M. Lerond, however, discovered, side by side with these frivolous books, a lengthy series of political and philosophical works, essays on slavery, printed accounts of the American War of Independence. He opened Vœux d’un solitaire, and saw that the margins were covered with notes in Duc Jean’s handwriting. He read aloud:
“The author is right; man is naturally good, and the mistaken social laws alone are responsible for his evil deeds.”
“That,” he added, “is what your great-great-grandfather wrote in 1790.”
“How very curious!” remarked the Duke, replacing the book upon its shelf. Then, opening the cases upon the north side of the room, he said:
“These are the books collected by my grandfather, who was page to Charles X.”
Here M. Lerond discovered, bound in sombre sheepskin, tan calf and black shagreen, the works of Chateaubriand, a series of “Mémoires” on the Revolution, the Histories of Anquetil, Guizot, and Augustin Thierry; La Harpe’s Cours de littérature, Marchangy’s Gaule poétique, and the Discours of Lainé.
Close to this literature dealing with the Restoration, and the Government of July, was a shelf on which lay two or three tattered papers on Pope Pius IX and temporal power, a few dilapidated novels, a pamphlet in praise of Joan of Arc, which had been read by Monseigneur Charlot in the church of Saint-Exupère on the 8th of June, 1890, and a few religious books written for ladies of high degree. This was the contribution of the late Duke, member of the National Assembly in 1871, and of the present Duc de Brécé, to the library created by the marshal in 1605.
“I must lock up these books,” said M. de Brécé. “I cannot be too careful, for my sons are growing up, and at any moment may be seized with the desire to come and examine the library for themselves. There are books among these which should never fall into the hands of any young man, nor of any self-respecting woman, no matter what her age may be.”
And so, in his honest zeal for doing good, and in the happy conviction that he was imprisoning lust, doubt, impiety, and evil thoughts, he turned his key upon them; and this sentiment, which, when analysed, had its share of simple complacency and the secret jealousy of an ignorant man, was not without its beauty and purity also.
Having thrust the bunch of keys into his pocket again, the Duke turned a satisfied countenance to M. Lerond.