statuesque beauty greatly assisted her in this
kind of entertainment. I no longer accompany
her into society as assiduously as before, but go
often enough to hoodwink society and to keep
ALIETTE. 231
myself aw courant as to the turn matters may be
taking. Since the notification she had had the
goodness to give me, I could no longer doubt that
my wife had some love-affair on hand, and I
busied myself in discovering the details. This
was not difficult. Sabine, who had once seen me
very much infatuated with her, and who, in con-
sequence, regarded me with a hearty contempt,
did not think it worth her while to try to mis-
lead me.
There was, attached to one of the great em-
bassies in Paris, a young prince of remarkable
beauty, whose attentions to Mme. de Vaudricourt
had been for some time an open secret. Their
meetings at the Bois, at the theatre, at balls, and
even at my own table, were too frequent to escape
the notice even of a-husband; although, so far
as I am capable of judging in such matters, the
affair never went beyond the limits of a permissi-
ble flirtation. I ought to say that I do not like
the prince. Apart from any feeling of jealousy,
he is displeasing to me. A tall, dark man, with
great beetle-like eyes, long, overhanging mus-
tache, of which he seemed especially proud, he
is in the habit of showing his teeth, like the girls
232 ALIETTE.
in the ballet, by a perpetual smile. His self-satis-
faction can not be disputed.
The prince figured in several tableaux, in
which his imposing bearing, his splendid cos-
tumes, his shining teeth under his black mus-
tache, gained for him the suffrages of all. Fi-
nally, he appeared with my wife in a group
representing Judith and Holofernes. As the cur-
tain rose, Judith, seizing her sword with one
hand, leaned with the other on the couch of
Holofernes, bending over him, before delivering
the fatal blow, to assure herself that he was
asleep. They were certainly a handsome couple,
as they appeared in this position—my wife, her
white hand resting on the bear's skin which cov-
ered the couch, and fixing her great wild eyes on
the face of the victim; the prince, his lips apart,
as if Smiling at Some pleasant dream, with golden
disks in his ears, and his beard dressed in the As-
syrian style. The tableau was called for the sec-
ond time.
I was standing at the wings, having been as-
signed to the post of stage-manager. From this
coign of vantage, I thought, whether rightly or
wrongly, that I noticed, as the curtain fell, that
ALIETTE, 233
the face of Judith and that of Holofernes, al-
ready very near together in the tableau, had ap-
proached still nearer.
I had the good fortune, a few moments later,
to be able to render his Highness a slight service.
He could not unfasten his Assyrian beard, which
had been kept in place by a very complicated ar-
rangement of strings. These I cut with a pair
of Scissors hastily snatched up, but, at the same
time, through some inexcusable awkwardness on
my part, I had the misfortune to lop off one of
the prince's long, pendent mustaches 1 I at once
overwhelmed him with apologies, but he looked
so absurd with only one mustache, that I could
not refrain from punctuating my excuses with
shouts of laughter. This no doubt prevented his
believing in my sincerity, for he refused to accept
my apologies.
We fought this morning at Meudon, and I
gave him a sword-thrust which wounded him in
the shoulder. The adventure causes much gossip,
and appears to have mortified my wife.
April 10th.
Nothing new—the same delightful domestic
surroundings, embellished by mutual confidence 1
234 ALIETTE.
My wife is planning her revenge with a calmness
that is not a little alarming. She bestows on me,
during our solitary meals, glances that are the re-
verse of tender 1 But I take little notice, and
maintain, especially while in her company, my
usual playful demeanor. For I, too, am no longer
in love. Her pedantic cynicism, her logical im-
morality, have become so repugnant to me as to
rob her in my eyes of every feminine charm. Be-
sides, with her ungoverned passions, her search
for new sensations—a search restrained by no law,
human or divine—her dilettanteism pushed to its
utmost limit, she is preparing for me, I feel cer-
tain, a thousand-and-one surprises against which
even a sword may not always prove a sufficient
defense. She has now become very intimate with
a Russian, of whom very little that is good can
be said. I must admit that the inspiration was
scarcely a happy one which suggested to me the
idea of intrusting to this creature the custody of
my peace of mind, my family name, and my Sa-
cred honor.
