第29章

Shedidnotallowhimtofinishhissentence.

"ItwasI！，Ah，itismyfaultnow！WasitIwhowantedtogooutwithoutgettinganyinformation，pretendingthatIknewhowtofindmyway？WasitIwhowantedtotaketheroadtotherightontopofthehill，insistingthatIrecognizedtheroad？WasitIwhoundertooktotakechargeofCachou——"

Shehadnotfinishedspeakingwhenherhusband，asifhehadsuddenlygonecrazy，gaveapiercingscream，along，wildcrythatcouldnotbedescribedinanylanguage，butwhichsoundedlike’tuituit’.

Theyoungwomandidnotappeartobesurprisedormovedandresumed：

"No，really，somepeoplearesostupidandtheypretendtheyknoweverything.WasitIwhotookthetraintoDieppelastyearinsteadofthetraintoHavre——tellme，wasitI？WasitIwhobetthatM.LetourneurlivedinRuedesMartyres？WasitIwhowouldnotbelievethatCelestewasathief？"

Shewenton，furious，withasurprisingflowoflanguage，accumulatingthemostvaried，themostunexpectedandthemostoverwhelmingaccusationsdrawnfromtheintimaterelationsoftheirdailylife，reproachingherhusbandforallhisactions，allhisideas，allhishabits，allhisenterprises，allhisefforts，forhislifefromthetimeoftheirmarriageuptothepresenttime.

Hestrovetocheckher，tocalmherandstammered：

"But，mydear，itisuseless——beforemonsieur.Wearemakingourselvesridiculous.Thisdoesnotinterestmonsieur."

Andhecastmournfulglancesintothethicketasthoughhesoughttosounditspeacefulandmysteriousdepths，inordertofleethither，toescapeandhidefromalleyes，andfromtimetotimeheutteredafreshscream，aprolongedandshrill"tuituit."Itookthistobeanervousaffection.

Theyoungwoman，suddenlyturningtowardsme：andchanginghertonewithsingularrapidity，said：

"Ifmonsieurwillkindlyallowus，wewillaccompanyhimontheroad，soasnottoloseourwayagain，andbeobliged，possibly，tosleepinthewood."

Ibowed.Shetookmyarmandbegantotalkaboutathousandthings——

aboutherself，herlife，herfamily，herbusiness.TheyweregloversintheRue，Saint—Lazare.

Herhusbandwalkedbesideher，castingwildglancesintothethickwoodandscreaming"tuituit"everyfewmoments.

AtlastIinquired：

"Whydoyouscreamlikethat？"

"Ihavelostmypoordog，"herepliedinatoneofdiscouragementanddespair.

"Howisthat——youhavelostyourdog？"

"Yes.Hewasjustayearold.Hehadneverbeenoutsidetheshop.

Iwantedtotakehimtohavearuninthewoods.Hehadneverseenthegrassnortheleavesandhewasalmostwild.Hebegantorunaboutandbarkandhedisappearedinthewood.Imustalsoaddthathewasgreatlyafraidofthetrain.Thatmayhavedrivenhimmad.Ikeptoncallinghim，buthehasnotcomeback.Hewilldieofhungerinthere."

Withoutturningtowardsherhusband，theyoungwomansaid：

"Ifyouhadlefthischainon，itwouldnothavehappened.Whenpeopleareasstupidasyouaretheydonotkeepadog."

"But，mydear，itwasyou——"hemurmuredtimidly.

Shestoppedshort，andlookingintohiseyesasifsheweregoingtotearthemout，shebeganagaintocastinhisfaceinnumerablereproaches.

Itwasgrowingdark.Thecloudofvaporthatcoversthecountryatduskwasslowlyrisingandtherewasapoetryintheair，inducedbythepeculiarandenchantingfreshnessoftheatmospherethatonefeelsinthewoodsatnightfall.

Suddenlytheyoungmanstopped，andfeelinghisbodyfeverishly，exclaimed：

"Oh，IthinkthatI——"

Shelookedathim.

