youfeel
divided
between
that
art
and
the
art
of
the
writer
,
and
acknowledge
the
first
to
be
too
exacting
to
admit
a
rival
,
keep
to
that
in
which
you
are
sure
to
excel
.
Alas
,
my
fair
child
!
do
not
imagine
that
we
writers
feel
a
happiness
in
our
pursuits
and
aims
more
complete
than
that
which
you
can
command
.
If
we
care
for
fame
(
and
,
to
be
frank
,
we
all
do
)
,
that
fame
does
not
come
up
before
us
face
to
face
,
a
real
,
visible
,
palpable
form
,
as
it
does
to
the
singer
,
to
the
actress
.
I
grant
that
it
may
be
more
enduring
,
but
an
endurance
on
the
length
of
which
we
dare
not
reckon
.
A
writer
cannot
be
sure
of
immortality
till
his
language
itself
be
dead
;
and
then
he
has
but
a
share
in
an
uncertain
lottery
.
Nothing
but
fragments
remains
of
the
Phrynichus
who
rivalled
AEschylus
;
of
the
Agathon
who
perhaps
excelled
Euripides
;
of
the
Alcaeus
,
in
whom
Horace
acknowledged
a
master
and
a
model
;
their
renown
is
not
in
their
works
,
it
is
but
in
their
names
.
And
,
after
all
,
the
names
of
singers
and
actors
last
perhaps
as
long
.
Greece
retains
the
name
of
Polus
,
Rome
of
Roscius
,
England
of
Garrick
,
France
of
Talma
,
Italy
of
Pasta
,
more
lastingly
than
posterity
is
likely
to
retain
mine
.
You
address
to
me
a
question
,
which
I
have
often
put
to
myself
,
—
“
What
is
the
distinction
between
the
writer
and
the
reader
,
when
the
reader
says
,
‘These
are
my
thoughts
,
these
are
my
feelings
;
the
writer
has
stolen
them
,
and
clothed
them
in
his
own
words’
?
”
And
the
more
the
reader
says
this
,
the
more
wide
is
the
audience
,
the
more
genuine
the
renown
,
and
,
paradox
though
it
seems
,
the
more
consummate
the
originality
,
of
the
writer
.
But
no
,
it
is
not
the
mere
gift
of
expression
,
it
is
not
the
mere
craft
of
the
pen
,
it
is
not
the
mere
taste
in
arrangement
of
word
and
cadence
,
which
thus
enables
the
one
to
interpret
the
mind
,
the
heart
,
the
soul
of
the
many
.
It
is
a
power
breathed
into
him
as
he
lay
in
his
cradle
,
and
a
power
that
gathered
around
itself
,
as
he
grew
up
,
all
the
influences
he
acquired
,
whether
from
observation
of
external
nature
,
or
from
study
of
men
and
books
,
or
from
that
experience
of
daily
life
which
varies
with
every
human
being
.
No
education
could
make
two
intellects
exactly
alike
,
as
no
culture
can
make
two
leaves
exactly
alike
.
How
truly
you
describe
the
sense
of
dissatisfaction
which
every
writer
of
superior
genius
communicates
to
his
admirers
!
how
truly
do
you
feel
that
the
greater
is
the
dissatisfaction
in
proportion
to
the
writer’s
genius
,
and
the
admirer’s
conception
of
it
!
But
that
is
the
mystery
which
makes
—
let
me
borrow
a
German
phrase
—
the
cloud-land
between
the
finite
and
the
infinite
.
The
greatest
philosopher
,
intent
on
the
secrets
of
Nature
,
feels
that
dissatisfaction
in
Nature
herself
.
The
finite
cannot
reduce
into
logic
and
criticism
the
infinite
.
Let
us
dismiss
these
matters
,
which
perplex
the
reason
,
and
approach
that
which
touches
the
heart
,
which
in
your
case
,
my
child
,
touches
the
heart
of
woman
.
You
speak
of
love
,
and
deem
that
the
love
which
lasts
—
the
household
,
the
conjugal
love
—
should
be
based
upon
such
sympathies
of
pursuit
that
the
artist
should
wed
the
artist
.
This
is
one
of
the
questions
you
do
well
to
address
to
me
;
for
whether
from
my
own
experience
,
or
from
that
which
I
have
gained
from
observation
extended
over
a
wide
range
of
life
,
and
quickened
and
intensified
by
the
class
of
writing
that
I
cultivate
,
and
which
necessitates
a
calm
study
of
the
passions
,
I
am
an
authority
on
such
subjects
,
better
than
most
women
can
be
.
And
alas
,
my
child
,
I
come
to
this
result
:
there
is
no
prescribing
to
men
or
to
women
whom
to
select
,
whom
to
refuse
.
I
cannot
refute
the
axiom
of
the
ancient
poet
,
“
In
love
there
is
no
wherefore
.
”
But
there
is
a
time
—
it
is
often
but
a
moment
of
time
—
in
which
love
is
not
yet
a
master
,
in
which
we
can
say
,
“
I
will
love
,
I
will
not
love
.
”
Now
,
if
I
could
find
you
in
such
a
moment
,
I
would
say
to
you
,
“
Artist
,
do
not
love
,
do
not
marry
,
an
artist
.
”
Two
artistic
natures
rarely
combine
.
The
artistic
nature
is
wonderfully
exacting
.
I
fear
it
is
supremely
egotistical
,
—
so
jealously
sensitive
that
it
writhes
at
the
touch
of
a
rival
.
Racine
was
the
happiest
of
husbands
;
his
wife
adored
his
genius
,
but
could
not
understand
his
plays
.
Would
Racine
have
been
happy
if
he
had
married
a
Corneille
in
petticoats
?
I
who
speak
have
loved
an
artist
,
certainly
equal
to
myself
.
I
am
sure
that
he
loved
me
.
That
sympathy
in
pursuits
of
which
you
speak
drew
us
together
,
and
became
very
soon
the
cause
of
antipathy
.
To
both
of
us
the
endeavour
to
coalesce
was
misery
.
I
don’t
know
your
M
.
Rameau
.
Savarin
has
sent
me
some
of
his
writings
;
from
these
I
judge
that
his
only
chance
of
happiness
would
be
to
marry
a
commonplace
woman
,
with
separation
de
biens
.
He
is
,
believe
me
,
but
one
of
the
many
with
whom
New
Paris
abounds
,
who
because
they
have
the
infirmities
of
genius
imagine
they
have
its
strength
.
I
come
next
to
the
Englishman
.
I
see
how
serious
is
your
questioning
about
him
.
You
not
only
regard
him
as
a
being
distinct
from
the
crowd
of
a
salon
;
he
stands
equally
apart
in
the
chamber
of
your
thoughts
,
—
you
do
not
mention
him
in
the
same
letter
as
that
which
treats
of
Rameau
and
Savarin
.
He
has
become
already
an
image
not
to
be
lightly
mixed
up
with
others
.
You
would
rather
not
have
mentioned
him
at
all
to
me
,
but
you
could
not
resist
it
.
The
interest
you
feel
in
him
so
perplexed
you
,
that
in
a
kind
of
feverish
impatience
you
cry
out
to
me
,
“
Can
you
solve
the
riddle
?
Did
you
ever
know
well
Englishmen
?
Can
an
Englishman
be
understood
out
of
his
island
?
”
etc.
Yes
,
I
have
known
well
many
Englishmen
;
in
affairs
of
the
heart
they
are
much
like
all
other
men
.
No
;
I
do
not
know
this
Englishman
in
particular
,
nor
any
one
of
his
name
.
Well
,
my
child
,
let
us
frankly
grant
that
this
foreigner
has
gained
some
hold
on
your
thoughts
,
on
your
fancy
,
perhaps
also
on
your
heart
.
Do
not
fear
that
he
will
love
you
less
enduringly
,
or
that
you
will
become
alienated
from
him
,
because
he
is
not
an
artist
.
