"Oh, no! he doesn't smell of musk, that fellow! he doesn't need to deny it!"
XII
VALENTINE DE MONGARCIN
Let us transport ourselves to Rue Saint-Honoré, to the interior of a magnificent mansion, where everything is eloquent of wealth, splendor, and refinement, where the furniture and hangings represent all that is most beautiful and dainty in the products of that age. There we shall find Madame de Ravenelle and her niece, Valentine de Mongarcin.
Madame de Ravenelle was seventy-two years of age; she had once been pretty, she was still fresh and plump; for the anxieties, the cares, the griefs, which often make one old much more rapidly than time, had never darkened her life, which had flowed on as placidly and gently as the waters of a stream hidden by tall grasses and never disturbed by the traveller's oar.
The old lady, blessed with a cheerful, heedless, and, above all, selfish disposition, had known how to submit philosophically to those petty disagreements from which no one is wholly exempt throughout the course of a long life. Having an excellent stomach, and very little susceptibility, she always sat down at the table with a good appetite, and never had recourse to the doctors. Incapable of doing anything unkind or spiteful, which would have disturbed the harmony of her temperament, she listened without emotion to the tale of another person's woes; and yet, she was quite ready to be humane, and often did a kind deed, when it was not likely to cause her either fatigue or trouble.
Valentine de Mongarcin had been brought up at a convent; but there, no less than in society, she had been fully aware that she was the sole inheritress of a great name and a great fortune; flattery, which insinuates itself everywhere, makes its way into convents; pretty, clever, but proud of her name and her rank, Valentine had discovered too early in life that people were eager to gratify all her desires; she had grown up with the idea that her will was never to be thwarted; and, although possessed of a sensitive heart, and of a noble soul capable of noble deeds, she had contracted a haughty, disdainful manner, which had made her but few friends.
At the age of eighteen, her figure had developed, her bearing had become noble and dignified, her features were regular, and the outlines of her face exquisitely pure; her hair was as black as ebony, and her great gray eyes, with their long black lashes, had a most seductive expression when they did not choose to express arrogance or scorn.
On leaving the convent to occupy her father's mansion, Valentine had not presented herself to her aunt in the guise of a timid girl who claims the support and protection of her only remaining relation; she had appeared like a conqueror making his triumphal entry into a city which he has compelled to capitulate; but she had to deal with a person who worried her head very little over the airs and tone which other people adopted toward her.
Madame de Ravenelle received her niece with the smile which had become stereotyped on her face; she considered her beautiful and well made, and was gratified that that was the case; but if Valentine had been ugly or deformed, the old lady would speedily have consoled herself. Between two persons of such temperaments, there was no danger that there would ever be any lack of harmony; for to every question that Valentine asked on her arrival, Madame de Ravenelle replied:
"Do whatever you please in the house; command and you will be obeyed, provided that you disturb nothing in my apartment and my personal service. I have my women, you will have yours; I shall not thwart you in anything, for my brother's daughter would be incapable of doing anything unworthy of her rank. And if the company I receive should bore you, you will be at liberty not to appear in the salon."