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diff --git a/3957-h/3957-h.htm b/3957-h/3957-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6e9034b --- /dev/null +++ b/3957-h/3957-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6689 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Abbe Constantin, by Ludovic Halevy + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of L'Abbe Constantin, Complete, by Ludovic Halevy + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + +Title: L'Abbe Constantin, Complete + +Author: Ludovic Halevy + +Release Date: October 5, 2006 [EBook #3957] +Last Updated: August 23, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK L'ABBE CONSTANTIN, COMPLETE *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <h1> + THE ABBE CONSTANTIN + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Ludovic Halevy + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + With a Preface by E. LEGOUVE, of the French Academy + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> LUDOVIC HALEVY </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>THE ABBE CONSTANTIN</b> </a><br /><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0003"> <b>BOOK 1.</b> </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a>THE SALE OF LONGUEVAL <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a>THE NEW CHATELAINE <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a>DELIGHTFUL SURPRISES <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> <b>BOOK 2.</b> </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a>A RIOT OF CHARITY <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a>THE FAIR AMERICANS <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a>A LITTLE DINNER FOR FOUR <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> <b>BOOK 3.</b> </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a>CONFIDENCES <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a>ANOTHER MARTYR + TO MILLIONS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a>THE + REWARD OF TENDER COURAGE <br /><br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + LUDOVIC HALEVY + </h2> + <p> + Ludovic Halevy was born in Paris, January 1, 1834. His father was Leon + Halevy, the celebrated author; his grandfather, Fromenthal, the eminent + composer. Ludovic was destined for the civil service, and, after finishing + his studies, entered successively the Department of State (1852); the + Algerian Department (1858), and later on became editorial secretary of the + Corps Legislatif (1860). When his patron, the Duc de Morny, died in 1865, + Halevy resigned, giving up a lucrative position for the uncertain + profession of a playwright: At this period he devoted himself exclusively + to the theatre. + </p> + <p> + He had already written plays as early as 1856, and had also tried his hand + at fiction, but did not meet with very great success. Toward 1860, + however, he became acquainted with Henri Meilhac, and with him formed a + kind of literary union, lasting for almost twenty years, when Halevy + rather abruptly abandoned the theatre and became a writer of fiction. + </p> + <p> + We have seen such kinds of co-partnerships, for instance, in Beaumont and + Fletcher; more recently in the beautiful French tales of + Erckmann-Chatrian, and still later in the English novels of Besant and + Rice. + </p> + <p> + Some say it was a fortunate event for Meilhac; others assert that Halevy + reaped a great profit by the union. Be this as it may, a great number of + plays-drama, comedy, farce, opera, operetta and ballet—were jointly + produced, as is shown by the title-pages of two score or more of their + pieces. When Ludovic Halevy was a candidate for L’Academie—he + entered that glorious body in 1884—the question was ventilated by + Pailleron: “What was the author’s literary relation in his union with + Meilhac?” It was answered by M. Sarcey, who criticised the character and + quality of the work achieved. Public opinion has a long time since brought + in quite another verdict in the case. + </p> + <p> + Halevy’s cooperation endowed the plays of Meilhac with a fuller ethical + richness—tempered them, so to speak, and made them real, for it can + not be denied that Meilhac was inclined to extravagance. + </p> + <p> + Halevy’s novels are remarkable for the elegance of literary style, + tenderness of spirit and keenness of observation. He excels in ironical + sketches. He has often been compared to Eugene Sue, but his touch is + lighter than Sue’s, and his humor less unctuous. Most of his little + sketches, originally written for La Vie Parisienne, were collected in his + ‘Monsieur et Madame Cardinal’ (1873); and ‘Les Petites Cardinal’, (1880). + They are not intended ‘virginibus puerisque’, and the author’s attitude is + that of a half-pitying, half-contemptuous moralist, yet the virility of + his criticism has brought him immortality. + </p> + <p> + Personal recollections of the great war are to be found in ‘L’Invasion’ + (1872); and ‘Notes et Souvenirs’, 1871-1872 (1889). Most extraordinary, + however, was the success of ‘L’Abbe Constantin’ (1882), crowned by the + Academy, which has gone through no less than one hundred and fifty + editions up to 1904, and ranks as one of the greatest successes of + contemporaneous literature. It is, indeed, his ‘chef-d’oeuvre’, very + delicate, earnest, and at the same time ironical, a most entrancing family + story. It was then that the doors of the French Academy opened wide before + Halevy. ‘L’Abbe Constantin’ was adapted for the stage by Cremieux and + Decourcelle (Le Gymnase, 1882). Further notable novels are: ‘Criquette, + Deux Mariages, Un Grand Mariage, Un Mariage d’Amour’, all in 1883; + ‘Princesse, Les Trois Coups de Foudre, Mon Camarade Moussard’, all in + 1884; and the romances, ‘Karikari (1892), and Mariette (1893)’. Since that + time, I think, Halevy has not published anything of importance. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + E. LEGOUVE + de l’Academie Francaise. +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE ABBE CONSTANTIN + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK 1. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. THE SALE OF LONGUEVAL + </h2> + <p> + With a step still valiant and firm, an old priest walked along the dusty + road in the full rays of a brilliant sun. For more than thirty years the + Abbe Constantin had been Cure of the little village which slept there in + the plain, on the banks of a slender stream called La Lizotte. The Abbe + Constantin was walking by the wall which surrounded the park of the castle + of Longueval; at last he reached the entrance-gate, which rested high and + massive on two ancient pillars of stone, embrowned and gnawed by time. The + Cure stopped, and mournfully regarded two immense blue posters fixed on + the pillars. + </p> + <p> + The posters announced that on Wednesday, May 18, 1881, at one o’clock + P.M., would take place, before the Civil Tribunal of Souvigny, the sale of + the domain of Longueval, divided into four lots: + </p> + <p> + 1. The castle of Longueval, its dependencies, fine pieces of water, + extensive offices, park of 150 hectares in extent, completely surrounded + by a wall, and traversed by the little river Lizotte. Valued at 600,000 + francs. + </p> + <p> + 2. The farm of Blanche-Couronne, 300 hectares, valued at 500,000 francs. + </p> + <p> + 3. The farm of La Rozeraie, 250 hectares, valued at 400,000 francs. + </p> + <p> + 4. The woods and forests of La Mionne, containing 450 hectares, valued at + 550,000 francs. + </p> + <p> + And these four amounts, added together at the foot of the bill, gave the + respectable sum of 2,050,000 francs. + </p> + <p> + Then they were really going to dismember this magnificent domain, which, + escaping all mutilation, had for more than two centuries always been + transmitted intact from father to son in the family of Longueval. The + placards also announced that after the temporary division into four lots, + it would be possible to unite them again, and offer for sale the entire + domain; but it was a very large morsel, and, to all appearance, no + purchaser would present himself. + </p> + <p> + The Marquise de Longueval had died six months before; in 1873 she had lost + her only son, Robert de Longueval; the three heirs were the grandchildren + of the Marquise: Pierre, Helene, and Camille. It had been found necessary + to offer the domain for sale, as Helene and Camille were minors. Pierre, a + young man of three-and-twenty, had lived rather fast, was already + half-ruined, and could not hope to redeem Longueval. + </p> + <p> + It was mid-day. In an hour it would have a new master, this old castle of + Longueval; and this master, who would he be? What woman would take the + place of the old Marquise in the chimney-corner of the grand salon, all + adorned with ancient tapestry?—the old Marquise, the friend of the + old priest. It was she who had restored the church; it was she who had + established and furnished a complete dispensary at the vicarage under the + care of Pauline, the Cure’s servant; it was she who, twice a week, in her + great barouche, all crowded with little children’s clothes and thick + woolen petticoats, came to fetch the Abbe Constantin to make with him what + she called ‘la chasse aux pauvres’. + </p> + <p> + The old priest continued his walk, musing over all this; then he thought, + too—the greatest saints have their little weaknesses—he + thought, too, of the beloved habits of thirty years thus rudely + interrupted. Every Thursday and every Sunday he had dined at the castle. + How he had been petted, coaxed, indulged! Little Camille—she was + eight years old—would come and sit on his knee and say to him: + </p> + <p> + “You know, Monsieur le Cure, it is in your church that I mean to be + married, and grandmamma will send such heaps of flowers to fill, quite + fill the church—more than for the month of Mary. It will be like a + large garden—all white, all white, all white!” + </p> + <p> + The month of Mary! It was then the month of Mary. Formerly, at this + season, the altar disappeared under the flowers brought from the + conservatories of Longueval. None this year were on the altar, except a + few bouquets of lily-of-the-valley and white lilac in gilded china vases. + Formerly, every Sunday at high mass, and every evening during the month of + Mary, Mademoiselle Hebert, the reader to Madame de Longueval, played the + little harmonium given by the Marquise. Now the poor harmonium, reduced to + silence, no longer accompanied the voices of the choir or the children’s + hymns. Mademoiselle Marbeau, the postmistress, would, with all her heart, + have taken the place of Mademoiselle Hebert, but she dared not, though she + was a little musical! She was afraid of being remarked as of the clerical + party, and denounced by the Mayor, who was a Freethinker. That might have + been injurious to her interests, and prevented her promotion. + </p> + <p> + He had nearly reached the end of the wall of the park—that park of + which every corner was known to the old priest. The road now followed the + banks of the Lizotte, and on the other side of the little stream stretched + the fields belonging to the two farms; then, still farther off, rose the + dark woods of La Mionne. + </p> + <p> + Divided! The domain was going to be divided! The heart of the poor priest + was rent by this bitter thought. All that for thirty years had been + inseparable, indivisible to him. It was a little his own, his very own, + his estate, this great property. He felt at home on the lands of + Longueval. It had happened more than once that he had stopped complacently + before an immense cornfield, plucked an ear, removed the husk, and said to + himself: + </p> + <p> + “Come! the grain is fine, firm, and sound. This year we shall have a good + harvest!” + </p> + <p> + And with a joyous heart he would continue his way through his fields, his + meadows, his pastures; in short, by every chord of his heart, by every tie + of his life, by all his habits, his memories, he clung to this domain + whose last hour had come. + </p> + <p> + The Abbe perceived in the distance the farm of Blanche-Couronne; its + red-tiled roofs showed distinctly against the verdure of the forest. + There, again, the Cure was at home. Bernard, the farmer of the Marquise, + was his friend; and when the old priest was delayed in his visits to the + poor and sick, when the sun was sinking below the horizon, and the Abbe + began to feel a little fatigued in his limbs, and a sensation of + exhaustion in his stomach, he stopped and supped with Bernard, regaled + himself with a savory stew and potatoes, and emptied his pitcher of cider; + then, after supper, the farmer harnessed his old black mare to his cart, + and took the vicar back to Longueval. The whole distance they chatted and + quarrelled. The Abbe reproached the farmer with not going to mass, and the + latter replied: + </p> + <p> + “The wife and the girls go for me. You know very well, Monsieur le Cure, + that is how it is with us. The women have enough religion for the men. + They will open the gates of paradise for us.” + </p> + <p> + And he added maliciously, while giving a touch of the whip to his old + black mare: + </p> + <p> + “If there is one!” + </p> + <p> + The Cure sprang from his seat. + </p> + <p> + “What! if there is one! Of a certainty there is one.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you will be there, Monsieur le Cure. You say that is not certain, + and I say it is. You will be there, you will be there, at the gate, on the + watch for your parishioners, and still busy with their little affairs; and + you will say to St. Peter—for it is St. Peter, isn’t it, who keeps + the keys of paradise?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is St. Peter.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you will say to him, to St. Peter, if he wants to shut the door in + my face under the pretense that I did not go to mass—you will say to + him: ‘Bah! let him in all the same. It is Bernard, one of the farmers of + Madame la Marquise, an honest man. He was common councilman, and he voted + for the maintenance of the sisters when they were going to be expelled + from the village school.’ That will touch St. Peter, who will answer: + ‘Well, well, you may pass, Bernard, but it is only to please Monsieur le + Cure.’ For you will be Monsieur le Cure up there, and Cure of Longueval, + too, for paradise itself would be dull for you if you must give up being + Cure of Longueval.” + </p> + <p> + Cure of Longueval! Yes, all his life he had been nothing but Cure of + Longueval, had never dreamed of anything else, had never wished to be + anything else. Three or four times excellent livings, with one or two + curates, had been offered to him, but he had always refused them. He loved + his little church, his little village, his little vicarage. There he had + it all to himself, saw to everything himself; calm, tranquil, he went and + came, summer and winter, in sunshine or storm, in wind or rain. His frame + became hardened by fatigue and exposure, but his soul remained gentle, + tender, and pure. + </p> + <p> + He lived in his vicarage, which was only a larger laborer’s cottage, + separated from the church by the churchyard. When the Cure mounted the + ladder to train his pear and peach trees, over the top of the wall he + perceived the graves over which he had said the last prayer, and cast the + first spadeful of earth. Then, while continuing his work, he said in his + heart a little prayer for the repose of those among his dead whose fate + disturbed him, and who might be still detained in purgatory. He had a + tranquil and childlike faith. + </p> + <p> + But among these graves there was one which, oftener than all the others, + received his visits and his prayers. It was the tomb of his old friend Dr. + Reynaud, who had died in his arms in 1871, and under what circumstances! + The doctor had been like Bernard; he never went to mass or to confession; + but he was so good, so charitable, so compassionate to the suffering. This + was the cause of the Cure’s great anxiety, of his great solicitude. His + friend Reynaud, where was he? Where was he? Then he called to mind the + noble life of the country doctor, all made up of courage and self-denial; + he recalled his death, above all his death, and said to himself: + </p> + <p> + “In paradise; he can be nowhere but in paradise. The good God may have + sent him to purgatory just for form’s sake—but he must have + delivered him after five minutes.” + </p> + <p> + All this passed through the mind of the old man, as he continued his walk + toward Souvigny. He was going to the town, to the solicitor of the + Marquise, to inquire the result of the sale; to learn who were to be the + new masters of the castle of Longueval. The Abbe had still about a mile to + walk before reaching the first houses of Souvigny, and was passing the + park of Lavardens when he heard, above his head, voices calling to him: + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le Cure, Monsieur le Cure.” + </p> + <p> + At this spot adjoining the wall, a long alley of limetrees bordered the + terrace, and the Abbe, raising his head, perceived Madame de Lavardens, + and her son Paul. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going, Monsieur le Cure?” asked the Countess. + </p> + <p> + “To Souvigny, to the Tribunal, to learn—” + </p> + <p> + “Stay here—Monsieur de Larnac is coming after the sale to tell me + the result.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbe Constantin joined them on the terrace. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude de Lannilis, Countess de Lavardens, had been very unfortunate. At + eighteen she had been guilty of a folly, the only one of her life, but + that one—irreparable. She had married for love, in a burst of + enthusiasm and exaltation, M. de Lavardens, one of the most fascinating + and brilliant men of his time. He did not love her, and only married her + from necessity; he had devoured his patrimonial fortune to the very last + farthing, and for two or three years had supported himself by various + expedients. Mademoiselle de Lannilis knew all that, and had no illusions + on these points, but she said to herself: + </p> + <p> + “I will love him so much, that he will end by loving me.” + </p> + <p> + Hence all her misfortunes. Her existence might have been tolerable, if she + had not loved her husband so much; but she loved him too much. She had + only succeeded in wearying him by her importunities and tenderness. He + returned to his former life, which had been most irregular. Fifteen years + had passed thus, in a long martyrdom, supported by Madame de Lavardens + with all the appearance of passive resignation. Nothing ever could + distract her from, or cure her of, the love which was destroying her. + </p> + <p> + M. de Lavardens died in 1869; he left a son fourteen years of age, in whom + were already visible all the defects and all the good qualities of his + father. Without being seriously affected, the fortune of Madame de + Lavardens was slightly compromised, slightly diminished. Madame de + Lavardens sold her mansion in Paris, retired to the country, where she + lived with strict economy, and devoted herself to the education of her + son. + </p> + <p> + But here again grief and disappointment awaited her. Paul de Lavardens was + intelligent, amiable, and affectionate, but thoroughly rebellious against + any constraint, and any species of work. He drove to despair three or four + tutors who vainly endeavored to force something serious into his head, + went up to the military college of Saint-Cyr, failed at the examination, + and began to devour in Paris, with all the haste and folly possible, + 200,000 or 300,000 francs. + </p> + <p> + That done, he enlisted in the first regiment of the Chasseurs d’Afrique, + had in the very beginning of his military career the good fortune to make + one of an expeditionary column sent into the Sahara, distinguished + himself, soon became quartermaster, and at the end of three years was + about to be appointed sub-lieutenant, when he was captivated by a young + person who played the ‘Fille de Madame Angot’, at the theatre in Algiers. + </p> + <p> + Paul had finished his time, he quitted the service, and went to Paris with + his charmer.... then it was a dancer.... then it was an actress.... then a + circus-rider. He tried life in every form. He led the brilliant and + miserable existence of the unoccupied. + </p> + <p> + But it was only three or four months that he passed in Paris each year. + His mother made him an allowance Of 30,000 francs, and had declared to him + that never, while she lived, should he have another penny before his + marriage. He knew his mother, he knew he must consider her words as + serious. Thus, wishing to make a good figure in Paris, and lead a merry + life, he spent his 30,000 francs in three months, and then docilely + returned to Lavardens, where he was “out at grass.” He spent his time + hunting, fishing, and riding with the officers of the artillery regiment + quartered at Souvigny. The little provincial milliners and grisettes + replaced, without rendering him obvious of, the little singers and + actresses of Paris. By searching for them, one may still find grisettes in + country towns, and Paul de Lavardens sought assiduously. + </p> + <p> + As soon as the Cure had reached Madame de Lavardens, she said: “Without + waiting for Monsieur de Larnac, I can tell you the names of the purchasers + of the domain of Longueval. I am quite easy on the subject, and have no + doubt of the success of our plan. In order to avoid any foolish disputes, + we have agreed among ourselves, that is, among our neighbors, Monsieur de + Larnac, Monsieur Gallard, a great Parisian banker, and myself. Monsieur de + Larnac will have La Mionne, Monsieur Gallard the castle and + Blanche-Couronne, and La Rozeraie. I know you, Monsieur le Cure, you will + be anxious about your poor, but comfort yourself. These Gallards are rich + and will give you plenty of money.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment a cloud of dust appeared on the road, from it emerged a + carriage. + </p> + <p> + “Here comes Monsieur de Larnac!” cried Paul, “I know his ponies!” + </p> + <p> + All three hurriedly descended from the terrace and returned to the castle. + They arrived there just as M. de Larnac’s carriage drove up to the + entrance. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked Madame de Lavardens. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” replied M. de Larnac, “we have nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “What? Nothing?” cried Madame de Lavardens, very pale and agitated. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, nothing; absolutely nothing—the one or the other of us.” + </p> + <p> + And M. de Larnac springing from his carriage, related what had taken place + at the sale before the Tribunal of Souvigny. + </p> + <p> + “At first,” he said, “everything went upon wheels. The castle went to + Monsieur Gallard for 650,000 francs. No competitor—a raise of fifty + francs had been sufficient. On the other hand, there was a little battle + for Blanche-Couronne. The bids rose from 500,000 francs to 520,000 francs, + and again Monsieur Gallard was victorious. Another and more animated + battle for La Rozeraie; at last it was knocked down to you, Madame, for + 455,000 francs.... I got the forest of La Mionne without opposition at a + rise of 100 francs. All seemed over, those present had risen, our + solicitors were surrounded with persons asking the names of the + purchasers.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Brazier, the judge intrusted with the sale, desired silence, and + the bailiff of the court offered the four lots together for 2,150,000 or + 2,160,000 francs, I don’t remember which. A murmur passed through the + assembly. ‘No one will bid’ was heard on all sides. But little Gibert, the + solicitor, who was seated in the first row, and till then had given no + sign of life, rose and said calmly, ‘I have a purchaser for the four lots + together at 2,200,000 francs.’ This was like a thunderbolt. A tremendous + clamor arose, followed by a dead silence. The hall was filled with farmers + and laborers from the neighborhood. Two million francs! So much money for + the land threw them into a sort of respectful stupor. However, Monsieur + Gallard, bending toward Sandrier, the solicitor who had bid for him, + whispered something in his ear. The struggle began between Gibert and + Sandrier. The bids rose to 2,500,000 francs. Monsieur Gallard hesitated + for a moment—decided—continued up to 3,000,000. Then he + stopped and the whole went to Gibert. Every one rushed on him, they + surrounded—they crushed him: ‘The name, the name of the purchaser?’ + ‘It is an American,’ replied Gibert, ‘Mrs. Scott.’” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Scott!” cried Paul de Lavardens. + </p> + <p> + “You know her?” asked Madame de Lavardens. + </p> + <p> + “Do I know her?—do I—not at all. But I was at a ball at her + house six weeks ago.” + </p> + <p> + “At a ball at her house! and you don’t know her! What sort of woman is + she, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Charming, delightful, ideal, a miracle!” + </p> + <p> + “And is there a Mr. Scott?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, a tall, fair man. He was at his ball. They pointed him out to + me. He bowed at random right and left. He was not much amused, I will + answer for it. He looked at us as if he were thinking, ‘Who are all these + people? What are they doing at my house?’ We went to see Mrs. Scott and + Miss Percival, her sister. And certainly it was well worth the trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “These Scotts,” said Madame de Lavardens, addressing M. de Larnac, “do you + know who they are?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Madame, I know. Mr. Scott is an American, possessing a colossal + fortune, who settled himself in Paris last year. As soon as their name was + mentioned, I understood that the victory had never been doubtful. Gallard + was beaten beforehand. The Scotts began by buying a house in Paris for + 2,000,000 francs, it is near the Parc Monceau.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Rue Murillo,” said Paul; “I tell you I went to a ball there. It was—” + </p> + <p> + “Let Monsieur de Larnac speak. You can tell us presently about the ball at + Mrs. Scott’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, now, imagine my Americans established in Paris,” continued M. de + Larnac, “and the showers of gold begun. In the orthodox parvenu style they + amuse themselves with throwing handfuls of gold out of window. Their great + wealth is quite recent, they say; ten years ago Mrs. Scott begged in the + streets of New York.” + </p> + <p> + “Begged!” + </p> + <p> + “They say so. Then she married this Scott, the son of a New York banker, + and all at once a successful lawsuit put into their hands not millions, + but tens of millions. Somewhere in America they have a silver mine, but a + genuine mine, a real mine—a mine with silver in it. Ah! we shall see + what luxury will reign at Longueval! We shall all look like paupers beside + them! It is said that they have 100,000 francs a day to spend.” + </p> + <p> + “Such are our neighbors!” cried Madame de Lavardens. “An adventuress! and + that is the least of it—a heretic, Monsieur l’Abbe, a Protestant!” + </p> + <p> + A heretic! a Protestant! Poor Cure; it was indeed that of which he had + immediately thought on hearing the words, “An American, Mrs. Scott.” The + new chatelaine of Longueval would not go to mass. What did it matter to + him that she had been a beggar? What did it matter to him if she possessed + tens and tens of millions? She was not a Catholic. He would never again + baptize children born at Longueval, and the chapel in the castle, where he + had so often said mass, would be transformed into a Protestant oratory, + which would echo only the frigid utterances of a Calvinistic or Lutheran + pastor. + </p> + <p> + Every one was distressed, disappointed, overwhelmed; but in the midst of + the general depression Paul stood radiant. + </p> + <p> + “A charming heretic at all events,” said he, “or rather two charming + heretics. You should see the two sisters on horseback in the Bois, with + two little grooms behind them not higher than that.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, Paul, tell us all you know. Describe the ball of which you speak. + How did you happen to go to a ball at these Americans?” + </p> + <p> + “By the greatest chance. My Aunt Valentine was at home that night; I + looked in about ten o’clock. Well, Aunt Valentine’s Wednesdays are not + exactly scenes of wild enjoyment, I give you my word! I had been there + about twenty minutes when I caught sight of Roger de Puymartin escaping + furtively. I caught him in the hall and said: + </p> + <p> + “‘We will go home together.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh! I am not going home.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Where are you going?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘To the ball.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Where?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘At Mrs. Scott’s. Will you come?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘But I have not been invited.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Neither have I’ + </p> + <p> + “‘What! not invited?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘No. I am going with one of my friends.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘And does your friend know them?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Scarcely; but enough to introduce us. Come along; you will see Mrs. + Scott.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh! I have seen her on horseback in the Bois.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘But she does not wear a low gown on horseback; you have not seen her + shoulders, and they are shoulders which ought to be seen. There is nothing + better in Paris at this moment.’ + </p> + <p> + “And I went to the ball, and I saw Mrs. Scott’s red hair, and I saw Mrs. + Scott’s white shoulders, and I hope to see them again when there are balls + at Longueval.” + </p> + <p> + “Paul!” said Madame de Lavardens, pointing to the Abbe. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Monsieur l’Abbe, I beg a thousand pardons. Have I said anything? It + seems to me—” + </p> + <p> + The poor old priest had heard nothing; his thoughts were elsewhere. + Already he saw, in the village streets, the Protestant pastor from the + castle stopping before each house, and slipping under the doors little + evangelical pamphlets. + </p> + <p> + Continuing his account, Paul launched into an enthusiastic description of + the mansion, which was a marvel— + </p> + <p> + “Of bad taste and ostentation,” interrupted Madame de Lavardens. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, mother, not at all; nothing startling, nothing loud. It is + admirably furnished, everything done with elegance and originality. An + incomparable conservatory, flooded with electric light; the buffet was + placed in the conservatory under a vine laden with grapes, which one could + gather by handfuls, and in the month of April! The accessories of the + cotillon cost, it appears, more than 400,000 francs. Ornaments, + ‘bon-bonnieres’, delicious trifles, and we were begged to accept them. For + my part I took nothing, but there were many who made no scruple. That + evening Puymartin told me Mrs. Scott’s history, but it was not at all like + Monsieur de Larnac’s story. Roger said that, when quite little, Mrs. Scott + had been stolen from her family by some acrobats, and that her father had + found her in a travelling circus, riding on barebacked horses and jumping + through paper hoops.” + </p> + <p> + “A circus-rider!” cried Madame de Lavardens, “I should have preferred the + beggar.” + </p> + <p> + “And while Roger was telling me this Family Herald romance, I saw + approaching from the end of a gallery a wonderful cloud of lace and satin; + it surrounded this rider from a wandering circus, and I admired those + shoulders, those dazzling shoulders, on which undulated a necklace of + diamonds as big as the stopper of a decanter. They say that the Minister + of Finance had sold secretly to Mrs. Scott half the crown diamonds, and + that was how, the month before, he had been able to show a surplus of + 1,500,000 francs in the budget. Add to all this that the lady had a + remarkably good air, and that the little acrobat seemed perfectly at home + in the midst of all this splendor.” + </p> + <p> + Paul was going so far that his mother was obliged to stop him. Before M. + de Larnac, who was excessively annoyed and disappointed, he showed too + plainly his delight at the prospect of having this marvellous American for + a near neighbor. + </p> + <p> + The Abbe Constantin was preparing to return to Longueval, but Paul, seeing + him ready to start, said: + </p> + <p> + “No! no! Monsieur le Cure, you must not think of walking back to Longueval + in the heat of the day. Allow me to drive you home. I am really grieved to + see you so cast down, and will try my best to amuse you. Oh! if you were + ten times a saint I would make you laugh at my stories.” + </p> + <p> + And half an hour after, the two—the Cure and Paul—drove side + by side in the direction of the village. Paul talked, talked, talked. His + mother was not there to check or moderate his transports, and his joy was + overflowing. + </p> + <p> + “Now, look here, Monsieur l’Abbe, you are wrong to take things in this + tragic manner. Stay, look at my little mare, how well she trots! what good + action she has! You have not seen her before? What do you think I paid for + her? Four hundred francs. I discovered her a fortnight ago, between the + shafts of a market gardener’s cart. She is a treasure. I assure you she + can do sixteen miles an hour, and keep one’s hands full all the time. Just + see how she pulls. Come, tot-tot-tot! You are not in a hurry, Monsieur + l’Abbe, I hope. Let us return through the wood; the fresh air will do you + good. Oh! Monsieur l’Abbe, if you only knew what a regard I have for you, + and respect, too. I did not talk too much nonsense before you just now, + did I? I should be so sorry—” + </p> + <p> + “No, my child, I heard nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we will take the longest way round.” + </p> + <p> + After having turned to the left in the wood, Paul resumed his + communications. + </p> + <p> + “I was saying, Monsieur l’Abbe,” he went on, “that you are wrong to take + things so seriously. Shall I tell you what I think? This is a very + fortunate affair.” + </p> + <p> + “Very fortunate?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, very fortunate. I would rather see the Scotts at Longueval than the + Gallards. Did you not hear Monsieur de Larnac reproach these Americans + with spending their money foolishly. It is never foolish to spend money. + The folly lies in keeping it. Your poor for I am perfectly sure that it is + your poor of whom you are thinking—your poor have made a good thing + of it to-day. That is my opinion. The religion? Well, they will not go to + mass, and that will be a grief to you, that is only natural; but they will + send you money, plenty of money, and you will take it, and you will be + quite right in doing so. You will see that you will not say no. There will + be gold raining over the whole place; a movement, a bustle, carriages with + four horses, postilions, powdered footmen, paper chases, hunting parties, + balls, fireworks, and here in this very spot I shall perhaps find Paris + again before long. I shall see once more the two riders, and the two + little grooms of whom I was speaking just now. If you only knew how well + those two sisters look on horseback! One morning I went right round the + Bois de Boulogne behind them; I fancy I can see them still. They had high + hats, and little black veils drawn very tightly over their faces, and long + riding-habits made in the princess form, with a single seam right down the + back; and a woman must be awfully well made to wear a riding-habit like + that, because you see, Monsieur l’Abbe, with a habit of that cut no + deception is possible.” + </p> + <p> + For some moments the Cure had not been listening to Paul’s discourse. They + had entered a long, perfectly straight avenue, and at the end of this + avenue the Cure saw a horseman galloping along. + </p> + <p> + “Look,” said the Cure to Paul, “your eyes are better than mine. Is not + that Jean?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is jean. I know his gray mare.” + </p> + <p> + Paul loved horses, and before looking at the rider looked at the horse. It + was indeed Jean, who, when he saw in the distance the Cure and Paul de + Lavardens, waved in the air his kepi adorned with two golden stripes. Jean + was lieutenant in the regiment of artillery quartered at Souvigny. + </p> + <p> + Some moments after he stopped by the little carriage, and, addressing the + Cure, said: + </p> + <p> + “I have just been to your house, ‘mon parrain’. Pauline told me that you + had gone to Souvigny about the sale. Well, who has bought the castle?” + </p> + <p> + “An American, Mrs. Scott.” + </p> + <p> + “And Blanche-Couronne?” + </p> + <p> + “The same, Mrs. Scott.” + </p> + <p> + “And La Rozeraie?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Scott again.” + </p> + <p> + “And the forest? Mrs. Scott again?” + </p> + <p> + “You have said it,” replied Paul, “and I know Mrs. Scott, and I can + promise you that there will be something going on at Longueval. I will + introduce you. Only it is distressing to Monsieur l’Abbe because she is an + American—a Protestant.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that is true,” said Jean, sympathizingly. “However, we will talk + about it to-morrow. I am going to dine with you, godfather; I have warned + Pauline of my visit; no time to stop to-day. I am on duty, and must be in + quarters at three o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Stables?” asked Paul. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Good-by, Paul. To-morrow, godfather.” + </p> + <p> + The lieutenant galloped away. Paul de Lavardens gave his little horse her + head. + </p> + <p> + “What a capital fellow Jean is!” said Paul. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “There is no one on earth better than Jean.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no one.” + </p> + <p> + The Cure turned round to take another look at Jean, who was almost lost in + the depths of the forest. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, there is you, Monsieur le Cure.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not me! not me!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Monsieur l’Abbe, shall I tell you what I think? I think there is no + one better than you two—you and Jean. That is the truth, if I must + tell you. Oh! what a splendid place for a trot! I shall let Niniche go; I + call her Niniche.” + </p> + <p> + With the point of his whip Paul caressed the flank of Niniche, who started + off at full speed, and Paul, delighted, cried: + </p> + <p> + “Just look at her action, Monsieur l’Abbe! just look at her action! So + regular—just like clockwork. Lean over and look.” + </p> + <p> + To please Paul de Lavardens the Abbe Constantin did lean over and look at + Niniche’s action, but the old priest’s thoughts were far away. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. THE NEW CHATELAINE + </h2> + <p> + This sub-lieutenant of artillery was called Jean Reynaud. He was the son + of a country doctor who slept in the churchyard of Longueval. + </p> + <p> + In 1846, when the Abbe’ Constantin took possession of his little living, + the grandfather of Jean was residing in a pleasant cottage on the road to + Souvigny, between the picturesque old castles of Longueval and Lavardens. + </p> + <p> + Marcel, the son of that Dr. Reynaud, was finishing his medical studies in + Paris. He possessed great industry, and an elevation of sentiment and mind + extremely rare. He passed his examinations with great distinction, and had + decided to fix his abode in Paris and tempt fortune there, and everything + seemed to promise him the most prosperous and brilliant career, when, in + 1852, he received the news of his father’s death—he had been struck + down by a fit of apoplexy. Marcel hurried to Longueval, overwhelmed with + grief, for he adored his father. He spent a month with his mother, and + then spoke of the necessity of returning to Paris. + </p> + <p> + “That is true,” said his mother; “you must go.” + </p> + <p> + “What! I must go! We must go, you mean. Do you think that I would leave + you here alone? I shall take you with me.” + </p> + <p> + “To live in Paris; to leave the place where I was born, where your father + lived, where he died? I could never do it, my child, never! Go alone; your + life, your future, are there. I know you; I know that you will never + forget me, that you will come and see me often, very often.” + </p> + <p> + “No, mother,” he answered; “I shall stay here.” + </p> + <p> + And he stayed. + </p> + <p> + His hopes, his ambitions, all in one moment vanished. He saw only one + thing—duty—the duty of not abandoning his aged mother. In + duty, simply accepted and simply discharged, he found happiness. After + all, it is only thus that one does find happiness. + </p> + <p> + Marcel bowed with courage and good grace to his new existence. He + continued his father’s life, entering the groove at the very spot where he + had left it. He devoted himself without regret to the obscure career of a + country doctor. His father had left him a little land and a little money; + he lived in the most simple manner possible, and one half of his life + belonged to the poor, from whom he would never receive a penny. + </p> + <p> + This was his only luxury. + </p> + <p> + He found in his way a young girl, charming, penniless, and alone in the + world. He married her. This was in 1855, and the following year brought to + Dr. Reynaud a great sorrow and a great joy—the death of his old + mother and the birth of his son Jean. + </p> + <p> + At an interval of six weeks, the Abby Constantin recited the prayers for + the dead over the grave of the grandmother, and was present in the + position of godfather at the baptism of the grandson. + </p> + <p> + In consequence of constantly meeting at the bedside of the suffering and + dying, the priest and the doctor had been strongly attracted to each + other. They instinctively felt that they belonged to the same family, the + same race—the race of the tender, the just, and the benevolent. + </p> + <p> + Year followed year—calm, peaceful, fully occupied in labor and duty. + Jean was no longer an infant. His father gave him his first lessons in + reading and writing, the priest his first lessons in Latin. Jean was + intelligent and industrious. He made so much progress that the two + professors—particularly the Cure—found themselves at the end + of a few years rather cast into the shade by their pupil. It was at this + moment that the Countess, after the death of her husband, came to settle + at Lavardens. She brought with her a tutor for her son Paul, a very nice, + but very lazy little fellow. The two children were of the same age; they + had known each other from their earliest years. + </p> + <p> + Madame de Lavardens had a great regard for Dr. Reynaud, and one day she + made him the following proposal: + </p> + <p> + “Send Jean to me every morning,” said she, “I will send him home in the + evening. Paul’s tutor is a very accomplished man; he will make the + children work together. It will be rendering me a real service. Jean will + set Paul a good example.” + </p> + <p> + Things were thus arranged, and the little bourgeois set the little + nobleman a most excellent example of industry and application, but this + excellent example was not followed. + </p> + <p> + The war broke out. On November 14th, at seven o’clock in the morning, the + mobiles of Souvigny assembled in the great square of the town; their + chaplain was the Abbe Constantin, their surgeon-major, Dr. Reynaud. The + same idea had come at the same moment to both; the priest was sixty-two, + the doctor fifty. + </p> + <p> + When they started, the battalion followed the road which led through + Longueval, and which passed before the doctor’s house. Madame Reynaud and + Jean were waiting by the roadside. The child threw himself into his + father’s arms. + </p> + <p> + “Take me, too, papa! take me, too!” + </p> + <p> + Madame Reynaud wept. The doctor held them both in a long embrace, then he + continued his way. + </p> + <p> + A hundred steps farther the road made a sharp curve. The doctor turned, + cast one long look at his wife and child-the last; he was never to see + them again. + </p> + <p> + On January 8, 1871, the mobiles of Souvigny attacked the village of + Villersexel, occupied by the Prussians, who had barricaded themselves. The + firing began. A mobile who marched in the front rank received a ball in + the chest and fell. There was a short moment of trouble and hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “Forward! forward!” shouted the officers. + </p> + <p> + The men passed over the body of their comrade, and under a hail of bullets + entered the town. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Reynaud and the Abbe Constantin marched with the troops; they stopped + by the wounded man; the blood was rushing in floods from his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing to be done,” said the doctor. “He is dying; he belongs + to you.” + </p> + <p> + The priest knelt down by the dying man, and the doctor rose to go toward + the village. He had not taken ten steps when he stopped, beat the air with + both hands, and fell all at once to the ground. The priest ran to him; he + was dead-killed on the spot by a bullet through the temples. That evening + the village was ours, and the next day they placed in the cemetery of + Villersexel the body of Dr. Reynaud. + </p> + <p> + Two months later the Abbe Constantin took back to Longueval the coffin of + his friend, and behind the coffin, when it was carried from the church, + walked an orphan. Jean had also lost his mother. At the news of her + husband’s death, Madame Reynaud had remained for twenty-four hours + petrified, crushed, without a word or a tear; then fever had seized her, + then delirium, and after a fortnight, death. + </p> + <p> + Jean was alone in the world; he was fourteen years old. Of that family, + where for more than a century all had been good and honest, there remained + only a child kneeling beside a grave; but he, too, promised to be what his + father and grandfather before him had been—good, and honest, and + true. + </p> + <p> + There are families like that in France, and many of them, more than one + ventures to say. Our poor country is in many respects calumniated by + certain novelists, who draw exaggerated and distorted pictures of it. It + is true the history of good people is often monotonous or painful. This + story is a proof of it. + </p> + <p> + The grief of Jean was the grief of a man. He remained long sad and silent. + The evening of his father’s funeral the Abbe Constantin took him home to + the vicarage. The day had been rainy and cold. Jean was sitting by the + fireside; the priest was reading his breviary opposite him. Old Pauline + came and went, arranging her affairs. + </p> + <p> + An hour passed without a word, when Jean, raising his head, said: + </p> + <p> + “Godfather, did my father leave me any money?” + </p> + <p> + This question was so extraordinary that the old priest, stupefied, could + scarcely believe that he heard aright. + </p> + <p> + “You ask if your father—” + </p> + <p> + “I asked if my father left me some money?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; he must have left you some.” + </p> + <p> + “A good deal, don’t you think? I have often heard people say that my + father was rich. Tell me about how much he has left me!” + </p> + <p> + “But I don’t know. You ask—” + </p> + <p> + The poor old man felt his heart rent in twain. Such a question at such a + moment! Yet he thought he knew the boy’s heart, and in that heart there + should not be room for such thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “Pray, dear godfather, tell me,” continued Jean, gently. “I will explain + to you afterward why I ask that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, they say your father had 200,000 or 300,000 francs.” + </p> + <p> + “And is that much?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is a great deal.” + </p> + <p> + “And it is all mine?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is all yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I am glad, because, you know, the day that my father was killed in + the war, the Prussians killed, at the same time, the son of a poor woman + in Longueval—old Clemence, you know; and they killed, too, the + brother of Rosalie, with whom I used to play when I was quite little. + Well, since I am rich and they are poor, I will divide with Clemence and + Rosalie the money my father has left me.” + </p> + <p> + On hearing these words the Cure rose, took Jean by both hands, and drew + him into his arms. The white head rested on the fair one. Two large tears + escaped from the eyes of the old priest, rolled slowly down his cheeks, + and were lost in the furrows of his face. + </p> + <p> + However, the Cure was obliged to explain to Jean that, though he was his + father’s heir, he had not the right of disposing of his heritage as he + would. There would be a family council, and a guardian would be appointed. + </p> + <p> + “You, no doubt, godfather?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not I, my child; a priest has not the right of exercising the + functions of a guardian. They will, I think, choose Monsieur Lenient, the + lawyer in Souvigny, who was one of your father’s best friends. You can + speak to him and tell him what you wish.” + </p> + <p> + M. Lenient was eventually appointed guardian, and Jean urged his wishes so + eagerly and touchingly that the lawyer consented to deduct from the income + a sum of 2,400 francs, which, every year till Jean came of age, was + divided between old Clemence and little Rosalie. + </p> + <p> + Under these circumstances, Madame de Lavardens was perfect. She went to + the Abbe and said: + </p> + <p> + “Give Jean to me, give him to me entirely till he has finished his + studies. I will bring him back to you every year during the holidays. It + is not I who am rendering you a service; it is a service which I ask of + you. I cannot imagine any greater good fortune for my son than to have + Jean for a companion. I must resign myself to leaving Lavardens for a + time. Paul is bent upon being a soldier and going up to Saint-Cyr. It is + only in Paris that I can obtain the necessary masters. I will take the two + children there; they will study together under my own eyes like brothers, + and I will make no difference between them; of that you may be sure.” + </p> + <p> + It was difficult to refuse such an offer. The old Cure would have dearly + liked to keep Jean with him, and his heart was torn at the thought of this + separation, but what was for the child’s real interest? That was the only + question to be considered; the rest was nothing. They summoned Jean. + </p> + <p> + “My child,” said Madame de Lavardens to him, “will you come and live with + Paul and me for some years? I will take you both to Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind, Madame, but I should have liked so much to stay here.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at the Cure, who turned away his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Why must we go?” he continued. “Why must you take Paul and me away?” + </p> + <p> + “Because it is only in Paris that you can have all the advantages + necessary to complete your studies. Paul will prepare for his examination + at Saint-Cyr. You know he wishes to be a soldier.” + </p> + <p> + “So do I, Madame. I wish to be one, too.” + </p> + <p> + “You a soldier!” exclaimed the Cure; “but you know that was not at all + your father’s idea. In my presence, he has often spoken of your future, + your career. You were to be a doctor, and, like him, doctor at Longueval, + and, like him, devote yourself to the sick and poor. Jean, my child, do + you remember?” + </p> + <p> + “I remember, I remember.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, Jean, you must do as your father wished; it is your duty, + Jean; it is your duty. You must go to Paris. You would like to stay here, + I understand that well, and I should like it, too; but it can not be. You + must go to Paris, and work, work hard. Not that I am anxious about that; + you are your father’s true son. You will be an honest and laborious man. + One can not well be the one without the other. And some day, in your + father’s house, in the place where he has done so much good, the poor + people of the country round will find another Doctor Reynaud, to whom they + may look for help. And I—if by chance I am still in this world—when + that day comes, I shall be so happy! But I am wrong to speak of myself; I + ought not, I do not count. It is of your father that you must think. I + repeat it, Jean, it was his dearest wish. You can not have forgotten it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I have not forgotten; but if my father sees me, and hears me, I am + certain that he understands and forgives me, for it is on his account.” + </p> + <p> + “On his account?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. When I heard that he was dead, and when I heard how he died, all at + once, without any need of reflection, I said to myself that I would be a + soldier, and I will be a soldier! Godfather, and you, Madame, I beg you + not to prevent me.” + </p> + <p> + The child burst into tears—a perfect flood of passionate tears. The + Countess and the Abbe soothed him with gentle words. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—yes—it is settled,” they said; “anything that you wish, + all that you wish.” + </p> + <p> + Both had the same thought—leave it to time; Jean is only a child; he + will change his mind. + </p> + <p> + In this, both were mistaken; Jean did not change his mind. In the month of + September, 1876, Paul de Lavardens was rejected at Saint-Cyr, and Jean + Reynaud passed eleventh at the Ecole Polytechnique. The day when the list + of the candidates who had passed was published, he wrote to the Abbe + Constantin: + </p> + <p> + “I have passed, and passed too well, for I wish to go into the army, and + not the civil service; however, if I keep my place in the school, that + will be the business of one of my comrades; he will have my chance.” + </p> + <p> + It happened so in the end. Jean Reynaud did better than keep his place; + the pass-list showed his name seventh, but instead of entering ‘l’Ecole + des Ponts et Chaussees’, he entered the military college at Fontainebleau + in 1878. + </p> + <p> + He was then just twenty-one; he was of age, master of his fortune, and the + first act of the new administration was a great, a very great piece of + extravagance. + </p> + <p> + He bought for old Clemence and little Rosalie two shares in Government + stock of 1,500 francs each. That cost him 70,000 francs, almost the sum + that Paul de Lavardens, in his first year of liberty in Paris, spent for + Mademoiselle Lise Bruyere, of the Palais Royal Theatre. + </p> + <p> + Two years later Jean passed first at the examination, and left + Fontainebleau with the right of choosing among the vacant places. There + was one in the regiment quartered at Souvigny, and Souvigny was three + miles from Longueval. Jean asked for this, and obtained it. + </p> + <p> + Thus Jean Reynaud, lieutenant in the ninth regiment of artillery, came in + the month of October, 1880, to take possession of the house that had been + his father’s; thus he found himself once more in the place where his + childhood had passed, and where every one had kept green the memory of the + life and death of his father; thus the Abbe Constantin was not denied the + happiness of once again having near him the son of his old friend, and, if + the truth must be told, he no longer wished that Jean had become a doctor. + </p> + <p> + When the old Cure left his church after saying mass, when he saw coming + along the road a great cloud of dust, when he felt the earth tremble under + the rumbling cannon, he would stop, and, like a child, amuse himself with + seeing the regiment pass, but to him the regiment was—Jean. It was + this robust and manly cavalier, in whose face, as in an open book, one + read uprightness, courage, and goodness. + </p> + <p> + The moment Jean perceived the Cure, he would put his horse to a gallop, + and go to have a little chat with his godfather. The horse would turn his + head toward the Cure, for he knew very well there was always a piece of + sugar for him in the pocket of that old black soutane—rusty and worn—the + morning soutane. The Abbe Constantin had a beautiful new one, of which he + took great care, to wear in society—when he went into society. + </p> + <p> + The trumpets of the regiment sounded as they passed through the village, + and all eyes sought Jean—“little Jean"-for to the old people of + Longueval he was still little Jean. Certain wrinkled, broken-down, old + peasants had never been able to break themselves of the habit of saluting + him when he passed with, “Bonjour, gamin, ca va bien?” + </p> + <p> + He was six feet high, this gamin, and Jean never crossed the village + without perceiving at one window the old furrowed parchment skin of + Clemence, and at another the smiling countenance of Rosalie. The latter + had married during the previous year; Jean had given her away, and + joyously on the wedding-night had he danced with the girls of Longueval. + </p> + <p> + Such was the lieutenant of artillery, who, on Saturday, May 28, 1881, at + half-past four in the afternoon, sprang from his horse before the door of + the vicarage of Longueval. He entered the gate, the horse obediently + followed, and went by himself into a little shed in the yard. Pauline was + at the kitchen window; Jean approached and kissed her heartily on both + cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Good-evening, Pauline. Is all well?” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. I am busy preparing your dinner; would you like to know what + you are going to have? potato soup, a leg of mutton, and a custard.” + </p> + <p> + “That is excellent; I shall enjoy everything, for I am dying of hunger.” + </p> + <p> + “And a salad; I had forgotten it; you can help me cut it directly. Dinner + will be at half-past six exactly, for at half-past seven Monsieur le Cure + has his service for the month of Mary.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is my godfather?” + </p> + <p> + “You will find him in the garden. He is very sad on account of this sale + of yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know, I know.” + </p> + <p> + “It will cheer him a little to see you; he is always so happy when you are + here. Take care; Loulou is going to eat the climbing roses. How hot he + is!” + </p> + <p> + “I came the long way by the wood, and rode very fast.” + </p> + <p> + Jean captured Loulou, who was directing his steps toward the climbing + roses. He unsaddled him, fastened him in the little shed, rubbed him down + with a great handful of straw, after which he entered the house, relieved + himself of his sword and kepi, replaced the latter by an old straw hat, + value sixpence, and then went to look for his godfather in the garden. + </p> + <p> + The poor Abbe was indeed sad; he had scarcely closed an eye all night—he + who generally slept so easily, so quietly, the sound sleep of a child. His + soul was wrung. Longueval in the hands of a foreigner, of a heretic, of an + adventuress! + </p> + <p> + Jean repeated what Paul had said the evening before. + </p> + <p> + “You will have money, plenty of money, for your poor.” + </p> + <p> + “Money! money! Yes, my poor will not lose, perhaps they will even gain by + it; but I must go and ask for this money, and in the salon, instead of my + old and dear friend, I shall find this red-haired American. It seems that + she has red hair! I will certainly go for the sake of my poor—I will + go—and she will give me the money, but she will give me nothing but + money; the Marquise gave me something else—her life and her heart. + Every week we went together to visit the sick and the poor; she knew all + the sufferings and the miseries of the country round, and when the gout + nailed me to my easy-chair she made the rounds alone, and as well, or + better than I.” + </p> + <p> + Pauline interrupted this conversation. She carried an immense earthenware + salad-dish, on which bloomed, violent and startling, enormous red flowers. + </p> + <p> + “Here I am,” said Pauline, “I am going to cut the salad. Jean, would you + like lettuce or endive?” + </p> + <p> + “Endive,” said Jean, gayly. “It is a long time since I have had any + endive.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you shall have some to-night. Stay, take the dish.” + </p> + <p> + Pauline began to cut the endive, and Jean bent down to receive the leaves + in the great salad dish. The Cure looked on. + </p> + <p> + At this moment a sound of little bells was heard. A carriage was + approaching; one heard the jangling and creaking of its wheels. The Cure’s + little garden was only separated from the road by a low hedge, in the + middle of which was a little trellised gate. + </p> + <p> + All three looked out, and saw driving down the road a hired carriage of + most primitive construction, drawn by two great white horses, and driven + by an old coachman in a blouse. Beside this old coachman was seated a tall + footman in livery, of the most severe and correct demeanor. In the + carriage were two young women, dressed both alike in very elegant, but + very simple, travelling costumes. + </p> + <p> + When the carriage was opposite the gate the coachman stopped his horses, + and addressing the Abbe: + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le Cure,” said he, “these ladies wish to speak to you.” + </p> + <p> + Then, turning toward the ladies: + </p> + <p> + “This is Monsieur le Cure of Longueval.