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The next day, Mademoiselle Cormon,
packed into the old carriole
with Josette, and looking like
a pyramid on a vast sea of parcels,
drove up the rue Saint-Blaise
on her way to Prebaudet, where
she was overtaken by an event
which hurried on her marriage,--an
event entirely unlooked for by
either Madame Granson, du Bousquier,
Monsieur de Valois, or Mademoiselle
Cormon himself. Chance is the
greatest of all artificers.
The day after her arrival at
Prebaudet, she was innocently
employed, about eight o'clock
in the morning, in listening,
as she breakfasted, to the various
reports of her keeper and her
gardener, when Jacquelin made
a violent irruption into the
dining-room.
"Mademoiselle," he cried, out
of breath, "Monsieur l'abbe sends
you an express, the son of Mere
Grosmort, with a letter. The
lad left Alencon before daylight,
and he has just arrived; he ran
like Penelope! Can't I give him
a glass of wine?"
"What can have
happened, Josette? Do you think
my uncle can be--"
"He couldn't write if he were," said
Josette, guessing her mistress's
fears.
"Quick! quick!" cried Mademoiselle
Cormon, as soon as she had read
the first lines. "Tell Jacquelin
to harness Penelope-- Get ready,
Josette; pack up everything in
half an hour. We must go back
to town--"
"Jacquelin!" called
Josette, excited by the sentiment
she
saw on her mistress's face.
Jacquelin, informed by Josette,
came in to say,--
"But, mademoiselle,
Penelope is eating her oats."
"What does
that signify? I must start
at once."
"But, mademoiselle,
it is going to rain."
"Then we shall
get wet."
"The house is on fire!" muttered
Josette, piqued at the silence
her mistress kept as to the contents
of the letter, which she read
and reread.
"Finish your
coffee, at any rate, mademoiselle;
don't excite
your blood; just see how red
you are."
"Am I red, Josette?" she
said, going to a mirror, from
which
the quicksilver was peeling,
and which presented her features
to her upside down.
"Good heavens!" thought Mademoiselle
Cormon, "suppose I should look
ugly! Come, Josette; come, my
dear, dress me at once; I want
to be ready before Jacquelin
has harnessed Penelope. If you
can't pack my things in time,
I will leave them here rather
than lose a single minute."
If you have thoroughly comprehended
the positive monomania to which
the desire of marriage had brought
Mademoiselle Cormon, you will
share her emotion. The worthy
uncle announced in this sudden
missive that Monsieur de Troisville,
of the Russian army during the
Emigration, grandson of one of
his best friends, was desirous
of retiring to Alencon, and asked
his, the abbe's hospitality,
on the ground of his friendship
for his grandfather, the Vicomte
de Troisville. The old abbe,
alarmed at the responsibility,
entreated his niece to return
instantly and help him to receive
this guest, and do the honors
of the house; for the viscount's
letter had been delayed, and
he might descend upon his shoulders
that very night.
After reading
this missive could there be
a question of
the demands of Prebaudet? The
keeper and the gardener, witnesses
to Mademoiselle Cormon's excitement,
stood aside and awaited her orders.
But when, as she was about to
leave the room, they stopped
her to ask for instructions,
for the first time in her life
the despotic old maid, who saw
to everything at Prebaudet with
her own eyes, said, to their
stupefaction, "Do what you like." This
from a mistress who carried her
administration to the point of
counting her fruits, and marking
them so as to order their consumption
according to the number and condition
of each!
"I believe I'm dreaming," thought
Josette, as she saw her mistress
flying down the staircase like
an elephant to which God has
given wings.
Presently, in spite of a driving
rain, Mademoiselle Cormon drove
away from Prebaudet, leaving
her factotums with the reins
on their necks. Jacquelin dared
not take upon himself to hasten
the usual little trot of the
peaceable Penelope, who, like
the beautiful queen whose name
she bore, had an appearance of
making as many steps backward
as she made forward. Impatient
with the pace, mademoiselle ordered
Jacquelin in a sharp voice to
drive at a gallop, with the whip,
if necessary, to the great astonishment
of the poor beast, so afraid
was she of not having time to
arrange the house suitably to
receive Monsieur de Troisville.
She calculated that the grandson
of her uncle's friend was probably
about forty years of age; a soldier
just from service was undoubtedly
a bachelor; and she resolved,
her uncle aiding, not to let
Monsieur de Troisville quit their
house in the condition he entered
it. Though Penelope galloped,
Mademoiselle Cormon, absorbed
in thoughts of her trousseau
and the wedding-day, declared
again and again that Jacquelin
made no way at all. She twisted
about in the carriole without
replying to Josette's questions,
and talked to herself like a
person who is mentally revolving
important designs.
The carriole at last arrived
in the main street of Alencon,
called the rue Saint-Blaise at
the end toward Montagne, but
near the hotel du More it takes
the name of the rue de la Porte-de-Seez,
and becomes the rue du Bercail
as it enters the road to Brittany.
If the departure of Mademoiselle
Cormon made a great noise in
Alencon, it is easy to imagine
the uproar caused by her sudden
return on the following day,
in a pouring rain which beat
her face without her apparently
minding it. Penelope at a full
gallop was observed by every
one, and Jacquelin's grin, the
early hour, the parcels stuffed
into the carriole topsy-turvy,
and the evident impatience of
Mademoiselle Cormon were all
noted.
The property of the house of
Troisville lay between Alencon
and Mortagne. Josette knew the
various branches of the family.
