A STRANGE BETROTHAL.

M. Dambreuse, when Deslauriers presented himself at his house, was thinking of reviving his great coal-mining speculation.  But this fusion of all the companies into one was looked upon unfavourably; there was an outcry against monopolies, as if immense capital were not needed for carrying out enterprises of this kind!

Deslauriers, who had read for the purpose the work of Gobet and the articles of M. Chappe in the Journal des Mines, understood the question perfectly.  He demonstrated that the law of 1810 established for the benefit of the grantee a privilege which could not be transferred.  Besides, a democratic colour might be given to the undertaking.  To interfere with the formation of coal-mining companies was against the principle even of association.

M. Dambreuse intrusted to him some notes for the purpose of drawing up a memorandum.  As for the way in which he meant to pay for the work, he was all the more profuse in his promises from the fact that they were not very definite.

Deslauriers called again at Frederick’s house, and gave him an account of the interview.  Moreover, he had caught a glimpse of Madame Dambreuse at the bottom of the stairs, just as he was going out.

“I wish you joy ­upon my soul, I do!”

Then they had a chat about the election.  There was something to be devised in order to carry it.

Three days later Deslauriers reappeared with a sheet of paper covered with handwriting, intended for the newspapers, and which was nothing less than a friendly letter from M. Dambreuse, expressing approval of their friend’s candidature.  Supported by a Conservative and praised by a Red, he ought to succeed.  How was it that the capitalist had put his signature to such a lucubration?  The advocate had, of his own motion, and without the least appearance of embarrassment, gone and shown it to Madame Dambreuse, who, thinking it quite appropriate, had taken the rest of the business on her own shoulders.

Frederick was astonished at this proceeding.  Nevertheless, he approved of it; then, as Deslauriers was to have an interview with M. Roque, his friend explained to him how he stood with regard to Louise.

“Tell them anything you like; that my affairs are in an unsettled state, that I am putting them in order.  She is young enough to wait!”

Deslauriers set forth, and Frederick looked upon himself as a very able man.  He experienced, moreover, a feeling of gratification, a profound satisfaction.  His delight at being the possessor of a rich woman was not spoiled by any contrast.  The sentiment harmonised with the surroundings.  His life now would be full of joy in every sense.

Perhaps the most delicious sensation of all was to gaze at Madame Dambreuse in the midst of a number of other ladies in her drawing-room.  The propriety of her manners made him dream of other attitudes.  While she was talking in a tone of coldness, he would recall to mind the loving words which she had murmured in his ear.  All the respect which he felt for her virtue gave him a thrill of pleasure, as if it were a homage which was reflected back on himself; and at times he felt a longing to exclaim: 

“But I know her better than you!  She is mine!”

It was not long ere their relations came to be socially recognised as an established fact.  Madame Dambreuse, during the whole winter, brought Frederick with her into fashionable society.

He nearly always arrived before her; and he watched her as she entered the house they were visiting with her arms uncovered, a fan in her hand, and pearls in her hair.  She would pause on the threshold (the lintel of the door formed a framework round her head), and she would open and shut her eyes with a certain air of indecision, in order to see whether he was there.

She drove him back in her carriage; the rain lashed the carriage-blinds.  The passers-by seemed merely shadows wavering in the mire of the street; and, pressed close to each other, they observed all these things vaguely with a calm disdain.  Under various pretexts, he would linger in her room for an entire additional hour.

It was chiefly through a feeling of ennui that Madame Dambreuse had yielded.  But this latest experience was not to be wasted.  She desired to give herself up to an absorbing passion; and so she began to heap on his head adulations and caresses.

She sent him flowers; she had an upholstered chair made for him.  She made presents to him of a cigar-holder, an inkstand, a thousand little things for daily use, so that every act of his life should recall her to his memory.  These kind attentions charmed him at first, and in a little while appeared to him very simple.

She would step into a cab, get rid of it at the opening into a by-way, and come out at the other end; and then, gliding along by the walls, with a double veil on her face, she would reach the street where Frederick, who had been keeping watch, would take her arm quickly to lead her towards his house.  His two men-servants would have gone out for a walk, and the doorkeeper would have been sent on some errand.  She would throw a glance around her ­nothing to fear! ­and she would breathe forth the sigh of an exile who beholds his country once more.  Their good fortune emboldened them.  Their appointments became more frequent.  One evening, she even presented herself, all of a sudden, in full ball-dress.  These surprises might have perilous consequences.  He reproached her for her lack of prudence.  Nevertheless, he was not taken with her appearance.  The low body of her dress exposed her thinness too freely.

It was then that he discovered what had hitherto been hidden from him ­the disillusion of his senses.  None the less did he make professions of ardent love; but in order to call up such emotions he found it necessary to evoke the images of Rosanette and Madame Arnoux.

This sentimental atrophy left his intellect entirely untrammelled; and he was more ambitious than ever of attaining a high position in society.  Inasmuch as he had such a stepping-stone, the very least he could do was to make use of it.

One morning, about the middle of January, Senecal entered his study, and in response to his exclamation of astonishment, announced that he was Deslauriers’ secretary.  He even brought Frederick a letter.  It contained good news, and yet it took him to task for his negligence; he would have to come down to the scene of action at once.  The future deputy said he would set out on his way there in two days’ time.

Senecal gave no opinion on the other’s merits as a candidate.  He spoke about his own concerns and about the affairs of the country.

Miserable as the state of things happened to be, it gave him pleasure, for they were advancing in the direction of Communism.  In the first place, the Administration led towards it of its own accord, since every day a greater number of things were controlled by the Government.  As for Property, the Constitution of ’48, in spite of its weaknesses, had not spared it.  The State might, in the name of public utility, henceforth take whatever it thought would suit it.  Senecal declared himself in favour of authority; and Frederick noticed in his remarks the exaggeration which characterised what he had said himself to Deslauriers.  The Republican even inveighed against the masses for their inadequacy.

“Robespierre, by upholding the right of the minority, had brought Louis XVI. to acknowledge the National Convention, and saved the people.  Things were rendered legitimate by the end towards which they were directed.  A dictatorship is sometimes indispensable.  Long live tyranny, provided that the tyrant promotes the public welfare!”

Their discussion lasted a long time; and, as he was taking his departure, Senecal confessed (perhaps it was the real object of his visit) that Deslauriers was getting very impatient at M. Dambreuse’s silence.

But M. Dambreuse was ill.  Frederick saw him every day, his character of an intimate friend enabling him to obtain admission to the invalid’s bedside.

General Changarnier’s recall had powerfully affected the capitalist’s mind.  He was, on the evening of the occurrence, seized with a burning sensation in his chest, together with an oppression that prevented him from lying down.  The application of leeches gave him immediate relief.  The dry cough disappeared; the respiration became more easy; and, eight days later, he said, while swallowing some broth: 

“Ah!  I’m better now ­but I was near going on the last long journey!”

“Not without me!” exclaimed Madame Dambreuse, intending by this remark to convey that she would not be able to outlive him.

Instead of replying, he cast upon her and upon her lover a singular smile, in which there was at the same time resignation, indulgence, irony, and even, as it were, a touch of humour, a sort of secret satisfaction almost amounting to actual joy.

Frederick wished to start for Nogent.  Madame Dambreuse objected to this; and he unpacked and re-packed his luggage by turns according to the changes in the invalid’s condition.

Suddenly M. Dambreuse spat forth considerable blood.  The “princes of medical science,” on being consulted, could not think of any fresh remedy.  His legs swelled, and his weakness increased.  He had several times evinced a desire to see Cecile, who was at the other end of France with her husband, now a collector of taxes, a position to which he had been appointed a month ago.  M. Dambreuse gave express orders to send for her.  Madame Dambreuse wrote three letters, which she showed him.

Without trusting him even to the care of the nun, she did not leave him for one second, and no longer went to bed.  The ladies who had their names entered at the door-lodge made enquiries about her with feelings of admiration, and the passers-by were filled with respect on seeing the quantity of straw which was placed in the street under the windows.

