الفصل الفصل 19 · 第14章（6）

"I came home one night about ten o'clock and the next day you were here.

You and your soldiers gave me fifty crowns for forage with a cow and two

sheep. Said I to myself: 'As long as I get twenty crowns out of them,

I'll sell them the value of it.' But then I had other things in my

heart, which I'll tell you about now. I came across one of your

cavalrymen smoking his pipe near my dike, just behind my barn. I went

and took my scythe off the hook, and I came back with short steps from

behind, while he lay there without hearing anything. And I cut off his

head with one stroke, like a feather, while he only said 'Oof!' You have

only to look at the bottom of the pond; you'll find him there in a

coal-bag, with a big stone tied to it.

"I got an idea into my head. I took all he had on him from his boots to

his cap, and I hid them in the bake-house in the Martin wood behind the

farm-yard."

The old man stopped. The officers, speechless, looked at one another.

The examination was resumed, and this is what they were told.

* * * * *

Once he had accomplished this murder, the peasant lived with only one

thought: "To kill the Prussians!" He hated them with the sly and

ferocious hatred of a countryman who was at the same time covetous and

patriotic. He had got an idea into his head, as he put it. He waited for

a few days.

He was allowed to go and come freely, to go out and return just as he

pleased, as long as he displayed humility, submissiveness, and

complaisance towards the conquerors.

Now, every evening he saw the cavalrymen bearing dispatches leaving the

farmhouse; and he went out one night after discovering the name of the

village to which they were going, and after picking up by associating

with the soldiers the few words of German he needed.

He made his way through his farm-yard slipped into the wood, reached the

bake-house, penetrated to the end of the long passage, and having found

the clothes of the soldier which he had hidden there, he put them on.

Then, he went prowling about the fields, creeping along, keeping to the

slopes so as to avoid observation, listening to the least sounds,

restless as a poacher.

When he believed the time had arrived he took up his position at the

roadside, and hid himself in a clump of brushwood. He still waited. At

length, near midnight, he heard the galloping of a horse's hoofs on the

hard soil of the road. The old man put his ear to the ground to make

sure that only one cavalryman was approaching; then he got ready.

The Uhlan came on at a very quick pace, carrying some dispatches. He

rode forward with watchful eyes and strained ears. As soon as he was no

more than ten paces away, Pere Milon dragged himself across the road,

groaning: "Hilfe! Hilfe!" ("Help! help!")

The cavalryman drew up, recognized a German soldier dismounted, believed

that he was wounded, leaped down from his horse, drew near the prostrate

man, never suspecting anything, and, as he stooped over the stranger, he

received in the middle of the stomach the long curved blade of the

saber. He sank down without any death throes, merely quivering with a

few last shudders.

Then, the Norman radiant with the mute joy of an old peasant, rose up,

and merely to please himself, cut the dead soldier's throat. After that,

he dragged the corpse to the dike and threw it in.

The horse was quietly waiting for its rider. Pere Milon got on the

saddle, and started across the plain at the gallop.

At the end of an hour, he perceived two more Uhlans approaching the

staff-quarters side by side. He rode straight towards them, crying,

"Hilfe! hilfe!" The Prussians let him come on, recognizing the uniform

without any distrust.

And like a cannon-ball, the old man shot between the two, bringing both

of them to the ground with his saber and a revolver. The next thing he

did was to cut the throats of the horses--the German horses! Then,

softly he re-entered the bake-house, and hid the horse he had ridden

himself in the dark passage. There he took off the uniform, put on once

more his own old clothes, and going to his bed, slept till morning.

For four days he did not stir out, awaiting the close of the open

inquiry as to the cause of the soldiers' deaths; but, on the fifth day,

he started out again, and by a similar stratagem killed two more

soldiers.

Thenceforth he never stopped. Each night he wandered about, prowled

through the country at random, cutting down some Prussians, sometimes

here, sometimes there, galloping through the deserted fields under the

moonlight, a lost Uhlan, a hunter of men. Then when he had finished his

task, leaving behind the corpses lying along the roads, the old horseman

went to the bake-house, where he concealed both the animal and the

uniform. About midday he calmly returned to the spot to give the horse a

feed of oats and some water, and he took every care of the animal,

exacting therefore the hardest work.

But, the night before his arrest, one of the soldiers he attacked put

himself on his guard, and cut the old peasant's face with a slash of a

saber.

He had, however, killed both of them. He had even managed to go back and

hide his horse and put on his everyday garb, but, when he reached the

stable, he was overcome by weakness, and was not able to make his way

into the house.

