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Updated: June 5, 2025
The Duc d'Herouville arrived at last to arrange for Modeste's departure; after crossing the Seine she was to be conveyed in the duke's caleche, accompanied by the Demoiselles d'Herouville. The duke was charmingly courteous, he begged Canalis and La Briere to be of the party, assuring them, as he did the colonel, that he had taken particular care that hunters should be provided for them.
"Let us wait and see what this is," and the vicomte touched the Chevalier on the arm. "Curse you all!" cried D'Hérouville passionately. "Liar!" He turned upon Victor. "But for your lying tongue, I should not be here." "After Monsieur le Chevalier," said the poet, forgetting that he could not hold a sword. "Rather say after me, Saumaise;" and the vicomte smiled significantly.
Mademoiselle d'Herouville had contrived to wound that worthy man by sending a footmen to tell him to come to her, instead of sending her nephew in person; thus depriving the notary of a distinguished visit he would certainly have talked about for the rest of his natural life.
During his stay in Paris the duke had avenged the death of Maximilien by killing his son's adversary, and he had planned for Etienne an alliance with the heiress of a branch of the house of Grandlieu, a tall and disdainful beauty, who was flattered by the prospect of some day bearing the title of Duchesse d'Herouville. The duke expected to oblige his son to marry her.
The vicomte started toward the companionway. The Chevalier lay in his bunk, in profound slumber. Breton was dozing over his Rabelais. The clothes on the hooks moved but slightly. As the two visitors entered, the lackey lifted his head and placed a finger against his lips. "He sleeps?" whispered the vicomte. Breton nodded, eying d'Hérouville with disapproval.
Du Tillet came with the Brazilian, the hero of the feast; the Duc d'Herouville followed with Josepha. The singer wore a plain velvet gown, but she had on a necklace worth a hundred and twenty thousand francs, pearls hardly distinguishable from her skin like white camellia petals.
For eight days the heiress continued to be to her three lovers very much what she had been during that evening; so that the poet appeared to carry the day against his rivals, in spite of certain freaks and caprices which from time to time gave the Duc d'Herouville a little hope.
"You?" interrupted the Baroness, with tears in her eyes. "Oh, what can I do for you? I can only pray " "I and Monsieur le Duc d'Herouville," the singer said, "a noble soul, a true gentleman " and Josepha related the settling and marriage of Monsieur Thoul. "And so, thanks to you, mademoiselle, the Baron has wanted nothing?" "We have done our best to that end, madame." "And where is he now?"
From behind a clumb of hazel the vicomte came forth, a sword in his hand. It was the tone, not the words, which enveloped madame's heart in a film of ice. One way or the other, it did not matter, she was lost. "Guard the Chevalier, men!" cried D'Hérouville, wheeling. "We shall wipe out all bad debts while we are at it. D'Halluys, look to yourself!"
Oh, what is his name? a dwarf. Ah, the Duc d'Herouville. This fine gentleman insists on having Josepha for his very own, and all that set are talking about it; the Baron knows nothing of it as yet; for it is the same in the Thirteenth Arrondissement as in every other: the lover, like the husband, is last to get the news. "Now, do you understand my claim?
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