If
he
be
a
strong
nature
,
and
with
some
great
purpose
in
life
,
your
ambition
will
fuse
itself
in
his
;
and
knowing
you
as
I
do
,
I
believe
you
would
make
an
excellent
wife
to
an
Englishman
whom
you
honoured
as
well
as
loved
;
and
sorry
though
I
should
be
that
you
relinquished
the
singer’s
fame
,
I
should
be
consoled
in
thinking
you
safe
in
the
woman’s
best
sphere
,
—
a
contented
home
,
safe
from
calumny
,
safe
from
gossip
.
I
never
had
that
home
;
and
there
has
been
no
part
in
my
author’s
life
in
which
I
would
not
have
given
all
the
celebrity
it
won
for
the
obscure
commonplace
of
such
woman-lot
.
Could
I
move
human
beings
as
pawns
on
a
chessboard
,
I
should
indeed
say
that
the
most
suitable
and
congenial
mate
for
you
,
for
a
woman
of
sentiment
and
genius
,
would
be
a
well-born
and
well-educated
German
;
for
such
a
German
unites
,
with
domestic
habits
and
a
strong
sense
of
family
ties
,
a
romance
of
sentiment
,
a
love
of
art
,
a
predisposition
towards
the
poetic
side
of
life
,
which
is
very
rare
among
Englishmen
of
the
same
class
.
But
as
the
German
is
not
forthcoming
,
I
give
my
vote
for
the
Englishman
,
provided
only
you
love
him
.
Ah
,
child
,
be
sure
of
that
.
Do
not
mistake
fancy
for
love
.
All
women
do
not
require
love
in
marriage
,
but
without
it
that
which
is
best
and
highest
in
you
would
wither
and
die
.
Write
to
me
often
and
tell
me
all
.
M
.
Savarin
is
right
.
My
book
is
no
longer
my
companion
.
It
is
gone
from
me
,
and
I
am
once
more
alone
in
the
world
.
Yours
affectionately
.
P.
S.
—
Is
not
your
postscript
a
woman’s
?
Does
it
not
require
a
woman’s
postscript
in
reply
?
You
say
in
yours
that
you
have
fully
made
up
your
mind
to
renounce
all
thoughts
of
the
stage
.
I
ask
in
mine
,
“
What
has
the
Englishman
to
do
with
that
determination
?
”
CHAPTER
IV
.
Some
weeks
have
passed
since
Graham’s
talk
with
Isaura
in
the
garden
;
he
has
not
visited
the
villa
since
.
His
cousins
the
D’Altons
have
passed
through
Paris
on
their
way
to
Italy
,
meaning
to
stay
a
few
days
;
they
stayed
nearly
a
month
,
and
monopolized
much
of
Graham’s
companionship
.
Both
these
were
reasons
why
,
in
the
habitual
society
of
the
Duke
,
Graham’s
persuasion
that
he
was
not
yet
free
to
court
the
hand
of
Isaura
became
strengthened
,
and
with
that
persuasion
necessarily
came
a
question
equally
addressed
to
his
conscience
.
“
If
not
yet
free
to
court
her
hand
,
am
I
free
to
expose
myself
to
the
temptation
of
seeking
to
win
her
affection
?
”
But
when
his
cousin
was
gone
,
his
heart
began
to
assert
its
own
rights
,
to
argue
its
own
case
,
and
suggest
modes
of
reconciling
its
dictates
to
the
obligations
which
seemed
to
oppose
them
.
In
this
hesitating
state
of
mind
he
received
the
following
note
:
—
VILLA
—
—
—
,
LAC
D’ENGHIEN
.
MY
DEAR
MR.
VANE
,
—
We
have
retreated
from
Paris
to
the
banks
of
this
beautiful
little
lake
.
Come
and
help
to
save
Frank
and
myself
from
quarrelling
with
each
other
,
which
,
until
the
Rights
of
Women
are
firmly
established
,
married
folks
always
will
do
when
left
to
themselves
,
especially
if
they
are
still
lovers
,
as
Frank
and
I
are
.
Love
is
a
terribly
quarrelsome
thing
.
Make
us
a
present
of
a
few
days
out
of
your
wealth
of
time
.
We
will
visit
Montmorency
and
the
haunts
of
Rousseau
,
sail
on
the
lake
at
moonlight
,
dine
at
gypsy
restaurants
under
trees
not
yet
embrowned
by
summer
heats
,
discuss
literature
and
politics
,
“
Shakspeare
and
the
musical
glasses
,
”
—
and
be
as
sociable
and
pleasant
as
Boccaccio’s
tale-tellers
,
at
Fiesole
.
We
shall
be
but
a
small
party
,
only
the
Savarins
,
that
unconscious
sage
and
humourist
Signora
Venosta
,
and
that
dimple-cheeked
Isaura
,
who
embodies
the
song
of
nightingales
and
the
smile
of
summer
.
Refuse
,
and
Frank
shall
not
have
an
easy
moment
till
he
sends
in
his
claims
for
thirty
millions
against
the
Alabama
.
Yours
,
as
you
behave
,
LIZZIE
MORLEY
.
Graham
did
not
refuse
.
He
went
to
Enghien
for
four
days
and
a
quarter
.
He
was
under
the
same
roof
as
Isaura
.
Oh
,
those
happy
days
!
so
happy
that
they
defy
description
.
But
though
to
Graham
the
happiest
days
he
had
ever
known
,
they
were
happier
still
to
Isaura
.
There
were
drawbacks
to
his
happiness
,
none
to
hers
,
—
drawbacks
partly
from
reasons
the
weight
of
which
the
reader
will
estimate
later
;
partly
from
reasons
the
reader
may
at
once
comprehend
and
assess
.
In
the
sunshine
of
her
joy
,
all
the
vivid
colourings
of
Isaura’s
artistic
temperament
came
forth
,
so
that
what
I
may
call
the
homely
,
domestic
woman-side
of
her
nature
faded
into
shadow
.
If
,
my
dear
reader
,
whether
you
be
man
or
woman
,
you
have
come
into
familiar
contact
with
some
creature
of
a
genius
to
which
,
even
assuming
that
you
yourself
have
a
genius
in
its
own
way
,
you
have
no
special
affinities
,
have
you
not
felt
shy
with
that
creature
?
Have
you
not
,
perhaps
,
felt
how
intensely
you
could
love
that
creature
,
and
doubted
if
that
creature
could
possibly
love
you
?
Now
I
think
that
shyness
and
that
disbelief
are
common
with
either
man
or
woman
,
if
,
however
conscious
of
superiority
in
the
prose
of
life
,
he
or
she
recognizes
inferiority
in
the
poetry
of
it
.
And
yet
this
self-abasement
is
exceedingly
mistaken
.
The
poetical
kind
of
genius
is
so
grandly
indulgent
,
so
inherently
deferential
,
bows
with
such
unaffected
modesty
to
the
superiority
in
which
it
fears
it
may
fail
(
yet
seldom
does
fail
)
,
—
the
superiority
of
common-sense
.
And
when
we
come
to
women
,
what
marvellous
truth
is
conveyed
by
the
woman
who
has
had
no
superior
in
intellectual
gifts
among
her
own
sex
!
Corinne
,
crowned
at
the
Capitol
,
selects
out
of
the
whole
world
as
the
hero
of
her
love
no
rival
poet
and
enthusiast
,
but
a
cold-blooded
,
sensible
Englishman
.
Graham
Vane
,
in
his
strong
masculine
form
of
intellect
—
Graham
Vane
,
from
whom
I
hope
much
,
if
he
live
to
fulfil
his
rightful
career
—
had
,
not
unreasonably
,
the
desire
to
dominate
the
life
of
the
woman
whom
he
selected
as
the
partner
of
his
own
;
but
the
life
of
Isaura
seemed
to
escape
him
.
If
at
moments
,
listening
to
her
,
he
would
say
to
himself
,
“
What
a
companion
!
life
could
never
be
dull
with
her
,
”
at
other
moments
he
would
say
,
“
True
,
never
dull
,
but
would
it
be
always
safe
?
