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"To be sure; I forgot that the Minister of War had commissioned him to erect a monument to one of our late customers. Ah! the house has supplied many an uniform to General Montcornet; he soon blackened them with the smoke of cannon. A brave man, he was! and he paid on the nail."
Emile Blondet, the young Count's fellow-townsman, was a man of letters on the outskirts of society to which he had been introduced by a charming woman from the same province. This was one of the Vicomte de Troisville's daughters, now married to the Comte de Montcornet, one of those of Napoleon's generals who went over to the Bourbons.
To keep, as Madame de Montcornet did, a man of talent in the country without ever seeing on his face the false smile of satiety, or detecting the yawn of a weariness that cannot be concealed, is a great triumph for a woman. The affection which is equal to such a test certainly ought to be eternal.
As it was, I have profited by the malevolent curiosity which induces that amiable lepidopter to insinuate himself into all studios. It is all jotted down in his notebook. That statement, I think, would somewhat reduce the admiration of his hearers in the salon Montcornet did they know of it.
The prefect, Comte Martial de la Roche-Hugon, had been a friend of the general since 1804; and it was a word from him said to Montcornet in a conversation in Paris, which brought about the purchase of Les Aigues. Comte Martial, a prefect under Napoleon, remained a prefect under the Bourbons, and courted the bishop to retain his place.
"Bless me, you boil over like milk at the least increase of temperature!" cried the Colonel, a little nettled at so soon finding a rival in his friend. "What!" exclaimed the lawyer, without heeding the Colonel's question. "Can nobody here tell us the name of this exotic flower?" "Some lady companion!" said Montcornet. "What next?
Madame de Montcornet had her taught to sew and to make dresses, arranged that she should take her meals alone, and was rewarded for the care she bestowed on Olympe Charel by one of those unconditional attachments which are so precious to Parisians.
She slipped away when the carriage was announced, with a pressure of the hand to the marquise, and an inclination of the head to Madame de Montcornet. The evening concluded without any allusion to the princess. The other guests profited by the sort of exaltation which d'Arthez had reached, for he put forth the treasures of his mind.
Gambling went on there. Valerie herself was soon spoken of as an agreeable and witty woman. To account for her change of style, a rumor was set going of an immense legacy bequeathed to her by her "natural father," Marshal Montcornet, and left in trust. With an eye to the future, Valerie had added religious to social hypocrisy.
Leave me, I entreat you. I feel more like blowing out my brains this evening, I assure you, than I hate everything I see. And, in fact, I am going. This gaiety, this music, these stupid faces, all laughing, are killing me!" "My poor friend!" replied Montcornet gently, and giving the Count's hand a friendly pressure, "you are too vehement.
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