BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
(Leisure-Hour Series.)
AROUND A SPRING.
BABOLAIN.




LEISURE HOUR SERIES
AROUND A SPRING
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH
OF
GUSTAVE DROZ
BY
MS.
SECOND EDITION REVISED
NEW YOREK
HOLT & WILLIAMS
1873




Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by
HIOLT & WILLIAMS,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
MIDDLETON & CO., STEREOTYPERS,
BRIDGEPORT, CONN.




AROUND A SPRING.
A FEW years ago, the village of Grand-Fort-lelIaut was totally unknown -.to the outside world.
Lost among the defiles of the mountains, perched
like a raven's nest amidst the branches of an old walnut tree, it was far removed from all progress, a
stranger to political emotions, unmoved by social
changes. The pretty road, adorned with side walks,
gas-burners and tiny fountains, which now leads to it,
turning and winding like a braided ribbon, did not
then exist, and the only communication possible between the valley and the village was a rough, sunken
road, encumbered by stones which the melting snows
and heavy rains yearly deposited, and so steep that
nothing but ox teams could ascend.
About half way up this picturesque, but almost
impassable road, may be seen on the left, nearly concealed by briars, a fine old bridge, which, spite of its
great age, boldly arches the deep ravine, and abuts
upon a dark old doorway almost as ancient as itself,
filled with clefts, surmounted by a large escutcheon,
and studded with enormous nails. This was the entrance to the chateau of Manteigney, whose slender
towers, pointed roofs, narrow, strongly-barred windows, and thick, reddish walls, covered with moss
and ivy, may be indistinctly perceived through the
foliage. It had been deserted fifteen or twenty years
ago, and the sight of the old feudal manor, rising in
stately solitude from the ravine, and silent as a tomb,




4             AROUND A SPRING.
was indescribably mournful to a Parisian eye; so,
after a hasty glance, one would continue his way
without a second look, until he gained the first houses
on the outskirts of the village, which soon appeared,
and instantly effaced the impression produced by the
ch'ateau.
Nothing can be more bright and cheerful than
these pine huts, with their tall brick chimneys mingling with the foliage, large, flat, reddish roofs overshadowing cracked, propped, disjointed balconies, covered with creepers and wild eglantine, little low
doors, and tottering staircases which would creak under the weight of a bird. They stand steeped in the
sunlight, scattered hap-hazard on both sides of the
road, keeping their. balance tolerably well on the
sharp slope, among the gnarled chestnut trees which
shelter them with their huge branches, uphold them
with their gigantic roots, and seem to make a part of
their structure.
I well remember the flock of ducklings which,
startled at my approach the first time I entered the
village, fluttered about among a number of half-naked
babies lying on a clean white cloth, like Homer's
phoci on the shore of the sea. The picture is as perfect as ever in my mind. The screaming babies and
bewildered ducklings tumbling about among the fat
legs and dimpled arms, an old grandmother with outstretched, wrinkled neck surveying the scene through
her spectacles, and threatening the rebels with her
distaff; and a stout man engaged in cutting poles,
laughing till he shook from head to foot. It was a
pleasant incident both to eyes and heart; one felt
that one was in the midst of worthy people.''Even
the sun, which flickered through the foliage as if it
were an immense skimmer, had a specially friendly,
cordial aspect, and seemed to delight in sending a
thousand rays to play over the scene; here, lost in a
mass of fair hair, and yonder in the folds of a blue




ARO UND A SPRING.                5
apron; now gliding over a ploughshare, and now glittering, not without malice, on the scarlet kerchief of
a young girl talking to the shoemaker, who appeared
as if framed in his narrow window, between two pots
of wall-flowers, laughing, jesting, attractive, irresistible. One could not help noticing the sun, for it was
everywhere flashing on the little round glass panes
in their leaden casing, adorning with brilliant colors
the scraps hanging fiom the balconies here and there,
or converting a long bit of straw from some roof into
a golden thread that glittered in the shadow. What
a pretty collection of brilliant hues, and how charming to the eye was the glimpse of the interior of the
blacksmith's shop, with its warm rich tones which
please the eye as much as the fumes of a good ragout
delight the gourmand. The innumerable spider-webs
looked like a milk-white cloud against the smoky
rafters of the roof, and while the brawny neck of the
Cyclops assumed tints of gold and purple beneath
the caress of the sun's rays, the fire in the forge grew
pale and dim.
Spite of the delay, I wish to make one remark
here.- Let those who are in a hurry glide over it
rapidly. Phoebus is not merely the handsome, pompous youth, curled a la Louis XIV., blessing the
world from his gilded chariot, and whirling through
space as fast as his four coursers can carry him. He
likes to peep through the vine branches and pry into
little corners without caring for decorum, or thinking
of his plumes, visit poor people, and thrust his laughing face into attics. If a place pleases him, he forgets
his astronomy, and without the least ceremony interests himself' in botany, and plays with the children,
It must be confessed that in dull weather, GrandFort-le-Haut is sombre, gloomy, rough, and povertystricken; but I first saw it under a cloudless sky, when
all was merriment, all seemed rich, and songs echoed
from every dwelling; the villagers were hammering




6            ARO UND A SPRING.
pounding, working together in the middle of the
rough road,over which no carriage ever passed. The
carpenter's axe flashed like the sword of the archangel; the wheelwright turned his huge screw, pressing
his stout form against it with many a grunt; and from
time to time, farther on, merry rogues sat cracking
their whips astride the greasy machine for shoeing
oxen, which might have been taken for some unknown
tool of the Holy Inquisition. The recollection of
the little scene is still firmly impressed on my memory.
To conclude, Mayor Baravoux was a grocer, and
his assistant kept the little inn, whose fir boughs
might be perceived in the distance. The spit was
seldom turned within its walls, for very few persons
came there; no one, to tell the truth, except the forest-keepers who sometimes stopped while on their
rounds.
After passing through the whole village, a little,
irregular, grass-grown square appears, at one end of
which stands the humble church, worn by time and
the winter snows. Its modest belfry scarcely overtops the lofty chestnut tree growing near the porch.
An unpretending belfry we might well call it. Imagine a noisy child striking a Dutch oven with a pot
ladle. The most remarkable thing about it is, that
the quavering of its faint voice has a simple, hearty
sound by no means inappropriate to the surroundings.
On approaching nearer and looking at the porch,
whose timbers are worn by friction as far as the
height of a man, one can see the great ladder and
fire buckets, the bier on which the dead are borne to
the grave, and the round shelf containing the consecrated bread, stored away in the roof: The floor is
flagged with tombstones,whose inscriptions and sculptured ornaments long since disappeared under the
tread of the congregation. The door is charming
with its triple row of crumbling columns, and single




ARO UJTD A SPRING.              7
arch carved as elaborately as a Byzantine bracelet.
Spite of its decay, the keystone of the arch still revealed traces of a fiend tempting and Christ in the
act of benediction. God had wholly disappeared, and
nothing was left of the devil but an enormous tail,
twisting about between the alternately raised and
hollowed squares which surrounded the whole arch.
Who could the skilful artist, angel or fiend, have
been who carved so exquisitely in this wild place?
These surprises are by no means rare in France. In
the most out-of-the-way wretched corners, may sometimes be found some delicate fragment of art, the forgotten relic of a lost civilization, a mute witness of
a feeling which must have sprung up and died in this
solitary place: but to continue.
On the left of the ancient church, and resting
against it, was a little house built of round stones,
cemented by grayish mortar, and surmounted with a
red roof. It was an humble dwelling,'only one story
in height, with a little blooming garden about ten
yards square at most, in front, and overlooking the ravine in the rear. If you passed it early in the morning, you would probably see a tall man, clothed in
a black robe, perched on a ladder, pruning-knife in
hand, training his grape-vine. The little house was
the priest's dwelling, and the man in black no other
than Abbe Roche, cure of Grand-Fort-le-Haut.
He was about thirty-eight or nine years old, tall,
stout, firmly built, broad shouldered, and possessing
the easy carriage and bold, fiee step which in society
is most frequently only an acquirement obtained by
certain modes of life, but with him was the natural
result of an upright mind and vigorous health lodged
in a robust well-balanced frame. His clear, searching
glance was that of a man who, having nothing to
conceal, looks people in the face wishing to understand them, and only asking to be understood in return. The prominent muscles of his jaw, contracting




8            ARO UND A SPRING.
at the slightest emotion, indicated rare energy, which
was confirmed by the strong white teeth slightly curving inwards. His hair was thick, somewhat rough,
and cut very short.
In character he was benevolent, generous, and
good;but his smile, however frank, always had a somewhat sad expression, and even in his acts of kindness
he was grave, and might easily have been coinsidered
proud and haughty. The true reason was that Abb6
Roche had never known either father or mother, and
submitted to the common law imposed upon those
poor children who, having always been ignorant of
familiar caresses and the frank affection of home, feel
themselves strangers at every board, and maintain a
constant reserve. Such children are long in unfolding their characters; it seems as if an endless regret
was weighing upon them. Kisses are to childhood
what the warm sun is to the young buds of spring.
Plants and men droop sadly in the shade.
Although he cultivated his garden himself, was a
great player at bowls, and had a decided liking for
physical exertion, his sunburnt hands were delicate
if not white, his fingers beautifully formed, straight,
supple and strong, and his nails well shaped. He did
not have the wan, soft hand that is fiequently, and
often incorrectly, associated with churchmen, but
rather that of a gentleman who has handled a sword
in a leathern glove. He should have been seen facing
the wolves that were driven into the village by the
snow, or at the fire in 1859, when three barns were
in a blaze almost at the same time; the whole man
seemed completely transformed. His face assumed
a strange expression of determination and courage
when confronting danger; he threw off his robe, his
eye kindled, his voice became so loud and sonorous
that he might have been taken for some adventurous
leader charging into the midst of the mel6e, and his
orders were obeyed without comment or hesitation.




ARO UND A SPRING.                 9
He himself was the first to rush forward, raising enormous beams, and using his axe like the infuriated
wood-cutter in the ballad. One would have said
that danger attracted him, and he took delight in
wrestling with it. Was it a thirst for self sacrifice,
or an effort to pour forth in a single burst all the pentup fire of his nature? It was impossible to say; for
the danger passed, he regained his customary calmness and re-assumed his every-day manner, accepting
thanks reluctantly, repelling praise, and ashamed of
having been caught in fl(arante clelictu of heroism.
He was indeed very hard to understand, and one
might almost believe there were two natures in him.
He lived simply and humbly, but with a steadfast,
unvarying purpose, and would boldly give his last
sou to help some one poorer than himself, or throw
his cloak in a winter night over some beggar's shivering shoulders with the greatest joy that he could
render the poor wretch some service; but his pleasure was equalled by pride in the thought that he was
conquering himself and disdaining the cold feared by
so many others. In mid-winter he ventured out into
the deep snows with as much eagerness as he had
shown in battling with the conflagration, and when
one saw him returning, holding in his hand an immense staff cut in the forest, with his robe raised to
his waist, his limbs protected by huge woollen stockings, his nostrils reddened by the cold, dilated, and
quivering as he inhaled the frozen air, his game-bag
on his back, and his jaws set, he had a noble intrepidity
of expression that commanded respect.  Hie was
held in high esteem for his strength, skill, and charity,
and if by chance any difficulty arose, was instantly
sought for, as in all circumstances he was known to
be morally and physically a solid man on whom one
could rely; but at the same time, his parishioners felt
that he had a nature which was not akin to theirs, and
loved him with reserve, and at a respectful distance.




10            ARO  UND A SPRING.
Abb6 Roche was born among the mountains, but
the exact place from whence he came no one knew.
Nursed by a peasant woman, and received and educated among the nuns, he had naturally passed from
their hands into those of the priest's, who had soon noticed his keen intellect and good conduct. He had
grown up among these surroundings, the authorization rendered necessary by his birth was obtained,
not without difficulty, and one day he entered the
seminary without either distaste or enthusiasm, as a
child born in a regiment enlists under the flag that
has served him for swaddling clothes. He knew
nothing of the life outside the vessel that had received
him; supposed it to be full of pitfalls and storms,
and was glad to be in a place of safety.
The years spent in the seminary were the only
ones in which he breathed the air of a great city,
but he only caught a glimpse of the world by stealth
and with a thousand scruples, and on leaving his
adopted family, became a curate in a poor parish in
the Landes, where he remained only a short time.
His ecclesiastical superiors esteemed him highly; his
position as an illegitimate child, which had been a
serious obstacle to his taking orders, was now a claim
to the especial consideration of his chiefs. While he
was still very young, they appointed him cur6 of
Grand-Fort-le-Haut, where we find him, after a residence of fifteen years, forgotten, but perfectly contented.  What had taken place in his heart during
this long period? A few of his locks had grown gray,
his eyes were sunken, and his face perhaps retained
some trace of mental struggle, but all storms seemed
to be forever lulled to rest in the calmness of a regular, simple, and busy life.




AROUND A SPRING.               11
II.
The manor of the counts of Manteigney, of which
we caught a glimpse just now among the trees, dates
back for several centuries. Each generation had added something, left some trace of its presence, and as
the site was rather restricted in its limits, the result
was a confused pile of incongruous buildings. It was
here that for centuries the lords of the country had
held their powerful sway. Possessing the whole
valley as far as the market town of Virez, which commanded its entrance, masters of immense forests,
pasture grounds, and estates which covered the side
of the mountain, they had always considered the village of Grand-Fort-le-Haut, which lay at the door of
their dwelling, as a dependence of the chateau. It
was then a mere collection of huts in which the count's
shepherds and wood-cutters were tolerably well lodged under the protecting care of their master. By degrees these few huts had increased in importance,
while the chateau lost its authority, until, aided by
the great revolution, all active life concentrated in
the village; and the manor, sombre, ruined, inert, appeared to be utterly defunct, leaving in the country
only the memory of the legends connected with its
ancient stones, and a sort of mysterious reverence.
Among mountains, memories and impressions are
most tenacious. Ideas are like clouds; they settle
and lodge in crevices, and the tempests which pass
overhead must blow a long time ere they succeed in
uprooting the old beliefs which rest in the clefts of
the rock. Just as the impulses of thought give a
man a quicker gait, so slowness of motion entails
dullness of mind. There is a remarkable connection
between physical and mental activity, between the
manners of a country and the condition of its roads.
Birds, which move so swiftly, ought to think quickly
also; the circulation must be equally rapid in all




12           ARO UND A SPRING.
parts of their organization. They say that imagination has wings. I like to fancy that everything winged possesses imagination. For instance, look at an
ox moving along; must not ideas be tardy in forming within him, and sensations slowly digested in the
brain of the worthy beast, which is supplied with four
stomachs? The ox is conservative, and so is the
mountaineer. It is enough to see the latter ascending a path among the slippery stones, with measured,
regular tread, economical of strength, and lavish of
time, to understand that that man has no feverish
brain. The snow that shrouds the country for five or
six months does not merely imprison plants and rocks
in its hoary mantle, but huts, men's ideas, and traditions which put forth the strongest, most gnarled
roots in this interval of silence and concentration.
Thus in these regions the ideas of the past cling to
man as man clings to the earth, and the old mosscovered pines cleave to the rocks.
Hence it was not very extraordinary that the
chateau of Manteigney should have retained the prestige of former days.  It presented an imposing
aspect, spite of having been abandoned for twenty
years. True, its weather-cocks were on the point of
falling, and its pointed roofs in a most pitiable condition under their veil of moss, but the old walls
were still strong enough to withstand a siege. The
most ancient portion of the chateau was the left-hand
tower, which flanked the principal entrance. It dated from the beginning of the fourteenth century; and
although at a much later period narrow windows
with stone mullions had been inserted, the ground
floor-a low hall which was reached by two wellworn steps, proved, by the ogive moulding of its
ceiling and the shape of its huge chimney-piece, the
correctness of the date just mentioned.
This ground floor had been occupied for more
than twenty years by pere and mere Sappey, to




AROU'ND A SPRING.              13
whom the care of the chateau had been entrusted.
They lived there like mountaineers; had as much wood
as they wanted, the whole chestnut harvest, a cow
and a goat; what more could be desired? During
the first few years after they were installed, they occasionally aired the rooms, swept them at rare intervals, and dusted a few articles of furniture; then finding that it became very difficult to open the windows,
their consciences readily absolved them  from the
duty, and the spiders took up their abode in the lofty
rooms, which no one ever entered.
There was, however, one very curious portion
that was occasionally visited when some tourist or
travelling agent wandered to Grand Fort. This interesting out-of-the-way corner, was the upper portion of a tower, to which the old relies from the arsenal had been banished. It was reached by a little
winding staircase, lighted by large loop-holes, through
which the wind whistled with a doleful sound. The
bats and screech owls fluttered away at your approach, and one really felt relieved of a great weight
when once fairly out of the narrow space. Then, in
the midst of a chaos of scattered fragments, might
be seen two culverins belonging to the former counts,
three or four guns which had been mounted on the
ramparts, notched sabres, a cresset with two burners,
postillion's boots, a spear, half of a cuirass, a fragment
of a helmet, a goodly number of empty bottles, and
one of those huge, broad-backed, old-fashioned armchairs formerly universally seen in our ancestors'
bedrooms, but now discarded by modern luxury.
On leaving the tower, a broad terrace extends to
the left, from which the whole valley can be seen,
and upon which opened in former days the wide folding doors of the state drawing-rooms, and the picture-gallery with its long lines of plumed, cuirassed,
and curled chevaliers, majestic and terrible in their
worm-eaten frames. In confronting these imposing,




14i           ARO UND A SPRING.
highly-colored, haughty, and determined lords, one
would need to have a very firm will not to be sufficiently awed to remove one's cap. The sight of such
a past, still triumphant even beneath its veil of dust,
leads one to think of the present and the future, and
one would ask involuntarily what had become of the
heir, the young Count, Robert Pierre Jean de Manteigney, the direct descendant of these haughty lords,
and the sole hope of his race? It was known that he
was not dead; and the imagination pictured him as
strong and vigorous like his ancestors, a great hunter,
a hard drinker, also, gay and careless in his bearing,
bold, intrepid, and perhaps very gallant to the fair
sex. The latter was one of the characteristics of his
family, at least so several old women with hooked
noses coquettishly pretended to remember. Numerous conjectures had been made, and were still formed, concerning the young count, who was as interesting as an enigma, mysterious as a legend. Where
did he live, what was he doing? He had left the castle,
with tearful eyes, just after his mother's death, when a
lad about ten years old, and had never returned.
The truth was that the orphan was found to be
too poor to make a good figure in his ancestral home,
and also receive an education in accordance with
his rank; therefore a portion of the domain, long
since shrunk to very meagre proportions, was sold,
thus obtaining some little capital with which he
might seek his fortune elsewhere, and the poor child
went to his maternal uncle's, the Marquis de Vernac,
who was henceforth to supply a father's place.
This marquis, who lived with the utmost economy on the remnants of his fortune, was a very peculiar person. He resided in Paris, Rue des LionsSaint-Paul, on the second floor, looking out upon the
court-yard. This was not all; he was excessively
thin, pale, and as closely shaven as a Carthusian friar.
There was something in his personal appearance sug



ARO UND A SPRING.              15
gestive of the sacred Ibis of the Egyptians. Why,
how! I should not know how to describe it, but
there was a resemblance. A -perfect gentleman in
every respect, one felt at first attracted towards him,
but on perceiving at the top of the tall figure a
microscopical little skull, shining and polished as a
billiard-ball, one wondered where the poor marquis
kept his thoughts. The truth is, that want of room
had always prevented his obtaining any very large
store of them. He had few ideas, for he always used
the same methodically classed, carefully arranged,
and strung one after another like the beads in a chaplet, so that when he threw off his night-cap in the
morning, he began his first pater and went on from
ave to ave until evening without the least emotion or
fatigue but a calm conscience, and the feeling that he
had done his duty under the protection of the laws
and the eye of God.
He was, in truth, the last person in the world to
need a description, had it not been for his resemblance to the sacred bird, and an unfortunate mania
for rearing pheasants in his dressing-room, which gave
him some little individuality. When Count Jean
reached Paris, the marquis was electrified by the
thought that he was to occupy a father's place to the
last of the Manteigneys. The old gentleman, clad in
his sky-blue coat and nankeen pantaloons, visited every
college in Paris, and at last, worn out by these expeditions and anxieties, which disturbed his usual mode
of life, placed his nephew at the College Saint Louis,
in memory of the crusades. It was quite time, his
head was bursting! Thenceforward, his task completed, the thought of the lad's education was like another bead to the chaplet in the marquis's cranium, and
every day, at a certain hour, he fell into the habit of
saying: " Thanks to my truly paternal solicitude, my
nephew, Robert Pierre Jean, is receiving an excellent




16           AROUNMD A SPRiNG.
education under the patronage of the best of kings,
Louis IX., surnamed St. Louis. 1215."
The marquis's surroundings were not such as to
excite the imagination of young de Manteigney, or
make him dream of any thing beyond his quiet life;
on the contrary, a Sunday spent in the Rue des LionsSaint-Paul was sufficient to make the collegian joyous
for a week. The class-rooms appeared to him to be
comfortable, sweet and clean; the court-yards, where
their leisure hours were spent, green and airy, in short,
he thought it a model school; but when the first
down of his mustaches began to darken his lip, his
mind became burdened with a heavy sorrow. The
change was a rapid one. He had suddenly remembered that he was a count; he saw again, as if in a
dream, the picture gallery at Manteigney, hung with
the portraits of his ancestors; the plumes, the glittering breast-plates and magnificent wigs, began to
whirl through his brain, and as he thought of his
schoolmates, principally the sons of merchants and
petty shopkeepers, he felt heart-broken. The idea that
he was to take his bachelor's degree on equal terms
with this herd, made the blood mount to his brow;
the uniform, a livery he had worn for seven or eight
years without thinking of complaint, now seemed unendurable, and he felt an intense desire to shake off
these surroundings, and attest his noble birth by outward signs; which was, in truth, a most natural feeling.
Doubtless he succeeded in borrowing money on
the fortune which was soon to come into his possession; for one fine morning he appeared before his
uncle in a white vest and brown pantaloons, armed
with a gold-headed switch, curled, perfumed, and
most elegantly attired. Upon this the marquis, taking it for granted that his nephew's education was
fully completed, thanked Heaven, embraced the
young man, slipped a note for five hundred francs




ARO UND A SPRING.               17
into his vest pocket to assist him on his entrance into
society, and gave him his blessing.
During the following year, the last of the de Manteigney's became totally transformed; he was seen at
the races and the theatre, entered the ranks of those
amiable youths who are met with everywhere, fiequented riding and fencing schools, became an habitue
of the Bois de Boulogne, gave rise to various gossiping tales, and to complete his reputation as a man
of fashion, began to seek for a mistress. Once embarked on this course, he commenced to drain heavily on.his property, and opened the campaign with
the little fortune of which he became absolute master
on attaining his twenty-first year. Thus the last fiiagment of the old domain was squandered, and if to
this be added the modest estate of the Marquis de
Vernac, who died one morning as he was giving his
pheasants their breakfast, the extreme skill with
which the youth manceuvred, and the tact and prudence he displayed in the difficult art of aristocratic
living, his mode of life will be understood, as well as
the reputation of being a thorough leader of fashion
which he so long enjoyed among the brilliant circle
in which he moved.
III.
But none of Count Jean's exploits had ever reached Grand Forte, and the mountaineers, although deprived of the presence of their lord, had lived in
peace for twenty years under the shadow of the old
chateau, when suddenly a report well calculated to excite curiosity, spread through the valley. If public rumor was to be believed, the last of the de Manteigneys,
whom all the men of fifty remembered having seen
when a child, had just made an extremely wealthy
marriage in Paris, and was preparing to return to his
2




18           ARO UND A SPRING.
ancestral home in triumph.  Already strangers had
been seen wandering through the valley and visiting
the village. A benediction, a heavenly dew, a golden rain was about to fall. The chateau was to be
repaired and splendidly furnished; all the estates belonging to the domain were to be purchased, and it
would soon be restored to its original dimensions.
All this must be true; for the notary from Virez,
dressed in a white cravat and red as a turkey cock,
had been seen in twenty places at once, and had even
been galloping through the fields, an event hitherto
unprecedented.
While these interesting pieces of news were in
circulation, commented and enlarged upon by every
one, an architect arrived; the doors and windows
were thrown open, and the workmen began their
task. Soon nothing was spoken of in the mountains
but the count and countess, the splendor of their surroundings, and the wonderful improvements of which
the chateau was to be the object. The noble couple
must have been in haste, for the work was pushed on
with the greatest eagerness. An army of laborers,
hired in the neighborhood, plied pickaxe and shovel
day and night to make the horrible road that was
mentioned, passable. Nothing was to be seen but
slaters, suspended by ropes from the roof, painters
busily occupied with the window-sashes and railings,
gardeners arranging the flower-beds on the lawn, carpenters and joiners repairing the stables. Every day
huge carts drawn by four oxen came into the courtyard, and large crimson arm-chairs, with gilt feet, upholstery hangings, and hosts of beautiful things were
unpacked. At the end of a few months the chateau
was placed in a suitable condition to receive its master, and the people of Grand Fort were thinking of
preparing a reception for the count and countess
equal to the grandeur of the occasion. Already a
triumphal arch, fireworks, speeches, and baskets of




ARO UND A SPRING.              19
flowers were discussed, but the arrival of a letter destroyed all their magnificent plans.
M. de Manteigney expressed, in a few words, a
very decided preference for entering his chateau
without any flourish of trumpets, as if he had left
it only the day before. To be doubly certain, he refused to mention the time of his intended arrival.
Whenever that was to be, a vanguard of servants in
red small-clothes and gold-laced caps now took possession of their own quarters, the stables were filled,
and the old kitchen chimney sent forth a noble volume of smoke. The excited villagers and their agitated mayor waited all one week, then a second passed away, and wearied by the delay, each resumed his
usual occupations. On Sunday evening after vespers,
the lovers of bowl-playing-and they are passionately fond of it in those regions-who usually joined the
cur6, having assembled under the great trees in the
enclosure, Abbe' Roche unbuttoned the lower part
of his cassock, seized his two balls, and the game began. It had continued about half an hour, when the
cur6, returning after a splendid hit, found himself
face to face with a singular little personage, who had
just entered the enclosure unseen by the players.
This puny little man, with narrow, sloping shoulders, was dressed from head to foot in white flannel trimmed with blue braid. His long, thin neck,
rose from a turned-down, yellowish shirt-collar, whose
points were adorned with dogs' heads. A pink and
blue cravat was knotted under it, and among its folds
glittered a gold scarf-pin, the design of which represented a horse's saddle and two dangling stirrups.
His pants were extremely tight, and fitted closely over
his microscopical boots with their very high heels, covered with sky-blue cloth, ornamented with large pearl
buttons, and embroidered with wonderful skill, stitched, embossed-they were certainly jewels of boots.
Two locks of curled red ehaii fill below the hat,




20            ARO UND A SPRING.
which shaded a weary, worn, sallow face, furrowed
by the sickly wrinkles which are not caused by old
age. Add to the picture a pair of red mustaches
coquettishly twisted at the ends, and gloves, the color of blood, thrust half way into one of his pockets.
Standing proudly with his legs stretched very far
apart, the little man held a wonderfully tiny cigarcase of Java straw in his white, well-kept hands, and
by dint of making a most hideous face, kept a square
eye-glass without setting or cord in one eye, and
looking smilingly at the good cur6, who was gazing
at him in astonishment, said: "The deuce take it,
but you have a strong wrist, Monsieur le cur6. You
certainly hurled that well! "
Abb6 Roche felt the flush that mounted to his
very temples, and finding no answer for the moment,
allowed his grave, searching glance to wander over
this singular person, who still smiled with the most
perfect indifference. The other players had stopped
in amazement.
" Go on with your game, this is Sunday, I believe!
Your roads are in a pitifil condition," continued the
person in white flannel, looking at his precious boots,
which were slightly soiled, after which he placed a
cigarette between his lips, took a little silver-gilt tinder box from his pocket. and carefully arranged the
red wick with as little embarrassment as if he had
been alone in his sleeping-room.
" Do you belong to this part of the country, sir?"
asked the cur6,who began to be somewhat irritated
by this excessive self-possession.
The smoker slowly lighted his cigar, turning it
between his thumb and finger, then having poured
forth a huge cloud of smoke through his nostrils, replied, with the most perfect sangfioid: "Yes, I live
in the chateau yonder on the right, about ten minutes
walk from here."




AROUND A SPRING.                21
"Is it possible that you are Count Jean de Manteigney?"
"Jean de Manteigney, as you say. Then you
know me?"
"Excuse me, M. le comte, I —"
And so saying, the cur6 dropped the ball he was
holding, while all the mountaineers bared their heads
as if at church. "-Excuse you for what? " rejoined
the count, "pray continue your game, my dear cur6,
I am no spoil-sport!"  And he pushed back his little
hat with a gesture both patronizing and familiar, carelessly thrust his hands into his pockets, and began to
hum, still smoking and balancing himself on his heels.
" Tell them to go on, my dear cur6. I like to see
these honest fellows play. There is a splendid looking one, he has the strength of a bull. And then
they are all looking at me-it is impertinent."
" Come, Bernard, it is your turn to play," said the
Abb6, and then added: "' Is it long since you arrived,
MI. le comte?"
" Only three or four hours, and I began by taking
a walk in this direction. I like the country very
much, it is pleasant and pretty. And the wine, how
is the wine? Do the vines promise a good harvest?
Faith! that is an important matter."
"Yes, M. le comte. Just now the —"
"Ah! I am  delighted to hear it. People ought
to remember that wine is the traveller's staff and the
old man's milk. Stop, there is that young bull throwing his ball. A fine fellow! How old is he?"
"Twenty, at most."
"It is wonderful. And the chestnuts, my dear
cure, what about the chestnuts? "
" Tlhey will be very plentiful," replied the cur6,
biting his lips.
"That is capital; better and better. Chestnuts
are not to be despised! It is your turn to play, cure."
Abbe Roche took his position carefully, and




22           AROUND A SPRING.
hurled the ball, but, a most unusual thing with him,
missed his aim. He was confused by the gaze of
that grey eye twinkling behind its tiny glass; and
the careless ease with which the little man addressed
him redoubled his embarrassment.
"Ah! you have missed your stroke, my dear cur6."
"Yes," replied the priest, who was holding his
second ball in his hand, and saw no cause for smiling.
" That is unlucky. Ah! I was forgetting to tell
you that the countess talks of nothing but you —she
is really wild to see you. It is,'My cur6! where is
my cur6?'-You are expected."
" I will pay my respects to the countess to-morrow."
" This evening, if you like. You will be welcome
whenever you come; for my part, I don't like ceremony.  You see I am perfectly frank.  Farewell,
don't trouble yourself to attend me to the gate."
And, as a child finding himself in the way, stared
at him with wide open eyes, he exclaimed: " What
are you doing there, little rogue, instead of going to
school? Ah! to-day is Sunday! Stop, here is something to buy gingerbread," and tossing two or three
silver coins into the little one's lap, he went away
whistling.
When he was fairly out of sight, all the mountaineers looked at each other as people gaze after some
accident has happened. This was evidently not the
count they had expected. It seemed to them utterly
impossible that this little, thin, puny man, with his
scanty reddish mustaches, could be the true lord of
the chateau; the rightful descendant of the rude
counts of former days. In regions where every one
toils and struggles, physical weakness easily passes
for infirmity, and a sickly appearance is considered
something worthy of ridicule. As to the cur6-was
it on account of his herculean frame?-He had never
found any thing but compassion in his heart for frail




AROUND A SPRING.              23
bodies and pallid faces. Good Christian as he was in
other respects, certain familiarities annoyed him extremely; he felt at such times as if a tempest were
raging within him, and if any one had ever dealt him
a blow, it is very probable that the person would have
been instantly knocked down; never would he have
dreamed of turning the other cheek.
Besides being personally wounded by the count's
manners, they had rudely dispelled his illusions;
Abb6 Roche had always respected the nobility, not
because he believed that moral virtue and physical
beauty were the exclusive heritage of a certain class
of men; but there was something of the poet and
artist within him, and he found it consoling to think
that there were certain families, ennobled by time
and placed above all ambition and poverty, who were
the depositaries and guardians of certain special virtues. He did not reason upon these ideas, but believed in them instinctively, and enjoyed them.
IV.
It was not without a certain degree of embarrassment that our cur6 prepared to visit the chateau the
following day. He spread out on his narrow bed his
Sunday cassock and a new band, and looked at the
big silver watch destitute of chain and key, which he
always carried in his pocket.
He did not wish to reach Manteigney until after
dinner, in order to avoid the invitation they would
have been sure to give him, and which he greatly
dreaded. He remembered how he had been wounded by the count's words:  "Once for all, my dear
cure, there is a seat at table for you."  That was not
the only sentence which recurred to his mind as a
disagreeable recollection. "The countess is wild tc
see you.  My cur6-where is my cur6?"  Surely
there was no reason that this great lady should be so




24           AROUND A SPRING.
extremely anxious to make his acquaintance.  Perhaps she expected to find this cur6, who had never
left his mountains, a half savage, a boor, who had not
a word to say, and doubtless wished to amuse herself at his expense.  What other explanation could
be given to words which bordered upon impertinence,
"My curd! where is my curd?"
While carefully shaving himself, a multitude of
thoughts passed through his brain, and he became so
vexed at his own agitation that he was on the point
of putting on his old cassock, merely as a protest
against the weakness. He was thoroughly ashamed;
yet at the same time thought of the hour.  "They
must dine at five or half past; it is more than probable, because the mayor and notary of Virez have dinner at that hour. Now by arriving at half-past six I
shall find them in the drawing-room, or else walking
on the lawn-or perhaps sitting in a group-sitting
in a group!"
And this Hercules, who would not have trembled
if a bear had stood in his path, shivered at the thought
of all those eyes bent upon him.  How would they
receive him, how could he endure the curious, mocking gaze of the countess, when she should at last see
the cure of her dreams?
At that moment some one knocked at the door.
"Who is there?" said the priest, without turning.
" Tell me, M. le cure," replied mere Hilaire from
the next room, "are you going to wear your silver
buckles?"
" Why should I? Is to-day Easter?"
"Bless me, you can do as you like, M. le cur6, but
I would wear them if I were in your place. Nobles
are accustomed to have people spruce up a little
when they go to visit them."
" Well, do as you please."




AROUND A SPRING.               25
" Have I vexed you, M. le cur6? " said the good
old woman timidly firom behind the door.
" No, my good mother. Get the buckles ready,
get them ready, if you think it best: but make haste."
This mere Hilaire was a little, plump old woman
with very bright eyes, quick, active, energetic, trotting
about with little short steps, rummaging, searching
everywhere, and adoring her cur6.  She lived in the
next house, but was very rarely found there, so busy
was she in taking care of the priest's dwelling, preparing his meals, mending his linen, and putting patches into his cassocks when they needed it, which was
very often. She worked with so much skill and patience, tenderness one might almost call it, that it was
almost impossible to see the traces of her labor, and
Abbe Roche had never perceived them. She did not
wish any one to be able to say: "Monsieur le cur6
wears patched cassocks."  People can have self-respect, if they are not rich. She also kept the accounts
for the priest, who paid no attention to them, and
merely took his money without looking to see how
much remained in the little drawer, into which, more
than once, the good old woman had slipped two or
three of her one-crown pieces, without any one's
being the wiser.  Yet she had a warm affection for
her poor crowns; but the most important matter was
that MI. le cur6 should not be restricted in his almsgiving, and that no poor people could say that, they
had knocked at his door and been sent away with
empty hands.
MeSre Hilaire's affection for Abb6e Roche, and the
familiarity with which she addressed him, may be explained in a few words: the old peasant woman had
been the nurse of the foundling who afterwards became cuir6 of Grand Fort. She had filled a mother's
place to him; and when he left her to be under the
charge of the nuns, wept almost as bitterly as if her
own child had been taken away.  Other griefs, still




426           AROUND A SPRING.
heavier than that, had afterwards afflicted the good
woman: she lost her only son, and five years after,
her husband was killed by the fall of a pine tree which
he was in the act of felling. She was thus left alone
in her old age, in the tiny house at Virez where she
had always had the society of her family; she had
striven to endure her solitude, and had borne her fate
for several years; but when she learned that the only
being that was left to her, the child of her adoption,
was settled as cur6 three leagues from Virez, at the
other end of the valley, she quickly set out for Grand
Fort, saying to herself: " I shall not die alone, one of
the three who were lost to me is restored." She pictured him as the child whom she had seen in former
days, playing before the house and dabbling in the
mud with the ducks, or as the tall stalwart youth who
had met her when she went to visit him before he
entered the seminary.  She hastened to Grand Fort,
agitated by these recollections, but when, having
knocked at the door, she found herself face to face
with a full grown man of grave demeanor and serious expression, she stood still in amazement, knew
not what to say, and felt the tears rushing into her
eyes. Her dream had vanished, her milk pail was
dashed into a thousand pieces.  Yet she could trace
the features of the child and youth in the austere
countenance of the priest; there was the thin, prominent nose, broad noble forehead, and kind, frank
glance. She recognized them all, and said to herself:
4' If he would only smile, I should see the little dimple near his mouth-I am sure it is still there."
But he did not smile, did not even recognize her,
for the old woman had been terribly changed by grief.
After an instant's pause, she made a great effort and
said:
"I am mere Hilaire, Monsieur le cur6; meIre Hilaire from Virez."
Ah! there was no hesitation!  She felt herself




AROUND A SPRING.               27
suddenly raised from the ground and clasped so closely that she could scarcely breathe, and murmured:
"Monsieur-Monsieur le curd! you will — you will
crush me, my bov."
And Abb6 Roche, kissing her on the forehead,
said softly:
"Dear, dear mother, is it really you.?  Oh! my
dear good mother  "
He no longer looked grave; great hot tears flowed
from his eyes, and yet at the same time he was smiling so happily that the little round dimple in his cheek
appeared once more, to the great delight of the good
woman.
"And what brings you here, mere Hilaire? " said
the abb6 after a moment's silence.
"Well! Monsieur le cuir6, it was the pleasure of
seeing you, and then, —it is stupid, I know, but I
dare not say more!-I must tell you that God has
left me all alone; my boy is dead, and my husband
was killed by a pine tree that fell and crushed him ten
years ago on the eve of Saint John.  You did not
know that, Monsieur le cure?"
"Why no, no. What a sad misfortune! "
" Yes, indeed, it is terrible! You do not remember when pore Hilaire used to take you to gather faggots, and the tricks you played upon him.  Excuse
me, Monsieur le cur6, I am tallking of things that
happened so long ago."
"Go on, my friend, you see that I like to listen."
"Since that time I have had no one; but the good
God has restored you to me! Well, I said to myself:
He has no one —and —and people who are all aloneit is natural-sometimes take pleasure in living together-and then, if Monsieur le cure had no servant, I-"
Abb6 Roche looked at the peasant with an expression of such deep emotion that she cast down her
eyes.




28           AROUND A SPRING.
"Then you love me?" asked Abb6 Roche.
"Have I not nursed thee, tell me; have I not
brought thee up? Do I love him? It makes no difference if thou art cure, and a strong man, and much
nearer God than I, of course thou art still my.boy.
You must not mind my talking, Monsieur le cure, I
cannot help it; I do not know how to express myself
very well, I keep saying thou. Oh, dear! I have
called him thou! but I will take great care in future."
" Speak to me as you have always done, I entreat
you."
She suddenly burst into tears, and clasping her
hands, exclaimed: " Oh! Lord, is he not kind, and
not at all proud. Well, Monsieur le cur6, it shall
only be when there is nobody here, and we are all
alone in a family circle, because now only we two relatives are left. Ah, no! he is not proud."
She said all this rapidly, with deep emotion, stopping in the middle of her sentences to take breath.
" But when anybody is present, we will no longer be
relatives. He must keep his station, that is only right;
and when they are gone, ah! indeed, then I will say:' thou'-when you like, Monsieur le cure, but if ever
you are disturbed by it, you shall say:' Hush, mere
Hilaire,' and I will be silent; it will not vex me in
the least, my boy, my son. I have nobody in the
world but you! Let me kiss your dear, beautiful
hands. Heavens, what a strong man! and how good
he must be, not to show me to the door after talking
to him in such a way. A cure! my boy a cure! "
Abbe Roche understood the loving delicacy of the
good woman's words, in thus constantly alluding to
the imaginary ties of relationship which united her to
him. The poor man experienced a most tender emotion, all the more profound because, while recalling
certain private sorrows of which he had never complained, she applied the most efficacious of all remedies; but his/:tigorous nature rarely gave way to




ARO UND A SPRING.             29
tears, and the sobs died away in his throat, rising and
falling like the bubbles of air on the surface of water.
"Now, Monsieur le cur6," continued the old
woman, whose face was radiant with delight, "your
house is very convenient, but it must be set in order,
and you have no time to see to it. You must have
curtains at the windows, and who will put them up?
Well, and the clothes to wash, and everything to be
taken care of; and the soup to be made. You will
say that you are going to have a servant; that is all
very well. But servant-maids are an article in which
there is great choice-a very great choice: one breaks
everything, another does not know how to do anything, and a third asks for forty crowns as one would
ask for a glass of water. This is not all; you must
not have a very young person. It is all nonsense to,-ay that God does not interfere in these matters, and
that He has nothing to do with what goes on here below. In short, this is enough; you, Monsieur le cur6,
do not want a young girl. I have been thinking over
the pros and cons of the matter before I came, and I
don't believe you could find any one who would suit
you as well as I. Besides, there is another thing
about it, I don't ask anything, but give my services;
I have a little competence, and have no need of the
forty crowns you would pay another person, so we
save that much. I am an old woman; it will amuse
me and occupy my mind to take care of the house;
I will sell my property at Virez, and buy a little cottage close by you, with a bit of a garden and a small
shed for my donkey —and then I shall be sure of dying near you, Monsieur le cure."
Thus mere Hilaire became the abb6 Roche's housekeeper; and the reason she just urged him so perseveringly to wear the silver buckles, was because she
had given them to her cur6 on the tenth anniversary
of her coming to his house.




30           ARO UND A SPRING.
V.
When he had completed his toilet, the cur6 of
Grand Fort set out on his way to the chteau. The
sun, already low in the heavens, was glittering on the
icy peaks, outlined against the horizon like airy festoons of silver lace. For the first time in many years,
he passed on without even casting a glance upon the
majestic scenery. The door of the chateau stood
open. The priest, having entered its arched portal,
stopped for an instant at the room occupied by pere
and mere Sappey, by no means sorry to delay his
visit a few moments. The two old people were in
gala dress, sitting side by side in one corner of the
apartment on an old bench, blackened by use. It was
the only piece of their old-fashioned country firniture that still remained. The ground floor of the old
tower was wholly changed in appearance, and now
resembled the lodge of a well-trained concierge. It
contained two large arm-chairs of grayish wood in
the Louis XVI. style, covered with lemon-colored
Utrecht velvet. A square mat was carefully placed
before each seat. The mountaineer's chest had disappeared, and was replaced by a commode of wrought
copper, on which stood two superb candlesticks, one
on each side of a clock, representing the temple of
Love resting on a globe. Surrounded by this cast-off
splendor, selected hap-hazard from the ancient furniture of the chateau, pere and mere Sappey seemed to
have lost their individuality; their whole expression
was one of mingled surprise and sorrow, which might
be taken for joy or despair, as one pleased.
On perceiving the cur6, who also had not his ordinary manner, instead of going to meet him and inviting him to enter, as usual, they both rose with a
little company smile and stood motionless, almost as
yellow as the velvet arm-chairs.




ARO UD A SPRING.                31
" Well, pore Sappey, are you happy?"
"Oh! certainly, Monsieur le cur6," replied his
wife, without raising her voice, " certainly, of course
he is."
" You are no longer alone, and your room has
been very handsomely furnished."
"Oh! bless me, yes, Monsieur le cur6, bless me,
yes. And our masters belong to the very best society. The countess's papa-ah, how affable and pleasant he is to everybody! Only —take care how you
walk on the mats," added mere Sappey, addressing
her husband, who had made a step forward, "you
will flatten them, and then you will have a quarrel
with the steward.  Ah! Dufour is no joker, you
know that very well."
" You told me that you were very well pleased,
mere Sappey," continued Abb6 Roche, "but you added only. What is it that you lack? "
"Nothing at all, Monsieur le cur6.  They give
us everything we need. M. Dufour does not even
wish me to make my husband's soup. He says that
if I cook, it would make an odor-what in the world
did he call it? Oh! he says that it would make an
infectious odor; I don't know exactly what he means
by that; but we are supplied with food, and well supplied, I can tell you! Too well, for we have nothing
to do. It is so tiresome to do nothing! "
"Hush! you have been told that we are paid fqr
doing that," said the mountaineer, gravely,
"I'm not saying any harm, only it's tiies(nae to
stay here, sitting still all day long. It gives one a
pain in the back-but we are very well off alUl the
same; only-"
"There is your only again, mnre Sappey," said the
cur6. "Tell me, quickly, what is the matter?"
"Well, this is what troubles rae; you needn't wink
at me-I can tell Monsieur le cur6.'Well, then, the
steward said-he meant well, of course-that pere Sap



32           AROUNID A SPRING.
pey must not be dressed in this way any longer;
that-in short, a quantity of things; and they are going to put my husband into red clothes like the others,
and it has such an effect upon me! It is just as if they
said,' You must be married to another man.'"
The old mountaineer muttered: "How silly these
women are. Good Heavens, how silly they are!"
"And the Lord knows that the men are vain
enough! It is because there are brass buttons, and
gold lace around the pockets that he wants to wear
that coat. He is dying to get it on."
" Why, mere. Sappey," said the cur6, " no one can
compel your husband to wear a livery against his will.
You are anxious without cause. Are the count and
countess in the chateau?"
" Yes, Monsieur le cur6, you will find them  on
the lawn with the others."
As the priest left the tower, the good woman
turned to her husband: " There, you have again forgotten to pull the handle. Don't I tell you that you
will get us into trouble? "
She rushed forward, striding over the little mats,
to a copper button which projected from the wall,
and the ringing of a bell was heard in the court-yard.
A footman in small-clothes and white stockings instantly appeared at the head of the stairs, and walked
on before the priest, who began to regret that he had
not left the huge cane he was in the habit of carrying,
in pe're Sappey's charge.
While he was crossing the ante-chamber and the
splendidly decorated drawing-room, he could not help
observing the superb lackey who was leading the
way. He was a noticeable person, and moved with
striking ease and dignity of bearing. His complexion
was pale, his expression grave; his carefully arranged
hair was powdered, his stiff, light whiskers brushed
back on either side of his noble countenance, and the
shining pumps he wore had such delicate soles and




AROUND A SPRING.                33
were so handsomely shaped, that on looking down at
his own shoes, which left much to be desired in point
of beauty, the cur6 felt an involuntary sense of mortification-even heroes are not exempt from such follies-yet he was well pleased. The glittering ornaments, the suits of armor resting against the walls,
the hangings, embroidered with the count's armorial
bearings, the stately portraits, proud witnesses of a
venerable past, even the valet, who had acquired something of the characteristics of the aristocracy while
in their service-all was a fitting expression of the mnaj
esty by which he wished to see the nobility surrounded. Trhe apartments had an air of grandeur and magnificence, and were, in truth, an appropriate residence
for these noble counts with their imposing appearance.
The valet opened a glass door, which admitted
them  to the lawn, and the priest, advancing, heard
such shouts of laughter as sometimes rise fiom the
grounds of a boarding-school during the hours of recess. In the centre of the lawn seven or eight persons, dressed in light colors, were playing hot cockles
with the most total absence of restraint. The cur6,
somewhat bewildered by the unexpected sight, turned involuntarily towards the dignified footman, who
was perfectly calm, grave, quiet, and impassible.  On
finding himself in the presence of people whom he
Lad surprised in more or less ridiculous attitudes, and
who were clothed in strange, fantastic costumes, the
priest suddenly and completely regained his selfcommand, his face assumed its usual grave expression, and he descended the flight of three steps like
the statue of the commandant.
" Ladies and gentlemen," cried the Count de Manteigney, twirling round on one foot, "allow  me to
present our beloved pastor."  This sally produced a
very different effect from what he had anticipated,
and at the glance which Abb$ Roche cast around him,
3




34           ARO UND A SPRING.
the laughter died away, the eye-glasses dropped, and
the gentlemen bowed courteously. The ladies welcomed the new-comer by a slight motion of the head,
leaning back, almost reclining in their huge arm-chairs.
One of them-the young countess-who seemed almost lost among the flounces and puffs of her white
dress, raised a beautiful arm which looked almost
bare in its transparent sleeve, and familiarly, as one
convent friend would greet another at the prefet's
ball, held out her little gloved hand to the amazed
Abbe Roche. It was the first time in his life that he
had encountered such an apparition. On certain days,
when his mind was disturbed, he had perhaps caught
a glimpse of attractive. tempting images in some fleeting dream! but the charms of this countess, whom
he saw with his own eyes, could even touch with his
own hand-for she extended hers-surpassed all that
his imagination had ever pictured.
She did indeed possess a singular, most unusual
style of beauty, whose wonderful brilliancy the priest
could only explain to himself by attributing it to the
influence of a heavenly soul, which was faithfully mirtored in the fair face. Her hair arranged in a multitude of light curls, and most skilfully knotted together, was of the light red and golden hues that one
sees in a field of wheat when the sun is setting. And
while her face was of the pure, creamy whiteness that
one would not suppose the human skin could possess,
her eyebrows were extremely dark, almost black, and
as if traced by an artist's pencil, formed a most perfect arch and ended in a delicate line at the temples.
Her eye had a deep, searching expression, caused by
the dark tinge that surrounded it and gave it a mysterious glance, though without diminishing its brilliancy. The lashes increased this effect: they might
have belonged to some Indian woman adorned for a
sacrifice; unusually black, fierce looking, yet soft and
curved so that the tips, of remarkable length, almost




ARO UND A SPRING.             35
touched the extreme point of the wonderful eyebrows
and seemed to mingle with them.  She was most
beautiful, but appeared like a vision, so that one was
both uneasy and attracted.  In spite of one's self,
one strove to understand the secret of these charms,
and could not take one's eyes from the living enigma.
Abbe' Roche, who was less acquainted than most
men with the tricks and stratagems of modern coquetry, felt, in spite of his apparent gravity of demeanor, an irresistible curiosity. Was this an angel
descended among us for a moment? was it some renowned fairy, escaped from an ancient legend; or
perhaps the countess was angel and fairy in onesuch phenomena are sometimes seen.
" Ah! my dear good cure', how glad I am to see
you! " She spoke very rapidly, and made a thousand
little gestures, most charming in themselves, but
wholly unnecessary to convey the meaning of her
words. "The count must have told you that you
are never out of my mind; I have dreamed of you
constantly; do not make excuses, but give me your
hand. Oh, you shall not escape me, rely upon it;
give me your hand. Pardon me if I cut short the introductions, there is nothing more stupid."
Then hastily removing her glove she waved her
little hand, pink and white like her face, full of blue
veins, and loaded with rings, around the circle, say
ing: "The Count de Manteigney you already know;
Mlime. and Mille. de Rougeon, of whom I am very
fond; Monsieur de Rougeon, with the black mustache, husband and father of the two ladies, whom I
also like —sometimes; don't interrupt me, TM. de
Rougeon, I see you want to propose an amendment.'Let me see, who else? ah! papa, whom you see yonder in a white waistcoat, he's rather stout, poor papa.
He is talking just now with young Claudius, one of
our Parisian beaux, with the curled whiskers, blue




36           AROUND A SPRING.
cravat, etc., a horrid creature-I say so because he
isn't here."
"I hear you, countess," said Claudius, who was
standing at some five or six paces distance.
"Then I will add that I like him very much, all
the same, and he plays hot cockles as if he had invented it. By-the-way, wouldn't you like to play a game,
Monsieur le cur6? You see we are very unceremonious."
"Oh! my dear," murmured Mme. de Rougeon,
waving her little fan with an expostulating air.
"C Well, what! my dear friend? Is there any game
less objectionable than hot cockles? Besides, I don't
insist upon it. People need not play unless they wish.
Monsieur le cur6, put your little switch in a corner,
and sit down here near me. I ani so anxious to have
a serious conversation with you.  There are many
poor people to be helped in your parish, are there
not? "
" Some few, yes, Madame, but-"
"Well, I had taken it into my head that there
were more; it is a settled idea.  I shall visit the
mountains myself from top to bottom, on a pretty little white donkey that I shall keep expressly for that
purpose, with scarlet rosettes under its ears. How
should one spend one's life if not in charity, and for
what will God hold one accountable, if not for the
good one can do!"
Abbe Roche was deeply moved by the last words.
Was it not evident that they were those of a noble
soul? Let us add that they fell fiom the countess's
lips with a most musical intonation, and that her
voice possessed delicate shades and unexpected modulations, whose charm would be felt by any ear, however uneducated and unsympathetic it might be. So
sweet a voice must be the expression of moral beauty.
And yet, if this young woman was an angel, as every
thing tended to prove, why were her arms almost




ARO UND A SPRlyG.               37
bare in the gauze sleeves which merely seemed to
idealize their beauty? Perhaps it was on account of
the heat: it was, certainly, extremely warm.  Was it
also a matter of chance that the upper part of the
waist of her dress had no lining, and revealed the
outline of her figure, which irresistibly attracted the
gaze. Wherefore this display of charms, which were
useless to a person who wished to devote her life to
the relief ofthe poor? What a strancrge mystery! Was
it also by accident that, while enfgaged in conversation, she thrust out her foot until a large portion was
visible of her white silk stocking'with its open-work
embroidery, so open that the white became pink,
either from shame at be'ng observed, or because the
limb it covered without concealin~g, appeared through
its thousand accommodating meshes? Was it a matter of accident that the young woman tapped her
little foot with an impatience for which there was no
apparent cause, attractingr the attention with innocent
or most consummately artful carelessness, to a tiny
pearl gray boot, which might have belonged to a child'
with heels so high and narrow that it would be impossible for any thing but a bird to keep its balance
on them. The priest was thinking of all this, while
the countess was talking.
" And how can one conceive of the lives of these
poor mountaineers, who spend half their time under
the snow?" she continued. " And, oh dear! they rear
children, notwithstanding all this:-it is an unheard
of thing!"  A general burst of laurghter roused the
cur6 from his abstraction, and he smiled without having comprehended a single word.
"What is there so very extraordinary in what I
said?" asked Mime. de Manteigney, without showing
the slightest embarrassment.  " People must have no
heart to laugh at such misfortunes; but tell me, my
dear cur6, is there no way of melting this dreadful




38           AROUND A SPRING.
snow or sweeping it off, or —we must find some
means of removing it, for your situation is frightful."
At that moment the two wings of the glass door
were thrown open, and a steward, dressed in black
from head to foot, like a lawyer, announced that dinner was served. Abbe' Roche felt his color rise.
Doubtless they would think that he had chosen the
dinner hour intentionally as the time to pay his visit;
but how was he to suppose that the meal was served
after seven o'clock.
" Come, let us go in to dinner, my dear cure, we
shall be able to talk better there." Abbe Roche's
embarrassment was always manifested by a chilling
reserve, which would naturally be misunderstood by
those who were not thoroughly acquainted with him.
He excused himself in a very few words, and in such
a manner that no one attempted to press the matter.
The countess, after making a pretty little grimace,
cried: "Ah! well, this is only the beginning.  So
you will not stay. I want you to visit us, Monsieur
le cure, and as you are so fond of ceremony, I will
send you an invitation to dinner on handsome, enamelled paper."
While Abbe' Roche was returning home, with
downcast eyes, thinking of what he had just seen, the
inmates of the chateau took their seats around the
large table.
"Do you know, my cure' is very good looking?"
said the countess; " he's not at all the kind of person
I expected."
" He looks like a magistrate on the bench," murmured the count's father-in-law, blowing upon his
spoonful of soup; and Imme. de Rougeon, who had
the stiff manners one might attribute to some carven
saint, replied: " It would be desirable that all magistrates had his noble, unaffected bearing and face. The
cure of this village is a magnificent looking man, who
must be remarkably dignified at the altar: one in




AROUND A SPRING.                39
whom Saint Thomas Aquinas would take pride, it is
no exaggerated praise to say that."
"That is exactly like ladies," sighed Monsieur de
Rougeon, " they judge a priest by the-what shall I
call it? by the beauty of his form, if I may dare to
say so."
"I should not have dared to say it, papa, and that
is the way papas disturb young girls' minds by not
being sufficiently guarded in their conversation."
" Angele!"
" Papa."
" If you were not such a lively child, your-I don't
know exactly how to express myself-your badinage
would be embarrassing, little mischief. It is by the
moral virtues that you should first judge a man of
caracttre sacre."
" Good! papa is swearing."
And placing a tortoise-shell eye-glass on her little
retroussee nose, Mlle. de Rougeon, with a saucy air,
cast a merry glance at the guests, who all laughed
heartily.
" As for me," said the count, addressing his wife,
" I was by no means pleased with your cure; he is a
pedant, and I should be surprised if this carabinier in
disguise turned out to be any better than a simpleton."
" Faith, perhaps you are wrong my dear fellow,"
observed M. Claudius; " but it is my firm intention
to make him my intimate friend.  He will help me in
my researches in this region, and I am sure that there
are wonderful things to be collected, especially rare
china-I already scent old china. Ah! by-the-way, I
have put aside a little red copper kettle, adorned with
the Manteigney arms. It is an exquisite thing-pure
Louis Quinze. The savages were going to put it on
the fire. If you are willing, we will make an exchange. I know that this Vandalism with regard to
relics is the most common thing in the world, but it




40            ARO UND A SPRING.
alweays vexes me. You have seen my Henri Second
corkscrew?"
" Certainly, it is at Cluny?"
"Not yet; they are such obstinate people! We
have been at a stand-still for six months about twentvfive louis. They offer me a hundred, but I want a
hundred and twenty-five."
"You are making a good bargain, my friend."
"Certainly I am. I paid a little more than two
francs for it, in an out-of-the-way inn near Orleans."
A  general laugh again resounded through the
room.  " Claudius is a singular fellow.  What a faculty he has for collecting euriosities. Nothing escapes
him!"
And Claudius, as soon as silence was restored, began the story of the Henri Second corkscrew, relating
with much wit and animation the numberless stratagems to which he had been compelled to resort in'
order to obtain the precious treasure.
VI.
Viscount Claudius was a gentleman who belonged
to the most fashionable society. He was born-at
least so he said-with soft ftir hair, a very keen intellect, and great worldly experience.  He also possessed principles of most- unbounded liberality, and
had, besides, unlimited credit at his tailor's.  Ile was
wonderfully accomplished and gifted.  Nature lingered over her finishing touches to this voung man, correcting the contours, retouching the half-tints, covering her wovrk with delicate strokes, caressingly shaping
the outlines.  Unfortunately she had forgotten the
frame, and the young viscount, on attaining years of
discretion, had instantly realized the imperative necessity for a gilder who could supply what was wanting. There is no slight difficulty in making a fortune




AROUND A SPRING.               41
when the traditions of a majestic past, real or imaginary, compel you to accept only from divine liberality
the wealth that others procure by regular, daily labor.
This handsome youth thus found himself on leaving
college, like many of his associates, strangely embarrassed by being confironted with numerous pursuits,
into which the common herd rushed eagerly, while he
could not even cast a glance at them without disgust.
He remembered that chance had always been Providence incognito, and played a little at baccarat to recall himself to the memory of his Heavenly Father.
His first efforts were successful; the louis rolled into
the pocket of his pretty vest; he looked around him
with more confidence, and perceived numbers of fairhaired gentlemen as charming as himself, who were
in the same situation. Naturally he adopted their
mode of life, observed their means of procuring money, and was soon convinced that, the improvement of
the horse was the only door of safety in which a man
of rank could take refuge with any advantage.  He
therefore studied the crossing of the breeds with
great assiduity, became familiar with the most famous
horses, and, finding more and more pleasure in the
pursuit, and also being gifted with great quickness,
soon became known as a judge of horse flesh, and was
quoted as an authority whose opinion was second in
value to none. It was at this time that his intimacy
began with the great duchess of Blanmon, who was
a little-fond of horses.
The viscount's presence in the family circle at
MIanteigney may be very easily explained.  Count
Jean and Claudius had met in the upper circles of
Parisian fashionable society. They had easily understood each other, and had become very intimate
friends. It was to the viscount's tact that Jean de
MIanteigney owed the wealthy marriage that had regilded his escutcheon.
The two young men were leaving the Opera




4Z            AWU UUND A SPfhLvfU.
House one evening. As they stepped under the awning over the entrance, they began to yawn, and the
taller of the two, drawing his watch from his pocket,
exclaimed: "Twenty minutes past twelve.  What
are you going to do this evening, de Manteigney?"
"Nothing, my dear fellow.  I was thinking of
looking in at the club, but it is of no consequence. I
will go wherever you like."
" Well! that is just the thing; let us go to the
club." He made a sign; a tiny coup6, about the size
of a bureau, drew up, and both entered. After a moment's pause, as the little affair was whirling rapidly
over the boulevard, Claudius said to his companion:
" My dear Jean, lend me a hundred louis."
" Willingly, my friend, if you will first advance
me two hundred."
"Ah! that is how it is."
" It is exactly as I have the honor to tell you."
"Then it is a serious matter?"
"Extremely so! And you?"
" Oh! I'm in the same fix, precisely."
And they both hummed a few moments, after
which Claudius exclaimed, striking his friend on the
knee, " What do you intend to do?"
" There are always the pontifical zouaves. What
would you have? "
"Something better. You must make a wealthy
marriage, and you won't find a fiancee there. May I
ask you frankly just how much you have left?"
" I confess that the question coming firom any one
else would be extremely impertinent. I have-some
credit, and an old house in the mountains, total —"
" What sort of a house? "
"A  little old, black, sombre chateau, a perfect
eagle's nest, concealed under the chestnut trees."
" And its revenues? "
" Can you ask such a question?"
"What is the name of the- chateau?




