the purse-第6部分

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for　the　first　time　with　the　Baroness；　who；　greatly　overcome；　and

drowned　in　tears；　must　needs　embrace　him。



In　the　evening　the　old　emigre；　the　Baron　de　Rouville's　old

comrade；　paid　the　ladies　a　visit　to　announce　that　he　had　just

been　promoted　to　the　rank　of　vice…admiral。　His　voyages　by　land

over　Germany　and　Russia　had　been　counted　as　naval　campaigns。　On

seeing　the　portrait　he　cordially　shook　the　painter's　hand；　and

exclaimed；　〃By　Gad！　though　my　old　hulk　does　not　deserve　to　be

perpetuated；　I　would　gladly　give　five　hundred　pistoles　to　see

myself　as　like　as　that　is　to　my　dear　old　Rouville。〃



At　this　hint　the　Baroness　looked　at　her　young　friend　and　smiled；

while　her　face　lighted　up　with　an　expression　of　sudden　gratitude。

Hippolyte　suspected　that　the　old　admiral　wished　to　offer　him　the

price　of　both　portraits　while　paying　for　his　own。　His　pride　as　an

artist；　no　less　than　his　jealousy　perhaps；　took　offence　at　the

thought；　and　he　replied：



〃Monsieur；　if　I　were　a　portrait…painter　I　should　not　have　done

this　one。〃



The　admiral　bit　his　lip；　and　sat　down　to　cards。



The　painter　remained　near　Adelaide；　who　proposed　a　dozen　hands　of

piquet；　to　which　he　agreed。　As　he　played　he　observed　in　Madame　de

Rouville　an　excitement　over　her　game　which　surprised　him。　Never

before　had　the　old　Baroness　manifested　so　ardent　a　desire　to　win；

or　so　keen　a　joy　in　fingering　the　old　gentleman's　gold　pieces。

During　the　evening　evil　suspicions　troubled　Hippolyte's

happiness；　and　filled　him　with　distrust。　Could　it　be　that　Madame

de　Rouville　lived　by　gambling？　Was　she　playing　at　this　moment　to

pay　off　some　debt；　or　under　the　pressure　of　necessity？　Perhaps

she　had　not　paid　her　rent。　The　old　man　seemed　shrewd　enough　not

to　allow　his　money　to　be　taken　with　impunity。　What　interest

attracted　him　to　this　poverty…stricken　house；　he　who　was　rich？

Why；　when　he　had　formerly　been　so　familiar　with　Adelaide；　had　he

given　up　the　rights　he　had　acquired；　and　which　were　perhaps　his

due？



These　involuntary　reflections　prompted　him　to　watch　the　old　man

and　the　Baroness；　whose　meaning　looks　and　certain　sidelong

glances　cast　at　Adelaide　displeased　him。　〃Am　I　being　duped？〃　was

Hippolyte's　last　ideahorrible；　scathing；　for　he　believed　it

just　enough　to　be　tortured　by　it。　He　determined　to　stay　after　the

departure　of　the　two　old　men；　to　confirm　or　dissipate　his

suspicions。　He　drew　out　his　purse　to　pay　Adelaide；　but　carried

away　by　his　poignant　thoughts；　he　laid　it　on　the　table；　falling

into　a　reverie　of　brief　duration；　then；　ashamed　of　his　silence；

he　rose；　answered　some　commonplace　question　from　Madame　de

Rouville；　and　went　close　up　to　her　to　examine　the　withered

features　while　he　was　talking　to　her。



He　went　away；　racked　by　a　thousand　doubts。　He　had　gone　down　but　a

few　steps　when　he　turned　back　to　fetch　the　forgotten　purse。



〃I　left　my　purse　here！〃　he　said　to　the　young　girl。



〃No；〃　she　said；　reddening。



〃I　thought　it　was　there；〃　and　he　pointed　to　the　card…table。　Not

finding　it；　in　his　shame　for　Adelaide　and　the　Baroness；　he　looked

at　them　with　a　blank　amazement　that　made　them　laugh；　turned　pale；

felt　his　waistcoat；　and　said；　〃I　must　have　made　a　mistake。　I　have

it　somewhere　no　doubt。〃　



In　one　end　of　the　purse　there　were　fifteen　louis　d'or；　and　in　the

other　some　small　change。　The　theft　was　so　flagrant；　and　denied

with　such　effrontery；　that　Hippolyte　no　longer　felt　a　doubt　as　to

his　neighbors'　morals。　He　stood　still　on　the　stairs；　and　got　down

with　some　difficulty；　his　knees　shook；　he　felt　dizzy；　he　was　in　a

cold　sweat；　he　shivered；　and　found　himself　unable　to　walk；

struggling；　as　he　was；　with　the　agonizing　shock　caused　by　the

destruction　of　all　his　hopes。　And　at　this　moment　he　found　lurking

in　his　memory　a　number　of　observations；　trifling　in　themselves；

but　which　corroborated　his　frightful　suspicions；　and　which；　by

proving　the　certainty　of　this　last　incident；　opened　his　eyes　as

to　the　character　and　life　of　these　two　women。



Had　they　really　waited　till　the　portrait　was　given　them　before

robbing　him　of　his　purse？　In　such　a　combination　the　theft　was

even　more　odious。　The　painter　recollected　that　for　the　last　two

or　three　evenings　Adelaide；　while　seeming　to　examine　with　a

girl's　curiosity　the　particular　stitch　of　the　worn　silk　netting；

was　probably　counting　the　coins　in　the　purse；　while　making　some

light　jests；　quite　innocent　in　appearance；　but　no　doubt　with　the

object　of　watching　for　a　moment　when　the　sum　was　worth　stealing。



〃The　old　admiral　has　perhaps　good　reasons　for　not　marrying

Adelaide；　and　so　the　Baroness　has　tried〃



But　at　this　hypothesis　he　checked　himself；　not　finishing　his

thought；　which　was　contradicted　by　a　very　just　reflection；　〃If

the　Baroness　hopes　to　get　me　to　marry　her　daughter；〃　thought　he；

〃they　would　not　have　robbed　me。〃



Then；　clinging　to　his　illusions；　to　the　love　that　already　had

taken　such　deep　root；　he　tried　to　find　a　justification　in　some

accident。　〃The　purse　must　have　fallen　on　the　floor；〃　said　he　to

himself；　〃or　I　left　it　lying　on　my　chair。　Or　perhaps　I　have　it

about　meI　am　so　absent…minded！〃　He　searched　himself　with

hurried　movements；　but　did　not　find　the　ill…starred　purse。　His

memory　cruelly　retraced　the　fatal　truth；　minute　by　minute。　He

distinctly　saw　the　purse　lying　on　the　green　cloth；　but　then；

doubtful　no　longer；　he　excused　Adelaide；　telling　himself　that

persons　in　misfortune　should　not　be　so　hastily　condemned。　There

was；　of　course；　some　secret　behind　this　apparently　degrading

action。　He　would　not　admit　that　that　proud　and　noble　face　was　a

lie。



At　the　same　time　the　wretched　rooms　rose　before　him；　denuded　of

the　poetry　of　love　which　beautifies　everything；　he　saw　them　dirty

and　faded；　regarding　them　as　emblematic　of　an　inner　life　devoid

of　honor；　idle　and　vicious。　Are　not　our　feelings　written；　as　it

were；　on　the　things　about　us？



Next　morning　he　rose；　not　having　slept。　The　heartache；　that

terrible　malady　of　the　soul；　had　made　rapid　inroads。　To　lose　the

bliss　we　dreamed　of；　to　renounce　our　whole　future；　is　a　keener

pang　than　that　caused　by　the　loss　of　known　happiness；　however

complete　it　may　have　been；　for　is　not　Hope　better　than　Memory？

The　thoughts　into　which　our　spirit　is　suddenly　plunged　are　like　a

shoreless　sea；　in　which　we　may　swim　for　a　moment；　but　where　our

love　is　doomed　to　drown　and　die。　And　it　is　a　frightful　death。　Are

not　our　feelings　the　most　glorious　part　of　our　life？　It　is　this

partial　death　which；　in　certain　delicate　or　powerful　natures；

leads　to　the　terrible　ruin　produced　by　disenchantment；　by　hopes

