CHAPTER XXXIV.-THE POSTMASTER OF

"T

MALLERAY.

HOSE aristocrats and clericals have it all their own way, as usual. I always knew it would be so, and so I told Théophile when the coup d'état took place, only he wouldn't believe it."

This speech was made by old Mardonnet, the postmaster at Malleray, in the afternoon of the very day when the Mont-Vivienne circular was lodged in the hands of the printingoffice director. The latter was a chum of old Mardonnet's, had been so for more than a quarter of a century, and but a few months ago had owed a great service to the postmaster, obtained through his active intercession with the Minister of, who, as we remember, was cousin to Mardonnet's deceased wife.

The old postmaster had breakfasted at the printing-office that morning, and knew all about the new circular from Mont-Vivienne, and the old one from Beauvoisin, and was in his own mind thoroughly convinced that the electoral contest for Sâvre-et-Merle would be waged between the two great landed proprietors of the district, and that it did not much matter which of the two won.

66

Except, indeed," as he remarked, "that the Duc de Vivienne was too priest-ridden and might be for restoring tithes."

Old Mardonnet was, upon the occasion in question, seated in his bureau, sorting the letters, and newspapers, and other parcels that had just come in not a quarter of an hour ago. The one bag, not a very big one either, lay on a stool beside him, and he, seated on another, extracted missive after missive and placed them in their proper order and place on a huge table before him. An elderly woman sat in a chair by the window, sewing-it was his sister-in-law, a widow, who had lived with him for the last ten years, and, like her defunct sister, enjoyed the honour of being first cousin to a minister. It was horribly stuffy in that bureau, for it was a habit of old Mardonnet's to keep the window shut while he sorted his bag. Why he did so nobody knew, but he would do it, and, as I said, the place was awfully hot and stuffy.

"Yes," he resumed, harking back to his first words; "those great people have it more than ever their own way. I told Théophile so, but he would have it just the contrary, and now he sees pretty well what it comes to !"

"Who knows," rejoined the elderly seamstress (by name Madame Héloise Picard); "who knows whether he sees it or not? people

don't always see what is there to be seen, but what they think they see. Théophile had always wrong notions about everything."

"Well," retorted the postmaster, "he was cock-sure of becoming our deputy the moment Carpentier should, in any way, be removed; he can hardly fancy he has any chance now! (Two, three, five, six-six letters for Beauvoisin,)" he muttered, parenthetically; "he can hardly fancy he's got a chance, I should think; there's Carpentier removed for ever by death, yet, who ever thought for a moment of Théophile? He counted on his friend Dandel, the sub-prefect, (such a ne'er-do-weel), and he counted on your grand cousin, up yonder.”

"On Lolo !" exclaimed Madame Picard (it was a custom among his near relations irreverently to call the great man thus, his name being Louis). "On Lolo, forsooth! as if he ever did anything for anybody but himself!" and she shrugged her shoulders.

"Well, never mind,” went on the postmaster. "Théophile persisted in believing in him, too, and now he sees how it all is. No sooner did Carpentier have that fit of his than (my belief is) the Prefect settled everything with that Monseigneur at Belespoir, and no sooner was the breath out of Carpentier's body than Madame la Marquise comes down on all our heads! And there they are now, both of them; they think nobody knows anything about their quarrels, but everybody knows all about it— it's Punch's secret! Beauvoisin against Vivienne; a fight inside the same camp, the old story over again! There are four letters for Clavreuil, and a Revue des Deux Mondes for Breuvières, and there's a Moniteur for you, Héloise," and he jerked the paper towards his sister-in-law, upon whose skirts it fell.

She had seemingly not much interest in it, for she let it lie where it had dropped.

