labors. Distressed by this catastrophe, for which I could accuse no one
but myself, I proposed to Bertrand that we take a trip to Scotland
before returning to our own country. One of my pupils had presented me
with a horse, I bought one for Bertrand, and we left London in the
saddle. We stopped at a lovely village called, I believe, Newington.
After breakfasting at an inn, I sat alone, waiting for my companion,
whom I had sent to pay our bill. Surprised at his failure to return, I
went downstairs and made inquiries. 'Your companion has gone,' they told
me; 'he just mounted his horse and rode off at a gallop.' Utterly unable
to understand his absence, I remained at the inn all day, waiting for
him. I could not imagine that Bertrand had left me; but the next day
again I waited in vain. I questioned the people at the inn; they could
tell me nothing except that, after paying our bill, he had crossed the
courtyard, and a moment later they had seen him riding away at full
speed. I was driven at last to a realization of the fact that Bertrand
had voluntarily turned his back on me. Ah! Denise, I can't tell you how
I suffered because of his desertion! Accustomed to living with my old
friend, I had often paid little heed to his advice, but I set great
store by his friendship. No doubt he was tired of my foolish
performances; he probably lost patience, and despairing of making me
less reckless, did not choose to share my evil fortune any longer.
However, he had often sworn never to leave me while he lived, and I
trusted his oath, for a friend's is more sacred than a mistress's."
"Bertrand--leave you! I can't understand it!" said Denise.
"I changed my plans, and, having no further desire to go to Scotland,
determined to return to France. Oh! how I longed to stand on my native
soil! I felt a most intense craving to see you and to embrace this
little fellow! I sold my horse to pay my passage. When I arrived at
Calais, I reckoned up my resources and determined to travel on foot.
But, I confess, my strength frequently betrayed my courage. Accustomed
as I am to wealth, to the comforts of life, my health is still that of a
dandy, while my modest costume stamps me a humble wayfarer; and more
than once I had to stop on the way. At last I reached this village;
before going on to Paris, I longed to see this spot once more, to learn
what you were doing, Denise. And here I am by your side! Unhappiness,
fatigue, everything is forgotten; and to-morrow, with a razor, clean
linen, and a few changes in my costume, you will see once more, not the
resplendent Dalville, but at least poor Auguste, for whom your
friendship is not dead."
Auguste kissed the child. Denise, who had taken the deepest interest in
his story, said to him:
"I trust that now you will not go travelling over the world any more?"
"You must stay with us, my kind friend," said Coco.
"Yes, I see that I must abandon the hope of making my fortune with such
talents as I have. I have ceased to think of travelling. As to what I
shall do--I haven't any clear idea as yet; but still, among my dear
friends in Paris, who no longer deign to look at me, there are many whom
I have obliged, and who are still my debtors. There is something like
twelve thousand francs owing to me, and I propose to try to collect at
least half of it; then----"
"You will come and settle down near us, won't you, monsieur?"
"At all events, Denise, I will come to see you often."
"But you won't go to Paris right away; you won't leave us for a long
while----"
"No, I promise."
"Remember that you are in your own house here; we built this cottage
with what you gave Coco, so you see that it belongs to you."
"No, Denise, this house is the boy's fortune; I am too happy to have
been able to contribute to his welfare, and I only regret that I didn't
use in this way all the money I have wasted on my pleasures!--Nothing is
left to me from my follies; but something always remains of the good
that one does!"
"Then you have reformed? You won't fall in love any more--with every
woman you see, will you?"
"Faith, Denise, I wouldn't swear not to as yet. I received a bitter
lesson on my fifth floor--and in my travels I turned it to no advantage
whatever. Ah! if I had won the love of a sincere, true-hearted, virtuous
woman--like you, Denise--perhaps I should have reformed before this!"
"What, monsieur!" said Denise, blushing; "do you mean that I don't love
you?"
"No--you love me like a brother, I know, and your touchingly warm
welcome of me, the delight that my return has caused you, show plainly
enough your deep affection for me; but, my dear Denise, there is a
sweeter, tenderer sentiment which I hoped to inspire in you before you
told me that you could never love me. Don't lower your eyes, Denise; I
am not reproaching you; we cannot control our hearts, and I admit that I
did not deserve yours. I tried to accustom myself to look upon you as a
sister; that is what I have been trying to do ever since our interview
in your aunt's garden. It will be hard, but with time I shall
succeed--perhaps. Let us leave that subject; I am so happy to be with
you now!--Well! haven't you anything to say to me, Denise?"