ARO UND A SPRING.              43
"Manteigney, of course! It is our family chAteau."
Claudius's face suddenly changed, and he exclaimed, speaking with comical emphasis: " What a child
you are! you complain, and yet have all the trumps
in your own hands! Ah! if I only had a chateau
that bore my name! Will you place your fate in my
hands? The deuce take it, we must make a bold push."
At the same moment Claudius let down the front
window, spoke to his coachman, and the carriage
turned in another direction.
"Are we not going to the club?"
" Certainly not, we are going to spend a quarter
of an hour at friend Vernon's. There will probably
be a crowd there this evening, on account of its being
the first night of the Varieties-   A feudal castle!
Was there ever such a chance?"
" What are we to do at Vernon's?"
" Look up the father of the charming creature
whom you arq to marry in less than three months, if
you play your cards well."
" Has she a-decent fortune?"
" Indecent on the contrary, colossal, monstrous.
Are you satisfied? "
"And what sort of a person is the father?"
"Very fair, a very good sort of person. He is a
manufacturer. You know what those kind of people
are-very fair."
"A manufacturer-but a manufacturer of what?
a lamp-maker, or a tinman?"
" Oh! he must have been a worker in tin, I won't
conceal anything from you; he was a dealer in spouts,
but they were excellent spouts! "
Both burst into a shout of laughter, in the midst
of which Count Jean said: " I cannot keep such low
company as that. Come, be reasonable, my family is
of no mushroom growth."
"Neither is mine; and yet I assure you that the
spout dealer'* daughter would suit me perfectly. I




44            ARO UND A SPRING.
will even tell you that I wouldn't give her to you, if
it were not impossible to get her myself. I will add,
my dear fellow, that your father-in-law gave up his
spout business long ago."
"Ah! he has given it up.  He did right; and
what has been his occupation since then? "
" He is satisfied with being one of the great capitalists in France, in originating and sustaining colossal
schemes, owning the mines and forges of Lamar,
being the sleeping partner and associate of-of the-"
"Ah! do you mean pbre Larreau?"
"You have hit it exactly."
"Oh! why didn't you tell me so at once?  You
made my back creep with your spouts. He is not at
all an out-of the-way person.  MI. Larreau is well
known-relatively.  He is a financier, my dear f'ellow."'M
" Who said that he wasn't? Then he is in active
life; has been in our society-in short, is very influential-a friiend of the ministers."
"As to that, I care nothing about it. Does this
Vernon fellow live far away. It is vexatious that he
should have sold —  What did you say that he
sold? What singular commencements there are to
some careers!"
"I said spouts, my good friend."
"There are so many chattering simpletons ready
to say that we sell our names-fbols, who will not
understand- "
" The demands of the society in which we live;
but, thank Heaven, we are in a position to choose
our wives where we like, if it were from a back shop,
without lowering ourselves by it. She will bring an
immense dowry. Well, that is the least she can do;
after having taken the dear little thing for nothing,
and polished her up beautifully, should you be also at
the expense of coloring I  That makes me furious.
What, my dear fellow, these people have pillaged,




AROU27D A SPRING.              45
robbed, ruined us, enriched themselves at our expense, like footmen, by selling our cast-off clothes,
and we are not to have a right to recover some little
portion of our property, by marryintg their daughters,
whom we remove from them. The deuce! you must
imagine that it was by stealing the load fiom your
gutters that M. Larreau succeeded in making his first
spout, and becoming what he is.  Well! now you
say to him:'I wish to marry your daughter; you
shall be the father of a countess, robber, but restore
my gutter.' That is how I understand the situation.
Oh! I have a very clear head for these matters."
", How perfectly reasonable your remarks are, my
dear Claudius."
" Good Heavens! suppose all these people, who
have become suddenly rich, should humble themselves a little and place their daughters and their
money bagcs at our feet, do you see any great harm
in that? Does it not very much resemble a necessarv restitution? "
"' Yes, necessary, fortunate, providential."
" Certainly providential. For seventy years these
people have blocked up all the roads, plundered and
soiled everything, until in our noble country of France,
a gentleman, who does not wish to soil his boots, is,
deuce take it! forced to walk on his hands, or shut
himself up in his cellar, and should not justice be
done at last! Empty your pockets, Jean Bonhomme, give us your daughter, and return to your duties."
At that moment the carriage rolled over the gravel, and stopped before the door of a fine mansion,
which belonged to Vernon, a historical painter by profession.
I deeply regret that respect for private life should
have prevented my writing the curious volume about
Vernon and his studio, which they both deserve. It
would be to such a book that I should now send the




46            ARO UN LD A SPRINGa.
reader, instead of spoiling a capital subject by a
sketch which is of necessity too hasty.  These are
the facts, briefly told. From his early youth Vernon, the historical painter, had served in the heavy
cavalry. He was a bold-spirited fellow, endowed
with a very keen intellect, and exuberant gayety. He
had a soldierly carriage, hooked nose, piercing eye,
and moreover. was the legitimate son of the nurse of
a person who occupied a very high station.
These circumstances procured him numerous and
warm protectors; but he was worthy of forcune's
favors both as cuirassier and artist, being in the one
profession brave as his sword, and having also proved
his vocation as painter by executing numbers of
charming little pictures in oil and water colors, since
his admission to the regiment.  This taste and varirious other reasons induced Vernon, already a rich
man and major of cavalry, to sheath his sword and
devote himself to the cultivation of art. He bought
a house, had a large studio built, and under the influence of the maternal star, became almost insensibly the most popular of hosts, and most renowned of
the artists employed in taking the portraits of the
dignitaries of the country. Although his two pupils,
who greatly assisted him, could sketch and color, the
works of this master are not chefs-d'aeuvre. This is
readily admitted by all, even while loudly praising
his unique effects of light and shade, and the wonderful finish of his accessories.
Whether with or without reason, the portrait-painter, who had quickly become famous, found himself
overwhelmed with orders. To sit for one's picture
in his celebrated studio, was one of the most delightful of occupations. All the floating rumors in Paris
centred there; the journalists came for news, and a
constant succession of people of all kinds came and
went from morning till night. The pleasant evening
receptions that Vernon organized gave the finishing



ARO UND) A SPRING.              47
touch to the popularity of his mansion.  It was a
favored spot, a sort of neutral ground, where, thanks
to the unceremonious style of' living natural to one
half artist, half soldier, he succeeded in creating relations and friendship between people who would
otherwise never have known each other. Men of
pleasure, bankers, journalists, politicians, capitalists,
and racing men met each other there, while Parisian
exquisites, the flower of French aristocracy, fell into
the habit of taking it as a place to exhibit their graces
and elegance. This truly Parisian circle was naturally the fashionable coutisse for aristocratic curiosityseekers.  The studio contained wonderful rarities,
magnificent furniture, jewels, and splendid tapestry,
which came from nobody knew where, and were constantly renewed.
"Here is something I have found," said Vernon;
" what do you say to it?"
" It is very elegant, gentlemen, exquisite enough!"
murmured Claudius in a low tone, turning the article thoughtfully around, then raising his voice:
" Vernon, you don't know what you have there."
"And who told you I didn't?  It is a beautiful
ivory carving, a hunting-horn belonging to the sixteenth century, adorned with the arms of France,
neither more nor less."
"Vernon, my dear fellow, a hundred  louis,"
grunted fat Marsoff.
"Ah! the deuce! I will take it at that price,"
cried Claudius.  "Will you make an exchange?"
" No, I assure you that I do not care to give it
up, my good fellow. You are very kind, but I don't
want to part with it."
"But, if one offered you-"
"Ah! faith, if I was offered-"
"Three hundred louis, Monsieur Vernon," said
Lord
"' You overwhelm me, your lordship. How can I




48            ARO UND A SPRING.
resist you?  Oh! my poor ivory I At least be grateful to me, my lord!"
One thing Vernon had not thought of, the attention that his famous receptions must necessarily attract among fashionable women. If my mlerlmory is
correct, it was the Duchess of Blanmon who first expressed a desire to enter the cuirassier's studio. The
duchess was not a woman to relinquish a plan she
had long meditated, or one easily daunted by difficulties. By the help of Claudius, the artist's sleepl:ngrroom was transformed into a little parlor, which conimunicated with the garden by an outer staircase; the
door leading into the studio was replaced by a curtain, and one fine evening about midnight, the duchess
arrived, wrapped up like a conspirator, and fbllowed
-by three of her friends.  All passed off smoothly;
unfortunately the frolic of these aristocratic ladies
became noised abroad, and two days afterl, eight curious persons arrived, coming directly from the Stabat
of the Italiens, where they had agreed to meet. The
following week, the little parlor was as full as an egg
and scented like a perfume case. All the ladies, listening eagerly, were grouped before the curtain,
which they drew aside by imperceptible degrees.
They pressed and crowded on each other as if' in the
vestry of a church at some wedding, restraining their
bursts of laughter with great difficulty, and whispering questions to the master of the house, who did not
know how to reply, and found himself amid these
surroundings like a lady-bug buried in a bouquet of
flowers.
"My dear Vernon, you say that the tall blonde
yonder, talking to the ambassador, is Amlelie Saint
onge?  Well, to be just, she is extremely beautiful
Ah! there is the famous Tambourine.  Good Heavens! my husband is kissing her hand. Oh! oh! ladies, just see my husband kissing that horrid Tambourine's hand, and with such an air! "




ARO UND A SPRING.               49
"Dear me-what a pretty creature!  Ladies, I
wish I were a man, only- It is funny to see all these
jades.  When one thinks-"
" That they are as pretty as we."
One evening, by the merest chance, the famous
curtain was drawn aside almost half-way and remained
so. A few timid women, who had no strength of
character, vowed that they would never again set
their pretty feet in Vernon's studio, while others,
bolder, and avowed lovers of progress, accepted the
fiusion, a very discreet fiision, be it understood, skilfilly managed, without embarrassment or confusion,
and protected by the artistic element which pervaded
the whole circle.
It is undeniable that Vernon's studio had a very
considerable influence upon the manners of the times:
not that the ex-cuirassier was a man of genius; he
was entitled to no other merit than that of fbllowing
his own impulses and taking advantage of events just
at the right tine. The Duchess of Blanmon, who is
by no means wanting in sense or intellect, said a capital thing in regard to this.  One evening, in a circle
of intimate fiiends, when Vernon alluded to certain
matters, and seemed disposed to claim an importance
in the political world which he did not possess, she
turned to him, and in the picturesque language she
was fond of using, said: "Be quiet, my good little
friend, you are a convenient tool, nothing more."
Such was the famous studio in which Count de
Manteigcley was to meet the father-in-law he so
greatly needed. For the rest, Claudius had, as usual,
g;ven pr-oof of most excellent judgment in selecting
Larreau.
4




50           ARO7 UND A SPURING.
VI.
The ex-spout-maker was rather inclined to obesity;
but as he was no fool, contrived to turn his stout
figure to good account, and, aided by the prestige of
being a millionaire, might be said to have a stately
presence. His high, bald forehead was apt to become easily flushed. At the extremity of his little
short arms, which looked like a pair of fins, were two
plump, dimpled hands, which were usually held
clasped together on his white waistcoat. His whole
person expressed the most charming good-nature.
IIis smooth face, rosy, and well shaven, invited confidence, and his right eye, with which he beamed on
society, was overpoweringly benevolent, if I may so
express a charm which is exceedingly difficult to describe. True, the left eye somewhat belied its comrade's excessive affability; but he very rarely opened
it-never, except when occupied with business matters. This eye, which was generally moist, shone
like a diamond, was sharp as a needle, and I do not
think it would be possible to find one more keenly
observing, or better calculated to search the most secret thoughts of another. It was doubtless from motives of precaution that he yielded its remarkable
virtues under the shadow of his heavy eyelids, thereby imitating those skilful surgeons who conceal their
instruments in a case, and do not draw them from
their covering until it is time to operate upon the
patient.
Only a very small number of persons, comparatively speaking, were thoroughly acquainted with the
capitalist's left eye; so that people in general felt
most irresistibly attracted towards him. They were
touched by seeing a man of such enormous wealth
and immense influence remain so simple and affable




4ROUND A SPRINGX.              51
in his manners to every one, conceal nothing of his
laborious past, and, most remarkable, carry his selfdenial so far as not to change his name. They said
to themselves:'.' Here is a financier of the old school,
such a man as one does not see now-a-days." When
in society, his honesty, nice even to intolerance, was
displayed by constant outbursts. If the name of
some famous banker or well-known merch.mnt were
pronounced, even in a low tone, he would exclaim,
interrupting his game of whist, " That man? he is a
rascal!"
And his brow would flush so suddenly, he would
utter the condemnatory word in such a sonorous
voice, that the rudeness of the expression was pardoned out of respect to the virtuous wrath which inspired it. Yet he was not naturally quick tempered.
Gifted with intellect, calmn and watchful in the midst
of the whirl of modern ambitions, terrified by
nothing, he was capable of accepting all progress,
whether forward or backward, provided his mind and
capital found an opportunity of' taking part in it. In
all sincerity, he was both democrat and legitimist, no
one could be more liberal, and yet at the same time
a most inflexible ruler. He would have held up both
hands to vote for compulsory instruction, would have
voted that the gendarmes should compel every
Frenchman to buy a grammar and A B C book, but
on the express condition that he, Larreau, should
have the monopoly of the sale, and become, without
any possible competition, the sole and only bookseller in his country. You see that in saying: " Here
is a financier of the old school, such a man as one
does not see now-a-days," people judged only by appearances; scarcely any one could boast of being
more a man of the times than he.
Certain people, to whom Larreau's operations had
not been favorable, asserted that he had no principles,
an accusation all the more dangerous because it must




52            AROUND A SPRING.
necessarily be vague, and leave a field for every variety of comment. The absence of a standard prilciple, which might serve for rule and measure, being
generally felt, each judges his neighbor's by his own,
and great is the confiusion which results.  Far fiom
being destitute of principles, Monsieur Larreau possessed many on which he could rely; for he had
carefully tested them all, lest he might have some occasion fbr regret. Nevertheless, if any one had compelled him —which would have been no easy matterto express, in a few words, his firmest convictions, he
would have replied: "I am a legitimist and a Catholic."  These opinions hacd come to him by degrees,
without his making the slightest effort, and very
slowly. As his fortune increased, and he acquired
position and importance, he felt the pressing necessity
for surrounding himself with a more substantial barricade, placing the structure of his prosperity under
the divine protection and associating Providence in
his plans, a natural feeling, which has led many souls
into the path of safety.
Claudius thoroughly understood the wealthy capitalist; so, when he perceived h m among the throng
that filled Vernon's studio, he did not attempt to find
a plaus;ble reason for speaking of Count de Manteigney, but went directly up to him, and having
drawn him aside into a corner, said abruptly:
"My dear M. Larreau, do you wish to have your
daughter married?'
" Certainly, my dear Mons'eur Claudius, when I
find a son-in-law who will suit her-who will suit us,
you understand."
"I have one to propose."
The rich man half' opened his left eye.
"One of your friends, my dear Monsieur Claudius?"
" The person of whom I speak is certainly one of
my friends, and is utterly ruined."




ARO UND A SPRING.               53
"That is truly a great recommendation! you are
in high spirits this evening, my dear friend.  You
say that he is utterly —"
" Oh! there is not the least possible doubt about
it; but that is not all."
" Make haste, I am dying of impatience."
"My friend has a great reputation in Paris as a
man of fashion-fine manners, great attractions-"
" That will do afterwards, Monsieur Claudius,
afterwards; you are draw;inc your own portrait."
"Confess that I could not make a better beginning. Let me go on. My fiiend is sole heir-"
" Let us sit down, my dear Claudius, we can talk
so much more comfortably."
" Sole and only heir of one of the noblest names
in France, and still possesses the castle of his ancestors, the cradle of his race, with towers, precipices,
draw-bridge, loop-holes, fortifications, court-ard —a
real feudal manor, partially in ruins, I confess; for I
will conceal nothing fiom  you.  The estates have
been sold, but they can be bought back again.  Here
is an escutcheon to re-gild, and you could not find one
more worthy of —restoration.  In one word, I am
speaking of the count de Manteigney."
The capitalist could not restrain an expression of
pleasure, and his left eye, which during the short conversation had been constantly opening and shutting,
became perfectly quiet.
Claudius presented the two gentlemen to each
other that very evening.  Four or five days after,
Count Jean rece;ved an invitation to a ball at the
house of MI. Larreau, who, after studying the map of
the country and the Guzicde Joanne, set out the following morning for Virez.
M1. Larreau made his inquiries with skill and prudence, visited every part of the country, and found
means to pursue h.s investigations for three days without arousing public curiosity; in short, he returned




54           ARO-UND A SPRING.
delighted, and showed himself willing to push matters forward rapidly. He had met his beau-ideal of
a son-in-law. In the meantime the count discovered
that the capitalist's daughter was wonderfully charming, in which he was perfectly right, and two months
and a half after, to a day, the future couple signed the
contract. If M. de Manteigney had been less eager
to escape as soon as he decently could, from a situation which threatened soon to become unendurable, it
is probable that he would have thought twice before
signing. The capitalist, in short, gave his daughter,
by the marriage settlements, the most absolute control
over her dowry, which was sixteen hundred thousand
francs, six or eight of which, by the aid of the Virez
notary, were invested in a portion of the estates belonging to the ancient domain.
"By this means, my dear count," said the rich
man," the estates of Mianteigne are almost wholly
restored, and will descend intact to your children, by
the deed executed by their mother and yourself: The
portion of the valley I have purchased in my own
name, and retain, will return to the original domains
after my death. I adore my daughter, and hope soon
to win your affection. You see that I am already an
old man, and I have cherished the hope that it might
not be disagreeable to you to have me for a neighbor.
I shall have erected on the reserved estate-and it is
the secret of' its purchase-a little house, hut, chalet,
no matter what, where I can end my days in the shadow of your chateau. My tastes are very simple"After a short silence, he continued: " Unless you
would receive me in any of the wings of your own
dwelling —in which case, my dear son-in-law, I should
beg you to allow me to defray all expense of the necessary refitting. Perhaps by uniting our incomes,
we could maintain an establishment more worthy of
the name you bear. It would make me very happy,
I confess; it would be a real pleasure to me in my
old age to be present in some corner, and witness




AROU UD A SPRING.             55
the splendor of the princely style in which the arrangement I propose would enable you to live. Do
not hasten to answer either yes or no, my dear count,
reflect upon the matter."
Mlle. Larreau embraced her father with tears in
her eyes. The young man, dazzled by the vision of
the elegant style in which he might be able to live;
intoxicated by the realization of a dream which flattered all his tastes; persuaded that he would soon
be able to control a father-in-law who seemed so filll
of good nature; impatient to have done with the life
of expedients which he had led for ten or twelve years,
appealed to on the ground of his gentlemanly instincts,
accepted everything, signed everything, and was married with the utmost cheerfulness. There was nothing better to be done.
VIII.
Yet when Abbe Roche had returned home and
exchanged his new cassock and handsome silver buckles for his every-day dress, he experienced a sensation
of great relief His mind was disturbed, like that of
a man who has just awakened from a confused dream.
Everything about his visit to the chateau appeared
strange and incomprehensible, and occupied his
thoughts more than he could have wished.  Therefore, when nrere Hilaire questioned him about the
welcome they had given him, he said nothing, except
that he had been well received, and the good woman
kept silent.
At timeshe imagined that there was an impassable gulf between these gentlemen, whom he had
scarcely seen, and himself; he experienced an instinctive repugnance towards them, which he regretted so
much the more because it seemed to be in direct
contradiction to the profound respect with which he




56            ARO UND A SPRING.
had always regarded the nobility.  On farther reflection, he asked himself whether this impression'was
not, on his part, the result of undue pride; whether
the surprise of suddenly finding himself in contact
with scenes of comfort and luxury, which made his
own life appear more narrow and humble by the contrast, had not rendered him too severe in his judgment upon these people of aristocratic birth, whose
only crime, after all, was playing hot cockles without
caring what people might say about it. Although lie
clearly perceived that his first impression was the correct one, he argued against himself' with a species of
obstinacy. Did he wish these ladies to dress exactly
like the girls and women of Grand Fort? Why was
it surprising that the countess should treat her cure6
with ease and freedom, or that she should be as curious as a spoiled child to make this half savage talks
and amuse herself by witnessing his embarrassment?
What was there so very strange about her careless
chatter?  She was young, rich, and noble enough to
allow herself' to act her own pleasure before a poor,
unknown priest. — It is certain that she was wonderfully beautifiil, and very singularly dressed; but what
did he know about customs and fashions, and since
when had ladies of high rank been forbidden to be
remarkably beautiful? Besides, why had he, the cuire
of Grand Fort, noticed all these things with so much
interest and curiosity?  Was it in accordance with his
position as a priest to l;nger around hiese earthly
charms, wh:ch God had commanded him to pass by
with indifference'?  Was he then so weak, so extremely impressionable, that a woman could disturb
his mind and occupy his thoughts? He told himself
all this, was humiliated, dissatisfied, indignant with
himself; then wishing to obtain an exact knowledge
of' his weakness, in order to correct it the better, re.
called one by one the impressions he had felt; and
all the details of' what he had seen passed once more




AROUND A SPRING.                57.before his eyes, while in the depths of his soul, some
unknown voice murmured: "You have humiliated
yourself enough before the memory of these people.
You are more noble than they, even in your shabby
cassock; you will soon read their hearts and find
naught but a mass of wicked passions and vicious instilcts, while if they seek to watch you in their turn,
they will not be able to understand your thoughts
and actions."
To be brief; the abbe Roche did not return to the
chateau for several days, and even avoided passing its
doors. Once he met the countess's father, and on another occasion found himself face to face with the
count and his fiiend Claudius, in the village streets;
but he contented himself with exchang;ng bows, and
found means to cut short all conversation.  These
people terrified him.
At last Sunday came, and from early morning the
cure, thinking of the mass he was to perform, felt, in
spite of his resolutions, as muchI agitated as on the
day of his visit. He knew that the noble company
would attend church; he saw in imagination their
amused faces, the count's eye-glass, his tather-in-law's
white waistcoat, and the important, self-sufficient air
of all. Would the ladies appear at mass in a costume
like the one they wore the other evening'? He shuddered in spite of himself. How would they, accustomed to recllne in those immens2 arim-clairs, which
almost resembled beds, enladure o sit on the narrow,
hard, woodenl benches'  Were they even clean and
well dusted? For the first time in his life he thought
of these thungs.
His poor church was so dilapidated, so forlorn, encumbered with ex voto and strange adornments! Apprec.ating the artless feeling wh".ch offered them, he
had thought them poetical and touching; would they
not appear very comical to these jesting Parisians,




58            ABOU-ND A. SPRING.
who, were accustomed to the stately ceremonies of
the cities?
This disturbed him more than all the rest; he
loved his poor church so much! Pre-occupied by
these thoughts, he found his razors horribly dull, and
rubbed them upside down on the leathern strap fastened to the handle of the door. "Monsieur le cur6,
do you know that it is twenty minutes of nine?"
asked mere Hilaire, knocking at the door.
" Yes, good mother, I know it. You can come
in. Have you seen whether the benches in the church
were clean enough?"
The good woman smiled, pleased that she. shuld
have thought of the same thing as her cur. " I have
just given them a little dusting; they are very nice
now; but dear me! they are old, and terribly hard
for all these grand people, M. le cur6. I said to myself:'If something could only be put over them'you will not be angry, M. le cur6. People must not
be driven away from the house of God, you know.
Well! I have a little bit of carpet that is just the.
thing; I have shaken and brushed it well. I might
spread it on the bench, if you think it would be a good
plan."
"You have done well, mbre Hilaire, but I have
also a little mat before my bed, you might spread
them both on. It would be better for the ladies."
Abbe Roche stopped short; he was vexed that
he should allow himself to be pre-occupied by such
trivial cares when about to say mass.
When he entered the vestry, the acolytes were
dressed, the choristers ready, and all his parishioners
waiting on the square. It was nine o'clock, and yet
pare Butan dared not stop ringing, that the services
might begin, for no one from the chateau had arrived.
Two or three boys, who had played truant, muttered:
" I would stop ringing, if I were you," but everybody
else said, "Pore JButan is right, we must not make




A:-RO'U-ND A,SPRINGt~.
the count and countess lose the mass."  Fortunately
for every one, and especially the cur6, who was waiting to begin the service, looking out of the little window of the vestry and thinking that it was very hard
to be forced to keep God waiting in this manner, a
child ran up, saying that the ladies and gentlemen
were coming. The crowd instinctively divided, forming in two ranks, and the aristocratic party entered
the little square.
The ladies, dressed a la Watteau's shepherdesses,
were leaning on long flexible staffs, and seemed to be
so exhausted by the little slope they had just ascended, that they could scarcely stand upon their highheeled boots. They had been obliged to cross on
foot the short space intervening between the chateau
and the village, for that portion of the road had not
yet been finished and made passable for carriages.
But the expedition had been cheerfully performed, if
one could judge by their shouts of laughter. When
they perceived that the square was lfull of people, the
three ladies, who were walking in front, suddenly
stopped. "Ah! countess, see these worthy people
taking off their caps," said Mme. de Rougeon, " they
are waiting for us."
"Really it is quite a triumphal entry!  What
honest, respectful ftces they have! Look, dear, see
all these little children. Oh! I am going to pray for
them, it is the least I can do."
" They are pretty little things," said Mlle. de Rougeon, " but they don't wipe their noses often enough."
During this time pere Butan was pulling at the
rope with all his might, and the poor bell tinkled its
best, like some old singer who has lost his voice and
has nothing left but a good style.
All heads were bent, and the countess, moving
slowly through her respectful vassals, bowed slightly
to the right and left, murmuring in an undertone:
" Good-morning, my friends —my good friends; good



60,           AROUND A SPRITNG,
day, little ones."  She enjoyed it thoroughly, and
strangely enough, thought of the Bois de Boulogne,
where she had often seen a stately head bending in
little graceful, sweeping salutes.
The count followed directly behind the ladies,
talking very eagerly in a loud tone to M. de Rougeon, without taking the slightest notice of the persons standing by, and gesticulating with his little
switch like a man engrossed in some important argument.  As to M. Larreau, he was watching his dcar
little countess with his right eye, and ready to bless
the whole population.  Two or three closely-shaveri
servants, stiff, erect, and unapproachable, closed the
procession.
The c'nie had donned his priestly robes long before. Alas! they were shabby, well worn, and mich
fiayed in certain places. It was all in vain that poor
mitre Hilaire, first washing her hands, wrapped them
carefullly in a white cloth every Sunday; she could
not rejuvenate the old garments.  While in the vestry, whose door stood open, Abb6 Roche heard the
rustling of silken robes, the sound of delicate boots,
and the confused murmur of Parisian voices.  His
ear distinguished all this in spite of the noise made
by the sabots and iron-shod shoes striking against
the floor, and knocking the benches. Iie clasped his
hands, closed his eyes, strove to abstract his thoughts,
murmured fervent prayers, and reproached himself
for his want of self-command, as it it had been a
crime.  At last, as they were now waiting only for
him, he made a signal for the acolytes to move forward, and entered the church.
He was obliged to summon up all his courage in
order to advance the eight or ten paces which separated him from the altar, so great was the singular emotion he experienced. He had determined not to glance
towards the congregation, and kept his resolution.
But he dimly saw the kneeling ladies looking around




AROUND A SPRING.                61
them  through their eye-glasses, and smiling at each
other, while the gentlemen, with one hand thrust into
their vests, whispered and twirled their mustaches.
On reaching the steps, he knelt, and in a. voice that
trembled more than he could have wished, commenced the.lhIt)roit, but soon grew calmer, as his up-raised
glance rested upon the crucifix that surmounted the
altar; his blood flowed more slowly through his
veins, and he forgot all who surrounlded him.  Trhe
wooden Christ was a very shapeless thing, one might
almost have supposed that it had been carved by
some herdsman's knife, and it was covered with coarse,
gaudy paint. Yet before this rude image the poor,
solitarly priest, destitute offamly and firiends, deprived
of all that was claimed by the secret instincts of his
nature, had passed the sweetest hours of his life.
He knew every detail of the carving, so grotesque to
others, so sacred to him. Each crack, each fiacture
of the worm-eaten wood, reminded him of some heart
throb, a player, a tear, or a joy. Thus even those objects least worthy of attention become poetical ahd
dear to the man who has lavished his affection upon
them. What do you care for the cut of the garment,
the wrinkles onl the countenance of the fiiend that
holds out his hand to you, listens to you, and consoles
you? His unassuming appearance, on the contrary,
invites your confidence, his plain face re-assures you,
you love him all the more because strangers do not
consider him attractive:  his charms are a secret, possessed by you alone. The priest was touched by the
thought that the good God of Grand Fort had made
Himself poor and miserable, despoiled Himself of His
divine splendor, that He might be better understood
by His children, and had descended to their level
through paternal tenderness. His heart, which was
overflowing with repressed feeling, suddenly opened,
he dared to speak, to confide everything to the good
God who watched over the mountains, and after these




62           ABRO UND A SP-RING.
unreserved outpourings of his soul, he felt strengthened and purified; he breathed invigorating air, saw
society under a loftier aspect, a divine glow animated
him; he had a consciousness of being nearer that fire
of love of which human affections are but the dying
sparks. It was before this defaced fragment of wood
that he had comprehended the grandeur and nobleness of his mission, and had accepted his austere life
frankly and cheerfully. He then believed his soul to
be large enough to contain all humanity; thought
himself sufficiently bold and courageous to be the
pilot, who watches in spite of fatigue, and forgets
wind and rain in the remembrance that the safety of
those who sleep depends upon his vigilance anld devotion. The sacrifice had appeared to him a triumph,
and the suffering a consolation.
When, at the close of the mass, the cure turned
to address a few words to the congregation, as he was
in the habit of doing every Sunday, the countess was
astonished at the expression of his face, the searching
tones of his voice, the brightness of his glance, and
the simplicity of his gestures.
He was really handsome.  "Our cur6 preaches
admirably," murmured Mme. de Rougeon, as they
left the church.
"Yes," replied the countess.  "I do not understand it; and I have been wondering how he chanced
to be cast ashore upon this desolate rock, in this outofithe-world, almost savage, village."
" He is perhaps undergoing a penance-ecclesiastical discipline —"
" What an idea!"
"It does not follow that he has committed any
very great crime. What are considered merely trifling errors in our circle, are regarded in others as unpardonable crimes-some affair of the heart for instance."




AROU2ND A SPRING.              63
"You are right, his face tells the story plainly
epough. Ah! poor man!"
"Unfortunate priest!"
"I must leave you a moment. Perhaps we shall
find means to learn his story some day. I am going
to invite M. le cure to breakfast, I am sure that he
will not refuse me."
Abb6 Roche in truth could find no pretext for declining Mme. de Manteigney's invitation, and half an
hour afterwards found himself installed in the great
dining-room of the castle.
IX.
The breakfast was delightful, although much less
noisy than usual. The ladies showed the cur6 the
most gracious attentions, and overwhelmed him with
little kindnesses. His noble bearing at the altar, his
simple, manly carriage, had evidently produced a
great effect. The dilapidated church was declared to
be delightful, in spite of the opinion of the gentlemen
who exchanged smiling glances.  They could not
look without emotion at the rude pictures, the ex voto
hanging on the walls; the recollection of the brave
mountaineers kneeling bareheaded in the porch, drew
tears from their eyes. Even the voices of the choristers, though somewhat harsh and untrained, had a
meaning.
" For my part," observed Mme. de Rougeon, "I
imagine that that must have been the way that God
was worshipped in the catacombs."
" Take a little of the vanilla cream, dear Monsieur
le cur6," said the countess, "you will not refuse a new
parishioner."
And the young wife, holding back with her left
hand the numerous trinkets dangling from little golden chains among the laces that adorned her sleeve,
offered her neighbor on the right a pretty little heap




64           AROUND A SPRITG.
of perfumed cream in a silver-gilt spoon. Arm, sleeve,
hand, spoon, and cream, were all bewitching, sornewhat too bewitching, if one may say so without wounding any one, for Abb6 Roche, on perceiving the
charming little picture, turned away his eyes, and answered gravely: " Thank you, I will not take any."
"'Must I tell you I made it myself in order to
tempt you? Well! I won't say that, for I did not
do it, but the cream is none the less nice. Come,
Monsieur le cure, take it to please me."
The cure accepted what was offered with a very
perceptible blush. The idea of a serious man blushing so easily! Ah! well, perhaps if you had been in
his place you would have changed color too. Mme.
de Manteigney had, in truth, gazed at him with an expression well calculated to disturb his mind: not that
she was capable of premeditated coquetry-in these
delicate matters one must first of all understand one's
self; but she had thought her own hand, holding the
golden spoon, a very pretty sight, it was an artistic
pleasure which all women know.
She had naturally smiled at her hand, rather than
the cur6, and if it had been unnecessarily sweet, it
was merely owing to the vnusual delight afforded by
the sight of her own charms.
Yet the countess knew that the good abbe might
misunderstand her meaning; for she was seized with
one of those little fits of coughing which, without disfiguring you, permit you to withdraw a moment from
conversation. It is a very difficult thing for a pretty
woman to observe all the shades of amiability; they
allow themselves to be borne along by the spirit of
improvisation, and when the charm of being attractive leads them on, easily lose all discrimination; the
slope is so slippery.
Coquetry has this peculiarity, that it is sufficient
for itself: it forgets the public, for it can do without
it; and 4 woman who seems bent on our neighbor's
destruction, who has brought a whole arsenal into ac



AROUND A SPRING.               65
tion, has really no other intention than to try her
weapons and renew her cannon, so that you will rarely
see a woman-I mean a woman who has the reputation of being attractive-distribute to each one the
modicum of favor that is his due. With a priest, especially, the just proportion is more difficult to preserve on account of his invulnerability; and the absence of sex, which is morally one of his privileges,
gives them a sort of carte blanche. The certainty that
nothing will be broken, tempts beginners in the art
of shooting to try their skill —they like to fire at a
strong black-board, which is too solid to be broken,
and yet capable of showing the shots it receives, and
bear record of their successes.  So, granting what I
have just said, is it surprising that the countess, at
sight of her plump, taper fingers, should have yielded
to the temptation of making her smile as charming as
her hand, and afterwards, by a scarcely perceptible
manaeuvre, have raised the perfumed fingers that held
the spoon within two inches of her cur6's nose, as he
bowed his thanks. The singularity is, under such
circumstances, the smile is not all. By some unknown
sympathetic influence the eyelids droop coquettishly,
the glance softens, the neclk bends, and the body sways
with unexpected grace, and that is how it happens
that, in the best society, a spoonful of vanilla cream
may lead to very serious consequences. Fortunately
these little accidents are readily pardoned among people who lead a fashionable life.
Abb6 Roche pardoned it also, but he was much
disturbed. At certain crises strange temptationswhy should it not be confessed? —had risen before
him; he had caught a glimpse of bewildering, frightful phantoms; he had been tormented, poor man, as
one is in some dream or threatening nightmare, but
all had been a mere fleeting hallucination, which disappeared in the broad light of day. Confronted with
charms whose too evident reality aroused the memory of his former conflicts, he felt the danger to be a
5




66            ARO UND A SPRING.
thousand times greater than before. He had judged
the world as a whole, and from a distance; but he
who surveys a battle from a mountain, and comes
forth victorious in imagination, would certainly have
far less coolness and courage if he descended from
his height and mingled with the combatants. It was
now with him as it would be with that man; he no
longer hovered over the brow of the mountain, but
felt that he was entering into the reality of the struggle, and feared that he might lose his self-command
in the mel6e. Already the view was becoming less
clear: was he not taking the trifling details of a life
with which he was unfamiliar for monsters? Was he
the sport of a delusion? Why should he have these
tremors, whose cause he no longer dared to frankly
ask himself? The more he listened, the less he understood the meaning of their words; certain jests
which roused a smile were utterly unintelligible to
him.  The very gestures of his hosts had an incomprehensible peculiarity; the tones of their voices,
their mode of constructing sentences, every thing
about them was strange to him. If by chance he understood one of their ideas, he found it so different
from his own that he would have preferred to have
still remained in ignorance.
" Is not my cream delicious, Monsieur le cure?"
murmured Mme. de Manteigney, casting an inquiring
glance at the priest, for she was saying to herself: " I
am going to have some fine sport in finding out what
sort of a person this good abb6 really is."
" Excellent," he replied, without raising his eyes
from his plate; then drew his feet closer together
lest his neighbor's dress might brush against them.
"Incomprehensible creature," he murmured, " what is
she hiding within her soul; from whence come these
bewildering charms? Can it be a trial by which God
is testing me?"
" Tell me, Monsieur le curb, how do you warm




AROUND A SPRING.                67
your church in winter?" asked Mme. de Rougeon,
rolling a tiny crumb of bread under the tip of her
finger.
" My wife is-what shall I say?-a singular woman. She always fancies herself at the church of the
Madeleine or Saint Thomas Aquinas. Do you expect to find all the refinements of our peculiar civilization in this wild region, my dear? "
" Papa is right," interrupted his young daughter,
without the slightest ceremony. "This civilization
is horrible! "
Abbe Roche looked at Mlle. de Rougeon; he was
amazed that at her age she should have so decided
an opinion upon such a matter.
"True, my daughter, we are living in a circle
which is dele-"
"Yes, papa, deleterious."
"Deleterious, certainly, and which, if I may dare
to say so, is the negation of all-of all —"
" Yes, papa, of all principles."
And as the guests all burst into shouts of laughter, except the priest, who looked on in astonishment,
she added, pushing back the long earrings which
touched her shoulders: " Papa dictates, and I arrange
his ideas in words. That is why I think him right;
so, to preserve him from the deleterious air of Paris,
I shall make him go to bed at five minutes of eight,
and give him some tisane. No more balls at the H6tel de Ville; no more races; no, that is all at an end;
no more races! Those are also deleterious circles!
No more pere iyacinthe, no more clubs, no skating,
no anything; instead, nice hot tisane with honey in
moderate quantities; we will read the philosophers
among ourselves, and if papa wishes to escape, cling
to him and keep him. with us."
While the young girl spoke, Abb6 Roche looked
at her intently.  lie was not only surprised, but
grieved.




68           AROUND A SPRING.
" The unhappy child," said he to himself. "What
crime can this man, who looks old before his time,
have committed, to be thus punished by his daughter's contempt?  How he must suffer! What idea
do they give others of paternal dignity, filial respect
and love? Must one be deprived of family ties in
order to appreciate their value?"
" Well! " continued Mlle. de Rougeon, "I have a
still more attractive programme."
"More of your nonsense, spoiled child!"' Oh! it is a very simple matter: we will stay
here all the year round. M. de Manteigney shall let
us one of his little towers, and we can live in it, far
away from the demon of civilization. I will cut off
my hair, mamma hers, and papa his, it will only be
the work of a moment; we will put on little caps
trimmed with a bit of embroidery, and as the church
is not heated, order foot-stoves that we can go and
sing at matins. M. le cur6 will be so pleased. Papa
can be bass. Ah! that's not a bad idea, is it mamma? "
" Your youth and gayety are some apology for you,
my love, but yet —think my child-"
"If mamma is going to begin to preach like papa!-oh! dear."
"My daughter, you are going beyond all-"
"Yes, papa, bounds. I am to be silent because
papa wants to talk."
"Yes, I do wish to speak, little rebel! Oh! because I laugh, you think I am jesting. That is the
way with our children! Family respect, authorityin short everything; everything - tradition- I
laugh, because you are looking at me with your little-your little saucy air, you spoiled child; that is
of consequence; I am- I am   the word escapes
me-I am right."
"Well! fbr my part I think you were much more
agreeable when you were wrong," observed the count,




AROUND A SPRING.               69
"You are not at all amusing with your deleterious
age?  Where did you learn all that stuff? "
"My dear fellow, the moral is —"
"Well, there he goes again. It is not more than
two years since I first noticed this infirmity in poor
de Rougeon; he used to be a charming man."
"It is evident that they do not use the word
moral in its ordinary sense," thought Abbe Roche,
who had been very ill at ease during a conversation
so utterly incomprehensible to him.
" If that's the way you are going to attack papa,
I shall defend him," cried the young girl, with a very
pretty show of anger.
" Good Heavens! that child must be crazy," murmured the priest.
Mme. de Manteigney, perceiving  that Abb6
Roche's manner was becoming more and more constrained, suddenly changed the conversation. "My
dear curb, tell us who is that singular looking person
who has already been here two or three times. Where
does he go, and from whence does he come? Is he
a human being? He has a huge beard, half red, half
gray, eyes like a rat, and a nose that looks like the beak
of some bird of prey; his clothes are all gray, just
the color of the rocks. Oh! he is such an ugly man.
I will add that he always carries a basket of cheeses.
I am afraid of him."
" You undoubtedly mean pere Loursiere, Madame.
Your fears are exaggerated, I think, though in his
youth he committed some faults for which he has
reason to reproach himself. His life has been an adventurous one; he has been occupied in various pursuits, and travelled in almost every part of the world;
but at the present time I do not know that any thing
very serious could be alleged against him. He is a
shepherd, and watches the flocks which the people
of the village and market-town confide to his charge,
that they may graze upon the lofty mountain pas



70            ARO UND A SPRING.
tures. He lives with his daughter in a lonely hut on
the edge of the pine woods."
" What! is the little savage who also comes here
occasionally his daughter? The strange creature
with the large, deep eyes, muddy complexion, and
slow gait! "
" She lost her mother at the time of her birth,
poor child."
"Ah! she must have been grown up ever since
she was born, the little witch," murmured Claudius.
"I think so too," said the count.
And Mme. de Manteigney, repr'essing a slight
shiver, asked:
"Isn't that ugly man something of a sorcerer
himself?"
" There has been such a rumor," said the priest,
smiling; "but his principal distinction lies in making
very good cheeses, and I do not think he has any
other."
" Excuse me, Monsieur le cur6, he is a remarkably
intelligent man, and has a great deal of information.
I have talked with him, and especially in geology —"
" So you understand geology, Monsieur Larreau?"
asked Claudius.
"I? not much-a little, just sufficient to amuse
myself, and judge of pere Loursiere's-"
The countess rose, interrupting her father: 
" Don't say any more about that hateful family, I
beg of you; they frighten me-I dreamed of them
all last night."
" Indeed, and I dreamed of the daughter, a singular coincidence."
So saying, M. de Manteigney uttered a little harsh
laugh.
" I do not like such jests," said the mistress of the
castle, and the cur6 noticed that she bit her lips.




AROUND A SPRING.               71
X.
M. Larreau, who had taken very little part in the
conversation during breakfast, but had found time
while eating heartily to occasionally half open his
famous left eye and watch the company, took the
cur6's arm as they left the table, and after pulling
down his huge white vest, which was always inclined
to slip up, drew the priest out upon the lawn.
" Ah! " thought the countess, " my father has taken
the cur6 away from me. He is determined that I
shall not have an opportunity to make my enigma
talk."
"Don't you smoke, my dear sir?" said the capitalist, in his soft, friendly tone.
" A little, but not at this season of the year."
"Please accept a cigar."
" Thank you, but I only smoke in winter, when we
are imprisoned by the snow, and besides, I do not
know how to use anything but the short pipes of this
region."
"' Then, as it does not annoy you, permit me to
light my cigar?" And as he touched it to the yellow
flame of a wax match, he compressed the tobacco between his short, plump fingers.
" Confess, my dear cur6, that this is a charming
view; I cannot tell you how deeply I am moved by
the magnificent scenery."
"True, Monsieur, our country is very beautiful,
but unfortunately it is the will of Providence that the
superb landscape you admire should wear a stern
face to the poor. The poverty of this population is
very great, and their labor extremely severe."
"I understand you; there is much to be done undoubtedly. It gives me pleasure to see that you are
not blind to the humanitarian and social importance
of —"
"Humanitarian-social-"




72           AROUND A SPRING.
"Yes, yes, I have thought just as you do, Monsieur le cur6-" and he added aside: "He is timid,
we must set him at ease. The prosperity of a country, you know, depends entirely upon an active and
regular intercourse."
" Intercourse! but I do not-"
"You will tell me, I know, that these superb
mountains are the most difficult of all obstacles to
surmount! they are the miserly guardians of their
immense wealth until the day when the intelligence
of man-of a man-finds means of levelling heights
and filling up abysses."
Larreau was no simpleton, talking at random. He
knew perfectly well that he should bewilder the priest
by this somewhat pompous and confused preamble;
but this result was by no means unpleasant to him.
He wished, first of all, to make the abb6 understand
that he was a thinker, a capitalist, on whose elevated
views of life he might rely. The cure, with his eyes
fixed upon his interlocutor, listened in silence, probably thinking that by degrees he should comprehend
his meaning. After the frivolous chatter at the
breakfast table, these grave words, and the pleasing
manner of the man who uttered them, had an especial
charm for him. He was doubtless about to find some
one with whom it would be agreeable to converse.
Unfortunately the countess suddenly approached, carrying a cup of coffee, which she coquettishly presented
to him.
" Very little sugar, if you please."
The lady took up the shining sugar-tongs, and began to look for a small lump in the bowl held by
Mme. de Rougeon. She searched and searched —
"Is not this piece too small, or how will that do?
Wait, wait, we will suit you exactly."
She assumed a thousand pretty attitudes during
this occupation; the pearly skin of her wrist, threaded
with its blue veins, challenged the attention, and en



AR 0 UND A SPRING.             73
circling its satin smoothness, gleamed a golden bracelet whose suspended trinkets tingled against the
edges of the sugar basin.
Abb6 Roche did not understand how so simple an
act could furnish an opportunity for the display of so
many subtle graces, but he was by no means impatient, and, to tell the truth, might have remained
much longer as an observer of the difficulties of
sweetening, without complaining.
" And you, dear papa, will you have some coffee?"
asked the young wife.
"Thank you, my darling."
"Just think of it, my father cannot be persuaded
to give up that horrible white cravat, which, tied in
that way, makes him look like a country bailiff: For
eight years, Monsieur le cur6, I have suffered from
the old-fashioned dress in which my father glories.
At least, let me re-arrange the knot?"
She approached M. Larreau, whose face brightened
till his left eye could scarcely be perceived, and with
the artless manner and affected childishness of a
boarding-school miss, altered the tie of the cravat,
drew down the ends, thrust her slender little fingers
into all the corners, retouched and patted her work,
half closed her eyes that she might the better judge of
its effect, then throwing her arms around her father's
neck, kissed him most affectionately.  "There is a
greatly improved papa, isn't he, Monsieur le cur6?"
And she turned away.
"Isn't my little countess charming, Monsieur
Roche? " said the capitalist, earnestly.
" Certainly," answered the cure, " certainly. Were
you telling me that mountains were an obstacle, and
that intercourse-humanitarian- I did not exactly
catch your idea."
"Well, my dear cur6, I have no one else in the
world. You do not understand a father's feelings.
I love her with my whole heart, the dear little thing.




