the nabob (ii)

8/9/2019 The Nabob (II)

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The NabobVolume II

Alphonse Daudet

W o r k r e r o d

u c e d w i t h n o

e d i t o r i a l r e s

o n s i b i l i t


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XIII

A DAY OF SPLEEN

Five o'clock in the afternoon. Rain ever sincthe morning, a gray sky, so low that one catouch it with one's umbrella, dirty weathe

puddles, mud, nothing but mud, in thick poolin gleaming streaks along the edge of the sidwalks, driven back in vain by automatic sweepers, sweepers with handkerchiefs tied ove

their heads, and carted away on enormoutumbrils which carry it slowly and in triumpthrough the streets toward Montreuil; removeand ever reappearing, oozing between the pavements, splashing carriage panels, horse

breasts, the clothing of the passers-by, soilinwindows, thresholds, shop-fronts, until onwould think that all Paris was about to plungin and disappear beneath that depressing expanse of miry earth in which all things ar


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jumbled together and lose their identity. And is a pitiable thing to see how that filth invadethe spotless precincts of new houses, the cop

ings of the quays, the colonnades of stone baconies. There is some one, however,[Pg 2whom this spectacle rejoices, a poor, ill, diheartened creature, who, stretched out at fulength on the embroidered silk covering of

divan, her head resting on her clenched fistgazes gleefully out through the streaming window-panes and gloats over all these ugly dtails:

"You see, my Fairy, this is just the kind oweather I wanted to-day. See them splasalong. Aren't they hideous, aren't they filthyWhat mud! It's everywhere, in the streets, o

the quays, even in the Seine, even in the skyAh! mud is a fine thing when you're downhearted. I would like to dabble in it, to mouldstatue with it, a statue one hundred feet highand call it, 'My Ennui.'"


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"But why do you suffer from ennui, my daling?" mildly inquires the ex-ballet-dancegood-natured and rosy, from her armchair, i

which she sits very erect for fear of damage ther hair, which is even more carefully arrangethan usual. "Haven't you all that any one caneed to be happy?"

And she proceeds, in her placid voice, to enumerate for the hundredth time her reasons fohappiness, her renown, her genius, her beautyall men at her feet, the handsomest, the mopowerful; oh! yes, the most powerful, for thavery day—But an ominous screech, a hearrending wail from the jackal, maddened by thmonotony of her desert, suddenly makes thstudio windows rattle and sends the terrifie

old chrysalis back into her cocoon.[Pg 3]The completion of her group and its departurfor the Salon has left Felicia for a week past ithis state of prostration, of disgust, of hear

rending, distressing irritation. It requires all o


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the old fairy's unwearying patience, the magof the memories she evokes every moment ithe day, to make life endurable to her besid

that restlessness, that wicked wrath which shcan hear grumbling beneath the girl's silenceand which suddenly bursts forth in a bitteword, in a pah! of disgust àpropos of everythinHer group is hideous. No one will speak of i

All the critics are donkeys. The public? an immense goître with three stories of chin. And yea few Sundays ago, when the Duc de Morcame with the superintendent of Fine Arts t

see her work at the studio, she was so happyso proud of the praise bestowed on her, sthoroughly delighted with her work, which shadmired at a distance as if it were by anothehand, now that the modelling-tool had cease

to form between her and her work the bonwhich tends to impair the impartiality of thartist's judgment.


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But it is so every year. When the studio is robbed of the latest work, when her famous namis once more at the mercy of the public's un

foreseen caprice, Felicia's preoccupations—foshe has then no visible object in life—strathrough the empty void of her heart, of heexistence as one who has turned aside from thpeaceful furrow, until she is once more inten

upon another task. She shuts herself up, shrefuses to see[Pg 4] anybody. One would sathat she is distrustful of herself. The good Jenkins is the only one who can endure her durin

those crises. He even seems to take pleasure ithem, as if he expected something from themAnd yet God knows she is not amiable to himOnly yesterday he remained two hours witthe beautiful ennui-ridden creature, who di

not so much as speak a single word to him. that is the sort of welcome she has in store fothe great personage who does them the honoto dine with them—At that point the gentCrenmitz, who has been placidly ruminating a


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these things and gazing at the slender toe of hetufted shoes, suddenly remembers that she hapromised to make a dish of Viennese cakes fo

the dinner of the personage in question, anquietly leaves the studio on the tips of her littltoes.

Still the rain, still the mud, still the beautifu

sphinx, crouching in her seat, her eyes wandeing aimlessly over the miry landscape. Of whais she thinking? What is she watching on thosmuddy roads, growing dim in the fading lighwith that frown on her brow and that lip curlein disgust? Is she awaiting her destiny? A meancholy destiny, to have gone abroad in sucweather, without fear of the darkness, of thmud.

Some one has entered the studio, a heavier stethan Constance's mouse-like trot. The little sevant, doubtless. And Felicia says roughly, wihout turning:


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"Go to bed. I am not at home to any one."[Pg 5

"I should be very glad to speak with you if yowere," a voice replied good-naturedly.

She starts, rises, and says in a softer tone, amost laughing at sight of that unexpected vistor:

"Ah! it's you, young Minerva! How did you gin?"

"Very easily. All the doors are open."

"I am not surprised. Constance has been like madwoman ever since morning, with her dinner."

"Yes, I saw. The reception room is full of flowers. You have—?"

"Oh! a stupid dinner, an official dinner. I donknow how I ever made up my mind to it. S

down here, beside me. I am glad to see you."


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Paul sat down, a little perturbed in mind. Shhad never seemed so lovely to him. In the hallight of the studio, amid the confusion of ob

jects of art, bronzes, tapestries, her pallor cast soft light, her eyes shone like jewels, and helong, close-fitting riding habit outlined the negligent attitude of her goddess-like figure. Theher tone was so affectionate, she seemed s

pleased at his call. Why had he stayed away slong? It was almost a month since she had seehim. Had they ceased to be friends, pray? Hexcused himself as best he could. Business,

journey. Moreover, although he had not beethere, he had often talked about her, oh! veroften, almost every day.

"Really? With whom?"

"With—"

He was on the point of saying: "With Aline[P6] Joyeuse," but something checked him, a

indefinable sentiment, a sort of shame at utte


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ing that name in the studio which had heard smany other names. There are some thingwhich do not go together, although one canno

tell why. Paul preferred to answer with a falshood which led him straight to the object of hcall.

"With an excellent man upon whom you hav

unnecessarily inflicted great pain. Tell me, whhaven't you finished the poor Nabob's bust? was a source of great joy and great pride thim, the thought of that bust at the Salon. Hrelied upon it."

At the name of the Nabob she was slightly embarrassed.

"It is true," she said, "I broke my word. What d

you expect? I am the slave of my whims. But is my purpose to take it up again one of thesdays. See, the cloth thrown over it is all dampso that the clay won't dry."


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"And the accident? Ah! do you know, whardly believed in that?"

"You were wrong. I never lie. A fall, a terribcrash. But the clay was fresh, I easily repaireit. Look!"

She removed the cloth with a movement of he

arm; the Nabob stood forth, with his honeface beaming with joy at being reproduced, anso true, so natural, that Paul uttered a cry oadmiration.

"Isn't it good?" she asked ingenuously. "A fewtouches there and there—" She had taken[Pg the tool and the little sponge and pushed thstand into what little light there was. "It woulbe a matter of a few hours; but it couldn't go t

the Exhibition. This is the 22d; everything hato be sent in long ago."

"Pshaw! With influence—"


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"Look at my kuchlen, darling; see if they're notsuccess this time. Oh! I beg your pardon; I didn't see that you had company. Ah! It's Mon

sieur Paul? Are you pretty well, MonsieuPaul? Pray taste one of my cakes."

And the amiable old lady, to whom her cotume seemed to impart extraordinary anima

tion, came[Pg 8] prancing forward, balancinher plate on the ends of her doll-like fingers.

"Let him alone," said Felicia calmly. "You caoffer him some at dinner."

"At dinner!"

The dancer was so thunderstruck that shnearly overturned her pretty cakes, which wer

as light and dainty and excellent as herself.

"Why, yes, I am keeping him to dinner with uOh! I beg you," she added with peculiar eanestness, seeing that the young man made


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gesture of refusal, "I beg you, do not say nYou can do me a real service by staying tonight. Come, I did not hesitate a moment ago

you know."She had taken his hand; really there seemed tbe a strange disproportion between her requeand the anxious, imploring tone in which it wa

made. Paul still held back. He was not properldressed. How could she expect him to stay? dinner-party at which she was to have otheguests.

"My dinner-party? Why, I will countermanthe orders for it. That is the way I feel. We threwill dine alone, you and I and Constance."

