with all the grace, assurance, and fearlessness of a circus rider. We
went in the direction of the forest of Meudon, and Fleury. In that
region one is more alone than in the Bois de Boulogne; the country is
more rural, the landscape more diversified, and you can draw rein from
time to time and indulge in pleasant converse.
We passed a delightful day. At night we dined together at a restaurant,
like two bachelors--that is to say, we dined in the main dining-room.
And when we parted, Frédérique said:
"Not for long!"
The next day, when I returned home after doing several errands, I found
Mignonne in her usual place.
She bade me good-morning as usual, but her glance seemed less frank than
it usually was. We all have days when we are inclined to melancholy;
perhaps she had just come from her child's grave.
I chatted with Mignonne as usual. I fancied that I could see that she
was waiting for Pomponne to leave us alone. But when I had company, that
servant of mine always found some excuse for constantly going in and out
and appearing every minute or two in the room where we were. I have
known him to leave a pin on the mantel, as a pretext for returning, and,
when he came for it, to leave another in its place. I had to call to him
sternly: "When will you have done with that nonsense?"--He realized that
I was losing patience, and he came no more to fetch his pins.
At last, Mignonne decided to speak.
"Has that lady who was here the other day been to see you again,
monsieur?" she asked hesitatingly.
"Yes, Mignonne, she has. We had had a little dispute, but we are
reconciled now. She has a hot head, but an excellent heart."
"Did she tell you that it was wrong of you to let me work here?"
"On the contrary, she said several times that she was very sorry that
she had said things to you that might have hurt you, and that she hoped
to make her peace with you."
"Oh! mon Dieu! that isn't worth while, monsieur."
Mignonne said that in a peculiar tone; then she returned to her work and
did not utter another word. Soon the door opened and Frédérique
appeared, as affable, smiling, and fascinating as on the day before. She
shook hands with me and nodded pleasantly to Mignonne, who returned her
salutation much less graciously.
I was sitting at the piano, jotting down an air that had come into my
head. Frédérique insisted that she would not disturb me; and while I was
trying to pick out an accompaniment for my air, I saw that she went to
Mignonne and tried to talk with her.
I played a little for Frédérique, who sang very well when she chose to
take the trouble. Mignonne, perhaps because she was not fond of music,
seemed to take little pleasure in listening to us.
Frédérique passed a large part of the day with me, and Mignonne went
away earlier than usual.
A fortnight passed. Frédérique continued to come frequently to see me.
Her mood with me never changed, her glance was always sweet; the most
perfect harmony reigned between us.
As for Mignonne, I was disturbed to see that her features had resumed
their expression of gloomy melancholy, that the roses which had
reappeared for a time on her cheeks had again given place to pallor. And
I was distressed by that change, of which I could not guess the cause.
Ballangier came twice. I urged him to remain, and gave him a seat near
the pretty seamstress. Then I easily made an excuse for leaving them
together, in the hope that they would become better acquainted. But both
times Ballangier said to me, when he went away:
"It will be a long job; she's still just as sad as ever, and she doesn't
look at me at all; in fact, I'm not sure that she listens when I am
talking to her. But, never mind, I'll be patient, and I'll have love
enough for two, if necessary."
One evening, when Frédérique had come during the day, and, not finding
me, had passed several hours with Mignonne, I was much surprised to
receive a note from her containing these words only:
"I have something to say to you, my friend, something important. I shall
expect you."
What could she have to say to me, of such urgency? However, I knew
Frédérique well enough to know that when she had anything to say, it was
perfect torture to her to have to wait till the next day; so I went to
her at once.
My friend was in a very dainty négligé, which reminded me of the night I
had supped with her. She smiled sweetly, as I entered the room, and gave
me her hand, saying:
"I was sure that you would come at once. You realized that I don't like
to wait! Come, sit here by my side, and we will talk like two good
friends."
I did as she bade me. She began by putting her hand on mine.
"My friend," she said, "it is rather embarrassing for me to tell you
what I have to tell. I trust that you will not take my words in ill
part, that you will not be angry, as I was. But, above all things, be
persuaded that I am perfectly sure that I am not mistaken."
"What a preamble! I thought that you and I could afford to go straight
to the point; I have never liked the circumlocutions with which
advocates confuse their arguments instead of stating them simply."
