FROM that time on, the waif was so melancholy that it made one's heart
ache to see him. He worked like a horse, but he found no more joy or
peace, and Madeleine could not induce him to say what was the matter
with him. It was in vain he swore that he neither loved nor regretted
Mariette, for Madeleine would not believe him, and could assign no other
cause for his depression. She was grieved that he should be in distress
and yet no longer confide in her, and she was amazed that his trouble
should make him so proud and self-willed.
As it was not in her nature to be tormenting, she made up her mind to
say nothing further to him on the subject. She attempted to make
Mariette reverse her decision, but her overtures were so ill-received
that she lost courage, and was silent. Though her heart was full of
anguish, she kept it to herself, lest she should add to the burden of
others.
François worked for her, and served her with the same zeal and devotion
as before. As in the old time, he stayed as much as possible in her
company, but he no longer spoke as he used. He was always embarrassed
with her, and turned first red as fire, and then white as a sheet in the
same minute. She was afraid he was ill, and once took his hand to see if
he were feverish; but he drew back from her as if her touch hurt him,
and sometimes he reproached her in words which she could not understand.
The trouble between them grew from day to day. During all this time,
great preparations were being made for Mariette's marriage to Jean
Aubard, and the day which was to end her mourning was fixed as that of
the wedding.
Madeleine looked forward to that day with dread; she feared that
François would go crazy, and was anxious to send him to spend a little
time at Aigurande, with his old master Jean Vertaud, so as to distract
his mind. François, however, was unwilling to let Mariette believe what
Madeleine insisted upon thinking. He showed no vexation before her, was
on friendly relations with her lover, and jested with Sévère, when he
met her along the road, to let her see that he had nothing to fear from
her. He was present at the wedding; and as he was really delighted to
have the house rid of the girl, and Madeleine freed from her false
friendship, it never crossed anybody's mind that he had been in love
with her. The truth began to dawn even on Madeleine, or at least she was
inclined to believe that he had consoled himself. She received
Mariette's farewell with her accustomed warmth of heart; but as the
young girl still cherished a grudge against her on account of the waif,
Madeleine could not help seeing that her sister-in-law left her without
love or regret. Inured as she was to sorrow, Madeleine wept over the
girl's hardness of heart, and prayed God to forgive her.
After a week had passed, François unexpectedly told her that he had
some business at Aigurande that would call him there for the space of
five or six days. She was not surprised, and hoped it would be for the
good of his health, for she believed that he had stifled his grief, and
was ill in consequence.
But that grief, which she thought he had overcome, increased with him
day by day. He could think of nothing else, and whether asleep or awake,
far or near, Madeleine was always in his heart and before his eyes. It
is true that all his life had been spent in loving her and thinking of
her, but until lately these thoughts of her had been has happiness and
consolation, whereas they were now his despair and his undoing. As long
is he was content to be her son and friend, he wished for no better lot
on earth; but now his love had changed its character, and he was
exquisitely unhappy. He fancied that she could never change as he had
done. He kept repeating to himself that he was too young, that she had
known him as a forlorn and wretched child, that he could be only an
object of care and compassion to her, and never of pride. In short, he
believed her to be so lovely and so attractive, so far above him, and so
much to be desired, that when she said she was no longer young and
pretty, he thought she was adopting a rôle to scare away her suitors.
In the mean time, Sévère, Mariette, and their clan were slandering her
openly on his account, and he was in terror lest some of the scandal
should come to her ears, and she should be displeased and long for his
departure. He knew she was too kind to ask him to go, but he dreaded
being again a cause of annoyance to her, as he had been once before, and
it occurred to him to go to ask the advice of the priest of Aigurande,
whom he had found to be a just and God-fearing man.
He went, but with no success, as the priest was absent on a visit to his
bishop; so François returned to the mill of Jean Vertaud, who had
invited him for a few days' visit, while waiting for the priest's
return.
He found his kind master as true a man and as faithful a friend as he
had left him, and his good daughter Jeannette on the brink of marriage
with a very respectable man whom she had accepted from motives of
prudence rather than of enthusiasm, but for whom she fortunately felt
more liking than distaste. This put François more at his ease with her
than he had ever been, and the next day being Sunday, he had a long talk
with her, and confided in her Madame Blanchet's many difficulties, and
his satisfaction in rescuing her from them.
