LEISURE HOUR SERIES 
 
 JUPITER'S DAUGHTERS 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS.C.JENKIN 
 
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 ;h- 
 
 RECENT MUSIC AND MUSICIANS, a.s described \v 
 
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 A TOUR THROUGH THE PYRENEES. By Hrrro- 
 
 LTJTE AdOLPhe Tai»E, aiithor of "A History of English Literature,"' "Travel-; in 
 
 Italy,"' etc. 
 Having sold before Christmas the entire edition of Tame's PjTonee.s, ilhistrated by 
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 library edition. 
 
 HENRY HOLT & CO., Publishers, New York. 
 
 J.-,}.,
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR, 
 
 (Leisure Hour Series.) 
 
 WHO BREAKS— PAYS. 
 
 SKIRMISHING. 
 
 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY. 
 
 MADAME DE BEAUPRfe. 
 
 JUPITER'S DAUGHTERS.
 
 ^ 
 
 LEISURE HO U R S E R I E S 
 
 JUPITER'S Daughters 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 Mrs. C . J E N K I N 
 
 Author of "Who Breaks— Pays," "A Psyche of To-day," 
 "Skirmishing," etc., etc. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 1874
 
 FROM ADVANCE SHEETS 
 
 MACLAUCnLAN, Stercotypcr 
 50, 58, aud 60 Park Street, New York.
 
 
 i 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 FJLRT I. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I.— St. Gloi 7 
 
 II. — New Master and Old Servants 13 
 
 III. — Intense Good Sense 19 
 
 IV. — We shaU see what wUl come of it 27 
 
 V. — Foreshadowings 37 
 
 VI. — A First Sunday at Ste. Marie, and SusiJicion 
 
 lulled 44 
 
 VII. — Discoveries — ending with a Conflagration. ... 57 
 
 VIIL— Who was Last now First 67 
 
 IX. — A Liliputian Vengeance 77 
 
 X.— The Ideal 87 
 
 XI. — The Consequences of not doing as Others do. . 95 
 
 XII. — Madame Rendu to the Rescue 1C8 
 
 XIII. — Jacta alea est 113 
 
 XIV. — Bonne Maman Adversary and Partisan 120 
 
 XV. — French Custom since Adam delved 128 
 
 XVI.— The Great " Yes " 137 
 
 I»A.E.T II. 
 
 I. — A Domestic Treasure 149 
 
 II. — Stephanie's Discoveries 158 
 
 III.— A French Play 108 
 
 ^>#>rT,or>A
 
 6 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 rV.— Painful Realities 176 
 
 v.— A First Warning 183 
 
 YI.— On the Qui Vive 1«8 
 
 VII.— Gossip 195 
 
 VIII. — Measuring a Lance with Society 203 
 
 IX. — Speculations 210 
 
 X.— Played— and Lost 221 
 
 XI.— Bon Secours 237 
 
 XIL— The Crash of Life 247 
 
 XIII.— One of Life's Tangles 253 
 
 XIV. — Nought's had when all is done 259 
 
 XV. — Pathways here divide 204 
 
 XVL— Dark Hours 272 
 
 XVIL— Two Ways of looking at Things 277
 
 JUPITER'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ST. GLOI. 
 
 " Calme petite ville, oh t-ai-je deja vue ? 
 Dans quel rove, ou dans quel pays ? " 
 
 A. TnEtJRrET. 
 
 In the spring of 1866 M. Eugene Delanoy 
 died. His death was an event that had been 
 daily looked for during the last ten years; 
 yet when it occurred it took every one by sur- 
 prise. 
 
 M. Delanoy had been an old man as long 
 as any of his*^ neighbors could remember him ; 
 nay, he was generally believed by them to 
 have passed his hundredth year. He had 
 lived in complete seclusion at this Chateau de 
 Sept Ormes ever since he first came thither ; 
 seeing no one, returning no visits, and holdr 
 ing no communication with the town, except 
 through his two servants, as old and eccentric 
 as himself. As he had lived, so he died, with- 
 out either friend, or priest, or doctor,
 
 8 jtipitek's dattghtees. 
 
 M. Delanoy's death disturbed St. Gloi, 
 though it had long ceased to take any interest 
 in his life. In that far-away district religion 
 still held her own ; and a death unsoothed and 
 unblessed by the Church distressed many good 
 souls, and scandalized even the indifferent. 
 Old stories were revived of his having been a 
 member of the Convention— an abettor of Bar- 
 rere's cruelties ; for rumor seldom troubles 
 herself with dates or probabilities. It was 
 whispered, then affirmed, that he had left in- 
 structions that he was to be buried without any 
 relio-ious ceremonv — enterrS civilement : that 
 after having lived like an atheist, he was to be 
 buried like a dog. Luckily, the old gentle- 
 man's notary arrived from Paris, and the town 
 was edified by a funeral sanctified by all the 
 pomp of the Church. 
 
 The St. Gloisians, as was natural, felt an 
 ardent curiosity about M. Delanoy's property. 
 AVhat had he left, and to whom had he left it ? 
 Was there more than the Chateau, its depend- 
 encies, and an adjoining vineyard ? 
 
 The Paris notary was not, seemingly, unwill- 
 ing to speak of the affairs of his late client. 
 Why should he, when they were in a prosper- 
 ous state? 
 
 He therefore made it known that the heir 
 was a distant cousin — a M. de Saye — at that 
 moment in Italy or Greece ; in fact, travelling 
 for his pleasure. M. de Saye was young — a 
 year or two under thirty, unmarried, holding 
 no place under Government, of no profession,
 
 ST. GLOI. y 
 
 had, in one word, been waiting to sncceed to 
 his cousin. There arc some people, who, with 
 a sembUince of inlinite frankness, conceal as 
 much as they please. They seem to make no 
 mystery, to bo not the least reticent, and yet 
 leave you as little informed as they deem fit. 
 In the end, this pleasant Paris lawyer carried 
 away with him. much more information than 
 he had given. He had made himself ac- 
 quainted pretty accurately with the affairs of 
 the leadino; families — knew the fio-m-e of the 
 dowries of their daughters, information to be 
 imparted to M. de Saye, and other clients on 
 the lookout for eligible wives or daughters-in- 
 law. 
 
 St. Gloi is neither rich nor aristocratic, but 
 it is a thriving and most respectable third-rate 
 town. At the head of society are the Rend us 
 — rentiei'S, that is, living on their dividends, 
 and quite retired from business ; the Joreys, 
 iron-masters ; the Cham bauds, large wine- 
 growers ; the Belairs, bankers, and a great 
 wood-merchant. 
 
 St. Gloi, not being a chief town, had but a 
 secondary set of Government officials, who 
 counted for nothing with the Rendus and 
 Joreys. In addition, there were some young 
 men in the lower o-i-ades of the ma!]i;istracy — a 
 career always betokening some private fortune 
 — and the necessary complement of advocates, 
 solicitors, and notaries. 
 
 The St. Gloisians adored their native place, 
 and it was bv no means unusual to hear them 
 1*
 
 10 JUPITER S DAUGIITEES. 
 
 give it the preference over Paris. Xeverthe 
 less, thej were intensely patriotic, and excnsed 
 the morals of the capital bj asserting that all 
 the vice flonrishing there was of foreign 
 growth, for wliich they thanked Providence. 
 The ladies had a sincere veneration for the 
 Bishop of Orleans. They had read his first 
 and second letter on the education of women ; 
 they preferred and held to the advice in the 
 second. Lon<x before Monseigneur had conn- 
 soiled the bringing np of girls on the knees 
 of the Chnrch, the mothers of St. Gloi had 
 acted on that system. As a rule, the young 
 girls of St. Gl<)i were educated at the convent 
 of the Dames Dominicaines, a convent witliin 
 the precincts of the town. Madame Rendu fur- 
 nished the exception by sending her only child, 
 Panline, to the Sacrc Coeur, in Paris. 
 
 Old Madame Jorey, Pauline's godmother, 
 had remonstrated, and the two young Mes- 
 dames Jorey had shaken their heads, but only 
 when out of sight of Madame Rendu. " It is 
 best to abide by old ways," said the old lady. 
 " See what has been the consequence of new 
 ones. Scarcely possible to satisfy workpeople ; 
 servants think themselves equal to their masters 
 and mistresses ; money does not go so far, and 
 we are fairly devoured and deteriorated by the 
 influx of foreigners." Madame Rendu an- 
 swered once for all by pointing to that passage 
 in Monseigneur's letter which counsels cultiva- 
 tion of talents as a help for women scarcely 
 less efficacious than religion. Pauline had a
 
 ST. GLOI. 11 
 
 decided talent for miisje and drawing, and her 
 mother would not have them wrapped np or 
 buried. 
 
 The Mesdames Jorey held to tlieir opinion, 
 and said among their intimates, " We shall see 
 what will come of it." 
 
 However, when Pauline returned home, no 
 one could discover that she was a whit the 
 worse for her sojourn in the Pai-is convent. 
 ISTowhei'C could you see more frank eyes, a 
 mouth more innocent. She was like a fine 
 clear sky — full of promise ; modest, not shy ; 
 willing to please, not anxious to shine ; nothing 
 apparent that would lead you to imagine there 
 were any finer elements in her character than 
 in those surrounding her ; nothing to militate 
 against her doing as other girls did, and 
 as she was expected to do — marry the man 
 chosen by her parents, have her trip to Paris, 
 visit the Palais-Poyal Theatre (that ambition 
 of month-old matrons), buy new furniture to 
 last a lifetime, and return home, at the end of 
 six weeks, to settle down into a careful house- 
 wife.
 
 12 Jupiter's daughtees. 
 
 CHAPTE'E II. 
 
 NEW MASTER AND OLD SERVANTS. 
 
 It was in the beginning of June that M. 
 Delanoy's heir arrived at the Chateau de Sept 
 Ormes. lie came aecom|ianied by a friend, 
 not even a Paris valet to disturb the equa- 
 nimity of his uncle's two old servants, Eloque 
 and Gonde. They were not man and wife, but 
 Eloque was nevertheless completely under pet- 
 ticoat government. It was said, though who 
 first said it was never known, that Eloque had 
 a keen sensibility to rosy cheeks and smart fig- 
 ures, which often brought him into trouble. 
 
 Gonde, looking forward to a prolongation of 
 her reign, took care that tlie first dinner she 
 served to her new master should be in her 
 best style. 
 
 " What a chance to find such a cook in this 
 banishment ! " said M. Vilpont, Gaston's guest. 
 ^^ Hon cher, I shall probably prolong my 
 visit ; " adding in a lower tone, " Suppose you 
 seek information about any other amenities at- 
 tached to your inheritance ? " 
 
 Gaston followed up the suggestion by open- 
 ing a conversation with Eloque. 
 
 "We saw several charming ladies this after- 
 noon as we drove through the town."
 
 NEW ilASTER AND OLD SERVANTS. 13 
 
 Eloqne grinned, and answered, " Comme 9a, 
 
 monsieur.' 
 
 " Do tliey entei'tain much here ? " asked 
 Yilpont. 
 
 " Comme 9a, monsieur." 
 
 " Any cliateaux near enough for visiting?" 
 
 Eloque grinned and shook his head. 
 
 For Eloque, the neighboring Chateau of Ste. 
 Marie did not exist, inhabited as it was by 
 Madame Jorey, widc)W of a manufacturer. 
 
 At an interview w^ith Gonde the next morn- 
 ing the two young men were indemnified for 
 Eloque's taciturnity. Gonde knew everything 
 about everybody, and was read}^ to tell all she 
 knew. If you were to be)Ieve her, there were 
 not five just men in St. Gloi. According to 
 her, every one of the fine stone hcmses on the 
 Boulevard concealed a crime. " Where there's 
 money, there's always a covering for sin," 
 quotli she. 
 
 " Thank God," said De fSaye, " we saw some 
 pretty little girls not old enough to be crim- 
 inals! " 
 
 " Pretty ! does monsieur call Pauline Rendu 
 and the Joreys pretty? To be sure, Pauline 
 will have millions for her dowry." 
 
 " Are young ladies called by their Christian 
 names by everybody here ''i " inquired Vilpont, 
 with a glance of the eye that angered while it 
 quelled Gonde for the moment. 
 
 "Why not?" said the old woman, with an 
 attempt at excuse — "her grandfather was just
 
 14: Jupiter's daughtees. 
 
 one of lis. They say he ' lent hy the loeeJc^ 
 during the great troubles." 
 
 " And the others you named ? " 
 
 " Oh ! monsieur means the Joreys. They 
 make the bhie cloth for blouses. The father 
 has had one lit ; and when he goes, the girls (I 
 mean the young ladies) won't have millions. 
 They burn the caudle at both ends, monsieur 
 and madame. Monsieur eats and drinks, and 
 madauie dresses. Last new year monsieur took 
 the stick to madame because she bought a 
 gown with the money he had given her for 
 the pastry-cook. But," said Gonde, suddenl}^ 
 changiug the subject, "Eloque and I beg 
 monsieur to say when he expects his new ser- 
 vants." 
 
 De Saye was amazed. " Why, my good 
 lady, I thought you were both fixtures here ? " 
 
 Gonde lauglied sarcastically. " Oh ! not at 
 all, monsieur. We are both tired of service ; 
 we have saved something, and my niece at 
 Lyons offers me a room in her house. One 
 must liave some quiet years to make one's sal- 
 vation {faire son salut). As soon as monsieur 
 could suit himself, Gonde and Eloque would 
 be glad to leave. St. Gloi was not their 
 country ; they had only stayed fr(;m affection 
 for M. Delanoy." 
 
 "You disappoint me," said Gaston. "I 
 shall bi'cak my hoai't to lose you — such an 
 illimitable cook as you arc! Besides, I meant 
 to have left the Cliateau in your care; for you 
 understand, I am not going to live here all the
 
 NEW MASTER AND OLD SERVANTS. 15 
 
 year throngli. However, I respect your wishes. 
 Yonr going will depeud on yourself. Find me 
 trustworthy persons to take your place ; till 
 then I hope 3'ou have too good a heart to leave 
 a poor young man without any one to care for 
 hira. I shall get into all manner of scrapes 
 without you to advise me." 
 
 Gaston said all this with such a grave face 
 that Gonde was half inclined to believe that 
 he had taken her in earnest, in whicli case she 
 must modify her declaration. 
 
 " Monsieur judged her rightly. She was not 
 one to do an unhandsome thing ; but she and 
 Eloque were old to be the servants of a young 
 master, and if monsieur had thoughts of mar- 
 rying—" 
 
 Gaston stopped her — "Fate still holds a 
 veil over the date of that terrible event, my 
 provident Gondo — an event still more alarm- 
 ing for me than for you. I will give you fair 
 warning. It wouldn't do to make my bride 
 jealous ; so let it be understood that your mar- 
 riage or mine alone parts us." 
 
 " I like that Gaston," said Gonde to Eloque ; 
 "but they'll give him no peace till he is mar- 
 ried. If he has any faith in me, it won't be in 
 St. Gloi he will choose a wife." 
 
 M. de Saye paid a hundred visits in the 
 course of that week. It is the cnstc^m in 
 France for new-comers to take the first steps 
 towards acquaintance, and Do Saye was 
 sociable by nature. 
 
 " Remember," he said to Vilpont, who
 
 16 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 laughed at his ardor, "as a neighbor and 
 proprietoi', it is my interest to be civiL Some 
 future day I may wish to come forv/ard as 
 deputy." 
 
 lie found Gonde really an invaluable ally. 
 The little old woman gave him not only the 
 names of all the notables, but supplied him 
 with such notes of their private history as 
 would pilot him safely through the rocks and 
 shoals of first visits. Ninety-nine of these were 
 of a uniform tint. All the salons, and all the 
 ladies in them, were alike; conversation and 
 min-ors, dress, and tables and chairs of one 
 pattern ; no books visible ; reading was consid- 
 ered in St. Gloi as loss of time. If women 
 read at all, it was unavowable feuilletons in 
 secret conclave. 
 
 The hundredth visit, the one exception, was 
 that for Madame Rendu. First of all, she was 
 not dressed for the occasion; then what she 
 said was at variance with the formal and com- 
 plimentary tone of the other ninety-and-nine 
 calls. She was as little encouraging as possible 
 to M. de Saye ; while as to Vilpont, all the 
 notice she bestowed on him were two stiff bows 
 — one on his entering, one on his departing. 
 Every one else had striven, by insinuating 
 questions, to know who Vilpout was — why he 
 was at St. Gloi, and when he was going away. 
 The explanation that he was on a friendly visit 
 to M. de Saye would have satisfied any but the 
 dwellers in a small pi'ovincial town. They did 
 not understand friendship; they only under-
 
 NEW MASTER AND OLD SERVANTS. 17 
 
 stood relationsliip. "A snake in the grass" 
 was a prett}' £i|;eneral opinion. 
 
 Madame llendu gave herself no trouble 
 about Vilpont, either as to who he was or what 
 might be his motives for staying. De Saje 
 was another matter. She was aware that she 
 should be forced to think of him ^ from that 
 there was no hope of escape, unless, indeed, he 
 was already an engaged man, which she de- 
 voutly lioped might be the case. 
 
 Even while he was sitting opposite to her, 
 doing his best to be agreeable to this difficult 
 woman, she was meditating how to ward off 
 his visits. She had made up her mind to keep 
 M. de Saye at arm's-length until she was cer- 
 tain that he could fulfil the conditions she 
 should require in a son-in-law\ 
 
 Vilpont sat smiling and amused, watching 
 his friend's efforts to please, and criticising his 
 courteous speeches, which all fell short, like 
 spent bulls. As they were leaving the room, 
 Vilpont's eye was caught by a landscape in 
 water-colors — a beech-tree overhanging a deep 
 pool, and a sunny distance. 
 
 " A clever sketcli," he said ; and going 
 nearer to it, he saw the name Pauline in a cor- 
 ner, and a date. 
 
 Madame llendu took no notice of the obser- 
 A^ation. 
 
 The two men drew a long breath as they 
 issued from the house. 
 
 " What a terrible mother-in-law ! " exclaimed 
 Yiipont ; adding, " Gaston, I pity you."
 
 18 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 " She is solidly respectable," returned the 
 other ; '• and that sort of woman has not a bad 
 effect iu a family." 
 
 " Not when she has a daughter with a fort- 
 une of a million." 
 
 Gaston shruo-wed his shoulders. 
 
 " ' Sooner or later one must makeTan end. 
 This idiom means one must marry." 
 
 " Bon voyage," laughed Vilpont. 
 
 Gonde questioned Eloque every day as to 
 what the gentlemen talked of at dinner ; but 
 Eloque had nothing to tell. 
 
 " They never," he said, " spoke of any one in 
 St. Gloi." 
 
 Nor was Gonde herself more lucky in her 
 listenings at doors or her interviews with Gas- 
 ton ; but she had formed her own opinion of 
 her new master's character. 
 
 " If he marries Pauline Rendu, he'll never 
 know again what it is to hav^e his own way." 
 
 Eloque silenced her by one of his preter- 
 natural grins.
 
 INTENSE GOOD SENSE. 19 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 INTENSE GOOD SENSE. 
 
 Every one who knows the habits of pro- 
 vincial towns will feel sure that De Saje's 
 visits would be fruitful of other visits. The 
 friends had not left Madame Rendu ten min- 
 utes when Madame Chambaud was announced. 
 Pauline, and her friends Stephanie and Julie 
 Jorej, seeing her pass, said at once, " Now 
 they are going to talk marriage." 
 
 Madame Rendu, who thought the same, left 
 the initiative to Madame "Chambaud, and 
 stretching her small person at full length on a 
 sofa, exclaimed, " How easily tired I am now ! 
 What it is to grow old ! " 
 
 Madame Chambaud smiled, saying, " At 
 forty-iive a woman may still have some pre- 
 tensions. 
 
 " As to that, I prefer to be the woman of 
 to-morrow rather than the woman of yester- 
 day ; age depends on character. I was boru 
 old." 
 
 The visitor shrugged her shoulders flatter- 
 ingly. Almost evei-y one flattered Madame 
 Rendu, for no reason but that she was rich, 
 richer than the people who visited her. It 
 was a real disinterested homage i)aid to wealth. 
 " You, with your income," or '' When one's 
 name stands before seven figures, quite
 
 20 Jupiter's daughteks. 
 
 another thing for poor me," were speeclies con- 
 stantly saluting Madame Eendu's ear. And 
 though she said, " Ah ! nion Dieu ! " as if the 
 announcement were an accusation, and though 
 she despised the flatterers, she was tickled by 
 the flattery. 
 
 Before speaking further, Madame Cham- 
 baud glanced at a door communicating with 
 an inner room. 
 
 " She is in the garden with her inseparables, 
 the Joreys." 
 
 " I hear that Pauline is teachino; them Ger- 
 man, and she knows Italian also. You have 
 educated her, dear lady, for another sphere 
 than our poor town can offer." 
 
 " I hope her education has prepared her to 
 be a good wife anywhere. The only way to 
 keep women out of mischief is to teach them to 
 occupy themselves agreeably. That has ijeen 
 our aim in all we have done. Rendu and I 
 are of one mind on that subject, and as for 
 other ])eople's opinions—" 
 
 " I have always heard you praised for your 
 way of educating Pauline," interrupted Ma- 
 dame Chambaud. 
 
 " As to that, I don't know ; bnt no doubt I 
 am criticised just as severely as my neighbors," 
 replied Madame Rendu, who, having a good 
 deal of the strong personality of the purse- 
 proud, walked over her acquaintances (with 
 her tongue) without remorse. 
 
 In France there are many ladies, even gi'eat 
 ladies, who take on themselves the ofEce of a
 
 INTENSE GOOD SENSE. 21 
 
 matrimonial a_o:ent. It is common enough to 
 hear it said, " Madame Such-a-one made that 
 marriage." 
 
 It is a disinterested service, the love of art 
 for art. Madame Cliambaud was one of these 
 matcli-makers. It was she, who, with infinite 
 tact, had made the elderly Vicomte de Trois 
 Etoiles marry Euphemie Devrient, after she 
 had reached the fatal age of thirty. 
 
 It was Madame Cliambaud who had mar- 
 ried a shipowner, fabulously wealthy, to little 
 Ernestine Loanet, whom Madame Nature had 
 made ugly, but whom Madame Chamband, 
 mdliners and coiffeurs, had transformed into a 
 piquante brunette, the rage for a season be- 
 fore and after her marriage. Both Madame 
 Chand)aud's _7^rc^e'^6^es did her honor. Ma- 
 dame la Vicomtesse was at the head of various 
 pious and charitable societies, and enjoyed the 
 counsels of the most famed of directors. The 
 shipowner's wafe had taken another course. 
 She had doffed hei- pretensions to beauty and 
 fashion, and was now a femme politique with 
 a salon^ which was a rendezvous for the leaders 
 of the Opposition. 
 
 We all have some idlent which enables ns 
 to do some one thing better than others. Ma- 
 dame Cliambaud had decided that her talent 
 lay in marrying people. Once engaged in her 
 vocation, her life became full of interes.t. 
 She was always, as it were, in the third volume 
 of an exciting novel. Her new heroine was 
 to be Pauline Rendu. She had, ever since
 
 22 Jupiter's daughtees. ' 
 
 Pauline's coming home, tm-ned over in her 
 mind all the young men of the department. 
 There were the sons of tlie tAvo deputies; 
 the only son and child of a great manufact- 
 urer ; the substitute of the Procureur-Impe- 
 rial, a young man belonging to old nobility ; 
 and lastly the newly aj^pointed Juge d'ln- 
 struction. But one was too young ; another 
 too old ; there was suspicion of consumption 
 in the family of a third ; the fourth had as- 
 sumed a de that was subject to doubt ; the 
 fifth was in every point unsuitable. 
 
 M. Delanoy's heir was the oiseau hhu sent 
 by a kind Providence to marry Pauline Kendu. 
 Age, looks, fortune, position, all as if 
 provided by special interposition. She only 
 hoped that Pauline's mother might see all 
 these advantages as clearly as others did. 
 Feeling thus, and in no way abashed by her 
 rich friend's abruptness, Madame (Jhambaud 
 went on complacently — 
 
 " Curious that ]\[. de Saye is not yet mar- 
 ried — he looks thirty." 
 
 " Probal)ly he waited for the old man's 
 death to be able to marry ; these sons of fam- 
 ily have seldom much besides their name." 
 
 " "Well, that is something, particularly now- 
 adays." 
 
 '• Not my way of thinking," replied Ma- 
 dame Pendu. " My dau<i:hter has not l^een 
 brought up to endure privations, and her fort- 
 une will not be large enough during our life- 
 time to make up for want of money in her
 
 INTENSE GOOD SENSE. 23 
 
 husband. However, as I do not intend that 
 Pauline should marry before her majority, the 
 age at M'hich I myself married, I have time 
 for consideration." 
 
 " What a sensible woman you are ! Really, 
 even knowing you so well as I do, 3^ou astonish 
 me. Few mothers — indeed, I may say none, 
 in St. Gloi are at this moment thinking like 
 you ; for instance, Madame Maloteau." 
 
 " I should be delighted to hear of Isabelle's 
 marriage to M. de Saye. It is time she was 
 njarried ; she is four-and-twenty." 
 
 Madame Chamimud paid several visits after 
 leaving Madame Rendu, and did not deny 
 herself the pleasure of expatiating on the sub- 
 ject of Mademoiselle Rendu's dowry. 
 
 The simple conclusion to be drawn from 
 what Madame Chambaud reported was that 
 the Rendus did not intend to open their purse 
 very wide at the young lady's marriage. 
 
 " Quite right," said some ; " expectations 
 are what make good sons-in-law." 
 
 " J3ut M. and" Mme. Rendu may live these 
 thirty or even forty years," observed the Juge 
 d' Instruction. 
 
 " Yes, it's long to wait," replied another 
 young man. 
 
 The Chief of the Indirect Taxes was Ma- 
 dame Rendu's next visitor. He had been one 
 of the listeners to Madame Chambaud's re- 
 port. He was one of your cordial men. He 
 began — 
 
 " Ha, ha! my dear lady; here is just what
 
 24 Jupiter's daughtees. 
 
 jon require, landed at your A^ery door — young, 
 handsome, well-born, and destined for a pref- 
 ecture." 
 
 " Then yon have not seen INfadarae Cham- 
 baud," replied Madame Rendu dryly. " I have 
 recommended her to make a match between 
 Isabelle Maloteau and M. de Saye." 
 
 " Seriously ? " 
 
 " Very seriously. We look for a fortune at 
 least equal to that of Pauline." 
 
 " And that is— ? " 
 
 " Imagine ! Rendu has never told me how 
 much ; but I fancy M. de Saye would full 
 short of our mark." 
 
 The Chief of the Indirect Taxes went away, 
 saying to himself, " Clever woman — sharp, but 
 liard ; a wonderful clear sight. Ah ! poor 
 Rendu ! " 
 
 The youno; ladies had been discussing the 
 same matters from their point of view. 
 
 There could be no disputing that M. de 
 Saye was handsome ; it was a self-evident 
 fact. Ilis friend Vilpont was, on the con- 
 trary, open to criticism. lie was one of those 
 men whose appearance was suggestive of 
 numy readings, according to the age and ex- 
 perience of the reader. He had fine dark 
 eyes, deeply set ; a thin, narrow face, and a 
 long nose. Tlio mouth, that betrayer of char- 
 acter, was hidden by a thick moustache. He 
 was tall, of a wiry figure, and stooped slightly. 
 
 Of him Mademoiselle Jorey said, " He looks 
 like a priest."
 
 INTENSE GOOD SENSE. 25 
 
 " M. de Saye reminds me of the heads in 
 hairdressers' shops," retorted Panline. 
 
 " Every one savs he is just the riglit hnsband 
 for you," observed Julio. 
 
 "J won't have him. I dislike him already. 
 Besides, I heard mamma say he would suit 
 Isabelle Maloteau." 
 
 " I see what will happen," continued Julie. 
 " Pauline will refuse every one because of 
 that ideal she saw in Paris." 
 
 " True ; I must wait till I find out if he is 
 married." 
 
 " But you may never see him again. And 
 if you do, and find he is already married, 
 what will you do '^ " 
 
 " Then, I suppose, I must do like the 
 rest." 
 
 " Papa had an offer for one of us," said 
 Stephanie. " It seems it did not matter which 
 — not very flattering. It came through Ma- 
 dame — you know who. The name of the gen- 
 tleman was not to be mentioned unless one of 
 us agreed to accept him ; for he did not reV.sh 
 its being known he had been refused. Rich 
 and young, madame said. As his business 
 was in Russia, of course we said no. We 
 found out afterwards who it was, and I ca.\ld 
 not have endured him. Only suppose I had 
 said Yes ! " 
 
 "You might have come to like him," said 
 
 Julie. " Claire refused M. Kogent— at least, 
 
 the letter of refusal was written — and then she 
 
 said she would see him once more, and it 
 
 2
 
 26 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 ended in her marrying ; and now she tells 
 every one she adores him." 
 
 " I dare say we shall all l^egin in the same 
 way," said Stephanie. " If Pauline will not 
 have M. de Save, 1 should not wonder if he 
 were offered to one of us ! " 
 
 " I hope he will raai-ry Isabelle Malotean, 
 and save us all trouble," said Pauline. 
 
 " I think he is "rood enouo-h for the best of 
 us," retorted Stephanie. 
 
 " Then marry him yourself," laughed Pau- 
 line. " I promise you my blessing." 
 
 Madame Rendu's voice calling out, " Young 
 ladies ! " put a peaceable end to a dangerous 
 discussion.
 
 WE 8HALL SEE WHAT WILL COME OF IT. 27 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 WE SHALL SEE WHAT WILL COME OF IT. 
 
 The staOTiant waters of life were distasteful 
 to Madame Chambaud, and no place luid a 
 more complete coatinrr of stagnation than re- 
 spectable St. Gloi. Destiny loves contradic- 
 tions. The active find themselves in a posi- 
 tion whei'c tliere are no legitimate openings 
 for their activity ; while the dnll, or the lovers 
 of quiet, are plunged into a vortex which 
 destroys their peace of mind. 
 
 What a godsend, then, for n)isplaced Ma- 
 dame Chaml)and, was the arrival of a hand- 
 some, nnmarried, tolerably well-off young man, 
 within a stone's-throw of the octroi of the 
 town ! 
 
 Madame Rendu might like it or not, but 
 Madame Chambaud was not going to give up 
 her projects. Whether it failed or whether it 
 succeeded, the hatching of it would be amus- 
 ing. Match-making to her was what flirtation 
 is to younger women. 
 
 Though one dinner painfully resembled 
 another — the same dishes, the same guests, the 
 same conversation, nourished entirely on local 
 gossip — nevertheless, an invitation never failed 
 to raise a ripple on the Dead Sea of the society 
 of St. Gloi. The ripples became waves when
 
 28 Jupiter's daugiitees. 
 
 M. and Mme. Cliambaud sent out cards for a 
 dinner which no one doubted was given in 
 honor of M. de Saye. 
 
 Madame Kendu at once proposed to send an 
 apology, 
 
 " Wiiy should we refuse ? " asked M. Rendu. 
 
 And Pauline exclaimed — 
 
 " We have only been out twice since N^ew 
 Year's Day, and this is June ! " 
 
 Madame made no direct reply. She said — 
 
 " You have nothino- fresh to wear : and it is 
 throwing money away to buy dresses to let 
 them grow shabby in wardrobes." 
 
 " White muslin washes and wears forever," 
 urged Pauline. 
 
 " There is no time to get a new dress made ; 
 and if I did order one, it would be the town- 
 talk." 
 
 " We could get one from Paris, mamma. 
 We have only to write to Madame Roger." 
 
 " No gossi])ing then with the Joreys." 
 
 Pauline did not need a second bidding. 
 When she showed her note to her mother, 
 Madame Rendu remarked — 
 
 " What French ! — as clear as Cliinese ! The 
 ladies of the Sacrc Coeur liave not taught you 
 to express yourself in your own language." 
 
 " Chhre maman^ do you think we ever had 
 to write about dress and ribbons ? You 
 praised my themes on religion and morals ; 
 now didn't you ?" 
 
 Madame Rendu put Pauline on one side, 
 and wrote herself to Madame Roger.
 
 WE SHALL SEE WHAT WILL COME OF IT, 29 
 
 The Charabaiids received no excuses; every 
 one accepted. Two strangers — what a boon ! 
 
 At the dhmer, all the at entions were for De 
 Saye. lie sat on the right of his hostess, and 
 on his other hand was Madame Rendu, a dip- 
 lomatic move of Madame Chambaud. 
 
 As for Yilpont, merely invited as De Saye's 
 satellite, his place was at the end of the table, 
 among the juniors, and with those on the low- 
 est rung of the ladder of otHcial hierarchy. 
 lie was seated between a fat, rosy young ma- 
 tron and Pauline Rendu. His duty, and he 
 knew it, was in no way towards the latter; 
 besides, he looked on her as belonging to De 
 Saye, 
 
 Pauline, in her new dress from Paris, was 
 an attractive little person. Of all unfathoma- 
 ble phenomena, none greater than that secret 
 personal inlluence we name attraction. It is 
 not due to beauty, for ofttimes it exists inde- 
 pendently of beauty. Emerson says, " In 
 chosen men and women, I find somewhat in 
 form and speech and manners which is not of 
 their person or family, but of a human catho- 
 lic and spiritual character, and we love them 
 as we d(» the skv." Pauline belonged to this 
 class ; and it was, indeed, a common saying m 
 St. Gloi, " that it was difficult to believe she was 
 the child of the Rendus." 
 
 Something of the school-girl still lingered in 
 her sayings and doings, and she was yet in the 
 period of sadden dashes out of the depths of 
 shyness to the front rank of audacious candor.
 
 30 jtjpiter's dacghtees. 
 
 The fat vonno; iriadarae was sincjularly nnin- 
 terestiug; still, all the laws of etiquette bound 
 Vilpout to address his conversation to her. 
 She answered all he said by a short laucrh. 
 Driven to extremity, he at last spoke with ad- 
 miration of the wreath on her head. 
 
 "It was got for the Woods-and-Forests' 
 ball," she said, " and it never took place, be- 
 cause his father died. It was very annoying." 
 
 "Most people do think it an annoyance to 
 die," he said gravely. 
 
 " I don't mean that, but that I had bought 
 the wreath for nothing; I was so thankful 
 when I got the Chambaud's invitation." 
 
 "Ah! I understand now," said Vilpont, his 
 attention engrossed by Mademoiselle Rendn's 
 pretty hands as she opened some bonbon pa- 
 j)ers to read the mottoes. 
 
 Not once during the two mortal hours they 
 Lad sat side by side had he and Pauline inter- 
 changed a word. The young madame, detect- 
 ing the direction of his eyes, whispered — 
 
 " So clever ! you have not an idea of all she 
 knows — sings and draws, and speaks German. 
 She was at the Sacre Coeur in Paris ; an im- 
 mense advantage, you know." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," replied Vilpont. 
 
 He thought lie saw a dimple suddenly 
 appear and disappear in Mademoiselle Rendu's 
 cheek. 
 
 ]\[adarae Chambaud had a soiree in the 
 evening. As soon as the dinner-guests entered 
 the salo7ij the two Joreys rushed at Pauline,
 
 WE SHALL SEE WHAT WILL COME OF IT. 31 
 
 eager to know all that had passed at dinner. 
 By whom had Pauline sat? 
 
 "M. Vilpont was on my right, and one of 
 M. Chambaud's clerks on my left. The first 
 did not think me worth speaking to, and the 
 last was afraid to do so. It was amusing 
 enough. Madame Greemard surpassed her- 
 self ; she told M. Yilpont the story of the man 
 whose polypus was cured by sticking a piece 
 of paper on the point of his tongue. I wish 
 you could have seen the face of interest with 
 which M. Vilpont listened." 
 
 " I do hate deceit," said Stephanie. 
 
 " He is not half so nice as M. de Saye," ob- 
 served Julie. 
 
 " There's no comparison possible between 
 them," replied Pauline with decision. 
 
 " I should not call M. Yilpont downright 
 ugly," added Julie, " but he is so thin and 
 woodish." 
 
 " And M. de Saye so wax-dollish, don't you 
 think?" asked Pauline. "Oh dear! how 1 
 should enjoy it all if there were to be no play- 
 
 lUiT nor sinking ! " 
 
 Vain wish ! Madame Charabaud knew the 
 desire of the hearts of mothers. AVhat could 
 girls learn music for, but to play in com- 
 pany ? So the Jorcys thundered through one 
 of Vilbac's duets, to the admiration of their 
 parents, who liked plenty of sound. Then 
 came Pauline's turn. She had considerable 
 musical talent, aud a sweet, powerful voice. 
 But, poor little girl ! she displayed neither
 
 32 JUPITER S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 to arlvantage. She was seized by an uncon- 
 trollable emotion whicli paralyzed her powers. 
 
 Madame Rendn preserved a plausible show 
 of composure ; but the burning flush on her 
 usually colorless cheeks, testified to her inter- 
 nal disturbance. Some good-natured soul 
 among the guests, who, like many doers of 
 good "deeds, received no meed of gratitude, 
 proposed that the young people should dance. 
 M. de Saye, by Madame Chambaud's will, 
 danced the first quadrille with Pauline, who 
 then took Stephanie's place at the piano, to 
 play waltzes and polkas. 
 
 " It is a pity to see you condemned to play," 
 said Yilpont, suddenly addressing her. " Can 
 none of those ladies take your place ? " and he 
 glanced at a group of the middle-aged. 
 
 " I never waltz," said Pauline ; " it makes 
 me so giddy." 
 
 " If you persevered, you would conquer that 
 feeling." 
 
 " I "have tried often enough, and I don't 
 much care to conquer in such a cause." 
 
 "If you have any polka or waltz duets,! 
 am equal to playiug a bass, and it would fa- 
 tigue you less." 
 
 " Can you ? that would be amusing. Just 
 turn over some leaves of this book, and you 
 will come to duets. Let us try to go on 
 without a stop. How surprised they will all 
 be ! " 
 
 Obeying her directions, their four hands 
 were soon on the instrument together — his so 
 
 'O
 
 WE SHALL SEE WHAT WILL COME OF IT. 33 
 
 long, thin, and brown — hers so rosy and dim- 
 pled. 
 
 " Yon play well, and have a charming 
 voice," he said. 
 
 "Yes, I sang so well just now! I have 
 never dared to look at mamma since." 
 
 She might have added that she would still 
 less dare to do so now. Perhaps half her pres- 
 ent pleasure arose from knowing it to be 
 against rules. 
 
 "My entertaining neiglibor at dinner," he 
 went on, " warned me you were a well of 
 science and a mass of talents. I had already 
 seen one specimen of the last, a water-color 
 sketch in your salon." 
 
 " You are ver}^ easy of belief for a — Pa- 
 risian." 
 
 " What was the word you replaced by Pa- 
 risian i 
 
 " Not a polite one." 
 
 " I guess you meant credulous for my age." 
 
 A faint blnsh answered him. 
 
 " You consider me then old — quite an old 
 man, who may be allowed the privilege of 
 playing bass to your treble. 1 suppose you 
 wouldn't have allowed De Saye to do so? " 
 
 " Indeed, I do not consider you at all an old 
 man ? " 
 
 " Well, I am older than Gaston — drawing 
 near the mezzo caminin delta mtaT 
 
 " And having met all sorts of wild beasts, I 
 bad a right to wonder at your being easily de- 
 ceived," she rejoined. 
 
 a*
 
 34 Jupiter's daughteks. 
 
 " I was not aware that young ladies were 
 allowed to read Dante." 
 
 "I have read. Dante pretty mncli, as I 
 painted that sketch you admire. It's very 
 provoking to be taken in about yourself, to 
 find out that after years of school you know 
 little, or rather nothing." 
 
 " I perceive you are a young philosopher, 
 given to serious reflection." 
 
 " Do you suppose girls are blind and deaf, 
 and never think till they are married ? " 
 
 "Worse and worse. You are heterodox. 
 Nice young ladies wait to receive their impres- 
 sions from their husbands." 
 
 " That's nonsense ; they cannot help seeing 
 and feeling. I assure you, I have very decided 
 opinions about most things." 
 
 She spoke with animation, and Yilpont 
 thought her prettier with every passing min- 
 ute ; and being a man, that fact would have 
 earned her pardon for anything she might be 
 pleased to say. lie said, with assumed grav- 
 ity— 
 
 " I hope you are not imbued with, or rather 
 poisoned by, the theory of the rights of 
 women." 
 
 " I don't know anything of that theory ; 
 but I have ideas of my own on all I hear talked 
 about." 
 
 " Politics, for instance." 
 
 "A little. I listen often to papa and his 
 friends."
 
 WE SHALL SEE WHAT WILL COME OF IT. 35 
 
 " And may I ask, are you Liberal, Dynastic, 
 Irreconcilal)le ? " 
 
 " Soinethiiio: of all three." 
 
 " Now you puzzle me. Pray explain." 
 
 Here, in her ardor to do so, Pauline lost her 
 time so completely, that she brought a ci'owd 
 of complainants about the piano. Madame 
 Rendu also approached the criminal, and 
 Pauline, obeying the order telegraphed by the 
 stern, .black eyes, placed herself by the mater- 
 nal side. Slie danced all the rest of the quad- 
 rilles with her townsmen, and behaved during 
 the remainder of the evening with the custom- 
 ary discretion of Frencli provincial young la- 
 dies ; but oil, how tiresome and insipid lier 
 partners appeai-ed ! 
 
 It was a surprise to Pauline that her mother 
 did not take her to task about M. Yilpont. 
 She had expected a lecture after the angry 
 look she had received ; but all that Madame 
 Pendu said was — 
 
 " How stupid of you to break down in your 
 playing ! " 
 
 This indulgence did not arise from the 
 shrewdness which depreciates by contemptuous 
 indifference, but was the result of a preoccu- 
 pied mind. 
 
 Madame Rendu luid been told that evening 
 that M. de Saye was disposed to live at Sept 
 Ormes ; and it was also said the inheritance 
 was larger than at first believed. If this were 
 really the case, it might be worth her while to 
 reconsider her former decision. She had
 
 36 jupitee's daughters. 
 
 ganged liim sniRciently already to be aware 
 he was not an eagle ; therefore, the better cal- 
 culated to make a safe, quiet husband for Pau- 
 line, and manageable son-in-law for herself. 
 It was this current of thought which restrained 
 her from attacking Vilpont, whom she felt 
 sure it would be better to have as a friend 
 than an enemy.
 
 FORESHADOWmGS. 37 
 
 CHAPTEE Y. 
 
 . FORESHADOWINGS. 
 
 It was on the day after this dinner that 
 Pauline wrote the following letter to Madame 
 Agues, one of the ladies of the Convent of 
 Sacre Coeur: 
 
 " Dear Madame, — Do not be angry if I 
 have not answered your letter sooner. I am 
 vei-y sorry I ccjuld not ; but you must not be 
 vexed with your child, she loves you so much. 
 
 "Whatever happens, my heart always re- 
 mains with you. It is sad to feel my heart so 
 full without having that other heart near me, 
 to whom I could show all that is in my own. 
 Do not answer me about this, for I cannot and 
 will not let my mother see mv feelings on this 
 point. Dear Madame, always love me as you 
 do now. It is such a comfort to have faith, 
 as I have, in your affection for me. I consider 
 myself very happy to have you for my friend. 
 
 '• When I began to write, I fancied I had so 
 much to say. You do not care to liear about 
 parties ; still I must tell 3'ou of one dinner at 
 the Chambauds', at which we met M. de 
 Save, the heir, you know, of old M. Delanoy. 
 
 '' M. de Saye is very pleasant. Every one 
 speaks in raptures of him. lie manages to be 
 good friends with every one ; even with the
 
 38 jtjpitee's daughtees. 
 
 Major and Arch-priest Gonnier. I am sure 
 they were never of one mind before about any 
 one or anything. He has no other particular 
 talent — I mean, he does not care for music 
 
 or painting. I know that JNIadarae C 
 
 wants to make a marriage for him. You guess 
 with whom ; but that young girl will never 
 accept him for a husband — no, never ! 
 
 " Do you remember I once told you I was 
 afraid of marriage, and how you answered it 
 was better for a woman to be married ? But, 
 dear niadame, take my place for a moment. 
 We poor French gii-ls only see the man with 
 whom we are always to live two or three times 
 before saying ' Yes.' Have we not a right to 
 be afraid of the future ? in particular when a 
 girl's life is so free of care as mine. Is it not 
 natural to be afraid to leave all that is known 
 for what is unknown ? — w^hat is certain for 
 what is uncertain? Must I not expect my 
 share of griefs in tlie future — probably in my 
 married life ; and I must be ready to bear all 
 for a man who perhaps will not understand 
 me, and yet whom perhaps I shall love; for 
 you know I can love. 
 
 _" However, I do not always feel afraid. I 
 wish to marry ; not now, but in a year or two. 
 If I were not to do so, I should be desolate by 
 and by, as I have no brothers or sisters. Be- 
 sides, I want to devote myself to some one. 
 Do not answer me about this. Ton must 
 think me foolish — perhaps I am ; but I learned 
 in loving you the happiness affection gi\'es.
 
 F0RESIIAD0WING8. 39 
 
 Ah ! if you were here, your counsels would do 
 me good. I embrace you tenderly. — Your 
 loving child, Pauline." 
 
 Madame Agnes concluded that her little 
 friend's letter was to be read as dreams are — 
 by contraries ; and that this M. de Saye was, 
 after all, to be the object of that devotion 
 Pauline longed to give. The 3^oung lady had 
 somehow forgotten to mention the polka duets. 
 
 Ten dsijs later another letter was sent to 
 Madame As-nes. 
 
 & 
 
 "Dear Madame and Best Friend, — On 
 awaking this morning, my first thought was of 
 you, and more than ever I wished you were 
 near me. I must now relate all that has hap- 
 pened since my last letter ; first the pleasure, 
 and then the pain. 
 