"But, Felicia, my child, you can't think of doin

such a thing. Upon my word! What about the—the other who will soon be here?"

"Parbleu! I will write to him to stay at home."


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"Wretched girl, it is too late."

"Not at all, It's just striking six. The dinner wato be at half-past seven. You must send him that once."[Pg 9]

She wrote a note, in haste, on a corner of thtable.

" Mon Dieu, mon Dieu! what a strange girlmurmured the dancer, lost in bewildermenwhile Felicia, enchanted, transfigured, joyouslsealed her letter.

"There, my excuses are all made. The sickheadache wasn't invented for Kadour. Oh! howglad I am!" she added, when the letter hagone; "what a delightful evening we will hav

Kiss me, Constance. This won't prevent oudoing honor to your kuchlen, and we shall enjoseeing you in a pretty gown that makes yolook younger than I."


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Less than that would have induced the danceto forgive this latest whim of her dear demoand the crime of lèse-majesté in which she ha

made her an accomplice. The idea of treatinsuch a personage so cavalierly! No one else ithe world would have done it, no one but heAs for Paul de Géry, he made no further atempt at resistance, being caught once more i

the network from which he believed that hhad set himself free by absence, but which, asoon as he crossed the threshold of the studisuppressed his will and delivered him ove

fast bound and conquered, to the sentimenthat he was firmly resolved to combat.

It was evident that the dinner, a veritable gou

mand's dinner, superintended by the Austriaeven in its least important details, had beeprepared for a guest of first-rate consequencFrom the[Pg 10] high Berber chandeliers ocarved wood, with seven branches, which she


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a flood of light upon the richly embroiderecloth, to the long-necked wine-jugs of curiouand exquisite shape, the sumptuous table ap

pointments and the delicacy of the dishewhich were highly seasoned to an unusual dgree, everything disclosed the importance othe expected guest and the pains that had beetaken to please him. There was no mistakin

the fact that it was an artist's establishmenLittle silverware, but superb china, perfeharmony without the slightest attempt at arangement. Old Rouen, pink Sèvres, Dutc

glass mounted in old finely-wrought pewtemet on that table as on a stand of rare objeccollected by a connoisseur simply to gratify htaste. The result was some slight confusion ithe household, dependent as it was upon th

chance of a lucky find. The exquisite oil-cruehad no stopper. The broken salt-cellar oveflowed on the cloth, and every moment it wa"What has become of the mustard-pot? Whahas happened to that fork?" All of which trou


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bled de Géry a little on account of the younmistress of the house, who, for her part, wanot in the least disturbed.

But something that made him even more ill aease was his anxiety to know who the privleged guest was whose place he had taken that table, whom they could entertain wit

such magnificence and at the same time sucutter lack of ceremony. In spite of everythinhe felt as if that countermanded guest werpresent, a constant affront to his own dignityIn vain did he try to forget him;[Pg 11] everything reminded him of him, even to the holidaattire of the kindly Fairy, who sat opposite himand who still retained some of the grand manners which she had assumed in anticipation o

the solemn occasion. The thought disturbehim, poisoned his joy in being there.

On the other hand, as is always the case in paties of two, where harmony of mood is ver

rare, he had never seen Felicia so affectionat


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in such merry humor. She was in a state of efervescent, almost childlike gayety, one of thosfervent outbursts of emotion which one exper

ences when some danger has passed, the reation of a clear, blazing fire after the excitemenof a shipwreck. She laughed heartily, teasePaul about his accent and what she called hbourgeois ideas. "For you are shockingly bou

geois, you know. But that is just what I like iyou. It's on account of the contrast, I have ndoubt, because I was born under a bridge, ingust of wind, that I have always been fond o

sedate, logical natures.""Oh! my dear, what do you suppose MonsieuPaul will think, when you say you were borunder a bridge?" exclaimed the excellent Cren

mitz, who could not accustom herself to thexaggeration of metaphors, and always tooeverything literally.

"Let him think what he pleases, my Fairy. W

haven't our eye on him for a husband. I am sur


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he would have none of that monster known aan artist wife. He would think he had marriethe devil. You are quite right, Minerva. Art is

despot. One must give oneself to it unreservedly.[Pg 12] You put into your work all thimagination, energy, honesty, conscience thyou possess, so that you have no more of any othem as long as you live, and the completion o

the work tosses you adrift, helpless and without a compass, like a dismasted hulk, at thmercy of every wave. Such a wife would be melancholy acquisition."

"And yet," the young man ventured timidly tobserve, "it seems to me that art, however exacting it may be, cannot take entire possessioof the woman. What would she do with he

affections, with the craving for love, for selsacrifice, which is in her, far more than in manthe motive for every act?"

She mused a moment before replying.


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"You may be right, O wise Minerva! It is thtruth that there are days when my life ringterribly hollow. I am conscious of holes in i

unfathomable depths. Everything disappearthat I throw in to fill them up. My noblest artitic enthusiasms are swallowed up in them andie every time in a sigh. At such times I think omarriage. A husband, children, a lot of chi

dren, tumbling about the studio, all their nesto look after, the satisfaction of the physicactivity which is lacking in our artistic liveregular occupations, constant movement, inno

cent fun, which would compel one to play instead of always thinking in the dark and thgreat void, to laugh at a blow to one's selesteem, to be simply a happy mother on thday when the public casts one aside as a used

up, played-out artist."[Pg 13]

And in presence of that vision of domestic happiness the girl's lovely features assumed aexpression which Paul had never before see


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upon them, and which took entire possession ohim, gave him a mad longing to carry away ihis arms that beautiful wild bird dreaming o

the dovecot, to protect her, to shelter her witthe sure love of an honest man.

She continued, without looking at him:

"I am not so flighty as I seem to be, you knowAsk my dear godmother if I didn't keestraight up to the mark when she put me aboarding-school. But what a hurly-burly mlife was after that! If you knew what a youth

had, if you knew how premature experiencwithered my mind, and what confusion therwas, in my small girl's brain, between what waand was not forbidden, between reason an

folly. Only art, which was constantly discusseand eulogized, stood erect in all that ruin, andtook refuge in that. That, perhaps, is why I shanever be anything but an artist, a woman apafrom other women, a poor Amazon with he

heart held captive under her iron breastplat


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rushing into battle like a man, and condemneto live and die like a man."

Why did he not say to her then:

"Beautiful warrior, lay aside your weapondon the floating robe and the charms of the seto which you belong. I love you, I entreat yo

to marry me that you may be happy and mamake me happy too."

Ah! this is why. He was afraid that thother,[Pg 14] he who was to come to dinne

that night, you know, and who remained between them despite his absence, would heahim speak in that strain and would have thright to laugh at him or to pity him for such fervent outburst.

"At all events, I promise you one thing," shcontinued, "and that is that if I ever have daughter, I will try to make a true woman oher and not such a poor abandoned creature a


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I am. Oh! you know, my good Fairy, I do nomean that for you. You have always been kinto your demon, full of affection and care. Wh

just look at her, see how pretty she is, howyoung she looks to-night."

Enlivened by the repast, the lights, and one othose white dresses whose reflection cause

wrinkles to disappear, La Crenmitz was leaning back in her chair, holding on a level wither half-closed eyes a glass of Château-Yquemfrom the cellar of their neighbor the MoulinRouge; and her little pink face, her airy pastelike costume reflected in the golden winwhich loaned to it its sparkling warmth, recalled the former heroine of the dainty supperafter the play, the Crenmitz of the good ol

days, not an audacious hussy after the style oour modern operatic stars, but entirely unafected and nestling contentedly in her splendolike a fine pearl in its mother-of-pearl shelFelicia, who was certainly determined to b


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agreeable to everybody that evening, led hethoughts to the chapter of reminiscences, madher describe once more her triumphs in Gisel

and in the Péri, and the ovations[Pg 15] fromthe audience, the visit of the princes to hedressing-room, and Queen Amélie's gift, acompanied by such charming words. The evocation of those glorious scenes intoxicated th

poor Fairy, her eyes shone, they could hear helittle feet moving restlessly under the table as seized by a dancing frenzy. And, indeed, whethe dinner was at an end and they had returne

to the studio, Constance began to pace bacand forth, to describe a dance-step or a pirouette, talking all the time, interrupting herself thum an air from some ballet to which she keptime with her head, then suddenly gathere

herself together and with one leap was at thother end of the studio.


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"Now she's off," whispered Felicia to de Géry"Watch. It will be worth your while, for you arabout to see La Crenmitz dance."

