GUARDIAN ANGELS
 
 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 BY 
 
 MARCEL PREVOST 
 
 MEMBER OF THE ACADEMIE FKANCAISE. OFFICER OF THE LEGION OF HONOUR
 
 All
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK I 
 ROSALIE 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I THE HAVANA-COLOURED CAR ..... 7 
 
 II THE DOUBLE SUITE . . . . . 5 1 
 
 III THE INSTITUT DE BELLES-GRACES .... 78 
 
 iv AT VAL D'ANAY 93 
 
 BOOK II 
 
 SANDRA 
 
 I THE THREE LITTLE ONES OF THE RUE PALATINE . I 17 
 II THE CHAPERON 136 
 
 in THE ORPHANS' MONEY 151 
 
 IV MOULINS DE CHELLES I? I 
 
 BOOK III 
 
 MAG 
 
 I THE EMANCIPATED ONE. ..... 193 
 
 ii THE BARON'S HORSE ...... 209 
 
 III A FAMILY COUNCIL . . . . . .231 
 
 iv B. 2. 17 251 
 
 2137778
 
 vi CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK IV 
 
 FANNY 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I THE BILL 271 
 
 II INSPECTOR MERCADIEUX 2Q2 
 
 III TWO YOUNG GIRLS OF TO-DAY . . . .310 
 
 IV THE JUSTICIARY 341
 
 BOOK I 
 ROSALIE
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE HAVANA-COLOURED CAR 
 
 THE huge Havana-coloured limousine with its 
 chauffeur and liveried footman in front, one of those 
 luxurious modern vehicles, crammed with women's 
 toilettes and hats, which, as symbols of our magni- 
 ficence on wheels, have so recently replaced the 
 graceful equipages of the past, slackened its noiseless 
 advance at the foot of the Trocadero incline, as if it 
 were hesitating about crossing the Pont d'Ie"na, and 
 then stopped dead. The footman jumped to the 
 ground, received orders at the door of the car, and 
 before resuming his place consulted the policeman 
 standing at the angle of the bridge. Eager to oblige 
 these rich people, that functionary crossed the road, 
 and had a brief colloquy with the footman, which was 
 interrupted by a consultation of his road-map. 
 
 "Rue des Bergers," he concluded at last, "you have 
 only to cross the bridge and follow the quay as far as 
 the Rue de Javel. . . . Yes, it's the third on the right 
 in the Rue de Javel." 
 
 A lady in chinchillas, a fine lady in the Parisian 
 manner forty years old, rather stout, rather jaded 
 and carefully made-up, thanked the policeman from 
 the inside of the car. He saluted, the footman hastily 
 regained his place, and the limousine resumed its 
 noiseless course, carrying across the bridge and then 
 
 9
 
 io GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 over the quay its burden of femininity, decked out in 
 all the furs of fashion. 
 
 For, beside the chinchillas of Madame Maurice 
 Corbellier, wife of the china manufacturer of Auber- 
 villiers and owner of the car, there was also inside 
 the blue fox of little Loute Corbellier, a thinnish 
 blonde just at the awkward age; the ermine stole of 
 the tall, graceful Josette Croze, daughter of the 
 Deputy of Romarantin, now Under-Secretary of Fine 
 Arts; finally the vision, scarcely less arresting, of 
 Mile. Magda Riemann, Josette's German governess. 
 The enormous hats which they all wore, even the 
 governess, concealed their faces, but all the same the 
 few stragglers on the quay turned round to catch this 
 fortunate glimpse of elegance in which the pretty 
 figures of Magda and Josette rose like a veritable 
 ensemble of youth. 
 
 Scarcely quickening its pace, for the road was bad, 
 rutted by heavy cart-wheels, the limousine followed 
 the quay, turned into the Rue de Javel, and then into 
 the Rue des Bergers, a road walled in by mysterious 
 buildings, by vague enclosed ground-plots, and by 
 the facades of small dwellings belonging to retired 
 householders. Everything about it had a quiet, 
 neglected provincial air under the delicate sunlight of 
 this waning January afternoon, mild as the harbinger 
 of spring. It was Magda who, leaning over the 
 speaking-tube, ordered the car to pull up in front of a 
 building of some importance but with that humble 
 and melancholy appearance which betrays a hospital, 
 a house of retreat, or a school for the poor. The 
 main building could be seen emerging from the 
 depths of a courtyard, behind the railed wall which 
 ran along the street between two outhouses roofed
 
 THE HAVANA-COLOURED CAR 11 
 
 with flat tiles. The car pulled up before the first of 
 these, on the low door of which was inscribed in black 
 capital letters the word "Entrance." 
 
 The four women alighted, Madame Corbellier being 
 assisted by the assiduous footman ; she suffered from 
 rheumatism, though she was too well trained a 
 coquette to admit it. One could now see their faces : 
 the freckles, the insipid features, the restless yellowish 
 eyes of little Loute Corbellier ; the broad shoulders of 
 the German, a fine young woman who was getting 
 close to thirty, a woman built for 'carrying burdens, 
 with a face rather large and a little heavy, the com- 
 plexion coarse and mottled and oily at the temples. 
 There was something tired and worn in the grey eyes, 
 and about the corners of the mouth a fine girl for all 
 that, made to tempt men by the powerful coils of her 
 almost red hair, by her bust, by her hips, by her 
 strong mouth, by the indefinable something that 
 lurked voluptuously in her glance, now smiling and 
 intelligent, now lingering as though caught in a 
 dream. For the rest, she was carefully dressed, and 
 obviously acclimatized for years to the tone of Paris. 
 Close to her, Josette Croze, Magda's pupil, was 
 waiting for Madame Corbellier to complete her diffi- 
 cult descent from the car. Hers was the silhouette 
 of the typical young Parisian of to-day, the regular 
 new type, as it is being fashioned by the manners and 
 modes of the moment. Tall, slender, but not thin, the 
 small head rising from the chin over a graceful neck, 
 the whole body was sheathed in a costume of the very 
 latest design, like an Egyptian bas-relief, which she 
 irresistibly evoked. The bust was almost invisible, 
 but it was one that a sculptor would have divined as 
 being firm and true, while the breasts were thrust
 
 12 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 apart as in ancient sculpture. She was straight- 
 fronted ; her hands and feet sufficiently long and 
 exquisitely outlined. Her hair was of a French brown 
 without a shade of black ; it was wavy and glistening, 
 and the gleams that flashed from it had the inde- 
 cisive blue of smoke. Her complexion was that of a 
 marvellously white camelia, but for all that she was 
 by no means pale, as the rose tint of rich blood 
 could be clearly divined beneath. No feature was 
 insignificant, merely pretty or interesting, but on the 
 contrary betrayed an exact design of nose, forehead 
 and mouth. And, as though to animate what might 
 be considered as too regular, too infallible in this 
 ensemble, there were two deep blue eyes the rarest 
 colour of all in woman's eyes two eyes of so 
 profound an innocence that a Valmont would have 
 lowered his own beneath their glance. Even as she 
 stood motionless, one could realize the suppleness of 
 her limbs, and detect that she had been trained in 
 every form of sport. She was, in fact, the finished 
 product of the training of to-day : intelligent without 
 any deep culture beyond foreign languages and 
 music, but champion of the Dinard tournaments, a 
 first-rate rider, and perfectly at home on both skates 
 and skis. And thanks to a sustained sense of freedom 
 in her easy and harmonious carriage she possessed an 
 expansive grace in her movements that was scarcely 
 know r n among Frenchwomen in the old days. In 
 short, Josette in broad daylight was delightful, Magda 
 delicious, and even Loute, saved from downright 
 ugliness by the sly intelligence in her face, was by no 
 means displeasing. But this clear light did not suit 
 Madame Corbellier at all, and, in spite of her veil, in 
 of the shadow of her hat with its aigrette, her
 
 THE HAVANA-COLOURED CAR 13 
 
 laborious make-up produced a curious effect on the 
 slate-coloured face, which the rouge on her lips 
 seemed to gash across like a wound. 
 
 "They have been getting on," said Magda, as she 
 measured with her eyes the vast dismal building. "In 
 my time it was just a ground-floor in the Rue de 
 Lourmel. You remember, Josette, when you came 
 there to choose me with Madame ? " 
 
 " Are you quite sure that this is the place ? " asked 
 Madame Corbellier without giving Josette time to 
 answer. 
 
 "Oh, yes, Madame, look!" 
 
 On an oval brass plate which ornamented the hall 
 door they read the inscription, " The Grillon " 
 (Registry Office). 
 
 "Good, let's go in. You go first, Mag, will you? " 
 
 Madame Corbellier said this in a tired, rather 
 disgusted voice which seemed to betray the whole 
 boredom of this little excursion. Magda Mag, as 
 Josette called her, abbreviating in French fashion the 
 German diminutive obeyed and opened the hall 
 door. A winding passage led on the left to the paved 
 courtyard, and at the very end of it a door opened 
 into an office. Josette did not enter it, but having 
 reached the courtyard, stood there lost in reflection. 
 Madame Corbellier and Loute followed Mag into the 
 office. 
 
 "Ah, it's always the sarhe Mademoiselle Esther ! " 
 exclaimed the governess as she recognized the miser- 
 able lady-clerk, who, dressed in black and with her 
 bust enveloped in a black woollen shawl, was glancing 
 through a ledger alone in this narrow room in which 
 a dwarf stove was spluttering. Mademoiselle Esther 
 rose to her feet and with all her grotesque body, with
 
 i 4 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 all her bloodless face, she saluted these furs and these 
 flowered hats which had penetrated into her lair. 
 Then from the ashes of her eyes, a faint spark 
 kindled. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Magda ! Now I remember you ! 
 How good-looking you have got and how much 
 stronger ! " 
 
 She hastened to offer them chairs ; Madame Cor- 
 bellier sat down. Loute's eyes went ferreting round 
 in every direction. 
 
 "What can I do for these ladies or for you, 
 Mademoiselle Magda ? " 
 
 Mag turned to Madame Corbellier inquiringly. 
 
 "Oh, well," began that lady in a hesitating and yet 
 voluble manner, as though she herself were by no 
 means sure about what she wanted, "it's like this, my 
 daughter, Loute, her name is Helene (but we all call 
 her Loute), had a German governess, quite nice and 
 painstaking and all that, who left us last month to 
 get married. Mademoiselle Mag told us that your 
 establishment finds situations for foreign gover- 
 nesses." 
 
 "Yes, yes, Madame, we have fifteen of them here in 
 residence at this moment, and besides that many of 
 them are on our books without being in residence, 
 Mademoiselle Magda can tell you that our work is a 
 serious undertaking, and that it is under the patronage 
 of the Embassies of Austria, Russia and England. 
 
 "I know, I know," put in Madame Corbellier, "then 
 you are sure to have what I want ? " 
 
 " XYould Madame like to see a young girl at once ? 
 I have one " (she glanced at the open pages of her 
 register) "who arrived from Hanover yesterday, and 
 who knows French well."
 
 THE HAVANA-COLOURED CAR 15 
 
 "Ah, but look here, German and French that's 
 not enough. I must have some one who speaks 
 Italian perfectly on account of my son, Jacques." 
 
 " Madame has a little boy as well ? " 
 
 " Xo, no, not a little boy ; Jacques is twenty years 
 old." 
 
 The lack of comprehension which showed itself in 
 every feature of Mademoiselle Esther's face was too 
 much for the dwindling endurance of Madame 
 Corbellier. "You explain the business, my good 
 Mag, I leave it to you. I'm almost stifling here. 
 I'm going to have a breath of fresh air. Come, 
 Loute." 
 
 She rose from her chair, nodded in a friendly way 
 to Mademoiselle Esther, and with her little girl went 
 off to rejoin Josette, who had been walking about the 
 courtyard to kill time. 
 
 As soon as Mag saw that they were out of earshot, 
 she burst out laughing. 
 
 " My poor dear Esther, what price the mother 
 Corbellier ! and to think that she is still respon- 
 sible for the happiness of my master, the Under 
 Secretary ! " 
 
 "Ah, she's the friend of M. Croze, is she?" 
 
 "Yes, it's been going on for the last eleven years. 
 Only just now Emmeline is getting a little too mature, 
 and so he has a leaning towards the young ladies of 
 the subsidized theatres, the Government actresses, you 
 know." 
 
 Mag spoke French with a surprising ease, which 
 revealed, even more than her general bearing, a 
 thorough knowledge of Paris. She even affected, 
 except in the presence of her employers, a deep under- 
 standing of modern argot. There remained nothing
 
 i6 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 German about her speech, except the habit of laying 
 unusual stress on certain syllables. Thus she pro- 
 nounced the word Government Government. 
 
 "Here's the business in a nutshell," she continued. 
 "Besides the little Loute, the Corbelliers have a booby 
 of a boy, that they can make nothing of, good-looking 
 enough, and not a bit stupid, but just as much a ninny 
 and a slacker as his mother. Besides, he is like her 
 in another thing, he prefers the society of men. This 
 fine young fellow imagines that he has a gift for 
 music. He plays the guitar, the zither, and the banjo 
 and a whole heap of other instruments which show off 
 the shape of his hands. He even attempted the harp 
 but that was too much for him. Just now he is quite 
 mad about the mandoline and Italian songs, and as his 
 mother humours him in everything she wants Loute's 
 new governess to speak Italian so that her darling 
 Jacques may profit by it." 
 
 In a lower tone, as though confidentially, she 
 added : " You can palm off pretty well anything on 
 her. Loute is governessed by her father more than 
 by anybody else. . . . Yes, the cocu! He adores his 
 daughter and doesn't care a rap for his wife or his 
 son." 
 
 The three women made their way back to the office, 
 and Madame Corbellier asked from the door : " Well, 
 Mag, have they got what we want ? " 
 
 Mademoiselle Esther consulted her register. 
 
 " I have a lady, a widow, a Frenchwoman, who 
 speaks German very well and who is just leaving a 
 situation in Rome." 
 
 "Oh, no, not a Frenchwoman!" cried Madame 
 Corbellier with a gesture of repugnance as though a 
 plague or a nihilist had been proposed. "A German
 
 THE HAVANA-COLOURED CAR 17 
 
 by preference, or failing that an Italian speaking 
 German." 
 
 At this moment two black silhouettes, two poor 
 silhouettes, feminine at all events, the wanness of 
 Paris in their faces, the anxiety of ill-luck in their 
 eyes, glided uncertainly into the office from outside. 
 Intimidated by the ladies with their rich furs and 
 expensive hats, they scarcely dared to speak. 
 
 " What do you want ? " asked Mademoiselle Esther 
 coldly. 
 
 "Places as maids," murmured one of the two. 
 
 "At the bottom of the courtyard, to the left. 
 Staircase B." 
 
 "Ah, you provide maids also?" said Madame 
 Corbellier. 
 
 A little uneasily she watched the two black sil- 
 houettes as they crossed the courtyard, bending their 
 spines as if they felt themselves being pursued by 
 aggressive eyes. 
 
 "Oh, in exceptional cases, and only with the very 
 highest references." 
 
 Mag, however, had made her way behind the office 
 chair, and began turning over the register. "Who is 
 this V " she asked, indicating a name on a page. 
 
 Mademoiselle Esther leaned fonvard, and read out 
 loud, "Alexandrine Ceroni . . . she's an Italian. 
 . . . Yes, born in the suburbs of Trieste, she is 
 registered as speaking German and a little English; 
 she came yesterday. ... I was not making the 
 entries at the time. She has taken a room here." 
 
 "I knew an ' Alessandra '," observed Mag, "a 
 
 governess in an American family. It was at Abbazia 
 
 that I knew her. . . . Oh, it must be nearly five years 
 
 ago. She was quite young then ; she was a governess 
 
 B
 
 i8 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 with some people named Bruston. Is the one you 
 have here very pretty ? " 
 
 "I can't say that," said Mademoiselle Esther, "I 
 haven't seen her yet." 
 
 The magic of the words, " Is she very pretty ? " 
 had attracted the attention of Madame Corbellier, of 
 Josette and even of Loute. Mag, who was looking 
 out of the window into the courtyard, cried out : "But 
 there she is ! That's Sandra, all right." 
 
 A tall young girl, supple in every limb, with the 
 head of a Perugino madonna, dressed in a plain blue 
 costume and wearing a shiny yachting cap, quite out 
 of fashion and out of season, came gravely down the 
 steps of the main building and made her way towards 
 them. The German ran to meet her; they could be 
 seen greeting and embracing each other. They talked 
 for a few seconds. 
 
 "She really is very beautiful," said Josette. 
 Emmeline did her the honour of using her double 
 eye-glass. 
 
 "She would have to be dressed properly," she 
 observed. "She is very badly turned out, that girl. 
 But what a splendid type ! " 
 
 "This is my friend, Sandra Ceroni," said Mag, 
 bringing her into the office and introducing her with 
 assurance. 
 
 The Italian bowed without a smile, without a word. 
 Seen near, she was even more beautiful, with an 
 almost majestic figure, a forehead smooth under 
 sumptuous coils of black hair, very glossy, her pure, 
 rather heavy face lit up by large dark eyes. 
 
 "You speak Italian, Mademoiselle?" Emmeline 
 questioned. 
 "Si, Madame; it's my mother tongue. But I am
 
 THE HAVANA-COLOURED CAR 19 
 
 an Austrian subject. I know German as well as 
 Italian." 
 
 "You have an accent in French." 
 
 "I know, Madame, ... I have never been in 
 France before. But I know thoroughly French 
 grammar and orthography. I have all my diplomas." 
 
 "And you, Mag ? Do you know this young girl ? " 
 
 " I can recommend her to you, Madame, as if it were 
 myself. Sandra tell Madame at once that you have a 
 very pretty voice and are a musician." 
 
 But Madame Corbellier did not give the Italian 
 time to sound her own eulogy. She burst out, "So 
 you sing? you are a musician? Why couldn't you 
 say so before? You will suit me absolutely. How 
 delighted Jacques will be ! Didn't I say that you are 
 to teach a little Italian to my eldest son ? Well, well, 
 it seems to me that all that can be arranged." She 
 glanced at the platinum watch strapped to her wrist. 
 "Three o'clock already, how late all this has made 
 me ! And I had any number of things to do this 
 afternoon ! Can you come to see me to-morrow 
 morning at my house, 26 Rue Montaigne, . . . 
 Mademoiselle . . . Mademoiselle . . ." 
 
 "Sandra," completed the Italian in her grave voice. 
 
 "Mademoiselle Sandra ... a pretty name isn't it, 
 Josette ? To-morrow about eleven o'clock. We will 
 discuss the terms then. You are free from now on ? " 
 
 "Si, Madame," and then correcting herself, "Yes, 
 Madame." 
 
 "Are there any formalities to go through?" 
 Madame Corbellier inquired of Mile. Esther. 
 
 It was Mag who answered. 
 
 "Sandra will do what is necessary in regard to the 
 ' Grillon.'"
 
 20 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 "That's all right, then. We must be starting. I'm 
 dreadfully late. Good afternoon. We shall meet 
 to-morrow." 
 
 She drew up her chinchilla scarf and hurried out of 
 the office, thoroughly tired out by the effort that this 
 business had cost her. It was only on reaching the 
 street outside that she gave a thought to Loute. 
 
 "Tell me, do you like her, little one? " 
 
 Loute pouted. 
 
 "We shall learn Loute's opinion, when she has 
 given it to her father," remarked Josette. "Isn't that 
 so, Loute ? " 
 
 Loute smiled, disclosing uneven, overlapping but 
 sound teeth. Madame Corbellier shrugged her 
 shoulders. 
 
 "Denys," she said to the chauffeur; "drop me at 
 the Magasins du Louvre. Then, Mag, you can have 
 the car for an hour to take these young ladies to 
 Madame Haumont-Segr^'s." 
 
 "What about the tickets for the Institut de Belles- 
 Graces ? " asked Josette. 
 
 "You can take them at the Concordia on your way, 
 before going to Madame Haumont-Segre's." 
 
 The hats and the furs were re-installed in the 
 Havana-coloured limousine. As soon as they had 
 started, Madame Corbellier expressed her delight. 
 She had the habit of expressing current ideas in 
 obvious phrases, but with authority as if each phrase 
 ingeniously translated a really new thought. 
 
 "What an excellent institution that ' Grillon ' is ! " 
 she said. "Now that's a really useful work ! I can 
 see why the Embassies patronize it. How much 
 more practical foreigners are than we ! You may be 
 quite sure that France has nothing like it in the other
 
 THE HAVANA-COLOURED CAR 21 
 
 countries. You must speak about it to your father, 
 Josette; he has so much influence. Young gover- 
 nesses run ever so many risks in a great city where 
 they arrive without knowing a single soul, don't they, 
 Mag?" 
 
 Mag gave a subtle smile, one of those smiles 
 directed towards one's inner depths, which respond 
 not to what one has just heard, but to some 
 involuntary recollection. 
 
 "Yes, Madame, a great many risks." 
 
 The little, yellowish eyes of Loute, always attentive 
 or prying, watched in turn her mother and the 
 governess. Josette had obviously nothing to do with 
 the conversation and her pretty face was clouded by 
 some intimate anxiety of her own. Madame Cor- 
 bellier continued indefatigably : 
 
 "Your friend made an excellent impression on 
 me, Mag. Where did you say that you knew 
 her ? " 
 
 "At Abbazia, Madame. She was with the 
 Brustons, an American family. As for me," she 
 hesitated imperceptibly, " I ... I ... was finishing 
 the education of Mademoiselle Osmondo." 
 
 "She has real beauty, but how badly she is dressed ! 
 And that shiny yachting cap ! Where in the world 
 did she get hold of that ? All the same it's a fact that 
 the Italians don't know how to dress even the 
 grandes dames, just look at the Marchioness Pizzo- 
 canti, what a sight she is ! Nevertheless, my good 
 Mag, I am exceedingly obliged to you. You must 
 thank Madame Croze for lending you to me for this 
 visit to the ' Grillon.' Now this matter of a governess 
 which was bothering me so, is quite settled. One 
 can't take too many precautions when it's a matter of
 
 22 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 choosing the person to whom one is going to confide 
 one's own daughter." 
 
 Loute again caught that subtle half smile as it 
 floated from one feature to another of the German's 
 face. But Madame Corbellier, who had made this 
 declaration with self-satisfied assurance, observed 
 nothing and remained convinced first of all that she 
 had expended a great deal of energy and perspicacity 
 in procuring the services of Sandra Ceroni, secondly, 
 that she had chosen Sandra Ceroni after mature 
 investigation and under exceptionally safe conditions. 
 
 They had crossed the Seine by the Pont de la 
 Concorde, and were passing along the Rue de Rivoli. 
 They reached the Place du Palais Royale; Madame 
 Corbellier got out of the car in front of the Magasins 
 du Louvre at the corner of the Rue St. Honore : 
 doubtless a habit of hers, for no one expressed any 
 surprise or offered to accompany her. The car, 
 relieved of the hat with the white aigrette and the 
 chinchillas, proceeded quickly along the Avenue de 
 1'Opera, towards the boulevards. Mag had taken 
 Madame Corbellier's place beside Josette : both of 
 them were talking in a low tone in short broken 
 sentences and in a mixture of German and French. 
 Governess and pupil seemed to get on well together 
 and to be willingly confidential on both sides. Loute, 
 seated opposite on one of the folding seats, seemed to 
 be staring obstinately out of the window. 
 
 The car turned to the left into the Place de 1'Opera, 
 where it had to wait for several minutes for permission 
 to pass. Then it got away again and a few minutes 
 later pulled up in front of the Concordia, a huge 
 promenade music-hall that had recently been built at 
 the corner of the Rue Caumartin and the boulevard.
 
 THE HAVANA-COLOURED CAR 23 
 
 Mag, Josette and Loute got out and were escorted at 
 a short distance by the footman. Their absolutely 
 correct appearance prevented any suggestion of 
 unpleasantness as they made their way under the 
 peristyle. 
 
 Mag's eyes lit upon a chasseur whose cap bore the 
 word "Concordia" in silver letters. ' 
 
 "Where does one book tickets for the lectures of 
 the Institut de Belles-Graces? " 
 
 "At the ordinary booking-office, Madame, here, to 
 the right." 
 
 The Institut de Belles-Graces, which held its 
 meetings in the hall of the Concordia every Thursday 
 afternoon, with much trumpeting of prestige and 
 success, was the result of the collaboration of a 
 wide-awake journalist, a manager of cosmopolitan 
 music-hall turns, and a manufacturer on a big 
 scale of the liquid known as Kola. The journalist 
 conceived the idea, and persuaded the manager and 
 the manufacturer. The idea of lectures, after so many 
 lectures, and at the same time as so many more, 
 scarcely suggested genius in itself. Its originality 
 consisted in this: First of all, in giving the lectures 
 in a place devoted to the most spicy and the most 
 inane "revues" : even now they were playing in the 
 evening "Ta bouche, gamine!" and the advertise- 
 ments over which Loute's glance wandered repre- 
 sented a dancer the Sorelly clothed almost entirely 
 in a hair-net with large meshes, one limb and one 
 breast naked, and who, while pirouetting, offered her 
 lips to an invisible kiss. The second piece of ingen- 
 uity lay in asking only exceptionally well-known 
 people to lecture, Parisians, men and women, whose 
 photographs are exploited in the shop windows, or
 
 24 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 better still whom caricature has made popular. They 
 were paid without stinginess, and the speculation was a 
 good one. The third inspiration of genius the most 
 inspired of the three lay in turning upside down the 
 specialities of the lecturers, in asking a professor of 
 the Sorbonne to exhort on flirtation, a duchess to find 
 fault with housekeeping, a divette to preach morality. 
 Here was something attractive and new ! Here was 
 something that paid one for upsetting one's plans 
 between 3.30 and 5 oclock, for missing, according to 
 one's age, a collective lesson, a tennis match or a 
 rendezvous ! One of the coming attractions was the 
 turn of the divette : the advertisements of the Institut 
 de Belles-Graces fraternized, under the peristyle of 
 the Concordia, with those of "Ta bouche, gamine ! " 
 and announced "Mademoiselle Bastinguette : How I 
 should have wished to have been brought up : a 
 Lecture on Education," while the profile of this pretty 
 little ape of a singer gave the cue to the provocative 
 lips of the Sorelly. And the Paris of rich mothers and 
 of young daughters under governesses was so in- 
 tensely eager to see and hear Mademoiselle Bastin- 
 guette in the role of Madame de Maintenon or 
 Madame de Genlis, that three weeks in advance, Mag 
 arrived only just in time to book the twelve stalls for 
 the Crozes, the Corbelliers and their friends, the 
 Haumont-Manins, the Haumont-Segres and for 
 Ropart d'Anay, for whom she had undertaken the 
 commission. After glancing at the plan of the hall, 
 she obtained them as she wanted them in the third 
 and fourth row, in sixes, one behind the other, after 
 which she took two more, side by side, a little further 
 back, in the triforium opposite. 
 
 \Yhile the German was choosing, paying for, and
 
 THE HAVANA-COLOURED CAR 25 
 
 sorting the tickets in her reticule, Loute Corbellier, 
 after fully inspecting the walls of the peristyle, the 
 advertisements, portraits and programmes, turned her 
 attention to Josette, and made the discovery which 
 had also attracted the notice of the footman, and made 
 his face pucker up slily that Josette was expecting 
 the arrival of some one. All her graceful, motionless 
 person was in expectation, from her eyes fixed on the 
 bay of the peristyle to her heels that had been im- 
 perceptibly raised. Suddenly her cheeks flushed. 
 Two young men leaving the boulevard, approached 
 the entrance. Both were tall, but of quite different 
 builds; one more thick-set, the type of a woman's 
 man, with a rather large face, a short blonde beard, 
 and with a suggestion of carelessness, not without 
 elegance in his whole appearance. The other, less 
 good-looking, more slender, clean-shaven, with the 
 complexion of a sportsman, moulded, for the rest, on 
 the English model which has been adopted by all 
 the modern aristocracies of Europe, wore an imma- 
 culate tall hat, a loose jacket and a large single pearl 
 in his tie. 
 
 The effect of their appearance on Josette electrified 
 her immobility and she went up to Mag, whose elbow 
 she clutched with a nervous gesture. . . . 
 "Mag ! Here are Adolf and your friend." 
 The German closed her reticule and turned round. 
 She saw Josette's face perturbed by anxiety and by 
 happiness, and she saw the two new arrivals. Taking 
 her pupil's arm, she went towards them without the 
 slightest embarrassment. She shook hands with the 
 young man with the fair beard, while the other bowed 
 respectfully to Josette, who on her side was too 
 agitated to utter a word,
 
 26 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 "Josette," said Mag, "I want to introduce M. de 
 Bolski, the well-known pianist, who is a friend of 
 my childhood and also a friend of Count Adolf de 
 Letzling, isn't he, Monsieur de Letzling?" 
 
 "We were at the University together," answered 
 the clean-shaven young man. 
 
 Almost immediately Mag contrived to devote 
 herself to the one whom she had introduced under 
 the name of Bolski, leaving M. de Letzling and 
 Josette a little on one side. And while they, when 
 their embarrassment had gradually disappeared, com- 
 menced to talk in an undertone, but with that intimate 
 exchange of looks which renders the control of the 
 voice meaningless, Mag said to Bolski, speaking 
 very quickly in German : 
 
 "Well, things are not going very well for the little 
 one's marriage. Monsieur Croze, who was pleased 
 enough at first to have his daughter marry a Count, 
 has consulted his colleagues in the Cabinet. They 
 have persuaded him that he would expose himself 
 to attacks in the newspapers, if he accepted an 
 Austrian military attache" as his son-in-law. The 
 little one is very unhappy about it, for she is mad 
 about Letzling." 
 
 "And he's mad about her," said Bolski with a 
 smile. 
 
 "Ah, he will know how to love, that man," 
 murmured Mag in a tone that had in it something of 
 reproach and regret. 
 
 In spite of his careless elegance and his obvious 
 want of correctness, there emanated from this Bolski 
 an indefinable charm, very difficult to explain. 
 Perhaps it came from the abundance of his curled 
 hair, blond and turning a little grey above the
 
 THE HAVANA-COLOURED CAR 27 
 
 temples, or from the amiability of his features, which 
 contrasted so sharply with the almost insolent malice 
 of his blue eyes. His mouth, scarcely concealed by 
 the blond moustache, formed a drooping curve, in 
 which the irony of his glance was repeated. 
 
 And upon this man the eyes of the woman who 
 was speaking were fastened eagerly not with that 
 artless ecstacy of first passion, which at this moment 
 was adorning with a yet deeper innocence Josette's 
 charming features, but rather with the amorous 
 longing of a mistress who remembers. As for him, 
 he allowed himself to be stared at, said very little in 
 reply, but for all his attitude of ironical indifference, 
 listened to Mag attentively. 
 
 "Without knowing anything definite," Mag con- 
 tinued, "Josette has got hold of the idea that she is 
 perhaps going to be forbidden to meet Letzling. She 
 is romantic, and all the more ready for any 
 adventure, because, from a certain point of view, she 
 is still only a child; yes, my dear, you needn't sneer, 
 there are still some of them left. Of course I want 
 to give her all the help I can, for she is charming, 
 and then if she marries Letzling, she is going to keep 
 me with her, with his consent." 
 
 "Yes," observed Bolski gravely, "they must 
 marry." He hummed 
 
 " Protegeons leurs tendresses, 
 Aidons k leurs amours . . . >: 
 
 Then he added : " It's the best thing for them." 
 
 "And for us," Mag concluded. "Spare no pains to 
 make yourself useful to Letzling," she continued, 
 using the second person singular without noticing 
 
 r
 
 28 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 that Loute, with ears alert, was prowling quite close 
 to them. "Letzling is not ungrateful. How are 
 things going with you?" 
 
 Bolski shrugged his shoulders without answering. 
 And his glance became so threatening that the 
 intrepid Mag did not dare to pursue the question. 
 She contented herself with asking 
 
 "Have you found the apartments?" 
 
 "Yes," said Bolski whose face now relaxed. 
 "Something that will surprise you, and everything in 
 order. Rue Saint Lazare." 
 
 "The kind I wanted?" 
 
 "Better than that. Imagine a suite of apartments 
 that are duplicated, with another exit on . . ." 
 
 Mag stopped him with a gesture, she had just seen 
 that Loute, while pretending to read a programme, 
 was listening to them. She said very quickly and in 
 a very low voice 
 
 "Be careful, the kid understands a little German. 
 You must write to me about all that. I have taken 
 your ticket and Letzling's for the lecture, as we 
 arranged. I will send them to you." 
 
 She then approached Josette and Letzling with 
 Bolski. 
 
 "Josette, dear," she said, "it's time for us to be 
 going on to the Haumont-SegreV. We only have the 
 car for another twenty-five minutes." 
 
 Loute now joined the group. The two men bowed 
 to her, both of them embarrassed by the frigid per- 
 spicacity of the glance that she cast upon them. Then 
 they took their leave. Mag, Loute and Josette 
 returned to the car, followed by the footman, who on 
 his side had missed nothing of the two scenes under 
 the peristyle, and who was laughing inwardly as he
 
 THE HAVANA-COLOURED CAR 29 
 
 thought how he would tell the story at supper in the 
 
 servants' hall. 
 
 * # # * * # 
 
 Monsieur and Madame Haumont-Segre, whose 
 only daughter, Berthe, was receiving that day a few 
 girl friends, according to the modern usage which 
 accords in advance to young girls the habits and the 
 obligations of women of the world, lived in the 
 Rue Montalivet, in a house built under the Second 
 Empire, at once ugly and convenient, and with 
 quite a fine garden. The Bank (Haumont-Segre, 
 successors of Segre and Haumont) was situated in 
 the Rue de 1'Echelle. "Quite among ourselves," 
 Berthe Haumont-Segre had written on the cards that 
 she sent to her friends. That signified that there 
 would be at this intimate tea besides Berthe's three 
 cousins, Yvonne, Alice and Nanie, daughters of 
 the professor at the College de France, Georges 
 Haumont called Haumont-Manin, in order to dis- 
 tinguish him from his brother only Josette, Loute 
 and perhaps the young Ropart d'Anays, a little girl 
 and two boys, Josette's cousins, who lived at Val 
 d'Anay, near Romorantin. Loute's brother, Jacques 
 Corbellier, hardly ever took part in these family 
 entertainments. On the other hand, Fanny, Berthe's 
 English governess, a serious and rather good-looking 
 woman of thirty, was admitted to them, as also was 
 Mag, whose position in the Croze family was really 
 exceptional. As for the mothers they were tolerated 
 without any effort being made to insist on their 
 presence. 
 
 As the Havana-coloured car was threading its way 
 through the Rue Montalivet, it passed the three little 
 Haumont-Manins, who, under the escort of their
 
 30 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 mother, were making their way on foot to their 
 cousin's house, after having travelled modestly in a 
 motor-omnibus from their quarters in the Rue 
 Palatine, behind St. Sulpice : three slender and erect 
 figures, thoroughly "modern," followed by a plump 
 lady. Yvonne and Alice, who had only a year 
 between them, similar in figure, but not in face, were 
 dressed alike in blue costumes and blue hats with 
 scarves of imitation otter. Nanie, the youngest and 
 the shortest, wore the same scarf of imitation otter, 
 but her costume and hat, identical in cut with those 
 of her elder sisters, were of beige. By contrasts such 
 as this, Nanie, while getting on perfectly well with 
 her sisters, expressed her own individuality. 
 
 Mag, Josette and Loute waited for them at the 
 entrance. Kisses were exchanged; the charming 
 laughter of young girls, who laugh just for the sake 
 of laughing, spread through the group. Mag 
 asked the plump lady, Madame Haumont-Manin, 
 about the health of "M. le professeur." 
 
 "He's all right," said Madame Haumont-Manin. 
 "He is finishing his book on the Four Sons of 
 Aymon. One can't get a word out of him." 
 
 But the tone in which she pronounced these words 
 contradicted their lack of ceremony, and beneath the 
 plaits of grey hair, the whole of the lady's good, 
 beaming and yet spirituelle face expressed tender 
 admiration, and submission of her whole being to the 
 works, the happiness and the fame of her great man. 
 
 She continued talking about him with the German, 
 as she followed the young girls into the house. 
 Three high French windows opened out of the 
 drawing-room on to a rather large garden : through 
 the bare branches of the trees the sun flashed its
 
 THE HAVANA-COLOURED CAR 31 
 
 waning splendour. At the end of the garden two 
 tall boys and two young girls could be seen, racquets 
 in hand, returning balls over a tennis-net. 
 
 "Isn't it wonderful?" said Madame Haumont, 
 "one can play tennis out-of-doors in Paris at the end 
 of January. We have no such thing as seasons 
 now." 
 
 Berthe Haumont-Segre accompanied by her gover- 
 ness, Fanny Smith, who had both been watching the 
 game, came quickly to meet the new arrivals. Berthe 
 was a delicate blonde, tall and excessively fragile, 
 who suggested the physical fashion of 1830, rather 
 than that of 1913. As for Fanny Smith, who was 
 rather too tall, rather too bony, her cheeks a little too 
 ruddy, even those who refused to consider her good- 
 looking united in recognizing her excellent manners. 
 Dressed in a black tailor-made costume of the best 
 cut with a muslin jabot in front and a large black 
 felt hat on her head, she received the Haumont- 
 Manins, Josette, Mag and Loute, rather as mistress 
 of the house than as a paid subordinate. 
 
 " My sister-in-law is not in ? " questioned Madame 
 Haumont-Manin as she kissed Berthe. 
 
 It was Fanny who replied. "No, Madame has 
 gone to consult Dr. Werner, that new nerve specialist. 
 She has been out since lunch for three hours, I think 
 she will be back soon." 
 
 In contradistinction from Mag, Fanny Smith pre- 
 served the strong accent of her race. She sounded no 
 r. She pronounced "uis " "oms," and when she said 
 Madame has gone out for three hours, that signified 
 that Mme. Haumont-Segre's absence had lasted three 
 hours. And yet Fanny Smith had arrived from 
 Buxton six years before and had spent these six
 
 32 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 years in Paris, directing the education of Berthe. 
 But as she always spoke English with her pupil, she 
 made scarcely any progress, and displayed besides, on 
 this point, the disdainful indifference of the Anglo- 
 Saxon. 
 
 Correct, courteous, the two little Ropart d'Anays, 
 Hector and Jean, respectively thirteen and fifteen 
 years old, with their two tousled heads ruffled and 
 perspiring, left their game in order to kiss the hand 
 of Madame Haumont-Manin and the cheeks of their 
 cousin, Josette. 
 
 "Good gracious, how damp you are," said the 
 latter, laughing and wiping her cheeks. 
 
 Then came Henriette Ropart d'Anay, a girl of 
 sixteen, so strong in appearance that she might have 
 been taken for Hector and Jean's elder brother trans- 
 formed into a girl. Behind her, a young person, 
 scarcely older, with the face of a village girl, light- 
 hearted and naive, dressed simply in a brown skirt 
 and a linen blouse and with her beautiful pale blonde 
 hair waving freely, came forward hesitatingly with 
 her racquet in her hand. 
 
 "Come, Mademoiselle, I want to introduce you to 
 these ladies," Fanny Smith called out with an air of 
 authority. 
 
 The girl obeyed, nervously, ashamed of her hair 
 which was coming down, ashamed of the glow that she 
 felt in her cheeks, embarrassed by all these unknown 
 faces that were looking at her with such curiosity. 
 
 "This is Mademoiselle Henriette's new governess," 
 said Fanny Smith. "She has only been at Val 
 d'Anay for the last fortnight. She is from Arlon in 
 Luxemburg." 
 
 The English woman gave the surname and the
 
 THE HAVANA-COLOURED CAR 33 
 
 Christian name; in the latter "Rosalie" was more or 
 less distinguishable, but the surname remained 
 wholly unintelligible. 
 
 "What is her name?" Loute Corbellier asked 
 Henriette Ropart d'Anay in a low voice. 
 
 "Boisset, Rosalie Boisset," answered Henriette in 
 the same tone. "She has lost her father and mother. 
 Mama got her address from the Employment 
 Institution for Orphans. . . . You know, the Insti- 
 tution, that they hold a lottery for every year. She 
 is a nice person and doesn't worry one. We get on 
 very well together. And she is strong, my dear, we 
 wrestle sometimes, the two of us together, and she has 
 me on the ground in two minutes ! " 
 
 Rosalie Boisset, becoming more at ease, gave 
 Madame Haumont-Manin and Josette the news from 
 Val d'Anay. 
 
 "Why didn't my aunt come with you?" asked 
 Josette. 
 
 "Oh, Mademoiselle, Madame can't leave the 
 twins." 
 
 The twins were two late arrivals, Marguerite and 
 Violette, born the previous year to the Ropart 
 d'Anays, who were already provided with three 
 children. 
 
 "They are such darlings," Rosalie said, as she 
 described them. "They are so alike that you can't 
 tell one from the other. Two almonds in the same 
 shell." 
 
 She had a very slight accent, hardly noticeable, and 
 one that would be taken for provincial rather than for 
 foreign. Fanny Smith interrupted her 
 
 "Come, children," she said to the tennis players, 
 "you mustn't catch cold. As soon as the sun goes 
 e
 
 34 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 down we shall feel the winter again. Mademoiselle 
 Rosalie, will you take them to tidy themselves up a 
 little in the dressing-room beside the school-room 
 I showed it to you and then they can come down 
 and have tea with us. ... Berthe." 
 
 Berthe, whom Josette had taken aside down one of 
 the garden paths, stopped abruptly. 
 
 "Aren't you coming?" said the Englishwoman 
 with an imperious note in her voice. 
 
 "In a minute; I have something to say to her," 
 Josette answered drily, as she placed a hand on the 
 arm of her friend, who was already anxious to turn 
 back. 
 
 Fanny Smith did not insist, but the flush on her 
 cheeks deepened, and her lips framed words that she 
 did not utter. They all went towards the house where 
 tea was served. Josette and Berthe alone waited a 
 few moments in the garden ; the twilight was rapidly 
 deepening over the paths. Both were gossiping 
 intimately, their arms interlaced, Berthe with lowered 
 head, Josette animated, gesticulating. 
 
 ' He ' will be here, at the latest at half-past five," 
 said Josette. "He will leave the Sorbonne earlier, 
 before the end of the lecture. And you must try to be 
 a little nice to him. He loves you so much ! He 
 never stops talking to me about you. Don't be 
 influenced by that demon of a Fanny, who, naturally, 
 will put off your marriage as long as she can." 
 
 "But I assure you . . ." 
 
 "Bah, bah, I've got eyes, you know. Fanny mono- 
 polizes you ; you listen to her far more than to your 
 father and mother, and you make a mistake. Perhaps 
 she is a superior woman, but she is consulting her 
 own interests and not yours. And then, actually to
 
 THE HAVANA-COLOURED CAR 35 
 
 prefer Mademoiselle Fanny Smith to my brother 
 Guy ! Oh ! you silly girl ! If I were in your place ! 
 Only to have to lift up your finger to marry the man 
 who loves you ! " 
 
 She gave a melancholy sigh which seemed out of 
 place in one so alive with the spirit of youth. 
 
 "The M. de Letzling affair isn't going well?" 
 Berthe asked. 
 
 "Oh, on Adolf's side it is going all right. Only, 
 poor boy, as he is afraid of putting Papa out by 
 coming to see us too often, we scarcely ever meet each 
 other except at balls. Mag is very good in helping 
 us. . . . Just now I was able to talk a second with 
 him under the peristyle of the Concordia, while Mag 
 was taking the tickets for the lecture. On Tuesday 
 we caught a glimpse of each other in the distance at 
 the Opera. That's what we're reduced to now ! And 
 all this is because there is a Triple Alliance and my 
 father wants to be Minister of War. What bad 
 luck ... ! " 
 
 She was laughing with tears in the corners of her 
 eyes. All of a sudden she cried out 
 
 "Here's my brother." 
 
 A young man, rather below middle height, mus- 
 cular, looking like a sportsman, but carefully dressed, 
 appeared on the top of the steps. His clean-shaven 
 face gave him an Anglo-Saxon appearance ; but if 
 this oval and yet full face had been finished off by 
 a moustache and a pointed beard, it would have repro- 
 duced exactly the classical type of Frenchmen of the 
 Middle Ages. He came down the steps towards the 
 two girls. Seen closer, he produced a favourable 
 impression by his pleasing, serious and frank look. 
 He was preparing for the degree of Doctor of Science
 
 o 
 
 6 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 at the Sorbonne, and in the Crozes' huge house in 
 the Pare Monceau, he would work for long hours in 
 a laboratory that had been specially fitted up for him. 
 
 Berthe's delicate face lit up. 
 
 "Good-afternoon, Berthe, good-afternoon, Jo." 
 
 He brushed Josette's cheek with his lips and kissed 
 Berthe's hand. She made a little resistance, saying : 
 "Take care, they might see." 
 
 "Is it a sin, then ? " Guy Croze asked with a laugh. 
 
 "You see quite well that she is afraid of Fanny," 
 said Josette. 
 
 As she pronounced this name, the Englishwoman's 
 voice, controlled but distinctly annoyed, sounded from 
 the top of the steps 
 
 "Well, Berthe, is this the way you receive your 
 friends ? " 
 
 "I'm coming, I'm coming," answered Berthe; and 
 without waiting to see if Josette and her brother were 
 following, she ran towards the house. 
 
 Guy stood for a moment where he was, motionless 
 and gloomy. Josette, who was a little taller than he, 
 passed her arm round his neck. 
 
 "Don't worry, Guy. She is very fond of you all 
 the same. Didn't you notice how she blushed with 
 pleasure when you came ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Guy, "but there's the governess, and 
 it's she who runs the show. What is the matter with 
 them all here, that they allow themselves to get under 
 the spell of this hag of an Englishwoman ? " 
 
 They made their way slowly back to the drawing- 
 room where the lights were lit around a table of richly 
 varied delicacies. Josette pointed out to her brother 
 Yvonne Haumont-Manin, who was watching them 
 from the doorway. She murmured
 
 THE HAVANA-COLOURED CAR 37 
 
 "There is a girl who would not make you suffer, 
 and who would have the courage to go her own road. 
 You know that she loves you. And she is prettier 
 than Berthe. She's worth a hundred of her both in 
 head and in heart, and she isn't encumbered by a 
 Fanny Smith." 
 
 "That's true," said Guy, "but what is one to do? 
 I find her charming . . . but when I don't see her, I 
 
 never think about her at all." 
 
 * * * * # # 
 
 After having been put down in front of the Maga- 
 sins du Louvre, the "beautiful Madame Corbellier" 
 (as the newspapers that were friendly towards the 
 Government expressed it in their official reports) had 
 ostensibly made her way into the huge and noisy 
 building. In the interests of actuality she went so 
 far as to purchase from the nearest counter a packet 
 of hair-pins, labelled "neiges." Then, judging that 
 the time necessary for the Havana-coloured car to 
 turn and to be out of sight of the door had elapsed, 
 she went out of the exit that opened on to the Rue 
 Saint-Honor^, plunged into the Rue des Bons- 
 Enfants, and, turning immediately to the left in the 
 midst of this maze of ancient hovels, so disconcerting 
 in the very heart of Paris, emerged into the Rue de 
 Valois. After a few paces she passed through the 
 door of the dismal building which carries in gold 
 letters, under a flag faded and soot-soiled, the 
 pompous inscription, " Under-Secretary of Fine 
 Arts." As one familiar with the place, she ascended 
 without asking her way (but not without stopping 
 several times to take breath), the two flights of the 
 wide stone staircase which lead up to the L T nder- 
 Secretary's office. She passed through the first
 
 38 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 vestibule, and as soon as she had entered the ushers' 
 hall, the head of that fraternity came towards her, and 
 even before she could announce the object of her visit, 
 said to her in a low voice and in a tone at once 
 confidential and patronizing 
 
 "Monsieur, the Under-Secretary, is engaged for 
 the moment. But if Madame will come into the 
 private sitting-room . . ." 
 
 "Certainly, Morguet. . . ." 
 
 Morguet went in front of her, not towards the 
 immense hall, where congregate the small fry of 
 those who clamour for fame, the emaciated seekers 
 after State orders, but to the room adjoining the 
 Under-Secretary's office. 
 
 "Madame Corbellier will find here on the large 
 table L'lUustration, the Revue de Paris, the Gaulois ; " 
 and bowing with that air of self-important obse- 
 quiousness which the necessities of his position 
 develop in every ministerial usher, he added from the 
 door 
 
 "Monsieur, the Under-Secretary has still more of 
 them for a few moments." 
 
 Alone in this room with its brown and gilt wood- 
 work, from which one's glance fell upon the interest- 
 ing perspective of the Palais Royale, Emmeline Cor- 
 bellier did first of all what every woman would have 
 done in her place : she approached the looking-glass 
 which hung over the mantelpiece, and satisfied 
 herself as to the arrangement of her hat with its white 
 aigrette, her hair, and her chinchilla scarf. After this, 
 as the glass, being too high up, only showed her bust, 
 she noticed that the panels of the door were fitted with 
 a cheval glass in the fashion of Louis XVI, and 
 hurried to see the reflection of her figure. Never
 
 THE HAVANA-COLOURED CAR 39 
 
 could she resist the desire to see the reflection of her 
 complete figure, and this was not, as with so many 
 others, from motives of self-admiration. And now, 
 as she approached this other self framed by the cham- 
 branle, she knew that she was going to experience 
 once more the shock of a hidden grief. Emmeline 
 Corbellier could not console herself for being con- 
 tinuously, surely, invaded by that scourge, dreaded 
 by women of to-day as much as small-pox was by our 
 grandmothers stoutness. 
 
 As a young girl at the time when she lived with 
 her father, the head accountant in the Corbellier 
 works, in one of the houses reserved for the higher 
 employees, and went every day to Paris to take her 
 singing lesson (she was preparing for the Conserva- 
 toire), it was just this pretty figure, even more than 
 her fresh mouth and her blond cendre hair, that 
 made men look at her : a figure a little ponette, 
 a little developed above and below the narrow waist, 
 which contrasted by its slimness with all this 
 opulence. It was her pretty figure that had aroused 
 first the notice, then the admiration, and later the 
 passion of the shy son of the house, that timid 
 Maurice Corbellier, just twenty-two years old, of 
 whose longing and sad eyes, set in a thin face with a 
 colourless beard that he kept twisting in his left hand 
 she used to catch passing glimpses through the 
 office window on the ground-floor. Having become 
 Madame Maurice Corbellier, she preserved her girlish 
 outline during the first three years of marriage, 
 though her face became even more beautiful through 
 the content and leisure, and also through that luxury 
 of the toilette which only money permits. After the 
 birth of Jacques, towards her twenty-seventh year,
 
 40 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 she began imperceptibly to develop contours. The 
 chin became more and more flabby, the tops of the 
 arms plumper. But she gained more admiration 
 for that, particularly in the evening. Her bare 
 shoulders were superb, and her waist, perhaps a little 
 more sheathed in the armour of her corset, preserved 
 the slenderness of her girlhood. And this lasted for 
 years, for more than ten years, even after the birth 
 of Loute, even after her meeting with the young 
 Deputy, Croze, one summer at the waters of Mont 
 Dore, a fateful meeting which in the course of a single 
 month had brought the coquettish, but chaste 
 Emmeline to the abyss of love and infidelity. In 
 spite of her sin, she remained vaguely religious and 
 sometimes she used to tell herself that this was a 
 punishment for her sin, this slow coarsening of her 
 natural form by the invincible enemy, who little by 
 little had enlarged her face, puffed out her cheeks, and 
 increased her waist; who now was harnessing her 
 shoulder-blades with a double cushion, and without 
 intermission was rolling around her bust soft creases 
 covered again with flesh that had lost its first 
 freshness. 
 
 "And yet, how I have struggled!" Emmeline 
 would say to herself. She had, indeed, tried the infal- 
 lible remedies of the feminine journals, the soaps, the 
 salts in the bath, the cachets of poison for making one 
 thin ; she had submitted to electric treatment, to 
 vibratory massage, to all sorts of gymnastics ; she had 
 consulted every beauty specialist ; she had believed in 
 their treatment; she was convinced that she had 
 followed out their directions. Nothing would have 
 made her confess that she had always evaded the 
 different regimes, quite incapable as she was of a
 
 THE HAVANA-COLOURED CAR 41 
 
 sustained, whole-hearted conflict with her too genuine 
 inclinations gluttony and laziness. Gluttony for 
 cakes, for sugared tea, buttered scones, syrupy 
 liqueurs. Laziness in regard to all physical move- 
 ment which rendered useless every effort of thera- 
 peutics through physical exercise, for Emmeline 
 would stop short the moment that she became 
 conscious of effort. Like so many of her kind, her 
 embonpoint could only have been removed after the 
 fashion of a cyst, by the use of the knife while she was 
 under chloroform and while the only demand for 
 energy required of her would have been the words, 
 "Send me to sleep." 
 
 But she suffered from her physical deterioration 
 which was increasing horribly at the dreaded turning- 
 point of forty. With a clairvoyance, singular in a 
 woman who, for the most part, saw nothing around 
 her, who accepted ready-made opinions, and was with- 
 out the faintest shadow of critical intelligence, she did 
 not allow herself to be imposed upon by the "beautiful 
 Madame Corbellier " of the Government papers, nor 
 by the good-natured assurances of Croze, who, for 
 peace's sake, guaranteed that she had never been 
 more attractive in her life. She believed only in the 
 mirrors, questioned a hundred times a day with 
 endless anxiety. And her bird-like memory, infallible 
 in regard to this one object, brought back to her 
 faithfully all the successive Emmelines that she had 
 thus regarded in the course of years, from the little 
 Conservatoire pupil, slight and yet plump, to the 
 round and brisk ponette of Mont Dore, up to the 
 massive body of the week before, less massive, it 
 seemed to her, than she whose desolating reflection 
 the looking-glasses of the official salon were reflecting
 
 42 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 at this very moment. ... In front, thanks to the 
 artifice of the modern corset, thanks to the lines of the 
 scarf adroitly manipulated so as to lengthen the figure, 
 the illusion was possible : a lady, a little heavy, as the 
 dressmakers say, a little short, too, but young-looking 
 and still quite worth dressing elegantly. The real 
 hopelessness was seen in profile ; the rounded back, 
 the thickness of the waist, that ensemble as of a 
 pyramid common to so many women of this age, the 
 comic effect of which is still further accentuated by 
 their enormous hats. Emmeline persisted in looking 
 at herself in this way, as if she were actually pleased 
 in the midst of her distress. And from the depths of 
 this distress, there rose a thought which tortured her : 
 " It's impossible, impossible, that he does not see me 
 just as I am." 
 
 He was the jolly, sympathetic, brusque companion, 
 the hard-working friend, at once intelligent and easy- 
 going, the sounds of whose gay voice she heard at 
 this very moment through the door, although it was 
 doubled by a sash lined with cushions, which 
 separated the salon from the Official Cabinet. As this 
 voice came nearer the door, Emmeline quickly left her 
 improvised mirror and sat down in one of the majestic 
 armchairs which stood in rows along the walls. 
 Suddenly roused out of her own sad anxiety, she tried 
 to hear what was being said on the other side. The 
 padded leaf of the folding-door had just been opened ; 
 they were talking in the doorway; a woman's chatter, 
 high-pitched, interrupted by little artificial laughs, al- 
 ternated with the facetious and commonplace replies of 
 the Under-Secretary. The words were indistinguish- 
 able ; but has not the pitch of human speech, when 
 an impassioned mood accentuates it, a significance
 
 THE HAVANA-COLOURED CAR 43 
 
 quite as clear as the syllables actually pronounced? 
 The voice of the Under-Secretary was "showing off" 
 and though laughing, obviously endeavouring to 
 charm. Emmeline knew this voice of passion, this 
 changed voice, pretending to be ironical, the voice of 
 an eager, impatient, full-blooded man who seeks to 
 make himself at once witty and gallant. . . . With 
 whom ? Some low woman again ! Oh, how she hated 
 just now the political good fortune of her friend ! of 
 which, up to this moment, she had been so proud, 
 which had brought her, her personally, so many res- 
 pectful acknowledgments as the dispenser of theatri- 
 cal engagements, red ribbons, pensions, missions and 
 honours but which, on the other hand, exposed 
 Croze to the insolent ambition of official comediennes, 
 and assailed his forty-six years with sheep's eyes, 
 perfumes, gew-gaws, the ceaseless offer of youthful 
 bonnes fortunes in exchange for those official 
 favours, so easy to distribute without any supervision, 
 without its being known, even to the friend of eleven 
 years who was faithful to her adultery as to a second 
 marriage, and faithful this time of her own free will. 
 And, undoubtedly, Croze remained as affectionate 
 towards her, as tender, as eager as formerly ; he cared 
 only for her that was certain she remained the 
 durable affection of his life, blended with the recol- 
 lection of the double essence of his youth and his 
 political triumphs. But with the same acuteness that 
 she brought to the estimation of her figure, she 
 realized that he was becoming less and less a lover. 
 When he was with her, he willingly exaggerated the 
 reasons for carefulness and moderation that middle 
 age demands. He would say with a smile of 
 affectionate renunciation, "At my age!" She sus-
 
 44 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 pected that he kept his age only for her just now 
 and that elsewhere he would be willing enough to 
 disguise it, that elsewhere he would frisk, coquet, 
 conquer. And yet she did not know which to com- 
 plain of most, the evil destiny that robbed her 
 successively of all the weapons of her beauty, or the 
 ministerial chance that surrounded with light and 
 provocative women the friend whom she always loved 
 passionately at the very moment when she felt her- 
 self every day less seductive, less a woman. . . . 
 
 "Well, we shall see, if you are very, very good ! " 
 
 A short silence follows. "What is going on?" 
 Emmeline asks herself and the door opens, ushering 
 out the slim form, the dazzling beauty, the twenty 
 years of a young girl, correctly, elegantly dressed in 
 beige cloth with a white veil, a black hat with many 
 feathers, and a sable boa. 
 
 Emmeline catches the sound of the laughing adieux, 
 and imagines to herself the parting glances. Then, as 
 soon as Croze has seen her, his face changes, becomes 
 strained, annoyed, and his voice has all of a sudden 
 become official again, with a note of fatigue in it 
 
 "All right, all right, Mademoiselle, all that shall be 
 carefully attended to. Au revoir." 
 
 The actress, a pensioner of the Francais, who is 
 looking forward to her first "lead" crosses the 
 diagonal of the huge waxed floor with the step of a 
 grande amourcuse who is careful about her exit, while 
 the Under-Secretary runs up to Emmeline with out- 
 stretched hands. 
 
 "Dear one, I didn't understand it was you who 
 was waiting for me ! That wretched Morguet ! 
 Forgive me. Come into my office, please."
 
 THE HAVANA-COLOURED CAR 45 
 
 A few minutes later, here is the picture enframed 
 in the Under-Secretary's brown and gold cabinet : 
 
 Emmeline Corbellier is buried in the moleskin- 
 coloured armchair near the desk. She has raised her 
 veil ; she has just stopped sobbing, sobs which have 
 gradually brought relief, while the Under-Secretary, 
 seated near her on a revolving chair, holds her right 
 hand and kisses it devotedly, repeating with affection- 
 ate impatience 
 
 "Come, it's all over, isn't it? The big grief has 
 gone, hasn't it? One little smile, just to show that 
 it is all over ! " 
 
 Yes, it is over, or at least it is on the verge of being 
 so. A fit of jealousy aroused by the exit of the 
 comedienne is appeased as usual by the kind words 
 of the lover by the: "But I was laughing at that 
 little goose, besides she has no talent ! " and the : "If 
 you knew to what extent there is room only for you 
 in my life." Comforted by the presence and the 
 contact of the one man that she loves, Emmeline 
 begins once more to think that tears disfigure her by 
 puffing up and moistening the wrinkles of her face. 
 She dabbed her eyes, quickly passed a tiny powder 
 puff over her cheeks, straightened her hair and smiled. 
 And in his turn, Croze laughed, delighted that the 
 scene had been so short, embraced his visitor with the 
 fervour of a school-boy which, however, was suddenly 
 cut short by the appearance of Morguet, the man with 
 the silver chain who brought a bundle of papers for 
 signature. 
 
 When they were once more by themselves, Emme- 
 line, quite herself again, leaned on the roll-top desk 
 opposite Croze. 
 
 "Do you know that I have unearthed a splendid
 
 46 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 Italian teacher ... a perfectly reliable girl ... at 
 the ' Grillon ' . . . you know, the place where Julie 
 got Mag . . . (Julie is Madame Croze). But what 
 trouble I have had ! I've had to go with Mag and 
 Josette right to the other end of Crenelle. But you're 
 not listening to me." 
 
 " Yes," answered Croze, whose face had clouded 
 the name of his daughter. " What did you do with 
 Josette after this visit to the ' Grillon '?'' 
 
 " I sent her on in my car with Mag and Loute to 
 Berthe Haumont-Segre's where there is a little tea." 
 
 "I hope that Herr Graf von Letzling will not be at 
 
 this tea V " 
 
 "Certainly not! He never goes to the Haumoi 
 Segres'. But, good heavens! what a fuss you make 
 about this little flirtation, the most innocent in the 
 world, and one, too, that is already ancient history." 
 
 Croze rose quickly to his feet 
 
 "I attach the importance to it that it deserves. . . 
 From the time that the newspapers deuce take 
 them ! began to announce this absurd marriage, 
 there has not been a day in which I have not been 
 attacked in the Moderate Press. To-day, even the 
 Debats, a journal that pretends to be serious, gives 
 me a little spiteful reminder under this heading." 
 (He looked through his papers for the number without 
 finding it). "'Croze the Austrian,' compares me to 
 Louis XVI, to Napoleon. . . . Tu fclix 
 nube. . . . The wit of a pedant, the product of the 
 Ecole Normale . . . filthy libel. As for that 
 wretched Squireen, I don't wish Josette even to meet 
 him just at this time when there is talk of me for the 
 \Var Office." 
 "You ! to be Minister of War? " exclaimed Emme-
 
 THE HAVANA-COLOURED CAR 47 
 
 line, with a depth of feeling that really could not have 
 been expected from her for a piece of news so entirely 
 political. 
 
 "No, not Minister. But here are the facts, and very 
 few people know them yet. An Under-Secretaryship 
 is being created, and they might give it to me, and 
 you know an Under-Secretary for War is a very 
 different matter from an Under-Secretary of Fine Arts. 
 Of course, this annoys the Moderates, who are stupid 
 enough to persist in fighting me as -though I were an 
 anarchist. They support Berger, who drew up the 
 Naval estimates." 
 
 "Berger, I know him, he's quite nice." 
 
 "Nice enough, but an out and out Moderate." 
 
 "But aren't you a Moderate, too?" 
 
 "A Moderate, a Moderate? No, I'm not a 
 Moderate. I want the country to go forward in the 
 sense of the future; I want no political crawfish. But 
 for all that in my division, have I not always upheld 
 honourable people ? Do they worry Catholics at 
 Romorantin ? Has not even my marriage given them 
 the best of guarantees, a Mademoiselle de Sauzon, 
 from the heart of the most re-actionary and clerical 
 part of the country my good Julie, who is all piety 
 and charity, the benefactress of all the cassocks in 
 the place. . . ." 
 
 "My good Julie" was, as already explained, 
 Madame Croze, and they both spoke of her for a 
 moment with an affectionate unconsciousness that was 
 thoroughly bourgeois. 
 
 She was scarcely embarrassing, the good Madame 
 Croze, nee Julie de Sauzon, sister-in-law of Baron 
 Ropart d'Anay. Not at all stupid, on the contrary, 
 firm and determined, but so absolutely confident in
 
 48 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 her husband that even the most circumstantial, anony- 
 mous letters had never been able to shake her faith in 
 him ! And neither Croze nor Emmeline suspected 
 that Julie's confidence was so intimately joined to her 
 wifely love, that the day on which she lost it, that 
 wifely love would die with it. 
 
 At this time she was suffering from the after conse- 
 quences of phlebitis. Emmeline asked anxiously 
 after her health, and Croze declared that it was satis- 
 factory, but that a long period of rest was necessary. 
 "I shall go to see her to-morrow, without fail," said 
 Emmeline. 
 
 "That's right. She was complaining of being 
 neglected by her friends." 
 
 And reverting without transition to the subject that 
 preoccupied him 
 
 "All this wrangling makes little difference to me," 
 he went on, "I shall get to the Rue Saint-Dominique 
 in spite of everything, but you don't see the Under- 
 Minister of War marrying his daughter into the 
 Triple Alliance. ... At this period of enraged 
 Chauvinism. . . . Hullo ! " 
 
 The telephone sounded on the superintendent's 
 table. Emmeline remained motionless in front of him 
 as Croze took up the receiver. 
 
 "Yes, it is I. ... Good-morning, Tuillier. . . 
 Certainly, certainly, I am coming now, this instant." 
 He hung up the receiver hurriedly, and still 
 standing, said 
 
 "The President of the Council has summoned me. 
 I believe, as they say in Montmartre, that this is 
 going to be a bit of the fat ! " 
 " What good luck ! " 
 Emmeline's delight amazed Croze.
 
 THE HAVANA-COLOURED CAR 49 
 
 " Does that give you pleasure ? " 
 
 "Of course, since it gives it to you." 
 
 " I warn you," demurred Croze with a smile, as he 
 took from a large cupboard, his overcoat, hat, 
 walking-stick and gloves, "I warn you that you won't 
 be able to come any more and invade me all of a 
 sudden as you do here. Up there things are serious. 
 ... I shall be surrounded by people with shoulder- 
 knots." 
 
 "That's all the same to me." 
 
 Ready to go out, he embraced Emmeline, and then, 
 pressing against him lingeringly, she murmured 
 
 "I prefer people with shoulder-knots to low 
 actresses." 
 
 Croze burst out laughing, kissed her again, then 
 pushed her familiarly out of the door, which so 
 recently had seen the exit of the pensioner of the 
 Frangais. 
 
 "Ring me up before dinner," Emmeline urged, "so 
 that I may know what the President has said to you." 
 
 "Certainly I will, and now my little Line, you must 
 really hurry off." 
 
 "Rue Montaigne, as quickly as possible," Emmeline 
 said to the footman, as she entered her car after 
 having passed once more through the Magasins du 
 Louvre. 
 
 The motor dashed along the Rue Saint-Honore". 
 But no sooner had it passed the Place du Palais 
 Royale than Madame Corbellier spoke through the 
 tube to the driver 
 
 "Stop at Saint Roch ! " 
 
 She wished to put a wax taper before the Virgin 
 in that chapel, so still and hallowed, which lies at 
 the very extremity of the church behind the high altar,
 
 50 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 so as to have Croze nominated as Under-Secretary 
 of War. 
 
 And as she had a soul devoid of baseness, she pro- 
 posed to Providence a combination that would please 
 everybody : Croze for War, Berger for the Fine Arts. 
 And then and there, she placed two wax candles 
 before the Virgin.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE DOUBLE SUITE 
 
 As already arranged with Mag, Sandra Ceroni 
 passed the concierge without any questions, and 
 made her way through the vaulted entrance of the old 
 house which bears the number 673, near the church of 
 the Trinity in Rue Saint Lazare. She crossed the first 
 court, turned to the left under a second arch, and 
 entered a hall where there was a broad old-fashioned 
 staircase of polished wood. Here she hesitated; two 
 single-leaf doors of imitation mahogany stood at right 
 angles to each other, facing the entrance. Which 
 should she ring at ? The Italian rummaged in her 
 reticule and drew out a little note-book which she 
 consulted thoughtfully. A fortnight in Emmeline 
 Corbellier's service had been sufficient to metamor- 
 phosize her. She was now dressed like a Parisian. 
 But the slow grace of her hereditary gestures con- 
 trasted with all the artificiality that had been imposed 
 upon her from outside ; and the classical beauty of her 
 figure revealed itself under those artifices which are 
 intended to make all feminine figures more or less 
 alike. 
 
 After taking her bearings, she rang three times at 
 the door nearer the staircase, and almost at once it 
 opened. 
 
 "Twelve o'clock striking ! what punctuality ! You 
 are the first arrival."
 
 52 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 Mag and Sandra greeted each other in a little ante- 
 chamber that was rather dark. 
 
 "Shall I keep my hat on?" asked the Italian. 
 
 "Come and take it off in the bedroom." 
 
 After passing through the antechamber they 
 entered a sitting-room which was dimly lighted by a 
 single window, with a blind and brise-bise looking 
 out on to the court. Sandra, however, noted the 
 tasteful elegance of the hangings and the furniture; 
 a table laid for four, a little round table, on which was 
 a fine table-cloth, whereon a spiny lobster fraternized 
 with cold meats and cakes, while soaked in a bucket 
 of ice, champagne and Rhine wines were also 
 waiting. 
 
 " Madonna ! Is all this for us ? " 
 
 "Certainly- Did you think that I meant you to 
 fast ? Come and take off your hat." 
 
 The bedroom was small, too, and even darker than 
 the sitting-room. Mag switched on the electric light, 
 and they could see a broad bed, a few pretty 
 specimens of Empire furniture in citron wood, and a 
 few bronzes. In one corner, a bookcase contain- 
 ing some nicely-bound books, occupied a whole 
 panel. 
 
 "The dressing-room is here," said Mag, as she 
 opened a door. The electric light streamed down on 
 the porcelain, on the nickel fittings, on the unframed 
 bevelled glasses. 
 
 "What luxury!" said Sandra gaily, after placing 
 her unpinned hat on the bed. "But in whose house 
 shall we be? Tell me?" And immediately cor- 
 recting herself, "In whose house are we?" 
 "In mine," said Mag. 
 "Oh!"
 
 THE DOUBLE SUITE 53 
 
 "You don't believe it. You're right there, I'm 
 much too hard up to treat myself to rooms like these. 
 And you haven't seen them all yet. There's another 
 set." 
 
 "Where's that?" 
 
 "Look for it. It opens into here, into this very 
 room." 
 
 "I can only see two doors . . . one to the sitting- 
 room and the other to the dressing-room." 
 