Jeannette was quick-witted, and from one thing and another she guessed
that the waif was more agitated by his attachment to Madeleine than he
would confess. She laid her hand on his arm, and said to him abruptly:
"François, you must hide nothing from me. I have come to my senses now,
and you see that I am not ashamed to tell you that I once thought more
of you than you did of me. You knew my feelings, and you could not
return them, but you would not deceive me, and no selfish interest led
you to do what many others would have done in your place. I respect you
both for your behavior toward me and for your constancy to the woman you
loved best in the world; and instead of disowning my regard for you, I
am glad to remember it. I expect you to think the better of me for
acknowledging it, and to do me the justice to observe that I bear no
grudge or malice toward you for your coolness. I mean to give you the
greatest possible token of my esteem. You love Madeleine Blanchet, not
indeed as a mother, but as a young and attractive woman, whom you wish
for your wife."
"Oh!" said François, blushing like a girl, "I love her as a mother, and
my heart is full of respect for her."
"I have no doubt of it," answered Jeannette; "but you love her in two
ways, for your face says one thing and your words another. Very well,
François; you dare not tell her what you dare not even confess to me,
and you do not know whether she can answer your two ways of loving."
Jeannette Vertaud spoke with so much sense and sweetness, and showed
François such true friendship, that he had not the courage to deceive
her, and pressing her hand, he told her that she was like a sister to
him, and the only person in the world to whom he had the heart to
disclose his secret.
Jeannette asked him several questions, which he answered truly and
openly.
"François, my friend," said she, "I understand it all. It is impossible
for me to know what Madeleine Blanchet will think about it; but I see
that you might be for years in her company without having the boldness
to tell her what you have on your mind. No matter. I shall find out for
you, and shall let you know. My father and you and I shall set out
to-morrow for a friendly visit to Cormouer, as if we went to make the
acquaintance of the kind woman who brought up our friend François; you
must take my father to walk about the place, under pretext of asking his
advice, and I shall spend the time talking with Madeleine. I shall use a
great deal of tact, and shall not tell what your feelings are until I am
certain of hers."
François was so grateful to Jeannette that he was ready to fall on his
knees before her; and Jean Vertaud, who, with the waif's permission, was
informed of the situation, gave his consent to the plan. Next day they
set out; Jeannette rode on the croup behind her father, and François
started an hour earlier than they to prepare Madeleine for the visit she
was to receive.
The sun was setting as François approached Cormouer. A storm came up
during his ride, and he was drenched to the skin; but he never murmured,
for he had good hope in Jeannette's friendly offices, and his heart was
lighter than when he had left home. The water was dripping from the
bushes, and the blackbirds were singing like mad in thankfulness for a
last gleam from the sun before it sank behind the hill of Grand-Corlay.
Great flocks of birds fluttered from branch to branch around François,
and their joyous chattering cheered his spirits. He thought of the time
when he was little, and roamed about the meadows, whistling to attract
the birds, absorbed in his childish dreams and fancies. Just then a
handsome bullfinch hovered round his head, like a harbinger of good luck
and good tidings, and his thoughts wandered back to his Mother Zabelle
and the quaint songs of the olden time, with which she used to sing him
to sleep.
Madeleine did not expect him so soon. She had even feared that he would
never come back at all, and when she caught sight of him, she could not
help running to kiss him, and was surprised to see how much it made him
blush. He announced the approaching visit, and apparently as much afraid
of having her guess his feelings as he was grieved to have her ignore
them, in order to prevent her suspecting anything, he told her that Jean
Vertaud thought of buying some land in the neighborhood.
Then Madeleine bestirred herself to prepare the best entertainment she
could offer to François's friends.
Jeannette was the first to enter the house, while her father was putting
up their horse in the stable; and as soon as she saw Madeleine, she took
a great liking for her, a liking which the other woman fully returned.
They began by shaking hands, but they soon fell to kissing each other
for the sake of their common love for François, and they spoke together
freely, as if they had had a long and intimate acquaintance. The truth
is they were both excellent women, and made such a pair as is hard to
find. Jeannette could not help a pang on seeing Madeleine, whom she knew
to be idolized by the man for whom she herself still cherished a
lingering fondness; but she felt no jealousy, and tried to forget her
grief in the good action on which she was bent. On the other hand, when
Madeleine saw the young woman's sweet face and graceful figure, she
supposed that it was she whom François had loved and pined for, that
they were now betrothed, and that Jeannette had come to bring the news
in person; but neither did she feel any jealousy, for she had never
thought of François save as her own child.
