the purse-第4章

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with　the　young　girl。



At　last　Mademoiselle　de　Rouville　returned；　followed　by　two　men；

whose　costume；　countenance；　and　appearance　are　a　long　story。



The　first；　a　man　of　about　sixty；　wore　one　of　the　coats　invented；

I　believe；　for　Louis　XVIII。；　then　on　the　throne；　in　which　the

most　difficult　problem　of　the　sartorial　art　had　been　solved　by　a

tailor　who　ought　to　be　immortal。　That　artist　certainly　understood

the　art　of　compromise；　which　was　the　moving　genius　of　that　period

of　shifting　politics。　Is　it　not　a　rare　merit　to　be　able　to　take

the　measure　of　the　time？　This　coat；　which　the　young　men　of　the

present　day　may　conceive　to　be　fabulous；　was　neither　civil　nor

military；　and　might　pass　for　civil　or　military　by　turns。　Fleurs…

de…lis　were　embroidered　on　the　lapels　of　the　back　skirts。　The

gilt　buttons　also　bore　fleurs…de…lis；　on　the　shoulders　a　pair　of

straps　cried　out　for　useless　epaulettes；　these　military

appendages　were　there　like　a　petition　without　a　recommendation。

This　old　gentleman's　coat　was　of　dark　blue　cloth；　and　the

buttonhole　had　blossomed　into　many　colored　ribbons。　He；　no　doubt；

always　carried　his　hat　in　his　handa　three　cornered　cocked　hat；

with　a　gold　cordfor　the　snowy　wings　of　his　powdered　hair　showed

not　a　trace　of　its　pressure。　He　might　have　been　taken　for　not

more　than　fifty　years　of　age；　and　seemed　to　enjoy　robust　health。

While　wearing　the　frank　and　loyal　expression　of　the　old　emigres；

his　countenance　also　hinted　at　the　easy　habits　of　a　libertine；　at

the　light　and　reckless　passions　of　the　Musketeers　formerly　so

famous　in　the　annals　of　gallantry。　His　gestures；　his　attitude；

and　his　manner　proclaimed　that　he　had　no　intention　of　correcting

himself　of　his　royalism；　of　his　religion；　or　of　his　love　affairs。



A　really　fantastic　figure　came　in　behind　this　specimen　of　〃Louis

XIV。's　light　infantry〃a　nickname　given　by　the　Bonapartists　to

these　venerable　survivors　of　the　Monarchy。　To　do　it　justice　it

ought　to　be　made　the　principal　object　in　the　picture；　and　it　is

but　an　accessory。　Imagine　a　lean；　dry　man；　dressed　like　the

former；　but　seeming　to　be　only　his　reflection；　or　his　shadow；　if

you　will。　The　coat；　new　on　the　first；　on　the　second　was　old；　the

powder　in　his　hair　looked　less　white；　the　gold　of　the　fleurs…de…

lis　less　bright；　the　shoulder　straps　more　hopeless　and　dog's

eared；　his　intellect　seemed　more　feeble；　his　life　nearer　the

fatal　term　than　in　the　former。　In　short；　he　realized　Rivarol's

witticism　on　Champcenetz；　〃He　is　the　moonlight　of　me。〃　He　was

simply　his　double；　a　paler　and　poorer　double；　for　there　was

between　them　all　the　difference　that　lies　between　the　first　and

last　impressions　of　a　lithograph。



This　speechless　old　man　was　a　mystery　to　the　painter；　and　always

remained　a　mystery。　The　Chevalier；　for　he　was　a　Chevalier；　did

not　speak；　nobody　spoke　to　him。　Was　he　a　friend；　a　poor　relation；

a　man　who　followed　at　the　old　gallant's　heels　as　a　lady　companion

does　at　an　old　lady's？　Did　he　fill　a　place　midway　between　a　dog；

a　parrot；　and　a　friend？　Had　he　saved　his　patron's　fortune；　or

only　his　life？　Was　he　the　Trim　to　another　Captain　Toby？

Elsewhere；　as　at　the　Baronne　de　Rouville's；　he　always　piqued

curiosity　without　satisfying　it。　Who；　after　the　Restoration；

could　remember　the　attachment　which；　before　the　Revolution；　had

bound　this　man　to　his　friend's　wife；　dead　now　these　twenty　year？



The　leader；　who　appeared　the　least　dilapidated　of　these　wrecks；

came　gallantly　up　to　Madame　de　Rouville；　kissed　her　hand；　and　sat

down　by　her。　The　other　bowed　and　placed　himself　not　far　from　his