He had been found lying on the straw, his face covered with blood.

* * * * *

When he had finished his story, he suddenly lifted his head, and glanced

proudly at the Prussian officers.

The Colonel, tugging at his moustache, asked:

"Have you anything more to say?"

"No, nothing more; we are quits. I killed sixteen, not one more, not one

less."

"You know you have to die?"

"I ask for no quarter!"

"Have you been a soldier?"

"Yes, I served at one time. And 'tis you killed my father, who was a

soldier of the first Emperor, not to speak of my youngest son, Francois,

whom you killed last month near Exreux. I owed this to you, and I've

paid you back. 'Tis tit for tat!"

The officers stared at one another.

The old man went on:

"Eight for my father, eight for my son--that pays it off! I sought for

no quarrel with you. I don't know you! I only know where you came from.

You came to my house here, and ordered me about as if the house was

yours. I have had my revenge, and I'm glad of it!"

And stiffening up his old frame, he folded his arms in the attitude of a

humble hero.

The Prussians held a long conference. A captain, who had also lost a son

the month before, defended the brave old scoundrel.

Then the Colonel rose up, and, advancing towards Pere Milon, he said,

lowering his voice:

"Listen, old man! There is perhaps one way of saving your life--it is--"

But the old peasant was not listening to him, and fixing his eyes

directly on the German officer, while the wind made the scanty hair move

to and fro on his skull, he made a frightful grimace, which shriveled up

his pinched countenance scarred by the saber-stroke, and, puffing out

his chest, he spat, with all his strength, right into the Prussian's

face.

The Colonel, stupefied, raised his hand, and for the second time the

peasant spat in his face.

All the officers sprang to their feet and yelled out orders at the same

time.

In less than a minute, the old man, still as impassive as ever, was

stuck up against the wall, and shot while he cast a smile at Jean, his

eldest son, and then at his daughter-in-law and the two children, who

were staring with terror at the scene.

* * * * *

THE IMPOLITE SEX

Madame de X. to Madame de L.

Etretat, Friday.

My dear Aunt,--I am going to pay you a visit without making much fuss

about it. I shall be at Les Fresnes on the 2nd of September, the day

before the hunting season opens, as I do not want to miss it, so that I

may tease these gentlemen. You are very obliging, aunt, and I would like

you to allow them to dine with you, as you usually do when there are no

strange guests, without dressing or shaving for the occasion, on the

ground that they are fatigued.

They are delighted, of course, when I am not present. But I shall be

there, and I shall hold a review, like a general, at the dinner-hour;

and, if I find a single one of them at all careless in dress, no matter

how little, I mean to send him down to the kitchen to the servant-maids.

The men of to-day have so little consideration for others and so little

good manners that one must be always severe with them. We live indeed in

an age of vulgarity. When they quarrel with one another, they attack one

another with insults worthy of street-porters, and, in our presence,

they do not conduct themselves even as well as our servants. It is at

the seaside that you see this most clearly. They are to be found there

in battalions, and you can judge them in the lump.

Oh! what coarse beings they are!

Just imagine in a train, one of them, a gentleman who looked well, as I

thought, at first sight, thanks to his tailor, was dainty enough to take

off his boots in order to put on a pair of old shoes! Another, an old

man, who was probably some wealthy upstart (these are the most

ill-bred), while sitting opposite to me, had the delicacy to place his

two feet on the seat quite close to me. This is a positive fact.

At the water-places, there is an unrestrained outpouring of

unmannerliness. I must here make one admission--that my indignation is

perhaps due to the fact that I am not accustomed to associate, as a

rule, with the sort of people one comes across here, for I should be

less shocked by their manners if I had the opportunity of observing them

oftener. In the inquiry-office of the hotel, I was nearly thrown down by

a young man who snatched the key over my head. Another knocked against

me so violently without begging my pardon or lifting his hat, coming

away from a ball at the Casino, that he gave me a pain in the chest. It

is the same way with all of them. Watch them addressing ladies on the

terrace; they scarcely ever bow. They merely raise their hands to their

head-gear. But indeed, as they are all more or less bald, it is their

best plan.

