HOW COMMON SENSE FOUGHT AND TRIUMPHED
General Ratoneau found himself a hero at Madame de Sainfoy's dinner
party, and was gratified. A new-comer, he had hardly yet made his way
into provincial society, except by favour of the Prefect. Even the old
families who regarded the Prefect as partly one of themselves, and for
his birth and manners forgave his opinions, found a difficulty in
swallowing the General. The idea that he was unwelcome, when it
penetrated Ratoneau's brain, added to the insolence of his bearing. To
teach these ignorant provincial nobles a lesson, to show these poor and
proud people, returned from emigration, that they need not imagine the
France of 1811 to be the same country as the France of 1788, to make
them feel that they were subjects of the Emperor Napoleon and inferior
to his officers--all this seemed to General Ratoneau part of his mission
in Anjou. And at the same time it was the wish of his heart to be
received as a friend and an equal by the very people he pretended to
despise.
Lancilly enchanted him. Though the stately halls and staircases were
bare, the great rooms half-furnished and dark--for Madame de Sainfoy
had not yet carried out her plans of decoration--though there were few
servants, no great display of splendid plate, no extravagance in the
dinner itself, no magnificence in the ladies' dresses, for at this time
simplicity was the fashion--yet everything pleased him, because of the
perfections of his hostess. Madame de Sainfoy laid herself out to
flatter him, to put him in a good humour with himself. Rather to the
disgust of various old neighbours who had not dined at Lancilly for more
than twenty years, she placed the Prefect and the General on her right
and left at dinner, and while the Prefect made himself agreeable to an
old lady on his right, whose satin gown was faded and her ancient lace
in rags, she devoted all her powers of talk to the General.
In a way she admired the man. His extraordinary likeness to his master
attracted her, for she was a hearty worshipper of Napoleon. She talked
of Paris, the Empress, the Court; she talked of her son and his
campaigns, asking the General's opinion and advice, but cleverly leading
him off when he began to brag of his own doings; so cleverly that he had
no idea of her tactics. He was a little dazzled. She was a very handsome
woman; her commanding fairness, her wonderful smile, the movements of
her lovely hands and arms, the almost confidential charm of her manner;
she was worthy to be an Empress herself, Ratoneau thought, and his
admiration went on growing. He began to talk to her of his most private
affairs and wishes, and she listened more and more graciously.
It was a large party; many of the old provincial families were
represented there. All the company talked and laughed in the gayest
manner, though now and then eyes would light on the hostess' left-hand
neighbour with a kind of disgusted fascination, and somebody would be
silent for a minute or two, or murmur a private remark in a neighbour's
ear. One lady, an old friend and plain of speech, turned thus to Urbain
de la Marinière:--
"Why does Adélaïde exert herself to entertain that creature?"
"Because, madame," he answered, smiling, "Adélaïde is the most sensible
and practical woman of our acquaintance."
"Mon Dieu! But what does she expect to get by it?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
Angelot, the youngest man present, had been allowed to take his cousin
Hélène in to dinner. Two minutes of happiness; for the arrangement of
the table separated them by its whole length. But it had been enough to
bring a smile and a tinge of lovely colour to Hélène's face, and to give
her the rare feeling that happiness, after all, was a possibility. Then
she found herself next to a person who, after Angelot, seemed to her
the most delightful she had ever met; who asked her friendly questions,
told her stories, watched her, in the intervals of his talk with others,
with eyes full of admiration and a deep amusement which she did not
understand, but which set her heart beating oddly and pleasantly, as she
asked herself if Angelot could possibly have said anything to this dear
uncle of his.
Poor Angelot! he looked unhappy enough, there in the distance, sitting
in most unusual sulks and silence.
There was an opportunity for a word, as he led her back from the
dining-room, through the smaller salon, into the large lighted room
where all the guests had preceded them.
"I don't wonder that you love your uncle," she said to him.
"I don't love him, when I see him talking to you. I am too jealous."
