A PlotDisconnected remarks, chance meetings turn into proofs of theutmost clarity in the eyes of the imaginative man, if he has anyfire in his heart.

　　SCHILLEROn the following day he again surprised Norbert and his sister, whowere talking about him. On his arrival, a deathly silence fell, as on theday before. His suspicions knew no bounds. 'Can these charming youngpeople be planning to make a fool of me? I must own, that is far moreprobable, far more natural than a pretended passion on the part of Mademoiselle de La Mole, for a poor devil of a secretary. For one thing, dothese people have passions? Mystification is their specialty. They arejealous of my wretched little superiority in language. Being jealous, thatis another of their weaknesses. That explains everything. Mademoisellede La Mole hopes to persuade me that she is singling me out, simply tooffer me as a spectacle to her intended.'

　　This cruel suspicion completely changed Julien's moral attitude. Theidea encountered in his heart a germ of love which it had no difficulty indestroying. This love was founded only upon Mathilde's rare beauty, orrather upon her regal manner and her admirable style in dress. In this respect Julien was still an upstart. A beautiful woman of fashion is, we areassured, the sight that most astonishes a clever man of peasant originwhen he arrives amid the higher ranks of society. It was certainly notMathilde's character that had set Julien dreaming for days past. He hadenough sense to grasp that he knew nothing about her character.

　　Everything that he saw of it might be only a pretence.

　　For instance, Mathilde would not for anything in the world have failedto hear mass on a Sunday; almost every day she went to church with hermother. If, in the drawing-room of the Hotel de La Mole, some impudentfellow forgot where he was and allowed himself to make the remotest allusion to some jest aimed at the real or supposed interests of Throne orAltar, Mathilde would at once assume an icy severity. Her glance, whichwas so sparkling, took on all the expressionless pride of an old familyportrait.

　　But Julien knew for certain that she always had in her room one or twoof the most philosophical works of Voltaire. He himself frequently abstracted a volume or two of the handsome edition so magnificentlybound. By slightly separating the other volumes on the shelf, he concealed the absence of the volume he was taking away; but soon he discovered that someone else was reading Voltaire. He had recourse to atrick of the Seminary, he placed some little pieces of horsehair across thevolumes which he supposed might interest Mademoiselle de La Mole.

　　They vanished for weeks at a time.

　　M. de La Mole, losing patience with his bookseller, who kept sendinghim all the sham Memoirs, gave Julien orders to buy every new book thatwas at all sensational. But, so that the poison might not spread throughthe household, the secretary was instructed to place these books in alittle bookcase that stood in the Marquis's own room. He soon acquiredthe certainty that if any of these books were hostile to the interests ofThrone and Altar, they were not long in vanishing. It was certainly notNorbert that was reading them.

　　Julien, exaggerating the importance of this discovery, credited Mademoiselle de La Mole with a Machiavellian duplicity. This feignedcriminality wa a charm in his eyes, almost the only moral charm that shepossessed. The tediousness of hypocrisy and virtuous conversationdrove him to this excess.

　　He excited his imagination rather than let himself be carried away bylove.

　　It was after he had lost himself in dreams of the elegance of Mademoiselle de La Mole's figure, the excellent taste of her toilet, the whiteness of her hand, the beauty of her arm, the disinvoltura of all her movements, that he found himself in love. Then, to complete her charm, heimagined her to be a Catherine de' Medici. Nothing was too profound ortoo criminal for the character that he assigned to her. It was the ideal ofthe Maslons, the Frilairs and Castanedes whom he had admired in hisyounger days. It was, in short, the ideal, to him, of Paris.

　　Was ever anything so absurd as to imagine profundity or criminalityin the Parisian character?

　　 'It is possible that this trio may be making a fool of me,' he thought.

　　The reader has learned very little of Julien's nature if he has not alreadyseen the sombre, frigid expression that he assumed when his eyes metthose of Mathilde. A bitter irony repulsed the assurances of friendshipwith which Mademoiselle de La Mole in astonishment ventured on twoor three occasions, to try him.

