IT was already broad daylight when Mariette Blanchet emerged from her
nest, carefully attired in her mourning, which was so very black and so
very white that she looked as spick and span as a little magpie. The
poor child had one great care, and that was that her mourning would long
prevent her going to dances, and that all her admirers would be missing
her. Her heart was so good that she pitied them greatly.
"How is this?" said she, as she saw François arranging the papers in
Madeleine's room. "You attend to everything here, Master Miller! You
make flour, you settle the business, you mix the medicines; soon we
shall see you sewing and spinning."
"And you, my young lady," said François, who saw that she regarded him
favorably, although she slashed him with her tongue, "I have never as
yet seen you sewing or spinning; I think we shall soon find you sleeping
till noon, and it will do you good, and keep your cheeks rosy!"
"Oho! Master François, you are already beginning to tell me truths
about myself. You had better take care of that little game; I can tell
you something in return."
"I await your pleasure, my young lady."
"It will soon come; do not be afraid, Master Miller. Have the kindness
to tell me where Catherine is, and why you are here watching beside our
patient. Should you like a hood and gown?"
"Are you going to ask, in your turn, for a cap and blouse, so that you
may go to the mill? As I see you do no woman's work, which would be
nursing your sister for a little while, I suppose you would like to sift
out the chaff, and turn the grindstone. At your service. Let us change
clothes."
"It looks as if you were trying to give me a lesson."
"No; you gave me one first, and I am only returning, out of politeness,
what you lent me."
"Good! You like to laugh and tease, but you have chosen the wrong time.
We are not merry here, and it is only a short time ago that we had to go
to the graveyard. If you chatter so much, you will prevent my
sister-in-law from getting the sleep she needs so greatly."
"On that very account, you should not raise your voice so much, my young
lady; for I am speaking very low, and you are not speaking, just now, as
you should in a sick-room."
"Enough, if you please, Master François," said Mariette, lowering her
tone, and flushing angrily. "Be so good as to see if Catherine is at
hand, and tell me why she leaves my sister-in-law in your charge."
"Excuse me, my young lady," said François, with no sign of temper. "She
could not leave her in your charge, because you are too fond of
sleeping, so she was obliged to intrust her to mine. I shall not call
her, because the poor woman is jaded with fatigue. Without meaning to
offend you, I must say that she has been sitting up every night for two
weeks. I sent her off to bed, and, until noon, I mean to do her work and
mine too, for it is only right for us all to help one another."
"Listen, Master François," said the young girl, with a sudden change of
tone; "you appear to hint that I think only of myself and leave all the
work to others. Perhaps I should have sat up in my turn, if Catherine
had told me that she was tired; but she insisted that she was not at all
tired, and I did not understand that my sister was so seriously ill. You
think that I have a bad heart, but I cannot imagine where you have
learned it. You never knew me before yesterday, and we are not, as yet,
intimate enough for you to scold me as you do. You behave exactly as if
you were the head of the family, and yet--"
"Come, out with it, beautiful Mariette, say what you have on the tip of
your tongue. And yet I was taken in and brought up out of charity, is
not it so? And I cannot belong to the family, because I have no family;
I have no right to it, as I am a foundling! Is that all you wanted to
say?"
As François gave Mariette this straightforward answer, he looked at her
in a way that made her blush up to the roots of her hair, for she saw
that his expression was that of a stem and serious person, although he
appeared so serene and gentle that it was impossible to irritate him, or
to make him think or say anything unjust.
The poor child, who was ordinarily so ready with her tongue, was
overawed for a moment, but although she was a little frightened, she
still felt a desire to please this handsome fellow, who spoke so
decidedly and looked her so frankly in the eyes. She was so confused and
embarrassed, that it was with difficulty she restrained her tears, and
she turned her face quickly the other way, to hide her emotion.
He observed it, however, and said very kindly:
"I am not angry, Mariette, and you have no cause to be, on your part. I
think no ill of you; I see only that you are young, that there is
misfortune in the house, and that you are thoughtless. I must tell you
what I think about it."
"What do you think about it?" asked she; "tell me at once, that I may
know whether you are my friend or my enemy."
