Alfred reflected all the rest of the night upon what the vagabond had told him; he did not know whether he ought to disturb Edouard’s happiness by telling him what he had learned concerning Isaure’s conduct. Before dealing him so terrible a blow, before letting loose in his heart all the demons of jealousy, was it not his duty to assure himself of the truth? Alfred determined not to allow Edouard to form any indissoluble bond until he had solved the mystery; but he did not feel as yet the courage to afflict his friend. Moreover, that day they would be too busy with Robineau’s wedding to have opportunity to talk together alone.

Edouard himself had had to make a great sacrifice that day: he was not to visit Isaure, for Robineau had entreated him not to leave the château; he had selected him to escort his sister-in-law, for the order of the ceremony had been arranged long before. Robineau desired that everybody should be present; and even then he thought that there would not be enough witnesses of his good fortune. Edouard felt that it would be discourteous to his host to refuse to comply with his wishes; so that he would be all day without seeing Isaure. That day would seem very, very long to him! But, when one goes into society, one must often sacrifice to it one’s dearest pleasures.

At ten o’clock, the whole company was to assemble for breakfast, to which were invited as witnesses the Chevalier de Tantignac, Monsieur Berlingue, and an old annuitant, a friend of the marquis. The three carriages at the château, that is to say, the post-chaise, Robineau’s char-à-bancs, and the marquis’s chariot, were to take the company to the town, where the ceremony would take place; then they were to return to the château, where only a few persons were invited to dinner; and there would be no dancing in the evening, it being too vulgar.

The servants had donned their fine livery; Monsieur Férulus had had the metal buttons sewn on his coat, and he had a piece of poetry in each pocket. Robineau was in black from head to foot; he held himself very stiffly and did not laugh; because his father-in-law, the marquis, had told him that one could not have too solemn an expression on his wedding-day; lastly, Uncle Mignon had laid in a stock of pins, which he had concealed under the cuffs of his coat, because he thought that on a wedding-day there would inevitably be something that would need to be pinned.

The three guests had arrived. Alfred and Edouard, who had sacrificed their day, would have been glad to infuse a little merriment into the occasion; but Monsieur de la Pincerie, who had joined them in the salon, seemed to wear an even more disagreeable expression than usual; and Robineau, to imitate his father-in-law, assumed a melancholy or sentimental air. They exchanged a few complimentary remarks in such a serious tone that they seemed to have come together to follow a hearse. However, Monsieur Berlingue had already uttered some spiteful remarks in a low tone, and the chevalier had relieved himself of a few falsehoods, when the ladies appeared at last.

Cornélie wore a very elaborate dress; and although she did not seem by her expression to be seeking to attract homage, she deserved a great deal. At sight of her, Robineau stepped back and grasped Alfred by the arm, exclaiming:

"Mon Dieu! how dazzling she is!"

The witnesses echoed his words. Monsieur de la Pincerie stepped forward to take his daughter’s arm; then, leading her toward Robineau, he said to him in a majestic and almost threatening tone:

"Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, I bestow upon you a most magnificent young lady, perfectly well-bred, and the descendant of an illustrious family. I flatter myself that you will render yourself worthy of the honor of this alliance. But if I should learn that my daughter was not happy, that she had reason to complain of her husband! Corbleu! Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, then I should have something to say to you!"

"She shall be happy, my dear father-in-law, she shall be happy, and so shall I too, I flatter myself!" cried Robineau, who seemed to be afraid of being whipped if he were not good. "But breakfast is awaiting us, and all our moments are occupied."

They adjourned to the breakfast table. Eudoxie, who was determined that some attention should be paid to her as well, had a slight attack of hysteria while they were eating the cutlets; but it amounted to nothing, and she warned the guests that she might have several during the day, because a marriage ceremony caused her the greatest emotion. The gentlemen, whose appetites were not taken away by this accident, encouraged her by telling her that they were well provided with flasks. Monsieur Berlingue, who had nothing in his, filled it with water; but he declared that that would produce the same effect as ether; and the Chevalier de Tantignac exhibited a small phial carefully bestowed in a leather case, with the contents of which he claimed to have restored more than twenty people to life.

Toward the end of the breakfast, Monsieur Férulus pulled a huge roll of paper from his pocket and was preparing to read, when monsieur le marquis said in a solemn tone:

"It is time to start for the town."

Monsieur Férulus pocketed his poetry again. Everybody rose; Robineau, who dared not offer his hand to his future bride, before whom he constantly kept his eyes on the floor, for fear of being dazzled too much, allowed Edouard to escort Cornélie to the chariot, in which he took his place with her, her father and her sister. Alfred and the three witnesses took the char-à-bancs; and Robineau entered the post-chaise with Uncle Mignon and Monsieur Férulus, who, as soon as he was seated in the carriage, began to rehearse his poetry, to which only Mignon listened, scratching his nose and showing his teeth the while.

But the post-chaise was drawn by the lame horse, and could not keep up with the other two carriages, which went quite fast. When Robineau could no longer see the marquis’s chariot in front of him, he cried:

"Ah! Mon Dieu! I shall be late; my bride will have to wait for me, and that will be very disagreeable!"

"Monseigneur," said Férulus, "you may be sure that the ceremony will not begin without you."

"Of course not; but monsieur le marquis will scold me."

"It is not our fault if our horse will not go any faster."

"That is true; Uncle Mignon, you are a witness that it is the horse’s fault."

"Yes, yes, yes!" replied Mignon; "oh, yes! it is the horse."

"This wretched beast isn’t going to be married," said Robineau, lashing the poor creature with all his might.

"Perhaps if he were, he would go still lamer," said Férulus in an undertone.

"Ah! one’s wedding-day is a great day, messieurs!" said Robineau with a sigh.

"It is a day which serves as a memento, monseigneur.—Est pater ille quem nuptiæ demonstrant."

"Yes, yes, yes!" assented Mignon with a smile.

"I confess," continued Robineau, "that I thought myself stronger, more stoical; but it is true that my bride is so ravishing—it upsets me so—I am all of a tremble.—I beg pardon, messieurs, but let us stop a moment, if you please."

He stopped the horse, which asked nothing better. Then he alighted and stepped a hedge, while Monsieur Férulus observed:

"‘Homo sum et humani a me nihil alienum puto!’"

Robineau returned; they started off again, and he lashed the horse as before. Férulus tried to continue his declamation, but Robineau stopped him, saying:

"Later, my dear librarian; at dinner; I am in no condition to listen to you now. Love and happiness produce a peculiar effect upon my senses! You don’t know what that is; you have never married, perhaps?"

"I beg your pardon, monseigneur; I was married once, and I have had enough of it."

"And you, Uncle Mignon, were you ever married?"

"I! no, I don’t think so. Oh, no! no! that has never happened to me."

"Ah! when one has a heart so easily touched as mine, it produces a complete revolution. My bride is a perfect Venus, she is built like Minerva; and when I think that to-night—I beg pardon—let us stop again, if you please."

