Conversation with a Lord and MasterAlas! our frailty is the cause, not we! For such as we are made of,such we be.

　　Twelfth NightIt was with a childish pleasure that Julien spent an hour in pastingwords together. As he left his room he came upon his pupils and theirmother; she took the letter with a simplicity and courage, the calmness ofwhich terrified him.

　　'Is the gum quite dry?' she asked him.

　　'Can this be the woman who was being driven mad by remorse?' hethought. 'What are her plans at this moment?' He was too proud to askher; but never, perhaps, had she appealed to him more strongly.

　　'If things go amiss,' she went on with the same coolness, 'I shall bestripped of everything. Bury this store somewhere in the mountains; itmay some day be my last resource.'

　　She handed him a glass-topped case, in red morocco, filled with goldand a few diamonds.

　　'Go now,' she said to him.

　　She embraced her children, the youngest of them twice over. Julienstood spellbound. She left him at a rapid pace and without looking athim again.

　　>

　　From the moment of his opening the anonymous letter, M. de Renal'slife had been a burden to him. He had not been so agitated since a duelthat he had nearly had to fight in 1816, and, to do him justice, the prospect of receiving a bullet in his person would now have distressed himless. He examined the letter from every angle. 'Is not this a woman'shand?' he asked himself. 'In that case, what woman can have written it?'

　　 He considered in turn all the women he knew at Verrieres, without finding a definite object for his suspicions. Could a man have dictated the letter? If so, what man? Here again, a similar uncertainty; he had earned thejealousy and no doubt the hatred of the majority of the men he knew. 'Imust consult my wife,' he said to himself, from force of habit, as he rosefrom the armchair in which he had collapsed.

　　No sooner had he risen than 'Good God!' he exclaimed, clapping hishand to his head, 'she is the one person whom I cannot trust; from thismoment she is my enemy.' And tears of anger welled into his eyes.

　　It was a fitting reward for that barrenness of heart in which practicalwisdom in the provinces is rooted, that the two men whom, at that moment, M. de Renal most dreaded were his two most intimate friends.

　　'Apart from them, I have ten friends perhaps,' and he turned themover in his mind, calculating the exact amount of comfort that he wouldbe able to derive from each. 'To all of them, to all of them,' he cried in hisrage, 'my appalling misfortune will give the most intense pleasure.' Happily for him, he supposed himself to be greatly envied, and not withoutreason. Apart from his superb house in town on which the King of ——had just conferred everlasting honour by sleeping beneath its roof, hehad made an admirable piece of work of his country house at Vergy. Thefront was painted white, and the windows adorned with handsomegreen shutters. He was comforted for a moment by the thought of thismagnificence. The fact of the matter was that this mansion was visiblefrom a distance of three or four leagues, to the great detriment of all thecountry houses or so-called chateaux of the neighbourhood, which hadbeen allowed to retain the humble grey tones imparted to them by time.

　　M. de Renal could reckon upon the tears and pity of one of his friends,the churchwarden of the parish; but he was an imbecile who shed tearsat everything. This man was nevertheless his sole resource.

　　'What misfortune is comparable to mine?' he exclaimed angrily. 'Whatisolation!

　　'Is it possible,' this truly pitiable man asked himself, 'is it possible that,in my distress, I have not a single friend of whom to ask advice? For mymind is becoming unhinged, I can feel it! Ah, Falcoz! Ah, Ducros!' hecried bitterly. These were the names of two of his boyhood's friendswhom he had alienated by his arrogance in 1814. They were not noble,and he had tried to alter the terms of equality on which they had beenliving all their lives.

　　 One of them, Falcoz, a man of spirit and heart, a paper merchant atVerrieres, had purchased a printing press in the chief town of the Department and had started a newspaper. The Congregation had determined to ruin him: his paper had been condemned, his printer's licencehad been taken from him. In these unfortunate circumstances he ventured to write to M. de Renal for the first time in ten years. The Mayor ofVerrieres felt it incumbent on him to reply in the Ancient Roman style: 'Ifthe King's Minister did me the honour to consult me, I should say to him:

　　"Ruin without compunction all provincial printers, and make printing amonopoly like the sale of tobacco."' This letter to an intimate friendwhich had set the whole of Verrieres marvelling at the time, M. de Renalnow recalled, word for word, with horror. 'Who would have said thatwith my rank, my fortune, my Crosses, I should one day regret it?' It wasin such transports of anger, now against himself, now against all aroundhim, that he passed a night of anguish; but, fortunately, it did not occurto him to spy upon his wife.