On the 12th of February, at five o’clock, a frightful haemoptysis came on.  The doctor who had charge of him pointed out that the case had assumed a dangerous aspect.  They sent in hot haste for a priest.

While M. Dambreuse was making his confession, Madame kept gazing curiously at him some distance away.  After this, the young doctor applied a blister, and awaited the result.

The flame of the lamps, obscured by some of the furniture, lighted up the apartment in an irregular fashion.  Frederick and Madame Dambreuse, at the foot of the bed, watched the dying man.  In the recess of a window the priest and the doctor chatted in low tones.  The good sister on her knees kept mumbling prayers.

At last came a rattling in the throat.  The hands grew cold; the face began to turn white.  Now and then he drew a deep breath all of a sudden; but gradually this became rarer and rarer.  Two or three confused words escaped him.  He turned his eyes upward, and at the same moment his respiration became so feeble that it was almost imperceptible.  Then his head sank on one side on the pillow.

For a minute, all present remained motionless.

Madame Dambreuse advanced towards the dead body of her husband, and, without an effort ­with the unaffectedness of one discharging a duty ­she drew down the eyelids.  Then she spread out her two arms, her figure writhing as if in a spasm of repressed despair, and quitted the room, supported by the physician and the nun.

A quarter of an hour afterwards, Frederick made his way up to her apartment.

There was in it an indefinable odour, emanating from some delicate substances with which it was filled.  In the middle of the bed lay a black dress, which formed a glaring contrast with the pink coverlet.

Madame Dambreuse was standing at the corner of the mantelpiece.  Without attributing to her any passionate regret, he thought she looked a little sad; and, in a mournful voice, he said: 

“You are enduring pain?”

“I?  No ­not at all.”

As she turned around, her eyes fell on the dress, which she inspected.  Then she told him not to stand on ceremony.

“Smoke, if you like!  You can make yourself at home with me!”

And, with a great sigh: 

“Ah!  Blessed Virgin! ­what a riddance!”

Frederick was astonished at this exclamation.  He replied, as he kissed her hand: 

“All the same, you were free!”

This allusion to the facility with which the intrigue between them had been carried on hurt Madame Dambreuse.

“Ah! you don’t know the services that I did for him, or the misery in which I lived!”

“What!”

“Why, certainly!  Was it a safe thing to have always near him that bastard, a daughter, whom he introduced into the house at the end of five years of married life, and who, were it not for me, might have led him into some act of folly?”

Then she explained how her affairs stood.  The arrangement on the occasion of her marriage was that the property of each party should be separate. The amount of her inheritance was three hundred thousand francs.  M. Dambreuse had guaranteed by the marriage contract that in the event of her surviving him, she should have an income of fifteen thousand francs a year, together with the ownership of the mansion.  But a short time afterwards he had made a will by which he gave her all he possessed, and this she estimated, so far as it was possible to ascertain just at present, at over three millions.

Frederick opened his eyes widely.

A marriage may take place in France under the regime de communauté, by which the husband has the enjoyment and the right of disposing of the property both of himself and his wife; the regime dotal, by which he can only dispose of the income; and the regime de separation de biens, by which husband and wife enjoy and exercise control over their respective estates separately. ­TRANSLATOR.

“It was worth the trouble, wasn’t it?  However, I contributed to it!  It was my own property I was protecting; Cecile would have unjustly robbed me of it.”

“Why did she not come to see her father?”

As he asked her this question Madame Dambreuse eyed him attentively; then, in a dry tone: 

“I haven’t the least idea!  Want of heart, probably!  Oh!  I know what she is!  And for that reason she won’t get a farthing from me!”

She had not been very troublesome, he pointed out; at any rate, since her marriage.

“Ha! her marriage!” said Madame Dambreuse, with a sneer.  And she grudged having treated only too well this stupid creature, who was jealous, self-interested, and hypocritical.  “All the faults of her father!” She disparaged him more and more.  There was never a person with such profound duplicity, and with such a merciless disposition into the bargain, as hard as a stone ­“a bad man, a bad man!”

Even the wisest people fall into errors.  Madame Dambreuse had just made a serious one through this overflow of hatred on her part.  Frederick, sitting opposite her in an easy chair, was reflecting deeply, scandalised by the language she had used.

She arose and knelt down beside him.

“To be with you is the only real pleasure!  You are the only one I love!”

While she gazed at him her heart softened, a nervous reaction brought tears into her eyes, and she murmured: 

“Will you marry me?”

At first he thought he had not understood what she meant.  He was stunned by this wealth.

She repeated in a louder tone: 

“Will you marry me?”

At last he said with a smile: 

“Have you any doubt about it?”

Then the thought forced itself on his mind that his conduct was infamous, and in order to make a kind of reparation to the dead man, he offered to watch by his side himself.  But, feeling ashamed of this pious sentiment, he added, in a flippant tone: 

“It would be perhaps more seemly.”

“Perhaps so, indeed,” she said, “on account of the servants.”

The bed had been drawn completely out of the alcove.  The nun was near the foot of it, and at the head of it sat a priest, a different one, a tall, spare man, with the look of a fanatical Spaniard.  On the night-table, covered with a white cloth, three wax-tapers were burning.

Frederick took a chair, and gazed at the corpse.

The face was as yellow as straw.  At the corners of the mouth there were traces of blood-stained foam.  A silk handkerchief was tied around the skull, and on the breast, covered with a knitted waistcoat, lay a silver crucifix between the two crossed hands.

It was over, this life full of anxieties!  How many journeys had he not made to various places?  How many rows of figures had he not piled together?  How many speculations had he not hatched?  How many reports had he not heard read?  What quackeries, what smiles and curvets!  For he had acclaimed Napoleon, the Cossacks, Louis XVIII., 1830, the working-men, every regime, loving power so dearly that he would have paid in order to have the opportunity of selling himself.

But he had left behind him the estate of La Fortelle, three factories in Picardy, the woods of Crance in the Yonne, a farm near Orleans, and a great deal of personal property in the form of bills and papers.

Frederick thus made an estimate of her fortune; and it would soon, nevertheless, belong to him!  First of all, he thought of “what people would say”; then he asked himself what present he ought to make to his mother, and he was concerned about his future équipages, and about employing an old coachman belonging to his own family as the doorkeeper.  Of course, the livery would not be the same.  He would convert the large reception-room into his own study.  There was nothing to prevent him by knocking down three walls from setting up a picture-gallery on the second-floor.  Perhaps there might be an opportunity for introducing into the lower portion of the house a hall for Turkish baths.  As for M. Dambreuse’s office, a disagreeable spot, what use could he make of it?

These reflections were from time to time rudely interrupted by the sounds made by the priest in blowing his nose, or by the good sister in settling the fire.

But the actual facts showed that his thoughts rested on a solid foundation.  The corpse was there.  The eyelids had reopened, and the pupils, although steeped in clammy gloom, had an enigmatic, intolerable expression.

Frederick fancied that he saw there a judgment directed against himself, and he felt almost a sort of remorse, for he had never any complaint to make against this man, who, on the contrary ­

“Come, now! an old wretch!” and he looked at the dead man more closely in order to strengthen his mind, mentally addressing him thus: 

“Well, what?  Have I killed you?”

Meanwhile, the priest read his breviary; the nun, who sat motionless, had fallen asleep.  The wicks of the three wax-tapers had grown longer.

For two hours could be heard the heavy rolling of carts making their way to the markets.  The window-panes began to admit streaks of white.  A cab passed; then a group of donkeys went trotting over the pavement.  Then came strokes of hammers, cries of itinerant vendors of wood and blasts of horns.  Already every other sound was blended with the great voice of awakening Paris.

Frederick went out to perform the duties assigned to him.  He first repaired to the Mayor’s office to make the necessary declaration; then, when the medical officer had given him a certificate of death, he called a second time at the municipal buildings in order to name the cemetery which the family had selected, and to make arrangements for the funeral ceremonies.

The clerk in the office showed him a plan which indicated the mode of interment adopted for the various classes, and a programme giving full particulars with regard to the spectacular portion of the funeral.  Would he like to have an open funeral-car or a hearse with plumes, plaits on the horses, and aigrettes on the footmen, initials or a coat-of-arms, funeral-lamps, a man to display the family distinctions? and what number of carriages would he require?