It was a fascinating, fairy-like spectaclAgainst the background of the enormous roomdrowned in shadow and hardly lighted savthrough the round window from withou

where the moon was climbing upward in deep blue sky, a typical operatic sky, the famous dancer's figure stood out all white, light, airy unsubstantial ghost, flying, rathethan springing, through the air; then, standinupon her slender toes, upheld in the air bnaught but her outstretched arms, her facraised in a fleeting attitude in which nothinwas visible but the smile, she came quickl

forward toward the light, or receded with littjerky steps, so rapid that one constantly expected to hear the crash of glass and see heglide backward up the slope of the broad[P16] moonbeam that shone aslant into the stu


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dio. There was one fact that imparted a strangpoetic charm to that fantastic ballet, and thawas the absence of music, of every other soun

than that of the measured footfalls, whose efect was heightened by the semi-darkness, othat quick, light patter no louder than the fall othe petals from a dahlia, one by one. This lastefor some minutes, then they could tell from th

quickening of her breath that she was becominexhausted.

"Enough, enough! Sit down," said Felicia.

Thereupon the little white ghost lighted on thedge of an armchair and sat there poised anready to start anew, smiling and panting, untsleep seized upon her, and began to sway an

rock her softly to and fro without disturbinher pretty attitude, like a dragon-fly on a wilow branch that drags in the water and movewith the current.


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As they watched her nodding in the chair, Felcia said:

"Poor little Fairy! that is the best and most serous thing in the way of friendship, protectioand guardianship that I have had during mlife. That butterfly acted as my godmother. Dyou wonder now at the zigzags, the errat

flights of my mind? Lucky for me that I havclung to her."

She added abruptly, with joyful warmth:

"Ah! Minerva, Minerva, I am very glad that yocame to-night. You mustn't leave me alone slong again, you see. I need to have an uprighmind like yours by my side, to see one truface[Pg 17] amid all the masks that surroun

me. But you're fearfully bourgeois all thsame," she added laughingly, "and a provincito boot. But never mind! you are the man thatmost enjoy looking at all the same. And I be

lieve that my liking for you is due mainly t


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of such sincerity and grace. He was on thpoint of speaking, of pleading with her. It wathe decisive moment. But the door opened an

the little servant appeared. Monsieur le Duhad sent to ask if Mademoiselle were still sufering from her sick headache.

"Just as much as ever," she said testily.[Pg 18]

When the servant had gone, there was a moment's silence between them, a freezing pausPaul had risen. She went on with her sketchher head still bent.

He walked away a few steps, then returned tthe table and asked gently, astonished to finthat he was so calm:

"Was it the Duc de Mora who was to dinhere?"

"Yes—I was bored—a day of spleen. Such dayare very bad for me."


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"Was the duchess to come?"

"The duchess? No. I don't know her."

"Well, if I were in your place, I would nevereceive in my house, at my table, a marrieman whose wife I did not meet in society. Yocomplain of being abandoned; why do yo

abandon yourself? When one is without reproach, one must keep oneself above suspicionDo I offend you?"

"No, no, scold me, Minerva. I like your mora

ity. It is frank and straightforward; it doesnsquint like Jenkins'. As I told you, I need somone to guide me."

She held before him the sketch she had ju

finished.

"See! there's the friend of whom I spoke to youA deep, sure affection which I was foolisenough to throw away, like the wasteful idiot


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am. I always used to invoke her memory imoments of perplexity, when there was somquestion to be decided or some sacrifice to b

made.[Pg 19] I would say to myself: 'What wishe think about it?' as we pause in our work tthink of some great man, of one of our masterYou must fill that place for me. Will you?"

Paul did not answer. He was looking at Alineportrait. It was she, it was she to the life, heregular profile, her kindly, laughing mouthand the long curl caressing the slender neckAh! all the Ducs de Mora on earth might comnow. Felicia no longer existed for him.

Poor Felicia, a creature endowed with superiopowers, was much like those sorceresses wh

weave and ravel the destinies of others withouthe power to accomplish anything for their owhappiness.


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"Will you give me this sketch?" he said almoinaudibly, in a voice that trembled with emotion.

"Very gladly; she is pretty, isn't she? Ah! if yoshould happen to meet her, love her, marry heShe is worth more than all the rest. But, failinher, failing her—"

And the beautiful tamed sphinx looked up ahim with her great tearful, laughing eyewhose enigma was no longer insoluble.

[Pg 20]

XIV.

THE EXHIBITION.

"Superb!"


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"A tremendous success. Barye never did anything as fine."

"And the bust of the Nabob! What a marvelloulikeness! I tell you, Constance Crenmitz is happy. See her trotting about."

"What! is that La Crenmitz, that little old wo

man in a fur cape? I supposed she was deatwenty years ago."

Oh! no; on the contrary, she is very much alivEnchanted, rejuvenated by the triumph of he

goddaughter, who is decidedly the success othe Exhibition, she glides through the crowd oartists and people of fashion grouped arounthe two points where Felicia's contributions arexhibited like two huge masses of black back

variegated costumes, jostling and squeezing itheir struggles to look. Constance, usually sretiring, makes her way into the front row, litens to the discussions, catches on the win

snatches of sentences, technical phrases whic


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she remembers, nods her head approvinglysmiles, shrugs her shoulders when she hearany slighting remark,[Pg 21] longing to crus

the first person who should fail to admire.Whether it be the excellent Crenmitz or another, you always see, at the opening of thSalon, that shadow prowling furtively abou

where people are conversing, with ears on thalert and an anxious expression; sometimes it an old father who thanks you with a glance foa kindly word said in passing, or assumes despairing expression at the epigram whicyou hurl at a work of art and which strikes heart behind you. A face not to be omittesurely, if ever some painter in love with thingmodern should conceive the idea of reproduc

ing on canvas that perfectly typical manifestation of Parisian life, the opening of the Salon ithat vast hothouse of statuary, with the yellowgravelled paths and the great glass ceiling, beneath which, half-way from the floor, the ga


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leries of the first tier stand forth, lined witheads bending over to look, and with extemporized waving draperies.

In a light that seems slightly cold and pale as falls on the green decorations of the walls, where the rays become rarefied, one would say, iorder to afford the spectators an opportunit

for concentration and accuracy of vision, thcrowd moves slowly back and forth, pausescatters over the benches, divided into groupand yet mingling castes more thoroughly thaany other gathering, just as the fickle anchanging weather, at that time of year, bringtogether all sorts of costumes, so that the blaclace and superb train of the great lady who hacome to observe the effect of her[Pg 22] ow

portrait rub against the Siberian furs of the atress who has just returned from Russia anproposes that everybody shall know it.

Here there are no boxes, no reserved seats, an

that is what gives such abiding interest an


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charm to this first view in broad daylight. Threal society women can pass judgment at closquarters on the painted beauties that excite s

much applause by artificial light; the tiny halatest shape, of the Marquise de Bois-l'Héry anher like brushes against the more than modecostume of some artist's wife or daughtewhile the model who has posed for that lovel

Andromeda near the entrance struts triumphantly by, dressed in a too short skirt, iwretched clothes tossed upon her beauty witthe utmost lack of taste. They scrutinize on

another, admire or disparage one another, exchange contemptuous, disdainful or inquisitivglances, which suddenly become fixed as somcelebrity passes, the illustrious critic, for instance, whom we seem to see at this momen

serene and majestic, his powerful face framein long hair, making the circuit of the exhibiof sculpture, followed by half a score of youndisciples who hang breathlessly upon hkindly dicta. Although the sound of voices


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lost in that immense vessel, which is resonanonly under the two arched doorways of entrance and exit, faces assume extraordinar

intensity there, a character of energy and anmation especially noticeable in the vast, darrecess of the restaurant, overflowing with gesticulating multitude, the light hats of the[P23] women and the waiters' white apron

standing out in bold relief against the background of dark clothing, and in the broad aisin the centre, where the swarm of promenaderen vignette forms a striking contrast to the im

mobility of the statues, the unconscious palpitation with which their chalky whiteness antheir glorified attitudes are encompassed.

There are gigantic wings spread for flight,

sphere upheld by four allegorical figurewhose attitude, as if they were twirling theburden, suggests a vague waltz measure, marvel of equilibrium which perfectly produces the illusion of the earth's revolution; an


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there are arms raised as a signal, bodies of heroic size, containing an allegory, a symbol thabrings death and immortality upon them, give

them to history, to legend, to the ideal world othe museums which nations visit from curiositor admiration.