”
And
then
comes
in
that
mysterious
power
of
love
which
crushes
all
beneath
its
feet
,
and
makes
us
end
self-commune
by
that
abject
submission
of
reason
,
which
only
murmurs
,
“
Better
be
unhappy
with
the
one
you
love
than
happy
with
one
whom
you
do
not
.
”
All
such
self-communes
were
unknown
to
Isaura
.
She
lived
in
the
bliss
of
the
hour
.
If
Graham
could
have
read
her
heart
,
he
would
have
dismissed
all
doubt
whether
he
could
dominate
her
life
.
Could
a
Fate
or
an
Angel
have
said
to
her
,
“
Choose
,
—
on
one
side
I
promise
you
the
glories
of
a
Catalani
,
a
Pasta
,
a
Sappho
,
a
De
Stael
,
a
Georges
Sand
,
all
combined
into
one
immortal
name
;
or
,
on
the
other
side
,
the
whole
heart
of
the
man
who
would
estrange
himself
from
you
if
you
had
such
combination
of
glories
,
”
—
her
answer
would
have
brought
Graham
Vane
to
her
feet
.
All
scruples
,
all
doubts
,
would
have
vanished
;
he
would
have
exclaimed
,
with
the
generosity
inherent
in
the
higher
order
of
man
,
“
Be
glorious
,
if
your
nature
wills
it
so
.
Glory
enough
to
me
that
you
would
have
resigned
glory
itself
to
become
mine
.
”
But
how
is
it
that
men
worth
a
woman’s
loving
become
so
diffident
when
they
love
intensely
?
Even
in
ordinary
cases
of
love
there
is
so
ineffable
a
delicacy
in
virgin
woman
,
that
a
man
,
be
he
how
refined
soever
,
feels
himself
rough
and
rude
and
coarse
in
comparison
;
and
while
that
sort
of
delicacy
was
pre-eminent
in
this
Italian
orphan
,
there
came
,
to
increase
the
humility
of
the
man
so
proud
and
so
confident
in
himself
when
he
had
only
men
to
deal
with
,
the
consciousness
that
his
intellectual
nature
was
hard
and
positive
beside
the
angel-like
purity
and
the
fairy-like
play
of
hers
.
There
was
a
strong
wish
on
the
part
of
Mrs.
Morley
to
bring
about
the
union
of
these
two
.
She
had
a
great
regard
and
a
great
admiration
for
both
.
To
her
mind
,
unconscious
of
all
Graham’s
doubts
and
prejudices
,
they
were
exactly
suited
to
each
other
.
A
man
of
intellect
so
cultivated
as
Graham’s
,
if
married
to
a
commonplace
English
“
Miss
,
”
would
surely
feel
as
if
life
had
no
sunshine
and
no
flowers
.
The
love
of
an
Isaura
would
steep
it
in
sunshine
,
pave
it
with
flowers
.
Mrs.
Morley
admitted
—
all
American
Republicans
of
gentle
birth
do
admit
—
the
instincts
which
lead
“
like
”
to
match
with
“
like
,
”
an
equality
of
blood
and
race
.
With
all
her
assertion
of
the
Rights
of
Woman
,
I
do
not
think
that
Mrs.
Morley
would
ever
have
conceived
the
possibility
of
consenting
that
the
richest
and
prettiest
and
cleverest
girl
in
the
States
could
become
the
wife
of
a
son
of
hers
if
the
girl
had
the
taint
of
negro
blood
,
even
though
shown
nowhere
save
the
slight
distinguishing
hue
of
her
finger-nails
.
So
had
Isaura’s
merits
been
threefold
what
they
were
and
she
had
been
the
wealthy
heiress
of
a
retail
grocer
,
this
fair
Republican
would
have
opposed
(
more
strongly
than
many
an
English
duchess
,
or
at
least
a
Scotch
duke
,
would
do
,
the
wish
of
a
son
)
,
the
thought
of
an
alliance
between
Graham
Vane
and
the
grocer’s
daughter
!
But
Isaura
was
a
Cicogna
,
an
offspring
of
a
very
ancient
and
very
noble
house
.
Disparities
of
fortune
,
or
mere
worldly
position
,
Mrs.
Morley
supremely
despised
.
Here
were
the
great
parities
of
alliance
,
—
parities
in
years
and
good
looks
and
mental
culture
.
So
,
in
short
,
she
in
the
invitation
given
to
them
had
planned
for
the
union
between
Isaura
and
Graham
.
To
this
plan
she
had
an
antagonist
,
whom
she
did
not
even
guess
,
in
Madame
Savarin
.
That
lady
,
as
much
attached
to
Isaura
as
was
Mrs.
Morley
herself
,
and
still
more
desirous
of
seeing
a
girl
,
brilliant
and
parentless
,
transferred
from
the
companionship
of
Signora
Venosta
to
the
protection
of
a
husband
,
entertained
no
belief
in
the
serious
attentions
of
Graham
Vane
.
Perhaps
she
exaggerated
his
worldly
advantages
,
perhaps
she
undervalued
the
warmth
of
his
affections
;
but
it
was
not
within
the
range
of
her
experience
,
confined
much
to
Parisian
life
,
nor
in
harmony
with
her
notions
of
the
frigidity
and
morgue
of
the
English
national
character
,
that
a
rich
and
high-born
young
man
,
to
whom
a
great
career
in
practical
public
life
was
predicted
,
should
form
a
matrimonial
alliance
with
a
foreign
orphan
girl
,
who
,
if
of
gentle
birth
,
had
no
useful
connections
,
would
bring
no
correspondent
dot
,
and
had
been
reared
and
intended
for
the
profession
of
the
stage
.
She
much
more
feared
that
the
result
of
any
attentions
on
the
part
of
such
a
man
would
be
rather
calculated
to
compromise
the
orphan’s
name
,
or
at
least
to
mislead
her
expectations
,
than
to
secure
her
the
shelter
of
a
wedded
home
.
Moreover
,
she
had
cherished
plans
of
her
own
for
Isaura’s
future
.
Madame
Savarin
had
conceived
for
Gustave
Rameau
a
friendly
regard
,
stronger
than
that
which
Mrs.
Morley
entertained
for
Graham
Vane
,
for
it
was
more
motherly
.
Gustave
had
been
familiarized
to
her
sight
and
her
thoughts
since
he
had
first
been
launched
into
the
literary
world
under
her
husband’s
auspices
;
he
had
confided
to
her
his
mortification
in
his
failures
,
his
joy
in
his
successes
.
His
beautiful
countenance
,
his
delicate
health
,
his
very
infirmities
and
defects
,
had
endeared
him
to
her
womanly
heart
.
Isaura
was
the
wife
of
all
others
who
,
in
Madame
Savarin’s
opinion
,
was
made
for
Rameau
.
Her
fortune
,
so
trivial
beside
the
wealth
of
the
Englishman
,
would
be
a
competence
to
Rameau
;
then
that
competence
might
swell
into
vast
riches
if
Isaura
succeeded
on
the
stage
.
She
found
with
extreme
displeasure
that
Isaura’s
mind
had
become
estranged
from
the
profession
to
which
she
had
been
destined
,
and
divined
that
a
deference
to
the
Englishman’s
prejudices
had
something
to
do
with
that
estrangement
.
It
was
not
to
be
expected
that
a
Frenchwoman
,
wife
to
a
sprightly
man
of
letters
,
who
had
intimate
friends
and
allies
in
every
department
of
the
artistic
world
,
should
cherish
any
prejudice
whatever
against
the
exercise
of
an
art
in
which
success
achieved
riches
and
renown
;
but
she
was
prejudiced
,
as
most
Frenchwomen
are
,
against
allowing
to
unmarried
girls
the
same
freedom
and
independence
of
action
that
are
the
rights
of
women
—
French
women
—
when
married
;
and
she
would
have
disapproved
the
entrance
of
Isaura
on
her
professional
career
until
she
could
enter
it
as
a
wife
,
the
wife
of
an
artist
,
the
wife
of
Gustave
Rameau
.
