To the “new society of July” Mme. d’Abrantes was an object of great curiosity.  “I dote on seeing that woman!” said Balzac, one evening, to Mme. Ancelot.  “Only fancy! she saw Napoleon Bonaparte as a mere boy,—­knew him well,—­knew him as a young man, unknown,—­saw him occupied, like anybody else, with the ordinary occurrences of every-day life; then she saw him grow, and grow, and rise, and throw the shadow of his name over the world.  She seems to me somewhat like a canonized creature who should all at once come and recount to me the glories of paradise.”

Balzac, it must be premised, was bitten just at this period by the Napoleon mania, and this transformed his inquisitive attachment for Mme. d’Abrantes into a kind of passion.  It was at this period that he chose to set up in his habitation in the Rue Cassini a sort of altar, on which he placed a small statue of the Emperor, with these words engraved upon the pedestal:—­

  “Ce qu’il avait commence par l’epee,
  Je l’acheverai par la plume!”

What particular part of the Imperial work this was that Balzac was to “complete by the pen” was never rightly discovered,—­but for a time he had a sun-stroke for Napoleon, and his attachment for Mme. d’Abrantes partook of this influence.

One anecdote told by Mme. Ancelot proves to what a degree the union of “grandeur” and “want” she has alluded to went.  “Mme. d’Abrantes,” says her biographer of the moment, “was always absorbed by the present impression, whatever that might happen to be; she passed from joy to despair like a child, and I never knew any house that was either so melancholy or so gay.”  One evening, however, it would seem that the Hotel d’Abrantes was gayer than usual.  Laughter rang loud through the rooms, the company was numerous, and the mistress of the house in unparalleled high spirits.  If the tide of conversation seemed to slacken, quickly Madame la Duchesse had some inimitable story of the ridicules of the ladies of the Imperial court, and the whole circle was soon convulsed at her stories, and at her way of telling them.  The tea-table was forgotten.  Generally, tea at her house was taken at eleven o’clock; but on this occasion, midnight was long past before it was announced, and before her guests assembled round the table.  If our readers are curious to know why, here was the reason:  All that remained of the plate had that very morning been put in pawn, and when tea should have been served it was found that tea-spoons were wanting!  Whilst these were being sent for to the house of a friend who lent them, Madame la Duchesse took charge of her guests, and drowned their impatience in their hilarity.

It must be allowed that this lady was worthy to be the mother of the young man who, one day, pointing to a sheet of stamped paper, on which a bill of exchange might be drawn, said:  “You see that; it is worth five sous now; but if I sign my name to it, it will be worth nothing!” This was a speech made by Junot’s eldest son, known in Paris as the Duc d’Abrantes, and as the intimate friend of Victor Hugo, from whom at one time he was almost inseparable.