finally appeared in the salon. Cornélie’s costume was more coquettish
than that of the morning, and this time Robineau was so dazzled that he
was obliged to sit down for fear that he would be dizzy. The compliments
began to circulate anew. During the curtsies and the salutations,
Robineau went to a corner of the salon to rub his temples with cologne;
then he returned with a somewhat less timid air to his wife, who was
attentive to everybody but her husband.
Monsieur Férulus, who had not yet delivered his congratulations to the
newly-married pair, because he was waiting until all the company should
be assembled, took his place in front of Cornélie, before whom he bowed
to the floor, and presented her with a roll of paper tied with pink
ribbons, saying:
"Permit me, madame, while adding the incense of my good wishes to the
perfume of the congratulations which have already shed fragrance upon
your passage, to dedicate to you this trifle, born of your marriage. May
Laughter and Sport gambol ever about your couch! and may heaven bestow
upon you children, masculine, feminine and neuter, whose tutor I shall
be!"
The librarian’s offering created a great sensation; the men smiled, the
ladies asked one another in undertones what neuter children were; and
Robineau, who had gone once more to rub his temples with cologne, seemed
to have resolved that he would procreate no others.
Cornélie took the paper with a patronizing air, and then returned it to
Férulus, saying:
"You must read it to us at dessert."
The servants having announced that dinner was served, the company passed
into the dining-room, marching in time, like Prussian soldiers.
Monsieur de la Pincerie appropriated the great armchair. Cornélie was
seated opposite her husband, and Férulus was relegated to the further
end of the table, where he was not allowed either to serve or to carve;
such was the order of things established by Madame de la Roche-Noire,
who did not seem particularly touched by the verses which the scholar
had written for her. Monsieur Férulus said nothing; he devoured that
affront in secret, and determined to eat, if possible, four times as
much as usual. People who endure humiliation in order to enjoy a good
dinner always have little courage and much appetite.
The dinner passed off as seriously as all that had gone before. The
first course was interrupted only by a slight accident: Monsieur Mignon
came near swallowing a pin which had fallen from his sleeve into his
plate; but they succeeded in removing it from his throat with small
pincers, and tranquillity was soon restored.
Mademoiselle Cheval had surpassed herself; the repast was magnificent.
But Robineau ate little; he seemed absent-minded and restless; and when
he looked at his wife, he heaved sighs capable of extinguishing the
candles. Cornélie had already assumed the manners of the mistress of the
house: she issued orders in a tone which announced to the servants that
they must walk straight. As they did not intend to dance after dinner,
and as it was probable that the evening would be rather tedious, they
remained a long time at table. Toward the close of the banquet, the
fumes of the wines, which were frequently changed, enlivened the guests
a bit. The old annuitant recounted an ancient jest or two in an
undertone; the Chevalier de Tantignac declared that he would give half
his fortune to be in Robineau’s place; and Monsieur Berlingue declared
that his fortune was as fabulous as his horse. Robineau drank a great
deal, to banish his timidity, and to muster courage to look at his wife;
and even Uncle Mignon, who had forgotten his accident, became animated
and talked a little; lastly, monsieur le marquis laughed more than once
at the jokes which he made, and which he alone understood.
Monsieur Férulus thought that the time had come for him to read his
poetry; he looked at Robineau to know whether he should begin; but it
was no longer Robineau who gave orders, it was Madame de la Roche-Noire.
However, Cornélie herself said:
"Monsieur has, I believe, something to read to us; I trust that it will
not be so long as his last ballad."
"I flatter myself, madame, that you will find, on the contrary, that it
is too short," replied Férulus, who was not overjoyed at this reference
to his last ballad. Then, taking the roll from his pocket, and untying
the ribbon, he rose and began:
"Compliment in verse in honor of the union of the newly-married pair."
"It seems to me, monsieur," said the marquis, "that you would have done
well to say: the union of Mademoiselle Cornélie, daughter of the Marquis
de la Pincerie, with Monsieur de la Roche-Noire; that would have been
more becoming than to say ‘the newly-married pair,’ exactly as if you
were talking about Jacquot and Pierrette!"
"My noble father-in-law is right," said Robineau, "I don’t like ‘the
newly-married pair.’"
"Monsieur," replied Férulus, dissembling his mortification, "that phrase
is strictly grammatical; you will find it in Lhomond, in Wailly, in
Boiste, and in all the dictionaries."
"Oh! for heaven’s sake, monsieur, don’t talk about dictionaries!" cried
Eudoxie; "it seems to me that to-day you should talk to us of something
pleasant and attractive."
