to them. Thus, if the two old
bachelors had not been kept asunder by the two political systems of
which they each offered a living expression, their private rivalry
would still have made them enemies. Epochs put their mark on men.
These two individuals proved the truth of that axiom by the opposing
historic tints that were visible in their faces, in their
conversation, in their ideas, and in their clothes. One, abrupt,
energetic, with loud, brusque manners, curt, rude speech, dark in
tone, in hair, in look, terrible apparently, in reality as impotent as
an insurrection, represented the republic admirably. The other, gentle
and polished, elegant and nice, attaining his ends by the slow and
infallible means of diplomacy, faithful to good taste, was the express
image of the old courtier regime.

The two enemies met nearly every evening on the same ground. The war
was courteous and benign on the side of the chevalier; but du
Bousquier showed less ceremony on his, though still preserving the
outward appearances demanded by society, for he did not wish to be
driven from the place. They themselves fully understood each other;
but in spite of the shrewd observation which provincials bestow on the
petty interests of their own little centre, no one in the town
suspected the rivalry of these two men. Monsieur le Chevalier de
Valois occupied a vantage-ground: he had never asked for the hand of
Mademoiselle Cormon; whereas du Bousquier, who entered the lists soon
after his rejection by the most distinguished family in the place, had
been refused. But the chevalier believed that his rival had still such
strong chances of success that he dealt him this coup de Jarnac with a
blade (namely, Suzanne) that was finely tempered for the purpose. The
chevalier had cast his plummet-line into the waters of du Bousquier;
and, as we shall see by the sequel, he was not mistaken in any of his
conjectures.

Suzanne tripped with a light foot from the rue du Cours, by the rue de
la Porte de Seez and the rue du Bercail, to the rue du Cygne, where,
about five years earlier, du Bousquier had bought a little house built
of gray Jura stone, which is something between Breton slate and Norman
granite. There he established himself more comfortably than any
householder in town; for he had managed to preserve certain furniture
and decorations from the days of his splendor. But provincial manners
and morals obscured, little by little, the rays of this fallen