Although Felicia's bronze group had not th

proportions of those productions, its exceptional merit had procured for it the honor of position at one of the points of intersection othe aisles in the centre, from which the publwas standing respectfully aloof at that momenstaring over the shoulders of the line of attendants and police officers at the Bey of Tunand his suite, a group of long burnous, fallinin sculptural folds, which made them seem lik

living statues confronting the dead ones. Thbey, who had been in Paris for a few days, thlion of all the first nights, had expressed a desire to see the opening of the Salon.[Pg 24] Hwas "an enlightened prince, a friend of th


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arts," who possessed a gallery of amazing Turkish pictures on the Bardo, and chromolithographic reproductions of all the battles o

the First Empire. The great Arabian hound hacaught his eye as soon as he entered the hall osculpture. It was the slougui to the life, thgenuine slender, nervous slougui of his countrythe companion of all his hunts. He laughed i

his black beard, felt the animal's loins, pattehis muscles, seemed to be trying to rouse himwhile, with dilated nostrils, protruding teethevery limb outstretched and indefatigable in i

strength and elasticity, the aristocratic beasthe beast of prey, ardent in love and in thchase, drunk with his twofold drunkenness, heyes fixed on his victim, seemed to be alreadtasting the delights of his victory, with the en

of his tongue hanging from his mouth, as hsharpened his teeth with a ferocious laugh. you looked only at him, you said to yoursel"He has him!" But a glance at the fox reassureyou at once. Under his lustrous, velvety coa


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catlike, with his body almost touching thground, skimming along without effort, yofelt that he was in truth a wizard, and his fin

head with its pointed ears, which he turnetoward the hound as he ran, had an ironicexpression of security which clearly indicatethe gift he had received from the gods.

While an inspector of the Beaux-Arts, who hahurried to the spot, with his uniform all awryand bald to the middle of his back, explaineto[Pg 25] Mohammed the apologue of "ThDog and the Fox," as told in the catalogue, witthis moral: "Suppose that they meet," and thnote: "The property of the Duc de Mora," thbulky Hemerlingue, puffing and perspirinbeside his Highness, had great difficulty in pe

suading him that that masterly production wathe work of the lovely equestrian they had mein the Bois the day before. How could a womawith a woman's weak hands so soften the harbronze and give it the appearance of flesh? O


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all the marvels of Paris that one caused the bethe most profound amazement. So he asked thofficial if there was nothing else of the sam

artist's to see."Yes, indeed, Monseigneur, another ched'œuvre. If your Highness will come this waywill take you to it."

The bey moved on with his suite. They were afine specimens of their race, beautifully chielled features and pure profiles, complexions oa warm pallor of which the snowy whiteness o

the haik absorbed even the reflection. Magnifcently draped, they contrasted strangely witthe busts which were ranged on both sides othe aisle they had taken, and which, perched o

their high pedestals, exiled from their familiasurroundings, from the environment in whicthey would doubtless have recalled some engrossing toil, some deep affection, a busy ancourageous life, seemed very forlorn in th

empty air about them and presented the di


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tressing aspect of people who had gone astraand were very much ashamed to find themselves[Pg 26] there. Aside from two or thre

female figures, well-rounded shoulders enveoped in petrified lace, hair reproduced in mable with the soft touch that gives the impresion of a powdered head-dress, and a few profiles of children with simple lines, in which th

polish of the stone seems like the moisture olife, there were nothing but wrinkles, furrowcontortions and grimaces, our excess of toil anactivity, our nervous paroxysms and our fever

contrasted with that art of repose and nobserenity.

The Nabob's ugliness, at all events, had in ifavor its energy, the peculiar characteristics o

the adventurer and the prolétaire, and that kindly expression so well rendered by the artiswho had taken pains to mix a supply of ochrwith her plaster, thereby giving it almost thswarthy, sun-burned tone of the model. Th


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Arabs, on seeing it, uttered a stifled exclamation: "Bon-Saïd!" (the father of good-luck). was the Nabob's sobriquet at Tunis, the label o

his fortune, so to speak. The bey, for his parthinking that someone intended to make spoof him by bringing him thus face to face witthe detested mercanti, glanced suspiciously athe inspector.

"Jansoulet?" he said in his guttural voice.

"Yes, your Highness, Bernard Jansoulet, thnew Deputy for Corsica."

At that the bey turned to Hemerlingue, with frown on his face.

"Deputy?"

"Yes, Monseigneur, the news came this morning; but nothing is settled yet."[Pg 27]


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And the banker, ill at ease and lowering hvoice, added: "No French Chamber would eveadmit that adventurer."

No matter! the blow had been dealt at the beyblind confidence in his baron-financier. Hemelingue had declared so positively that the othewould never be chosen, that they could act free

ly and without fear so far as he was concernedAnd lo! instead of the crushed, discrediteman, a representative of the nation towerebefore him, a deputy whose figure in stone Parisians thronged to admire; for, from the Oriental sovereign's standpoint, as that public exhibtion necessarily involved the idea of conferrinhonor upon the subject, that bust had all thprestige of a statue overlooking a public squar

Hemerlingue, even yellower than usual, inwardly accused himself of bungling and imprudence. But how could he have suspectesuch a thing? He had been assured that the buwas not finished. And, indeed, it had arrive


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that very morning, and seemed overjoyed to bthere, quivering with gratified pride, expresing contempt for its enemies with the good

natured smile of its curling lip. A veritable slent revenge for the disaster at Saint-Romans.

For several minutes the bey, as cold and impasive as the carved image, stared at it withou

speaking, his forehead divided by a straighfold wherein his courtiers alone could read hwrath; then, after a few words spoken rapidlin Arabic, to order his carriages and collect hscattered suite, he strode gravely toward thexit, without[Pg 28] deigning to look at anything else. Who can say what takes place ithose august brains, surfeited with powerEven our western monarchs have incompr

hensible whims; but they are as nothing besidOriental caprices. Monsieur l'Inspecteur deBeaux-Arts, who had confidently expected tshow his Highness all over the Exhibition, anto earn thereby the pretty little red and gree


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little hat adorned with the feathers of the lophphore, whose changing colors her hair, tightlcurled over the forehead and parted at the nec

in broad waves, seemed to prolong and to soten.[Pg 29]

A crowd of artists, of society folk hastened tpay their respects to so great genius allied to s

great beauty; and Jenkins, bareheaded, swellinwith effusive warmth, went about from one tanother, extorting enthusiasm, but broadeninthe circle about that youthful renown, posing aboth guardian and fugleman. Meanwhile, hwife was talking with the young woman. PooMadame Jenkins! He had said to her in thabrutal voice which she alone knew: "You mugo and speak to Felicia." And she had obeyed

restraining her emotion; for she knew nowwhat lay hidden beneath that fatherly affectionalthough she avoided any explanation with thdoctor as if she were apprehensive of the resul


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After Madame Jenkins, the Nabob rushed tthe artist's side, and taking her slender, neatlgloved hands in his two great paws expresse

his gratitude with a warmth that brought thtears to his own eyes.

"You have done me a very great honor, Madmoiselle, to associate my name with yours, m

humble self with your triumph, and to prove tall these vermin who are digging their clawinto me that you don't believe in all the slanderous reports that are current about mReally, it is something I can never forget. might cover this magnificent bust with goland diamonds and I should still be in youdebt."

Luckily for the good Nabob, who was morsusceptible to emotion than eloquent, he waobliged to make room for all those who werattracted by[Pg 30] the refulgent talent, the atistic personality before their eyes: frantic en

thusiasm which, for lack of words in which t


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express itself, disappears as it came; worldladmiration, inspired by kindly feeling, by aearnest desire to please, but whose every wor

is like a cold shower-bath; and then the hearthand-clasps of rivals, of comrades, some verfrank and cordial, others which communicatto you the inertness of their pressure; the talconceited zany whose absurd praise ought t

delight you beyond measure, and who, in ordenot to spoil you utterly, accompanies it with "few trifling reservations;" and the man whwhile overwhelming you with compliment

proves to you that you do not know the firword of the trade; and the other good fellowfull of business, who stops just long enough twhisper in your ear that "So-and-so, the famoucritic, doesn't seem to be satisfied." Felicia li

tened to it all with the utmost tranquillity, being raised by her triumph above the petty slurof envy, and glowed with pride when a renowned veteran, some old associate of her father's, tossed her a "Well done, little one


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which carried her back to the past, to the littlcorner that was always reserved for her in thpaternal studio in the days when she was be

ginning to carve out a little glory for herself ithe renown of the great Ruys. But as a whothe congratulations left her quite unmovedbecause she missed one which was more desiable in her eyes than all the rest, and which sh

was surprised that she had not yet receivedClearly she thought[Pg 31] of him more thashe had ever thought of any man before. Wathis love at last, the great love that is so rare i

the heart of an artist, who is incapable of abandoning herself unreservedly to a sentiment, owas it simply a dream of an honest, bourgeolife, well protected against ennui, that vile ennui, the precursor of storms, which she had s

much reason to dread? In any event, she sufered herself to be deceived and had been living for several days in a state of delicious unrest, for love is so strong, so beautiful, that i


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semblance, its mirage, takes us captive and mamove us as deeply as love itself.

