FRANÇOIS was never sadder than when he emerged from the river-bank
where he had hidden himself to listen to the women's talk. His heart was
as heavy as lead, and when he had gone half-way home he lost courage to
return, and, stepping aside into the path of the water-lilies, he sat
down in the little grove of oaks, at the end of the meadow.
Once there, by himself, he wept like a child, and his heart was bursting
with sorrow and shame; for he was ashamed to hear of what he was
accused, and to think that his poor dear friend Madeleine, whom, through
all his life, he had loved so purely and constantly, reaped nothing but
insult and slander from his devotion and fidelity.
"Oh! my God, my God!" said he to himself, "how can it be that the world
is so wicked and that a woman like Sévère can have the insolence to
measure the honor of a woman like my dear mother, by her own standard?
And that little Mariette, who should naturally be inclined to innocence
and truth, a child as she is, who does not as yet know the meaning of
evil, even she listens to this infernal calumny, and believes in it, as
if she knew how it stung! Since this is so, others will believe it too;
as the larger part of people living mortal life are old in evil, almost
everybody win think that because I love Madame Blanchet, and she loves
me, there must be something dishonorable in it."
Then poor François undertook a careful examination of his conscience,
and searched his memory to see whether, by any fault of his, he were
responsible for Sévère's wicked gossip; whether he had behaved wisely
in all respects, or whether, by a lack of prudence and discretion, he
had involuntarily given rise to evil thinking. But it was in vain that
he reflected, for he could not believe that he had appeared guilty of
what had never even crossed his mind.
Still absorbed in thought and reverie, he went on saying to himself:
"Suppose that my liking had turned to loving, what harm would it be in
God's sight, now that she is a widow and her own mistress? I have given
a good part of my fortune to her and Jeannie, but I still have a
considerable share left, and she would not wrong her child if she
married me. It would not be self-seeking on my part to desire this, and
nobody could make her believe that my love for her is self-interested.
I am a foundling, but she does not care for that. She has loved me with
a mother's love, which is the strongest of all affections, and now she
might love me in another way. I see that her enemies will force me to
leave her if I do not marry her, and I should rather die than leave her
a second time. Besides, she needs my help, and I should be a coward to
leave her affairs in such disorder when I have strength as well as money
with which to serve her. Yes, all I have should belong to her, and as
she often talks to me about paying me back in the end, I must put that
idea out of her head, by sharing all things in common with her, in
accordance with the permission of God and the law. She must keep her
good name for her son's sake, and she can save it only by marrying me.
How is it that I never thought of this before, and that I needed to hear
it suggested by a serpent's tongue? I was too simple-minded and
unsuspecting; and my poor mother is too charitable to others to take to
heart the injuries which are done her. Everything tends toward good, by
the will of Heaven; and Madame Sévère, who was plotting mischief, has
done me the service of teaching me my duty."
Without indulging any longer in meditation or wonder, François set off
on his way home, determined to speak of his plan to Madame Blanchet
without loss of time, and on his knees to entreat her to accept him as
her protector, in the name of God, and for eternal life.
When he reached Cormouer, he saw Madeleine spinning on her door-step, and
for the first time in his life her face had the effect of making him
timid and confused. He was in the habit of walking straight up to her,
looking her full in the face to ask her how she did; but this time he
paused on the little bridge as if he were examining the mill-dam, and
only looked at her out of the corners of his eyes.
When she turned toward him, he moved farther away, not understanding
himself what his trouble was, or why a matter which, a few minutes ago,
had seemed to him so natural and opportune, should suddenly become so
awkward to confess.
Madeleine called him.
"Come here to me," said she, "for I have something to say to you, dear
François. We are alone, so come and sit down beside me, and open your
heart to me, as if I were your father-confessor, for I want to hear the
truth from you."
François was reassured by Madeleine's words, and he sat down beside
her.
"I promise, my dear mother," said he, "to open my heart to you as I do
to God, and to give you a true confession."
He fancied that something had come to her ears which had brought her to
the same conclusion as himself; he was delighted, and waited to hear
what she had to say.
"François," she went on, "you are in your twenty-first year, and it is
time for you to think of marrying; you are not opposed to it, I hope?"
"No, I am not opposed to anything you wish," answered François,
blushing with pleasure; "go on, my dear Madeleine."
"Good!" said she. "I expected this, and I have guessed the right thing.