"Yes, monsieur, yes! But you must feel the need of rest."
"It is true that my journey has tired me; and my story has kept you up
late."
"Come, monsieur; I'll take you to the little summer-house that I have
had built in the garden; it makes the prettiest room in the house. I
wish I could give you even better quarters----"
"You forget, Denise, that I am no longer the dandy of the
Chaussée-d'Antin! Just cast your eye at my costume."
"Oh, to me you are always the same, monsieur!"
She took Auguste to the summer-house and left him there with a loving:
"Until to-morrow;" then she returned to the house and her own room,
saying to herself:
"He thinks that my only feeling for him is friendship; he is very much
mistaken; what I feel for him is love! Mon Dieu! why did I believe
Monsieur Bertrand at that time? Why did I tell him that I didn't love
him? This is what comes of lying! But I'll tell him the truth now,
because I don't want him to try to look on me as a sister."
XXVII
AVOWALS.--THE PROPOSAL
After travelling about for three years in quest of riches, and finding
in all lands the same vices, the same passions, the same folly,--when
one returns home even poorer than one went away, how delicious it is to
wake beneath a hospitable roof, with faithful friends whom one's evil
fortune has not changed, and who are made happy by one's return! It is
the harbor after a gale; it is the clear sky after a storm; it is the
gleam of dawn after a long night.
Such was Auguste's waking; in his eyes the cottage was a palace, aye,
better than a palace, since it held Denise and Coco. He rose, and after
revelling for a few moments in the pure air of the garden, he turned his
attention to his costume. Not with impunity does one live under the same
roof with a lovely girl whom one has once loved, and still loves,
although resolved to be nothing more than her friend. Moreover, it is
quite natural to try to recover some of one's former attractions, after
making one's appearance in the costume of an impoverished wayfarer.
In a short time, the razor had disposed of the beard. But Auguste's
modest portmanteau contained only a coat, a waistcoat and almost no
linen. He was inspecting it with a dejected air when there came a soft
tap at his door and he heard Coco's voice:
"It's me, my kind friend."
Auguste opened the door to the child, who had a large bundle which he
placed on the bed.
"What's all this, my friend?" queried Auguste, after he had kissed the
little fellow.
"I don't know, my kind friend; it was Denise that told me to bring it to
you. Good-bye; I'm going to feed my goat. You didn't see her last night;
hurry up and dress yourself and come and say good-morning to her."
When the child had gone, Auguste opened the package, which contained a
supply of linen and a paper on which was written:
"Coco gives you this; remember that he didn't refuse your gifts a long
time ago."
"Dear Denise!" said Auguste; "how thoughtful of her! And to think of her
being able to get them so early! She can't have slept at all--she must
have ransacked the village already. If this is the way her friendship
works, what would happen if one had her love!"
However, it was a bitter thing to Auguste to accept the girl's gifts;
when one is in the habit of giving, it is hard to make up one's mind to
receive. He overcame at last the feeling of pride that caused him to
hesitate; he realized that it would hurt Denise if he refused, and that
consideration decided him to accept her presents.
After completing his toilet, Auguste went into the garden and found
Denise there. She came to meet him with the most engaging smile, and a
look in which there was something more than friendship. Coco ran to
Auguste and said:
"Ah! I know you now--this is the way you used to look."
"Thanks to you, Denise!" said Dalville in an undertone.
But the girl put her hand over his mouth, and he seized the hand and
pressed it to his heart without more words. They showed him the cottage,
the garden, every nook and corner, and Denise said to him at every step:
"Do you like this? Are you satisfied with the use I have made of your
money?"
"What surprises me," said Auguste, "is that you can build a house with
three thousand francs."
"In the first place, monsieur, we had the land; and then, you see, the
cottage has only four rooms and attics above."
"But that pretty summer-house where I slept last night?"
"Oh! I had that built after my poor aunt's death. I preferred to live
here than in our house. I felt as if I weren't so far away from you."
These words were accompanied by another sweet smile; all of which was
not calculated to induce Auguste to look upon the lovely girl as his
sister simply.
After breakfast they sat in the shade of a clump of lilacs. They talked
a long while, having so much to say to each other after a long
separation. The girl did not weary of listening to Auguste's stories of
his travels. When he mentioned Bertrand's name, a sigh escaped him;
whereupon Denise took his hand and pressed it affectionately, to give
him to understand that he still had friends. He continued his story, but
her hand remained in his, and she did not think of withdrawing it.
