MR. ROUGEANT GOES TO CHURCH.
The first Sunday after Mr. Rougeant's recovery, Adele said she
intended to go to church. The farmer's eyes flickered more than
usual. "I think I shall accompany you," he said.
His daughter started. What could he mean? He had not been to church
these last three years or more; besides, he had not a decent suit of
clothes to put on. Oh! it was disgusting.
"He is afraid of my meeting Frank on the road," she said to herself;
"he need not fear, I am green, but not quite so much as he seems to
think." "You have not even a suit of clothes that is fit to wear,"
she said aloud.
"They will do well enough."
"Your coat is as green as grass, and your trousers quite yellow. If
it was in the evening, I should perhaps go with you, but in the
morning--no."
"If you don't come with me, I suppose I shall have to come with
you."
"You shall not come with me this morning, Sir."
"How dare you----"
"I will not go."
"Do as you like."
"I shall go this evening," she said, "the lamps will be lighted. I
hope that stock of bad oil which they have is not used up, because I
do not want the church to be well-lighted."
"How is that?"
"How is that?" she said in a grieved tone. "People might take you
for a rag picker."
Her father was not a bit angry at her for saying this. She knew it,
hence her boldness.
He almost smiled, a very--very rare thing for him to do; he was
proud to think that people would say to each other: "Look, there is
Mr. Rougeant, he is not a proud man."
On the evening in question, the clergyman almost lost his speech and
his senses when he saw Mr. Rougeant sitting beside his daughter.
The worshippers thought not of the prayers as they were being read,
or the audience of the sermon, as it was being delivered; they
thought of Mr. Rougeant.
And, when the people came out of the church, instead of the usual
remarks about the weather, folks said to one another: "Have you seen
Mr. Rougeant." "Yes," answered the more composed, "it is not often
one sees him about here."
"Oh!" answered the others, "how shocking."
A party of elderly ladies were assembling just outside the
churchyard gates.
"Have you seen Mr. Rougeant?" they asked unanimously, as they
approached one another.
"Oh, yes," replied Mrs. Martin, "I was quite astounded when I saw
him enter."
"Yes, but you see," remarked another, "he has been ill, and maybe he
has felt the need of worshipping in the house of God."
"What a shabby coat," said a third. "His trousers were worn out and
threadbare," put in Miss Le Grove, who was not able to approach very
near the group on account of her immense corpulence.
"His daughter seemed rather ill at ease," said No. Three.
"I think there is some of her fault," said Mrs. Martin, "she
encourages a young man of bad reputation."
The whole group held up their hands and assumed an horror-stricken
attitude.
"Impossible!", exclaimed No. Two.
"Shocking!" declared Miss Le Grove.
"We must be very careful about what we advance'" remarked No. Two,
who generally passed for being a very Christian lady; then she added
after a pause: "Miss Rougeant is, as everyone of us knows, good,
well-bred and of refined taste."
"I only recited what I had heard, of course I don't believe it,"
said Mrs. Martin, a little disconcerted.
"If she marries and goes away from home, there will only be one
thing for her father to do, and that will be to marry again,"
remarked Miss Le Grove, who found the state of forced celibacy
unendurable.
The others looked at each other. Some could not force back the smile
that rushed to their lips. Miss Le Grove noticed the suppressed
mirth and blushed. Then losing her presence of mind, and wishing to
explain the why and wherefore of her face being so red, she said,
slightly retiring: "Isn't the weather warm."
There was a hoar-frost.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, an accident occurred, while Miss Le
Grove was backing her voluminous self, which sufficed to disperse
the assemblage.
A little boy was standing with his back to the obese woman. He was
busily engaged, endeavouring to count the stars, when that most
worthy spinster backed against him and sent him sprawling. She did
not even feel the rencontre; it was like an iron-clad coming in
collision with a fishing-smack.
The little parish school-boy was none the less irritated. He planted
himself before Miss Le Grove, to make sure she would see him, made a
frightful grimace and shouted: "You're an old half-a-ton." Then he
decamped.
The other ladies giggled.
The company dispersed.
A group of youths who were standing near shouted "Well said,
_gamin_."
Going home, the topic of the conversation was Miss Le Grove,
garnished with a sprinkling of Mr. Rougeant.
As for the lady whom the little rogue had styled "half-a-ton" she
walked alone muttering execrations against this "little wretch," and
telling herself that there were no Christians, that these women
laughed at her, because she chose to remain what Providence had
directed she should be, and that Mr. Rougeant was perfectly right in
keeping away from people, who had nothing to do when they came out
of church but to backbite their neighbours.
In future, she too would shun these sophisticated people.
And--puffing and blowing; gesticulating and perspiring;
soliloquizing and threatening, she retook possession of her home,
sweet home.