THE MEETING
Jean came back in fairly good time to the Strasburg station and took
the train to Obernai, where he had left his bicycle. While going
from Obernai to Alsheim he saw in the meadows through which the
Dachs ran, near Bernhardsweiler, a second stork--motionless on one
leg.
This was the first thing he told Lucienne, whom he met under the
trees in the park. She was reading, and wore a grey linen dress with
lace on the bodice. When she heard the noise of the bicycle on the
gravel she lifted her intelligent eyes, smiling.
"My dear, how I have missed you. What in the world makes you go away
so constantly?"
"I make discoveries, dear sister. First, I have seen two storks,
arriving on the sacred day--April 23--punctual as lawyers."
A slight pout of her red lips showed that the news did not interest
her much.
"Then?"
"I spent three hours in the offices of the Forest Conservators,
where I learned that----"
"You can tell all that to father," she interrupted. "I see so much
wood here, living and dead, that I have no wish to occupy my mind
with it unnecessarily. Tell me some Strasburg news, or about some
costumes, or some conversation you had with some one in society."
"That is true," said the young man, laughing. "I did meet some one."
"Interesting?"
"Yes; an old acquaintance of Munich, a lieutenant in the Hussars."
"Lieutenant von Farnow?"
"Yes, the very man--Lieutenant Wilhelm von Farnow, lieutenant in the
9th Rhenish Hussars. What is the matter?"
They were halfway down the avenue, hidden by a clump of shrubs.
Lucienne, bold and provoking as ever, crossed her arms and said, in
a quieter tone of voice:
"Only this--he loves me."
"_He?_"
"And I love him!"
Jean stepped away from his sister in order to see her better.
"It is not possible!"
"And why not?"
"Why, Lucienne, because he is a German, an officer--a Prussian!"
There was silence; the blow had struck home. Jean, quite pale, went
on:
"You must also know that he is a Protestant."
She flung her book on the seat and, holding up her head, quivering
all over at the protest:
"Do you imagine I have not thought it all over? I know all you can
possibly say. I know that the people in the midst of whom we live in
Alsace here, intolerant and narrow-minded as they are, will not
hesitate to say what they think on the subject. Yes; they will make
a fuss, they will blame me and pity me and try to make me give way.
And you; are you not beginning the game? But I warn you that
arguments are quite useless--all your arguments. I love him. It is
not to be done, it _is_ done. I have only one wish, and that is to
know if you are on my side or against me. For I shall not alter my
mind."
"Oh, my God! my God!" cried Jean, hiding his face in his hands.
"I never thought it could hurt you so much. I do not understand. Do
you share their stupid hatred? Tell me. I am putting a strong
control on my feelings that I may talk to you. Tell me then. Speak.
You are paler than I am--I, whom this alone concerns."
She caught hold of his hands and uncovered his face. And Jean gazed
at her strangely for a moment as do those whose look does not as yet
correspond with their thoughts.
Then he said:
"You are mistaken; we are both concerned, Lucienne!"
"Why?"
"We are one against the other, because I, too, must tell you that I
love--I love Odile Bastian!"
She was terrified at what she foresaw in connection with this name;
she was touched at the same time because the argument had reference
to love, and was a confidence. Her irritation passed at once. She
put her head on her brother's shoulder. The curls of her fair hair
intermixed with auburn lay ruffled and disordered against Jean's
neck.
"Poor, dear Jean," she murmured. "Fate pursues us. Odile Bastian and
the other. Two love affairs which exclude each other! Oh! my poor
dear, it is the drama of our family perpetuating itself through us!"
She straightened herself, thinking she heard a step, and taking her
brother's arm went on nervously: "We cannot talk here, but we must
talk about other than merely surface things. If father suddenly came
across us, or mamma, who is working in the drawing-room at heaven
knows what everlasting piece of embroidery. Ah, my dear, when I
think that only a few steps away from her we are exchanging such
secrets as these, which she little suspects! But first we must think
of ourselves, must we not? Ourselves...!" For a moment she thought
of returning to the house, and of going up to her room with Jean.
Then she decided on a better place of refuge. "Come into the fields,
there no one will disturb us."
