CHAPTER II.

On quitting the dining-room, the Duchesse de Tarascon said to her host,

on whose arm she was leaning, “Of course you and I must go with the

stream. But is not all the fine talk that has passed to-day at your

table, and in which we too have joined, a sort of hypocrisy? I may say

this to you; I would say it to no other.”

“And I say to you, Madame la Duchesse, that which I would say to no

other. Thinking over it as I sit alone, I find myself making a ‘terrible

hazard;’ but when I go abroad and become infected by the general

enthusiasm, I pluck up gaiety of spirit, and whisper to myself, ‘True,

but it may be an enormous gain.’ To get the left bank of the Rhine is

a trifle; but to check in our next neighbour a growth which a few years

hence would overtop us,--that is no trifle. And, be the gain worth the

hazard or not, could the Emperor, could any Government likely to hold

its own for a week, have declined to take the chance of the die?”

The Duchesse mused a moment, and meanwhile the two seated themselves on

a divan in the corner of the salon. Then she said very slowly--

“No Government that held its tenure on popular suffrage could have done

so. But if the Emperor had retained the personal authority which once

allowed the intellect of one man to control and direct the passions of

many, I think the war would have been averted. I have reason to know

that the Emperor gave his emphatic support to the least bellicose

members of the Council, and that Gramont’s speech did not contain the

passage that precipitates hostilities when the Council in which it

was framed broke up. These fatal Ministers found the Chamber, and the

reports of the popular excitement which could not be resisted without

imminent danger of revolution. It is Paris that has forced the war on

the Emperor. But enough of this subject. What must be, must, and, as you

say, the gain may be greater than the hazard. I come to something else

you whispered to me before we went in to dinner,--a sort of complaint

which wounds me sensibly. You say I had assisted to a choice of danger

and possibly of death a very distant connection of mine, who might have

been a very near connection of yours. You mean Alain de Rochebriant?”

“Yes; I accept him as a suitor for the hand of my only daughter.”

“I am so glad, not for your sake so much as for his. No one can know

him well without appreciating in him the finest qualities of the finest

order of the French noble; but having known your pretty Valerie so long,

my congratulations are for the man who can win her. Meanwhile, hear my

explanation: when I promised Alain any interest I can command for

the grade of officer in a regiment of Mobiles, I knew not that he had

formed, or was likely to form, ties or duties to keep him at home. I

withdraw my promise.”

“No, Duchesse, fulfil it. I should be disloyal indeed if I robbed a

sovereign under whose tranquil and prosperous reign I have acquired,

with no dishonour, the fortune which Order proffers to Commerce, of one

gallant defender in the hour of need. And, speaking frankly, if Alain

were really my son, I think I am Frenchman enough to remember that

France is my mother.”

“Say no more, my friend--say no more,” cried the Duchesse, with the

warm blood of the heart rushing through all the delicate coatings of

pearl-powder. “If every Frenchman felt as you do; if in this Paris of

ours all hostilities of class may merge in the one thought of the common

country; if in French hearts there yet thrills the same sentiment as

that which, in the terrible days when all other ties were rent asunder,

revered France as mother, and rallied her sons to her aid against the

confederacy of Europe,--why, then, we need not grow pale with dismay

at the sight of a Prussian needle-gun. Hist! look yonder: is not that a

tableau of Youth in Arcady? Worlds rage around, and Love, unconcerned,

whispers to Love!” The Duchesse here pointed to a corner of the

adjoining room in which Alain and Valerie sat apart, he whispering into

her ear; her cheek downcast, and, even seen at that distance, brightened

by the delicate tenderness of its blushes.

The Parisians — Complete · 第 2 / 18 章