"Well，what？"

"IdidnotnoticethatIhadmycoatonmyarm."

"Well——？"

"Ihavelostmypocketbook——mymoneywasinit."

Sheshookwithangerandchokedwithindignation.

"Thatwasallthatwaslacking.Howstupidyouare！howstupidyouare！

IsitpossiblethatIcouldhavemarriedsuchanidiot！Well，goandlookforit，andseethatyoufindit.IamgoingontoVersailleswithmonsieur.Idonotwanttosleepinthewood."

"Yes，mydear，"herepliedgently."WhereshallIfindyou？"

Arestauranthadbeenrecommendedtome.Igavehimtheaddress.

Heturnedbackand，stoopingdownashesearchedthegroundwithanxiouseyes，hemovedaway，screaming"tuituit"everyfewmoments.

Wecouldseehimforsometimeuntilthegrowingdarknessconcealedallbuthisoutline，butweheardhismournful"tuituit，"shrillerandshrillerasthenightgrewdarker.

Asforme，Isteppedalongquicklyandhappilyinthesofttwilight，withthislittleunknownwomanleaningonmyarm.Itriedtosayprettythingstoher，butcouldthinkofnothing.Iremainedsilent，disturbed，enchanted.

Ourpathwassuddenlycrossedbyahighroad.TotherightIperceivedatownlyinginavalley.

Whatwasthisplace？Amanwaspassing.Iaskedhim.Hereplied：

"Bougival."

Iwasdumfounded.

"What，Bougival？Areyousure？"

"Parbleu，Ibelongthere！"

Thelittlewomanburstintoanidioticlaugh.

IproposedthatweshouldtakeacarriageanddrivetoVersailles.Shereplied：

"No，indeed.ThisisveryfunnyandIamveryhungry.Iamreallyquitecalm.Myhusbandwillfindhiswayallright.Itisatreattometoberidofhimforafewhours."

WewentintoarestaurantbesidethewaterandIventuredtoaskforaprivatecompartment.Wehadsomesupper.Shesang，drankchampagne，committedallsortsoffollies.

Thatwasmyfirstseriousflirtation.

OURLETTERS

Eighthoursofrailwaytravelinducesleepforsomepersonsandinsomniaforotherswithme，anyjourneypreventsmysleepingonthefollowingnight.

Ataboutfiveo’clockIarrivedattheestateofAbelle，whichbelongstomyfriends，theMuretsd’Artus，tospendthreeweeksthere.Itisaprettyhouse，builtbyoneoftheirgrandfathersinthestyleofthelatterhalfofthelastcentury.Thereforeithasthatintimatecharacterofdwellingsthathavealwaysbeeninhabited，furnishedandenlivenedbythesamepeople.Nothingchanges;nothingaltersthesoulofthedwelling，fromwhichthefurniturehasneverbeentakenout，thetapestriesneverunnailed，thusbecomingwornout，faded，discolored，onthesamewalls.Noneoftheoldfurnitureleavestheplace;onlyfromtimetotimeitismovedalittletomakeroomforanewpiece，whichenterstherelikeanew—borninfantinthemidstofbrothersandsisters.

Thehouseisonahillinthecenterofaparkwhichslopesdowntotheriver，wherethereisalittlestonebridge.Beyondthewaterthefieldsstretchoutinthedistance，andhereonecanseethecowswanderingaround，pasturingonthemoistgrass;theireyesseemfullofthedew，mistandfreshnessofthepasture.Ilovethisdwelling，justasonelovesathingwhichoneardentlydesirestopossess.Ireturnhereeveryautumnwithinfinitedelight;Ileavewithregret.

AfterIhaddinedwiththisfriendlyfamily，bywhomIwasreceivedlikearelative，Iaskedmyfriend，PaulMuret："Whichroomdidyougivemethisyear？"

"AuntRose’sroom."

Anhourlater，followedbyherthreechildren，twolittlegirlsandaboy，MadameMuretd’ArtusinstalledmeinAuntRose’sroom，whereIhadnotyetslept.