They stopped; Robineau alighted once more and glided behind a clump of trees. Monsieur Férulus took a pinch of snuff, and cried:

Robineau soon reappeared; they drove on, and tried to make up for lost time by whipping the horse; but he went none the faster for it, and the bridegroom was in despair.

"Monsieur le marquis will be terribly angry," he said; "I am sure that they are at the mayor’s office already, and are waiting for us. Messieurs, you are my witnesses that it is the horse’s fault."

"There is another cause, too," said Férulus to Mignon, "but we will not mention that."

They were within a fourth of a league of Saint-Amand, when Robineau called another halt and alighted again, crying out:

"This is really cruel! I don’t know what it means!"

"Courage, monsieur!" said Férulus: "‘Labor improbus omnia vincit!’"

"What on earth is the matter with him that he has to get out so often?" Mignon asked Férulus when Robineau was out of hearing.

"The matter with him! Why, haven’t you guessed yet? Parbleu! he has a bilis suffusio! he says it’s the effect of love. At all events, if it lasts twenty-four hours, it will put him in a very false position!"

Robineau returned, reëntered the carriage and they reached the town at last. The bridegroom inquired for his father-in-law’s chariot, and was told that for more than half an hour, the bride, her relatives, and the whole company had been waiting for him at the mayor’s office, and that they had already sent back two messengers to find out what could have become of him.

Robineau drove toward the mayor’s office, lashing his horse and crying:

"What will they say to me? perhaps monsieur le marquis feels insulted! And my bride! suppose that she should be angry with me! fortunately my friends are with her."

They arrived at the mayor’s office. The marquis was pacing the main hall with an angry expression; the young men were chatting with the ladies; Monsieur Berlingue had already made several epigrams upon the bridegroom’s delay; the old annuitant did not utter a word, he saw in the future only the repast that he was to enjoy; and the Chevalier de Tantignac observed, to pacify Monsieur de la Pincerie:

"At the wedding of a cousin of mine, the bridegroom kept us waiting five minutes only; but when he arrived his betrothed had married another man, to teach him to be more prompt in the future."

But Robineau appeared, followed by his two companions.

"Monsieur de la Roche-Noire," cried the marquis, tapping the floor with his cane, "do you know that it isn’t decent to keep people like us waiting?"

"My dear father-in-law, it isn’t——"

"Whom do you think you are marrying? Do you imagine that you are marrying a mere plebeian?"

"No, certainly not, monsieur le marquis; but I——"

"But you deserve that I should not bestow my daughter’s hand upon you, to teach you to keep us baying at the moon for an hour."

"My most honored father-in-law, here are my witnesses. Ask your brother and Monsieur Férulus, and they will tell you that if I did not arrive earlier it was not for lack of desire to do so."

"That is very true," said Férulus; "it was not the desire that was lacking."

"It was our horse’s fault entirely," continued Robineau; "it was he who defeated our impatience."

"Yes, yes," said Mignon, "it was the horse and—a bilis suffu——"

Robineau trod upon Mignon’s foot, and bruised two corns, to keep him quiet; on the contrary, it made him shriek like one possessed; but nobody listened to him, and they proceeded to the civil ceremonies, during which the bridegroom seemed decidedly ill at ease, which condition was attributed to excitement and joy. Then they left the mayor’s office and reëntered the carriages to go to the church, although it was only two steps away; but it would not have been seemly to have arrived there on foot. But the bridegroom did not enter his carriage; he disappeared on leaving the mayor’s office, and they arrived at the church without him. There monsieur le marquis noticed that his son-in-law was absent again, and as the church was filled with people, and as in a small town a wedding is a great event, Monsieur de la Pincerie was furious with Robineau, who had spoiled the triumphal entry, and compelled the ceremony to be suspended.

"Where is he, where is he now?" cried the marquis, while Cornélie glanced over the crowd, saying:

"Why, this is inconceivable! it is absolutely indecent! to keep us waiting twice in succession! If the affair had not gone so far, I would break it all off!"

"Why did you leave him?" Monsieur de la Pincerie asked his brother Mignon and Férulus.

"We did not leave him, it was he who left us, saying: ‘Go on, I will overtake you.’"

"But what the deuce can he have to do at the very moment of his wedding?"

Mignon scratched his nose and Férulus compressed his lips.

"Love has turned his brain," said Alfred.

"Monsieur, the proprieties and etiquette should go before love. Corbleu! If I had not formed the plan of marrying my daughter—But he doesn’t come! he cannot say this time that it was the horse that detained him."

At last Robineau appeared, flushed and perspiring and gasping for breath; he glided to the side of his bride and his father-in-law; the latter seized his hand and squeezed it fiercely, saying in his ear:

"Monsieur, you will give me satisfaction after the ceremony."

Robineau no longer knew where he was; luckily for him, the contracting parties were summoned to the altar. He walked thither with Cornélie; the ceremony began, and while it was in progress, Monsieur de la Pincerie, who had become calmer, reflected that it would not be proper to challenge his son-in-law on the very day of his wedding.

The ceremony was at an end. Cornélie had become Madame de la Roche-Noire, and Robineau had ceased to be a bachelor. They received the compliments, the congratulations, sincere or insincere, of the persons who had come to witness the nuptial benediction; then they left the town and returned to the château, still in the same order as in the former journey; but Robineau did not stop the carriage once.

It was four o’clock when they reached the château. The ladies went at once to their apartments to change their dresses; for women who go much into society, who attend many fêtes and balls and ceremonies, spend a large part of their life in dressing and undressing.

About a dozen persons who were invited to the dinner soon joined the company already assembled at the château. At each new arrival, monsieur le marquis took Robineau by the hand and went forward to meet those who entered the salon, saying solemnly:

"I present my son-in-law to you."

Thereupon the newcomers would congratulate the marquis, then Robineau, and after looking about to see if there were anyone else to congratulate, would take seats in the salon. But it seemed as if all those people had agreed beforehand not to smile, and as if it were the general opinion in the provinces that it was bad form to be cheerful on a wedding-day. So that it was necessary to try to kill time by talking upon insignificant subjects with people who were able to discuss nothing else. Alfred did what he could to enliven the conversation; but he himself was disturbed, and the remembrance of his experience in the tower occupied his mind more than Robineau’s marriage. Edouard, too, tried to make himself agreeable, but he cursed under his breath the length of the day.

Two hours had elapsed since the ladies had gone upstairs, when they finally appeared in the salon. Cornélie’s costume was more coquettish than that of the morning, and this time Robineau was so dazzled that he was obliged to sit down for fear that he would be dizzy. The compliments began to circulate anew. During the curtsies and the salutations, Robineau went to a corner of the salon to rub his temples with cologne; then he returned with a somewhat less timid air to his wife, who was attentive to everybody but her husband.

