Madame Grivois is first bedchamber woman to the princess--and she it was
who told her all this--and surely she ought to know, being in the house."

"Yes, a fine piece of goods that Grivois! once she was a regular bad 'un,
but now she professes to be as over-nice as her mistress; like master
like man, they say. The princess herself, who is now so stiff and
starched, knew how to carry on a lively game in her time. Fifteen years
ago, she was no such prude: do you remember that handsome colonel of
hussars, who was in garrison at Abbeville? an exiled noble who had served
in Russia, whom the Bourbons gave a regiment on the Restoration?"

"Yes, yes--I remember him; but you are really too backbiting."

"Not a bit--I only speak the truth. The colonel spent his whole time
here, and every one said he was very warm with this same princess, who is
now such a saint. Oh! those were the jolly times. Every evening, some new
entertainment at the chateau. What a fellow that colonel was, to set
things going; how well he could act a play!--I remember--"

The bailiff was unable to proceed. A stout maid-servant, wearing the
costume and cap of Picardy, entered in haste, and thus addressed her
mistress: "Madame, there is a person here that wants to speak to master;
he has come in the postmaster's calash from Saint-Valery, and he says
that he is M. Rodin."

"M. Rodin?" said the bailiff rising. "Show him in directly!"

A moment after, M. Rodin made his appearance. According to his custom, he
was dressed even more than plainly. With an air of great humility, he
saluted the bailiff and his wife, and at a sign from her husband, the
latter withdrew. The cadaverous countenance of M. Rodin, his almost
invisible lips, his little reptile eyes, half concealed by their flabby
lids, and the sordid style of his dress, rendered his general aspect far
from prepossessing; yet this man knew how, when it was necessary, to
affect, with diabolical art, so much sincerity and good-nature--his words
were so affectionate and subtly penetrating--that the disagreeable
feeling of repugnance, which the first sight of him generally inspired,
wore off little by little, and he almost always finished by involving his
dupe or victim in the tortuous windings of an eloquence as pliant as it
was honeyed and perfidious; for ugliness and evil have their fascination,
as well as what is good and fair.

The honest bailiff looked at this man with surprise, when he thought of
the