The Office of VirtueBut if I take this pleasure with so much prudence and circumspection, it ceases to be a pleasure for me.

LOPE DE VEGAImmediately on his return to Paris, and on leaving the study of theMarquis de La Mole, who appeared greatly disconcerted by the messages that were conveyed to him, our hero hastened to find ConteAltamira. With the distinction of being under sentence of death, thishandsome foreigner combined abundant gravity and had the good fortune to be devout; these two merits and, more than all, the exalted birthof the Count were entirely to the taste of Madame de Fervaques, whosaw much of him.

Julien confessed to him gravely that he was deeply in love with her.

'She represents the purest and loftiest virtue,' replied Altamira, 'only itis a trifle Jesuitical and emphatic. There are days on which I understandevery word that she uses, but I do not understand the sentence as awhole. She often makes me think that I do not know French as well aspeople say. This acquaintance will make you talked about; it will giveyou a position in society. But let us go and see Bustos,' said ConteAltamira, who had an orderly mind; 'he has made love to Madame laMarechale.'

Don Diego Bustos made them explain the matter to him in detail,without saying a word, like a barrister in chambers. He had a plump,monkish face, with black moustaches, and an unparalleled gravity; inother respects, a good carbonaro.

'I understand,' he said at length to Julien. 'Has the Marechale de Fervaques had lovers, or has she not? Have you, therefore, any hope of success? That is the question. It is as much as to say that, for my own part, Ihave failed. Now that I am no longer aggrieved, I put it to myself in this way: often she is out of temper, and, as I shall shortly prove to you, sheis nothing if not vindictive.

'I do not find in her that choleric temperament which is a mark of genius and covers every action with a sort of glaze of passion. It is, on thecontrary, to her calm and phlegmatic Dutch manner that she owes herrare beauty and the freshness of her complexion.'

Julien was growing impatient with the deliberateness and imperturbable phlegm of the Spaniard; now and again, in spite of himself, he gavevent to a monosyllabic comment.

'Will you listen to me?' Don Diego Bustos inquired gravely.

'Pardon the furia francese; I am all ears,' said Julien.

'Well, then, the Marechale de Fervaques is much given to hatred; she ispitiless in her pursuit of people she has never seen, lawyers, poor devilsof literary men who have written songs like Colle, you know?

"J'ai la marotte D'aimer Marote," etc.'

And Julien was obliged to listen to the quotation to the end. The Spaniard greatly enjoyed singing in French.

That divine song was never listened to with greater impatience. Whenhe had finished: 'The Marechale,' said Don Diego Bustos, 'has ruined theauthor of the song:

"Un jour l'amant au cabaret ... "'

Julien was in an agony lest he should wish to sing it. He contentedhimself with analysing it. It was, as a matter of fact, impious and hardlydecent.

'When the Marechale flew into a passion with that song,' said DonDiego, 'I pointed out to her that a woman of her rank ought not to readall the stupid things that are published. Whatever progress piety andgravity may make, there will always be in France a literature of the tavern. When Madame de Fervaques had the author, a poor devil on halfpay, deprived of a post worth eighteen hundred francs: "Take care," saidI to her, "you have attacked this rhymester with your weapons, he mayreply to you with his rhymes: he will make a song about virtue. The gilded saloons will be on your side; the people who like to laugh will repeathis epigrams." Do you know, Sir, what answer the Marechale made me?

"In the Lord's service all Paris would see me tread the path of martyrdom; it would be a novel spectacle in France. The people would learn torespect the quality. It would be the happiest day of my life." Never wereher eyes more brilliant.'

'And she has superb eyes,' exclaimed Julien.

'I see that you are in love ... Very well, then,' Don Diego Bustos wenton gravely, 'she has not the choleric constitution that impels one to vengeance. If she enjoys injuring people, nevertheless, it is because she is unhappy, I suspect inward suffering. May she not be a prude who has grownweary of her calling?'

The Spaniard gazed at him in silence for fully a minute.