Monsieur Férulus, who had not yet delivered his congratulations to the newly-married pair, because he was waiting until all the company should be assembled, took his place in front of Cornélie, before whom he bowed to the floor, and presented her with a roll of paper tied with pink ribbons, saying:

"Permit me, madame, while adding the incense of my good wishes to the perfume of the congratulations which have already shed fragrance upon your passage, to dedicate to you this trifle, born of your marriage. May Laughter and Sport gambol ever about your couch! and may heaven bestow upon you children, masculine, feminine and neuter, whose tutor I shall be!"

The librarian’s offering created a great sensation; the men smiled, the ladies asked one another in undertones what neuter children were; and Robineau, who had gone once more to rub his temples with cologne, seemed to have resolved that he would procreate no others.

Cornélie took the paper with a patronizing air, and then returned it to Férulus, saying:

"You must read it to us at dessert."

The servants having announced that dinner was served, the company passed into the dining-room, marching in time, like Prussian soldiers.

Monsieur de la Pincerie appropriated the great armchair. Cornélie was seated opposite her husband, and Férulus was relegated to the further end of the table, where he was not allowed either to serve or to carve; such was the order of things established by Madame de la Roche-Noire, who did not seem particularly touched by the verses which the scholar had written for her. Monsieur Férulus said nothing; he devoured that affront in secret, and determined to eat, if possible, four times as much as usual. People who endure humiliation in order to enjoy a good dinner always have little courage and much appetite.

The dinner passed off as seriously as all that had gone before. The first course was interrupted only by a slight accident: Monsieur Mignon came near swallowing a pin which had fallen from his sleeve into his plate; but they succeeded in removing it from his throat with small pincers, and tranquillity was soon restored.

Mademoiselle Cheval had surpassed herself; the repast was magnificent. But Robineau ate little; he seemed absent-minded and restless; and when he looked at his wife, he heaved sighs capable of extinguishing the candles. Cornélie had already assumed the manners of the mistress of the house: she issued orders in a tone which announced to the servants that they must walk straight. As they did not intend to dance after dinner, and as it was probable that the evening would be rather tedious, they remained a long time at table. Toward the close of the banquet, the fumes of the wines, which were frequently changed, enlivened the guests a bit. The old annuitant recounted an ancient jest or two in an undertone; the Chevalier de Tantignac declared that he would give half his fortune to be in Robineau’s place; and Monsieur Berlingue declared that his fortune was as fabulous as his horse. Robineau drank a great deal, to banish his timidity, and to muster courage to look at his wife; and even Uncle Mignon, who had forgotten his accident, became animated and talked a little; lastly, monsieur le marquis laughed more than once at the jokes which he made, and which he alone understood.

Monsieur Férulus thought that the time had come for him to read his poetry; he looked at Robineau to know whether he should begin; but it was no longer Robineau who gave orders, it was Madame de la Roche-Noire. However, Cornélie herself said:

"Monsieur has, I believe, something to read to us; I trust that it will not be so long as his last ballad."

"I flatter myself, madame, that you will find, on the contrary, that it is too short," replied Férulus, who was not overjoyed at this reference to his last ballad. Then, taking the roll from his pocket, and untying the ribbon, he rose and began:

"Compliment in verse in honor of the union of the newly-married pair."

"It seems to me, monsieur," said the marquis, "that you would have done well to say: the union of Mademoiselle Cornélie, daughter of the Marquis de la Pincerie, with Monsieur de la Roche-Noire; that would have been more becoming than to say ‘the newly-married pair,’ exactly as if you were talking about Jacquot and Pierrette!"

"My noble father-in-law is right," said Robineau, "I don’t like ‘the newly-married pair.’"

"Monsieur," replied Férulus, dissembling his mortification, "that phrase is strictly grammatical; you will find it in Lhomond, in Wailly, in Boiste, and in all the dictionaries."

"Oh! for heaven’s sake, monsieur, don’t talk about dictionaries!" cried Eudoxie; "it seems to me that to-day you should talk to us of something pleasant and attractive."

"Therefore, madame," continued Férulus, "I have taken for the text of my trifle, this line from Propertius:

"And what may that mean?" said Cornélie; "for it seems to me that you would do better to give us a translation of it."

"Yes," said Robineau, "he is a terrible fellow for that! I have told him a hundred times that I cared for nothing but translations."

"Madame," rejoined Férulus, with an amiable smile, "that means: ‘No other mistress shall disturb my bed.’"

"Mon Dieu! how shocking! how indecent!" cried Eudoxie, hiding her face behind Alfred’s shoulder.

"What, monsieur!" said Cornélie; "you presume to compose such loose verses!"

"Madame, I have the honor to inform you that the author is Propertius, and that——"

"No mistress in his bed!" cried the Marquis de la Pincerie. "Corbleu! I would like to see—Son-in-law, what is the meaning of this allusion?"

"I swear to you, father-in-law, that I have no idea," said Robineau; "I do not understand Monsieur Férulus’s motive in perpetrating such a wretched jest!"

"Monsieur," said Férulus, "I say again that that is the translation of the line, and that——"

"Very well, monsieur, that will do," said Cornélie; "after such a beginning, I do not care to hear any more! If the remainder corresponds with the text, it cannot be repeated to ladies."

"But, madame, allow me to call your attention——"

"No remarks, monsieur," said Monsieur de la Pincerie, rising from his chair as if he proposed to chastise the scholar; "you have been told that your poem is good for nothing. I am inclined to think that you are not here to lay down the law, monsieur!"

Férulus dropped back on his chair, crumpled the paper in his hands and threw it under the table; and, stuffing three macaroons into his mouth at once in his wrath, he narrowly escaped swallowing his tongue. Uncle Mignon, who had drunk more than usual, and had been moving about uneasily on his chair for half an hour, began to laugh.

"I, too, have made up a little ballad for my niece," he said. "It came into my head at the dinner-table. It’s an impromptu."

"Let us hear Mignon’s ballad," said Monsieur de la Pincerie. "The devil! I didn’t know that he wrote poetry.—Sing, Mignon."

Everybody was silent, and Mignon sang, playing with his napkin the while:

"Bravo! very good!" cried the marquis; and everybody applauded, laughed and called for an encore. Mignon repeated his verses, and Monsieur de la Pincerie observed:

"There you have the genuine French ballad—after the style of our fathers. They are blank verses, to be sure, but they are none the less agreeable."

Férulus, his discomfiture completed by the success of Monsieur Mignon’s ballad, muttered between his teeth:

"If one of my scholars had written that thing, he would have been whipped every day for a fortnight!"

The company left the table to go to the salon. Férulus alone did not go thither; he went off to bed, saying to himself:

"They needn’t expect me to play whist. I won’t open my door."

But a whist table was made up without the librarian; there was also a game of piquet and one of chess; in fact, the evening passed very quietly, and one might have thought that the host and hostess had been married twenty years.

But Robineau, who had obtained leave not to play, left the salon several times; he still seemed restless and distraught, although, as he looked at his wife, he kept repeating:

"She has never seemed to me so fascinating as she does to-night! My love is becoming more and more passionate."

