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again。 I will go with you to the train。 No matterdon't fret。 I am
going to talk to them after you have started。〃
He then took her to the railway station； still cheering her with hope；
and； when he had kissed her； he put her into the train； which he watched
as it passed out of sight； his eyes swollen with tears。
In vain did he appeal to the old people。 They would never give their
consent。
And when he had told this story； which was known all over the country；
Antoine Boitelle would always add：
〃From that time forward I have had no heart for anythingfor anything at
all。 No trade suited me any longer； and so I became what I ama night
scavenger。〃
People would say to him：
〃Yet you got married。〃
〃Yes； and I can't say that my wife didn't please me； seeing that I have
fourteen children； but she is not the other one； oh； nocertainly not！
The other one； mark you； my negress； she had only to give me one glance；
and I felt as if I were in Heaven。〃
A WIDOW
This story was told during the hunting season at the Chateau Baneville。
The autumn had been rainy and sad。 The red leaves； instead of rustling
under the feet； were rotting under the heavy downfalls。
The forest was as damp as it could be。 From it came an odor of must； of
rain； of soaked grass and wet earth； and the sportsmen； their backs
hunched under the downpour； mournful dogs； with tails between their legs
and hairs sticking to their sides； and the young women； with their
clothes drenched； returned every evening； tired in body and in mind。
After dinner； in the large drawing…room； everybody played lotto； without
enjoyment； while the wind whistled madly around the house。 Then they
tried telling stories like those they read in books； but no one was able
to invent anything amusing。 The hunters told tales of wonderful shots
and of the butchery of rabbits； and the women racked their brains for
ideas without revealing the imagination of Scheherezade。 They were about
to give up this diversion when a young woman； who was idly caressing the
hand of an old maiden aunt； noticed a little ring made of blond hair；
which she had often seen； without paying any attention to it。
She fingered it gently and asked； 〃Auntie； what is this ring？ It looks
as if it were made from the hair of a child。〃
The old lady blushed； grew pale； then answered in a trembling voice： 〃It
is sad； so sad that I never wish to speak of it。 All the unhappiness of
my life comes from that。 I was very young then； and the memory has
remained so painful that I weep every time I think of it。〃
Immediately everybody wished to know the story； but the old lady refused
to tell it。 Finally； after they had coaxed her for a long time； she
yielded。 Here is the story：
〃You have often heard me speak of the Santeze family； now extinct。 I
knew the last three male members of this family。 They all died in the
same manner； this hair belongs to the last one。 He was thirteen when he
killed himself for me。 That seems strange to you； doesn't it？
〃Oh！ it was a strange familymad； if you will； but a charming madness；
the madness of love。 From father to son； all had violent passions which
filled their whole being； which impelled them to do wild things； drove
them to frantic enthusiasm； even to crime。 This was born in them； just
as burning devotion is in certain souls。 Trappers have not the same
nature as minions of the drawing…room。 There was a saying： 'As
passionate as a Santeze。' This could be noticed by looking at them。
They all had wavy hair； falling over their brows； curly beards and large
eyes whose glance pierced and moved one； though one could not say why。
〃The grandfather of the owner of this hair； of whom it is the last
souvenir； after many adventures； duels and elopements； at about sixty…
five fell madly in love with his farmer's daughter。 I knew them both。
She was blond； pale； distinguished…looking； with a slow manner of
talking； a quiet voice and a look so gentle that one might have taken her
for a Madonna。 The old nobleman took her to his home and was soon so
captivated with her that he could not live without her for a minute。
His daughter and daughter…in…law； who lived in the chateau； found this
perfectly natural； love was such a tradition in the family。 Nothing in
regard to a passion surprised them； and if one spoke before them of
parted lovers； even of vengeance after treachery； both said in the same
sad tone： 'Oh； how he must have suffered to come to that point！' That was
all。 They grew sad over tragedies of love； but never indignant； even
when they were criminal。
〃Now； one day a young man named Monsieur de Gradelle； who had been
invited for the shooting； eloped with the young girl。
〃Monsieur de Santeze remained calm as if nothing had happened； but one
morning he was found hanging in the kennels； among his dogs。
〃His son died in the same manner in a hotel in Paris during a journey
which he made there in 1841； after being deceived by a singer from the
opera。
〃He left a twelve…year…old child and a widow； my mother's sister。 She
came to my father's house with the boy； while we were living at
Bertillon。 I was then seventeen。
〃You have no idea how wonderful and precocious this Santeze child was。
One might have thought that all the tenderness and exaltation of the
whole race had been stored up in this last one。 He was always dreaming
and walking about alone in a great alley of elms leading from the chateau
to the forest。 I watched from my window this sentimental boy； who walked
with thoughtful steps； his hands behind his back； his head bent； and at
times stopping to raise his eyes as if he could see and understand things
that were not comprehensible at his age。
〃Often； after dinner on clear evenings； he would say to me： 'Let us go
outside and dream； cousin。' And we would go outside together in the
park。 He would stop quickly before a clearing where the white vapor of
the moon lights the woods； and he would press my hand； saying： 'Look！
look！ but you don't understand me； I feel it。 If you understood me； we
should be happy。 One must love to know！ I would laugh and then kiss
this child； who loved me madly。
〃Often； after dinner； he would sit on my mother's knees。 'Come； auntie；'
he would say； 'tell me some love…stories。' And my mother； as a joke；
would tell him all the old legends of the family； all the passionate
adventures of his forefathers； for thousands of them were current； some
true and some false。 It was their reputation for love and gallantry
which was the ruin of every one of these…men； they gloried in it and then
thought that they had to live up to the renown of their house。
〃The little fellow became exalted by these tender or terrible stories；
and at times he would clap his hands； crying： 'I； too； I； too； know how
to love； better than all of them！'
〃Then； he began to court me in a timid and tender manner； at which every
one laughed； it was； so amusing。 Every morning I had some flowers picked
by him； and every evening before going to his room he would kiss my hand
and murmur： 'I love you！'
〃I was guilty； very guilty； and I grieved cont