“‘Do you know, Gaston,’ said Marsanne, ‘little Movillez was any thing but well pleased by your promising his father your custom?’
“‘I both know and am delighted at it. The little puppy forgot, when he sneered at the beauties of the citizen-court, that my sister belongs to the household of the Duchess of.... I was very glad to remind him that his father is neither more nor less than a banker, and that it takes something more than a white rose in the buttonhole to make a Montmorency or a Biron. But I must leave you.’
“So saying, Vassigny pressed his friend’s hand, addressed a few polite words to the master of the house, who seemed touched and surprised at this unusual piece of courtesy, and passed into the adjoining saloon. The ball was at the gayest; the elegant costumes had lost nothing of their freshness, the faces of the women, animated by pleasure, as yet showed no traces of fatigue. The orchestra, conducted by Tolbecque, was remarkable for its spirit and harmony. Every thing in this charming fête was calculated to excite the indignation of those narrow-minded reformers who cannot understand that the luxury of the rich gives bread to the poor. Vassigny sauntered for some time through the crowd, shaking hands with friends and bowing to ladies; but it was easy to judge from his irregular movements and wandering glances, that he had not undertaken this peregrination without an object. At last he reached the door of a little boudoir—a delightful and mysterious asylum, hung with silk and perfumed with flowers. A chosen few had taken refuge in this sanctuary, where the murmur of the ball and the crash of the orchestra arrived faint and subdued. Here Vassigny seemed to have attained the goal he had proposed himself, as his eyes rested upon a lady gracefully sunk in an arm-chair, and chatting familiarly with M. de Kersent. It were necessary to borrow the swan-quill of Dorat, of gallant memory, faithfully to trace a portrait of this young woman, then in the flower of her age and beauty. Priding ourselves, unfortunately, on being of our century, and consequently very ungallant, we shall merely say, that it is impossible to imagine a sweeter or more charming countenance: without having the regularity of a classic model, the features were replete with fascination. Her eyelids, fringed with long curved lashes, protected eyes whose liquid and languishing expression was exchanged at intervals for bright and brilliant glances, indicative of a passionate and powerful organisation. The arch of her eyebrows was accurately and delicately pencilled; so affable was her smile, so white and regular her teeth, that one dared not call her mouth large, or tax it with extending—according to Bussy Rabutin’s expression—from ear to ear. Her neck and shoulders, perfectly moulded and of dazzling whiteness, would have enchanted a sculptor. Her dress, extremely plain, was of white lace; a wreath of fresh-gathered corn-flowers decked her head—the humble field-blossom seeming proud of its place in the midst of a magnificent forest of golden hair, worthy to support a diadem. A bunch of the same flowers in her hand, completed a costume whose simplicity was equalled by its elegance.”
Thus, at setting off, M. Valbezene sketches the five principal actors in his domestic drama; and we have little further to read before discovering their virtues and vices, and the relation in which they stand to each other. The Count de Marsanne is a man of strict honour, and warm heart; generous instincts, and much delicacy of feeling. Sincerely attached to his wife, he has, nevertheless, from a very early period of their wedded life, greatly neglected her, leaving her to pine in solitude, whilst he indulged his violent passion for field-sports. The affection Amélie de Marsanne originally felt for her husband has yielded to the neglect of years, and been replaced by a violent passion for Vassigny, which he ardently reciprocates. So guarded, however, has been their conduct, that none suspect the intrigue. Marsanne has perfect confidence in his wife’s virtue; and the gay, good-humoured Kersent, who is warmly attached to his beautiful cousin, and on terms of great intimacy with Vassigny, has not the remotest idea of the good understanding between the two persons he best loves. Movillez, an admirable specimen of the pretensions young Frenchman just escaped from college, and aping the vices and follies of more mature Parisian roués, affords many comic scenes, which agreeably relieve the grave and thrilling interest of the book. He also, unknown to himself, plays an important part in the plot, and by his indiscretion, is the cause of a world of unhappiness to the four persons already described. Francine, a fifth-rate actress at a Paris theatre, vulgar, profligate, and mercenary; and Major d’Havrecourt, a good-hearted old officer, punctilious on the point of honour, and fancying himself a man of most pacific dispositions, whilst in reality he is ever ready for a duel,—complete the dramatis personæ. Although D’Havrecourt has attained the ripe age of fifty, he still knows how to sympathise with youth, to understand its tastes and excuse its follies; and Movillez is one of the hopefuls whom he not unfrequently favours with his society and benefits by his advice.
The day after the ball, Marsanne’s hunting-party takes place. A wild-boar is killed, and poor Movillez, who has joined the chase in hopes of distinguishing himself before the eyes of a fair English amazon, meets with numerous disasters, principally occasioned by his bad horsemanship, but which his indomitable conceit prevents his taking much to heart. A week later we find him dining at the Café de Paris, in company with D’Havrecourt, and listening to sundry narratives of remarkable single combats which the old fire-eater had witnessed, heard of, or shared in. Dessert is on table, when these bellicose reminiscences are interrupted by the arrival of Kersent.
“‘Allow me to enjoy your society,’ said the new comer, until the arrival of Marsanne, who is behind his time, as usual.’
“‘With great pleasure,’ replied the Major cordially. ‘What will you take?’
“‘Nothing: I should spoil my dinner. Well! young man,’ continued Kersent, addressing himself to Movillez, ‘so we are getting on in the world, conquering a position, becoming a lion of the very first water. The Journal des Chasses talks of nothing but your exploits at the Rambouillet hunt.’
“‘How so?’ cried Movillez, greatly surprised.
“‘Yes, in the account of the day’s sport it cites the elegant, the courageous, the dauntless Movillez as first in at the death. Two pages about you, neither more nor less, in the style of the passage of the Rhine by defunct Boileau.’