"Not to do things by halves," she continued, "I have determined to give
you a treat to your taste. So here you have a lovely summer morning,
woods and glades with all the proper light effects, birds warbling in
the foliage, a mysterious bark gliding on the waves. As this is the
sort of thing you like, you ought to be satisfied."
"Mademoiselle, I am charmed."
"Well, that's all right."
For the moment I was fairly contented with my fate. The air was sweet
with the scent of the new-mown hay lying in swaths on either bank; the
sombre avenues of the park, dotted with patches of sunshine, slipped
past us, and from the flower-cups came the happy drone of myriads of
insects feasting on the dew. Opposite me, old Alain smiled complacently
at me with a protecting look at each stroke of his oars, and closer to
me Mlle. Marguerite, dressed in white--contrary to her custom--beautiful
and fresh and pure as a periwinkle blossom, shook with one hand the
pearls of dew from her veil while she held out the other as a bait for
Mervyn, who was swimming after the boat. I should not have wanted much
persuasion to go to the end of the world in that little white boat.
As we passed under an arch in the wall that bounds the park the young
Creole said to me:
"You do not ask where I am taking you?"
"No, mademoiselle, I do not. It is all the same to me."
"I am taking you into fairyland."
"I thought so, mademoiselle."
"Mlle. Helouin, more versed in poetic lore than I am, has no doubt told
you that the thickets that cover the country for twenty miles round are
the remains of the ancient forest of Brouliande, the hunting-ground of
those beings of Gael, ancestors of your friend Mlle. de Porhoet, and the
place where Mervyn's ancestor, wizard though he was, came under the
magic spells of a damsel called Vivien. Now we shall soon be in the
centre of that forest. And if this is not enough to fire your
imagination, let me tell you that these woods are full of remains of the
mysterious religion of the Celts; they are paved with them. In every
shady nook you picture to yourself a white-robed Druid, and in every ray
of sunlight the glitter of a golden sickle. The religion of these old
bores has left near here, in a solitary and romantic place, a monument
before which people subject to ecstasy are usually in raptures. I
thought you would like to sketch it, and as it is not easy to find, I
will show you the way, on condition that you suppress the explosions of
an enthusiasm I cannot share."
"Agreed, mademoiselle, I will control myself."
"Yes, please do."
"I promise. And what is the name of this monument?"
"I call it a heap of big stones, but the antiquaries have more than one
name for it. Some call it simply a _dolmen_, others, more pedantic, say
it's a _cromlech_, and the country people--I do not know why--call it
the _migourdit_."[#]
[#] In the wood of Cadoudal (Morbihan).
Meanwhile we glided gently with the current of the stream between two
strips of wet meadow. Here and there, small black cattle with large
pointed horns turned and looked fiercely at us. The valley through which
the widening river crept, was shut in on both sides by a chain of hills,
some covered with dry heather and furze, and some with green brushwood.
Sometimes, at the end of a transversal cleft between two hills, we could
see the crest of a mountain, blue and round in the distance. In spite
of her indifference, Mlle. Marguerite was careful to draw my attention
to all the beauties of this austere and peaceful country, and careful
also, to qualify each remark with some ironic comment.
For a little while a dull, continuous sound had told us that we were
approaching a waterfall. Suddenly the valley narrowed into a wild and
lonely gorge. On the left stood a high wall of rock overgrown with
moss; oaks and firs mixed with ivy and straggling brushwood rose one
above the other in every crevice till they reached the top of the cliff,
throwing a mysterious shade on to the deeper water at the foot of the
rocks. A hundred paces in front of us, the water boiled and foamed, and
then disappeared all at once, and the broken line of the stream stood
out in a veil of white spray, against a distant background of vague
foliage. On our right, the bank opposite to the cliff had only a narrow
margin of sloping meadow, fringed with the sombre velvet of the wooded
hills.
"Land, Alain," said the young Creole. Alain moored the boat to a
willow.
"Now, sir," she said, stepping lightly on to grass, "aren't you
overcome? Aren't you troubled, petrified, thunderstruck? You ought to
be, for this is supposed to be a very pretty place. I like it because
it is always fresh and cool. But follow me through the woods--if you
are not too much afraid--and I will show you the famous stones."