Frederick did not economise in the slightest degree.  Madame Dambreuse was determined to spare no expense.

After this he made his way to the church.

The curate who had charge of burials found fault with the waste of money on funeral pomps.  For instance, the officer for the display of armorial distinctions was really useless.  It would be far better to have a goodly display of wax-tapers.  A low mass accompanied by music would be appropriate.

Frederick gave written directions to have everything that was agreed upon carried out, with a joint undertaking to defray all the expenses.

He went next to the Hotel de Ville to purchase a piece of ground.  A grant of a piece which was two metres in length and one in breadth cost five hundred francs.  Did he want a grant for fifty years or forever?

“Oh, forever!” said Frederick.

He took the whole thing seriously and got into a state of intense anxiety about it.  In the courtyard of the mansion a marble-cutter was waiting to show him estimates and plans of Greek, Egyptian, and Moorish tombs; but the family architect had already been in consultation with Madame; and on the table in the vestibule there were all sorts of prospectuses with reference to the cleaning of mattresses, the disinfection of rooms, and the various processes of embalming.

After dining, he went back to the tailor’s shop to order mourning for the servants; and he had still to discharge another function, for the gloves that he had ordered were of beaver, whereas the right kind for a funeral were floss-silk.

When he arrived next morning, at ten o’clock, the large reception-room was filled with people, and nearly everyone said, on encountering the others, in a melancholy tone: 

“It is only a month ago since I saw him!  Good heavens! it will be the same way with us all!”

A metre is about 3-1/4 feet ­TRANSLATOR.

“Yes; but let us try to keep it as far away from us as possible!”

Then there were little smiles of satisfaction; and they even engaged in conversations entirely unsuited to the occasion.  At length, the master of the ceremonies, in a black coat in the French fashion and short breeches, with a cloak, cambric mourning-bands, a long sword by his side, and a three-cornered hat under his arm, gave utterance, with a bow, to the customary words: 

“Messieurs, when it shall be your pleasure.”

The funeral started.  It was the market-day for flowers on the Place de la Madeleine.  It was a fine day with brilliant sunshine; and the breeze, which shook the canvas tents, a little swelled at the edges the enormous black cloth which was hung over the church-gate.  The escutcheon of M. Dambreuse, which covered a square piece of velvet, was repeated there three times.  It was:  Sable, with an arm sinister or and a clenched hand with a glove argent; with the coronet of a count, and this device:  By every path.

The bearers lifted the heavy coffin to the top of the staircase, and they entered the building.  The six chapels, the hémicycles, and the seats were hung with black.  The catafalque at the end of the choir formed, with its large wax-tapers, a single focus of yellow lights.  At the two corners, over the candelabra, flames of spirits of wine were burning.

The persons of highest rank took up their position in the sanctuary, and the rest in the nave; and then the Office for the Dead began.

With the exception of a few, the religious ignorance of all was so profound that the master of the ceremonies had, from time to time, to make signs to them to rise, to kneel, or to resume their seats.  The organ and the two double-basses could be heard alternately with the voices.  In the intervals of silence, the only sounds that reached the ear were the mumblings of the priest at the altar; then the music and the chanting went on again.

The light of day shone dimly through the three cupolas, but the open door let in, as it were, a stream of white radiance, which, entering in a horizontal direction, fell on every uncovered head; and in the air, half-way towards the ceiling of the church, floated a shadow, which was penetrated by the reflection of the gildings that decorated the ribbing of the pendentives and the foliage of the capitals.

Frederick, in order to distract his attention, listened to the Dies irae.  He gazed at those around him, or tried to catch a glimpse of the pictures hanging too far above his head, wherein the life of the Magdalen was represented.  Luckily, Pellerin came to sit down beside him, and immediately plunged into a long dissertation on the subject of frescoes.  The bell began to toll.  They left the church.

The hearse, adorned with hanging draperies and tall plumes, set out for Pere-Lachaise drawn by four black horses, with their manes plaited, their heads decked with tufts of feathers, and with large trappings embroidered with silver flowing down to their shoes.  The driver of the vehicle, in Hessian boots, wore a three-cornered hat with a long piece of crape falling down from it.  The cords were held by four personages:  a questor of the Chamber of Deputies, a member of the General Council of the Aube, a delegate from the coal-mining company, and Fumichon, as a friend.  The carriage of the deceased and a dozen mourning-coaches followed.  The persons attending at the funeral came in the rear, filling up the middle of the boulevard.

The passers-by stopped to look at the mournful procession.  Women, with their brats in their arms, got up on chairs, and people, who had been drinking glasses of beer in the cafes, presented themselves at the windows with billiard-cues in their hands.

The way was long, and, as at formal meals at which people are at first reserved and then expansive, the general deportment speedily relaxed.  They talked of nothing but the refusal of an allowance by the Chamber to the President.  M. Piscatory had shown himself harsh; Montalembert had been “magnificent, as usual,” and MM.  Chamballe, Pidoux, Creton, in short, the entire committee would be compelled perhaps to follow the advice of MM.  Quentin-Bauchard and Dufour.

This conversation was continued as they passed through the Rue de la Roquette, with shops on each side, in which could be seen only chains of coloured glass and black circular tablets covered with drawings and letters of gold ­which made them resemble grottoes full of stalactites and crockery-ware shops.  But, when they had reached the cemetery-gate, everyone instantaneously ceased speaking.

The tombs among the trees:  broken columns, pyramids, temples, dolmens, obelisks, and Etruscan vaults with doors of bronze.  In some of them might be seen funereal boudoirs, so to speak, with rustic armchairs and folding-stools.  Spiders’ webs hung like rags from the little chains of the urns; and the bouquets of satin ribbons and the crucifixes were covered with dust.  Everywhere, between the balusters on the tombstones, may be observed crowns of immortelles and chandeliers, vases, flowers, black discs set off with gold letters, and plaster statuettes ­little boys or little girls or little angels sustained in the air by brass wires; several of them have even a roof of zinc overhead.  Huge cables made of glass strung together, black, white, or azure, descend from the tops of the monuments to the ends of the flagstones with long folds, like boas.  The rays of the sun, striking on them, made them scintillate in the midst of the black wooden crosses.  The hearse advanced along the broad paths, which are paved like the streets of a city.  From time to time the axletrees cracked.  Women, kneeling down, with their dresses trailing in the grass, addressed the dead in tones of tenderness.  Little white fumes arose from the green leaves of the yew trees.  These came from offerings that had been left behind, waste material that had been burnt.

M. Dambreuse’s grave was close to the graves of Manuel and Benjamin Constant.  The soil in this place slopes with an abrupt decline.  One has under his feet there the tops of green trees, further down the chimneys of steam-pumps, then the entire great city.

Frederick found an opportunity of admiring the scene while the various addresses were being delivered.

The first was in the name of the Chamber of Deputies, the second in the name of the General Council of the Aube, the third in the name of the coal-mining company of Saône-et-Loire, the fourth in the name of the Agricultural Society of the Yonne, and there was another in the name of a Philanthropic Society.  Finally, just as everyone was going away, a stranger began reading a sixth address, in the name of the Amiens Society of Antiquaries.

And thereupon they all took advantage of the occasion to denounce Socialism, of which M. Dambreuse had died a victim.  It was the effect produced on his mind by the exhibitions of anarchic violence, together with his devotion to order, that had shortened his days.  They praised his intellectual powers, his integrity, his generosity, and even his silence as a representative of the people, “for, if he was not an orator, he possessed instead those solid qualities a thousand times more useful,” etc., with all the requisite phrases ­“Premature end; eternal regrets; the better land; farewell, or rather no, au revoir!”

The clay, mingled with stones, fell on the coffin, and he would never again be a subject for discussion in society.

However, there were a few allusions to him as the persons who had followed his remains left the cemetery.  Hussonnet, who would have to give an account of the interment in the newspapers, took up all the addresses in a chaffing style, for, in truth, the worthy Dambreuse had been one of the most notable pots-de-vin of the last reign.  Then the citizens were driven in the mourning-coaches to their various places of business; the ceremony had not lasted very long; they congratulated themselves on the circumstance.