Unaware
of
the
rivalry
between
these
friendly
diplomatists
and
schemers
,
Graham
and
Isaura
glided
hourly
more
and
more
down
the
current
,
which
as
yet
ran
smooth
.
No
words
by
which
love
is
spoken
were
exchanged
between
them
;
in
fact
,
though
constantly
together
,
they
were
very
rarely
,
and
then
but
for
moments
,
alone
with
each
other
.
Mrs.
Morley
artfully
schemed
more
than
once
to
give
them
such
opportunities
for
that
mutual
explanation
of
heart
which
,
she
saw
,
had
not
yet
taken
place
;
with
art
more
practised
and
more
watchful
,
Madame
Savarin
contrived
to
baffle
her
hostess’s
intention
.
But
,
indeed
,
neither
Graham
nor
Isaura
sought
to
make
opportunities
for
themselves
.
He
,
as
we
know
,
did
not
deem
himself
wholly
justified
in
uttering
the
words
of
love
by
which
a
man
of
honour
binds
himself
for
life
;
and
she
!
—
what
girl
pure-hearted
and
loving
truly
does
not
shrink
from
seeking
the
opportunities
which
it
is
for
the
man
to
court
?
Yet
Isaura
needed
no
words
to
tell
her
that
she
was
loved
,
—
no
,
nor
even
a
pressure
of
the
hand
,
a
glance
of
the
eye
;
she
felt
it
instinctively
,
mysteriously
,
by
the
glow
of
her
own
being
in
the
presence
of
her
lover
.
She
knew
that
she
herself
could
not
so
love
unless
she
were
beloved
.
Here
woman’s
wit
is
keener
and
truthfuller
than
man’s
.
Graham
,
as
I
have
said
,
did
not
feel
confident
that
he
had
reached
the
heart
of
Isaura
.
He
was
conscious
that
he
had
engaged
her
interest
,
that
he
had
attracted
her
fancy
;
but
often
,
when
charmed
by
the
joyous
play
of
her
imagination
,
he
would
sigh
to
himself
,
“
To
natures
so
gifted
what
single
mortal
can
be
the
all
in
all
.
”
They
spent
the
summer
mornings
in
excursions
round
the
beautiful
neighbourhood
,
dined
early
,
and
sailed
on
the
calm
lake
at
moonlight
.
Their
talk
was
such
as
might
be
expected
from
lovers
of
books
in
summer
holidays
.
Savarin
was
a
critic
by
profession
;
Graham
Vane
,
if
not
that
,
at
least
owed
such
literary
reputation
as
he
had
yet
gained
to
essays
in
which
the
rare
critical
faculty
was
conspicuously
developed
.
It
was
pleasant
to
hear
the
clash
of
these
two
minds
encountering
each
other
;
they
differed
perhaps
less
in
opinions
than
in
the
mode
by
which
opinions
are
discussed
.
The
Englishman’s
range
of
reading
was
wider
than
the
Frenchman’s
,
and
his
scholarship
more
accurate
;
but
the
Frenchman
had
a
compact
neatness
of
expression
,
a
light
and
nimble
grace
,
whether
in
the
advancing
or
the
retreat
of
his
argument
,
which
covered
deficiencies
,
and
often
made
them
appear
like
merits
.
Graham
was
compelled
,
indeed
,
to
relinquish
many
of
the
forces
of
superior
knowledge
or
graver
eloquence
,
which
with
less
lively
antagonists
he
could
have
brought
into
the
field
,
for
the
witty
sarcasm
of
Savarin
would
have
turned
them
aside
as
pedantry
or
declamation
.
But
though
Graham
was
neither
dry
nor
diffuse
,
and
the
happiness
at
his
heart
brought
out
the
gayety
of
humour
which
had
been
his
early
characteristic
,
and
yet
rendered
his
familiar
intercourse
genial
and
playful
,
still
there
was
this
distinction
between
his
humour
and
Savarin’s
wit
,
—
that
in
the
first
there
was
always
something
earnest
,
in
the
last
always
something
mocking
.
And
in
criticism
Graham
seemed
ever
anxious
to
bring
out
a
latent
beauty
,
even
in
writers
comparatively
neglected
;
Savarin
was
acutest
when
dragging
forth
a
blemish
never
before
discovered
in
writers
universally
read
.
Graham
did
not
perhaps
notice
the
profound
attention
with
which
Isaura
listened
to
him
in
these
intellectual
skirmishes
with
the
more
glittering
Parisian
.
There
was
this
distinction
she
made
between
him
and
Savarin
,
—
when
the
last
spoke
she
often
chimed
in
with
some
happy
sentiment
of
her
own
;
but
she
never
interrupted
Graham
,
never
intimated
a
dissent
from
his
theories
of
art
,
or
the
deductions
he
drew
from
them
;
and
she
would
remain
silent
and
thoughtful
for
some
minutes
when
his
voice
ceased
.
There
was
passing
from
his
mind
into
hers
an
ambition
which
she
imagined
,
poor
girl
,
that
he
would
be
pleased
to
think
he
had
inspired
,
and
which
might
become
a
new
bond
of
sympathy
between
them
.
But
as
yet
the
ambition
was
vague
and
timid
,
—
an
idea
or
a
dream
to
be
fulfilled
in
some
indefinite
future
.
The
last
night
of
this
short-lived
holiday-time
,
the
party
,
after
staying
out
on
the
lake
to
a
later
hour
than
usual
,
stood
lingering
still
on
the
lawn
of
the
villa
;
and
their
host
,
who
was
rather
addicted
to
superficial
studies
of
the
positive
sciences
,
including
,
of
course
,
the
most
popular
of
all
,
astronomy
,
kept
his
guests
politely
listening
to
speculative
conjectures
on
the
probable
size
of
the
inhabitants
of
Sirius
,
that
very
distant
and
very
gigantic
inhabitant
of
heaven
who
has
led
philosophers
into
mortifying
reflections
upon
the
utter
insignificance
of
our
own
poor
little
planet
,
capable
of
producing
nothing
greater
than
Shakspeares
and
Newtons
,
Aristotles
and
Caesars
,
—
mannikins
,
no
doubt
,
beside
intellects
proportioned
to
the
size
of
the
world
in
which
they
flourish
.
As
it
chanced
,
Isaura
and
Graham
were
then
standing
close
to
each
other
and
a
little
apart
from
the
rest
.
“
It
is
very
strange
,
”
said
Graham
,
laughing
low
,
“
how
little
I
care
about
Sirius
.
He
is
the
sun
of
some
other
system
,
and
is
perhaps
not
habitable
at
all
,
except
by
Salamanders
.
He
cannot
be
one
of
the
stars
with
which
I
have
established
familiar
acquaintance
,
associated
with
fancies
and
dreams
and
hopes
,
as
most
of
us
do
,
for
instance
,
with
Hesperus
,
the
moon’s
harbinger
and
comrade
.
But
amid
all
those
stars
there
is
one
—
not
Hesperus
—
which
has
always
had
from
my
childhood
a
mysterious
fascination
for
me
.
Knowing
as
little
of
astrology
as
I
do
of
astronomy
,
when
I
gaze
upon
that
star
I
become
credulously
superstitious
,
and
fancy
it
has
an
influence
on
my
life
.
Have
you
,
too
,
any
favourite
star
?
”
“
Yes
,
”
said
Isaura
;
“
and
I
distinguish
it
now
,
but
I
do
not
even
know
its
name
,
and
never
would
ask
it
.
”
“
So
like
me
.
I
would
not
vulgarize
my
unknown
source
of
beautiful
illusions
by
giving
it
the
name
it
takes
in
technical
catalogues
.
For
fear
of
learning
that
name
I
never
have
pointed
it
out
to
any
one
before
.
I
too
at
this
moment
distinguish
it
apart
from
all
its
brotherhood
.
Tell
me
which
is
yours
.
”
Isaura
pointed
and
explained
.
The
Englishman
was
startled
.
By
what
strange
coincidence
could
they
both
have
singled
out
from
all
the
host
of
heaven
the
same
favourite
star
?
