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diff --git a/3550-0.txt b/3550-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2c1b62e --- /dev/null +++ b/3550-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1673 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, La Mere Bauche, by Anthony Trollope + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: La Mere Bauche + + +Author: Anthony Trollope + + + +Release Date: January 16, 2015 [eBook #3550] +[This file was first posted on June 6, 2001] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LA MERE BAUCHE*** + + +Transcribed from the 1864 Chapman & Hall “Tales of All Countries” edition +by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + + LA MÈRE BAUCHE. + + +THE Pyreneean valley in which the baths of Vernet are situated is not +much known to English, or indeed to any travellers. Tourists in search +of good hotels and picturesque beauty combined, do not generally extend +their journeys to the Eastern Pyrenees. They rarely get beyond Luchon; +and in this they are right, as they thus end their peregrinations at the +most lovely spot among these mountains, and are as a rule so deceived, +imposed on, and bewildered by guides, innkeepers, and horse-owners, at +this otherwise delightful place, as to become undesirous of further +travel. Nor do invalids from distant parts frequent Vernet. People of +fashion go to the Eaux Bonnes and to Luchon, and people who are really +ill to Baréges and Cauterets. It is at these places that one meets +crowds of Parisians, and the daughters and wives of rich merchants from +Bordeaux, with an admixture, now by no means inconsiderable, of +Englishmen and Englishwomen. But the Eastern Pyrenees are still +unfrequented. And probably they will remain so; for though there are +among them lovely valleys—and of all such the valley of Vernet is perhaps +the most lovely—they cannot compete with the mountain scenery of other +tourists-loved regions in Europe. At the Port de Venasquez and the +Brèche de Roland in the Western Pyrenees, or rather, to speak more truly, +at spots in the close vicinity of these famous mountain entrances from +France into Spain, one can make comparisons with Switzerland, Northern +Italy, the Tyrol, and Ireland, which will not be injurious to the scenes +then under view. But among the eastern mountains this can rarely be +done. The hills do not stand thickly together so as to group themselves; +the passes from one valley to another, though not wanting in altitude, +are not close pressed together with overhanging rocks, and are deficient +in grandeur as well as loveliness. And then, as a natural consequence of +all this, the hotels—are not quite as good as they should be. + +But there is one mountain among them which can claim to rank with the Píc +du Midi or the Maledetta. No one can pooh-pooh the stern old Canigou, +standing high and solitary, solemn and grand, between the two roads which +run from Perpignan into Spain, the one by Prades and the other by Le +Boulon. Under the Canigou, towards the west, lie the hot baths of +Vernet, in a close secluded valley, which, as I have said before, is, as +far as I know, the sweetest spot in these Eastern Pyrenees. + +The frequenters of these baths were a few years back gathered almost +entirely from towns not very far distant, from Perpignan, Narbonne, +Carcassonne, and Bézières, and the baths were not therefore famous, +expensive, or luxurious; but those who believed in them believed with +great faith; and it was certainly the fact that men and women who went +thither worn with toil, sick with excesses, and nervous through +over-care, came back fresh and strong, fit once more to attack the world +with all its woes. Their character in latter days does not seem to have +changed, though their circle of admirers may perhaps be somewhat +extended. + +In those days, by far the most noted and illustrious person in the +village of Vernet was La Mère Bauche. That there had once been a Père +Bauche was known to the world, for there was a Fils Bauche who lived with +his mother; but no one seemed to remember more of him than that he had +once existed. At Vernet he had never been known. La Mère Bauche was a +native of the village, but her married life had been passed away from it, +and she had returned in her early widowhood to become proprietress and +manager, or, as one may say, the heart and soul of the Hôtel Bauche at +Vernet. + +This hotel was a large and somewhat rough establishment, intended for the +accommodation of invalids who came to Vernet for their health. It was +built immediately over one of the thermal springs, so that the water +flowed from the bowels of the earth directly into the baths. There was +accommodation for seventy people, and during the summer and autumn months +the place was always full. Not a few also were to be found there during +the winter and spring, for the charges of Madame Bauche were low, and the +accommodation reasonably good. + +And in this respect, as indeed in all others, Madame Bauche had the +reputation of being an honest woman. She had a certain price, from which +no earthly consideration would induce her to depart; and there were +certain returns for this price in the shape of déjeuners and dinners, +baths and beds, which she never failed to give in accordance with the +dictates of a strict conscience. These were traits in the character of +an hotel-keeper which cannot be praised too highly, and which had met +their due reward in the custom of the public. But nevertheless there +were those who thought that there was occasionally ground for complaint +in the conduct even of Madame Bauche. + +In the first place she was deficient in that pleasant smiling softness +which should belong to any keeper of a house of public entertainment. In +her general mode of life she was stern and silent with her guests, +autocratic, authoritative and sometimes contradictory in her house, and +altogether irrational and unconciliatory when any change even for a day +was proposed to her, or when any shadow of a complaint reached her ears. + +Indeed of complaint, as made against the establishment, she was +altogether intolerant. To such she had but one answer. He or she who +complained might leave the place at a moment’s notice if it so pleased +them. There were always others ready to take their places. The power of +making this answer came to her from the lowness of her prices; and it was +a power which was very dear to her. + +The baths were taken at different hours according to medical advice, but +the usual time was from five to seven in the morning. The déjeuner or +early meal was at nine o’clock, the dinner was at four. After that, no +eating or drinking was allowed in the Hôtel Bauche. There was a café in +the village, at which ladies and gentlemen could get a cup of coffee or a +glass of eau sucré; but no such accommodation was to be had in the +establishment. Not by any possible bribery or persuasion could any meal +be procured at any other than the authorised hours. A visitor who should +enter the salle à manger more than ten minutes after the last bell would +be looked at very sourly by Madame Bauche, who on all occasions sat at +the top of her own table. Should any one appear as much as half an hour +late, he would receive only his share of what had not been handed round. +But after the last dish had been so handed, it was utterly useless for +any one to enter the room at all. + +Her appearance at the period of our tale was perhaps not altogether in +her favour. She was about sixty years of age and was very stout and +short in the neck. She wore her own gray hair, which at dinner was +always tidy enough; but during the whole day previous to that hour she +might be seen with it escaping from under her cap in extreme disorder. +Her eyebrows were large and bushy, but those alone would not have given +to her face that look of indomitable sternness which it possessed. Her +eyebrows were serious in their effect, but not so serious as the pair of +green spectacles which she always wore under them. It was thought by +those who had analysed the subject that the great secret of Madame +Bauche’s power lay in her green spectacles. + +Her custom was to move about and through the whole establishment every +day from breakfast till the period came for her to dress for dinner. She +would visit every chamber and every bath, walk once or twice round the +salle à manger, and very repeatedly round the kitchen; she would go into +every hole and corner, and peer into everything through her green +spectacles: and in these walks it was not always thought pleasant to meet +her. Her custom was to move very slowly, with her hands generally +clasped behind her back: she rarely spoke to the guests unless she was +spoken to, and on such occasions she would not often diverge into general +conversation. If any one had