penury. A man ruined by the First Consul interested the town of
Alencon, to which he now returned, where royalism was secretly

dominant. Du Bousquier, furious against Bonaparte, relating stories
against him of his meanness, of Josephine's improprieties, and all the

other scandalous anecdotes of the last ten years, was well received.
About this time, when he was somewhere between forty and fifty, du

Bousquier's appearance was that of a bachelor of thirty-six, of medium
height, plump as a purveyor, proud of his vigorouscalves, with a

strongly marked countenance, a flattened nose, the nostrils garnished
with hair, black eyes with thick lashes, from which darted shrewd

glances like those of Monsieur de Talleyrand, though somewhat dulled.
He still wore republican" target="_blank" title="a.共和国的 n.共和论者">republican whiskers and his hair very long; his hands,

adorned with bunches of hair on each knuckle, showed the power of his
muscular system in their prominent blue veins. He had the chest of the

Farnese Hercules, and shoulders fit to carry the stocks. Such
shoulders are seen nowadays only at Tortoni's. This wealth of

masculine vigor counted for much in du Bousquier's relations with
others. And yet in him, as in the chevalier, symptoms appeared which

contrasted oddly with the general aspect of their persons. The late
purveyor had not the voice of his muscles. We do not mean that his

voice was a mere thread, such as we sometimes hear issuing from the
mouth of these walruses; on the contrary, it was a strong voice, but

stifled, an idea of which can be given only by comparing it with the
noise of a saw cutting into soft and moistened wood,--the voice of a

worn-out speculator.
In spite of the claims which the enmity of the First Consul gave

Monsieur du Bousquier to enter the royalist society of the province,
he was not received in the seven or eight families who composed the

faubourg Saint-Germain of Alencon, among whom the Chevalier de Valois
was welcome. He had offered himself in marriage, through her notary,

to Mademoiselle Armande, sister of the most distinguished noble in the
town; to which offer he received a refusal. He consoled himself as

best he could in the society of a dozen rich families, former
manufacturers of the old point d'Alencon, owners of pastures and

cattle, or merchants doing a wholesale business in linen, among whom,
as he hoped, he might find a wealthy wife. In fact, all his hopes now

converged to the perspective of a fortunate marriage. He was not
without a certain financialability, which many persons used to their

profit. Like a ruined gambler who advises neophytes, he pointed out
enterprises and speculations, together with the means and chances of

conducting them. He was thought a good administrator, and it was often
a question of making him mayor of Alencon; but the memory of his

underhand jobbery still clung to him, and he was never received at the
prefecture. All the succeeding governments, even that of the Hundred

Days, refused to appoint him mayor of Alencon,--a place he coveted,
which, could he have had it, would, he thought, have won him the hand

of a certain old maid on whom his matrimonial views now turned.
Du Bousquier's aversion to the Imperial government had thrown him at

first into the royalist circles of Alencon, where he remained in spite
of the rebuffs he received there; but when, after the first return of

the Bourbons, he was still excluded from the prefecture, that
mortification inspired him with a hatred as deep as it was secret

against the royalists. He now returned to his old opinions, and became
the leader of the liberal party in Alencon, the visible" target="_blank" title="a.看不见的；无形的">invisible manipulator

of elections, and did immense harm to the Restoration by the
cleverness of his underhand proceedings and the perfidy of his outward

behavior. Du Bousquier, like all those who live by their heads only,
carried on his hatreds with the quiet tranquillity of a rivulet,

feeble apparently" target="_blank" title="ad.显然，表面上地">apparently, but inexhaustible. His hatred was that of a negro,
so peaceful that it deceived the enemy. His vengeance, brooded over

for fifteen years, was as yet satisfied by no victory, not even that
of July, 1830.

It was not without some private intention that the Chevalier de Valois
had turned Suzanne's designs upon Monsieur du Bousquier. The liberal

and the royalist had mutually divined each other in spite of the wide
dissimulation with which they hid their common hope from the rest of

the town. The two old bachelors were secretly rivals. Each had formed
a plan to marry the Demoiselle Cormon, whom Monsieur de Valois had

mentioned to Suzanne. Both, ensconced in their idea and wearing the
armor of apparentindifference, awaited the moment when some lucky

chance might deliver the old maid over to them. Thus, if the two old
bachelors had not been kept asunder by the two political systems of

which they each offered a living expression, their private rivalry
would still have made them enemies. Epochs put their mark on men.

