Amid all his parents’ comings and goings, M. Alphonse de Peyrehorade budged no more than a gate-post. He was a tall young man of six-and-twenty, with a countenance handsome and regular, but lacking in expression. His build and his athletic proportions quite justified the reputation of an indefatigable tennis-player which he had acquired in the district. He was dressed that evening with elegance, exactly after the plate in the latest number of the Journal des Modes. But he seemed to me to be ill at ease in his habiliments; he was as stiff as a poker in his velvet stock, and could only turn all in a piece. His large, sunburnt hands and short nails contrasted singularly with his costume. They were the hands of a labourer sticking out of the cuffs of a dandy. Moreover, though he looked me up and down from head to foot most inquisitively in my quality of a Parisian, he never addressed me the whole evening, except once, to ask me where I had bought my watch-chain.
“Ah, well, my dear guest,” M. de Peyrehorade said to me as the supper was drawing to an end, “you belong to me, you are under my roof. I will not let you go, at least not until you have seen everything of interest that we have in our mountains. You must get acquainted with our Roussillon, and do justice to it. You have no idea of all that we are going to show you. Phœnician, Celtic, Roman, Arab, Byzantine antiquities, I’ll show you them all, from the cedar to the hyssop. I’ll take you everywhere, and won’t spare you a single brick.”
A fit of coughing forced him to stop. I took advantage of it to tell him that I should be most sorry to inconvenience him on an occasion so interesting to his family.
If he would have the kindness to give me his valuable advice as to the excursions which I ought to make, I should be able, without his taking the trouble of accompanying me, to....
“Ah, you mean the marriage of that boy there!” he shouted, and interrupted me. “Fiddlesticks! that will be over by the day after to-morrow. You’ll celebrate the wedding along with us, a family affair, for the bride is in mourning for an aunt, whose heiress she is. So no party, no dance.... It’s a pity ... you would have seen our Catalan girls dancing.... They are pretty, and perhaps you’d have taken the fancy to imitate my Alphonse. One marriage, they say, leads to another.... By Saturday, after the young couple are married, I’ll be free, and we’ll set out. I must apologize to you for boring you with a country wedding. For a Parisian who is sated with gaieties ... and a wedding without a dance into the bargain! However, you’ll see a bride ... a bride ... you’ll tell me what you think about her.... But you’re a sober-sides and don’t look at women now. I’ve better than that to show you. I’ll let you see something!... I am keeping a fine surprise for you to-morrow.”
“Faith,” I said, “it is not easy to have a treasure in the house without the public knowing all about it. I think I can guess the surprise that you have in store for me. Yes, if it is your statue you mean, the description of it which my guide gave me has served only to excite my curiosity and to dispose me to admiration.”
“Ah! He has told you of the idol, for so they call my beautiful Venus Tur.... But I won’t tell you anything. To-morrow in daylight you shall see her, and you shall tell me if I am right in thinking her a masterpiece. Upon my word! you could not have arrived more opportunely! There are some inscriptions, which I, poor ignoramus, explain in my own way ... but a savant from Paris!... You will perhaps laugh at my interpretation ... for I have written a paper.... I who am speaking to you ... an old provincial antiquary, I have come out.... I mean to make the press groan.... If you will be so kind as read and correct me, I flatter myself.... For example, I am very curious to know how you will translate that inscription on the base: CAVE.... But I won’t ask you anything just now! To-morrow, to-morrow! Not a word about the Venus to-day!”
“You are just as well, Peyrehorade,” said his wife, “to let your idol alone. Can’t you see that you are preventing the gentleman from eating? Go away with you! The gentleman has seen plenty of finer statues than yours at Paris. At the Tuileries there are dozens of them, and in bronze, too.”
“There’s ignorance for you, the blessed ignorance of the provinces!” broke in M. de Peyrehorade. “To compare an admirable antique to Coustou’s vapid faces!
‛With great lack of reverence, truly,
Speaks my wife of gods divine!’