 "There is a third." 
 
 She went up to the bookcase and took hold of a 
 volume by the back. The book, turning on a hinge, 
 fell flat on the shelf, and disclosed a door knob ; Mag 
 turned the knob and pushed gently. The whole book- 
 case followed the door and there was disclosed another 
 room of similar size, simply, but quite nicely fur- 
 nished, another dressing-room, another vestibule. 
 Sandra gave a slight shiver. 
 
 " It's not exactly comfortable here." 
 
 "The radiators are turned off. But just look for 
 another instant." In the second vestibule Mag 
 opened the hall door. Sandra saw the staircase, the 
 entrance to another house. . . . 
 
 "One goes out that side into the Rue de Chateau- 
 dun. Do you understand? Now let's get back 
 quickly, or we shall catch cold." 
 
 When they had returned to the sitting-room where 
 the table was laid, Mag laughed at Sandra who 
 seemed lost in thought. 
 
 "What are you dreaming of, beautiful statue?" 
 
 "Really," said Sandra, "I understand nothing. 
 Where are we? What is the meaning of this false 
 door and this double exit?" 
 
 "Sit down and listen. I'll tell you while we are
 
 54 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 waiting for Fanny and Rosalie, who are sure not to 
 be here before half-past twelve. Up to last autumn, 
 this double set of bachelors' chambers had not been 
 occupied, but only utilized, by a Frankfurter who 
 made his fortune in chemicals, a certain Hausbinder. 
 He was a bachelor and had a house in the Rue Bizet 
 and a regular mistress. But he liked quiet little 
 parties, caprices . . . you understand. And to shield 
 himself at once from his mistress' jealousy and from 
 any curiosity that might be dangerous, he arranged 
 this harem with two exits." 
 
 "Is he dead?" asked Sandra. 
 
 "No, he had to go back to Frankfurt. His firm 
 went to pieces in his absence. He sold his house and 
 lost his mistress. And here, in this little temple of 
 love, he has been succeeded by Bolski, his friend 
 and mine." 
 
 She detached the "and mine" with a provoking 
 boastfulness like a lover proud of naming her master, 
 and this shamelessness made Sandra blush from head 
 to foot. 
 
 "Then," she said, "it's here that you see him?" 
 
 "Wait a moment, the story isn't quite so simple! 
 Up till now, I have been seeing my friend in his 
 rooms. We've known each other for years, I am from 
 Koenigsberg, like him ; he was fond of me when I was 
 a kid. As long as he was rich I lived with him ; you 
 know that yourself, seeing that I was a bogus 
 " Madame Bolski " when I met you at Abbazia. 
 To-day, he is ruined ; I make my living by selling 
 Goethe and he makes his by selling Chopin. But 
 with all our quarrels and experiments in separation 
 from time to time, we know well enough that we 
 belong to each other for life. Bolski is now living in
 
 THE DOUBLE SUITE 55 
 
 quite unpretentious furnished rooms on the boule- 
 vards, where he receives me, but he is the 
 University comrade and friend of Count Adolf de 
 Letzling, the Austrian military attache". Bolski, like 
 Letzling, is of a noble family, and although in the 
 Austrian service, Letzling has a fine fortune. Do 
 you understand now ? " 
 
 "Not in the least," replied Sandra. 
 
 "If you had lived only six months in Paris, you 
 would have understood by now. Bolski is nominally 
 the tenant, but Letzling pays the rent." 
 
 "In order to help Bolski?" 
 
 "Not at all. Of the two, the one under an 
 obligation should be M. de Letzling, for by this 
 means, without the slightest risk, he will be able to 
 meet a young person, whom he is not allowed to meet 
 elsewhere." 
 
 "Your pupil?" 
 
 "She herself. For the rest, Josette is a little 
 backfisch who knows nothing whatever about love, I 
 give you my word ! She knows nothing, and dreams 
 only of the good motive ! But she must see her 
 Letzling at any price. So I, who am of a com- 
 passionate nature, devote myself to her. I shall bring 
 her here under my protection. Her attache" will meet 
 her here." 
 
 " In your presence ? " 
 
 "No, during these billings and cooings, I shall be 
 receiving Bolski on the other side of the bookcase. I 
 must fill in the time somehow, mustn't I ? Josette and 
 I will enter and leave together by the Rue St. Lazare. 
 There is an antiquary under the arch, and he's a good 
 excuse. Letzling and Bolski, on the other hand, will 
 never enter except by the Rue de Chateaudun.
 
 56 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 Finally, if they happened to surround our refuge, it 
 is arranged that it is I who shall allow myself to be 
 caught with Letzling, with Letzling, you understand, 
 not with Bolski in the one of the two sets of rooms 
 which will have been ferreted out. And while I am 
 thus sacrificing myself, Josette, under the escort of 
 Bolski, will escape on the side that's clear. Isn't it a 
 good plan ? " 
 
 Sandra had listened to her friend's confidences 
 with her usual seriousness. After being silent for 
 some time, she murmured 
 
 " How vicious it all is ! " 
 
 "Undeceive yourself about that. There is not the 
 least vice in my plan. The bookcase door will be 
 closed, closed tight. Each couple will be in their own 
 set of apartments. I can't promise you that Bolski 
 and I will be content with touching the tips of each 
 other's fingers. As for Letzling and Josette I would 
 bet anything that there will only be words between 
 them, with a little kiss here and there. But then, my 
 dear, it is our business, you know as well as I do, 
 to make freedom and money out of the sins of our 
 employers! Grasp that. Wer kommt aber hier? 
 Didn't the door open?" 
 
 In her uneasiness the German sprang to her feet. 
 At the same instant Fanny Smith, dressed completely 
 in black with a mournful elegance that was rather 
 puritanic, appeared, smiling discreetly, in the open 
 doorway of the sitting-room. 
 
 "How the deuce did you get in?" 
 
 "Straight in by the door," answered the English- 
 woman. "I thought you left it open for me on 
 purpose." 
 
 "Not at all. It was Sandra here."
 
 THE DOUBLE SUITE 57 
 
 She threatened her in a friendly way with her 
 finger, after which she introduced them 
 
 "Mademoiselle Sandra Ceroni, who has been for 
 the last fortnight with the Corbelliers Mademoiselle 
 Fanny Smith, the governess of Mademoiselle Berthe 
 Haumont-Segre. You have not met each other 
 before?" 
 
 "I have not had that pleasure," said the English- 
 woman. 
 
 They shook hands and Fanny's eyes, of that opaque 
 blue which is also clear as turquoise, and exception- 
 ally penetrating, seemed to sum Sandra up from the 
 deep coils of her hair to her large, perfectly-shaped 
 feet. 
 
 "She is nice, the little maccaroni, isn't she?" Mag 
 chaffed, with a look at Fanny, so excessively 
 impertinent that, for all her coolness, the English- 
 woman turned away. "My little Sandra," the 
 German continued, "this beautiful lady in black is a 
 model for us all, and I introduce to you a governess 
 who knows what to do, as they say here." 
 
 "I know how to do what?" asked the English- 
 woman, who understood slang imperfectly. 
 
 " I mean to say that in the house where you find 
 yourself, you manage everybody. Father, mother 
 and daughter are at your feet." 
 
 "Nonsense," said Fanny, "don't listen to her, 
 Mademoiselle Sandra. I have a great affection for 
 my pupil, Berthe; I believe that she returns it, and, 
 as she is ever so much more intelligent than her father 
 or her mother, she has control over them." 
 
 They escorted her to the bedroom to take off her 
 hat. As she was placing it on the bed and at the 
 same time straightening her carefully waved chest-
 
 58 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 nut hair, three rings at the door summoned Mag. 
 For the moment Fanny Smith was alone with Sandra. 
 She turned again on her that fixed glance, and said 
 
 "It is true that you are very beautiful, Made- 
 moiselle." 
 
 Sandra made a grimace of semi-embarrassment, but 
 Mag's return prevented her from replying. She 
 brought Rosalie Boisset with her, and the new arrival 
 was so pale and quivering with emotion, that for some 
 seconds she pressed both hands against her ample 
 bosom and was unable to utter a word. Mag shook 
 with laughter. 
 
 "There's an innocent child for you! She was 
 almost taken ill because the concierge called out 
 to her while she was crossing the court and asked 
 her where she was going. Come now kid, pull 
 yourself together; she won't eat you up, the con- 
 cierge ! She has seen plenty of others. I'm going 
 to introduce you to these ladies. But as a matter of 
 fact, Fanny knows you. Now Sandra, this is Made- 
 moiselle Rosalie Boisset, a charming young girl from 
 Luxemburg, who for some little time has been 
 attending to the education of Mademoiselle Ropart 
 d'Anay, my pupil's cousin. She also attends to the 
 domestic accounts of Madame Ropart d'Anay, the 
 farm accounts of her husband, and the lessons of the 
 little Ropart d'Anays. She doses the twins and, in 
 short, earns the admiration of the whole family." 
 
 "Oh, Mag ! " put in Rosalie. 
 
 She was laughing now at her fright, and the rich 
 tint of her blood lit up her honest cheeks. Fanny 
 Smith examined with sympathetic curiosity the 
 simple toilet of the newcomer, her ample skirt, not 
 in the least in the fashion, her blouse of brown
 
 THE DOUBLE SUITE 59 
 
 silk, utterly provincial, cut low, and undisguisedly 
 belonging to Madame Ropart d'Anay, and, beneath 
 the felt hat, with a pathetic poverty of decoration, hair 
 of a rather faded blond, common enough, but of an 
 extraordinary abundance. 
 
 "Nice little girl," she observed in an undertone as 
 if to herself. "Looks a baby." 
 
 "You see, I have chosen my guests for you, Fanny," 
 Mag whispered in the same tone, and this time again 
 Fanny remained silent. 
 
 "I've been so frightened," said the young Belgian, 
 now re-assured, to Fanny. "That concierge with the 
 beard ran after me, and said, ' Where are you going 
 like that, Mademoiselle ? ' I suppose she thought 
 that I wasn't well enough dressed for the front 
 entrance. And I stammered out I couldn't think of 
 the name that Mag had told me to give, ' Madame 
 Bolski.' When I did get the name out at last, the old 
 witch became all sugar : ' Under the second arch to 
 the left, Mademoiselle ! Would you like me to come 
 with you ? No ? My best respects to you, Made- 
 moiselle.' ' She mimicked comically the grimace and 
 the curtsey of the hag, doubling herself up and 
 holding the fold of her skirt between her fingers, as 
 if for a minuet. 
 
 "Oh, what an amusing little thing you are!" 
 exclaimed Fanny Smith, suddenly thawing. 
 
 And she kissed Rosalie on both her fresh cheeks 
 which reddened more than ever. 
 
 "Come to lunch," said Mag, "it's striking one. I 
 warn you that we shall have to wait on ourselves." 
 
 "Oh," burst out Rosalie, "I ask nothing better than 
 to wait on you all three ; do let me, Mag, please do." 
 
 "If you insist on it, little one," replied Mag. "It's
 
 60 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 a regular mania with that kid; she must put herself 
 out for the convenience of others. Ah, the Ropart 
 d'Anays have more than value for their money." 
 
 As soon as Fanny, Sandra and Mag had taken their 
 places at the table, Rosalie handed round the spiny 
 lobster, and then poured out the iced Rhine wine into 
 the amber-coloured glasses. She had really a natural 
 gift for comic imitation, and one would have sworn 
 that she had played this role of an energetic and 
 sly waitress all her life. When the rest had been 
 served she consented to sit down between Fanny and 
 Sandra. Her lively and whole-hearted gaiety had 
 immediately cheered up the guests. Even the 
 Englishwoman lost something of her self-sufficiency. 
 Mag questioned her 
 
 "You must tell me how you managed to get this 
 afternoon off. In every situation one has only to ask 
 for a particular day for one's employer to declare that 
 it is just on that day that one is quite indispensable." 
 "Oh!" said the Englishwoman, "I merely said 
 that I was not lunching in the house; that's all." 
 
 "That's all," mimicked Mag, with a sneer. "That's 
 all for you, my fine girl; I'd like to see you with my 
 employer. In the first place, Mother Croze is 
 extremely anxious about morality. In the interests 
 of my virtue, she is afraid of my going out too often." 
 "Then how do you manage?" 
 
 "Fortunately, there is Josette, who is my ally. 
 But you, Sandra, what trick did you play ? " 
 
 The Italian girl in spite of the warm tints of her 
 complexion, blushed easily. She had this blush on 
 her face now, and she hesitated for a few seconds 
 before replying, while the indefatigable Rosalie 
 changed the plates and served out the cold meats.
 
 THE DOUBLE SUITE 61 
 
 "I asked for it through M. Jacques." 
 
 The eyes of both Mag and Fanny exchanged a 
 glance of some little astonishment. 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed Mag smiling, "so you have 
 tamed Jacques Corbellier, have you? that's a record, 
 that is, or rather, it's a conversion. Oh, don't look 
 at me like that. If your eyes were loaded with bullets 
 I should be killed at one shot. I only say what 
 everybody says. It is quite possible that they 
 exaggerate. Young Corbellier is a bad lot ; I know 
 all about it, because I've lived in Berlin. But if he 
 finds you to his taste, and if he makes love to you, I 
 give him back my good opinion. And you, little 
 Rosalie, what fairy tale have you been telling the 
 Baroness ? " 
 
 "But ... I told the truth. Once a week, I am 
 sent to Paris for the Employment Institute for 
 Orphans. Usually, the Baron comes with me, but 
 just now he is taking part in a Congress of Free 
 Schools at Blois, and I had to come all by myself. 
 So I said I would lunch with you, Mag." 
 
 "At all events, you didn't tell them where? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Good! It's not worth blushing about. You're 
 young in this business. You will learn that we must 
 confide as little as" possible of the truth to our em- 
 ployers on the subject of our doings. They have no 
 right to know our lives, have they ? If the Baroness 
 asks you this evening, tell her that you lunched with me 
 at the Bouillon Duval. And look here, give us some 
 champagne; Mademoiselle Smith's glass is empty." 
 
 Rosalie jumped to her feet. 
 
 "Let me open it. At Val d'Anay, I always attend 
 to the cellar. You'll see."
 
 62 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 And she drew the cork noiselessly and without 
 losing one frothy bubble, like a master-butler. She 
 filled the glasses; Sandra and Mag sipped theirs, the 
 Englishwoman, having emptied hers, murmured 
 
 "Very nice champagne; very dry." 
 
 "It was chosen by Bolski ; he's a good judge," said 
 Mag. "It's he who is giving us this lunch." 
 
 "Shall we see M. Bolski?" asked Fanny Smith, 
 whose cheeks were getting flushed, and who seemed 
 gradually to be transformed into a new person with 
 rough gestures and loud tones in her voice. 
 
 "Perhaps," Mag answered evasively, "but later 
 on." 
 
 They ate for some time in silence. Rosalie attended 
 zealously to the waiting. When the cold meats had 
 been removed, all four of them nibbled at the fruits 
 and cakes, tickling their palates with the piquante 
 aroma of the wine. Rosalie, very red, her eyes 
 sparkling, took her place between Fanny and Sandra 
 once more. Suddenly she commenced to prattle with 
 the babble of a child who has been kept up too late, 
 and who has become excitable in the society of grown- 
 up people. 
 
 "Certainly, I won't tell where I lunched, nor that I 
 drank champagne. The Baroness wouldn't scold me. 
 Oh, no, she is so nice. But she would be sorry. She 
 would make me go through a whole heap of prayers 
 with her. But on the contrary, I believe that I will 
 tell the Baron. One can't hide anything from him. 
 He looks me right in the face, and says to me 
 ' Rosalie, Rosalie, I see by your nose that you are 
 telling me a fib.' Oh, he's inimitable, is the Baron, 
 and a good man too, so intelligent, and does so much 
 good. He looks after all religious works, and even
 
 THE DOUBLE SUITE 63 
 
 in my country he takes an interest in the working 
 orphans. You have no idea of the letters he makes 
 me write, to the bishop, the prefect, even to the 
 minister. He's not a bit frightened of the Radicals, 
 I should think not; he's sound. . . . One would 
 think he was thirty-five, but he is forty-two. Mag, 
 I'll uncork the other bottle, shall I ? It's odd ! This 
 champagne, I didn't find it sweet enough at first, and 
 now I like it; it warms, it warms. . . ." 
 
 And then stopping all of a sudden, "I'm not getting 
 drunk, am I ? " 
 
 "No, dear little thing," said the Englishwoman, 
 taking her neighbour's left hand and caressing it 
 softly between her own. "You are not drunk, you are 
 just lively and amusing, that's all." 
 
 Mag was dreaming, her eyes fixed on her glass, 
 her forehead wrinkled in anxiety. Suddenly she 
 rose 
 
 "What about smoking? I was forgetting to offer 
 you cigarettes." 
 
 She went to get some parti-coloured boxes from a 
 little press. 
 
 "These come straight from Constantinople," she 
 said. "Letzling brought them in his valise." 
 
 She stretched out her hand at the same time to fill 
 their glasses from two bottles of liqueurs, one of rose- 
 coloured aniseed and the other of cognac. 
 
 "Aniseed, please," cried Rosalie eagerly. 
 
 The Englishwoman, without speaking, poured 
 herself out some cognac. 
 
 All four began to smoke, Mag and Fanny, experts ; 
 Rosalie and Sandra sucking their cigarettes with the 
 amusing expressions of novices. Rosalie went on 
 with her chatter. She spoke once more of the Baron,
 
 64 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 "who was such a handsome man," and of the 
 Baroness, for whose sake "she would be thrown into 
 the water." She spoke of the twins, Marguerite and 
 Violette, "darlings, like a pair of pigeons"; the two 
 youngsters, Hector and Jean, "regular little devils, 
 who amused themselves in knocking her down and 
 climbing upon her." She spoke of Henriette, "a 
 really excellent little girl, but who was never able to 
 spell properly either in French or German." The 
 three other governesses scarcely listened to her; they 
 were solely amused in watching the intoxication 
 rising, rising in this child's brain. Suddenly, as 
 unexpectedly as she had commenced talking, Rosalie 
 became silent. She sucked her cigarette for some 
 time, extinguished it, lit it again, and extinguished it 
 afresh. She put her elbow on the table, and leaned 
 her head in her hand. She had an uncertain look in 
 her eyes, and, smiling feebly at the surrounding faces, 
 stammered out 
 
 "The Baron the Baron told me told me 
 She was unable to finish her sentence, and suddenly 
 dropped fast asleep. As her head swayed on the 
 table, Fanny rose, and with a physical strength that 
 aroused the admiration of Mag and Sandra, seized the 
 young girl by the waist and knees, carried her across 
 the room, and stretched her out on the Louis XVI 
 sofa, as though she were putting a baby to bed. 
 Having placed her there she kissed her hair and 
 resumed her place at the table. 
 
 "Bravo ! " exclaimed Mag and Sandra. 
 "Oh, that's nothing," said the Englishwoman 
 laughing, "that child is so small! I could carry 
 Mademoiselle Sandra if she wished it. We English 
 women have our muscles developed."
 
 THE DOUBLE SUITE 65 
 
 Mag looked for some time at the sleeping Rosalie, 
 then thoughtfully, her chin in her hand, she said 
 
 "Poor kid ! it's pitiable. To be exploited as she is, 
 fifty francs a month, seven people to serve, and yet to 
 be overflowing with gratitude to her masters ! I do 
 my best to make her assert, herself in her own interests, 
 but nothing has any effect on a disposition like that." 
 "There are governesses who are regular servants," 
 said Fanny Smith disdainfully. " I know of some 
 who make their own beds." 
 
 "Their own ! you can go further than that," replied 
 Mag. "I bet that the little one makes her master's." 
 The wine, the cigarettes, the liqueurs and the food, 
 were lighting up her cheeks, usually so colourless, 
 and had brought a moist light into her eyes. But 
 she carried her alcohol like an experienced guest who 
 has drunk many another bottle, and who knows by 
 personal experience that his head will not fail him. 
 However, she gradually lost her ordinary manner. 
 The corners of her mouth drooped, giving her face an 
 air of bitterness and fatigue ; the forehead grew older. 
 Madame Croze and Josette would have been surprised 
 and uneasy at seeing the wanton appearing from 
 beneath the outer guise of the Fraulein the woman 
 of pot-houses and foreign dens, the woman with a 
 chequered past, a mysterious person, whose real 
 nature now unfolded itself. The Englishwoman, 
 however, who had drunk heavily, succeeded in be- 
 coming intoxicated with a methodical gloom, mixing 
 cognac and aniseed in her champagne glass; but she, 
 like the other, did not speak a single word inco- 
 herently. Alcohol had merely loosened her tongue, 
 while the blotches deepened on her face, and all her 
 gestures, usually so precise, lost their coherence and
 
 66 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 regularity : one would have said that she was getting 
 out of order. Of the four women, the one who had 
 eaten and drunk the least was the temperate daughter 
 of Trieste. But the sensibility of her nerves and 
 blood was not the less affected; her grave, regular 
 features were stiffened almost into rigidity ; the beauty 
 of her eyes became intensified. At first, the more 
 she drank, the more and more silent she became; 
 then she grew sociable, and began to talk. Suspicious 
 by nature, sulky just now, when Mag had passed her 
 verdict on Jacques Corbellier, she, too, yielded to that 
 frame of mind which good cheer and wine induce 
 among a small number of friends. She experienced 
 that need of confiding which brings together isolated 
 beings, whose circumstances are alike, exiles from 
 their respective countries, who have endured more or 
 less the same miseries, suffered the same trials, nour- 
 ished the same hatreds, the same hopes, and practised 
 the same vices, or very nearly so. The knowledge of 
 Rosalie's presence would doubtless have restrained or 
 embarrassed them. The young girl in her defenceless- 
 ness, appealed to their sympathies through her youth 
 and her disarming kindness. But all the same they 
 felt her to be not one of themselves, too innocent, 
 without a past, pleased with her lot, a friend of her 
 employers, loving France through her kinship of race 
 and language, born on the French borders, and, 
 consequently, knowing nothing of that bitterness 
 peculiar to the paid exile, nothing of that excessive 
 sentiment of hatred against the land which pays you 
 for this exile. It was this hatred of France that their 
 drunkenness first revealed, with the mingling of scorn 
 and envy, which our old country with its refined 
 civilization and insouciant temperament, excites
 
 67 
 
 among foreigners France, whose absolute ruin, 
 whose disappearance from the map of the world they 
 all wish ; whose death they have been ready so many 
 times to celebrate, but which suddenly comes to life 
 again and resumes her status among the peoples, re- 
 newed by genius, by force, by glory, and by all that 
 which is even more insupportable to the other peoples 
 than genius, force and glory : elegance and irony. 
 These three young women, all of them desirable, 
 Sandra, Mag and Fanny, were conscious of the 
 elegance of Paris, especially the elegance of the 
 toilette. Without confessing it they felt that they all, 
 even Mag, lacked that mysterious gift of dressing 
 which they recognized in all Parisian women, from 
 those in society to those who run errands^ Precisely 
 because she was so horribly dressed, they forgave 
 Rosalie Boisset for having been born so close to 
 France; but they jeered at those of their French col- 
 leagues whom they knew, or had met in the society 
 of their pupils. 
 
 "They powder themselves," declared Fanny Smith, 
 "but under the powder their faces are dirty. For that 
 matter, all French women are dirty and dislike taking 
 baths." 
 
 "And you only know the best of them," Mag in- 
 sisted. "As for me, who have lived with little French 
 bourgeois, you can't imagine their coarseness ! A 
 foot-bath once a fortnight, the hands and face washed 
 in the morning, no more. The new generation is 
 better; Guy and Josette Croze are English in their 
 personal habits. Even the Under-Secretary takes a 
 shower-bath because he gets headaches when he 
 works, but if he's in a hurry, it's good-bye to the 
 bath ! And how coarse he is, how he perspires !
 
 68 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 There are days when I daren't go near him ! Mother 
 Croze is of a different class; she belongs to the old 
 school of French woman, you know; she is a pro- 
 vincial noble, the sister of Rosalie's mistress. She's 
 too modest to show herself naked; she puts on her 
 night-dress over her chemise. You can guess how 
 comfortable that is for the toilette." 
 
 "And then," said Sandra, "all the arrangements 
 for bathing are badly managed, and everything else, 
 too, isn't it a fact? Heating, electricity, everything 
 goes wrong. In Italy and in Germany, too, things 
 are much better managed ! " 
 
 "Nothing goes right in France," summed up 
 Fanny, "it is a country that is decomposed, rotten." 
 
 They cited all the symptoms of decay that the 
 country betrayed ; and in their dialogues they uncon- 
 sciously replaced their own personal observations by 
 their recollections of what they had read in the news- 
 papers of their own country. Each of them took in 
 one from her own country. Mag read The Post of 
 Berlin; Fanny, The Daily News; Sandra The Mattino 
 of Naples. While continuing to smoke and drink, 
 they exchanged these stores of hatred with biting 
 delight: depopulation; assassins at fifteen years old; 
 anti-militarism; the army no longer disciplined; the 
 sailors jumped overboard with their equipment; the 
 peasants left the land uncultivated; the old French 
 woollen stocking, now definitely in holes, let slip the 
 gold that had been accumulating for centuries. 
 Frenchmen were satyrs or alcoholics; they only 
 thought about absinthe and women. Frenchwomen, 
 ah ! Frenchwomen, they were the worst of all. And 
 they cited the heroines of fashionable comedies : a 
 mother debauched the college friend of her son; an
 
 THE DOUBLE SUITE 69 
 
 old man ruined his family for the sake of a servant- 
 girl ; a young girl captured her mother's lover. In 
 this way they substituted afresh their recollections of 
 literature for what actual life showed them every day. 
 Forgetting that Madame Croze and Baroness Ropart 
 d'Anay, the two sisters, lived almost like nuns, and 
 that the Haumont women were unimpeachable, they 
 returned ceaselessly to Emmeline Corbellier and 
 because she had, undoubtedly, an adulterous liaison, 
 it was she who represented in their eyes the real 
 womanhood of France. 
 
 Then cheered up by disgorging this anti-French 
 virus which, usually, they were compelled to keep 
 hidden, they passed suddenly to the other subject, 
 that interested them even more : themselves, the 
 longings of their hearts, what they were suffering 
 or what they had suffered, no longer because they 
 were exiles, but because they were isolated beings, 
 without companions, excluded by their calling from 
 the love of men. And it appeared that they harboured 
 as much hatred against the male sex as against foreign 
 soil. Each of them had suffered from men, in different 
 places that they had been in. Male desire had harassed 
 them all, or if, outside the houses where they were 
 employed, they had allowed themselves to be tempted 
 by some intrigue, they had been basely exploited ; 
 they had been made use of and deserted when the 
 moment for helping them arrived. Advantage had 
 been taken of their being compelled to respect 
 appearances and to avoid any scandal that would rob 
 them of their means of livelihood. They confessed 
 now all these disasters of their hearts, leaning towards 
 each other, their voices more discreet, more confiden- 
 tial, more, as it were, fraternal, than when they were
 
 70 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 spitting out their hatred of France. It was not yet 
 four o'clock ; but the rain which inundated the court 
 had made it dark in the little sitting-room ; electric 
 light lit up the table where gilt-tipped cigarettes ends 
 were now piled up in the saucers, while the aromatic 
 smoke of oriental tobacco, mingled with the breath 
 and perfumes of the women, condensed, as it were, the 
 odour of a harem. Sandra in her beautiful serious 
 voice was telling what had happened to her at nine- 
 teen (she was twenty-two now) in her second situa- 
 tion ; it was, as a matter of fact, at Abbazia, where 
 Mag had known her, in the house of the Americans. 
 
 "You remember, Mag, that Bruston, that scoun- 
 drel ? He had become rich by practising usury in 
 the West. He was a little man, but so strong ! He 
 could bend a piece of iron like a stick of wood ; he 
 used to talk to me in corners ; he used to tell me that 
 he wanted to get a divorce and marry me. My 
 answer was : ' All right, get a divorce, and I will 
 marry you afterwards.' Then, one day, when only he 
 and I were in the villa, as Madame had taken the 
 little one to Trieste ... it was so hot you know 
 how hot it is in Abbazia in the month of March. . . . 
 I was quietly reading in my room, lying down with 
 my dressing-gown on. In he comes, and without a 
 word, tries to embrace me. Fortunately, I had time 
 to seize the paper-knife in my book : it was a little 
 Japanese dagger, very sharp, and as his hands were 
 around me, I began to strike at his coarse neck, at his 
 cheeks, his head. He was suddenly covered with 
 blood, and called out: ' Are you mad, are you?' 
 But he had to run away all the same, and well slashed, 
 I can tell you. He told his wife that he had been cut 
 with a piece of broken glass."
 
 THE DOUBLE SUITE 71 
 
 The Italian girl had acted the end of the scene, 
 picking up a fruit-knife that lay on the table. Her 
 eyes gleamed, and one felt that she was ready to take 
 the blood of any one who wished by force to profit by 
 her beauty without giving her anything in exchange. 
 
 Mag, sprawling on the table in an attitude of 
 weariness, murmured 
 
 " If I had played with a knife every time that 
 my pupils' fathers or brothers pushed open my 
 door ! I have another method, much simpler ; I cry 
 out, I cry out, as if I were in flames. Then they get 
 out." 
 
 In a lower tone, with the laugh of a courtesan, she 
 added 
 
 "And there have been times when I did not cry out 
 at all." 
 
 "Oh, for shame, Mag," said the Englishwoman. 
 
 "Bah ! " replied Mag, "one isn't an angel. One is 
 a woman with senses. It's hard, sometimes, all alone, 
 away from one's own country, to have no one to speak 
 tender things to you, to kiss you ! If the master is a 
 coarse, perspiring brute, like mine at this present 
 moment, or one like Sandra's Bruston, why then, of 
 course, one is virtuous, one defends oneself by crying 
 out, or with a knife. But there, between ourselves, 
 (no one hears us), when it pleases us, when it tempts 
 us, we know well enough how to leave our door open 
 at night, or meet Monsieur somewhere in the town. 
 And, after all, it is, perhaps, those situations where 
 one is most happy." 
 
 Sandra kept her beautiful eyes lowered, as if she 
 did not dare either to approve or to contradict the 
 cynical German. Fanny, who, not having stopped 
 drinking, was now at the second stage of drunken-
 
 72 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 ness excited, making nervous gestures, her eyes 
 blinking, her cheeks purple, declared 
 
 "Never have I opened my door, never have I met 
 my employer by appointment in a town. I would 
 regard myself, if I had done so, as worse than a 
 woman of the streets." 
 These last words stung Mag. 
 
 "That's all very well," she said, (and she, too, 
 was no longer quite in possession of her senses) 
 "we suspected it, Fanny. Men are hardly in your 
 line." 
 
 The Englishwoman stood upright. 
 "What do you say? What do you wish to say? 
 Say it, please, say it again." 
 
 She was stammering ; rage and wine prevented her 
 from rinding words. 
 
 Mag, with the air of a street cad, which she easily 
 affected when off duty, a cigarette-end sticking to her 
 lower lip, looked her straight in the eyes. 
 
 "Come, Fanny," she said, "it isn't worth while 
 being angry. You misunderstood me. Who the 
 deuce is referring to Berthe Haumont-Segre ? I know 
 perfectly well that she is a very quiet girl, very strict, 
 very good, but she is how can I put it to you ? 
 quite coldly, in love with you. She is utterly your 
 slave; and that is what you like, this domination, this 
 possession of a woman's soul don't deny it ! " 
 
 The Englishwoman, who had grown calm again, 
 murmured 
 
 "If that is what you mean, yes, truly that is quite 
 possible." 
 
 " You are not angry with me ? " asked Mag. 
 Fanny made no answer. She was really quite 
 drunk, and seemed, with her air of stupefaction, to
 
 THE DOUBLE SUITE 73 
 
 have forgotten already all about the quarrel. She 
 was watching Sandra with admiring interest. 
 
 "Mademoiselle Ceroni," she said, "I wish you 
 would show us your hair your hair let down, it must 
 be very beautiful, I think." 
 
 Astonished, Sandra consulted Mag with a glance, 
 and the latter nodded to her to consent. Then Sandra, 
 with the beautiful gesture of a Canephore, removed 
 the forked combs and the pins which clasped together 
 the curls and tresses ; the edifice fell down like a black 
 avalanche. Slowly the Italian girl unwound the 
 tresses, and presently she was enveloped below her 
 waist by the dark-ringed waves, even more astonish- 
 ing in their thickness than in their length. 
 
 A penetrating odour, an indefinable odour which 
 seemed that of the very sap of this magnificent vegeta- 
 tion, effaced all the other smells that were condensed 
 in the narrow room. Fanny Smith took a handful 
 of the fluid mass in both her hands and inhaled it. 
 
 "Oh, it's beautiful," she murmured. "It is even 
 more beautiful than blonde hair." She let it flow 
 through her fingers slowly. Sandra, who was rather 
 proud of the admiration that she evoked, arched her 
 waist and allowed the full weight of her hair to sweep 
 over her head at the back. With her forehead thus 
 uncovered, she seemed ever so much younger. Mag 
 looked at Fanny rather than at Sandra; her intelligent 
 eyes seeking to penetrate the heart of this curious 
 girl. And now she almost believed what the English- 
 woman had said when she uttered that protest a 
 few minutes before in defence of the purity of her 
 morals. 
 
 "Yes," she thought, "a crazy woman, hysterical, 
 excited by the perfume of flesh, but with no more
 
 74 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 sexuality than a pfennig! Just a caress, and whisky, 
 that's all she wants." 
 
 A light noise sounded from the side of the sofa. 
 The forgotten bundle that was Rosalie stirred, dis- 
 entangled itself; a head raised itself on the cushions, 
 and a childish voice stammered out 
 
 "I believe I've been asleep." 
 
 The three others burst out laughing. They sur- 
 rounded the little thing who, all dishevelled, still half 
 asleep, was with difficulty regaining consciousness 
 in the warm, luminous and smoky atmosphere. 
 
 "It's stifling here," she murmured. 
 
 "She's right," said Fanny. "Let us open the 
 window." 
 
 The window was half-opened; a puff of fresh damp 
 air scattered the smoke rings around the electric light 
 which merged its intense brightness with the pallor 
 of a winter afternoon. The half-asphyxiated lungs 
 breathed more freely. 
 
 " Have I been asleep long ? " asked Rosalie, whose 
 fresh look and clear eyes had been restored by this 
 rest. 
 
 "Two short hours," answered Mag. "It's five 
 o'clock." 
 
 "Holy Virgin! and my calls! and my errands! 
 My last train goes at a quarter to seven." 
 
 "Bah!" mocked Mag, "they won't scold you. 
 The Baron is so good the Baroness is so good 
 everybody is so good." 
 
 "That's quite true," replied Rosalie, without under- 
 standing that she was being made fun of. "But it is 
 just because they are so nice to me that I don't want 
 to make them uneasy." She hurriedly adjusted the 
 disorder of her hair and her toilette, and, seeing her
 
 THE DOUBLE SUITE 75 
 
 anxiety, the others helped her. They hooked her up, 
 they did her hair, they amused themselves with her 
 as though she were a doll. When she was ready to 
 leave, she became suddenly anxious ; she searched the 
 pockets of her old-fashioned skirt, fumbled in her 
 little jacket, made of leather from a colt's back, even 
 explored the interior of her corset of grey coutille. 
 They questioned her 
 
 "You have lost something?" 
 
 "My pocket-book, with the money for the Institute 
 in it. More than fifteen hundred francs ! Oh, if I've 
 lost it I'd rather throw myself into the Seine than 
 go back to Val d'Anay ! " 
 
 They looked on the floor, they looked under the 
 furniture, but found nothing, until Sandra thought 
 of turning over the cushions of the Louis XVI sofa; 
 the pocket-book had slipped between one of these and 
 the back. Rosalie, her eyes still bathed in tears, 
 began to dance. She kissed Sandra, she kissed 
 Mag, she kissed Fanny ; she opened the pocket-book, 
 and saw that the contents were intact : a bill for a 
 thousand and five bills for a hundred francs, which 
 she spread out on the tablecloth mixed with twenty 
 other objects pictures of the Virgin, of the Sacre 
 Cceur, of St. Christophe, and also a little zinc square 
 such as are used by photographers at a fair for taking 
 photographs. Mag seized it before Rosalie could 
 prevent her. 
 
 "Oh, oh!" said the Englishwoman. "It's the 
 picture of a lover, I'm sure of it." 
 
 "No, it's her master: it's Baron Ropart d'Anay," 
 cried Mag delightedly. 
 
 Sandra and Fanny leaned over her shoulder and 
 saw the picture of a tall, lean man, with a large, fair
 
 ;6 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 moustache, and with a look that was at once soldierly 
 and kindly, gallant and simple. 
 
 "They took that at the Romorantin festival the other 
 day," said the little one. "The Baroness gave it to 
 me herself." 
 
 She was so obviously embarrassed that they had 
 not the heart to tease her any more. Side by side 
 with the bank notes and the pious pictures, the 
 Baron's photograph was restored to the pocket-book, 
 which this time, for greater security, the young girl 
 slipped into her corset. And after saying good-bye 
 to everybody, Rosalie Boisset went off. They heard 
 her running under the arch, then in the court 
 beyond it. 
 
 "She's really a fine little girl," said Mag; "weak, 
 but with a heart of gold." 
 
 "She has beautiful fair hair," added Fanny, who, 
 now that the air around her had freshened, was 
 gradually regaining self-control, and was becoming 
 once more the correct governess whose services every- 
 body envied the Haumont-Segr^s in possessing. 
 
 "I, too," she said to Mag, "must go away. Berthe 
 lunched with her cousins, the Haumont-Manins, in 
 the Rue Palatine, you know in those hideous apart- 
 ments, so gloomy, behind the church of St. Sulpice. 
 I have to meet her at tea-time." 
 
 "And I," said Sandra, "promised M. Jacques to 
 bring him some Neapolitan melodies that are to be 
 picked up at Rossi's in the Rue Jacob. We can start 
 on the way together." 
 
 With their professional sense of responsibility, their 
 professional demeanour also returned to them. Any 
 one who looked at these two young women, dressed 
 with subdued elegance as to their hats, veils and
 
 THE DOUBLE SUITE 77 
 
 gloves, could not have believed that a moment ago, 
 dishevelled, untidy, they were getting drunk together 
 and talking the tittle-tattle of filles in regard to 
 their masters and themselves. Mag alone was in no 
 hurry to resume her correct bearing, so, while the 
 other two were finishing their arrangements for 
 leaving, she disappeared for a second into the dressing- 
 room, and returned in a Japanese dressing-gown, with 
 her hair half undone. 
 
 Fanny asked laughing, "Are you going to sleep 
 here, Mag?" 
 
 "To sleep? " she answered. "I don't think so." 
 
 The two veils, Fanny's and Sandra's, brushed amic- 
 ably against the German's mouth. Mag was thanked 
 for the little feast; all the quarrels were forgotten, 
 and they promised to see each other again in this free 
 and easy way as often as they could. 
 
 "Bolski is the one to thank," said Mag. "He 
 paid for this house-warming. He won a large sum 
 of money the day before yesterday." 
 
 They went away. Left to herself, Mag began to 
 put the room straight, and to clear the table, upon 
 which she left only a tea-pot and some cakes. The air 
 of gaiety had disappeared from her face. She was 
 serious, almost sad. And while arranging the sitting- 
 room with the precise movements and orderliness of a 
 German woman, she listened frequently in the 
 direction of the court, eager to hear the sound of a 
 certain footstep.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE INSTITUT DE BELLES-GRACES 
 
 HALF-AN-HOUR before the commencement of Made- 
 moiselle Bastinguette's lecture, "How I should have 
 wished to have been brought up," the traffic became 
 congested on the boulevard in front of the Concordia. 
 February showers alternated with spells of pale sun- 
 light that were almost warm. Tired of waiting in 
 their motionless carriages, women and young girls 
 profited by these intervals of fine weather to get out, 
 and on tiptoe, hastily and timidly, to pick their 
 way over the muddy pavement towards the entrance 
 of the theatre. There, as usual, were displayed the 
 advertisements of the Revue, "Ta bouche, gamine ! " 
 the success of which was not yet exhausted. La 
 Sorelly, scarcely veiled by the hair net with large 
 meshes, one limb and one breast exposed, her lips 
 framed in a bird call, still faced the apish mouth of 
 her who would presently unfold her ideas on educa- 
 tion. At the same time, on this particular afternoon, 
 the entrance displayed for the curious an exhibition of 
 independent artists, violet landscapes, red and blue 
 nudities, interiors distorted into cubes. Such were 
 the pictures that delighted the eyes of families invited 
 to this festival of education, to say nothing of this 
 corner of the old boulevard, with its cosmopolitan 
 passers-by, its hawkers, its beggars, its lorettes and its 
 
 78
 
 THE INSTITUT DE BELLES-GRACES 79 
 
 perverts. The mothers, however, came in perfect 
 peace of mind; it was "the thing" that young girls 
 should listen to the lectures of the Institut de Belles- 
 Graces, and were they not announcing to close the 
 season, two discourses on Modern Marriage to be 
 given by a genuine princess ? 
 
 None the less, the plump and vivacious Madame 
 Haumont-Manin, one of the very few mammas who 
 allowed her grey hair to be seen, back to back with 
 the Cyma against a polyhedral setting sun, sur- 
 rounded by in addition to her three daughters, 
 Yvonne, Alice and Nanie Madame Corbellier, 
 Josette, Mag and Sandra, was laughingly protesting 
 against the place, the subject and the lecturer. 
 
 "My good Emmeline, we are crazy, or rather we 
 allow ourselves to be led away by these little ones 
 who have the devil in them. Do you mean to tell 
 me that this is the place for properly-brought-up 
 young ladies, this common theatre, where a low 
 comedienne is going to rattle off a hotch-potch cooked 
 up in the bars? Yes, I know very well it's just this 
 that attracts them : a singer whose ordinary reper- 
 toire they are not allowed to hear, and who, for their 
 benefit, is going to embellish her twaddle with little 
 songs, quite innocent and namby-pamby. Obviously, 
 there is no great harm in that ; but, all the same, we, 
 their mothers, deserve a good ducking ! " 
 
 Emmeline, whose opinions on things in general 
 agreed in advance with the fashion, protested 
 
 "But, my dear, everybody is doing the same. Just 
 look at them everybody is here : Madame de Bel- 
 cors and her two eldest daughters, the young 
 Gerouges. There's a box reserved for the Grand 
 Duchess. No, for my part, I admit it, I find this
 
 8o GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 excellent, this Institut, in which our children can 
 be educated while enjoying themselves; it combines 
 the pleasant with the useful." 
 
 " ' And it is for the young girl a sort of bridge 
 between educational classes and the conversation of 
 society ' I read that just as you did, my good Emme- 
 line, in yesterday's Gaulois. It is a paid advertise- 
 ment. It didn't convince me," replied Madame 
 Haumont-Manin. 
 
 "Let mamma talk," interposed Yvonne. "She 
 gives herself old-fashioned airs like that when she 
 discusses things. But underneath she is extremely 
 up to date, and it amuses her, just as much as it does 
 us, to hear Bastinguette playing the Madame de 
 Maintenon. Doesn't it, mamma?" 
 
 This was said with an affectionate disrespect that 
 did not grate upon Madame Haumont-Manin. 
 
 " I don't say no," she answered, "but I blame myself 
 and you, too, just the same. Why, when I was 
 your age my mother would avoid crossing the boule- 
 vard if I was with her ! " 
 
 In the meantime, Mag, having drawn Josette aside 
 under the. pretext of showing her a nearer view of a 
 picture of a twilight, remarkable for the fact that its 
 sun was square, said to her 
 
 "Try and manage for us to go into the hall and 
 take our places as quickly as possible. If M. de 
 Letzling and Bolski arrive now, they will be compelled 
 to come up and talk to us ; that will be repeated to 
 your father, and he will make a fuss. In the hall, on 
 the contrary, each will remain in his own stall." 
 
 Berthe came up just at this moment, accompanied 
 by Fanny Smith ; and it was impossible to avoid 
 detecting in the young girl, in spite of the contrast
 
 THE INSTITUT DE BELLES-GRACES 81 
 
 of the two types, an effort to resemble her governess 
 in her way of holding herself, dressing and doing her 
 hair. Josette approached Berthe and said to her 
 confidentially 
 
 "Guy will be in a stall behind you. I promised to 
 keep it for him." 
 
 Berthe gave one of those pretty blushes which are 
 like the reflection of dawn ; but she could not restrain 
 a furtive movement to impose silence on Josette as 
 she pointed out Fanny to her. 
 
 "Let us go into the hall, if you don't mind," Josette 
 proposed; "it's damp and disagreeable here." 
 
 They agreed that she was right, and made their 
 way into the theatre. There prevailed here a per- 
 sistent odour of tobacco and musk ; the semi-circle was 
 decorated with nudities of mameluke women, all in 
 gold and with golden trumpets in their mouths. But 
 still, it was a fine play-house. The places, booked 
 three weeks in advance through Mag's foresight, took 
 up eleven stalls to the right of the stage six in the 
 third row, and five behind these in the fourth. 
 Josette, Yvonne, Alice, Nanie, then Berthe and 
 Madame Haumont-Manin, filled those of the third 
 row. Behind sat Mag, Fanny and Madame Cor- 
 bellier. 
 
 The hall was already three-quarters full when 
 Baron Ropart d'Anay and his daughter, Henriette, 
 made their appearance. Henriette had as usual the 
 look of a boy, dressed as a girl in order to play a 
 comic role. Her father was a tall man, with a 
 narrow waist, a fine military face, open, weather-beaten 
 from hunting, with a large, flowing blonde mous- 
 tache, his head a little touched by baldness. Father 
 and daughter installed themselves behind Nanie; they
 
 82 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 shook hands with one another and exchanged 
 questions. 
 
 "How is my aunt?" "Why isn't Guy here?" 
 Mag asked the Baron about Rosalie, and his face lit 
 up with pleasure at speaking of her as he replied that 
 "the poor little thing thought it a regular treat to 
 come, but she has had to help Madame d'Anay ; the 
 twins have been down with intestinal fever for the last 
 eight days." Praise of Rosalie passed from lip to 
 lip ; even the two governesses, Mag and Fanny, agreed 
 that she was "a very charming young person." 
 
 "She told me that she had lunched with you the 
 other day at the Bouillon," said the Baron. 
 
 And by the wink with which he emphasized the end 
 of his sentence Mag understood that Rosalie had told 
 her master the whole escapade. 
 
 "Luckily she was asleep at the important time," 
 she thought. 
 
 Leaning close to her and speaking to her ear alone, 
 the Baron added 
 
 "It was very kind of you to invite her. I am 
 delighted that she had a little amusement. She has 
 so much to do at home, and she puts so much heart 
 into it ! It seems, too, that she went to sleep at 
 lunch. Poor ' Zalie ! ' as my children call her." 
 
 The final jostling had now begun in which, while 
 the bell was sounding, the late-comers, like 
 swimmers against the tide, cleaved their way through 
 the audience with difficulty, to the annoyance 
 and ill-humour of the punctual. Fanned by the 
 plumes and aigrettes of five hundred women's 
 hats, the over-heated theatre was already stifling. 
 Josette and Mag, who were on the look-out, saw 
 Harold Bolski and the Comte de Letzling as they
 
 THE INSTITUT DE BELLES-GRACES 83 
 
 entered. Guy Croze made his way briskly to the 
 seat reserved for him behind Berthe, who could not 
 help consulting Fanny with a glance ; but Fanny 
 turned her eyes away affectedly. Finally, just as 
 they were sounding the three strokes, Sandra and 
 Loute Corbellier came to take the two last places 
 between Madame Corbellier and Madame Haumont- 
 Manin. The passing of the Italian girl through the 
 central corridor had attracted attention, and even now 
 that she was modestly seated beside her pupil, people 
 looked at her a great deal, perfectly beautiful and per- 
 fectly simple as she was. Leaning towards Emme- 
 line, she apologized in an undertone for being late : 
 she had just brought Loute back from a harp class. 
 
 "The car only came for us at the Rue Moncey a 
 quarter of an hour ago . . . and then that block on 
 the boulevard." 
 
 The three strokes sounded again, this time with 
 an authority and a vigour that made the audience 
 realize that it was serious, that they were going to 
 begin, and thus silence was imposed. The curtain 
 rose ; the scene in the background was a sort of Ham- 
 mam, possibly the interior of a mosque. In front 
 of the stage stood a little gilt Louis XVI table with 
 the inevitable glass of water and a chair, to the left a 
 piano with a music-stool. The theatre, full except for 
 one stage box in the first tier, showed its sense of 
 being deceived when, instead of Mademoiselle Bas- 
 tinguette, a stripling in a black coat came out from 
 the garden side. The effect had been foreseen and 
 anticipated. The stripling, who was no other than 
 the inventor of the Institut de Belles-Graces, smiled 
 as he declared that he understood the astonishment 
 and discontent of the public. What was he, beside
 
 84 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 the incomparable artist? But they might reassure 
 themselves, the incomparable artist was ready, she 
 was going to show herself, she was going to speak. 
 He, the stripling inventor, had for his only mission 
 the announcement that, in response to the written 
 requests of many subscribers, Mademoiselle Bas- 
 tinguette would embellish her lecture by a few songs, 
 chosen, it must be clearly understood, expressly for 
 the audience that she had the honour of addressing 
 to-day. 
 
 " What did I tell you ? " murmured Madame 
 Haumont-Manin . 
 
 The stripling concluded by informing the public 
 that he had finished his mission, and that he would 
 confine himself for the rest to presenting the artist 
 with the volumes from which she was going to read 
 a few pages. He bowed and withdrew, amid flatter- 
 ing murmurs. Immediately "the incomparable artist," 
 whose entrance all this formal preparation was in- 
 tended only to retard and cause to be eagerly looked 
 for, advanced with lowered eyes. With the incurable 
 foolery of comedians of this kind, when they leave 
 their proper forms of employment, she had thought 
 of accentuating the virtuousness, the temporary purity 
 of this afternoon, by wearing a kind of Salvation 
 Army costume, but a Salvation Army costume for 
 the cafe"-concert, with the lining of the cloak a bright 
 pink, the high-heeled shoes also pink, and the skirt 
 almost as generous in its disclosures as the hair-net 
 tights of the Sorelly. And as the public, taken alto- 
 gether, had almost to the same degree as the low 
 comedian this peculiar silliness, this essentially 
 Parisian silliness, which fosters contrast even to the 
 point of idiocy, Mademoiselle Bastinguette walked to
 
 THE INSTITUT DE BELLES-GRACES 85 
 
 her chair and seated herself before her table amidst 
 loud applause. 
 
 The lecture began ; Mademoiselle Bastinguette 
 read it out loud as if it were a part and one that she 
 considered feeble. Really endowed with a certain 
 comic talent, she played for the stripling, who was 
 the admitted author of the text, the farce of from time 
 to time allowing the audience to realize the low 
 opinion that she herself had of this imposition. Then, 
 in spite of herself, from habit, she gave the semblance 
 of double meaning to this or that scrupulously harm- 
 less sentence. In the midst of an elucidation or a 
 reading of the most edifying nature, she purposely 
 gave a gesture or an intonation obviously canaille, 
 which was immediately underlined by laughs of en- 
 couragement. After this, sure of her audience, sure 
 of her effects, she frankly presented a parody of what 
 she had announced. Without changing a word of 
 the text or of her reading, she made them laugh, not 
 only at the expense of the stripling author, but also 
 at the expense of Madame d'Epinay, Madame de 
 Lambert, Madame de Maintenon, and especially of 
 poor Madame de Genlis, certain pages of whose, on 
 the disquieting lips of Bastinguette, obtained a suc- 
 cess of hilarity that would certainly have been neither 
 sought nor foreseen by the author of Adele et 
 Theodore. 
 
 The audience was conquered when the divette left 
 her lecture-table and came down to the front of the 
 stage, while a long-haired accompanist seated himself 
 at the piano. But at this very moment attention was 
 a little distracted by the entrance into the box, at the 
 left side of the stage, which had up till then remained 
 empty, of four late arrivals, who, however, were only
 
 86 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 men, or at least they wore their clothes. For the rest, 
 three of them presented faces almost as powdered as 
 those of women ; two had hair artificially lightened ; 
 another, who was on the verge of sixty, had his dyed 
 as black as a crow. Jacques Corbellier alone allowed 
 his beautiful brown hair its natural colour and its 
 natural appearance. The rice powder that he had on 
 his cheeks was scarcely more than that of a man in 
 a hurry, who has just been shaved and has forgotten 
 to rub it off. Also he, alone of the four, had not 
 rouged his lips. The three others were the little 
 Count d'Ambline, the idealistic poet, Baron Lartisan 
 (the man with the too black hair), and a German 
 musician, Carl Vorberg, better known under the nick- 
 name of Carlin, and a great friend of Jacques'. 
 
 All of them w ? ere received in the best Parisian 
 society. They made a sensation ; women of the world 
 who received them with a sympathy that was at once 
 amused and scandalized, pointed them out to each 
 other. 
 
 "There's Jacques," said Emmeline Corbellier 
 proudly to her neighbour, Madame Haumont-Manin. 
 
 Madame Haumont-Manin, absorbed in the antics 
 of Mademoiselle Bastinguette who was going to sing, 
 replied by a preoccupied nod. But Sandra raised her 
 eyes, and her glance buried itself immediately in that 
 of Jacques, who was looking for her. They smiled 
 at each other ; for a moment they were isolated, one 
 for the other, in this crowd that was hanging upon 
 the divette's irresponsible lips. She sang several 
 ballads, principally borrowed from the repertoire of 
 1840, having no bearing whatever on education, nor 
 on any other of the theses that had been developed, 
 if one can use the word, in the course of her lecture.
 
 THE INSTITUT DE BELLES-GRACES 87 
 
 But she delivered them marvellously, giving point to 
 the most banal couplet and peppering the insipidity 
 of worn-out metaphors. They applauded, they 
 shouted "bravo," they encored. It was no longer 
 a question of the Belles-Graces, or of education ; 
 things had got back to their normal state : Bastin- 
 guette was tickling a cafe"-concert audience. The 
 Grand Duchess (she occupied the stage box to 
 the right) clapped her hands ostentatiously, and the 
 Grand Duke's baritone voice could be heard murmur- 
 ing quite seriously, "She is excellent! oh, really she 
 is wonderful ! " Some one in the balcony asked for 
 the "Fishing Rod!" and a hundred voices imme- 
 diately requested the "Fishing Rod." This "Fishing 
 Rod " was a ditty in the Revue in which Bastinguette 
 was taking part in the evening with Sorelly in this 
 very place a ditty absolutely without any sort of 
 meaning unless you added one to it expressly. Bas- 
 tinguette sang it on this occasion as if she herself did 
 not understand it ; she had also the tact to suppress a 
 couplet that was notorious, just because, ordinarily, 
 her antics gave it meaning. When she had finished, 
 she resumed her place in front of the glass of water, 
 very quickly, without leaving the audience time to 
 take breath. Her instinct had foreseen the comic 
 effect of the immediate juxtaposition of the "Fishing 
 Rod " and some moralizing bluster with which the 
 stripling had seen fit to close the text of the lecture. 
 The effect, as she expected, was irresistible ; she did 
 not fail to make the most of it, and the lecture closed 
 in general hilarity, in which the lecturer herself joined, 
 bowing in response to the bravos and laughing with 
 her large, attractive mouth and all her teeth that 
 resembled those of a healthy monkey.
 
 88 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 Ten minutes later, three-quarters of the audience 
 had left the Concordia; the remaining quarter took 
 tea at the promenade buffet, a supplementary source 
 of profit anticipated by the organizers of the Institut. 
 The party for which Mag had so recently secured the 
 double row of stalls now shared three tables. Around 
 Madame Haumont-Manin were Guy Croze, showering 
 his attentions on Berthe, who seemed to be moved 
 by them, Yvonne, looking rather sad, Josette and 
 Baron Ropart. Around Emmeline Corbellier were 
 Sandra, Loute, Henriette and Alice. Finally, around 
 Fanny Smith, who was sulking in a dignified manner 
 and had her back purposely turned on Guy and 
 Berthe, was Mag with Nanie Haumont-Manin. Amid 
 the confusion of the passages between the hall and 
 the promenade, Mag and Josette had arranged to 
 separate from the others; Bolski and Letzling had 
 joined them, and they had been able to exchange a 
 few words, a fugitive pressure of gloved finger-tips, 
 and plan for another meeting of a few moments near 
 Val d'Anay, where Henriette's sixteenth birthday was 
 being celebrated the following week. As a matter of 
 fact, Josette's father, since becoming Under-Secretary 
 of State for War, had forbidden his wife and daughter 
 all friendly relations with the Austrian military 
 attached Mag, with half a cup of tea untasted before 
 her, seemed in a brooding mood, while Fanny re- 
 mained silent; Nanie Haumont-Manin alone, very 
 talkative, passed endless remarks on the toilettes and 
 hats of the people around her, while expressing regret 
 at being unable to afford anything like them. 
 
 "Emmeline," said Madame Haumont-Manin, "here 
 is your son." 
 
 Jacques, the object of many glances and quite
 
 THE INSTITUT DE BELLES-GRACES 89 
 
 conscious of the fact, came forward with measured 
 steps as though on a stage. He was a youth of quite 
 remarkable beauty, with the features of his mother, 
 refined, aristocratic, and without anything of the 
 mean vulgarity of his father, Corbellier, nor of the 
 unpleasant, intelligent face of his sister, Loute. His 
 light trousers, with their careful crease, borrowed 
 something from the hobbled shape of the skirts then 
 in fashion. His dark brown coat fitted his waist like 
 a corset; his feet, in their patent-leather boots, were 
 smaller than Loute's. His face, rather large at the 
 temples, round in the cheeks but refined in the chin, 
 with large eyes of dark blue, and abundant hair, 
 evoked the effigies of the youthful Bacchus. His 
 gloved left hand crumpled the right glove against a 
 crutch walking-stick, which had the appearance of the 
 handle of a parasol. Smilingly he took in his right 
 hand, with its three rings, the feminine hands 
 stretched out to him and kissed them, even Sandra's. 
 Perfectly at his ease, but without throwing aside his 
 air of patronizing simplicity, he sat down between 
 the Italian and Baron Ropart. Madame Corbellier 
 was delighted. 
 
 " My Jacques ! how nice of you to have left your 
 friends for us ! Sandra, won't you give him some 
 tea ? Tell us, dear, what did you think of the lecture ? 
 Good, wasn't it? " 
 
 "I found," said Jacques (while Sandra, with a 
 charming confusion on her cheeks and in her large, 
 beautiful hands which shook, poured him out tea 
 and offered him cakes ; and Jacques, while thanking 
 her with a glance, emphasized his syllables as if he 
 were reciting a poem) " I found that Bastinguette is 
 witty to the very points of her monkey teeth. She
 
 90 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 proved to us that, in sum, Fenelon, Mme. de Main- 
 tenon, Mme. d'Epinay and Mme. de Genlis are 
 exceedingly immoral writers." 
 
 "Oh ! " interjected the good Baron Ropart d'Anay, 
 shocked. 
 
 "I had an idea that this was so," continued Jacques 
 in the same precise tone, "for reading the beautiful 
 pagan works The Banquet, for example, or even 
 The Anthology gave me a taste for a harmonious 
 life, while when reading the moralists of education- 
 Rousseau included I longed to escape from their 
 virtue as from a dirty factory or a dark prison. Now 
 that I have heard Mademoiselle Bastinguette, I am 
 convinced ; educators are scarecrows put up in the field 
 of virtue to frighten children so that they may avoid 
 entering it. And Mademoiselle Bastinguette has ren- 
 dered us a great service by proving to us that they 
 are ridiculous scarecrows (you know an old hat, a 
 torn shirt with empty sleeves waving in the wind), 
 and that one can enter the field in spite of them. 
 Bastinguette is a great professor of virtue." 
 
 "Isn't he amusing! isn't he poetic! " said Emme- 
 line admiringly. 
 
 Ropart d'Anay, who felt for this discourse of 
 Jacques the instinctive repugnance of the simple 
 country gentleman, of the retired officer, the follower 
 of hounds, who has no time for hair-splitting, smiled 
 with a politeness that was a little embarrassed. 
 Yvonne, Alice and Nanie, who laughed among them- 
 selves at Jacques' affectation, but on whom his beauty 
 made an impression, and who were amused by him as 
 a change from their ordinary university set, laughed 
 pleasantly as they murmured, "Isn't Jacques kill- 
 ing ! " Sandra remained thoughtful ; a shadow of
 
 THE INSTITUT DE BELLES-GRACES 91 
 
 annoyance darkened her beautiful classic face, and yet 
 it was for her that Jacques had spoken. Guy Croze 
 and Berthe had not heard, having been absorbed in 
 one of those whispered conversations which nowadays 
 are perfectly permissible among young people of 
 different sexes. 
 
 " Morality," concluded Madame Haumont-Manin as 
 she rose from the table "these lectures of low 
 comediennes are not for young girls, and you may 
 take it as settled, my dears," she added, addressing 
 her daughters, who received the hint with a good- 
 humour that was a little sceptical, "that until the day 
 you are married, all three of you, you will please me 
 by contenting yourselves, on the subject of education, 
 with the ideas of papa and mamma." 
 
 They rose from her table at the same time that she 
 did and from the two neighbouring tables; Guy and 
 Berthe alone, heedless of the rest, continued to talk 
 in a low voice, without noticing that their conversa- 
 tion was doubly watched by Fanny Smith, silent, 
 with set teeth, and also by the pretty Yvonne, who 
 tried to laugh and be gay, but whose charming face 
 was pale, while her eyes had dark circles round them 
 from her efforts to keep back her tears. 
 
 Nanie, who had preserved a certain childish mis- 
 chievousness, scarcely fashionable among the new 
 generation in France, called out 
 
 "You know, Berthe and Guy, if you haven't 
 finished at eight o'clock one can dine here." 
 
 Berthe jumped up as though awakened ; her glance 
 sought her governess, who was waiting for her with 
 an affectation of patient indifference. She joined her 
 without even saying good-bye to Guy. Both of them 
 exchanged some words in English, which no one
 
 9 2 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 heard clearly but the tone of which betrayed disagree- 
 ment. They reached the peristyle, where they 
 separated : Baron Ropart d'Anay and his daughter 
 had only just time to catch their train ; Guy, Josette 
 and Mag were returning to Madame Croze's; it was 
 her reception-day at her house in the Avenue de 
 Velasquez. The Haumont-Manins promised to go 
 on there also, after making a few purchases in one of 
 the large shops on the boulevard. Emmeline, very 
 much left to herself, since Croze was at the War 
 Office (he exaggerated for her benefit his ministerial 
 duties), remembered, fortunately, an appointment to 
 try on in the Rue de la Paix. 
 
 "Paulin-Paul's, isn't it?" said Jacques. "Oh, I'll 
 go with you ; it's amusing, that house, like an exhibi- 
 tion of orchids that may be poisonous, you know. 
 They say that they make their mannequins take ether 
 to give them that air of morbidness which they all 
 have. Mademoiselle Sandra is coming too, isn't she ? " 
 
 "It's time for Loute's German lesson," Sandra 
 objected. 
 
 "Bah! you can jabber German at Paulin-Paul's 
 while Mamma is being fitted. Jump in now." 
 
 Emmeline acquiesced, and all four entered the 
 Havana-coloured motor. A block stopped them, before 
 they reached the Place de l'Ope"ra, beside and a little 
 behind the entirely black coupe in the latest style in 
 which Fanny and Berthe were seated. Loute, whose 
 brown eyes with their yellow iris allowed nothing 
 to escape them, was the only one to notice that Berthe, 
 leaning back in a corner, had her handkerchief to her 
 eyes, while Fanny, sitting straight upright, was 
 talking, talking.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 AT VAL D'ANAY 
 
 A BEAUTIFUL spring day bringing with it joy, light, 
 refreshing and yet languorous perfumes, and the 
 desire to stretch oneself, to spread out one's limbs, to 
 melt in voluptuous tenderness, was bathing, under a 
 changeless blue sky the whitish slate-coloured house 
 called Val d'Anay. 
 
 The house at its full length looked out on a smiling 
 face of nature through high cross-barred windows on 
 the ground-floor, above which were an equal number 
 of attic windows, much lower, like so many dots 
 on i's. Before the Revolution it had sheltered a 
 little community of women, who lived on the bounty 
 of the Ropart d'Anays whose family then lived in 
 the Chateau d'Anay near Selles-sur-Cher. The 
 Revolution dispersed the nuns without pulling down 
 their house, but it destroyed the Chateau so 
 thoroughly that in 1815 rye was growing on its old 
 site. The Ropart d'Anays returned with the King, 
 and installed themselves in the old convent, which 
 was more suitable to their present fortune. And 
 since then, from father to son, four generations of 
 Ropart d'Anays had lived there, with the large or 
 small resources that resulted from more or less rich 
 marriages, but always without display, asking no 
 favour from the successive Governments, perfectly 
 
 93
 
 94 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 content with their position as cavalry officers, 
 agriculturists, sportsmen. Such had been the life of 
 Baron Germain Ropart d'Anay, the father of the 
 present Baron Henri ; such was the life of Baron 
 Henri himself. As a lieutenant of dragoons, he had 
 married for love Mademoiselle Blanche de Sauzon, 
 at that time fresh and pretty, whose beauty, owing to 
 the birth of five children in twelve years would doubt- 
 less not have been effaced, if she had only taken the 
 trouble to preserve it, and if she had not made it a 
 point of honour, like the majority of women of her 
 class, to cease being a woman from the moment that 
 she became a mother. On the death of Baron Ger- 
 main, Henri left the service and settled down at Val 
 d'Anay; he was then thirty-nine years old and already 
 the father of three children. In the meantime, his 
 sister-in-law, Julie de Sauzon, married the son of a rich 
 banker of Romorantin, named Croze, a mesalliance 
 aggravated by the advanced opinions of the said 
 Croze, who not long afterwards represented the 
 district as a Radical deputy. But as the two sisters 
 were very fond of each other, relations between the 
 two households continued, and Croze had shown him- 
 self such a good fellow, had made such adroit use of 
 his wife in order to protect societies, vicarages and 
 free schools without compromising himself in the eyes 
 of the electors, that they ended by tolerating him, even 
 in this exclusive and reactionary corner of the 
 Provinces. They railed at him ; they discussed him 
 as a sectarian and an impious person. But as, when 
 all was said and done, the whole Conservative party 
 was in his debt or was asking him for something, as, 
 when Secretary of Fine Arts, he had restored all 
 the tottering belfries of the neighbourhood and had
 
 AT VAL D'ANAY 95 
 
 endowed the Mayories without distinction as to 
 political opinions with specimens of those vague 
 copies w^hich moulder in the lofts of the Louvre, as, 
 finally, Madame Croze was sympathetic to everybody, 
 while Guy and Josette, besides professing opinions of 
 the most reactionary fervour, were two of the most 
 brilliant representatives of the youth of the neigh- 
 bourhood, the Crozes, under the a?gis of the Ropart 
 d'Anays, won the victory after having broken only 
 two or three ultra-republican friendships in the whole 
 place. 
 
 Leaving their parents to sip their coffee on the 
 shady terrace, a group of young people with their 
 governesses went towards the tennis-court that was 
 situated near a little pond quite close to the edge of 
 the woods. Henriette, the heroine of the day, whose 
 sixteenth birthday was being feted, was walking arm 
 in arm with Loute Corbellier, when she turned and 
 called out in a familiar tone 
 
 "Rosalie! " 
 
 Rosalie was pouring out cognac for a tall and 
 robust personage with a snow-white beard, who, in 
 spite of his slight stoop, had the air of an old 
 Hercules; he was Berthe Haumont-Segr^'s father. 
 She turned round, and replied 
 
 "Yes, Henriette." 
 
 "You are coming to play tennis?" 
 
 "No, no," interposed Madame Ropart d'Anay 
 immediately. "Leave us Rosalie, we want her." 
 
 Henriette made a gesture of disappointment. 
 Rosalie called out 
 
 "I will be with you directly, I will join you at the 
 tennis-court." 
 
 And one could divine that underneath her generous
 
 96 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 white blouse, the good girl's heart suffered at not 
 being able to please, at one and the same time, pupil 
 and mother. But scarcely had she finished serving 
 the liqueurs than Madame Ropart d'Anay said 
 
 "My little Rosalie, go and get me my strip of fancy 
 needlework. It is in the drawing-room on the bridge- 
 table. Afterwards go upstairs just to see how the 
 twins are getting on." 
 
 The Baroness Ropart d'Anay still preserved under 
 her hair, which was obviously turning grey from the 
 scorching that the open air and the sun had inflicted 
 upon her complexion while she followed the hounds, 
 those remnants of a great beauty that are more 
 touching to contemplate than those of a work of art. 
 But the air of repose which the premature wrinkles 
 had not banished from her brow, the provincial sim- 
 plicity of her dress of violet taffetas, which made no 
 effort at hiding the heavy lines of her figure, a some- 
 thing soothing and kindly in her demeanour and in 
 the tone of her voice, all these things showed in her 
 an absolute indifference to the wear and tear imposed 
 upon her by time, and a satisfaction in being the 
 woman she was to-day : a country matron, sur- 
 rounded by her forty-year-old husband and her 
 children, big and little. Seated beside her, her sister, 
 Julie Croze was like her, with less of nobility, and 
 more vivacity in her features. Not so pretty as her 
 sister had been a short time ago, and only two years 
 her junior, she now appeared ever so much the 
 younger. The frantic struggle which sustains 
 Parisian women against their great enemy, Time, had 
 led her to protect her figure, her complexion, her hair. 
 A well-cut costume of grey striped cloth endowed her 
 with a discreet elegance. Moreover, convalescent as
 
 AT VAL D'ANAY 97 
 
 she was from an attack of phlebitis, she was on this 
 particular day inspired by that renewal of youth, 
 which two months of rest and of enforced regime 
 infallibly bring to a woman of that age. The 
 animation of her gestures and her voice contrasted 
 with something a little stagnant in the Baroness' 
 tranquillity. While her sister bent her calm face over 
 the end of the canvas that Rosalie had brought, 
 Madame Croze spoke about her husband whom she 
 adored, whom she admired, and whose sunny dis- 
 position and evident delight in her- company guaran- 
 teed (she believed) his faithfulness. She told of the 
 immediate success which the new Under-Secretary for 
 War had achieved among his colleagues. 
 