These two individuals proved the truth of that axiom by the opposing
historic tints that were visible in their faces, in their

conversation, in their ideas, and in their clothes. One, abrupt,
energetic, with loud, brusque manners, curt, rude speech, dark in

tone, in hair, in look, terrible apparently" target="_blank" title="ad.显然，表面上地">apparently, in reality as impotent as
an insurrection, represented the republicadmirably. The other, gentle

and polished, elegant and nice, attaining his ends by the slow and
infallible means of diplomacy, faithful to good taste, was the express

image of the old courtier regime.
The two enemies met nearly every evening on the same ground. The war

was courteous and benign on the side of the chevalier; but du
Bousquier showed less ceremony on his, though still preserving the

outward appearances demanded by society, for he did not wish to be
driven from the place. They themselves fully understood each other;

but in spite of the shrewdobservation which provincials bestow on the
petty interests of their own little centre, no one in the town

suspected the rivalry of these two men. Monsieur le Chevalier de
Valois occupied a vantage-ground: he had never asked for the hand of

Mademoiselle Cormon; whereas du Bousquier, who entered the lists soon
after his rejection by the most distinguished family in the place, had

been refused. But the chevalier believed that his rival had still such
strong chances of success that he dealt him this coup de Jarnac with a

blade (namely, Suzanne) that was finely tempered for the purpose. The
chevalier had cast his plummet-line into the waters of du Bousquier;

and, as we shall see by the sequel, he was not mistaken in any of his
conjectures.

Suzanne tripped with a light foot from the rue du Cours, by the rue de
la Porte de Seez and the rue du Bercail, to the rue du Cygne, where,

about five years earlier, du Bousquier had bought a little house built
of gray Jura stone, which is something between Breton slate and Norman

granite. There he established himself more comfortably than any
householder in town; for he had managed to preserve certain furniture

and decorations from the days of his splendor. But provincial manners
and morals obscured, little by little, the rays of this fallen

Sardanapalus; these vestiges of his former luxury now produced the
effect of a glass chandelier in a barn. Harmony, that bond of all

work, human or divine, was lacking in great things as well as in
little ones. The stairs, up which everybody mounted without wiping

their feet, were never polished; the walls, painted by some wretched
artisan of the neighborhood, were a terror to the eye; the stone

mantel-piece, ill-carved, "swore" with the handsome clock, which was
further degraded by the company of contemptible candlesticks. Like the

period which du Bousquier himself represented, the house was a jumble
of dirt and magnificence. Being considered a man of leisure, du

Bousquier led the same parasite life as the chevalier; and he who does
not spend his income is always rich. His only servant was a sort of

Jocrisse, a lad of the neighborhood, rather a ninny, trained slowly
and with difficulty to du Bousquier's requirements. His master had

taught him, as he might an orang-outang, to rub the floors, dust the
furniture, black his boots, brush his coats, and bring a lantern to

guide him home at night if the weather were cloudy, and clogs if it
rained. Like many other human beings, this lad hadn't stuff enough in

him for more than one vice; he was a glutton. Often, when du Bousquier
went to a grand dinner, he would take Rene to wait at table; on such

occasions he made him take off his blue cotton jacket, with its big
pockets hanging round his hips, and always bulging with handkerchiefs,

clasp-knives, fruits, or a handful of nuts, and forced him to put on a
regulation coat. Rene would then stuff his fill with the other

servants. This duty, which du Bousquier had turned into a reward, won
him the most absolutediscretion from the Breton servant.

"You here, mademoiselle!" said Rene to Suzanne when she entered;
"'t'isn't your day. We haven't any linen for the wash, tell Madame

Lardot."
"Old stupid!" said Suzanne, laughing.

The pretty girl went upstairs, leaving Rene to finish his porringer of
buckwheat in boiled milk. Du Bousquier, still in bed, was revolving in