But what exasperates and disgusts me specially is the liberty they take

of talking publicly without any precaution whatsoever about the most

revolting adventures. When two men are together, they relate to each

other, in the broadest language and with the most abominable comments

really horrible stories without caring in the slightest degree whether a

woman's ear is within reach of their voices. Yesterday, on the beach I

was forced to go away from the place where I sat in order not to be any

longer the involuntary confidante of an obscene anecdote, told in such

immodest language that I felt just as much humiliated as indignant at

having heard it. Would not the most elementary good-breeding have taught

them to speak in a lower tone about such matters when we are near at

hand. Etretat is, moreover, the country of gossip and scandal. From five

to seven o'clock you can see people wandering about in quest of nasty

stories about others which they retail from group to group. As you

remarked to me, my dear aunt, tittle-tattle is the mark of petty

individuals and petty minds. It is also the consolation of women who are

no longer loved or sought after. It is enough for me to observe the

women who are fondest of gossiping to be persuaded that you are quite

right.

The other day I was present at a musical evening at the Casino, given by

a remarkable artist, Madame Masson, who sings in a truly delightful

manner. I took the opportunity of applauding the admirable Coquelin, as

well as two charming boarders of the Vaudeville, M---- and Meillet. I

was able, on the occasion, to see all the bathers collected together

this year on the beach. There were not many persons of distinction among

them.

Next day I went to lunch at Yport. I noticed a tall man with a beard who

was coming out of a large house like a castle. It was the painter, Jean

Paul Laurens. He is not satisfied apparently with imprisoning the

subjects of his pictures he insists on imprisoning himself.

Then, I found myself seated on the shingle close to a man still young,

of gentle and refined appearance, who was reading some verses. But he

read them with such concentration, with such passion, I may say, that he

did not even raise his eyes towards me. I was somewhat astonished, and I

asked the conductor of the baths without appearing to be much concerned,

the name of this gentleman. I laughed inwardly a little at this reader

of rhymes; he seemed behind the age, for a man. This person, I thought,

must be a simpleton. Well, aunt, I am now infatuated about this

stranger. Just fancy, his name is Sully Prudhomme! I turned round to

look at him at my ease, just where I sat. His face possesses the two

qualities of calmness and elegance. As somebody came to look for him, I

was able to hear his voice, which is sweet and almost timid. He would

certainly not tell obscene stories aloud in public, or knock against

ladies without apologizing. He is sure to be a man of refinement, but

his refinement is of an almost morbid, vibrating character. I will try

this winter to get an introduction to him.

I have no more news to tell you, my dear aunt, and I must interrupt this

letter in haste, as the post-hour is near. I kiss your hands and your

cheeks.--Your devoted niece,

Berthe De X.

P. S.--I should add, however, by way of justification of French

politeness, that our fellow-countrymen are, when traveling, models of

good manners in comparison with the abominable English, who seem to have

been brought up by stable-boys, so much do they take care not to

incommode themselves in any way, while they always incommode their

neighbors.

* * * * *

Madame de L. to Madame de X.

Les Fresnes, Saturday.

My Dear Child,--Many of the things you have said to me are very

reasonable, but that does not prevent you from being wrong. Like you, I

used formerly to feel very indignant at the impoliteness of men, who, as

I supposed, constantly treated me with neglect; but, as I grew older and

reflected on everything, putting aside coquetry, and observing things

without taking any part in them myself, I perceived this much--that if

men are not always polite, women are always indescribably rude.

We imagine that we should be permitted to do anything, my darling, and

at the same time we consider that we have a right to the utmost respect,

and in the most flagrant manner we commit actions devoid of that

elementary good-breeding of which you speak with passion.

I find, on the contrary, that men have, for us, much consideration, as

compared with our bearing towards them. Besides, darling, men must needs

be, and are, what we make them. In a state of society, where women are

all true gentlewomen, all men would become gentlemen.

Mark my words; just observe and reflect.

Look at two women meeting in the street. What an attitude each assumes

towards the other! What disparaging looks! What contempt they throw into

each glance! How they toss their heads while they inspect each other to

find something to condemn! And, if the footpath is narrow, do you think

one woman would make room for another, or will beg pardon as she sweeps

by? Never! When two men jostle each other by accident in some narrow

lane, each of them bows and at the same time gets out of the other's

way, while we women press against each other stomach to stomach, face to

face, insolently staring each other out of countenance.

Look at two women who are acquaintances meeting on a stair case before

the drawing-room door of a friend of theirs to whom one has just paid a

visit, and to whom the other is about to pay a visit. They begin to talk

to each other, and block up the passage. If anyone happens to be coming

up behind them, man or woman, do you imagine that they will put

themselves half-an-inch out of their way? Never! never!

I was waiting myself, with my watch in my hands, one day last winter, at

a certain drawing-room door. And behind two gentlemen were also waiting

without showing any readiness to lose their temper, like me. The reason

was that they had long grown accustomed to our unconscionable insolence.

