She was no Catholic, she did not as
a rule care for religious services; but there was interest in the air,
she was restless, the morning was inviting, she was reverent of all true
expression of life and feeling, though a sad mocker in much; and so she
had come to the little church.
Following Elise's intent look, she read with amusement the girl's budding
romance, and was then suddenly arrested by the head of Valmond, now half
turned towards her. It had, indeed, a look of the First Napoleon. Was it
the hair? Yes, it must be; but the head was not so square, so firm set;
and what a world of difference in the grand effect! The one had been
distant, splendid, brooding (so she glorified him); the other was an
impressionist imitation, with dash, form, poetry, and colour. But where
was the great strength? It was lacking. The close association of Parpon
and Valmond--that was droll; yet, too, it had a sort of fitness, she knew
scarcely why. However, Monsieur was not a fool, in the vulgar sense, for
he had made a friend of a little creature who could be a wasp or a
humming-bird, as he pleased. Then, too, this stranger had conquered her
dear avocat; had won the hearts of the mothers and daughters--her own
servants talked of no one else; had captured this pretty Elise Malboir;
had caused the young men to imitate his walk and retail his sayings; had
won from herself an invitation to visit her; and now had made an
unconscious herald and champion of an innocent old Cure, and set a whole
congregation singing "Vive Napoleon" after mass.
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