 "He has drawn up a whole programme of reforms 
 for the mobilization of aeroplanes. And his scheme 
 has so amazed the Council that the Commission has 
 been appointed without delay and begins work 
 to-day." 
 
 "That's just why he wasn't able to come," Emme- 
 line observed. 
 
 And immediately, realizing that she had said some- 
 thing stupid, she added : " It is just the same with my 
 husband. He is so busy in preparing for the 
 Exhibition of Ghent." 
 
 Emmeline, whose embonpoint sustained with diffi- 
 culty the narrow sheathing of a satin scabbard of the 
 charmeuse order Emmeline, with a liqueur in her 
 hand, had just seated herself beside the two sisters. 
 She got on particularly well with Julie, for both of 
 them shared a common admiration for Croze, and, 
 when they were together, could scarcely speak on any 
 other topic. 
 
 Quite close to this trio, a group had formed on the 
 G
 
 98 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 terrace around a wicker table a group consisting of 
 the jovial, plump Madame Haumont-Manin, her 
 sister-in-law, Madame Haumont-Segre, a thin and 
 pale person with the complexion of a dyspeptic, a 
 kind of strange and ghastly caricature of her 
 daughter, Berthe, and Baron Ropart d'Anay. 
 Madame Haumont-Segre led the conversation in one 
 of those sad and frail voices which induce silence by 
 their very mournfulness and fragility. But the 
 energy of her words contrasted with the exhausted 
 tone in which she pronounced them. 
 
 "They are asses, jack-asses" (she was speaking of 
 doctors). "I don't want a single one more, Bour- 
 dier had me at death's door gorging me with pies and 
 thick soups. Lavergne, who cured Berthe so cleverly 
 when she had that attack of chlorosis last year, 
 poisoned me last week with his microbe broth." 
 
 "Haven't you also consulted that Hungarian 
 doctor ? " asked Madame Haumont-Manin of her 
 sister-in-law. "What is his name? Wagner? 
 Werther . . ." 
 
 " Werner, yes. . . . He " (and the distressed face of 
 the chronic patient lit up) "he is, perhaps, less of a 
 charlatan than the others. He prescribes nothing at 
 all. He examines you minutely every second day. 
 Oh, that lasts for more than twenty-five minutes. 
 Afterwards he tells you frankly : ' 1 have not the 
 least idea what is the matter with you.' ' 
 
 "And that costs a louis," said Ropart d'Anay 
 laughing. 
 
 "A louis? You're joking. Werner receives fifty 
 francs a visit. He is very rich. He has the most 
 beautiful collection of impressionists." 
 
 Madame Haumont-Segre said this with a kind of
 
 AT VAL D'ANAY 99 
 
 pride. In the meantime, the two brothers Haumont, 
 Maxime and Georges, the banker and the professor, 
 after walking for some time side by side the full 
 length of the terrace, the one lighting cigarette after 
 cigarette, the other chewing a cigar, rejoined the trio 
 consisting of Emmeline, Blanche and Julie, who made 
 them sit down, protesting that smoking would not 
 inconvenience them. Almost as tall as his brother 
 and scarcely any younger, Professor Haumont had 
 nothing of the old man about him. Clean-shaven, 
 thin and active, well-dressed, without any studied 
 elegance, but well-groomed in the English manner, it 
 was he rather than his brother that one would have 
 taken for the financier. 
 
 At the moment that the two brothers seated them- 
 selves beside Julie, Blanche and Emmeline, the three 
 ladies' conversation turned upon governesses. Each 
 of them was pleased with her own. Baroness Ropart 
 told them what Rosalie was, spoke of the young 
 Belgian's excellent heart, her practical intelligence, 
 her light-heartedness, her indefatigable activity, ex- 
 plained how she looked after the children and how she 
 helped the Baron in the management of the estate. 
 
 "As for me," said Madame Croze, "I confess to 
 having nothing but praise for Magda. She is a girl of 
 exceptional ability ; Josette is very fond of her. She 
 has only one fault : she is a little miserly. One 
 hardly ever sees her spend anything : but, doubtless, 
 she is saving. And then, I believe, she left her 
 parents in a rather pitiable condition ; she supports 
 them. I have to pay her salary sometimes in advance. 
 But during my attack of phlebitis she was of the 
 greatest assistance to me in looking after the house. 
 Josette understands nothing about it,"
 
 ioo GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 "Oh, she is perfect, your Mag," said Emmeline, 
 who was always ready to use superlatives. "In the 
 first place, she got me Mademoiselle Ceroni, with 
 whom I am so very pleased. She is so pretty this 
 Sandra, so well educated, so correct . . ." 
 
 "Between ourselves," asked the Baroness, lowering 
 her voice, "don't you find her too pretty? It seemed 
 to me that Jacques paid her a great deal of attention." 
 
 The two llaumonts suppressed a smile. Emmeline 
 protested 
 
 "Jacques, Jacques! In love? He disdains love. 
 You haven't read the last verses that he has written, 
 ' Love, O, little game, too innocent for me.' No, 
 Sandra pleases him (he tells me so, he tells me every- 
 thing) because she is so like the courtesan of Sodona 
 the one at Monte Oliveto, she who tempts St. 
 Benedict. And also because she is such a good 
 musician. But there's nothing to be feared. Besides, 
 if anything like that happened, Mademoiselle Sandra 
 \\ould not remain in my house." 
 
 A rather awkward silence followed this declaration ; 
 the old Haumont broke it, throwing away his chewed 
 cigar and bending his heavy snow-white head. 
 
 "You are very lucky, all of you," he murmured. 
 
 "Why do you say that?" asked Emmeline. 
 
 "Because I see here, three reasonable and ex- 
 perienced mothers proclaiming themselves delighted 
 with the three governesses of their children." 
 
 " Well, but I imagine that Madame Haumont-Segre 
 and you are not to be pitied," exclaimed the Baroness, 
 raising her eyes from her needlework. "Neither 
 Mag, nor Sandra, nor Rosalie comes up to your 
 Fanny, who has the air of a regular woman of the 
 world."
 
 AT VAL D'ANAY 101 
 
 "Mademoiselle Smith had certainly an excellent 
 influence on Berthe when she began to attend to 
 her," replied Haumont-Segre. " Berthe was nervous, 
 excitable, indolent, violent. She subdued and dis- 
 ciplined her in a wonderful way. Unfortunately, this 
 influence continues to-day when Berthe is eighteen 
 years old. It continues and it increases, thanks to 
 the state of my wife's health. . . . Finally, Berthe 
 listens only to Mademoiselle Smith ; neither my wife 
 nor I count for her." 
 
 " Then send her away," said the. Baroness, removing 
 her spectacles from her forehead. 
 
 "That is not convenient," muttered the professor. 
 
 " It is practically impossible," his brother said in 
 confirmation. "Berthe has a private fortune of her 
 own, her uncle Segre, my partner for eleven years, left 
 her more than a million francs. Berthe is the mistress 
 of her own fortune. And I am in this position, my 
 good friends. I am compelled to admit that if I 
 were to send away Mademoiselle Smith, my own 
 daughter who can get on quite well without us, would 
 leave with her." 
 
 "You believe that?" said Emmeline. 
 
 "I am sure of it." 
 
 At this juncture, all conversation on the terrace was 
 interrupted by the arrival of the twins, seated facing 
 each other in their go-cart, which was wheeled by 
 Andre'e, their nurse, a young Solognote, with red hair 
 and a simple expression. Rosalie followed. The 
 twins were like two little red apples in white and blue, 
 and their four little hands were closed in pairs on two 
 rattles exactly like each other. They were brought 
 first of all to their father; the Baron's head and 
 Rosalie's leaned together over the rolling cradle.
 
 102 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 Then they all vied with each other in welcoming 
 Mesdemoiselles Violette and Marguerite. They did 
 not cry, they did not laugh, they looked at these 
 people with large fixed eyes and seemed to be 
 thinking : "What a fuss all these people are making; 
 as for us, we are very quiet." 
 
 "They have finished their soup?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, Madame la Baronne," said Andree, 
 "Mademoiselle Marguerite even wanted more." 
 
 "Violette is going to sleep." One of the twins, in 
 fact, had let her rattle fall on the coverlet without, 
 however, letting go of it, and her head swayed on the 
 pillow. 
 
 "We are going to take them into the shade of the 
 big elm," said Rosalie, "they will have a good sleep 
 in the open air. The weather is so mild." 
 
 The Baroness approved. 
 
 "Afterwards," Rosalie questioned, "would Madame 
 la Baronne like me to go and join Henriette at 
 tennis?" 
 
 "Certainly, my dear, amuse yourself for a little. 
 But I count on you to see that we are served with tea 
 on this terrace at five o'clock." 
 
 From the terrace they watched the little go-cart 
 being pushed away by Andree towards the great elm- 
 tree that reared its enormous trunk to a height of 180 
 feet with its powerful branches adorned with young 
 green leaves, like those of water-cress. Rosalie 
 escorted the go-cart, as also did the Baron, who was 
 devoted to his two latecomers. He went as far as the 
 elm-tree, and remained there a second while the 
 nurse arranged things; then he returned towards the 
 chateau whilst Rosalie went quickly away in the 
 direction of the tennis-court.
 
 AT VAL D'ANAY 103 
 
 Rather short-limbed, but active, with good lungs, 
 Rosalie quickened her pace almost to a run. And 
 when she actually ran she laughed. At what? At 
 the ineffable charm of this afternoon, young like her- 
 self, that was being stirred by faint and gentle breaths 
 like those vague and tender aspirations by which 
 Rosalie felt herself disturbed, and which overflowed, 
 as she herself did, with the joy, the hope and the 
 ardour of living. The humble foreign orphan em- 
 ployed at Val d'Anay at fifty francs a month, the 
 nursery governess who rose at six .every morning and 
 who collapsed with fatigue at night towards eleven 
 o'clock on her solitary bed, sometimes without having 
 the strength to unhook her bodice, had scarcely 
 reason, it would seem, for being grateful for her 
 destiny. But Rosalie was happy at Val d'Anay, with 
 a sense of well-being so intense that she had never 
 known anything like it in the days when her father 
 and mother were alive, and she led between them the 
 existence of a daughter of little shopkeepers who are 
 in business difficulties. She had easily adapted her- 
 self to the new conditions, having been born to obey, 
 to serve. When she uttered the words, "M. le Baron, 
 Mme. la Baronne," she experienced the sensation of 
 pride. She took pleasure in the oldness of the family 
 with which she worked, in the respect with which this 
 family was treated throughout the district, in the 
 tone of the house, which appeared magnificent to her 
 beside the meanness in which her childhood had been 
 reared. Above all, she looked up to and loved her 
 employers. Even what was conventional in their 
 virtues, even their narrowness of caste, did not shock 
 her. On the other hand, their disinterestedness de- 
 lighted her, as also did their charity, their generosity,
 
 104 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 their sincere contempt for money. Her own parents 
 had been honest in the ordinary sense of the term- 
 that is to say, incapable of stealing an article or a 
 piece of money but sordid pinch-pennies, making 
 use of the lowest trickery to sell goods no longer 
 fresh, conscientious through self-interest towards 
 regular customers, but impudently cheating the merely 
 casual ones. At Val d'Anay, Rosalie breathed a 
 cleaner moral atmosphere. The Baron and Baroness 
 gave, without counting the cost, their time and their 
 money to good works. Lying was considered dis- 
 honourable even by the children ; they preferred being 
 stupid in business to appearing sharp or grasping. 
 As for the people in their employment, they were 
 treated with kindly familiarity in accordance with the 
 old tradition. 
 
 Rosalie had had an attack of mumps a short time 
 after her arrival at the chateau, and she had been 
 nursed by the Baroness herself as though she had 
 been her mother, and without the slightest heed of 
 infection. She preserved a lasting recollection of this 
 illness, and it is no mere figure of speech to say that 
 she would have thrown herself into the fire for her 
 mistress. She was also devoted to the children, to the 
 simple and light-hearted Henriette, to Hector and 
 Jean, unmanageable but with hearts of gold, and to 
 the irresistible twins. As for the Baron, for him she 
 entertained in her heart a complex feeling that she 
 in no way tried to analyse. Her admiration for the 
 man mingled with the need of humility and obedi- 
 ence, while at the same time she felt no fear in his 
 presence, but, on the contrary, never found herself so 
 happy as when he was there beside her, when she 
 could see him and listen to him. She considered him
 
 AT VAL D'ANAY 105 
 
 in the light of an infallible guardian. If by chance 
 she touched him as just now, when their foreheads 
 had brushed against each other over the go-cart she 
 experienced a delicious emotion, the emotion of a 
 devotee who has kissed a relic and who feels herself 
 perfumed all over with sanctity. And perhaps it was 
 particularly at the recollection of this touch that the 
 innocent Rosalie Boisset was smiling as she hurried 
 towards the tennis-court. But she was also smiling 
 at the caressing light, at the delicious atmosphere, at 
 the delicate grass, at the trees of a yellowish or a 
 bluish green, at the careless breath of an east wind 
 that played with this intoxicating air, at everything 
 that a radiant March afternoon, which seemed like one 
 in May, contains of appeal to life and to love. 
 
 As she reached the tennis-court a game had just 
 finished, Berthe and Guy on one side, Mag and Josette 
 on the other, leaving the court to the three little 
 Ropart d'Anays, who immediately insisted upon their 
 governess making up the four. Sandra and Fanny, 
 sitting side by side on a seat, were talking with 
 Jacques. Mag and Josette plunged together into the 
 forest. Guy took Berthe down to the pond, made her 
 get into a boat and sculled her amidst the reeds 
 towards that bend in the bank where high forests of 
 birch trees, leaning towards the water, cast a fairy 
 shadow over it, while some willows dipped their 
 branches into the motionless surface. On this par- 
 ticular day, Fanny Smith affected to pay no attention 
 to her pupil, and on her side Berthe appeared to have 
 regained her independence and to accept boldly her 
 role of fiancee. Jacques, dressed with extreme care, 
 left the seat and stretched himself out at the feet of 
 Sandra and Fanny, who had become silent, and com-
 
 io6 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 menced to repeat some stanzas of Henri de Regnier. 
 Sandra, sensitive to poetry as to music, listened, her 
 pure face bending towards Jacques; Fanny, concen- 
 trated, secretive, with pursed lips, was lost in reverie, 
 her back turned towards the pond, where the boat 
 which carried Berthe and Guy was already lost to 
 sight under the shade of the drooping willows. And 
 upon all these beings, perturbed by different passions, 
 there hovered the intense and sweet allurement of 
 amorous spring. 
 
 In the forest, Mag and Josette walked quickly. 
 Josette, who had known the ground since her child- 
 hood, acted as guide ; hurrying along, they exchanged 
 rapid replies. 
 
 "If only they haven't met with a breakdown ! " 
 
 "And, above all, if only they haven't lost their way ! 
 It isn't an easy country. All the cross-roads look 
 alike." 
 
 "I mapped out the road as well as I could." 
 
 The path became gradually obscured by ferns and 
 gorse, and grew narrower; then it disappeared. 
 Josette struck resolutely across the copse in a direction 
 where, becoming less thick and less entangled, it 
 allowed an opening to show itself a short distance 
 ahead. Suddenly she stopped. 
 
 "The car ! " she said in a low tone. 
 
 A rumbling was heard and came nearer. The 
 girls continued to advance. As they reached the 
 glade where five paths studded themselves before 
 them, a grey car, shaped like a huge shell, 
 pulled up and stopped dead. Bolski jumped to 
 the ground, followed by Letzling, who had been 
 driving. The place was so obviously solitary that the
 
 AT VAL D'ANAY 107 
 
 two young women were not afraid of showing them- 
 selves, and the delight of both was so intense that they 
 forgot all the forms of conventional politeness as 
 they forgot even each other. Mag ran to Bolski with 
 the eagerness of a woman in love. And if there 
 were more modesty in the behaviour of Josette, if she 
 gave only her ungloved hand, her bare wrist, to the 
 lips of Letzling, she was none the less so perturbed 
 as not even to notice the long-drawn, lover-like kiss 
 that passed between Mag and Bolski. Mag disen- 
 gaged herself in time to avoid being seen by her pupil. 
 
 "Not here," she whispered to Bolski. "Come, let 
 us leave them." 
 
 She regained with Bolski the cover of the woods, 
 while Josette remained standing motionless, hand in 
 hand with Letzling in full daylight, close to the wait- 
 ing motor, which was throbbing quickly in low puffs 
 like the breathing of a watch-dog. They looked into 
 each other's eyes, their faces bent towards each other. 
 The romance of this meeting delighted them. That 
 they should have met so exactly at the arranged time, 
 in the midst of this forest coolness in the flush of 
 spring, this seemed to them a propitious fatality, a 
 friendliness of destiny that had at last been won over 
 to their love. 
 
 "I am happy," murmured Josette. 
 
 He, overflowing with Teutonic idealism, and at this 
 moment honestly prepared for every sacrifice his 
 future, his family, everything in order to clasp in 
 his arms the exquisite creature whose eyes were 
 hypnotizing him, exclaimed 
 
 "Come, I implore you. Let us start." 
 
 He indicated the car with a glance. She smiled, at 
 once shocked and grateful.
 
 io8 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 "You must be mad. . . . Good heavens! what 
 would they say of us ? " 
 
 But he, under the spell of that irresistible fascina- 
 tion which the open love of an innocent girl casts 
 upon the will of an impetuous man, persisted 
 
 "Let them say what they like. Your father will be 
 so much the more willing to give in. I swear to you, 
 Josette. . . . Come, you and Mag; I will take both 
 of you to a suite of rooms that Bolski has rented. I 
 swear to you that I shall not pass the door and that 
 Mag shall not leave you. Your father will give in; 
 he is only afraid of scandal, of the newspapers. 
 Come." 
 
 And close to her, his face almost touching hers, as 
 he felt her to be moved, he continued 
 
 "My Jo. ... My wife!" 
 
 At that word she almost fainted, and he took 
 advantage of the moment to touch her cheek with his 
 lips. But immediately she drew away, unaffectedly 
 resisting. 
 
 "Adolf, that is not right. Leave me. In any case 
 I must go back; we have only a few minutes. They 
 will notice. But I am happy to have seen you. My 
 poor friend ! To travel more than a hundred and 
 twenty miles just to talk to me for five minutes ! 
 That's nice of you. Ah ! Mag is signalling to me 
 to return." 
 
 As a matter of fact, Mag and Bolski now reappeared. 
 They were silent. Mag recalled her pupil with a 
 nod. 
 
 "I don't want to leave you, I don't want to leave 
 you," repeated Letzling. "When shall I see you 
 again ? " 
 
 "Alas!" she said, her eyes suddenly moist with
 
 AT VAL D'ANAY 109 
 
 tears, "I don't know; it is becoming impossible. 
 Papa is so dead set against you." 
 
 He was clinging to her ringers, but these fingers 
 uneasily sought to detach themselves. Then the fear 
 of losing her gave him the audacity to utter words 
 that for a long time he had been wishing, and yet not 
 daring, to utter 
 
 "Come with Mag . . . once . . . once only." 
 
 He did not say where, he did not say any more. 
 But she understood, and confessed it by her blush. 
 She did not make the protest that- he had expected. 
 She was herself too unhappy, too sad, at the thought 
 of no longer meeting the fiance of her choice. She 
 made no answer, and on his side he did not insist. 
 Mag and Bolski rejoined them. They talked for a 
 few seconds, all four of them, quite conventionally, 
 after which they separated as if their meeting had 
 been the happy accident of two walks. And while the 
 governess and her pupil hurried back to Val d'Anay, 
 they heard the rumble of the grey motor roar, grow 
 fainter and fainter until it was only carried to them by 
 puffs at intervals. A loud whistle of the siren faded 
 away in the far, far distance. 
 
 Josette walked beside Mag in silence. She was 
 astonished at the hope that sang in her heart, and 
 she blamed herself for feeling as she did. Turning 
 her head towards Mag, she saw that she was worried. 
 She took her arm affectionately. 
 
 "Something is going wrong with you ? " 
 
 Mag answered simply 
 
 "Bolski has gambled again and lost." 
 
 "Can I help you, Mag?" 
 
 "Oh no; it is too big a sum. Thank you, my dear. 
 Don't let us speak of it any more; it will arrange
 
 i io GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 itself. And you? What did you talk about \vith the 
 Count ? " 
 
 Josette was on the point of answering when she 
 heard her name called out at a short distance. 
 
 "It's Guy," she said. "They must be looking for 
 us." 
 
 She quickened her step, going in front of Mag. At 
 the first turn Guy greeted her. 
 
 " You were calling me ? " 
 
 "Yes; I had seen you go in that direction. I 
 wanted to see you. I'm very unhappy, my little 
 sister." 
 
 "Berthe?" 
 
 "Yes. . . . Oh, Mag, you can stop," said Guy to 
 the German, who was turning away on purpose, and 
 he went on with his confidence. "You saw I had 
 taken Berthe with me in the boat. We had landed 
 on the little peninsula. Berthe was simpler, nicer, 
 more natural to-day. I had never seen her like that 
 before. It seemed to me that at last I had got the 
 better of the English devil. We were sitting beside 
 the water. She allowed me to talk marriage . . . 
 name the date . . . next July . . . when I shall have 
 finished with my thesis. She was interested in my 
 work in chemistry, and it isn't particularly amusing. 
 She wanted to visit my laboratory in the Avenue 
 Velasquez. She was delightful. Then . . ." 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 "Then what?" 
 
 "I assure you, Josette, that I am not hesitating for 
 fear of shocking you, but it was so ridiculous ! Well, 
 here it is. I took Berthe in my arms, and embraced 
 her eagerly, perhaps too eagerly. Only, as we under- 
 stand each other, what harm was there in it ? Would
 
 AT VAL D'ANAY m 
 
 you believe that all of a sudden she repulsed me with 
 violence, as if as if I were a vagabond that was 
 attacking her ? She rushed away ; she refused to go 
 in the boat; she ran all along the bank. I rowed as 
 hard as I could to get to the tennis-court before her. 
 
 She was calling, ' Fanny, Fanny.' That d d 
 
 Englishwoman ran to meet her, and I had the 
 pleasure of seeing them from my boat throwing them- 
 selves into each other's arms like two people who had 
 escaped from a shipwreck." 
 
 "Oh," said Josette, "why did you do that, Guy? 
 Berthe is impressionable. One does not treat young 
 girls that one wants to marry like cocottes" 
 
 Guy lowered his head like a scolded child, as he 
 continued to excuse himself 
 
 " I assure you, I did nothing improper. I pressed 
 Berthe to me as one would one's fiancee, and then 
 everything around us was too beautiful, too tender ; 
 it was not my fault." 
 
 Mag gave a mysterious smile. She was watching 
 Josette, and, knowing her pupil well, she divined the 
 trouble, the amorous suggestion that her brother's 
 confidence had stirred in his sister. In very truth 
 Josette was thinking: "Why did Berthe do that? 
 Guy loves her, Guy wishes to marry her, and she 
 loves him. She is ridiculous. But I what about 
 me ? If Adolf had made the mistake of Guy, would 
 I have run away like that ? Oh no ! oh no ! " 
 
 "Would you like a piece of advice, Monsieur 
 Guy ? " said Mag. 
 
 They had always been good friends, and Guy was 
 grateful to the German for her devotion to this little 
 sister of his, whom he loved. 
 
 "Go ahead," he said.
 
 ii2 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 "Leave Berthe to be wrapped up in her Made- 
 moiselle Smith ; don't bother about her any more than 
 if she had ceased to exist, and make love to Yvonne 
 Haumont-Ma'nin, -who is crazy about you and who is 
 worth a thousand of Berthe." 
 
 "Mag," said Guy, "you are immoral." 
 However, when they had rejoined the others and 
 returned to the terrace for tea, he followed Mag's 
 advice, and, yielding to the desire for avenging his 
 hurt pride, he seemed not to see Berthe's anxiety and 
 red eyes. He took his place beside Yvonne, who did 
 not conceal her pleasure. 
 
 The Corbelliers and the Haumont-Segres left Val 
 d'Anay immediately after tea, and returned to Paris 
 in their respective cars. The Crozes and the 
 Haumont-Manins went by train after dinner. The 
 dinner was gay. Josette could not drive out of her 
 heart a song of hope, aroused by the meeting of that 
 afternoon, by Guy's story and also by this insidious 
 spring. The little Haumont-Manins swarmed round 
 Guy, Alice and Nanie with a nai've impertinence 
 openly favouring his sudden attachment to Yvonne. 
 Mag hid her anxieties under her ordinary mask of 
 good-humour. As for Rosalie, the Ropart d'Anays 
 amused themselves in making her drink, in spite of 
 the smiling remonstrances of the Baroness. To tell 
 the truth, after dinner, as the champagne had flowed 
 freely, a healthy and animated gaiety showed itself 
 all round the table, particularly in Henriette, the 
 Baron and Rosalie. 
 
 A game of "Lanturlu" kept this good-humour 
 going until close on ten o'clock, the moment of 
 separation. The chateau omnibus was waiting at
 
 AT VAL D'ANAY 113 
 
 the door to take the Parisians to the station. The 
 night was so mild that the Baron climbed up on the 
 box-seat and took the reins from the coachman's 
 hand. Rosalie, whose head felt heavy, and who 
 longed to taste the fresh air of this beautiful night, 
 had asked permission to accompany Mag. They 
 reached the station only just in time for the departing 
 guests to enter the railway carriage after hurried 
 embraces. When Rosalie and the Baron returned 
 to the omnibus, a damp breeze swept over their faces. 
 The weather had changed. The Baron buttoned his 
 overcoat and said to the coachman 
 "Charles, you can drive." 
 
 He entered the conveyance and sat down beside 
 Rosalie. As the young girl drew back in order to 
 make room for her master, he took her familiarly by 
 the arm and held her back. 
 
 " It begins to be cold," he said. " Let us get warm." 
 He pretended to be chilly and to wrap himself up, 
 and when the omnibus started he kept his neighbour's 
 arm in his hand. It was well over a mile and a half 
 from the station to the chateau. They passed through 
 woods; the darkness was almost complete inside the 
 omnibus, but the yellow reflections of the lamps 
 danced in front, to right and left, from the shadow 
 cast by the box-seat. The Baron heard Rosalie's 
 breathing, uneven, perturbed. He asked her in a 
 voice that was not his ordinary one 
 "Are you well, little one ? " 
 She could scarcely put sound into her reply 
 "Yes, Monsieur le Baron, quite well." 
 He continued to hold her arm. Suddenly he felt 
 her closer to him, touching his shoulder. The feather 
 of a toque that she was wearing tickled his ear. He 
 H
 
 H4 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 stammered out, really not knowing if he were enticing 
 her, or if it were she who was pressing herself against 
 him 
 
 " My little one, my dear little one ! " 
 
 Her young breast now rose and fell against his 
 waistcoat. He bent down and almost bit into the 
 sweet, full lips of the young girl. In her turn, she 
 stammered out 
 
 "Oh, Monsieur le Baron . . . Madame . . . 
 Madame la Baronne is so good ... so good ! " 
 
 And even as she said this she returned his kiss 
 clumsily, but distractedly.
 
 BOOK II 
 SANDRA
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE THREE LITTLE ONES OF THE RUE PALATINE 
 
 "Bv opening the dining-room door into the 
 drawing-room," Alice remarked to her sister Yvonne, 
 "one gets a view of the square and that makes it a 
 little more cheerful." 
 
 She tried the effect on the spot. Yvonne, who was 
 arranging cups and Japanese napkins on the table, 
 turned round to judge the effect. To brighten up the 
 Haumont-Manins' dining-room which looked out on 
 to a kind of rectangular well between black walls 
 pierced by peep-holes with wire grating, was no easy 
 task, even for a bright May afternoon like this. 
 Yvonne declared 
 
 "I see the back of the choir of St. Sulpice and 
 three leaves of one of the chestnut-trees in the square. 
 Evidently it is more cheerful." 
 
 The real cheerfulness was their laughter, which 
 bubbled out into the silence and the semi-darkness of 
 the gloomy room and suddenly infused into it joy and, 
 as it were, the illusion of light itself. Alice, in her 
 turn examined her sister's work. 
 
 "Your table is pretty," she said, "but why haven't 
 you put some roses in the bowl ? There are some 
 splendid Gloires de Dijon in the drawing-room." 
 
 "Guy is afraid of flowers with too heavy a scent. 
 It goes to his head and gives him hay fever." 
 
 117
 
 u8 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 "Oh, in that case," replied Alice, with an ironical 
 curtsey, "let us banish the roses." 
 
 Two nice afternoon aprons covered their costumes, 
 both alike, of blue foulard, very simple, very girlish, 
 but none the less denoting that they were mindful of 
 elegance and acquainted with the fashions, as they 
 continued their preparations. It was an event of no 
 less importance than the reception, towards five 
 o'clock, of Guy and Josette Croze, Madame Corbellier 
 and an assistant lecturer at the Sorbonne, named Mon- 
 sieur Lecoeur, who had all been invited to hear 
 Jacques sing his Neapolitan songs with Sandra. In 
 reality the songs of Jacques and Sandra were only a 
 pretext, as Madame Haumont-Manin well knew, for 
 bringing Guy Croze and M. Lecceur to the Rue 
 Palatine. Since the scene at Val d'Anay, Guy had 
 not seen Berthe, and, in his wounded pride, he was 
 attaching himself more and more to Yvonne. As for 
 Nanie, the youngest of "the little ones of the Rue 
 Palatine,", she admired to distraction the oratorical 
 powers of M. Lecceur. All the winter and all the 
 spring she had not missed a single one of the lectures 
 that he was just finishing on "The French Provinces 
 during the Revolution." 
 
 "There . . . everything is in order," said Alice. 
 "The cakes, the puff pastry, the port, we are only 
 waiting for Name's petits fours. Heavens ! what a 
 time she takes over any little bit of shopping ! For 
 three quarters of an hour . . ." 
 
 "There she is ! " interposed Yvonne. 
 
 Nanie entered the dining-room laden with bulky 
 packages, from which she disentangled herself with 
 extreme care. She had overheard the criticism passed 
 by her sister and at once protested :
 
 THE THREE LITTLE ONES 119 
 
 "You think that it's easy to lug about eclairs and 
 puffs ? I didn't want to get the whole lot into a pulp ! 
 And besides, I have had the greatest difficulty in 
 finding any chocolate caracks." 
 
 "And M. Lecoeur has a weakness for chocolate 
 caracks, poor dear ! " 
 
 Their joyous laughter gladdened again the gloomy 
 ceilings. They were the greatest friends these three, 
 in spite of the fact that Yvonne and Alice were 
 inseparable, while Nanie asserted her independence, 
 was never dressed like her two elder sisters and was 
 less fond of society and sport but more intellectual 
 than they. For the rest she was less good-looking : 
 a nice French plum, as her mother called her, her hair 
 and complexion both too dark, but her figure moulded 
 like an exquisite statue of clear bronze, and endowed 
 with the most spirituel little face that could be seen 
 at the Tuesday lectures of M. Lecoeur. 
 
 The fancy cakes were unpacked. 
 
 "Lay them out, you two, I'm going to inspect the 
 quatre quarts that Elodie is making us." 
 
 Elodie was the cook, or to speak more accurately, 
 the general servant of the Haumont-Manins; for she 
 undertook the whole service of the house with only 
 the assistance of a scrubber once a week and a char- 
 woman every second day. The Haumont-Manins 
 were badly off. Belonging to a University family, 
 the two brothers Haumont, Maxime and Georges, on 
 leaving school, had been obliged to earn their living 
 at once, the eldest becoming an employee in the Segre 
 bank, and the younger a provincial schoolmaster, 
 while he was preparing to enter the ficole Normale. 
 Each on his own path had reached his goal. 
 Maxime, the son-in-law and associate of his chief,
 
 120 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 afterwards chief in his turn on the death of his father- 
 in-law; Georges, a professor of Bordeaux, and Mont- 
 pellier and afterwards of the College de France, a 
 member of the Institut from the age of forty, the 
 author of books famous on both sides of the Atlantic, 
 but in spite of everything remaining almost a poor 
 man : for his large octavo volumes cost him, each one 
 of them, six or seven years' work and brought him in 
 only ten thousand francs (a prodigious success for 
 historical and Roman literature works), and Mile. 
 Josephine Manin, whom he had married at Bordeaux, 
 was the daughter of a great merchant who had been 
 ruined. The Haumont-Manins, with their three 
 children, lived without ostentation. In spite of this 
 their home never presented that penurious or slovenly 
 or ignobly disordered aspect which disgraces some of 
 the modest households of the lesser bourgeoisie in 
 France. Josephine Manin, brought up in that proud 
 aristocracy of Bordeaux merchants, who believe that 
 they are losing caste by marrying into the nobility, 
 had known, until she had approached her twentieth 
 year, the ample life of a large house and a large staff 
 of servants. Intelligent, industrious and light-hearted, 
 she now drew from the modest revenue of her husband 
 the maximum of comfort and even of appearances ; 
 she knew how to dress the professor and she knew 
 how to bring up her daughters herself; she took her 
 place in Paris. The apartments of the Rue Palatine 
 were sombre, but dignified : the second storey of a 
 private house dating from the eighteenth century, the 
 proprietors of which occupied the remainder of the 
 building. Thus the stone staircase with its wrought 
 iron banisters kept up the dignity of the house ; the 
 gloomy rooms were, at all events, lofty, and instead
 
 THE THREE LITTLE ONES 121 
 
 of the miserable concierge of so many unfurnished 
 apartments, it was a porter in livery who received the 
 visitors. The only dot that Mile. Manin had 
 brought her husband after her father's failure was a 
 few beautiful pieces of old furniture, some rich 
 carpets, and some valuable pictures with which the 
 apartments were decorated. For the rest, the house- 
 keeping zeal of "the three little ones " made up for the 
 lack of servants. Their mother had brought them up 
 in their early years, not to the menial work of the 
 household, which degrades a young girl and for 
 which it is much easier and less expensive to find 
 substitutes, but to that more valuable science of 
 organization and of care for the home as well as for 
 their own personal expenditure and dress. The 
 Haumont-Manins gave dinner-parties to their friends 
 only three times a year; but they managed, in spite 
 of the absence of footmen in plush breeches, that the 
 dinners surpassed in quality those of the Haumont- 
 Segre"s, whose chef received the pay of a colonel. It 
 was because "the three little ones" taxed their in- 
 genuity for days in preparing the menu, in enriching 
 it with recipes gathered from out-of-the-way sources, 
 and with provincial specialities such as Landes 
 ortolans, which it was impossible to buy in Paris 
 for their weight in gold. While training them in 
 this way for their domestic role, Madame Haumont- 
 Manin, not being rich enough to pay for a governess, 
 had scrupulously watched over their education, 
 a task that her husband's relations in the professorial 
 world had made easy. Three pretty pedants ? 
 By no means ! Nanie herself, the most intellectual^ 
 of the three, danced charmingly, dressed with 
 taste and handled both a racquet and a golf club.
 
 122 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 All three of them had learnt English and then 
 German during their father's holidays, while they 
 were installed abroad with some other professorial 
 household. Finally, at the respective ages of 
 eighteen, twenty and twenty-one, "the little ones of 
 the Rue Palatine," as they were usually called, dis- 
 played a shameless healthiness, were neither less 
 educated, nor less elegant than their companions and 
 enjoyed a great deal of success. One solitary defect 
 there was, common to all three of them ; they had no 
 dot and everybody knew it. They knew it too. From 
 the time that they were old enough to understand 
 things their mother coached them : "They must take 
 you, my little ones, just as your father took your 
 mother, for your pretty little faces and your talents." 
 Thus from the time of short frocks they light- 
 heartedly engrossed themselves in this campaign of 
 marriage that one day they would carry out. And 
 now that they were "right in it" to use the ex- 
 pression of Nanie, the sharpest of the three they had 
 not failed to remember that the principal object of 
 their present life was marriage, and that all their 
 efforts should be extended in this direction ; they used 
 them to their fullest ability. Neither their father nor 
 their mother had practised that habit of futile reti- 
 cence which does not preserve the modesty of young 
 girls but incurs the risk of leaving them a prey to de- 
 ception or betrayal. The conversations of M. and 
 Mme. Haumont-Manin in their daughters' presence 
 were as respectable as they were, but the three young 
 ladies had known for a long time two important 
 things : what pretty young girls without dots risk in a 
 flirtation if they are weak, and what, on the other 
 hand, their male partner risks if they are firm and
 
 THE THREE LITTLE ONES 123 
 
 careful. Their heads had not been stuffed with the 
 stupid idea that it is wrong to wish to please the man 
 that one desires for a husband, that it is immodest to 
 admit to him that he pleases you. They were starting 
 life thoroughly resolved to win for themselves a fiance 
 to their liking, and to spare no pains in order to 
 succeed. It was their career ; they entered upon it 
 with concentration, energy and delight, as a pro- 
 fession that one loves, for which one has gifts and 
 from which one expects much. Yvonne had been 
 first in the field, Yvonne, the eldest and the prettiest 
 of the three, the queen of every ball at which she 
 showed herself, besides having been asked in mar- 
 riage four times in her first season : she had refused 
 every one, in love as she was with Guy Croze and too 
 honourable to seek to detach him from Berthe, her 
 cousin, whom Guy preferred. She had suffered 
 gracefully, gaily, if one can use the expression, with a 
 background of hope, with a presentiment that in the 
 end she would get him, not concealing her feelings 
 from her sisters and even letting them be divined by 
 Guy with an honourable simplicity. Then, it was 
 Nanie who suddenly declared herself in love with M. 
 Lecceur who was getting on for forty, who was not 
 good-looking, but whose lectures at the Sorbonne on 
 "The Revolution in the Provinces" were assailed 
 every Tuesday by three hundred hats of the best 
 make, covering the heads of young women and young 
 girls quite blind with admiration. M. Lecoeur, by an 
 accident that he had not looked for, had become a 
 fashionable lecturer. That year at his closing lesson 
 a plot had been arranged among his admirers; each 
 had brought a large bunch of Toulouse violets, and 
 the lecturer had been forced to speak behind a florist's
 
 I2 4 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 bulging basket. To get nearer her idol, Nanie 
 availed herself of the university camaraderie: Madame 
 Haumont-Manin, who had immediately been made a 
 confidante, invited M. Lecceur to the house. He 
 knew Nanie already as his most brilliant pupil and he 
 was flattered at being admitted to terms of familiarity 
 with a man like Professor Haumont-Manin ; the 
 charm of the Rue Palatine acted on him as on every- 
 body else who entered its precincts. "My little affair 
 is going well enough," admitted that nice French 
 plum of a Nanie, who was becoming pretty through 
 happiness. 
 
 And so, on this particular day, in these gloomy 
 apartments, which none the less had an air of 
 reception about them, two out of the three young 
 hearts were beating hopefully ; Alice alone expected 
 no guest who might touch her's. Alice, up till now, 
 was one of those young girls who are amused by the 
 society of young people, who receive their homage as 
 a just due, whom compliments, even if they are a 
 little daring, do not startle but whom an instinctive 
 resistance, a kind of nervous modesty, protects from 
 the most timid advance : a type that the new French 
 education, in which the mingling of the two sexes is 
 accepted, has produced, and which was ignorant of 
 its own existence in the days of long ago. In 
 different degrees, Josette Croze and Berthe Haumont- 
 Segr belonged to that category. Girls such as 
 these will remain indefinitely unassailable if they 
 never meet love on their path ; they are not to be 
 tamed by flirtation nor even by the compensations of 
 money and position in marriage. On the other hand, 
 the day they fall in love they will not allow any one 
 to fetter their destiny. Alone of this trio Berthe,
 
 THE THREE LITTLE ONES 125 
 
 Alice and Josette the last had arrived at this dan- 
 gerous crisis. 
 
 In spring and in summer, more precisely from May 
 to September, there were, at the apartments in the 
 Rue Palatine, days in which for twenty glorious 
 minutes everything be'came beautiful. Towards six 
 o'clock, the sun insinuating its rays between the left 
 wing of the ancient seminary and the church towers, 
 struck the two drawing-room windows obliquely. 
 Then the mouldings of the wainscoting on the walls, 
 the edges of the joists at the bottom, the old gold 
 about the mirrors, the limpidness of pictures by great 
 masters, the graceful curves of the old furniture 
 became lit up and animated. And then (an unheard- 
 of thing) it was lively in their apartments for a reason 
 apart from the youth, the charm and the laughter of 
 the three sisters. When they were at home at 
 this particular time, they never allowed the glittering 
 visitor to escape without saluting him on his way 
 and, usually, while they became intoxicated by his 
 furtive appearance, the bell of St. Sulpice sounded 
 six times running, from the steeple to the left, the 
 great sonorous beads of the hour. 
 
 To-day the six strokes punctuated, gravely, slowly, 
 disdainfully, a Neapolitan melody, at once nonchalant 
 and ironical, that was being sung by the poignant 
 contralto of Sandra accompanied at the piano by 
 Jacques Corbellier. The sunlight of six o'clock out- 
 lined with merciless precision the feminine contours 
 of Emmeline Corbellier, the purple shade of her rouge 
 and by an odd effect of refraction caused the arti- 
 ficial ruddiness of her hair to seem grey. Sensitive 
 to this enervating music, so lulling, so inviting, 
 Emmeline forgot to stiffen her bust, to keep in her
 
 126 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 waist line, to extend the muscles of her chin ; she had 
 become an unenviable object, an old woman ludi- 
 crously disguised. On a long, low sofa, Guy Croze 
 and M. Lecceur were seated side by side very dis- 
 creetly between Alice and Nanie; Yvonne was turning 
 over the pages for Sandra. M. Lecceur 's head was 
 surmounted by a crop of blonde hair; his regular 
 features and his complexion, which was a little too 
 fresh, were fortunately given virility by a long beard 
 of a darker shade. He wore a black braided jacket, 
 a waistcoat to match, a pair of trousers of mouse-grey. 
 His linen was very white, his tie a breast-plate, 
 already tied once and for all was brand new. He 
 wore both of his brown suede gloves; his feet were 
 encased in shoes that shone with an aggressive 
 varnish, and his eyeglass fitted tightly. Nanie, 
 watching him with discerning sympathy, compared 
 him to Guy with his ungloved hands, his unassertive 
 shoes, his blue serge suit, and thought to herself, 
 "Bah! I will dress him; it will take me only one 
 season." 
 
 In the meantime, standing alone in front of a 
 window beside Loute Corbellier, Josette Croze evoked, 
 more than ever, the young Egyptian girl of the bas- 
 relief. Josette Croze, her camelia-like complexion 
 tinged by a ray of sunshine, a double spangle of gold 
 in her wonderful eyes, around which the lids seemed to 
 hover like brown butterflies, aroused by a perfect 
 flood of renewed beauty the admiration of Madame 
 Haumont-Manin. A circumspect teacher as she was, 
 that lady thought to herself: "There is a little one, 
 who is too pretty at this moment; love prowls close 
 to her heart, you may be sure." The last refrain of 
 the melody was sounding ; Yvonne was leaving the
 
 THE THREE LITTLE ONES 127 
 
 piano where she had been turning over the pages. 
 Jacques was striking the chords announcing the finale, 
 and the six o'clock sun was no longer under the 
 wainscots w : hich took on their ordinary severity, that 
 of a dull red which became paler every moment. 
 
 Then, in this semi-darkness, scarcely allowing the 
 applause time to mark the end of the previous song, 
 Sandra and Jacques began to sing together, while 
 Yvonne went to sit down beside Guy. Jacques' voice 
 was a light tenor, almost a soprano; it had little 
 volume, but a delightful timbre and a faultless pre- 
 cision ; he had worked hard for two months under the 
 direction of Sandra. They sang a Sicilian duet by 
 Lamponi : the eternal amorous conflict between 
 Horace and Lydia, that jealous love which takes on 
 the mask of spite and threatens a rupture, only to 
 culminate in the languor of desire and in the volup- 
 tuousness of a kiss. Music not endowed with 
 genius, but which exhaled tenderness and warmth, 
 doubtless banal to any one who heard it a second 
 time, it none the less laid traps the first time for the 
 ear and deceived one's taste. And then the voices 
 that sang it, answered each other, harmonized, blended 
 together so exquisitely ; and, in short, the listeners, 
 from the discerning mistress of the house down to the 
 prudent M. Lecceur, realized thoroughly that these 
 two beautiful singing children were talking genuinely 
 one to the other across the insipidness of words. 
 Their emotion, their desire, still unconfessed, threw 
 so voluptuous a languor into this sonorous air that, 
 as Madame Haumont-Manin murmured into the ear 
 of Guy Croze, " It was delightful, but a little indecent." 
 When they left the piano, after the exaltation of those 
 last bars in which their voices had been, as it were,
 
 128 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 interlaced, penetrated, possessed, and stood there 
 side by side with their backs to the piano, this 
 Perugino virgin and this admirable youth, in appear- 
 ance scarcely less a woman than she, they were greeted 
 with "Bravos" of real sincerity. They had com- 
 municated to their intimate audience the thrill of sunlit 
 voluptuousness, of love beside blue gulfs, between red 
 rocks, under the verdant shadow of immortal trees. 
 
 "My dear young lady," exclaimed Madame Hau- 
 mont-Manin as she kissed Sandra, "you have a 
 fortune in that throat of yours. If I were in your 
 place I should go on the stage." 
 
 "Don't suggest that to her," Jacques protested. 
 "We wish to keep her!" 
 
 Sandra thanked him, her beautiful glance lingering 
 on him as she said 
 
 "I am too pleased with my pupils, Monsieur Jacques 
 and Mademoiselle Loute, to think of anything else." 
 Madame Corbellier sought compliments for her son. 
 "Jacques has made great progress, hasn't he? " 
 "Immense," answered Madame Haumont-Manin, 
 who, in spite of her appearance of a plump, worthy 
 lady, by no means disdained irony ; " I am sure, my 
 good Emmeline, that this Mademoiselle Ceroni will 
 take him very far. Now let us have some refresh- 
 ments. What do you say ? After all these artistic 
 emotions . . ." 
 
 The dining-room of the Rue Palatine, from the 
 moment that the passing six o'clock brilliance had 
 disappeared, was nothing more than a well of shadow. 
 But the rival fairy of this glorious visitor, the powerful 
 and docile fairy, who carries also flame at the end of 
 his metal hair, suddenly illumined this dark cave with 
 a luminousness ingeniously manipulated by feminine
 
 THE THREE LITTLE ONES 129 
 
 hands to make the most of the delicate complexions 
 of women. At this moment, seated at a table loaded 
 with dainties that she ate with a remorseful greediness, 
 Emmeline Corbellier became almost young again; her 
 beauty had been restored to her for a moment. In the 
 meantime M. Lecceur was helping himself gratefully 
 to his special caracks on a plate offered to him by 
 Nanie. Josette, apart from them all and absorbed in 
 her own inner dream, attracted the attention of Loute, 
 who was sitting opposite; and, in order to spare her- 
 self a real conversation, questioned her about her 
 school-lessons. Jacques occupied himself in paying 
 attention to Sandra, in the form of compliments of 
 assured preciosity ; Alice, free and light-hearted as 
 she was, employed herself in attending to her guests 
 and serving them. Yvonne and Guy, however, after 
 merely moistening their lips over a cup of tea and 
 nibbling a little cake, returned to the drawing-room, 
 where the lights were not lit, and where they were 
 left alone. They spoke in a low tone. Guy said 
 
 " I have spent some days in asking myself every 
 morning if I should not take a little cyanide in my 
 laboratory by way of early breakfast. Would you 
 believe that in these moments I compelled myself not 
 to think of you, just because I knew well that if I 
 leaned on you I would become myself again and 
 things would be all right with me? But I wished to 
 suffer. I avoided even Josette, because I knew well 
 that she also would bring me to you." 
 
 "Dear Jo!" 
 
 Guy continued in a naive egoism that was thoroughly 
 masculine 
 
 " What Josette told me about Berthe and you how 
 you were and are much the more lovely I used to 
 i
 
 130 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 hate in advance. The comedy that I played at Val 
 d'Anay that evening when I hung about you and 
 appeared to have forgotten all about Berthe was 
 horrible to me." 
 
 "So it was a comedy, was it?" said Yvonne, who 
 could hardly keep back her tears. He took her hand 
 and pressed it. 
 
 "Yes, it was one. ... I was thinking only of the 
 other that evening. And then, suddenly, one night I 
 woke up; I felt an intense physical pain, something 
 that must be like angina pectoris : one is Stirling, so 
 that one imagines that the cavity of the chest will 
 give way under the pressure. ... At the same 
 instant I saw as clearly as with my own eyes Berthe 
 enfolded in the arms of the Englishwoman, as at Val 
 d'Anay, when she ran away from me. And I felt 
 that that was all the same to me; that it made me 
 laugh, that I was exorcised. My physical pain 
 gradually passed, and all the rest of the night I did 
 not wish to go to sleep again, so that I might think 
 of you. How shall I express it? I bathed my 
 thoughts in the memory of you." 
 
 Yvonne sighed. 
 
 "I have scarcely any pride left." 
 
 "Yvonne, dear little Yvonne, I wholly agree with 
 Josette . . . you are a hundred times prettier and 
 more worthy to be loved." 
 
 She lowered her head, at once happy and humiliated, 
 but she had an anxiety in her heart that she wished 
 at all costs to express. She did her best, became con- 
 fused, wept a little, and burst into peals of laughter. 
 Guy finally realized that she was suffering at the idea 
 of being the poor one robbing the rich husband of her 
 rich cousin.
 
 THE THREE LITTLE ONES 131 
 
 Guy, who had been amused by her embarrassment, 
 became serious again. 
 
 "Listen to me, Yvonne. Do you remember that last 
 year papa wished to make me marry an enormous 
 fortune, a million francs a year ? I had only to say 
 ' Yes,' and I could have appropriated a young 
 Brazilian who, for that matter, was not at all 
 repulsive." 
 
 "Ninade Oras?" 
 
 "Exactly. But my heart was adamant. I continued 
 to cling to Berthe, and her twelve hundred thousand 
 francs, you may be sure, did not affect my decision 
 very heavily. You know that. On the other hand, 
 I know very well that you have refused people beside 
 whom I cut a very poor figure. Now that's it, isn't 
 it? It's settled; we laugh at ' dots,' both of us, don't 
 we ? We are going to make our fortune together, isn't 
 it so?" 
 
 She smiled without answering. He leaned over her 
 and said almost into her ear 
 
 " I have been a miserable fool ; forgive me. You 
 do me a favour in accepting me that I don't 
 deserve." 
 
 "And if you catch fire again for Berthe?" 
 
 "No," said he. 
 
 He searched for her lips, and she did not refuse 
 them. Ever since she had been old enough to think, 
 she had regarded Guy in the light of her fiance. 
 Without her knowing it, it was this consent of long 
 standing which sealed Guy's decision in a healthy 
 warmth of passion and swept aside, as so much smoke, 
 the memory of the rebellious one. 
 
 Madame Corbellier, with Loute, Jacques and
 
 i 3 2 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 Sandra, was the first to leave the drawing-room of 
 the Rue Palatine. The Havana-coloured car was 
 waiting for them below, standing in front of the 
 apse of St. Sulpice. The clear serenity of a spring 
 twilight that they found outside was a happy 
 surprise for all four of them. Emmeline Corbellier 
 had plotted with her naive trickery to meet Croze at 
 the place of their usual interviews. Croze made these 
 more and more rare, alleging the pressure of over- 
 work, alleging the danger of being recognized. Had 
 not the newspapers popularised the face of the new 7 
 Under-Secretary for War, the organizer of the Fourth 
 Arm ? Emmeline's plan for getting rid of her 
 children and governess consisted this time in leaving 
 the car at the Pont de la Concorde; from there, "in 
 order to take exercise, she would return on foot as far 
 as the Rue Montaigne." Nobody made any objec- 
 tion; no one proposed accompanying her; it was the 
 custom. Emmeline would say: "I prefer to do my 
 walking in my own way, at my own pace, stopping 
 when I wish to stop." Sandra merely observed 
 
 "Does Madame remember that some tennis-shoes 
 must be bought for Loute ? Her present ones are 
 worn out." 
 
 "Very well, my little Sandra; you will take Loute 
 to John's as soon as you have dropped me." 
 
 At the corner of the quay opposite the Palais 
 Bourbon the Havana-coloured car divested itself of 
 its voluminous mistress, after which it carried Sandra, 
 Loute and Jacques towards the boulevards. Seated 
 opposite to Loute, who, as usual, was silent and 
 observant, Sandra and Jacques began to speak at once 
 of their mutual success. Then they said a few words 
 about the apartments in the Rue Palatine, expressed
 
 THE THREE LITTLE ONES 133 
 
 their preference for this or that of the three little ones, 
 and amused themselves at the expense of M. Lecoeur. 
 The presence of Loute did not prevent their conversa- 
 tion from becoming more intimate;^ on the contrary, 
 when Jacques by chance found himself alone with 
 Sandra, he showed uneasiness and hurriedly took 
 refuge in music. For both of them music was their 
 real language, and they communicated through it 
 much better than through words. Jacques' nerves, 
 without this assistance, could not have borne the 
 presence, the contact, of this beauiful young girl ; but 
 music acted, so to speak, as an anaesthetic, and the 
 charm of the feminine presence glided insidiously into 
 his heart, blended with the musical emotion of which 
 he was whole-heartedly the slave. 
 
 And as Sandra was so much his superior in music, 
 their relation had begun to take the form of her 
 domination over him ; she thought nothing of treating 
 him like a pupil, and saying to him : "This is bad," 
 or "You haven't worked." She taught him even in 
 a harsher and less smiling manner than she did Loute ; 
 and Jacques enjoyed this harshness, this action of a 
 will on his. Already this influence had passed beyond 
 his music lessons. Words dropped by Sandra, prefer- 
 ences that she had expressed, were beginning to 
 modify Jacques' habits. He saw less and less of his 
 dear "idealistic poet," Georges d'Ambline, and Baron 
 Lartisan and Carl Vorberg, nicknamed Carlin the 
 whole equivocal circle of his intimates because 
 Sandra did not conceal the fact that they displeased 
 her. Again, he was beginning to addict himself to 
 sports, which he had disdained for a long time, 
 because she declared a preference for men who were 
 active and strong in their limbs. She herself, at
 
 134 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 tennis, was beaten only by Josette. Not a word had 
 been uttered between them that savoured of 
 amorous intrigue, but both experienced the need of 
 the other's presence, and the two hours of music that 
 they spent daily together had for them all the savour 
 of a rendezvous. Madame Corbellier fostered this 
 growing intimacy. Jacques remained more and more 
 at home with her, and took part more and more in all 
 the comings and goings of his mother and sister. 
 That is all that she saw in it. M. Corbellier the 
 confidant of Loute was doubtless better informed, 
 but who in the whole house thought of consulting 
 M. Corbellier? 
 
 [Jacques accompanied Loute and Sandra to John's 
 and while Loute was trying on tennis-shoes talked 
 with the Italian. She showed him some boxing- 
 gloves, and urged him to take lessons. 
 
 "It will do you good. It is a fine sport better 
 than tennis. If women could go in for it, I should 
 certainly take it up." 
 
 She stopped speaking; he was looking at her more 
 fixedly, more boldly, than usual. Sandra had created 
 a sensation among the customers, and even among the 
 employees of the shop. Jacques, with a vanity that 
 was quite feminine, felt proud of showing himself with 
 her; she belonged to him, and really she paid atten- 
 tion only to him. Vanity, which lay uppermost in 
 the satisfaction he had experienced just now at the 
 Haumont-M'anins when they had been applauded 
 together, created in his heart a kind of puerile sym- 
 pathy for her, and this sympathy appeared so plainly 
 on his face that Sandra stopped short, astonished, 
 intimidated. Then he said to her
 
 THE THREE LITTLE ONES 135 
 
 "Go on speaking; I am watching your -mouth 
 move." 
 
 And such a phrase, uttered by Jacques, was such an 
 extravagance that Sandra became red, could not find 
 a word to say, and was obliged, in order to keep herself 
 in countenance, to take refuge in Loute, who was 
 forcing with effort her thin, flat feet into the white 
 canvas shoes.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE CHAPERON 
 
 As they passed the entrance to the double suite of 
 apartments, Mag saw Josette so pale, so nearly faint- 
 ing, that the door had scarcely closed before she seized 
 her under the armpits and supported her to the sofa 
 of the little sitting-room. At four o'clock, towards 
 the end of May, the narrow room which had been dark 
 and suffocating in February when Mag had received 
 her friends, now welcomed the two visitors into a 
 discreet white light that filtered through Venetian 
 blinds. There was no dampness, but a freshness so 
 delightful that Josette could not resist a feeling of 
 physical well-being at finding a refuge there, after 
 the glare of the streets, after the anxiety during the 
 drive in the fiacre, and the excitement of alighting in 
 front of the door. At the same moment a smelling- 
 bottle that Mag applied to her nostrils revived her; 
 her cheeks regained their colour, but she was not yet 
 able to speak. 
 
 "Really, Josette," Mag whispered, "you had better 
 go back. I will receive Count Adolf, and tell him 
 that you were prevented from coming. Shall I ? 
 Make up your mind at once; in a few minutes he 
 will be here." 
 
 "No." Josette, who was becoming more herself, 
 made a negative sign. 
 
 Her glance, at first uneasy, distrustful, had wan- 
 
 136
 
 THE CHAPERON 137 
 
 dered round the room. She experienced relief at 
 seeing nothing in it that suggested the suspected 
 mystery of a rendezvous in a novel. It was a little 
 sitting-room, nicely furnished like many others, such 
 as big Parisian upholsterers furnish for customers 
 who don't haggle. Not even light refreshments were 
 on the table, but on it there was a large sheaf of 
 liliums, Josette's favourite flower. The bedroom door 
 had been pushed open, but neither toilet-table nor bed 
 were visible. All these delicate attentions were not 
 the work of Letzling, but of Mag, who, knowing the 
 restive soul of her pupil, had made a preliminary 
 inspection of the double apartments that very 
 morning. 
 
 Seeing Josette almost herself again, the German 
 had the audacity to reprimand her in a friendly way, 
 and administered, as it were, a rebuff to her amour- 
 propre. 
 
 "You don't know what you want, my Josette, or 
 rather, like all Frenchwomen, you have no courage in 
 love. You must be loved without any risk on your 
 own part." 
 
 "You say that to me here ? " protested Josette. 
 
 "Here? But you are running no risk, none at all. 
 Listen to me. Now that I see you in such suspense I 
 am going to tell you what I never told you before. 
 All the worse, if you are going to despise me after- 
 wards, but I am anxious about your peace of mind." 
 
 She took her pupil's two hands in hers and looked 
 her in the eyes. 
 
 "You are too innocent to understand me through 
 half-words. But there is a time for innocence and a 
 time for being a woman. I told you that this suite 
 of rooms has another exit in the Rue de Chateaudun.
 
 138 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 If by some impossible accident we were tracked you 
 would escape by it, under the protection of a safe 
 escort who from now on is keeping watch in the 
 other suite of rooms." 
 
 "Who is it? " asked Josette, more curious now than 
 frightened. 
 
 "I am going to tell you. Let me finish my explana- 
 tton. If they were to track us, Lelzling would remain 
 behind after you had gone, and would call me, for I 
 shall also keep watch on the other side. And it is I 
 who would be found with him. Do you grasp now 
 that you are running no risk ? " 
 
 "But," persisted Josette, "who is this person who 
 will keep watch with you in the apartments on the 
 other side? " 
 
 Mag answered : "Bolski." 
 
 She let go of Josette's hands, as the girl recoiled 
 from her. Suddenly in her brain a problem was being 
 solved. Things not understood up till now, became 
 clear to her, but with a vividness that was infinitely 
 sad. After a silence she murmured 
 
 "Why, are you not Bolski's wife?" 
 
 Mag gave a sombre laugh. "Eleven years ago his 
 family were against it, because I was only a simple 
 governess. Now that he is ruined and hunted by his 
 creditors, it is he who refuses to bring me his debts 
 as a marriage settlement." 
 
 Both of them waited in suspense. Three knocks 
 sounded, one long and two short. The young girl's 
 hand clutched the governess's knee. 
 
 "Shall I open?" asked Mag. 
 
 "No ... I will.". 
 
 Josette rose to her feet, filled with all her old 
 courage. Mag said hurriedly
 
 THE CHAPERON 139 
 
 "I am going to the other side. In the room next to 
 this there is a bookcase, which is only a false door. 
 In order to call me you will only have to tap against 
 the books as one taps at a door." 
 
 Three unequal knocks resounded once more. Mag 
 stole away. Josette went to open the door, pale and 
 determined. 
 
 They were now facing each other, she sitting on 
 the corner of the sofa, and he on a chair. They had 
 exchanged merely words of cold politeness; and their 
 emotion at finding themselves alone in this way for 
 the first time in their lives, behind a bolted door, 
 betrayed itself only by this coldness. 
 
 " I hope that I have not kept you waiting ? " 
 
 "Oh no; I have only just come." 
 
 "Mag was here ? " 
 
 "Yes; she has just left me." 
 
 Suddenly Josette made a gesture of irritation. 
 
 "Ah, but it is wrong, what we are doing. I should 
 be less disgusted with myself if I had run away with 
 you openly, courageously . . ." 
 
 Letzling protested: "I am not conscious that we 
 are doing anything wrong; but since my presence 
 irritates . . ." 
 
 He rose, and if she had allowed him to do so, he 
 would have gone away with a sense of relief, so 
 painful was this tete-a-tete in which he dared not even 
 utter a word of tenderness for fear of offending Josette. 
 It was she who held him back ; remembering Mag's 
 words, she was ashamed of lacking courage in love. 
 
 "Stay," she said. "I am nervous; forgive me. I 
 try in vain to tell myself that it is just as if I were 
 receiving you in the drawing-room in the Avenue
 
 140 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 Velasquez. What grieves me is deceiving my people, 
 Guy especially, my dear Guy, who has such confidence 
 in me ! It is deceiving him that troubles me ; it would 
 have been much better if I had confessed it to him." 
 
 "Guy is on your father's side, against me. He 
 doesn't like me." 
 
 "He never will like the man that I want to marry. 
 Guy is jealous of me; you know that quite well." 
 
 Her face relaxed into a smile as she said this; 
 Letzling came a little nearer and she gave him her 
 hand; they began to talk more at their ease. The 
 young military attache, however, remained on his 
 guard, for he knew well her restive moods. He 
 stroked her long, cool hands without pressing them ; 
 he was afraid of displeasing her even by looking at 
 her too eagerly; his self-restraint kept from him even 
 the shadow of passion. She, on the contrary, now 
 that she was reassured, now that she felt her power, 
 and that on a word from her he would leave her alone, 
 became astonished at a strange happiness, at onceover- 
 whelming and ardent, that swept over her. Up to this 
 hour love had been for her something of the brain or 
 of the will, nothing more : a face, a figure, a male 
 intelligence pleased her; one wished to meet, and in 
 order to do so one was ready to overcome obstacles ; 
 marriage, life in common, children these were the 
 distant goal towards which one was tending. This 
 brought anguish, insomnia, tears, almost a swoon of 
 happiness, at a chance meeting, a vivid blush of 
 pleasure at a glance exchanged in secret. But it all 
 passed, as though it were purely "heart and head" 
 as with the heroines of the classic drama. . . . There 
 are not many Aricies in the first quarter of the 
 twentieth century in Parisian society; there are some,
 
 THE CHAPERON 141 
 
 however, who are preserved by circumstances from all 
 sensual emotion until the eve of marriage. The pro- 
 tection of a rather jealous elder brother is one of the 
 most efficacious of these circumstances. Josette, 
 capable of allowing herself to be led to a rendezvous 
 by the cunning influence of her governess, was an 
 Aricie. She did not understand the nature of the risk 
 that she was running, but, in advance and without 
 understanding it, this risk inspired her with more 
 horror than fear. Now, sitting quite close to this 
 handsome young man, whose blue eyes avoided her, 
 whose clean-shaven lips, so firm in outline, uttered 
 words so respectful that tenderness itself evaporated 
 from them, whose hands rested against her own with 
 a sort of anxious devotion that is what began to 
 circulate a mysterious electricity through the net- 
 work of her nerves, that is what seemed to rouse a 
 warmer life in her veins. She, no more than he, was 
 troubled with desire, for she was ignorant even of the 
 nature of what she might have been able to desire ; 
 but what positive event of her amorous life could ever 
 transform her more than this infinite expectation in 
 which her whole being became exalted? This infinite 
 expectation, which at every moment seemed to her at 
 once overwhelmed and reviving she gave herself up 
 to it, without anxiety, without distrust. Letzling 
 reassured her, and he was so obviously her slave ! 
 And it was her hands that leaned more heavily on the 
 palms of the young man ; it was her eyes whose will- 
 ing magnetism drew and held a glance which sought 
 to escape. A Valmont would have foreseen that this 
 artless being had no more strength, nor even the con- 
 sciousness of resisting; that in advance she was con- 
 quered. Happily, Letzling had nothing of a Valmont
 
 142 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 about him. His adventures in the world, up till now, 
 had scarcely gone beyond the ordinary common 
 round. He had, however, an intuition of the danger 
 that Josette was running, and as he loved her sin- 
 cerely, as he wished her to be his wife, he feared for 
 her and for himself. He pressed her slender hands in 
 a grasp that was too rough to seem a caress, laid them 
 on her knees, rose to his feet, and, approaching the 
 window that had remained open behind the drawn 
 Venetian blinds, drew long breaths of the fresh air. 
 Josette watched him, disappointed in something, but 
 without knowing what ; disappointed, and yet sub- 
 missive to his will, for already women's imperious 
 gratitude for the adorable emotion that they have felt 
 was piercing her heart. She called him, with a tender 
 sweetness that he had never heard put into his name 
 before 
 
 "Adolf." 
 
 And as he perceived this new tenderness, this other 
 Josette, appearing for the first time from underneath 
 the little Amazon, so virginal and so authoritative, 
 whose keen charm he had felt so long, this perception 
 made him master of himself, sure of himself. An 
 affectionate pity combined with the refined egotism 
 of the fiance, the egotism that jealously reserves vir- 
 ginal innocence until the day of marriage. He dared 
 to return to the sofa now. He sat down beside Josette. 
 He took her in his arms. Far from resisting, she did 
 not even tremble ; she had become a slave ; languor- 
 ous in a delightful expectation ; he murmured, without 
 knowing exactly what he said 
 
 "I adore you; trust me, my little wife; I love you. 
 Trust me." 
 
 He lulled her thus for some time with words and
 
 THE CHAPERON 143 
 
 embraces. He told her all that he had never dared to 
 tell her before when they met in society, for he had 
 always dreaded her virginal irony, so easily roused. 
 He told her that he loved her with all the puerile 
 eagerness of a schoolboy; that he had surrounded 
 himself with all the insignificant tokens of her that 
 he had been able to collect cotillon favours, a cluster 
 of artificial violets taken from her waist, the end of 
 an aigrette that had fallen from a hat, a glove button. 
 He confessed to her that she had frightened him a 
 little with her cold and determined air, and that twenty 
 times after those meetings which had been so longed 
 for he had returned home in a state of despair, con- 
 vinced that she did not love him, and that she would 
 never love anybody, convinced that she was a daughter 
 of Paris, disdainful and glacial ; that she wished to 
 flirt, but nothing more. He implored her to tell him 
 that this was not true, that she loved him . . . and 
 for the first time he obtained this word, that she had 
 never pronounced, that she pronounced here with a 
 kind of mystic voluptuousness, that she repeated 
 slowly several times, as though to exhaust its new 
 savour 
 
 "Yes, I love you. I love you. I love you." 
 
 And as, together with love, that need of security, 
 of certainty, which the feminine heart, fashioned by 
 thousands of years of servitude, never separates from 
 love, was revealed to her. 
 
 "You will not leave me, Adolf? You will not dis- 
 courage me ? You are risking so many vexations. 
 . . . No, don't make promises. ... I am sure . . ." 
 
 But Letzling wished to promise and to assure her 
 of his willing fidelity; he found words so sincere in 
 their ardour that Josette's heart was quite comforted
 
 144 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 by them. Sure of being more than ever allied and 
 being able to count the one on the other, even in the 
 most extreme emergencies, they spoke without bitter- 
 ness of the obstacles that obtruded themselves between 
 them. 
 
 "Papa is mad about politics," said Josette. "You 
 know that his name is mentioned, among many others, 
 for the Presidency of the Republic. Neither mamma 
 nor Guy nor I believe in it, nor do we wish it. But 
 as for him, it's his obsession. He would pass over 
 our dead bodies to enter the Elyse"e. You may 
 imagine how much my happiness weighs with him ! 
 I can die an old maid, rather than that a paragraph 
 in the Radical should be able to say that Mademoiselle 
 Croze is flirting with the Triple Alliance ! " 
 
 On his side, Adolf had been wounded by Croze's 
 hostility. Up till them he had not confessed it to 
 Josette, but now he told her all. Well, his chief, the 
 Ambassador of his Apostolic Majesty, had informed 
 him of it; he was a great Croatian noble, belonging 
 to a family which had several times intermarried with 
 his own, and who treated him with paternal severity. 
 He had appealed to his sense of pride, and had said 
 to him: "I have had the humiliation of receiving 
 here a French deputy, and not even a Member of the 
 Right, who begged me to have your attentions to his 
 daughter stopped." Adolf related this with a woeful 
 mien that was amusing enough. He did not add how 
 the Ambassador had treated the French deputy, or 
 what he had said on the possibility of an alliance of 
 a.Letzling with this uncouth democrat ! 
 
