"You know what a hubbub there was when they tried to institute a law for special cases.We could not keep the provost's courts, which M.DEBonaparte used to call commissions militaires.""Well, well; what are we to do if our boys are wild, or turn out scapegraces? Is there no locking them up in these days?" asked the Marquis.
The Chevalier looked at the heartbroken father and lacked courage to answer, "We shall be obliged to bring them up properly.""And you have never said a word of this to me, Mlle.d'Esgrignon,"added the Marquis, turning suddenly round upon Mlle.Armande.He never addressed her as Mlle.d'Esgrignon except when he was vexed; usually she was called "my sister.""Why, monsieur, when a young man is full of life and spirits, and leads an idle life in a town like this, what else can you expect?"asked Mlle.d'Esgrignon.She could not understand her brother's anger.
"Debts! eh! why, hang it all!" added the Chevalier."He plays cards, he has little adventures, he shoots,--all these things are horribly expensive nowadays.""Come," said the Marquis, "it is time to send him to the King.I will spend to-morrow morning in writing to our kinsmen.""I have some acquaintance with the Ducs de Navarreins, de Lenoncourt, de Maufrigneuse, and de Chaulieu," said the Chevalier, though he knew, as he spoke, that he was pretty thoroughly forgotten.
"My dear Chevalier, there is no need of such formalities to present a d'Esgrignon at court," the Marquis broke in.--"A hundred thousand livres," he muttered; "this Chesnel makes very free.This is what comes of these accursed troubles.M.Chesnel protects my son.And now I must ask him....No, sister, you must undertake this business.
Chesnel shall secure himself for the whole amount by a mortgage on our lands.And just give this harebrained boy a good scolding; he will end by ruining himself if he goes on like this."The Chevalier and Mlle.d'Esgrignon thought these words perfectly ****** and natural, absurd as they would have sounded to any other listener.So far from seeing anything ridiculous in the speech, they were both very much touched by a look of something like anguish in the old noble's face.Some dark premonition seemed to weigh upon M.
d'Esgrignon at that moment, some glimmering of an insight into the changed times.He went to the settee by the fireside and sat down, forgetting that Chesnel would be there before long; that Chesnel, of whom he could not bring himself to ask anything.
Just then the Marquis d'Esgrignon looked exactly as any imagination with a touch of romance could wish.He was almost bald, but a fringe of silken, white locks, curled at the tips, covered the back of his head.All the pride of race might be seen in a noble forehead, such as you may admire in a Louis XV., a Beaumarchais, a Marechal de Richelieu, it was not the square, broad brow of the portraits of the Marechal de Saxe; nor yet the small hard circle of Voltaire, compact to overfulness; it was graciously rounded and finely moulded, the temples were ivory tinted and soft; and mettle and spirit, unquenched by age, flashed from the brilliant eyes.The Marquis had the Conde nose and the lovable Bourbon mouth, from which, as they used to say of the Comte d'Artois, only witty and urbane words proceed.His cheeks, sloping rather than foolishly rounded to the chin, were in keeping with his spare frame, thin legs, and plump hands.The strangulation cravat at his throat was of the kind which every marquis wears in all the portraits which adorn eighteenth century literature; it is common alike to Saint-Preux and to Lovelace, to the elegant Montesquieu's heroes and to Diderot's homespun characters (see the first editions of those writers' works).
The Marquis always wore a white, gold-embroidered, high waistcoat, with the red ribbon of a commander of the Order of St.Louis blazing upon his breast; and a blue coat with wide skirts, and fleur-de-lys on the flaps, which were turned back--an odd costume which the King had adopted.But the Marquis could not bring himself to give up the Frenchman's knee-breeches nor yet the white silk stockings or the buckles at the knees.After six o'clock in the evening he appeared in full dress.
He read no newspapers but the Quotidienne and the Gazette de France, two journals accused by the Constitutional press of obscurantist views and uncounted "monarchical and religious" enormities; while the Marquis d'Esgrignon, on the other hand, found heresies and revolutionary doctrines in every issue.No matter to what extremes the organs of this or that opinion may go, they will never go quite far enough to please the purists on their own side; even as the portrayer of this magnificent personage is pretty certain to be accused of exaggeration, whereas he has done his best to soften down some of the cruder tones and dim the more startling tints of the original.
The Marquis d'Esgrignon rested his elbows on his knees and leant his head on his hands.During his meditations Mlle.Armande and the Chevalier looked at one another without uttering the thoughts in their minds.Was he pained by the discovery that his son's future must depend upon his sometime land steward? Was he doubtful of the reception awaiting the young Count? Did he regret that he had made no preparation for launching his heir into that brilliant world of court?
Poverty had kept him in the depths of his province; how should he have appeared at court? He sighed heavily as he raised his head.
That sigh, in those days, came from the real aristocracy all over France; from the loyal provincial noblesse, consigned to neglect with most of those who had drawn sword and braved the storm for the cause.
