God—­or no principles!  This was the dilemma from which no German philosophy could rescue him.

This reaction in his mind drew him closer to those other branches of his family which he had hitherto neglected.  His two aunts, living at Paris, had been compelled, in consequence of their small fortunes, to make some sacrifices to enter into the blessed state of matrimony.  The elder, Eleanore-Jeanne, had married, during her father’s life, the Comte de la Roche-Jugan—­a man long past fifty, but still well worthy of being loved.  Nevertheless, his wife did not love him.  Their views on many essential points differed widely.  M. de la Roche-Jugan was one of those who had served the Government of the Restoration with an unshaken but hopeless devotion.  In his youth he had been attached to the person and to the ministry of the Duc de Richelieu; and he had preserved the memory of that illustrious man—­of the elevated moderation of his sentiments—­of the warmth of his patriotism and of his constancy.  He saw the pitfalls ahead, pointed them out to his prince—­displeased him by so doing, but still followed his fortunes.  Once more retired to private life with but small means, he guarded his political principles rather like a religion than a hope.  His hopes, his vivacity, his love of right—­all these he turned toward God.

His piety, as enlightened as profound, ranked him among the choicest spirits who then endeavored to reconcile the national faith of the past with the inexorable liberty of thought of the present.  Like his colaborers in this work, he experienced only a mortal sadness under which he sank.  True, his wife contributed no little to hasten his end by the intemperance of her zeal and the acrimony of her bigotry.

She had little heart and great pride, and made her God subserve her passions, as Dardennes made liberty subserve his malice.

No sooner had she become a widow than she purified her salons.  Thenceforth figured there only parishioners more orthodox than their bishops, French priests who denied Bossuet; consequently she believed that religion was saved in France.  Louis de Camors, admitted to this choice circle by title both of relative and convert, found there the devotion of Louis XI and the charity of Catherine de Medicis; and he there lost very soon the little faith that remained to him.

He asked himself sadly whether there was no middle ground between Terror and Inquisition; whether in this world one must be a fanatic or nothing.  He sought a middle course, possessing the force and cohesion of a party; but he sought in vain.  It seemed to him that the whole world of politics and religion rushed to extremes; and that what was not extreme was inert and indifferent—­dragging out, day by day, an existence without faith and without principle.

Thus at least appeared to him those whom the sad changes of his life showed him as types of modern politics.

His younger aunt, Louise-Elizabeth, who enjoyed to the full all the pleasures of modern life, had already profited by her father’s death to make a rich misalliance.  She married the Baron Tonnelier, whose father, although the son of a miller, had shown ability and honesty enough to fill high positions under the First Empire.