In one of his excursions from the salon, Robineau went to his apartment, which his wife was to occupy with him thenceforth. It was quite cold, but no fire had been built in the nuptial chamber, and the groom said to himself:

"I am terribly afraid of being cold to-night with my wife; not that—but still, this room should have been warmed."

He left the room and happened to meet Jeannette; thereupon he recalled the stout maiden’s functions; an idea occurred to him, he struck his forehead joyfully and called the servant.

"Jeannette, you will warm the marriage-bed to-night, do you hear?"

"Oh! monsieur wants his bed warmed?"

"Yes, Jeannette, it cannot fail to be very agreeable to both my wife and myself."

"All right, monsieur."

"By the way, Jeannette, just warm it with sugar; that is more refined and it smells very nice."

"With sugar? But, monsieur, you see——"

"Do as I tell you, Jeannette."

Robineau walked away and returned to the salon. Jeannette, when she was alone, scratched her ear, saying to herself:

"Warm his bed with sugar! How can I do that? I don’t understand that at all, myself!"

To obtain an explanation, Jeannette, who had seen Férulus go to his room, knocked at his door.

"It’s me, monsieur," she said.

"I’m asleep," Férulus replied from his bed.

"But I want you to explain something, monsieur."

"I’m asleep, I tell you! Retro, Satanas!"

"But the master wants me to warm his bed with sugar——"

"Warm it with the four spices and leave me in peace."

Unable to obtain any different reply, Jeannette went down to the kitchen, to Mademoiselle Cheval, and said to her:

"Do you know what to do to warm a bed with sugar?"

"Pardine! what a question!" replied the cook; "why, you put sugar in the warming pan. That’s all, my girl."

"And monsieur said it smelt good."

"Why, yes; it makes a kind of caramel!"

"Oho! it makes ca-a-ramel! that’s funny! I wouldn’t have thought that!"

Jeannette procured several lumps of sugar and went up to the nuptial chamber, saying to herself:

"What queer notions these rich people have! never mind, as it’s my work, I must obey."

And Jeannette crawled into the nuptial bed, which was surrounded by immense silk curtains; then she proceeded to sweeten her warming pan, saying to herself:

"I must make some caramel for ’em, if they like it!"

The bed prepared for the husband and wife was soft and luxurious, and Jeannette stretched herself out therein with keen enjoyment, thinking that she must warm it thoroughly for her master. But Jeannette had become very tired during the day, having had to dress the ladies and wait at dinner; and as she recalled what she had had to do, while dressing the bride, and the different dishes served at dinner, the buxom damsel yawned, closed her eyes and finally fell asleep in the nuptial bed.

Whist, chess and piquet came to an end; all the strangers took a solemn leave of the bride and groom and left the château. Edouard and Alfred went to their rooms, after wishing a good-night to Robineau, who squeezed their hands as if he were in convulsions. Eudoxie, whose vapors was brought on by the approach of that moment, had long since retired. Monsieur le marquis rose, walked up to Robineau and said in his ear:

"My son-in-law, see that everything goes off all right, I beg."

"Father-in-law, you may rest assured that it shall," replied Robineau, bowing low to Monsieur de la Pincerie.

At last the bridegroom took his bride’s hand and retired with her to the nuptial chamber.

They found the room lighted, but they looked upon that circumstance simply as an attention on the part of the servants. It was an enormous room, and the bed, which stood in an alcove, was concealed by the curtains. Before going thither, it was necessary to divest themselves of their garments, which Cornélie proceeded to do with the utmost tranquillity, while Robineau tossed his clothes on the floor in a twinkling and danced about the room, exclaiming:

"I am too happy! I believe I am going to be dizzy!"

"I trust that you are not going to be ill, monsieur!" said Cornélie, "for that would not afford me any amusement whatever."

Robineau made no reply, but rubbed his temples and forehead with eau de Mélisse.

At last Cornélie completed her toilet for the night and walked toward the alcove; but as she was about to draw the curtains aside, she stopped, fell back a step or two, turned pale and said:

"This is very strange!"

"Would you like some eau de Mélisse, too, my dear love?" inquired Robineau, who was at the other end of the room.

"No, monsieur, no—but come here,—walk softly, and listen; it seems to me that I hear someone breathing."

Robineau shuddered; he no longer desired to approach the bed, and his bride was compelled to go to fetch him. When he reached the alcove, he distinctly heard someone there. Thereupon his legs gave way under him and he was obliged to cling to a chair.

"Do you hear?" whispered Cornélie.

"Yes, yes, madame!"

"There is someone hidden here, who seems to be asleep."

"It’s the—the ghost from the Tower—come to disturb my bliss."

"Oh! no, monsieur! it’s no ghost; but it may very well be a thief!—Go, monsieur, ring, call for help."

"I haven’t the strength to move, madame!"

"Bah! what a man you are!"

Cornélie ran to the door, opened it, and rushed from the room, calling for help. When Robineau found that he was alone by the bed, he recovered his strength and ran after his wife, adding his cries to hers.

At the sound of their outcries, those inmates of the château who were not asleep ran to the spot with lights; they were curious to know what caused the bride and groom to shriek so loud. Most of them were half dressed. They found Robineau as pale as death, and Cornélie in an undress in which there was nothing to inspire alarm.

"What’s the matter? what is it?" asked Alfred and Edouard; while Monsieur de la Pincerie, who was the last to appear, strode angrily to Robineau, saying:

"I would like to know why you cause my daughter to shriek like this on the first night after her wedding? I have been married myself; but my wife didn’t utter the faintest shriek!"

"Why, it isn’t I who made my wife shriek, father-in-law; on the contrary, I am shrieking with her!—But, bring weapons! arm yourselves, quick! there’s someone in our bed! I thought of the ghost, but my wife says that it may be a robber."

"Let us see about it," said Alfred; "there are enough of us, we don’t need weapons. There can’t be a band of brigands in your alcove!"

And Alfred and Edouard went into the room, followed by the husband and wife, the marquis and the servants. When they reached the bed, the young men jerked the curtains aside and disclosed to view Jeannette snoring peacefully, with outstretched legs.

"It’s Jeannette!" exclaimed Alfred and Edouard, laughing heartily.

"It’s Jeannette!" echoed the others.

"What on earth is this girl doing in your bed, monsieur?" said Cornélie, gazing at Robineau in amazement.

"What, indeed!" said Monsieur de la Pincerie; "this maid-servant asleep in your bed—what does it mean, son-in-law? Corbleu! this has a very evil look——"

"Father-in-law, I swear that I have no idea what it means; I am innocence itself. Wake Jeannette; she must explain to us why she is here."

They shook the stout damsel, who yawned, stretched her arms, rubbed her eyes, and gazed about with a surprised expression, crying:

"Mon Dieu! have I been having a nap?"

"How do you happen to be in this bed?" demanded Cornélie, with a glance at Jeannette that was by no means amiable.

"How! Mon Dieu, madame, I ask your pardon; but it’s natural that when I warm your bed——"

"Warm my bed?"