"Therefore, madame," continued Férulus, "I have taken for the text of my
trifle, this line from Propertius:
"‘Nec domina ulla meo ponet vestigia lecto.’"
"And what may that mean?" said Cornélie; "for it seems to me that you
would do better to give us a translation of it."
"Yes," said Robineau, "he is a terrible fellow for that! I have told him
a hundred times that I cared for nothing but translations."
"Madame," rejoined Férulus, with an amiable smile, "that means: ‘No
other mistress shall disturb my bed.’"
"Mon Dieu! how shocking! how indecent!" cried Eudoxie, hiding her face
behind Alfred’s shoulder.
"What, monsieur!" said Cornélie; "you presume to compose such loose
verses!"
"Madame, I have the honor to inform you that the author is Propertius,
and that----"
"No mistress in his bed!" cried the Marquis de la Pincerie. "Corbleu! I
would like to see--Son-in-law, what is the meaning of this allusion?"
"I swear to you, father-in-law, that I have no idea," said Robineau; "I
do not understand Monsieur Férulus’s motive in perpetrating such a
wretched jest!"
"Monsieur," said Férulus, "I say again that that is the translation of
the line, and that----"
"Very well, monsieur, that will do," said Cornélie; "after such a
beginning, I do not care to hear any more! If the remainder corresponds
with the text, it cannot be repeated to ladies."
"But, madame, allow me to call your attention----"
"No remarks, monsieur," said Monsieur de la Pincerie, rising from his
chair as if he proposed to chastise the scholar; "you have been told
that your poem is good for nothing. I am inclined to think that you are
not here to lay down the law, monsieur!"
Férulus dropped back on his chair, crumpled the paper in his hands and
threw it under the table; and, stuffing three macaroons into his mouth
at once in his wrath, he narrowly escaped swallowing his tongue. Uncle
Mignon, who had drunk more than usual, and had been moving about
uneasily on his chair for half an hour, began to laugh.
"I, too, have made up a little ballad for my niece," he said. "It came
into my head at the dinner-table. It’s an impromptu."
"Let us hear Mignon’s ballad," said Monsieur de la Pincerie. "The devil!
I didn’t know that he wrote poetry.--Sing, Mignon."
Everybody was silent, and Mignon sang, playing with his napkin the
while:
"Sois heureuse, ma nièce,
C’est du meilleur de mon âme;
Lorsque j’admire tes yeux,
Turc lure!
Il me semble être à la noce!
Robin turelure lure!"
"Bravo! very good!" cried the marquis; and everybody applauded, laughed
and called for an encore. Mignon repeated his verses, and Monsieur de la
Pincerie observed:
"There you have the genuine French ballad--after the style of our
fathers. They are blank verses, to be sure, but they are none the less
agreeable."
Férulus, his discomfiture completed by the success of Monsieur Mignon’s
ballad, muttered between his teeth:
"If one of my scholars had written that thing, he would have been
whipped every day for a fortnight!"
The company left the table to go to the salon. Férulus alone did not go
thither; he went off to bed, saying to himself:
"They needn’t expect me to play whist. I won’t open my door."
But a whist table was made up without the librarian; there was also a
game of piquet and one of chess; in fact, the evening passed very
quietly, and one might have thought that the host and hostess had been
married twenty years.
But Robineau, who had obtained leave not to play, left the salon several
times; he still seemed restless and distraught, although, as he looked
at his wife, he kept repeating:
"She has never seemed to me so fascinating as she does to-night! My love
is becoming more and more passionate."
In one of his excursions from the salon, Robineau went to his apartment,
which his wife was to occupy with him thenceforth. It was quite cold,
but no fire had been built in the nuptial chamber, and the groom said to
himself:
"I am terribly afraid of being cold to-night with my wife; not that--but
still, this room should have been warmed."
He left the room and happened to meet Jeannette; thereupon he recalled
the stout maiden’s functions; an idea occurred to him, he struck his
forehead joyfully and called the servant.
"Jeannette, you will warm the marriage-bed to-night, do you hear?"
"Oh! monsieur wants his bed warmed?"
"Yes, Jeannette, it cannot fail to be very agreeable to both my wife and
myself."
"All right, monsieur."
"By the way, Jeannette, just warm it with sugar; that is more refined
and it smells very nice."
"With sugar? But, monsieur, you see----"
"Do as I tell you, Jeannette."
Robineau walked away and returned to the salon. Jeannette, when she was
alone, scratched her ear, saying to herself:
"Warm his bed with sugar! How can I do that? I don’t understand that at
all, myself!"