74           AROUND A SPRING.
She does just what she pleases with me. Ah! ahmy little countess! How stylish she is! What do
you think of her? She has such an aristocratic appearance!"
Even the tones of his voice changed as he spoke
of his daughter, and his face assumed an expression
of delight.
Nothing of all this escaped the priest's attention;
"Mme. de Manteigney appears to be very fond of
you, Monsieur," he replied.
" Oh! you do not know her, you have merely
caught a glimpse of her. My daughter is an angel! "
There was a moment's silence, during which M.
Larreau looked at the priest with a defiant smile, that
seemed almost a challenge.
"I do not doubt it, I do not doubt it."
" You must know that I have always lived for my
wife and daughter; family affections are deeply rooted in my heart, Monsieur le cure. I have worked
during my life, worked very hard; but may I be hung
if I ever spent even two hours without thinking of
my dear little daughter. It gives one courage, you
see. The day after she was born, as I saw the little
cherub moving restlessly among her wrappings, I felt
that my life began to have an object, and swore to
make my daughter a great lady. I have not managed
my affairs badly, as you perceive; besides giving her
a title, I have amassed a few crowns for her use. I
am very rich, M. le cure; I do not pride myself upon
it in the least; but I am very rich."
As he uttered the words, he twisted his cigar
carefully between his fingers, which seemed to have
grown a fourth longer.
"It must be confessed," he continued, " that she
has adapted herself to circumstances wonderfully
well, and does not appear to be any more inconvenienced by her countess's coronet than I am by my
night-cap. If you could see her at a ball! Between




AROUND A SPRING.               75
ourselves there is not a duchess in the Faubourg
Saint German who is a greater lady than she, and
that without the slightest affectation, with perfect
ease! How can I help loving her! A father's heart
is very tender. And then it is my creation, my work.
There, do you see her now? She has just made one
of her charming puns. They are all listening, everybody around her is laughing. Ah! good, there they
go again. There is more wit in her little finger than
in all their brains united. They are perfect starlings:
oh! I make no excuses for them. They must have
shocked you at breakfast. I have a horror of this
empty, noisy loquaciousness in which every one seems
to make a point of saying exactly the opposite of
what he thinks."
" But why should there be so much dissimulation?"
" What would you have? it is the fashion. Well!
Monsieur le cur6, she is no more embarrassed when,
glittering with jewels, she enters a ball-room, than
you see her now. My daughter amazes me. Yes,
she amazes me by her style, her aristocratic bearing.
And she can be so haughty when she chooses. I have
sometimes heard her reprove her head coachmanshe was so cutting I could hardly help embracing her
on the spot. My son-in-law is not so bad,as far as he
goes, but he does not come within a hundred feet of
his wife. How do you like the count's appearance?"
"Very well, Monsieur, very well."
"And I don't like it at all. Yet I should wish
him to be just as he is. Perhaps I will explain the
reason one of these days."
Then suddenly, with an outburst of frankness
and cordiality, he exclaimed: " Monsieur le cur6, I tell
you plainly that I am extremely pleased with you.
No, don't be so modest, upon my honor I mean
it. If I did not like you, I should say so, for I am
as true as gold. Your face expresses integrity, and




76            AROUND A SPRING.
if you will allow me to say so, a great deal of intelligence."
The priest's smile had a tinge of irony. " What
is his object," he thought; "for what motive is he
saying all this?"
"And the deuce, my dear cure, it was God who
made you so; there is no occasion for blushing. I do
not know your origin, but-"
"It is a most humble one."
"Not more humble than mine, certainly-I defy
you to surpass that: I am an old spout-maker." The
cure made a gesture of surprise.
" Nothing else, and.I am not at all ashamed of it,
on the contrary. I am rich, it is true; but I have no
personal graces, while you, my dear cur6, have the
bearing of a nobleman. You possess a famous capital
in that."
Abb6 Roche, vaguely understanding that the
words contained something offensive, could not help
blushing; perceiving it, the capitalist continued:
"Listen: each man seeks to make a mark in his
own career, and dreams of success-it is a matter of
necessity that it should be so."
" I think, Monsieur, that you are making sport of
me."
"' You have everything, I tell you, the bearing,
the gestures, the grace, the dignity, everything-I
will go farther, and assert that you are not in your
rightful place while here."
Larreau stopped before Abbe Roche with the
firmness of a prophet, and, thrusting his hands into
the arm-pits of' his vest, continued: "No false modesty; I know men; people do not attain my position,
as you may imagine, unless they understand them
thoroughly; well, you are not in your rightful place
here, my dear cure, unless this parish, now so insignificant, should acquire —" he made a hem! and
smiled —" should chance to acquire an importance




AROUND A SPRING.              77
which would render it worthy of you. You are
ambitious-so much the better! I like that. It is
indispensable to careers which are impeded by obstacles."
"But, Monsieur, I-"
"Nobly ambitious, that is what I mean. You feel
your value, and you are right."
" Never has my conduct-  You judge me without knowing me."
"Pardon me, I know what I am saying. Your
glance, your face, everything about you denotes energy, a love for conflict, a contempt of difficulties.
You are placed in this out-of-the-way corner for some
reason of which I am ignorant, and still young, ardent
and intelligent, you desire. to make your way in the
world and retaliate for the slight. What could be
more noble and natural? I have been in your position, and that is why I know your feelings. Consider
me as a sincere friend, and let us understand each
other."
"You will oblige me by not adding another word,"
said Abbe Roche, who felt that his anger was gaining
the mastery over him.
"You know, my dear friend, that I say what I
think, just in this way, frankly and plainly; you must
take me as I am."
"After all," said the cure to himself, " this man
may be only a fool and monomaniac. What should
make him think of insulting me? What wrong have
I done him? Besides, perhaps I have misunderstood
his meaning."
He controlled himself, and answered coldly,
"Monsieur, I presume that I do not exactly comprehend you. All that I ask is that you will wait until
you know me better before forming your opinion of
me; I think you will then find I am perfectly well
suited for my position in this parish."
"Well said, very well said, I repeat. I admire




78           AROUND A SPRING.
frankness; you do not wish to leave this region. I
only esteem you the more highly for it, since it is a
proof of the correctness of your judgment." And,
putting his arm unceremoniously within that of the
priest, he continued: " Let us speak openly to each
other, my dear friend. This country has a splendid future-God has bestowed royal gifts upon it. See how
beautiful is the sweep of the vast horizon! Look at
yonder mountains, with the silvery light upon their
summits, they contain treasures which should be
brought forth. These almost abandoned forests only
need to be felled; these valleys are as fertile as any in
the world; each of the brooks rushing into the plain
has a motive power which can and ought to be made
profitable. How much wealth there is lying under this
virgin soil, only needing the labor of' some well-supported man! In what, I ask you, is this earthly paradise inferior to all the cities among the Pyrenees
and Alps, to which all Europe resorts to scatter its
millions. BagnBres de Luchon, Cauterets, Uriage,
Evian, Aix, Vichy? "
" Do not the places you mention possess mineral
springs, whose fame-"
" Well, and Monaco, and Baden, and-besides, the
mineral springs- Excuse my entering into the details
at present. Do not suppose that I purchased the estate of Manteigney at random, I have always put my
capital into good investments. In short, trust to me,
I have entered upon a grand and beautiful scheme,
and I am not the man to draw back on account of obstacles, my dear cure. In accepting this noble mission, devoting the remainder of my days to it, and introducing life, wealth, activity, industry and happiness into this deserted country, I believe that I am
acting in accordance with the designs of Providence,
and shall deserve the esteem of all worthy men! let
us think of all this seriously. Now, what do I ask,
what do I hope for from you? Sympathy, nothing




AROUND A SPRING.               79
more-your official, but sincere concurrence. I ask
you to associate your advancement with my work, and
aid it by the moral influence which is the result of
your position."
"Then you ask something of me? I beg you,
Monsielr, explain yourself more clearly."
" Oh! oh! I see that you are like Saint Thomas,"
said the capitalist, with increasing gentleness and good
nature. " You wish the thing to be made perfectly
plain. Do not apologize: this caution does not annoy
me, my dear fiiend; business is business."
" So you are proposing some business matter?
What is it? I am not at all familiar with such things.
Speak to me simply, as you would to a child: I shall
not understand you otherwise."
" The word business slipped out unintentionally.
The deuce! it is a very ticklish affair," thought Larreau. "I beg you to excuse me, I never meant-it
is no question of business, the affair is simply one of
sympathy, good-will, active benevolence, my dear cu'6.
It is rather difficult for me, as you can easily comprehend, to enter into all the details of this enterprise
just now. Yet listen to me. The population of this
country is full of faith and simplicity; it is poetic, has
a tendency towards the supernatural: valuable qualities. You have perfect control over them, you know
their wants, their desires. During the ten or fifteen
years that you have spent here you must have extended your relations far among the mountains; the neighboring curels are your friends; in short, you have an
immense moral influence.  Now, it is very difficult
to undertake anything in a country where one has not
first won the confidence of the inhabitants.  I wish
for their happiness, their welfare, it is true; but
they must be made to understand this, and you alone
are in a position to explain everything to them.  Prejudices are obstinate, habits tenacious; it is for you,
my dear cur6, who understand how to appeal to their




80           AROUND A SPRING.
minds, to present the benefits which will result from
my work in a favorable light."
The priest concentrated his whole attention, in order to comprehend M. Larreau's words. In the midst
of the confusion of his thoughts, he said to himself:
"Perhaps, after all, his intentions are good; the poverty is very great, there must be much to be done."
" And then," continued the capitalist, " there ought
not to be the least doubt of each other. Nothing can
or should be attempted without the aid of religion.
If you are anxious about my personal opinions, I can
re-assure you, for I am a true Catholic. Progress, in
her advance, must be illumed by the torch of faith.
These simple words say more than a long speech.
Without being what is called a devotee, I am thoroughly sincere in my belief. I practise it-as a man ought
in my position; and I really think that Catholicism is
the only barrier that can be opposed to the flood of
wicked passions, the only barricade that protects the
grand principles of social life, respect for authority
and wealth."
" The love of God is higher than all that, Monsieur."
"Do I not trust in the love of God-but, pardon
me the jest: I have more faith, from a practical point
of view, in the fear of the devil. Look you, my dear
friend; we do not win murderers by the promise of
the cross of the legion of honor, but awe them by the
threat of the scaffold; and when we walk at night
with money on our persons, in unsafe suburbs, it is
better to have a good stick in the hand than a bundle
of tracts in the pocket. I speak to you frankly, for
you are a man who can understand me."
Abbe Roche felt the blood flushing his brow. It
seemed to him as if he had just received a blow in the
face, and no longer able to control the indignation
which had been too long restrained, he was about to




AROUND A SPRING.               81
reply as he felt, when Mme. Manteigney suddenly
came tripping up.
" Well, gentlemen, have you determined to desert
us? Come, we have arranged a game of cricket, and
I bet against Monsieur le curel."
" I am very sorry, Madame, but they are expecting me at church, and the vesper bell will soon ring."
" Then I must not delay you; but you know that
I am going to pay a visit at your house. You promised to give me a list of the poor people."
When the cure had gone, the young countess took
her father's arm.
" You won't wear that ugly white cravat any more,
will you, dear papa? It makes you look like your
lawyer."
" Yes, countess-yes, my darling, I will give up
the white cravat to please you."
"Tell me, father, what do you think of our cure?"
" Oh! my dear child, he is certainly no parvenu."
"You think so, really."
"He is extremely clever, and sees the whole bearings of any matter very clearly. He is also cautious,
cold, and circumspect."
"Then he is an incomprehensible man. How did
he happen to be the cure of this insignificant village? "
" There are certain occasions, my darling, in which
we must recognize the finger of Providence, which
prepares events and regulates means of action."
When Abb6 Roche reached the end of the terrace,
he turned, before proceeding on his way, and saw in
the distance the father and daughter, walking side by
side, and arm in arm. They looked as if they enjoyed
each other's companionship. The young countess's
dress, with its floating train, swept over the grass,
atd the fair hair and white robe made a charming contrast relieved against the green trees.  The cure undoubtedly had an instinctive appreciation of colors:
for he followed the countess and her father with his
6




82           AROUND A SPRING.
eyes until they disappeared behind a clump of trees.
Then he continued his walk.
In the court-yard, the head coachman was examining a carriage, from which the horses had been unharnessed, and pere Loursiere, who had just arrived,
accompanied by his daughter, and armed with his
basket, was making remarks upon it. The cheese
merchant bowed, on perceiving the cure.  Abbe
Roche, who did not particularly like the man, returned his greeting, passed him quickly, and went towards the door. Pere and mere Sappey were still
seated side by side before their little mats.
The good woman rose. "Monsieur le cur6," said
she, " have you spoken to our master and mistress
about my husband's red breeches?"
" No, minre Sappey, not yet, but do not be anxious
about it, the matter can probably be easily settled.
Does pere Loursiere come here often?"
" Only too often, M. le cure, only too often! We
did not see him as you might say once a year, and
now he comes with his daughter-"
Abbe Roche left the chateau, and turned towards the village. The road was bathed in sunlight,
and the little brook, which flowed beside it, babbling
among the stones, had never been more merry and
enticing; but the priest remained blind to all these
charms. One by one Larreau's remarks returned to
his memory. He thought that he discovered the
meaning which had escaped him, and now found the
answer he had not been able to firame before. Had
not this man asked him to use his priestly authority
to aid his speculations — to mingle God's name in
commercial enterprises? Was not that what he had
meant? He was indignant, and angrily struck with
his stick the grass and flowers that bloomed beside
the brook; he wished to return at once to the ch&teau, explain himself clearly, and undeceive this man,
whom he had perhaps encouraged by his silence-to




AROUND A SPRING.               83
say to him: "I am not what you think;" then he
checked himself, and with a revulsion of feeling, accused himself of putting a false interpretation upon
the words of the capitalist, who seemed so kind and
affable to everybody, so affectionate to the dear little
countess, to whom his life was devoted. He had
spoken of enterprises, schemes to be accomplished;
but he had not mentioned their nature. Perhaps they
might be honorable ones. He had expressed himseli; it is true, in singular terms, with a double meaning; but was it not natural that he should judge of
things as a man of business, a parvenu, a rich man,
who could not separate the welfare of a country from
its material prosperity?
At every step taken by the priest, the lizards basking on the hot stones by the roadside rushed under
the grasses and glided among the shrubs. The air
was filled with the cheerful hum of insects, and there
was a pleasant fragrance of aromatic plants and
shrubs, mingling with the distant odor fiom the pine
trees. Under any other circumstances the good cure,
as he walked along, would have been happy, and
thankful to God for his pleasant lot. He would have
thought of the bowl players, awaiting him after vespers on the smoothly shaven turf of the little enclosure, under the shadow of the lofty chestnut trees, of
his cheerfill supper afterwards, sitting in the open
door-way near his flowers, while before him was the
radiant majesty of the sun, sinking behind the icy
mountain peaks, and of his quiet slumber, when at
peace with others and himself, he went to rest after
the day was over.
At that moment he was very far from such calm
repose. He was endeavoring, almost obstinately, to
excuse the capitalist. He only wished to remember
the good words of the conversation. He saw him
again, looking happy and cheerful, while his daughter
coquettishly arranged his white cravat; and, led on




84           AROUND A SPRING.
by these memories, heard once more the sound of
the bracelets striking against the sugar-bowl, and
again saw the white robes sweeping over the lawn.
All these recollections rapidly succeeded each other
in his mind. He felt as if he had a double personality,
and while Abbe Roche, cure of Grand Fort, strove
to escape the remembrance of all that he had seen
and heard at the chateau, a second self; who was no
priest, but curious about novelties, ardent, free, and
bold, sought to understand and recall the phantoms
which the cur6 had just conjured up.
XI.
Abbe Roche, to dispel these preoccupied thoughts,
resolved to avoid everything that might interrupt the
ordinary course of his quiet life, but, by a singular fatality, which seemed as if it were the result of the
malice- of some fiend, almost all his sensations and
ideas led him by more or less direct paths to the castle of Manteigney, to the motley world which enthroned the countess. She herself returned to his
thoughts more frequently than anything else: it was
incomprehensible. Did he walk through fields bathed
in sunlight, some corner of the landscape recalled the
color of the young wife's hair, and if to avoid it he
moved on more quickly and looked up towards the
sky, the trailing edge of some fleecy cloud borne
along by the breeze caught his eye, and in spite of
himself, he thought of the lightness of the floating,
half-disordered curls that strayed over her shoulders.
Everything was a pretext to remind him of her, and
one detail recalling another, they grouped around
each other with marvellous rapidity, and he soon perceived her whole figure, saw her move, heard her
speak. It almost seemed as if every word uttered
by her lips had lodged in the poor man's ears and




AROUND A SPRING.                85
could not be expelled. Suddenly, without apparent
cause, these words would begin to reason within him
with such a semblance of reality that he stopped
short, startled, like a man who has been unexpectedly
clapped on the shoulder. It appeared to him as if it
were not one of the vague impressions whose remembrance is preserved by the mind, but the continuation
of an actual fact. He heard the countess's voice, perceived its mnusical accents, its soft vibrating tones.
The singularity of the phenomenon to which he
was unwillingly forced to yield, irritated him extremely. He was in despair at being compelled to hear,
even when he did not listen. He attempted to take
himself to task, and entered into a profound analysis
of his sensations. What was it after all? A singular quivering of the tympanum, caused by peculiar
vibrations in the air, nothing more. If the same sensations were firequently renewed, it was because, by
an inexplicable but purely physical fact, the air obstinately continued to vibrate in precisely the same manner. That the result was agreeable to him, instead
of being painful, was of very little importance; a
skilful physician would have explained it by figures;
undoubtedly it was only a scientific detail, which
might be readily expressed in a formula. It was very
clear that, under any circumstances, moral sympathies
had nothing to do with this phenomenon. It was
not the attraction of two souls mutually seeking each
other. What bond could there be between the countess and himself?  He did not know her well! had
scarcely seen her. Thus the priest, in seeking to diminish his anxiety, and regain his usual calmness,
threw himself, with singular energy, into the depths
of the most radical materialism. Yet, if he shook
himself fiee of it, with unconquerable repugnance, it
was only to encounter other embarrassments which
were equally annoying; for, if the ever-recurring remembrance of the countess was only a physical phe



86            AROUND A SPRING.
nomenon, he must confess himself to be the servant,
the slave of his senses, subject to their caprices, a victim of their phantasms. Never before had he been
compelled to endure the insubordination and revolt
of these vassals, and he felt humiliated by it. His
soul must have become very weak and impotent, if it
no longer had the power of self-control! He wished
to sternly punish his rebellious thoughts, but how?
Had he not reason to reproach himself for weaknesses and culpable negligences, which were the first
cause of this insubordination?
Abbe Roche did not then know the secret of the
uneasiness of which he was a victim. What, indeed,
could be the cause of the pre-occupied thoughts
which pursued him, irritating and humiliating him,
like the buzzing and stinging of a swarm of insects,
against which one can make no resistance? It was
not that he feared the future: the irrevocable vows
that he had pronounced were like a divine and impenetrable shield, beneath whose shelter he could
live without any serious injury, and boldly front the
world; but as he did not wish to pursue his study of
sensations that were unworthy of closer examination,
he most earnestly sought for pretexts to absent himself from the chateau. He called to his aid the memory of Claudius and the Rougeon family, and strove
to make his confused recollections of them more distinct. He summoned them from the dark background to which they had been banished by his prejudices, and sought to give more vividness to the
outline. He remembered, not without strong effort,
their faces, their peculiar manners, their repulsive
words; in imagination, he looked into their souls,
and, utterly disgusted by the pictures he had drawn,
determined to cease all intercourse with these people. lie no longer said one word of the countess.
In order to convince himself even more fully, he
brought fbrward fresh arguments: it was to be feared




AROUND A SPRING.              87
that a prolonged intimacy with the rich and happy of
this world might divert his attention from his austere
duties, and that amidst this earthly existence, this excessive luxury and comfort, he might permit himself
to be drawn into habits which he could not easily
shake off. Would it not be said, also, that he accepted the hospitality of the chateau from effeminacy and
indolence, in order to escape from the hardships of
his simple mode of life? What would his parishion
ers say, whose existence it was his duty to share?
Such were the reasons he assigned. Besides, he liked
to give himself curt orders, to be unhesitatingly obeyed; it was one means of proving his moral energy,
which, with secret pride, he opposed to the theoretical submission of his senses. In order to excuse and
convince himself, he enumerated in his thoughts all
the duties imposed upon him by his ministry, the sick
to be visited, the poor, the catechism-but he must
have attached great importance to the necessity of
ceasing all intercourse with the chateau, since it led
him to such self-deception. Whatever might be the
cause, faithful to the resolution he had formed, Abb6
Roche strove with all the energy of which he was capable, to occupy his time. He did so well, he combined visits, prayers, meditation and gardening so
skilfully that he was at liberty only during the two
hours directly after supper, which had always been
devoted to his evening walk. It was his time for
thinking during a quiet ramble. The sun had set,
night began to darken over the country, the'women
were still spinning at the thresholds of their doors,
the men, seated on the stumps of pine trees, which
had just been brought from the forest, smoked and
talked together, and when the cure passed these
worthy people, they exchanged a bow and good-evening. How many times had the priest sat down
among them, taking an earnest interest in the thou



88           AROUND A SPRING.
sand details of their monotonous, laborious family
life!
Abb6 Roche was now less desirous to have these
meetings and conversations; he wished to be alone,
and avoided the village, which had become noisy and
excited. At this hour the inn, formerly so silent, became the rendezvous fobr the servants belonging to
the chateau, whose Parisian gayety, wild songs, careless self-possession, red breeches, white cravats, and
style peculiar to aristocratic -serving men, were beginning to attract the young peasants in the neighborhood. The cur6, therefore, left his house by the
side door and descended the path which winds along
on the outskirts of the village, and turns to the chf(teau, or leads to the charming precincts of the deep
ravine that serves as an enclosure to the manor
grounds, according to whether the right or left hand
turning is taken.
This solitary spot, inhabited during the day by
the goats, was utterly deserted at nightfall, and Abb6
Roche liked to wander there, while the stars gradually appeared in the heavens, and the sounds from the
village died away. To judge only by appearances, it
might be supposed that our cure was very illogical
and inconsistent to walk in this direction. Yet he
did so only to conquer his impressible senses more
entirely; he wished to render them accustomed to
remain at rest in sight of the walls which might recall the memory of the emotions that had disturbed
him. He went there with his troubled thoughts, as
one would take a dog out walking, whip and leash in
hand.
The picturesque ravine, in whose depths the
brook of Grand Fort, swollen by springs, became a little brawling torrent, contained one spot where the cure
often sat. It was a sort of narrow platform, suspended, so to speak, in space, among crumbling rocks and
trunks of trees, half uprooted by the wintry rains and




AROUND A SPRING.               89
autumnal tempests. When the moon rose there was
a splendid view; on the left, a gap in the rocks revealed a portion of the valley, full of white, fleecy,
motionless vapors, which resembled' the depths of
the ocean. Below, and nearly opposite to him, on
the other side of the ravine, amid the fantastic forms
of the gnarled, twisted chestnut trees, rose the old
chateau, with its lofty towers concealed by sombre
ivy, and its pointed roofs, covered with blue glittering slates that reflected the moonlight in long lines
of silver. The large glass doors of the picture-gallery and dining-room, illuminated by the lamps and
candles burning within, could also be plainly seen.
The twinkling gleam  of the cigars, moving about
among the orange trees on the lawn, could also be
perceived, and from time to time the laughter of the
smokers, softened by distance and the murmur of
the torrent, floated on the air. Often too the shadow
of a woman, hooded and wrapped in a large operacloak, joined the gentlemen.  The cur6 watched all
this quietly, without by any movement expressing the
least emotion; but bit his lips sternly, when, in the
shadowy outline of the phantom, he recognized the
countess.
XI.
On one of these evenings, Abbe Roche had been
seated a few moments in the place I have just mentioned, listening to the music of the torrent, and looking at the chateau, when he suddenly heard a loud
rustling in the branches a few yards below him. The
cows and goats were all in their barns at that hour
of the night; yet it was very strange that any one
should come to take a walk in that steep place. IHe
listened, and thought he heard two persons conversing in an undertone.  Unfortunately the noise of the




90           AROUND A SPRING.
water prevented his distinguishing the meaning of
the words. The two voices were almost equally
sweet and shrill, though one was more drawling than
the other. At last, either the speakers had approached nearer, or the abbe had increased his powers of
hearing by the intentness with which he listened, for
he distinguished the following words:
" Do you know, my little savage, that I almost
lost my way in coming here? You are as familiar
with every inch of the ravine as if you had browsed
here like the: goats; but let us stop now. How do
you do this evening, my daughter? Dear me, you
are in full dress! "
" So that my father asked where I was going in
my Sunday clothes?"
" And what did you say to your father? He has
a famous beard, that papa of yours! "
" I told him I was going to the castle, to carry
some of the cheeses made firom the milk of our goats,
and the moss the countess had asked me to bring.her
to place under the fruits. It wasn't true, but he believed it, and said no more."
"You are no simpleton, are you?"
"No, indeed, Monsieur le comte."
"Take off your cap, so that I can look at your hair.
How thin your arms are! "
"I am just as thin everywhere."
"But, to make amends, your eyes sparkle brightly,
little one. Have people often told you that you had
handsome hair? "
"To be sure, Monsieur le comte, of course they
have, and it's true: my hair is still longer than this,
when it isn't in braids. Shall I undo them?"
" Is all this quantity yours? "
" Whose should it be? "
"You might have bought it, for youlike to be admired."
"Bought- -it? Is it for'sale?'- Oh! -if you'want




AR 0 UND A SPRING.             91
to buy a little of mine, I should be very glad to dispose of it, for I have too much. Is it for sale, truly?"
"Certainly it is, little Velleda. Do you know
how pretty you are, my dear, with your big eyes?
Turn this way, so that I can look at you. Are you
always as pale as you are now?"
"It isn't my fault."
"I am not scolding you, my darling. I like you
just as you are: it makes your eyes seem darker, and
your eyebrows too.  Come and sit down by me.Well, don't be so uneasy; I. only want to kiss you.
Are you not willing that the count at the chateau
should give you a kiss?"
" Yes, Monsieur le comte, but if people knew it,
they would think lightly of me, and then my father-"
"Your father, your father —he is up there in his
hut. We are alone. Are you not cold with that little
neck-handkerchief? It is very small, my poor child,
and your neck is bare."
" Oh! I am used to the evening mists, and besides-"
" Besides what?"
"It is the most becoming one I have, the others
don't suit me."
" I told you that you liked to be admired."
" And I didn't say it was not so."
"Then you are pleased: when people say you are
pretty, are you not?"
"That depends upon who says so."
" When it happens to be I, do you like it?"
"Yes."
"Then, you love me?"
" Yes."
"Oh Heavens! tell me why?"
"Do not hold me so close."
"It is only to keep you from falling. Tell- me
why do you love me? Your figure is very supple,
little snake-you.are like the pine trees, and the wild




92           ARO UND A SPRING.
thyme. Do you believe in ghosts? Don't you hoear
voices in the darkness? Tell me whether you believe
in ghosts, little girl? There, don't be frightened.
Why do you love me, little witch. You came here
astride of your broomstick, I know you did. Come,
I love you because you are a savage, have beautifiul
hair, walk about barefooted, fear neither rain, wind,
nor- And you, now it is your turn."
"Bless me, I don't know-because-because-you
are not like other people."
"Oh! she is a flatterer already."
"Is your ring gold? and these buttons too?
You have such white hands. If any one else wore a
gold ring, it would be ugly; but it looks well on you:
and then, when you kiss me, your mustache smells so
good."
" Ah! little witch, who taught you to say all that?
Faith, I would give a hundred of our dolls for you.
Why do you love me?"
"You hurt me, you hold me so tight."' Once more, why do you love me?"
"You are the count-"
" Well! you are turning your head away from the
count-  When I tell you to keep quiet, little wild
goat?"
It was with great difficulty that Abbe Roche had
kept silence during this conversation. He had listened with fixed attention and compressed lips, feeling
his anger, as well as disgust and indignation, constantly
increasing. Was the last of the de Manteigneys to
bring nothing but trouble and wretchedness into the
country? While the servants disturbed the village
with their noisy songs, was the master to mislead the
maidens? Had all these people determined among
themselves to utterly demoralize the mountains. The
priest remembered the instinctive aversion which he
had felt at the first sight of this ill-formed, puny,
impertinent little being; then, by a logical sequence




AR O UD A SPRING.              93
of thought, suddenly beheld the woman who had mlarried this baboon, and said to himself:-" She isl expecting him now, and is perfectly undisturbed, poor
woman! "
She appeared to be all the more pure a victim because the count's crime seemed utterly monstrous.
He had a most ardent desire to anticipate divine justice, leap over the few yards that separated him from
the speakers, and let the wretch feel the full weight
of his stick; then, in spite of his wrath, he thought of
the scandal, the sorrow that the poor young wife would
feel. However guilty he might be, the count belonged to an illustrious race; he represented the noble
family of the lords of Manteigney;and had he, a poor
cure, sprung from nobody knew where, however just
his indignation might be, the riglt to punish a culprit protected by long ages of nobility and grandeur?
Besides, this was probably only the beginning of their
intimacy. The count was thoughtless, but surely incapable of carrying matters farther and injuring a child
who trusted him so frankly. His duty as a priest imposed the necessity of acting with prudence and
calmness. He would find means of putting an end to
the matter; he would speak to the girl, who was not
unreasonable-he would do his best.
These thoughts succeeded each other in the cur6's
brain with wonderful rapidity.  Meantime, as he
heard no more, and feared to lose his self-control if he
remained longer, he pushed aside the branches that
surrounded him, and forcing a passage, regained the
narrow path by which he had come. As the brushwood rustled under his feet, he heard the count's
voice behind him, saying in a suppressed tone:"Who is there —zounds! who is there? "
Abbe Roche followed the path, not without some
difficulty, for as he advanced among the trees, the
darkness increased, and the way became more intricate. At last, turning to the left, he found himself




94            ARO UND A SPR~iNG.
in the road that led to the village. He had not ad.
vanced thirty paces, when he saw something white,
under the shadow of the trees, which chanced to attract his attention. He approached it, and found himself face to face with pere Loursiere's daughter, pressing closely against the trunk of a chestnut tree, and
staring at him with her large, wide open eyes.
At the noise made by the cure, she had left the
count, and taking the shortest way, climbing the steep
slope like a roe, posted herself on the side of the road,
very sure that whoever had interrupted them must
pass that way to return to the village, and she might
recognize him without being seen. Unfortunately,
the cure had excellent eyes.
" What! is that you, Monsieur le cur6?"
" Yes, it is I. Where did you come from at this
hour? —where did you come from?"
" I came from beyond the path, down below, and
I am going directly home-it is late."
They walked on for a moment without uttering a
word.  Abbe Roche felt that he was too deeply
moved, and wished to calm himself before speaking.
He had always loved the poor child on account of
her delicate health and strange, pallid countenance,
which resembled that of the mother who had died
in giving her birth.
The priest's voice at first had been stern and severe; he continued in a mild, sad tone:
"You are forgetting God, my child."
" But, Monsieur le cure, I came from the chateau —
on account of the cheeses."
" Do not tell a lie, unhappy girl! I tell you that
you are forgetting God, who remembers and sees
you. You know what I mean: we will speak of it
at some future time. Go home to the father who is
waiting for you —this is your way."
And the cur6 pointed to the path, bordered with




AROUND A SPRING.              95
pine trees, that turned in another direction, a few
paces beyond.
"But, Monsieur le cure, I was coming from the
chateau."
"Do not tell a lie! Return to your father's house, be
quick; you must not be found here at this hour, and
I hear some one coming this way. Make haste."
They did indeed hear the footsteps of two men,
who were coming from the village. Doubtless the
turn in the road had deadened the sound of their
steps, and Abbe Roche supposed them to be farther
away than they really were, for they appeared almost
immediately, arm in arm, staggering from side to
side.
" Good-evening, Monsieur le cure," said pere Sappey, "a very good-evening to you," and he added,
with a singularly embarrassed manner, turning to his
companion, who was one of the count's grooms:"This is my friend, Francois; he offered to treat me,
and now we are going back to the chateau. But who
is that yonder running into the path edged with fir
trees, Monsieur le cure! —I don't see double yet-"
" Go home, and go to bed, pere Sappey, you need
to do so, and your wife is waiting for you."
"But no, I don't see double. That is certainly
Marie, Loursiere's daughter. Oh! so you no'longer
say good-evening to people? Where did she come
from at this hour, M. le cure? How late young people go to bed now? "
"I came from the castle," cried the young girl,
without turning.
" Go home, you are late," said Abbe Roche in a
curt tone, " and you, Sappey, had better do the same."
" I am not sleepy, Monsieur le cure," replied the
peasant, smiling in the usual manner of happy drunkards. "Isn't that so, Francois, we're not sleepy."
"Perhaps Monsieur le cur6 doesn't care to sleep
any more than we do," answered the groom, looking




96           AROUND A SPRING.
in the direction in which the young girl had disappeared.
" The scoundrels! " he murmured, clenching his
fists, " the servant is worthy of the master."
And he moved quickly away.
xm.
Abbe Roche slept but very little that night; he
still heard the stupid laughter of the two drunken
men. It was the first time that he had encountered
such insolence in his parish, and his blood boiled in
spite of himself. He also heard M. de Manteigney's
shrill voice addressing Loursiere's daughter! the scene
in the ravine was painted by his imagination with
vivid reality. He saw the puny little nobleman clasping the poor young girl in his arms, gazing at her with
mocking, bold, insolent looks. And while the priest
vainly closed his eyes that he might not see, the emotions conquered in silence once more awoke within
him.  He thought of the tender affections which
still sometimes appeared to him as most enchanting
to contemplate, sublime, purified by the union of
souls, and the benediction of God. The count seemed
still more repulsive to him! his feelings were not
worthy the name of love. God would not permit
the word to be sullied by being put to such a use.
What was it but mere sensuality, in which the heart
has no share.
Had vice then a positive charm for certain characters? He remembered the singular books, written
in graphic style, in Latin, which had been put before
him on leaving the university, and had left no more
visible trace on his pure, upright soul than some
passing nightmare does upon the mind. Had these
books, filled with all the immorality of the human
soul, which might have passed for the secret registers




-lROUND A SPRING.               97
of the police in Sodom, any foundation in reality?
Were they a faithful mirror in which certain men
might recognize themselves? What was there lacking
in the life of this infatuated count? Ile had no toil
or suffering. Was not his task the easiest in the
world? To be virtuous without effort or difficulty;
to walk uprightly in the pleasant path which God
made smooth before him, doubtless that it might be
more easy for him to guard the sacred virtues of
which his birth made him the depository.
The poor cur6 excused vice among the wretched
of the world; but his pure heart could not understand it in this privileged nobleman, who had family
ties, could enjoy all legitimate pleasures, and was so
richly gifted that, having nothing to desire, he was
shielded from the human temptations which corrupt
and destroy-in this gentleman who, in return for
these benefits, had only to endure the delightful burden of' gratitude to God. Must he not be a monster,
and what could have been the design of Providence
in uniting, with indissoluble bonds, such a being to
that poor wife? How she must have suffered-how
she must still suffer! Was not her apparent frivolity,
her incomprehensible coquetry, the extravagance of
her dress, a mere mask, beneath which she strove to
conceal the anguish of her heart?
How clearly everything was now explained! The
peculiar charm of her person was only that of grief.
Instinctively he had formed a correct judgment of
her. She sought to divert her thoughts; she was a
victim. Had she been a hundred times more coquettish and worldly, the tones of her voice, the dreamy
expression of her glance, dimmed by sorrow, were
sufficient to reveal her tender, suffering soul. She
was not only unhappy, but had also the rare virtue of
concealing her grief; doubtless she did not wish the
world to despise the man whose name she bore, she
desired to save the honor of the de Manteigneys, and
7




98           AROUND A SPRING.
feigned these careless manners to avert suspicion.
He understood her now. All was explained, even to
the caresses lavished upon her father. The poor, deserted, insulted wife, scorned by this misshapen fiend,
took refuge in filial love. Who among the brainless
fools that surrounded her could sustain her by good
counsel, cheer her with a kindly word? "How many
martyrs there are in this world whom only God
knows! " added the priest, clasping his hands.
As he yielded more and more to the current of
these thoughts, a feeling of the most ardent compassion and charity completely overpowered him. He
shuddered in spite of himself.
": Why should God have placed me in the path of
this suffering soul?" said he to himself; "why should
He have permitted me to perceive its agony? why
should He have caused me to experience, at the first
sight of this unhappy woman, such an extraordinary
sympathy that I was terrified by it?"
The priest now dared to confess to himself the
deep agitation that he had felt. It no longer seemed
to him a mere physical sensation, for which a learned
man could have given the formula, it was the emotion
of two souls that God wished to bring together.
Abb6 Roche opened his window and inhaled the
morning air. All around him was pure and fresh.
The birds were singing in the gigantic chestnut tree
that overhung the porch; the sun was dispelling the
lingering mists of night, and making the dew-drops
trickling from the petals of the flowers that filled his
garden sparkle in its rays. Among the various sounds
of the morning might be distinguished the sheep-bells,
whose silvery notes rang from the distance. It
seemed like a promise-a hope. Poor woman! Was
not the thought of her still more sorrowful, amid
these tranquil, peaceful scenes?
He was in the midst of these reflections when he
perceived Mme. de Manteigney herself, on the other




AROUND A SPRING.               99
side of the little square, accompanied by two children,
who were eagerly devouring a large slice of brown
bread. The young wife wore an extremely cool and
pretty morning dress. Her head was enveloped in a'
coquettish little hood, made of a sort of white, woolly
lace, through whose meshes a narrow blue ribbon was
carelessly twisted, as if to form a frame for her beautiful face, glowing from exposure to the morning air,
while her large black eyes, sparkling amidst the
white folds, seemed to warm the heart in spite of the
intervening distance.
When within a few paces of the house, she looked
up, and smiled as she saw Abb6 Roche.
"You see, Monsieur le cure, I have made friends
on the way, these are two of your parishioners. Don't
you want to be my friend?-tell me, cherry cheeks? "
So saying, she patted the neck of one of the children, who was silently giggling behind his slice of
bread.
" Are you not astonished to see me out walking so
early in the morning Monsieur le cure? "
" It is a quarter often, Madame," said Abb6 Roche.
" What! ten o'clock already! Well, I sent word
to Mlle. de Rougeon, who wished to come and visit
you with me, and was told that she was not up yet.
So I boldly set out all alone."
While she said these words, the priest gazed
earnestly into her face, trying to detect in some feature of her countenance the signs of the deep grief to
which he believed her a prey.
"Are people admitted to your house, Monsieur le
cure? I have something to say-"
" Good Heavens! what is the unhappy woman
going to confide to me?" murmured the worthy
priest.
" You promised to tell me about your poor people.
They shall be mine. Oh! I wish to do good: I am
anxious to perform deeds of. charity, I shall go and




100          ARO UND A SPRING.
visit my protge's to-morrow, and carry them a quantity of nice things, in spite of the bad roads. You do
not know me; I have a great deal of energy when I
undertake anything. Besides, the doctor told me that
I needed exercise. Oh! how pretty your house is,
my dear cure! How happy you must be here! It is
so quiet, simple, and pleasant —and these flowers
around the window! This is just what I like, what I
have always dreamed of; a little retreat, a hermitage,
silence, solitude, and wall flowers. Would you believe that they refused to let me have one poor little
pot of wall-flowers on my window at the chateau? I
have such simple tastes, my dear cure, I believe I was
born to be a shepherdess. Don't you believe me?"
" Can she confess her sadness more clearly, in
spite of her assumed gayety? " thought Abbe Roche,
and added, not without involuntary emotion, "What
could make you suppose that I do not believe you?
Words,I know, are often deceitful: the soul has its
secrets. A smile on the lips may at first mislead,
but-"
"I was sure," said the countess to herself, " that
my cur6 had some terrible wound in his heart: I
must not alarm him about it. By the way, I haven't
told you that my white donkey is coming, the donkey
that papa gave me to ride. I remember, now, that I
did speak to you about it, only I have changed the
color of the rosettes, they are to be crimson. What
do you think of it? "
" I think that crimson rosettes will be very pretty,
Madame."
"Won't it be charming?"
She clapped her hands, and her eyes sparkled as
if they were speaking of some very important matter.
The cure's clear understanding of the case was beginning to get cloudy again. It was in vain that he
watched her, with the most earnest attention; her
gayety was not feigned, or else she was impenetrable.




AROUND A SPRING.               101
Was it possible that so young a woman could have
strength and skill to dissemble her feelings so perfectly? Perhaps, after all, her unworthy husband
had had the infernal art to deceive her concerning his
conduct until now; perhaps she was ignorant of the
character of this accomplished rake.  He now had
only a partial belief in the utter wretchedness of the
countess, and yet he felt his sympathy increasing as
the idea which he fancied had given it birth lost its
reality. Must not this poor child be very innocent
to be so deceived, and were not her jests, artlessness,
and trifling conversation a most convincing proof of
her extreme candor?
"You know," she continued, "I should like to
take my poor people some bottles of nice Bordeaux
wine, tempting porridge, or sometimes a cutlet. All
these things will be very difficult to transport, and very
heavy to Sophie."
" Who is Sophie?"
" My white donkey-she is already christened."
The priest could not help smiling. " You think me
very frivolous, don't you? Do not apologize, I read
it in your eyes, and am not surprised; but when you
know me better you will find that, on the contrary,
there is no one more serious. Oh! if you want a
frivolous person, one who is really so, you should see
Mille. de Rougeon, with her affected air, her extravagant conversation. She is a person who can be read
at the first glance."
"The young girl is undoubtedly a little-"
"A little! Oh! I protest against your, a little.
Mly dear cur6, say that she is remarkably so. She is
unusually, unpardonably so. A little! oh! for instance! - but I have interrupted you; excuse me.
She is a little, you said-a little what?"
"A little-what shall I say?"
"Ha! ha! ha! that is capital."
"What is capital?"




102           ARO0 UND A SPRING.
"Excellent! excellent! It is exactly so, she is
much too-what shall Isay? She sacrifices everything to what shall Isay. Take away her what shall
Isay, and what remains-a doll, a pair of nippers."
"Indeed, countess, I-"
"You will be surprised, but I cannot endure her,
nor her father either. That man is as irritating as a
gutter."
"Oh! oh! that is slander," said Abb6 Rochewho in his heart was pleased with her severity-" but
why do you say as a gutter," he continued with some
little hesitation.
" Oh! so everything must be explained to you!Well, a gutter when it rains, a gutter that is always
dripping, tic toe, tic too. That is easily understood.
M. de Rougeon reminds me of a walking bolster,
don't you agree with me? As to his wife-"
"Mme. de Rougeon is very agreeable, she seems
so amiable, so —"
"She? she is like a lemon under a peach skin."
"A lemon! you mean that she has a sour disposition? "
" Mme. de Rougeon amiable! If that woman
should spit into the Seine, it would turn to lemonade,
and her daughter is just like her, that is my opinion.
Do you think me spiteful? Confess that you do."
"Rather severe," said the priest, with a slight
smile. In fact he did not consider her spiteful. The
prattle which a week ago had seemed absurd and incomprehensible, now appeared fill of grace and ingenuity. He found a peculiar charm in this piquant
irony, exaggerated though it was; there was an attraction in its childish candor; then she accompanied
her jests with such pretty gestures, emphasized her
words with such bewitching little grimaces! He listened to her with his eyes. How could he censure
words that increased her beauty? " You see,my dear
cur6, I cannot approve-perhaps I am a little too strict,




ARO IUND A SPRING.           103
but that is my disposition-I cannot approve of young
girls wearing rouge. If you had seen her at the last
naval ball, it was enough to make one cry out. And
such a dress! A yard of gauze, and a rose bud! It
is no use to say that sailors are never surprised at any
thing because they travel about so much; I assure
you that the little simpleton made quite a sensation.
By the way, I can show her to you in her costume."
" Oh! Madame," exclaimed the priest.
" It is only a drawing of the dress, I mean to show
you. The illustrated papers all copied it."
"Oh! good Heavens."
"You are amazed, are you not? But I am not
exaggerating."
Abbe Roche's face did, in truth, express the utmost astonishment.
" I pray Heaven, dear lady," said he, "that there
may be some little exaggeration in your words, for I
cannot believe that any young girl, in the midst of a
civilized population, would appear in public in the
repulsive costume you have just described."
"Ah! repulsive is just the word. She was so
thin, her garments were so scanty, she looked so
wooden, so what shall I say! Ha! ha! ha! "
"But the rouge, I don't understand the rouge;
such things seem like the customs of savages! I know
that it used to be done; but that is no reason-"
"That is what I always say; it is like savages.
To daub one's cheeks with rouge till one looks like a
post-man behind time, is absurd. The old bundles
may do it, I can understand that."
"What old bundles? "
"Why, yes, I call them old bundles: Mme. de
Vautin, the baroness de Fernac, the fat duchess of
Blanmon. At that age, coquetry becomes a mad
struggle-a matter of life and death."
The priest opened his eyes; he was bewildered,
uneasy, charmed, terrified by these fire-works.




104           ARO UND A SPRING.
"Ah! well, they do as they like; I can pardon
them. Dear me! who knows whether, if I were in
the place of those old warriors, I might not do the
same. Ha! ha! ha! In life, one must weigh the pros
and cons of everything; and not do to others what
one would not wish others-isn't it so, M. le cure?"
So saying, the countess looked around the apartment through her eye-glass, rose unceremoniously to
examine something more closely, and then suddenly
sat down again, exclaiming: " Do you know that you
have a beautiful crucifix; is it plaster?"
"No, Madame, it is a fine carving on ivory."
"You should say magnificent; it is a work of art.
But the velvet and frame ought to be renewed; there
is a piece broken. I have been searching, for more
than a year, in every corner of Paris to find one like
it. Now, my dear cure, to return to what we were
saying, do not suppose that I am intolerant, and
condemn society from the summit of my little pedestal; it is not so, I am really very indulgent-I, too,
have my weaknesses, and am no better than any one
else. I am well aware that a woman who goes into
society must follow the fashions, and adapt herself
to customs. It is the excess, the abuse of these things,
that I condemn. Dear me! I have worn rouge myself once or twice for amusement. Now a tinge of
black, under the eyes and in the eyebrows, harms no
one, and forms a part of one's dress; it is like a sip
of Bordeaux when one is tired, it gives expression to
the countenance."
" You are very indulgent to-"
"To myself?  You are sarcastic, Monsieur le
cure."
"What! to yourself!"
"You are jesting, probably; I suppose you saw
at once that I pencilled my eyes! Oh! I don't deny
it. I put a little brown there in the corner, and on
the lashes, too, and then I stump them all around.




AROTUND A SPRING.             105
What would you have? it is the custom;-but you
have undoubtedly noticed it, it's plain enough."
Abbe Roche could not restrain an exclamation of
surprise. He stood motionless with astonishment,
with fixed eyes and parted lips, and instinctively
clasped his hands. It was not indignation that he felt,
nor the pious anger of the priest, against the guilty
follies of the sinner, but the sorrowful surprise of a
man who sees a beautiful dream disappear. The angel had false wings! The touching expression of the
glance that agitated him, in which he had fancied he
could read the emotions of a pure and delicate soul,
was the work of artifice! Was there naught but
falsehood and trickery in the world of which he now
caught a glimpse for the,first time? And yet he
clung to the vanished illusion, and said to himself:
" She vields to the follies of society, she may perhaps
change the expression of her eyes, but her gestures,
her voice, with its musical tones, are her own; the
charming artlessness of her conversation-"
" You think me a coquette, and it grieves you,"
said the countess, who had murmured in an undertone: " How strangely the good cur6 looks at me!
He makes me blush under his grave glance. How
singular it is. Poor cure! It is really very odd."
She hastily drew off her glove of undressed kid,
which was somewhat too large for her, and looking
at the rosy, polished nails to conceal the smile that
flickered around her lips: " Do you think me a flirt? "
she continued, with such satirical humility, such evident impenitence, that she seemed to add: " Confess
that I have good reason to be!"
All these subtle meanings escaped the cure, or
rather he yielded to their charm without understanding or explaining it.
"I think all such things very wrong," said he at
last, with evident effort.
" You are right, M. le cure, strike, oh! strike with



106          AROUND A SPRING.
out fear. I do not resist your blows, but you dlo not
know how hard it is to escape the infection."
"Oh! undoubtedly you would not have done all
this of your own free will, of course not. You have
too noble a soul, for-This ink, these paints-all this
exceeds the bounds of the imagination-"
He was in torture, for even while condemning
these miserable artifices, he could not help looking-at
the face of the young wife, and confessing that the
result was extremely pretty.
" You would never have thought of these things
if other young women around you-silly, thoughtless —"
" Certainly not. I think I have already told you
so: if I followed only my own tastes, my own impulses, I should live-I am not jesting, I should live
in a desert, and wear a dress that cost fifteen cents a
yard! I have seen lovely ones. I should like to have
it fit well, that is all. People think that we are
amused because we go a great deal into society; they
are wonderfully mistaken, I assure you. Oh, dear!
these pleasures are very empty, Monsieur le cure."
" Yes, yes, that is true," cried the priest, with sudden animation.
The countess's remark had cheered his heart, it
was a relief to him. She was only thoughtless, carried away by excitement and the example of others.
" What would I not have given," continued Mme.
de Manteigney, gazing at the ceiling with a heavy
sigh, " what would I not have often given, to remain
at home by my fireside, and not put on the uniform
of a fashionable woman."
" How could it be otherwise? However powerful may be the whirlpool that attracts it, the soul
sometimes desires to reflect, to look within itself, and
think of its destiny. Then all these false pleasures
become insipid and pitiful."
" That is not all: toilettes are not always success



AR 0 UND A SPRING.            107
ful. At the last moment the waist does not fit, the
hair-dressing is a failure, or one's eyes are red on account of a cold in the head, which came on the very
morning on leaving the church after mass, etc., etc."
"Those are very trifling annoyances."
"Ah! you can talk at your ease, my dear cur6,
you who live very quietly under the snow, before a
nice little fire, while we are running all over Paris to
keep up our acquaintances.  You do not understand
this business: it is terribly hard, sometimes!' You
know, my dear, that we are to go to Mme. de Blaiserne's to-morrow,' says my husband.'Oh, dear!
we must, we really must, we have not been there
this winter.'-' You have not forgotten the prefect's
to-night, I hope, my darling.'-' Oh! papa, not the
prefect's!'-' You know, my dear, that it is absolutely
necessary. If it were not for this question about
the gas, you may be sure that I would not tease you;
but just as the contract is about to be signed, we
can't. Oh! so you are very unwilling. Why, by
the time you arrive, every one will be going away,
they won't stay to be obliged to mount on the armchairs.' Naturally I swallow the prefect."
" What! are your father and the count the first to
lead you into these gayeties, poor lady?"
"' You do not understand men, my dear cur6?
Suppose I should tell you that if it had not been for
papa and my husband I should never have dyed my
hair, never! I wept before I decided to do' it. Ah!
I wept bitterly.  You may think I am jesting, but
indeed I should never have determined upon it, if I
had been left to myself."
"' You dye your hair! What —what do you mean?
Why should you dye your hair?  Can people really
color it? Are you speaking seriously? Poor young
wife, poor, hapless young wife! What could be their
object?"
"The object! the object! —they thought that it




10U8         ABOUND A SPRING.
would be becoming to me, and besides, it is the
fashion. Papa said to me:'My dear child, you
must not be odd; as all the ladies dye their hair.
Besides, you will be perfectly charming!' And, indeed, it is extremely pretty, but that is not the question. My husband added:'IlMy dear, you have the
prudish notions of a little shop girl. Mme. de Blaiserne has worn golden hair since day befobre yesterday-it is beautiful. Try it, you will be lovely!'
Yet still I wept."
"Ah! good Heavens, and they insisted?"
"Yes, yes, they insisted. It was all in vain that
I said to them: Suppose my hair should be burnt by
those horrible chemicals! "
"They answered:' It is impossible."'
"But you resisted-you did not yield-"
"It must be confessed that I yielded, since my
hair is now yellow as corn, and when a child, it was
black as a raven's wing."
"What! this hair — "
"It is mine. Ah! I won't exaggerate, the front
hair is mine. As to the back, I will say nothing
about it; but surely, M. le cure, you must be aware
that no wbman in the world ever had hair enough to
make such a monument as the one which now has the
honor to present itself to your gaze."
As she uttered the words, she turned so as to
show the back of her head, with a gesture of mingled
coquetry and artlessness that was irresistibly charming.
" You think my chignon must be heavy, because
it is so large, but it is only puffed —feel it yourself.
Nothing could be lighter or more convenient. It is
hung on the foot of my bed at night, and found perfectly uninjured in the morning.  This is not a mere
matter of vanity, I wear it for comfort. Tell me,
now, my good M. le cur6, honestly, didn't you know
that my hair was dyed?"




AROUND A SPRING.               109
"I? Heaven forbid!"
" What! didn't you see it at once?  It is no
difficult matter; false blondes can be detected without spectacles.  There is always something peculiar
in the color of the hair, something not natural-and
it is just that very thing which gives the charm."
Abbe Roche could not help shuddering, and unconsciously cast down his eyes. He felt the depths
of mingled truth and, sickly sentimentality contained
in the last remark, which seemed to have a special
application to himself.
"But I am chattering, chattering. Why do you
allow me to run on in this way? Let us return to
our poor people, for I came here expressly to talk
about them. Dear me! how beautiful that crucifix
is! To what century does it belong? You do not
know? That does not prevent its being magnificent.
If I have a passion, it is for relics; oh! how I search
for curiosities! I go without eating or drinking while
in pursuit of them. You don't wish to dispose of
this crucifix, I suppose? "
" No, Madame," replied the cur6, " certainly not."
" Excuse me; I did not know that it was a souvenir;" and however curious she might be to hear
more, she now assumed an air of the utmost inditference.
" It is a gift that I received long ago, and still
cherish, although I never knew the name of the person who sent it to me."
" Oh, indeed! that is very strange."
" It is the very singularity that makes me love the
crucifix. I received it in the evening before my ordination, twenty years ago, snld have never been separated f-rom it since that time.  The memory of a
friend is always precious, even when he does not
make himself known."
" You are right. Ah! it is a most exquisite carving," and as the priest seemed determined to say




110          AROUND A SPRING.
nothing more, she added: " Well, good-bye, my dear
cure. You know that I love you with all my heart.
I confessed it the other day before all the company."
Abbe Roche tried to smile at this jest, but strive
as he would, could not succeed. The gay young countess had risen, and was already in the garden, while
the sweeping train of her dress still filled the doorway and kept the priest a prisoner.
" So you are not accustomed to receive such declarations as I have just made? It seems to annoy
you?-Will you allow me to gather a little rose-bud
for you? My husband will not be jealous of my
affection. No, the count is not jealous-I may take
this rose too, may I not, M. le cur6?"
I do not know what thought passed through her
mind, but she blushed, and turning towards the priest,
said, laughing in a very peculiar manner, " I love my
husband too much."
She had pronounced the last words in a singular
tone. They revealed an emotion totally at variance
with the rest of the conversation.
" Farewell! Monsieur le cure."
"Farewell! Madame."
With her customary ease of manner, she held out
her little ungloved hand to the priest, as if it were
the most natural thing in the world. Perhaps in a
Parisian drawing-room she might have hesitated to
extend it to her cur6; but Abbe Roche was to her
simply a mountaineer, a plain and simple man, a
stranger to the customs of society, ignorant of the
thousand details of etiquette. Yet this noble savage
had the bearing of a gentleman, and then-and then
it amused her. Supposing that the priest had not observed her gesture, she extended her hand still farther,
so that he was forced either to accept or refuse it
decidedly.
How many varied feelings can pass through a
man's brain in one or two seconds! He wished to




AROUND A SPRING.              111
appear as if he did not see the motion, and trembled
like a child at the trifling familiarity which could have
no other meaning than mere civility. At last it
seemed to him cowardly to hesitate longer, and he
firmly took in his large hand the little rosy, halfclosed one that was still outstretched like a mendicant's.
He felt the gentle warmth of the soft, satin-smooth
skin pervade his whole frame. He dared not press
it, and his own inaction rendered the light clasp of
the girlish hand so strangely charming, doubly alluring. At that moment the breakfast-bell at the chateau
was heard in the distance. The countess turned to
raise the sweeping folds of her long dress, and hastily
crossed the little square. Abbe Roche re-entered his
room, closed the door, and watched her through his
narrow window-panes.
" Poor woman! " said he. "Does God command
me to watch over her, or never to see her again! "
She had disappeared. The cur6 turned towards
the crucifix hanging on the wall, and drawing up a
straw chair, knelt before it. His prayer must have
been a fervent one, for when he rose, it was with a
colorless face, tearful eyes, and trembling hands.
XIV.
Two or three days after the events related in the
preceding chapter, the cure of Grand Fort was returning fromn pre Loursiere's hut, after a long conversation with his daughter, and had entered the path
leading to the village, when he perceived through the
trees Claudius standing upon the threshold ot a cottage. Undoubtedly the priest, who was walking on
with hasty strides, had been heard, for the gallant viscount called gayly:
" Is it you, my dear M. le cur6! what a piece of




112          AROUND A SPRING.
good-luck to meet you here! You are a great stranger; you never come to the castle now, and are not
to be found anywhere. I have just been to your
house. Let us go back to the village together, if
agreeable to you."
Then turning to the two women with whom he
had been talking, he added: " Good-bye, my friends,
till we meet again one of these days. You do not
regret it, I hope? Don't forget what I told you; all
the plates and dishes you find, which have on the
bottom a figure, a sketch, no matter what, I will buy
of you-I like the oldest best. Does that make you
laugh? Well, good-bye! I shall soon come this way
again."
And he took the cure's arm without farther ceremony.
" You are surprised, are you not, to see me collecting these old bits of china. I am a lover of antiques,
and am gathering the relics of the past; the china of
the last century, in particular, is extremely interesting
to me. All these things have no real value, and I am
perhaps rather foolish; but what does it matter, since
it amuses me. Every one takes his pleasure where
he "
" Certainly, Monsieur."
" It is a very innocent mania, isn't it?"
" One that injures no one."
And as Abbe Roche, somewhat embarrassed by
the young man's arm, whose light pressure he felt
upon his own, looked at the glittering object Claudius
held in his hand, the latter remarked: " You do not
suspect what this is, I am sure. It's an old silver-gilt
cross, which yonder good woman has just given me.
Oh! I arranged matters capitally, gave them enough
to buy two others, perfectly new, and much more
fashionable than this, which is as old as the poles,
worn out, defaced, tarnished. I had some difficulty in




AROUND A, SPRING.'113
obtaining it, however. I should not care for it, otherwise, but I have my mania. Ha! ha! ha! "
" And what do you want to do with it? Why
did you tempt the woman? On our mountains, these
crosses are heir-looms, transmitted from one generation to another. She did wrong to give it up, it was
a wicked action."
As he uttered these words, the priest withdrew
his arm so decidedly that Claudius dared not take it
again.
" Come, Monsieur le cur6, be indulgent: all women are a little coquettish, whether they live on the
mountains or in the valleys. Now this one wants to
be in the fashion. Dear me, isn't that perfectly natural! Tastes and ideas change, traditions fade, and
are replaced by others. It is very true that all social
transformations have their inconveniences, which are
very great when viewed separately, but disappear if
considered as a whole."
" I do not understand what connection there is between this woman's cross and social transformations."
" Ah! my dear Monsieur le cur6, we are alone together. Don't deny what is undeniable. You belong
to an extremely powerfill political party, I grant,
but-"
"I? I belong to a political party?"
"I do not reproach you; you are defending a
great and beautiful cause, I am first to recognize it;
only, instead of denying modern progress, and opposing the necessary transformation which ideas
and tastes undergo, imitate the sensible and liberal
portion of the French clergy, who openly accept
these new tendencies and take the lead of the movement in order to control it. Does not this indicate
great intelligence? Excuse my speaking to you so
frankly, but M. Larreau, who, be it said, has great experience in men, esteems you very highly, and I share
his opinion, M. le cur6. He has spoken to me about
8




114          AROUND A SPRING.
the clearness of your views, the intelligence and
breadth of your ideas. In short, you have completely
won his heart."
" But I never said more than two or three consecutive words to him."
" One would have been sufficient; a man's intelligence can be determined by a single word. Now, as
you so justly remarked, we are in a period of social
transformation."
"I said no such thing, quite the contrary."
" We mutually agreed, I meant to say, that society
was undergoing a change; but what is there alarming,
I ask you, in these ideas of liberty, well-being, free
intercourse, equality? The humble in station now
desire to gain a footing in the world; ambition, ardor,
a thirst for improvement, are spreading, filtering,
penetrating.  Dare you conscientiously affirm that
these things are not beneficial! "
" I should like to believe that things are as you
say. It seems to me that all depends upon the means
employed to attain this object, which —"
"This object, why, it is the Christian aim! Let
us look at these things from a broad stand-point,
without any private jealousies or the petty meannesses with which all political parties are infected.
What is the actual democratic movement? It is
Christianity, which, too long suffocated by the sombre
and violent Catholicism of the Middle Ages, and the
pompous and aristocratic forms of the succeeding
centuries, comes forth from silence and oblivion to
unfold its holy wings which will overshadow  the
world.  It is the continuation and completion of
Christ's work. I should not speak in this way to
every one, but these are my real thoughts. Let privileged classes disappear; let the differences of caste
crumble and fall to dust; let all men approach and
look into each other's faces without distrust; let constraint and servitude be replaced by the free range




AROTUND A SPRING.              115
of human faculties, and I shall indeed thank Heaven.
Riches and noble birth have too long obtained all
privileges. Make way for labor and intellect! These
few words describe modern progress, and may I be
hung if it does not contain the very essence of Christianity! "
" All that you have just said is beautiful, Monsieur,
truly beautiful," said the abb6, with sparkling eyes.
" Yes, Monsieur le cur6, I repeat it, make way for
intelligence and individual capacity! "
"And honesty, you should add."
"Wherefore? Rest assured that sensible people
have too good an understanding not to be honest.
They would remodel the laws rather than not be in
harmony with them."
While engaged in this conversation, they had
come in sight of the cure's house, whose green shutters and red roof appeared round a turn in the road.
" My dear M. le cure," said Claudius, "is there
any objection to my visiting your church?"
" None whatever, God's house is open to all."
" To my great regret, I have been absent at mass
for two successive Sundays, and therefore know nothing of your temple except the outside, which seems
to be rather plain."
"' The interior is not much more elegant; but the
Lord is satisfied with it. You shall judge for yourself."
They crossed the square, and turned towards the
porch.
" It would be so easy for you to obtain funds to
restore this edifice," said Claudius. "You would be
assisted with the greatest alacrity, M. le cure, but,"
he added, smiling, " if you wish to do anything for
your church, you must bestir yourself a little, draw
up a petition and obtain subscribers, organize a lottery, devise something.  That is what all cur6s do
under similar circumstanoes."




