LOVE'S INDISCRETION
In the mountainous region of Langres, spring can hardly be said to appear
before the end of May. Until that time the cold weather holds its own;
the white frosts, and the sharp, sleety April showers, as well as the
sudden windstorms due to the malign influence of the ice-gods, arrest
vegetation, and only a few of the more hardy plants venture to put forth
their trembling shoots until later. But, as June approaches and the
earth becomes warmed through by the sun, a sudden metamorphosis is
effected. Sometimes a single night is sufficient for the floral spring
to burst forth in all its plenitude. The hedges are alive with lilies
and woodruffs; the blue columbines shake their foolscap-like blossoms
along the green side-paths; the milky spikes of the Virgin plant rise
slender and tall among the bizarre and many-colored orchids. Mile after
mile, the forest unwinds its fairy show of changing scenes. Sometimes
one comes upon a spot of perfect verdure; at other times one wanders in
almost complete darkness under the thick interlacing boughs of the
ashtrees, through which occasional gleams of light fall on the dark soil
or on the spreading ferns. Now the wanderer emerges upon an open space
so full of sunshine that the strawberries are already ripening; near them
are stacked the tender young trees, ready for spacing, and the billets of
wood piled up and half covered with thistle and burdock leaves; and a
little farther away, half hidden by tall weeds, teeming with insects,
rises the peaked top of the woodsman's hut. Here one walks beside deep,
grassy trenches, which appear to continue without end, along the forest
level; farther, the wild mint and the centaurea perfume the shady nooks,
the oaks and lime-trees arch their spreading branches, and the
honeysuckle twines itself round the knotty shoots of the hornbeam, whence
the thrush gives forth her joyous, sonorous notes.
Not only in the forest, but also in the park belonging to the chateau,
and in the village orchards, spring had donned a holiday costume.
Through the open windows, between the massive bunches of lilacs,
hawthorn, and laburnum blossoms, Julien de Buxieres caught glimpses of
rolling meadows and softly tinted vistas. The gentle twittering of the
birds and the mysterious call of the cuckoo, mingled with the perfume of
flowers, stole into his study, and produced a sense of enjoyment as novel
to him as it was delightful. Having until the present time lived a
sedentary life in cities, he had had no opportunity of experiencing this
impression of nature in her awakening and luxuriant aspect; never had he
felt so completely under the seductive influence of the goddess Maia than
at this season when the abundant sap exudes in a white foam from the
trunk of the willow; when between the plant world and ourselves a
magnetic current seems to exist, which seeks to wed their fraternizing
emanations with our own personality. He was oppressed by the vividness
of the verdure, intoxicated with the odor of vegetation, agitated by the
confused music of the birds, and in this May fever of excitement, his
thoughts wandered with secret delight to Reine Vincart, to this queen of
the woods, who was the personification of all the witchery of the forest.
Since their January promenade in the glades of Charbonniere, he had seen
her at a distance, sometimes on Sundays in the little church at Vivey,
sometimes like a fugitive apparition at the turn of a road. They had
also exchanged formal salutations, but had not spoken to each other.
More than once, after the night had fallen, Julien had stopped in front
of the courtyard of La Thuiliere, and watched the lamps being lighted
inside. But he had not ventured to knock at the door of the house; a
foolish timidity had prevented him; so he had returned to the chateau,
dissatisfied and reproaching himself for allowing his awkward shyness to
interpose, as it were, a wall of ice between himself and the only person
whose acquaintance seemed to him desirable.
At other times he would become alarmed at the large place a woman
occupied in his thoughts, and he congratulated himself on having resisted
the dangerous temptation of seeing Mademoiselle Vincart again. He
acknowledged that this singular girl had for him an attraction against
which he ought to be on his guard. Reine might be said to live alone at
La Thuiliere, for her father could hardly be regarded seriously as a
protector. Julien's visits might have compromised her, and the young
man's severe principles of rectitude forbade him to cause scandal which
he could not repair. He was not thinking of marriage, and even had his
thoughts inclined that way, the proprieties and usages of society which
he had always in some degree respected, would not allow him to wed a
peasant girl. It was evident, therefore, that both prudence and
uprightness would enjoin him to carry on any future relations with
Mademoiselle Vincart with the greatest possible reserve.
