The beautiful Thérence had prepared everything for our breakfast, and
seeing that the sun was getting up she asked Brulette if she had
thought of waking Joseph. "It is time," she said, "and he does not
like it if I let him sleep too late, because the next night it keeps
him wakeful."
"If you are accustomed to wake him, dear," answered Brulette, "please
do so now. I don't know what his habits are."
"No," said Thérence, curtly, "it is your business to take care of him
now; that is what you have come for. I shall give up and take a
rest, and leave you in charge."
"Poor José!" Brulette could not help exclaiming. "I see he has been
a great care to you, and that he had better go back with us to his
own country."
Thérence turned her back without replying, and I said to Brulette,
"Let us both go and call him. I'll bet he will be glad to hear your
voice first."
José's lodge joined that of the Head-Woodsman. As soon as he heard
Brulette's voice he came running to the door, crying out: "Ah! I
feared I was dreaming, Brulette; then it is really true that you are
here?"
When he was seated beside us on the logs he told us that for the
first time in many months he had slept all night in one gulp: in
fact, we could see it on his face, which was ten sous better than it
was the night before. Thérence brought him some chicken-broth in a
porringer, and he wanted to give it to Brulette, who refused to take
it,--all the more because the black eyes of the girl of the woods
blazed with anger at José's offer.
Brulette, who was too shrewd to give any ground for the girl's
vexation, declined, saying that she did not like broth and it would
be a great pity to waste it upon her, adding, "I see, my lad, that
you are cared for like a bourgeois, and that these kind people spare
nothing for your comfort and recovery."
"Yes," said José, taking Thérence's hand and joining it in his with
that of Brulette, "I have been a great expense to my master (he
always called the Woodsman by that title, because he had taught him
music). Brulette, I must tell you that I have found another angel
upon earth beside you. Just as you helped my mind and consoled my
heart when I was half an idiot and well-nigh good for nothing, so she
has cared for my poor suffering body when I fell ill with fever here.
I can never thank her as I ought for all she has done for me; but I
can say one thing--there's not a third like you two; and in the day
of recompense the good God will grant his choicest crowns to
Catherine Brulet, the rose of Berry, and to Thérence Huriel, the
sweet-briar of the woods."
It seemed as if Joseph's gentle words poured a balm into the girl's
blood, for Thérence no longer refused to sit down and eat with us;
and Joseph sat between the two beauties, while I, profiting by the
easy ways I had noticed the night before, walked about as I ate, and
sat sometimes near one and sometimes near the other.
I did my best to please the woodland lass with my attentions, and I
made it a point of honor to show her that we Berrichons were not
bears. She answered my civilities very gently, but I could not make
her raise her eyes to mine all the time we were talking. She seemed
to me to have an odd temper, quick to take offence and full of
distrust. And yet, when she was tranquil, there was something so
good in her expression and in her voice that it was impossible to
take a bad idea of her. But neither in her good moments nor at any
other time did I dare ask her if she remembered that I had carried
her in my arms and that she had rewarded me with a kiss. I was very
sure it was she, for her father, to whom I had already spoken, had
not forgotten the circumstance, and declared he had recalled my face
without knowing where he had seen it.
During breakfast Brulette, as she told me afterwards, began to have
an inkling of a certain matter, and she at once took it into her head
to watch and keep quiet so as to get at the bottom of it.
"Now," said she, "do you suppose I am going to sit all day with my
arms folded? Without being a hard worker, I don't say my beads from
one meal to another, and I beg of you, Thérence, to give me some work
by which I can help you."
"I don't want any help," replied Thérence; "and as for you, you don't
need any work to occupy you."
"Why not, my dear?"
"Because you have your friend, and as I should be in the way when you
talk with him I shall go away if you wish to stay here, or I shall
stay here if you wish to go away."
"That won't please either José or me," said Brulette, rather
maliciously. "I have no secrets to tell him; all that we had to say
to each other we said yesterday. And now the pleasure we take in
each other's company will only be increased if you are with us, and
we beg you to stay--unless you have some one you prefer to us."
Thérence seemed undecided, and the way she looked at Joseph showed
Brulette that her pride suffered from the fear of being in the way.
Whereupon Brulette said to Joseph, "Help me to keep her! You want
her, don't you? Didn't you say just now that we were your two
guardian angels? Don't you want us to work together for your
recovery?"
"You are right, Brulette," said Joseph. "Between two such kind
hearts I shall get well quickly; and if you both love me I think each
will love me better,--just as we do a task better with a good comrade
who gives us his strength and doubles ours."
"And you think it is I," said Thérence, "whom your compatriot needs
as a companion? Well, so be it! I'll fetch my work and do it here."
She brought some linen cut out for a shirt, and began to sew.
Brulette wanted to help her, and when Thérence refused she said to
Joseph, "Then bring me your clothes to mend; they must be in need of
it by this time."