WALMoUTIERs, April 30th.
Under the pretext of making some neces-
sary repairs, I have just passed a week at Wal-
A LIETTE. 235
moutiers, in order to get a breath of untainted
air.
By my orders, Aliette's apartment has been
closed and sealed since the hour when she was
borne from it in her coffin. I entered it to-day
for the first time, and detected a faint aroma of
her favorite perfumes. Dear Aliette In spite
of thy ardent desire, poor child, I was unable to
share thy gentle faith and to join thee in that
life of peace and goodness of which thou didst
dream l Compared to the existence I lead to-day,
it would have been a paradise.
What a terrible scene occurred in this room
—what sad recollections it calls up ! I seem to
See again the last look she gave me—almost one
of terror. How quickly she died—and the
speechless astonishment of poor Tallevaut !
I have taken this room for mine, but shall
not remain here long, as I must go to Varaville
for a few days. I wish to see my child—her dear
angel face has become necessary to me.
WALMoUTIERs, April 22d.
How things have changed since I was a child
—nay, even since my youth ! What an astonish-
236 ALIETTE,
ing change, in So short a time, in the moral atmos-
phere we breathel Then, we were deeply im-
pressed with the idea of God—a just God, but
kind and paternal. Indeed, we lived in his sight
as in the sight of a father, with fear and respect,
but with confidence. We felt sustained by his
invisible but sure presence. We spoke to him,
and it seemed as if he answered. Now, we feel
ourselves alone and abandoned in this vast uni-
verse. We live in a hard, lawless, malevolent
world, where the struggle for existence is the
only law, and where—like the unchained ele-
ments—we are striving with each other for the
mastery, with an intense selfishness—ferocious,
pitiless, giving no redress, and without hope of
final justicel And above us—nothing, or worse
than nothing—a careless Deity, ironical and bar-
barous—instead of the benevolent spirit of our
happy youth !
WALMoUTIERs, April 23d.
Aliette's mother, Mme. de Courteheuse, has
been ill for a long time. A telegram, delayed in
transmission, has just announced her death. I am
starting for Varaville. I can not leave my child
there any longer. Her only remaining relative is
ALIETTE. 237
her old great-aunt, Mlle. de Varaville, now in her
second childhood. Jeanne is nearly ten, and
should not be left to the care of servants. I have
decided to take her away, either to be educated
under my own supervision, or to be sent to a
boarding-school or convent. I must confer with
the bishop, her great-uncle, on the subject. The
presence of this child will help me to bear many
things.
VARAVILLE, April 27th.
For an instant, a moment—in this room where
I was alone with the shade of the poor dead one
—a horrible thought seized me—a thought I dis-
missed as I should dismiss an insane delusion—
and lo! this insane delusion is the simple truth !
Shall I write it? Yes, I will commit it to
paper. It is my duty, since this journal, com-
menced in so playful a mood, has become my
will ! And if I should cease to be, my secret must
not die with me. It must be bequeathed to my
daughter's natural protectors. Her interests, if
not her life, are involved in it.
This is what happened : Notified too late,
I did not arrive in time to pay the last respects
to Mme. de Courteheuse. The family had al-
238 ALIETTE,
ready left, and there only remains here Aliette's
brother, Gerard de Courteheuse, now the captain
of a frigate. I have imparted to him my plans
relative to my daughter, which he could not but
approve. It had been my intention to take with
Jeanne her old nurse, Victoire Genest, who
brought her up after performing a similar serv-
ice for her mother; but old Victoire is now quite
aged and not very strong, and I expected that she
would object, especially as her manner toward
me since my wife's death has been marked by a
rudeness verging on open hostility. It was only
out of respect for Aliette's memory that I have
tolerated her sullen temper.
