CHAPTER XVIII

THE BEAR AND THE PACHA

Among other plays at the Variétés that evening, they were giving "The Bear and the Pacha." This was one of M. de Fersen's triumphs at Constantinople, where he had taken, with great success, the part of Schaabaham, and he was most eager to see Brunet playing the same part.

Madame de Fersen arrived about nine o'clock, with her husband and the Duchess of ——. They took their places in a proscenium box, of which the lattices were half raised.

Catherine saw me, and gave me a gracious bow.

I found her pale and changed.

I have no recollection of the piece they played, and on the fall of the curtain I went to Madame de Fersen's box.

She was not well. I was looking at her attentively, when the prince said: "Be our umpire; you rarely see Madame de Fersen, and can better than any one notice a change; do you not find she has fallen away very much?"

I said I did not think so; that Madame de Fersen seemed to me in perfect health. The prince proclaimed me an impudent flatterer, etc.

The curtain rose, and I left the box.

I returned to my seat.

They began "The Bear and the Pacha."

This burlesque did not bring a smile to Madame de Fersen's countenance, but her husband applauded frantically, and I must confess I shared the general merriment.

One of those loudest in laughter was a man seated just in front of me, and of whom I could only see the thick, gray, curly locks.

I had never heard such ringing, joyous laughter,—at times it became almost convulsive. At these times the man clung with both hands to the barrier dividing the stalls from the orchestra, and, strengthened by this prop, gave full scope to his hilarity.

Nothing is more contagious than laughter; the witticisms of the play had already excited my risible faculties, and, in spite of myself, the wild uproariousness of this man so affected me that I soon was nothing more than his echo, and to each of his immoderate bursts I responded with a no less boisterous explosion of laughter.

In short, I had not noticed that Madame de Fersen had left the theatre.

The curtain fell, and I rose.

The man who had yielded to such boisterous mirth also rose, turned towards me as he put on his hat, and exclaimed, with a return of joyful glee: "What a buffoon that Odry is!"

Amazed, I leaned on the back of my stall.

I had recognised the pirate of Porquerolles, the pilot of Malta.

I remained riveted to my seat, which was the end one of the orchestra. His seat was in front of mine, no one had to pass by us, and the spectators were slowly filing out.

It was indeed he!

It was his look, his bony, bronzed face, his thick, black eyebrows, his sharp teeth pointed and divided, as I could see, for he smiled with his strange smile, as he gazed at me audaciously.

The footlights were lowered, and the theatre became dark.

"It is you!" I cried, at length coming out of my stupor, and as if my chest had thrown off an enormous weight.

"Yes, certainly 'tis I. You remember me, then? Porquerolles and Malta! that is the password."

"Wretch!" I exclaimed.

"How, wretch?" he replied, with astounding effrontery. "We had a good free fight, I hope! If in boarding I stuck a knife in your shoulder, you answered me with a sharp axe on the head, my good friend! On the other hand, if your English dogs thrashed the crew of my mystic, I had the good luck to rip up your lord's yacht on the reefs of La Wardi. Hence we are even. And now we both meet splitting our sides at 'The Bear and the Pacha;' and, instead of finding the encounter droll, you get mad. Do you know that is a pretty low trick, my good friend?"

I must acknowledge that his audacity paralysed me. "But if I were to have you arrested?" I cried, rising and seizing him by the collar.

The pirate answered imperturbably, without seeking to free himself:

"That would be a fine trick to play. You may reckon besides how easy it would be to prove to an idiot of a Parisian police commissioner how I boarded your yacht off Cape Spartel, and how I wrecked her on the rocks of La Wardi, sou'west by south of the southern coast of the island of Malta. He'd think you were talking Greek, and would say you were crazy, my friend. Now, crazy you are not. You are a lad with a good stout fist, and not afraid of anything. If my life did not belong for the moment to my bride, to my charming bride," he added mockingly, and emphasising the word, "I should propose to take up our conversation where we left off on boarding the yacht. But, my word! my little wife is waiting for me, and I prefer her conversation to yours."

"Here, now, gentlemen, we are going to shut up," cried the watchman of the theatre.

"That's so! and here we are chattering like two magpies. Adieu, young man, farewell," said the pirate.

And in two strides he disappeared.

I was so dazed that I did not leave the theatre until a second call from the watchman recalled me to my senses.