"You are right; I will come to the point. To-day, my friend, I went to
your rooms; you were absent, but that young woman, Mignonne, was there,
working hard as usual."
"Ah! so Mignonne is your subject, eh?"
"Yes, Mignonne. I sat down beside her, although my presence was by no
means agreeable to her. It did not require much discernment to see that.
Haven't you noticed it, too, Charles? Haven't you noticed that when I
appear her face changes and her eyes become sad? that she hardly replies
to what I say to her?"
"Yes, I have noticed all that. But I have seen nothing more in it than a
bit of spite because of what you said to her one day."
"Oh! there's something besides her remembrance of that. To-day, I
determined to have it out with her. I succeeded, by several adroit
questions, in making her betray the secret of her heart, which, by the
way, had been no secret to me for a long time."
"Well! what is this secret?"
"You won't be angry, Charles? At all events, you are not in the least to
blame for it. So I begin by telling you that I am not offended with you
for it."
"Oh! how cruel you are with your reflections, Frédérique!"
"Well! Mignonne loves you dearly. That is the secret that makes her
melancholy and embarrassed--especially when I am there; because she has
imagined, foolishly of course, but still she has imagined that you love
me, that I am--your mistress! If she had heard Mademoiselle Rosette
repeat your remark--that you would never love me--she wouldn't entertain
that absurd idea."
"Ah! Frédérique, you know very well that----"
"Don't interrupt me, my friend; besides, we are not talking about that,
but about Mignonne. When she sees me come in, when I am with you, her
eyes fill with tears, and she looks at the floor so that we may not see
them. Yes, my friend, you can believe my extensive experience, believe
my heart, which is never mistaken--that young woman has a profound
affection for you. That which was only gratitude at first has become
love! She is accustomed to see you almost every day. Perhaps she does
not herself realize the strength of the sentiment that draws her toward
you; but she yields to the fascination she feels; and that love will
acquire greater force in her heart, if you yourself do not try to uproot
it."
Mignonne in love with me! It seemed improbable to me at first; but as I
recalled a multitude of trivial circumstances, I became less
incredulous.
"Why, I have never lisped a word of love to her; nothing in my conduct
can have given her any reason to think that I was in love with her."
"I know that, my friend; oh! I am certain of that!" cried Frédérique,
pressing my hand. "But probably that is just why she loves you! Women
are made that way; it's a congenital defect in them. If you had spoken
of love to Mignonne, it is very probable that she would have taken
offence at it, and would have ceased to come to your rooms. But when she
found that you always treated her like a sister, confidence
returned--she reproached herself for her distrust; well, at all events,
she loves you, that is certain! We all know that that sentiment is not
governed by reason."
"Well, Frédérique, if you have guessed right, if that young woman does
love me--which would distress me greatly, I confess--what do you advise
me to do? Of course, you do not want me to cease to help the unfortunate
creature, to abandon her?"
"Why, no; of course not!"
"If I tell her not to come to my rooms any more--she is very sensitive,
like all unfortunate people, and she will go away forever."
"Are you willing to rely on me, my friend?"
"I ask nothing better."
"I will tell you what, it seems to me, would cure the whole trouble--but
I am afraid you will not like my plan."
"Oh! how terrible you are to-day with your reticences!"
"Listen! While I was absent from Paris, you didn't know where I was, did
you?"
"No; you didn't tell me."
"As you didn't ask me, I thought that you were not interested. Well,
monsieur, I was at a charming country house that I had hired--and it is
still mine, because I took it for a year, all furnished and equipped. I
had nothing to do but to go there, and that was not much trouble; for
the house is at Fontenay-sous-Bois, close to Vincennes--only two leagues
and a half from Paris. I was not very far away, monsieur, as you see. So
that I came often to Paris, and knew everything that happened here."
"And you propose to send Mignonne to your country house?"
"No, not that. In the first place, she would probably refuse to go to
any house of mine. You must do the opposite of that--you must--that is,
if it won't be too much of a bore to you--pass some time yourself in
that retreat. It is only the last of July, and the weather is fine. But
perhaps country life is tedious to you?"
"Not at all! But you will go with me, of course; you will keep me
company?"
"Most assuredly! Must I not do the honors of my house?"