The other day, before leaving Paris, I went to dine with no less a

person than your husband in the Champs Elysees in order to enjoy the

open air. Every table was occupied. The waiter asked us not to go, and

there would soon be a vacant table.

At that moment, I noticed an elderly lady of noble figure, who, having

paid the amount of her docket, seemed on the point of going away. She

saw me, scanned me from head to foot, and did not budge. For more than a

full quarter-of-an-hour she sat there, immovable, putting on her gloves,

and calmly staring at those who were waiting like myself. Now, two young

men who were just finishing their dinner, having seen me in their turn,

quickly summoned the waiter in order to pay whatever they owed, and at

once offered me their seats, even insisting on standing while waiting

for their change. And, bear in mind, my fair niece, that I am no longer

pretty, like you, but old and white-haired.

It is we (do you see?) who should be taught politeness, and the task

would be such a difficult one that Hercules himself would not be equal

to it. You speak to me about Etretat, and about the people who indulged

in "tittle-tattle" along the beach of that delightful watering-place. It

is a spot now lost to me, a thing of the past, but I found much

amusement there in days gone by.

There were only a few of us, people in good society, really good

society, and a few artists, and we all fraternized. We paid little

attention to gossip in those days.

Well, as we had no insipid Casino, where people only gather for show,

where they talk in whispers, where they dance stupidly, where they

succeed in thoroughly boring one another, we sought some other way of

passing our evenings pleasantly. Now, just guess what came into the head

of one of our husbandry? Nothing less than to go and dance each night in

one of the farm-houses in the neighborhood.

We started out in a group with a street-organ, generally played by Le

Poittevin, the painter, with a cotton nightcap on his head. Two men

carried lanterns. We followed in procession, laughing and chattering

like a pack of fools.

We woke up the farmer and his servant-maids and laboring men. We got

them to make onion-soup (horror!), and we danced under the apple-trees,

to the sound of the barrel-organ. The cocks waking up began to crow in

the darkness of the out-houses; the horses began prancing on the straw

of their stables. The cool air of the country caressed our cheeks with

the smell of grass and of new-mown hay.

How long ago it is! How long ago it is. It is thirty years since then!

I do not want you, my darling, to come for the opening of the hunting

season. Why spoil the pleasure of our friends by inflicting on them

fashionable toilets on this day of vigorous exercise in the country?

This is the way, child, that men are spoiled. I embrace you.--Your old

aunt

Genevieve De Z.

* * * * *

WOMAN'S WILES

"Women?"

"Well, what do you say about women?"

"Well, there are no conjurors more subtle in taking us in at every

available opportunity with or without reason, often for the sole

pleasure of playing tricks on us. And they play these tricks with

incredible simplicity, astonishing audacity, unparalleled ingenuity.

They play tricks from morning till night, and they all do it--the most

virtuous, the most upright, the most sensible of them. You may add that

sometimes they are to some extent driven to do these things. Man has

always idiotic fits of obstinacy and tyrannical desires. A husband is

continually giving ridiculous orders in his own house. He is full of

caprices; his wife plays on them even while she makes use of them for

the purpose of deception. She persuades him that a thing costs so much

because he would kick up a row if its price were higher. And she always

extricates herself from the difficulty cunningly by a means so simple

and so sly that we gape with amazement when by chance we discover them.

We say to ourselves in a stupefied state of mind 'How is it we did not

see this till now?'"

* * * * *

The man who uttered the words was an ex-Minister of the Empire, the

Comte de L----, a thorough profligate, it was said, and a very

accomplished gentleman. A group of young men were listening to him.

He went on:

"I was outwitted by an ordinary uneducated woman in a comic and

thorough-going fashion. I will tell you about it for your instruction.

"I was at the time Minister for Foreign Affairs, and I was in the habit

of taking a long walk every morning in the Champs Elysees. It was the

month of May; I walked along, sniffing in eagerly that sweet odor of

budding leaves.

"Ere long, I noticed, that I used to meet every day a charming little

woman, one of those marvelous, graceful creatures, who bear the

trade-mark of Paris. Pretty? Well, yes and no. Well-made? No, better

than that: her waist was too slight, her shoulders too narrow, her

breast too full, no doubt; but I prefer those exquisite human dolls to

that great statuesque corpse, the Venus of Milo.

"And then this sort of woman trots along in an incomparable fashion, and

the very rustle of her skirt fills the marrow of your bones with desire.