model；　at　a　distance　represented　by　two　chairs。　Adelaide　came

behind　the　old　gentleman's　armchair　and　leaned　her　elbows　on　the

back；　unconsciously　imitating　the　attitude　given　to　Dido's　sister

by　Guerin　in　his　famous　picture。



Though　the　gentleman's　familiarity　was　that　of　a　father；　his

freedom　seemed　at　the　moment　to　annoy　the　young　girl。



〃What；　are　you　sulky　with　me？〃　he　said。



Then　he　shot　at　Schinner　one　of　those　side…looks　full　of

shrewdness　and　cunning；　diplomatic　looks；　whose　expression

betrays　the　discreet　uneasiness；　the　polite　curiosity　of　well…

bred　people；　and　seems　to　ask；　when　they　see　a　stranger；　〃Is　he

one　of　us？〃



〃This　is　our　neighbor；〃　said　the　old　lady；　pointing　to　Hippolyte。

〃Monsieur　is　a　celebrated　painter；　whose　name　must　be　known　to　you

in　spite　of　your　indifference　to　the　arts。〃



The　old　man　saw　his　friend's　mischievous　intent　in　suppressing

the　name；　and　bowed　to　the　young　man。



〃Certainly；〃　said　he。　〃I　heard　a　great　deal　about　his　pictures　at

the　last　Salon。　Talent　has　immense　privileges。〃　he　added；

observing　the　artist's　red　ribbon。　〃That　distinction；　which　we

must　earn　at　the　cost　of　our　blood　and　long　service；　you　win　in

your　youth；　but　all　glory　is　of　the　same　kindred；〃　he　said；

laying　his　hand　on　his　Cross　of　Saint…Louis。



Hippolyte　murmured　a　few　words　of　acknowledgment；　and　was　silent

again；　satisfied　to　admire　with　growing　enthusiasm　the　beautiful

girl's　head　that　charmed　him　so　much。　He　was　soon　lost　in

contemplation；　completely　forgetting　the　extreme　misery　of　the

dwelling。　To　him　Adelaide's　face　stood　out　against　a　luminous

atmosphere。　He　replied　briefly　to　the　questions　addressed　to　him；

which；　by　good　luck；　he　heard；　thanks　to　a　singular　faculty　of

the　soul　which　sometimes　seems　to　have　a　double　consciousness。

Who　has　not　known　what　it　is　to　sit　lost　in　sad　or　delicious

meditation；　listening　to　its　voice　within；　while　attending　to　a

conversation　or　to　reading？　An　admirable　duality　which　often

helps　us　to　tolerate　a　bore！　Hope；　prolific　and　smiling；　poured

out　before　him　a　thousand　visions　of　happiness；　and　he　refused　to

consider　what　was　going　on　around　him。　As　confiding　as　a　child；

it　seemed　to　him　base　to　analyze　a　pleasure。



After　a　short　lapse　of　time　he　perceived　that　the　old　lady　and

her　daughter　were　playing　cards　with　the　old　gentleman。　As　to　the

satellite；　faithful　to　his　function　as　a　shadow；　he　stood　behind

his　friend's　chair　watching　his　game；　and　answering　the　player's

mute　inquiries　by　little　approving　nods；　repeating　the

questioning　gestures　of　the　other　countenance。



〃Du　Halga；　I　always　lose；〃　said　the　gentleman。



〃You　discard　badly；〃　replied　the　Baronne　de　Rouville。



〃For　three　months　now　I　have　never　won　a　single　game；〃　said　he。



〃Have　you　the　aces？〃　asked　the　old　lady。



〃Yes；　one　more　to　mark；〃　said　he。



〃Shall　I　come　and　advise　you？〃　said　Adelaide。



〃No；　no。　Stay　where　I　can　see　you。　By　Gad；　it　would　be　losing　too

much　not　to　have　you　to　look　at！〃



At　last　the　game　was　over。　The　gentleman　pulled　out　his　purse；

and；　throwing　two　louis　d'or　on　the　table；　not　without　temper



〃Forty　francs；〃　he　exclaimed；　〃the　exact　sum。Deuce　take　it！　It

is　eleven　o'clock。〃



〃It　is　eleven　o'clock；〃　repeated　the　silent　figure；　looking　at

the　painter。



The　young　man；　hearing　these　words　rather　more　distinctly　than

all　the　others；　thought　it　time　to　retire。　Coming　back　to　the

world　of　ordinary　ideas；　he　found　a　few　commonplace　remarks　to

make；　took　leave　of　the　Baroness；　her　daughter；　and　the　two

strangers；　and　went　away；　wholly　possessed　by　the　first　raptures

