66 But, to speak the truth," answered he, resuming his serious manner, "that is not just the way astronomers explain the thing." "Heaven help them !" said Madame Véretz. At these words she slipped into her pocket the Marquis's letter, which Horace never thought of asking for again. "Really," answered he, "I love and respect my uncle, and it goes against my conscience to laugh at him. But I can not pity him. He undertook a very ugly mission; and pray observe that even now he flatters himself that he may “Explain yourself, for pity's sake!" said Ma- gain the case, and he still cherishes, I know not dame Véretz. how, a faint hope. Heavens! how I long to tell Fancy! He is desperately in love with this story to Hortense !" Hortense himself." 66 66 'Only listen to me, please." Thereupon he read both letters aloud, interrupting his reading at intervals to indulge freely in his gayety. The first thing Madame Véretz did was to laugh also, the second to listen with religious attention, the third to take the letters, which Horace had just read, out of his hands, and to authenticate the most interesting passages. It is well to believe only one's own eyes. "Oh, my poor uncle !" exclaimed he. "This was your famous secret! He must have rewritten that letter ten times before sending it off; he was afraid my mother would laugh at him. Just notice the pains he has taken to make it all a joke, and yet how, in spite of himself, he betrays the seriousness of his passion. Yes, 'his days are stormy and his nights disturbed.' I can well conceive it. I beg you to see how everything is explained-his incoherent conduct, his blushes, his perplexity, his singular attacks of rudeness, and all his impolite behavior toward you, when he is so polite and such a slave to conventionality! He has determined not to put foot in your house again, as the butterfly resolves not to fly again into the flame of the candle. Every morning he thinks, I must leave Lausanne, I will go away,' but has not the courage to go. And, since he can not keep still, he airs his love-troubles on the lake. We wondered what he could be doing in Savoy. He goes to Meillerie to look at the rock of Saint-Preux, and rehearse his sorrows in its great shadow. Then he says to himself again, I must go,' and yet he does not go, "If you think anything of my judgment, my dear Count, you will not tell her a word of it, not a single word," answered Madame Véretz seriously. "Let us laugh over it between ourselves like two schoolfellows, but you know Hortense does not like to laugh. She is so sensitive, that that which amuses us might wound or grieve her." "Heaven keep me from that! Still, I am sorry that you forbid it, it is such a good story!" Thereupon he left her, but, on returning to his own room, said to himself, "No matter, sooner or later, when the right moment comes, I shall speak about it to Hortense." V. It was near ten o'clock in the evening. The mother and daughter were alone in their salon. Madame Véretz was seated at her embroideryframe, Madame Corneuil was leaning back dreamily on a lounge; as she was not meditating, it was allowable to talk. 'Then to-morrow is the great day," said her mother to her, lifting her head from her work. "What do you mean?" "Monsieur de Penneville is to bring forth his great work. He has told me that his manuscript is seventy-three leaves long, neither more nor less; you know how important those leaves are. We shall not get off with less than two whole hours of it by the clock. That fellow's voice is so distinct and penetrating that we can hear without listening. It fills our ears whether we wish it or not. You are fortunate, my dear: Monsieur de Miraval told the truth when he said that you have the faculty of sleeping without showing it." "That is rather a questionable joke," an- what can we find to do in Egypt, we who look swered Madame Corneuil haughtily. upon our lives as a vocation, as an apostleship? The bottom of an hypogeum is a fine place to follow a vocation in!" "It is no crime in my eyes; we must protect ourselves against Apepi as well as we can. Every one has his own way of getting out of the rain. Heavens! the dear fellow may have his peculiarities, but that does not prevent him from having a kind heart, and all that; neither does it prevent him from being adored." "Ah, yes, I adore him," answered Madame Corneuil sharply, "or rather, Monsieur de Penneville is inexpressibly dear to me, and I beg you never to doubt that." Madame Véretz began to embroider again, and after a short silence said: “Good heavens ! what a pity!" "What is the matter now?" "What has gone wrong with you to-night?” said Madame Corneuil, shaking her beautiful head like a bored Muse, and pouting her Juno lips like a Juno who has not yet met her Jupi ter. Madame Véretz drew her needle in and out, and hummed a tune to herself. Madame Corneuil renewed the conversation. "I do not know what has gotten hold of you. You seem to have set to work to disgust me with my happiness. Who was it who wished for this marriage, or at least advised it?" "Love takes the place of all else, my daugh "What a pity it is that the uncle is not the ter. So regret nothing, since you love him.” nephew, or the nephew the uncle!" "What uncle are you talking about?" "That conspirator! That dreadful old man!" "You never gave him a fair look-he is not dreadful at all. His expression is charming, his voice is fresh, his hand dimpled and well kept, just the hand of a diplomate or prelate. Do you dislike him so much?" "Unspeakably." "You are unjust, very unjust; he has a great many different kinds of merit. In the first place, he is a marquis; the other is only a count, and the streets are full of counts. Then, too, his income is not sixty thousand livres; he has more than three times as much." "Two hundred thousand," said Madame Corneuil. 