“
Cher
Vane
,
”
cried
Savarin
,
“
Colonel
Morley
declares
that
what
America
is
to
the
terrestrial
system
Sirius
is
to
the
heavenly
.
America
is
to
extinguish
Europe
,
and
then
Sirius
is
to
extinguish
the
world
.
”
“
Not
for
some
millions
of
years
;
time
to
look
about
us
,
”
said
the
Colonel
,
gravely
.
“
But
I
certainly
differ
from
those
who
maintain
that
Sirius
recedes
from
us
.
I
say
that
he
approaches
.
The
principles
of
a
body
so
enlightened
must
be
those
of
progress
.
”
Then
addressing
Graham
in
English
,
he
added
,
“
there
will
be
a
mulling
in
this
fogified
planet
some
day
,
I
predicate
.
Sirius
is
a
keener
!
”
“
I
have
not
imagination
lively
enough
to
interest
myself
in
the
destinies
of
Sirius
in
connection
with
our
planet
at
a
date
so
remote
,
”
said
Graham
,
smiling
.
Then
he
added
in
a
whisper
to
Isaura
,
“
My
imagination
does
not
carry
me
further
than
to
wonder
whether
this
day
twelvemonth
—
the
8th
of
July-we
two
shall
both
be
singling
out
that
same
star
,
and
gazing
on
it
as
now
,
side
by
side
.
”
This
was
the
sole
utterance
of
that
sentiment
in
which
the
romance
of
love
is
so
rich
that
the
Englishman
addressed
to
Isaura
during
those
memorable
summer
days
at
Enghien
.
CHAPTER
V.
The
next
morning
the
party
broke
up
.
Letters
had
been
delivered
both
to
Savarin
and
to
Graham
,
which
,
even
had
the
day
for
departure
not
been
fixed
,
would
have
summoned
them
away
.
On
reading
his
letter
,
Savarin’s
brow
became
clouded
.
He
made
a
sign
to
his
wife
after
breakfast
,
and
wandered
away
with
her
down
an
alley
in
the
little
garden
.
His
trouble
was
of
that
nature
which
a
wife
either
soothes
or
aggravates
,
according
sometimes
to
her
habitual
frame
of
mind
,
sometimes
to
the
mood
of
temper
in
which
she
may
chance
to
be
,
—
a
household
trouble
,
a
pecuniary
trouble
.
Savarin
was
by
no
means
an
extravagant
man
.
His
mode
of
living
,
though
elegant
and
hospitable
,
was
modest
compared
to
that
of
many
French
authors
inferior
to
himself
in
the
fame
which
at
Paris
brings
a
very
good
return
in
francs
;
but
his
station
itself
as
the
head
of
a
powerful
literary
clique
necessitated
many
expenses
which
were
too
congenial
to
his
extreme
good-nature
to
be
regulated
by
strict
prudence
.
His
hand
was
always
open
to
distressed
writers
and
struggling
artists
,
and
his
sole
income
was
derived
from
his
pen
and
a
journal
in
which
he
was
chief
editor
and
formerly
sole
proprietor
.
But
that
journal
had
of
late
not
prospered
.
He
had
sold
or
pledged
a
considerable
share
in
the
proprietorship
.
He
had
been
compelled
also
to
borrow
a
sum
large
for
him
,
and
the
debt
obtained
from
a
retired
bourgeois
who
lent
out
his
moneys
“
by
way
,
”
he
said
,
“
of
maintaining
an
excitement
and
interest
in
life
,
”
would
in
a
few
days
become
due
.
The
letter
was
not
from
that
creditor
;
but
it
was
from
his
publisher
,
containing
a
very
disagreeable
statement
of
accounts
,
pressing
for
settlement
,
and
declining
an
offer
of
Savarin
for
a
new
book
(
not
yet
begun
)
except
upon
terms
that
the
author
valued
himself
too
highly
to
accept
.
Altogether
,
the
situation
was
unpleasant
.
There
were
many
times
in
which
Madame
Savarin
presumed
to
scold
her
distinguished
husband
for
his
want
of
prudence
and
thrift
.
But
those
were
never
the
times
when
scolding
could
be
of
no
use
.
It
could
clearly
be
of
no
use
now
.
Now
was
the
moment
to
cheer
and
encourage
him
;
to
reassure
him
as
to
his
own
undiminished
powers
and
popularity
,
for
he
talked
dejectedly
of
himself
as
obsolete
and
passing
out
of
fashion
;
to
convince
him
also
of
the
impossibility
that
the
ungrateful
publisher
whom
Savarin’s
more
brilliant
successes
had
enriched
could
encounter
the
odium
of
hostile
proceedings
;
and
to
remind
him
of
all
the
authors
,
all
the
artists
,
whom
he
in
their
earlier
difficulties
had
so
liberally
assisted
,
and
from
whom
a
sum
sufficing
to
pay
the
bourgeois
creditor
when
the
day
arrived
could
now
be
honourably
asked
and
would
be
readily
contributed
.
In
this
last
suggestion
the
homely
prudent
good-sense
of
Madame
Savarin
failed
her
.
She
did
not
comprehend
that
delicate
pride
of
honour
which
,
with
all
his
Parisian
frivolities
and
cynicism
,
dignified
the
Parisian
man
of
genius
.
Savarin
could
not
,
to
save
his
neck
from
a
rope
,
have
sent
round
the
begging-hat
to
friends
whom
he
had
obliged
.
Madame
Savarin
was
one
of
those
women
with
large-lobed
ears
,
who
can
be
wonderfully
affectionate
,
wonderfully
sensible
,
admirable
wives
and
mothers
,
and
yet
are
deficient
in
artistic
sympathies
with
artistic
natures
.
Still
,
a
really
good
honest
wife
is
such
an
incalculable
blessing
to
her
lord
,
that
,
at
the
end
of
the
talk
in
the
solitary
alley
,
this
man
of
exquisite
finesse
,
of
the
undefinably
high-bred
temperament
,
and
,
alas
!
the
painful
morbid
susceptibility
,
which
belongs
to
the
genuine
artistic
character
,
emerged
into
the
open
sunlit
lawn
with
his
crest
uplifted
,
his
lip
curved
upward
in
its
joyous
mockery
,
and
perfectly
persuaded
that
somehow
or
other
he
should
put
down
the
offensive
publisher
,
and
pay
off
the
unoffending
creditor
when
the
day
for
payment
came
.
Still
he
had
judgment
enough
to
know
that
to
do
this
he
must
get
back
to
Paris
,
and
could
not
dawdle
away
precious
hours
in
discussing
the
principles
of
poetry
with
Graham
Vane
.
There
was
only
one
thing
,
apart
from
“
the
begging-hat
,
”
in
which
Savarin
dissented
from
his
wife
.
—
She
suggested
his
starting
a
new
journal
in
conjunction
with
Gustave
Rameau
,
upon
whose
genius
and
the
expectations
to
be
formed
from
it
(
here
she
was
tacitly
thinking
of
Isaura
wedded
to
Rameau
,
and
more
than
a
Malibran
on
the
stage
)
she
insisted
vehemently
.
Savarin
did
not
thus
estimate
Gustave
Rameau
,
thought
him
a
clever
,
promising
young
writer
in
a
very
bad
school
of
writing
,
who
might
do
well
some
day
or
other
.
But
that
a
Rameau
could
help
a
Savarin
to
make
a
fortune
!
No
;
at
that
idea
he
opened
his
eyes
,
patted
his
wife’s
shoulder
,
and
called
her
“
enfant
.
”
Graham’s
letter
was
from
M
.
Renard
,
and
ran
thus
:
—
MONSIEUR
,
—
I
had
the
honour
to
call
at
your
apartment
this
morning
,
and
I
write
this
line
to
the
address
given
to
me
by
your
concierge
to
say
that
I
have
been
fortunate
enough
to
ascertain
that
the
relation
of
the
missing
lady
is
now
at
Paris
.
I
shall
hold
myself
in
readiness
to
attend
your
summons
.