Bright, alert, and gay as I had never seen her before, Mlle. Marguerite
crossed the fields with a bounding step, and took a path which led along
the hills to the forest. Alain and I followed in Indian file. After a
few minutes' quick walking our guide stopped and seemed to hesitate, and
looked about her for a moment. Then, deliberately separating two
interlaced branches, she left the beaten track and plunged into the
undergrowth. It was very difficult to make way through the thicket of
strong young oaks whose slanting stems and twisted branches were knotted
together as closely as Robinson Crusoe's palisade. At least Alain and I,
bent double, advanced very slowly, catching our heads against something
at every step, and at each of our clumsy movements bringing down a
shower of dew upon us. But Mlle. Marguerite, with the greater dexterity
and the catlike suppleness of her sex, slipped without any apparent
effort through the meshes of the labyrinth, laughing at our sufferings,
and carelessly letting the branches spring back after her into our
faces. At last we reached a narrow glade on the top of the hill.
There, not without emotion, I saw the dark and monstrous table of stone
supported by five or six huge blocks half sunk in the earth, forming a
cavern full of sacred horror. At first sight this perfect monument of a
time almost fabulous, and of a primitive religion, has an aspect of
eternal verity and of a real mysterious presence, that takes hold of the
imagination, and fills the mind with awe.
The sunshine streaming through the leaves stole through the interstices
in the roughly joined blocks, played about the sinister slab, and lent
an idyllic charm to this barbarous altar. Even Mlle. Marguerite seemed
pensive and brooding. For my part I entered the cavern, and, after
examining the _dolmen_ thoroughly, set to work to sketch it. For ten
minutes I had been absorbed in this work, forgetting everything that was
going on about me, when Mlle. Marguerite suddenly spoke:
"Do you want a Velleda to enliven your picture?"
I looked up. She had wound a wreath of oak-leaves round her forehead
and stood at the head of the _dolmen_, leaning lightly against a sheaf
of saplings. In the half-light, under the branches, her white dress
looked like marble, and her eyes shone with strange fire in the shadow
of the oaken crown. She was beautiful, and I think she knew it. I
looked at her and found it hard to speak.
"If I am in the way, I'll move," she said.
"Oh, no! please don't."
"Well, make haste; put Mervyn in too. He'll be the Druid and I the
Druidess."
I was so lucky--thanks to the vagueness of a sketch--as to reproduce
this poetic vision pretty faithfully. Evidently interested, she came
and looked at the drawing.
"It isn't bad," she said, laughing, as she threw her crown away. "You
must admit that I am very good to you."
I did. I might even have added, if she had asked me, that she was not
without a spice of coquetry. But without that she would not have been a
woman. Perfection is detestable, and even goddesses need something
besides their deathless beauty to win love.
We went back through the tangled underwood to the path in the wood, and
thence returned to the river.
"Before we return," said the young girl, "I want to show you the
waterfall, more especially as I am looking forward to a little diversion
on my own account. Come, Mervyn, come along, dear dog. Oh, you are
lovely!"
We soon reached the bank facing the rocks which blocked the bed of the
river. The water fell from a height of many feet into a large and
deeply sunk circular basin, which seemed to be shut in on all sides by
an amphitheatre of vegetation, broken by dripping rocks. But there were
unseen outlets for the overflow of the little lake, and the streams so
formed reunited a little lower down.
"It is not exactly a Niagara," said Mlle. Marguerite, raising her voice
against the noise of the falling waters, "but I have heard connoisseurs
and artists say that it is rather pretty, nevertheless. Have you
admired it? Good! Now I hope you'll bestow any enthusiasm you may have
left on Mervyn. Here, Mervyn!"
The Newfoundland ran to his mistress, and, trembling with impatience,
watched her while she tied some pebbles into her handkerchief. She
threw it into the stream a little above the fall, and at the same moment
Mervyn fell like a block into the lower basin and struck out swiftly
from the edge. The handkerchief followed the current, reached the
rocks, danced in an eddy for a minute, and then, shooting like an arrow
past the smooth rock, swept in a mass of foam under the eyes of the dog,
who seized it dexterously in his mouth, after which Mervyn returned
proudly to the bank, where Mlle. Marguerite stood clapping her hands.
This feat was performed several times with great success. At the sixth
repetition, either because the dog started too late or because the
handkerchief was thrown too soon, Mervyn missed it. The handkerchief,
swept on by the eddies from the fall, was carried among some thorny
brushwood that overhung the water a little farther on. Mervyn went to
fetch it, but we were very much surprised to see him suddenly struggle
convulsively, drop his booty, and raise his head towards us, howling
pitifully.
"My God! what has happened?" exclaimed Mlle. Marguerite.
"He seems to be caught among the bushes. He'll free himself directly, no
doubt."
