THE PRIDE OF A SPOILED BEAUTY. A TALE. ADAPTED FROM THE FRENCH OF H. DE BALZAC. THE next day Mademoiselle de One evening that Emilie was out riding with her uncle, who, since the fine weather had set in, had obtained a tolerably long cessation of hostilities from his gout, she turned her horse so rapidly, that her uncle had all the trouble in the world to follow her, she had set off her pony at so quick a pace. "I suppose I am grown too old to understand these spirits of twenty," said the sailor to himself, as he put his horse to a gallop, "or, perhaps the youth of the present day does not resemble that of former days. But what is the matter with my niece? She is now walking as slowly as a gendarme patrolling the streets of Paris. Does she not look as if she wanted to knock down that honest bourgeois, who seems to me like an author dreaming of his poems, for I think he has an album in his hand? By my faith, I must be a great fool! Is not this the young man we are seeking?" At this thought the old sailor walked his horse gently on the sand so as to come noiselessly up to his niece. The vice-admiral had had too much experience in the year 1771, and the following ones-an epoch in our annals when gallantry was in fashion-not to guess at once that Emilie had, by the greatest chance, met the unknown of the ball of Sceaux. Notwithstanding the veil which age was drawing over his grey eyes, the Comte de Kergaronët recognised the indications of extraordinary agitation in his nicce, in spite of the immobility she endeavoured to give her countenance. The piercing eyes of the young girl were fixed in a sort of stupor on the stranger, who walked peacefully on before her. "That's it!" thought the sailor, "she will follow him like a merchantman follows a corsair. Then, when he is gone she will be in despair at not knowing whom she loves, and at being ignorant whether he is a marquis or a bourgeois. Really young young heads ought always to have old heads like mine near them." He suddenly pushed his horse so as to send on his niece's, and passed so rapidly between her and the young pedestrian, that he forced him to throw himself on the bank of verdure which formed the border of the road. Then directly stopping his horse the count exclaimed, "Could not you get out of the way ?" "I beg your pardon, monsieur,” replied the unknown; "I did not know it was my place to make excuses because you nearly knocked me down." "Come, my friend, that will do," retorted sharply the sailor, in a sneering tone of voice, which was very insulting. At the same time, the count raised his whip as if to whip his horse, and touched the shoulder of his interlocutor, saying, "The bourgeois libéral is a reasoner -every reasoner should be wise." The young man got up on the side of the road on hearing this sarcasm; he folded his arms, and answered in an altered tone, “Monsieur, I cannot think when I see your white hairs, that you still amuse yourself by seeking for duels." "White hairs!" exclaimed the sailor, interrupting him. "You have lied in your throat, they are only grey." A dispute, thus begun, became in a few minutes so warm, that the young adversary forgot the tone of moderation which he had endeavoured to preserve. At the moment when the Comte de Kergarouët saw his niece coming up to them with signs of great anxiety, he was giving his name to his antagonist, telling him to be silent before the young lady committed to his care. The unknown could not help smiling, and gave a card to the old sailor, telling him that he inhabited a countryhouse at Chevreuse, and walked rapidly off after pointing it out to him. "You nearly wounded that poor pékin, my niece," said the count, hastening to meet Emilic. "Do you no longer know how to rein in your horse? You leave me there to compromise my dignity in covering your follies; whereas, if you had remained, one of your looks or polite speeches -one of those you say so prettily when you are not impertinent — would have healed all, even had you broken his arm." "My dear uncle, it was your horse, not mine, that was the cause of this accident. I really think you can no longer ride; you are not so good a horseman as you were last year. But instead of talking nonsense "The d- nonsense? Is it, then, nothing to be impertinent to your uncle ?" "Ought we not to go and see if that young man is wounded? See, uncle, he limps." "No, he is running. I have lectured him well." "Ah, my uncle! I know you there." Stop, my niece," said the count, seizing the bridle of Emilie's horse; "I do not see the necessity of making advances to some shopman, too happy to have been knocked down by a charming young lady or the commander of the Belle-Poule." "Why do you think he is of low birth, my dear uncle? He seems to me to have very gentlemanlike manners." Every one has manners now, my niece. "No, uncle, every one has not the air and manners which the habit of salons alone can give; and I will willingly bet you that this young man is noble." "You have not had much time to examine him." "But it is not the first time that I have seen him." "Nor is it the first time you have sought him," replied the admiral, laughing. Emilie blushed, and her uncle enjoyed her confusion for a little while; he then said, "Emilic, you know that I love you as if you were my child, precisely, because you are the only one of the family who possesses the legitimate pride which appertains to high birth. Diantre! my great niece, who could have thought that good principles would have become so rare? Well, I will be your confidant. I see, my dear child, that that young man is not indifferent to you. Stop! The family would laugh at us if we embarked under an unlucky flag. You know what that means. Therefore, let me help you, my niece. Let us both keep our secret, and I promise you to bring him into the drawing-room." "And when, uncle ?" "To-morrow." "But, my dear uncle, it will not compromise me?" "Not at all; and you can bombard him, set fire to him, and leave him there like an old caraque, if you please. He will not be the first, will he ?" "How kind you are, uncle!" As soon as the count was at home, he put on his spectacles, secretly drew