s hands were brown as those of a real
gardener; he took care himself of his beds. Constantly in conference
with his working gardener he mingled little, especially for the last two
years, with the life of others; of whom, indeed, he saw little. He took
but one meal with the family, namely, his dinner; for he rose too early
to breakfast with his son and sister. To his efforts we owe the famous
rose Giguet, known so well to all amateurs.

This old man, who had now passed into the state of a domestic fetich,
was exhibited, as we may well suppose, on all extraordinary occasions.
Certain families enjoy the benefit of a demi-god of this kind, and plume
themselves upon him as they would upon a title.

"I have noticed," replied Madame Marion to her brother's question, "that
ever since the revolution of July Madame Beauvisage has aspired to live
in Paris. Obliged to stay here as long as her father lives, she has
fastened her ambition on a future son-in-law, and my lady dreams now of
the splendors and dignities of political life."

"Could you love Cecile?" said the colonel to his son.

"Yes, father."

"And does she like you?"

"I think so; but the thing is, to please the mother and grandfather.
Though old Grevin himself wants to oppose my election, my success would
determine Madame Beauvisage to accept me, because she expects to manage
me as she pleases and to be minister under my name."

"That's a good joke!" cried Madame Marion. "What does she take us for?"

"Whom has she refused?" asked the colonel.

"Well, within the last three months, Antonin Goulard and the
_procureur-du-roi_, Frederic Marest, have received, so they say,
equivocal answers which mean anything--_except yes_."

"Heavens!" cried the old man throwing up his arms. "What days we
live in, to be sure! Why, Lucie was the daughter of a hosier, and the
grand-daughter of a farmer. Does Madame Beauvisage want the Comte de
Cinq-Cygne for a son-in-law?"

"Don't laugh at Madame Beauvisage, brother. Cecile is rich enough to
choose a husband anywhere, even in the class to which the Cinq-Cygnes
belong. But there's the bell announcing the electors, and I
disappear--regretting much I can't hear what you are all going to say."

II. REVOLT OF A LIBERAL ROTTEN-BOROUGH

Though 1839 is, politically speaking, very distant from 1847, we can
still remember the elections produced by the Coalition, an ephemeral
effort of the Chamber of Deputies to realize the threat of