Nevertheless, and in spite of these sage reflections, the enchanting
image of Reine haunted him more than was at all reasonable. Often,
during his hours of watchfulness, he would see her threading the avenues
of the forest, her dark hair half floating in the breeze, and wearing her
white hood and her skirt bordered with ivy. Since the spring had
returned, she had become associated in his mind with all the magical
effects of nature's renewal. He discovered the liquid light of her dark
eyes in the rippling darkness of the streams; the lilies recalled the
faintly tinted paleness of her cheeks; the silene roses, scattered
throughout the hedges, called forth the remembrance of the young maiden's
rosy lips, and the vernal odor of the leaves appeared to him like an
emanation of her graceful and wholesome nature.
This state of feeling began to act like an obsession, a sort of
witchcraft, which alarmed him. What was she really, this strange
creature? A peasant indeed, apparently; but there was also something
more refined and cultivated about her, due, doubtless, to her having
received her education in a city school. She both felt and expressed
herself differently from ordinary country girls, although retaining the
frankness and untutored charm of rustic natures. She exercised an uneasy
fascination over Julien, and at times he returned to the superstitious
impression made upon him by Reine's behavior and discourse in the forest.
He again questioned with himself whether this female form, in its untamed
beauty, did not enfold some spirit of temptation, some insidious fairy,
similar to the Melusine, who appeared to Count Raymond in the forest of
Poitiers.
Most of the time he would himself laugh at this extravagant supposition,
but, while endeavoring to make light of his own cowardice, the idea still
haunted and tormented him. Sometimes, in the effort to rid himself of
the persistence of his own imagination, he would try to exorcise the
demon who had got hold of him, and this exorcism consisted in despoiling
the image of his temptress of the veil of virginal purity with which his
admiration had first invested her. Who could assure him, after all, that
this girl, with her independent ways, living alone at her farm, running
through the woods at all hours, was as irreproachable as he had imagined?
In the village, certainly, she was respected by all; but people were very
tolerant--very easy, in fact--on the question of morals in this district,
where the gallantries of Claude de Buxieres were thought quite natural,
where the illegitimacy of Claudet offended no one's sense of the
proprieties, and where the after-dinner conversations, among the class
considered respectable, were such as Julien had listened to with
repugnance. Nevertheless, even in his most suspicious moods, Julien had
never dared broach the subject to Claudet.
Every time that the name of Reine Vincart had come to his lips, a feeling
of bashfulness, in addition to his ordinary timidity, had prevented him
from interrogating Claudet concerning the character of this mysterious
queen of the woods. Like all novices in love-affairs Julien dreaded that
his feelings should be divined, at the mere mention of the young girl's
name. He preferred to remain isolated, concentrating in himself his
desires, his trouble and his doubts.
Yet, whatever efforts he made, and however firmly he adhered to his
resolution of silence, the hypochondria from which he suffered could not
escape the notice of the 'grand chasserot'. He was not clear-sighted
enough to discern the causes, but he could observe the effects. It
provoked him to find that all his efforts to enliven his cousin had
proved futile. He had cudgelled his brains to comprehend whence came
these fits of terrible melancholy, and, judging Julien by himself, came
to the conclusion that his ennui proceeded from an excess of strictness
and good behavior.
"Monsieur de Buxieres," said he, one evening when they were walking
silently, side by side, in the avenues of the park, which resounded with
the song of the nightingales, "there is one thing that troubles me, and
that is that you do not confide in me."
"What makes you think so, Claudet?" demanded Julien, with surprise.
"Paybleu! the way you act. You are, if I may say so, too secretive.