When, on my return home, I thought over my stupid amazement at meeting the pirate of Porquerolles, I charged myself with vacillation, and reproached myself for not having the rascal arrested; but, as he very wisely remarked, it would have been most embarrassing to me to prove forthwith my accusations, and on second thoughts, considering the difficulties presenting themselves, I concluded that my course of action was more judicious than I had thought at first.

Nevertheless, I wished to inform M. de Sérigny of the presence of this wretch in Paris, and of his double crime, which especially interested England; M. de Sérigny, as Minister of Foreign Affairs, could alone countenance and favour such steps as might necessarily be taken by Lord Stuart, then ambassador to France, to gather proofs of the crime, and obtain the extradition of the culprit.

The next morning, therefore, I wrote a few words to the minister, requesting the favour of a few minutes' interview.

CHAPTER XIX

THE INTERVIEW

I was preparing, to go to the Luxembourg, where I expected to meet Irene, when I received a note from Madame de Fersen, asking me to call on her about two o'clock.

Since her arrival in Paris I had never met her alone.

To what should I attribute the wish she expressed? To her desire to see me? To her secret vexation at the rumours spread regarding my intimacy with Madame de V——? Catherine might think these rumours well founded, since she had surprised me alone with Madame de V—— at the concert at Lord P——'s house.

I could not say, but I waited for our interview with restless happiness and irresistible agitation.

I was going to see Catherine once more, to see her alone! At this thought my heart beat with hope and ecstasy at last; a word from her would reward me for my self-denial, for the generous sacrifice I had made, for the assiduous cares to which her beloved child almost owed her return to health.

From this interview I would draw fresh strength to devote myself still further; and then, I had so much to say to her! I felt so proud of my love, so happy to feel my heart still young enough to appreciate the pure joys which enchanted me; to feel that confidence in the strength, in the sincerity, of my attachment which enabled me to hope that some day my love would be reciprocated.

At the appointed hour, I went to Madame de Fersen's.

She received me in a small parlour which she usually occupied, but which I had not yet seen.

"What a long time since I have seen you!" I cried with effusion as I held out my hand.

Madame de Fersen coldly gave me hers, and answered:

"I believe I had the pleasure of seeing you last night at the Variétés, monsieur."

"You call that seeing one another!" I replied, with sad astonishment. "Ah, I was right when I feared that the 'conversations of the saloon' would soon be forgotten by you!"

"I shall never forget our pleasant voyage," answered Madame de Fersen, in the same cold tone. "I am greatly obliged to you for the trouble you have taken in coming to see me this morning. I wish to thank you a thousand times, monsieur, for your kindness in yielding to my daughter's capricious fancies. She is now quite well, and I fear— I do not wish any longer to take advantage of your goodness towards her, monsieur."

Madame de Fersen's tone was icy, almost scornful. What she said seemed so true, so natural, so little influenced by resentment, that I was thunderstruck. I suffered horribly, and could find no word of reply.

My silence was so marked, that Madame de Fersen found herself obliged to add, very coldly:

"I doubtless appear to you very ungrateful, monsieur?"

"Madame," I said, with deep emotion, "I do not know how I have deserved such a reception."

"And what claim have you to a different reception from me?" proudly inquired Madame de Fersen.

My painful astonishment was at its height; for a moment I deluded myself, and endeavoured to attribute to jealousy this reception so different from what I had anticipated, but I repeat, Madame de Fersen's countenance betrayed no sign of repressed or concealed emotion.

I resolutely took my stand. I could not answer Madame de Fersen's question without reminding her of my noble and generous conduct towards her; and unwilling to lower myself by uttering reproaches, I was silent on that subject, and only said to her, endeavouring to conceal my emotion:

"The object of the interview you requested is doubtless attained. May I ask, madame, if you have any further orders to give me?"

"None, monsieur, but I again wish to express my grateful acknowledgments," said Madame de Fersen, rising.

This harshness shocked me. I was about to answer with some bitterness, when I became aware of something which I had not yet remarked, and which renewed a faint hope.

During our short interview, Madame de Fersen had not once raised her eyes from the embroidery upon which she was working.

Wishing to assure myself of the correctness of my observation, I stayed on some moments without uttering a word.

Catherine remained with her eyes lowered, instead of inquiring by a look the meaning of my silent presence.

"Adieu, madame," I said.

"Adieu, monsieur."

And I left without her granting me one single look of compassion or sorrow.

Her hand alone seemed to tremble slightly on her embroidery as she said adieu.

I took my departure heartbroken.

I had too great and too conscious a distrust of myself and my deserts to have the slightest hope of any success with Catherine.