66 Why do you stop there?" "Still another advantage; if he chooses to marry again, he is not obliged to endeavor to reconcile his mother to the marriage. We may try in vain. Madame de Penneville will never like us. You see that she will break with her son, and that will be a bad thing for you. The world, in such cases, always sides with the mother; and then, Monsieur de Miraval is no antiquary, but a man of the world, and, what is more, a very ambitious one. He has determined to enter political life again; before many months he will be either deputy or senator, as he chooses." "Who told you so?" "He himself, and he added that his only grief was that he was unmarried, for he needed a 'salon,' and there could be no salon without a wife. The other only cares for grottoes, and only sighs for his dear Memphis, whither he will take you at once." "You know well," answered she quickly, "that Horace will do exactly as I wish." "Do not trust to that. Monsieur de Miraval says he is gentle but determined. Good heavens! "Heavens! you know very well that I have never met the man of my dreams. But I love Horace; I mean by that that I have liked him and still like him. But you have not told me why to-night—” "Good!" thought Madame Véretz, “we have got over adoration," and she resumed aloud: “My beautiful one, Monsieur de Penneville is a splendid parti, I do not contradict that, and I recommended him because I had nothing better to offer." "While to-night-?" 66 'Ah, to-night I know of another one." Madame Véretz rose from her chair, and, after rummaging in her pocket, drew near her daughter, and said to her: "Read these two letters; I do not give them to you, I only lend them, for Monsieur de Penneville noticed that I kept them, and I must send them back to him to-morrow morning." Madame Corneuil cast her eyes disdainfully over the first of the two letters; but, when she began the second, she changed her position, roused herself from her languor, her pale cheek was suffused with color, and something could be read in her eyes which her long eyelashes did not strive to conceal. And yet, when she had finished reading, she rose, took an envelope from a drawer, inclosed both letters in it, begged her mother to direct it, rang for Jacquot, and said to him: "Take this packet to the Count de Penneville immediately!" after which she sank back on the lounge again. "Did those scraps of paper burn your fingers?" said Madame Véretz with a smile. "You should have spared me the trouble of reading such rubbish," answered she. "Rubbish, my dear? What would the Marquis say if he heard that? The poor man is dreadfully excited! It is his own fault: why did he come near a beautiful pair of eyes which are Then, turning to her mother, she said, resolutely accustomed to work such miracles?" and solemnly: "You are just like the King of Prussia; you talk about your heart and your conscience, and let things take their own course, merely reserving the right to disclaim your responsibility. Well, then, I will be your Bismarck.' And, so saying, she accompanied her adorable angel to the door of her sacred retreat. The next day a fine rain fell in the early morning, notwithstanding which the Marquis did not visit his nephew, which disappointed Madame Véretz exceedingly; perhaps she had intended to stop him by the way and take possession of him. In the afternoon the weather cleared up, and she proposed to her daughter to take a drive. Horace did not go with them; he depended upon going over his manuscript again, that there need be no impediment in his reading this evening; he felt that it could never be good enough. As the ladies were returning from their drive along the beautiful esplanade of Montbennon, "And for whom would I sacrifice him? for a which commands a wonderful view of the lake man of seventy?” Ah, pardon—the Marquis is only sixty-five, and he does not look that. He has had a splendid past, and still will have a pleasant future. I predict a great success for him in the tribune, one of those successes which is rewarded with a ministry. France is so poor in men! and then, my dear idol, you had better believe that only old men know how to love! They are so pleased that they are tolerated; I will add also that Monsieur de Miraval has fine taste-he appreciates our writing. He stamps it of the highest order'." Thereupon Madame Véretz left her work again, rushed at her daughter, and, pressing her in her arms, said: "Are you vexed? Then we will say no more about it. Monsieur de Penneville and his uncle are totally unlike. You like one-" "You never get the right word-I do not dislike him." "And you do dislike the other?" and of the Alps, Madame Véretz, whose eyes ferreted out everything, perceived the Marquis seated in a melancholy attitude upon a solitary bench. She descended quickly from the carriage, begging her daughter to return alone. A few minutes after, with seeming carelessness, she passed before the Marquis at a distance of about ten steps, and uttered a little scream of joyful surprise. Monsieur de Miraval saw a chignon of most beautiful red come between him and the Alps; he would have preferred it to have been blonde, but made the best of it. Thanks be to this good chance!" exclaimed Madame Véretz. "You are my prisoner, Monsieur le Marquis, and must surrender at discretion." He offered her his arm, saying to her: "I am much pleased with my jailer, dear madame." "I will excuse you from being gallant," answered she. 