of　true　love；　without　attempting　to　analyze　the　little　incidents

of　the　evening。　



On　the　morrow　the　young　painter　felt　the　most　ardent　desire　to

see　Adelaide　once　more。　If　he　had　followed　the　call　of　his

passion；　he　would　have　gone　to　his　neighbor's　door　at　six　in　the

morning；　when　he　went　to　his　studio。　However；　he　still　was

reasonable　enough　to　wait　till　the　afternoon。　But　as　soon　as　he

thought　he　could　present　himself　to　Madame　de　Rouville；　he　went

downstairs；　rang；　blushing　like　a　girl；　shyly　asked　Mademoiselle

Leseigneur；　who　came　to　let　him　in；　to　let　him　have　the　portrait

of　the　Baron。



〃But　come　in；〃　said　Adelaide；　who　had　no　doubt　heard　him　come

down　from　the　studio。



The　painter　followed；　bashful　and　out　of　countenance；　not　knowing

what　to　say；　happiness　had　so　dulled　his　wit。　To　see　Adelaide；　to

hear　the　rustle　of　her　skirt；　after　longing　for　a　whole　morning

to　be　near　her；　after　starting　up　a　hundred　time〃I　will　go　down

now〃and　not　to　have　gone；　this　was　to　him　life　so　rich　that

such　sensations；　too　greatly　prolonged；　would　have　worn　out　his

spirit。　The　heart　has　the　singular　power　of　giving　extraordinary

value　to　mere　nothings。　What　joy　it　is　to　a　traveler　to　treasure

a　blade　of　grass；　an　unfamiliar　leaf；　if　he　has　risked　his　life

to　pluck　it！　It　is　the　same　with　the　trifles　of　love。



The　old　lady　was　not　in　the　drawing…room。　When　the　young　girl

found　herself　there；　alone　with　the　painter；　she　brought　a　chair

to　stand　on；　to　take　down　the　picture；　but　perceiving　that　she

could　not　unhook　it　without　setting　her　foot　on　the　chest　of

drawers；　she　turned　to　Hippolyte；　and　said　with　a　blush：



〃I　am　not　tall　enough。　Will　you　get　it　down？〃



A　feeling　of　modesty；　betrayed　in　the　expression　of　her　face　and

the　tones　of　her　voice；　was　the　real　motive　of　her　request；　and

the　young　man；　understanding　this；　gave　her　one　of　those　glances

of　intelligence　which　are　the　sweetest　language　of　love。　Seeing

that　the　painter　had　read　her　soul；　Adelaide　cast　down　her　eyes

with　the　instinct　of　reserve　which　is　the　secret　of　a　maiden's

heart。　Hippolyte；　finding　nothing　to　say；　and　feeling　almost

timid；　took　down　the　picture；　examined　it　gravely；　carrying　it　to

the　light　of　the　window；　and　then　went　away；　without　saying　a

word　to　Mademoiselle　Leseigneur　but；　〃I　will　return　it　soon。〃



During　this　brief　moment　they　both　went　through　one　of　those

storms　of　agitation　of　which　the　effects　in　the　soul　may　be

compared　to　those　of　a　stone　flung　into　a　deep　lake。　The　most

delightful　waves　of　thought　rise　and　follow　each　other；

indescribable；　repeated；　and　aimless；　tossing　the　heart　like　the

circular　ripples；　which　for　a　long　time　fret　the　waters；　starting

from　the　point　where　the　stone　fell。



Hippolyte　returned　to　the　studio　bearing　the　portrait。　His　easel

was　ready　with　a　fresh　canvas；　and　his　palette　set；　his　brushes

cleaned；　the　spot　and　the　light　carefully　chosen。　And　till　the

dinner　hour　he　worked　at　the　painting　with　the　ardor　artists

throw　into　their　whims。　He　went　again　that　evening　to　the　Baronne

de　Rouville's；　and　remained　from　nine　till　eleven。　Excepting　the

different　topics　of　conversation；　this　evening　was　exactly　like

the　last。　The　two　old　men　arrived　at　the　same　hour；　the　same　game

of　piquet　was　played；　the　same　speeches　made　by　the　players；　the

sum　lost　by　Adelaide's　friend　was　not　less　considerable　than　on

the　previous　evening；　only　Hippolyte；　a　little　bolder；　ventured

to　chat　with　the　young　girl。



A　week　passed　thus；　and　in　the　course　of　it　the　painter's

feelings　and　Adelaide's　underwent　the　slow　and　delightful

transformations　which　bring　two　souls　to