Has it ever happened to you, as you walkealong the street, thinking intently of some absent person very dear to your heart, to be waned of his approach by meeting one or morpersons who bear a vague resemblance to him

preparatory images, outline sketches of the facthat is soon to rise before you, which comforth from the crowd like successive appeals tyour overstrained attention? These are magnetic, nervous phenomena at which we munot smile too broadly, because they constitute susceptibility to suffering. Several times Felicihad fancied that she recognized Paul de Gérycurly head in the ever-moving, ever-changin

flow of visitors, when suddenly she uttered cry of pleasure. It was not he, however, busome one who much resembled him, whosregular, tranquil face was always blended nowin her thoughts with that of her friend Paul, a


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the result of a resemblance rather moral thaphysical,[Pg 32] and of the mild influence theboth exerted over her mind.

"Aline!"

"Felicia!"

Although nothing is more difficult of comprehension than the friendship of two of societyqueens, dividing salon royalty among themselves and lavishing flattering epithets, thpetty graces of feminine effusiveness, upo

each other, the friendships of childhood retaiin the woman a frankness of demeanor whicdistinguishes them and makes them recognizable among all other friendships; bonds wovein innocence and woven firmly, like the piece

of needlework made by little girls, whereon ainexperienced hand has lavished thread angreat knots; plants that have grown in virgisoil, past their bloom but deeply-rooted an

full of life and vigor. And what joy to turn bac


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a few steps, hand in hand,—boarding-schoArguses, where are you?—with equal knowedge of the road and of its slightest winding

and with the same wistful laugh. Standing little apart, the two girls, who needed only tstand face to face to forget five years of separation, talked rapidly, recalling bygone daywhile little Père Joyeuse, his ruddy face set o

by a new cravat, drew himself up to his fuheight, proud beyond words that his daughteshould be so warmly greeted by a celebrityProud he certainly had reason to be, for tha

little Parisian, even beside her resplendenfriend, retained her full value for charm anyouth and luminous innocence, beneath hetwenty years,[Pg 33] her rich, golden girlhoodwhich the joy of meeting caused to put fort

fresh flowers.

"How happy you must be! I haven't seen anything; but I hear everybody say that it is sbeautiful."


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"Happy above all things to find you again, littAline. It is such a long time—"

"I should say as much, you bad girl. Whosfault is it?"

In the saddest recess of her memory Felicifound the date of the rupture between them

coincident in her mind with another date wheher youth died in a never-to-be-forgotten scene

"What have you been doing all this time, mlove?"

"Oh! always the same thing—nothing worttalking about."

"Yes, yes, we know what you call doing noth

ing, little brave heart. It is giving your life tothers, is it not?"

But Aline was no longer listening. She was smling affectionately at a point straight before he

and Felicia, turning to see to whom that smi


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was addressed, saw Paul de Géry replying tMademoiselle Joyeuse's shy and blushing salutation.

"Do you know each other, pray?"

"Do I know Monsieur Paul! I should think sWe talk of you often enough. Has he never tol

you?""Never. He is terribly sly—"

She stopped abruptly as a light flashed throug

her mind; and, paying no heed to de Gérywho[Pg 34] came forward to do homage to hetriumph, she leaned hastily toward Aline anwhispered to her. The other blushed, protestewith smiles, with inaudible words: "How ca

you imagine such a thing? At my age. grandmamma!" And at last she grasped hefather's arm to escape that friendly raillery.


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When Felicia saw the two young people walaway side by side, when she realized—whathey themselves did not yet know—that the

loved each other, she felt as if everything abouher were crumbling. And when her dream laat her feet, in a thousand fragments, she begato stamp upon it in a rage. After all, he waquite right to prefer that little Aline to he

Would a respectable man ever dare to marrMademoiselle Ruys? She with a home of heown, a family, nonsense! You are a strumpetdaughter, my dear; you must be a strumpe

yourself, if you wish to be anything.The day was drawing near its close. The crowdmoving more rapidly than before, with gaphere and there, was beginning to stream to

ward the exit, after eddying violently arounthe success of the year, surfeited, a little wearybut still excited by the artistic electricity witwhich the atmosphere was charged. A great raof sunlight, the sunlight of four o'clock in th


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afternoon, illuminated the rosework of thwindows, cast upon the gravelled paths rainbow-like beams that crept gently up the bronz

or marble of the statues, suffusing a lovelnude body with bright colors and giving to thvast museum something of the aspect of a gaden. Felicia,[Pg 35] absorbed in her profoundmelancholy reverie, did not see the man wh

came toward her, superb, refined, fascinatingthrough the throng of visitors, who respectfullopened a passage for him, while the name o"Mora" was whispered on every side.

"Well, well, Mademoiselle, this is a grand trumph. I regret only one thing, that is the unpleasant symbolism that you have concealed iyour masterpiece."

When she saw the duke standing before heshe shuddered.

"Ah! yes, the symbolism," she said, looking u

at him with a disheartened smile; and, leanin


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against the pedestal of the great, voluptuoustatue, near which they happened to be standing, with her eyes closed, like a woman wh

gives herself voluntarily or surrenders, shmurmured in a low, very low voice:

"Rabelais lied, as all men lie. The real truth that the fox can go no farther, that he is at th

end of his breath and his courage, ready to fainto the ditch, and if the hound persists in hpursuit—"

Mora started, became a little paler, as all th

blood in his veins rushed back to his heart. Twdarkly flashing glances met, two words werswiftly exchanged with the ends of the lipthen the duke bowed low and walked awa

with a step as brisk and light as if the godwere carrying him.

There was only one man in the palace as happas he at that moment, and that was the Nabob

Escorted by his friends, he occupied, filled th


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main aisle all by himself, talking in a loud tone,[Pg 36] gesticulating, so proud that he seemed almost handsome, as if, by dint of gazin

long at his bust in artless admiration, he hacaught a little of the splendid idealization witwhich the artist had softened the vulgarity othe type. The head at an elevation of threefourths, free from the high rolling collar, gav

rise to contradictory opinions from the spectators concerning the resemblance; and Jansoulet's name, which had been repeated so mantimes by the electoral urns, was echoed by th

prettiest lips in Paris, by its most influentivoices. Any other than the Nabob would havbeen embarrassed by hearing as he passed thexclamations of these curious bystanders, whwere not always in sympathy with him. But th

platform and the springboard were congenito that nature, which was always braver undethe fire of staring eyes, like those women whare beautiful and clever only in society, an


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whom the slightest admiration transfigures anperfects.

When he felt that that delirious joy was subsiding, when he thought that he had drained thcup of his proud intoxication, he had only tsay to himself: "Deputy! I am a deputy!" anthe triumphal cup was brimming full onc

more. It meant the raising of the embargo fromall his property, the awakening from a nighmare of two months' duration, the blast of thmistral sweeping away all vexations, all anxities, even to the insult at Saint-Romans, heavilas it weighed on his memory.

Deputy![Pg 37]

He laughed all by himself as he thought of th

baron's face when he heard the news, of thbey's stupefaction when he was taken to look ahis bust; and suddenly, at the thought that hwas no longer a mere adventurer gorged wit

gold, arousing the senseless admiration of th


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in execution. Moëssard, the handsome Moësard, in a sky-blue cravat, pale and puffed-ulike a white abscess, his bust confined in a tigh

frock coat, seeing that the Nabob, after makinthe circuit of the hall of sculpture a score otimes, was walking toward the exit, forced hway through the crowd,[Pg 38] sprang to hside and said, as he passed his arm throug

Jansoulet's:

"You are to take me with you, you know—"

Of late, especially during the period of the ele

tion, he had assumed an authority on PlacVendôme almost equal to Monpavon's, bumore impudent; for, in respect of impudencthe queen's lover had not his equal on th

sidewalk that extends from Rue Drouot to thMadeleine. But on this occasion he had a bafall. The muscular arm that he grasped violently shook itself free, and the Nabob answered him very shortly:


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"I am very sorry, my dear fellow, but I have nseat to offer you."

No seat, in a carriage as big as a house, whichad often held five of them!

Moëssard gazed at him in utter stupefaction.

"But I had something very urgent to say to youOn the subject of my little note. You received idid you not?"

"To be sure, and Monsieur de Géry should hav

answered it this morning. What you ask is impossible. Twenty thousand francs!—tonnerre dDieu! how fast you go."

"It seems to me, however, that my services—

stammered the fop."Have been handsomely paid. So it seems to mtoo. Two hundred thousand francs in fivmonths! We will stop at that, if you please. Yo


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Jansoulet continued his triumphal march. Othat day it would have required somethinmuch more serious to disturb the equilibrium

of his happiness; on the other hand he felt encouraged by the beginning so successfully acomplished.