A word dropped by mademoiselle
as they entered Alencon had put
Josette on the scent of the affair;
and a discussion having started
between them, it was settled
that the expected de Troisville
must be between forty and forty-two
years of age, a bachelor, and
neither rich nor poor. Mademoiselle
Cormon beheld herself speedily
Vicomtesse de Troisville.
"And to think
that my uncle told me nothing!
thinks of nothing!
inquires nothing! That's my uncle
all over. He'd forget his own
nose if it wasn't fastened to
his face."
Have you never remarked that,
under circumstances such as these,
old maids become, like Richard
III., keen-witted, fierce, bold,
promissory,--if one may so use
the word,--and, like inebriate
clerks, no longer in awe of anything?
Immediately
the town of Alencon, speedily
informed from the farther
end of the rue de Saint-Blaise
to the gate of Seez of this precipitate
return, accompanied by singular
circumstances, was perturbed
throughout its viscera, both
public and domestic. Cooks, shopkeepers,
street passengers, told the news
from door to door; thence it
rose to the upper regions. Soon
the words: "Mademoiselle Cormon
has returned!" burst like a bombshell
into all households. At that
moment Jacquelin was descending
from his wooden seat (polished
by a process unknown to cabinet-makers),
on which he perched in front
of the carriole. He opened the
great green gate, round at the
top, and closed in sign of mourning;
for during Mademoiselle Cormon's
absence the evening assemblies
did not take place. The faithful
invited the Abbe de Sponde to
their several houses; and Monsieur
de Valois paid his debt by inviting
him to dine at the Marquis d'Esgrignon's.
Jacquelin, having opened the
gate, called familiarly to Penelope,
whom he had left in the middle
of the street. That animal, accustomed
to this proceeding, turned in
of herself, and circled round
the courtyard in a manner to
avoid injuring the flower-bed.
Jacquelin then took her bridle,
and led the carriage to the portico.
"Mariette!" cried
Mademoiselle Cormon.
"Mademoiselle!" exclaimed
Mariette, who was occupied
in closing the
gate.
"Has the gentleman
arrived?"
"No, mademoiselle."
"Where's my
uncle?"
"He is at church,
mademoiselle."
Jacquelin and Josette were
by this time on the first step
of the portico, holding out their
hands to manoeuvre the exit of
their mistress from the carriole
as she pulled herself up by the
sides of the vehicle and clung
to the curtains. Mademoiselle
then threw herself into their
arms; because for the last two
years she dared not risk her
weight on the iron step, affixed
to the frame of the carriage
by a horrible mechanism of clumsy
bolts.
When Mademoiselle Cormon reached
the level of the portico she
looked about her courtyard with
an air of satisfaction.
"Come, come,
Mariette, leave that gate alone;
I want you."
"There's something in the wind," whispered
Jacquelin, as Mariette passed
the carriole.
"Mariette, what provisions
have you in the house?" asked
Mademoiselle Cormon, sitting
down on the bench in the long
antechamber like a person overcome
with fatigue.
"I haven't anything," replied
Mariette, with her hands on her
hips. "Mademoiselle knows very
well that during her absence
Monsieur l'abbe dines out every
day. Yesterday I went to fetch
him from Mademoiselle Armande's."
"Where is he
now?"
"Monsieur l'abbe?
Why, at church; he won't be
in before three o'clock."
"He thinks
of nothing! he ought to have
told you to go to market.
Mariette, go at once; and without
wasting money, don't spare it;
get all there is that is good
and delicate. Go to the diligence
office and see if you can send
for pates; and I want shrimps
from the Brillante. What o'clock
is it?"
"A quarter
to nine."
"Good heavens!
Mariette, don't stop to chatter.
The person my
uncle expects may arrive at any
moment. If we had to give him
breakfast, where should we be
with nothing in the house?"
Mariette turned
back to Penelope in a lather,
and looked at Jacquelin
as if she would say, "Mademoiselle
has put her hand on a husband
THIS time."
"Now, Josette," continued the
old maid, "let us see where we
had better put Monsieur de Troisville
to sleep."
With what joy
she said the words, "Put Monsieur de Troisville" (pronounced
Treville) "to sleep." How many
ideas in those few words! The
old maid was bathed in hope.
"Will you put
him in the green chamber?"
"The bishop's room? No; that's
too near mine," said Mademoiselle
Cormon. "All very well for monseigneur;
he's a saintly man."
"Give him your
uncle's room."
"Oh, that's
so bare; it is actually indecent."
"Well, then,
mademoiselle, why not arrange
a bed in your
boudoir? It is easily done; and
there's a fire-place. Moreau
can certainly find in his warerooms
a bed to match the hangings."
"You are right,
Josette. Go yourself to Moreau;
consult with
him what to do; I authorize you
to get what is wanted. If the
bed could be put up to-night
without Monsieur de Troisville
observing it (in case Monsieur
de Troisville arrives while Moreau
is here), I should like it. If
Moreau won't engage to do this,
then I must put Monsieur de Troisville
in the green room, although Monsieur
de Troisville would be so very
near to me."
Josette was departing when
her mistress recalled her.
"Stop! explain the matter to
Jacquelin," she cried, in a loud
nervous tone. "Tell HIM to go
to Moreau; I must be dressed!
Fancy if Monsieur de Troisville
surprised me as I am now! and
my uncle not here to receive
him! Oh, uncle, uncle! Come,
Josette; come and dress me at
once."
"But Penelope?" said
Josette, imprudently.
"Always Penelope!
Penelope this, Penelope that!
Is Penelope
the mistress of this house?"
"But she is
all of a lather, and she hasn't
had time to eat
her oats."