"How absurd!"
"Besides, I am angry with him. He has not done something that I asked
him. Delay is dangerous, and I live in terror."
"What?" she asked, turning a little white.
"If you would give me the Empire, I could not tell you now."
They were in the salon. He put his heels together and bowed; she swept
him a curtsey.
"Help me to hand the coffee," she said under her breath.
So it came to pass, when the coffee-table was brought in, that they
walked up together to the new sofa, polished mahogany and yellow satin,
finished with winged Sphinxes in gilded bronze, where Madame de Sainfoy
and General Ratoneau were sitting side by side.
The Prefect, of course, had brought his hostess back from the
dining-room and had stood talking to her for a few minutes afterwards.
But the General, having deposited his lady, came clanking up almost
immediately to rejoin Madame de Sainfoy.
"Allow me, my dear Prefect," he said. "I have not finished an
interesting talk with Madame la Comtesse."
Monsieur de Mauves looked at him, then glanced at her with a questioning
smile.
"Yes, it is true. We had just touched on a subject of the very deepest
interest," she said.
Her look, her smile, seemed to glide over the Prefect's tall figure and
pleasant face, as if he was merely a not disagreeable obstacle, to rest
thoughtfully, with satisfaction, on Ratoneau in his gorgeous uniform.
"Listen! I will confide in you, and then you will understand," said the
General, seizing the Prefect's arm. "I am going to consult Madame la
Comtesse on the subject of a marriage."
He showed his teeth in a broad smile, staring into the Prefect's face,
which did not change in its expression of easy good-humour.
"Whose marriage, may I ask? Your own?"
"You have said it, monsieur. My own. Could I do better?"
"You could not have a better counsellor. I retire at once," said the
Prefect.
Then an idea crossed his mind, for just as he was met, with a friendly
greeting--"A word with you, Monsieur le Préfet"--from Joseph de la
Marinière, his eyes fell on Hélène de Sainfoy as she turned away from
Angelot at the door. He had already admired her at a distance, so far
the most beautiful thing at Lancilly, in spite of the oppressed and
weary air that suited so ill with her fresh girlhood.
"Mon Dieu, what a sacrilege! But no, impossible!" said the Prefect to
himself.
Several young people were carrying the coffee-cups about the room,
Sophie and Lucie in white frocks among them. It was generally the part
of the young girls; the men did not often help them, so that Madame de
Sainfoy looked at Angelot with surprise, and a shade of displeasure,
when he approached her with Hélène.
Angelot was perfectly grave and self-possessed. On his side, no one
would have known that he had ever met General Ratoneau before, certainly
not that he regarded him as an enemy. He hardly changed colour, even
when Ratoneau waved him aside with a scowl, and stretched across him,
without rising, to take his cup from Hélène.
"Come," he said, "I'll have my coffee from those pretty hands, or not at
all."
Hélène looked up startled, and met the man's bold eyes. Angelot turned
away instantly, and in a few seconds more she had joined him, and they
were attending to other guests. Angelot commanded himself nobly; his
time for punishing the General would come some day, but was not yet. As
he and his cousin walked together along the room, the Vicomte des
Barres, Monsieur Joseph's friend, pointed them out to Madame de la
Marinière.
"A pretty pair of cousins, madame!"
"Ah, yes," she said a little sadly. "I cannot always realise that Ange
is grown up. To see him, a man, in the salon at Lancilly, makes me feel
very old."
The Vicomte murmured smiling compliments, but they soon turned to talk
which was more serious, if not a little treasonable.
And in the meanwhile other eyes followed the two young people: Madame de
Sainfoy's, while she doubted whether it might be necessary to snub
Monsieur Ange de la Marinière; General Ratoneau's, with a long, steady,
considering gaze, at the end of which he turned to his hostess and said,
"You advise me to marry, madame! Give me your daughter."
For the moment, even the practical Madame de Sainfoy was both startled
and shocked; so much so that she lifted her fan to hide the change in
her face. But she collected herself instantly, and lowered it with a
smile.