116          AROUTND A SPRING.
"I have very little taste for such things.  Others
undoubtedly have excellent reasons for their actions,
but-"
" The count would devote himself to the matter;
M. Larreau, too, would make great efforts.  Follow
my advice, and take advantage of the opportunity! "
Abbe Roche turned the key in the lock, and pushed
the little worm-eaten door, saying, " Enter, if you
please."
Claudius hastily put on his eye-glasses and looked
around him. Doubtless the somewhat desolate aspect of the humble church, with the beams of its roof
blackened by time, covered with spiders' webs, and
strewn with swallows' nests, did not inspire him with
very profound reverence; for he continued to speak
in the same loud tone:
" You are not rich, Monsieur le cur6, not rich,
not rich! "
And he looked around, above and below, like an
auctioneer taking an inventory, while tapping lightly
on the holy-water basin, the ancient benches, and the
baptismal font.
On passing a dark corner near the confessional,
where all sorts of rubbish, old candlesticks, old ladders, and old ropes used by the slaters in repairing the
belfry, were thrown, Claudius suddenly stopped, and
standing on tip-toe, drew out a fragment of carved
wood, covered with a thick layer of dust and dirt.
Removing his glove, he breathed upon it, wiped it,,
scraped it with his nail, and thus laid bare a little.
corner, which he examined with the utmost care.
The fragment represented a naked limb, half concealed by flowing drapery. The viscount mounted
upon a stool that chanced to be near, and discovered
four or five more pieces, rendered absolutely shapeless by the immense quantity of dirt that covered
them.. After examining the bits, which appeared to,
fit into each other, and form-a perfeet-whole, he ex-'




AROUND A SPRING.             117
claimed: "Phew! my dear Monsieur le cure, your
church is certainly by no means wealthy."
"It is very well suited to our wants."
"You have no china, no old dishes! I am always
interested in my mania, you know."
Walking up the nave, he passed before the high
altar with a careless bow, and began to rummage behind it.
"Why, your vases are absurd, and your candlesticks frightful.  Your painted windows-no windows! You don't happen to have any lace, old bits
of lace? "
" What do you mean by lace?"
" It would take too long to explain. Have you
any curtains-old curtains, or altar cloths?-Your
Sunday robe, what is that?"
" Perhaps it would be more becoming to leave the
church before talking about such matters."
"You are right; besides, I have seen everything."
Then with the utmost frankness and cordiality, he
continued:
"' Will you permit me to give your church a little
present, M. le cur6? A bas-relief, for instance, to
make the utter nakedness of the walls striking. I
don't see why the Lord's house should not be ornamented, and agreeable to the eyes, and besides, the
sight of works of art is a help to moral education. I
am going directly back to Paris, and will send you
one of the religious carvings which are executed there
with so much skill.  They are neither too rude nor
too elaborate; it will be just the thing, and can be
kept in order very easily.; All that is required is a
dusting with a feather-brush every Sunday morning."
"You are very kind, Monsieur. I thank you, but
really I do not know whether I ought —"
" Accept it in the name of your parishioners —you
willreally afford me great pleasure; besides, if the
weight- of gratitude —- Well, I'll- tell you, let us- lnake




118          AROUND A SPRING.
an exchange, gift for gift. And," he added, laughing
good-naturedly, "give me the broken statue I left
on the bench-I can propose nothing better."
"I understand the delicacy of your suggestion,
Monsieur, and, although I should have no right to
dispose of anything that belonged to the church-"
"' Oh! I beg a thousand pardons, M. le cur6, I only
asked for those shapeless fragments to-"
" Take them, then, if they can afford you any pleasure.  The rubbish has no sort of value; it should
havre been thrown away long ago; I do not understand why it still remains here."
" I accept them with thanks. Ha! ha! ha! People will laugh at me, but I can't help it, I always admire such odd trash."
So saying, he put two or three pieces into his
pocket, wrapped the others in his handkerchief, and
moved towards the door.
" Oh! I was forgetting to take the measure. The
best place for the carving would be yonder, opposite
to the pulpit, between those two pillars, wouldn't it?
The space is rather more than two yards."
" Then you are determined to send it?"
"Why should I deprive myself of a pleasure?
Farewell! my dear cur&."
" Farewell! Monsieur."
"We ought not to judge people hastily," thought
Abbe Roche when he found himself alone. "Yet
that is a man of whom I had no pleasant impression."
XV.
In the meantime the capitalist, Larrean, was not
idle, but always moving about, busily occupied, dressed in his gray hat and huge white waistcoat, which
might be perceived at a long distance. He traversed
the mountains on foot, unceremoniously entering all




AROUND A SPRING.             119
the cottages, caressing the children, smiling at the
women, and familiarly tapping the shoulders of the
men, who were completely fascinated by his glittering ornaments, affable manners, and immense wealth
which the whole country knew he possessed. Besides, M. Larreau had all the qualities necessary to
please: he was tall, stout, florid, smiling, well shaven,
and at first sight seemed like a father coming to c( nsole his children. In the eyes of the peasants, his size
and assurance made him appear like a true lord of
Manteigney, much to the disadvantage of his son-inlaw, whose contemptuous bearing, narrow chest,
sloping shoulders, and bow-legs inspired very little
regard.
"Well, my friends," the capitalist would say, as
he entered without knocking, " are you happy? Do
you want any thing? Is that child yours?  What a
handsome boy!  Do you eat meat, do you drink
wine? "
" No, Monsieur, not always."
"You do wrong. I wish you to eat meat and
drink wine every day; you understand me, I wish
you to do it-" And as the mountaineers smiled, he
continued: "Come and work in the valley, you will
earn two francs a day, and your tools shall be furnished. If you want your first week's wages paid in advance,you have only to say so."
Then with truly paternal interest he would enter
into all the particulars of their mode of life, taste
their bread, interest himself in the old mountain legends, listen to them with the greatest attention, and
when the devil began to play his inevitable part in
the tale, say, in the low tone of a man by no means
perfectly at ease: " We must not be too hasty in believing all this-it won't do to be too hasty-and yet
it is certain that bad spirits can appear-in solitary
places, for instance, at twilight, or during the night
when the wind blows —"  He shuddered slightly to




120          AROUND A  -SERING U.
set a good example.-" M. le cur6 has doubtless explained all this to you?"
" Oh! M. le cure never speaks of ghosts or evil
spirits, never."
"Indeed! Well, good-bye, my children.   It is
strange that Abbe Roche neglects all this, thought
M. Larreau; "what a singular cure he is!"
The capitalist's efforts were quickly crowned with
success. One after another the reports of his liberality had spread abroad, and the mountaineers arrived
every morning in little parties of two and three, carrying over their shoulders, on the end of a short stick,
the traditional earthen pipkin, surrounded with bands
of tin, which contained their food. What were the
important works that had been commenced in the
valley? No one could have told, the countess's father
having the entire management of them and being by
no means communicative. To the curious he always
replied: " I am making improvements, I am making
improvements." In truth, he was making great improvements.
Besides building a smooth and beautiful road,
leading from the valley up to the chateau, and thence
to Grand Fort, he had widened the one to Virez, and
commenced a third, which, turning away from the
valley about one and a half leagues from Manteigney,
wound through the forest. These were important
works, but this was not all! he was making immense
terraces in the part of the valley nearest to thechateau. Perhaps he wished to convert the spot into
a park. The mountaineers saw M. Larreau spreading rolls of paper upon the grass, while others, strangers in that region, looked through little bottles fixed
at the extremity of a sort of broom-stick, supported
by three long legs. After gazing into the bottles with
the greatest attention, and making incomprehensible
gestures with their arms, they seized long chains, and
dragged-them about-everywhere. Here they hollow



AROUND A SPRING.               121
ed the ground, yonder piled up the earth, and farther
on cut the rock, and carried the fragments three hundred feet to the right, where narrow trenches, regularly dug, resembled the foundations of some edifice.
It would be a difficult matter to enumerate all the
singular and contradictory rumors to which these
works gave rise. Besides, you would probably prefer to know at once what M. Larreau himself intended. I will tell you, in confidence.
This clever man, as you perhaps may have guessed, wished to create in the valley, close by the chAteau,
a fashionable resort fobr pleasure-seekers, and was preparing the land, so that the buildings could be erected
at any moment. The creation of new roads was a
necessary consequence of this plan. The means he
was to employ to attract wealthy idlers to this delighttful spot were of two kinds. He relied upon the
splendid stud of horses he intended to bring down,
and the race-courses to be laid out! but above all,
and this was his secret, on a still more powerful charm,
with which the little ditches, so regularly dug, have a
certain connection.
On the first arrival, M. Larreau had noticed in a
part of the valley just at the foot of the mountains, a
certain spot, filled with brambles, where the earth
was remarkably moist, and seemed to have a singular
color. At first, he attached no special importance to
this peculiarity; then, being naturally inquisitive, obstinate and curious, had thought of it again, returned
to the place, examined the soil more closely, and faincied he perceived a penetrating, nauseous odor, somewhat difficult to define. The dampness was no great
source of surprise; such things are not at all uncommon in mountainous regions, where springs sink into
the earth; but the odor, which became more and
more perceptible, puzzled him extremely. One day,
urged on by some unaccountable impulse, he attempted to clamnber down the rugged- cliffs that -overlooked




122          AROUND A SPRING.
the spot. Unfortunately, it was a chaos of almost inaccessible rocks, a wilderness of roots and brambles,
through which even the goats could not penetrate.
Larreau devoted himself to the task with great perseverance, became interested in it, and at last, after
toiling for several days, peering into every fissure,
lifting the mosses, examining the stones, and searching among the roots, found other damp places of the
same color and odor as the former one.
From that moment he was convinced that he had
discovered a mineral spring, but kept the secret carefully concealed. He was just the man for great enterprises, and adroitly managed industrial schemes,
and began to devote all his energies to the completion
of the plan. By means of scraping and digging, he
succeeded in collecting a sufficient quantity of the
water to enable him to analyze it, having acquired,
while in his old trade of a melter of metals, some little
chemical knowledge which he thought he might turn
to account. He sent for certain books and the necessary articles, and soon, though without a thorough investigation, convinced himself that the spring contained a valuable compound of sulphur, iron, and arsenic. It was necessary to have a perfect analysis,
which only a chemist could perform; and also to ascertain the quantity of water in the spring, now buried
under the earth. Whatever the result might be, he
knew how to restrain his curiosity, not wishing to attempt any excavations until his own experiments were
tested by the labor of some Parisian chemist, and as
he could not conduct the business by letter, since he
desired to keep it a secret as long as possible, waited
patiently until he could go to Paris himself.
Nevertheless, this prospect of finding mineral
springs instinctively led him to make some slight
changes in the work going on in the valley. Not far
from the moist spot he ordered foundatioins to be
dug, for, said he to himself; "one of two things is




AROUYND A SPRING.            123
very certain, either my spring is abundant and medicinal, or it is not. In the former case, I will at once
put up a building here, that, when the time comes,
will be sufficient for the first demands upon it. If the
other alternative should prove correct, and I am deceived in my expectations, I can transform the embryo bath-house into a hospital, which will make me
highly esteemed throughout the country, or convert
it into stables, which will be so much done towards
the accommodation of the race-horses." This is the
plan that had been floating in the capitalist's brain
ever since his arrival at Manteigney.
It chanced one evening that one of the laborers,
having forgotten his jacket, went back to the valley
to get it, and saw M. Larreau going towards the castle. It was very strange that the countess's father
should be out walking by starlight. The workman
hid behind a pile of wheelbarrows and waited for
him to pass. The capitalist walked on, carrying two
large bottles, which must certainly contain some
precious liquid, for he clasped them in both arms as
carefully as a nurse would hold a new-born infant.
The mountaineer, who was terribly fiightened, soon
took it into his head that the meeting, though perfectly natural, was a very wonderful adventure. M. Larreau walked about after dark, mysteriously, carrying
in his arms huge bundles, which must contain treasure: why should a man so enormously rich trouble
himself except to go in search of wealth?
The tale circulated over the mountain, and soon
acquired a tinge of the supernatural. People wondered in suppressed tones whether this astonishing
personage, who had already transformed the chateau
as if by the stroke of a magician'ss wand, and was
throwing the whole valley into confusion without
any apparent motive, might not be a sorcerer. Strange
as it may seem, the absurd rumor only increased the
capitalist's influence, and even attracted fresh work



124          AROUND A SPRING.
men, for people said to themselves: —" If it is profitable to be in favor with God, who is not wicked, perhaps it is still better to keep on good terms with the
devil, whom everybody knows to be extremely malicious."
To understand the singular medley in the brains
of the inhabitants of the mountain, it would be necessary to live for a short time in some secluded corner
of that region. The paradise and hell of the Christian,
the tales of Perrault, and Pagan traditions, transmitted in some unaccountable manner, form the strange
mixture on which they sustain their insatiable love
of the marvellous. There are fairies keeping guard
in the heart of the mountain over immense treasures
of gold, silver and precious stones. How can these
simple minds help becoming excited as they think of
all this! How can they remain calm and sensible,
when in the midst of the dark, mysterious pine forest,
full of aromatic odors, where the wind breathes in long
sighs, and the roots creak against the naked rocks!
Amid the eternal song of the torrents and waterfalls,
in which the ear can distinguish all the sounds of
nature, they fancy in their most solitary hours that
they can hear fairy bells tinkling under their feet,
bursts of elfish laughter, and the clinking of gold and
silver.
The mountain shepherds are poor, their bread is
black, and their garments are worn; this bright
dream cheers them. Wealth is not so far away!
Who knows? an ingot of gold can soon leap out of
the earth if certain people choose, and everybody
knows that the elves are capricious. The mountaineer worships the latter class of beings, because he
lives in their company, brushes against them every
moment, imagines he sees them behind yonder rock,
or peering out of the depths of a hollow. To sneer
at them is to make them appear. The worthy man
loves God, also, and willingly prays to Him; but God




AROUND A SPRING.              125
is much farther away, up above in the broad expanse
of the firmament, and, after sunset, the peasant no
longer dares to look at the distant stars for fear the
dwarfs who live under the earth might take the opportunity to pull him by the legs. He is not very
near the Lord, but the devil and his imps are close at
hand.
This is not all; the immense mountains, which resemble a petrified tempest; the long dark fissures
with the water oozing into clefts, where the sun
never enters; the motionless cataclysm, the silent,
eternal nightmare, have a violent, fiendish aspect, that
betokens wrath and malediction. Are they not the
traces of some punishment? God is not in this infernal chaos. It is the devil who lives here; the
devil, chained beneath these rocky masses, conquered,
disarmed, but not dead, and for want of something
better to do, playing tricks upon poor trembling, terrified human beings. Some mysterious being reigns
everywhere, in each hollow, each gloomy cavern.
Men shudder lest he should spring out upon them;
and, though he is hid, tremble yet more, for there
must be some evil meaning in it; if he does not move
now, it is only to be the more sure of his hold upon
them. Besides, the eyes of the mountaineers, when
turned away from these fantastic rocks, see only vast
horizons, and flickering, uncertain colors, mingling in
inextricable confusion.  There is nothing certain,
clear, and positive in this wide expanse; the other
senses cannot sanction the vague impressions of the
eye, and undefined, foolish fancies, which soothe the
mind, succeed the exciting visions that have intoxicated it.  M. Larreau had instinctively divined all
this, and, very naturally, sought to turn it to his own
advantage.
It was not without regret that Abb6 Roche, who
for fifteen years had been struggling against the superstitions of his parishioners, and seeking to win




126          ABROUND A SPRING.
their confidence, saw the capitalist's influence increasing throughout the country. The mountaineers no
longer thought of anything but working together on
the estates belonging to the chateau, and, earning
high wages with very little trouble, forgot their tiny
fields on the steep slope, which were so difficult to
dig, so hard to till. Almost all had abandoned their
labor in the forest, healthful though it was, and having once gone down to the valley, did not wish to
climb the hill-side again. The little village inn had
lost its character as a place of refreshment for the
mountaineers, a sort of family restaurant, and was
now a mere suburban pot-house, never empty, and
resounding with noisy songs until far into the night.
At the imperious demands of the castle servants, who
possessed great influence in the place, the inn-keeper
had sent in haste for absinthe, although hitherto ignorant of its very name. It had quickly become fashionable, and pere Sappey, whom we met staggering
along the road one evening, was one of the first to
fall a victim.
Thanks to the increased facility for making money,
and the chance of having some in the pocket all the
week, the inn was transformed into a gambling house,
to the great delight of the count's servants, who
being more skilful than the others, easily made very
large gains. A taste for drink, as well as play, was
developed, and the honest mountaineers, who for
years had tilled their fields in the heat of the day, and
borne their burdens over the burning paths without
anything to quench their thirst, except the pure water
of the streams, now declared that they must have
wine, beer and brandy to enable them to work, so
that it became necessary to put up a refreshment
room, built of rough planks, in the valley. None of
these changes escaped Abb6 Roche's attention, but
what was he to do!
"You are in a pretty condition, Francois," said he




AROJUND A SPRING.             127
one day as he met one of his parishioners reeling
along the road, whistling one of Offenbach's contradances. "I have just seen your wife; she is complaining of you; you did not give her your week's
wages.))
Francois began to laugh.
"Oh! bless me, Monsieur le cure, things are not
now as they used to be: people work and have a
good time, they don't wear themselves out digging in
the earth to get a handful of buckwheat. We have
worked hard enough, goodness knows! "
" Poor fellow, are you any the richer? You no
longer attend to your house, your hay is not brought
in; how will you feed your cow this winter? And
your boys are wandering about like vagabonds! "
"Pooh! there's no trouble about the boys. The
count wants them to ride his horses, they will be little jockeys, go to Paris, be lodged and fed like lords,
wear gold lace on their hats, and have nothing to do."
" You do not think what you are saying, Francois.
Come, you are not really bad at heart, you love your
wife, your children, your home —"
Francois, with a drunkard's complacency, began
to laugh again, and the cure turned sadly away,
Twenty times had similar conversations taken place;
but whether with Peter or Paul, Abb6 Roche could
gain nothing but a smile and a bow.
The cur6 found himself forced to struggle incessantly against the new influences which were gradually overspreading the country. Worst of all, he was
especially terrified by the thought that he himself,
at certain times, felt their power. One day a cart,
drawn by two oxen, stopped before his house. It
contained two tolerably large cases, on which were
the words: "4A la Reine des cieux, fabrique d'ornements d' glise en tout genre-To M. le cur6,of GrandFort-le-lHaut, by way of Virez, etc."
A little group of curious persons had already as



128          AROUND A SP'RING.
sembled around the cases when Abb6 Roche arrived.
The lids were removed in a twinkling, and amidst the
hay and shreds of paper, appeared a huge bas-relief,
which elicited a general cry of admiration. It was
colored with wonderful art, and represented the
" Fliqght into Eqypt."  The faces were pink, the enamelled eyes of the figures glittered in the sun's rays,
and the Virgin's garments, of an exquisite shade of
blue, were adorned with numerous designs in gold
and silver. The whole was executed with a skill and
patience worthy of the Chinese. Saint Joseph, who
was on foot, wore plainer clothing; but to make
amends, his beard was imitated with most remarkable perfection. It was really as natural as life. I
will say nothing of the ass' foal, which seemed to ask
a caress, or of the landscape, whose vast extent
touched the soul: on the left were two pink pyramids-the same shade as the faces, unfortunatelyand on the right, three little palm-trees of a most peculiar shade of green. The whole was as light as a
feather, and provided with two strong rings at the
back.
The wheelwright, who had brought his own box
of tools to open the cases, proposed to the cur6 that
the precious carving should be put in its place at once,
and the worthy man set to work with so much industry that, half an hour later, the colored bas-relief was
gleaming in the simple church like a louis d'or amid
a quantity of sous. The second box, much smaller
than the first, contained a small lamp of gilded copper, undoubtedly intended to be suspended before
the " Flight into -Egypt."
It might be supposed that Abb6 Roche would
have been greatly delighted with these works of art,
which had already excited so much admiration, but it
was not so. The brilliant colors saddened him; they
were not suited to the spot where they were placed.
The gilding reminded him of the drawing-room at




AROUND A SPRING.               129
the chateau. It seemed as if the House of God was
profaned by these life-like images, formed to please
the eye, and he was offended by the idea that divinity itself was intended to be personified in the pink
cartoon of a baby adorned with enamel eyes.
This was not all: the glittering lamp, the dazzling
bas-relief made the old church he loved not only with
the reverence of the priest, but rather the affection
a man feels for the places in which he has had both
joy and sufferings, seem still more desolate and dilapidated. He had placed a part of his heart in the ancient sanctuary, and when he entered it, the memory
of all the emotions he had experienced rushed forth
to meet him, and surrounded him with most delightful recollections. The bas-relief and lamp were intruders which would disturb the charm. The cure's
regard for his church had a tinge of filial tenderness,
and these decorations made the same impression upon
him that would be experienced if a person suddenly
saw his old grandmother painted and crowned with
flowers. All these thoughts were in his mind, when
one of the servants fiom the chateau entered the
church, and approaching Abb6 Roche, told him in a
low tone that the countess desired a moment's conversation with Monsieur le cure.
XVI.
It was the first time that the young wife had so
urgently requested the cur6's presence, and he went
to her immediately. Mme. de Manteigney, who was
sitting under the trees at one end of the terrace, rose
at his approach:
" Pardon mrie, if I have disturbed you, my dear M.
le cur6, but I received a letter from our friend Claudius, this morning, in which he tells me that he has
sent you a box from Paris."
9




130          AROUND A SPRING.
" It arrived this very day, Madame, and I thank
him a thousand times-"
"Ah! bravo! How do you like-sit down a moment-how do you like the lamp? You know that
I presented it to the church."
" We are very grateful," murmured the cur6 in an
almost stern tone of voice. The thought that he
should have the countess's gift before his eyes every
day was painful to him.
"Listen to me, dear M. le cur6, do not speak in
that severe tone, I implore you. I am in trouble, and
wish to talk with you. Indeed you must show me a
little friendship, or at least pretend to do so."
"I have never deceived any one, Madame, and I
should not begin with you. Speak to me in all candor, and if my counsels can aid you, rest assured that
they will be sincere."
In spite of himself he felt a most delightful emotion at the thought that she was about to make him
her confidant, perhaps open her whole heart to him,
and yet he struggled against the sweet sensation. He
dared not look at the young wife, and stood drawing
figures on the sand with the end of his cane.
" The better I know you, M. le curd," continued
the countess with an expression of countenance quite
different from her ordinary one, "the greater is the
respect and confidence with which your character inspires me. I tell you things very frankly. I am not
in the mood just now to choose my phrases, but the
strongest proof of my sincerity is that I appeal to
you when in trouble."
"I am listening to you, Madame."
"Well, answer me frankly, who is the little savage that brings goats' cheese here much oftener than
she is needed? Her name is Marie, I believe."
The priest started.  He suddenly remembered
the evening when he had surprised the count in earn



AROUND A SPRING.             131
est conversation with Loursiere's daughter, and answered with an embarrassed manner:
"Good Heavens, Madame, I think I have already
told you. She is in very delicate health, and lives
with her father on the borders of the forest. As to
Loursiere, there are some unpleasant things said
about him; but we must not believe all the rumors
which are in circulation."
"I am  not talking about the father, but the
daughter," interrupted the countess, looking the
priest steadily in the face. "Do you know her?-her
conduct, her reputation in the country? Tell me
plainly, you see that I am deeply interested in the
matter."
" Why, her reputation-  Doubtless you have been
told-" He dared not go on, fearing that he might
inform the countess of something of which she was
still ignorant. The latter becoming more and more
excited, exclaimed, after a moment's silence, "I am
jealous of that girl; there, do you understand now?
The count has made her his mistress; is that clearis that plain enough? "
She had uttered these words very passionately;
her face assumed an expression of actual hatred, her
nostrils quivered, and her little hands twisted her
embroidered handkerchief.
" Calm yourself, Madame, I entreat you. That is
a very grave accusation to make; you must not allow
your imagination-"
" Oh! none of those common-place phrases, I beg
of you; no well turned sentences, no trifling. Should
I speak to you on such a subject if I were not sure?
And stop, I can read in your eyes that you are as
well informed about the matter as I. You cannot tell
me a lie; be frank, Monsieur le cure, and answer yes
or no. Were you ignorant of what I just told you? "
No one had ever appealed to his truthfulness in
vain; he turned towards the countess instantly, but




132          AROUND A SPRING.
noticing the anxiety expressed in her eyes and the
convulsive quivering of her lips, stopped without replying. He was terrified, and felt like a man who,
venturing upon a volcano for the first time, feels the
soles of his boots become burning hot. He also experienced an emotion of happiness, pleasure, and satisfied pride.  The feeling shown by the poor wife
ennobled her in his eyes. He had not been mistaken:
a passionate woman's heart, capable of enthusiasm,
anger and love throbbed in the breast of this little
coquettish, prattling, frivolous countess-she possessed
soul, mind and feeling.
"Answer me," she said, speaking more rapidly
and searching his face with her anxious eyes; " answer.
Did you know all this?"
"Yes, I suspected it."
"You understand that the affair cannot continue.
It must be ended at once. That is why I wanted to
speak to you."
Her expression suddenly changed, her brow contracted, the corners of her mouth drooped, and while
two large tears flowed slowly down her cheeks, she
continued in a low, soft tone: "You think me very
absurd, do you not? Isn't it ridiculous to permit myself to be so deeply moved by the amusements of a gentleman who was trying to kill time? you cannot understand me when I say the affair must end, and yet
it is perfectly true. I am no saint, and might commit some folly in my wrath."
"I see plainly that you are suffering, but let us
try " (he was almost as much agitated as the countess)-" let us try to reason."
"Reason! that is a pleasant proposition; have
you holy water in your veins? People suffer, weep,
want to dash themselves out of the window, and you
talk about'reasoning.' Your reasoning is very much
like managing a balloon: nothing is more simple if
you only have a point of support. The point of sup



AROUND A SPRING.             133
port is calmness, absence of all emotion. You do not
understand, or don't you wish to understand? Did
not you see at once that I am madly, yes, madly, and
I am ashamed to say so, madly in love with him? I
love him foolishly-degradingly."
" Whom? "
" My husband, of course!"
If Abbe Roche had been stabbed in the back, the
sensation would not have been more painful. Yet he
murmured, clenching his heavy cane: "'It is natural,-it is not at all strange,-wives must love'their
husbands."
" Yes, but the reason it is so base and wretched is,
that I love him because he does not love me."
" Good Heavens! explain yourself."
"Can such things be explained?  I am like a
gambler who, about three o'clock in the morning,
loses his self-control and risks his whole fortune to
regain a hundred louis. I want to win-don't you
understand? Well, to make myself beloved, I use
the, means commonly employed by the society in
which I move. Suppose I should tell you-you will
not be hurt? Suppose I should tell you that I tried
to flirt with you to make him jealous? It is shameful, isn't it? I dye my hair as if I were going to a
masquerade; I talk slang; I bewilder myself with
idiotic prattle, and my greatest anxiety is to make
every one believe that all this is perfectly natural to
me. I pity myself, when I have time; but I assure you that if it were advisable to tattoo my face
with green to-morrow, or put curtain rings through
my nose, I would do it at once to attract his attention."
"No, no, it cannot be so," said the priest, wiping
away the heavy drops of perspiration that bedewed
his forehead. " No, Madame, you are mistaken, you
do not know yourself; but God reads the depths of
your heart."




134          AROBUND A SPRING.
"So much the worse for me.  He reads sad
things."
" Do not say so; preserve your self-respect, if you
wish to remain worthy of love. True love never debased any one, on the contrary, it is ennobling and
purifying, like everything that comes from God. Are
diamonds to be judged by the mire that surrounds
them! Purify your affection, free it from the stains that
only rest upon the surface. Oh, God! I know that
we sometimes despair, believe ourselves accursed,
that all around us is blighted, but do not doubt the
Lord; pray to Him, cast yourself into IHis arms. If
you know how iHe calms and consoles our feelings —"
"Then you,too, have been unhappy?"
" Where is the life, however humble, that has not
had its storms and tempests? Perhaps all is not as
dark and sad as you believe. If you love your husband so devotedly, he must have qualities which unconsciously attract you in spite of his faults."
"If he had, I should not love him so much," she
replied in a low tone, covering her face with her hand.
And in a voice choked with tears, she added: " Do
you know what he did the day after my marriage?
He took supper with three grisettes, after losing sixty
thousand francs during the evening."
"Good Heavens, but that was infamous!-Pardon
me, I only mean that the count is-is-a scoundrel;
and was he not reproved, slapped in the face, before
them all?"
"Who would have dared to do it, may I ask?"
"I! I swear, before Heaven, I would, had I been
present. Patience has its limits, and anger bursts
forth when such disgraceful scenes are witnessed.
Had you none but cowards near you? "
"The count has fought ten duels, and never received
a scratch. He fears no one, I assure you."
"Do you think that I should have been afraid?
I would have crushed him with a single blow!" cried




ARO UND A SPRING.            135
the priest, with such passion that the countess cast
down her eyes; then suddenly calming himself, he
asked: " And you, what did you do? "
" Well! I found that he was a very distinguished
nobleman, and could not at once resign the mode of
life which he and all belonging to his circle have
always led. For the first time I felt a desire to attract him, to triumph over the low-born women he
knew, a longing to be loved.  And as he had not
enough to pay the sixty thousand francs-for my
father had been very cautious-I pawned my diamonds, and the debt was discharged befbre noon."
"Indeed, Madame, and you think that he will be
eternally grateful to you for it? "
"Dear, good cur6, how I love you! He will
never forlgive me as long as he lives. I humiliated
him, and I ought to have known it. Ah! I had no
chance in my first attempt! The count cannot consider me as his equal; in his eye I am nothing but
the daughter of a very wealthy and influential shopkeeper, whose riches and power only make his low
origin the more distasteful. Urged on by necessity,
ensnared in a thousand ways-could he reason calmly-M. de Manteigney,'in an hour that he now regrets,
bartered his name for a fortune."
" You speak as if it were not a shameful action!
I am not a nobleman."
" Yet sometimes you look like one."
"I was picked up in some out-of-the-way corner,
forgotten and unknown, and God has done the rest;
but I feel wounded by what you say; it is not just.
I feel, I am sure, such disgrace is unknown to the
French nobility. God would not permit such things
to be.  The action you mention is exceptional,
unique,-yes, unique. It is horrible."
"Horrible! no more so on his part than on mine."
"You are mistaken, you do not judge calmly.
Let us say no more about it."




136          AROUND A SPRING.
" Yes, but I want to talk of it. The bargain, shameful as it seems to you, because you live far away
from the gay world, was honestly made on both sides.
I was sure-almost sure-that no one would marry me
except for my fortune; my father knew that he was
buying a title, only when everything is signed, the
gentleman finds himself face to face with a man of
business, who is only apparently dazzled, and preserves the superiority of the rich man over the penniless, the protector over the protected. People are so
stupid! a gentleman cannot forgive such a thing. I
love my father dearly, but, after all, he grew rich by
selling spouts."
" Are not all men equal before the Lord?"
As he uttered these words the priest's countenance
became illumined with so noble and pure an expression that the young wife hesitated an instant before
replying.
"You are above human littleness, M. le cure," she
said at last; " but if men are equal before God, you surely know that it is not so in the eyes of society. Have
I not seen even at the convent, especially, the daughters of the nobles treated with particular attention,
almost reverence, however ugly, poor and stupid they
might be! Do I not see wealthy citizens everywhere
change their names to make people believe that they
are of noble birth? I myself trembled like a leaf
when papa said to me,'Would you like to be a
countess?'"
"A  noble who sells his name," murmured the
priest, " who gambles, and leads a life of dissipation,
sinks to the level of the meanest, and then his title
does not save him, but degrades him the more."
"All that is very well in theory. Yes, I knew
that he was ruined, a gambler, and dissipated; I
knew that he had wasted his life in every way, but
what of that? His very faults attracted me, they
were so different from those of the persons I saw




AROUND A SPRING.              137
around me. Did not all the gentlemen whom I
heard quoted as elegant men lead the same lives as
the count? Curiosity becomes excited, the impossible tempts with its charms; we say:'He will love
me all the sanle!' Economy, prudence, industry,
foresight, sobriety, I had heard those words from my
very cradle, and have always noticed that the people
who practise these precious virtues desire nothing so
ardently as to get rid of them, as one takes off a
kitchen apron when a visitor arrives. During my
whole childhood I saw the hoarding up of sous, and
bruised myself against the piles as they grew higher
and closer. The idea that some persons threw handfuls of louis d'or into the streets pleased me. Do you
suppose that a parvenu could have such carelessness
of the morrow, such contempt for money, could preserve such ease of manner when ruined, look fortune
in the face and laugh at it? I think such things are
noble. They flow in the blood, and are not to be
learned or acquired."
Abbe Roche gazed at her earnestly. His brain
seemed confused. He felt that the poor wife was bewildered, incorrect in her judgments, and misleading
herself; but nevertheless, there was an indescribable
audacity, hardihood, and passion in her error, which
found an echo in his own memories, and controlled
him by its charm. The countess continued:
" I told you that my husband had often fought a
duel for some girl of light repute, and that since my
marriage. You think perhaps that I was indignant?
I suffered because I feared for him and also because
it was a proof of his indifference to me, but in my
heart I loved him all the more. You are surprised,
but it is the truth. I was proud of him. At night,
after I had retired, and was left alone, I devoured the
papers which related his pranks in ambiguous language that deceived no one. My feelings overpowered me.  I wept, laughed and read the article




138          AROUED A SPRING.
twenty times over. My father would not have exposed his life for a frolic, a jest, a glance, in defiance
of all gossip, neither would any of my relatives. The
more frivolous the cause, the greater the courage."
Her eyes sparkled as she spoke.
"There is no honor in it," said the priest.
"His is unblemished, I assure you; the count is
known everywhere as a gallant man-irreproachable,
Monsieur!"
"But he loses your money and your father's at
the gaming table. Is that the act of an honorable
man? "
"Why should he be economical in using my fortune when he did not value his own? Can he transform himself and suddenly acquire the petty virtues
of a shopkeeper, because he has married a manufacturer's daughter? I should have less esteem for him
if he had more consideration for us. He scorns us:
well, that is frank, plain, honest. I repeat, he has
made a bargain-exchanged his name for a fortune.
He uses the fortune, and he is right; do not I use his
name?"
The young wife paused suddenly, and again began
to weep. "I am very wretched," said she.
The cure took her hand, and while in his embarrassment he sought for some consoling word, she continued: "What is good or evil; I can no longer
judge of anything? I struggle against my feelings,
know not what I say, fear even my thoughts, and
seek to escape from myself as a person does whose
clothing is on fire. I have tried all means to win his
love, and have gained nothing, not a pressure of the
hand, not even a kiss." Then, in a lower tone she added: " Every one is more of a wife to him than I!
Pardon me, my dear M. le cure, for talking to you so
long about my misfortunes; but indeed I need to have
some helping hand extended to me, some one to aid
me, some one to have a little affection for me. This




AROUIVD A SPRING.            139
last scandal must be ended at once-don't you agree
with me? All these things were very well at Paris;
but here it is impossible. Different scenes require
different modes of conduct. The Count de Manteigney in love with a bare-footed gypsy, a ragged goatkeeper-I cannot endure it; my father would not
tolerate it, and he must be concilated. We have
debts!"
"How, debts! What debts?"
"Yes, I am in debt, and heavily too: I told you
that he gambled. What should I have done if I had
not borrowed right and left from my seamstress, my
dressmaker? It is contemptible: but what could be
done? It was better for me to attend to such business."
The conversation continued in this strain for several minutes. Abb6 Roche could scarcely restrain
his self-command. All that he had just heard was
whirling through his brain, and the young wife, who
had grown somewhat calmer, but still trembled, continued: "Come, let us think, let us find some means
of putting an end to this disgraceful scandal: could
not the young girl be sent away? "
" Her father will never consent, Madame, and besides, it would be necessary to find some pretext;
but it is not possible that the count can be deeply interested in this child, who probably possesses none
of the charms to which he is accustomed."
" That is the very reason; it is the novelty, the
singularity, the absurdity that attracts and retains
him.  The fancy has already lasted some time I
know."
" Could you not induce M. de Manteigney to go
away for a time, divert his thoughts, and occupy his
mind? He will soon forget this adventure."
The countess looked thoughtfully at the priest.
"Yes," said she, " you are right, I must try.  He
wants to buy some horses, and it is still the gay sea



140          AROUND A SPRING.
son at the Pyrenees. We will go to Tarbes, he has
a friend in that vicinity; we can go to Luchon, to
Cauterets; it is not impossible!-Thank you, M. le
cure.'"
" Then you will go with your husband?"
" Certainly."
"Yes, yes, of course. You are right; it must be
so, it must be! "
XVII.
It was with great hesitation that the countess alluded to the trip to Tarbes, in her husband's presence.
She said that it would be delightful to go to Paris by
way of the Pyrenees, and that it was absolutely necessary to procure some of the little horses so valuable
in mountainous regions. In short, she sought for all
possible methods of presenting her plan in a favorable
light, but, contrary to her expectations, the count was
the first to assent, and caught at the proposal to travel so eagerly that the time for their departure was
fixed to take place three days after.  The sudden
resolution was not so very extraordinary. The lord
of the manor had been yawning prodigiously for several days. He was overpowered by ennui. His
friend Claudius was no longer there, and M. de Rougeon, an unendurable companion and M. Larreau remained; but besides the fact that the son-in-law and
father-in-law were of very different characters, the
count, now relieved from the anxieties concerning
money which had rendered his bachelor life so harassing, no longer thought of anything but the incessant
humiliation caused by the mere presence of the capitalist. Must the last scion of the noblest famiily in
the country be the silent vassal of the vulgar rich man,
who beneath his apparent good-humor concealed the
energy of a keen, inflexible, domineering business




AROUND A SPRING.               141
man. It was he who gave orders, and planned and
directed works whose object he did not even condescend to explain.
M. de Manteigney suffered keenly from all this;
but how was he to quarrel with a man to whose generosity he owed his luxury, his style of living, and
all the useless splendor so necessary to his comfort?
The count wished to dispel all painful thoughts: but
he certainly needed to have some agreeable pursuit
to aid him in his effort. And then Parisian amusements are not so quickly forgotten. He sighed for
the debts, the beloved debts of former days, the bustle, the thousand trivial occupations, and when, reclining in an arm-chair on the lawn before the chateau, with cigar between his lips, and the paper on
his knee, he fixed his eyes upon the distant horizon, he
fancied he saw the scenes of a theatre in the mountain peaks glittering in the sun, and his nostrils
quivered at the remembrance of the odor of gas and
musk which was not without its charm to his Parisian
olfactories. Besides, his young wife, attractive as
she was, appeared to him to be a mere reflection of
her father, and reminded him of' his absurd signature.
Pere Loursiere's daughter had amused him for a short
time, it is true; but the little barefooted savage soon
lost her charm.
In short, M. de Manteigney was terribly bored.
Abbe Roche saw the countess once more as she
was leaving  the church. "It is all arranged," said
she, "we leave to-morrow.2"
"You see, Madame, that we must never despair;
be consoled and take courage."
The following day, about ten o'clock in the morning, he saw two carriages piled with luggage rolling
along the valley at full speed towards the Virez road,
while the workmen respectfully took off their caps as
they passed. The priest had the courage to thank
God for the departure which deeply saddened him.




142          AROUND A SPRING.
M. Larreau had allowed his children to set out in
company with the Rougeon family, and remained
alone at the castle, alleging, as a pretext, his need of
rest and the necessity of his superintending the works
in person. Undoubtedly he took pleasure in finding
himself absolute master of this lordly domain, which
he considered, not without reason, as a conquest, and
the crown of his own life-edifice.
Abbe Roche felt none of these pleasant emotions;
everything around him had assumed a sombre hue, the
whole country suddenly became a desert. He felt
sadly isolated, and sometimes surprised himself in
the act of wishing for the return of the merry,' frivolous party that he had so carefully avoided only a
few days before. He eagerly resumed his excursions
to different parts of the mountains; for he was not
the man to yield without a struggle to preoccupied
thoughts. He wished to take advantage of the last
fine weather to visit all the favorite spots he loved so
much, and plunged into narrow, rock-walled paths,
where tiny rills babbled and chased each other over
the stones, sparkling like threads of silver, rapid and
untiring, now dashing against some obstacle, dispersing into a thousand drops, and suddenly disappearing
to gush forth again more noisy, limpid, and bright than
ever. Sometimes these little streams united their
waters in a hollow of the rocks, and, resting after
their long course, transformed themselves into a
pure, transparent mirror. which calmly reflected the
sky and trees. Now and then a bird, hopping cautiously along, slowly approached, drank hurriedly,
and flew quickly away to the nearest tree, leaving the
mirror quivering and wrinkled.
"Everything in the world has its joys, agitations, mutual dependencies, and fears," thought Abb6
Roche,' and even that stone, burning in the sun's
rays, delights in the caresses of the icy water that
surrounds and cools it."




AROUND A SPRING.              143
From time to time he saw one of the small
houses of reddish firwood half concealed in a grove
of walnut trees. The hay, was bursting through the
garret windows over the balcony, among clothes
hung out to dry, baskets of poultry, bunches of
herbs, bundles of seeds and strings of' onions, swinging in festoons. Here stood a brick oven, with its
gaping, black mouth, yonder were piles of faggots,
heaped up for winter use; where the hens laid their
eggs, ladders, plaiiks, and all the picturesque confui
sion of articles necessary for domestic life. In the
little sun-flecked orchard, under the short, stout trees
trained to resist the high winds, long fir trunks
hollowed into pipes, moist and dripping, suspended
from tree to tree, and supported by stakes, conveyed
the water from a neighboring spring into a granite
trough, wrinkled and roughly hewn, but carpeted
with golden sand that glittered through the crystal
wavelets. A cow, with half-shut eyes and swelling
flanks, drinks slowly from it, while two merry children, their tangled hair strewn with bits of straw, also
sip from their hands on the other side of the trough,
and laugh at the good beast, which seems to say:
"My children, we will play by and by, when I have
finished."
The mother is there, spreading out her washing,
and the husband not far off, probably mowing the
fiagrant grass on the steep slope, for the strange
song which accompanies the strokes of his scythe
can be distinctly heard. Was he not working in the
valley? Perhaps he may be the only one that does
not. The priest gazed at the picture with a rapid,
wary glance; it no longer afforded him the calm and
soothing sensations he had usually experienced. The
scene before his eyes, and the thoughts which passed
through his brain, appeared only in more violent contrast. " Have I not been imprudent and culpable in
advising her to go away? He will be cured for the




144          AROUND A SPRIN'G.
moment; but she must return to that furnace!" And
all that he had imagined about Parisian society returned to his memory.
How was it that these degraded women, who
attracted the gaze of the crowd, became famous, and
rendered those rich enough to buy their favors famous
also! What must be the depravity of a society
on which such creatures imposed their laws, their
manners, and even their dress? And those suppers,
after which aristocratic noblemen lose mountains of
gold! must they have recourse to such contemptible
meanness the next day to pay the debt contracted the
night before? He thought of the Later-Empire and
the orgies of Nero. Belshazzar's feast appeared to
him, and his imagination becoming excited as his
blood warmed, he caught glimpses, amid the riot of
bacchanalian scenes, of hundreds of marvellously
beautiful courtesans, irresistibly bewitching in satin
robes and gleaming jewels, drinking from golden
cups, and trampling under foot young men intoxicated with pleasure and accursed passions.
Then he breasted the steep slope more impetuously; the veins of' his forehead and neck protruded, a
cold perspiration covered his frame, the muscles of his
jaws contracted-until the image of the weeping
young wife appeared, like a bit of blue sky at the close
of a storm. He took refuge in a recollection which
seemed almost divine to him. His soul mingled
with hers; but the more he felt the charm of this
new sensation, the more the ideal vision took palpable, vivid form. It was no longer the sorrow of the
poor wife, her grief, her thoughts, that haunted him;
but she herself; whose presence he seemed to feel,
whose material outlines he saw, the thousand details
of her physical loveliness rose before him with overpowering distinctness.
Then he too was accursed, conquered like others,
by the lusts of the flesh.




AROUND A SPRING.               145
Alas! the poor priest had only one fault; he was
a man, and retained the strength of a man's nature in
spite of his purity of heart. Exceptional lives do
not fall to the lot of every one; it is a delicate thing
to mould men after conventional patterns. In the effort to make angels, there is danger of distorting people, and creating monsters, madmen, or idiots but
to proceed.
The inhabited region of the mountain suddenly ceased, and with it all luxuriance of vegetation.
Nothing remained but stunted bushes, gnarled shrubs,
coarse, sparsely scattered blades of grass, and tufts
of aromatic plants, with rough, dark leaves, beneath
which tiny flowers of singularly attractive color and
odor were concealed. At rare intervals a solitary fir
tree arose between two rocks, the advanced sentinel
of the forest. At this height one breathed a purer
air, and beneath the burning rays of the sun felt refreshed by the invigorating breeze that blew over
the icy mountain peaks. The whole landscape was
revealed-paths, cottages, thickets, orchards, and even
the little houses of Grand Fort lining the yellow
highway; the chateau of Manteigney, and the narrow valley extending to the foot of the nearest mountains whose misty outlines mingled with the clouds.
It was a beautiful spectacle, and the cur6, listening to the distant sounds that reached his ears, said
to himself: "Man has a short arm and a vast soul;
he is the son of God and the earth. Beyond the
narrow circle commanded by the physical organs, beyond these human passions and feverish desires, the
spirit, purified from earthly stains, springs toward the
limitless horizons which succeed each other until
God is reached."
For the moment he believed that he had entered
one of these horizons; the immensity of space exalted him, he felt grief and delusion gradually fading-lost in his enthusiasm as a drop of muddy water
10




146           ARO UND A SPRIN:.
is absorbed in the depths of a crystal lake. He
grew taller, stronger; a feeling of nobility and pride
overmastered him; he became his former self, and
the miserable agitation of his troubled senses, the
anxieties which had so lately disturbed him, now appeared unworthy of his thoughts. Had he not a divine mission? Was he grown so weak and cowardly
that the least trembling of the man's nature within
him should overcome the priest! Should he hesitate
to go to her aid because she was a woman, and beautiful? Of what consequence was her sex? Ought
he to know that she had one?
He continued his walk towards the forest. It was
dark and cool; the paths, at first distinct upon the
soft, black soil among the heather and wild strawberry plants, soon disappeared amidst naked roots,'intertwined like osiers in a basket. Everything was
moist and dripping, even the air was full of dampness. The mosses that covered the rocks and trunks
glittered and quivered like a tuft of wild thyme
bathed in the morning dew, and long green sprays
hung from the lips of the gnarled, twisted branches,
like the beard of some sea god. A luxuriant vegetation encumbered the earth, clung to the trees, penetrated everywhere; even in the clefts of the old
dead pines, rotting on the ground, hundreds of little
plants shot forth with the eagerness of heirs anxious
to enjoy their wealth.
It might have been supposed that nature, restricted in space, had here poured forth her exuberant
fruitfulness. One was compelled to force a passage
through the dense foliage, and cling to some root,
when the foot slipped. Overflowing, vivid life seemed
to envelop one; there were millions of little confused sounds and indistinct murmurs in the motionless air; not a human being was present, but a whole
world of existences! They were heard, divined.
All luxuliance mutually attracts. Whole populations




AROUND A SPRING.              147
were in motion in this wilderness of plants, herbs,
and mosses. The plants, herbs, and mosses themselves breathed, lived-perhaps loved. Under what
ardent kiss had the earth laughed so joyously, under
what divine caress had all this life burst forth? As
man looks more closely and concentrates his attention, the clods of earth become animated and peopled,
the grains of sand have their architecture, their caverns, their horizons, nothings acquire importance,
and the feelings are agitated by finding under a tuft
of moss the limitless immensity that we dreamed of
seeking only in the heavens.
Such were the dreams of the priest. How many
times had he seated himself' at this great banquet of
life! He drank, he revelled in this pure spring of
poesy, forgetting the narrow bounds of his humble
existence, his struggles, his weaknesses. His chest
expanded; he opened his heart and arms to the invisible and fruitful mistress whom  God permitted
him to love. He unconsciously enjoyed her as a poet
and an artist, feasted on her with his eyes, his ears,
the keenest of' his senses. Then drawing from his
pocket a large piece of brown bread, and sitting on a
rock with his feet almost in the water, he breakfasted,
enjoying the luxury of existence.
On finding himself once more surrounded by these
memories, Abbe6 Roche felt as if he had been born
again. " I am stronger than I believed," he thought;
" these temptations are only illusions. Why should
I waste my strength in struggling against myself, in
grinding to powder the instincts within me? Why
should God have deprived me of all human joys; why
should He, at my very birth, have severed the bonds
that unites men to each other?  Why should He
have condemned me to solitude, even in my childhood,
it' not to make me, thanks to these trials, superior to
ordinary weaknesses? The sacrifice that exhausts
and ruins the weak, purifies and reanimates the strong.




148          AROUND A SPRING.
The priest has all humanity for his relatives, his heart
is open to all, without distinction of caste, fortune, or
name. In defiance of his personal sympathies, or
antipathies, he should give his time, his care, and his
prayers to all."
The repugnance that he had experienced towards
the count now seemed a reprehensible feeling. HIe
had avoided these people; but was disgust for their
vices his only motive? Had there not been pride on
his part, and, not understanding their words, manners,
and behavior, had he not held aloof through fear of
ridicule? He accused and condemned himself; saying:
" I will be more humble in filture." Joyfully did he
accept the humility which ennobled him in his own
eyes, and before God. " My duty is to go to them,
persuade, convince, and lead them into the right
path in spite of themselves." And he delighted in
the thought that he was nearer God, between humanity and Providence, far from temptations, nearer his
reward.
XVIII.
The autumn was far advanced, the branches of
the trees were beginning to be distinctly outlined
against the gray sky, and heaps of yellow leaves encumbered the beds of the brooks. In the morning,
the fires lighted by the workmen to warm their soup
gleamed here and there in the valley, as if through a
mist of gauze. The air had become more sonorous,
as if one were in an unfurnished room, and the bells
on the flocks coming down from the mountain to take
up their winter quarters in the village were heard in
the distance. Although it rained frequently, and the
roads were very bad, M. Larreau was always out of
doors. Abb6 Roche avoided meeting him as much
as possible, but one day the capitalist accosted the




AR OU UD A SPRING.            149
cure so resolutely that he was obliged to enter into
conversation. "Are you going this way, my dear
cure'? So am I; let us walk on together, if agreeable to you."
The cure, who was not skilled in making evasive
answers, slightly bent his head in token of assent.
" Do you know that Manteigney and Grand-Fortle-IHaut are making a noise in the world, my dear M.
le cure? One of the papers I received this morningWhere in the world is that paper? "
While speaking he looked over a number of newspapers and pamphlets he held in his hand.
"I have just been reading an article that, upon
my honor, was a most charming one, very witty and
highly colored although somewhat indiscreet, in which
this country is particularly described: primitive customs, legends of the other world, geographical conformation, etc., nothing was omitted.'To believe the
author of the little essay, we are living in a veritable
earthly paradise, somewhat haunted by evil spirits, it
is true, but that only serves to make it the more
striking and original. There is the paper, M. le cure,
you can read it at home. You see it has a very pretty engraving of the chateau, and here is your church
in the vignette. It is a very correct likeness. On
second thoughts, take all the papers, I have not opened half of them; but my time is fully occupied-this
is pay-day."
Abb6 Roche was stupefied with astonishment.
Why should people trouble themselves about Grand
Fort? What interest could it have for Parisian readers?  He instinctively divined that this publicity
boded no good, and it made him sad to see his old
church reproduced on paper.
"Who could have written this article? " he asked
anxiously.
" Oh! I'm sure I don't know, unless you are the
author, M. le cure."




150           AROUND A SPRING.
"I?"
"I was jesting. The truth is, I strongly suspect
that indiscreet Claudius, who prides himself upon his
literary talents, and really does not write badly. Besides, this little piece is sprightly, witty, and humorous like him, it is exactly his style-a charming manner his!"   Then, suddenly changing the conversation, he exclaimed:  " Well, M. le cur6, winter will
soon be here; the mornings are uncomfortably cool
already. Luckily wood is not dear in this region.
HIave you seen the works? "
" From a distance, Monsieur, as I passed."
"I believe, between ourselves, that the whole
country is very much puzzled about them; it seems
so to me. It is strange how the simplest things assume a fantastic character among these mountains;
everything appears supernatural, even the adornments
a simple private citizen adds to his dwelling. Your
parishioners are people of imagination, my dear cure,
and are willing to be guided by it. Try to make
them prosperous, to secure their welfare by simple
means: they will energetically refuse to accept. Use
a little shrewdness in the matter, show progress to
them under a glittering haze, besprinkled with the
marvellous, and they will rush towards it, you cannot
hold them back. Well! it is the eternal history of
humanity. After all, of what importance are the
means, if the result is good? Once more, what do
we desire? Trhe prosperity of this country, which
has not yet received the benefits of civilization, and
contains buried wealth of incalculable extent- I am
a rich man, I do not conceal- But what is the matter with you?"
"I am somewhat pressed for time, and I think I
am expected at home."
"Wait a few minutes, we do not often have an
opportunity to exchange our ideas. Besides, this is
a very important matter. I believe I have already




AROUND A SPRING.               151
told you that you are no ordinary man, your intelligence is remarkable, and-I beg pardon, remarkable.
I am only a capitalist, to be sure; but I have my
value. In our time, all social crises are money crises.
Revolutions have never been anything but questions
of property; the fate of empires depends upon the
price of cutlets; question history. The moral uneasiness of the masses rests solely upon a legitimate
desire for general material prosperity. Now I ask
you what is this prosperity if not the constant and
skilful employment of capital, the prudent utilization
of resources?"
" Good heavens, Monsieur! but are not morality,
virtue, happiness, those three words which mean but
one thing, above and beyond the mere material prosperity of which you speak so enthusiastically? "
"' Stop there, my dear friend, you have rightly understood me. The improvement of the morals of
mankind! That is the supreme object towards which
the efforts of all moralists should tend, that is all men
of action; for they are the only true moralists.
Well! do you not feel that the improvement of the
masses is based entirely upon the satisfaction of that
thirst for material prosperity, whose first word is:
as-so-ci-a-tion?  What a noble word that is! Men
are mutually bound to help each other, and become
powerless when solitary; but let one bring his capital, another his intelligence, activity, and knowledge
of men; let a third add to this the moral sanction
which is inherent in his person, his profession, his
character, oh! then, these three men might move the
world! That is association.  Come, let us speak
frankly: what urges me to dream of the happiness
and moral improvement of this country? You will
not do me the injustice to believe that it is a narrow
feeling of self-interest? Thank God, my fortune is
made, entirely made, I ask only quiet and repose; my
hair is gray, my daughter's fate settled."