"Then let her starve!" cried
Mademoiselle Cormon; "provided
I marry," she thought to herself.
Hearing these words, which
seemed to her like homicide,
Josette stood still for a moment,
speechless. Then, at a gesture
from her mistress, she ran headlong
down the steps of the portico.
"The devil is in her, Jacquelin," were
the first words she uttered.
Thus all things
conspired on this fateful day
to produce the
great scenic effect which decided
the future life of Mademoiselle
Cormon. The town was already
topsy-turvy in mind, as a consequence
of the five extraordinary circumstances
which accompanied Mademoiselle
Cormon's return; to wit, the
pouring rain; Penelope at a gallop,
in a lather, and blown; the early
hour; the parcels half-packed;
and the singular air of the excited
old maid. But when Mariette made
an invasion of the market, and
bought all the best things; when
Jacquelin went to the principal
upholsterer in Alencon, two doors
from the church, in search of
a bed,--there was matter for
the gravest conjectures. These
extraordinary events were discussed
on all sides; they occupied the
minds of every one, even Mademoiselle
Armande herself, with whom was
Monsieur de Valois. Within two
days the town of Alencon had
been agitated by such startling
events that certain good women
were heard to remark that the
world was coming to an end. This
last news, however, resolved
itself into a single question, "What
is happening at the Cormons?"
The Abbe de
Sponde, adroitly questioned
when he left Saint-Leonard's
to take his daily walk with the
Abbe Couturier, replied with
his usual kindliness that he
expected the Vicomte de Troisville,
a nobleman in the service of
Russia during the Emigration,
who was returning to Alencon
to settle there. From two to
five o'clock a species of labial
telegraphy went on throughout
the town; and all the inhabitants
learned that Mademoiselle Cormon
had at last found a husband by
letter, and was about to marry
the Vicomte de Troisville. Some
said, "Moreau has sold them a
bed." The bed was six feet wide
in that quarter; it was four
feet wide at Madame Granson's,
in the rue du Bercail; but it
was reduced to a simple couch
at Monsieur du Ronceret's, where
du Bousquier was dining. The
lesser bourgeoisie declared that
the cost was eleven hundred francs.
But generally it was thought
that, as to this, rumor was counting
the chickens before they were
hatched. In other quarters it
was said that Mariette had made
such a raid on the market that
the price of carp had risen.
At the end of the rue Saint-Blaise,
Penelope had dropped dead. This
decease was doubted in the house
of the receiver-general; but
at the Prefecture it was authenticated
that the poor beast had expired
as she turned into the courtyard
of the hotel Cormon, with such
velocity had the old maid flown
to meet her husband. The harness-maker,
who lived at the corner of the
rue de Seez, was bold enough
to call at the house and ask
if anything had happened to Mademoiselle
Cormon's carriage, in order to
discover whether Penelope was
really dead. From the end of
the rue Saint-Blaise to the end
of the rue du Bercail, it was
then made known that, thanks
to Jacquelin's devotion, Penelope,
that silent victim of her mistress's
impetuosity, still lived, though
she seemed to be suffering.
Along the road to Brittany
the Vicomte de Troisville was
stated to be a younger son without
a penny, for the estates in Perche
belonged to the Marquis de Troisville,
peer of France, who had children;
the marriage would be, therefore,
an enormous piece of luck for
a poor emigre. The aristocracy
along that road approved of the
marriage; Mademoiselle Cormon
could not do better with her
money. But among the Bourgeoisie,
the Vicomte de Troisville was
a Russian general who had fought
against France, and was now returning
with a great fortune made at
the court of Saint-Petersburg;
he was a FOREIGNER; one of those
ALLIES so hated by the liberals;
the Abbe de Sponde had slyly
negotiated this marriage. All
the persons who had a right to
call upon Mademoiselle Cormon
determined to do so that very
evening.
During this transurban excitement,
which made that of Suzanne almost
a forgotten affair, Mademoiselle
was not less agitated; she was
filled with a variety of novel
emotions. Looking about her salon,
dining- room, and boudoir, cruel
apprehensions took possession
of her. A species of demon showed
her with a sneer her old-fashioned
luxury. The handsome things she
had admired from her youth up
she suddenly suspected of age
and absurdity. In short, she
felt that fear which takes possession
of nearly all authors when they
read over a work they have hitherto
thought proof against every exacting
or blase critic: new situations
seem timeworn; the best-turned
and most highly polished phrases
limp and squint; metaphors and
images grin or contradict each
other; whatsoever is false strikes
the eye. In like manner this
poor woman trembled lest she
should see on the lips of Monsieur
de Troisville a smile of contempt
for this episcopal salon; she
dreaded the cold look he might
cast over that ancient dining-room;
in short, she feared the frame
might injure and age the portrait.
Suppose these antiquities should
cast a reflected light of old
age upon herself? This question
made her flesh creep. She would
gladly, at that moment, spend
half her savings on refitting
her house if some fairy wand
could do it in a moment. Where
is the general who has not trembled
on the eve of a battle? The poor
woman was now between her Austerlitz
and her Waterloo.
"Madame la Vicomtesse de Troisville," she
said to herself; "a noble name!
Our property will go to a good
family, at any rate."
She fell a prey to an irritation
which made every fibre of her
nerves quiver to all their papillae,
long sunk in flesh. Her blood,
lashed by this new hope, was
in motion. She felt the strength
to converse, if necessary, with
Monsieur de Troisville.
