"You are wrong, neighbor; indeed you are wrong!"
Mariton thought too; and then, understanding what the old man meant,
she said,--
"No doubt, no doubt. A woman is exposed to blame in a country inn;
even if she behaves properly, people won't believe it. That's what
you meant, isn't it? Well, but what am I to do? Of course it
deprives me of all chance of re-marrying; but we don't regret what we
suffer for our children,--indeed, sometimes we rejoice in it."
"There is something worse than suffering," said my uncle,--"there is
shame; and that recoils upon the children."
Mariton sighed.
"Yes," she said, "a woman is exposed to daily insults in a house of
that kind. She must always be on the look-out to defend herself. If
she gets angry, that injures the custom, and her masters don't like
it."
"Some of them," said the old man, "try to find handsome and
good-humored women like you to help sell their liquors; a saucy maid
is often all an inn-keeper needs to do a better business than his
neighbors."
"I know that," said Mariton; "but a woman can be gay and lively, and
quick to serve the guests, without allowing herself to be insulted."
"Bad language is always insulting," said Père Brulet; "and it ought
to cost an honest woman dear to get accustomed to such ways. Think
how mortified your son will be when he hears the carters and the
bagmen joking with his mother."
"Luckily he's simple," said Mariton, looking at Joseph.
I looked at him too, and I was surprised that he did not hear a word
of what his mother was saying in a voice loud enough for me to catch
every word. I gathered from that that he was "hearing thick," as we
said in those days, meaning one who was hard of hearing.
Joseph got up presently and went after Brulette, who was in her
little goat-pen, which was nothing more than a shed made of planks
stuffed with straw, where she kept about a dozen animals.
He flung himself on a pile of brushwood; and having followed him (for
fear of being thought inquisitive if I stayed behind), I saw that he
was crying inside of him, though there were no tears in his eyes.
"Are you asleep, José?" said Brulette; "if not, why are you lying
there like a sick sheep? Come, give me those sticks you are lying
on; I want the leaves for my goats."
So saying, she began to sing,--but very softly, because it wasn't the
thing to make a racket on the day of her first communion.
I fancied her song had the usual effect of drawing Joseph from his
dreams, for he rose, and went away. Then Brulette said to me,--
"What is the matter? He seems worse than usual."
"I think he must have heard that he is to be hired out and leave his
mother," I replied.
"He expected it," said Brulette; "isn't it the custom for all of us
to go out to service as soon as we have received the sacrament? If I
were not lucky enough to be my grandfather's only child, I should
have to leave home and earn my living as others do."
Brulette did not seem much distressed at the thought of parting from
Joseph; but when I told her that Mariton was also going to hire
herself out and live far away, she began to sob, and rushing into the
house, she flung herself on Mariton's neck, drying out,--
"Is it true, darling, that you are going to leave me?"
"Who told you that?" asked Mariton. "It is not decided."
"Yes, it is," cried Brulette; "you said so, and you want to hide it
from me."
"As some inquisitive boys don't know how to hold their tongue," said
Mariton, with a severe glance at me, "I must tell you all. Yes, my
child, you must bear it like a brave and sensible girl who has given
her soul to the good God this very day."
"Papa," said Brulette, turning to her grandfather, "how can you
consent to let her go? Who is to take care of you?"
"You, my child," replied Mariton; "you are now old enough to do your
duty. Listen to me,--and you too, neighbor; for here is something I
have not yet told you."
Taking the little girl on her knee, while I stood between my uncle's
legs (for his grieved look drew me to him), Mariton continued to
reason, first with one, and then with the other.
"If it had not been for the friendship I owe you," she said, "I ought
long ago to have left Joseph here and paid his board while I went out
to service and laid by a little money. But I felt I was bound to
bring you up, my Brulette, till you made your first communion,
because you are the youngest, and because a girl wants a mother
longer than a boy. I hadn't the heart to leave you as long as you
couldn't do without me. But now, you see, the time has come; and if
anything can reconcile you to losing me, it is that you will soon
feel useful to your grandfather. I have taught you how to manage a
household and all that a good girl ought to know for the service of
her parents and family. You'll practise it for my sake and to do
credit to my teaching. It will be my pride and consolation to hear
people tell how my Brulette takes good care of her grandfather, and
manages his money like a little woman. Come, be brave, and don't
deprive me of the little courage that I have got; for if you feel
badly at my departure, I feel worse than you. Remember that I am
leaving Père Brulet, who has been the best of friends to me, and my
poor José, who will hear hard things said of his mother and his home.
But my duty bids me do it, and you wouldn't wish me to go against
that?"
Brulette cried till evening, and could not help Mariton in anything;
but when she saw her hiding her tears as she cooked the supper, the
girl flung her arms round her foster-mother's neck and vowed to do as
she had taught her; and thereupon set to work with a will.
They sent me to find Joseph, who had forgotten (not for the first
time, nor for the last either) that he ought to come home and get his
supper like other people.
I found him in a corner all alone, dreaming and gazing at the ground
as if his eyes would take root in it. Contrary to his usual custom,
he did let me drag a few words out of him, in which, as I thought,
there was more annoyance than grief. He was not surprised at having
to go out to service, knowing that he was now old enough, and could
not do otherwise; but without showing that he had overheard his
mother's plans, he complained that nobody loved him or thought him
capable of doing good work.
I could not get him to explain himself any farther; and all that
evening--for I stayed to say my prayers with him and with
Brulette--he seemed to sulk, while Brulette, on the contrary, was
full of kindness and caresses for everybody.
Soon after this, Joseph was hired out as a laborer to Père Michel on
the estate of Aulnières.
Mariton went to work at an inn called the Bœuf Couronné, kept by
Benoît at Saint-Chartier.
Brulette remained with her grandfather, and I with my parents, who
had a small property and kept me at home to help them cultivate it.
The day of my first communion affected my spirits. I had made great
efforts to bring myself into thoughts that were suitable to my age;
and the catechising with Brulette had also changed me. Thoughts of
her were always mixed up, I don't know how, with those I tried to
give to the good God; and all the while that I was growing in grace
as to my behavior, my head was running on follies of love which were
beyond her years, and even for mine they were a little ahead of the
proper season.
About this time my father took me to the fair at Orval, near
Saint-Armand, to sell a brood-mare; and for the first time in my life
I was away from home. My mother observed that I did not sleep or eat
enough to support my growth, which was faster than customary in our
part of the country, and my father thought a little amusement would
do me good. But I did not find as much in seeing the world and new
places as I should have done six months earlier. I had a foolish,
languishing desire to look at the girls, without daring to say a word
to them; then I thought of Brulette, whom I fancied I could marry,
for the sole reason that she was the only one I was not afraid of,
and I reckoned her age and mine over and over again,--which didn't
make the time go any faster than the good God had marked it on his
clock.
As I rode back on the crupper behind my father on another mare which
we had bought at the fair, we met, in a dip of the road, a
middle-aged man who was driving a little cart laden with furniture,
the which, being drawn by nothing better than a donkey, had stuck
fast in the mud, and couldn't go on. The man was beginning to
lighten the load by taking off part of it; and my father, seeing
this, said to me,--
"Let us get down, and help a neighbor out of his trouble."