Thérence let her look through Joseph's whole wardrobe without saying
a word; but there was neither a hole to mend nor a button to sew on,
so well had they been cared for; and Brulette talked of buying linen
the next day at Mesples to make him some new shirts. Then it
appeared that those Thérence was making were for Joseph, and that she
wanted to finish them, as she had begun them, all by herself.
Suspicion grew stronger and stronger in Brulette's mind, and she
pretended to insist on sharing the work; even Joseph was obliged to
put in a word, for he thought that Brulette would feel dull if she
had nothing to do. On that, Thérence flung down her work angrily,
saying to Brulette: "Finish them yourself! I won't touch them,
again!" and off she went to sulk in the house.
"José," said Brulette, "that girl is neither capricious nor crazy, as
I first thought she was. She is in love with you."
Joseph was so overcome that Brulette saw she had said too much. She
did not understand that a sick man, ill in body from the action of
his mind, fears reflection.
"Why do you tell me so!" he cried; "what new misfortune is to come
upon me?"
"Why is it a misfortune?"
"Do you ask me that, Brulette? Do you think I could ever return her
feelings?"
"Well," said Brulette, trying to pacify him, "she will get over it."
"I don't know that people ever get over love," he replied; "but if,
through ignorance and want of precaution I have done any harm to the
daughter of my master, and Huriel's sister, the virgin of the woods,
who has prayed to God for me and watched over my life, I am so guilty
that I can never forgive myself."
"Did not you ever think that her friendship might change to love?"
"No, Brulette, never."
"That's curious, José."
"Why so? Have not I been accustomed from my youth up to be pitied
for my stupidity and helped in my weakness? Did the friendship you
have shown me, Brulette, ever make me vain enough to believe that
you--" Here Joseph became as red as fire, and did not say another
word.
"You are right," said Brulette, who was prudent and judicious just as
Thérence was quick and sensitive. "We can easily make mistakes about
the feelings which we give and receive. I had a silly idea about the
girl, but if you don't share it there can be nothing in it. Thérence
is, no doubt, just as I am, ignorant of what they call true love, and
waits the time when the good God will put it into her head to live
for the man he has chosen for her."
"All the same," said Joseph, "I wish to leave this part of the
country and I ought to."
"We came to take you back," I said, "as soon as you feel strong
enough to go."
Contrary to my expectation, he rejected the idea vehemently. "No,
no," he said, "I have but one power, and that is my force of will to
be a great musician; I want to have my mother with me, and live
honored and courted in my own country. If I quit these parts now I
shall go to the Upper Bourbonnais till I am admitted into the
fraternity of bagpipers."
We dared not tell him that we feared he would never have sound lungs.
Brulette talked to him of other things, while I, much occupied with
the revelation she had made about Thérence, and indeed anxious about
the girl, who had just left her lodge and plunged into the woods,
started in the same direction, with no apparent object, but feeling
curious and very desirous of meeting her. It was not very long
before I heard the sound of choking sighs, which let me know where
she was hiding. No longer feeling shy of her when I knew she was in
trouble, I went forward and spoke to her resolutely.
"Thérence," I said, observing that she did not weep, and only
quivered and choked with repressed anger, "I think my cousin and I
are the cause of your annoyance. Our coming displeases you; or
rather, Brulette does, for I myself can claim no attention. We were
speaking of you this morning, she and I, and I prevented her from
leaving your lodge, where she thought she was a burden to you. Now
please say frankly if we are, and we will go elsewhere; for though
you may have a low opinion of us, we are none the less right-minded
towards you and fearful of causing you annoyance."
The proud girl seemed offended by my frankness; she got up from her
seat, for I had placed myself near her.
"Your cousin wants to go, does she?" she said, with a threatening
air; "she wants to shame me? No, she shall not do it! or else--"
"Or else what?" I asked, determined to make her confess her feelings.
"Or else I will leave the woods, and my father and family, and go and
die in the desert."
She spoke feverishly, with so gloomy an eye and so pale a face, that
I was frightened.
"Thérence," I said taking her very kindly by the hand and making her
sit down again, "either you were born without a sense of justice or
you have some reason for hating Brulette. If so, tell me what it is;
for it is possible I could clear her of the blame you put upon her."
"No, you can't clear her, for I know her," cried Thérence, no longer
controlling herself. "Don't think that I know nothing about her! I
have thought enough and questioned Joseph and my brother enough to be
able to judge her conduct and to know what an ungrateful heart and
deceitful nature hers is. She is a flirt, that's what she is, your
compatriot! and all honest girls ought to hate her."
"That's a hard thing to say," I replied, without seeming troubled.
"What do you base it on?"
"Doesn't she know," cried Thérence, "that here are three young men in
love with her? and she is tricking all of them,--Joseph, who is dying
of it; my brother, who is now avoiding her; and you, who are trying
to cure yourself. Do you mean to tell me that she does not know all
this; or that she has the slightest preference for any one of you?