When you wanted to make amends for Claude de Buxieres's negligence, and
proposed that I should live here with you, I accepted without any
ceremony. I hoped that in giving me a place at your fire and your table,
you would also give me one in your affections, and that you would allow
me to share your sorrows, like a true brother comrade--"
"I assure you, my dear fellow, that you are mistaken. If I had any
serious trouble on my mind, you should be the first to know it."
"Oh! that's all very well to say; but you are unhappy all the same--one
can see it in your mien, and shall I tell you the reason? It is that you
are too sedate, Monsieur de Buxieres; you have need of a sweetheart to
brighten up your days."
"Ho, ho!" replied Julien, coloring, "do you wish to have me married,
Claudet?"
"Ah! that's another affair. No; but still I should like to see you take
some interest in a woman--some gay young person who would rouse you up
and make you have a good time. There is no lack of such in the district,
and you would only have the trouble of choosing."
M. de Buxieres's color deepened, and he was visibly annoyed.
"That is a singular proposition," exclaimed he, after awhile; "do you
take me for a libertine?"
"Don't get on your high horse, Monsieur de Buxieres! There would be no
one hurt. The girls I allude to are not so difficult to approach."
"That has nothing to do with it, Claudet; I do not enjoy that kind of
amusement."
"It is the kind that young men of our age indulge in, all the same.
Perhaps you think there would be difficulties in the way. They would not
be insurmountable, I can assure you; those matters go smoothly enough
here. You slip your arm round her waist, give her a good, sounding
salute, and the acquaintance is begun. You have only to improve it!"
"Enough of this," interrupted Julien, harshly, "we never can agree on
such topics!"
"As you please, Monsieur de Buxieres; since you do not like the subject,
we will not bring it up again. If I mentioned it at all, it was that I
saw you were not interested in either hunting or fishing, and thought you
might prefer some other kind of game. I do wish I knew what to propose
that would give you a little pleasure," continued Claudet, who was
profoundly mortified at the ill-success of his overtures. "Now! I have
it. Will you come with me to-morrow, to the Ronces woods? The charcoal-
dealers who are constructing their furnaces for the sale, will complete
their dwellings this evening and expect to celebrate in the morning.
They call it watering the bouquet, and it is the occasion of a little
festival, to which we, as well at the presiding officials of the cutting,
are invited. Naturally, the guests pay their share in bottles of wine.
You can hardly be excused from showing yourself among these good people.
It is one of the customs of the country. I have promised to be there,
and it is certain that Reine Vincart, who has bought the Ronces property,
will not fail to be present at the ceremony."
Julien had already the words on his lips for declining Claudet's offer,
when the name of Reine Vincart produced an immediate change in his
resolution. It just crossed his mind that perhaps Claudet had thrown out
her name as a bait and an argument in favor of his theories on the
facility of love-affairs in the country. However that might be, the
allusion to the probable presence of Mademoiselle Vincart at the coming
fete, rendered young Buxieres more tractable, and he made no further
difficulties about accompanying his cousin.
The next morning, after partaking hastily of breakfast, they started on
their way toward the cutting. The charcoal-dealers had located
themselves on the border of the forest, not far from the spot where,
in the month of January, Reine and Julien had visited the wood cutters.
Under the sheltering branches of a great ash tree, the newly erected but
raised its peaked roof covered with clods of turf, and two furnaces, just
completed, occupied the ground lately prepared. One of them, ready for
use, was covered with the black earth called 'frazil', which is extracted
from the site of old charcoal works; the other, in course of
construction, showed the successive layers of logs ranged in circles
inside, ready for the fire. The workmen moved around, going and coming;
first, the head-man or patron, a man of middle age, of hairy chest,
embrowned visage, and small beady eyes under bushy eyebrows; his wife, a
little, shrivelled, elderly woman; their daughter, a thin awkward girl of
seventeen, with fluffy hair and a cunning, hard expression; and finally,
their three boys, robust young fellows, serving their apprenticeship at
the trade. This party was reenforced by one or two more single men, and
some of the daughters of the woodchoppers, attracted by the prospect of a
day of dancing and joyous feasting.
