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Do you see?" said Madame Nourrisson, finding the Brazilian quite amazed by so subtle a scheme. "All right, old ostrich," he replied. "Come along: I understand." "Good-bye, little one!" said the old woman to Carabine. She signed to Cydalise to go on with Montes, and remained a minute with Carabine. "Now, child, I have but one fear, and that is that he will strangle her!
She has spent the sixty years of her life so completely out of the world, that she has retained the freshness and sweetness of her youth untainted in the least degree. Can there be magical philtre equal to this a pure unselfish life, far away from the clamour of cities? The old servant who waits upon me is seventy-five years of age, and remembers Ma'amselle Cydalise from her childhood.
I told her she had no strength for the journey; but she would go: there was no moving her from that. She had rich friends la-bas, who might help her husband. It was for that she went. That thought seemed to give her a kind of fever, and the strength of fever." "And there has come no letter nothing?" "Nothing, mademoiselle." On this Cydalise determined to return to Beaubocage.
"She is a dear, good, industrious little thing," he said, "and works harder than I do. But she is no miracle of beauty; and her life is so dreary that I often wonder she does not go into a convent. It would be gayer and pleasanter for her than to live with those old women at the Pension Magnotte." "I suppose there are many beautiful women in Paris?" said Cydalise, bent upon knowing the worst.
He talked of Normandy, his daughters and their convent, his little son at Rouen, his aunt Cydalise, the quiet old lady at Beaubocage; his grandfather, his grandmother, the old servants, and everything familiar and dear to him. He told of his family history with boyish candour, untainted by egotism, and seemed much pleased by Diana's apparent interest in his unstudied talk.
Carabine placed Combabus on her left, and the Duc d'Herouville on her right. Cydalise was next to the Brazilian, and beyond her was Bixiou. Malaga sat by the Duke. Oysters appeared at seven o'clock; at eight they were drinking iced punch. Every one is familiar with the bill of fare of such a banquet.
The lines of that unblemished face were the ideal of angelic purity. Her milk-white skin reflected the light like a mirror. The delicate pink in her cheeks might have been laid on with a brush. She was called Cydalise, and, as will be seen, she was an important pawn in the game played by Ma'ame Nourrisson to defeat Madame Marneffe.
Before him lay an awful necessity the necessity of going to Beaubocage to tell those who loved him how their air-built castles had been shattered by this deed of his. The letters from Cydalise nay, indeed, more than one letter from his mother, with whom letter-writing was an exceptional business had of late expressed much anxiety.
This sketch will suffice to give an idea, urbi et orbi, of clandestine passion in the squalid style stamped on it in Paris in 1840. How far, alas! from the adulterous love, symbolized by Vulcan's nets, three thousand years ago. When Montes and Cydalise came upstairs, Valerie, standing before the fire, where a log was blazing, was allowing Wenceslas to lace her stays.
The two women stood by, and pitied him in silence. The little boy stared wonderingly, and at last crept up to the sorrow-stricken father. "Why do you cry, poor old man?" he asked. "You have not lost your papa and mamma, as I have lost mine, have you? I want to stay with you and be your little boy, please. She told me to say that," he added, pointing to Cydalise.
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