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbe Constantin approached and opened the little gate. The travellers + alighted. Their looks rested, not without astonishment, on the young + officer, who stood there, a little embarrassed, with his straw hat in one + hand, and his salad dish, all overflowing with endive, in the other. + </p> + <p> + The visitors entered the garden, and the elder—she seemed about + twenty-five—addressing the Abbe Constantin, said to him, with a + little foreign accent, very original and very peculiar: + </p> + <p> + “I am obliged to introduce myself—-Mrs. Scott; I am Mrs. Scott! It + was I who bought the castle and farms and all the rest here at the sale + yesterday. I hope that I do not disturb you, and that you can spare me + five minutes.” Then, pointing to her travelling companion, “Miss Bettina + Percival, my sister; you guessed it, I am sure. We are very much alike, + are we not? Ah! Bettina, we have left our bags in the carriage, and we + shall want them directly.” + </p> + <p> + “I will get them.” + </p> + <p> + And as Miss Percival prepared to go for the two little bags, Jean said to + her: + </p> + <p> + “Pray allow me.” + </p> + <p> + “I am really very sorry to give you so much trouble. The servant will give + them to you; they are on the front seat.” + </p> + <p> + She had the same accent as her sister, the same large eyes—black, + laughing, and gay-and the same hair, not red, but fair, with golden + shades, where daintily danced the light of the sun. She bowed to Jean with + a pretty little smile, and he, having returned to Pauline the salad dish + full of endive, went to look for the two little bags. Meanwhile-much + agitated, sorely disturbed—the Abbe Constantin introduced into his + vicarage the new Chatelaine of Longueval. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. DELIGHTFUL SURPRISES + </h2> + <p> + This vicarage of Longueval was far from being a palace. The same apartment + on the ground floor served for dining and drawing-room, communicating + directly with the kitchen by a door, which stood always wide open. This + room was furnished in the most scanty manner; two old arm chairs, six + straw chairs, a sideboard, a round table. Pauline had already laid the + cloth for the dinner of the Abbe and Jean. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival went and came, examining the domestic + arrangements of the Cure with a sort of childish wonder. + </p> + <p> + “But the garden, the house, everything is charming,” said Mrs. Scott. + </p> + <p> + They both boldly penetrated into the kitchen; the Abbe Constantin followed + them, scared, bewildered, stupefied at the suddenness and resolution of + this American invasion. + </p> + <p> + Old Pauline, with an anxious and gloomy air, examined the two foreigners. + </p> + <p> + “There they are, then,” she said to herself, “these Protestants, these + accursed heretics!” + </p> + <p> + “I must compliment you,” said Bettina; “it is so beautifully kept. Look, + Susie, is not the vicarage altogether exactly what you wished?” + </p> + <p> + “And so is the Cure,” rejoined Mrs. Scott. “Yes, Monsieur le Cure, if you + will permit me to say so, you do not know how happy it makes me to find + you just what you are. In the railway carriage what did I say to you, + Bettina? And again just now, when we were driving here?” + </p> + <p> + “My sister said to me, Monsieur le Cure, that what she desired above + everything was a priest, not young, or melancholy, or severe; but one with + white hair and a kind and gentle manner. And that is exactly what you are, + Monsieur le Cure, exactly. No, we could not have been more fortunate. + Excuse me for speaking to you in this manner; the Parisians know how to + make pretty phrases, but I do not, and in speaking French I should often + be quite at a loss if I did not say everything in a simple and childish + way, as it comes into my head. In a word, I am satisfied, quite satisfied, + and I hope that you, too, Monsieur le Cure, will be as satisfied with your + new parishioners.” + </p> + <p> + “My parishioners!” exclaimed the Cure, all at once recovering speech, + movement, life, everything which for some moments had completely abandoned + him. “My parishioners! Pardon me, Madame, Mademoiselle, I am so agitated. + You will be—you are Catholics?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly we are Catholics.” + </p> + <p> + “Catholics! Catholics!” repeated the Cure. + </p> + <p> + “Catholics! Catholics!” echoed old Pauline. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Scott looked from the Cure to Pauline, from Pauline to the Cure, much + surprised that a single word should produce such an effect, and, to + complete the tableau, Jean appeared carrying the two little travelling + bags. + </p> + <p> + The Cure and Pauline saluted him with the same words: + </p> + <p> + “Catholics! Catholics!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I begin to understand,” said Mrs. Scott, laughing. “It is our name, + our country; you must have thought that we were Protestants. Not at all. + Our mother was a Canadian, French and Catholic by descent; that is why my + sister and I both speak French, with an accent, it is true, and with + certain American idioms, but yet in such a manner as to be able to express + nearly all we want to say. My husband is a Protestant, but he allows me + complete liberty, and my two children are Catholics. That is why, Monsieur + l’Abbe, we wished to come and see you the very first day.” + </p> + <p> + “That is one reason,” continued Bettina, “but there is also another; but + for that reason we shall want our little bags.” + </p> + <p> + “Here they are,” said Jean. + </p> + <p> + While the two little bags passed from the hands of the officer to those of + Mrs. Scott and Bettina, the Cure introduced Jean to the two Americans, but + his agitation was so great that the introduction was not made strictly + according to rule. The Cure only forgot one thing, it is true, but that + was a thing tolerably essential in an introduction—the family name + of Jean. + </p> + <p> + “It is Jean,” said he, “my godson, lieutenant of artillery, now quartered + at Souvigny. He is one of the family.” + </p> + <p> + Jean made two deep bows, the Americans two little ones, after which they + foraged in their bags, from which each drew a ‘rouleau’ of 1,000 francs, + daintily inclosed in green sheaths of serpent-skin, clasped with gold. + </p> + <p> + “I have brought you this for your poor,” said Mrs. Scott. + </p> + <p> + “And I have brought this,” said Bettina. + </p> + <p> + “And besides that, Monsieur le Cure, I am going to give you five hundred + francs a month,” said Mrs. Scott. + </p> + <p> + “And I will do like my sister.” + </p> + <p> + Delicately they slipped their offerings into the right and left hands of + the Cure, who, looking at each hand alternately, said: + </p> + <p> + “What are these little things? They are very heavy; there must be money in + them. Yes, but how much, how much?” + </p> + <p> + The Abbe Constantin was seventy-two, and much money had passed through his + hands, but this money had come to him in small sums, and the idea of such + an offering as this had never entered his head. Two thousand francs! Never + had he had so much in his possession—no, not even one thousand. He + stammered: + </p> + <p> + “I am very grateful to you, Madame; you are very good, Mademoiselle—” + </p> + <p> + But after all he could not thank them enough, and Jean thought it + necessary to come to his assistance. + </p> + <p> + “They have given you two thousand francs!” + </p> + <p> + And then, full of warmest gratitude; the Cure cried: + </p> + <p> + “Two thousand francs! Two thousand francs for my poor!” + </p> + <p> + Pauline suddenly reappeared. + </p> + <p> + “Here, Pauline,” said the Cure, “put away this money, and take care—” + </p> + <p> + Old Pauline filled many positions in this simple household: cook, + maid-of-all-work, treasurer, dispenser. Her hands received with a + respectful tremble these two little ‘rouleaux’ which represented so much + misery alleviated, so much suffering relieved. + </p> + <p> + “One thousand francs a month! But there will be no poor left in the + country.” + </p> + <p> + “That is just what I wish. I am rich, very rich, and so is my sister; she + is even richer than I am, because a young girl has not so many expenses, + while I—Ah! well, I spend all that I can—all that I can. When + one has a great deal of money, too much, more than one feels to be just, + tell me, Monsieur le Cure, is there any other way of obtaining pardon than + to keep one’s hands open, and give, give, give, all one can, and as + usefully as one can? Besides, you can give me something in return;” and, + turning to Pauline, “Will you be so kind as to give me a glass of water? + No, nothing else; a glass of cold water; I am dying of thirst.” + </p> + <p> + “And I,” said Bettina, laughing, while Pauline ran to fetch the water, “I + am dying of something else-of hunger, to tell the truth. Monsieur le Cure—I + know that I am going to be dreadfully intrusive; I see your cloth is laid—could + you not invite us to dinner?” + </p> + <p> + “Bettina!” said Mrs. Scott. + </p> + <p> + “Let me alone, Susie, let me alone. Won’t you, Monsieur le Cure? I am sure + you will.” + </p> + <p> + But he could find no reply. The old Cure hardly knew where he was. They + had taken his vicarage by storm; they were Catholics; they had promised + him one thousand francs a month, and now they wanted to dine with him. Ah! + that was the last stroke. Terror seized him at the thought of having to do + the honors of his leg of mutton and his custard to these two absurdly rich + Americans. He murmured: + </p> + <p> + “Dine!-you would like to dine here?” + </p> + <p> + Jean thought he must interpose again. “It would be a great pleasure to my + godfather,” said he, “if you would kindly stay. But I know what disturbs + him. We were going to dine together, just the two of us, and you must not + expect a feast. You will be very indulgent?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, very indulgent,” replied Bettina; then, addressing her sister, + “Come, Susie, you must not be cross, because I have been a little—you + know it is my way to be a little—Let us stay, will you? It will do + us good to pass a quiet hour here, after such a day as we have had! On the + railway, in the carriage, in the heat, in the dust; we had such a horrid + luncheon, in such a horrid hotel. We were to have returned to the same + hotel at seven o’clock to dine, and then take the train back to Paris, but + dinner here will be really much nicer. You won’t say no? Ah! how good you + are, Susie!” + </p> + <p> + She embraced her sister fondly; then turning toward the Cure: + </p> + <p> + “If you only knew, Monsieur le Cure, how good she is!” + </p> + <p> + “Bettina! Bettina!” + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said Jean, “quick, Pauline, two more plates; I will help you.” + </p> + <p> + “And so will I,” said Bettina, “I will help, too. Oh! do let me; it will + be so amusing. Monsieur le Cure, you will let me do a little as if I were + at home?” + </p> + <p> + In a moment she had taken off her mantle, and Jean could admire, in all + its exquisite perfection, a figure marvellous for suppleness and grace. + Miss Percival then removed her hat, but with a little too much haste, for + this was the signal for a charming catastrophe. A whole avalanche + descended in torrents, in long cascades, over Bettina’s shoulders. She was + standing before a window flooded by the rays of the sun, and this golden + light, falling full on this golden hair, formed a delicious frame for the + sparkling beauty of the young girl. Confused and blushing, Bettina was + obliged to call her sister to her aid, and Mrs. Scott had much trouble in + introducing order into this disorder. + </p> + <p> + When this disaster was at length repaired, nothing could prevent Bettina + from rushing on plates, knives, and forks. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, indeed,” said she to Jean, “I know very well how to lay the cloth. + Ask my sister. Tell him, Susie, when I was a little girl in New York, I + used to lay the cloth very well, didn’t I?” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, indeed,” said Mrs. Scott. + </p> + <p> + And then, while begging the Cure to excuse Bettina’s want of thought, she, + too, took off her hat and mantle, so that Jean had again the very + agreeable spectacle of a charming figure and beautiful hair; but, to + Jean’s great regret, the catastrophe had not a second representation. + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes Mrs. Scott, Miss Percival, the Cure, and Jean were seated + round the little vicarage table; then, thanks partly to the impromptu and + original nature of the entertainment, partly to the good-humor and perhaps + slightly audacious gayety of Bettina, the conversation took a turn of the + frankest and most cordial familiarity. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Monsieur le Cure,” said Bettina, “you shall see if I did not speak + the truth when I said I was dying of hunger. I never was so glad to sit + down to dinner. This is such a delightful finish to our day. Both my + sister and I are perfectly happy now we have this castle, and these farms, + and the forest.” + </p> + <p> + “And then,” said Mrs. Scott, “to have all that in such an extraordinary + and unexpected manner. We were so taken by surprise.” + </p> + <p> + “You may indeed say so, Susie. You must know, Monsieur l’Abbe, that + yesterday was my sister’s birthday. But first, pardon me, Monsieur—Jean, + is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Miss Percival, Monsieur Jean.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Monsieur Jean, a little more of that excellent soup, if you + please.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbe was beginning to recover a little, but he was still too agitated + to perform the duties of a host. It was Jean who had undertaken the + management of his godfather’s little dinner. He filled the plate of the + charming American, who fixed upon him the glance of two large eyes, in + which sparkled frankness, daring, and gayety. The eyes of Jean, meanwhile, + repaid Miss Percival in the same coin. It was scarcely three quarters of + an hour since the young American and the young officer had made + acquaintance in the Cure’s garden, yet both felt already perfectly at ease + with each other, full of confidence, almost like old friends. + </p> + <p> + “I told you, Monsieur l’Abbe,” continued Bettina, “that yesterday was my + sister’s birthday. A week ago my brother-in-law was obliged to return to + America, but at starting he said to my sister, ‘I shall not be with you on + your birthday, but you will hear from me.’ So, yesterday, presents and + bouquets arrived from all quarters, but from my brother-in-law, up to five + o’clock, nothing—nothing. We were just starting for a ride in the + Bois, and ‘a propos’ of riding”—she stopped, and looking curiously + at Jean’s great dusty boots—“Monsieur Jean, you have spurs on.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Miss Percival.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are in the cavalry?” + </p> + <p> + “I am in the artillery, and that, you know, is cavalry.” + </p> + <p> + “And your regiment is quartered?”—- + </p> + <p> + “Quite near here.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you will be able to ride with us?” + </p> + <p> + “With the greatest pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “That is settled. Let me see; where was I?” + </p> + <p> + “You do not know at all where you are, Bettina, and you are telling these + gentlemen things which can not interest them.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I beg your pardon,” said the Cure. “The sale of this estate is the + only subject of conversation in the neighborhood just now, and Miss + Percival’s account interests me very much.” + </p> + <p> + “You see, Susie, my account interests Monsieur le Cure very much; then I + shall continue. We went for our ride, we returned at seven o’clock—nothing. + We dined, and just when we were leaving the table a telegram from America + arrived. It contained only a few lines: + </p> + <p> + “‘I have ordered the purchase to-day, for you and in your name, of the + castle and lands of Longueval, near Souvigny, on the Northern Railway + line.’ + </p> + <p> + “Then we both burst into a fit of wild laughter at the thought.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Bettina; you calumniate us both. Our first thought was one of + very sincere gratitude, for both my sister and I are very fond of the + country. My husband knows that we had longed to have an estate in France. + For six months he had been looking out, and found nothing. At last he + discovered this one, and, without telling us, ordered it to be bought for + my birthday. It was a delicate attention.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Susie, you are right, but after the little fit of gratitude, we had + a great one of gayety.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I confess it. When we realized that we had suddenly become possessed + of a castle, without knowing in the least where it was, what it was like, + or how much it had cost, it seemed so like a fairy-tale. Well, for five + good minutes we laughed with all our hearts, then we seized the map of + France, and succeeded in discovering Souvigny. When he had finished with + the map it was the turn of the railway guide, and this morning, by the ten + o’clock express, we arrived at Souvigny. + </p> + <p> + “We have passed the whole day in visiting the castle, the farms, the + woods, the stables. We are delighted with what we have seen. Only, + Monsieur le Cure, there is one thing about which I feel curious. I know + that the place was sold yesterday; but I have not dared to ask either + agent or farmer who accompanied me in my walk—for my ignorance would + have seemed too absurd—I have not dared to ask how much it cost. In + the telegram my husband does not mention the sum. Since I am so delighted + with the place, the price is only a detail, but still I should like to + know it. Tell me, Monsieur le Cure, do you know what it cost?” + </p> + <p> + “An enormous price,” replied the Cure, “for many hopes and many ambitions + were excited about Longueval.” + </p> + <p> + “An enormous price! You frighten me. How much exactly?” + </p> + <p> + “Three millions!” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all? Is that all?” cried Mrs. Scott. “The castle, the farms, the + forest, all for three millions?” + </p> + <p> + “But that is nothing,” said Bettina. “That delicious little stream which + wanders through the park is alone worth three millions.” + </p> + <p> + “And you said just now, Monsieur le Cure, that there were several persons + who disputed the purchase with us?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mrs. Scott.” + </p> + <p> + “And, after the sale, was my name mentioned among these persons?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly it was.” + </p> + <p> + “And when my name was mentioned was there no one there who spoke of me? + Yes, yes, your silence is a sufficient answer; they did speak of me. Well, + Monsieur le Cure, I am now serious, very serious. I beg you as a favor to + tell me what was said.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” replied the poor Cure, who felt himself upon burning coals, “they + spoke of your large fortune.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course, they would be obliged to speak of that, and no doubt they + said that I was very rich, but had not been rich long—that I was a + parvenu. Very well, but that is not all; they must have said something + else.” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed; I have heard nothing else.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Monsieur le Cure, that is what you may call a white lie, and it is + making you very unhappy, because naturally you are the soul of truth; but + if I torment you thus it is because I have the greatest interest in + knowing what was said.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” interrupted Jean, “you are right. They said you were one + of the most elegant, the most brilliant, and the—” + </p> + <p> + “And one of the prettiest women in Paris. With a little indulgence they + might say that; but that is not all yet—there is something else.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I assure you—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there is something else, and I should like to hear it this very + moment, and I should like the information to be very frank and very exact. + It seems to me that I am in a lucky vein to-day, and I feel as if you were + both a little inclined to be my friends, and that you will be so entirely + some day. Well, tell me if I am right in supposing that should false and + absurd stories be told about me you will help me to contradict them.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” replied Jean, “you are right in believing that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, it is to you that I address myself. You are a soldier, and + courage is part of your profession. Promise me to be brave. Will you + promise me?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you understand by being brave?” + </p> + <p> + “Promise, promise—without explanations, without conditions.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I promise.” + </p> + <p> + “You will then reply frankly, ‘Yes’ or ‘No,’ to questions?” + </p> + <p> + “I will.” + </p> + <p> + “Did they say that I had begged in the streets of New York?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they said so.” + </p> + <p> + “Did they say I had been a rider in a travelling circus?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; they said that, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well; that is plain speaking. Now remark first that in all this + there is nothing that one might not acknowledge if it were true; but it is + not true, and have I not the right of denying it? My history—I will + tell it you in a few words. I am going to pass a part of my life in this + place, and I desire that all should know who I am and whence I come. To + begin, then. Poor! Yes, I have been, and very poor. Eight years ago my + father died, and was soon followed by my mother. I was then eighteen, and + Bettina nine. We were alone in the world, encumbered with heavy debts and + a great lawsuit. My father’s last words had been, ‘Susie, never, never + compromise. Millions, my children, you will have millions.’ He embraced us + both; soon delirium seized him, and he died repeating, ‘Millions; + millions!’ The next morning a lawyer appeared, who offered to pay all our + debts, and to give us besides ten thousand dollars, if we would give up + all our claims. I refused. It was then that for several months we were + very poor.” + </p> + <p> + “And it was then,” said Bettina, “that I used to lay the cloth.” + </p> + <p> + “I spent my life among the solicitors of New York, but no one would take + up my case; everywhere I received the same reply: ‘Your cause is very + doubtful; you have rich and formidable adversaries; you need money, large + sums of money, to bring such a case to a conclusion, and you have nothing. + They offer to pay your debts, and to give you ten thousand dollars + besides. Accept it, and sell your case.’ But my father’s last words rang + in my ears, and I would not. Poverty, however, might soon have forced me + to, when one day I made another attempt on one of my father’s old friends, + a banker in New York, Mr. William Scott. He was not alone; a young man was + sitting in his office. + </p> + <p> + “‘You may speak freely,’ said Mr. Scott; ‘it is my son Richard.’ + </p> + <p> + “I looked at the young man, he looked at me, and we recognized each other. + </p> + <p> + “‘Susie!’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Richard!” + </p> + <p> + “Formerly, as children, we had often played together and were great + friends. Seven or eight years before this meeting he had been sent to + Europe to finish his education. We shook hands; his father made me sit + down, and asked what had brought me. He listened to my tale; and replied: + </p> + <p> + “‘You would require twenty or thirty thousand dollars. No one would lend + you such a sum upon the uncertain chances of a very complicated lawsuit. + If you are in difficulties; if you need assistance—’ + </p> + <p> + “‘It is not that, father. That is not what Miss Percival asks.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I know that very well, but what she asks is impossible.’ + </p> + <p> + “He rose to let me out. Then the sense of my helplessness overpowered me + for the first time since my father’s death. I burst into a violent flood + of tears. An hour later Richard Scott was with me. + </p> + <p> + “‘Susie,’ he said, ‘promise to accept what I am going to offer.’ + </p> + <p> + “I promised him. + </p> + <p> + “‘Well,’ said he, ‘on the single condition that my father shall know + nothing about it, I place at your disposal the necessary sum.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘But then you ought to know what the lawsuit is—what it is worth.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I do not know a single word about it, and I do not wish to. Besides, you + have promised to accept it; you can not withdraw now.’ + </p> + <p> + “I accepted. Three months after the case was ours. All this vast property + became beyond dispute the property of Bettina and me. The other side + offered to buy it of us for five million dollars. I consulted Richard. + </p> + <p> + “‘Refuse it and wait,’ said he; ‘if they offer you such a sum it is + because the property is worth double.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘However, I must return you your money; I owe you a great deal.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh! as for that there is no hurry; I am very easy about it; my money is + quite safe now.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘But I should like to pay you at once. I have a horror of debt! Perhaps + there is another way without selling the property. Richard, will you be my + husband?’ + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Monsieur le Cure, yes,” said Mrs. Scott, laughing, “it is thus that + I threw myself at my husband’s head. It is I who asked his hand. But + really I was obliged to act thus. Never, never, would he have spoken; I + had become too rich, and as it was me he loved, and not my money, he was + becoming terribly afraid of me. That is the history of my marriage. As to + the history of my fortune, it can be told in a few words. There were + indeed millions in those wide lands of Colorado; they discovered there + abundant mines of silver, and from those mines we draw every year an + income which is beyond reason, but we have agreed—my husband, my + sister, and myself—to give a very large share of this income to the + poor. You see, Monsieur le Cure, it is because we have known very hard + times that you will always find us ready to help those who are, as we have + been ourselves, involved in the difficulties and sorrows of life. And now, + Monsieur Jean, will you forgive me this long discourse, and offer me a + little of that cream, which looks so very good?” + </p> + <p> + This cream was Pauline’s custard, and while Jean was serving Mrs. Scott: + </p> + <p> + “I have not yet finished,” she continued. “You ought to know what gave + rise to these extravagant stories. A year ago, when we settled in Paris, + we considered it our duty on our arrival to give a certain sum to the + poor. Who was it spoke of that? None of us, certainly, but the thing was + told in a newspaper, with the amount. Immediately two young reporters + hastened to subject Mr. Scott to a little examination on his past history; + they wished to give a sketch of our career in the—what do you call + them?—society papers. Mr. Scott is sometimes a little hasty; he was + so on this occasion, and dismissed these gentlemen rather brusquely, + without telling them anything. So, as they did not know our real history, + they invented one, and certainly displayed a very lively imagination. + First they related how I had begged in the snow in New York; the next day + appeared a still more sensational article, which made me a rider in a + circus in Philadelphia. You have some very funny papers in France; so have + we in America, for the matter of that.” + </p> + <p> + During the last five minutes, Pauline had been making desperate signs to + the Cure, who persisted in not understanding them, till at last the poor + woman, calling up all her courage, said: + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le Cure, it is a quarter past seven.” + </p> + <p> + “A quarter past seven! Ladies, I must beg you to excuse me. This evening I + have the special service for the month of Mary.” + </p> + <p> + “The month of Mary? And will the service begin directly?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, directly.” + </p> + <p> + “And when does our train start for Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “At half past nine,” replied Jean. + </p> + <p> + “Susie, can we not go to church first?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we will go,” replied Mrs. Scott; “but before we separate, Monsieur + le Cure, I have one favor to ask you. I should like very much, the first + time I dine at Longueval, that you would dine with me, and you, too, + Monsieur Jean, just us four alone like to-day. Oh! do not refuse my + invitation; it is given with all my heart.” + </p> + <p> + “And accepted as heartily,” replied Jean. + </p> + <p> + “I will write and tell you the day, and it shall be as soon as possible. + You call that having a housewarming, don’t you? Well, we shall have the + house-warming all to ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, Pauline had drawn Miss Percival into a corner of the room, and + was talking to her with great animation. The conversation ended with these + words: + </p> + <p> + “You will be there?” said Bettina, “and you will tell me the exact + moment?” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you, but take care. Here is Monsieur le Cure; he must not + suspect anything.” + </p> + <p> + The two sisters, the Cure, and Jean left the house. To go to the church + they were obliged to cross the churchyard. The evening was delicious. + Slowly, silently, under the rays of the setting sun, the four walked down + a long avenue. + </p> + <p> + On their way was the monument to Dr. Reynaud, very simple, but which, by + its fine proportions, showed distinctly among the other tombs. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Scott and Bettina stopped, struck with this inscription carved on the + stone: + </p> + <p> + “Here lies Dr. Marcel Reynaud, Surgeon-Major of the Souvigny Mobiles; + killed January 8, 1871, at the Battle of Villersexel. Pray for him.” + </p> + <p> + When they had read it, the Cure, pointing to Jean, said: + </p> + <p> + “It was his father!” + </p> + <p> + The two sisters drew near the tomb, and with bent heads remained there for + some minutes, pensive, touched, contemplative. Then both turned, and at + the same moment, by the same impulse, offered their hands to Jean; then + continued their walk to the church. Their first prayer at Longueval had + been for the father of Jean. + </p> + <p> + The Cure went to put on his surplice and stole. Jean conducted Mrs. Scott + to the seat which belonged to the masters of Longueval. + </p> + <p> + Pauline had gone on before. She was waiting for Miss Percival in the + shadow behind one of the pillars. By a steep and narrow staircase, she led + Bettina to the gallery, and placed her before the harmonium. + </p> + <p> + Preceded by two little chorister boys, the old Cure left the vestry, and + at the moment when he knelt on the steps of the alter: + </p> + <p> + “Now! Mademoiselle,” said Pauline, whose heart beat with impatience. + “Poor, dear man, how pleased he will be.” + </p> + <p> + When he heard the sound of the music rise, soft as a murmur, and spread + through the little church, the Abbe Constantin was filled with such + emotion, such joy, that the tears came to his eyes. He could not remember + having wept since the day when Jean had said that he wished to share all + that he possessed with the mother and sister of those who had fallen by + his father’s side under the Prussian bullets. + </p> + <p> + To bring tears to the eyes of the old priest, a little American had been + brought across the seas to play a reverie of Chopin in the little church + of Longueval. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK 2. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. A RIOT OF CHARITY + </h2> + <p> + The next day, at half-past five in the morning, the bugle-call rang + through the barrack-yard at Souvigny. Jean mounted his horse, and took his + place with his division. By the end of May all the recruits in the army + are sufficiently instructed to be capable of sharing in the general + evolutions. Almost every day manoeuvres of the mounted artillery are + executed on the parade-ground. Jean loved his profession; he was in the + habit of inspecting carefully the grooming and harness of the horses, the + equipment and carriage of his men. This morning, however, he bestowed but + scant attention on all the little details of his duty. + </p> + <p> + One problem agitated, tormented him, and left him always undecided, and + this problem was one of those the solution of which is not given at the + Ecole Polytechnique. Jean could find no convincing reply to this question: + Which of the two sisters is the prettier? + </p> + <p> + At the butts, during the first part of the manoeuvre, each battery worked + on its own account, under the orders of the captain; but he often + relinquished the place to one of his lieutenants, in order to accustom + them to the management of six field-pieces. It happened on this day that + the command was intrusted to the hands of Jean. To the great surprise of + the Captain, in whose estimation his Lieutenant held the first rank as a + well-trained, smart, and capable officer, everything went wrong. The + Captain was obliged to interfere; he addressed a little reprimand to Jean, + which terminated in these words: + </p> + <p> + “I can not understand it at all. What is the matter with you this morning? + It is the first time such a thing has happened with you.” + </p> + <p> + It was also the first time that Jean had seen anything at the butts at + Souvigny but cannon, ammunition wagons, horses, or gunners. + </p> + <p> + In the clouds of dust raised by the wheels of the wagons and the hoofs of + the horses Jean beheld, not the second mounted battery of the 9th Regiment + of artillery, but the distinct images of two Americans with black eyes and + golden hair; and, at the moment when he listened respectfully to the + well-merited lecture from his Captain, he was in the act of saying to + himself: + </p> + <p> + “The prettier is Mrs. Scott!” + </p> + <p> + Every morning the exercise is divided into two parts by a little interval + of ten minutes. The officers gathered together and talked; Jean remained + apart, alone with his recollections of the previous evening. His thoughts + obstinately gathered round the vicarage of Longueval. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! the more charming of the two sisters is Mrs. Scott; Miss Percival is + only a child.” + </p> + <p> + He saw again Mrs. Scott at the Cure’s little table. He heard her story + told with such frankness, such freedom. The harmony of that very peculiar, + very fascinating voice, still enchanted his ear. He was again in the + church; she was there before him, bending over her prie-Dieu, her pretty + head resting in her two little hands; then the music arose, and far off, + in the dusk, Jean perceived the fine and delicate profile of Bettina. + </p> + <p> + “A child—is she only a child?” + </p> + <p> + The trumpets sounded, the practice was resumed; this time, fortunately, no + command, no responsibility. The four batteries executed their evolutions + together; this immense mass of men, horses, and carriages, deployed in + every direction, now drawn out in a long line, again collected into a + compact group. All stopped at the same instant along the whole extent of + the ground; the gunners sprang from their horses, ran to their pieces, + detached each from its team, which went off at a trot and prepared to fire + with amazing rapidity. Then the horses returned, the men re-attached their + pieces; sprang quickly to saddle, and the regiment started at full gallop + across the field. + </p> + <p> + Very gently in the thoughts of Jean Bettina regained her advantage over + Mrs. Scott. She appeared to him smiling and blushing amid the sunlit + clouds of her floating hair. Monsieur Jean, she had called him, Monsieur + Jean, and never had his name sounded so sweet. And that last pressure of + the hand on taking leave, before entering the carriage. Had not Miss + Percival given him a more cordial clasp than Mrs. Scott had done? Yes, + positively a little more. + </p> + <p> + “I was mistaken,” thought Jean; “the prettier is Miss Percival.” + </p> + <p> + The day’s work was finished; the pieces were ranged regularly in line one + behind the other; they defiled rapidly, with a horrible clatter, and in a + cloud of dust. When Jean, sword in hand, passed before his Colonel, the + images of the two sisters were so confused and intermingled in his + recollection that they melted the one in the other, and became in some + measure the image of one and the same person. Any parallel became + impossible between them, thanks to this singular confusion of the two + points of comparison. Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival remained thus + inseparable in the thoughts of Jean until the day when it was granted to + him to see them again. The impression of that meeting was not effaced; it + was always there, persistent, and very sweet, till Jean began to feel + disturbed. + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible”—so ran his meditations—“is it possible that I + have been guilty of the folly of falling in love madly at first sight? No; + one might fall in love with a woman, but not with two women at once.” + </p> + <p> + That thought reassured him. He was very young, this great fellow of + four-and-twenty; never had love entered fully into his heart. Love! He + knew very little about it, except from books, and he had read but few of + them. But he was no angel; he could find plenty of attractions in the + grisettes of Souvigny, and when they would allow him to tell them that + they were charming, he was quite ready to do so, but it had never entered + his head to regard as love those passing fancies, which only caused the + slightest and most superficial disturbance in his heart. + </p> + <p> + Paul de Lavardens had marvellous powers of enthusiasm and idealization. + His heart sheltered always two or three grandes passions, which lived + there in perfect harmony. Paul had been so clever as to discover, in this + little town of 15,000 souls, numbers of pretty girls, all made to be + adored. He always believed himself the discoverer of America, when, in + fact, he had done nothing but follow in the track of other navigators. + </p> + <p> + The world-Jean had scarcely encountered it. He had allowed himself to be + dragged by Paul, a dozen times, perhaps, to soirees or balls at the great + houses of the neighborhood. He had invariably returned thoroughly bored, + and had concluded that these pleasures were not made for him. His tastes + were simple, serious. He loved solitude, work, long walks, open space, + horses, and books. He was rather savage—a son of the soil. He loved + his village, and all the old friends of his childhood. A quadrille in a + drawing-room caused him unspeakable terror; but every year, at the + festival of the patron saint of Longueval, he danced gayly with the young + girls and farmers’ daughters of the neighborhood. + </p> + <p> + If he had seen Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival at home in Paris, in all the + splendor of their luxury, in all the perfection of their costly + surroundings, he would have looked at them from afar, with curiosity, as + exquisite works of art. Then he would have returned home, and would have + slept, as usual, the most peaceful slumber in the world. + </p> + <p> + Yes, but it was not thus that the thing had come to pass, and hence his + excitement, hence his disturbance. These two women had shown themselves + before him in the midst of a circle with which he was familiar, and which + had been, if only for this reason, singularly favorable to them. Simple, + good, frank, cordial, such they had shown themselves the very first day, + and delightfully pretty into the bargain—a fact which is never + insignificant. Jean fell at once under the charm; he was there still! + </p> + <p> + At the moment when he dismounted in the barrack-yard, at nine o’clock, the + old priest began his campaign joyously. Since the previous evening the + Abbe’s head had been on fire; Jean had not slept much, but he had not + slept at all. He had risen very early, and with closed doors, alone with + Pauline, he had counted and recounted his money, spreading out his one + hundred Louis-d’or, gloating over them like a miser, and like a miser + finding exquisite pleasure in handling his hoard. All that was his! for + him! that is to say, for the poor. + </p> + <p> + “Do not be too lavish, Monsieur le Cure,” said Pauline; “be economical. I + think that if you distribute to-day one hundred francs—” + </p> + <p> + “That is not enough, Pauline. I shall only have one such day in my life, + but one I will have. How much do you think I shall give to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “How much, Monsieur le Cure?” + </p> + <p> + “One thousand francs!” + </p> + <p> + “One thousand francs!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. We are millionaires now; we possess all the treasures of America, + and you talk about economy? Not to-day, at all events; indeed, I have no + right to think of it.” + </p> + <p> + After saying mass at nine o’clock he set out and showered gold along his + way. All had a share—the poor who acknowledged their poverty and + those who concealed it. Each alms was accompanied by the same little + discourse: + </p> + <p> + “This comes from the new owners of the Longueval—two American + ladies, Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival. Remember their names, and pray for + them.” + </p> + <p> + Then he made off without waiting for thanks, across the fields, through + the woods, from hamlet to hamlet, from cottage to cottage—on, on, + on. A sort of intoxication mounted to his brain. Everywhere were cries of + joy and astonishment. All these louis-d’or fell, as if by a miracle, into + the poor hands accustomed to receive little pieces of silver. The Curb was + guilty of follies, actual follies. He was out of bounds; he did not + recognize himself; he had lost all control over himself; he even gave to + those who did not expect anything. + </p> + <p> + He met Claude Rigal, the old sergeant, who had left one of his arms at + Sebastopol. He was growing gray—nay, white; for time passes, and the + soldiers of the Crimea will soon be old men. + </p> + <p> + “Here!” said the Cure, “I have twenty francs for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty francs? But I never asked for anything; I don’t want anything; I + have my pension.” + </p> + <p> + His pension! Seven hundred francs! + </p> + <p> + “But listen; it will be something to buy you cigars. It comes from + America.” + </p> + <p> + And then followed the Abbe’s little speech about the masters of Longueval. + </p> + <p> + He went to a poor woman whose son had gone to Tunis. + </p> + <p> + “Well, how is your son getting on?” + </p> + <p> + “Not so bad, Monsieur le Cure; I had a letter from him yesterday. He does + not complain; he is very well; only he says there are no Kroomirs. Poor + boy! I have been saving for a month, and I think I shall soon be able to + send him ten francs.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall send him thirty francs. Take this.” + </p> + <p> + “Thirty francs! Monsieur le Cure, you give me thirty francs?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is for you.” + </p> + <p> + “For my boy?” + </p> + <p> + “For your boy. But listen; you must know from whom it comes, and you must + take care to tell your son when you write to him.” + </p> + <p> + Again the little speech about the new owners of Longueval, and again the + adjuration to remember them in their prayers. At six o’clock he returned + home, exhausted with fatigue, but with his soul filled with joy. + </p> + <p> + “I have given away all,” he cried, as soon as he saw Pauline, “all! all! + all!” + </p> + <p> + He dined, and then went in the evening to perform the usual service for + the month of Mary. But this time, the harmonium was silent; Miss Percival + was no longer there. + </p> + <p> + The little organist of the evening before was at that moment much + perplexed. On two couches in her dressing-room were spread two frocks—a + white and a blue. Bettina was meditating which of these two frocks she + would wear to the opera that evening. After long hesitation she fixed on + the blue. At half-past nine the two sisters ascended the grand staircase + at the opera-house. Just as they entered their box the curtain rose on the + second scene of the second act of Aida, that containing the ballet and + march. + </p> + <p> + Two young men, Roger de Puymartin and Louis de Martillet, were seated in + the front of a stage-box. The young ladies of the corps de ballet had not + yet appeared, and these gentlemen, having no occupation, were amusing + themselves with looking about the house. The appearance of Miss Percival + made a strong impression upon both. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! ah!” said Puymartin, “there she is, the little golden nugget!” + </p> + <p> + “She is perfectly dazzling this evening, this little golden nugget,” + continued Martillet. “Look at her, at the line of her neck, the fall of + her shoulders—still a young girl, and already a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she is charming, and tolerably well off into the bargain.” + </p> + <p> + “Fifteen millions of her own, and the silver mine is still productive.” + </p> + <p> + “Berulle told me twenty-five millions, and he is very well up in American + affairs.” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty-five millions! A pretty haul for Romanelli!” + </p> + <p> + “What? Romanelli!” + </p> + <p> + “Report says that that will be a match; that it is already settled.” + </p> + <p> + “A match may be arranged, but with Montessan, not with Romanelli. Ah! at + last! Here is the ballet.” + </p> + <p> + They ceased to talk. The ballet in Aida lasts only five minutes, and for + those five minutes they had come. Consequently they must be enjoyed + respectfully, religiously, for there is that peculiarity among a number of + the habitues of the opera, that they chatter like magpies when they ought + to be silent, to listen, and that they observe the most absolute silence + when they might be allowed to speak, while looking on. + </p> + <p> + The trumpets of Aida had given their last heroic ‘fanfare’ in honor of + Rhadames before the great sphinxes under the green foliage of the + palm-trees, the dancers advanced, the light trembling on their spangled + robes, and took possession of the stage. + </p> + <p> + With much attention and pleasure Mrs. Scott followed the evolutions of the + ballet, but Bettina had suddenly become thoughtful, on perceiving in a + box, on the other side of the house, a tall, dark young man. Miss Percival + talked to herself, and said: + </p> + <p> + “What shall I do? What shall I decide on? Must I marry him, that handsome, + tall fellow over there, who is watching me, for it is I that he is looking + at? He will come into our box directly this act is over, and then I have + only to say, ‘I have decided; there is my hand; I will be your wife,’ and + then all would be settled! I should be Princess! Princess Romanelli! + Princess Bettina! Bettina Romanelli! The names go well together; they + sound very pretty. Would it amuse me to be a princess? Yes—and no! + Among all the young men in Paris, who, during the last year, have run + after my money, this Prince Romanelli is the one who pleases me best. One + of these days I must make up my mind to marry. I think he loves me. Yes, + but the question is, do I love him? No, I don’t think I do, and I should + so much like to love—so much, so much!” + </p> + <p> + At the precise moment when these reflections were passing through + Bettina’s pretty head, Jean, alone in his study, seated before his desk + with a great book under the shade of his lamp, looked through, and took + notes of, the campaigns of Turenne. He had been directed to give a course + of instruction to the non-commissioned officers of the regiment, and was + prudently preparing his lesson for the next day. + </p> + <p> + But in the midst of his notes—Nordlingen, 1645; les Dunes, 1658; + Mulhausen and Turckheim, 1674-1675—he suddenly perceived (Jean did + not draw very badly) a sketch, a woman’s portrait, which all at once + appeared under his pen. What was she doing there, in the middle of + Turenne’s victories, this pretty little woman? And then who was she—Mrs. + Scott or Miss Percival? How could he tell? They resembled each other so + much; and, laboriously, Jean returned to the history of the campaigns of + Turenne. + </p> + <p> + And at the same moment, the Abbe Constantin, on his knees before his + little wooden bedstead, called down, with all the strength of his soul, + the blessings of Heaven on the two women through whose bounty he had + passed such a sweet and happy day. He prayed God to bless Mrs. Scott in + her children, and to give to Miss Percival a husband after her own heart. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. THE FAIR AMERICANS + </h2> + <p> + Formerly Paris belonged to the Parisians, and that at no very remote + period-thirty or forty years ago. At that epoch the French were the + masters of Paris, as the English are the masters of London, the Spaniards + of Madrid, and the Russians of St. Petersburg. Those times are no more. + Other countries still have their frontiers; there are now none to France. + Paris has become an immense Babel, a universal and international city. + Foreigners do not only come to visit Paris; they come there to live. At + the present day we have in Paris a Russian colony, a Spanish colony, a + Levantine colony, an American colony. The foreigners have already + conquered from us the greater part of the Champs-Elysees and the Boulevard + Malesherbes; they advance, they extend their outworks; we retreat, pressed + back by the invaders; we are obliged to expatriate ourselves. We have + begun to found Parisian colonies in the plains of Passy, in the plain of + Monceau, in quarters which formerly were not Paris at all, and which are + not quite even now. Among the foreign colonies, the richest, the most + populous, the most brilliant, is the American colony. There is a moment + when an American feels himself rich enough, a Frenchman never. The + American then stops, draws breath, and while still husbanding the capital, + no longer spares the income. He knows how to spend, the Frenchman knows + only how to save. + </p> + <p> + The Frenchman has only one real luxury—his revolutions. Prudently + and wisely he reserves himself for them, knowing well that they will cost + France dear, but that, at the same time, they will furnish the opportunity + for advantageous investments. The Frenchman says to himself: + </p> + <p> + “Let us hoard! let us hoard! let us hoard! Some of these mornings there + will be a revolution, which will make the 5 per cents. fall 50 or 60 + francs. I will buy then. Since revolutions are inevitable, let us try at + least to make them profitable.” + </p> + <p> + They are always talking about the people who are ruined by revolutions, + but perhaps the number of those enriched by revolutions is still greater. + </p> + <p> + The Americans experience the attraction of Paris very strongly. There is + no town in the world where it is easier or more agreeable to spend a great + dial of money. For many reasons, both of race and origin, this attraction + exercised over Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival a very remarkable power. + </p> + <p> + The most French of our colonies is Canada, which is no longer ours. The + recollection of their first home has been preserved faithfully and + tenderly in the hearts of the emigrants to Montreal and Quebec. Susie + Percival had received from her mother an entirely French education, and + she had brought up her sister in the same love of our country. The two + sisters felt themselves Frenchwomen; still better, Parisians. As soon as + the avalanche of dollars had descended upon them, the same desire seized + them both—to come and live in Paris. They demanded France as if it + had been their fatherland. Mr. Scott made some opposition. + </p> + <p> + “If I go away from here,” he said, “your incomes will suffer.” + </p> + <p> + “What does that matter?” replied Susie. “We are rich—too rich. Do + let us go. We shall be so happy, so delighted!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Scott allowed himself to be persuaded, and, at the beginning of + January, 1880, Susie wrote the following letter to her friend, Katie + Norton, who had lived in Paris for some years: + </p> + <p> + “Victory! It is decided! Richard has consented. I shall arrive in April, + and become a Frenchwoman again. You offered to undertake all the + preparations for our settlement in Paris. I am horribly presuming—I + accept! When I arrive in Paris, I should like to be able to enjoy Paris, + and not be obliged to lose my first month in running after upholsterers, + coach-builders, horse-dealers. I should like, on arriving at the railway + station, to find awaiting me my carriage, my coachman, my horses. That + very day I should like you to dine with me at my home. Hire or buy a + mansion, engage the servants, choose the horses, the carriages, the + liveries. I depend entirely upon you. As long as the liveries are blue, + that is the only point. This line is added at the request of Bettina. + </p> + <p> + “We shall bring only seven persons with us. Richard will have his valet, + Bettina and I two ladies’ maids; then there are the two governesses for + the children, and, besides these, two boys, Toby and Bobby, who ride to + perfection. We should never find in Paris such a perfect pair. + </p> + <p> + “Everything else, people and things, we shall leave in New York. No, not + quite everything; I had for gotten four little ponies, four little gems, + black as ink. We have not the heart to leave them; we shall drive them in + a phaeton; it is delightful. Both Bettina and I drive four-in-hand very + well. Ladies can drive four-in-hand in the Bois very early in the morning; + can’t they? Here it is quite possible. Above all, my dear Katie, do not + consider money. Be as extravagant as you like, that is all I ask.” The + same day that Mrs. Norton received this letter witnessed the failure of a + certain Garneville. He was a great speculator who had been on a false + scent. Stocks had fallen just when he had expected a rise. This Garneville + had, six weeks before, installed himself in a brand-new house, which had + no other fault than a too startling magnificence. Mrs. Norton signed an + agreement—100,000 francs a year, with the option of buying house and + furniture for 2,000,000 during the first year of possession. A famous + upholsterer undertook to correct and subdue the exaggerated splendor of a + loud and gorgeous luxury. That done, Mrs. Scott’s friend had the good + fortune to lay her hand on two of those eminent artists without whom the + routine of a great house can neither be established nor carried on. The + first, a chef of the first rank, who had just left an ancient mansion of + the Faubourg St. Germain, to his great regret, for he had aristocratic + inclinations. + </p> + <p> + “Never,” said he to Mrs. Norton, “never would I have left the service of + Madame la Duchesse if she had kept up her establishment on the same + footing as formerly; but Madame la Duchesse has four children—two + sons who have run through a good deal, and two daughters who will soon be + of an age to marry; they must have their dowries. Therefore, Madame la + Duchesse is obliged to draw in a little, and the house is no longer + important enough for me.” + </p> + <p> + This distinguished character, of course, made his conditions. Though + excessive, they did not alarm Mrs. Norton, who knew that he was a man of + the most serious merit; but he, before deciding, asked permission to + telegraph to New York. He wished to make certain inquiries. The reply was + favorable; he accepted. + </p> + <p> + The second great artist was a stud-groom of the rarest and highest + capacity, who was just about to retire after having made his fortune. He + consented, however, to organize the stables for Mrs. Scott. It was + thoroughly understood that he should have every liberty in purchasing the + horses, that he should wear no livery, that he should choose the coachmen, + the grooms, and everyone connected with the stables; that he should never + have less than fifteen horses in the stables, that no bargain should be + made with the coach-builder or saddler without his intervention, and that + he should never mount the box, except early in the morning, in plain + clothes, to give lessons in driving to the ladies and children, if + necessary. + </p> + <p> + The cook took possession of his stores, and the stud-groom of his stables. + Everything else was only a question of money, and with regard to this Mrs. + Norton made full use of her extensive powers. She acted in conformity with + the instructions she had received. In the short space of two months she + performed prodigies, and that is how, when, on the 15th of April, 1880, + Mr. Scott, Susie, and Bettina alighted from the mail train from Havre, at + half-past four in the afternoon, they found Mrs. Norton at the station of + St. Lazare, who said: + </p> + <p> + “Your caleche is there in the yard; behind it is a landau for the + children; and behind the landau is an omnibus for the servants. The three + carriages bear your monogram, are driven by your coachman, and drawn by + your horses. Your address is 24 Rue Murillo, and here is the menu of your + dinner to-night. You invited me two months ago; I accept, and will even + take the liberty of bringing a dozen friends with me. I shall furnish + everything, even the guests. But do not be alarmed; you know them all; + they are mutual friends, and this evening we shall be able to judge of the + merits of your cook.” + </p> + <p> + The first Parisian who had the honor and pleasure of paying homage to the + beauty of Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival was a little Marmiton fifteen years + old, who stood there in his white clothes, his wicker basket on his head, + at the moment when Mrs. Scott’s carriage, entangled in the multitude of + vehicles, slowly worked its way out of the station. The little cook + stopped short on the pavement, opened wide his eyes, looked at the two + sisters with amazement, and boldly cast full in their faces the single + word: + </p> + <p> + “Mazette!” + </p> + <p> + When Madame Recamier saw her first wrinkles, and first gray hairs, she + said to a friend: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! my dear, there are no more illusions left for me! From the day when I + saw that the little chimney-sweeps no longer turned round in the street to + look at me, I understood that all was over.” + </p> + <p> + The opinion of the confectioners’ boys is, in similar cases, of equal + value with the opinion of the little chimney-sweeps. All was not over for + Susie and Bettina; on the contrary, all was only beginning. + </p> + <p> + Five minutes later, Mrs. Scott’s carriage was ascending the Boulevard + Haussmann to the slow and measured trot of a pair of admirable horses. + Paris counted two Parisians the more. + </p> + <p> + The success of Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival was immediate, decisive, like + a flash of lightning. The beauties of Paris are not classed and catalogued + like the beauties of London; they do not publish their portraits in the + illustrated papers, or allow their photographs to be sold at the + stationers. However, there is always a little staff, consisting of a score + of women, who represent the grace, and charm, and beauty of Paris, which + women, after ten or twelve years’ service, pass into the reserve, just + like the old generals. Susie and Bettina immediately became part of this + little staff. It was an affair of four-and-twenty hours—of less than + four-and-twenty hours, for all passed between eight in the morning and + midnight, the day after their arrival in Paris. + </p> + <p> + Imagine a sort of little ‘feerie’, in three acts, of which the success + increases from tableau to tableau: + </p> + <p> + 1st. A ride at ten in the morning in the Bois, with the two marvellous + grooms imported from America. + </p> + <p> + 2d. A walk at six o’clock in the Allee des Acacias. + </p> + <p> + 3d. An appearance at the opera at ten in the evening in Mrs. Norton’s box. + </p> + <p> + The two novelties were immediately remarked, and appreciated as they + deserved to be, by the thirty or forty persons who constitute a sort of + mysterious tribunal, and who, in the name of all Paris, pass sentence + beyond appeal. These thirty or forty persons have, from time to time, the + fancy to declare “delicious” some woman who is manifestly ugly. That is + enough; she is “delicious” from that moment. + </p> + <p> + The beauty of the two sisters was unquestionable. In the morning, it was + their grace, their elegance, their distinction that attracted universal + admiration; in the afternoon, it was declared that their walk had the + freedom and ease of two young goddesses; in the evening, there was but one + cry of rapture at the ideal perfection of their shoulders. From that + moment, all Paris had for the two sisters the eyes of the little + pastry-cook of the Rue d’Amsterdam; all Paris repeated his ‘Mazette’, + though naturally with the variations and developments imposed by the + usages of the world. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Scott’s drawing-room immediately became the fashion. The habitues of + three or four great American houses transferred themselves to the Scotts, + who had three hundred persons at their first Wednesday. Their circle + increased; there was a little of everything to be found in their set—Americans, + Spaniards, Italians, Hungarians, Russians, and even Parisians. + </p> + <p> + When she had related her history to the Abbe Constantin, Mrs. Scott had + not told all—one never does tell all. In a word, she was a coquette. + Mr. Scott had the most perfect confidence in his wife, and left her entire + liberty. He appeared very little; he was an honorable man, who felt a + vague embarrassment at having made such a marriage, at having married so + much money. + </p> + <p> + Having a taste for business, he had great pleasure in devoting himself + entirely to the administering of the two immense fortunes which were in + his hands, in continually increasing them, and in saying every year to his + wife and sister in-law: + </p> + <p> + “You are still richer than you were last year!” + </p> + <p> + Not content with watching with much prudence and ability over the + interests which he had left in America, he launched in France into large + speculations, and was as successful in Paris as he had been in New York. + In order to make money, the first thing is to have no need of it. + </p> + <p> + They made love to Mrs. Scott to an enormous extent; they made love to her + in French, in Italian, in English, in Spanish; for she knew those four + languages, and there is one advantage that foreigners have over our poor + Parisians, who usually know only their mother tongue, and have not the + resource of international passions. + </p> + <p> + Naturally, Mrs. Scott did not drive her adorers from her presence. She had + ten, twenty, thirty at a time. + </p> + <p> + No one could boast of any preference; to all she opposed the same amiable, + laughing, joyous resistance. It was clear to all that the game amused her, + and that she did not for a moment take it seriously. Mr. Scott never felt + a moment’s anxiety, and he was perfectly right. More, he enjoyed his + wife’s successes; he was happy in seeing her happy. He loved her dearly—a + little more than she loved him. She loved him very much, and that was all. + There is a great difference between dearly and very much when these two + adverbs are placed after the verb to love. + </p> + <p> + As to Bettina, around her was a maddening whirl, an orgy of adulation. + Such fortune! Such beauty! Miss Percival arrived in Paris on the 15th of + April; a fortnight had not passed before the offers of marriage began to + pour upon her. In the course of that first year, she might, had she wished + it, have been married thirty-four times, and to what a variety of suitors! + </p> + <p> + They asked her hand for a young exile, who, under certain circumstances, + might be called to ascend a throne—a very small one, it is true, but + a throne nevertheless. + </p> + <p> + They asked her hand for a young duke, who would make a great figure at + Court when France—as was inevitable—should recognize her + errors, and bow down before her legitimate masters. + </p> + <p> + They asked her hand for a young prince, who would have a place on the + steps of the throne when France—as was inevitable—should again + knit together the chain of the Napoleonic traditions. + </p> + <p> + They asked her hand for a young Republican deputy, who had just made a + most brilliant debut in the Chamber, and for whom the future reserved the + most splendid destiny, for the Republic was now established in France on + the most indestructible basis. + </p> + <p> + They asked her hand for a young Spaniard of the purest lineage, and she + was given to understand that the ‘contrat’ would be signed in the palace + of a queen, who does not live far from the Arc de Triomphe. Besides, one + can find her address in the ‘Almanach Bottin’, for at the present day, + there are queens who have their address in Bottin between an attorney and + a druggist; it is only the kings of France who no longer live in France. + </p> + <p> + They asked her hand for the son of a peer of England, and for the son of a + member of the highest Viennese aristocracy; for the son of a Parisian + banker, and for the son of a Russian ambassador; for a Hungarian count, + and for an Italian prince; and also for various excellent young men who + were nothing and had nothing—neither name nor fortune; but Bettina + had granted them a waltz, and, believing themselves irresistible, they + hoped that they had caused a flutter of that little heart. + </p> + <p> + But up to the present moment nothing had touched that little heart, and + the reply had been the same to all “No! no!” again “No!” always “No!” + </p> + <p> + Some days after that performance of Aida, the two sisters had a rather + long conversation on this great, this eternal question of marriage. A + certain name had been pronounced by Mrs. Scott which had provoked on the + part of Miss Percival the most decided and most energetic refusal, and + Susie had laughingly said to her sister: + </p> + <p> + “But, Bettina, you will be obliged to end by marrying.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, certainly, but I should be so sorry to marry without love. It seems + to me that before I could resolve to do such a thing I must be in danger + of dying an old maid, and I am not yet that.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us wait, let us wait.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us wait. But among all these lovers whom you have been dragging after + you for the last year, there have been some very nice, very amiable, and + it is really a little strange if none of them—” + </p> + <p> + “None, my Susie, none, absolutely none. Why should I not tell you the + truth? Is it their fault? Have they gone unskilfully to work? Could they, + in managing better, have found the way to my heart? or is the fault in me? + Is it perhaps, that the way to my heart is a steep, rocky, inaccessible + way, by which no one will ever pass? Am I a horrid little creature, and, + cold, and condemned never to love?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not think so.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither do I, but up to the present time that is my history. No, I have + never felt anything which resembled love. You are laughing, and I can + guess why. You are saying to yourself, ‘A little girl like that pretending + to know what love is!’ You are right; I do not know, but I have a pretty + good idea. To love—is it not to prefer to all in the world one + certain person?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; it is really that.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it not never to weary of seeing that person, or of hearing him? Is it + not to cease to live when he is not there, and to immediately begin to + revive when he reappears?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but this is romantic love.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that is the love of which I dream, and that is the love which does + not come—not at all till now; and yet that person preferred by me to + all and everything does exist. Do you know who it is?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I do not know; I do not know, but I have a little suspicion.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is you, my dearest, and it is perhaps you, naughty sister, who + makes me so insensible and cruel on this point. I love you too much; you + fill my heart; you have occupied it entirely; there is no room for any one + else. Prefer any one to you! Love any one more than you! That will never, + never be!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, it will.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no. Love differently, perhaps, but more—no. He must not count + upon that, this gentleman whom I expect, and who does not arrive.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not be afraid, my Betty, there is room in your heart for all whom you + should love—for your husband, for your children, and that without + your old sister losing anything. The heart is very little, but it is also + very large.” + </p> + <p> + Bettina tenderly embraced her sister; then, resting her head coaxingly on + Susie’s shoulder, she said: + </p> + <p> + “If, however, you are tired of keeping me with you, if you are in a hurry + to get rid of me, do you know what I will do? I will put the names of two + of these gentlemen in a basket, and draw lots. There are two who at the + last extremity would not be absolutely disagreeable.” + </p> + <p> + “Which two?” + </p> + <p> + “Guess.” + </p> + <p> + “Prince Romanelli.” + </p> + <p> + “For one! And the other?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur de Montessan.” + </p> + <p> + “Those are the two! It is just that. Those two would be acceptable, but + only acceptable, and that is not enough.” + </p> + <p> + This is why Bettina awaited with extreme impatience the day when she + should leave Paris, and take up their abode in Longueval. She was a little + tired of so much pleasure, so much success, so many offers of marriage. + The whirlpool of Parisian gayety had seized her on her arrival, and would + not let her go, not for one hour of halt or rest. She felt the need of + being given up to herself for a few days, to herself alone, to consult and + question herself at her leisure, in the complete solitude of the + country-in a word, to belong to herself again. + </p> + <p> + Was not Bettina all sprightly and joyous when, on the 14th of June, they + took the train for Longueval? As soon as she was alone in a coupe with her + sister: + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she cried, “how happy I am! Let us breathe a little, quite alone, + you and me, for a few days. The Nortons and Turners do not come till the + 25th, do they?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not till the 25th.” + </p> + <p> + “We will pass our lives riding or driving in the woods, in the fields. Ten + days of liberty! And during those ten days no more lovers, no more lovers! + And all those lovers, with what are they in love, with me or my money? + That is the mystery, the unfathomable mystery.” + </p> + <p> + The engine whistled; the train put itself slowly into motion. A wild idea + entered Bettina’s head. She leaned out of the window and cried, + accompanying her words with a little wave of the hand: + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, my lovers, good-by.” + </p> + <p> + Then she threw herself suddenly into a corner of the coupe with a hearty + burst of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Susie, Susie!” + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “A man with a red flag in his hand; he saw me, and he looked so + astonished.” + </p> + <p> + “You are so irrational!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is true, to have called out of the window like that, but not to + be happy at thinking that we are going to live alone, ‘en garcons’.” + </p> + <p> + “Alone! alone! Not exactly that. To begin with, we shall have two people + to dinner to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that is true. But those two people, I shall not be at all sorry to + see them again. Yes, I shall be well pleased to see the old Cure again, + but especially the young officer.” + </p> + <p> + “What! especially?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly; because what the lawyer from Souvigny told us the other day is + so touching, and what that great artilleryman did when he was quite little + was so good, so good, that this evening I shall seek for an opportunity of + telling him what I think of it, and I shall find one.” + </p> + <p> + Then Bettina, abruptly changing the course of the conversation, continued: + </p> + <p> + “Did they send the telegram yesterday to Edwards about the ponies?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yesterday before dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you will let me drive them up to the house. It will be such fun to go + through the town, and to drive up at full speed into the court in front of + the entrance. Tell me, will you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, certainly, you shall drive the ponies.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how nice of you, Susie!” + </p> + <p> + Edwards was the stud-groom. He had arrived at Longueval three days before. + He deigned to come himself—to meet Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival. He + brought the phaeton drawn by the four black ponies. He was waiting at the + station. The passage of the ponies through the principal street of the + town had made a sensation. The population rushed out of their houses, and + asked eagerly: + </p> + <p> + “What is it? What can it be?” + </p> + <p> + Some ventured the opinion: + </p> + <p> + “It is, perhaps, a travelling circus.” + </p> + <p> + But exclamations arose on all sides: + </p> + <p> + “You did not notice the style of it—the carriage and the harness + shining like gold, and the little horses with their white rosettes on each + side of the head.” + </p> + <p> + The crowd collected around the station, and those who were curious learned + that they were going to witness the arrival of the new owners of + Longueval. They were slightly disenchanted when the two sisters appeared, + very pretty, but in very simple travelling costumes. + </p> + <p> + These good people had almost expected the apparition of two princesses out + of fairy tales, clad in silk and brocade, sparkling with rubies and + diamonds. But they opened wide their eyes when they saw Bettina walk + slowly round the four ponies, caressing one after another lightly with her + hand, and examining all the details of the team with the air of a + connoisseur. + </p> + <p> + Having made her inspection, Bettina, without the least hurry, drew off her + long Swedish gloves, and replaced them by a pair of dog-skin which she + took from the pocket of the carriage apron. Then she slipped on to the box + in the place of Edwards, receiving from him the reins and whip with + extreme dexterity, without allowing the already excited horses to perceive + that they had changed hands. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Scott seated herself beside her sister. The ponies pranced, curveted, + and threatened to rear. + </p> + <p> + “Be very careful, miss,” said Edwards; “the ponies are very fresh to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not be afraid,” replied Bettina. “I know them.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Percival had a hand at once very firm, very light, and very just. She + held in the ponies for a few moments, forcing them to keep their own + places; then, waving the long thong of her whip round the leaders, she + started her little team at once, with incomparable skill, and left the + station with an air of triumph, in the midst of a long murmur of + astonishment and admiration. + </p> + <p> + The trot of the black ponies rang on the little oval paving-stones of + Souvigny. Bettina held them well together until she had left the town, but + as soon as she saw before her a clear mile and a half of highroad-almost + on a dead level-she let them gradually increase their speed, till they + went like the wind. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! how happy I am, Susie!” cried she; “and we shall trot and gallop all + alone on these roads. Susie, would you like to drive? It is such a delight + when one can let them go at full speed. They are so spirited and so + gentle. Come, take the reins.” + </p> + <p> + “No; keep them. It is a greater pleasure to me to see you happy.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, as to that, I am perfectly happy. I do like so much to drive + four-in-hand with plenty of space before me. At Paris, even in the + morning, I did not dare to any longer. They looked at me so, it annoyed + me. But here—no one! no one! no one!” + </p> + <p> + At the moment when Bettina, already a little intoxicated with the bracing + air and liberty, gave forth triumphantly these three exclamations, “No + one! no one! no one!” a rider appeared, walking his horse in the direction + of the carriage. It was Paul de Lavardens. He had been watching for more + than an hour for the pleasure of seeing the Americans pass. + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken,” said Susie to Bettina; “there is some one.” + </p> + <p> + “A peasant; they don’t count; they won’t ask me to marry them.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not a peasant at all. Look!” + </p> + <p> + Paul de Lavardens, while passing the carriage, made the two sisters a + highly correct bow, from which one at once scented the Parisian. + </p> + <p> + The ponies were going at such a rate that the meeting was over like a + flash of lightning. + </p> + <p> + Bettina cried: + </p> + <p> + “Who is that gentleman who has just bowed to us?” + </p> + <p> + “I had scarcely time to see, but I seemed to recognize him.” + </p> + <p> + “You recognized him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and I would wager that I have seen him at our house this winter.” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens! if it should be one of the thirty-four! Is all that going to + begin again?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. A LITTLE DINNER FOR FOUR + </h2> + <p> + That same day, at half-past seven, Jean went to fetch the Cure, and the + two walked together up to the house. During the last month a perfect army + of workmen had taken possession of Longueval; all the inns in the village + were making their fortunes. + </p> + <p> + Enormous furniture wagons brought cargoes of furniture and decorations + from Paris. Forty-eight hours before the arrival of Mrs. Scott, + Mademoiselle Marbeau, the postmistress, and Madame Lormier, the mayoress, + had wormed themselves into the castle, and the account they gave of the + interior turned every one’s head. The old furniture had disappeared, + banished to the attics; one moved among a perfect accumulation of wonders. + And the stables! and the coach-houses! A special train had brought from + Paris, under the high superintendence of Edwards, a dozen carriages—and + such carriages! Twenty horses—and such horses! + </p> + <p> + The Abbe Constantin thought that he knew what luxury was. Once a year he + dined with his bishop, Monseigneur Faubert, a rich and amiable prelate, + who entertained rather largely. The Cure, till now, had, thought that + there was nothing in the world more sumptuous than the Episcopal palace of + Souvigny, or the castles of Lavardens and Longueval. + </p> + <p> + He began to understand, from what he was told of the new splendors of + Longueval, that the luxury of the great houses of the present day must + surpass to a singular degree the sober and severe luxury of the great + houses of former times. + </p> + <p> + As soon as the Cure and Jean had entered the avenue in the park, which led + to the house: + </p> + <p> + “Look! Jean,” said the Cure; “what a change! All this part of the park + used to be quite neglected, and now all the paths are gravelled and raked. + I shall not be able to feel myself at home as I used to do: it will be too + grand. I shall not find again my old brown velvet easy-chair, in which I + so often fell asleep after dinner, and if I fall asleep this evening what + will become of me? You will think of it, Jean, and if you see that I begin + to forget myself, you will come behind me and pinch my arm gently, won’t + you? You promise me?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, certainly, I promise you.” + </p> + <p> + Jean paid but slight attention to the conversation of the Cure. He felt + extremely impatient to see Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival again, but this + impatience was mingled with very keen anxiety. Would he find them in the + great salon at Longueval the same as he had seen them in the little + dining-room at the vicarage? Perhaps, instead of those two women, so + perfectly simple and familiar, amusing themselves with this little + improvised dinner, and who, the very first day, had treated him with so + much grace and cordiality, would he find two pretty dolls-worldly, + elegant, cold, and correct? Would his first impression be effaced? Would + it disappear? or, on the contrary, would the impression in his heart + become still sweeter and deeper? + </p> + <p> + They ascended the six steps at the entrance, and were received in the hall + by two tall footmen with the most dignified and imposing air. This hall + had formerly been a vast, frigid apartment, with bare stone walls. These + walls were now covered with admirable tapestry, representing mythological + subjects. The Cure dared scarcely glance at this tapestry; it was enough + for him to perceive that the goddesses who wandered through these shades + wore costumes of antique simplicity. + </p> + <p> + One of the footmen opened wide the folding-doors of the salon. It was + there that one had generally found the old Marquise, on the right of the + high chimney-piece, and on the left had stood the brown velvet easy-chair. + </p> + <p> + No brown easy-chair now! That old relic of the Empire, which was the basis + of the arrangement of the salon, had been replaced by a marvellous + specimen of tapestry of the end of the last century. Then a crowd of + little easy-chairs, and ottomans of all forms and all colors, were + scattered here and there with an appearance of disorder which was the + perfection of art. + </p> + <p> + As soon as Mrs. Scott saw the Cure and Jean enter, she rose, and going to + meet them, said: + </p> + <p> + “How kind of you to come, Monsieur le Cure, and you, too, Monsieur Jean. + How pleased I am to see you, my first, my only friends down here!” + </p> + <p> + Jean breathed again. It was the same woman. + </p> + <p> + “Will you allow me,” added Mrs. Scott, “to introduce my children to you? + Harry and Bella, come here.” + </p> + <p> + Harry was a very pretty little boy of six, and Bella a very charming + little girl, five years old. They had their mother’s large, dark eyes, and + her golden hair. + </p> + <p> + After the Cure had kissed the two children, Harry, who was looking with + admiration at Jean’s uniform, said to his mother: + </p> + <p> + “And the soldier, mamma, must we kiss him, too?” + </p> + <p> + “If you like,” replied Mrs. Scott, “and if he will allow it.” + </p> + <p> + A moment after, the two children were installed upon Jean’s knees, and + overwhelming him with questions. + </p> + <p> + “Are you an officer?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am an officer.” + </p> + <p> + “What in?” + </p> + <p> + “In the artillery.” + </p> + <p> + “The artillery! Oh, you are one of the men who fire the cannon. Oh, how I + should like to be quite near when they fire the cannon!” + </p> + <p> + “Will you take us some day when they fire the cannon? Tell me, will you?” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, Mrs. Scott chatted with the Cure, and Jean, while replying to + the children’s questions, looked at Mrs. Scott. She wore a white muslin + frock, but the muslin disappeared under a complete avalanche of little + flounces of Valenciennes. The dress was cut out in front in a large + square, her arms were bare to the elbow, a large bouquet of red roses at + the opening of her dress, a red rose fixed in her hair, with a diamond + ‘agraffe’—nothing more. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Scott suddenly perceived that the children had taken entire + possession of Jean, and exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I beg your pardon. Harry, Bella!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, pray let them stay with me.” + </p> + <p> + “I am so sorry to keep you waiting for dinner; my sister is not down yet. + Oh! here she is!” + </p> + <p> + Bettina entered. The same frock of white muslin, the same delicate mass of + lace, the same red roses, the same grace, the same beauty, and the same + smiling, amiable, candid manner. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Monsieur le Cure? I am delighted to see you. Have you + pardoned my dreadful intrusion of the other day?” + </p> + <p> + Then, turning toward Jean and offering him her hand: + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Monsieur—Monsieur—Oh! I can not remember your + name, and yet we seem to be already old friends, Monsieur—” + </p> + <p> + “Jean Reynaud.” + </p> + <p> + “Jean Reynaud, that is it. How do you do, Monsieur Reynaud? I warn you + faithfully that when we really are old friends—that is to say, in + about a week—I shall call you Monsieur Jean. It is a pretty name, + Jean.” + </p> + <p> + Up to the moment when Bettina appeared Jean had said to himself: + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Scott is the prettier!” + </p> + <p> + When he felt Bettina’s little hand slip into his arm, and when she turned + toward him her delicious face, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Miss Percival is the prettier!” + </p> + <p> + But his perplexities gathered round him again when he was seated between + the two sisters. If he looked to the right, love threatened him from that + direction, and if he looked to the left, the danger removed immediately, + and passed to the left. + </p> + <p> + Conversation began, easy, animated, confidential. The two sisters were + charmed; they had already walked in the park; they promised themselves a + long ride in the forest tomorrow. Riding was their passion, their madness. + It was also Jean’s passion, so that after a quarter of an hour they begged + him to join them the next day. There was no one who knew the country round + better than he did; it was his native place. He should be so happy to do + the honors of it, and to show them numbers of delightful little spots + which, without him, they would never discover. + </p> + <p> + “Do you ride every day?” asked Bettina. + </p> + <p> + “Every day and sometimes twice. In the morning on duty, and in the evening + I am ride for my own pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “Early in the morning?” + </p> + <p> + “At half-past five.” + </p> + <p> + “At half-past five every morning?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, except Sunday.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you get up—” + </p> + <p> + “At half-past four.” + </p> + <p> + “And is it light?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, just now, broad daylight.” + </p> + <p> + “To get up at half-past four is admirable; we often finish our day just + when yours is beginning. And are you fond of your profession?” + </p> + <p> + “Very. It is an excellent thing to have one’s life plain before one, with + exact and definite duties.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” said Mrs. Scott, “not to be one’s own master—to be always + obliged to obey.” + </p> + <p> + “That is perhaps what suits me best; there is nothing easier than to obey, + and then to learn to obey is the only way of learning to command.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! since you say so, it must be true.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, no doubt,” added the Cure; “but he does not tell you that he is the + most distinguished officer in his regiment, that—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! pray do not.” + </p> + <p> + The Cure, in spite of the resistance of Jean, was about to launch into a + panegyric on his godson, when Bettina, interposing, said: + </p> + <p> + “It is unnecessary, Monsieur le Cure, do not say anything, we know already + all that you would tell us, we have been so indiscreet as to make + inquiries about Monsieur—oh, I was just going to say Monsieur Jean—about + Monsieur Reynaud. Well, the information we received was excellent!” + </p> + <p> + “I am curious to know,” said Jean. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing! nothing! you shall know nothing. I do not wish to make you + blush, and you would be obliged to blush.” + </p> + <p> + Then turning toward the Cure, “And about you, too, Monsieur l’Abbe, we + have had some information. It appears that you are a saint.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! as to that, it is perfectly true,” cried Jean. + </p> + <p> + It was the Cure this time who cut short the eloquence of Jean. Dinner was + almost over. The old priest had not got through this dinner without + experiencing many emotions. They had repeatedly presented to him + complicated and scientific constructions upon which he had only ventured + with a trembling hand. He was afraid of seeing the whole crumble beneath + his touch; the trembling castles of jelly, the pyramids of truffles, the + fortresses of cream, the bastions of pastry, the rocks of ice. Otherwise + the Abbe Constantin dined with an excellent appetite, and did not recoil + before two or three glasses of champagne. He was no foe to good cheer; + perfection is not of this world; and if gormandizing were, as they say, a + cardinal sin, how many good priests would be damned! + </p> + <p> + Coffee was served on the terrace in front of the house; in the distance + was heard the harsh voice of the old village clock striking nine. Woods + and fields were slumbering; the avenues in the park showed only as long, + undulating, and undecided lines. The moon slowly rose over the tops of the + great trees. + </p> + <p> + Bettina took a box of cigars from the table. “Do you smoke?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Miss Percival.” + </p> + <p> + “Take one, Monsieur Jean. It can’t be helped. I have said it. Take one—but + no, listen to me first.” + </p> + <p> + And speaking in a low voice, while offering him the box of cigars: + </p> + <p> + “It is getting dark, now you may blush at your ease. I will tell you what + I did not say at dinner. An old lawyer in Souvigny, who was your guardian, + came to see my sister in Paris, about the payment for the place; he told + us what you did after your father’s death, when you were only a child, + what you did for that poor mother, and for that poor young girl. Both my + sister and I were much touched by it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” continued Mrs. Scott, “and that is why we have received you to-day + with so much pleasure. We should not have given such a reception to every + one, of that you may be sure. Well, now take your cigar, my sister is + waiting.” + </p> + <p> + Jean could not find a word in reply. Bettina stood there with the box of + cigars in her two hands, her eyes fixed frankly on the countenance of + Jean. At the moment, she tasted a true and keen pleasure which may be + expressed by this phrase: + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me that I see before me a man of honor.” + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said Mrs. Scott, “let us sit here and enjoy this delicious + night; take your coffee, smoke—” + </p> + <p> + “And do not let us talk, Susie, do not let us talk. This great silence of + the country, after the great noise and bustle of Paris, is delightful! Let + us sit here without speaking; let us look at the sky, the moon, and the + stars.” + </p> + <p> + All four, with much pleasure, carried out this little programme. Susie and + Bettina, calm, reposeful, absolutely separated from their existence of + yesterday, already felt a tenderness for the place which had just received + them, and was going to keep them. Jean was less tranquil; the words of + Miss Percival had caused him profound emotion, his heart had not yet quite + regained its regular throb. + </p> + <p> + But the happiest of all was the Abbe Constantin. + </p> + <p> + This little episode which had caused Jean’s modesty such a rude, yet sweet + trial, had brought him exquisite joy, the Abbe bore his godson such + affection. The most tender father never loved more warmly the dearest of + his children. When the old Cure looked at the young officer, he often said + to himself: + </p> + <p> + “Heaven has been too kind; I am a priest, and I have a son!” + </p> + <p> + The Abbe sank into a very agreeable reverie; he felt himself at home, he + felt himself too much at home; by degrees his ideas became hazy and + confused, reverie became drowsiness, drowsiness became slumber, the + disaster was soon complete, irreparable; the Cure slept, and slept + profoundly. This marvellous dinner, and the two or three glasses of + champagne may have had something to do with the catastrophe. + </p> + <p> + Jean perceived nothing; he had forgotten the promise made to his + godfather. And why had he forgotten it? Because Mrs. Scott and Miss + Percival had thought proper to put their feet on the footstools, placed in + front of their great wicker garden-chairs filled with cushions; then they + had thrown themselves lazily back in their chairs, and their muslin skirts + had become raised a little, a very little, but yet enough to display four + little feet, the lines of which showed very distinctly and clearly beneath + two pretty clouds of white lace. Jean looked at these little feet, and + asked himself this question: + </p> + <p> + “Which are the smaller?” + </p> + <p> + While he was trying to solve this problem, Bettina, all at once, said to + him in a low voice: + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Jean! Monsieur Jean!” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Percival?” + </p> + <p> + “Look at the Cure, he is asleep.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! it is my fault.” + </p> + <p> + “How your fault?” asked Mrs. Scott, also in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; my godfather rises at daybreak, and goes to bed very early; he told + me to be sure and prevent his falling asleep; when Madame de Longueval was + here he very often had a nap after dinner. You have shown him so much + kindness that he has fallen back into his old habits.” + </p> + <p> + “And he is perfectly right,” said Bettina, “do not make a noise, do not + wake him.” + </p> + <p> + “You are too good, Miss Percival, but the air is getting a little fresh.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that is true, he might catch cold. Stay, I will go and fetch a wrap + for him.” + </p> + <p> + “I think, Miss Percival, it would be better to try and wake him skilfully, + so that he should not suspect that you had seen him asleep.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me do it,” said Bettina. “Susie, let us sing together, very softly at + first, then we will raise our voices little by little, let us sing.” + </p> + <p> + “Willingly, but what shall we sing?” + </p> + <p> + “Let us sing, ‘Quelque chose d’enfantin,’ the words are suitable.” + </p> + <p> + Susie and Bettina began to sing: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + If I had but two little wings, + And were a little feathery bird, +</pre> + <p> + Their sweet and penetrating voices had an exquisite sonority in that + profound silence. The Abbe heard nothing, did not move. Charmed with this + little concert, Jean said to himself: + </p> + <p> + “Heaven grant that my godfather may not wake too soon!” + </p> + <p> + The voices became clearer and louder: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + But in my sleep to you I fly, + I’m always with you in my sleep. +</pre> + <p> + Yet the Abbe did not stir. + </p> + <p> + “How he sleeps,” said Susie, “it is a crime to wake him.” + </p> + <p> + “But we must; louder, Susie, louder.” + </p> + <p> + Susie and Bettina both gave free scope to the power of their voices. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids, + So I love to wake ere break of day. +</pre> + <p> + The Cure woke with a start. After a short moment of anxiety he breathed + again. Evidently no one had noticed that he had been asleep. He collected + himself, stretched himself prudently, slowly, he was saved! + </p> + <p> + A quarter of an hour later the two sisters accompanied the Cure and Jean + to the little gate of the park, which opened into the village a few yards + from the vicarage; they had nearly reached the gate when Bettina said all + at once to Jean: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! all this time I have had a question to ask you. This morning when we + arrived, we met on the way a slight young man, with a fair mustache, he + was riding a black horse, and bowed to us as we passed.” + </p> + <p> + “It was Paul de Lavardens, one of my friends; he has already had the honor + of being introduced to you, but rather vaguely, and his ambition is to be + presented again.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you shall bring him one of these days,” said Mrs. Scott. + </p> + <p> + “After the 25th!” cried Bettina. “Not before! not before! No one till + then; till then we will see no one but you, Monsieur Jean. But you, it is + very extraordinary, and I don’t quite know how it has happened, you don’t + seem anybody to us. The compliment is perhaps not very well turned, but do + not make a mistake, it is a compliment. I intended to be excessively + amiable in speaking to you thus.” + </p> + <p> + “And so you are, Miss Percival.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the better if I have been so fortunate as to make myself + understood. Good-by, Monsieur Jean—till tomorrow!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival returned slowly toward the castle. + </p> + <p> + “And now, Susie,” said Bettina, “scold me well, I expect it, I have + deserved it.” + </p> + <p> + “Scold you! Why?” + </p> + <p> + “You are going to say, I am sure, that I have been too familiar with that + young man.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I shall not say that. From the first day that young man has made the + most favorable impression upon me; he inspires me with perfect + confidence.” + </p> + <p> + “And so he does me.” + </p> + <p> + “I am persuaded that it would be well for us both to try to make a friend + of him.” + </p> + <p> + “With all my heart, as far as I am concerned, so much the more as I have + seen many young men since we have lived in France. Oh! yes, I have, + indeed! Well! this is the first, positively the first, in whose eyes I + have not clearly read, ‘Oh, how glad I should be to marry the millions of + that little person!’ That was written in the eyes of all the others, but + not in his eyes. Now, here we are at home again. Good-night, Susie—to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Scott went to see and kiss her sleeping children. + </p> + <p> + Bettina remained long, leaning on the balustrade of her balcony. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” said she, “that I am going to be very fond of this + place.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK 3. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. CONFIDENCES + </h2> + <p> + The next morning, on returning from drill, Jean found Paul de Lavardens + waiting for him at the barracks; he scarcely allowed him time to dismount, + and the moment he had him alone: + </p> + <p> + “Quick,” said he, “describe your dinner-party of yesterday. I saw them + myself in the morning; the little one was driving four ponies, and with an + amount of audacity! I bowed to them; did they mention me? Did they + recognize me? When will you take me to Longueval? Answer me.” + </p> + <p> + “Answer? Yes. But which question first?” + </p> + <p> + “The last.” + </p> + <p> + “When shall I take you to Longueval?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, in ten days; they don’t want to see any one just now.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are not going back to Longueval for ten days?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I shall go back to-day at four o’clock. But I don’t count, you know. + Jean Reynaud, the Cure’s godson. That is why I have penetrated so easily + into the confidence of these two charming women. I have presented myself + under the patronage and with the guarantee of the Church. And then they + have discovered that I could render them little services. I know the + country very well, and they will make use of me as a guide. In a word, I + am nobody; while you, Count Paul de Lavardens, you are somebody; so fear + nothing, your turn will come with the fetes and balls. Then you will be + resplendent in all your glory, and I shall return very humbly into my + obscurity.” + </p> + <p> + “You may laugh at me as much as you like; it is none the less true that + during those ten days you will steal a march upon me—upon me!” + </p> + <p> + “How upon you?” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Jean, do you want to make me believe that you are not already in + love with one of these two women? Is it possible? So much beauty, so much + luxury. Luxury to that degree upsets me. Those black ponies with their + white rosettes! I dreamed of them last night, and that little-Bettina, is + it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Bettina.” + </p> + <p> + “Bettina—Countess Bettina de Lavardens! Doesn’t that sound well + enough! and what a perfect husband she would have in me! To be the husband + of a woman possessing boundless wealth, that is my destiny. It is not so + easy as one may suppose. I have already run through something, and—if + my mother had not stopped me! but I am quite ready to begin again. Oh, how + happy that girl would be with me! I would create around her the existence + of a fairy queen. In all her luxury she would feel the taste, the art, and + the skill of her husband. I would pass my life in adoring her, in + displaying her beauty, in petting her, in bearing her triumphant through + the world. I would study her beauty in order to give it the frame that + best suited it. ‘If he were not there,’ she would say, ‘I should not be so + beautiful, so dazzling.’ I should know not only how to love her, but how + to amuse her. She would have something for her money, she would have love + and pleasure. Come, Jean, do a good action, take me to Mrs. Scott’s + to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot, I assure you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, in ten days; but I give you fair notice, I shall install + myself at Longueval, and shall not move. In the first place it would + please my mother; she is still a little prejudiced against the Americans. + She says that she shall arrange not to see them, but I know my mother. + Some day, when I shall go home in the evening and tell her: ‘Mother, I + have won the-heart of a charming little person who is burdened with a + capital of twenty millions—they exaggerate when they talk of + hundreds of millions. You know these are the correct figures, and they are + enough for me. That evening, then, my mother will be delighted, because, + in her heart, what is it she desires for me? What all good mothers desire + for their sons—a good marriage, or a discreet liaison with some one + in society. At Longueval I find these two essentials, and I will + accommodate myself very willingly to either. You will have the kindness to + warn me in ten days—you will let me know which of the two you + abandon to me, Mrs. Scott or Miss Percival?” + </p> + <p> + “You are mad, you are quite mad! I do not, I never shall think—” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Jean. You are wisdom personified; you may say and do as you like, + but remember what I say to you, Jean, you will fall in love in that + house.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not believe it,” replied Jean, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “But I am absolutely sure of it. Good-by. I leave you to your duties.” + </p> + <p> + That morning Jean was perfectly sincere. He had slept very well the + previous night; the second interview with the two sisters had, as if by + enchantment, dissipated the slight trouble which had agitated his soul + after the first meeting. He prepared to meet them again with much + pleasure, but also with much tranquillity; there was too much money in + that house to permit the love of a poor devil like Jean to find place + honestly there. + </p> + <p> + Friendship was another affair; with all his heart he wished, and with all + his strength he sought, to establish himself peacefully in the esteem and + regard of the sisters. He would try not to remark too much the beauty of + Susie and Bettina; he would try not to forget himself as he had done the + previous evening, in the contemplation of the four little feet resting on + their footstools. They had said, very frankly, very cordially, to him: + “You shall be our friend.” That was all he desired—to be their + friend—and that he would be. + </p> + <p> + During the ten days that followed, all conduced to the success of this + enterprise. Susie, Bettina, the Cure, and Jean led the same life in the + closest and most cordial intimacy. + </p> + <p> + Jean did not seek to analyze his feelings. He felt for these two women an + equal affection; he was perfectly happy, perfectly tranquil. Then he was + not in love, for love and tranquillity seldom dwell at peace in the same + heart. + </p> + <p> + Jean, however, saw approach, with a little anxiety and sadness, the day + which would bring to Longueval the Turners, and the Nortons, and the whole + force of the American colony. The day came too soon. + </p> + <p> + On Friday, the 24th of June, at four o’clock, Jean arrived at the castle. + Bettina received him alone, looking quite vexed. + </p> + <p> + “How annoying it is,” said she, “my sister is not well; a little headache, + nothing of consequence, it will be gone by tomorrow; but I dare not ride + with you alone. In America I might; but here, it would not do, would it?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” replied Jean. + </p> + <p> + “I must send you back, and I am so sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “And so am I—I am very sorry to be obliged to go, and to lose this + last day, which I had hoped to pass with you. However, since it must be, I + will come tomorrow to inquire after your sister.” + </p> + <p> + “She will see you herself, to-morrow; I repeat it is nothing serious. But + do not run away in such a hurry, pray; will you not spare me a little + quarter of an hour’s conversation? I want to speak to you; sit down there, + and now listen to me well. My sister and I had intended this evening, + after dinner, to blockade you into a little corner of the drawing-room, + and then she meant to tell you what I am going to try to say for us both.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am a little nervous. Do not laugh; it is a very serious matter. We + wish to thank you for having been, ever since our arrival here, so good to + us both.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Miss Percival, pray, it is I who—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do not interrupt me, you will quite confuse me. I do not know how to + get through with it. I maintain, besides, that the thanks are due from us, + not from you. We arrived here two strangers. We have been fortunate enough + immediately to find friends. Yes, friends. You have taken us by the hand, + you have led us to our farmers, to our keepers; while your godfather took + us to his poor—and everywhere you were so much beloved that from + their confidence in you, they began, on your recommendation, to like us a + little. You are adored about here; do you know that?” + </p> + <p> + “I was born here—all these good people have known me from my + infancy, and are grateful to me for what my grandfather and father did for + them; and then I am of their race, the race of the peasants; my + great-grandfather was a laborer at Bargecourt, a village two miles from + here.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! oh! you appear very proud of that!” + </p> + <p> + “Neither proud nor ashamed.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, you made a little movement of pride. Well, I can tell + you that my mother’s great-grandfather was a farmer in Brittany. He went + to Canada at the end of the last century, when Canada was still French. + And you love very much this place where you were born?” + </p> + <p> + “Very much. Perhaps I shall soon be obliged to leave it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “When I get promotion, I shall have to exchange into another regiment, and + I shall wander from garrison to garrison; but certainly, when I am an old + commandant or old colonel, on half-pay, I shall come back, and live and + die here, in the little house that was my father’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Always quite alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Why quite alone? I certainly hope not.” + </p> + <p> + “You intend to marry?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “You are trying to marry?” + </p> + <p> + “No; one may think of marrying, but one ought not to try to marry.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet there are people who do try. Come, I can answer for that, and you + even; people have wished to marry you.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know that?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I know all your little affairs so well; you are what they call a good + match, and I repeat it, they have wished to marry you.” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you that?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le Cure.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he was very wrong,” said Jean, with a certain sharpness. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, he was not wrong. If any one has been to blame it is I. I soon + discovered that your godfather was never so happy as when he was speaking + of you. So when I was alone with him during our walks, to please him I + talked of you, and he related your history to me. You are well off; you + are very well off; from Government you receive every month two hundred and + thirteen francs and some centimes; am I correct?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Jean, deciding to bear with a good grace his share in the + Cure’s indiscretions. + </p> + <p> + “You have eight thousand francs’ income?” + </p> + <p> + “Nearly, not quite.” + </p> + <p> + “Add to that your house, which is worth thirty thousand francs. You are in + an excellent position, and people have asked your hand.” + </p> + <p> + “Asked my hand! No, no.” + </p> + <p> + “They have, they have, twice, and you have refused two very good + marriages, two very good fortunes, if you prefer it—it is the same + thing for so many people. Two hundred thousand francs in the one, three + hundred thousand in the other case. It appears that these fortunes are + enormous for the country! Yet you have refused! Tell me why.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it concerned two charming young girls.” + </p> + <p> + “That is understood. One always says that.” + </p> + <p> + “But whom I scarcely knew. They forced me—for I did resist—they + forced me to spend two or three evenings with them last winter.” + </p> + <p> + “And then?” + </p> + <p> + “Then—I don’t quite know how to explain it to you. I did not feel + the slightest touch of embarrassment, emotion, anxiety, or disturbance—” + </p> + <p> + “In fact,” said Bettina, resolutely, “not the least suspicion of love.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not the least, and I returned quite calmly to my bachelor den, for I + think it is better not to marry than to marry without love.” + </p> + <p> + “And I think so, too.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him, he looked at her, and suddenly, to the great surprise + of both, they found nothing more to say, nothing at all. + </p> + <p> + At this moment Harry and Bella rushed into the room, with cries of joy. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Jean! Are you there? Come and see our ponies!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Bettina, her voice a little uncertain, “Edwards has just come + back from Paris, and has brought two microscopic ponies for the children. + Let us go to see them, shall we?” + </p> + <p> + They went to see the ponies, which were indeed worthy to figure in the + stables of the King of Lilliput. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. ANOTHER MARTYR TO MILLIONS + </h2> + <p> + Three weeks have glided by; another day and Jean will be obliged to leave + with his regiment for the artillery practice. He will lead the life of a + soldier. Ten days’ march on the highroad going and returning, and ten days + in the camp at Cercottes in the forest of Orleans. The regiment will + return to Souvigny on the 10th of August. + </p> + <p> + Jean is no longer tranquil; Jean is no longer happy. He sees approach with + impatience, and at the same time with terror, the moment of his departure. + With impatience—for he suffers an absolute martyrdom, he longs to + escape from it; with terror—for to pass twenty days without seeing + her, without speaking to her, without her in a word—what will become + of him? Her! It is Bettina; he adores her! + </p> + <p> + Since when? Since the first day, since that meeting in the month of May in + the Cure’s garden. That is the truth; but Jean struggles against and + resists that truth. He believes that he has only loved Bettina since the + day when the two chatted gayly, amicably, in the little drawing-room. She + was sitting on the blue couch near the widow, and, while talking, amused + herself with repairing the disorder of the dress of a Japanese princess, + one of Bella’s dolls, which she had left on a chair, and which Bettina had + mechanically taken up. + </p> + <p> + Why had the fancy come to Miss Percival to talk to him of those two young + girls whom he might have married? The question of itself was not at all + embarrassing to him. He had replied that, if he had not then felt any + taste for marriage, it was because his interviews with these two girls had + not caused him any emotion or any agitation. He had smiled in speaking + thus, but a few minutes after he smiled no more. This emotion, this + agitation, he had suddenly learned to know them. Jean did not deceive + himself; he acknowledged the depth of the wound; it had penetrated to his + very heart’s core. + </p> + <p> + Jean, however, did not abandon himself to this emotion. He said to + himself: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is serious, very serious, but I shall recover from it.” + </p> + <p> + He sought an excuse for his madness; he laid the blame on circumstances. + For ten days this delightful girl had been too much with him, too much + with him alone! How could he resist such a temptation? He was intoxicated + with her charm, with her grace and beauty. But the next day a troop of + visitors would arrive at Longueval, and there would be an end of this + dangerous intimacy. He would have courage; he would keep at a distance; he + would lose himself in the crowd, would see Bettina less often and less + familiarly. To see her no more was a thought he could not support! He + wished to remain Bettina’s friend, since he could be nothing but her + friend; for there was another thought which scarcely entered the mind of + Jean. This thought did not appear extravagant to him; it appeared + monstrous. In the whole world there was not a more honorable man than + Jean, and he felt for Bettina’s money horror, positively horror. + </p> + <p> + From the 25th of June the crowd had been in possession of Longueval. Mrs. + Norton arrived with her son, Daniel Norton; and Mrs. Turner with her son, + Philip Turner. Both of them, the young Philip and the young Daniel, formed + a part of the famous brotherhood of the thirty-four. They were old + friends, Bettina had treated them as such, and had declared to them, with + perfect frankness, that they were losing their time. However, they were + not discouraged, and formed the centre of a little court which was always + very eager and assiduous around Bettina. + </p> + <p> + Paul de Lavardens had made his appearance on this scene, and had very + rapidly become everybody’s friend. He had received the brilliant and + complicated education of a young man destined for pleasure. As soon as it + was a question only of amusement, riding, croquet, lawn-tennis, polo, + dancing, charades, and theatricals, he was ready for everything. He + excelled in everything. His superiority was evident, unquestionable. Paul + became, in a short time, by general consent, the director and organizer of + the fetes at Longueval. + </p> + <p> + Bettina had not a moment of hesitation. Jean introduced Paul de Lavardens, + and the latter had scarcely concluded the customary little compliment when + Miss Percival, leaning toward her sister, whispered in her ear: + </p> + <p> + “The thirty-fifth!” + </p> + <p> + However, she received Paul very kindly, so kindly that for several days he + had the weakness to misunderstand her. He believed that it was his + personal graces which had obtained for him this very flattering and + cordial reception. It was a great mistake. Paul de Lavardens had been + introduced by Jean; he was the friend of Jean. In Bettina’s eyes, therein + lay all his merit. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Scott’s castle was open house; people were not invited for one + evening only, but for every evening, and Paul, with enthusiasm, came every + evening! His dream was at last realized; he had, found Paris at Longueval. + </p> + <p> + But Paul was neither blind nor a fool. No doubt he was, on Miss Percival’s + part, the object of very particular attention and favor. It pleased her to + talk long, very long, alone with him. But what was the eternal, the + inexhaustible subject of their conversations? Jean, again Jean, and always + Jean! + </p> + <p> + Paul was thoughtless, dissipated, frivolous, but he became in earnest when + Jean was in question; he knew how to appreciate him, he knew how to love + him. Nothing to him was sweeter, nothing was easier, than to say of the + friend of his childhood all the good that he thought of him, and as he saw + that Bettina listened with great pleasure, Paul gave free rein to his + eloquence. + </p> + <p> + Only—and he was quite right—Paul wished one evening to reap + the benefit of his chivalrous conduct. He had just been talking for a + quarter of an hour with Bettina. The conversation finished, he went to + look for Jean at the other end of the drawing-room, and said to him: + </p> + <p> + “You left the field open to me, and I have made a bold stroke for Miss + Percival.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you have no reason to be discontented with the result of the + enterprise. You are the best friends in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, certainly, pretty well, but not quite satisfactory. There is nothing + more amiable or more charming than Miss Percival, and really it is very + good of me to acknowledge it; for, between ourselves, she makes me play an + ungrateful and ridiculous role, a role which is quite unsuited to my age. + I am, you will admit, of the lover’s age, and not of that of the + confidant.” + </p> + <p> + “Of the confidant!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear fellow, of the confidant! That is my occupation in this + house. You were looking at us just now. Oh, I have very good eyes; you + were looking at us. Well, do you know what we were talking about? Of you, + my dear fellow, of you, of you again, of nothing but you. And it is the + same thing every evening; there is no end to the questions: + </p> + <p> + “‘You were brought up together? You took lessons together from the Abbe + Constantin?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Will he soon be Captain? And then?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Commandant.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘And then?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Colonel, etc., etc., etc.’ + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I can tell you, my friend Jean, if you liked, you might dream a very + delicious dream.” + </p> + <p> + Jean was annoyed, almost angry. Paul was much astonished at this sudden + attack of irritability. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter? Have I said anything—” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon; I was wrong. But how could you take such an absurd + idea into your head?” + </p> + <p> + “Absurd! I don’t see it. I have entertained the absurd idea on my own + account.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you—” + </p> + <p> + “Why ‘Ah! you?’ If I have had it you may have it; you are better worth it + than I am.” + </p> + <p> + “Paul, I entreat you!” + </p> + <p> + Jean’s discomfort was evident. + </p> + <p> + “We will not speak of it again; we will not speak of it again. What I + wanted to say, in short, is that Miss Percival perhaps thinks I am + agreeable; but as to considering me seriously, that little person will + never commit such a folly. I must fall back upon Mrs. Scott, but without + much confidence. You see, Jean, I shall amuse myself in this house, but I + shall make nothing out of it.” + </p> + <p> + Paul de Lavardens did fall back upon Mrs. Scott, but the next day was + surprised to stumble upon Jean, who had taken to placing himself very + regularly in Mrs. Scott’s particular circle, for like Bettina she had also + her little court. But what Jean sought there was a protection, a shelter, + a refuge. + </p> + <p> + The day of that memorable conversation on marriage without love, Bettina + had also, for the first time, felt suddenly awake in her that necessity of + loving which sleeps, but not very profoundly, in the hearts of all young + girls. The sensation had been the same, at the same moment, in the soul of + Bettina and the soul of Jean. He, terrified, had cast it violently from + him. She, on the contrary, had yielded, in all the simplicity of her + perfect innocence, to this flood of emotion and of tenderness. + </p> + <p> + She had waited for love. Could this be love? The man who was to be her + thought, her life, her soul—could this be he—this Jean? Why + not? She knew him better than she knew all those who, during the past + year, had haunted her for her fortune, and in what she knew of him there + was nothing to discourage the love of a good girl. Far from it! + </p> + <p> + Both of them did well; both of them were in the way of duty and of truth—she, + in yielding; he, in resisting; she, in not thinking for a moment of the + obscurity of Jean; he, in recoiling before her mountain of wealth as he + would have recoiled before a crime; she, in thinking that she had no right + to parley with love; he, in thinking he had no right to parley with honor. + </p> + <p> + This is why, in proportion as Bettina showed herself more tender, and + abandoned herself with more frankness to the first call of love—this + is why Jean became, day by day, more gloomy and more restless. He was not + only afraid of loving; he was afraid of being loved. + </p> + <p> + He ought to have remained away; he should not have come near her. He had + tried; he could not; the temptation was too strong; it carried him away; + so he came. She would come to him, her hands extended, a smile on her + lips, and her heart in her eyes. Everything in her said: + </p> + <p> + “Let us try to love each other, and if we can love, we will!” + </p> + <p> + Fear seized him. Those two hands which offered themselves to the pressure + of his hands, he hardly dared touch them. He tried to escape those eyes + which, tender and smiling, anxious and curious, tried to meet his eyes. He + trembled before the necessity of speaking to Bettina, before the necessity + of listening to her. + </p> + <p> + It was then that Jean took refuge with Mrs. Scott, and it was then that + Mrs. Scott gathered those uncertain, agitated, troubled words which were + not addressed to her, and which she took for herself, nevertheless. It + would have been difficult not to be mistaken. + </p> + <p> + For of these still vague and confused sentiments which agitated her, + Bettina had as yet said nothing. She guarded and caressed the secret of + her budding love, as a miser guards and caresses the first coins of his + treasure. The day when she should see clearly into her own heart; the day + that she should be sure that she loved—ah! she would speak that day, + and how happy she should be to tell all to Susie! + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Scott had ended by attributing to herself this melancholy of Jean, + which, day by day, took a more marked character. She was flattered by it—a + woman is never displeased at thinking herself beloved—and vexed at + the same time. She held Jean in great esteem, in great affection; but she + was greatly distressed at the thought that if he were sad and unhappy, it + was because of her. + </p> + <p> + Susie was, besides, conscious of her own innocence. With others she had + sometimes been coquettish, very coquettish. To torment them a little, was + that such a great crime? They had nothing to do, they were + good-for-nothing, it occupied them while it amused her. It helped them to + pass their time, and it helped her, too. But Susie had not to reproach + herself for having flirted with Jean. She recognized his merit and his + superiority; he was worth more than the others, he was a man to suffer + seriously, and that was what Mrs. Scott did not wish. Already, two or + three times, she had been on the point of speaking to him very seriously, + very affectionately, but she had reflected Jean was going away for three + weeks; on his return, if it were still necessary, she would read him a + lecture, and would act in such a manner that love should not come and + foolishly interfere in their friendship. + </p> + <p> + So Jean was to go the next day. Bettina had insisted that he should spend + this last day at Longueval, and dine at the house. Jean had refused, + alleging that he had much to do the night before his departure. + </p> + <p> + He arrived in the evening, about half-past ten; he came on foot. Several + times on the way he had been inclined to return. + </p> + <p> + “If I had courage enough,” he said to himself, “I would not see her again. + I shall leave to-morrow, and return no more to Souvigny while she is + there. My resolution is taken, and taken forever.” + </p> + <p> + But he continued his way, he would see her again—for the last time. + </p> + <p> + As soon as he entered the drawing-room, Bettina hastened to him. + </p> + <p> + “It is you at last! How late you are!” + </p> + <p> + “I have been very busy.” + </p> + <p> + “And you are going to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Early?” + </p> + <p> + “At five in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + “You will go by the road which runs by the wall of the park, and goes + through the village?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is the way we shall go.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so early in the morning? I would have gone out on the terrace to see + you pass, and to wish you good-by.” + </p> + <p> + Bettina detained for a moment Jean’s burning hand in hers. He drew it + mournfully away, with an effort. + </p> + <p> + “I must go and speak to your sister,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Directly, she has not seen you, there are a dozen persons round her. Come + and sit here a little while, near me.” + </p> + <p> + He was obliged to seat himself beside her. + </p> + <p> + “We are going away, too,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “You!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. An hour ago, we received a telegram from my brother-in-law, which + has caused us great joy. We did not expect him for a month, but he is + coming back in a fortnight. He will embark the day after to-morrow at New + York, on board the Labrador. We are going to meet him at Havre. We shall + also start the day after to-morrow; we are going to take the children, it + will do them a great deal of good to spend a few days at the seaside. How + pleased my brother-in-law will be to know you—he knows you already, + we have spoken of you in all our letters. I am sure you and Mr. Scott will + get on extremely well together, he is so good. How long shall you stay + away?” + </p> + <p> + “Three weeks.” + </p> + <p> + “Three weeks in a camp?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Miss Percival, in the camp of Cercottes.” + </p> + <p> + “In the middle of the forest of Orleans. I made your godfather explain all + about it to me this morning. Of course I am delighted to go to meet my + brother-in-law; but at the same time, I am a little sorry to leave here, + for I should have gone every morning to pay a little visit to Monsieur + l’Abbe. He would have given me news of you. Perhaps, in about ten days, + you will write to my sister—a little note of three or four lines—it + will not take much of your time—just to tell her how you are, and + that you do not forget us.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, as to forgetting you, as to losing the remembrance of your extreme + kindness, your goodness, never, Miss Percival, never!” + </p> + <p> + His voice trembled, he was afraid of his own emotion, he rose. + </p> + <p> + “I assure you, Miss Percival, I must go and speak to your sister. She is + looking at me. She must be astonished.” + </p> + <p> + He crossed the room, Bettina followed him with her eyes. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Norton had just placed herself at the piano to play a waltz for the + young people. + </p> + <p> + Paul de Lavardens approached Miss Percival. + </p> + <p> + “Will you do me the honor, Miss Percival?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe I have just promised this dance to Monsieur Jean,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if not to him, will you give it to me?” + </p> + <p> + “That is understood.” + </p> + <p> + Bettina walked toward Jean, who had seated himself near Mrs. Scott. + </p> + <p> + “I have just told a dreadful story,” said she. “Monsieur de Lavardens has + asked me for this dance, and I replied that I had promised it to you. You + would like it, wouldn’t you?” + </p> + <p> + To hold her in his arms, to breathe the perfume of her hair—Jean + felt his courage could not support this ordeal, he dared not accept. + </p> + <p> + “I regret extremely I can not, I am not well tonight; I persisted in + coming because I would not leave without wishing you good-by, but dance, + no, it is impossible!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Norton began the prelude of the waltz. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Paul, coming up quite joyful, “who is it to be, he or I?” + </p> + <p> + “You,” she said, sadly, without removing her eyes from Jean. + </p> + <p> + She was much disturbed, and replied without knowing well what she said. + She immediately regretted having accepted, she would have liked to stay + there, near him. But it was too late, Paul took her hand and led her away. + </p> + <p> + Jean rose; he looked at the two, Bettina and Paul, a haze floated before + his eyes, he suffered cruelly. + </p> + <p> + “There is only one thing I can do,” thought he, “profit by this waltz, and + go. To-morrow I will write a few lines to Mrs. Scott to excuse myself.” + </p> + <p> + He gained the door, he looked no more at Bettina; had he looked, he would + have stayed. + </p> + <p> + But Bettina looked at him; and all at once she said to Paul: + </p> + <p> + “Thank you very much, but I am a little tired, let us stop, please. You + will excuse me, will you not?” + </p> + <p> + Paul offered his arm. + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you,” said she. + </p> + <p> + The door was just closing, Jean was no longer there. Bettina ran across + the room. Paul remained alone, much surprised, understanding nothing of + what had passed. + </p> + <p> + Jean was already at the hall-door, when he heard some one call—“Monsieur + Jean! Monsieur Jean!” + </p> + <p> + He stopped and turned. She was near him. + </p> + <p> + “You are going without wishing me good-by?” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, I am very tired.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you must not walk home, the weather is threatening,” she extended + her hand out-of-doors, “it is raining already.” + </p> + <p> + “Come and have a cup of tea in the little drawing-room, and I will tell + them to drive you home,” and turning toward one of the footmen, “tell them + to send a carriage round directly.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Miss Percival, pray, the open air will revive me. I must walk, let me + go.” + </p> + <p> + “Go, then, but you have no greatcoat, take something to wrap yourself in.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall not be cold—while you with that open dress—I shall go + to oblige you to go in.” And without even offering his hand, he ran + quickly down the steps. + </p> + <p> + “If I touch her hand,” he thought, “I am lost, my secret will escape me.” + </p> + <p> + His secret! He did not know that Bettina read his heart like an open book. + </p> + <p> + When Jean had descended the steps, he hesitated one short moment, these + words were upon his lips: + </p> + <p> + “I love you, I adore you, and that is why I will see you no more!” + </p> + <p> + But he did not utter these words, he fled away and was soon lost in the + darkness. + </p> + <p> + Bettina remained there against the brilliant background made by the light + from the hall. Great drops of rain, driven by the wind, swept across her + bare shoulders and made her shiver; she took no notice, she distinctly + heard her heart beat. + </p> + <p> + “I knew very well that he loved me,” she thought, “but now I am very sure, + that I, too—oh! yes! I, too!—” + </p> + <p> + All at once, in one of the great mirrors in the hall door, she saw the + reflection of the two footmen who stood there motionless, near the oak + table in the hall. Bettina heard bursts of laughter and the strains of the + waltz; she stopped. She wished to be alone, completely alone, and + addressing one of the servants, she said: + </p> + <p> + “Go and tell your mistress that I am very tired, and have gone to my own + room.” + </p> + <p> + Annie, her maid, had fallen asleep, in an easy-chair. She sent her away. + She would undress herself. She let herself sink on a couch, she was + oppressed with delicious emotion. + </p> + <p> + The door of her room opened, it was Mrs. Scott. + </p> + <p> + “You are not well, Bettina?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Susie, is it you, my Susie? how nice of you to come. Sit here, close + to me, quite close to me.” + </p> + <p> + She hid herself like a child in the arms of her sister, caressing with her + burning brow Susie’s fresh shoulders. Then she suddenly burst into sobs, + great sobs, which stifled, suffocated her. + </p> + <p> + “Bettina, my darling, what is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, nothing! it is nothing, it is joy—joy!” + </p> + <p> + “Joy?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, wait—let me cry a little, it will do me so much good. But + do not be frightened, do not be frightened.” + </p> + <p> + Beneath her sister’s caress, Bettina grew calm, soothed. + </p> + <p> + “It is over, I am better now, and I can talk to you. It is about Jean.” + </p> + <p> + “Jean! You call him Jean?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I call him Jean. Have you not noticed for some time that he was dull + and looked quite melancholy?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have.” + </p> + <p> + “When he came, he went and posted himself near you, and stayed there, + silent, absorbed to such a degree, that for several days I asked myself—pardon + me for speaking to you with such frankness, it is my way, you know—I + asked myself if it were not you whom he loved, Susie; you are so charming, + it would have been so natural! But no, it was not you, it was I!” + </p> + <p> + “You?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I. Listen, he scarcely dared to look at me, he avoided me, he fled + from me, he was afraid of me, evidently afraid. Now, in justice, am I a + person to inspire fear? I am sure I am not!” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it was not I of whom he was afraid, it was my money, my horrid money! + This money which attracts all the others and tempts them so much, this + money terrifies him, drives him desperate, because he is not like the + others, because he—” + </p> + <p> + “My child, take care, perhaps you are mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, I am not mistaken! Just now, at the door, when he was going away, + he said some words to me. These words were nothing. But if you had seen + his distress in spite of all his efforts to control it! Susie, dear Susie, + by the affection which I bear you, and God knows how great is that + affection, this is my conviction, my absolute conviction—if, instead + of being Miss Percival, I had been a poor little girl without a penny Jean + would then have taken my hand, and have told me that he loved me, and if + he had spoken to me thus, do you know what I should have replied?” + </p> + <p> + “That you loved him, too?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and that is why I am so happy. With me it is a fixed idea that I + must adore the man who will be my husband. Well! I don’t say that I adore + Jean, no, not yet; but still it is beginning, Susie, and it is beginning + so sweetly.” + </p> + <p> + “Bettina, it really makes me uneasy to see you in this state of + excitement. I do not deny that Monsieur Reynaud is much attached to you—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, more than that, more than that!” + </p> + <p> + “Loves you, if you like; yes, you are right, you are quite right. He loves + you; and are you not worthy, my darling, of all the love that one can bear + you? As to Jean—it is progressing decidedly, here am I also calling + him Jean—well! you know what I think of him. I rank him very, very + high. But in spite of that, is he really a suitable husband for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if I love him.” + </p> + <p> + “I am trying to talk sensibly to you, and you, on the contrary—Understand + me, Bettina; I have an experience of the world which you can not have. + Since our arrival in Paris, we have been launched into a very brilliant, + very animated, very aristocratic society. You might have been already, if + you had liked, marchioness or princess.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but I did not like.” + </p> + <p> + “It would not matter to you to be called Madame Reynaud?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least, if I love him.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you return always to—” + </p> + <p> + “Because that is the true question. There is no other. Now I will be + sensible in my turn. This question—I grant that this is not quite + settled, and that I have, perhaps, allowed myself to be too easily + persuaded. You see how sensible I am. Jean is going away to-morrow, I + shall not see him again for three weeks. During these three weeks I shall + have ample time to question myself, to examine myself, in a word, to know + my own mind. Under my giddy manner, I am serious and thoughtful, you know + that?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I know it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I will make this petition to you, as I would have addressed it to + our mother had she been here. If, in three weeks, I say to you, ‘Susie, I + am certain that I love him,’ will you allow me to go to him, myself, quite + alone, and ask him if he will have me for his wife? That is what you did + with Richard. Tell me, Susie, will you allow me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I will allow you.” + </p> + <p> + Bettina embraced her sister, and murmured these words in her ear: + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, mamma.” + </p> + <p> + “Mamma, mamma! It was thus that you used to call me when you were a child, + when we were alone in the world together, when I used to undress you in + our poor room in New York, when I held you in my arms, when I laid you in + your little bed, when I sang you to sleep. And since then, Bettina, I have + had only one desire in the world, your happiness. That is why I beg you to + reflect well. Do not answer me, do not let us talk any more of that. I + wish to leave you very calm, very tranquil. You have sent away Annie, + would you like me to be your little mamma again tonight, to undress you, + and put you to bed as I used to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I should like it very much.” + </p> + <p> + “And when you are in bed, you promise me to be very good?” + </p> + <p> + “As good as an angel.” + </p> + <p> + “You will do your best to go to sleep?” + </p> + <p> + “My very best.” + </p> + <p> + “Very quietly, without thinking of anything?” + </p> + <p> + “Very quietly, without thinking of anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then.” + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes after, Bettina’s pretty head rested gently amid embroideries + and lace. Susie said to her sister: + </p> + <p> + “I am going down to those people who bore me dreadfully this evening. + Before going to my own room, I shall come back and see if you are asleep. + Do not speak. Go to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + She went away. Bettina remained alone; she tried to keep her word; she + endeavored to go to sleep, but only half-succeeded. She fell into a + half-slumber which left her floating between dream and reality. She had + promised to think of nothing, and yet she thought of him, always of him, + of nothing but him, vaguely, confusedly. + </p> + <p> + How long a time passed thus she could not tell. + </p> + <p> + All at once it seemed to her that some one was walking in her room; she + half-opened her eyes, and thought she recognized her sister. In a very + sleepy voice she said to her: + </p> + <p> + “You know I love him.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! go to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “I am asleep! I am asleep!” + </p> + <p> + At last she did fall sound asleep, less profoundly, however, than usual, + for about four o’clock in the morning she was suddenly awakened by a + noise, which, the night before, would not have disturbed her slumber. The + rain fell in torrents, and beat against her window. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it is raining!” she thought. “He will get wet.” + </p> + <p> + That was her first thought. She rose, crossed the room barefooted, + half-opened the shutters. The day had broke, gray and lowering; the clouds + were heavy with rain, the wind blew tempestuously, and drove the rain in + gusts before it. + </p> + <p> + Bettina did not go back to bed, she felt it would be quite impossible to + sleep again. She put on a dressing-gown, and remained at the window; she + watched the falling rain. Since he positively must go, she would have + liked the weather to be fine; she would have liked bright sunshine to have + cheered his first day’s march. + </p> + <p> + When she came to Longueval a month ago, Bettina did not know what this + meant. But she knew it now. A day’s march for the artillery is twenty or + thirty miles, with an hour’s halt for luncheon. It was the Abbe Constantin + who had taught her that; when going their rounds in the morning among the + poor, Bettina overwhelmed the Cure with questions on military affairs, and + particularly on the artillery. + </p> + <p> + Twenty or thirty miles under this pouring rain! Poor Jean! Bettina thought + of young Turner, young Norton, of Paul de Lavardens, who would sleep + calmly till ten in the morning, while Jean was exposed to this deluge. + </p> + <p> + Paul de Lavardens! + </p> + <p> + This name awoke in her a painful memory, the memory of that waltz the + evening before. To have danced like that, while Jean was so obviously in + trouble! That waltz took the proportions of a crime in her eyes; it was a + horrible thing that she had done. + </p> + <p> + And then, had she not been wanting in courage and frankness in that last + interview with Jean? He neither could nor dared say anything; but she + might have shown more tenderness, more expansiveness. Sad and suffering as + he was, she should never have allowed him to go back on foot. She ought to + have detained him at any price. Her imagination tormented and excited her; + Jean must have carried away with him the impression that she was a bad + little creature, heartless and pitiless. And in half-an-hour he was going + away, away for three weeks. Ah! if she could by any means—but there + is a way! The regiment must pass along the wall of the park, under the + terrace. + </p> + <p> + Bettina was seized with a wild desire to see Jean pass; he would + understand well, if he saw her at such an hour, that she had come to beg + his pardon for her cruelty of the previous evening. Yes, she would go! But + she had promised to Susie to be as good as an angel, and to do what she + was going to do, was that being as good as an angel? She would make up for + it by acknowledging all to Susie when she came in again, and Susie would + forgive her. + </p> + <p> + She would go! She had made up her mind. Only how should she dress herself? + She had nothing at hand but a muslin dressing-gown, little high-heeled + slippers, and blue satin shoes. She might wake her maid. Oh, never would + she dare to do that, and time pressed; a quarter to five! the regiment + would start at five o’clock. + </p> + <p> + She might, perhaps, manage with the muslin dressing-gown, and the satin + shoes; in the hall, she might find her hat, her little sabots which she + wore in the garden, and the large tartan cloak for driving in wet weather. + She half-opened her door with infinite precautions. Everything slept in + the house; she crept along the corridor, she descended the staircase. + </p> + <p> + If only the little sabots are there in their place; that is her great + anxiety. There they are! She slips them on over her satin shoes, she wraps + herself in her great mantle. + </p> + <p> + She hears that the rain has redoubled in violence. She notices one of + those large umbrellas which the footmen use on the box in wet weather; she + seizes it; she is ready; but when she is ready to go, she sees that the + hall-door is fastened by a great iron bar. She tries to raise it; but the + bolt holds fast, resists all her efforts, and the great clock in the hall + slowly strikes five. He is starting at that moment. + </p> + <p> + She will see him! she will see him! Her will is excited by these + obstacles. She makes a great effort; the bar yields, slips back in the + groove. But Bettina has made a long scratch on her hand, from which issues + a slender stream of blood. Bettina twists her handkerchief round her hand, + takes her great umbrella, turns the key in the lock; and opens the door. + </p> + <p> + At last she is out of the house! + </p> + <p> + The weather is frightful. The wind and the rain rage together. It takes + five or six minutes to reach the terrace which looks over the road. + Bettina darts forward courageously; her head bent, hidden under her + immense umbrella, she has taken a few steps. All at once, furious, mad, + blinding, a sudden squall bursts upon Bettina, buries her in her mantle, + drives her along, lifts her almost from the ground, turns the umbrella + violently inside out; that is nothing, the disaster is not yet complete. + </p> + <p> + Bettina has lost one of her little sabots; they were not practical sabots; + they were only pretty little things for fine weather, and at this moment, + when Bettina struggles against the tempest with her blue satin shoe half + buried in the wet gravel, at this moment the wind bears to her the distant + echo of a blast of trumpets. It is the regiment starting! + </p> + <p> + Bettina makes a desperate effort, abandons her umbrella, finds her little + sabot, fastens it on as well as she can, and starts off running, with a + deluge descending on her head. + </p> + <p> + At last, she is in the wood, the trees protect her a little. Another + blast, nearer this time. Bettina fancies she hears the rolling of the + gun-carriages. She makes a last effort, there is the terrace, she is there + just in time. + </p> + <p> + Twenty yards off she perceived the white horses of the trumpeters, and + along the road caught glimpses, vaguely appearing through the fog, of the + long line of guns and wagons. + </p> + <p> + She sheltered herself under one of the old limes which bordered the + terrace. She watched, she waited. He is there among that confused mass of + riders. Will she be able to recognize him? And he, will he see her? Will + any chance make him turn his head that way? + </p> + <p> + Bettina knows that he is Lieutenant in the second battery of his regiment; + she knows that a battery is composed of six guns, and six ammunition + wagons. Of course it is the Abbe Constantin who has taught her that. Thus + she must allow the first battery to pass, that is to say, count six guns, + six wagons, and then—he will be there. + </p> + <p> + There he is at last, wrapped in his great cloak, and it is he who sees, + who recognizes her first. A few moments before, he had recalled to his + mind a long walk which he had taken with her one evening, when night was + falling, on that terrace. He raised his eyes, and the very spot where he + remembered having seen her, was the spot where he found her again. He + bowed, and, bareheaded in the rain, turning round in his saddle, as long + as he could see her, he looked at her. He said again to himself what he + had said the previous evening: + </p> + <p> + “It is for the last time.” + </p> + <p> + With a charming gesture of both hands, she returned his farewell, and this + gesture, repeated many times, brought her hands so near, so near her lips, + that one might have fancied— + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she thought, “if, after that, he does not understand that I love + him, and does not forgive me my money!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. THE REWARD OF TENDER COURAGE + </h2> + <p> + It was the 20th of August, the day which should bring Jean back to + Longueval. + </p> + <p> + Bettina awoke very early, rose, and ran immediately to the window. The + evening before, the sky had looked threatening, heavy with clouds. Bettina + slept but little, and all night prayed that it might not rain the next + day. + </p> + <p> + In the early morning a dense fog enveloped the park of Longueval, the + trees of which were hidden from view, as by a curtain. But gradually the + rays of the sun dissipated the mist, the trees became vaguely discernible + through the vapor; then, suddenly, the sun shone brilliantly, flooding + with light the park, and the fields beyond; and the lake, where the black + swans were disporting themselves in the radiant light, appeared as bright + as a sheet of polished metal. + </p> + <p> + The weather was going to be beautiful. Bettina was a little superstitious. + The sunshine gives her good hope and good courage. “The day begins well, + so it will finish well.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Scott had come home several days before. Susie, Betting, and the + children waited on the quay at Havre for the arrival of his steamer. + </p> + <p> + They exchanged many tender embraces; then, Richard, addressing his + sister-in-law, said, laughingly: + </p> + <p> + “Well, when is the wedding to be?” + </p> + <p> + “What wedding?” + </p> + <p> + “Yours.” + </p> + <p> + “My wedding?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “And to whom am I about to be married?” + </p> + <p> + “To Monsieur Jean Reynaud.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Susie has written to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Susie? Not at all. Susie has not said a word. It is you, Bettina, who + have written to me. For the last two months, all your letters have been + occupied with this young officer.” + </p> + <p> + “All my letters?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and you have written to me oftener and more at length than usual. I + do not complain of that, but I do ask when you are going to present me + with a brother-in-law?” + </p> + <p> + He spoke jestingly, but Bettina replied: + </p> + <p> + “Soon, I hope.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Scott perceived that the affair was serious. When returning in the + carriage, Bettina asked Mr. Scott if he had kept her letters. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + She read them again. It was indeed only with “Jean” that all these letters + have been filled. She found therein related, down to the most trifling + details, their first meeting. There was the portrait of Jean in the + vicarage garden, with his straw hat and his earthenware salad-dish—and + then it was again Monsieur Jean, always Monsieur Jean. She discovered that + she had loved him much longer than she had suspected. At last it was the + 10th of August. Luncheon was just over, and Harry and Bella were + impatient. They knew that between one and two o’clock the regiment must + pass through the village. They had been promised that they should be taken + to see the soldiers pass, and for them, as well as for Bettina, the return + of the 9th Artillery was a great event. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Betty,” said Bella, “Aunt Betty, come with us.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, do come,” said Harry, “do come, we shall see our friend Jean, on his + big gray horse.” + </p> + <p> + Bettina resisted, refused—and yet how great was the temptation. But + no, she would not go, she would not see Jean again till the evening, when + she would give him that decisive explanation for which she had been + preparing herself for the last three weeks. The children went away with + their governesses. Bettina, Susie, and Richard went to sit in the park, + quite close to the castle, and as soon as they were established there: + </p> + <p> + “Susie,” said Bettina, “I am going to remind you today of your promise; + you remember what passed between us the night of his departure; we settled + that if, on the day of his return, I could say to you, ‘Susie, I am sure + that I love him,’ we settled that you would allow me to speak frankly to + him, and ask him if he would have me for his wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did promise you. But are you very sure?” + </p> + <p> + “Absolutely—and now the time has come to redeem your promise. I warn + you that I intend to bring him to this very place,” she added, smiling, + “to this seat; and to use almost the same language to him that you + formerly used to Richard. You were successful, Susie, you are perfectly + happy, and I—that is what I wish to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Richard, Susie has told you about Monsieur Reynaud.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and she has told me that there is no man of whom she has a higher + opinion, but—” + </p> + <p> + “But she has told you that for me it would be a rather quiet, rather + commonplace marriage. Oh, naughty sister! Will you believe it, Richard, + that I can not get this fear out of her head? She does not understand + that, before everything, I wish to love and be loved; will you believe it, + Richard, that only last week she laid a horrible trap for me? You know + that there exists a certain Prince Romanelli.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know you might have been a princess.” + </p> + <p> + “That would not have been immensely difficult, I believe. Well, one day I + was so foolish as to say to Susie, that, in extremity, I might accept the + Prince Romanelli. Now, just imagine what she did. The Turners were at + Trouville, Susie had arranged a little plot. We lunched with the Prince, + but the result was disastrous. Accept him! The two hours that I passed + with him, I passed in asking myself how I could have said such a thing. + No, Richard; no, Susie; I will be neither princess, nor marchioness, nor + countess. My wish is to be Madame Jean Reynaud; if, however, Monsieur Jean + Reynaud will agree to it, and that is by no means certain.” + </p> + <p> + The regiment entered the village, and suddenly military music burst + martial and joyous across the space. All three remained silent, it was the + regiment, it was Jean who passed; the sound became fainter, died away, and + Bettina continued: + </p> + <p> + “No, that is not certain. He loves me, however, and much, but without + knowing well what I am; I think that I deserve to be loved differently; I + think that I should not cause him so much terror, so much fear, if he knew + me better, and that is why I ask you to permit me to speak to him this + evening freely, from my heart.” + </p> + <p> + “We will allow you,” replied Richard, “you shall speak to him freely, for + we know, both of us, Bettina, that you will never do anything that is not + noble and generous.” + </p> + <p> + “At least, I shall try.” + </p> + <p> + The children ran up to them; they had seen Jean, he was quite white with + dust, he said good-morning to them. + </p> + <p> + “Only,” added Bella, “he is not very nice, he did not stop to talk to us; + usually he stops, but this time he wouldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he would,” replied Harry, “for at first he seemed as if he were + going to—and then he would not, he went away.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he didn’t stop, and it is so nice to talk to a soldier, especially + when he is on horseback.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not that only, it is that we are very fond of Monsieur Jean; if you + knew, papa, how kind he is, and how nicely he plays with us.” + </p> + <p> + “And what beautiful drawings he makes. Harry, you remember that great + Punch who was so funny, with his stick, you know?” + </p> + <p> + “And the dog, there was the little dog, too, as in the show.” + </p> + <p> + The two children went away talking of their friend Jean. + </p> + <p> + “Decidedly,” said Mr. Scott, “every one likes him in this house.” + </p> + <p> + “And you will be like every one else when you know him,” replied Bettina. + </p> + <p> + The regiment broke into a trot along the highroad, after leaving the + village. There was the terrace where Bettina had been the other morning. + Jean said to himself: + </p> + <p> + “Supposing she should be there.” + </p> + <p> + He dreaded and hoped it at the same time. He raised his head, he looked, + she was not there. + </p> + <p> + He had not seen her again, he would not see her again, for a long-time at + least. He would start that very evening at six o’clock for Paris; one of + the personages in the War Office was interested in him; he would try to + get exchanged into another regiment. + </p> + <p> + Alone at Cercottes, Jean had had time to reflect deeply, and that was the + result of his reflections. He could not, he must not, be Bettina + Percival’s husband. + </p> + <p> + The men dismounted at the barracks, Jean took leave of his Colonel, his + comrades; all was over. He was free, he could go. + </p> + <p> + But he did not go; he looked around him. How happy he was three months + ago, when he rode out of that great yard amid the noise of the cannon + rolling over the pavement of Souvigny; but how sadly he should ride away + to-day! Formerly his life was there; where would it be hereafter? + </p> + <p> + He returned, went to his own room, and wrote to Mrs. Scott; he told her + that his duties obliged him to leave immediately, he could not dine at the + castle, and begged Mrs. Scott to remember him to Miss Bettina. Bettina, + ah! what trouble it cost him to write that name. He closed his letter; he + would send it directly. + </p> + <p> + He made his preparations for departure; then he went to wish his godfather + farewell. That is what cost him most; he must speak to him only of a short + absence. + </p> + <p> + He opened one of the drawers of his bureau to take out some money. The + first thing that met his eyes was a little note on bluish paper; it was + the only note which he had ever received from her. + </p> + <p> + “Will you have the kindness to give to the servant the book of which you + spoke yesterday evening. Perhaps it will be a little serious for me, but + yet I should like to try to read it. We shall see you to-night; come as + early as possible.” It was signed “Bettina.” + </p> + <p> + Jean read and re-read these few lines, but soon he could read them no + longer, his eyes were dim. + </p> + <p> + “It is all that is left me of her,” he thought. + </p> + <p> + At the same moment the Abbe Constantin was tete-a-tete with old Pauline, + they were making up their accounts. The financial situation was admirable; + more than 2,000 francs in hand! And the wishes of Susie and Bettina were + accomplished, there were no more poor in the neighborhood. His old + servant, Pauline, had even occasional scruples of conscience. + </p> + <p> + “You see, Monsieur le Cure,” said she, “perhaps we give them a little too + much. Then it will be spread about in other parishes that here they can + always find charity. And do you know what will happen then, one of these + days? Poor people will come and settle in Longueval.” + </p> + <p> + The Cure gave fifty francs to Pauline. She went to take them to a poor man + who had broken his arm a few days before, by falling from the top of a + hay-cart. + </p> + <p> + The Abbe Constantin remained alone in the vicarage. He was rather anxious. + He had watched for the passing of the regiment; but Jean only stopped for + a moment, he looked sad. For some time, the Abbe had noticed that Jean had + no longer the flow of good-humor and gayety he once possessed. + </p> + <p> + The Cure did not disturb himself too much about it, believing it to be one + of those little youthful troubles which did not concern a poor old priest. + But, on this occasion, Jean’s disturbance was very perceptible. + </p> + <p> + “I will come back directly,” he said to the Cure, “I want to speak to + you.” + </p> + <p> + He turned abruptly away. The Abbe Constantin had not even had time to give + Loulou his piece of sugar, or rather his pieces of sugar, for he had put + five or six in his pocket, considering that Loulou had well deserved this + feast by ten long days’ march, and a score of nights passed under the open + sky. + </p> + <p> + Besides, since Mrs. Scott had lived at Longueval, Loulou had very often + had several pieces of sugar; the Abbe Constantin had become extravagant, + prodigal; he felt himself a millionaire, the sugar for Loulou was one of + his follies. One day, even, he had been on the point of addressing to + Loulou his everlasting little speech: + </p> + <p> + “This comes from the new mistresses of Longueval; pray for them to-night.” + </p> + <p> + It was three o’clock when Jean arrived at the vicarage, and the Cure said, + immediately: + </p> + <p> + “You told me that you wanted to speak to me; what is it about?” + </p> + <p> + “About something, my dear godfather, which will surprise you, will grieve + you—” + </p> + <p> + “Grieve me!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and which grieves me, too—I have come to bid you farewell.” + </p> + <p> + “Farewell! you are going away?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am going away.” + </p> + <p> + “When?” + </p> + <p> + “To-day, in two hours.” + </p> + <p> + “In two hours? But, my dear boy, you were going to dine at the castle + to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “I have just written to Mrs. Scott to excuse me. I am positively obliged + to go.” + </p> + <p> + “Directly?” + </p> + <p> + “Directly.” + </p> + <p> + “And where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “To Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “To Paris! Why this sudden determination?” + </p> + <p> + “Not so very sudden! I have thought about it for a long time.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have said nothing about it to me! Jean, something has happened. + You are a man, and I have no longer the right to treat you as a child; but + you know how much I love you; if you have vexations, troubles, why not + tell them to me? I could perhaps advise you. Jean, why go to Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not wish to tell you, it will give you pain; but you have the right + to know. I am going to Paris to ask to be exchanged into another + regiment.” + </p> + <p> + “Into another regiment! To leave Souvigny!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is just it; I must leave Souvigny for a short time, for a + little while only; but to leave Souvigny is necessary, it is what I wish + above all things.” + </p> + <p> + “And what about me, Jean, do you not think of me? A little while! A little + while! But that is all that remains to me of life, a little while. And + during these last days, that I owe to the grace of God, it was my + happiness, yes, Jean, my happiness, to feel you here, near me, and now you + are going away! Jean, wait a little patiently, it can not be for very long + now for. Wait until the good God has called me to himself, wait till I + shall be gone, to meet there, at his side, your father and your mother. Do + not go, Jean, do not go.” + </p> + <p> + “If you love me, I love you, too, and you know it well.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know it.” + </p> + <p> + “I have just the same affection for you now that I had when I was quite + little, when you took me to yourself, when you brought me up. My heart has + not changed, will never change. But if duty—if honor—oblige me + to go?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, if it is duty, if it is honor, I say nothing more, Jean, that stands + before all!—all!—all! I have always known you a good judge of + your duty, your honor. Go, my boy, go, I ask you nothing more, I wish to + know no more.” + </p> + <p> + “But I wish to tell you all,” cried Jean, vanquished by his emotion, “and + it is better that you should know all. You will stay here, you will return + to the castle, you will see her again—her!” + </p> + <p> + “See her! Who?” + </p> + <p> + “Bettina!” + </p> + <p> + “Bettina?” + </p> + <p> + “I adore her, I adore her!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my poor boy!” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me for speaking to you of these things; but I tell you as I would + have told my father.” + </p> + <p> + “And then, I have not been able to speak of it to any one, and it stifled + me; yes, it is a madness which has seized me, which has grown upon me, + little by little, against my will, for you know very-well—My God! It + was here that I began to love her. You know, when she came here with her + sister—with the little ‘rouleaux’ of francs—her hair fell down—and + then the evening, the month of Mary! Then I was permitted to see her + freely, familiarly, and you, yourself, spoke to me constantly of her. You + praised her sweetness, her goodness. How often have you told me that there + was no one in the world better than she is!” + </p> + <p> + “And I thought it, and I think it still. And no one here knows her better + than I do, for it is I alone who have seen her with the poor. If you only + knew how tender, and how good she is! Neither wretchedness nor suffering + repulse her. But, my dear boy, I am wrong to tell you all this.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, I will see her no more, I promise you; but I like to hear you + speak of her.” + </p> + <p> + “In your whole life, Jean, you will never meet a better woman, nor one who + has more elevated sentiments. To such a point, that one day—she had + taken me with her in an open carriage, full of toys—she was taking + these toys to a poor sick little girl, and when she gave them to her, to + make the poor little thing laugh, to amuse her, she talked so prettily to + her that I thought of you, and I said to myself, I remember it now, ‘Ah, + if she were poor!’” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! if she were poor, but she is not.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! But what can you do, my poor child! If it gives you pain to see + her, to live near her; above all, if it will prevent you suffering—go, + go—and yet, and yet—” + </p> + <p> + The old priest became thoughtful, let his head fall between his hands, and + remained silent for some moments; then he continued: + </p> + <p> + “And yet, Jean, do you know what I think? I have seen a great deal of + Mademoiselle Bettina since she came to Longueval. Well—when I + reflect—it did not astonish me that any one should be interested in + you, for it seemed so natural—but she talked always, yes, always of + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Of me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of you, and of your father and mother; she was curious to know how + you lived. She begged me to explain to her what a soldier’s life was, the + life of a true soldier, who loved his profession, and performed his duties + conscientiously.” + </p> + <p> + “It is extraordinary, since you have told me this, recollections crowd + upon me, a thousand little things collect and group themselves together. + They returned from Havre yesterday at three o’clock. Well! an hour after + their arrival she was here. And it was of you of whom she spoke directly. + She asked if you had written to me, if you had not been ill, when you + would arrive, at what hour, if the regiment would pass through the + village?” + </p> + <p> + “It is useless at this moment, my dear godfather,” said Jean, “to recall + all these memories.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is not useless. She seemed so pleased, so happy even, that she + should see you again! She would make quite a fete of the dinner this + evening. She would introduce you to her brother-in-law, who has come back. + There is no one else in the house at this moment, not a single visitor. + She insisted strongly on this point, and I remember her last words—she + was there, on the threshold of the door: + </p> + <p> + “‘There will be only five of us,’ she said, ‘you and Monsieur Jean, my + sister, my brother-in-law, and myself.’ + </p> + <p> + “And then she added, laughing, ‘Quite a family party.’ + </p> + <p> + “With these words she went, she almost ran away. Quite a family party! Do + you know what I think, Jean? Do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “You must not think that, you must not.” + </p> + <p> + “Jean, I believe that she loves you.” + </p> + <p> + “And I believe it, too.” + </p> + <p> + “You, too!” + </p> + <p> + “When I left her, three weeks ago, she was so agitated, so moved! She saw + me sad and unhappy, she would not let me go. It was at the door of the + castle. I was obliged to tear myself, yes, literally tear myself away. I + should have spoken, burst out, told her all. After I had gone a few steps, + I stopped and turned. She could no longer see me, I was lost in the + darkness; but I could see her. She stood there motionless, her shoulders + and arms bare, in the rain, her eyes fixed on the way by which I had gone. + Perhaps I am mad to think that. Perhaps it was only a feeling of pity. But + no, it was something more than pity, for do you know what she did the next + morning? She came at five o’clock, in the most frightful weather, to see + me pass with the regiment—and then—the way she bade me adieu—oh, + my friend, my dear old friend!” + </p> + <p> + “But then,” said the poor Cure, completely bewildered, completely at a + loss, “but then, I do not understand you at all. If you love her, Jean, + and if she loves you?” + </p> + <p> + “But that is, above all, the reason why I must go. If it were only I, if I + were certain that she has not perceived my love, certain that she has not + been touched by it, I would stay, I would stay—for nothing but for + the sweet joy of seeing her, and I would love her from afar, without any + hope, for nothing but the happiness of loving her. But no, she has + understood too well, and far from discouraging me—that is what + forces me to go.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I do not understand it! I know well, my poor boy, we are speaking of + things in which I am no great scholar, but you are both good, young, and + charming; you love her, she would love you, and you will not!” + </p> + <p> + “And her money! her money!” + </p> + <p> + “What matters her money? If it is only that, is it because of her money + that you have loved her? It is rather in spite of her money. Your + conscience, my son, would be quite at peace with regard to that, and that + would suffice.” + </p> + <p> + “No, that would not suffice. To have a good opinion of one’s self is not + enough; that opinion must be shared by others.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Jean! Among all who know you, who can doubt you?” + </p> + <p> + “Who knows? And then there is another thing besides this question of + money, another thing more serious and more grave. I am not the husband + suited to her.” + </p> + <p> + “And who could be more worthy than you?” + </p> + <p> + “The question to be considered is not my worth; we have to consider what + she is and what I am, to ask what ought to be her life, and what ought to + be my life.” + </p> + <p> + “One day, Paul—you know he has rather a blunt way of saying things, + but that very bluntness often places thoughts much more distinctly before + us—Paul was speaking of her; he did not suspect anything; if he had, + he is good-natured, he would not have spoken thus—well, he said to + me: + </p> + <p> + “‘What she needs is a husband who would be entirely devoted to her, to her + alone, a husband who would have no other care than to make her existence a + perpetual holiday, a husband who would give himself, his whole life, in + return for her money.’ + </p> + <p> + “You know me; such a husband I can not, I must not be. I am a soldier, and + shall remain one. If the chances of my career sent me some day to a + garrison in the depths of the Alps, or in some almost unknown village in + Algeria, could I ask her to follow me? Could I condemn her to the life of + a soldier’s wife, which is in some degree the life of a soldier himself? + Think of the life which she leads now, of all that luxury, of all those + pleasures!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the Abbe, “that is more serious than the question of money.” + </p> + <p> + “So serious that there is no hesitation possible. During the three weeks + that I passed alone in the camp, I have well considered all that; I have + thought of nothing else, and loving her as I do love, the reason must + indeed be strong which shows me clearly my duty. I must go, I must go far, + very far away, as far as possible. I shall suffer much, but I must not see + her again! I must not see her again!” + </p> + <p> + Jean sank on a chair near the fireplace. He remained there quite + overpowered with his emotion. The old priest looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “To see you suffer, my poor boy! That such suffering should fall upon you! + It is too cruel, too unjust!” + </p> + <p> + At that moment some one knocked gently at the door. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the Cure, “do not be afraid, Jean. I will send them away.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbe went to the door, opened it, and recoiled as if before an + unexpected apparition. + </p> + <p> + It was Bettina. In a moment she had seen Jean, and going direct to him: + </p> + <p> + “You!” cried she. “Oh, how glad I am!” + </p> + <p> + He rose. She took his hands, and addressing the Cure, she said: + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, Monsieur le Cure, for going to him first. You, I saw + yesterday, and him, not for three whole weeks, not since a certain night, + when he left our house, sad and suffering.” + </p> + <p> + She still held Jean’s hands. He had neither power to make a movement nor + to utter a sound. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” continued Betting, “are you better? No, not yet, I can see, + still sad. Ah, I have done well to come! It was an inspiration! However, + it embarrasses me a little, it embarrasses me a great deal, to find you + here. You will understand why when you know what I have come to ask of + your godfather.” + </p> + <p> + She relinquished his hands, and turning toward the Abbe, said: + </p> + <p> + “I have come to beg you to listen to my confession—yes, my + confession. But do not go away, Monsieur Jean; I will make my confession + publicly. I am quite willing to speak before you, and now I think of it, + it will be better thus. Let us sit down, shall we?” + </p> + <p> + She felt herself full of confidence and daring. She burned with fever, but + with that fever which, on the field of battle, gives to a soldier ardor, + heroism, and disdain of danger. The emotion which made Bettina’s heart + beat quicker than usual was a high and generous emotion. She said to + herself: + </p> + <p> + “I will be loved! I will love! I will be happy! I will make him happy! And + since he has not sufficient courage to do it, I must have it for both. I + must march alone, my head high, and my heart at ease, to the conquest of + our love, to the conquest of our happiness!” + </p> + <p> + From her first words Bettina had gained over the Abbe and Jean a complete + ascendancy. They let her say what she liked, they let her do as she liked, + they felt that the hour was supreme; they understood that what was + happening would be decisive, irrevocable, but neither was in a position to + foresee. + </p> + <p> + They sat down obediently, almost automatically; they waited, they + listened. Alone, of the three, Bettina retained her composure. It was in a + calm and even voice that she began. + </p> + <p> + “I must tell you first, Monsieur le Cure, to set your conscience quite at + rest, I must tell you that I am here with the consent of my sister and my + brother-in-law. They know why I have come; they know what I am about to + do. They not only know, but they approve. That is settled, is it not? + Well, what brings me here is your letter, Monsieur Jean, that letter in + which you tell my sister that you can not dine with us this evening, and + that you are positively obliged to leave here. This letter has unsettled + all my plans. I had intended, this evening—of course with the + permission of my sister and brother-in-law—I had intended, after + dinner, to take you into the park, to seat myself with you on a bench; I + was childish enough to choose the place beforehand.” + </p> + <p> + “There I should have delivered a little speech, well prepared, well + studied, almost learned by heart, for since your departure I have scarcely + thought of anything else; I repeat it to myself from morning to night. + That is what I had proposed to do, and you understand that your letter + caused me much embarrassment. I reflected a little, and thought that if I + addressed my little speech to your godfather it would be almost the same + as if I addressed it to you. So I have come, Monsieur le Cure, to beg you + to listen to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I will listen to you, Miss Percival,” stammered the Abbe. + </p> + <p> + “I am rich, Monsieur le Cure, I am very rich, and to speak frankly I love + my wealth very much-yes, very much. To it I owe the luxury which surrounds + me, luxury which, I acknowledge—it is a confession—is by no + means disagreeable to me. My excuse is that I am still very young; it will + perhaps pass as I grow older, but of that I am not very sure. I have + another excuse; it is, that if I love money a little for the pleasure that + it procures me, I love it still more for the good which it allows me to + do. I love it—selfishly, if you like—for the joy of giving, + but I think that my fortune is not very badly placed in my hands. Well, + Monsieur le Cure, in the same way that you have the care of souls, it + seems that I have the care of money. I have always thought, ‘I wish, above + all things, that my husband should be worthy of sharing this great + fortune. I wish to be very sure that he will make a good use of it with me + while I am here, and after me, if I must leave this world first.’ I + thought of another thing; I thought, ‘He who will be my husband must be + some one I can love!’ And now, Monsieur le Cure, this is where my + confession really begins. There is a man, who for the last two months, has + done all he can to conceal from me that he loves me; but I do not doubt + that this man loves me. You do love me, Jean?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Jean, in a low voice, his eyes cast down, looking like a + criminal, “I do love you!” + </p> + <p> + “I knew it very well, but I wanted to hear you say it, and now I entreat + you, do not utter a single word. Any words of yours would be useless, + would disturb me, would prevent me from going straight to my aim, and + telling you what I positively intend to say. Promise me to stay there, + sitting still, without moving, without speaking. You promise me?” + </p> + <p> + “I promise you.” + </p> + <p> + Bettina, as she went on speaking, began to lose a little of her + confidence, her voice trembled slightly. She continued, however, with a + gayety that was a little forced: + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le Cure, I do not blame you for what has happened, yet all this + is a little your fault.” + </p> + <p> + “My fault!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! do not speak, not even you. Yes, I repeat it, your fault. I am + certain that you have spoken well of me to Jean, much too well. Perhaps, + without that, he would not have thought—And at the same time you + have spoken very well of him to me. Not too well—no, no—but + yet very well! Then, I had so much confidence in you, that I began to look + at him, and examine, him with a little more attention. I began to compare + him with those who, during the last year, had asked my hand. It seemed to + me that he was in every respect superior to them. + </p> + <p> + “At last, it happened, on a certain day, or rather on a certain + evening-three weeks ago, the evening before you left here, Jean—I + discovered that I loved you. Yes, Jean, I love you! I entreat you, do not + speak; stay where you are; do not come near me. + </p> + <p> + “Before I came here, I thought I had supplied myself with a good stock of + courage, but you see I have no longer my fine composure of a minute ago. + But I have still something to tell you, and the most important of all. + Jean, listen to me well; I do not wish for a reply torn from your emotion; + I know that you love me. If you marry me, I do not wish it to be only for + love; I wish it to be also for reason. During the fortnight before you + left here, you took so much pains to avoid me, to escape any conversation, + that I have not been able to show myself to you as I am. Perhaps there are + in me certain qualities which you do not suspect. + </p> + <p> + “Jean, I know what you are, I know to what I should bind myself in + marrying you, and I should be for you not only the loving and tender + woman, but the courageous and constant wife. I know your entire life; your + godfather has related it to me. I know why you became a soldier; I know + what duties, what sacrifices, the future may demand from you. Jean, do not + suppose that I shall turn you from any of these duties, from any of these + sacrifices. If I could be disappointed with you for anything, it would be, + perhaps, for this thought—oh, you must have had it!—that I + should wish you free, and quite my own, that I should ask you to abandon + your career. Never! never! Understand well, I shall never ask such a thing + of you. + </p> + <p> + “A young girl whom I know did that when she married, and she did wrong. I + love you, and I wish you to be just what you are. It is because you live + differently from, and better than, those who have before desired me for a + wife, that I desire you for a husband. I should love you less—perhaps + I should not love you at all, though that would be very difficult—if + you were to begin to live as all those live whom I would not have. When I + can follow you, I will follow you; wherever you are will be my duty, + wherever you are will be my happiness. And if the day comes when you can + not take me, the day when you must go alone, well! Jean, on that day, I + promise you to be brave, and not take your courage from you. + </p> + <p> + “And now, Monsieur le Cure, it is not to him, it is to you that I am + speaking; I want you to answer me, not him. Tell me, if he loves me, and + feels me worthy of his love, would it be just to make me expiate so + severely the fortune that I possess? Tell me, should he not agree to be my + husband?” + </p> + <p> + “Jean,” said the old priest, gravely, “marry her. It is your duty, and it + will be your happiness!” + </p> + <p> + Jean approached Bettina, took her in his arms, and pressed upon her brow + the first kiss. + </p> + <p> + Bettina gently freed herself, and addressing the Abbe, said: + </p> + <p> + “And now, Monsieur l’Abbe, I have still one thing to ask you. I wish—I + wish—” + </p> + <p> + “You wish?” + </p> + <p> + “Pray, Monsieur le Cure, embrace me, too.” + </p> + <p> + The old priest kissed her paternally on both cheeks, and then Bettina + continued: + </p> + <p> + “You have often told me, Monsieur le Cure, that Jean was almost like your + own son, and I shall be almost like your own daughter, shall I not? So you + will have two children, that is all.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ........................... +</pre> + <p> + A month after, on the 12th of September, at mid-day, Bettina, in the + simplest of wedding-gowns, entered the church of Longueval, while, placed + behind the altar, the trumpets of the 9th Artillery rang joyously through + the arches of the old church. + </p> + <p> + Nancy Turner had begged for the honor of playing the organ on this solemn + occasion, for the poor little harmonium had disappeared; an organ, with + resplendent pipes, rose in the gallery of the church—it was Miss + Percival’s wedding present to the Abbe Constantin. + </p> + <p> + The old Cure said mass, Jean and Bettina knelt before him, he pronounced + the benediction, and then remained for some moments in prayer, his arms + extended, calling down, with his whole soul, the blessings of Heaven on + his two children. + </p> + <p> + Then floated from the organ the same reverie of Chopin’s which Bettina had + played the first time that she had entered that little village church, + where was to be consecrated the happiness of her life. + </p> + <p> + And this time it was Bettina who wept. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS: + + Ancient pillars of stone, embrowned and gnawed by time + And they are shoulders which ought to be seen + Believing themselves irresistible + But she will give me nothing but money + Duty, simply accepted and simply discharged + Frenchman has only one real luxury—his revolutions + God may have sent him to purgatory just for form’s sake + Great difference between dearly and very much + Had not told all—one never does tell all + He led the brilliant and miserable existence of the unoccupied + If there is one! (a paradise) + In order to make money, the first thing is to have no need of it + Love and tranquillity seldom dwell at peace in the same heart + Never foolish to spend money. The folly lies in keeping it + Often been compared to Eugene Sue, but his touch is lighter + One half of his life belonged to the poor + One may think of marrying, but one ought not to try to marry + Succeeded in wearying him by her importunities and tenderness + The women have enough religion for the men + The history of good people is often monotonous or painful + To learn to obey is the only way of learning to command +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s L’Abbe Constantin, Complete, by Ludovic Halevy + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK L’ABBE CONSTANTIN, COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 3957-h.htm or 3957-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/5/3957/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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. 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