'I only wish you to speak to me openly, if that can ever be asked of a diplomate. Will you be sincere?" "I will be as sincere as Amen-Heb, surnamed the truth-telling keeper of the flocks of Ammon." "You must at once acknowledge that I have the right to question you. Has not your conduct toward us been most peculiar? Since the day Monsieur de Penneville introduced you, you have taken every pains to avoid us." "Believe me, madame—” "Really, what harm could we have done to you? You certainly must have discovered that I was a fool." "Dear madame, from the first moment when I had the honor of meeting you, I have considered you a woman of great talent." "If that be so, can it be my daughter who has had the misfortune to displease you?" "Your daughter!" exclaimed the Marquis. "Could I be so cursed by God and man! Why, your daughter is adorable." "The very words of the letter," thought Madame Véretz; "he is right in sticking to it." Then she resumed: "Monsieur le Marquis, what means all this mystery, then?" Ah! madame," said he to her, looking slyly at her, “you are a very clever woman, and you live with those who can decipher hieroglyphics. I am afraid you may have divined me." sued she, “since he repeated to us a conversation which he had had with you, without keeping back any of the objections which occurred to you on the subject of his marriage." "I recognize him there, the wretch!" said the Marquis. "It has given me a great deal to think of, and I am forced to respect your excellent reason. I am greatly to blame, for I have been cruelly mistaken. There is not between those young people that harmony of character and of taste which is the first condition of happiness." How pleased I am to hear you speak thus!" exclaimed he. The great point is harmony of tastes; neither is that enough. According to the ideas of Providence and also of my own, marriage should be a mutual admiration society. Now, I have become acquainted with—yes, dear madame, I am acquainted with a woman of most uncommon merit. She has published admirable sonnets, which Petrarch might envy if he were still alive, and a treatise on the duties and virtues of woman, which Fénelon would have “Can my nephew accidentally have discov- consented to sign if Bossuet would not have ered that secret? You alarm me; he is the last disputed the honor with him. Are you listening? man in the world to whom I would make my She lent those precious volumes to a man who confession." pretends to be in love with her; the unfortunate "I can easily believe that," thought she; "we fellow could not read them through. I have seen have the hare by the ears now." "You exaggerate my clairvoyance. I have divined nothing whatever. Is it true, as Monsieur de Penneville pretends, that you have a secret ?" Gently pressing the Marquis's arm, she said to him: "Indeed, I do not understand you at all, and I like nothing better than making out people. Will you not reveal this dreadful secret to me?" 'Never, madame, never. I have not yet lost all respect for my white hairs; I stand in awe of them should you want me to cover them with everlasting ridicule?" "You are the only one who sees that they are white," said she, with a most encouraging glance. "And then," resumed he, "you would betray me to Horace. For the first time, an uncle trembles before his nephew." "I shall have to give it up," thought Madame Véretz, a little angry; "his white hairs and his nephew are a restraint upon him. He will not speak until the other has left the place." After a pause she resumed: "Monsieur le Marquis, if you had been less stingy of your visits, you would have both honored and delighted us, for I longed to see you, and talk with you about something which troubles me. I have my secret as well, and I longed to confide it to you. Yes, for several days I have been very much disturbed. Monsieur de Penneville, who has the unfortunate habit of telling everything-" "Very unfortunate indeed, madame; I have often reproved him for it." both volumes: one is only cut through the first half, the other is still untouched, absolutely uncut. The best part of the whole thing is, that the poor fellow fancies he has read them, and is ready to swear that he admires them. But don't repeat my story to Madame Corneuil.” " As for Madame Corneuil," answered she with a smile, "she will undoubtedly publish at some future day a book on the duties of mothers, and I am sure she will number indiscretion among their virtues. Alas! mothers are often considered indiscreet, and the story you have just related is well suited to enlighten my daughter upon her own feelings and those which Horace pretends to have toward her. Besides, I ought to confess to you that she herself—" "Speak, madame, speak; you ought, you say, to confess to me that she herself—” "Oh! my daughter has so profound a soul that she keeps her feelings to herself. But for a long time I have observed that she is thoughtful, serious, almost sad, and I ask myself if