　　Piqued by his sudden eccentricity, the heart of this girl, naturally cold,bored, responsive to intelligence, became as passionate as it was in hernature to be. But there was also a great deal of pride in Mathilde'snature, and the birth of a sentiment which made all her happiness dependent upon another was attended by a sombre melancholy.

　　Julien had made sufficient progress since his arrival in Paris to discernthat this was not the barren melancholy of boredom. Instead of beingeager, as in the past, for parties, shows and distractions of every kind,she avoided them.

　　Music performed by French singers bored Mathilde to death, and yetJulien, who made it his duty to be present at the close of the Opera, observed that she made her friends take her there as often as possible. Hethought he could detect that she had lost a little of the perfect balancewhich shone in all her actions. She would sometimes reply to her friendswith witticisms that were offensive in their pointed emphasis. It seemedto him that she had taken a dislike to the Marquis de Croisenois. 'Thatyoung man must have a furious passion for money, not to go off andleave a girl like that, however rich she may be!' thought Julien. As forhimself, indignant at the insults offered to masculine dignity, his coldness towards her increased. Often he went the length of replying withpositive discourtesy.

　　However determined he might be not to be taken in by the signs of interest shown by Mathilde, they were so evident on certain days, and Julien, from whose eyes the scales were beginning to fall, found her so attractive, that he was at times embarrassed by them.

　　'The skill and forbearance of these young men of fashion will end bytriumphing over my want of experience,' he told himself; 'I must goaway, and put an end to all this.' The Marquis had recently entrusted tohim the management of a number of small properties and houses whichhe owned in lower Languedoc. A visit to the place became necessary: M.

　　de La Mole gave a reluctant consent. Except in matters of high ambition,Julien had become his second self.

　　 'When all is said and done, they have not managed to catch me,' Julientold himself as he prepared for his departure. 'Whether the jokes whichMademoiselle de La Mole makes at the expense of these gentlemen bereal, or only intended to inspire me with confidence, I have been amusedby them.

　　'If there is no conspiracy against the carpenter's son, Mademoiselle deLa Mole is inexplicable, but she is just as much so to the Marquis deCroisenois as to me. Yesterday, for instance, her ill humour was quitegenuine, and I had the pleasure of seeing discomfited in my favour ayoung man as noble and rich as I am penniless and plebeian. That is myfinest triumph. It will keep me in good spirits in my post-chaise, as Iscour the plains of Languedoc.'

　　He had kept his departure secret, but Mathilde knew better than hethat he was leaving Paris next day, and for a long time. She pleaded asplitting headache, which was made worse by the close atmosphere ofthe drawing-room. She walked for hours in the garden, and so pursuedwith her mordant pleasantries Norbert, the Marquis de Croisenois,Caylus, de Luz and various other young men who had dined at theHotel de La Mole, that she forced them to take their leave. She looked atJulien in a strange fashion.

　　'This look is perhaps a piece of play-acting,' thought he; 'but her quickbreathing, all that emotion! Bah!' he said to himself, 'who am I to judge ofthese matters? This is an example of the most consummate, the most artificial behaviour to be found among the women of Paris. That quickbreathing, which so nearly proved too much for me, she will havelearned from Leontine Fay, whom she admires so.'

　　They were now left alone; the conversation was plainly languishing.

　　'No! Julien has no feeling for me,' Mathilde told herself with genuinedistress.

　　As he took leave of her, she clutched his arm violently:

　　'You will receive a letter from me this evening,' she told him in a voiceso strained as to be barely audible.

　　This had an immediate effect on Julien.

　　'My father,' she went on, 'has a most natural regard for the servicesthat you render him. You must not go tomorrow; find some excuse.' Andshe ran from the garden.

　　Her figure was charming. It would have been impossible to have aprettier foot, she ran with a grace that enchanted Julien; but guess what was his second thought when she had quite vanished. He was offendedby the tone of command in which she had uttered the words, you must.

　　Similarly Louis XV, as he breathed his last, was keenly annoyed by thewords you must awkwardly employed by his Chief Physician, and yetLouis XV was no upstart.

　　An hour later, a footman handed Julien a letter; it was nothing lessthan a declaration............