152          ARO UND A SPRING.
Abbe Roche started; the word settled was painful to him, he felt that it was only too true.
" What urges mne on is the desire to make a residue of intelligence and the powerful resources at my
control useful to a new, artless, and interesting population."
M. Larreau paused a moment, half opened his left
eye, and stroking his chin, said carelessly, " Have you
ever visited the uplands of la Salette, my dear friend?
What an admirable thing is that noble enterprise?
what marvellous results have been obtained in a few
years! Ah! i. le cure, you are right to say:' Faith
moves mountains!' there is now an immense amount
of property there. It is a treasure-sprung from the
earth, one can use no better expression."
" You were speaking just now of this region," observed the priest, " and you remarked-"
"As a Catholic, I must confess that the miracle
of la Salette is one of the dogmas that inspire me
with more respect and-"
"The miracle of la Salette is not an article of
faith, and the word dogma has nothing to do with
us," interrupted the priest hastily.
"You don't give me time to explain myself.
Wait; I am not one of those people who mistake one
thing for another, pray believe me. I am a good
Catholic, I have faith, implicit faith, it is the true, the
only religion, that is what I think; but if any one
should say to me point blank, M. Larreau, do you believe in the apparition of the virgin at la Salette?
then, my dear firiend, that would be quite another
matter; I should feel wounded. I am frank, as I
have already told you; I should feel my private convictions wounded by such a question; and answer
honorably and nobly as you have done, I should reply:' What does it matter to you? The miracle of
la Salette. is not an article of faith!' But while bowing before the liberty of conscience, which is the very




AROUND A SPRING.              153
basis of-between ourselves, it is well to confess itit is the basis-there is no getting over the difficulty;
there, M. le cure, there is the basis. The only thing
that prevents the wonderful success of this enterprise."
The countenance of the priest had assumed an
anxious expression, his eyebrows were contracted,
his glance fixed; he crossed his arms on his breast,
saying in a firm  tone: " Monsieur, I will not allow
any one to use that word before me in speaking of a
miracle which the church approves. There has been
no enterprise. God would not have permitted his
name to be used for a miserable speculation."
" And who says anything to the contrary? What
a devil of a man you are! Pardon the expression,
my dear friend. I was going on to say that God
would not have tolerated that. I merely wish to arrive at this point, that there is something miraculous
in the success of this belief which is no article of faith,
I admit, but has resulted in the prosperity and wealth
of the country. And yet the plateau of la Salette is
barren, arid, destitute of charm, and has neither bathing establishments, casino, stud, nor race courses;
what would it be if it possessed all these things.
There has never been any important apparition in this
country? I am surprised, it is just the place for one.
These forest-covered, mysterious gorges, these torrents, these roads, walled in by gloomy cliffs, these
barren heaths-the mere thought of them makes me
shudder. For my part, I assure you that I would-not
watch cattle for eight successive days in such placesI am nervous, I should have visions, though I should
not complain of that, since' it would make the fortune
of the country."
Abbe Roche for some time had been under the
influence of angry feelings which he heroically controlled. He now stopped suddenly, and facing the
capitalist, said: " Monsieur, are you depending upon




154           AROUND A SPRING.
my aid to assist you in performing a miracle in these
mountains? "
Larreau darted a strange glance at the brave cur6
from his left eye, which suddenly opened wide, and
instantly burst into a laugh.
"Ha! ha! ha! are you joking?  Ha! ha! for
what do you take me, tell me in good faith. If that
were so, I should have a saint at my side. I spoke
to you of la Salette as I should talk of anything else.
Dear me, how you have made me laugh! What! I
talk carelessly, in all simplicity, and you put an interpretation upon my words! From any one else the
remark you have just made would have annoyed me
greatly-wounded my feelings. Do not believe that
I wish to hurt yours. On the contrary "-and suddenly recovering his usual self-possession-" I am delighted with this conversation, my dear M. le cur6, it
gives me another proof of the nobility and frankness
of your disposition. I like this pride, this ticklish
susceptibility which takes offence at the mere idea of
a proposition, and sincerely admire these rare qualities, even when they cost the sharp answers you just
gave me and which I might have expected. If I have
a regret," added the capitalist with a very cunning
and somewhat patronizing smile, " it is that the bishop did not hear our long conversation; it would
surely have confirmed him in the opinion I know he
has of you, and of which mine is merely the echo, and
convinced him, my dear M. le cure, that your position
is far below your merits."
"So it was a trial," thought Abbe Roche, unconsciously rustling the papers he held in his hand.
"Hypocrite!" muttered  Larreau between his
teeth. " No matter, he is influential —very influential.-"




ARo UND A SPRING.             155
XIX.
When Abb6 Roche had returned home, he sat
down before his white wooden table, laid his band ill
his Saint-Augustine —he was very economical of his
bands-and began to reflect. What was he to believe and what discredit in the singular words of M.
Larreau? What was his motive; why had he made
such an exhibition of pompous maxims, whose precise meaning had escaped him? What was the object of his contradictions, his theories about association? All that confusion of empty words-but were
they empty? Did they not perhaps convey an intelligible meaning to a man accustomed to the subtleties
of city language?
The curS, weary of trying to penetrate the obscurity, opened one of the papers which he had placed
upon the table when he entered, and first of all selected the article mentioned by the countess's father.
It was a sort of supplement, entitled: A singular
walk. The piece was written in a pretentious, sparkling, extravagant style, and contained all manner of
absurdities.
The country was described in such vivid colors
that it might have been taken for one of the wildest
regions of Australia, and yet while reading it, one
seemed to receive the odor of paste and colored pictures peculiar to toy-shops. The customs of the inhabitants were at least five centuries behind the
times; they possessed the candor of the Golden Age,
were innocence itself; their dancing on the grass was
performed to the sound of a peculiar instrument that
dated as far back as the fifteenth century.
The fantastic description of the landscape formed
an excellent background for the outline of the chateau,
which was sketched in glowing colors: sombre towers frowning over the abyss, dark, sonorous vaults,




156           ARO UND A SPRING.
long galleries, battlements, drawbridges, etc. It was
reality itself; but skilfully-arranged, transformed into
a frightful but charming nightmare, so that amid
these surroundings, the rich, luxurious furniture of
the castle, Parisian mode of living, excursions on
donkeys, breakfasts in the depths of virgin forests,
champagne cooling in icy torrents, even the family
concerts in the evening, the coffee served upon the
terrace in silver cups engraved with coats of arms, in
full view of a most beautiful landscape, formed a delightful contrast well adapted to excite the reader's
imagination. At the close of the article, the author,
as if by chance, carelessly mentioned the name of this
fairy castle, then struggled with wittily-expressed
scruples, and at last determined not to efface a proper name so well known to the fashionable world
that it was unnecessary to make a mystery of it.
The last lines aroused the indignation of the priest.
They were not true. Why should the author affect
scruples that certainly had no reality, since he might
have removed them by a stroke of the pen? There
must be some hidden motive; but what were these
designs? The good cure was not sufficiently familiar
with the customs of certain papers to perceive the
true object of the article: a very skilful catchword,
all the more so that it was concealed, and presented
in the form that would be most certain to impress it
upon the minds of all who read the sketch. He was
ignorant of the thirst for publicity then making every
throat dry, curious samples of which were presented
in different parts of the same paper: everywhere
were personal anecdotes, confidences, revelations, indiscretions, but Abb6 Roche, somewhat disgusted,
and not understanding what possible interest any one
could take in the publication of such scandals, laid the
sheet aside. He was about to unfold another from
the pile, when his attention was attracted by a little
piece of paper without signature or address, which




ARO UND A SPRING.                157
seemed to have fallen out of some letter.  Tie mechanically read the following words:
"After all, I soon consoled myself for the breaking of one of the bottles; the other was quite sufficient.  Made under the circumstances I havre just
related, the analysis was perfectly satisfactory. We
were right, as you shall see; this is the result-a
splendid one:
Sulphate of Chalk...............0,170
Chloride of Sodium.................... 0,024
Bicarbonate of Chalk..................0,036
4"      Magnesia.........  0,036
Silica.................            0,008
Oxide of Iron..........................indications
Arseniate............................... traces
Total.............................0,305
" If you are not satisfied, you are certainly hard
to please."
The priest had read these lines with the utmost
good faith, never dreaming that he was encroaching
upon private matters, but he now felt a tinge of regret,
and carefully put the bit of paper under the cover of
one of the pamphlets. He had understood none of
this scientific information.  It was no great source
of surprise that M. Larreau, in his former business of
melting metals, should have acquired some little
chemical knowledge: but he would never have supposed that his love of science would induce him to
maintain such a correspondence.
However, it was a matter of very little consequence.
He tore the wrapper from a second paper. It
was a journal of art, from which he learned that a
certain landscape, inscribed with a famous name,
though one unknown to him, was a work whose brilliant and tempered shades, dark yet radiant, opened
new horizons to art.  He read that there were " in



158          AROUND A SPRING.
dependent lines and sympathetic and progressive
half-tints in the clouds; that the vibrating mingling of
tones revealed the storms of a noble soul struggling
with the philosophical aspirations of the last century, and vigorously supported by the analysis of asthetical traditions, successively and eternally palpitating in the breath of the persistent individuality of
him who-"  Abbe Roche bent his head over his
clasped hands. How small he felt in the presence of
this immensity! Of how many things he was utterly
ignorant! Yet he turned the pages more rapidly,
and discovered a portion of the magazine, where short
items of news were separated froml each other by
asterisks.  Naturally he stopped, expecting to find
lighter reading.  The following words met his eye:
" The museum of Cluny has just added to its rich
collection a wooden statuette of the greatest interest.
It is one of the finest and purest specimens of the
wood-carvings of the fifteenth century, and we do
not believe that any work of that period exists more
elegant in design and perfect in execution. The figure, amply draped, represents Saint John.  He is
standing, and measures about twenty inches.  Although we are not in a position, after a cursory examination, to assert authoritatively a fact of so much
importance, everything leads us to the belief that
the statuette is not of French origin.  The letter F,
plainly visible on the left hand side of the pedestal,
and certain peculiarities about the drapery, induce us
to think that the work should be attributed to Francesco, son of Domenico di Valdambrino, who flourished at Sienna in 1409.  How  did this precious carving find its way to one of the poorest churches in
France? We cannot explain it.
"It now remains for us to congratulate and thank
Viscount Claudius, to whom the honor of the discovery of the treasure is due.  It was only in compliance with the entreaties of the administration that




ARO UN~D A SPRING.            159
this skilful connoisseur, whose learning and correct
taste are well known, consented to relinquish this
unique relic.  We consider this act of self'denial in
favor of the public worthy of all praise; and we are
happy to mention it, all the more so, as we are permitted to reveal a fact greatly to the honor of the
donor-all the more so, we say, because the generous
connoisseur surrendered it for the same price that
he paid, which was, we are informed, five thousand
francs, an insignificant sum, when it is considered that
this curiosity is one of the finest in the museum of'
Cluny, rich as it is in antiquities of every description."
Abb6 Roche read the strange article just quoted
twice over, then suddenly dashed the magazine down,
exclaiming: " But that is perfectly infamous! The
man is a scoundrel! He has robbed us!-he is a
liar!"
To see the priest striding from one end of his
room to tile other, with flushed face and clenched
hands, it was easy to perceive that this holy Hercules
had a very passionate temper, notwithstanding his
usual gentleness of demeanor.
His forebodings had not deceived him; fashionable society was composed only of knaves, and some
unaccountable chain of reasoning led him to think of
the countess, living in that infected air.  He would
tear her from such surroundings. He would quarrel
with them all-tell- them of this deed-spit in the
scoundrel's face. His poor Saint John! a friend had
been snatched away. A bold liar had entered the
church and profaned it, his dear old church, which
was so pure, so full of God's presence!-Could he
keep the gilded bas-relief that perpetually reminded
him of the rascal's crime? He went to the church at
once, without delay, listening only to the promptings
of his anger, intending to take down the accursed
sculpture, break it into a thousand fragments, and leave
no trace remaining; but when he saw suspended be



160          AROUND A SPRING
fore it the lamp which had been presented by the
countess, his anger gradually cooled, and he thought
he would merely send back the flight into Egypt.
The box was still in the vestry. Where did this
Viscount Claudius live? The priest did not know,
and he would not ask the address from M. Larreau,
who alone could give it.
Besides, if he sent the case back, would it not be
supposed that he took this course in order to claim
his share of the five thousand francs? Was it not his
duty to bear all this with dignity, to despise and forget the shameful transaction?  And if he quarrelled
with the count's friends, with the count himself, the
doors of the chateau would be closed against him-he
would lose all influence there, and then how was he
to aid and succor the poor wife who had no friends
save himself.
Xx.
A few days after the events just related, M. Larreau set out for Paris.  The winter, in his opinion,
had become unbearable, and the cold was indeed terribly severe in the lofty chateau, perched upon its lonely pedestal of rocks. At four o'clock in the afternoon
the whole valley became filled with a dense icy fog
that rose to the foot of the castle walls.  Nothing
was to be seen in the dull, gray, hueless sky, except
On occasional bird of prey, flying swiftly away from
the glaciers. At night, the sound of the creaking
doors and windows reverberated through the long
corridors, and startled one from slumber. However
anxious the capitalist might be to continue the work
of improving Manteigney, he could bear no more, and
wrapping himself in his fur overcoat, hastily started
for Paris, leaving the field clear to the severities of
the climate.
The snow fell in heavy flakes, covering the whole




ARO UND A SPRING.             161
country with its thick shroud, so that the poor village,
attacked on all sides, resembled a ship shut in by icebergs. No sound was heard save the lugubrious
croaking of the ravens, circling above the cottages,
or alighting in flocks upon the towers of the chateau.
There were no songs amidst the foliage, no rustlings
among the grass.  The frozen brooks had ceased
their music, all was sad, cold, and dull.  When the
wind blew, long plaintive moans, that sounded like
the groans of souls in agony, echoed from the forest.
The snow, dislodged from the trees, whirled along
by the tempest, penetrated through all the chinks of
the dwellings, filled up the chimneys, accumulated in
heaps before the doors, and. blocked up the entrance
to the cellars. It was necessary to stop up all the
crevices of the windows, the poor people were besieged, and they hung up their garments, and collected all their rags to keep out the icy wind that whistled under the doors. What a furious battle raged
in the forest, whose depths could no longer be entered! How many ancient pines were shattered,
whose gray skeletons the following summer would
find extended upon the moss!
When the pleasant weather returned, people
emerged from their houses, removing the snow from
the thresholds. Every face was wan and violet-hued,
every nose red, all eyes moist. The men, wrapped
in their large brown coats with little double capes,
and the women concealed in their black cloaks and
folded hoods, walked quickly along on their way to
the stables, from whence sounded the voices of the
cows and goats, apparently in friendly conversation.
The children were the only ones who enjoyed the
fine weather; they might be seen, with their heads
hidden under their red caps, tumbling about in the
snow, or pushing their sleds before them with shouts
of laughter.
As soon as evening began to approach, the village
11




162          ARO UND A SPRING.
was again deserted, all the inhabitants retreated to
their homes, and assembled in groups around the
hearth before a huge fire of pine logs, whose odorous
flames licked the smoky walls and the black bottom
of the kettle. Then, while the children screamed,
and the women twirled their spindles, the old mountaineers filled their short pipes by the light of the
rosin, and told long stories, strangely vivid tales, full
of marvellous incidents and mysterious struggles between light and shade, good-luck and misfortune.
There was the never-ending fable of the mountain
opening its sides and admitting the favored wood-cutter to immense caverns heaped with treasure. The
cold, the wind, the gloom was forgotten as they listened. There was the legend of the shepherd overtaken by the snow-storm, whom the good fairy received
with his flock in a suddenly enlarged cleft of the rock,
and in imagination they followed him as he walked
on and on so long that when he emerged from the
dark gallery, he found himself in a meadow surrounded by the best of pasture land, under the rays
of a June sun. And the cures of former times, who
cured all kinds of diseases! And the wood-cutter,
possessed by an evil spirit the devil in person, perhaps-who by a chance blow of his axe had split the
mountain and divided its summit into two portions!
What a long-lived tradition is that of the rock
cleft by a hero! We meet with it in the Alps, find
it in the Pyrenees at Roland's beach, and in many
other places. Before these immutable, eternal masses, at whose base generations spring up and die
without leaving any trace behind, it seems as if man
wished to console himself for his powerlessness and
weakness by these singular fictions. Mian has a ceaseless longing to make an exchange with the nature
that surrounds him.  He gives her his time, his
labor, and his strength; he penetrates her depths,
changes her aspect, imprints his human seal upon her.




AROUND A SPRING.              163
She penetrates him also, feeds him, affords him the
means of living. There is no conflict between them,
but a perpetual exchange. He cultivates the earth,
she supports him; he watches, searches, studies, caresses. She pleases his senses, consoles him, cheers
him, adorns herself for him, dons bright colors, and,
to complete the charm, fills the air with sweet odors
and harmonious sounds. Such is the common law;
-but when a sterner nature, more impenetrable to
man, refuses his advances, and, sufficient for herself,
allows him neither to tame, caress, nor understand
her, exists wholly without relation to him, man renews by his imagination the bonds that the stepmother has broken, and consoles himself for being
crushed by ruling over her in his dreams.
Abb6 Roche no longer thought of these old
legends; he now had very different visions. While
the wind howled and blew in gusts down the chimney, his whole life passed in review before him. No,
he never had his share of tenderness, his share of
all the good things of the heart, which, after all, are
not superfluous.
He had deluded himself by considering his misfortunes as privileges; he had sometimes believed
that he was walking at the head of his flock, leading
the way, and animating them by his own example;
he had prided himself upon it! but was he not in reality a poor man, who was deprived of everything!
For a long time he had borne the rude winters of the
mountains without complaint, nay, even with joyous
courage; he had never experienced so deep a feeling
of sadness and isolation. Although his mode of lifi
was essentially the same, and he made the greatest
exertions not to change it in the smallest particular,
it seemed to him as if the whole world were upside
down. The wind no longer had the same voice, nor
the snow the same hue; the cold was more piercing,
his very heart shivered. He sat motionless for whole




164          ARO UND A SPRING.
hours, gazing into the fire as one might look into a
magic mirror that transformed thoughts into images.
He saw the countess, looking as coquettish as on
the day of their first meeting; she had dried her
tears, forgotten her sorrows. Feted, adorned, joyous,
radiantly beautiful, and-dcolletke, she moved on
through the throng, which parted, gazing at her loveliness. He experienced so keen an emotion that
he trembled, and felt ashamed. Then the picture
changed, and he saw Claudius selling the statuette to
the Cluny museum. The nobleman smiled, showing
his white teeth, and said: "Gentlemen, I present it
to you." He stretched out his hand, the gold was
counted out, and poor Saint John, cleansed, brilliant,
and unrecognizable, was installed in his new abode.
Soon after Mme. de Manteigney, leaning on her husband's arm talking with Claudius, and surrounded by
all her friends, came to admire the statuette, and
everybody burst into shouts of laughter at the story
of the poor, simple cur6, who had given up this masterpiece as one casts aside an old cracked kettle.
"I am mad," said Abbe Roche, rising suddenly;
" I must have an attack of fever! Why should these
people trouble themselves about me? How could
the -poor wife win the affection of her husbandwhat influence could she obtain over a nature so perverse? No, no, she is still unhappy, still suffering,
alas! " The thought was a solace to him. " No one
around her can understand her. In whom could she
have confidence, to whom could she open her heart?
She has only one sincere, disinterested friend-to her
I am not a man."
He clasped his hands over his brow, saying:
"What is to be done, oh! God, what is to be done to
save her? " And he soon forgot himself in her, as a
physician might do who, watching his patient with
too much care, no longer thought of the sickness.
Then to recall himself to his duty, his position as




-AROUND A SPRING.              165
a friend and spiritual father, he talked aloud, as if she
had been present-became excited by the sound of
his words, the warmth of his own emotion-discovered consoling thoughts and salutary counsel, and,
lest he should have forgotten all this when she returned, took notes in his large handwriting on a
sheet of paper. He was relieved-she would listen
to him-and waves of indulgence for her surged in
his heart.
" We must avoid too severe judgments," he wrote.
"Before condemning any one, let us remember the
society in which he has lived."
He said we. He joined himself to her; made her
cause his own, and she accepted the community of
interests, since she did not reply. As he wrote the
vwe, he heard the rustling of her dress, and inhaled
the perfume that always surrounded her. She was
there, looking at him with her tearful eyes, and saying: "You are indulgent, my dear cure, like a man
who is shielded from the weaknesses of the world."
And he was glad that by accusing him of too
great indulgence, she aided him to mislead himself,
for in the depths of his heart, he felt a profound contempt, which at times resembled hatred, for the miserable libertine.  "You have employed the usual
weapons to win him; now use other means, my childshow yourself disarmed before him. Compel his affection by the modesty and simplicity of your manners; surprise him, fix his attention by the gentleness
of your virtues, let him find in you what he meets
nowhere else, a Christian sister. an angel who protects,
calms, and cheers him. Unless he is the devil himself, how can he help being touched? That you may
the more surely win his love, renounce all immoderate luxury of dress, the foolish allurements of useless
coquetry; no longer transform your physical nature
by deceitful artifices, lay aside your jewels and adorn



166          ARO UND A SPRING.
ments; no longer hide yourself under silk and gold
like a Pagan idol; show yourself as you are."
He then entered into the most minute particulars,
explaining his idea with increasing emotion, seeing
her, if I may so express it, transformed before his
eyes, approaching nearer to him, becoming the supernatural being of' whom he constantly dreamed, instead of the woman he could not forget; he yielded
to the irritating charm of this angelic disguise. " Do
not seek, poor young wife, to win his love too soon;"
— his hand trembled-" by devotion and sacrifice purify your affection, that God may bless it. And if in
this noble effort you at first meet with cruel obstacles,
do not yield to despair, which is a common weakness,
do not content yourself with mere courage, but boldly examine your own sufferings, and you will soon
find in them the stern but deep joy of the Christian
victim, who looks sorrow in the face without turning
pale. Who told you that others have not suffered as
much as you, that somewhere there are not souls as
wretched as yours, which, having no right to complain, await their deliverance in silence? "
His writing became more rapid, less legible.
" Raise your heart above your griefs and the fetters
of humanity, my child, my sister; ascend in thought
to those divine heights where, under the eye of God,
beings who understand each other can love for ever
without a blush; where all barriers crumble; where
the vows of men are annulled; where affection, firee
from all carnal stains, beams-  Grant, grant that my
soul may mingle with yours! "
Suddenly he stopped, dashed his clenched hand
upon the table, and crushing the paper on which he
had just written, threw it into the fire.  "How I
love her! " said he. And raising his eyes towards the
crucifix suspended over the chimney-piece, he added:
"Dost Thou not permit me, oh, God! to love her
thus? "




AROUND A SPRING.              167
It was the crucifix that she had noticed, in regard
to which she had said one day, with her little off-hand
manner: "M iy dear cur6, do you wish to dispose of
it?"  Thus, while looking at the image of the Saviour, he heard the words, as if repeated by some distant echo, saw again the gesture she had made with
her little ungloved hand, the movement of her fingers,
and even her pink convex nails, in whose corners the
gloves had left a little of their white powder; but
these memories inspired his heart with so pure an affection that even before the divine image he did not
blush for his emotion.
From whence came this Christ, that he now gazed
at through his tears, his life-long friend and confidant?
He was thinking- How many other mysteries might
still be contained in his own existence?
"Are you sick, M. le cure?" said mere Hilaire,
touching Abbe Roche on the shoulder.
She had spoken in a low, confidential tone. The
words had been upon her lips for several days, but she
had not dared to utter them.
The priest, who had supposed himself to be alone,
turned suddenly, and perceiving the loving face of
his old friend rose, took her head between his hands,
and kissed her on the forehead.
" My poor child, my poor clhild! are you then so
very unhappy, tell me? What is the matter? You
neither eat nor sleep! Ah! I see very plainly thatI say nothing, because I am only your servant, but I
have eyes. If you would only tell me:' Miere Hilaire,
that is what troubles me,' perhaps I might help you.
He must be in some great trouble to embrace me in
that way," she added, speaking to herself and wiping
her eyes with a corner of her apron.
" No, it is nothing; it will soon be over, my
friend."
But she could not believe him, for while saying:
" It is nothing," he had taken her hand and pressed it




168          AROUND A SPRING.
more and more warmly. After a moment's pause, he
looked earnestly into her face and asked: " Do you
know who gave me this crucifix? Tell me the truth."
Mere Hilaire recoiled a pace or two, as if terrified.
" I know nothing about it, M. le cure. Why do
you ask me that? It is the first time that you have
spoken of it for more than twenty years. Is that the
cause of your grief? But I cannot, for I know nothing about it."
" Yet I always thought that you had something to
do with the gift."
" I? oh! I assure you that I did not give it to you,
my child. I was so poor at that time."
" No doubt, but you might have been told to send
it to me at the seminary, for instance —"
She became suddenly agitated. "How do you
know that?" she exclaimed, "how do you know
that? "
" I have never had any positive proof of it; but as
the box containing the Christ was sent me from Virez, and I do not know any one in the city or suburbs
except yourself, I thought at once- "
"Dear me! that is true. And why didn't you
ever speak to me about it before?"
"Why did you not mention it yourself? "
"Well; then you want to know everything that I
do about it, my child? I would have told you willingly, although it is very little; but I thought that
you might perhaps be troubled about it, and I had
been compelled to promise to say nothing."
"By whom?"
"The person who brought the crucifix; It is true
that I sent it to you myself; because I was requested
to do so, and besides, the old gentleman did not know
your address."
" And was that the first time that you ever saw
him? "




AROUND A SPRING.             169
"Why do you ask all these questions, my child?
— It is so long ago! I don't remember much about
it."
" Tell me, I beg of you."
"Well! yes, I had seen him several times, because
he was the person who brought me the money-" Is
it not hard to be obliged to tell him these things!
" He brought me the money for you-that is, for a
child that had been entrusted to my care, that is all."
The priest's eyes brightened strangely.
"And you never knew the name of this old
gentleman, as you call him. Did he seem to be interested in-the child that had been entrusted to
you?"
" Oh! he didn't even look at you, poor little innocent that you were, and I loved you all the more on
that account. He came to bring the money because
he had received orders to do so, and then quietly
mounted his horse again. One day, in my anger, I told
the whole story to M. Vilain, who was the cure of
Virez; but M. Vilain, though a very amiable man,
silenced me at once, telling me that I must say nothing
about it for the sake of the child. Bless me! when
a cure tells you such things of course you keep quiet,
and I almost shut my eyes when the other old man
came."
" And was this person the one who gave you the
crucifix? "
" He gave it to me —no; he was commissioned to
send it to you by another person who had just died
and left it to you."
"And you never knew who that person was?"
"Never, my poor child. Yet I have understood
that it was a lady, but that is all. You see it wasn't
worth while to question me, it is useless. God sees
all things, M. le cure, and what he does is well done."
"You are right, mere Hilaire, you are right, we
will say no more about it."




170          A-ROUND A SPRING.
XXI.
When Noah at last saw the sacred dove bearing
the consoling olive-branch, he could not have experienced a sweeter -emotion than that of the cure of
Grand Fort when he saw the plains growing green
once more under the first smile of Spring. The snow
had disappeared, the grass sprang up luxuriantly, the
swollen streams filled the land with their musicpeople felt invigorated, and inhaled the air with expanded lungs.
News of the count and his family soon arrived;
they had sent word to have the chateau prepared for
their reception, and the intelligence created great excitement in the village, for life at Grand-Fort-le-Haut
seemed now to be wholly dependent upon Manteigney. The innkeeper laid in a stock of hitherto unheard-of liquors, and the grocer suddenly decided to
have his shop painted bright red.
One fine morning the count's steward arrived, followed in a few hours by the baggage, and two days
after the lords of the manor made an almost triumphal entry. Abbe Roche dared not go and meet them
like the majority of his parishioners, but he took a
position from which he could see the carriage pass.
His heart throbbed joyously,-he was no longer master of himself. She was there — she had returned.
All his ugly dreams flew swiftly away, and he felt so
happy that he did not even think of' Larreau and the
count who accompanied the countess. The following
morning he did not resist his wishes, but went up to
pay a visit to the chateau. He was received with the
utmost cordiality. M. Larreau, who was as active as
ever, overwhelmed him with questions. Had the
winter been very severe?  Had the poor people
needed bread, or the cattle forage?  The countess




AROUND A SPRING.              171
seemed perfectly happy, and the griefs of last autumn
had doubtless vanished entirely.
"My dear cure," said she, "how glad I am to see
you again! It seems as if we had known each other
for ten years.  And you have not been frozen?
Come, move your arms. All winter long I have
been asking myself the question: Is Abbe Roche
frozen or not? "
She made all these extravagant speeches with
such sprightliness and grace that it was impossible to
help smiling. The cure was then informed that the
count would remain only a few days at Manteigney,
as it was his intention to set out very soon for Tarbes,
to superintend the forwarding of several horses that
he had purchased there.
In fact, a very short time after his arrival M. de
Manteigney resumed his journey, and the countess
was left alone with her father. One morning, just
after breakfast, she was walking on the lawn, seeking
for the early violets hidden in the grass, when some
one informed her that peire Loursiere had asked to
see her. As he had insisted upon it, even when told
that M. Larreau was not at home and he had better
return, Mme. de Manteigney gave orders that he
should be admitted. At the first glance the young
wife perceived that the visit of this disagreeable personage had some important object. He advanced
slowly, bowing humbly, with his hat in his hand, and
did not carry his inseparable basket, which gave him
a peculiar appearance.
"I am very sorry to disturb the countess," he
murmured with a troubled expression, " and indeed I
would not have come if I had not been compelledone might say compelled."
"What do you want of me, peire Loursiere? Go
on, I am listening." To the great surprise of the
countess, he looked cautiously around as if to convince himself that there were no curious ears within



172          AROUND A SPRING.
hearing, and then approaching nearer, said: " Did you
have a pleasant journey, Madame?- As true as the
sun is shining upon us, I meant to speak to the count;
but I am told that he is away-I am very sorry for
it, for I shall grieve your kind heart, Madame." And
he uttered two portentous sighs, one after the other.
" Well! a truce to your regret, pere Loursiere,
tell me at once what troubles you."
"It gives me pain to say it on account of the respect I feel for the chateau; but necessity-and then
duty. Dear me, we cannot desert our children-it is
natulral to have a father's feelings."
The young wife suddenly recollected her husband's intimacy with the little cheese merchant, and
her face crimsoned. Nothing escaped the old rascal;
he cast down his eyes, and continued in a still more
dolorous tone:
"In spite of one's respect for-  In short, there
are some things too hard to be permitted to pass
without explanation - especially when people are
poor, honest, have no reason to reproach themselves,
and have always lived without giving cause for scandal-by the blessing of God." His manner became
more bold and assured as the countess's agitation increased. "What would you have! People are accustomed to be obeyed, to meet with no resistance.
It is natural, when they are rich and of noble birth.
Oh! yes, of noble birth! then people think that everything belongs to them, cattle and men, plains, forests,
mountains, everything-everything-even the young
girls of the country."
"Speak more plainly, and be brief. Whom  do
you reproach, whom do you accuse?" Unfortunately the young wife's voice trembled and did not harmonize with the firmness of her words. The other
clasped his hands, and his eyes glistened.
"Oh! good heavens! I accuse the count! Madame knows very well that I should not dare- Is not




AROUND A SPRING.              173
the count master here? He is young, and likes to
amuse himself. There is no harm in that; the mountains are not gay, and we are far from the city; then
he meets a young girl who is by no means ugly. Of
course the count did not mean any harm; the injury
was done afterwards. But I see that Madame is
tired; I did not intend to speak to her; I will come
back again some other time, when I can see her father, who is a very honorable man. Madame has only
just breakfasted, and poor people's troubles, so soon
after eating, spoil the digestion."
"You will go on to the end of your story, although you seem to delight in making it as confused
as possible. Has the count betrayed your daughter?
Is that what you mean? "
"If you knew that, Madame, you must also be
aware of the poor child's situation."
The countess started, and as she unconsciously
made a gesture expressive of the disgust with which
the man's manner inspired her, he continued eagerly:
" Oh! I see that you don't believe me, but fortunately the whole country can prove that the child has
always borne a good character, and never until the
count's arrival- I thought at first that it would be my
death blow! Oh, God! it is hard that a father
should be so afflicted at my time of life!" He was
almost weeping. " Oh, yes! the whole country will
say that she has been deceived. How was she to oppose a count? She was young, weak, and knew
nothing of the world. Ah! all will admit that she
loved God."
" I believe what you tell me; there is no need of
calling the whole country to prove it."
" That is just what I thought," he replied in a
milder tone, "that is what I thought; so I said to myself:'No doubt the countess would prefer to have
me come and tell her of this accident, before it is
talked over in the valley and at Vircz. Stories are




174          ARO UND A SPRING.
not long in going the rounds of the valley; I never
suspected anything, because she kept the secret so
bravely."
" Well! what do you ask of me?"
She felt that she was turning pale; in addition to
her grief in being reminded of the faithlessness of
the count, whom she loved in spite of herself, she felt
deeply humiliated on finding herself confronted with
this man and forced to accept his conditions. She
looked LoursiBre steadily in the face, and, convinced
that she had divined his motive, said:
" You want money, do you not? "
"Good heavens! am I not already miserable
enough? Yet they wish to humble me still more!
Madame knows that such sorrows cannot be paid
for - A young girl's reputation, a poor man's happiness! " Here he drew the sleeve of his jacket across
his eyes. " But this is not all: when you can barely
earn your bread by the hardest toil, how is another
mouth to be fed? And then I am old! perhaps you
have not noticed that my hands are beginning to
tremble, and my hair is already gray. I had expected
my daughter to marry, and that my son-in-law would
come and live with us- Alas! the son-in-law is far
away! Who will marry the poor girl now?"
" How much do you want, tell me at once?"
The peasant's face changed suddenly, and his
eyes, until then so sad and tearful, assumed an expression of peculiar cunning.
"For us poor mountaineers," said he, " a note ofAh! it is not much! a note of-five thousand francs
would enable us to live; it is something to depend
upon, to keep us from starving."
Loursiere had his reasons for asking neither more
nor less; he claimed a sum that the countess might
obtain from her own private purse without being
obliged to apply to her husband or M. Larreau, who
would probably have sent the afflicted father away




AROUND A SPRING.             175
with a note for five hundred francs in his hand. He
had relied upon the young wife's emotion, terror, and
ignorance of' the laws. Proofs were almost imposisible to furnish, and the young cheese merchant had
not been famed for her prudery. Loursiere therefore
resolved not to make too much disturbance about the
accident, as he called it, not wishing to get into any
difficulty with MI. Larreau, as he foresaw the importance of keeping on good terms with him in the hope
of reaping some advantage.
"You want five thousand francs? Very well, I
will see what is to be done; you can go."
He raised his little gray eyes, and stroking his red
beard said: " If Madame thinks that I have time to
wait, she is mistaken."
" Do not forget to whom you are speaking, and
go away."
" Oh! that's the way that the unfortunate are
treated. We are ruined, our daughters are betrayed,
and people even refuse to pay the expenses! Fortunately there is a God who sees all, and there is some
justice in this world."
" Have I told you that I would not pay for your
silence? I must have time to reflect before giving
what you ask, that is all."
" Reflect! It seems to me that the count didn't
take much time to reflect when he betrayed my poor
little girl, who has to bear her misfortune all alone.
Who is the one to suffer, the count or my daughter?
And suppose she should die like her poor mother,
would Madame still wish to reflect? And what is
to become of me during these meditations, with no
one to carry my cheeses, or bring me soup when
I go to the mountain pastures? To whom am I doing a service by coming quietly in this way to arrange the affair pleasantly, when anybody else in
my place would have demanded justice with loud
outcries? "




176          ARO UND A SPRING.
Mme. de Manteigney felt that her patience was
becoming exhausted.
"Don't say another word," said she, " you will be
the gainer," and suddenly turned her back upon him.
Loursiere, not daring to follow her, slowly put his
hat on and went back by the way he came. The
truth is, that although the countess was irritated by
the words of this wily personage, she was still more
terrified at thought of public scandal. She had been
on the point of giving him the money he demanded
at once, and putting an end to the affair, but was
ashamed to yield to such threats; besides, there was
nothing to prove that he spoke the truth. Was it
not a mere menace of Loursiere's?  Why had he
chosen a time when she was alone in the castle?
Why not wait until the count's return, instead of addressing himself to her? If on the other hand he
had spoken the truth,and the poor child, who was after all only partly to blame, was really ill, suppose
her father, enraged at not obtaining what he desired,
should carry his threats into execution?
It seemed to her that the wisest course would be
to go and ascertain the truth. She could take the
money, and if Loursiere had not deceived her, would
buy his silence as he demanded. His hut was not
more than a league distant. Although the roads were
bad, she would pretend that she wished to take a
walk and execute her project without attracting any
one's attention.
After forming this resolution she grew somewhat
calmer, and in her heart even felt an emotion of joy
in imposing this sacrifice upon herself through love
for her husband, in defending him, aiding him, and
conquering his dislike. But there was one thing that
aroused her anxiety. It was absolutely necessary to
have a guide, for she did not know the way; she had
seen the rugged paths that led to his abode too often
to dare to venture into them alone, and the bare idea




ARO UND A SPRING.            177
of going to this monster's lair unprotected, made her
shudder from head to foot.
She was thinking of this the following morning
when a ragged child was brought in who asked to see
her without delay. As soon as the little savage was
left alone with the countess, he awkwardly pulled off
his dirty cap, drew out a folded bit of paper perfectly
disgusting to the sight, and, without saying a word,
handed it to Madame de Manteigney, who opened it
instantly with the tips of her fingers.
The note contained these few words:
"Answer me at once. There is no time to wait;
it will be too late to-morrow."
"Who gave you this paper, little one?" asked
the countess, advancing so hastily that the terrified
child retreated two or three paces, " who gave it to
you?"
" It was-it was Loursikre, who told me to carry it
to the lady of Manteigney."
" Very well, I will answer."
Doubt was no longer possible, she must form
some resolution, Loursiere had told the truth about
his daughter. Mme. de Manteigney reflected a moment, and then went hastily to the cure's dwelling.
Her face had doubtless retained some trace of her
emotion, for the priest exclaimed as she entered:
" Good heavens! what brings you here? what is
the matter now, poor wife? "
" I have a service to ask which no one but you
can render; will you promise to do it? Let me sit
down, I have walked so fast."
"What do you wish, Madame? I am listening,
and if what you ask is possible, be assured —"
" Oh! do not speak so, I implore you. I am anxious, wretched, you can see that plainly. It will cost
me terribly dear to carry out the plan I have formed,
and if you do not encourage me by a little kindness,
I shall not dare to venture farther-I can rely upon
12




178          ARO UND A SPRING.
no one but you, my friend. You must-you must
accompany me this evening, I am obliged to take a
walk up among the pine trees."
" With your father?" asked the priest anxiously.
"No, indeed! If I could let any one but you into
the secret of this visit, should I come in search of you,
make demands upon your time, your kindness, yourcharity?"
"Why not make the visit in broad daylight? It
would be much better."
" Why, why? Because I don't want to meet any
one on the way; it must not be known."' Good heavens! but —"
" I am going to see Loursiere's daughter; there, are
you satisfied?"
" Loursiere's daughter-! "'There was a world of meaning in the simple words.
The countess rose, and continued in a lower tone,
which revealed the approach of tears:
" Pardon me; I see that I am mistaken, I have
been imprudent, I deceived myself, let us say no more
about it. Tell me of some peasant, some steady,
discreet man, who can guide me, and I will leave you.
I had thought that after giving you proofs of the
most perfect confidence, I could rely upon your regard, and did not even think that I might compromise
you; you are doubtless afraid —"
"I will go, I will guide you wherever you desire.
Compromise me! I afraid!" He drew himself up
suddenly: " Afraid of whom, afraid of what, except
of not doing my duty? "
" I should have explained everything to you, but
I wished to have your promise first; it would have
done me so much good. This is the rest of the story;
nothing is more simple; unfortunately —"
" I do not wish you to explain, since my questions
have made you suspect me. I do not desire it, at




AROUND A SPRING.              179
least not now. I trust you, do not deprive me of the
pleasure of serving you blindly."
" How good and noble you are, and how I love
you for it! "
"Enough, enough! When do you wish to start?"
" This evening, as soon as it is dark. It will take
about two hours to go and return, will it not?"
" Two hours of very rapid walking; but you cannot
take two hundred steps on those paths, piled with
sharp, rough stones. You must have a donkey, then
we might go by a circuitous way, and meet no one."
"I trust the matter entirely to you. Isn't it difficult to obtain a donkey? "
" I will do my best." After a moment's reflection, he continued:-" This evening, at eight o'clock,
you will take the path that leads from the castle
bridge."
"Just at that hour all the servants are at dinner,
and I can dismiss my maid."
" You will walk along the path for about a hundred paces."
"I shall be afraid, alone at night-"
" Do not be anxious, I will wait for you; then we
can take the right hand, turning into the old road by
the saw-mill, which is very easy, and on reaching the
woods, where we shall be obliged to follow the bed
of the stream, and walk over the stones, we will find
a donkey to carry you."
"Are you sure to find one there."
"Do not be uneasy, I will fasten it myself just at
the edge of the woods. The place is very lonely,
and I shall not be observed. I will neglect nothing. If I have done wrong in taking this course,
God, who reads all hearts, will doubtless forgive me
for it."
"Why should you wish God to pardon you?
Are you not the best and most self-sacrificing of
men? Eight o'clock, you told -me. Eight o'clock,"




180          AROUUND A SPRIN2G.
she added in a low tone-" how late it is; suppose he
should think I did not mean to answer?"
"What did you say?"
"Nothing. This evening, at eight o'clock-the
path leading from the bridge? Oh, I know it. Thank
you, M. le cure, thank you, with all my heart! "
She pronounced the words thank you with such
an expression of gratitude that Abbe Roche, much
agitated, could find no words to reply.
" Why should she thank me so earnestly? " said
he to himself.
"It ought to appear a very simple matter, and
she cannot guess what it costs me to render her this
service." He had indeed struggled violently with
himself.  He was terrified at the thought of being
alone with her at night, in solitary places; but he
feared still more that she might consider him a selfish
being, capable of bargaining over his services and
recoiling before a difficulty.
XXIL
"Is it you, Monsieur le cur6?"
Eight o'clock had struck long before; the darkness was intense, and the wind, sighing through the
trees, made a noise that drowned the voice. Yet she
could not speak louder, poor woman! She was trembling from head to foot, stopped at every step, thinking that she discerned the dark outline of the priest,
and repeated more and more timidly: "Monsieur le
cure —answer, is it you? "
Had she not mistaken the path. It seemed as if
she had been walking for a century, and she was
beginning to yield to her terror, when something
black moved in the darkness about ten paces before
her, and she heard the words:
" Come, Madame, do not be afraid; I am here."




AROUND A SPRING.               181
"At last!" she murmured." I have kept you
waiting, but indeed it was not my fault. I did not
wish to start until the servants had gone to dinner,
and then I could not open the little door that leads
to the lawn. I am trembling now. I was so frightened while walking along that horrible road! Oh!
now, I feel safe once more. Let us hasten on; it is
very late, and I am expected, at least, I hope I am
still expected."
Abb6 Roche, standing at some little distance, replied, "Yes, yes, let us walk on as fast as possible,
Madame! We are near the cottages, and might meet
some one, we must be quick."
"I am  coming as fast as I can, my dear cur6,
I am coming as fast as I can; but I can't see very
distinctly, the road is rough, and I am a little frightened."
She instinctively approached nearer him, although
he as instinctively recoiled. " Take courage, Madame,
we shall soon reach the woods. Would you like my
cane to help you?"
" Thank you, yes. Dear me, how heavy it is! "
Abbe Roche suddenly felt his cassock pulled,
and turning, saw the countess standing motionless,
with her head bent forward, pointing at something.
" What is that, look. there, there?" she murmured,
drawing so near the cur6 that her silken robes brushed against him.
" Do not be afraid, it is only the trunk of a chestnut tree."
"A  chestnut tree-are you sure?  Oh! dear, it
is frightful, it seems as if it were staring at us. Let
us turn to the left, won't you?"
" Certainly, Madame; calm yourself, it is nothing
but a chestnut tree."
" I believe you; but no matter, let us turn to the
left."
The young wife had not relinquished her hold




182          ARO UND A SPRING.
upon the priest's cassock. In spite of her efforts to
appear calm, she drew nearer and nearer to her companion, walking close upon his heels, and often, when
a stone made her stumble, even clinging to his arm
as a drowning man clutches a branch.
Abbe Roche's brain was in a whirl; yet he could
not say: " Release me, Madame." He could have
endured the delightful but dangerous companionship
in broad daylight, under the brilliant rays of the sun,
but in this darkness, which, wrapping them both in
the same veil, produced a strange feeling of mutual
confidence, they spoke in low, mysterious whispers;
the dread of discovery drew them together, and the
priest, to dispel.the agitation which was destroying
his self-control, murmured all the prayers that he
could recollect with the energy of a martyr. At last
they reached a spot where the paths crossed. " We
can light the lantern now," said he, " let us stop a
moment."
" Oh! how glad I am! I was almost frightened to
death! "
Abbe Roche drew from his pocket a small dark
lantern which he was in the habit of using when he
went out in the evening, lighted the candle, and then
partially closed the two doors, leaving only a narrow
ray of light to shine upon the path.
The country became more and more lonely, and
they began to distinguish the sound of the great waterfi11; while on either side rocks protruded from
the ground amidst the grlass and shrubs. "Do you
see the wood yonder, Madame?"
"No, I can distinguish nothing but a black mass."
"That is the very spot, and the fatiguing part of
your journey is now over. I fastened the donkey
there, and the remainder of the road is easy."
" Well, it is quite time. I don't think I could
have walked ten paces farther. I feel as if I should
be more composed when I am once on the donkey's




AROUND A SPRING.             183
back, and then I will tell you why we are going to
visit the horrible man who lives up yonder."
On reaching the edge of the little wood, the abb6
stopped, and giving the lantern to the countess, said:
"Wait for me a moment, Madame, while I go for
your donkey. He is close at hand, don't you hear
him stamping? "
"I shall never be able to stay here alone."
"I entreat you to do so. You see I must climb
this slope, you could not ascend it, and we should
only lose time."
" Then come back as soon as you can."
She wrapped herself resignedly in the gray operacloak she had donned for the evening journey. Cough
occasionally, to encourage me, M. le cure, so that I
can at least know you are there."
When he had moved away three paces, he wiped
the perspiration from his brow. For the first time in
his life he felt the delightful emotion a man experiences in protecting a woman. Now that he was
at some little distance from the charming danger, he
regained his self-control, struggled less vehemently
with his emotion, and while parting the branches to
enter the thicket. said to himself:
"She depends wholly upon me, she is impatiently
expecting me." He remembered all the timid, anxious little phrases that she had just whispered, bending towards him. He thought of the happiness of a
man to whom God entrusts the fate of such a creature, shrinking yet earnest, courageous though timid,
only asking to be directed, beloved, cheered, and in
return gives herself whollyA little discreet henm warned him to hasten. He
coughed in reply, and soon emerged from the thicket,
leading the donkey by the bridle.
It was a very quiet animal, furnished with the
huge pack-saddles on which the peasant women sit
with their baskets, their milk, and sometimes their




184           AROUND A SPRING.
children. "I took what I could find," said he in a
low tone.
As he spoke, he arranged his heavy cloak,
doubled four times upon the saddle, fastening it with
the girths. " All is ready, will you mount? "
He saw very plainly that it was a difficult matter,
but what more could he say or do?
The poor lady tried her best; clasping the saddle
firmly with both little hands, and summoning all her
strength, she endeavored to spring up. Alas! the
effort was vain. She tried two or three times, biting
her lips with anger, and murmuring words drowned
by the roar of the wind. " I can't do it, I assure you
I can't, my dear cur6," she said at last. " Oh, dear!
oh, dear! and how fast the time is passing. Please
lift me, I am not heavy, and you can do it in an instant."
He had thought of it, still thought of it, but dared
not. A few moments' reflection would have been
necessary to enable him to decide upon such a course.
The difficulty was not in the action itself, but in performing it calmly, without losing his self-control. In
Abb6 Roche's state of mind it required absolute heroism to accomplish such a result. " I assure you I
am not heavy," she continued. " No one will see you,
M. le cur6, there is no harm in it. It must be done
at last. All things are fair in war! —and it is so late! "
Abb6 Roche was suddenly endowed with singular
courage. His hesitation and fear vanished, and taking
the young wife in his arms, while she laid her head
on his shoulder, he lifted her from the ground like a
child; but when he held her pressed against his
breast, heard her satin cloak rustle under his grasp,
and felt the warm, sweet breath of the countess, who
was leaning on him, the poor man lost his selflcommand, the world of reality disappeared. He held
her, clasped her in his arms, lost all consciousness of
aught else, surrendered every other thought so utterly




AROUND A SPRING.             185
that, when he had placed her in the saddle, no longer
realizing what he was doing, and still carried away
by his feelings, he covered her hands with kisses, sobbing like a child.
Mme. de Manteigney pushed him back, and involuntarily uttered two little cries, a pardonable imprudence, certainly. Yet there must have been a very
singular echo near by, for a third exclamation, almost
exactly like her own, at once replied.
Abbe Roche felt like a man who, while burning
with fever, is plunged into an icy bath without the
slightest warning. The countess hastily opened the
lantern she still held in her hand, threw the rays towards the spot whence the sound proceeded, and to
her extreme terror saw among the bushes, about fifteen paces distant, two shining eyes fixed upon her.
Were they those of a wolf or some other wild animal?
She was not long in uncertainty. The child, who had
been crouching among the brambles gazing at her,
rose slowly, with every outward sign of the most extreme terror, and advanced a pace or two, repeatedly
making the sign of the cross.
She tried to speak, but was too much agitated to
utter a word. Besides, the thought occurred to her
that her voice might be recognized; and as the child
still advanced, she ordered him back with a hasty
gesture, and suddenly closed the lantern. All this
had taken place in much less time than I have related
it. Doubtless the countess's gesture was instantly
obeyed, for the little mountaineer was heard running
wildly, at full speed, down the steep path that passes
the ruins of the old saw-mill, and leads into the valley.
The young wife and Abbe Roche stood motionless with horror. Both listened earnestly, and the
wind having died away, they heard in the profound
silence of' the night the noise of the stones rattling
loudly down, and the dogs barking in the distance.
Mlme. de Manteigney, who, in the moment of danger,




186          AROUND A SPRING.
had summoned all her energies, lost her strength
when assured that the child had disappeared, and began to tremble like a leaf. The priest, too, was
greatly agitated. In his own eyes he had committed
a sin. It was shameful. And he had been surprised,
recognized.  Was it not an act of divine justice?
Suppose the whole village had been there! He
would have deserved the disgrace of such a punishment. In a single instant he had sullied thirty years
of a pure and honorable life. He dared not even ask
God's pardon.
" Chastise the unworthy priest, 0 Lord! Crush
him in Thine anger," said he to himself, and he was
deeply in earnest; "chastise the proud fool, who
thought to aid with his counsels, to save the wanderers of this world, when far more guilty than they."
Yet he trembled at the thought of meeting the countess's eyes, hung his head, and sought for fitting words
to humiliate himself before this angel, who was a
thousand times more pure, since he had insulted her.
The poor wife's indignation and scorn, restrained for
an instant by their very depth, would soon burst
forth in withering language. He accepted all before
it was uttered; but contrary to his expectations, he
felt a light touch on his shoulder and heard a faint,
trembling voice, whispering in his ear: "I implore
you to take me back to the castle, my dear cure,
quick, quick, or I shall die of fear-"
Not a word of the guilty kiss, the insulting embrace. The truth was, the countess had, for the
moment, forgotten it in her fright. "Let's make
haste," she continued, "I am frozen, my teeth are
chattering, I cannot stay here an instant longer."
The priest touched the donkey with his heavy cane,
and they rapidly descended the path. "Oh! dear,
oh! dear," murmured the countess, "that terrible
Loursiere, what will he think, what will he do, if I
don't go? Bring a complaint, rouse the whole coun



ARO UND A SPRING.            1 87
try, he is capable of anything! Go to him, this evening, this very instant, I implore you, go to him, save
the count's honor and mine also —you understand
the rest. No one must know of the affair, and that
horrible man threatens to tell everything if he does
not receive the five thousand francs from me this
evening. You see, it is absolutely necessary for you
to go; I could not, I should fall down by the way.
You will not refuse me, tell me? Say that you do
not refuse me? "
Abbe Roche clasped his hands, while tears flowed
from his eyes, tears of gratitude and admiration. He
would gladly have thrown himself at the feet of this
noble woman, who feigned that she did not remember
the deadly outrage, the infamous treachery of which
she had been the victim, but still condescended to
entreat, when the most imperious commands would
have been too indulgent. "I will go, Madame, I
will go," he murmured.
He regretted from the depths of his heart that he
could not have given his life to make amends for his
sin.
Meantime the donkey, urged rapidly down the
sloping path, moved quickly on, and the countess
soon found herself before the little door opening on
the lawn by which she had left the chateau. She
took the key, put it in the lock, and turning towards
the priest, exclaimed: "You will save us, will you
not?  Go quickly, M. le cure. Here are the five
notes-go at once."
The Abbe fastened the donkey to the nearest
branch, put on his cloak, and clenching his heavy cane
in his hand, rushed-the word is a correct onetowards pere Loursiere's dwelling. It would not have
been prudent to stop him on the way. The man, but
lately so humble, walking with drooping head beside
the young wife, before whom he would willingly have
knelt, now advanced boldly, with dilated nostrils.




188           AROUND A SPRING.
The energy of his movements, the night wind blowing in his face, aroused new emotions within him.
It was no longer horror of his sin that occupied
his thoughts, but the memory of that one moment's
intoxication which made him shiver. Again he clasped
her in his arms, to his heart, only far more violently,
with almost suffocating strength. His blood boiled,
his limbs became stronger and more pliant, his brain
clearer. For one instant he had lived and loved, he
had absorbed the poison of a single arrow, and experienced a strange joy as he felt the terrible yet delicious venom flowing through his veins, and invading
his whole frame. He remembered that he was most
wretched, gnashed his teeth, would have liked to fall
prostrate in the dust, and yet he was triumphant:
he seemed to hear a celestial harmony, in the midst
of which an awful voice cried: " Thou art accursed! "
Heaven and hell were both half open to receive him,
and he held out his arms to embrace the world and
fasten himself to it.
While all these thoughts were whirling through
his brain he was climbing among the rocks and
brambles, taking the shortest way; he moved with a
sort of frenzy, like a soldier in the vanguard that is
rushing to the assault. His pace was so rapid that,
three-quarters of an hour later, he found himself before the hut occupied by Loursiere, and stopped to
wipe the perspiration from his brow.
A reddish light shone from under the door, and
as he approached, he heard groans from within,
that recalled him to reality. He knocked; pere
Loursibre, armed with a candle end, opened the door.
" Ah! is it you, M. le cure," said the peasant, raising
his huge fur cap, " come in, you are late! The poor
little thing is very ill, M. le cur6, very ill."
" Yes, I know it; but before I enter, while we are
alone, I have something to give you from a person-"
"Oh! the kind lady! "




AR0 UOND A SPRING.            189
"Do not utter her name, it is unnecessary. I am
to give you this little packet. I will say nothing
now about what I think of your conduct, your shameful threats; God sees all things, pere Loursiere."
" Oh! the dear lady, oh! the dear soul! Threats?
I, threats? Can she believe that I intended to threaten her!  Threats of what, my dear M. le cur6?
What can a poor man like me do? Proofs must be
had before we can threaten! A misfortune has fallen
upon us, that is all we can say, and the kind lady
wishes to help us bear it. I was very sure that she
would not abandon us."
While speaking, he opened the packet (rather
awkwardly, on account of the candle that was in his
way) and counted the bank-notes.
"This is not all," said the cure, advancing a pace
or two.
"Ah! you would like a receipt? The affair is
not pleasant to talk about, and naturally —"
" I was not commissioned to ask for any. I wish
to seeyourdaughter, that is all."
"It is much better so for every one. Come in,
M. le cure," and his voice suddenly changed its tone:
"Alas! poor child! she appears to be about to enter
the other world. When I look at her, it seems as if
I saw her dead mother again. It is very hard for me,
M. le cure, at my age-"
The miserable hut had a sinister aspect, and the
air was heavy and dense. From the ceiling, formed
of broad, roughly jointed boards, hung bits of straw
and hay, handfuls of dried herbs, strings of onions,
and numbers of other things that could scarcely be
distinguished in the obscurity. The floor was black
and dirty, and on an old chest, one of whose feet was
replaced by the fragments of a broken pot, were
piled the tin boxes, with rows of holes, in which the
cheeses were made. There was an indistinguishable
heap of rags, baskets, branches, and even whole




190           AROUND A SPRING.
trunks of fir trees in the room, and at the back of
this den, near a worm-eaten staircase leading to the
garret, the poor girl lay motionless, stretched on a
miserable pallet, amidst shapeless, colorless rags.
As the cur6 approached, a tall thin man, no other
than the village doctor, rose, lifted his cap, and advanced to meet the priest, saying:
" Good-evening, Monsieur le cure, you see it is all
over with the poor child, which is no great matter of
surprise to me; her mother died in the same way. I
had expected it! When girls have the evil spirit in
them, you know, M. le cur6-  There are half a
dozen in the village just like her."
"You are sure that there is no hope? "
"Oh, perfectly. I was called too late; the child
is a very fine one. Just look at this boy."
The physician drew aside some rags, and the
priest beheld a tiny, restless little mortal, lying on a
mattress close beside its dying mother. One would
almost have thought that life was passing from one
to the other, and the poor girl's last sigh would become the first cry of the new-born infant.
Abbe Roche approached the expiring girl. She
was already unconscious, and her face had assumed a
yellow hue that resembled waxen tapers. The sunken nostrils scarcely quivered, her cheeks were hollow,
her cold hands lay motionless on the bed, and when
she opened her large black eyes, they had the peculiar expression of the dying, who seem to be searching their own hearts.
The priest bent over her: "Do you know me,
my child, do you hear me? "
Thinking that, notwithstanding her silence, she
might perhaps understand his question without being
able to reply, he spoke to her of' pardon, of the goodness of God, who reads all hearts. "Repent, my
child, think that the hour is approaching, when-"
" She does not hear you, my dear M. le cur6," said




ARO UND A SPRING.             191
the doctor approaching him; " do you not see that
she is dead?"
Then turning towards pare Loursiere, who had
removed his huge cap and was looking at the corpse
with his little eves full of tears, he added: " Come,
take courage, old man! -this death was inevitable;
you should have watched. You must bear this. I
am going home and will send you one of the sisters
from the hospital; you can't stay here alone. And
now, what are we to do with this child?"
The cure, who had been kneeling in prayer, rose
hastily: "He must first be made a Christian, doctor."
And pare Loursiere, having brought the water,
the priest baptized the child. His hand trembled, for
the recollection of his own sin returned to him, and
he asked himself whether God would accept the consecration.
" This is certainly a sad thing, my dear M. le
cur6," observed the doctor, before taking his departure; "' but what can be done about it? Such things
have occurred ever since the world was made. The
child remains and is likely to live, so the most pressing necessity is to return to him. These poor little
creatures, fallen from nobody knows where, have been
known to make their way in the world and find a
place for themselves. Don't you know of some nurse
in Grand-Fort-le-Haut, M. le cure? "
" No, I do not; but one must be found;" then
recollecting himself, he exclaimed: "Marianne has
not yet weaned her little girl."
"Do you think she would take this child?"
"She must. I will attend to the matter, doctor,
I will attend to the matter."
Half an hour after the events just related the
priest left the hut, holding his little lantern in one
hand, and with the other carrying a tolerably large
bundle under his cloak. It was the baby, half buried




192           AROUND A SPRING.in its mother's clothing, which had been wrapped
around it. Abb6 Roche, with his tall, athletic figure
and broad shoulders, was a comical yet touching sight.
He walked with the excessive care of a man who
carries a glass filled to the brim —watchful, awkward,
bending half double, and seeming almost bowed
down by the weight of his light burden.  "Suppose
he should take cold, he thought, suppose he should
be too warm? The little thing's life hangs by a
thread!"
He experienced an emotion never before imagined,
while thinking that the fate of the little creature was
entirely in his hands, that he might suffocate it by a
slight pressure, or crush it by making a false step.
He had a feeling of almost paternal tenderness for
the tiny nursling, and took pleasure in holding it on
his arm and making every effort to shelter it; he
would willingly have caressed it!  Was it not a reminder of his own past? IIe,too,had doubtless been
carried secretly away by night, concealed under some
stranger's cloak.  Was he not paying a debt by taking care of the poor deserted child?  Once the infant moved in its hiding-place and began to cry. The
priest was greatly troubled.  How should he soothe
it,how ascertain the cause?  He was afraid to uncover the child, the night air was so cold, and scarcely
dared to touch the little man, his fingers seemed so
huge and clumsy. Fortunately, he remembered what
he had seen the mothers of Grand Fort do under
similar circumstances; and while moving the little
one up and clown as gently as possible, he endeavored
to recollect some simple song; but not recalling any,
began to intone the vesper service, as if it were the
most natural thing in the world.  The effect was almost magical, and quiet being restored, Abb6 Roche
continued his walk, but on reaching Marianne's house
found that he was exhausted with fatigue. Never in
his life had he performed a harder task.




AROUND A SPRING.              193
It was some time before his knock was answered;
but at last a window opened, and a head appeared.
" Why, good gracious, there must be the deuce to
pay when people come knocking at one's doors in
this fashion! What do you want? What time is it? "
" Let mle in, good mother," replied the priest; "it
is three o'clock in the morning."
On recognizing the cur6's voice, the good woman
lighted a candle and opened the door at once.
" My good Marianne," said the priest entering,
"here is another child that God sends you!"  He
drew aside the cloak, and revealed the infant's little
hand hanging below its folds.
"If you will not take him, he must go to the other world for food and drink."
" Poor little innocent! let me give him something
immediately," and she threw into the fire-place a
handful of dry twigs, that blazed up instantly.
Meantime, Marianne's husband was dressing himself' behind the bed-curtains.
"What! you have brought us a foster-child,
haven't you, M. le cure? Of course I should not want
to turn the little thing away; but there is a great deal
to be done-a great deal to be done," repeated the
wood-cutter.
Marianne removed the infant's coverings, revealing his large head and tiny, active, vigorous limbs,
and turned him to the right and left, saying: " He is
a handsome fellow: aren't you a beauty, my lad? "
Then hastily wrapping him up again, and encircling
him with her left arm with the wonderful skill that is
one of the instinctive gifts of maternity, she went towards a large chest, and took out some blankets and
infants' clothing. "Come, husband, warm these things.
You see, Mi. le cur6, there is a great deal to be done.
I have four already! if I had not, I wouldn't say
anything, but-"
The wood-cutter had both skill and experience in
13




19-4         ANROUNt7) A SP'RIG.
these matters, for he took the clothes in his huge,
bony hands -without the least hesitation, and stooped
over the fire to blow upon the flame.
" After all," continued the good woman, " he is a
handsome boy, and welcome. Is he a child from the
hospital, M. le cure?"'Yes, he has neither father nor mother. You will
be paid, of course."
"Yes, that's all right," murmured the husband,
still blowing the fire.
" And well paid," added the priest, "I promise
you that."
" Ah! it's a fine boy, and my wife knows how to
take care of children as well as anybody. It is
strange that the fire don't kindle."
"Well! and the caps, where are the babies' caps?"
" Can't you go and look for them, and keep quiet,
you everlasting chatter-box? It's very hard luck, isn't
it), M. le cure, to have a husband that is always talking? When he don't chatter, he sings; when he
doesn't sing he talks, and whether one likes it or not,
makes very little difference.  Oh, good gracious!
there is the other little monkey waking up. Go and
see what it wants, husband."
" It wants-it wants something to drink."
"It wants —it wants —  What on earth do you
mean by your it wants, it wants? "
"Bless me! of course it wants-"
"It wants what? "
"It wants something to drink, I tell you."
" Well! after all my asking, must you put on mittens to say: It wants to nurse? Isn't it natural for
a child to nurse, M. le cure? But it shall do no such
thing, there now. Give it some sugar and water; it
sha'n't nurse. It must be weaned at once."
While speaking, Marianne had dressed the newborn infant in a twinkling, and was now dandling it
in her arms.