　　'I am used to Louise,' he said to himself, 'she knows all my affairs;were I free to marry again tomorrow I could find no one fit to take herplace.' Next, he sought relief in the idea that his wife was innocent; thispoint of view made it unnecessary for him to show his strength of character, and was far more convenient; how many slandered wives have wenot all seen!

　　'But what!' he suddenly exclaimed, pacing the floor with a convulsivestep, 'am I to allow her, as though I were a man of straw, a mereragamuffin, to make a mock of me with her lover? Is the whole of Verrieres to be allowed to sneer at my complacency? What have they not saidabout Charmier?' (a notorious local cuckold). 'When he is mentioned, isthere not a smile on every face? He is a good pleader, who is there thatever mentions his talent for public speaking? "Ah! Charmier!" is whatthey say; "Bernard's Charmier." They actually give him the name of theman that has disgraced him.

　　'Thank heaven,' said M. de Renal at other moments, 'I have no daughter, and the manner in which I am going to punish their mother will notdamage the careers of my children; I can surprise that young peasantwith my wife, and kill the pair of them; in that event, the tragic outcomeof my misfortune may perhaps make it less absurd.' This idea appealedto him: he worked it out in the fullest detail. 'The Penal Code is on myside, and, whatever happens, our Congregation and my friends on thejury will save me.' He examined his hunting knife, which had a keenblade; but the thought of bloodshed frightened him.

　　 'I might thrash this insolent tutor black and blue and turn him fromthe house; but what a stir in Verrieres and, indeed, throughout the Department! After the suppression of Falcoz's paper, when his editor cameout of prison, I was instrumental in making him lose a place worth sixhundred francs. They say that the scribbler has dared to show his faceagain in Besancon, he may easily attack me, and so cunningly that it willbe impossible to bring him to justice! That insolent fellow will insinuatein a thousand ways that he has been speaking the truth. A man of family,who respects his rank as I do, is always hated by plebeians. I shall seemyself in those frightful Paris papers; my God! what degradation! To seethe ancient name of Renal plunged in the mire of ridicule … If I evertravel, I shall have to change my name; what! give up this name which ismy pride and my strength. What a crowning infamy!

　　'If I do not kill my wife, if I drive her from the house with ignominy,she has her aunt at Besancon, who will hand over the whole of her fortune to her on the quiet. My wife will go and live in Paris with Julien;Verrieres will hear of it, and I shall again be regarded as a dupe.' Thisunhappy man then perceived, from the failing light of his lamp, that daywas beginning to break. He went to seek a breath of air in the garden. Atthat moment, he had almost made up his mind to create no scene, chieflybecause a scene of that sort would fill his good friends at Verrieres withjoy.

　　His stroll in the garden calmed him somewhat. 'No,' he cried, 'I shallcertainly not part with my wife, she is too useful to me.' He pictured tohimself with horror what his house would be like without his wife; hissole female relative was the Marquise de R—— who was old, idiotic andevil-minded.

　　An idea of the greatest good sense occurred to him, but to put it intopractice required a strength of character far exceeding the little that thepoor man possessed. 'If I keep my wife,' he said to himself; 'I know myown nature; one day, when she taxes my patience, I shall reproach herwith her offence. She is proud, we are bound to quarrel, and all this willhappen before she has inherited her aunt's estate. And then, how theywill all laugh at me! My wife loves her children, it will all come to themin the end. But I, I shall be the talk of Verrieres. What, they will say, hecouldn't even punish his wife! Would it not be better to stick to my suspicions and to verify nothing? Then I tie my own hands, I cannot afterwards reproach her with anything.'

　　 A moment later M. de Renal, his wounded vanity once more gainingthe mastery, was laboriously recalling all the stories told in the billiard-room of the Casino or Noble Club of Verrieres, when some fluent talkerinterrupted the pool to make merry at the expense of some cuckoldedhusband. How cruel, at that moment, those pleasantries seemed.