"Didn’t you, monsieur, order me to warm your bed?"

"Yes, I admit it," said Robineau, "I thought that my wife would like it; but I didn’t tell you to go to bed in order to do it."

"Oh! monsieur, I’ll tell you how it is—there ain’t any warming pan in the château, and nobody’s thought to buy one; in fact, Monsieur Férulus said there wasn’t any use of it; he taught me to warm beds like the ancients; in fact, I’ve been warming his bed with my gravity, as he calls it, every day."

"How shocking!" cried Cornélie; "your great scholar is a scoundrel, monsieur; and I trust that he will leave my house to-morrow."

"I agree with you entirely, madame," said Robineau; "besides, he writes nothing but wretched stuff now."

"He is a villain!" said Monsieur de la Pincerie; "and if I were not almost in my shirt, I would go to him at once and pull his ears!"

"Meanwhile, I certainly shall not sleep in this bed," said Cornélie; "and as the one I have been sleeping in has been taken down, I shall pass the night with my sister."

"But, my dear wife, consider—" began Robineau.

"No, monsieur, my mind is made up; this will teach you not to entertain in your château people who behave in this way."

Cornélie took a candle, and, turning a deaf ear to her husband’s remonstrances, went to her sister’s room. The marquis approved his daughter’s conduct. Jeannette, who had risen from her couch, went away with the other servants.

"You would have it so!" said Alfred to Robineau, who, being left alone in the bridal chamber, went to bed, saying to himself:

"After all, perhaps it’s better that it should be so for to-night."

To recompense himself for a whole day passed without seeing Isaure, Edouard rose with the dawn; and while everybody was asleep in the château, he was already on his way into the mountains. He had told his friend that he would not come to see her for a day, and the girl had answered affectionately: "I shall think all day long of nothing but the next day."

So he urged his horse, in order to be with her the sooner, for he had no doubt that she shared his impatience.

He reached the little valley at last; he fastened his horse and walked toward the cottage. He was surprised to find that Isaure was not at her window to watch for him; it was her habit to sit there every morning; and after a day of separation, should she not desire to see him even sooner?

He knocked at the cottage door; Vaillant barked and soon the door was opened. Isaure appeared before her lover, but she did not rush into his arms; pleasure and love no longer seemed to animate her, and instead of receiving him with the sweet smile to which he was accustomed, she lowered her eyes, as she said sadly:

"Is it you?"

"Yes, it is I," he replied, struck by the change in Isaure’s manner. "Didn’t you expect me?"

"Oh, yes, I felt sure that you would come."

"What is the matter, Isaure? What has happened to you? What has taken place here in the short time since I left you? For heaven’s sake, answer me."

Isaure seated herself in the living-room, and answered with a sigh:

"Nothing has taken place, nothing has happened to me."

"You are deceiving me, Isaure, you are not the same as usual. This depression, the tears which I still see in your eyes—Do you think that I can misunderstand them? Do you seek to deceive your lover? the man who adores you? Speak, I demand it! I implore you! What is this new mystery? Does it mean that you no longer love me?"

"Oh! I shall always love you," said Isaure, looking up at Edouard, with eyes filled with tears; "yes, always; although I have been told that I was doing wrong, that I was making a great mistake, to love you and to listen to you."

"Who has told you that?" cried Edouard.

"Oh! do not be angry, I implore you. Alas! it would do no good. My friend, forgive me for having inspired love in your heart; it was not my fault; but since I cannot be your wife, since we must renounce all the happiness which we had promised ourselves, forget me. I shall always love you; that will be henceforth my only sentiment, my only thought, my only comfort!"

The tears which flowed from the girl’s eyes seemed to bear witness to the sincerity of her grief. But Edouard, intensely excited, sprang to his feet and walked away from her, exclaiming:

"You say that you still love me, and yet you will not be mine! When, forgetting what so many people in society take for their rule of conduct, I determined to give you my name, to call you my wife, to live for you alone, someone forbids you to love me, to listen to me; and instantly you change your manner toward me, instantly you determine to cease to see me, and I must needs renounce my dearest hopes! No, you do not love me; if you shared my love, you would care more for me than for anybody else. But, mademoiselle, what power over you has this person to whom you sacrifice me? It is not your father; you have told me several times that you had no parents. By what right does this person, who keeps out of sight so mysteriously, pretend to separate you from me? Where is this person—whom I would see, know, and speak to?"

"No, no! do not think of it," cried Isaure. "Oh! I beg you, if you still love me, do not try to make that person’s acquaintance—he does not wish, has never wished to be known, to be seen."

"He does not wish," said Edouard angrily. "Very good! it is a man; you have betrayed yourself!"

"Betrayed myself!" replied Isaure, raising her lovely eyes, streaming with tears, to heaven; "what harm is there in its being a man?"

"Who is this man? What power has he over you?"

"Who he is, I do not myself know; but he has the strongest, the most sacred rights over me—those of gratitude. It is to him that I owe everything."

"That you owe everything! what? were you not adopted and brought up by the honest peasants who lived in this house? Was it not to them alone that you owe gratitude?"

"Oh, no! it was not to them alone. Those good people who lived here loved me dearly, I know; but when they took me into their family, and treated me as their own daughter, they simply obeyed the orders of the man whom I must obey to-day! I am doing wrong even now in telling you all this; he forbade me to do it."

"When a man has only honorable intentions, he does not conceal himself thus, he does not envelop himself with so much mystery; and if this person desires only your happiness, why does he forbid you to love me, to become my wife?"

"Your wife! No, he told me that I could never be any man’s wife, that I must not see you any more, must not receive you here; he said also that that would make people think ill of me. Alas! I did not know that it was wrong to love to be with you."

"And you will obey this order, which parts us?"

"I must; do not be angry with me, Edouard. The man who separates us is terribly distressed to make me unhappy, for he is very kind, and he loves me dearly."

"This is too much!" said Edouard, striding angrily from the cottage; "you pity, you love another; and as the reward of my love, to pay me for not acting as so many men would have done in my place, you request me never to come again; ah! I must be a great fool to continue to love you. Adieu! you shall be gratified, you shall see me no more!"

"Edouard! Edouard! do you leave me like this?" cried Isaure, who had followed the young man out of the cottage. But Edouard was no longer listening to her. Beside himself with rage and jealousy, he had remounted his horse, and was galloping back to the château.

The whole party was at that moment assembled in the salon, except Monsieur Férulus, who had received orders to leave the château, with only twenty-four hours in which to make his preparations, and who was then in the library, where he was packing up the volumes which he had brought to the château, and consigning to the devil Monsieur de la Roche-Noire’s new wife.

Alfred was with the family in the salon, with his eyes fixed smilingly on Robineau, who seemed more timid than ever with his wife, and more humble with his father-in-law.

Edouard was too excited to go to the salon; he went to his own room and sent word secretly to Alfred to join him there.

Alfred immediately complied with his friend’s wish. Edouard’s pallor and agitation attracted his attention the moment he caught sight of him; he ran to his side, seized his hand, and pressing it affectionately, said to him:

"What has happened? tell me!"