Deign
to
accept
,
Monsieur
,
the
assurance
of
my
profound
consideration
.
J
.
RENARD
.
This
communication
sufficed
to
put
Graham
into
very
high
spirits
.
Anything
that
promised
success
to
his
research
seemed
to
deliver
his
thoughts
from
a
burden
and
his
will
from
a
fetter
.
Perhaps
in
a
few
days
he
might
frankly
and
honourably
say
to
Isaura
words
which
would
justify
his
retaining
longer
,
and
pressing
more
ardently
,
the
delicate
hand
which
trembled
in
his
as
they
took
leave
.
On
arriving
at
Paris
,
Graham
despatched
a
note
to
M
.
Renard
requesting
to
see
him
,
and
received
a
brief
line
in
reply
that
M
.
Renard
feared
he
should
be
detained
on
other
and
important
business
till
the
evening
,
but
hoped
to
call
at
eight
o’clock
.
A
few
minutes
before
that
hour
he
entered
Graham’s
apartment
.
“
You
have
discovered
the
uncle
of
Louise
Duval
!
”
exclaimed
Graham
;
“
of
course
you
mean
M
.
de
Mauleon
,
and
he
is
at
Paris
?
”
“
True
so
far
,
Monsieur
;
but
do
not
be
too
sanguine
as
to
the
results
of
the
information
I
can
give
you
.
Permit
me
,
as
briefly
as
possible
,
to
state
the
circumstances
.
When
you
acquainted
me
with
the
fact
that
M
.
de
Mauleon
was
the
uncle
of
Louise
Duval
,
I
told
you
that
I
was
not
without
hopes
of
finding
him
out
,
though
so
long
absent
from
Paris
.
I
will
now
explain
why
.
Some
months
ago
,
one
of
my
colleagues
engaged
in
the
political
department
(
which
I
am
not
)
was
sent
to
Lyons
,
in
consequence
of
some
suspicions
conceived
by
the
loyal
authorities
there
of
a
plot
against
the
emperor’s
life
.
The
suspicions
were
groundless
,
the
plot
a
mare’s
nest
.
But
my
colleague’s
attention
was
especially
drawn
towards
a
man
not
mixed
up
with
the
circumstances
from
which
a
plot
had
been
inferred
,
but
deemed
in
some
way
or
other
a
dangerous
enemy
to
the
Government
.
Ostensibly
,
he
exercised
a
modest
and
small
calling
as
a
sort
of
courtier
or
agent
de
change
;
but
it
was
noticed
that
certain
persons
familiarly
frequenting
his
apartment
,
or
to
whose
houses
he
used
to
go
at
night
,
were
disaffected
to
the
Government
,
—
not
by
any
means
of
the
lowest
rank
,
—
some
of
them
rich
malcontents
who
had
been
devoted
Orleanists
;
others
,
disappointed
aspirants
to
office
or
the
‘cross
;
’
one
or
two
well-born
and
opulent
fanatics
dreaming
of
another
Republic
.
Certain
very
able
articles
in
the
journals
of
the
excitable
Midi
,
though
bearing
another
signature
,
were
composed
or
dictated
by
this
man
,
—
articles
evading
the
censure
and
penalties
of
the
law
,
but
very
mischievous
in
their
tone
.
All
who
had
come
into
familiar
communication
with
this
person
were
impressed
with
a
sense
of
his
powers
;
and
also
with
a
vague
belief
that
he
belonged
to
a
higher
class
in
breeding
and
education
than
that
of
a
petty
agent
de
change
.
My
colleague
set
himself
to
watch
the
man
,
and
took
occasions
of
business
at
his
little
office
to
enter
into
talk
with
him
.
Not
by
personal
appearance
,
but
by
voice
,
he
came
to
a
conclusion
that
the
man
was
not
wholly
a
stranger
to
him
,
—
a
peculiar
voice
with
a
slight
Norman
breadth
of
pronunciation
,
though
a
Parisian
accent
;
a
voice
very
low
,
yet
very
distinct
;
very
masculine
,
yet
very
gentle
.
My
colleague
was
puzzled
till
late
one
evening
he
observed
the
man
coming
out
of
the
house
of
one
of
these
rich
malcontents
,
the
rich
malcontent
himself
accompanying
him
.
My
colleague
,
availing
himself
of
the
dimness
of
light
,
as
the
two
passed
into
a
lane
which
led
to
the
agent’s
apartment
,
contrived
to
keep
close
behind
and
listen
to
their
conversation
;
but
of
this
he
heard
nothing
,
—
only
,
when
at
the
end
of
the
lane
,
the
rich
man
turned
abruptly
,
shook
his
companion
warmly
by
the
hand
,
and
parted
from
him
,
saying
,
‘Never
fear
;
all
shall
go
right
with
you
,
my
dear
Victor.’
At
the
sound
of
that
name
‘Victor
,
’
my
colleague’s
memories
,
before
so
confused
,
became
instantaneously
clear
.
Previous
to
entering
our
service
,
he
had
been
in
the
horse
business
,
a
votary
of
the
turf
;
as
such
he
had
often
seen
the
brilliant
‘sportman
,
’
Victor
de
Mauleon
;
sometimes
talked
to
him
.
Yes
,
that
was
the
voice
,
—
the
slight
Norman
intonation
(
Victor
de
Mauleon’s
father
had
it
strongly
,
and
Victor
had
passed
some
of
his
early
childhood
in
Normandy
)
,
the
subdued
modulation
of
speech
which
had
made
so
polite
the
offence
to
men
,
or
so
winning
the
courtship
to
women
,
—
that
was
Victor
de
Mauleon
.
But
why
there
in
that
disguise
?
What
was
his
real
business
and
object
?
My
confrere
had
no
time
allowed
to
him
to
prosecute
such
inquiries
.
Whether
Victor
or
the
rich
malcontent
had
observed
him
at
their
heels
,
and
feared
he
might
have
overheard
their
words
,
I
know
not
;
but
the
next
day
appeared
in
one
of
the
popular
journals
circulating
among
the
ouvriers
a
paragraph
stating
that
a
Paris
spy
had
been
seen
at
Lyons
,
warning
all
honest
men
against
his
machinations
,
and
containing
a
tolerably
accurate
description
of
his
person
.
And
that
very
day
,
on
venturing
forth
,
my
estimable
colleague
suddenly
found
himself
hustled
by
a
ferocious
throng
,
from
whose
hands
he
was
with
great
difficulty
rescued
by
the
municipal
guard
.
He
left
Lyons
that
night
;
and
for
recompense
of
his
services
received
a
sharp
reprimand
from
his
chief
.
He
had
committed
the
worst
offence
in
our
profession
,
trop
de
zele
.
Having
only
heard
the
outlines
of
this
story
from
another
,
I
repaired
to
my
confrere
after
my
last
interview
with
Monsieur
,
and
learned
what
I
now
tell
you
from
his
own
lips
.
As
he
was
not
in
my
branch
of
the
service
,
I
could
not
order
him
to
return
to
Lyons
;
and
I
doubt
whether
his
chief
would
have
allowed
it
.
But
I
went
to
Lyons
myself
,
and
there
ascertained
that
our
supposed
Vicomte
had
left
that
town
for
Paris
some
months
ago
,
not
long
after
the
adventure
of
my
colleague
.
The
man
bore
a
very
good
character
generally
,
—
was
said
to
be
very
honest
and
inoffensive
;
and
the
notice
taken
of
him
by
persons
of
higher
rank
was
attributed
generally
to
a
respect
for
his
talents
,
and
not
on
account
of
any
sympathy
in
political
opinions
.
I
found
that
the
confrere
mentioned
,
and
who
alone
could
identify
M
.
de
Mauleon
in
the
disguise
which
the
Vicomte
had
assumed
,
was
absent
on
one
of
those
missions
abroad
in
which
he
is
chiefly
employed
.
I
had
to
wait
for
his
return
,
and
it
was
only
the
day
before
yesterday
that
I
obtained
the
following
particulars
.
