ROGER DE MONBERT _to_ MONSIEUR EDGAR DE MEILHAN,
Pont de l'Arche (Eure).
PARIS, July 2d 18--.
Do you believe, my dear Edgar, that it is easy to live when the age of
love is passed? Verily one must be able to love his whole lifetime if he
wishes to live an enchanted life, and die a painless death. What a
seductive game! what unexpected luck! How many moments delightfully
employed! Each day has its particular history; at night we delight in
telling it over to ourselves, and indulge in the wildest conjectures as
to what will be the events of each to-morrow. The reality of to-day
defeats the anticipations of yesterday. We hope one moment and despair
the next--now dejected, now elated. We alternate between death and
blissful life.
The other morning at nine o'clock we stopped at the stage-office at Sens
for ten minutes. I went into the hotel and questioned everybody, and
found they had seen many young ladies of the age, figure and beauty of
Mlle. de Chateaudun.
Happy people they must be!
However, I only asked all these questions to amuse myself during the ten
minutes' relay. My mind was at rest--for the police are infallible;
everything will be explained at the Château de Lorgeville. I stopped my
carriage some yards from the gate, got out and walked up the long
avenue, being concealed by the large trees through which I caught
glimpses of the château.
It was a large symmetrical building--a stone quadrangle, heavily topped
off by a dark slate roof, and a dejected-looking weathercock that
rebelled against the wind and declined to move.
All the windows in the front of the house were tear-stained at the base
by the winter rains.
A modern entrance, with double flights of steps decorated by four vases
containing four dead aloe-stems buried in straw, betrayed the cultivated
taste of the handsome Léon.
I expected to see the shadow of a living being.... No human outline
broke the tranquil shade of the trees.
An accursed dog, man's worst enemy, barked furiously, and made violent
efforts to break his rope and fly at me.... I hope he is tied with a
gordian knot if he wishes to see the setting sun!
Finally a gardener enjoying a sinecure came to enliven this landscape
without a garden; he strolled down the avenue with the nonchalance of a
workman paid by the handsome Léon.
I am able to distinguish among the gravest faces those that can relax
into a smile at the sight of gold. The gardener passed before me, and
after he had bestowed upon me the expected smile, I said to him:
"Is this Mad. de Lorgeville's château?"
He made an affirmative sign. Once more I bowed to the genius of the
Jerusalem street goddess.
I said to the gardener in a solemn tone: "Here is a letter of the
greatest importance; you must hand it to Mlle. de Chateaudun when she is
alone." I then showed him my purse and said: "After that, this money is
yours."
"The sweet young lady!" said the gardener, walking off towards the
château with the gold in one hand, the letter in the other, and the
purse in his eye--"The good young lady! it is a long time since she has
received a love-letter."
I said to myself, The handsome Léon does not indulge in
letter-writing--he has a good reason for that.