she, too, may not have reflected." The Marquis let go the arm of Madame Véretz that he might wipe his forehead with his handkerchief. There is such a thing in the world as perspiration caused by delight. Ah! you are glad, old fellow!" said Madame Véretz within herself. "You have forgotten your white hairs. Let us see if you are going "Without curing him of it, however," pur- to speak." The Marquis did not speak. It might have been said that his joy was so great as to make him forget where he was and with whom. Nevertheless, he finally remembered; and, seizing the hand of Madame Véretz, he lifted it almost lovingly to his lips, so that she was afraid he had misunderstood. "Dear madame," said he, "all men who meddle with literature have a passion which is stronger and more enduring than love, and that is selflove, and to kill out the lover it is sometimes only necessary to scratch the author with the prick of a pin." "We were made to talk together," said she to him; "we understand each other with half a word. But, I beg you, Monsieur le Marquis, if the scratch of a pin does have such a wonderful effect, will you tell me your secret ?" “No, madame, but I will write it to you." "That is a thing agreed upon," answered she, giving him her hand, which he pressed convulsively in his gratitude. After which, she turned toward the pension Vallaud, saying to herself, "That is the ideal sonin-law of my dreams." VI. HORACE had been reading full twenty minutes. They were listening or pretending to listen to him. The pretty salon of the chalet was situated on the ground-floor, and, as the evening was warm, the window had been left open. Had there been passers-by, the sound of their footsteps might have disturbed him; but, thanks to Heaven, there were no passers-by. Jacquot and his trumpet had retired to his attic, and were peacefully sleeping in each other's arms. The birds in the park had agreed to keep silence, that they might hear better, without losing a word; it is true that the season had come when they had ceased to sing. From the bosom of their ethereal abodes, the stars, those dwellers in eternal silence, cast a friendly glance upon him. He read with dignity, with zeal, and with conviction, but also modestly. Now and then he stopped to say: “Do you think I am going too fast? When I was a child they used to reprove me for sputtering. Is it hard for you to follow me? Do you wish me to begin over again? You are going to ask for the proofs; wait, I will give them further on. If you have any observations to make, do not hesitate; I shall be much obliged to you for them." But they took very good care not to make any observation, and no one implored him to begin again. We said before that he had the precious faculty of uniting sensations, by which he could enjoy several things at the same time, and all these different pleasures combined to make but one. The exquisite scent of jasmine in bloom came into the parlor through the half-open window. He breathed in the perfume with delight, and, although he was absorbed in his reading, he now and then looked out at the stars, and thought of those beautiful brown eyes shot with fawncolor, which were lovelier to look upon than all the stars of heaven. He could not see those beautiful eyes, for Madame Corneuil was seated upon a luxurious divan in the background, where the glare of the lamp could not reach her. Reclining and silent, she was all ears, for darkness is favorable to attention. I can not swear that her thoughts did not occasionally wander. She might have been thinking of the two uncut volumes. Madame Véretz was seated at her frame, opposite the reader, and, as she embroidered, made little approving nods to him. Her smile and the sparkle of her green eyes also expressed sufficiently the lively interest which she took in the Hyksos, unless that smile meant simply to say, "Heaven be praised, my dear sir-habit makes anything tolerable!" He continued to read, turning over the leaves regretfully, for he felt so happy that he wished that both his happiness and his reading might never come to an end. Before he began, a delicate hand, which he would like to have held for ever in his own, had placed before him a large glass of sweetened water. He moistened his lips with it, hemmed to clear his voice, and then resumed in these words: The "We have demonstrated that the history of Joseph, son of Jacob, as contained in the thirtyfourth chapter of Genesis and those following, bears the evident stamp of authenticity. proper names, of so great importance in such cases, also bear further evidence. As every one knows, the officer of Pharaoh, chief of his guards or of his eunuchs, who bought Joseph from the Ishmaelites, and with whose wife he had that unfortunate adventure, from which he could only escape by leaving his cloak behind him, was called Potiphar, and Potiphar is nothing if not Pet-Phra, which signifies consecrated to Ra, or to the sun-god. Joseph received from Pharaoh the title of Zphanatpaneach, which 'must be translated into Zpent-Pouch; now, Zpent-Pouch means the creator of life, which proves sufficiently the gratitude which the Egyptians bore to Joseph for having provided for their sustenance during the famine. The daughter of a priest of On, or Annu, was given him in marriage." Here he turned to Madame Véretz: "Is there any necessity of my explaining to you that On, or Annu, means the city of the sun, or Heliopolis?" |