'That is the whole question,' he went on gravely, 'and it is from thisthat you may derive some hope. I gave it much thought during the twoyears in which I professed myself her most humble servant. Your wholefuture, you, Sir, who are in love, hangs on this great problem. Is she aprude, weary of her calling, and malicious because she is miserable?'

'Or rather,' said Altamira, emerging at last from his profound silence,'can it be what I have said to you twenty times? Simply and solelyFrench vanity; it is the memory of her father, the famous cloth merchant,that causes the unhappiness of a character naturally morose and dry.

There could be only one happiness for her, that of living in Toledo, andbeing tormented by a confessor, who every day would show her hellgaping for her.'

As Julien rose to leave: 'Altamira tells me that you are one of us,' DonDiego said to him, graver than ever. 'One day you will help us to reconquer our freedom, and so I wish to help you in this little diversion. It isas well that you should be acquainted with the Marechale's style; hereare four letters in her hand.'

'I shall have them copied,' cried Julien, 'and return them to you.'

'And no one shall ever learn from you a single word of what we havebeen saying?'

'Never, upon my honour!' cried Julien.

'Then may heaven help you!' the Spaniard concluded; and he accompanied Julien and Altamira in silence to the head of the stair.

This scene cheered our hero somewhat; he almost smiled. 'And here isthe devout Altamira,' he said to himself, 'helping me in an adulterousenterprise.'

Throughout the whole of the grave conversation of Don Diego Bustos,Julien had been attentive to the stroke of the hours on the clock of theHotel d'Aligre.

The dinner hour was approaching, he was to see Mathilde again! Hewent home, and dressed himself with great care.

'My first blunder,' he said to himself, as he was going downstairs; 'Imust carry out the Prince's orders to the letter.'

He returned to his room, and put on a travelling costume of the utmost simplicity.

'Now,' he thought, 'I must consider how I am to look at her.' It wasonly half-past five, and dinner was at six. He decided to go down to thedrawing-room, which he found deserted. The sight of the blue sofamoved him to tears; soon his cheeks began to burn. 'I must get rid of thisabsurd sensibility,' he said to himself angrily; 'it will betray me.' He tookup a newspaper to keep himself in countenance, and strolled three orfour times from the drawing-room to the garden.

It was only in fear and trembling and safely concealed behind a bigoak tree that he ventured to raise his eyes to the window of Mademoiselle de La Mole's room. It was fast shut; he nearly fell to the ground, andstood for a long time leaning against the oak; then, with a tottering step,he went to look at the gardener's ladder.

The link of the chain, forced open by him in circumstances, alas, so different, had not been mended. Carried away by a mad impulse, Julienpressed it to his lips.

After a long course of wandering between drawing-room and garden,he found himself horribly tired; this was an initial success which pleasedhim greatly. 'My eyes will be dull and will not betray me!' Gradually, theguests arrived in the drawing-room; the door never opened withoutplunging Julien in mortal dread.

They sat down to table. At length Mademoiselle de La Mole appeared,still faithful to her principle of keeping the others waiting. She blushed adeep red on seeing Julien; she had not been told of his arrival. FollowingPrince Korasoff's advice, Julien looked at her hands; they were trembling. Disquieted himself, beyond all expression, by this discovery, hewas thankful to appear to be merely tired.

M. de La Mole sang his praises. The Marquise addressed him shortlyafterwards, and expressed concern at his appearance of fatigue. Julienkept on saying to himself: 'I must not look at Mademoiselle de La Moletoo much, but I ought not either to avoid her eye. I must appear to bewhat I really was a week before my disaster ... ' He had occasion to besatisfied with his success, and remained in the drawing-room. Attentive for the first time to the lady of the house, he spared no effort to make themen of her circle talk, and to keep the conversation alive.

His politeness was rewarded: about eight o'clock, Madame la Marechale de Fervaques was announced. Julien left the room and presentlyreappeared, dressed with the most scrupulous care. Madame de La Molewas vastly flattered by this mark of respect, and sought to give him aproof of her satisfaction by speaking of his travels to Madame de Fervaques. Julien took his seat beside the Marechale, in such a way that hiseyes should not be visible to Mathilde. Thus placed, and following all therules of the art, he made Madame de Fervaques the object of the mostawed admiration. It was with an outburst on this sentiment that the firstof the fifty-three letters of which Prince Korasoff had made him a presentbegan.