She seemed to give me a side-glance as she passed me. But these women

give you all sorts of looks--you never can tell....

"One morning, I saw her sitting on a bench with an open book between her

hands. I came across, and sat down beside her. Five minutes later, we

were friends. Then, each day, after the smiling salutation 'Good day,

Madame,' 'Good day, Monsieur,' we began to chat. She told me that she

was the wife of a Government clerk, that her life was a sad one, that in

it pleasures were few and cares numerous, and a thousand other things.

"I told her who I was, partly through thoughtlessness, and partly

perhaps through vanity. She pretended to be much astonished.

"Next day, she called at the Ministry to see me; and she came again

there so often that the ushers, having their attention drawn to her

appearance, used to whisper to one another, as soon as they saw her, the

name with which they had christened her 'Madame Leon' that is my

Christian name.

"For three months I saw her every morning without growing tired of her

for a second, so well was she able incessantly to give variety and

piquancy to her physical attractiveness. But one day I saw that her eyes

were bloodshot and glowing with suppressed tears, that she could

scarcely speak, so much was she preoccupied with secret troubles.

"I begged of her, I implored of her, to tell me what was the cause of

her agitation.

"She faltered out at length with a shudder: 'I am--I am pregnant!'

"And she burst out sobbing. Oh! I made a dreadful grimace, and I have no

doubt I turned pale, as men generally do at hearing such a piece of

news. You cannot conceive what an unpleasant stab you feel in your

breast at the announcement of an unexpected paternity of this kind. But

you are sure to know it sooner or later. So, in my turn, I gasped:

'But--but--you are married, are you not?'

"She answered: 'Yes, but my husband has been away in Italy for the last

two months, and he will not be back for some time.'

"I was determined at any cost to get out of my responsibility.

"I said: 'You must go and join him immediately.'

"She reddened to her very temples, and with downcast eyes, murmured:

'Yes--but--' She either dared not or would not finish the sentence.

"I understood, and I prudently enclosed her in an envelope the expenses

of the journey.

* * * * *

"Eight days later, she sent me a letter from Genoa. The following week,

I received one from Florence. Then letters reached me from Leghorn,

Rome, and Naples.

"She said to me: 'I am in good health, my dear love, but I am looking

frightful. I would not care to have you see me till it is all over; you

would not love me. My husband suspects nothing. As his business in this

country will require him to stay there much longer, I will not return to

France till after my confinement.'

"And, at the end of about eight months, I received from Venice these few

words: 'It is a boy.'

"Some time after, she suddenly entered my study one morning, fresher and

prettier than ever, and flung herself into my arms.

"And our former connection was renewed.

"I left the Ministry, and she came to live in my house in the Rue de

Grenelle. She often spoke to me about the child, but I scarcely listened

to what she said about it; it did not concern me. Now and then I placed

a rather large sum of money in her hand, saying: 'Put that by for him.'

"Two more years glided by; and she was more eager to tell me some news

about the youngster--'about Leon.'

"Sometimes she would say in the midst of tears: 'You don't care about

him; you don't even wish to see him. If you know what grief you cause

me!'

"At last I was so much harassed by her that I promised, one day, to go,

next morning, to the Champs Elysees, when she took the child there for

an airing.

"But at the moment when I was leaving the house, I was stopped by a

sudden apprehension. Man is weak and foolish. What if I were to get fond

of this tiny being of whom I was the father--my son?

"I had my hat on my head, my gloves in my hands. I flung down the gloves

on my desk, and my hat on a chair:

"No. Decidedly I will not go; it is wiser not to go.'

"My door flew open. My brother entered the room. He handed me an

anonymous letter he had received that morning:

"'Warn the Comte de L----, your brother, that the little woman of the

Rue Casette is impudently laughing at him. Let him make some inquiries

about her.'

"I had never told anybody about this intrigue, and I now told my brother

the history of it from the beginning to the end. I added:

"For my part, I don't want to trouble myself any further about the

matter; but will you, like a good fellow, go and find out what you can

about her?

"When my brother had left me, I said to myself: 'In what way can she

have deceived me? She has other lovers? What does it matter to me? She

is young, fresh, and pretty; I ask nothing more from her. She seems to

love me, and as a matter of fact, she does not cost me much. Really, I

don't understand this business.'

"My brother speedily returned. He had learned from the police all that

was to be known about her husband: 'A clerk in the Home Department, of

regular habits and good repute, and, moreover, a thinking man, but

married to a very pretty woman, whose expenses seemed somewhat

extravagant for her modest position.' That was all.

