The Message | Page 4

my own conclusions at a glance, and, with a perspicacity rare at that
age, to analyze the husband and wife whose solitude was about to be so
rudely disturbed.
The husband seemed to be a specimen of a certain type of nobleman,
the fairest ornaments of the provinces of our day. He wore big shoes
with stout soles to them. I put the shoes first advisedly, for they made
an even deeper impression upon me than a seedy black coat, a pair of
threadbare trousers, a flabby cravat, or a crumpled shirt collar. There
was a touch of the magistrate in the man, a good deal more of the
Councillor of the Prefecture, all the self-importance of the mayor of the
arrondissement, the local autocrat, and the soured temper of the
unsuccessful candidate who has never been returned since the year
1816. As to countenance--a wizened, wrinkled, sunburned face, and
long, sleek locks of scanty gray hair; as to character--an incredible
mixture of homely sense and sheer silliness; of a rich man's
overbearing ways, and a total lack of manners; just the kind of husband
who is almost entirely led by his wife, yet imagines himself to be the
master; apt to domineer in trifles, and to let more important things slip
past unheeded--there you have the man!
But the Countess! Ah, how sharp and startling the contrast between
husband and wife! The Countess was a little woman, with a flat,
graceful figure and enchanting shape; so fragile, so dainty was she, that
you would have feared to break some bone if you so much as touched
her. She wore a white muslin dress, a rose-colored sash, and
rose-colored ribbons in the pretty cap on her head; her chemisette was
moulded so deliciously by her shoulders and the loveliest rounded
contours, that the sight of her awakened an irresistible desire of
possession in the depths of the heart. Her eyes were bright and dark and
expressive, her movements graceful, her foot charming. An
experienced man of pleasure would not have given her more than thirty
years, her forehead was so girlish. She had all the most transient
delicate detail of youth in her face. In character she seemed to me to

resemble the Comtesse de Lignolles and the Marquise de B----, two
feminine types always fresh in the memory of any young man who has
read Louvet's romance.
In a moment I saw how things stood, and took a diplomatic course that
would have done credit to an old ambassador. For once, and perhaps
for the only time in my life, I used tact, and knew in what the special
skill of courtiers and men of the world consists.
I have had so many battles to fight since those heedless days, that they
have left me no time to distil all the least actions of daily life, and to do
everything so that it falls in with those rules of etiquette and good taste
which wither the most generous emotions.
"M. le Comte," I said with an air of mystery, "I should like a few words
with you," and I fell back a pace or two.
He followed my example. Juliette left us together, going away
unconcernedly, like a wife who knew that she can learn her husband's
secrets as soon as she chooses to know them.
I told the Count briefly of the death of my traveling companion. The
effect produced by my news convinced me that his affection for his
young collaborator was cordial enough, and this emboldened me to
make reply as I did.
"My wife will be in despair," cried he; "I shall be obliged to break the
news of this unhappy event with great caution."
"Monsieur," said I, "I addressed myself to you in the first instance, as in
duty bound. I could not, without first informing you, deliver a message
to Mme. la Comtesse, a message intrusted to me by an entire stranger;
but this commission is a sort of sacred trust, a secret of which I have no
power to dispose. From the high idea of your character which he gave
me, I felt sure that you would not oppose me in the fulfilment of a
dying request. Mme. la Comtesse will be at liberty to break the silence
which is imposed upon me."
At this eulogy, the Count swung his head very amiably, responded with
a tolerably involved compliment, and finally left me a free field. We
returned to the house. The bell rang, and I was invited to dinner. As we
came up to the house, a grave and silent couple, Juliette stole a glance
at us. Not a little surprised to find her husband contriving some
frivolous excuse for leaving us together, she stopped short, giving me a
glance--such a glance