aught to say connected with the business of +the establishment, she would listen, and then she would make her +answers,—often not pleasant in the hearing. + +And thus she walked her path through the world, a stern, hard, solemn old +woman, not without gusts of passionate explosion; but honest withal, and +not without some inward benevolence and true tenderness of heart. +Children she had had many, some seven or eight. One or two had died, +others had been married; she had sons settled far away from home, and at +the time of which we are now speaking but one was left in any way subject +to maternal authority. + +Adolphe Bauche was the only one of her children of whom much was +remembered by the present denizens and hangers-on of the hotel, he was +the youngest of the number, and having been born only very shortly before +the return of Madame Bauche to Vernet, had been altogether reared there. +It was thought by the world of those parts, and rightly thought, that he +was his mother’s darling—more so than had been any of his brothers and +sisters,—the very apple of her eye and gem of her life. At this time he +was about twenty-five years of age, and for the last two years had been +absent from Vernet—for reasons which will shortly be made to appear. He +had been sent to Paris to see something of the world, and learn to talk +French instead of the patois of his valley; and having left Paris had +come down south into Languedoc, and remained there picking up some +agricultural lore which it was thought might prove useful in the valley +farms of Vernet. He was now expected home again very speedily, much to +his mother’s delight. + +That she was kind and gracious to her favourite child does not perhaps +give much proof of her benevolence; but she had also been kind and +gracious to the orphan child of a neighbour; nay, to the orphan child of +a rival innkeeper. At Vernet there had been more than one water +establishment, but the proprietor of the second had died some few years +after Madame Bauche had settled herself at the place. His house had not +thrived, and his only child, a little girl, was left altogether without +provision. + +This little girl, Marie Clavert, La Mère Bauche had taken into her own +house immediately after the father’s death, although she had most +cordially hated that father. Marie was then an infant, and Madame Bauche +had accepted the charge without much thought, perhaps, as to what might +be the child’s ultimate destiny. But since then she had thoroughly done +the duty of a mother by the little girl, who had become the pet of the +whole establishment, the favourite plaything of Adolphe Bauche, and at +last of course his early sweetheart. + +And then and therefore there had come troubles at Vernet. Of course all +the world of the valley had seen what was taking place and what was +likely to take place, long before Madame Bauche knew anything about it. +But at last it broke upon her senses that her son, Adolphe Bauche, the +heir to all her virtues and all her riches, the first young man in that +or any neighbouring valley, was absolutely contemplating the idea of +marrying that poor little orphan, Marie Clavert! + +That any one should ever fall in love with Marie Clavert had never +occurred to Madame Bauche. She had always regarded the child as a child, +as the object of her charity, and as a little thing to be looked on as +poor Marie by all the world. She, looking through her green spectacles, +had never seen that Marie Clavert was a beautiful creature, full of +ripening charms, such as young men love to look on. Marie was of +infinite daily use to Madame Bauche in a hundred little things about the +house, and the old lady thoroughly recognised and appreciated her +ability. But for this very reason she had never taught herself to regard +Marie otherwise than as a useful drudge. She was very fond of her +protégée—so much so that she would listen to her in affairs about the +house when she would listen to no one else;—but Marie’s prettiness and +grace and sweetness as a girl had all been thrown away upon Maman Bauche, +as Marie used to call her. + +But unluckily it had not been thrown away upon Adolphe. He had +appreciated, as it was natural that he should do, all that had been so +utterly indifferent to his mother; and consequently had fallen in love. +Consequently also he had told his love; and consequently also Marie had +returned his love. + +Adolphe had been hitherto contradicted but in few things, and thought +that all difficulty would be prevented by his informing his mother that +he wished to marry Marie Clavert. But Marie, with a woman’s instinct, +had known better. She had trembled and almost crouched with fear when +she confessed her love; and had absolutely hid herself from sight when +Adolphe went forth, prepared to ask his mother’s consent to his marriage. + +The indignation and passionate wrath of Madame Bauche were past and gone +two years before the date of this story, and I need not therefore much +enlarge upon that subject. She was at first abusive and bitter, which +was bad for Marie; and afterwards bitter and silent, which was worse. It +was of course determined that poor Marie should be sent away to some +asylum for orphans or penniless paupers—in short anywhere out of the way. +What mattered her outlook into the world, her happiness, or indeed her +very existence? The outlook and happiness of Adolphe Bauche,—was not +that to be considered as everything at Vernet? + +But this terrible sharp aspect of affairs did not last very long. In the +first place La Mère Bauche had under those green spectacles a heart that +in truth was tender and affectionate, and after the first two days of +anger she admitted that something must be done for Marie Clavert; and +after the fourth day she acknowledged that the world of the hotel, her +world, would not go as well without Marie Clavert as it would with her. +And in the next place Madame Bauche had a friend whose advice in grave +matters she would sometimes take. This friend had told her that it would +be much better to send away Adolphe, since it was so necessary that there +should be a sending away of some one; that he would be much benefited by +passing some months of his life away from his native valley; and that an +absence of a year or two would teach him to forget Marie, even if it did +not teach Marie to forget him. + +And we must say a word or two about this friend. At Vernet he was +usually called M. le Capitaine, though in fact he had never reached that +rank. He had been in the army, and having been wounded in the leg while +still a sous-lieutenant, had been pensioned, and had thus been +interdicted from treading any further the thorny path that leads to +glory. For the last fifteen years he had resided under the roof of +Madame Bauche, at first as a casual visitor, going and coming, but now +for many years as constant there as she was herself. + +He was so constantly called Le Capitaine that his real name was seldom +heard. It may however as well be known to us that this was Theodore +Campan. He was a tall, well-looking man; always dressed in black +garments, of a coarse description certainly, but scrupulously clean and +well brushed; of perhaps fifty years of age, and conspicuous for the +rigid uprightness of his back—and for a black wooden leg. + +This wooden leg was perhaps the most remarkable trait in his character. +It was always jet black, being painted, or polished, or japanned, as +occasion might require, by the hands of the capitaine himself. It was +longer than ordinary wooden legs, as indeed the capitaine was longer than +ordinary men; but nevertheless it never seemed in any way to impede the +rigid punctilious propriety of his movements. It was never in his way as +wooden legs usually are in the way of their wearers. And then to render +it more illustrious it had round its middle, round the calf of the leg we +may so say, a band of bright brass which shone like burnished gold. + +It had been the capitaine’s custom, now for some years past, to retire +every evening at about seven o’clock into the sanctum sanctorum of Madame +Bauche’s habitation, the dark little private sitting-room in which she +made out her bills and calculated her profits, and there regale himself +in her presence—and indeed at her expense, for the items never appeared +in the bill—with coffee and cognac. I have said that there was never +eating or drinking at the establishment after the regular dinner-hours; +but in so saying I spoke of the world at large. Nothing further was +allowed in the way of trade; but in the way of friendship so much was +now-a-days always allowed to the capitaine. + +It was at these moments that Madame Bauche discussed her private affairs, +and asked for and received advice. For even Madame Bauche was mortal; +nor could her green spectacles without other aid carry her through all +the troubles of life. It was now five years since the world of Vernet +discovered that La Mère Bauche was going to marry the capitaine; and for +eighteen months the world of Vernet had been full of this matter: but any +amount of patience is at last exhausted, and as no further steps in that +direction were ever taken beyond the daily cup of coffee, that subject +died away—very much unheeded by La Mère Bauche. + +But she, though she thought of no matrimony for herself, thought much of +matrimony for other people; and over most of those cups of evening coffee +and cognac a matrimonial project was discussed in these latter days. It +has been seen that the capitaine pleaded in Marie’s favour when the fury +of Madame Bauche’s indignation broke forth; and that ultimately Marie was +kept at home, and Adolphe sent away by his advice. + +“But Adolphe cannot always stay away,” Madame Bauche had pleaded in her +difficulty. The truth of this the capitaine had admitted; but Marie, he +said, might be married to some one else before two years were over. And +so the matter had commenced. + +But to whom should she be married? To this question the capitaine had +answered in perfect innocence of heart, that La Mère Bauche would be much +better able to make such a choice than himself. He did not know how +Marie might stand with regard to money. If madame would give some little +“dot,” the affair, the capitaine thought, would be more easily arranged. + +All these things took months to say, during which period Marie went on +with her work in melancholy listlessness. One comfort she had. Adolphe, +before he went, had promised to her, holding in his hand as he did so a +little cross which she had given him, that no earthly consideration +should sever them;—that sooner or later he would certainly be her +husband. Marie felt that her limbs could not work nor her tongue speak +were it not for this one drop of water in her cup. + +And then, deeply meditating, La Mère Bauche hit upon a plan, and herself +communicated it to the capitaine over a second cup of coffee into which +she poured a full teaspoonful more than the usual allowance of cognac. +Why should not he, the capitaine himself, be the man to marry Marie +Clavert? + +It was a very startling proposal, the idea of matrimony for himself never +having as yet entered into the capitaine’s head at any period of his +life; but La Mère Bauche did contrive to make it not altogether +unacceptable. As to that matter of dowry she was prepared to be more +than generous. She did love Marie well, and could find it in her heart +to give her anything—any thing except her son, her own Adolphe. What she +proposed was this. Adolphe, himself, would never keep the baths. If the +capitaine would take Marie for his wife, Marie, Madame Bauche declared, +should be the mistress after her death; subject of course to certain +settlements as to Adolphe’s pecuniary interests. + +The plan was discussed a thousand times, and at last so far brought to +bear that Marie was made acquainted with it—having been called in to sit +in presence with La Mère Bauche and her future proposed husband. The +poor girl manifested no disgust to the stiff ungainly lover whom they +assigned to her,—who through his whole frame was in appearance almost as +wooden as his own leg. On the whole, indeed, Marie liked the capitaine, +and felt that he was her friend; and in her country such marriages were +not uncommon. The capitaine was perhaps a little beyond the age at which +a man might usually be thought justified in demanding the services of a +young girl as his nurse and wife, but then Marie of herself had so little +to give—except her youth, and beauty, and goodness. + +But yet she could not absolutely consent; for was she not absolutely +pledged to her own Adolphe? And therefore, when the great pecuniary +advantages were, one by one, displayed before her, and when La Mère +Bauche, as a last argument, informed her that as wife of the capitaine +she would be regarded as second mistress in the establishment and not as +a servant, she could only burst out into tears, and say that she did not +know. + +“I will be very kind to you,” said the capitaine; “as kind as a man can +be.” + +Marie took his hard withered hand and kissed it; and then looked up into +his face with beseeching eyes which were not without avail upon his +heart. + +“We will not press her now,” said the capitaine. “There is time enough.” + +But let his heart be touched ever so much, one thing was certain. It +could not be permitted that she should marry Adolphe. To that view of +the matter he had given in his unrestricted adhesion; nor could he by any +means withdraw it without losing altogether his position in the +establishment of Madame Bauche. Nor indeed did his conscience tell him +that such a marriage should be permitted. That would be too much. If +every pretty girl were allowed to marry the first young man that might +fall in love with her, what would the world come to? + +And it soon appeared that there was not time enough—that the time was +growing very scant. In three months Adolphe would be back. And if +everything was not arranged by that time, matters might still go astray. + +And then Madame Bauche asked her final question: “You do not think, do +you, that you can ever marry Adolphe?” And as she asked it the +accustomed terror of her green spectacles magnified itself tenfold. +Marie could only answer by another burst of tears. + +The affair was at last settled among them. Marie said that she would +consent to marry the capitaine when she should hear from Adolphe’s own +mouth that he, Adolphe, loved her no longer. She declared with many +tears that her vows and pledges prevented her from promising more than +this. It was not her fault, at any rate not now, that she loved her +lover. It was not her fault—not now at least—that she was bound by these +pledges. When she heard from his own mouth that he had discarded her, +then she would marry the capitaine—or indeed sacrifice herself in any +other way that La Mère Bauche might desire. What would anything signify +then? + +Madame Bauche’s spectacles remained unmoved; but not her heart. Marie, +she told the capitaine, should be equal to herself in the establishment, +when once she was entitled to be called Madame Campan, and she should be +to her quite as a daughter. She should have her cup of coffee every +evening, and dine at the big table, and wear a silk gown at church, and +the servants should all call her Madame; a great career should be open to +her, if she would only give up her foolish girlish childish love for +Adolphe. And all these great promises were repeated to Marie by the +capitaine. + +But nevertheless there was but one thing in the world which in Marie’s +eyes was of any value; and that one thing was the heart of Adolphe +Bauche. Without that she would be nothing; with that,—with that assured, +she could wait patiently till doomsday. + +Letters were written to Adolphe during all these eventful doings; and a +letter came from him saying that he greatly valued Marie’s love, but that +as it had been clearly proved to him that their marriage would be neither +for her advantage, nor for his, he was willing to give it up. He +consented to her marriage with the capitaine, and expressed his gratitude +to his mother for the pecuniary advantages which she had held out to him. +Oh, Adolphe, Adolphe! But, alas, alas! is not such the way of most men’s +hearts—and of the hearts of some women? + +This letter was read to Marie, but it had no more effect upon her than +would have had some dry legal document. In those days and in those +places men and women did not depend much upon letters; nor when they were +written, was there expressed in them much of heart or of feeling. Marie +would understand, as she was well aware, the glance of Adolphe’s eye and +the tone of Adolphe’s voice; she would perceive at once from them what +her lover really meant, what he wished, what in the innermost corner of +his heart he really desired that she should do. But from that stiff +constrained written document she could understand nothing. + +It was agreed therefore that Adolphe should return, and that she would +accept her fate from his mouth. The capitaine, who knew more of human +nature than poor Marie, felt tolerably sure of his bride. Adolphe, who +had seen something of the world, would not care very much for the girl of +his own valley. Money and pleasure, and some little position in the +world, would soon wean him from his love; and then Marie would accept her +destiny—as other girls in the same position had done since the French +world began. + +And now it was the evening before Adolphe’s expected arrival. La Mère +Bauche was discussing the matter with the capitaine over the usual cup of +coffee. Madame Bauche had of late become rather nervous on the matter, +thinking that they had