History of D'Aubigne and also Brantome. "Strange books to read," thought Julien; "and the marquis does not allow her to read Walter Scott's novels!"
She told him one day, with that pleased brilliancy in her eyes, which is the real test of genuine admiration, about a characteristic act of a young woman of the reign of Henry III., which she had just read in the memoirs of L'Étoile. Finding her husband unfaithful she stabbed him.
Julien's vanity was flattered. A person who was surrounded by so much homage, and who governed the whole house, according to the academician, deigned to talk to him on a footing almost resembling friendship.
"I made a mistake," thought Julien soon afterwards. "This is not familiarity, I am simply the confidante of a tragedy, she needs to speak to someone. I pass in this family for a man of learning. I will go and read Brantome, D'Aubigne, L'Étoile. I shall then be able to challenge some of the anecdotes which madame de la Mole speaks to me about. I want to leave off this role of the passive confidanté."
His conversations with this young girl, whose demeanour was so impressive and yet so easy, gradually became more interesting. He forgot his grim rôle of the rebel plebian. He found her well-informed and even logical. Her opinions in the gardens were very different to those which she owned to in the salon. Sometimes she exhibited an enthusiasm and a frankness which were in absolute contrast to her usual cold haughtiness.
"The wars of the League were the heroic days of France," she said to him one day, with eyes shining with enthusiasm. "Then everyone fought to gain something which he desired, for the sake of his party's triumph, and not just in order to win a cross as in the days of your emperor. Admit that there was then less egotism and less pettiness. I love that century."
"And Boniface de la Mole was the hero of it," he said to her.
"At least he was loved in a way that it is perhaps sweet to be loved. What woman alive now would not be horrified at touching the head of her decapitated lover?"
Madame de la Mole called her daughter. To be effective hypocrisy ought to hide itself, yet Julien had half confided his admiration for Napoleon to mademoiselle de la Mole.