ARO  UND A SPRING.             195
"Well, my friends, you have kind hearts," said
the cure, " and now good-night, I must go home and
rest."
He approached the baby and gently embraced it,
then turned towards the door, saying: " Good-bye,
until to-morrow."
The wood-cutter accompanied the cur6, grinning
until his little round eyes were almost lost amidst his
deep wrinkles. At last, shrugging his huge shoulders, accustomed to carry heavy logs of wood, he
murmured: " She scolds me a little before people,
but I love her for all that, MI. le cure."
"What is he saying now?"
" I said that I loved you for all that."
" It is strange that you should say such ridiculous
things! I love you just the same, too."
XXIII.
Day was just dawning as Abbe Roche returned
home. He threw himself on his bed, hoping to obtain a little quiet and repose; but scarcely had he
closed his eyes when he was assailed by a tumultuous
throng of visions. The chateau was in flames. The
old church bell rang violently, and all the villagers,
suddenly roused from  slumber, ran to seize their
fire buckets. He rushed into the midst of the conflagration, and perceived the countess, half dressed,
with dishevelled hair, wringing her hands and calling
to him  for aid. "I forgive you, my friend," she
cried; " save me, save me! "
He leaped over every obstacle, reached her side,
and raised her in his arms. She clung to him with all
her strength, exclaiming: " You are my preserver, I
love you."
At these words he seemed to be endowed with
threefold power, and bore her through the midst of




1ad           AROUNID A S7TRING.
the flames.  The ceilincs annl roofs were falling.
People shouted: " Come here, go there."  He could
not move. He saw her lose all consciousness-and
the thought of dying with her in the midst of the
tumult excited such keen emotions that he suddenly
awoke. On emerging from tile clamor, and finding
himself in his silent little chamber, dimly visible in
the bluish light of early mornings, he clasped his
hands, crying: " My God, my God, grant me peace
once more! "
Then his head drooped again, his eyes closed,
and he saw her once more walking beside him, but
it was on the edge of a precipice. They talked
in whispers, for they were pursued. Suddenly the
young wife drew him towards her, and clasped in
each other's arms, they sprang into the abyss. It was
one of those interminable falls which sometimes occur in dreams, and afford time to die most blissfully.
As he took her hand and raised it to his lips, the doctor said:
" You see that she is dead; take the child and fly."
Then he entered a vast cathedral, which was suddenly
filled with light, crowded, and echoing with music, as
if for the ordination of some priest. He felt the
child move under his cloak, and although he strove to
lose himself in the throng, was pushed into the front
ranks. All eyes were fixed upon him with an expression of contempt and repugnance. He saw the bishop advance to meet him, and as the prelate approached, recognized under his mitre the livid features
of the Count de Manteigney, who publicly slapped
him in the face. The crowd rushed upon him, drove
him from the temple, and he found himself in an immense desert, holding in his arms the new-born infant,
and bathing it with his tears.
The Angelus roused the cur6 of Grand Fort from
these haunting nightmares. He opened his windows
to admit the fresh morning air, and remembering that




ARO  UND A SPRING.           197
the bell-rincer would be awaiting him in the vestry,
went there as usual. On leaving the church, his mind,was somewhat calmer, and he discovered that he was
very hungry. Cutting off a large piece of bread, he
began to eat it eagerly; but when about to pour out
some wine, stopped, replaced the bottle, and drank a
large glass of water. Was he imposing a penance
upon himself, and did he wish to begin, by this little
sacrifice, a life of reparation?-Who can tell?  He
took his breviary and went towards Marianne's cottage, intending afterwards to visit pere Loursiere.
While Abbe Roche was ascending the mountain, a
very singular rumor began to spread through the village. Already on the square before the church, and
at the doors of the houses, groups of people were
eagerly talking. They related the following tale:
The preceding night, a little shepherd named
Pierre Ribat, scarcely more than a child, while returning home rather late, had perceived on the mountain, near a grove of trees, at the spot called the
White Cross, on account of two rocks placed one
above another, a sort of light, a tremulous light,
something like a Will-o'-the-Wisp. The child, greatly surprised by this unexpected sight, had also noticed
a strong smell of incense in the air, and although
much terrified, crouched among the grasses and
crawled towards the light, which at times disappeared
and then re-appeared. On arriving within a certain
distance, he heard a confused murmur of voices, and
hiding behind a little bush, gazed at the scene as
steadily as he could. The light flickered like a star
that was about to return to the skies. Suddenly a
cry arose, a frightful cry, such as he had never heard
before, a cry that seemed to proceed from the rocks.
The child was so fiightened that he felt his hair stand
on end, and he could not help uttering a shriek, when
the light was instantly transformed into a dazzling
flood of rays, in the midst of which he saw with his




198          AR 0 UND A SPRING.
own eyes the HIoly Virgin mounted on an ass, and(
Saint Joseph walking behind, so that any one would
have supposed the colored statues in the church of
Grand Fort had suddenly appeared in a burst of sunlight. The Child Jesus was probably concealed
under his mother's cloak on account of the night air,
so the shepherd did not see him; but he was almost
sure that he had heard him.  Unfortunately the
splendor of the heavenly light was so great that his
dazzled eyes could not distinguish the details of the
picture very clearly. Be that as it might, Pierre
Ribat plainly understood that the Virgin did not wish
to be approached, for she raised her arm, and ordered
him by a gesture of the hand to go at once towards
the old saw-mill; then everything disappeared. The
little shepherd lost all self-command on finding himself alone in the darkness, and began to run at full
speed over the stones and through the.brambles,
leaping over rocks and hedges and climbing the steep
slopes; the dogs, hearing the uproar, sprang out of
the sheep-folds, and rushed after him. Half' mad
with terror, he reached the plain, cut by the stones,
torn by the thorns, and, still pursued by the dogs,
stopped behind the new building, which barred any
further progress, and failing on his knees, recited
five Paters and five Aves.
Such was the strange tale which, after going the
rounds of the village, reached the ears of M. Larreau
about ten o'clock in the morning by means of his
valet. This man unfortunately was tinged with fiee
thinking, so that he had somewhat perverted the
meaning and changed the words.
" And you say," observed the spout-maker, who
had at first smiled but now appeared to be lost in
meditation, —" you say the child stopped behind the
house I have built in the valley? "
" Yes, Monsieur, that is where the Holy Virgin
commanded him to go,-at least, so he says."




AROUND A SPRING.              199
Al. Larreau stroked his chin thinking: " The abb6
is certainly extremely courageous. I should never
have suspected that while looking so demure he was,
in fact, a master of strategy; if he don't carry matters
too far!" He was strongly tempted to laugh, but restrained himself in the valet's presence, and continued
to murmur: " This is a very serious affair, very serious-I shall go there at once."
" You will find the whole village in an uproar;
everybody is out of doors. What a country of savages!"
"What are you talking about? Do me the favor
to keep your remarks to yourself; and hand me my
boots."
The village was becoming more and more excited;
the inn of the Sapin-Vert was constantly filled with
noisy, inquisitive, ever-changing customers, among
whom the two coachmen from the castle harangued
the throng with the authority of persons who have
seen a great deal of the world, and made the discussion still more vehement by their critical remarks.
As the door of the church had chanced to remain open,
a number of women, desirous to ask Heaven about the
great event, were kneeling in the porch, praying fervently in an undertone, so that the voices sounded
like the hum of a bee-hive. Among them was the
little shepherd, bewildered, terrified, yet proud of
the increasing importance given him by the story of
his adventure.
At last M. Larreau appeared, walking along, bestowing smiling glances with his right eye, and
watching the scene from the left. Saint Louis, standing beneath the oak, must have had just such a noble,
simple, paternal bearing.  The capitalist was held in
high esteem at Grand Fort; the good women buzzing in the porch rose at his approach, and pere Baravoux, mayor of the village, and one of the fattest men




200          ARiOUND A SPRING.
ever seen, was among the first to greet the new arrival.
"Well! pere Baravoux, well!" said N1. Larreau,
" well-?"
" As you say, Monsieur," replied the other with
the utmost gravity of demeanor,"itisastonishing! "
" I did not say it was astonishing; I said nothing
at all; do not put words into my mouth that I never
uttered." The crowd began to gather around the
two wisest heads in the country. " Have you questioned the child, my dear Baravoux-has M. le cur6
seen him? What does M. le cure think of it? Why,
where is M. le cur? "
"He is not at home, he has been sought for in
every direction, and no one has been able to find him."
"May God bless him!" muttered the capitalist
between his teeth; "when people do such things,
they ought to remain at their posts. He did not give
me the least warning-he-oh! he's a devil of a man!
After all, perhaps it is a part of his plan."
" Not finding M. le cure," continued the mayor,
" I asked the child a few questions myself, and even
wrote down the answers in legal form."
" I was very sure, pere Baravoux, that you would
not spare trouble under such circumstances."
At that moment the by-standers gave way with
respectful consideration, and the little shepherd approached, accompanied by his mother, who led him
by the hand. Her face was as red as fire. He was
dirty, ragged, in tatters; but his glance had the confidence imparted by success.
"Good-morning, my lad.  Well! what is the
matter with you?"
Before the child had half opened his mouth, the
peasant woman smiled and courtesied. "This is my
son, I am his mother," said she.
"Oh! oh! so much the better; I congratulate
you."




AR0 UND A SPRING.            201
"And he has always been an honest lad, and feared God, we can truly say that he never caused us any
sorrow."
" Indeed, that is well; he looks wide awake. Take
your fingers out of your nose, my lad."
"He is so excited, poor child! Take your fingers
out at once, you rogue, when the gentleman speaks
to you."
" Continue your examination of the boy, my dear
Baravoux, don't let me interrupt you in the duties
of your office; you are the first magistrate in the
country."
M. Larreau had pronounced these words with the
most vivacious carelessness, smiling good-naturedly
as he looked around the circle; and the men smiled
too, not wishing to appear more credulous than their
master.
Baravoux, excessively flattered by the important
part assigned him, coughed, bowed, and modestly
continued in the following words:
" Befobre the father of the countess, the mayor of
Grand Fort."
" Oh! ask him the questions as simply as possible;
it won't do to frighten the lad, and besides, this is
not an official examination, it is a matter that principally concerns M. le cure."
Baravoux, nodding assent, replied: "Well, little
one, tell your story."
And the shepherd, who had been relating his adventure ever since daybreak, began again for the
twentieth time, in a very weary voice, the story that
we already know. When he reached the point where
the Virgin made the famous gesture, M. Larreau
hitherto smiling and skeptical, became extremely
grave, and the whole assembly, whose eyes had been
fixed upon him, redoubled their attention. Pere Bara.
voux, perceiving that the gesture must be of the
greatest importance, became more precise in his ques




202          ARO0 UCYD A SPRING.
tions: " Do you distinctly recollect," said he, " in what
direction the lady-the Holy Virgin, I mean, for
every thing leads us to believe-does it not, Mlonsieur-"
" It is a very serious matter," murmured the speculator.
One might have heard a pin drop. "Do you remember in what direction the Virgin extended her
arm? "
"W Vhy, yes, of course I do, because I instantly ran
where she told me to go as fast as I could, and it was
directly towards the new building, where I stopped,
because the wall prevented my going any farther."
All looked at each other in silence.
"Dear me, my children." said the rich man, tapping lightly on the lid of his snuff-box, " I am no
more credulous than other people. If we believe all
we have heard, you understand clearly that —" Every
head was bowed in token of assent. "F For my part,
when I was told of the apparition this morning, I
shrugged my shoulders, I won't deny it, I shrugged
my shoulders; but after hearing the story of this child,
who has always been, his mother assures us, perfectly
truthful, and blameless-"
" That is the exact truth; I said so, and I say it
still; you don't see such a child every day, and he
deserves to be well rewarded."
The mayor stopped the good woman by a motion
of his hand: "Hush, mere Ribat, let the gentleman
speak, and try and keep your proper place."
" I confess, then, my children, that in the presence
of these facts- It is impossible to deny it, the matter
is a very serious one."
"I think so too, I think so too," panted Baravoux
respectfully.
" We must not be too credulous, of course; -but
on the other hand, we ought not to deny everything
positively."




ARO UNYD A SPRING.           203
"Like Pagans!"
"Like Pagans.  The mayor, who has hitherto
acted so discreetly, is perfectly right: like Pagans.
I am sorry that M. le cur6 is not here to enlighten us;
let us wait for him, my friends, let us wait for him."
And M. Larreau, unceremoniously putting his
arm within that of the municipal officer, began to walk
up and down the square. " You know, my dear
friend," said he, " that whenever a supernatural event
presents itself; there are always a multitude of people ready to say:' God has nothing to do with it.'
J, on the contrary, make this reflection. Why should
Heaven be unaware of what happens? You are an
upright and intelligent man, pere Baravoux, am I
right or wrong? "
"Perfectly right, Monsieur; that is the exact
truth."
"For instance, there is the miracle of the grotto
of Lourdes. Do you know about the miracle of the
grotto of Lourdes? "
"Yes, Monsieur, I read it in a little pamphlet a
peddler, who was trading in cotton stockings, sold me
last year on his journey through the country."
" Well! every one exclaimed:' It is no miracle,
no, it is no miracle.' Yet it proved to be one. What
was in the grotto before the fountain gushed forth?
A little dampness, that is all, a very common thing
among mountains; nothing is more common than to
meet with a little dampness. Without seeking farther, just here, within two hundred yards of the new
building, towards the rock, there is a very wet spot.
There is nothing extraordinary about it, nobody was
surprised that the grotto of Lourdes should be damp;
but all at once (Baravoux listened with the greatest
attention),all at once, by the information of a child,
enlightened by some revelation-"
"Yes, Monsieur."




204           AROUND A SPRING.
" They gently removed a little of the damp soil in
the grotto, and —"
"Yes, Monsieur."
" The fountain gushed forth."
"Yes, Monsieur."
" Now I ask you, my dear friend, as a man of
sense and judgment, was that a miracle or not?-"
The mayor made no reply, so great was his preoccupation. His eyes were fixed on vacancy, and he
breathed heavily like a tavern-keeper coming up from
a wine cellar.
M. Larreau thrust his hands into his pockets, and
casting a scrutinizing glance at the mayor, added: "I
repeat that this is a very serious matter; I deeply regret that the cur e is not here. In any case, you have
examined the child as carefully as possible, and I congratulate you. Farewell,my dear friend, I am going
to breakfast."
Scarcely had M. Larreau departed when the mayor, turning with the solemnity of a three-decker about
to tack, said to four or five peasants who were standing near: " My lads, go and get your pickaxes and
shovels, and follow me. I have an idea."
When the men had brought their tools, they set
out in silence, followed by a crowd of people, and
preceded by the mayor in person, who seemed to be
suddenly inspired.
XXIV.
By the merest accident the countess, who according to her maid's report had spent a restless night,
remained in her own room, sending an apology to her
father for not coming down. M. Larreau, therefore,
breakfasted alone. After finishing his meal, he went
into his study, and had already been busily occupied
for some time, when his valet, the free-thinker we




AR0 UND A SPRING.            205
have mentioned, entered, and with a very tolerable
display of indifference, informed him that the mayor
requested his presence in the valley. "Very well, I
will go at once," said the spout maker; and making a
slight concession to his servant's opinions, added, with
a weary expression: "What do they want of me
now? "
" If you do not need my services for an hour or
two, I should like to ask Monsieur's permission-"
"You can go wherever you like."
"Permission," he continued with a smile, "to
visit the place where the miracle was performed."
" Miracle! What miracle? Who is talking about
miracles? Go wherever you choose, but speak more
respectfully of sacred things."
" If you believe in these things, Monsieur, I believe in them too. People in your employ are too
well off to -"
" You must not shock any one's feelings, that is
what I mean-"
" The rascal is as transparent as amber!-"
Half an hour after, perceiving M. Larreau strolling slowly along like a man walking for pleasure,
pere Baravoux came to meet him, and exclaimed in
an agitated, panting voice, pointing to the large hole
that had been dug: " A spring! Monsieur, a spring in
the sand-red-that I have discovered! "
" A spring, my dear friend; is it possible? The
deuce "-and quickly regaining his usual imperturbability, which for an instant had deserted him, he added, loud enough to be heard by all the by-standers:
" Well! to tell the truth, I am not so very much surprised; I have always had an idea there might be a
spring there."
He sought with his eyes the invisible cur6, the
only man whose position enabled him to publicly support the weight of this miraculous event, and not
perceiving him, wished to lessen the supernatural




206          AROUSND A SPRING.
character of the discovery. "Really, I am not surprised that there should be a spring in this spot."
The mayor seemed to be very much annoyed by
the capitalist's remark. " Monsieur," said he sharply,
"you did not tell me so this morning; and with all
due respect to you, I beg leave to observe, that if
you had suspected it, you would probably have at
once pursued the course that I did."
Baravoux must have been deeply wounded when
he dared to speak to the countess's father in such a
manner. He continued with equal excitement, while
his whole person shook like a mass of jelly: " It was
after the examin  "
" The examination, pere Baravoux?"
"It was just after you went home to breakfast
that the inspiration flashed upon me to come here, as
true as the sun is shining upon us, and if it had not
been for that inspiration —well! they-they would
not have found the spring."
M. Larreau was about to make a soothing reply,
when the mother of the little shepherd, still leading
her son by the hand, pushed through the crowd, and
planting herself before the mayor, exclaimed: "Well!
then, if that is true, what did my boy do? " She did
not attempt to conceal her indignation. "So he
wasn't the one to run where he was told to go? He
wasn't the one who pointed out the place, and said:'It was there, nowhere else,' and told the whole story, from the very beginning down to the smallest
particular."
Baravoux, who had flushed scarlet, replied: "I
do not pretend —"
" Oh! indeed, but as true as there is a God above
us, the mayor did pretend-yes, he did pretend-I
am only a poor woman, but I speak the truth. It is
because we are not rich; if my husband was alive,
people would not dare to rob the child of his reward;
the mayor doesn't need it, and he is very hard upon




ARO UIYV) A SPRING.           207
poor people." Then turning towards.the crowd with
increasing excitement, she added: " Tell me at once,
was it my son who saw the Holy Virgin that night? "
" Of course it was, of course it was," murmured
all the women, deep-touched by the appeal.
"I wish them to answer me, too," cried Baravoux:' who found the spring?"
" You, it was certainly you," said all the men who
were present.
"Well, then! since I had the inspiration, I shall
remain here, because it is my work —"
" And that devil of a cure does not come," thought
M. Larreau; "'he ought to bless them-speak to
them. Where does he hide himself? Good heavens!
where does he hide himself?"
" The mayor can stay here if he chooses," replied
mere Ribat, with a menacing glance, " but my son
and I will go to the White Cross, and if it should
prove necessary, ask the Virgin to return."
She walked rapidly away, dragging by the hand
the little shepherd, who was almost exhausted with
fatigue.
The hole that had been dug by the mayor's orders
gradually filled with water, and the number of curious people, eager to view the spectacle, increased
every moment.  They tasted the reddish, muddy
liquid, whose odor, however, was by no means attractive, bathed their faces with it, and made the sign of
the cross. Meantime, as the number of the inquisitive still increased and the earth became softened by
their footsteps, those nearest the hole began to be inconvenienced, slipped, jostled each other, and scolded
loudly. Baravoux, whose anger was only partially
appeased, told the workmen to disperse the throng,
and gave orders that a strong' palisade of stakes
should be erected.
As for M. Larreau, we need scarcely say that he
Ilad taken advantage of mere Ribat's departure to re



208           AROUND A SPRING.
turn to the chateau. He found that the success of
the miracle was rather too rapid, and was particularly
vexed by the prolonged absence of the cur6. What
would be the result of all this?  He had wished to
have a slight tinge of the mavellous, to insure the
success of the affair, but nothing more. How was he
to suppose that the worthy cure, apparently so calm,
so little moved by impulse, would of his own accord,
without informing any one, have organized such a
colossal piece of jugglery?
"He did not believe in the real efficacy of the
water, and therefore relied solely upon the power of
his apparition," he thought to himself. "It is a very
bold stroke-the boldness of an ambitious man who
thoroughly understands the human heart. Have not
all who endeavor to establish anything, even to the
general advantage, been forced sooner or later to risk
everything to gain their object? Under any circumstances I am very well satisfied to have no part in this
foolery. I should have dissuaded him from it, if he
had had the good sense and politeness to consult me.
How the deuce did he manage to carry out all this?
It is bold, extremely bold, but very clever. In Paris,
or any other great intellectual centre, one would be
apt to get caught in playing such a game. Who
knows? but no! Bah! the firmest, most unchangeable quality in man is faith —blind faith. It was bestowed by Heaven to aid him in submitting to be
governed; just as the horse's mouth was formed to
permit the rider the use of the bridle. Thus the history of humanity can be told in just these words:
You are horse or rider according to the degree of intelligence. The animal bears its burden and grows
weary, it is true; but the position of master has drawbacks also: besides being fatigued, he runs the risk
of being thrown to the ground sooner or later.
Everything is equally balanced; God is good, Providence is just. Perhaps, after all, my cur6 is only a
demure starling. I will write to Claudius."




AR OUND A SPRING.            209
XXV.
While Baravoux was enclosing his discovery in a
strong palisade, and the capitalist engaged in writing
to his friend Claudius, Abbe Roche was slowly returning towards his home. He had prayed for hours
beside the body of Loursiere's daughter, then walked
on to Virez, and now retraced his steps over the same
road he had taken the night befbre, somewhat calmer
in mind, and thinking more coolly of all that had occurred, when, on approaching the spot where he had
committed what he still continued to call his sin, he
thought he heard the confused murmur of a number
of people talking together. The place was usually
but very little frequented-what could be the cause
of this gathering?
The cur6 hastened on with an anxiously throbbing
heart, dimly foreseeing that the disturbance had some
connection with the events that had transpired the
evening before. At a turn in the road, he stopped
in amazement on perceiving ten or twelve persons
kneeling before the White Cross. All rose at the
priest's approach, and there was the most perfect silence.
"What are you doing there-why are you kneeling before that stone? " asked the cur6.
MSire Ribat, who had just arrived, advancedrushed, one might almost say-towards Abb6 Roche,
and, rendered half wild by all she had said and done
since morning, scarcely took time to breathe, and thus
addressed him: " Monsieur le cur6, it was my boy
that saw the Holy Virgin that night, close by this
stone, with Saint Joseph and the ass, saving your reverence, who discovered the spring."
The cure was evidently agitated, and looked at
the good woman with an expression which, under any
other circumstances, would have made her tremble.
14




210          AROUND A SPRING.
She continued with increasing excitement: "Yes,
yes, it was he that discovered the spring and not the
mayor, as people will tell you to get us into trouble.
It was my boy; he-he himself, and the Virgin said
to him:' I wish it to be you, and nobody else. You
will go there.' And he went with great difficulty, on
account of the dogs, and the spring has been found;
and if it cures all the diseases in the world, my boy
will deserve the reward that is always given to children who perform miracles."
"Hush! iriad woman," cried the priest, who
could no longer contain himself.
"No, Monsieur le cur6, I won't hush, my boy's
welfare depends upon it, and I will keep on to the
last, for there are unjust people who think they can
hear the Virgin's voice better than we, because they
have two pairs of oxen, and we have none; but that
makes no difference; God performs His work by
whom He wills, and the mayor has nothing to do with
the miracle-no, nothing at all. I will be torn into
four pieces before I will say he has. You must put
my boy's name in your report, M. le cure, because he
did everything, and because we are poor and honest,
and work hard, and always go to confession; and he
ran till his feet bled, while the mayor couldn't run,
saw nothing, heard nothing, and was fast asleep at
that hour."
"Hush!" cried the priest again, but this time in
such a tone of wrath and menace that all drew back
several paces. " Be silent, and let all here return to
their work. Do you hear me? "
They knew the cure too well to dare to make any
reply, but murmured in an undertone: " No, no, that
isn't ri(ht, Baravoux did nothing. The good God
knows everything, and the Virgin too." They still
retreated as the priest advanced; but terrified as they
had been by the manner of their pastor, were still




AROUND A SPRING.              211
mor e alarmed by his irreverence upon the spot where
the apparition had been seen.
Yet he must know best about it, and there must
be some reason whv he did not raise his hat before
the White Cross, but turned his back upon it as if
it had been any other stone, and could not endure to
have prayers offered there. Who knows, after all,
whether this miracle was really performed by the
will of God, and not one of those made by the devil
to mislead human beings and maintain his power.
Abbe Roche, on perceiving the perplexed expression of the poor peasants, who at the worst had only
been guilty of an excess of zeal and simplicity, suddenly realized how imprudent and unjust he had been.
WVas he not, after all, the first cause of this unfortunate event? Strange that he should be angry with
them on account of his own fault! Was he not aggravating the evil, instead of soothing it?  Was it
not unworthy of him to fall into a passion, and threaten those whose indulgence and forgiveness he ought
to implore? He was doubtless on the point of speaking to them gently and soothingly, when M. Larreau's
valet emerged fiom the grove of trees in which the
donkey had been fastened the night before. The
fiee-thinker had desired, as we know, to bring the
forces of modern criticism to bear upon the examination of the place. His search had probably been successful, for he had a most cheerful expression, and,
carelessly beating the air with a switch, whistled a
hunting song. On perceiving the cure, he made a
rapid motion as if to conceal something within his
vest. Then approaching with the most imperturbable self-possession, he bowed before the White Cross,
and turned towards the cure, whom he also greeted
respectfully, though an almost imperceptible smile,
whose shyness increased its impertinence, played
around his thin lips.




212          ARO UND A SPRING.
"It was here that the miracle took place, was it
not, M. le cure? " he inquired.
The priest, who felt the insult veiled beneath the
apparent natural question, replied in a tremulous
voice: " Go along at once."
"The road is open to every one, iM. le cure, by
day-as well as by night," and turning carelessly on
his heel, he passed on.
Abbe Roche soon found himself alone before the
accursed stone, listening to the footsteps of his parishioners returning to the village. His face suddenly
flushed as he remembered the mocking expression of
the lackey. It seemed impossible to bear his shame;
he was tempted to rush after the knave, compel him
to speak, and punish him instantly.
" Why should he have smiled in that way," said
he to himself, " if he had not been aware of the whole
adventure down to the smallest particular. And
then, what did he hide under his vest as he left the
wood; for he had concealed something-doubtless
some overwhelming proof. WThat could it be? "
He became alarmed, and as he grew more and more
agitated, his natural disposition gaining the mastery,
he felt the necessity of forming some decided resolution. He wished to confess everything honestly, and
publicly make a frank and full acknowledgment. He
would be sentenced,' disgraced, but what did that
matter? His duty was to receive the well-merited
punishment, rather than allow a stain to rest upon religion by his cowardly silence, and a falsehood become
an article of faith.
If he had been alone, he would have taken this
course; but it was not only himself. Had he a right
to compromise the countess, to drag her into such a
scandal? Could he reveal a secret that had been entrusted to him, but was not his own; and make the
count's crime public, when his wife so nobly, with
such a Christian spirit, endeavored to conceal it?




AROUND A SPRIYNG.            213
Other thoughts crowded upon him: it was impossible that the little shepherd could have helped seeing
the countess when he clasped her in his arms; he
must also have seen him covering the young wife's
hands with kisses. Doubtless the child had said
nothing of all this through shame and fear; but if
questioned, he would confess the truth. Those particulars had become the principal, almost the only,
event of that frightful night. He estimated its importance by the depths of his remorse, and could not
imagine how it could have passed unnoticed.
He soon resumed his walk. At every step that
he advanced towards the village, he feared that some
new revelation might start up before him. The enclosures he passed seemed more solitary than usual;
he had never found the cottages so deserted as today. He saw through the trees, in the distance, two
women ascending the path, one of whom was carrying a large bottle with unusual care, and, for some
unaccountable reason, he imagined that it bore some
relation to the great event; so, forgetting his desire
to escape from all knowledge of the affair, he climbed
the slope, and concealed himself behind a low hedge
on the side of the road, for it seemed as if he could
not help blushing if he met the women face to face.
As they passed him, one said to the other: " If this
water cures people, it must be good for cattle, too."
"Yes, but we must first find out whether it does
cure people," replied the other.
When they were out of sight, Abbe Roche resumed his walk. He intended to make a circuit, in
order to reach his dwelling unobserved; but had not
reckoned on the obstinacy of Mayor Baravoux, who,
learning from the people driven away form the White
Cross that the cur6 was in that direction, had determined, in spite of his obesity, to go and meet the
priest.
" Ah! there you are at last, M. le cur6," cried the




214          AROUND A SPRING.
worthy man as he perceived the priest; "everybody has been looking for you since early morning.
Where were you?  Good heavens! where were you
at such a time?
" I was with pere Loursiere, whose daughter has
just died."
" But she don't belong to the parish, M. le cur6,
and everybody was looking for you all that time."
"I am sorry. What do you wish to tell me? "
" You have been informed, I suppose, M. le cur6,
of' this event, whose results cannot yet be calculated?"
" I am in haste," said the priest.
" No more so that I, M. le cur6; I am in a great
hurry to tell you about things as they really happened.
I have always been an honest man; well! I assure
you that I was the one who found the spring. All
at once a thought entered my mind; I felt hot and
cold by turns, and said, almost without knowing it:' My lads, take your pickaxes and shovels, and follow
me.' Every one should have his due. Is it not so,
M. le cure  If I said I saw the Virgin on her ass
that night with Saint Joseph, I should tell a lie.
MaIre Ribat's little boy saw that, and in one point of
view, it was fortunate: they are not rich, and it
will, as usual, exempt the child from military service.
I do not wish to lay claim to having any share in the
miracle, not the least, M. le cure-."
Abbe Roche, anxious and agitated as he was, felt
disarmed by the extreme simplicity of the worthy
man, and striving to retain his calmness, said: "And
how dare you, pere Baravoux, speak of a thing that
you have not seen, and make all this uproar, because
a child tells some incomprehensible story? How
dare you mingle with this foolish prattle the purest
of all names, that of the mother of God?"
"Yes, that is true, M. le cure, perhaps there is
nothing so very remarkable about the miracle; I




AROUNYD A SPRING.             215
have said so myself a great many times to-day. In
the first place the child is very artful."
1 "He may have been frightened, and taken some
very natural occurrence for a marvellous event-"
" Oh! bless me, he is a coward-as great a coward
as his mother is a chatterbox. Besides, some people
see double at night. Now, you know, M. le cur6,
there is always room for doubt in all the wonderful things that take place at night. So far as
the boy is concerned, as a man, I wish him well;
but as mayor, I say nothing. Besides, it is all the
same to me. The really important thing is to have
had an inspiration from God, in broad daylight before everybody, and said:' My lads, take your pickaxes and shovels,' and to have found a spring that
will cure all kinds of diseases. That is the real miracle, and I was the person who performed it."  He
was becoming more and more excited. " Yes, that
is truth, that is justice; and if they seek to rob me
of my due, well!-I will go to law-I will go to law
as true as this is a cane; and I will gain my cause, or
there is no justice in God, no truth in anything."
" You do not know what you are talking about,"
interrupted the priest in a curt, imperious tone, that
astonished the mayor.
At that moment they reached the' square before
the church, where they were immediately surrounded, and pere Baravoux, however anxious he might be
to answer the cure's incomprehensible outburst, was
forced to content himself with muttering between
his teeth a stream of sentences that nobody understood.
Mere Ribat had probably already related what
had taken place at the White Cross, for the people
who were present approached the cure whispering
and staring, but did not venture to speak to him.
Besides, the expression of his countenance was by no
means encouraging; he was extremely pale, and
means enc~u~adr"ZD




216          AROUND A SPRIN2'.
walked straight on without looking at any one. Having crossed the square under the fire of all these
curious eyes, he advanced towards the porch, pushed
open the door, and entered the church. He had not
expected to meet any one there at that hour; he
hoped to avoid all conversation, at least for the time,
and enter his house by way of the vestry, whose
door opened into his little garden.
Great was his surprise to perceive in the centre of
the church a group of men and women, kneeling,
not before the altar, but in front of that glittering
" Flight into Egypt" which the parish owed to Claudius'sgenerosity. A bouquet, freshly gathered and
placed in a vase, had been set below the bas-relief,
and several bits of candle were burning near.
Unfortunately Abb6 Roche was not a man for
concessions and prudent temporizing. On meeting
again, even in the House of the Lord, the pretended miracle that for the last two hours had been rising before
him like a phantom at every turn, it seemed to him
as if all these nasal prayers were so many insults
hurled in his face, whose recoil might even reach the
countess. Walking directly up to the bouquet, he
tore it from the vase, dashed it against the wall, overturned the candles with his foot, and turning to the
amazed worshippers said with tolerable' calmness:
"Leave this place! " but it was easy to perceive, by
the sound of his voice, that at the lowest murmur.
the slightest gesture, there would have been a furious
burst of anger.
He folded his arms, and looking steadily at the
crowd, waited until every one had gone; then turned
towards the door, locked it carefully, and put the
key in his pocket. He heard outside the dull buzzing of excited and indignant voices. When he had
reached his room, he murmured: " 0 Lord! if I
have done wrong, punish me, or teach me what I




AROUND A SPRING.             217
ought to do, for if this should continue I shall soon
go mad!!"
Indeed, he could not remain in this situation for
any length of time; he must put an end to it in some
way.
He held the most extreme views respecting
his duties, his honor as a priest; and the thought
of permitting a falsehood to receive public credence through his weakness, seemed to him a disgrace
that it was impossible to endure.  Again the plan
of making a frank confession recurred to his mind;
but before doing so, he must speak to the countess.
He was about leaving his room to go to the chateau
by a roundabout way, when he heard a loud knocking at the door.
XXVI.
"Open the door, open the door, my dear cur6; it is
I, M. Larreau."
The priest obeyed. "Ah! there you are at last!
God bless you! Where have you been hiding? But
what is the matter? You are as white as a pockethandkerchief. Are you ill? That would be the climax of our trouble."
"I am perfectly well, thank you. What do you
want of me?"
"Ah! you can boast of having puzzled me confoundedly. I have sent to your house ten times, but
always found you absent."
"I regret it."'
"I have no doubt of it, but confess that I had far
more reason for regret than you. After all that had
taken place, you must understand that my position
was peculiarly embarrassing."
" Yet I do not comprehend you, Monsieur, and
most assuredly do not see why my absence should




218           AROUND A SPRI~NG.
have occasioned you the slightest embarrassment.
Besides, mny absence, at which some one else has also
expressed surprise, was extremely natural. I went to
visit Loursielie, whose daughter had died during the
night. I was about going to tell the news to Mme.
de Manteigney, who is interested in her."
" Oh! that would be quite useless.  My daughter
can see no one to-day, she is ill. I only saw her for
an instant, and she had scarcely strength to say three
words.  What! is the little savage dead?  I was
just going to speak to her father. You are surprised that your absence should have been a source of
embarrassment.  That is very flattering to me; but
listen, my dear friend, I am not accustomed to
these things, and this miracle,so suddenly performedd, the whole country in a tumult-rather too much
of an excitement, I confess.  Don't you think the
affair is going on a little too fast?"
I-Ie said these words with the utmost ease and
gayety.
" Speak more plainly, I beg of you. I am aware
that the village has been much excited this morning
by the story of a child, in consequence of which, I
am told, a spring has been discovered-nothing very
extraordinary in this country. That is all I know,
and I regret it, deeply regret it."
" This cure is cool enough, certainly," thought M.
Larreau; " it would be droll if I should be obliged
to console him." And smiling at the idea, in spite of
himself, he continued: "' What's to be done, my dear
cure6, let us reason together. Let us talk as friends.
It is true that the credulity of the masses is a source
of regret, when intriguing men turn it to their own
advantage, with the shamelessness, I might almost
call it, that is the result of a blind egotism; but on
the contrary, when this credulity, this simplicity-it
has its poesy and grandeur, too, when we take a lofty
view of things-when this simplicity leads a popula



AROUND A SPRING.               219
tion towards intelligent, devoted, disinterested men
-disinterested in human measures, be it understood
-towards men who will be able to secure their happiness and prosperity, oh! then, Providence-I speak
seriously — Providence sometimes employs strange
means to attain its ends: it is not for us to criticize
the opportunity. We speak of providential men;
but are not all intelligent men somewhat so? Above
all individual and fleeting missions, there is the irresistible march of Progress, that is, of intelligence,
wealth, improvement, moral activity, the increase of
commerce, greater facilities for business-in short the
advance of nations in morality. I have my religion,
too, my dear cure, my dogmas, my principles. I have
the faith natural to a successful man, whose whole career has been an argument in favor of Progress.
Ah! I speak to you in all frankness, for it is but right
that you should understand me perfectly. My mission has been to hasten the development of public
wealth, or in other words, to increase the power of
capital by concentration. Force and speed are really
one and the same thing. Where there is no quickness, there is no strength! There is no power without concentration! A  cloud of steam is nothing:
concentrate it in a solid receiver and you have a locomotive. It is the same thing in morals and politics. Now, in our times, the providential instrument
which serves to concentrate everything-is the capitalist. Scattered riches, accumulating in his hands,
become powerful and fruitful. Once more, my dear
cure, let us look at things as a whole, and from an elevated point of view."
Abbe Roche, erect and motionless, with contracted eyebrows, and hands clenched on the back of a
chair, stood listening, and gazing at the rich man so
intently that the latter was, for an instant, thrown off
his guard.
"In short," said he, after coughing several times,




220          AROUND A SPRING.
" I do not intend, I do not wish to reproach you, my
good friend; I had not expected so striking a scene,
I confess; if we had understood each other better,
we might have hit upon something more simple and
less compromising; but after all-when the wine is
poured out, as the saying goes, we must drink it."
At that moment, M. Larreau was interrupted by
the noise of a chair suddenly breaking. Whether the
cure had leaned too heavily upon one whose back he
was grasping, or whether his hands had suddenly
contracted with unusual violence, the chair was crushed to pieces.
" Apropos of chairs and miracles, you don't manage either with a light hand, my dear friend," observed the countess's father gayly.
If Abbe Roche, instead of being partly in the
shadow, had been standing where his face was more
distinctly visible, it is probable that our providential
capitalist would have kept his last remark to himself.
The countenance of the priest, hitherto so pale, was
now flushed, and quivered convulsively; the veins
in his forehead and neck were swollen, and his irregular, panting breath seemed like that of a man who
had been running violently.
" Go on," said he in a stifled tone; " go on, go on,
I want to know all. Go on, do not trouble yourself
about me."
" You seem to be agitated, my dear cur6, and you
are wrong. Besides, it is not necessary to exaggerate the consequences of that story; true, it might become compromising in the hands of awkward people; but it is not with us. I only regret a little excess of zeal. It would have been sufficient to have
instantly placed the spring, found no matter how, by
chance, in an almost providential manner, under the
protection of the Virgin. I said almost; that would
have been sufficient.  Masses of thanksgiving, endowments for commemoration masses,-consecration




AROUND A SPRING.              221
of a hospital by the bishop, erection of a church dedicated to Our Lady of' Ianteigney, would have been
a six months' affair-of stone and cast iron, —it would
be solid, and could be finished quickly; it would only
be necessary to send the proportions. The building
would be erected, of course, by means of a subscription throughout France. An excellent thing for religion, an excellent affair for my springs too. Subscribers' names upon slabs of black or white marble,
according to the amount of the sum paid, pilgrimage
of art, etc. We should not be refused a relic, if we
asked for it politely. I have a great many acquaintances. Once establish the springs of Manteigney,
particularly beneficial for irritation of the larynx;
build a house for the reception of convalescents, cottages specially for clergymen, a model casino, and a
railway line; issue a Catholic medical pamphlet praising the therapeutic wonders of the spring, which had
been almost providentially found, I repeat almost;
oh! that would have been sufficient, the public would
have done the rest. Researches into the history of
the country,. controversies, discussions, excavations-"
" Yes, yes, I am beginning to understand," murmured the priest.
" Of course! And thus, without the slightest difficulty or theatrical display, we should have accomplished our little stratagem.  We shall attain the
same result, I hope, by the present arrangement,
which is perhaps bolder and more rapid, but less sure;
and, under any circumstances, gives the enterprise a
different character-a totally different character."
M. Larreau hesitated a moment, tapped his snuff
box, winked his left eye, and continued:
" Let us speak frankly. In business matters we
must play with our cards on the table. You did not
expect, by entering upon the affair so energetically,
to obtain a share in the profits of the enterprise? It




222          AROUND A SPRIN G.
is not at all probable that your actions were influ
enced by such an idea, is it, my dear cure?"
" It must be confessed, Monsieur, that you are a
very frank scoundrel!" said Abbe Roche.
Violent as his efforts had been to control himself
and hear the spout-maker, who was at last unveiling
his true character, to the end, he could bear no more.
He continued: "I now understand the service you
have been asking at my hands; to aid your speculation by sacrilege and perjury; to write the name of
God upon your prospectus with my own hand; hang
my priestly garments at the door of your shop; sell
my conscience, wallow in the mud of your spring.
Then in my place, you would have been capable of
doing all this! "
And as the wrathful Hercules approached, the
millionaire turned pale.
" Are you jesting, my dear friend? " he stammered; " what is the matter, what have I said? Wait a
moment, I have not explained myself correctly. A
priest's robe is sacred to me, I assure you."
Abbe Roche had turned away, and with his arms
folded across his breast, was thinking: " The first
time he saw me, he said to himself:'That is the
very man I want!' So I look like a scoundrel? For
more than a year he has considered me no better than
himself, studied my character, sounded me, and I did
not understand!"
Larreau, reassured by the apparent calmness of
the priest, recovered his self-command, thrust his
hands into his pockets, and advancing in his turn, exclaimed: " But, my dear fellow, you adopt a very
singular manner towards me, and I think it extremely
presuming. Perhaps you do not know that you are
addressing a man whom every one respects; who-to
whom even the ministers are deferential, and who
could crush you under foot if he chose."
"Try it, scoundrel! " replied Abb6 Roche, draw



AROUND A SPRING.             223
ing himself up to the full height of his tall figure.
He looked so noble, so proud in this outburst of indignation, his eyes had such an expression of profound contempt, that the capitalist, spite of his relations to the ministers, was intimidated.
"After all," said he, "let us cut the matter short,
and not get angry with each other. I perhaps gave
you to understand, in previous conversations, that
there was in this country, on the estates of Manteigney, a spring of mineral water, hitherto unknown,
which I intended to make useful. I have perhaps
also informed you that your aid, your sympathy, your
moral influence would be of great assistance to me.
That is true; but are you sure of having correctly
understood what I told you? People don't act on
the strength of mere words. You have, so far as I
know, no paper signed with my name requesting you
even in the most ambiguous terms to perform upon
the highway the masquerade displayed that night.
You thought it would be more advantageous to you
to act without my advice and approbation,-and you
crown your master-piece by speaking insolently to
me i! You think I am compromised; you think you
can hold me,-but, my dear friend, you don't know
even the first move of this game: you are a child,
Monsieur l'abb&."
" Very childish and very foolish, certainly, since I
did not see at once that you were the greatest scoundrel that ever lived."
" No more such speeches, or you will find that
they may have a disagreeable result. Devil take it!
I like your simplicity. Do you pretend to say that
you had nothing to do with the apparition which was
seen that night? Is that what you mean? Oh! I
ask nothing better. Explain yourself-exculpate yourself. Prove that you were in bed at that hour and
neither invented nor planned the jest. I am listening; come, come, I am all ears."




224          AROUND A SPRING.
" Have you really the audacity to question me?
And in whose name, by what right? Why are you
here? Do you not perceive that I can scarcely control myself, that I should consider it the greatest
possible disgrace to vindicate myself to you; that
people only explain their actions in presence of a
judge whom they can respect; that your voice irritates me, that my anger is increasing "-he slowly approached as he uttered the words, and unfolded his
arms-" and that instead of answering you, I intend
to slap you in the face? "
" Fool," cried M. Larreau, hastily opening the
door, "you shall pay for this! "
And he disappeared.
XXVII.
On the following morning, at a very early hour,
the countess, much more closely wrapped than usual,
hastened towards the priest's dwelling. Her bearing
no longer possessed the ease, the charming carelessness that formerly characterized it! She was anxious,
restless, and trembled at the thought of meeting any
one as she hurried rapidly on. It really seemned to
her as if the little shepherd, surrounded by all the
villagers, was waiting at every turn in the road to exclaim, as soon as she appeared: " There is the lady I
saw near the White Cross."  Who knows whether
the truth was not already suspected? At the simplest question, she should surely lose all self-command, and reply in spite of herself: " Yes, it was I."
She had remained shut up in her own room during
the whole of the preceding day, looking out of her
window at the throngs of curious peasants hastening
to the valley, questioning her maid, trying to laugh
at the girl's stories, and when she stopped, racking
her brain to find a pretext for asking anew. Soon




AROU ND A SPRING.             225
she feared that her prolonged stay in her private
apartments might arouse suspicions among the servants in the chateau, and therefore went down in the
evening to the drawing-room, where she found her
father, who, still under the influence of ill-concealed
wrath, had spoken in very threatening terms of Abb6
Roche. Perceiving that this state of affairs must be
ended as quickly as possible, she set out for the priest's
abode. When the cure opened the door, she entered
hastily, sank into a chair, threw back her hood, and
clasping her hands, exclaimed:
" Good Heavens! my dear cure, what have you
done-what have you said to my father? "
If there was any one to whom the priest desired
to explain his conduct, it was certainly the countess;
but just as he was about to open his lips and relieve
his heart, he remembered that it was unworthy of him
to accuse a father to his own daughter, and said
quietly: "Certain words spoken by M. Larreau
wounded me deeply, and I resented them somewhat
vehemently. That is all."
" That is all, that is all! And you think that perfectly natural?  Then you do not know that my
father is the best of men, the most kind hearted and
scrupulous." (Abbe Roche could not restrain a gesture of surprise.) "Yes, yes, the most scrupulous
and honorable. Well! my father has the faults natural to his temperament; he is sensitive, and never
pardons an insult. He is very angry, and is going to
search and inquire into everything; he wishes to discover the truth, and he will, for papa always succeeds
in everything he undertakes."
" Oh! Heaven," cried the priest, "let him ascertain! I wish it, I prefer the truth, whatever its consequences may be, to the shameful position in which I
am now.)'
" If all is kept secret, there will be no shame for
you to bear."
15




226          ARO UND A SPRING.
" If I only had cause to blush when alone, it would
be too much. And the anguish of seeing a lie become a religious belief-do you count that as nothing? Am I not a priest, a Christian, Madame? No,
no, there must be an end to all this'!"
"You are an egotist, you think only of yourself.
Do you forget that the scandal will recoil upon the
count and myself? How will you explain our nocturnal excursion? You will tell the truth, I wish you
to do so, but who will believe you? Besides, have
you a right to dispose of a secret that I entrusted to
your loyalty? Will you also say, the more completely to vindicate yourself that the count betrayed
Loursiere's daughter? Will you relate in public the
confidences I have given you? You will be compelled to do so; when people tell the truth, they must
tell the whole truth. By so doing, you will perhaps
act the part of a good priest; but I doubt whether
such would be the conduct of an honorable man.
How is it possible that you did not understand all
this? Why did you not conciliate my father? I
would have confessed the truth by degrees, everything would have become quiet, and the adventure
been forgotten ere long —while now, my father, vexed
and irritated, thanks to you, asserts that he must discover this mystery; that his honor is concerned in it;
he says he does not wish to take the responsibility of
these fooleries, and will doubtless immediately ask
the bishop to make a serious investigation. Oh! how
wretched I am! "
She covered her eyes with her hand, and continued, in a very gentle tone: " You are harsh, M. le
cure, harsh towards others. You perhaps mistake
for virtue what is only austerity. And suppose I,
too, wished to confess the whole truth? Suppose I
questioned my memory, do you not think I might find
causes of resentment against people who consider
themselves beyond reproach? You place a high




AROUNVD A SPRING.            227
value upon your dignity as a priest, your honor as a
man; do you think, Monsieur, that I have neither
dignity nor honor as a woman, and that I have no
right to be indignant when insulted? A few words
from my father, somewhat hastily spoken, perhaps,
have urged you to violence-which has been extreme,
if I can judge from the resentment it excited. Why
should not I too be enraged, when forced to submit
not only to impulsive words, but unheard-of actsyes, Monsieur, unheard of, especially coming from
you? Yet I, who am no saint, who do not consider
myself above human weaknesses,-I, whose duty is
not, after all, to give an example of the virtues, I am
silent, and wish to forget. It is strange that you have
not courage to keep silence as well as I."
While the countess spoke, Abbe Roche, amazed
and motionless, did not utter a single word, and yet
many thoughts had passed through his mind. He
was like a culprit listening to a sentence from which
there couid be no appeal; but even while he felt sorrow at hearing himself thus condemned, he shared the
emotions of his judge, followed each thought depicted
upon the young wife's face, and gradually forgetting
himself in her, shared her impressions. He was at
the bar of the accused and on the bench of the judge
at one and the same time. " Yes," thought he, " Abbe
Roche is a proud fool, and we are too indulgent to
him."
He forgot Larreau and his insults to think only
of his own conduct. He had acted the part of a violent, brutal, and unjust man. That was evident, for
she said so. He accepted his sentence with embarrassment, even took an undue share of blame, and
found a strange joy in reproaching himself for indulging in anger. He believed that he was convinced by
the countess's reasoning, when only charmed and dazzled by her presence; and thought he saw more clearly, because he no longer looked with his own eyes.