WhenIwasaloneIexaminedthewalls，thefurniture，thegeneralaspectoftheroom，inordertoattunemymindtoit.Iknewitbutlittle，asIhadentereditonlyonceortwice，andIlookedindifferentlyatapastelportraitofAuntRose，whogavehernametotheroom.

ThisoldAuntRose，withhercurls，lookingatmefrombehindtheglass，madeverylittleimpressiononmymind.Shelookedtomelikeawomanofformerdays，withprinciplesandpreceptsasstrongonthemaximsofmoralityasoncookingrecipes，oneoftheseoldauntswhoarethebugbearofgaietyandthesternandwrinkledangelofprovincialfamilies.

Ineverhadheardherspokenof;Iknewnothingofherlifeorofherdeath.Didshebelongtothiscenturyortotheprecedingone？Hadsheleftthisearthafteracalmorastormyexistence？Hadshegivenuptoheaventhepuresoulofanoldmaid，thecalmsoulofaspouse，thetenderoneofamother，oronemovedbylove？Whatdifferencediditmake？Thenamealone，"AuntRose，"seemedridiculous，common，ugly.

Ipickedupacandleandlookedathersevereface，hangingfarupinanoldgiltframe.Then，asIfounditinsignificant，disagreeable，evenunsympathetic，Ibegantoexaminethefurniture.ItdatedfromtheperiodofLouisXVI，theRevolutionandtheDirectorate.Notachair，notacurtainhadenteredthisroomsincethen，anditgaveoutthesubtleodorofmemories，whichisthecombinedodorofwood，cloth，chairs，hangings，peculiartoplaceswhereinhavelivedheartsthathavelovedandsuffered.

Iretiredbutdidnotsleep.AfterIhadtossedaboutforanhourortwo，Idecidedtogetupandwritesomeletters.

Iopenedalittlemahoganydeskwithbrasstrimmings，whichwasplacedbetweenthetwowindows，inhopeoffindingsomeinkandpaper;butallI

foundwasaquill—pen，verymuchworn，andchewedattheend.Iwasabouttoclosethispieceoffurniture，whenashiningspotattractedmyattentionitlookedliketheyellowheadofanail.Iscratcheditwithmyfinger，anditseemedtomove.Iseizeditbetweentwofinger—nails，andpulledashardasIcould.Itcametowardmegently.Itwasalonggoldpinwhichhadbeenslippedintoaholeinthewoodandremainedhiddenthere.

Why？Iimmediatelythoughtthatitmusthaveservedtoworksomespringwhichhidasecret，andIlooked.Ittookalongtime.Afterabouttwohoursofinvestigation，Idiscoveredanotherholeoppositethefirstone，butatthebottomofagroove.IntothisIstuckmypin：alittleshelfsprang.towardmyface，andIsawtwopackagesofyellowletters，tiedwithablueribbon.

Ireadthem.Herearetwoofthem：

Soyouwishmetoreturntoyouyourletters，mydearestfriend.

Heretheyare，butitpainsmetoobey.Ofwhatareyouafraid？

ThatImightlosethem？Buttheyareunderlockandkey.Doyoufearthattheymightbestolen？Iguardagainstthat，fortheyaremydearesttreasure.

Yes，itpainsmedeeply.Iwonderedwhether，perhapsyoumightnotbefeelingsomeregret！Notregretathavinglovedme，forIknowthatyoustilldo，buttheregretofhavingexpressedonwhitepaperthislivingloveinhourswhenyourheartdidnotconfideinme，butinthepenthatyouheldinyourhand.Whenwelove，wehaveneedofconfession，needoftalkingorwriting，andweeithertalkorwrite.Wordsflyaway，thosesweetwordsmadeofmusic，airandtenderness，warmandlight，whichescapeassoonastheyareuttered，whichremaininthememoryalone，butwhichonecanneithersee，touchnorkiss，asonecanwiththewordswrittenbyyourhand.

