Hélène had come back to the drawing-room with her father, and was listening attentively. So well did she understand all that was said, that she gave her mother a frightened glance, feeling, with a child’s quick instinct, that these remarks would aggravate the punishment hanging over her. The Marquise turned her white face to Vandenesse; and, with terror in her eyes, indicated her husband, who stood with his eyes fixed absently on the flower pattern of the carpet. The diplomatist, accomplished man of the world though he was, could no longer contain his wrath, he gave the man of law a withering glance.
“Step this way, sir,” he said, and he went hurriedly to the door of the antechamber; the notary left his sentence half finished, and followed, quaking, and the husband and wife were left together.
“Now, sir” said the Marquise de Vandenesse—he banged the drawing-room door, and spoke with concentrated rage—“ever since dinner you have done nothing but make blunders and talk folly. For heaven’s sake, go. You will make the most frightful mischief before you have done. If you are a clever man in your profession, keep to your profession; and if by any chance you should go into society, endeavor to be more circumspect.”
With that he went back to the drawing-room, and did not even wish the notary good evening. For a moment that worthy stood dumbfounded, bewildered, utterly at a loss. Then, when the buzzing in his ears subsided, he thought he heard someone moaning in the next room. Footsteps came and went, and bells were violently rung. He was by no means anxious to meet the Marquis again, and found the use of his legs to make good his escape, only to run against a hurrying crowd of servants at the door.
“Just the way of all these grand folk,” said he to himself outside in the street as he looked about for a cab. “They lead you on to talk with compliments, and you think you are amusing them. Not a bit of it. They treat you insolently; put you at a distance; even put you out at the door without scruple. After all, I talked very cleverly, I said nothing but what was sensible, well turned, and discreet; and, upon my word, he advises me to be more circumspect in future. I will take good care of that! Eh! the mischief take it! I am a notary and a member of my chamber!—Pshaw! it was an ambassador’s fit of temper, nothing is sacred for people of that kind. Tomorrow he shall explain what he meant by saying that I had done nothing but blunder and talk nonsense in his house. I will ask him for an explanation—that is, I will ask him to explain my mistake. After all is done and said, I am in the wrong perhaps—Upon my word, it is very good of me to cudgel my brains like this. What business is it of mine?”
So the notary went home and laid the enigma before his spouse, with a complete account of the evening’s events related in sequence.
And she replied, “My dear Crottat, His Excellency was perfectly right when he said that you had done nothing but blunder and talk folly.”
“Why?”
“My dear, if I told you why, it would not prevent you from doing the same thing somewhere else tomorrow. I tell you again—talk of nothing but business when you go out; that is my advice to you.”
“If you will not tell me, I shall ask him tomorrow—”
“Why, dear me! the veriest noodle is careful to hide a thing of that kind, and do you suppose that an ambassador will tell you about it? Really, Crottat, I have never known you so utterly devoid of common sense.”
“Thank you, my dear.”
V
Two Meetings
One of Napoleon’s orderly staff-officers, who shall be known in this history only as the General or the Marquis, had come to spend the spring at Versailles. He made a large fortune under the Restoration; and as his place at Court would not allow him to go very far from Paris, he had taken a country house between the church and the barrier of Montreuil, on the road that leads to the Avenue de Saint-Cloud.
The house had been built originally as a retreat for the short-lived loves of some grand seigneur. The grounds were very large; the gardens on either side extending from the first houses of Montreuil to the thatched cottages near the barrier, so that the owner could enjoy all the pleasures of solitude with the city almost at his gates. By an odd piece of contradiction, the whole front of the house itself, with the principal entrance, gave directly upon the street. Perhaps in time past it was a tolerably lonely road, and indeed this theory looks all the more probable when one comes to think of it; for not so very far away, on this same road, Louis Quinze built a delicious summer villa for Mlle. de Romans, and the curious in such things will discover that the wayside casinos are adorned in a style that recalls traditions of the ingenious taste displayed in debauchery by our ancestors who, with all the