To obtain an explanation, Jeannette, who had seen Férulus go to his
room, knocked at his door.
"It’s me, monsieur," she said.
"I’m asleep," Férulus replied from his bed.
"But I want you to explain something, monsieur."
"I’m asleep, I tell you! _Retro, Satanas!_"
"But the master wants me to warm his bed with sugar----"
"Warm it with the four spices and leave me in peace."
Unable to obtain any different reply, Jeannette went down to the
kitchen, to Mademoiselle Cheval, and said to her:
"Do you know what to do to warm a bed with sugar?"
"Pardine! what a question!" replied the cook; "why, you put sugar in the
warming pan. That’s all, my girl."
"And monsieur said it smelt good."
"Why, yes; it makes a kind of caramel!"
"Oho! it makes ca-a-ramel! that’s funny! I wouldn’t have thought that!"
Jeannette procured several lumps of sugar and went up to the nuptial
chamber, saying to herself:
"What queer notions these rich people have! never mind, as it’s my work,
I must obey."
And Jeannette crawled into the nuptial bed, which was surrounded by
immense silk curtains; then she proceeded to sweeten her warming pan,
saying to herself:
"I must make some caramel for ’em, if they like it!"
The bed prepared for the husband and wife was soft and luxurious, and
Jeannette stretched herself out therein with keen enjoyment, thinking
that she must warm it thoroughly for her master. But Jeannette had
become very tired during the day, having had to dress the ladies and
wait at dinner; and as she recalled what she had had to do, while
dressing the bride, and the different dishes served at dinner, the buxom
damsel yawned, closed her eyes and finally fell asleep in the nuptial
bed.
Whist, chess and piquet came to an end; all the strangers took a solemn
leave of the bride and groom and left the château. Edouard and Alfred
went to their rooms, after wishing a good-night to Robineau, who
squeezed their hands as if he were in convulsions. Eudoxie, whose vapors
was brought on by the approach of that moment, had long since retired.
Monsieur le marquis rose, walked up to Robineau and said in his ear:
"My son-in-law, see that everything goes off all right, I beg."
"Father-in-law, you may rest assured that it shall," replied Robineau,
bowing low to Monsieur de la Pincerie.
At last the bridegroom took his bride’s hand and retired with her to the
nuptial chamber.
They found the room lighted, but they looked upon that circumstance
simply as an attention on the part of the servants. It was an enormous
room, and the bed, which stood in an alcove, was concealed by the
curtains. Before going thither, it was necessary to divest themselves of
their garments, which Cornélie proceeded to do with the utmost
tranquillity, while Robineau tossed his clothes on the floor in a
twinkling and danced about the room, exclaiming:
"I am too happy! I believe I am going to be dizzy!"
"I trust that you are not going to be ill, monsieur!" said Cornélie,
"for that would not afford me any amusement whatever."
Robineau made no reply, but rubbed his temples and forehead with eau de
Mélisse.
At last Cornélie completed her toilet for the night and walked toward
the alcove; but as she was about to draw the curtains aside, she
stopped, fell back a step or two, turned pale and said:
"This is very strange!"
"Would you like some eau de Mélisse, too, my dear love?" inquired
Robineau, who was at the other end of the room.
"No, monsieur, no--but come here,--walk softly, and listen; it seems to
me that I hear someone breathing."
Robineau shuddered; he no longer desired to approach the bed, and his
bride was compelled to go to fetch him. When he reached the alcove, he
distinctly heard someone there. Thereupon his legs gave way under him
and he was obliged to cling to a chair.
"Do you hear?" whispered Cornélie.
"Yes, yes, madame!"
"There is someone hidden here, who seems to be asleep."
"It’s the--the ghost from the Tower--come to disturb my bliss."
"Oh! no, monsieur! it’s no ghost; but it may very well be a thief!--Go,
monsieur, ring, call for help."
"I haven’t the strength to move, madame!"
"Bah! what a man you are!"
Cornélie ran to the door, opened it, and rushed from the room, calling
for help. When Robineau found that he was alone by the bed, he recovered
his strength and ran after his wife, adding his cries to hers.
At the sound of their outcries, those inmates of the château who were
not asleep ran to the spot with lights; they were curious to know what
caused the bride and groom to shriek so loud. Most of them were half
dressed. They found Robineau as pale as death, and Cornélie in an
undress in which there was nothing to inspire alarm.
