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begged Madame Latournelle to go and stay at the Chalet during his
absence。
〃You will find the colonel in Paris；〃 said the notary。 〃In the
shipping news quoted this morning in the Journal of Commerce； I found
under the head of Marseilleshere； see for yourself；〃 he said；
offering the paper。 〃'The Bettina Mignon； Captain Mignon； arrived
October 6'； it is now the 17th； and the colonel is sure to be in
Paris。〃
Dumay requested Gobenheim to do without him in future； and then went
back to the Chalet； which he reached just as Modeste was sealing her
two letters； to her father and Canalis。 Except for the address the
letters were precisely alike both in weight and appearance。 Modeste
thought she had laid that to her father over that to her Melchior； but
had； in fact； done exactly the reverse。 This mistake； so often made in
the little things of life； occasioned the discovery of her secret by
Dumay and her mother。 The former was talking vehemently to Madame
Mignon in the salon； and revealing to her his fresh fears caused by
Modeste's duplicity and Butscha's connivance。
〃Madame；〃 he cried； 〃he is a serpent whom we have warmed in our
bosoms； there's no place in his contorted little body for a soul！〃
Modeste put the letter for her father into the pocket of her apron；
supposing it to be that for Canalis； and came downstairs with the
letter for her lover in her hand； to see Dumay before he started for
Paris。
〃What has happened to my Black Dwarf？ why are you talking so loud！〃
she said； appearing at the door。
〃Mademoiselle； Butscha has gone to Paris； and you； no doubt； know why；
to carry on that affair of the little architect with the sulphur
waistcoat； who； unluckily for the hunchback's lies； has never been
here。〃
Modeste was struck dumb； feeling sure that the dwarf had departed on a
mission of inquiry as to her poet's morals； she turned pale； and sat
down。
〃I'm going after him； I shall find him；〃 continued Dumay。 〃Is that the
letter for your father； mademoiselle？〃 he added； holding out his hand。
〃I will take it to the Mongenods。 God grant the colonel and I may not
pass each other on the road。〃
Modeste gave him the letter。 Dumay looked mechanically at the address。
〃'Monsieur le Baron de Canalis； rue de Paradis…Poissoniere； No。 29'！〃
he cried out； 〃what does that mean？〃
〃Ah； my daughter！ that is the man you love；〃 exclaimed Madame Mignon；
〃the stanzas you set to music were his〃
〃And that's his portrait that you have in a frame upstairs；〃 added
Dumay。
〃Give me back that letter； Monsieur Dumay；〃 said Modeste； erecting
herself like a lioness defending her cubs。
〃There it is； mademoiselle；〃 he replied。
Modeste put it into the bosom of her dress； and gave Dumay the one
intended for her father。
〃I know what you are capable of； Dumay；〃 she said； 〃and if you take
one step against Monsieur de Canalis； I shall take another out of this
house； to which I will never return。〃
〃You will kill your mother； mademoiselle；〃 replied Dumay； who left the
room and called his wife。
The poor mother was indeed half…fainting；struck to the heart by
Modeste's words。
〃Good…bye； wife；〃 said the Breton； kissing the American。 〃Take care of
the mother； I go to save the daughter。〃
He made his preparations for the journey in a few minutes； and started
for Havre。 An hour later he was travelling post to Paris； with the
haste that nothing but passion or speculation can get out of wheels。
Recovering herself under Modeste's tender care； Madame Mignon went up
to her bedroom leaning on the arm of her daughter； to whom she said；
as her sole reproach； when they were alone：
〃My unfortunate child； see what you have done！ Why did you conceal
anything from me？ Am I so harsh？〃
〃Oh！ I was just going to tell it to you comfortably；〃 sobbed Modeste。
She thereupon related everything to her mother； read her the letters
and their answers； and shed the rose of her poem petal by petal into
the heart of the kind German woman。 When this confidence； which took
half the day； was over； when she saw something that was almost a smile
on the lips of the too indulgent mother； Modeste fell upon her breast
in tears。
〃Oh； mother！〃 she said amid her sobs； 〃you； whose heart； all gold and
poetry； is a chosen vessel； chosen of God to hold a sacred love； a
single and celestial love that endures for life； you； whom I wish to
imitate by loving no one but my husband；you will surely understand
what bitter tears I am now shedding。 This butterfly； this Psyche of my
thoughts； this dual soul which I have nurtured with maternal care； my
love； my sacred love； this living mystery of mysteriesit is about to
fall into vulgar hands； and they will tear its diaphanous wings and
rend its veil under the miserable pretext of enlightening me； of
discovering whether genius is as prudent as a banker； whether my
Melchior has saved his money； or whether he has some entanglement to
shake off； they want to find out if he is guilty to bourgeois eyes of
youthful indiscretions；which to the sun of our love are like the
clouds of the dawn。 Oh！ what will come of it？ what will they do？ See！
feel my hand； it burns with fever。 Ah！ I shall never survive it。〃
And Modeste； really taken with a chill； was forced to go to bed；
causing serious uneasiness to her mother； Madame Latournelle； and
Madame Dumay； who took good care of her during the journey of the
lieutenant to Paris；to which city the logic of events compels us to
transport our drama for a moment。
Truly modest minds； like that of Ernest de La Briere； but especially
those who； knowing their own value； also know that they are neither
loved nor appreciated； can understand the infinite joy to which the
young secretary abandoned himself on reading Modeste's letter。 Could
it be that after thinking him lofty and witty in soul； his young； his
artless； his tricksome mistress now thought him handsome？ This
flattery is the flattery supreme。 And why？ Beauty is； undoubtedly； the
signature of the master to the work into which he has put his soul； it
is the divine spirit manifested。 And to see it where it is not； to
create it by the power of an inward look；is not that the highest
reach of love？ And so the poor youth cried aloud with all the rapture
of an applauded author； 〃At last I am beloved！〃 When a woman； be she
maid； wife； or widow； lets the charming words escape her； 〃Thou art
handsome；〃 the words may be false； but the man opens his thick skull
to their subtle poison； and thenceforth he is attached by an
everlasting tie to the pretty flatterer； the true or the deceived
judge； she becomes his particular world； he thirsts for her continual
testimony； and he never wearies of it； even if he is a crowned prince。
Ernest walked proudly up and down his room； he struck a three…quarter；
full…face； and profile attitude before the glass； he tried to
criticise himself； but a voice； diabol