muttering, which seemed so much at odds with the sunshine, occupied me, to the exclusion of everything else.
Or not quite. I had eyes for one other thing, and that was the astonishing indifference with which those whom curiosity, or business, or habit had brought to the spot, viewed this spectacle. The inns were full of the gentry of the province, come to the Assembly; they looked on from the windows, as at a show, and talked and jested as if at home in their châteaux. Before the doors of the Cathedral a group of ladies and clergymen walked to and fro, and now and then they turned a listless eye on what was passing; but for the most part they seemed to be unconscious of it, or, at the best, to have no concern with it. I have heard it said since, that in those days we had two worlds in France, as far apart as hell and heaven; and what I saw that evening went far to prove it.
In the square a shop at which pamphlets and journals were sold was full of customers, though other shops in the neighbourhood were closed, their owners fearing mischief. On the skirts of the crowd, and a little aloof from it, I saw Gargouf, the St. Alais' steward. He was talking to a countryman; and, as I passed, I heard him say with a gibe, "Well, has your National Assembly fed you yet?"
"Not yet," the clown answered stupidly, "but I am told that in a few days they will satisfy everybody."
"Not they!" the agent answered brutally. "Why, do you think that they will feed you?"
"Oh, yes, by your leave; it is certain," the man said. "And, besides, every one is agreed-"
But then Gargouf saw me, saluted me, and I heard no more. A moment later, however, I came on one of my own people, Buton, the blacksmith, in the middle of a muttering group. He looked at me sheepishly, finding himself caught; and I stopped, and rated him soundly, and saw him start for home before I went to my quarters.
These were at the Trois Rois, where I always lay when in town; Doury, the innkeeper, providing a supper ordinary for the gentry at eight o'clock, at which it was the custom to dress and powder.
The St. Alais had their own house in Cahors, and, as the Marquis had forewarned me, entertained that evening. The greater part of the company, indeed, repaired to them after the meal. I went myself a little late, that I might avoid any private talk with the Marquis; I found the rooms already full and brilliantly lighted, the staircase crowded with valets, and the strains of a harpsichord trickling melodiously from the windows. Madame de St. Alais was in the habit of entertaining the best company in the province; with less splendour, perhaps, than some, but with so much ease, and taste, and good breeding, that I look in vain for such a house in these days.
Ordinarily, she preferred to people her rooms with pleasant groups, that, gracefully disposed, gave to a salon an air elegant and pleasing, and in character with the costume of those days, the silks and laces, powder and diamonds, the full hoops and red-heeled shoes. But on this occasion the crowd and the splendour of the entertainment apprised me, as soon as I crossed the threshold, that I was assisting at a party of more than ordinary importance; nor had I advanced far before I guessed that it was a political rather than a social gathering. All, or almost all, who would attend the Assembly next day were here; and though, as I wound my way through the glittering crowd, I heard very little serious talk-so little, that I marvelled to think that people could discuss the respective merits of French and Italian opera, of Grétry and Bianchi, and the like, while so much hung in the balance-of the effect intended I had no doubt; nor that Madame, in assembling all the wit and beauty of the province, was aiming at things higher than amusement.
With, I am bound to confess, a degree of success. At any rate it was difficult to mix with the throng which filled her rooms, to run the gauntlet of bright eyes and witty tongues, to breathe the atmosphere laden with perfume and music, without falling under the spell, without forgetting. Inside the door M. de Gontaut, one of my father's oldest friends, was talking with the two Harincourts. He greeted me with a sly smile, and pointed politely inwards.
"Pass on, Monsieur," he said. "The farthest room. Ah! my friend, I wish I were young again!"
"Your gain would be my loss, M. le Baron," I said civilly, and slid by him. Next, I had to speak to two or three ladies, who detained me with wicked congratulations of the same kind; and then I came on Louis. He clasped my hand, and we stood a moment together. The crowd elbowed us; a simpering fool at his shoulder was prating of the social contract. But as I felt the pressure of Louis' hand, and looked into his eyes, it seemed to me that a breath of air from the woods penetrated the room, and swept aside the heavy perfumes.
Yet there was trouble in his look. He asked me if I had seen Victor.
"Yesterday," I said, understanding him perfectly, and what was amiss. "Not to-day."
"Nor Denise?"
"No. I have not had the honour of seeing Mademoiselle."
"Then, come," he answered. "My mother expected you earlier. What did you think of Victor?"
"That he went Victor, and has returned a great personage!" I said, smiling.
Louis laughed faintly, and lifted his eyebrows with a comical air of sufferance.
"I was afraid so," he said. "He did not seem to be very well pleased with you. But we must all do his bidding-eh, Monsieur? And, in the meantime, come. My mother and Denise are in the farthest room."
He led the way thither as he spoke; but we had first to go through the card-room, and then the crowd about the farther doorway was so dense that we could not immediately enter; and so I had time-while outwardly smiling and bowing-to feel a little suspense. At last we slipped through and entered a smaller room, where were only Madame la Marquise-who was standing in the middle of the floor talking with the Abbé Mesnil-two or three ladies, and Denise de St. Alais.
Mademoiselle had her seat on a couch by one of the ladies; and naturally my eyes went first to her. She was dressed in white, and it struck me with the force of a blow how small, how childish she was! Very fair, of the purest complexion, and perfectly formed, she seemed to derive an extravagant, an absurd, air of dignity from the formality of her dress, from the height of the powdered hair that strained upwards from her forehead, from the stiffness of her brocaded petticoat. But she was very small. I had time to note this, to feel a little disappointment, and to fancy that, cast in a larger mould, she would have been supremely handsome; and then the lady beside her, seeing me, spoke to her, and the child-she was really little more-looked up, her face grown crimson. Our eyes met-thank God! she had Louis' eyes-and she looked down again, blushing painfully.
I advanced to pay my respects to Madame, and kissed the hand, which, without at once breaking off her conversation, she extended to me.
"But such powers!" the Abbé, who had something of the reputation of a philosophe, was saying to her. "Without limit! Without check! Misused, Madame-"
"But the King is too good!" Madame la Marquise answered, smiling.
"When well advised, I agree. But then the deficit?"
The Marquise shrugged her shoulders. "His Majesty must have money," she said.
"Yes-but whence?" the Abbé asked, with answering shrug.
"The King was too good at the beginning," Madame replied, with a touch of severity. "He should have made them register the edicts. However, the Parliament has always given way, and will do so again."
"The Parliament-yes," the Abbé retorted, smiling indulgently. "But it is no longer a question of the Parliament; and the States General-"
"States General pass," Madame responded grandly. "The King remains!"
"Yet if
