Although cruelly humiliated by this confession of her husband’s, the countess had sufficient self-control not to blame him for his weakness.  She said to herself,—­

“Well, be it so.  For his happiness and for our peace, I will stoop to play the part Nancy played.”

This was more easily said than done; for the count was not the man to be led openly, nor was he willing to listen to good advice, simply because it was good.  Irritable, jealous, and despotic, like all weak men, he dreaded nothing so much as what he called an insult to his authority.  He meant to be master everywhere, in every thing, and forever.  He was so sensitive on this point, that his wife had only to show the shadow of a purpose of her own, and he went instantly to work to oppose and prohibit it.

“I am not a weather-cock!” was one of his favorite sayings.

Poor fellow!  He did not know that those who turn to the opposite side of the wind, nevertheless turn, as well as those who go with the wind.  The countess knew it; and this knowledge made her strong.  After working for many months patiently and cautiously, she thought she had learnt the secret of managing him, and that henceforth she would be able to control his will whenever she was in earnest.

The opportunity to make the experiment came very soon.  Although the great people of the neighborhood had generally come round and treated her quite fairly now, especially since she had become an heiress, the countess found her position unpleasant, and was anxious to leave the country.  It recalled to her, besides, too many painful memories.  There were certain roads and lanes which she could never pass without a pang at her heart.  On the other hand, it was well known that the count had sworn he would end his life in the province.  He hated large cities; and the mere idea of leaving his castle, where every thing was arranged to suit his habits, made him seriously angry.

People would not believe it, therefore, when report first arose that he was going to leave Ville-Handry, that he had bought a town-house in Paris and that he would shortly go there to establish himself permanently in the capital.

“It was much against the will of the countess,” he said, full of delight at her disappointment.  “She would not agree to it at all; but I am not a weather-cock.  I insisted on having my way, and she yielded at last.”

So that in the latter part of October, in 1851, the Count and the Countess Ville-Handry moved into the magnificent house in Varennes Street, a princely mansion, which, however, did not cost them more than a third of its actual value, as they happened to buy at a time when real estate was very low.

But it had been comparatively child’s play to bring the count to Paris; the real difficulty was to keep him there.  Nothing was more likely than that, deprived of the active exercise and the fresh air he enjoyed in the country, he should miss his many occupations and duties, and either succumb to weariness, or seek refuge in dissipation.  His wife foresaw this difficulty, and looked for an object that might give the count abundant employment and amusement.