"Open," said a gay voice outside, full of musical intonations. "Open.
'Tis the fortune of France!"
"What? Is it you, my darling?" said the old lady. "Quick, cousin,
run!"
As I opened the door Mervyn rushed between my legs, nearly throwing me
down. Mlle. Marguerite was tying up her horse to the fence by his
reins.
"_Bonjour_, M. Odiot," she said, without showing any surprise at finding
me there. Throwing the long folds of her habit over her arm, she
entered the garden.
"Welcome this lovely day, my lovely girl!" said Mlle. de Porhoet. "Kiss
me, dear. You've been riding too fast, you foolish child. I can tell
by your colour and the fire that literally seems to flash from your
eyes. What can I offer you, my beauty?"
"Let me see," said Mlle. Marguerite, glancing at the table. "What have
you got? Has M. Odiot eaten up everything? Not that it matters. I am
thirsty, not hungry."
"I utterly forbid you to drink while you're so hot. But wait a moment;
there are some strawberries left in that bed."
"Strawberries! _O gioia_!" sang the girl. "Take one of those
fig-leaves, M. Odiot, and come with me. Quick!"
While I chose the largest of the fig-leaves, Mlle. de Porhoet
half-closed one eye, and followed her favourite with the other, as she
walked proudly along the sunlit alley.
"Look at her, cousin," she whispered, with an approving smile; "isn't
she worthy to be one of us?"
Meanwhile, Mlle. Marguerite, bending over the bed and catching her foot
in her train at every step, greeted each strawberry she found with a
little cry of delight. I kept near to her, holding out the fig-leaf, in
which she put one strawberry for every two she ate, to help her to be
patient. When she was satisfied with the harvest we returned in triumph
to the arbour. The rest of the strawberries were sprinkled with sugar,
and crushed by the prettiest teeth in Brittany with great relish.
"Oh, that's done me good!" exclaimed Mlle. Marguerite, throwing her hat
on the seat and leaning back against the side of the bower. "And now,
dearest lady, to complete my happiness, you're going to tell me stories
of the old days when you were a fair warrior."
Mlle. de Porhoet, smiling and charmed, needed no pressing, and began to
tell us some of the most striking events of her famous expeditions with
Lescure and La Rochefoucauld. And on this occasion my old friend gave
me another proof of her nobility of nature, for she paid her tribute to
the heroes of those troublous wars without distinction of party. She
spoke of General Hoche, whose prisoner she had been, with almost tender
admiration. Mlle. Marguerite listened with an impassioned attention
which surprised me. At one moment, half-buried in her leafy niche, her
long eyelashes a little lowered, she sat as motionless as a statue; at
another, when the story became more exciting, she put her elbows on the
table, plunged a beautiful hand into the masses of her loosened hair,
and fixed the lightning of her brilliant eyes eagerly on the old
_Vendienne_.
Among the sweetest hours of my dull life, I shall always count those I
spent watching that noble face, irradiated by the reflections of the
glowing sky and the impressions of a valiant heart.
When the story-telling was over, Mlle. Marguerite embraced her old
friend, and waking up Mervyn, who was asleep at her feet, declared that
she must return to the chateau. As I was sure it would cause her no
embarrassment, I had no hesitation in leaving at the same time. Apart
from my personal insignificance in the sight of the rich heiress, Mlle.
Laroque was quite at her ease without a chaperon. Her mother had given
her the same kind of liberal education she had herself received in one
of the British colonies. And we know that the English method accords to
women before marriage all that independence which we so wisely give them
only when the abuse of it becomes irreparable. So we went out of the
garden together. I held her stirrup while she mounted, and we set off
towards the chateau.
"Really, M. Odiot," she said, after a few steps, "I am afraid I spoiled
your _tete-a-tete_ in the garden. You seemed to be very happy."
"Certainly, mademoiselle, but as I had already been there a long time, I
forgive you; nay, more, I thank you."
"You are very good to our poor friend. My mother is very grateful to
you."
"And your mother's daughter?" I said, laughing.
"Oh, I'm not so easily impressed. I am afraid you will have to wait a
little before you get any praises from me. I don't judge people's
actions leniently; there is generally more than one explanation of them.
I grant that your behaviour towards Mlle. de Porhoet looks very well,
but----" she paused, shook her head, and went on in a serious, bitter,
and frankly insulting tone, "but I am not at all certain that you are
not paying court to her in the hope that she may make you her heir."
I felt myself grow pale. But, seeing how absurd it would be to answer
this young girl angrily, I controlled myself, and replied grandly,
"Allow me, mademoiselle, to express my sincere pity for you."