LOVE BY PROXY
Jealousy is a maleficent deity of the harpy tribe; she embitters
everything she touches.
Ever since the evening that Julien had witnessed the crossing of the
brook by Reine and Claudet, a secret poison had run through his veins,
and embittered every moment of his life. Neither the glowing sun of
June, nor the glorious development of the woods had any charm for him.
In vain did the fields display their golden treasures of ripening corn;
in vain did the pale barley and the silvery oats wave their luxuriant
growth against the dark background of the woods; all these fairylike
effects of summer suggested only prosaic and misanthropic reflections in
Julien's mind. He thought of the tricks, the envy and hatred that the
possession of these little squares of ground brought forth among their
rapacious owners. The prolific exuberance of forest vegetation was an
exemplification of the fierce and destructive activity of the blind
forces of Nature. All the earth was a hateful theatre for the continual
enactment of bloody and monotonous dramas; the worm consuming the plant;
the bird mangling the insect, the deer fighting among themselves,
and man, in his turn, pursuing all kinds of game. He identified nature
with woman, both possessing in his eyes an equally deceiving appearance,
the same beguiling beauty, and the same spirit of ambuscade and perfidy.
The people around him inspired him only with mistrust and suspicion.
In every peasant he met he recognized an enemy, prepared to cheat him
with wheedling words and hypocritical lamentations. Although during the
few months he had experienced the delightful influence of Reine Vincart,
he had been drawn out of his former prejudices, and had imagined he was
rising above the littleness of every-day worries; he now fell back into
hard reality; his feet were again embedded in the muddy ground of village
politics, and consequently village life was a burden to him.
He never went out, fearing to meet Reine Vincart. He fancied that the
sight of her might aggravate the malady from which he suffered and for
which he eagerly sought a remedy.
But, notwithstanding the cloistered retirement to which he had condemned
himself, his wound remained open. Instead of solitude having a healing
effect, it seemed to make his sufferings greater. When, in the evening,
as he sat moodily at his window, he would hear Claudet whistle to his
dog, and hurry off in the direction of La Thuiliere, he would say to
himself: "He is going to keep an appointment with Reine." Then a feeling
of blind rage would overpower him; he felt tempted to leave his room and
follow his rival secretly--a moment afterward he would be ashamed of his
meanness. Was it not enough that he had once, although involuntarily,
played the degrading part of a spy! What satisfaction could he derive
from such a course? Would he be much benefited when he returned home
with rage in his heart and senses, after watching a love-scene between
the young pair? This consideration kept him in his seat, but his
imagination ran riot instead; it went galloping at the heels of Claudet,
and accompanied him down the winding paths, moistened by the evening dew.
As the moon rose above the trees, illuminating the foliage with her mild
bluish rays, he pictured to himself the meeting of the two lovers on the
flowery turf bathed in the silvery light. His brain seemed on fire.
He saw Reine in white advancing like a moonbeam, and Claudet passing his
arm around the yielding waist of the maiden. He tried to substitute
himself in idea, and to imagine the delight of the first words of
welcome, and the ecstasy of the prolonged embrace. A shiver ran through
his whole body; a sharp pain transfixed his heart; his throat closed
convulsively; half fainting, he leaned against the window-frame, his eyes
closed, his ears stopped, to shut out all sights or sounds, longing only
for oblivion and complete torpor of body and mind.
He did not realize his longing. The enchanting image of the woodland
queen, as he had beheld her in the dusky light of the charcoal-man's hut,
was ever before him. He put his hands over his eyes. She was there
still, with her deep, dark eyes and her enticing cherry lips. Even the
odor of the honeysuckle arising from the garden assisted the reality of
the vision, by recalling the sprig of the same flower which Reine was
twisting round her fingers at their last interview. This sweet breath
of flowers in the night seemed like an emanation from the young girl
herself, and was as fleeting and intangible as the remembrance of
vanished happiness. Again and again did his morbid nature return to past
events, and make his present position more unbearable.