"What’s the matter? what is it?" asked Alfred and Edouard; while
Monsieur de la Pincerie, who was the last to appear, strode angrily to
Robineau, saying:
"I would like to know why you cause my daughter to shriek like this on
the first night after her wedding? I have been married myself; but my
wife didn’t utter the faintest shriek!"
"Why, it isn’t I who made my wife shriek, father-in-law; on the
contrary, I am shrieking with her!--But, bring weapons! arm yourselves,
quick! there’s someone in our bed! I thought of the ghost, but my wife
says that it may be a robber."
"Let us see about it," said Alfred; "there are enough of us, we don’t
need weapons. There can’t be a band of brigands in your alcove!"
And Alfred and Edouard went into the room, followed by the husband and
wife, the marquis and the servants. When they reached the bed, the
young men jerked the curtains aside and disclosed to view Jeannette
snoring peacefully, with outstretched legs.
"It’s Jeannette!" exclaimed Alfred and Edouard, laughing heartily.
"It’s Jeannette!" echoed the others.
"What on earth is this girl doing in your bed, monsieur?" said Cornélie,
gazing at Robineau in amazement.
"What, indeed!" said Monsieur de la Pincerie; "this maid-servant asleep
in your bed--what does it mean, son-in-law? Corbleu! this has a very
evil look----"
"Father-in-law, I swear that I have no idea what it means; I am
innocence itself. Wake Jeannette; she must explain to us why she is
here."
They shook the stout damsel, who yawned, stretched her arms, rubbed her
eyes, and gazed about with a surprised expression, crying:
"Mon Dieu! have I been having a nap?"
"How do you happen to be in this bed?" demanded Cornélie, with a glance
at Jeannette that was by no means amiable.
"How! Mon Dieu, madame, I ask your pardon; but it’s natural that when I
warm your bed----"
"Warm my bed?"
"Didn’t you, monsieur, order me to warm your bed?"
"Yes, I admit it," said Robineau, "I thought that my wife would like it;
but I didn’t tell you to go to bed in order to do it."
"Oh! monsieur, I’ll tell you how it is--there ain’t any warming pan in
the château, and nobody’s thought to buy one; in fact, Monsieur Férulus
said there wasn’t any use of it; he taught me to warm beds like the
ancients; in fact, I’ve been warming his bed with my gravity, as he
calls it, every day."
"How shocking!" cried Cornélie; "your great scholar is a scoundrel,
monsieur; and I trust that he will leave my house to-morrow."
"I agree with you entirely, madame," said Robineau; "besides, he writes
nothing but wretched stuff now."
"He is a villain!" said Monsieur de la Pincerie; "and if I were not
almost in my shirt, I would go to him at once and pull his ears!"
"Meanwhile, I certainly shall not sleep in this bed," said Cornélie;
"and as the one I have been sleeping in has been taken down, I shall
pass the night with my sister."
"But, my dear wife, consider--" began Robineau.
"No, monsieur, my mind is made up; this will teach you not to entertain
in your château people who behave in this way."
Cornélie took a candle, and, turning a deaf ear to her husband’s
remonstrances, went to her sister’s room. The marquis approved his
daughter’s conduct. Jeannette, who had risen from her couch, went away
with the other servants.
"_You would have it so!_" said Alfred to Robineau, who, being left alone
in the bridal chamber, went to bed, saying to himself:
"After all, perhaps it’s better that it should be so for to-night."
XXVI
A NOCTURNAL VISIT TO THE WHITE HOUSE
To recompense himself for a whole day passed without seeing Isaure,
Edouard rose with the dawn; and while everybody was asleep in the
château, he was already on his way into the mountains. He had told his
friend that he would not come to see her for a day, and the girl had
answered affectionately: "I shall think all day long of nothing but the
next day."
So he urged his horse, in order to be with her the sooner, for he had no
doubt that she shared his impatience.
He reached the little valley at last; he fastened his horse and walked
toward the cottage. He was surprised to find that Isaure was not at her
window to watch for him; it was her habit to sit there every morning;
and after a day of separation, should she not desire to see him even
sooner?
He knocked at the cottage door; Vaillant barked and soon the door was
opened. Isaure appeared before her lover, but she did not rush into his
arms; pleasure and love no longer seemed to animate her, and instead of
receiving him with the sweet smile to which he was accustomed, she
lowered her eyes, as she said sadly:
"Is it you?"
"Yes, it is I," he replied, struck by the change in Isaure’s manner.
"Didn’t you expect me?"
"Oh, yes, I felt sure that you would come."