Yourletters？Yes，Iamreturningthemtoyou！Butwithwhatsorrow！

Undoubtedly，youmusthavehadanafterthoughtofdelicateshameatexpressionsthatareineffaceable.Inyoursensitiveandtimidsoulyoumusthaveregrettedhavingwrittentoamanthatyoulovedhim.

Yourememberedsentencesthatcalleduprecollections，andyousaidtoyourself："Iwillmakeashesofthosewords."

Besatisfied，becalm.Hereareyourletters.Iloveyou.

MYFRIEND：

No，youhavenotunderstoodme，youhavenotguessed.Idonotregret，andInevershall，thatItoldyouofmyaffection.

Iwillalwayswritetoyou，butyoumustreturnmyletterstomeassoonasyouhavereadthem.

Ishallshockyou，myfriend，whenItellyouthereasonforthisdemand.Itisnotpoetic，asyouimagined，butpractical.Iamafraid，notofyou，butofsomemischance.Iamguilty.Idonotwishmyfaulttoaffectothersthanmyself.

Understandmewell.YouandImaybothdie.Youmightfalloffyourhorse，sinceyourideeveryday;youmightdiefromasuddenattack，fromaduel，fromheartdisease，fromacarriageaccident，inathousandways.For，ifthereisonlyonedeath，therearemorewaysofitsreachingusthantherearedaysorustolive.

Thenyoursisters，yourbrother，oryoursister—in—lawmightfindmyletters！Doyouthinkthattheyloveme？Idoubtit.Andthen，eveniftheyadoredme，isitpossiblefortwowomenandonemantoknowasecret——suchasecret！——andnottotellofit？

Iseemtobesayingverydisagreeablethings，speakingfirstofyourdeath，andthensuspectingthediscreetnessofyourrelatives.

Butdon’tallofusdiesoonerorlater？Anditisalmostcertainthatoneofuswillprecedetheotherundertheground.Wemustthereforeforeseealldangers，eventhatone.

Asforme，Iwillkeepyourlettersbesidemine，inthesecretofmylittledesk.Iwillshowthemtoyouthere，sleepingsidebysideintheirsilkenhidingplace，fullofourlove，likeloversinatomb.

Youwillsaytome："Butifyoushoulddiefirst，mydear，yourhusbandwillfindtheseletters."

Oh！Ifearnothing.Firstofall，hedoesnotknowthesecretofmydesk，andthenhewillnotlookforit.Andevenifhefindsitaftermydeath，Ifearnothing.

Didyoueverstoptothinkofallthelovelettersthathavebeenfoundafterdeath？Ihavebeenthinkingofthisforalongtime，andthatisthereasonIdecidedtoaskyouformyletters.

Thinkthatnever，doyouunderstand，never，doesawomanburn，tearordestroythelettersinwhichitistoldherthatsheisloved.

Thatisourwholelife，ourwholehope，expectationanddream.

Theselittlepaperswhichbearournameincaressingtermsarerelicswhichweadore;theyarechapelsinwhichwearethesaints.

Ourlovelettersareourtitlestobeauty，grace，seduction，theintimatevanityofourwomanhood;theyarethetreasuresofourheart.No，awomandoesnotdestroythesesecretanddeliciousarchivesofherlife.

But，likeeverybodyelse，wedie，andthen——thentheselettersarefound！Whofindsthem？Thehusband.Thenwhatdoeshedo？

Nothing.Heburnsthem.

Oh，Ihavethoughtagreatdealaboutthat！Justthinkthateverydaywomenaredyingwhohavebeenloved;everydaythetracesandproofsoftheirfaultfallintothehandsoftheirhusbands，andthatthereisneverascandal，neveraduel.

Think，mydear，ofwhataman’sheartis.Heavengeshimselfonalivingwoman;hefightswiththemanwhohasdishonoredher，killshimwhileshelives，because，well，why？Idonotknowexactlywhy.

But，if，afterherdeath，hefindssimilarproofs，heburnsthemandnooneisthewiser，andhecontinuestoshakehandswiththefriendofthedeadwoman，andfeelsquiteateasethattheselettersshouldnothavefallenintostrangehands，andthattheyaredestroyed.