the card from his pocket, and read, "Maximilien Longueville, Rue du Sentier." "Make yourself easy, my dear niece," said he to Emilie, "you cau "How do you know so much?" "You know his name, then?" The count silently nodded his grey head, which very much resembled the trunk of an old oak, round which still played a few leaves withered by the autumn. At this signal his niece began trying on him the ever fresh power of her coquetries. Mistress of the art of coaxing the old sailor, she lavished on him the most childlike caresses and the most tender words; she even went so far as to kiss him, in order to obtain from him the revelation of so important a secret. The old man, who passed his life in making his niece act these scenes, and who frequently paid for them by a set of jewels or the loan of his opera-box, this time took a delight in allowing himself to be entreated and caressed. But as he made his enjoyment last too long, Emilie became angry, passed from caresses to sarcasms, sulked, and then returned to the charge, goaded by curiosity. The diplomatic sailor solemnly obtained from his niece a promise to be in future more reserved, more gentle, less wilful, less extravagant, and, especially, to tell him every thing. The treaty concluded, and signed by a kiss, which he deposed on Emilie's white forehead, he took her into a corner of the drawing-room, seated her on his knee, placed the card under his two thumbs so as to conceal it, discovered letter by letter the name of Longueville, and obstinately refused to shew any more. This event rendered still more intense Mademoiselle de Fontaine's secret affection. During a great part of the night she developed the most brilliant pictures of the dreams with which she had nourished her hopes. Thanks to this long-desired chance, she now saw something besides a chimera at the source of the imaginary riches with which she gilded her conjugal life. Like all young persons, ignorant of the dangers of love and marriage, she wished ardently for the deceitful externals of marriage and love. Is not this saying, that her affection sprung up like almost all the caprices of early youth, sweet and cruel errors which exert so fatal an influence over the existence of young girls sufficiently inexperienced to consult no one but themselves on the care of their fu ture happiness. The next morning, before Emilie was awake, her uncle hastened to Chevreuse. On recognising in the yard of an elegant country-house the young man whom he had so resolutely insulted the day before, he went up to him with that affectionate politeness which characterises the old men of the ancient court, Is "Ah, my dear sir, who would have thought that I should have quarrelled at seventy-three with the son or grandson of one of my best friends? I am a vice-admiral. not that telling you that I care as little for fighting a duel as for smoking a cigar? In my time, two young men never could become intimate until they had seen the colour of each other's blood. But, ventre-debiche! I had, in my quality of sailor, taken a little too much rum on board yesterday, and I fell foul of you. Shake hands! I would rather receive a hundred rebuffs from a Longueville than cause the least uneasiness to his family." Whatever coldness the young man endeavoured to shew the Comte de Kergarouët, he could not long withstand the frank kindness of his manners, and allowed his hand to be shaken. "You were going to ride," said the count. "Pray, do so. But unless you have any projects, come with me. I invite you to dinner to-day at the Pavillon Planat. My nephew, the Comte de Foutaine, is a man necessary to know. Morbleu! I will atone to you for my brusquerie by presenting you to five of the prettiest women of Paris. IIa, ha! young man, you smoothe your brow. I like young people, and I like to see them happy. Their happiness recalls to me the pleasant years of my youth, when adventures were not wanting any more than duels. People were gay then! Now, you reason and trouble yourselves about every thing as if there had been no fifteenth or sixteenth centuries." "But are we not right? The sixteenth century only gave Europe religious liberty; and the nineteenth will give it pol "Do not let us talk politics. I am an ultra ganache, you see. But I do not prevent young people from being revolutionary, provided they leave the king liberty to disperse their assemblies." A few yards farther on, when the count and his young companion were in the midst of the wood, the sailor discovered a tolerably slight young birch-tree, stopped his horse, took one of his pistols, and lodged the ball in the middle of the tree at a distance of fifteen yards. "You see, my friend, that I do not fear a duel," said he, looking at Monsieur Longueville with comic gravity. "Nor I," replied the latter, who quickly loaded his pistol, aimed at the hole made by the count's ball, and placed his own close to it. "That is what I call a well-educated young man," exclaimed the sailor, with a sort of enthusiasm. During the walk he took with him whom he already looked upon as his nephew, he found a thousand opportunities of interrogating him on all the trifles, the perfect knowledge of which constituted, according to his particular code, an accomplished gentleman. "Have you any debts?" he asked his companion at last, after a great many questions. "No." "How? Do you pay for every thing furnished you?" "Punctually; otherwise we should lose all credit and consideration." “But, at least, you have more than one mistress? Ah, you blush, my boy? Manners have, indeed, changed. With these ideas of legal order, Kantism and liberty, youth has been spoiled. You have no Guimard, no Duthé, no creditors, and you do not know heraldry; why, my young friend, you are not educated! Know that he who does not sow his wild oats in the spring sows them in winter. If I have eighty thousand livres a-year at seventy years of age, it is because I ate up the capital at thirty,-oh! with my wife, en tout bien tout honneur. Nevertheless, your imperfections will not prevent me from announcing you at the Pavillon Planat. Remember that you have promised me to come, and I expect you there." "What