"Why," thought he, "did I ever entertain so wild a hope? This wood-
nymph, with her robust yet graceful figure, her clear-headedness, her
energy and will-power, could she ever have loved a being so weak and
unstable as myself? No, indeed; she needs a lover full of life and
vigor; a huntsman, with a strong arm, able to protect her. What figure
should I cut by the side of so hearty and well-balanced a fellow?"
In these fits of jealousy, he was not so angry with Claudet for being
loved by Reine as for having so carefully concealed his feelings. And
yet, while inwardly blaming him for this want of frankness, he did not
realize that he himself was open to a similar accusation, by hiding from
Claudet what was troubling him so grievously.
Since the evening of the inauguration festival, he had become sullen and
taciturn. Like all timid persons, he took refuge in a moody silence,
which could not but irritate his cousin. They met every day at the same
table; to all appearance their intimacy was as great as ever, but, in
reality, there was no mutual exchange of feeling. Julien's continued
ill-humor was a source of anxiety to Claudet, who turned his brain almost
inside out in endeavoring to discover its cause. He knew he had done
nothing to provoke any coolness; on the contrary, he had set his wits to
work to show his gratitude by all sorts of kindly offices.
By dint of thinking the matter over, Claudet came to the conclusion that
perhaps Julien was beginning to repent of his generosity, and that
possibly this coolness was a roundabout way of manifesting his change of
feeling. This seemed to be the only plausible solution of his cousin's
behavior. "He is probably tired," thought he, "of keeping us here at the
chateau, my mother and myself."
Claudet's pride and self-respect revolted at this idea. He did not
intend to be an incumbrance on any one, and became offended in his turn
at the mute reproach which he imagined he could read in his cousin's
troubled countenance. This misconception, confirmed by the obstinate
silence of both parties, and aggravated by its own continuance, at last
produced a crisis.
It happened one night, after they had taken supper together, and Julien's
ill-humor had been more evident than usual. Provoked at his persistent
taciturnity, and more than ever convinced that it was his presence that
young de Buxieres objected to, Claudet resolved to force an explanation.
Instead, therefore, of quitting the dining-room after dessert, and
whistling to his dog to accompany him in his habitual promenade, the
'grand chasserot' remained seated, poured out a small glass of brandy,
and slowly filled his pipe. Surprised to see that he was remaining at
home, Julien rose and began to pace the floor, wondering what could be
the reason of this unexpected change. As suspicious people are usually
prone to attribute complicated motives for the most simple actions,
he imagined that Claudet, becoming aware of the jealous feeling he had
excited, had given up his promenade solely to mislead and avert
suspicion. This idea irritated him still more, and halting suddenly in
his walk, he went up to Claudet and said, brusquely:
"You are not going out, then?"
"No;" replied Claudet, "if you will permit me, I will stay and keep you
company. Shall I annoy you?"
"Not in the least; only, as you are accustomed to walk every evening, I
should not wish you to inconvenience yourself on my account. I am not
afraid of being alone, and I am not selfish enough to deprive you of
society more agreeable than mine."
"What do you mean by that?" cried Claudet, pricking up his ears.
"Nothing," muttered Julien, between his set teeth, "except that your
fancied obligation of keeping me company ought not to prevent you missing
a pleasant engagement, or keeping a rendezvous."
"A rendezvous," replied his interlocutor, with a forced laugh, "so you
think, when I go out after supper, I go to seek amusement. A rendezvous!
And with whom, if you please?"
"With your mistress, of course," replied Julien, sarcastically, "from
what you said to me, there is no scarcity here of girls inclined to be
good-natured, and you have only the trouble of choosing among them.
I supposed you were courting some woodman's young daughter, or some
pretty farmer girl, like--like Reine Vincart."
"Refine Vincart!" repeated Claudet, sternly, "what business have you to
mix up her name with those creatures to whom you refer? Mademoiselle
Vincart," added he, "has nothing in common with that class, and you have
no right, Monsieur de Buxieres, to use her name so lightly!"
The allusion to Reine Vincart had agitated Claudet to such a degree that
he did not notice that Julien, as he pronounced her name, was as much
moved as himself.
