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She enjoyed the plenitude of the hours she lived and the astonishment of profound joys. And it was with the smile of a sleeper suddenly awakened that, at the station in Paris, in the light of the station, she greeted her husband, who was glad to see her. When she kissed Madame Marmet, she told her that she thanked her with all her heart.
We were wet and frozen to the bones. At the grave, in the wind, in the mud, Schmoll read under his umbrella a speech full of jovial cruelty and triumphant pity, which he took afterward to the newspapers in a mourning carriage. An indiscreet friend let Madame Marmet hear of it, and she fainted. Is it possible, Madame, that you have not heard of this learned and ferocious quarrel?
It seemed to her that if she lost that warrior with his green bronze helmet she would lose the name that she wore worthily, and would cease to be the widow of Louis Marmet of the Academie des Inscriptions. "Do not be afraid, Madame; a comet will not soon strike the earth. Such a phenomenon is very improbable."
She next day, as they were traversing the square where are planted, in imitation of antique amphitheatres, two marble pillars, Madame Marmet said to the Countess Martin: "I think I see Monsieur Choulette." Seated in a shoemaker's shop, his pipe in his hand, Choulette was making rhythmic gestures, and appeared to be reciting verses. The Florentine cobbler listened with a kind smile.
She looked at him for a moment, turned her head, hesitated, and said, in a low tone: "Saturday." After dinner, Miss Bell was sketching in the drawing-room. She was tracing, on canvas, profiles of bearded Etruscans for a cushion which Madame Marmet was to embroider. Prince Albertinelli was selecting the wool with an almost feminine knowledge of shades.
But he was wise. For twenty years he had been preoccupied by nothing except dining out. When he had left, Countess Martin told Madame Marmet what she expected of her. "I am going next week to Fiesole, to visit Miss Bell, and you are coming with me." The good Madame Marmet, with placid brow yet searching eyes, was silent for a moment; then she refused gently, but finally consented.
She lived under a charm in the dream of seeing him again, and was surprised when Madame Marmet, along the journey, said: "I think we are passing the frontier," or "Rose-bushes are in bloom by the seaside."
And, pointing to the horrible carpet-bag: "I have also placed in it a host which a bad priest gave to me, the works of Monsieur de Maistre, shirts, and several other things:" Madame Martin lifted her eyebrows, a little ill at ease. But the good Madame Marmet retained her habitual placidity.
And at every strange revelation concerning Madame Raymond, or Madame Berthier, or Princess Seniavine, he added, negligently: "Everybody knows it." Then, little by little, the crowd of visitors dispersed. Only Madame Marmet and Paul Vence remained. The latter went toward Madame Martin, and asked: "When do you wish me to introduce Dechartre to you?" It was the second time he had asked this of her.
"The Etruscan language was the cause of it. Marmet made it his unique study. He was surnamed Marmet the Etruscan. Neither he nor any one else knew a word of that language, the last vestige of which is lost.
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