Frederick returned to his own abode quite worn out.

The reader will excuse this barbarism on account of its convenience. Pot-de-vin means a gratuity or something paid to a person who has not earned it. ­TRANSLATOR.

When he presented himself next day at Madame Dambreuse’s residence, he was informed that she was busy below stairs in the room where M. Dambreuse had kept his papers.

The cardboard receptacles and the different drawers had been opened confusedly, and the account-books had been flung about right and left.  A roll of papers on which were endorsed the words “Repayment hopeless” lay on the ground.  He was near falling over it, and picked it up.  Madame Dambreuse had sunk back in the armchair, so that he did not see her.

“Well? where are you?  What is the matter!”

She sprang to her feet with a bound.

“What is the matter?  I am ruined, ruined! do you understand?”

M. Adolphe Langlois, the notary, had sent her a message to call at his office, and had informed her about the contents of a will made by her husband before their marriage.  He had bequeathed everything to Cecile; and the other will was lost.  Frederick turned very pale.  No doubt she had not made sufficient search.

“Well, then, look yourself!” said Madame Dambreuse, pointing at the objects contained in the room.

The two strong-boxes were gaping wide, having been broken open with blows of a cleaver, and she had turned up the desk, rummaged in the cupboards, and shaken the straw-mattings, when, all of a sudden, uttering a piercing cry, she dashed into corner where she had just noticed a little box with a brass lock.  She opened it ­nothing!

“Ah! the wretch!  I, who took such devoted care of him!”

Then she burst into sobs.

“Perhaps it is somewhere else?” said Frederick.

“Oh! no! it was there! in that strong-box, I saw it there lately.  ’Tis burned!  I’m certain of it!”

One day, in the early stage of his illness, M. Dambreuse had gone down to this room to sign some documents.

“’Tis then he must have done the trick!”

And she fell back on a chair, crushed.  A mother grieving beside an empty cradle was not more woeful than Madame Dambreuse was at the sight of the open strong-boxes.  Indeed, her sorrow, in spite of the baseness of the motive which inspired it, appeared so deep that he tried to console her by reminding her that, after all, she was not reduced to sheer want.

“It is want, when I am not in a position to offer you a large fortune!”

She had not more than thirty thousand livres a year, without taking into account the mansion, which was worth from eighteen to twenty thousand, perhaps.

Although to Frederick this would have been opulence, he felt, none the less, a certain amount of disappointment.  Farewell to his dreams and to all the splendid existence on which he had intended to enter!  Honour compelled him to marry Madame Dambreuse.  For a minute he reflected; then, in a tone of tenderness: 

“I’ll always have yourself!”

She threw herself into his arms, and he clasped her to his breast with an emotion in which there was a slight element of admiration for himself.

Madame Dambreuse, whose tears had ceased to flow, raised her face, beaming all over with happiness, and seizing his hand: 

“Ah!  I never doubted you!  I knew I could count on you!”

The young man did not like this tone of anticipated certainty with regard to what he was pluming himself on as a noble action.

Then she brought him into her own apartment, and they began to arrange their plans for the future.  Frederick should now consider the best way of advancing himself in life.  She even gave him excellent advice with reference to his candidature.

The first point was to be acquainted with two or three phrases borrowed from political economy.  It was necessary to take up a specialty, such as the stud system, for example; to write a number of notes on questions of local interest, to have always at his disposal post-offices or tobacconists’ shops, and to do a heap of little services.  In this respect M. Dambreuse had shown himself a true model.  Thus, on one occasion, in the country, he had drawn up his wagonette, full of friends of his, in front of a cobbler’s stall, and had bought a dozen pairs of shoes for his guests, and for himself a dreadful pair of boots, which he had not even the courage to wear for an entire fortnight.  This anecdote put them into a good humour.  She related others, and that with a renewal of grace, youthfulness, and wit.

She approved of his notion of taking a trip immediately to Nogent.  Their parting was an affectionate one; then, on the threshold, she murmured once more: 

“You love me ­do you not?”

“Eternally,” was his reply.

A messenger was waiting for him at his own house with a line written in lead-pencil informing him that Rosanette was about to be confined.  He had been so much preoccupied for the past few days that he had not bestowed a thought upon the matter.

She had been placed in a special establishment at Chaillot.

Frederick took a cab and set out for this institution.

At the corner of the Rue de Marbeuf he read on a board in big letters:  “Private Lying-in-Hospital, kept by Madame Alessandri, first-class midwife, ex-pupil of the Maternity, author of various works, etc.”  Then, in the centre of the street, over the door ­a little side-door ­there was another signboard:  “Private Hospital of Madame Alessandri,” with all her titles.

Frederick gave a knock.  A chambermaid, with the figure of an Abigail, introduced him into the reception-room, which was adorned with a mahogany table and armchairs of garnet velvet, and with a clock under a globe.

Almost immediately Madame appeared.  She was a tall brunette of forty, with a slender waist, fine eyes, and the manners of good society.  She apprised Frederick of the mother’s happy delivery, and brought him up to her apartment.

Rosanette broke into a smile of unutterable bliss, and, as if drowned in the floods of love that were suffocating her, she said in a low tone: 

“A boy ­there, there!” pointing towards a cradle close to her bed.

He flung open the curtains, and saw, wrapped up in linen, a yellowish-red object, exceedingly shrivelled-looking, which had a bad smell, and which was bawling lustily.

“Embrace him!”

He replied, in order to hide his repugnance: 

“But I am afraid of hurting him.”

“No! no!”

Then, with the tips of his lips, he kissed his child.

“How like you he is!”

And with her two weak arms, she clung to his neck with an outburst of feeling which he had never witnessed on her part before.

The remembrance of Madame Dambreuse came back to him.  He reproached himself as a monster for having deceived this poor creature, who loved and suffered with all the sincerity of her nature.  For several days he remained with her till night.

She felt happy in this quiet place; the window-shutters in front of it remained always closed.  Her room, hung with bright chintz, looked out on a large garden.  Madame Alessandri, whose only shortcoming was that she liked to talk about her intimate acquaintanceship with eminent physicians, showed her the utmost attention.  Her associates, nearly all provincial young ladies, were exceedingly bored, as they had nobody to come to see them.  Rosanette saw that they regarded her with envy, and told this to Frederick with pride.  It was desirable to speak low, nevertheless.  The partitions were thin, and everyone stood listening at hiding-places, in spite of the constant thrumming of the pianos.

At last, he was about to take his departure for Nogent, when he got a letter from Deslauriers.  Two fresh candidates had offered themselves, the one a Conservative, the other a Red; a third, whatever he might be, would have no chance.  It was all Frederick’s fault; he had let the lucky moment pass by; he should have come sooner and stirred himself.

“You have not even been seen at the agricultural assembly!” The advocate blamed him for not having any newspaper connection.

“Ah! if you had followed my advice long ago!  If we had only a public print of our own!”

He laid special stress on this point.  However, many persons who would have voted for him out of consideration for M. Dambreuse, abandoned him now.  Deslauriers was one of the number.  Not having anything more to expect from the capitalist, he had thrown over his protege.

Frederick took the letter to show it to Madame Dambreuse.

“You have not been to Nogent, then?” said she.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I saw Deslauriers three days ago.”

Having learned that her husband was dead, the advocate had come to make a report about the coal-mines, and to offer his services to her as a man of business.  This seemed strange to Frederick; and what was his friend doing down there?

Madame Dambreuse wanted to know how he had spent his time since they had parted.

“I have been ill,” he replied.

“You ought at least to have told me about it.”

“Oh! it wasn’t worth while;” besides, he had to settle a heap of things, to keep appointments and to pay visits.

From that time forth he led a double life, sleeping religiously at the Marechale’s abode and passing the afternoon with Madame Dambreuse, so that there was scarcely a single hour of freedom left to him in the middle of the day.

The infant was in the country at Andilly.  They went to see it once a week.