 Thus they exchanged all their reasons for fearing 
 the future, and yet, by this very exchange, gained 
 fresh confidence. They felt themselves equal to any-
 
 THE CHAPERON 145 
 
 thing. Neither the Austro-Hungarian Ambassador 
 nor Croze, the Under-Secretary of State for War, 
 should hinder them from belonging to each other, 
 from being husband and wife. That is what they 
 were assured of through a strong inner conviction, 
 born of the certitude that they loved each other, and 
 that love is invincible. 
 
 The English clock struck four urgent peals after 
 a deluge of preliminary chimes. Josette uttered an 
 exclamation 
 
 "Four o'clock ! I must call Mag. We are to have 
 tea at the Ritz with Madame Corbellier and the three 
 little Haumont-Manins." 
 
 The charm was broken ; the grip of every-day social 
 necessities reasserted itself. Letzling, with his walk- 
 ing-stick and gloves, assumed once more an attitude 
 of deference. Josette, uneasy about the time, was 
 nervous. They separated hurriedly in the little dark 
 antechamber. Adolf's lips brushed the tips of 
 Josette's fingers, and the closed door separated them 
 without their having even arranged for another meet- 
 ing. What love affairs have not experienced these 
 inexplicable panics, these departures that resemble 
 flights, this haste to leave each other, followed imme- 
 diately by remorse and by anger against oneself ? 
 Alone in the sitting-room with the liliums, Josette 
 wept. Letzl ing's departure had not suspended the 
 mysterious expectation that had taken possession of 
 her while he was near. But now this expectation was 
 no longer every minute so strong and overwhelming ; 
 she tortured herself with forebodings. Josette, usually 
 so self-controlled, so guarded against neurasthenia, not 
 only by her good health and her pride, but also by hy- 
 giene, sports and the care of her personal appearance,
 
 146 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 Josette gave way to a fit of nerves as an Emme- 
 line Corbellier might have done. Face down on the 
 sofa, her forehead buried in the cushions, her limbs 
 quivering, she sobbed. She was angry with Letzling, 
 both because he had come and because he had gone. 
 If she had not been pressed for time, she would have 
 remained there, weeping, twisting her slender, arched 
 feet and her fine hands until night. 
 
 But she had to hasten and find Mag again. What 
 had become of Mag ? No sound could be heard, either 
 in the apartments or in the court outside. Josette rose, 
 dried her eyes with a determined gesture, and passed 
 into the next room. Darkness reigned there, heavy 
 curtains being drawn over the only window. She 
 turned a switch, and a subdued rosy light lit up the 
 recess of the alcove ; the bed was visible, covered with 
 its counterpane; so, too, on one side, was the shining 
 crockery and the knicknacks in the dressing-room. 
 A deep sense of shame made the young girl's 
 cheeks grow red as she thought: "Adolf knew that 
 this room was beside us." But suddenly she was 
 roused from her emotion. They were talking quite 
 close on the other side of the partition which faced 
 her, exactly behind this book-case, on which Mag 
 had enjoined her to knock. STie approached it, ready 
 to do so. The increasing sound of voices stopped 
 her : Mag's voice and that of a man. They seemed 
 to be quarrelling. 
 
 "Mag and Bolski," thought Josette. 
 
 She no longer dared to knock. Through the door, 
 covered with books, she heard Bolski exclaim 
 
 "If I wished, I could find plenty of women to pull 
 me out of the business." 
 
 And Mag replied, half angry, half tender
 
 THE CHAPERON 147 
 
 "Ah, you villain, I know well that they all want 
 you, but be careful." 
 
 Josette caught no more than a whispering, in which 
 she recognized only some names : the name of Rosalie 
 Boisset, the name of her father, whom they also called 
 "the Under-Secretary." Then an outburst 
 
 "That! No, I will never do it. Don't count on 
 it. . . ." 
 
 Bolski sneered. 
 
 " What scruples ! Ask your master, who knows 
 how many French governesses are at work in that way 
 in Germany." 
 
 "But I tell you that I shall have the fifteen hundred 
 francs. The day after to-morrow won't that do? " 
 
 "Yes, but it's a tight fit." 
 
 "I shall see Rosalie in the morning, the day after 
 to-morrow. And now you must go. Josette will be 
 coming to knock." 
 
 There were footsteps, hurried comings and goings, 
 then the sound of a kiss, very lingering. A door was 
 opened and closed, and after that complete silence. 
 
 "Mag is alone," thought Josette. 
 
 The words that she had overheard, without under- 
 standing anything of them, troubled her less than the 
 brutal familiarity revealed by the tone of the lovers. 
 And before separating, their kiss so long-drawn ! . . . 
 She saw Letzling again, in the act of leaving her, so 
 correct, so abrupt. Her hands closed limply over the 
 books. But she could not make up her mind to knock. 
 She disliked even catching a glimpse of the room in 
 which she had penetrated to the intimacy of Mag and 
 Bolski. She returned to her seat on the sofa in the 
 sitting-room with the liliums. Her insistent imagina- 
 tion substituted her own picture for that of the
 
 ] 4 8 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 German, and, in spite of herself, she conjured up Adolf 
 close to her as Bolski was close to Mag. She suffered 
 from this picture of imagination as from physical 
 anguish, and the distracted expectation that she had 
 experienced in Letzling's presence swept over her 
 again, but this time more precise and more dominat- 
 ing. Her will was in no way broken down; she was 
 still the little revolting Amazon. But love was now 
 no longer a complete mystery to her. And if the 
 forbidden fruit had not yet tempted her hand, at least 
 she had sat under the shade of the Tree of Knowledge. 
 Mag, completely dressed, ready to leave, found her 
 sitting there motionless, her eyes bathed in tears. At 
 the first glance they exchanged the governess saw that 
 her pupil was not angry with her. But she knew her 
 too well not to perceive her confusion and her grief. 
 She sat down beside her Avithout touching her. 
 
 "Josette," she said, "at this moment you despise 
 me. And if you wish it, as soon as we return to the 
 house I shall find an excuse for asking your mother 
 to terminate my engagement. I am not going to 
 inflict myself on you." 
 Josette made a gesture of protest. 
 "On the other hand, nothing is easier than never to 
 meet Baron Adolf again here." 
 
 "Ah!" said Josette, uncovering her eyes; "don't 
 say that. I I wish to see him." 
 
 "It depends only on you," said the German. 
 Josette now clared to look at her, and it was in vain 
 for Mag to cover with a hat her blonde coils of hair, 
 to wear a blue costume, black stockings, and shoes 
 with patent leather toe-caps. Josette pictured her still 
 in that other room crouching under Bolski's inter- 
 minable kiss. But already the revolt of her inexperi-
 
 THE CHAPERON 149 
 
 enced heart was dying away ; she still experienced 
 trouble, shame, but she no longer felt disgust. 
 The German saw her advantage, and profited by it 
 to push forward her work of dangerous temptation. 
 
 " How has he been with you ? " she asked. 
 
 "I believe that he loves me," stammered Josette. 
 
 " Well, what happened ? " 
 
 She did not answer a word. Mag persisted, 
 smiling 
 
 " Did he kiss you ? Did he take .you in his arms ? " 
 
 To each question Josette replied by an uncertain 
 grimace. She ended by saying through her tears 
 
 "We have been extremely proper, it seems to me." 
 
 " He, too ? As proper as you ? " 
 
 " I believe he was a little afraid of me." 
 
 Mag shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "Do you believe that one holds a man by frighten- 
 ing him ? Think of Guy and Berthe ! " 
 
 "All the same, I cannot . . ." 
 
 Josette did not finish, but Mag understood. 
 
 "As it pleases you," she said. "It is the system 
 of the Americans with the men who want to marry 
 them to make them lose their heads by flirtations 
 during which they remain strictly on the defensive. 
 I find it more worthy to love frankly and not to 
 haggle over one's favours. But look, we are already 
 half-an-hour late. Put your hat on and let us be 
 starting." 
 
 In the street, as they hurried towards the neighbour- 
 ing Place Vendome, where they were to meet Emme- 
 line Corbellier and the little Haumont-Manins, the 
 German, divining that this was a critical time for 
 Josette, sustained her in the trouble in which she saw 
 her plunged. She spoke no more about Letzling, but,
 
 150 
 
 as to a friend to whom one can tell everything, she 
 spoke of Bolski and herself. She told how they had 
 known each other long ago at Koenigsberg the 
 court that he had paid her, the opposition of his 
 parents. She told about their first meetings at the 
 house of a married friend. She told about her first 
 yielding. She confessed the vices of Bolski how he 
 was a spendthrift, a gambler and an idler. 
 
 "But he is a great artist, and I love him. And all 
 that I have suffered, all that I still suffer, is nothing 
 when I see him happy in my arms." 
 
 Josette listened. Like a too strong wine, these con- 
 fidences insinuated themselves into her brain and 
 heart, and diffused over them a kind of torpor; but 
 she was no longer shocked. A woman, much more 
 quickly than a man, destroys the simplicity of another 
 woman. When, accompanied by her chaperon, 
 Josette entered the large entrance-hall of the Ritz, she 
 was still a young girl in the literal sense, but her 
 innocence had left her.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE ORPHANS' MONEY 
 
 PLUMP and blonde in her costume of blue silk, 
 under her hat of blue straw, a leather money-bag at 
 her side, face and bearing a little tired doubtless 
 because of the fatigue of the journey from Val d'Anay 
 to Paris, Rosalie Boisset alighted at the Gare St. 
 Lazare. It was two o'clock in the afternoon, one of 
 those Parisian June days, worse than the dog days, 
 when the asphalt of the pavements gives under one's 
 feet, and the wooden highways seem almost to be 
 catching fire. Around the station, horses and drivers 
 of fiacres were sleeping on their stand ; as for the 
 motor-cabs, deserted by their chauffeurs, they were 
 empty in their lines, and the taximeters were 
 glistening. And, although the terraces of the neigh- 
 bouring cafes were fairly full, the ejccess of light and 
 heat imposed a half silence upon this tumultuous 
 corner of the town. 
 
 Rosalie, while mopping her face with her handker- 
 chief, began running to catch a motor-omnibus that 
 had stopped, still quivering, in the middle of the road. 
 But she had to slacken her pace immediately, quite 
 breathless, and while she was recovering, the omnibus 
 started. Then having consulted the station clock, 
 she went to wake up one of the sleeping drivers. 
 
 " 17 Rue Montalivet," she said. 
 
 The horse started at a trot, so slow, so lulling that
 
 i>2 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 she slept during the drive and started up when, the 
 purple face of the driver showing itself at the open 
 door, she heard a friendly and drunken voice exclaim 
 laughingly 
 
 " Every one his turn, eh, my pretty one ? " 
 
 She told him to wait for her and made her way 
 towards the house. It was a quiet and comfortable 
 dwelling in the style of Napoleon III, which, outside, 
 had quite the appearance of apartments. The con- 
 cierge's lodge looked out from underneath the 
 entrance arch, a few steps down. 
 
 "Ah, there's Mademoiselle Rosalie," said a bulky 
 woman with greyish hair, comfortably dressed in 
 black, who appeared at the entrance of the lodge and 
 began immediately to talk with unctuous volubility : 
 "You are well, Mademoiselle? And all the family? 
 My husband will be very sorry for being out; he has 
 such a liking for you. My word! if I didn't know 
 him to be so steady I should be uneasy. So you are 
 coming to see Madame ? No, Mademoiselle Berthe ? 
 Mademoiselle Berthe is out. She did not lunch at 
 home to-day; Mademoiselle Berthe was to lunch 
 with . . ." 
 
 "If I could only speak a minute with Mademoiselle 
 Smith," said Rosalie, without succeeding in stopping 
 the verbal flow of the concierge, who finished her 
 sentence before answering the question 
 
 "With Countess Bouhier on the other side of the 
 water. Ah, but Miss w r as lunching out too, with 
 Mademoiselle Berthe, I think. Don't wait outside, 
 stooping down to talk to me, Mademoiselle Rosalie, 
 that will send the blood to your head, and as for me, 
 I shall be getting a stiff neck. All the same, you can 
 spare a second to pay me a scrap of a visit, and if my
 
 THE ORPHANS' MONEY 153 
 
 husband comes back while you are in the lodge he 
 will be very pleased. There, take care, there's another 
 step. It is a little low down, but quite light all the 
 same, eh ? And on a furnace of a day like this 
 there are not many cooler corners in Paris. If only 
 the road had a little more life in it. All the same one 
 can't complain. Sit down in the arm-chair, yes, yes, 
 in the arm-chair, for I prefer my low chair. Made- 
 moiselle is out now with Miss, and between you and 
 me (she lowered her voice and came nearer to 
 Rosalie) if you had come here yesterday, it would 
 have been the same business, and at the end of the 
 month, Mademoiselle Berthe and Miss are going to 
 Noirmoutiers together. Oh, things aren't going at 
 all well upstairs (she pointed to the ceiling) between 
 Monsieur, Madame and Mademoiselle. Mademoiselle 
 scarcely speaks to Monsieur or Madame any more, 
 and Madame won't have anything to do with Made- 
 moiselle Smith. For why? Ah, they say a great 
 many things, you know. I let them go in at one ear 
 and out at the other. When one has spent eighteen 
 years in a house, as Antoine and I have, one isn't 
 going to collect and hawk about silly talk." 
 
 At last she stopped for a second, divided between 
 her sincere wish to be discreet and her desire to keep 
 Rosalie, who was showing a wish to rise. The need 
 of keeping her listener at all costs was the more 
 pressing 
 
 "They say . . . they say that Monsieur and 
 Madame are angry with Mademoiselle Berthe for 
 preferring Mademoiselle Smith to them, for listening 
 only to Mademoiselle Smith. They say that Made- 
 moiselle Smith keeps her from getting married, and 
 that she wants to capture Mademoiselle's fortune.
 
 154 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 Mademoiselle has a fortune in her own right, of more 
 than a million francs, and she was of age two years 
 ago, quite free : she herself wished it, always under 
 the influence of the Englishwoman. The English- 
 woman is a managing person, I tell you, Made- 
 moiselle Rosalie ! A distinguished woman, quite 
 superior, about whom there is nothing to say; and in 
 spite of the fact that she is here only as a lady that 
 one pays by the month like you and me (that doesn't 
 offend you, Mademoiselle Rosalie, what I am telling 
 you ?) she orders everybody about in that jargon of 
 hers that one can scarcely understand, and every one 
 obeys her. No, you are not getting up ? Wait, I have 
 another thing to tell you. Something quite con- 
 fidential, and all the more so, because 1 for my part 
 don't believe that it is true." 
 
 She left her low chair, cast a glance under the 
 entrance arch, and closed the lodge door behind her 
 when she returned. Then, almost in Rosalie's ear, 
 she said 
 
 "They say that the horses are righting upstairs 
 because the hay is running short in the rack ! " 
 
 "Impossible!" said Rosalie. "Aren't they very 
 rich . . . very rich ? " 
 
 "My husband, who knows a great many of these 
 gentlemen of the bank (he is employed as a super- 
 numerary on jours d' emission) told me, he made me 
 swear not to repeat it that the affairs of the house 
 have not been going well for the last eighteen months. 
 They stop the leaks as well as they can. And Made- 
 moiselle Berthe, always because the Englishwoman 
 puts it into her head, is afraid that they are going to 
 ask for her million to help them to stop a big leak. 
 But I tell you again, neither my husband nor 1
 
 155 
 
 believe it. Everything is paid cash down here, not a 
 tradesman is kept waiting. And then, in a big 
 business there may be a moment of difficulties, mayn't 
 there? and yet, in spite of that, one finds a way 
 of . . ." 
 
 A ring at the private telephone in the lodge in- 
 terrupted her. The bulky concierge ran briskly 
 enough to the instrument. Rosalie heard this half of 
 the conversation 
 
 " Hullo ! Yes, Madame, it is I ... The cab 
 in front of the door ? It is Mademoiselle Rosalie's 
 from Val d'Anay. Yes, Madame, she was asking for 
 Mademoiselle Berthe. Oh ! no, Madame, she only 
 just arrived a second ago ; I was explaining to her that 
 Mademoiselle had gone out with her governess. 
 Certainly, Madame, she will come up at once." 
 
 Hanging up the receiver again, Madame Antoine 
 said to Rosalie 
 
 "Go up quickly to see Madame. She knows that 
 you have been here for a good time. The staircase on 
 the left. The footman will take you there." 
 
 She accompanied her to the outer door of the 
 lodge 
 
 "Mum's the word about what I was telling you. 
 Besides, when all is said and done, Antoine and I 
 don't believe a word of it, not a word." 
 
 Madame Haumont-Segre received Rosalie in her 
 bedroom, a large room, the two windows of which 
 looked out on to the beautiful garden, now all 
 radiant with its young leafage, its soft grass plots and 
 its plumed hydrangeas. She received her stretched 
 out on a couch. A novel was lying open on the 
 chiffonier near her. Magazines and reviews were 
 lying about on the carpet. Madame Haumont-Segre
 
 156 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 after having long believed herself to be the victim of 
 a liver complaint, suffered just now from a heart 
 attack; she told the young girl about it at once, as 
 she made her sit down close to her. She told her also 
 that it was a case of an exceptional malady that the 
 doctors could not understand and that, one after the 
 other, they confessed their powerlessness. And 
 Rosalie knew well that the speaker considered this 
 incomprehensible malady a privilege, almost an 
 ornament to her life, and that in consulting doctor 
 after doctor, she sought in repeated consultations only 
 to confirm her own obsession : " 1 am an exceptional 
 patient." Rosalie had been unguarded enough to 
 assure her that she looked well. She retorted with 
 some sourness, declaring that looks went for nothing, 
 and that she had always been pale and thin, "even 
 at Berthe's age, and like Berthe, who resembles me 
 terribly," and that, for the rest, she knew well that she 
 had no organ actually damaged, but that it was just 
 this that constituted the mystery since she was none 
 the less ill 
 
 " I am touched at the very roots of life, in depths 
 to which the eyes and instruments of doctors have no 
 access. ... It doesn't matter, enough said about my 
 misfortunes. They are well at Val d'Anay ? " 
 
 "Yes, they are, Madame." 
 
 " Father, mother, the little boys, the little girl and 
 the twins ? " 
 
 "Yes, Madame." 
 
 "You have come to get Berthe's collection for the 
 lottery for orphans? Don't distress yourself; you 
 haven't made your journey for nothing. Berthe and 
 Miss, have each done their share, they are methodical 
 people; they forget nothing. Please take that
 
 THE ORPHANS' MONEY 157 
 
 envelope on the mantelpiece, leaning against the 
 candlestick to the right. Good, I have written 
 outside a statement of its contents. Read." 
 
 "Berthe three hundred and fifty francs. Miss, a 
 cheque for three pounds sterling on the Franco- 
 American Bank. Madame Haumont-Segre fifty 
 francs." 
 
 "You see that I am your worst subscriber, my poor 
 Rosalie, and that Mademoiselle Smith is in touch with 
 more people than I am. You mustn't be angry with 
 me. I go nowhere; even writing tires me; how, then, 
 could I place lottery tickets ? In short, I took five for 
 myself." 
 
 "Madame has been too kind. I thank Madame; 
 they will be so pleased at Val d'Anay." 
 
 " Hold your envelope tightly so as not to lose it, 
 and come a little nearer so that I can have a look at 
 you. You, who find me looking well, you seem to 
 me rather pale. You haven't your pretty colour any 
 more. Ah, there it is coming back. But that is just 
 a little fire of modesty that will be gone at once. It 
 is the heat, I suppose ? And besides that ? Oh, I 
 understand. . . . Then, they ought not to have sent 
 you to Paris to-day." 
 
 "Oh, M. le Baron tells me not to tire myself, and 
 so does Madame la Baronne. They told me to take a 
 cab." 
 
 "They were perfectly right. If they had you laid 
 up, they would not replace you in twenty-four hours. 
 How lucky they were. It is not worth while blushing 
 again, my little Rosalie. Governesses of your type 
 are a species that is rapidly dying out. And if I had 
 had the good luck to meet with a Rosalie 
 Boisset . ."
 
 158 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 "Oh, how can Madame say that?" murmured 
 Rosalie, really moved. "Madame, who has Made- 
 moiselle Fanny, so well educated, so well brought up, 
 so super . . ." 
 
 She did not finish the sentence. Madame 
 Haumont-Segre sat upright with an energy and an 
 agility so unexpected that the young girl was as 
 startled as if she were attending a resurrection. 
 
 "Don't talk to me of Mademoiselle Smith," said the 
 revived lady. "You see in what a state I am? She 
 is the cause of it. I ridicule her education, (she can't 
 even speak French correctly) her fine airs and her 
 distinction. If the French were not so idiotically 
 disarmed before foreigners, a woman like that would 
 have been arrested, yes, arrested. Ah ! to think that 
 there used to be lettres de cachet and that in the old 
 days one could have imprisoned people who are too 
 clever to commit technical crimes, but who are more 
 noxious than criminals. ... To think that one can 
 do nothing ! That one is at their mercy ! That one 
 is consumed with despair, even to the point of medi- 
 tating disappearance. . . . Yes, Rosalie, my husband 
 and I have thought of it. We have been robbed of 
 our daughter, in our own house, before our eyes, in 
 our presence. She has become changed to us. She 
 used to be tender, she has been made frigid. She used 
 to be generous, she has been made avaricious. They 
 have made a foreigner of her towards us. . . . "What 
 am I saying ? rather an enemy, who would consent to 
 the ruin of her father and mother, rather than make 
 this other one knit her brows, rather than upset her 
 wicked calculations. But I don't know why I am 
 saying all this to you. . . ." 
 
 She feverishly arranged the cushions at the back of
 
 THE ORPHANS' MONEY 159 
 
 the eouch and stretched herself out again, quite 
 shaken with a fit of shivering. Her eyelids were 
 moist, and she bit her lips. Rosalie, standing near 
 her, tried to keep herself in countenance. This 
 silence seemed even more awkward to her than the 
 outburst of a few minutes before. 
 
 "You must go, you must go, my little Rosalie," 
 said Madame Haumont-Segre at last. "Continue 
 your rounds, I must not keep you. Leave me to my 
 troubles; I was wrong to speak to you about them. 
 Keep it to yourself. Go now, and don't lose the 
 envelope." 
 
 Rosalie, whose sensitive heart was touched by all 
 misfortunes, murmured 
 
 "Poor Madame." 
 
 "Yes, you may well say 'Poor Madame! ' But 
 there is nothing to be done. Au revoir, my child. 
 My kind regards to your employers." 
 
 Rosalie, as she went out, was lucky enough to pass 
 in front of the lodge while the bulky Madame An- 
 toine was engaged in a long conference with a 
 tradesman. She was able to make her escape, re- 
 enter her cab, and continue the calls which were 
 inscribed on her list. It was a matter of collecting 
 the sum total for tickets sold by the Parisian friends 
 of Baroness Ropart d'Anay for the benefit of the 
 Employment Institute for Orphans. And so she 
 traversed the eighth arrondissement, the neighbour- 
 hood of the Pare Monceau, touched a point in Passy, 
 came out again in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, 
 jogging along in this miserable rolling box, the horse 
 and driver of which seemed equally somnambulists. 
 She herself would often go to sleep between two calls, 
 a sleep in which there was no rest, an evil sleep of
 
 i6o GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 nightmares, during which she would groan at the 
 jolts of the cab. When she managed to wake up 
 completely, her round face, shaped to express naive 
 happiness, remained drawn. She moved her lips 
 without speaking ; at moments she cried. But bravely 
 she continued her circuit, rang at doors, climbed 
 flights of stairs, endured waits in ante-rooms and 
 occasionally rebuffs from tardy depositors, those who 
 had not yet sold all their tickets. Towards five 
 o'clock, as she had predicted (for she was wonderfully 
 methodical) she had finished her list with the ex- 
 ception of the Corbelliers and the Crozes. But she 
 was going to meet Sandra and Mag, who were bring- 
 ing the contributions of their respective houses at a 
 quarter-past five, in a quiet little tea-room in the 
 Choiseul Arcade. On the way from the Faubourg 
 Saint-Germain to the Arcade, Rosalie, now wide 
 awake, made up her accounts. The money-bag con- 
 tained two thousand one hundred and eighty-five 
 francs. "Mag and Sandra will bring me at least 
 twenty-five louis between them ! " She had a joyful 
 minute as she imagined her return that evening to 
 Val d'Anay, and all this money spread out on the 
 table before M. le Baron, Madame la Baronne and 
 the children. 
 
 The tea-room of the Choiseul Arcade, discovered 
 by Mag, was often chosen as the meeting-place of the 
 three friends, because it was but litttle frequented and 
 they could talk freely there. It had the size and rather 
 the appearance of a mere creamery, but one was able 
 to drink quite good tea there in solitude, restful at a 
 time when the other tea-rooms of Paris were gorged 
 with people. Mag was alone at the rendezvous when 
 Rosalie arrived with her money-bag hanging at her
 
 THE ORPHANS' MONEY 161 
 
 side. A middle-aged man at a neighbouring table 
 was hurrying over a cup of chocolate. The two 
 governesses kissed each other. 
 
 "Sandra is not sure about being free," said the 
 German. "She told me to begin without waiting for 
 her. She will certainly not be here before the half- 
 hour. Two teas with muffins, that's it, isn't it?" 
 
 While a rather smart waitress was serving them, 
 Mag eyed the money-bag. 
 
 "Much boodle in there?" 
 
 " More than two thousand francs," said Rosalie, 
 with some pride, "and you, what are you bringing 
 me?" 
 
 "Almost three hundred, and Sandra has as much." 
 
 "Oh, I am glad." 
 
 "What an extraordinary kid you are," murmured 
 the German, "to take it to heart like that. So you 
 really believe in this work ? You believe that this 
 money will get to the orphans? " 
 
 "Where else will it go? You don't mean to say 
 that M. le Baron . . ." 
 
 "No, no, don't get excited; nobody dreams of sus- 
 pecting the honesty of the Baron. But these 
 charity organizations are usually so badly man- 
 aged . . ." 
 
 At these bitter reflections, Rosalie's childish face 
 lost its look of pleasure. And it was only then that 
 Mag noticed that Rosalie looked very ill. 
 
 "Why have your eyes got dark circles round them 
 and why those pale lips? " she asked. "Are you ill? 
 You used to tell us that ordinarily you weren't con- 
 scious of your health at all." 
 
 The man sipping chocolate had just gone, and 
 Mag and Rosalie were quite alone in the little room. 
 L
 
 162 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 The smart waitress after serving them with tea had 
 returned to a kind of cupboard in which she was 
 preparing some refreshments. 
 
 Rosalie with her eyes on her cup, which she had 
 not touched, made no answer, and Mag went on 
 
 "But really, little one, what is the matter with 
 you ? " 
 
 Then the great burden of grief, the heavy despair 
 that had been suppressed all through this wearying 
 day, and also for so many days before this, burst out 
 into a deluge of tears, a storm of sobs, so loud that 
 the rather smart waitress stretched her head and neck 
 out of the cupboard and then withdrew quickly. 
 Mag saw that Rosalie was broken down ; her face was 
 buried in her hands, and she was so shaken by her 
 grief that her hair was coming down. And all at once 
 she understood. 
 
 "Calm yourself," she said. "If Sandra were to 
 come or any one else for that matter ! There is 
 nothing to make you lose your head. Dry your eyes ; 
 look, here is a clean handkerchief. . . . There, do up 
 your hair, the clasp is falling out. And now drink a 
 little hot tea to make you feel better." 
 
 Rosalie obeyed, sniffing like a little girl, her sobs 
 becoming less and less violent. Mag's energy gave 
 her a feeling of comfort. And now that her weighty 
 secret was shared, she experienced a sensation of 
 relief. When she had docilely drunk her cup of tea, 
 without a word, Mag took her hand, and asked 
 
 " In the first place, are you sure ? " 
 
 Rosalie made a face that expressed doubt. 
 
 " How long have you been uneasy ? " 
 
 In a low tone as if in the confessional box, Rosalie 
 replied
 
 THE ORPHANS' MONEY 163 
 
 "It is quite two months ago." 
 
 "And he . . . does he know?" 
 
 Rosalie inclined her head in the affirmative. 
 
 " What does he say ? " 
 
 She could only stammer out 
 
 " He is too good to me." 
 
 "Well, I don't suppose he's going to put you out 
 of doors ! But don't you know anything about any- 
 thing ?" 
 
 Rosalie murmured in a tone so low that Mag 
 scarcely heard it 
 
 "M. le Baron says, that that is even worse." 
 
 The German gave a dry laugh, which she checked 
 at once so as not to pain her friend 
 
 "Since it is he who is directing you," she said, 
 "what does he intend to do with you ? " 
 
 "M. le Baron will not abandon me. There is no 
 man more honourable, more generous. I have only 
 to let him, and he would do too much." 
 
 "Then why are you so troubled? You are an 
 orphan, you are of age, nobody has any hold on you. 
 A child, under those circumstances, is not a 
 catastrophe." 
 
 Rosalie opened her lips again and again without 
 rinding the words she sought. She nibbled a morsel 
 of buttered cake. Mag held her tongue. Embarrassed 
 by this silence, the young girl ended by saying more 
 humbly even than when she had made her first 
 confession 
 
 "It is because of Madame la Baronne." 
 
 "The Baroness need know nothing about it," said 
 Mag. "Leave your situation for some plausible 
 reason and settle down in Paris. The Baron comes 
 often enough . . ."
 
 164 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 But Rosalie shook her head. 
 
 "He will never consent to that." 
 
 "I don't understand." 
 
 " He says to me : ' You came into my house, a good 
 and pure young girl, and I am not going to make you 
 a kept woman.' And then, in his view, it is the worst 
 of all to live at the same time with his wife and 
 another. Since this has happened to us, he tells 
 Madame la Baronne that he is ill." 
 
 This time the German could not help laughing. 
 
 "Oh," she said, "if the Baroness contents herself 
 with reasons like that . . ." 
 
 But Rosalie protested against Mag's irony 
 
 "Madame is not blind, oh no, she is not at all the 
 kind of woman that one can make believe anything. 
 Only she has an absolute confidence in her husband 
 and in me, and it is just that " (once more tears 
 moistened the eyes, and sobs shook the voice of the 
 young girl), "it is just that which is so terrible. If 
 Madame gets to know, it will be a horrible grief to 
 her, and it is we, it is Monsieur and I, who will have 
 brought it on her, we who love her so much that we 
 would give our lives for her." 
 
 The tempest of anguish began again, this time with- 
 out it being possible for Mag to stop it. Rosalie 
 wallowed in her grief, saying almost in a loud voice : 
 "We love her so much. . . . She is a regular saint. 
 . . . One can't help loving her. . . . Dear, good 
 Madame, who has done nothing but good to me. I 
 am a wretch." 
 
 " Be quiet, I implore you," said Mag. " People are 
 coming." 
 
 A hesitating, timid couple one of those un- 
 assuming intrigues that one occasionally observes in
 
 THE ORPHANS' MONEY 165 
 
 Paris, the man and the woman well matched in their 
 mutual poverty of physique had just seated them- 
 selves at one of the empty tables and were deliberating 
 as to what beverage they should order. Rosalie tried 
 to control herself, and if she did not altogether 
 succeed, at all events, she stopped making a noise. 
 
 "With all this," Mag said to her, "you have not 
 told me what your master intends to do." 
 
 Rosalie repeated 
 
 "M. le Baron will never abandon me." 
 
 "Well, that is the main thing," said Mag, feeling 
 that it was useless to insist, and that she was touching 
 on the actual secret of the two lovers, which the young 
 girl would not betray. "Besides, you are not yet sure 
 of anything. How long ago did you say that it 
 was ? " 
 
 "The evening of Henriette's sixteenth birthday, you 
 remember? . . . the party at Val d'Anay. . . . M. 
 le Baron brought me back right to my room." 
 
 "The party at Val d'Anay? That is only a little 
 more than two months ago. Don't despair. Perhaps 
 it is only a false alarm. You haven't consulted 
 anybody ? " 
 
 " I know no one in whom I could confide, and 
 Monsieur knows no one either. However, Monsieur 
 and I would have to be quite certain." 
 
 Mag understood the allusion to mysterious plans 
 that Rosalie did not wish to confide. 
 
 "If it would render you a service, I will give you 
 the address of a reliable and discreet person." 
 
 "I should never dare to go there alone." 
 
 "Oh, well, I'll take you there." 
 
 Rosalie was so pleased that she seized Mag's hand 
 and kissed it.
 
 166 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 "Oh, thank you. When will you do that ? " 
 
 "As soon as you come to Paris again." 
 
 "I am coming back on Saturday by the two 
 o'clock train, to go the round of the ones that are 
 in arrears." 
 
 "Agreed for Saturday. I'll meet you at the train. 
 But ssh Sandra." 
 
 The beautiful Italian entered the narrow room so 
 triumphantly beautiful that the loving couple, having 
 seen her enter, seemed to become conscious of their 
 own ugliness and buried themselves in mournful 
 silence, all their modest illusion destroyed. Rosalie 
 and Mag made her sit down between them. She 
 apologised for being late ; she had scarcely dared to 
 hope to find her two friends. No, she would not have 
 teaj she had been obliged to take tea at Rumpel- 
 mayer's with Madame Corbellier, Loute . . ." 
 
 "And Jacques," finished Mag. 
 
 "And Jacques," repeated Sandra, with a smile. 
 
 "Here is the only happy one of us all," said the 
 German rather bitterly. "Rosalie has in her heart a 
 love that is returned but threatened by circumstances. 
 As for me, I have a delightful lover only he is a 
 waster. Sandra alone has won the big prize at the 
 first shot a friend, young, rich, good-looking, an 
 artist and a man who means marriage ! " 
 
 "Really," said Rosalie, without concealing her 
 surprise. "Monsieur Jacques Corbellier is going to 
 marry you ? " 
 
 The Italian made a movement of extreme hauteur. 
 
 " Between Monsieur Jacques and me there has never 
 been any question of marriage. But that would not 
 be such an extraordinary event. M. Corbellier is 
 rich, but I am of a noble house in my own country."
 
 THE ORPHANS' MONEY 167 
 
 "Oh, of course," said Rosalie crestfallen, "it would 
 be perfectly natural." 
 
 "And then," concluded Mag (who having lived in 
 Italy knew how few Italians admit that they are not 
 members of "a very noble and ancient family"), 
 "and then, when one has a face like that, one can 
 marry a prince, and it is a prince, too, who is the 
 lucky one. Tell us about your love affair, Sandra, 
 it will cheer us up a bit." 
 
 Restored to her serenity, the Italian smiled 
 
 "Frankly, we are merely two good comrades, he 
 and I. We have music together and talk Italian. I 
 told him that his young friends with their airs of fast 
 women and their way of talking upside down dis- 
 gusted me, and since then he has scarcely seen them 
 any more, even his favourite, the little d'Ambline, the 
 one who dyes his hair. And would you believe that 
 he used to rouge his lips ? And he would spend the 
 afternoons on a couch like a woman. I plagued him 
 so that now the boxing-master comes every morning 
 to make him work. For the rest, what they say about 
 him is all vile calumnies. He is a man like any other, 
 and he finds pleasure with women like the rest. He 
 has now set his heart in spending a whole day with 
 me out of Paris." 
 
 "Bravo! Sandra," cried Mag. "But you know 
 . . . don't open his eyes too much. A whole day, 
 alone together . . . it's dangerous, that ! " 
 
 The three governesses continued to chat amicably 
 up to the moment when the lighting up of the Arcade 
 reminded them that it was getting late. Rosalie was 
 leaving at seven for Val d'Anay. As she rose Sandra 
 handed her three hundred francs, representing the 
 tickets placed by the Corbelliers; it was immediately
 
 i68 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 engulfed in the money-bag. Mag, having settled the 
 modest bill, the trio made their way to the Rue des 
 Petits-Champs by the Arcade. There they separated. 
 Sandra took the Metropolitan. Mag offered to drive 
 Rosalie to the St. Lazare station in a taxi. 
 
 During the drive, which was prolonged by obstruc- 
 tions in the boulevards and the Rue Auber, they 
 began to talk again of what interested Rosalie, who, 
 calmer now, welcomed the hope of being reassured 
 on the following Saturday. 
 
 "If we are mistaken ! If all this was only an evil 
 dream ! " 
 
 Mag looked her in the eyes 
 
 "But if it is not an evil dream, if it is a reality? 
 You will make no effort to rid yourself of it ? " 
 
 "Oh, never," exclaimed the little one passionately. 
 "Even if Monsieur had wished it, I believe that J 
 should have resisted. But in any case, he, too, thinks 
 as I do." 
 
 "Don't put yourself out, my child," said Mag. 
 
 She accompanied Rosalie to the waiting-room. 
 She seemed to hesitate about leaving her. At last, 
 she invited her to sit down in a distant corner of the 
 room 
 
 "Listen to me, little one," she said. "When I was 
 waiting for you this afternoon in the Choiseul 
 Arcade, I could not foresee what you have told me, 
 nor consequently that I should be in the way of 
 helping you in something. And it is I who wanted 
 to ask a favour of you." 
 
 "Oh, I am glad, my dear Mag, if I can . . ." 
 
 "You can. Don't interrupt me before I have 
 finished explaining to you. Here is a little jewel " 
 (she unclasped from her corsage a pin with three
 
 THE ORPHANS' MONEY 169 
 
 pearls, not very big ones, but quite round and pure), 
 "I am fond of it. It is a remembrance from Bolski, 
 the first that he ever gave me. Take it I tell you 
 to take it and shut it up in your money-bag. 
 Here it is. Don't lose it : the first jeweller you go 
 to will give you eighteen hundred francs for it at 
 least. Now you are going to lend me fifteen hundred 
 francs until Saturday ; that is of no consequence to 
 you, since you are returning on Saturday to finish 
 your collection. You can tell them at Val d'Anay 
 that you have collected fifteen hundred francs less 
 than you actually have. If I am not in a position to 
 repay you, very well, we shall go together and sell the 
 jewel. Why do you look so dumbfounded? " 
 
 "It is because I don't understand." 
 
 "All the same, it isn't complicated. Bolski has lost 
 at cards a large sum for him, not in a gambling-den, 
 but in a regular club. He must pay to-night, and he 
 is fifteen hundred francs short. There would be one 
 easy way to get it : the Under-Secretary is prowling 
 round my skirts, but that disgusts me. Between now 
 and Saturday, Bolski or I will have time to look for 
 the money. Perhaps his luck will have changed and 
 then I shall not be forced to sell my poor jewel. It 
 is agreed, isn't it? you risk nothing." 
 
 Rosalie pondered for a second. 
 
 "Can I tell Monsieur about it?" 
 
 "Must you?" 
 
 "No, Monsieur never asks me for the accounts. It 
 is I who keep the accounts of the work. But I should 
 not like to hide anything from him." 
 
 "Then tell him." 
 
 They were calling out to the passengers now. 
 Rosalie handed Mag the fifteen hundred francs and
 
 i;o GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 they kissed each other. Mag whispered in Rosalie's 
 ear these words which made her groan, and which, 
 all through the journey, were to keep her awake in 
 spite of her fatigue 
 
 "Understand, if between now and Saturday, Bolski 
 and I have taken strychnine together, or if we have 
 cleared out, sell the jewel and keep the balance in 
 memory of me."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 MOULINS DE CHELLES 
 
 "You understand quite well, Monsieur Jacques 
 rather feeble ; come now, put more force into it, more 
 force ! all those Swedish exercises that's better, but 
 I felt nothing so far lying on the ground, expanding 
 the chest one, two; come now touching the shoes 
 with ringers and is that the way you parry? What 
 are you thinking about ? all that's sport for fat 
 women, for vieux marcheurs. . . . That is not the 
 true movement of strength and agility ah, bravo ! 
 This time I felt it get through. Rest yourself. What 
 we are doing now is more like it. The whole body 
 is working arms, limbs, thorax, and the brain 
 too. . . . Shall I tell you the truth ? In the two 
 weeks we've been boxing together you have become 
 another man. . . . Thanks, I prefer Caporals, with 
 your permission. . . . Between ourselves (I have no 
 wish to offend you), but you had the appearance of a 
 little woman. And that was a pity, with physical 
 resources like these. . . . Well, Monsieur Jacques, 
 until the day after to-morrow. I am leaving you now, 
 as I don't wish to keep you from your shower-bath." 
 
 Chubby, tanned, with frizzled red hair, round back, 
 enormous limbs the famous Professor Pironneau 
 pressed the delicate, ungloved hand of his pupil 
 and went away. In spite of the open window, the 
 room where Jacques had taken his boxing lesson, 
 
 171
 
 172 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 which adjoined his dressing-room, was full of a 
 penetrating odour of perspiration that offended his 
 nostrils. Jacques went quickly to his dressing-room. 
 His valet was waiting for him beside the bath ; he 
 undressed his master, who, after throwing away his 
 half-smoked cigarette, got into the bath. 
 
 "Go, George. . . . I'll ring. Ah! Get ready my 
 grey suit with the little stripes, a soft shirt with mauve 
 cuffs. ... I shall leave the house about half-past ten, 
 and I shall be lunching out. Did you buy the railway 
 time-table of the Est the last issue ? " 
 
 "Yes, I have it in the hall." 
 
 "Bring it to me when I ring." 
 
 Alone, stretched out in the warm water, young 
 Corbellier looked complacently at the black and blue 
 marks with which M. Pironneau's fists had been 
 covering his chest and arms for the last fortnight. 
 While enjoying, as usual, this lassitude in the water, 
 where women dawdle so willingly, he experienced, on 
 this radiant morning, so fresh after the recent storms, 
 a growing desire to breathe in the air in big bumpers, 
 to run, to exercise his muscles in the open air. And 
 this double tendency of his nature, at the present 
 hour, showed itself also in the luxury of the things 
 around him. The scene of this luxury differed 
 little from a woman's dressing-room : the couch was 
 stuffed with cushions; on a round table there were 
 a thousand minute implements for polishing, depilat- 
 ing and frosting the skin. There were phials and 
 receptacles without number, and a profusion of exceed- 
 ingly fine and very much embroidered linen. There 
 was also, very conspicuous, on the panel under the 
 best light a portrait of Jacques Corbellier himself at 
 the age of seventeen, in his dressing-gown, with the
 
 MOULINS DE CHELLES 173 
 
 ambiguous face of an effeminate youth. But the in- 
 trusion of new habits jostled here and there with this 
 wished-for and carefully sought femininity. Beside 
 a pair of blue slippers lay a pair of 22-pound dumb- 
 bells. A sporting journal lay open on the cushions 
 of the couch, with a reproduction on its first page of 
 a great boxing contest that had been given the evening 
 before; Jacques had recently never missed one of 
 these. And in protest against the picture of the am- 
 biguous youth, who formerly had reduced all this 
 luxury to his own pattern, a huge photograph, not 
 even framed, was nailed to the wall, just above the 
 pastel, with all the negligence of a workroom. In this 
 could be seen, facing the monstrous chimpanzee of a 
 Pironneau, Jacques Corbellier in boxing get-up 
 administering a "swing" to his opponent. 
 
 A taste for celebrity and for the attentions of society, 
 for decadent literature, paradoxical conversations, 
 physical culture (he knew himself to be very good- 
 looking), delight in dress, even in gew-gaws there, 
 in sum, was the limit of Jacques' effeminacy at the 
 time when Sandra Ceroni appeared in the Corbelliers' 
 house. His friends, his worst friends, knew it, and 
 in their classical affectation gave him the sobriquet 
 that the youthful Virgil is said to have been given : 
 Parthenia. 
 
 At their first meeting it was at the luncheon-table 
 Jacques admired the Italian ; he was a great deal too 
 much an artist not to appreciate the charm of such a 
 face, and the chatter of women pleased him, as it did 
 the majority of his contemporaries of the same type 
 a's himself. But when Sandra began to give him 
 Italian lessons and play the piano with him, he felt
 
 174 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 himself less at ease. The usual common ground 
 between women and himself was lacking in this case. 
 One could not talk gew-gaws with Sandra, who was 
 proud of her beauty, but indifferent to its adornment. 
 And the arabesques of conversation, the concetti 
 which so enchanted the fair ladies of literary salons, 
 left the Italian's perfect face impassive or rendered 
 it severe. For the first time in his life Jacques found 
 himself tete-a-tete with a partner who desired to be 
 neither witty, nor fashionable, nor brilliantly dressed, 
 nor even amiable. She was resolutely a woman, 
 nothing but a woman, accustomed to the admiration 
 and the desire of men as to a natural tribute. There 
 was no effort on her side to please Jacques. She 
 taught him strictly what she had to teach him, treating 
 this pupil who was almost of age exactly as she did 
 the twelve-year-old Loute. When the daily lessons, 
 the meals in common, had, in spite of their lack of 
 reciprocal attraction, placed a certain familiarity 
 between them, Jacques' puerile vanity was touched. 
 He sought, if not to seduce, at least to astonish ; and 
 as the governess strictly kept her own place and 
 expressed no opinion, he implored her, he questioned 
 her, he wished to make her say what she thought of 
 him. She answered without any embarrassment that 
 he seemed to her to have an agreeable voice and a gift 
 for music. He became unnerved, wished for more. 
 What did she think of him physically, morally ? She 
 refused to answer for a little, but finally told him of 
 her detestation of effeminacy and artificiality; she 
 sang the praises of simplicity and energy, but at the 
 same time she let him understand that she found her 
 pupil very good-looking, and this judgment pleased 
 him so much that he forgave her criticism.
 
 MOULINS DE CHELLES 175 
 
 After that their relations became modified. They 
 had found a field for discussion ; their two natures, so 
 violently different, opposed each other passionately. 
 But in the very act of opposition they became 
 attracted to each other. Jacques' influence on 
 Sandra was confined to making her more Parisian in 
 her attire, in mentioning to her lapses of taste in her 
 toilette, in revealing to her modern literary culture, 
 of which she was ignorant. On the other hand, 
 through vanity, through an imperious wish to please, 
 Jacques became simpler and more manly, at first 
 believing that he was playing a part, and then 
 gradually, as Amyot says, deceiving himself in the 
 game, and discovering in his own nature an aptitude 
 for a new way of living. There was no unexpected 
 and complete change in him ; the effeminate youth 
 was not transformed suddenly into an athlete. 
 Jacques in society remained the Jacques of little 
 mannerisms and conceits ; with his friends he indulged 
 in paradoxes and preciosities as before. But half of 
 his life became disciplined by the morals and ideas 
 of a normal youth his life in his own home. And 
 this life at home attracted him more and more because 
 Sandra shared it. He suspected her of being in love 
 with him, she to whom all men seemed indifferent; 
 pride at this choice would have been enough to make 
 him enjoy the Italian's society. Music was also a 
 ceaseless cause for bringing the two together. Thus, 
 with his nature, so curiously dual, Jacques felt the 
 whole of one side carrying him towards what Sandra 
 liked and towards Sandra herself, while other influ- 
 ences and other attractions grew weaker. Sandra was 
 not boasting when she said to Rosalie : "I have made 
 him break with his equivocal friends." And it was
 
 1 76 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 she, too, who had decided him on dumb-bells and 
 boxing. He had given himself up to them without 
 displeasure, admiring his own skill, and already in 
 love with the physical energy which he had discovered 
 in himself. He discovered there something else as 
 well, something that he did not wish to confess to 
 himself : a mysterious wish to know if Sandra loved 
 him enough to belong to him. He did not desire that 
 supreme surrender, he would have been afraid of it; 
 but he would have liked to believe it possible. Be- 
 tween them there had been no word resembling love, 
 no physical familiarity ; he did not even kiss her hand 
 any more, as he used to do in the early days. But 
 already they did not conceal from each other that need 
 of each other's presence which is the most undeniable 
 sign of love. Sandra, in her haughtiness, did not 
 allow him to see this ; more impatient and less master 
 of himself, Jacques confessed it. And it was quite 
 true, too, that he had asked her again and again as 
 Sandra told Rosalie and Mag to spend a day with 
 him alone, one of those free days that Madame Cor- 
 bellier allowed her daughter's governess once a fort- 
 night. For a long time she had refused, for fear of 
 disappointment rather than from fear of too bold an 
 enterprise. But she herself was won over by the 
 desire to be alone together. She loved Jacques; she 
 loved him for his beauty and his intelligence, but 
 also for everything that she had recreated in him. 
 Simple as she was, she saw no impossibility in his 
 marrying her; was she not beautiful, well educated, 
 and free ? One of the reasons which determined her 
 to consent to this afternoon alone with him was pre- 
 cisely because it might seem to him opportune for 
 settling this cardinal point : what were Jacques' inten-
 
 MOULINS DE CHELLES 177 
 
 tions towards her ? Now that she was making a man 
 of him again, he must behave like a man and declare 
 his intentions. 
 
 The date, then, of this sentimental prank had been 
 arranged more than a fortnight in advance by the 
 governess and the son of the house. It was their first 
 secret, and they immediately experienced what a 
 uniting force a secret possesses. They sought oppor- 
 tunities for being alone together so as to discuss their 
 project. Where should they go? Sandra wanted 
 "campagna da vero e vicino all' acqua" "the real 
 country with a river." Jacques remembered a lock of 
 the Marne at Moulins de Chelles where there was 
 shade, a beautiful stretch of river, a convenient 
 restaurant, and solitude enough. Unfortunately, a 
 Senegal heat had been crushing Paris for some time 
 past; even the southern Sandra herself was afraid of 
 it. Then there was starting from the evening of 
 Rosalie's visit a week of storms and tempests, hail 
 and rain mixed. At last, Paris woke up one day in 
 the calm light of a warm, limpid spring. Jacques and 
 Sandra had a new preoccupation, about which they 
 consulted each other with glances and half-words; 
 would this weather last until their adventure ? It did 
 last ; and on the morning on which Jacques, stretched 
 out in his bath after his boxing lesson, took from his 
 valet the latest guide-book issued by the Est railway, 
 and verified the time selected for meeting Sandra in 
 front of the station bookstall, a delicately blue-tinted 
 sky, without a single cloud, announced a superb 
 afternoon. 
 
 " Here it is, George," said Jacques, returning the 
 thin volume to the valet, who was waiting. "Give 
 me my dressing-gown." 
 M
 
 178 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 While he was drying his master and rubbing him 
 with a horsehair glove, the valet said 
 
 "Madame asks Monsieur to let her know when he 
 will be ready. Madame will take tea with Monsieur, 
 if that will not disturb him. She has important things 
 to tell Monsieur." 
 
 "Good! In ten minutes." 
 
 Often mother and son would invite each other to 
 morning tea. Their apartments adjoined, but those 
 of Jacques, which looked east, were pleasanter in the 
 morning; and when she did not get up too late, 
 Emmeline would go there by preference. The increas- 
 ing intimacy between Sandra and Jacques had by no 
 means weakened that which had always united mother 
 and son. Emmeline was even secretly grateful to the 
 Italian for making Jacques' appearance more manly, 
 and for having got rid of d'Ambline and his set. For, 
 frivolous and indifferent as she was, certain allusions 
 in society had occasionally perturbed her. As for 
 being anxious about the possible results of a liaison 
 between her son and her daughter's governess, that 
 was altogether beyond her simple and lazy optimism. 
 
 It was nearly ten o'clock when mother and son sat 
 down before their tea and toast. 
 
 "I have a heap of things to tell you," Emmeline 
 said to Jacques, as she kissed him; "extraordinary 
 things." 
 
 This announcement in no way startled the young 
 man, did not even excite his curiosity. He knew that, 
 for his mother, the latest tittle-tattle that she had heard 
 was always something extraordinary. But he was 
 willing enough to listen to 4ier chatter, as he liked 
 having her with him ; taking an interest in the indoor 
 dress that she was wearing, in the state of her hair,
 
 MOULINS DB CHELLES 179 
 
 going into raptures over her arms, which were still 
 splendid, and over her ankle, which was just visible. 
 On her side, she pulled herself up in the middle of 
 a sentence to exclaim, as she looked at him 
 
 " My goodness, Jacques, how good-looking you are ! 
 It isn't permissible to be so handsome as that when 
 one is a man." 
 
 On this morning, while buttering round after round 
 of toast (she was beginning to break loose from all 
 regulations of diet, and was getting much fatter), she 
 related 
 
 "Would you believe it, while I was still in bed 
 they had just opened my windows Croze rang me 
 up on the telephone." (Mother and son spoke of 
 Croze among themselves without the slightest embar- 
 rassment as a valued friend of the house.) "What 
 he had to tell me, he said, was so unexpected and so 
 interesting that he had been on the point of telephon- 
 ing yesterday after midnight on leaving Haumont- 
 Segre", Berthe's father. Yes, Haumont-Segre had 
 asked him to make an appointment with him for 
 yesterday, and Croze, who was so burdened with work 
 all day you know he is organizing the mobiliz- 
 ation of aeroplanes was only able to receive him 
 in the Avenue Velasquez at ten o'clock in the 
 evening." 
 
 " What did he want ? To fix up the marriage 
 between Guy and Berthe ? " 
 
 "Not at all. . . . Something else serious in another 
 way." 
 
 She stopped an instant to prepare her effect, then in 
 a tone of confidence she* let out 
 
 "The Haumont-Segres are on the verge of bank- 
 ruptcy."
 
 i8o GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 Jacques was surprised. 
 
 "Is it possible? I believed them to be so rich." 
 
 "They still have a fine fortune, but the Bank is at 
 the end of its tether, and all that is left them is 
 scarcely enough to stop the leaks. There was no 
 speculating, only bad management and ten years of 
 progressive losses ; and the most serious point " 
 (Emmeline lowered her voice still more) "is that 
 Haumont, it appears, has borrowed on title-deeds 
 deposited by his clients. And if he does not pay 
 the amount, it will be the Court of Assizes for 
 him." 
 
 " What can Croze do for him ? " 
 
 " Haumont would like to have the support of the 
 Government and the indulgence of the law during his 
 liquidation. He has still hopes of paying everything 
 in full. Very little prevents him from doing so. 
 Berthe, who is of age, and whose personal fortune 
 is over a million francs, would only have to give her 
 signature. Her parents have not yet dared to ask her 
 for it, as they are afraid of her refusing." 
 
 "Poor people," said Jacques without emotion. 
 "What a bore it must be to run after thousand-franc 
 bills up till ten o'clock at night ! Will Croze do 
 anything for them?" 
 
 "A month ago Croze was offended at that minx of 
 a Berthe falling out with Guy. But you may imagine 
 that now he blesses Providence for it ! And as he 
 is an excellent man, he will try to make a decent exit 
 easy for them. I urged him strongly to do this. But 
 whether they avoid the Court of Assizes or not, it is 
 ruin for them. Old Haumont and his wife will have 
 only two hundred thousand francs to live on." 
 
 Relieved of this important piece of news, Emmeline
 
 MOULINS DE CHELLES 181 
 
 directed her chatter to other topics : the Horse Show, 
 the Revue at the Ambassadors', a linen dress 
 that she was going to try on that afternoon. "Could 
 you come with me to give your opinion of it? . . , 
 It's Lapicque's, in the Rue Royale." 
 
 "No," replied Jacques, with a blush. "I'm lunch- 
 ing in the country with d'Ambline." 
 
 Emmeline's maternal instinct instantly detected the 
 lie. She knew that d'Ambline and Jacques scarcely 
 saw each other at all, and thought to herself: "It's 
 Sandra's holiday ; they are going to meet each other." 
 She was troubled at the thought, without knowing if 
 it were through pride or through jealousy. 
 
 The afternoon of this very day, this afternoon 
 planned so long in advance and waited for with equal 
 impatience by Sandra and Jacques, was only saved 
 from ending for both of them in the nightmare in 
 which it had commenced by an accident of a quite 
 vulgar nature. For, absolutely alone with the Italian, 
 aw r ay from that protection of his home which is such 
 a comfort to a nervous type like his, Jacques sud- 
 denly became his former self again : finnicky, 
 affected, feminine, ironical, displaying for Sandra's 
 benefit the sophisticated graces that so enchanted the 
 smart ladies in literary salons. Sandra was so upset 
 by them that she felt herself almost struck dumb. 
 She was much too simple and straightforward to 
 realize that he was stirred to the very depths by this 
 thought : " The people who see us together will think 
 that she is my mistress," and that he was trying to 
 drown his timidity beneath a flow of words. On his 
 side, he saw quite well that he was enraging his com- 
 panion, but he was afraid of silence, and, cost what it
 
 182 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 might with anecdotes, with floods of turgid rhetoric, 
 with professions of admiration (so cold, that several 
 times Sandra had tears in her eyes), he filled in 
 desperately the minutes. 
 
 In this manner the stages of their amorous adven- 
 ture from which they had promised themselves so much 
 gaiety and happiness followed one another; the little 
 journey by railway over a sunlit country, the getting 
 out at the deserted station, the walk side by side along 
 the windings of a country road, the arrival at the 
 chosen place, the meal beside the water. A mocking 
 Providence seemed to find pleasure in the fact that 
 Nature's most smiling welcome attended their un- 
 happiness : the weather was ideal, the place even 
 more delightful than Jacques remembered it to have 
 been; a simple but dainty lunch was coquettishly 
 served to them right beside that flowing water which 
 Sandra had wished for; they were alone in a large 
 arbour until almost the end of their meal. However, 
 just when the servant brought them cherries, straw- 
 berries and cream, the table next theirs was taken by 
 three newcomers two men of about thirty, and a 
 young woman to whom both showed equal familiarity. 
 They were employees, of some large shop, on a spree, 
 as their loud conversation very soon showed. Their 
 proximity put a definite stop to the artificial liveliness 
 which up till now Jacques had managed to keep up, in 
 spite of Sandra's mournful silence. He became silent, 
 and a nervous hostility began to thrill between them, 
 so intense that they could no longer conceal it. The 
 Italian's beautiful face contracted under the effort to 
 keep from bursting into tears. Jacques brushed 
 with his right hand the crumbs from the tablecloth, 
 nibbled the stem of a cherry, moistened his lips, with-
 
 MOULINS DB CHELLES 183 
 
 out drinking, ten times running in the champagne 
 glass. 
 
 They would have left the table and separated at 
 once, if they had not felt themselves being watched 
 by the neighbouring trio. 
 
 From the moment of their arrival these people had 
 viewed with animosity the regal splendour of Sandra 
 and the refined elegance of Jacques. One of the men 
 had proposed a table further away, but the other man 
 and the woman had insisted on the nearer table, the 
 only one which was also within a few steps of the 
 water. Jacques and Sandra had heard phrases in 
 strained voices: "The river belongs to everybody"; 
 "Nobody is going to put a spot on his beautiful grey 
 lounge jacket ! Surely ! " As soon as they were 
 seated and served, they fell on the food and drink 
 with the appetites of people who have spent the 
 morning in walking in the sun. Gradually warmed 
 up, they raised their voices and hazarded remarks on 
 the silence of their two neighbours, on the sadness of 
 Sandra. One of the men, a fat shopman with a short 
 beard on his chin, the wag of the trio, who strutted 
 in a brown jacket and a pair of bluish trousers, and 
 whose lightest words were greeted by exaggerated 
 laughs from the other two, became jocose, reassured 
 by the fact that Jacques and Sandra affected not to 
 hear what was being said 
 
 " I see that she is being bored, . poor girl, with a 
 fellow like that opposite to her ! My grey suit and 
 my curled hair, my dear ! " 
 
 "Be quiet, Bernard," said the other man. But 
 the woman encouraged him, bursting with laughter. 
 
 He continued as if he were addressing Sandra, but 
 always without looking at her.
 
 184 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 "Let him go ! See, there's a place at our table, and 
 we are two to one here. Come now, make up your 
 mind, dark madonna ! " 
 
 Motionless for a moment, Jacques suddenly threw 
 down his napkin, rose to his feet and advanced 
 towards the wag. 
 
 "You," said he, "you are going to be silent ! " 
 
 The man gave a start of surprise, but the delicate 
 appearance of his opponent reassured him. 
 
 Standing up in his turn, he kept his head. 
 
 "Be silent? You haven't had a look at me yet, 
 you wretched little youngster ! " 
 
 Immediately he received full on the jaw a "straight 
 left" in accordance with the best technique of 
 Pironneau, and rolled on the floor right up to the 
 legs of his two companions, who, thoroughly scared, 
 picked him up. Jacques remained on guard. A 
 delightful sense of relief had come to his nerves at 
 the very moment when he had felt the man's face 
 flatten out and give way under his fist; he would 
 now have defied ten adversaries. But he of the beard, 
 now on his feet again, contented himself with grum- 
 bling out, "If one can't even joke a little," and again, 
 "One isn't brutal to such a point as that"; while his 
 two companions, male and female, showered upon this 
 most pacific person counsels of moderation 
 
 "That's right, keep your temper. One doesn't fight 
 with people like that." Finally, as Jacques went back 
 to his table, the wag's nose began to bleed violently. 
 The trio took advantage of the incident to leave the 
 place and make their way to the hotel. Jacques and 
 Sandra remained in possession of the arbour. 
 
 Then they dared to look at each other, and all at 
 once their youth regained its serenity and bubbled
 
 MOULINS DB CHELLES 185 
 
 into inextinguishable laughter, the laughter of adoles- 
 cent gods, the laughter that has nothing trivial in it 
 and does not mar the noble grace of the countenance. 
 By his act of manly violence, performed without a 
 shadow of reflection, Jacques felt as though he were 
 exorcised, and Sandra who detested everything that 
 remained in him of femininity had recognized her 
 Jacques in this vigorous boxer, whom she had divined 
 underneath false appearances, divined and recreated. 
 They began to talk amicably together as at home. 
 They made fun of the routed trio; they made fun of 
 themselves, and of the ridiculous embarrassment that 
 had paralysed them since their meeting at the station. 
 Jacques excused himself for it. 
 
 "It seemed to me such an extraordinary thing to be 
 beside you, completely alone." 
 
 Sandra protested 
 
 "You weren't your real self with me; I don't know 
 where your thoughts had strayed to, but surely 
 they were far from me. Oh, I hated you ! " 
 
 With their simplicity and good spirits, their appe- 
 tites too returned. They had scarcely touched the 
 meal, but now they began to devour cherries, straw- 
 berries, cream and bread, and ordered more cham- 
 pagne. They had drawn their chairs closer together, 
 and for the first time since they had known each other 
 Jacques had stroked with his delicate hands the strong 
 and perfectly moulded ones of Sandra. But at these 
 still timid strokings he felt himself penetrated by a 
 wave of emotion so powerful that almost immediately 
 he turned away. She, with the unerring instinct of 
 a woman in love, was careful not to provoke him ; 
 she did not even assist his attempts. But she did not 
 draw back; she refused nothing; she was for him
 
 1 86 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 the open Paradise that nothing could close against 
 him. 
 
 Overwhelmed by an agony of joy, they left the 
 table. A bench under the shade of some plane- 
 trees, quite close to the water, tempted them. 
 " L'acqua corrente" Sandra murmured, smiling. And 
 quite close to the ear of Jacques, who trembled at 
 his proximity to her, she continued to speak in 
 Italian, which already he understood perfectly. She 
 told him about her childhood. ..." Vicino alia 
 nostra casa, c'era una rimer a cosi, la Sciarra, si 
 chiama. . . ." She told him that she was of a good 
 family from Borghi near Trieste, of a family that had 
 formerly intermarried with the nobility, but that now, 
 so far as money was concerned, had fallen into decay. 
 Her father had been compelled to accept an insignifi- 
 cant post in the Borghi octroi. She had been intended 
 for the post office, but as her masters found her 
 intelligent and hard-working, they had induced her 
 to finish her studies, and then her father had been 
 struck down by hemiplegia; his modest pension just 
 sufficed to find food for the old people the father who 
 was helpless and the mother who took care of him. 
 They had proposed to Sandra that she should enter at 
 the age of seventeen an influential Austrian family as 
 governess; since then she had wandered about the 
 world, having only been, however, in three situations 
 up to the time of her arrival at the Corbelliers. She 
 was twenty-two years old. 
 
 She told him this in her moving contralto voice, 
 sweetly, with the charming phrases of her language, 
 with those flowery images which are strewn naturally 
 over Italian conversation, with the beautiful, sonorous 
 superlatives which would have seemed redundant in
 
 MOULINS DE CHELLES 187 
 
 French, but which in Italian seemed quite in place : 
 "Nobilissimo, tanto voluttuoso che non si pud immagi 
 nare, piu grande di un palasso. . . ." Was it all 
 true what she told him ? Jacques was quite incapable 
 of asking himself that. What troubled him was not 
 the mystery of this foreigner, born too far from him, 
 and whose life was too filled with wanderings for him 
 ever, ever to be able to know it. What troubled him 
 was hearing a woman's voice vibrate for him, quite 
 close, and this woman speak to him of herself, initiat- 
 ing him into her past life as a child and a young girl, 
 and, as it were, undressing her soul before him. 
 She told him the story of the American who had 
 wished to violate her, and Jacques experienced a rage 
 like that which had just made him drive his fist 
 into the shopman's bearded jaw. He was emboldened 
 enough to press his lips against Sandra's hair, and, 
 after almost swooning for a moment, he breathed in 
 its aroma, astonished at tasting the sensation of 
 voluptuousness. 
 
 "It's hot," cried Sandra all of a sudden. "What 
 do you say to returning to the house ? They will find 
 a pleasant corner for us where we can rest. Mi farebbe 
 piacere di dormire, un momentino." 
 
 They returned to the main building, and at the door 
 the proprietor, doubtless accustomed to the visits of 
 more experienced couples, said to them of his own 
 accord, familiarly 
 
 "It's this great heat that brings you in. Perhaps 
 the ladies and gentlemen would like to rest for a 
 little? Augustin, show these ladies and gentlemen 
 into the comfortable little sitting-room on the first 
 floor. Shall I send you up some refreshments? We 
 have some good white port, with Savoy biscuits."
 
 1 88 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 Jacques and Sandra, both of them a little red, 
 acquiesced and followed Augustin, who ushered them 
 into a sitting-room perfectly respectable and decent, 
 like all the rest of the house. The stiff imitation 
 Louis XV 7 ! furniture made no pretence to merit the 
 epithet "comfortable," but opposite the window cur- 
 tains concealed what was probably an alcove. Jacques 
 and Sandra did not leave the window until the waiter 
 had brought the port and biscuits and had withdrawn, 
 after being assured that "these ladies and gentlemen 
 had need of nothing more." The window looked out 
 on a little empty area, ornamented with a horizontal 
 beam sustained on posts to which were attached rings 
 and a trapeze. Beyond rose the steep bank of the 
 Marne, and after that the slope to the scattered woods, 
 to which the excessive brightness of the sun gave the 
 appearance of being half bald. 
 
 All that was left of femininity in Jacques' nature 
 was now concentrated in a mingling of uneasiness 
 and desire, similar to that of a wife when the door 
 has been closed on her with her newly married 
 husband. Sandra understood the danger of empty 
 minutes, and that if they were prolonged the uneasi- 
 ness of the morning might once more invade this 
 undecided mind. All the same, she would not have 
 dared to make an advance, if she had been capable of 
 reflection at this moment. But her own temperament 
 had nothing indecisive in it, and it came to her aid 
 now. Her eyes became intoxicated as she looked at 
 Jacques, absolutely beautiful at this juncture, when 
 no affectation and no lackadaisical mannerism spoilt 
 him ; and this living statue of Antinous inflamed her 
 passion. She closed the window abruptly, clasped 
 the young man in her arms as she murmured the
 
 MOULINS DE CHELLES 189 
 
 words that were necessary, those w r ords that she did 
 not seek, but which none the less roused love in his 
 heart. In her native tongue and in a broken voice 
 she told him that he was beautiful ; spoke to him with 
 her eyes, with her forehead, with her hair, with her 
 neck, with her mouth. And it was these woman's 
 words, explaining him minutely to himself, that 
 aroused passion in this strange youth. Through his 
 love of this woman he loved himself ; and in the first 
 kiss which united their lips it was of his own lips 
 that he thought. But through these ambiguous 
 caprices, Nature's inflexible force, divum hominumque 
 voluptas, led them inevitably to her own ends. Sandra 
 made no struggle. Only, quite as strong as her young 
 lover, she stopped him at the entrance to the alcove, 
 clasping his delicate wrists with her fingers, firm 
 as steel. 
 
 "I trust you/' she said. "But tell me that I shall 
 be your wife ! " 
 
 He swore it to her, mad with happiness at feel- 
 ing the flow of virile passion submerging trium- 
 phantly all the indecisions and all the puerilities of 
 the past. 
 
 Then, as she kissed him again and again, she 
 said 
 
 "I love you too much ever to do you harm, even if 
 you betrayed me. But they who would wish to keep 
 you from me, let them take care ! " 
 
 The shadows had lengthened on the opposite slope 
 and were shading the empty places among the thin 
 woods; the lock of the Marne no longer glittered 
 under a flood of light, but seemed like a thread of 
 dull white metal curving among the willows, when
 
 190 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 Jacques returned alone, from the alcove, to lean out of 
 the window. He had slept for more than an hour, an 
 overwhelming sleep. He glanced with eyes that saw 
 nothing at the court with its horizontal beam, at the 
 river, at the horizon. He was at once proud and dis- 
 tressed. He experienced both relief and a little sad- 
 ness; he hoped that Sandra would not join him too 
 quickly ; he dreaded hearing himself being called.
 