"What is the matter, Isaure? What has happened to you? What has taken
place here in the short time since I left you? For heaven’s sake, answer
me."
Isaure seated herself in the living-room, and answered with a sigh:
"Nothing has taken place, nothing has happened to me."
"You are deceiving me, Isaure, you are not the same as usual. This
depression, the tears which I still see in your eyes--Do you think that
I can misunderstand them? Do you seek to deceive your lover? the man who
adores you? Speak, I demand it! I implore you! What is this new mystery?
Does it mean that you no longer love me?"
"Oh! I shall always love you," said Isaure, looking up at Edouard, with
eyes filled with tears; "yes, always; although I have been told that I
was doing wrong, that I was making a great mistake, to love you and to
listen to you."
"Who has told you that?" cried Edouard.
"Oh! do not be angry, I implore you. Alas! it would do no good. My
friend, forgive me for having inspired love in your heart; it was not my
fault; but since I cannot be your wife, since we must renounce all the
happiness which we had promised ourselves, forget me. I shall always
love you; that will be henceforth my only sentiment, my only thought, my
only comfort!"
The tears which flowed from the girl’s eyes seemed to bear witness to
the sincerity of her grief. But Edouard, intensely excited, sprang to
his feet and walked away from her, exclaiming:
"You say that you still love me, and yet you will not be mine! When,
forgetting what so many people in society take for their rule of
conduct, I determined to give you my name, to call you my wife, to live
for you alone, someone forbids you to love me, to listen to me; and
instantly you change your manner toward me, instantly you determine to
cease to see me, and I must needs renounce my dearest hopes! No, you do
not love me; if you shared my love, you would care more for me than for
anybody else. But, mademoiselle, what power over you has this person to
whom you sacrifice me? It is not your father; you have told me several
times that you had no parents. By what right does this person, who keeps
out of sight so mysteriously, pretend to separate you from me? Where is
this person--whom I would see, know, and speak to?"
"No, no! do not think of it," cried Isaure. "Oh! I beg you, if you still
love me, do not try to make that person’s acquaintance--he does not
wish, has never wished to be known, to be seen."
"_He_ does not wish," said Edouard angrily. "Very good! it is a man; you
have betrayed yourself!"
"Betrayed myself!" replied Isaure, raising her lovely eyes, streaming
with tears, to heaven; "what harm is there in its being a man?"
"Who is this man? What power has he over you?"
"Who he is, I do not myself know; but he has the strongest, the most
sacred rights over me--those of gratitude. It is to him that I owe
everything."
"That you owe everything! what? were you not adopted and brought up by
the honest peasants who lived in this house? Was it not to them alone
that you owe gratitude?"
"Oh, no! it was not to them alone. Those good people who lived here
loved me dearly, I know; but when they took me into their family, and
treated me as their own daughter, they simply obeyed the orders of the
man whom I must obey to-day! I am doing wrong even now in telling you
all this; he forbade me to do it."
"When a man has only honorable intentions, he does not conceal himself
thus, he does not envelop himself with so much mystery; and if this
person desires only your happiness, why does he forbid you to love me,
to become my wife?"
"Your wife! No, he told me that I could never be any man’s wife, that I
must not see you any more, must not receive you here; he said also that
that would make people think ill of me. Alas! I did not know that it was
wrong to love to be with you."
"And you will obey this order, which parts us?"
"I must; do not be angry with me, Edouard. The man who separates us is
terribly distressed to make me unhappy, for he is very kind, and he
loves me dearly."
"This is too much!" said Edouard, striding angrily from the cottage;
"you pity, you love another; and as the reward of my love, to pay me for
not acting as so many men would have done in my place, you request me
never to come again; ah! I must be a great fool to continue to love you.
Adieu! you shall be gratified, you shall see me no more!"
"Edouard! Edouard! do you leave me like this?" cried Isaure, who had
followed the young man out of the cottage. But Edouard was no longer
listening to her. Beside himself with rage and jealousy, he had
remounted his horse, and was galloping back to the château.
The whole party was at that moment assembled in the salon, except
Monsieur Férulus, who had received orders to leave the château, with
only twenty-four hours in which to make his preparations, and who was
then in the library, where he was packing up the volumes which he had
brought to the château, and consigning to the devil Monsieur de la
Roche-Noire’s new wife.
Alfred was with the family in the salon, with his eyes fixed smilingly
on Robineau, who seemed more timid than ever with his wife, and more
humble with his father-in-law.
Edouard was too excited to go to the salon; he went to his own room and
sent word secretly to Alfred to join him there.