I could not yield to my customary suspicious impulse, for I had implicit faith in Madame de Fersen's sincerity, and I doubted of ever having aroused any sentiment in her heart. "She feels no tender affection for me, and her friendship even has vanished in the glare of brilliant worldly diversions."

I had been away from her almost always, and the effects and results of absence are unbounded and varied.

At times it strengthens a woman's secret sympathy, by concentrating her thoughts on the man who has attracted her, and whose charm is exaggerated by the distant mirage. A woman finds a proud, sad, and mysterious delight in the bitterness of her solitary regrets; she scorns the indifferent ones who occupy a place near her, which she so ardently wishes to see filled by one precious to her, and she detests those eager in their attentions because they are base enough to be there while the preferred one is far away.

Often, however, absence is forgetfulness, for some hearts are like mirrors, and only reflect objects that are present.

I therefore believed myself entirely forgotten by Madame de Fersen. I had anticipated the possibility of this cruel predicament, and, if it gave me deep sorrow, it did not occasion me great surprise.

In the climax of my despair, I made a thousand projects. I determined to shake off this grief, to give myself up to all life's dissipations, to seek amorous distraction in some fresh entanglement; but it takes time and a strong will for a heart deeply smitten to transfer its worship.

When a man knows he is loved, and is in possession of the woman he loves, he never experiences the slightest remorse at committing an infidelity; but when he is passionately desirous, and still anxiously looking for an avowal, faithlessness is an impossibility. He has the resolution to maintain fidelity only so long as he has not the right to offer it.

CHAPTER XX

A MISSION

The day after my interview with Madame de Fersen I was sadly preoccupied, when my servant announced M. de Sérigny.

I was much astonished at his visit, for which, however, he accounted very graciously, saying that, passing by my door on his way to the Chambers, he had come in on the chance of saving me the trouble of going to the Foreign Office for the interview which I had requested.

This alacrity on his part did not at first seem natural to me; but, on reflection, I thought the rumours current about me and Madame de V—— had induced the minister to do something in excellent taste by showing himself so considerate.

In a few words I related to him the history of the pirate, and our singular encounter at the Variétés.

M. de Sérigny said that he was going immediately to confer with the British ambassador, and that he would consider the means to be used in order to seize so great a scoundrel.

Our conversation having fallen on travels, M. de Sérigny asked me with interest about those I had undertaken. He then became very flattering, insinuating, and amiable; told me he had known my father very well under the Empire; spoke of him as a man of fine attainments, great determination, and infinite tact, who had a remarkable knowledge of the world and of men. He said that the Emperor would assuredly have employed him outside the military service, by entrusting him with some important mission, if my father's open and positive character could have submitted to Napoleon's caprices.

I was endeavouring to fathom the meaning of these flattering remarks, when M. de Sérigny said to me, with an air of charming good nature:

"Will you permit an old friend of your family to ask you a question? If it seems to you indiscreet, pray attribute it solely to the interest I take in your father's name."

"I am listening to you, monsieur, and can only be grateful for the good-will you show me."

"Well, how is it that, with your education, your name, your fortune and position, with the experience you have acquired in your numerous travels, in fact with all your excellent connections, you have never thought of taking up some serious occupation,—of entering, for instance, into public affairs?"

"In the first place," I replied to the minister, "I am far from possessing all the advantages you attribute to me; moreover, I have not the slightest ambition, and my idle life pleases me hugely."

"But your country?"

"What about my country?"

"Do you not owe it a few years, at least, of your existence?"

"And what would it do with such a gift?"

"Come, come, it is impossible that you deceive yourself to such an extent, be your modesty ever so great. You know full well that your success in the world would not be what it is, if you were not of special value. No man in society is less conspicuous, or more spoken of, than you. Unless you have a great historic French name, unless you are a great poet, a celebrated artist, or a great statesman, what is the hardest thing to acquire in society—you may rely on my extensive experience—is that indescribable something which causes people to turn and look at you when your name is announced in a salon. Well, that is a privilege you enjoy; you are young, and yet you have influence, you have authority in the world, since people busy themselves very much about what you do and what you do not do."

These exaggerated flatteries were so transparent that I clearly saw that M. de Sérigny wished, if I may be pardoned the expression, to work upon my feelings, to induce me as a point of honour to renounce my flirtation with Madame de V——. In spite of my sadness, this little comedy amused me, and I endeavoured to make it last as long as possible, by seeming to be caught by M. de Sérigny's praises.