Edouard could not reply at once, his grief choked his utterance; he tried to speak, but his heart was too full; at last he threw himself into his friend’s arms, stammering:

"My dear Alfred, you sacrificed your love for Isaure to me; you desired that I should be happy; you saw my extreme passion for that girl. Well! to reward my love, she refuses to see me again. I must abandon all hope of marrying her. When I forget that she is only a peasant, nameless, penniless, it is she who refuses to be mine!"

"Who told you that?"

"She herself; I left her only a moment ago."

"What reasons does she give you?"

"The obedience which she owes to a man who forbids her to see me again."

"Then I was not misinformed," cried Alfred, after a moment.

"What? what do you mean?"

"Listen! two nights ago, when I went to examine the old tower, I did find someone there—that vagabond whom we have met so often in the mountains; he declared that he had made his way into the château at night for the purpose of speaking to me secretly, and he told me that Isaure was unworthy of your love, that he had been suspicious of her conduct for a long time, and that he had at last acquired the certainty that she went to the White House at night, to see a man who had just arrived there."

"The traitor! She goes to see him at night; and to think that I respected her sincerity, her innocence, and was afraid of offending her delicacy! Ah! my friend, these women! Oh! I am suffocating, I cannot stand it; I have a weight at my heart which oppresses me, which is killing me!"

"Come, come, Edouard, be a man; be yourself; does a woman who betrays us deserve that we should regret her?"

"Ah! my friend, I have not your temperament; but why have you concealed from me what you had learned?"

"I wished to be certain, before causing you pain; I had my reasons for doubting the veracity of the wretch’s story, he seemed to take so much delight in slandering that girl; and I fear even now——"

"What! when she herself told me that she would not see me any more, because some insolent villain has forbidden her to? And you think that I will suffer such an outrage? No, I will make this man’s acquaintance. I will see my rival, and he shall have my life, or I will have his."

"Calm yourself, Edouard, reflect before——"

"Reflection is useless; I am determined to fight with the man who has stolen Isaure’s heart from me."

"Who has stolen it from you! That is not quite fair; consider that it is you rather, who have stolen it from him. This man knew Isaure before you did; if anyone has a right to complain, is it not he?"

"Yes, that man knew Isaure; but before he returned to this place, she loved me—at least she swore that she did; every day she seemed to see me with greater pleasure, to part from me with greater regret. It is only since the return of this unknown protector that she spurns me, that she wishes to see me no more. So you see that it is he who has stolen the woman I love from me, it is he who wrecks my life."

"I see that it is utterly impossible to make a man who is in love listen to reason!"

"My friend, my mind is made up; to-night I shall seek out my rival, and he must give Isaure up to me, or take my life."

"Give Isaure up to you! What! are you still willing to give her your name?"

"I do not know what I am willing to do; my blood is boiling, my head is on fire. Ah! Alfred, may you never know the torments of jealousy! Argue with me no more; I will listen to nothing until I have satisfied my rage. To-night we will go together to the White House. That is where I shall find this man, who surrounds himself with so much mystery. I have relied upon you to go with me, to be my second. However, if you disapprove of my resolution, I will go alone."

"What! I desert you at such a moment! No, my dear Edouard, I will go with you. I shall take my pistols; do you take your weapons too. We will leave the château on foot, at eight o’clock; we shall be there at ten, which is early enough. Now let me return to the salon."

"Make my apologies for not appearing; say that I am indisposed; it would be impossible for me to be with people now in whose presence I must constrain myself."

Alfred pressed his friend’s hand and did not insist upon remaining with him; for he knew that in great grief there are times when even words of comfort are unwelcome. He returned to the company and announced that Edouard was not feeling well. The absence of one of the young men, and the depression and absent-mindedness of Alfred did not tend to enliven the dinner on the day following the wedding, during which Robineau, having had the misfortune to say, rubbing his hands: "I flatter myself that I shall not sleep alone to-night!" received a sharp reprimand from Monsieur de la Pincerie concerning the freedom of his manners; and Madame de la Roche-Noire manifested a sulky manner during the rest of the meal.

In the evening, the whist table was prepared; as they no longer had Monsieur Férulus to make a fourth, because he would have been very sorry to do anything agreeable to the marquis during his last evening at the château, they suggested to Alfred that he should take his place; but he announced that he felt tired and would withdraw early. Thereupon Monsieur de la Pincerie took his two daughters into the game, and they played a family bouillotte, at which Mignon considered himself very skilful, because he said "I pass" before looking at his cards. At eight o’clock, leaving Robineau in an altercation with his father-in-law and his wife over a bad play that he had made, Alfred left the salon, went to his room, took his weapons and his cloak, because it was a damp and cold evening, and then joined Edouard, who was impatiently pacing his room, awaiting his friend.

"Here I am," said Alfred.

"Let us go then," replied Edouard shortly, "it is quite time."

"Why are we going on foot?"

"It seems to me that we are less likely to be seen, that they will not hear us coming. Who knows that the man whom I wish to discover may not have spies posted on the road, to give him warning of a surprise?"

"All right, let us go on foot; perhaps the walk and the cool night air will calm you a little."

Edouard did not reply, but took his pistols, put on his cloak, and went downstairs. The two young men bade the concierge open the gate for them, and Alfred put a gold piece in his hand, to bribe him to sit up for their return, which could hardly take place until late at night. They left the château, and by the pale light of the moon, which showed itself at intervals from behind the clouds, they took the road leading into the mountains.

Edouard walked in silence, and at a rapid pace. Alfred dared not interrupt his reflections, but contented himself with glancing from time to time at the cliffs and mountains which surrounded them. That night excursion reminded him of their journey to La Roche-Noire; he thought of their hilarity at that time, and sighed as he reflected how soon the happiness which the future promised had disappeared.

After walking more than a league and a half without stopping, and when they were only a short distance from the little valley, Alfred said to his friend:

"Let us rest a moment and take breath; perhaps the man whom you seek will not be at the White House so early."

"Very well," said Edouard, "let us rest here."

And he sat down beside Alfred on a boulder. As he continued to sit in silence, Alfred took his hand, and said to him:

"My dear Edouard, you must admit that we are great fools, to take so much trouble for a girl,—a very pretty girl, I admit; but there are so many others whom we do not even know!"

"Alfred, it is possible that this is folly, rank madness; I realize fully that I should do better to forget Isaure, to despise her; but, my dear friend, every day we persevere in things, although we know that we are doing wrong. As I have told you, you do not feel love as I do, and it is very lucky for you! You loved Isaure passionately; but as soon as you made up your mind to sacrifice that love to me, you were able to put her adored image from your thoughts, and you will agree that in a few days it presented itself much less often. I loved Isaure without manifesting it so plainly; but it is a sentiment which will end only with my life. May I not have long to suffer thus!—Come, the time is passing, and I am in haste to arrive."