The vehemence with which Claudet resented the insinuation increased young
de Buxieres's irritation.
"Ha, ha!" said he, laughing scornfully, "Reine Vincart is an exceedingly
pretty girl!"
"She is not only pretty, she is good and virtuous, and deserves to be
respected."
"How you uphold her! One can see that you are interested in her."
"I uphold her because you are unjust toward her. But I wish you to
understand that she has no need of any one standing up for her--her good
name is sufficient to protect her. Ask any one in the village--there is
but one voice on that question."
"Come," said Julien, huskily, "confess that you are in love with her."
"Well! suppose I am," said Claudet, angrily, "yes, I love her! There,
are you satisfied now?"
Although de Buxieres knew what he had to expect, he was not the less
affected by so open an avowal thrust at him, as it were. He stood for a
moment, silent; then, with a fresh burst of rage:
"You love her, do you? Why did you not tell me before? Why were you not
more frank with me?"
As he spoke, gesticulating furiously, in front of the open window, the
deep red glow of the setting sun, piercing through the boughs of the ash-
trees, threw its bright reflections on his blazing eyeballs and convulsed
features. His interlocutor, leaning against the opposite corner of the
window-frame, noticed, with some anxiety, the extreme agitation of his
behavior, and wondered what could be the cause of such emotion.
"I? Not frank with you! Ah, that is a good joke, Monsieur de Buxieres!
Naturally, I should not go proclaiming on the housetops that I have a
tender feeling for Mademoiselle Vincart, but, all the same, I should have
told you had you asked me sooner. I am not reserved; but, you must
excuse my saying it, you are walled in like a subterranean passage. One
can not get at the color of your thoughts. I never for a moment imagined
that you were interested in Reine, and you never have made me
sufficiently at home to entertain the idea of confiding in you on that
subject."
Julien remained silent. He had reseated himself at the table, where,
leaning his head in his hands, he pondered over what Claudet had said.
He placed his hand so as to screen his eyes, and bit his lips as if a
painful struggle was going on within him. The splendors of the setting
sun had merged into the dusky twilight, and the last piping notes of the
birds sounded faintly among the sombre trees. A fresh breeze had sprung
up, and filled the darkening room with the odor of honeysuckle.
Under the soothing influence of the falling night, Julien slowly raised
his head, and addressing Claudet in a low and measured voice like a
father confessor interrogating a penitent, said:
"Does Reine know that you love her?"
"I think she must suspect it," replied Claudet, "although I never have
ventured to declare myself squarely. But girls are very quick, Reine
especially. They soon begin to suspect there is some love at bottom,
when a young man begins to hang around them too frequently."
"You see her often, then?"
"Not as often as I should like. But, you know, when one lives in the
same district, one has opportunities of meeting--at the beech harvest,
in the woods, at the church door. And when you meet, you talk but
little, making the most of your time. Still, you must not suppose,
as I think you did, that we have rendezvous in the evening. Reine
respects herself too much to go about at night with a young man as
escort, and besides, she has other fish to fry. She has a great deal to
do at the farm, since her father has become an invalid."
"Well, do you think she loves you?" said Julien, with a movement of
nervous irritation.
"I can not tell," replied Claudet shrugging his shoulders, "she has
confidence in me, and shows me some marks of friendship, but I never have
ventured to ask her whether she feels anything more than friendship for
me. Look here, now. I have good reasons for keeping back; she is rich
and I am poor. You can understand that I would not, for any
consideration, allow her to think that I am courting her for her money--"
"Still, you desire to marry her, and you hope that she will not say no--
you acknowledge that!" cried Julien, vociferously.
Claudet, struck with the violence and bitterness of tone of his
companion, came up to him.
"How angrily you say that, Monsieur de Buxieres!" exclaimed he in his
turn; "upon my word, one might suppose the affair is very displeasing to
you. Will you let me tell you frankly an idea that has already entered
my head several times these last two or three days, and which has come
again now, while I have been listening to you? It is that perhaps you,
yourself, are also in love with Reine?"