These persons were sauntering in and out under the trees, waiting for the
dinner, which was to be furnished mainly by the guests, the contribution
of the charcoal-men being limited to a huge pot of potatoes which the
patroness was cooking over the fire, kindled in front of the hut.
The arrival of Julien and Claudet, attended by the small cowboy, puffing
and blowing under a load of provisions, was hailed with exclamations of
gladness and welcome. While one of the assistants was carefully
unrolling the big loaves of white bread, the enormous meat pastry, and
the bottles encased in straw, Reine Vincart appeared suddenly on the
scene, accompanied by one of the farm-hands, who was also tottering under
the weight of a huge basket, from the corners of which peeped the ends of
bottles, and the brown knuckle of a smoked ham. At sight of the young
proprietress of La Thuiliere, the hurrahs burst forth again, with
redoubled and more sustained energy. As she stood there smiling, under
the greenish shadow cast by the ashtrees, Reine appeared to Julien even
more seductive than among the frosty surroundings of the previous
occasion. Her simple and rustic spring costume was marvellously
becoming: a short blue-and-yellow striped skirt, a tight jacket of light-
colored material, fitted closely to the waist, a flat linen collar tied
with a narrow blue ribbon, and a bouquet of woodruff at her bosom. She
wore stout leather boots, and a large straw hat, which she threw
carelessly down on entering the hut. Among so many faces of a different
type, all somewhat disfigured by hardships of exposure, this lovely face
with its olive complexion, lustrous black eyes, and smiling red lips,
framed in dark, soft, wavy hair resting on her plump shoulders, seemed to
spread a sunshiny glow over the scene. It was a veritable portrayal of
the "queen of the woods," appearing triumphant among her rustic subjects.
As an emblem of her royal prerogative, she held in her hand an enormous
bouquet of flowers she had gathered on her way: honeysuckles, columbine,
all sorts of grasses with shivering spikelets, black alder blossoms with
their white centres, and a profusion of scarlet poppies. Each of these
exhaled its own salubrious springlike perfume, and a light cloud of
pollen, which covered the eyelashes and hair of the young girl with a
delicate white powder.
"Here, Pere Theotime," said she, handing her collection over to the
master charcoal-dealer, "I gathered these for you to ornament the roof of
your dwelling."
She then drew near to Claudet; gave him her hand in comrade fashion, and
saluted Julien:
"Good-morning, Monsieur de Buxieres, I am very glad to see you here.
Was it Claudet who brought you, or did you come of your own accord?"
While Julien, dazed and bewildered, was seeking a reply, she passed
quickly to the next group, going from one to another, and watching with
interest the placing of the bouquet on the summit of the hut. One of the
men brought a ladder and fastened the flowers to a spike. When they were
securely attached and began to nod in the air, he waved his hat and
shouted: "Hou, houp!" This was the signal for going to table.
The food had been spread on the tablecloth under the shade of the ash-
trees, and all the guests sat around on sacks of charcoal; for Reine and
Julien alone they had reserved two stools, made by the master, and thus
they found themselves seated side by side. Soon a profound, almost
religious, silence indicated that the attack was about to begin; after
which, and when the first fury of their appetites had been appeased, the
tongues began to be loosened: jokes and anecdotes, seasoned with loud
bursts of laughter, were bandied to and fro under the spreading branches,
and presently the wine lent its aid to raise the spirits of the company
to an exuberant pitch. But there was a certain degree of restraint
observed by these country folk. Was it owing to Reine's presence?
Julien noticed that the remarks of the working-people were in a very much
better tone than those of the Auberive gentry, with whom he had
breakfasted; the gayety of these children of the woods, although of a
common kind, was always kept within decent limits, and he never once had
occasion to feel ashamed. He felt more at ease among them than among the
notables of the borough, and he did not regret having accepted Claudet's
invitation.
"I am glad I came," murmured he in Reine's ear, "and I never have eaten
with so much enjoyment!"
"Ah! I am glad of it," replied the young girl, gayly, "perhaps now you
will begin to like our woods."