"And the very instant it was seen who were likely to be the candidates, what did the subprefect here do? why, get out of the way! He used to be mighty civil to me, and was constantly coming in to have a chat, (so condescending!) but after Carpentier's death he was sent for by the prefect, and whenever I've met him since then he's skulked away and avoided seeing me, and the moment the Vivienne candidature came to be talked about seriously, off he went, Heaven knows where ! a good friend, truly! Mr. Marius Dandel! a tower of strength! a fine protector! as Théophile thought him! just a blusterer made of India-rubber-well! I never saw a Red Republican who was not so... Pah! I hate the whole lot of them."

"I don't believe they're half as bad as Republicans turned lacqueys," retorted Madame Picard; "like Lolo," she added, sneeringly; "a bully to those who look up, and a bootblacker to those who look down upon 'em. Like Lolo!" she added, for the second time, and with apparently considerable satisfaction.

"Bless my soul! what's this?" ejaculated all at once old Mardonnet; "here's a letter from Théophile," and he adjusted his spectacles, opened the envelope, and read.

The missive was a short one, three or four lines only; but the wrinkled face of the old postmaster reddened with pleasure as he scanned them. "Well, to be sure, this is news!" he cried out. "He's got the cross, Héloise, fancy that!"

"Who has?"

"Why, Théophile, to be sure!" replied old Mardonnet.

"The cross!" echoed Madame Picard, "and for what, I should like to know?

"That he doesn't say," answered her brotherin-law, looking puzzled; "but here is what he does say :

"MY DEAR FATHER,

"I am happy to tell you that I have had the honour of receiving the decoration the day before yesterday, owing to the intervention of our cousin, the minister. I send the Moniteur, containing the announcement thereof to my aunt, and am your

“Very devoted son,

"THEOPHILE MARDONNET." "There's his letter," said the postmaster, when he had read that epistle, "and Héloise, there's the Moniteur on your gown."

Madame Picard stooped now, and picked up the paper; opened it, and glanced down its columns.

"It's in the official part," observed Mardonnet; "if you can't find it, give it me."

"Here it is," said she, and she read the statement of how his Majesty the Emperor had been pleased, on the proposal of the Minister of, to decorate M. Théophile Mardonnet, Manager (he was only cashier) of the International Franco-Italo-Daco-Roumanian Commercial and Agricultural Bank of Roumania, at Bucharest.

"That is to prevent him for ever asking for anything else," remarked Madame Picard.

to his sister-in-law, as though he half expected his son to have been decorated several times over; "is there nothing else in the paper?— nothing of any interest? "

"Nothing of any interest to us," replied Madame Picard; "there's a long account of a reception at the Tuileries, of the King of Mesopotamia, and a report on the Chassepot rifles, and three columns on Egyptian mummies, and then promotions in the army and navy." "Nobody we know anything of?"

"Not a soul; and then here, there's an account of the funeral of the Bishop of Pontoise, and the nomination of the Bishop of St. Germain, as coadjutor to the Archbishop of Chantilly."

"Ah! no interest whatever in all that," muttered the old postmaster, as he turned once more to his work of sorting the contents of his bag.

CHAPTER XXXV.-TEN TO ONE ON THE

THER

RED.

HERE was an alteration in Claire's manner towards her husband since the day when he had supported her and held his own ground against the curé de Belespoir. It was so slight, that, to most people, it would have been imperceptible; but Olivier felt it, and it was pleasant (in his homely phraseology he would probably have said comfortable,) to him to be in his wife's company, nay, even to be alone with her.

This was something altogether new, for, from the very time of their marriage and journey to Italy, though the best possible understanding seemed to exist between them, and though the youthful Marquise had apparently no will save that of her lord, it was evident that their accordance rested on no deeper foundation than that of good education and good manners. Since their return to Paris, this state of things had in no degree improved, but just the reverse. M. de Beauvoisin, as we know, had little or nothing in common with his wife, and their daily employments brought them together only in public, where they manifested towards each other the same invariable politeness. The even tenor of their domestic serenity was the result of good breeding-nothing beyond.

