168 MEMOIRS OP 



in her constitution, which had already given one or twc 

 alarms, and probably made hidden progress, only manifest- 

 ed itself in its decided form six weeks before her death, amid 

 the joyful preparations for her marriage. From this mo- 

 ment a mournful change took place in every arrangement : 

 the broken-hearted mother was long, very long, unable tc 

 receive company, never again to mingle in it abroad ; and 

 the unceasing and heroic efforts of her surviving daughter, 

 and the affectionate cares of her husband, failed to rouse her. 

 At length, occasional society at his own house became ab- 

 solutely necessary to M. Cuvier, and the good wife consent- 

 ed to that which the good mother had refused ; the saloon re- 

 mained closed in which she had seen the perfection of mor- 

 tal loveliness breathe her last, and one of the libraries was 

 opened to company. A few old friends alone took imme- 

 diate advantage of the permission to resume their visits ; 

 these, in time, brought others ; but the change had come ; 

 and to those who had known Clementine, the soirees were 

 stripped of one of their principal charms. In vain did M. 

 Cuvier exert himself more than ever to welcome his guests; 

 vain was the conversation of his daughter-in-law, the most 

 fascinating and brilliant that perhaps ever fell from the lips 

 of woman ; there sat the dejected mother, evidently making 

 an effort over herself, her thoughts but too plainly in an- 

 other sphere ; and the cause of her abstraction was whis- 

 pered to strangers, with mournful looks and faltering 

 tongues, by those who had beheld the being that had filled 

 up the vacancy. With a violent effort, that closed saloon 

 was once more opened to M. Cuvier's friends ; but it seemed 

 to be only the preparation for the dying breath of the parent. 

 That saloon is now always open, and the bereaved widow 

 and her devoted child always inhabit it, surrounded by the 

 portraits of those they loved, clinging to the shadows and 

 recollections of those that are gone, and living in the past, aa 

 the sole source of their melancholy enjoyment. 



After the death of his own daughter, M. Cuvier became, 

 if possible, more than ever attached to Mademoiselle Duvau- 

 cel. He had never made any difference in his conduct to- 

 wards her and Mademoiselle Cuvier; but the loss of the lat- 

 ter necessarily increased his reliance on her cares, and an 

 anxiety was added to his affection, which manifested itself 