Edouard rose, they walked on, and in ten minutes went down into the valley. There Edouard was obliged to stop; he was trembling from head to foot, he could hardly breathe, and he was almost forced to lean upon Alfred’s arm to keep himself from falling.

"Wait, wait," he said; "the sight of this place makes me ill. Forgive me, dear Alfred, for all the trouble that I am giving you."

Alfred made no other response than pressing his friend’s hand, and they soon resumed their walk; but they did not notice that the man with the knotted stick, who had stopped a short distance away, was now dogging their footsteps, taking pains to keep constantly in the shadow.

"Let us go first to her house; we will find out if she is still at home," said Edouard.

They walked silently, trying to make as little noise as possible, and soon reached the cottage; they saw a light in the room on the first floor, the window was open, and from a distance they saw Isaure in that room.

"She is there!" said Edouard in a low voice.

"Yes," replied Alfred, "and she is alone."

"She is doing nothing, she seems lost in thought; see how lovely she is still, Alfred!"

"Why, my dear friend, women are not less pretty for being unfaithful. Sometimes they seem even prettier."

"She rises, she walks to Vaillant and pats him; look,—one would say that she was weeping. Ah! my friend, if I did not hold myself back, I should rush in and throw myself at her feet."

"Wait, she is coming to the window; let us hide behind these trees."

Isaure came to the window, and looked at the White House.

"It is there, it is always there that her eyes turn," said Edouard sorrowfully. "Madman that I am! I believed that she was thinking of me."

Ten minutes passed, during which Isaure stood at the window, and the young men, stationed behind some trees, did not lose sight of her or of the White House. At the end of that time, a light appeared in a window of that mysterious house.

"That is the signal that she was waiting for, no doubt," said Edouard.

And, in fact, the girl instantly left the window, disappeared from her room and soon stole softly out of the cottage. Edouard gripped his friend’s arm fiercely; he could not speak, but he followed every movement that Isaure made. She, after locking her door, darted swiftly into the field, and crossing it at a rapid pace, soon reached the entrance to the White House, and glided furtively through the door, which closed behind her.

The young men followed her, watched her enter the house, and stopped a few steps away.

"There is no more doubt," said Edouard in a gloomy voice; "she is there with my rival! Ah! I am going——"

"What are you going to do?" said Alfred, holding Edouard back; "knock at that door? make an uproar? They will not admit you, and besides you will not find out anything more. Would it not be better to wait until she comes out? Perhaps the man who is in there will accompany her; suppose we could see them, hear them, unobserved! There will still be time enough to challenge your rival; as he is here, he cannot escape you."

"Yes, yes, you are right," said Edouard; "let us wait, I will try to be strong enough."

"See, let us take our places under this clump of trees. We shall be just opposite the door, and no one can see us. Come."

Alfred led Edouard under the trees, which were some forty yards from the White House. There they crouched in the darkest spot, and waited in silence until the door opposite them was opened. A quarter of an hour passed in this painful suspense; Edouard was frantic with impatience and jealousy; but the desire to acquire proofs of Isaure’s treachery gave him strength to resist the violent impulses of his heart. Suddenly they heard a slight noise; it did not come from the White House, however, but from behind the young men.

"I heard something," said Edouard.

"Yes, I thought that I did, too."

"Can it be that we are not alone here?"

They looked carefully all about them, but could see no one. At that moment, the moon, coming out from behind the clouds, enabled them to distinguish objects very plainly, and Edouard shuddered as he heard the door open.

"Here they are!" he said.

Isaure came out first; she was followed by a man of tall stature, wrapped in an ample coat, and with a round hat pulled low over his eyes. They stood in the shadow cast by the house, and in a moment the girl said in a sad tone:

"Adieu, my friend; adieu, I will go home. You will not scold me any more, will you? He will not come again; I have told him that I could not receive him any more."

The man who was with Isaure answered too low for them to hear, as he escorted her toward her house. Edouard followed them, keeping out of sight in the shadow, while Alfred remained under the trees, in front of the house, to cut off the stranger’s retreat.

Soon Isaure and her companion stopped; he took the young girl in his arms and kissed her affectionately. At that sight, Edouard, in a frenzy, started to rush toward them; but Isaure was already tripping lightly toward the cottage, while the other person strode rapidly toward the White House, along the edge of the clump of trees which concealed Alfred from his sight. At that moment, the moon, shining full in the face of the person walking toward him, enabled Alfred to examine him at his ease; and instead of stopping him and preventing him from returning to the White House, Alfred remained absolutely motionless on the spot where he stood. Meanwhile, Edouard hastened after the man with whom he was burning to fight; but he only saw him reënter the house, the door of which closed upon him.

"What!" he said to Alfred, "he passed in front of you and you did not stop him? You did not prevent him from escaping from my wrath? I can no longer doubt Isaure’s perfidy, that man took her in his arms! Ah! he must pay for his good fortune with his life! Yes, if he refuse to open the door, though I have to scale the walls or break the windows, he shall not escape me!"

And Edouard was already rushing toward the house, pistol in hand, when Alfred, rousing himself from the stupor which had taken possession of him, hurried after him, grasped his arm and held him back, crying:

"Edouard, do not think of fighting that man, I implore you! it cannot be!"

"What! not think of revenging myself? Did you come with me for the purpose of talking to me like this? Let me go!"

"No, I entreat you! in the name of our friendship, put down those weapons, which horrify me!"

"What is the meaning of the interest which that man arouses in you? Ah! for my part, I feel that I detest him, that I abhor him! and in his blood——"

"Wretched man, what are you saying?—It is my father!"

"Your father!" cried Edouard, upon whom those words produced the effect of a thunderbolt; while the vagabond, a short distance away, repeated in a hollow voice, "his father"; then strode rapidly away, and disappeared under the trees.

After a silence of several moments, Edouard, who seemed not to recover his wits until then, handed the pistols to Alfred, saying:

"Here, take them, take these weapons away from me! You are right, I cannot fight with him!"

Leaving Edouard no time to change his mind, Alfred took his arm and led him hurriedly away from the White House.

Alfred led his friend into the first road that they came to; his only thought was to take him away from the White House, and from Isaure’s dwelling. The two young men walked a long while at random and without speaking; their hearts were too heavily burdened for them to be able to exchange their thoughts. But, after walking for a considerable distance, with no other object than to escape from the little valley, they stopped, worn out with fatigue and excitement, in a large field. Edouard dropped upon the turf, saying:

"Let us rest here; I feel that I must breathe for a moment."

Alfred seated himself beside his friend. They were both silent again for some time, until at last Edouard said in a trembling voice:

"Are you perfectly sure that that man was your father?"

