“Barricades,” replied Sallenauve, “have nearly always seemed to me machines which turned of themselves and crushed the men who raised them.  We must believe that in the nature of riots there is something which serves the interests of the government, for I have invariably heard the police accused of inciting them.  My resistance, that which I spoke of, will ever be a legal resistance, pursued by legal means, by the press, by the tribune, and with patience,—­that great force granted to the oppressed and to the vanquished.”

If you knew Latin, madame, I should say to you, In cauda venenum; which means, “In the tail of the serpent is its venom,”—­a remark of antiquity which modern science does not admit.  Monsieur de l’Estorade was not mistaken; Sallenauve’s private life was destined to be ransacked, and, no doubt under the inspiration of the virtuous Maxime de Trailles, the second question put to our friend was about the handsome Italian woman said to be hidden by him in his house in Paris.

Sallenauve showed no embarrassment at being thus interpellated.  He merely asked whether the assembly would think proper to spend its time in listening to a romantic story in which there was no scandal.

But here comes Sallenauve himself; he tells me that the electoral college is formed in a manner that leaves little doubt of his election.  I leave my pen to him, to tell you the romantic tale, already, I believe, interrupted on several occasions.  He will close this letter.

XVIII

         CHARLES DE SALLENAUVE TO THE COMTESSE DE L’ESTORADE

7 P.M.

Madame,—­The rather abrupt manner in which I parted from you and Monsieur de l’Estorade the evening of our visit to Armand’s school, has been explained to you by the preoccupations of all sorts to which at that moment I was a victim.  Marie-Gaston tells me that he has kept you informed of the subsequent events.

I acknowledge that in the restless and agitated state of mind in which I then was, the sort of belief which Monsieur de l’Estorade appeared to give to the scandal which he mentioned caused me great displeasure and some surprise.  How, thought I, is it possible that a man of Monsieur de l’Estorade’s morality and intellect can a priori suppose me capable of such disorder, when he sees me anxious to give to my life all the weight and consideration which the respect of others alone can bestow?  Only a few moments before this painful conversation I had been on the point of making you a confidence which would, I presume, have protected me against the unfortunate impression which Monsieur de l’Estorade conveyed to your mind.  As for Monsieur de l’Estorade himself, I was, I confess, so annoyed at seeing the careless manner in which he made himself the echo of a calumny against which I felt he ought rather to have defended me that I did not deign to make any explanation to him.  I now withdraw that word, but it was then the true expression of a displeasure keenly felt.