Oh，howmanymenIknowamongmyfriendswhomusthaveburnedsuchproofs，andwhopretendtoknownothing，andyetwhowouldhavefoughtmadlyhadtheyfoundthemwhenshewasstillalive！Butsheisdead.Honorhaschanged.Thetombistheboundaryofconjugalsinning.

Therefore，Icansafelykeepourletters，which，inyourhands，wouldbeamenacetobothofus.DoyoudaretosaythatIamnotright？

Iloveyouandkissyou.

IraisedmyeyestotheportraitofAuntRose，andasIlookedathersevere，wrinkledface，Ithoughtofallthosewomen’ssoulswhichwedonotknow，andwhichwesupposetobesodifferentfromwhattheyreallyare，whoseinbornandingenuouscraftinesswenevercanpenetrate，theirquietduplicity;andaverseofDeVignyreturnedtomymemory：

"Alwaysthiscomradewhoseheartisuncertain."

THELOVEOFLONGAGO

Theold—fashionedchateauwasbuiltonawoodedknollinthemidstoftalltreeswithdark—greenfoliage;theparkextendedtoagreatdistance，inonedirectiontotheedgeoftheforest，inanothertothedistantcountry.Afewyardsfromthefrontofthehousewasahugestonebasinwithmarbleladiestakingabath;other，basinswereseenatintervalsdowntothefootoftheslope，andastreamofwaterfellincascadesfromonebasintoanother.

Fromthemanorhouse，whichpreservedthegraceofasuperannuatedcoquette，downtothegrottosincrustedwithshell—work，whereslumberedthelovesofabygoneage，everythinginthisantiquedemesnehadretainedthephysiognomyofformerdays.Everythingseemedtospeakstillofancientcustoms，ofthemannersoflongago，offormergallantries，andoftheeleganttrivialitiessodeartoourgrandmothers.

InaparlorinthestyleofLouisXV，whosewallswerecoveredwithshepherdspayingcourttoshepherdesses，beautifulladiesinhoop—skirts，andgallantgentlemeninwigs，averyoldwoman，whoseemeddeadassoonassheceasedtomove，wasalmostlyingdowninalargeeasy—chair，ateachsideofwhichhungathin，mummy—likehand.

Herdimeyesweregazingdreamilytowardthedistanthorizonasiftheysoughttofollowthroughtheparkthevisionsofheryouth.Throughtheopenwindoweverynowandthencameabreathofairladenwiththeodorofgrassandtheperfumeofflowers.Itmadeherwhitelocksflutteraroundherwrinkledforeheadandoldmemoriesfloatthroughherbrain.

Besideher，onatapestriedstool，ayounggirl，withlongfairhairhanginginbraidsdownherback，wasembroideringanaltar—cloth.Therewasapensiveexpressioninhereyes，anditwaseasytoseethatshewasdreaming，whileheragilefingersflewoverherwork.

Buttheoldladyturnedroundherhead，andsaid：

"Berthe，readmesomethingoutofthenewspapers，thatImaystillknowsometimeswhatisgoingonintheworld."

Theyounggirltookupanewspaper，andcastarapidglanceoverit.

"Thereisagreatdealaboutpolitics，grandmamma;shallIpassthatover？"

"Yes，yes，darling.Aretherenolovestories？Isgallantry，then，deadinFrance，thattheynolongertalkaboutabductionsoradventuresastheydidformerly？"

Thegirlmadealongsearchthroughthecolumnsofthenewspaper.

"Hereisone，"shesaid."Itisentitled’ALoveDrama！’"

Theoldwomansmiledthroughherwrinkles."Readthatforme，"shesaid.

AndBerthecommenced.Itwasacaseofvitriolthrowing.Awife，inordertoavengeherselfonherhusband’smistress，hadburnedherfaceandeyes.ShehadlefttheCourtofAssizesacquitted，declaredtobeinnocent，amidtheapplauseofthecrowd.