　　'God! Why is not my wife dead! Then I should be immune from ridicule. Why am I not a widower! I should go and spend six months inParis in the best society.' After this momentary happiness caused by theidea of widowhood, his imagination returned to the methods of ascertaining the truth. Should he at midnight, after the whole household hadgone to bed, sprinkle a few handfuls of bran outside the door of Julien'sroom? Next morning, at daybreak, he would see the footprints on it.

　　'But that would be no good,' he broke out angrily, 'that wretched Elisawould notice it, and it would be all over the house at once that I amjealous.'

　　In another story that circulated at the Casino, a husband had made certain of his plight by fastening a hair with a little wax so as to seal up thedoors of his wife's room and her lover's.

　　After so many hours of vacillation, this method of obtaining enlightenment seemed to him decidedly the best, and he was thinking of adoptingit, when at a bend in the path he came upon that wife whom he wouldhave liked to see dead.

　　She was returning from the village. She had gone to hear mass in thechurch of Vergy. A tradition of extremely doubtful value in the eyes ofthe cold philosopher, but one in which she believed, made out that thelittle church now in use had been the chapel of the castle of the Lord ofVergy. This thought obsessed Madame de Renal throughout the timewhich she had meant to pass in prayer in this church. She kept on picturing to herself her husband killing Julien during the chase, as though byaccident, and afterwards, that evening, making her eat his heart.

　　'My fate,' she said to herself, 'depends on what he will think when hehears me. After these terrible moments, perhaps I shall not find anotheropportunity to speak to him. He is not a wise creature, swayed by reason. I might, if he were, with the aid of my own feeble wits, forecast whathe would do or say. But my fate lies in my cunning, in the art of directing the thoughts of this whimsical creature, who becomes blind with anger and incapable of seeing things. Great God! I require talent, coolness,where am I to find them?'

　　 She recovered her calm as though by magic on entering the gardenand seeing her husband in the distance. The disorder of his hair andclothes showed that he had not slept. She handed him a letter which,though the seal was broken, was still folded. He, without opening it,gazed at his wife with madness in his eyes.

　　'Here is an abomination,' she said to him, 'which an evil-looking manwho claims to know you and that you owe him a debt of gratitude,handed to me as I came past the back of the lawyer's garden. One thing Imust ask of you, and that is that you send back to his own people, andwithout delay, that Monsieur Julien.' Madame de Renal made haste toutter this name, even beginning a little too soon perhaps, in order to ridherself of the fearful prospect of having to utter it.

　　She was filled with joy on beholding the joy that it gave her husband.

　　>From the fixed stare which he directed at her she realised that Julienhad guessed aright. Instead of worrying about a very present trouble,'what intelligence,' she thought to herself. 'What perfect tact! And in ayoung man still quite devoid of experience! To what heights will he notrise in time? Alas! Then his success will make him forget me.'

　　This little act of admiration of the man she adored completely restoredher composure.

　　She congratulated herself on the step she had taken. 'I have provedmyself not unworthy of Julien,' she said to herself, with a sweet andsecret relish.

　　Without saying a word, for fear of committing himself, M. de Renal examined this second anonymous letter composed, as the reader may remember, of printed words gummed upon a sheet of paper of a bluishtinge. 'They are making a fool of me in every way,' M. de Renal said tohimself, utterly worn out.

　　'Fresh insults to be looked into, and all owing to my wife!' He was onthe point of deluging her with a stream of the coarsest invective; thethought of the fortune awaiting her at Besancon just stopped him. Overpowered by the necessity of venting his anger on something, he tore upthe sheet on which this second anonymous letter was gummed, andstrode rapidly away, feeling that he could not endure his wife's company. A minute later, he returned to her, already more calm.

　　'We must take action at once and dismiss Julien,' she immediatelybegan; 'after all he is only the son of a working man. You can compensatehim with a few crowns, besides, he is clever and can easily find another place, with M. Valenod, for instance, or the Sub-Prefect Maugiron; theyboth have families. And so you will not be doing him any h............