The wet-nurse’s house was on rising ground in the village, at the end of a little yard as dark as a pit, with straw on the ground, hens here and there, and a vegetable-cart under the shed.

Rosanette would begin by frantically kissing her baby, and, seized with a kind of delirium, would keep moving to and fro, trying to milk the she-goat, eating big pieces of bread, and inhaling the odour of manure; she even wanted to put a little of it into her handkerchief.

Then they took long walks, in the course of which she went into the nurseries, tore off branches from the lilac-trees which hung down over the walls, and exclaimed, “Gee ho, donkey!” to the asses that were drawing cars along, and stopped to gaze through the gate into the interior of one of the lovely gardens; or else the wet-nurse would take the child and place it under the shade of a walnut-tree; and for hours the two women would keep talking the most tiresome nonsense.

Frederick, not far away from them, gazed at the beds of vines on the slopes, with here and there a clump of trees; at the dusty paths resembling strips of grey ribbon; at the houses, which showed white and red spots in the midst of the greenery; and sometimes the smoke of a locomotive stretched out horizontally to the bases of the hills, covered with foliage, like a gigantic ostrich’s feather, the thin end of which was disappearing from view.

Then his eyes once more rested on his son.  He imagined the child grown into a young man; he would make a companion of him; but perhaps he would be a blockhead, a wretched creature, in any event.  He was always oppressed by the illegality of the infant’s birth; it would have been better if he had never been born!  And Frederick would murmur, “Poor child!” his heart swelling with feelings of unutterable sadness.

They often missed the last train.  Then Madame Dambreuse would scold him for his want of punctuality.  He would invent some falsehood.

It was necessary to invent some explanations, too, to satisfy Rosanette.  She could not understand how he spent all his evenings; and when she sent a messenger to his house, he was never there!  One day, when he chanced to be at home, the two women made their appearance almost at the same time.  He got the Maréchale to go away, and concealed Madame Dambreuse, pretending that his mother was coming up to Paris.

Ere long, he found these lies amusing.  He would repeat to one the oath which he had just uttered to the other, send them bouquets of the same sort, write to them at the same time, and then would institute a comparison between them.  There was a third always present in his thoughts.  The impossibility of possessing her seemed to him a justification of his perfidies, which were intensified by the fact that he had to practise them alternately; and the more he deceived, no matter which of the two, the fonder of him she grew, as if the love of one of them added heat to that of the other, and, as if by a sort of emulation, each of them were seeking to make him forget the other.

“Admire my confidence in you!” said Madame Dambreuse one day to him, opening a sheet of paper, in which she was informed that M. Moreau and a certain Rose Bron were living together as husband and wife.

“Can it be that this is the lady of the races?”

“What an absurdity!” he returned.  “Let me have a look at it!”

The letter, written in Roman characters, had no signature.  Madame Dambreuse, in the beginning, had tolerated this mistress, who furnished a cloak for their adultery.  But, as her passion became stronger, she had insisted on a rupture ­a thing which had been effected long since, according to Frederick’s account; and when he had ceased to protest, she replied, half closing her eyes, in which shone a look like the point of a stiletto under a muslin robe: 

“Well ­and the other?”

“What other?”

“The earthenware-dealer’s wife!”

He shrugged his shoulders disdainfully.  She did not press the matter.

But, a month later, while they were talking about honour and loyalty, and he was boasting about his own (in a casual sort of way, for the sake of precaution), she said to him: 

“It is true ­you are acting uprightly ­you don’t go back there any more?”

Frederick, who was at the moment thinking of the Maréchale, stammered: 

“Where, pray?”

“To Madame Arnoux’s.”

He implored her to tell him from whom she got the information.  It was through her second dressmaker, Madame Regimbart.

So, she knew all about his life, and he knew nothing about hers!

In the meantime, he had found in her dressing-room the miniature of a gentleman with long moustaches ­was this the same person about whose suicide a vague story had been told him at one time?  But there was no way of learning any more about it!  However, what was the use of it?  The hearts of women are like little pieces of furniture wherein things are secreted, full of drawers fitted into each other; one hurts himself, breaks his nails in opening them, and then finds within only some withered flower, a few grains of dust ­or emptiness!  And then perhaps he felt afraid of learning too much about the matter.

She made him refuse invitations where she was unable to accompany him, stuck to his side, was afraid of losing him; and, in spite of this union which was every day becoming stronger, all of a sudden, abysses disclosed themselves between the pair about the most trifling questions ­an estimate of an individual or a work of art.

She had a style of playing on the piano which was correct and hard.  Her spiritualism (Madame Dambreuse believed in the transmigration of souls into the stars) did not prevent her from taking the utmost care of her cash-box.  She was haughty towards her servants; her eyes remained dry at the sight of the rags of the poor.  In the expressions of which she habitually made use a candid egoism manifested itself:  “What concern is that of mine?  I should be very silly!  What need have I?” and a thousand little acts incapable of analysis revealed hateful qualities in her.  She would have listened behind doors; she could not help lying to her confessor.  Through a spirit of despotism, she insisted on Frederick going to the church with her on Sunday.  He obeyed, and carried her prayer-book.

The loss of the property she had expected to inherit had changed her considerably.  These marks of grief, which people attributed to the death of M. Dambreuse, rendered her interesting, and, as in former times, she had a great number of visitors.  Since Frederick’s defeat at the election, she was ambitious of obtaining for both of them an embassy in Germany; therefore, the first thing they should do was to submit to the reigning ideas.

Some persons were in favour of the Empire, others of the Orleans family, and others of the Comte de Chambord; but they were all of one opinion as to the urgency of decentralisation, and several expedients were proposed with that view, such as to cut up Paris into many large streets in order to establish villages there, to transfer the seat of government to Versailles, to have the schools set up at Bourges, to suppress the libraries, and to entrust everything to the generals of division; and they glorified a rustic existence on the assumption that the uneducated man had naturally more sense than other men!  Hatreds increased ­hatred of primary teachers and wine-merchants, of the classes of philosophy, of the courses of lectures on history, of novels, red waistcoats, long beards, of independence in any shape, or any manifestation of individuality, for it was necessary “to restore the principle of authority” ­let it be exercised in the name of no matter whom; let it come from no matter where, as long as it was Force, Authority!  The Conservatives now talked in the very same way as Senecal.  Frederick was no longer able to understand their drift, and once more he found at the house of his former mistress the same remarks uttered by the same men.

The salons of the unmarried women (it was from this period that their importance dates) were a sort of neutral ground where reactionaries of different kinds met.  Hussonnet, who gave himself up to the depreciation of contemporary glories (a good thing for the restoration of Order), inspired Rosanette with a longing to have evening parties like any other.  He undertook to publish accounts of them, and first of all he brought a man of grave deportment, Fumichon; then came Nonancourt, M. de Gremonville, the Sieur de Larsilloix, ex-prefect, and Cisy, who was now an agriculturist in Lower Brittany, and more Christian than ever.

In addition, men who had at one time been the Marechale’s lovers, such as the Baron de Comaing, the Comte de Jumillac, and others, presented themselves; and Frederick was annoyed by their free-and-easy behaviour.

In order that he might assume the attitude of master in the house, he increased the rate of expenditure there.  Then he went in for keeping a groom, took a new habitation, and got a fresh supply of furniture.  These displays of extravagance were useful for the purpose of making his alliance appear less out of proportion with his pecuniary position.  The result was that his means were soon terribly reduced ­and Rosanette was entirely ignorant of the fact!

One of the lower middle-class, who had lost caste, she adored a domestic life, a quiet little home.  However, it gave her pleasure to have “an at home day.”  In referring to persons of her own class, she called them “Those women!” She wished to be a society lady, and believed herself to be one.  She begged of him not to smoke in the drawing-room any more, and for the sake of good form tried to make herself look thin.

She played her part badly, after all; for she grew serious, and even before going to bed always exhibited a little melancholy, just as there are cypress trees at the door of a tavern.

He found out the cause of it; she was dreaming of marriage ­she, too!  Frederick was exasperated at this.  Besides, he recalled to mind her appearance at Madame Arnoux’s house, and then he cherished a certain spite against her for having held out against him so long.