The great vestibule was filled with a compac

crowd, whom the approach of the hour for cloing impelled toward the outer world, buwhom one of the sudden downpours whicseem an essential part of the opening of thSalon detained under the porch with its floor ohard-trodden gravel, like the entrance to thCircus where the lady-killers disport themselves. It was a curious, thoroughly Parisiaspectacle.

Outside, the sunbeams shining through thrain, attaching to its limpid threads those sharpbrilliant blades of light which justify the proverb "It rains halberds;" the young verdure of th

Champs-Élysées, the clumps of dripping, ru


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tling rhododendrons,[Pg 40] the carriagedrawn up in line on the avenue, the oilclotcapes of the coachmen, all the splendid accou

trements of the horses to which the water anthe sunbeams imparted vastly greater richnesand effect, and everywhere a gleam of blue, thblue of the sky, smiling in the interval betweetwo showers.

Within, laughter, idle chatter, salutations, impatience, skirts turned up, satins puffing vaingloriously over the narrow pleats of petticoaand delicately striped silk stockings, oceans ofringe, of lace, of flounces, held with one hanin too heavy bundles, and torn beyond recogntion. Then, to connect the two sides of the picture, the prisoners framed by the arched doo

way and standing in its dark shadow, with thvast background of light behind them, footmerunning about under umbrellas, shoutinnames of coachmen and names of masters, an


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coupés slowly approaching, into which terrfied couples hastily jump.

"Monsieur Jansoulet's carriage!"

Everybody turned to look, but we know thathat disturbed him but little. And while thhonest Nabob posed for a moment, awaitin

his people, amid those fashionable womenthose famous men, that assorted gathering oall Paris which was present there with a namto fit each of its figures, a slender, neatlygloved hand was held out to him, and the Du

de Mora, who was about to enter his coupsaid to him as he passed, with the effusivenesthat happiness gives to the most reserved omen:[Pg 41]

"My congratulations, my dear deputy."

It was said aloud, and every one could hear,—"My dear deputy."


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There is in the life of every man a golden houa luminous mountain-top where all that he cahope for of prosperity, of joy, of triumph

awaits him and is showered upon him. Thmountain is more or less high, more or lesprecipitous and difficult to climb; but it exisequally for all, for the most powerful and thhumblest. But, like the longest day of the yea

when the sun has reached the end of his upward journey and the next day seems a firstep toward winter, that summum bonum ohuman existence is but a moment to be en

joyed, after which we have no choice but tdescend. Poor man! you must remember thalate afternoon in May, that time of alternatinrain and sunshine, you must fix its changinsplendor forever in your memory. It was th

hour of your midsummer, when the flowerwere blooming, the branches bending beneattheir weight of golden fruit, and the cropwhose gleanings you so recklessly threw asidwere fully ripe. The star will fade now, gradu


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I was indebted to the distinction of my manners, to the resonance of my voice, which thpresident of the administrative council has ha

a chance to appreciate at the meetings of thCaisse Territoriale, for the privilege of takinpart in that sumptuous festivity, where I stoofor three hours in the reception-room, amiflowers and draperies, dressed in scarlet an

gold, with the majestic bearing peculiar to pesons who exert some little authority, and witmy calves exposed for the first time in my lifand sent the name of each guest like the repo

of a cannon into the long line of five salons, resplendent footman saluting each time witthe bing of his halberd on the floor.[Pg 43]

How many interesting observations I was ab

to make that evening, what jocose sallies, whaquips, all in most excellent taste, were tosseback and forth by the servants, concerning thpeople of fashion who passed! I should nevehave heard anything so amusing with the vin


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dressers of Montbars. I ought to say that thworthy M. Barreau caused us all to be servewith a hearty, well-irrigated lunch in his offic

which was filled to the ceiling with iced drinkand refreshments, thereby putting every one ous in an excellent humor, which was maintained throughout the evening by glasses opunch and champagne whisked from the sa

vers as they passed.

The masters, however, were not so contented awe were. When I reached my post, at nine oclock, I was struck by the anxious, nervous facof the Nabob, whom I spied walking with Mde Géry through the brilliantly-lighted, emptsalons, talking earnestly and gesticulatinwildly.

"I will kill him," he said, "I will kill him."

The other tried to soothe him, then Madamappeared and they talked about something els


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A magnificent figure of a woman, that Levantine, twice as powerful as I am, and dazzling tlook at with her diamond diadem, the jewe

that covered her huge white shoulders, heback as round as her breast, her waist squeezeinto a breastplate of greenish gold, which extended in long stripes the whole length of heskirt. I never saw anything so rich, so imposin

She was like one of those beautiful white elephants[Pg 44] with towers on their backs thawe read about in books of travel. When shwalked, clinging painfully to the furniture, a

her flesh shook and her ornaments jangled likold iron. With it all a very shrill little voice ana beautiful red face which a little negro bokept fanning all the time with a fan of whitfeathers as big as a peacock's tail.

It was the first time that that indolent savaghad made her appearance in Parisian societyand M. Jansoulet seemed very proud and verhappy that she had consented to preside at h


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fête: a task that involved no great labor on thlady's part, however, for, leaving her husbanto receive his guests in the first salon, she wen

and stretched herself out on the couch in thlittle Japanese salon, wedged between two pileof cushions, and perfectly motionless, so thayou could see her in the distance, at the end othe line of salons, like an idol, under the grea

fan which her negro waved with a clocklikmotion, as if by machinery. These foreignerhave the brass for you!

The Nabob's irritation had impressed me all thsame, and as I saw his valet going downstairfour steps at a time, I caught him on the winand whispered in his ear:

"What the deuce is the matter with your govenor, Monsieur Noël?"

"It's the article in the Messager ," he replied, anI had to abandon the idea of finding out any

thing more for the moment, as a loud ring a


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toriale, I have become accustomed to pronouning those high-sounding, interminable namealways followed by the name of a place: "Pa

ganetti of Porto-Vecchio, Bastelica of BonifaciPaianatchi of Barbicaglia."

I enjoyed dwelling upon those Italian syllablegiving them their full resonant value, and

could see by the stupefied expressions of thosworthy islanders how surprised and delightethey were to be introduced in that fashion intthe best continental society. But with the Turkthe pachas and beys and effendis, I had mucmore difficulty, and I must often have pronounced them awry, for M. Jansoulet, on twdifferent occasions, sent word to me to pamore attention to the names[Pg 46] given m

and especially to announce them more naturally. That command, uttered in a loud voice athe door of the reception-room with unnecesary brutality, annoyed me exceedingly, anprevented me—shall I confess it?—from pity


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ing the vulgar parvenu when I learned, durinthe evening, what sharp thorns had found theway into his bed of roses.

From half-past ten till midnight the bell did nocease to ring, the carriages to rumble under thporch, the guests to follow on one anotherheels, deputies, senators, councillors of stat

municipal councillors, who acted much more aif they were attending a meeting of shareholders than an evening party in society. What diit all mean? I could not succeed in puzzling out, but a word from Nicklauss the door-keepeopened my eyes.

"Do you notice, Monsieur Passajon," said thaworthy retainer, standing in front of me, ha

berd in hand, "do you notice how few ladies whave?"

Pardieu! that was it. And we two were not thonly ones who noticed it. At each new arrival,

heard the Nabob, who stood near the doo


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exclaim in consternation with the hoarse voicof a Marseillais with a cold in his head:

"Alone?"

The guest would apologize in an undertone. Mm-m-m-m-m—his wife not very well. Very sorrindeed. Then another would come; and th

same question would bring the same reply.We heard that word "alone" so much, that alast we began to joke about it in the receptionroom;[Pg 47] outriders and footmen tossed

from one to another when a new guest entered"Alone!" And we laughed and enjoyed ouselves. But M. Nicklauss, with his extendeknowledge of society, considered that the amost universal abstention of the fair sex was b

no means natural.

"It must be the article in the Messager ," he said.


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Everybody was talking of that rascally articland as each guest paused before entering thsalon to look himself over in the mirror with i

garland of flowers, I overheard snatches owhispered dialogue of this sort:

"Have you read it?"

"It's a frightful thing.""Do you believe it can possibly be true?"

"I have no idea. At all events I preferred not t

bring my wife.""I felt as you did. A man can go anywhere wihout compromising himself."

"Of course. While a woman—"

Then they would go in, their crush hats undetheir arms, with the conquering air of marriemen unaccompanied by their wives.


