you knew why--But you will see me again; I will come again to thank you
and pay my debt to you."
"Yes, yes, madame," said the young tradeswoman; and she retreated,
sorely embarrassed, to the back of her shop, while Virginie, light as a
feather, tripped gayly homeward, her chicken under her arm, saying to
herself:
"I knew that I'd get one! I never lose hope, I don't!"
However, the chicken had not yet reached Auguste. At a street corner,
Virginie, who probably was looking at her feet and nothing else, was
roughly jostled by a man who knocked the chicken to the ground.
"You infernal idiot!" cried Virginie, stooping to pick up the chicken.
But her voice caught the ears of the man who had jostled her, and who
had simply apologized and kept on his way. He stopped, retraced his
steps and exclaimed in his turn:
"Why--yes! ten thousand bayonets! it's Mamzelle Virginie! Morbleu!
perhaps she'll be able to tell me something about him."
"Hallo! it's Bertrand!" said Virginie, as she recognized the
ex-corporal; "it's good old Ber--But what am I saying! he's a villain,
an ungrateful, hardhearted wretch, and I don't like him any more. Let me
carry my chicken--don't hold me, monsieur."
"Whether you like me or not, mademoiselle, isn't the question just at
this moment. One word, if you please: have you seen him, do you know
where he is, what's become of him?"
"Of whom?"
"Morbleu! my lieutenant, Monsieur Auguste."
"On my word! do I know where he is? What a question! when he's been
living in my room a fortnight!"
"He's in your room?--I have found him! I shall see him again!"
In his joy, Bertrand embraced Virginie and once more knocked the hapless
chicken to the ground. This time it fell into the gutter and Virginie
was ready to weep.
"Won't you please let me alone!" she cried; "this chicken's for Auguste;
and after I've had so much trouble to get it, you'll be the cause of
his not being able to eat it!"
"Oh! don't cry! I'll buy you more chickens--ten--twenty--an ox, if you
choose! But, for the love of God, take me to my lieutenant straight
away. I am in haste to embrace him!"
"What! then you still care for him?"
"Care for him! Who can ever have doubted my attachment, my devotion to
his person?"
"Then you didn't abandon him in England on purpose?"
"Abandon him! when it was in his service--for his welfare----"
"Oh! dear old Bertrand! I was perfectly sure he was a good fellow. Come,
my little Bertrand, let's go to Auguste. My! but he'll be glad when he
knows that you are still worthy of his affection!"
Virginie and Bertrand walked toward Rue de Berry. On the way, Virginie
told the old servant of all the disasters that had befallen Auguste, and
of the serious illness that he had had. As he listened to these details,
Bertrand wiped his eyes now and then and exclaimed:
"Sacrebleu! why didn't I find him sooner? But I only returned to Paris
the day before yesterday; and I intended to go to Montfermeil to-morrow
to look for him, hoping to be luckier there than in this city, where
Schtrack and I have been scouring every quarter for two days, without
success."
At last they reached the house in which Virginie lived; as they went
upstairs Bertrand was as excited as if he were going to see a long lost
son; and Virginie said to him:
"You mustn't show yourself to Auguste right away; he is still very weak,
and the sight of you might cause him too much emotion. You understand,
don't you, Bertrand?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"I'll go in first, and prepare Auguste gently; then I'll motion to you."
"Yes, mademoiselle, I'll wait in another room."
"No; as I have but one, you must wait on the landing. I'll leave the
door ajar."
"All right; but don't wait long before you give me the signal, for I am
crazy to have my arms around him."
They arrived at Virginie's door; she opened it, then partly closed it,
and Bertrand stood as close as possible, hardly daring to breathe.
Auguste had risen and was sitting at a window, impatiently awaiting
Virginie, whose long absence made him anxious.
"Here I am, my friend," she said, as she entered the room; and she hung
about Auguste with as much embarrassment as she had shown in front of
the cookshop. "Here I am; I've been rather long, but--but--it was
because I met someone who is much better than a chicken."
"You met someone?"
"Yes--someone who--someone----"
Before Virginie could think of what she wanted to say, Bertrand, unable
to contain himself any longer, opened the door, rushed to Auguste, and
threw his arms about him, crying:
"It was me, sacrebleu! it was me! But I can't stay hidden any longer; I
must embrace him!"
Bertrand could not make up his mind for some minutes to release his hold
of Auguste, and Virginie exclaimed reproachfully:
"There! you see! he couldn't wait till I motioned to him; he'll make
Auguste worse!"
"No," said the convalescent, "no, happiness never does that! My poor
fellow! so you have come back!"
"And you could believe that I abandoned you!" said Bertrand, taking
Auguste's hand. "You doubted the love of your old comrade, your faithful
servant!--I admit that my hurried departure must have surprised you; but
when you know!"
"You are here, Bertrand, and everything is forgotten!"
"Oh! listen to me first, and then tell me if I behaved so very
badly.--You remember that I left you in the common room of a village
tavern where we had just breakfasted. I had just paid our bill when, as
I crossed the courtyard, I saw a man whose face attracted my attention,
and whom I recognized instantly as our rascal of a Destival."
"Destival!" cried Auguste.
"The man who robbed you!" said Virginie.
"He was just getting into a post-chaise when I caught sight of him. He
couldn't have seen me, but the carriage had started before I recovered
from my surprise. So then, without taking the time to warn you, because
I didn't want to lose a minute for fear our man would escape me, I ran
to the stable, saddled my horse, and galloped off in pursuit of our
rascal. I soon overtook the post-chaise; but I knew that, in a foreign
country, it would be a hard matter to make the villain disgorge, and
that I could not rely on anyone but myself to do justice. So I followed
the carriage, awaiting a favorable opportunity to see my man in private.
For two days the infernal chaise stopped only to change horses; at last,
at the end of the second day, they stopped at the posting inn, and my
rascal, who evidently needed rest, entered the inn. I lost no time in
following him, and asked to speak to the traveller who had just come
in. They showed me his room. I went upstairs, entered the room, and
began by locking myself in with our man, who, when he saw me, nearly
fainted in an easy-chair. I went up to him, took his arm, and said to
him: 'You are a thief, you ruined my master, but you won't ruin anybody
else; I taught you once to handle weapons, and we'll see if you remember
my lessons. Here are two pistols--take one. We shall be very comfortable
in this room--four paces is distance enough when one doesn't want to
miss. Let's make haste.'
"Instead of taking the pistol I handed him, the miserable wretch threw
himself at my feet and begged for mercy. I demanded your money back. He
took a wallet out of his pocket, showed me a hundred and sixty thousand
francs in notes of the Bank of France, and swore that that was all that
was left of what he took away from Paris. I concluded that that was
better than nothing, and that I ought to get your money back for you
rather than kill the villain. So I took the wallet, and, leaving the
scoundrel more dead than alive, I went out of his room and locked him
in. I remounted my horse and rode back as fast as I could to the place
where I had left you; when I got there, my horse was foundered and I
didn't find you. I rode about in all directions, but no one could tell
me anything about you. I started for Scotland, where we had intended to
go. I passed three weeks visiting every corner there, even the smallest
villages, but I wasn't any more fortunate. At last I decided to return
to France, and I got to Paris the day before yesterday. My first thought
was to go and question Schtrack; he hadn't seen you and he didn't know
mademoiselle's address; we began to walk the streets trying to find you.
But here you are! I have found you. I can give you what I have rescued
of your property.--That is a report of my conduct, lieutenant; now, are
you angry with me?"
For all reply, Auguste opened his arms to Bertrand, who handed him the
wallet; while Virginie capered about the room, dancing with the chairs,
and tossing her cap in the air, crying:
"Vive Bertrand! Auguste isn't poor any more! we'll have a high old time
now!"
When the first outburst of joyous excitement had subsided, Auguste told
Bertrand what he had done since he left him. He did not conceal from him
the miserable plight to which he was reduced when Virginie came to his
garret. He told him all that she had done for him--how she had worked
and sat up all night, and all the sacrifices that she had undergone
every day in order to provide him with whatever he required.
During this story, Virginie tried to make Auguste keep quiet by saying:
"That isn't true; he makes too much of it; don't believe him, Bertrand.
Anyhow, if I did do all that, it must have been because I enjoyed it."
But Bertrand, who could not listen unmoved to Auguste's narrative, ran
to Virginie, took her in his arms and kissed her, saying:
"That was fine! that was mighty fine!"
"Yes, but you are squeezing me too tight, Bertrand."
Melancholy thoughts gave place to thoughts of happiness. Auguste no
longer sighed when he thought of Denise. He was already longing to be
with her, he burned to see her again, to requite her love; for after all
that Virginie had told him he could no longer doubt the village maiden's
heart. But he was unable to go to Montfermeil at once; however, as
happiness is a great restorer of health, after two days passed in
forming delightful plans for the future, Auguste was in condition to go
out.
Before going to the village, where he expected to stay for some time,
Auguste put his affairs in order. He went to his old notary and
instructed him to invest his funds, keeping back only so much as was
necessary for the execution of his plans. He intended to assure
Virginie's future; since she was no longer as young as she had once
been, she was anxious to carry on a little business. Auguste hired a
pretty shop for her and stocked it with embroideries and novelties, and
Virginie became a dealer in small wares. She proudly took her seat
behind her counter, after having a sign put over her door: _A la
Pucelle_; and she swore to Auguste that she proposed thenceforth to
devote herself exclusively to her business.
Auguste received Virginie's thanks and her kindest regards for Denise,
whom she did not propose to visit until her new line of conduct had
covered her former aberrations with oblivion. He was on the point of
starting for Montfermeil with Bertrand, when Virginie exclaimed:
"Mon Dieu! I forgot the little shopkeeper and the chicken! I meant to
recommend her to you, so that you might at least buy your gloves of
her."
"What shopkeeper? what chicken?" inquired Auguste.
Virginie told of her adventure on the day she met Bertrand. Auguste,
after expressing anew to Virginie his gratitude for all that she had
done for him during his sickness, determined to call upon the young
woman who had displayed so much delicacy in conferring a favor, and to
thank her. He took Virginie in his cabriolet and they drove to the young
linen-draper's shop.
The cabriolet stopped at her door and the three occupants alighted. The
young woman was amazed; she was not accustomed to having customers come
in a carriage to buy needles and thread. But she blushed when she
recognized Virginie, who entered first, saying to Auguste:
"It was madame here, who was so kind to me when you were convalescent."
Auguste stepped forward to salute the young tradeswoman, who was sorely
embarrassed by the thanks he expressed. But before she could speak, an
old man, who was in the back shop, and whom they had not noticed, came
toward them, crying:
"Daughter! Anna! it is our place to thank this generous man! He is our
benefactor! It is he to whom I owe my life and the happiness of seeing
you happy!"
Auguste looked at the old man and recognized poor Dorfeuil; and before
he had recovered from his surprise, father and daughter were at his
feet, covering his hand with tears of gratitude.
Thereupon it was the turn of Bertrand and Virginie to demand
explanations. Auguste tried to slink away, but old Dorfeuil held him
fast while he told of all that he owed him, and finished his story by
saying to Auguste:
"As you see, your benefaction brought us good luck. I have paid my debt;
and in the last three years, my Anna, having succeeded in all her
undertakings, has been able to set up in business here, where I am
passing my declining years with her, in peace."
Bertrand embraced Auguste again, Virginie embraced everybody, and they
parted, promising to meet again. Virginie returned to her shop, from
which she could not be absent longer, and Auguste drove off at last
toward Denise's village.
As they drew near Montfermeil his heart beat fast. He looked at Bertrand
and said:
"We are going to see her! Oh! if you knew how they welcomed me, how they
fêted me when I was unfortunate!"
"And yet you left them!"
"My dear fellow, I had nothing to offer Denise."
"And now that you are much richer than she is, what if she should take
her turn at refusing you? Then there'd be no end to it. Lovers have no
common sense."
Instead of taking the road to the village, Auguste could not resist the
desire to go by the little wood path where he had kissed the little
milkmaid long ago. When he was near the place where Jean le Blanc ran
away, he saw a small boy on a donkey in the woods; and a little farther
on was a young girl, sitting at the foot of a tree.
"There they are!" cried Auguste.
In a twinkling he had jumped out of the cabriolet; he ran into the woods
to where the girl sat, threw himself at her feet, covered her hand with
kisses, and said:
"It's I, Denise; I have come back to you, never to leave you again."
The girl was in doubt as to whether she was awake; she gazed at Auguste,
who was fashionably dressed as in the old days, while Coco ran up to
them, saying:
"Here's my kind friend! he's dressed like he was the day I broke the
bowl."
"Is it really you?" said Denise. "Oh! if you knew how your letter
grieved me! Wicked! to leave me because you were poor! to dare to say
that I didn't love you! that you wouldn't come to see me again till you
had ceased to love me! Is that what your coming now means? Oh! tell me
quickly, don't let me hope for happiness--it is too hard to be cheated
out of what one longs for!"
Auguste made no other reply than to press her to his heart, while his
eyes told the sweet girl that it was something more than friendship that
had brought him back to her.
Bertrand, having left the cabriolet, came forward to pay his respects to
Denise.
"Bertrand too!" she exclaimed; "he has come back!"
"Yes, and it is to him, whom I accused of deserting me, that I owe my
good fortune to-day."
A few words put Denise in possession of the whole story, and she held
out her hand to Bertrand, saying:
"Oh! my heart never doubted his! As if one could cease to love a person
because he is unfortunate!" Then suddenly remembering that Auguste had
recovered a large part of his property, she exclaimed: "Oh! mon Dieu!
then I cannot be your wife!"
"Yes, Denise, you will be my wife," said Auguste, taking her hand, "for
you are the only woman who could make me happy, and I cannot doubt the
sincerity of your love."
"But I am only a village girl----"
"Whom I prefer to all the fine ladies of the city."
"I shall be awkward in society."
"I have learned the worth of society, and I care very little for its
judgments; besides, when it knows you, my Denise, it will be compelled
to do you justice."
"Oh! I don't want to know it, for my part, my dear; let us agree that,
if you marry me, I shall stay here. When you want to go to Paris, you
shall go alone; and then, when you are tired of the city, you can come
back to your little milkmaid."
Auguste kissed her and they started for the cottage. When one is happy,
everything seems delightful; in the eyes of the lovers the cottage had
become a palace; but Bertrand, who was not in love and who always
thought of the future, said to Auguste:
"This house isn't big enough for you, lieutenant; besides, it belongs to
Coco--it's his property. You must buy a pretty house, not too expensive,
which you can see from here, where you will have suitable accommodations
and where you can entertain a few friends; because, you know, you
mustn't isolate yourself from society altogether; the sure way to have
your love last only a short time is to shut yourself up with your wife
for six months. Now that you know the world, you won't be taken in
again. You will take men at their true value; you can associate with the
people whose company is agreeable, and you mustn't play for such high
stakes as you used to; for now, or never, is the time to be prudent."
Auguste approved Bertrand's suggestion. The house was hired, and a week
later, Denise, beaming with love and happiness, embellishing by her
charms and her grace the modest costume she had selected, was led to the
altar by the man she loved.
All the people of the village assembled to see the little milkmaid
married. The peasants said to one another:
"Now's the time she's going to play the fine lady! She's marrying a
swell! How high she'll hold her head!"
But they were mistaken: Denise, after she became Madame Dalville, was as
sweet and kindhearted as when she was a simple peasant girl herself.
As he escorted his young wife to their new home, Auguste cast a glance
now and then at the comely women whom they happened to pass; but it was
a matter of habit simply--Denise alone had his heart.
True to her promise, Denise did not desire to leave the village; and for
a long while Auguste did not go away from his wife. Later, however, he
went occasionally to Paris. On one of his visits to the capital he
learned that the vivacious Athalie had separated from her husband,
because Mère Thomas made a second trip to Paris; and that Monsieur de la
Thomassinière, having made some unfortunate speculations and allowed
himself to be ruined by Monsieur de Cligneval, had been compelled to
turn over all his property to his creditors, and had become a
cab-driver--a trade in which he seemed much more in his proper place
than when he was in a salon.
The Marquis de Cligneval, having ventured to indulge in divers sharper's
tricks at écarté, which were not to the liking of his adversary, was
forced to fight a duel with him, and was killed. As for Destival, when
he tried to do business in England on the same plan as in Paris, one of
his clients, whose money he had appropriated, struck him a blow from
which he did not recover.
It was Monsieur Monin who supplied Auguste with all this news, after
asking him how his health was; having applied to his snuff-box, he
rejoined Bichette, whom he had left with Monsieur Bisbis in a clump of
shrubbery at the Café Turc.
Auguste also saw Dorfeuil and his daughter; but he went very rarely to
the young linen-draper's, because she was very pretty. By way of
compensation he often saw Virginie, who was no longer pretty, but who
had reformed entirely, and whose warm heart caused her former follies to
be forgotten.
When he had passed a short time at Paris, Auguste returned to
Montfermeil, and it was with ever-renewed delight that he found himself
once more in the company of his little milkmaid, of Bertrand, and of
Coco, who, as he grew to manhood, often congratulated himself on having
broken his bowl.
* * * * *
Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:
what will be do=> what will he do {pg 284}
old hut with gradma=> old hut with grandma {pg 316}
He overcome at last=> He overcame at last {pg 428}