M
.
de
Mauleon
bears
the
same
name
as
he
did
at
Lyons
,
—
that
name
is
Jean
Lebeau
;
he
exercises
the
ostensible
profession
of
a
‘letter-writer
,
’
and
a
sort
of
adviser
on
business
among
the
workmen
and
petty
bourgeoisie
,
and
he
nightly
frequents
the
cafe
Jean
Jacques
,
Rue
Faubourg
Montmartre
.
It
is
not
yet
quite
half-past
eight
,
and
,
no
doubt
,
you
could
see
him
at
the
cafe
this
very
night
,
if
you
thought
proper
to
go
.
”
“
Excellent
!
I
will
go
!
Describe
him
!
”
“
Alas
!
that
is
exactly
what
I
cannot
do
at
present
;
for
after
hearing
what
I
now
tell
you
,
I
put
the
same
request
you
do
to
my
colleague
,
when
,
before
he
could
answer
me
,
he
was
summoned
to
the
bureau
of
his
chief
,
promising
to
return
and
give
me
the
requisite
description
.
He
did
not
return
;
and
I
find
that
he
was
compelled
,
on
quitting
his
chief
,
to
seize
the
first
train
starting
for
Lille
upon
an
important
political
investigation
which
brooked
no
delay
.
He
will
be
back
in
a
few
days
,
and
then
Monsieur
shall
have
the
description
.
”
“
Nay
;
I
think
I
will
seize
time
by
the
forelock
,
and
try
my
chance
tonight
.
If
the
man
be
really
a
conspirator
,
and
it
looks
likely
enough
,
who
knows
but
what
he
may
see
quick
reason
to
take
alarm
and
vanish
from
Paris
at
any
hour
?
—
Cafe
Jean
Jacques
,
Rue
—
—
—
;
I
will
go
.
Stay
;
you
have
seen
Victor
de
Mauleon
in
his
youth
:
what
was
he
like
then
?
”
“
Tall
,
slender
,
but
broad-shouldered
,
very
erect
,
carrying
his
head
high
,
a
profusion
of
dark
curls
,
a
small
black
mustache
,
fair
clear
complexion
,
light-coloured
eyes
with
dark
lashes
,
fort
bel
homme
.
But
he
will
not
look
like
that
now
.
”
“
His
present
age
?
”
“
Forty-seven
or
forty-eight
.
But
before
you
go
,
I
must
beg
you
to
consider
well
what
you
are
about
.
It
is
evident
that
M
.
de
Mauleon
has
some
strong
reason
,
whatever
it
be
,
for
merging
his
identity
in
that
of
Jean
Lebeau
.
I
presume
,
therefore
,
that
you
could
scarcely
go
up
to
M
.
Lebeau
,
when
you
have
discovered
him
,
and
say
,
‘Pray
,
Monsieur
le
Vicomte
,
can
you
give
me
some
tidings
of
your
niece
,
Louise
Duval
?
’
If
you
thus
accosted
him
,
you
might
possibly
bring
some
danger
on
yourself
,
but
you
would
certainly
gain
no
information
from
him
.
”
“
True
.
”
“
On
the
other
hand
,
if
you
make
his
acquaintance
as
M
.
Lebeau
,
how
can
you
assume
him
to
know
anything
about
Louise
Duval
?
”
“
Parbleu
!
Monsieur
Renard
,
you
try
to
toss
me
aside
on
both
horns
of
the
dilemma
;
but
it
seems
to
me
that
,
if
I
once
make
his
acquaintance
as
M
.
Lebeau
,
I
might
gradually
and
cautiously
feel
my
way
as
to
the
best
mode
of
putting
the
question
to
which
I
seek
reply
.
I
suppose
,
too
,
that
the
man
must
be
in
very
poor
circumstances
to
adopt
so
humble
a
calling
,
and
that
a
small
sum
of
money
may
smooth
all
difficulties
.
”
“
I
am
not
so
sure
of
that
,
”
said
M
.
Renard
,
thoughtfully
;
“
but
grant
that
money
may
do
so
,
and
grant
also
that
the
Vicomte
,
being
a
needy
man
,
has
become
a
very
unscrupulous
one
,
—
is
there
anything
in
your
motives
for
discovering
Louise
Duval
which
might
occasion
you
trouble
and
annoyance
,
if
it
were
divined
by
a
needy
and
unscrupulous
man
;
anything
which
might
give
him
a
power
of
threat
or
exaction
?
Mind
,
I
am
not
asking
you
to
tell
me
any
secret
you
have
reasons
for
concealing
,
but
I
suggest
that
it
might
be
prudent
if
you
did
not
let
M
.
Lebeau
know
your
real
name
and
rank
;
if
,
in
short
,
you
could
follow
his
example
,
and
adopt
a
disguise
.
But
no
;
when
I
think
of
it
,
you
would
doubtless
be
so
unpractised
in
the
art
of
disguise
that
he
would
detect
you
at
once
to
be
other
than
you
seem
;
and
if
suspecting
you
of
spying
into
his
secrets
,
and
if
those
secrets
be
really
of
a
political
nature
,
your
very
life
might
not
be
safe
.
”
“
Thank
you
for
your
hint
;
the
disguise
is
an
excellent
idea
,
and
combines
amusement
with
precaution
.
That
this
Victor
de
Mauleon
must
be
a
very
unprincipled
and
dangerous
man
is
,
I
think
,
abundantly
clear
.
Granting
that
he
was
innocent
of
all
design
of
robbery
in
the
affair
of
the
jewels
,
still
,
the
offence
which
he
did
own
—
that
of
admitting
himself
at
night
by
a
false
key
into
the
rooms
of
a
wife
,
whom
he
sought
to
surprise
or
terrify
into
dishonour
—
was
a
villanous
action
;
and
his
present
course
of
life
is
sufficiently
mysterious
to
warrant
the
most
unfavourable
supposition
.
Besides
,
there
is
another
motive
for
concealing
my
name
from
him
:
you
say
that
he
once
had
a
duel
with
a
Vane
,
who
was
very
probably
my
father
,
and
I
have
no
wish
to
expose
myself
to
the
chance
of
his
turning
up
in
London
some
day
,
and
seeking
to
renew
there
the
acquaintance
that
I
had
courted
at
Paris
.
As
for
my
skill
in
playing
any
part
I
may
assume
,
do
not
fear
;
I
am
no
novice
in
that
.
In
my
younger
days
I
was
thought
clever
in
private
theatricals
,
especially
in
the
transformations
of
appearance
which
belong
to
light
comedy
and
farce
.
Wait
a
few
minutes
,
and
you
shall
see
.
”
Graham
then
retreated
into
his
bedroom
,
and
in
a
few
minutes
reappeared
so
changed
,
that
Renard
at
first
glance
took
him
for
a
stranger
.
He
had
doffed
his
dress
—
which
habitually
,
when
in
Capitals
,
was
characterized
by
the
quiet
,
indefinable
elegance
that
to
a
man
of
the
great
world
,
high-bred
and
young
,
seems
“
to
the
manner
born
”
—
for
one
of
those
coarse
suits
which
Englishmen
are
wont
to
wear
in
their
travels
,
and
by
which
they
are
represented
in
French
or
German
caricatures
,
—
loose
jacket
of
tweed
with
redundant
pockets
,
waistcoat
to
match
,
short
dust-coloured
trousers
.
He
had
combed
his
hair
straight
over
his
forehead
,
which
,
as
I
have
said
somewhere
before
,
appeared
in
itself
to
alter
the
character
of
his
countenance
,
and
,
without
any
resort
to
paints
or
cosmetics
,
had
somehow
or
other
given
to
the
expression
of
his
face
an
impudent
,
low-bred
expression
,
with
a
glass
screwed
on
to
his
right
eye
,
—
such
a
look
as
a
cockney
journeyman
,
wishing
to
pass
for
a
“
swell
”
about
town
,
may
cast
on
a
servant-maid
in
the
pit
of
a
suburban
theatre
.
“
Will
it
do
,
old
fellow
?
