these, to the left again, came the kitchen, faced by the larder and kitchen offices. These ground floor rooms were dark and damp, and were hardly used except at meal times.
The living rooms proper, to which we were taken, were on the first floor. They comprised, besides the landing, a large drawing-room, a back-drawing, Madame Waldor's bedroom and Madame Villenave's.
The drawing-room was noteworthy for its shape and its furniture. It was an oblong, and in each corner was a console table and on it a bust, one of which represented Monsieur de Villenave. Between the two busts at the further end and facing the fireplace was another console bearing the most important ornament, of artistic and antiquarian interest, in the room. This was the bronze urn, which had contained the heart of Bayard; its rim bore a miniature bas-relief showing the "Chevalier sans peur et sans reproche" kissing the hilt of his sword. Two large canvases came next,—one, a Holbein, represented Anne Boleyn, the other was an Italian landscape by Claude Lorraine. The two corresponding frames on the opposite wall held, I think, the first a portrait of Madame de Montespan, the other of either Madame de Sévigné or Madame de Grignan. The furniture was in Utrecht velvet, great sofas with thin, white arms, for the families of the house, and chairs and armchairs for ordinary guests.
This floor was the especial domain of Madame Waldor; there she exercised her vice-royalty. We say vice-royalty advisedly, for as a matter of fact, spite of the surrender her father had made of the drawing-room to her, she reigned there only as Vice-Queen. The instant M. de Villenave entered the room, he resumed his royalty, and henceforward the reins of the conversation were in his hands.
Monsieur de Villenave had something of the despot in his character, and this applied not to his own family only, but included strangers as well. You felt, on crossing his threshold, that you became a part of the personal property, as it were, of this man, who had seen so much, read so deeply, in a word had such a range of knowledge. This despotism, tempered as it was by the great man's courtesy of manner, yet weighed oppressively on the company as a whole that assembled in his salon. It may be, when the master of the house was present, the conversation was better guided, to use an old-fashioned phrase, but assuredly it was not so free, not so diverting, not so bright and witty, as when he was away.
The exact opposite was the case with Charles Nodier's salon. The more Nodier was at his house, the more at home everybody felt.
Fortunately it was but seldom Monsieur de Villenave came down to the drawing-room. He confined himself as a rule to the second floor, and on common days only appeared for dinner. Then, after dinner, and a little talk, a little lecturing to his son, a little scolding to his wife, he would stretch himself in his armchair, shut his eyes, and have his hair put in curl-papers by his daughter,—and this operation completed, mount again to his own apartments. This fifteen minutes, during which the comb softly scratched his head, was the fifteen minutes of daily bliss and beatitude which M. de Villenave allowed himself.
But why curl-papers? the reader may well ask.
In the first place, it may be they were merely a pretext and excuse for getting his head scratched.
In the second, Monsieur de Villenave was a noble figure of an old man, we have said so before, and must have been extremely handsome in his younger days. His face, strongly-marked and bold-featured, was framed to great advantage by his flowing white locks, which brought out admirably the imposing flash of his great dark eyes.
The fact is, we must admit that, learned scholar as he was. Monsieur de Villenave was vain,—but vain as to the head, and nothing else. The rest of his person was of no importance. Whether his coat were blue or black, his trousers full or narrow, his boots round or square-toed, this concerned his tailor or his boot-maker, or rather, as a matter of fact, his daughter, who looked after all such details. Provided his hair was in curl and he had a good hat, he was satisfied.
So soon as his daughter had fixed his curl-papers,—an operation which was performed every evening without fail between eight and nine, Monsieur de Villenave took up his candlestick, and went upstairs to his own quarters.
These quarters, this at home, of Mon-
