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the moment when Marthe, driven by the imminence of the peril, was
gliding with the rapidity of a shadow towards the breach of which
Michu had told her, the salon of the chateau of Cinq-Cygne presented a
peaceful sight. Its occupants were so far from suspecting the storm that
was about to burst upon them that their quiet aspect would have roused
the compassion of any one who knew their situation. In the large
fireplace, the mantel of which was adorned with a mirror with
shepherdesses in paniers painted on its frame, burned a fire such as
can be seen only in chateaus bordering on forests. At the corner of
this fireplace, on a large square sofa of gilded wood with a magnificent
brocaded cover, the young countess lay as it were extended, in an
attitude of utter weariness. Returning at six o'clock from the confines
of Brie, having played the part of scout to the four gentlemen whom she
guided safely to their last halting-place before they entered Paris, she
had found Monsieur and Madame d'Hauteserre just finishing their dinner.
Pressed by hunger she sat down to table without changing either her
muddy habit or her boots. Instead of doing so at once after dinner,
she was suddenly overcome with fatigue and allowed her head with its
beautiful fair curls to drop on the back of the sofa, her feet being
supported in front of her by a stool. The warmth of the fire had dried
the mud on her habit and on her boots. Her doeskin gloves and the little
peaked cap with its green veil and a whip lay on the table where she had
flung them. She looked sometimes at the old Boule clock which stood on
the mantelshelf between the candelabra, perhaps to judge if her four
conspirators were asleep, and sometimes at the card-table in front of
the fire where Monsieur and Madame d'Hauteserre, the cure of Cinq-Cygne,
and his sister were playing a game of boston.
Even if these personages were not embedded in this drama, their
portraits would have the merit of representing one of the aspects of
the aristocracy after its overthrow in 1793. From this point of view,
a sketch of the salon at Cinq-Cygne has the raciness of history seen in
dishabille.
Monsieur d'Hauteserre, then fifty-two years of age, tall, spare,
high-colored, and robust in health, would have seemed the embodiment of
vigor if it were not for a pair of porcelain blue eyes, the glance of
which denoted the most absolute simplicity. In his face, which ended
in a long pointed chin, there was, judging by the rules of design,
an unnatural distance between his nose and mouth which gave him a
submissive air, wholly in keeping with his character, which harmonized,
in fact, with other details of his appearance. His gray hair, flattened
by his hat, which he wore nearly all day, looked much like a skull-cap
on his head, and defined its pear-shaped outline. His forehead, much
wrinkled by life in the open air and by constant anxieties, was flat and
expressionless. His aquiline nose redeemed the face somewhat; but the
sole indication of any strength of character lay in the bushy eyebrows
which retained their blackness, and in the brilliant coloring of his
skin. These signs were in some respects not misleading, for the worthy
gentlemen, though simple and very gentle, was Catholic and monarchical
in faith, and no consideration on earth could make him change his views.
Nevertheless he would have let himself be arrested without an effort
at defence, and would have gone to the scaffold quietly. His annuity of
three thousand francs kept him from emigrating. He therefore obeyed the
government
de facto
without ceasing to love the royal family and to
pray for their return, though he would firmly have refused to compromise
himself by any effort in their favor. He belonged to that class of
royalists who ceaselessly remembered that they were beaten and robbed;
and who remained thenceforth dumb, economical, rancorous, without
energy; incapable of abjuring the past, but equally incapable of
sacrifice; waiting to greet triumphant
gliding with the rapidity of a shadow towards the breach of which
Michu had told her, the salon of the chateau of Cinq-Cygne presented a
peaceful sight. Its occupants were so far from suspecting the storm that
was about to burst upon them that their quiet aspect would have roused
the compassion of any one who knew their situation. In the large
fireplace, the mantel of which was adorned with a mirror with
shepherdesses in paniers painted on its frame, burned a fire such as
can be seen only in chateaus bordering on forests. At the corner of
this fireplace, on a large square sofa of gilded wood with a magnificent
brocaded cover, the young countess lay as it were extended, in an
attitude of utter weariness. Returning at six o'clock from the confines
of Brie, having played the part of scout to the four gentlemen whom she
guided safely to their last halting-place before they entered Paris, she
had found Monsieur and Madame d'Hauteserre just finishing their dinner.
Pressed by hunger she sat down to table without changing either her
muddy habit or her boots. Instead of doing so at once after dinner,
she was suddenly overcome with fatigue and allowed her head with its
beautiful fair curls to drop on the back of the sofa, her feet being
supported in front of her by a stool. The warmth of the fire had dried
the mud on her habit and on her boots. Her doeskin gloves and the little
peaked cap with its green veil and a whip lay on the table where she had
flung them. She looked sometimes at the old Boule clock which stood on
the mantelshelf between the candelabra, perhaps to judge if her four
conspirators were asleep, and sometimes at the card-table in front of
the fire where Monsieur and Madame d'Hauteserre, the cure of Cinq-Cygne,
and his sister were playing a game of boston.
Even if these personages were not embedded in this drama, their
portraits would have the merit of representing one of the aspects of
the aristocracy after its overthrow in 1793. From this point of view,
a sketch of the salon at Cinq-Cygne has the raciness of history seen in
dishabille.
Monsieur d'Hauteserre, then fifty-two years of age, tall, spare,
high-colored, and robust in health, would have seemed the embodiment of
vigor if it were not for a pair of porcelain blue eyes, the glance of
which denoted the most absolute simplicity. In his face, which ended
in a long pointed chin, there was, judging by the rules of design,
an unnatural distance between his nose and mouth which gave him a
submissive air, wholly in keeping with his character, which harmonized,
in fact, with other details of his appearance. His gray hair, flattened
by his hat, which he wore nearly all day, looked much like a skull-cap
on his head, and defined its pear-shaped outline. His forehead, much
wrinkled by life in the open air and by constant anxieties, was flat and
expressionless. His aquiline nose redeemed the face somewhat; but the
sole indication of any strength of character lay in the bushy eyebrows
which retained their blackness, and in the brilliant coloring of his
skin. These signs were in some respects not misleading, for the worthy
gentlemen, though simple and very gentle, was Catholic and monarchical
in faith, and no consideration on earth could make him change his views.
Nevertheless he would have let himself be arrested without an effort
at defence, and would have gone to the scaffold quietly. His annuity of
three thousand francs kept him from emigrating. He therefore obeyed the
government
de facto
without ceasing to love the royal family and to
pray for their return, though he would firmly have refused to compromise
himself by any effort in their favor. He belonged to that class of
royalists who ceaselessly remembered that they were beaten and robbed;
and who remained thenceforth dumb, economical, rancorous, without
energy; incapable of abjuring the past, but equally incapable of
sacrifice; waiting to greet triumphant
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