The Marechale announced that she was going on to the Opera-Bouffe.

Julien hastened there; he found the Chevalier de Beauvoisis, who tookhim to the box of the Gentlemen of the Household, immediately besidethat of Madame de Fervaques. Julien gazed at her incessantly. 'I must,' hesaid to himself, as he returned home, 'keep a diary of the siege; otherwiseI should lose count of my attacks.' He forced himself to write down twoor three pages on this boring subject, and thus succeeded (marvel of marvels!) in hardly giving a thought to Mademoiselle de La Mole.

Mathilde had almost forgotten him during his absence. 'After all, he isonly a common person,' she thought, 'his name will always remind me ofthe greatest mistake of my life. I must return in all sincerity to the recognised standards of prudence and honour; a woman has everything tolose in forgetting them.' She showed herself ready to permit at length theconclusion of the arrangement with the Marquis de Croisenois, begun solong since. He was wild with joy; he would have been greatly astonishedhad anyone told him that it was resignation that lay at the root of this attitude on Mathilde's part, which was making him so proud.

All Mademoiselle de La Mole's ideas changed at the sight of Julien. 'Inreality, that is my husband,' she said to herself; 'if I return in sincerity tothe standards of prudence, it is obviously he that I ought to marry.'

She was prepared for importunities, for an air of misery on Julien'spart; she prepared her answers: for doubtless, on rising from table, hewould endeavour to say a few words to her. Far from it, he remainedfixed in the drawing-room, his eyes never even turned towards thegarden, heaven knows with how great an effort! 'It would be better to getour explanation over at once,' Mademoiselle de La Mole told herself; she went out by herself to the garden, Julien did not appear there. Mathildereturned and strolled past the drawing-room windows; she saw himbusily engaged in describing to Madame de Fervaques the old ruinedcastles that crown the steep banks of the Rhine and give them so distinctive a character. He was beginning to acquit himself none too badly in theuse of the sentimental and picturesque language which is called wit incertain drawing-rooms.

Prince Korasoff would indeed have been proud, had he been in Paris:

the evening was passing exactly as he had foretold.

He would have approved of the mode of behaviour to which Julienadhered throughout the days that followed.

An intrigue among those constituting the Power behind the Thronewas about to dispose of several Blue Ribands; Madame la Marechale deFervaques insisted that her great-uncle should be made a Knight of theOrder. The Marquis de La Mole was making a similar claim for hisfather-in-law; they combined their efforts, and the Marechale came almost every day to the Hotel de La Mole. It was from her that Julienlearned that the Marquis was to become a Minister: he offered theCamarilla a highly ingenious plan for destroying the Charter, without anyfuss, in three years' time.

Julien might expect a Bishopric, if M. de La Mole entered the Ministry;but to his eyes all these important interests were as though hidden by aveil. His imagination perceived them now only vaguely, and so to speakin the distance. The fearful misery which was driving him mad madehim see every interest in life in the state of his relations with Mademoiselle de La Mole. He calculated that after five or six years of patient effort,he might succeed in making her love him once again.

This coolest of heads had, as we see, sunk to a state of absolute unreason. Of all the qualities that had distinguished him in the past, there remained to him only a trace of firmness. Faithful to the letter to the planof conduct dictated to him by Prince Korasoff, every evening he took hisplace as near as possible to the armchair occupied by Madame de Fervaques, but found it impossible to think of a word to say to her.

The effort that he was imposing on himself to appear cured in the eyesof Mathilde absorbed all his spiritual strength, he remained rooted beside the Marechale like a barely animate being; his eyes even, as in theextremity of physical suffering, had lost all their fire.

Since Madame de La Mole's attitude towards the world was neveranything more than a feeble copy of the opinions of that husband who might make her a Duchess, for some days she had been lauding Julien'smerits to the skies.