"They know how to live," used to say the Marquis de Moranges; "and that is the one only indispensable science," he was wont to add.

had continued to be more or less embarrassed by his wife's presence, and to avoid being with her unless summoned by other persons. Let no one fancy that this resulted from his entanglement with Claudine; it had absolutely no connection with it. He knew that, as far as the Sphinx was concerned, he was, as he had practically described it, "in for it," and this was agreeable enough so long as the Sphinx and he were together; but, once separated from the object of what, by ordinary spectators, would have been termed his passion, he thought no more of her.

I repeat it, Claire embarrassed him-made him uneasy; and, spite of her undeviating gentleness, impressed upon him a terrible sense of inferiority. He did not like this-no man does-and, as I say again, he avoided his wife's presence.

This it was which was altered.

First and foremost, Claire's beauty had suddenly struck him without overawing or freezing him. It was a genial impression which her whole being made upon him when she stood up and took his part, associated him with her, called him her husband, did not disdain to proclaim herself one with him. It was new, and it was delightful, and he could not help hailing the occurrence with boyish glee.

Claire, on her side, was more kindly disposed towards the man who had so openly and so unhesitatingly made common cause with her and that, not in the face of the curé alone, but in the face also of the redoubtable | Marquise mother. She was touched by the ready adhesion she had met with there was something simple and unsophisticated about the obedience so warmly tendered, and Claire's generous nature could not do otherwise than overpay in gratitude any service accepted.

She was more than courteous-she was familiar with her husband all the rest of the day; and the next morning allowed him to drive her over to Clavreuil in the pony-basket. The Dowager could not make it out, but her instinct warned her that her supremacy was threatened.

Olivier felt at home with his wife, for they had something to talk of which interested both. Claire's interest in her husband's election was a lively one, for she was resolved to bring up her son to play an active part in the affairs of his country; and the first indispensable step towards this, in her opinion, was the entrance of the father into the arena of public life.

Claire loved France ardently, and loved the traditions of the past, not narrowly, but be

cause, to her mind, the past was full of the chivalrous, disinterested glories of her race and of her land. Claire was no politician, but, like every true French gentlewoman, loved dearly whatever related to politics in the abstract, and was, instinctively, at her ease in all the combinations of la grande politique.

Olivier had no such impulses or aims as hers, but he entered into the excitement of the impending contest in a sportsman-like kind of way, and, besides, he thought it fitting that he, as the head of the Beauvoisin family, should represent the department.

They had, therefore, at last, a subject in common, this ill-mated man and wife, and they seemed likely to make something of it in the end, and talked of it freely and earnestly, and had opinions and exchanged them.

The day but one after old Mardonnet had received the news of his son's decoration, Claire proposed to her husband to walk across the park to Malleray, and see what letters the rural postman brought, for they were sure to meet him on the way.

It was a splendid day, with a burning sun, but with a breeze also, and their road lay through shady woods and Claire had all the pedestrian capacities of her countrywomen. She walked along with queenly steps under the leafy boughs, playing with rather than using her parasol, for a broad straw hat protected her head and face. On they went, discoursing of the coming contest, and Olivier thinking within himself that he had never seen any woman half so beautiful as Claire.

At a turning in the wood they heard the sound of a horse's hoofs at no great distance. "We're close to the cross-road that leads from Beauvoisin to Clavreuil,” said Olivier.

The sound of the horse's hoofs ceased, and then were heard closer, but with a deadened sound.

"How abominably ill one is served," exclaimed the Marquis; "that's some one riding inside our woods-making a thoroughfare of Beauvoisin-the fellow's got on the turfy paths, yet, God knows, I've keepers enough! only they do nothing."

The sounds were distinct now, and came nearer every instant.

"There is the intruder," observed Claire, pointing with her parasol at a horseman picking his way through the trees towards the very path down along which they were walking.

"Well, upon my life, that's cool!" ejaculated angrily M. de Beauvoisin; "I'll tell him at once that

"Hallo, old fellow! is that you? well met!"