"Indeed, Monsieur le Général, you do us great honour"--she began. "But
you were good enough to ask my advice, and I should not, I think--in
fact, my daughter is still rather young, rather unformed, for such a
position--and then--"
"She is nineteen, I know," said General Ratoneau. "Too young for me, you
think? Well, I am forty-two, the same age as the Emperor, and he married
a young wife last year."
"You wish to resemble His Majesty in every way," said Madame de Sainfoy,
smiling graciously; it was necessary to say something.
"I am like him, I know--sapristi, it is an advantage. But I am a better
match in one way, madame. I have never been married. I have no wife to
get rid of, before offering myself to Mademoiselle de Sainfoy. She looks
like a good girl, and she is devilish pretty. I dare say she will do
what she likes with me. Anyhow, it is a good marriage for her, and for
me. I am well off, I shall not expect much money."
In Adélaïde de Sainfoy's heart there was amazement at herself for having
listened even so long and so patiently. This was indeed a trial of her
theories. But after all, common sense was stronger than sentiment.
"We must live in our own times," she reminded herself. "These are the
people of the future; the past is dead."
Her eyes wandered round the room. Every man she saw there was a
gentleman, with ancestors, with manners, with traditions. Whether they
were returned emigrants or people who had by _force majeure_ accepted
the Revolution and the Empire, all bore the stamp of that old world
which they alone kept in memory. Differences of dress, a new simplicity,
ease and freedom, a revolt against formalities, these things made a
certain separation between the new country society and the old. But
gentlemen and ladies all her guests were, except the man who sat beside
her and asked for Hélène as coolly as if he were asking for one of her
dog's puppies.
Yet Madame de Sainfoy repeated to herself, "The past is dead!"
"You do us great honour," she repeated; for so strong-minded a person,
the tone and words were vague.
"That is precisely what you do not think, madame," said Ratoneau,
looking her straight in the face with a not unpleasant smile.
She was very conscious of the resolute will, the power to command, which
the man possessed in common with his master. Who could refuse Napoleon
anything? except a man or woman here and there with whom the repulsion
was stronger than the attraction. Adélaïde de Sainfoy was not one of
these.
"You are mistaken; I do," she said, and smiled back with all her
brilliancy.
"It is true," he said, "I am not yet a Duke, or a Marshal of France,
like the others. I have had enemies--envious people: my very wounds,
marks of honour, have come between me and glory. But next year, madame,
when I have swept the Chouans out of the West, you will see. I have a
friend at Court, now, besides. One of the Empress's equerries, Monsieur
Monge, is an old brother-in-arms of mine. The Emperor has ennobled him;
he is the Baron de Beauclair--a prettier name than Monge, n'est-ce pas?"
"But that is charming! Tell me more about this friend of yours," said
Madame de Sainfoy, rather eagerly.
This was a new view, a new possibility. Ratoneau knew what he was doing;
he had not forgotten the Prefect's remark at Les Chouettes, some days
before, as to Madame de Sainfoy's ambition of a place at Court for
herself, as lady-in-waiting to the Empress. For a minute or two he
swaggered on about his friend Monge; then suddenly turned again upon the
Comtesse.
"But my answer, madame! There, you must excuse me; I am a rough soldier;
I am not accustomed to wait for anything. When I want a thing, I ask for
it. When it is not given at once--"
"You take it, I suppose? Yes: the wonder is that you should ask at all!"
said Madame de Sainfoy.
Her look and smile seemed to turn the words, which might have been very
scornful, into an easy little jest; but none the less they were a
slight check on the airs of this conquering hero. He laughed.
"Well, madame, you are right, I withdraw the words. If you refuse my
request, I shall have to make my bow, I suppose. But you will not."
She leaned back with lowered eyelids, playing with her fan.
"At this moment," she said, "I can only give you a word of
advice--Patience, Monsieur le Général. For myself I will speak frankly.