 " Mamma decided that she would not give 
 M. de Saye a dinner, like every one else ; so 
 we had a soiree. After we had danced, M. 
 de Saye's friend, M. Yilpont (who is now on a 
 visit to Sept Ormes) proposed we should have 
 some charades. At first no one would agree 
 to act, and then every one was eager to do so. 
 The first word was ' Cartel.' M. Vilpont said 
 the spelling did not matter, only the sound of 
 the word. So we had a scene on the deck of 
 a vessel, with the ofiicer and men of the watch 
 taking soundings, and a lady passenger always 
 interrupting and wanting to know what they 
 were doing. I was the lady, and it was not
 
 40 Jupiter's daughtees. 
 
 very good. But the second syllable was excel- 
 lent. It was a parody of the historical scene 
 of William Tell. Oh ! it was the best of all. 
 M. de Saye was Gessler; Stephanie Jorey and 
 I were his guards ; Leon Berthier was Tell ; 
 and M. Laroche his wife Edwige. He looked 
 really like a woman. M. Yilpont was Jemmy 
 the boy, Madauie Chamband dressed him as 
 a baby, with a little cap. He came in on his 
 knees, to look like a child, with his finger in 
 his month. It was capital. No one would 
 have expected M. Yilpont to be so amiable as 
 to play this part. His face was so droll in the 
 baby's cap, with his beard hid by a bib. Tlien 
 we played " pompier — pont-pied." The second 
 scene was from Cinderella. M. Yilpont was 
 the prince, and did not seem at all flattered to 
 fall at the feet of Madame Greemard, she is 
 so very fat. It was the best party we ever 
 had." 
 
 Perhaps Madame Agnes might have been 
 struck by the frequent mention of M. Yilpont's 
 name, but for the end of the letter. 
 
 " Xow for the pain. 
 
 " I am again discouraged, dear madame, as 
 I am so often. I despise myself. 1 am tired 
 of my own disagreeable character, and sad- 
 dened by seeing I cannot make it better. I 
 cannot help being impatient with those I live 
 with. I cannot help vexing mamma with my 
 impetuous ways, and it makes me miserable to 
 hear her say I shall never make any one happy. 
 This is what happened.
 
 FORESHADOWINGS. 41 
 
 " The day after our charades mamma and I 
 went to see my cousin Eugenie. You know 
 mamma loves her as another daughter. We 
 found her — where do you think? — in her hus- 
 band's private room, where he sees his clients 
 and writes. We heard very loud speaking as 
 we were going in. Victor and Eugenie were 
 sitting on a sofa, and as we entered we saw 
 Iier give liim a great slap. I shivered all over, 
 but V ictor was not angry a bit ; he laughed, 
 and said, ' Shall we have a separation, my 
 angel ? ' and then Eugenie began to sob. 
 
 " Mamma asked what was tlie matter, and 
 Victor said that Eugenie had been turning 
 over all his papers, and reading private letters 
 on business. Eugenie sobbed out that he re- 
 ceived visits from ladies, and that she was per- 
 fectly wretclied. 
 
 " Victor said to mamma, ' Believe me, I 
 adore Eugenie, but she torments me to death ; 
 we must either separate, or I must give up my 
 profession and starve.' I don't know what 
 made me interfere ; but I did, and I said that 
 Eugenie must be silly, or worse; for if she be- 
 lieved her husband was a bad man, she ought 
 not to stay with him. 
 
 " Mamma turned quite fiercely on me, and 
 declared I was insupportable ; that instead of 
 trying to make peace, 1 added fuel to fire. 
 I ouMit to have held my tongue ; but I went 
 on and declared it was wrong to make peace 
 with badness. Mamma turned me out of the 
 room, saying she pitied the man who should
 
 42 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 marry me. I have been so unhappy, ever 
 since, to tliink that my own mother, who 
 knows me best, should say I was i7isuj)j>ort- 
 able. It is very hard to bear; and if you 
 knew how hard I try not to be forever indig- 
 nant — to be more quiet, like other girls ! But 
 I cannot laugh at things as the Joreys do. 
 Pray write and comfort me. You never 
 thought me insupportable, did you? — Your 
 poor Pauline." 
 
 ISTo one can doubt what was the answer sent 
 to this effusion. It could be no other than an 
 exhortation to be humble, patient, and submis- 
 sive; but the homily was so sweetened by 
 terms of endearment, that Pauline wept tears 
 of mingled joy and repentance as she read. 
 N"or can any one doubt that she laid the coun- 
 sels to heart, seeing how uncomplainingly she 
 accepted her mother's refusal of the many in- 
 vitations that followed the charade soiree. 
 Her regret at these refusals she looked on in 
 the light of a fitting penance — her own patient 
 acquiescence was a salve to her conscience. 
 
 Madame Rendu was holding aloof until she 
 could be sure of M. de Saye's plans. She 
 prided herself on her far-sightedness. She ex- 
 plained, or rather told, M. Rendu, who per- 
 mitted himself to wonder why they should thus 
 seclude themselves, that she was the best judge 
 of what ought or ought not to be done in the 
 case, and that she acted thus solely in Pauline's 
 interest. As for Pauline herself, Madame
 
 FORESHADOWING 8. 43 
 
 Rendu unconsciously looked upon her as a 
 pnppet — eyes, ears, feeling, and understanding 
 wonld be bestowed on her when she married. 
 
 In the meantime Pauline's imagination 
 worked the more diligently for the absence of 
 reality.
 
 44 JTJPITEe's DAtJGHTEES. 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 A FIRST SUNDAY AT STE. MAKIE, AND SUSPICION 
 
 LULLED. 
 
 Three weeks after the polka dnets, Yilpont, 
 quite by accident, met Pauline at Chateau Ste. 
 Marie, the residence of her godmother. Every 
 Sunday all the members of her family gathered 
 round old Madame Jorey. The French have 
 strong family love. They say of themselves, 
 " True, we laugh at matrimony, our race has 
 always done so from the beginning of time ; 
 but in no country are parents more honored, 
 the bond of relationship held so close." 
 
 Filial respect was especially great among 
 the Joreys. The elderly sons were as submis- 
 sive in manner to their mother as when mere 
 schoolboys. Pauline was admitted as one of 
 the family group by right of god-daughtership. 
 Godmother and godchild are looked upon in 
 France as connected by a binding relationship. 
 
 It was M. Edmond Jorey who had brought 
 Yilpont to Ste. Marie, and who ushered him 
 without ceremony into the salle d manger. 
 
 A pretty scene met the Parisian's sight. 
 Bonne raaraan (g?'andmamma), seated in a 
 roomy arm-chair, was supei-intending the 
 handiwork of iier two grand-daughters and of 
 Mademoiselle Rendu. 
 
 All three girls were in deshabille., in gray
 
 A FIEST SUNDAY AT 8TE. MARIE. 45 
 
 peignoirs, their sleeves rolled up to the elbow, 
 and each with a spoon was rapidly stirring 
 some concoction in a basin. The nsual com- 
 pact neatness of their hair was distnrbed : 
 wild little curls were floating over Pauline's 
 forehead, and frolicking on her neck. The 
 gentlemen had been watching them through 
 the window for Hve minutes, and listening to 
 their chatter. 
 
 " I am teachincy them something better than 
 music and dancing," said the old lady, her 
 round face all in a glow with her own exer- 
 tions. "■ Ma tillenle (my god-daughter) has 
 been looking after the gigot, which you shall 
 give your opinion about at supper ; and now 
 we are making three different kinds of bon- 
 bons, chocolate, pistachio, and almond." 
 
 " AVill you let me be one of your pupils? " 
 said Vilpont, seating himself on a footstool at 
 honne maman^ feet, which also brought him 
 close to Pauline. 
 
 He turned up his coat-sleeves, and with 
 a sheet of paper lying conveniently near 
 made himself a cook's cap. Bonne maman 
 chuckled ; and the girls, how they laughed 
 with girlish glee ! Pauline put her basin, into 
 his hands, bidding him go on stirring. At 
 last the bonbons were ready for the oven, and 
 honne maiixan called out, " Run, girls, and get 
 yourselves ready for vespers ! I hear the bell." 
 
 In a few minutes they were back again in 
 their silk frocks and tiny straw hats, all 
 wreathed with corn-flowers.
 
 46 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 Yilpont — Heaven knows how lonj^ since he 
 had done so — went to church witli the family. 
 He manosuvred so as to secure himself a seat 
 on the bench immediately opposite to where 
 Pauline sat. How innocent and good she 
 looked, and how charming was her little 
 gaucherie as she knelt on the straw chair, con- 
 scious of the short dress which betrayed her 
 pretty feet ! 
 
 The church was a poor village church ; tlie 
 whitewashed wails hung with the most primi- 
 tive gaudy prints of the Chemin de la Croix, 
 with here and there a humble ex-voto. 
 Facing Yilpont was a rough painting of a 
 stupendous bUick eye on a blue ground, sym- 
 bolizing the ever-watchfulness of Providence. 
 Few or the cierges being lighted, and ivy- 
 branches trailino^ across the hio-h narrow win- 
 dows, ev^erything in the church was toned down 
 to a soft gray, well calculated to promote tran- 
 quil, if not devotional, feeling. The nasal 
 bass of the priest, the high, untutored trebles 
 of the choir, the scraping of the fiddle, and 
 the drone of the serpent, brought back a whole 
 tide of recollections to Yilpont. Memory so 
 smote on his heart, that his eyes filled with un- 
 wonted tears. He felt, as so many feel, that 
 the acquisitious of manhood do not compen- 
 sate for the hopes and faith of early youth. 
 
 Pauline saw — as women do see everything 
 in any one wdio interests them — she saw that 
 sudden filling of his eyes. How describe their 
 effect upon her ? In a second she had deified
 
 A FIRST SUNDAY AT STE, MAKIE. 47 
 
 this man of the world. Her letters to Madame 
 iVa^nes have sliowii the cravings of her young 
 heart — have shown how her nature shrunk 
 from the void of having no one to whom to 
 give a woman's devotion. In tliis moment 
 that void was filled by a joy that ti'ansiigured 
 her sweet face. The period of crudeness and 
 defiance, special to the girl who has never felt 
 a preference, was about to vanish. With a 
 new and vivid sensation she set aside her 
 chair ; and kneeling on the bare stone, her in- 
 nocent soul associated this almost stranger 
 with her inmost prayers. 
 
 As they were leaving the church a very old 
 gentleman came forw^ard — a thin, bent, white- 
 haired man, dressed in a brown snit, 
 
 " My uncle Germain, my mother's eldest 
 brother," said M. Jorey, presenting him to 
 Vilpont. 
 
 " Uncle, will you come on the lake with 
 Tis ? " asked Stephanie. 
 
 " Yery willingly, my child," he replied, in 
 a feeble, quivering voice. 
 
 " A lake?" exclaimed Vilpont. 
 
 " Yes, sir, and worthy of your notice," re- 
 plied the octogenarian with pride. 
 
 " Uncle, take care and bring tiie girls home 
 in time for supper," said M. Jorey, lifting 
 his hat, as he turned in another direction. 
 
 " Papa always has a long tete-d-tete with 
 honne maman on Sunday afternoon," ex- 
 plained Stephanie to Yilpont. " Bonne mor 
 inan likes to hear all he has done durinsj the
 
 48 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 week. She must have him all to herself, and 
 then she pats his head and holds his hand in 
 hers, just as she nsed to do when he was a 
 child. ' lie is still my boy,' she often says ; 
 and so mamma does not come till just before 
 supper-time, and Uncle Germain takes care of 
 ns meanwhile." 
 
 Surely never was there a more fragile-look- 
 ing guardian. 
 
 As they wound along the narrow, woodland 
 path leading to the lake, by that double will 
 which yet seems chance, Pauline and Vilpont 
 came to be side by side. 
 
 Pauline at first frequently stopped to pick a 
 flower, as though she thought nothing of her 
 companion ; but after two or three of these pre- 
 tences of indifference, she succumbed to the 
 new influence. 
 
 " What do you think of Uncle Germain ? " 
 she began. 
 
 " He is so bowed, so gentle-looking, yet so 
 scarred by time, that I should imagine he had 
 suffered a good deal." 
 
 Pauline said with a look of surprise, " How 
 well you guess ! but perhaps you have heard 
 his story ? " 
 
 " Not a word of it, I assure you." 
 
 " He is past eighty now, but when he was 
 young he cared very much for a lady ; she 
 is still alive, and lives in St. Gloi. Pie was 
 not rich enough, so she married some one 
 else ; and then about ten years afterwards her 
 husband died, leaving her a great fortune.
 
 A riKST SUNDAY AT STE. MARIE. 49 
 
 Everybody expected that now slie would 
 marry TTiicle Germain, for she had always de- 
 clared she loved him." 
 
 " And I suppose they found out that they 
 no longer cared for one another," interrupted 
 Yilpont. 
 
 " He has never ceased to love her," said 
 Pauline, with a slight vibration of indignation 
 in her voice, " but she would not marry him ; 
 and they say " — here indignation sounded its 
 full note — "they say she laughs at him. My 
 mother suspects he knows it, and that it is 
 that which makes him so sad-looking." v 
 
 /* " My dear young lady, when you have lived 
 longer yon will discover how capricious hu- 
 man hearts are. Who knows whether, if the 
 lady had proved kind, the gentleman would, 
 have remained constant % " -^ 
 
 Pauline's eyes flashed on him as she replied, 
 "If Iain only to discover what is mean and 
 bad, I do not wish to live." 
 
 Luckily just at this moment they emerged 
 out of the chequered shade of the wood into 
 the bright sanlight which set ablaze the yel- 
 low road and the greensward of the banks 
 surroundiui^ the lake — nothinr; in siffht to mar 
 the sylvan loveliness of the scene — a bird 
 overhead letting fall sparse notes of song, 
 some of the last he would sing that year — a 
 gentle breeze just sufficient to make the high 
 grass quiver — three nymi)h-like girls giving 
 the life and coloring Ponssin loved. 
 
 " Come away ! " cried Julie from the boat, 
 3
 
 50 jupitee's dadghters. 
 
 nnable to sympathize in Vilpoiit's admiration ; 
 " we are wastino; precious time." 
 
 " Are you really going to row? " asked A^il- 
 pont, as he saw Pauline and Julie handling 
 the oars. 
 
 '' That's the pleasure of it," said Julie. 
 " Uncle Germain will steer. Monsieur Vil- 
 pout, you and Stephanie are our passen- 
 gers." 
 
 Yilpont took his seat according to orders, 
 and away they went skimming over the unrip- 
 pled waters. So calm was it, so vivid the re- 
 flection of the cloudless heaven, that they 
 seemed to he gliding over a blue sky, behind 
 them the trees, wra])ped in violet mist. 
 
 After a little whispering among themselves, 
 the girls began to sing " Adeste Fideles," the 
 two rowing keeping time with their oars. On 
 and on they passed, out of the bright light 
 into where the lake, narrowing l)etween two 
 banks, was darkened by trees advancing to 
 their edge. They stopped, and Stephanie 
 said. " Now Ave must s'o home : it's mv turn," 
 and she took Pauline's oar. 
 
 " I wish there was no going back," said 
 Yilpont. 
 
 " And the gigot and the bonbons ! " cried 
 out Julie. 
 
 " Ah ! true, I had forgotten reality." 
 
 " But reality must not be forgotten," said 
 Stephanie in her most dogmatic tone, " or we 
 shall get among the osiers, and have a scolding 
 into the bargain."
 
 A FIRST SUNDAY AT STE. MARIK. 51 
 
 " You are riijht, mademoiselle ; forcfettino- 
 reality never fails to land one in a scrape. 
 But common-sense need not prevent your 
 siuiriiio; a<i;uin." 
 
 " As Pauline is not rowing, let her sing 
 something alone." 
 
 " What' shall it he ?" asked Pauline. 
 
 " Uncle Germain's favorite — ' Demain.' " 
 
 Leaning over the side, trailing one hand in 
 the water as a sort of accompaniment, Pau- 
 line sang Madame Blanchecotte's pretty words 
 set to music hv the oro-anist of St. Gloi — 
 
 "Lon, Ion la! les jours se passent 
 Tides, miserablement ! 
 Lon, lon la ! les coeurs se lassent 
 D'eiTsr otemellement ! 
 Toujours la mcme folie, 
 Les mcmes tristes amours, 
 Et toujours la meme lie ! 
 Lon, lon la ! toujours ! toujours ! 
 
 " Lon, lon la ! comme on se leurre 
 
 D'c,ti-e ferme et d'etre fier ! 
 Lon, lon la ! qu'on rie, qu'on pleure 
 
 Demain recommence hier ! 
 
 Ou Ton est tombe Ton tombe ! 
 
 2sous ne cessons d'etre fous 
 
 Que les deux pieds sous la tombe ; 
 Lon, lon la ! dessous ! dessous ! 
 
 ' ' Lon, lon la ! d"un air de ronde 
 Je voulais railler un peu 
 
 Lon, lon la ! ce pauvre monde, 
 Si morose dans son jeu ! 
 JIais une angoisse subite 
 Vint pleurer quand je chantais : 
 De soi Ton n'est jamais quitte ! 
 
 Lon, lon la ! jamais ! jamais ! "
 
 52 Jupiter's daugiitkks. 
 
 Header, have yon ever listened to a happy 
 child singing some ditty with sad words, the 
 sadness of which it cannot comprehend, and 
 not felt the pathos of the contrast between 
 words and singer ? This was what moved 
 Yilpont to the very depth of his being, listen- 
 ing to snch despairing words from the rosy 
 lips of the fair girl before him — so uncon- 
 scious of the struggles and anguish that in- 
 formed the poet's lines. 
 
 With swift strokes they shot out of the 
 gloom into long, glancing lines of light. The 
 water had a voice also of its own — the breeze 
 made a whispering among the trees ; on went 
 the boat with its freight of humanity — the sad 
 old man on the verge of eternity, the disap- 
 pointed man who had reached the " middle 
 way of life," and three young creatures full 
 of ardor and of belief that the world was a 
 great stoi-ehouse of happiness. 
 
 Monsieur and Madame Rendu, with Ma- 
 dame Edmond Jorey, joined the supper-party, 
 Madame Hendu looked far from pleased when 
 she saw Vilpont, and made an opportunity to 
 let him know that she never trusted Pauline 
 alone to visit any one but her marraiiie. 
 
 The cure of the village was also there : he 
 was treated like one of the famih^, and was 
 evidently the confidant of the young girls. 
 He had been their religious guide and in- 
 structor, and it was with him they had " made 
 their first communion." It was pretty to see
 
 A FIRST SUNDAY AT STE. MAIilE. 53 
 
 how they waited on him, and how he entered 
 into all their jokes and playful ways. 
 
 The following morning, while I)e Saye and 
 his friend were smoking their cigars on the 
 terrace running along the front of Sept 
 Ormes, De Saye said : 
 
 " That busybody we dined with last week 
 told me that Mademoiselle Eendu's dot will 
 be only 200,000 francs (£8,000), and the 
 father and mother are only now middle- 
 aged." 
 
 Vilpont whistled. 
 
 " That's no answer," said De Saye, fret- 
 fully. 
 
 "The young lady herself has some value," 
 replied Yilpont, dryly. 
 
 " She is agreeable enough, but the fortune 
 is preposterous ; only considei- millinery ! My 
 sister finds six thousand francs too little for 
 her dress, and is always borrowing." 
 
 Vilpont puffed out a great cloud of smoke 
 before he replied : 
 
 " I'll tell you what, De Saye— win Made- 
 moiselle Pauline if you can. She is superior 
 to the generality of girls, and believe me, my 
 good fellow, marriage is an excellent thing 
 when a man is young, and when he makes of 
 his wife the companion of his youth." 
 
 " If you have such a good opinion of Made- 
 moiselle Pauline, why don't you propose for 
 her ? " 
 
 '' I am too old, and— I am not worthy of 
 such a girl."
 
 54 JUPITEE S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 Yet Vilpont was, perhaps, better than 
 ninety-nine out of a hundred of the men of 
 his class. lie might claim the snperioi'it)" of 
 having been made pretty often a dupe; 
 further, that he was still able to believe in 
 his fellow-beinsjs, and was not like many of 
 his associates, who paraded cynicism as a 
 merit. He bad, besides, talent tbat was nearly 
 genius, and was without vanity. He was gen- 
 erous both in sentiment and deed ; incapable of 
 a meanness, as between man and man. With 
 women his c<jde of honor was less strict. He 
 had not escaped the influences of his genera- 
 tion — of its prodigality, its discouragements, 
 and its love of pleasure. One and all of these 
 had left bis mark on him. 
 
 When everything had been conjectured it 
 was possible to conjecture about De Saye's 
 antecedents, St. Gloi suddenly vibrated with 
 curiosity as to who M. Vilpont was, and why 
 he had come thither, and why he did not go 
 away. 
 
 The Arch-priest's cook averred that Gonde 
 had told her that never had she seen such 
 linen as M. Vilpont's ; it was a shame for a 
 man, and a young man, to have sucli shirts; 
 and everything else to match — brushes and 
 combs fit for a prince. He was quiet enough 
 in his ways ; but there was a something about 
 him which made Gonde suspect him. 
 
 "Suspect him of what ;!" asked the Arch- 
 priest, full of ahirm, lest Henri Rochefort had 
 corac among them in disguise.
 
 A FIRST SUNDAY AT STE. MAKIE. 55 
 
 "Well, Gonde could not explain ; but she 
 was of o})ini()n he was not what he seemed. 
 
 Little by little the curiosity of the St. Glois- 
 ians took a tinge of the fierceness of fear. 
 The wish to know all your neighbor's con- 
 cerns, and the habit of supposing evil unless 
 you can gratify that desire for knowledge, are 
 not peculiar to St. Gloi. Everywhere, save in 
 great centres, or in places renowned for cli- 
 mate, folks require a patent reason for your 
 coming among them. The bank-director's 
 wife was the iirst to break ground. She one 
 day said to Vilpont that he was the tirst per- 
 son she had ever known who remained in St. 
 Gloi without any obligation to do so. 
 
 " I am lazy," he answei-ed. " I did not 
 come willingly, but being here, I do not care 
 to go. Are you anxious that I should ? " 
 
 " Oh deal-, no ! only you must allow us to 
 wonder a little." 
 
 " You mean to say that I am considered a 
 suspicious character. Dear lady, I am noth- 
 ing worse than a do-nothing, who, not being 
 pressed by necessity, passes his days in busy 
 idleness. 1 am without any nearer relation 
 than an uncle and some distant cousins, who 
 have no particular regard for me. If you 
 have any reason for desiring my absence, I 
 will be off to-morrow." 
 
 The lady colored and laughed as she dis- 
 claimed any such desire. 
 
 " To be candid with j'ou," he went on, 
 turning the lady into a warm partisan by this
 
 56 jupitee's daughters. 
 
 semblance of confidence, — " To be candid 
 with yon, nothing is more gratefnl to a man 
 tired of bnstle and agitation, tlian a life where 
 one day resembles another. It is refreshing 
 to see the same faces, to listen to the same 
 conversations, over and over again ; never to be 
 disturbed by hearing or seeing anything new. 
 It's a happiness, I assnre yon, merely to exist 
 where no one ventures to put forth an opin- 
 ion. Paris, my usual home, becomes after a 
 time intolerable, with its never-ending theo- 
 ries, and its chase after novelty. The placid- 
 ity which reigns here, the shade of somno- 
 lence which prevails, is what I adore." 
 
 Tlie listener was to the full as much puzzled 
 as flattered by this avowal. When she related 
 the conversation, as well as she could, to 
 Madame Eendu, tliat lady, with her practical 
 views, observed — 
 
 " Probably M. Yilpont meant what he said 
 about being sick of Paris. She had felt it 
 herself ; and though it appeared he could do 
 without a profession, a long visit to Sept 
 Ormes might be a useful economy." 
 
 Once this opinion prevailed, Yilpont, in 
 spite of his fine linen, ceased to be an object 
 of alarm. Indeed, he lapsed into the categoi-y 
 of the unimportant, neither to be married by 
 Madame Chambaud, nor reported of by the 
 sub-prefect to his chief.
 
 DISCO VEKIE8. 57 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 DISCOVERIES — ENDING WITH A CONFLAGRATION. 
 
 It was not long before it came to Pauline's 
 ears that M. Vilpont had recommended M, 
 de Saye to propose for her, Gonde, who 
 from her kitchen windows had overheard part 
 of the young man's conversation on the ter- 
 race, related in her own way what she had 
 heard to the Arch-priest's cook ; the Arch- 
 priest's cook had given her version to the 
 Joreys' ladies'-maid, and she again had retailed 
 the gossip to the young ladies as they were 
 going to bed. 
 
 The next mornino; Pauline was told bv Ste- 
 phanie and Julie, under the seal of the strict- 
 est confidence, that Vilpont and De Saye had 
 cast lots which should marry her, and that De 
 Saye liad won ; but he had objected that she 
 dressed too extravagantly, and had offered to 
 give her up to Yilpont, who had distinctly said 
 no — she was too dangerous. 
 
 Pauline, tliough lier face crimsoned pain- 
 full}', was less shocked than an Englisli girl 
 would have been ; she knew how often mar- 
 riages were discussed in a bargaining spirit in 
 France. 
 
 " Let us think of some way to punish them," 
 said Stephanie. 
 3*
 
 58 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 " But how can girls punish men ? " asked 
 the more timid Julie. 
 
 " Let us all agree never to dance with 
 either of them," was Stephanie's proposal. 
 
 " No such thing ; that would only make a 
 horrible talk through the town, and perhaps 
 tni-n the Jaugli against me," said PauHne. 
 *' After all, u^e discuss them pretty freely, and 
 we should think M. Yilpont very absurd if he 
 resented my saying he was not so handsome 
 as liis friend." 
 
 " But su]ipose M. de Saye proposes for you ? " 
 
 " I shall take his proposal into considera- 
 tion." 
 
 " And if M. Yilpont were to come for- 
 ward ? " 
 
 " I should answer precisely in the same 
 way. That is, however, not likely, as he calls 
 me dangerous." 
 
 " What could he mean ? " asked Julie. 
 
 " The very cpiestion I should put if he did 
 propose." 
 
 " And so yon have given up your ideal ? " 
 said Stephanie. 
 
 "On the contrary, I never thouglit so much, 
 and so seriously, of him as at the present 
 moment." 
 
 " I cannot make you out, Pauline, you are 
 so changed." 
 
 " Am I ? " returned the young girl, running 
 to a glass. 
 
 "Yes," continued Stephanie; "even your 
 face is changed."
 
 DISCOVERIES. 59 
 
 " Tell me how and wliere, for I do not see 
 it," said Pauline, pnsliino; back her hair, and 
 droppinfv on her knees before Stephanie. 
 " Do jou see any wrinkles ? " 
 
 Stephanie looked lon^ at the upturned face. 
 " You don't care for us so much as you did — 
 I know it, I see it." 
 
 '• Little goose ! there never Avas a time I 
 loved you so much. When I think that per- 
 haps next year, even in a few months, we may 
 all be separated, that we may he at the differ- 
 ent ends of France, that all these good talks 
 nia}'^ be over forever and ever, that we may be 
 sick and sorry among strangers, I am ready to 
 cry." Here she jumped up, and exclaimed, 
 " Suppose we all three go to the Cure and 
 take a solemn oath never to marry, always to 
 live together." 
 
 " Mamtna would never forgive us," mur- 
 mured Julie. 
 
 " The Cure would not let us," said Ste- 
 phanie ; " besides, every one mari-ies." 
 
 " Then let us talk of something else," re- 
 joined Pauline, a little ashamed of herself, as 
 we all are when cold water is thrown on our 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 Nowhere is there less liberty to do as you 
 please than in small towns. Unless you wish 
 to offer up your reputation and your person as 
 food for idle comment, you must learn to put 
 a restraint on all your looks, words, and 
 actions ; even to take care of yonr thoughts. 
 You must do as others do, have no aims higher
 
 60 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 than theirs. You may strive to be rich, to 
 marry your sons and daughters to the best ad- 
 vantage, keeping your daughters strictly under 
 a veil as impenetrable as that of Isis ; but be- 
 ware of generosity, or of enthusiasm, or of 
 strong convictions. Creep, creep along tlie 
 smooth, beaten path of mediocrity, and you 
 will meet your reward — ^you will be trusted 
 and respected. 
 
 Yilpont was once more becoming both 
 dreaded and despised. The discovery had 
 been made that lie was an author. St. Gloi 
 feared the uncommon, feared all that did not 
 run on beaten paths. An author had never 
 been seen in St. Gloi. Yilpont was regarded 
 as an incorporation of Dr. Faustus and the 
 devil, and looked upon with a curious mixture 
 of contempt and awe. 
 
 De Saye came in for his share of blame for 
 introducing this writer of plays into '' the 
 society ; " but then every one excused him be- 
 cause he was unmarried, and could not be ex- 
 pected to be so careful as to his associates as 
 lie would be by and by. The matrons of St. 
 Gloi had pitiful hearts, as most matrons have, 
 for a good parti. So, though treated with 
 additional reserve, Yilpont was not yet 
 avoided. 
 
 Two or three of the most adventurous 
 spirits, indeed, had a secret desire to see what 
 he had written, but they dared not breathe 
 aloud that desire. The stupidest of the crtme 
 de la crhne nicknamed him Le heau Unehreux
 
 DISCO VEEIES. 61 
 
 — an epithet picked out of some newspaper 
 story. 
 
 Only old Madame Jorey snp]iortcd Vilpont. 
 lie had returned more than once to visit the 
 lake, and each time had called at the chateau 
 and had a long chat with bonne maman. 
 
 Even these walks were a subject for suspic- 
 ion. The St. Gloisians looked on woods and 
 valleys merely in the light of mvestments — 
 none understood disinterested admiration for 
 the country — none among them, indeed, could 
 have found their way through the forests en- 
 circling St. Gloi. Were there not railways to 
 any place which it was necessary to visit ? So 
 the topograjjhy of the department was gener- 
 ally ignored by what are called the " better 
 classes." 
 
 Madame Jorey stood her ground against her 
 dauo;hters-in-law, M'ho were amono- the fiercest 
 alarmists. Tiie old lady declared she had 
 seen men enough in her life to know an honest 
 one from a rogue; and though she would not 
 answer for M. Yilpont as a saint, she would 
 guarantee his being a galant hornme. 
 
 Matters were in this dubious state, when, for 
 the first time since Gonde's gossip had reached 
 her, Pauline and Vilpont met at an evening 
 party gi\en by Madame Chambaud. 
 
 That lady, still on projects of matrimony in- 
 tent, had prudently kept herself neuti'al as re- 
 garded Vilpont. How could she invite M. de 
 Saye and not his friend ? and liow promote a 
 preference in M. de Saye for Pauline if he
 
 62 Jupiter's daughteks. 
 
 never met her? So Yilpont, still nnconscions 
 of his nn])opularity, appeared, with his usual 
 air of indifference, in Madame Chamhaud's 
 salon. lie did not even remark a studied 
 coldness in the manner his bows were received. 
 AVhat he did obsei-ve was a defiant S])arkle in 
 Pauline's eyes when they met his. She, poor 
 child, was indiiferent as to his being an author. 
 A/hat she did smai't under was his supposed 
 expressed disapprobation and indifference. 
 She had inteiided to make no change in her 
 manner towards him ; but it is difhcult, even 
 for the mo&t wary, to hide a strong impression, 
 a hope, or a doubt. So Yilpont perceived at 
 once that she had no longer any friendly feel- 
 ing for him, and wondered what conld be the 
 cause of the change. lie was leagues away 
 from any right guess. 
 
 These tw(j people were equally preoccupied 
 by one another, and equally desirous not to 
 show that preoccupation — Vilpont, from ex- 
 perience of the sharpness of provincial eyes ; 
 Pauline, from womanly instinct. 
 
 Nevertheless, an irresistible attraction was 
 drawino^ them too-ether. Pauline struo-o-led 
 against it, keeping herself well within a group 
 of girls, talking, whispering, laughing, not- 
 withstanding many grave, rebuking looks from 
 Madame Pendu, or an occasional reproachful 
 " AUons, done mesdemoiselles " from other 
 mothers. 
 
 " What a child Pauline still is ! " murmured 
 Madame Chambaud.
 
 DISCOVERIES, 63 
 
 " Too much so, niadanie," was the severe re- 
 joinder. 
 
 Madame Cliambaud's request for the usual 
 dose of music had l)een met by so universal a 
 pleading for the cotillon, that she had yielded 
 to the popular voice. 
 
 M. de Saye and Madame Greemard were 
 elected as leaders. 
 
 Vilpont, saying he had long given up danc- 
 ing, took a seat by Madame Ilendn. lie had 
 a secret wisli to ])ropitiate her. 
 
 " A poor exhibition for you, monsieur," was 
 how she began lier attack. " A poor exhibi- 
 tion for you, who are accustomed to Paris and 
 the ballet." 
 
 " This is a far prettier sight, madame, than 
 a ballet — as superior as fresh flowers are to 
 artificial ones." 
 
 " Monsieur is very polite." 
 
 " And v>'ith perfect sincerity, madame." 
 
 Vilpont was watching Pauline. One of the 
 prettiest figures of the cotillon is that in which 
 the cavalier carries a net to catch the buttei-fiy 
 the lady waves before him, fixed on the end of 
 a flexible wand. M. de Saye was the pursuer, 
 and Pauline the defender. Vilp(.)nt was really 
 justified in his admiration — so swiftlv, so 
 gracefully did the girl bend and elude all at- 
 tacks. It was evident to him that her de- 
 fence was in earnest. The struggle was so 
 prolonged that the lookers-on grew interested, 
 and stood \\\> to see the result. De Saye, so 
 noted a cotillon hero, was piqued by such res-
 
 64 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 olute resistance, and pnt forth all his strength 
 and dexterity, using his advantages of heiglit 
 and lengtli of arm. More than once the but- 
 terfl)^ escaped capture but by a hair's-breadth ; 
 until, when so sorely pressed that defeat 
 seemed certain, a flash of Are sparkled on the 
 end of the wand. With a cry of dismay the 
 dancers dispersed. Tlie butterfly had caught 
 fire at one of the candles of the chandelier — 
 whether by accident or design, Pauline kept 
 to herself. With a low curtsey to M. de Saye, 
 she went to her mother's side. 
 
 " Permit me to offer you my compliments, 
 mademoiselle, on your graceful and successful 
 defence," said Yilpont. 
 
 " I do not approve of playing with fire," ob- 
 served Madame Rendu, not at all pleased. 
 " Why," thought she, " could not Pauline man- 
 age to be more like other girls?" 
 
 " I am sorry for the butterfly ; it was very 
 pretty," said Pauline. 
 
 Madame Rendu was ol)liged at this moment 
 to listen to a long-winded oration from the 
 pedantic young Juge d'Instruction. 
 
 \^ilp<mt, standing behind Pauline, said in a 
 low voice — 
 
 " You burned the butterfly on purpose." 
 
 "O monsieur! do not give yourself the 
 trouble to explain a little girl's whims. They 
 are often silh', but never dangerous." 
 
 All the eveniner Pauline had been meditat- 
 ing how, in speaking, she could manage to 
 bring in that (offending word. She had laid
 
 DISCOVERIES. 65 
 
 more e?nphasia on it than she was conscious of 
 doing-, and, thouo-li she did her best to look 
 iniconscious, Vilpont felt that there was more 
 meant than met the ear, 
 
 " Is that a riddle for me to guess ? " and he 
 iixed her eyes tirinly with his own. It was 
 hawk and jenny-wren. 
 
 There was a passing little quiver of the girl's 
 lips, which tacitly invoked his mercy; but 
 otherwise she did not quail, and said proudly — 
 
 " You have no right to suppose anything 
 about me ! " 
 
 " I beg you a thousand pardons, mademoi- 
 selle," And he left her. 
 
 Pauline went to bed that night believing 
 that she was glad f^he had offended M, Vil- 
 pont, 
 
 As M, de Saye and Yilpont went home, 
 Gaston said — 
 
 " Let us walk quick. That cotillon was as 
 bad as a vapor-bath." 
 
 "Mademoiselle Pauline is as nimble as a 
 squirrel," returned Vilpont. 
 
 " Not so nimble but that I could have caught 
 her but for that stupid accident." 
 
 " Ah ! yes. How did she manage it — so lit- 
 tle as she is ? " 
 
 " Manage it ! You don't suppose she did it 
 on purpose ? " 
 
 " I suspect so. And I retract the advice I 
 gave you about her." 
 
 " A girl's coquetry need be no scarecrow." 
 
 " As you please."
 
 60 jupitek's daughteks. 
 
 " Perhaps you are thinking of her for your- 
 self?" 
 
 '' Were I as good a fellow as I was at 
 twenty-five, and with all the money I have 
 squandered in the meantime, I should try my 
 luck. How she came to be the chikl of that 
 father and mother is a miracle ; unless, in- 
 deed, it is a case of reversion, such as Darwin 
 mentions, to the inerits of some remote and 
 exceptional ancestor. No ; I am not thinking 
 of her for myself. Life is for her yet a fairy 
 tale, full of light and joy ; mine is like a mod- 
 ern ruin. Besides, I am about to bid you good- 
 by. To-morrow I begin my farewell visits." 
 
 " Going already ? " exclaimed De Saye, 
 striving after a tone of regret. 
 
 " Already ? " repeated Vilpont laughing ; 
 " don't be severe on my tardiness." 
 
 De Saye grumbled some words in his beard. 
 
 " I am off to Ilomburg, or Baden-Baden, or 
 some other place of Satanic gathering," added 
 Vilpont.
 
 WHO WAS LAST NOW FIRST. 67 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 WHO WAS LAST NOW FIEST. 
 
 ViLPONT sowed liis cards of adieu liberally 
 tlirongli the town ; he neglected no one with 
 whom he had even exchanged a bow. He was 
 admitted at the Ivendus. Madame (who was 
 alone) had never been so nearly civil to him as 
 when she heard he was going away directly ; 
 and yet, though pleased that this man, who 
 had no business in St. Gloi, should go, she 
 could not help saying, in a tone of pique, that 
 ''he must have made a great sacrifice to friend- 
 ship in staying so long in so dull a place." 
 
 Vilpont, determined that he would not allow 
 her to ride over him as she did every one, 
 answered in a lofty way, which had its effect 
 on her — 
 
 " My dear lady, we are no judges of one 
 another's sacrifices, the best of which often re- 
 main unknown." 
 
 He then thanked her for the hospitality shown 
 to a stranger, and, with his liommages errvpresses 
 for Mademoiselle Pauline, bowed himself out 
 of the room in a manner unattainable by any 
 but a Frenchman born. 
 
 At dinner Vilpont mentioned rather em- 
 
 ¥hatically that he had paid his visit to the 
 fendus, but had not seen Mademoiselle 
 Pauline. He laughed at the stiffness with
 
 QS Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 which he had been received everywhere, and 
 ended by fixing to leave the day after the next. 
 He should devote the following morning to old 
 Madame Jorey, the only person who had really 
 been cordial to him. 
 
 De Saye had recovered his good-lnimor, and 
 was even more than usnally demonstrative. 
 Eloque had a petrified grin on his face as he 
 obeyed the order to bring St. Peray and 
 Chateau Margaux. He nudged Gonde when 
 he went down to fetch the wine. 
 
 " How he loves his friend ! how sorry he is 
 that he is iroing ! " 
 
 " Old bear ! " returned Gonde ; then to her- 
 self, " Why does he go ? he has had no letter. 
 He did not mean it three davs ago, for he said 
 nothing about his linen from the wash." 
 
 The friends had promised to spend the 
 evening at the bank-director's. To their sur- 
 prise, they found quite a large party assem- 
 bled. A Madame d'Allot and her young 
 daughter had arrived quite unexpectedly, and 
 as unexpectedly the young secretary of the 
 prefect had come on an official errand to the 
 baidv-director. 
 
 Madame Perrotier had at once sent to invite 
 the Pendus and Chaml^auds for the evening. 
 
 Madame d'Allot was a true Parisian — lively 
 eyes, tine hair, a ravishing toilette, pretty, 
 without one pretty feature. Tlie daughter, 
 yet a mere child, a nice little puppet, that an- 
 swered well as a chaperone. 
 
 l!scver had Vilpont received such a flatter-
 
 WHO WAS LAST NOW FIRST. GQ. 
 
 ing welcome in St. Gloi. He wondered at 
 first If he owed this cordiality to the knowl- 
 edge tliat he was going away. But he soon 
 found that he was indebted to Madame • 
 d' Allot, who had been enlii^-htenino- the com- 
 pany as to M. Vilpont's importance in Fans. 
 81ie had told them, in wittily covert terms, 
 that they had Iteen contemning. Apollo, and 
 assuredly he would send some of his arrows to 
 punish them. 
 
 Half mystified and half regretful were the 
 feelino;s of her listeners. Madame d' Allot 
 herself had neither eyes nor ears tor any one 
 but Yilpont. The young secretary, type of all 
 Cherubinos past and future, was instructing 
 Pauline as to Vilpont's fame and genius. As 
 the two young heads leaned toward one 
 another, Madame d' Allot said in a loud whis- 
 per — 
 
 "What a pretty picture! — subject for an 
 idyl." 
 
 "Ancient history for me," laughed Yil- 
 pont. 
 
 Presently the young secretary, who was by 
 no means troubled with bashfulness, said to 
 Madame Perottier — 
 
 " If it would afford you pleasure, madame, I 
 should be happy to recite some pages of M. 
 Vilpont's most celebrated poems." 
 
 The proposition was, with some trepidation, 
 accepted. Vilpont made no objection, simply 
 beijirino- to be allowed t(^ sit in a corner. 
 
 Cherubino assumed an appropriate pose.
 
 TO JUPITEU'S DArOIlTERS, 
 
 lie recited well what was in truth a touchino: 
 Story told in beautiful verse. 
 
 Yilpont, from his refuge, had a view of 
 Pauline, He saw her gradually slip behind 
 the curtain of the window near which she sat. 
 Could he doubt it was done to conceal her 
 emotion 'i 
 
 The poem, perhaps, took up half an hour, 
 and was concluded amid a clapping of hands 
 and application of embroidered handkerchiefs 
 to the ladies' eyes, Yilpont was complimented 
 in all keys.' Pauline remained hiding behind 
 the curtain. He drew nearer and nearer to 
 her. lie saw that she looked grave. To his 
 dismay, he heard her say to (vherubino — 
 
 " Oh ! forgive me, but it was so lt)ng, it sent 
 me to sleep. Poetry always does." 
 
 For the nonce Vilpont felt that Pauline was 
 as unsuited to him as he to her. lie told the 
 story to De Saye with much humor. 
 
 "It is charming," he said, "to be innocent, 
 but not too innocent — of nothing too much." 
 
 The followino; mornino; he set off to bid old 
 Madame Jorey good-by. He ^vas eager to 
 leave St. Gloi. The only creature in it who 
 had interested him liad turned out a disap- 
 pointment. Ilis imagination had invented a 
 Pauline quite different from the real one. He 
 wished her well — a g(X)d bourgeois husband 
 with plenty of money and very little wit. 
 The whole length of the walk, Pauline occu- 
 pied his thought. He was angry with her — 
 Avhat right had she to be stupid, with that face
 
 WHO WAS LAST NOW FIRST. 71 
 
 60 full of animation? And he had thonglit 
 her too good to be tlie child of the Tiendus ! 
 Pauline had thoroughly avenged the offence 
 reported by Gonde. 
 
 In this mood Vilpont reached Chateau Ste. 
 Marie. It is perfectly unlike an English 
 country-house, or indeed any sort of English 
 house. It is a large, bare, white building, the 
 white turned green and mouldy at all the 
 corners, and round the windows. It stands on 
 a slight rise in the middle of a paddock parched 
 to a brown yellow at that moment. All the 
 beauty of the place lies away aniong the hills 
 sheltering the lake. 
 
 Madame Jorey cared nothing for scenery, 
 and a great deal for her vineyards on the Cotes 
 Ste. Marie, these coteH being sharply steep hills 
 divided from each other by deep gorges, which 
 every year are ploughed deeper and deeper by 
 mountain torrents. Bonne mmnan was an 
 excellent woman of business, as indeed French- 
 women generally are ; probably the result of 
 the equal division of property. As a rule, 
 there is not nuich helplessness among women 
 in France; they have more connnon-sense and 
 less imagination than their sisters in neighbor- 
 ing countries. 
 
 Vilpont found honne maman in her morn- 
 ing dress, a lose print jacket and dimity petti- 
 coat, her gray hair twisted up in l)rown-paper 
 j)aj>illotcs, and busy with a cooper, inspecting 
 empty wine-barrels. She welcomed her vis- 
 itor without any embarrassment ; sent him
 
 72 jupitke's daughters. 
 
 into the lioiise, promising to join him in a 
 quarter of an hour, wlien the twelve o'clock 
 breakfast would be ready. 
 
 Yilpont did as he was bid, making friends 
 with one of the fat maids to get the dust taken 
 off his outer man, and then made himself com- 
 fortable on the one sofa in the room, a sofa 
 large enough, however, to make three modern 
 ones. He did wdiat all people do who write — 
 observe, compare, and reflect wlienin a strange 
 place. He noticed the complete absence of 
 any signs of refinement ; indeed, a stranger to 
 the country might have mistaken such scanti- 
 ness and coarseness in the curtains, such al)- 
 sence of carpets, such hardness and diminu- 
 tiveness in the (thairs, as signs of smalhiess of 
 means. But all these things were but the out- 
 ward signs of the character and habits of their 
 owner. Madame Jorey was yet near enough 
 to her peasant ancestors to love hoarding for 
 hoarding's sake. As long as she had good 
 strong chairs to sit on, a good bed to lie on, 
 and plenty to put on her deal table, she was 
 satisfied. Her eyes, as she declared, did not 
 require to be feasting on silks and velvets. She 
 was one of those penetrated by the wisdom of 
 saving sous. She shrunk from the fact of 
 parting witii coin, but not with coin's worth. 
 She was liberal to her poor neigh boi-s witli 
 milk and wine and flour, wilfully blind to the 
 bundles of brushwood gleaned in her woods ; 
 but ask her for money, and she lost her tem- 
 per. She did her visitor tlic lionor of taking
 
 WHO WAS LAST NOW FIRST. 73 
 
 her hair out of paper before sitting down to 
 table. 
 
