LAbbe Constantin | Page 9

but a genuine mine, a real mine--a mine with silver in it. Ah! we
shall see what luxury will reign at Longueval! We shall all look like
paupers beside them! It is said that they have 100,000 francs a day to
spend."
"Such are our neighbors!" cried Madame de Lavardens. "An
adventuress! and that is the least of it--a heretic, Monsieur l'Abbe, a
Protestant!"
A heretic! a Protestant! Poor Cure; it was indeed that of which he had
immediately thought on hearing the words, "An American, Mrs. Scott."
The new chatelaine of Longueval would not go to mass. What did it
matter to him that she had been a beggar? What did it matter to him if
she possessed tens and tens of millions? She was not a Catholic. He
would never again baptize children born at Longueval, and the chapel

in the castle, where he had so often said mass, would be transformed
into a Protestant oratory, which would echo only the frigid utterances
of a Calvinistic or Lutheran pastor.
Every one was distressed, disappointed, overwhelmed; but in the midst
of the general depression Paul stood radiant.
"A charming heretic at all events," said he, "or rather two charming
heretics. You should see the two sisters on horseback in the Bois, with
two little grooms behind them not higher than that."
"Come, Paul, tell us all you know. Describe the ball of which you speak.
How did you happen to go to a ball at these Americans?"
"By the greatest chance. My Aunt Valentine was at home that night; I
looked in about ten o'clock. Well, Aunt Valentine's Wednesdays are not
exactly scenes of wild enjoyment, I give you my word! I had been there
about twenty minutes when I caught sight of Roger de Puymartin
escaping furtively. I caught him in the hall and said:
"'We will go home together.'
"'Oh! I am not going home.'
"'Where are you going?'
"'To the ball.'
"'Where?'
"'At Mrs. Scott's. Will you come?'
"'But I have not been invited.'
"'Neither have I'
"'What! not invited?'
"'No. I am going with one of my friends.'

"'And does your friend know them?'
"'Scarcely; but enough to introduce us. Come along; you will see Mrs.
Scott.'
"'Oh! I have seen her on horseback in the Bois.'
"'But she does not wear a low gown on horseback; you have not seen
her shoulders, and they are shoulders which ought to be seen. There is
nothing better in Paris at this moment.'
"And I went to the ball, and I saw Mrs. Scott's red hair, and I saw Mrs.
Scott's white shoulders, and I hope to see them again when there are
balls at Longueval."
"Paul!" said Madame de Lavardens, pointing to the Abbe.
"Oh! Monsieur l'Abbe, I beg a thousand pardons. Have I said anything?
It seems to me--"
The poor old priest had heard nothing; his thoughts were elsewhere.
Already he saw, in the village streets, the Protestant pastor from the
castle stopping before each house, and slipping under the doors little
evangelical pamphlets.
Continuing his account, Paul launched into an enthusiastic description
of the mansion, which was a marvel--
"Of bad taste and ostentation," interrupted Madame de Lavardens.
"Not at all, mother, not at all; nothing startling, nothing loud. It is
admirably furnished, everything done with elegance and originality. An
incomparable conservatory, flooded with electric light; the buffet was
placed in the conservatory under a vine laden with grapes, which one
could gather by handfuls, and in the month of April! The accessories of
the cotillon cost, it appears, more than 400,000 francs. Ornaments,
'bon-bonnieres', delicious trifles, and we were begged to accept them.
For my part I took nothing, but there were many who made no scruple.

That evening Puymartin told me Mrs. Scott's history, but it was not at
all like Monsieur de Larnac's story. Roger said that, when quite little,
Mrs. Scott had been stolen from her family by some acrobats, and that
her father had found her in a travelling circus, riding on barebacked
horses and jumping through paper hoops."
"A circus-rider!" cried Madame de Lavardens, "I should have preferred
the beggar."
"And while Roger was telling me this Family Herald romance, I saw
approaching from the end of a gallery a wonderful cloud of lace and
satin; it surrounded this rider from a wandering circus, and I admired
those shoulders, those dazzling shoulders, on which undulated a
necklace of diamonds as big as the stopper of a decanter. They say that
the Minister of Finance had sold secretly to Mrs. Scott half the crown
diamonds, and that was how, the month before, he had been able to
show a surplus of 1,500,000 francs in the budget. Add to all this that
the lady had a remarkably good air, and that the