"I think that you are not fond of the care and pains people take for
those whom they love, who are in trouble. You like to have your time to
yourself, to turn everything into sport, to think about your dress, your
lovers, and your marriage by and by, and you do not mind having others
do your share. If you have any heart, my pretty child, if you really
love your sister-in-law, and your dear little nephew, and even the poor,
faithful servant who is capable of dying in harness like a good horse,
you must wake up a little earlier in the morning, you must care for
Madeleine, comfort Jeannie, relieve Catherine, and, above all, shut your
ears to the enemy of the family, Madame Sévère, who is, I assure you,
a very bad woman. Now you know what I think, neither more nor less."
"I am glad to hear it," said Mariette, rather dryly; "and now please
tell me by what right you wish to make me think as you do."
"Oh! This is the way you take it, is it?" answered François. "My right
is the waif's right, and to tell you the whole truth, the right of the
child who was taken in and brought up by Madame Blanchet; for this, it
is my duty to love her as my mother, and my right to try to requite her
for her kindness."
"I have no fault to find," returned Mariette, "and I see that I cannot
do better than give you my respect at once, and my friendship as time
goes on."
"I like that," said François; "shake hands with me on it."
He strode toward her, holding out his great hand, without the slightest
awkwardness; but the little Mariette was suddenly stung by the fly of
coquetry, and, withdrawing her hand, she announced that it was not
proper to shake hands so familiarly with a young man.
François laughed and left her, seeing plainly that she was not frank,
and that her first object was to entangle him in a flirtation.
"Now, my pretty girl," thought he, "you are much mistaken in me, and we
shall not be friends in the way you mean."
He went up to Madeleine, who had just waked, and who said to him, taking
both his hands in hers:
"I have slept well, my son, and God is gracious to let me see your face
first of all, on waking. How Is it that Jeannie is not with you?"
Then, after hearing his explanation, she spoke some kind words to
Mariette, telling the young girl how sorry she was to have her sit up
all night, and assuring her that she needed no such great care. Mariette
expected François to say that she had risen very late; but François
said nothing and left her alone with Madeleine, who had no more fever
and wanted to try to get up.
After three days, she was so much better that she was able to talk over
business affairs with François.
"You may put yourself at ease, my dear mother," said he. "I sharpened my
wits when I was away from here, and I understand business pretty well. I
mean to see you through these straits, and I shall succeed. Let me have
my way; please do not contradict anything I say, and sign all the papers
I shall bring you. Now, that my mind is at ease on the score of your
health, I am going to town to consult some lawyers. It is market-day,
and I shall find some people there whom I want to see, and I do not
think my time will be wasted."
He did as he said; and after receiving instructions and advice from the
lawyers, he saw clearly that the last promissory notes which Blanchet
had given Sévère would be a good subject for a lawsuit; for he had
signed them when he was beside himself with drink, fever, and
infatuation. Sévère believed that Madeleine would not dare to go to
law, on account of the expense. François was unwilling to advise Madame
Blanchet to embark in a lawsuit, but he thought there was a reasonable
chance of bringing the matter to an amicable close, if he began by
putting a bold face on it; and as he needed somebody to carry a message
into the enemy's camp, he bethought himself of a plan which succeeded
perfectly.
For several days he had watched little Mariette, and assured himself
that she took a daily walk in the direction of Dollins, where Sévère
lived, and that she was on more friendly terms with this woman than he
could wish, chiefly because she met at her house all her young
acquaintances, and some men from town who made love to her. She did not
listen to them, for she was still an innocent girl, and had no idea that
the wolf was so near the sheepfold, but she loved flattery, and was as
thirsty for it as a fly for milk. She kept her walks secret from
Madeleine; and as Madeleine never gossiped with the other women, and had
not as yet left her sick-room, she guessed nothing, and suspected no
evil. Big Catherine was the last person in the world to notice anything,
so that the little girl cocked her cap over her ear, and, under the
pretext of driving the sheep to pasture, she soon left them in charge of
some little shepherd-boy, and was off to play the fine lady in poor
company.
François, however, who was going continually to and fro on the affairs
of the mill, took note of what the girl was doing. He never mentioned it
at home, but turned it to account, as you shall hear.
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