"But," said I, with a modest smile, "admitting, monsieur, that which is merely, I believe, a delusion of your kind nature; admitting, I say, that I have had some success in the world, and that, relatively to my years, I am even considered of some account, I do not well see what use my country could derive from these advantages."

"No one can inform you better than I," replied the minister, with awkward alacrity, which proved to me that he had expected this question. "People talk a great deal, make a great fuss, over what is called diplomacy. Now do you know what the great art of diplomacy is?" he asked, with a good-natured smile.

I shook my head with an air of humility.

"Well, it is simply the art of pleasing. As diplomacy consists in asking and refusing, he who can please most will always gain his point; while if he is obliged to refuse, he will make his refusal sufficiently gracious, to avoid its wounding. Here lies the whole secret."

I had some difficulty in suppressing a great inclination to laugh, for it struck me that the minister, jealous of my attentions to Madame de V——, was going to propose to attach me to a foreign embassy, so as to get rid of me.

This was doubtless the solution of this scene; but I found the situation so amusing that I determined not to terminate it abruptly.

"I thought," said I, "that the able negotiators of the most fertile epoch of great treaties and great diplomatic victories, I thought," I continued, "that such men as D'Avaux, Courtin, Estrade, Ruvigny, and Lyonne were possessed of other attributes than the simple talent of pleasing."

"If they did not possess the art of pleasing," said, with some embarrassment, M. de Sérigny, who seemed ignorant of the historic traditions of his special department like the true constitutional minister that he was,—"if they did not possess the art of pleasing, they made use of some other seduction."

"You are right," I rejoined, "they had gold without limit."

"You see, then," cried the minister, "it is always the same; only in modern society the art of pleasing has superseded the seduction by gold."

"In the first place, it is more economical," I said.

"And safer," he rejoined; "for all thrones are not representative. There are, God be praised! kings in Europe who are absolute kings, and walk without leading-strings. Well, these kings are men, and, in a word, are subject like men to sympathies and antipathies. Frequently, the ambassador that is sent to them, even if he possesses the greatest genius, the loftiest character, can obtain nothing for his court,—and why? Simply because he is not pleasing; while, on the contrary, a man of moderate ability will often obtain by the simple power of his manners, because he can please, he will obtain, I say, what the man of genius was not able to obtain."

"This is true, and your system facilitates matters, since men who please are much more plentiful than men of genius."

"Certainly! Therefore, I am convinced, firmly convinced, that you, for instance, supposing you wished to enter the diplomatic career, could be of the greatest service to France; for you not only possess the art of pleasing, your success in society attests it, but you have also solid and eminent qualities."

I was right in my surmises; the proposition which I had anticipated, without doubt, was about to follow the ringing of my praises. Wishing to lend myself with a good grace to the minister's whim, I replied with a semblance of modest and confused astonishment:

"How can you think so,—I, monsieur, I, enter so difficult a career? My ambition has never been crazy enough to aspire to such a future."

"Listen to me," said M. de Sérigny, with a serious and paternal air.

And he made the following disclosure, which seemed to me an abominable falsehood.

"Your father rendered me a great service." Here the diplomat paused and sighed heavily, then he raised his eyes to Heaven, repeating: "Yes, yes, a great service! I could not tell you, my dear M. de ——, how happy I would consider myself in being able to demonstrate to you, his son, all my gratitude, since unfortunately I was not able to give proof of it to himself."

"I was quite ignorant of this circumstance, which my father never mentioned to me."

"I can well believe it," exclaimed M. de Sérigny, "for I myself can give you no particulars on this subject. It concerns a third party, and honour demands my silence. I repeat it," he continued, "I have just found an opportunity to acknowledge your father's goodness, and to secure another worthy servant to my country, if, however, you are disposed to utilise the rare advantages with which you are gifted."

"But I have told you, monsieur, however much I might desire to enter your honourable career under such happy auspices, I never could believe my merit equal to this ambition."

"Once again, you do not know yourself, or you do not wish to know yourself," resumed the minister with some degree of impatience, "and fortunately your opinion in this matter is not of consequence. As to me, it is quite evident that, if you wish it, you can fill an important mission; for you must feel that you are not one of those young beaux, who, having nothing but their name and their fortune, esteem themselves very happy when they are appointed attachés to foreign embassies. No, no, such proposals are not made to such as you. You must enter by the wide door; you must, above all, have the opportunity to show your full value. Unfortunately, with us," he added, hesitatingly, "with us, the necessities, the traditions, of government are so imperative, that European missions are very much restricted, and at the present moment they are all filled."