228          AROUND A SPRING.
His predominant emotion was the irritating, perhaps
guilty, but delightful thought that he could not drive
away: the countess and himself were henceforward
bound together by the same interests, the same fears,
the same hopes. Chance had formed ties between
them which they could not sunder.
Angelic creature! She still deigned to come to
his dwelling, reproached him for his shameful conduct
with a gentleness of which he was unworthy, and, to
utterly overwhelm him, granted him forgetfulness of
it - almost forgiveness. He would have liked to
throw himself at the feet of his judge, kiss her very
footprints, and say to her: " I belong to you, my life
is yours," for it was in silent shame, patiently endured,
that he now saw nobleness and courage.
"Command, Madame," said he in deep agitation,
"command, I will do whatever you wish. I have offended you-forgive me."
" Promise me to say nothing,. that is all I ask.
Let me be the one to act,-I will soothe my father.
You promise neither to approve nor condemn anything-for a few days? You see this is the only way
to put an end to the whole affair, and that there is no
other course to adopt in the interest of all parties.
Does not God judge of our intentions? You will
say nothing, you assure me?"
She had pronounced the last words with a voice
so sweet, a smile so alluring; she had appealed to
his generosity with so much confidence, that he murmured almost with tears: " I will be silent, I promise
you. I will be silent."
"The silence may be somewhat hard to bear for
one of your temperament; but make this little sacrifice, my dear cur6, make it for my sake, I implore
you. It is no act of weakness that is asked of you;
there is nothing disgraceful in permitting a fire of
straw to die out of itself, and abstaining from blowing upon it through excess of zeal; " —then, with a




AROUND A SPRINU.             229
most confidential manner, she added: "You have
been very anxious about this affair, very much annoyed, have you not? I can read it in your face."
"Yes, yes, I assure you I have."  He felt soothed,
enchanted by the sweetness of the voice he loved so
well.
"And I too! If you knew in what a state I
have been! I thought of you, and said to myself:'If he only does not allow anything that could compromise us to escape; if he does not attach any importance to these rumors, does not believe himself
under obligations to deny this absurd apparition,
and thus complicate the affair instead of simplifying
it!' When I was told yesterday that you had driven
all the people who were praying out of the church, I
was terrified."
" It is true, I did wrong; I was excited, beside
myself."  He was ashamed of the violence whose
mere recital had alarmed her.
" You are right, we must keep calm, we must on
every account. Even in the interests of religion, it is
the best thing to do. The church is open this morning, and will remain so, I assure you."
" Well, I will profit by it, and am now going to
pray to the good God for that poor child."
"We have said nothing about her; she is dead,
poor little thing! It is wrong to judge her too
severely."
" Certainly, certainly. And what did her father
say when you gave him-you know?"
" He was very much agitated, and accepted it,
blessing your generosity."
" Generosity which he forced from me with his
hand on my throat. Well! And the child, where is
it?"
" At Marianne's house, where I carried it myself."
" So near here? See how selfish people are! I
shall accustom myself to the thought; but at the first




230           AROUND A SPRING.
moment, it is a painful one. Yet I do not wish the
poor little thing any harm. Farewell, Mi. le cur6."
And, wrapping herself in her cloak, she added:
"I shall conceal my face, the villagers frighten me."
" Will you pass through the vestry? Then you
will not be obliged to go allthe way round."
Although there was no one in the church, Mme.
de Manteigney took refuge in the darkest corner,
and began to pray fervently for the repose of the
dead girl's soul. She was embarrassed as she appealed to God in behalf of the poor child, for she
could not think of her sudden death without a feeling
strangely like relief. She pitied the unfortunate girl,
but could not entirely conceal from herself that her
death simplified many things, calmed her anxieties,
and cut short, at least for the present, the count's follies. It was a misfortune, an accident, a circumstance,
which under certain contingencies might prove a benefit. Then, having informed the Lord that she was
about to address her prayers to Him for the repose
of the soul of Loursiere's daughter, she piously recited a number of Paters and Aves, without any farther thought of her for whose sake they were uttered.
But from time to time a shiver ran through her whole
frame, and from the depths of her heart she exclaimed:  "O Lord! 0 Lord! turn the count's
affection towards me; grant that he may love me; I
will strive so earnestly to make him happy! "
While thus absorbed in prayer, she heard an almost incessant noise of footsteps behind her, and
when, having concluded her devotions, she turned,
was not surprised to see a group of women on
their knees before the famous bas-relief presented
by Claudius. She cast a hasty glance at the Flight
into Lqypt-the Virgin resembled her. There really was a resemblance, and Saint Joseph, with the
exception of his beard, was an excellent likeness
of Abb6 Roche.  She drew  down her veil and




AROUND A SPRI~NG.            231
moved rapidly on. Every head was turned towards
her.  Several women were eagerly talking together
in the porch, but became silent at her approach, and
one of' them, advancing to meet the countess, made
a low courtesy.
" What do you want of me, my good woman?"
"Why! the countess has just been praying for
the miracle, of'course.  I am the mother of the lad,
a child who never caused his parents the slightest sorrow. Wouldn't Madame like to speak to my boy?
Everybody else has heard his story."
" No, thank you, good mother."
" With all the particulars! "
"I cannot stop, I am in a hurry."
"That is because Madame has heard that it was
not my boy who found the spring, and yet he was the
one who told everything."' I do not deny it, but I have not time."
" Then the countess will remember that all they
say is only to injure poor people."
Several other women approached. "Let me pass,"
said the countess, "some one is waiting for me."
And she hastened on,
Fifteen minutes later, the whole village knew that
Mme. de Manteigney had been praying on account
of the miracle. Some persons even asserted that she
had placed a bouquet before the bas-relief.
XXIII.
Contrary to the countess's hopes, the excitement
in the village did not abate.  The wrathful lamentations of mere Ribat, who gradually yielded to the
most violent fanaticism, had borne their fruit.  All
who, for any reason, were jealous or envious of
Mayor Baravoux, all who thought his oxen too large,
his house too handsome, his fields too green, or his




232           ARO UTNYD A SPRING.
figure too portly, had rallied around the good peasant
woman, the devoted mother who so bravely defended
the cause of the poor. As usually happens, the question had changed its aspect, and from an individual
fact became a general principle, in which every one
found food for argument. The Virgin, Saint Joseph,
and the poor ass had really very little to do with the
matter. The point in question now was to ascertain
whether a mayor, merely because he owned a stone
house, two pairs of oxen, a tri-colored scarf, and
pasture lands, had a right to interpose between Providence and the poor, a right to snatch the bread fiom
the mouths of his subordinates, and intercept the
heavenly rays by his huge person. Then other individuals rose to defend Baravoux, and the debates
grew so stormy that one evening they actually came
to blows.
The mayor, whose nerves, to use a common expression, were strained like the strings of a violin, to
expend a portion of his anger, gave orders that the
inn of the Sajcpin Veert should be closed at the sound
of the Angelus. This was pouring oil upon the
flames. The excitement increased, some were indignant, others shouted bravo. In short, every one was
forced to take sides, and declare his opinion publicly.
Naturally, the numbers who visited the spring visibly
increased, so that after having erected a palisade to
protect the miraculous hole, it was soon found necessary to protect the palisade itself, and two gendarmes
from the city mounted guard.
If Grand-Fort-le-Haut was greatly excited, the
town of Virez was terribly agitated. The question
whether Baravoux or mere Ribat would gain the day
had, it is true, but a secondary importance; but the
discussions were none the less violent. Abbe Vilain,
cure of Virez, had not-the avowal must be made,
whatever it cost us-had not any great sympathy
with Abbe Roche, his brother at Grand Fort. It was




AROUND A SPRING.                c ),
not that he had any special cause of complaint against
him; but Nature had formed the two men in moulds
too widely dissimilar for them  ever to understand
and sympathize with each other. One was tall, robust, active, grave, fond of long walks, fatigue, and
manly exercises; the other, on the contrary, short, fat,
careless and indolent, adoring meditations in the
shade, calmness, repose, cheerful and dainty meals.
Their moral natures were in perfect harmony with
their physical temperaments, and traces of this dissimilarity might be detected in the trifling particulars
of their lives; they were especially prominent, when
the two abb6s played a game of bowls together after
vespers.
Abbe Vilain, a prudent, skilfil player, exceedingly deliberate in his combinations, studied the ground
and understood how to take advantage of the slopes:
the obstacle of a patch of' gravel, the collisions, the
rebounds, were to him helps rather than hindrances.
He rolled his ball gently and lightly, giving it a benediction, if I may venture to say so, by a final flutter
of his fingers, accompanying and protecting it with a
moist, paternal glance, directing it by his wishes. It
really seemed as if the fat cure had breathed a portion of his own soul into the ball, to see it rolling
cautiously on, wheeling around an obstacle, avoiding
a stone, pausing as if to reflect, and taking advantage
of a slight declivity that nobody had noticed, approach nearer and nearer the goal, and finally stop in
the very best place. During this time the most
varying emotions were depicted upon Abbe Vilain's
flushed face, with all the more clearness because his
pure soul disdained the slightest concealment: hope,
fear, ambition, tenderness, anguish, and the pride of
success. He advanced and stood before his triumphant ball, with his cassock raised on the right nearly
to his waist, his hands on his hips, his mouth half
open, and a broad smile beaming for an instant on his




234          AROU7UND A SPRING.
flushed face; an instant only, for all eyes, which had
at first been fixed upon him, turned almost immediately towards Abb6 Roche, and every one seemed to
say: " That is very well done-but we shall see! "
And in fact, the cure of Grand Fort drew back
two or three paces, tested and patted his ball, measured the space an instant, and then, with a gesture
superb in ease and vigor, hurled it, loaded with iron
and heavy as a cannon ball though it was, to a prodigious height. It was seen to mount into the air,
disappeared amid the foliage of the trees, and then
fell back like a bombshell upon Abbe Vilain's ball,
which it ignominiously dislodged. Now, I dare venture to affirm, that when a player who is in earnest
has a victorious ball-a ball that is very near, and
sees it driven away in such a fashion, brutally, without any respect for his clever play-and when the
same thing is repeated for ten years every Sunday
after vespers, publicly, without truce or mercy, I dare
venture to affirm, I say, that the player feels a dull
indignation spring up within him that might readily
be transformed into an outburst of rage. He incorporates himself, so to speak, with his own ball, and
therefore cruelly feels the violent collision to which
it is forced to yield.
Abbe Vilain, consequently, could not forget the
frightful descent of the iron-shod ball, and the excruciating sound of the heavy mass falling from the
skies. Paff, boumm! the sounds had remained fixed
in his ears and heart, and when he heard the rumor
of the apparition, the miracle, and the spring; when
he was told that; Abb6 Roche indignantly drove the
worshippers from the church, and refused all explanation, he murmured between his fat lips: " Paff,
boumm! such things only happen in certain parishes."
By these simple words the worthy man regained
many lost partisans. As may be supposed, the words,
remembered by the notary's wife, who thought it her




AROUNDl   A SPRING.           235
duty to confide them to the schoolmaster's spouse,
spread rapidly through the town, where thev were
diligently analyzed and commented upon. There was
something decidedly ambiguous about this miracle.
It was remembered that on the evening of the event
the doctor had met Abbe Roche in p6re Loursiere's
hut. The curte of Grand Fort must have passed the
White Cross at the very hour of the apparition.
Why should he have burst into such fits of anger, followed by the most obstinate silence?
The mayor of Virez had vainly sought to elucidate the affair. M. Larreau was impenetrable: Abbe
Roche shut his door in people's faces; pere Baravoux
was in a perpetual state of wild excitement. As to
the sous-prefet, he had not even answered the letter
that had been sent to him. Was there not some political question, some electioneering manceuvre concealed under this miracle? It was remembered that
the stone cross that serves as an object for the pilgrimage of the Seven Sorrows, and the twenty-four
little bronze crosses that adorn the highway, had been
presented to the public at the time of the last elections. It was evident, therefore, that the apparition
of the White Cross had some political signification,
but what? What did it mean? Did the government
desire the ruin of Virez? The population was greatly
excited; it was impossible to employ, or obtain anything whatever from the workmen. The women left
their children shut up at home while they went to
visit the spring, around which shops of every description had been erected. Peddlers sold caps, stockings,
chaplets, and little books; people shot at a mark
with the cross-bow to win macaroons; it was a perfect fair-ground. On pretext of being present at a
second apparition, bands of pilgrims journeyed towards Grand Fort, and stopped at the inn of the Sapin Vert, which had become the official rendezvous
of all the drunkards in the country, so that even at




236           AROUND A SPRING.
midnight the town was disturbed by songs and shouts,
and twice in succession Raimbeau the baker had
burned his oven-full of bread fiom returning home at
two o'clock in the morning in a state of beastly intoxication. Was such a condition of things to be endured? Was it not to be desired that ecclesiastical
authority should take the matter in hand and unravel
the mystery?
XXIX.
While Grand Fort and Virez were almost exclusively occupied with thoughts of the miracle and its consequences, the clever Claudius had broached the affair
in Paris with marvellous skill. One evening, directly
after the Gymnase, he came to Vernon's studio, sure
of finding all the journalists of the capital assembled
there, and suddenly, without the slightest prepairation,
as if still excited by a letter which he said he had just
received, related the story with inimitable vivacity
and animation, describing the scenes, drawing portraits of the personages, depicting, with a warmth
bordering upon eloquence, the great excitement rife
in this beautiful country. The truth is, that he had
studied this impromptu outburst nearly half the day,
and just as he entered the carriage, took several
glasses of champagne to rise to the height demanded
by the circumstances.
It is no easy thing to relate amid certain surroundings a totally new miracle, which has not yet received the stamp of public approval: Claudius, therefore,
was extremely careful to advance no personal opinion.
In his mouth it was merely a dazzling fairy tale, full
of strangely vivid descriptions and piquant details
that each could interpret to please himself.  The
miracle itself he treated with the utmost reverence,
for people affected great respect for certain subjects




AROUND A SPRING.             237
in Vernon's studio. When he had finished his story,
he added amidst a general silence: " Well! I'll wager
a hundred to one that you can't guess the name of'
the owner of the estates on which the very veracious
facts I have just related occurred. You can't? Gentlemen, the scene of this wonderful story is the domain
of Manteigney."
" Oh! come, you are joking, Claudius. Is it a
bet? What does all this mean?"
" I know nothing at all about it, and M. Larreau,
who wrote me this morning, knows no more than
you do. The only thing certain is, that there is a
mineral spring which no one knew anything about,
whose water has been analyzed and found to be extremely healthful. Another fact is, that the whole
country is excited about the matter, and Larreau
loudly demands an investigation into the subject of
this nliracle, as he is not willing to assume the responsibility. In short, there it is-it is unheard-of, impossible, but there it is. I have the letter in my pocket."
"My dear fellow, that would make a charming
article."
" Do whatever you please, I was not requested to
keep it a secret."
The following morning the apparition of the White
Cross and the lManteigney spring were presented to
the curiosity of the public under the thousand forms
that events of this kind always assume. Articles,
conversations, Parisian gossip, every-day chat, and
daily papers, everywhere one met with the strange
occurrence, related and commented upon according to
the opinion or fancy of the narrator.  Claudius, although he pretended to have a horror of writing, took
a sheet of paper and in a delicate hand very unlike his
usual chirography, traced the following lines:
" MR. EDITOR,
" Have we not reason to be surprised at the almost




238           AROUND A SPRING.
malicious facility with which the irreligious press —it
will doubtless take the qualification as a complimentwelcomes and reproduces tales of supernatural
events?  The account of an apparition, as yet unsanctioned by ecclesiastical authority, seems to be a
piece of rare good fortune to these gentlemen. It is
one stone the more hurled into the gardens of faith,
and these men, blinded by their hatred, cast their
little pebbles with a unanimity and ardor that is bewildering and painful.  In presence of unaccountable facts which only the clergy can and ought to appreciate, is not the first duty a respectful silence?
How is it possible not to perceive that the premature
publicity given to such occurrences disturbs the conscience and diminishes the two divine fires, without
which modern society would find itself enveloped in
the most impenetrable obscurity, I mean, reverence
and faith! " 
Claudius read what he had just written. 1' That
has not much meaning," said he, " but it will elicit a
reply. I will add a few personalities." And he again
began to write:
" From  their careless and wittily irreverential
mode of' relating these facts, would not one suppose
this apparition to be the clever clap-trap of some anonymous speculation, the shameless advertisement of
some mineral spring? It is given to our times, excited by mad speculations and intoxicated with fumes
of incredulity, to see such audacious shamelessness
welcomed with perfect unanimity.
" And what are the papers that dare to give publicity to such matters? Is it the journal of the man
of three moral principles, the famous and absurd
auto)?1X'doit of the democratic stage-coach, the liberal
cuckoo whom we see every morning dragged along
by his emaciated Pegasus? Is it the paper of that
other conciliatory and meditative harlequin, the high
priest of halting between two opinions, the Don Juan




AROUND A SPRING.              239
of the pros and cons who, surpassing Cadet-Roussel
in the art of clothing himself, pulls bits of lining from
every passer-by and drapes himself in the grotesque
tatters like a new Messiah? "
" Deuce take it! " cried Claudius, " I think I might
have made as good a journalist as the next man. Let
us continue "
"Pardon the sharpness of my words, Mr. Editor,
but indeed, if we have any respect for our holy religion
in our hearts, we must be indignant at such behavior.
" In the name of the most sacred interests we ask
for light. We ask the approval or condemnation of
an ecclesiastical decision, and that under any circumstances a private speculation should be prevented
from seizing upon a divine fact as the basis of its operations, or, taking advantage of public credulity, invest
a lie and trick with a sacred character.
"I am, Mr. Editor,
" ONE OF YOUR SUBSCRIBERS."
Claudius, well pleased with his work, made a pen
from a goose quill, and taking advantage of his inspiration, wrote upon another sheet of paper without pausing:
" All goes well, and progress is rapidly advancing.
We have lately seen the wonders of art applied to
industry; the Venus de Milo cast in bronze, and transformed into a hydrant; the Apollo Belvedere entering into the bustle of active life and crowning the
roofs of houses in the guise of a chimney; the antique
Diana becoming a door latch; the frieze of the Parthenon surrounding clyster pumps; the Acropolis utilized
as a mustard pot; and that we may lose nothing of the
venerable Past, Olympus is dragged upon the stage,
and the gods of ancient Greece take tickets, and amuse
the crowd under the wig of Bobeche and the mask of
Galimafrie.
"Everything has progressed very favorably, but




240           AROU ND A SPRINGC-.
one noticeable improvement should be mentioned:
modern Catholicism feels the necessity of becoming
practical.  St. Joseph takes a commission, transforms
himself into a bath-keeper, administers shower-baths,
and, rivalling Calchas, finds no business menial of
which God approves.
" The thermal establishment which cures both body
and mind is one of the products of our civilization.
Is one to hear mass in the bath? will there be a chaplain-chiropodist attached to the institution? All this
demands elucidation, and we are impatiently awaiting
the decision of some competent authority in regard to
miracles, as applied to industry, in order to reply to
the questions of every description asked by our subscribers.
" In strict justice, let us be permitted to applaud
this prodigious expansion of human activity.
"By courageously placing itself at the head of
the industrial movement, striving to rejuvenate these
ancient beliefs and extract from their ruins a practical,
utilitarian, and fruitful side, Catholicism  surely deserves the gratitude of all intelligent people.
" Let us therefore welcome this pious enterprise
of Manteigney, whose success is no doubtful matter
to us.
" That is quick, brilliant, vivid," said Claudius,
rubbing his hands. " The articles are totally dissimilar; now let me find two envelopes, without initials,
and of different styles."
After obtaining what he sought, he wrote on the
first envelope the name of a democratic journal.
These two articles, published simultaneously by
papers most hostile to each other, were the signal for
the incredible uproar which is still remembered. The
situation of affairs just then was extremely critical.
The portfolio of the interior had just been given to a
man well known to be excessively partial to the cler-,'y, which had occasioned much discontent, and at the




AROUND A SPRING.               241
same time aroused eager hopes. There were vague
rumors of a change in the faculty of the university.
It was said to be certain that our libraries and museums would be re-organized; absurd reports, which
however had gained a certain degree of credence in
narrow, malicious minds, thanks to the persistent silence of the government.  Be that as it may, the
miracle of Manteigney happened at just the time to
reanimate the discussion. It was a useful weapon, a
very natural pretext for asserting one's opinions, hatreds, or sympathies, and to damage certain elections
that had just taken place.  Claudius had reckoned
upon all this, and it was by no means at random that
he had at first written certain political personalities
which would not be accepted without noisy retorts to
his ill-timed jests. The uproar even surpassed the
hopes of the clever viscount.  The man of three
moral principles, the famous automnldon of the democratic stage-coach, as Claudius called him, replied
with unprecedented violence. Anxious and embittered by a recent and public slight inflicted upon him
by the new minister, he saw in this bold attack an
opportunity of reinstating himself in the good graces
of the government.
The man of three moral principles therefore spoke
of "miserable concessions" made to a dangerous
and retrograde party.  Was our France of'89 to
bow her head beneath the holy-water sprinkler of
government? The satirical paper burst into shouts
of laughter; the religious paper quoted the Fathers
of the Church. A duel was the result, and the uproar increased still more. The official papers maintained a decorous, formal attitude that calmed no one.
At this period, a letter from M. Larreau, dated at
MIanteigney, appeared simultaneously in three or four
papers. It was short, and bore that impression of
ftiankness and good faith which instantly attracts the
approbation of all worthy people. In the absence of
16




242           AROUND A SPRING.
his son-in-law, the count, he considered it to be his duty
to answer the report circulating in Paris with the most
perfect candor. Then without mentioning his personal opinion, he related the simple facts, confessed
that he had suspected the existence of mineral springs
in the valley of Manteigney long before, and claimed,
with all the energy of an upright man, a searching
and immediate investigation of the events that had
occurred at the White Cross, in which his own honor
and that of his family were involved. No one could
have used more dignified or resolute language.
While awaiting the decision, irrevocable in such matters, of ecclesiastical authority, he would call into
the courts of law any person making insinuations to
the effect that either he or his son-in-law had had any
thing whatever to do with the affair. The capitalist's
conduct was unanimously pronounced to be eminently proper.
During this time Claudius had not been inactive.
A constant visitor at Vernon's receptions, he lost no
opportunity of influencing public opinion; and when
he spoke of the absurd position in which the Count
de Manteigney and family were placed, allowed his
indignation to burst forth unrestrainedly. Thanks to
him, the analysis of the new mineral spring was soon
published officially in several papers, and one of them
added an extremely eulogistic article.
" Science," it remarked, " has no occasion to trouble herself about the manner in which this spring was
discovered! her mission is only to appreciate its value, and on that point there is no room for doubt. It
has tonical and diuretic properties, and an alkaline,
magnesian, gaseous, and ferruginous composition,
which  gives it rare medicinal importance.   It
strengthens the nervous system  without producing
the slightest irritation. Obese persons, or those threatened with obesity, obstruction, congestion, or rush of
blood, will obtain certain relief."




ARO UND A SPRING.              243
Claudius had a number of these papers printed
and fieely distributed, while Larreau sent a letter to
Dr. Ferrand, author of the article, inviting him  to
come to Manteigney, that he might judge of the size
of the ~pring for himself, and give him the benefit of
his experience in regard to the best means of making
it usefill. Claudius was besieged with questions and
curious inquirers, and obliged to give every particular concerning the climate of the country, its resources, the way of going there, etc. The Baron de
Solernie drew him aside one evening, and with a
most charming smile, exclaimed: "Well, my dear
Claudius, the Manteigney business is taking a favorable turn; the spring is very medicinal, it appears.
They were speaking of it yesterday at the ministry."
" The business, as you call it, will not really take
a favorable turn until the count and his father-in-law
are entirely absolved from all connection with this
miracle, whether true or false. Until the mystery
is unravelled the whole affair has an air of trickery
which is extremely injurious to my friends. Their
situation is positively unbearable."
" No doubt! but these rumors will die away, and
the'result will be a most lucrative financial operation."
" I don't deny it; but you know Larreau is' excessively sensitive."
" That is most praiseworthy. Such noble pride is
rarely seen in business matters."
" He values his reputation as an honest man above
everything, and is not one of those who-   Larreau
is a perfect bar of steel, where any tampering with
his conscience is concerned."
"And who dreams of accusing him? You know
perfectly well that he has the sympathy of all. Between ourselves, I am convinced that he is the victim of
some audacious trickster, who wished to grasp a share
of the profits of the spring. The people there are
very superstitious, I believe."




244           AROUND A SPRING.' More so than you could imagine."
"And the priests must have immense influence!
This is a very delicate, even dangerous, affair to elucidate. WVe must think twice befobre depriving the
people of any illusion whatever. As the writer of
that famous article says, all reverence is linked together, all authority mutually dependent; do not
hope to touch one without injuring all. A blow from
a hammer, dealt on the ground floor, breaks the clocks
on the first story. The floors are thin, and the partitions very slight."
"That is a very striking observation, my dear
baron."
"It is only common sense. Reverence has become a hot-house flower among the masses. Every
time that we permit a discussion, we break a pane of
glass; draw aside a straw mat, and the plant becomes
chilled. This is what leads me to tell you that the
investigation demanded by Larreau is a thing very
delicate to exact, and dangerous to obtain. In these
times, a pinch of doubt thrown on the ground
produces in a month a whole harvest of skeptics.
Discuss Saint Joseph to-day, and to-morrow people
will discuss the official candidate proposed by the
prefect. Discussion is a terrible weapon. I should
rather never have a sharp knife in my house than to
run the risk of losing three fingers the first time I
used it."
"And do you believe the government thinks-"
"As I do? Yes; I should not be surprised if it
held the same opinions. You see, my good friend, the
question, until now, has not been considered in its
true aspect. It is possible, quite possible, so far as I
know, that this apparition of the White Cross may
really have a supernatural, divine character-yes, divine. I even believe it would be a very fortunate
thing if this divine character could be officially recognized and established."




AROUND A SPRING.              245
The two speakers exchanged inquiring glances.
The baron coughed, and continued: " As to the material, commercial part of the affair, it seems to me
that it might prove a matter of great interest, and if
Larreau was disposed to give other capitalists a share
in the enterprise, which may assume gigantic proportions, he might, perhaps, by that means, obtain valuable aid, whose influence would greatly simplify the
present state of affairs. This is a purely personal
suggestion, let that be plainly understood."
"We had thought of that," murmured Claudius,
with a very confidential expression; " we had thought
of it, especially as the improvement of the spring, the
necessary arrangements-"
" Which, in case of need, the proper authority
could render obligatory."
"Among intelligent people, such means are not
employed. We shall never refuse to have the spring
made a source of profit; although, to tell the truth,
the enterprise would be only a pretext-an excuse
for introducing activity and life into a new region."
"Yes, yes; I expected as much"
"' We ask only one little railway line, penetrating
the heart of these mountains through the valleys of
Lindousie and Manteigney, to enable us to put incalculable wealth in circulation. Lend us the key to
open the door of this treasure house, my dear baron."
" Suppose we exchange good offices, my dear
friend. Speak of this matter to M. Larreau, won't
you? For a thousand reasons, he ought to form political friendships.  We will talk about this afftir
again; farewell, my dear Claudius."
XXX.
In spite of the general anxiety, the ecclesiastical
authorities could not resolve to interfere. The arch



246           ARO UND A SPRING.
bishop, justly alarmed by the enormous and rapid increase of' the reports concerning this affair, was in a
position whose embarrassment can readily be perceived. The prefect still addressed respectful petitions; M. ILarreau and the Count de Manteigney had
entreated him, in most urgent terms, to order an investigation. To refuse all interference was to despise
aristocratic and powerful influences. On the other
hand, to hastily respond to the general curiosity
would be compromising ecclesiastical dignity. If the
question had been purely a religions one, perhaps the
archbishop would have more readily determined to
interpose, although such precipitation might be unprecedented; but under present circumstances the
miracle was visibly complicated by a publicly avowed
commercial enterprise. Was it not to be feared that
amid the rumors the investigation of the facts would
prove singularly embarrassing? Every detail of the
examination would be  discussed and commented
upon by an excited press.  Was it really known
what might be concealed beneath this mysterious affair? Several miracles had already been performed
in the south of France, it is true; but never had they
been so impetuously made public before the decision
of the chief of the diocese, who found himself in this
case almost driven on to act-an event quite inadmissible.
Very fortunately, the archbishop was intimately
acquainted with one of the most attractive and intelligent members of the priesthood.  Having taken
holy orders on account of a succession of heavy misfortunes, which were formerly widely discussed in
certain circles, Abbe Desvialle still retained his refined, elegant tastes. He was a man of slender figure,
with a smiling mouth, affable, though  searching
glance, and a most delightful blase expression. Although his dress was perfectly simple, and precisely
like that of the other priests, one could instantly de



AROUND A SPRi N.          247
tect the thousand little touches of a man who is careful of his personal appearance, and desirous to please.
In the days when sumptuary laws compelled all the
gondolas in Venice to assume a uniform appearance,
every one was black, without ornament or carving.
The cabins were invariably draped with black cloth,
and yet the patrician's gondola could be recognized at
the distance of a hundred paces. The commands were
observed to the letter, but the cloth was fine, the
prow glittered like the blade of a razor, and the windows were provided with panes of glass as thick as
the finger and as clear as spring water. The gondola
itself was black, but the partitions were of ebony;
there were no projecting carvings, but elegant designs cut into the wood, were traced with most artistic skill. This explains how it happened that on seeing Abbe Desvialle pass, one instantly supposed that
he had a valet, and did not confound him with the
common herd.
A man by nature indifferent to ordinary tasks, he
had devoted himself particularly to the difficult niceties of his profession. He liked to probe anxious and
timid consciences, watch, treat, and cure the evergrieving and panting feminine souls; he excelled in
gently searching the inmost recesses of the heart, and
weighing the most intangible sensations with perfect
exactitude. He would have found means to apply a
dressing to the tiniest prick of a needle; and his scalpels were so minute, his magnifying glasses so powerful, that on the slightest trace of a trifling, venial
sin, he would speak for a whole hour, without effort
or fatigue, with grace, tact, freshness, vigor, and incomparable intelligence.
Although one of the most prominent men in Paris,
I must mention that Abbe Desvialle had never attended any of Vernon's receptions, although a frequent visitor at the painter's studio by day, as he
greatly admired the ease and grace of his works, and




248          AROU UAZD A SPRING.
thus very naturally had made the acquaintance of the
principal guests of this famous house. He had been
particularly intimate with M. Larreau, even dined
several times at'his table, and on the marriage of
Count de Manteigney with the capitalist's daughter,
Abbe Desvialle had consented to perform the ceremony for the young couple. He made a charming
little address on the occasion, about as long as one's
finger, but most appropriate, a perfect gem.  The
count and countess had always been on the best of
terms with the good abbe, and had made him solemnly promise to come and visit them at Manteigney.
When the archbishop found himself in the embarrassing situation previously mentioned, the priest instantly proposed that he should fulfil the promise
made to the count, and after a long conversation,
hastily set out for the old chateau. His mission, it
was plainly understood, had no official character; he
came as a friend and visitor, and entered with a smile
upon his lips. On perceiving M. Larreau, who, crossing the court-yard, received him and helped him out
of the carriage, he extended both hands with a friendly gesture, and burst into a little- ringing laugh of
most cheering augury.
The capitalist felt as if relieved of a two hundred
pound weight.
" Oh! how glad I am to see you, my dear abbe!
I only received your little note yesterday."
" I keep my promise, as you see, I am a man of
my word. The countess-"
" Is perfectly well, thank you; we shall see her
directly. But you must be wearied by the heat and
dust. Permit me to show you to your room. My
son-in-law has not returned, he will be very sorry."
" So am I, I assure you. Is he not near Bordeaux? "
"A little farther south, at the Duke d'Armine's,
where he has been detained, much to my annoyance,




ARO UND A SPRIrNG.             249
for you must perceive that under these circumstances
the count's presence- I will leave you. This is your
room: its windows afford a view of the valley and
the famous spring."
"The famous spring," repeated the abbe with a
very meaning smile.  "I will join you in ten minutes."
"H Ie has been sent down by the archbishop, that
is plain as day," thought M. Larreau, pacing to and
fro; " after all, I would rather have this worthy Abb6
Desvialle than any one else.  I have nothing to conceal, I wish to have an investigation.  He is very intelligent; we shall understand each other.  This absurd story must be put out of sight, there must be
no farther discussion."
The capitalist was really disgusted with the supernatural for the time being.  His affairs were progressing admirably, the effect he desired had been
produced by the Parisian press, the spring at Manteigney was well known, the chemical analysis had
been published-appreciated.  What necessity was
there now for any pretended divine interposition?
Besides, he really desired the investigation on account
of Abb6 Roche, who had thought himself strong
enough to act alone —had evidently intended to make
use of the spring for his own advantage, slyly, brutally, foolishly, and who, after the excitement caused
by his first effort, had neither the skill and courage
to pursue his plan, nor the frankness to confess his
incapacity.  Oh! he desired it most earnestly on account of the cur6 of Grand Fort; and the longing
to revenge himself upon him for his insolence, to
place him in an annoying situation, had a large
share in causing his sudden dislike of the supernatural.
It must be confessed that the countess had a powerful influence over her father's mind, and wholly
dissuaded him from favoring the miracle, by the ever



250           AROUND A SPRING.
increasing dislike she had manifested towards the
subject. "But, my darling, I cannot understand your
horror of this apparition, which could have been seen
only by the will of God. I have certainly neglected
nothing in your education; I gave you as much religion as any one else has; how does it happen? "
" It is instinctive, dear papa-it is nervous, I know.
I cannot account for it, but so it is."
XXXI.
However clear M. Larreau's ideas might be, he
was not the man to open his heart without suitable
precautions, or to take the initiative in giving his
confidence to the archbishop's envoy; so the beginning of the conversation was somewhat constrained,
and it was only after exchanging several pinches of
snuff, inquiring about each other's health in every variety of phrase, admiring the view, and gazing at the
facade of the chateau, that the two speakers began
to talk freely. The capitalist, suddenly assuming
the expression of cheerful good-nature which so well
suited him, exclaimed:
"Pardon an excess of sincerity, my dear Monsieur Desvialle, but it is one of my faults to be exceedingly frank. May I hope that you come here
in the bishop's name? My question is doubtless indiscreet; but that can't he helped-it is my nature,
and-"
"Your question is not indiscreet, my clear Monsieur Larreau; it is the natural consequence of your
good faith, and I will reply without evasion. I have
come here in response to the invitation given me
last winter by the countess and yourself."
"So much the better, that is perfectly plain."
"To tell you," continued the priest, laying his
hand on Larreau's arm, " to tell you that I feel no cu



A-ROUND A SPRI.YG.            251
riosity about the event to which you allude, would
be-' "
" This is perfectly natural, you have no occasion
to tell me of it, my dear abb.'"
" One cannot conceal anything from you! Curiosity all the more keen, because by satisfying it, I
shall perhaps be able to relieve that of another, who
cannot and will not manifest it in an official and public manner at present. You see, my dear Monsieur
Larreau, that my frankness is at least equal to yours."
The capitalist warily half opened his left eye,
and instantly closing it, replied: "Your sincerity
makes it a duty for me to conceal nothing from you.
In two words, as a Catholic, I am wounded, I can
use no other expression, deeply wounded by all that
has transpired here. Good heavens! I have reached
a time of life when the bustle of business is no longer
sufficient, when the ideas and convictions of former
days, deadened for years, suddenly awake. Ah! my
dear abbe, we must not play with religion! No, no,
we must not play with religion! "
He prolonged his sentence by a succession of little nods, impatiently waiting for the abb6, by some
word or gesture, to permit him to obtain even the
slightest idea of the archbishop's opinion on the subject of the miracle; but M. Desvialle, who on his
part was waiting for the rich man to explain himself
more fuilly, replied:  "You are perfectly right.
From whatever point of view we look at this matter,
you are perfectly right. We must not play with religion. The present and future welfare of France
demand it —imperiously; but you suppose, then,
that some one has been making game-"
" I suppose nothing, oh! good heavens, don't fancy
that I suppose anything about the adfair.  I am
wounded, as you yourself must be, by the discussions,
the clamor which greets a fact, incomprehensible, it
is true, but whose mystery should be respected until




252           AROUN'D A SPRING.
the proper authority has pronounced its decree. Until the Episcopal torch —I think the expression a correct one-casts its light upon this adven-hem! hem!
this supernatural event, I shall be wounded, M. l'abb6,
wounded as a Christian, as the head of a family, as
the owner of estates, by hearing some people affirm,
with most inexcusable violence, that the miracle is
false."
" Do you believe it true?"
" Equally wounded when I hear it proclaimed
without the archbishop's sanction that the apparition
has a divine character."
"Dear me, your grief is without bounds!" observed the priest with a pleasant little smile that
softened the sarcasm of his words.
"I ask for information-I demand a searching,
thorough investigation," replied Larreau, somewhat
piqued. "I have demanded it orally, in writing,
everywhere, and at all- Truth is an admirable
thing!"
" Yes, I have read your letter in the papers, my
dear Monsieur Larreau, and I think it very clever
from a certain point of view; but pray listen to me,
I am speaking in all sincerity."
"And I, too," thought the capitalist.
" You must perceive that Episcopal authority cannot compromise its character by studying mere rumors;that it cannot act on account of a vague report
that passes on and is borne away by the wind; it
must remain cold and deaf to all the tales-pardon
the word-that are circulating around it."
"Permit me-"
" Allow me to continue,-and even before deciding upon an investigation, it should wait until public
opinion has glven more stability to the rumors, more
reality to the facts."
"But the deuce! my dear abb6," rejoined Larreau,
who was becoming excited in spite of himself, " this




AROUND A SPRING.              253
rumor has caused a frightful tumult, a universal tern
pest; all the papers in Paris have discussed-"
" So much the more reason for ecclesiastical authority to wait until calmness is restored. It would
be impossible to conduct a trial with sufficient solemnityamid the uproar of eager discussions; and you
ought to be the first to wish, as a Catholic, as head
of a family, as owner of estates, that the decree
should be given with the dignity and prudence befitting so grave a subject. Why, you will admit that
the wonderfully rapid spread of this report is well
calculated in itself to put the archbishop on his
guard. How do you explain this unheard-of, unprecedented speed?"
"The explanation does not appear to me a very difficult one to give, M. l'abb6. The name of Manteigney is well known in Paris, and mine is by no means
an insignificant one. As soon as they were known to
have some connection with this affair, public attention
was excited. That is easily understood. As for the
inhabitants of this region, their ardor, enthusiasm,
and thirst for the marvellous resemble insanity."
"Indeed? That is very singular. How does it
happen, my dear M. Larreau?"  And the priest
leaned familiarly on the capitalist's arm.
" This is the explanation," replied the latter. "In
this mountainous portion of our beautiful France,
people, I do not know why, are habituated to the idea
of the supernatural. One might say that the miracle
has pervaded the whole province, and the mountaineers think of nothing else. It is to them an inexhaustible treasure, ready to open beneath their feet.
Thousands of the little books carried about everywhere in the packs of peddlers have taught them the
lucrative side of celestial interpositions, and they wish
for them just as in Paris you desire to see one of the
boulevards laid out which necessitates the removal
of a number of miserable buildings. It is the ex



254          ARO UNiD A SPRING.
pression of the same feeling in a simpler form: profit
without labor, a rapid fortune, a blessing from Heaven in the guise of a shower of gold. The widespread circulation that any fact bordering on the
marvellous now has, is the result of former success.
The greater the number of these pieces of good fortune, the more the enthusiasm will continue to increase; and at last petitions will be made in the
poorer parishes for any miracle whatever-whether
true or false matters little-a partial apparition for
want of an entire one; and just as in the cities we
are obliged to incessantly demolish and rebuild, in
order to preserve public tranquillity, so in the mountains it will be necessary to continually perform fresh
miracles to satisfy more and more pressing needs.
You will tell me that I am permitting myself to be
carried away by my feelings."
"I shall say nothing at all," interrupted Abbe
Desvialle, laughing heartily, " except that your jests
are unseemly. You know very well, my dear M.
Larreau, that men do not perform miracles."
" I am aware of that."
" They accept them, that is all."
" With a readiness that is oftentimes very damaging to religion."
"Then you do not believe in miracles, perhaps,
Monsieur Larreau."
" Excuse me, I do believe in them, my situation
imposes it upon me as a duty-I believe in them as a
principle, in general."
"But in particular, you-"
"Oh! bless me! in particular —ha! ha! in particular, I have my doubts."
"So that in the present case, this apparition of
the White Cross-"
"In all sincerity, what do you think of it, M.
l'abbe? "
"A beautiful view! " observed the priest, leaning




AROUND A SPRINGY.            255
his elbow upon the balustrade of the terrace; undoubtedly he had not heard the capitalist's question.
"A beautiful view, a flourishing valley! The laborers that I see down below-"
"They are engaged in works which will greatly
increase the value of our spring. We intend to excavate under the mountain, and the black hole you
see yonder is the entrance of the passage. It is a
great undertaking."
"And the building that is being erected close
by?"
" That is a hospital I intend to bestow upon the
poor of the country; it is arranged after my own
ideas, and designed entirely by myself."
"The thought does you honor. And these new
roads that I see laid out in different directions?"
" I planned them myself, and am building them at
my own expense-but this is only the beginning."
"You are employing your wealth nobly, and deserve the sympathy of all philanthropists."
" I do as much good as I can. Roads, Monsieur
Desvialle, roads are the first necessity. My object is
to unite this out-of-the way region with the rest of
France; and by and bye, if I have done a useful work
by arousing these people to active life, the only reward I shall ask will be the approbation of intelligent, worthy men." He made an almost imperceptible bow to the priest, who just at that moment was
looking for his snuff-box.
"And if these intelligent, worthy people should
testify their admiration by confiding to you the honorable trust of defending their interests, of being
their representative, you would not refuse the recompense-you would have no right to refuse."
The rich man suddenly felt the pleasant thrill that
we experience on sitting down to a glittering, wellserved table in a warm room. He closed both eyes,
and gravely answered: "I have never had anything




256          AROUND A SPRING,
to do with politics, my dear abb6; I had dreamed of
spending the remainder of my days in some quiet,
calm retreat, far removed from the pressing anxieties
which a trust like the one you mention-"
"Very frequently causes."
"You understand men, my dear Abbe Desvialle! "
" I have seen so many-so many women! " he added in an undertone. " It is on account of these very
difficulties that it is honorable, glorious to accept
such a mission. You are of the right stuff to make a
politician, my dear M. Larreau."
" Eh! well, perhaps I might accept; but it would
be after a struggle against my inclinations. And Iwhy should I-for what reason do I —"
"Those- those are great works- magnificent
works!"
" Would you like to go down to the valley?"
"Oh! it is not necessary, I can judge of them
very well from here."
" There is plenty of room, as you see, to build as
occasion requires." And the capitalist explained his
plans in detail. He became animated as he spoke,
his gestures grew more expressive, and his face became gradually flushed.
"' The hospital, for the time being, will become the
bath-house. It is built in such a manner that it can
be indefinitely enlarged, and answer all requirements.
I will say nothing at present of the house for convalescent patients, the cottages reserved for the clergy,
or the -"
" Everything has been foreseen and carefully provided for."
"I have looked into the matter, as you perceive."
"Of course these things do not happen unexpectedly; but in that case," said the abb6, with a most
courteous smile, " the famous miracle would not be
really-"




AROUND A SPRING.              257
t' It was accidental. purely accidental. As I have
had the honor of telling whoever would listen to me,
I suspected the existence -of a mineral spring long
ago, some time before this annoying occurrence. I
had even considered the means of enlarging it, and
visited Bareges, Luchon, Uriage, and Saint Sauveur
for that purpose. My library is fill of books on the
subject, for I never do things by halves-I like to investigate matters thoroughly. I was sitting there,
studying, and arranging the matter, when this miracle-"
" Fell from the skies."
"Exactly-from the skies, ha! ha! ha! that is just
the word, and you must perceive that it was no easy
task to make it re-ascend."
" Admitting that it came from thence!"
"Ha! ha! ha! I make no assertions about that."
The ice was broken. " You cannot imagine, my dear
abbe, how much your fiankness and affability cheers
me, and what pleasure it gives me to be able to speak
to you without evasion. How delightful it would be
if all the ministers of our religion had the charming
simplicity which you possess in so high a degree! I
understand and love devotion, when it presents itself
in a cheerful, mild, tolerant form. That is the true
aspect of religion, M. l'abbe. People who are unfortunate, who obtain nothing they desire, like to lament;
it is very natural, I admit, and I excuse it; but those
who, on the contrary, are extremely prosperous, whose
efforts have jbeen crowned with success, should not
be expected to mourn. Well! I find that people do
not think enough of those who have succeeded, and
it is a great wrong, for from every point of view, they
deserve great consideration. What is admirable under some circumstances becomes pitiful on another
occasion. When a miracle attracts attention to some
humble spring of fresh water, I understand and applaud it; but in the present case what do we want
17




258          AROUND A SPRING.
of one? My spring is among the richest in France;
it will cure by the mere power of its chemical virtues. The miracle here is like hairs in one's soup, M.
l'abb6, and this scamp, who rushes into my business
like a poodle into a game of skittles, ought to be sent
to the House of Correction. That is my opinion."
Abbe Desvialle, whose smiling, affable expression
had remained unchanged, replied in a confidential
tone: " And what is the opinion of your worthy
cur6,Abb6 Roche, if I am. not mistaken in regard to
all this? He ought to know the country perfectly.
He is said to be very energetic and intelligent."
"Yes, yes, certainly-Abbe Roche-ah! there it
is-Abbe Roche is very intelligent, as you say, very
intelligent —"
At that moment a servant opened the foldingdoors of the dining room. "They are coming to inform us that dinner is ready, M. 1' abbe," said the capitalist, "and the countess is expecting us."
XXXII.
Mme. de Manteigney had dreaded the coming of
Abbe Desvialle, of whose acuteness and penetration
she was well aware; but contrary to her expectations
he was by no means inquisitorial. During the whole
course of the dinner, one would have supposed that
the amiable priest had devoted himself to the task
of calming the countess's anxiety. There was not
the most distant allusion to the events which occupied
the attention of the surrounding country.  Music
was the topic of conversation. The archbishop's envoy was a very tasteful and learned amateur, and
talked most delightfully. From profane music, the
quartettes of Mozart, they naturally passed on to the
Stabat of Pergolesi, the Mass of Rosini, and by an
imperceptible advance, by the time they reached des



ARO UND A SPRING.             259
sert, began to discuss the unheard-of luxury of women.  The countess, relieved from  all anxiety, was
charmingly gay and bewitching, the abbe dazzling,
and Larreaut extremely wise and philosophical; so that
all three were laughing heartily as they went into the
drawing-room to drink their coffee.
It was just at the moment when the young wife
approached to offer the priest a cup, that the latter,
looking in her face with the expression of a man who
has suddenly recollected some forgotten fact, said to
her: " But, my dear Madame, how do you explain
the position of your good cur6 in this affair of the
miracle? "
Mme. de Manteigney started and turned pale so
suddenly that Abbe Desvialle took the cup from her
hands, fearing that she might let it fall. "What position? What do you mean? I don't understand
you? "
Her embarrassment -was all the greater in consequence of her former security. She still smiled, but
the corners of her mouth twitched nervously, and
her whole countenance expressed the most profound
anxiety.
The priest cast down his eyes and played with his
tiny coffee spoon, then answered: " Your father and
I have been talking about these events, and it was
the remembrance of the conversation which induced
me to ask that question. Your cur6's intolerance,
Madame, intolerance whose consequences he certainly didt not calculate, has perhaps had a greater influence than would be believed upon public opinion,
which he should have left to itself, to be fireely manifested. I have heard-it has been everywhere asserted that he drove from the church women who had
come to pray. Do you not think that was compromising his position? "
Abb6 Desvialle was still stirring his coffee, occasionally glancing at the countess's face, endeavoring




260          ARO UND A SPRING.
to read the meaning of her singular emotion. Strange
to say, she instantly calmed herself, breathed freely,
and said with apparent restraint: "I did not understand what you meant."
" What could she have imagined?" thought the
priest.
She continued, with an ease of manner that was
slightly affected:
" M. le cure was doubtless indignant that the story
of a little rascal should have produced such an excitement throughout the country, and probably feared
the superstition would do religion more harm than
good. I do not think he was wrong."
" That was so much the more reason for him to be
calm and prudent, my darling," murmured Larreau;
" had it not been for M. Roche's stormy violence, all
these rumors would have died away of themselves.
Religion is above these trifles, and has no need of
such Don Quixotism."
" Don't heed what my father says, M. l'abbe; he
has taken a prejudice against our poor cure, I do not
know why."
" He is a haughty, proud, insincere man; that is
my impression, I do not know how to dissimulate."
"Haughty! because his conscience rebelled for
an instant? He was rather violent perhaps, I do not
-violent it may be; it would have been better if he
had controlled himself, but that is not the question.
The real point is, that in any other place the little
dreamer would have been sent to the police station,
neither more nor less. Unfortunately, there are no
gendarmes at Grand Fort, that is the whole cause of
the trouble."
"I see," said the abbe, playing with his snuff-box
and smiling pleasantly, " I see that Mme. de Manteigney is not disposed to believe in the miracle."
"I? Quite the contrary."




AROUND A SPRING.              261
"Yet, my dear child, after what you have just
told us, it is plain —"
" It is plain-it is plain. Everything is plain to
my father at first sight; nothing is obscure, nothing
uncertain. It's a very fortunate position to be in."
" Why, what is the matter with you this evening
my little countess? I do not wish to vex you; you
know very well that I attach no sort of importance
to the affair, and Abbe Desvialle has too much intelligence, too much acuteness, not to judge of matters
precisely as I do."
" Then why should not I be as indifferent to the
whole adventure as you are? What has all this to
do with me?" She was becoming more and more
excited. " Let this little peasant, thanks to the stir
people have made about him, realize a magnificent
speculation, I shall be delighted; let him sell his miraculous water by thousands of bottles!"
" Excuse me, my dear, the water belongs to me;
he shall not sell a drop without buying it first."
" No matter! Let him become immensely rich,
let him be canonized, admitted to the Corps Legislatif,-I will cry bravo. Ha! ha! ha! that will be charming, praiseworthy, funny as possible.  How many
other intriguers have made a fortune before him,
thanks to human folly! "
" Don't let us urge the point," whispered Larreau
in the ear of the priest; " my daughter is nervous
this evening, and when women have their nerves, you
know-or rather you don't know-"
" Oh! I know perfectly well."
The poor lady was aware that she had made a
false step, that the warmth of her attack upon the
miracle was by no means convincing, but would rather tend to inspire distrust. She well knew that her
mode of seeing and speaking did not befit a woman in her position in life, and would be sure to surprise the archbishop's envoy; but unfortunately it




262           AROUND A SPRING.
was impossible for her to keep cool and appear indifferent.
Meantime, Abbe Desvialle was the first to change
the conversation. The subject of profane and sacred
music was again introduced, but the countess, dissatisfied with herself and others, and fancying that she
detected some allusion in every sentence, was so paradoxical and irritable, that, by M. Larreau's suggestion, they soon separated.
When once more in his own room, the agreeable
priest bolted his door, opened a travelling bag, took
out some writing materials, and approached a little
desk that stood near the window. It was with no
small surprise that he perceived on the top of this
article of furniture, in the very centre of the desk, in
full view, a package wrapped in white paper, on
which were these words: " Doubtless forgotten by
Saint Joseph on the night of the aparision."
Abb6 Desvialle frowned. This coarse paper must
have been bought at the village grocer's. The awkward and affectedly sloping handwriting, the word
apparition written with an s and only one p, spoke of
the valet and the servant's hall. However, the abbe
opened the paper, and saw a carefully folded handkerchief.  With the tips of his white fingers, not
without an emotion of disgust, he unfolded the article
in question, and following the hem, looked at each of
the four corners in succession. The last contained
the initial R. The archbishop's envoy sat for some
time lost in thought. His face had totally changed
its expression, and the countess would doubtless have
been greatly terrified could she have seen the depth
and earnestness of his gaze. After the lapse of a few
moments he wrapped the handkerchief again in the
paper, and having placed the whole under lock and
key, washed his hands, and seating himself at the desk,
began to write slowly and thoughtfully, in a large,
regular, careful chirography, which could only belong




AROUND/) A SPRiNG.           263
to a man whose imagination would never lead him
astray into the kingdom of fancy.
To tell the truth, he felt a little disconcerted, not
by the appearance of the handkerchief, which had
merely confirmed his previous opinion, but by the
evident agitation of the countess, and the strange intolerance she had displayed. The archbishop had already been fbr some time quietly trying to obtain information in regard to the mystery, and the cur6 of
Virez, a very simple-minded man and a great talker,
had been cautiously sounded; the suspicions uttered
about the White Cross were soon learned, documents
compared, and ere long it was impossible to doubt
that Abbe Roche had been in some way, directly or
indirectly, concerned in this most embarrassing miracle.
The unexplained but certain presence of a cur6 in
the affair complicated matters greatly; but what
would it be if the countess were also implicated.
Larreau was very powerful, the count and his wife
well known to all Paris. What might not an examination reveal? The priest wrote for some time, and
went to bed very late.
XXXIIL
The following day, as soon as Abb6 Desvialle
rose, he looked in the glass and rang the bell. The
free-thinker, whom we have met walking in the vicinity of the White Cross, and hiding something he had
just found, instantly entered with the promptness of
a man who has been waiting behind the door for the
last fifteen minutes. "My friend," said the priest
without turning, but watching the servant's face in
the glass, " bring me a cup of black coffee."
This valet was a sly-looking person, with a turnedup nose and very wide nostrils; his face had the sa



264          AROUND A SP2RING.
tirical, aggressive expression peculiar to the natives
of Paris. Hlis first glance was directed towards the
writing-desk where the package had been placed. The
abb6, who was expecting it, maintained a perfectly
unmoved expression, stood motionless, and taking up
a nail-brush, said: " Raise the window-curtains a little, if you please. Is it damp this morning?"
"The air is very dry."
"Oh! very well. The coffee will be -ready immediately, I suppose?"  The priest had spoken with
the utmost indifference; but just as the valet was
about to leave the room, he turned, and looking at
him with a winning smile, said: " I was much pleased
with the singular token you placed upon my writing.
table."
"What token do you mean, Monsieur l'abb6?
I-"
"Then you were not the person who put it there,
oh! very well. The coffee, if you please. I alluded
to a curious pocket-handkerchief I found last evening,
and I should have liked to thank-but since you had
nothing to do-"
The priest's expression was one well adapted to
win confidence. The valet could not help smiling in
his turn, and said in a low tone: "It was done for
the best."
" That is just what I thought. You have managed very cleverly, my son; I have no doubt your
master will be well pleased with you."
The free-thinker was flattered. He closed the
door, which had partially opened, and, taking a step
forward, seemed to be awaiting permission to say
more.
" Have you anything else to confide to me on the
subject of-this handkerchief, my good friend? "
"I only wished to inform M. l'abbe that I found
it in the place where the apparition was seen, on the
following morning."




AROUND A SPRING.              265
" What made you suppose that it was forgotten
-you are an intelligent person-by some one who
played the part of Saint Joseph? Speak freely, my
good friend, I wish to ascertain the truth as well as
you. Come —"
" Bless me! M. l'abbe, this handkerchief is exactly
like the ones used by the cure of Grand Fort."
"Yes-yes.  You assert nothing; you merely
state a singular and vexatious coincidence, a curious
fact, one of those odd resemblances that are sometimes seen in pocket handkerchiefs. It never entered
your mind for a single instant that the good, worthy
cure of the village had anything to do with the apparition; that would be absurd, and you did well to
understand that such an assertion might prove extremely dangerous to you; no, you merely saywhat is very true- It is very singular that-"
"Yes, M. l'abb6, that is it exactly."
" It is very singular that it should be found at the
foot of the White Cross, or very near there, in a
place-"
" Where no one ever passes."
"In a place that is extremely lonely —a handkerchief exactly like-"
" And even marked with M. Roche's initial."
"And even marked with the letter R. Ah! there
might have been a cottage occupied by some poor
family, some invalid, near by, and the good cur6, who
is so charitable to all who suffer, might have lost his
handkerchief in visiting the hut; but you say the
place is very lonely."
" Yes, M. l'abbe, nobody lives there except pere
Loursiere."
And the servant related with great minuteness
the facts that every one knows, the death of the poor
girl, and the birth of the child, whom the cur6 had
taken under his charge.' That is all very well," interrupted Abb6 Desvi



266          AROiNDl) A SPR1IiNG.
alle, " but in the whole story, my son, I see but one
thing, and that is, that you have found a handkerchief
marked with the letter R, nothing more. You are
by no means authorized to suppose that any one has
been playing the part of Saint Joseph, which would
be a great crime in the eyes of God."
The servant was not at all disconcerted.  On the
contrary, he answered with a broad smile: " I found
the handkerchief a short distance from the White
Cross in a little grove of pine trees, on the very spot
where a donkey had been fastened."
"How do you know that a donkey was tied-"
"Monsieur l'abbe is aware that the ground under
pine trees is soft and smooth, and when a donkey has
been stamping for a quarter of an hour under a tree,
it leaves marks-marks that are very easy to recognize. In apparitions, donkeys don't leave such traces.
That is why I thought-"
" All that proves nothing. Why is it so very extraordinary that a mountaineer should have fastened
his beast in that spot, my son?"
" But what reason does M. l'abb6 think more Hilaire would have for going to the White Cross that
evening, and tying her donkey to a pine tree? ":" Who is mere Hilaire? How do you know the
donkey in question was hers? These are only mere
suppositions. It is impossible."
" Mere Hilaire is M. le cure's housekeeper, and
everybody in the village is very fond of her, she is
such a good woman. Now, to explain the rest to M.
l'abb6, I must tell him that the day after the miracle,
very early in the morning, as I was passing along the
terrace, I heard below me the voice of a donkey complaining.  These brutes have a way of saying that
they have been kept waiting a long time. Naturally,
I leaned over the balustrade, and saw mere Hilaire's
ass, saddled and fastened to a bough in front of the
little door opening friom the terrace.  On seeing me,




AROUND A SPRING.               267
the poor beast began to bray still louder.  It was
very strange that mere Hilaire's donkey should be
there at that hour.  It was not market-day at Virez,
and besides, the good woman never went there so
early. I watched the poor brute dragging at her rope
for an instant. The ground was beaten hard all around
her; she must have spent a portion of the night at the
foot of the tree.  It was very extraordinary.  Yet I
thought no more about it, but as usual at that hour,
went to the village to drink some white wine-I
mnean  "
" Go on! go on! White wine is very healthful
in mountainous countries."
"' Monsieur l'abbe is very kind.  I had scarcely
reached the village, when I saw people talking earnestly together, and soon met M. le cure's housekeeper
walking along very fast.  I stopped her and said:' Mere Hilaire, do you happen to be looking for your
donkey?'"
" Suppose I am, where is it?"
" At the foot of the terrace at the chateau. Who
fastened it there for you?"
"Thank you, I will go and get it."
"And she passed on without saying more.  Just
at that moment several peasants approached me and
related the story of the night before, the apparition
and all the rest. As I like to obtain information, I
went that very day to examine the place where all
this had occurred, and at the first glance saw the hoofprints of a donkey, which led me to reflect. I naturally looked carefully around, climbed a little slope
where the earth was freshly cut, and found myself
under the pine tree, where I saw on the ground the
handkerchief that M. l'abbe has in his possession."
" Was there any impression of a man's foot among
the hoof-prints?"
" I thought of that at once, searched, and soon discovered several.  One of them, in particular, was so




268           AROUTND A SPRING.
distinct that I could count the number of nail s. Th ere
was only one row inside, and two on the outer edge,
twenty-seven nails in all."
"You are a close observer, my dear friend."
"It is natural to me; but if M. l'abb6 thinks me a
chatterer, I will say no more."
"Pray go on."
" Well then, as I left the little pine grove, I saw
M. le cure; he was speaking to several peasants who
had come to pray before the stone, and was so much
excited that he instantly put a throng of suspicious
thoughts into my head, each one more strange than
the other.  I thought of the donkey fastened at the
foot of the terrace, and remembered that the good
woman did not answer me when I asked who had
left the beast before the little door; all these things
crowded into my mind so fast, that instead of returning directly to the chateau, I took a circuitous way
to gain the path which M. le cure must take on his
return home.  On reaching a spot with which I was
familiar,-a sunken hollow where the earth is always
moist,-I concealed myself, that M. Roche might not
perceive me.  Ten minutes after, I heard the sound
of his steps; he was walking rapidly, and yet it.seemed
as if he moved slowly, so great was my curiosity.
When he had passed, I went back into the path, looked on the ground-and there were two rows of nails
on the outer edge and one within, twenty-seven in
all."
" But what leads you to think that mere Hilaire's
donkey was the one whose foot-prints you saw near
the White Cross?"
" I could inform M. l'abb6, only I shall be obliged
to confess that I was compelled to tell a lie in order
to find out."
" There may be circumstances in which a lie is
pardonable. Tell the truth."
"Well, Monsieur, I was very anxious to put the




ARO UND A SPRING.            269
hoof of the cood woman's donkey into one of the,alints on the slope; so, after dinner, I went to M. le
clll6's housekeeper, and said to her:' Mfre Hilaire,
the countess has sent me to ask if you will lend her
your donkey to ride through the valley.  Sophie
limps; I don't know what is the matter with her.' IM.
l'abb6 perhaps does not know that the countess's
donkey is named Sophie. Naturally, mere Hilaire
brought out her donkey at once, and to prevent suspicion, I added:'Don't saddle her, Sophie's will fit
very well.'"
"And you led the animal to the White Cross-"
" And under the pine trees too. I took the beast's
hoof more than twenty times and placed it in the
prints, which it fitted like a glove.  Oh! yes, indeed,
"You seem to be a great talker, my lad," Abbe
Desvialle suddenly exclaimed, re-assuming his priest-.ly air and lofty bearing.  " I think I asked you for a
cup of coffee. Bring it to me at once."
The amazed valet withdrew, not knowing exactly
whether to be glad or sorry that he had been so extremely confidential.
XXXIV.
Since the countess's visit, Abb6 Roche had suffered deeply. Faithful to the promise he had given, he
had avoided all public demonstrations. Besides, what
could he have done, what could he have said? Does
not one double the strength of a stream by opposing
it ever so slightly? But when he was atone in his
room, and had bolted the door, he could no longer
resist the emotions of his nature, and mere Hilaire
often heard the sound of violent sobs.
For fifteen vears he had made himself a peasant,
a mountaineer, that he might the better understand




270          AROUND A SPRING.
those whom heaven hlad entrusted to his care, enter
more fully into their lives, win their confidence aud
affection.  He had spent the whole strength of his
youth to render himself worthy of his mission, and suddenly, without the power of uttering a complaint, saw
himself abandoned by all. They had understood nothing, nor wished to understand anything: they had considered him merely as an official, paid for regularly discharging a duty similar to that of' a teacher-a sort of
rustic watchman; and when he had addressed them
from the old pulpit with tears in his eyes, encircling
with his love the whole great family before him, mingling his prayers with theirs, and believing himself beloved in his turn, he had been the plaything, the sport
of an illusion!
For fifteen years he had lived without suspecting
it in a desert, more isolated, a thousand times more
solitary, than on the morning of his birth. "And
after all," he thought, "'; have they not a right to avoid
me? They instinctively divined that they could not
trust me. Did I not forget them all for her sake on
the first occasion that offered?"
He felt overwhelmed with shame as he thought
that he had formerly deceived himself in regard to
his own feelings, and mistaken the emotion of a passionate temperament for a holy vocation. Had he
then loved God because of the absence of a human
object? He had taken for an inspiration from on high
what was merely the agitation of' his pride, seeking to
poetize the most profane of all feelings. He had believed himself to be a minister of God, when he was
only a sensual, passionate man.  Searching  his
thoughts, he remembered the outbursts of love that
he had felt, when amidst his prayers he had pressed
his lips to the altar, and recalling at the same time
the emotions that other kisses had aroused within
him, he compared the two with alarm, believing that




AROUND A SPRING.              271
he discovered a resemblance between them which
made him shudder.
" Then for twenty years I have loved her without
knowing it," said he to himself; "all that went before was only a long, accursed preface to the most unworthy baseness! They make way for me, avoid me,
fear to meet me. Is it not just? Do I not fear myself; do not I, too, strive to avoid myself? "
It is certain that the obstinate silence of Abbe
Roche exerted more and more restraint upon the enthusiasm of this bewitched country. The countess
herself-I grieve to say-sought and found pretexts
to avoid meeting him. There was a sort of understanding between them that weighed upon her more
heavily as the consequences became more serious.
TIer fate was in the hands of the cure of Grand Fort.
Let even a word escape his lips, and a most frightfil
scandal would result, a scandal of which the count as
well as herself would be the victim. Now, after
having felt most earnest gratitude to the priest for the
promise he had made, she began to question whether
he would keep his word; and, in her anxiety, imagined a thousand circumstances under which the poor
cure would not have the strength and courage to keep
silence and maintain his apparent indifference. She
began to suffer from the thought of being at his mercy, and instinctively revenged herself by suspecting
him.
Besides, could she place entire confidence in this
singular priest, this strange man, who, under the impulse of some unaccountable frenzy, had taken advantage of the darkness and solitude to clasp her in his
arms and cover her with kisses. Was it not unheard-of;
monstrous? She thought of it again. Had she not reason to be offended and to doubt his promise? The
thought that she was obliged to conciliate him, in
spite of all this, added to her embarrassment. To
her, also, Abbe Roche's presence was a constraint!