 The breakfast, thouo;li served on common 
 ware, was excellent. Yilpont said no better 
 could have been liad in Paris. 
 
 "Paris!" exclaimed the old lady; "you 
 never got such cream, or eggs, or bread in 
 Paris. Don't talk to me about Paris. Stay 
 to dinner, and see if Nanette doesn't beat your 
 Paris." 
 
 Vilpont told her that his visit was a farewell 
 one — he was to be oft the next day. 
 
 " Where are you going ?" 
 
 " First to Paclen-Baden— " 
 
 " You would do much better to stay away. 
 What's taking you there ? " 
 
 " Idleness, and, ]n-incipally, want of a home." 
 
 " Poor fellow ! — why don't you marry ? " 
 
 He made a grimace. 
 
 " That's nonsense," she said ; " don't tell me. 
 You are not of the sort that don't like women, 
 or that women don't like. I can judge, though 
 I am a o;randmother, a man of your acre ouMit 
 to be married, and have some little, brown 
 brats creeping aliout his knees. Tliat's better 
 than running after powder-faced dolls, who 
 have as little heart as beauty." 
 
 " My dear lady, I am woi rich enough to 
 marry ; and I have besides a decided objection 
 to our French system of marriage." 
 
 "Y^ou're wrong, altogether wrong. I mar- 
 ried my husband after seeing him twice, and I 
 did very well. My sons married the girls I 
 4
 
 74 jutitek's daughters, 
 
 chose for them, and their liouseholds are happy 
 ones. Now, listen to me, my friend: when 
 folks marry for love, they begin with a wliole 
 l)atch of illusions, which day by day vam'sh, and 
 often the once loving pair come cordially to 
 hate one another — I have seen it. But when 
 parents make the choice, they do so with all 
 their reason ; they look out for good health, 
 good antecedents — a great deal in antecedents; 
 good conduct runs in the blood, so does had. 
 If a woman behaves well, and makes a house 
 comfortable, the inan comes to vahie her; and 
 as soon as he does that, she loves him. Women 
 are made so — they give a great deal for very 
 Httle." 
 
 " Suppose I agree with your theory, what 
 then ? I have no |)arents to choose a wife for 
 me ; my only near relation, and uncle in Bre- 
 tagne, hates my very name, because 1 refuse 
 to burjMiiyself with him and his prejudices; 
 and then, as I have had the pleasure of telling 
 you, I am poor, aiid have a decided horror of 
 heiresses." 
 
 " Il'm — how do you manage to live ? " 
 
 " As you ab-eady know, by writing plays and 
 story-books." 
 
 The good lady said ra]Mdly, " Tiens, tiens, 
 tiens, tiens ! " — just as an Englishwoman would 
 have exclaimed, " Deai", dear me ! " 
 
 " And you can li\-e bv that "i " 
 
 " Tolerably." 
 
 " Now will you satisfy an old woman's cu- 
 riosity. How much do you gain ? "
 
 WHO WAS LAST NOW FIKST. 75 
 
 Tie took out a pocket-book. — "My author's 
 rights on my hist comedy brought me in eigh- 
 teen months twenty thousand francs ; that is 
 all spent. Gof)d year and bad year, wo may 
 reckon that I make from twonty-iive to thirty 
 thousand francs; and with tlie interest of a 
 small patrimony, I sometimes manage to get 
 thi-ough the year -without lieavy debts." 
 
 Bonne inanicm stared at him with open 
 mouth. 
 
 " You are not tellinor me fairv tales?" 
 
 " On my word of honor." 
 
 " AVell, that a man can make all that money 
 by a parcel of lies does make my gray hair 
 bristle up." 
 
 Vilpont laughed, saying, " There is often 
 more truth in comedy than in histoiy." 
 
 She shook her head, and said, " I am afraid 
 you are right not to marry, for I suppose you 
 live among those theatre-people." 
 
 "Of course, I see a great deal of them ; I 
 have to dance attendance on the lady who acts 
 my heroine, to study her style of beauty, her 
 humors, even occasionally to fancy myself in 
 love with her, and make her fancy it also." 
 
 ^'' Fripon^ hold your tongue! don't talk to a 
 decent grandmother of such doings ! I give 
 you up." 
 
 " That is the bad result of my sincerity." 
 
 " You camiot hope," she said, " that I should 
 recommend any nice girl to marry you." 
 
 " Such a hope is the furthest from my 
 thoughts. I am quite aware that my past is
 
 76 JUriTEE'S DALrGIITJ:KS, 
 
 to be the executioner of my future. I begin 
 to understand now the coldness with which I 
 have been lately treated by my St. Gloi ac- 
 quaintances, and believe me when 1 say you 
 arc the only one I quit with regret." 
 
 " Ah, you serpent beguiling my ears ! But 
 I am not going to let you off so easily. My 
 sons and their families are away to see after 
 their own vinta<>:e, so there's no danii;er in that 
 quarter. You want looking after ; you are a 
 mere bag of bones. I expect to liear them 
 rattle as you walk. Come and stay a week in 
 this good air and get strong, for your horrible 
 Baden. I'll give you a room looking to the 
 west, where you can write your poetry, for I 
 never need company during the day — there's 
 something in that yellow face of yours I like 
 — and in the evening you can tell me more 
 about your life." 
 
 " You are very kind." 
 
 '' That's what I mean to be. So you'll stay. 
 I'll send for your clothes, and you can write 
 to your friend not to expect you back yet 
 awhile."
 
 A LILIPUTIAN VENGEANCE. 77 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 k LILIPUTIAN YENGEA.NCB. 
 
 ^ According as chance places people, so do 
 they show different sides of themselves. We 
 know that it is so by the various judgments 
 passed on the same individuals by their acy. 
 ^quaintauces. Approval in country towns is 
 most' generally allotted to those who never 
 buffet against the current, who accept routine 
 as the surest of guides. De Sayc was one of 
 this type ; Vilpont of that other, which chooses 
 an eccentric orbit. The appellation of " Lion" 
 figures forth the feeling excited in obscure 
 places by unusual talents. 
 
 Vilpont was considered decidedly unpleasant 
 by the St. Gloisians ; they were pleased to 
 hear of his departure. 
 
 Madame Jorey (though she did not make it 
 known) had a decided admiration for him, 
 ripening into a real liking. She was reckoned 
 by her daughters-in-law and their set as un- 
 couth and stupid. Vilpont found her shrewd, 
 with quick perceptions and an affectionate 
 disposition. Tlie man of letters and the 
 woman of none passed a cheerful evening to- 
 gether ; indeed, Vilpont had not been once so 
 pleasant during the couple of months he liad 
 spent in St. Gloi, as he was during this after- 
 dinner chat. His very face seemed changed. 
 
 V
 
 78 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 " You look 3^ounger already than yon did 
 this morning," observed Madame Jorey. " How 
 old are you ? " 
 
 " My thirty-third birtliday is close at hand." 
 
 " I took you for older. I shall marry you 
 yet." 
 
 " What a pity you are not yourself five-and- 
 twenty years younger, madame." 
 
 " Ah ! lad, a fine couple we should have 
 made — fire and water. I should have done 
 my best, I can tell you, to put out your fire. 
 1 could never have abided your actresses." 
 
 "I will tell you something that will surprise 
 you : I have never been in love yet." 
 
 " Ta — ta — ta ! — you expect an old woman 
 like me to believe you, I know your sex bet- 
 ter; from the time they put on their colle- 
 gian's uniform they are always in love, the lit- 
 tle rascals. When I was six, I had a love-let- 
 ter from a boy of eight." 
 
 " Allowed ; but I am speaking of some veiy 
 different feeling— one that would send a man 
 to Kamschatka or bring him back at a woman's 
 will." 
 
 " One of your monstrous theatrical lies ! 
 And how long do you think you would care 
 for that same woman ? As soon as she be- 
 lono;ed to you, you would be for sending her 
 to Kamschatka, and not bringing her back. I 
 thought you liad more sense.' 
 
 The next day Vilpont wandered to the lake. 
 As he rested under the shade of the trees, the 
 scene of the girls in the boat, the withered old
 
 A IJLEPDTIAN VENGEANCE, 79 
 
 man, living or rather dying in his illusions, the 
 pi'cvious pi-etty |)icture of the bonbon-making, 
 till returned in force to his memory, suggesting 
 the groundwork of a new poem, lie was 
 roused from a deep reverie by a shrill shout. 
 Looking up, he saw his dream realized. Pau- 
 line Rendu was rowiuo^ towards him. As the 
 boat approached the shore, he saw that her 
 companions were not the Mesdemoiselles Jo- 
 rey, but Madame d' Allot and her young 
 daughter. 
 
 " Madame Jorey sent iis in search of you," 
 screamed little Mademoiselle d' Allot at the top 
 of her voice. 
 
 Pauline looked flushed with her exertions. 
 
 Madame d' Allot insisted on getting out of 
 the boat just where Vil[)ont was now standing, 
 in spite of Pauline's telling her that the usual 
 landing-place was not twenty yards distant. 
 No; Madame d'Allot could jump ashore if M. 
 Vilpont would promise to catch her, which M. 
 Vilpont agreed to do with the eagerness in- 
 cumbent on him to show. 
 
 " If you let me drop, I shall never forgive 
 you," said the lady, balancing herself on the 
 stern of the boat in an attitude that reminded 
 Vilpont of a heroine of melodrama. 
 
 " Steady, Mademoiselle Pauline ! " he cried 
 out, and Mademoiselle Pauline kept her oars 
 quiet, with an expression of profound disgust 
 on her face. 
 
 " One, two, three ! " and the lady sprung 
 into the arras of the gentleman, who held her
 
 80 Jupiter's daughteks. 
 
 in as tio:ht a clasp as she could desire before 
 setting her Cinderella feet on the ground. 
 
 " Now Alix," cried the widow to her daugh- 
 ter. 
 
 " Thank you, mamma ; I am fat and afraid." 
 
 Off went the boat Math rapid strokes. Ma- 
 dame d' Allot cried out — 
 
 "But my daughter — come, come ! " 
 
 "Adieu, adieu!" chorused the two girls, 
 as the boat glided away. 
 
 " It is a bad trick," said Madame d' Allot. 
 
 Yilpont was waving his hat and laughing. 
 Pauline bid Alix wave her handkerchief in 
 return. The boy steering grinned with de- 
 light. 
 
 " AVe have a long walk before us, madame ; 
 for we must go round the lake to reach the 
 Chateau." 
 
 " What a spiteful girl ! Kone but a pro- 
 vincial would have behaved so rudely ; and 
 Alix — suppose she is drowned ! " 
 
 Madame d' Allot was frightened as well as 
 angry ; and she hated walking, particularly in 
 those lovely tight boots. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Alix is safe," said Yilpont; 
 " the boat is made so that it cannot upset, and 
 we can take it leisurely. Do you grudge me 
 this pleasure — the greater for being unex- 
 pected ; so long since any such came in my 
 way," etc., etc. 
 
 Yil])ont knew the part he had to play, and 
 did it unexceptionably. 
 
 Madame d'AUot liked admiration and flirt-
 
 A LILIPUTIAN VENGEANCE. 81 
 
 ing as well as most of her compeers, but she 
 was not sentimentally given ; she made excur- 
 sions into the p(^ys de tetulre simply as- a pas- 
 time. She skimmed along its frontiers with 
 men, just as she talked millinery with her 
 millhier. 
 
 So, leaning on Yilpont's arm, now meeting, 
 now avoiding his admiring gaze, in the most 
 approved fashion, she let him know that St. 
 Gloi was in convulsions of curiosity to find 
 out wliy he had chosen to leave M. de Saye 
 to have a tete-d-tete with cette vieille menagere. 
 M. de Save had smiled, shrugged his shoulders, 
 and called it a poetical license. 
 
 " To save your reputation, monsieur," she 
 went on, " I coaxed that bunch of thorns, 
 Madame Rendu, to drive me here (a work of 
 charity, you understand), that I might tranquil- 
 lize the minds of the St. Gloisians." 
 
 " A good, beautiful fairy ! Are you tired ? 
 Shall we rest \ " 
 
 " No. We must not give that dreadful girl 
 too much time to tell her stor}^ ; but now, do 
 explain wliy you bury yourself liere." 
 
 " Simple as two and two make four. Ma- 
 dame Jorey desired me to stay, and I stayed. 
 I nerer know Iiow to say no to a woman, 
 whatever lier age. I am a perfect slave to any 
 of the dear sex who shows me kindness." 
 
 " Men are are not in o-eneral noted for o-rat- 
 itude." 
 
 " How strangely women ignore our natures. 
 Madame Jorey says just as you do. Now, I 
 4*
 
 82 tupitee's daughtees. 
 
 take all my gods to witness that I am like 
 melted wax to kindness. With me love begets 
 love ; I could not love where there was no re- 
 sponse.'' 
 
 " How often have you made the experi- 
 ment ? " 
 
 " Several times. Once, indeed, I was nearly- 
 attaching myself like a limpet to a rock, when, 
 kickily or unluckily, I received a note in which 
 cceur was spelled cure. I tried to pardon the 
 offence — in vain. Ah ! dear lady, I have 
 more memories of painful liberations than 
 of happy captivities. I have sung my dream 
 in the emptiness of many a heart." * 
 
 " It's so easy for a man to say he has suf- 
 fered — so difficult to make sure of it," said the 
 lady, beginning to feel sorry she had taken the 
 ti'ouble to look after Vilpont. 
 
 During this time the boat, though still in 
 sight, was speeding away from the couple ; all 
 at once, however, they saw it turn and make 
 towards them. 
 
 " 1 hate that girl Rendu," said Madame 
 d' Allot ; " she looks as innocent as milk, and 
 she is as sharp as vinegar," 
 
 " We must ]-eceive the repentant sinner 
 with joy," said Vilpont ; " particularly as her 
 return will save fatigue to those lovely little 
 feet, never meant to tread rough roads." 
 
 Pauline was in truth repenting her esca- 
 pade, and rather alarmed for its consequences. 
 
 * " J'ai fait chanter mon reve au vide de ton coeur." — 
 CorneiUe.
 
 A LILIPUTIAN VENGEANCE. 83 
 
 Madame d'AlIot made no remark imtil she 
 was again safely seated on the boat-cushions. 
 Yilp;)nt had asked and obtained a place, and 
 now took an oar to assist Pauline. 
 
 " Pi-ay, young ladies," began Madame d'Al- 
 Iot, " will you give us some explanation of 
 your conduct." 
 
 " Don't be angry, mamma, dear," said the 
 fat Alice, smoothing down her mother's arm 
 with her little red fingers. " Pauline said she 
 was afraid to stay alone in the boat, and she 
 could not jump because of her ugly boots." 
 
 " Yanity is always a bad counsellor, made- 
 moiselle," said Vilpont, with great gravity. 
 
 " Yes, monsieur," was the reply, with a de- 
 mure look. 
 
 When they were landing, Pauline said to 
 Madame d'Allot : 
 
 " Be so very good, madame, as not to com- 
 plain of ine. My mother would be very angry 
 if she knew how rude I have been — and I beg 
 your pardon," 
 
 " It is not worth speaking about, mademoi- 
 selle," returned the lady dryly. 
 
 Pauline kept entirely in the background 
 during the whole evening, often hid from 
 siirht behind her o;od mother's broad back, 
 
 When they were all gone, Madame Jorey 
 said to Yilpont — 
 
 " My god-daughter is a jewel of a girl. 
 Could any man look in her face, and fear to 
 take her on trust ? " 
 
 " The surface is very fair," he replied ;
 
 84 Jupiter's daugiitees. 
 
 " but what woman's looks can he trusted ? 
 Mj trade makes me an observer of trifles ; and 
 from one or two little incidents that have oc- 
 curred, I infer Mademoiselle Pauline is some- 
 thing quick-tempered." 
 
 " What is that you tell me ? " exclaimed 
 Madame Jorey, starting up and standing be- 
 fore him, one arm akiml^o. "Pauline quick- 
 tem])ered ? Why, Mr. Author, she is just clear 
 sunshine, making all things bright and pleas- 
 aut. Neither father nor mother are saints — 
 pardi / — why, they would drive such as I am 
 mad. Madame so sharp and suspicious; he so 
 full of his fidgets and his terrors about this and 
 that ; and yet that little girl manages to make 
 them eudurable, sweetens her mother, and 
 heartens up her father. People hated to go 
 near them till she came ; and as for a heart, 
 why there's not a soul in trouble but goes to 
 Pauline Rendu. She's not squeauiish, makes 
 no ])retence of not knowing that there's evil 
 in the world. I shan't tell you what she made 
 me do, because perhaps you might think she 
 had l)etter have kept her eyes and ears shut. 
 Pauline bad-tempered ! ■ You should not have 
 her if j'ou begged on your knees for a month." 
 
 " She would be quite of your way of tliink- 
 
 .ing, dear madame; but hear the reasons, at 
 
 least (^)ne of them, for the accusation," and 
 
 Vilpont related how Pauline had deserted 
 
 Madame d'Allot. 
 
 " The little rogue ! " and Madame Jorey 
 chuckled.
 
 A LILIPtJTIAN VENGEANCE. 85 
 
 " Fine gontlomaii and fine lady left in the 
 lurch. And so tliat's why she hid behind me, 
 and didn't bid me invite them all for Sunday ; 
 but I'll have her, and make her speak out for 
 herself. Pauline bad-tempered ! Why, even 
 when she was teething, she was as good as a 
 fetit St. Jean. And now, my clever sir, rea-ii 
 me some of that," and she held out his own 
 last poem, the one recited by Chernbino. 
 
 " ilow did you come by it \ " he asked. 
 
 " Read, and let me judge of what gains you 
 your daily bread." 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 " Pei'haps you fancy I am not able to under- 
 stand it," said the old lady a little nettled. 
 " If it's good, it will go to every heart. Didn't 
 our greatest man trust to an old servant- 
 woman's j ndgment ? " 
 
 " Suppose I dread your judgment." 
 
 She shrujT-o-ed her shoulders. " Are you 
 satisfied yourself \ " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Very well. ISTovv, let me hear." 
 
 Never before had Vilpont felt so timid. 
 That clear-headed, honest-hearted woman 
 would never swallow anv sentimental clothino- 
 of evil, and he could recollect many sentences 
 which were S(^phistical arguments to prove 
 wronij rijxht and riixht wronj]:. However, he 
 must undergo the ordeal, or offend his new 
 friend. He o-ained courao;e as he read. Not 
 one musical phrase, not one true sentiment, 
 but she sliowed she thoroughly appreciated.
 
 86 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 She even shed some few tears, for which he 
 almost stopped to thank her. The dnbious 
 passages she groaned h^ndly over ; but when 
 he had finislied, she called ont, " Embrassez- 
 moi, mon gar9on ! " and withont waiting to be 
 obeyed, gave him a sounding kiss on each 
 cheek. 
 
 " There's good, great good in yon," she 
 went on. "Ah! if you had only a dear little 
 wife, and two brown faced boys at your 
 knees." 
 
 " Amen ! " he said.
 
 THE IDEAL. 87 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE IDEAL. 
 
 On Sunday, the Rendu caleche brought the 
 father, mother, Pauline, and little Alix d' Allot 
 to Ste. Marie. They arrived before ten o'clock, 
 as they meant all to go and attend mass at the 
 village church. 
 
 Pauline was not so rosy as usual ; her man- 
 ner, too, was tinged by a new shyness and 
 reserve. The greater delicacy of her com- 
 plexion made her more than ever like one of 
 Greuze's delicious portraits of girls. As she 
 walked with her tripping step by her mother's 
 side, her dainty, well-poised, small figure show- 
 ing to admiration in the blue muslin gown, 
 stirred — only just stirred — by the gentle, au- 
 tumn breeze, a man must have had his heart 
 well defended to have kept her out of it. 
 
 Their road lay through an avenue of lime- 
 trees, glorious in foliage, and full of murmur- 
 ings; the sun, striking through every opening 
 of branch and twig, seemed to bar the path 
 with long trembling lines of light. 
 
 Pauline, who had begun by walking decor- 
 ously before reaching the end of the avenue, 
 had not resisted the temptation to skip over 
 these luminous barriers. Once, after doin^^^ 
 this, she turne<l, forced by some mysterioul^B 
 atti-action, towards Vilpont. Perhaps he was
 
 88 Jupiter's daughtees. 
 
 not himself aware of the tenderness and admi- 
 ration of his eyes. Pauline, catching the look, 
 flushed, and moved hastily on, so that all he 
 could see of lier face was one crimsoned ear, 
 like some small, transparent shell. She turned 
 no more ; nor could he do more than occasion- 
 ally get a glimjDse of her in the church, she 
 having placed herself between her mother and 
 honne maman. 
 
 He waited for her in the porch, and as she 
 came out, said — 
 
 "Allow me, mademoiselle, to carry your 
 book." 
 
 She gave it him at once. Curious little 
 ways girls have of showing a preference. 
 
 He, on his side, resisted a strong inclination 
 to put the book to his lips. He remembered 
 in time that he was in the midst of a country 
 congregation, to whom all the doings of their 
 betters were matters of intensest interest, and 
 only buttoned his coat over it. He cherished 
 it there almost as if he had held on his breast 
 the pretty hand of its owner. As for Pauline, 
 her younsi; heart was beating with a feelino; 
 that paled her cheek and softened lier eyes. 
 Was it wrong to have given the book to M. 
 Vilpont? Ought she to tell her mother all 
 about it>? 
 
 'JljL^ Pendus knew almost every one at Ste. 
 ^mSe, and the salutations to be exchanged 
 '^Qve endless. There were the maire and the 
 choolmaster to be spoken to, and the impor- 
 tant dame who took care of the dear old Cure.
 
 THE IDEAL. 89 
 
 During these ceremoaics Pauline recovered her 
 composure. At last M. le Cure himself ap- 
 peared, and joining Madame Jorey, she lead- 
 ing, the}' proceeded to the Churcau. Vilpont 
 walked with M. Rendu ; he had made no effort 
 further to approach Pauline. All at once 
 she seemed too far removed from him — too 
 superior to allow of his treating her as he 
 might the other mesdames and mesdemoiselles 
 of his acquaintance. lie walked with her 
 father, and tried to listen to his ])latitndes. 
 Sucli platitudes ! it was a marvel how small a 
 man's mind co\dd Ije. 
 
 Once, when Vilpont awoke out of a reverie, 
 he found M. Pendu in the middle of a story 
 as to how lie had discovered that Madame nne 
 Telle used a depilatory powder to destroy a 
 nascent moustache. And this man was Pau- 
 line's father. His former opinion that she was 
 a bird of paradise had revived. 
 
 As they entered the hall, Madame Pendu's 
 high voice was heard asking, " Pauline, where 
 is thy book? I do not see it — thy grand- 
 mother's present." 
 
 Vilpont, extricating it dexterously from its 
 place of concealment, returned it to the young 
 lady. 
 
 " iSTo harm, no harm," said Madame Jorey — ■ 
 " a piece of Paris politeness." And Vilpont 
 could hear her whispering to Madame Rendu, 
 "A good fellow — very good." • 
 
 The Cure's place at the mid-day Sunday'^ 
 dinner was always on one side of liis hostess,
 
 90 jupitee's daughteks. 
 
 and on liis other side was now Pauline, whom 
 he had christened and confirmed, and whom 
 he hoped to marry happily. 
 
 Yilpont sat by Madame Eendu, and the 
 vicaire (curate) had charge of little Mademoi- 
 selle d' Allot, who was made silent by amaze- 
 ment at the company she found herself among. 
 The maire, the schoolmaster also, regular 
 Sunday guests with M. Rendu, filled the other 
 seats. 
 
 Pauline recovered her gayety under the wing 
 of M. le Cure. She played liim all sorts of 
 girlish tricks: stole liis lu'ead, kidnapped his 
 napkin, pulled crackers with him, inducing him 
 to read mottoes out of keeping with his calling. 
 
 " Do you mean always to be a child, Pau- 
 line ? " asked Madame Rendu with more gen- 
 tleness in her tone than was usual. 
 
 " I shall forgive her everything if she speaks 
 thus to her child," thought Vilpont, saying 
 aloud, "Who could wish for any change in 
 her?" 
 
 " As for that," said the lady with her wonted 
 sharpness, " she is neither better nor worse than 
 others ; " adding, " We ought to be very much 
 flattered by a gentleman so famous as I hear 
 you are, lingering here. You must not, how- 
 ever, be offendedif we wonder why you do so." 
 
 To this plain speaking, on which Madame 
 Rendu prided herself, he replied — 
 
 " No doubt, in your varied reading, madame, 
 ^^ou have met with a description of a certain 
 ^plant which deprives all those who eat of it of
 
 THE IDEAL. 91 
 
 any desire for change. Place but a leaf be- 
 tween your teeth, you will forget everything 
 you once cared for — you will stay where you 
 are, leading a sort of dormouse-life, unless 
 carried away by main force. That is my 
 present condition." 
 
 The Cure, who had overheard this sally, 
 said — 
 
 " The wise man refused to eat of that plant. 
 Monsieur Yilpont." 
 
 " You see, raadame, that M. le Cure guar- 
 antees the truth of my story." 
 
 " I don't care for men's stories ; they are 
 seldom fit for women's ears," snapped out 
 Madame Rendu. 
 
 " Not even such a girl as Pauline could make 
 amends for such a mother," thought Yilpont, 
 and as soon as they rose from table went away 
 for a long, solitary walk, his usual remedy for 
 ruffled temper. 
 
 His thoughts, however, were full of Pauline ; 
 all day De Musset's description of an English- 
 woman had been runniuE^ in his head — 
 
 " Elle etait simple et bonne, 
 Ne sachant pas le mal, elle faisait le bien. 
 Des richesses du coeur elle me fit I'aumone ; 
 Sans oser y penser, je donnai le mien. 
 EUe emporta ma vie, et n'en sut jamais rien." 
 
 lie meant now more than ever that she 
 should know notliing of the tenderness she had 
 awakened in his heart. He classed her among 
 those unknown oppressed of the earth whoso 
 delicate natures are doomed to suffer from the
 
 92 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 ignorance, insipidity, narrow-mindedness that 
 surround them. She would be tlie victim of 
 the passionate personality, the prejudices incar- 
 nate in her mother, and of the weakness of her 
 father ; he foresaw all the deceptions and dis- 
 appointments life had in store for her. Run- 
 ning on, side by side with these thoughts of 
 lier, was a retrospection of his own career, of 
 the many errors committed, of the wrong bias 
 of his life — all sources of discouragement and 
 irritation concealed under an appearance of 
 nonchalant cheerfulness. Yes, the clearer his 
 perception of his blunders and weaknesses, the 
 closer did he conceal his regrets. Though his 
 love of virtue prevented self-forgiveness, it was 
 not strou": enou2;h to make him alter. his course 
 — no, he dared not risk taking on himself the 
 responsibilities of a family. 
 
 It was after having so decided that he re- 
 turned to- Chateau Ste. Marie. In the mean- 
 time, Pauline and little Alix d' Allot had been 
 to vespers, remaining during the children's 
 catechism, and then Madame Rendu ordered 
 the carriage, resolutely refusing to remain to 
 supper. She had no desire to meet Vilpont 
 again. She had always disliked him — now 
 she liad begun to fear him. 
 
 During the drive home she delivered an 
 oration against Paris and Parisians. Little 
 Mademoiselle d'Allot, whom the vexed woman 
 had forgotten, fired up at this abuse of her 
 native city, and said bravely, " All Provincials 
 hate the capital — I'm sure we don't care."
 
 THE IDEAL. - 93 
 
 Had jMaclainc Rendu been as crafty as she 
 was lionest, she would have refrained from 
 that diatribe — slie would have taken into ac- 
 count that spirit of contradiction which exists 
 in the best of human beings, and the sympatliy 
 excited in generous disj)ositions by anything 
 bordering on injustice. Too much praise 
 often renders hearers antagonistic; too much 
 abuse as often turns them into partisans. In 
 this instance Pauline's heart burned within 
 her. For the first time in lier life she thought 
 her mother wrong. And thus it came to pass 
 that mother's apprehensions and maiden's 
 awakening preference jarred painfully. The 
 hero had appeared, and had cast his glamour 
 over the inexperienced heroine. 
 
 Pauline did not frolic as usual round her 
 father when she bade him good-night, and 
 tendered her brow t(j her mother in silence. 
 As soon as she was in her own room, she let 
 fall her hair — such wonderful hair ! — as though 
 it were an offence to her; but this vexed mood 
 did not last long. Pauline's disposition was 
 too sweet for that, and her good angel was 
 about to whisper to her. 
 
 In a recess was a small oratory — one of the 
 delights of Pauline's life. Her father, whose 
 single sentiment was admiration of his daugh- 
 ter, liad procured for her a Madonna, one of 
 Clcsinger's marble wonders — a real gem of art 
 — and winter and summer Pauline found means 
 to surround this loved imaixe with fresh flow- 
 ers. As she knelt down to say her evenmg
 
 9-1 . Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 prayers, tears, repentant tears, rolled over her 
 cheeks. Ko words could have been so eloquent 
 as the silent, unspoken petition for gi-ace to 
 over.come self-will, for help to be obedient, for 
 pafdon for the rebellious ang-er she had felt. 
 
 She rose from her knees full of heroic reso- 
 Intion, the first-fruit of which was, that she 
 put her ivory-bound mass-book into a drawer 
 with a studiously careless touch.
 
 NOT DOING AS OTEJERS DO. 95 
 
 CIIAPTEE Xi: 
 
 THE CONSEQUENCES OF NOT DOING AS OTHERS DO. 
 
 Pauline was as merry as a cricket on the 
 Monday. In the early morning she practised 
 her scale ; afterwards attended madanie on her 
 round to the kitchen, putting her little nose 
 into every culinary preparation, as though she 
 cai-ed innnensely about it. That duty per- 
 formed, she dressed madame's hair, and then 
 her own, making her head a marvel of intri- 
 cacy and neatness. 
 
 Madanie Rendu watched her closely through 
 the day, and came at last to tlie conclusion that 
 she had frightened herself about nothing, and 
 that the child was fancy fi-ee. It had been 
 like a stab to her heart even to surmise that a 
 daughter of hers, educated on the system ap- 
 proved by generation after generation, should 
 lapse into the novelty of preierring one man to 
 another, until authorized by her parents to do 
 so. Relieved from the awful dread of town- 
 talk — that irreparable misfortune when a 
 young girl is the cause of it — Madame Rendu 
 was able to receive all her friends with her 
 usual indifference, bordering on hostility. She 
 could even j(jiu in the laugh at Madame 
 Jorey's tete-d-tete with such a man as Yilpont, 
 though she refused to go so far as Gonde, who
 
 96 jupitek's daugiiteks. 
 
 had set about the report that the young man 
 was trying to cajole the old lady into matri- 
 mony. It was Goude who first called him 
 imdame's bijou. 
 
 ^^or the present, at least, this stupid gossip 
 did not reach Ste. Marie. Pauline heard 
 everything tliat was said or supposed on the 
 subject, and kept a proper maidenly silence, 
 It is astonishinf? how well gu-ls cmi hide their 
 feelhigs. Her one dread was lest it should be 
 suspected how these discussions pained her. 
 Slie had been ignorant of even wliat dislike 
 was; now she positively hated all these busy- 
 bodies and slanderers. 
 
 How dared they think and speak disrespect- 
 fully of lier godmother, so venerable and good 
 a woman ! This dear little dove often shook 
 with anger, but with some of the wisdom of 
 the serpent, held her peace. It is to be lii^ped 
 that when she went to confession, she accused 
 herself honestly of the anger and hatred swell- 
 ing her breast. 
 
 It was a time-honored custom that the Ren- 
 dus should go to Ste. Marie for the first day of 
 the vintage. Pauline liad been taken there a 
 baby in arms — had gatliered grapes there as 
 child and school-girl. The least alteration in 
 a custom so Aveirknown, and Madame Rendu 
 knew what would be the consequence. There 
 would be whispers, and conjectures breeding 
 lies. One day, only one day more, could not 
 signify much, even though Vilpont were Satan 
 ill person; and thin she would take to her bed
 
 NOT DOING AS OTHERS DO. 97 
 
 rather than \)\\t her foot into Ste. Marie again 
 until it was clear of so embarrassing an inmate. 
 Tlic same instinct which makes the barn-door 
 fowl stretch her wings over her brood ^\^^ 
 the hawk is yet bnt a distant black speck m 
 the skv, was asritatino; Madame Rendu's ma- 
 ternal breast. 
 
 Panline said man}' more prayers than usual, 
 and tried hard not to be happier at the thought 
 of this first day of the vintage than she had 
 ever been before. She imposed secret pen- 
 ances on herself, said a hundred Aves and 
 Paters a day, and fasted so bravely that her 
 mother had to scold her into taking something 
 more than bread and bouillon. The happiness, 
 however, refused to be starved, and was in full 
 strength when the day arrived. 
 
 Was all this merry jingle of joy-bells in her 
 heart because she should see one tliin, dark 
 face once more ? Just so. She had not yet 
 passed beyond that stage when the mere pres- 
 ence of one particular person is happiness. 
 Her conscience pricked her for this gladness ; 
 for she knew full well her mothers hostile 
 feelings, and it was conscience made this dear 
 heart put on her least fresh and becoming 
 dress. 
 
 " You cannot go that figure ! " exclaimed 
 Madame Eendu. " What is the meaning of 
 your putting on that shabby frock ? " 
 
 "I thouglit you would"^ like it best," said 
 Pauline coloring, and looking down. 
 
 " Of a piece with your fasting," said the
 
 98 JUPITEll's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 mother severely, "Yon have been doing all 
 yon can to worry me this week |)ast." 
 
 ^O mamma ! if yon only knew, it was for 
 ■^l:)est — indeed it was ! " 
 
 " Yon slionld let yonr mother gnide yon, 
 and not be trying to gnide yourself. Go now 
 and pnt on yonr new barege, and be quick." 
 
 Mademoiselle was well pleased when she 
 saw herself in her pretty fresh costume ; she 
 looked, for all the world, like a shepherdess 
 by Boucher, and it is certain she did not give 
 .one regret to her lost good intention. 
 
 "No wandering from the others," was 
 Madame Rendn's warning as they stopped at 
 the gates of the Chateau. 
 
 " How late yon are ! " shouted Madame 
 Jorey from a back door ; " they are all gone 
 this honr past. Run, Pauline, you'll Und them 
 in Yigne des Trois Freres. Stop, give me a 
 kiss first," and the old lady gave her one of 
 those hugs that deep-chested old ladies alone 
 can give — a kiss like the snap of a pistol, the 
 kiss of a practical godmother, who did not 
 understand silent pressure of lips. 
 
 " Send one of the girls with her," said Ma- 
 dame Rendu ; " she cannot go alone." A 
 Manon or Manette was caught, and with this 
 chaperone required by French custom Pauline 
 set off, soberly as long as she was in sight of 
 the elders, bnt like an arrow from the bow 
 when they had turned the corner. The vineyard 
 was noisy with shonts and song and laughter,
 
 NOT DOING AS OTHERS DO. 99 
 
 the valley with the sonnd of hammers on the 
 empty sides of barrels. 
 
 A dozen young ladies of the higher and 
 lower and lowest hourgeoisie were' alr^J|^ 
 picking, eating, talking, singing. Some of the 
 papas were there as guards, and some worthy 
 niatrons of no hourgeoisie at all ; some of tb'e 
 girls' brothers, boys from twelve to fifteen, 
 were of the party, and M. Vilpont, apparently 
 one of the most industrious gatherers. 
 
 The moment Pauline caught sight of him 
 she turned in the opposite direction. She 
 joined a group of Ste. Marie girls, and talked 
 and joked and lauglied as much as any of the 
 most thoughtless. This answered very well for 
 a time, but presently she often forgot to reply 
 or to laugh. Her prayers had been heard, but 
 her joyful feelings were fast fading away. A 
 tender word spoken at that instant would have 
 made her cry fit to break her heart, and she 
 could not have explained to herself why. She 
 gre\v tired of girls and grapes, and wandered 
 away ; she wanted to be alone. 
 
 Yilpont, on his side, was conscientiously act- 
 ing up to his last resolve— for Pauline's\lear 
 sake he would avoid Pauline. 
 
 And so Pauline went further and further 
 from the grape-gatherers, her small figure easily 
 lost to sight among the thick bushes. She had 
 no plan, no object in view, save like all hurt 
 creatures to get away and hide. 
 
 St. Gloi lies in a punch-bowl shaped valley, 
 the low hills round it rising gradually until, as
 
 100 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 they reach Ste. Marie, they attain a considera- 
 ble height. These hills, as has been before de- 
 scribed, are cut by deep ravines or gorges, the 
 b^^ of mountain-streams, feeders of the lake. 
 Mere rivulets in fine weather, during the 
 troriihes so frequent in the district these streams 
 become swift torrents, dangerous to ci-oss. 
 These tromhes come on with great suddenness 
 and with a fuiy beyond imagination. First a 
 far-spreading cloud darkens the sky, and a mo- 
 ment after hill and plain are hidden by thick, 
 slanting rain, a wall of water that seems to 
 reach from earth to heaven, hiding both. 
 
 The morning had been snltrv, without sun 
 and breezeless. As the day advanced, all blue 
 vanished from the sky. About noon the warn- 
 ing darkness showed itself ; a moment later 
 there was a loud cry — " The tromhe ! the 
 tromhe is coming ! " and every one set off full 
 speed down patlis along which they would in 
 cool l>lood have picked their way cautiously. 
 Then the heavens opened, and the rain fell; 
 yet not like rain — it hit with the force of peb- 
 bles, accompanied by a muffled roar more ter- 
 rifying than the loudest claps of thunder. It 
 terrified the more, that no one knew its cause. 
 Echalas mingled with vine-branches whirled 
 through the air, while the very ground seemed 
 slipping from beneath the feet. The road at 
 the bottom of the hill had now become a rush- 
 ing river, across which the men carried the 
 young girls, getting the women over by placing 
 one between two men. The greater number
 
 NOT DOING AS OTHERS DO. 101 
 
 rushed into the large outhonses of the Chateau, 
 while those who dared crowded into kitchen 
 and park)r. At first the confusion and hubbub 
 were so great that there was no knowing who 
 was or was not there. Madame Rendu's voice 
 at last made itself heard — 
 
 "Pauline, where are you?" No re]%. 
 " Good God ! " she screamed, " where's Pau- 
 line ? " 
 
 A great silence fell on all present. Yilpont 
 made one spring out of the room, the mother's 
 screams rending his ears. He loiew that other 
 men were on his steps, but he asked neither 
 counsel nor companionship. lie had seen, 
 without seeming to do so, the girl leave her 
 companions, and he had guessed something of 
 wliy she did so ; and now remorse filled his 
 heart, as though he was to blame for whatever 
 might happen to her. Buffeting against the 
 6t.rrm, repeatedly beaten back or thrown 
 down, he thought with horror of how impossi- 
 ble for that slight child to withstand what ren- 
 dered him, a man in his full vigor, sometimes 
 helpless. Where was he to seek her ? lie had 
 no clue save that she had gone to the left of 
 where they had been gathering grapes. But 
 where was that vineyard ? He could scarcely 
 see two feet before him for the blinding rain. 
 He staggered up the side of the hill nearest 
 the house to seek for steps or pathway, often 
 obliged to lie down to escape some whirling 
 echalafi. The wind was still tearing off leaves, 
 scattering grapes ; but the actual vine itself
 
 102 jupitee's daughters. 
 
 held its own where there was no landslip. He 
 shonted out from time to time Pauline's name. 
 He knew it was a vain effort against the roar 
 of wind and the swish of rain, but he could not 
 resist doing so. 
 
 Luckily, no storm but has its period of ex- 
 haustion, and presently there was a lull ; the 
 rain was less heavj^, less serried. He was able 
 to see the chimneys of the Chateau. This 
 cheered him, in spite of its showing how little 
 way he had made, for it made him sure he had 
 not missed the course ho wished to take. 
 
 Ilapj)y to think that others were seeking in 
 other directions, in case he should be on the 
 wrong tack, he toiled on until he came to the 
 edge of the very gorge where, the evening be- 
 fore, he had sat and pondered as to liis own 
 life. Instead of the gurgling of the rivulet, 
 that had made its quiet song the accompani- 
 ment of his meditati(m, he now heard the 
 rush of a torrent. If she had really come 
 this way, she might have taken shelter among 
 the brushwood, or she might have crossed to 
 the other side before the storm l)urst, and have 
 been unable to return. lie made a trumpet 
 of his hands, and shouted " Pauline ! " Surely 
 there was a re])ly — a faint yet shrill sound. 
 Griping his mother earth with feet and hands, 
 lie let himself down the bank. No easy task, 
 for a false step might precipitate him into the 
 angiy water below. 
 
 Once down, he again shouted "Pauline!" 
 This time he was clearly answered, but not
 
 NOT DOING AS OTHERS DO. 103 
 
 for the life of him could he tell from whence. 
 Holding by the scrubby wood, he went a few 
 yards up, then a few yards the other way, 
 then he sprang up as if a shot had been fired 
 at his ear when a well-known voice said : 
 
 " I am here, monsieur." 
 
 " Where ? " he asked, staring about, and 
 then a little figure came almost on its knees 
 from under a bush. 
 
 He caught her in his arms, and she nestled 
 her head on his bosom softly, crying, and he 
 keeping her company. 
 
 It would have made all the hair of all the 
 heads in St. Gloi bristle like porcupine-quills 
 had they witnessed the scene. Propriety and 
 prudence were just then absent. Of course 
 this did not last long ; violent emotions have 
 their lulls as well as other storms. 
 
 Pauline once more stood on her feet, but 
 shivering, and holding fast Vilpont's arm. 
 
 " I have been so frightened," she said, 
 apologetically. 
 
 " Not so frightened as I have been," he 
 replied ; " but that's over for us. We must 
 make haste back, for your father and mother's 
 sake." 
 
 " Oh yes, monsieur. Let us go as fast as 
 possible." 
 
 " Do you know any way except through the 
 vines, mademoiselle ? " 
 
 Propriety had returned. 
 
 " Tliere are some steps leading to the road, 
 close to the top of this bank," she replied.
 
 104 jupitee's daughters. 
 
 " Yerj good ; but first we must get up ttie 
 bank, and I am afraid you must hold on by 
 the tails of my coat. I see no other way by 
 which I can help you, for I must myself grap- 
 ple the bushes with both hands. There, do not 
 let go." 
 
 She obeyed him quietly, and they got to the 
 top without an accident. 
 
 " Now you must be the guide. Thank God, 
 it only rains." But how it did rain. There 
 was no possibility of walking arm in arm; 
 they had to go single file. 
 
 Suddenly they heard the church-bells begin 
 to ring. 
 
 " That must be for us," said Pauline, and 
 Yilpont heard lier whispering a prayer. 
 
 Straiglit forward they went ; but when they 
 reached where the steps ought to have been, 
 they found instead a high barrier of earth. 
 There had been a landslip from above. 
 
 " It was so much the shortest way," sighed 
 Pauline. 
 
 " There's a monster of a cloud rising, made- 
 moiselle," said Yilpont, " "We must get over, 
 and lose no time, either." 
 
 " Very well, monsieur." 
 
 He (nawled over one heap of stones and 
 then another, pulling her after him. There 
 was not much light, but sufiicient for him to 
 perceive that she had nothing but stockings ou 
 her feet. 
 
 "Great Heaven ! " he said, " where have you 
 lost your boots ? "
 
 NOT DOING AS OTHERS DO. 105 
 
 " I was on the other side of the gully when 
 the storm began, and I took them off to cross 
 over; and the water rushed so, I let them 
 di'op." Here her bravery broke down, and 
 tears ran over her face — tears of pain ; her 
 feet were cut and bruised, and but for the 
 mud, he would have seen they were bleeding. 
 
 As soon as tliey liad (crossed over the barrier, 
 he said, " Yon must allow me to carrv vou ; 
 luckily you are just the weight I am up to." 
 
 "I can walk, indeed I can. Oh, pray let 
 rae! " as he put his arm round her. " Mamma 
 would never forgive me. Oh, pray, pray ! I 
 don't mind the pain." 
 
 There was such a beseeching terror in her 
 voice and face that he gave up the point. 
 " Take my arm, at least," and she felt him 
 wince every time she did so. When once she 
 could not repress a faint cry, he said, " Do let 
 me." But she shook her head, saying, " It's 
 for mamma's sake I refuse." 
 
 " Sit down then, and let me wrap my hand- 
 kerchief round your feet." 
 
 She was so weary and sore that she let him 
 have liis way. He tore his cravat and hand- 
 kerchief into bands, and kneeling before her ; 
 bound up the poor torn feet. She saw how 
 his face was working, and laying her hand 
 softly on his shoulder, she said : 
 
 " Do not be so sorry for me ; it seems worse 
 than it is. And indeed I would let you carry 
 me, but it would vex mamma. People are so 
 
 severe." 
 
 5*
 
 106 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 " Le diable les emporte," he said savagely, 
 because lie was so much grieved. 
 
 At last they were in the road ; and just as 
 always liappeus in similar cases, no sooner was 
 there no need of help, plenty was at hand. ^ 
 
 First came the Cure. As soon as she saw 
 him, Pauliue let go Vilpont's arm, and clung 
 to that of her old friend. 
 
 " Where's papa ? " were her first words. 
 
 " On the opposite side, my poor little one ; 
 but we shall soon have him back." 
 
 " Monsieur found me," said Pauline. 
 