I looked straight at M. de Sérigny. It took all my command over myself not to burst out laughing. From the turn his proposal had taken, it no longer seemed a question of exile, but of transportation.

"But you must be aware," said I, preserving my composure, "that, in the event of this conversation having any sequence, I have not the ridiculous pretension to aim at one bound at a European mission."

"You must understand one thing," continued the minister, with ever increasing satisfaction, "missions are more or less important just as you make them. There are some very insignificant ones in Europe, while there are some vastly important ones in Asia, for instance. It cannot be disguised that it is not in Europe, but in the Orient, that the fate of Europe will in future be decided. The future policy of Europe is in the East! Europe has her eyes fixed on the East! There is the field of battle where the great negotiators of our times must be formed! For instance," said M. de Sérigny, looking steadily at me, "at this very moment I would like to find a man of good birth, with a keen, subtle intelligence, agreeable manners, and firm, resolute character, to whom I could entrust one of the most delicate missions. It is a question of securing the good-will and support of an important Oriental power, without arousing the suspicions, the susceptible jealousies, of Russia and England, our eternal rivals in the East."

"This mission, in fact, seems to me of great importance," I said, with the most disinterested air in the world.

"Is it not? Well, I may almost venture to say that I could secure that legation for you, so great is my confidence in your capacity, so much have I at heart to make some return for your father's kindness."

"Such a mission, to me!" I exclaimed, feigning the utmost astonishment.

M. de Sérigny assumed a deep, mysterious air, and said:

"M. de ——, I am speaking to a man of honour; whether or not you accept the proposition I have just made, will you give me your word that all this will remain secret between us?"

"I give you my word, monsieur."

"Well," he continued, not less mysteriously, "under the frivolous pretext of carrying rich gifts from his Majesty, the King of France, to the Shah of Persia, the object is to skilfully, adroitly, and forcibly gain the ascendency over the mind of that Asiatic prince so as to dispose him to accept favourably, at some later date, overtures of considerable importance which would hereafter be communicated to the envoy charged with this weighty negotiation. These interests, I will allow, are of the highest consequence. The gifts are ready, the instructions are drawn up, the vessel awaits,—and it is expected you should leave without delay."

My suppressed merriment was at its height, on hearing the minister propose to me seriously to start off immediately in order that I might exercise my powers of pleasing on the Shah of Persia, to further a mission of the most absurd insignificance, in spite of M. de Sérigny's efforts to make it appear of vast importance.

The minister waited for my reply with unconcealed anxiety.

I felt a certain remorse at making a man of his age and position play so foolish a part, and at prolonging this comedy.

This proposition, unacceptable as it was, had aroused in me certain slumbering ideas. Unhappy in my love for Madame de Fersen, realising that it would be impossible for me, for some time at least, to entertain another affection, and dreading inactivity above all, I determined to utilise, if possible, M. de Sérigny's good-will.

"Monsieur," I said, "although the difference in our ages is great, will you permit me, in my turn, to speak to you with the fullest, I might say with the most brutal, freedom?"

"Certainly," said the minister, greatly astonished.

"If the praiseworthy and generous motives that you have set forth, monsieur, indicate your firm intention to try me in the diplomatic career, I trust you will not take exception at my endeavouring to give you a proof of the extent of my penetration?"

"What do you mean, monsieur?"

"Let us speak freely, M. de Sérigny: you are in love with a charming woman that we both know; my attentions to her annoy you, and you propose to get me out of the way by sending me to the Shah of Persia!"

"Monsieur!" cried the minister, in an offended tone.

"Permit me to continue," said I. "There is no need of my leaving to reassure you. I give you my word of honour that my intercourse with the lady of whom I have the honour to speak is simply of a friendly nature, and, with the exception of an innocent and trifling flirtation, nothing can justify your suspicions."

M. de Sérigny appeared at first greatly irritated; nevertheless he said, with a forced smile: "After what has passed between us, it is inevitable either that we cut each other's throat, or become fast friends."

"Your choice is mine, monsieur."

"My choice is made," said M. de Sérigny, holding out his hand.