When nothing was left on the table but bones and empty bottles, Pere
Theotime took a bottle of sealed wine, drew the cork, and filled the
glasses.
"Now," said he, "before christening our bouquet, we will drink to
Monsieur de Buxieres, who has brought us his good wine, and to our sweet
lady, Mademoiselle Vincart."
The glasses clinked, and the toasts were drunk with fervor.
"Mamselle Reine," resumed Pere Theotime, with a certain amount of
solemnity, "you can see, the hut is built; it will be occupied to-night,
and I trust good work will be done. You can perceive from here our first
furnace, all decorated and ready to be set alight. But, in order that
good luck shall attend us, you yourself must set light to the fire. I
ask you, therefore, to ascend to the top of the chimney and throw in the
first embers; may I ask this of your good-nature?"
"Why, certainly!" replied Reine, "come, Monsieur de Buxieres, you must
see how we light a charcoal furnace."
All the guests jumped from their seats; one of the men took the ladder
and leaned it against the sloping side of the furnace. Meanwhile, Pere
Theotime was bringing an earthen vase full of burning embers. Reine
skipped lightly up the steps, and when she reached the top, stood erect
near the orifice of the furnace.
Her graceful outline came out in strong relief against the clear sky; one
by one, she took the embers handed her by the charcoal-dealer, and threw
them into the opening in the middle of the furnace. Soon there was a
crackling inside, followed by a dull rumbling; the chips and rubbish
collected at the bottom had caught fire, and the air-holes left at the
base of the structure facilitated the passage of the current, and
hastened the kindling of the wood.
"Bravo; we've got it!" exclaimed Pere Theotime.
"Bravo!" repeated the young people, as much exhilarated with the open
air as with the two or three glasses of white wine they had drunk. Lads
and lasses joined hands and leaped impetuously around the furnace.
"A song, Reine! Sing us a song!" cried the young girls.
She stood at the foot of the ladder, and, without further solicitation,
intoned, in her clear and sympathetic voice, a popular song, with a
rhythmical refrain:
My father bid me
Go sell my wheat.
To the market we drove
"Good-morrow, my sweet!
How much, can you say,
Will its value prove?"
The embroidered rose
Lies on my glove.
"A hundred francs
Will its value prove."
"When you sell your wheat,
Do you sell your love?"
The embroidered rose
Lies on my glove!
"My heart, Monsieur,
Will never rove,
I have promised it
To my own true love."
The embroidered rose
Lies on my glove.
"For me he braves
The wind and the rain;
For me he weaves
A silver chain."
On my 'broidered glove.
Lies the rose again.
Repeating the refrain in chorus, boys and girls danced and leaped in the
sunlight. Julien leaned against the trunk of a tree, listening to the
sonorous voice of Reine, and could not take his eyes off the singer.
When she had ended her song, Reine turned in another direction; but the
dancers had got into the spirit of it and could not stand still; one of
the men came forward, and started another popular air, which all the rest
repeated in unison:
Up in the woods
Sleeps the fairy to-day:
The king, her lover,
Has strolled that way!
Will those who are young
Be married or nay?
Yea, yea!
Carried away by the rhythm, and the pleasure of treading the soft grass
under their feet, the dancers quickened their pace. The chain of young
folks disconnected for a moment, was reformed, and twisted in and out
among the trees; sometimes in light, sometimes in shadow, until they
disappeared, singing, into the very heart of the forest. With the
exception of Pere Theotime and his wife, who had gone to superintend the
furnace, all the guests, including Claudet, had joined the gay throng.
