The Ball at Sceaux ...............................................................................................................................................1

The Comte de Fontaine, head of one of the oldest families in Poitou, had served the Bourbon cause with

intelligence and bravery during the war in La Vendee against the Republic. After having escaped all the

dangers which threatened the royalist leaders during this stormy period of modern history, he was wont to say

in jest, "I am one of the men who gave themselves to be killed on the steps of the throne." And the pleasantry

had some truth in it, as spoken by a man left for dead at the bloody battle of Les Quatre Chemins. Though

ruined by confiscation, the staunch Vendeen steadily refused the lucrative posts offered to him by the

Emperor Napoleon. Immovable in his aristocratic faith, he had blindly obeyed its precepts when he thought it

fitting to choose a companion for life. In spite of the blandishments of a rich but revolutionary parvenu, who

valued the alliance at a high figure, he married Mademoiselle de Kergarouet, without a fortune, but belonging

When the second revolution burst on Monsieur de Fontaine he was encumbered with a large family. Though

it was no part of the noble gentlemen's views to solicit favors, he yielded to his wife's wish, left his country

estate, of which the income barely sufficed to maintain his children, and came to Paris. Saddened by seeing

the greediness of his former comrades in the rush for places and dignities under the new Constitution, he was

about to return to his property when he received a ministerial despatch, in which a wellknown magnate

announced to him his nomination as marechal de camp, or brigadier general, under a rule which allowed the

officers of the Catholic armies to count the twenty submerged years of Louis XVIII.'s reign as years of

service. Some days later he further received, without any solicitation, ex officio, the crosses of the Legion of

Shaken in his determination by these successive favors, due, as he supposed, to the monarch's remembrance,

he was no longer satisfied with taking his family, as he had piously done every Sunday, to cry "Vive le Roi"

in the hall of the Tuileries when the royal family passed through on their way to chapel; he craved the favor

of a private audience. The audience, at once granted, was in no sense private. The royal drawingroom was

full of old adherents, whose powdered heads, seen from above, suggested a carpet of snow. There the Count

met some old friends, who received him somewhat coldly; but the princes he thought ADORABLE, an

enthusiastic expression which escaped him when the most gracious of his masters, to whom the Count had

supposed himself to be known only by name, came to shake hands with him, and spoke of him as the most

thorough Vendeen of them all. Notwithstanding this ovation, none of these august persons thought of

inquiring as to the sum of his losses, or of the money he had poured so generously into the chests of the

Catholic regiments. He discovered, a little late, that he had made war at his own cost. Towards the end of the

evening he thought he might venture on a witty allusion to the state of his affairs, similar, as it was, to that of

many other gentlemen. His Majesty laughed heartily enough; any speech that bore the hallmark of wit was

certain to please him; but he nevertheless replied with one of those royal pleasantries whose sweetness is

more formidable than the anger of a rebuke. One of the King's most intimate advisers took an opportunity of

going up to the fortuneseeking Vendeen, and made him understand by a keen and polite hint that the time

had not yet come for settling accounts with the sovereign; that there were bills of much longer standing than

his on the books, and there, no doubt, they would remain, as part of the history of the Revolution. The Count

prudently withdrew from the venerable group, which formed a respectful semicircle before the august

family; then, having extricated his sword, not without some difficulty, from among the lean legs which had

got mixed up with it, he crossed the courtyard of the Tuileries and got into the hackney cab he had left on the

quay. With the restive spirit, which is peculiar to the nobility of the old school, in whom still survives the

memory of the League and the day of the Barricades (in 1588), he bewailed himself in his cab, loudly enough

to compromise him, over the change that had come over the Court. "Formerly," he said to himself, "every one

could speak freely to the King of his own little affairs; the nobles could ask him a favor, or for money, when

it suited them, and nowadays one cannot recover the money advanced for his service without raising a

scandal! By Heaven! the cross of SaintLouis and the rank of brigadiergeneral will not make good the three

hundred thousand livres I have spent, out and out, on the royal cause. I must speak to the King, face to face,

This scene cooled Monsieur de Fontaine's ardor all the more effectually because his requests for an interview

were never answered. And, indeed, he saw the upstarts of the Empire obtaining some of the offices reserved,

"All is lost!" he exclaimed one morning. "The King has certainly never been other than a revolutionary. But

for Monsieur, who never derogates, and is some comfort to his faithful adherents, I do not know what hands

the crown of France might not fall into if things are to go on like this. Their cursed constitutional system is

the worst possible government, and can never suit France. Louis XVIII. and Monsieur Beugnot spoiled

The Count, in despair, was preparing to retire to his estate, abandoning, with dignity, all claims to repayment.

At this moment the events of the 20th March (1815) gave warning of a fresh storm, threatening to overwhelm

the legitimate monarch and his defenders. Monsieur de Fontaine, like one of those generous souls who do not

dismiss a servant in a torrent of rain; borrowed on his lands to follow the routed monarchy, without knowing

whether this complicity in emigration would prove more propitious to him than his past devotion. But when

he perceived that the companions of the King's exile were in higher favor than the brave men who had

protested, sword in hand, against the establishment of the republic, he may perhaps have hoped to derive

greater profit from this journey into a foreign land than from active and dangerous service in the heart of his

own country. Nor was his courtierlike calculation one of these rash speculations which promise splendid

results on paper, and are ruinous in effect. He was to quote the wittiest and most successful of our

diplomatesone of the faithful five hundred who shared the exile of the Court at Ghent, and one of the fifty

thousand who returned with it. During the short banishment of royalty, Monsieur de Fontaine was so happy

as to be employed by Louis XVIII., and found more than one opportunity of giving him proofs of great

political honesty and sincere attachment. One evening, when the King had nothing better to do, he recalled

Monsieur de Fontaine's witticism at the Tuileries. The old Vendeen did not let such a happy chance slip; he

told his history with so much vivacity that a king, who never forgot anything, might remember it at a

convenient season. The royal amateur of literature also observed the elegant style given to some notes which

the discreet gentleman had been invited to recast. This little success stamped Monsieur de Fontaine on the

At the second restoration the Count was one of those special envoys who were sent throughout the

departments charged with absolute jurisdiction over the leaders of revolt; but he used his terrible powers with

moderation. As soon as the temporary commission was ended, the High Provost found a seat in the Privy

Council, became a deputy, spoke little, listened much, and changed his opinions very considerably. Certain

circumstances, unknown to historians, brought him into such intimate relations with the Sovereign, that one

day, as he came in, the shrewd monarch addressed him thus: "My friend Fontaine, I shall take care never to

appoint you to be director general, or minister. Neither you nor I, as employes, could keep our place on

account of our opinions. Representative government has this advantage; it saves Us the trouble We used to

have, of dismissing Our Secretaries of State. Our Council is a perfect innparlor, whither public opinion

sometimes sends strange travelers; however, We can always find a place for Our faithful adherents."

This ironical speech was introductory to a rescript giving Monsieur de Fontaine an appointment as

administrator in the office of Crown lands. As a consequence of the intelligent attention with which he

listened to his royal Friend's sarcasms, his name always rose to His Majesty's lips when a commission was to

be appointed of which the members were to receive a handsome salary. He had the good sense to hold his

tongue about the favor with which he was honored, and knew how to entertain the monarch in those familiar

chats in which Louis XVIII. delighted as much as in a wellwritten note, by his brilliant manner of repeating

political anecdotes, and the political or parliamentary tittletattle if the expression may passwhich at

that time was rife. It is well known that he was immensely amused by every detail of his

Thanks to the Comte de Fontaine's good sense, wit, and tact, every member of his numerous family, however

young, ended, as he jestingly told his Sovereign, in attaching himself like a silkworm to the leaves of the

PayList. Thus, by the King's intervention, his eldest son found a high and fixed position as a lawyer. The

second, before the restoration a mere captain, was appointed to the command of a legion on the return from

Ghent; then, thanks to the confusion of 1815, when the regulations were evaded, he passed into the

bodyguard, returned to a line regiment, and found himself after the affair of the Trocadero a

lieutenantgeneral with a commission in the Guards. The youngest, appointed sousprefet, ere long became a

legal official and director of a municipal board of the city of Paris, where he was safe from changes in

Legislature. These bounties, bestowed without parade, and as secret as the favor enjoyed by the Count, fell

unperceived. Though the father and his three sons each had sinecures enough to enjoy an income in salaries

almost equal to that of a chief of department, their political good fortune excited no envy. In those early days

of the constitutional system, few persons had very precise ideas of the peaceful domain of the civil service,

where astute favorites managed to find an equivalent for the demolished abbeys. Monsieur le Comte de

Fontaine, who till lately boasted that he had not read the Charter, and displayed such indignation at the greed

of courtiers, had, before long, proved to his august master that he understood, as well as the King himself, the

spirit and resources of the representative system. At the same time, notwithstanding the established careers

open to his three sons, and the pecuniary advantages derived from four official appointments, Monsieur de

Fontaine was the head of too large a family to be able to reestablish his fortune easily and rapidly.

His three sons were rich in prospects, in favor, and in talent; but he had three daughters, and was afraid of

wearying the monarch's benevolence. It occurred to him to mention only one by one, these virgins eager to

light their torches. The King had too much good taste to leave his work incomplete. The marriage of the

eldest with a ReceiverGeneral, Planat de Baudry, was arranged by one of those royal speeches which cost

nothing and are worth millions. One evening, when the Sovereign was out of spirits, he smiled on hearing of

the existence of another Demoiselle de Fontaine, for whom he found a husband in the person of a young

magistrate, of inferior birth, no doubt, but wealthy, and whom he created Baron. When, the year after, the

Vendeen spoke of Mademoiselle Emilie de Fontaine, the King replied in his thin sharp tones, "Amicus Plato

sed magis amica Natio." Then, a few days later, he treated his "friend Fontaine" to a quatrain, harmless

enough, which he styled an epigram, in which he made fun of these three daughters so skilfully introduced,

under the form of a trinity. Nay, if report is to be believed, the monarch had found the point of the jest in the

"If your Majesty would only condescend to turn the epigram into an epithalamium?" said the Count, trying to

"Though I see the rhyme of it, I fail to see the reason," retorted the King, who did not relish any pleasantry,

From that day his intercourse with Monsieur de Fontaine showed less amenity. Kings enjoy contradicting

more than people think. Like most youngest children, Emilie de Fontaine was a Benjamin spoilt by almost

everybody. The King's coolness, therefore, caused the Count all the more regret, because no marriage was

ever so difficult to arrange as that of this darling daughter. To understand all the obstacles we must make our

way into the fine residence where the official was housed at the expense of the nation. Emilie had spent her

childhood on the family estate, enjoying the abundance which suffices for the joys of early youth; her lightest

wishes had been law to her sisters, her brothers, her mother, and even her father. All her relations doted on

her. Having come to years of discretion just when her family was loaded with the favors of fortune, the

enchantment of life continued. The luxury of Paris seemed to her just as natural as a wealth of flowers or

fruit, or as the rural plenty which had been the joy of her first years. Just as in her childhood she had never

been thwarted in the satisfaction of her playful desires, so now, at fourteen, she was still obeyed when she

Thus, accustomed by degrees to the enjoyment of money, elegance of dress, of gilded drawingrooms and

fine carriages, became as necessary to her as the compliments of flattery, sincere or false, and the festivities

and vanities of court life. Like most spoiled children, she tyrannized over those who loved her, and kept her

blandishments for those who were indifferent. Her faults grew with her growth, and her parents were to

gather the bitter fruits of this disastrous education. At the age of nineteen Emilie de Fontaine had not yet been

pleased to make a choice from among the many young men whom her father's politics brought to his

entertainments. Though so young, she asserted in society all the freedom of mind that a married woman can

enjoy. Her beauty was so remarkable that, for her, to appear in a room was to be its queen; but, like

sovereigns, she had no friends, though she was everywhere the object of attentions to which a finer nature

than hers might perhaps have succumbed. Not a man, not even an old man, had it in him to contradict the

opinions of a young girl whose lightest look could rekindle love in the coldest heart.

