among the flowery branches of the guelder roses to make their silvery balls quiver. Then she looked at herself in a mirror with serious attention. She held herself sidewise, her neck turned over

r look with tranquillity, as if this amiable woman whom she examined, and who

groups of old Saxony, and the paintings of Sevres, spoke of past glories. On a pedestal ornamented with precious bronzes, the marble bust of some princess royal disguised as Diana appeared about to fly out of her turbulent dr

e the title in gold: 'Yseult la Blonde', by Vivian Bell. It was a collection of French verses composed by an Englishwoman, and printed in London. She read indifferently, waiting for visitors, and thinking less of the poetry than of the poetess, Miss Bell, who was perhaps her most agreeable friend, and whom she almost never saw; who, at every one of their meetings, which were so rare, kissed her, calling her "darling," and babbled; who, plain yet seductive, almost ridiculous, yet wholly exquisite, lived at Fiesole like a philosopher, while E

in in Paris. But the idea of seeing Miss Bell in Italy was not indifferent to

entle hear

ideal of Miss Bell. The poetess had at Fiesole an escort, Prince Albertinelli. He was very handsome, but rather coars

herese. I am pos

lmost seemed to form a part of her dark beauty. She seated hers

ley and made him go with me to the bridge, where he wished to buy from the guardia

drag the Genera

had gout i

ged her shoul

ur wickedness. Y

ve my kindness and my wickedn

e her drink

approached with heavy state and sat between the two women, looking

r Martin-Bellem

he Chamber, and even that h

asked Madame Martin why she had not gone to Madame Me

an play? Was

of the Duc d'Orleans. Monsieur Le Menil came to me and did me one of tho

egister, and stored away all usefu

ster who was in the Cabinet w

the portrait of the Duc d'Orleans. I said to him: 'Monsieur Garain, you are making a mistake. It is my sister-in-law who is an Orleanist. I am not.' At this moment Monsieur Le Menil cam

d met Le Menil the day before in the forest, gallop

ned the traditions of good horsemanship; t

ith fencing," he

niavine int

than ever. It is because she is bored. Nothing becomes her better than to be bored. Since we have been here, we h

umultuously, and fled, leav

yed him not to listen to

ed himself

e your poet

e Martin her preference for people who li

of that Monsieur Choulette, who vi

and women - nothing is sure. Life is a continual betrayal. Only that poor Miss

erson who looks, with her yellow w

sed the opinion that she

d eyes, came in suddenly - Madame Marmet and M. Paul Vence. Then, carrying himself very stiffly, with a

t had dined often with the author, a young and ver

are tiresome. But men are more tiresome

a horror of naturalism. She was the widow of a member of the 'Academie des Inscriptions', and plumed hers

she wished to consult him particularly on t

may also give me your opinion, Monsieur

ce through his monocle with disdain.

d be nothing. But you have only beautiful thi

de him celebrated. His ill-health, his dark humor, his assiduous labor, separated him from society. The little bilious man was not very pleasing; yet he attracted her. She held in hig

ndal, the eyes of a child and cheeks of virginal smoothness; old Madame de Morlaine, who shouted her witty phrases in piercing cries; Madame Raymond, the wife of the Academician; Madame Garain, the wife of the exm

ism is a pearl, a jewel!

room, young clubmen, very gr

o get the button

. His wife,

philosophy. One of them had

esent yourself for admission to a club. They say, 'I promise to give you a white ball. It will be an a

n't thin

s in a lowered voice. And at every strange revelation concerning Madame R

ody kno

of visitors dispersed. Only Mada

toward Madame Ma

me to introduce

his of her. She did not like to see n

Mars medallions made by him which are very good. Bu

alone. I have known him since his childhood. People think that he is solitary and morose. He is passionate and timid. What he lacks, what he will lack always to reach the highest point of his art, is simplicity of mind

Marmet

lity by not squandering it. Either because she liked Madame Martin, or because she knew how to give discreet marks of preference in every house

eur Vence, do you know Toby? He has long s

, almost blind under his golden spectacles, rather short, striking against the furniture, bowing to empty armch

thers, pressed their creditors, the peasants of Alsace, of Poland, and of the Crimea. He dragged his phrases heavily. This great philologist knew all languages except French. And Madam

to know him, and went out

t decorated enough, not provided with sinecures enough, nor well fed enough by the State - he, Madame Schmoll, and t