"Your plan is delightful, Frédérique, and I accept with the greatest
pleasure!"
"Really! you are really willing to go into the country with me? The
prospect doesn't alarm you--you're not afraid of being bored?"
"Is that possible, with you?"
"Oh! how good you are, and how happy I am! But, never fear, my friend; I
will try to arrange it so that the time won't seem too long to you. In
the first place, it is a lovely spot, the whole neighborhood is
charming; you would think that you were a hundred leagues from the
capital. However, it is no desert, for there are several pretty estates
in the neighborhood; but I don't care much for visiting neighbors,
myself, especially in the country; for when you have once allowed your
neighbors to call, they are always at your door, and that gets to be
horribly tiresome. But wait till you see my house--it's an immense
place, like a little château. The garden is very large and well shaded;
there's a lake in which I have the right to fish--only there are no fish
in it. There's a billiard room, and all sorts of games. And then, when
you are bored beyond endurance, or when you have any business in Paris,
we are so near--you can be here in an hour."
"I am at your orders, Frédérique. Let us start! let us start as soon as
possible! I look forward with delight to living in the country with
you."
Madame Dauberny pressed my hand with all her strength and kissed me on
the forehead.
"Listen! listen!--Oh! mon Dieu! here I am beginning to address you
familiarly again, as I used to."
"Oh! I am very willing."
"No, no! I won't do it! Listen, my friend: you must tell Mignonne that
you are going to pass some time in the country; that is a perfectly
natural thing for you to do; ask her to continue to come to your rooms
as usual, to superintend your household; you might even give her to
understand that you rely on her friendship to look carefully after your
interests. She will be flattered by that mark of confidence. You need
not tell her how long you expect to be away--nor whom you are going to
visit. You are not accountable to her, after all. But, my friend, you
mustn't come to Paris too often to see her; for that would destroy the
effect of your sojourn in the country."
"I understand that perfectly."
"Then we must hope that absence--common sense---- That young woman will
realize sooner or later that she does wrong to love you with love."
"Surely she will! And then, if another man calls to see her, now and
then----"
"Ah, yes! That's the very thing! Perhaps he will succeed in winning her
love!"
I stared at Frédérique in amazement, for I had never mentioned
Ballangier's passion for Mignonne to her. She blushed and began to
arrange her hair; that was her usual resource when she did not want to
be examined.
"Who do you think may succeed in winning Mignonne's love, pray?"
"Why, the man who is paying court to her--that young man who comes to
see you sometimes."
"How do you know that, Frédérique?"
"Wonderful cleverness on my part! Did I not meet him one day when he was
going to see you?"
"And you guessed that he was in love with Mignonne, simply from seeing
him come to my rooms?"
"He has changed greatly, and to his advantage, that young man."
"Ah! you recognized him, did you?"
I watched Frédérique closely, for a multitude of ideas had suddenly
rushed into my mind; something told me that Madame Dauberny knew more
about Ballangier than she chose to tell me. I think that she must have
divined my thoughts, for she rose hastily and said:
"It is getting late, my friend. We start to-morrow--is that settled?"
"I ask nothing better."
"Bring your servant; we have room enough for him. I have only a gardener
and my maid there. Will Mignonne come to you to-morrow?"
"I think so, as she didn't come to-day."
"Wait for her and tell her that you are going to the country; then come
to me, and we will start together."
"Very good. I will go home to make my preparations, and to-morrow I will
call for you. _O rus! quando te aspiciam?_"
"I can guess what that means. You will see the fields to-morrow, my
friend."
On reaching home, I gave orders to Pomponne to prepare for our
departure. I might take very few things to Fontenay, and send him to
Paris whenever I needed anything. But that was just what I wanted to
avoid, because I was acquainted with Monsieur Pomponne's loquacity.
It was ten o'clock when Mignonne arrived. Since Frédérique had opened my
eyes to the young woman's secret sentiments, I had dreaded that
interview; I was deeply moved, and it grieved me to think of causing her
pain. Poor child! from whom I was fleeing because she loved me! We run
after so many women who do not love us!
Mignonne seemed to me even paler and more depressed than usual. However,
she smiled when she saw me. I went to meet her and held out my hand.
"Mignonne, I was waiting to say good-bye to you."