Since you wish it, I wish it too, and perhaps I thought of it before you
did. I was waiting to see whether the person in question cared for you,
and I think that if she does not as yet, she will, very soon. Don't you
think so, too, and shall I tell you where you stand? Why do you look at
me with such a puzzled expression? Don't I speak clearly enough? I see
that you are shy about it, and I must help you out. Well, the poor child
pouted all the morning because you teased her a little yesterday, and I
dare say she thinks you do not love her. But I know that you do love
her, and if you scold her sometimes for her little caprices it is
because you are a trifle jealous. You must not hold back for that,
François. She is young and pretty; but though there is some danger in
this, if she truly loves you she will willingly submit herself to you."
"I should like," said François, much disappointed, "to know whom you
are talking of, my dear mother, for I am wholly at a loss."
"Really!" said Madeleine; "don't you know what I mean? Am I dreaming, or
are you trying to keep a secret from me?"
"A secret from you!" said François, taking Madeleine's hand. He soon
dropped it, and took up instead the corner of her apron, which he
crumpled as if he were provoked, then lifted toward his lips as if about
to kiss it, and finally let go just as he had done with her hand. He was
first inclined to cry; then he felt angry, and then giddy, all in
succession.
Madeleine was amazed.
"You are in trouble, my child," she cried, "and this means that you are
in love--that all does not go as you wish. I can assure you that
Mariette has a good heart; she, too, is distressed, and if you speak
openly with her she will tell you, in return, that she thinks of no one
but you."
François sprang up, and walked up and down the courtyard for some time
in silence; then he returned to Madeleine's side.
"I am very much surprised to hear what you have in your mind, Madame
Blanchet; this never once occurred to me, and I am well aware that
Mariette has no liking for me, and that I am not to her taste."
"Oh, come!" said Madeleine; "you are speaking petulantly, my child! Don't
you think I noticed how often you talked with her? Though I could not
catch the meaning of what you said, it was evident that she understood
very well, for her face glowed like a burning coal. Do you think I do
not know that she runs away from the pasture every day, leaving her
flock in charge of the first person she meets? Her sheep flourish at the
expense of our wheat; but I do not want to cross her, or talk to her of
sheep, when her head is full of nothing but love and marriage. The poor
child is just of an age to guard her sheep ill, and her heart still
worse. But it is great good luck for her, François, that instead of
falling in love with one of those bad fellows whom I was so much afraid
of her meeting at Sévère's, she had the good sense to think of you. It
makes me, too, very happy to think that, when you are married to my
sister-in-law, who is almost the same as a daughter to me, you will live
with me and make part of my family, and that I may harbor you in my
house, work with you, bring up your children, and thus repay your
kindness to me. So, do not let your childish notions interfere with all
the joys I have planned. Try to see clearly, and forget your jealousy.
If Mariette is fond of dress, it is because she is anxious to please
you. If she has been rather idle lately, it is only because she is
thinking too much of you; and if she answers me sometimes rather
sharply, she does so because she is vexed with your reprimands, and does
not know whom to blame for them. The proof that she is good and desirous
of mending her ways, is that she has recognized your goodness and
wisdom, and wants you for her husband."
"You are good, my dear mother," said François, quite crestfallen. "Yes,
it is you who are good, for you believe in the goodness of others and
deceive yourself. I can tell you that, if Mariette is good, too, and I
will not say she is not, lest I should injure her in your opinion, it is
in a way very different from yours, and, consequently, very displeasing
to me. Do not say anything more to me about her. I swear to you on my
word and honor, on my heart and soul, that I am no more in love with her
than I am with old Catherine, and if she has any regard for me, it is
her own misfortune, because I cannot return it. Do not try to make her
say she loves me; your tact would be at fault, and you would make her my
enemy. It is quite the contrary; hear what she will say to you to-night,
and let her marry Jean Aubard, whom she has made up her mind to accept.
Let her marry as soon as possible, for she is out of place in your
house. She is not happy there, and will not be a source of comfort to
you."
"Jean Aubard!" exclaimed Madeleine; "he is not a proper person for her;
he is a fool, and she is too clever to submit herself to a stupid man."
"He is rich, and she will not submit to him. She will manage him, and he
is just the man for her. Will you not trust in your friend, my dear
mother? You know that, up to this time, I have never given you any bad
advice. Let the young girl go; she does not love you as she ought, and
she does not know your worth."
"You say this because your feelings are hurt, François," said
Madeleine, laying her hand on his head and moving it gently up and down,
as if she were trying to shake the truth out of it François was
exasperated that she would not believe him, and it was the first time in
his life that there had been any dispute between them. He withdrew,
saying in a dissatisfied tone of voice:
"Madame Blanchet, you are not just to me. I tell you that girl does not
love you. You force me to say this, against my will; for I did not come
here to bring distrust and strife. So, if I tell it to you, you may know
that I am sure of it; and do you think I can love her after that? You
cannot love me any more, if you will not believe me."
Wild with grief, François rushed off to weep all alone by the fountain.
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