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Updated: July 6, 2025
"You are mistaken," said Susie to Bettina; "there is some one." "A peasant; they don't count; they won't ask me to marry them." "It is not a peasant at all. Look!" Paul de Lavardens, while passing the carriage, made the two sisters a highly correct bow, from which one at once scented the Parisian. The ponies were going at such a rate that the meeting was over like a flash of lightning.
The old Cure would have dearly liked to keep Jean with him, and his heart was torn at the thought of this separation, but what was for the child's real interest? That was the only question to be considered; the rest was nothing. They summoned Jean. "My child," said Madame de Lavardens to him, "will you come and live with Paul and me for some years? I will take you both to Paris."
Bettina thought of young Turner, young Norton, of Paul de Lavardens, who would sleep calmly till ten in the morning, while Jean was exposed to this deluge. Paul de Lavardens! This name awoke in her a painful memory, the memory of that waltz the evening before. To have danced like that, while Jean was so obviously in trouble!
All his life he had been that, had dreamed of nothing else. He loved his little church, the little village, and his little vicarage. Still in pensive mood, he was passing the park of Lavardens when he heard some one calling him. Looking up, he saw the Countess of Lavardens and her son Paul.
Continuing his account, Paul launched into an enthusiastic description of the mansion, which was a marvel "Of bad taste and ostentation," interrupted Madame de Lavardens. "Not at all, mother, not at all; nothing startling, nothing loud. It is admirably furnished, everything done with elegance and originality.
The little provincial milliners and grisettes replaced, without rendering him obvious of, the little singers and actresses of Paris. By searching for them, one may still find grisettes in country towns, and Paul de Lavardens sought assiduously.
The Cure, till now, had, thought that there was nothing in the world more sumptuous than the Episcopal palace of Souvigny, or the castles of Lavardens and Longueval.
M. de Lavardens died in 1869; he left a son fourteen years of age, in whom were already visible all the defects and all the good qualities of his father. Without being seriously affected, the fortune of Madame de Lavardens was slightly compromised, slightly diminished.
"Yes yes it is settled," they said; "anything that you wish, all that you wish." Both had the same thought leave it to time; Jean is only a child; he will change his mind. In this, both were mistaken; Jean did not change his mind. In the month of September, 1876, Paul de Lavardens was rejected at Saint-Cyr, and Jean Reynaud passed eleventh at the Ecole Polytechnique.
The Cure, till now, had, thought that there was nothing in the world more sumptuous than the Episcopal palace of Souvigny, or the castles of Lavardens and Longueval.
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