Arm-in-arm, hastening their steps, speaking to each other in low
tones and short sentences, they went through the gate, passed the
end of the enclosure, and to the right of the road, which was higher
than the surrounding land; they went down a sloping path, which
could be seen like a grey ribbon winding its seemingly endless way
through the young corn. Already each of them, after the first moment
of surprise, of dejection, and of real pain caused by the thought of
what the other would suffer, had come back to thoughts of self.
"Perhaps we are wrong to worry ourselves," said Lucienne, entering
the path. "Is it certain that our plans are irreconcilable?"
"Yes. Odile Bastian's mother will never agree to her daughter
becoming the sister-in-law of a German officer."
"And how do you know that this officer would not perhaps prefer
marrying into a family a little less behind the times than ours?"
said Lucienne, hurt. "Your plan may also injure mine."
"Pardon me; I know Farnow--nothing will stop him."
"To tell the truth, I think so too!" said the young girl, looking
up, and blushing with pride.
"He is one of those who are never in the wrong."
"Exactly so."
"You share his ambitions."
"I flatter myself that I do."
"You can rest assured then: he will have no hesitation. The
scruples will come from the Bastian side, who are the souls of
honour...."
"Ah! if he heard you," said Lucienne, letting go her brother's arm,
"he would fight you."
"What would that prove?"
"That he felt your insult as I felt it myself, Jean. For Lieutenant
von Farnow is a man of honour!"
"Yes, in _his_ way--which is not our way."
"Very good! Very noble!"
"Rather feudal, this nobility of theirs. They have not had the time
to have that of a later date. But after all it does not matter. I am
not in a mood for discussion. I suffer too much. All I wish to say
is that when I ask for Odile's hand I shall be refused. I foresee
it, I am sure of it; and that von Farnow will not understand why,
and if he did understand he would not withdraw, he would never think
of sacrificing himself. In speaking like this, I am not slandering
him. I simply understand him."
They walked on, enveloped in an atmosphere of light and warmth,
which they did not enjoy, between long strips of young corn, smiling
unnoticed around them. In the plain, some labourers seeing them pass
side by side, walking together, envied them. Lucienne could not deny
that her brother's forebodings were reasonable. Yes, it must be so,
judging from what she herself knew of Lieutenant von Farnow and the
Bastians. In any other circumstance she would have pitied her
brother, but personal interest spoke louder than pity. She felt a
kind of disturbed joy when she heard Jean acknowledge his fears. She
felt encouraged _not_ to be generous, because she felt he was
anxious. Not being able to pity him, she at any rate drew near to
him, and talked to him about herself.
"If we had lived together longer, Jean," she said, "you would have
known my ideas on marriage, and I should astonish you less to-day. I
had made up my mind to marry only a very rich man. I dislike the
fear of what to-morrow may bring; I want certainty and to lead...."
"The conditions are fulfilled," said Jean, with bitterness. "Farnow
has a vast property in Silesia. But at the same time he is also
lieutenant in the 9th regiment of Rhenish Hussars!"
"Well!"
"Officer in an army against which your father has fought, your uncle
has fought, and all your relations, every one old enough to carry
arms."
"Quite right. And I would not have asked anything better than to
marry an Alsatian. Perhaps I even wished to do so without saying
anything about it. But I did not find what I wished. Nearly all who
had name, fortune, or influence have chosen France; that is to say,
they all left Alsace after the war. They called it patriotism.
Truly, words can serve every use. Who remain? You can easily count
the young people of Alsatian origin belonging to wealthy families,
and who could have aspired to the hand of Lucienne Oberlé."
She went on more excitedly:
"But they did not ask for me; and they will not ask for me, my dear!
That is what you have never understood. They kept away, they and
their parents, because father....
"They have put us and our family under an interdict. I am, in
consequence, one of those they do not marry. Owing to their
intolerance, the narrowness of their conception of life, I am
condemned by them. They call me the 'beautiful Lucienne Oberlé,' but
none of those who like to look at me, and greet me with affected
respect would dare to defy his people and make me his wife. I have
not had to choose; you cannot reproach me on that score. The
situation is such that, willing or not, I shall not be asked in
marriage by an Alsatian. It is not my fault. I knew what I was
doing when I accepted Lieutenant von Farnow!"
"Accepted?"
"In the sense that I am bound--certainly. During last autumn, but
especially for the last four months, Lieutenant von Farnow has paid
me a great deal of attention."
"Then it was he on horseback, there on the road, the night I
returned?"
"Yes."
