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old man and his eldest son had been two years married. It was when the
time came on for marrying Mademoiselle Claire; that's the way they talk
of it here, you know, sir. The marquis's health was bad; he was very
much broken down. My lady had picked out M. de Cintre, for no good
reason that I could see. But there are reasons, I very well know, that
are beyond me, and you must be high in the world to understand them. Old
M. de Cintre was very high, and my lady thought him almost as good
as herself; that's saying a good deal. Mr. Urbain took sides with his
mother, as he always did. The trouble, I believe, was that my lady would
give very little money, and all the other gentlemen asked more. It was
only M. de Cintre that was satisfied. The Lord willed it he should have
that one soft spot; it was the only one he had. He may have been very
grand in his birth, and he certainly was very grand in his bows and
speeches; but that was all the grandeur he had. I think he was like what
I have heard of comedians; not that I have ever seen one. But I know he
painted his face. He might paint it all he would; he could never make me
like it! The marquis couldn't abide him, and declared that sooner than
take such a husband as that Mademoiselle Claire should take none at
all. He and my lady had a great scene; it came even to our ears in the
servants' hall. It was not their first quarrel, if the truth must be
told. They were not a loving couple, but they didn't often come to
words, because, I think, neither of them thought the other's doings
worth the trouble. My lady had long ago got over her jealousy, and she
had taken to indifference. In this, I must say, they were well matched.
The marquis was very easy-going; he had a most gentlemanly temper. He
got angry only once a year, but then it was very bad. He always took to
bed directly afterwards. This time I speak of he took to bed as usual,
but he never got up again. I'm afraid the poor gentleman was paying for
his dissipation; isn't it true they mostly do, sir, when they get old?
My lady and Mr. Urbain kept quiet, but I know my lady wrote letters
to M. de Cintre. The marquis got worse and the doctors gave him up. My
lady, she gave him up too, and if the truth must be told, she gave up
gladly. When once he was out of the way she could do what she pleased
with her daughter, and it was all arranged that my poor innocent child
should be handed over to M. de Cintre. You don't know what Mademoise