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What was this newspaper article, this terribarticle which threatened so seriously the influence of such a wealthy man? Unfortunately m

duties held me fast; I could not go down to thbutlers pantry or the dressing-room, to talwith the coachmen, the footmen and outriderwhom I saw standing at the foot of the stairamusing themselves by making fun of the peo

ple who went up. What[Pg 48] can you expecThe masters give themselves too many airHow could one help laughing to see the Maquis and Marquise de Bois-l'Héry sail by with

haughty air and empty stomachs, after all thstories we have heard about Monsieur's busness arrangements and Madame's dresses? Anthen the Jenkins family, so affectionate, sunited, the attentive doctor throwing a lac

shawl over his wife's shoulders for fear shmay take cold in the hall; she, tricked out ansmiling, dressed all in velvet, with a train yardlong, leaning on her husband's arm as if to say"How happy I am!" when I know that, eve


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same style, wives of upholsterers, jewellerdealers who supply the household regularlywith shoulders as extensive as shop-fronts an

dresses in which the material was not sparinglused; and lastly, several wives of clerks at thCaisse Territoriale, with rustling dresses andevil a sou in their pockets,—such was the representation of the fair sex at that function, som

thirty ladies lost among myriads of black coatone might as well say that there were none aall there. From time to time, Cassagne, Laportand Grandvarlet, who were carrying dishe

told us what was going on in the salons."Ah! my children, if you could just see howgloomy, how mournful it is! The men donmove from the sideboards. The women are a

sitting in a circle, way at the end, fanning themselves, without a word. La Grosse[1] doesnspeak to any one. I believe she's taking a snooze. Monsieur's the one who keeps things going

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Père Passajon, a glass of Château-Larose. It wiset you up."

All those young fellows were delightful to mand took a mischievous pleasure in doing thhonors of the cellar so often and in such bumpers that my tongue began to grow heavy anuncertain; as they said to me, in their slightlfamiliar language: "You're spluttering, uncleLuckily the last of the effendis had arrived anthere was no one else to announce; for it was ono use for me to struggle against it, every time

walked between the hang[Pg 50]ings to launca name into the salons, the chandeliers whirleround and round with hundreds of thousandof dancing lights, and the floors became inclined planes as slippery and steep as Russiamountains. I must have spluttered, that is sure

The fresh night air and repeated ablutions athe pump in the courtyard soon got the betteof that little indisposition, and when I betoo


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be indifferent to anybody—read it and dicussed it, and adopted a line of conduct towarhim calculated not to compromise themselve

That day's article must have been well loadedfor Jansoulet the coachman told us that in thBois his master[Pg 51] did not exchange tesalutations in ten circuits of the lake, whereaordinarily his hat is not on his head any mor

than a sovereign's when out for a drive. Anwhen they returned home it was much worsThe three boys had just reached the house, ain tears and frightened to death, brought hom

from Bourdaloue College by a good Father itheir own interest, poor little fellows; they habeen given temporary leave of absence so thathey might not hear any unkind remarks, ancruel allusions in the parlor or the courtyard

Thereupon the Nabob flew into a terrible ragso that he demolished a whole porcelain sevice, and it seems that, if it had not been for Mde Géry, he would have gone off on the instanto break Moëssard's head.


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"And he would have done quite right," said MNoël, entering the room at that moment; anhe, too, was greatly excited. "There's not a sin

gle word of truth in that villain's article. Mmaster never came to Paris until last year. FromTunis to Marseille, and Marseille to Tunithat's all the travelling he did. But that scurvjournalist is taking his revenge on us for refu

ing him twenty thousand francs."

"You made a very great mistake in doing thatsaid M. Francis, Monpavon's Francis, valet tthat old dandy, whose only tooth waggles ithe middle of his mouth whenever he says word, but whom the young ladies look favorably upon all the same because of his fine manners. "Yes, you made a mistake. It is necessar

to know how to handle[Pg 52] people carefullyas long as they are able to serve or injure uYour Nabob turned his back on his friends tosuddenly after his success; and, between yo


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and me, my dear boy, he isn't strong enough treturn such blows as that."

I thought I might venture to say a word.

"It's quite true, Monsieur Noël, that your mater isn't the same since his election. He haadopted a very different tone and manner

Day before yesterday at the Territoriale, hmade such a hullabaloo as you can't imagine.heard him shout in the middle of the councmeeting: 'You have lied to me, you have robbeme and made me as much of a thief as you

selves. Show me your books, you pack of racals!' If he treated Moëssard in that fashion,don't wonder that he takes his revenge in hnewspaper."

"But what does the article say, anyway?" inquired M. Barreau; "who has read it?"

No one answered. Several had tried to buy thpaper; but in Paris anything scandalous sel


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like hot cakes. At ten o'clock in the morninthere was not a copy of the Messager to be haon the street. Thereupon one of my nieces, a sl

hussy if ever there was one, had the happthought of looking in the pocket of one of thnumerous top-coats hanging in long rowagainst the walls of the dressing-room.

"Here you are!" said the merry creature triumphantly, drawing from the first pocket she seached a copy of the Messager , crumpled at thfolds as if it had been well read.[Pg 53]

"And here's another!" cried Tom Bois-l'Hérywho was investigating on his own account. third top-coat, a third Messager . And so it wawith them all; buried in the depths of the po

ket, or with its title sticking out, the paper waeverywhere, even as the article was certain tbe in every mind; and we imagined the Naboupstairs, exchanging amiable sentences withis guests, who could have recited to him wor

for word the horrible things printed concernin


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him. We all laughed heartily at the idea; but wwere dying to know the contents of that inteesting page.

"Here, Père Passajon, read it aloud to us."

That was the general desire, and I compliewith it.

I do not know if you are like me, but whenread aloud I gargle with my voice, so to speak,introduce inflections and flourishes, so that I dnot understand a word of what I read, lik

those public singers to whom the meaning othe words they sing is of little consequencprovided that the notes are all there. It wacalled "The Flower Boat." A decidedly mixedup story with Chinese names, relating to a ver

rich mandarin, newly elevated to the first claswho had once kept a "flower boat" moored othe outskirts of a town near a fortified gate frequented by soldiers. At the last word of th

article we knew no more than at the beginning


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To be sure, we tried to wink and to look verknowing; but, frankly, there was no ground foit. A genuine rebus without a key; and w

should still be staring at it, had not old[Pg 54Francis, who is the very devil for his knowedge of all sorts of things, explained to us thathe fortified gate with soldiers must mean thÉcole Militaire, and that the "flower boat" ha

not so pretty a name as that in good FrenchAnd he said the name aloud, despite the ladieSuch an explosion of exclamations, of "Ahsand "Ohs!" some saying: "I expected as much

others: "It isn't possible.""I beg your pardon," added Francis, who waformerly a trumpeter in the 9th Lancers, Moraand Monpavon's regiment, "I beg your pardon

Twenty years ago or more I was in barracks athe École Militaire, and I remember very wethat there was near the barrier a dirty little dance-house called the Bal Jansoulet, with fu


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nished rooms upstairs at five sous the hour, twhich we used to adjourn between dances."

"You're an infernal liar!" cried M. Noël, fairlbeside himself; "a sharper and liar like youmaster. Jansoulet never came to Paris until thtime."

Francis was sitting a little outside of the circwe made around the "marquise," sipping somthing sweet, because champagne is bad for hnerves, and besides, it is not a chic enougdrink for him. He rose solemnly, without pu

ting down his glass, and, walking up to MNoël, said to him, quietly:

"You lack good form, my dear fellow. The otheevening, at your own house, I considered you

manners very vulgar and unbecoming. It[P55] serves no purpose to insult people, especially as I'm a fencing-master, and, if we shoulcarry the thing any farther, I could put tw

inches of cold steel into your body at whateve


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point I chose; but I am a good sort of fellowand instead of a sword-thrust I prefer to givyou some advice which your master will d

well to profit by. This is what I would do ifwere in your place; I would hunt up Moëssarand buy him without haggling over the pricHemerlingue has given him twenty thousanfrancs to speak, I would offer him thirty thou

sand to hold his tongue."

"Never, never!" roared M. Noël. "Instead of thaI will go and wring the miserable banditneck."

"You will wring nothing at all. Whether thstory is true or false, you have seen the effect oit to-night. That's a specimen of the pleasures i

store for you. What do you expect, my deafellow? You have thrown away your crutcheand tried to walk alone too soon. That's all righif you're sure of yourself and firm on your legbut when your footing is not very good any

way, and in addition you are unlucky enoug


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to have Hemerlingue at your heels, it's a babusiness. And with it all your master's beginning to be short of money; he has given notes t

old Schwalbach, and don't talk to me of a Nabob who gives notes. I am well aware that yohave heaps of millions over yonder in Tunibut you will have to have your election confirmed in order to get possession of them, an

after a few more articles like the one[Pg 56] today, I'll answer for it that you won't succeedYou undertake to struggle with Paris, my boybut you're not big enough, you know nothin

about it. This isn't the Orient, and, although wdon't wring the necks of people who offend uor throw them into the water in leather bagwe have other ways of putting them out osight. Let your master beware, Noël. One o

these days Paris will swallow him as I swallowthis plum, without spitting out the stone or thskin!"