"Was it he who recently came to visit the saw-mills with another
officer?"
"Yes; but I have met him mostly in society at Strasburg, when father
took me to balls and dinners.--You know that mamma, because of her
poor health--but above all because of her hatred of everything
German--generally avoids accompanying me. I met Lieutenant von
Farnow constantly. He had every chance of talking to me.
"At last, when he came here, just lately, he asked father if I would
allow him to pay me definite attentions. And this very morning,
after lunch, I answered 'Yes.'"
"Then father consents?"
"Yes."
"The others?"
"Know nothing about it. And it will be terrible. Think of it. My
mother, my grandfather, Uncle Ulrich! I hoped for your support,
Jean, to help me overcome all these difficulties, and to help me
also to heal all the wounds I am going to inflict. First of all, von
Farnow must be introduced to mamma, who does not know him. Alsheim
is quite impossible. We have been thinking of a meeting at some
mutual friend's house in Strasburg. But if I have to consider you as
one more enemy, what good is there in my telling you my plans?"
They stood still, Jean reflecting for a moment, as he faced the
plain, which unrolled its strips of barley, and young corn,
intermingling at the edges like the flow and counterflow of running
water. Then, gathering his thoughts together and looking at
Lucienne, who was waiting for his words, with raised face,
suppliant, restless, and ardent.
"You cannot imagine how much I am suffering. You have destroyed all
my joy!"
"My dear, I did not know about your love!"
"And I--I have not the courage to destroy yours...."
Lucienne threw her arms round his neck.
"How generous you are, Jean! How good you are!"
He put her away from him, and said sadly:
"Not so generous as you imagine, Lucienne, for that would be to show
myself very weak. No; I do not approve of your decision. I have no
confidence in your happiness...."
"But at least you will leave me free? You will not go against me?
You will help me against mamma?"
"Yes, since you have gone so far, and since our father has given his
consent, and since our mother's opposition might only cause still
greater unhappiness...."
"You are right, Jean. Greater unhappiness, for father told me
that----"
"Yes, I guess. He told you that he would crush all opposition, that
he would leave our mother rather than give in. That is all very
likely. He would do it. I shall not enter into any struggle with
him. Only, I keep my liberty of action with regard to von Farnow."
"What do you mean by that?" she asked quickly.
"I wish," Jean replied, in a tone of authority, in which Lucienne
felt her brother's invincible determination, "I wish to let him
know exactly what I think. I shall find some means of having an
explanation with him. If he persists, after that, in his desire to
marry you, he will make no mistake, at least as to the difference of
feeling and ideas which separate us."
"I do not mind that," answered Lucienne, reassured, and she smiled,
being certain that von Farnow would stand the trial.
She turned towards Alsheim. A cry of victory was on her lips, but
she restrained it. For some time she stood silent, breathing
quickly, and seeking with her eyes and mind what she could say so
that her happiness should not appear an insult to her brother.
Then she shook her head.
"Poor house," she said. "Now that I am going to leave it, it is
becoming dear to me. I am persuaded that later on, when life in the
garrison takes me away from Alsace, I shall have visions of Alsheim.
I shall see it in imagination, just as it stands there."
In the midst of its girdle of orchards were massed together the red
roofs of the village. And both village and trees formed an island
among the corn and April clover. Little birds, gilded by the
sunshine, were flying over Alsheim. The house of the Oberlés at this
distance seemed only to be one of many. There was so much sweetness
in all things that one might have imagined life itself sweet.
Lucienne gave herself up to this appreciation of beauty, which only
came to her as a consequence of her thoughts of love. Again she
heard her own words, "I shall have visions of Alsheim just as it
stands there." Then the undulating line of the Bastians' wood, which
rose like a little blue cloud beyond the farthest gardens, reminded
her of Jean's trouble. She only then realised that he had not
answered her. She was moved, not enough to ask herself if she
should renounce her happiness to make Jean happy, but up to the
point of regretting, with a sort of tender violence, this conflict
between their loves. She would have liked to soothe the pain she had
caused, to comfort it with words, to put it to rest, and not to feel
it so close to her and so alive.
"Jean, my brother Jean," she said, "I will requite you for all you
are doing for me by helping you, by doing my very best for you. Who
knows but by working together we may not be able to solve the
problem?"
"No; it is beyond your power and mine."