Reine and Julien, the only ones remaining behind, stood in the shade near
the borderline of the forest. It was high noon, and the sun's rays,
shooting perpendicularly down, made the shade desirable. Reine proposed
to her companion to enter the hut and rest, while waiting for the return
of the dancers. Julien accepted readily; but not without being surprised
that the young girl should be the first to suggest a tete-a-tete in the
obscurity of a remote hut. Although more than ever fascinated by the
unusual beauty of Mademoiselle Vincart, he was astonished, and
occasionally shocked, by the audacity and openness of her action toward
him. Once more the spirit of doubt took possession of him, and he
questioned whether this freedom of manners was to be attributed to
innocence or effrontery. After the pleasant friendliness of the midday
repast, and the enlivening effect of the dance round the furnace, he was
both glad and troubled to find himself alone with Reine. He longed to
let her know what tender admiration she excited in his mind; but he did
not know how to set about it, nor in what style to address a girl of so
strange and unusual a disposition. So he contented himself with fixing
an enamored gaze upon her, while she stood leaning against one of the
inner posts, and twisted mechanically between her fingers a branch of
wild honeysuckle. Annoyed at his taciturnity, she at last broke the
silence:
"You are not saying anything, Monsieur de Buxieres; do you regret having
come to this fete?"
"Regret it, Mademoiselle?" returned he; "it is a long time since I have
had so pleasant a day, and I thank you, for it is to you I owe it."
"To me? You are joking. It is the good-humor of the people, the spring
sunshine, and the pure air of the forest that you must thank. I have no
part in it."
"You are everything in it, on the contrary," said he, tenderly. "Before
I knew you, I had met with country people, seen the sun and trees, and so
on, and nothing made any impression on me. But, just now, when you were
singing over there, I felt gladdened and inspired; I felt the beauty of
the woods, I sympathized with these good people, and these grand trees,
all these things among which you live so happily. It is you who have
worked this miracle. Ah! you are well named. You are truly the fairy of
the feast, the queen of the woods!"
Astonished at the enthusiasm of her companion, Reine looked at him
sidewise, half closing her eyes, and perceived that he was altogether
transformed. He appeared to have suddenly thawed. He was no longer the
awkward, sickly youth, whose every movement was paralyzed by timidity,
and whose words froze on his tongue; his slender frame had become supple,
his blue eyes enlarged and illuminated; his delicate features expressed
refinement, tenderness, and passion. The young girl was moved and won by
so much emotion, the first that Julien had ever manifested toward her.
Far from being offended at this species of declaration, she replied,
gayly:
"As to the queen of the woods working miracles, I know none so powerful
as these flowers."
She unfastened the bouquet of white starry woodruff from her corsage, and
handed them over to him in their envelope of green leaves.
"Do you know them?" said she; "see how sweet they smell! And the odor
increases as they wither."
Julien had carried the bouquet to his lips, and was inhaling slowly the
delicate perfume.
"Our woodsmen," she continued, "make with this plant a broth which cures
from ill effects of either cold or heat as if by enchantment; they also
infuse it into white wine, and convert it into a beverage which they call
May wine, and which is very intoxicating."
Julien was no longer listening to these details. He kept his eyes
steadily fixed on Mademoiselle Vincart, and continued to inhale
rapturously the bouquet, and to experience a kind of intoxication.
"Let me keep these flowers," he implored, in a choking voice.
"Certainly," replied she, gayly; "keep them, if it will give you
pleasure."
"Thank you," he murmured, hiding them in his bosom.
Reine was surprised at his attaching such exaggerated importance to so
slight a favor, and a sudden flush overspread her cheeks. She almost
repented having given him the flowers when she saw what a tender
reception he had given them, so she replied, suggestively:
"Do not thank me; the gift is not significant. Thousands of similar
flowers grow in the forest, and one has only to stoop and gather them."
He dared not reply that this bouquet, having been worn by her, was worth
much more to him than any other, but he thought it, and the thought
aroused in his mind a series of new ideas. As Reine had so readily
granted this first favor, was she not tacitly encouraging him to ask for
others? Was he dealing with a simple, innocent girl, or a village
coquette, accustomed to be courted? And on this last supposition should
he not pass for a simpleton in the eyes of this experienced girl, if he
kept himself at too great a distance. He remembered the advice of
Claudet concerning the method of conducting love-affairs smoothly with
certain women of the country. Whether she was a coquette or not, Reine
had bewitched him. The charm had worked more powerfully still since he
had been alone with her in this obscure hut, where the cooing of the wild
pigeons faintly reached their ears, and the penetrating odors of the
forest pervaded their nostrils. Julien's gaze rested lovingly on Reine's
wavy locks, falling heavily over her neck, on her half-covered eyes with
their luminous pupils full of golden specks of light, on her red lips,
on the two little brown moles spotting her somewhat decollete neck.