been somewhat rash in acceding so much to Marie. +It seemed to her that it was absolutely now left to the two young lovers +to say whether or no they would have each other or not. Now nothing on +earth could be further from Madame Bauche’s intention than this. Her +decree and resolve was to heap down blessings on all persons +concerned—provided always that she could have her own way; but, provided +she did not have her own way, to heap down,—anything but blessings. She +had her code of morality in this matter. She would do good if possible +to everybody around her. But she would not on any score be induced to +consent that Adolphe should marry Marie Clavert. Should that be in the +wind she would rid the house of Marie, of the capitaine, and even of +Adolphe himself. + +She had become therefore somewhat querulous, and self-opinionated in her +discussions with her friend. + +“I don’t know,” she said on the evening in question; “I don’t know. It +may be all right; but if Adolphe turns against me, what are we to do +then?” + +“Mère Bauche,” said the capitaine, sipping his coffee and puffing out the +smoke of his cigar, “Adolphe will not turn against us.” It had been +somewhat remarked by many that the capitaine was more at home in the +house, and somewhat freer in his manner of talking with Madame Bauche, +since this matrimonial alliance had been on the tapis than he had ever +been before. La Mère herself observed it, and did not quite like it; but +how could she prevent it now? When the capitaine was once married she +would make him know his place, in spite of all her promises to Marie. + +“But if he says he likes the girl?” continued Madame Bauche. + +“My friend, you may be sure that he will say nothing of the kind. He has +not been away two years without seeing girls as pretty as Marie. And +then you have his letter.” + +“That is nothing, capitaine; he would eat his letter as quick as you +would eat an omelet aux fines herbes.” + +Now the capitaine was especially quick over an omelet aux fines herbes. + +“And, Mère Bauche, you also have the purse; he will know that he cannot +eat that, except with your good will.” + +“Ah!” exclaimed Madame Bauche, “poor lad! He has not a sous in the world +unless I give it to him.” But it did not seem that this reflection was +in itself displeasing to her. + +“Adolphe will now be a man of the world,” continued the capitaine. “He +will know that it does not do to throw away everything for a pair of red +lips. That is the folly of a boy, and Adolphe will be no longer a boy. +Believe me, Mère Bauche, things will be right enough.” + +“And then we shall have Marie sick and ill and half dying on our hands,” +said Madame Bauche. + +This was not flattering to the capitaine, and so he felt it. “Perhaps +so, perhaps not,” he said. “But at any rate she will get over it. It is +a malady which rarely kills young women—especially when another alliance +awaits them.” + +“Bah!” said Madame Bauche; and in saying that word she avenged herself +for the too great liberty which the capitaine had lately taken. He +shrugged his shoulders, took a pinch of snuff and uninvited helped +himself to a teaspoonful of cognac. Then the conference ended, and on +the next morning before breakfast Adolphe Bauche arrived. + +On that morning poor Marie hardly knew how to bear herself. A month or +two back, and even up to the last day or two, she had felt a sort of +confidence that Adolphe would be true to her; but the nearer came that +fatal day the less strong was the confidence of the poor girl. She knew +that those two long-headed, aged counsellors were plotting against her +happiness, and she felt that she could hardly dare hope for success with +such terrible foes opposed to her. On the evening before the day Madame +Bauche had met her in the passages, and kissed her as she wished her good +night. Marie knew little about sacrifices, but she felt that it was a +sacrificial kiss. + +In those days a sort of diligence with the mails for Olette passed +through Prades early in the morning, and a conveyance was sent from +Vernet to bring Adolphe to the baths. Never was prince or princess +expected with more anxiety. Madame Bauche was up and dressed long before +the hour, and was heard to say five several times that she was sure he +would not come. The capitaine was out and on the high road, moving about +with his wooden leg, as perpendicular as a lamp-post and almost as black. +Marie also was up, but nobody had seen her. She was up and had been out +about the place before any of them were stirring; but now that the world +was on the move she lay hidden like a hare in its form. + +And then the old char-à-banc clattered up to the door, and Adolphe jumped +out of it into his mother’s arms. He was fatter and fairer than she had +last seen him, had a larger beard, was more fashionably clothed, and +certainly looked more like a man. Marie also saw him out of her little +window, and she thought that he looked like a god. Was it probable, she +said to herself, that one so godlike would still care for her? + +The mother was delighted with her son, who rattled away quite at his +ease. He shook hands very cordially with the capitaine—of whose intended +alliance with his own sweetheart he had been informed, and then as he +entered the house with his hand under his mother’s arm, he asked one +question about her. “And where is Marie?” said he. “Marie! oh upstairs; +you shall see her after breakfast,” said La Mère Bauche. And so they +entered the house, and went in to breakfast among the guests. Everybody +had heard something of the story, and they were all on the alert to see +the young man whose love or want of love was considered to be of so much +importance. + +“You will see that it will be all right,” said the capitaine, carrying +his head very high. + +“I think so, I think so,” said La Mère Bauche, who, now that the +capitaine was right, no longer desired to contradict him. + +“I know that it will be all right,” said the capitaine. “I told you that +Adolphe would return a man; and he is a man. Look at him; he does not +care this for Marie Clavert;” and the capitaine, with much eloquence in +his motion, pitched over a neighbouring wall a small stone which he held +in his hand. + +And then they all went to breakfast with many signs of outward joy. And +not without some inward joy; for Madame Bauche thought she saw that her +son was cured of his love. In the mean time Marie sat up stairs still +afraid to show herself. + +“He has come,” said a young girl, a servant in the house, running up to +the door of Marie’s room. + +“Yes,” said Marie; “I could see that he has come.” + +“And, oh, how beautiful he is!” said the girl, putting her hands together +and looking up to the ceiling. Marie in her heart of hearts wished that +he was not half so beautiful, as then her chance of having him might be +greater. + +“And the company are all talking to him as though he were the préfet,” +said the girl. + +“Never mind who is talking to him,” said Marie; “go away, and leave +me—you are wanted for your work.” Why before this was he not talking to +her? Why not, if he were really true to her? Alas, it began to fall +upon her mind that he would be false! And what then? What should she do +then? She sat still gloomily, thinking of that other spouse that had +been promised to her. + +As speedily after breakfast as was possible Adolphe was invited to a +conference in his mother’s private room. She had much debated in her own +mind whether the capitaine should be invited to this conference or no. +For many reasons she would have wished to exclude him. She did not like +to teach her son that she was unable to manage her own affairs, and she +would have been well pleased to make the capitaine understand that his +assistance was not absolutely necessary to her. But then she had an +inward fear that her green spectacles would not now be as efficacious on +Adolphe, as they had once been, in old days, before he had seen the world +and become a man. It might be necessary that her son, being a man, +should be opposed by a man. So the capitaine was invited to the +conference. + +What took place there need not be described at length. The three were +closeted for two hours, at the end of which time they came forth +together. The countenance of Madame Bauche was serene and comfortable; +her hopes of ultimate success ran higher than ever. The face of the +capitaine was masked, as are always the faces of great diplomatists; he +walked placid and upright, raising his wooden leg with an ease and skill +that was absolutely marvellous. But poor Adolphe’s brow was clouded. +Yes, poor Adolphe! for he was poor in spirit, he had pledged himself to +give up Marie, and to accept the liberal allowance which his mother +tendered him; but it remained for him now to communicate these tidings to +Marie herself. + +“Could not you tell her?” he