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Really the old man was most imposing, andnotwithstanding the paint on his face, I begato feel some respect for him. While he wa

speaking we heard the music overhead, thsinging provided for the entertainment of thguests, and out on the square the horses of thmunicipal guards shaking their curb-chainOur party must have been a very brilliant affa

from outside, with the myriads of candles anthe illuminated doorway. And when one thinkof the ruin that perhaps was beneath it all! Wstood there in the vestibule like rats takin

council together in the hold, when the vessel beginning to take in water without the crewsuspecting it, and I saw plainly enough thaeverybody, footmen and lady's maids, woulsoon scamper away at the first alarm. Can it b

that such a catastrophe is possible? But in thacase, what would become of me and the Territriale, and my advances and my back pay?


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That Francis left me with cold shivers runnindown my back.

[Pg 57]

XVI.

A PUBLIC MAN.

The luminous warmth of a bright May aftenoon made the lofty windows of the hôtel d

Mora as hot as the glass roof of a greenhousits transparent hangings of blue silk could bseen from without between the branches, anits broad terraces, where the exotic flowerbrought into the air for the first time, ran like

border all the length of the quay. The grearakes scraping among the shrubs in the gardeleft on the gravelled paths the light footprinof summer, while the soft pattering of the wate


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from the sprinklers on the green lawn seemelike its revivifying song.

All the magnificence of the princely abode shone resplendent in the pleasant mildness of thtemperature, borrowing a grandiose beautfrom the silence, the repose of that noondahour, the only hour in the day when one di

not hear carriages rumbling under the archethe great doors of the reception-room openinand closing, and the constant vibration in thivy on the walls caused by the pulling of belto announce somebody's coming in or goinout, like the feverish throbbing of life in thhouse of a leader of society. It was well[Pg 58known that until three o'clock the duke received at the department; that the duchess,

Swede still benumbed by the snow of Stockholm, had hardly emerged from behind hesomnolent bed-curtains; so that no one camneither callers nor petitioners, and the footmenperched like flamingoes on the steps of the d


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lacquered table that stood so near the fire thathe lacquer came off in scales, he kept holdinhis benumbed fingers to the blaze, which migh

have scorched them on the surface withourestoring circulation and life to their bloodlesrigidity.[Pg 59]

Was it anxiety caused by the indisposition o

his illustrious patient? At all events Jenkinseemed nervous, excited, strode up and dowthe room, prying and sniffing to right and leftrying to find in the air something that he believed to be there, something subtle and intangible, like the faint trace of a perfume or thinvisible mark left by a passing bird. He coulhear the wood snapping on the hearth, thsound of papers hastily turned, the duke's in

dolent voice, indicating in a word or two, aways concise and clear, the answer to a letter ofour pages, and the clerk's respectful monosylables: "Yes, Monsieur le Ministre." "No, Monsieur le Ministre." Outside, the swallows whi


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tled merrily over the water, and some one waplaying a clarinet in the direction of thbridges.

"It is impossible," said the minister abruptlyrising from his chair. "Take them away, Latigues. You can come again, to-morrow. I canwrite, I am too cold. Just feel my hands, docto

and tell me if you would not say they were juout of a pail of iced water. My whole body habeen like that for two days. It's absurd enougin such weather!"

"It doesn't surprise me," growled the Irishmain a surly, short tone, very unusual in that melifluous voice.

The door had closed behind the young clerk

who carried away his documents with a majetic stiffness of bearing, but was very happy,fancy, to feel that he was at liberty, and to havthe opportunity, before returning to the d

partment,[Pg 60] to saunter for an hour or tw


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in the Tuileries, overflowing at that hour witspring dresses and pretty girls seated arounthe still unoccupied chairs of the musician

under the flowering chestnut trees, whicquivered from top to bottom with the glathrill of the month of nests. He was not frozennot he.

Jenkins examined his patient without speakinausculted him, percussed him, then, in thsame rough tone, which might possibly be acribed to anxious affection, to the irritation othe physician who finds that his instructionhave been disregarded, he said:

"In God's name, my dear Duke, what sort of life have you been leading lately?"

He knew from ante-room gossips—the doctodid not despise them in the households of thosof his patients with whom he was on intimaterms—he knew that the duke had a new on

that this caprice of recent date had taken po


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session of him, excited him to an unusual dgree, and that information, added to other observations made in other directions, had sow

in Jenkins' mind a suspicion, a mad desire tknow the name of this new one. That is what hwas trying to read on his patient's pale browseeking the subject of his thoughts rather thathe cause of his illness. But he had to do wit

one of those faces peculiar to men who are sucessful with women, faces as hermeticallsealed as the caskets with secret compartmenwhich contain women's jewels and letters,—

one of those reticent natures locked with a[P61] cold, limpid glance, a glance of steel againwhich the most perspicacious cunning is powerless.

"You are mistaken, Doctor," replied His Excelency calmly, "I have not changed my habits iany respect."


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"Very good! you have done wrong, Monsieur Duc," said the Irishman bluntly, furious at hinability to discover anything.

But the next moment, realizing that he hagone too far, he tempered his ill-humor and thbrutality of his diagnosis with a bolus of tritaxiomatic observations.—He must be carefu

Medicine was not magic. The power of the Jenkins Pearls was limited by human strength, thnecessities of advancing age, the resources onature, which, unhappily, are not inexhaustble. The duke interrupted him nervously:

"Come, come, Jenkins, you know that I donlike fine phrases. They don't go with me. Whais the matter with me? What is the cause of th

coldness?""It's anæmia, exhaustion—a lowering of the oin the lamp."

"What must I do?"


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"Nothing. Absolute rest. Eat and sleep, nothinmore. If you could go and pass a few weeks Grandbois—"

Mora shrugged his shoulders.

"What about the Chamber, and the Counciand—Nonsense! as if it were possible!"

"At all events, Monsieur le Duc, you must puon the drag, as someone said, you must absolutely give up—"[Pg 62]

Jenkins was interrupted by the entrance of thusher, who glided softly into the room on tiptoe, like a dancing-master, and handed a letteand a card to the minister who was still shiveing in front of the fire. When he saw that env

lope, of a satiny shade of gray, and of peculiashape, the Irishman involuntarily started, whithe duke, having opened his letter and glanceover it, rose to his feet full of animation, on hcheeks the faint flush of factitious health whic


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all the heat from the fire had failed to bring tthem.

"My dear Doctor, you must at any cost—"

The usher was standing near, waiting.

"What is it?—Oh! yes, this card. Show him intthe gallery, I will be there in a moment."

The Duc de Mora's gallery, which was open tvisitors twice a week, was to him a sort of neutral territory, a public place where he could se

anybody on earth without binding himself tanything or compromising himself. Then, whethe usher had left the room:

"Jenkins, my good friend, you have alread

performed miracles for me. I ask you to peform another. Double my dose of the pearlthink up something, whatever you choose. BuI must be in condition Sunday. You undestand, in perfect condition."


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And his hot, feverish fingers closed upon thlittle note he held with a shudder of longing.

"Beware, Monsieur le Duc," said Jenkins, verpale, his lips pressed tightly together, "I havno desire to alarm you beyond measure concerning your weak state, but it is my duty—"[Pg 63]

Mora smiled, a charming, mischievous smile.

"Your duty and my pleasure are two, my goofellow. Let me burn my life at both ends if

amuses me. I have never had such a fine oppotunity as I have now."

He started.

"The duchess!"A door under the hangings had opened, givinpassage to a dishevelled little head of fair hailike a mass of vapor amid the laces and furbe

lows of a royal déshabillé .


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"What is this I hear? You haven't gone ouPray scold him, Doctor. Isn't he foolish to listeto his own fears so much? Just look at him. H

looks in superb health.""There! You see," said the duke, with a laugh, tthe Irishman. "Aren't you coming in, Duchess?

"No, I am going to take you away, on the contrary. My uncle d'Estaing has sent me a cagfilled with birds from the Indies. I want tshow them to you. Marvels of all colors, witlittle eyes like black pearls. And so cold, s

cold, almost as sensitive to cold as you are."

"Let us go and see them," said the ministe"Wait for me, Jenkins; I will come back."

Then, realizing that he still had his letter in hhand, he tossed it carelessly into the drawer othe little table on which he had been signindocuments, and went out behind the ducheswith the perfect sang-froid of a husband accu


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tomed to such manœuvres. What marvellouslskilful workman,[Pg 64] what incomparabmaker of toys was able to endow the huma

countenance with its flexibility, its wonderfuelasticity? Nothing could b

the nabob (ii)

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