and　passions　betrayed。　Thus　it　was　with　the　young　painter。　He

went　out　at　a　very　early　hour　to　walk　under　the　fresh　shade　of

the　Tuileries；　absorbed　in　his　thoughts；　forgetting　everything　in

the　world。



There　by　chance　he　met　one　of　his　most　intimate　friends；　a

school…fellow　and　studio…mate；　with　whom　he　had　lived　on　better

terms　than　with　a　brother。



〃Why；　Hippolyte；　what　ails　you？〃　asked　Francois　Souchet；　the

young　sculptor　who　had　just　won　the　first　prize；　and　was　soon　to

set　out　for　Italy。



〃I　am　most　unhappy；〃　replied　Hippolyte　gravely。



〃Nothing　but　a　love　affair　can　cause　you　grief。　Money；　glory；

respectyou　lack　nothing。〃



Insensibly　the　painter　was　led　into　confidences；　and　confessed

his　love。　The　moment　he　mentioned　the　Rue　de　Suresnes；　and　a

young　girl　living　on　the　fourth　floor；　〃Stop；　stop；〃　cried

Souchet　lightly。　〃A　little　girl　I　see　every　morning　at　the　Church

of　the　Assumption；　and　with　whom　I　have　a　flirtation。　But；　my

dear　fellow；　we　all　know　her。　The　mother　is　a　Baroness。　Do　you

really　believe　in　a　Baroness　living　up　four　flights　of　stairs？

Brrr！　Why；　you　are　a　relic　of　the　golden　age！　We　see　the　old


mother　here；　in　this　avenue；　every　day；　why；　her　face；　her

appearance；　tell　everything。　What；　have　you　not　known　her　for

what　she　is　by　the　way　she　holds　her　bag？〃



The　two　friends　walked　up　and　down　for　some　time；　and　several

young　men　who　knew　Souchet　or　Schinner　joined　them。　The　painter's

adventure；　which　the　sculptor　regarded　as　unimportant；　was

repeated　by　him。



〃So　he；　too；　has　seen　that　young　lady！〃　said　Souchet。



And　then　there　were　comments；　laughter；　innocent　mockery；　full　of

the　liveliness　familiar　to　artists；　but　which　pained　Hippolyte

frightfully。　A　certain　native　reticence　made　him　uncomfortable　as

he　saw　his　heart's　secret　so　carelessly　handled；　his　passion

rent；　torn　to　tatters；　a　young　and　unknown　girl；　whose　life

seemed　to　be　so　modest；　the　victim　of　condemnation；　right　or

wrong；　but　pronounced　with　such　reckless　indifference。　He

pretended　to　be　moved　by　a　spirit　of　contradiction；　asking　each

for　proofs　of　his　assertions；　and　their　jests　began　again。



〃But；　my　dear　boy；　have　you　seen　the　Baroness'　shawl？〃　asked

Souchet。



〃Have　you　ever　followed　the　girl　when　she　patters　off　to　church

in　the　morning？〃　said　Joseph　Bridau；　a　young　dauber　in　Gros'

studio。



〃Oh；　the　mother　has　among　other　virtues　a　certain　gray　gown；

which　I　regard　as　typical；〃　said　Bixiou；　the　caricaturist。



〃Listen；　Hippolyte；〃　the　sculptor　went　on。　〃Come　here　at　about

four　o'clock；　and　just　study　the　walk　of　both　mother　and

daughter。　If　after　that　you　still　have　doubts！　well；　no　one　can

ever　make　anything　of　you；　you　would　be　capable　of　marrying　your

porter's　daughter。



Torn　by　the　most　conflicting　feelings；　the　painter　parted　from

his　friends。　It　seemed　to　him　that　Adelaide　and　her　mother　must

be　superior　to　these　accusations；　and　at　the　bottom　of　his　heart

he　was　filled　with　remorse　for　having　suspected　the　purity　of

this　beautiful　and　simple　girl。　He　went　to　his　studio；　passing

the　door　of　the　rooms　where　Adelaide　was；　and　conscious　of　a　pain

at　his　heart　which　no　man　can　misapprehend。　He　loved　Mademoiselle

de　Rouville　so　passionately　that；　in　spite　of　the　theft　of　the

purse；　h