had said to his mother, with very little of +that manliness in his face on which his mother now so prided herself. +But La Mère Bauche explained to him that it was a part of the general +agreement that Marie was to hear his decision from his own mouth. + +“But you need not regard it,” said the capitaine, with the most +indifferent air in the world. “The girl expects it. Only she has some +childish idea that she is bound till you yourself release her. I don’t +think she will be troublesome.” Adolphe at that moment did feel that he +should have liked to kick the capitaine out of his mother’s house. + +And where should the meeting take place? In the hall of the bath-house, +suggested Madame Bauche; because, as she observed, they could walk round +and round, and nobody ever went there at that time of day. But to this +Adolphe objected; it would be so cold and dismal and melancholy. + +The capitaine thought that Mère Bauche’s little parlour was the place; +but La Mère herself did not like this. They might be overheard, as she +well knew; and she guessed that the meeting would not conclude without +some sobs that would certainly be bitter and might perhaps be loud. + +“Send her up to the grotto, and I will follow her,” said Adolphe. On +this therefore they agreed. Now the grotto was a natural excavation in a +high rock, which stood precipitously upright over the establishment of +the baths. A steep zigzag path with almost never-ending steps had been +made along the face of the rock from a little flower garden attached to +the house which lay immediately under the mountain. Close along the +front of the hotel ran a little brawling river, leaving barely room for a +road between it and the door; over this there was a wooden bridge leading +to the garden, and some two or three hundred yards from the bridge began +the steps by which the ascent was made to the grotto. + +When the season was full and the weather perfectly warm the place was +much frequented. There was a green table in it, and four or five deal +chairs; a green garden seat also was there, which however had been +removed into the innermost back corner of the excavation, as its hinder +legs were somewhat at fault. A wall about two feet high ran along the +face of it, guarding its occupants from the precipice. In fact it was no +grotto, but a little chasm in the rock, such as we often see up above our +heads in rocky valleys, and which by means of these steep steps had been +turned into a source of exercise and amusement for the visitors at the +hotel. + +Standing at the wall one could look down into the garden, and down also +upon the shining slate roof of Madame Bauche’s house; and to the left +might be seen the sombre, silent, snow-capped top of stern old Canigou, +king of mountains among those Eastern Pyrenees. + +And so Madame Bauche undertook to send Marie up to the grotto, and +Adolphe undertook to follow her thither. It was now spring; and though +the winds had fallen and the snow was no longer lying on the lower peaks, +still the air was fresh and cold, and there was no danger that any of the +few guests at the establishment would visit the place. + +“Make her put on her cloak, Mère Bauche,” said the capitaine, who did not +wish that his bride should have a cold in her head on their wedding-day. +La Mère Bauche pished and pshawed, as though she were not minded to pay +any attention to recommendations on such subjects from the capitaine. +But nevertheless when Marie was seen slowly to creep across the little +bridge about fifteen minutes after this time, she had a handkerchief on +her head, and was closely wrapped in a dark brown cloak. + +Poor Marie herself little heeded the cold fresh air, but she was glad to +avail herself of any means by which she might hide her face. When Madame +Bauche sought her out in her own little room, and with a smiling face and +kind kiss bade her go to the grotto, she knew, or fancied that she knew +that it was all over. + +“He will tell you all the truth,—how it all is,” said La Mère. “We will +do all we can, you know, to make you happy, Marie. But you must remember +what Monsieur le Curé told us the other day. In this vale of tears we +cannot have everything; as we shall have some day, when our poor wicked +souls have been purged of all their wickedness. Now go, dear, and take +your cloak.” + +“Yes, maman.” + +“And Adolphe will come to you. And try and behave well, like a sensible +girl.” + +“Yes, maman,”—and so she went, bearing on her brow another sacrificial +kiss—and bearing in her heart such an unutterable load of woe! + +Adolphe had gone out of the house before her; but standing in the stable +yard, well within the gate so that she should not see him, he watched her +slowly crossing the bridge and mounting the first flight of the steps. +He had often seen her tripping up those stairs, and had, almost as often, +followed her with his quicker feet. And she, when she would hear him, +would run; and then he would catch her breathless at the top, and steal +kisses from her when all power of refusing them had been robbed from her +by her efforts at escape. There was no such running now, no such +following, no thought of such kisses. + +As for him, he would fain have skulked off and shirked the interview had +he dared. But he did not dare; so he waited there, out of heart, for +some ten minutes, speaking a word now and then to the bath-man, who was +standing by, just to show that he was at his ease. But the bath-man knew +that he was not at his ease. Such would-be lies as those rarely achieve +deception;—are rarely believed. And then, at the end of the ten minutes, +with steps as slow as Marie’s had been, he also ascended to the grotto. + +Marie had watched him from the top, but so that she herself should not be +seen. He however had not once lifted up his head to look for her; but +with eyes turned to the ground had plodded his way up to the cave. When +he entered she was standing in the middle, with her eyes downcast and her +hands clasped before her. She had retired some way from the wall, so +that no eyes might possibly see her but those of her false lover. There +she stood when he entered, striving to stand motionless, but trembling +like a leaf in every limb. + +It was only when he reached the top step that he made up his mind how he +would behave. Perhaps after all, the capitaine was right; perhaps she +would not mind it. + +“Marie,” said he, with a voice that attempted to be cheerful; “this is an +odd place to meet in after such a long absence,” and he held out his hand +to her. But only his hand! He offered her no salute. He did not even +kiss her cheek as a brother would have done! Of the rules of the outside +world it must be remembered that poor Marie knew but little. He had been +a brother to her before he had become her lover. + +But Marie took his hand saying, “Yes, it has been very long.” + +“And now that I have come back,” he went on to say, “it seems that we are +all in a confusion together. I never knew such a piece of work. +However, it is all for the best, I suppose.” + +“Perhaps so,” said Marie, still trembling violently, and still looking +upon the ground. And then there was silence between them for a minute or +so. + +“I tell you what it is, Marie,” said Adolphe at last, dropping her hand +and making a great effort to get through the work before him. “I am +afraid we two have been very foolish. Don’t you think we have now? It +seems quite clear that we can never get ourselves married. Don’t you see +it in that light?” + +Marie’s head turned round and round with her, but she was not of the +fainting order. She took three steps backwards and leant against the +wall of the cave. She also was trying to think how she might best fight +her battle. Was there no chance for her? Could no eloquence, no love +prevail? On her own beauty she counted but little; but might not prayers +do something, and a reference to those old vows which had been so +frequent, so eager, so solemnly pledged between them? + +“Never get ourselves married!” she said, repeating his words. “Never, +Adolphe? Can we never be married?” + +“Upon my word, my dear girl, I fear not. You see my mother is so dead +against it.” + +“But we could wait; could we not?” + +“Ah, but that’s just it, Marie. We cannot wait. We must decide +now,—to-day. You see I can do nothing without money from her—and as for +you, you see she won’t even let you stay in the house unless you marry +old Campan at once. He’s a very good sort of fellow though, old as he +is. And if you do marry him, why you see you’ll stay here, and have it +all your own way in everything. As for me, I shall come and see you all +from time to time, and shall be able to push my way as I ought to do.” + +“Then, Adolphe, you wish me to marry the capitaine?” + +“Upon my honour I think it is the best thing you can do; I do indeed.” + +“Oh, Adolphe!” + +“What