Some day the present Marquis d'Esgrignon will have an income of more
than a hundred thousand crowns. You may see him in Paris, for he comes
to town every winter and leads a jolly bachelor life, while he treats
his wife with something more than the indifference of the grand
seigneur of olden times; he takes no thought whatever for her.
"As for Mlle. d'Esgrignon," said Emile Blondet, to whom all the detail
of the story is due, "if she is no longer like the divinely fair woman
whom I saw by glimpses in my childhood, she is decidedly, at the age
of sixty-seven, the most pathetic and interesting figure in the
Collection of Antiquities. She queens it among them still. I saw her
when I made my last journey to my native place in search of the
necessary papers for my marriage. When my father knew who it was that
I had married, he was struck dumb with amazement; he had not a word to
say until I told him that I was a prefect.
"'You were born to it,' he said, with a smile.
"As I took a walk around the town, I met Mlle. Armande. She looked
taller than ever. I looked at her, and thought of Marius among the
ruins of Carthage. Had she not outlived her creed, and the beliefs
that had been destroyed? She is a sad and silent woman, with nothing
of her old beauty left except the eyes, that shine with an unearthly
light.
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