Year: 1875

Du VI diinC 10 tWCutl c
years of age; she is widow; she spends
the winter in Paris with her sister, and the
summer in an old Norman manor-house,
with her aunt, Madame de Pontbrian-
Let me get rid Of the aunt first


This aunt, who is of very ancient nobil-
ity, is particularly noted for the ferve., of
her hereditary opinions, and for her strict
devotion. Those are both claims to con-
sideration which / admit fully, so far as 1
am concerned Every solid principle and
every sincere sentiment command in these
days a peculiar respect. Unfortunately,
Madame de Pontbrian seems TO be one of
those intensely dsvout persons who are
but Indifferent Christians She is one of
those who, reducing to few minor obser-
vances, of which they are ridiculously
proud, all the duties of their religious or
political faith, impart to both harsh and
hateful appearance, the effect of which is
not exactly 10 attract proselytes The
outer forms, in all things. are sufficient
for her conscience; otherwise, no trace of
humility. Her genealogy, her assiduity
to church, and her annual pilgrimages to
the shrine of an illustrious exile (who
would probably be glad to dispense with
the sight of her countenance), inspire to
this lad such lofty idea of herself and
such profound contempt for her neigh>
bor, that they make her positively unso-
ciable. She remains forever absorbed in
the latrain worship which she believes
due to herself She deigns to speak but
to God, and He must indeed be kind and
merciful God if He listens to her.


Under the nominal patronage of this
mystic duenna, the Little Countess enjoys
an absolute independence, which she uses
TO excess. After spending the winter in
Paris, where she kills off regularly two
hcrses and a coachman every month for
the sole qualification of waiting ten min
ures every night in half dozen diff
ftrent balls, Ma1ame de Palme feels the
necessity Of seeking rest in ths peace Of ru-
raj life. She arrives at he aunt's, she
jumps upon horse, and she starts at full
gallop. 1t matters not which way she
goes, provided she keeps going. Most
generally she comes to the chateau de
Malouet, where the kind-hearted mistress
of the house manifests for her an amount
Of prediction which can hardly UNDER
stand. Familiar with men, impertinent
with women, the Little Countess offers a
broad mark TO the most indescreet homage
Of the former, and to the jealous hostility
of the latter. Indifferent to the outrages
of public opinion, she seems ready to as
pire to the coarsest incense of gallantry;
but what she requires above all things is
noise, movement, whirl, worldly pleas
ure carried to its most extreme and most
extravagant fury; what she requires every
nd ,rht
is break neck-chase, which she conducts
With frenzy; reckless game, in which
she may break the bank; an unbridled
German, which she leads until dawn. A
stoppage of single minute, a moment of
rest, of meditation and reflection, would
kill her. Never was an existence so busy
and so idle; never a more unceasing and
more sterile activity. .-.


Thus she goes through life hurriedly
and without a halt graceful, careless, busy
and ignorant as the horse she rides. When
she reaches the fatal goal, that woman
will fall from the nothingness OF her agi-
Iation into the nothingness of eternal rest,
without the shadow of a serious idea, the
faintest notion of duty, the lightest cloud
ofa thought worthy human being, having
ever GTdLtu, CNCn III tuC
brain that is sheltered behind her pure,
smiling and stupid brow. 1t might be
said that death. at whatever age it may
overtake her, will find the Little Countess
just as she left the cradle, if it were pos
sible to suppose that che has preserved it's
innocence as well as she retained its pro-
found peurility.


Has the madcap a soul? The word
nothingness has escaped me. 1t is indeed
difficult for me to conceive what might
survive that body when it has once lost
the vain fever and frivolous breath that
seem alone to animate it


know too well the miserable ways of
the world, to take to the letter the accu-
sations of immortality of which Madame de
Pafme is here the object on the part of the
witches.as also on the part of some of her
rivals who are silly enough to envy her
social success 1t is not in that respect
as you may understand, that l treat her
with SO much severity. Men, when they
shoI themselves unmerciful for certain
errors, are too apt to forget that they have
all, more or less, spent part of their lives
seeking to bring them about for their own
benefit. But there is in the feminine
type which ] have just sketched some
thing more shocking than immortality it.
self, which, however, it is rather difficult
to separate from it And so, notwith-
standing my desire of not making myself
conspicuous IN anything, have been un-
able to take upon myself to5oin the throng
OF admirers whom Madame de Palme
drags after her triumphal car. I-know
not whittier.


ale tyran dams sa cour remarqua mon absence" !"
/ am sometimes tempted to believe it,
from the glsnces of astonishment and
scorn with which am overwhelmed when
we meet; but it is more simple to attrib-
ute these hostile symptoms to the natural
antipathy that separates two creatures as
dissimilar as we are. l look at her at
times, myself, with gaping surprise which
must be excited in the mind ofany think
ing being by the moDstrosity of such a
psychological phenomenon. In that way
We are even.
ought rather to say we 1ere even, for
we are really no longer so, since rather
cruel little adventure that happened to
me last night, and which constitutes in
my account-current with Madame de
Paine considerable advance, which she
will find it difficult to make mp l have
told you that Madame de Malouet, through
I know Lot what refinement of Christian
charity, manifested a genuine prediliction
| for the Little Countess. j was talking
with the marquise last evening in cor
ner of the drawing-room. / took the
| liberty of telling her that IN 10 adiiiotion