"I!" protested Julien. He felt humiliated at Claudet's perspicacity;
but he had too much pride and selfrespect to let his preferred rival know
of his unfortunate passion. He waited a moment to swallow something in
his throat that seemed to be choking him, and then, trying in vain to
steady his voice, he added:
"You know that I have an aversion for women; and for that matter, I think
they return it with interest. But, at all events, I am not foolish
enough to expose myself to their rebuffs. Rest assured, I shall not
follow at your heels!"
Claudet shook his head incredulously.
"You doubt it," continued de Buxieres; "well, I will prove it to you.
You can not declare your wishes because Reine is rich and you are poor?
I will take charge of the whole matter."
"I--I do not understand you," faltered Claudet, bewildered at the strange
turn the conversation was taking.
"You will understand-soon," asserted Julien, with a gesture of both
decision and resignation.
The truth was, he had made one of those resolutions which seem illogical
and foolish at first sight, but are natural to minds at once timid and
exalted. The suffering caused by Claudet's revelations had become so
acute that he was alarmed. He recognized with dismay the disastrous
effects of this hopeless love, and determined to employ a heroic remedy
to arrest its further ravages. This was nothing less than killing his
love, by immediately getting Claudet married to Reine Vincart.
Sacrifices like this are easier to souls that have been subjected since
their infancy to Christian discipline, and accustomed to consider the
renunciation of mundane joys as a means of securing eternal salvation.
As soon as this idea had developed in Julien's brain, he seized upon it
with the precipitation of a drowning man, who distractedly lays hold of
the first object that seems to offer him a means of safety, whether it be
a dead branch or a reed.
"Listen," he resumed; "at the very first explanation that we had
together, I told you I did not intend to deprive you of your right to a
portion of your natural father's inheritance. Until now, you have taken
my word for it, and we have lived at the chateau like two brothers.
But now that a miserable question of money alone prevents you from
marrying the woman you love, it is important that you should be legally
provided for. We will go to-morrow to Monsieur Arbillot, and ask him to
draw up the deed, making over to you from me one half of the fortune of
Claude de Buxieres. You will then be, by law, and in the eyes of all,
one of the desirable matches of the canton, and you can demand the hand
of Mademoiselle Vincart, without any fear of being thought presumptuous
or mercenary."
Claudet, to whom this conclusion was wholly unexpected, was
thunderstruck. His emotion was so great that it prevented him from
speaking. In the obscurity of the room his deep-set eyes seemed larger,
and shone with the tears he could not repress.
"Monsieur Julien," said he, falteringly, "I can not find words to thank
you. I am like an idiot. And to think that only a little while ago I
suspected you of being tired of me, and regretting your benefits toward
me! What an animal I am! I measure others by myself. Well! can you
forgive me? If I do not express myself well, I feel deeply, and all I
can say is that you have made me very happy!" He sighed heavily.
"The question is now," continued he, "whether Reine will have me! You
may not believe me, Monsieur de Buxieres, but though I may seem very bold
and resolute, I feel like a wet hen when I get near her. I have a
dreadful panic that she will send me away as I came. I don't know
whether I can ever find courage to ask her."
"Why should she refuse you?" said Julien, sadly, "she knows that you
love her. Do you suppose she loves any one else?"
"That I don't know. Although Reine is very frank, she does not let every
one know what is passing in her mind, and with these young girls, I tell
you, one is never sure of anything. That is just what I fear may be
possible."
"If you fear the ordeal," said de Buxieres, with a visible effort, "would
you like me to present the matter for you?"
"I should be very glad. It would be doing me a great service. It would
be adding one more kindness to those I have already received, and some
day I hope to make it all up to you."
The next morning, according to agreement, Julien accompanied Claudet to
Auberive, where Maitre Arbillot drew up the deed of gift, and had it at
once signed and recorded. Afterward the young men adjourned to breakfast
at the inn. The meal was brief and silent. Neither seemed to have any
appetite. As soon as they had drunk their coffee, they turned back on
the Vivey road; but, when they had got as far as the great limetree,
standing at the entrance to the forest, Julien touched Claudet lightly on
the shoulder.
