Things seemed to be taking quite a dramatic turn, and I made up my
mind to try hard and unravel the plot.
I followed Pierre, and having secured myself in a convenient
hiding-place, determined to watch.
He walked quietly on, but soon stopped at a little vegetable garden,
quite at the end of the village. At first he pretended to set to work
vigorously, but his eyes kept wandering to a little rose-covered
cottage within a stone's-throw of the garden. He soon left off
working, and leaning listlessly on his spade, he kept his eyes firmly
fixed on one of the windows, which was almost covered with the
luxuriant growth of roses and honeysuckle.
As the wind played fitfully with the curtain of green which darkened
the window, I fancied I recognized the shadow of a woman.
Immovable as a statue, Pierre Prévost remained where he was, and
though night drew on, he did not leave his post till the heavens were
bright with myriads of stars; and then swinging his spade over his
shoulder, he began to retrace his steps to the village.
But, just before he left the garden, I thought I heard a bitter sigh
borne on the wind from the cottage window.
The next day, when I was coming away from early mass, I saw Pierre
standing in the porch of the church. The two children were clinging to
one of his hands, while the other, still wet with holy water, was
gently extended to a young woman who was in the act of passing before
him. She was a lovely creature, with golden hair, large expressive
blue eyes, and a face like one of Fra Angelico's angels. Although she
could not have been less than thirty years old, she appeared to have
all the lightness and vivacity of a girl of eighteen.
When their fingers met, an almost imperceptible thrill seemed to
affect them both, and as they gazed into one another's faces they both
turned deathly pale.
Could it have been the shadow that I recognized through the roses the
evening before?
The tide came up very early that evening, and necessitated the
departure of all the fishermen before night came on.
Pierre Prévost was one of the first to start, but he went a long way
round to get to the sea-shore, and passed before the windows of the
rose-covered cottage.
A flower fell at his feet. He picked it up eagerly, and kissing it
passionately, thrust it into his bosom and hastened away.
As the evening wore on, and while the little boats were just fading
away in the distance, I watched again, and distinctly saw a white
handkerchief waving from the window of the pretty cottage.
I was naturally anxious to find out about this little romance, and was
continually puzzling my poor brains to discover the truth of the
story.
There were hundreds of people I might have asked, and, of course,
Alphonsine would have been only too happy to have enlightened me. But
I determined, if possible, to hear it all from Pierre's own lips, and
accordingly made up my mind to stifle my idle curiosity.
{114}