I took her aside in Jeanne's room, while the
child was playing in the garden.
“My dear Victoire,” I said, “while Mme. de
Courteheuse was alive, I considered it my duty to
leave her grandchild under her care, since there
was no one better fitted to superintend her educa-
tion. My duty now is to watch over her myself.
I shall therefore take her back to Paris, and
would consider it a great favor if you would go
with her and remain in her service.”
As soon as she understood my meaning, the
ALIETTE, 239
old woman suddenly turned pale, and her hands
began to tremble. Fixing on me her keen gray
eyes, she exclaimed:
“Monsieur le comte will not do so !”
“Pardon my dear Madame Genest, but I
will do so. I appreciate your fidelity and your
devotion, and shall be very grateful if you will
continue to take charge of my daughter; but I
propose being master in my own house, and am
the only person to make proper arrangements
for my child.”
She placed one hand on my arm.
“I beseech you, monsieur, do not do it!”
“Victoire, are you losing your senses?”
Her fixed, stern glance never left mine, and
seemed to look into the very depths of my soul.
“I have never believed it,” she muttered;
“no, I have never been able to believe it; but, if
you take the little one away, I shall believe it!”
“Believe what, wretched woman : Believe
What?”
She lowered her voice:
“I should believe that you knew how the
mother died, and that you wished the daughter
to die in the same way.”
240 ALIETTE.
“Die in the same way—?”
“Yes—and by the same handl”
Great drops of perspiration stood on my fore-
head; I felt as if Death had breathed on me !
Still, I struggled to keep off the frightful dis-
closure.
“Victoire,” I said, “take care! You may not
be mad, but you are in a still worse condition:
your hatred of her who has taken the place of
my first wife—your unreasoning hatred has sug-
gested these odious, these criminal assertions.”
“Well! monsieur,” she exclaimed with wild
energy, “after what I have told you, take your
daughter to live with that woman in Paris—if
you darel”
I walked once or twice across the room to
collect myself; then, going back to where the
old nurse was standing—
“But why should I believe you?” I said.
“Had you had the slightest shadow of proof of
what you have asserted, you would not have kept
silence so long! You would not have allowed
me to make this accursed marriage l’”
She seemed more confident, and her voice
trembled with emotion.
ALIETTE. 241
“Monsieur, it was madame, who, before re-
turning to her God, made me swear on the cross
that I would keep her secret forever!”
“But not from me—not from me?”
And, in my turn, I sought to read the depths
of her soul. She hesitated a moment, and then
stammered:
“True—not from you! for the poor child
believed—”
“What? What did she believe? That I knew
of it? That I was an accomplice? Speak!”
She looked down, but did not reply.
“Ah! Mon Diew / Can it be possible %
Come, my dear woman, sit down there by me
and speak—tell me everything—all you know
—all you have seen When did you think you
saw something?—at what moment 7–for you
know she was ill some time.”
“Yes, monsieur, but it was nothing, that is,
not dangerous—the doctors said so, you remem-
ber—and I was too accustomed to care for her
to be deceived. Ah! I know very well when
the danger came. Monsieur le comte must recol-
lect the day when madame la duchesse arrived
at Walmoutiers, and when they sent for Mademoi-
21
242 ALIETTE.
selle Sabine. That was the day, monsieur, I am
sure of it, when she began to do wrong; for, after
that, madame's suffering suddenly increased, and
there was a great change for the worse. I sus-
pected that something was wrong, and began to
watch that girl. One evening, when I was con-
cealed behind a curtain in the little boudoir
where the medicine was prepared, I saw her
pull a flask out of her pocket and pour a few
drops into madame's draught. I came out Sud-
denly.
“‘What is that, mademoiselle?”
“She blushed up, but replied in her cool
way:
“‘Some drops that my uncle gave me to mix
in the valerian.”
“That is what she said, but you will soon see
that she lied, monsieur. When I surprised her
in that way, it was perhaps already too late—for
you may be sure that it was not the first time
she had done it. My first thought was to tell you,
but I did not dare. Then I warned madame.
Ah! I could see that I was not telling her any-
thing she did not know, and still she scolded me
almost sternly.
ALIETTE. 243
“‘You must know,” she said to me, ‘that my
husband is always there when she prepares the
medicine, and that would make him guilty, too;
rather than believe that, I would accept death
from his hands a hundred times.’
“And I remember, monsieur, that, just as
she said that, you came out of the little boudoir
and gave her a cup of the valerian. She gave
me such a terrible look, and—drank it. A few
minutes later she was taken so poorly that she
believed the end had come. She gave me her
crucifix, and made me swear that I would never
disclose a word of what we suspected.
“It was then I sent for the priest. When all
was over, M. Tallevaut—who was so dumfounded
when he came in, you remember, monsieur?—M.
Tallevaut questioned me. I told him that the
drops he had given to Mademoiselle Sabine to
put in madame's medicine seemed to have made
her a good deal worse.
“‘What drops?” he asked, as if he did not
understand.
“‘The drops that Mademoiselle Sabine
brought in the little brown flask.”
“He turned quite pale, looked at me a mo-
244 ALIETTE.
ment in a dazed kind of way, shook his head like
a man who does not know what to say, and went
away suddenly. Next day, when I heard that he
was dead, I said to myself:
“‘That unhappy man has killed himself.”
“Well, monsieur, that is what I know and
what I have seen with my own eyes, and I swear
to you, by my God, that I have only told you the
simple truth !”
She stopped speaking. I was unable to reply.
I seized her old, wrinkled, trembling hands, bent
over them, and wept like a child.
Whether I live or whether I die, my daughter
must be kept from all association with this in-
famous wretch. If my life is spared, I will see
to it; if I should die, some one else must make
it his duty. I shall take every precaution that
these pages may find their way, when I am no
more, into the hands of Monseigneur de Courte-
heuse, my daughter's great-uncle, or, in default
of that, into those of the Commandant de Courte-
heuse, her mother's brother. These lines, and
those that go before, will sufficiently inform them
of my wishes.
-r
4
ALIETTE, 245
By my marriage contract with Sabine, I have
provided generously for her comfort during her
life, assuring to her the use of half of my per-
sonal fortune, which will eventually revert to my
daughter, who is already wealthy through her in-
heritance from her mother. At the time, I did
not believe I was in any way wronging my child;
but, yielding to my fatal passion, I added to the
contract a clause by which all my fortune should
become the sole property of Sabine Tallevaut, in
case my daughter should die unmarried. Thus
not only must the moral contagion that might
contaminate my child through contact with so
abandoned a woman be guarded against, but we
must also preserve her from the hand of the as-
Sassin
As to the first crime that Sabine committed, I
should explain why I did not invoke against her
the just vengeance of the law. My personal
recollections, the carefully worded testimony of
old Victoire, the sudden and mysterious death of
Dr. Tallevaut, and the knowledge that I have ob-
tained of the instincts and principles of this dan-
gerous woman, leave no doubt in my mind of the
real nature of the crime, or the individuality of
246 A LIETTE.
the criminal. If I let her go unpunished, it is
not because I recoil—terrible as the thought may
be—from the charge of complicity which the
guilty woman would not fail to bring against me,
but because I am persuaded that the proofs of the
crime are, from a legal point of view, insufficient.
The poison—if one must use the fatal word—had
been skillfully selected in order that it might
leave no trace. The testimony of Victoire, so de-
voted to my first wife, and so prejudiced against
my second, would naturally be regarded with sus-
picion. As to the reasons, however powerful,
influencing my personal conviction, they could
never be made the basis of a criminal prosecution.
Even if legal proceedings were resorted to, they
could only result in creating a frightful scandal,
and in dishonoring my name and that of my
child.