But soon one had to doubt, and even to despair, of this issue. The
network of creepers in which the dog had been caught lay directly below
one of the mouths of the sluice, which poured a mass of seething water
continuously on Mervyn's head. The poor beast, half-suffocated, ceased
to make the slightest effort to release himself, and his plaintive cries
sounded more and more like a death-rattle. At this moment Mlle.
Marguerite seized my arm, and whispered almost in my ear:
"He is lost. It's no use.... Let us go."
I looked at her. Grief, pain, and her violent effort to control herself
had distorted her pale features and brought dark circles under her eyes.
"It is impossible," I said, "to get the boat down there; but if you will
allow me, I can swim a little, and I'll go and give a hand to the poor
fellow."
"No, no; don't attempt it. It's too far. And they say it's very deep
and dangerous under the fall."
"You needn't fear, mademoiselle; I am very cautious."
At the same moment I took off my coat and went into the water, taking
care to keep a good distance from the fall. It was very deep, and I did
not find a footing till I reached the exhausted Mervyn. I do not know
whether there had been an islet here which had dwindled and crumbled
away, or whether a sudden rising of the river had swept away part of the
bank, and deposited the fragments in this place; but, whatever the
cause, there was an accumulated and flourishing mass of entangled
brushwood and roots under this treacherous water. I got my feet on a
trunk from which the bushes seemed to spring, and managed to release
Mervyn. Feeling himself free, he recovered at once, and struck out for
the bank, leaving me to my fate with all the goodwill imaginable. This
was scarcely acting up to the chivalrous reputation of his breed, but
Mervyn has lived a long while among men, and I suppose has become a bit
of a philosopher. But when I tried to follow him, I found, to my
disgust, that, in my turn, I was caught in the nets of the jealous and
malignant naiad who reigns in the pool. One of my legs was entangled in
the creepers, and I could not free it. It is difficult to exert all
one's strength in deep water, and on a bed of sticky mud. And besides,
I was half-blinded by the bubbling spray. In short, my situation was
becoming awkward. I looked towards the bank; Mlle. Marguerite, holding
to Alain's arm, hung over the gulf, and watched me with mortal anxiety.
I told myself that it rested with me to be wept for by those bright
eyes, and to end a miserable existence in an enviable fashion. Then I
shook off such maudlin fancies vigorously, and freed myself by a violent
effort. I tied the little handkerchief, now in rags, round my neck, and
easily regained the shore.
As I landed, Mlle. Marguerite offered me her hand. It trembled a
little, and I was pleased.
"What rashness! You might have been drowned, and for a dog!"
"It was yours," I whispered in the same low tone she had used to me.
This speech seemed to annoy her; she withdrew her hand quickly, and
turning to Mervyn, who lay yawning and drying himself in the sun, began
to punish him.
"Oh, the stupid! the big stupid!" she said. "What an idiot he is!"
But the water was streaming from my clothes on to the grass. I did not
quite know what to do with myself, till Mlle. Marguerite came back, and
said very kindly:
"Take the boat, M. Maxime, and get away as fast as you can. You'll keep
warm rowing. I will come back with Alain through the wood; it is the
shortest way."
I agreed to this arrangement, which was in every way the best. I said
farewell, touched her hand for the second time, and got into the boat.
To my surprise, when I was dressing at home I found the little
handkerchief still round my neck. I had forgotten to restore it to Mlle.
Marguerite, who must have given it up for lost, so I shamelessly
determined to keep it as the reward of my watery adventure.
I went to the chateau in the evening. Mlle. Laroque received me with
her habitual air of disdainful indolence, sombre preoccupation, and
embittered _ennui_, which was in singular contrast with the gracious
friendliness and playful vivacity of my companion of the morning.
During dinner, at which M. de Bevallan was present, she spoke of our
excursion in a manner that stripped it of all sentiment, and as she went
on, said some sharp things about lovers of nature, and finished with an
account of Mervyn's misadventure, without mentioning my share in it.
If, as I thought, this was meant as a hint of the line I was to take,
the young lady had been at needless trouble. However that may be, M. de
Bevallan, on hearing the story, nearly deafened us with his cries of
despair. What! Mlle. Marguerite had endured such anxiety, the brave
Mervyn had been in such danger, and he, Bevallan, had not been there.
Cruel fate! He would never get over it. There was nothing for him to do
but hang himself, like Crillon.
"Well," said Alain, "if it depended on me to cut him down, I should take
my time about it."
