"My son!" cried mother Catharine.
"Oh, you see," replied Joseph, "my mother herself accuses me, and
you--you, madame, have no greater confidence in me. But that is nothing; I
must save you at any price. We will go from here together; we will descend
to the village; we will present ourselves at the mayoralty--"
In spite of myself I made a gesture.
"Let me speak, madame," he said. "We have not a moment to lose. Yes, we
will present ourselves at the mayoralty, and there I will espouse you, not
as Claudine Leroy, but as Alix de Morainville. Once my wife you have
nothing to fear. Having become one of the people, the people will protect
you. After the ceremony, madame, I will hand you the certificate of our
marriage, and you will tear it up the moment we shall have touched the
soil of England. Keep it precious till then; it is your only safeguard.
Nothing prevents me from going to England to find employment, and
necessarily my wife will go with me. Are you ready, madame?"
For my only response I put my hand in his; I was too deeply moved to
speak. Mother Catharine threw both her arms about her son's neck and
cried, "My noble child!" and we issued from the cottage guarded by
Guillaume and his three other sons, armed to the teeth.
When the mayor heard the names and surnames of the wedding pair he turned
to Joseph, saying:
"You are not lowering yourself, my boy."
At the door of the mayoralty we found ourselves face to face with an
immense crowd. I trembled violently and pressed against Joseph. He, never
losing his presence of mind [sans perdre la carte], turned, saying:
"Allow me, my friends, to present to you my wife. The Viscomtesse de
Morainville no longer exists; hurrah for the Citoyenne Carpentier." And
the hurrahs and cries of triumph were enough to deafen one. Those who the
moment before were ready to tear me into pieces now wanted to carry me in
triumph. Arrived at the house, Joseph handed me our act of marriage.
"Keep it, madame," said he; "you can destroy it on your arrival in
England."
At length one day, three weeks after our marriage, Joseph came to tell me
that he had secured passage on a vessel, and that we must sail together
under the name of Citoyen and Citoyenne Carpentier. I was truly sorry to
leave my adopted parents and foster-brother, yet at the bottom of my heart
I was rejoiced that I was going to find my mother.
But alas! when I arrived in London, at the address that she had given me,
I found there only her old friend the Chevalier d'Ivoy, who told me that
my mother was dead, and that what was left of her money, with her jewels
and chests, was deposited in the Bank of England. I was more dead than
alive; all these things paralyzed me. But my good Joseph took upon himself
to do everything for me. He went and drew what had been deposited in the
bank. Indeed of money there remained but twelve thousand francs; but
there were plate, jewels, pictures, and many vanities in the form of gowns
and every sort of attire.
Joseph rented a little house in a suburb of London, engaged an old
Frenchwoman to attend me, and he, after all my husband, made himself my
servant, my gardener, my factotum. He ate in the kitchen with the maid,
waited upon me at table, and slept in the garret on a pallet.
"Am I not very wicked?" said I to myself every day, especially when I saw
his pallor and profound sadness. They had taught me in the convent that
the ties of marriage were a sacred thing and that one could not break
them, no matter how they might have been made; and when my patrician pride
revolted at the thought of this union with the son of my nurse
my heart pleaded
and pleaded
hard the cause
of poor J
Joseph. His (_Evidently torn before Alix
care, his wrote on it, as no words
presence, became are wanting in the text_.)
more and more
necessary. I knew not how to do anything myself, but made him my all in
all, avoiding myself every shadow of care or trouble. I must say,
moreover, that since he had married me I had a kind of fear of him and was
afraid that I should hear him speak to me of love; but he scarcely thought
of it, poor fellow:
reverence closed his lips. Thus matters stood when
one evening Joseph
entered the room
(_Opposite page of the where I was reading,
same torn sheet. Alix and standing
has again written upright before
around the rent_.) me, his hat
in his hand, said
to me that he had something to tell me. His expression was so unhappy that
I felt the tears mount to my eyes.
"What is it, dear Joseph?" I asked; and when he could answer nothing on
account of his emotion, I rose, crying:
"More bad news? What has happened to my nurse-mother? Speak, speak,
Joseph!"
"Nothing, Mme. la Viscomtesse," he replied. "My mother and Bastien, I
hope, are well. It is of myself I wish to speak."
Then my heart made a sad commotion in my bosom, for I thought he was about
to speak of love. But not at all. He began again, in a low voice:
"I am going to America, madame."
I sprung towards him. "You go away? You go away?" I cried. "And I,
Joseph?"
"You, madame?" said he. "You have money. The Revolution will soon be over,
and you can return to your country. There you will find again your
friends, your titles, your fortune."
"Stop!" I cried. "What shall I be in France? You well know my château, my
palace are pillaged and burned, my parents are dead."
"My mother and Bastien are in France," he responded.
"But thou--thou, Joseph; what can I do without thee? Why have you
accustomed me to your tenderness, to your protection, and now come
threatening to leave me? Hear me plainly. If you go I go with you."
He uttered a smothered cry and staggered like a drunken man.
"Alix--madame--"
"I have guessed your secret," continued I. "You seek to go because you
love me--because you fear you may forget that respect which you fancy you
owe me. But after all I am your wife, Joseph. I have the right to follow
thee, and I am going with thee." And slowly I drew from my dressing-case
the act of our marriage.
He looked, at me, oh! in such a funny way, and--extended his arms. I threw
myself into them, and for half an hour it was tears and kisses and words
of love. For after all I loved Joseph, not as I had loved Abner, but
altogether more profoundly.
The next day a Catholic priest blessed our marriage. A month later we left
for Louisiana, where Joseph hoped to make a fortune for me. But alas! he
was despairing of success, when he met Mr. Carlo, and--you know, dear
girls, the rest.
* * * * *
Roll again and slip into its ancient silken case the small, square
manuscript which some one has sewed at the back with worsted of the pale
tint known as "baby-blue." Blessed little word! Time justified the color.
If you doubt it go to the Teche; ask any of the De la Houssayes--or count,
yourself, the Carpentiers and Charpentiers. You will be more apt to quit
because you are tired than because you have finished. And while there ask,
over on the Attakapas side, for any trace that any one may be able to give
of Dorothea Müller. She too was from France: at least, not from Normandy
or Paris, like Alix, but, like Françoise's young aunt with the white hair,
a German of Alsace, from a village near Strasbourg; like her, an emigrant,
and, like Françoise, a voyager with father and sister by flatboat from old
New Orleans up the Mississippi, down the Atchafalaya, and into the land of
Attakapas. You may ask, you may seek; but if you find the faintest trace
you will have done what no one else has succeeded in doing. We shall never
know her fate. Her sister's we can tell; and we shall now see how
different from the stories of Alix and Françoise is that of poor Salome
Müller, even in the same land and almost in the same times.
FOOTNOTES:
[23] Inserted by a later hand than the author's.--TRANSLATOR.
[24] Inserted by a later hand than the author's.--TRANSLATOR.
[25] Alix makes a mistake here of one day. The Bastille fell on the
14th.--TRANSLATOR.