He thought her adorable, and was dying to tell her so; but when he
endeavored to formulate his declaration, the words stuck fast in his
throat, his veins swelled, his throat became dry, his head swam. In this
disorder of his faculties he brought to mind the recommendation of
Claudet: "One arm round the waist, two sounding kisses, and the thing is
done." He rose abruptly, and went up to the young girl:
"Since you have given me these flowers," he began, in a husky voice,
"will you also, in sign of friendship, give me your hand, as you gave it
to Claudet?"
After a moment's hesitation, she held out her hand; but, hardly had he
touched it when he completely lost control of himself, and slipping the
arm which remained free around Reine's waist, he drew her toward him and
lightly touched with his lips her neck, the beauty of which had so
magnetized him.
The young girl was stronger than he; in the twinkling of an eye she tore
herself from his audacious clasp, threw him violently backward, and with
one bound reached the door of the hut. She stood there a moment, pale,
indignant, her eyes blazing, and then exclaimed, in a hollow voice:
"If you come a step nearer, I will call the charcoalmen!"
But Julien had no desire to renew the attack; already sobered, cowed, and
repentant, he had retreated to the most obscure corner of the dwelling.
"Are you mad?" she continued, with vehemence, "or has the wine got into
your head? It is rather early for you to be adopting the ways of your
deceased cousin! I give you notice that they will not succeed with me!
"And, at the same moment, tears of humiliation filled her eyes. "I did
not expect this of you, Monsieur de Buxieres!"
"Forgive me!" faltered Julien, whose heart smote him at the sight of her
tears; "I have behaved like a miserable sinner and a brute! It was a
moment of madness--forget it and forgive me!"
"Nobody ever treated me with disrespect before," returned the young girl,
in a suffocated voice; "I was wrong to allow you any familiarity, that is
all. It shall not happen to me again!"
Julien remained mute, overpowered with shame and remorse. Suddenly, in
the stillness around, rose the voices of the dancers returning and
singing the refrain of the rondelay:
I had a rose--
On my heart it lay
Will those who are young
Be married, or nay?
Yea, yea!
"There are our people," said Reine, softly, "I am going to them; adieu--
do not follow me!" She left the but and hastened toward the furnace,
while Julien, stunned with the rapidity with which this unfortunate scene
had been enacted, sat down on one of the benches, a prey to confused
feelings of shame and angry mortification. No, certainly, he did not
intend to follow her! He had no desire to show himself in public with
this young girl whom he had so stupidly insulted, and in whose face he
never should be able to look again. Decidedly, he did not understand
women, since he could not even tell a virtuous girl from a frivolous
coquette! Why had he not been able to see that the good-natured, simple
familiarity of Reine Vincart had nothing in common with the enticing
allurements of those who, to use Claudet's words, had "thrown their caps
over the wall." How was it that he had not read, in those eyes, pure as
the fountain's source, the candor and uprightness of a maiden heart which
had nothing to conceal. This cruel evidence of his inability to conduct
himself properly in the affairs of life exasperated and humiliated him,
and at the same time that he felt his self-love most deeply wounded,
he was conscious of being more hopelessly enamored of Reine Vincart.
Never had she appeared so beautiful as during the indignant movement
which had separated her from him. Her look of mingled anger and sadness,
the expression of her firm, set lips, the quivering nostrils, the heaving
of her bosom, he recalled it all, and the image of her proud beauty
redoubled his grief and despair.
