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Updated: July 22, 2025
He threatened jokingly to surprise her at Dinard. "Do not be afraid. They will not recognize me. I shall be disguised as a vender of plaster images. It will not be a lie. Dressed in gray tunic and trousers, my beard and face covered with white dust, I shall ring the bell of the Montessuy villa. You may recognize me, Therese, by the statuettes on the plank placed on my head.
"It is true," said Montessuy, "that if it were not for the railways the peasants would still wear their picturesque costumes of other times. But we should not see them." "What does it matter?" replied Madame Raymond. "We could imagine them." "But," asked the Princess Seniavine, "do you ever see interesting things? I never do."
She heard the heavy step of her father on the stairway. She hid her letter and opened the door. Montessuy asked her whether she felt better. "I came," he said, "to say good-night to you, and to ask you something. It is probable that I shall meet Le Menil at the races. He goes there every year. If I meet him, darling, would you have any objection to my inviting him to come here for a few days?
She was a daughter of that Montessuy, who, at first a clerk in a Parisian bank, founded and governed two great establishments, brought to sustain them the resources of a brilliant mind, invincible force of character, a rare alliance of cleverness and honesty, and treated with the Government as if he were a foreign power.
Montessuy came into the parlor joyfully. He had won the game. He sat beside Berthier-d'Eyzelles, and, taking a newspaper from the sofa, said: "The Minister of Finance announces that he will propose, when the Chamber reassembles, his savings-bank bill."
But the noise of footsteps which they heard, coming from the covered alley, made them stop for a moment, and they saw, through the leaves, Montessuy, with his arm around the Princess Seniavine's waist. Quietly they were walking toward the palace. Jacques and Therese, hiding behind the enormous Terminus god, waited until they had passed.
These reasons moved her not; but she felt a desire to be agreeable to her husband. She had received the day before a letter from her father, Monsieur Montessuy, who, without sharing the political views of his son-in-law and without giving any advice to his daughter, insinuated that society was beginning to gossip of the Countess Martin's mysterious sojourn at Florence among poets and artists.
She felt hammers of fire beating in her chest and remained immovable on the threshold. "You were waiting for me?" said Montessuy. "You are left alone to-day. I will escort you and Miss Bell." In the carriage, and in her room, she saw again the look of her lover, that cruel and dolorous look. She knew with what facility he fell into despair, the promptness of his will not to will.
"But you announce your going to everybody, yet you do not even know whether Madame Marmet can accompany you." "Oh, Madame Marmet will soon pack her boxes. Nothing keeps her in Paris except her dog. She will leave it to you; you may take care of it." "Does your father know of your project?" It was his last resource to invoke the authority of Montessuy.
Count Martin, in the face of the imperial centrepiece and of the winged Victorys, talked suitably of Napoleon as an organizer and administrator, and placed him in a high position as president of the state council, where his words threw light upon obscure questions. The anecdote was told to him by the son of Mounier himself. Montessuy esteemed in Napoleon the genius of order.
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