”
he
exclaimed
,
in
a
rollicking
,
swaggering
tone
of
voice
,
speaking
French
with
a
villanous
British
accent
.
“
Perfectly
,
”
said
Renard
,
laughing
.
“
I
offer
my
compliments
,
and
if
ever
you
are
ruined
,
Monsieur
,
I
will
promise
you
a
place
in
our
police
.
Only
one
caution
,
—
take
care
not
to
overdo
your
part
.
”
“
Right
.
A
quarter
to
nine
;
I’m
off
.
”
CHAPTER
VI
.
There
is
generally
a
brisk
exhilaration
of
spirits
in
the
return
to
any
special
amusement
or
light
accomplishment
associated
with
the
pleasant
memories
of
earlier
youth
;
and
remarkably
so
,
I
believe
,
when
the
amusement
or
accomplishment
has
been
that
of
the
amateur
stage-player
.
Certainly
I
have
known
persons
of
very
grave
pursuits
,
of
very
dignified
character
and
position
,
who
seem
to
regain
the
vivacity
of
boyhood
when
disguising
look
and
voice
for
a
part
in
some
drawing-room
comedy
or
charade
.
I
might
name
statesmen
of
solemn
repute
rejoicing
to
raise
and
to
join
in
a
laugh
at
their
expense
in
such
travesty
of
their
habitual
selves
.
The
reader
must
not
therefore
be
surprised
,
nor
,
I
trust
,
deem
it
inconsistent
with
the
more
serious
attributes
of
Graham’s
character
,
if
the
Englishman
felt
the
sort
of
joyful
excitement
I
describe
,
as
,
in
his
way
to
the
cafe
Jean
Jacques
,
he
meditated
the
role
he
had
undertaken
;
and
the
joyousness
was
heightened
beyond
the
mere
holiday
sense
of
humouristic
pleasantry
by
the
sanguine
hope
that
much
to
effect
his
lasting
happiness
might
result
from
the
success
of
the
object
for
which
his
disguise
was
assumed
.
It
was
just
twenty
minutes
past
nine
when
he
arrived
at
the
cafe
Jean
Jacques
.
He
dismissed
the
fiacre
and
entered
.
The
apartment
devoted
to
customers
comprised
two
large
rooms
.
The
first
was
the
cafe
properly
speaking
;
the
second
,
opening
on
it
,
was
the
billiard-room
.
Conjecturing
that
he
should
probably
find
the
person
of
whom
he
was
in
quest
employed
at
the
billiard-table
,
Graham
passed
thither
at
once
.
A
tall
man
,
who
might
be
seven-and-forty
,
with
a
long
black
beard
,
slightly
grizzled
,
was
at
play
with
a
young
man
of
perhaps
twenty-eight
,
who
gave
him
odds
,
—
as
better
players
of
twenty-eight
ought
to
give
odds
to
a
player
,
though
originally
of
equal
force
,
whose
eye
is
not
so
quick
,
whose
hand
is
not
so
steady
,
as
they
were
twenty
years
ago
.
Said
Graham
to
himself
,
“
The
bearded
man
is
my
Vicomte
.
”
He
called
for
a
cup
of
coffee
,
and
seated
himself
on
a
bench
at
the
end
of
the
room
.
The
bearded
man
was
far
behind
in
the
game
.
It
was
his
turn
to
play
;
the
balls
were
placed
in
the
most
awkward
position
for
him
.
Graham
himself
was
a
fair
billiard-player
,
both
in
the
English
and
the
French
game
.
He
said
to
himself
,
“
No
man
who
can
make
a
cannon
there
should
accept
odds
.
”
The
bearded
man
made
a
cannon
;
the
bearded
man
continued
to
make
cannons
;
the
bearded
man
did
not
stop
till
he
had
won
the
game
.
The
gallery
of
spectators
was
enthusiastic
.
Taking
care
to
speak
in
very
bad
,
very
English-French
,
Graham
expressed
to
one
of
the
enthusiasts
seated
beside
him
his
admiration
of
the
bearded
man’s
playing
,
and
ventured
to
ask
if
the
bearded
man
were
a
professional
or
an
amateur
player
.
“
Monsieur
,
”
replied
the
enthusiast
,
taking
a
short
cutty-pipe
from
his
mouth
,
“
it
is
an
amateur
,
who
has
been
a
great
player
in
his
day
,
and
is
so
proud
that
he
always
takes
less
odds
than
he
ought
of
a
younger
man
.
It
is
not
once
in
a
month
that
he
comes
out
as
he
has
done
to-night
;
but
to-night
he
has
steadied
his
hand
.
He
has
had
six
petits
verres
.
”
“
Ah
,
indeed
!
Do
you
know
his
name
?
”
“
I
should
think
so
:
he
buried
my
father
,
my
two
aunts
,
and
my
wife
.
”
“
Buried
?
”
said
Graham
,
more
and
more
British
in
his
accent
;
“
I
don’t
understand
.
”
“
Monsieur
,
you
are
English
.
”
“
I
confess
it
.
”
“
And
a
stranger
to
the
Faubourg
Montmartre
.
”
“
True
.
”
“
Or
you
would
have
heard
of
M
.
Giraud
,
the
liveliest
member
of
the
State
Company
for
conducting
funerals
.
They
are
going
to
play
La
Poule
.
”
Much
disconcerted
,
Graham
retreated
into
the
cafe
,
and
seated
himself
haphazard
at
one
of
the
small
tables
.
Glancing
round
the
room
,
he
saw
no
one
in
whom
he
could
conjecture
the
once
brilliant
Vicomte
.
The
company
appeared
to
him
sufficiently
decent
,
and
especially
what
may
be
called
local
.
There
were
some
blouses
drinking
wine
,
no
doubt
of
the
cheapest
and
thinnest
;
some
in
rough
,
coarse
dresses
,
drinking
beer
.
These
were
evidently
English
,
Belgian
,
or
German
artisans
.
At
one
table
,
four
young
men
,
who
looked
like
small
journeymen
,
were
playing
cards
.
At
three
other
tables
,
men
older
,
better
dressed
,
probably
shop-keepers
,
were
playing
dominos
.
Graham
scrutinized
these
last
,
but
among
them
all
could
detect
no
one
corresponding
to
his
ideal
of
the
Vicomte
de
Mauleon
.
“
Probably
,
”
thought
he
,
“
I
am
too
late
,
or
perhaps
he
will
not
be
here
this
evening
.
At
all
events
,
I
will
wait
a
quarter
of
an
hour
.
”
Then
,
the
garcon
approaching
his
table
,
he
deemed
it
necessary
to
call
for
something
,
and
,
still
in
strong
English
accent
,
asked
for
lemonade
and
an
evening
journal
.
The
garcon
nodded
and
went
his
way
.
A
monsieur
at
the
round
table
next
his
own
politely
handed
to
him
the
“
Galignani
,
”
saying
in
very
good
English
,
though
unmistakably
the
good
English
of
a
Frenchman
,
“
The
English
journal
,
at
your
service
.
”
Graham
bowed
his
head
,
accepted
the
“
Galignani
,
”
and
inspected
his
courteous
neighbour
.
A
more
respectable-looking
man
no
Englishman
could
see
in
an
English
country
town
.
He
wore
an
unpretending
flaxen
wig
,
with
limp
whiskers
that
met
at
the
chin
,
and
might
originally
have
been
the
same
colour
as
the
wig
,
but
were
now
of
a
pale
gray
,
—
no
beard
,
no
mustache
.
He
was
dressed
with
the
scrupulous
cleanliness
of
a
sober
citizen
,
—
a
high
white
neckcloth
,
with
a
large
old-fashioned
pin
,
containing
a
little
knot
of
hair
covered
with
glass
or
crystal
,
and
bordered
with
a
black
framework
,
in
which
were
inscribed
letters
,
—
evidently
a
mourning
pin
,
hallowed
to
the
memory
of
lost
spouse
or
child
,
—
a
man
who
,
in
England
,
might
be
the
mayor
of
a
cathedral
town
,
at
least
the
town-clerk
