ginning
of 1827 the newspapers rang with the trial of Charles d'Estourny, who
was found guilty of cheating at cards. The young corsair escaped into
foreign parts without taking thought of Mademoiselle Mignon, who was of
little value to him since the failure of the bank. Bettina heard of his
infamous desertion and of her father's ruin almost at the same time. She
returned home struck by death, and wasted away in a short time at the
Chalet. Her death at least protected her reputation. The illness that
Monsieur Mignon alleged to be the cause of her absence, and the doctor's
order which sent her to Nice were now generally believed. Up to the last
moment the mother hoped to save her daughter's life. Bettina was her
darling and Modeste was the father's. There was something touching in
the two preferences. Bettina was the image of Charles, just as Modeste
was the reproduction of her mother. Both parents continued their love
for each other in their children. Bettina, a daughter of Provence,
inherited from her father the beautiful hair, black as a raven's wing,
which distinguishes the women of the South, the brown eye, almond-shaped
and brilliant as a star, the olive tint, the velvet skin as of some
golden fruit, the arched instep, and the Spanish waist from which the
short basque skirt fell crisply. Both mother and father were proud of
the charming contrast between the sisters. "A devil and an angel!" they
said to each other, laughing, little thinking it prophetic.

After weeping for a month in the solitude of her chamber, where she
admitted no one, the mother came forth at last with injured eyes. Before
losing her sight altogether she persisted, against the wishes of her
friends, in visiting her daughter's grave, on which she riveted her gaze
in contemplation. That image remained vivid in the darkness which now
fell upon her, just as the red spectrum of an object shines in our eyes
when we close them in full daylight. This terrible and double misfortune
made Dumay, not less devoted, but more anxious about Modeste, now the
only daughter of the father who was unaware of his loss. Madame Dumay,
idolizing Modeste, like other women deprived of their children, cast her
motherliness about the girl,--yet without disregarding the commands
of her husband, who distrusted female intimacies. Those commands were
brief. "If any man, of any age, or any rank," Dumay said, "speaks to
Modeste, ogles her, makes love to her, he is a dead man. I'll