The next day did not begin so pleasantly for me as its predecessor. In
the morning I received a letter from Madrid, asking me to inform Mlle.
de Porhoet that her lawsuit was finally lost. Her agent also informed
me that her opponents would not profit by their victory, as the Crown,
attracted by the millions at stake, claimed to succeed under the law by
which the property escheats to the state.
After careful consideration, I decided that it would be kinder not to
let my old friend know of the total destruction of her hopes. I intend,
therefore, to secure the assistance of her agent in Spain; he will
allege further delays, and on my side I shall continue my researches
among the archives, and do my best to preserve the poor soul's cherished
delusions to the end. However innocent and legitimate this deception
might be, I could not feel at rest until it had been approved by some
one whose judgment in such matters I could trust. I went to the chateau
in the afternoon, and made confession to Mme. Laroque, who approved of
my plan, and commended me rather more than the occasion warranted. And
to my great surprise she finished the interview with these words:
"I must take this opportunity of telling you, M. Odiot, that I am deeply
grateful for your devotion to my interests, that each day I appreciate
your character more truly, and enjoy your company more thoroughly. I
could wish--you must forgive my saying it, as you are scarcely likely to
share my wish--I could wish that you could always remain with us ... and
I humbly pray heaven to perform the miracles necessary to bring this
about ... for I know that only miracles can do so."
I did not quite grasp the meaning of this language, nor could I explain
the sudden emotion that shone in the eyes of the excellent lady. I
acknowledged her kindness properly, and went away to indulge my
melancholy in the fields.
By an accident--not purely fortuitous, I must admit--I found myself,
after an hour's walking, in a deserted valley, and on the brink of the
pool which had been the scene of my recent prowess. The amphitheatre of
rocks and greenery which surrounds the small lake realizes the very
ideal of solitude. There you are at the end of the world, in a virgin
country, in China--where you will! I lay down among the heather,
recalling my expedition of yesterday, one not likely to occur again in
the course of the longest life. Already I felt that if such good
fortune should come to me a second time, it would not have that charm of
surprise, of peacefulness, and--in one word--of innocence. I had to own
that this fresh romance of youth, which gave a perfume to my thoughts,
could have but one chapter, one page, and that I had read it. Yes, this
hour, this hour of love, to call it by its true name, had been royally
sweet, because it had not been premeditated, because I had not known
what it was till it had gone, because I had had the rapture, and had
been spared remorse. Now my conscience was awake. I saw myself on the
verge of an impossible, a ridiculous love, and worse, of a culpable
passion. Poor and disinherited as I am, it is time to keep a strict
watch over myself.
I was addressing these warnings to myself in this solitary place--any
other would have served my purpose as well--when the sound of voices
interrupted my reflections. I rose, and saw a company of four or five
people who had just landed, advancing towards me. First came Mlle.
Marguerite leaning on M. de Bevallan's arm; next Mlle. Helouin and Mme.
Aubry, followed by Alain and Mervyn. The sound of their approach had
been drowned in the roar of the waterfall; they were only a few yards
off; there was no time for retreat, so I had to resign myself to being
discovered in the character of the romantic recluse. But my presence
did not excite any particular attention, though I saw a shadow of
annoyance on Mlle. Marguerite's face, and she returned my bow with
marked stiffness.
M. de Bevallan, standing at the verge of the pool, wearied the echoes
with the clamour of his conventional admiration. "Delicious! How
picturesque! What a feast! The pen of George Sand.... The pencil of
Salvator Rosa!"
All this was accompanied by violent gestures, by which he appeared to be
snatching from these great artists, the instruments of their genius.
At last he became calmer, and asked to be shown the dangerous channel
where Mervyn had nearly been drowned. Again Mlle. Marguerite related
the adventure, and again she suppressed the part I had taken in the
denouement. With a kind of cruelty, evidently levelled at me, she
enlarged on the cleverness, courage, and presence of mind her dog had
shown in his trying situation. Apparently she seemed to think that her
transient good-humour, and the service I had been so fortunate as to
render her, had filled my head with some presumptuous notions, which it
was necessary to nip in the bud.
As Mlle. Helouin and Mme. Aubry particularly wished to see Mervyn repeat
his wonderful exploit, his mistress called the Newfoundland, and, as
before, threw her handkerchief into the current. But at the signal the
brave Mervyn, instead of jumping into the lake, rushed up and down the
bank, barking furiously, lashing about with his tail, showing, in fact,
the greatest interest in the proceedings, but at the same time an
excellent memory. Evidently the head controls the heart in this
sagacious beast. In vain Mlle. Marguerite, angry and confused, first
tried caresses and then threats to overcome her favourite's obstinacy.
