“Our Prefect, M. le Comte du Châtelet, Gentleman in Ordinary to
His Majesty, has just been appointed Extraordinary Councillor of
State.
“All the authorities called yesterday on M. le Préfèt.
“Mme. la Comtesse du Châtelet will receive on Thursdays.
“The Mayor of Escarbas, M. de Nègrepelisse, the representative of
the younger branch of the d’Espard family, and father of Mme. du
Châtelet, recently raised to the rank of a Count and Peer of
France and a Commander of the Royal Order of St. Louis, has been
nominated for the presidency of the electoral college of Angoulême
at the forthcoming elections.”
“There!” said Lucien, taking the paper to his sister. Eve read the
article with attention, and returned with the sheet with a thoughtful
air.
“What do you say to that?” asked he, surprised at a reserve that seemed
so like indifference.
“The Cointets are proprietors of that paper, dear,” she said; “they
put in exactly what they please, and it is not at all likely that the
prefecture or the palace have forced their hands. Can you imagine
that your old rival the prefect would be generous enough to sing
your praises? Have you forgotten that the Cointets are suing us under
Métivier’s name? and that they are trying to turn David’s discovery to
their own advantage? I do not know the source of this paragraph, but
it makes me uneasy. You used to rouse nothing but envious feeling
and hatred here; a prophet has no honor in his own country, and they
slandered you, and now in a moment it is all changed----”
“You do not know the vanity of country towns,” said Lucien. “A whole
little town in the south turned out not so long ago to welcome a young
man that had won the first prize in some competition; they looked on him
as a budding great man.”
“Listen, dear Lucien; I do not want to preach to you, I will say
everything in a very few words--you must suspect every little thing
here.”
“You are right,” said Lucien, but he was surprised at his sister’s lack
of enthusiasm. He himself was full of delight to find his humiliating
and shame-stricken return to Angoulême changed into a triumph in this
way.
“You have no belief in the little fame that has cost so dear!” he said
again after a long silence. Something like a storm had been gathering in
his heart during the past hour. For all answer Eve gave him a look, and
Lucien felt ashamed of his accusation.
Dinner was scarcely over when a messenger came from the prefecture with
a note addressed to M. Chardon. That note appeared to decide the day for
the poet’s vanity; the world contending against the family for him had
won.
“M. le Comte Sixte du Châtelet and Mme. la Comtesse du Châtelet request
the honor of M. Lucien Chardon’s company at dinner on the fifteenth of
September. R. S. V. P.”