It is useless
to relate the activity with
which Josette,
Jacquelin, Mariette, Moreau,
and his agents went about their
functions. It was like the busyness
of ants about their eggs. All
that daily care had already rendered
neat and clean was again gone
over and brushed and rubbed and
scrubbed. The china of ceremony
saw the light; the damask linen
marked "A, B, C" was drawn from
depths where it lay under a triple
guard of wrappings, still further
defended by formidable lines
of pins. Above all, Mademoiselle
Cormon sacrificed on the altar
of her hopes three bottles of
the famous liqueurs of Madame
Amphoux, the most illustrious
of all the distillers of the
tropics,--a name very dear to
gourmets. Thanks to the devotion
of her lieutenants, mademoiselle
was soon ready for the conflict.
The different weapons--furniture,
cookery, provisions, in short,
all the various munitions of
war, together with a body of
reserve forces--were ready along
the whole line. Jacquelin, Mariette,
and Josette received orders to
appear in full dress. The garden
was raked. The old maid regretted
that she couldn't come to an
understanding with the nightingales
nesting in the trees, in order
to obtain their finest trilling.
At last, about four o'clock,
at the very moment when the Abbe
de Sponde returned home, and
just as mademoiselle began to
think she had set the table with
the best plate and linen and
prepared the choicest dishes
to no purpose, the click-clack
of a postilion was heard in the
Val-Noble.
"'Tis he!" she
said to herself, the snap of
the whip echoing
in her heart.
True enough; heralded by all
this gossip, a post-chaise, in
which was a single gentleman,
made so great a sensation coming
down the rue Saint-Blaise and
turning into the rue du Cours
that several little gamains and
some grown persons followed it,
and stood in groups about the
gate of the hotel Cormon to see
it enter. Jacquelin, who foresaw
his own marriage in that of his
mistress, had also heard the
click- clack in the rue Saint-Blaise,
and had opened wide the gates
into the courtyard. The postilion,
a friend of his, took pride in
making a fine turn-in, and drew
up sharply before the portico.
The abbe came forward to greet
his guest, whose carriage was
emptied with a speed that highwaymen
might put into the operation;
the chaise itself was rolled
into the coach-house, the gates
closed, and in a few moments
all signs of Monsieur de Troisville's
arrival had disappeared. Never
did two chemicals blend into
each other with greater rapidity
than the hotel Cormon displayed
in absorbing the Vicomte de Troisville.
Mademoiselle, whose heart was
beating like a lizard caught
by a herdsman, sat heroically
still on her sofa, beside the
fire in the salon. Josette opened
the door; and the Vicomte de
Troisville, followed by the Abbe
de Sponde, presented himself
to the eyes of the spinster.
"Niece, this
is Monsieur le Vicomte de Troisville,
the grandson
of one of my old schoolmates;
Monsieur de Troisville, my niece,
Mademoiselle Cormon."
"Ah! that good uncle; how well
he does it!" thought Rose-Marie-
Victoire.
The Vicomte de Troisville was,
to paint him in two words, du
Bousquier ennobled. Between the
two men there was precisely the
difference which separates the
vulgar style from the noble style.
If they had both been present,
the most fanatic liberal would
not have denied the existence
of aristocracy. The viscount's
strength had all the distinction
of elegance; his figure had preserved
its magnificent dignity. He had
blue eyes, black hair, an olive
skin, and looked to be about
forty-six years of age. You might
have thought him a handsome Spaniard
preserved in the ice of Russia.
His manner, carriage, and attitude,
all denoted a diplomat who had
seen Europe. His dress was that
of a well-bred traveller. As
he seemed fatigued, the abbe
offered to show him to his room,
and was much amazed when his
niece threw open the door of
the boudoir, transformed into
a bedroom.
Mademoiselle
Cormon and her uncle then left
the noble stranger
to attend to his own affairs,
aided by Jacquelin, who brought
up his luggage, and went themselves
to walk beside the river until
their guest had made his toilet.
Although the Abbe de Sponde chanced
to be even more absent-minded
than usual, Mademoiselle Cormon
was not less preoccupied. They
both walked on in silence. The
old maid had never before met
any man as seductive as this
Olympean viscount. She might
have said to herself, as the
Germans do, "This is my ideal!" instead
of which she felt herself bound
from head to foot, and could
only say, "Here's my affair!" Then
she flew to Mariette to know
if the dinner could be put back
a while without loss of excellence.
"Uncle, your Monsieur de Troisville
is very amiable," she said, on
returning.
"Why, niece,
he hasn't as yet said a word."
"But you can
see it in his ways, his manners,
his face.
Is he a bachelor?"
"I'm sure I don't know," replied
the abbe, who was thinking of
a discussion on mercy, lately
begun between the Abbe Couturier
and himself. "Monsieur de Troisville
wrote me that he wanted to buy
a house here. If he was married,
he wouldn't come alone on such
an errand," added the abbe, carelessly,
not conceiving the idea that
his niece could be thinking of
marriage.
"Is he rich?"
"He is a younger son of the
younger branch," replied her
uncle. "His grandfather commanded
a squadron, but the father of
this young man made a bad marriage."
"Young man!" exclaimed the
old maid. "It seems to me, uncle,
that he must be at least forty-five." She
felt the strongest desire to
put their years on a par.
"Yes," said the abbe; "but
to a poor priest of seventy,
Rose, a man of forty seems a
youth."
All Alencon knew by this time
that Monsieur de Troisville had
arrived at the Cormons. The traveller
soon rejoined his hosts, and
began to admire the Brillante,
the garden, and the house.
"Monsieur l'abbe," he said, "my
whole ambition is to have a house
like this." The old maid fancied
a declaration lurked in that
speech, and she lowered her eyes. "You
must enjoy it very much, mademoiselle," added
the viscount.