Engrossed by the pleasure of being with Denise, of exchanging soft
glances with her, it did not seem to occur to Auguste that he must look
upon her only with a friend's eyes. Nor did Denise seek to conceal the
state of her feelings from him; on the contrary, she wished him to read
in the lowest depths of her heart.
Several days passed swiftly. In the morning Auguste and Denise went to
walk in the country. Coco always went with them, but his presence did
not incommode them; for their eyes alone betrayed their feelings, and an
innocent heart has no fear of witnesses. At night, when they were
together in the cottage, the hours flew more swiftly still, and when
they separated, they exchanged a loving: "Until to-morrow."
Auguste could not conceal from himself the fact that he adored Denise,
and, being persuaded that she had no other feeling than friendship for
him, he said to himself:
"This girl will end by turning my head. But she loves me only as a
brother; she doesn't know how dangerous to my repose her affectionate
glances and caresses are. I must leave her and return to Paris; a few
days more and I shan't have strength to do it."
On her side Denise said to herself:
"Great heaven! doesn't he see that I love him? I do all that I can to
show him! Is it that he doesn't choose to understand me? In that case I
must just tell him how it is; and now that he has nothing at all and I
have a little money, perhaps he'll not despise the little village girl."
Although he continued to tell himself that he must go away from Denise,
Auguste did not leave the cottage, where he was so comfortable. But one
evening when he was alone with her, he inquired:
"How does it happen, Denise, that you are not married?"
"Because I didn't choose to marry, monsieur!" she replied, raising her
lovely eyes to his.
"But you were in love with someone, surely? You told me so. What
obstacle has prevented you from marrying the object of your choice?"
Denise blushed and no longer dared to look at Auguste. At last she
faltered in a tremulous voice:
"I--I lied that time, monsieur."
"How so, Denise?"
"You know, that time in my aunt's garden, when I told you that I had a
sweetheart, it was because Monsieur Bertrand had told me that you didn't
come to the village for fear of falling in love with me; and I longed so
to see you that that was why I said I didn't love you."
"Dear Denise! is it possible?" cried Auguste, throwing his arms about
her.
"Yes, that's the truth; and since then I've been awfully unhappy because
I told you that; for you didn't come again, and you thought I loved
somebody else."
Auguste gazed lovingly at the girl; but soon his brow grew dark; he
fixed his eyes on the ground and seemed to be meditating deeply. Amazed
by his silence and his depression, she drew nearer to him and said
timidly:
"Are you angry because I love you?"
"Ah! Denise, it might once have made me perfectly happy--but now----"
"Well--now?"
Auguste made no reply; and after a moment she asked him:
"Will you marry me, monsieur?"
"Marry you, Denise?"
"Yes; formerly I wouldn't have dared to hope for such a thing, for you
were very rich, and you couldn't have taken a village girl for your
wife. But you have lost the fortune which kept you in fashionable
society. You say every day that you no longer care for the fine ladies,
the coquettes, who deceived you.--Now, if you want me, I am yours. I
haven't a great fortune, but I have enough for us two; and I will never
deceive you!"
Auguste was deeply moved by Denise's affecting offer; but he contented
himself with pressing her hand and heaving a profound sigh. She
impatiently awaited his reply; his silence made her think that her
proposal had offended him; she walked away from him, and, unable to
restrain her tears, faltered:
"I made you angry by proposing that you should marry me. Forgive me,
monsieur; I forgot that I am only a peasant. I thought that you loved
me."
"Ah! I love you, Denise, more than I ever loved! my feeling for you is a
hundred times sweeter and fonder than the passions which have led me
into so many follies. You are only a peasant, you say! but your virtues
and your good qualities make you the equal of a great lady, even though
you had not in addition such lovely features, such charming ways, and a
melting voice that goes to one's very heart!"
"You love me! Oh! how happy I am! Then you will take me for your wife?"
Auguste gazed tenderly at her, and said at last:
"You shall have my reply to-morrow, Denise."
"To-morrow! Why not at once? Do you need to reflect about it?"
The girl said no more. During the rest of the evening Auguste seemed
more affectionate, more in love than ever; his eyes, which were
constantly fixed on Denise, expressed the most genuine passion, and when
he left her, to return to his summer-house, he pressed her to his heart
and seemed unable to tear himself from her arms. He left her at last,
and Denise said to herself:
"Oh! he will certainly marry me! but why not say so at once?"
She did not sleep; she was too excited to close her eyes. In default of
dreams, her imagination conjured up a thousand delightful pictures: she
saw herself the chosen companion of the man she loved; she passed the
rest of her days with him. So charming a future is surely not inferior
to the pleasantest dreams, and we do not try to sleep when we possess
the reality of happiness.
Day broke at last. Denise rose and spent a longer time than usual at her
toilet. That is a venial offence when a woman knows that she is going
into the presence of the man whom she wishes to call her husband. She
left her room and went into the garden, where she found Auguste every
morning; but he was not there, and the girl was surprised that he was
still asleep; for she thought that he must have been unable to sleep,
like herself, and that he would be in haste to see her.
She seated herself in the shrubbery where they had talked the night
before. She could see the summer-house from there, and she waited
impatiently for Auguste to come out. But the door did not open, and at
last Coco, whom Denise had not yet seen, came running toward her with a
letter in his hand.
"Here, my dear Denise, my kind friend gave me this for you," he said,
holding out the letter.
"Your kind friend! Why, have you seen Monsieur Auguste already?"
"Oh, yes! he was up before sunrise."
"Where is he now, then?"
"He kissed me and then he went away; I don't know where he went."
Denise had a presentiment of evil; she opened the letter with a
trembling hand and read:
"I love you, my dear Denise; do not doubt my love; but shall I join
my poverty to your comfort, after I have lost my money by my own
fault? shall I bestow on you the hand of a man who has not even any
knowledge of the agricultural labors by which your little property
can be made profitable? No, Denise, I am not worthy to be your
husband, I cannot make up my mind to live at the expense of a woman
who would sacrifice a happy future for me. Doubtless your kind
heart led you to offer me your hand; perhaps you even pretended to
love me so as to induce me to accept your generous offer; but I
must not do it. Adieu, Denise! If I should become rich again, I
shall fly to you; but I have no hope of it now. Adieu! I shall come
to see you when I have strength enough to look upon you as my
sister."
The girl turned deadly pale and dropped the letter, crying:
"He doesn't believe in my love!"
"Well, where's my kind friend? Did he write you where he's gone?"
"Alas! he has abandoned us, he has run away from us, he thinks we don't
love him!"
Denise burst into tears; the child ran to her arms and she pressed him
to her heart, sobbing:
"Oh! I shall die of grief, and you must tell him that he's the cause of
it; then perhaps he'll believe that I loved him!"
XXVIII
VIRGINIE AGAIN
It was very early in the morning when Auguste left the pretty little
cottage where he had passed a fortnight which he looked upon as the
happiest period in his life. It was not without a mighty effort that he
tore himself away from Denise; it requires a deal of courage to leave a
woman whom one loves, when she has voluntarily offered one her heart.
But we must remember that Auguste had been rich, and that every feeling
of pride was not extinct within his breast. His pride could not accustom
itself to the idea of offering Denise the hand of a penniless
unfortunate; and furthermore he feared that it was from gratitude for
what he had done for Coco that the girl offered him her hand. A heart
bruised by misfortune is easily frightened; dread of humiliation makes
us unjust; a benefaction seems like almsgiving, and consolation is
nothing more than condescending pity.
With his little bundle tied to the end of his staff, Auguste started for
Paris. When he saw the great city once more, he could not restrain a
sigh. But he pulled his hat over his eyes and walked with lowered head,
in dread of meeting some former acquaintance. However, it is no crime to
be poor; why, then, should the unfortunate seem to avoid men's eyes when
so many scoundrels go about with their heads in the air? Why should one
be any more ashamed to say: "I haven't a sou," than to say: "I owe a
hundred thousand francs"? Because in society we see and seek and care
for none but those who have money; because we too often close our eyes
to the source of the wealth of a multitude of schemers who cut a dash at
the expense of the scores of families they have ruined, and who from
their magnificent equipages look down in derision on those whom they
have reduced to destitution; because we pardon all sorts of vices in the
man who is able to cover them with gold, and refuse to pardon a trifling
peccadillo in a poor devil; because we lavish attentions on a Messalina
arrayed in silk and diamonds, and close our doors to a girl who has
given herself for love to a man who cannot support her. All this is very
sad, but it is all true.
Auguste was careful not to go near Rue Saint-Georges; he went in the
direction of the Marais. It was necessary that he should be most
economical in his outlay, and he found in an old house on Rue de Berry,
a closet, said to be furnished, on the sixth floor, which he could hire
for fifteen francs a month. He paid half of the first month's rent in
advance.
The man who formerly passed his life in dissipation, who set the fashion
in manners and style, who was sought after and fêted, for whom women
disputed at parties, and whom they were proud to subjugate,--the
brilliant Dalville found himself reduced to the necessity of occupying a
garret and sleeping on a wretched pallet. When he entered the miserable
den he had just hired, he could not control a feeling of regret, and he
threw himself on a chair which wavered under him. As he glanced at the
walls, only partially covered by a few tattered strips of paper; as he
contemplated the furniture of his closet, and the tumbledown roofs near
by, Auguste recalled old Dorfeuil's room; he remembered especially the
old man's story and he dropped his head on his hands, saying:
"And that did not reform me!"
In a few moments, summoning his courage, he took his portfolio, glanced
over a list that he had made of all the people who owed him money, and
determined to spend the next day calling upon his debtors. At that
moment, the payment of a single debt would be of great service to him;
for, despite the economy with which he had travelled, he had but eleven
francs left after paying his rent for a fortnight. He had given his name
to the landlady as a teacher of music and drawing; but was he likely to
find any pupils, and how could he live before he received the price of
his lessons? Such reflections were ill adapted to make the aspect of his
abode more attractive. If only his former companion had been there to
comfort him and revive his courage! Again and again, impelled by the
force of habit, Auguste turned and looked about the room for Bertrand;
but, just as he was on the point of calling him, he remembered his
desertion, and his heart was torn anew.
For a moment Auguste had thought of going to his former lodgings to
inquire whether Schtrack had seen Bertrand, and whether the ex-corporal
was in Paris; but he abandoned the idea when he reflected that he might
meet Bertrand in the old concierge's quarters, and that he ought not to
risk encountering a man who, by his ingratitude, had rendered himself
unworthy of being regretted.
It was by thinking of Denise, by recalling the happy moments that he had
passed with her, that Auguste strove to forget his deplorable plight. He
was well aware that he would always find shelter under Denise's roof,
but he could not make up his mind to live at her expense.
"It may be that it was from compassion that she offered me her hand," he
said to himself.
On the following day, after carefully brushing his old coat, and trying
to dissemble his destitution, Auguste set out to visit his debtors. His
first two calls were not fortunate; one man was dead, the other had gone
to Bordeaux, whither Auguste could not go to seek him. At his third
attempt he was more fortunate; the debtor was a young man who, like
Dalville, was devoted to pleasure; he was in the act of performing his
second toilet when his creditor was ushered into his presence.
One does not put oneself out for a poorly dressed person, and the young
man, who did not recognize Dalville, said to him while continuing to tie
his cravat:
"What do you want?"
"First of all, to see you. Is it possible that Léon does not recognize
me?"
Surprised at being addressed by his baptismal name, the young man
bestowed a contemptuous glance upon Auguste and said:
"Deuce take me if I know you. Can it be that we have ever had anything
to do with each other?"
"Yes, monsieur, for Auguste Dalville has had the privilege of doing you
a favor more than once."
"Auguste Dalville!" cried the young man, turning his head once more;
"what! can it be you, my dear fellow?"
"Myself!"
"Oh! it's impossible! you are dressed like a highwayman! Are you just
out of prison?"
"No, thank God! unfortunate as I am, I have never put myself in the way
of being imprisoned."
"Look you, my dear fellow, that doesn't prevent one's being an honest
man; I've been to Sainte-Pélagie more than once myself, and it's likely
that I shall go again. Poor Auguste!--Damn this knot! I shall never get
it tied.--Well, what chance brings you here, my dear friend? You
haven't been seen anywhere for a century."
"It's three years since I left Paris; I have been in Italy and England."
"The devil you say! Tell me, is it true that the English tie their
cravats like a groom?"
"That isn't the kind of thing I gave my attention to on my travels. As I
have told you, Léon, I am not in luck; but when I was rich you had
recourse to my purse more than once. I lent you more than a thousand
francs; half of that sum would be of great service to me now, and I have
come to ask you to pay me five hundred francs on account of what you owe
me."
"Parbleu! my dear Auguste, you have chosen a very bad time. I lost at
roulette yesterday all the money I had. I determined to put my luck to
the test. I have nothing left, and if I can't pick up ten louis or so
to-day, to take a lovely little woman to the Bois, I am a lost man. My
charmer will probably go to the Bois with somebody else, and you can
understand--Does my cravat look all right?"