Monsieur de Camors -- Volume 3

ar

d Vautrot. The name is a bad one; but the man himself is a good enough cr

orning, breakfasts at some neighboring cafe, passes the day in the Count's stu

ough lucrative post he now occupies with my husband. He loves literature; but not that of his time and of his country, perhaps because

te!' or 'Certainly, Madame la Comtesse!' as if he were a servant. Yet withal, he has a peculiar pride, or perhaps I should sa

imself to indulge in a rather violent tirade of this d

yours are indifferent; but pray remember, that while you are a strong-minded man,

t grew white, then red

, and immediately aft

remarked his manner h

as alone with

iscreet, but pray let

l your affairs and all

s to have no

de Camor

inks to make himself more interesting in your eyes by th

red, 'he has fa

eve. Yet he has never

able

my eyes wi

h an amused look, 'wh

ry

his honor y

efinition of it, Mi

without religion is nothing. They all constitute a chain. Honor hangs to the last link, like a flower; but if the chain be broken, honor falls with the

that definiti

ed her to call for me next day on her way to the Bois, for she is my idol. She is so lovely and so distinguished-and she I knows

ith the Marquise to

Ye

en, it seems to me-mo

ays wit

to be agreeable to

n a good

general I do not admi

eak to you on this su

h to preserve th

was what he said t

r y

AR

.........

ar

l, we dance to-morrow evening at Madame d'Oilly's. I had hoped not to go, but I saw Louis was disappointed, and I feared to offend Madame d'Oilly, who has acted

self too much to be happy. I depended on Lent for som

ensible is our religion! How well it understands human weakness and folly! How far-s

hese things; I experience their charming confusion; I palpitate, I inhale their intoxication. But always- always! at Paris in the winter-at the springs i

this morning: 'Remember you have a soul: Remember

us subjects; and should dwell in the moral world to gain a foothold in heaven! This season is intended as a wholesome interval to prevent our running frivolity

d dearly love! I met her almost everywhere-but chiefly at St. Phillipe de Roule-for several m

fall, she would pick it up; I would offer her the holy water, and receive a sweet smile, with 'Dear Madame!' Once at a concert at the Tuileries we observed each other at a distance, and smiled recognition; when any part of the music pleased us particularly we glanced

f it to Louis, blushing slightly, for I remembered he did not a

lightly shrugged his

make some inquiries

he had made them, for

bert; she is a perfe

usband's neck, and th

e Jau

s I, M

dame, pe

h other and were goo

increase his fortune, his pretty little wife had a sad surprise. He was never seen at home; always at the club-always behind the scenes at the opera-always going to the devil! He gambled, he had mistresses and shameful affairs. But worse than all, he drank-he came to his wife drunk. On

, and sagacity. Now is not this encouraging

prey. They have their fireside; they own it, and it belongs to them. Paris is at their door-so much the better. They have ever a relish for refined amusement; 'they drink at the fountain,' but do not

fingers, thread by thread, as i

r, they a

is my dream-h

world. It is necessary, my own mother, gradually to reform him; to suggest insensibly to him the new idea that o

st will

for the serious sweetness of the domestic hearth-the

l of ardor, courage, and confidence. For he loves me with all his he

e is no pleasure he does not offer me, except, be it unders

That is the great

me laugh and cry at the same time. It seems to me that for some time p

e you in tears. But

f heaven; but perhaps

n to my husband-only

r it is not yet

r na

s M

given warning. Madame de Tecle foresaw that the first impulse of her daughter would be to join her to share her sad bereavement. She advised her strongly against undertaking the fatigue of the journey, a

he first enthusiasm and first illusions of marriage cou

of which she is the object. It is rare that she does not adore her hus

enveloped in this heavenly cloud all seems love around it. But, little by little, it frees itself; and, too o

e shadows of a feminine soul. Such were the impressions which,

than this; but this

ther, she felt herself disdained and slighted. Marriage had not changed Camors's habits: he dined at home, instead of at his club, that was all. She believed herself loved, however, but with a lightness that was almos

in it; and he would not have failed in the duty he thought he owed to his wife. These sentiments were composed of a sort of indifference, blended with pity. He was vaguely sorry for this child, whose existence was absorbed and destroyed between those of two beings of nature superior to her own; and he hoped she would always remain ignorant of the fate to which she was condemned. He resolved

young Countess perceived whenever she attempted to abuse it. Thus, on several occasions she declined receiving g

ct tranquillity. Perhaps an hour later she would receive a little packet of bonbons, or a pretty basket of choice fruit, that would permit her to pass the

n of books and the purchase of furniture. From this came a certain familiarity; she began to call him Vautrot, or "My good Vautrot," while he zealously performed all her little commissions. He manifested for her a great deal of respectful attention, and even ref

this effort fatigued him, and the poor young woman, who had already erected an edifice for the future on this

had hardly been long enough in Paris to form intimacies. Madame Jaubert came to her friend as often as she could; but in the intervals the Countess adopte

" he would say, "and Shakespea

ong evening, while waiting the expected visit of Madame de Tecle. But Vautrot, whenever he looked at her, wore such a sympat

she had never before heard. This reading seemed to interest the young woman more than usual, and with her eyes fixed on the reader, she listened to it with ra

de Camors perceived without doubt some remote connection between her husband and Faust-between herself and Marguerite; for she could not help showi

gue

over me? You come to me while it is ye

rrow morning

lready! I was fair, too; that was my undoin

o roughly! spare me! spare me. What have I done to you? Let me not i

us

dure thi

gue

to my heart. They took it away to vex me, and now say I killed it, and I shall never be happy agai

us

feet, to unloose the

t of the young Countess! One can hardly imagine their force-to the very verge of distracting her. She turned on her

read, dropped his book, sighed

esse de Camors! He took her hand; he

unfortunately grave results that followed it, without hav

ance to his patron, the Comte de Camors. Partly from nature and partly from continual imitation, this idea ha

the varied enterprises of his adventurous life. The influence of his college, however, obtained for him a place in the Seminary. He left it

rdinate positions, for which alone he was fit, he did not want. He would have made a good tutor: he sighed to be a poet. He would have been a respectable cure in the country:

hypocrite; and that he

one hand by the philoso

other, by the orthodox

e-Ju

s any other. Now, familiarity with M. de Camors was, morally, fearfully prejudicial to the secretary. It had, it is true, the effect of stripping off his devout mask,

which is not revealed to him; and Vautrot could not be long in discovering that his patron's success did not arise, morally, from too much principle-in politics, from excess of conviction-in business, from a mania for scruples! The intellectual superior

the old wound of his vanity-that wound which was ever sore within him. What he hated most in Camors was his easy and insolent triumph-his rapid and unmerited fortune-all those enjoyments which li

hose who, like M. de Camors, trample under foot all principles of right, and nevertheless imagine that their secretaries, their servants, their wives and

time. He affected an austere and puritanical air; was the great man of the cafe he frequented; and there passed judgment on his contemporar

s in favor of the ancient-that Vautrot, after setting fire to the temple, wo

evening, had had the bad taste to turn and apply his eye to the k

h ivory, turn over the papers in the drawers, and finally open in the most natural mann

h his volume of Faust to the boudoir of the young Cou