FOURTEEN months later there was a festival at Chantebled. Denis, who had
taken Blaise's place at the factory, was married to Marthe Desvignes. And
after all the grievous mourning this was the first smile, the bright warm
sun of springtime, so to say, following severe winter. Mathieu and
Marianne, hitherto grief-stricken and clad in black, displayed a gayety
tinged with soft emotion in presence of the sempiternal renewal of life.
The mother had been willing to don less gloomy a gown, and the father had
agreed to defer no longer a marriage that had long since been resolved
upon, and was necessitated by all sorts of considerations. For more than
two years now Rose had been sleeping in the little cemetery of Janville,
and for more than a year Blaise had joined her there, beneath flowers
which were ever fresh. And the souvenir of the dear dead ones, whom they
all visited, and who had remained alive in all their hearts, was to
participate in the coming festival. It was as if they themselves had
decided with their parents that the hour for the espousals had struck,
and that regret for their loss ought no longer to bar the joy of growth
and increase.
Denis's installation at the Beauchêne works in his brother's place had
come about quite naturally. If he had not gone thither on leaving the
science school where he had spent three years, it was simply because the
position was at that time already held by Blaise. All his technical
studies marked him out for the post. In a single day he had fitted
himself for it, and he simply had to take up his quarters in the little
pavilion, Charlotte having fled to Chantebled with her little Berthe
directly after the horrible catastrophe. It should be added that Denis'
entry into the establishment offered a convenient solution with regard to
the large sum of money lent to Beauchêne, which, it had been arranged,
should be reimbursed by a sixth share in the factory. That money came
from the family, and one brother simply took the place of the other,
signing the agreement which the deceased would have signed. With a
delicate rectitude, however, Denis insisted that out of his share of the
profits an annuity should be assigned to Charlotte, his brother's widow.
Thus matters were settled in a week, in the manner that circumstances
logically demanded, and without possibility of discussion. Constance,
bewildered and overwhelmed, was not even able to struggle. Her husband
reduced her to silence by repeating: "What would you have me do? I must
have somebody to help me, and it is just as well to take Denis as a
stranger. Besides, if he worries me I will buy him out within a year and
give him his dismissal!"
At this Constance remained silent to avoid casting his ignominy in his
face, amid her despair at feeling the walls of the house crumble and
fall, bit by bit, upon her.
Once installed at the works, Denis considered that the time had come to
carry out the matrimonial plans which he had long since arranged with
Marthe Desvignes. The latter, Charlotte's younger sister and at one time
the inseparable friend of Rose, had been waiting for him for nearly three
years now, with her bright smile and air of affectionate good sense. They
had known one another since childhood, and had exchanged many a vow along
the lonely paths of Janville. But they had said to one another that they
would do nothing prematurely, that for the happiness of a whole lifetime
one might well wait until one was old enough and strong enough to
undertake family duties. Some people were greatly astonished that a young
man whose future was so promising, and whose position at twenty-six years
of age was already a superb one, should thus obstinately espouse a
penniless girl. Mathieu and Marianne smiled, however, and consented,
knowing their son's good reasons. He had no desire to marry a rich girl
who would cost him more than she brought, and he was delighted at having
discovered a pretty, healthy, and very sensible and skilful young woman,
who would be at all times his companion, helpmate, and consoler. He
feared no surprises with her, for he had studied her; she united charm
and good sense with kindliness, all that was requisite for the happiness
of a household. And he himself was very good-natured, prudent, and
sensible, and she knew it and willingly took his arm to tread life's path
with him, certain as she felt that they would thus walk on together until
life's end should be reached, ever advancing with the same tranquil step
under the divine and limpid sun of reason merged in love.
Great preparations were made at Chantebled on the day before the wedding.
Nevertheless, the ceremony was to remain of an intimate character, on
account of the recent mourning. The only guests, apart from members of
the family, were the Séguins and the Beauchênes, and even the latter were
cousins. So there would scarcely be more than a score of them altogether,
and only a lunch was to be given. One matter which gave them some brief
concern was to decide where to set the table, and how to decorate it.
Those early days of July were so bright and warm that they resolved to
place it out of doors under the trees. There was a fitting and delightful
spot in front of the old shooting-box, the primitive pavilion, which had
been their first residence on their arrival in the Janville district.
That pavilion was indeed like the family nest, the hearth whence it had
radiated over the surrounding region. As the pavilion had threatened
ruin, Mathieu had repaired and enlarged it with the idea of retiring
thither with Marianne, and Charlotte and her children, as soon as he
should cede the farm to his son Gervais, that being his intention. He
was, indeed, pleased with the idea of living in retirement like a
patriarch, like a king who had willingly abdicated, but whose wise
counsel was still sought and accepted. In place of the former wild garden
a large lawn now stretched before the pavilion, surrounded by some
beautiful trees, elms and hornbeams. These Mathieu had planted, and he
had watched them grow; thus they seemed to him to be almost part of his
flesh. But his real favorite was an oak tree, nearly twenty years of age
and already sturdy, which stood in the centre of the lawn, where he had
planted it with Marianne, who had held the slender sapling in position
while he plied his spade on the day when they had founded their domain of
Chantebled. And near this oak, which thus belonged to their robust
family, there was a basin of living water, fed by the captured springs of
the plateau--water whose crystalline song made the spot one of continual
joy.
It was here then that a council was held on the day before the wedding.
Mathieu and Marianne repaired thither to see what preparations would be
necessary, and they found Charlotte with a sketch-book on her knees,
rapidly finishing an impression of the oak tree.
"What is that--a surprise?" they asked.