 BOOK III 
 MAG
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE EMANCIPATED ONE 
 
 THAT same night, towards mid-June, when the pallor 
 of morning twilight filtered through the openings of 
 the curtains, Haumont-Segre and his wife were still 
 continuing in her bedroom a terrible tete-a-tete, 
 a conversation that resembled the jerky flight of an 
 imprisoned fly, now buzzing, now suddenly inter- 
 rupted, as though annihilated. Twenty times they 
 had asked each other, "What are we to do?" 
 Uselessly they had repeated the dates, the dates of 
 the dreaded time-limits that they each knew so well. 
 Twenty times, one after the other, they had uttered 
 those retrospective hypotheses, the human revolt 
 against the tyranny of the past, the tyranny of the 
 accomplished fact: "If you had accepted a point less 
 in the Venezuelan Loan. ... If Boutzoff had not 
 withdrawn his two million deposit. . . . When I 
 think that that war might have broken out six months 
 later ! " They had also exchanged recriminations, she 
 with her : " You are a bungler. . . . My father left 
 you a magnificent position. ... It isn't So-and-so" 
 (a rival) "who would have been wound up like this ! " 
 and he, with his : " Have you ever been of any help 
 to me ? With your imaginary ailments, I have always 
 been afraid of bringing on an attack if I consulted 
 you. You do not know even how to keep the house- 
 hold accounts ; all your people rob you ; we have lost 
 N 193
 
 194 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 hundreds of thousands of francs through your negli- 
 gence." Then they had thrown themselves into each 
 other's arms, begging each other's forgiveness ; and as 
 their haggard faces touched each other, they had each 
 in a very low tone at the same moment suggested the 
 solution which seems to the desperate not only peace 
 and deliverance, but a revenge on destiny, a supreme 
 way of defying it, of mocking it, by snatching from 
 it its prey. 
 
 It was Madame Haumont-Segre who kindled a 
 spark from these terrible ashes. Like so many 
 neurasthenics, she showed a superhuman energy from 
 the moment that her husband confessed to her his 
 coming bankruptcy. She made no more complaints 
 of any physical ailment, and yet, if Haumont-Segre 
 had had time to observe her, he would have detected 
 in her signs, this time indisputable, of a mortal 
 exhaustion. 
 
 Seated at the end of that couch, on which she had 
 not lain down for the last forty-eight hours, she said 
 
 "Agreed, we shall disappear, both of us. Believe 
 me, I shall be no less brave than you before a cachet 
 or an injection. But before that let us try our last 
 cards. You say that we could get out of the business 
 with six hundred thousand francs ? " 
 
 "Even five hundred thousand would be enough, as 
 my brother offers me all his available funds, a hundred 
 thousand francs. Besides, the Ropart d'Anays, whom 
 we shall see to-morrow, will perhaps see their way to 
 an advance . . ." 
 
 "Well, these five hundred thousand francs, minus 
 what the Ropart d'Anays will, perhaps, advance, 
 Berthe must give to us. She must even place at 
 your disposal the eleven hundred thousands francs in
 
 THE EMANCIPATED ONE 195 
 
 her possession, so that you may be able to pass the 
 crisis and launch that loan of twenty-five millions for 
 the Port of Salon ica, which will save you." 
 
 The banker shook his grey head. 
 
 "Berthe will give nothing at all." 
 
 "She will give, if she is made to understand that it 
 is in her interest to give." 
 
 " It is certainly her interest not to allow her father 
 to become a bankrupt and possibly to go to prison. 
 But it is not the interest of Mademoiselle Smith." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "The interest of Mademoiselle Smith is for Berthe 
 to remain rich, so that she, the Englishwoman, may 
 
 be able to live at her expense. Ah, the d d 
 
 Englishwoman ! All the troubles of our house com- 
 menced the day that she entered it ; one could swear 
 that she has the evil eye, and that she cast a spell over 
 us. She robbed us of Berthe. I shall perhaps be 
 compelled to kill myself, but I should not like to die 
 without having strangled the Englishwoman first." 
 And he pressed his powerful fingers round an imagin- 
 ary neck. 
 
 "No, Maxime," replied his wife, "she must not be 
 strangled yet. One must make use of her." 
 
 "By buying her?" 
 
 Madame Haumont-Segre made a sign of assent ; the 
 banker became thoughtful. 
 
 Assuredly Fanny Smith was impenetrable ; she had 
 masked her game so well that one could not reproach 
 her with any malpractice, nor even with any indication 
 of monopolizing. But Haumont-Segre had had too 
 much to do with money in the course of his life, had 
 too often seen the weakening of high-principled people 
 before a pile of bank-notes, to reject the idea suggested
 
 196 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 by his wife. The conversation between the married 
 couple became animated again with the feverish play 
 of conjectures. To purchase Fanny's influence over 
 her pupil, that was a new solution, that was a hope 
 that had not yet proved futile. They clung to it. 
 Comforted a little, they had the courage to undress, 
 to go to bed, to brave darkness and insomnia. They 
 lay down one beside the other, as in the first years 
 of their marriage. The common danger had soldered 
 their union together again. Their fevered hands 
 clasped each other; they managed in this way to 
 sleep nearly three hours between four and seven, a 
 broken sleep tormented by nightmares. Awakened 
 by the first sounds throughout the house, their terrible 
 conversation began again : how to approach Fanny 
 Smith ? How to propose, face to face with her, to 
 buy her ? 
 
 "It is you, Julie, who are in a better position to 
 speak to her. I hardly ever say a word to her; 
 besides, an overture like that is not so serious coming 
 from a woman . . ." 
 
 "No, no, it is for you to do it. It is your business 
 as head of the family. What authority have I 
 to offer money? She wouldn't even take me 
 seriously ! " 
 
 They finally agreed on this plan : Haumont-Segre 
 would summon the Englishwoman into his study and 
 would begin the conversation alone with her, while 
 his wife waited in the next room, ready to come to 
 the rescue if the united action of the household should 
 become necessary. It happened to be a Wednesday, 
 a day favourable for seeing Fanny without her pupil's 
 knowledge, for every Wednesday morning Berthe 
 went to a painting class from the life; her maid
 
 THE EMANCIPATED ONE 197 
 
 accompanied her, and she did not return until after 
 midday. As the Haumont-Segres were going this 
 same day to take the half-past eleven train for Val 
 d'Anay, Berthe's exit was watched, and immediately 
 after she had gone Mademoiselle Smith was asked to 
 come down to the banker's study. It was then a 
 quarter to ten o'clock. She delayed scarcely five 
 minutes. When she entered the sumptuous room, 
 with its red hangings and its beautiful Empire fur- 
 niture, in which the banker awaited her, she was 
 dressed, as usual, in black, and the excitement that 
 this unaccustomed summons must have caused could 
 only be divined by a slight increase of stiffness in 
 her bearing, and by a more visible effort to control 
 her features. 
 
 " You have asked for me to come, Monsieur ? " 
 
 Was this a real inability to assimilate the French 
 idiom, or was it simply disdain, thoroughly English, 
 for every language except her own ? Or was it a 
 display made as a precaution against the surprises 
 of conversation ? Fanny Smith, after ten years in 
 Paris, stumbled into an Anglicism in every sentence. 
 
 " Yes, Mademoiselle," replied Haumont-Segr, " I 
 must have a serious talk with you. Sit down, I beg 
 of you. I am coming to the facts without preamble. 
 We may have been sometimes, my wife and I, in 
 disagreement with you about Berthe's education, but 
 we are none the less convinced both of your personal 
 qualities and of the interest . . . the interest . . . 
 very sincere, that you take in your pupil." 
 
 He stopped, expecting a word of thanks, or at 
 least of assent; the Englishwoman on her chair 
 maintained the immobility of Madame Tussaud's 
 waxworks.
 
 198 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 "Yes," continued Haumont, without losing coun- 
 tenance, "you are intelligent and devoted to Berthe. 
 That cannot be disputed. One can then be certain 
 of finding you ready to exert yourself in Berthe's 
 interests; isn't that so?" 
 
 The Englishwoman was compelled to reply to this 
 direct question. She replied in English, as by a slip 
 of the tongue, and used the vaguest of English 
 expressions 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 " Good ! Very well, a danger threatens Berthe at 
 this moment." 
 
 Fanny Smith said 
 
 "Ok!" 
 
 But as this "Oh " was not accentuated in the French 
 manner, it gave the banker no enlightenment whatever 
 as to the degree of surpise, emotion or curiosity that 
 his phrase, "a danger threatens Berthe," had aroused 
 in the heart of the governess. 
 
 "A great danger," he continued. "I have con- 
 fidence in you ; with you, I lay my cards on the table. 
 The Eastern crisis through which Europe is passing 
 at this moment has recoiled on my house, on my 
 business. 1 may ... I may be declared a bankrupt 
 in the forthcoming winding-up." 
 
 "Oh, so soon?" said the Englishwoman, betraying 
 this time a slight astonishment, and not disguising 
 the fact that it only came because she did not believe 
 the event to be so near. The banker pondered a 
 minute, smoothing his grey beard with his right 
 hand; then, with his eyes fixed on those of the 
 governess, and throwing into his voice all the firmness 
 of which he was master, "My wife and I," he said, 
 "are too near our end not to resign ourselves to
 
 THE EMANCIPATED ONE 199 
 
 the catastrophe if it is necessary to submit. Our 
 sacrifice is already made. But Berthe is twenty years 
 old, and I am grieved when I imagine what her life 
 will be if her father is arrested, condemned." 
 
 Fanny, who had met without faltering Haumont- 
 Segre's glance, asked a question in her turn : "Then, 
 as they may arrest you . . . there has been . . . how 
 shall I put it ? ... fraud ? " 
 
 The livid cheeks of the banker reddened. He 
 answered drily 
 
 "I have nothing to reproach myself with; I must 
 ask you to believe that. The operations that the Court 
 will endorse are undertaken by all my confreres with 
 the tacit approval of their clients. It is a question 
 of good luck or bad ; a great banking business is not 
 conducted like a herbalist's stock-in-trade. One thing 
 alone matters : Berthe's future may be seriously 
 impaired, first by my ruin and secondly by my 
 conviction." 
 
 For a minute the ticking of the clock its pendulum 
 swung suspended in the grip of a bronze eagle was 
 the only thing that spoke in the silent room. The 
 two speakers had withdrawn their glances from each 
 other's faces. The Englishwoman said at last 
 
 "What ought I to do, then, sir?" 
 
 "You ought, Mademoiselle, to put the situation 
 before my daughter as soon as she returns. You will 
 thus spare us, my wife and I, a painful disclosure." 
 
 "Yes . . . yes ... I can do that." 
 
 "Thank you. When you have made her understand 
 what threatens me, it will be easy for you, with your 
 experience and authority, to make her understand aH 
 that our smash would cost her. Our fortune engulfed, 
 there will be nothing to receive from us later on ...
 
 200 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 and an indelible stain yes, let us say the word, 
 dishonour on her name. You follow me, don't 
 you ? " 
 
 "Yes," said the Englishwoman; and then she 
 added, with her features more rigid than ever : 
 "You would like to ask her for her money, for her 
 own money, so as to avoid these annoyances ? " 
 
 For an instant Haumont-Segr6 was disconcerted. 
 He had not foreseen that the Englishwoman would 
 take the initiative in this way, and at the moment 
 when she attacked the delicate point in her brutally 
 comic sentence he was looking for a periphrase to 
 express the same thing. 
 
 "Oh," he answered, stammering a little, "it will 
 only be a matter of a loan, a rather large loan, without 
 any risk." And his voice broke at this moment, and 
 he looked at Fanny's knees instead of at her face ; 
 after which he began to speak more quickly, trying 
 to conceal his embarrassment under a mass of words. 
 "I have a most important matter in hand an option 
 for a loan to a town, a European town, admirably 
 secure with all the guarantees. I have the option till 
 the day after to-morrow. The Syndicate has been 
 nearly formed already. If I put this loan through, 
 there will be a gain of nearly two million francs. 
 The eight hundred thousand francs cash that I am 
 asking from Berthe to meet my indebtedness will be 
 reimbursed to her at the end of the month with a 
 premium of two hundred thousand francs. She will 
 have saved her father and mother from bankruptcy, 
 she will have protected her name, and she will have 
 made a magnificent speculation. There it is! " 
 
 Mademoiselle murmured 
 
 "I understand. I understand very well."
 
 THE EMANCIPATED ONE 201 
 
 "I was sure that you would understand," replied 
 Haumont. " I may count on you, then ? " 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur, I shall certainly transmit to Berthe 
 ... I shall transmit everything that you have said. 
 I shall do it." 
 
 "And . . ." he rose; Fanny rose too "and you 
 will talk sense to her, won't you? You will make 
 her realize what is really her own interest, won't 
 you?" 
 
 "I will advise Berthe as to what I believe to be 
 really her interest, be sure, Monsieur." 
 
 "But her interest is self-evident," returned the 
 banker uneasily. "Even if it were not a matter, for 
 both her and us, of a vital question, my proposal 
 should remain very enticing to Berthe. You don't 
 suppose that I would risk my daughter's fortune in 
 an adventure ? Besides, I will furnish her with all 
 the details, and you too, Mademoiselle. You will be 
 able to examine together the conditions of the loan, 
 the subscriptions actually forthcoming from members 
 of the Syndicate, the guarantees. Yes, yes, I insist 
 on it. I want Berthe to look on this as a business 
 proposition, and an excellent one for her." 
 
 The Englishwoman remained standing without 
 giving any sign either of protest or of assent. 
 Haumont-Segre, carried away by habit, hazarded the 
 supreme argument 
 
 "And just because it is a business proposition, I 
 intend that the ordinary conditions of business shall 
 be applied to it. You are the necessary intermediary, 
 the right woman in the right place. If the affair is 
 a success, we shall owe that success to you Berthe 
 and I shall. It would, then, be defrauding you if 
 you did not benefit by it. Four thousand pounds
 
 202 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 sterling will be at your disposal when the Syndicate 
 has been formed." 
 
 This time Fanny Smith allowed a slight emotion 
 to be seen : the tops of her cheeks, usually very red, 
 grew pale. 
 
 "That sum of money," she said, "will be for Berthe 
 or for me? I do not quite understand." 
 
 "For you, for you alone. But Berthe will have her 
 two hundred thousand francs intact just the same. 
 Are we agreed ? " 
 
 Having immediately regained her usual coolness, 
 the Englishwoman answered 
 
 "I must ask you, Monsieur, to give me a little time 
 to think. I am so little accustomed . . ." 
 
 "Think it over; but I have no doubt as to the result 
 of your reflections. We are going presently, my wife 
 and I, to lunch with the Ropart d'Anays. We shall 
 be back towards five o'clock. You will have had your 
 talk with Berthe by then ? " 
 
 "Oh, certainly, Monsieur." 
 
 "Then, Mademoiselle, until this evening?" 
 
 The Englishwoman bowed; Haumont-Segre con- 
 ducted her to the door of his study, and drew the 
 bolt after her. Then he went to look for his wife, 
 who was waiting in the next room. He found her 
 standing in front of the door; she had endeavoured 
 to hear as much as possible of the conversation. 
 
 "Well," said he, "she seems open to arguments, 
 the virtuous Fanny ? " 
 
 "You think so?" replied Madame Haumont-Segre', 
 whose face remained anxious. "I didn't like the tone 
 of her voice when she answered you." 
 
 "She didn't kick against it; she made no protest. 
 She merely asked if the hundred thousand francs were
 
 THE EMANCIPATED ONE 203 
 
 to be really for her, all by herself. Ah, my dear, 
 that was a famous idea of yours ! " 
 
 He kissed her. All the affection of long ago had 
 come back to them, and thrown them incessantly into 
 each other's arms from the beginning of this horrible 
 crisis. The shortest separation seemed intolerable to 
 them, and that is why they had wished to go together 
 to Val d'Anay, where they were lured by the faint 
 hope of picking up a few thousand-franc bills for the 
 Syndicate, or perhaps a signature of Baron Ropart, 
 who was so generous, so improvident. . . . 
 
 " Pans, j Rue Montalivet, 
 
 " To-day, Wednesday, 3 o'clock. 
 
 "My DEAR PARENTS, 
 
 "As soon as I returned to the house to-day, 
 Fanny repeated the conversation that papa had had 
 with her this morning. 
 
 "And so papa could believe, you could believe, both 
 of you, that Fanny, for a wretched sum of money, 
 would assist in robbing me for the benefit of creditors 
 ruined by papa ! I must tell you at once that Fanny, 
 while apologizing for repeating the proposal to me, 
 and while qualifying it as it deserves to be qualified, 
 has urged me with all her power to refuse it. It is 
 none the less true that, if Fanny were not the high 
 minded soul and the faithful heart that she is, I should 
 be in danger of being duped and ruined by my own 
 parents. This treachery has struck me to the heart; 
 I have wept much. On the other hand, I know now 
 who wishes my welfare at the expense even of her own 
 interests, and who thinks only of exploiting me. My 
 dear parents, I am no longer able, at all events for a
 
 204 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 few months, to meet you in this house, to talk to 
 you. ... It would be beyond my strength; I prefer 
 to leave the house. I am going away. 
 
 " I am sorry to leave you at a time when you have 
 serious anxieties. But I am not ignorant of the fact 
 that everything I have would not save you, and I do 
 not consider it fair that I should be dragged into your 
 ruin, I, who am not responsible for it, I, who from 
 the day on which Fanny explained to me the real 
 meaning of the commerce of money, have detested 
 papa's calling, or at least the manner in which he 
 practises it. Besides, I shall not feel myself affected 
 by the judicial consequences of acts in which I had 
 not the slightest share. If my father's bankruptcy 
 keeps away from me those who might pretend to my 
 hand, what does that matter to me? I have no wish 
 to marry; I have no taste for society; I shall be 
 perfectly happy in the society of Fanny alone, par- 
 ticularly when hostile looks will no longer spy upon 
 our friendship, and when wretched underhand deal- 
 ings will no longer oppose it. As to public opinion, 
 the good opinion of Fanny and the testimony of my 
 own conscience are sufficient for me. 
 
 "I do not forget, however, that I have duties 
 towards you, my dear parents. And on leaving you 
 I wish to protect your real interests in a wiser way 
 than by a chimerical loan to papa. You are ruined ; 
 look ruin in the face; you are not the first, in the 
 business world, who have met with this misfortune. 
 I cannot believe that papa has committed illegal acts : 
 it is, then, only a smash-up as regards money. Do 
 not contest it; allow the liquidation to take place. 
 Fanny gives you this advice Fanny, who is not at 
 all your enemy, whatever you may think about it,
 
 THE EMANCIPATED ONE 205 
 
 and who judges things intelligently and coldly. It 
 seems to her, and to me too, that the wreck at least 
 of mamma's dot might be saved about two hundred 
 and twenty thousand francs, we think. That, indeed, 
 would be the assurance of your material lives, but I 
 am anxious for my parents to have in their old age 
 a larger and more comfortable existence. I undertake, 
 then, to provide you with a maintenance pension of 
 twelve thousand francs a year, starting from the day 
 on which your financial situation passes the Court. 
 It will be paid quarterly to you through my lawyer, 
 M. Delaplanque, without there being any necessity 
 for us to meet about it. 
 
 "But what I insist upon is, that you allow me 
 to live absolutely by myself. I have a horror of 
 scenes, recriminations, complaints. I have suffered 
 too much from them at home, between the rages of 
 papa and the imaginary illnesses of mamma; and if 
 I am leaving you in this way, without embracing you 
 for the last time, it is because I have really not the 
 strength to bear an outburst of cries, reproaches and 
 tears. I retain for you, none the less, a respectful, 
 daughterly affection. When I am tempted to judge 
 you, I immediately check myself with the thought that 
 I should be like you, and like the majority of those of 
 our set, if Providence had not placed on my path an 
 exceptional guide, who has revealed to me at once the 
 intellectual and the moral world, who has made me 
 loathe all that is low, underhand, mean, and seek, 
 before all other things, personal perfection. Between 
 such a being and yourselves there could be no har- 
 mony : you must be hostile to her. . . . When I think 
 that papa, in my presence, dared one day to insinuate 
 that Fanny was addicted to drink ! Fanny, who
 
 206 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 drinks only water at meals from choice, and for whom 
 doctors are compelled to prescribe alcoholic prescrip- 
 tions, which she takes unwillingly. But let us forget 
 all that. I imagine that you are now aware of the 
 moral value of my dearest friend, the only person in 
 the world whose esteem touches my heart, and whose 
 presence is indispensable to me. 
 
 "My dear parents, I embrace you both very ten- 
 derly, and it is not without sorrow that I am leaving 
 the house where I was born and where I have lived 
 for nearly twenty years. But I must go. After what 
 you have attempted to-day we could not meet at the 
 same table; you must feel it just as surely as I do. 
 I should like to hope that your anxieties will be deter- 
 mined for the best; in any case, you know now that 
 you will be protected against material embarrassments 
 by 
 
 "Your affectionate daughter, 
 
 " BERTHE." 
 
 Haumont-Segre\ on his return from Val d'Anay, 
 found this letter placed conspicuously on his study 
 table. After reading the first words, he called his wife, 
 who was undressing in her bedroom. They both 
 read together the five-page letter, written in a large, 
 sloping hand, bent like a row of shrubs under an 
 implacable west wind. Completely overwhelmed, as 
 they faced each other, passing the letter to each other 
 from time to time and re-reading it, they stam- 
 mered out bits of wretched sentences, despairing 
 interjections 
 
 " She didn't write that herself ; it is a dictated letter." 
 
 "Ah, do you see? ... I have felt it for a long 
 time; she has grown to hate us."
 
 THE EMANCIPATED ONE 207 
 
 "But what have we done to her, my God? One 
 couldn't love a child more. . . ." 
 
 Madame Haumont-Segre sobbed out 
 
 "It's my fault. ... It is I who had the idea of 
 tempting Fanny, and Berthe is right. It was wrong. 
 We risked making her lose her fortune. . . . Yes, 
 yes, I divined it all along ; I admit it ! Oh, when I 
 think that it's my fault . . ." 
 
 She threw herself on the cushions of the sofa where 
 she had been sitting, pressing her hands against her 
 heart. 
 
 Suddenly the banker rose and walked towards the 
 door, waving his great arms. 
 
 "Where are you going? " asked Julie. 
 
 "I am going to kill her." 
 
 "Your daughter?" 
 
 "No, the Englishwoman. She is the cause of every- 
 thing. She shall pay her debt. I will kill her." 
 
 And he repeated instinctively in the empty air the 
 gesture that he had made the night before, the gesture 
 of crunching a neck between his powerful fingers. 
 
 "Maxime!" implored Madame Haumont-Segre". 
 
 And as he was really going out, she murmured 
 
 " Stay, I beg of you ; I am so ill ! " 
 
 He had heard her many times, during the thirty- 
 three years of their marriage, complain of her health 
 and ask for sympathy for her complaints, but never 
 in this deep tone, half suppressed as though it were an 
 involuntary admission. He knelt down beside his 
 wife. 
 
 " What is it ? What is the matter with you ? You 
 are suffering? " 
 
 She made a sign of admission. 
 
 "But what do you feel?"
 
 208 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 She said in a very low voice, "As if the very life 
 of my heart were being exhausted. It's horrible; the 
 pain spreads through every bone of my chest. I felt 
 it to-night for the first time. And now, when you 
 wanted to go out to kill that wretched girl, it has 
 come back. Don't leave me, I implore you. You 
 promise me ? " 
 
 "Yes, I promise you. I won't leave you. Come, 
 calm yourself, calm yourself." 
 
 He threw his arms round the sick woman, kissing 
 the grey, disordered hair, the poor wrinkled forehead, 
 the eyes that were almost dissolved in tears. 
 
 "Take courage, my dear; the storm will pass. 
 We'll let it pass. That horrible Englishwoman, who, 
 as far as I can see, knows my affairs as well as I do 
 myself, is right. Don't let us try to save the ship; it 
 is lost. We shall live on the remainder of your dot. 
 I will look after you ; you will get well, and then . . . 
 then one will think about settling the governess' 
 account." 
 
 And even as he fondled his companion he was 
 making again, instinctively the gesture of wringing 
 a neck with the fingers of his right hand.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 THE BARON'S HORSE 
 
 THERE is a part of Europe, the Faroe Islands, where 
 it rains, it appears, three hundred days a year. For 
 the remainder of the year a soft mist fills in the 
 intervals of the rain. 
 
 Certainly it does not rain so much in our Sologne ; 
 it scarcely rains any more there than in Touraine or 
 in Anjou ; but when certain spring rains begin to fall, 
 an inhabitant of the Faroe Islands would believe 
 himself in his own home, and would say to himself : 
 "Here it is for three hundred days ! " One feels then 
 above the fields and the woods, suspended in the 
 clouds, such a menacing density of water that never, 
 it seems, will it finish dropping, that the oozy soil 
 and the dripping house-tops, the trees that sweat 
 moisture through their soaked leaves, through their 
 branches and glittering trunks, will never become 
 dry again. From every direction the rain hems you 
 in, imposing immobility and silence upon the resigned 
 country, tranquil, invincible rain, whether it is 
 filtering through the tiles, slates, thatch, treacherously 
 to invade the habitation of men, whether it is falling 
 upon the luckless peasant who has his covered 
 cart on the shimmering road, or upon the impatient 
 keeper who intends to keep watch in spite of every- 
 thing under the scanty shelter of the woods. The 
 birds are silent, except a few stubborn hens, who 
 o 209
 
 210 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 insist upon marauding in the morass of the yards; 
 the farms are asleep crowded with smoking cattle. 
 However, gliding over the saturated earth the water 
 pours into the ditches, into the drains, into the 
 furrows; a thousand new currents twine and whisper, 
 whilst slowly, surely, the rivers swell, and the bushes 
 on the steep banks raise above the flood that has 
 become brutal their slanting tops, like the head 
 of a shipwrecked man, who struggles before being 
 engulfed. 
 
 On the day after the visit that the Haumont-Segres 
 had paid the Roparts, this Faroe Islands weather had 
 been overwhelming the country about Romorantin for 
 the last six days. The result was, for the inhabitants 
 of Val d'Anay, big and little, master and servants, a 
 state of nervous tension which, in its turn, made the 
 rain yet more intolerable. Everybody had but one 
 desire to escape from the house. It had rained in 
 this way ever since the departure of Rosalie, and no 
 one had failed to connect these two ill turns of destiny ; 
 Rosalie, summoned to her own country to her aunt, 
 her only relation, who w'as seriously ill and the 
 perpetual rain. Had Rosalie been at home they would 
 have been able to bear the rain. She used to exert 
 herself so, in a case like this, to invent round games; 
 her good humour used so to radiate through the house 
 that they would end by forgetting the lowering 
 sky, the sopping fields, the impossibility of walking. 
 When the impatience of everybody became unbear- 
 able, she knew how to inspire the Baron and his 
 children with determination to go out. Wrapped up 
 in mackintoshes, booted as if for shooting on a marsh, 
 they would go out altogether, defying the floods, 
 towards the town, where they would make a few
 
 THE BARON'S HORSE 211 
 
 purchases, after which they would return and reach 
 Val d'Anay soaked to the skin, but proud of the 
 performance and with their nerves relaxed. 
 
 This time, after six days of downpour endured 
 without Rosalie, the inhabitants of Val d'Anay felt 
 like biting. In vain the Abbe Vicart, a priest of the 
 diocese, who had been lately introduced into the 
 chateau as the tutor of Hector and Jean, an elderly, 
 shrewd man, but a jolly fellow for all that, who knew 
 how to make himself agreeable when occasion arose, 
 attempted to take the place of the absent Rosalie. 
 He lacked the rosy cheeks, the fair hair, the appetizing 
 figure, the eyes and the laugh of the young girl. 
 Hector and Jean became refractory under these velvet 
 reins ; Latin scarcely made any progress, nor did 
 mathematics, and the worthy ecclesiastic himself felt 
 his energy diluting in the all-pervading moisture. 
 Henriette, deprived of her governess, proclaimed her- 
 self on a holiday ; her mother, upon whose shoulders 
 the whole weight of the housekeeping now fell, 
 had hardly time to pay attention to her. The result 
 of this was endless battles between this torn-boy 
 and her two brothers. Each boy in turn would 
 unite with his sister to vanquish the other. Or, the 
 trio together, cloistered by the rain, would form an 
 alliance to undertake some disastrous expedition in 
 the house which invariably ended in the destruction 
 of a piece of furniture or in an accident to somebody. 
 It was the same even down to the twins, who, in their 
 double cradle, raised a tiny standard of rebellion. 
 They clamoured for Rosalie in all the proceedings of 
 their life, and as she could not be given to them, for 
 instead of Rosalie there was a maid to look after them, 
 Lucy, an ugly little daughter of Sologne, stupid and
 
 212 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 peevish, who, besides, always suffered from toothache 
 and wore a bandage under her chin day and night, 
 the most ordinary events, such as the morning bath 
 and the evening soup aroused dramas in which the 
 Baroness' Christian patience exhausted itself. 
 
 Still, the most unnerved of them all was un- 
 doubtedly the master of the house; he complained of 
 insomnia and pains in the stomach, thus accounting 
 for a pale face and an anxious expression that had 
 been noticed even before the rain, even before the 
 departure of Rosalie Boisset. His wife was uneasy 
 about him ; she found his moods less even, more 
 absent-minded. She was amazed at his taste for 
 solitude and meditation, which was such a contrast 
 to his usual sociability. But the increase of her 
 domestic duties after the governess' departure pre- 
 vented the Baroness from observing her husband 
 closely. The Abb Vicart, however, whose little black 
 eyes were ceaselessly alert beneath his tortoiseshell- 
 rimmed spectacles made in petto two observations : 
 first, that of them all, the Baron seemed the least 
 upset when the letter summoning Rosalie to Arlon 
 arrived at Val d'Anay : secondly, that, on the other 
 hand, his nervousness increased considerably after 
 Rosalie had left the house. It is true that the rain 
 coincided with this departure, and for a man whose 
 life consisted in galloping on his half-bred Ce"sar, in 
 hunting during the season, in shooting with ferrets, 
 in fishing in the pond, in playing tennis with the 
 children and a few neighbours, being shut up indoors 
 was a severe penance. But it was precisely this that 
 the Abb Vicart noticed Henri Ropart d'Anay did 
 not appear to suffer so terribly from this imprison- 
 ment. He was not to be seen, as usual in such a case,
 
 THE BARON'S HORSE 213 
 
 with his forehead glued to the window-panes, 
 scrutinizing the horizon and the clouds; he made no 
 more hurried escapes to the nearest farm. He was 
 inclined rather to be moody, lost in his own thoughts, 
 holding for hours together in his hand a paper which 
 he scarcely read or remaining lost in thought, without 
 moving a card, in front of a table at a game of 
 Patience, and only breaking from this depressed 
 silence to burst into a rage at the slightest pretext 
 against a servant, one of the children, or the Baroness. 
 His only distraction was going to the stables to see 
 Ce"sar, giving him sugar, and supervising his groom- 
 ing. At other times he would suddenly take Hector 
 or Jean by the shoulders, look at them for a long time 
 and say affectionate words to them ; or he would draw 
 Henriette to him and cover her with kisses. The 
 Abbe surprised him with his eyes fastened on the 
 Baroness, who was peacefully attending to her house- 
 hold duties, looking at her tenderly, his lips moving 
 without uttering a word, while, at moments, the 
 corners of his eyelids were moist with tears. 
 
 In this atrophy, the Haumont-SegreV visit had 
 been a short diversion ; the children, who had the run 
 of the pantry and the kitchen, amused themselves with 
 the preparations for a luncheon more elaborate than 
 usual. The Baron and the Baroness, having received 
 a discreet hint from Croze, anticipated a demand for 
 money. They had discussed this topic the evening be- 
 fore and again this very morning; the Baroness was 
 agreeably surprised to find her husband strongly re- 
 solved on a refusal. He pleaded the fresh expenses 
 necessitated by the boys' education, certain urgent 
 repairs in the agricultural buildings, the purchase of a 
 corn drill for rich pasture in time for the approaching
 
 2i4 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 season. In connection with these matters he showed 
 his wife a model budget, minutely checked, not 
 only for the current year, but for the two following 
 ones. The sources of income were marked down 
 opposite the column of expenditure and in this work 
 could be recognized the love of method and active 
 patience of Rosalie. "You see, my dear," said the 
 Baron, "even if I were suddenly taken (which God 
 forbid) you would have no material vexation to fear." 
 And he kissed the Baroness, who was herself moved. 
 The result of these resolves and of this conversation 
 was that the Haumont-Segres, after lunching at Val 
 d'Anay, had to return to Paris without bringing any- 
 thing with them beyond words of genuine sympathy. 
 But as soon as they had gone, the Baron, whose 
 excellent heart suffered for having refused help to his 
 unhappy friends, fell into his irritable, melancholy 
 mood, which was still further aggravated by disagree- 
 able news. The incessant rains had ended by doing 
 damage. A roof of the outbuildings had fallen in ; 
 the water was invading the laundry ; it was necessary 
 to move hurriedly the contents of the fruit-loft. The 
 Cher was overflowing ; the Farm of Bauges which the 
 Baron possessed in the neighbourhood of Selles, more 
 than twelve miles from Val d'Anay, had had to be 
 precipitately abandoned. The whole crop of hay on 
 both banks was lost. There were rumours of cattle 
 having been washed into the river; it was even 
 said that a small driver of turkey-cocks had lost his 
 life. 
 
 The following day at dawn it was still raining. 
 The Abb Vicart, persistently optimistic, assured 
 them, in spite of this fact, "that the barometer was 
 better " ; it was not rising : oh no, but as a matter of
 
 THE BARON'S HORSE 215 
 
 fact, when they shook it, the needle, after a few skips, 
 resumed its old point on the disc. The Baron, 
 plunged in a wordless anger, went as usual to super- 
 vise the grooming of Cesar, an operation which the 
 impatience of the beast, who had been too long shut 
 up, made rather uncomfortable. Then he retired into 
 a little room, full of guns, cartridges, agricultural 
 books and specimens of cereals, which he called his 
 study; there he remained until lunch. The post as 
 usual arrived while they were at table. It contained 
 besides the newspapers full of alarming news about 
 the rising of the Cher and the Loire a letter with a 
 foreign stamp, that was feverishly opened by the 
 Baroness, who cried out : " If only it tells us of her 
 return ! " Alas ! Rosalie was not announcing her 
 return. The aunt in Arlon was not any worse, but on 
 the other hand, she was not any better, and her illness 
 Rosalie sometimes said "her illness" and some- 
 times "her trouble," without being more precise 
 would perhaps necessitate the presence of her niece 
 for some time longer. Besides, the letter was brief, 
 and its reading which the Baroness accomplished 
 aloud to the whole table produced a vague discom- 
 fort, which no one had the courage to acknowledge. 
 One would have wished it more affectionate; each of 
 them would have liked to find a word for him or for 
 her. But, "I wish to be respectfully remembered to 
 everybody " that is what they had to share between 
 them. Hector, Jean and Henriette made a grimace. 
 The Baron gnawed his fair moustache. The Abbe 
 Vicart studied attentively the label of a bottle of 
 " Eau d'Evian," and seemed to be learning the words 
 on it by heart. The Baroness was thoughtful. 
 
 But scarcely were they in the drawing-room for
 
 216 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 coffee when their faces brightened. Suddenly, as 
 under the stroke of a fairy's wand, the sky paled at the 
 zenith and a feeble, trembling gleam of the sun came 
 to play upon the coffee-pot and the cups. It dis- 
 appeared almost immediately, but for all that, it had 
 been seen ; it had announced that the sun was not 
 dead. They began to hope again. The children 
 planned a walk as far as the Bonne-Heure, a neigh- 
 bouring stream, that the rains had transformed into a 
 large river. And the Baron said 
 
 " If there is only a break in the clouds, I shall take 
 advantage of it to give Cesar an airing ; unless he gets 
 one, he will smash his box." 
 
 The rain began again very soon in a furious down- 
 pour ; then it stopped altogether for ten minutes ; the 
 whole imprisoned household went out on the terrace 
 breathing in the damp air and examining the horizon. 
 It was generally agreed that the sky presented no 
 longer the same dreadful uniformity of dissolving 
 mists. On a clear grey background, the clouds, more 
 or less sombre, very jagged, their rags scattered on 
 their path, were chasing each other. A new shower 
 did not succeed in driving the chatelains of Val 
 d'Anay from the terrace. Besides, it lasted only a 
 short time, and when it was over the round whiteness 
 of the sun, masked by the mist as by a rough glass, 
 could be seen. The birds took courage to chirp 
 from tree to tree. Nature was dripping; and the 
 noises from all the hurrying waters, streams, hollow 
 roads, swollen rivers, united in a sustained, distant, 
 but almost terrifying roar. 
 
 Motionless in a corner of the terrace, the Baron 
 looked out and listened, while the children, grouped 
 around the Abbe, marvelled at the changed scenery of
 
 THE BARON'S HORSE 217 
 
 the country. The woods which formed the back- 
 ground of this scenery, which had scarcely been seen 
 during the last eight days, now reappeared so close 
 that one could see their broken branches. But now 
 they seemed to encircle a beautiful pond in which the 
 wrinkled sheaths of oaks and the silver sheaths of 
 birches were reflected. Jean, the youngest of the two 
 boys, who had the eyes and ears of a Mohican, 
 specified the limits of this huge liquid sheet "as far as 
 the big young elm of Fraginet ... to within twenty- 
 five yards, more or less, of the rye field . . ." He 
 also insisted that he could distinguish between the 
 different roars of the unleashed waters : "There is not 
 only the fall from the mill on the Bonne-Heure, I arn 
 sure. I hear something like another torrent, nearer 
 to Fraginet. . . . Perhaps beneath the sluice of the 
 pond." They listened to him, for he was seldom 
 wrong and never asserted anything beyond what his 
 over-sharpened senses revealed to him. 
 
 "Papa." 
 
 " My dear ? " 
 
 The Baron started as his left arm was seized by the 
 little Mohican. 
 
 "We can go out with M. l'Abb to see the rising of 
 the Bonne-Heure, can't we?" 
 
 "Certainly, certainly. For my part, I'm going to 
 take advantage of the clearing to take some of the rust 
 off Cesar's legs." 
 
 He picked up the tall, slender child his favourite 
 by the waist, raised him square in front of him, 
 looked at him with a tenderness by which the child 
 felt himself vaguely moved, kissed him, placed him 
 on the ground again, and returned abruptly to the 
 house. A servant was removing the coffee-cups.
 
 218 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 "Jules, do you know where Madame is? " the Baron 
 asked 
 
 "Madame has gone as far as the fruit-loft to look 
 at the damage." 
 
 He hesitated and then asked again 
 
 "Where are Violette and Marguerite?" 
 
 "They must be asleep upstairs. . . . Would M. le 
 Baron like me to ask Lucy ? " 
 
 "No, it's all right, go." 
 
 He waited an instant, motionless in the drawing- 
 room. Then, making up his mind, he traversed the 
 hall to the stable-yard. As the servants had not 
 finished lunch, he himself saddled Cesar, with the old 
 saddle for rainy days. In the saddle-room he found 
 his riding kit, which was always waiting for him 
 there, ready for expeditions undertaken on the spur of 
 the moment : the old boots, the old cape, a brown felt 
 hat very much worn. The stallion, maddened by the 
 hope of fresh air and a run, kicked like a catapult 
 against the side of the box. 
 
 "Steady, Ce"sar, steady," said the Baron, "we are 
 going." 
 
 Having ascertained by a glance that he was quite 
 alone, he made the sign of the Cross. His lips moved 
 while glancing towards the rough joists of the stable ; 
 his face lit up with an expression of deep supplication, 
 a sob without tears shook him. Cesar, however, 
 arched his powerful neck towards him and distended 
 his nostrils. He watched him with large glassy eyes, 
 and neighed softly. Ropart d'Anay made the sign 
 of the Cross again, put his hat on, and traced on the 
 high wall with his thumb and index finger joined 
 together an invisible cross. Then he unfastened the 
 stallion, who followed him on a bridle, snorting. A
 
 THE BARON'S HORSE 219 
 
 few seconds later, the children and the Abbe, who had 
 not left the terrace, perceived the horse and rider 
 going at a hand-gallop along the private road, which, 
 nearly two miles further on, rejoins the Romorantin 
 road at Croix-sur-Cher. Hector, Henriette and Jean 
 uttered cries of joy and waved their handkerchiefs. 
 But doubtless the Baron did not hear them for he did 
 not turn round. For a long time, the moving speck 
 was followed by their eyes until the corner of the wood 
 hid it. Jean, the little Mohican, continued to listen. 
 He said at last 
 
 "Papa has turned down the side of Croix-sur- 
 Cher." 
 
 The Abbe", Henriette and Hector, endeavoured to 
 verify Jean's assertion. But they could hear only the 
 loud noise of the waters descending, as it seemed, from 
 the whole horizon and, nearer, the clamourings of 
 chaffinches and sparrows revived by hope of sunlight. 
 Eager themselves to have some fun, the children 
 dragged off their teacher who pleaded that it was the 
 ordinary time for lessons as far as the Baroness had 
 gone. A special holiday was demanded and granted 
 for that afternoon so that they might go and "see the 
 flood of the Bonne-Heure." And soon there remained 
 in the chateau with the servants only the energetic 
 manageress of the house, who inspected carefully her 
 home, examining and noting one by one as Rosalie 
 had got into the way of doing after every storm or 
 any long downpour those crimes of the water, almost 
 unfelt in towns, but so formidable for the lonely 
 house that presents, without any protection at all, all 
 its facades and roofs to these inclemencies. 
 
 The sky towards six o'clock had almost entirely 
 cleared up, and only a motionless line of clear grey
 
 220 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 clouds still hung in the south-east, gradually receding 
 like an army corps in retreat, when the Abb6 Vicart 
 and the three children returned to the chateau. They 
 were surprised to see on the edge of the private road, 
 in front of the park entrance, Madame Ropart d'Anay 
 who was watching them. Henriette ran up to 
 her. 
 
 "You haven't met Papa?" the Baroness asked. 
 
 "No, mother, hasn't he got back?" 
 
 The Baroness shook her head. The Abb and the 
 two boys joined them. Questions were exchanged. 
 They were surprised. He had left at half-past two 
 and had not returned at six. Where could the Baron 
 have gone ? 
 
 "In any case there is no need for uneasiness," the 
 Abb Vicart observed. "Since I have been at Val 
 d'Anay, some of M. le Baron's rides have kept him 
 away still longer." 
 
 "When he went to Preuilly, to see our cousin de 
 Bourquoy," said Hector. 
 
 "And when he went to consult the doctor at Orleans 
 about Zalie." 
 
 "Yes," said the Baroness, making her way slowly 
 and, as it were, unwillingly to the chateau under the 
 escort of the tutor and her children. "Only on those 
 occasions he went to a particular place where he was 
 going to dismount, rest himself and allow his horse to 
 rest. And then we were informed about it. ... To- 
 day, he has gone off without even a word of warning, 
 as if he were not leaving the demesne . . ." 
 
 "He said that he only wished to give Cesar an 
 airing," said the little Mohican. 
 
 And suddenly he became silent. He remembered 
 how his father had looked at him tenderly and then
 
 THE BARON'S HORSE 221 
 
 pressed him against his heart before leaving. He 
 wished to tell that, but he did not know how to tell it. 
 A vague and yet powerful thought which was inside 
 him found no expression. 
 
 They re-entered the house. Madame Ropart 
 d'Anay said to the Abbe 
 
 " Henri was upset yesterday evening when the news 
 from Baugis arrived here, but I can't believe that he 
 has given Csar a run of nearly twenty-five miles, 
 which would take six hours at least . . . and without 
 telling us ! " 
 
 "M. le Baron has perhaps only pushed on as far as 
 Cher to find out about the flood, and get news about 
 the surrounding country, without, however, going as 
 far as Baugis. Jean asserts that the horse turned 
 down beside Croix. Isn't that so, Jean?" 
 
 "Yes," said the child, with a start; he was still 
 absorbed in the warm memory that was a little painful, 
 of that paternal embrace. 
 
 "Croix is only about five miles from here; M. le 
 Baron might have dismounted at my colleague's, 
 the Abbe" Poitou's, or at Madame de Lugrege^s." 
 
 "It is possible, after all," said the Baroness. "But 
 how late it is. Fortunately, there are still two hours 
 of daylight left." 
 
 The children went upstairs to their rooms to take 
 off their muddy clothes and dress for dinner, which 
 was served at half-past seven. Before dinner the 
 Abbe was accustomed to bring them together in the 
 schoolroom and, without their having to touch a pen 
 or running the risk of dirtying their fingers, he would 
 give them a little address, on the Christian life, that 
 he knew how to peg very adroitly on to the trivial 
 events of the day. This evening, seeing them im-
 
 222 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 patient, startled by the slightest sound for at five 
 minutes past seven the Baron had not yet returned 
 he meditated a little longer than usual before begin- 
 ing to speak. And his young audience itself was 
 struck with the grave tone in which he spoke. 
 
 "My children," he said, "we are all a little anxious 
 at this moment. The head of the family is away and 
 he gave no warning that his absence would be pro- 
 longed in this manner. All our thoughts, then, 
 converge towards him ; we would like to compel time 
 to run more quickly, so as to be already at the minute 
 when your father would embrace you. Well, I want 
 to tell you what act of energy God exacts in such a 
 case from good little Christians like yourselves. It is 
 precisely to fight this feverish anxiety by a prelimin- 
 ary act of submission to His will, and not the sub- 
 mission merely of the lips ! How many people repeat 
 daily the words of the Pater: ' Thy will be done,' at 
 the very moment when they are endeavouring to 
 deflect the Divine will so as to make it conform to 
 theirs ! God asks from you in hours of distress like 
 these, the acceptance in advance of what His sovereign 
 decisions have decreed. Perform this act of sub- 
 mission. Perform it with your whole heart. Say : 
 ' O God, I trust Papa to You ; You know how neces- 
 sary he is to us, and how we love him ; may Your 
 bounty give us strength to submit to Your purpose.' ' 
 At this moment Jean rose from his chair and cried 
 out with his face distorted 
 
 "But Papa isn't dead, is he M. 1'Abbe?" 
 The Abb replied without hesitation 
 " I am convinced that your father is alive and in 
 good health." 
 
 He placed such an accent of assurance on these
 
 THE BARON'S HORSE 223 
 
 words, that the three children felt themselves com- 
 forted and asked him no more questions. 
 
 In the meantime, the first stroke of the bell an- 
 nouncing the evening meal had sounded. Half-an- 
 hour went by; the whole family was re-united in the 
 drawing-room. The Baroness who, up till now, had 
 maintained her attitude of calm, began to weaken. 
 The day was growing to a close and taking away with 
 it that imperious energy of resistance and hope that 
 light infuses into human beings. With the 
 advancing night the atmosphere of catastrophe 
 entered the house. The usual order of things was 
 turned upside down ; and, as on a wrecked ship, social 
 distances were broken down. The servants were seen 
 entering the drawing-room one after the other, 
 summoned to give ^thei'r opinion and reveal any 
 information that they might have been keeping back. 
 Had the Baron confided to any one of them his 
 intention of taking a long ride, of going, for example, 
 to Baugis, to find out the effects of the flood? Had 
 any one seen him from the moment he had left the 
 private road ? The butler, the little valet, who acted 
 also as groom and stable-boy, the cook, the gardener, 
 Lucy, still with the handkerchief round her chin, soon 
 formed in the midst of the huge drawing-room with 
 its white wainscoting, hung with pictures of ancestors, 
 a clamorous and unchecked group, in which rose 
 discussions and contradictions and in which the lan- 
 guage of the pantry and the stables had full play. 
 The Baroness no longer governed them, and the Abbe, 
 taking care not to impose silence, appeared by his 
 attention and also by his questions to encourage them 
 to speak. As for the children who had been abso- 
 lutely reassured by their tutor's words: "Your father
 
 224 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 is alive and in good health " all this noise and 
 upheaval of the accustomed decorum began to 
 amuse them. A pleasant word from the gardener, a 
 pompous reply from the butler, provoked stifled 
 laughter from them. For the rest, the collection of 
 useful information seemed meagre. The Baron had 
 not announced his intention of taking a long ride to 
 any of the servants. The little groom, however, had 
 observed, he stated, that "M. le Baron had been more 
 than usually taken up with Ce"sar this week." But 
 would not the inaction, necessitated by the rain, 
 explain more frequent visits to the stables ? The 
 butler narrated that before leaving the house M. le 
 Baron had asked : "Where was Madame la Baronne, 
 and where were Miles. Marguerite and Violette?" 
 The keeper, who came last, with his long boots, his 
 gun slung across his shoulder, exhaling an odour 
 of the moist forest and of sweating dogs, had, indeed, 
 seen M. le Baron on the Croix road, but only for a 
 second : "M. le Baron had settled down to a trot as if 
 for a good distance." Such was the keeper's con- 
 tribution. In addition, replying to a question of 
 the Abbe, he declared that "he had observed 
 one thing . . . that M. le Baron had not given him, 
 during the last eight days, the usual orders to see 
 the ferrets . . . doubtless it was on account of this 
 cursed rain." 
 
 At this moment, Jean Ropart d'Anay recollected 
 for the third time the look and embrace of his father 
 on the terrace ; and more than the two other times he 
 was conscious that this look and this embrace were 
 extraordinary incidents and that there was a connec- 
 tion between them and the prolonged absence of the 
 Baron. He was again on the point of saying : "Papa
 
 THE BARON'S HORSE 225 
 
 looked at me and kissed me in a different way from 
 usual a little while ago." But this time again he said 
 nothing. He would have spoken before his brother 
 and sister, before the servants, before the Abbe", but 
 without being able to explain to himself why, his 
 mother's presence embarrassed him. 
 
 "I'll tell it to-night to M. 1'Abbe," he resolved. 
 And all at once his thoughts flew elsewhere. Stand- 
 ing up before the half-open window, he listened to 
 the sounds in the distance, and said to himself : 
 "There is a slow train from Romorantin, passing over 
 the viaduct." 
 
 The congress of servants was turning into caco- 
 phony and even into wrangling; they were dismissed 
 from the room. The keeper and the groom were 
 dispatched on bicycles each in one of the directions 
 that led to the private road. It was well past eight 
 o'clock. The children had dinner with the Abbe; all 
 four ate with good appetites. The Baroness had 
 remained in the drawing-room refusing to sit down 
 to dinner. Between two courses the Abb, carefully 
 swallowing the last mouthful and wiping his lips 
 meticulously, went to exhort and console her. He 
 found her on the look-out, her hands feverish and her 
 eyes red. She kept on repeating obstinately: "Why 
 was I not called when he asked for me ? Why was I 
 not called ? " 
 
 The Abb persisted in his firm hope that the Baron 
 was not kept away by any accident in which his life 
 or his health was endangered. But the Baroness, 
 struck in her turn, as her daughter and sons had been, 
 by his tone of assurance, having asked him : "Well, 
 M. 1'Abbe", do you then know something more than 
 I do?" He immediately beat a retreat, protesting
 
 226 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 that he expressed only an idea, and that he interpreted 
 a personal conviction. 
 
 The children usually went to bed at nine o'clock, 
 but on this night of anxiety neither the Abb6 nor the 
 Baroness could insist on the application of the rule. 
 Henriette, Hector and Jean were already too old, all 
 three of them, not to be associated in the general 
 uneasiness. There was no more question of going to 
 bed. The Baroness alone went upstairs as usual to 
 inspect the twins' bedroom. Deprived of Rosalie, 
 the twins slept less soundly and more nervously 
 than usual, and on this night in particular, their 
 instinct of young animals scented the unusual in 
 the house, and at nine o'clock they still opened 
 their four blue eyes to the deep despair of Lucy. 
 Calming them and sending them to sleep, diverted 
 their mother for some time from her distress. In the 
 meantime, the Abbe and the children had left the 
 drawing-room, had gone down to the park, and then 
 to the private road. Does it not seem to those who 
 wait that by going to meet the absent one they will 
 not only meet him sooner, but will also exercise a 
 mysterious attraction on him so that he will know 
 better how to take his bearings and quicken his steps ? 
 The night was clear although moonless. The west 
 was still purpling with vague twilight reflections. 
 The sky, pale and absolutely pure, was becoming 
 slowly studded with stars. Nearly level with the 
 ground, chiefly over the lawns, a light layer of mist 
 was trailing. The unleashed torrents still roared in 
 the distance with a tumult accentuated by the silence 
 of night : nearer, in the ditches of the private road, 
 along which the Abb6 and the three children were 
 walking, the water ran, on the contrary, with a quick
 
 THE BARON'S HORSE 227 
 
 and murmuring noise as of a mountain stream. . . . 
 They walked on quite easily at first, listening for 
 sounds, scrutinizing the horizon, then unconsciously 
 they increased their pace. They were in a hurry to 
 reach the point where the private road and the 
 departmental road crossed each other. 
 
 They had been walking for less than five minutes 
 when Jean stopped, and said 
 
 "There is Papa." 
 
 His three companions listened. 
 
 "I hear nothing," said the Abbe. 
 
 "There's Papa," repeated Jean. "Cesar is coming 
 back by the Croix road. . . . Oh, he's in a 
 hurry . . ." 
 
 Like a true little Mohican, he threw himself on the 
 ground and glued his ear to the roadway. Then 
 getting on his feet again 
 
 "Yes, it's Cesar all right. . . . He's galloping, 
 galloping ! Papa must be riding him hard. Only 
 there's another noise, too, an odd noise, a noise as of 
 iron, as though an officer were galloping with his 
 sabre." 
 
 "Ah, I hear it, too," said the Abbe. 
 
 Soon the sound of the horse's gallop became percep- 
 tible to ordinary ears. The three children huddled 
 themselves together against the Abbess soutane; they 
 did not express, nor did the Abbe himself, the uneasi- 
 ness that was beginning to grip them. This gallop, 
 the noise of which increased, was too dizzy, a gallop of 
 flight or pursuit ; the haste of return was not enough 
 to explain it. Thus, in the night, in which an in- 
 definable brightness persisted, the little human group, 
 motionless on the road, waited so packed together that 
 they could hear each other's heart-beats. A sudden
 
 228 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 increase in the noise of galloping came to them ; it 
 was the horse \vho was turning at the signpost of the 
 private road. Their eyes strained on the shadow, 
 trying to see in spite of everything. . . . Hallucina- 
 tion or reality, here was the moving black thing, 
 which detached itself from the unchangeable black- 
 ness that loomed, like a visible hole. . . . The four 
 watchers ranged themselves instinctively on the lower 
 side of the path. Their sight and hearing alike wished 
 to take shelter, to avoid hearing, to avoid seeing, and 
 yet the effort of the senses became concentrated and 
 intensified. A figure of a maddened horse, a horse of 
 the Apocalypse, the colour of mud and night, about 
 whose flanks hung tattered things, and whose hori- 
 zontal head, distended nostrils, ears lying flat back 
 and eyes of fire, they will always remember a 
 terrible figure had sprung out of the darkness, much 
 more suddenly than they expected. The wind, stirred 
 by his passing, had brushed their cheeks, and then the 
 figure again disappeared into the night so that they 
 could not explain how it came upon them so quickly. 
 
 "What is it ? " said the Abbe, in a troubled voice. 
 
 "It is Cesar," replied Jean, who had seen. "But 
 Papa is not on his back ; the stirrups are dan- 
 gling . . ." 
 
 And bravely he started towards the chateau in pur- 
 suit of the phantom. The others followed one by one. 
 Hector, who did not run so fast as his younger 
 brother, then Henriette, then the Abbe, soon left 
 behind, soon at the end of his breath, soon reduced to 
 slacken his speed in order to regain it. He muttered 
 in an undertone as when reading his breviary 
 
 "My faith ! I understand it no longer at all." 
 
 He stopped again.
 
 THE BARON'S HORSE 229 
 
 "Unless . . ." 
 
 And this time his curiosity to verify the new hypo- 
 thesis spurred him so well that he started again for the 
 chateau almost at an athlete's pace. In the yard of 
 the outbuildings, by the light of stable lanterns and 
 bicycle lamps, the servants had assembled round 
 Cesar, panting, trembling in all his long, thin limbs, 
 his eyes now almost lifeless, foam on his teeth, pieces 
 of reed and twigs caught in the saddle and about the 
 stirrups, the snaffle broken, and his coat so terribly 
 soiled with dry mire, that he had the appearance of a 
 statue of mud. Around him gathered the whispering 
 clamour of frightened folk: "Fallen into the river 
 . . . the flood. . . . Perhaps M. le Baron has been 
 saved." Henriette, Hector and Jean ran to the Abbe, 
 and cried out through their sobs : "Papa, M. 1'Abbe, 
 Papa has been thrown ! Where is Papa now ? " 
 And now the groom returns on his bicycle, he has 
 been passed by Cesar at the top of the Fraginet hill ; 
 he turned back at once, but Ce"sar was going so fast ! 
 "Oh! M. 1'Abbe, you said Papa was well," Hector 
 sobs in a tone of reproach. The Abbe soothes him 
 with a gesture and approaches the horse, so exhausted 
 now, that one expects every instant to see him collapse 
 on the ground. The Abbe" alone seems to have pre- 
 served all his coolness ; he observes that the belly- 
 band holds by one single buckle ; he discovers that 
 the buekles of the other two girths are intact as also 
 are the girths themselves. Hence, they have not 
 given way in some sudden accident, but have been 
 unfastened by hand, and the third buckle by chance 
 has proved strong enough not to break all through 
 that frenzied gallop. The Abbe" says to the children : 
 "Nothing proves that your father was in the saddle
 
 2 3 o GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 when Cesar fell into the water or when he bolted. 
 Look : one would say that Ce*sar bolted while he was 
 being unsaddled. But we must go and see your 
 Mamma." 
 
 He arrived at the drawing-room. The Baroness, 
 exhausted by fatigue, worn out by waiting, had fallen 
 asleep in an arm-chair. She had heard nothing, either 
 of Cesar's return or of the reports from the yard. She 
 woke up with a start at the Abbess step, and faltered 
 out 
 
 "Henri, Henri?" 
 
 "Madame," said the Abbe, "we know nothing 
 definite, but in any case you will have need of your 
 Christian fortitude."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 A FAMILY COUNCIL 
 
 IN the Corbelliers' flat, where there were extravagant 
 specimens ranging from the Louis XVI mode to that 
 of Belgian art of the genre furniture which is the 
 rage in Paris during this phase of the twentieth 
 century, one solitary room had escaped the fashion : 
 the study of the master of the house. Like almost all 
 timid, enslaved people, Maurice Corbellier clung 
 doggedly to a certain number of obscure aims and 
 pitiable self-assertions. Just as conquered people hide 
 their patriotism under the colour of a ribbon or the 
 air of a refrain, Maurice Corbellier, heir to the 
 Auguste Corbellier porcelain works, retained in his 
 heart the cult for his father, the inventor and founder 
 of the house. So, in spite of Emmeline's quarrels and 
 Jacques' gibes, the son's study in the Rue Montaigne 
 reproduced exactly, framing as it did the same fur- 
 niture, the decorative effect that Auguste Corbellier, 
 in the time of Fortune's first smiles, had established 
 towards 1885 in the Avenue d'Aubervilliers. It was 
 not the most brilliant epoch of French taste. Emme- 
 line and Jacques might well ridicule the cornices, the 
 doors, the panelling painted black, set with red 
 streaks, the whole furniture the writing-table, the 
 set of pigeon-holes, the chairs made out of pear-wood 
 that was no less black, the seats covered with granite- 
 red; on the walls a paper imitating as closely as 
 
 231
 
 232 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 possible the same red granite; on the mantelpiece a 
 clock and candlesticks of black marble decorated with 
 bronze. The clock represented an Ariadne, freely 
 imitated from that of Danneker, seated on a peaceful 
 tiger. The dial was black, while the figures and 
 hands were gilt ; the candlesticks held no candles, but 
 quite motionless flames of gilt bronze ; between their 
 branches two peacock's feathers shot up one for each 
 candlestick the same as those with which Maurice as 
 a child used sometimes to ask his father's permission 
 to play. Yes, this room bore the date of that curious 
 epidemic of the sombre when Parisians introduced 
 the hanging of black silk curtains over their windows; 
 it was mournful and faded. All the same, after 
 having passed through all the rooms furnished in 
 Emmeline's taste with fustian of the pseudo-antique 
 and of modern eccentricity, one experienced, on enter- 
 ing Maurice Corbellier's study, that sensation of relief 
 that the meeting of an honest provincial lawyer gives 
 one among equivocal foreigners and bogus artists. 
 And, to tell the truth, it was the only room in the 
 house that possessed style in the absolute sense of that 
 word ; that is to say, harmony and character. 
 
 This morning Maurice Corbellier, in blue pyjamas 
 and with his scanty hair in confusion, was seated in 
 his curule arm-chair of black pear-wood before his 
 writing-table of black pear-wood draped with a red 
 table-cloth. The table was covered with a number 
 of scattered newspapers. Corbellier took them up and 
 threw them aside, one after the other, with movements 
 of feverish impatience, clackings of his tongue against 
 his palate, and glances towards the black door with 
 its red streaks that opened into the rest of the flat. 
 He muttered
 
 A FAMILY COUNCIL 233 
 
 "Half-past ten; she ought to be ready. Or, at 
 least, she should allow me to go and see her. . . . And 
 Croze is coming ! It was, indeed, a pity to trouble 
 him ! " 
 
 The black door opened : it was not Emmeline who 
 entered the room ; Emmeline, for whom her husband 
 had been waiting for the last three-quarters of an hour. 
 It was not Emmeline. But none the less Corbellier's 
 face brightened. Loute, dressed for going to her 
 class ; Loute in a royal-blue frock and a fresh blouse, 
 her fair hair nicely drawn back; Loute, with the 
 savour of her bath and clean linen about her, came 
 to kiss her father. 
 
 "My little girl, my little girl." 
 
 He took her on his knees, and their two unpleasing 
 faces, which were so like each other (the same bran- 
 like complexion, the same features, awkwardly traced 
 as though they had been left unfinished, the same 
 pale pigment in hair and eyes), their two faces brushed 
 against each other tenderly and happily. Maurice 
 kept saying: "My little girl, my little girl," and 
 Loute purred: "Papa, my dear papa." This daily 
 effusion having calmed down, the little girl noticed 
 the unusual quantity of newspapers. 
 
 "What's happening? Is there war?" 
 
 And immediately she read in bold headlines : " The 
 Mystery of Val d'Anay." 
 
 "Val d'Anay," she asked, "that's Henriette 
 Ropart's ? " 
 
 "Yes. It's a terrible thing, my little Loute. Your 
 friend's father met with an accident on horseback, the 
 day before yesterday, beside the Cher, which has 
 overflown its banks through the recent rains. He 
 fell into the river. His hat has been found, also a .
 
 234 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 handkerchief and a jacket that have been thrown up 
 from the water. And the horse returned all alone to 
 Val d'Anay." 
 
 Loute had listened, her fingers playing with the 
 facings of the blue pyjamas. She fixed her eyes on 
 those of her father and said sedately 
 
 "But, since all that is known, why do they call it 
 the mystery of Val d'Anay ? " 
 
 Maurice gave a little cough. 
 
 "Because the Baron's body has not been found, and 
 because no one, in fact, witnessed the accident. Then 
 there are conjectures; you understand?" 
 
 "Yes," said Loute, whose imagination was romantic. 
 "Perhaps he will return in in a great many years, 
 with his hair quite white and with a lot of ... 
 mon . . ." 
 
 The black door opened again : Emmeline Corbellier 
 appeared, in a morning deshabille that was perfectly 
 elegant. But these adornments scarcely concealed, any 
 more than did the two hours of attention given to 
 her toilette, the ravages of anxiety and insomnia. 
 Her face evoked the unpleasant idea of something 
 boiled and afterwards rubbed with white fat. In 
 vain Loute jumped to the floor. She did not avoid 
 a reprimand. 
 
 "Loute, I have already forbidden you to sprawl on 
 your father's knees. At your age it is grotesque; it 
 is unbecoming." 
 
 "She wasn't on my knees," said Maurice, lying 
 shamelessly. "She came in to kiss me before starting 
 for her class. Run along, my dear. . . . But you, 
 Emmeline, how do you feel this morning ? " 
 
 While Loute was making her escape, exchanging 
 with her father a glance of affectionate complicity,
 
 A FAMILY COUNCIL 235 
 
 Emmeline seated herself in the arm-chair next the 
 black table. 
 
 "I," she said, "I haven't been able to close an eye. 
 Just look at me ! " And coming at once to the point 
 that caused her anxiety: "Croze has still not 
 answered ? " 
 
 Corbellier nodded in the affirmative, and imme- 
 diately Emmeline brightened up. 
 
 " You ought to have told me ! I was so uneasy 
 after that useless telephoning yesterday; that absence 
 that one could make nothing out of . . ." 
 
 "My dear," Corbellier excused himself, "I've been 
 waiting for you more than an hour." 
 
 "Then he is coming?" 
 
 " He ought to be here now. I got on to him by 
 telephone before eight o'clock, while he was still in 
 bed. I told him all about the trouble that Jacques is 
 giving us. He does not change his mind. He says 
 that we should cover ourselves with ridicule if we 
 permitted this marriage . . ." 
 
 "My word!" 
 
 "And that he will undertake to have the Italian 
 expelled if she persists." 
 
 "You see, there's no one like him for putting things 
 straight," cried Emmeline enthusiastically. "Ah, 
 there's a friend, if you like ! But why was he away 
 and nowhere to be found yesterday ? " 
 
 "My dear, that's a regular drama! Croze was 
 called down to Val d'Anay by telegram, because his 
 brother-in-law has disappeared." 
 
 "Baron Ropart?" 
 
 "Yes; the papers are full of nothing else. Look, 
 the Matin . . . the Journal. The day before yester- 
 day the Baron left his place on horseback to visit a
 
 236 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 property of his beside the Cher. In the evening the 
 horse returned alone, covered with mud, the stirrups 
 flapping." 
 
 "Then Henri was drowned?" 
 
 Corbellier made an evasive gesture. 
 
 "They believe that at Val d'Anay, or at least they 
 say it. But, according to the newspapers, the police 
 have another idea." 
 
 "A trick?" 
 
 "Yes, a trick, with the appearance of an accident." 
 
 Emmeline shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "That's idiotic. Henri adored his wife. He was a 
 model husband and father." 
 
 "Monsieur," said the valet from the funereal door, 
 "M. Croze is here." 
 
 Emmeline rose, her face suddenly so transfused with 
 blood, her eyes so reanimated by nervousness that 
 she was young at the moment when her smile of the 
 inalienable lover welcomed the Under-Secretary for 
 War. She had passed a night of nightmares, dis- 
 tracted by having missed her appointment with him 
 the evening before, without a word on his part to 
 warn her before the time or to reassure her after it. 
 But in seeing Croze again, just the same as ever, 
 smiling, perspiring, dressed to kill, his hand out- 
 stretched, she drank in new life. 
 
 "Beautiful Madame, my respects. Good-morning, 
 good old Corbellier. You rascal ! the very latest in 
 pyjamas. . . . What extravagance ! But it's quite 
 right. You have those who enjoy it ! Fancy ringing 
 me up at seven o'clock in the morning ! I thought 
 the Germans were entering LuneVille." 
 
 He sat down, swelling like a drum, his limbs spread 
 out; he caressed Emmeline with a glance that seemed
 
 A FAMILY COUNCIL 237 
 
 to say to her: "Be calm . . . nothing has changed." 
 Then 
 
 "So, my children, you've got some worries. As 
 for me, you know what's happening to me ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Emmeline; "we read about it ... and 
 we're doubly grateful to you for putting yourself out 
 on our account in spite of it. Your poor sister-in-law 
 must be in a terrible state ! " 
 
 "Ah, well, dear friend, my sister-in-law is really 
 very self-possessed. They may talk as they like. . . . 
 Religion, when it's genuine, that's a support to one. 
 She is convinced that her husband is dead drowned 
 or assassinated. She rejects with a kind of irritation 
 any hopes that one tries to suggest to her. She says : 
 ' If Henri were alive, he would have found, during 
 the last forty-eight hours, means of comforting his 
 wife and children.' She has had the whole house 
 dressed in black, and she herself wears mourning; 
 they're having a Mass for the dead this morning at 
 Val d'Anay. And in spite of that she remains firm 
 as a rock, taking the place of the husband who has 
 disappeared and seeing to everything. Religious 
 faith, and then, perhaps also, breed, there's good in 
 all that. . . ." 
 
 Since he had been Under-Secretary for War Croze 
 had sensiblv diluted the Radical tone of his convic- 
 
 *> 
 
 tions. Certain journals of the Left accused him of even 
 favouring openly officers belonging to the Opposition. 
 
 "Do you really believe in the drowning?" ques- 
 tioned Corbellier. 
 
 Croze assumed the air of an augur 
 
 "It's a mystery ! " 
 
 Emmeline, who always defended, even blindly, 
 conjugal virtue, renewed her protest
 
 238 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 "Never, never shall I admit that a man like Baron 
 Ropart ... an intelligent man . . . who adored his 
 wife. ... If the newspapers insinuate that they 
 ought to be suspended and compelled to pay damages, 
 the . . ." 
 
 "Be careful, pretty Madame; don't get too excited 
 over my brother-in-law. In the first place, between 
 ourselves, he had not invented panclastite, the good 
 Henri. Oh, a heart of crystal, but not a strong man. 
 . . . The story of the horse, the handkerchief, the hat 
 and the jacket prove that all right." 
 
 Confidentially, drawing a little nearer to his 
 listeners, Croze whispered 
 
 "Look here, my children, it doesn't hang together, 
 all that ! At the first word I said of it here to the 
 Prefect of police, he pulled me up with : ' Your 
 brother-in-law is at this moment with a woman. . . . 
 Look for the woman.' That's what Lehoux said to 
 me, and that's a fact." 
 
 "But what woman?" murmured Corbellier. 
 
 "Think hard. . . ." 
 
 He laughed, the good fellow, already forgetful of 
 the tragic side of the adventure the sham widow, the 
 sham orphans, and the scandal in a family so close to 
 his own. 
 
 "They used to see at Val d'Anay a Vicomtesse 
 Brozier, or Broziat, who was rather giddy," Emmeline 
 hazarded, with some severity. 
 
 "No, no; much nearer him than that. . . ." 
 