Thegrandmothermovedaboutexcitedlyinherchair，andexclaimed：

"Thisishorrible——why，itisperfectlyhorrible！

Seewhetheryoucanfindanythingelsetoreadtome，darling."

Bertheagainmadeasearch;andfartherdownamongthereportsofcriminalcases，sheread：

"’GloomyDrama.Ashopgirl，nolongeryoung，allowedherselftobeledastraybyayoungman.Then，toavengeherselfonherlover，whoseheartprovedfickle，sheshothimwitharevolver.Theunhappymanismaimedforlife.Thejury，allmenofmoralcharacter，condoningtheillicitloveofthemurderess，honorablyacquittedher.’"

Thistimetheoldgrandmotherappearedquiteshocked，and，inatremblingvoice，shesaid：

"Why，youpeoplearemadnowadays.Youaremad！ThegoodGodhasgivenyoulove，theonlyenchantmentinlife.Manhasaddedtothisgallantrytheonlydistractionofourdullhours，andhereyouaremixingupwithitvitriolandrevolvers，asifoneweretoputmudintoaflagonofSpanishwine."

Berthedidnotseemtounderstandhergrandmother’sindignation.

"But，grandmamma，thiswomanavengedherself.Remembershewasmarried，andherhusbanddeceivedher."

Thegrandmothergaveastart.

"Whatideashavetheybeenfillingyourheadwith，youyounggirlsoftoday？"

Berthereplied：

"Butmarriageissacred，grandmamma."

Thegrandmother’sheart，whichhaditsbirthinthegreatageofgallantry，gaveasuddenleap.

"Itislovethatissacred，"shesaid."Listen，child，toanoldwomanwhohasseenthreegenerations，andwhohashadalong，longexperienceofmenandwomen.Marriageandlovehavenothingincommon.Wemarrytofoundafamily，andweformfamiliesinordertoconstitutesociety.

Societycannotdispensewithmarriage.Ifsocietyisachain，eachfamilyisalinkinthatchain.Inordertoweldthoselinks，wealwaysseekmetalsofthesameorder.Whenwemarry，wemustbringtogethersuitableconditions;wemustcombinefortunes，unitesimilarracesandaimatthecommoninterest，whichisrichesandchildren.Wemarryonlyoncemychild，becausetheworldrequiresustodoso，butwemaylovetwentytimesinonelifetimebecausenaturehasmadeuslikethis.

Marriage，yousee，islaw，andloveisaninstinctwhichimpelsus，sometimesalongastraight，andsometimesalongadeviouspath.Theworldhasmadelawstocombatourinstincts——itwasnecessarytomakethem;butourinstinctsarealwaysstronger，andweoughtnottoresistthemtoomuch，becausetheycomefromGod;whilethelawsonlycomefrommen.Ifwedidnotperfumelifewithlove，asmuchloveaspossible，darling，asweputsugarintodrugsforchildren，nobodywouldcaretotakeitjustasitis."

Bertheopenedhereyeswideinastonishment.Shemurmured：

"Oh！grandmamma，wecanonlyloveonce."

ThegrandmotherraisedhertremblinghandstowardHeaven，asifagaintoinvokethedefunctgodofgallantries.Sheexclaimedindignantly：

"Youhavebecomearaceofserfs，araceofcommonpeople.SincetheRevolution，itisimpossibleanylongertorecognizesociety.Youhaveattachedbigwordstoeveryaction，andwearisomedutiestoeverycornerofexistence;youbelieveinequalityandeternalpassion.Peoplehavewrittenpoetrytellingyouthatpeoplehavediedoflove.Inmytimepoetrywaswrittentoteachmentoloveeverywoman.Andwe！whenwelikedagentleman，mychild，wesenthimapage.Andwhenafreshcapricecameintoourhearts，wewerenotslowingettingridofthelastLover——unlesswekeptbothofthem."