can I do for you, you know? Suppose I was to go down to my mother +and tell her that I had decided to keep you myself; what would come of +it? Look at it in that light, Marie.” + +“She could not turn you out—you her own son!” + +“But she would turn you out; and deuced quick, too, I can assure you of +that; I can, upon my honour.” + +“I should not care that,” and she made a motion with her hand to show how +indifferent she would be to such treatment as regarded herself. “Not +that—; if I still had the promise of your love.” + +“But what would you do?” + +“I would work. There are other houses beside that one,” and she pointed +to the slate roof of the Bauche establishment. + +“And for me—I should not have a penny in the world,” said the young man. + +She came up to him and took his right hand between both of hers and +pressed it warmly, oh, so warmly. “You would have my love,” said she; +“my deepest, warmest best heart’s love should want nothing more, nothing +on earth, if I could still have yours.” And she leaned against his +shoulder and looked with all her eyes into his face. + +“But, Marie, that’s nonsense, you know.” + +“No, Adolphe, it is not nonsense. Do not let them teach you so. What +does love mean, if it does not mean that? Oh, Adolphe, you do love me, +you do love me, you do love me?” + +“Yes;—I love you,” he said slowly;—as though he would not have said it, +if he could have helped it. And then his arm crept slowly round her +waist, as though in that also he could not help himself. + +“And do not I love you?” said the passionate girl. “Oh, I do, so dearly; +with all my heart, with all my soul. Adolphe, I so love you, that I +cannot give you up. Have I not sworn to be yours; sworn, sworn a +thousand times? How can I marry that man! Oh Adolphe how can you wish +that I should marry him?” And she clung to him, and looked at him, and +besought him with her eyes. + +“I shouldn’t wish it;—only—” and then he paused. It was hard to tell her +that he was willing to sacrifice her to the old man because he wanted +money from his mother. + +“Only what! But Adolphe, do not wish it at all! Have you not sworn that +I should be your wife? Look here, look at this;” and she brought out +from her bosom a little charm that he had given her in return for that +cross. “Did you not kiss that when you swore before the figure of the +Virgin that I should be your wife? And do you not remember that I feared +to swear too, because your mother was so angry; and then you made me? +After that, Adolphe! Oh, Adolphe! Tell me that I may have some hope. I +will wait; oh, I will wait so patiently.” + +He turned himself away from her and walked backwards and forwards +uneasily through the grotto. He did love her;—love her as such men do +love sweet, pretty girls. The warmth of her hand, the affection of her +touch, the pure bright passion of her tear-laden eye had re-awakened what +power of love there was within him. But what was he to do? Even if he +were willing to give up the immediate golden hopes which his mother held +out to him, how was he to begin, and then how carry out this work of +self-devotion? Marie would be turned away, and he would be left a victim +in the hands of his mother, and of that stiff, wooden-legged militaire;—a +penniless victim, left to mope about the place without a grain of +influence or a morsel of pleasure. + +“But what can we do?” he exclaimed again, as he once more met Marie’s +searching eye. + +“We can be true and honest, and we can wait,” she said, coming close up +to him and taking hold of his arm. “I do not fear it; and she is not my +mother, Adolphe. You need not fear your own mother.” + +“Fear! no, of course I don’t fear. But I don’t see how the very devil we +can manage it.” + +“Will you let me tell her that I will not marry the capitaine; that I +will not give up your promises; and then I am ready to leave the house?” + +“It would do no good.” + +“It would do every good, Adolphe, if I had your promised word once more; +if I could hear from your own voice one more tone of love. Do you not +remember this place? It was here that you forced me to say that I loved +you. It is here also that you will tell me that I have been deceived.” + +“It is not I that would deceive you,” he said. “I wonder that you should +be so hard upon me. God knows that I have trouble enough.” + +“Well, if I am a trouble to you, be it so. Be it as you wish,” and she +leaned back against the wall of the rock, and crossing her arms upon her +breast looked away from him and fixed her eyes upon the sharp granite +peaks of Canigou. + +He again betook himself to walk backwards and forwards through the cave. +He had quite enough of love for her to make him wish to marry her; quite +enough now, at this moment, to make the idea of her marriage with the +capitaine very distasteful to him; enough probably to make him become a +decently good husband to her, should fate enable him to marry her; but +not enough to enable him to support all the punishment which would be the +sure effects of his mother’s displeasure. Besides, he had promised his +mother that he would give up Marie;—had entirely given in his adhesion to +that plan of the marriage with the capitaine. He had owned that the path +of life as marked out for him by his mother was the one which it behoved +him, as a man, to follow. It was this view of his duties as a man which +had I been specially urged on him with all the capitaine’s eloquence. +And old Campan had entirely succeeded. It is so easy to get the assent +of such young men, so weak in mind and so weak in pocket, when the +arguments are backed by a promise of two thousand francs a year. + +“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” at last he said. “I’ll get my mother by +herself, and will ask her to let the matter remain as it is for the +present.” + +“Not if it be a trouble, M. Adolphe;” and the proud girl still held her +hands upon her bosom, and still looked towards the mountain. + +“You know what I mean, Marie. You can understand how she and the +capitaine are worrying me.” + +“But tell me, Adolphe, do you love me?” + +“You know I love you, only.” + +“And you will not give me up?” + +“I will ask my mother. I will try and make her yield.” + +Marie could not feel that she received much confidence from her lover’s +promise; but still, even that, weak and unsteady as it was, even that was +better than absolute fixed rejection. So she thanked him, promised him +with tears in her eyes that she would always, always be faithful to him, +and then bade him go down to the house. She would follow, she said, as +soon as his passing had ceased to be observed. + +Then she looked at him as though she expected some sign of renewed love. +But no such sign was vouchsafed to her. Now that she thirsted for the +touch of his lip upon her check, it was denied to her. He did as she +bade him; he went down, slowly loitering, by himself; and in about half +an hour she followed him, and unobserved crept to her chamber. + +Again we will pass over what took place between the mother and the son; +but late in that evening, after the guests had gone to bed, Marie +received a message, desiring her to wait on Madame Bauche in a small +salon which looked out from one end of the house. It was intended as a +private sitting-room should any special stranger arrive who required such +accommodation, and therefore was but seldom used. Here she found La Mère +Bauche sitting in an arm-chair behind a small table on which stood two +candles; and on a sofa against the wall sat Adolphe. The capitaine was +not in the room. + +“Shut the door, Marie, and come in and sit down,” said Madame Bauche. It +was easy to understand from the tone of her voice that she was angry and +stern, in an unbending mood, and resolved to carry out to the very letter +all the threats conveyed by those terrible spectacles. + +Marie did as she was bid. She closed the door and sat down on the chair +that was nearest to her. + +“Marie,” said La Mère Bauche—and the voice sounded fierce in the poor +girl’s ears, and an angry fire glimmered through the green glasses—“what +is all this about that I hear? Do you dare to say that you hold my son +bound to marry you?” And then the august mother paused for an answer. + +But Marie had no answer to give. See looked suppliantly towards her +lover, as though beseeching him to carry on the fight for her. But if +she could not do battle for herself, certainly he could not do it for +her. What little amount of fighting he had had in him, had been +thoroughly vanquished before her arrival. + +“I will have an answer, and that immediately,” said Madame Bauche. “I am +not going to be betrayed into ignominy and disgrace by the object of my +own charity. Who picked you out of the gutter, miss, and brought you up +and fed you, when you would otherwise have gone to the foundling? And +this is your gratitude