aven-appointed man. Francis Jourdain went to Octave Mirbeau and
offered him the privilege of floating "Marie Claire" on the literary
market of Paris. Octave Mirbeau accepted, and he went to work on the
business as he goes to work on all his business; that is to say, with
flames and lightnings. For some time Octave Mirbeau lived for nothing,
but "Marie Claire." The result has been vastly creditable to him.
"Marie Claire" was finally launched in splendour. Its path had been
prepared with really remarkable skill in the Press and in the world,
and it was an exceedingly brilliant success from the start. It ran a
triumphant course as a serial in one of the "great reviews," and within
a few weeks of its publication as a book thirty thousand copies had
been sold. The sale continues more actively than ever. Marguerite
Audoux lives precisely as she lived before. She is writing a further
instalment of her pseudonymous autobiography, and there is no apparent
reason why this new instalment should not be even better than the first.

Such is the story of the book.

My task is not to criticise the work. I will only say this. In my
opinion it is highly distinguished of its kind (the second part in
particular is full of marvellous beauty); but it must be accepted for
what it is. It makes no sort of pretence to display those constructive
and inventive artifices which are indispensable to a great masterpiece
of impersonal fiction. It is not fiction. It is the exquisite
expression of a temperament. It is a divine accident.

ARNOLD BENNETT.

MARIE CLAIRE

PART I

One day a number of people came to the house. The men came in as
though they were going into church, and the women made the sign of the
cross as they went out.

I slipped into my parents' bedroom and was surprised to see that my
mother had a big lighted candle by her bedside. My father was leaning
over the foot of the bed looking at my mother. She was asleep with her
hands crossed on her breast.

Our neighbour, la mere Colas, kept us with her all day. As the women
went out again she said to them, "No, she would not kiss her children
good-bye." The women blew their noses, looked at us, and la mere Colas
added, "That sort of illness makes one unkind, I suppose." A few days
afterwards we were given new dresses with big black and white checks.

La mere Colas used to give us our meals and send us out to play in the
fields. My sister, who was a big