Theoldwomansmiledakeensmile，andagleamofroguerytwinkledinhergrayeye，theintellectual，skepticalrogueryofthosepeoplewhodidnotbelievethattheyweremadeofthesameclayastherest，andwholivedasmastersforwhomcommonbeliefswerenotintended.

Theyounggirl，turningverypale，falteredout：

"So，then，womenhavenohonor？"

Thegrandmotherceasedtosmile.IfshehadkeptinhersoulsomeofVoltaire’sirony，shehadalsoalittleofJeanJacques’sglowingphilosophy："Nohonor！becauseweloved，anddaredtosayso，andevenboastedofit？But，mychild，ifoneofus，amongthegreatestladiesinFrance，hadlivedwithoutalover，shewouldhavehadtheentirecourtlaughingather.Thosewhowishedtolivedifferentlyhadonlytoenteraconvent.Andyouimagine，perhaps，thatyourhusbandswilllovebutyoualone，alltheirlives.Asif，indeed，thiscouldbethecase.

Itellyouthatmarriageisathingnecessaryinorderthatsocietyshouldexist，butitisnotinthenatureofourrace，doyouunderstand？

Thereisonlyonegoodthinginlife，andthatislove.Andhowyoumisunderstandit！howyouspoilit！Youtreatitassomethingsolemnlikeasacrament，orsomethingtobebought，likeadress."

Theyounggirlcaughttheoldwoman’stremblinghandsinherown.

"Holdyourtongue，Ibegofyou，grandmamma！"

And，onherknees，withtearsinhereyes，sheprayedtoHeaventobestowonheragreatpassion，onesole，eternalpassioninaccordancewiththedreamofmodernpoets，whilethegrandmother，kissingherontheforehead，quiteimbuedstillwiththatcharming，healthyreasonwithwhichgallantphilosopherstincturedthethoughtoftheeighteenthcentury，murmured：

"Takecare，mypoordarling！Ifyoubelieveinsuchfollyasthat，youwillbeveryunhappy."

FRIENDJOSEPH

TheyhadbeengreatfriendsallwinterinParis.Asisalwaysthecase，theyhadlostsightofeachotherafterleavingschool，andhadmetagainwhentheywereoldandgray—haired.Oneofthemhadmarried，buttheotherhadremainedinsingleblessedness.

M.deMeroullivedforsixmonthsinParisandforsixmonthsinhislittlechateauatTourbeville.Havingmarriedthedaughterofaneighboring，squire，hehadlivedagoodandpeacefullifeintheindolenceofamanwhohasnothingtodo.Ofacalmandquietdisposition，andnotover—intelligentheusedtospendhistimequietlyregrettingthepast，grievingoverthecustomsandinstitutionsofthedayandcontinuallyrepeatingtohiswife，whowouldlifthereyes，andsometimesherhands，toheaven，asasignofenergeticassent："Goodgracious！Whatagovernment！"

MadamedeMeroulresembledherhusbandintellectuallyasthoughshehadbeenhissister.Sheknew，bytradition，thatoneshouldaboveallrespectthePopeandtheKing！

Andshelovedandrespectedthemfromthebottomofherheart，withoutknowingthem，withapoeticfervor，withanhereditarydevotion，withthetendernessofawellbornwoman.Shewasgoodto，themarrowofherbones.Shehadhadnochildren，andneverceasedmourningthefact.

Onmeetinghisoldfriend，JosephMouradour，ataball，M.deMeroulwasfilledwithadeepandsimplejoy，forintheiryouththeyhadbeenintimatefriends.

Afterthefirstexclamationsofsurpriseatthechangeswhichtimehadwroughtintheirbodiesandcountenances，theytoldeachotherabouttheirlivessincetheyhadlastmet.

JosephMouradour，whowasfromthesouthofFrance，hadbecomeagovernmentofficial.Hismannerwasfrank;hespokerapidlyandwithoutrestraint，givinghisopinionswithoutanytact.HewasaRepublican，oneofthosegoodfellowswhodonotbelieveinstandingonceremony，andwhoexerciseanalmostbrutalfreed