 "The governess ? " 
 
 "You've hit it, Madame. Rosalie Boisset left Val 
 d'Anay eight days ago under the pretence of going 
 to take care of an aunt in the suburbs of Arlon. I 
 telegraphed last night to the Prefect of the Meuse.
 
 A FAMILY COUNCIL 239 
 
 The Arlon aunt has no existence. ... That imbecile 
 of a Henri, to play a trick like that, when all he had 
 to do was to settle his little friend comfortably at 
 Asnieres ! " 
 
 The Corbelliers remained stupefied for an instant. 
 Croze continued, with his eyes fastened on the gold 
 hands of the black dial 
 
 "In twenty-four hours it will all be as clear as the 
 sun; and that's precisely what bothers me, for you 
 may be sure that my name will figure in all the news- 
 papers in reference to this brigand -yarn I, who have 
 nothing at all to do with it, and whose wife has only 
 committed the mistake of having been born a de 
 Sauzon, like Baroness Ropart." 
 
 From the tone in which he said this, it could be 
 clearly divined that he was not so very distressed that 
 this alliance should be divulged. 
 
 "But it isn't to talk about that idiot of a Henri that 
 I have come to see you, eh ? " he went on. " It appears 
 that you, too, my children, have your incarnate 
 governess ? Only here it is not on the master that 
 she has fixed her choice. Would you have preferred 
 that, my friend ? Maurice bolting abroad with the 
 superb Sandra ? " 
 
 Familiarly, laughing all the time, he gave a little 
 tap to the beautiful bare arm of Emmeline. Corbellier 
 had blushed like a boy at the suggestion that he might 
 have been able to attract the Italian. 
 
 "You are wrong to joke," he stammered; "it's very 
 serious. Jacques told his mother, yesterday morning, 
 that he had quite made up his mind to marry Sandra 
 as soon as he is of age." 
 
 "When will he be of age?" 
 
 "In five months; that is to say, next December."
 
 2 4 o GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 "Good ! " said the Deputy. "We have time to turn 
 round. Is she his mistress?" 
 
 Maurice blushed again, but made no reply. Emme- 
 line murmured 
 
 "They meet outside the house." 
 
 " In that case ? Come now ? " 
 
 "Oh, well, it isn't certain; Jacques is so respectful 
 with women." 
 
 "Yes, yes; he was even too much so at one period. 
 It did him harm in society." 
 
 "That is the reason," Emmeline went on, "that I 
 was not displeased to see his taste for this Sandra. 
 I was convinced that he ran no risk; you can't imagine 
 how much this boy that they called an enemy of 
 women had already lived in feminine intimacies. 
 Madame d'Albany, the Princess of Pamiers and ever 
 so many others would receive him at any hour in their 
 bedrooms, in their dressing-rooms, almost in their 
 baths. . . . One thing only ought to have put me 
 on my guard ... a new thing . . ." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 Emmeline replied, not without embarrassment 
 
 "He had given up seeing his friends Count 
 d 1 . \mbline, young Carl Vorberg . . ." 
 
 "Oh," said Croze, "the whole gang." 
 
 They were silent, uneasy, in spite of the slackness 
 of their moral principles, about the suspected ground 
 upon which they were obliged to touch. No one of 
 the three, however, dared to say yet what was at the 
 bottom of their thoughts : " What a pity that he gave 
 up seeing the gang ! " Yes, that was their unanimous 
 opinion, and they knew well that it was unanimous. 
 They were merely looking for a way of communicat- 
 ing it to each other. But a vague modesty still
 
 A FAMILY COUNCIL 241 
 
 restrained them, for no one of the three was thoroughly 
 corrupted. Corbellier even practised a certain resigned 
 stoicism that one might have been able to admire if 
 timidity, the horror of making a decision, had not 
 been its real origin. In fine, all three agreed in that 
 modern bourgeois morality which has for its axis the 
 importance of money, and which consists in respecting 
 the money of another, while defending greedily one's 
 own. The husband and wife, who had become almost 
 strangers to each other in their married life, were 
 sincerely at one in their desire to avert this scandal : 
 a poor foreigner allying herself with their son. And 
 on this point their understanding was so perfect that 
 they had together called in the powerful friend who 
 was full of the same ideas. 
 
 No one of the three knew how to arrive at the 
 formula that one could put into words for regretting 
 the overthrow of the "gang." Emmeline dared to 
 say 
 
 "D'Ambline, however, assures me that Jacques is 
 still very amiable with them when he meets them in 
 society. Only Sandra won't allow him to receive 
 them in the house or to visit them. What an influence 
 she must have gained over him ! D'Ambline and 
 Jacques used to be inseparable ! " 
 
 The family council was silent for a moment. Then 
 Croze, with the air of an advocate who clears up a 
 matter, declared, while the other two listened to him 
 attentively 
 
 "My opinion is that it is not too late to act, to put 
 on the brake. Jacques will not be twenty-one until 
 the end of the year. Besides, from what I know of 
 him, he isn't a boy likely to burn his boats and defy 
 the law of the land and the authority of his parents." 
 Q
 
 242 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 "Oh, that," said Emmeline, "surely not. He told 
 me only yesterday that he wouldn't do that." 
 
 "Good! Then the girl is probably much too 
 diplomatic, much too much a person of combinazione, 
 to oppose French law and risk being politely con- 
 ducted to the frontier. The two young turtledoves 
 are, then, at the stage of promises of fidelity . . . 
 Romeo and Juliet . . . ' Barbarous parents oppose 
 our union; but wait for me, and I will wait for you,' 
 eternal constancy, eh? I'm not very far wrong, 
 am I?" 
 
 "It is that, exactly," said Emmeline. 
 
 Corbellier, who looked up to Croze with a dash of 
 fear and embarrassment before this big man, so 
 blustering and resolute, approved the head of the 
 council. 
 
 "Then," continued the Under-Secretary, "proceed 
 along the best-known lines. Out with the Italian this 
 very day with the fewest possible explanations 
 liberally paid as far as what she is owed, but nothing 
 more. Don't give the impression of trying your 
 larynx so as to sing, if you are compelled ! Watch 
 her going, her leaving the country, understand. (I'll 
 look after that.) One must know all her movements, 
 at least for the first few days. Don't lose sight of 
 Jacques during and after the separation ; he is very 
 fond of you, my dear friend. Surround him, admonish 
 him ; if need be, enter into his views, tell him that 
 perhaps later on ... if he is docile ... if he con- 
 sents to wait . . . the important thing is that the 
 separation should take place. Believe me, Jacques, 
 from the time that he feels the young person no longer 
 in the house, will begin to detach himself from her. 
 At his age it is the infallible remedy. If I told you
 
 A FAMILY COUNCIL 243 
 
 that my father played me the same trick when I was 
 nineteen . . . yes . . . about his stenographer, with 
 whom I was struck. ... I declared I would kill 
 myself; a week afterwards I had another little com- 
 rade. . . . Ah, there it is diversion ! that's the im- 
 portant thing. . . . Once isolated from his Italian, 
 Jacques must not be bored. It is for you to seek, to 
 think out. . . ." 
 
 He said no more. Husband and wife had under- 
 stood. 
 
 "Yes," said Emmeline, "we will find him distrac- 
 tion." 
 
 "Now, my friends," said Croze, as he rose from his 
 chair, "I must ask your permission to leave you. 
 They are waiting for me at the Army Committee. I 
 have here " (he tapped against his heart where his 
 jacket bulged) "a new plan of mobilization for the 
 fourth arm. When I have had that adopted and carried 
 out, they can mobilize on the other side of the Vosges, 
 and in twelve hours I'll dish their mobilization. Au 
 revoir, Corbellier." (He pressed his hand, while 
 Maurice murmured: "Thanks! thanks! We count 
 greatly on you.") "Au revoir, pretty Madame. . . . 
 No, no, don't disturb yourself; I know the way." 
 
 "But I'm going back to my own rooms," Emmeline 
 insisted. 
 
 "Well, then . . ." 
 
 He effaced himself against the frame of the black 
 door in order to let her pass. Corbellier never thought 
 of being astonished; it was the custom of the house. 
 Croze was especially Emmeline's friend, and when 
 he came to see her she almost always accompanied 
 him as far as the hall, chatting all the time. Corbellier 
 remained thoughtful, standing in front of his writing-
 
 244 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 table, absorbed by the anxiety of making this 
 decision : should he go to the works this morning, 
 although it was already past eleven, or should he 
 go only after the midday meal ? In the meantime 
 the door had scarcely closed on them when Emmeline 
 impatiently offered her lips to Croze. Just as she had 
 a morbid curiosity for analysing her reflection in 
 mirrors,* so she had the same for spying into what 
 there remained to Croze of passion for herself; and 
 this uneasiness made her caresses nervous, tyrannical, 
 more and more intolerable to a man who for a long 
 time, while retaining a sincere friendship for her, 
 looked elsewhere for his pleasure. To-day, stirred 
 by the recollection of the distresses of the evening 
 and the night, she wept as she kissed him. Croze 
 resisted gently these damp kisses, fearing that Cor- 
 bellier might hear or put in an appearance. He suc- 
 ceeded in disentangling himself, muttering, "Take 
 care ! Not here ! " and made his escape diagonally 
 across the drawing-room. But she followed him, and 
 caught him up in the back drawing-room. He had 
 to yield to a new impassioned sounding, intensified 
 by : "Say that you love her, your Linette, your little 
 Linette ! " Then came the discussion on the next 
 meeting, Croze urging, in order to extricate himself 
 in advance, the exigencies of national defence and the 
 tragedy of Val d'Anay. Emmeline, losing all control 
 of herself, almost cried out: "Then say at once that 
 you don't want to see me any more. . . . Oh, I know 
 well that there is something new in your life . . . 
 there is another woman, a woman that you have not 
 got yet ... a woman that you are after. ... I read 
 it in your eyes ! . . ." And Croze, amazed, in his 
 turn, at this divination of his discarded mistress, afraid
 
 A FAMILY COUNCIL 245 
 
 that she would divine still more, yielded and granted 
 the interview : "The day after to-morrow about three, 
 the same place. . . ." And he was rewarded by 
 another moist embrace, interrupted at last by the noise 
 of the door that was opening from the other side of 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 Husband and wife resumed their discussion after 
 the lunch at which, as usual, Loute, Jacques and 
 Sandra had been present, and which had been over- 
 weighed by an extreme sense of awkwardness. It was 
 agreed that Emmeline should undertake the dismissal 
 of Sandra, as Maurice was considered, both by her 
 and by himself, incapable of such energetic action. 
 The proceedings of the dismissal were minutely 
 defined : at a little past three, while the Italian would 
 be giving Loute her daily lesson of which Jacques 
 usually took advantage to leave the house Maurice 
 and Emmeline would repair together to the school- 
 room. Maurice, without unnecessary explanations, 
 would take Loute away with him to his own room, 
 which was next the schoolroom, and would thus be 
 within range to assist his wife if she called him. 
 Maurice did not confess to Emmeline that, from 
 excess of precaution, he had resolved to instal his 
 valet in the dressing-room. 
 
 But so energetic an offensive was unnecessary. 
 The scene between the Italian and Madame Corbellier 
 did not last ten minutes, and it was so little like a 
 dispute that Maurice and Loute, although in the next 
 room, did not even catch a raised voice. As soon as 
 the husband and wife had entered the schoolroom, 
 Sandra understood. Without a protest, without a 
 question, she allowed Loute to go off with her father; 
 she waited, standing, for Emmeline's expected an-
 
 246 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 nouncement. That lady, in whom the bourgeois 
 instinct for defence, a little maternal jealousy, and 
 the desire to narrate to Croze a really heroic attitude, 
 had infused exceptional firmness, said, well enough, 
 the prepared sentence 
 
 "My dear Mademoiselle Sandra, my husband and 
 I regret that we shall be obliged to part with you." 
 
 The governess, only a little paler than usual, 
 asked 
 
 "Why, Madame?" 
 
 "You must be able to suspect the reason," answered 
 Emmeline. And, kindling a little, she added: "We 
 have had confidence in you, on the recommendation 
 of Mademoiselle Mag. We treated you at once as a 
 member of the family. By way of recompense, you 
 have . . . you have . . . enticed my son to wish to 
 marry you. . . ." 
 
 "Madame," replied Sandra, "Jacques will assure 
 you " (and the mother was shocked at the tranquil 
 way in which she said the "Jacques") "that I have 
 in no way sought to influence him. If he loves me, 
 if I love him, and if he wishes to be my husband, 
 why should I refuse ? " 
 
 For a moment Emmeline was nonplussed by the 
 precision of this return. She did not like to reply 
 
 "But we know nothing about you, nothing about 
 your family, nothing about your past." 
 
 Perceiving vaguely the contradiction between this 
 ignorance and the fact that she had confided her own 
 daughter to this bird of passage, this unknown 
 woman, she found only this to say 
 
 " You are much older than Jacques." 
 
 "Oh, Madame, there are only two years between 
 us."
 
 A FAMILY COUNCIL 247 
 
 "Well," Emmeline forced herself to say, "since 
 you wish to make me say it, there is ... a difference 
 of position . . ." 
 
 "Difference of money, Madame, for my family is 
 excellent. Jacques knows it ; I have hidden nothing 
 from him ; he can find out for himself. But it's true 
 that my parents are ruined ; I have no dot . So you 
 think it right to turn me out of the house because 
 your son wants to marry me. All the same, you know 
 that I have done him nothing but good." 
 
 "I don't deny it ... but you are too intelligent 
 not to understand . . ." 
 
 "I understand so clearly that since yesterday, when 
 Jacques told me that he had informed you of his plans, 
 my trunk has been packed. I shall pass the night at 
 the Grillon. I have no intention of remaining here 
 against your will, but I warn you openly that neither 
 Jacques nor I will give in. . . ." 
 
 Emmeline grew red with anger. 
 
 "Don't give in, if that suits you. Jacques is under 
 age, and will do what his parents order him to do." 
 
 "Jacques will be of age in five months." 
 
 "Oh, from now till then ! " said Emmeline. 
 
 This was the only moment in which the conversa- 
 tion between the two women raised its tone a little, 
 when they perceived, each behind the eyes of the 
 other, hatred, the longing to tear each other. But the 
 Italian, in order to control herself absolutely, waited 
 a moment with compressed lips. She opened them to 
 say in a very low voice 
 
 "Wish, Madame, that M. Jacques may not break 
 the word that he has given me ! " 
 
 "I don't understand," said Emmeline uneasily. 
 
 Sandra repeated the same words
 
 248 GUARDIAX ANGELS 
 
 "Wish that M. Jacques may not break his word. 
 Wish that, you particularly. Adieu, Madame." 
 
 She walked towards the door, perfectly calm. 
 Emmeline would have liked to keep her in the room 
 and compel her to explain herself. She stammered 
 out 
 
 "Your month ... I am paying you your whole 
 month." 
 
 "You will send me the money to the Grillon, 
 Madame," answered Sandra from the door, and she 
 left the room. 
 
 She went away, her heart heavy with rage, her 
 temples beating; her nerves, that had been held tense 
 by pride when she faced Emmeline, now betrayed her. 
 She had to lean against the wall, dazzled by a kind 
 of inner irradiation, a vivid irradiation. So once more 
 it was "outside the door"; once more it was the 
 squalid home; it was place after place. . . . And if 
 Jacques, that man-child, did not keep his word, it 
 would be that for the rest of her life. With uncertain 
 steps she went to Jacques' apartment. What had she 
 to be careful about now ? She entered without knock- 
 ing. Jacques, who had just that moment returned, 
 saw by her manner that the scene had taken place, 
 the scene that they had both been expecting since the 
 evening before. He ran to her 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 She placed her head on his shoulder and sobbed 
 out 
 
 "Jacques, they are sending me away. . . ." 
 
 But immediately she had to support him, for he 
 gave way. She made him sit down, and remained 
 standing close to him, forcing back her tears.
 
 A FAMILY COUNCIL 249 
 
 "They are sending me away . . . but I have con- 
 fidence in you. You won't forsake me, will you? " 
 
 And taking his head between her hands, looking at 
 trim almost maternally, she said in a low tone, as if 
 she were speaking to herself 
 
 "What can you do, after all ? I don't know ! . . . 
 What will you do? Will you betray me? ... No, 
 you won't betray me, but you are capable of offering 
 no resistance ! And yet I love you, Jacques, and with 
 me alone you will have a true life. . . . Take 
 
 care 
 
 He was about to speak, but she placed her beautiful 
 hand on his mouth. 
 
 "Don't say anything. No oaths! As for me, I 
 swear to you that I will never do you any harm. . . . 
 But if you forget me, woe to those who have made you 
 forget." 
 
 She freed her friend's lips, and, bending down, she 
 placed on them her own lips in an infinite kiss in 
 which she strove to intoxicate him as with a philtre. 
 Then 
 
 "Stay where you are. Let me go away. It would 
 be too heart-breaking. ... In a few seconds I shall 
 have left your house. Write to me to-morrow at the 
 Grillon, Rue des Bergers." 
 
 A whole quarter of an hour elapsed without Jacques 
 finding strength to leave the chair where Sandra had 
 left him. What he experienced was curious. He was 
 overwhelmed with grief, and yet a discreet feeling of 
 deliverance stabbed at the very bottom of his heart. 
 The present seemed to him horrible ; he was so used 
 to allowing himself to be controlled in life by Sandra's 
 energy. But the future shone brighter and with an
 
 2 5 o GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 increasing brightness. Never had his double nature 
 contended in him as in this critical minute ; and the 
 contest was genuinely painful to him. If he were 
 compelled to remain alone, overwhelmed as he was, 
 it would be better to die at once. 
 
 As he suffered in this way, the swish of a woman's 
 dress made him turn his head. His mother was 
 behind him. She leaned over him and kissed his 
 hair. He was so broken-hearted that this caress did 
 him good. He rose and walked a few steps about the 
 room. 
 
 "You are better, darling?" murmured Emmeline. 
 
 "I am tired," said Jacques. 
 
 And he was shaken by a nervous fit of yawning. 
 
 "Listen," said Madame Corbellier, coming nearer. 
 44 1 disturbed you because one of your friends tele- 
 phoned just now to ask if he might dine here this 
 evening with us. ... I thought you were out. . . . 
 I said that I would give the answer as soon as you 
 returned." 
 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 "Little d'Ambline." 
 
 The eyes of mother and son met and then looked 
 again at once. 
 
 "He can come," said Jacques.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 B. 2. 17 
 
 WHEN Emmeline, at the drawing-room door of the 
 Corbelliers', had said to him through her tears : "Oh, 
 I know well that there is something^ new in your life 
 . . . another woman ... a woman whom you 
 haven't got yet, a woman whom you are after," Jules 
 Croze had once again been amazed at his mistress' 
 infallible instinct for divining what threatened her. 
 This full-blooded man, led away by the facilities that 
 power gives to the dangerous pleasure of conquests 
 that are quick, brief, changing, was consumed at this 
 moment of crisis by an intense passion. A woman 
 on whom he had for a long time bestowed, without 
 anything more, a covetousness that any swish of 
 skirts coming from youthful limbs aroused in him 
 a woman who up till now had seemed determined 
 not to notice the clumsy invitations that he launched 
 at her from time to time for the last few days, 
 without there being the slightest agreement be- 
 tween them, seemed to him somehow or other 
 different. She no longer avoided his glances, but 
 loitered where he was with an air at once anxious, 
 undecided and moved ; that air he had known in- 
 certain low comediennes when they used formerly to 
 come into his office, and he saw it now in the 
 Rue St. Dominique in certain wives of function- 
 aries, who risked overtures without the knowledge 
 
 251
 
 252 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 of their husbands. "Ho, ho!" he thought to him- 
 self, "one would almost think she was coming of 
 her own accord ! " And as he was one of those men 
 who are peculiarly liable to the temptations of the 
 moment, as this woman lived in his house, inflamed 
 him by her almost continual presence, as he had 
 merely the morality of the greater number of the 
 bourgeois of his day no moral scandal and no 
 stupidities with money as, in fine, even his brother- 
 in-law's adventure (drowned in the Cher for his 
 family; in league with Rosalie for the police) roused 
 in his plethoric libertine's head unwholesome desires 
 every other wish for a conquest was at this moment 
 swept out of his brain. He wanted obstinately the 
 tall, fair girl with the deep eyes, with the tempting 
 mouth, who undertook Josette's education. And pre- 
 cisely at this moment Madame Croze was away from 
 home on a fortnight's visit to her sister, whom she 
 was helping at Val d'Anay. Croze, estimating the 
 unhoped-for facilities that this momentary bachelor- 
 hood conferred on him, endeavoured to persuade him- 
 self that in this home without a wife an adventure 
 with Mag reduced itself to a mere peccadillo. 
 
 Now, why did Mag, for a long time indifferent and 
 almost disdainful, seem gradually to become softened 
 and proclaim a coming surrender by the complaisant 
 subtleties of her eyes, her gestures, her voice, which 
 do not deceive the experienced libertine? Croze had 
 gained too much knowledge in five years of executive 
 power to think like a schoolboy: "She is beginning 
 to love me." He said: "She wants to make use of 
 me. She wants money, perhaps." In the house she 
 had the reputation of a miser, never failing to de- 
 mand to the minute her monthly pay. Well, Croze
 
 B. 2. 17 253 
 
 had a hand easily opened ; he would sacrifice a good 
 fifty louis to this passing fancy, "but not one more ; 
 and as a gift, a gift." But more probably it was not 
 in money, but in influence, that the young foreigner 
 wished to be paid for her complacency. Croze remem- 
 bered that she had one day asked about the regula- 
 tions for entering Government schools. "That's the 
 point," he thought. "She sees Josette at the age for 
 marrying at any moment, and she has no wish to 
 ' take another situation.' She wants her liberty. . . . 
 So be it ! We must hunt up from five to six thousand 
 francs out of the Budget, and it will be rendering a 
 service to the Republic, for this Mag has a superior 
 intelligence." 
 
 It was in this state of mind that Jules Croze com- 
 menced that 23rd of June, which was to be for him 
 one of those fateful days when Destiny, usually indis- 
 tinct, crouching in the darkness, seems suddenly to 
 take a spring 1 , and leap upon a house, a family, a 
 man. When his valet woke him up at half-past seven, 
 his first coherent thought was not about the speech 
 he was going to make that very day at the House, 
 the speech that should gain the vote for the supple- 
 mentary estimates for aviation ; his first thought was of 
 Mag, and he evoked a brief scene that had taken place 
 the previous evening. He had met the German by 
 accident in the corridor on the first floor; instead of 
 effacing herself with an affectation of deference as she 
 used to do, she had stopped at the same time as he. 
 He had read the smile in her eyes that she did not 
 conceal ; then, with his methods of a Don Juan of the 
 minute who knows that deeds are more discreet and 
 less dilatory than words, he seized her wrists and 
 groped for her lips. She had averted them cleverly
 
 254 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 without fright, but had allowed him to kiss her hair. 
 For a moment the mouth of the Under-Secretary had 
 been buried in the rich blonde mass. It smelt of honey, 
 and right against her ear he had stammered out : " In 
 my room, a little later after dinner, now when 
 Madame is away, nobody will suspect." She laughed ; 
 then, disengaging herself, passed on, and said from 
 a little distance: "With Josette in the house. . . . 
 Never." And she had gone on that word, leaving 
 the man overcome with surprise and hope. 
 
 Immediately, with the ingenious practical activity 
 that he threw into all his enterprises, he had imagined 
 and contrived the absence of Josette, which was the 
 sole condition for Mag's consent. At an ordinary 
 time nothing would have been easier a box at a 
 subsidized theatre, Guy escorting Josette and the little 
 ones of the Rue Palatine, as had happened twenty 
 times before. But it was precisely now that Guy, 
 Josette and the three little ones of the Rue Palatine 
 .could not show themselves at the play: Guy and 
 Josette on account of the supposed death of their 
 Uncle Ropart; Yvonne, Alice and Nanie on account 
 of Haumont-Segr^'s bankruptcy, a bankruptcy saved 
 from the appearance of fraud by the influence of the 
 Government, but which none the less weighed sadly 
 on the family, besides endangering the life of Madame 
 Haumont-Segre, who, since the catastrophe, had been 
 attacked by fits of cardiac choking. Alone in his 
 room after his meeting with Mag, the Under-Secre- 
 tary, while giving the final touches to the speech that 
 he was going to make in the Chamber on the following 
 day, exerted himself to find a means of getting Josette 
 out of the house at least for one evening. "When 
 this artful German has once given in here," he
 
 B. 2. 17 255 
 
 thought, "if -I think that she's worth the trouble, she 
 must allow herself to be met outside the house. . . . 
 But for this first time, since she has scruples (and, as 
 a matter of fact, she is right), what is to be done ? 
 I see. . . . Since Haumont-Segre's crash I have 
 ordered Guy to give up visiting the Rue Palatine. 
 But now that everything is arranged . . . Haumont- 
 Segre will not be troubled; the respectability of his 
 brother has not been touched by the smash. Yvonne 
 has no dot, but she adores Guy, and she will be an 
 excellent companion for this laboratory rat; a mar- 
 riage into the higher university circles will be of use 
 to him. I have already gone against Josette's inclina- 
 tions, and we mustn't abuse paternal authority. . . . 
 I'm going to tell Josette to go with her brother to 
 dine to-morrow at the Rue Palatine. She will ask 
 nothing better." Thus was decided the destiny of 
 Guy and Yvonne. And far from experiencing the 
 slightest remorse, Croze, while putting together this 
 odd structure of intrigue, conceived a kind of moral 
 compensation between his selfish pleasure and the 
 consent that he was giving to the happiness of others. 
 Waking up on the 23rd of June, the Under- 
 secretary of State for War was pleased with the 
 prospects of his day. It presented itself sunlit, but 
 without excessive heat ; it had rained so much during 
 the preceding week ! The speech on aviation, type- 
 written during the night by his secretaries, was lying 
 on the little table near his bed beside his boiled egg, 
 toast and bottle of mineral water. Sentences of this 
 speech rang in the author's memory: "The war 
 bird must have its nest strongly built and well pro- 
 tected, quite close to the barrier over which it is to 
 fly on the day of peril." And again : "Think of the
 
 256 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 despair of those who formerly, for having wished to 
 spare France an expenditure of two hundred millions, 
 have been forced to put their signatures to the Act 
 which impoverished her by five thousand millions." 
 He repeated to himself these sonorous sentences; he 
 was pleased with them ; he was proud to think that 
 they would bring, in spite of the opposition of the 
 Socialists, the vote for the enormous credit that he 
 demanded to secure the plan of aerial mobilization of 
 which he was the principal designer, the plan to which 
 he had given among so many sensual caprices, and 
 without ever neglecting his own interests, whether of 
 money or of ambition a genuine effort, a sincere wish 
 to serve his country. For this big, full-blooded volup- 
 tuary had sound and valuable qualities : he was honest 
 and patriotic ; he exerted himself ungrudgingly to 
 fulfil his mission and his official duties, as he did to 
 secure the material well-being, the "position" of his 
 wife and his children. He was hard-working and 
 serviceable. He lacked, like so many bourgeois of 
 every country in the modern world, only that moral 
 education, that faith in the ideal, which consolidates, 
 amalgamates, animates a man's natural gifts and 
 makes them virtues. 
 
 The morning was passed in correcting and master- 
 ing the speech, and in examining the papers that bore 
 upon it, particularly the B. 2. 17 a plan for aerial 
 mobilization between Verdun and Nancy, on which 
 the greater part of the proposed modifications de- 
 pended. He did not go to the Ministry; on days 
 when there was an important debate it was necessary 
 for him to avoid wear and tear that office door, 
 opened and closed ceaselessly by the head of the 
 secretary's office, the interruptions of politicians, the
 
 B. 2. 17 257 
 
 torment of the telephone. In his own house, in his 
 large office, opening out on to the verdure of the Pare 
 Monceau, near his bedroom and his bathroom, he was 
 able to work half dressed that was to his taste and 
 from time to time, when his head was congested under 
 the effort, he would refresh it with a shower-bath. 
 To-day, however, contrary to his custom on mornings 
 of hard work, he came down to lunch at the family 
 table. Josette and Guy were surprised to see him 
 arrive punctually, carefully shaved, and dressed with 
 all the scrupulousness of which he was capable. It 
 was because work had not hindered him from brood- 
 ing over his other design ; on the contrary he con- 
 fessed it to a few intimate friends he worked better, 
 with more speed and intensity, when salacious images 
 floated through his brain, and when, between two 
 efforts of composition or comprehension, he would roll 
 his thoughts in them ; he compared this to the effect 
 of the shower-bath on his head. ... At table, seated 
 opposite Josette between Guy and Mag, he was in 
 very good humour. Guy showed a letter received 
 from Val d'Anay, a letter from his mother. Madame 
 Croze was inexhaustible in praising the energy of her 
 sister, who, with dry eyes, was wearing herself out in 
 getting in order everything that the Baron's dis- 
 appearance had left in abeyance. But in the country 
 rumours began to circulate, the same that Croze had 
 gathered in Paris from the Prefect Lehoux : there 
 were covert smiles ; the hypothesis of the trick was 
 discussed. Madame Croze, supporting the contagious 
 faith of her sister, protested indignantly. Croze gave 
 his opinion freely before the governess and children ; 
 then all of a sudden, changing the subject, he said 
 "Tell me, Josette; it's a long time, it seems to me, 
 R
 
 255 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 since you dined at the Rue Palatine, your brother and 
 you ? " 
 
 He enjoyed the surprise of the brother and sister, 
 and then went on quietly 
 
 "It was wise to wait until the noise about the 
 Haumont-Segre's smash had settled down. But 
 there's a limit to everything. Telephone to that good 
 mother Haumont-Manin, and invite yourselves to her 
 house. She won't find you in the way, believe me. 
 Good heavens ! we all have our family troubles. Let 
 us be generous, we who are luckier than others." 
 
 It was not the custom in this house to discuss what 
 Croze willed. When he had said to his son a fort- 
 night before : "Let me think, and see how things turn 
 out. I will do everything possible for old Haumont 
 to be spared prosecution, but I insist, in the meantime, 
 on your not frequenting the Rue Palatine," Guy had 
 replied: "Father, I will obey you, but at the same 
 time I am writing to Yvonne to tell her that nothing 
 has been changed in my plans." And Croze had 
 sneered; he misunderstood his son, just as he did 
 his daughter as well, and gave this generation, so 
 different from himself, credit for the same grossly 
 practical instincts as his own. The apparent sub- 
 mission of Josette (who at this very moment was living 
 the dream of Romeo and Juliet, while her father 
 believed her finally separated from Letzling) encour- 
 aged him to think: "Children's calf-love. ... A 
 little firmness . . . time passes . . . and that doesn't 
 last." 
 
 Guy, who took after his mother rather than Ms 
 father, judged the latter w y ith a certain perspicuity, 
 but he knew him to be good; he admired his keen 
 business perception, his industry; he called his
 
 B. 2. 17 259 
 
 sonorous abundance of words talent. Disconcerted 
 at first, when he grasped that his admired and feared 
 father was consenting to his marriage with Yvonne 
 he perceived in this consent only fatherly kindness, a 
 prudent kindness which had been reserved while there 
 was doubt, but which was eager to act the moment it 
 could. He left his place and went up to his father to 
 embrace him. Josette, returning to actuality, burst 
 into tears. Croze took her by the hand. 
 
 "Come, my little girl, one mustn't be in the 
 dumps. Be sure that everything will arrange itself 
 in the end." 
 
 In saying this he went beyond his real thoughts, 
 for nothing would have made him anticipate a mar- 
 riage between Josette and Letzling as possible. All 
 that he counted on was Letzling being transferred to 
 another post and Josette forgetting all about him. 
 But to-day he was in a good humour; he wanted 
 smiling faces around him. Josette having regained 
 her self-possession, he exchanged with Mag an affec- 
 tionate glance, and the luncheon finished in a tender 
 gaiety after the fashion of Jean-Jacques. 
 
 "Then, papa, it will be time enough if we are at 
 the Chamber towards half-past three ? " asked Josette 
 at the moment when the Under-Secretary of State 
 was slipping into his light overcoat in the large hall 
 in the presence of his children and Mag. 
 
 "Half-past three . . . four o'clock, even. Five 
 speakers are down before me, but I am told that 
 Dubuc of the Coalition is very ill. Au revoir, young 
 people; au revoir, Mademoiselle. . . ." 
 
 A glance again at the German, an affectionate wave 
 to the children, and, preceded by a footman, he went 
 down the steps of his house, and his round back was
 
 260 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 swallowed up in the throbbing motor as he set off to 
 the field of battle his courage and hope doubled by 
 this certainty of a fresh conquest which had fallen 
 suddenly into his life under unforeseen conditions of 
 quietude and security. Without even finding himself 
 a little odious or comic, he said to himself 
 
 "She is very proper, this Mag. . . . And I am 
 grateful to her for only wishing to respond while 
 Julie and Josette are away." 
 
 All the same he had not been able to arrange this 
 nocturnal appointment with the German, as he had 
 seen her to-day only in the presence of the children. 
 
 "Bah!" he thought, "she is cunning! . . . She 
 understood. She will arrange to join me at the right 
 time." 
 
 There are men, a great many even, with whom 
 sensuality remains a long time keen enough to clothe 
 itself, at each new incarnation of their fickle desires, 
 with almost the appearance of the newest, sincerest, 
 most ardent passion. Any one who had observed 
 Jules Croze this same Saturday towards half-past nine 
 in the evening, alone in his rooms having sent away, 
 under the plausible pretext of fatigue, his secretary 
 and his valet, saying to them, for the sake of greater 
 security : " I must be allowed to sleep to-morrow, even 
 if it's to the middle of the day. There must be no 
 telegrams, no telephone calls. It will be Sunday ; say 
 that I am in the country " ; any one who had seen 
 Croze striding up and down his rooms from the end 
 of the bathroom to the door of the private ante-room, 
 trying to read, trying to regain his interest in the piles 
 of papers scattered on the table, looking at his clock, 
 leaning his forehead against the window-panes to look
 
 B. 2. 17 261 
 
 at the Pare Monceau, steeped in a shadow that the 
 lights were dotting; any one looking at him would 
 have admired (or ridiculed) this feverish waiting, this 
 panting emotion, as of one who is making his debut 
 in conquests. More than half-an-hour went by in this 
 way ; silence weighed on the house. 
 
 "Decidedly," thought Croze, "I was wrong not to 
 arrange precisely. This girl may not dare to come 
 up here. However, she knows that there is not the 
 slightest danger. Julie is away, and the floor above 
 is uninhabited; on this one there is nobody but 
 myself. Come, come, I must not wear myself out. 
 Her eyes said to me twice: 'It's understood,' as 
 clearly as if she had said the words. Yes, but just 
 now, at the Chamber, she didn't accompany Josette 
 and Guy. She pleaded a headache. All the same, it 
 might have been true ! If she were ill ? Ah, those 
 d d women ! . . ." 
 
 His thoughts stumbled on this double question : 
 " Is she ill or not ? Will she come or not ? " He 
 forgot his parliamentary triumph of the day, Right 
 and Left uniting in congratulations, the Socialists 
 reduced to mumbling vague excuses for abstaining 
 a majority of four hundred for the Government. 
 Contrary to his habit of enjoying systematically, he 
 did not linger over the process of revelling in the 
 aftertaste of his success recalling the handshakes of 
 friends, the glances, more flattering still, of the 
 envious ones, now foiled and subdued, the affectionate 
 embraces of Josette and Guy when it was all over, 
 and the bulletin of victory telegraphed from the field 
 of battle : " Madame Croze, Chateau of Val d' Anay, 
 near Romorantin. My dear one, unlooked-for suc- 
 cess, formidable majority, best love," and finally, the
 
 262 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 restful drive back, alone in his car, through the most 
 deserted by-ways of the Bois, so as to reach the house 
 after Josette and Guy had left to go and dine with the 
 Haumont-Manins, a unique manifestation, under the 
 circumstances, of his paternal modesty. 
 
 "Those d d women ! " he repeated in an under- 
 tone. "Five minutes to ten. She won't come. She 
 shall pay for it." 
 
 He took up his papers again, trying to distract his 
 nervousness by work ; he turned over the leaves of 
 B. 2. 17. Dubuc, of the Coalition, restored to health 
 in the nick of time for the debate, had just now hurled 
 two objections at him, from which he had extricated 
 himself only by oratorical amplifications. He was 
 reading again the figures on which his memory had 
 failed him, when a rustling in the silence made him 
 tremble. He pricked up his ears. There could be no 
 doubt about it; some one was behind the office door 
 in the private ante-room. He threw down quickly 
 the pile of papers into the half-open drawer of his 
 writing-table, and ran to the door. With his hand on 
 the knob of the lock, he felt the aid of another hand 
 which was opening at the same time. Through the 
 half-opening Mag entered. As he drew the inner bolt 
 he stammered out : "At last, at last ! " and at once he 
 wished to seize the young woman in his arms. She 
 still screened her lips from him, but she allowed him 
 to inhale, longer than on the evening before, the 
 honey-like perfume of her temples and her hair. 
 
 "Be careful ! " she said at last. "Let us talk for a 
 little." 
 
 She took a seat in the leather arm-chair, intended 
 for visitors, to the right of the writing-table. She 
 glanced at everything round her with a quiet and
 
 B. 2. 17 263 
 
 attentive eye. He, with the cumbersome grace of a 
 corpulent man who is out of breath, wanted to go 
 down on his knees before her. 
 
 "No, no," she said; "sit in your place." 
 
 He obeyed her. She seemed amused at his emotion. 
 At each new conquest Croze became again trembling 
 and fervent as a schoolboy, free to take his revenge 
 an hour afterwards for this carelessness that verged 
 on impertinence. All the nonsense that women are 
 condemned to listen to under such circumstances he 
 repeated to Mag, not without sincerity: that he 
 admired her; that he had longed for her; that she 
 had really made him suffer; that the other adventures, 
 since she had come to the house, had been for him 
 only attempts at forgetfulness ; that to-day, in the 
 moment of his success, he had thought only of her. 
 But, as a matter of fact, why had she not come to the 
 great sitting ? 
 
 "I was really a little tired," replied the German. 
 "And besides, I wanted to see no one ... no one. 
 ... I haven't stirred from my room all the after- 
 noon." 
 
 Croze wished to understand in this sentence a 
 decorous way of confessing her agitation at the meet- 
 ing, a little shame mingled with consent. He rose, 
 approached the young woman, and, leaning against 
 the slope at the back of her arm-chair, he began to 
 kiss her temples, her cheeks, her neck. She made no 
 more resistance. His voluptuary's heart grew warm 
 and sent him hurried beatings. At the same time a 
 sudden thought flashed through his brain : "Why is 
 she here? Why this evening, and never before?" 
 Lucid for a moment, he realised the utter ignorance 
 in which he still was in regard to this foreigner, who
 
 264 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 had lived for many years under his roof, at his table, 
 and to whom he had confided his daughter. But the 
 imperious demands of his senses urged him on. He 
 swept out of his thoughts, by an act of will-power, 
 what might have made him hesitate before profiting 
 by this passionate moment by these eyes, submissive 
 to the master ; by this mouth, which was half open ; 
 by all this femininity, mysterious and consenting. . . . 
 
 As Croze had given orders, he was not called the fol- 
 lowing morning. It was a barrel-organ, grinding out 
 a low song, in the avenue of the Park, scarcely half- 
 an-hour before midday, which first chased away 
 the fumes of sleep. They cleared slowly, progres- 
 sively, and through them the realities of the evening 
 before made their appearance : Dubuc putting ques- 
 tions to him from his place, the applause of the 
 Chamber ... a path in the Bois . . . then in the 
 semi-darkness of his room a feminine form coming 
 through the door and approaching him, a pair of 
 dead white arms, a pair of shoulders, well developed 
 and firm, a cascade over his eyes of loosened hair that 
 savoured of honey, while two clear eyes gazed into 
 his from quite near. In order to recall these memories 
 precisely, he forced himself to wake up completely. 
 He took care not to ring for his valet, so as not to 
 be disturbed in his retrospective delight. 
 
 "Ah, the rascal, the rascal!" he thought; "with 
 that quiet air, who would have believed it ? But it's 
 all the same : her place is no longer in my house 
 beside Josette. The first thing to-morrow I'll see my 
 colleague of Public Instruction. . . . And on my 
 side I will guarantee her the means for establishing 
 herself comfortably * . . ."
 
 B. 2. 17 265 
 
 He jumped down from his bed and went himself to 
 draw the window-curtains. The Park, in its Sunday 
 springtide, smiled from its thickets and groves; along 
 the paths families were going to Mass or coming from 
 it, the parents in black, the children with their bare 
 calves and with sailor collars, little girls in princess 
 dresses, with flowers in their hats, their thin legs pro- 
 jecting from their short skirts. Croze thought of his 
 wife : " Poor dear ! Supposing I were to go and sur- 
 prise her at Val d'Anay ? " He would have done it 
 gladly, for Madame Croze's absence was beginning to 
 seem long to him, and he felt the loss of those good 
 bourgeois Sundays when, one beside the other, she 
 and he would go for a motor-drive as far as Villebon 
 or Versailles. . . . "But the mourning regulations 
 down there are really too fearful ... I couldn't put 
 up with them; I should burst out. ... I should 
 shout out loud to my sister-in-law : ' Your loose fish 
 of a husband is as much alive as you or I.'' And 
 he laughed, tapping the window-pane to the rhythm 
 of the barrel-organ, that had taken up the air again 
 further off. 
 
 Suddenly he did not stir any more. Then just as 
 he was, with his feet bare and in his night-shirt, he 
 ran into his study. The windows, with the blinds up, 
 poured in the full daylight there. He gave a sigh of 
 relief on perceiving the key still hanging in the drawer 
 of the writing-table. "That's all right," he thought. 
 "I should at least have drawn the bolt of the door. 
 . . . Mag has only had to draw the door after her 
 without closing it." He went to pull this bolt 
 mechanically, and then returned, still in his night- 
 shirt, to sit down in his chair for work. He tied up 
 the packets of papers which remained on the waiting-
 
 266 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 table. That of B. 2. 17 was not among them. . . . 
 "That's right," he thought; "I placed it in the drawer 
 when I heard Mag behind the door." He opened the 
 drawer thoroughly, in order to verify . . . 
 
 A cold shiver suddenly attacked him, first in 
 the heels, then in the legs, then in the stomach, 
 then in all the limbs, until his hands, contracted and 
 rigid, refused to grope in the papers that they could 
 no longer grasp. "Come, come," he said at last; 
 "I'm dreaming, I'm mad." He curbed his emotion 
 with a violent effort, drank in the fresh air in great 
 draughts, began his search again, at first methodic- 
 ally, then, in spite of himself, more feverishly, with 
 the exasperated awkwardness of a child that is at once 
 impatient and ill-tempered. . . . And while he stirred 
 the papers, many of which fluttered on to the ground, 
 there escaped from his throat interjections that 
 resembled groan ings, sobs. 
 
 He stopped. He leaned his two hands against the 
 ledge of the writing-table. He thought : " It is clear 
 ... it is clear." During an interval of a few seconds 
 he faced every possibility of the future even a spring 
 out of the window, or a revolver-shot in the temples. 
 He recalled a phrase of Guy's one day at the family 
 dinner-table : " Here is the easiest way to leave this 
 vale of tears : swallow a good dose of chloral, turn on 
 the gas, and lie down. One passes insensibly from 
 sleep to death." But a protest of vivacious egotism 
 roused him : "As for that, there will be time enough 
 . . . and besides, I am perhaps mistaken, even 
 now." 
 
 He rang for his valet. The man smiled as he came 
 into the room 
 
 "Monsieur must have had a good night's sleep. . . ."
 
 B. 2. 17 267 
 
 He interrupted him 
 
 "Call Mademoiselle Mag." 
 
 Astonished, the valet said: "Certainly, Monsieur," 
 and obeyed. When he returned his master had put 
 on a dressing-gown. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Mademoiselle Mag went out very early, towards 
 seven o'clock ; she told the concierge that she was 
 going to the swimming-bath. . . . She goes there 
 once a week just at this time." 
 
 Croze could scarcely wait for the reply; again he 
 felt the cold mounting from his heels to his heart. 
 
 " Had she a parcel with her ? " 
 
 "Yes, a little bag, in which she carries her costume, 
 just as usual. But Monsieur is ill ? " 
 
 The Under-Secretary threw himself over the back 
 of the arm-chair; he had become suddenly crimson, 
 and his fingers struggled with the collar of his night- 
 shirt. The valet rushed up to him and tore off the 
 button. 
 
 "Monsieur does not feel well. . . ." 
 
 "That's . . . that's better," replied Croze in a weak 
 voice. "I tell you that's better. Leave me alone. 
 Wait . . . take the telephone on my table . . . yes 
 ... sit in my place." 
 
 He was exhausting all the force left to him in these 
 panting orders. His voice was scarcely intelligible 
 when he directed 
 
 "Ask for 403.22 . . . the Prefect of Police. From 
 the Under-Secretary of War. . . . An inspector at 
 once, here. . . . And then . . . no, no ! don't tele- 
 phone; I tell you not to telephone . . . name of 
 a ... We have the whole day. Not a word ... to 
 any one . . . not a word. Do you hear ? "
 
 268 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 And while the valet, terror-stricken, hung up the 
 receiver, Croze pressed his two hands against his fore- 
 head, whence it seemed to him that under the frightful 
 internal pressure blood was going to pierce through 
 the skin.
 
 BOOK IV 
 
 FANNY
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE BILL 
 
 AFTER a few seconds passed in an apple-green 
 waiting-room, seconds that Croze spent in re-reading 
 a note from Emmeline and in glancing at an engrav- 
 ing hung on the wall, "The Port of Bordeaux in the 
 i yth Century," the door opened, and the usher of the 
 Prefect of Police said, as he made way for him 
 
 " If Monsieur the Under-Secretary of State will be 
 so kind as to give himself the trouble . . ." 
 
 At the entrance of Croze, the Prefect Lehoux, 
 whose thin and mobile face, with its goat's beard, so 
 well known in Paris, recalled the Light Infantry of 
 the second Empire, rose from his desk and held out 
 his hand. 
 
 "Good-morning, my dear Minister." 
 
 "Good-morning, my dear Prefect." 
 
 Croze's face betrayed an expression that was at 
 once anxious and sheepish ; he detected irony beneath 
 the thin mask and the piercing eyes of the Prefect. 
 
 "Well?" questioned Croze, seeing that Lehoux 
 remained silent. 
 
 "Well, it is a great pity that you did not yield to 
 your first impulse, and that you waited until Monday 
 to give me information." 
 
 "Obviously," murmured Croze. "But you under- 
 stand, don't you ? The police in the business, there's 
 publicity . . . there's the alarm sounded in the 
 Press . . ." 
 
 271
 
 272 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 "No, no; we are very discreet. If you had advised 
 us on Sunday at midday, my inspector, Mercadieux, 
 would have caught Mademoiselle Magda Riemann at 
 Jeumont on the four-eight train in which she passed 
 the frontier. She had in the luggage van a trunk of 
 ordinary size which was opened at the Customs, and 
 appeared to contain nothing suspicious. A Customs 
 officer states that he noticed packages of papers in the 
 bag she was carrying in her hand. At Brussels, 
 where she arrived at five o'clock, we lost sight of her. 
 She had left her trunk in the cloak-room and had 
 gone for a walk in the town with her bag ; it's impos- 
 sible to find the commissioner who carried it for her, 
 and so he must have been an accomplice. We see 
 our fugitive again the same evening at Ostend, where 
 with her trunk and her bag she embarks quietly for 
 England. She is at this moment in London with a 
 friend, a German and a governess like herself, Florenz 
 Barr, 3, King Street (St. James'). Mercadieux, who 
 returned this morning, saw her as I see you." 
 
 "He saw her and didn't have her arrested?" 
 
 Lehoux made a gesture of protest in which 
 mockery and pity were blended. 
 
 "The English law?" said Croze. 
 
 "Naturally, my dear Minister. We are not in our 
 own house at 3, King Street, St. James', and I see 
 no way of . . ." 
 
 "All the same," persisted Croze, "this girl has 
 robbed . . . Papers on mobilization or title-deeds, 
 what difference is tWere between them ? She has 
 taken papers which do not belong to her." 
 
 Instead of replying, the Prefect leaned towards him 
 and said in a low tone 
 
 "Are you anxious to see, re-opening at your expense.
 
 THE BILL 273 
 
 a certain affair which made a great deal of stir in the 
 first year of this century? You may be sure that 
 your governess is only an instrument in a hand that 
 is dangerous." 
 
 "What hand?" asked Croze, who in all sincerity 
 did not understand. 
 
 Lehoux seemed to hesitate a moment and to select 
 in his head what he was willing and what he was 
 unwilling to say. 
 
 "The inquiry in Paris very soon showed us that 
 Mademoiselle Mag Riemann was the mistress of 
 M. Bolski." 
 
 "The pianist?" 
 
 "Yes, the pianist from Koenigsberg, who is 
 received in the best society of Paris." 
 
 "But Bolski earns money," said Croze, divining 
 the Prefect's idea, and passing over useless rejoinders. 
 
 " He earns twenty thousand francs a year, we are 
 told. But as he happens to lose more than that in 
 a gambling den in one single evening . . ." 
 
 "Then it must be he?" 
 
 Still closer, and in a yet lower voice, Lehoux whis- 
 pered almost into the very ear of Croze 
 
 "Bolski is an old fellow-student at the University 
 and an intimate friend of Count Letzling, the Austrian 
 military attache"." 
 
 "Oh," exclaimed Croze, "Letzling is incapable . . ." 
 
 "Will you tell me why? He did not soil his hands 
 with the theft of the documents, not he. Very 
 probably it is not from him that the idea originated. 
 His needy comrade will have proposed the thing to 
 him already planned, and as he, the Count, had no 
 reason to spare you, since you refused your daughter 
 to him without ceremony . . ."
 
 274 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 "Never shall I believe such an infamy of M. de 
 Letzling. . . . The man whom I received in my own 
 house ! . . ." 
 
 "You received him, but afterwards you showed him 
 the door. He has got even with you, or rather he is 
 very pleased to make you pay for his disappointment. 
 And besides, he serves his country, this fellow. He 
 performs his duty as military attache"." 
 
 "No, no," protested Croze, "your information 
 deceives you. Bolski as much as you like, not 
 Letzling." 
 
 "Will you explain to me, then, why Count Adolf 
 von Letzling left Paris abruptly on Monday evening, 
 the day before yesterday the same day on which you 
 gave me your information and why his first visit at 
 Vienna, without even taking the time to change his 
 clothes, was to the Minister of War, who is, moreover, 
 his uncle ? " 
 
 The Under-Secretary of State made no reply. . . . 
 He experienced the sensation of sinking in sand; the 
 sand caught him, his feet first, then his ankles, then 
 it mounted towards his knees. He muttered 
 
 " If it is really Letzling . . . perhaps, through the 
 intervention of Josette . . . one might be able . . ." 
 
 "Don't mix your daughter up in all this. Take my 
 advice," replied the Prefect dryly. 
 
 Later on Croze was to recall the abruptness of this 
 answer, and also the fact that the Prefect had suddenly 
 stopped looking at him and had begun to play with 
 his paper-knife. 
 
 "Then . . ." he muttered piteously. 
 
 "Then" (and the piercing glance of the Prefect 
 penetrated once more into the eyes of the patient) 
 "there are two solutions: an official request to the
 
 THE BILL 275 
 
 English Government, arrest, if his Majesty's Govern- 
 ment countenances it, and naturally an uproar in the 
 Press throughout the whole world . . . with its rever- 
 beration on your position and on your household. 
 For, after all, it will have to be told how Mademoiselle 
 Riemann was introduced in the middle of the night 
 into your private room. She will speak, Mademoiselle 
 Riemann will . . ." 
 
 Croze hung his head. 
 
 "The other solution," Lehoux went on, "is the 
 better solution, if it is not too late : if the documents 
 are, as I believe they are, still in the hands of the 
 wench and her lover. ... If one paid them a better 
 price than a Government would pay them I don't 
 suppose they would make it a matter of patriotism." 
 
 "But how much, then, should one pay them? " 
 
 "As for that, I don't know. I have an idea that 
 one should not haggle over it." 
 
 Croze let his hands fall between his legs, and 
 leaning forward, muttered 
 
 "Ah! the jade!" 
 
 The Prefect, who was still playing with his paper- 
 knife, assumed a tone of indulgent scolding, 
 tempered w r ith irony 
 
 "Evidently, my poor Minister, this is overwhelming 
 for you, but . . . you will pardon me for saying this : 
 to what an odd caprice you yielded ! How could 
 you . . . you who have a charming wife . . . and 
 with that, well-known friendships and more oppor- 
 tunities than you can wish for in a society at once 
 brilliant and approachable . . . you wanted, in addi- 
 tion to all this, a sort of German maid ! Heavens 1 
 It was the governess of your daughter ! " 
 
 Deep down Croze was sending the Prefect to the
 
 276 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 devil. "This little ossified person," he thought, 
 "doesn't seem to grasp that one receives strokes of 
 passion like sunstroke without looking for them. . . . 
 To think that there are men like that ! " He envied 
 and at the same time despised him. 
 
 "Many others beside myself," he stammered out, 
 "have had a similar lapse of imprudence, and no 
 harm has come to them from it." 
 
 "It's true; I often make that reflection. There are 
 people who pass their lives in risking the worst 
 scandals, and everything rights itself for them. 
 Others commit one single imprudence, and the whole 
 of their life is upset. Good luck and bad. And then, 
 you see, there are some people, particularly, who know 
 how to make use of money." 
 
 "But I was quite willing to give money to that 
 girl," cried Croze. . . . "You may be very sure that 
 I wasn't going to accept her favours gratuitously. I 
 was waiting to have a talk with her. ... I even let 
 her understand that." 
 
 "That was precisely your mistake," replied the 
 Prefect, with a smile. "One ought never to put off 
 giving money to women. Distrust those who don't 
 ask for it, as they all want it all, understand. Those 
 who don't ask for it are the most dangerous and the 
 most expensive. And the knowing ones are those 
 who give it to them before, provisionally, by way of 
 insurance. If you had given Mademoiselle Riemann 
 ten thousand francs on Saturday night, B. 2. 17 would 
 probably be at this moment in your drawer. . . . You 
 make a grimace, and you think that Mademoiselle 
 Riemann was not worth ten thousand francs? The 
 bill, in the end, will be for very much more, believe 
 me, to say nothing of the worry."
 
 THE BILL 277 
 
 The door which communicated between the 
 Prefect's room and the neighbouring office opened, 
 and a man of forty, with an intelligent but common 
 face, thick black hair, a black moustache, a horseshoe 
 beard, and the general appearance of a first-mate in 
 a frock-coat, appeared in the doorway and immedi- 
 ately apologized 
 
 "I beg your pardon, M. le Prefet, I thought you 
 were alone." 
 
 "Come in, come in, Mercadieux," said the Prefect. 
 " Here is the Under-Secretary of State himself with 
 whose case you have just been busy." 
 
 The head inspector bowed to Croze, who held out 
 his hand and asked anxiously 
 
 "Anything fresh?" 
 
 "Nothing, M. le Ministre, we shall not hear any- 
 thing before to-night, the girl Riemann is still holding 
 back the papers. The inspector that I left in London 
 should telegraph to me . . ." 
 
 "Then," questioned the Prefect, "what did you 
 want to speak to me about, Mercadieux ? " 
 
 Hesitating for a moment, and then making up his 
 mind, Mercadieux replied 
 
 "It was about the Val d'Anay business." 
 
 "Oh, well, but you can speak before the Under- 
 secretary of State, for he is Baron Ropart's brother- 
 in-law." 
 
 "Ah, yes," said Mercadieux. 
 
 And bowing again as if he were congratulating 
 Croze on this convergence of adventures 
 
 "The Baron Ropart," he said, "has certainly 
 stayed in Paris from the day following his pretended 
 suicide, until Saturday last, with the girl Boisset. 
 They lived in some quite nicely appointed furnished
 
 278 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 apartments near the Place d'ltalie, under the name 
 of M. and Mme. Baugis; Baugis is the name of a 
 farm belonging to the Baron. Rosalie Boisset was 
 installed in this house for more than a week ; she was 
 waiting, she said, for her husband who was returning 
 from abroad. They took tickets for Brazil under the 
 name of Colin from an agency in the Rue Scribe. 
 And they embarked the day before yesterday on 
 the S'ao-Paulo for Rio. There is no doubt as to 
 their identity. The girl Boisset appears to be 
 enceinte." 
 
 "My dear Minister," said Lehoux to Croze, "will 
 you undertake to communicate this information to 
 your sister-in-law? " 
 
 "My word, no!" said Croze. "My sister-in-law 
 sticks to her view. She won't hear of any trick. . . . 
 The Baron, she says, was incapable of proving false 
 to his duties as a husband." 
 
 "Your sister-in-law is a woman of admirable 
 dignity," Lehoux corrected. "Did you notice how 
 quickly silence was established in the Press over 
 this sad affair ? Your sister-in-law, at all events, 
 knows how to make use of money. But since you 
 avoid it yourself, Mercadieux will go to Val d'Anay, 
 for a definite end must be made of our inquiry. . . . 
 Do you know," he added, relaxing the severity of 
 his mask (he had spoken the last sentences rather 
 harshly), "do you know, my dear Minister, that it 
 will soon be necessary to establish at the prefecture 
 a special office for looking into the affairs of foreign 
 governesses? I have the Val d'Anay matter; I 
 have your affair; I have a complaint from poor 
 Haumont-Segre, now retired to Bois-Colombes with 
 his dying wife, who accuses a certain Fanny Smith
 
 THE BILL 279 
 
 of having estranged his daughter, Mademoiselle 
 Berthe Haumont-Segre, who is under age. The 
 Englishwoman has carried off her pupil, and she has 
 assumed such control over her that in spite of sup- 
 plications the young girl, who knows the state of 
 her mother's health, refuses to see her." 
 
 "The fact is," grunted Croze, "they're an abomin- 
 able breed." 
 
 "They are dangerous only through your fault. Not 
 through your fault personally, Croze, through the 
 fault of people of your social position and of your 
 standard of wealth." 
 
 The Prefect did not disdain to philosophize on the 
 point. Leaning back in his arm-chair, he went 
 on 
 
 "Think for a minute ! A girl of from eighteen to 
 twenty, a girl of a certain culture, a certain educa- 
 tion, leaves her family and her country to come and 
 earn her bread in Paris : it is abnormal. Yes, it's 
 abnormal, because expatriation at that age is full of 
 danger for her, and because any honourable family 
 would only decide upon it at the last extremity. Out 
 of ten cases, there will be only one in which honour- 
 able parents will have deliberately sent their prudent 
 and courageous daughter abroad, and nine other 
 cases in which the daughter will have left her parents 
 out of desperation, it may be because her home had 
 become insupportable (remarriage of the father, mis- 
 conduct of the mother, scandal) ; it may be that she 
 has been attracted by a love intrigue. And in these 
 nine last cases the young lady will heap up mystifica- 
 tions and lies, so that no one may be able to trace her 
 back to her farr>ily : false names, false place of birth, 
 false certificates. Foreigners are compelled to declare
 
 2 8o GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 their identity ? But how many mothers or fathers of 
 a family, when engaging a governess, take the trouble 
 to verify the statements of the foreigner ? And that 
 is why I tell you that you are the culprits, you, the 
 rich bourgeois, you the people in society. That 
 category of girls in which, certainly, there are types 
 that are absolutely correct, but in which the majority 
 being, by their very functions, severed from their 
 social and family circle, do not share any longer in 
 the morale of their family, their circle; this category 
 of girls is, moreover, the very one on which it is most 
 difficult to have precise and truthful information, 
 and you others, you make your choice with utter 
 carelessness. . . ." 
 
 "Oh," protested Croze. 
 
 "There is no ' Oh ' which is worth anything. If 
 the foreigner's appearance pleases you, if the first 
 onset is favourable, and particularly, if you begin to 
 get impatient over your investigations, you avoid 
 accepting information for fear of its inducing you to 
 make fresh inquiries. And when you have made your 
 choice with this carelessness, in a milieu that is 
 essentially open to suspicion and almost impossible 
 to control, what do you confide to the person thus 
 chosen ? Precisely your most precious and fragile 
 possession your daughter. Frankly, when after- 
 wards ypu have to settle a bill that is a little heavy, 
 you have only yourself to blame . . . especially if you 
 have shown a certain personal imprudence as you 
 have, my dear Minister," the Prefect finished, tapping 
 Croze's knee with a friendly laugh. 
 
 Croze had listened to this harangue with his head 
 rather low. 
 
 "I don't deny it," he replied; "but you, the police,
 
 THE BILL 281 
 
 isn't that what you are there for, to supervise 
 suspected foreigners, give us information about them, 
 and defend us from them, if need be ? " 
 
 "Impossible, my dear Minister. My means of 
 investigation end at the frontier, and if they didn't, 
 the whole of my staff would be insufficient." 
 
 "Besides," insinuated Mercadieux in a discreet 
 voice, and with a respectful glance at the Under- 
 secretary, "the certificates, the gratuitous references 
 furnished by French families in regard to these young 
 girls, confuse everything. And then, there is an 
 understanding between them ; they exchange proofs 
 of identity, ' testimonials.' It is inextricable." 
 
 "Then," said Croze, rising to his feet, "our children 
 must give up learning foreign languages?" 
 
 "The evil of that would not be enormous," said 
 the Prefect, rising in his turn. "What foreign 
 language do you speak ? " 
 "None, but . . ." 
 
 "Nor I, either. All the same we have got along, 
 you and I, and Mercadieux has in his office, at a 
 hundred francs a month, a stenographer who speaks 
 with equal facility English, German and French." 
 
 Mercadieux bowed and withdrew. Lehoux accom- 
 panied Croze to the office door. 
 
 "Besides," he went on, "nothing hinders you from 
 letting these foreign young ladies come to your 
 houses for an hour or two a day like professors ; but, 
 believe me, it is better not to let them live in your own 
 houses, listening to your conversations, watching your 
 visitors, investigating your correspondence, and 
 particularly avoid them as guardian angels to your 
 daughters." 
 
 Croze in the doorway protested: "My brother-in-
 
 282 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 law might have gone away with a young person from 
 Romorantin or Montargis." 
 
 "Possibly. It seems that she was perfectly straight, 
 like him for that matter. ... But love in the New 
 World, expatriation ... Rio ... that's an idea of a 
 foreigner just the same. A girl from Romorantin or 
 Montargis would have proposed Paris quite simply. 
 And then at Montargis, at Romorantin, relations 
 would have been found, people of the country who 
 would have been willing to use their influence with the 
 fugitive. Past the frontier, even the Belgian frontier, 
 the difficulties are doubled. To fill the place of 
 Mademoiselle Riemann engage a French girl, if you 
 take my advice." 
 
 Lowering his voice, he added 
 
 "Are there in your house and in your circle any 
 suspicions as to the real cause of this Riemann's 
 departure ? " 
 
 " My wife is at Val d' Anay, and I have not allowed 
 her to be told about it. As for my children, I'm 
 afraid they suspect, at all events my son Guy does. 
 In any case, so long as it doesn't get into the news- 
 papers . . . and so long as that animal of a Berger, 
 the reporter of the Commission, who dislikes me, 
 doesn't get wind of the matter and ask me for the 
 document. . . ." 
 
 The two men shook hands. Croze went slowly 
 down the staircase, pondering over the Prefect's words, 
 which had, in short, humiliated and irritated him. "I 
 have need of him for the moment," he thought; "but 
 if ever I have the portfolio of the Interior, won't I 
 just send him into retirement to meditate on the con- 
 dition of governesses I " 
 
 The car with the chauffeur wearing a tricolor
 
 THE BILL 283 
 
 cockade, was waiting for him in the Boulevard du 
 Palais. Croze said, "To the Chamber, quick!" As 
 he rolled along the quays he read once more the note 
 from Emmeline which he had received that very 
 morning : " I beg of you to let me see you to-morrow 
 morning and not in my house." He thought: "Is 
 it going to be another worry? They generally come 
 in a series." But what ' worry ' could he anticipate 
 from the amorous Emmeline, except jeremiads on 
 the infrequencies of their interviews, a scene of 
 jealousy ending in protestations of eternal affection ? 
 Alt that was scarcely of any importance. And so he 
 had complied with Emmeline's wish, and had sent 
 her these words by way of reply : " At the Chamber 
 about 1 1 ." To tell the truth, Croze, even at the price 
 of a scene of jealousy, was not sorry to see his old 
 friend that morning. Verbose, sociable, given to 
 confidences, it was painful for him to carry alone the 
 weight of this enormous secret. Unable to communi- 
 cate it to his wife or children, he wished to share it 
 with Emmeline. . . . "Really good deep down, the 
 dear thing. In regard to everything that concerns 
 my career she has always given me good advice, and 
 yet she isn't extremely intelligent. . . . But a woman 
 who loves you, she has something like second 
 sight. . . . Yes, I'm going to consult her." (He had 
 told her about the theft of the document, but without 
 explaining the means by which Mag had operated.) 
 "I'll tell her that this girl came to tempt me, that I 
 foolishly left her alone in my study. I'll swear to 
 her that nothing definite passed between us, and my 
 word, if she divines the truth, I'll soothe her with 
 a rendezvous." The prospect of thus pouring his 
 confessions into Emmeline's breast restored his tran-
 
 284 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 quillity, and when he asked the usher of the Palais 
 Bourbon, "Is anybody waiting for me?" he would 
 have been disappointed if Sergeot had not replied 
 in the florid language that was usual to him : "Yes, 
 M. le Ministre. There is a lady who has been waiting 
 for you in the office of the 8th Committee a good 
 quarter of an hour." 
 
 Was Sergeot playing at discretion, or had he really 
 not recognized Emmeline Corbellier, who had haunted 
 the Chamber for so many years? 
 
 Croze was inclined to this last hypothesis when he 
 found himself in the hall of the 8th Committee, before 
 the poor human, broken-down thing, bathed in tears, 
 which he himself failed for a moment to recognize, 
 but who, none the less, was Emmeline Corbellier. Her 
 limbs trembled so that she couldn't even come to 
 him ; she only stretched out her hands as if asking 
 him to draw her out of an abyss ; she raised towards 
 him a face that seemed in the very act of dissolving 
 into tears, a face which no longer troubled about 
 tightening its muscles so as to preserve a mask of 
 youth, a face that the unwise golden hair aged at 
 the present instance like a wig of a merry Andrew. 
 He was immediately seized by these two thoughts : 
 " Good God, how old she has got ! " and " Is she going 
 to add something more to the bill, as Lehoux calls 
 it ? " Immediately his selfishness armed him with 
 defences. 
 
 "Well, what's happened?" he asked rather coldly. 
 
 "Jules . . . Jules . . ." stammered Emmeline, burst- 
 ing into tears, "they know : my husband knows. . . ." 
 
 Croze, absorbed in his own anxieties, thought that 
 it was a matter of the documents. He sat down 
 quickly beside Emmeline.
 
 THE BILL 285 
 
 " What does he know ? He can know only about 
 Mag's departure ? Except the Prefect of police, there 
 is only you and I who know about the theft. I hope 
 that you have not committed the imprudence of 
 telling Corbellier?" 
 
 She made a gesture of struggling impatiently, a 
 gesture of waving aside this story of stolen papers, 
 and, swallowing her tears accordingly, she answered 
 
 "No, not Mag. . . . It's Sandra, Loute's Italian 
 governess. ... I dismissed her the other day." 
 
 "Yes, I know." 
 
 "She took some letters that were in my jewel-case 
 ... so carefully hidden . . . letters that I was so 
 attached to." 
 
 "What letters?" 
 
 "Letters from you, so good, the old ones, after 
 the time in Mont Dore. . . . And then nice notes 
 . . . afterwards . . . even this year. . . . All the 
 ones that had a little tenderness in them ... I kept 
 them." 
 
 "You swore to me that you burnt them ! " 
 
 "Yes, the ones that I didn't like ... the little 
 dry ones, the unkind ones, such as you write to me 
 now. ... But when I felt a little that you loved me 
 ... I couldn't part with them. . . . The hiding-place 
 was so secure. ... In my jewel-case. . . . Think ! " 
 
 "It's a proof that the hiding-place was secure, that 
 the letters have been stolen from you ! How do you 
 know that it's this girl?" 
 
 Emmeline raised her drenched eyes towards Croze. 
 
 "She has . . . she has sent them, half to my husband 
 . . . half to your wife. Wait . . . she wrote to me 
 about it." 
 
 "Name of . . . ! " said Croze in a hollow voice.
 
 286 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 Brutally he tore Sandra's letter from Emmeline's 
 hands and ran his eyes over it 
 
 " Madame, I said to you on leaving you : ' Wish 
 that Jacques may not break the word that he has 
 given me ' ! A month has gone by ; Jacques has not 
 written to me ; he has not come to the rendezvous 
 that we had arranged together; he has not answered 
 my letters. I know that under your influence he has 
 returned to his former way of life, and that Messieurs 
 d'Ambline, Vorberg and Lartisan have become his 
 friends once more. I am too proud to make entreaties, 
 and as for punishing him, I have no wish to; he is 
 not responsible ; he is a child of whom I alone might 
 have been able to make a man. You have prevented 
 me from doing this. You have been the cause of 
 his misfortune and my grief. It is right that you 
 should be chastized. When one has a lover, par- 
 ticularly a conspicuous lover, Madame, one shuts up 
 under a double lock one's amorous correspondence, 
 otherwise one risks what is happening to you : 
 namely, that your husband and Monsieur's wife may 
 receive one day certain specimens of this correspond- 
 ence. I assure you that Madame Croze will be 
 exceedingly interested in those which should have 
 reached her yesterday at Val d'Anay (by registered 
 post). As for your husband, I trust, for the sake of 
 his intelligence, that they will teach him nothing new, 
 except a few details on your ' cursed temperament,' 
 as M. Croze writes. . . . This is what your injustice, 
 your dishonesty and your stupidity will cost you. 
 SANDRA CERONI." 
 