I am entirely loyal to the Empire and the Army; they are the glory of
France. I think a brave soldier is worthy of any woman. Personally, this
sudden idea of yours does not at all displease me. But I am not the only
or the chief person concerned. Monsieur de Sainfoy, too, has his own
ideas, and among them is an extreme indulgence of his daughter's
fancies. You observe, I am speaking to you in the frankest confidence. I
treat you as you treat me--" she glanced up and smiled. "Only this year,
in Paris, plans of mine have been spoilt in this way."
"But fortunately for me, madame!" exclaimed Ratoneau. "We will not
regret those plans, if you please. Shall I speak to Monsieur de Sainfoy
this evening?"
"No, I beg! Say nothing at all. Leave the affair in my hands. I promise,
I will do my best for you."
She spoke low and hurriedly, for her husband was walking up to the
retired corner where she and the General were sitting, and she, knowing
his humours so well, could see that he was surprised and a little angry
at the confidences which had been going on.
It was one of Hervé's tiresome points, unworthy of a man of the world,
that he did not always let her go her own way without question, though
he ought to have learnt by this time to trust her in everything.
He now came up and asked General Ratoneau if he would play a game of
billiards. Most of the men had already left the salon. The General
grunted an assent, and rose stiffly to follow his host, with a grave bow
to Madame de Sainfoy. The Comte walked with him half across the room,
then suddenly turned back to meet his wife, whose preoccupation he had
noticed rather curiously.
"You have other guests, Adélaïde!" he said, so that she alone could
hear.
"I have," she answered. "And I must talk to you presently. I have
something to say."
He gazed an instant into her eyes, which were very blue and shining, but
he found no answer to the question in his own, and hurried at once away.
Without the Prefect's scrap of information or his wider knowledge of
men, he did not even guess what those two could have been talking about.
Something political, he supposed; Adélaïde loved politics, and could
throw herself into them with anybody, even such a lump of arrogant
vulgarity as this fellow Ratoneau. She thought it wise, no doubt, to
cultivate imperial officials. But in that case why did she not bestow
the lion's share of her smiles on the Prefect, a greater man and a
gentleman into the bargain? Why did she let him waste his pleasant talk
on the dowagers of Anjou, while she sat absorbed with that animal?
The guests, thirty or more, were scattered between the billiard-room,
the smaller drawing-room, where card-tables were set out, and the large
drawing-room, given up to conversation and presently to the acting of a
proverb by several of the younger people and Mademoiselle Moineau, who
played the part of a great-grandmother to perfection.
Angelot so distinguished himself as a jealous lover that Hélène could
hardly sit calmly to look on, and several people told him and his mother
that his right place was at the _Français_.
"It is part of our life at La Marinière," Anne said with a shade of
impatience to the Prefect, who was talking to her. "When we are not
singing or playing or dancing or shooting, we are acting. It does not
sound like a very responsible kind of life."
"Ah, madame," Monsieur de Mauves said softly, in his kind way, "we
French people know how to play and to work at the same time. All these
little amusements do not hinder people from conspiring against the
State."
A flush rose in her thin face; she threw herself eagerly forward.
"Are you speaking of my son, Monsieur le Préfet? Do not blame him for
loyalty to his uncle. He is not a conspirator. Sometimes--" she
laughed--"I think Ange has not character enough."
"Yes, he has character," the Prefect answered. "But you are right in one
way, madame; he does not yet care enough for one cause or the other.
Something will draw him--some stronger love than this for his uncle."
"Heaven forbid!" sighed Madame de la Marinière.
For her eyes followed his. They fell on Hélène near the door, white and
fair, her face lit up with some new and sweet feeling as she laughed
with the little old governess dressed up in ancient brocades from a
chest in the garret, the dowager Marquise of the proverb just played.