Nothing could persuade the intelligent creature to trust himself again
in those dangerous waters. After such high-flown announcements,
Mervyn's stubborn prudence was really amusing. I had a better right to
laugh than any one present, and I did so without compunction. Besides,
the merriment soon became general, and in the end Mlle. Marguerite
herself joined in, rather half-heartedly.
"And now," she said, "I've lost another handkerchief."
The handkerchief, carried along by the eddies, had naturally landed
among the branches of the fatal bush, not far from the further bank.
"Rely upon me, mademoiselle," cried M. de Bevallan. "In ten minutes you
shall have your handkerchief, or I shall exist no longer."
At this magnanimous declaration I thought that Mlle. Marguerite looked
stealthily at me, as much as to say, "You see, there are others who are
devoted to me!" Then she answered M. de Bevallan.
"For Heaven's sake, don't be so foolish! The water is very deep.... it
is really dangerous."
"It is all the same to me," said M. de Bevallan. "Have you a knife,
Alain?"
"A knife?" said Mlle. Marguerite, surprised.
"Yes, a knife. Please allow me ... I know what I mean to do."
"But what do you mean to do with a knife?"
"I mean to cut a switch," said M. de Bevallan.
The girl looked at him gravely.
"I thought," she murmured, "that you were going to swim for it."
"To swim!" said M. de Bevallan; "excuse me, mademoiselle.... Firstly, I
am not in swimming costume; next, I must admit that I cannot swim."
"If you cannot swim," she said dryly, "the question of costume is not
important."
"You are quite right," said M. de Bevallan, with amusing coolness; "but
you are not particularly anxious that I should drown myself, are you?
You want your handkerchief, that is the point. When I have got it, you
will be satisfied. Isn't that so?"
"Well, go and cut your switch," she said, sitting down resignedly.
M. de Bevallan is not easily disconcerted. He disappeared into the
nearest thicket, and soon we heard the branches crack. He came back
armed with a long switch from a nut-tree, and proceeded to strip the
leaves off.
"Do you think you'll reach the other side with that stick?" asked Mlle.
Marguerite, who was beginning to be amused.
"Allow me to manage it my own way. That is all I ask," said the
imperturbable gentleman.
We left him alone. He finished his switch, and then set out for the
boat. We at last understood that he meant to cross the river in the
boat, to land above the waterfall, and to harpoon the handkerchief,
which he could easily do from the bank. At this discovery there was an
indignant outcry from the ladies, who, as we all know, are extremely
fond of dangerous adventures--in which they are not themselves
concerned.
"A pretty contrivance, M. de Bevallan. Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"
"Tu-tu, ladies! Remember Columbus and the egg. The idea is everything,
you know."
Contrary to our expectation, this apparently harmless expedition was not
to be carried through without some emotions, and some risks, for M. de
Bevallan, instead of making for the bank immediately opposite the little
bay, where the boat had been moored, unluckily decided to land nearer
the cataract. He pushed the boat into the middle of the stream and let
it drift for a moment, till he saw that as the river approached the
fall, its pace increased with alarming rapidity. We appreciated the
danger when we saw him put the boat across the current, and begin to row
with feverish energy. For a few seconds he struggled with doubtful
success. But, little by little, he got nearer to the bank, though the
stream still swept him fiercely towards the cataract, which thundered
ominously in his ears. He was only a few feet from it, when a supreme
effort brought him near enough to the shore to put him out of danger.
With a vigorous spring he leaped on to the slope of the bank, sending
the boat out among the rocks, where it was at once overturned. It
presently floated into the pool keel upward. While the danger lasted,
our only feeling was one of keen anxiety, but when it was over, the
contrast between the comic _denouement_ and its hero's usual coolness
and self-confidence, could not fail to tickle our sense of humour.
Besides, laughter is a natural relief when a danger is happily past.
Directly we saw that M. de Bevallan was out of the boat, we all gave
ourselves up to unrestrained merriment. I should say, that at this
moment his bad luck was completed by a truly distressing detail. The
bank on which he had jumped sloped sharply and was very wet. His feet
had scarcely touched it when he fell backwards. Fortunately there were
some strong branches within his reach. He hung on to them desperately,
his legs beating the shallow water like two angry oars. As there was no
danger, his situation became purely ridiculous, and I suppose that this
thought made him struggle so frantically and awkwardly, that his efforts
defeated their purpose. He succeeded, however, in raising himself and
getting another footing on the slope. Then, all of a sudden, we saw him
slide down again, tearing the bushes and brushwood as he went, and
renewing his wild pantomime in the water in evident desperation. It was
irresistible. Never, I believe, had Mlle. Marguerite been at such an
entertainment. She had utterly lost all care for her dignity. Like
some mirthful Bacchante, she filled all the grove with bursts of almost
convulsive gaiety. Between her shouts of laughter she clapped her hands
and called out in a half-suffocated voice:
"Bravo! bravo! M. de Bevallan! Very pretty! Delicious! Picturesque!