She had been educated with a care which her sisters had not enjoyed; painted pretty well, spoke Italian and

English, and played the piano brilliantly; her voice, trained by the best masters, had a ring in it which made

her singing irresistibly charming. Clever, and intimate with every branch of literature, she might have made

folks believe that, as Mascarille says, people of quality come into the world knowing everything. She could

argue fluently on Italian or Flemish painting, on the Middle Ages or the Renaissance; pronounced at

haphazard on books new or old, and could expose the defects of a work with a cruelly graceful wit. The

simplest thing she said was accepted by an admiring crowd as a fetfah of the Sultan by the Turks. She thus

dazzled shallow persons; as to deeper minds, her natural tact enabled her to discern them, and for them she

put forth so much fascination that, under cover of her charms, she escaped their scrutiny. This enchanting

veneer covered a careless heart; the opinioncommon to many young girlsthat no one else dwelt in a

sphere so lofty as to be able to understand the merits of her soul; and a pride based no less on her birth than

on her beauty. In the absence of the overwhelming sentiment which, sooner or later, works havoc in a

woman's heart, she spent her young ardor in an immoderate love of distinctions, and expressed the deepest

contempt for persons of inferior birth. Supremely impertinent to all newlycreated nobility, she made every

effort to get her parents recognized as equals by the most illustrious families of the SaintGermain quarter.

These sentiments had not escaped the observing eye of Monsieur de Fontaine, who more than once, when his

two elder girls were married, had smarted under Emilie's sarcasm. Logical readers will be surprised to see the

old Royalist bestowing his eldest daughter on a Receiver General, possessed, indeed, of some old hereditary

estates, but whose name was not preceded by the little word to which the throne owed so many partisans, and

his second to a magistrate too lately Baronified to obscure the fact that his father had sold firewood. This

noteworthy change in the ideas of a noble on the verge of his sixtieth yearan age when men rarely

renounce their convictionswas due not merely to his unfortunate residence in the modern Babylon, where,

sooner or later, country folks all get their corners rubbed down; the Comte de Fontaine's new political

conscience was also a result of the King's advice and friendship. The philosophical prince had taken pleasure

in converting the Vendeen to the ideas required by the advance of the nineteenth century, and the new aspect

of the Monarchy. Louis XVIII. aimed at fusing parties as Napoleon had fused things and men. The legitimate

King, who was not less clever perhaps than his rival, acted in a contrary direction. The last head of the House

of Bourbon was just as eager to satisfy the third estate and the creations of the Empire, by curbing the clergy,

as the first of the Napoleons had been to attract the grand old nobility, or to endow the Church. The Privy

Councillor, being in the secret of these royal projects, had insensibly become one of the most prudent and

influential leaders of that moderate party which most desired a fusion of opinion in the interests of the nation.

He preached the expensive doctrines of constitutional government, and lent all his weight to encourage the

political seesaw which enabled his master to rule France in the midst of storms. Perhaps Monsieur de

Fontaine hoped that one of the sudden gusts of legislation, whose unexpected efforts then startled the oldest

politicians, might carry him up to the rank of peer. One of his most rigid principles was to recognize no

nobility in France but that of the peeragethe only families that might enjoy any privileges.

As far from Lafayette's party as he was from La Bourdonnaye's, he ardently engaged in the task of general

reconciliation, which was to result in a new era and splendid fortunes for France. He strove to convince the

families who frequented his drawingroom, or those whom he visited, how few favorable openings would

henceforth be offered by a civil or military career. He urged mothers to give their boys a start in independent

and industrial professions, explaining that military posts and high Government appointments must at last

pertain, in a quite constitutional order, to the younger sons of members of the peerage. According to him, the

people had conquered a sufficiently large share in practical government by its elective assembly, its

appointments to lawoffices, and those of the exchequer, which, said he, would always, as heretofore, be the

These new notions of the head of the Fontaines, and the prudent matches for his eldest girls to which they had

led, met with strong resistance in the bosom of his family. The Comtesse de Fontaine remained faithful to the

ancient beliefs which no woman could disown, who, through her mother, belonged to the Rohans. Although

she had for a while opposed the happiness and fortune awaiting her two eldest girls, she yielded to those

private considerations which husband and wife confide to each other when their heads are resting on the same

pillow. Monsieur de Fontaine calmly pointed out to his wife, by exact arithmetic that their residence in Paris,

the necessity for entertaining, the magnificence of the house which made up to them now for the privations so

bravely shared in La Vendee, and the expenses of their sons, swallowed up the chief part of their income

from salaries. They must therefore seize, as a boon from heaven, the opportunities which offered for settling

their girls with such wealth. Would they not some day enjoy sixtyeightya hundred thousand francs a

year? Such advantageous matches were not to be met with every day for girls without a portion. Again, it was

time that they should begin to think of economizing, to add to the estate of Fontaine, and reestablish the old

territorial fortune of the family. The Countess yielded to such cogent arguments, as every mother would have

done in her place, though perhaps with a better grace; but she declared that Emilie, at any rate, should marry

in such a way as to satisfy the pride she had unfortunately contributed to foster in the girl's young soul.

Thus events, which ought to have brought joy into the family, had introduced a small leaven of discord. The

ReceiverGeneral and the young lawyer were the objects of a ceremonious formality which the Countess and

Emilie contrived to create. This etiquette soon found even ampler opportunity for the display of domestic

tyranny; for LieutenantGeneral de Fontaine married Mademoiselle Mongenod, the daughter of a rich

banker; the President very sensibly found a wife in a young lady whose father, twice or thrice a millionaire,

had traded in salt; and the third brother, faithful to his plebeian doctrines, married Mademoiselle Grossetete,

the only daughter of the Receiver General at Bourges. The three sistersinlaw and the two brothersin

law found the high sphere of political bigwigs, and the drawingrooms of the Faubourg SaintGermain, so

full of charm and of personal advantages, that they united in forming a little court round the overbearing

Emilie. This treaty between interest and pride was not, however, so firmly cemented but that the young

despot was, not unfrequently, the cause of revolts in her little realm. Scenes, which the highest circles would

not have disowned, kept up a sarcastic temper among all the members of this powerful family; and this,

without seriously diminishing the regard they professed in public, degenerated sometimes in private into

sentiments far from charitable. Thus the LieutenantGeneral's wife, having become a Baronne, thought

herself quite as noble as a Kergarouet, and imagined that her good hundred thousand francs a year gave her

the right to be as impertinent as her sisterinlaw Emilie, whom she would sometimes wish to see happily

married, as she announced that the daughter of some peer of France had married Monsieur SoandSo with

no title to his name. The Vicomtesse de Fontaine amused herself by eclipsing Emilie in the taste and

magnificence that were conspicuous in her dress, her furniture, and her carriages. The satirical spirit in which

her brothers and sisters sometimes received the claims avowed by Mademoiselle de Fontaine roused her to

wrath that a perfect hailstorm of sharp sayings could hardly mitigate. So when the head of the family felt a

slight chill in the King's tacit and precarious friendship, he trembled all the more because, as a result of her

In the midst of these circumstances, and at a moment when this petty domestic warfare had become serious,

the monarch, whose favor Monsieur de Fontaine still hoped to regain, was attacked by the malady of which

he was to die. The great political chief, who knew so well how to steer his bark in the midst of tempests, soon

succumbed. Certain then of favors to come, the Comte de Fontaine made every effort to collect the elite of

marrying men about his youngest daughter. Those who may have tried to solve the difficult problem of

settling a haughty and capricious girl, will understand the trouble taken by the unlucky father. Such an affair,

carried out to the liking of his beloved child, would worthily crown the career the Count had followed for

these ten years at Paris. From the way in which his family claimed salaries under every department, it might

be compared with the House of Austria, which, by intermarriage, threatens to pervade Europe. The old

Vendeen was not to be discouraged in bringing forward suitors, so much had he his daughter's happiness at

heart, but nothing could be more absurd than the way in which the impertinent young thing pronounced her

verdicts and judged the merits of her adorers. It might have been supposed that, like a princess in the Arabian

Nights, Emilie was rich enough and beautiful enough to choose from among all the princes in the world. Her

objections were each more preposterous than the last: one had too thick knees and was bowlegged, another

was shortsighted, this one's name was Durand, that one limped, and almost all were too fat. Livelier, more

attractive, and gayer than ever after dismissing two or three suitors, she rushed into the festivities of the

winter season, and to balls, where her keen eyes criticised the celebrities of the day, delighted in encouraging

Nature had bestowed on her all the advantages needed for playing the part of Celimene. Tall and slight,

Emilie de Fontaine could assume a dignified or a frolicsome mien at her will. Her neck was rather long,

allowing her to affect beautiful attitudes of scorn and impertinence. She had cultivated a large variety of those

turns of the head and feminine gestures, which emphasize so cruelly or so happily a hint of a smile. Fine

black hair, thick and stronglyarched eyebrows, lent her countenance an expression of pride, to which her

coquettish instincts and her mirror had taught her to add terror by a stare, or gentleness by the softness of her

gaze, by the set of the gracious curve of her lips, by the coldness or the sweetness of her smile. When Emilie

meant to conquer a heart, her pure voice did not lack melody; but she could also give it a sort of curt

clearness when she was minded to paralyze a partner's indiscreet tongue. Her colorless face and alabaster

brow were like the limpid surface of a lake, which by turns is rippled by the impulse of a breeze and recovers

its glad serenity when the air is still. More than one young man, a victim to her scorn, accused her of acting a

part; but she justified herself by inspiring her detractors with the desire to please her, and then subjecting

them to all her most contemptuous caprice. Among the young girls of fashion, not one knew better than she

how to assume an air of reserve when a man of talent was introduced to her, or how to display the insulting

politeness which treats an equal as an inferior, and to pour out her impertinence on all who tried to hold their

heads on a level with hers. Wherever she went she seemed to be accepting homage rather than compliments,

and even in a princess her airs and manner would have transformed the chair on which she sat into an

Monsieur de Fontaine discovered too late how utterly the education of the daughter he loved had been ruined

by the tender devotion of the whole family. The admiration which the world is at first ready to bestow on a

young girl, but for which, sooner or later, it takes its revenge, had added to Emilie's pride, and increased her

self confidence. Universal subservience had developed in her the selfishness natural to spoilt children, who,

like kings, make a plaything of everything that comes to hand. As yet the graces of youth and the charms of

talent hid these faults from every eye; faults all the more odious in a woman, since she can only please by

self sacrifice and unselfishness; but nothing escapes the eye of a good father, and Monsieur de Fontaine

often tried to explain to his daughter the more important pages of the mysterious book of life. Vain effort! He

had to lament his daughter's capricious indocility and ironical shrewdness too often to persevere in a task so

difficult as that of correcting an illdisposed nature. He contented himself with giving her from time to time

some gentle and kind advice; but he had the sorrow of seeing his tenderest words slide from his daughter's

heart as if it were of marble. A father's eyes are slow to be unsealed, and it needed more than one experience

before the old Royalist perceived that his daughter's rare caresses were bestowed on him with an air of

condescension. She was like young children, who seem to say to their mother, "Make haste to kiss me, that I

may go to play." In short, Emilie vouchsafed to be fond of her parents. But often, by those sudden whims,

which seem inexplicable in young girls, she kept aloof and scarcely ever appeared; she complained of having

to share her father's and mother's heart with too many people; she was jealous of every one, even of her

brothers and sisters. Then, after creating a desert about her, the strange girl accused all nature of her unreal

solitude and her wilful griefs. Strong in the experience of her twenty years, she blamed fate, because, not

knowing that the mainspring of happiness is in ourselves, she demanded it of the circumstances of life. She

would have fled to the ends of the earth to escape a marriage such as those of her two sisters, and

nevertheless her heart was full of horrible jealousy at seeing them married, rich, and happy. In short, she

sometimes led her motherwho was as much a victim to her vagaries as Monsieur de Fontaineto suspect

But such aberrations are quite inexplicable; nothing is commoner than this unconfessed pride developed in

the heart of young girls belonging to families high in the social scale, and gifted by nature with great beauty.