for it all? You are not satisfied with being fed +and clothed and cherished by me, but you must rob me of my son! Know +this then, Adolphe shall never marry a child of charity such as you are.” + +Marie sat still, stunned by the harshness of these words. La Mère Bauche +had often scolded her; indeed, she was given to much scolding; but she +had scolded her as a mother may scold a child. And when this story of +Marie’s love first reached her ears, she had been very angry; but her +anger had never brought her to such a pass as this. Indeed, Marie had +not hitherto been taught to look at the matter in this light. No one had +heretofore twitted her with eating the bread of charity. It had not +occurred to her that on this account she was unfit to be Adolphe’s wife. +There, in that valley, they were all so nearly equal, that no idea of her +own inferiority had ever pressed itself upon her mind. But now—! + +When the voice ceased she again looked at him; but it was no longer a +beseeching look. Did he also altogether scorn her? That was now the +inquiry which her eyes were called upon to make. No; she could not say +that he did. It seemed to her that his energies were chiefly occupied in +pulling to pieces the tassel on the sofa cushion. + +“And now, miss, let me know at once whether this nonsense is to be over +or not,” continued La Mère Bauche; “and I will tell you at once, I am not +going to maintain you here, in my house, to plot against our welfare and +happiness. As Marie Clavert you shall not stay here. Capitaine Campan +is willing to marry you; and as his wife I will keep my word to you, +though you little deserve it. If you refuse to marry him, you must go. +As to my son, he is there; and he will tell you now, in my presence, that +he altogether declines the honour you propose for him.” + +And then she ceased, waiting for an answer, drumming the table with a +wafer stamp which happened to be ready to her hand; but Marie said +nothing. Adolphe had been appealed to; but Adolphe had not yet spoken. + +“Well, miss?” said La Mère Bauche + +Then Marie rose from her seat, and walking round she touched Adolphe +lightly on the shoulder. “Adolphe,” she said, “it is for you to speak +now. I will do as you bid me.” + +He gave a long sigh, looked first at Marie and then at his mother, shook +himself slightly, and then spoke: “Upon my word, Marie, I think mother is +right. It would never do for us to marry; it would not indeed.” + +“Then it is decided,” said Marie, returning to her chair. + +“And you will marry the capitaine?” said La Mère Bauche. + +Marie merely bowed her head in token of acquiescence. “Then we are +friends again. Come here, Marie, and kiss me. You must know that it is +my duty to take care of my own son. But I don’t want to be angry with +you if I can help it; I don’t indeed. When once you are Madame Campan, +you shall be my own child; and you shall have any room in the house you +like to choose—there!” And she once more imprinted a kiss on Marie’s +cold forehead. + +How they all got out of the room, and off to their own chambers, I can +hardly tell. But in five minutes from the time of this last kiss they +were divided. La Mère Bauche had patted Marie, and smiled on her, and +called her her dear good little Madame Campan, her young little Mistress +of the Hôtel Bauche; and had then got herself into her own room, +satisfied with her own victory. + +Nor must my readers be too severe on Madame Bauche. She had already done +much for Marie Clavert; and when she found herself once more by her own +bedside, she prayed to be forgiven for the cruelty which she felt that +she had shown to the orphan. But in making this prayer, with her +favourite crucifix in her hand and the little image of the Virgin before +her, she pleaded her duty to her son. Was it not right, she asked the +Virgin, that she should save her son from a bad marriage? And then she +promised ever so much of recompense, both to the Virgin and to Marie; a +new trousseau for each, with candles to the Virgin, with a gold watch and +chain for Marie, as soon as she should be Marie Campan. She had been +cruel; she acknowledged it. But at such a crisis was it not defensible? +And then the recompense should be so full! + +But there was one other meeting that night, very short indeed, but not +the less significant. Not long after they had all separated, just so +long as to allow of the house being quiet, Adolphe, still sitting in his +room, meditating on what the day had done for him, heard a low tap at his +door. “Come in,” he said, as men always do say; and Marie opening the +door, stood just within the verge of his chamber. She had on her +countenance neither the soft look of entreating love which she had worn +up there in the grotto, nor did she appear crushed and subdued as she had +done before his mother. She carried her head somewhat more erect than +usual, and looked boldly out at him from under her soft eyelashes. There +might still be love there, but it was love proudly resolving to quell +itself. Adolphe, as he looked at her, felt that he was afraid of her. + +“It is all over then between us, M. Adolphe?” she said. + +“Well, yes. Don’t you think it had better be so, eh, Marie?” + +“And this is the meaning of oaths and vows, sworn to each other so +sacredly?” + +“But, Marie, you heard what my mother said.” + +“Oh, sir! I have not come to ask you again to love me. Oh no! I am not +thinking of that. But this, this would be a lie if I kept it now; it +would choke me if I wore it as that man’s wife. Take it back;” and she +tendered to him the little charm which she had always worn round her neck +since he had given it to her. He took it abstractedly, without thinking +what he did, and placed it on his dressing-table. + +“And you,” she continued, “can you still keep that cross? Oh, no! you +must give me back that. It would remind you too often of vows that were +untrue.” + +“Marie,” he said, “do not be so harsh to me.” + +“Harsh!” said she, “no; there has been enough of harshness. I would not +be harsh to you, Adolphe. But give me the cross; it would prove a curse +to you if you kept it.” + +He then opened a little box which stood upon the table, and taking out +the cross gave it to her. + +“And now good-bye,” she said. “We shall have but little more to say to +each other. I know this now, that I was wrong ever to have loved you. I +should have been to you as one of the other poor girls in the house. +But, oh! how was I to help it?” To this he made no answer, and she, +closing the door softly, went back to her chamber. And thus ended the +first day of Adolphe Bauche’s return to his own house. + +On the next morning the capitaine and Marie were formally betrothed. +This was done with some little ceremony, in the presence of all the +guests who were staying at the establishment, and with all manner of +gracious acknowledgments of Marie’s virtues. It seemed as though La Mère +Bauche could not be courteous enough to her. There was no more talk of +her being a child of charity; no more allusion now to the gutter. La +Mère Bauche with her own hand brought her cake with a glass of wine after +her betrothal was over, and patted her on the cheek, and called her her +dear little Marie Campan. And then the capitaine was made up of infinite +politeness, and the guests all wished her joy, and the servants of the +house began to perceive that she was a person entitled to respect. How +different was all this from that harsh attack that was made on her the +preceding evening! Only Adolphe,—he alone kept aloof. Though he was +present there he said nothing. He, and he only, offered no +congratulations. + +In the midst of all these gala doings Marie herself said little or +nothing. La Mère Bauche perceived this, but she forgave it. Angrily as +she had expressed herself at the idea of Marie’s daring to love her son, +she had still acknowledged within her own heart that such love had been +natural. She could feel no pity for Marie as long as Adolphe was in +danger; but now she knew how to pity her. So Marie was still petted and +still encouraged, though she went through the day’s work sullenly and in +silence. + +As to the capitaine it was all one to him. He was a man of the world. +He did not expect that he should really be preferred, con amore, to a +young fellow like Adolphe. But he did expect that Marie, like other +girls, would do as she was bid; and that in a few days she would regain +her temper and be reconciled to her life. + +And then the marriage was fixed for a very early day; for as La Mère +said, “What was the use of waiting? All their minds were made up now, +and therefore the sooner the two were married the better. Did not the +capitaine think so?” + +The capitaine said that he did think so. + +And then Marie was asked. It was all one to her, she said. Whatever +Maman Bauche liked, that she would do; only she