Samuel Brohl and Company | Page 9

it. Her physiognomy was not pleasing to
M. Moriaz; he had several times besought his daughter to part with her.
In the goodness of her soul Antoinette always refused; she was not one
who could countenance rebuffs to old domestics, old dogs, old horses,
or worn-out governesses. Young Candide arrived at the conclusion, as
the result of his observations, that the first degree of happiness would
be to be Mlle. Gunegonde, and the second to contemplate her
throughout life. Mlle. Moiseney believed that it would be the first
degree of superhuman felicity to be Mlle. Moriaz, the second to pass
one's life near this queen, who, arbitrary and capricious though she
might be, was most thoughtful of the happiness of her subjects, and to
be able to say: "It was I that hatched the egg whence arose this phoenix;
I did something for this marvel; I taught her English and music." She
had boundless admiration for her queen, amounting actually to idolatry.
The English profess that their sovereigns can do nothing amiss: "The
king can do no wrong." Mlle. Moiseney was convinced that Mlle.
Moriaz could neither do wrong nor make mistakes about anything. She
saw everything with her eyes, espoused her likes and her dislikes, her
sentiments, her opinions, her rights, and her wrongs; she lived, as it
were, a reflected existence. Every morning she said to her idol, "How
beautiful we are to-day!" precisely as the bell-ringer who, puffing out
his cheeks, cried: "We are in voice; we have chanted vespers well
to-day!" M. Moriaz excused her for finding his daughter charming, but
could not so readily approve of her upholding Antoinette's ideas, her
decisions, her prejudices. "This woman is no chaperon," said he; "she is
an admiration-point!" He would have been very glad to have routed her
from the field, and to give her place to a person of good sound sense
and judgment, one who might gain some influence over Antoinette. It
would have greatly surprised Mlle. Moiseney had he represented to her
that she lacked good sense. This good creature flattered herself that she
had an inexhaustible stock of this commodity; she placed the highest
estimate on her own judgment; she believed herself to be well-nigh
infallible. She discoursed in the tone of an oracle on future
contingencies; she prided herself on being able to divine all things, to

foresee all things, to predict all things--in a word, to be in the secret of
the gods. As her Christian name was Joan, M. Moriaz, who set little
store by his calendar, sometimes called her Pope Joan, which wounded
her deeply.
Mlle. Moiseney had two weaknesses; she was a gormand, and she
admired handsome men. Let us understand the case: she knew perfectly
well that they were not created for her; that she had no attractions to
offer them; that they had nothing to give her. She admired them naively
and innocently, as a child might admire a beautiful Epinal engraving;
she would willingly have cut out their likenesses to hang on a nail on
her wall, and contemplate while rereading "Gonzalve de Cordue" and
"Le Dernier des Cavaliers," her two favourite romances. At Bergun,
during the repast, her brain had been working, and she had made two
reflections. The first was, that the trout of Albula were incomparable,
the second that the stranger seated opposite her had a remarkably
handsome head, and was altogether a fine-looking man. Several times,
with fork halfway to mouth, and nose in the air, she had forgotten
herself in her scrutiny of him.
Antoinette, rather weary, had retired early to her chamber. Mlle.
Moiseney repaired thither to see if she needed anything, and, as she
was about leaving her for the night, candle in hand, she suddenly
inquired, "Do not you think, as I do, that this stranger is a
remarkable-looking person?"
"Of whom do you speak?" rejoined Antoinette.
"Why, of the traveller who sat opposite me."
"I confess that I scarcely looked at him."
"Indeed! He has superb eyes, nearly green, with fawn-coloured tinting."
"Most astonishing! And his hair, is it green also?"
"Chestnut brown, almost hazel."

"Pray be more exact; is it hazel or not?"
"You need not laugh at me--his whole appearance is striking, his figure
singular, but full of character, full of expression, and as handsome as
singular."
"What enthusiasm! It seemed to me, so far as I noticed, that he was
inclined to stoop, and that his head was very badly poised."
"What do you say?" cried Mlle. Moiseney, greatly scandalized. "How
came you to think his head badly poised?"
"There--there! Don't let us quarrel about it; I am ready to retract.
Good-night, mademoiselle. Apropos, did you know that M. Camille
Langis had returned to Paris?"
"I did not know it, but I am not surprised. I