 "Tres-bien, tres-bien," was M, le Cure's 
 reply ; but he would rather she had been 
 rescued by one of the vignerons now joining 
 them. 
 
 They raised a loud shout to give notice that 
 the missing lamb was found, and then set off 
 in cliase or M. Rendu and those with him. 
 
 At first Madame Rendu behaved as mothers 
 usually do when the}' receive back a child who 
 has been in peril — she kissed and hugged her, 
 and cried and scolded. But when she heard 
 who had rescued Pauline, her annoyance ban- 
 ished all other feeling. 
 
 "That man is always in the way," she said. 
 
 Yilpont luckily was not present, and Pauline 
 made no defence ; she was thinking how best 
 to hide the way her feet had been bandaged. 
 She knew too well her country's rigorous 
 notions about young ladies, not to dread her 
 mother's discovering what she had allowed 
 Yilpont to do. She was indeed so anxious to
 
 NOT DOING AS OTIIEKS DO. 107 
 
 escape any questionings, that she submitted in 
 silence to all Madame Rendu's commands. 
 
 " You must go to bed, child, as soon as your 
 feet have been bathed — that's the only fit place 
 for you. Why couldn't you stay \vitli the 
 rest'? Don't you see, Pauline, that it is not 
 doing as others do that gets you into trouble."
 
 108 JTPITEr's DArGHTEES. 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 MADAME EEXDU TO THE EESCTE. 
 
 Having safely ensconced Pauline in a warm 
 bed, Madame Pendu went down to the salon 
 with some composure. She had quite decided 
 on her course of conduct with reo-ard to Vil- 
 pont. 
 
 Here it mav be as well to remark that dif- 
 ferent countries have different habits and dif- 
 ferent notions on almost all points. The prov- 
 erb says, ••' Do at Pome as the Pomans do," 
 which plainly means that the Pomans have 
 peculiar ways of their own ; so have the Turks, 
 so have the English, and so have the French. 
 Xow, one well-established custom amonaj our 
 nearest neighbors is a strictness with regard to 
 girls unknown in this country. There are 
 small opportunities allowed for flirtation ; and 
 such an adventure as Pauline's might be a se- 
 rious disadvantage to her, of which her mother 
 was perfectly aware. Englishwomen are 
 shocked, and no wonder, at what is implied by 
 such a surveillance, and by anxiety like that 
 of Madame Pendu ; but she, on her side, would 
 have been horrified by the independent ways 
 on this side of the Channel. The difference 
 lies in a nutshell : an English girl is taught 
 that she can and ought to take care of herself,
 
 MADA^IE RENDU TO THE RESCUE. 109 
 
 and a French one that she is to be taken care 
 of. Madame Rendu is neither to be wondered 
 at nor blamed for what she felt, or for what she 
 said to Vilpont. 
 
 " Monsieur, if you are a man of honor, you 
 will allow no one to know of j-our being the 
 one who found mv child. It would have been 
 better had you refrained from interference in 
 what did not concern you." 
 
 Yilpont understood and pardoned her bitter- 
 ness, lie replied, " From me, madame, you 
 have nothino; to fear ; but the fact is already 
 known to half a dozen people who met us." 
 
 She turned away, her heart burning with re- 
 sentment acrainst this man. It was luckv for 
 her reason that she never would know certain 
 facts attending the rescue. 
 
 Once satistied that Pauline was found, and 
 safe in her mother's care, Madame Jorey was 
 too much taken up with providing for the 
 wants of all the p»eople crowded into her 
 kitchen to have leisure for curiosity. But she 
 found a moment luckilv to go and see her o-od- 
 daughter before joining her visitors in the 
 salon. 
 
 "You little coward ! what are you crving 
 about now ? " she began, as the little white, 
 tearful face was turned up to her gaze. 
 
 '"' Chere marraine, mamma is so vexed about 
 my being lost, and — that — M. Vilpont was the 
 one to find me. I knew she would be ; but it 
 was not my fault, and it was very good of him 
 to take so much trouble about me. Only,
 
 110 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 mamma is angry ; and oh ! please don't talk 
 about it downstairs." 
 
 Madame Jorey did not look much pleased 
 either. 
 
 " What made you run away from the 
 others ? " she asked. 
 
 A silence. 
 
 "I hope you are not crying about anything 
 save Tour mother's ano-er. There : don't look 
 so frightened. I am not going to ask you any 
 more questions. What's done is done. It's a 
 lesson, god-daughter." 
 
 Madame Jorey, thus forewarned, showed 
 such an entire want of curiosity as was thor- 
 onghly unnatural. But all those in the salon 
 were equally willing with herself to let the 
 matter pass in silence. JjO?i}ie77iaman was he- 
 sides, preoccupied by houseliold cares. Rooms 
 must be prepared for M. and Mme. Rendu, the 
 weather being again so wild that their return 
 to St. Gloi was impossible, even had it been 
 wise to remove Pauline. 
 
 During one of his hostess's flights upstairs, 
 Yilpont stopped her, saying that he should be 
 glad of half an hour's conversation with her. 
 
 " Come away at once," she said. " To tell 
 the truth, Madame Rendu is not the pleasantest 
 of company just now. Let me see, where can 
 I take you so as to be out of the way of all 
 these people ? The qfice (the store-room) will 
 be the safest." 
 
 There, amid the combined odors of candles, 
 sugar, oil, coffee, preserves, onions, jellies,
 
 MADAME RENDU TO THE RESCUE. Ill 
 
 hams, soap, lemons, and spices, did Vilpont 
 contide to her something that made the good 
 lady both wink and stare. She accompanied 
 his narration by many of those interjectional 
 exclamations we shonld call swearing in this 
 country. When he ended, she said — 
 
 " This is not one of your romances that you 
 have been telling me ? " 
 
 "All true as the most commonplace reality." 
 
 " And you are in earnest ? " 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " Well — well — well ! Sleep on it, and if you 
 remain in the same mind after twenty-four 
 hours, tell me so, and I will see what I can do. 
 I cannot take it all in so quickly. I must turn 
 it over in my own mind. I am well-nigh 
 crazed with that wind — more than half the 
 wine-crop lost." 
 
 The following morning was quiet and gray, 
 an air of languor pervaded people and country 
 — a sort of physical weariness. Madame Jorey 
 was, however, an exception. As brisk as 
 usual, she was sallying forth to see the damage 
 done to her vines when she met Vilpont. 
 
 " i^ot yet," she said. " Your business can 
 wait, mine cannot. I said twent^^-four hours, 
 and that will briuo; us to seven in the even- 
 
 mg." 
 
 Some of the people loitering about re- 
 marked that the madame and her guest spoke 
 in whispers and with gravity. 
 
 " A marriage," said the women. 
 
 " At her age ? " laughed the men.
 
 112 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 " There are younger in the house," was the 
 rejoinder of a sharjj-sighted girl, 
 
 None of iis can walk invisible, or find a 
 covering thick enough under which to hide our 
 secrets. 
 
 As they were returning (for Vilpont had 
 accompanied Madame Jorey on her tour of in- 
 spection), they met the Eendus' caleche, in 
 which were father, mother, and Pauline. 
 
 " But how, and why, and wherefore ? " 
 screamed Madame Jorey. 
 
 " We are taking Pauline home to see her 
 own doctor," explained Madame Rendu, her 
 black eves stabbinsi: all round. M. Rendu 
 looked heavy, as a man does who has passed a 
 sleepless night. 
 
 Pauline's eyes were downcast, but she 
 flushed and paled rapidly. 
 
 " A I'avantage ! " said Madame Rendu cere- 
 moniously. " Allons, Pierre," to the coach- 
 man. 
 
 " Allons, Pierre — en route," repeated M. 
 Rendu, and the carriage drove on 
 
 " What a woman ! " said Madame Jorey 
 laughing. 
 
 Yilpont pulled at his moustaches. 
 
 " But she is right," went on bonne maman ; 
 " she is doing her duty as a mother."
 
 JACTA ALEA EST. 113 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 JACTA ALEA EST. 
 
 " My story ! " said A^ilpont at the end of the 
 twenty-four hours Madame Jorey had stipu- 
 lated he should take for reflection, — " a few 
 words will suffice. 
 
 " My father was the Yicorate de Kergeac, 
 the younger brother of tlie present marquis of 
 tliat name, of a family more Royalist than the 
 king himself, Henri V. hien entendu. My 
 uncle is the most furious Legitimist of the 
 present day, — the most narrow-minded and 
 honestest man I ever knew. 
 
 " As a matter of course my father left the 
 arm.y after 1830 — was one of those who saw 
 Charles X. safe out of France — who conspired 
 with Madame du Berri ; and being fortunate 
 enough to escape any other exile than that of 
 his brother's chateau, married a girl beautiful, 
 good, and poor in proportion. He died shortly 
 after my birth of the effect of his wounds, 
 leaving his wife and two boys, of whom I was 
 the younger, to the care of the marquis. 
 
 " I received little notice from my uncle ; all 
 his interest centred in my brother, heir to his 
 title and poverty. The marquis himself, I 
 ought to have told you, was a childless widower. 
 It was to Adheniar he expounded our family 
 history, and whom he initiated in the intrica-
 
 114 jupitee's daughters. 
 
 cies of our heraldic devices — a study I have 
 never mastered. 
 
 " I was my mother's companion ; and seeing 
 me what I am, you will wonder to hear that I 
 was looked upon then as a little saint. I was 
 nourished on lives of saints, on hymns, on 
 legends of miracles. From the time I could 
 walk alone, I took my part in holy processions 
 and Pardons, of which Bretagne is the 
 country jpar excellence. One of my greatest 
 delights was to officiate as the cure's assistant 
 at mass— my usual reward for good conduct 
 during the week. 
 
 Whether from this apparent vocation, or 
 from family tradition, which made the Church 
 provide for younger sons, I cannot say, but the 
 fact is, I was destined for the priesthood." 
 
 Here Madame Jorey exclaimed, " Tiens, 
 tiens ! " lifting up her arms, her amazement 
 not unmingled with a sort of comic horror. 
 
 " At twelve years of age," went on Yilpont, 
 " I was sent to the Petit Seminaire, and at fif- 
 teen was on the point of being transferred to 
 the Grand Seminaire, when my brother died 
 from the effects of a fall from his horse. 
 
 " The fathers parted from me with regret. 
 They considered me a promising pupil, one 
 that might became powerful as an eloquent 
 preacher." 
 
 Madame Jorey shook her head. 
 
 "Who can say that I might not have been 
 another Bossuet?" continued Vilpont. Ser- 
 mons and comedies have much the same end in
 
 JACTA ALEA EST. 115 
 
 view — to ]ioint out and condemn the errors and 
 vices of the day. However, the soutane could 
 not be allowed to extinguish the name of De 
 Kergeac. 
 
 " As long as my mother lived I remained at 
 the chateau. I should never have left her, liad 
 she survived till I was gray-headed. But she 
 left me." — Here came a pause. — " I cannot talk 
 of her; her image, till quite lately, has laid like 
 a seal upon my heart, shutting out any other 
 inmate. 
 
 " It was after that the struo-o-le beo-an be- 
 twecn the marquis and me— astonislung how 
 insufferable excellent people can be. Preju- 
 dice has a chemistry of its own, by which it 
 transforms our best impulses into bad ones. 
 At the best, constant contact has in it some- 
 tliii'.g irritating. Even kindness itself will 
 sometimes exasperate. AVliat then must be 
 the result of forced companionship between 
 two persons with peculiarities tliat gave out 
 sparks the Tnoment they met? The marquis 
 belonged to the old world, and I to the new. 
 He had taken it for granted I should prove 
 another Adliomar, and I)ury myself willingly 
 in the old chateau, with its parchuients, tradi- 
 tions, and hopes of the return of Henry V. 
 Perhaps the strength of a sentiment is in pro- 
 portion to its being a single one. In the mar- 
 quis's case it isolated him from all other per- 
 ceptions. 
 
 "As I told you before, we separated. I 
 made him the sacrifice of not entering any
 
 116 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 profession which could possibly bring me in 
 contact with the Government. lie had been 
 a careful guardian, and he put me at once in 
 possession of my father and mother's small 
 fortune, with the accumulated interest since 
 my father's death. I went to Paris, dropped 
 my title, and you know the rest." 
 
 " Well ! " exclaimed Madame Jorey, and 
 there was a whole series of interrogations in 
 that exclamation. 
 
 He answered, " I was, and I am perfectly seri- 
 ous in begging you to make my proposal for 
 Mademoiselle Pauline known to M. and Mme. 
 Rendu. If I do not marry Mademoiselle Ren- 
 du, I shall never have a wife." 
 
 " The wind carrieth away words and feath- 
 ers," observed the old lady. " It's my belief 
 you are only half-minded in this proposal. 
 Take my advice : go away to your painted 
 faces." 
 
 " Impossil)le, till I have an answer." 
 
 " You must give me all your credentials," 
 she began. " The title and address of your 
 uncle, the marquis, that of your medical man 
 and your confessor." 
 
 He wrote on one of his own cards. 
 
 " There is the title and address of my uncle. 
 As for the others, I have neither doctor for 
 body or soul." * 
 
 Madame Jorey did not actually whistle, but 
 she screwed up her lips as if she were about to 
 do so. 
 
 " No profession, or worse than none — no re-
 
 J ACT A ALE A EST. 117 
 
 ligion — a downrio-lit Bohemian ! Don't pro- 
 pose, M. Vilpont ; you will 1)e refused. 
 Tiiouo;h I like you, it's in spite of myself, and 
 I could not advise your being accepted." 
 
 " You would refuse me for one of your 
 grand-daughters 1 " 
 
 " As flat as a pancake, my dear friend. You 
 are not one of us, neither by birth, nor educa- 
 tion, nor h;d)its. What we liold sacred is a 
 matter of indifference to you. Our ways look 
 mean to you. We call you a free-thinker, and 
 you call us bigots. I look on you as one of 
 the best specimens of the l)utterfly race, but 
 that is all. There, take it in good part ; go 
 your way, and leave us to go ours." 
 
 " You will not force me to beg Madame 
 Chambaud's assistance ? " 
 
 It was a capital move, and checkmated the 
 good lady. 
 
 " 1^0, no ; let us keep clear of that chattering 
 pie. 
 
 When Yilpont had seen Madame Jorey set 
 off for St. Gloi, how did he feel ? Muttering 
 to himself, " Jacta alea est," he set off on one 
 of his long walks. " Fate," so ran his thoughts 
 — " fate is too strong for the strongest among 
 lis. The death of an old '03 man brings about 
 an unforeseen visit, a thunderstorm, and a 
 frightened girl, and my life undergoes, proba- 
 bly, an utter change. Has man any free-will ? 
 Are we not constantly compelled to do what, 
 if our will were free, we would not do. Cir- 
 cumstances weave the web of all oui- lives, not
 
 118 Jupiter's daughteks. 
 
 our own determination." Destiny rose np be- 
 fore him grave and sad. 
 
 Xo thinking man about to link another life 
 with liis own, but must look forward with as 
 much anxiety as hope. A^ilpont could not ob- 
 literate his experiences of life ; echoes of the 
 past were in his ears. lie had known so many 
 set out gayly on the route he was proposing to 
 traverse, who had been forced to cover tlieir 
 heads with ashes, and to bow down before 
 grief and shame. 
 
 There was one fatality, however, of which 
 he forgot to think — tliat which is made bv our- 
 selves, by our errors, or by defects which cause 
 our errors. Faults and evil experiences were 
 demanding a penalty from him at this mo- 
 ment, lie could not silence some questions. 
 With the admiration and tenderness he un- 
 doubtedly felt for Pauline there was strangely 
 mingled a sense of disparity — her innocence 
 and purity with the lees of a lawless life. 
 
 Love (he had written it over and over again) 
 was the meeting of two beings in perfect ac- 
 cord. And between this gracious (;hild and 
 himself was this possible? He told himself 
 bitterly enough that though angels rejoice over 
 the repentant sinner, there is no account of how 
 the sinner feels in company witli the angels. 
 He had a wretched suspicion that even loved 
 by and loving Pauline he might weary 
 of his existence. Had he not a horror of a 
 long-continued conrse of fine weather ? Had 
 he not tired of blue skies and gentle zephyrs ?
 
 J ACTA ALE A EST. 119 
 
 "Was constancy possible for him ? Was he not 
 always curious about the unknown '^ 
 
 And how should he dare to write as he had 
 done with a madanie at his fireside. His tal- 
 ent (and consequently his independence) was, 
 bound up and limited by his pictures of the 
 realities of the day. 
 
 And yet his whole soul revolted when he 
 thouo^ht of the great probability that Madame 
 Rendu would refuse him. And he expected 
 she would do so; for he knew there was 
 nothing so unconquerable as one of those dis- 
 likes without any reasonable foundation, and 
 he felt that dislike was a mild term to apply 
 to Madame Rendu's feelings towards him. 
 
 And now, how about the little heroine of all 
 these meditations and consultations ?,
 
 120 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 BONNE MAMAN ADVERSARY AND PARTISAN. 
 
 " I WILL liave no gossiping about yesterday," 
 said Madame Eendu, as they sat down to the 
 eleven o'clock breakfast. " By this time it 
 will be known to all our neighbors that we 
 remained the night at Chateau Ste. Marie ; 
 every one will be calling to know why. Let 
 them hear you practising, for I don't choose 
 that you should have to explain about your 
 feet. To-morrow, whatever it makes you suf- 
 fer, you must go out." 
 
 "But Pierre knows, mamma; and if we 
 don't tell ourselves, some wrong story will get 
 wind." 
 
 " Do you think in your wisdom that the 
 truth is ever believed ? However, I will not 
 allow you to dispute with me ; you will have 
 to give up your love of contradiction, Pauline, 
 if you ever mean to be happy. Go and do as 
 I bid you ; as long as you are single, I shall 
 take care you are not one of the young ladies 
 who are talked about." 
 
 Madame Rendu was equal to the occasion ; 
 she entered at once on the subject of the 
 storm, described her own terrors, and her 
 thankfulness when she saw Pauline return 
 leaning on the arm of the Cure. Some 
 rumors were already floating about as to Pau-
 
 ADVERSAEY AND PARTISAN. 121 
 
 line's having been lost. Madame Rendu 
 laughed, saying how ingeniously some people 
 worked up truth and fiction. IIow could she 
 be lost in the vineyard close to the Chateau, 
 in a place she knew as well as she did the 
 street she lived in. This arranfyetnent of the 
 subject, coupled with the sound of Pauline's 
 piano, liid the truth for the time being. Ma- 
 dame Rendu resorted to another device to 
 keep it concealed in the future. 
 
 She mentioned to Madame Chambaud, in 
 the strictest confidence, that slie was about to 
 give a ball to celebrate Pauline's twentieth 
 birthday. Did Madame Chambaud think that 
 a fancy-ball would be ill-judged? "But it 
 wonld be charminof, charming! " vouched Ma- 
 dame Chambaud. Of course this secret was 
 known all over St. Gloi before night, as 
 Madame Rendu had confidently expected ; and 
 as one nail drives out another, so did this re- 
 port drive away all others. 
 
 Successful in all that regarded the outside 
 of the affair, Madame Rendu could only 
 smother, not eradicate, her secret anxieties. 
 Some instinct made her refrain from question- 
 ing Pauline as to Yilpont's finding her. She 
 dreaded the knowledge she might acquire ; 
 for she knew if Pauline spoke, she would tell 
 the truth, and all the truth. And what if this 
 truth shackled her with anv oblio-ations to this 
 writer of plays, this man without a position. 
 
 Pauline presented to her mother's view an 
 unruflied surface. " Ah ! " thought the ma- 
 Q
 
 122 jdpitee's daughters. 
 
 iron, " give me aiiythino; in the world to find 
 out but a girl's feelings." And she was right ; 
 space, matter, numbers, may come to be ex- 
 plained ; but how make clear a problem that a 
 young girl will not herself seek to solve ? It 
 is a point of honor with a respectable French 
 mother to give her daughter to a husband with 
 a heart like a blank sheet of paper ; and Ma- 
 dame Rendu really suffered in suspecting that 
 this could never now be the case with Pauline. 
 
 A thought of the man she thus dreaded 
 offering to become her son-in-law was as far 
 from her mind as that the Sultan or the Prince 
 of Wales would do so. Yet the moment she 
 saw Madame Jorey get out of her cabriolet 
 dressed in her best gown, she guessed the pur- 
 port of her visit, and at once called M. Rendu, 
 not to ask his opinion, but to hear her decision. 
 
 Madame Jorey certainly disapproved of 
 Yilpont as a husband for Pauline, but is it 
 difhcult to accept a mission of confidence and 
 to keep clear of partisanship ? It was long 
 since honne mammiJs heart had beat so fast as 
 when she met the glance of Madame Rendu's 
 hard eyes. The lengthy interchange of com- 
 pliments and inquiries gave the ambassadress 
 time to recover her usual sang froid. 
 
 " How is Pauline ? " she bejijan. 
 
 "Very well ; she only required a day s rest.. 
 She got up as well as ever this morning, and 
 is at the ouvroirr * 
 
 * Ouvroir, work-room superintended by charitable 
 ladies.
 
 ADVEKSAKY AND PARTISAN. 123 
 
 M. Rendu now ap])eared, and there M'as a 
 renewal of compliments and salutations. Then 
 Madame Jorey, yielding to necessity, opened 
 her communication. 
 
 " I brina; a proposal of marriage for ray god- 
 daughter from a future marquis, an old Bre- 
 ton noble." 
 
 Madame Rendu was startled for an instant 
 by the unexpected announcement. 
 
 " His name ? " she asked. 
 
 " M. Alberic Vilixmt, Vicomte de Kergeac," 
 said Madame Jorey, pompously and solemnly. 
 
 " You need not go on, my dear lady," said 
 Madame Rendu promptly, and stretching out 
 her feet, a gesture of contempt well known to 
 all her acquaintance. " We refuse absolutely," 
 she added, accentuating each word. 
 
 " My wife, my wife," interposed M. Rendu, 
 " let us at least hear what our excellent friend 
 has to say." 
 
 " What can she say, but that this man is 
 without religion or morals ? He has never put 
 his foot into a church since he has been here." 
 
 " Pardon me," interrupted Madame Jorey ; 
 " he went with ns." 
 
 " Yes, true, with the girls, as he would have 
 gone to a play. But leaving that point, I have 
 sufficient reasons for my decision : first, his 
 immoral writings ; and secondly, his vagabond 
 ways. Why dt)es he go about under false pre- 
 tences ? why conceal his name and rank ? " 
 
 " Easy to explain ; " and Madame Jore}'^ re- 
 lated what Yilpont had told her of his story.
 
 124 jtjpiter's dadghtees. 
 
 Madame Rendu listened as we do when we 
 have made np our mind beforehand, and are 
 decided to let no argument influence us. 
 
 " I regret this projjosal," she said when Ma- 
 dame Jorey concluded, " and I am sure M. 
 Hendu agrees with me. Were M. Vilpont ten 
 times as noble, ten times as famous, ten times 
 as rich, I would say the same. I look on him 
 as an example of all that is worst in our coun- 
 try. I would as soon sign Pauline's death- 
 warrant as her marriage contract with him." 
 
 A deep sigh made them all turn round : 
 Pauline was standing at the inner door of 
 communication. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said her mother, " retire to 
 your own room." 
 
 Pauline vanished almost before the order 
 was pronounced. She had not even a thought 
 of claiming a voice in the decision of lier fate. 
 
 As M. Rendu led Madame Jorey down- 
 stairs to put her into her cabriolet, he said in a 
 low voice, " I beg you will thank LI. Vilpont 
 for the honor he has done us ; but you see, we 
 think it is best for us hourgeois to keep to our 
 own class ; Ave could not bear to be separated 
 from our child." 
 
 " As for wliat I tell the Yicomte de Iver- 
 geac, I sliall use my own discretion, 2>€re Ren- 
 du. I confess I don't think Madame Rendu 
 wrong, though she might have been more 
 polite. I am sorry for the lad, I like him ; 
 and when I like, 1 like ; and when I hate, it's 
 with all my heart."
 
 ADVERSARY AND PARTISAN. 125 
 
 Madame Jorey did use her own discretion, 
 wliich led her to be more candid than compas- 
 sionate in the account she gave Vilpont of the 
 interview with tlie Rendus. She entirely 
 omitted to mention Pauline's sigh or how pale 
 and pitiful hei- face. 
 
 Vilpont changed color so violently that the 
 old lady paused and repented. She then bus- 
 tled away, returning presently with a glass of 
 wine, " Drink that," she said ; " I have not 
 given a drop of it to a soul since Jorey died." 
 
 lie put aside the wine with a " Thank you, 
 I do not need that kind of support." After a 
 short silence he went on, " I sincerely intend- 
 ed to try and make Mademoiselle Pauline 
 happy, and with her sweet disposition the task 
 would not have been a hard one. That is now 
 a past hope. Perhaps you will not think it 
 wrong to tell her how entirely I admired and 
 reverenced her." 
 
 " Better let that alone," replied honne ma- 
 man, "girls' hearts are such tender things. 
 When 1 was seventeen, my dear sir, I was 
 ready to marry any man, and to believe I 
 loved him. Don't fancy I am not your friend 
 because I say I think Madame Rendu has 
 done wisely. How can a girl judge a man as 
 W'ell as a mother ? " 
 
 " Discussion on that point now is useless ; I 
 would rather thank 3'ou for all _your goodness 
 to me. I shall never forget Ste. Marie les 
 Vignes and its kind chdtelainey Vilpont 
 took her hand and kissed it. Bonne maman
 
 126 Jupiter's dadghters. 
 
 reddened prodigiously, then went a\ray as fast 
 as slie could, making; a portentous noise with 
 her handkerchief. Vil])ont busied himself at 
 once with preparations for leaving the follow- 
 ing day. He did not see his hostess again till 
 dinner; she kept out of his way, actually 
 dreading to meet him. To lier surprise, he 
 met her with his usual composure, and exert- 
 ing all his powers of pleasing, so won on the 
 poor lady, that she came over quite to his side, 
 in spite of his efforts, or rather in consequence 
 of them, she grew more and more fidgety and 
 low-spirited, and this state of her mind will 
 excuse the useless thing she afterwards did. 
 A letter from Pauline was given to her just as 
 Yilpont had gone out to smoke his cigar. 
 Pauline had written but a few lines — 
 
 " Pear Marraine, — I have a favor to beg, 
 now that it is all over. It will make me liappi- 
 er if you will ask M. Yilpont to forgive me for 
 once being rude to him, very rude. I said one 
 evening, meanino: him to hear me, that I had 
 gone to sleep while his beautiful poem was 
 being read. It was not true. I had heard 
 every word. I was ashamed at having cried. 
 I wanted to vex him ; just my l)ad temper, I 
 could not help it. I should not like him to go 
 away thinking ill of me, dear inai'raine. 
 Please to tell him. — Your respectful, loving 
 godchild, Pauline." 
 
 Madame Jorey put this poor effusion into 
 Yilpont's hand.
 
 ADVERSARY AND PARTISAN. 127 
 
 lie rcfid it thron<^h. " Tell her," he began, 
 and suddenly broke down. He covered liis 
 face ; his chest heaved as when a man weeps ; 
 honne maman was first struck speechless and 
 motionless, then she rushed at him, stroking 
 his hair as if he had been a little chikl, mut- 
 tering the inevitable, " Tiens, tiens, tiens ! "
 
 128 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 FRENCH CUSTOM SINCE ADAM DELVED. 
 
 "Can a bird fall in a snare upon the earth where no gin 
 is set for hiin." 
 
 During the following two years Stephanie 
 Jorey was married to M. de Saye, and her sis- 
 ter Julie became the wife of a rich Lyons 
 manufacturer. '' Unexceptionable marriages 
 — charming households — jolis menages ! " 
 chorused the Jorevs and their relations. 
 
 M. de Saye had hrst proposed for Pauline ; 
 but Pauline on that occasion found sufficient 
 courage to express an unconditional refusal. 
 
 " I must at least not loathe my husband," 
 she said, with a flash of anger, and Madame 
 Pendu was silenced. 
 
 This occurred while Pauline's recollection 
 of the day in the vineyard was in all its fresh- 
 ness. She had, besides, a foolish idea that it 
 was treachery in M. de Saye to wish to sup- 
 plant his friend. 
 
 Poor Madame Rendu, notwithstanding her 
 strong will, her prudence, and her fancy-ball, 
 had not succeeded in keeping out of the do- 
 main of gossip what Madame Chambaud call- 
 ed " The"Vilp(mt Romance." 
 
 Alfred do Musset says somewhere that 
 " everything is known save that which is un-
 
 FRENCH CUSTOM SINCE ADAM DELVED. 129 
 
 known." So it proved in this case. Within 
 forty-eight hours after okl Madame Jorey's 
 ofhcial visit to the Rendus, Vilpont's rescue of 
 the lost damsel, his offer of marriage, his title 
 and expectations, were discussed hj every man 
 and woman in St. Gloi. What they never 
 knew was what had passed during the tete-d- 
 tete walk, when those few words had been 
 spoken, awakening new feelings in Pauline ; 
 words on which hinged all the future happiness 
 or unhappiness of her life. 
 
 Madame Rendu had been forced to give up 
 her Sisyphean task of stemming questions — 
 the tyranny of intimacy had forced her to 
 speak out ; that is, she had given facts, as bare 
 as it was possible. 
 
 A stern follower of the social code of her 
 country, tliat Aer daughter should have been 
 compelled b}'^ untoward fate to infringe one 
 of its strictest articles, fretted her spirit to a 
 point of exasperation that English mothers 
 wnll scarcely understand. The Frenchwoman 
 knew she had to reckon with the traditional 
 prejudices and customs of her nation, all dead 
 against a tete-d-tete between a girl and any 
 man not her father or brother. 
 
 "Yery well for you English," says the 
 Frenchman ; but " mon cher, such freedom 
 does not answer with us." 
 
 Judge Madame Rendu, therefore, by French, 
 and not British social laws. 
 
 For perhaps the first time in her life, 
 Pauline's mother had a doubt of her own wis- 
 6»
 
 130 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 dom. She was assailed by a secret fear tliat 
 Pauline's " heai-t had spoken " before leave 
 given — another grave infraction of rules — and 
 this fear made her doubt whether she had done 
 wisely in giving Vilpont so summary a dismis- 
 sal. Impossible to deny that he had acted 
 delicately and honorably ; it was infinitely 
 painful to her to doubt her own judgment, 
 but she liad strength of will enough never to 
 breathe to Inmian being that she had been in 
 any uncertainty as to her own infallibility. 
 She continued to abstain from all investiga- 
 tions of Pauline's feelino-s, bein^j aware of the 
 gulf which divides conjecture from knowl- 
 edge. 
 
 The first left her unhampered ; the last 
 would have prevented her urging Pauline to 
 accept ]\r. de Saye. 
 
 On whatever indications might be founded 
 Madame Rendu's mismvino-s, none of those 
 who saw Pauline intimately ever came near a 
 supposition that the girl nourished any regrets. 
 She took the liveliest interest in the trousseaux 
 of her two friends, accepted cheerfully the of- 
 fice of demoiselle dlionneibr on the occasion of 
 their marriages, and was so amiable and friend- 
 ly to M. de oaye, that he more than once won- 
 dered if the refusal of his offer had not come 
 from the mother alone. 
 
 Vilpont, in De Saye's place, would never 
 have doubted at all. The amiability and 
 friendliness of young ladies towards gentle- 
 men bears many interpretations.
 
 FRENCH CUSTOM SINCE ADAM DELVED. 131 
 
 Duriiio; the summer of that year the Rendns 
 went to Switzerland, extending; their journey 
 to the Italian lakes. Such a departure from 
 
 their custom of going to the baths of S 
 
 naturally excited comment. Like all small 
 towns which are isolated, as it were, from gen- 
 eral interests, St. Gloi fell back on the private 
 affairs of its citizens — nothing, as we know, 
 too trivial to be talked about. 
 
 " There is no understanding the Rendu poll-' 
 tics," observed Madame Chambaud — ^" travel- 
 ling when they ought to be marrying their 
 daughter. Pauline is twenty-two, and she is 
 just the sort of girl to lose her looks early. 
 Only classical features can bear the want of 
 the freshness of youth." 
 
 '' You forget how accomplished she is," re- 
 plied Madame Edmond Jorey, the words mean- 
 ing one thing, the intonation another. 
 
 " After all, dear m.adame, there is compen- 
 sation for everything. Stephanie and Julie, 
 who claim no superiority, are happy wives and 
 mothers. Poor Pauline! I scarcely like to 
 blame her ; but when a girl sets herself against 
 general rules. Heaven knows how it will 
 end." 
 
 " In a convent, very likely," said some other 
 friend of Madame Kendu. 
 
 Though thev sat in iudo-ment on them, all 
 these people were glad to see the Rend us back 
 a^ain. Their gossip is to be taken only as one 
 of the proofs that " man is the delight of 
 man."
 
 132 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 A great change was remarked in Panliiu's 
 appearance. Some thought it was an improve- 
 ment, others that she was dreadfully gone off. 
 
 " You have grown, Pauline," said one ma- 
 dame. 
 
 " She looks so because she is thinner," re- 
 marked another. 
 
 " Remember, my dear," here put in Madame 
 Chambaud, " that youth does not last forever." 
 
 Even old Madame Jorey began to shoot 
 arrows at her god-daughter ; but that was after 
 hearino; that Pauline had refused M. Belair, 
 the banker s only son. 
 
 On one of the Sunday visits, the old lady 
 said more seriously than usual, " Pauline, when 
 I was young, 1 had some of your rebellious 
 spirit. I should have preferred another sort 
 of husband to the one my father accepted for 
 me. But Jorey did me the favor to live till I 
 had reached the age of common sense, when I 
 freely confessed my father had been right and 
 I wrong. Depend on it, my child, customs 
 which have ruled generation after generation 
 are not without their raison (Titre. Now, our 
 custom from Adam has been to choose hus- 
 bands and wives for our children ; we know 
 their dispositicms, and what will suit them. Is 
 an ignorant, unexperienced girl's fancy to rule 
 her parents ? Ridiculous ! " 
 
 Pauline said quietly, " Do you think, then, 
 that a girl's likings or dislikings ought to be 
 overlooked ? " 
 
 " She ought not to have any ; a really good
 
 FRENCH CUSTOil SINCE ADAM DELVED. 133 
 
 girl should not know anything of feeling of 
 preference as regards men." 
 
 " But suppose you cannot help havhig such 
 feelings ? " 
 
 " Be ashamed of them, and conquer them, 
 or they will lead you to perdition." 
 
 Pauline malcing no reply, the old lady ut- 
 tered an impatient, " Well, little rebel ? " 
 
 " Indeed I am not rebellious." 
 
 " Just as Pharaoh said to Moses, and hard- 
 ened his heart against all advice. Don't you 
 understand that you are breaking God's com- 
 mandment to honor and obey your fatlier and 
 mother ? Don't you see that you are commit- 
 ting the sin of putting self first ? Tour mother 
 is not half the woman she was ; she spares yon, 
 but you do not spare her. And if you had 
 only a good cause ; but, my pretty one, you 
 have but a very bad one. There, now I shall 
 say no more." 
 
 Madame Jorey was not the woman to preach 
 without a motive. In fact, St. Gloi was once 
 more beginning to speculate as to Mademoi- 
 selle Pendu's marriage. It was in the air that 
 another pretender was in the field. Pumor 
 rivals M. AVorth in the ingenious costumes it 
 invents for whatever it has to drape ; in this 
 instance it so travestied the one grain of fact, 
 that it could never have been identified. 
 
 It was said— hnt that was nothing — it was 
 actually helieved, that Pauline was abcnit to 
 marry a black prince. The organist's wife 
 shuddered, and exclaimed, " O heavens ? how
 
 134: Jupiter's daughters, 
 
 glad I am I can go to the (organ) gallerv, I 
 would not miss seeing them married for gold. 
 Horrible, isn't it ? " 
 
 M. Leon Subar, the gentleman in question, 
 possessed, indeed, a fine brown complexion, 
 altogether different from African black. 
 Though he had been born in Algiers, both 
 parents were of unadulterated French blood. 
 He was joang, rich, handsome, and his own 
 master, his father and mother being dead. 
 He had met the Hendus at Aix les Bains, 
 where they had stopped on their way home- 
 ward from Italv. He had danced with Pan- 
 line, heard her sing, was extremely struck by 
 the beauty of her complexion and her lovely 
 fair liair. 
 
 AVhen M. Leon Subar wished to gratify 
 liimself, he was not wanting in energy. Now, 
 as he had taken a fancy to make Pauline his 
 wife, he speedily set in motion all the usual 
 machinery by which matrimonial overtures 
 are made. He procured an introduction to Ma- 
 dame Chambaud, through one of the many 
 who knew of, or had heard of, that lady's 
 especial talents, and he entrusted the negotia- 
 tion to her. 
 
 Cool as Madame Rendu was, she was dazzled 
 by the array of figures .representing M. Subar's 
 fortune. 
 
 "And so handsome into the bargain," ob- 
 served Madame Chambaud in the tone of an 
 auctioneer. . 
 
 " I don't believe Pauline has given him a
 
 FRENCH CUSTOM SINCE ADAM DELVED. 135 
 
 thought," sighed Madame Rendu. "I did 
 wrong not to marry her when she was eighteen." 
 
 " Slie will not have waited for nothing if she 
 becomes Madame Subar. It will be a mag- 
 nificent marriage for her, and you really must 
 this time be firm. When the happiness of a 
 child is in the balance, it is a parent's duty 
 to — to tighten the reins." Madame Cham- 
 baud's metaphor halted, but not so her enthu. 
 siasm. 
 
 Madame Rendu said afterwards to M. 
 Rendu, as they talked the matter over, " How 
 easy other people's difiiculties seem to us ! " 
 
 Pauline understood perfectly that her dis- 
 like to marrying inflicted mortification and 
 pain on her parents. It was eccentric ; and 
 nowhere in the world is eccentricity in a woman 
 so derided and condemned as in the small 
 provincial towns of France: it is considered 
 to denote a moral leprosy. 
 
 Hitherto Pauline, in right of her youth and 
 the Rendu fortune and position in St. Gloi, 
 had escaped this stigma. But indulgence and 
 patience have their limits. Many a time had 
 even Madame Rendu's iron nerves been jarred 
 by innuendoes as to the mystery of such and 
 such a girl of the speaker's acquaintance not 
 being married. But she dared not tell Pau- 
 line the reasons that might I)c invented to 
 account for her extraordinary obstinacy. 
 
 Pauline, however, was so lectured and ad- 
 vised on all hands, tliat she was brought to ask 
 herself "why she should refuse to do as others
 
 130 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 did — it was evidently tlie rule to marry ? "Why 
 then set herself against the rule ? Why, in- 
 deed, save that she had more delicacy of feel- 
 ing, more honesty of heart, than the generality ; 
 that she had a perception — dim, indeed, in 
 reason of her inexperience — that marriage 
 ought to be something better than a mere 
 social contract and a union of fortunes?
 
 THE GREAT " YES." 137 
 
 CHAPTEK XYI. 
 
 THE GREAT " YES." 
 
 " Dans I'opinion du monde, la mariage, comme dans 
 la comedie, finit tout. C'est precisement le contraire qui 
 est vrai ; ii commence tout." — Madame SevetcMne. 
 
 The next step was an interview between M. 
 and Mme. Rendu and the " pretender." M. 
 Subar was candor itself. He had nothing to 
 conceal. He was " healthy, wealthy, and wise." 
 That was his summing up of his qualifica- 
 tions. The address of his notary he offei-ed. 
 As for that of his medical man (quite in the 
 usages to ask for it), he could not give it as — ■ 
 " Mon, Dieu ! I have never had one since I 
 had the measles when I was six years old." 
 
 M. Subar was of course impatient for an 
 ansv\'er. He did not dislike being the object 
 of universal interest and observation in St. 
 Gloi, but lie M^ould prefer being also assured 
 that he was regarded as a conqueror, and not 
 as a victim. 
 
 " My daughter cannot be hurried," replied 
 Madame Eendu. At his gestures of vexation, 
 she added, " It is for your sake I say so. It 
 will not do to alarm her by pressing for an im- 
 mediate decision." 
 
 M. Subar could scarcely conceal his surprise 
 that any young lady could need time or prep- 
 aration to say "Yes" to him. "Healthy,
 
 138 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 wealtliy, wise," and, " ma foi, hel homme^'' 
 what could a girl want more ? 
 
 It had been one of Madame Rendu's fre- 
 quently expressed self-laudations that she had 
 never felt timid under any circumstances — 
 that nothino; ever threw her off her balance. 
 But what if her pulse had been felt when she 
 shut the door of her dressing-room on Pauline 
 and herself ? 
 
 Madame Rendu had this marriage at heart. 
 It was brilliant beyond her expectations. It 
 would be the \\2i^^\)J finale to many anxieties 
 and mortifications endured in silence, and not 
 without a spice of heroism. Mingling with 
 all her commonplace views of life tliei'e was a 
 spark of the martyr's spirit which sacrifices all 
 for the sake of duty. No one could say 
 Madame Rendu had swerved an iota from her 
 idea of the straight line. An obedient daugh- 
 ter, she had married M. Rendu, not only in- 
 different to him, but with a suspicion of aver- 
 sion. She had been a steady matron, strict in 
 conduct if not affectionate in manner, and a con- 
 scientious mother. Naturally, she expected 
 that her daughter could do what she had done. 
 Madame Rendu did not believe in any stronger 
 feelings than her own, measuring (as indeed 
 we all do) others by herself. 
 
 Pauline turned very pale when her mother 
 opened the conversation by saying, " I have 
 something serious to talk to you about." 
 
 Pauline kissed her mother before taking the 
 chair by her side.
 
 TUE GREAT " YES." 139 
 
 " I am quite prepared, mamma, for yonr 
 information." This was spoken with a little 
 nervous lau2;h. 
 
 Madame Ilendu did not approve of this tak- 
 ing of the initiative out of her hands ; it augured 
 ill for the success of M. Subar's proposal, at 
 all events. 
 
 " My dear, hear what I have to say before 
 giving me an answer." 
 
 Pauline listened as silent and motionless as 
 if she had been a statue to an enumeration of 
 all the advantages, personal and material, to 
 be gained through becoming M. Subar's wife. 
 This was followed by an outburst of long 
 pent-up disappointment. Madame Rendu 
 warming up into something like eloquence as 
 she spoke of her own thwarted expectations, 
 and of the small gratitude Pauline had shown 
 for all the care and kindness lavished on her. 
 In truth, Madame Rendu, 'n her dread of a 
 new failure, said more than she meant or than 
 was true. Pauline's demeanor remained as 
 calm under this avalanche of reproach as she 
 h'^d done under the glowing picture of M. 
 Subar as a husband. 
 
 Madame Rendu wound up by saying, " I 
 know you have some absurd theory about lov- 
 ing the man you marry. That means just 
 this — you love your own fancy. No woman 
 ever sees what a man really is till after mar- 
 riage." 
 
 '' Such reasoning, dear mother, goes to prove 
 that it is as well to take one man as another.
 
 140 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 That being so, I will accept of M. Subar as 
 my future husband." 
 
 This unexpected acquiescence startled Ma- 
 dame Rendu, Her first speech showed this, 
 being so contradictory of wliat she had been 
 trying to impress on Pauline. 
 
 " Of course, if you feel a repugnance to 
 this gentleman." 
 
 " Not more for him than another. As I 
 must marry, it is lucky that I can please you 
 and my father." 
 
 Madame Rendu did not, after all, relish this 
 mode of acceptance, though it had in it many 
 of the usual words with which young ladies 
 announce their consent. She would have liked 
 to put the crucial question, " Would you have 
 made exactly this answer had it, instead of M. 
 Subar, been M. Vilpont," but she dared not. 
 
 Not half so pleased as the fulfilment of her 
 wish should have made her, Madame Rendu 
 wrote to invite M. Subar to dinner next day. 
 
 He understood that the invitation meant ac- 
 ceptance. 
 
 lie was received in the grand salon by his 
 future father and mother in law. Then Pau- 
 line was summoned, and asked by her father 
 if she willingly accepted M. Leon Subar for 
 her husband. She bowed, and M. Rendu add- 
 ed solemnly, ''M. Subar, embrace your wife." 
 
 Leon sprang forward, kissed Pauline first on 
 both cheeks, and then her two hands. Turn- 
 ing from her to her parents, he received the 
 paternal and maternal accolade. After that
 
 TUE GKEAT " YES." 141 
 
 they went in to dinner, -wliicli saved the awk- 
 M^ardness of the situation. Before evening 
 the event was known to half the town, dis- 
 cussed at the Circle^ and was the one subject 
 of conversation in most of the drawing-rooms. 
 
 " Really I can scarcely believe it," said Ste- 
 phanie de Saye. " Pauline had got quite an 
 old-maid look, and yet M. Subar is — so Ma- 
 dame Chambaud says — wild about her." 
 
 Nothing could be more graceful, more ac- 
 cording to etiquette, than Pauline's behavior 
 during two days. She sat by the side of her 
 betrothed, sang and played at his request, 
 smiled when he spoke to her ; yet before the 
 end of the third day Leon was exasperated 
 and despairing. 
 
 " She was so charming at Aix, and now she 
 is like a machine. I wonder if it's her moth- 
 er's fault." 
 
 Pauline was every whit as uneasy and dis- 
 tressed. 
 
 Imagine Madame Rendu's feelings when 
 Pauline suddenly asked her if she could not 
 withdraw her word. 
 
 '• Do you want to break my heart ? " asked 
 the dismayed mother, and left the room in a 
 paroxysm of alarm. 
 