 "Ah, that!" cried Croze, without finishing the 
 letter, and crumpling it up in his clenched fist, which 
 he extended towards Emmeline, who was startled
 
 THE BILL 287 
 
 as though he were going to strike her in the 
 face. 
 
 "You think that I haven't worries enough? 
 Through your stupidity here's a new one that you 
 have brought on us, ridiculous, absurd ! She's right, 
 that Italian. . . . Why didn't you let her marry your 
 son ? If you think that you will find it easy to settle 
 him with the reputation that he has. . . . And then 
 you dismiss an Italian woman in love, and imagine 
 that it is. all going to pass off in conversation and 
 smiles? " 
 
 Emmeline wished to protest, to say 
 "But you yourself advised us about this dismissal, 
 you must remember." 
 
 He listened to nothing, but went on 
 "You are then utterly stupid, my poor Emmeline? 
 The astonishing part of it all is that the Italian didn't 
 give you a stab with a knife. . . . Well, here we are 
 in a nice mess now ! Julie is good, Julie loves me, 
 Julie has never wished to believe anything against 
 me, that's clear enough ; but letters signed by me, 
 addressed to you ; they are thrust right under her 
 nose ; she will be compelled to understand. And 
 then who knows how one will be able to soothe her ? 
 She takes a long time to make up her mind, but when 
 once her decision has been taken, nobody is more 
 obstinate. Nothing will stop her. It will be the 
 law-courts, scandal. And all through your fault. 
 What necessity was there to keep those letters ? And 
 if you did keep them, weren't you able to shut them 
 up? ... And then wait! I've had enough. . . . 
 Let us stop there. Let us clear this business up, 
 each on his own side. ... I shall go and find Julie 
 and say to her : ' It's true, I did commit this stupidity
 
 2 8S GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 long ago, and I've dragged it after me like a bullet for 
 eleven years. But I'm getting rid of it with delight. 
 Ouf ! ' And it will be no lie that I'm telling her. 
 And if your husband wants to bother me, you can 
 send him to me. . . . I'll willingly give him a good 
 sword-thrust in the loins or in his face of a cocu. . . . 
 Good-evening ! " 
 
 He went towards the door, puffing with a rage 
 which increased as he spoke, and which he stimulated 
 with his own words. The actual grasping of the door- 
 lock gave him the first check, and he suddenly 
 imagined himself as he would be after passing out 
 and closing the door on Emmeline, separated from 
 Emmeline for ever. He lingered a little before open- 
 ing, waiting for a word, an appeal, a cry, the sound 
 of a sob . . . but there was nothing ; she did not stir ; 
 he could not even hear her breathe. Then he felt 
 beginning inside him that same shiver which had 
 frozen him as he leaned over the drawer, from which 
 B. 2. 17 was missing. To keep himself in counte- 
 nance he half opened the door, then closed it noisily, 
 as if he were giving a final emphasis to his reply; he 
 turned round. Emmeline was still sitting on her 
 chair, absolutely motionless. She had not, however, 
 lost consciousness, since her large, wide-open eyes, 
 now dry, followed all Croze's movements. Her face 
 had changed its expression; it had no longer that 
 air of senile triviality that so often annoyed the 
 Under-Secretary. A real depth of feeling, an utter 
 despair, had driven all affectation out of it ; and Croje, 
 abrupt and rough as he was, and little sensitive to 
 emotion, could not watch this picture of feminine 
 desolation without being troubled. He coughed; he
 
 THE BILL 289 
 
 let go of the knob of the closed door; still at a 
 distance, he stammered out 
 
 "Well? What?" 
 
 And as she still made no answer he came close to 
 her, his tone softened, but he still tried to scold 
 
 "It's all very well your staying there on your chair 
 and looking at me, but we are dished, all the same, 
 and you're the cause of it. ... Come now, say some- 
 thing. Answer ! Have you an idea, a plan ? " 
 
 With her head she gave a negative sign. She still 
 fixed her eyes on Croze. But when she saw that her 
 silence exasperated him, and that he was going to 
 become violent again, she forced herself to speak. 
 Her mouth was twisted, her teeth chattered, her 
 tongue seemed glued to her palate. He understood, 
 however, the broken words 
 
 "You said . . . you said that you . . . that you were 
 glad ... to ... to be ... be ... rid of me." 
 
 She burst again into tears, so overwhelmed that 
 her hat, with the five hundred francs' worth of 
 aigrettes that crowned it, rolled on to the floor. Croze 
 watched her, his heart torn by a pity which became 
 stronger and stronger, and, for all that, too irritated 
 still to yield, to console her. But amid the stam- 
 merings that escaped from her, between her sobs she 
 found, as every woman sincerely in love finds, the 
 word that it was necessary to say the word that 
 breaks down the resistance of male selfishness. 
 
 "And yet . . . and yet . . . Jules ... we ... have 
 been ... so happy." 
 
 Scarcely had she said this than he was at her side, 
 
 clasping her in his arms, rocking her, kissing her 
 
 forehead and her face, caressing her, as if she were 
 
 a poor scolded child that one forgives. . . . "We 
 
 T
 
 290 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 have been so happy ! " The past revived by these 
 simple words spoken so humbly had suddenly taken 
 possession once more of this man of fifty, who had 
 reached that critical moment in which one feels that 
 life will add nothing more really equal to the benefits 
 already obtained, and that the question is especially 
 to defend them against the destructive forces already 
 threatening in every direction. "We have been so 
 happy ! " It was his youth, himself as a deputy of 
 thirty-five, already distinguished in committees, 
 counting already on the future, all the future, the 
 Presidency of the Republic included. It was the 
 strength and freshness of his body, that intangible 
 something of vigour and health which pleased 
 the eye at first glance ; it was that appetite for 
 adventures, that need of success and enjoyment, and 
 it was that first meeting at Monte Dore with the rich, 
 brilliant, perfectly correct woman of the world, the 
 instant understanding between them of the eyes, the 
 genuine passion, the happiness of possession. . . . 
 Oh, yes, Emmeline was telling the truth ; they had 
 been very happy. . . . The whole of one side of his 
 nature, the exuberant, impulsive, rather boyish side, 
 suppressed in his own home, embarrassed before his 
 wife whom he respected and admired, but whose piety 
 and aristocratic tone always overawed him all this 
 ardent sensual side, rather Bohemian, rather simple, 
 had been satisfied by Emmeline's love. And besides 
 (more than Julie, his wife, who was always ready to 
 curb him in the name of society and religion) Emme- 
 line had been associated in his political ambitions. 
 With the instinct of a woman in love, who is not 
 encumbered by moral scruples, she had shown her- 
 self twenty times a shrewd counsellor, incapable of
 
 THE BILL 291 
 
 giving reasons for her advice, but saying obstinately : 
 "You must accept that, and refuse this," and rarely 
 had she been wrong. While he held her against his 
 heart, the long years of sincere fellowship, body and 
 soul, that this poor sobbing being had given him of 
 her own free will came back to his heart, evoked by 
 the "We have been so happy." The good and the 
 bad in him, a tender gratitude of the head and of the 
 senses, combined with the fear of losing a mascot, 
 made him cling to Emmeline. 
 
 "You are right," he murmured, "I have been dis- 
 gusting. . . . But I am so tormented ! Really, 1 
 scarcely know what I am saying. Forget these 
 stupidities; I don't really mean a word of them. We 
 will be happy together still, indeed we will, my poor 
 darling. ... If they bring too many miseries on us, 
 we'll stand all the closer together, both of us, eh ? 
 Won't we? Come, smile for me." 
 
 She gave him the smile he asked for, a smile that 
 brought back to him for a moment her "Mont Dore 
 face," as she used to say. 
 
 Ah, little it mattered to her, catastrophe, divorce, 
 loss of money and everything else, if her lover could 
 only remain nearer and more affectionate after the 
 smash.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 INSPECTOR MERCADIEUX 
 
 "WHERE are you going, Blanche?" 
 "To the chapel. Are you coming with me?" 
 That "Are you coming with me?" which Baroness 
 Ropart d'Anay addressed to her sister, Julie Croze, 
 on meeting her in the hall of the chateau, was tinged 
 with a tender supplication and a persuasive pity. . . . 
 As Croze had foreseen, Julie, from the moment that 
 Sandra's letter had opened her eyes, experienced the 
 bitter blow of a great confidence that had been 
 betrayed. Grave, outwardly a little cold, she loved 
 and looked up to her husband, and her own horror of 
 falsehood had always prevented her from believing 
 that a man whom she loved and admired could be a 
 gross liar. Disabused in this, she had immediately 
 refused every explanation, every interview with the 
 guilty one ; she had called Josette down to Val d'Anay 
 beside her by telegram. Her principles forbade 
 divorce, but she demanded a separation, and the 
 endeavours of her sister, Baroness Ropart d'Anay, 
 the efforts of Guy, who had been despatched on an 
 embassy to her, had not, up till now, succeeded in 
 bending her purpose. 
 
 "Do come," repeated the Baroness, who felt that 
 her sister was rebelling against Providence, "come, to 
 please me. Remember that I have sorrow, I too." 
 She took her arm and drew her away, without 
 
 292
 
 INSPECTOR MERCADIEUX 293 
 
 having obtained from her an actual consent. The 
 chapel was situated at the northern extremity of the 
 main building; it was the old chapel, modestly 
 decorated, but peaceful and reminiscent, of the reli- 
 gious community which had occupied the chateau 
 before the Revolution. There floated over it that 
 atmosphere which arises from places where many 
 human beings have knelt, have bowed their heads, 
 have clasped their hands, have murmured supplica- 
 tions. To this accumulation of intense hope, of 
 ardent desire exhaled beneath the arches, the stones 
 one would imagine do not remain insensible; they 
 become magnetized little by little through the flight of 
 ages, and it is the living soul of centuries, this fervour 
 which is exhaled from their flagstones, their pillars 
 and their vaults. 
 
 Now the two sisters, the two half-widows, knelt side 
 by side in front of the chancel-rail. A clear light 
 filtered through the simple, rough glass windows. 
 Around, the whole of Val d'Anay towards the 
 warmest part of the day following the mid-day rest 
 was bathed in silence. Hector, Jean and Henriette 
 were travelling in Switzerland with the Abbe; they 
 had been hurried off abroad, so as to be kept away 
 from the scandalous rumours in the neighbourhood. 
 Josette seemed plunged in a despair even deeper than 
 that of her mother; except for the prattling of the 
 twins, Violette and Marguerite, who continued to 
 shoot up among the ruins of the household, Val 
 d'Anay, where no visitors were now received, would 
 have resembled the castle of the Sleeping Beauty. . . . 
 In this mournful silence, under the shadow of old 
 stones magnetized by so many prayers of women, the 
 two half-widows knelt side by side. But only one of
 
 294 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 the two was praying. The rebellious heart of Julie 
 Croze resisted even the religious magnetism of the 
 soothing chapel. She did not accuse God; her faith 
 was too intimately interwoven with the fibres of her 
 heart, for her rebellion to turn to imprecation or blas- 
 phemy. Only she, whose piety was so steadfast and 
 so sincere, could no longer speak to God, and it was in 
 vain at this moment that, like her sister, she bent her 
 knees and crossed her fingers over her eyes; she had 
 simply performed the usual gestures. Her reflections 
 had nothing of prayer in them. 
 
 She was thinking, with a force more concentrated 
 than in the past, about that which she had never 
 ceased from thinking of since the arrival of the letters 
 sent by Sandra 
 
 "I have been a fool, a dupe. I have been stupid. 
 I believed that a man without principles and without 
 religion could be a faithful husband. . . . It's im- 
 possible; I'm certain now that he was never faithful 
 to me even for a single month. For I recollect now 
 that afternoon when I met him in the Rue Tilsit, the 
 month after our marriage, just at the time when he had 
 told me that he would be at the Chamber. ... And 
 the trip to Mont Dore when he became entangled with 
 that woman ! He wrote me from there such affection- 
 ate letters, telling me that he was thinking of me and 
 his children. . . . When he was Secretary of Fine- 
 Arts I was warned by an anonymous letter that he 
 had one mistress in the Odeon Company, and another 
 in that of the Opera-Comique. That made me laugh ; 
 I showed him the letter, and he made fun of it ! 
 Ah ! fool, fool. . . . And this German woman, this 
 good-for-nothing, this spy Guy has done his best to 
 persuade me that there was no intrigue between her
 
 INSPECTOR MERCADIEUX 295 
 
 and Jules, and that she got into Jules' private room 
 without his knowledge. . . . No, no! I'm not to be 
 taken in any more by such nonsense. She was his 
 mistress, she possessed him at the same time that I 
 did, at the same time that the Corbellier woman did. 
 ... Ah ! terrible, terrible ! . . ." 
 
 She put the sound of her voice into the articulation 
 of these last words, for gradually her lips had moved 
 under the tempest of her burning thoughts. The 
 Baroness turned her eyes for a moment towards her 
 and she blushed and hid her face entirely with her 
 hands. For her part, the Baroness was praying. 
 She was not pondering over her miseries and her 
 grievances, like Julie Croze ; she was conversing truly 
 with the redoubtable and mysterious Ruler of 
 Destiny, hidden behind the door of the Tabernacle, 
 whom she adored. But even her prayer was not quite 
 like those that she had formerly prayed, before the 
 disappearance of Baron Henri. . . . Then she used 
 to tell everything to God ; she trusted in Him as in an 
 all-powerful Friend, but One quite near to her, One 
 who knew all her wishes in advance ; she used to open 
 her heart to Him. To-day, she still prayed ; she prayed 
 with more ardour than ever; only she experienced a 
 little embarrassment, not in praying but in formu- 
 lating her prayer. Prostrate in her widow's weeds 
 before the Sovereign Master she could not say to 
 him: "Lord, receive the soul of my husband." For 
 deep in her heart her conviction protested against 
 this request. And that shame which in the face of 
 the outside world made her accept the hypothesis of a 
 fatal accident and reject haughtily that of an amorous 
 trick, that shame did not leave her when she was 
 alone before her God. She did not like to say to God :
 
 296 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 "Send me back the prodigal." She did not like to 
 confess, even to God, that she admitted the possible 
 delinquency of the head of the family. . . . And with 
 a mingling of Christian humility and wifely pride, 
 she repeated this orison : "My God, wherever he may 
 be now, take him under Thy pity and protect him ! 
 His wife and children have need of him . . . but if 
 Thy will is to take him from us, do not take from us 
 also, I implore Thee, the honour of our house ! " 
 Then she prayed fofr her sister whose rebellion caused 
 her a kind of astonishment as if she had seen her 
 possessed by a devil. She begged the Divine 
 Master to calm this rebel soul and inspire it with 
 leniency and the wish for self-sacrifice. And as she 
 prayed thus, in the very depths of her heart she 
 thought : "Ah, if I were in her place ! If I had only 
 to say : ' Come back, it's forgotten,' for my husband 
 to be once more among us ! " 
 
 A warning bell which was not that of the chapel, 
 sounded in the distance, a peal of a few seconds 
 followed by two brief tinklings. 
 
 "That is for you," said Julie. 
 
 "Let us go and see." 
 
 Truly enough it was the "bell for Madame la 
 Baronne," that for the Baron had, after a short peal, 
 only one vibration. But that, for a long time, had 
 not been heard any more. . . . The two sisters left 
 the chapel and went together towards the chateau. 
 As they crossed the central court, they met the valet, 
 who, on perceiving them, brought a visiting-card on 
 a tray 
 
 "Mercadieux, Inspector of the Prefecture of 
 Police." In spite of her coolness and her complete
 
 INSPECTOR MERCADIEUX 297 
 
 self-control, Madame Ropart d'Anay trembled, and 
 her cheeks became young again in their blush. She 
 had seen the Inspector twice already in Paris, in his 
 office, soon after the Baron's disappearance. Since 
 he had come himself to Val d'Anay, and unexpectedly, 
 it must be that he was bringing news. 
 
 "Show him into Monsieur's study," she said quickly 
 regaining her attitude of composure. And she 
 added, for her sister's ear : " I ask you not to leave 
 me; you'll do what I ask? " 
 
 "Certainly I will," replied Julie Croze, "but on 
 condition that this policeman speaks solely about 
 your affairs. ... If he makes the slightest allusion 
 to the stolen documents, if he pronounces the name 
 of my husband, I shall leave the room." 
 
 Madame Croze affected to be unwilling to listen to 
 anything that concerned the catastrophe of her own 
 household. Between her and her husband the tie was 
 broken, she considered, once and for ever ; neither 
 Josette nor Guy nor the Baroness should speak of it. 
 
 Inspector Mercadieux was standing waiting in the 
 little room formerly called "my office " by the Baron, 
 and which then served principally for the making of 
 cartridges and as a depot for specimens of grain. 
 Everything remained just as it was at the moment 
 when the master of the house, before mounting Cesar, 
 had for the last time brooded there on his plan. Care 
 was taken that the room should be well kept and 
 preserve an air of life. 
 
 "Good-day, Monsieur," said the Baroness, holding 
 out her hand to the Inspector who bowed very low. 
 . . , "Madame is my sister, Madame Croze. Sit 
 down please and tell me what brings you here." 
 
 The two sisters, being seated, the Baroness in front
 
 298 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 of the desk and her sister on a chair beside her, 
 Mercadieux remained standing. The Baroness in- 
 sisted 
 
 "Sit down, Monsieur, I beg of you." 
 
 He obeyed, but only sat half on the chair as if 
 to apologize for seating himself before ladies. He 
 'was dressed in a dark grey suit, almost black, just 
 noticeable under the dust-coat buttoned up in front. 
 In his hands, covered with heavy brown gloves, 
 he held a straw hat with a black ribbon. His good 
 French face, large and plebeian, with its black 
 moustache, its black horseshoe beard, betrayed an 
 intelligent effort to recollect thoroughly, and present 
 thoroughly what he was going to say. Before 
 speaking he looked for some time at the red matting 
 on the floor, wrinkling his forehead under the black- 
 hair which was of such vigorous abundance. 
 
 "Well, Madame la Baronne," he said at last, raising 
 his eyes two eyes of the colour of clear coffee, filled 
 with southern lucidity "there is a little news, and it 
 is for that reason that M. le Prefet sent me down. 
 He did not let you know beforehand of my visit, and 
 he told me to tell you that he omitted to do so on 
 purpose. He feared worrying you uselessly, twenty- 
 four or forty-eight hours in advance. We knew that 
 you were not leaving Val d'Anay . . . then what risk 
 did I run in coming down myself?" 
 
 "Yes, you were quite right," answered the 
 Baroness. "Thank M. Lehoux for his intelligent 
 consideration." 
 
 Mercadieux went on in the same measured tone, 
 with the same air of being anxious to omit nothing 
 and of weighing his words well 
 
 "The last results of the inquiry made here by the
 
 INSPECTOR MERCADIEUX 299 
 
 police of the department with whom I have been 
 associated have not been contradicted by subsequent 
 facts. The Cher has brought up no corpse ; a corpse 
 thrown up by the waters of the Loire, has been 
 identified; besides, it was that of a woman. They 
 have found no other piece of M. le Baron's clothes, 
 except those left conspicuously on the bank. Our 
 conviction has not then changed ; Madame's husband 
 has not been drowned in the Cher." 
 
 "God will that you may be right, Monsieur," said 
 the Baroness, without showing any emotion. 
 
 " But if he has not been accidentally drowned in 
 the Cher," continued Mercadieux, "as the first 
 appearances indicated, there has then been deception. 
 There has been a wish to conceal disappearance. 
 Had anybody any interest in suppressing Madame's 
 husband, or of hiding him ? That is what we have 
 been investigating, as much in Paris as in your 
 neighbourhood. Now, as the result of our investi- 
 gations, it is clear as day that M. le Baron had no 
 enemy, that his disappearance left his affairs per- 
 fectly in order, and, allow me to add, Madame 
 (I'm here, am I not, to state things as they are?) 
 that he had no known relations with any woman 
 who was a native of this part of the country or 
 Paris." 
 
 "You are informing me of nothing new," said the 
 Baroness rather drily. 
 
 "Then," continued the Inspector, "M. le Baron 
 Ropart d'Anay did not die by drowning. No one 
 had any interest in making him disappear; conse- 
 quently, he disappeared of his own accord, while 
 endeavouring to have his disappearance attributed to 
 an accident."
 
 300 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 Madame Croze, hearing these deductions, seemed 
 much more annoyed than her sister. She could not 
 resist interrupting 
 
 "And who is to say that my brother-in-law has not 
 been the victim of one of those bands of apaches, so 
 many of which are discovered nowadays in the 
 provinces? One may suppose that he had money 
 with him the day when he went to Baugis, as the farm 
 had been half destroyed and the farmers were asking 
 for immediate relief ? " 
 
 "Madame," replied Mercadieux, "professionals 
 would never have imagined a mise en scene quite so 
 simple in order to conceal the seizure or assassination 
 of a traveller. And then, after his assassination, what 
 could they have done with him as they did not drown 
 him ? " 
 
 "I don't know; they might have thrown him into a 
 hole . . . buried him, burnt him. . . ." 
 
 "No, Madame, they have neither burnt nor buried 
 the corpse of your brother-in-law, and without enu- 
 merating all the professional objections to the 
 hypothesis, I am coming at once to the decisive 
 reason. M. le Baron Henri, who was not drowned in 
 the Cher, has been neither assassinated nor hidden 
 away, for the incontrovertible reason that he is 
 actually alive, in perfect health, and that this is his 
 photograph, taken scarcely ten days ago." 
 
 This time the Baroness departed from her appar- 
 ent indifference for a moment; she almost snatched 
 the photograph from Mercadieux' hands and looked 
 at it for some seconds while Julie also examined it 
 over her shoulder. Julie had not the slightest doubt; 
 the man in the light suit and the travelling cap, in 
 this minute but extremely clear photograph (a snap-
 
 INSPECTOR MERCADIEUX 301 
 
 shot), was Henri Ropart d'Anay, with his moustache 
 shaved off, which undoubtedly changed him very 
 much. He was leaning against the railing of a packet- 
 boat; a smooth sea streamed in the sunlight in the 
 background. Blanche Ropart d'Anay regained her 
 composure and handed the little photograph back to 
 the police-officer. 
 
 "This person," she said, "has, undoubtedly, some 
 of my husband's features." 
 
 "What ! Madame ! you do not recognize the Baron 
 formally ? and you, Madame Croze ? " 
 
 "There is a strong resemblance," Julie ventured to 
 say. 
 
 "And this other portrait, do you recognize the 
 person ? " 
 
 Still in the same surroundings of a packet-boat, still 
 from a hand camera, a young woman was repre- 
 sented, leaning back in a weary attitude on a deck- 
 chair. Julie was on the point of exclaiming 
 "Rosalie," but she saw such pain changing the ex- 
 pression of her sister, who was also leaning over the 
 photograph, that she refrained from speaking. The 
 Baroness remained motionless for a second, her eyes 
 on the photograph. Her lips moved; doubtless she 
 was praying. A few moments more went by before 
 she could speak. At last she said, as she placed 
 on the desk the photograph that Mercadieux took 
 back 
 
 "As far as I can judge, it is the photograph of a 
 young girl who was in my service here." 
 
 "Yes, Madame," answered the Inspector, "it is the 
 photograph of the girl Boisset born in the suburbs of 
 Arlon. The photographs that I have just submitted 
 to you were taken at Lisbon last week, more precisely,
 
 302 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 ten days ago, before the departure of the Sao-Paulo, 
 which is on its way to Brazil. The name given by the 
 travellers is M. and Mme. Colin. They embarked 
 together at Bordeaux on June 28th, after staying 
 together for a day at the little hotel de la Couronne, 
 Place d'ltalie, in Paris. I repeat, ladies, no doubt is 
 possible ; we have informed ourselves of the whole 
 life of Baron Henri from the very evening of his dis- 
 appearance; the Sao-Paulo will arrive at Rio towards 
 the end of this month ; the two travellers will be on 
 board, for the boat makes no more calls before it 
 reaches Brazil. So if you wish at the present moment 
 to get into communication with them, Madame, M . 
 Lehoux told me that he proposed having a talk with 
 you and furnishing you with a few directions. For 
 our duties and those of French justice are at an end. 
 We have not to follow up assassins, since the assumed 
 victim is in perfect health. And, on the other hand, 
 M. le Baron Henri's flight with this young girl does 
 not constitute a crime that justifies an official visit 
 from one of our agents." 
 
 " But who proposes that you should, Monsieur," the 
 Baroness interrupted, rather coldly, "send out agents 
 in pursuit of M. and Mme. Colin?" 
 
 "Oh, naturally, Madame, that depends on you. . . . 
 If you wish to break altogether with your hus- 
 band . . ." 
 
 "I have not broken with my husband. My 
 husband has disappeared, and you tell me that M. 
 Colin, who has some resemblance to my husband, has 
 embarked for Brazil with Rosalie Boisset. It 
 remains to be proved that M. Colin is really my 
 husband." 
 
 "But it is indisputable, Madame," answered the
 
 INSPECTOR MERCADIEUX 303 
 
 Inspector, whose professional pride was beginning to 
 be irritated by this resistance ; " I repeat to you that 
 all the doings of M. le Baron Ropart, from the 
 moment that he left Val d'Anay, have been recon- 
 structed. If a train had not been late, we should have 
 caught up with him at Bordeaux, which would have 
 been advantageous, for then we could have put our 
 hands on the girl Boisset, and expelled her as a 
 foreigner. . . . We know also that their going away 
 together was planned for several weeks, in fact, from 
 the time that the girl Boisset was brought by the 
 girl Riemann then a governess in your house, 
 Madame," he added, turning to Madame Croze, who 
 had suddenly gone quite pale "to consult a mid- 
 wife in the Rue Taitbout, who judged her to be two 
 months enceinte. 1 ' 
 
 Baroness Ropart d'Anay rose to her feet at these 
 words. 
 
 "Let us put an end to this conversation, Monsieur," 
 she said, her face pale, but her voice firm and her 
 eyes dry. "The adventures of the girl Boisset, as 
 you call her, have no interest for me. If this unhappy 
 one has turned out badly, it is no fault of mine. In 
 our house she has seen none but honourable examples. 
 But I shall not permit the name of Baron Ropart 
 d'Anay to be associated with this ignoble story of 
 betrayal and flight. . . . Your M. Colin is, for me, 
 M. Colin and nothing more; that he resembles more 
 or less the Baron does not deprive me of my convic- 
 .tion that the Baron was incapable of doing what you 
 assert. . . . And if you prove to me, which you have 
 not done, that M. Colin is, indeed, my husband, and 
 that my husband is accompanying Rosalie Boisset to 
 Brazil, I shall preserve the firm belief that mv
 
 304 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 husband plays no other part in regard to this girl but 
 that of charity and pity ; that he has taken it upon 
 himself to excuse another's fault and to give aid to 
 a sinner, but that he himself is still worthy of his 
 name, and of the affection of his own. . . . The day 
 when it pleases him to return here, he will return 
 with his head erect. He is the master. I have nothing 
 more, then, to ask of you, Monsieur. Give my thanks 
 to M. Lehoux, and tell him that I desire the inquiry 
 to be closed." 
 
 She gave the stupefied Mercadieux a cold bow and 
 left the little room quickly, leaving her sister with 
 the police officer. 
 
 "My word, Madame," said he, "in my life I have 
 seen many ladies whom their husbands ... in brief, 
 many ladies deceived and deserted. But never one, 
 on my honour, like Madame, your sister-in-law. . . . 
 Ah, she is a lady with character; she is not easy to 
 get on with . . . but one is compelled, all the same, 
 to respect her. Besides, that doesn't stand on all 
 fours, her idea. . . . She doesn't reflect that it will 
 be necessary to decide absolutely if the Baron is dead 
 or alive, if for nothing else, for questions of 
 interest. , . ." 
 
 The office door was quickly opened ; Josette Croze 
 appeared, and without even glancing at Mercadieux, 
 ran to her mother. 
 
 "Mamma," she said, "Aunt Blanche is unwell. . . . 
 When she came into the drawing-room where I \Y;IN 
 she had a kind of fainting fit. She is lying on the 
 sofa. . . . She is asking for you." 
 
 "It's the reaction," murmured Mercadieux. "Poor 
 lady ! " 
 
 "Will you excuse me, Monsieur?" said Madame
 
 INSPECTOR MERCADIEUX 305 
 
 Croze. "Josette, ring the bell for some one to 
 accompany Monsieur." 
 
 She went out quickly. 
 
 Left alone with the Inspector, Josette said 
 
 "Excuse me, Monsieur, I did not quite understand 
 what Mamma said to me. Where are you to be 
 accompanied ? " 
 
 " I am taking the train that starts for Paris at four, 
 Mademoiselle. Don't disturb any one on my account. 
 I will go through the woods to the station ; it's only 
 about a mile and a half on foot, just time to smoke 
 a cigar." 
 
 "Then, Monsieur, I will tell some one to accom- 
 pany you as far as the private road." 
 
 "No thanks, Mademoiselle," said Mercadieux, 
 stopping the young girl who was in the act of ringing, 
 " I know the road. I have been here before. I am 
 the Inspector of Police, Mercadieux." 
 
 While pronouncing his name he looked attentively 
 at Josette's face and, as he expected, Josette became 
 uneasy immediately. She was incapable of moving 
 or speaking. Scarcely paler than usual, but with a 
 pallor beneath which the life-blood seemed no longer 
 to circulate, she waited, so obviously terrorized that 
 the man's pity was roused. 
 
 "Have no fear, Mademoiselle," he said. "I am 
 very pleased that chance has brought us together 
 alone for a moment ; I should have been obliged to 
 ask permission to speak to you, and that might 
 have seemed odd. . . . But please calm yourself, and 
 don't be afraid. I have nothing painful to tell 
 you. . . . On the contrary. . . . There ... it seems 
 to me that this will be the best. Are you ready to 
 go out with me as though you were showing me the 
 u
 
 306 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 way to the private road? Because, if we remain here, 
 Madame your mother or Madame your aunt are sure 
 to come back." 
 
 Josette nodded her acquiescence, and regaining her 
 self-control, opened the door and led the way out. 
 They exchanged no word as they crossed the court, 
 but as soon as the outbuildings were passed, the 
 Inspector, watching the young girl from the corner 
 of his eye, said 
 
 "It's like this, Mademoiselle. ... In the course of 
 the inquiry that we have made to recover the docu- 
 ments which your governess stole from Monsieur, your 
 father, we have been led to investigate a certain 
 ground-floor with tw r o entrances, situated don't be 
 uneasy, 1 assure you that you are in no danger. . . . 
 All this is absolutely secret, and Monsieur your 
 father himself knows nothing about it. In this 
 ground-floor a certain number of letters belonging to 
 Monsieur Bolski, and others belonging to Monsieur 
 de Letzling, his friend, have been seized. There are 
 among them three notes from you and a longer letter, 
 which have nothing to do with the affair of the stolen 
 documents. Monsieur le Prefet has undertaken not 
 to attach them to the official file, and he has charged 
 me to return them to you. Walk a little in front of 
 me. . . . Put out your left hand ; there ! Close your 
 hand on the envelope quickly, you can't be seen from 
 the chateau ; I conceal you ; I'm not so slight as you. 
 So! You've got it? Ah, I'm very pleased, and 
 Monsieur le Prefet will be pleased too." 
 
 "Thank you," stammered Josette, to whose cheeks 
 a little warmth was now returning. 
 
 They had reached the private road; the young girl 
 continued to walk for some time beside Mercadieux 
 in silence. At last she decided to ask
 
 INSPECTOR MERCADIEUX 307 
 
 "Is M. de Letzling in Vienna?" 
 
 "We believe him to be there, Mademoiselle." 
 
 "Do you know why he went away suddenly?" 
 
 "Surely because of the affair of the documents. 
 M. Bolski appears as the instigator of your governess, 
 and M. de Letzling is intimate with M. Bolski." 
 
 "M. de Letzling is incapable of committing such 
 an infamy," cried Josette. 
 
 Mercadieux thought to himself 
 
 "Is she going to begin again like her aunt? They 
 have confidence ingrained in their very souls in this 
 family. . . ." 
 
 14 My word, Mademoiselle!" he said, "you are 
 perhaps right. To tell the truth, we know that M. de 
 Letzling is in Austria, that he has had an interview 
 with the Minister of War, who is his uncle; but 
 beyond that there is no more news of him. Is he on 
 a secret mission ? Possibly. His family, his military 
 set, they become dumb over there in regard to him ; 
 it's the watchword. You have received no letters from 
 him ? " 
 
 "None," replied Josette. 
 
 "Then you are no better informed than we are. . . . 
 All my respects, Mademoiselle. . . . Very happy to 
 have been useful to you. All my respects also 10 
 those two ladies, your mother and your aunt." 
 
 Josette remained standing for some time on the 
 spot where Mercadieux had left her ; she saw receding 
 along the road a large round back on which the dust 
 coat, lit up by the sun, gleamed like a cuirass. The 
 emotion at having recovered her letters had not died 
 out; her cheeks preserved their excitement. "The 
 pretty girl," thought Mercadieux, as he went on at a 
 good pace, "what a pity that she chose as her lover 
 this coward of a German, who was a spy at her
 
 3oS GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 expense." For Mercadieux hud no doubt that Josette 
 had been Letzling's mistress, and that Letzling, in 
 agreement with Bolski, had planned the theft of the 
 documents. '. . . Josette, motionless in the shadow 
 zone cast by the plane trees on the private road, 
 Josette, erect, slender as an Egyptian in her sheath 
 of white cloth, a white flexible hat posed on her dusky 
 hair, Josette, she too, was thinking of Letzling. She, 
 too, in the depths of her agonized heart, felt the same 
 conjecture beginning to shape itself : Letzling the 
 accomplice of Mag and Bolski ! But she rejected it 
 instinctively, as the throat and stomach sometimes 
 reject, in a reflex spasm, a poison that would cause 
 death if it were absorbed. To continue living, and 
 to be sure of this atrocious thing ! She knew well 
 that she would not be able to do that. And as, in 
 spite of the spasm of horror that it provoked, the 
 hideous conjecture rose up again and again, each 
 time also a ghastly presentiment deadened her heart. 
 All this and this was the worst of all must be borne 
 alone, without confiding in anybody; this dreadful 
 anxiety must be shut up in her own heart, this anxiety 
 compared with which the other catastrophes that had 
 happened in the family seemed to her paltry : the 
 disappearance of her uncle, her father's quarrel with 
 her mother, and the threatened ruin of his political 
 career. She was for the moment separated from her 
 only natural confidant, Guy, whom she loved. Guy 
 was helping his father in Paris, and while helping him, 
 doing his best to save from the general ruin his own 
 marriage with Yvonne. Besides, if Guy had been 
 beside Josette, how could she dare to tell this brother, 
 who was so jealous of his sister's reputation, that she 
 had met Letzling quite alone in a secret place?
 
 INSPECTOR MERCADIEUX 309 
 
 Slowly she returned to the steps of Val d'Anay and 
 lingered on the cool terrace looking out at this 
 peaceful Solognote landscape : lawns, birchwoods 
 and pines, the paleness of a pond in the distance. . . . 
 
 "I was wrong," she thought, "to let this Merca- 
 dieux go away without asking him to inform me 
 about Adolf as soon as he himself knows anything. 
 He says that no one is willing to give any news over 
 there. How can that be ? Supposing I went to see 
 the Ambassador? He, too, is a relation of Adolf's, 
 and I danced with him last winter. He was even 
 very gracious, very complimentary to me. Oh, what 
 am I to do ? what am I to do ? " Once again the 
 horible thought: "Adolf was in league with Bolski 
 and Mag. . . . Adolf made use of me in order to 
 pursue his profession of a uniformed spy . . ." stirred 
 the spasm of terror in the young girl's heart. And 
 once again the mournful reply : "Then . . . then . . . 
 disappear," cast, as it were, a veil of crape between 
 her eyes and the peaceful landscape. She had to 
 lean against a bench on the terrace as she was nearly 
 fainting . . . then the vice-like pressure of her agoniz- 
 ing thought relaxed, and she was able to breathe 
 again. She was comforted by hearing in the draw- 
 ing-room through the open windows the quick voice 
 of her mother conversing with the composed voice of 
 her aunt. Madame Ropart d'Anay said 
 
 "But where is Josette?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Madame Croze. "1 left her 
 with that Mercadieux, and I think that she had him 
 shown the way to the station. But where on earth 
 can she be herself ? " 
 
 Josette made sure of her voice, and replied 
 
 "I am here, mother."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 TWO YOUNG GIRLS OF TO-DAY 
 
 FROM the day on which Sandra had warned her that 
 she was sending M. Corbellier a collection of her 
 amorous correspondence, Emmeline lived between two 
 exciting alternatives. In the first place, she antici- 
 pated the classic scene of the outraged husband : 
 "Madame, you are unworthy to bear my name," and 
 prepared herself to meet it in accordance with the 
 traditions of romance and the theatre, which consti- 
 tuted almost the whole of her moral education. With- 
 out daring to confess everything to Jacques, she had 
 let him understand her distress. Jacques, who had 
 become very quickly once more the companion of 
 Carlin and d'Ambline; Jacques, on whom Sandra's 
 passing influence had left no appreciable trace ; 
 Jacques, who loved, in his own words, "to pinch his 
 soul," had profited by the occasion to lead poor 
 Emmeline into crises of exalted sensibility, in which 
 she cursed love and swore to her son that she would 
 live only for him in a saintly chastity. Then, as the 
 scene with her husband did not burst out, and as 
 Maurice Corbellier continued living beside her the 
 same life as before parallel rather than conjugal- 
 she began to hope again. Perhaps Sandra's venge- 
 ance was confined to a threat; perhaps a providential 
 chance had prevented the dangerous missive from 
 reaching its destination; more probably (this was 
 
 310
 
 TWO YOUNG GIRLS OF TO-DAY 311 
 
 Croze's opinion) Corbellier had thrown into the fire 
 letters which, except for a few disagreeable details, 
 could, doubtless, have taught him nothing new. At 
 this stage Emmeline would have been reassured, not 
 without a touch of scorn for Corbellier, had not 
 Madame Croze's rebellion, her refusal to continue 
 living with her husband, her insistence on exacting 
 a legal separation, kept the threat of the blow still in 
 suspense. Informed privately, Corbellier might have 
 pretended ignorance ; but a scandal that Croze's 
 personality would make public would compel him to 
 act. 
 
 The days, however, flew by, and, thanks to Cor- 
 bellier's silence on the one part, thanks on the other 
 part to the pressure brought to bear on Julie by her 
 sister and her son, the facades of the two households, 
 Croze and Corbellier, remained still upright without 
 any apparent fracture. Corbellier and his wife were 
 seen taking part together in the obsequies of poor 
 Madame Haumont-Segre, who had died without 
 having seen her daughter again, and without her 
 daughter accompanying her to the last resting-place. 
 Croze was seen there without Madame Croze, but 
 she was known to be with her sister, Madame Ropart 
 d'Anay, and so it only turned the gossip on to the 
 adventure of the Baron, which was already half for- 
 gotten. As for the matter of the stolen documents 
 the early indiscretions of the Press having been 
 immediately muzzled by what the Prefect Lehoux 
 called the "blue muzzle," and as scarcely four or 
 rive people knew the realities of the facts, and the 
 reporter of the commission had not yet had the 
 curiosity to look at B. 2. 17 again Croze still hoped 
 to come out of the affair undamaged, except for being
 
 3 i2 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 well bled in money. B. 2. 17 had not been offered 
 to any Government of the Triple Alliance, and a 
 certain London house which acted as an amiable 
 intermediary between the robbed and the robbers 
 asked Croze for a million francs on the part of the 
 withholders of the documents. Croze offered two 
 hundred thousand francs, after making up his mind 
 to yield at three hundred thousand. 
 
 Things were at this stage when one July morning, 
 at ten o'clock, exactly twelve days after the date on 
 which he had signed the receipt of Sandra's packet 
 in the postman's book, Maurice Corbellier, after 
 having carefully inspected one by one the drawers 
 of his "Jules Gre"vy " cabinet, and ascertained that 
 certain patient work, undertaken without witnesses 
 during the whole of the preceding week, had only 
 passed over papers that were devoid of importance 
 after having verified one by one the contents of his 
 old black morocco leather case that he usually 
 carried under his arm on his way to and from the 
 works Maurice Corbellier, after all this, asked his 
 valet if "Madame was still in the house," and received 
 this answer, which did not seem to surprise him 
 
 "No, Monsieur; Madame has already gone out with 
 M. Jacques. Monsieur knows that Madame and M. 
 Jacques have gone to lunch at Versailles, and will be 
 present at that new musical piece of M. Vorberg that 
 they are playing at the Trianon. Madame and M. 
 Jacques will only be in for dinner." 
 
 "Quite true," replied Corbellier peaceably. "Send 
 Mademoiselle Lotite to me." 
 
 Loute was at present without a governess, as 
 Emmeline did not dare even to look for one. The
 
 TWO YOUNG GIRLS OF TO-DAY 313 
 
 second maid accompanied her to her classes, and 
 Jacques was supposed to supervise the musical 
 instruction of his sister. In regard to the rest of 
 her studies, Loute, on her own initiative, had formed 
 the habit of appealing to her father. Living thus, 
 even more than formerly, in intimacy with this father 
 whom she loved and by whom she felt herself loved, 
 she was much too observant not to have noticed some- 
 thing that had escaped her mother, her brother and 
 even the servants, namely, that for the last eight days 
 Corbellier was occupied in methodical preparations 
 arrangements of drawers, classifications of files, papers 
 burnt in heaps in the fireplace, papers brought out of 
 the house in the old black morocco case. Several 
 times, too, while her father was reading again with 
 her the lessons she was preparing for her class, the 
 telephone had sounded quite near them : " Hullo ! 
 . . . Yes, it's I, Corbellier. . . . Ah, it's you, 
 Maitre Ridou. Wait a moment . . ." and then 
 immediately: "Loute, go and wait a minute in the 
 drawing-room; I'll call you." She had asked no 
 questions, but, ferreting in a book of reference, she 
 had unearthed: "Ridou (Frederic); solicitor, 23 Rue 
 Condorcet." And the dictionary had completed the 
 information: "Solicitor, ministerial officer, entitled to 
 take proceedings for parties before the Inferior Courts 
 and the Courts of Appeal." All these observations 
 were put in order and arranged in he,r head ; she com- 
 pared them with the crises of confusion to which she 
 saw her mother a prey, and some snatches of which 
 she had gathered from conversations between her 
 mother and Jacques. She was sure, in fine, that her 
 father seemed more busy than melancholy, that he 
 showed more fondness for her than ever, that he spoke
 
 3 i4 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 often to her of a certain trip to Rosendael. Many 
 years ago there had been a flight there of father and 
 daughter for three days, while Emmeline and Jacques 
 were in the country three days that had remained in 
 the little one's mind like three illuminations in a black 
 night. All these observations and meditations of hers, 
 taken together, were sufficient to warn Loute of im- 
 portant events, events of which a secret instinct made 
 her have no fear. But long trained as she was in 
 dissimulation (she had always felt herself weak and 
 subordinate in this house, a feeble prolongation of 
 the feeble head of the family, whose brilliant and 
 tyrannical masters were Emmeline and Jacques), she 
 had no difficulty in keeping silent, divining that 
 questions would have embarrassed her father. She 
 entered the study carrying, as usual, her exercise- 
 books, and as usual she settled down on Corbellier's 
 knees. The revision of her lessons was made in this 
 way, their heads touching, and both of them derived 
 from this work in common a pleasure doubled by the 
 discovery of a marvellous phenomenon, that of re- 
 ciprocal comprehension. It seemed to them that their 
 two brains communicated one with the other; never 
 had Loute made such rapid progress. They were 
 astonished at it in the class. But this particular 
 morning Corbellier gently closed the exercise-books 
 that his daughter had opened in front of him. 
 
 " \Ve are not going to work to-day. It's a holiday," 
 he said. 
 
 She believed that he was joking, as she saw no 
 reason for this July Friday being a holiday. She 
 humoured the pleasantry, however, and while her 
 father was rocking her on his knees, asked what they 
 were going to do, as they were not working.
 
 TWO YOUNG GIRLS OF TO-DAY 315 
 
 "Well," said Corbellier in the same tone, "what do 
 you say to a trip to Rosendael for us two ? " 
 
 But that did not make her laugh ; the recollection 
 of the three days of solitude, her father and she in 
 front of the sea, these three times twenty-four hours 
 spent almost without letting go of each other's hands 
 this was in her memory something almost religious. 
 She worried her father's thin tie rather nervously, as 
 in a very low tone she said 
 
 "You mustn't joke about that, Papa." 
 
 "But I'm not joking," cried Corbellier. "I ask you 
 very seriously if you would like to leave to-day for 
 Rosendael with me ? " 
 
 The little girl's yellow amber eyes grew big with 
 astonishment, and at the same time her ugly little face 
 lit up; she understood at last. She understood that 
 this proposed departure was connected with the pre- 
 parations that she had discovered^ and also with the 
 absence for the whole day of her mother and Jacques. 
 Father and daughter, with exactly the same expression 
 on their faces, which were so like each other, ex- 
 changed a smile of complicity. 
 
 "Oh, would it be possible?" murmured the little 
 girl. 
 
 "Yes, it is possible. How much time must you 
 have to get ready a little trunk with underclothes and 
 one or two dresses ? " 
 
 "Not even an hour, Papa . . . half-an-hour, if 
 Juliet helps me. Can I tell her ? " 
 
 Juliet was the second maid who took Loute to her 
 classes. 
 
 "Yes, tell Juliet from me to help you. Off you go 
 now. In three-quarters of an hour we'll run away 
 together."
 
 316 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 And, in truth, three-quarters of an hour later the 
 bewildered servants of the Corbel Hers watched this 
 spectacle : Monsieur and Mademoiselle together enter- 
 ing a taxi-cab which the valet had gone to fetch, and 
 on which had been placed, side by side with Loute's 
 little trunk, her father's valise. Corbellier carried, in 
 addition, under his arm the black morocco case. 
 They listened for the address flung at the driver; but 
 it was: "The post office, in the same street." On 
 the way Corbellier, against whom Loute pressed her- 
 self without uttering a word, and who himself had not 
 a very assured air, leaned out of the carriage door 
 and said 
 
 "Go to 23 Rue Condorcet." 
 
 Loute in this way was introduced to the house of 
 Ridou (Frederic), solicitor, whom she used to try 
 vainly to imagine to herself every time that her father, 
 at the buzzing of the telephone, sent her to ponder in 
 the drawing-room. But she did not see Ridou him- 
 self. She was shown with her father into a gloomy, 
 narrow room, lit from a little court. The walls were 
 covered partly by the shelves of bookcases, partly 
 by pigeon-holes of green pasteboard. The central 
 table had on it a mass of papers. Loute remained 
 there alone, as almost at once a little clerk had come 
 to look for Corbellier. She even remained there so 
 long that she had full time to inspect the books that 
 lay in rows along the shelves : Dallos, The Notary's 
 Journal, The Revue du Palais, together with an 
 unexpected intrusion, doubtless forgotten by a lady 
 client La Momc Picrate, by Willy. . . . The inspec- 
 tion of the bookcase being over, she would willingly 
 have rummaged about in the green pigeon-holes, only 
 the fear of being caught prevented her. Then she
 
 TWO YOUNG GIRLS OF TO-DAY 317 
 
 approached the table and opened a brief. Listening 
 for the sound of footsteps, so as to be able to close 
 the cover in case of surprise, she read, first of all 
 listlessly, then with attention 
 
 "Divorce: Hanin v. Hanin. 
 
 "At the petition of M. Hanin, having for solicitor 
 Maitre Audoyer. 
 
 "Whereas the demand of the lady Hanin against 
 her husband based on the deterioration of the fortune 
 brought by her into the family is invalid. 
 
 "As on the contrary, the gentleman Hanin has 
 proof of his wife's relations with different people. 
 
 "For these reasons may it please the Tribunal 
 
 "To pronounce divorce, by reason of the wrongs 
 and injuries of the lady Hanin, and to entrust to the 
 father the guardianship of his only daughter, strictly 
 limiting the circumstances under which this child 
 may see her mother, with whom she is in danger of 
 receiving bad examples . . ." 
 
 Loute read this, and never, even when she studied 
 her geography book (for which she had no taste, her 
 memory being restive), had she opened her eyes so 
 wide, or had projected further through her lips her 
 little pale and pointed tongue, as though she wished 
 actually to drink in the words on the pages. . . . She 
 obviously concentrated all her efforts on grasping the 
 strange jargon of the purring grabbers; certainly she 
 did not succeed ; but, in her head, the things that she 
 did not understand were specified and determined, and 
 that itself is half of understanding. ... So absorbed 
 was she that she had no time to close the brief when 
 her father returned. She became crimson. 
 
 "What the deuce are you reading?" said he. 
 "'Divorce: Hanin v. Hanin.' Little Paul Prv !
 
 3iS GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 Come, leave that, and let's start ; we are off to 
 Rosendael." 
 
 He had a more satisfied and a bolder air than when 
 they left their home together just now. Father and 
 daughter, however, did not speak much, while the 
 same cab brought them to the Gare du Nord. They 
 followed their own thoughts, but they held each 
 other's hands, and in this way felt comforted. At 
 the station Corbellier seemed particularly anxious not 
 to be seen by acquaintances. He had purposely 
 chosen a slow train with few passengers. They were 
 able to settle down together alone in an empty com- 
 partment. But their delight did not quite let itself 
 go until the moment when the train, noisily belching 
 out its smoke, had passed out of the glazed shelter of 
 the station. Then they felt free. Then they threw 
 their arms round each other's necks and burst out 
 laughing; then they even attempted a few steps of a 
 wild dance, which was interrupted by the critical 
 apparition of a spectacled ticket-collector, who thought 
 they were mad. 
 
 Never had the escape of lovers been more tender, 
 more joyful, more filled with enthusiasm than this 
 flight of father and daughter to this modest northern 
 watering-place. Even the recollections of the first 
 trip had been surpassed. Then it had been only a 
 furtive escapade : one knew that, three days later, one 
 must return. This time, on the contrary, both were 
 free for life ; free to look at each other, hold each 
 other's hands, caress each other, without being 
 criticized; free to tell each other all that passed 
 through their minds, delivered from the disdainful 
 glances, ironical remarks, reminders of their inferiority 
 which neither Emmeline nor Jacques were accustomed
 
 TWO YOUNG GIRLS OF TO-DAY 319 
 
 to spare them. Loute dreaded her mother, and against 
 her brother she nourished a dog-and-cat antipathy. 
 As for Corbellier, after having desired Emmeline, with 
 that obstinacy of weak people who often exert all their 
 energy in an unlooked-for exercise of will-power, only, 
 immediately afterwards, to fall back into the old inde- 
 cision and apathy ; after having loved her in the early 
 days of their marriage, he had ended, in the course 
 of fifteen years of rebuffs, in gradually detaching him- 
 self from her altogether. Loute, growing up, courted 
 the tenderness that had become available in his heart. 
 Still proud of being the husband of the beautiful 
 Madame Corbellier, he had become concentrated on 
 his love for his daughter and the progress of his 
 factory. And, asking for nothing more, he had 
 organized for himself a pitiful inner life in which the 
 taunts and contumely of his wife no longer reached 
 him. What the world was ignorant of and would not 
 have admitted was precisely that he believed her to 
 be faithful. Bourgeois by blood, having known in 
 his own family only irreproachable wives, adultery 
 always seemed to him something terrible, something 
 that would not penetrate into firmly established and 
 regular homes like his. The revelation was actually 
 furnished by the package that Sandra Ceroni sent, 
 letters chosen in such a way that he knew at once the 
 original date of his misfortune and its actual con- 
 tinuation. He remained a whole morning like one 
 stupefied. It was seeing Emmeline again that restored 
 him : an Emmeline overwhelmed, pale with agony, 
 watching him through the corners of her anxious 
 eyes; an Emmeline who had given up her tyrannical 
 or teasing airs and become docile, almost kind. 
 Before this admitted weakness he felt himself strong;
 
 320 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 he also felt that he no longer loved his wife in the 
 slightest degree; he was sure that he despised her, 
 and that she was dead for him. And the second great 
 resolution of his life was immediately formed in his 
 mind with the suddenness and immutability of the 
 first. He would separate from her and from Jacques 
 (in whom he divined an ally of his mother's weak- 
 ness) ; he would live away from them with Loute. 
 Accustomed to act in his corner, without any one 
 paying any attention to what he did, and without a 
 confidant, nothing was easier for him than to prepare 
 secretly his petition for divorce, with the assistance of 
 the attorney Ridou. He also put in order his money 
 affairs, arranged that his presence at the factory should 
 not be indispensable during several months, and, 
 everything being well in order, having lived during 
 these conspiracies an intense, active and happy period, 
 he crowned this methodical work by carrying off his 
 beloved daughter. Would he have gone to extremes 
 if, by a disastrous mischance, Emmeline or Jacques 
 had stood in front of him, barring his path ? That 
 is uncertain. Now, on the contrary, that the miles 
 between Paris and the fugitives were increasing in 
 number Corbellier took courage. It pleased him to 
 imagine the consternation of Emmeline on her return 
 that evening to the Rue Montaigne. He had not left 
 even a word for her. He was sure that she would 
 understand; sure, also, that she would not dare to 
 take any steps on her own side. And the next day, 
 at the time of the morning tea, she would receive a 
 letter from the solicitor, Ridou, telling her that he was 
 at her disposal to communicate to her the decisions of 
 M. Corbellier.
 
 TWO YOUNG GIRLS OF TO-DAY 321 
 
 After Amiens, Loute, who up till then had played 
 and chattered like a schoolgirl on her holidays, went 
 to sleep against her father's shoulder. He kept her 
 in that position for two hours, leaning against him 
 motionless; not for a second did he stop delighting 
 himself with this thought: "This is my_ daughter; 
 she is mine; nobody shall take her from me." The 
 sight of her straw-coloured hair, her little arched 
 forehead spotted with freckles, her too-large ears, 
 all her features clumsily designed, her thin and 
 gawky body that could be detected under the dress 
 of zephyr cloth all these roused in him admiration 
 and happiness. . . . And besides, Louie's ugliness 
 was not disagreeable; healthy, vivacious, Loute had 
 the ungainly and touching grace of the awkward age. 
 "My little darling, my little girl," murmured Cor- 
 bellier. And now he understood that he had believed 
 himself to be happy, but that he had not been really 
 happy, when long ago he took Emmeline, his young 
 wife, on their honeymoon. He understood that only 
 a love that is shared can bring happiness. . . . "My 
 daughter, my darling, you are a little soul ... all 
 white . . . you will be a good woman, you will. . . ." 
 In this way they arrived at Lille, where they dined 
 at the buffet ; it was an extravagant dinner, ordered 
 to suit Loute's fantasy : chocolate, foie gras, a salad 
 and cakes. . . . Then nearly two hours were still 
 necessary to reach Rosendael. While going to the 
 train for Rosendael with Loute, Corbellier bought in 
 the station the Echo du Nord, which had just appeared 
 and smelt of fresh ink. . . . He slipped it into his 
 pocket and forgot about it; Loute, being in the 
 humour for chatter, babbled on until their arrival at 
 Rosendael. . . . There everything had been prepared
 
 322 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 in advance the carriage, the suite of rooms one 
 sitting-room, and two large bedrooms adjoining one 
 another in the best hotel. It was black night when 
 the doors closed on their tete-a-tete. Loute, over- 
 excited by the events of the day, declared that she 
 was not sleepy, and wished that very night to go and 
 salute the North Sea which they could hear, quite 
 close, licking heavily the dunes of sand. Then 
 suddenly her excitement subsided and she sat silent; 
 her eyes blinked, and she was so tired that it was 
 all Corbellier and a chambermaid could do to get 
 her undressed and put to bed. As soon as she was 
 in bed, she insisted on her father's sitting beside her 
 and holding her hand until she fell asleep. Corbellier 
 felt this feeble hand relax, and was going to his own 
 room, when Loute opened her pale amber eyes again. 
 
 "Papa," she said (and her father did not know if 
 she were speaking awake or asleep), "papa . . . M. 
 Hanin will be sure to keep his little daughter with 
 him, won't he? " 
 
 Corbellier did not understand at once, although he 
 had heard talk about this Hanin affair, which was the 
 subject of scandal in Paris, although he knew, too, 
 that Ridou was the wife's solicitor. . . . He remem- 
 bered Loute's rummaging through the brief in the 
 library. . . . And as father and daughter really com- 
 muned with each other by mysterious waves of sym- 
 pathy, he saw his daughter's thought in the state of 
 indefmiteness and trouble in which it clouded this 
 childish brain and kept it from sleep. A wave of pity 
 and adoration broke over his heart, and he seized in 
 his arms the slight form in its pure white night-gown 
 and pressed it against him, as he murmured 
 
 "Yes, my darling! yes, my darling! Be easy!
 
 TWO YOUNG GIRLS OF TO-DAY 323 
 
 They don't take little girls away from their Papa like 
 that. And your own Papa would take you to the 
 other end of the world rather than . . ." 
 
 But already Loute, reassured, was sleeping. He 
 placed her head on the pillow, looked down on her 
 for a few seconds more, and then, after switching off 
 the electric light, returned to his own room at once 
 so happy and so moved that he had no wish to sleep. 
 He went to bed, however, and then got up again, as 
 he remembered the Echo du Nord which he had 
 slipped into his jacket pocket. He took it out ; in huge 
 headlines there sprawled across the head of the third 
 page 
 
 "LATEST: Grave case of espionage at the Ministry 
 of War. Resignation of the Under-Secretary of State 
 for War." 
 
 A short dispatch from the Havas Agency, dated 
 two o'clock in the afternoon, justified this heading 
 without explaining it. In it, it was stated "that a 
 military document of the very highest importance had 
 been stolen about a fortnight ago from the private 
 residence of the Under-Secretary; that this document 
 having been insistently asked for by M. Berger, Presi- 
 dent of the Parliamentary Commission of Aviation, 
 M. Jules Croze, after some attempts at evasion, had 
 been compelled to confess its disappearance : he had 
 that very morning sent in his resignation to the 
 President of the Council, who had accepted it." 
 There were no other details. 
 
 Corbellier had preserved that natural belief of feeble 
 people in inherent justice, in a final "everything is 
 paid for," which on certain days makes the inventory
 
 324 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 and checks the accounts of every individual. He 
 thought to himself: "There it is. ... She and her 
 accomplice are going to collapse at the same moment. 
 ... It is well. . . ." 
 
 In his turn, he turned out the lights in his room, 
 and, pacified, was soon asleep. 
 
 * ***** 
 
 The catastrophe that descended upon Jules Croze 
 compelled as he was by the insistence of a political 
 enemy to reveal the theft of B. 2. 17, just when he was 
 on the point of recovering the documents had at least 
 one happy result for him : his wife and daughter 
 immediately returned to the house in the Avenue 
 Velasquez. Madame Croze had resisted the entreaties 
 of Baroness Ropart and Guy so long as it was a 
 matter for her husband only of embarrassments with 
 women and money ; but she considered it ignoble to 
 aggravate a disaster, which after all was quite out of 
 proportion to the fault committed, by publicly desert- 
 ing him at a time when a public grievance weighed 
 on his shoulders. She returned to the Avenue 
 Velasquez, and brought Josette with her, without 
 demanding from her husband any promise to break 
 with Emmeline. She even cut short with a dry gesture 
 the protestations and oaths that he was beginning of 
 his own accord. She made him understand that the 
 confidence which had been broken between them 
 would never more be restored. She had returned for 
 no other reason than to defend the "domestic ques- 
 tion " in regard to Croze : had not certain newspapers 
 gone so far as to insinuate that the Under-Secretary 
 might have been implicated in complicity with this 
 espionage? Julie de Sauzon, Croze's wife, believed 
 it to be her duty not to increase the peril which
 
 TWO YOUNG GIRLS OF TO-DAY 325 
 
 threatened her name as wife and the name of her 
 children. 
 
 Josette returned with her mother. She alone of the 
 whole family was ignorant of certain precise details 
 in the affair. They had naturally avoided talking, in 
 her presence, about the peculiar circumstances under 
 which the theft of the documents had been accom- 
 plished, circumstances that Croze had, in the end, 
 been forced to confess to his wife. . . . With the 
 imperious egotism of youth and love, Josette viewed 
 the whole crisis only in its relation to the one fact 
 that touched her : the abrupt departure of Letzling 
 coinciding with the flight of Mag and Bolski, and, 
 following that, the utter silence of the Count not a 
 word, not a reply to the despairing letters that she 
 had ventured to write to him. When she returned to 
 her own home, other consequences of the event 
 which also concerned her commenced to make their 
 appearance. They were publicly revealing the life 
 of Magda Riemann. The newspapers, at first filled 
 with extravagant details, in which Mag was repre- 
 sented as the wife, and then as the mistress, of a 
 high German personage, ended by publishing a 
 few facts. They directed their attention towards the 
 Austrian Embassy. The absence of the military 
 attache" was noted : an official communication, imme- 
 diately published by the offices of the Rue de Varenne, 
 declared that Count Adolf von Letzling was on 
 regular leave. Josette wished to doubt still: "No, it 
 was not possible, Adolf was not on leave; he was not 
 free to answer her, to reassure her. . . ." None the 
 less the circle of despair was narrowing around her. 
 The Press had not yet spoken of the double suite of 
 rooms. The Prefect Lehoux, gallant man that he
 
 326 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 was, knew the risk to the reputation of a young girl 
 that there would be in this divulgence, and was silent 
 on the subject. But Josette divined how her secret 
 was threatened, how precarious it was, since all the 
 reporters were making inquiries about Bolski, and 
 Bolski was the apparent tenant of the double suite. 
 
 She was wearing herself out. Her ordinary pallor 
 became exaggerated; she was unable to sleep, and 
 was becoming thin. Jules Croze, on the other hand, 
 confident as to the final result of the crisis (the with- 
 holders of the document, being unable to speculate 
 on scandal, since it had already broken out, were 
 becoming more tractable, and the transaction was 
 coming to a close) Croze was regaining courage. 
 With the audacity of a fortunate man, not too 
 scrupulous, and but little sensitive to the delicate 
 shades of esteem, he was beginning to hold his head 
 up again and to speak boldly, announcing that in his 
 turn he would take the offensive and confound and 
 prosecute his detractors. It was he who, without 
 being in the least aware of it, gave, one evening at 
 the family dinner-table, the final blow to his daughter. 
 
 "Well," he exclaimed, as he took his place at the 
 table, "we now hold all the threads of the plot, and 
 the facts confirm the opinion that I have always held 
 . . . the gentleman Letzling has, indeed, been the 
 soul of the conspiracy. A pretty gentleman ! When 
 I think that they wanted to persuade me to give him 
 Josette ! " 
 
 In vain Guy, detecting his sister's grief and con- 
 sidering it quite natural tried to stop his father. 
 Croze continued, under the coldly disinterested glance 
 of his wife 
 
 "I have just received a telephone message from
 
 TWO YOUNG GIRLS OF TO-DAY 327 
 
 the Matin that one of their reporters has made an 
 important discovery, namely, the rooms in which the 
 two confederates met and combined their filthy little 
 transactions, dissipation and spying mixed together. 
 The concierge has told everything; it appears that 
 there are names of society women to be revealed. A 
 ground-floor with two entrances Rue St. Lazare and 
 Rue Chateaudun. . . . What is the matter with you, 
 Josette ? " 
 
 The young girl left the table, followed by Guy, who 
 flung at his father as he passed him : "Really, Papa, 
 you are too cruel. . . ." Madame Croze accompanied 
 her children, and Croze found himself alone and 
 bewildered before his plate. "What!" he thought; 
 "she loves him still ? " He considered the persistence 
 of this sentiment almost offensive to himself. Was 
 not Letzling the cause of all his troubles ? And when 
 Madame Croze and Guy took their places again at 
 the table, after leaving Josette in her room (she had 
 a headache, she said, and wished to rest), Guy had 
 some difficulty in making him understand that 
 Josette's emotion was perfectly explicable ; that Josette 
 had at one time looked upon Letzling as her future 
 husband ; that she had given him her confidence ; and 
 that it was terrible for her to realize that she had been 
 dealing with a traitor. 
 
 In the meantime, Josette, in her own room, was 
 sitting beside the window without moving. She felt 
 that something had been decided in her brain and in 
 her heart at the moment that Croze had spoken. But 
 it seemed to her that in the meantime her heart was 
 no longer beating, and that her brain had become an 
 inert mass congealed around the one solitary thought, 
 the dreadful decision. She remained like this for a
 
 328 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 long time; long enough for her mother and then her 
 brother, dinner being over, to come and ask after her 
 and find her still seated on the same chair beside the 
 window. She told them that her headache seemed to 
 be easier, and that the best thing for her was to remain 
 there without speaking or hearing anybody speak. 
 Neither Guy nor Madame Croze felt any anxiety. 
 Madame Croze merely said : " You ought to lie down 
 and try to sleep." "Yes," answered Josette, "I'm 
 going to rest. You won't let anybody disturb me 
 any more, will you, Mama?" This time her door 
 was bolted, but she returned to sit in the same place. 
 The July twilight was prolonged in rosy light. Josette 
 closed the window, as though to remain more alone 
 with her thoughts. The decision became fixed in 
 her mind, the funereal veil which during these last 
 days appeared to her at intervals, covering the horizon 
 around her, she saw it now, she felt it so close to her 
 that she could touch it. 
 
 "To die. . . ." 
 
 She ventured to pronounce the word, not quite 
 aloud, but yet articulated in the silence of her room 
 so that it was perceptible to her own ears. 
 
 "To die. . . ." It was that, it was that terrible 
 resolution which was shaping itself in her from day 
 to day, without her wishing to dwell upon it. While 
 battling against the gloomy suggestion, she knew 
 then only too well that she must yield to it on the 
 day on which the unworthiness of Letzling should be 
 established for her. . . . Now, to-night, the un- 
 worthiness of Letzling appeared even more absolute 
 than she had suspected. . . . "Espionage and dis- 
 sipation. . . . The names of society women are 
 coming out into the daylight." And among these
 
 TWO YOUNG GIRLS OF TO-DAY 329 
 
 names her own, young girl as she was, was going 
 "to come out into the daylight," too; doubtless the 
 eyes of her mother would read it in the newspapers, 
 and the eyes of Guy, and the eyes of all the people 
 she knew, and the eyes of ironical crowds, eager for 
 scandal. . . . 
 
 "I wish to die." 
 
 Oh yes . . . the decision to die had for a long 
 time dwelt in her mind, not only in principle, but 
 almost to its very details of execution. Up till then 
 she had resisted when the funereal idea attacked her ; 
 but the idea continued traitorously to work in her, 
 constructing the project with infallible diligence, 
 crystallizing accessory resolutions around that phrase 
 of Guy's that Croze had not been the only one to 
 hear and keep in mind: "Swallow a good dose of 
 chloral, turn on the gas, and lie down. . . ." Josette 
 was now establishing the crystallization that had been 
 instinctively operating around the suggestion. Since 
 her return to the Avenue Velasquez she had not once 
 seated herself on the couch in the bathroom without 
 thinking at the back of her mind : "One has only to 
 turn on the gas." Not once had she entered Guy's 
 laboratory without her glance resting on a certain 
 brown phial, with the words "Chloral io/ " traced 
 on its white label by Guy's own hand. But while 
 this obscure work was going on inside her, she did 
 not confess it to herself, like a kindly warder, who 
 would avert his eyes so as not to disturb his prisoner's 
 slow preparations for escape. Now she perceived, 
 with a mingling of horror and pride, that all was 
 well, and, in fact, ready for escape; there was wanting 
 only the final decision. 
 
 Nobody, as she had wished, disturbed her in her
 
 330 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 sad meditation ; nobody knocked at her door. At 
 nightfall, however, she heard footsteps, the footsteps 
 of two women approaching the door together. There 
 was a sound of whispering; it was her mother and 
 the chambermaid. Both listened for some little time; 
 Josette caught the words that they uttered. "She is 
 asleep," said Madame Croze; "don't let us wake her, 
 poor little one. . . ." And the maid answered : 
 "Mademoiselle has turned out all the lights. . . . 
 Mademoiselle has gone to bed, for certain. . . ." But 
 Madame Croze seemed unable to make up her mind 
 to leave the landing, and, perceiving this hesitation, 
 Josette's heart began to beat violently, as though 
 excited by a fluttering of the will to live. She knew 
 that if her mother were to knock at her door at this 
 moment she would run to open it, she would throw 
 herself into her arms, she would cry out to her : 
 "Mama, don't let me do it. ... Mama, don't leave 
 me. . . . Don't let me die. . . ." The whispering 
 continued behind the door; then very gently, on 
 tiptoe, Madame Croze and the servant went away. 
 
 Josette had not stirred from the arm-chair where 
 she had been sitting; the sudden emotion that she 
 had experienced left her so overwhelmed that she 
 could not even resume the thread of her dark thoughts. 
 ... A torpor that was nearer to fainting than to sleep 
 came over her. . . . And while her consciousness of 
 living fell away, she still kept enough of it to wish : 
 
 "Ah, that it may be for ever ... for ever. . . ." 
 ****** 
 
 Now, during this July evening, almost at the same 
 time that Jules Croze had given, without suspecting 
 it, a mortal blow to his daughter by his careless 
 phrase : " Dissipation and spying mixed together . . .
 
