THE CORNER OF THE WOOD.
Under arches of foliage made beautiful by an occasional stray gleam of
sunshine, Savin and Catherine walked homeward in silence.
With tears trickling down her cheeks and suffusing her long eyelashes,
the young woman put one foot before the other like an automaton, and
saw nothing but the black earth under her feet. She took no notice of
the trees and blossoming flowers, of the delicate blue gentians that
fringed the path, of the soothing peace of nature.
At any other time Catherine would have gloried in the picture. The
sylvan verdure, the fragrant air, the exquisite landscape had always
appealed to her sense of the beautiful. But now, with downcast eyes,
she cared not for the charming spectacle.
Savin, too, was an ardent admirer of nature, and he passionately loved
the grand old forest. But now, jealous and discontented, he walked
moodily along, while Patachaud, leaping by his side, in vain pleaded
for attention.
For a long time Barrau and his wife proceeded without speaking,
each keeping to his or her own path and brooding over the sorrowful
situation. And yet how charming they were--she with her raven hair
and lustrous dark eyes, straight aquiline nose, and perfect mouth; and
he, a man of thirty-two, with the carriage of a soldier, and a strong
intellectual face, a rich deep voice, and skin bronzed by the summer
sun. A blond mustache gave to his face a look which the French are
accustomed to trace back to their ancestors the Gauls. Certainly there
could not have been found in all the countryside two handsomer persons
than Savin and Catherine. Faithfully and fondly, too, had they loved
each other, and until now had been happy. But a little coquetry and
ardent love for pleasure on the one hand, and jealousy on the other,
had spoiled it all, and--who could tell?--might lead to the direst
misery.
Barrau did not know how imprudent it is for a man to take the conceit
out of a pretty woman, and Catherine did not realize how hard it is to
attempt to dissuade a strong man from what he considers right.
And so they, at length, reached the border of the wood--she ruminating
upon vengeance, and he almost tragically annoyed by the thought that
they had given cause for scandal to the gossips they had left behind.
Finally, the path became more devious, and as they advanced the
magnificent beauty of the scene burst upon them. Through an opening
in the trees the sun burned like a ball of fire. From every hand were
wafted strains of rapturous melody. Thousands of feathered songsters
were joining in one grand chorus of praise to God.
Affected in spite of himself, Savin’s face became more gentle, while
Catherine’s softened almost to tenderness. But the moment of possible
reconciliation passed, and home was reached.
Upon a small bluff, half hidden by trees, stood a cosy little cottage,
built of wood and brick. As if conscious of its modest architectural
pretensions, the _chalet_ was quite enveloped in a network of clematis
and woodbine, and a rustic veranda afforded a picturesque effect to the
tiny villa. Behind it the forest plunged into a vast ravine, at the
bottom of which brawled a little brook among the rocks. The mid-day
sunlight beat upon the _façade_ of the cottage and radiantly glinted
the leaves of the surrounding trees, among which a dozen or more
poplars extended a grateful shade over the little garden.
Catherine and Savin did not linger without, but entered the house
together. The former, throwing upon the table the fichu she had worn,
seated herself by the open window and began nervously tapping the floor
with her foot.
A quarrel seemed imminent. Once more in their own home Catherine knew
her husband would cease to be vehement. Barrau seated himself on one
side of the table and watched Patachaud as he eagerly drank a cup
of water which was always ready for him. Two strangers passed by,
remarking on the flowers which covered the cottage roof.
At length, Barrau rose from his chair and broke the silence by saying:
“We must have dinner now, Catherine.”
“You are hungry, then,” said she, with reproach. “Well, then, go and
eat. I do not prevent you. Surely in order to keep so _strong_ as you
are, you must eat heartily.”
Her words cut him to his soul’s quick.
“Do not be rebellious, Catherine. Come, now.”
She bounded to her feet and bent upon him her flashing eyes.
“It is I who am wrong, then. I am the culprit, eh? You strike me, and
then call me rebellious. Indeed, I ought to rebel, and for good, too.”
“Catherine,” said Savin severely.
“Ah, why did I marry a common brutal soldier?”
Barrau blushed. The thrust struck home.
“Enough! Enough!” said he, rudely; “I am the master here, at least. And
any honest woman should not make such a remark.”
“Indeed! I am a worthless jade, am I? A coquette? A good-for-nothing?”
Savin made an impatient gesture.
“Say it,” she went on; “do not hesitate.”
As though to prevent further disagreement, Savin started to go, but
his anger forced him to stop and say: “Ah, well, yes. Yes, then! A
woman who compromises herself in the presence of evil tongues has no
self-respect.”
“Take care!” cried Catherine, advancing toward him in anger.
“Take care yourself, my child. Do your duty and be circumspect is all I
ask. But no more coquetry, you understand, or----”
“Or--you will kill me, perhaps. Well, then, do it. Kill me, if you
will.”
“Madame,” said he, solemnly, “I do not come from a family of assassins.”
Catherine’s face turned livid. She fell heavily to the floor, and Savin
could have bitten his tongue out for his cruel words.
[Illustration]