Monsieur de Camors -- Volume 3

xperienced the painful impressions of the past, and the sombre preoccupations of the

ope of human happiness hereafter. She loved him because she found him as beautiful as the day. And it was true he was so; for he resembled his father-and she loved him also on that account. She tried to concentrate her heart and all her thoughts on this dear creature, and at first she thought she had succeeded. She was surprised at herself, at her own tranquillity, when she saw Madame de Campvallon; for her

months with her daughter in Paris

an exact idea of the sentiments of the young woman at the time, and of the turn her domestic life

r child, whom he begins quietly to love without himself perceiving it. At first, as you remember, this infant was no more to him than I was. When he surprised him on my knee, he would give him a cold kiss, say, ' Good-morning, Monsieur,' and withdraw. It is just one month-I have forgotten the date-it was, 'Good-morning, my son-how pretty you are!' You see the progress; and do you know,

aubert? Have you read this review?' Just like one who sought to open a conversation. Once I would willingly have paid with my blood for one of these evenings, and now he offers them to me, when I know not what to do with them. Notwithstanding I remember the advice of my mother, I do not wish to discourage these symptoms. I adopt a festive manner. I light four extra waxlights. I try to be amiable without being coquettish; for coquetry here would be shameful-would it not, my dear mother? Finally, we chatted together; he sang two airs to the piano; I played two others; he painted the design of a little Russian costume for Robert to wear next year; then talked politics to me. This enchanted me. He explained to me his situation in the Chamber. Midnight arrived; I became remarkably silent; he rose: 'May I press your hand in friendship?'-' Mon Dieu! yes.'-'Good-night, Marie.'-' Goodnight.' Yes, my mother, I read your

came and seated himself at your daughter's side. In passing before us she threw him a look-a flash. I felt the flame. Her blue eyes glared ferociously. He perceived it. I have not assuredly much tenderness for her. She is my most cruel enemy; but if ever sh

his victims, and, as one wrong always entails another, after pitying his wife, he came near loving his child. These two weaknesses had glided into his petrified soul as into a marble fount, and there took root-two imperceptible roots, however. The child occupied him not more than a few moments every day. He thought of him, however, and would return home a little earlier than usual each day than was his habit, secretly attracted by the smile of that fresh face. The mother was for him something more. Her sufferings, her youthful heroism had touched him. She became somebody in his eyes. He discovered many merits in her. He perceived she was remarkably well- informed for a woman, and prodigiously so for a French woman. She understood half a

ations. She reminded him of the princesses one sees in the ballet of the opera, reduced by

er, Marie!" said

ravely, "is the mor

and, fearing she might be consi

on that ruled his life, it is certain, however, that his wife pleased him as a charming friend, which she was, and probably as a charming forbidden fruit, which she also was. Two or three yea

sed the retinue of his house in proportion to his new resources. In the region of elegant high life he

o be acknowledged. He had spoken in some recent debate, and his maiden speech was a triumph. His prosperity was great. It was nevertheless true that M. de Camors di

sh treason, or through some public rumor, which might begin to spread. Should this ever happen, he knew the

cy of an accident most likely to happen. The second cause of his disquietude was the jealous hatred of Madame Campvallon toward the young ri

erate this most violent feminine sentiment in so strong a soul, he was compelled day by day to resort to tricks which wounded h

er adieus to a choice group of her friends. Although this fete professed to be but an informal gathering, she had organized it with her usual el

ities to the Marquise so persistent, their mutual understanding so apparent, that the young wife felt the pain of her de

servatory, in one of those instantaneous glances by which women contrive to see without looking. She pretended to

llia!" he said to her. "

lied; "this is the c

off the

een much addicted to sentimentali

on him her as

love it,"

as Madame de Campvallon, who was crossing the

"I have disturbed you! How awk

, which her face did not belie, returned home immediately, promising her husband to send back the carriage for him. Shortly after, the Marquise de Campvallon, obeying a secret sign from

s it?"

?" asked Camors. "It

thing. It is the first between us- a

passion-her eyes fixed on her foot,

" she said. "You are i

oulders. "Unworthy

these delicate a

arry her, but not to

, which he did not see, for neither of them

know I am not fond of petty artifices. Well, I fear so much the sufferings and humiliations of which I have a presentiment, I am so much afraid of myself, that I offer you, and give you, your liberty. I prefer this horrible grief, for it is at least open and

ff his liaison with the Marquise never had entered his mind. This liaison seemed t

he pride, and the magnificent voluptuousness of it. He shuddered. The idea of losing the love which had cost him so dea

w could you have alarmed yourself, or even thought of my feelings toward another? I do

asked. "It is tr

mmed, her bosom palpitating; then suddenly rising, she said, "My friend,

rning, while trying a horse on the Champs Elysees-when he suddenly found himself face to face with his former secre

r. Vautrot could not avoid, as he had proba

and doubtful linen showed a poverty unacknowledged but profound. M. de Camors did not notice these details,

in his hor

?" he said. "You have left Engla

utrot, humbly, who knew his old patron too well not to read

r trade of locksmith? You were so skilful at it!

and your meaning,

thering scorn, M. de Camors struck Vautrot's shoulder lightly wit

d to his talents; but he was, as will be remembered, one of those whose vani