"My friend, can a son’s eyes be mistaken? Yes, it was certainly he; he was coming toward me, and the moon shone brightly upon his face. I had plenty of time to look at him, to recognize him. Thunderstruck, I stood perfectly motionless, I did not leave the trees which hid me from him; and I thank heaven for it! A son should never compel the author of his days to blush before him. I must no longer seek to discover the motives of my father’s conduct, or the sentiment which he feels for Isaure. Is he not master of his actions? And if he has some weak points, does he not redeem them by a thousand noble qualities? Ah! my dear Edouard, when I think of the ghastly things that might have happened had I not recognized my father,—if the darkness had concealed his features from us both,—I still shudder, my heart stands still! My father, who is so kind, so indulgent to me, whose sole aim is to make me happy, who is a most affectionate friend to me, would be dead by your hands, perhaps, and in his son’s presence!—Ah! believe me, my dear friend, all the griefs of love, all the torments that a woman causes us, will never approach the agony that tears the heart of a son at the thought that he might unconsciously have acted as a second to his father’s murderer!"

"I trust, Alfred, that your mind is at ease now?"

"Yes, I am convinced that you will respect my father; and besides, my dear friend, let us be fair—it is not he who has betrayed you; Isaure alone is guilty; she should not have responded to your love, she should not have given you any hope; but women always yield to their desire to please, without thinking of all that may result from it. In your jealous rage, you wish to fight him who forbids Isaure to see you, to listen to you again! And yet, had he not the right to do it? He has undoubtedly known this girl for a long while.—So this was the motive of those frequent journeys, in which he never proposed that I should accompany him! Yes! oh, yes! he must have been coming to the White House for a long while, a very long while. But a love-affair! I confess that that astonishes me, and I still have difficulty in believing it. Since the death of his second wife, of that Adèle whom he loved so dearly, I have heard him say a hundred times that no woman could touch his heart again. I know very well that men say that, and that that does not prevent it; but I say again that it surprises me. His only mistake was not taking me into his confidence, not saying a word to me of this affair. Am I not his friend, as well as his son? Then we should not have walked in the direction of the White House and made love to the girl, and I should not have been exposed to the risk of becoming my father’s rival! But, since he wishes to conceal this intrigue, let us respect his secret. He has no idea that we are in this neighborhood; I have never had time to write to him, and certainly, if the girl has mentioned an Edouard to him, he will never have suspected that she referred to his son’s friend."

Edouard listened calmly to what Alfred said; he seemed to approve of it all; he was much calmer, for his common sense had made itself heard. The pure, cool night air, the rest which they had taken, had also produced their due effect; their blood circulated more freely, their hearts were less oppressed. The man who abandons himself to all the transports of a jealous frenzy, and dreams of nothing but vengeance, would be much less frantic if he would only walk in the open air for a quarter of an hour. The physical and the mental condition are always dependent upon each other.

After a further silence of a few moments, Edouard said to his friend:

"I do not propose to remain in this country any longer. On the contrary, I am anxious to go away. I shall bid the people at the château adieu to-morrow, and leave Auvergne, where, for the sake of my peace of mind, I ought never to have come!"

"I will go away with you. Indeed, I am beginning to tire of the Château of La Roche-Noire, and of all the original characters it contains. Yes, to-morrow we will make our adieu. We will return to Paris in search of distraction; or, if you prefer, we will take a trip to Switzerland or Italy. I will go with you anywhere. Time and my affection will succeed in banishing painful memories from your mind. Come, give me your hand, Edouard. Believe me, one is never entirely wretched when one has a veritable friend."

The two young men held each other’s hands for a long while, and Edouard promised Alfred to do everything that was in his power to forget Isaure.

"Where are we?" said he, after a moment.

"Faith, I have no idea; we have walked a long while, and I have not paid any attention to the road. I do not recognize the surroundings, and the moon is hidden. As we might very well go astray in these mountains, I think that we shall do better to remain here until daylight; as soon as it is light, we will go back to the château."

Edouard agreed with Alfred; they stretched themselves out on the grass, to seek repose; but sleep did not approach the eyelids of Isaure’s lover, who had always in his thoughts the lovely features of her whom it had become a pleasant habit to love and to see every day.

As soon as the day began to break, the young men rose, and some peasants on their way to work pointed out the way to the château. They arrived there about eight in the morning and met in the courtyard Monsieur Férulus, who had his big steel buttons on his coat, and who carried under his arm a large bundle of books, as on the day that he had come to establish himself at La Roche-Noire.

The scholar had halted in the middle of the courtyard, and was casting a last glance at the window of the room which he had occupied, exclaiming:

"Adieu, Rome! I go!"

On turning about, he saw the two young men, and went toward them with a melancholy expression, then made them a low reverence.

"Where are you going so early in the morning, Monsieur Férulus?" said Alfred.

"I am going away, messieurs; I am leaving this spot forever; I am discharged, deprived of my office! And why? because I taught a young woman to use the warming pan that nature has given her. It was not my fault that there was not any other kind in the château."

"What! has that trouble not been arranged?—But Robineau is a good fellow."

"Since he has married, he has become an absolute nullity. Poor, dear man! He will see some cruel moments! I have not the good fortune to please his excellent wife. She did not consider my verses pretty, or rather, she refused to listen to them.—Messieurs, it is useless to hope for anything from one who does not respect learning! After boring myself to death, playing whist every evening with that insolent La Pincerie and his idiotic brother, this is the way that I am rewarded! Saturus sum opprobriis!—and thrown out of doors without even a month’s salary as librarian. But let them find another like me! Madame says that her Uncle Mignon can do perfectly well all that I do here. What blasphemy! But it seems that all the places which the dear uncle was to hold will be reduced to that of servant to his niece.—However, I am carrying the library away under my arm; it belongs to me, it is all my property. I am going to try to start another little school, or to find another Mæcenas, who desires a Virgil to procure him immortality for three hundred francs a year. It seems to me that that is not worth haggling about.—As for this château, you will see, messieurs, that it will soon be pillaged, sold, abandoned; it will crumble to dust, and no one will remember the name of its last owner, and people will seek for La Roche-Noire as they now seek for Babylon, Thebes and Nineveh!"

"We shall not see that, my dear Monsieur Férulus, for we too are about to leave the château."

"You are going to leave, messieurs," said Férulus with a joyous air; "I am delighted to hear it! These people are not worthy of having you for guests! When you and I are gone, I ask you what clever people will remain at the château?—Are you going back to Paris?"

"Perhaps so; we intend to travel a little."

"You do not need an interpreter, do you, in the countries which you propose to visit?"

"No, we know enough to make ourselves known where we shall go."

"You don’t happen to have any children whose education needs to be attended to?"

"No, Monsieur Férulus, not at the moment."

"In that case, messieurs, I will bid you farewell; vale et me ama."

The scholar walked sadly away; the young men would have been glad to induce him to accept their purses, in order to keep from dying of starvation a man who sought only to exalt his fellowmen to immortality; but they did not know how to go about it, for fear of wounding his self-esteem. Meanwhile Férulus, as he moved slowly and regretfully away, dropped a volume from the bundle which he held, and kept on, without noticing the loss he had sustained. Alfred picked up the volume, concealed his purse underneath it, called to the scholar, who instantly stopped, and running after him, placed the book and the purse in his hand, saying: