Part 6 (1/2)

”How he has changed!” observed one of the two gentlemen, looking at Monsieur de Marcey, who happened to pa.s.s through the salon.

”Changed! whom do you mean?”

”De Marcey.”

”Oh! do you think so?”

”If you had known De Marcey twenty-five years ago, as I did, my dear Dolmont----”

”Parbleu! that's just it--twenty-five years ago; and it seems to you that it was only yesterday--and that he ought to appear the same to-day.”

”No, no, I don't say that.--Dear De Marcey! We made the Austerlitz campaign together.”

”Oho! were you at Austerlitz?”

”Yes, indeed; I am proud to say that I was; and I have been in almost every battle that has been fought since. Now, I am resting.”

Robineau took his eyes from his vanilla ice for an instant, to look at the speaker. He saw a man of fifty, whose frank and intelligent face bore more than one scar; his b.u.t.tonhole was decorated with several orders, and Robineau said to himself:

”This gentleman has well earned his decorations--that is sure!”

”To be sure,” rejoined the old soldier's companion a moment later, ”De Marcey is not old; he entered the service early in life, as you did; but so many things have happened since that it always seems as if centuries had pa.s.sed over our heads.”

”For my part, when I think of my campaigns, it seems as if it had all happened no longer ago than yesterday, for I fancy that I am still in the field!”

”He is like me,” thought Robineau, ”when I think of my first fancy.

And yet it was ten years ago. She was a _figurante_ at the Porte-Saint-Martin, and on the day of our first rendezvous we dined at the Vendanges de Bourgogne, Faubourg du Temple. It wasn't a fas.h.i.+onable restaurant then as it is to-day, and there was no ca.n.a.l to cross to get there; but they served delicious _sheep's-trotters_. It seems to me that I am there still. I was eighteen years old then. Ah me! one grows old without perceiving it!”

And Robineau heaved a sigh--which did not prevent his finis.h.i.+ng his ice.

”When I say, Dolmont, that De Marcey seems changed to me, I refer to his temperament rather than to his physical aspect. If you had known him long ago--he was always in high spirits and a jovial companion; he used to laugh and joke with us. He was fond of the ladies--oh! he was a great lady's man. But he was jealous of his mistresses, very jealous! I recall that on various occasions that tendency led him into quarrels; and indeed it was on account of it, I believe, that they married him at twenty-three to a young lady for whom he cared very little. His parents maintained that, with his jealous disposition, if he married for love he would be unhappy. And in fact his marriage began very auspiciously. I knew De Marcey's first wife; she was a very attractive woman, and I believe that she would have made her husband very happy; unfortunately she died, a year after giving birth to a son. I learned that De Marcey married again after six years; but I was not in Paris then, and De Marcey had left the army. I never knew his second wife.”

”He didn't marry the second time in Paris, but somewhere in the neighborhood of Bordeaux. It seems that his wife's family had an estate there, and the marriage took place on that property. Indeed, I think that he did not return to Paris with his wife until long after his second marriage.”

”And what sort of person was his second wife?”

”Charming! One of those exquisite faces such as the painters succeed in producing occasionally, but which we see much less frequently in the world.”

”The deuce!”

”But she had a sad, melancholy air; when she smiled, the smile seemed to conceal a secret grief. I never saw her dance, although she was very young, eighteen at most; but she seemed to shun the pleasures suited to her age, and to go into society solely to please her husband.”

”And De Marcey was very fond of her?”

”Oh! he adored her; he seized every opportunity of giving her pleasure.

He was untiring in his devotion to her.”

”Did he have any children by her?”

”No; but the lovely Adele--that was the second wife's name--loved little Alfred dearly, and manifested all a mother's affection for him. She died after three years; De Marcey's grief was so violent that for a long time his life was in danger. At last, the sight of his son, meditation, lapse of time----”