NOVELS

BY

Paul de Kock

VOLUME XX

THE MILKMAID

OF

MONTFERMEIL

THE JEFFERSON PRESS

BOSTON NEW YORK

Copyrighted, 1903-1904, by G. B. & Sons.

THE MILKMAID OF MONTFERMEIL

CONTENTS

I
II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XIX, XX, XXII, XXIII, XXIV, XXV, XXVI, XXVII, XXVIII, XXIX.

I

A CONVERSATION IN A CABRIOLET

“For you can’t go on like this forever, lieutenant—you must agree to that. The great Turenne didn’t fight ten battles at once and didn’t carry on six intrigues on the same day.”

“No, my dear Bertrand, but Cæsar dictated four letters at once in four different languages, and Pico de la Mirandola boasted that he was familiar with and could talk de omni re scibili——”

“I beg pardon, lieutenant, I don’t know Latin.”

“That means that he claimed to know all languages, to have gone to the bottom of all the sciences, to be able to refute all creeds and reconcile theologians of all breeds.”

“As I don’t think that you’re so conceited as that, lieutenant, I won’t compare you with this Monsieur de la Mirandola, who claimed to know everything. As for Cæsar, I’ve heard him spoken of as a very great man, but I’m sure he didn’t have as many mistresses as you.”

“You’re mistaken, Bertrand; the great men of antiquity had a great many female slaves, concubines, and often cast off their wives and took new ones. Love and Pleasure had temples in Greece; and those high and mighty Romans, who are represented to us as so strait-laced, weren’t ashamed to indulge in the wildest debauchery, to crown themselves with myrtle and roses, and sometimes to appear at their banquets in the costumes of our first parents.”

“For God’s sake, lieutenant, let’s drop the Romans, with whom I never exchanged a shot, and go back to what we were talking about.”

“I propose to prove to you, my dear Bertrand, that we are very far from surpassing preceding generations in folly, and are in fact much more virtuous.”

“Is that why you have four mistresses?”

“I love women, I admit; I will say more—I am proud of it; it is a natural inclination. I cannot see an attractive face, a fine pair of eyes, without feeling a pleasant thrill, an agitation, an I don’t know what, in short, that proves my extreme susceptibility. Is it a crime, pray, to be susceptible in an age when selfishness is carried to such lengths; when self-interest is the mainspring of almost all human actions; when we see authors prefer cash to renown, and men in office forgetful of everything except retaining their offices, instead of meditating on the good they might do; when we see artists begging for the patronage of people they despise, and asking alms from stupidity when it is in power; when we see men of letters carefully block a confrère’s path when they detect in him a talent that might outshine theirs; when, in short, every door is closed to obscure merit, and thrown wide open to impudence and conceit when accompanied by wealth? If selfishness had not wormed its way into all classes of society, if love of money had not replaced love of one’s neighbor, would it be thus? And