the prime minister invited monsieur and madame ceres to spend a couple of weeks of the holidays in a little villa that he had taken in the mountains, and in which he lived alone. the deplorable health of madame paul visire did not allow her to accompany her husband, and she remained with her relatives in one of the southern provinces.

the villa had belonged to the mistress of one of the last kings of alca: the drawing-room retained its old furniture, and in it was still to be found the sofa of the favourite. the country was charming; a pretty blue stream, the aiselle, flowed at the foot of the hill that dominated the villa. hippolyte ceres loved fishing; when engaged at this monotonous occupation he often formed his best parliamentary combinations, and his happiest oratorical inspirations. trout swarmed in the aiselle; he fished it from morning till evening in a boat that the prime minister readily placed at his disposal.

in the mean time, eveline and paul visire sometimes took a turn together in the garden, or had a little chat in the drawing-room. eveline, although she recognised the attraction that visire had for women, had hitherto displayed towards him only an intermittent and superficial coquetry, without any deep intentions or settled design. he was a connoisseur and saw that she was pretty. the house and the opera had deprived him of all leisure, but, in a little villa, the grey eyes and rounded figure of eveline took on a value in his eyes. one day as hippolyte ceres was fishing in the aiselle, he made her sit beside him on the sofa of the favourite. long rays of gold struck eveline like arrows from a hidden cupid through the chinks of the curtains which protected her from the heat and glare of a brilliant day. beneath her white muslin dress her rounded yet slender form was outlined in its grace and youth. her skin was cool and fresh, and had the fragrance of freshly mown hay. paul visire behaved as the occasion warranted, and for her part, she was opposed neither to the games of chance or of society. she believed it would be nothing or a trifle; she was mistaken.

“there was,” says the famous german ballad, “on the sunny side of the town square, beside a wall whereon the creeper grew, a pretty little letter-box, as blue as the corn-flowers, smiling and tranquil.

“all day long there came to it, in their heavy shoes, small shop-keepers, rich farmers, citizens, the tax-collector and the policeman, and they put into it their business letters, their invoices, their summonses, their notices to pay taxes, the judges’ returns, and orders for the recruits to assemble. it remained smiling and tranquil.

“with joy, or in anxiety, there advanced towards it workmen and farm servants, maids and nursemaids, accountants, clerks, and women carrying their little children in their arms; they put into it notifications of births, marriages, and deaths, letters between engaged couples, between husbands and wives, from mothers to their sons, and from sons to their mothers. it remained smiling and tranquil.

“at twilight, young lads and young girls slipped furtively to it, and put in love-letters, some moistened with tears that blotted the ink, others with a little circle to show the place to kiss, all of them very long. it remained smiling and tranquil.

“rich merchants came themselves through excess of carefulness at the hour of daybreak, and put into it registered letters, and letters with five red seals, full of bank notes or cheques on the great financial establishments of the empire. it remained smiling and tranquil.

“but one day, gaspar, whom it had never seen, and whom it did not know from adam, came to put in a letter, of which nothing is known but that it was folded like a little hat. immediately the pretty letter-box fell into a swoon. henceforth it remains no longer in its place; it runs through streets, fields, and woods, girdled with ivy, and crowned with roses. it keeps running up hill and down dale; the country policeman surprises it sometimes, amidst the corn, in gaspar’s arms kissing him upon the mouth.”

paul visire had recovered all his customary non-chalance. eveline remained stretched on the divan of the favourite in an attitude of delicious astonishment.

the reverend father douillard, an excellent moral theologian, and a man who in the decadence of the church has preserved his principles, was very right to teach, in conformity with the doctrine of the fathers, that while a woman commits a great sin by giving herself for money, she commits a much greater one by giving herself for nothing. for, in the first case she acts to support her life, and that is sometimes not merely excuseable but pardonable, and even worthy of the divine grace, for god forbids suicide, and is unwilling that his creatures should destroy themselves. besides, in giving herself in order to live, she remains humble, and derives no pleasure from it, a thing which diminishes the sin. but a woman who gives herself for nothing sins with pleasure and exults in her fault. the pride and delight with which she burdens her crime increase its load of moral guilt.

madame hippolyte ceres’ example shows the profundity of these moral truths. she perceived that she had senses. a second was enough to bring about this discovery, to change her soul, to alter her whole life. to have learned to know herself was at first a delight. the guothi seauton of the ancient philosophy is not a precept the moral fulfilment of which procures any pleasure, since one enjoys little satisfaction from knowing one’s soul. it is not the same with the flesh, for in it sources of pleasure may be revealed to us. eveline immediately felt an obligation to her revealer equal to the benefit she had received, and she imagined that he who had discovered these heavenly depths was the sole possessor of the key to them. was this an error, and might she not be able to find others who also had the golden key? it is difficult to decide; and professor haddock, when the facts were divulged (which happened without much delay as we shall see), treated the matter from an experimental point of view, in a scientific review, and concluded that the chances madam c— would have of finding the exact equivalent of m. v— were in the proportion of 305 to 975008. this is as much as to say that she would never find it. doubtless her instinct told her the same, for she attached herself distractedly to him.

i have related these facts with all the circumstances which seemed to me worthy of attracting the attention of meditative and philosophic minds. the sofa of the favourite is worthy of the majesty of history; on it were decided the destinies of a great people; nay, on it was accomplished an act whose renown was to extend over the neighbouring nations both friendly and hostile, and even over all humanity. too often events of this nature escape the superficial minds and shallow spirits who inconsiderately assume the task of writing history. thus the secret springs of events remain hidden from us. the fall of empires and the transmission of dominions astonish us and remain incomprehensible to us, because we have not discovered the imperceptible point, or touched the secret spring which when put in movement has destroyed and overthrown everything. the author of this great history knows better than anyone else his faults and his weaknesses, but he can do himself this justice — that he has always kept the moderation, the seriousness, the austerity, which an account of affairs of state demands, and that he has never departed from the gravity which is suitable to a recital of human actions.