He made enquiries none the less as to who her lovers had been.  She denied having had any relations with any of the persons he mentioned.  A sort of jealous feeling took possession of him.  He irritated her by asking questions about presents that had been made to her, and were still being made to her; and in proportion to the exciting effect which the lower portion of her nature produced upon him, he was drawn towards her by momentary illusions which ended in hate.

Her words, her voice, her smile, all had an unpleasant effect on him, and especially her glances with that woman’s eye forever limpid and foolish.  Sometimes he felt so tired of her that he would have seen her die without being moved at it.  But how could he get into a passion with her?  She was so mild that there was no hope of picking a quarrel with her.

Deslauriers reappeared, and explained his sojourn at Nogent by saying that he was making arrangements to buy a lawyer’s office.  Frederick was glad to see him again.  It was somebody! and as a third person in the house, he helped to break the monotony.

The advocate dined with them from time to time, and whenever any little disputes arose, always took Rosanette’s part, so that Frederick, on one occasion, said to him: 

“Ah! you can have with her, if it amuses you!” so much did he long for some chance of getting rid of her.

About the middle of the month of June, she was served with an order made by the law courts by which Maitre Athanase Gautherot, sheriff’s officer, called on her to pay him four thousand francs due to Mademoiselle Clemence Vatnaz; if not, he would come to make a seizure on her.

In fact, of the four bills which she had at various times signed, only one had been paid; the money which she happened to get since then having been spent on other things that she required.

She rushed off at once to see Arnoux.  He lived now in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, and the porter was unable to tell her the name of the street.  She made her way next to the houses of several friends of hers, could not find one of them at home, and came back in a state of utter despair.

She did not wish to tell Frederick anything about it, fearing lest this new occurrence might prejudice the chance of a marriage between them.

On the following morning, M. Athanase Gautherot presented himself with two assistants close behind him, one of them sallow with a mean-looking face and an expression of devouring envy in his glance, the other wearing a collar and straps drawn very tightly, with a sort of thimble of black taffeta on his index-finger ­and both ignobly dirty, with greasy necks, and the sleeves of their coats too short.

Their employer, a very good-looking man, on the contrary, began by apologising for the disagreeable duty he had to perform, while at the same time he threw a look round the room, “full of pretty things, upon my word of honour!” He added, “Not to speak of the things that can’t be seized.”  At a gesture the two bailiff’s men disappeared.

Then he became twice as polite as before.  Could anyone believe that a lady so charming would not have a genuine friend!  A sale of her goods under an order of the courts would be a real misfortune.  One never gets over a thing like that.  He tried to excite her fears; then, seeing that she was very much agitated, suddenly assumed a paternal tone.  He knew the world.  He had been brought into business relations with all these ladies ­and as he mentioned their names, he examined the frames of the pictures on the walls.  They were old pictures of the worthy Arnoux, sketches by Sombary, water-colours by Burieu, and three landscapes by Dittmer.  It was evident that Rosanette was ignorant of their value, Maitre Gautherot turned round to her: 

“Look here! to show that I am a decent fellow, do one thing:  give me up those Dittmers here ­and I am ready to pay all.  Do you agree?”

At that moment Frederick, who had been informed about the matter by Delphine in the anteroom, and who had just seen the two assistants, came in with his hat on his head, in a rude fashion.  Maitre Gautherot resumed his dignity; and, as the door had been left open: 

“Come on, gentlemen ­write down!  In the second room, let us say ­an oak table with its two leaves, two sideboards ­”

Frederick here stopped him, asking whether there was not some way of preventing the seizure.

“Oh! certainly!  Who paid for the furniture?”

“I did.”

“Well, draw up a claim ­you have still time to do it.”

Maitre Gautherot did not take long in writing out his official report, wherein he directed that Mademoiselle Bron should attend at an enquiry in chambers with reference to the ownership of the furniture, and having done this he withdrew.

Frederick uttered no reproach.  He gazed at the traces of mud left on the floor by the bailiff’s shoes, and, speaking to himself: 

“It will soon be necessary to look about for money!”

“Ah! my God, how stupid I am!” said the Maréchale.

She ransacked a drawer, took out a letter, and made her way rapidly to the Languedoc Gas Lighting Company, in order to get the transfer of her shares.

She came back an hour later.  The interest in the shares had been sold to another.  The clerk had said, in answer to her demand, while examining the sheet of paper containing Arnoux’s written promise to her:  “This document in no way constitutes you the proprietor of the shares.  The company has no cognisance of the matter.”  In short, he sent her away unceremoniously, while she choked with rage; and Frederick would have to go to Arnoux’s house at once to have the matter cleared up.

But Arnoux would perhaps imagine that he had come to recover in an indirect fashion the fifteen thousand francs due on the mortgage which he had lost; and then this claim from a man who had been his mistress’s lover seemed to him a piece of baseness.

Selecting a middle course, he went to the Dambreuse mansion to get Madame Regimbart’s address, sent a messenger to her residence, and in this way ascertained the name of the cafe which the Citizen now haunted.

It was the little cafe on the Place de la Bastille, in which he sat all day in the corner to the right at the lower end of the establishment, never moving any more than if he were a portion of the building.

After having gone successively through the half-cup of coffee, the glass of grog, the “bishop,” the glass of mulled wine, and even the red wine and water, he fell back on beer, and every half hour he let fall this word, “Bock!” having reduced his language to what was actually indispensable.  Frederick asked him if he saw Arnoux occasionally.

“No!”

“Look here ­why?”

“An imbecile!”

Politics, perhaps, kept them apart, and so Frederick thought it a judicious thing to enquire about Compain.

“What a brute!” said Regimbart.

“How is that?”

“His calf’s head!”

“Ha! explain to me what the calf’s head is!”

Regimbart’s face wore a contemptuous smile.

“Some tomfoolery!”

After a long interval of silence, Frederick went on to ask: 

“So, then, he has changed his address?”

“Who?”

“Arnoux!”

“Yes ­Rue de Fleurus!”

“What number?”

“Do I associate with the Jesuits?”

“What, Jesuits!”

The Citizen replied angrily: 

“With the money of a patriot whom I introduced to him, this pig has set up as a dealer in beads!”

“It isn’t possible!”

“Go there, and see for yourself!”

It was perfectly true; Arnoux, enfeebled by a fit of sickness, had turned religious; besides, he had always had a stock of religion in his composition, and (with that mixture of commercialism and ingenuity which was natural to him), in order to gain salvation and fortune both together, he had begun to traffick in religious objects.

Frederick had no difficulty in discovering his establishment, on whose signboard appeared these words:  “Emporium of Gothic Art ­Restoration of articles used in ecclesiastical ceremonies ­Church ornaments ­Polychromatic sculpture ­Frankincense of the Magi, Kings, &c., &c.”

At the two corners of the shop-window rose two wooden statues, streaked with gold, cinnabar, and azure, a Saint John the Baptist with his sheepskin, and a Saint Genevieve with roses in her apron and a distaff under her arm; next, groups in plaster, a good sister teaching a little girl, a mother on her knees beside a little bed, and three collegians before the holy table.  The prettiest object there was a kind of chalet representing the interior of a crib with the ass, the ox, and the child Jesus stretched on straw ­real straw.  From the top to the bottom of the shelves could be seen medals by the dozen, every sort of beads, holy-water basins in the form of shells, and portraits of ecclesiastical dignitaries, amongst whom Monsignor Affre and our Holy Father shone forth with smiles on their faces.

Arnoux sat asleep at his counter with his head down.  He had aged terribly.  He had even round his temples a wreath of rosebuds, and the reflection of the gold crosses touched by the rays of the sun fell over him.

Frederick was filled with sadness at this spectacle of decay.  Through devotion to the Maréchale he, however, submitted to the ordeal, and stepped forward.  At the end of the shop Madame Arnoux showed herself; thereupon, he turned on his heel.

“I couldn’t see him,” he said, when he came back to Rosanette.

And in vain he went on to promise that he would write at once to his notary at Havre for some money ­she flew into a rage.  She had never seen a man so weak, so flabby.  While she was enduring a thousand privations, other people were enjoying themselves.

