The astute
old gentleman was careful to choose an evening when he knew that
Octave would be engaged in finishing a piece of work which was to pay
him well,--for this so-called lover of Madame Firmiani still went to
her house; a circumstance that seemed difficult to explain. As to
Octave's ruin, that, unfortunately, was no fable, as Monsieur de
Bourbonne had at once discovered.
Monsieur de Rouxellay was not at all like the provincial uncle at the
Gymnase. Formerly in the King's guard, a man of the world and a
favorite among women, he knew how to present himself in society with
the courteous manners of the olden time; he could make graceful
speeches and understand the whole Charter, or most of it. Though he
loved the Bourbons with noble frankness, believed in God as a
gentleman should, and read nothing but the "Quotidienne," he was not
as ridiculous as the liberals of his department would fain have had
him. He could hold his own in the court circle, provided no one talked
to him of "Moses in Egypt," nor of the drama, or romanticism, or local
color, nor of railways. He himself had never got beyond Monsieur de
Voltaire, Monsieur le Comte de Buffon, Payronnet, and the Chevalier
Gluck, the Queen's favorite musician.
"Madame," he said to the Marquise de Listomere, who was on his arm as
they entered Madame Firmiani's salons, "if this woman is my nephew's
mistress, I pity him. How can she live in the midst of this luxury,
and know that he is in a garret? Hasn't she any soul? Octave is a fool
to have given up such an estate as Villaines for a--"
Monsieur de Bourbonne belonged to the species Fossil, and used the
language of the days of yore.
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