Bousquier; but pray explain to me why a woman is depraved because she
prefers one man to another."

"My dear cousin, suppose you married my son Athanase; nothing could be
more natural. He is young and handsome, full of promise, and he will

be the glory of Alencon; and yet everybody will exclaim against you:
evil tongues will say all sorts of things; jealous women will accuse

you of depravity,--but what will that matter? you will be loved, and
loved truly. If Athanase seemed to you an idiot, my dear, it is that

he has too many ideas; extremes meet. He lives the life of a girl of
fifteen; he has never wallowed in the impurities of Paris, not he!

Well, change the terms, as my poor husband used to say; it is the same
thing with du Bousquier in connection with Suzanne. YOU would be

calumniated; but in the case of du Bousquier, the charge would be
true. Don't you understand me?"

"No more than if you were talking Greek," replied Mademoiselle Cormon,
who opened her eyes wide, and strained all the forces of her

intellect.
"Well, cousin, if I must dot all the i's, it is impossible for Suzanne

to love du Bousquier. And if the heart counts for nothing in this
affair--"

"But, cousin, what do people love with if not their hearts?"
Here Madame Granson said to herself, as the chevalier had previously

thought: "My poor cousin is altogether too innocent; such stupidity
passes all bounds!--Dear child," she continued aloud, "it seems to me

that children are not conceived by the spirit only."
"Why, yes, my dear; the Holy Virgin herself--"

"But, my love, du Bousquier isn't the Holy Ghost!"
"True," said the old maid; "he is a man!--a man whose personal

appearance makes him dangerous enough for his friends to advise him to
marry."

"You could yourself bring about that result, cousin."
"How so?" said the old maid, with the meekness of Christian charity.

"By not receiving him in your house until he marries. You owe it to
good morals and to religion to manifest under such circumstances an

exemplary displeasure."
"On my return from Prebaudet we will talk further of this, my dear

Madame Granson. I will consult my uncle and the Abbe Couturier," said
Mademoiselle Cormon, returning to the salon, where the animation was

now at its height.
The lights, the group of women in their best clothes, the solemn tone,

the dignified air of the assembly, made Mademoiselle Cormon not a
little proud of her company. To many persons nothing better could be

seen in Paris in the highest society.
At this moment du Bousquier, who was playing whist with the chevalier

and two old ladies,--Madame du Coudrai and Madame du Ronceret,--was
the object of deep but silent curiosity. A few young women arrived,

who, under pretext of watching the game, gazed fixedly at him in so
singular a manner, though slyly, that the old bachelor began to think

that there must be some deficiency in his toilet.
"Can my false front be crooked?" he asked himself, seized by one of

those anxieties which beset old bachelors.
He took advantage of a lost trick, which ended a seventh rubber, to

rise and leave the table.
"I can't touch a card without losing," he said. "I am decidedly too

unlucky."
"But you are lucky in other ways," said the chevalier, giving him a

sly look.
That speech naturally made the rounds of the salon, where every one

exclaimed on the exquisite taste of the chevalier, the Prince de
Talleyrand of the province.

"There's no one like Monsieur de Valois for such wit."
Du Bousquier went to look at himself in a little oblong mirror, placed

above the "Deserter," but he saw nothing strange in his appearance.
After innumerable repetitions of the same text, varied in all keys,

the departure of the company took place about ten o'clock, through the
long antechamber, Mademoiselle Cormon conducting certain of her

favorite guests to the portico. There the groups parted; some followed
the Bretagne road towards the chateau; the others went in the

direction of the river Sarthe. Then began the usual conversation,
which for twenty years had echoed at that hour through this particular

street of Alencon. It was invariably:--
"Mademoiselle Cormon looked very well to-night."

"Mademoiselle Cormon? why, I thought her rather strange."
"How that poor abbe fails! Did you notice that he slept? He does not

know what cards he holds; he is getting very absent-minded."
"We shall soon have the grief of losing him."

"What a fine night! It will be a fine day to-morrow."
"Good weather for the apple-blossoms."

"You beat us; but when you play with Monsieur de Valois you never do
otherwise."

"How much did he win?"
"Well, to-night, three or four francs; he never loses."

"True; and don't you know there are three hundred and sixty-five days
a year? At that price his gains are the value of a farm."

"Ah! what hands we had to-night!"
"Here you are at home, monsieur and madame, how lucky you are, while

we have half the town to cross!"
"I don't pity you; you could afford a carriage, and dispense with the

fatigue of going on foot."
"Ah, monsieur! we have a daughter to marry, which takes off one wheel,

and the support of our son in Paris carries off another."
"You persist in making a magistrate of him?"

"What else can be done with a young man? Besides, there's no shame in
serving the king."

Sometimes a discussion on ciders and flax, always couched in the same
terms, and returning at the same time of year, was continued on the

homeward way. If any observer of human customs had lived in this
street, he would have known the months and seasons by simply

overhearing the conversations.
On this occasion it was exclusively jocose; for du Bousquier, who

chanced to march alone in front of the groups, was humming the well-
known air,--little thinking of its appropriateness,--"Tender woman!

hear the warble of the birds," etc. To some, du Bousquier was a strong
man and a misjudged man. Ever since he had been confirmed in his

present office by a royal decree, Monsieur du Ronceret had been in
favor of du Bousquier. To others the purveyor seemed dangerous,--a man

of bad habits, capable of anything. In the provinces, as in Paris, men
before the public eye are like that statue in the fine allegorical

tale of Addison, for which two knights on arriving near it fought; for
one saw it white, the other saw it black. Then, when they were both

off their horses, they saw it was white one side and black the other.
A third knight coming along declared it red.

When the chevalier went home that night, he made many reflections, as
follows:--

"It is high time now to spread a rumor of my marriage with
Mademoiselle Cormon. It will leak out from the d'Esgrignon salon, and

go straight to the bishop at Seez, and so get round through the grand
vicars to the curate of Saint-Leonard's, who will be certain to tell

it to the Abbe Couturier; and Mademoiselle Cormon will get the shot in
her upper works. The old Marquis d'Esgrignon shall invite the Abbe de

Sponde to dinner, so as to stop all gossip about Mademoiselle Cormon
if I decide against her, or about me if she refuses me. The abbe shall

be well cajoled; and Mademoiselle Cormon will certainly not hold out
against a visit from Mademoiselle Armande, who will show her the

grandeur and future chances of such an alliance. The abbe's property
is undoubtedly as much as three hundred thousand; her own savings must