"How could it be otherwise?
It has been in our family since
1574, the period at which one
of our ancestors, steward to
the Duc d'Alencon, acquired the
land and built the house," replied
Mademoiselle Cormon. "It is built
on piles," she added.
Jacquelin announced dinner.
Monsieur de Troisville offered
his arm to the happy woman, who
endeavored not to lean too heavily
upon it; she feared, as usual,
to seem to make advances.
"Everything is so harmonious
here," said the viscount, as
he seated himself at table.
"Yes, our trees are full of
birds, which give us concerts
for nothing; no one ever frightens
them; and the nightingales sing
at night," said Mademoiselle
Cormon.
"I was speaking of the interior
of the house," remarked the viscount,
who did not trouble himself to
observe Mademoiselle Cormon,
and therefore did not perceive
the dulness of her mind. "Everything
is so in keeping,--the tones
of color, the furniture, the
general character."
"But it costs a great deal;
taxes are enormous," responded
the excellent woman.
"Ah! taxes are high, are they?" said
the viscount, preoccupied with
his own ideas.
"I don't know," replied the
abbe. "My niece manages the property
of each of us."
"Taxes are not of much importance
to the rich," said Mademoiselle
Cormon, not wishing to be thought
miserly. "As for the furniture,
I shall leave it as it is, and
change nothing,--unless I marry;
and then, of course, everything
here must suit the husband."
"You have noble principles,
mademoiselle," said the viscount,
smiling. "You will make one happy
man."
"No one ever made to me such
a pretty speech," thought the
old maid.
The viscount
complimented Mademoiselle Cormon
on the excellence of her
service and the admirable arrangements
of the house, remarking that
he had supposed the provinces
behind the age in that respect;
but, on the contrary, he found
them, as the English say, "very
comfortable."
"What can that word mean?" she
thought. "Oh, where is the chevalier
to explain it to me? 'Comfortable,'--there
seem to be several words in it.
Well, courage!" she said to herself. "I
can't be expected to answer a
foreign language-- But," she
continued aloud, feeling her
tongue untied by the eloquence
which nearly all human creatures
find in momentous circumstances, "we
have a very brilliant society
here, monsieur. It assembles
at my house, and you shall judge
of it this evening, for some
of my faithful friends have no
doubt heard of my return and
your arrival. Among them is the
Chevalier de Valois, a seigneur
of the old court, a man of infinite
wit and taste; then there is
Monsieur le Marquis d'Esgrignon
and Mademoiselle Armande, his
sister" (she bit her tongue with
vexation),--"a woman remarkable
in her way," she added. "She
resolved to remain unmarried
in order to leave all her fortune
to her brother and nephew."
"Ah!" exclaimed the viscount. "Yes,
the d'Esgrignons,--I remember
them."
"Alencon is very gay," continued
the old maid, now fairly launched. "There's
much amusement: the receiver-general
gives balls; the prefect is an
amiable man; and Monseigneur
the bishop sometimes honors us
with a visit--"
"Well, then," said the viscount,
smiling, "I have done wisely
to come back, like the hare,
to die in my form."
"Yes," she said. "I,
too, attach myself or I die."
The viscount smiled.
"Ah!" thought the old maid, "all
is well; he understands me."
The conversation continued
on generalities. By one of those
mysterious unknown and undefinable
faculties, Mademoiselle Cormon
found in her brain, under the
pressure of her desire to be
agreeable, all the phrases and
opinions of the Chevalier de
Valois. It was like a duel in
which the devil himself pointed
the pistol. Never was any adversary
better aimed at. The viscount
was far too well-bred to speak
of the excellence of the dinner;
but his silence was praise. As
he drank the delicious wines
which Jacquelin served to him
profusely, he seemed to feel
he was with friends, and to meet
them with pleasure; for the true
connoisseur does not applaud,
he enjoys. He inquired the price
of land, of houses, of estates;
he made Mademoiselle Cormon describe
at length the confluence of the
Sarthe and the Brillante; he
expressed surprise that the town
was placed so far from the river,
and seemed to be much interested
in the topography of the place.
The silent abbe left his niece
to throw the dice of conversation;
and she truly felt that she pleased
Monsieur de Troisville, who smiled
at her gracefully, and committed
himself during this dinner far
more than her most eager suitors
had ever done in ten days. Imagine,
therefore, the little attentions
with which he was petted; you
might have thought him a cherished
lover, whose return brought joy
to the household. Mademoiselle
foresaw the moment when the viscount
wanted bread; she watched his
every look; when he turned his
head she adroitly put upon his
plate a portion of some dish
he seemed to like; had he been
a gourmand, she would almost
have killed him; but what a delightful
specimen of the attentions she
would show to a husband! She
did not commit the folly of depreciating
herself; on the contrary, she
set every sail bravely, ran up
all her flags, assumed the bearing
of the queen of Alencon, and
boasted of her excellent preserves.
In fact, she fished for compliments
in speaking of herself, for she
saw that she pleased the viscount;
the truth being that her eager
desire had so transformed her
that she became almost a woman.
At dessert she heard, not without
emotions of delight, certain
sounds in the antechamber and
salon which denoted the arrival
of her usual guests. She called
the attention of her uncle and
Monsieur de Troisville to this
prompt attendance as a proof
of the affection that was felt
for her; whereas it was really
the result of the poignant curiosity
which had seized upon the town.