"How delightful! it's Monsieur Dupont !" These were the two exclamations which burst simultaneously from the young Marquise and from Henri Dupont, for, sure enough, it was he. "Well," said he, with a smile; "I meant to surprise you, and it is you who surprise me, starting suddenly out of the depths of a wood like goblins in a fairy tale," and, jumping from his horse, he slung the rein over one arm, and with the other linked himself to Olivier.

As they turned back, and walked on together now, in the direction of the château, Henri Dupont could not help surveying the pair before him with a secret astonishment. He was fairly puzzled. What had happened during his absence? There was not only good intelligence between Olivier and Claire, there was a cheerful familiarity that told of pleasant intercourse, of home-habits; Henri couldn't make it out. Was it possible that, to use M. de Beauvoisin's own phrase, he and his wife were beginning to get on together?

"Where have you come from?" asked Claire's sweet ringing voice.

"From Paris, direct," was the reply.

"What's that nag?" said Olivier, looking at the big-boned animal that came slouching behind, dragged by the rein upon Count Dupont's arm.

"That's the war-steed, or winner of the Derby, or anything else you choose, to mine host of the Black Eagle; he keeps it for his own private use, but I persuaded him to lend it me, promising to be most careful of the precious beast."

"When did you arrive?" questioned Olivier. "Two hours ago; I took the night-train to Chartres, got there at midnight; came on to Malleray in the diligence, in the rotonde, think of that! pounded my bones for five hours, got to Malleray, with what was left of me, ravenous; breakfasted, obtained this jewel of a mount that you behold, and rode on here to surprise you—in which design I have signally failed."

"Henri !" exclaimed the Marquis. "Oh! do tell us how," petitioned Claire, eagerly. "Well, it was easy enough," resumed Dupont ; "you know, or don't know, that I, too, have alliances amongst the Philistines. I, as you do know, have kept aloof from them, and they are (for that reason) always making advances to me, so I simply dropped down amongst them, and urged with might and main the nomination of the Bishop of St. Germain as coadjutor of Chantilly. You don't clearly understand me yet, I see, but I'll explain by-and-by. In those parts the government wants me terribly, on account of their difficulties with the general council touching the great line of railroad they are projecting; I had only one visit to make to the Minister of, and all was done; the old archbishop was persuaded that he had always longed for his colleague of St. Germain, so, now he's got him, and everybody's content! They bothered me to go and see the Emperor, but I didn't think it necessary to go that length. Is any circular out from MontVivienne?"

"None."

"And none will ever appear now," chuckled Henri.

"What, you suppose then," said the young Marquise, "that the curé of Belespoir was the sole mover of everything there?"

"I'm certain of it," replied Henri ; 66 you leave the Mont-Vivienne people to me. I'll drive over there before dinner this very day, and I'll answer for it they will coalesce with us now. The duke, when he's left to himself, is the most upright and sensible of men."

"Then in reality, now," remarked Claire, "Olivier has no opponent, and comes in quite naturally."

"Of that I am not so sure," replied Henri. "On the contrary, I fancy there is a government candidate somewhere, but who it is I don't yet know, and I didn't wait for the

"What had you to do in Paris all of a sudden?" asked Olivier.

"What had I to do?" echoed Henri,"Why, your business, my friend, and I've done it!"

"Done what?" cried both Olivier and Claire together.

Count Dupont came to a full stop, and, with intense satisfaction sparkling in his eyes, "I've worsted the church!" replied he; I've stopped the Vivienne candidature."

more useful here. But I have an old friend in the Home Office, and he will telegraph to me down here, either to-day or to-morrow, if the government does fix on any one. Meanwhile have your circular out, old fellow, as fast as possible."

"But we can't get it," answered both Olivier and Claire.

Count Dupont de Laporte started two hours later for Mont-Vivienne, and didn't return that night.

The next morning he was at Beauvoisin for