In the evening, after supper, Father Vertaud, who was tired by his ride,
went to bed; and Jeannette took Madeleine out into the garden with her,
after first instructing François to keep a little aloof with Jeannie,
but still near enough to see her let down the corner of her apron, which
she wore tucked up on one side, for this was to be the signal for him to
join them. She then fulfilled her mission conscientiously, and so
skilfully that Madeleine had no time to exclaim, although beyond measure
astonished, as the matter was unfolded to her. At first she thought it
but another proof of François's goodness of heart, that he wished to
put a stop to all evil gossip, and to devote his life to her service;
and she would have refused, thinking it too great a sacrifice on the
part of so young a man to marry a woman older than himself. She feared
he would repent later, and could not long keep his faith to her, without
vexation and regret; but Jeannette gave her to understand that the waif
was in love with her, heart and soul, and that he was losing his health
and peace of mind because of her.
This was inconceivable to Madeleine. She had lived such a sober and
retired life, never adorning her person, never appearing in public, nor
listening to flattery, that she had no longer any idea of the impression
she might make upon a man.
"Then," said Jeannette, "since he loves you so much, and will die if you
refuse him, will you persist in closing your eyes and ears to what I say
to you? If you do, it must be because you dislike the poor young fellow,
and would be sorry to make him happy."
"Do not say that, Jeannette," answered Madeleine; "I love him almost, if
not quite, as much as my Jeannie, and if I had ever suspected that he
thought of me in another light, it is quite possible that my affection
for him would have been more passionate. But what can you expect? I
never dreamed of this, and I am still so dazed that I do not know how to
answer. I ask for time to think of it and to talk it over with him, so
that I may find out whether he does this from a whim or out of mere
pique, or whether, perhaps, he thinks it is a duty he owes me. This I am
afraid of most of all, and I think he has repaid me fully for the care I
took of him, and it would be too much for him to give me his liberty and
himself, at least unless he loves me as you think he does."
When Jeannette heard these words, she let down the corner of her apron,
and François, who was waiting near at hand with his eyes fixed upon
her, was beside them in an instant. The clever Jeannette asked Jeannie
to show her the fountain, and they strolled off together, leaving
Madeleine and François together.
But Madeleine, who had expected to put her questions to the waif, in
perfect calmness, was suddenly covered with shyness and confusion, like
a young girl; for confusion such as hers, so sweet and pleasant to see,
belongs to no age, but is bred of innocence of mind and purity of life.
When François saw that his dear mother blushed and trembled as he did,
he received it as a more favorable token than if she had kept her usual
serene manner. He took her hand and arm, but he could not speak.
Trembling all the while, she tried to shake herself loose and to follow
Jeannie and Jeannette, but he held her fast, and made her turn back with
him. When Madeleine saw his boldness in opposing his will to hers, she
understood, better than if he had spoken, that it was no longer her
child, the waif, but her lover, François, that walked by her side.
After they had gone a little distance, silent, but linked arm in arm, as
vine is interlaced with vine, François said:
"Let us go to the fountain; perhaps I may find my tongue there."
They did not find Jeannie and Jeannette beside the fountain, for they
had gone home; but François found courage to speak, remembering that it
was there he had seen Madeleine for the first time, and there, too, he
had bidden her farewell, eleven years afterward. We must believe that he
spoke very fluently, and that Madeleine did not gainsay him, for they
were still there at midnight. She was crying for joy, and he was on his
knees before her, thanking her for accepting him for her husband.
* * * * * * * *
"There ends the story," said the hemp-dresser, "for it would take too
long to tell you about the wedding. I was present, myself, and the same
day the waif married Madeleine in the parish of Mers, Jeannette was
married in the parish of Aigurande. Jean Vertaud insisted that François
and his wife, and Jeannie, who was happy as a king, with their friends,
relations, and acquaintances, should come to his house for the
wedding-feast, which was finer, grander, and more delightful than
anything I have ever seen since."
"Is the story true in all points?" asked Sylvine Courtioux.
"If it is not, it might be," answered the hemp-dresser. "If you do not
believe me, go and see for yourself."