No; she has no preference for any one; she pities Joseph, she esteems
my brother, and she does not love you. Your pangs amuse her, and as
she has fifty other lovers in her own village, she pretends she lives
for all and not for one. Well, I don't care for you, Tiennet, for I
don't know you; but as for my brother, who is so often obliged to be
away from us, and goes away now to escape her when he might really
stay at home; and as for poor Joseph, who is ill and partly crazy for
her--Ah! your Brulette is a guilty creature towards both, and ought
to blush for not being able to say a tender word to either of them."
Just then Brulette, who overheard her, came forward. Though quite
unaccustomed to be spoken of in that way, she was doubtless
well-pleased to know the motive of Huriel's absence, and she seated
herself by Thérence and took her hand with a serious air which was
half pity and half reproach. Thérence was a little pacified, and
said, in a gentler tone:--
"Excuse me, Brulette, if I have pained you; but, indeed, I shall not
blame myself, if it brings you to better feelings. Come, admit that
your conduct is treacherous and your heart hard. I don't know if it
is the custom in your country to let men wish for you when you intend
only to refuse them; but I, a poor girl of the woods, think such lies
criminal, and I cannot comprehend such behavior. Open your eyes, and
see the harm you are doing! I don't say that my brother will break
down under it, because he is too strong and too courageous a man, and
there are too many girls, worth more than you, who love him, among
whom he will make his choice one of these days; but have pity upon
poor José, Brulette! You don't know him, though you have been
brought up with him. You thought him half an imbecile; on the
contrary he has a great genius, but his body is feeble and cannot
bear up under the grief you persist in causing him. Give him your
heart, for he deserves it; it is I who entreat you, and who will
curse you if you kill him."
"Do you really mean what you are saying to me, my poor Thérence?"
answered Brulette, looking her straight in the eye. "If you want to
know what I think, it is that you love Joseph, and that I cause you,
in spite of myself, a bitter jealousy, which leads you to impute this
wrong-doing to me. Well, look at the matter as it is; I don't want
to make José love me; I never thought of doing so, and I am sorry he
does. I even long to help you to cure him of it: and if I had known
what you have now let me see, I would never have come here, though
your brother did tell me it was necessary that I should do so."
"Brulette," said Thérence, "you must think I have no pride if you
suppose that I love Joseph in the way you mean, and that I condescend
to be jealous of your charms. I have no need to be ashamed before
any one of the sort of love I feel for him. If it were as you
suppose, I should at least have sufficient pride not to let you think
I would dispute him with you. But my friendship for him is so frank
that I dare to protect him openly against your wiles. Love him
truly, and, far from being jealous, I will love and respect you; I
recognize your rights, which are older than mine, and I will help you
to take him back into your own country, on condition that you will
choose him for your sole lover and husband. Otherwise, you may
expect in me an enemy, who will hold you up to condemnation openly.
It shall never be said that I loved the poor lad and nursed him in
illness only to see a village flirt kill him before my very eyes."
"Very good," said Brulette, who had recovered all her native pride,
"I see more plainly than ever that you are in love with him and
jealous; and I feel all the more satisfied to go away and leave him
to your care. That your attachment to him is honest and faithful I
have no doubt; and I have no reasons, such as you have, to be angry
or unjust. Still I do wonder why you should want me to remain and to
be your friend. Your sincerity gives way there, and I admit that I
should like to know the reason why."
"The reason," replied Thérence, "is one you give yourself, when you
use shameful words to humiliate me. You have just said that I am
lovesick and jealous: that's how you explain the strength and the
kindness of my feeling for Joseph! you will, no doubt, put it into
his head, and the young man, who owes me respect and gratitude, will
think he has the right to despise me, and ridicule me in his heart."
"There you are right, Thérence," said Brulette, whose heart and mind
were both too just not to respect the pride of the woodland girl. "I
ought to help you to keep your secret, and I will. I don't say that
I will help you to the extent of my power over Joseph; your pride
would take offence if I did, and I fully understand that you do not
want to receive his regard as a favor from me. But I beg you to be
just, to reflect, and even to give me some good advice, which I, who
am weaker and more humble than you, ask of you to guide my
conscience."
"Ask it; I will listen to you," said Thérence, pacified by Brulette's
good sense and submission.
"You must first know," said the latter, "that I have never had any
love for Joseph; and if it will help you, I will tell you why."
"Tell me; I want to know!" cried Thérence.
"Well, the reason is," continued Brulette, "that he does not love me
as I should wish to be loved. I have known Joseph from a baby; he
was never amiable to others until he came to live here; he was so
wrapped up in himself that I considered him selfish. I am now
willing to believe that if he was so it was not in a bad sense; but
after the conversation which he and I had together yesterday I am
still convinced that I have a rival in his heart that would soon
crush me if I were his. This mistress whom he would surely prefer to
his wife--don't deceive yourself, Thérence--is music."
"I have sometimes thought that very thing," replied Thérence, after
reflecting a moment, and showing by her soothed manner that she would
rather struggle with music for Joseph's heart, than with the pretty
Brulette. "Joseph," she added, "is often in a state in which I have
sometimes seen my father,--when the pleasure of making music is so
great that they are not conscious of anything about them; but my
father is always so loving and lovable that I am never jealous of his
pleasure."
"Well, then, Thérence," said Brulette, "let us hope he will make
Joseph like himself and worthy of you."
"Of me? why of me more than of you? God is my witness that I am not
thinking of myself when I work and pray for Joseph. My future
troubles me very little, Brulette; I don't understand why people
should be thinking of themselves in the friendship they give to
others."
"Then," said Brulette, "you are a sort of saint, dear Thérence, and I
feel I am not worthy of you; for I do think about myself, and a great
deal, too, when I dream of love and happiness. Perhaps you do not
love Joseph as I fancied you did; but, however that may be, I ask you
to tell me how I had better behave to him. I am not at all sure that
if I take all hope away from him the blow would kill him; otherwise
you would not see me so easy. But he is ill, that's very true; and I
owe him great consideration. Here is where my friendship for him has
been loyal and sincere; and I have not been as coquettish as you
think for. For if it is true that I have, as you say, fifty lovers
in my own village, what advantage or amusement would it be to me to
follow the humblest of them all into these woods? I think, on the
contrary, that I deserve your good-will for having, as it seemed
right to do so, sacrificed without regret my lively friends to bring
comfort to a poor fellow who asked for my remembrance."
Thérence, understanding at last that she was wrong, threw herself
into Brulette's arms, without making any excuses, but showing plainly
by tears and kisses that she was heartily sorry.
They were sitting thus together when Huriel, followed by his mules,
preceded by his dogs, and mounted on his little horse, appeared at
the end of the path where we were. He came to bid us good-bye; but
nothing in his air or manner showed the grief of a man who seeks by
flight to cure a hopeless love. He seemed, on the contrary, cheerful
and content; and Brulette thought that Thérence had put him on the
list of her admirers only to give one reason more, good or bad, for
her vexation. She even tried to make him tell the real reason for
his departure; and when he pretended that it was pressing business,
which Thérence denied, urging him to stay, Brulette, rather piqued at
his coolness, reproached him with getting tired of his Berrichon
guests. He let himself be teased without making any change in his
plans; and this finally affronted Brulette, and led her to say,--
"As I may never see you again, Maître Huriel, don't you think you had
better return me the little token which you wear in your ear though
it does not belong to you?"
"Yes, but it does," he answered. "It belongs to me as much as my ear
belongs to my head, for my sister gave it to me."
"Your sister could not have given you what is either Joseph's or
mine."
"My sister made her first communion just as you did, Brulette; and
when I returned your jewel to José she gave me hers. Ask her if that
isn't true."
Thérence colored high, and Huriel laughed in his beard. Brulette
thought to herself that the most deceived of the three was Joseph,
who was probably wearing Thérence's silver heart round his neck as a
souvenir, while the muleteer was wearing the one she had given him.
She was resolved not to allow the fraud, so she said to Thérence:
"Dearest, I think the token José wears will bring him happiness, and
therefore he ought to keep it; but inasmuch as this one belongs to
you, I ask you to get it back from your brother, so as to make me a
present which will be extremely precious to me as coming from you."
"I will give you anything else you ask of me," replied Thérence, "and
with all my heart too; but this thing does not belong to me. What is
given is given, and I don't think that Huriel would be willing to
give it back."
"I will do so," said Huriel, quickly, "if Brulette requires it. Do
you demand it?" he added, turning to her.
"Yes," said Brulette, who could not back down, though she regretted
her whim when she saw the hurt look of the muleteer. He at once
opened his earring and took off the token, which he gave to Brulette,
saying: "Be it as you please. I should be consoled for the loss of
my sister's gift if I could think you would neither give it away nor
exchange it."
"The proof that I will do neither," said Brulette, fastening it on
Thérence's necklace, "is that I give it to her to keep. And as for
you, whose ear is now released of its weight, you do not need any
token to enable me to recognize you when you come again into our
parts."
"That is very handsome of you to say," replied the muleteer; "but as
I only did my duty to Joseph, and as you now know all that you need
to know to make him happy, I shall not meddle any further in his
affairs. I suppose you will take him home with you, and I shall have
no further occasion to visit your country. Adieu, therefore, my
beautiful Brulette; I foretell all the blessings you deserve, and I
leave you now with my family, who will serve you while here and
conduct you home whenever you may wish to go."