 What was to be the end of it all ? It had been 
 trying to have a daughter averse to marry — 
 painful to believe that this aversion had given 
 rise to disagreeable surmises. But what was 
 that to the inevitable results of Pauline's break- 
 ing her word to M. Subar ? The poor lady
 
 142 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 conld not and did not conceal from herself that 
 notliinoj less would happen than that there 
 would be waggings of heads and sage observa- 
 tions that there must be some cause for such ex- 
 traordinary conduct. Madame Rendu seemed 
 to hear shrill voices pronouncing adverse ver- 
 dicts — " Such a handsome, agreeable, rich, 
 young man — a very heaic ideal of a husband — 
 to be refused ! There must be a cause ; and 
 what was it ? " 
 
 Madame Rendu was as sure of these re- 
 marks being made as though slie actually heard 
 them. She had a clue to Pauline's reluctance, 
 but others had not, and she hoped, with all her 
 heart, they never might find it. " Oh, that 
 man ! that man ! Ugly, too ; and M. Subar 
 so superior in so many ways ! " It was use- 
 less now to give way to regret, it was necessaiy 
 to act, to get some help with this terribly un- 
 common girl. In her dire strait, Madame 
 Rendu sent for Madame Chambaud. 
 
 Madame Chambaud hurried in all smiles, 
 and began a string of commonplace congratu- 
 lations. 
 
 " So handsome, so pleasant, so rich. Really 
 it did always so happen ; riclies went as natu- 
 rally to riches as rivers to the sea. But where, 
 then, was the young madame ? " 
 
 " Yes," returned Madame Rendu ; " lie is 
 rich, handsome, and amiable. But Pauline 
 never can be like other people, I now believe 
 Madame Agnes put every kind of crotchet into 
 her silly little head. She is in bed to-day.
 
 THE GRExVT " YES." 143 
 
 One would suppose no one had ever been mar- 
 ried before." 
 
 " And the handsomest man I have seen tliese 
 twenty years ! " ejaculated plamtively Madame 
 Chambaud. 
 
 " Yesterday she was all cheerfulness," went 
 on Madame Rendu ; " and now there she is, 
 her face hid in her pillow." 
 
 " Let me go to her, dear madame ; I have 
 had some ex])erience of these girlisli panics," 
 said Madame Chambaud, and with truth. 
 " Some need scolding, some coaxing, but I al- 
 M'ays managed to cure their terrors." 
 
 Madame Chambaud was not the least 
 daunted by Pauline's face or her wide-opened 
 pathetic eyes. She sat herself down by the 
 bedside, and delivered quite an oration on M. 
 Su bar's good looks and other advantages. 
 " Pauline, yoiT are born to be lucky. You go 
 ou refusing most eligible offers, and just when 
 one fears you will have to accept the crooked 
 stick, behold the lovely young prince, a real 
 Fortunatus, falls at your feet and bestows on 
 you all that woman's heart can desire. My 
 dear, I cougratulate you with all my heart. 
 The whole town, I assure you, is full of won- 
 der and delight. You really are an- honor to 
 St. Gloi ; and then, how happy your father 
 and mother are. It's delightful ! " Here 
 another look at the colorless face with the 
 large eyes made her add, " Of course, you are 
 a little nervous. One always is after pro- 
 nouncing the great ' yes.' I was nervous my-
 
 144 Jupiter's DAUGnTERS. 
 
 self, so I can understand your feelings. I 
 always liken marriage to deatli — though it 
 takes us into a better world it frightens us." 
 
 And so on rattled Madame Cliambaud, tak- 
 ing everytliing for granted, reiterating always, 
 that everybody felt alike on such occasions, 
 and that every one was happier afterwards in 
 proportion to their previous reluctance. 
 
 Pauline turned away from the proffered em- 
 brace, pra^nng earnestly for patience. Not 
 from any Madame Chambaud could she have 
 asked help. What was done could not be re- 
 called, save at the expense of a public scandal, 
 wdiich would break the heart of her parents. 
 So she submitted. 
 
 Leon tried the patience she ])rayed for to 
 the utmost. lie was a terrible lover. De- 
 monstrative to a degree that scandalized all the 
 elderly ladies and set all the (51d gentlemen 
 grinning, he was a source of infinite wonder 
 and interest to all the young girls. 
 
 Luckily Pauline's trial was shortened by 
 his being obliged to go to Paris on business. 
 Before his departure, however, the day for the 
 marriage was fixed, and a tour to the Oberland 
 planned to fill up the time while their hotel in 
 Paris was being furnished. 
 
 An hotel in Paris ! How the St. Gloisians 
 Ah^d, and CieVd, and Ma foPd ; and how 
 they repeated those significant sounds when 
 the Gorheille presented by Leon arrived. 
 " Diamonds and rubies fit for a queen ! You 
 might set up a jeweller's shop, ma cherie ! "
 
 THE GREAT " YES. 145 
 
 exclaimed Madame de Saye, almost going 
 down on her knees to the trinkets. 
 
 Never either had snch a tronssean been even 
 imagined in St. Gloi. Madame Rendu had 
 sent for everything from Paris. Some feeling 
 made her lavish in all that money could buy 
 for Pauline. 
 
 Madame de Saye forced her husband to 
 write an account of the marriage to M. Vil- 
 pont de Kergcac. " Remember, darling, to 
 mention that the bride's dress cost five thousand 
 francs, and that she wore a profusion of dia- 
 monds. Oh, and the mayor's speech ! Do put 
 that in." 
 
 The mayor had said everything possible to 
 be said in praise of bridegroom, bride, and 
 bride's parents. He had concluded thus : — 
 
 " Mesdames et Messieurs, I may now say, 
 with our inimitable Beranger,* ' I have seen 
 Peace descend npon the earth, sowing corn, 
 flowers, and gold.' " 
 
 Many elbows had met significantly at this 
 announcement. 
 
 " So appropriate ! " observed Madame 
 Chambaud. 
 
 ' ' J'ai wx la Paix descendre sur la terre, 
 Semant de Tor, des fleuxs, et des epis." 
 7
 
 PART II
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A DOMESTIC TEEASUKE. 
 
 Leon and his wife travelling to Paris on a 
 fine October day, were witliin half-an-honr of 
 arrival at their destination, when after an un- 
 nsually long silence he said, " I hope yon will 
 be pleased with yonr new home, and my 
 arrangements about servants." 
 
 "I have no doubts on that point," replied. 
 Pauline ; " but I am rather frightened at the 
 idea of havino; to manaire Paris servants. I 
 only understand St. Gloi ways of house- 
 keeping." 
 
 " Ah ! I had some idea you would not know 
 how to manage, so I sent for my foster sister 
 and her husband, and they will take all 
 trouble off 3'our hands. Zelie was brought up 
 by my mother ; she can do anything and 
 everything, and has such pleasant ways ; always 
 cheerful and good-tempered — a real treasure." 
 
 " You cannot think what a load of anxiety 
 you have taken from me. And what is 
 Joseph, her husband ; coachman or footman ? " 
 
 "Oh! Joseph is an excellent fellow, honesty 
 itself, but not clever like Zelie ; in fact, rather 
 limited as to talent, what we call un hon sot.
 
 150 JUPITEe's DAUGnTEES. 
 
 But lie will make a very ^ood major-domo 
 mider his wife's direction. Between them you 
 will \\Q,ye notliino; to do but amuse yourself." 
 
 " How kind or you to arrange all this," said 
 Pauline, feeling really grateful ; " 1 wish you 
 had told mamma ; she has been fretting as to 
 how I should get on." 
 
 Leon did not speak his thoughts when he 
 answered, " The information will come better 
 from you, when you can say you like Zelie." 
 Had he been in the Palace of Truth he would 
 have said, " Your mother, my dear, would have 
 tilled your little head with M^arnings and sus- 
 picions, and probably would have gratified me 
 with a visit fruitful of investio-ations." 
 
 Notliins; could look more cheerful to a 
 
 gjung wife's eye than her new home did to 
 auline. Great gates opened on a court- 
 yard, the carriage-drive was round a small lawn 
 as soft as velvet, and green as an emerald, 
 thanks to the Jet (Veau throwing constantly 
 across it what glistened like diamond dust. 
 
 On each side of the double flight of steps 
 leading to the perron was a dazzle of 
 autunm flowers in porcelain vases. A& the 
 carriage drove in, a man ran down the steps 
 dressed like a gentleman, and Pauline sup- 
 posed he was ^ovae, friend come to welcome 
 them, until she heard her husband say, " How 
 are you, Joseph ? " Joseph was well, and 
 hoped Madame was not too tired. 
 
 A tall woman waited on the j'^erro??, she 
 made a graceful curtsey to Madame Subar, who
 
 A DOMESTIC TREASURE. 151 
 
 putting ont her hand said, " M. Snbar has been 
 talking to me of his good foster sister." 
 
 Zelie scarcely touched the kind little hand. 
 
 Leon's greeting of Zelie surprised Pauline. 
 " Ell ! Men man enfant comment cela va-t-il,^^ ^ 
 and he kissed her on both cheeks. 
 
 " Now take charge of madame," he added, 
 mth an odd laugh. Had Madame Kendu heen 
 present, she would have judged that Leon was 
 something afraid of his foster sister. 
 
 " Madame will give herself the trouble to 
 follow me," said Zelie ; and mistress and ser- 
 vant went up the wide staircase, the last first 
 and the first last. " Madame I hope finds her 
 room to her taste." 
 
 " It is beautiful ! how could I help liking it. 
 But Zelie, I shall call you Zelie as Leon does, 
 you had better desire Marie, my maid, to come 
 up. You are Madame la Gouvernante, you 
 
 know." 
 
 " Permit me, madame, to assist you to-day, 
 always if you please. 1 have been trained to 
 all the duties of a lady's-maid." 
 
 " Well, just for this once ; but poor Marie 
 would not like to be put on one side." 
 
 Nothing could be more unexceptionable than 
 Zelie's word»;, nor more deft than her services ; 
 but Pauline, nevertheless, longed for the sight 
 of Marie's broad face, and the help given by 
 hands that touclied her always respectfully as 
 well as with kindliness. 
 
 Zelie's opinion of the new madame was not 
 favorable. She said afterwards to Joseph,
 
 152 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 " What in the name of all the saints did he see 
 in her, to make him many her ? " 
 
 "She is pretty, like a white dove," replied 
 simple Joseph. 
 
 " You may as well say like a sheep or a 
 ■white rabbit, or milk or any white thing ; but 
 she has no style, no figure ; there's nothing of 
 her, and such amiability ! Zelie this and Zelie 
 that, as if she wanted to encourage me," 
 
 Joseph shrugged his shoulders pacifically, 
 and said : " I dare say she means well ; better 
 try and put up with her. She will let you do 
 as you please," 
 
 " If she had been a magnificent creature, 
 with the air of a queen," went on Zelie, un- 
 heeding of Joseph's counsel, " I could have 
 worshipped her, but this scrap of a woman, half 
 a woman, I call her," 
 
 " Well, well, it w^as his fancy, and she is not 
 to blame for that, nor her smalluess either, and 
 she is pretty, poor thing ! " 
 
 " Joseph, you are an ass ; enough to drive 
 one mad with your way of being satisfied with 
 everything, I tell you Leon has thrown him- 
 self away ; it is he who is to be pitied," 
 
 Zelie was no beauty herself. She was a 
 woman of thirty, at the least, of a dark com- 
 plexion, with strange eyes — eyes the color of 
 the sea when it is neither green nor blue, but 
 with something of both colors. They were ex- 
 pressive ej^es, that could sparkle fiercely and 
 darken with tenderness. At first siijht you 
 called her plain, but no one kept that opinion
 
 A DOMESTIC TREASURE. 153 
 
 long. She had some indefinable attraction 
 which had made many conquests. AVhen Leon 
 was twenty he was desperately in love with 
 her, and would have married her, could he 
 have gained the consent of his parents. How 
 she had condescended at last to take Joseph 
 for her spouse, does not enter into Pauline's 
 history. The only point necessary to mention 
 is, that she had obtained a promise from Leon 
 that she and Joseph should always form part 
 of his household. 
 
 By the end of November the Subars were in 
 the full current of Paris gayety. Pauline had 
 her box at the Italiens^ her share of one at the 
 Grand Opera — she went for all first represen- 
 tations — her coupe and horses were perfect of 
 their kind ; and, in two words, she lived the 
 life of a rich idle woman, as did Leon that of 
 a rich idle man. 
 
 When the first gloss of novelty had vanished, 
 the feelino-s of the provincial woman began to 
 reassert themselves. N''est pas Parisienne, 
 qui veut, and Pauline had been accustomed to 
 a circle of intimates. She had known, by 
 sight, at least, every creature in St. Gloi; their 
 births, deaths, and marriages had been matters 
 of interest. She had had a round of duties to 
 perform — she had known herself of some 
 importance in different ways to her neighbors. 
 But there was nothing of this sort to give zest 
 to her life in Paris. She was nothing beyond 
 a drop of water in the ocean. 
 
 No one who has not been uprooted from
 
 154 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 among familiar faces, scenes and occupations, 
 all gi'ijwn into a part of one's self, can sympa- 
 thize with Pauline's growing ennui in her line 
 liouse, or in her smart carriage. She would 
 have willinnrly resiicued both to be again trott- 
 ing to the ouvrotr along the ill-])avcd streets 
 of St. Gloi : to be a";ain cutting out shirts and 
 petticoats to the accompaniment or a small 
 stream of local gossip, or to l^e making hon- 
 hons under the superintendence of the old god- 
 motlier. 
 
 Many a quiet cry she had over old days. It 
 seemed to her as if she were gradually stupe- 
 fying, caring for nothing and nobody. Some- 
 thing in her letters must have betrayed her de- 
 pression to lier mother and Madame Agnes ; 
 the one w'rote recommending her to be active 
 in good works, and vigilant in performing her 
 religious duties, — the other urging her to 
 keep up her music and all her other accom- 
 plishments. " You appear," wrote Madame 
 JRendu, "to have given up all your studies, as 
 though your education had cost nothing." 
 
 Leon, who read all his wife's letters, here 
 remarked, " I thank God you have given them 
 up." 
 
 Madame Eendu went on : " You do not seem 
 to me to order your life, so as to fulfil grace- 
 fully all your duties." 
 
 iJ^on stopjjcd short — " Ila ! You go regu- 
 larly to mass, don't you, little one ; and to 
 confession and all that" (he never did him- 
 self). " I should not approve of any neglect
 
 A DOMESTIC TREASURE. 155 
 
 of that kind." ho added, with tlio austere air 
 of a jud<::e. '* A woman without religion is 
 not pknisant as a man's wife." 
 
 Paulino said. " I assure yi>u. Loon, I never 
 ne2:le(.'t any reli<:;ious duty. Mannna means, I 
 suppose, that I clm't practise enough." 
 
 " I Tang the piano,*" said Leon. 
 
 "Or perhaps she fancies I don't attend to 
 the h.nise ; she thinks I ought to be my own. 
 housekeeper." 
 
 '* But you prefer to have Zelie, don't you ? " 
 
 '* (~)h '.' I don't know what I should do with- 
 out her ; she saves me even the trouble of 
 thinking about my dress.'' 
 
 " Then what do you think about 'i " asked 
 Leon, with sudden curiosity. 
 
 " I liave not much time for thought, have 
 1 1 I do nothing, and yet I never have any 
 time to spare." 
 
 '' You'll have plenty when Lent comes ; now 
 sa/i.'^ adieu! my kitten. I have an appoint- 
 nierit, and must be off." 
 
 Leon and Paidine ^vere on very friendly 
 terms, but the ]ieriod of lively demonstrations 
 on his part had been, and was gone, l^ai'h'3 
 Dioi des nei(jcs (riiufan. 
 
 Leon still, iis a rule, breakfasted with his 
 wife, and dined at home when they had no 
 en^-aijomeut. Put in other respects he^ was 
 leading what the French call /<r n\' Parhu'nn-e 
 — tliat^ is, he was caught in the gear of a mon- 
 strous machine which grinds to du>r the souls 
 and hearts, bodies and fortunes -if men.
 
 156 jcpiter's daughters 
 
 Leon \ras in the habit of boastino^ abont his 
 wife ; of how well he liad managed to train 
 her, that she let him do as he liked — never in- 
 terfering with any of his pleasures. 
 
 Old experienced men smiled at hh naivete, 
 while congratulating him on the possession of 
 such a pearl. They accounted for Pauline's 
 perfection of temper as arising either from in- 
 difference or from her having some compensa- 
 tion which Leon was ignorant of. Difficult 
 for hardened and long-sighted men of the 
 world to be charitable in their judgments. In 
 short, Pauline's purity and childlike unsus- 
 piciousnf\s5 was simply incredible to those who 
 knew slie was by no means an idiot. 
 
 Zelie, too, who saw her so closely, was puz- 
 zled, xllways so good, as if she could not see 
 the wickedness all round her. "Was she a 
 hj'pocrite or a saint ? The perversities of poor 
 human nature are puzzling. Why did Zelie, 
 knowing her goodness, hate Pauline ? and 
 hate her with that most formidable of hatreds 
 — a gratuitous hate ? 
 
 It forces one to believe that, as love exists 
 of itself, so does hatred. Love ceases, indeed, 
 unless fed ; but hatred feeds on itself and 
 thrives. Love often dies ; hate, alas ! seldom. 
 
 Leon had resumed all the old familiarity of 
 his boyish days w^ith Zelie, and had asked 
 Zelie what she thought of his wife. 
 
 And Zelie had tnade him understand clearly 
 enough, that she saw nothing in Pauline to 
 account for a man so handsome and rich hav-
 
 A DOMESTIC TREASURE. 157 
 
 ing niarriecl her. Leon, stupid enough to dis- 
 cuss his wife with her servant, was naturally 
 stupid enough to be influenced l3y the servant's 
 opinion. Many a half-hour he now spent in 
 the housekeeper's parlor, listening to all the 
 gossip and scandal Zelie was assiduous in 
 scraping together for his amusement. Her 
 highly Sluiced anecdotes came to be more agree- 
 able to him than his wife's conversation, lie 
 be<2:an himself to wonder at his farmer infatu- 
 ation about Pauline. 
 
 It must be allowed that Madame Leon Subar 
 ■was not what Mademoiselle Pauline Rendu 
 had been. Madame Subar had none of Pau- 
 line's playfulness ; all her girlish waywardness 
 and innocent piquancy had disappeared. She 
 ■was perfectly good and obedient, but not un- 
 like unrippled water, reflecting serenely every- 
 thinc:, and havinof no individualit-y. 
 
 Pauline was not blind to Leon's growmg m- 
 difference. With her usual tendency to self- 
 depreciatiou, she said to herself, " I am no 
 better than I used to be — growing worse, I 
 believe, for 1 make no return for all the 
 pleasures bestowed on me. Do all people 
 grow tired of being well off, of having no 
 troubles ? " 
 
 Pauline had not yet come to understand that 
 the greatest of all troubles is an empty heart.
 
 158 Jupiter's daughteks. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Stephanie's discoveries. 
 
 At this moment all the energies of the 
 upper world of Paris were concentrated on 
 canvassino- for seats at the " Deux Etoiles " 
 Theatre, for the first representation of a new 
 play by Alberic Vilpont. Ministers, ambassa- 
 dors, the press, actors, actresses, and above all, 
 the author himself, were attacked with every 
 possible weapon. Husbands were snubbed or 
 coaxed ; those who failed in their exertions 
 were ill-used and trampled on. Wearied-out 
 managers and box-keepers swore in vain tliat 
 every seat in the house had been secured for 
 the first ten nights Ijefore even an announce- 
 ment of tlie performance had appeared. There 
 was one exception to this furore of curiosity 
 — Pauline had not spoken to Leon on the sub- 
 ject. She was not quite sure that she wished 
 to see the play, or that it would be right in her 
 to have such a wish. Her conscientiousness 
 was perhaps exaggerated, but she desired to 
 avoid having thoughts she would not willingly 
 im])art to her husband — disloyalty was of all 
 things that she most dreaded and scorned. 
 On the very morning of the day of the first 
 representation of " Un bon Mariage," Madame 
 de Saye rushed into the dining-room where 
 the Subars were at breakfast.
 
 Stephanie's discoveries. 159 
 
 Giving Pauline a hasty kiss, Stephanie seat- 
 ed lierself by M. Subar, saying, " How hicky 
 to find you at table ; I am dying of hunger ! 
 Gaston has gone to M. Yilpont — we want 
 places for to-night. After our coming all this 
 way on purpose for his play he cannot refuse 
 us, and such an old friend, too, as Gaston. It 
 is to be quite an event." 
 
 " I doubt if even M. Yilpont can give you 
 Beats. I have only been able to secure one 
 stall for myself," returned Leon, not quite 
 pleased at being thus taken by storm. 
 
 M. Subar was one of those unfortunates who 
 can never have intimates — he was too fond of 
 display to be friendly. He understood by 
 hospitality overwhelmingly grand dinners. He 
 shrank from anything like the familiarity which 
 says, " Oh ! come in, and take what is going." 
 
 Stephanie, who, to do her justice, cared little 
 how she appeased her hunger, went on, turning 
 to Pauline : " If I had been you, I would have 
 written at once to M. Yilpont. He would 
 never have refused you anything." Then with 
 still happier tact she added, " You would not 
 have been jealous, would you, M. Subar?" 
 
 Leon laid down his knife and fork, and gaped, 
 
 " I am not," continued the chatterbox, 
 "though ]\I. de Saye did make an offer to 
 Pauline before he proposed to me." 
 
 " AYhy, what can this M. Yilpont have to do 
 with Madame Subar or with me \ " asked Leon, 
 with a high and mighty air, which made Ste- 
 phanie laugh.
 
 160 JUPITEK S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 " Oh ! m}^ dear sir, don't be offended : the 
 gentleman we call M. Yilpont is reall)^ the 
 Vicomte de Kerp:eac, and will be a marquis 
 some da}'. Is his nncle dead ? " she added, 
 turning to Pauline. 
 
 "•' I have heard nothing about M. Yilpont 
 since he left St. Gloi," replied Pauline. 
 
 " I suppose he is offended with you," re- 
 marked Stephanie. 
 
 " What are you talking about ? " asked 
 Leon. 
 
 " I had always l)elieved," said Pauline with 
 a gravity that suppressed Stephanie for the 
 time, " it was scarcely honorable to tell such 
 things ; but the matter is simple enough, Leon 
 — M. Yilpont honored me by a proposal of 
 marriage, which my father declined." 
 
 " Why, if he is really a man of rank." 
 
 " That, I fancy, was one of the reasons ; my , 
 mother thought it might separate me from my 
 own relations. But indeed, Leon, I know very 
 little about the matter, as I was not consulted." 
 
 " And if you had been ? " 
 
 "I should have done as my parents ad- 
 vised." 
 
 " I see I had better have held my tongue," 
 said Stephanie. 
 
 " I think so," answered Pauline calmly. 
 
 " I tell Gaston everything — everything ; so 
 I thought, of course, you did the same." 
 
 " Pauline is not so frank, as you may per- 
 ceive," said Leon sulkily. 
 
 It was not (jnite true that Stephanie bore no
 
 stepu/Vnie's discoveries. 161 
 
 grudge to Pauline on account of the offer M. 
 cle Save liad made her : but thouMi she had 
 many petty feelings, Madame de Saye was not 
 really ill-intentioned ; so now she set to work 
 to put Leon into good-humor again. She had 
 one decided talent, that of coaxing ; and so, 
 what with her prettiness, her little Hattering, 
 and her silliness, Leon's brow lost its ruffle, and 
 his pouting lips were once more able to smile 
 when Gaston came in. 
 
 " Have you got places ? " shrieked Stephanie, 
 flying to him. 
 
 " I am starving, my dear." 
 
 " Answer first," went on Stephanie. " Now 
 don't tease ; you know I hate to be kept in 
 suspense." All the time her fingers were busy 
 diving into his waistcoat and coat pockets, he 
 standing still, as if he liked the process. 
 i " I declare I believe you have not got any. 
 It's very ill-natured of M. Vilpont, after all 
 the kindness he received at St. Gloi ; " and Ste- 
 phanie sat down ready to ciy. 
 
 Iler husband, now at liberty, made his salu- 
 tations to M. and Mme. Subar, and took the 
 offered seat at table. 
 
 " Pauline has got no place either," observed 
 Stephanie. 
 
 " I am happy we have it in our power to 
 rectify that misfortune — there, you spiteful lit- 
 tle puss," and Gaston threw the coui)oii of a 
 box into her lap. 
 
 She exclaimed, " Only think ! an avant 
 scene, close to the stage. We shall be as well
 
 162 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 placed as anv princess. I never did have an 
 avant scene, even when I was tirst married." 
 
 " I shall keep to ray stall," said Leon, with a 
 dignity lost on liis audience. 
 
 It was a matter of course that the De Sayes 
 should be invited to dinner, which Leon re- 
 solved should be one the provincials could not 
 easily forget. 
 
 Being in high good-hnmor, Stephanie went 
 into raptures over the house and furniture, and 
 said so often, " O you lucky girl, Pauline ! 
 what could you wish for more i " that Leon re- 
 marked afterwards (what liad never before 
 been said of Stephanie) that Madame de Saye 
 was really a clever woman. 
 
 " I have set evervthinof to riorhts, haven't I, 
 Pauline ? " asked Stephanie, as soon as they 
 had been left tete-d-tete. She was standing in 
 front of a mirror as she said this. 
 
 " What was there to set to rights ? " 
 
 " O Pauline ! are vou blind ? — mv hair." 
 
 " It's as smooth as glass." 
 
 " And my paniers, are they straight ? I 
 have not been near a glass till now since we 
 arrived." 
 
 " You look as if you had come out of a band- 
 box." 
 
 Stephanie left the mirror, and suddenly 
 throwing her arms round Pauline, wliispered, 
 as she held her in a tight embrace, " Take care 
 what you say, some one is listening." Witli- 
 out waiting for any reply, she then dashed into 
 discussions of the fashions, wondering whether
 
 Stephanie's discoveries. 163 
 
 covering her forehead with little curls, or friz- 
 zing her liair into a shapeless confusion, would 
 become her best. 
 
 " You have told me nothing about my god- 
 son," said Pauline. 
 
 "How easily one forgets," laughed Ste- 
 phanie. "I do not mean, my boy, but tliat 
 there ever was a time when I was not married. 
 Strange enough, but quite true. Oh ! Bebe is 
 a handsome, beautiful boy, and he is beginning 
 to talk ; Gaston cannot make out what lie says, 
 but I always can. He calls his papa Bob, be- 
 cause he hears him calling to his dog — I3ob. 
 Mamma is taking care of Bebe. She'did not 
 like Gaston coming to Paris without me. 
 Don't you wish you had a Bebe too — a girl 
 would suit you best, and then our children 
 could marry." 
 
 " If ever I have children, they shall choose 
 for themselves," said Pauline. 
 
 "Mine shall not," retorted Stephanie stoutly. 
 " No, I shall stick to the good old rules." 
 
 " Have you no shopping to do ; nowhere you 
 would wish to go ? " asked Pauline, in order to 
 change the subject. 
 
 " 1 have heaps of commissions for mamma ; 
 but if I shop in your fine carriage, I shall have 
 to pay double. Let us go by and by to the Bois." 
 
 During the drive Stephanie said, " You re- 
 member what I said to you about ray hair; 
 that was all a ruse. You must be on your 
 guard, Pauline ; that brown woman is a spy. 
 I would send her away as soon as possible."
 
 164 Jupiter's daugiitees. 
 
 " My dear Stephanie, are you dreaming ? " 
 
 " On the contrary, quite awake. I know I 
 never was so clever as you and Julie, but I 
 have very good eyes." 
 
 " What have you seen ? " 
 
 " I turned off what I was going to say, ask- 
 ing you about my hair, because I caught sight of 
 that woman behind tlie door. I saw her in the 
 glass as distinctly as I now see you. She was 
 still there when I sat down by you on the sofa." 
 
 " Zelie is quite above such conduct ; and 
 why should she listen ? " 
 
 " I don't know, indeed. As for her being 
 above it, that's absurd ; all servants are spies. 
 I would not have her in the house a day ; she 
 blinks her eyes like a cat." 
 
 " As for sending her away, I should need a 
 ver}^ good reason. She is Leon's foster-sister, 
 and he is very much attached to her." 
 
 " That would be reason enouo-h for me. 
 "Why don't you ask your mother to interfere 'i " 
 
 "I will never ask mamma to come between 
 me and my husband, and for what, very likely, 
 is a mistake of yours." 
 
 " Very well ; I felt it was my duty to warn 
 you. I)on't blame me if yellow-face steals 
 your diamonds or murders you one of these 
 days ; it would not astonish me." 
 
 " It would me," said Pauline, laughing. 
 
 Nevertheless Pauline, while dressing for the 
 evening, did take more notice than usual of 
 Zelie's ways. Hitherto she had rather tried to 
 like Lc(jn's foster-sister than, really done so.
 
 STEPII.i:s'IE's DISCOVERIES. 1G5 
 
 She now admitted to herself that tlie manners 
 and looks of her lady's-maid were unpleasant 
 and distasteful. She shni^ged her shoulders 
 far too familiarly when Paulino refused to 
 cold-cream and powder her face. 
 
 "Madame will look swarthy in the light of 
 the theatre. It is alwavs most unbecoming; to 
 blondes. Madame ought to wish to do honor 
 to monsieur." 
 
 " My good Zelie, if monsieur chose me as I 
 am, is it not honoring him to keep ■ the same 
 face ? " 
 
 " As madame pleases." 
 
 Leon tapped at the door, and on Zelie open- 
 ing it, said, " Tell my wife she must wear her 
 diamonds. It is a first representation, and all 
 the women will be in gala." 
 
 " J3ut if Stephanie has not brought hers, she 
 will not like my wearing mine," remonstrated 
 Pauline. 
 
 " What's that to you ? Here, Zelie, bring 
 me the box. I shall show that Monsieur Chose* 
 you have something more than his empty title. 
 He is as poor as a rat — De Saye told me so ; 
 lives by his wits, poor devil ! " 
 
 Leon took the jewels out of their cases, 
 spreading them out lovingly on the toilet- 
 table, lie chose a riviere, bracelets, earrings, 
 and a sort of semi-circlet for the head. 
 
 " Xot that," said Pauline ; " it always makes 
 mv head ache." 
 
 * Thing- — as common an expression in France as Thing 
 a meevi Encrland.
 
 166 Jupiter's dadgiiteks. 
 
 " That's nonsense," said Leon. " However, 
 I will be satisfied with tlie butterfly ; put it 
 where it will be well seen, Zelie." 
 
 " I suppose I may lend these two little stars 
 to Stephanie ? " asked Pauline. 
 
 " Tell her to take care of them," said Leon, 
 
 When the diamonds were all placed, Leon 
 said, " Now" give me a kiss, such pretty things 
 are worth more than that. How pale you 
 are," he added. 
 
 " I have already made that observation to 
 madame," said Zelie. 
 
 " You should let Zelie put a touch of rouge 
 under your eyes," said Leon. 
 
 " 1 shall have color enough in that hot thea- 
 tre," said Pauline. 
 
 She carried the diamond stars to Stephanie, 
 saying, " You must wear these to keep me in. 
 countenance." 
 
 " With the best will in the world," was the 
 answer. " O, Pauline, what a lucky girl you 
 are ! " an observation made for at least the 
 tenth time that day. " If only some of our 
 own set from St. Gloi could see us, I should 
 not have anything left to wish for. I never 
 was so happy in my life." 
 
 It was so pleasant to witness Stephanie's de- 
 light, that the three others petted and admired 
 her as though she had done some good deed. 
 There was evidently a virtue in her pleasure 
 by the friendly feeling it diffused among 
 them. 
 
 " What a number of carriages ! " exclaimed
 
 Stephanie's discoveries. 167 
 
 the little woman as tliey came near the thea- 
 tre ; and she pinched her husband's arm till he 
 cried out for mercy. 
 
 But in Paris j3eople of all ranks behave de- 
 cently in a crowd. They do not hit out or 
 jostle women to get one minute sooner to their 
 places. So M. de Saye conducted his two 
 companions to their box without any ruffle to 
 their hair or their dress. 
 
 Leon went to his stall, because he had said 
 he would, and repented at leisure of his haste 
 in speech.
 
 168 jupitek's daughters. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 A FKENCH PLAY. 
 
 The house was crammed to the roof — the 
 very galleries filled by men of talent and edu- 
 cation, 
 
 " I wonder where M. Yilpont is? " exclaimed 
 Madame de Save, using her opei-a-glass ener- 
 getically. " Hid away in some corner. I did 
 not tell you before, but we have got his box. 
 If the piece is successfnl, he will be called 
 for." 
 
 Pauline sat in one corner, slieltered by a 
 curtain. Her heart was beating in a way she 
 could not understand, as if slie had been tlie 
 author of the pUiy herself She might have 
 said or sung with Zerlina, " Vorrei e non 
 vorreiP She wished, and did not wish, to see 
 M. Vilpont. 
 
 The curtain rose, and in an instant there 
 was a general hush of expectation. 
 
 It was the first representation of a great 
 comedy. "Whatever else decayed, the stage 
 flourished under Xapoleon. Augier, Feuillet, 
 and Sardou, wrote as no French authors have 
 written since Moliere, and Vilpont was. ac- 
 knowledged as their equal. The corruption of 
 society afforded the playwright ample matter 
 for scathing satire ; the taste for sensuous fairy 
 pieces and coarse buffooneries concentrated the
 
 A FRENCH PLAY. iG9 
 
 few good actors tlie age could produce in 
 one or two theatres. The system of election 
 at the Fran^ais, though tani]iercd with hy tlie 
 Court, still culled the verj^ llower of the talent 
 of France ; the prevalent luxury allowed the 
 actresses to rival the great ladies of the Court 
 in the mao^nificence of their dress : the Ions: 
 practice of the audience, who had seen plays 
 from their childhood, and their utter want of 
 faith in anything (even in the " Ma Mere," 
 which used to bring down the house), kept the 
 actor and author from leaving, by one hair's- 
 breadth, the path of true feeling for the se- 
 ductive bogs of exao;o;eration or maudlin senti- 
 ment ; while admission to the Academy, the 
 highest distinction a literary Frenchman can 
 gain, was only to be earned by the jdaywright 
 if his style could bear cold-blooded criticism 
 applied in the closet by trained anatomists 
 who enjoyed vivisection. J\o actor, no actress, 
 however popular, was safe from that malignant 
 howl of derision which greets a failure in tone, 
 expression, or gesture, and which makes an 
 Englishman's blood boil, however fully, as a 
 critic, he may agree with the disapprobation 
 so brutally expressed. 
 
 Owing to these causes, Pauline saw what 
 few men or women out of Paris ever saw — a 
 great play perfectly acted. 
 
 The subject of the play was "Marriage." 
 
 In a few scenes Yilpont presented many of 
 
 the views held in France concerning this much- 
 
 betalked institution. There was the ingenue 
 
 8
 
 170 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 — pure, iia'ive, ignorant, inclined in a feeble 
 way to fall in love with the good joung man, 
 but ratJier likely also to fall an easy victim to 
 the practised Toue. The girl was full of 
 pretty little aspirations, with a perfume of 
 daisies and hay about them, but was also 
 keenly alive to the anticipated pleasures of 
 the JJois, the opera, and the ball-room. Her 
 dress was simplicity itself, her eyes all can- 
 dor, her voice artless ; and yet you felt that 
 she too, if married to the wrong rich man, 
 would develop into a splendid creature very 
 like the true heroine of the play, the married 
 woman of ten years' standing. Row beautiful 
 she was ! With what exquisite grace the fall 
 form and haughty figure lounged on the 
 stage, wreathed in the richest silks, the most 
 costly lace ! How every murmur of the low 
 voice told of passion, a passion beyond silks 
 and lace, the passion of French flesh and 
 blood. 
 
 Then there was the old woman — past passion 
 for aught but herself, loving even her children 
 only for herself, admiring the ingenuous girl 
 with a real belief that innocence was quite 
 right at seventeen, but not a thing to be much 
 wished for afterwards, especially as repentance 
 could be made very pleasant at fifty, with the 
 aid of a roue marquis and a fashionable abbe. 
 
 Then the men. There was the good young 
 man — an engineer, very wise, very gentle, not 
 too poor, who said the prettiest things about 
 love and virtue, but was in sad danger when
 
 A FRENCH PLAY. 171 
 
 left much alone with the practised coquette of 
 thirty. Without this foible the audience 
 could not have stood him. Then there was 
 the true hero, the ^^ grand premier,^' madly in 
 love with the married woman, and bound by 
 every tie of honor and affection to her hus- 
 band, lie had been terribly wicked, and was 
 destined for the ingenue ; but such a marriage 
 the audience felt would end in her destruc- 
 tion, and in his sinking to still more awful 
 gulfs of vice. His only chance of good con- 
 duct in this world, and salvation in the next, 
 lay in running away with his friend's wife, if 
 this could be' done with propriety, and here 
 was the crux of the play. 
 
 Then we had the old philosopher — poor, 
 gray-headed, wild-eyed; a republican, pur 
 sang, incapable of baseness, who disbelieved in 
 marriage altogether, but was the only man in 
 the play free from vice, only he had been 
 venal in his day, having sold his pen, and now, 
 aspiring philosophically towards a virtue of 
 his own, which hap])ened to be incompatible 
 with venality, he did not like the conse- 
 quences. 
 
 Now for the husband — rich, addicted 
 to the clul), the bourse, and quiet, but 
 expensive, intidelity. His general unpleasant- 
 ness was redeemed only by courtesy and liber- 
 ality to his wife, and real kindness to her 
 would-be seducer; he despised the phil- 
 osopher, and made use of him. Next the 
 roue marquis, no better than the rest, but
 
 172 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 able to say very witty things, pointing out the 
 advantages of outward decency and good 
 manners over tlie impudent, bad manners of 
 the 'parvenus ; add a creature in black stand- 
 ing for a pi-iest, although the " Censure'''' 
 would not let liim be called one, and you have 
 the dramatis jyersoncp,. 
 
 Was the pure-hearted child to become the 
 worldly woman? Was the little flicker of 
 true love to be fed with wholesome fuel until 
 it should burn clear on a happy hearth, sur- 
 rounded by loved children and an honored 
 husband? Or was a cruel system to quench 
 this flame, leaving only a smouldering spark 
 hereafter to burst out in a conflagration of 
 passion such as was consuming that other 
 glorious cieature, by Mdiose side the gentle 
 woes of the little ingenue paled into insignifi- 
 cance? How that poor married woman of 
 thirt}' wound herself into your heart as you 
 gazed on the scene ! AVere not her faults, her 
 extravagance, her love of admiration, her love 
 of men's love, the faults of society ? Were 
 not her merits, her passionate heart, her con- 
 tempt for the finery around her, her longing 
 for real life, real duties, all her own? How 
 could she love that husband ? How could so 
 ardent a being live without love? And yet 
 she clung to dutj', and, in defiance of nature, 
 of sin all round her, of a husband's infidelity, 
 she v)oulrl remain pure and true, if only the 
 temptation did not become too strong. So 
 passionate, so natural was the love she felt,
 
 A FRENCH PLAY. 173 
 
 that the audience trembled as they saw her 
 tempest-tossed, hardly knowing whether they 
 wished her to yield or to be true — to be true 
 to her vows or to nature. 
 
 But there stood the elder woman. She had 
 yielded, had been true to nature once in her 
 life, and a terrible beacon she was, warning 
 womankind from the lie that looked like 
 truth. In days gone by she had succumbed 
 to passion, and, as the world counts, had lost 
 nothing. She was honored and rich, but she 
 had lost what neither honor nor riches can give 
 — she had lost all faith in truth and goodness ; 
 she believed nothing, hoped nothing, forgave 
 nothing. Her husband had been to her a 
 species of necest^ary disease somewhat analo- 
 gous to vaccination. The lover of her youth 
 had convinced her that the ideal man, when 
 he proffered love, meant to consume a woman 
 as he would a partridge ; that the devotion of 
 man to woman was a mere bait to lui-e the 
 victim. Her own heart said that woman was 
 no better than man ; and the one law left her 
 was to seek her own interest with prudence, 
 the onlv ditHcultv beinn- to lind anythino: re- 
 maining in the world that could give her grati- 
 fication. The one thing she was sure of was 
 that her own edu(;ation had been perfect, and 
 the system which had produced her the best 
 possible. Unfortunately, the dead sins of her 
 youth had left ghosts, which most inconveni- 
 ently interfered with her present ease. 
 
 Round this nice set the marquis and the
 
 174 Jupiter's DAuanTERS. 
 
 philosopher hovered complacently, helping the 
 drama forward, and stating the views of the 
 old reghne and coming commune on the act- 
 ual state of social relations in France. 
 
 This is the dry anah'sis of a somewhat nn- 
 friendly critic ; but had you been there, 
 reader, you would have done what the audi- 
 ence did. The tears would have stood in your 
 eyes at the spectacle of the gentle girl, so un- 
 conscious of her peril on the edge of the terri- 
 ble vortex, whirling the main protagonists to 
 death and misery. In breathless suspense you 
 would have hung on every passionate word of 
 that poor man and woman — now lost, now 
 saved, now lost. The commonplace husband, 
 by dint of sheer reality, would have wrung 
 your heart. Why should he suffer so, merely 
 because he was commonplace ? Your heart 
 would have burned with wrath at the witty 
 egotism of the old woman and her marquis ; 
 you would have believed for a moment the 
 wild theories of the philosopher; anything 
 would have seemed better to you than a sys- 
 tem which produced such ills. "When the play 
 began, you would have laughed till the tears 
 ran down your cheeks at the humor with 
 which each character displayed its foibles ; 
 and at the end, you would have foi-gotten 
 theories, characters, actors, audience, your 
 friends, your tears, your very existence, in 
 breathless agony at the misery you saw and 
 could not help. Then you would have shouted 
 and clapped and stamped, and stood up and
 
 A FRENCH PLAT. 175 
 
 roared for Vilpont, as though he had been a 
 demigod who had saved mankind by satire, 
 instead of a man with no reform to suggest, 
 who lashed with dexterous whip a little sec- 
 tion of the dumb abstraction called society. 
 
 The audience did all this, and with dry 
 mouths and still Avet eyes, as they went 
 home basked in the self-approving glow they 
 felt at having so thoroughly sympathized in all 
 the good sentiments and execi-ated all tlie bad 
 feelings. They had exercised the best part of 
 their natures at the cost of a few francs, and 
 next day they were no more disposed to alter 
 their practice than the coldest British audience 
 that ever smiled a dignified approval at stale 
 platitudes about the sin of loving money and 
 worshipping the aristocracy. Pauline saw it 
 all, and saw how far she had come upon the 
 path.
 
 176 Jupiter's daughters, 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 PAINFUL REALITIES. 
 
 All in vain did Pauline say to herself that 
 M. Vilpont had used the lash, not against any- 
 individual case, but against the general custom 
 as to marriage in France. After all, was it 
 very sure that any better way could be devised ? 
 Was it not constantly said that there were 
 as many ill-assorted couples in those countries 
 where love-matches were the rule? All her 
 arguments were impotent; she was wounded 
 — sorely wounded. 
 
 For nine days the subject of the play was 
 discussed in every salon and in every newspa- 
 per. The question of marriage was handled 
 poetically, philosophically, and practically; 
 from men's point of view, from that of young 
 women and middle-ao-ed women. The old 
 contented themselves with a smile, accompa- 
 nied by a mysterious shake of the head ; they 
 had given up the problem long ago. The mo- 
 thers were to a woman in favor of the old cus- 
 tom. The play and the discussions were both 
 withheld from young girls. 
 
 At the end of m'ne days came a scrawl from 
 Stephanie, to which there was this P. 8. — 
 
 " I saw your friend M. Yilpont before we 
 left Paris, and I gave him a good scolding for 
 not having been to call on you. I told him
 
 PAINFUL REALITIES. 177 
 
 you would like to sec him ; because I know 
 you would, thougii you did not tell me so." 
 
 This news caused Pauline no little anxiety. 
 She lirst wondered if Vilpont would come — 
 she hoped he would not ; it would bo awkward. 
 It was five years since that memorable day in 
 the vinej'ard — five years ! Time enough to 
 have had another deluge and repeopling of 
 the world ; but Pauline was inexperienced, 
 and had not mastered the fact that she was 
 not the same person she had been at nineteen, 
 and ergo^ M. Vilpont would probably meet her 
 with amiable indifference. It is always with 
 difliculty that the humblest-minded woman is 
 persuaded that the man who may once have 
 been in love with her can see her again with 
 perfect tranquillity. 
 
 Vilpont had, truth to say, placed the very 
 real preference he had felt for Pauline among 
 other of his experiences of life. lie had even, 
 according to the wont of poets, embodied the 
 episode of Vignes Ste. Marie in a Hermann and 
 Dorothea idyl, which had a splendid success, 
 and had been charmingly recited by Sarah 
 Bernhardt. 
 
 Until the De Sayes had spoken to him of 
 Madame Subar, Vilpont had not thought of 
 her for years. This new play M-as undoubted- 
 ly founded on fact ; but no recollections of 
 Madame Pendu or her daughter had sharpened 
 his pen. 
 
 As soon, however, as the once familiar name 
 was pronounced, Pauline's image started from 
 8*
 
 178 Jupiter's daugiiteks. 
 
 one of memory's cells. The pretty, girlish 
 figure, with its coronet of bright hair, rose be- 
 fore him ; the large eyes met his with a sweet 
 welcome, while the lips kept their gravity. 
 He closed his eyes for a second to banish the 
 sight, and said in an irrital)le voice, " I detest 
 all yonng married women." 
 
 "Very polite," said Stephanie, rising, and 
 making him a coquettish curtsey. 
 
 " Oh ! you are no longer in that category ; 
 but I should prefer visiting even you two or 
 three years hence." 
 
 This novel profession of faith was due to a 
 newly-developed jealousy — the lees of his for- 
 mer feelino;. He did not call on Madame 
 Subar. 
 
 They were, however, sure to meet — people 
 always do who have any reason for desiring to 
 keep asunder. There is a magnetism in this 
 world which draws those together who are 
 either to unite or to combat. 
 