And a little further, in the shadow of the doorway, stood Angelot in
powdered wig, silk coat, and sword, looking like a handsome courtier
from a group by Watteau, and his eyes showed plainly enough what woman,
if not what cause, attracted him at the moment. As to causes, Monsieur
Joseph and the Vicomte des Barres were deep in talk close by; two
Chouans consulting in the very presence of the Prefect.
Monsieur de Mauves smiled, took a delicate pinch of snuff, and stroked
his chin.
"Sometimes I congratulate myself, madame," he said, "on having no young
people to marry. Yet, with a sense of duty, which, thank God, they
generally have, they are more manageable than their elders. Look, for
instance, at your dear and charming brother-in-law. There he is hatching
fresh plots, when I have just assured him that the police are not
supervising him by my orders, and never shall, if I can trust him to
behave like a peaceable citizen."
"Ah, you are very good, Monsieur le Préfet," said Madame de la
Marinière. She went on talking absently. "Whatever we may think of your
politics," she said, "it seems a crime to annoy or disappoint you.
Indeed you do much to reconcile us. But as to Ange--his father's son is
never likely--"
"It is a world of surprises, dear madame," said the Prefect, as she did
not finish her sentence. "I wish him all that is good--and so I wish
that you and Monsieur de la Marinière would send him into the army. He
should serve France--should make her his only mistress, at least for the
next ten years. Then let him marry, settle down amongst us here--turn
against the Emperor, if he chooses--but by that time there will be no
danger!"
Thus flattering himself and his master, the Prefect wished her an almost
affectionate good night.
In a few minutes more, nearly all the guests were gone. Angelot, still
in his quaint acting costume, went out to the court with Monsieur de
Sainfoy to see the ladies into their carriages. He then went to change
his clothes, his cousin returning to the salon. Hurrying back into the
long hall, now empty of servants, vast and rather ghostly with its rows
of family portraits dimly lighted, while caverns of darkness showed
where passages opened and bare stone staircases led up or down, he saw
Hélène, alone, coming swiftly towards him.
She flew up the stairs, the last landing of which he had just reached on
his way down, where it turned sharply under a high barred window.
Meeting Angelot suddenly, she almost screamed, but stopped herself in
time. He laughed joyfully; he was wildly excited.
"Ah, belle cousine!" he said softly. "Dear, we shall say good night here
better than in the salon!"
Never once, since that hour in the garden ten days ago, had these two
met without witnesses. Hélène, as a rule, was far too well guarded for
that. She tried even now, but not successfully, to keep her rather
presumptuous lover at a little distance, but in truth she was too much
enchanted to see him, her only friend, for this pretence of coldness to
last long. Standing with Angelot's arms round her, trembling from head
to foot with joy and fear, she tried between his kisses and tender
words to tell him how indeed he must not stop her, for in real prosaic
truth Madame de Sainfoy had sent her off to bed.
"But why, why, dear angel, before we were all gone! It was the best
thing that could happen--but why?"
"That is what I do not know, and it frightens me a little," said Hélène.
"Frightened here with me!"
"Yes, Angelot!" She tried to speak, but he would hardly let her. She
held him back with both hands, and went on hurriedly--"It was mamma's
look--she looked at me so strangely, she spoke severely, as if I had
done wrong, and indeed I have, mon Dieu! but she does not know it, and I
hope she never may. If she knew, I believe she would kill me. Let me go,
I must!"
"One moment, darling! Come away with me! I will fetch a horse and carry
you off. Then it won't matter what any one knows!"
"You are distracted!" Hélène began to laugh, though her eyes were full
of tears. "Listen, listen," she said. "Your father and mother and uncle
were just going, when mamma called them back. She said to papa and them
that she wished to consult the family. Oh, what is it all about? What
can it be?"
"That matters very little as long as they don't want us. Let them talk.
What are you afraid of, my sweet?"
"I can't tell you. I hardly know," murmured Hélène; and in the next
instant she had snatched herself from him and flown upstairs.
There were quick steps in the hall below, and Monsieur Joseph's voice
was calling "Angelot!"