"Odile loves you? Yes, of course she loves you. Then you will be
very strong."
Jean made a movement of weariness.
"Do not try, Lucienne. Let us go back."
"I beseech you. Tell me at least how you came to love her? I can
understand that. We said we would tell each other more than the
names. You have only me to whom you can speak your mind without
danger."
She was making herself out to be humble. She was even humiliated by
her secret happiness. She renewed her request, was affectionate, and
found the right words to describe Odile's stately beauty, and Jean
spoke.
He did it because his need to confide to some one the hope which had
been his--a hope which was still struggling not to die. He told of
the Easter vigil at Sainte Odile and how he had met the young girl
on Maundy Thursday in the cherry avenue. From that, each helping the
other to recall happenings, to fix dates, to find words, they went
back into the past, up to long-ago times when their parents were not
at variance, or at least when the children were ignorant of their
dissensions or did not perceive them, when in the holidays Lucienne,
Odile, and Jean might believe that the two families, united in
intimate friendship, would continue to live as important
land-owners, respected and beloved by the village of Alsheim.
Lucienne did not realise that in calling up these pictures of the
happy past she was not calming her brother's mind. He may have found
pleasure in them for a moment, hoping to get away from the present,
but a comparison was immediately drawn, and his revolt was only the
more profound, arousing all the powers of his being, against his
father, against his sister, against that false pity behind which
Lucienne's incapability of sacrifice was hidden. Soon the young man
gave up answering his sister. Alsheim was getting nearer, and was
now a long outline broken here and there. In the calm evening the
Oberlés' house raised its protecting roof amid the tops of the
trees, still bare. When the park gates, closed each day when the
workmen left, were opened for the two pedestrians, Jean slipped
behind Lucienne, and, making her go on, said, in very low, ironical
tones:
"Come, Baroness von Farnow, enter the house of the old protesting
deputy, Philippe Oberlé."
She was going to make a retort, but an energetic footstep scrunched
the gravel, a man turned into the avenue round a gigantic clump of
beeches, and a resonant, imperious voice, which was singing in order
to appear the voice of a happy man without any regrets, cried:
"There you are, my children! What a nice walk you must have had!
From the waterfall by the works I saw you in the corn leaning
towards each other like lovers."
M. Joseph Oberlé questioned the faces of his children, and saw that
Lucienne at least was smiling.
"Did we have things to tell each other?" he went on. "Great secrets,
perhaps?"
Lucienne, embarrassed by the nearness of the lodge, and still more
so by the exasperation of her brother, answered quickly:
"Yes; I have spoken to Jean. He has understood. He will not oppose
my wishes."
The father seized his son's hand. "I expected nothing else from him.
I thank you, Jean. I shall not forget that."
In his left hand he took Lucienne's, and, like a happy father
between his two children, he crossed the park by the long, winding
carriage drive.
A woman behind the drawing-room window saw them come, and her
pleasure in looking at this scene was not undiluted. She asked
herself if the father and children had united against her.
"You know, dear Jean," said the father, holding up his head and, as
it were, questioning the front of the château. "You know that I wish
to spare susceptibilities and to prepare solutions, and not to
insist on them until I am forced to do so. We are invited to the
Brausigs'----"
"Ah! is it already settled?"
"Yes, to a dinner, to a fairly large evening party--not too many
people. I think that would be a very good opportunity to present
Lieutenant von Farnow to your mother. I shall only speak of this to
your mother later on. And in order not to bias any of her
impressions--you know how timid she is--so that she does not meet my
look when she talks to this young man, I shall refuse for myself--I
shall confide Lucienne's future to you. All my dream is to make this
dear one happy. Not a word to my father. He will be the last to
learn what does not really concern him but secondarily."
The great empty space by the flight of steps had not seen for a long
time such a united group walk on the well-rolled gravel.
In the drawing-room, keeping herself a little back, trying to make
her mind easy and not succeeding, Madame Oberlé had left off
working. The embroidery was on the floor.
Jean was thinking.
"I shall thus assist at the interview, and I shall take mamma there,
who will suspect nothing. What a part to play to avoid greater
evils! Happily, she will forgive me one day when she knows
everything."
* * * * *
Late that night, kissing her son, Madame Oberlé said:
"Your father insists upon my accepting the Brausigs' invitation. Are
you going, my darling?"
"Yes, mamma."
"Then I shall also go."