heart beat, who sighs for the moment to come when she will be the heroine of that great day, when she will carry that pretty white bouquet, that wreath of orange blossoms, the symbols of modesty and of maidenhood, which have unhappily lied to more than one husband who has never boasted about it, and for a good reason! But how the thought of that ceremony saddens the young wife, but a few years married, who already has ceased to know happiness except in her memory! She trembles for the lot of the poor child who is pledging herself! She remembers the day of her own wedding, the ardor and zealous attentions of her husband; she compares that day with those that have followed, and realizes how much confidence can be placed in the vows of man.

But let us leave such reflections. Let us enter the Cadran-Bleu, and make the acquaintance of the principal persons at this function, whom, probably, we shall have occasion to see more than once in the course of this narrative, unless it happens that this chapter has no connection with the plot, which is quite possible; we read many chapters of that sort.

Edouard Murville was twenty-five years of age; he was of medium stature but well-proportioned; his face was attractive, his voice soft, his manners distinguished. He had all the social talents, played moderately well on the violin, sang with expression, and danced gracefully; his language was well-chosen, he was accustomed to society, and he knew how to enter and leave a salon, which, be it said in passing, is not so easy as one might think. What! I hear my readers say, does this fellow suppose that we do not know how to walk, to enter a room, and to bow gracefully? God forbid that I should express such a judgment upon the nation which dances best! But there are degrees in everything, and it is upon those degrees that I base my judgment. A very clever, but slightly sarcastic woman, beside whom I was sitting not long ago, in the salon of a banker, favored me with some of her observations, which in general are very just.

“Come,” she said, “let us examine together the people who come into this salon; I will wager that I can guess their dispositions, their humor, by the way in which they enter.—See that tall lady passing through the crowd, not deigning to notice anybody with even so much as a nod! Now she is sitting down in front of the fireplace, she places her feet upon the screen, and installs herself in the best place, without looking to see whether she is in the way of the people behind her or not. What do you think of that woman?”

“That she is very pretentious and desires to display her fine dress.”

“That is not all,—add that she is a fool. A clever woman has a thousand ways of attracting attention without assuming ridiculous airs; and when she desires to create a sensation, she goes about it skilfully at least, and does not look with disdain upon people who are dressed in an old-fashioned way, or whose toilet is slightly careless.—But what is that noise in the reception room? Has some virtuoso arrived? Has a sideboard been knocked over? The master of the house is hurrying in that direction, and we shall soon know what the matter is. Ah! I recognize that voice. It is Monsieur J——. Listen; you can easily hear him from here.”

“Ah! my dear friend! I am terribly distressed to arrive so late! Upon my honor, I am covered with confusion! I don’t know whether I ought to come in! I am dressed like a thief! I must hide in some corner!”

“Well,” said my neighbor to me, “what do you think of this gentleman, who does not want to be seen, and who so declares in such a loud voice that he makes everybody in the salon turn his head?—Ah! he has made up his mind to come in, nevertheless.”

I expected to see a young dandy, but I saw a man of between forty and fifty, with a light wig, come forward with a mincing step, bowing to right and to left and smiling almost agreeably.

“Who on earth is this man?” I asked my neighbor.

“Monsieur J—— is the universal man; he knows all Paris, he belongs to all the clubs, especially those where they have music. He plays three or four instruments; there is no amateur concert where he does not take part; nor is there an artiste who does not know him. You have had an opportunity of judging, by his method of entering this room, that his happiness consists in making a sensation; I do not draw from that fact a very favorable augury of his talents; for, as you know, merit is not in the habit of seeking a brilliant light. Mediocrity, on the contrary, makes a great deal of noise, thrusts itself forward, insists upon pervading everything, and always succeeds in dazzling fools.

“But I see a new face, that of a young man; he at least makes no noise; he comes in so softly that one can hardly hear him, he half bows, stands near the door, then creeps along the wall, and finally seizes a chair, upon which he seats himself very quickly, and from which he will not stir throughout the evening, I promise you. Poor fellow, he twists his mouth, winks and blinks, and does not know what to do with his hands. I will wager that he thinks that all the women are looking at him and discussing him. I have noticed, that as a general rule, timidity, yes, even awkwardness, often results from excessive self-consciousness: the fear of seeming ridiculous, or of not wearing a sufficiently fascinating expression, imparts that embarrassment to the bearing, that almost comical expression to the face; if you wish to convince yourself of it, examine on the stage some jeune premier who is rather good-looking, and who would act well, perhaps, if he were not engrossed entirely by his wig, his cravat, his attitude, and the effect which his face is likely to produce in the hall.”

My neighbor continued her observations; and I would gladly communicate them to you, reader, were it not that I am beginning to notice that you opened this volume, not to hear me talk with her, but to learn of the adventures of Brother Jacques.—A thousand pardons for taking you to a banker’s salon. I return to the Cadran-Bleu.

You know now that the marriage of Edouard Murville is being celebrated there, that the bridegroom is twenty-five years old and a very good-looking fellow. But you do not yet know his wife, and I must hasten to repair my neglect in that respect; for she is lovely, sweet, attractive, and virtuous; it would be impossible to make her acquaintance too soon.

Adeline Germeuil was eighteen years old, and she possessed all those qualities which charm at first sight and attach one thereafter: beautiful eyes, fine teeth, graceful manners, a fresh complexion, wit unsullied by ill-temper, gaiety without coquetry, charm without affectation, modesty without timidity. She knew that she was pretty, but did not think that for that reason all men ought to do homage to her; she loved pleasure but did not make that her sole occupation. In short, she was a woman such as it is very pleasant to meet, especially when one is a bachelor.

Adeline was devoted to Edouard, to whom she had given preference over several much more advantageous offers, for Edouard’s only fortune was the place which he occupied in one of the government departments, while Adeline had about fifteen thousand francs a year. But Mademoiselle Germeuil had no ambition, she considered happiness to consist in delights of the heart, and not in more or less wealth. Moreover, with fifteen thousand francs a year, one can live without privation, especially when one is the wife of a man of orderly habits, who knows how to regulate his household expenses. Now Murville seemed such a man, he seemed to have all the estimable qualities, and he carried the day.

Mademoiselle Germeuil had no parent but her mother, a most estimable woman, who adored her daughter and was never willing to thwart her desires. However, it was her duty to look after Adeline’s future welfare; and so, as soon as she discovered her