He remained a long time concealed in the shadow of the hut. Finally,
when he heard the voices dying away in different directions, and was
satisfied that the charcoal-men were attending to their furnace work,
he made up his mind to come out. But, as he did not wish to meet any
one, instead of crossing through the cutting he plunged into the wood,
taking no heed in what direction he went, and being desirous of walking
alone as long as possible, without meeting a single human visage.
As he wandered aimlessly through the deepening shadows of the forest,
crossed here and there by golden bars of light from the slanting rays of
the setting sun, he pondered over the probable results of his unfortunate
behavior. Reine would certainly keep silence on the affront she had
received, but would she be indulgent enough to forget or forgive the
insult? The most evident result of the affair would be that henceforth
all friendly relations between them must cease. She certainly would
maintain a severe attitude toward the person who had so grossly insulted
her, but would she be altogether pitiless in her anger? All through his
dismal feelings of self-reproach, a faint hope of reconciliation kept him
from utter despair. As he reviewed the details of the shameful
occurrence, he remembered that the expression of her countenance had been
one more of sorrow than of anger. The tone of melancholy reproach in
which she had uttered the words: "I did not expect this from you,
Monsieur de Buxieres!" seemed to convey the hope that he might, one day,
be forgiven. At the same time, the poignancy of his regret showed him
how much hold the young girl had taken upon his affections, and how
cheerless and insipid his life would be if he were obliged to continue on
unfriendly terms with the woodland queen.
He had come to this conclusion in his melancholy reflections, when he
reached the outskirts of the forest.
He stood above the calm, narrow valley of Vivey; on the right, over the
tall ash-trees, peeped the pointed turrets of the chateau; on the left,
and a little farther behind, was visible a whitish line, contrasting with
the surrounding verdure, the winding path to La Thuiliere, through the
meadow-land of Planche-au-Vacher. Suddenly, the sound of voices reached
his ears, and, looking more closely, he perceived Reine and Claudet
walking side by side down the narrow path. The evening air softened the
resonance of the voices, so that the words themselves were not audible,
but the intonation of the alternate speakers, and their confidential and
friendly gestures, evinced a very animated, if not tender, exchange of
sentiments. At times the conversation was enlivened by Claudet's bursts
of laughter, or an amicable gesture from Reine. At one moment, Julien
saw the young girl lay her hand familiarly on the shoulder of the 'grand
chssserot', and immediately a pang of intense jealousy shot through his
heart. At last the young pair arrived at the banks of a stream, which
traversed the path and had become swollen by the recent heavy rains.
Claudet took Reine by the waist and lifted her in his vigorous arms,
while he picked his way across the stream; then they resumed their way
toward the bottom of the pass, and the tall brushwood hid their
retreating forms from Julien's eager gaze, although it was long before
the vibrations of their sonorous voices ceased echoing in his ears.
"Ah!" thought he, quite overcome by this new development, "she stands
less on ceremony with him than with me! How close they kept to each
other in that lonely path! With what animation they conversed! with
what abandon she allowed herself to be carried in his arms! All that
indicates an intimacy of long standing, and explains a good many things!"
He recalled Reine's visit to the chateau, and how cleverly she had
managed to inform him of the parentage existing between Claudet and the
deceased Claude de Buxieres; how she had by her conversation raised a
feeling of pity in his mind for Claudet; and a desire to repair the
negligence of the deceased.
"How could I be so blind!" thought Julien, with secret scorn of himself;
"I did not see anything, I comprehended none of their artifices! They
love each other, that is sure, and I have been playing throughout the
part of a dupe. I do not blame him. He was in love, and allowed himself
to be persuaded. But she! whom I thought so open, so true, so loyal!
Ah! she is no better than others of her class, and she was coquetting
with me in order to insure her lover a position! Well! one more
illusion is destroyed. Ecclesiastes was right. 'Inveni amarivrem morte
mulierem', 'woman is more bitter than death'!"
Twilight had come, and it was already dark in the forest. Slowly and
reluctantly, Julien descended the slope leading to the chateau, and the
gloom of the woods entered his heart.