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Updated: June 8, 2025
On the fifteenth of August a few friends are invited, but on Twelfth Night I am the only stranger. Well, this year, as every former year, I went to the Chantals' for my Epiphany dinner. According to my usual custom, I kissed M. Chantal, Madame Chantal and Mademoiselle Pearl, and I made a deep bow to the Misses Louise and Pauline.
Francis de Sales had founded, under the direction of Madame de Chantal, the order of Visitation, whose duty was the care of the sick and poor; he had left the direction of his new institution to M. Vincent, as was at that time the appellation of the poor priest without birth and without fortune, who was one day to be celebrated throughout the world under the name of St. Vincent de Paul.
I caught him by the hands and dragged him into his bedroom, muttering: "I beg your pardon, I beg your pardon, Monsieur Chantal, for having caused you such sorrow but I did not know you you understand." He squeezed my hand, saying: "Yes yes there are difficult moments." Then he plunged his face into a bowl of water.
At any rate, the person who rang three times at our door must have known my parents well, to have chosen them thus. "That is how, at the age of six weeks, Mademoiselle Pearl entered the Chantal household. "It was not until later that she was called Mademoiselle Pearl. She was at first baptized 'Marie Simonne Claire, Claire being intended, for her family name.
The young ladies: "Mademoiselle Pearl," and Chantal only addressed her as "Mademoiselle," with an air of greater respect, perhaps. I began to observe her. How old could she be? Forty? Yes, forty. She was not old, she made herself old. I was suddenly struck by this fact.
One day, with no reason at all, because a ray of sunshine happens to strike the seat, you suddenly think: "Why, that chair is very curious"; and then you discover that the wood has been worked by a real artist and that the material is remarkable. I had never taken any notice of Mademoiselle Pearl. She was a part of the Chantal family, that was all. But how? By what right?
"I say, Papa Ricardo, I want to ask you," she began. "What do you think of that Baronne de Chantal, whom you call Sainte, when her son threw himself across the threshold of their home to prevent her leaving the house, and she stepped across his body to go and be religieuse?" "It was the heroic act of a holy woman," the priest replied. "But I thought Home was the woman's sphere?" said Angelica.
When he had arrived the night before at the house in the Rue Chantal, Madame Merichat could tell him nothing of Mademoiselle Delaunay, who had not been heard of. Then he asked, his voice dying in his throat before the woman's hard and cynical stare the stare of one who found the chief savour of life in the misfortunes of her kind he asked for his sister and the Cervins.
Then, as she was dipping her lips in the clear wine, everybody cried: "The queen drinks! the queen drinks!" She almost turned purple and choked. Everybody was laughing; but I could see that all loved her. As soon as dinner was over Chantal took me by the arm. It was time for his cigar, a sacred hour.
One day, with no reason at all, because a ray of sunshine happens to strike the seat, you suddenly think: "Why, that chair is very curious"; and then you discover that the wood has been worked by a real artist and that the material is remarkable. I had never taken any notice of Mademoiselle Pearl. She was a part of the Chantal family, that was all. But how? By what right?
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