They are almost all convinced that their mothers, now forty or fifty years of age, can neither sympathize with

their young souls, nor conceive of their imaginings. They fancy that most mothers, jealous of their girls, want

to dress them in their own way with the premeditated purpose of eclipsing them or robbing them of

admiration. Hence, often, secret tears and dumb revolt against supposed tyranny. In the midst of these woes,

which become very real though built on an imaginary basis, they have also a mania for composing a scheme

of life, while casting for themselves a brilliant horoscope; their magic consists in taking their dreams for

reality; secretly, in their long meditations, they resolve to give their heart and hand to none but the man

possessing this or the other qualification; and they paint in fancy a model to which, whether or no, the future

lover must correspond. After some little experience of life, and the serious reflections that come with years,

by dint of seeing the world and its prosaic round, by dint of observing unhappy examples, the brilliant hues of

their ideal are extinguished. Then, one fine day, in the course of events, they are quite astonished to find

themselves happy without the nuptial poetry of their daydreams. It was on the strength of that poetry that

Mademoiselle Emilie de Fontaine, in her slender wisdom, had drawn up a programme to which a suitor must

"Though young and of an ancient family, he must be a peer of France," said she to herself. "I could not bear

not to see my coatofarms on the panels of my carriage among the folds of azure mantling, not to drive like

the princes down the broad walk of the ChampsElysees on the days of Longchamps in Holy Week. Besides,

my father says that it will someday be the highest dignity in France. He must be a soldier but I reserve the

right of making him retire; and he must bear an Order, that the sentries may present arms to us."

And these rare qualifications would count for nothing if this creature of fancy had not the most amiable

temper, a fine figure, intelligence, and, above all, if he were not slender. To be lean, a personal grace which is

but fugitive, especially under a representative government, was an indispensable condition. Mademoiselle de

Fontaine had an ideal standard which was to be the model. A young man who at the first glance did not fulfil

"Good Heavens! see how fat he is!" was with her the utmost expression of contempt.

To hear her, people of respectable corpulence were incapable of sentiment, bad husbands, and unfit for

civilized society. Though it is esteemed a beauty in the East, to be fat seemed to her a misfortune for a

woman; but in a man it was a crime. These paradoxical views were amusing, thanks to a certain liveliness of

rhetoric. The Count felt nevertheless that byandby his daughter's affections, of which the absurdity would

be evident to some women who were not less clear sighted than merciless, would inevitably become a

subject of constant ridicule. He feared lest her eccentric notions should deviate into bad style. He trembled to

think that the pitiless world might already be laughing at a young woman who remained so long on the stage

without arriving at any conclusion of the drama she was playing. More than one actor in it, disgusted by a

refusal, seemed to be waiting for the slightest turn of illluck to take his revenge. The indifferent, the

lookerson were beginning to weary of it; admiration is always exhausting to human beings. The old

Vendeen knew better than any one that if there is an art in choosing the right moment for coming forward on

the boards of the world, on those of the Court, in a drawingroom or on the stage, it is still more difficult to

quit them in the nick of time. So during the first winter after the accession of Charles X., he redoubled his

efforts, seconded by his three sons and his sonsinlaw, to assemble in the rooms of his official residence the

best matches which Paris and the various deputations from departments could offer. The splendor of his

entertainments, the luxury of his diningroom, and his dinners, fragrant with truffles, rivaled the famous

banquets by which the ministers of that time secured the vote of their parliamentary recruits.

The Honorable Deputy was consequently pointed at as a most influential corrupter of the legislative honesty

of the illustrious Chamber that was dying as it would seem of indigestion. A whimsical result! his efforts to

get his daughter married secured him a splendid popularity. He perhaps found some covert advantage in

selling his truffles twice over. This accusation, started by certain mocking Liberals, who made up by their

flow of words for their small following in the Chamber, was not a success. The Poitevin gentleman had

always been so noble and so honorable, that he was not once the object of those epigrams which the

malicious journalism of the day hurled at the three hundred votes of the centre, at the Ministers, the cooks,

the DirectorsGeneral, the princely Amphitryons, and the official supporters of the Villele Ministry.

At the close of this campaign, during which Monsieur de Fontaine had on several occasions brought out all

his forces, he believed that this time the procession of suitors would not be a mere dissolving view in his

daughter's eyes; that it was time she should make up her mind. He felt a certain inward satisfaction at having

well fulfilled his duty as a father. And having left no stone unturned, he hoped that, among so many hearts

laid at Emilie's feet, there might be one to which her caprice might give a preference. Incapable of repeating

such an effort, and tired, too, of his daughter's conduct, one morning, towards the end of Lent, when the

business at the Chamber did not demand his vote, he determined to ask what her views were. While his valet

was artistically decorating his bald yellow head with the delta of powder which, with the hanging "ailes de

pigeon," completed his venerable style of hairdressing, Emilie's father, not without some secret misgivings,

told his old servant to go and desire the haughty damsel to appear in the presence of the head of the family.

"Joseph," he added, when his hair was dressed, "take away that towel, draw back the curtains, put those chairs

square, shake the rug, and lay it quite straight. Dust everything.Now, air the room a little by opening the

The Count multiplied his orders, putting Joseph out of breath, and the old servant, understanding his master's

intentions, aired and tidied the room, of course the least cared for of any in the house, and succeeded in

giving a look of harmony to the files of bills, the letterboxes, the books and furniture of this sanctum, where

the interests of the royal demesnes were debated over. When Joseph had reduced this chaos to some sort of

order, and brought to the front such things as might be most pleasing to the eye, as if it were a shop front, or

such as by their color might give the effect of a kind of official poetry, he stood for a minute in the midst of

the labyrinth of papers piled in some places even on the floor, admired his handiwork, jerked his head, and

The anxious sinecureholder did not share his retainer's favorable opinion. Before seating himself in his deep

chair, whose rounded back screened him from draughts, he looked round him doubtfully, examined his

dressinggown with a hostile expression, shook off a few grains of snuff, carefully wiped his nose, arranged

the tongs and shovel, made the fire, pulled up the heels of his slippers, pulled out his little queue of hair

which had lodged horizontally between the collar of his waistcoat and that of his dressinggown restoring it

to its perpendicular position; then he swept up the ashes of the hearth, which bore witness to a persistent

catarrh. Finally, the old man did not settle himself till he had once more looked all over the room, hoping that

nothing could give occasion to the saucy and impertinent remarks with which his daughter was apt to answer

his good advice. On this occasion he was anxious not to compromise his dignity as a father. He daintily took

a pinch of snuff, cleared his throat two or three times, as if he were about to demand a count out of the House;

then he heard his daughter's light step, and she came in humming an air from Il Barbiere.

"Goodmorning, papa. What do you want with me so early?" Having sung these words, as though they were

the refrain of the melody, she kissed the Count, not with the familiar tenderness which makes a daughter's

love so sweet a thing, but with the light carelessness of a mistress confident of pleasing, whatever she may

"My dear child," said Monsieur de Fontaine, gravely, "I sent for you to talk to you very seriously about your

future prospects. You are at this moment under the necessity of making such a choice of a husband as may

"My good father," replied Emilie, assuming her most coaxing tone of voice to interrupt him, "it strikes me

"Emilie, we must today forbear from jesting on so important a matter. For some time past the efforts of

those who most truly love you, my dear child, have been concentrated on the endeavor to settle you suitably;

and you would be guilty of ingratitude in meeting with levity those proofs of kindness which I am not alone

As she heard these words, after flashing a mischievously inquisitive look at the furniture of her father's study,

the young girl brought forward the armchair which looked as if it had been least used by petitioners, set it at

the side of the fireplace so as to sit facing her father, and settled herself in so solemn an attitude that it was

impossible not to read in it a mocking intention, crossing her arms over the dainty trimmings of a pelerine a

la neige, and ruthlessly crushing its endless frills of white tulle. After a laughing side glance at her old father's

"I never heard you say, my dear father, that the Government issued its instructions in its dressinggown.

However," and she smiled, "that does not matter; the mob are probably not particular. Now, what are your

"I shall not always be able to make them, headstrong girl!Listen, Emilie. It is my intention no longer to

compromise my reputation, which is part of my children's fortune, by recruiting the regiment of dancers

which, spring after spring, you put to rout. You have already been the cause of many dangerous

misunderstandings with certain families. I hope to make you perceive more truly the difficulties of your

position and of ours. You are twoandtwenty, my dear child, and you ought to have been married nearly

three years since. Your brothers and your two sisters are richly and happily provided for. But, my dear, the

expenses occasioned by these marriages, and the style of housekeeping you require of your mother, have

made such inroads on our income that I can hardly promise you a hundred thousand francs as a marriage

portion. From this day forth I shall think only of providing for your mother, who must not be sacrificed to her

children. Emilie, if I were to be taken from my family Madame de Fontaine could not be left at anybody's

mercy, and ought to enjoy the affluence which I have given her too late as the reward of her devotion in my

misfortunes. You see, my child, that the amount of your fortune bears no relation to your notions of grandeur.

Even that would be such a sacrifice as I have not hitherto made for either of my children; but they have

generously agreed not to expect in the future any compensation for the advantage thus given to a too favored

"My dear, do not so depreciate those who love you. Only the poor are generous as a rule; the rich have

always excellent reasons for not handing over twenty thousand francs to a relation. Come, my child, do not

pout, let us talk rationally.Among the young marrying men have you noticed Monsieur de Manerville?"

"Oh, he minces his wordshe says Zules instead of Jules; he is always looking at his feet, because he thinks

them small, and he gazes at himself in the glass! Besides, he is fair. I don't like fair men."

"He is not noble! he is ill made and stout. He is dark, it is true. If the two gentlemen could agree to

combine their fortunes, and the first would give his name and his figure to the second, who should keep his

"A mere boy, who dances badly; besides, he has no fortune. And, after all, papa, none of these people have

But he suddenly lifted his eyes to heaven, and seemed to find a fresh fount of resignation in some religious

thought; then, with a look of fatherly pity at his daughter, who herself was moved, he took her hand, pressed

it, and said with deep feeling: "God is my witness, poor mistaken child, I have conscientiously discharged my

duty to you as a fatherconscientiously, do I say? Most lovingly, my Emilie. Yes, God knows! This winter I

have brought before you more than one good man, whose character, whose habits, and whose temper were

known to me, and all seemed worthy of you. My child, my task is done. From this day forth you are the

arbiter of your fate, and I consider myself both happy and unhappy at finding myself relieved of the heaviest

of paternal functions. I know not whether you will for any long time, now, hear a voice which, to you, has

never been stern; but remember that conjugal happiness does not rest so much on brilliant qualities and ample

fortune as on reciprocal esteem. This happiness is, in its nature, modest, and devoid of show. So now, my

dear, my consent is given beforehand, whoever the soninlaw may be whom you introduce to me; but if you

should be unhappy, remember you will have no right to accuse your father. I shall not refuse to take proper

steps and help you, only your choice must be serious and final. I will never twice compromise the respect due

The affection thus expressed by her father, the solemn tones of his urgent address, deeply touched

Mademoiselle de Fontaine; but she concealed her emotion, seated herself on her father's kneesfor he had

dropped all tremulous into his chair againcaressed him fondly, and coaxed him so engagingly that the old

man's brow cleared. As soon as Emilie thought that her father had got over his painful agitation, she said in a

gentle voice: "I have to thank you for your graceful attention, my dear father. You have had your room set in

order to receive your beloved daughter. You did not perhaps know that you would find her so foolish and so

headstrong. But, papa, is it so difficult to get married to a peer of France? You declared that they were