Frederick was thinking about poor Madame Arnoux, and picturing to himself the heart-rending impoverishment of her surroundings.  He had seated himself before the writing-desk; and, as Rosanette’s voice still kept up its bitter railing: 

“Ah! in the name of Heaven, hold your tongue!”

“Perhaps you are going to defend them?”

“Well, yes!” he exclaimed; “for what’s the cause of this display of fury?”

“But why is it that you don’t want to make them pay up?  ’Tis for fear of vexing your old flame ­confess it!”

He felt an inclination to smash her head with the timepiece.  Words failed him.  He relapsed into silence.

Rosanette, as she walked up and down the room, continued: 

“I am going to hurl a writ at this Arnoux of yours.  Oh!  I don’t want your assistance.  I’ll get legal advice.”

Three days later, Delphine rushed abruptly into the room where her mistress sat.

“Madame! madame! there’s a man here with a pot of paste who has given me a fright!”

Rosanette made her way down to the kitchen, and saw there a vagabond whose face was pitted with smallpox.  Moreover, one of his arms was paralysed, and he was three fourths drunk, and hiccoughed every time he attempted to speak.

This was Maitre Gautherot’s bill-sticker.  The objections raised against the seizure having been overruled, the sale followed as a matter of course.

For his trouble in getting up the stairs he demanded, in the first place, a half-glass of brandy; then he wanted another favour, namely, tickets for the theatre, on the assumption that the lady of the house was an actress.  After this he indulged for some minutes in winks, whose import was perfectly incomprehensible.  Finally, he declared that for forty sous he would tear off the corners of the poster which he had already affixed to the door below stairs.  Rosanette found herself referred to by name in it ­a piece of exceptional harshness which showed the spite of the Vatnaz.

She had at one time exhibited sensibility, and had even, while suffering from the effects of a heartache, written to Beranger for his advice.  But under the ravages of life’s storms, her spirit had become soured, for she had been forced, in turn, to give lessons on the piano, to act as manageress of a table d’hote, to assist others in writing for the fashion journals, to sublet apartments, and to traffic in lace in the world of light women, her relations with whom enabled her to make herself useful to many persons, and amongst others to Arnoux.  She had formerly been employed in a commercial establishment.

There it was one of her functions to pay the workwomen; and for each of them there were two livres, one of which always remained in her hands.  Dussardier, who, through kindness, kept the amount payable to a girl named Hortense Baslin, presented himself one day at the cash-office at the moment when Mademoiselle Vatnaz was presenting this girl’s account, 1,682 francs, which the cashier paid her.  Now, on the very day before this, Dussardier had entered down the sum as 1,082 in the girl Baslin’s book.  He asked to have it given back to him on some pretext; then, anxious to bury out of sight the story of this theft, he stated that he had lost it.  The workwoman ingenuously repeated this falsehood to Mademoiselle Vatnaz, and the latter, in order to satisfy her mind about the matter, came with a show of indifference to talk to the shopman on the subject.  He contented himself with the answer:  “I have burned it!” ­that was all.  A little while afterwards she quitted the house, without believing that the book had been really destroyed, and filled with the idea that Dussardier had preserved it.

On hearing that he had been wounded, she rushed to his abode, with the object of getting it back.  Then, having discovered nothing, in spite of the closest searches, she was seized with respect, and presently with love, for this youth, so loyal, so gentle, so heroic and so strong!  At her age such good fortune in an affair of the heart was a thing that one would not expect.  She threw herself into it with the appetite of an ogress; and she had given up literature, Socialism, “the consoling doctrines and the generous Utopias,” the course of lectures which she had projected on the “Desubalternization of Woman” ­everything, even Delmar himself; finally she offered to unite herself to Dussardier in marriage.

Although she was his mistress, he was not at all in love with her.  Besides, he had not forgotten her theft.  Then she was too wealthy for him.  He refused her offer.  Thereupon, with tears in her eyes, she told him about what she had dreamed ­it was to have for both of them a confectioner’s shop.  She possessed the capital that was required beforehand for the purpose, and next week this would be increased to the extent of four thousand francs.  By way of explanation, she referred to the proceedings she had taken against the Maréchale.

Dussardier was annoyed at this on account of his friend.  He recalled to mind the cigar-holder that had been presented to him at the guard-house, the evenings spent in the Quai Napoleon, the many pleasant chats, the books lent to him, the thousand acts of kindness which Frederick had done in his behalf.  He begged of the Vatnaz to abandon the proceedings.

She rallied him on his good nature, while exhibiting an antipathy against Rosanette which he could not understand.  She longed only for wealth, in fact, in order to crush her, by-and-by, with her four-wheeled carriage.

Dussardier was terrified by these black abysses of hate, and when he had ascertained what was the exact day fixed for the sale, he hurried out.  On the following morning he made his appearance at Frederick’s house with an embarrassed countenance.

“I owe you an apology.”

“For what, pray?”

“You must take me for an ingrate, I, whom she is the ­” He faltered.

“Oh!  I’ll see no more of her.  I am not going to be her accomplice!” And as the other was gazing at him in astonishment: 

“Isn’t your mistress’s furniture to be sold in three days’ time?”

“Who told you that?”

“Herself ­the Vatnaz!  But I am afraid of giving you offence ­”

“Impossible, my dear friend!”

“Ah! that is true ­you are so good!”

And he held out to him, in a cautious fashion, a hand in which he clasped a little pocket-book made of sheep-leather.

It contained four thousand francs ­all his savings.

“What!  Oh! no! no! ­”

“I knew well I would wound your feelings,” returned Dussardier, with a tear in the corner of his eye.

Frederick pressed his hand, and the honest fellow went on in a piteous tone: 

“Take the money!  Give me that much pleasure!  I am in such a state of despair.  Can it be, furthermore, that all is over?  I thought we should be happy when the Revolution had come.  Do you remember what a beautiful thing it was? how freely we breathed!  But here we are flung back into a worse condition of things than ever.

“Now, they are killing our Republic, just as they killed the other one ­the Roman! ay, and poor Venice! poor Poland! poor Hungary!  What abominable deeds!  First of all, they knocked down the trees of Liberty, then they restricted the right to vote, shut up the clubs, re-established the censorship and surrendered to the priests the power of teaching, so that we might look out for the Inquisition.  Why not?  The Conservatives want to give us a taste of the stick.  The newspapers are fined merely for pronouncing an opinion in favour of abolishing the death-penalty.  Paris is overflowing with bayonets; sixteen departments are in a state of siege; and then the demand for amnesty is again rejected!”

He placed both hands on his forehead, then, spreading out his arms as if his mind were in a distracted state: 

“If, however, we only made the effort! if we were only sincere, we might understand each other.  But no!  The workmen are no better than the capitalists, you see!  At Elboeuf recently they refused to help at a fire!  There are wretches who profess to regard Barbes as an aristocrat!  In order to make the people ridiculous, they want to get nominated for the presidency Nadaud, a mason ­just imagine!  And there is no way out of it ­no remedy!  Everybody is against us!  For my part, I have never done any harm; and yet this is like a weight pressing down on my stomach.  If this state of things continues, I’ll go mad.  I have a mind to do away with myself.  I tell you I want no money for myself!  You’ll pay it back to me, deuce take it!  I am lending it to you.”

Frederick, who felt himself constrained by necessity, ended by taking the four thousand francs from him.  And so they had no more disquietude so far as the Vatnaz was concerned.

But it was not long ere Rosanette was defeated in her action against Arnoux; and through sheer obstinacy she wished to appeal.

Deslauriers exhausted his energies in trying to make her understand that Arnoux’s promise constituted neither a gift nor a regular transfer.  She did not even pay the slightest attention to him, her notion being that the law was unjust ­it was because she was a woman; men backed up each other amongst themselves.  In the end, however, she followed his advice.

He made himself so much at home in the house, that on several occasions he brought Senecal to dine there.  Frederick, who had advanced him money, and even got his own tailor to supply him with clothes, did not like this unceremoniousness; and the advocate gave his old clothes to the Socialist, whose means of existence were now of an exceedingly uncertain character.