Salvator Rosa!"
At last M. de Bevallan succeeded in dragging himself to _terra firma_.
Then, turning to the ladies, he made them a speech which the noise of
the waterfall prevented us from hearing distinctly; but, from his
animated gestures, the illustrative movements of his arms, and his air
of forced good-humour, we understood that he was giving us a reasoned
explanation of his disaster.
"Yes, yes," replied Mlle. Marguerite, continuing to laugh with a woman's
implacable barbarity. "it was a great success. I congratulate you!"
When she was a little more serious, she asked me how we should recover
the capsized boat, which, by-the-bye, was the best we had. I promised
to bring some men the next day, and superintend the rescue. Then we
struck across the fields towards the chateau. M. de Bevallan, not being
in swimming costume, could not rejoin us. With a melancholy air he
disappeared behind the rocks above the farther bank.
_August 20th_.
At last this extraordinary girl has revealed the secret of her stormy
soul to me. Would that she had preserved it forever!
During the day that followed the scenes I have just described, Mlle.
Marguerite, as if ashamed of the impulses of youthful frankness to which
she had yielded, wrapped herself more closely than ever in her veil of
mournful pride, disdain, and mistrust. In the midst of the noisy
pleasures, the _fetes_, and dances that succeeded one another, she
passed like a ghost, indifferent, icy, and sometimes angry.
Her irony vented itself with inconceivable bitterness, sometimes on the
purest pleasures of the mind, those that come from contemplation and
study, sometimes on the noblest and most sacred sentiments. If an
instance of courage or virtue was mentioned in her presence, she
examined it minutely in search of its selfish motive; or if by chance
one burned the smallest grain of incense on the altar of art, she
extinguished it with a disdainful wave of her hand. With her short,
abrupt, and terrible laugh, like the mocking of a fallen angel, she
seemed determined to blight (wherever she saw a trace of them) the most
generous faculties of the human soul--enthusiasm and passion. I noticed
that this strange spirit of disparagement took on a special character of
persecution--positive hostility--when directed against me. I did not
understand, and even now I do not quite understand, why I have attracted
these particular attentions. True, I carry in my heart the worship of
things ideal and eternal, which only death can tear from me (great God,
what would be left me if I had not that!); but I am not given to public
ecstasies, and my admiration, like my love, will never be obtrusive. In
vain I maintained more scrupulously than ever the modesty which springs
from real feeling. I gained nothing by it. The most romantic fancies
were attributed to me just for the pleasure of combating them, and
perpetually some kind of grotesque harp was thrust into my hands, solely
for the amusement of breaking its strings.
Although this open warfare against anything higher than the material
interests and sordid realities of life, was not a new trait in Mlle.
Marguerite's character, it had been suddenly exaggerated and embittered
to the point of wounding the hearts most devoted to this young girl.
One day Mlle. de Porhoet, weary of this incessant mocking, said to her
in my presence:
"My darling, for some time past you have been possessed by a devil which
you would do well to cast out as soon as possible, or you will finish by
making up a trio with Mme. Aubry and Mme. de Saint-Cast. For my part, I
do not pride myself on being, or ever having been, particularly
romantic, but I like to think that there are still some people in the
world who are capable of generous sentiments; I believe in
disinterestedness, if only in my own, and I even believe in heroism,
because I have known heroes. More, I love to hear the little birds
singing under my arbour, and I like to build my cathedral in the
drifting clouds. All this may sound very ridiculous, my dear, but I
venture to remind you that these illusions are the riches of the poor,
that M. Odiot and I have no other kind of wealth, and that we are so
singular as not to complain."
On another occasion, when I had just received Mlle. Marguerite's sarcasm
with my usual impassibility, her mother drew me aside.
"M. Maxime," she said, "my daughter teases you a little, but I hope you
will excuse her. You must have noticed that she has changed very much
lately."
"Your daughter seems to be more preoccupied than usual."
"And not without good reason; she is about to come to a very serious
decision, and at such a moment young girls are apt to be capricious."