"No, my poor child, no;and more than once I may have occasion to cry, 'Beware!' Remember that the

making of peers is so recent a force in our government machinery that they have no great fortunes. Those

who are rich look to becoming richer. The wealthiest member of our peerage has not half the income of the

least rich lord in the English Upper Chamber. Thus all the French peers are on the lookout for great heiresses

for their sons, wherever they may meet with them. The necessity in which they find themselves of marrying

"Pending such a fortunate accident as you long forand this fastidiousness may cost you the best years of

your lifeyour attractions might work a miracle, for men often marry for love in these days. When

experience lurks behind so sweet a face as yours it may achieve wonders. In the first place, have you not the

gift of recognizing virtue in the greater or smaller dimensions of a man's body? This is no small matter! To so

wise a young person as you are, I need not enlarge on all the difficulties of the enterprise. I am sure that you

would never attribute good sense to a stranger because he had a handsome face, or all the virtues because he

had a fine figure. And I am quite of your mind in thinking that the sons of peers ought to have an air peculiar

to themselves, and perfectly distinctive manners. Though nowadays no external sign stamps a man of rank,

those young men will have, perhaps, to you the indefinable something that will reveal it. Then, again, you

have your heart well in hand, like a good horseman who is sure his steed cannot bolt. Luck be with you, my

"You are making game of me, papa. Well, I assure you that I would rather die in Mademoiselle de Conde's

She slipped out of her father's arms, and proud of being her own mistress, went off singing the air of Cara

As it happened, the family were that day keeping the anniversary of a family fete. At dessert Madame Planat,

the ReceiverGeneral's wife, spoke with some enthusiasm of a young American owning an immense fortune,

who had fallen passionately in love with her sister, and made through her the most splendid proposals.

"A banker, I rather think," observed Emilie carelessly. "I do not like money dealers."

"But, Emilie," replied the Baron de Villaine, the husband of the Count's second daughter, "you do not like

lawyers either; so that if you refuse men of wealth who have not titles, I do not quite see in what class you are

"Especially, Emilie, with your standard of slimness," added the LieutenantGeneral.

"My sister wants a fine name, a fine young man, fine prospects, and a hundred thousand francs a year," said

"I know, my dear," retorted Emilie, "that I do not mean to make such a foolish marriage as some I have seen.

Moreover, to put an end to these matrimonial discussions, I hereby declare that I shall look on anyone who

An uncle of Emilie's, a viceadmiral, whose fortune had just been increased by twenty thousand francs a year

in consequence of the Act of Indemnity, and a man of seventy, feeling himself privileged to say hard things to

his grandniece, on whom he doted, in order to mollify the bitter tone of the discussion now exclaimed:

"Do not tease my poor little Emilie; don't you see she is waiting till the Duc de Bordeaux comes of age!"

"Take care I don't marry you, old fool!" replied the young girl, whose last words were happily drowned in the

"My dear children," said Madame de Fontaine, to soften this saucy retort, "Emilie, like you, will take no

"Bless me! I shall take no advice but my own in a matter which concerns no one but myself," said

At this all eyes were turned to the head of the family. Every one seemed anxious as to what he would do to

assert his dignity. The venerable gentleman enjoyed much consideration, not only in the world; happier than

many fathers, he was also appreciated by his family, all its members having a just esteem for the solid

qualities by which he had been able to make their fortunes. Hence he was treated with the deep respect which

is shown by English families, and some aristocratic houses on the continent, to the living representatives of

an ancient pedigree. Deep silence had fallen; and the guests looked alternately from the spoilt girl's proud and

"I have made my daughter Emilie mistress of her own fate," was the reply spoken by the Count in a deep

Relations and guests gazed at Mademoiselle de Fontaine with mingled curiosity and pity. The words seemed

to declare that fatherly affection was weary of the contest with a character that the whole family knew to be

incorrigible. The sonsinlaw muttered, and the brothers glanced at their wives with mocking smiles. From

that moment every one ceased to take any interest in the haughty girl's prospects of marriage. Her old uncle

was the only person who, as an old sailor, ventured to stand on her tack, and take her broadsides, without ever

When the fine weather was settled, and after the budget was voted, the whole familya perfect example of

the parliamentary families on the northern side of the Channel who have a footing in every government

department, and ten votes in the House of Commonsflew away like a brood of young birds to the charming

neighborhoods of Aulnay, Antony, and Chatenay. The wealthy ReceiverGeneral had lately purchased in this

part of the world a countryhouse for his wife, who remained in Paris only during the session. Though the

fair Emilie despised the commonalty, her feeling was not carried so far as to scorn the advantages of a fortune

acquired in a profession; so she accompanied her sister to the sumptuous villa, less out of affection for the

members of her family who were visiting there, than because fashion has ordained that every woman who has

any selfrespect must leave Paris in the summer. The green seclusion of Sceaux answered to perfection the

As it is extremely doubtful that the fame of the "Bal de Sceaux" should ever have extended beyond the

borders of the Department of the Seine, it will be necessary to give some account of this weekly festivity,

which at that time was important enough to threaten to become an institution. The environs of the little town

of Sceaux enjoy a reputation due to the scenery, which is considered enchanting. Perhaps it is quite ordinary,

and owes its fame only to the stupidity of the Paris townsfolk, who, emerging from the stony abyss in which

they are buried, would find something to admire in the flats of La Beauce. However, as the poetic shades of

Aulnay, the hillsides of Antony, and the valley of the Bieve are peopled with artists who have traveled far, by

foreigners who are very hard to please, and by a great many pretty women not devoid of taste, it is to be

supposed that the Parisians are right. But Sceaux possesses another attraction not less powerful to the

Parisian. In the midst of a garden whence there are delightful views, stands a large rotunda open on all sides,

with a light, spreading roof supported on elegant pillars. This rural baldachino shelters a dancingfloor. The

most stuckup landowners of the neighborhood rarely fail to make an excursion thither once or twice during

the season, arriving at this rustic palace of Terpsichore either in dashing parties on horseback, or in the light

and elegant carriages which powder the philosophical pedestrian with dust. The hope of meeting some

women of fashion, and of being seen by themand the hope, less often disappointed, of seeing young

peasant girls, as wily as judgescrowds the ballroom at Sceaux with numerous swarms of lawyers' clerks, of

the disciples of Aesculapius, and other youths whose complexions are kept pale and moist by the damp

atmosphere of Paris backshops. And a good many bourgeois marriages have had their beginning to the

sound of the band occupying the centre of this circular ballroom. If that roof could speak, what lovestories

This interesting medley gave the Sceaux balls at that time a spice of more amusement than those of two or

three places of the same kind near Paris; and it had incontestable advantages in its rotunda, and the beauty of

its situation and its gardens. Emilie was the first to express a wish to play at being COMMON FOLK at this

gleeful suburban entertainment, and promised herself immense pleasure in mingling with the crowd.

Everybody wondered at her desire to wander through such a mob; but is there not a keen pleasure to grand

people in an incognito? Mademoiselle de Fontaine amused herself with imagining all these town bred

figures; she fancied herself leaving the memory of a bewitching glance and smile stamped on more than one

shopkeeper's heart, laughed beforehand at the damsels' airs, and sharpened her pencils for the scenes she

proposed to sketch in her satirical album. Sunday could not come soon enough to satisfy her impatience.

The party from the Villa Planat set out on foot, so as not to betray the rank of the personages who were about

to honor the ball with their presence. They dined early. And the month of May humored this aristocratic

escapade by one of its finest evenings. Mademoiselle de Fontaine was quite surprised to find in the rotunda

some quadrilles made up of persons who seemed to belong to the upper classes. Here and there, indeed, were

some young men who look as though they must have saved for a month to shine for a day; and she perceived

several couples whose too hearty glee suggested nothing conjugal; still, she could only glean instead of

gathering a harvest. She was amused to see that pleasure in a cotton dress was so very like pleasure robed in

satin, and that the girls of the middle class danced quite as well as ladiesnay, sometimes better. Most of the

women were simply and suitably dressed. Those who in this assembly represented the ruling power, that is to

say, the countryfolk, kept apart with wonderful politeness. In fact, Mademoiselle Emilie had to study the

various elements that composed the mixture before she could find any subject for pleasantry. But she had not

time to give herself up to malicious criticism, or opportunity for hearing many of the startling speeches which

caricaturists so gladly pick up. The haughty young lady suddenly found a flower in this wide fieldthe

metaphor is reasonablewhose splendor and coloring worked on her imagination with all the fascination of

novelty. It often happens that we look at a dress, a hanging, a blank sheet of paper, with so little heed that we

do not at first detect a stain or a bright spot which afterwards strikes the eye as though it had come there at the

very instant when we see it; and by a sort of moral phenomenon somewhat resembling this, Mademoiselle de

Fontaine discovered in a young man the external perfection of which she had so long dreamed.

Seated on one of the clumsy chairs which marked the boundary line of the circular floor, she had placed

herself at the end of the row formed by the family party, so as to be able to stand up or push forward as her

fancy moved her, treating the living pictures and groups in the hall as if she were in a picture gallery;

impertinently turning her eyeglass on persons not two yards away, and making her remarks as though she

were criticising or praising a study of a head, a painting of genre. Her eyes, after wandering over the vast

moving picture, were suddenly caught by this figure, which seemed to have been placed on purpose in one

corner of the canvas, and in the best light, like a person out of all proportion with the rest.

The stranger, alone and absorbed in thought, leaned lightly against one of the columns that supported the

roof; his arms were folded, and he leaned slightly on one side as though he had placed himself there to have

his portrait taken by a painter. His attitude, though full of elegance and dignity, was devoid of affectation.

Nothing suggested that he had half turned his head, and bent it a little to the right like Alexander, or Lord

Byron, and some other great men, for the sole purpose of attracting attention. His fixed gaze followed a girl

who was dancing, and betrayed some strong feeling. His slender, easy frame recalled the noble proportions of

the Apollo. Fine black hair curled naturally over a high forehead. At a glance Mademoiselle de Fontaine

observed that his linen was fine, his gloves fresh, and evidently bought of a good maker, and his feet were

small and well shod in boots of Irish kid. He had none of the vulgar trinkets displayed by the dandies of the

National Guard or the Lovelaces of the countinghouse. A black ribbon, to which an eyeglass was attached,

hung over a waistcoat of the most fashionable cut. Never had the fastidious Emilie seen a man's eyes shaded

by such long, curled lashes. Melancholy and passion were expressed in this face, and the complexion was of a

manly olive hue. His mouth seemed ready to smile, unbending the corners of eloquent lips; but this, far from

hinting at gaiety, revealed on the contrary a sort of pathetic grace. There was too much promise in that head,

too much distinction in his whole person, to allow of one's saying, "What a handsome man!" or "What a fine

man!" One wanted to know him. The most clearsighted observer, on seeing this stranger, could not have

helped taking him for a clever man attracted to this rural festivity by some powerful motive.

All these observations cost Emilie only a minute's attention, during which the privileged gentleman under her

severe scrutiny became the object of her secret admiration. She did not say to herself, "He must be a peer of

France!" but "Oh, if only he is noble, and he surely must be" Without finishing her thought, she

suddenly rose, and followed by her brother the General, she made her way towards the column, affecting to

watch the merry quadrille; but by a stratagem of the eye, familiar to women, she lost not a gesture of the

young man as she went towards him. The stranger politely moved to make way for the newcomers, and went

to lean against another pillar. Emilie, as much nettled by his politeness as she might have been by an

impertinence, began talking to her brother in a louder voice than good taste enjoined; she turned and tossed

her head, gesticulated eagerly, and laughed for no particular reason, less to amuse her brother than to attract

the attention of the imperturbable stranger. None of her little arts succeeded. Mademoiselle de Fontaine then

followed the direction in which his eyes were fixed, and discovered the cause of his indifference.

In the midst of the quadrille, close in front of them, a pale girl was dancing; her face was like one of the

divinities which Girodet has introduced into his immense composition of French Warriors received by

Ossian. Emilie fancied that she recognized her as a distinguished milady who for some months had been

living on a neighboring estate. Her partner was a lad of about fifteen, with red hands, and dressed in nankeen

trousers, a blue coat, and white shoes, which showed that the damsel's love of dancing made her easy to

please in the matter of partners. Her movements did not betray her apparent delicacy, but a faint flush already

tinged her white cheeks, and her complexion was gaining color. Mademoiselle de Fontaine went nearer, to be

able to examine the young lady at the moment when she returned to her place, while the side couples in their

turn danced the figure. But the stranger went up to the pretty dancer, and leaning over, said in a gentle but

Clara made a little pouting face, bent her head, and finally smiled. When the dance was over, the young man

wrapped her in a cashmere shawl with a lover's care, and seated her in a place sheltered from the wind. Very

soon Mademoiselle de Fontaine, seeing them rise and walk round the place as if preparing to leave, found

means to follow them under pretence of admiring the views from the garden. Her brother lent himself with

malicious goodhumor to the divagations of her rather eccentric wanderings. Emilie then saw the attractive

couple get into an elegant tilbury, by which stood a mounted groom in livery. At the moment when, from his

high seat, the young man was drawing the reins even, she caught a glance from his eye such as a man casts

aimlessly at the crowd; and then she enjoyed the feeble satisfaction of seeing him turn his head to look at her.

"I imagine you have now seen enough of the garden," said her brother. "We may go back to the dancing."

"I am ready," said she. "Do you think the girl can be a relation of Lady Dudley's?"

"Lady Dudley may have some male relation staying with her," said the Baron de Fontaine; "but a young

Next day Mademoiselle de Fontaine expressed a wish to take a ride. Then she gradually accustomed her old

uncle and her brothers to escorting her in very early rides, excellent, she declared for her health. She had a

particular fancy for the environs of the hamlet where Lady Dudley was living. Notwithstanding her cavalry

manoeuvres, she did not meet the stranger so soon as the eager search she pursued might have allowed her to

hope. She went several times to the "Bal de Sceaux" without seeing the young Englishman who had dropped

from the skies to pervade and beautify her dreams. Though nothing spurs on a young girl's infant passion so

effectually as an obstacle, there was a time when Mademoiselle de Fontaine was on the point of giving up her

strange and secret search, almost despairing of the success of an enterprise whose singularity may give some

idea of the boldness of her temper. In point of fact, she might have wandered long about the village of

Chatenay without meeting her Unknown. The fair Clarasince that was the name Emilie had

overheardwas not English, and the stranger who escorted her did not dwell among the flowery and fragrant

One evening Emilie, out riding with her uncle, who, during the fine weather, had gained a fairly long truce

from the gout, met Lady Dudley. The distinguished foreigner had with her in her open carriage Monsieur

Vandenesse. Emilie recognized the handsome couple, and her suppositions were at once dissipated like a

dream. Annoyed, as any woman must be whose expectations are frustrated, she touched up her horse so

suddenly that her uncle had the greatest difficulty in following her, she had set off at such a pace.

"I am too old, it would seem, to understand these youthful spirits," said the old sailor to himself as he put his

horse to a canter; "or perhaps young people are not what they used to be. But what ails my niece? Now she is

walking at a footpace like a gendarme on patrol in the Paris streets. One might fancy she wanted to outflank

that worthy man, who looks to me like an author dreaming over his poetry, for he has, I think, a notebook in

his hand. My word, I am a great simpleton! Is not that the very young man we are in search of!"

At this idea the old admiral moderated his horse's pace so as to follow his niece without making any noise.

He had played too many pranks in the years 1771 and soon after, a time of our history when gallantry was

held in honor, not to guess at once that by the merest chance Emilie had met the Unknown of the Sceaux

gardens. In spite of the film which age had drawn over his gray eyes, the Comte de Kergarouet could

recognize the signs of extreme agitation in his niece, under the unmoved expression she tried to give to her

features. The girl's piercing eyes were fixed in a sort of dull amazement on the stranger, who quietly walked

"Ay, that's it," thought the sailor. "She is following him as a pirate follows a merchantman. Then, when she

has lost sight of him, she will be in despair at not knowing who it is she is in love with, and whether he is a

marquis or a shopkeeper. Really these young heads need an old fogy like me always by their side . . ."

He unexpectedly spurred his horse in such a way as to make his niece's bolt, and rode so hastily between her

and the young man on foot that he obliged him to fall back on to the grassy bank which rose from the

"I beg your pardon, monsieur. But I did not know that it lay with me to apologize to you because you almost

"There, enough of that, my good fellow!" replied the sailor harshly, in a sneering tone that was nothing less

than insulting. At the same time the Count raised his huntingcrop as if to strike his horse, and touched the

young fellow's shoulder, saying, "A liberal citizen is a reasoner; every reasoner should be prudent."

The young man went up the bankside as he heard the sarcasm; then he crossed his arms, and said in an

excited tone of voice, "I cannot suppose, monsieur, as I look at your white hairs, that you still amuse yourself

"White hairs!" cried the sailor, interrupting him. "You lie in your throat. They are only gray."

A quarrel thus begun had in a few seconds become so fierce that the younger man forgot the moderation he

had tried to preserve. Just as the Comte de Kergarouet saw his niece coming back to them with every sign of

the greatest uneasiness, he told his antagonist his name, bidding him keep silence before the young lady

entrusted to his care. The stranger could not help smiling as he gave a visiting card to the old man, desiring

him to observe that he was living at a countryhouse at Chevreuse; and, after pointing this out to him, he

"You very nearly damaged that poor young counterjumper, my dear," said the Count, advancing hastily to

meet Emilie. "Do you not know how to hold your horse in?And there you leave me to compromise my

dignity in order to screen your folly; whereas if you had but stopped, one of your looks, or one of your pretty

speechesone of those you can make so prettily when you are not pertwould have set everything right,

"But, my dear uncle, it was your horse, not mine, that caused the accident. I really think you can no longer

ride; you are not so good a horseman as you were last year.But instead of talking nonsense"

"Ought we not to go on and inquire if the young man is hurt? He is limping, uncle, only look!"

"Stop," said the Count, pulling Emilie's horse by the bridle, "I do not see the necessity of making advances to

some shopkeeper who is only too lucky to have been thrown down by a charming young lady, or the

"Why do you think he is anything so common, my dear uncle? He seems to me to have very fine manners."

"No, uncle, not every one has the air and style which come of the habit of frequenting drawingrooms, and I

"Nor is it the first time you have looked for him," replied the admiral with a laugh.

Emilie colored. Her uncle amused himself for some time with her embarrassment; then he said: "Emilie, you

know that I love you as my own child, precisely because you are the only member of the family who has the

legitimate pride of high birth. Devil take it, child, who could have believed that sound principles would

become so rare? Well, I will be your confidant. My dear child, I see that his young gentleman is not

indifferent to you. Hush! All the family would laugh at us if we sailed under the wrong flag. You know what

that means. We two will keep our secret, and I promise to bring him straight into the drawingroom."

"Nothing whatever, and you may bombard him, set fire to him, and leave him to founder like an old hulk if

As soon as the Count got home he put on his glasses, quietly took the card out of his pocket, and read,

"Make yourself happy, my dear niece," he said to Emilie, "you may hook him with any easy conscience; he

belongs to one of our historical families, and if he is not a peer of France, he infallibly will be."

The old man bowed his gray head, which was not unlike a gnarled oak stump, with a few leaves fluttering

about it, withered by autumnal frosts; and his niece immediately began to try the evernew power of her

coquettish arts. Long familiar with the secret of cajoling the old man, she lavished on him the most childlike

caresses, the tenderest names; she even went so far as to kiss him to induce him to divulge so important a

secret. The old man, who spent his life in playing off these scenes on his niece, often paying for them with a

present of jewelry, or by giving her his box at the opera, this time amused himself with her entreaties, and,

above all, her caresses. But as he spun out this pleasure too long, Emilie grew angry, passed from coaxing to

sarcasm and sulks; then, urged by curiosity, she recovered herself. The diplomatic admiral extracted a solemn

promise from his niece that she would for the future be gentler, less noisy, and less wilful, that she would

spend less, and, above all, tell him everything. The treaty being concluded, and signed by a kiss impressed on

Emilie's white brow, he led her into a corner of the room, drew her on to his knee, held the card under the

thumbs so as to hide it, and then uncovered the letters one by one, spelling the name of Longueville; but he

This incident added to the intensity of Mademoiselle de Fontaine's secret sentiment, and during chief part of

the night she evolved the most brilliant pictures from the dreams with which she had fed her hopes. At last,

thanks to chance, to which she had so often appealed, Emilie could now see something very unlike a chimera

at the fountain head of the imaginary wealth with which she gilded her married life. Ignorant, as all young

girls are, of the perils of love and marriage, she was passionately captivated by the externals of marriage and

love. Is not this as much as to say that her feeling had birth like all the feelings of extreme youthsweet but

cruel mistakes, which exert a fatal influence on the lives of young girls so inexperienced as to trust their own

Next morning, before Emilie was awake, her uncle had hastened to Chevreuse. On recognizing, in the

courtyard of an elegant little villa, the young man he had so determinedly insulted the day before, he went up

"Why, my dear sir, who could have guessed that I should have a brush, at the age of seventythree, with the

son, or the grandson, of one of my best friends. I am a viceadmiral, monsieur; is not that as much as to say

that I think no more of fighting a duel than of smoking a cigar? Why, in my time, no two young men could be

intimate till they had seen the color of their blood! But 'sdeath, sir, last evening, sailorlike, I had taken a

drop too much grog on board, and I ran you down. Shake hands; I would rather take a hundred rebuffs from a

However coldly the young man tried to behave to the Comte de Kergarouet, he could not resist the frank

"You were going out riding," said the Count. "Do not let me detain you. But, unless you have other plans, I

beg you will come to dinner today at the Villa Planat. My nephew, the Comte de Fontaine, is a man it is

essential that you should know. Ah, ha! And I propose to make up to you for my clumsiness by introducing

you to five of the prettiest women in Paris. So, so, young man, your brow is clearing! I am fond of young

people, and I like to see them happy. Their happiness reminds me of the good times of my youth, when

adventures were not lacking, any more than duels. We were gay dogs then! Nowadays you think and worry

over everything, as though there had never been a fifteenth and a sixteenth century."

"But, monsieur, are we not in the right? The sixteenth century only gave religious liberty to Europe, and the

"Oh, we will not talk politics. I am a perfect old womanultra you see. But I do not hinder young men from

being revolutionary, so long as they leave the King at liberty to disperse their assemblies."

When they had gone a little way, and the Count and his companion were in the heart of the woods, the old

sailor pointed out a slender young birch sapling, pulled up his horse, took out one of his pistols, and the bullet

"You see, my dear fellow, that I am not afraid of a duel," he said with comical gravity, as he looked at

"Nor am I," replied the young man, promptly cocking his pistol; he aimed at the hole made by the Comte's

During this ride with the youth, whom he already regarded as his nephew, he found endless opportunities of

catechizing him on all the trifles of which a perfect knowledge constituted, according to his private code, an

"Have you any debts?" he at last asked of his companion, after many other inquiries.

"But at least you have more than one mistress? Ah, you blush, comrade! Well, manners have changed. All

these notions of lawful order, Kantism, and liberty have spoilt the young men. You have no Guimard now, no

Duthe, no creditorsand you know nothing of heraldry; why, my dear young friend, you are not fully

fledged. The man who does not sow his wild oats in the spring sows them in the winter. If I have but eighty

thousand francs a year at the age of seventy, it is because I ran through the capital at thirty. Oh! with my

wifein decency and honor. However, your imperfections will not interfere with my introducing you at the

"What an odd little old man!" said Longueville to himself. "He is so jolly and hale; but though he wishes to

Next day, at about four o'clock, when the house party were dispersed in the drawingrooms and

billiardroom, a servant announced to the inhabitants of the Villa Planat, "Monsieur DE Longueville." On

hearing the name of the old admiral's protege, every one, down to the player who was about to miss his

stroke, rushed in, as much to study Mademoiselle de Fontaine's countenance as to judge of this phoenix of

men, who had earned honorable mention to the detriment of so many rivals. A simple but elegant style of

dress, an air of perfect ease, polite manners, a pleasant voice with a ring in it which found a response in the

hearer's heartstrings, won the goodwill of the family for Monsieur Longueville. He did not seem

unaccustomed to the luxury of the ReceiverGeneral's ostentatious mansion. Though his conversation was

that of a man of the world, it was easy to discern that he had had a brilliant education, and that his knowledge

was as thorough as it was extensive. He knew so well the right thing to say in a discussion on naval

architecture, trivial, it is true, started by the old admiral, that one of the ladies remarked that he must have

"And I think, madame," he replied, "that I may regard it as an honor to have got in."

In spite of urgent pressing, he refused politely but firmly to be kept to dinner, and put an end to the

persistency of the ladies by saying that he was the Hippocrates of his young sister, whose delicate health

"Monsieur is perhaps a medical man?" asked one of Emilie's sistersin law with ironical meaning.

"Monsieur has left the Ecole Polytechnique," Mademoiselle de Fontaine kindly put in; her face had flushed

with richer color, as she learned that the young lady of the ball was Monsieur Longueville's sister.

"But, my dear, he may be a doctor and yet have been to the Ecole Polytechniqueis it not so, monsieur?"

Every eye was on Emilie, who was gazing with uneasy curiosity at the fascinating stranger. She breathed

more freely when he added, not without a smile, "I have not the honor of belonging to the medical profession;

and I even gave up going into the Engineers in order to preserve my independence."

"And you did well," said the Count. "But how can you regard it as an honor to be a doctor?" added the Breton

"Well, in that we agree. You respect those professions, I imagine, as a young man respects a dowager."

Monsieur Longueville made his visit neither too long nor too short. He left at the moment when he saw that

he had pleased everybody, and that each one's curiosity about him had been roused.

"He is a cunning rascal!" said the Count, coming into the drawingroom after seeing him to the door.

Mademoiselle de Fontaine, who had been in the secret of this call, had dressed with some care to attract the

young man's eye; but she had the little disappointment of finding that he did not bestow on her so much

attention as she thought she deserved. The family were a good deal surprised at the silence into which she had

retired. Emilie generally displayed all her arts for the benefit of newcomers, her witty prattle, and the

inexhaustible eloquence of her eyes and attitudes. Whether it was that the young man's pleasing voice and

attractive manners had charmed her, that she was seriously in love, and that this feeling had worked a change

in her, her demeanor had lost all its affectations. Being simple and natural, she must, no doubt, have seemed

more beautiful. Some of her sisters, and an old lady, a friend of the family, saw in this behavior a refinement

of art. They supposed that Emilie, judging the man worthy of her, intended to delay revealing her merits, so

as to dazzle him suddenly when she found that she pleased him. Every member of the family was curious to

know what this capricious creature thought of the stranger; but when, during dinner, every one chose to

endow Monsieur Longueville with some fresh quality which no one else had discovered, Mademoiselle de

Fontaine sat for some time in silence. A sarcastic remark of her uncle's suddenly roused her from her apathy;

she said, somewhat epigrammatically, that such heavenly perfection must cover some great defect, and that

"Those who please everybody, please nobody," she added; "and the worst of all faults is to have none."

Like all girls who are in love, Emilie cherished the hope of being able to hide her feelings at the bottom of her

heart by putting the Arguseyes that watched on the wrong tack; but by the end of a fortnight there was not a

member of the large family party who was not in this little domestic secret. When Monsieur Longueville

called for the third time, Emilie believed it was chiefly for her sake. This discovery gave her such

intoxicating pleasure that she was startled as she reflected on it. There was something in it very painful to her

pride. Accustomed as she was to be the centre of her world, she was obliged to recognize a force that

attracted her outside herself; she tried to resist, but she could not chase from her heart the fascinating image

Then came some anxiety. Two of Monsieur Longueville's qualities, very adverse to general curiosity, and

especially to Mademoiselle de Fontaine's, were unexpected modesty and discretion. He never spoke of

himself, of his pursuits, or of his family. The hints Emilie threw out in conversation, and the traps she laid to

extract from the young fellow some facts concerning himself, he could evade with the adroitness of a

diplomatist concealing a secret. If she talked of painting, he responded as a connoisseur; if she sat down to

play, he showed without conceit that he was a very good pianist; one evening he delighted all the party by

joining his delightful voice to Emilie's in one of Cimarosa's charming duets. But when they tried to find out

whether he were a professional singer, he baffled them so pleasantly that he did not afford these women,

practised as they were in the art of reading feelings, the least chance of discovering to what social sphere he

belonged. However boldly the old uncle cast the boarding hooks over the vessel, Longueville slipped away

cleverly, so as to preserve the charm of mystery; and it was easy to him to remain the "handsome Stranger" at

Emilie, distracted by this reserve, hoped to get more out of the sister than the brother, in the form of

confidences. Aided by her uncle, who was as skilful in such manoeuvres as in handling a ship, she

endeavored to bring upon the scene the hitherto unseen figure of Mademoiselle Clara Longueville. The

family party at the Villa Planat soon expressed the greatest desire to make the acquaintance of so amiable a

young lady, and to give her some amusement. An informal dance was proposed and accepted. The ladies did

Notwithstanding the little clouds piled up by suspicion and created by curiosity, a light of joy shone in

Emilie's soul, for she found life delicious when thus intimately connected with another than herself. She

began to understand the relations of life. Whether it is that happiness makes us better, or that she was too

fully occupied to torment other people, she became less caustic, more gentle, and indulgent. This change in

her temper enchanted and amazed her family. Perhaps, at last, her selfishness was being transformed to love.

It was a deep delight to her to look for the arrival of her bashful and unconfessed adorer. Though they had not

uttered a word of passion, she knew that she was loved, and with what art did she not lead the stranger to

unlock the stores of his information, which proved to be varied! She perceived that she, too, was being

studied, and that made her endeavor to remedy the defects her education had encouraged. Was not this her

first homage to love, and a bitter reproach to herself? She desired to please, and she was enchanting; she

loved, and she was idolized. Her family, knowing that her pride would sufficiently protect her, gave her

enough freedom to enjoy the little childish delights which give to first love its charm and its violence. More

than once the young man and Mademoiselle de Fontaine walked, tetea tete, in the avenues of the garden,

where nature was dressed like a woman going to a ball. More than once they had those conversations, aimless

and meaningless, in which the emptiest phrases are those which cover the deepest feelings. They often

admired together the setting sun and its gorgeous coloring. They gathered daisies to pull the petals off, and

sang the most impassioned duets, using the notes set down by Pergolesi or Rossini as faithful interpreters to

The day of the dance came. Clara Longueville and her brother, whom the servants persisted in honoring with

the noble DE, were the principle guests. For the first time in her life Mademoiselle de Fontaine felt pleasure

in a young girl's triumph. She lavished on Clara in all sincerity the gracious petting and little attentions which

women generally give each other only to excite the jealousy of men. Emilie, had, indeed, an object in view;

she wanted to discover some secrets. But, being a girl, Mademoiselle Longueville showed even more

mother wit than her brother, for she did not even look as if she were hiding a secret, and kept the

conversation to subjects unconnected with personal interests, while, at the same time, she gave it so much

charm that Mademoiselle de Fontaine was almost envious, and called her "the Siren." Though Emilie had

intended to make Clara talk, it was Clara, in fact, who questioned Emilie; she had meant to judge her, and she

was judged by her; she was constantly provoked to find that she had betrayed her own character in some

reply which Clara had extracted from her, while her modest and candid manner prohibited any suspicion of

perfidy. There was a moment when Mademoiselle de Fontaine seemed sorry for an illjudged sally against

"Mademoiselle," said the sweet child, "I have heard so much of you from Maximilien that I had the keenest

desire to know you, out of affection for him; but is not a wish to know you a wish to love you?"

"My dear Clara, I feared I might have displeased you by speaking thus of people who are not of noble birth."

"Oh, be quite easy. That sort of discussion is pointless in these days. As for me, it does not affect me. I am

Ambitious as the answer might seem, it filled Mademoiselle de Fontaine with the deepest joy; for, like all

infatuated people, she explained it, as oracles are explained, in the sense that harmonized with her wishes; she

began dancing again in higher spirits than ever, as she watched Longueville, whose figure and grace almost

surpassed those of her imaginary ideal. She felt added satisfaction in believing him to be well born, her black

eyes sparkled, and she danced with all the pleasure that comes of dancing in the presence of the being we

love. The couple had never understood each other as well as at this moment; more than once they felt their

finger tips thrill and tremble as they were married in the figures of the dance.

The early autumn had come to the handsome pair, in the midst of country festivities and pleasures; they had

abandoned themselves softly to the tide of the sweetest sentiment in life, strengthening it by a thousand little

incidents which any one can imagine; for love is in some respects always the same. They studied each other

"Well, well; a flirtation never turned so quickly into a love match," said the old uncle, who kept an eye on the

The speech alarmed Monsieur and Madame Fontaine. The old Vendeen had ceased to be so indifferent to his

daughter's prospects as he had promised to be. He went to Paris to seek information, and found none. Uneasy

at this mystery, and not yet knowing what might be the outcome of the inquiry which he had begged a Paris

friend to institute with reference to the family of Longueville, he thought it his duty to warn his daughter to

behave prudently. The fatherly admonition was received with mock submission spiced with irony.

"My dear father, I certainly do love him; but I will await your permission before I tell him so."

"I may be ignorant, but I am content to be. But, father, you wished to see me married; you left me at liberty to

"It is needful to ascertain, my dear, whether the man of your choice is the son of a peer of France," the

Emilie was silent for a moment. She presently raised her head, looked at her father, and said somewhat

"They became extinct in the person of the old Duc de RosteinLimbourg, who perished on the scaffold in

"But, papa, there are some very good families descended from bastards. The history of France swarms with

The following day was the last that the Fontaine family were to spend at the Pavillon Planat. Emilie, greatly

disturbed by her father's warning, awaited with extreme impatience the hour at which young Longueville was

in the habit of coming, to wring some explanation from him. She went out after dinner, and walked alone

across the shrubbery towards an arbor fit for lovers, where she knew that the eager youth would seek her; and

as she hastened thither she considered of the best way to discover so important a matter without

compromising herselfa rather difficult thing! Hitherto no direct avowal had sanctioned the feelings which

bound her to this stranger. Like Maximilien, she had secretly enjoyed the sweetness of first love; but both

Maximilien Longueville, to whom Clara had communicated her not unfounded suspicions as to Emilie's

character, was by turns carried away by the violence of a young man's passion, and held back by a wish to

know and test the woman to whom he would be entrusting his happiness. His love had not hindered him from

perceiving in Emilie the prejudices which marred her young nature; but before attempting to counteract them,

he wished to be sure that she loved him, for he would no sooner risk the fate of his love than of his life. He

had, therefore, persistently kept a silence to which his looks, his behavior, and his smallest actions gave the

On her side, the selfrespect natural to a young girl, augmented in Mademoiselle de Fontaine by the

monstrous vanity founded on her birth and beauty, kept her from meeting the declaration halfway, which

her growing passion sometimes urged her to invite. Thus the lovers had instinctively understood the situation

without explaining to each other their secret motives. There are times in life when such vagueness pleases

youthful minds. Just because each had postponed speaking too long, they seemed to be playing a cruel game

of suspense. He was trying to discover whether he was beloved, by the effort any confession would cost his

haughty mistress; she every minute hoped that he would break a too respectful silence.

Emilie, seated on a rustic bench, was reflecting on all that had happened in these three months full of

enchantment. Her father's suspicions were the last that could appeal to her; she even disposed of them at once

by two or three of those reflections natural to an inexperienced girl, which, to her, seemed conclusive. Above

all, she was convinced that it was impossible that she should deceive herself. All the summer through she had

not been able to detect in Maximilien a single gesture, or a single word, which could indicate a vulgar origin

or vulgar occupations; nay more, his manner of discussing things revealed a man devoted to the highest

interests of the nation. "Besides," she reflected, "an office clerk, a banker, or a merchant, would not be at

leisure to spend a whole season in paying his addresses to me in the midst of woods and fields; wasting his

She had given herself up to meditations far more interesting to her than these preliminary thoughts, when a

slight rustling in the leaves announced to her than Maximilien had been watching her for a minute, not

"Do you know that it is very wrong to take a young girl thus unawares?" she asked him, smiling.

"But perhaps my secrets are yours, and yours mine," cried the young man, softly seizing Mademoiselle de

After walking a few steps they found themselves under a clump of trees which the hues of the sinking sun

wrapped in a haze of red and brown. This touch of natural magic lent a certain solemnity to the moment. The

young man's free and eager action, and, above all, the throbbing of his surging heart, whose hurried beating

spoke to Emilie's arm, stirred her to an emotion that was all the more disturbing because it was produced by

the simplest and most innocent circumstances. The restraint under which the young girls of the upper class

live gives incredible force to any explosion of feeling, and to meet an impassioned lover is one of the greatest

dangers they can encounter. Never had Emilie and Maximilien allowed their eyes to say so much that they

dared never speak. Carried a way by this intoxication, they easily forgot the petty stipulations of pride, and

the cold hesitancies of suspicion. At first, indeed, they could only express themselves by a pressure of hands

After slowing pacing a few steps in long silence, Mademoiselle de Fontaine spoke. "Monsieur, I have a

question to ask you," she said trembling, and in an agitated voice. "But, remember, I beg, that it is in a

manner compulsory on me, from the rather singular position I am in with regard to my family."

A pause, terrible to Emilie, followed these sentences, which she had almost stammered out. During the

minute while it lasted, the girl, haughty as she was, dared not meet the flashing eye of the man she loved, for

she was secretly conscious of the meanness of the next words she added: "Are you of noble birth?"

"Mademoiselle," Longueville gravely replied, and his face assumed a sort of stern dignity, "I promise to

answer you truly as soon as you shall have answered in all sincerity a question I will put to you!" He

released her arm, and the girl suddenly felt alone in the world, as he said: "What is your object in questioning

"Mademoiselle," Maximilien went on, "let us go no further if we do not understand each other. I love you,"

he said, in a voice of deep emotion. "Well, then," he added, as he heard the joyful exclamation she could not

"Could he speak so if he were not?" cried a voice within her, which Emilie believed came from the depths of

her heart. She gracefully raised her head, seemed to find new life in the young man's gaze, and held out her

"I have no titles to offer my wife," he replied, in a halfsportive, halfserious tone. "But if I choose one of

high rank, and among women whom a wealthy home has accustomed to the luxury and pleasures of a fine

fortune, I know what such a choice requires of me. Love gives everything," he added lightly, "but only to

lovers. Once married, they need something more than the vault of heaven and the carpet of a meadow."

"He is rich," she reflected. "As to titles, perhaps he only wants to try me. He has been told that I am mad

about titles, and bent on marrying none but a peer's son. My priggish sisters have played me that trick.""I

assure you, monsieur," she said aloud, "that I have had very extravagant ideas about life and the world; but

now," she added pointedly, looking at him in a perfectly distracting way, "I know where true riches are to be

"I must believe that you are speaking from the depths of your heart," he said, with gentle gravity. "But this

winter, my dear Emilie, in less than two months perhaps, I may be proud of what I shall have to offer you if

you care for the pleasures of wealth. This is the only secret I shall keep locked here," and he laid his hand on

Exchanging such sweet nothings, they slowly made their way back to rejoin the company. Mademoiselle de

Fontaine had never found her lover more amiable or wittier: his light figure, his engaging manners, seemed to

her more charming than ever, since the conversation which had made her to some extent the possessor of a

heart worthy to be the envy of every woman. They sang an Italian duet with so much expression that the

audience applauded enthusiastically. Their adieux were in a conventional tone, which concealed their

happiness. In short, this day had been to Emilie like a chain binding her more closely than ever to the

Stranger's fate. The strength and dignity he had displayed in the scene when they had confessed their feelings

had perhaps impressed Mademoiselle de Fontaine with the respect without which there is no true love.

When she was left alone in the drawingroom with her father, the old man went up to her affectionately, held

her hands, and asked her whether she had gained any light at to Monsieur Longueville's family and fortune.

"Yes, my dear father," she replied, "and I am happier than I could have hoped. In short, Monsieur de

"My dear child, the young man is totally unknown to me; but unless he is not a man of honor, so long as you

"Not a man of honor!" exclaimed Emilie. "As to that, I am quite easy. My uncle, who introduced him to us,

will answer for him. Say, my dear uncle, has he been a filibuster, an outlaw, a pirate?"

"I knew I should find myself in this fix!" cried the old sailor, waking up. He looked round the room, but his

"Well, uncle," Monsieur de Fontaine went on, "how could you hide from us all you knew about this young

man? You must have seen how anxious we have been. Is Monsieur de Longueville a man of family?"

"I don't know him from Adam or Eve," said the Comte de Kergarouet. "Trusting to that crazy child's tact, I

got him here by a method of my own. I know that the boy shoots with a pistol to admiration, hunts well, plays

wonderfully at billiards, at chess, and at backgammon; he handles the foils, and rides a horse like the late

Chevalier de Saint Georges. He has a thorough knowledge of all our vintages. He is as good an

arithmetician as Bareme, draws, dances, and sings well. The devil's in it! what more do you want? If that is

not a perfect gentleman, find me a bourgeois who knows all this, or any man who lives more nobly than he

does. Does he do anything, I ask you? Does he compromise his dignity by hanging about an office, bowing

down before the upstarts you call DirectorsGeneral? He walks upright. He is a man.However, I have just

found in my waistcoat pocket the card he gave me when he fancied I wanted to cut his throat, poor innocent.

"Rue du Sentier, No. 5," said Monsieur de Fontaine, trying to recall among all the information he had

received, something which might concern the stranger. "What the devil can it mean? Messrs. Palma,

Werbrust Co., wholesale dealers in muslins, calicoes, and printed cotton goods, live there.Stay, I have it:

Longueville the deputy has an interest in their house. Well, but so far as I know, Longueville has but one son

of twoandthirty, who is not at all like our man, and to whom he gave fifty thousand francs a year that he

might marry a minister's daughter; he wants to be made a peer like the rest of 'em. I never heard him

mention this Maximilien. Has he a daughter? What is this girl Clara? Besides, it is open to any adventurer to

call himself Longueville. But is not the house of Palma, Werbrust Co. half ruined by some speculation in

"You speak a soliloquy as if you were on the stage, and seem to account me a cipher," said the old admiral

suddenly. "Don't you know that if he is a gentleman, I have more than one bag in my hold that will stop any

"As to that, if he is a son of Longueville's, he will want nothing; but," said Monsieur de Fontaine, shaking his

head from side to side, "his father has not even washed off the stains of his origin. Before the Revolution he

was an attorney, and the DE he has since assumed no more belongs to him than half of his fortune."

Three or four days after this memorable day, on one of those fine mornings in the month of November, which

show the boulevards cleaned by the sharp cold of an early frost, Mademoiselle de Fontaine, wrapped in a new

style of fur cape, of which she wished to set the fashion, went out with two of her sistersinlaw, on whom

she had been wont to discharge her most cutting remarks. The three women were tempted to the drive, less by

their desire to try a very elegant carriage, and wear gowns which were to set the fashion for the winter, than

by their wish to see a cape which a friend had observed in a handsome lace and linen shop at the corner of the

Rue de la Paix. As soon as they were in the shop the Baronne de Fontaine pulled Emilie by the sleeve, and

pointed out to her Maximilien Longueville seated behind the desk, and engaged in paying out the change for

a gold piece to one of the workwomen with whom he seemed to be in consultation. The "handsome stranger"

held in his hand a parcel of patterns, which left no doubt as to his honorable profession.

Emilie felt an icy shudder, though no one perceived it. Thanks to the good breeding of the best society, she

completely concealed the rage in her heart, and answered her sisterinlaw with the words, "I knew it," with

a fulness of intonation and inimitable decision which the most famous actress of the time might have envied

her. She went straight up to the desk. Longueville looked up, put the patterns in his pocket with distracting

coolness, bowed to Mademoiselle de Fontaine, and came forward, looking at her keenly.

"Mademoiselle," he said to the shopgirl, who followed him, looking very much disturbed, "I will send to

settle that account; my house deals in that way. But here," he whispered into her ear, as he gave her a

thousandfranc note, "take thisit is between ourselves.You will forgive me, I trust, mademoiselle," he

added, turning to Emilie. "You will kindly excuse the tyranny of business matters."

"Indeed, monsieur, it seems to me that it is no concern of mine," replied Mademoiselle de Fontaine, looking

at him with a bold expression of sarcastic indifference which might have made any one believe that she now

Emilie turned her back upon him with amazing insolence. These words, spoken in an undertone, had escaped

the ears of her two sistersin law. When, after buying the cape, the three ladies got into the carriage again,

Emilie, seated with her back to the horses, could not resist one last comprehensive glance into the depths of

the odious shop, where she saw Maximilien standing with his arms folded, in the attitude of a man superior to

the disaster that has so suddenly fallen on him. Their eyes met and flashed implacable looks. Each hoped to

inflict a cruel wound on the heart of a lover. In one instant they were as far apart as if one had been in China

Does not the breath of vanity wither everything? Mademoiselle de Fontaine, a prey to the most violent

struggle that can torture the heart of a young girl, reaped the richest harvest of anguish that prejudice and

narrowmindedness ever sowed in a human soul. Her face, but just now fresh and velvety, was streaked with

yellow lines and red patches; the paleness of her cheeks seemed every now and then to turn green. Hoping to

hide her despair from her sisters, she would laugh as she pointed out some ridiculous dress or passerby; but

her laughter was spasmodic. She was more deeply hurt by their unspoken compassion than by any satirical

comments for which she might have revenged herself. She exhausted her wit in trying to engage them in a

conversation, in which she tried to expend her fury in senseless paradoxes, heaping on all men engaged in

On getting home, she had an attack of fever, which at first assumed a somewhat serious character. By the end

of a month the care of her parents and of the physician restored her to her family.

Every one hoped that this lesson would be severe enough to subdue Emilie's nature; but she insensibly fell

into her old habits and threw herself again into the world of fashion. She declared that there was no disgrace

in making a mistake. If she, like her father, had a vote in the Chamber, she would move for an edict, she said,

by which all merchants, and especially dealers in calico, should be branded on the forehead, like Berri sheep,

down to the third generation. She wished that none but nobles should have the right to wear the antique

French costume, which was so becoming to the courtiers of Louis XV. To hear her, it was a misfortune for

France, perhaps, that there was no outward and visible difference between a merchant and a peer of France.

And a hundred more such pleasantries, easy to imagine, were rapidly poured out when any accident brought

But those who loved Emilie could see through all her banter a tinge of melancholy. It was clear that

Maximilien Longueville still reigned over that inexorable heart. Sometimes she would be as gentle as she had

been during the brief summer that had seen the birth of her love; sometimes, again, she was unendurable.