would not name a day +herself. Indeed she would neither do nor say anything herself which +tended in any way to a furtherance of these matrimonials. But then she +acquiesced, quietly enough if not readily, in what other people did and +said; and so the marriage was fixed for the day week after Adolphe’s +return. + +The whole of that week passed much in the same way. The servants about +the place spoke among themselves of Marie’s perverseness, obstinacy, and +ingratitude, because she would not look pleased, or answer Madame +Bauche’s courtesies with gratitude; but La Mère herself showed no signs +of anger. Marie had yielded to her, and she required no more. And she +remembered also the harsh words she had used to gain her purpose; and she +reflected on all that Marie had lost. On these accounts she was +forbearing and exacted nothing—nothing but that one sacrifice which was +to be made in accordance to her wishes. + +And it was made. They were married in the great salon, the dining-room, +immediately after breakfast. Madame Bauche was dressed in a new puce +silk dress, and looked very magnificent on the occasion. She simpered +and smiled, and looked gay even in spite of her spectacles; and as the +ceremony was being performed, she held fast clutched in her hand the gold +watch and chain which were intended for Marie as soon as ever the +marriage should be completed. + +The capitaine was dressed exactly as usual, only that all his clothes +were new. Madame Bauche had endeavoured to persuade him to wear a blue +coat; but he answered that such a change would not, he was sure, be to +Marie’s taste. To tell the truth, Marie would hardly have known the +difference had he presented himself in scarlet vestments. + +Adolphe, however, was dressed very finely, but he did not make himself +prominent on the occasion. Marie watched him closely, though none saw +that she did so; and of his garments she could have given an account with +much accuracy—of his garments, ay! and of every look. “Is he a man,” she +said at last to herself, “that he can stand by and see all this?” + +She too was dressed in silk. They had put on her what they pleased, and +she bore the burden of her wedding finery without complaint and without +pride. There was no blush on her face as she walked up to the table at +which the priest stood, nor hesitation in her low voice as she made the +necessary answers. She put her hand into that of the capitaine when +required to do so; and when the ring was put on her finger she shuddered, +but ever so slightly. No one observed it but La Mère Bauche. “In one +week she will be used to it, and then we shall all be happy,” said La +Mère to herself. “And I,—I will be so kind to her!” + +And so the marriage was completed, and the watch was at once given to +Marie. “Thank you, maman,” said she, as the trinket was fastened to her +girdle. Had it been a pincushion that had cost three sous, it would have +affected her as much. + +And then there was cake and wine and sweetmeats; and after a few minutes +Marie disappeared. For an hour or so the capitaine was taken up with the +congratulating of his friends, and with the efforts necessary to the +wearing of his new honours with an air of ease; but after that time he +began to be uneasy because his wife did not come to him. At two or three +in the afternoon he went to La Mère Bauche to complain. “This +lackadaisical nonsense is no good,” he said. “At any rate it is too late +now. Marie had better come down among us and show herself satisfied with +her husband.” + +But Madame Bauche took Marie’s part. “You must not be too hard on +Marie,” she said. “She has gone through a good deal this week past, and +is very young; whereas, capitaine, you are not very young.” + +The capitaine merely shrugged his shoulders. In the mean time Mère +Bauche went up to visit her protégée in her own room, and came down with +a report that she was suffering from a headache. She could not appear at +dinner, Madame Bauche said; but would make one at the little party which +was to be given in the evening. With this the capitaine was forced to be +content. + +The dinner therefore went on quietly without her, much as it did on other +ordinary days. And then there was a little time for vacancy, during +which the gentlemen drank their coffee and smoked their cigars at the +café, talking over the event that had taken place that morning, and the +ladies brushed their hair and added some ribbon or some brooch to their +usual apparel. Twice during this time did Madame Bauche go up to Marie’s +room with offers to assist her. “Not yet, maman; not quite yet,” said +Marie piteously through her tears, and then twice did the green +spectacles leave the room, covering eyes which also were not dry. Ah! +what had she done? What had she dared to take upon herself to do? She +could not undo it now. + +And then it became quite dark in the passages and out of doors, and the +guests assembled in the salon. La Mère came in and out three or four +times, uneasy in her gait and unpleasant in her aspect, and everybody +began to see that things were wrong. “She is ill, I am afraid,” said +one. “The excitement has been too much,” said a second; “and he is so +old,” whispered a third. And the capitaine stalked about erect on his +wooden leg, taking snuff, and striving to look indifferent; but he also +was uneasy in his mind. + +Presently La Mère came in again, with a quicker step than before, and +whispered something, first to Adolphe and then to the capitaine, +whereupon they both followed her out of the room. + +“Not in her chamber,” said Adolphe. + +“Then she must be in yours,” said the capitaine. + +“She is in neither,” said La Mère Bauche, with her sternest voice; “nor +is she in the house!” + +And now there was no longer an affectation of indifference on the part of +any of them. They were anything but indifferent. The capitaine was +eager in his demands that the matter should still be kept secret from the +guests. She had always been romantic, he said, and had now gone out to +walk by the river side. They three and the old bath-man would go out and +look for her. + +“But it is pitch dark,” said La Mère Bauche. + +“We will take lanterns,” said the capitaine. And so they sallied forth +with creeping steps over the gravel, so that they might not be heard by +those within, and proceeded to search for the young wife. + +“Marie! Marie!” said La Mère Bauche, in piteous accents; “do come to me; +pray do!” + +“Hush!” said the capitaine. “They’ll hear you if you call.” He could +not endure that the world should learn that a marriage with him had been +so distasteful to Marie Clavert. + +“Marie, dear Marie!” called Madame Bauche, louder than before, quite +regardless of the capitaine’s feelings; but no Marie answered. In her +innermost heart now did La Mère Bauche wish that this cruel marriage had +been left undone. + +Adolphe was foremost with his lamp, but he hardly dared to look in the +spot where he felt that it was most likely that she should have taken +refuge. How could he meet her again, alone, in that grotto? Yet he +alone of the four was young. It was clearly for him to ascend. “Marie,” +he shouted, “are you there?” as he slowly began the long ascent of the +steps. + +But he had hardly begun to mount when a whirring sound struck his ear, +and he felt that the air near him was moved; and then there was a crash +upon the lower platform of rock, and a moan, repeated twice, but so +faintly, and a rustle of silk, and a slight struggle somewhere as he knew +within twenty paces of him; and then all was again quiet and still in the +night air. + +“What was that?” asked the capitaine in a hoarse voice. He made his way +half across the little garden, and he also was within forty or fifty +yards of the flat rock. But Adolphe was unable to answer him. He had +fainted and the lamp had fallen from his hands and rolled to the bottom +of the steps. + +But the capitaine, though even his heart was all but quenched within him, +had still strength enough to make his way up to the rock; and there, +holding the lantern above his eyes, he saw all that was left for him to +see of his bride. + +As for La Mère Bauche, she never again sat at the head of that +table,—never again dictated to guests,—never again laid down laws for the +management of any one. A poor bedridden old woman, she lay there in her +house at Vernet for some seven tedious years, and then was gathered to +her fathers. + +As for the capitaine—but what matters? He was made of sterner stuff. +What matters either the fate of such a one as Adolphe Bauche? + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LA MERE BAUCHE*** + + +******* This file should be named 3550-0.txt or 3550-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/5/5/3550 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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