"Now, my brother having sought for her at her residence, and finding

that she was gone out, succeeded, with the assistance of a little gold,

in making the doorkeeper chatter: 'Madame D----, a very worthy woman,

and her husband a very worthy man, not proud, not rich, but generous.'

"My brother asked for the sake of saying something:

"'How old is her little boy now?'

"'Why, she has not got any little boy, monsieur.'

"'What? Little Leon?'

"'No, monsieur, you are making a mistake.'

"'I mean the child she had while she was in Italy, two years ago?'

"'She has never been in Italy, monsieur; she has not quitted the house

she is living in for the last five years.'

"My brother, in astonishment, questioned the doorkeeper anew, and then

he pushed his investigation of the matter further. No child, no journey.

"I was prodigiously astonished, but without clearly understanding the

final meaning of this comedy.

"'I want,' said I to him, 'to have my mind perfectly clear about the

affair. I will ask her to come here to-morrow. You shall receive her

instead of me. If she has deceived me, you will hand her these ten

thousand francs, and I will never see her again. In fact, I am beginning

to find I have had enough of her.'

"Would you believe it? I had been grieved the night before because I had

a child by this woman; and I was now irritated, ashamed, wounded at

having no more of her. I found myself free, released from all

responsibility, from all anxiety, and yet I felt myself raging at the

position in which I was placed.

"Next morning my brother awaited her in my study. She came in as quickly

as usual, rushing towards him with outstretched arms, but when she saw

who it was she at once drew back.

"He bowed, and excused himself.

"'I beg your pardon, madame, for being here instead of my brother, but

he has authorized me to ask you for some explanations which he would

find it painful to seek from you himself.'

"Then, fixing on her face a searching glance, he said abruptly:

"'We know you have not a child by him.'

"After the first moment of stupor, she regained her composure, took a

seat, and gazed with a smile at this man who was sitting in judgment on

her.

"She answered simply:

"'No; I have no child.'

"'We know also that you have never been in Italy.'

"This time she burst out laughing in earnest.

"'No, I have never been in Italy.'

"My brother, quite stunned, went on:

"'The Comte has requested me to give you this money, and tell you that

it is all broken off.'

"She became serious again, calmly putting the money into her pocket,

and, in an ingenuous tone asked:

"'And I am not, then, to see the Comte any more?'

"'No, madame.'

"She appeared to be annoyed, and in a passionless voice she said:

"'So much the worse; I was very fond of him.'

"Seeing that she had made up her mind on the subject so resolutely, my

brother, smiling in his turn, said to her:

"'Look here, now, tell me why you invented all this tricky yarn,

complicating it by bringing in the sham journey to Italy and the child?'"

She gazed at my brother in amazement, as if he had asked her a stupid

question, and replied:

"'I say! How spiteful you are! Do you believe a poor little woman of the

people such as I am--nothing at all--could have for three years kept on

my hands the Comte de L----, Minister, a great personage, a man of

fashion, wealthy and seductive, if she had not taken a little trouble

about it? Now it is all over. So much the worse. It couldn't last for

ever. None the less I succeeded in doing it for three years. You will

say many things to him on my behalf.'

"She rose up. My brother continued questioning her:

"'But--the child? You had one to show him?'

"'Certainly--my sister's child. She lent it to me. I'd bet it was she

gave you the information.'

"'Good! And all those letters from Italy?'

"She sat down again so as to laugh at her ease.

"'Oh! those letters--well, they were a bit of poetry. The Comte was not

a Minister of Foreign Affairs for nothing.'

"'But--another thing?'

"Oh! the other thing is my secret. I don't want to compromise anyone.'

"And bowing to him with a rather mocking smile, she left the room

without any emotion, an actress who had played her part to the end."

And the Comte de L---- added by way of moral:

"So take care about putting your trust in that sort of turtle dove!"

* * * * *

Transcriber's Notes:

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been maintained.

Page 13, "pentrating" changed to "penetrating".

Page 25, "parishoner" changed to "parishioner".

Page 130, "consiousness" changed to "consciousness".

Page 133, "dinning" changed to "dining".

Page 178, "inns" changed to "ins".

Page 193, "delirous" changed to "delirious".

Page 218, Parenthesis added after "five thousand francs."

Page 283, Double quote added after "You will come to lunch. Won't you?"

Page 374, "moveover" changed to "moreover".

Ligatures removed in ASCII Version: S[oe]urs to Soeurs, C[oe]ur to Coeur.