What must be done—and, I will add, at any
cost—is to drive this woman away from Paris and
from France forever. To secure this end, we
must not hesitate to make a very considerable
money sacrifice. She loves money. By adding
threats, I think that she can be managed. I in-
tend to make the experiment myself as soon as I
ALIETTE. 24'ſ
shall have recovered sufficient strength and pres-
ence of mind to face her l
This infamous wretch will thus escape all pun-
ishment; but how many have done so before her,
and how many will do so in the time to come! In
proportion as human passions—and especially the
terrible passions of woman—rise above all barriers
and recognize no other law, no other restraint,
than that imposed by the code—in the same pro-
portion does the progress of science infinitely mul-
tiply the means of blinding justice and setting at
naught human statutes!
May 10th.
She died believing me guilty! What a fright-
ful thought ! I can not reconcile myself to it.
A creature so weak, so gentle, so delicate. Yes,
she said to herself, “My husband is a murderer
—what he is giving me is poison, and he knows
it.” And she died with that thought in her mind
—her last thought ! And she will never know
the truth—that I am innocent—that it is tortur-
ing me—that I am beyond conception wretched.
O Lord God all powerful—if thou art—thou
Seest what I suffer! Have pity on me!
What would I not give to believe that all is
248 ALIETTE
not ended between us!—that she sees me—that
she hears me—that she knows the truth!
But I can not—oh I can not
June 1st.
I know what is said of prayer—that it is use-
less—that it is always and of necessity ineffica-
cious, since God—if there be a God—never inter-
feres in human affairs by any special act, that he
does not rule the world through miracles, and
never disarranges the general order to further the
interest of individuals. No doubt; but it seems
to me very harsh and very tyrannical. In the
first place, he who believes in God and proposes
to pray to him, must from that very resolution
feel more directly in sympathy with the Deity,
and should thus from the simple inclination to
pray receive invaluable support and consolation.
But, then, is it certain that prayer is always
in vain? Who can tell ? If prayers are really
childish, because they can not be answered with-
out a disturbance of the divine order in the uni-
verse, can not God reserve, amid his fixed de-
crees, a place for supplication? Without break-
ing his own laws, or working miracles, can he not
act upon the mind and will of him who prays?
ALIETTE. 249
May not a mother who begs for the life of her
child hope that it may be spared to her, not by
any miracle, but through her own loving care,
providentially inspired and directed? Does a man
who asks the Deity to give him faith, to enlighten
him with his grace, ask him to disarrange the
order of Nature, and can he not hope to receive
the light that he invokes’
June.
Her last thought was that I am guilty—and
she will never know the truth ! Everything
seems ended when we die! Everything returns
to the elements whence it came ! How is one to
believe the miracle of a personal resurrection ?
And yet all is miraculous and mysterious around
us, above us, and in us. The entire universe is
only a miracle—that endures 1
Would, then, the second birth of man from
the womb of death be any more marvelous, more
incomprehensible, than his first entry into life?
250 ALIETTE.
THESE were the last lines penned by Bernard
de Vaudricourt. His health, which had long
been seriously affected by anxiety and grief, was
powerless to resist the final terrible ordeal l A
disease, only imperfectly diagnosed, but whose
external symptom was a malignant ulcer in the
throat, assumed in a few days a fatal character.
M. de Vaudricourt, feeling his end nigh, sent
for Monseigneur de Courteheuse. He wished to
die in the faith of Aliette.
Living, the poor child had been vanquished;
dying, she was more than conqueror /
It is almost needless to add that this narrative,
prepared from authentic documents, the leading
facts in which have been scrupulously retained, has
been somewhat altered, owing to the importance of
certain family matters involved, so far as names,
dates, and places are concerned. It will also be
taken for granted that publication would not have
been ventured upon, had the person who figures in
the second part as Mme. de Vaudricourt not long
since disappeared from Parisian circles, and de-
parted to end, far from France, her adventurous
career!
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