Madame Dupin de Francueil left the guardianship of Aurore to a cousin,
Rene de Villeneuve. It was scarcely likely, though, that Sophie-Victoire
should consent to her own rights being frustrated by this illegal
clause, particularly as this man belonged to the world of the "old
Countesses." She took her daughter with her to Paris. Unfortunately for
her, Aurore's eyes were now open, and she was cultured enough to have
been in entire sympathy with her exquisite grandmother. It was no longer
possible for her to have the old passionate affection and indulgence for
her mother, especially as she felt that she had hitherto been deserted
by her. She saw her mother now just as she was, a light woman belonging
to the people, a woman who could not resign herself to growing old. If
only Sophie-Victoire had been of a tranquil disposition! She was most
restless, on the contrary, wanting to change her abode and change her
restaurant every day. She would quarrel with people one day, make it up
the next; wear a different-shaped hat every day, and change the colour
of her hair continually. She was always in a state of agitation. She
loved police news and thrilling stories; read the _Sherlock Holmes_ of
those days until the middle of the night. She dreamed of such stories,
and the following day went on living in an atmosphere of crime. When
she had an attack of indigestion, she always imagined that she had been
poisoned. When a visitor arrived, she thought it must be a burglar.
She was most sarcastic about Aurore's "fine education" and her literary
aspirations. Her hatred of the dead grandmother was as strong as ever.
She was constantly insulting her memory, and in her fits of anger said
unheard-of things. Aurore's silence was her only reply to these storms,
and this exasperated her mother. She declared that she would correct her
daughter's "sly ways." Aurore began to wonder with terror whether her
mother's mind were not beginning to give way. The situation finally
became intolerable.