There was so much cordiality in his movement, he exercised so great a self-control to drive back his proud susceptibility and wounded self-love in the presence of a man of my years, that, deeply touched by his action, I said:

"If you believe all the good you have said of me, monsieur, you will attach no importance to this conversation. Attribute only to your high reputation for wisdom my earnest desire to demonstrate that I could penetrate your views. Pardon me for being so foolishly proud of my victory, for it was very flattering to me. As to fancying myself your rival with a certain charming person, my word must have reassured you regarding the past and the present. As to the future, there is one infallible way of setting aside your suspicions,—it is by asking a favour of you. Bound to you by gratitude, I would be base indeed were I to endanger your happiness in the slightest degree."

After a few moments of silence, M. de Sérigny said to me, with infinite good nature: "You speak so frankly, that it is impossible, I see, to hide one's meaning; one must deny all, or acknowledge all, and I prefer the last, for you are a man of honour, and very safe. All the same, it is very odd. Here am I, a man of my age, confiding my amourettes to a young man who has been very wittily making fun of me, and has said so to my face, and has so embarrassed me by confiding to me not his, but my love affairs, that I find myself in the most absurd position possible. Fortunately, you tell me that I may in some way do you a good turn, which saves me from being absolutely ridiculous," he added, with perfect graciousness.

"Well then, monsieur, here is the point in question: although I do not consider my qualifications sufficient to bewitch the Shah of Persia—"

"Let us say no more about that!" gaily said M. de Sérigny. "You strike a foe when he is down."

"I will confess your proposal has aroused in me, not ambition, but a desire to become acquainted with political matters, that I may see if my mind could some day turn. I do not know whether you find in me now the same qualifications."

"Ah, M. le comte, M. le comte!" said M. de Sérigny, shaking his finger at me menacingly.

"Admitting it then, all that I would ask of your kindness would be that, in the event of your needing hereafter a private secretary, you will admit me for a few hours each day in your study. In this capacity, I will place myself entirely at your service, and you may entrust me with such papers as you think you may hand to a safe, trustworthy man. After this trial, I shall really know whether I have any aptitude for business; and later, if I thought I could fill successfully a modest diplomatic mission, I would then remind you of the debt you still owe my father."

"Another epigram!" said M. de Sérigny; "but what matters! And really now, do these tiresome duties not frighten you? Will you have the courage to come and work with me daily for three or four hours in my study?"

"I will have the courage."

"Perhaps you will not believe that your proposal comes most opportunely; and yet every one is aware that my private secretary has just been appointed to the legation at Florence. I do not offer you the position, but I offer you the share he had in my work."

"And I accept with all my heart, and most gratefully." Touched by his kindness, and wishing to dispel the annoyance he might still feel at the advantage I had attained over him in this interview, I continued: "Look at the eccentricities of the human mind, and how by contrary ways one reaches the same end. You came to me with two very firmly set ideas: you wished to get out of your way a rival whom you feared, and to attach to the service of your country a man whose worth, you say, you discerned. I firmly declined your offers; and yet, not by the power of your will, but by mine, you obtain the desired end; for now I can no longer be a subject of jealousy to you, and I am going to share your work. After that," I exclaimed, "who will dare to say that I have tricked you? Come, come, M. de Sérigny, I am compelled to acknowledge that you are vastly above your reputation, and what I called my victory is no more than a fortunate defeat."

I made an appointment for the following day with the minister, and we parted.

CHAPTER XXI

DIPLOMACY

When M. de Sérigny had left me, I fell back into the bitter thoughts from which this interview had drawn me.

In spite of my efforts to drive away all thought of Madame de Fersen, I could not succeed. I suffered greatly, but my grief, though deep, had a certain charm which I had not previously known.

I was conscious of having conducted myself nobly towards Catherine, of not deserving her severe disapproval, and this comforting consciousness gave me a proud and courageous resignation.

I have always faced boldly the most cruel phases of my life. No hope was left to me of ever gaining Madame de Fersen's love. I therefore gathered religiously in my heart and memory the slightest traces of this ineffable love, as one gathers the sacred and precious remnants of a departed being, to come daily and contemplate them with dreamy sadness, and ask of them the melancholy charm of memory.

Not wishing, however, to be prostrated, and hoping to find some distraction in work, I went assiduously to M. de Sérigny's study.

He was truly an excellent man.

He showed himself full of kindness to me. Having doubtless assured himself of my scrupulous discretion, he soon gave me a flattering mark of his confidence in me, by entrusting me to make a clear and concise summing up of his diplomatic correspondence. This brief was to be handed daily to the king.

This work, it is true, appeared of much greater importance than it really was, since there was at that time no great political question pending in Europe. Almost all these despatches, written mostly in very faint ink, and very poor French, contained only vague and trifling particulars about foreign courts, particulars which had frequently even been discounted in the public print.

I convinced myself of that which I had always surmised, that in modern times, and with a representative government like ours, diplomacy which may be called current is almost nothing; the vital questions of nations are fought on fields of battle, in the Chambers, or in congresses.

Most of the time (I speak only of representative governments) diplomatic positions are mere sinecures which ministers use as a means of action or corruption, by disposing of them by political expediency.

I was all the more struck by the futility of the correspondence under my eyes, because my father had formerly made me almost go through a whole course of political law, and I had studied with him the most famous negotiators of the latter half of the seventeenth century. My great-great-grandfather having filled certain missions conjointly with Messieurs d'Avaux, de Lyonne, and Courtin, we had at Serval a duplicate of his despatches and theirs, and I must confess that the reading of these documents had made me very fastidious.

M. Sérigny himself was a man of second-rate ability; but he had enough tact, shrewdness, and perspicacity to enable him to respond to the modest requirements of his position. When he fought the Opposition in the Chambers, he could extinguish, drown, the most heated discussion with the clear flow of his abundant words, cold and monotonous as a waterfall.

From the constitutional point of view M. de Sérigny could just as well have been Minister of Marine, of Justice, or of Finances as Minister of Foreign Affairs, but from the real, special point of view of these ministries, he was incapable of filling any.

I kept to myself my opinion of M. de Sérigny. He had been kind to me, and I was not Pommerive. Far from it, I defended my minister with all my might.

My duties amused me a good deal, for the very reason that their futility contrasted in a flagrant manner with their supposed importance.

The knowledge of these facts aroused in me charitable sentiments; I became very tolerant of that pitiless and affected self-importance, thanks to which most of our diplomatic agents always deceive the public on the value and the necessity of their position.

Without this prestige, they would cease to exist.

If I have never had the whim to become the associate or the dupe of a juggler, neither have I been malicious enough, when I fancied I had discovered his tricks, to proclaim it aloud, thus depriving the poor devil of his audience; for I never could picture to myself the future of a juggler deprived of his trade. I would, therefore, advise poor parents who destine their sons to a diplomatic career to be wise enough, to have sufficient foresight, to make them also learn some good solid trade which may some day be a useful resource should unexpected accidents deprive them of their first career.

This is not a brutal paradox. The essential specialty of our diplomats, consisting in worthily representing France, that is, in having a grand house and retinue at the expense of the state, in leading a luxurious, worldly, and amusing life, in receiving and writing insignificant despatches, it is difficult to imagine how these fine qualities could be employed when no longer exercising the profession which required them.

My new position with M. de Sérigny soon became known, and gave me singular authority in the world. People knew that I had not sought a place, in devoting myself assiduously to the work on which I was engaged, and they naturally concluded that my apprenticeship must lead to high destinies.

Circumstances occurred which contributed to these exaggerated rumours.

It was at a ball at the Duchesse de Berri's.

M. de Sérigny was laid up with the gout, and therefore could not be present. Lord Stuart, the British ambassador, who had earnestly urged our government to take the most active steps to discover the pirate of Porquerolles, came up to tell me that they were on the tracks of the wretch, hoped soon to reach him, and asked me for further particulars of the affair. He took my arm, and we had a half-hour's talk in the recess of a window.

This was enough to make people believe that I was far advanced in what is benignantly called "secrets of state."

This was not all: about eleven o'clock I was going to leave the ball just at the moment the king was taking his departure.

I had had the honour to be presented to him; he stopped in front of me, and said, with his customary gracious affability:

"I read your reports every day. I am pleased with them, they interest me; they are very satisfying, and, thanks to you, I have the harvest without the trouble of reaping."

"The king overwhelms me," I said to his majesty, "and his approbation is a favour which imposes new duties; and I will endeavour to prove myself worthy of them."

Instead of leaving the ball, the king seated himself on a sofa near at hand, and said to me:

"But tell me, what is all this I hear from Lord Stuart? It is very extraordinary, and sounds like a romance."

When the king seated himself while speaking to me, the persons who accompanied him held themselves discreetly aside.

I related to the king the history of the pirate of Porquerolles; he listened with interest, put several questions to me, thanked me very graciously, and withdrew.

When the king had left, I became the centre of attraction; they could make nothing out of it. His majesty was leaving, he happens to meet me, and thereupon he remains a quarter of an hour in particular conversation with me.