Impatient to show herself in
all her glory, Mademoiselle Cormon
told Jacquelin to serve coffee
and liqueurs in the salon, where
he presently set out, in view
of the whole company, a magnificent
liqueur-stand of Dresden china
which saw the light only twice
a year. This circumstance was
taken note of by the company,
standing ready to gossip over
the merest trifle:--
"The deuce!" muttered du Bousquier. "Actually
Madame Amphoux's liqueurs, which
they only serve at the four church
festivals!"
"Undoubtedly the marriage was
arranged a year ago by letter," said
the chief-justice du Ronceret. "The
postmaster tells me his office
has received letters postmarked
Odessa for more than a year."
Madame Granson trembled. The
Chevalier de Valois, though he
had dined with the appetite of
four men, turned pale even to
the left section of his face.
Feeling that he was about to
betray himself, he said hastily,--
"Don't you
think it is very cold to-day?
I am almost frozen."
"The neighborhood of Russia,
perhaps," said du Bousquier.
The chevalier
looked at him as if to say, "Well
played!"
Mademoiselle Cormon appeared
so radiant, so triumphant, that
the company thought her handsome.
This extraordinary brilliancy
was not the effect of sentiment
only. Since early morning her
blood had been whirling tempestuously
within her, and her nerves were
agitated by the presentiment
of some great crisis. It required
all these circumstances combined
to make her so unlike herself.
With what joy did she now make
her solemn presentation of the
viscount to the chevalier, the
chevalier to the viscount, and
all Alencon to Monsieur de Troisville,
and Monsieur de Troisville to
all Alencon!
By an accident wholly explainable,
the viscount and chevalier, aristocrats
by nature, came instantly into
unison; they recognized each
other at once as men belonging
to the same sphere. Accordingly,
they began to converse together,
standing before the fireplace.
A circle formed around them;
and their conversation, though
uttered in a low voice, was listened
to in religious silence. To give
the effect of this scene it is
necessary to dramatize it, and
to picture Mademoiselle Cormon
occupied in pouring out the coffee
of her imaginary suitor, with
her back to the fireplace.
Monsieur de
Valois. "Monsieur
le vicomte has come, I am told,
to settle in Alencon?"
Monsieur de
Troisville. "Yes,
monsieur, I am looking for a
house." [Mademoiselle Cormon,
cup in hand, turns round.] "It
must be a large house" [Mademoiselle
Cormon offers him the cup] "to
lodge my whole family." [The
eyes of the old maid are troubled.]
Monsieur de
Valois. "Are you
married?"
Monsieur de
Troisville. "Yes,
for the last sixteen years, to
a daughter of the Princess Scherbellof."
Mademoiselle Cormon fainted;
du Bousquier, who saw her stagger,
sprang forward and received her
in his arms; some one opened
the door and allowed him to pass
out with his enormous burden.
The fiery republican, instructed
by Josette, found strength to
carry the old maid to her bedroom,
where he laid her out on the
bed. Josette, armed with scissors,
cut the corset, which was terribly
tight. Du Bousquier flung water
on Mademoiselle Cormon's face
and bosom, which, released from
the corset, overflowed like the
Loire in flood. The poor woman
opened her eyes, saw du Bousquier,
and gave a cry of modesty at
the sight of him. Du Bousquier
retired at once, leaving six
women, at the head of whom was
Madame Granson, radiant with
joy, to take care of the invalid.
What had the Chevalier de Valois
been about all this time? Faithful
to his system, he had covered
the retreat.
"That poor Mademoiselle Cormon," he
said to Monsieur de Troisville,
gazing at the assembly, whose
laughter was repressed by his
cool aristocratic glances, "her
blood is horribly out of order;
she wouldn't be bled before going
to Prebaudet (her estate),--and
see the result!"
"She came back this morning
in the rain," said the Abbe de
Sponde, "and she may have taken
cold. It won't be anything; it
is only a little upset she is
subject to."
"She told me yesterday she
had not had one for three months,
adding that she was afraid it
would play her a trick at last," said
the chevalier.
"Ha! so you are married?" said
Jacquelin to himself as he looked
at Monsieur de Troisville, who
was quietly sipping his coffee.
The faithful servant espoused
his mistress's disappointment;
he divined it, and he promptly
carried away the liqueurs of
Madame Amphoux, which were offered
to a bachelor, and not to the
husband of a Russian woman.
All these details were noticed
and laughed at. The Abbe de Sponde
knew the object of Monsieur de
Troisville's journey; but, absent-minded
as usual, he forgot it, not supposing
that his niece could have the
slightest interest in Monsieur
de Troisville's marriage. As
for the viscount, preoccupied
with the object of his journey,
and, like many husbands, not
eager to talk about his wife,
he had had no occasion to say
he was married; besides, he would
naturally suppose that Mademoiselle
Cormon knew it.
Du Bousquier reappeared, and
was questioned furiously. One
of the six women came down soon
after, and announced that Mademoiselle
Cormon was much better, and that
the doctor had come. She intended
to stay in bed, as it was necessary
to bleed her. The salon was now
full. Mademoiselle Cormon's absence
allowed the ladies present to
discuss the tragi-comic scene--embellished,
extended, historified, embroidered,
wreathed, colored, and adorned--which
had just taken place, and which,
on the morrow, was destined to
occupy all Alencon.
"That good Monsieur du Bousquier!
how well he carried you!" said
Josette to her mistress. "He
was really pale at the sight
of you; he loves you still."
That speech served as closure
to this solemn and terrible evening.
Throughout the morning of the
next day every circumstance of
the late comedy was known in
the household of Alencon, and--let
us say it to the shame of that
town,--they caused inextinguishable
laughter. But on that day Mademoiselle
Cormon (much benefited by the
bleeding) would have seemed sublime
even to the boldest scoffers,
had they witnessed the noble
dignity, the splendid Christian
resignation which influenced
her as she gave her arm to her
involuntary deceiver to go into
breakfast. Cruel jesters! why
could you not have seen her as
she said to the viscount,--
"Madame de
Troisville will have difficulty
in finding a
suitable house; do me the favor,
monsieur, of accepting the use
of mine during the time you are
in search of yours."
"But, mademoiselle,
I have two sons and two daughters;
we
should greatly inconvenience
you."
"Pray do not refuse me," she
said earnestly.
"I made you the same offer
in the answer I wrote to your
letter," said the abbe; "but
you did not receive it."
"What, uncle!
then you knew--"
The poor woman stopped. Josette
sighed. Neither the viscount
nor the abbe observed anything
amiss. After breakfast the Abbe
de Sponde carried off his guest,
as agreed upon the previous evening,
to show him the various houses
in Alencon which could be bought,
and the lots of lands on which
he might build.
Left alone
in the salon, Mademoiselle
Cormon said to Josette, with
a deeply distressed air, "My
child, I am now the talk of the
whole town."
"Well, then,
mademoiselle, you should marry."
"But I am not
prepared to make a choice."
"Bah! if I
were in your place, I should
take Monsieur du Bousquier."
"Josette, Monsieur
de Valois says he is so republican."
"They don't know what they
say, your gentlemen: sometimes
they declare that he robbed the
republic; he couldn't love it
if he did that," said Josette,
departing.
"That girl has an amazing amount
of sense," thought Mademoiselle
Cormon, who remained alone, a
prey to her perplexities.
She saw plainly that a prompt
marriage was the only way to
silence the town. This last checkmate,
so evidently mortifying, was
of a nature to drive her into
some extreme action; for persons
deficient in mind find difficulty
in getting out of any path, either
good or evil, into which they
have entered.
Each of the
two old bachelors had fully
understood the situation
in which Mademoiselle Cormon
was about to find herself; consequently,
each resolved to call in the
course of that morning to ask
after her health, and take occasion,
in bachelor language, to "press
his point." Monsieur de Valois
considered that such an occasion
demanded a painstaking toilet;
he therefore took a bath and
groomed himself with extraordinary
care. For the first and last
time Cesarine observed him putting
on with incredible art a suspicion
of rouge. Du Bousquier, on the
other hand, that coarse republican,
spurred by a brisk will, paid
no attention to his dress, and
arrived the first.
Such little
things decide the fortunes
of men, as they do of
empires. Kellerman's charge at
Marengo, Blucher's arrival at
Waterloo, Louis XIV.'s disdain
for Prince Eugene, the rector
of Denain,--all these great causes
of fortune or catastrophe history
has recorded; but no one ever
profits by them to avoid the
small neglects of their own life.
Consequently, observe what happens:
the Duchesse de Langeais (see "History
of the Thirteen") makes herself
a nun for the lack of ten minutes'
patience; Judge Popinot (see "Commission
in Lunacy") puts off till the
morrow the duty of examining
the Marquis d'Espard; Charles
Grandet (see "Eugenie Grandet")
goes to Paris from Bordeaux instead
of returning by Nantes; and such
events are called chance or fatality!
A touch of rouge carefully applied
destroyed the hopes of the Chevalier
de Valois; could that nobleman
perish in any other way? He had
lived by the Graces, and he was
doomed to die by their hand.
While the chevalier was giving
this last touch to his toilet
the rough du Bousquier was entering
the salon of the desolate old
maid. This entrance produced
a thought in Mademoiselle Cormon's
mind which was favorable to the
republican, although in all other
respects the Chevalier de Valois
held the advantages.
"God wills it!" she
said piously, on seeing du
Bousquier.
"Mademoiselle,
you will not, I trust, think
my eagerness importunate.
I could not trust to my stupid
Rene to bring news of your condition,
and therefore I have come myself."
"I am perfectly recovered," she
replied, in a tone of emotion. "I
thank you, Monsieur du Bousquier," she
added, after a slight pause,
and in a significant tone of
voice, "for the trouble you have
taken, and for that which I gave
you yesterday--"
She remembered having been
in his arms, and that again seemed
to her an order from heaven.
She had been seen for the first
time by a man with her laces
cut, her treasures violently
bursting from their casket.
"I carried
you with such joy that you
seemed to me light."
Here Mademoiselle Cormon looked
at du Bousquier as she had never
yet looked at any man in the
world. Thus encouraged, the purveyor
cast upon the old maid a glance
which reached her heart.
"I would," he said, "that that
moment had given me the right
to keep you as mine forever" [she
listened with a delighted air]; "as
you lay fainting upon that bed,
you were enchanting. I have never
in my life seen a more beautiful
person,--and I have seen many
handsome women. Plump ladies
have this advantage: they are
superb to look upon; they have
only to show themselves and they
triumph."
"I fear you are making fun
of me," said the old maid, "and
that is not kind when all the
town will probably misinterpret
what happened to me yesterday."
"As true as
my name is du Bousquier, mademoiselle,
I have never changed
in my feelings toward you; and
your first refusal has not discouraged
me."
The old maid's eyes were lowered.
There was a moment of cruel silence
for du Bousquier, and then Mademoiselle
Cormon decided on her course.
She raised her eyelids; tears
flowed from her eyes, and she
gave du Bousquier a tender glance.