"Here," said he, "we must part company. You will return to Vivey, and I
shall go across the fields to La Thuiliere. I shall return as soon as I
have had an interview with Mademoiselle Vincart. Wait for me at the
chateau."
"The time will seem dreadfully long to me," sighed Claudet; "I shall not
know how to dispose of my body until you return."
"Your affair will be all settled within two or three hours from now.
Stay near the window of my room, and you will catch first sight of me
coming along in the distance. If I wave my hat, it will be a sign that I
bring a favorable answer."
Claudet pressed his hand; they separated, and Julien descended the newly
mown meadow, along which he walked under the shade of trees scattered
along the border line of the forest.
The heat of the midday sun was tempered by a breeze from the east, which
threw across the fields and woods the shadows of the white fleecy clouds.
The young man, pale and agitated, strode with feverish haste over the
short-cropped grass, while the little brooklet at his side seemed to
murmur a flute-like, soothing accompaniment to the tumultuous beatings of
his heart. He was both elated and depressed at the prospect of
submitting his already torn and lacerated feelings to so severe a trial.
The thought of beholding Reine again, and of sounding her feelings, gave
him a certain amount of cruel enjoyment. He would speak to her of love--
love for another, certainly--but he would throw into the declaration he
was making, in behalf of another, some of his own tenderness; he would
have the supreme and torturing satisfaction of watching her countenance,
of anticipating her blushes, of gathering the faltering avowal from her
lips. He would once more drink of the intoxication of her beauty, and
then he would go and shut himself up at Vivey, after burying at La
Thuiliere all his dreams and profane desires. But, even while the
courage of this immolation of his youthful love was strong within him,
he could not prevent a dim feeling of hope from crossing his mind.
Claudet was not certain that he was beloved; and possibly Reine's answer
would be a refusal. Then he should have a free field.
By a very human, but very illogical impulse, Julien de Buxieres had
hardly concluded the arrangement with Claudet which was to strike the
fatal blow to his own happiness when he began to forestall the
possibilities which the future might have in store for him. The odor of
the wild mint and meadow-sweet, dotting the banks of the stream, again
awoke vague, happy anticipations. Longing to reach Reine Vincart's
presence, he hastened his steps, then stopped suddenly, seized with an
overpowering panic. He had not seen her since the painful episode in the
hut, and it must have left with her a very sorry impression. What could
he do, if she refused to receive him or listen to him?
While revolting these conflicting thoughts in his mind, he came to the
fields leading directly to La Thuiliere, and just beyond, across a waving
mass of oats and rye, the shining tops of the farm-buildings came in
sight. A few minutes later, he pushed aside a gate and entered the yard.
The shutters were closed, the outer gate was closed inside, and the house
seemed deserted. Julien began to think that the young girl he was
seeking had gone into the fields with the farm-hands, and stood uncertain
and disappointed in the middle of the courtyard. At this sudden
intrusion into their domain, a brood of chickens, who had been clucking
sedately around, and picking up nourishment at the same time, scattered
screaming in every direction, heads down, feet sprawling, until by
unanimous consent they made a beeline for a half-open door, leading to
the orchard. Through this manoeuvre, the young man's attention was
brought to the fact that through this opening he could reach the rear
facade of the building. He therefore entered a grassy lane, winding
round a group of stones draped with ivy; and leaving the orchard on his
left, he pushed on toward the garden itself--a real country garden with
square beds bordered by mossy clumps alternating with currant-bushes,
rows of raspberry-trees, lettuce and cabbage beds, beans and runners
climbing up their slender supports, and, here and there, bunches of red
carnations and peasant roses.
