( 372 ) 



THE PROSCRIBED ; 



Ti-anslated from the French of M. De Balzac, by Margaret Patrickson 

 from an unpublished Work. 



Jacqueline, left alone in the house, ascended hastily to the 

 chamber of the unknown gentleman, to see if she could not pick up 

 there something that might let her a little into the secret of this 

 mysterious affair. Like the philosophers who give themselves such 

 infinite pains to complicate the clear and simple principles of nature, 

 she had already constructed a shapeless, incongruous romance, 

 which sufficed to explain to her the union of these three extraor- 

 dinary individuals under her humble roof. She rummaged the 

 coffer, examined all she found, and could discover nothing wonder- 

 ful. She only saw upon the table an inkstand, and some sheets of 

 parchment; but, not knowing how to read, her discovery was thrown 

 away upon her, and she remained as much in the dark as ever. 

 Female curiosity led her to the chamber of the handsome young 

 man, from the window of which she distinguished her two guests 

 crossing the Seine in the boat of the ferry-man. 



" They" are"[like two statues ;" said she to herself. " Ha ! 

 ha r ! they are landing opposite the Rue du Fouarre ! How light the 

 little darling is ! he leaps on shore like a bullfinch. The old gentle- 

 man looks beside him like a stone saint in a cathedral. They are 

 going to the ancient school of the Four Nations. Presto! they are 

 gone. I see them no longer. It is here that he lives, the poor 

 cherubim !'' added she, looking round upon the furniture of the 

 room ; " how gallant and pleasant he is ! Ah ! these great lords 

 are differently made from us." 



And Jacqueline descended, after having passed her hand over 

 the counterpane, dusted the coffer, and asked herself for the 

 hundredth time during the last six months: " But what the devil 

 does he pass his blessed days in doing ? He cannot always be look- 

 ing up at the blue sky and the bright stars, that God has hung up 

 there, like lanterns. The dear child must be labouring under some 

 affliction. But why should the old master and he scarcely ever speak 

 to each other ?" 



And then she lost herself in a wild confusion of thoughts, which, 

 in the brain of a woman, are apt to get entangled like a twisted 

 skein of thread. The elderly stranger and his young companion 

 had, indeed, entered one of those schools which at this period ren- 

 dered the Rue du Fouarre, so celebrated throughout Europe. The 

 illustrious Sigier, the most famous doctor in mystical theology of 

 the University of Paris, was ascending the stairs of his pulpit at the 

 moment that Jacqueline's two lodgers arrived at the ancient school 

 of the Four Nations, and entered a large hall on the ground floor, 

 level with the street. The cold flags were strewed with fresh straw, 