272          AROUND A SPRING.
She could not think of him without remembering the
absurd visit she made to pere Loursieire: an unpardonable, compromising, dangerous, aimless, foolish
proceeding. The horrible man had made sport of her.
Why had the cure of Grand Fort aided her in her
folly? Ought he not to have prevented it, unless he
had anticipated the unpardonable scene which resulted from his yielding to her wishes? These reflections constantly pursued her. Not wishing to enter
the priest's house again, she had begged her father to
invite the cur6 to dine at the chateau; but M. Larreau
said decidedly that he wished to have nothing more
to do with the priest, and Mme. de Manteigney yielded, very glad in her heart to have a pretext for
avoiding the poor man, whose presence most unpleasantly reminded her of her absurd expedition
and the various perplexities it had entailed.
XXXV.
The cure of Grand-Fort-le-Haut was breakfasting
upon a raw artichoke sprinkled with pepper and salt,
when Abbe Desvialle, after a light tap at the door,
entered the room. The cure rose, and turning calmly towards the new -comer, said: "What do you
wish, Monsieur l'abbe?"
The archbishop's envoy was disconcerted for an
instant by the sight of his grave and dignified, almost
imposing bearing. This was by no means the sort
of personage whom he had expected to meet. We
form our ideas of people according to the good or
bad qualities we suppose them to possess, and Abbe
Desvialle had imagined the village cure to be a little,
active, nervous man, with twinkling eyes, thin lips,
and red cheeks; he expected an eager welcome; he
knew that type of men, and understood what manner
to adopt towards them; but at sight of this sad,




ARO [UND A SPRING.            273
honest countenance, with the large, clear eyes that
steadfastly met his own, and the simple, somewhat
haughty bearing, he perceived that he had a thoroughly reliable man before him.
Besides, it was not merely the cure's personal appearance that surprised him; the interior of the humble -dwelling revealed a life wholly destitute of all
ambition, luxury or human weakness; an existence
filled with those austere virtues which the elegant
abb6 prized all the more because so utterly a stranger
to them. He looked at the artichoke, half-stripped
of its skin, and remembering the crutch of Sixtus V.
said: " I am very sorry, M. le cur6, that I have not
dined with you at the chateau as I hoped to do. I
have been very anxious to find an opportunity of
conversing with you."
" I received no invitation to the dinner you mention, Monsieur; but under any circumstances it would
have been impossible for me to accept it."
"Yet I understood the countess to say she expected you."
" You are mistaken, Monsieur. Will you take a
seat? "
"This is an intriguer of no common  order,"
thought Abbe Desvialle, as he sat down and instantly made an involuntary grimace, which he quickly
repressed, not wishing to show the unusual and disagreeable sensation he experienced at the contact with
the hard chairs of the priest's abode.
" Monsieur le cure," he continued, " I have taken
advantage of my visit to the chateau to call upon you.
My action, I will at once inform you, is not official.
I was very anxious to have your opinion concerning
the very singular events that have occurred in your
parish, and, as you know, are having a wide-spread
circulation. The esteem the archbishop has always
felt for you leads him to attach great importance to
youlr imprlessions in regard to this affair, in which he
18




274          ARO UND A SPRING.
is compelled to act with the utmost circumspection.
Once more, I assure you that I have not come to
make an investigation; I repeat that my action is
not official; pray be convinced of the fact."
AbWb Roche, still unmoved, looked steadily into
the face of his interlocutor, who, despite his usual
ease of manner, felt somewhat embarrassed by the
earnestness of the gaze.  "To whom  have I the
pleasure of speaking," said he at last.
"Ah! pray excuse me, I forgot to announce myself. I am Abb6 Desvialle; perhaps you have heard
my name."
" Never, Monsieur."
" The archbishop deigns to bestow his confidence
and friendship upon me; and my desire to have your
opinion in regard to this apparition of the White
Cross is only the echo of your Superior's, Monsieur
le cur6."
"Question me, as the archbishop has ordered
you to do so."
" You give my visit a different character from the
one I wished to adopt; but I will do whatever you
prefer. I ask you then, Monsieur, if you have any
reason for recognizing a supernatural character in the
apparition of which every one is talking."
"I affirm that all these facts, which, notwithstanding my efforts, have had a publicity that I deplore,
are not in the slightest degree miraculous."
"That is a frank reply. Then I suppose you can
explain this pretended miracle, and are not ignorant
of any of the details of the affair."
"Yes, Monsieur l'abbe."
"And can you tell me what you know of it?"
"No, Monsieur, that is quite impossible."
The two priests looked each other in the face for
a moment.
"You cannot, or you will not, M. le cur6?"
"I neither can nor will."




AROUND A SPRING.              275
" Remember that this is a very serious matter."
"I am aware of it."
"And that the archbishop-"
"You are not my Superior, Monsieur l'abbe."
"That the archbishop, I say, can command you
to speak, compel you to make a full confession."
" It is his place to give me his orders verbally,
and mine to decide how far my conscience will allow
me to obey."
" You carry matters with a very high hand, M. le
cur6."
"And you judge from  a very low  standpoint,
Monsieur, if you suppose that fear would make me
utter what I had decided to withhold."
Abbe Desvialle was an extremely gentle and
wary man, skilful in mild persuasions, and fond of
diplomatic strategems; but he felt ill at ease when
opposed to this bar of steel, and was actually somewhat intimidated by the cur6's quiet firmness. He
continued:
"The words which have just escaped your lips
will not be repeated to the archbishop, I assure you.
You are evidently under the influence of some excitement."' I am perfectly calm, and have said exactly what
I mean."
" But you have not thought of the deplorable
consequences that this extraordinary affair may entail
upon our holy religion! Do you not know that the
papers have taken up the matter, that it is everywhere discussed, analyzed, sifted, perverted? "
"I know all that, and was the first to suffer."
"Yet there is one infallible method of calming all
this uproar; namely, by publicly and frankly explaining the natural facts which gave rise to this unfortunate event."
"I can explain nothing."
" Come, my dear cure," said Abbe Desvialle,draw



276          ARO U.ND A SPRING.
ing his chair forward, "let us speak freely to each
other. No doubt you are prejudiced against me.
Must I repeat once more that my intentions are perfectly fiiendly, that your firmness interests me, and
that I have the most earnest desire to conciliate all
parties. Speak to me frankly, tell me what you
know; remember that the honor of the priesthood is
at stake, that your contumacy may furnish the enemies of religion, already too numerous, with a dangerous weapon; think that the archbishop is wounded
by all that has occurred. You do not answer? Yet
surely you must understand that I come to hold out
my hand to you, that I wish to find some means of
helping you out of this difficulty. Are you aware
that your mode of action is interpreted in a manner
very injurious to you? I have not sought for information in regard to the affair, it has been given me
unasked. We know, beyond the possibility of doubt,
that during the night of the miracle, as your parishioners call it, you were wandering over the mountains. For what reason? I believe the motive to be a
perfectly honorable one, but what is it? Some one even
sent me-no, details are insignificant in such a matter
-some one even sent me a pocket-handkerchief that
was found near the White Cross, under the pine trees,
where a donkey, belonging to your housekeeper, had
been fastened." The cure could not restrain a sudden
start. which was instantly noticed by his judge.
"What reply shall I give to people who have the
boldness to assert that the pocket-handkerchief is
very much like those you use? Here it is, still
wrapped in the paper envelope in which it was sent
to me. Read what is written there, and judge for
yourself how malicious are the interpretations of the
villagers, how important it is to put an end to these
reports, to elucidate the affair."
Abbe Roche, as has already been mentioned,
grew calmer and more steadfast at the approach of




AROUND A SPRiXG.              277
danger. As he saw himself more utterly ruined, the
feeling of personal dignity increased. " The handkerchief is mine," he replied without hesitation.
" But the story of the child that you carried away
at midnight, and the death of the poor girl without
confession, are they fables also?"
"No, they are facts."
"Then all that has been said of you must be
taken literally, M. le cur6; you do not fear scandal
apparently. Must I remind you of the sale of a relic
belonging to your church, a sale whose publicity-"
Abbe Roche turned pale, started suddenly from
his chair and exclaimed: " That is a falsehood! whoever said it is a scoundrel!"The archbishop's envoy recoiled a pace or two,
and speaking with all the more calmness because he
felt somewhat disturbed, said quietly: "Avoid such
outbursts, M. le cure, they only aggravate your position. Remember that the purchaser of that relicthat precious statuette-belongs to a circle where
there is not, where there cannot be, a scoundrel. I
have had the honor of meeting Viscount Claudius
frequently, and I never-"
" So much the worse for you, Monsieur, so much
the worse. He lied to me, deceived me, robbed our
poor church: he picked up the scattered fragments
in a corner, and said to me:' Give me this, it has no
value.' I believed him, and he carried it away. That
is the truth, Monsieur."
" That is not what he says. What are we to believe?" added the archbishop's envoy with a very
meaning smile.
"Do you consider my word as nothing, Monsieur?" murmured Abb6 Roche, in a suppressed
tone.
" Oh! of course, under any other circumstances,
a cur6's word would have great weight; but you have
placed yourself in such a situation that, for the mo



27,S         AROUND A SPRING.
ment, you will admit that we cannot have implicit
confidence in you. It is to be feared-I mean, that
your memory might play you false. Keep cool, I
entreat you, in behalf of your own interests."
The cure's face had the expression of a manl suddenly overwhelmed by some disaster. He crossed
his arms upon his breast, sat down again, and remained motionless, while large drops of' perspiration
trickled down his forehead.
Although Abb6 Desvialle's opinion was fully decided in regard to the man before him, he was really
touched by the terrible anguish expressed in the
cure's countenance.  "The unfortunate man," he
thought, " has rushed heedlessly into this adventure.
Ambition has made him half mad, and he thought
himself strong enough to make a second Salette.
Yes, he is a man of energy, but that is not sufficient."
He continued more mildly: " Do not attempt a useless resistance, M. le cur6, you would only be crushed.
You perceive that these juggleries must cease. Go
without delay, and throw yourself at the archbishop's
feet; implore his paternal indulgence. As for me,
I no longer wish to know what part you have played
in this deplorable business; I will close my eyes,
stop my ears. However guilty you may be, however
forgetfill of your duties as a priest, your dignity as-"
"But who gives you a right to judge me?" cried
the cure. "Who gives you a right to force your way
into my house and insult me thus? Is not your task
completed, Monsieur? "
Abbe Desvialle grew pale in his turn, and changing his tone, replied: "I can now inform you, Monsieur, that I am here by the orders of the archbishop,
who, in his prudence, did not wish to commence an
investigation before having studied the question. You
yourself assure me that this first duty is completed;
then nothing more remains for me to do except to




AROUND A SPiZLVYG.           279
read this letter, whose entire contents were written by
the archbishop's own hand."
Abbe Desvialle drew a folded paper from his
pocket, and having opened it with the ease whose secret has been preserved by the Conmedie —Franceaise,
read these simple words: "'At the day and hour indicated by Abbe Desvialle, on whom I here bestow
full power, the cur6 of Grand Fort will set out immediately, without delay, and report himself at the
archbishopric.' T'he letter is signed, as you can see."''; I will obey my archbishop, Monsieur."
"It is better for you-for every one, that your departure should not be too much noticed. You might
leave this place to-night, for instance, you have the
whole day to make your arrangements. By leaving
on foot, about ten o'clock in the evening, you can
reach Virez in time to take the coach, which passes, I
believe, at eleven. I do not know what the archbishop's decision concerning you will be, but I advise you
to arrange everything for an absence which may be
prolonged."
"Very well, Monsieur."
"You grieve me, M. le cur6, you really grieve
me."
"I wish you good-morning."
" May God watch over you."
XXXVI.
Evening had arrived. Mere Hilaire, kneeling in
the middle of the room, was packing her cur6's books
and clothing in a large trunk. From time to time
she stopped, silently wiped her eyes, and resumed her
work. "M Monsieur le cure," said she timidly, without
turning, lest he might see her red eyes and troubled
face, " Monsieur le cur6, have you taken your woolen
stockings?"




280          AROUND A SPRING.
Abb6 Roche, who was buckling a little portmanteau similar to those that horsemen formerly carried
strapped to their saddles, seemed not to have exactly
comprehended the good woman's question. "It is
very well," said he, " it is very well!"
And mere Hilaire dared not say more.
Mleantime the priest took the light, approached
the crucifix hanging on the wall, and taking it down
placed it on the table, carefully wiped away the dust
that had lodged in the corners, raised it as if to examine it more closely, and, while mere Hilaire's back
was turned, noiselessly kissed it, then rubbed the
ivory several times, doubtless fearing that it might
have been sullied by contact with his lips. He next
took a clean white napkin from the great trunk,
wrapped the crucifix in it, joined the edges and tried
to fasten them with pins; but as his hands trembled
and his eves were filled with tears, he could not see
very clearly, and said to the housekeeper in a voice
that he strove to keep firm: " Miere Hilaire, will you
put in these pins? I cannot manage them with my
big fingers."
While the old woman did as she had been requested, Abbe Roche seated himself at the little table,
took a sheet of paper and wrote: "Madame la comtesse, you thought my ivory Christ worthy of your
notice, permit me-"
Crushing the paper, he took a fi-esh sheet and began:  "Madame la comtesse-"
He sat for a few moments with his eyes fixed on
the words, then rose and approaching his housekeeper said: " Meare Hilaire, to-morrow morning you will
go to the chateau."
"Yes, Monsieur le cure."
"You will ask to speak with the countess in private, give her this crucifix, and tell her it comes from
me."
"Then you won't take it with you, M. le cure.




AROUND A SPRNa6.              281
You will be sorry not to have it, my child. She
doesn't need it."
"You swill do as I tell you, will you not?"
"Of' course I will; but when you come home and
find it gone-"
" Perhaps I may not come back for some time;
that depends upon what the archbishop-"
"Yes, yes, if the archbishop should give you another parish, for instance?"
"Perhaps, yes."
" You are no longer contented here, these people
are not worthy of you. I don't know what notion
they have taken into their heads, but they are not
good for much, they are ungrateful wretches, all of
them-yes, all. I have heard them, I know them.
God waill punish them. They have grieved you, made
you unhappy! Ah! the archbishop knows all that, I am
sure; he will give you another parish and I shall join
you-and we will begin over again. You will see the
archbishop to-morrow; then write to me immediately
and I will set out with the trunks. If we go far away,
well! so much the better, perhaps the people will be
kinder than they are here. When you arrive-  When
you arrive-write only these words:' Mere Hilaire,
come.' That is all I shall ask. Oh! if I could only
go with you! but you are right, M. le cur6, I should
be in your way, old people like me cannot walk very
well."
The poor woman spoke with increasing excitement, clipping her sentences, suddenly interrupting
herself:  She moved uneasily around the priest,
watching him as a mother does her child when about
to part with it, and finding no other pretext to approach him once more, began to brush his shabby
cassock, patting and caressing it with her old hands.
As she did so, she said to herself: " If I should never
see him again-oh! God, suppose I should never see
himt again!-You know," she continued, "I have put




282          AROUNAD A SPRING.
fifty crowns in your portmanteau. They belong to
you, I saved them firom your own money, but did not
tell you before because you would have asked me for
them and given them to those rascals. They are in
the left hand corner wrapped in the handkerchiefs."
And she asked God's pardon for telling a lie; the
silver was really her own, but how could she let her
child depart without a penny
The cure had been standing motionless looking at
the linen which concealed the crucifix. The good
woman's words gave a new direction to his sorrowful
thoughts, and he murmured: "Thank you, mother,
thank you, my good mother!
" It is only a little excursion, nothing more; but
you will walk fast and get very much heated. When
you reach Virez you will call for a glass of nice, hot
wine-promise me, M. le cure. And you will take a
seat —not outside, but in the coach, won't you? Inside the coach.
The priest turned slowly towards her, clasped her
in his arms, and both sobbed aloud: " I am unhappy,
my dear mother," said he; " do not forget me, I have
no one but you-pray for me-I am very unhappy."
Suddenly he drew himself up to his full height,
and looking at his watch, exclaimed: "It is ten
o'clock, I must go lest I should lose the coach.
" Certainly, my child, certainly, you must go.
She ran to a closet, took out a glass, poured some
wine into it with a trembling hand, and weeping and
smiling at the same moment, held it towards the cur6:
"Drink it, drink it.  Now go-go quickly."  She
threw his cloak over his arm and handed him his
portmanteau and cane, saying: "Walk straight on
without looking back-you will write to me; I love
you, my child, I love you. May God and the Holy
Virgin protect and be with you. You will write to
me to-morrow evening?
" To-morrow evening."




AROUNDi) A SPRINXG.          283
She had taken his hand again, and while kissing it,
although he made no attempt to withdraw, said:
"Pardon me, M. le cure, pardon me."
He left the house. The air was heavy; a fine, penetrating rain began to fall. Abbe Roche looked at
the old belfry and dark porch, raising his hat as if to
salute his past, then turned into the path that winds
along behind the village. It was not a departure, but
a flight. He had been ordered not to attract attention, and he obeyed by avoiding the village. The
confused murmur of the shouts of belated drunkards
rose from  the inn; he walked on more rapidly.
When near the chateau, he heard the stamping of
horses, and through the great door that stood open,
saw by the light of the lanterns the servants removinig the trunks from a travelling carriage. It was the
equipage of the Count de Manteigney, who had just
returned to the castle of his ancestors.
While in the vicinity of Grand Fort, Abbe Roche,
thinking only of avoiding every one, had walked on
with a firm step and courageous bearing, but when
he descended into the valley, and found himself alone,
lashed by the wind and rain; when he saw overhead
long black clouds that gave an example of flight, and
seemed to wish to drag him with them, his limbs tottered, despair overwhelmed him, and wrapping himself
more closely in his cloak, he sat down upon a rock.
The mountains looked dark and gloomy, the dear
mountains he had loved so much, and so often explored. Down below, the torrent was flowing beneath the pine trees; there was the village, the
church, his own dwelling, where mere Hilaire was
weeping and thinking of him, saying to herself:
" Where is he now, where is he?" And farther on,
towards the left, in the ancient chateau whose outline
was scarcely visible against the lowering sky, the
countess was singing to the accompaniment of the
piano, or talking and laughing. The lighted windows




284           AROUND A SPRING.
might be plainly seen. He felt her presence, saw her
leaning back in her large arm-chair, gay, coquettish,
eccentric, as on the day of his first visit; then anxious, passionate, imploring his aid, confessing her sorrows to him, and, too, pulling him by the sleeve and
murmuring:'I am afraid, M. le cure; what is that
I see yonder? I am afraid."
What was she doing, what was she saying now?
He had not seen her for a long time! She had not
vouchsafed him a single word! She no longer remembered him; but he could never forget the rapture, the insults, the shame-nothing, nothing!
He rose, took up his portmanteau, and resumed
his walk.
" Eh! who is that? " cried a voice; " you will fall
into the ditches!"
The priest then perceived a man holding a lantern
walking towards him. "Why, it is you, M. le cure,"
said p6re Loursiere when within a few paces, " and
what are you doing among the works at this hour? "
" I am attending to my own affairs; and you, what
are you doing? "
"I'm doing just what you are, M. le cur6, minding my own business, since I am keeper of the
spring."
" You are right," said the abb6, forcing himself to
speak gently; " forgive me if I was harsh to you, but
I am in haste; I am on my way to Virez to take the
coach that passes at half-past eleven."
"Faith, M. le cur6, you are not wrong to take a
little trip just now; during your absence people's
heads will have time to cool." (He laughed in his
red beard.) " The country isn't particularly well disposed towards you just now. When tongues begin
to wag, it is no little-   It has been said that you
were the father of my dead daughter's child! And
I never suspected it! Oh! you do well to travel for
a time."




AROUNUD nA khQI_5PJUNU.       285
"But you know very well that it is a slander,
Loursiere," cried the cure.
"Well, I really think they do exaggerate a little."
" What, knave, you think! Have the courage to
speak the truth. You know perfectly well to whom
the child belongs. Do you forget that I paid for your
silence myself."
" Faith, M. le cure, I don't remember anything
about it. When people grow old, they lose their
memory. Besides, I haven't time to think of all that.
M. Larreau has appointed me keeper of the spring,
and I watch the spring. May I be hung if any one
obtains a single glass of water without my consent.
I don't remember anything but what M. Larreau told
me. I did not hear you coming; I was in my shop,
opening a box of chaplets that arrived to-day. Are
you going right away, M. le cur6 Take care, you
will fall into the ditches.
"Yes," replied the priest, who had already walked several paces forward.
When Abbe Roche was a little farther away,
Loursiere muttered:
"There goes a person I shan't miss! One cowl
the less, that's all;" then raising his voice: " A pleasant journey, Monsieur le cure, a pleasant journey!
XXXVII.
All the world knows how rapid and brilliant was
the success of the Manteigney springs. If the present state of the country is compared with what it
was formerly, one feels amazed by the marvellous
transformation. " Indeed, gentlemen," as Count de
Manteigney himself said a few days ago in an agri,
cultural assembly, " modern industry offers to human
activity new horizons, whose immensity would formerly have made the brain reel. The genius of man




286           AROUND A SPRING.
is only beginning to spread its wings. The conquered
earth yields her treasures; the mountains are levelled
and disappear, the precipices are filled up, obstacles
crumble and vanish. Progress touches the rock with
her divine foot, and suddenly forth springs the fruitful trinity, which, from  a certain point of view, I
might call holy, and which gloriously symbolizes the
fiture of modern society —-I mean science, art, and
capital." I quote this passage because it was highly
praised, and has been reproduced in many places.
The Count de Manteigney, as is very evident, had
gradually returned to healthful, serious life, and was
devoting the political and moral powers which had
hitherto slumbered within him to the service of his
country; but the other wonders resulting from M.
Larreau's efforts must be mentioned.
A large portion of the valley has been transformed into a park, dotted with comfortable cottages designed with the most exquisite taste.  These innumerable little villas, half concealed in verdure. with
their pink or blue blinds, red vases, fragrant little
garden plots, and tiny fountains playing in their limpid basins, produce a most beautiful effect. Works
of art have risen on every side, as if by magic, and
surprises, as charming as they are dainty, await the
promnenader at every turn in the walks: here an Egyptian tomb occupied by a pastry cook, there a temple
of' Vesta, beneath whose pillars handsome donkeys
with showy trappings are constantly standing. Farther on is the Parthenon itself, admirably reproduced
in siziili-9marbre, and containing a gymnasium, fencing
and boxing school, pistol-gallery, billiard-room, and
Holland spinning tops. Above the immortal frieze
of the divine Phidias, a colossal veranda has been
erected, which, while completing the ancient structure, forms the longest photographic establishment in
the world; an immense casino, copied from that of
Arcachon, dazzling in the purity of its Oriental forms




AROUND A SPRING.              287
and the richness of its domes, occupies the centre of
this earthly paradise, in which the elegances and refinements of the most aristocratic Parisians find suitable surroundings: concert-halls, reading-rooms with
a library attached, gambling establishments, an electric telegraph communicating with every part of
France and giving each item of news as soon as it is
known; there is not a bit of gossip, a change in the
stock market, a vote of the chambers, a decision of
any noted law-suit, of which Manteigney has not the
earliest intelligence. The theatre, where the most
celebrated artistes consider it an honor to appear, is
most admirably arranged, beyond all criticism from
an architectural point of view, and in most perfect
harmony with that ardent worship of art for which
our times are renowned. The building, standing at
one end of the lawn, presents on each of its four facades a specimen of the most fashionable styles of
architecture. One is Japanese, another a most successful restoration of the Etruscan mode, while those
of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance are reproduced on the third and fourth. It must also
be mentioned that all the ornaments, carvings and
projections upon this building, which are made of
iron, painted in various colors, may be removed with
the utmost ease and again replaced, thus affording an
opportunity for the most surprising, instructive, and
often happy combinations. The idea was M. Larreau's.
The edifice at the springs is, with good reason,
considered the beau-ideal of its kind, and offers science an opportunity of observing the most varied
and novel modes of treatment. Swedish showerbaths, Polish immersions, Egyptian baths, Roman
pools in marble basins, galleries for inhalation, halls
for pulverization, Oriental refreshment rooms-Vichy,
Luchon, Plombieres, and Bareges united together
could not form so complete an assortment. The




288          ARO UND A SPRING.
Virez doctor, whom we met one evening wearing a
cap on his head, now never leaves the house except
in a black coat and white cravat, having been appointed sub-inspector of the springs, the honorary
direction of which Dr. Blavoux, a homeopathic physician from Paris, has consented to accept at the request of the archbishop. New and colossal edifices
will add fresh splendor to this thermal establishment,
which already defies all rivalry. A gasometer, constructed according to the plans of an English engineer, affords means of lighting the roads, park, cottages, casino, thermal establishment, in short, the whole
region.
The first spring, although of great value, would
not have been enough to supply all wants; but others
of incalculable wealth did not long evade the search
of savants and physicians. They are now five in
number: the Archbishop's spring, the Larreau spring,
the Jean spring, the spring of the Countess, who has
given the name of Manteigney an heir, and lastly the
St. Joseph spring, the first discovered and least
prized of all. The Claudius pool, and the Desvialle
pool, the former fed from the Larreau, and the latter
from the Jean spring, may also be mentioned.
After all, the principal cause which makes Manteigney a unique thermal establishment is, besides the
excellence of its waters, the natural beauty of the
country, the purity of the air, and the union of all
these attractions in a delightful valley, the aristocratic
social position of the persons who meet there. In
that respect, M. Larreau was greatly aided by a
lucky accident. The first bathers who arrived at
MIanteigney, even before the arrangements were fully
completed, were friends of the count, and belonged
to the cream of Parisian society. Men of pleasure,
artists, authors, were received at the chateau. They
drank a little of the water and an immense quantity
of champagne; most delightful entertainments were




AROU~ND A SPRINVG.             289
given. Narboy finished his last novel during his
stay, and dedicated it to the countess. HIunting-parties and races were arranged with an informality very
appropriate to the mountains; dukes and marquises
prepared fireworks with their own hands, while the
Parisian papers made room in their columns for articles from Manteigney, filled with most delightful imprudences. This was the beginning-an admirable
opening, which Larreau understood how to turn to
the best advantage. The following season there was
a rush for the cottages, and the success of the Springs
was established. I will not deny that rumor says
M. Larreau is not the only one to bear the immense
outlay necessary for such a magical transformation.
He is said to be in partnership with very great and
powerful personages whose names I am not at liberty
to mention. Besides, of what consequence are such
reports? The result accomplished is a most admirable one.
The famous apparition, the first cause of this unprecedented success is not wholly forgotten; but it seems
as if the event had occurred a century ago; it now exists
only as a confused legend, which is smilingly related
when people go to breakfast at the hermitage of the
White Cross. On the very spot where the miracle
took place, a little restaurant has been erected, whose
platform, built of the trunks of pine trees, projects
over the path, covering it like a roof; and affording a
most beautiful view to the ladies who come there to
breakfast in the open air. Loursiere, who keeps this
mountain restaurant, has a very fine cellar, and a cook
who excels in the composition of certain dishes.
When you go there, ask fbr a poulet renaissance, or
simply a manteignaise aux champignons, and you
will not forget it. To complete the moral and physical regeneration of this region, it must be mentioned
that the village of Grand-Fort-le-Haut is totally
changed in appearance.  Within the space of two
19




290          AROUND A SPRJING.
years, it has been entirely rebuilt on a regular plan
and bears some resemblance to the towns inhabited
by English laboring men; brick and cast-iron are the
principal materials used by Larreau in the construction of these neat, symmetrical houses, which provide
every famnily with a comfortable, almost elegant abode,
in perfect harmony with the new customs of the
country. Prosperity has been very generally dif
fused over the mountains; there is no longer a single
peasant who does not act as guide, donkey-driver,
bath-tender, or dog-keeper, and they have acquired a
taste for their new mode of life so rapidly, that in passing through the new village, one might imagine one's
self transported into some beautiful suburb of the
capital. The livery of the bath-tenders is gray and
blue, of elegant cut, and most convenient design.
That of the guides is of course more showy, but also
in perfect taste. From time to time the countess, or
one of the other ladies, adds an ornament or a band of
trimming, but without changing the style of the original model, which was designed by Vernon himself.
The huntsmen's uniform is very peculiar: the stockholders thought very justly that stout boots and
cocked hats would be uncomfortable to wear among
the rocks; they therefore adopted the Scotch costume,
and it would be hard to imagine anything prettier.
The ancient village church, a very curious edifice,
but extremely incongruous amidst the present surroundings, was torn down and rebuilt during one
Spring, and Abbe Desvialle consented to be appointed cur6, on the express condition that his vicar should
take his place during his frequent absences. The
famous religious concerts, whose fame has spread
throughout Europe, take place in this new church,
which is perfectly adapted to the requirements of the
fastidious congregation that assembles within its walls;
but this lengthy enumeration must be brought to a
close: things having been described, let me be permit



AROUND A SPRING.             291
ted to say a few words about men. The Count de
Manteigney, who had held aloof from his father-inlaw's first efforts, who had even by his prolonged absence protested against the apparition, was deeply impressed when he saw with his own eyes the
first advantages of the enterprise. He then suddenly
perceived what the future might hold in reserve, the
immense benefits which the enlargement of this wonderful establishment would procure for him. Under
the wise counsels of his father-in-law, who saw the
whole bearing of any matter, as we know, he gradually began to study the affair, and acted as mediator
between Larreau and the different persons who
wished to join him in the speculation. The stables
for the stud were rapidly completed, the grounds for
training horses arranged according to the count's directions, and he at last felt that he had a definite object in life. He became acquainted with one of the
ministers, who being very anxious to win a man
whose name had great influence in the department,
welcomed him with most attractive cordiality. The
prefect completed the task of making a conquest of
the count, and one day M. de Manteigney felt an
emotion of regret and indignation at the thought
of his past life. Besides, he had attained an age
when ambition first begins to awake within the mind.
Hitherto he had looked upon his father-in-law as
merely a vulgar rich man, a nobody, separated from
himself by an impassable gulf. Now, for the first
time, he wondered whether his wife's father might
not prove to be a man of genius; and wishing to have
the matter settled, asked him a few vague questions
about his plans and means of action, and was amazed
by the acuteness, penetration, and accuracy of the
perceptions of the capitalist whom he had despised.
As he became more intimate with the spout-maker,
he was surprised to find that there was great similarity in their ideas. What he had only vaguely




292           AROUND A` PRINr.
dreamed, his father-in-law translated into clear, precise, practical words.  " Let me do the work, my
dear Jean," said Larreau, leaning upon the arm of his
son-in-law, "only give me the moral sanction of your
name, and I will be the architect of your prosperity
and fortune. You can and must attain complete success, my dear friend, you have only to allow me to
act. Manteigney will soon become the real centre
of the department; the frequent visits of the prefect,
the excessive graciousness of the archbishop, prove
the fact. Is it not evident that every one perceives
the immense power we shall wield? Keep calm and
cool, as beseems your rank. By your manners, bypermit me to enter into these particulars-by your
very dress, inspire confidence, win the sympathies of
all. How many political fortunes have been lost on
account of the tie of a cravat! "
" You are not so far wrong."
"Do not lose sight of Vernon's studio."
"Oh! Vernon is-"
"In my opinion, Vernon is a knave. As the occasion has presented itself, I am not sorry to tell you so
frankly; but after all, he is a clever fellow. If the
man himself is of no great worth, the means that he
has at his command are none the less valuable, and I
don't see why respectable people should deprive themselves of these weapons, which are just now the only
efficacious ones. What do we ask of a man who
wishes to be a centre, a pivot?  We ask him to be
amiable, amusing, truthful and sincere; but he ought,
notwithstanding this sincerity, to modify his bearing
completely, as the circumstances, ideas and impressions around him change their colors and appearance.
We are pivots only upon condition that we turn with
the rest of the world, my dear fellow.  The objectionable thing is not to revolve fast enough, to fail in
agility, to creak like an old wine-press, and at last to
be crushed by the very power which should keep us




AROUND A SPRING.              293
upright.  I do not mean that in order to do this we
are compelled to give up our own tastes and individuality. You, for instance, like horses, and wish to
make money by racing: very well, give the thing a
different color, present it in a social aspect, speak of
free interchange between nations, of taking precedence
of government, make it a dynastic question. No one
will be the dupe of your theories, but nevertheless,
you will inspire confidence; for people will say:' Here is a man who understands our language, we
can rely upon him.'"
" Yes, it is true, we must get a smattering of all
this."
" No, it is not at all necessary; on the contrary, it
would be a pity to have you initiated into these special
questions, for then the reality would triumph over the
fbrm, and you would no longer have the brilliancy,
the glitter, the tinge of the unexpected, which are indispensable. To make yourself understood you must
be perfectly clear, and you can be clear only when
you know no more than those who are listening to
you.  Besides, all that has no real importance: they
are only the minutiva of the moral toilet; but we
must not neglect them any more than we should omit
fastening our collars with a gold button when we appear in public."
" Yet you must admit that there are certain established convictions which we cannot shake off as
easily as we would throw an old garment aside."
" Do not satisfy yourself with mere words, if you
have convictions, what you term convictions, keep
them for yourself and to yourself, like the old generals
who bear within them the bullets they received when
they were ensigns. It is a matter relating solely to
the health, and only to be mentioned among intimate
friends! Sometimes you sigh as you sit by the fireside.' What is the matter, my dear Jean?' says papa
Larreau, who perhaps may be there.'My bullet hurts




294           AROUNYD A SPRING.
me.''Oh! then it will rain to-morrow.' We speak
of something else and think no more about it.  The
echo of these little infirmities should never be permitted to cross one's threshold.  That is the plain
truth. If you will allow me to open my old heart to
you, I shall say frankly:' As regards moral theories,
convictions are the false noses that papas and nurses
inflict upon us, and by which we are duped all our
lives.' Do not be surprised.  Suppose one has a conviction about a material fact: my vest is white, your
cravat is blue, these are certainties-and yet! Open
Chevreul's book for a critical investigation, wholly
uninfluenced by anything else, and when you have
ascertained what the optic nerve really is and to how
many errors and mistakes its sensations are subject,
you will say to yourself:' It is certain that my fatherin-law's vest seems to be white, that my own cravat
appears sky blue: but deuce take it if I would risk
two hairs from my head to affirm this almost certainly.' If, then, we are so liable to error in the matter
of physical sensations,what will it be in the domain of
feeling? Everything is open to doubt, my dear friend,
everything, absolutely everything. In the most hostile camps there are persons who, in good faith, treat
each other as knaves and impostors. I will even assert that faith-whether political or religious, matters
little-has for its source, its support, and it said, incredulity, and reciprocally comes under the same head.
Deists and atheists, materialists and spiritualists, republicans and monarchists, render each other mutual services without suspecting it: they maintain their
ground, argue together, and are unconsciously comrades, all the more valuable to each other because totally unaware of the invigorating action of the wounds
they bestow."
" What you say, my dear father-in law, is the argument of a profound thinker; but it requires a peculiar temperament to reduce your theories to practice.




ARO UND A fPTi2]iN.5           2 95
To perpetually play a part; to sustain, if occasion iequires, an opinion exactly the opposite of what one
really thinks —"
" You are a child! you must always think what
you wish to sustain."
"But is that possible?"
"Certainly, if one has a mind sufficiently superior
to remain unbiassed by any question. You are the
same man that you were ten years ago; yet see how
much your ideas have changed. Did you not at first
believe that your birth compelled you to remain inactive, and have you not honorably and piously led
an idle life merely that you might not dishonor your
ancestors? "
" I grant that I was foolish-I did wrong."
" By degrees, you began to realize that these ancestors, in bestowing their name upon you, had bequeathed a certain amount of capital, thereby imposing the moral obligation of using this wealth, and
drawing from it the revenues necessary to maintain
the dignity of your birth, and gratification of your
aristocratic tastes. They placed a wonderful tool in
your hands; ought not gratitude and respect to induce
you to use the instrument skilfully?"
" Undoubtedly, from a certain point of view."
" At the present day it is a disgrace not to reap
the full value of everything; we do not, on any pretext, excuse or pardon it. You have estates; make
them profitable, or you will be deprived of them.
You have a name, a title, moral virtues, physical beauty; reap some advantage firom these things; it is the
only way to maintain your position as one of the
privileged classes. The French nobility, at first, established its authority at the sword's point. Now,
when people began to fight with cannon and pistols,
did they remain inactive because there was a change
in the weapons employed? At the present day, pistols and cannon are' replaced by connmmerce and nima



296          AROUND A SPRING.
ufhctures. Defend your shield, therefore, with banknotes, accoriding to the demands of the times in which
you live! I assure you that you would not gain a
single vote by presenting yourself at the next assembly in the damascene cuirass worn by Raoul de Manteigney, which is now at the end of the corridor. In
1550, the mere sight of that piece of armor would
have made your vassals bow their heads, and all
would have followed you with the greatest enthusiasm.  Zounds! continue to be an aristocratic nobleman, desire and love the same things that your ancestors did,that is,wealth, prosperity and success; only do
not fancy you must put on their old worm-eaten
clothing to obtain it. Employ different means to secure the same object."
Such were the friendly conversations maintained
by Larreau and his son-in-law. The latter, who at
first had been shocked at the rude form in which the
capitalist expressed his ideas, gradually acquired a
taste for them, soon became a convert to his views,
and boldly entered upon his new career. From that
time nothing appeared useless to him. He organized
agricultural meetings, attempted to work the marble
quarries in the mountains, and established relations
between himself and various important undertakings.
His activity became amazing: for many years he had
been extremely saving of exertion. He tried experiments, advanced new ideas, proposed a hundred fresh
expedients, and became the friend of the prefect, who,
one evening, concealed under the count's napkin a bit
of red ribbon that he had just obtained for him.
The countess could find no words to thank Heaven
for her happiness. She possessed her husband's love,
had won his heart, and was, at last, in the position of
which she had often dreamed-that is, surrounded by
a gay circle, caressed, wealthy, able to gratify all her
wishes, the mistress of a luxurious and elegant home,
bearing with dignity and honor the great name of




AROUND A S-PRING.             297
Manteigney. On his side, Count Jean had quickly perceived that his wife's assistance was of no trifling importance in the task he had undertaken, and
as he no longer did things by halves, became a model
husband, and very quickly acquired a taste for the
conjugal virtues which so greatly strengthened his
position. The red ribbon made him the countess's
devoted lover: perhaps he was not unaware that she
had exerted a powerfill influence in obtaining the
honor.
XXXVIII.
A few days ago, the count having left the room
directly after dinner to attend to one of his mares
that was very sick, M. Larreau, the countess, Abb6
Desvialle, and the prefect were left to themselves in
the little blue parlor, chatting together very merrily.
After a few moments spent in conversation, Mme. de
Manteigney slowly arose from the cushions among
which she had been reclining, went to the piano, removed a half dozen bracelets that might have been
in her way, and began to play the overture of Don
Giovanni.
If there is a time when music is especially delightfhil, it is surely after dinner, when, comfortably
seated among a few friends, we can enjoy it at leisure, without thinking of our neighbors. Under such
conditions, music becomes a most exquisite pleasure.
Abbe Desvialle and the prefect, who greatly enjoyed
it under such circumstances, sank back in their armchairs and permitted it to pervade their whole consciousness.  The capitalist, less affected by these
dainty luxuries, had drawn a light towards him and
was looking over the papers and magazines piled upon the table. One of these pamphlets undoubtedly
contained an extremely interesting article; for when




298          AROUND A SPRING.
the countess stopped, M. Larreau continued to read
without raising his eyes. This was by no means his
usual custom; he was always the first to compliment
his daughter, and though by no means a lover of music, usually appeared to be exceedingly enthusiastic
at the conclusion of every piece. " Is papa pleased? "
said the countess, touching the capitalist on the shoulder.
The latter started suddenly, like a man roused
from a dream, " Excuse me, darling, I heard nothing;
I was reading a very interesting article."
"That is very polite; may I know the name of
the magazine? "
"The'Annals of the Propagation qf the Faith.'
There are five or six numbers whose leaves have not
yet been cut, but this one contains a very remarkable
letter."
" What is its subject?" asked Abbe Desvialle;
"some martyrdom, probably, some of the heroic actions common among our missionaries? "
"I will read the letter to you," murmured Larreau,
adjusting his eye-glasses. "Dear and venerated colleague, etc., etc. I will omit the beginning. Here it
is:
" KUEN-TING-PACO, 1
Dec. 6th, 18"Universal alarm prevailed. The bandits, pursued
by the imperial soldiers, but rather guided by them,
entered the province, yet I did not omit to conduct
the holy services of mass as usual, asking the divine
protection of God, who alone can save us. At its
close, we carried the consecrated vessels, books, and
records to a secluded spot, and buried them about a
hundred and thirteen yards within the borders of a
wood; after which we prepared to fly towards the
mountains, carrying the children and old men in the
hammocks used as litters in this country. My mind




AROUND A SPRING.              299
was filled with the greatest anxiety. We had been
able to collect only a scanty store of provisions,
which would surely prove insufficient, but the most
important matter was to reach the mountains in
time; and all the rumors caused me to fear that we
might be stripped by the bloodthirsty bands in the
very heart of the long valley we were compelled to
cross. Our only hope was —"
" That is not a very lively article," murmured the
prefect, with the music of -Don Giovanni still ringing
in his ears.
" The heroism of these holy martyrs to the faith is
really sublime," remarked Abbe Desvialle, pushing a
little cushion under his polished boots.
" All these missionaries are sent from the Rue du
Bac, are they not, M. l'abb6? That is their central
station?"
" Yes, Madame. What a beautiful church it is! "
" Isn't it? so cosy, so warm, so well filled! Oh!
if I had been obliged to be married anywhere else, I
really believe I should have remained an old maid.
Ha I ha! perhaps that is a slight exaggeration, but I
only said so by way of emphasis. I have but one
fault to find with the Church of the Missions, and that
is, the interminable corridor leading to the vestry; it
is a perfect labyrinth, enough to make you fancy yourself in the catacombs; little chills pass over you;
you are afraid of being attacked. Ha! ha! ha! I am
exaggerating a little again, but-"' I beg you to allow me to continue," said the capitalist; " you cannot help being interested in this
article."
" Our only hope, the safety of my dear flock, depended wholly upon the energy of a new missionary,
who had joined us only a few days before. This estimable brother, who, listening only to his religious
zeal, gave up the parish in France of which he was
the incumbent, and obtained permission to become a




300          AROUND A SPRING.
missionary, is a tall, powerful man, endowed with rare
courage and firmness. Scarcely had he been apprised
of the danger that threatened us, when he strenuously
insisted upon our leaving the village.'I will take
charge of everything,' he added eagerly.'I will
guard the houses.'-' But you will be massacred, my
dear Roche,' said I,'your life is precious to us,
anad-' "
"What? " interrupted the countess, "Roche —
Roche! Is it Abbe Roche, the former cur6 of Manteigney'?'"I should not be surprised if it were," replied
Abb6 Desvialle. " I think I heard the archbishop say
that Abbe Roche was now in China, or somewhere in
that part of the world. He is just the right man to
be in the vanguard, and I do not doubt that he has
rendered valuable services there. Go on, M. Larreau,
this is really by no means uninteresting."
"It is simply magnificent, as you shall see! I
will continue:'But you will be massacred,' etc.'That
is by no means certain; but under any circumstances,
I shall be able to keep these savages at bay long
enough to give you time to reach the mountains.' I
embraced him with tears in my eyes and we set out.
" Our poor hamlet has only one entrance, which is
extremely narrow. The brave missionary collected
everything that he could carry, furniture, boards, etc.,
and piled them up there, not with any expectation of
opposing a serious impediment to the brigands. progress, but to lead them to fear a sturdy resistance,
and thus delay their attack. Having accomplished
this task, he shut himself up in one of the nearest
huts, barricaded it as well as he could, and waited
about an hour, when a small detachment of bandits
appeared at the entrance of the village, evidently very
uneasy on perceiving the defences that barred the
way. Courage is not their strong point; they consulted together, then slowly, one by one, picked their




AROUND A SPRING.            301
way through the pile of furniture and entered the
hamlet, sword in hand, and listening intently. Then
they again stopped and hesitated; the silence which
reigned round them seemed more alarming than resistance. During this time our revered Roche, while
counting the minutes, was with us in thought, and
believing that we had not yet reached a place of
safety, addressed the most fervent prayers to Heaven.
The bandits at last decided, and either by chance or
because they had seen the head of the missionary,
who was watching them through a chink in the roof,
went directly towards the hut in which he had taken
refuge, and beat upon the door uttering loud cries.
" Finding that no one answered, and the entrance
was still closed, they attempted to force a passage,
and soon succeeded. Seven or eight of these fiends
then rushed into the house ready to exterminate the
unfortunate Christians whom they hoped to find
there; but our brave colleague, whose most earnest
desire was to gain time, sprang through an opening
in the rear of the hut, and passing around it, suddenly
attacked three or four of the bandits who had prudently remained outside, threw one of them to the
ground, wrested his spear from him, and like a new
Samson charged upon the others with superhuman
vigor. The Philistines who had remained at the door
were soon disabled, imploring for mercy amidst
shrieks extorted by the pain of their wounds, while
those who had entered the house terrified by the
clamor without, believed themselves to be surrounded, lost, and took to flight in every direction as fast
as possible.
"' Our heroic brother was left master of the field
of battle. The scoundrels had probably not dreamed
that a black robe could cover so stern a warrior.
Wounded, suffering, and unable to rise, they expected the conqueror, imitating their ferocity, would give
them a death-blow; but the mercy and charity of a




302          AROUND A SPRING.
soldier of Christ are equal to his courage. Our dear
brother at once sought to relieve them, hastened in
search of water, and helped them to moisten their
lips. The soldier was transformed into a sister of
charity, and it was not until he heard the rapid approach of a more numerous band, that the missionary
took refuge in another hut and again barricaded himselt; hoping to renew the stratagem which had proved
so successful; but this time the assailants came in
hundreds; the village was captured in an instant, and
the doors were forced or dashed in pieces. Our unfortunate friend, driven into one corner of the room
to which he had retreated, defended himself bravely,
thinking, even in this moment of peril, of gaining
time for us and concentrating the rage of the Pagans
upon himself  He killed the nearest, who, pressed
forward by the crowd, could not escape his terrible
blows by flight; but at last, overwhelmed by numbers, severely wounded, covered with perspiration
and blood, was borne dlown, tied hand and foot, and
dragged out of doors.
" It is very probable that if our dear brother had
encountered the bloodthirsty mob of rebels, as in the
first instance, he would immediately have atoned
for his bold resistance with his life; but this second
troop was no other than a detachment of the imperial
army, with whose banners the newly-arrived missionary had not yet become familiar.
"They led him to the next city as if he had been
a malefactor.  On the way, the soldiers who surrounded him pricked him with their weapons to accelerate his pace, rendered slow and feeble by his
painful wounds. Yet from the memory of our divine
Saviour he obtained superhuman courage, did not utter a complaint, and entered with a smile the miserable dungeon, where he was surrounded by wretched
criminals, who overwhelmed him with scorn and
insult."




AROUND A SPRING.               303
Larreau paused an instant to take breath.
"The account is highly dramatic," murmured the
prefect, " rather long, but very well written."
" It makes the tears come into my eyes," cried the
countess; " poor, poor cure! it seems as if I could see
him  among those fiends!"  And she instinctively
glanced towards a Chinese screen on which two warriors of the Celestial Empire were embroidered in
gold thread upon scarlet satin. The capitalist, with
evident emotion, resumed his reading:
" The very next morning he was removed from
this disgraceful cell to be dragged before his judges.
It was on this occasion that our revered brother
showed a heroism beyond all praise. He was accused,
ostensibly at least, of having resisted the imperial
army, made common cause with the rebels, and opposed the will of the emperor; but in reality his title
of Christian was the true cause of the atrocities inflicted upon him. They pretended to believe in the
existence of a conspiracy, a political plot, and insolently accused him of being one of its chiefs.
"I will relate the particulars of his last examination; it is well calculated to inflame the zeal of the
young priests belonging to the missions. The following details I received from an interpreter who, belonging to a Christian family, and being himself,
through the mercy of God, anxious to become a convert, sent them to me:
" All the princes of the blood were seated at the
tribunal. On their right were the civil, on the left
the military, mandarins. The hall was filled with soldiers, and behind them  struggled a crowd of eager
spectators. The executioners, with their instruments
of torture arranged before them in regular order,
stood at the foot of the tribunal.
"' Do you recognize any of your accomplices
among these persons?' asked the president, directing
his attention towards several prisoners.




304          ARO UND A SPRING.
"' I have no accomplices, why should I?' he replied.
" The mandarins looked at each other and one of
them gave orders that he should be fastened to the
stake and receive ten blows from a bamboo rod to
compel him to confess the names of his accomplices.
" le endured the blows without uttering a word,
or even changing color.
"' He is obstinate,' said the mandarin. Then addressing the martyr,' Come, tell the truth, and you
shall be pardoned; -but if you continue to deny your
clime, we shall treat you with still greater severity.'
"' Do I seem like a man who is afraid?' he answered.
" And he said the words so proudly, gazed so
boldly towards the tribunal, that the mandarins caused
him to be again bound to the stake and scourged
anew.
" Two executioners relieved each other, and when
he was removed without having uttered a complaint, he said:'I struck harder than that, you are
children.'
" Then all the mandarins began to speak at the
same time, in an outburst of fury. One said:' Your
flesh shall be torn with red-hot pincers.' Another:'He must have swallowed some potion which saves
him from pain.'-' Will you resist the whole tribunal?' vociferated a third.
"' Why do you not scream when you are lashed,
proud, obstinate fool?'
"' I keep silent because I should ask you in vain
to spare me even a single stroke of the bamboo.
Why should I weary myself with useless shrieks? I
suffer greatly when you scourge me, but I wish to
show that the great God whom I adore gives his
children strength to endure pain.'
"'You shall die under the pincers!'
"' I have no more fear of the pincers than of the




AROUND A SPRING.             305
rod. If I were afraid of anything, I should not be
here.'
"' And you will not confess?'
"'I have told you I have nothing to tell.'
"They again fastened him to the stake and began to beat him most brutally. All eyes were fixed
upon him; there was a great tumult in the hall, and
the judges, excited by the heroism of this holy man,
considering his silence as an insult, and urged on by
dull hatred of the Christians, shouted to the executioners:' Strike harder! strike harder!'
" And he, gaining fresh courage under the blows,
with his face illumined by a light imparted from on
high, also shouted in his powerful voice, which rose
above the noise of the crowd and the insults of the
mandarins:' Strike! Have you lost your strength?
My God, pardon my sins!'
"Beneath his bleeding skin the muscles of his
herculean limbs could be seen contracting, so that the
cords seemed to cut into his body, and the stake to
which he was bound creaked like the mast of a ship
in a tempest.
" This lasted a long time, then he was unfastened
and laid upon a mat. His flesh was frightfully lacerated, he was covered with blood, and in his face, from
which life seemed to have departed, nothing was visible but his sparkling eyes. He was carried back to a
dungeon, where he was left alone, a hideous, yet
sublime object. Women recoiled in terror as he
passed.
" Meantime, I had been informed of all this by a
proselyte, and without reflecting upon the dangers
which the step might involve, instantly went to the
place and urgently entreated permission to enter the
martyr's prison. The fear of incurring the just anger
of the French authorities prevented the tribunal from
refusing my request, and the door of the dungeon
~- as opened to admit me. Alas! my pen refuses to
20




306           AROUND A SPRING.
describe the scene.  I beheld our dear brother
stretched upon the ground, the death rattle sounding
in his throat. Doubtless his wounds had reopened
and a hemorrhage followed, for he was lying in a pool
of blood.
" I approached him, tried to speak to him, kissed
his icy forehead, but he was perfectly unconscious,
his soul was about to ascend to its God, and he expired in my arms a few moments after my arrival,
just as I gave him my benediction.
" Such, gentlemen and respected colleagues, was
the exemplary death of this generous martyr of the
Faith; his fate is to be envied; may Heaven reserve
a similar one for us! May this heroism at last enlighten the Heathens and make them comprehend that
such courage comes from God alone. It is He who
has done all, to Him be the glory.
" Non nobis, -Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo
da gloriam."
The close of the reading was followed by a long,
silence, which was first broken by Abb6 Desvialle,
who had been turning his snuff-box in his fingers for
the last ten minutes.
" That is an admirable death," said he, " really admirable, and early to-nmorrow I shall celebrate a mass.
You will come to it, will you not, Madame? "
The countess made no reply. She had turned
very pale, and was leaning back in the depths of an
arm chair, as if fainting. "I ought not to have read
all these horrors before her," cried M. Larreau, hastening towards his daughter.
"Salts, a glass of water!" exclaimed the prefect.
"It is nothing, I am quite well again," said the
countess, rising.' Poor cure-poor cure! That horrible death has upset me, and to think that I have left
the souvenir he sent me on his departure almost forgotten in the depths of a closet."




AROUND A SP-RING.             307
"'  hat was it, my child? You never told me of
any souvenir."
" Oh! no doubt, because when I received the gift
people were so ill-disposed towards the poor cure
that I thought it best not to speak of it. It is a
magnificent crucifix; I will go and find it; I locked
it up and then thought no more about it."
" Not yet, dear child, you have not entirely recovered from your emotion; you need not trouble
yourself, I will ring for your maid."
" She would not know where to look for it. Besides, it will do me good to take a little exercise."
When ilMme. de Manteigney had left the parlor,
the capitalist resumed the conversation: " But what
the deuce was that dear Abb6 Roche doing there?
When I say dear-  In short, I wished him no
harm, although he left the country in the most unbecoming manner, without even a formal leave-taking,
when I had shown him a confidence, a friendshipFortunately, I am prepared for such things, I have
seen so much of it in the course of my life! Besides, he was a rough man, unaccustomed to the
amenities- "
" His vocation had a powerful influence over him,"
observed M. Desvialle with a seriousness full of unction. " The mission of a priest is one of sacrifice, my
dear M. Larreau; you cannot understand it.  And
the prospect, the almost certainty of martyrdom, is
a divine allurement which arouses and excites the
soul."
" You make my mouth water, my dear cure, pray
give me a pinch of snuff. The truth in regard to
Abbe Roche is simply this: I can venture to say that
I know men thoroughly, and I believe my judgment
of him to be perfectly impartial. With all his apparent simplicity, the dead man was a very clever fellow;
but he was seeking his path, his goal in life-he had
not found his object: hence his hesitations, his incon



308           AROUND A SPRING.
sistencies.  Do not imagine that he went to China
without some important motive."
"You surprise me," murmured Abb6 Desvialle.
"Some enterprise, some bold stroke tempted his
ambition, I assure you; stop, now I think of it: the
Chinese accused him of being at the head of a political
conspiracy. Eh 1 eh! that does not appear so very
incredible to me. Don't smile, my dear cure, do we
ever know what thoughts may be passing through the
brains of others? "
" Here is the ivory Christ," said the countess, entering the parlor, followed by her maid. "Put the
crucifix on the table, Marie. That is right, you can
go. Is it not beautiful, my dear cure? What do you
think of it, M. le prefect? How  exquisite the carving is, how much feeling is expressed in the countenance of the dying Christ! Look at the head, it is
superb."
"Even the frame is wonderful."
"It is a beautiful piece of workmanship, and must
certainly be of great value."
"' But how did such a masterpiece fall into the
hands of a poor country cur6, who certainly could not
have saved its price from a few farthings?'"
" I remember," said the countess, "that poor Abb6
Roche told me how it happened, in a very touching
manner. This wonderful carving fell into his hands
from the skies, one might almost say, just as he left
the seminary.  The box containing the crucifix was
brought to his house in a wagon, and in spite of all
his efforts, he had never been able to discover the name
of the person who sent the gift."
"Our excellent Abb6 Roche was different fiom
the rest of the world in everything," observed Larr' au.
" This is no time for jesting, father.  He spoke of
it with so much feeling! Perhaps there might have
been some family tie connected with it, which he




AROUND A ISPRING.           030:9
guessed, though unable to explain.  In some men's
lives there are mysteries-"
" Oh! M. Roche's family-" Abb6 Desvialle, who
had spoken the last words, suddenly stopped. "This
is carved with wonderful skill."
At that moment Count de Manteigney appeared,
pushing aside the curtain that hung over the doorway.
His face expressed great annoyance. " She is dead!"
he exclaimed, pulling off his red gloves, " she is dead!
Oh! I am so sorry."
" You mean he is dead, my dear Jean. Ah! yes.
It is true."
" No, the colt is doing very well, it is my poor mare
that is dead! Why, where did you get that crucifix?
It is a superb thing! But I know that carving; I have
seen it a hundred times." He turned the crucifix in
every direction; as he looked at it more closely, his
recollections seemed to become more exact. " I recognize this red velvet.  I remember this gap you
see in the frame.  How long ago it seems! Stop,
here at the bottom there used to be a silver shell to
contain the holy water; has it been lost? But where
was this crucifix discovered?  I gave orders that
every corner of the chateau should be searched. How
glad I am to find it again! It hung beside the bed
in the large yellow room where my mother died."
Then turning to the countess: " You will have this
relic placed in the spot where it belongs, and from
which it should never have been removed, won't you,
my love? "
" Certainly, my dear," replied the young wife, who
was trembling with emotion, " certainly."
No one dared to resume the conversation which
had been interrupted by the count's entrance.  Not
a word more was said about the heroic martyr.
M. de Manteigney, seeing that all were silent,
eagerly continued: " Did you ever hear of such fools I
When they saw the poor beast was ill, one would have




310           AROUND A SPRING.
supposed they would have told me at once! Not a
bit of it! On pretence that I was just going in to dinner, they sent for the veterinary surgeon at Virez!
Poor beast! "
"Are you talking of the veterinary surgeon?"
"No, I am talking about my mare. Ha! ha! ha!
Yet I am by no means in the mood for laughing."'It was a natural mistake. Ha! ha! ha! "
" Gentlemen, tea is ready."
THE END.