Suddenly, at the end of a long avenue, he discovered Reine Vincart,
seated on the steps before an arched door, communicating with the
kitchen. A plum-tree, loaded with its violet fruit, spread its light
shadow over the young girl's head, as she sat shelling fresh-gathered
peas and piling the faint green heaps of color around her. The sound of
approaching steps on the grassy soil caused her to raise her head, but
she did not stir. In his intense emotion, Julien thought the alley never
would come to an end. He would fain have cleared it with a single bound,
so as to be at once in the presence of Mademoiselle Vincart, whose
immovable attitude rendered his approach still more difficult.
Nevertheless, he had to get over the ground somehow at a reasonable pace,
under penalty of making himself ridiculous, and he therefore found plenty
of time to examine Reine, who continued her work with imperturbable
gravity, throwing the peas as she shelled them into an ash-wood pail at
her feet.
She was bareheaded, and wore a striped skirt and a white jacket fitted to
her waist. The checkered shadows cast by the tree made spots of light
and darkness over her face and her uncovered neck, the top button of her
camisole being unfastened on account of the heat. De Buxieres had been
perfectly well recognized by her, but an emotion, at least equal to that
experienced by the young man, had transfixed her to the spot, and a
subtle feminine instinct had urged her to continue her employment, in
order to hide the sudden trembling of her fingers. During the last
month, ever since the adventure in the hut, she had thought often of
Julien; and the remembrance of the audacious kiss which the young de
Buxieres had so impetuously stolen from her neck, invariably brought the
flush of shame to her brow. But, although she was very indignant at the
fiery nature of his caress, as implying a want of respect little in
harmony with Julien's habitual reserve, she was astonished at herself for
not being still more angry. At first, the affront put upon her had
roused a feeling of indignation, but now, when she thought of it,
she felt only a gentle embarrassment, and a soft beating of the heart.
She began to reflect that to have thus broken loose from all restraint
before her, this timid youth must have been carried away by an
irresistible burst of passion, and any woman, however high-minded she may
be, will forgive such violent homage rendered to the sovereign power of
her beauty. Besides his feeding of her vanity, another independent and
more powerful motive predisposed her to indulgence: she felt a tender and
secret attraction toward Monsieur de Buxieres. This healthy and
energetic girl had been fascinated by the delicate charm of a nature so
unlike her own in its sensitiveness and disposition to self-blame.
Julien's melancholy blue eyes had, unknown to himself, exerted a magnetic
influence on Reine's dark, liquid orbs, and, without endeavoring to
analyze the sympathy that drew her toward a nature refined and tender
even to weakness, without asking herself where this unreflecting instinct
might lead her, she was conscious of a growing sentiment toward him,
which was not very much unlike love itself.
Julien de Buxieres's mood was not sufficiently calm to observe anything,
or he would immediately have perceived the impression that his sudden
appearance had produced upon Reine Vincart. As soon as he found himself
within a few steps of the young girl, he saluted her awkwardly, and she
returned his bow with marked coldness. Extremely disconcerted at this
reception, he endeavored to excuse himself for having invaded her
dwelling in so unceremonious a manner.
"I am all the more troubled," added he, humbly, "that after what has
happened, my visit must appear to you indiscreet, if not improper."
Reine, who had more quickly recovered her self-possession, pretended not
to understand the unwise allusion that had escaped the lips of her
visitor. She rose, pushed away with her foot the stalks and pods, which
encumbered the passage, and replied, very shortly:
"You are excused, Monsieur. There is no need of an introduction to enter
La Thuiliere. Besides, I suppose that the motive which has brought you
here can only be a proper one."
While thus speaking, she shook her skirt down, and without any
affectation buttoned up her camisole.
"Certainly, Mademoiselle," faltered Julien, "it is a most serious and
respectable motive that causes me to wish for an interview, and--if--I do
not disturb you--"
"Not in the least, Monsieur; but, if you wish to speak with me, it is
unnecessary for you to remain standing. Allow me to fetch you a chair."
She went into the house, leaving the young man overwhelmed with the
coolness of his reception; a few minutes later she reappeared, bringing a
chair, which she placed under the tree. "Sit here, you will be in the
shade."
She seated herself on the same step as before, leaning her back against
the wall, and her head on her hand.
"I am ready to listen to you," she said.