Decidedly, I must be a man of the highest importance.

I know that nothing is more ridiculous than to appear to take pride in such a success, and I prepared to quit the ball, when I saw Madame de Fersen coming towards me. I had not seen her for some time, and she seemed so changed, so fallen away, that I was shocked.

I saluted her without waiting for her, and retired, though she looked entreatingly at me, and she was evidently coming towards me with the intention of speaking to me.

The next day I received a letter from her.

She begged me in touching terms to come and see her, apologising for her ingratitude, and making some gracious allusions to the past.

My first impulse was to go to Catherine at once.

I reflected, however, that this meeting was not likely to change the fate of my love. I remembered the harshness with which Madame de Fersen had behaved, and foolishly fancied my dignity required that I should not yield to the first advance.

I wrote a very cold and polite letter, apologising for not going to her as she requested, and said she could not fail to understand my reasons.

To this she made no answer.

I concluded that she had not a very great desire to see me since she did not insist. I therefore congratulated myself on the course I had taken.

I soon heard that the prince had been called back to Russia by his court, and was surprised, I must confess, that his wife did not accompany him.

As to Madame de V——, I had implored her, for the sake of the friendship she professed for me, to cease tormenting so cruelly M. de Sérigny, declaring I would no longer lend myself to her coquettish manœuvres; that, moreover, she was compromising herself frightfully, and that sooner or later she would find herself ill-received in society.

She answered that I spoke like a Quaker, but for the joke of the thing she was going to live without a shade of coquetry.

One month after this glorious determination she came to express her gratitude to me, saying that, though this new life was deadly wearisome, it had made a tremendous sensation, and wagers were laid as to whether she would persist in her conversion or not. As to the minister, she said, since he had passed from the stupidity of jealous irritation to the stupidity of blind adoration, she neither gained nor lost in no longer tormenting him.

Consequently, the rumours which had been current about Madame de V—— and myself soon ceased, and I was accused of having deserted her.

I could not avoid smiling sometimes when I observed the obsequiousness of those around me, for I continued, as I may say, in sheer idleness my work at M. de Sérigny's.

Cernay, whom I sometimes met, concealed his envy under the semblance of the most exaggerated admiration. "You are a very able man," he said; "you should have, and you will have, all kinds of success. You are now a statesman, intimate with ministers and ambassadors. The king even takes notice of you; you are considered, my good fellow, and you can have all you wish for, for you have such tact! if you will excuse the word, such cunning!"

"What do you mean?"

"Come, now, don't play the innocent. At that ball at the Tuileries, where you had in turn two interviews at once so remarkable and so much remarked, the one with Lord Stuart and the other with the king, who remained in conversation some time with you, instead of taking his departure in accordance with his expressed desire, what did you do, you shrewd fellow? Instead of doing as so many others who would have foolishly remained to strut after receiving such distinction, you quickly disappeared. That was shrewdness, or rather genius, and your absence created a prodigious effect."

"The cause of this disappearance was very simple, my dear De Cernay; I had a frightful headache, and wanted to get home."

"Nonsense," said Cernay, with charming naïveté; "you cannot make me believe that any one has the headache when the king has been talking with him for an hour."

A fortnight had passed since I had last met Madame de Fersen at the Tuileries ball, when one of my business agents came to me one morning with an air of consternation.

It was a question of preventing a disastrous failure, by which I might lose about fifty thousand dollars, which had been invested in one of the most esteemed business houses at Havre.

The failure had not yet been declared, but it was imminent, and was already suspected.

My agent therefore proposed that I should at once start with him, and go to rescue my funds from this house.

The amount was so considerable, that I did not hesitate one moment about going to Havre.

A power of attorney, however wide its scope, could never provide for all the eventualities that might occur; under such circumstances, the presence of the interested party is often of the greatest consequence.

I wrote a few lines to M. de Sérigny, telling him that an affair of the greatest importance had called me to Havre, and I left orders with my people to forward my letters to that town.

Two hours later I was on the road.

We were approaching the last relay before reaching Havre, when I heard the hurried tramp of horses galloping behind us, the sharp cracking of a whip, and a voice not unknown to me crying out, "Stop! Stop!"

My postilions looked at me inquiringly. I made them a sign to stop, and, suddenly, I saw at the door of my carriage Madame de Fersen's courier, whose horse was covered with foam and torn by spurs.

This man was so breathless from his rapid race that he could only utter these words in handing me a letter: