decided to leave the ball room and go into the garden where the
fireworks were in progress. In the confusion caused by this hurried
exit, the gentlemen escorted the first ladies whom they found; Edouard
had hurried out among the first, in order to avoid having Madame de
Hautmont on his arm. Alfred had led away one of Monsieur Moulinet’s
nieces, and Mademoiselle Cornélie, compelled to accept Robineau’s
escort, and convinced at last that all her airs and graces produced no
effect upon the young man who possessed a hundred thousand francs a
year, concluded that it would be prudent not to allow Robineau also to
carry his homage elsewhere; so she took his hand with a forced smile,
allowed herself to be led by him into the garden, and pretended not to
notice that he was taking her into a path which the rest of the company
were not following; and not until they reached a decidedly dark spot did
she say to him:
"Where in the world are you taking me, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire?
Really, you are a cruel man."
At the words "cruel man," Robineau fell at Cornélie’s feet, saying:
"I do not know what I am, but I do know that I adore you; your charms,
your dancing, your wit, everything combines to take me captive; I place
my fortune and my heart at your feet."
"Well, we will see; I think that--speak to my father."
"But you, ravishing Cornélie?"
"I--I--ah! Mon Dieu! there goes the bouquet, and we are not there!"
The company had in fact arrived only in time to see the bouquet fired,
and to receive a few rocket sticks in their faces; but, by way of
compensation, Mademoiselle Cheval, Jeannette, Cunette, Vincent, and the
scullions had had the best places, and had seen the whole display.
"This will teach them to go away when I am singing!" said Monsieur
Férulus to himself, rubbing his hands.
"We should have done as well not to have stopped dancing," remarked the
young ladies.
"It seems that these fireworks were discharged for the servants," said
Monsieur Berlingue.
Monsieur le Marquis de la Pincerie, who appeared with his brother Mignon
just as everybody else was returning, refused to believe that the
fireworks had been discharged in his absence; to convince him, Mignon
was forced to go out and pick up the sticks, the remains of the
cartridges, and bring them to him. The guests returned to the château to
resume their dancing, but when they reached the ball room they looked in
vain for the orchestra. At the noise of the bombs and rockets, the blind
man had fled and his two colleagues had disappeared with him. It is
difficult to dance without music, so that the fête came to an end much
earlier than had been expected.
Each family took its place in the carriage which had brought it. As
Monsieur de Tantignac’s horse had not returned to fetch his master, the
chevalier asked permission to make a tenth in the paper manufacturer’s
carriage. The chariot of Monsieur de la Pincerie received once more the
noble family. Madame de Hautmont entered it in a very bad temper because
Edouard had not offered her his hand, which she expected him to do, in
order to obtain an opportunity to ask permission to see her again. But
Robineau had almost carried Mademoiselle Cornélie to the carriage in his
arms, whispering in her ear:
"Prepare your father to listen to me."
At last, all the carriages, cabriolets and chariots had left the
château. Cunette closed the gates, calling after them: "God bless you!"
Vincent tossed his livery upon his bed. Alfred, fatigued by dancing, and
by the walks and conversations of the day, was delighted to retire.
Edouard was no less delighted to be left to himself, and free to abandon
himself to his thoughts; and Robineau returned to his apartment, saying
to Monsieur Férulus:
"It seems to me that the fête was rather fine, I hope that it will be
talked about for a long while."
"It will be cited a hundred years hence, monsieur, as a model to be
followed. But we did not remain long enough at table."
"And the ball ended much too early. Fancy those rascals of musicians
running away during the fireworks! Who in the deuce can have shown the
blind man the way?"
Monsieur Férulus made no reply, but he turned his head to conceal a
faint smile; then wished Robineau good-night; and he, thinking of the
superb Cornélie, decided to go to bed; for one must always end by doing
that after a day of festivity and enjoyment, as well as after a day of
toil and sorrow.
XIX
LOVE AND MYSTERY
After the vagabond’s visit, Isaure was sad and pensive; what the man had
said to her concerning Alfred and Edouard caused the girl to reflect
upon her situation. She thought that she had done wrong to talk to the
two young men every morning; but could she prevent them from coming into
the valley and resting in her cottage? They manifested such an
affectionate friendliness for her! And they had long since ceased to
talk of love to her. Once in a while, Alfred had tried to kiss her; but
is it so rare a thing to see a peasant steal a kiss from a girl in the
country? It is true that Edouard looked at her very affectionately, that
he sighed when he shook her hand; but did all that prove that he was in
love with a simple peasant girl?
The evening passed in such reflections. At the faintest sound outside,
Isaure listened intently; she dreaded a visit from the stranger; that
man aroused in her a sensation which she could not define; she felt that
he lacked those things which ordinarily arouse one’s interest in an
unfortunate person; she had a feeling now of fear in her lonely house;
her glances as she looked about were wanting in the usual confidence;
the darkness caused her an indefinable terror. Several times she went up
to the topmost chamber in the cottage, and opening the window which
looked toward the White House, gazed long and earnestly at the building,
upon which the moon cast a pale light.
After passing several hours at the window, Isaure retired; then at
daybreak she drove her goats to the mountain as usual, saying to
herself:
"They will come to-day! Shall I say anything to them about what that
stranger said to me? No, I must not; he told me that these gentlemen
love me; as if young men from the city could love a girl from the
mountains! Oh, no! it was only in jest that Monsieur Alfred pretended to
be in love with me; and Monsieur Edouard? Ah! he has never told me that
he loved me!"
But the hour at which the young men usually came to the valley had long
since passed and they had not appeared. Isaure gazed very long and often
at the road by which they always came, and she remained later than usual
upon the mountain; at last she returned sadly to her cottage, and there
continued to wait the coming of those who manifested so much friendship
for her.
"They will not come," said the girl to herself, looking out of the door.
"No, they will not come to-day, and perhaps not to-morrow either. I
ought not to be disappointed, since it is wrong to talk with those
gentlemen every day."
And yet a tear fell from the girl’s eyes; it seemed to her that she was
once more utterly deserted.
"Perhaps they have left this part of the country!" she said to herself.
"Left without bidding me good-by; he especially, who seemed always so
sorry to leave me! who smiled so sweetly at me! Why, then, did he
accustom me to see him every day?"
The girl was right: why accustom people to happiness in order to inflict
pain upon them afterward? That is what one should say to oneself before
trying to beguile a heart. But at that time we think of almost anything
else.
The day passed and the young men did not come. Isaure did all that she
could to divert her thoughts; she went in and out of the house, she
talked to her hens and her cow and to Vaillant; but, despite all her
efforts, her heart was heavy; the time seemed to pass more slowly than
usual, and she did not sleep the whole of the night.
Once more day broke. The girl was already up, and was about to leave her
cottage to go to the mountain, when she heard a faint sound in the
distance. It speedily drew nearer. Isaure stopped; hope and joy
glistened in her eyes. Yes, it was certainly the gallop of a horse that
she heard, and it came nearer and nearer. Isaure looked down the road; a
young man was approaching at a fast gallop; she recognized him; it was
he, he whom she was especially surprised not to see the day before. Is
it possible for a woman to be mistaken when love is in question?
Edouard had not slept during the night following the fête, and he had
risen before dawn and saddled a horse for himself. Alfred was asleep,
and Edouard felt no desire to wake him; but it was a breach of their
agreement to go without him to see Isaure; however, love makes one
forget as many agreements as it forgets itself!
In a few moments Edouard had dismounted, fastened his horse near the
cottage, and run to Isaure, who did not dream of concealing all the
pleasure which his presence caused her.
"Here you are!" she said; "ah! I had already made up my mind that you
would not come any more!"
"Not come any more! not see you any more, Isaure! Do you think that it
would be possible for me to exist away from you?"
As he spoke, Edouard took the girl’s hands and pressed them fondly in
his; then they sat down together at the foot of a tree, and gazed at
each other for some time in silence. But one can speak so eloquently
with the eyes!
"You did not come yesterday?" said the girl at last.
"No, it was impossible; there was company, a party, at the château at
which we are staying! But how long the day seemed to me, amid all that
noise, with those people for whom I care nothing, those pleasures in
which I could take no part, because I was thinking of you, of you alone,
with whom I am so happy!"
"The time seemed very long to me, too; I was bored. I looked very often
at the road by which you come. You have accustomed me to seeing you; you
have done wrong, for after all, you will not always remain in this
region, and then I shall not see you any more, and it seems to me that I
shall not be so happy as I used to be."
"Dear Isaure! But would it be to me or to Alfred that you would give the
keenest regrets? To-day I have come without him, I am defying his anger,
for I am determined to know at last what I may hope. Yes, yes, I love
you, Isaure; I feel for you the most passionate, the most sincere love;
I have tried for some time to fight against it; but I feel that it is
impossible for me, I feel that this love is now a part of my existence.
And why should I fear to give myself up to it? I am free, I am my own
master; and if you love me, who can object to our union? But it is
necessary that you should love me, that you should prefer me to Alfred.
Oh! speak, confess to me frankly what is taking place in your heart.
Isaure, you would not, you could not, deceive me."
Isaure timidly cast down her eyes, and withdrew her hand from Edouard’s,
faltering:
"So it is true! You do love me? He did not deceive me?"
"Who, pray?"
"That poor man--you know, that stranger who is wandering about our
mountains."
"Have you seen him?"
"Yes, the day before yesterday, after you had gone, he came into my
house. I asked him to rest, and he remained quite a long time. He kept
his eyes fixed on me all the time, and with such a strange expression!
Ah! it was not like you! For, instead of giving me pleasure, it
frightened me."
"Did that villain insult you?"
"No! oh, no! he simply said to me--what you yourself have just
said--that it was love which brought you to me; and then he asked me
which of you I preferred."
"Who has authorized him to question you concerning your most secret
feelings? Ah! when I meet him again, I will chastise his insolence!"
"Oh! do not be angry with him, I beg you; the man is unfortunate; he
says that all the world has deserted him! You must not make him any
unhappier. No doubt he questioned me for his own amusement, but he did
not insist when he saw that I did not like it. You will not say anything
to him, will you?"
"How kind-hearted you are! But you are right, we must forget that man.
Ah, dear Isaure, you will answer me; you will let me read your heart?"
"What do you want me to say to you?"
"Which do you prefer, Alfred or me?"
"Oh, dear! I love to see you both."
"Both equally?"
The girl blushed; she did not know how to express what she felt. Edouard
approached her, gently put his arm about her waist and said to her
tenderly:
"If Alfred should not come to see you again, would you be very much
disappointed?"
"Why, I should think of him sometimes,--we would talk together about
him; that is all."
"And suppose it were I who did not come again--would you console
yourself in the same way by talking with him?"
"Oh! never, never!" cried the girl, in a tone that came from her heart.
"Dear Isaure! then it is I whom you love with love!"
Isaure softly raised her beautiful blue eyes to Edouard’s face; her
expression, in which her whole soul was depicted, left no possible doubt
in his mind who was master of her heart. In his intoxication, Edouard
embraced her and imprinted a kiss on her lips. Instantly they heard a
mocking laugh behind them.
The lovers turned their heads, but they saw no one.
"Didn’t you hear something?" asked Isaure anxiously.
"Yes, I thought--but I see no one about. Ah! what do we care for the
world? What is the whole universe to me? You love me, dear Isaure! That
assurance is perfect bliss to me! You love me, you are an orphan, you
are dependent upon nobody; I too am my own master, and I shall be your
husband! Yes, I shall be deemed worthy of so many charms, of such
perfect innocence! Ah! I have known society sufficiently to be sure I
could never find there anyone to be compared with you, and besides, your
education and your manners are not those of a peasant; if I should
desire to present you in society, you would be its brightest ornament.
But no, we will live apart, for each other; to make us happy we shall
have no need of those noisy dissipations of which you know nothing. My
fortune is more than sufficient to satisfy all our wishes. I will buy a
house in some lovely country district; I shall take delight in teaching
you music and drawing myself, in reading with you those famous authors
who enlighten our minds and rejoice our hearts; and if my inclination
for letters, for the stage, calls me sometimes to Paris, I shall return
to your arms to seek repose from the fatigues of the city. Ah! This
prospect promises me the most blissful of lives; tell me that it will
make you happy, too!"
For some moments past, while listening to Edouard, Isaure had become
pensive, and her eyes no longer bore the expression of pleasure which
had animated them; it seemed that her mind had been invaded by
melancholy memories and new reflections; Edouard noticed this change,
for the girl’s slightest feelings were expressed at once upon her
features.
"What is the matter?" he asked anxiously. "Are you angry that I have
read your heart, that I know that you love me?"
"Oh, no, it isn’t that," replied the girl, with a sigh. "Why should I
hide from you what I feel? One should always say what one thinks, should
not one?"
"Yes, always."
"But perhaps I have done wrong to love you! I ought first to have found
out--However, I did not try to resist--what I felt when I saw you was
such perfect bliss!"
"Well, Isaure, why these regrets now that I swear to love you all my
life, and propose to make you my wife?"
"Your wife!" replied the girl sadly, glancing at the White House. "Ah,
yes! I should be very happy then; but perhaps it is not possible!"
"Why not? Aren’t you an orphan, alone on earth, since you lost the good
people who adopted you?"
Isaure did not reply for some time, but at last she said, lowering her
eyes:
"Yes, I am an orphan, I have no parents."
"Well! Who could interpose any obstacle to our happiness? Who could
prevent you from being mine, from never parting from me any more?"
Isaure seemed deeply agitated; after glancing about her with an
expression of dread, she put out her hand, pointed to the White House,
and said to Edouard in a very low tone:
"I can never go away from that house."
Edouard was thunderstruck; he gazed in amazement at the White House, to
which she pointed, then turned his eyes anxiously upon the girl again;
he seemed to await some further explanation. But Isaure said no more.
"What!" said Edouard at last, "you can never go away from that deserted
house? Pray, what powerful reason compels you to remain near that
house?"
"I cannot tell," replied Isaure, under her breath.
"What is this mystery, this obstacle which you conceal from me? You have
secrets from me, when I propose to devote my life to you, to unite
myself to you by indissoluble bonds! Oh! speak, I implore you, conceal
nothing from me!"
"I cannot speak. Pray, forgive me for causing you pain! If it rested
only with me----"
"Dear Isaure! is it some promise, some oath that you gave your adopted
mother? Perhaps she ordered you never to leave these mountains. But
reflect that, if your parents were alive, they could not disapprove of
my love! This house at which you point so mysteriously has long been
uninhabited; it does not belong to you, because if I am to believe what
I have been told, your adopted father sold it shortly after taking you
into his family; and you cannot go away from it, you say! Come, confess
that there is underneath all this some absurd, inconsiderate promise.
Tell me the whole story, and I will soon satisfy you that you are
entirely at liberty to dispose of your future."
"At liberty to dispose of my future!" replied the girl earnestly; "oh,
no! I am not!"
"Why, in whose power are you then?" cried Edouard; "who can have any
authority over you?"
Isaure looked down and made no reply. Edouard’s brow darkened; a
thousand suspicions sprang up in his mind; the love which gleamed in his
eyes gave place to distrust and anger. He rose, walked away from the
girl, who remained seated at the foot of the tree, then said at last in
a tone which he tried to make indifferent.
"Well, mademoiselle, since you do not deem me worthy of your confidence,
I will not presume to ask you any more questions. I thought that I had
your love, I hoped to make you happy; I was mistaken; I will try to
forget all my plans!"
The girl said nothing. Edouard walked still farther away; but surprised
by her silence, he turned to look at her once more. Isaure’s pretty face
was bathed in the tears which flowed freely from her eyes. At that
sight, Edouard was soon by her side; he threw himself at her feet, and
covered her hands with kisses, crying:
"You are weeping! and it is I who am the cause of it! Oh! forgive me,
dear Isaure; pardon my unjust suspicions!"
"You think that I do not love you!" said the girl, sobbing.
"I have grieved you! Ah! am I not too fortunate to have won your love?
How I repent having caused your tears to flow! Hereafter I will not seek
to know your secrets, I will not ask you any more questions. You love
me! What more can I ask?"
"Oh, yes!" replied Isaure, while a smile appeared beneath her tears, "I
shall always love you, for I do not think that it is possible to change.
Forgive me for not telling you everything that concerns me. Ah! I would
like to! but the secret does not belong to me. Some day perhaps I shall
have no more secrets from you; and before long, no doubt, I shall know
whether I can be your wife, whether I may be permitted to go with you
whereever you go. As for my heart, it is yours; you know very well that
I cannot take it away from you again."
The sweet child pressed Edouard’s hand lovingly, and had no hesitation
in showing him all the pleasure it gave her to love him; but it did not
occur to Edouard to abuse her confidence, for he too loved sincerely.
The time passes quickly with two lovers who still have mutual pleasures
to bestow; Edouard noticed at last that it was more than time that he
should return to the château. He tore himself away with difficulty from
her whom he loved, saying to her tenderly:
"Until to-morrow."
"Until to-morrow," said Isaure. "Remember that you have accustomed me to
see you, that the time seems very long to me when I am not with you; and
now that I have admitted that I love you, I would like to tell you so
every day!"
Edouard took the girl’s hand, held it to his heart and said:
"May it be that before long I shall never be obliged to leave you!"
He remounted his horse, waved his hand to Isaure, who stood in her
doorway, then rode back toward the château. But, in spite of himself, he
could not help turning his head to look at the White House; and although
he had promised the girl not to worry about what she concealed from
him, and not to conceive unjust suspicions, he felt a weight at his
heart as he gazed at that deserted house, and he said to himself with a
sigh:
"What can be the reason that prevents her from going away from this
place?"
XX
HYMENEAL PLANS
On rising, on the day following the fête, Alfred went to Edouard’s
apartment; not finding him there, or in the château, or in the gardens,
Alfred felt assured, that disregarding their agreement, Edouard had gone
without him to see Isaure. He was furious, he cursed his sleep, he was
on the point of mounting and riding into the mountains after him. But he
reflected that the morning was already far advanced and that Edouard,
who had started some time before, was doubtless on his way back. He
decided to wait in order that he might have an explanation with him the
sooner.
While Alfred impatiently paced the gallery which looked over the
country, Robineau, who had just risen, was devoting special care to his
toilet. At last he came forth with a self-satisfied air, and said to the
young baron, smiling blandly:
"Good-morning, my dear Alfred!"
"Good-morning!" replied the other shortly, continuing to stride back and
forth.
"Parbleu! I am very glad to find you this morning, which rarely happens;
for ordinarily you and the poet are up before Phœbus. Ha! ha! Being
with that devil of a Férulus, I am getting into the habit of speaking in
metaphors altogether.--But let us come to what I want to say to you. You
are not listening to me, Alfred!"
"Yes, yes, I am listening to you; speak on."
"Well, my friend, I will tell you then that during the day yesterday,
I--By the way, what did you think of yesterday’s affair? You haven’t
said anything to me about my fête. It was rather neat, eh?"
"Yes, with the exception of Monsieur Férulus’s poetry, the gladiators’
cheese, and Mademoiselle Cheval’s posteriors, it was very good."
"Oh! what can you expect? Such unforeseen little accidents always
happen. Indeed, Monsieur Berlingue assured me that those things made the
party more piquant.--However, my dear Alfred, during the day I
definitely settled upon my choice."
"Your choice for what?"
"What! for what? Why, for my wife, nothing else. I absolutely must
marry! When a man occupies a certain position, when he has a
château--and then, my heart has spoken; oh, yes! it has spoken in a most
extraordinary fashion! I have never been in love like this; it is true
that no such fascinating object was ever before within my reach. I will
bet that you have guessed, Alfred! You must have noticed our
understanding. For my part, I confess that I could not restrain
myself.--I say, Alfred, what are you looking at out of the window?"
"I am listening to you, I hear what you say; go ahead."
"Well, my dear friend, it is Mademoiselle Cornélie de la Pincerie who
has won my heart; it is she who will be my wife, if, as I hope, monsieur
le marquis, her father, does not interpose any obstacle to our union."
Alfred left the window, and walked toward Robineau, saying to him:
"It is Mademoiselle Cornélie, that tall young woman with whom you opened
the ball, whom you propose to marry?"
"Just so, my friend. She is charming, isn’t she?"
"Yes, she isn’t bad-looking!"
"And how she dances, eh?"
"Yes, but one doesn’t marry to dance all the time. Listen, Robineau----"
"I have told you that I would not answer to that name."
"Well, Jules la Roche-Noire, or whatever you choose,--listen to me, I
beg you. You are a good fellow, although wealth has rather turned your
head, and although you are trying to play the grand seigneur. We were at
school together, and honestly I should be sorry to see you wretchedly
unhappy some day."
"What a devil of a preamble!"
"You are spending more than your income, you are running through your
inheritance too fast; however, since you are enjoying yourself, I will
overlook that; but my friend, take my advice, do not marry Mademoiselle
Cornélie; for I am very sure that, if you do, you will not enjoy
yourself long."
Robineau pressed his lips together with an air of vexation, and replied: