ference, awaited the moment when some lucky chance might deliver
the old maid over 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 pr