 The meeting of these two took place at a 
 ball during tlie Carnival. Pauline knew she 
 had flushed as he came towards her. He ap- 
 proached with the nonchalant manner with 
 which he had learned to veil all his emotions ; 
 that is, when he had any. Probal)ly on this 
 occasion he was not so unembarrassed as he 
 appeared. He sat down by her, and began at 
 once to speak of St. Gloi, incpiiring after M. 
 and Mme. Rendu, and for all those he chose 
 to call his " old friends. AVhat a misnomer !
 
 PAINFUL KEAL1TIE8. 179 
 
 What did he care for those people, or they for 
 him ? " 
 
 One exception, however, there was — he still 
 retained a grateful recollection of old Ma- 
 dame Jorey. " She and I exchange letters at 
 the New Year," he said. " She sends me 
 etrennes of the produce of her farm, and I 
 send her bonbons from Serandet." 
 
 Panliue tlionght of the Sunday bonbon- 
 making, but to all appearances he had forgot- 
 ten it. 
 
 Then he spoke of Stephanie. It was a 
 pleasure, he said, to see how happy she and De 
 Saye were. " She gave me quite a severe lect- 
 ure on my ignorance and misrepresentation of 
 marriages and the way they are made. By the 
 bye, I understand you also were dreadfully 
 shocked by ray last play." 
 
 " ' Shocked ' is not the right word," replie.d 
 Pauline, in a voice unfamiliar to him, it was 
 so firm and grave. " I was disa])pointed. I 
 had hoped for something better than a satire, 
 almost a caricature." 
 
 " Spoken with the eloquence of party spirit. 
 You are enrolled among matrons, and object 
 to the diAmlficins: of the secrets of your class. 
 I am a realist, and describe what I see. As 
 you are aware, I live by my pen, and I should 
 starve if I painted pastoi^als." 
 
 " But there is also a beautiful side of human 
 nature to those who look for it. You will not 
 deny tliere is beauty as well as ugliness in the 
 world," said Pauline.
 
 180 jtpiter's daughters. 
 
 " But suppose I shame one mother, one only, 
 from a dishonest bargain, have I done nothing 
 against the ugliness and for the beauty of our 
 many-sided nature ? " 
 
 " That is one way of viewing it, certainly, 
 but—" 
 
 " You still remain my adversary." He 
 stopped, and added, " Here, I believe, is M. 
 Subar. Shall we take him as umpire ? " 
 
 Pauline introduced the two men to one 
 another, and after a few conventional phrases, 
 having no reference to the subject in dispute, 
 ]VI. Subar walked his wife off. 
 
 " Your friend, the author, looks just like any 
 one else— not a bit like a hero of romance," 
 said Leon, as they drove home. 
 
 " Why should he ? " asked Pauline, dryly. 
 " Those sort of men usually affect something 
 to make people stare ; but this play- writer has 
 nothing of the Bohemian about him." 
 
 When Pauline was left to herself, she ex- 
 perienced that dissatisfaction we so often feel 
 after an evening in company ; haunted by a 
 wish we had not said, or looked, or done one 
 particular thing, the something, in reality, 
 having passed quite unobserved. She was dis- 
 pleased, disappointed, and would have been 
 puzzled to explain why. Was it that the^ 
 reality of the present had marred the ideal of ^ 
 the i)ast? 
 
 Vilpont had asked her which was her recep- 
 tion day. She hoped he would not come. 
 She did not care to see him again ; and she
 
 PAINFUL REALITIES. 181 
 
 was convinced, without needing to think twice 
 about it, that he and Leon would not suit one 
 another. 
 
 Yilpont, on his side, had intended to present 
 himself immediately at the Subars, and then 
 he had hesitated. There is no accounting for 
 attraction or repulsion ; and sho who is no 
 Circe for the many may be dangerous to one 
 in particular. Years ago Vilpont had jokingly 
 called Pauline " dangerous." His present 
 hesitation was significant, but it did not last 
 long. 
 
 He had not required to talk ten minutes 
 with M. Subar to fathom his shallowness. 
 " Poor thing ! poor little Pauline ! how she 
 had boasted of having ideas and opinions of 
 her own, and tied to such a donkey ! Hand- 
 some, though, and rich ; after all, many a 
 charming woman has adored an ass." 
 
 Vilpont made his appearance in Madame 
 Subar's drawing-room on her second reception- 
 day, after he had met her at the ball.
 
 182 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A FIRST WARNING-. 
 
 SENTiMTi;NTS and seeds have a decided anal- 
 ogy — a seed, hidden aM^ay for centuries, when 
 brought to light, f ructities ; a sentiment, for- 
 gotten for years, laid bare Ijy some chance word 
 or act, suddenly asserts its vitality, and grows 
 apace. The little seed which had fallen into 
 Pauline's young heart five years ago was ger- 
 minating. It happened to her, as it has hap- 
 pened and will happen to so many, to be blind 
 to the cause of the sudden gilding of her days 
 — of what was transforming the dull to the 
 bright. 
 
 The sharp Zelie was not slow to remark that 
 at this time Madame Subar broke out fre- 
 quently into song ; shakes, roulades^ loud and 
 gleeful, often startled the ears of the valetaille. 
 tfoseph wagged his head slowly on one of these 
 occasions, and sagely remarked tliat " nothing 
 made women happy but balls and dress." 
 
 " Vieille hete ! " ejaculated his wife, with a 
 look that made Joseph say — 
 
 " What is it, then ? " 
 
 " Nothing that concerns thee," was the mys- 
 terious answer. 
 
 M. Vilpont had become a regular visitor at 
 the Subars ; so much so, that Leon one day 
 startled his wife by saying, " I do wonder,
 
 A FIRST WARNING. 183 
 
 Pauline, you can bear so much talk about 
 poetry and pictures." 
 
 " What else can I talk about, Leon ? I don't 
 understand anything of horses and dogs." 
 
 " I suppose I know a good picture when I 
 see it as well as any one else, though I can't 
 speechify for an hour about how it is done." 
 
 "■ But you would care about finding out the 
 painter's method if you were studying paint- 
 ing, as I am doing." 
 
 " You would do a great deal better if yon 
 rode out with me, instead of making yourself 
 a mess with paints ; and what's the use ? " 
 
 " Of no use, but a great pleasure to me ; and 
 I wish I could ride, but I have no courage." 
 
 Such conversations were the mere passing 
 clouds which threw momentary shadows across 
 Pauline's smi of content. 
 
 Tiiere was small similarity between Pau- 
 line's and Yilpont's feelings. She was happy 
 in her unconsciousness of danger. Had any 
 one hinted to her that her feet were stravins 
 into perilous paths, she would have drawn her 
 little figure up to its highest possibility, and 
 scornfully smiled at the warning, if, indeed, 
 she did not b3g the adviser never again to cross 
 her threshold. 
 
 But Yilpont had no such blindness. He 
 was one of those men as far from being su- 
 premely good as he was from being supremely 
 bad. He was, in fact, such as most men are — • 
 prune to slide into wrong-doing, but not deliber- 
 ately to walk into evil ways; in short, a man of
 
 184 Jupiter's daughters. . 
 
 impulse, which is the same as saying he would 
 never of malice prepense do a wicked deed. 
 
 It is difficult, no doubt, for a man who sees 
 a charming woman's eyes brighten when he 
 appears, to resist the temptation to see that 
 effect pretty often. Yilpout had had more 
 than his share of successes of that kind, but 
 never with any one so unsophisticated and sin- 
 cere as Pauline. 
 
 At first he studied this lighting up of her 
 eyes, and the transformation of the whole 
 face, growing so transparent that her very soul 
 looked out at him, as men do who in the inter- 
 est of their art are always on the alert for 
 symptoms^ of the passions — a study seldom free 
 from danger. 
 
 jSTow and then aN^ualm of conscience made 
 Yilpont absent himself; but this half-sacritice 
 only resulted in giving a keener pleasui'e to 
 both at their next meeting. Whether mortals 
 have or have not guardian angels may be dis- 
 puted ; what is sure, is, that we, none of us, 
 err without a warning, or indeed many warn- 
 ings; and Pauline was to experience this. 
 
 It was in a call after one of these absences 
 that Yilpont interrupted himself in an inter- 
 esting account of the visit he had just made to 
 the "Forges de Creuzot,'' to say suddenly, 
 " Surely you are infested with rats and 
 mice." 
 
 Pauline repeated in amazement, " Kats ? — 
 mice 5 
 
 '* I assure you," he answered, " I am
 
 A FIRST WARNENQ. 185 
 
 tempted to strike as Hamlet did Avlien he 
 heard a noise behind the arras." 
 
 " I don't the least nnderstand," said Pan- 
 line, 
 
 " Ah ! you are not aware of my insane hor- 
 ror for such -\ ermin. Allow me to look round. 
 Do von not hear something — a horrid, stealthy 
 step"? " 
 
 Pauline's cliange of color was sufficient an- 
 swer. She did hear a slifrht sound, such as a 
 velvet-footed cat mij^bt make stealing: on its 
 prey. 
 
 Yilpont went on — " I should advise you, 
 Madame Subar, to be on vour guard against 
 letting such noisesome intruders gaiiif a foot- 
 in^in your pretty hotel." 
 
 Pauline, who now understood that he sus- 
 pected some one of trying to overhear their 
 conversation, said as calmly as she could, " I 
 will certainly have the matter looked into." 
 
 After an interruption of this nature, to re- 
 sume their conversation was impossible ; the 
 fine golden thread had been snapped past 
 knotting together again. 
 
 There are many persons like Pauline, who 
 live stone-blind to the suspicions they excite 
 or the traps laid for them, until the moment 
 when light, striking into the darkness, shows 
 them, too late, their peril. 
 
 Happily, Madame Subar's attention was 
 roused to what had hitherto passed unheeded 
 — a strangeness lately in her maid's bearing 
 and conversation, a levity of speech and an
 
 186 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 nndne familiarity of inanner, to which she be- 
 gan now to attach a meaning. 
 
 For instance, only a few days ago, Zelie, 
 while dressing her hair, had spoken of having 
 been to see M. Yilpont's new play, and had 
 described with ecstasy the dresses of the 
 actresses. 
 
 " Those are the happiest women in the 
 world, madame— always applanded, and the 
 iinest, richest gentlemen at their feet. If I 
 were to live my life over again, I would never 
 marry ; and you, madame — " 
 
 " I am sure you have nothing to complain 
 of," Pauline had answered; "you have au 
 excellent husband." 
 
 " I don't complain, madame ; but after a 
 year husbands look on their wives as nothing 
 more than a bit of furniture — wives are no 
 better than the men — fine ladies do safely 
 what w^ould ruin a waiting-maid's character." 
 
 Pauline had shown her displeasure by re- 
 quiring some service which put an end to 
 Zelie's observations. 
 
 All this flashed back upon her, together with 
 Stephanie's warning, supported now by Yil- 
 pont. 
 
 No one seeing a lion in his path could have 
 started back witli a greater mingling of de- 
 spair and terror than did poor Pauline at this 
 discovery. The bitterest drop to swallow was 
 that Vilpont should have divined that she was 
 suspected by her own servant, and of what 
 she was suspected. What had she ever done
 
 A FIRST WAKNING, 187 
 
 to deserve such an indignity? Her first feel- 
 ing was anger against" Yilpont ; slie would 
 slint her door to liim— do so openly ; it would 
 prove how perfectly indifferent she was to 
 him. Had he possessed any delicacy, he 
 would not have shown her so brutally the in- 
 terpretation put on his visits. 
 
 O dear Heaven ! her own familiar friend, 
 and her ow'n menial! 
 
 All the pride of woman's nature rose up in 
 arms. 
 
 Why not have left her in ignorance ? Was 
 there anything to hide ? Tlie more she was 
 watched, the better. 
 
 Pauline was liice one, who, no believer in 
 ghosts, yet wandering in the dark, is frighted 
 by the shadow of a nameless horror. 
 
 " She wanted advice— she yearned to confide 
 in some one — but to whom ? She dared not 
 tell lier mother. Beforehand, she knew how 
 severe would be her mother's sentence — she 
 had a prescience of all the cruel M'ords she 
 would launch at Vilpont ; and Pauline, how- 
 ever she might blame his want of tact, exon- 
 erated him from any other fault. He had 
 never spoken a word or looked a look that all 
 the world might not have taken cognizance of. 
 He had been very kind— the only one who evei 
 led her thoughts to any higher subjects than 
 scandal or the amusements of the gay world — 
 the only one to whom she seemed always to 
 have something to say. " Ah ! what a blank 
 in her life, if she had to give up his visits!"
 
 188 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 CHAPTEK YI. 
 
 ON THE QUI VIVE. 
 
 Dinner cannot be delayed because the lady 
 of the house is a prey to painful misgivin^^s. 
 Pauline was a tyro in conceahnent, and she 
 had thouirht so long how she should behave to 
 Zelie, that she had let the dressing-hour pass 
 unattended to. 
 
 Leon was silent during dinner — very un- 
 usual fi r him, who could only manage to 
 think by the help of speech. He belonged to 
 the pretty numerous class who talk in order to 
 understand their own thoiiglits, the conse- 
 quence rather of a want of early training, than 
 of any original defect of intelligence. 
 
 At this day's dinner he let his words drop 
 as though the fate of nations depended on 
 them. Pauline labored, on lier side, to keep 
 up a conversation that should hide from the 
 servants their master's ill-tempered taciturnity. 
 But as soon as they were alone in the salon, 
 she gave up the struggle, and took a book. 
 Kot that she cared to read, but that she wanted 
 to retiect whether the should follow her in- 
 clination, and mention that she was no longer 
 well pleased with Zelie. She hesitated, from 
 an instinctive repugnance to mix up Vilpont's 
 name in the discussion that must ensue. She 
 foresaw that even should she avoid any men-
 
 ON THE QUI VIVE. 189 
 
 tion of him, Zelie M'onld be less reticent, and 
 rauline, with a thrill of terror, allowed to 
 herself that Zelie was sufficiently artful to 
 manage to chano-e their relative positions from 
 that of accused to accuser. This hour was 
 perhaps as sad a one as Pauline would ever 
 experience in her life. It was then she 
 learned the lesson that in this world of ours 
 necessities will arise which force the most 
 candid soul to desire to throw a veil over the 
 truth. 
 
 While thus debating within herself, Leon 
 suddeidy asked, " What is it that so absorbs 
 you, Pauline ? One of Monsieur (with an 
 emphasis on the Monsieur) Vilpont's plays?" 
 
 " No, some stories by a new author." 
 
 " All on the same subject, no doubt — teach- 
 in£r women to care for anv one but their own 
 husbands." 
 
 " Claude Plouet, my present hero, is an ap- 
 prentice in love with his master's daughter. 
 The style is charming." 
 
 " I did not know you were so learned as to 
 be able to play the critic of style ; probably 
 you have been taking lessons in the art." 
 
 " Criticism is easy, and art is difficult," 
 quoted Pauline ; " but what is the matter, 
 Leon?" 
 
 "Nothing is the matter. Except that it is 
 not very amusing to have a wife with her head 
 always buried in bo(,)ks. I did not bargain 
 for til at, you know. By the way, why are you 
 not going to the opera this evening ? "
 
 190 Jupiter's daughtees, 
 
 " It is not my night for the box, but "vre 
 miglit go somewhere else." 
 
 " Thank you. I don't approve of taking 
 you on chance to any theatre." 
 
 Pauline laid aside her book, and went to 
 the piano. Just as she had begun to sing, 
 Leon rang the bell furiously. " I want the 
 brougham," he said to the servant, and left the 
 room without a word to his wife. 
 
 How was it possible for her to imagine that 
 Leon's ill-humor and his observations, so apt 
 to the tenor of her thoughts, w^ere merely a 
 strange coincidence ; that he had hit at ran- 
 dom, and that his annoyance was caused by a 
 wound to his vanity in which she had no share. 
 Irritated as he was (and what an amount of 
 menace, it had seemed to her, he had imparted 
 to the Monsieur before Vilpont's name !) she 
 trembled to think what nnVht have been the 
 consequences had she made her complaint of 
 Zelie. 
 
 She was startled out of her nncomfortable 
 reflections by the sound of the timbre SLUuonuc- 
 ing a visitor. It was the young Madame de 
 
 B , one of the most fashionable of the 
 
 great ladies of Paris. 
 
 Pauline was surprised, for hitherto her 
 
 acquaintance with Madame de B had been 
 
 ceremonious and superficial. 
 
 Thei-c were assuredly no affinities between 
 the two ladies — the one resembling a wild wood 
 flower — the other, one of those nndti-petalled, 
 multi-shaded roses, the pride of modern horti-
 
 ON THE QCri VIVE. 191 
 
 culture. Madame de B was by turns 
 
 aristocratic, democratic, artistic, tlying liigh, 
 stooping low, volatile as a child, restless as a 
 bird ; sue believed herself the sport of a warm 
 heart and ardent feelings, when Iier poor heart 
 was as iimocent of her vagaries as any stone, 
 her head alone being in fault. " Mauvaise 
 tete^'' said her admirei-s. Her person, like her 
 character, was an assemblage of contradictions. 
 The upper part of the face handsome, almost 
 grave, the mouth and jaw heavy, and trench- 
 ing on the vulgar. In figure, she was what 
 Lord Byron stigmatized as '' dumpy," but with 
 hands and feet ideally perfect. 
 
 Madame de B ■ advanced to Pauline with 
 
 all the familiarity of intimacy. "I astonish 
 you, mco helle — your pretty blue eyes speak 
 clearly ; you see before you a victim. My 
 aunt, on whom I reckoned for the oj^era this 
 evening, has played me false — got some kind 
 of fever. It's friorhtful ; how easv it is for 
 people to go out of the world ! Well, ma tres- 
 helle^ as 1 was driving past, I saw lights in 
 your windows. Here is my salvation, I 
 thought — crac — and here I am ; you will be 
 amiable as you look, and come with me. M. 
 
 de B hates to see me in my box without 
 
 some other petticoat by my side — save me a 
 lectm-e." 
 
 "But I am not dressed," said Pauline. 
 
 " An affair of live minutes : some llowers in 
 your hair — a burnous — you don't need any 
 paint — what a happiness ! — fleeting, like all
 
 192 juiiter's daughteks. 
 
 that is charinino;. There, I have I'uns: for 
 your woman. 
 
 Pauline submitted ; in fact, relieved to be 
 saved from a tete-d-tete with her thoughts. 
 
 As they entered the box Madame de B 
 
 said, " There's your husband, I declare ; and 
 he sees us." 
 
 Leon was in one of the orchestra-stalls, and 
 met Pauline's eyes with the most agreeable of 
 smiles. 
 
 " Monsieur Subar has a look of Monsieur 
 
 de B ," said the Countess, studying him 
 
 through her double opera-glass. " Both are 
 handsome enough, at least every one tells me 
 my husband is an Adonis. When he proposed 
 for me, you would have said the happiness of 
 my life was to be founded on his having a fine 
 nose. To tell you the truth, ma tres-chere, I 
 have but a poor opinion of men. I don't con- 
 sider them our equals, do you? IIow can I, 
 when I see what fools we can make of them ; 
 I amuse myself with experimenting on their 
 facility for swallowing any bait ? " Madame 
 
 de B was garrulous as a linnet ; she 
 
 listened to herself with complacency, per- 
 suaded she was a wit. She only listened when 
 
 sung. " lie is my present occupation," 
 
 she said. " See how he looks this way ; 
 amusinfj — he fancies I am in earnest. He is a 
 perfect ape — but I am tired to death of good- 
 looking men ; are not you? " 
 
 The most reasonable conversation would 
 certainly not liave calmed Pauline's nerves as
 
 ON THE QUI VIVE. 193 
 
 well as this senseless cliatter. Taken together 
 with the music and Leon's smiling aspect, she 
 came to the conclusion that she had been 
 making mountains of mole-hills. Her mind 
 worked M'ith that double power innate in us 
 all, which allows of the flowing of two currents 
 of thought as unmingled as the waters of the 
 Arve and of Lake Leman. 
 
 Before she closed her eyes for the night, she 
 had the satisfaction of thinking how sillily she 
 had allowed imagination to alarm her. To this 
 desirable end had contributed Leon's first 
 words after their return home. 
 
 " I was so glad to sec you with Madame de 
 
 B ," said Leon. " She is in the best world 
 
 of Paris ; cultivate her acquaintance, and she 
 will get every palace door opened to you. 
 You should talvc some hints from her dress — 
 you looked like a little nun by her side ; out 
 of justice to me, you should try to be more 
 attractive." All this time Leon was studying 
 himself in a large mirror. 
 
 The most modest woman in the world will 
 resent her husband's depreciation of her 
 appearance ; so Pauline replied with a certain 
 pique, " Her present caprice is an admiration 
 for ugly men." 
 
 " H'm ; words are used to conceal thoughts, 
 my innocent one," retorted the self-satisfied 
 husband. 
 
 Life for the Subars went on as before, until 
 the end of the Carnival. Pauline then made 
 known her intention of going into Retreat. 
 9
 
 194 JUPITER'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 She had chosen the convent in which she liad 
 been educated, and where she would find 
 Madame Agnes on leave of absence from 
 England. 
 
 Leon, on l^eing hiformed of his wife's proj- 
 ect, laughed, and said, "What mignons 2>eches 
 are jou' going to repent of? — but of course, I 
 am not going to interfere. Few husbands 
 would venture on doing so in such a case." 
 
 Vilpont sneered when he heard of the mat- 
 ter. " Droll ! how you women love extremes — 
 roses to-day, ashes to-morrow, anything for a 
 sensation." 
 
 " And you men ? " exclaimed Madame de 
 
 B , now as often to I)c met in Pauline's 
 
 salon as Yilpont. " And you men — do you 
 differ much from us? Ti-etty exam]>les you 
 set us, with your oscillations — now at the shrine 
 of virtue, and piff-paff, Ijowing the knee to 
 some ugly Delilah. You want all the fun 
 for yourselves. Thank you, 1 like my share 
 in tlie frolics." 
 
 "I have no objection," said Vilpont. 
 " Thank Heaven 1 have no stakes to lose ! " 
 
 Ilow tliat " Thank Heaven ! " pained Pau- 
 line. With a woman's sensitiveness she took 
 it as a negation of the feeling she believed 
 he had once clierislicd for her. Poor soul ! 
 pity to think how she grieved over those light 
 words.
 
 GOSSIP. 195 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 GOSSIP. 
 
 N'est plus amour qui bien aimer f aisait. 
 Les faux amants Font jetc hors de vie. 
 Amour vivant n'est plus que tromperie ; 
 
 Pour franc amour, priez Dieu, s'il vous plait. 
 
 Pauline remained in retreat dnring the 
 whole of Lent. She resisted alike Madame 
 Rendu's maternal warnings of the impropriety 
 of sncli a protracted absence from her husband 
 and Madame Agnes's admonitions as to her 
 duty as a wife. 
 
 " I guess joii liave some sorrow weighing on 
 you, Pauline ; nevertheless we must keep our 
 lamps bui-ning, and be found always ready at 
 our appointed posts." 
 
 Pauline answei-ed — " Do you remember my 
 writing to you long ago — how long ago it seems 
 —that I nnist expect trouble in my married 
 life, having known none as a girl. The 
 trouble has come, dear friend, and in a worse 
 shape than any my ignorance of life at that 
 time could picture. Ah ! dear madame, mar- 
 riage in France has nothing in it of a Divine 
 institution." 
 
 " A tragical-sounding phrase to express some 
 annoyance," said Madame Agnes. " In real 
 life, my dear child, we bruise our feet often
 
 196 Jupiter's daugiitkks. 
 
 on the I'oufjh stones that lie on onr path, hut 
 they do not inflict incurable wonnds. Ah ! 
 you smile now, do you not, at what made you 
 shed tears as a child ? So it will probably be 
 some years hence, nay one year hence, with the 
 trouble you feel so heavy now." 
 
 " The belief that some day the pain will 
 vanish does not cure the present smart." 
 
 " Ah, Pauline ! the fi-iction of life wears out 
 everything — joy, love, hope, sorrow, ambition, 
 all pass away, and — " 
 
 " Do not say any more, dear friend ; if I be- 
 lieved you, I could not live." 
 
 " Poor child*! — poor impatient child ! who 
 will not let me remind her there is one 
 Staff on which she might lean and be sure it 
 would never break, let the burden of her sor- 
 row be ever so great." 
 
 In some states of mind consolation chafes, 
 advice irritates ; what the galled soul wants is 
 to be allowed to complain, to talk over its hurt 
 — in short, " to rail at Fortune in good terms 
 — in good, set terms." 
 
 Pauline turned with distaste from the wave- 
 less future to which Madame Agnes pointed, 
 and checked the outpouring of her heart. 
 
 Tlie first face Pauline saw on her return 
 home was Zelie's unkind one. During Ma- 
 dame Subar's absence, Zelie had busily spread 
 her venom through all the neighboring loges de 
 Concierges : Monsieur Subar was madame's 
 victim — madame neglected him cruelly, caring 
 for nothing but her music and painting, al-
 
 GOSSIP. 197 
 
 ^va^'S taken np with a queer set who wrote 
 plays and painted pictures, quite indifferent 
 whether monsieur liked such goings-on or 
 not. 
 
 "■ Dame ! " objected one of the gossips, " if 
 she does no worse, she is an angel. Look at 
 
 Mesdames .A , or B , or C . Mon 
 
 Dieu ! are they wild ? " 
 
 On which Zelie would raise her shoulders as 
 high as her ears, and say, " Still waters aie 
 dano-erons ! " 
 
 But Zelie's sharp wits speedily understood 
 that the chance of having any hold on her 
 mistress had disappeared. She ceased her fa- 
 miliarity, and waited on Madame Sul)ar with 
 the haughty air of a captive Zenobia. Her 
 hatred of Pauline, however, was daily deep- 
 ened by the little stabs to her vanity which Leon 
 so often gave by laughing at the contrast be- 
 tween her dark skin and his wife's fairness. 
 
 His ijreetinor to Pauline was in this wise — 
 
 " So you have nown back to the nest ! Why, 
 my kitten, you are as pale and thin as a saint 
 — isn't she, Zelie ? Ma foi., you two make a 
 capital contrast. I'll have you painted to- 
 gether." And then Leon rattled on. " You 
 know I have a horse to run on Sunday. Get 
 madame a brilliant toilette for the occasion, 
 Zelie — blue sets oft" her complexion, you know ; 
 and aprojyos, ina clih'e^ your adorer, tlie play- 
 writer, has transferred his allegiance. Les 
 ahsents ont totijours tort, ma c/icrie. That 
 hits more than our ex- friend, eh ! However,
 
 193 JUPITEIl's DAUGHTERS. 
 
 you are as pretty as a heart, so I forgive jour 
 desertion." 
 
 Leon could not help his shallowness ; j'ou 
 might as well have been wroth with liira be- 
 cause he had black and not gray eyes, and 
 Pauline was decidedly wrong to resent his 
 want of depth. His taste and his .capabilities 
 wore those of a mirror, laying entirely among 
 externals. 
 
 "Wlien M. Subar had taken his leave, Zelie 
 remarked, "Monsieur did not perhaps like to 
 tell madame, but all Paris is talkiuoj of ma- 
 dame's friends, M. Yilpont and the Countess 
 de B ." 
 
 Zelie licked her lips with the relish of a fox 
 who has just devoured a lamb. 
 
 Pauline said, " I never believe anything I 
 hear and only half that I see, Zelie. There 
 would be no living in peace with the people 
 about one, if we trusted either our eyes or our 
 ears." 
 
 Zelie was silenced as much by madame'3 
 look and tone as by the significant words. 
 
 The cheres mesdames who filled Pauline's 
 salon on the first day she received visits after 
 her return, like Zelie, had nothing more at 
 heart than to retail the last piece of scandal. 
 Tlie question, "Have you heard of poor Ma- 
 dame de B ? " was a real honne houche. 
 
 " ISo retenue — no savoir-vivre — no respect on 
 either side for les convenances^^ rattled like 
 hail about Pauline's ears. 
 
 " Mafoi, ladies," said a gentleman, " do not
 
 GOSSIP. 199 
 
 blame Yilpont too bitterly ; women never be- 
 lieve in a man till they have forced him to 
 compromise them." 
 
 " Infamous ! — horrible ! — mijust ! " .. came 
 from all sides. 
 
 " Have you seen the arch-culprit, the mau- 
 'vaissujet? " asked one lady of Madame Subar. 
 
 " No — but let us chancre the subject ; either 
 
 he or Madame de B may come in at any 
 
 moment." 
 
 " She would not dare." 
 
 " Why not ? scandal is not proof. If every 
 one were found guilty on the on dits of society, 
 which of us would escapee." 
 
 Pauline had never read Shakespeare, but 
 noble hearts resemble one another in all ages 
 and nations. 
 
 " You are angelically charitable, my dear 
 lady," said the cynic, who had thrown the lar- 
 gest stone at Madame de B . 
 
 Visitors stayed long, in the hope of seeing 
 Yilpont's meeting with Pauline ; for in Paris, 
 perhaps also elsewhere, no possiliility as to 
 "our neighbor's sentiments or deeds is left out 
 of the sphere of conjecture." Vilpont, pre- 
 ferring to meet Pauline when not alone, did 
 not disappoint the general expectation. He 
 could not hide from himself that the story she 
 must have heard would displease her, but he 
 had no conception of the stab it liad given 
 her. 
 
 " After all, what is it to her ? " lu; had said 
 to himself. " We are \evy good friends, Ijut
 
 200 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 that gives her no right to resent anything I 
 please to do." Nevertheless, he could not get 
 rid of an unwillingness to meet her eye. . Keen 
 watchers saw his sallow face take on a purple- 
 ish shade as he went up to Madame Subar, but 
 thev detected no change of color on her face. 
 He alone was aware of a momentary quiver of 
 her upper lij). 
 
 As generally happens, the one subject to be 
 avoided was always floating upwards. Pauline, 
 alluding to her own absence, said that six 
 weeks was sufficient to make one feel like ar- 
 riving from the antipodes, quite behind-hand 
 as to fashion and news. 
 
 Very significant smiles appeared on every 
 countenance. " Ungrateful I " exclaimed the 
 cynic. " Have all our pains to enlighten you 
 been in vain ? " 
 
 Pauline sought safety in speaking of the 
 coming races and of her husband's horse. 
 
 " What is it called ? " 
 
 " Escapade." 
 
 Another sitter gave meaning to the name. 
 
 Then some one asked Pauline if she had 
 seen " Frou-frou^ 
 
 And another kind-hearted person inquired 
 of Vilpont which he would recommend — •' Le 
 Supplice d' une Femme^^ or ''''Frou-frou?''^ 
 
 Vilpont left off biting the ends of his mus- 
 tache, and in his turn ])ut ajqnestion — " Rec- 
 ommend? in what way ? " 
 
 " Oh ! to Madame Subar,. as she has seen 
 neither." .
 
 GOSSIP. 201 
 
 " Eitlier or neither," he said, " they are both 
 clever and both painful ; but Madame Snbar 
 mifi-ht look on at such tra2:edie3 as ang-els do 
 on the sins of mortals, witli tlie pity innocence 
 gives to guilt." 
 
 " A pretty compliment ; but remember, mon- 
 sieur, addressed as it is to one person, it makes 
 you a hundred enemies." 
 
 " Madame, the title of enemy from ruby lips 
 does not alarm me. I accept your challenge." 
 
 " Not at all, there is no challenge," replied 
 the lady, and not feeling at a safe distance 
 from this practised freeslioc>ter, turned to 
 Madame Subar with a hasty, " Sans adieu, ma 
 belle." 
 
 Vilpont took his leave at the same time, 
 escorting his fair enemy to her carriage. 
 
 " The audacity of that man is beyond be- 
 lief!" exclaimed another lady, once sure he 
 was out of hearing. 
 
 " As to that, this affair gives him another 
 feather in his cap," said the cynic. 
 
 " He had a full panache of such already," 
 was the rejoinder. 
 
 What an underlying ferocity there is in 
 social intercourse ! How cleverly, or rather 
 cunningly, little thrusts are given, little morti- 
 fications inflicted ! How people feed their 
 darkness on otlicrs' sunshine ! No one, who is 
 not blind, or jj|g|^, or stupid, but must have 
 suft'ered fronv^^^rritation social contact gives. 
 How little of ^H|k)bir.ty of kindness we meet 
 with — nay, w^ifei^f^^ exists, is it not often mis- 
 9* '^
 
 202 Jupiter's daughtees. 
 
 taken for •weakness, want of talent ? Sharp, bit- 
 ing remarks are repeated with admiration, but 
 not the kind words with which we bridle the 
 devil of unkinduess which lurks in us all. 
 
 i 
 
 \
 
 MEASURING A LANCE WITH SOCIETY. 203 
 
 CHAPTEll VIII. 
 
 MEASURING A LANCE WITH SOCIETY. 
 
 Laissez tranquille la fausse vindicte humaine, la con- 
 science fait lartjement son ouvrage. 
 
 There are clieerful households under the 
 sinister shadow of Vesuvius — people married 
 and made merry until the Deluge overtook 
 them ; tliere was dancing before, during, and 
 after the Reign of Terror; and even at the 
 moment when the terrible shock of war was 
 imminent in 1870, all the gay world of Paris 
 was thinking of and preparing for the concert 
 and ball to'be given by a princess as her ban- 
 quet and adieu to her acquaintance. 
 
 A good-natured, aristocratic member of the 
 Jockey Club took compassion on Leon Subar, 
 and made interest for an invitation for M. and 
 Mme. Subar. 
 
 AVhen Leon received the inestimable card, 
 he actually put his heels together and jumped 
 for joy. '" Xow 1 am happy," he exclaimed. 
 Poor Pauline! he was her husband, and she 
 was bound by oath to lienor him. Well, she 
 obeyed liim as well as she could, devoting her- 
 self'^ to milliner and dress-maker with much the 
 game feeling she would have in dressing a doll 
 to please some child. 
 
 The important evening arrived, and Leon
 
 204 jupitek's daughters. ' 
 
 was graciously pleased to apjDrove of liis wife's 
 dress. " I wish you would, just for this once, 
 put a touch of rouge below your eyes ; I want 
 my kitten to be noticed." 
 
 " In the first place, I have none," she said ; 
 " and as I am not accustomed to wear it, I 
 
 might rub it into streaks, like Madame D , 
 
 you remember, and that would be worse than 
 pale cheeks." 
 
 "There's some sense in that; I must put up 
 with you as you are. Ah ! by the bye, I have 
 taken on extra men for the evenino- : one for 
 your cloak, and one for mine ; at such places 
 there is always a call for ' les gens de Monsieur 
 1171 tel^ and only one footman appearing would 
 raise a laugh at our expense." 
 
 "I begin to think what is called the 'great 
 world ' a very paltry one," said Pauline. 
 
 "It's you who are a delightful little simple- 
 ton, my angel. Next year I mean that we 
 should be naturalized among the very highest 
 — my fortune is doul)ling. We will go to 
 Itome this winter ; that's the surest way, I am 
 told, of getting on with the Faubourg — and your 
 being a pious kitten will be a help." 
 
 Pauline was silent — she was bound by oath 
 to honor and obey him. 
 
 Though they reached the princess's hotel 
 early, the rooms were already well filled. As 
 Pauline glanced round she saw Madame de 
 B , but Madame de B strangely iso- 
 lated, a very decided space left on each side 
 of her. She was standing, while near her men
 
 MEASTTRINO A LANCE WITH SOCIETY. 205 
 
 were seated; chivalry was clearly not in their 
 way, and ])r()bably her sharp tongue or her con- 
 tempt for tlieir attentions while she was a leader 
 of fashion, stirred them to take their revenge. 
 
 Madame de B was noted for her spirit, 
 
 but she was evidently now ill at ease ; the most 
 courasreous woman shrinks from being avoided 
 in a salon. As Pauline s eyes fell on her, 
 Madame de B turned to one of the gentle- 
 men nearest to her and said something, prob- 
 ably made some sarcastic remark on his polite- 
 ness, for he rose and left his chair vacant. 
 
 Madame de B -, after a minute's hesitation, 
 
 availed herself of the vacant seat ; in five min- 
 utes she was again obviously left alone. Just 
 then the poor woman's eyes met those of Pau- 
 line with the dumb beseechingness of some 
 animal in pain. With her old iuipulsiveness, 
 Pauline yielded to the appeal, and crossing the 
 room, seated herself by the Pariah's side. As 
 she did so, she caught sight of Leon's flushed, 
 angry face. 
 
 The little scene had been marked by some 
 unnoticed spectators — by the noble hostess and 
 lier nobler guests. As they passed round the 
 circle, the greatest lady of the group bent her 
 
 lovel}' head to Madame de B , who was 
 
 known to lier, while the hostess said in a loud, 
 clear voice to Pauline, as she offered her hand, 
 " Bien charrace de vous voir, chore madame," 
 although she had not an idea who the chere 
 tnadanie was ; but she did know that her 
 pretty incognito had a brave, generous heart.
 
 206 jupitee's daughters. 
 
 "Wonderfnl how many persons recovered 
 
 their eyesiorht, recoo-nizino; Madame de B ; 
 
 bat society, like all tyrants, is mean. 
 
 The next morning at breakfast, Leon said, 
 with some asperity of tone, " Well, for a 
 woman who is dead frightened for a horse, 
 yoii are astonishing. I would rather have 
 leaped twenty fences than have done wdiat you 
 did last evening. I declare ray heart stopped 
 beating when I sav\' you cross the room and sit 
 down by that mad coquette. Once is enough ; 
 don't you attem])t to play the Quixote for all 
 the idiotic women in Paris. If you want to 
 get on in the world, follow the world's opinion 
 — at least, never go contrary to it. That's a 
 maxim I got out of a book, so you will not dis- 
 pute its sense. Scratch Madame de B 's 
 
 name off your list, if you are wise." 
 
 " Time enough next winter," said Pauline, 
 M'earily. "I w^ant change of air, Leon. I am 
 only a provincral, and Paris is too much for 
 me ; besides, every one is going." 
 
 '* "VYIiere do you wish to go ? It is too soon 
 for Trouville or Baden-Baden." 
 
 " I should be so glad to go for a little to St. 
 Gloi. Mamma presses so much for a visit from 
 us." 
 
 Pauline understood the meaning of Leon's 
 shrug of the shoulders, and added, " If you 
 care to stop longer in Paris, I could go alone 
 at first, and you might join me later." 
 
 "You are not such a loving wife as Ma-
 
 MEASURING A LANCE WITII SOCIi:Tr. 207 
 
 dame de Saye ; she will not let De Saye go a 
 foot witlidiit her." 
 
 " And the Jockey Club and the races, etc., 
 etc.," laughed Pauline. 
 
 " Oh ! well, I do not complain ; it's very 
 natural a girl should wish to be with her 
 mother, so that is settled. You will not want 
 Zelie to go also, I suppose ? " 
 
 " No ; I shall only take Marie — she belongs 
 to St. Gloi." 
 
 " What a virtue ! " said Leon, satirically. 
 
 The following morning Pauline received a 
 card before she had left her dressing-room. 
 _ " Bring Madame de B to me here, Ze- 
 lie ; and then leave us." 
 
 As soon as they were alone, doors shut and 
 
 fortieres drawn, Madame de B said, " I 
 
 am afraid you would rather not have had my 
 visit ; at least I argue so, from the frown 
 Monsieur Subar gave me as I passed him on 
 the stair — he who was ready a few days ago to 
 fetch and carry at my bidding. That, how- 
 ever, does not matter. I have come to tell 
 you that I shall never forget your kindness 
 last evening, you dear, good woman. It is 
 out of gratitude, and for nothing else, that I 
 will say to yon what ropes should not drag 
 from me, that I am better than I seem. I 
 have been imprudent, audaciously imprudent, 
 because I knew I was clear of any real fault. 
 I wanted to amuse myself — life is so horridly 
 tame — and that man's nonchalance piqued me"; 
 now you have the truth. I wonder why 
 
 '3
 
 208 jupitee's daughters. 
 
 women like me should be born ? " Here 
 Madame de B wiped her eyes. 
 
 Pauline kissed her, not knowing what to 
 say after Leon's prohibition of the day be- 
 fore. 
 
 " Do you know what Monsieur de B 
 
 said to me about this stupid gossip? Why, 
 that none but &parvenue would have got her- 
 self into such a silly scrape. It's true I have 
 only common puddle in my veins. Monsieur 
 le Comte wanted money for himself, and my 
 mother wanted rank for me, and so the bar- 
 gain was made. However, he has behaved 
 very well on tliis occasion — we are going to 
 appear this summer in a new domestic charac- 
 ter. Tell Monsieur Subar that Monsieur de 
 B does not approve of gentlemen treat- 
 ing his wife uncourteously ; or rather, say 
 nothino; about it — if the occasion offers, Mon- 
 sieur Subar will find that out for himself. 
 Bah ! what an iugrate I am, to be fuming and 
 fretting at a slight when I ought to be thank- 
 ing you on my knees for your kindness ! I see 
 you do not know what to say to me, so I 
 Avill leave you. Shall it be au revoir, or 
 adieu ? " 
 
 " I am going away to St. Gloi, to stay with 
 my father an.d mother for a little," returned 
 Pauline, evasively. 
 
 "Then adieu, my dear friend, for so I shall 
 always hold you. When I am at the pinnacle of 
 fasliion next winter, 1 will patronize Monsieur 
 Subar for your sake. Adieu ! " and gathei'ing
 
 MEASDKING A LANCE WITH SOCIETY. 209 
 
 up her dress, Madame de B ran lightly 
 
 down the stairs. 
 
 _ " Poor thing ! " thought Panline. " I be- 
 lieve her heart is heavy for all that."
 
 210 Jupiter's daughteks. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SPECULATIONS. 
 
 " One woiild think she wished to forget she 
 was married," thought Madame Kendu when 
 Pauline had been at home a few days. 
 
 The mother meditated gravely as she 
 watched her daughter. Pauline had resumed 
 all her former habits, as though the events of 
 the last eighteen months had never happened. 
 Her husband's name seldom passed her lips. 
 They corresponded regularly ; but unless 
 questioned, she never mentioned him. 
 
 Madame de Saye, with her usual foolhard- 
 iness, spoke out wliat Madame Rendu thought. 
 " I declare, Pauliiie, one would imagine you 
 were trying to ft)rget you were married ! I 
 shall write and advise Monsietir Subar to 
 come and make himself remembered." 
 
 Pauline, in her gravest voice, said, "I advise 
 you to let Leon and me decide for ourselves 
 on what suits us best." 
 
 ISTaturally, being repressed in one quarter, 
 Madame de Saye's loquacity rushed at full 
 tide in every otlier. 
 
 But while St. Gloi was speculating whether 
 Madame Subar was on the eve of a judicial or 
 amicable separation, or her liusband was en- 
 tangled in speculations endangering his fort-
 
 SPECULATIONS. 211 
 
 line, Pauline was reo^aining tranquillity of 
 mind. The bow had been strained to its ut- 
 most, and the moment had arrived when it 
 must break or l)e unbent. Her old home was 
 just what she required. After her experience 
 of Paris, she better understood that provincial 
 life which she had once found so cold. There, 
 attention is concentrated on what does not 
 change quickly ; external things acquire a 
 sort of existence of their own, and become a 
 treasure-house for memory. The habits of 
 life which had once seemed so poor to her 
 were now a restorative and balm. They had 
 the charm of some old melody of restricted 
 compass — monotonous, but sweet. 
 
 What pleased her best, however, were her 
 walks, or those long hours on the lake with 
 old uncle Adhcmar for her sole companion. 
 Neither felt any need of avowing their rever- 
 ential affection one for the -other. Pauline 
 understood now the old man's life, and he 
 guessed that she had measured a lance with 
 the difficulties of life, and had been sorely 
 wounded. lie never questioned her, but let 
 her have the solace of repose. Uncle Adhe- 
 mar knew that there are thoughts not to be 
 clothed in words — phantom thoughts, that pass 
 and cannot be seized ; he knew that these 
 dreamy, vague reveries were in themselves a 
 refuge for a weary spirit. But Madame Jo- 
 rey was ignorant of these delicate shades of 
 sympathy. She put tJie most indiscreet ques- 
 tions with her usual frankness. She wanted
 
 212 jupitek's daughteks. 
 
 to know the particulars of the last scandal 
 about Yilpont, an outline of which had trav- 
 elled to her throuMi Madame de Save. 
 
 " Is the woman very prelty ? — did she care 
 for him ? — did he love her ? " questioned the 
 old god-mother, who dearly loved a romance. 
 
 " Madame de B is handsome ; but as to 
 
 their feelings for one another, I cannot say. 
 
 From a few words Madame de B let fall, I 
 
 believe there was very little foundation for all 
 the evil gossip." 
 
 " Then I give him up," said Madame Jorey, 
 with decision. 
 
 " Because he was silly, and not wicked ? " 
 asked Pauline, with a smile. 
 
 " Go along, child ? what do you know of 
 such matters ? " 
 
 A month of quiet had gone quickly by, 
 when Madame Rendu told Pauline that if 
 Leon had no intention of coming at once to St. 
 Gloi, she must go back to him. 
 
 " It was quite understood between us that 
 he would join me as soon as he could," said 
 Pauline. 
 
 " Well, write and say he must tell you his 
 plans ; the wliole town is speculating about 
 you. The Cure has told me, that though 
 some say you have quarrelled with your hus- ^ 
 band, many more assert that he ordered you * 
 to leave Paris." 
 
 " AYhy need we mind such nonsense ? " said 
 Pauline. 
 
 " If you do not care about it, I do, Pauline.
 
 SPECULATIONS, 213 
 
 Such nonsense, as you call it, never attached 
 itself to me. You don't know the world as I 
 do ; and besides that, you break the force of 
 habit, the strongest of all ties, and teach your 
 husband he can do without you." 
 
 " I will write, mamma," and so Pauline did, 
 Leon replied, that with each passing hour ru- 
 mors of war were becoming louder and more 
 generally believed, and rendered his remain- 
 ing in Paris absolutely necessary. 
 
