“What will become of me in a house where naked women are painted on the walls?” said the poor abbe.  “Where shall I find other lindens beneath which to read my breviary?”

Like Kant, who was unable to collect his thoughts after the fir-tree at which he was accustomed to gaze while meditating was cut down, so the poor abbe could never attain the ardor of his former prayers while walking up and down the shadeless paths.  Du Bousquier had planted an English garden.

“It was best,” said Madame du Bousquier, without thinking so; but the Abbe Couterier had authorized her to commit many wrongs to please her husband.

These restorations destroyed all the venerable dignity, cordiality, and patriarchal air of the old house.  Like the Chevalier de Valois, whose personal neglect might be called an abdication, the bourgeois dignity of the Cormon salon no longer existed when it was turned to white and gold, with mahogany ottomans covered in blue satin.  The dining-room, adorned in modern taste, was colder in tone than it used to be, and the dinners were eaten with less appetite than formerly.  Monsieur du Coudrai declared that he felt his puns stick in his throat as he glanced at the figures painted on the walls, which looked him out of countenance.  Externally, the house was still provincial; but internally everything revealed the purveyor of the Directory and the bad taste of the money-changer,—­for instance, columns in stucco, glass doors, Greek mouldings, meaningless outlines, all styles conglomerated, magnificence out of place and out of season.

The town of Alencon gabbled for two weeks over this luxury, which seemed unparalleled; but a few months later the community was proud of it, and several rich manufacturers restored their houses and set up fine salons.  Modern furniture came into the town, and astral lamps were seen!

The Abbe de Sponde was among the first to perceive the secret unhappiness this marriage now brought to the private life of his beloved niece.  The character of noble simplicity which had hitherto ruled their lives was lost during the first winter, when du Bousquier gave two balls every month.  Oh, to hear violins and profane music at these worldly entertainments in the sacred old house!  The abbe prayed on his knees while the revels lasted.  Next the political system of the sober salon was slowly perverted.  The abbe fathomed du Bousquier; he shuddered at his imperious tone; he saw the tears in his niece’s eyes when she felt herself losing all control over her own property; for her husband now left nothing in her hands but the management of the linen, the table, and things of a kind which are the lot of women.  Rose had no longer any orders to give.  Monsieur’s will was alone regarded by Jacquelin, now become coachman, by Rene, the groom, and by the chef, who came from Paris, Mariette being reduced to kitchen maid.  Madame du Bousquier had no one to rule but Josette.  Who knows what it costs to relinquish the delights