She looked anxiously at me, did not take the hand I offered her, and
faltered:
"What! to say good-bye? Are you going on a journey?"
"Oh, no! I am just going into the country--not very far away. I am not
leaving you for long."
"Ah! you are going to the country? You have never said anything about
it. Is it something you have just thought of?"
"I have been thinking of it for several days. I am in the habit of going
into the country every year for a time; it does me good."
"If it's for your health, you are wise. I will go away, then, and come
again when you return--when you send me word."
"No; on the contrary, if you wish to please me, to do me a favor, you
will continue to come here. I am taking my servant with me, but I will
leave you my keys, which you will hand to the concierge when you go
away. I intrust the care of my establishment to you! There are many
things to be done here. I would like to have my curtains renovated, and
the furniture of my salon and bedroom covered. You will find money in
the desk. Be good enough to attend to all these details. I take the
liberty of looking upon you as if you were my sister; does that offend
you?"
"Offend me! no, indeed! You are too kind to me! you always find pretexts
for keeping me busy, for heaping kindnesses on me. Oh! I see it plainly
enough!"
"Don't say that. On the contrary, it is due to you that my house has
assumed an orderly, comfortable aspect that it never had before."
"Will it be long before you return to Paris?"
"I don't think so. But sometimes, when one has no business to attend
to----"
"Of course, and when one is enjoying one's self. Are you going to
visit--friends?"
"Yes, I am going to see several friends--to make a round of visits. By
the way, Mignonne, I wanted to say---- That young man whom you have seen
here several times--Ballangier--will probably come while I am away."
"I will tell the concierge not to let anyone come up, as you won't be
here."
"That is all right, so far as most people are concerned; but I want
Ballangier to be excepted from that prohibition. I take a very deep
interest in that young man. He used to have none but evil acquaintances
in Paris; he must not find a house closed to him where he can learn only
profitable lessons. And then, too, my library is at his disposal; he may
take whatever books he chooses. So you will please be kind enough to
admit him. He's a fine fellow, and I am sure that he will do his utmost
to deserve your esteem."
"Very good, monsieur," Mignonne replied, in a cold and constrained tone;
"your orders shall be followed."
"But I am not giving you orders; I am simply expressing a wish, that's
all!"
"And if any letters should come for you, monsieur, where shall I send
them?"
"I don't expect any. At all events, my servant will call and get them
from the concierge."
"Oh! you will send your servant to Paris, but you won't come yourself?"
She hastily lowered her eyes, but I saw that they were full of tears. I
made haste to grasp her hand, which she did not withdraw, and pressed it
affectionately.
"I shall see you soon, Mignonne," I said. "Keep a sharp eye on my
house!"
And I hurried away, driving Monsieur Pomponne before me, for he seemed
determined to return to the room where Mignonne was, probably to pick up
a pin.
XLVI
FONTENAY-SOUS-BOIS
We arrived at Fontenay about three in the afternoon. Frédérique's
country house was a little beyond the village; it was not isolated, for
there were several pretty villas in the neighborhood; but it was far
enough from the centre of population for us not to be annoyed by the
singing of drunken men, the noise of children, and the barking of dogs.
An iron fence surrounded a beautiful lawn bordered by flowers in front
of the house. At the left was a small building, entirely separate from
the main house, and Frédérique said to me as we passed it:
"That is where you are to sleep, my friend; there's a very nice little
chamber over the billiard room, and you will be absolutely at home
there, free to go in and out without disturbing anyone."
"But I didn't come here to live alone! And you?"
"I live in this huge structure. I will show you my apartments. But,
never fear, my friend, I didn't bring you here to banish you from my
presence. You will not be compelled to return to your own quarters
except to sleep.--Adèle, take Pomponne to the pavilion at once, with his
master's traps."
Adèle was the lady's-maid. She was an excellent girl, who deigned to
assume the functions of cook in addition to her own, in the country.
Monsieur Pomponne followed her, peering inquisitively into every clump
of bushes.
Frédérique showed me the house, which consisted of two stories, with six
sleeping-rooms. It was furnished with taste, and would easily
accommodate a large family.
"What are you going to do with so much room, all alone as you are?" I
inquired.
"In the country, my friend, I find that one needs plenty of space. I saw
this house, and it took my fancy; the rent was not high, so I hired it.
I could not make it smaller; besides, you see that I am not alone now."
"You will still be alone in your great caravansary, since you relegate
me to a separate building!"
"Ah! my friend, what about the proprieties? Is it not a very bold step
at the best for me, a married woman, to bring a young man to stay at my
house in the country? The world doesn't know that we are only Orestes
and Pylades, Damon and Pythias. But I don't care a snap of my finger for
what people may say!"
"And your husband?"
"My husband! I fancy that he doesn't even know that I am in the
country.--You have seen the house, now come and see the garden. But wait
a minute! wait! my rustic cap! Oh! it is so nice to be comfortable!"
She substituted for her city bonnet a little straw cap with a visor,
which she wore a little on one side; she was captivating so. I found in
the hall several hats for the country, of different shapes.
"Take your choice," said my hostess.
"What! are these part of the furniture?"
"No, I brought them all for my own use--to try--you know, I dress like a
man sometimes."
"So you told me; but I have never seen you in masculine costume."
"I'll put it on some morning, to stroll about the fields with you. Oh! I
look like a scamp then, I tell you! Come, monsieur, choose a hat."
I donned a gray felt, with a pointed crown and a broad brim, in which I
must have resembled an Italian bandit; all I needed was the ribbons.
Frédérique escorted me to the garden. It contained nearly two acres, and
was laid out in an original fashion. There were none of the customary,
broad, straight paths; on the contrary, they wound and twisted about in
all directions--a veritable labyrinth. Shade trees, shrubbery, and
thickets combined to make the garden a fascinating spot, which appeared
four times larger than it really was.
Our first day passed very quickly. I was installed in the small
pavilion, and was very comfortable there; but it seemed to me that I
should prefer to be in the main house, under the same roof with
Frédérique. My friendship for her developed so rapidly that when I was
fifteen minutes without seeing her I felt that something was missing: I
had never loved a mistress as I loved that friend.
When I woke for the first time in that house to which I had come so
unexpectedly, I was conscious of a feeling of contentment, of secret
happiness, which I could not describe. Was it pleasure because I was in
the country with a person who manifested such sincere friendship for me?
Was it satisfaction because I had acted wisely in going away from
Mignonne and being careful not to take an unfair advantage of the
sentiment I had inspired? Or was it simply the change of air?
I went to a window that looked on the garden, and I heard a voice
calling me a sluggard. Frédérique was already up. She wore a white
dress, cut like a blouse, with a blue sash. I had noticed that blue was
her favorite color. Her little straw cap was on her head, and her
beautiful glossy black hair fell in dense curls on both sides of her
face.
It seemed to me that I had never seen her so lovely, so alluring. Ah! it
is a fact that in the country, amid the green fields and trees,
everything that appeals to our senses moves and excites us more keenly
than elsewhere.
Frédérique put her arm through mine and we strolled about the garden.
For the first time, I was conscious of a peculiar sensation at the
contact of her arm with mine. Was it really the first time that I had
experienced that sensation? No. But that morning it seemed sweeter to
me; and yet, for some unknown reason, I was no longer so light-hearted,
so at my ease with her; I was almost afraid to look at her. What
thoughts were these that came into my head? I dared not heed them.
Madame Dauberny had never been so amiable, so gay, so kind, so
sparkling. I thought that I knew her; but to be able to appreciate fully
all the resources of her wit, all the charm of her society, and all the
seductiveness of her beauty, I found that it was necessary to be alone
with her in that charming retreat.
The time passed with extraordinary rapidity; and yet there were but we
two. We made frequent trips in the saddle or on foot about the
surrounding country. The horses that we hired were very ugly--but what
did we care? We did not go out to exhibit ourselves. When the weather
was bad, we played and sang, or I drew some landscape that I had
sketched, while she read aloud to me. Every morning she said:
"My friend, if you want to take a trip to Paris, don't hesitate; you can
come back this evening; but don't go to your own rooms, if Mignonne is
there. As we have undertaken to cure that young woman, we must not cause
a relapse."
"Do you mean that you are tired of me?" I would say; "would you like to
be rid of me for to-day?"
Her only reply was to give me a light tap on the cheek, and nothing more
would be said about Paris.