 Madame Pendu looked very grave as she 
 read this letter. " Can you guess what he 
 means ? " 
 
 " iSTot in the least. Leon never talks to me 
 of his affairs." 
 
 " That is very wrong, and must be your 
 fault. A wife ought to be like the drag on a 
 wheel, and keep her husband from running 
 down-hiU." 
 
 " Had I asked Leon any questions about 
 money-matters, he would have pinched my 
 cheek, and called me a wise kitten or a silly 
 kitten." 
 
 " And whose fault is it if he looks on you 
 in such a light ? Do you think your father 
 ever thought of speaking or thinking of me as 
 a kitten f" 
 
 Pauline very nearly laughed, it seemed so 
 utterly impossible that her father should have 
 had sufficient courao-e to venture on such a 
 liberty. 
 
 Madame Rendu continued — ''Don't rest
 
 214 jupitee's daughters. 
 
 satisfied with being a harmless wife ; show you 
 have some common-sense, and be nseful." 
 
 " You cannot helieve, mamma, liow differ- 
 ent the life we lead is to yours, Yery often 
 I only see Leon at dinner." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear it. Look at the De 
 Sayes, always together. I am sure he never 
 dreams of doing anything without consulting 
 Stephanie, and she refers all her difiiculties to 
 her mother." 
 
 " But you see, mamma, Leon is Leon, and I 
 am not Stephanie ; I have no turn for her sort 
 of management. And then the De Sayes 
 live in the country, and we in Paris. Above 
 all, I will not worry Monsieur Subar." 
 
 Madame Rendu sighed ; she had far too 
 much perspicacity to waste words, but she 
 sent Pauline back to her husband under the 
 escort of M. Pendu, who was privately ordered 
 to find out the real cause which kept M. Subar 
 in Paris. 
 
 It was M. Pendu's first visit to his son-in- 
 law's house, and he was surprised and dazzled 
 by the luxury of its appointments. At the 
 end of a couple of days lie wrc^te to Madame 
 Pendu that he could perceive no cause for 
 uneasiness. Leon had, he assured her, all the 
 good spirits which belong to prosperous men. 
 Leon had a talent which is not solely the ap- 
 panage of the clever — where the motive was 
 personal, he could keep his own counsel. 
 
 Madame Pendu replied in so many words, 
 that monsieur had better remain in his pleas-
 
 SPECULATIONS. ' 215 
 
 ant quarters some days longer. Slie was in 
 the midst of her lessive (a portentous wash), 
 and could spare him witli pleasure, and also 
 with advantage to himself. 
 
 Will any one who was in Paris on the 16th 
 July, 1 870, ever forget that day ? 
 
 Leon came in for the mid-day breakfast 
 radiant. He was a handsome — nay, a very 
 handsome man; and now, with his features 
 lighted up with joy of a peril escaped, he 
 might have stood as a model for the God of 
 Dav. 
 
 "" Peace ! " he exclaimed, " peace ! and there 
 is my thank-offering," and he threw a purse 
 into 'Pauline's lap. Now, my kitten, go to 
 Worth and get any number of costumes, and 
 we will take v/ing for Trouville. Such a re- 
 lief ! " he added, addressing his father-in- 
 law. 
 
 M. Kendu was startled by the intense ex- 
 pression Leon gave to the words ; he under- 
 stood, then, that some peuil had been escaped. 
 
 Pauline said laughingly, " I never believe 
 in evil till it comes." 
 
 " A fine politician you would make ; and 
 they talk of making women equal with men ! 
 Trinquons^'' and Leon clinked his glass against 
 M. Rendu's. 
 
 " Take my advice, Leon," said M. Rendu, 
 " and free yourself from all risks while it is 
 yet time. Whatever danger you have run 
 may reappei.r to-morrow, considering the situ- 
 ation of those who rule us."
 
 216 JUPITER S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 " Yes, yes," replied Leon impatiently ; 
 " tmst me, I know what I am about." 
 
 M. Rendu wrote an account of this little 
 episode to his wife, and then went out with his 
 daughter for a drive, intending to return to 
 St. Gloi the next day. 
 
 The evening papers shot a thunderbolt into 
 every household in Paris. " War ! " shouted 
 Gramont. " The majesty of France has been 
 insulted — war ! " 
 
 At first Leon refused to believe his paper. 
 He went out to seek for intelligence, and re- 
 turned like a maniac ; he stormed, raved, 
 swore, tore his hair — wept. When Pauline 
 made an attempt to obtain some explanation, 
 this hitherto easy-tempered husband turned so 
 fiercely on her that M. Pendu placed himself 
 before his daughter. 
 
 With a wild oath the furious young man 
 strode out of the room, banging the door with 
 a force that shook the house. JSTever had Pau- 
 line witnessed befgre a scene of violence. 
 She sat silent, pressing her hand on her heart 
 to still its beating ; her father, scarcely less 
 agitated, stood by her stroking her hair. 
 
 " What can it be, papa ? " she whispered. 
 
 " 1 am afraid he has lost money." 
 
 " Only that ? " 
 
 " He may be ruined, my poor child." 
 
 " Oh ! ruined, papa, that's a very big word. 
 He may have lost something ; but, you know, 
 he is very rich." 
 
 "We must try to hope the best, my dear.
 
 SPECULATIONS. 217 
 
 Thank God your old father will always be 
 able to save you from poverty." 
 
 "But what would mamma say, and after all 
 her trouble to get rae a rich husband," said 
 Pauline, with a bitter recollection, 
 
 *' Hush ! your mother did as she always 
 does — for the best.. No one can see into the 
 future — we walk blindly towards our fate. 
 We are grieving now for one thing, and who 
 knows, Pauline, what other sorrow is at hand." 
 
 " 1 am not really grieving, papa ; at least, 
 not about the money. Leon frightened rae, 
 and I am sorry for him. I know, papa, that 
 money is a good thing, but not the best of all 
 things. You and I are j)hilosophers, papa ; 
 you used to say so — do you remember ? " 
 
 Yes, he remembered, and more than Pauline 
 dreamed of. They sat hand in hand for some 
 time ; at last she said, " Had I not better go 
 and see after Leon ? " Nothing proved clear- 
 er to M. Rendu how little husband and wife 
 were to each other than this question. In any 
 trouble his wife would have been by his side, 
 a support on which he could lean — somewhat 
 hard and rugged externally, but sound at the 
 core. 
 
 " Certainly, my dear. Perhaps I had better 
 go with you." 
 
 "No, papa; I am not afraid now. Poor 
 Leon ! " 
 
 She came back almost directly — " Leon is 
 gone out, Joseph says." 
 
 " Oh ! then all we can do is to wait." 
 10
 
 218 Jupiter's daughters, 
 
 "Waiting was easy to the old man ; he had 
 ]M'actised patience for many a year ; hnt Pan- 
 line, for all her boast as to her philosophy, 
 could not follow her father's example. 
 
 " I should not mind what it was so that I 
 only knew. It's the unknown that frightens 
 me, just as I am frightened to be left in the 
 dark." 
 
 M. Rendu had recourse to the newspaper, 
 but she interrupted him very soon. 
 
 " Papa, you must have seen many things in 
 your life ; did you ever meet any one happy 
 from beginning to end ? " 
 
 " Yes, my dear ; I believe I have been al- 
 ways happy." 
 
 To M. Pendu's surprise Pauline threw her 
 arms round his neck, exclaiming, " Papa, you 
 are an angel ! " and burst into tears. 
 
 " It will do you good to cry, my poor little 
 girl." 
 
 " O papa, papa ! what a blessing to have a 
 father like you ! " 
 
 Pauline was right ; the heart of a good 
 father is one of nature's chef-cVoeicvres. 
 
 Hours went by, and still Ldon did not re- 
 turn. It must have been past midnight when 
 Zelie came into the salon with a letter. 
 
 "When did it come? — who brought it?" 
 asked Pauline. 
 
 " Monsieur left it with me, with orders not 
 to give it to madame before this hour," 
 answered Zelie, with even a greater assump- 
 tion of her captive princess manner.
 
 SPECULATIONS. 219 
 
 "Thank you, I shall not require you to- 
 niglit." 
 
 Zeh'e flounced away witli suppressed dignity. 
 
 Pauline's fingers trembled as she opened 
 the envelope. She first read the enclosure to 
 herself, and then handed it in silence to her 
 father. The note ran tlius : — 
 
 " Cherie — It is a cruel necessity which 
 obliges me to set off without an hour's delay 
 for "Marseilles ; I hope to catch the next 
 steamer for Alsjiers. I think it better to avoid 
 seeing you, to escape the explanations which 
 your fatlier might believe himself entitled to 
 ask. Besides, I shrink from your tears, and 
 for these reasons I deny myself the happiness 
 of embracing ray pretty kitten. You will re- 
 main where you are till my return, which will 
 be as soon as practicable. You had better get 
 rid of one of the coachmen, and have all but 
 your own horses sold. Joseph will see to that. 
 You must not wear a melaiuOioly face, and do 
 not shut yourself up ; receive every one as 
 usual, and let yourself be seen driving in the 
 Bois. In a month, or six weeks at longest, I 
 shall be home again, in time for a trip in the 
 autumn to Berlin. 
 
 " Be under no alarm, it will be easy to remedy 
 my present mishap. I shall not write again 
 before reaching Algiers. Zelie has her orders 
 when to deliver this; you can trust her in 
 everything. Au 7'evoir, my adoi-ed angel. I 
 embrace you as I love you. Leon."
 
 220 jupitee's daughters. 
 
 " Well then, my dear, I suppose the wisest 
 thing we can do is to go to bed." 
 
 " Good-night, papa — dear papa ! " was all 
 Pauline said ; she made no comments on the 
 letter, nor did her father. 
 
 Pauline had a keen sense of justice, and she 
 was asking herself, " Did I deserve better from 
 him ? "
 
 PLAYED AND LOST. 221 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 PLAYED— AND LOST. 
 
 • Pauline ^vas young, indifferent about 
 money, because ignorant of its value ; and be- 
 ing relieved of any fear as to Leon's safety, 
 with the added comfort of her father under 
 her roof, she slept a sound, refreshing sleep. 
 
 M. Rendu not being young, nor ignorant of 
 the value of money, did not rest so well. 
 From the manner of his son-in-law's departure, 
 he argued the existence of some serious and 
 pressing necessity, probably some involvement 
 through one of the mad speculations of the 
 day. The poor father lay awake composing a 
 letter which he hoped would bring his wife at 
 once to Paris. For him Pauline was still a 
 child, and to leave her alone in that large 
 honse, with only the protection of servants, 
 seemed impossible. His letter was written and 
 sent off before he met Pauline at breakfast. 
 
 " It is a pity," he said, " that Leon has de- 
 sired you to remain here ; you would have 
 been far safer wirh us at St. Gloi." 
 
 " Much happier, at any rate, papa. As to 
 safety, I don't think Zelie, with all her ill-will, 
 would quite run the risk of poisoning me." 
 
 " Ill-will ? what makes you think she has 
 any ill-will towards }'ou ? " 
 
 " It's no fancy, papa ; she dislikes me be-
 
 222 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 cause I am Leon's wife. She makes me under- 
 stand in all sorts of ways that she does not con- 
 sider me good enough for him ; and perhaps 
 she is right." 
 
 M. Rendu said nothing in reply, but Pau- 
 line's words impressed him with a very vivid 
 desire that she should not be left to Madame 
 Zelie's guardianship. 
 
 " I have written to your mother, and I hope 
 she will come ; she always sees what is best to 
 be done." 
 
 " I wish you could both stay with me till 
 Leon returns." 
 
 " Perhaps we may — that is what I should 
 propose. And now, Pauline, you miist think 
 of arranging your household affairs. What 
 money have you ? " 
 
 " Zelie manages the house and pays the bills, 
 papa; you must ask lier." 
 
 But M. Rendu had no fancy for a conference 
 with the Algerine. " I had perhaps better 
 wait till your mother comes." 
 
 Madame Rendu came by the first train after 
 receiving his letter. She was even more 
 troubled than M. Rendu by Leon's mysterious 
 night, and still more exasperated by his desir- 
 llig Pauline to remain in Paris, and by the 
 prominence given to Zelie. 
 
 "All your fault, Pauline; I told you what 
 would be the consequence of your making 
 yourself of no use." 
 
 " 1 might have been more active in house- 
 keeping, mamma ; but as Leon never spoke to
 
 PLAYED AND LOST. 223 
 
 me of his affairs, how could I know anything 
 about tliem ? " 
 
 " Well, well, when he returns, turn over a 
 new leaf ; it's your duty to prevent his having 
 any other contidante than yourself. That 
 yellow vixen, I'll be bound, knows all about 
 this matter and everything else." 
 
 "Take care, mamma," whispered Pauline, 
 her eyes glancing round at the numerous doors, 
 the convenience sometimes, but also the plague, 
 of French houses. 
 
 " It's abominable," said Madame Eendu ; 
 " she shall not stay." 
 
 " We must wait till Leon returns," was 
 again whispered ; " and pray, don't offend her 
 just now, mamma." 
 
 " What a silly woman you have been ! " was 
 the rejoinder. " Who would ever have sup- 
 posed Stephanie Jorey had double your 
 sense ? " 
 
 It seemed to Pauline that every one united 
 in holding up Stephanie as a mc^del wife to 
 her. It was rather hard to bear, after being 
 accustomed for years to hear Stephanie 
 spoken of as half a fool. 
 
 Leon's orders about the sale of his horses 
 were carried into effect without Madame Su- 
 bar being informed ; indeed, Zelie made it 
 patent that she considered herself left in au- 
 thority even over her mistress. 
 
 Poor Pauline so dreaded her mother's re- 
 proaches, that she strove to conceal that she 
 was a mere cipher — that she reigned perhaps,
 
 224 jupitee's daughtees. 
 
 but assured!}' did not govern. This did not 
 suit Zelie, very few persons had ever made 
 this half-African woman feel herself mas- 
 tered ; but in Madame Rendu she was aware 
 she had met her match, and Madame Rendu 
 she resolved to get rid of. This was difficult, 
 for Madame Rendu was blind to all imperti- 
 nence, and deaf to the most transparent hints. 
 But if the lady's patience was inexhaustible, 
 not so that of the housekeeper. Driven to ex- 
 tremity, Zelie at last told Madame Rendu, in 
 set terms, that M. Subar had not taken into 
 account any increase in his household expen- 
 diture ! 
 
 " If you are in want of money, apply to 
 your mistress — the house expenses are no busi- 
 ness of mine," said Madame Rendu, and 
 walked out of the room to prevent any retort. 
 
 " Who would have dreamed of a child of 
 mine being in such a situation ? " mused Ma- 
 dame Rendu. " And yet I did my best; but 
 no, she would not be satisfied with any of 
 those we knew thoroughly, she must have 
 some one out of the common ; and I vow to 
 Heaven I don't believe she cares a straw for 
 Leon. And he — well — he shall at least be 
 forced to get rid of the demon he has placed 
 over my poor, silly girl." 
 
 Perhaps at this time it dawned on the 
 mother that a girl's feelings merit some atten- 
 tion ; for after this skirmish with Zelie she 
 Baid to M. Rendu, " One does for the best, and 
 it turns out for the worst," and then she told
 
 PLAYED— AND LOST. 225 
 
 him of Zelie's insolent beliavior. They de- 
 cided at once that Pauline must be snpplied 
 with money, and with snch precantions as 
 should save her from being pillaged by the 
 housekeeper. 
 
 A week, and then ten days passed, and no 
 news from Leon ; but though Pauline won- 
 dered every morning that there was no Letter, 
 she was clearly not at all nneasy. 
 
 " What's the use of anticipating disasters, 
 mamma? no one is ever out of danger. The 
 horses may run awa}^ with us to-day, and 
 break our arms or necks. Time enough to 
 grieve when grief comes." 
 
 This period was full of trial to Madame 
 Rendu : for alas ! she could not rid herself of 
 the consequences of her own act — wlio can ? 
 No use to repeat that she had done for the 
 best ; there was a barbed arrow in her breast. 
 What niight not arise from this marriage 
 without love ? 
 
 However, all private vexations were for the 
 time being thrown into shade by public events. 
 Pauline's patriotic ardor had no bounds. 
 Every other occupation was laid aside for the 
 reading of news[)apers. From morning till 
 night she was engrossed by their contents. 
 She was wild with joy at the success of Saar- 
 brlicken, " I knew we could not be defeated," 
 she said, tears rolling over her pale cheeks. 
 
 She was not alone in her joy and faith that 
 France was but bei^inninr;; a series of victories. 
 Every one knows the incredible, the sad story 
 10*
 
 226 jupitee's daughtees. 
 
 which made all Europe quake. Still the cry 
 went up to heaven that not a German should 
 ever recross the frontier. 
 
 There certainly exists among mankind be- 
 ing's who answer to henbane and niji'htshade 
 in the vegetable world. Zelie was one of 
 these abnormal creatures ; she distilled venom 
 from the virtues that brought healthy influ- 
 ences to others. It Avas curious to watch how 
 this hnman belladonna tortured Pauline, with 
 venomous subtlety gathering and retailing 
 every sinister rUraor. It was Zelie who 
 brought the first news of tlie defeats at Worth, 
 Froschweiler, and Gravelotte, and that St. 
 Gloi was occupied by Bavarian troops. At 
 first the Rendus and Pauline ti-eated this last 
 bit of information as one of Zelie' s inventions, 
 for they now all understood her politics. 
 
 " It is a ricse to get rid of us," said Madame 
 Rendu ; but a few hours proved that it was Si 
 fact, a sad fact. 
 
 M. Rendu at once declared the necessitv of 
 his returning to look after his house and prop- 
 erty. St. Gloi being an open town, of course 
 no resistance could be offered ; but men and 
 officers would be billeted on the inhabitants, re- 
 quisitions of money and provisions enforced. 
 
 " Stay here, papa," implored Pauline. 
 " What does the house matter ? — if they burn 
 it down, we can get another ; but if they kill 
 you, where shall I find another father ?" 
 
 She wrung her hands in vain. 
 
 " I must go, my child ; you do not under-
 
 PLAYKD — .VXD LOST. 227 
 
 stand how vital it is for all of us that I should 
 neglect no precautions for the safety of our 
 ])r()pert3\" 
 
 M. Rendu believed with too much reason 
 that his daughter's future comfort depended 
 on the fortune he still retained. 
 
 Madame Rendu wavered a short while 
 whether to go with her husband or stay with 
 her daughter. " But Pauline is safe in Paris," 
 she said, " and my place is by my husband's 
 side in moments of trial." 
 
 Up to this moment Madame Rendu had 
 looked on herself as a martyr to duty. She 
 had outwardly made a show of respect to M. 
 Rendu as head of the family, but inwardly 
 she had held him unworthy of a superior 
 woman such as she was. All at once she dis- 
 covered, with a curious sort of alarm, that 
 long years of life in common had woven a 
 chain as strong as death, and that without the 
 husband she had mentally despised life would 
 have no meaning for her. Another of the 
 examples of how many things in the world 
 and in ourselves are only known by the re- 
 sults. 
 
 Pauline accompanied her parents to the 
 station. They wished to go at once into the 
 \yaiting-room,but she begged hard for another 
 live minutes — those last "five minutes passed 
 in watching the hands of the clock that warns 
 friends of the moment to say farewell. The 
 trio were pacing up and down the platform, 
 feeling too deeply for speech, when all of a
 
 228 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 sndden they found themselves in the midst of 
 a crowd of drunlven, noisy, excited soldiers, 
 fugitives from some battle, ignorant of the 
 whereabouts of their regiments, clamorous, 
 ready for any deed, good or bad. 
 
 " Entrez^ entrez done, monsieur and mes- 
 dames," cried the guardian of the waiting- 
 room ; " you have only just time." 
 
 " Come with us, Pauline," cried her mother. 
 
 Pauline, her heart fluttering with terror, 
 was following her mother when the same 
 guardian put her back with a surly — " But 
 your ticket." No, she was not allowed to 
 pass ; and as for her venturing back to get 
 one, there could be no question of it — the 
 half-mad soldiers were besieging the office. 
 
 The good-natured woman of the book-stall 
 here interfered, and said she would take care 
 of the young lady, and with this crumb of 
 comfort parents and child bid one another 
 farewell . 
 
 Piloted by her self-constituted protectress, 
 Pauline reached her 'carriage unmolested; 
 but she was to witness more proofs of defeat 
 before she reached home. On one of the 
 Places on her road there was a great gather- 
 ing of ])eople, listening with marks of sympa- 
 thy to tlie story of some other fugitives from 
 tlie army. This time the men were dismounted 
 dragoons, their gay uniforms torn and soiled 
 — one his head bandaged with a bloody rag, 
 another his arm in a sling made of a horse's 
 girth — and so on, all in sorry plight. A col-
 
 PLAYED — AND LOST. 229 
 
 lection was being spontaneously made for 
 them, when some one cried out, " Who knows 
 whether they are not Prussian spies ? " 
 
 The supposition was eminently absurd, but 
 at such moments it is always touch and go 
 with the reason of a crowd. A moment's 
 pause, and then the bewildered fugitives, Inis- 
 tied, kicked, knocked down, were finally 
 hauled along to the nearest guard-house. 
 
 As Pauline sat lonely in her large salon^hev 
 feelings were near akin to those of one ship- 
 wrecked on some desert island ; she might con- 
 sider hei-self, with a color of reason, deserted 
 by father, mother, and husband. It was very 
 quiet — no noise in the streets, within not a 
 sound, not even any of those daily necessities 
 of social life which interrupt or prevent any 
 lengthened meditation or self-communion. In 
 these solitary hours by-gone hopes flashed past. 
 She said good-by to tliem with the loving re- 
 gret we give to dead friends. " I have played 
 and lost the o-reat stake of a woman's life," she 
 said — " that is over. The future, what does it 
 hold in reserve for me? But after all, why 
 speculate about it ? Time goes on his way and 
 settles everything." 
 
 Neither that day nor the next did Pauline 
 see any one. Tliose of her acquaintances who 
 had not already left Paris were probaljly either 
 packing up their valuables, or sitting through 
 weary hours at the Prefecture de Police, wait- 
 ing for tlieir passports to be signed. She had 
 given up her drives. The fright experienced
 
 230 JUPITEe's DAirGHTERS, 
 
 on the day of M. and Mme. Rendn's departnre 
 was yet too recent for further venturing forth. 
 " I walk in the garden at tlie back of the house, 
 going round and round like a squirrel in a 
 cage," she wrote to her mother. 
 
 No letter f i-oni Leon by the mail ; probably, 
 then, lie would arrive in person. 
 
 It was on the first of September, the day of 
 the fatal march to Sedan. France was breath- 
 less with expectation of a crowning victory, and 
 Pauline gave few thoughts, it must be con- 
 fessed, to Leon. She was sitting almost buried 
 in newspapers, when she was startled by the 
 now unaccustomed sound of the visitor's timhre, 
 followed by the appearance of an old acquaint- 
 ance. M. Belairs was the son of the principal 
 banker of St. Gloi, one of the many suitors she 
 had refused. She had never seen him since her 
 marriaii:e, and his visit alarmed her. With 
 lightning speed her imagination conjured up 
 some misfortune to her parents. But M. 
 Belairs had notliing of the appearance of a 
 messenger of evil. lie Avas rosy, fat, and 
 smiling — just what we usually call " the pict- 
 ure of happiness." 
 
 M. Belairs, on his side, thought Pauline the 
 very personification of prosperity, sitting charm- 
 ingly dressed in the richly-furnished salon of a 
 fine hotel, between court and garden. It struck 
 him that she was prettier than formerly, and 
 he was laboring with a compliment that should 
 express this opinion, when the timbre sounded 
 again.
 
 PLAYED — AND LOST. 231 
 
 "It must be Monsieur Subar!" exclaimed 
 Pauline, starting; to her feet. 
 
 "Monsieur le Marquis de Kerji^eac," an- 
 nounced Joseph, and Vilpont followed the 
 announcement. lie was in deep mourninp^ for 
 his uncle, looking; thin and dejected, a com- 
 plete contrast to the sunny-faced banker's son. 
 
 '^ Monsieur Belairs is from St. Gloi," said 
 Pauline, "and brings me excellent news." 
 
 " Mais oui, monsieur,'''' and off went Mon- 
 sieur Belairs, repeating what he had just told 
 Pauline. 
 
 Vilpont (as he shall still l)e called,) drew his 
 chair back out of M. Belairs' sight, and shook 
 his head as if in warning, but contradicted 
 nothing. Pauline understood that Vilpont 
 had also come on some mission. He sat silent, 
 bitinii the ends of his mustache, as was his 
 habit when annoyed. 
 
 At last Monsieur Belairs remembered he had 
 no more time to spare, as he was to return to 
 St. Gloi by the afternoon train. 
 
 He was no sooner out of hearing than Vil- 
 pont said, "The sooner you quit Paris the 
 better — this evening rather than to-morrow 
 morning — all that idiot said is mere nonsense; 
 the most alarming rumors are current, and I 
 assure you it is no longer safe for you to re- 
 main here." 
 
 " But your rumors may have no more truth 
 in them Ihan those of poor Monsieur Belairs," 
 said Pauline. " Besides, I am hourly expect- 
 ing Monsieur Subar's arrival ; and he bid
 
 232 Jupiter's daughters, 
 
 me in his last letter on no account to leave 
 Paris." 
 
 ''' At that time he conld never have di'eamed 
 of the marcli of the Prussians on Paris." 
 
 Pauline actually laughed. " 1 almost wish 
 they would come, it might be as good a way of 
 getting rid of them as any other.' 
 
 " My dear Madame Subar, even if we should 
 defeat them, Paris lighting can be no fit place 
 for you," 
 
 "I am not afraid," said Pauline. "I shall 
 stay, Monsieur Vilpont. Though I am only a 
 woman, I can do something for my countrv. 
 I can help the wounded ; besides, why should I 
 place more reliance on what you say than on 
 Monsieur Bel airs' news ? He comes from the 
 very neighborhood of the war." 
 
 "' Because Monsieur Belairs belongs to the 
 very large class C)f persons who think they get 
 rid of an evil by ignoring its existence." 
 
 Pauline had addressed him in a cool tone 
 bordering on contempt, and an entire want of 
 friendliness in her manner. He was at a loss 
 to understand this, having entirely foi-gotten 
 
 the unlucky scandal about Madame de B . 
 
 He rose to take his leave, and advanced to- 
 wards her with an outheld hand. She made 
 as though she did not perceive the gesture, and 
 with a slight 1)Ow, said, "Adieu, monsieur." 
 
 Vilpont had reached the dcxn- when, moved 
 by a sudden impulse, he turned back and said, 
 " ILnv have I had the misfortune to offend you, 
 Madame Subar ? "
 
 PLAYED AND LOST. 233 
 
 " Pardon me, I am not offended — how could 
 I be?" she asked, with what she intended for 
 a smile, but which was instead a sarcastic curl 
 of her lip. 
 
 " That is not sincere — not like yourself," ho 
 rejoined, his eyes fixed on hers. Pauline was 
 yet to Vilpont the only woman he would have 
 wished for his wife. He had retained a tender 
 interest in her, and, contradictory as it might 
 seem on the surface, he had let himself drift 
 
 into troubled waters with Madame de B • 
 
 to keep Pauline out of the chances of tempta- 
 tion. A deed, to be good, however, must be 
 innocent ; but in judging Vilpont we must 
 remember that no one escapes the influence of 
 the atmosphere in which he lives, and he had 
 breathed long and constantly the perfume of 
 the Flowers of Evil. 
 
 With the same old impetuosity which 
 Madame Rendu used to call insufferable, Pau- 
 line flashed out, "No, I am not sincere in say- 
 ing I am not offended. I think you behaved 
 atrociously to Madame de B ." 
 
 Vilpont exclaimed, "Madame de B ! 
 
 Chere dame, you are all wrong ; yon are accus- 
 ing the lamb of devouring the wolf." 
 
 " I do not wish to hear anything on the sub- 
 ject. You asked me to be sincere, and I have 
 answered you. Nothing you could say would 
 change my opinion, 1 am sorry because we 
 can no longer be friends." 
 
 "But I cannot submit to that award. I am 
 no worse than any of the other men you re-
 
 234 JDPITEE S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 ceive; no worse, I am sure, than that fat 
 acquaintance of jours, wlio has so successfully 
 impressed you ; you really have no right to 
 banish me more than all the rest." 
 
 Pauline turned on him, " How have you the 
 courage to address me in this way ? — Adieu, M. 
 Vilpont." 
 
 They had botli been standing during this 
 dialogue ; Yilpont hesitated a moment after 
 receiving this dismissal, then he stooped down, 
 kissed the hem of her dress, and said, " This 
 may be the last time we ever meet, and I will 
 not go without telling you how sincerely I 
 admire and revere you. Ah ! Pauline, I lost 
 my cliance of happiness when I lost you." 
 
 lie was gone without waiting for another 
 word from her. 
 
 Pauline stood as he had left her, almost as 
 stiff and cold as thouo-h she had been turned 
 to stone. It might have been hours, it might 
 have been minutes, for any count she had 
 taken of time, when Zelie's entrance roused 
 her. Then she turned away, and flung her- 
 self face downwards on the nearest sofa. 
 
 "Madame is ill?" asked Zelie in an un- 
 friendly voice. 
 
 " Not ill, but frightened. I don't know 
 what I ought to do. The Prussians are ad- 
 vancing on Paris." 
 
 " Madame must be Prussian in heart to be- 
 lieve that," retorted Zelie insolently. 
 
 " Arc you out of y<uir senses that you speak 
 to me in such a tone ? " asked Pauline, sitthig
 
 PLAYED — AND LOST, 235 
 
 np and faciiio; her adversary, her inward pain 
 showing itself in the shape of anger. 
 
 Zelie, as slie lierself expressed it, fell from 
 the clouds. Madame had become a mouton 
 enrage. But Zelie recovered something of 
 decent politeness ; she was no exception to the 
 rule that the overbearing, insult where tliey 
 dare, and draw in their lioi-ns where they dare 
 not, butt. It was another woman in difficulty 
 and anger who remarked, " that little spirits 
 always accommodate themselves to the temper 
 of those they would work upon — will fawn 
 upon the sturdy-tempered person, and will in- 
 sult the meek." * 
 
 Pauline's outburst of anger had not soothed 
 her own feelings. Who ever wounded another 
 without feeling a counterblow ? She could not 
 endure her solitude; she wanted to get rid of 
 all self-communing; she had that desire of 
 movement which seizes on us after any great 
 mental emotion. She would go out, and try 
 to see if there were any signs of alarm in the 
 streets. She found all the great thorough- 
 fares, such as the Champs Elysees and the 
 Boulevards nnusually quiet, and returned 
 home, fatio;ued in bodv but reassured in mind. 
 There is a great analogy between nature and 
 M'ar : hurricanes in the one, and violent convul- 
 sions in the other, are preceded by calms. 
 
 The next morning Zelie burst into her mis- 
 tress's room, crying out: 
 
 * Richardson's Clarissa.
 
 236 jupitek's daughters. 
 
 " Madame, what is to be done ? Wliat is 
 to become of us ? We are defeated ; the 
 Emperor " — here a gross gesture of contempt — 
 "has given ]iimself up to that monster, Wil- 
 liam ; the Prussians are close to Paris." 
 
 " Impossible ! " Pauline exclaimed, as so 
 many have done and will do, when told of 
 some unexpected, overpowering misfortune. 
 
 " But, madame, it is true. There is a Pevo- 
 lution ; what are we to do ? " 
 
 A general frenzy reigned in Paris. But 
 clever pens have sufficiently described this 
 period — a period which was fruitful of every 
 phase of human credulity — of heroism, of 
 imbecility, of contempt for facts ; of every ex- 
 treme of good and bad.
 
 BON SECOURS. 237 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 BON SECOTJKS. 
 
 No time ■now for vain regrets, for dreams, 
 for introspection. It was a moment which 
 taxed every one's indgment. 
 
 Twenty-four hours had made it too late for 
 Pauline to go to St. Gloi. The railway was 
 entirely given up to troops, and, in addition, 
 the German army was also approaching by 
 that very route. The road to England was 
 still open, hut she had all a Frenchwoman's 
 horror of placing the sea between her and 
 France. The few persons of her acquaintance 
 still in Paris advised her to do as thev were 
 doing and cross the channel ; while her trades- 
 people assured her she was as safe in her hotel 
 as she could be anywhere. A siege ! They 
 laughed the idea to scorn. Want of provisions, 
 maddest of all suppositions. 
 
 Pauline wished to remain, and she found, as 
 every one does, reasons in plenty by which to 
 bolster up her wish. Though masters had 
 fled, concierges remained ; then why sliould 
 she be afraid to do the same ? A concierge 
 was as easily killed as a duke, and having also 
 but one life, would be as chary of that life as 
 his Grace. Her own servants when questioned 
 declared they had no fear, and would willingly 
 stay and run whatever risk there might be.
 
 238 JUPlTEIi's DAUGHTERS, 
 
 Of course when tliey said so, they did not be- 
 lieve in the likelihood of serious privation or 
 dano-er. 
 
 At this moment Zelie was in her best 
 humor. She had chained experience of war in 
 Alwria, and she set about at once layinc: in 
 large stores of provisions that ^^'ould keep. 
 She obtained credit easily, for neither she nor 
 her mistress would have had the means to pay 
 for all that was stored in every closet of the 
 hotel. Xor did she neglect to till wood and 
 coal cellars. Of wine there was already a 
 plentiful supply. 
 
 A day later an evening paper mentioned the 
 arrival of a mail from Algiers. It brought a 
 few hurried lines from M. Subar. He hoped 
 to start by the steamer in the ensuing week. 
 He was well. Pauline was to keep up her 
 s])irits. He had managed to settle his affairs 
 tolerably to his satisfaction. He concluded 
 with a stupid imprecation on Germany, and a 
 " Je vous emhrasseP 
 
 Pauline smiled as she refolded the letter, one 
 of those smiles that are as sad as tears, and 
 then sent for Zelie to bid her prepare for M. 
 Suljar's return. 
 
 Nearer and nearer came the Germans, and 
 still all Paris ridiculed the idea of a siege, 
 Cominunication l)y post with all parts of the 
 country was open, and as long as people re- 
 ceived and could send letters — as long as they 
 could £ro in and out of the gates— no one l)e- 
 lieved it could be ever otherwise. The prov-
 
 BON 8ECOTTES. 239 
 
 inces breathed nothing but war to the knife, 
 and were as incredulous as the Parisians as to 
 the possibility of a siege en regie. 
 
 Monsieur and Madame Rendu wrote daily, 
 requiring equal diligence from Pauline. They 
 were stricken with tlie universal blindness. 
 " Send your diamonds to the bank," advised 
 Madame Rendu. " It is just the moment 
 for thieves to congregate in Paris." Of actual 
 starvation, of bombs, of death from cold, none 
 even of the most determined prophesiers of 
 evil ever thought. 
 
 Zelie dissuaded her mistress from at once 
 taking her mother's advice. It would be 
 better to wait till M. Subar arrived. AVhether 
 Zelie had any formed design or not when she 
 thus spoke, must remain for ever unknown. 
 Opportunity often makes the crime. But it is 
 safe to believe that neither good nor bad qual- 
 ities reveal themselves, M'ithout having in some 
 way previously betrayed their existence. 
 Characters do not change by sudden explo- 
 sions. 
 
 Madame de Saye would have been on her 
 guard, because Madame de Saye had all the 
 suspiciousness which belongs to a narrow 
 mind, and which acquired for her the reputa- 
 tion of good sense. She trusted no one further 
 than she could see with her own eyes. She 
 was fond " of wandering from house to house, 
 a tattler and a busybody, speaking things she 
 ought not," in one word commonplace, and 
 consequently popular. Whereas Pauline had
 
 24:0 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 in her the spirit of a reformer, was opposed to 
 existing usages and gave offence, such opposi- 
 tion being regarded as a mark of contempt, an 
 assumption of supei'iority. Slie had, besides, 
 conscientiousness in excess, and because she 
 disliked Zelie, was on her guard lest such dis- 
 like should betray her into an injustice. Zelie 
 was clever enough to nnderstand this delicacy 
 of her mistress's conscience, and mean enough 
 to take advantage of it. So the diamonds re- 
 mained where they were. 
 
 Nearer and nearer came the Germans, and 
 still Paris scoffed at the probability of a siege. 
 
 Another ten days went by and bronght not 
 a line from Leon to account for his absence. 
 Pauline, just as she would have done had the 
 same thing occurred to an acquaintance, found 
 excuses and framed explanations for this curi- 
 ous conduct. 
 
 " Madame's feelino^s for Monsieur will never 
 turn her hair gray," remarked Zelie. 
 
 Pauline, in fact, was not herself aware that 
 her equanimity under the circumstances was 
 extraoi'dinary. She snifered from none of 
 those thrills and presentiments, shadows al- 
 wavs in attendance on everv strong affection. 
 
 In the meantime, what had seemed more 
 unlikely to liappen than that tlie tower of Ba- 
 bel should reach heaven became an undenia- 
 ble fact. Paris was hemmed in by a circle of 
 iron. Iso more letters from without. Those 
 who were within were cut off from the rest of 
 the world. Still every one said and every one
 
 BON 8EC0URS. 241 
 
 believed that this state of things could not last. 
 There was excitement, agitation, but no dis- 
 couragement, Not one soul ever contemplated 
 the possibility of a capitulation. In the city 
 was abundance of provisions, sufficient for 
 the necessities of months. There was an 
 army within tlie gates sufficient for defence. 
 MacMahon and Bazaine would come to the 
 rescue. The Germans would lind themselves 
 in a trap. Bazaine was then the man of the 
 liour. Trochu, a demi-god. Times change. 
 
 A cursory observer would have disco^-ered 
 nothing unusual in the streets during the day ; 
 it was only at night that Paris looked unlike 
 itself. By ten o'clock all the cafes were closed, 
 the Boulevard silent and deserted. 
 
 Xaturall}' all the usual pleasures or occupa- 
 tions of life, to speak only of private life, had 
 become impossible. Men congregated to dis- 
 cuss events or probabilities. Women either 
 passed their days in running after news, or, 
 like Pauline, obeyed the call of doctors and 
 hospitals, and prepared bandages and lint. 
 But throuo-h all business or idleness there ran 
 a current of excitement not by any means un- 
 pleasant — the excitement of playing a great 
 part, with all Europe for spectators. 
 
 One day Pauline received a note from Yil- 
 pont — a few lines, advising her to display the 
 Geneva flag from her window, and to pre])are 
 beds for the wounded in her outhouses. The 
 sight of his handwriting, and the conviction 
 which she now had — that he, in a manner, 
 11
 
 242 jupitee's daughtees. 
 
 watched over her — moved her beyond conceal- 
 ment. Zelie had remained in the room after 
 delivering the note, and marked Pauline's 
 change of color, and the tears that involun- 
 tarilv filled her eves. Looking up suddenly 
 she cauglit the cat-like, treacherous vigilance 
 of Zelie's face. The two women stared fixedly 
 at one another, and Zelie knew that Pauline 
 had penetrated her secret feeling. Once 
 fairly put on her self-defence Pauline was no 
 coward. She said calmly, but with command 
 in her voice.'' 
 
 •• I am advised to hang out a Geneva flag, 
 and to prepare beds for the wounded." 
 
 " And how does madame intend to manage 
 about the nursing { " 
 
 " You will see,"" was the quiet reply. 
 
 That very day, to Zelie's unmistakable an- 
 noyance, two sisters of Bon Seconrs came to 
 stay in the house. One of them was past mid- 
 dle-age ; the other — young, bright, and pretty. 
 Their companionship gave Pauline a feeling 
 of protection ; and, besides that, they put in 
 good working-order her crude efforts at organ- 
 izing a limited hospitah There were not only 
 beds put in the coach-house, but all the costly 
 furniture of the great saJyjn was removed to 
 the attics, and a row of small hospital beds lined 
 each side. 
 
 Zelie did not allow this to be done without 
 protesting, but Pauline, saying, " I alone give 
 orders here in M. Subar's absence," set her on 
 one side.
 
 BON SECorES. 243 
 
 "Toil now, I by and by," muttered Zelie. 
 
 The sisters were like two big children in 
 everytliing that did not relate to their calling. 
 Chocolate, bon-bons, and oranges had high 
 places in their tariff of pleasures. They de- 
 li"-hted in hearins' and tellinaj marvellous sto- 
 Ties, and thouijh thev often alluded to the other 
 world, certainly thoroughly enjoyed this one. 
 If anv circumstance brought too vividlv to 
 their knowledge tliat sin, sorrow, suffermg ex- 
 isted, they would say something sweet about 
 strayed lambs, or tliat we should rejoice in 
 tribulation, or that all pain was but for a time. 
 Their spirits were never damped by vivid sym- 
 pathy ; they were too much set apart by their 
 vocation, to enter keenly into the joys or afflic- 
 tions they came in contact with. Pauline had 
 alreadv noted this same deficiencv of human 
 interest in Madame xVgnes. 
 
 Sister Madeleine, the elder of the two, had 
 an amazing; knowledofe of bodilv ailments. She 
 was a complete pharmacopoeia, trottmg from 
 morninir till nis-ht on two stnrdv le^s. Her 
 only apparent imperfection was a gentle con- 
 tempt for all other gifts than her own. Pretty 
 Sister Prudence was at this time going 
 through lier probation. 
 
 Gambetta's departure in a balloon excited 
 both sisters to the hii^hest deirree. At the idea 
 of his flying over the head of ces monstres de 
 Prussiens, they laughed till they cried, and 
 then wept over the dictators possible danger, 
 until they were again tickled by the oddity of
 
 244 jtjpitee's daughters. 
 
 the situation. Pauline delighted in them, it 
 was so long since she had felt sure of any one 
 about lier. 
 
 This period of comparative peace and plenty 
 jjassed away, but not the Germans. The gir- 
 dle of iron pressed closer and closer, soon fol- 
 lowed by decrees limiting supplies of fresh 
 provisions ; ambulance-carriages multiplied in 
 number, and were in constant activity. The 
 sisters ceased to have leisure for chattering — 
 no more merry laughs — they went about with 
 the faces that belong to the serious side of 
 nature. All the beds in the outhouses were 
 filled, and many of the salon. Every one, 
 from the lady of the house to the scullion, had 
 their hands full. Zelie alone avoided the 
 wounded, and so to her was entrusted the task 
 of providing food for the pretty numerous 
 household. 
 
 B}' the last days of October, the amount of 
 fresh meat allowed to each person was only 
 fift}' grammes. 
 
 In Novembei', Pauline was applied to for 
 her horses. She gave them at once as a gift. 
 
 " What will monsieur say, and he paid so 
 much for them," remonstrated Zelie. 
 
 " Monsieur would have done the same, I be- 
 lieve ; at any i-ate, I could not sell the poor 
 animals' lives." 
 
 Pauline had sent several balloon letters to 
 her parents, but without receiving any in re- 
 tui-n. Two l(jng months she had been without 
 any news of them or her husband.
 
 BON SECOURS. 2-i5 
 
 Though Yilpont had never repeated his 
 visit, he had called several times at the lodge 
 of the concierge to inquire for her. But now 
 these calls and inquiries ceased. It never 
 came into her mind to fancy the omission 
 proceeded from forgetfulness or negligence. 
 Iler woman's instinct would never let her 
 make such a mistake. She guessed at once 
 that he must have taken up a musket, as so 
 many others like him were doing. She re- 
 flected long whether any misapprehension of 
 her motives could arise if she sent Joseph to 
 his address to make some inquiries. After 
 hesitating for several days, she suddenly gave 
 Joseph the commission. Zelie, with her usual 
 mocking smile, brought her the answer, that 
 Monsieur le Marquis de Kergeac was on duty 
 with his regiment of Mobiles. 
 
 " Then I must let Joseph try to do me the 
 service I intended to ask of M. de Kergeac. 
 Send your husband to me." 
 
 " Not so stupid after all," muttered Zelie. 
 
 " Joseph," said Pauline, " I have seen a 
 notice that by paying a franc, an answer, yes 
 or no, to four questions, wnll be conveyed to 
 the provinces from Paris by pigeon. You will 
 go to one of the offices and send the four 
 questions I have written down on this paper." 
 
 " Zelie would manage better than I should," 
 said Joseph with a dennirring air. 
 
 " You can go together if you please," she 
 answered, sick at heart at ha vine: no better 
 assistance in her need.
 
 24f) Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 Husband and wife had thonght it wiser to 
 obey ; no saying what might occur. So in a 
 few days Pauline knew that her father and 
 mother M'ere well, and that they had had news 
 of Leon. 
 
 The pigeon carriers played the same part 
 as the agony column of the Times. They 
 ought to have earned eternal gratitude from 
 all French people. To kill a pigeon should 
 be classed by them among crimes. 
 
 Greater and greater difficulty in obtaining 
 food. The number she fed daily had reduced 
 Pauline's stores alarmingly. The cold was 
 intense, and how could she refuse to share food 
 and fuel with those who had none.
 
 THE CRASH OF LIFE. 247 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE CRASH OF LIFE. 
 
 The thirtieth November was a date that, as 
 long as she lives, Pauline will never forget. 
 The date when all the emotions of her being 
 vibrated to their utmost. 
 
 Ducrot had succeeded in getting his troops 
 across tlie Marne, and, after twelve hours' 
 hard ho-litin"-, had driven the Prussians from 
 their positions, occupying m the evennig the 
 ground held by the enemy in the morning. It 
 might have been expected that Paris would 
 have been greatly agitated by such news, and 
 with the hope that the second day might be 
 equally prosperous. But the truth is, popular 
 feeling rarely follows a logical course. On 
 this St. Andrew's day, when the destiny of the 
 city for good or evil was trembling in the bal- 
 ance, there were no signs of excitement visible 
 in the streets. 
 
