date, old and monstrous in the eyes of the Empire. But Madame de la
Mariniere was obliged to live with her husband's literary admirations,
as well as with his political opinions, so Voltaire, Rousseau, Diderot,
Helvetius, with many earlier and healthier geniuses, such as Montaigne,
looked down in handsomely gilt bindings from the upper shelves. High up
they were: there was a concession. In the lower shelves lived Bousset,
and other Catholic writers; the modern spirit in religion being
represented by Chateaubriand's five volumes of _Le Gene du
Christianisme_ and two volumes of _Les Martyrs_. Corneille and Racine,
among poets, had the honour of accessibility. When Monsieur Urbain
wanted one of his own books, he had to fetch a little ladder from a
cupboard in the hall. Angelot, from a child, was forbidden to use that
ladder. The prohibition was hardly necessary. Angelot seldom opened a
book at all, or read for more than five minutes at a time. He followed
his uncle in this, as in so much else. The moors, the woods, the
riverside, were monsieur Joseph's library: as to literal books, he had
none but a few volumes on sport and on military history.

In this old room Madame de la Mariniere would sit all the evening long,
working at her tapestry frame; Urbain would read, sometimes aloud;
Angelot would draw, or make flies and fishing tackle. On this special
evening the little lady sat down to her frame--she was making new seats
in cross-stitch for the old chairs against the wall. Two candles, which
lighted the room very dimly, and a tall glass full of late roses, stood
on a solid oak table close to her chair.

She made a charming picture as she sat there, seemingly absorbed in her
work, yet glancing up every instant to listen to the talk of the two
men. Angelot was giving his father an account of the day's adventures,
and Monsieur Urbain was as much annoyed as his easy-going temper would
allow.

"Is he not mad and bad, that brother of mine!" he cried. "But what was
it all about? What were they plotting and planning, these foolish men?
Why could he not have two more places laid at table and entertain the
whole party together? That would have been the clever thing to do. The
Prefect has nothing special against any of those gentlemen--or had not,
before this. What were they plotting, Angelot?"

Angelot knew nothing about that. He thought their consciences were bad,
from the readiness with which they scuttled off into the woods.