-spectacled eyes toward the table

eep over a shade.' You hear, Madame? 'A shade may weep over a shade.' Well, those words are translated literally from a funeral inscription which I was the first to publish and to illustrate. Last year, one day, when I was dining at your house, being placed by the side of Mademoisell

ated, in hi

, am the s

, in the rhymes. He wished to see his name everywhere, and always looked for it in the journals with which his pockets were stuffed. But he had no r

if he knew why that good Madame Marmet had looked at M. Schmoll with s

ow anything

l and Marmet is famous. It ceas

under his umbrella a speech full of jovial cruelty and triumphant pity, which he took afterward to the newspapers in a mourning carriage. An indi

vestige of which is lost. Schmoll said continually to Marmet: 'You do not know Etruscan, my dear colleague; that is the reason why you are an honorable savant and a fair-minded ma

asked what a

owing that in that memoir poor Marmet quoted Latin texts and quoted them wrong. Schmoll

ness, he got angry. Schmoll is without rancor. It is a virtue of his race. He does not bear ill-will to those whom he persecutes. One day, as he went up the stairway of the Institute with Renan and Oppert, he met Marmet, and extended his hand

them dine togethe

not immoral, b

but if I had to choose, I should like bett

ith a long moustache, entered, a

think that you know

aw each other often at the Fencing Club. The

e's a house where one is

Robert Le Menil. "I do not exaggerate

Martin

occupied by the women more than by the Academicians. You escorted

t wo

r. We thought that with so pretty a wom

Vence

e? He has a great desire to know you, and I hope he will not d

"People that are natural and show themselves as th

listened until the noise of footste

ree o'clock? Do y

wered that it was late, that she expected no more vi

ted. Then

rrow all day. Wait for

n at the other side of the chimney, he asked who wa

duced to me. He is to be intro

that she needed to

They are us

ulpture! But if it annoys you that

ety took any part of the t

in of that. I did not even go

lf there as little as possibl

tended on the arms of the chair in charming restfulness, her head inclined, looked at the dying embers in the grate. Her thoughtful mood had flown. Nothing of it remained on her face, a little saddened,

inking. Escaping the magic of t

places, to the odd districts where the poor peopl

t he thought it absurd. The walks that she led him sometimes b

successful until now i

ook he

us? Whether they know or do not know, they talk.

some reason which she would not tell. He bent upon her beautiful, gra

ne talks about me. And what

d was waiting for him. She followed him with her eyes, with

s, and the bench on which she had wept and desired death. To-day she still ignored the cause of her youthful despair, when the ardent awakening of her imagination threw her into a troubled maze of desires

Why? I felt around me the insipid taste of life, and seemed to inhale the future like a salt and pungent

ss and honesty, and treated with the Government as if he were a foreign power. She had grown up in the historical castle of Joinville, bought, restored, and magnificently furnished by her father. Montessuy made life give all it could yield. An instinctive and powerful atheist, he wanted all the goods of thi

h held a ceiling on which Lebrun had painted the Titans struck by Jupiter. There, in the iron cot, placed at the foot of the large bed, she di

free, too bold at heart; and she divined in Therese, although she was sweet and good, the strong Montessuy blo

he breakfasted with her almost every day, and sometimes took her out walking. He understood gowns and furbelows. He instructed and formed Therese. He amused her. Near he

f her childhood. She was persuaded that no m

re, such a plenitude of active and thinking forces. This discouragement had follow

, embarrassed by the care of a girl, had wished to do things quickly and well. He considered the exterior advantages, estimated the e

of making a display of grandeur, the vulgar pride, the material domination, which were for him all the value of life, as he

ed so badly with his own experiences and ideas regarding women, she

thing behind. Six years had passed, and she did not even remember how she had regained her liberty, so prompt and easy had been her conquest of that husband, cold, sickly, selfish, and polite; of that man dried up and yellowed by business and politics, laborious, ambitious, and commonplace. He liked women only through vanity, and he never had loved his wife. The separation had been frank and comp

procession. He had captivated three generations of women, and had left in the heart of all those whom he had loved an imperishable memory. His virile grace, his quiet elegance, and his habit of pleasing had prolonged his youth far beyond the ordinary term of years. He noticed particularly the young Countess Martin. The homage of this expert flattered her. She thought of him now wit

t her real self; what awakened her nature at last was the fact that she believed in the sincerity of his sentiment. She had yielded as soon as she had felt that she was loved. She had given herself, quickly, simply. He thought that she had yielded easily. He was mistaken. She had felt the discouragement which the irreparable gives, and that sort of shame which comes of having sudde

er feel it? She was the friend of the good and honest fellow, much liked by women who passed for disdainful and hard to please, and he had a true affection for her. The pleas

sympathies were not in their minds. Her inclination toward him was simple and frank, and at this moment she found pleasure in the idea of meeting him the next day in the little apartment where they had met f

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