 TWO YOUNG GIRLS OF TO-DAY 331 
 
 names of society women are coming out into the day- 
 light . . ." one of those long and sinuous satellites, 
 launched upon iron trajectories by the industry of 
 man, which day and night gravitate across the surface 
 of the earth, carrying from meridian to meridian living 
 beings, the objects used by these living beings in 
 order to live, and also, impressed upon pages and 
 sealed by seals, wandering human thought a satellite 
 at once faster and more luxurious than the rest, which 
 is called the Orient Express, having left Constanti- 
 nople the evening before, having passed Adrianople, 
 Sofia, Belgrade, Bucharest, Budapest, Vienna, 
 Munich, was now nearing, as it devoured the rails 
 beneath the magnificent firmament, the first buttresses 
 of the Swiss Alps. In this luxurious satellite there 
 was the usual contingent of privileged inhabitants, 
 rich men and perfumed women ; there was the sump- 
 tuous luggage of these men and women ; there was a 
 restaurant, well lit and decorated with flowers. There 
 was also the more austere compartment, almost like 
 a cellular carriage, in which are imprisoned the sealed 
 and hidden human thoughts while it journeys. . . . 
 Two employees were in possession of this rolling 
 prison. One was asleep on his chair, after a Germanic 
 supper washed down with beer; he was sleeping 
 sprawling over the table, on which was a heap of 
 letters which a half-open mail-bag allowed to trickle 
 out with the joltings of the train. The other, on the 
 contrary, arranged methodically the postal harvest 
 stored since Vienna. And as he was an employee 
 who read the newspapers, who was interested in inter- 
 national politics, and who knew the names of French 
 ministers, he turned over again and again between his 
 fingers, before throwing it into the bag labelled
 
 332 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 "Paris und wetter" a yellow envelope, carefully 
 sealed, which bore the address 
 
 "Mademoiselle Josette Crose, 
 
 "35 Avenue Velasquez, 
 
 "Paris: 1 
 
 It bore the postmark " Heigraf " ; but this name 
 meant nothing to the employee. All the same, he 
 asked himself for a second or two if he should not 
 keep back the letter before passing the German 
 frontier. Croze. ... A case of espionage in France. 
 . . . The Austrian Embassy dragged into the case 
 in the French newspapers. ..." Bah ! Let them 
 manage it themselves," he thought. . . . And, not 
 particularly anxious for extra work, he threw the letter 
 into the Paris und wetter mail-bag. 
 
 " Heigraf, July 29." 
 
 "My BELOVED JOSETTE, 
 
 "At last, for the first time since I left Paris, I 
 am able to write to you with the hope of the letter 
 reaching you. My sister, the Marquise de Sudros, 
 who has come to see me in my prison, has, in pity 
 for my agony, been kind enough to undertake to post 
 my letter. For, my Josette, I am in prison : a sump- 
 tuous prison, in a delightful country, with an excellent 
 table and many servants ; a prison, the governor of 
 which reminds me every day ' that it has been 
 honoured by princely presences ' but a formidable 
 prison for all that, surrounded by moats full of water, 
 and with its doors guarded by sentinels with loaded 
 rifles. This is called for me and for this special case 
 ' rigorous imprisonment.' Ordinarily an officer 
 endures it in his own domicile, but they have assigned 
 to me as my place of imprisonment the fortress of
 
 TWO YOUNG GIRLS OF TO-DAY 333 
 
 Heigraf. And this has been going on for thirty-seven 
 days, without my being permitted to receive any one 
 at all, except my military chief and the members of 
 my family. . . . And that, as the governor tells me 
 every day, is an exceptional favour, due to the fact 
 that I am the nephew of the Minister of War, and 
 am connected with the Imperial family. They have 
 held me responsible in high places, if not for the 
 affair of the documents stolen at your father's house, 
 at least for the fact that the Austro-Hungarian 
 Embassy was compromised in the matter. They took 
 advantage of the fact that, at the earliest moment, I 
 came loyally to see my uncle, the Minister; the flight 
 of Mag and Bolski, in conjunction with certain words 
 that I had caught between them, left me scarcely any 
 doubt; I guessed the work of the two scoundrels; I 
 was appalled at the idea that they would injure you 
 through this, and especially (you understand) by the 
 idea that in the eyes of the crowd I risked being 
 taken for their accomplice. . . . Who could give me 
 better advice as to how to defend my honour than my 
 supreme chief, my mother's brother ? I rushed post- 
 haste to him ; I told him everything our love, Josette, 
 as well as my distress. . . . Ah, my darling ! I have 
 seen many general officers in a rage in my life . . . 
 but anger like that of my uncle, the Minister, no, I 
 have never seen it. He treated me as a foolhardy 
 madman, and told me that I was unworthy of my 
 captain's galoons . . . and when I protested and said 
 that I intended to start back for Paris at once, there 
 came a brutal refusal and rigorous imprisonment. . . . 
 And for thirty-seven days now I have been living in 
 the fortress of Heigraf, and they have been bringing 
 me insignificant letters and suppressing those that I
 
 334 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 send away. All this may seem outrageous to Josette 
 Croze, daughter of an Under Secretary of the easy- 
 going French Republic. But all the same that is the 
 way things go in the Apostolic Monarchy, right in 
 the twentieth century, if not for the common people, 
 at all events for privileged people like myself, whose 
 family is more or less in politics or at the Court. 
 
 "Fortunately, this terrible family includes an ex- 
 quisite and sensitive woman, my sister, de Sudros. She 
 has not been able to come and see me before to-day, but 
 she now gives me reassuring news about the affair of 
 the documents, and she knows from a reliable source 
 that your father has been able to treat with the two 
 bandits. She has taken pity on my distress, and she 
 is taking an interest in our love; she dares (an act 
 that she rightly considers heroic) to take charge of a 
 letter for you. . . . That is why I can hope that these 
 lines that I am tracing in haste will at last reach you. 
 . . . My sister is close to me, waiting and watching to 
 avoid my being caught in the act of writing ! You 
 have had no doubt of me, have you, Josette ? As for 
 me, I have not received a single letter from you, no 
 sign, but I have ceaselessly felt your thoughts and 
 your tenderness around me ; and was I not to be even 
 more pitied than you, deprived as I was of news, and 
 knowing that they would try to blacken me in your 
 eyes? But that you could believe me an accomplice 
 of Bolski, Josette, you to whom I have spoken soul 
 to soul, you who know me, you who know that my 
 life belongs to you, and that family, fortune, are 
 nothing to me, if they separate me from you . . . 
 no ! That you could have for a single moment, even 
 with all appearances against me, have judged me a 
 traitor, not for a second have I feared that.
 
 TWO YOUNG GIRLS OF TO-DAY 335 
 
 "My love, my fiancee, my wife, time presses, and 
 my sister is tormenting me; she is right. We might 
 be surprised, and then this letter would have the fate 
 that all the others that I addressed to you have prob- 
 ably had. I have a feeling that the end of our troubles 
 is near, that they are going to restore my liberty, and 
 that I am coming back to you. Listen to me care- 
 fully : nothing from henceforth shall keep me from 
 being your husband, if you consent to it. I would 
 rather never return to my own country, rather dis- 
 appear with the wife that I have chosen, as one of 
 our Archdukes did not long ago. (Ah I how I under- 
 stand him !) Josette, my wish is to see you again 
 and never more to leave you. To see you again ! Is 
 it possible ? May it not be long in coming, for I am 
 at the end of my endurance. . . . You will scarcely 
 recognize me ; I have grown thin ; I have some white 
 hairs above the temples. And you ? And you ? 
 You, too, have suffered. Oh ! forgive me. I am 
 yours for life, and I love you, my own dear fiance'e, 
 my wife. 
 
 "ADOLF DE LETZLING." 
 
 About an hour after midnight Josette woke up in 
 the corner by the window of her room, in the arm- 
 chair where she had been sleeping for a long time. 
 At once she remembered the footsteps of her mother 
 and the maid, the whisperings behind the door, and 
 the convulsive emotion that she had felt, so violent 
 that it had been followed by a long prostration. 
 
 "Now everything is utterly finished," she said to 
 herself. She felt singularly clear-minded; her brain 
 swept like a threshing-floor by a gust of wind, clear 
 of thoughts, except one : the one which for weeks
 
 336 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 pointed to the sombre horizon, and which was now 
 there, in the place, in possession of the centre of her 
 whole world, dominating everything. 
 
 She rose to her feet and listened; there was not a 
 sound in the house. There was not a sound from 
 outside. One might have said that there was no sound 
 in Paris, and that she alone was living in the lethargic 
 city. She glanced at the watch strapped to her wrist. 
 . . . "Ten minutes past one; everybody is asleep. . . ." 
 Then she unhooked her dress, which fell on the carpet 
 like another little skin. She picked it up, finished 
 undressing as though for the night, and slipped a blue 
 silk Japanese kimono, relieved by red embroidery, 
 over her night-dress. Then she placed herself in front 
 of the writing-table, a narrow eighteenth-century table 
 of speckled rosewood. From the drawer she took a 
 thin package of letters which she began to burn one 
 by one in the grate without re-reading them. . . . 
 The flames, as they reached each new supply of fuel, 
 discharged into this hot night an intolerable heat. 
 Forced to turn her face away, Josette suddenly caught 
 sight of herself in a mirror facing her : blue and red 
 with the reflection of the fire on her face, her arms, 
 her hair. "I am pretty to-night," she thought. She 
 experienced a brief anguish of heart in the shock of 
 these two ideas : that she was pretty and that she 
 must die. But immediately the horror of continuing 
 to live carried her away, and made her throw with 
 more determined gestures into the flames, now dying 
 out and now reviving, the last papers to be destroyed : 
 Letzling's letters and her own letters which Merca- 
 dieux had returned to her at Val d'Anay. She dis- 
 covered that she suffered neither physically nor 
 morally in destroying this evidence of the past. The
 
 TWO YOUNG GIRLS OF TO-DAY 337 
 
 painful place that recently used to bleed in her heart 
 whenever she thought of Letzling was to-night, as it 
 were, scarred and inert. 
 
 "Come! Now for the brown phial. I ought to 
 have provided myself with it before. Supposing they 
 hear me going downstairs ? Bah ! I shall say that 
 I was unable to sleep, and that I thought of chloral. 
 ... It isn't the first time that I have taken it. And 
 besides, they won't hear me." 
 
 And, indeed, she accomplished her expedition to 
 her brother's laboratory with the sureness and cautious 
 silence of a somnambulist; it took less than five 
 minutes. When she returned to her room she thought 
 for a moment, standing with the brown phial in her 
 hand. No doubt, no hesitation, assailed her in regard 
 to what she was going to do. She merely examined 
 herself as at the moment of departure for a journey ; 
 she asked herself if she had left everything in order 
 behind her, 
 
 "A letter to Mama? ... A letter to Guy? . . ." 
 
 No, she would write nothing. She would slip out 
 of life discreetly; and in this way doubt would hover 
 over her departure. Suicide or accident : with a little 
 good-will they might be doubtful about it. She half 
 smiled as she thought that they would end by per- 
 suading themselves that it had been an accident. 
 
 "But Mama is very fond of me, and Guy espe- 
 cially. My dear Guy ! . . . He ought never to have 
 left me. And I ought never to have concealed 
 anything from him ; he will be very sorry. . . ." 
 
 Her mental picture of Guy softened her; she had 
 to force her thoughts away from it. ... "I must, I 
 must . . ." she murmured aloud. She turned off the 
 lights in her bedroom and went into the next room,
 
 338 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 the dressing-room where the bath was. She made 
 herself half a glass of eau sucree, poured two spoon- 
 fuls of chloral into it, and drank the mixture. She 
 had already proved that a dose of half the strength 
 was sufficient to send her to sleep in a quarter of an 
 hour. . . . She had only to turn on the gas-tap ol 
 the geyser and stretch herself out on the couch. But 
 every night before going to bed she was accustomed 
 to kneel before this same couch for a little prayer. 
 She knelt down as usual. This time the chloral 
 seemed to have scarcely any effect on her. She felt 
 wide awake. She prayed. It was a contradictory 
 prayer; and yet how many suicides have addressed 
 a like appeal to the Sovereign Judge at the very 
 moment when they were going to transgress His law ! 
 A strange prayer in which the divine Intelligence is 
 entreated at the same time as the divine Pity, in which 
 the dying person says to God : " My God, you know 
 well that I cannot go on living ! My God, it is not 
 possible that you should condemn me, for I have not 
 received from you sufficient force to continue the 
 struggle, and you know that." Josette was by no 
 means an unbeliever, but she practised, with nothing 
 more than cold piety, that politeness towards God 
 which is sufficient for the majority of well-born women 
 of her generation. Kneeling before this couch, on 
 which, so soon, she was going to stretch herself out 
 to die, the work of death already beginning in her, 
 she made this night her first ardent prayer. For the 
 first time she was in real communication with the 
 Dispensator. She exposed before Him the despairing 
 misery of her soul ; she accepted Him as Arbiter : 
 "Can I live, my God? Isn't it better for my parents 
 and for me that I should escape ? " And she said
 
 TWO YOUNG GIRLS OF TO-DAY 339 
 
 again to God: "My God, I do not seek to fly from 
 your dominion. On the contrary, I seek to escape to 
 you, and you know it. Ah, receive me ! " 
 
 When she rose to her feet her resolution was more 
 firmly fixed than ever. Still the chloral refused to act. 
 Resolutely she emptied the brown phial into what was 
 left of the eau sucre"e. Then she shut herself up in 
 the dressing-room, turned on fully the gas-tap, swal- 
 lowed the contents of the glass, and stretched herself 
 out on the couch. She now experienced a minute of 
 poignant lucidity : she saw Letzling again as though 
 he were present beside her. She, who all through this 
 evening had refused to think of him, now evoked him 
 with pleasure; she recalled the chaste caresses that 
 they had exchanged. . . . The shiver of happiness 
 and hope that electrified her when near him shook her 
 nerves. "Can he have committed this crime?" she 
 thought. But already a torpor engulfed her, and she 
 closed her eyes. Across the trammels of sleep that 
 came to her she caught the light hissing of the gas 
 through the orifice of the burners. 
 
 . . . Yonder, yonder, on the borders of Germany 
 and Switzerland, the sinuous satellite was still hurry- 
 ing along, its population now asleep. And the letter 
 with the postmark " Heigraf," nestling in the mail-bag 
 of Paris und welter through tunnels, viaducts, em- 
 bankments and cuttings, was ceaselessly nearing 
 France. But Josette, stretched out slender and rigid 
 as a little Egyptian, was going to death through sleep. 
 At first it was, under the influence of the chloral, an 
 utter prostration, a capsizing in inscrutable darkness. 
 . . . Then (after how many minutes or hours?) the 
 network of sleep relaxed and allowed to filter through
 
 340 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 not yet thought, but sensation. Josette was ill. . . . 
 She suffered in her body as if there were a weight on 
 her breast and on her stomach, and also as though a 
 ligature were being pressed around her neck, her 
 temples, her wrists, her knees. She wished to move 
 it seemed to her that she was moving to save herself 
 to escape; but she was well bound down, and her 
 efforts ended only in bringing her nearer to waking. 
 She arrived at that degree of consciousness in which, 
 during a nightmare, one struggles against agony so 
 desperately that usually one ends by breaking through 
 sleep and flying back to life. Josette struggled, 
 Josette groaned ; Josette had a horror of death ; Josette 
 wished passionately to live. . . . But nothing could 
 prevail against the decision that she herself had 
 taken : the efforts of her young muscles, stiffened 
 suddenly by terror of nothingness, ended only in 
 furtive starts of her feet and hands. The loud cries 
 that she wished to utter were vague groanings that 
 aroused no echo in the sleeping house. 
 
 She herself ceased to be conscious of her own night- 
 mare. Sleep and death, after this short conflict, 
 agreed to distend her limbs, slacken her heart and 
 check the course of her blood. . . . She was calm 
 again. Gently soothed, she glided towards the black 
 abyss where it is man's inexpressible agony to ask 
 himself if there reigns an eternal forgetfulness or the 
 dreaded unknown of an awakening.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 MAN may escape from life but not from time ; 
 inflexible time pursues him who has escaped from his 
 prison, and the dead man, like the living, remains in 
 subjection to the succession of days and years. . . . 
 On Josette's tomb the roses, geraniums and begonias 
 of summer had been followed, according to the course 
 of the months, by plumed crysanthemums and then 
 by Christmas roses. And now, above the stone cell 
 that shut in the little virginal victim of other people's 
 passions, it was the arid season in which only the 
 leaves of prickwood, boxwood and mahonias attest 
 and symbolize human faith in the persistence of life. 
 A dismal February was hovering over Paris and made 
 its ill-humours circulate around the gardens of the 
 dead. Sometimes snow covered everything, clothing 
 with a uniform shroud both the forgotten tombs that 
 are so mournful, and are as though dead in their 
 turn, and the best-cared-for graves Josette's, for 
 example, where sometimes icy flakes made a velvety 
 whiteness of the mimosas and carnations that were 
 piously sent from the Riviera by Guy Croze. 
 
 Guy Croze, among other characteristics of the new 
 generation in France, united a quick sensibility to a 
 definite sense of reality. No son could have suffered 
 more than he did from the family ruin brought about 
 by the follies of his father; no brother could have
 
 342 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 wept more bitterly over the tragic death of his sister. 
 He had, however, taken care that his marriage with 
 Yvonne should be carried out with as little delay as 
 possible; because the family of yesterday was shaking 
 on its foundations, that was no reason for retarding 
 the foundation of the family of to-morrow; because a 
 beloved sister had deserted life, that was no reason 
 for not drawing to one's heart the young and well- 
 loved wife. . . . He had only waited until equilibrium 
 was a little more firmly established around him. The 
 affair of the stolen documents was solved by a bleeding 
 of two hundred thousand francs shed by Croze on 
 the couple, Bolski and Mag. By this means scandal 
 had stopped short, but the political position of the 
 deputy of Romorantin was none the less destroyed. 
 His domestic life existed only on the outside ; 
 Emmeline Corbellier, now divorced, clung to him 
 more tightly than ever. Madame Croze allowed him 
 to do what he liked with indifference ; all affection for 
 her guilty husband was destroyed in her. Besides, 
 her daughter's tragic adventure had been a blow to 
 her heart, and she lived in devotion and charity and 
 more often than not at Val d'Anay with her sister, 
 Blanche, the half-widow. On the other hand, old 
 Haumont-Segre", whom his wife's death and his 
 daughter's desertion had at first plunged into a 
 prostration that caused fear for his sanity, was 
 re-establishing himself, as though by a miracle, and 
 showing in the settlement of the out-standing diffi- 
 culties of his bankruptcy an activity and an ingenuity 
 worthy of the period when he was considered one of 
 the foremost financiers of the time. He had under- 
 taken the task of clearing himself absolutely of the 
 stigma of fraud : on this he employed his small
 
 THE JUSTICIARY 343 
 
 inheritance from his wife and lived himself in a 
 modest pension in the Rue Galilee. Thus, on either 
 side there was re-established, if not order at least 
 tranquillity in Yvonne's family as in Guy's. And 
 so Guy and Yvonne were married in the early days 
 of the New Year in a strict privacy that was justified 
 by their double mourning. Then, as soon as they 
 were married, flying from Paris and the places that 
 fashionable Parisians frequent in winter, they had 
 found the retired sanctuary which they were looking 
 for in the little cove of Cornouiles, the latest-born of 
 that pleiad of favoured stations which rise gradually 
 between the red rocks, the green pines and the blue 
 sea from Saint-Raphael to Cannes. Cornouiles as yet 
 consists of some ten brand-new villas nestling among 
 the pines that descend down to the edge of the road 
 which overhangs the sea. The old village lies less 
 than half a mile away in the narrow' valley of a 
 neighbouring torrent, le Guerre. 
 
 The young Crozes had taken at Cornouiles a white 
 cottage named the "Mimosas" near another larger 
 cottage named the "Tamarisks," which belonged 
 to the same proprietor, and which was also to let. 
 Yvonne and Guy had preferred the "Mimosas" 
 merely because it was the smaller of the two cottages, 
 and because they were at that charming period when 
 it seems that one can never be pressed close enough 
 against the other. . . . Besides, they meant to receive 
 nobody except Yvonne's mother, whose coming had 
 been announced. Their servants consisted of a couple 
 of country folk. They did not frequent the brilliant 
 places along the coast. Once only, having gone as far 
 as Nice, they had returned troubled after meeting some 
 of those ill-advised friends, who never fail to give
 
 344 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 you bad news : they had learnt that their cousin 
 Berthe, with Fanny Smith, was living in a villa at 
 Cannes between Nice and Antibes, and also that 
 Sandra Ceroni was to be seen at Nice with a widower 
 of fifty, provided with a little boy of eight, whose 
 governess she was supposed to be. The widower of 
 fifty, a rather rich German, was going to marry 
 Sandra, they said. Certainly, the fact that Berthe 
 was living in the neighbourhood in no way moved 
 Guy, who was very much in love with this young 
 wife, nor Yvonne, who was very sure of her husband. 
 And the fact that Sandra Ceroni had at last found 
 some one to marry her, mattered little to either of 
 them. But these names, these vicinities, brought back 
 the tecollection of adventures and painful hours and 
 all the disorder that these wandering foreigners had 
 created around them, the consequences of which they 
 were still enduring, and from which they were not 
 certain of being definitely protected in the future. So 
 after this unlucky expedition into too populous 
 districts the Crozes invariably made their excursions 
 on the sea or on the mountains. 
 
 One morning towards the end of February, on the 
 wooden loggia of their sparkling cottage, Guy and 
 Yvonne were taking their early breakfast together. 
 They took it sitting side by side, their hands 
 instinctively meeting when they were not talking. 
 The few passers-by on the road who perceived 
 them had no need of making inquiries to recognize 
 that this white morning dress, decked with black 
 muslin, and these pyjamas in blac 1 and white checks 
 were still at the delightful and agonizing period when 
 two newly-wedded people are positively unable to 
 keep away from each other, when the need of each
 
 THE JUSTICIARY 345 
 
 other's presence is equal to that of breathing the air, 
 when all the senses seem to have this one reason for 
 existence and this one function : to help each of them 
 in the perception and knowledge of the other. 
 Between Yvonne, radiantly beautiful, and Guy, refined 
 by the sorrows of the last month Guy slighter in 
 figure and with his features more firmly marked there 
 reigned that eager curiosity of all young couples in 
 love. But there was something more which made their 
 hands seek each other, which brought their chairs 
 closer together, which held one in the glance of the 
 other : a kind of fear that Destiny might still be 
 lying in wait for them, might be preparing in the 
 shadow some new eruption after so many others, some 
 supreme attack which would quite overthrow them, 
 if it struck them apart from one another, but which 
 they would certainly repulse if they fronted it side 
 by side with linked hands. 
 
 The little cove was streaming with sunlight over 
 an indigo sea, agitated by definite and determined 
 wavelets, although no wind was perceptible. The 
 sun for the last few days was gaining warmth. The 
 little sloping garden, simply designed with steps and 
 rock-work, the little garden in which an architect's 
 geometrical imagination showed itself, descended 
 through the slope of the pine-trees that had been 
 roused, after long weeks of torpor, by the approach 
 of real spring. Primroses and a few roses drank 
 in the dazzling light; two mimosas, like two censers, 
 exhaled so strong a perfume that one imagined at 
 moments that one could distinguish the smoke through 
 the motionless air. Before this landscape of tranquil 
 hope Yvonne and Guy examined the contents of the 
 post which had just been brought to them. Yvonne
 
 346 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 was finishing a letter from her mother, when her 
 husband drew her to him to show her a paragraph in 
 the newspaper that he had unfolded. And this was a 
 chance for Yvonne to press her cheek to her husband's 
 and put her arm round his neck. The newspaper 
 said, in the Echoes of Society 
 
 "Madame Emmeline Corbellier has resumed her 
 poetical Thursdays, which are attended so eagerly by 
 people well known in Parisian society. Yesterday 
 evening they applauded at her house a dialogue poem, 
 entitled, Narcissus and his Reflection, played by Mile. 
 Langlade of the Odeon (in the part of Narcissus), and 
 Fervolles of the Come'die-Royale (in the part of the 
 Reflection), author, M. Jacques Corbellier. This 
 delightfully clever poem, a perverse offshoot of 
 poetical comedy, was heartily welcomed. It will cer- 
 tainly be produced soon at one of our large theatres." 
 
 "What unconsciousness!" murmured Yvonne. 
 "This stupid woman who had the chance of being 
 divorced without a scandal, thanks to the complacency 
 of the husband, cannot then allow herself to be 
 forgotten ? " 
 
 Guy made a gesture of resignation. 
 
 " What does your mother say ? " he asked. 
 
 "She hopes to arrive the day after to-morrow. 
 Alice's sore throat is well." 
 
 "And Nanie?" 
 
 "Nanie is going through the conventional engage- 
 ment with M. Lecceur. She has already persuaded 
 him not to wear any more ready-made ties, and she 
 has sent him her manicurist." 
 
 "Is there anything about Uncle Haumont-Segr ? " 
 
 "Yes, Mama saw him the day before yesterday . . . 
 or rather" (she looked at the letter) "four days ago
 
 THE JUSTICIARY 347 
 
 in his room in the Rue Galilee. He seemed in good 
 health. He was working at the accounts with a 
 certain Vignal, an old accountant of his bank. For 
 the rest, this is what Mother says " 
 
 She read the passage aloud 
 
 "'. . . I find his fever of activity rather alarming. 
 He is undertaking, he tells us, to divide his fortune 
 among his creditors, in proportion to the amounts he 
 owes them. Everything that my sister-in-law has left 
 him will go in that way. He does not seem to be 
 concerned as to how he will live afterwards; he 
 assures us that they are keeping a pjace for him in a 
 bank in the south. . . . One would say that there are 
 only two ideas in his head : hatred for Berthe for 
 having allowed her mother to die without paying her 
 a visit before, and without a word of compassion after- 
 wards, and his desire to compel the respect of those 
 whom his collapse has injured. In addition to this, 
 I can state with pleasure that his health is good ; he 
 is just as much the ' old Hercules ' as ever.' " 
 
 As Yvonne finished reading these words, her atten- 
 tion, at the same time as her husband's, was distracted 
 by the passing along the road of a long grey motor, 
 built like a double phaeton ; two solitary women 
 occupied the large seats at the back. Not a few grey 
 motors passed on the road from Saint-Raphael at the 
 foot of the sloping garden, but this one had suddenly 
 slowed down on approaching Cornouiles. Now it had 
 stopped altogether; one of the two travellers, leaning 
 forward, was talking to the chauffeur ; the other, 
 standing with her face towards the incline, where the 
 bright habitations rose in tiers, seemed to admire this 
 discreet recess of the coast, and to feel the temptation 
 that sometimes catches tourists at a turn of the road
 
 348 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 to suspend their circuit, to stay and settle down. 
 These two travellers, indeed, could not have come 
 from very far. Their dresses were scarcely ruffled by 
 the wind during their drive. Both, veiled, enveloped 
 in large clinging cloaks, presented that mysterious 
 and carnival-like appearance of modern women in 
 motor-cars, about whom one can only conjecture as to 
 whether they are young or old, ugly or pretty. They 
 were probably young, especially the one who was 
 talking to the chauffeur; they were certainly elegant 
 and fashionable. 
 
 Yvonne and Guy looked at each other : they had 
 been seized with the same idea, and as they hesitated 
 about admitting it, Guy murmured 
 
 " What can they be doing here ? " 
 
 "Ah ! " cried Yvonne, as she watched the taller of 
 the two women who had alighted on the road and 
 was now aiding the other to descend, "there's no 
 doubt about it. It's the Englishwoman. . . . Oh, 
 Guy ! what do they want with us ? " 
 
 She treasured no retrospective jealousy against the 
 fact that her husband had formerly been in love with 
 Berthe. And she would not have been a woman 
 if she had retained any spite against Fanny Smith, 
 against Fanny Smith who had helped to separate Guy 
 from Berthe, but the appearance of the two unexpected 
 travellers aroused in her that painful sense of fatality 
 which she had been unable to shake off after so many 
 misfortunes. 
 
 Guy reassured her. 
 
 "In the first place, it isn't certain that it is they. 
 And then, look, they are not coming to us." 
 
 As a matter of fact, the two travellers left their car 
 standing on the road and began to ascend the hill,
 
 THE JUSTICIARY 349 
 
 not towards the entrance to the "Mimosas," but 
 towards that of the neighbouring "Tamarisks," which 
 a sign-board on the garden gate pointed out to passers- 
 by, at the same time specifying that the house was 
 to let. The taller of the two women entered first ; the 
 other followed; the few steps that they had taken in 
 the sun had made them hot, and they took off their 
 veils and unfastened their cloaks a little. 
 
 "It is they," said Yvonne. 
 
 Guy clasped her and pressed her to him without 
 answering. Concealed behind the latticework of the 
 fence which formed the side of the loggia, they saw 
 Berthe and Fanny pass almost at their feet in the 
 garden next to theirs. Then they disappeared under 
 the pines towards the house of the "Tamarisks," which 
 Yvonne and Guy could not see. 
 
 "How thin Berthe has got," said Yvonne. 
 
 "Yes. . . . One would say that she was ill. On the 
 other hand, the d d Englishwoman is still just the 
 same." 
 
 " I hope to goodness they are not going to settle 
 down in the 'Tamarisks.'' 
 
 "We should always be able to leave the place to 
 them." 
 
 They continued on the look-out. 
 
 "Don't leave me," murmured Yvonne. 
 
 And Guy answered 
 
 "No . . . not until they have gone away. . . ." 
 
 More than a quarter of an hour went by before the 
 Englishwoman and her pupil reappeared, accompanied 
 by a little woman, brown and bony, who was entrusted 
 with the care of the "Tamarisks." They were walk- 
 ing more slowly, although the path was down-hill. 
 Berthe, doubtless tired by these few steps, was leaning
 
 350 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 on Fanny's arm. Fanny was having a discussion with 
 the caretaker. All three passed quite near the loggia 
 without looking round. It was only just as they 
 passed the gate opening on to the road that the three 
 women simultaneously raised their eyes towards the 
 glittering facade of the "Mimosas." Guy and 
 Yvonne, invisible behind the latticework, divined that 
 their names were being mentioned. 
 
 They perceived the surprise that it produced in 
 Berthe's face and in Fanny's; they noted the abrupt- 
 ness with which Fanny suddenly left the astonished 
 caretaker, took Berthe's arm and in less than two 
 minutes had brought her back to the car, had entered 
 it with her, and had gone away. 
 
 "Pleasant journey to you," said Yvonne, venturing 
 for the first time to lean out from the loggia, and, like 
 a school-girl, waving her handkerchief after the 
 motor, which was nothing more than a flying ball of 
 dust on the rim of the blue coast. 
 
 Both went back into the villa. Yvonne, drawing 
 herself up before a looking-glass, her hands joined 
 together behind her neck, in an attitude that was a 
 favourite one of hers, and which Guy called "playing 
 the pigeon," murmured 
 
 "My poor Guy, I have no remorse for having taken 
 you away from my cousin ; you who are so fond of 
 my arms and neck and shoulders, what w r ould you do 
 with that bundle of bones ? " 
 
 "Poor little Berthe," muttered Guy. 
 
 But the "pigeon," who knew her own power, con- 
 tinued to tempt him wilfully, knowingly. They threw 
 themselves into each other's arms, forgetting at once 
 fear and pity in the triumphant egoism of happy 
 lovers.
 
 THE JUSTICIARY 351 
 
 Less than a week after the visit that his sister-in-law 
 Haumont-Manin had paid him, the visit which 
 Yvonne and Guy had read about together, old 
 Haumont-Segre sent away the accountant Vignal, 
 who had helped him to distribute his inheritance from 
 his wife among the creditors of the bank that had 
 failed. Later on, the accountant stated that he had 
 felt moved on taking leave of him. 
 
 " I said to the master : ' How is Monsieur going 
 to live now?' and he replied: 'Don't be uneasy 
 about me, Vignal ; my brother won't let me want 
 for anything. . . . And besides, they are offering me 
 a place in a fine little bank in Marseilles.' . . ." 
 
 Later on, too, Professor Haumont-Manin and the 
 proprietress of the pension confirmed Vignal's story 
 about this position promised in Marseilles. 
 
 "An old correspondent of mine," Haumont-Segre" 
 had said, "who has kept his belief in me, and who 
 does not think that I am altogether an idiot . . . five 
 thousand francs a year : a thousand more than is 
 necessary for me. . . ." 
 
 And so the proprietress of the pension in the Rue 
 Galile'e experienced no surprise when her lodger 
 came down to settle his account and announced, with 
 a valise in his hand, that he was starting for the 
 south. 
 
 "A little sooner than I expected; my correspondent 
 has a great deal of extra work, and begs me to come 
 a little earlier. Besides, I have nothing more to do 
 here." 
 
 "And I hope that M. Haumont-Segre' will have 
 better weather down there than in Paris," concluded 
 his hostess, as she handed him his receipted bill. 
 " Does Monsieur wish me to send for a cab ? "
 
 352 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 "My word, no ! The Me"tro is two steps from here, 
 and it takes me right to the station." 
 
 He went off like this, carrying his valise, walking 
 resolutely. The weight of his snowy head seemed 
 to drag the shoulders a little forward, but his appear- 
 ance was robust and his gait firm : an old oak twisted 
 at the summit, but still sound right through. 
 
 He felt himself, indeed, full of vigour and resolu- 
 tion. His inveterate habit of scarcely ever showing 
 excitement in voice or gestures, the kind and gentle 
 appearance of his whole personality, concealed his 
 inner fermentation from the eyes of the indifferent 
 world. The Haumont-Manins alone had felt some 
 uneasiness about it ; but a little fever in the eyes, was 
 it not perfectly natural in an old man who had been 
 struck by such misfortunes one after the other : the 
 desertion of his daughter, the ruin of his house, the 
 death of his wife? Must he not have had, on the 
 contrary, a brain splendidly balanced to have resisted 
 so many shocks without showing now the slightest 
 sign of weakness or folly? And certainly, no more 
 than the Haumont-Manins, no more than the 
 accountant Vignal, no more than the proprietress in 
 the Rue Galilee, did the travellers who, between Paris 
 and the Mediterranean, had for companion this white- 
 haired, courteous old man, preferring to be silent, but 
 replying with assiduous urbanity to any questions 
 asked him, suspect that he was not going peacefully, 
 as he said he was, to the place where his business 
 called him. 
 
 Old Haumont-Segre, however, had concealed his 
 real projects, and Marseilles was not the last point 
 of his journey. Nobody thought about it, for nobody 
 knew him in the huge noisy city, where he only
 
 THE JUSTICIARY 353 
 
 stayed long enough to take a glass of milk in a cafe" 
 near the station, while he consulted a local guide- 
 book. Less than an hour after his arrival he returned 
 to the station and entered an express train which ran 
 along the coast between Marseilles and Nice. They 
 had handed him a second-class ticket for Cagnes. 
 
 This particular morning the coast really resembled 
 the posters with which the advertising agencies deck 
 the walls of our towns, so as to rouse in the souls of 
 the people of the north an irresistible need of blue 
 sea and golden sun. . . . The golden sun had only 
 sunk into the blue sea a few times since that other 
 morning when Berthe and Fanny had Ipaid their 
 visit to the "Tamarisks," and yet it was already 
 another golden sun and another blue sea. The 
 Bacchic spring of the Riviera, which was then only 
 announcing itself, had since made its mad and 
 triumphant entrance. It was bursting forth from 
 inanimate things and living beings, from stones 
 and trees, from the earth and the flowers, from 
 the air and the light, luring the world, luring every- 
 body into an orgy of youthful life almost too 
 passionate for human senses. On some mornings on 
 the azure coast one rises rilled with eagerness to 
 inhale the glittering atmosphere, to breathe the breath 
 of the gardens, to intoxicate oneself with the aroma 
 and with the reflected light from the waves, when, 
 after taking a few steps out-of-doors, one is over- 
 whelmed by a sudden torpor, and one returns to 
 seek the shade of the houses that are still cool, so 
 as to sleep off there in the silence and semi-darkness 
 an almost painful intoxication. 
 
 In the woods of Cagnes, in a remote corner, almost 
 deserted and hard enough to get at, where their
 
 354 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 Swiss cottage, the "Hut," was concealed, Berthe and 
 Fanny had felt, on awaking, this appeal of a splendid 
 day, the precursor of spring. They had been eager 
 to go out and reach the strand. They had walked 
 there together, happy in their solitude, happy in the 
 ardent joy that the world seemed to exhale around 
 them. . . . Fanny saw with delight Berthe's cheeks 
 becoming rosy, her slight figure straightening itself, 
 a less spiritless glance animating her pale eyes. 
 Berthe's health was a source of uneasiness to Fanny. 
 Berthe never complained, and Fanny was much too 
 proud to accuse herself of the actual physical depres- 
 sion of her pupil. But without a doubt this depres- 
 sion had begun the day following the flight from 
 her father's house; it had increased after the death 
 of Madame Haumont-Segre", whom Fanny had not 
 permitted Berthe to see again, compelling her to 
 choose between her mother and herself. . . . Berthe 
 had obeyed : she was a slave, and she loved her 
 slavery ; but for all that she had suffered. She was 
 not getting better. As in her mother's case, the 
 doctors did not discover in her any injured organ. 
 They said, " Extreme anaemia," and they amused their 
 ignorance by analyzing drops of this poor pale blood, 
 by measuring the activity of these relapsed arteries. 
 
 Very quickly, in the air of the strand, the exuber- 
 ance of spring, which at first had over-excited the 
 young girl, overpowered her. It was necessary to 
 return to the house, and Berthe had difficulty in 
 reaching it, in spite of the help of Fanny, who 
 supported her on her arm. Once back in her room, 
 she collapsed into an arm-chair; this boisterous 
 morning had overwhelmed her ; she wished the 
 windows to be closed and the blinds pulled down.
 
 THE JUSTICIARY 355 
 
 Fanny installed herself in the room, anxious and 
 silent; no hospital nurse could have been more 
 devoted, more indefatigable, and Berthe derived from 
 this presence, at once authoritative and tender, a real 
 comfort. "Sleep, poor little thing, I want you to 
 sleep." . . . But in spite of her obedient efforts to 
 close her eyes and stop thinking, Berthe could not 
 sleep. On the veil of her eyelids fire-reels were pass- 
 ing, all the radiance of the zebra-striped flashing 
 sea. . . . However, even without sleep, the rest and 
 the semi-darkness tended to soothe her. 
 
 "You have no fever, my dear one," said the 
 Englishwoman, after holding the thin wrist between 
 her fingers for some time. 
 
 Suddenly Berthe sat straight up. "Who is walk- 
 ing in the garden ? " she asked in an uneasy voice. 
 "Oh, Justine, I suppose. . . ." 
 "It isn't Justine. It's a man's step." 
 Berthe, naturally very timid and more timid as 
 she grew weaker, could not get accustomed to the 
 isolation of the " Hut," buried away in this huge 
 wood at the end of an unfinished road which the 
 motor was not able to follow even as far as the door. 
 In front of the villa, it is true, one's eyes were 
 reassured by perceiving across the trees the roofs of 
 isolated houses and after them the maritime village 
 of Cagnes quite near; but at the back was a rather 
 dense thicket, broken only by pathways and covering 
 a large part of the hill. Berthe said that she felt 
 herself constantly watched and menaced by these 
 dense thickets that overhung the chimney-tops of the 
 "Hut." . . . She wished to leave Cagnes, and it was 
 on a drive of inquiries in the neighbourhood that 
 the two friends had visited Cornouiles.
 
 356 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 The Englishwoman crossed the room, raised the 
 blinds, and opened one of the windows. The light 
 invaded the room. 
 
 "I see no one," she said as she leaned out. "You 
 dreamed it, dear, unless the chauffeur . . ." 
 
 "You know perfectly well, Fanny, that he never 
 comes to the house at this time," replied Berthe 
 impatiently. "And it isn't the day for the gardener. 
 I am certain that I heard a man's step on this side." 
 (She pointed to the wall facing the east towards the 
 incline of the hill in the direction of the wood). "Oh, 
 Fanny, I beg of you to go and see." 
 
 In order to calm her, Fanny obeyed. She herself 
 cast a glance over the garden, and then went to the 
 servants' quarters to make inquiries. 
 
 The domestic service was undertaken by a cook, a 
 charwoman and a chambermaid. There were no men 
 in the house, as, in the Englishwoman's opinion, 
 French men-servants were not to be governed by 
 women living alone. At night, however, the chauffeur 
 slept on the ground-floor near the hall. In the 
 garden Fanny noticed nothing suspicious ; none of 
 the three servants had seen any stranger or heard 
 any footsteps. 
 
 "I shall tell Mademoiselle Berthe that Justine has 
 gone to the back of the house to pick laurel leaves. 
 You tell her that, too, if she asks you." 
 
 Berthe allowed herself to be pacified, while pro- 
 testing that "Justine had walked like a man." 
 Fanny remained convinced that Berthe's ears had 
 been under an hallucination, perhaps during a night- 
 mare, while she slept for a minute. She herself was 
 impervious to fear of invisible dangers. For the 
 rest, she perceived with pleasure that her pupil was
 
 THE JUSTICIARY 357 
 
 better. The crisis, brought about by the morning 
 walk, was subsiding. Her temperature was taken 
 under the armpit, and it was found to be normal. 
 Berthe rose and occupied herself until the time for 
 lunch with painting a bouquet of striped carnations. 
 Seated beside her, Fanny read one of those intermin- 
 able English novels which, in the course of four 
 hundred pages, say nothing and none the less delight 
 a hundred thousand readers. This particular one was 
 called The Christian Twins. 
 
 After lunch the doctors ordered Berthe complete 
 rest, and if possible sleep. And so the custom was at 
 the "Hut " that as soon as these ladies had returned 
 to the drawing-room they were not to be disturbed 
 on any pretext for an hour, and that no noise should 
 trouble the house. Berthe stretched herself out 
 and almost always slept profoundly on a sofa in 
 the smaller drawing-room which was kept dark, the 
 door of the communication with the larger drawing- 
 room being left open. Fanny, in the meanwhile, 
 settled down in this larger room, reading, writing, 
 smoking cigarettes and not neglecting to drink one 
 of those "alcoholic potions " which were, she insisted, 
 indispensable to her health. Since the increased 
 heat the door of the larger drawing-room remained 
 open on to the steps, which a verandah, covered 
 by glass, enveloped above and in front, leaving 
 free to right and left the double approach of the 
 steps. 
 
 Everything passed that day as usual. Berthe lay 
 down and went to sleep almost immediately. Fanny 
 watched over her for some time, sitting beside her. 
 Through the door, still opening into the larger 
 drawing-room, there came enough light for her to
 
 358 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 distinguish clearly the body of the young girl 
 stretched out under the cover of a light plaid, and 
 her head, so pale with its blonde hair, sinking into 
 the pillow. "Oh, my dear, my dear ! " murmured the 
 Englishwoman as she looked down on this fragile 
 being buried in an opaque sleep, one of those sleeps 
 from which the anaemic awakens overwhelmed by a 
 yet heavier lassitude. "Oh, my own dear! My 
 dear one, my only dear ! " It was sincere, the strange 
 girl leaning over Berthe's pillow had no other love 
 in the world but for this frail sleeping creature. Truly 
 enough, she was ready to lose all to keep her, and 
 she would have given her own life to cure her. Truly 
 enough, too, she had the right to be indignant when 
 she surprised smiles or veiled allusions about this 
 love of hers; few young girls of twenty remained 
 as chastely ignorant as Berthe with Fanny as her 
 governess. And yet the love of these two women, 
 which no brutality had ever soiled, was not merely 
 the love of the mother for the daughter, or the reason- 
 able affection of two girl friends. It was a kind of 
 chosen relationship, and an impassioned relationship. 
 It implied the permanent need of being near each 
 other, physical and moral admiration on both sides, 
 the mutual spirit of sacrifice. It implied also all the 
 tyrannies and iniquities of love; it implied jealousy. 
 Berthe was jealous of Fanny : it displeased her to 
 hear Fanny say of another young girl that she was 
 pretty. Fanny's jealousy, still more dominating, 
 strictly denied to Berthe the right of living beside or 
 for any other human being than herself. And the 
 more the affections to which Berthe seemed tempted 
 to yield were natural and legitimate, the more Fanny 
 opposed them. Thus she had separated her succes-
 
 THE JUSTICIARY 359 
 
 sively from her fiance" and her family. Thus she had 
 forbidden her to see again her dying mother. 
 
 Fanny bent over her and brushed with her lips 
 the blonde hair, the mass of which was pushed 
 towards the top of the head by the pillow. Then she 
 left the room on tiptoe, closed the door softly and 
 crossed the larger drawing-room as far as the steps. 
 The air was flashing as in summer. There was 
 scarcely any noise towards the village. . . . Leaving 
 the window-door open on the verandah, shaded by 
 the blinds, Fanny returned to seat herself in a large 
 wicker arm-chair with her back to the bay. She lit 
 a cigarette, poured herself out a glass of Chartreuse 
 (an addition she had made to the so-called pharma- 
 ceutical substances), emptied it in two or three mouth- 
 fuls, took up The Christian Twins, and began to 
 read. Her cigarette finished, she placed the book on 
 the little table. The midday heat, combined with 
 the fumes of alcohol, produced every day this same 
 effect on her : a few minutes, at most a quarter of 
 an hour, of drowsiness after which she woke up, 
 with her head thoroughly clear and lucid, her 
 powerful organism restored to equilibrium by this 
 brief relaxation. 
 
 She did not sleep quite so long this time, and her 
 short slumber was unpleasant. She dreamed that 
 she felt behind her the presence of some one. Her 
 blood curdled; motionless, she could not turn round 
 to see who it was, and a horrible fear agonized in 
 the dream this heart which in its waking hours 
 was ignorant of fear. The effort that she made 
 to move caused her to open her eyes again ; still 
 only half awake, she continued to be frightened 
 for a moment, imagining that there really was some
 
 3 6o GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 one behind her. From the steps to which her 
 back was turned a motionless human presence was 
 projecting itself, so to speak, towards the large 
 silent room. Fanny perceived even the vague 
 shadow that this presence cast on the waxed floor. 
 In her half awakened state her agony increased for 
 a moment, prolonging her powerlessness to stir as 
 in the nightmare. Then, recovering full conscious- 
 ness, she mastered herself ; she ceased to be afraid, 
 she even pondered for a second as to what she was 
 going to do. With a single well-calculated move- 
 ment she rose, and keeping the arm-chair as a light 
 rampart between herself and the door leading to the 
 steps, she turned round. 
 
 A man was indeed standing erect just in the bay 
 of the window, with his head bent forward and his 
 glance lowered ; one would have said that he was 
 collecting his thoughts before entering. Perhaps 
 even, coming from the glittering out-of-doors, he 
 had not perceived the Englishwoman concealed in 
 her arm-chair. On the abrupt movement of Fanny, 
 he raised his head and looked at her, and then Fanny 
 understood the danger, for the eyes of old Haumont- 
 Segre, whom she recognized at once, radiated that 
 rapturous energy which betrays madness ready for 
 action. Besides, he was bareheaded, and there was 
 a rent in his trousers. " He has got into the 
 garden by slipping in from the hill-side," thought 
 Fanny. "Berthe really did hear him. . . ." Like all 
 courageous people, she felt herself more resolute 
 before imminent danger. She thought first of all 
 of Berthe, of protecting Berthe, and even, if possible, 
 Berthe's sleep, against the madman. During the 
 few seconds in which they were face to face without
 
 THE JUSTICIARY 361 
 
 speaking she thought: "To reach the button of the 
 bell. . . . But this button is five steps away from me 
 . . . the madman will prevent me. ... I must calm 
 him, and ring without his seeing me. . . ." And 
 while making her way to the wall, she said in a low 
 voice, with her eyes on those of the old man, and 
 forcing herself not to irritate him : " Monsieur, what 
 is your business here ? " 
 
 He replied in the same tone 
 
 " Berthe is here ? " 
 
 "No," said Fanny. 
 
 "Berthe is here," he repeated. 
 
 He advanced into the drawing-room and seized the 
 left arm of the governess who was trying to ring. 
 Although Madame Haumont-Segre had often spoken 
 to her about it in former days, Fanny had no 
 suspicion of the old man's strength. She felt her 
 arm gripped as it were by iron ; at the same time, the 
 other hand of the justiciary fell on her mouth before 
 she had time to open it to cry out. Then, while her 
 left arm, now loosened, fell down numbed with pain, 
 the Englishwoman, still gagged by a feverish palm 
 and with iron fingers breaking her jaw, became 
 suffocated under the burning pressure of the other 
 hand, the hand that had freed her numb arm. 
 Already she could utter no cry, and ungagging her, 
 he strangled her with his two hands. She understood 
 that she was going to die. She tried to kick at 
 Haumont-Segre's limbs; but her own limbs could not 
 even move. All the vital force that was left her was 
 already insufficient to fight against asphyxia. Face 
 to face, the two enemies spoke one last time their 
 hatred from their eyes, pupil to pupil. Then 
 Haumont-Segre experienced suddenly the strange
 
 362 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 sensation of sustaining by the neck this great feminine 
 body that had all at once become very heavy, and 
 he had to straighten himself vigorously to avoid 
 falling forward with it. ... He placed it gently on 
 the ground at full length, and having thus stretched 
 it out, unlocked his fingers carefully. 
 
 The Englishwoman stirred no more. 
 
 # * * * * # 
 
 In the train that was taking them towards Cagnes, 
 Guy Croze and his wife had the compartment to 
 themselves. Yvonne could not control her sobs. 
 She moaned out 
 
 "I knew well that we had not done with being 
 miserable. Ah ! that menace of something fearful 
 to come, how I felt that it was round us ! " 
 
 Guy tried to console her. 
 
 "Your uncle's act is that of a madman. . . . 
 Berthe's letter tells us that he was smiling beside 
 the corpse when he was arrested. He will not even 
 be brought to trial. My father has still enough 
 influence to prevent that." 
 
 "And Berthe . . . already so ill; this is going to 
 finish her." 
 
 "I don't find her letter desperate," protested Guy. 
 
 He read the opening lines again 
 
 "Yvonne, come to my rescue. . . . My father, 
 doubtless in a dispute, for no one saw r anything, had 
 an attack of violent fever, and killed Fanny." 
 
 "No," repeated Guy, "that's not the tone of despair. 
 . . . One would say that death has broken the 
 enchantment." 
 
 The luminous little village, the sunlit bays could 
 be seen dotted along the shore ; the dawdling train 
 stopped often in the tranquil stations, where, except
 
 THE JUSTICIARY 363 
 
 for the industrious tinkling of a bell, everything 
 seemed to be having a siesta beneath the sun. Just 
 as they were passing Gulf Juan, Yvonne murmured 
 
 "If we have children, I would rather have them 
 remaining all their lives ignorant little boors than 
 open our house to Sandras, Mags or Fannys. They 
 have done us too much harm." 
 
 "And they are so different from us, so far from us, 
 that we do not even understand why they have done 
 us this harm," replied Guy. "It was no use their 
 living among us, we have never known them. . . . 
 But here's Cagnes. Courage ! "
 
 RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED, 
 
 BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STKEKT, S.E., 
 
 AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.
 
 BY RENE BAZIN 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE NUN" 
 
 Price 6s. 
 
 Some Press Opinions on " THE PENITENT" 
 
 " M. Rend Bazin has the gift of tears. -. . . It is the most 
 sorrowfully convincing picture. The end relieves the tensio^ 
 and promises much brighter things." Observer, 
 
 " It is handled with all M. Basin's command of pathos." 
 Daily News. 
 
 "An exquisite study." Atheneeum. 
 
 "One of the most appealing books M. Bazin has ever 
 written , . . vividly written . . . full of beautiful descrip- 
 tions." Tatler. 
 
 "M. Bazin's fine story ... is likely to take very high 
 rank. . . . We can recommend the book thoroughly, and it 
 is one for which many readers will find a permanent place 
 on their bookshelves." Liverpool Daily Post. 
 
 "A charming and sympathetic study of Breton life." 
 T.P.'S Weekly. 
 
 At aJl Bookshops And Libraries: 
 
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 36, King Street, Covent Garden, London, W.C.
 
 A RECENT SUCCESS. 6s. 
 
 THE VAGRANT 
 
 BY COLETTE WILLY 
 
 Some Press Opinions on " THE VAGRANT" 
 
 " Colette Willy is a clever writer a writer for whose work 
 we shall look out in the future. . . . It is a fine piece of work. 
 Rene"e, the Vagrant of the title, is sketched with firmness, 
 with charm, and with great skill. . . . We sympathise with 
 her and we like her." Birmingham Daily Post, 
 
 " The sheer sense of reality and of conviction which the 
 novelist succeeds in establishing is most remarkable." 
 Sunday Times. 
 
 " The heroine, who tells her own story and permits us to 
 penetrate to the inner life of her soul, is a young woman 
 living alone in a small Paris flat, and dancing on a music 
 hall stage . . . reads like a human document.'' Evening 
 Standard. 
 
 " Gives a strikingly vivid picture of the desperately lonely 
 life led by such a woman as this, afraid of old age, of ill health, 
 of poverty." The Field. 
 
 At nil Bookshops and Libraries: 
 
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 36, King Street, Covent Garden, London, W.C.
 
 BY 
 
 MARCELLE TINAYRE 
 
 Price 6s. 
 
 " A remarkable study of racial contrasts and passion . . . 
 every character lives and breathes ... a brilliant and ex- 
 citing story." Daily Mail. 
 
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 " She has done much fine work and consolidated for herself 
 a position as one of the best among contemporary writers of 
 fiction . . . she has done nothing better." Sunday Times. 
 
 "A writer of subtlety and charm." Bookman. 
 
 "Is emphatically a book that will rapidly increase the host 
 of admirers that Marcelle Tinayre has won in the British 
 Isles." North Mail. 
 
 "The story cannot fail to please." Scotsman. 
 
 At a.11 Bookshops and Libraries: 
 
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 36, King Street, Covent Garden, London, W.C.
 
 A NEW EASTERN STORY 
 
 VEILED WOMEN 
 
 BY 
 
 MARMADUKE PICKTHALL 
 Price 6s. 
 
 11 Splendid ... a brilliant novel . . . true in every line, 
 and as vivid as it is possible to make it." Athenceum. 
 
 " The virtue of the book lies in the skill of narrative which 
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 women's apartments in an Egyptian Pasha's house that one 
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 Mirror. 
 
 " An absorbing book." Evening Standard. 
 
 SECOND EDITION NOW READY 
 
 At all Bookshops and Libraries: 
 
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 36, King Street, Covent Garden, London, W.C.
 
 MR. EVELEIGH NASH'S 
 LIST OF NEW BOOKS 
 
 36 KING STREET 
 COVENT GARDEN, W.C.
 
 MR. EVELEIGH HASH'S 
 LIST OF NEW BOOKS 
 
 By FREDERICK TOWNSEND MARTIN 
 Illustrated Price los. 6d. net 
 
 Mr. Frederick Townsend Martin, brother of the 
 late Bradley Martin, is a familiar figure in London 
 Society, and "Freddy" (as he is known to his many 
 friends) has numerous interesting and pleasant stories 
 to tell about Queen Victoria, King Edward, Queen 
 Margherita of Italy, Consuelo Duchess of Man- 
 chester ; Louise Duchess of Devonshire ; Lady 
 Holland, Lady Paget, the Dowager Lady Cawdor, 
 Lord Wandsworth, Pierpont Morgan, Mr. Gladstone, 
 the late Lord Swansea, Mrs. Ronalds, Alec Yorke, 
 Mme. Melba, William Gillett, Mrs. William Lowther, 
 Lady Essex, Lord Fitzhardinge, Lady Galway, and 
 many others. 
 
 THE COURT OF CHRISTINA 
 OF SWEDEN 
 
 And the later Adventures of the Queen 
 in Exile 
 
 By FRANCIS GRIBBLE 
 
 Author of "The Comedy of Catherine the Great" etc. 
 
 With Photogravure Plates Price 15^. net 
 
 Queen Christina of Sweden the Minerva of the 
 No7th who is the subject of Mr. Gribble's new book, 
 
 3
 
 MR. CASH'S tN^EW 'BOOKS 
 
 resigned her throne, against the wish of her subjects, 
 quite early in life, in order to be received into 
 the Roman Catholic Church, and to wander about 
 Europe. Her career is one of romance and intrigue ; 
 of mystery and crime. Biographers and historians 
 have always been perplexed as to her motive for 
 putting her retainer, Mcnaldeschi, to death in the 
 royal Palace of Fontainebleau, and as to the nature 
 of her passionate attachment to the fascinating 
 Cardinal Azzolino. Documents recently extracted 
 from the Archives of the Azzolino family enable the 
 author to throw fresh light on both these matters, 
 and upon the true character of a Queen whose 
 reckless conduct has furnished a theme to such great 
 imaginative writers as Browning and Dumas. 
 
 MORE ABOUT KING EDWARD 
 
 By EDWARD LEGGE 
 Author of "King Edward in His True Colours " 
 
 Illustrated Price i6j. net 
 
 Mr. Legge's new book is sure of a welcome from the 
 large public that enjoyed his delightful book on 
 King Edward, published last year, in which he gave 
 a great deal of information about the King that was 
 not generally known before. The many years that 
 Mr. Legge has spent in contact with the Court 
 peculiarly fit him to write about King Edward, and 
 the numerous fresh stories and anecdotes which will 
 be found in his new volume are further evidence of 
 the wide range of his knowledge of the interesting 
 facts and features of King Edward's life. 
 
 4
 
 MR. CASH'S WEW BOOKS 
 
 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 CHARLOTTE AMELIE PRINCESS 
 
 OF ALDENBURG (1652-1732) 
 
 Translated and Edited by her descendant 
 MRS. AUBREY LE BLOND 
 
 Illustrated with unpublished portraits from Private 
 Collections. 
 
 Price i6j. net 
 
 This is the life story from her own pen of a singularly 
 attractive woman who, though born " in the purple," was 
 the victim of almost endless tyranny, persecution and 
 hardship. 
 
 A member of a family famous for bravery and public 
 service since the days of her ancestor Louis de la Tremoille 
 the Blameless Knight she left the country of her birth 
 when a girl because of religious intolerance and retired to 
 Denmark, where she lived with her cousin the Queen. 
 Sought in marriage by three kings and an infinite array of 
 German princelings, she gave her hand with her heart to 
 Anthony I. Count of Aldenburg, only to have him snatched 
 from her within 6 months after their marriage, poisoned at 
 the instigation of his heir-presumptive. As a widow she 
 suffered further persecutions from this man, and on the 
 birth of her son a few months later, attemps were made to 
 deprive her of the guardianship and to rob the child of its 
 inheritance. Beset by every possible difficulty and hard- 
 ship, and without the means to obtain even sufficient food, 
 the poor mother journeyed to Vienna and besought the 
 protection of the Emperor. 
 
 Fearing that she might die before her son was old enough 
 to understand all that had taken place, Charlotte Am&ie 
 wrote her life for his guidance.
 
 MR. NASHS NEW 'BOOKS 
 THE PRESS GANG 
 
 Afloat and Ashore 
 
 By J. R. HUTCHINSON 
 
 Illustrated Price los. 6d. net 
 
 The practice of pressing men for the sea service of 
 the Crown would seem to have been resorted to even 
 in the days of the Saxon Kings, and to have continued 
 intermittently up to the dawn of the i8th century, 
 when naval needs having grown in volume and 
 urgency, the press net was cast wider and wider 
 until at last, during that great century of struggle, 
 practically every class of the population was subject 
 to its merciless inroads. 
 
 In its inception, development and extraordinary cul- 
 mination the Impress System of the i8th century, of 
 which the Press Gang was at once the embodiment 
 and the active exponent, constitutes perhaps the 
 greatest anomaly and certainly the grossest imposition 
 any free people ever submitted to. Unlawful, oppres- 
 sive and unjust, it was nevertheless tolerated and 
 fostered for more than a hundred years. Standing as 
 a bulwark against aggression and conquest, it ground 
 under its heel the very people it protected, making 
 them slaves in order to keep them free. Masquer- 
 ading as a protector it dragged the wage earner from 
 his home and left his starving family to the mercies 
 of the parish. 
 
 Around the doings of the Press Gang, afloat and 
 ashore, Mr. Hutchinson has written a racy and vivid 
 book, and in telling the story of their amazing 
 activities in building up our navy and making it 
 master of the seas, he touches upon almost every 
 phase of the naval life and administration during 
 that exciting century. 
 
 6
 
 MR. NASITS NEW BOOKS 
 
 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 Or Hamworth Happenings 
 
 By the Author of "Leaves from a Life" etc. 
 Illustrated Price los. 6d. net 
 
 Readers of " Leaves from a Life," " Leaves from a 
 Garden," and other books by this charming writer, 
 will find "The Year's Mind" entirely to their liking. 
 There are many natural history*anecdotes, numerous 
 stories of country life are related, and rural scenes 
 described with the glowing pen of a writer who knows 
 and loves the country. 
 
 THE MEMOIRS OF MARIA 
 STELLA (Lady Newborough) 
 
 By HERSELF 
 Illustrated Price ics. 6d. net 
 
 When this extraordinary book first made its appear- 
 ance it created an amazing sensation all over Europe. 
 Vigorous and successful efforts were at once made to 
 suppress it, all the copies being bought up by agents, 
 it is believed, of the Orleans family. Now it is again 
 to be made available to the public, who will find it a 
 volume of the greatest interest. Maria Stella was, as 
 is well known, supposed to be the daughter of Philippe 
 Egalite and to have been exchanged by him, in 
 infancy, for a boy (the son of an Italian named 
 Chiappini) who subsequently became Louis Philippe. 
 
 7
 
 MR. NASIfS NEW 'BOOKS 
 
 MY LADY OF THE CHIMNEY 
 CORNER 
 
 By ALEXANDER IRVINE 
 Author of " From the Bottom Up." 
 
 Price 3-r. 6d. net 
 
 "This book," says the author in a foreword "is 
 the torn manuscript of the most beautiful life I ever 
 knew. I have merely pieced and patched it together, 
 and have not even changed or disguised the names 
 of the little group of neighbours who lived with us at 
 ' the bottom of the world.' " 
 
 It is a book whose human appeal is similar to that 
 of " Margaret Ogilvie," Barrie's beautiful tribute to 
 his mother. 
 
 Mr. Irvine's mother was an Irish peasant woman, 
 with a great heart and a great spiritual insight, and 
 the son's record tells very tenderly and beautifully 
 of the love of Anna and Jamie, his parents ; of 
 their grinding fight with famine and poverty, and of 
 their many children, of whom Alexander was the 
 youngest the favourite boy, into whose hands the 
 mother put "the handles of God's plow." It tells, 
 also, of the neighbours in Antrim, of Anna's simple 
 belief in the presence of God in "the least of His 
 little ones," and of her creed, " Love is enough."
 
 MR. NOSH'S NEW BOOKS 
 
 By 
 
 H. M. KING NICHOLAS OF MONTENEGRO 
 With an Autographed Portrait of the Author 
 
 Price 3^. 6d. net 
 
 This is a stirring drama by Europe's most pictur- 
 esque monarch. It has been adapted from the original 
 by Mr. W. M. Petrovitch and Mr. D. J. Volnay, and 
 is published with His Majesty's authority. 
 
 By ALLAN FEA 
 
 Author of " Old World Places," etc. 
 
 Illustrated Price 7^. 6d. net 
 
 FIGURE SKATING IN THE 
 ENGLISH STYLE 
 
 By HUMPHRY H. COBB 
 
 First Class Badge Holder of the National Skating 
 Association. 
 
 With numerous Illustrations. Price $s. net 
 
 9
 
 MR. NOSH'S NEW BOOKS 
 
 THE MOXFORD BOOK OF 
 ENGLISH VERSE 
 
 (1340-1913) 
 
 Presented by A. STODART WALKER 
 Price 3.?. 6d. net 
 
 A most amusing parody upon the famous " Oxford 
 Book of English Verse." 
 
 NURSERY MANAGEMENT 
 
 An Up-to-date Book 
 
 By MARY GARDNER 
 Price 5.$-. net 
 
 Special care has been taken to make this book 
 thoroughly practical and suitable for readers of all 
 incomes. Among the contents will be found : The 
 Nursery, furniture and ventilation How to get a 
 Nurse, her duties and qualifications Children's 
 Clothing, how to cut out and make Doll's Clothes 
 Dentition Nursery Hygiene Artificial Feeding 
 The Milk Question Nursery Diet and Menus 
 Exercise Backward and Forward Children Early- 
 Religious Training Education on Kindergarten 
 Lines Chidren's Books Left Handedness Home- 
 made Toys Amusements and Games The Care of 
 Children in India, etc., etc. 
 
 10
 
 MR. NOSH'S NEW NOVELS 
 
 GUARDIAN ANGELS 
 
 By MARCEL PROVOST 
 
 Member of the Academic Franqaise 
 Officer of the Legion of Honour 
 
 Price 6s. 
 
 In this novel the distinguished French Academ- 
 ician, Marcel Prevost shows the possible danger of 
 employing foreign governesses in our homes. He 
 accuses these " Guardian Angels" of exercising a 
 perverting influence on the minds of their pupils, and, 
 not infrequently, of breaking up many a home through 
 their secret liaisons with husbands and sons. 
 
 It is no exaggeration to say that "Guardian 
 Angels " is one of the most remarkable novels that 
 have been issued in any language during recent years. 
 Man-of-the-world, eminent litterateur and keen 
 observer of both sexes (his knowledge of feminine 
 motives is almost staggering), M. Prevost has had 
 the courage to attack the conventional acceptance 
 of an ever-growing custom, and to paint, in a most 
 powerful and daring manner, the picture of what he 
 considers a grave and unheeded menace. 
 
 Every married woman ought to read " Guardian 
 Angels" if only to be forewarned against a danger 
 that may one day invade her own home. 
 
 ii
 
 MR. NASH'S NEW NOVELS 
 
 RUNNING SANDS 
 
 By REGINALD WRIGHT KAUFFMAN 
 Author of " Daughters of Ishmael" etc. 
 
 Price 6s. 
 
 The story of a young girl who marries a man thirty 
 years older than herself. He has spent those thirty 
 years mining in the West and is to all appearances as 
 strong and vigorous as a man of twenty-five. She 
 thinks she loves him and wants to love him, but at 
 eighteen how can she tell ? And so they marry and 
 in due course young blood asserts itself and they learn 
 the lesson that nature teaches them. 
 
 THE THOUSANDTH WOMAN 
 
 By E. W. HORNUNG 
 
 Author of "Raffles," etc. 
 
 With Four Illustrations Price 3.9. 6d. net 
 
 This is the story of one woman in a thousand who 
 never for a moment lost her splendid loyalty to her 
 lover and her friend, though all the evidence in the 
 world seemed dead against him. 
 
 It is quite one of the best mystery stories Mr. 
 Hornung has ever written ; and it is a good mystery 
 story because it is so much more a story of character 
 so strongly arousing the reader's sympathies that he 
 hangs with breathless suspense upon the fate of the 
 man and the woman whom he understands thoroughly 
 and likes immensely. 
 
 12
 
 MR. CASH'S 3^EW SHOVELS 
 
 ELLEN ADAIR 
 
 By FREDERICK NIVEN 
 Author of"A Wilderness of Monkeys," etc. 
 
 Price 6s. 
 
 Readers of Mr. Niven's earlier works will look with 
 interest to his new novel, the scene of which is laid in 
 Edinburgh. Mr. Niven already holds a prominent 
 place among the school of modern realists, and the 
 brilliant characterisation of some very interesting 
 4 types' which he gives us in ' Ellen Adair' should do 
 much to further enhance his reputation. 
 
 MY ENEMY JONES 
 
 An Extravaganza 
 
 By ROBERT BARR 
 
 Author of " The Mutable Many" ; " Stranleigtfs 
 Millions," etc. 
 
 Price 3-r. 6d. net 
 
 RAVEN, V.C. 
 
 By CORALIE STANTON and HEATH HOSKEN 
 Second Impression Price 6s. 
 
 "Raven, V.C. is a fine character, and the scenes 
 on the India frontier, are splendidly done. The book 
 is one of enthralling interest with an original and very 
 lovable heroine." Daily Express. 
 
 "A fine stirring tale ... we very strongly recom- 
 mend it." Globe. 
 
 13
 
 MR. CASH'S 
 
 THE GRELL MYSTERY 
 
 By FRANK FROEST 
 
 Late Superintendent Criminal Investigation 
 Department, Scotland Yard 
 
 Second Impression Price 6s. 
 
 " A rattling story a murder mystery, with the most 
 puzzling and exciting ' ends ' to it, full of thrills and 
 triumphs and checks and counter-checks, and with 
 none of the nonsensical machinery of the shilling 
 shocker in it. ... Mr. Froest takes us behind the 
 scenes at Scotland Yard and shows how, line upon line, 
 inch by inch, a case is built up. Apart from the 
 thumping excitements of the book (and they are 
 countless) the character drawing is neatly done." 
 
 Daily News. 
 
 " It is all highly realistic, and we are carried along 
 breathlessly from start to finish . . . one of the 
 cleverest detective stories we remember to have read 
 for a long time past." Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 " A rich feast of excitement . . . the character- 
 isation ... is well done." Spectator.
 
 MR. CASH'S 
 
 FERRIS OF THE CHERRY 
 TREES 
 
 By J. S. FLETCHER 
 Author of "The Town of Crooked Ways," etc. 
 
 Price 6s. 
 
 Mr. Fletcher is the literary lord of the land of broad 
 acres, and "Ferris of the Cherry Trees" is one of 
 the best of his many fine novels. The Cherry Trees 
 is the name of a farm. 
 
 " Mr. J. S. Fletcher is one of the score of modern 
 novelists who inspire their readers with confidence. 
 The sound construction and strong characterisation 
 of his workmanship . . . accord well with his home- 
 spun scenes of Yorkshire manners." Nation. 
 
 " A fine story." Morning Post. 
 
 " It is the quiet, cumulative method of the true 
 artist ; and the reader who gets his nose into the story 
 will not want to skip a page. Of the strength and 
 fine technique of the novel and its atmosphere, as 
 well as the true studies of rural character, there is 
 no doubt. A notable piece of work." 
 
 Westminster Gazette. 
 
 EVELEIGH NASH 
 
 36 KING ST., COVENT GARDEN, LONDON, W.C.
 
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