He was, however, anxious to be of service to Rosanette.  One day, when she showed him a dozen shares in the Kaolin Company (that enterprise which led to Arnoux being cast in damages to the extent of thirty thousand francs), he said to her: 

“But this is a shady transaction, and you have now a grand chance!”

She had the right to call on him to pay her debts.  In the first place, she could prove that he was jointly bound to pay all the company’s liabilities, since he had certified personal debts as collective debts ­in short, he had embezzled sums which were payable only to the company.

“All this renders him guilty of fraudulent bankruptcy under articles 586 and 587 of the Commercial Code, and you may be sure, my pet, we’ll send him packing.”

Rosanette threw herself on his neck.  He entrusted her case next day to his former master, not having time to devote attention to it himself, as he had business at Nogent.  In case of any urgency, Senecal could write to him.

His negotiations for the purchase of an office were a mere pretext.  He spent his time at M. Roque’s house, where he had begun not only by sounding the praises of their friend, but by imitating his manners and language as much as possible; and in this way he had gained Louise’s confidence, while he won over that of her father by making an attack on Ledru-Rollin.

If Frederick did not return, it was because he mingled in aristocratic society, and gradually Deslauriers gave them to understand that he was in love with somebody, that he had a child, and that he was keeping a fallen creature.

The despair of Louise was intense.  The indignation of Madame Moreau was not less strong.  She saw her son whirling towards the bottom of a gulf the depth of which could not be determined, was wounded in her religious ideas as to propriety, and as it were, experienced a sense of personal dishonour; then all of a sudden her physiognomy underwent a change.  To the questions which people put to her with regard to Frederick, she replied in a sly fashion: 

“He is well, quite well."’

She was aware that he was about to be married to Madame Dambreuse.

The date of the event had been fixed, and he was even trying to think of some way of making Rosanette swallow the thing.

About the middle of autumn she won her action with reference to the kaolin shares.  Frederick was informed about it by Senecal, whom he met at his own door, on his way back from the courts.

It had been held that M. Arnoux was privy to all the frauds, and the ex-tutor had such an air of making merry over it that Frederick prevented him from coming further, assuring Senecal that he would convey the intelligence to Rosanette.  He presented himself before her with a look of irritation on his face.

“Well, now you are satisfied!”

But, without minding what he had said: 

“Look here!”

And she pointed towards her child, which was lying in a cradle close to the fire.  She had found it so sick at the house of the wet-nurse that morning that she had brought it back with her to Paris.

All the infant’s limbs were exceedingly thin, and the lips were covered with white specks, which in the interior of the mouth became, so to speak, clots of blood-stained milk.

“What did the doctor say?”

“Oh! the doctor!  He pretends that the journey has increased his ­I don’t know what it is, some name in ’ite’ ­in short, that he has the thrush. Do you know what that is?”

Frederick replied without hesitation:  “Certainly,” adding that it was nothing.

But in the evening he was alarmed by the child’s debilitated look and by the progress of these whitish spots, resembling mould, as if life, already abandoning this little frame, had left now nothing but matter from which vegetation was sprouting.  His hands were cold; he was no longer able to drink anything; and the nurse, another woman, whom the porter had gone and taken on chance at an office, kept repeating: 

“It seems to me he’s very low, very low!”

This disease, consisting of ulceration of the tongue and palate, is also called aphthae ­TRANSLATOR.

Rosanette was up all night with the child.

In the morning she went to look for Frederick.

“Just come and look at him.  He doesn’t move any longer.”

In fact, he was dead.  She took him up, shook him, clasped him in her arms, calling him most tender names, covered him with kisses, broke into sobs, turned herself from one side to the other in a state of distraction, tore her hair, uttered a number of shrieks, and then let herself sink on the edge of the divan, where she lay with her mouth open and a flood of tears rushing from her wildly-glaring eyes.

Then a torpor fell upon her, and all became still in the apartment.  The furniture was overturned.  Two or three napkins were lying on the floor.  It struck six.  The night-light had gone out.

Frederick, as he gazed at the scene, could almost believe that he was dreaming.  His heart was oppressed with anguish.  It seemed to him that this death was only a beginning, and that behind it was a worse calamity, which was just about to come on.

Suddenly, Rosanette said in an appealing tone: 

“We’ll preserve the body ­shall we not?”

She wished to have the dead child embalmed.  There were many objections to this.  The principal one, in Frederick’s opinion, was that the thing was impracticable in the case of children so young.  A portrait would be better.  She adopted this idea.  He wrote a line to Pellerin, and Delphine hastened to deliver it.

Pellerin arrived speedily, anxious by this display of zeal to efface all recollection of his former conduct.  The first thing he said was: 

“Poor little angel!  Ah, my God, what a misfortune!”

But gradually (the artist in him getting the upper hand) he declared that nothing could be made out of those yellowish eyes, that livid face, that it was a real case of still-life, and would, therefore, require very great talent to treat it effectively; and so he murmured: 

“Oh, ’tisn’t easy ­’tisn’t easy!”

“No matter, as long as it is life-like,” urged Rosanette.

“Pooh! what do I care about a thing being life-like?  Down with Realism!  ’Tis the spirit that must be portrayed by the painter!  Let me alone!  I am going to try to conjure up what it ought to be!”

He reflected, with his left hand clasping his brow, and with his right hand clutching his elbow; then, all of a sudden: 

“Ha, I have an idea! a pastel!  With coloured mezzotints, almost spread out flat, a lovely model could be obtained with the outer surface alone!”

He sent the chambermaid to look for his box of colours; then, having a chair under his feet and another by his side, he began to throw out great touches with as much complacency as if he had drawn them in accordance with the bust.  He praised the little Saint John of Correggio, the Infanta Rosa of Velasquez, the milk-white flesh-tints of Reynolds, the distinction of Lawrence, and especially the child with long hair that sits in Lady Gower’s lap.

“Besides, could you find anything more charming than these little toads?  The type of the sublime (Raphael has proved it by his Madonnas) is probably a mother with her child?”

Rosanette, who felt herself stifling, went away; and presently Pellerin said: 

“Well, about Arnoux; you know what has happened?”

“No!  What?”

“However, it was bound to end that way!”

“What has happened, might I ask?”

“Perhaps by this time he is ­Excuse me!”

The artist got up in order to raise the head of the little corpse higher.

“You were saying ­” Frederick resumed.

And Pellerin, half-closing his eyes, in order to take his dimensions better: 

“I was saying that our friend Arnoux is perhaps by this time locked up!”

Then, in a tone of satisfaction: 

“Just give a little glance at it.  Is that the thing?”

“Yes, ’tis quite right.  But about Arnoux?”

Pellerin laid down his pencil.

“As far as I could understand, he was sued by one Mignot, an intimate friend of Regimbart ­a long-headed fellow that, eh?  What an idiot!  Just imagine! one day ­”

“What! it’s not Regimbart that’s in question, is it?”

“It is, indeed!  Well, yesterday evening, Arnoux had to produce twelve thousand francs; if not, he was a ruined man.”

“Oh! this perhaps is exaggerated,” said Frederick.

“Not a bit.  It looked to me a very serious business, very serious!”

At that moment Rosanette reappeared, with red spots under her eyes, which glowed like dabs of paint.  She sat down near the drawing and gazed at it.  Pellerin made a sign to the other to hold his tongue on account of her.  But Frederick, without minding her: 

“Nevertheless, I can’t believe ­”

“I tell you I met him yesterday,” said the artist, “at seven o’clock in the evening, in the Rue Jacob.  He had even taken the precaution to have his passport with him; and he spoke about embarking from Havre, he and his whole camp.”

“What! with his wife?”

“No doubt.  He is too much of a family man to live by himself.”

“And are you sure of this?”

“Certain, faith!  Where do you expect him to find twelve thousand francs?”

Frederick took two or three turns round the room.  He panted for breath, bit his lips, and then snatched up his hat.

“Where are you going now?” said Rosanette.

He made no reply, and the next moment he had disappeared.