"If that is so, monsieur," she
said, in a trembling voice, "promise
me to live in a Christian manner,
and not oppose my religious customs,
but to leave me the right to
select my confessors, and I will
grant you my hand"; as she said
the words, she held it out to
him.
Du Bousquier seized the good
fat hand so full of money, and
kissed it solemnly.
"But," she said, allowing him
to kiss it, "one thing more I
must require of you."
"If it is a possible thing,
it is granted," replied the purveyor.
"Alas!" returned the old maid. "For
my sake, I must ask you to take
upon yourself a sin which I feel
to be enormous,--for to lie is
one of the capital sins. But
you will confess it, will you
not? We will do penance for it
together" [they looked at each
other tenderly]. "Besides, it
may be one of those lies which
the Church permits as necessary--"
"Can she be as Suzanne says
she is?" thought du Bousquier. "What
luck! Well, mademoiselle, what
is it?" he said aloud.
"That you will
take upon yourself to--"
"What?"
"To say that
this marriage has been agreed
upon between
us for the last six months."
"Charming woman," said the
purveyor, in the tone of a man
willing to devote himself, "such
sacrifices can be made only for
a creature adored these ten years."
"In spite of my harshness?" she
said.
"Yes, in spite
of your harshness."
"Monsieur du
Bousquier, I have misjudged
you."
Again she held out the fat
red hand, which du Bousquier
kissed again.
At this moment the door opened;
the betrothed pair, looking round
to see who entered, beheld the
delightful, but tardy Chevalier
de Valois.
"Ah!" he said, on entering, "I
see you are about to be up, fair
queen."
She smiled at the chevalier,
feeling a weight upon her heart.
Monsieur de Valois, remarkably
young and seductive, had the
air of a Lauzun re- entering
the apartments of the Grande
Mademoiselle in the Palais- Royal.
"Hey! dear du Bousquier," said
he, in a jaunty tone, so sure
was he of success, "Monsieur
de Troisville and the Abbe de
Sponde are examining your house
like appraisers."
"Faith!" said du Bousquier, "if
the Vicomte de Troisville wants
it, it it is his for forty thousand
francs. It is useless to me now.
If mademoiselle will permit--it
must soon be known-- Mademoiselle,
may I tell it?-- Yes! Well, then,
be the first, MY DEAR CHEVALIER,
to hear" [Mademoiselle Cormon
dropped her eyes] "of the honor
that mademoiselle has done me,
the secret of which I have kept
for some months. We shall be
married in a few days; the contract
is already drawn, and we shall
sign it to-morrow. You see, therefore,
that my house in the rue du Cygne
is useless to me. I have been
privately looking for a purchaser
for some time; and the Abbe de
Sponde, who knew that fact, has
naturally taken Monsieur de Troisville
to see the house."
This falsehood
bore such an appearance of
truth that the
chevalier was taken in by it.
That "my dear chevalier" was
like the revenge taken by Peter
the Great on Charles XII. at
Pultawa for all his past defeats.
Du Bousquier revenged himself
deliciously for the thousand
little shafts he had long borne
in silence; but in his triumph
he made a lively youthful gesture
by running his hands through
his hair, and in so doing he--knocked
aside his false front.
"I congratulate you both," said
the chevalier, with an agreeable
air; "and I wish that the marriage
may end like a fairy tale: THEY
WERE HAPPY EVER AFTER, AND HAD--MANY--CHILDREN!" So
saying, he took a pinch of snuff. "But,
monsieur," he added satirically, "you
forget--that you are wearing
a false front."
Du Bousquier blushed. The false
front was hanging half a dozen
inches from his skull. Mademoiselle
Cormon raised her eyes, saw that
skull in all its nudity, and
lowered them, abashed. Du Bousquier
cast upon the chevalier the most
venomous look that toad ever
darted on its prey.
"Dogs of aristocrats who despise
me," thought he, "I'll crush
you some day."
The chevalier thought he had
recovered his advantage. But
Mademoiselle Cormon was not a
woman to understand the connection
which the chevalier intimated
between his congratulatory wish
and the false front. Besides,
even if she had comprehended
it, her word was passed, her
hand given. Monsieur de Valois
saw at once that all was lost.
The innocent woman, with the
two now silent men before her,
wished, true to her sense of
duty, to amuse them.
"Why not play a game of piquet
together?" she said artlessly,
without the slightest malice.
Du Bousquier smiled, and went,
as the future master of the house,
to fetch the piquet table. Whether
the Chevalier de Valois lost
his head, or whether he wanted
to stay and study the causes
of his disaster and remedy it,
certain it is that he allowed
himself to be led like a lamb
to the slaughter. He had received
the most violent knock-down blow
that ever struck a man; any nobleman
would have lost his senses for
less.
The Abbe de Sponde and the
Vicomte de Troisville soon returned.
Mademoiselle Cormon instantly
rose, hurried into the antechamber,
and took her uncle apart to tell
him her resolution. Learning
that the house in the rue du
Cygne exactly suited the viscount,
she begged her future husband
to do her the kindness to tell
him that her uncle knew it was
for sale. She dared not confide
that lie to the abbe, fearing
his absent-mindedness. The lie,
however, prospered better than
if it had been a virtuous action.
In the course of that evening
all Alencon heard the news. For
the last four days the town had
had as much to think of as during
the fatal days of 1814 and 1815.
Some laughed; others admitted
the marriage. These blamed it;
those approved it. The middle
classes of Alencon rejoiced;
they regarded it as a victory.
The next day, among friends,
the Chevalier de Valois said
a cruel thing:--
"The Cormons
end as they began; there's
only a hand's breadth
between a steward and a purveyor."
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