a singular little old man!" said young Longueville to himself. "He is sharp and lively; but although he wants to appear simple and frank, I shall not trust him." The next day, about four o'clock, at the time when the company was scattered in the drawing-rooms or at billiards, a servant announced to the inhabitants of the Pavillon Planat Monsieur de Longueville. At the name of the Comte de Kergarouët's favourite, every one, even the player, who was going to miss a ball, hastened in, as much to observe Mademoiselle de Fontaine's countenance as to judge the human phoenix who had merited an honourable mention to the detriment of so many rivals. A dress as simple as it was elegant, manners full of ease, polished forms of speech, a voice gentle and of a quality which made the heart vibrate, conciliated to Monsieur Longueville the good-will of the whole family. He seemed no stranger to the luxury of the house of the fastuous receiver-general. His conversation was that of a man of the world, and every one could easily perceive that he had received a most brilliant education, and that his acquirements were equally solid and extensive. He spoke so well in some slight discussion started by the old sailor on naval constructions, that one of the women observed that he appeared to have been at the Ecole Polytechnique. "I think, madame, that to have been there is a title of honour." Notwithstanding all the entreaties made him, he politely, but firmly, declined remaining to dinner, and put an end to the requests of the ladies by saying, that he was the Hippocrates of a young sister whose delicate health demanded a great deal of care. "Monsieur is doubtless a physician," ironically asked one of Emilie's sisters-in-law. "Monsieur comes from the Ecole Polytechnique," kindly answered Mademoiselle de Fontaine, whose complexion became very brilliant at hearing that the young girl of the ball was Monsieur Longueville's sis ter. "But, my dear, it is possible to be a physician, and to have been at the Ecole Polytechnique, is it not, monsieur ?" "There is nothing to prevent it, madame," replied the young man. All eyes were fixed on Emilie, who looked with a sort of anxious curiosity at the seductive unknown. She breathed more freely when he added, not without a smile,— "I have not the honour to be a physician; and I have even refused to enter the service of the Woods and Forests, in order to preserve my independence." "And you did well," said the count. "But how can you consider it an honour to be a physician ?" added the noble Breton. Ah, my young friend! for a man like you 66 "Monsieur le Comte, I respect immensely all the useful professions." "We are agreed: you respect those professions, I imagine, as a young man respects a dowager." Monsieur Longueville's visit was neither too long nor too short. He retired the moment he perceived that he had pleased every one, and that every body's curiosity was roused about him. "He is a shrewd fellow," said the count on re-entering the drawingroom after seeing him out. Mademoiselle de Fontaine, who alone was in the secret of this visit, had made a very elegant toilet, in order to attract the young man's attention; but she had the mortification of seeing that he did not bestow on her as much as she thought she deserved. The family was surprised at the silence she preserved. Emilie generally displayed to new comers her coquetry, her lively talk, and the boundless eloquence of her looks and gestures. Either the melodious voice of the young man and the attractiveness of his manners had charmed her, or else she loved seriously; and this sentiment effected a change in her, for her manners lost all affectation. Simple and natural, she, no doubt, appeared more beautiful. Some of her sisters, and an old lady, a friend of the family, saw a refinement of coquetry in this behaviour. They supposed that, judging the young man worthy of her, Emilie proposed displaying her attractions slowly, in order suddenly to dazzle him as soon as he was struck with her. Every member of the family was curious to know what this capricious girl thought of the stranger; but when, during dinner, every one took a delight in endowing Monsieur Longueville with some new quality, pretending to have been the only one to discover it, Mademoiselle de Fontaine remained some time silent. A slight sarcasm from her uncle suddenly roused her from this apathy. She said, in a tolerably epigrammatic manner, that this celestial perfection must cover some great defect, and that she should take care not to judge at first sight a man who appeared so clever. She added, that those who thus please every one never please any body; and that the worst of all defects was to have none. Like all young girls in love, she hoped to conceal her feelings in the depth of her heart, by deceiving the Arguses who surrounded her; but at the end of a fortnight, there was not one member of this numerous family who was not initiated into this little domestic secret. At the third visit Monsieur Longueville paid, Emilie fancied she was the chief cause of it. This discovery caused her such excessive delight that it astonished her when she was able to reflect. There was something in it painful to her pride. Accustomed to make herself the centre of the world, she was obliged to recognise a force which drew her out of herself. She endeavoured to rebel, but could not drive the young man's seductive image from her heart. Soon anxieties followed; for two of Monsieur Longueville's qualities, very adverse to the general curiosity, and especially to Mademoiselle de Fontaine's, were unusual discretion and modesty. He never spoke of himself, nor of his occupations, nor of his family. He knew how to disconcert all the snares Emilie laid for him in conversation with the address of a diplomatist who wants to conceal secrets. If she spoke of painting, Monsieur Longueville replied like a connoisseur; if she played, the young man proved without coxcombry that he played well on the piano. One evening he enchanted the whole company by joining his delicious voice to Emilie's in one of Cimarosa's finest duets; but when they endeavoured to discover if he |