The widow had not made her appearance since the dramatic performance.

Was this an advance? But why should she employ Marianne as an intermediary? And all night Bouvard's imagination wandered.

Next day, about two o'clock, he was walking in the corridor, and glancing out through the window from time to time. The door-bell rang.

It was the notary.

He crossed the threshold, ascended the staircase, and seated himself in the armchair, and, after a preliminary exchange of courtesies, said that, tired of waiting for Madame Bordin, he had started before her. She wished to buy the Ecalles from him.

Bouvard experienced a kind of chilling sensation, and he hurried towards Pecuchet's room.

Pecuchet did not know what reply to make. He was in an anxious frame of mind, as M. Vaucorbeil was to be there presently.

At length Madame Bordin arrived. The delay was explained by the manifest attention she had given to her toilette, which consisted of a cashmere frock, a hat, and fine kid gloves--a costume befitting a serious occasion.

After much frivolous preliminary talk she asked whether a thousand crown-pieces would not be sufficient.

"One acre! A thousand crown-pieces! Never!"

She half closed her eyes. "Oh! for me!"

And all three remained silent.

M. de Faverges entered. He had a morocco case under his arm, like a solicitor; and, depositing it on the table, said:

"These are pamphlets! They deal with reform--a burning question; but here is a thing which no doubt belongs to you."

And he handed Bouvard the second volume of the _Memoires du Diable_.

Melie, just now, had been reading it in the kitchen; and, as one ought to watch over the morals of persons of that cla.s.s, he thought he was doing the right thing in confiscating the book.

Bouvard had lent it to his servant-maid. They chatted about novels.

Madame Bordin liked them when they were not dismal.

"Writers," said M. de Faverges, "paint life in colours that are too flattering."

"It is necessary to paint," urged Bouvard.

"Then nothing can be done save to follow the example."

"It is not a question of example."

"At least, you will admit that they might fall into the hands of a young daughter. I have one."

"And a charming one!" said the notary, with the expression of countenance he wore on the days of marriage contracts.

"Well, for her sake, or rather for that of the persons that surround her, I prohibit them in my house, for the people, my dear sir----"

"What have the people done?" said Vaucorbeil, appearing suddenly at the door.

Pecuchet, who had recognised his voice, came to mingle with the company.

"I maintain," returned the count, "that it is necessary to prevent them from reading certain books."

Vaucorbeil observed: "Then you are not in favour of education?"

"Yes, certainly. Allow me----"

"When every day," said Marescot, "an attack is made on the government."

"Where's the harm?"

And the n.o.bleman and the physician proceeded to disparage Louis Philippe, recalling the Pritchard case, and the September laws against the liberty of the press:

"And that of the stage," added Pecuchet.

Marescot could stand this no longer.

"It goes too far, this stage of yours!"

"That I grant you," said the count--"plays that glorify suicide."

"Suicide is a fine thing! Witness Cato," protested Pecuchet.

Without replying to the argument, M. de Faverges stigmatised those works in which the holiest things are scoffed at: the family, property, marriage.

"Well, and Moliere?" said Bouvard.

Marescot, a man of literary taste, retorted that Moliere would not pa.s.s muster any longer, and was, furthermore, a little overrated.

"Finally," said the count, "Victor Hugo has been pitiless--yes, pitiless--towards Marie Antoinette, by dragging over the hurdle the type of the Queen in the character of Mary Tudor."

"What!" exclaimed Bouvard, "I, an author, I have no right----"

"No, sir, you have no right to show us crime without putting beside it a corrective--without presenting to us a lesson."

Vaucorbeil thought also that art ought to have an object--to aim at the improvement of the ma.s.ses. "Let us chant science, our discoveries, patriotism," and he broke into admiration of Casimir Delavigne.

Madame Bordin praised the Marquis de Foudras.

The notary replied: "But the language--are you thinking of that?"

"The language? How?"

"He refers to the style," said Pecuchet. "Do you consider his works well written?"

"No doubt, exceedingly interesting."

He shrugged his shoulders, and she blushed at the impertinence.