 Perhaps tlie intense frost, the biting wind, 
 together with hunger, accounted for the 
 absence of public animation. It is well, surely, 
 that the body should make its weakness felt, 
 so as to numb the anxieties of the heart. 
 
 Towards evening, however, multitudes 
 thronged as usual to the different city gates to 
 await the arrival of the ambulance carriages. 
 Pale mothers, wives, children, and graybeards
 
 248 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 stood with dry, impatient, straining eyes, 
 shuddering witii terrified anticipation. 
 
 On that evening, for the first time, Pauline 
 went down into the avenne, joining a group 
 that had gathered before her door. All day 
 she had been unusually restless, unable to stay 
 in one place for five minutes together, shrink- 
 ing with unaccustomed dread from attending 
 on the wounded. 
 
 " I feel as if something frightful was about 
 to happen," she said to Sister Madeleine. 
 
 " You have done too much, dear madame ; 
 yon must lie down and rest." 
 
 " Lie down ! " exclaimed Pauline im- 
 patiently, " and be suffocated by this fear tliat 
 oppresses me." 
 
 Sister Madeleine had no time for discussion, 
 but forced Pauline to swallow some sal vola- 
 tile. 
 
 With a shawl over her head she stood trem- 
 bling at her door, catching at every word being 
 bandied about. I^ow, it was affirmed that 
 Ducrot and all the generals were killed. A 
 second later, there was a hum of triumph. 
 The French were victorious. A man rumiino; 
 past, called out, " The Mobiles are massacred 
 — cut down to a man ! " 
 
 All of a sudden there emerged from out of 
 the darkness a ciy of, " Laissez jMSser ! " 
 The groups separated right and left, and every 
 one recognized what was a familiar sight — 
 men carrying an hospital stretcher, on which 
 lay a form covered with a sheet.
 
 THE CRASH OF LIFE. 249 
 
 " Numero 99 ? " askerl a voice. 
 
 " Here," was answered in chorus, and the 
 court-yard doors were thrown open. 
 
 "But we have not a bed vacant," cried 
 Sister Madeleine, rnnning forward with a light 
 in her hand. 
 
 " It does not matter ; he does not need one. 
 The body was brought in by some of his men, 
 and as this address was fastened on his coat, it 
 has been sent on here." 
 
 Already become a thing — an it — Sister 
 Madeleine's feeble light fell on the face, from 
 which the hospital aids liad lifted the sheet. 
 
 Pauline liad not needed to see, in order to 
 be sure it was Yilpont. 
 
 " Follow me," she said in a quiet voice. 
 " Joseph, run for a doctor." 
 
 The bearers looked significantly at the by- 
 standers, but when Pauline reiterated the 
 order, they obeyed. She led them into what 
 had been her boudoir. 
 
 " I pray you not to move him till the doctor 
 has come," she said, as they were about to lay 
 the body on tlie floor. 
 
 There was so much pain in her voice, such 
 uniraao-inable sufferino- iu her look, as none 
 could resist. The men sat down, with a gnm 
 compassion. 
 
 In another five minutes a doctor came in, 
 
 but not Dr. M , who was busy elsewhere. 
 
 Pauline's eyes w^ere fastened on his face as he 
 leaned over the body, feeling the pulse, apply- 
 ing his ear to the heart. She sickened with 
 
 11 
 
 *
 
 250 Jupiter's daughtees. 
 
 fear when he drew back in silence, but she 
 found strength to say, 
 
 " Try to do soniethino;," and then she herself 
 began to chafe one of the poor cold hands. 
 
 " Take her away," whispered the doctor to 
 the Sister. 
 
 Sister Madeleine had store of knowledge of 
 such cases of hope against proof; but to con- 
 vince Pauline of the usefulness of all effort, 
 she held a small hand-mii-ror to the lips of the 
 sup]josed dead man. She started, and signed 
 to the doctor ; there was certainly a sliglit haze 
 on the glass. 
 
 " You must leave us, raadame," said the 
 doctor. 
 
 Pauline held out her hands with a gesture 
 of supplication, and then turned and left the 
 room. 
 
 In darkness and solitude Pauline sat for 
 more tlian an hour. People do not think con- 
 secutively in sucli moments — in fact, their so- 
 called thoughts resemble rather the phantas- 
 magorise of dreams. The past, the present, 
 the future mingle in an irrational dance, and, 
 what is stranger still, even while the heart is 
 beat down by anguish the comic element will 
 intrude itself. Look how Hamlet jests with 
 the grave-digger. Assuredly, in this hour, 
 every circumstance that connected her life 
 with Vilpont's, returned to Pauline's recollec- 
 tion, and assuredly more than once a smile 
 passed over her pale lips, as she recalled those 
 pleasant Sundays at Vignes Ste. Marie. But
 
 THE CKASH OF LIFE. 251 
 
 amid all the fliclcerings of memory, the waver- 
 ing of hopes and fears, rose one piteous desire 
 to be friends again, to hear liim say he forgave 
 her the hardness and coldness with which she 
 had met his kindness in their last interview. 
 Why had she been thus ? She shrank from 
 any answer with a flush of shame. How had 
 she dared to be his judge ? 
 
 At last Sister Madeleine came in. Pauline 
 held up her hand before her face, as we do 
 when dazzled by a sudden light. The tiny, 
 glimmering lamp the Sister carried could 
 scarcely have affected any eyes. 
 
 " Well, dear Madame, the poor officer 
 breathes ; but oh, moii Dieu, how he is 
 wounded ! All over I may say — his limbs 
 awfully shattered." 
 
 " I am glad," dropped from Pauline's lips, 
 thinking only that he still lived. 
 
 " We have not moved him. We got a small 
 bed out of a dressing-room." 
 
 " Is he conscious ? " 
 
 The sister shook her head.
 
 252 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ONE OF life's tangles. 
 
 It was curious but true, during all that 
 month of liard privation, of fatigue, of direful 
 anticipation, of the roar of cannon, the crash 
 of bombs, Pauline was happier than she had 
 ever been. She had set aside self-communing, 
 self-reproaches. Time enough by and by, she 
 said, and gave herself up blindly to a foolish 
 gladness. 
 
 As long as Yilpont knew no one, she assisted 
 to nurse him, listening with awe to the gabbling 
 of his delirium — a strange medley, sometimes 
 shocking her, at others making her shed tears. 
 
 One eveuing she had been left to watch him 
 while he slept. It had become an absolute 
 necessity to economize oil and candle — gas was 
 no longer possible ; so there was only the faint 
 light from the veilleuse, by which she could 
 neither see to read nor work. She had been 
 for some time studying the strange, uncouth 
 shadows made by the pretty furniture of the 
 boudoir on walls and ceiling, when she was 
 roused by a whisper — 
 
 " Pauline — madame." 
 
 She drew back tlie bed-curtain. 
 
 " I know you," said Vilpont. 
 
 " Hush ! You must not talk." 
 
 The caution was spoken involuntarily, and
 
 ONE OF life's tangles. 253 
 
 her first impulse was to run away. He made 
 an effort to hold ont his hand ; nnresistingly 
 she gave him liers. lie turned away his 
 head. 
 
 " You are better ; yon will get well," she 
 said, leaning over him ; " hnt yon mnst not 
 talk or exert yourself until the doctor gives 
 yon leave." She drew away her hand. 
 
 " Do not leave me ; " and as he looked 
 towards her she saw his poor thin cheeks wet 
 with tears. 
 
 She was frightened by her own feelings ; 
 such a wonderfnl joy, and yet such a sharp 
 pain, overpowering her. 
 
 " I must ring for your real nurse, good Sis- 
 ter Madeleine." 
 
 He made no answer. 
 
 From this day he began to gather strength ; 
 Slowly, indeed, but with few relapses. It was 
 against the excessive weakness caused b}^ loss 
 of blood with which the battle had to be 
 waged. He never did know that Pauline was 
 all but starved to give him more food. She 
 daily grew paler, thinner, ha]3py, poor soul, to 
 give np her strength and beauty for him. But 
 after the evening he had recognized her, she 
 never again watched by his bed ; she restricted 
 herself to a daily visit of inquiry, either in 
 company with tlie doctor and Sister Madeleine ; 
 yet she was glad with an nnknown gladness. 
 He was there, nnder the same roof ; when 
 night came, she knew slie wonld see him in the 
 morning.
 
 254 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 And so the time went on to Christmas. In 
 consequence of the excessive cold, and there 
 beinii; no fuel to spare for heating the churches, 
 no midniglit mass was performed. But Pau- 
 line, as so many other women did, spent the 
 whole day in church. One feeling gave in- 
 tensity to another. Never had she prayed 
 more fervently, never felt her spirit so ele- 
 vated. She mistook her enthusiasm for devo- 
 tion, but though mistaken, it was in perfect 
 good faith. 
 
 In spite of cold and hunger the small shop- 
 keepers had erected the usual New Year 
 booths and stalls along the Boulevards. Very 
 odd presents were made on the 1st of January. 
 Some gave tins of preserved meat, others a 
 little flour ; one great man carried to a great 
 lady a paper bag filled Avitli potatoes. These 
 were the gifts of the rich ; what the poor gave 
 or received may be easily imagined. 
 
 Pauline went out, accompanied by Joseph, 
 that forenoon, to see what she could find for 
 those she sheltered. A curious assortment she 
 brought back, and in triumph, too. A slice of 
 cheese, two eggs, a pound of elephant, some 
 nuts, a patty of unknown contents, and so 
 on. , 
 
 The salle d tnanger was now her only 
 sitting-room. As she went in loaded with her 
 parcels, a gaunt man, looking like a i-esusci- 
 tated Lazarus, leaning on Sistei- Madeleine with 
 the one arm he could use, walked a step or 
 two f(;rward to meet her.
 
 ONE OF life's tangles. 255 
 
 " Voila" exclaimed Sister Madeleine, in a 
 voice of unmitigated triumph, 
 
 " A bappy new year ! " said the convales- 
 cent. 
 
 Pauline dropped rather than sat down on 
 the nearest chair, and burst into tears, so 
 closely does joy resemble sorrow. 
 
 " Tiens, tiens, c'est drole^^ observed the 
 sister, and trotted away for her panacea of 
 grief — Eau de Jlelisses. 
 
 Very wistful were the looks with which 
 Pauline and Yilpont contemplated each other's 
 faces. Words did not come easily from either, 
 and when he spoke, how poor what he said 
 seemed to him, compared to the feelings swell- 
 ing his heart. 
 
 " You are very pale, very thin," his voice 
 husky with weakness and emotion. 
 
 " I am quite, quite well," she answered 
 with a fluttering of her lips that would fain 
 have been a smile. " Even the sound of 
 cannon does not give me such headaches as 
 the exercising did at St. Gloi." 
 
 '•Ah, St. Gloi!" he sighed; and added, 
 "you would have done better to take my ad- 
 vice and return thei'c, though perhaps it 
 would have been worse for me." 
 , " Not a perhaps in the case at all," she said, 
 with some of her old girlish petulance, and a 
 faint flush I'cstored for a moment her girlish 
 prettiness. 
 
 But the time was gone past when her 
 beauty, or lack of it, could make any difler-
 
 256 JUPITEE S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 ence in Yilpont's sentiments towards her. No 
 one knows how love comes. Sometimes with 
 a sudden shock hke lightning in a dark night, 
 sometimes growing slowly as the flower from 
 the seed. The tender preference which Vil- 
 pont, in spite of many follies, had always 
 cherished for Pauline, was now a love that 
 filled his life. He had no hopes, no projects ; 
 he was content, as it were, to have the void of 
 his heart filled, even though it might be with 
 bitter pain. She was worth it, and better re- 
 gret what is sweetest and best, than have a 
 joy which leaves remorse and a longing to 
 forget. 
 
 Pauline's feelings, being those of a woman, 
 were more complex. 
 
 " A little thing it seemed to her to fight 
 Against hard things, that she might see the light 
 A Little longer, and rejoice therein." 
 
 A strange, unreal life it was for these two 
 durinir the followino: three weeks. You might 
 say it was as if they were playing parts m 
 some drama picturing domestic happiness. 
 Many a time Vilpont would feign to be asleep, 
 for then Sister Madeleine would slip away, 
 and leave Pauline on guard. He loved to 
 watch, from under his half-closed lids, the lit- 
 tle figure coiled up in the depths of a large 
 easy chair. He had felt far more passionate 
 emotion in past years, but had never been 
 moved by such deep tenderness as for Pauline. 
 His heart melted within him at the sight of
 
 ONE OF life's tangles, 257 
 
 the small, tliln fiiiiTjers laboring at coarse 
 shirts for tlie soldiers; he had scarcelv known 
 so keen an enjoyment as when her large, soft 
 eyes suddenly flashed angrily at the sound of 
 any noise which might disturb him. Tears 
 welled up from his eyes when she frowned 
 back an intruder. These were signs he could 
 not mistake; they did him good, brought out 
 all the latent generosity of his character. He 
 was as much on his guard with her, as though 
 he had feared she was capable of treachery. 
 
 They talked freely on every subject, except 
 of the past. All that the keenest, bittei-est ob- 
 server could have laid to their charge was 
 that their eyes brightened, their lips smiled 
 when they niet. But these hours of half pain, 
 half joy, were counted. 
 
 By the 23d of January, Paris had reached 
 starvation point, even for those who had 
 money. Tumults and disorders of jarious 
 kinds were of daily occurrence. National 
 Guards seized on the rations meant for the 
 very poor, and it was evident as daylight that 
 worse was in store, should there be no capitu- 
 lation, and yet it was equally dangerous to 
 hint at such a possibility. 
 
 The circle of attack pressed closer and 
 closer, the firing grew daily more murderous. 
 
 Hints were %'entured on in the Journal 
 Offidel that the situation was becoming un- 
 tenable. Then a note of unmistakable, warn- 
 ing sounded. A copy of Prussian despatches 
 was published — Chanzy, Faidherbe, Bourbaki,
 
 258 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 all defeated. Help for Paris from without, a 
 vain imagination. Patience and heroic effort 
 liad reached their limit. Must men perish 
 like rats in a trap? That, or the alternative 
 of capitulation. 
 
 Poor Pauline, how all the rumors current 
 tortured her. Was the end indeed come, and 
 was there nothing before her but vain regrets, 
 nothing better to wish for than to forget? 
 
 As for Yilpont, the news of the approach- 
 ing capitulation seemed to have dealt his 
 death-blow. Drops of agony fell from his 
 brow as he sat in liis helplessness reading 
 the accounts of the pending negotiations. All 
 his feelings at that inoment were engrossed 
 by the national calamity. 
 
 " Oh, that I had died at my post ! " he ex- 
 claimed over and over again. 
 
 He had no thought, no recollection, but of 
 the humiliation of his country. 
 
 Very perfect love there may be between 
 man and woman, never perfect sympathy. 
 Man feels and acts independently, woman 
 through man. 
 
 Witli a spasm of pain Pauline recognized 
 how different were their feelings. Above 
 and beyond all her grief for the woes of her 
 country, was anguish for her coming severance 
 fi-om him. lie had forgotten tJiat his cry of 
 grief was for France alone, humiliated France. 
 
 True woman, alike in her nobleness as in 
 her weakness, she fought against her pain, 
 soothing him with sweet, patient words.
 
 nought's had wni:x all is done, 259 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 nought's had wuen all is done. 
 
 The sacrifice was accomplished — Paris had 
 capitulated. ]^evertheless the sufferings of 
 the population were not yet at an end. For 
 many a day bread continued black and dis- 
 gusting, and all food difficult to be obtained. 
 
 On th- other hand, there was a plentiful 
 supply of "orders of the day," complimenting 
 army, National Guards, and Mobiles. It was 
 highly satisfactory to them that the world 
 should be informed that the heroic city had 
 succumbed to famine alone. 
 
 Astonishing how quickly the routine of 
 public life was restored! The newspapers 
 were full of official decrees nominating minis- 
 ters, mayors, secretaries— every available wall 
 was_ covered with gayly colored placards con- 
 taining the addresses of candidates to elect- 
 ors. 
 
 Postal communication was also re-estab- 
 lished between the provinces and the capital, 
 and as soon as possible Pauline received let- 
 ters from Leon and her mother. She ought to 
 liave been glad, but she turned white as paper 
 when they were put into her hand. 
 
 Leon wrote affectionately, but evidently 
 with restraint. M. Rendu, he said, would set 
 off in tv.-o davs to bring her to St. Gloi. Fur
 
 260 jupitek's daughters. 
 
 some irood reasons it had been decided that it 
 was better for him not to go just now to Paris. 
 Pauline did not see Vilpont till the afternoon. 
 
 "Papa is coming to-morrow to take me 
 away." She had determined to speak cheer- 
 fully, and she did so ; but the next moment 
 she lost her self-command, and, bursting into 
 tears, ran (nit of the room. 
 
 After this she saw little of Yilpont. If she 
 went into the dining-room, where he was, she 
 left it again almost immediately. She excused 
 her restlessness by laying it to the account of 
 preparations for her journey. 
 
 But he marked and understood every invol- 
 untar}' sign of heail-sickness — the wide opened 
 eyes, strained to keep back tears; the droop- 
 ing, quivering lips; the sentences begun so 
 bravely, dying away unfinished. 
 
 Yilpont was a cool-headed, experienced man 
 of the world, with, when he so chose it, a per- 
 fect mastery over himself. As he sat think- 
 ing of Pauline, and of her vain struggle to 
 conceal her feelings from him, the thought 
 vv'ould intrude of how such and such a one 
 would ridicule his not takino- all the ad van- 
 tages of the situation. But our actions are as 
 often determined by th.e character of those we 
 have to deal with as by our own. Has not 
 some one written that love, like the cameleon, 
 takes the hue of what it feeds on ? At any 
 rate, the feeling Pauline had inspired brought 
 out all that was generous and honorable in 
 Yilpont.
 
 nought's had when all is done. 261 
 
 It was late, past the hour when they usually 
 said go:jd-iiight, and yet Pauline lingered. 
 
 Sister Madeleine's evenino- doze had been 
 comfortably prolonged, through the long si- 
 lences of her companions. 
 
 " Will you come nearer to my sofa ? " asked 
 Yilpont ; and as Pauline took the chair he 
 pointed to, he went on — " There are many 
 things which I long to say to you, and yet it 
 may be as well to leave them unsaid." 
 
 " Xever mind telling me," faltered Pauline. 
 She drew her breath hard, and added, " Ton 
 will remain here, of course. The Sisters 
 have agreed to stop with my poor invalids. I 
 
 sliould " The small, thin hands were 
 
 clasped together — a gesture of pain and en- 
 treaty. 
 
 " I will do whatever you wish," he replied 
 very gently. 
 
 " Let me hear of your recovery." She spoke 
 sharply and quickly, in a manner quite unlike 
 herself. 
 
 '' Surely," he answered. " May I tell you 
 my plans for the future ? " He was so touched, 
 nay, his worldly armor so transpierced by her 
 anguish, that what he said came from the 
 inspiration of the moment. She bowed her 
 head, listening, with her hands covering her 
 face. 
 
 " I shall go to Brittany as soon as I am able. 
 "While I was ill and sleepless, I used often to 
 watch the shadows cast on the walls of your 
 boudoir by the pretty furniture — grotesque,
 
 2G2 jupitek's daughters. 
 
 ugly shadows — and it came into my mind tlia^ 
 so it is witli many alluring joys and pleasures, 
 that they also have ugly attendant shadows. 
 Whatever may remain of my life, I promise 
 shall be free of pleasures that have such grim 
 followers." 
 
 She made no answer. A hand of irori 
 seemed to be pressing on her throat. lie 
 longed to snatch her to his breast to tell her 
 he loved her with a love he had never felt for 
 any other woman. With a rare self-immola- 
 tion he put aside the temptation. Some say 
 that temptation is only resisted when not strong 
 enough; but Yilpont was accustomed to yield 
 to weak as well as strong temptation. In this 
 case his heroism was complete. 
 
 Presentl}' he spoke again, and with well- 
 assumed cheerfulness. " I have not forgotten 
 your criticism of my play. Yon have shown 
 me the beautiful side of life, and you have my 
 undying gratitude." 
 
 She shook her head. Poor soul ! she could 
 see no beauty in life at that moment. lie 
 also lapsed into silence. Just then Sister 
 Madeleine snored so loud that she woke her- 
 self. 
 
 " Tiensf I have been asleep, and kept my 
 poor monsieur up so late. Madame, you 
 should have roused me." 
 
 " Scold me — I alone am in fault," said Vil- 
 pont. There was a strange break in his voice 
 as he strove to speak gayly. 
 
 Pauline did not wait even to say good-night.
 
 nought's had wiikn all l? done. 263 
 
 — " I sliall die !— I shall die ! " she said aloud, 
 as she threw herself on her bed. 
 
 " Has madame heard any bad news 1 " asked 
 Zelie's steady, cold voice. 
 
 " Go — I must be alone ; go, go, go ! "
 
 264 jupitee's daughtees. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 PATHWAYS HEEE DIVIDE. 
 
 When the capitulation of Paris became a 
 matter only of shorter or longer time, Madame 
 Rendu, with her usual determination to see 
 her way clearly, entered on the discussion of 
 future plans with her son-in-law. A difficult 
 task, for Leon was one of those who have no 
 objection to the provisional, and a very decided 
 aversion de metire les jpoints sur les i s. 
 
 He found it vain, however, to attempt to 
 parry the straight thrusts of his adversary, and, 
 forced to his knees, had to make a clean breast 
 of it. From his confession it was obvious that 
 his fine fortune was wrecked, only enough 
 saved to afford his wife and himself the mere 
 necessaries of life. After many twistings and 
 turnings, in an effort to escape his doom, he at 
 last consented that the hotel in Paris, and its 
 cosily fui-niture, should be sold as soon as a 
 purchaser could be found, and that he and 
 Pauline should make their future home in her 
 father's house. 
 
 " I suppose you will not object to our hav- 
 ing Zelie and Joseph ?" said Leon ; " Pauline 
 must have a maid," 
 
 "Neither of those Algerines cross my tliresh- 
 old," returned Madame. " I was unwilling to
 
 PATHWAYS HERE DIVIDE. 265 
 
 interfere before, as Pauline did not complain 
 — that you owed either to lier simplicity or 
 her goodness ; nevertheless, it was nnpardona- 
 ble in you ever to bring that woman to my 
 danghter's house." 
 
 "'Why !" asked Leon in a raised voice. 
 
 But madame was not inclined to explain. 
 
 She restricted her answer, like the clever 
 
 woman she was, to a repetition of her verdict. 
 
 " Manage how you like, neither Joseph nor 
 
 his worse half come here." 
 
 They were standing at a window which 
 looked into the front court (for the Eendu's 
 house was one betw^een cour et jardin), and 
 they saw Madame de Saye coming in. 
 
 ""^Ask Madame de Saye iov her opinion of 
 ^ouv protegee^'' added Madame Eendu. 
 
 "You have just come d propos, my dear 
 Stephanie," said madame. " We are discuss- 
 ing whether or not to bring Madame Zelie and 
 her husband here." 
 
 Stephanie held up botli her hands, with an 
 expressive " O madame ! " 
 Madame Rendu smiled. 
 " That woman made my skin creep," went 
 on Stephanie ; " and I am sure she hates Pau- 
 line." 
 
 " ISTow then, Leon, you cannot doubt that 
 Madame de Saye is an impartial umpire." 
 
 " They cannot be sent away at a moment's 
 notice, as if they were thieves, nor left with- 
 out money," said Leon sulkily. 
 
 " Those are mere details," returned Madame 
 13
 
 266 jupitek's daugiitees. 
 
 Eendu loftily ; "the gist of the affair is their 
 discharge from your service." 
 
 " I cannot help myself, as this house is not 
 mine," and he left the room. 
 
 " What does he mean ? " asked Stephanie. 
 
 " That he has mismanaged his fortmie, and 
 must stay here and nurse the remains for years 
 to come. JSTo use trying to make a mystery of 
 what must come to be known. Thank God, 
 Pauline need not feel any loss of comfort." 
 
 Though speaking so candidly in this in- 
 stance, Madame Eendu was capable of keep- 
 ing secret what need not be known. She 
 could, indeed, as the result proved, really keep 
 a secret — never tell it to human ear. 
 
 It happened that by the same post which 
 brouglit the first letter from Pauline, after the 
 capitulation, had come one for Leon. Madame 
 Pendu had herself taken both from the post- 
 man's hands. The address on the letter for 
 Leon was not in his wife's writing ; the post- 
 mark, however, showed that it had been put 
 into the same box as that from Pauline. Ma- 
 dame Pendu jumped to the immediate con- 
 clusion that Zelie had written to M. Sul)ar, 
 and without so much as a moment's hesitation, 
 she opened the envelope, read the contents, 
 then walked to her own room, put it into the 
 fire, and watched until it was entirely con- 
 sumed. 
 
 " Thank God ! " she exclaimed, satisfied 
 with her own perfoi-mance. 
 
 " Que de inalheurs eid prevenus le men-
 
 PATHWAYS IIKR.'C DIVIDE. 267 
 
 songe!'''' exclaims a Frcncli writer. Madame 
 TI(mk1u ao-reed iu the sentiment and acted 
 upon it. 
 
 It was the contents of a very vile letter from 
 Zelic whicli made Madame llendu resolve that 
 not Leon hut M. Rendu should go .to fetch 
 Pauline without delay from Paris. She could 
 not go herself; iirst, because she thought it 
 absolutely necessary t(^ keep Leon under her 
 own eye ; and in the next place, she doubted 
 her self-command holding out in any encoun- 
 ter with Zelie. Much to her surprise, and 
 also to her infinite satisfaction, Leon offered 
 no opposition to her proposal that it should 
 be M. Rendu who went to fetch Pauline. 
 She had made up her mind to employ any 
 means short of murder to prevent a meeting 
 between him and Zelie. lie, on his side, was 
 equally desirous to avoid the scenes and 
 reproaches his foster-sister would inflict on 
 him ; and dreaded also the concessions she 
 might wring from him. 
 
 it was strange, but true, that this unprinci- 
 pled woman — a mere serving-woman, liable 
 to be discharged as any other domestic — was 
 the pivot on which the future comfort of this 
 family turned ; and stranger still, that, save 
 Madame Rendu, no one suspected her power 
 of doing mischief. 
 
 One of Leon's messages to his wife con- 
 cerned her diamonds — she was to bring them 
 with her. These jewels jSgured prominently
 
 268 JUPITEk's DArOIITEKS, 
 
 in his calculations of the property lie could 
 still call his own. 
 
 Time never lao-s when it is brinfyino; the 
 liour of a cruel separation. M. Rendu arrived 
 exactly when he was expected, and the day fol- 
 lowino; Pauline was to return to St. Gloi. Her 
 father was sliocked at her appearance : she 
 was thin to emaciation, with that look of 
 premature age wliich severe suffering often 
 gives to a youthful face. But wdiat alarmed 
 him most was the alternate excitement and 
 prostration of her spirits. She would ask 
 him question on question, and forget to listen 
 to his answers. lie watched her with hourly 
 i:icreasino; dread and remorse. lie could 
 not hide from himself that lie had failed to 
 defend, while it was yet time, his child's 
 happiness — that he had yielded it up from 
 weakness, not ignorance. The pang that now 
 waning liis heart was the recoil of the blow he 
 had helped to inflict. He learned the lesson 
 we all have to learn, that the ill we do is 
 never unfruitful — we must share its conse- 
 quences. He learned that any failure to 
 respect the rights and feelings of our fellows 
 is sure to weigh forever on the conscience. 
 
 M. Rendu a2;reed to all the arransrements 
 Pauline proposed with regard to the Sisters, 
 to the sick, and the servants, reiterating her 
 invitation to Vilpont to remain where he was 
 as lona: as convenient t/) him. He neither 
 thwarted her by advice, nor troubled her by 
 opposition. His one paramount wish was to
 
 PATHWAYS HERE DIVIDE. 269 
 
 have her once more safely under his roof, 
 away from the peculiar trials of her present 
 position. 
 
 " How does madame intend to carry the 
 diamonds?" asked Zelie, ostentatiously dis- 
 playing them as she s]')oke, 
 
 " My father will take charge of them ; they 
 can all go in my hand-bag." 
 
 " And pray, madame, how long are all these 
 people and the nurses to remain here ?" 
 
 " Till the sick are well enough to go away ; 
 there are but few remaining now." 
 
 " And who is to provide their food, and wait 
 on them ? " 
 
 " My father will give you any money you 
 require, and the service will go on as if I were 
 here." 
 
 " I was engaged to superintend Monsieur 
 Subar's household, and not to attend to peoj)l6 
 picked up in the streets." 
 
 Pauline looked full into the insolent face 
 confronting hers, and said M-itli spirit — 
 
 " Zelie, I have borne a good deal from you 
 on Monsieur Subar's account, but now I tell 
 you plainly that you will never again be in my 
 service." 
 
 " Madame has no power to discharge me. 
 I take no dismissal but from Monsieur Subar; 
 and if madame would take my advice, it would 
 be not to nmke me her enemy." 
 
 "Do you think fi'iends are manufactured 
 through fear, Zelie?" and Pauline looked at 
 her with a smile of pity. " However, the
 
 270 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 question is not one that interests me jnst now. 
 Be so good, when you have put the diamonds 
 into the bag, to bring mc the key, and hjck the 
 dressing-room door inside. After that I shall 
 nut require to see you again." 
 
 Zelie answered with a sulky " Bien, madamc." 
 Every tinge of color liad left her cheeks. 
 
 Panline hurried away, more frightened than 
 she would have liked to confess. 
 
 It was evenino" before IM. Rendu sent for 
 Joseph ; he tliought it best to deal with the 
 man alone. In fact, Josepli had always 
 behaved res])ectfnlly to Madame Subar. His 
 fault was the allowing his wife to guide 
 him against his better feeling — a fault for 
 which M. Rendu might have a sympathetic 
 compassion. 
 
 Joseph was durabfoundered at receiving his 
 dismissal and Zelie's in settled terms. 
 
 Madame Rendu had persuaded Leon to 
 copy with his own hand the letter she had 
 prepared foi- him. 81ie had made no oljjection 
 to the sum he proposed to pay yearly to Z(;lie ; 
 nor to his paying their way back to Algiers 
 if tliey chose to return thitlier. She liad 
 made up her mind tliat to get rid of these 
 people some sacrifice of money would be inevi- 
 table. 
 
 " When must we leave, sir?" asked Joseph. 
 
 " There is no immediate huri-y — at your 
 convenience. You and yonr wife will go 
 over the inventoiy with the person Moiisieur 
 Subar cmplfjys to effect a sale of this house
 
 PATinvAYS uvMv: DiviDi:. 271 
 
 mid furniture. Monsieur and Madame Subar 
 Avill reside with us at St. Clloi, and thus, you 
 understand, will not require your services. 
 Everythinu will be d(>ne by Monsieur Subar to 
 render this ehangc no hiss to you." 
 
 AVith a jH)Hte '' Good-niijjht,"' and not a 
 little ]>leased at haviui^ aeeoni|dished this dis- 
 agreeable business si> easily, M. liendu went 
 up to the room he was to occupy — close to that 
 of his daughter.
 
 272 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 DARK HOURS. 
 
 The strain ou Pauline's feelings during that 
 sad day had worn out what little sti-ength 
 still remained to her; she was as wearied in 
 body as though she had walked ten miles. 
 Nevertheless, when she went to bed, she did 
 not at once fall asleep. She was troubled by 
 all sorts of vague fears. She fancied she 
 heard stealthy footsteps, the creaking of doors 
 cautiously opened ; then came tlie distinct 
 howl of a dog, as it seemed, beneath her 
 windows. The dim light of her veiUeuse all 
 at once gave a sinister splutter, and went out ; 
 and at the same instant it occurred to her that 
 sbe had forgotten to lock her bedroom door. 
 "While she lay struggling for courage to get 
 np and light a candle, heavy sleep overtook 
 her. She knew afterwards that she could not 
 have slept more than a few minutes when she 
 was awoke l)y a loud crash. At the first 
 moment Pauline took the sound for the famil- 
 iar one of the bursting of a bomb, a palpable 
 danger she could face. She seized her bell, and 
 continued rino-ino; it till she heard the hurrvinc: 
 of many feet on the stairs. Then she jumped 
 up, lighted lier candle, and hurrying on a dress- 
 ing gown, joined the group gathered on the 
 landing before her door.
 
 DARK HOURS. 273 
 
 M. Rendu was a droll enough sight in his 
 nightcap, and Sister Madeleine was not behind 
 him in the grotesqueness of her gear. Joseph, 
 too, with his head in a yellow foulard was 
 more like a gorilla than a smart valet ; but 
 every one was too much alarmed to be tickled 
 by one another's appearance. 
 
 " Look there ! " suddenly cried Sister Made- 
 leine, raising her arm with a gesture d la Sid- 
 dons. 
 
 Instead of looking, every one huddled to- 
 gether, and strove not to see what might be 
 some direful siglit. 
 
 The splendid mirror on the first landing of 
 the great staircase was shivered from top to 
 bottom. At the foot of tlie stairs lay a bed- 
 room candlestick, the candle it had held some 
 yards off. It was perfectly clear that the 
 candlestick had been hurled right into the 
 centre of the mirror. 
 
 But by wliom \ — and why ? 
 
 Sister Madeleine came quietly to M. Rendu, 
 and showed him something she had picked up. 
 It was one of those curved Algerine daggers 
 used by the common people in Algeria. 
 
 " Joseph," called out M. Rendu, holding up 
 the dagger in the sight of all, " does this be- 
 long to you ? " 
 
 Joseph looked and trembled : " I know noth- 
 ing about how it came here, sir." 
 
 " I miss your wife," put in Sister Madeleine, 
 
 "Is Zelie not with you, Madame?" asked 
 the poor fellow, turning to Pauline. 
 13*
 
 274 jutiteb's daughtees. 
 
 " I have uot seen her since the afternoon," 
 said Pauline. 
 
 " Go and look for her, Joseph," said M. 
 Hendu. " And now, my good friends," he 
 continned, " let ns all go back to our beds, and 
 thank God there is no o-reater harm done than 
 the breaking of a mirror." 
 
 As Pauline and her father were going up- 
 stairs, Sister Madeleine came close to them, 
 and whispered, " That woman did it, and from 
 sheer terror. I know of a man, who, after he 
 had murdered his master and mistress, mistook 
 his own face in a glass he was j>assing for 
 some one else, and threw the bloody knife at 
 his own reflection — he confessed it after- 
 wards." 
 
 " Pray do not tell me anything more," said 
 Pauline, " but stay with me till morning. I 
 am too frightened to be alone." 
 
 " I will send you Sister Prudence. I must 
 go back and quiet Monsieur le Marquis. I 
 turned the key on him when I ran out on 
 hearing the bell ring so violently. Lucky all 
 the invalids are out of the salon ; a fine busi- 
 ness it might have been with all those men 
 looking on ! " and away bustled Sister Made- 
 leine. 
 
 It was a most mysterious occurrence. The 
 bag containing the diamonds lay on the 
 toilette-table as Pauline had seen it when she 
 went to bed. The small key was in her 
 purse ; the lock was a patent one, and it was 
 quite intact.
 
 DARK nOUES. 275 
 
 Could Zelic have contemplated a crime 
 ■worse than robbery ? — and if so, what had de- 
 deterred lier ? 
 
 " Do not send for the police, papa," said 
 Pauline ; " what does a cracked glass matter. 
 If you do, we shall be detained. Let us get 
 awav from that terrible woman, or somethino; 
 worse will happen." 
 
 Sister Madeleine was convinced some mis- 
 chief had been done, though not yet discov- 
 ei-ed. " Was Madame Subar sure she had her 
 diamonds ? " 
 
 " There's the key, and there's the bag," said 
 Pauline. 
 
 " Will you not look to see they are really in 
 the hag ? " persisted the sister. 
 
 Pauline hesitated, changing color rapidly. 
 Then she said slowly, " No ; if they are stolen, 
 as 1 see you suspect, papa will send for the 
 police, and she will come back and do what 
 she meant to do last night — I cannot venture. 
 O Sister Madeleine ! help me to get away." 
 
 There was nothino- to be said in answer to 
 such an appeal, and Sister Madeleine tried to 
 be satisfied by repeating that it was no busi- 
 ness of hers. Yilpont also was unwilling to 
 let the matter rest without further investiga- 
 tion ; but he also felt he had no right to press 
 his advice on M. E,enclu and his daughter. 
 
 The last moment — that terrible last moment 
 of farewell — came with its hard punctuality. 
 Pauline went into the salle d nianger leaning 
 on her father's arm to say good-by to Yilpont.
 
 276 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 She had left herself but a few short minutes. 
 " 1 shall get through it, because I must," she 
 liad kept on all the morning saying to herself, 
 with a dread as to her own strength. 
 
 Yilpont saw the shudder that was shaking 
 the whole thin form. With a sad effort at 
 self-command, he said, "Bon voyage, chere 
 madame." 
 
 She said nothing, just glanced towards him. 
 
 They parted as well-bred acquaintance 
 might have done.
 
 TWO WATS OF LOOKING AT TUINGS. 277 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 TWO WAYS OF LOOKING AT THINGS. 
 
 " It's nobody's business but ours." 
 
 Few amono; us have not said this once at 
 least in our lives, and probably with always 
 file same result of finding that our neighbors 
 insist on having a finger in our pie. 
 
 Madame Rendu ought to have known better 
 than to make such a speech. Nevertheless, 
 she did say those very words to her husband. 
 
 Poor lady ! she had to submit to be ques- 
 tioned, and to explain why this had happened 
 and why that had not, as if her interrogators 
 had been so many juges d^ instruction. She 
 was, however, equal to the occasion, and ad- 
 mirable alike in her reticences as in her confi- 
 dences. 
 
 Undoubtedly glad as they were to have 
 Pauline safely back among them, the St. 
 Gloisians felt they had some right to resent 
 her inopportune seclusion. 
 
 " It is according to the doctor's orders, I 
 aBsure you," said ^ladame Rendu. " lie has 
 sent her to bed, and desired she should be kept 
 as quiet as possible." 
 
 " One would have thought the happiness of 
 being again with her husband would have been 
 her best doctor," observed Madame Cham- 
 baud.
 
 278 jupitek's daughtees. 
 
 " Poor jMonsienr Subar says Pauline is only 
 nervous, and that Madame Pendu encourages 
 her in thinkino- herself ill." That was Ste- 
 phanie's account — and every one joined in the 
 chorus of " Poor Monsieur Subar !" 
 
 Leon being thus an object of commiseration, 
 became more popular tJian ever. 
 
 In the privacy of her own room, alone with 
 M, Rendu, madame indemnified herself for all 
 the restraint she endured in public. 
 
 " Such fair prospects, and all lost — Leon 
 throwing away a princely fortune like an idiot ; 
 Pauline fretting herself to death ; and tltat 
 man (alluding to Yilpont) spared when so 
 many worthier were killed. It's like a doom 
 on us." 
 
 Madame Pendu's disappointments were un- 
 deniable. But she had this comfort, that she 
 attributed them entirely to the faults of others, 
 and honestly believed herself clear of all mis- 
 takes or blame. 
 
 " I begin to doubt the wisdom of parents 
 choosing for their children," said M. Pendu. 
 
 The assertion of such a doubt by her hus- 
 band stru(;k Madame Pendu dumb for some 
 seconds. Then she said with the firmness that 
 conviction gives, " It's not our system that is 
 wrong, but the half- measures that have gained 
 ground among us. Girls should be married as 
 tliey were formerly, before mixing in the 
 world." 
 
 "It's a puzzle," sighed M. Pendu. 
 
 " No puzzle to me," she said. " Parents
 
 TWO WAYS OF LOOKTXG AT THINGS. 279 
 
 must be the best judge of what is best for their 
 cliildreu, or what is the use of having experi- 
 ence." 
 
 " Indeed, my dear, I have come to have 
 little faith in the uses of experience, whether 
 in the government of a family or of a nation." 
 
 " Ah ! M'ell, thank God I have no more 
 daughters to marry." 
 
 When Madame Rendu heard of what had 
 occurred on the night of Zelie's disappearance, 
 she said, " I am afraid, Leon, your ])Totegee 
 has had no faith in your promises, and has 
 helped herself to a provision for her future 
 wants. Depend on it the diamonds will not 
 be found in the bao-." 
 
 " AVe shall see that. I would stake my life 
 on Zelie's honesty," he replied hotly. 
 
 " Take care, my son, take care," retorted the 
 lady; "such warmth is suspicious. Where is 
 the bag ? " 
 
 It was in Pauline's room, and there it was 
 opened. At the sight of the jewel-cases, Leon 
 exclaimed triumphantly, " You see, madanie ! 
 Ah ! poor Zelie." 
 
 Madame Rendu was surprised, and it must 
 be owned to her credit that she was not vexed 
 at being proved wrong. 
 
 Leon drew forth the cases with the loving 
 hand of proprietorship. lie opened one, and 
 set it down as if it had burned his fingers. lie 
 took out another and another — alas ! all empty. 
 
 It was the first time in her life that Madame 
 Rendu had been moved to unseemly mirth ;
 
 280 JUPITEK S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 but at the sight of Leon's appalled face she 
 bui'st into loud laughter. 
 
 He looked at her in alarm. 
 
 " Don't be frio'htened, I am not in hysterics. 
 Poor Leon ! how lucky your life does not de- 
 pend on that yellow woman's honesty." 
 
 It gratified her feminine instincts to note 
 Zelie's personal defects. 
 
 " IIow do you know Zelie was the thief 1 " 
 asked Leon in a fierce voice. He was smarting 
 under two blows — betrayed confidence, and a 
 great loss of propert3^ His w^ords were an 
 outcome of pain, and had no definite meaning. 
 He stopped literally from terror, at the fury in 
 Madame Eendu's eyes. She also was writhing 
 under the dominion of a hidden wound. 
 
 " You are very hard on me," said Leon after 
 a pause. " You should make allowances for a 
 man in such trouble. Even Pauline does not 
 seem to care wdiat happens to me, and yet it is 
 lier fault." 
 
 Pauline had hitherto kept silence ; her poor 
 pale face, white as the pillow it lay on, ought 
 to have pleaded against any attack. Now she 
 said, " I do care very much ; and, Leon, you 
 do not know how painful it was to me to have 
 Zelie put as it were in power over me. I bore 
 it patiently, to please you." 
 
 " I am never likely to have power to do any- 
 thing I please again," he said, and left the 
 room. 
 
 " A hundred thousand francs gone at one 
 stroke ! " exclaimed Madame Rendu, as she
 
 TWO WAYS OF LOOKING AT THINGS. 281 
 
 gathered togetlier the prctty, velvet-lined 
 cases. 
 
 The theft of the diamonds was not to be con- 
 cealed ; it was the town talk, and everybody's 
 business. Stephanie de Saye had the satisfac- 
 tion of saying, morning, noon, and night, " I 
 told Pauline how it would be. I warned her 
 ugainst tliat woman, but she would not listen 
 to me ; and now I should not wonder if all her 
 illness comes from some African poison." 
 
 Tliat was easy of belief ; but what no one 
 could understand was the hesitation shown by 
 the Subars and Rendus in putting the matter 
 into the hands of the police. M. Rendu, in- 
 deed, was at iirst urgent to do so, but Pauline 
 pleaded hard against any step of the kind being 
 taken. 
 
 " She meant to kill me that night, papa. If 
 you let her alone, she will keep out of our way ; 
 If you attack her, I shall never be safe." 
 
 To M. Pendu's amazement, and to that of 
 Leon, Madame Pendu supported Pauline's 
 views. 
 
 " It's paying dear for immunity," she said, 
 " but we shall be free of her pitch." That de- 
 stroyed letter to Leon rankled in her mind. 
 For worlds she would not have Pauline and 
 Zelie brought as adversaries before a public 
 tribunal. An unprincipled, dishonest woman 
 would stick at no calumny to revenge herself. 
 
 As for Leon, he could be got to say nothing 
 further than, " Do as you please ; as I said be- 
 fore, I have now no power."
 
 282 Jupiter's daughters. 
 
 How it would have ended no one can tell. 
 The stoiy might have spread far, and justice 
 might have interfered whether the injured 
 parties wished it or not ; but the ill wind which 
 raised the Commune put an effectual stop to all 
 proceedings in this matter. 
 
 ■ • • • • 
 
 Two years have gone by, and the Subars 
 still make their home with M. andMme. Rendu. 
 Leon's ambition is satisfied with being the 
 mii-ror of fashion in St. Gloi— the admired of 
 all beholders. So true is it that we are con- 
 stantly changing the scale by which we meas- 
 ure the liappiness or unhappiness of our life. 
 
 ISTothing more has been heard of Zelie or the 
 diamonds. 
 
 Ivladame de Saye's last piece of news is that 
 the M-«rquis yile Kergeac is at Rome, and is 
 al>out to take the vows in the Dominican con- 
 vent there. 
 
 These two years have worn smooth the rough 
 sij^tjf Pauline's sorrow. A great grief brings 
 in its train repose. All pain, all longing, must 
 have an end ; we die or we grow resigned. 
 
 At first Pauline sought for comfort in the 
 practice of severe penances. She tried to 
 harden herself by a constant com1)at against 
 self-pity. She did daily battle with her in- 
 clinations. When she would have welcomed 
 solitude, she went into society ; when silence 
 would have been grateful to her, she conversed. 
 Hearts can he very sad, very repentant, while 
 the lips smile and the tongue talks pleasantly ;
 
 TWO WAYS OF LOOKING AT THINGS. 283 
 
 just as there may be a hair shirt beneath 
 gauze aud lace. She had set herself to win a 
 victory, nndertaken the greatest of all con- 
 quests, that of her rebellious heart ; undertaken 
 to bring her feelings into subjection to duty. 
 AVho can doubt her ultimate triumph, wheu her 
 war-cry is — God toill, I shall. 
 
 "Prayers are the daughters of Jupiter," 
 said the ancients. The moderns say, " Hoc 
 vult DeusP
 
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