Every one made excuses for her inequality of temper, which had its source in sufferings at once secret and

known to all. The Comte de Kergarouet had some influence over her, thanks to his increased prodigality, a

The first ball at which Mademoiselle de Fontaine appeared was at the Neapolitan ambassador's. As she took

her place in the first quadrille she saw, a few yards away from her, Maximilien Longueville, who nodded

Emilie could not help starting. "Ah!" he continued, "and he is the noblest soul living"

"No, mademoiselle. It is a crime, I confess, not to remember a name which is on every lipI ought to say in

every heart. But I have a valid excuse. I have but just arrived from Germany. My ambassador, who is in Paris

on leave, sent me here this evening to take care of his amiable wife, whom you may see yonder in that

"And yet that is her ballroom face!" said the young man, laughing. "I shall have to dance with her! So I

thought I might have some compensation." Mademoiselle de Fontaine courtesied. "I was very much

surprised," the voluble young secretary went on, "to find my brother here. On arriving from Vienna I heard

that the poor boy was ill in bed; and I counted on seeing him before coming to this ball; but good policy will

always allow us to indulge family affection. The Padrona della case would not give me time to call on my

"No," said the attache, with a sigh, "the poor fellow sacrificed himself for me. He and my sister Clara have

renounced their share of my father's fortune to make an eldest son of me. My father dreams of a peerage, like

all who vote for the ministry. Indeed, it is promised him," he added in an undertone. "After saving up a little

capital my brother joined a banking firm, and I hear he has just effected a speculation in Brazil which may

make him a millionaire. You see me in the highest spirits at having been able, by my diplomatic connections,

to contribute to his success. I am impatiently expecting a dispatch from the Brazilian Legation, which will

"Well, your brother's face does not look to me like that of a man busied with money matters."

The young attache shot a scrutinizing glance at the apparently calm face of his partner.

"What!" he exclaimed, with a smile, "can young ladies read the thoughts of love behind the silent brow?"

"Your brother is in love, then?" she asked, betrayed into a movement of curiosity.

"Yes; my sister Clara, to whom he is as devoted as a mother, wrote to me that he had fallen in love this

summer with a very pretty girl; but I have had no further news of the affair. Would you believe that the poor

boy used to get up at five in the morning, and went off to settle his business that he might be back by four

o'clock in the country where the lady was? In fact, he ruined a very nice thoroughbred that I had just given

him. Forgive my chatter, mademoiselle; I have but just come home from Germany. For a year I have heard no

decent French, I have been weaned from French faces, and satiated with Germans, to such a degree that, I

believe, in my patriotic mania, I could talk to the chimeras on a French candlestick. And if I talk with a lack

of reserve unbecoming in a diplomatist, the fault is yours, mademoiselle. Was it not you who pointed out my

brother? When he is the theme I become inexhaustible. I should like to proclaim to all the world how good

and generous he is. He gave up no less than a hundred thousand francs a year, the income from the

If Mademoiselle de Fontaine had the benefit of these important revelations, it was partly due to the skill with

which she continued to question her confiding partner from the moment when she found that he was the

"And could you, without being grieved, see your brother selling muslin and calico?" asked Emilie, at the end

"How do you know that?" asked the attache. "Thank God, though I pour out a flood of words, I have already

acquired the art of not telling more than I intend, like all the other diplomatic apprentices I know."

Monsieur de Longueville looked at Mademoiselle de Fontaine with a surprise that was full of perspicacity. A

suspicion flashed upon him. He glanced inquiringly from his brother to his partner, guessed everything,

clasped his hands, fixed his eyes on the ceiling, and began to laugh, saying, "I am an idiot! You are the

handsomest person here; my brother keeps stealing glances at you; he is dancing in spite of his illness, and

you pretend not to see him. Make him happy," he added, as he led her back to her old uncle. "I shall not be

The lovers, however, were to prove as inexorable to each other as they were to themselves. At about two in

the morning, refreshments were served in an immense corridor, where, to leave persons of the same coterie

free to meet each other, the tables were arranged as in a restaurant. By one of those accidents which always

happen to lovers, Mademoiselle de Fontaine found herself at a table next to that at which the more important

guests were seated. Maximilien was of the group. Emilie, who lent an attentive ear to her neighbors'

conversation, overheard one of those dialogues into which a young woman so easily falls with a young man

who has the grace and style of Maximilien Longueville. The lady talking to the young banker was a

Neapolitan duchess, whose eyes shot lightning flashes, and whose skin had the sheen of satin. The intimate

terms on which Longueville affected to be with her stung Mademoiselle de Fontaine all the more because she

had just given her lover back twenty times as much tenderness as she had ever felt for him before.

"Yes, monsieur, in my country true love can make every kind of sacrifice," the Duchess was saying, in a

"You have more passion than Frenchwomen," said Maximilien, whose burning gaze fell on Emilie. "They are

"Monsieur," Emilie eagerly interposed, "is it not very wrong to calumniate your own country? Devotion is to

"Do you imagine, mademoiselle," retorted the Italian, with a sardonic smile, "that a Parisian would be

"Oh, madame, let us understand each other. She would follow him to a desert and live in a tent but not to sit

A disdainful gesture completed her meaning. Thus, under the influence of her disastrous education, Emile for

the second time killed her budding happiness, and destroyed its prospects of life. Maximilien's apparent

indifference, and a woman's smile, had wrung from her one of those sarcasms whose treacherous zest always

"Mademoiselle," said Longueville, in a low voice, under cover of the noise made by the ladies as they rose

from the table, "no one will ever more ardently desire your happiness than I; permit me to assure you of this,

A fortnight later Maximilien set out with his sister Clara for the warm and poetic scenes of beautiful Italy,

leaving Mademoiselle de Fontaine a prey to the most vehement regret. The young Secretary to the Embassy

took up his brother's quarrel, and contrived to take signal vengeance on Emilie's disdain by making known

the occasion of the lovers' separation. He repaid his fair partner with interest all the sarcasm with which she

had formerly attacked Maximilien, and often made more than one Excellency smile by describing the fair foe

of the countinghouse, the amazon who preached a crusade against bankers, the young girl whose love had

evaporated before a bale of muslin. The Comte de Fontaine was obliged to use his influence to procure an

appointment to Russia for Auguste Longueville in order to protect his daughter from the ridicule heaped upon

Not long after, the Ministry being compelled to raise a levy of peers to support the aristocratic party,

trembling in the Upper Chamber under the lash of an illustrious writer, gave Monsieur Guiraudin de

Longueville a peerage, with the title of Vicomte. Monsieur de Fontaine also obtained a peerage, the reward

due as much to his fidelity in evil days as to his name, which claimed a place in the hereditary Chamber.

About this time Emilie, now of age, made, no doubt, some serious reflections on life, for her tone and

manners changed perceptibly. Instead of amusing herself by saying spiteful things to her uncle, she lavished

on him the most affectionate attentions; she brought him his stick with a persevering devotion that made the

cynical smile, she gave him her arm, rode in his carriage, and accompanied him in all his drives; she even

persuaded him that she liked the smell of tobacco, and read him his favorite paper La Quotidienne in the

midst of clouds of smoke, which the malicious old sailor intentionally blew over her; she learned piquet to be

a match for the old count; and this fantastic damsel even listened without impatience to his periodical

narratives of the battles of the BellePoule, the manoeuvres of the Ville de Paris, M. de Suffren's first

Though the old sailor had often said that he knew his longitude and latitude too well to allow himself to be

captured by a young corvette, one fine morning Paris drawingrooms heard the news of the marriage of

Mademoiselle de Fontaine to the Comte de Kergarouet. The young Countess gave splendid entertainments to

drown thought; but she, no doubt, found a void at the bottom of the whirlpool; luxury was ineffectual to

disguise the emptiness and grief of her sorrowing soul; for the most part, in spite of the flashes of assumed

gaiety, her beautiful face expressed unspoken melancholy. Emilie appeared, however, full of attentions and

consideration for her old husband, who, on retiring to his rooms at night, to the sounds of a lively band,

would often say, "I do not know myself. Was I to wait till the age of seventytwo to embark as pilot on board

The conduct of the young Countess was marked by such strictness that the most clearsighted criticism had

no fault to find with her. Lookers on chose to think that the viceadmiral had reserved the right of disposing

of his fortune to keep his wife more tightly in hand; but this was a notion as insulting to the uncle as to the

niece. Their conduct was indeed so delicately judicious that the men who were most interested in guessing

the secrets of the couple could never decide whether the old Count regarded her as a wife or as a daughter. He

was often heard to say that he had rescued his niece as a castaway after shipwreck; and that, for his part, he

had never taken a mean advantage of hospitality when he had saved an enemy from the fury of the storm.

Though the Countess aspired to reign in Paris and tried to keep pace with Mesdames the Duchesses de

Maufrigneuse and du Chaulieu, the Marquises d'Espard and d'Aiglemont, the Comtesses Feraud, de

Montcornet, and de Restaud, Madame de Camps, and Mademoiselle des Touches, she did not yield to the

Two years after her marriage, in one of the old drawingrooms in the Faubourg SaintGermain, where she

was admired for her character, worthy of the old school, Emilie heard the Vicomte de Longueville

announced. In the corner of the room where she was sitting, playing piquet with the Bishop of Persepolis, her

agitation was not observed; she turned her head and saw her former lover come in, in all the freshness of

youth. His father's death, and then that of his brother, killed by the severe climate of SaintPetersburg, had

placed on Maximilien's head the hereditary plumes of the French peer's hat. His fortune matched his learning

and his merits; only the day before his youthful and fervid eloquence had dazzled the Assembly. At this

moment he stood before the Countess, free, and graced with all the advantages she had formerly required of

her ideal. Every mother with a daughter to marry made amiable advances to a man gifted with the virtues

which they attributed to him, as they admired his attractive person; but Emilie knew, better than any one, that

the Vicomte de Longueville had the steadfast nature in which a wise woman sees a guarantee of happiness.

She looked at the admiral who, to use his favorite expression, seemed likely to hold his course for a long time

At this moment Monsieur de Persepolis said with Episcopal grace: "Fair lady, you have thrown away the king

of heartsI have won. But do not regret your money. I keep it for my little seminaries."

Beaudenord, Godefroid de A Distinguished Provincial at Paris The Firm of Nucingen

Dudley, Lady Arabella The Lily of the Valley The Magic Skin The Secrets of a Princess A Daughter of Eve

Fontaine, Comte de The Chouans Modeste Mignon Cesar Birotteau The Government Clerks

Louis XVIII., LouisStanislasXavier The Chouans The Seamy Side of History The Gondreville Mystery

Scenes from a Courtesan's Life The Lily of the Valley Colonel Chabert The Government Clerks

Manerville, Paul FrancoisJoseph, Comte de The Thirteen Lost Illusions A Distinguished Provincial at Paris

Marsay, Henri de The Thirteen The Unconscious Humorists Another Study of Woman The Lily of the Valley

Father Goriot Jealousies of a Country Town Ursule Mirouet A Marriage Settlement Lost Illusions A

Distinguished Provincial at Paris Letters of Two Brides Modest Mignon The Secrets of a Princess The

Palma (banker) The Firm of Nucingen Cesar Birotteau Gobseck Lost Illusions A Distinguished Provincial at

Portenduere, Vicomte Savinien de Scenes from a Courtesan's Life Ursule Mirouet Beatrix

Rastignac, Eugene de Father Goriot A Distinguished Provincial at Paris Scenes from a Courtesan's Life The

Interdiction A Study of Woman Another Study of Woman The Magic Skin The Secrets of a Princess A

Daughter of Eve The Gondreville Mystery The Firm of Nucingen Cousin Betty The Member for Arcis The

Vandenesse, Marquise Charles de (Emilie de Fontaine) Cesar Birotteau Ursule Mirouet A Daughter of Eve