Julien, much less under his own control than she, discovered that his
mission was more difficult than he had imagined it would be; he
experienced a singular amount of embarrassment in unfolding his subject;
and was obliged to have recourse to prolonged inquiries concerning the
health of Monsieur Vincart.
"He is still in the same condition," said Reine, "neither better nor
worse, and, with the illness which afflicts him, the best I can hope for
is that he may remain in that condition. But," continued she, with a
slight inflection of irony; "doubtless it is not for the purpose of
inquiring after my father's health that you have come all the way from
Vivey?"
"That is true, Mademoiselle," replied he, coloring. "What I have to
speak to you about is a very delicate matter. You will excuse me,
therefore, if I am somewhat embarrassed. I beg of you, Mademoiselle, to
listen to me with indulgence."
"What can he be coming to?" thought Reine, wondering why he made so many
preambles before beginning. And, at the same time, her heart began to
beat violently.
Julien took the course taken by all timid people after meditating for a
long while on the best way to prepare the young girl for the
communication he had taken upon himself to make--he lost his head and
inquired abruptly:
"Mademoiselle Reine, do you not intend to marry?"
Reine started, and gazed at him with a frightened air.
"I!" exclaimed she, "Oh, I have time enough and I am not in a hurry."
Then, dropping her eyes: "Why do you ask that?"
"Because I know of some one who loves you and who would be glad to marry
you."
She became very pale, took up one of the empty pods, twisted it nervously
around her finger without speaking.
"Some one belonging to our neighborhood?" she faltered, after a few
moments' silence.
"Yes; some one whom you know, and who is not a recent arrival here.
Some one who possesses, I believe, sterling qualities sufficient to make
a good husband, and means enough to do credit to the woman who will wed
him. Doubtless you have already guessed to whom I refer?"
She sat motionless, her lips tightly closed, her features rigid, but the
nervous twitching of her fingers as she bent the green stem back and
forth, betrayed her inward agitation.
"No; I can not tell," she replied at last, in an almost inaudible voice.
"Truly?" he exclaimed, with an expression of astonishment, in which was
a certain amount of secret satisfaction; "you can not tell whom I mean?
You have never thought of the person of whom I am speaking in that
light?"
"No; who is that person?"
She had raised her eyes toward his, and they shone with a deep,
mysterious light.
"It is Claudet Sejournant," replied Julien, very gently; and in an
altered tone.
The glow that had illumined the dark orbs of the young girl faded away,
her eyelids dropped, and her countenance became as rigid as before; but
Julien did not notice anything. The words he had just uttered had cost
him too much agony, and he dared not look at his companion, lest he
should behold her joyful surprise, and thereby aggravate his suffering.
"Ah!" said Reine, coldly, "in that case, why did not Claudet come
himself and state his own case?"
"His courage failed him at the last moment--and so--"
"And so," continued she, with sarcastic bitterness of tone, "you took
upon yourself to speak for him?"
"Yes; I promised him I would plead his cause. I was sure, moreover, that
I should not have much difficulty in gaining the suit. Claudet has loved
you for a long time. He is good-hearted, and a fine fellow to look at.
And as to worldly advantages, his position is now equal to your own.
I have made over to him, by legal contract, the half of his father's
estate. What answer am I to take back?"
He spoke with difficulty in broken sentences, without turning his eyes
toward Mademoiselle Vincart. The silence that followed his last question
seemed to him unbearable, and the contrasting chirping of the noisy
grasshoppers, and the buzzing of the flies in the quiet sunny garden,
resounded unpleasantly in his ears.
Reine remained speechless. She was disconcerted and well-nigh
overpowered by the unexpected announcement, and her brain seemed unable
to bear the crowd of tumultuous and conflicting emotions which presented
themselves. Certainly, she had already suspected that Claudet had a
secret liking for her, but she never had thought of encouraging the
feeling. The avowal of his hopes neither surprised nor hurt her; that
which pained her was the intervention of Julien, who had taken in hand
the cause of his relative. Was it possible that this same M. de
Buxieres, who had made so audacious a display of his tender feeling in
the hut, could now come forward as Claudet's advocate, as if it were the
most natural thing in the world for him to do? In that case, his
astonishing behavior at the fete, which had caused her so much pain,
and which she had endeavored to excuse in her own mind as the untutored
outbreak of his pentup love, that fiery caress, was only the insulting
manifestation of a brutal caprice? The transgressor thought so little of
her, she was of such small importance in his eyes, that he had no
hesitation in proposing that she marry Claudet? She beheld herself
scorned, humiliated, insulted by the only man in whom she ever had felt
interested. In the excess of her indignation she felt herself becoming
hardhearted and violent; a profound discouragement, a stony indifference
to all things, impelled her to extreme measures, and, not being able at
the moment to find any one on whom she could put them in operation, she
was almost tempted to lay violent hands on herself.
"What shall I say to Claudet?" repeated Julien, endeavoring to conceal
the suffering which was devouring his heart by an assumption of outward
frigidity.
She turned slowly round, fixed her searching eyes, which had become as
dark as waters reflecting a stormy sky, upon his face, and demanded, in
icy tones:
"What do you advise me to say?"
Now, if Julien had been less of a novice, he would have understood that a
girl who loves never addresses such a question; but the feminine heart
was a book in which he was a very poor speller. He imagined that Reine
was only asking him as a matter of form, and that it was from a feeling
of maidenly reserve that she adopted this passive method of escaping from
openly declaring her wishes. She no doubt desired his friendly aid in
the matter, and he felt as if he ought to grant her that satisfaction.
"I have the conviction," stammered he, "that Claudet will make a good
husband, and you will do well to accept him."
Reine bit her lip, and her paleness increased so as to set off still more
the fervid lustre of her eyes. The two little brown moles stood out more
visibly on her white neck, and added to her attractions.
"So be it!" exclaimed she, "tell Claudet that I consent, and that he
will be welcome at La Thuiliere."
"I will tell him immediately." He bent gravely and sadly before Reine,
who remained standing and motionless against the door. "Adieu,
Mademoiselle!"
He turned away abruptly; plunged into the first avenue he came to, lost
his way twice and finally reached the courtyard, and thence escaped at
breakneck speed across the fields.
Reine maintained her statue-like pose as long as the young man's
footsteps resounded on the stony paths; but when they died gradually away
in the distance, when nothing could be heard save the monotonous trill of
the grasshoppers basking in the sun, she threw herself down on the green
heap of rubbish; she covered her face with her hands and gave way to a
passionate outburst of tears and sobs.
In the meanwhile, Julien de Buxieres, angry with himself, irritated by
the speedy success of his mission, was losing his way among the
pasturages, and getting entangled in the thickets. All the details of
the interview presented themselves before his mind with remorseless
clearness. He seemed more lonely, more unfortunate, more disgusted with
himself and with all else than he ever had been before. Ashamed of the
wretched part he had just been enacting, he felt almost childish
repugnance to returning to Vivey, and tried to pick out the paths that
would take him there by the longest way. But he was not sufficiently
accustomed to laying out a route for himself, and when he thought he had
a league farther to go, and had just leaped over an intervening hedge,
the pointed roofs of the chateau appeared before him at a distance of not
more than a hundred feet, and at one of the windows on the first floor he
could distinguish Claudet, leaning for ward, as if to interrogate him.
He remembered then the promise he had made the young huntsman; and
faithful to his word, although with rage and bitterness in his heart,
he raised his hat, and with effort, waved it three times above his head.
At this signal, the forerunner of good news, Claudet replied by a
triumphant shout, and disappeared from the window. A moment later,
Julien heard the noise of furious galloping down the enclosures of the
park. It was the lover, hastening to learn the particulars of the
interview.
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
I measure others by myself
Like all timid persons, he took refuge in a moody silence
Others found delight in the most ordinary amusements
Sensitiveness and disposition to self-blame
Women: they are more bitter than death
Yield to their customs, and not pooh-pooh their amusements
You must be pleased with yourself--that is more essential