In the eyes of the Marquis, Chesnel's official dignity was as nothing;his old servitor was merely disguised as a notary.As for Chesnel, the Marquis was now, as always, a being of a divine race; he believed in nobility; he did not blush to remember that his father had thrown open the doors of the salon to announce that "My Lord Marquis is served."His devotion to the fallen house was due not so much to his creed as to egoism; he looked on himself as one of the family.So his vexation was intense.Once he had ventured to allude to his mistake in spite of the Marquis' prohibition, and the old noble answered gravely--"Chesnel, before the troubles you would not have permitted yourself to entertain such injurious suppositions.What can these new doctrines be if they have spoiled YOU?"Maitre Chesnel had gained the confidence of the whole town; people looked up to him; his high integrity and considerable fortune contributed to make him a person of importance.From that time forth he felt a very decided aversion for the Sieur du Crosier; and though there was little rancor in his composition, he set others against the sometime forage-contractor.Du Croisier, on the other hand, was a man to bear a grudge and nurse a vengeance for a score of years.He hated Chesnel and the d'Esgrignon family with the smothered, all-absorbing hate only to be found in a country town.His rebuff had simply ruined him with the malicious provincials among whom he had come to live, thinking to rule over them.It was so real a disaster that he was not long in feeling the consequences of it.He betook himself in desperation to a wealthy old maid, and met with a second refusal.Thus failed the ambitious schemes with which he had started.He had lost his hope of a marriage with Mlle.d'Esgrignon, which would have opened the Faubourg Saint-Germain of the province to him; and after the second rejection, his credit fell away to such an extent that it was almost as much as he could do to keep his position in the second rank.
In 1805, M.de la Roche-Guyon, the oldest son of an ancient family which had previously intermarried with the d'Esgrignons, made proposals in form through Maitre Chesnel for Mlle.Marie Armande Clair d'Esgrignon.She declined to hear the notary.
"You must have guessed before now that I am a mother, dear Chesnel,"she said; she had just put her nephew, a fine little boy of five, to bed.
The old Marquis rose and went up to his sister, but just returned from the cradle; he kissed her hand reverently, and as he sat down again, found words to say:
"My sister, you are a d'Esgrignon."
A quiver ran through the noble girl; the tears stood in her eyes.M.
d'Esgrignon, the father of the present Marquis, had married a second wife, the daughter of a farmer of taxes ennobled by Louis XIV.It was a shocking mesalliance in the eyes of his family, but fortunately of no importance, since a daughter was the one child of the marriage.
Armande knew this.Kind as her brother had always been, he looked on her as a stranger in blood.And this speech of his had just recognized her as one of the family.
And was not her answer the worthy crown of eleven years of her noble life? Her every action since she came of age had borne the stamp of the purest devotion; love for her brother was a sort of religion with her.
"I shall die Mlle.d'Esgrignon," she said simply, turning to the notary.
"For you there could be no fairer title," returned Chesnel, meaning to convey a compliment.Poor Mlle.d'Esgrignon reddened.
"You have blundered, Chesnel," said the Marquis, flattered by the steward's words, but vexed that his sister had been hurt."Ad'Esgrignon may marry a Montmorency; their descent is not so pure as ours.The d'Esgrignons bear or, two bends, gules," he continued, "and nothing during nine hundred years has changed their scutcheon; as it was at first, so it is to-day.Hence our device, Cil est nostre, taken at a tournament in the reign of Philip Augustus, with the supporters, a knight in armor or on the right, and a lion gules on the left.""I do not remember that any woman I have ever met has struck my imagination as Mlle.d'Esgrignon did," said Emile Blondet, to whom contemporary literature is indebted for this history among other things."Truth to tell, I was a boy, a mere child at the time, and perhaps my memory-pictures of her owe something of their vivid color to a boy's natural turn for the marvelous.
"If I was playing with other children on the Parade, and she came to walk there with her nephew Victurnien, the sight of her in the distance thrilled me with very much the effect of galvanism on a dead body.Child as I was, I felt as though new life had been given me.
"Mlle.Armande had hair of tawny gold; there was a delicate fine down on her cheek, with a silver gleam upon it which I loved to catch, putting myself so that I could see the outlines of her face lit up by the daylight, and feel the fascination of those dreamy emerald eyes, which sent a flash of fire through me whenever they fell upon my face.
I used to pretend to roll on the grass before her in our games, only to try to reach her little feet, and admire them on a closer view.The soft whiteness of her skin, her delicate features, the clearly cut lines of her forehead, the grace of her slender figure, took me with a sense of surprise, while as yet I did not know that her shape was graceful, nor her brows beautiful, nor the outline of her face a perfect oval.I admired as children pray at that age, without too clearly understanding why they pray.When my piercing gaze attracted her notice, when she asked me (in that musical voice of hers, with more volume in it, as it seemed to me, than all other voices), 'What are you doing little one? Why do you look at me?'--I used to come nearer and wriggle and bite my finger-nails, and redden and say, 'I do not know.' And if she chanced to stroke my hair with her white hand, and ask me how old I was, I would run away and call from a distance, 'Eleven!'
