FONTAINEBLEAU AND WHAT CAME OF IT.
Molly's promise to wait to see the Forest of Fontainebleau with him had
kept up Edwin Green's spirits through the long winter, and now he
eagerly planned the excursion to that historic spot. They were to take
the early morning train; spend the forenoon seeing the palace; have
lunch at a restaurant that Edwin remembered of old; then walk or ride
through the Forest as the ladies should decide; and spend the night at
Barbizon.
Everything was coming up to his dreams. Even the day was perfect. He was
allowed to sit by Molly on the train and later on to be by her side
while the guide showed them through the palace and over the beautiful
grounds. Mrs. Brown and Judy and Kent were inseparable.
"The poor old boy has been sick and my opinion is he needs a little
Molly-coddling; so let's give him all the chance in the world,"
whispered Kent to Judy; and Judy fell in with the suggestion and hooked
her arm in Mrs. Brown's with a "Whither thou goest, I will go" look.
They had luncheon at a restaurant, The Sign of the Swan, kept by an old
English couple, who made a specialty of roast beef and English mustard.
"None of the ready mixed French stuff that is so mild you can eat it by
itself, but the good English brand that will really burn," said the
buxom madame, as she smilingly served great slabs of rare beef with
generous helpings of freshly mixed mustard.
"It burns all right, all right," exclaimed Kent between gulps of water.
"It would be invaluable for outside application, but I advise all of you
to go easy on how you place it in the interior. The English have stopped
wearing visible armor but my opinion is they have swallowed it to
protect their insides from the onslaught of their own mustard."
"I think it is delicious," said Molly.
"So do I," echoed Edwin. "I never tasted better."
Kent gave the professor a quizzical glance and then flicked his eyelid
at Judy. The young man was very far gone, he thought, if he could
swallow that mustard and make out he enjoyed it, since he, Kent,
happened to know that Edwin Green abhorred all highly seasoned food. But
forsooth, if Molly liked mustard he would like mustard, too.
Molly and Judy had expressed their desire to walk through the Forest to
Barbizon but Mrs. Brown was to take the diligence, as it was rather too
long a walk for her to attempt. Judy suddenly decided that she was tired
and would ride with Mrs. Brown, and Kent declared that he needed
assistance to carry the quantity of roast beef he had consumed at The
Sign of the Swan, and was delighted to be spared the walk of several
miles.
"I tell you, I almost sang my 'Swan Song' when I got that first mouthful
of mustard, and it would have been to the tune of 'It's a hot time in
the old town to-night.' If you and the professor are going to walk,
Molly, you had better start now and not wait for the diligence to be
off."
So Molly and Edwin did start on the walk that the young man had been
looking forward to for so many months. The Forest of Fontainebleau is a
wonderful spot and a fitting place for a young man to use as the setting
for his day dreams. Here he was actually doing the thing he had been
dreaming of, only it was more delightful than he had let himself think
it could be. Molly was all loveliness and sweetness. He blessed the
miles that made it necessary for Mrs. Brown to ride; he blessed the
unusual fatigue that had overtaken Judy; and above all, he blessed the
slabs of rare roast beef that had put Kent out of the running. So blind
was he to everything but Molly, the color of her eyes and hair, the
curve of her cheek and sweetness of her mouth, that he had not seen that
Kent and Judy had deliberately given up the walk for his sake. Julia
Kean did not know what "tired" meant, and as for Kent, he was a young
man of unlimited capacity.
They soon left the broad avenue and struck into one of the by-paths
going in the direction of Barbizon. Edwin had a map of the Forest on
which every path was indicated, and with the help of the many
finger-posts, they were able to locate themselves from time to time.
"Is it as beautiful as you thought it would be, Miss Molly?"
"Oh, more beautiful! I never have seen such trees. It is so wonderful,
too, to think that there are no snakes. They say they have not seen a
snake in these parts for over fifty years. When I am in the woods, I am
always a little bit uneasy about snakes."
"Since there are no snakes, we might sit down on this moss-covered rock
and rest."
There was more to Edwin's dream than simply walking through the woods
with Molly; and he felt that no more suitable place could be found than
this sylvan spot where she could be seated like a queen on a throne
while he poured out assurances of his life-long allegiance, if she would
but admit him as a subject.
"Oh, Miss Molly! Molly, my darling, I am dumb with love of you. I want
to tell you how much I love you; how long I have loved you. Can you love
me just a little?"
And Molly raised her frank blue eyes to his appealing brown ones and
answered: "No, I can't love you just a little, but I have to love you a
whole lot."
His day dream was indeed coming true: alone with Molly Brown in the
great, deep, silent forest, his love spoken at last and Molly actually
confessing that she cared for him. That eminent instructor of English at
Wellington College found when the time came to express himself that all
his knowledge of words was as naught, and the only English he had at his
command was: "I love you, do you love me?" and "I have loved you since
the day in your Freshman year when you got locked in the corridor. How
long have you loved me, if you do really love me?"
They finally resumed their walk, but now they went hand in hand. How
much there was to talk about, how many things to explain!
"And will you be willing to spend the summers in your orchard home with
me? I have always called it 'Molly's Orchard Home' in my mind."
"I can think of no place in the world where I'd rather spend the
summers. Would I not be near all of my people? I am so glad you asked my
advice about the bungalow! Now the doors open the way I want them to;
and the cellar has an outside entrance; and the guest chamber has those
extra inches on it, besides the nice big closet; and the attic steps are
big enough to get a trunk up. Did you really and truly think it was
going to be my home when you were planning it?"
"I could only hope and hope and plan and dream. For almost six years I
have known that it was you or nobody for me. Ever since you came to
Wellington, a slip of a girl, it has been all I could do to keep from
claiming you. You were too young. I knew it would not be fair to try to
tie you to an old dry-as-dust like me until you had seen the world a
little. But oh, how hard it has been not to speak out all that was in my
heart! And when I thought I had lost you, first to Jimmy Lufton, then to
your cousin, Philippe d'Ochtè, life was very bitter, and I looked
forward to years of misery and longing."
"'Way down in my heart of hearts," confessed Molly, "I knew that you
cared, and the knowledge of it kept me from thinking seriously of any
other man. It was awfully conceited of me to feel that way when you have
never given me any real reason for it. At least, you had never written
or spoken your love; but the language that is neither written nor spoken
is understood by the heart, and my heart told me you loved me when my
intelligence would have me understand that you did not."
"Bless your sweet heart for understanding me and speaking a good word
for me! I wish my heart could have done as much for me. I could not see
how you could care for me, and still I hoped and prayed. And now what is
to prevent our being married right now and spending our honeymoon
abroad?"
"Well, it seems to me that a young man who could possess his soul in
patience for six years to find out his fate, might wait a while longer
now that he knows his answer," teased Molly.
"But all my patience is gone, used up, worn out! I want you all the time
to make up for this terrible nightmare of a winter that I have passed
through. What is to prevent our getting married, if you really and truly
care for me? Oh, Molly, be good to me! I could not stand it if the ocean
separated us again!"
And Molly was good to this extent; she said: "Let's see what mother says
about it."
When the pair of happy lovers reached Barbizon, they broke the news of
their engagement to their friends, who had the tact to pretend to be
astonished. Mrs. Brown was in a measure relieved that Molly returned the
affections of the young professor. She liked him very much and fully
approved of him as a son-in-law. She felt sure that he would take the
best possible care of her darling daughter. There had been times when
she had felt a little afraid that her advice to Edwin Green not to speak
to Molly of his love until the girl had matured somewhat, was perhaps a
mistake. But now, convinced that all was well, Mrs. Brown, as impulsive
as ever, agreed that there was no reason to delay their marriage.
The next few days were filled with unmixed charm and delight. Barbizon
was intensely interesting, having been the home of Jean François Millet.
Here he lived, painted and died, the great peasant painter. The fields
around the village were the scenes for the Gleaners, the Angelus, the
Man with the Hoe.
The Forest, which touched the outskirts of the village, had furnished
motifs for Diaz, Rousseau and Daubigny, and Judy was in a state of the
greatest enthusiasm and excitement trying to spy out the exact spots
where those masters of landscape had painted their pictures. Kent was
delighted to follow in her footsteps and, as he expressed it, "sit at
the feet of learning." He had seen but few good pictures, but he had an
unerring taste in the matter of art and was able to understand Judy's
ravings.
Molly and Edwin seemed to be floating above the earth. They touched
ground occasionally to eat the very good food that the madame at _Maison
Chevillon_ served them or to pass the time of day with the other members
of the party.
"Look at those two infatuated lovers, Mother," said Kent. "They look as
though they had left this mundane sphere for good and all. I believe
they talk in blank verse with occasional lapses into rhyme.
"'What kind er slippers do the angels wear?
Chillun, chillun, chillun, won't yer foller me?
Don' wear none fer they tred on air,
Hally, Hally, Hally, Hallyloodja!'"
"Nonsense, Kent, don't tease them," implored Mrs. Brown.
But strange to say, Molly did not mind the teasing she was forced to
take from her brother, although Judy called him "Mr. Brown" in the most
formal manner whenever he yielded to the temptation to tease her beloved
Molly.
"I don't mind your calling me 'Mr. Brown' now that none of my brothers
are here to answer to your endearments," laughed Kent. "I rather like
it, in fact. It adds a kind of dignity to me."
They could not play around the Forest of Fontainebleau forever, much as
they would have liked to. They went back to Paris a very contented,
happy party: Mrs. Brown happy that her judgment had been correct in
regard to her daughter's affairs; Kent and Judy happy to be in each
other's society and knowing they were to have much of their chosen work
ahead of them; Kent feeling almost certain that when his work was
accomplished the reward awaited him, that Judy cared for him and if he
could make good, would marry him; Professor Green and Molly in a seventh
heaven of bliss.
Cousin Sally was immediately taken into their confidence. The news of
the engagement was broken to her by Molly herself.
"Oh, what a sly-boots you were!" exclaimed the marchioness. "Philippe
was right about your knowing too much about how persons ought to love
not to be in love yourself. Well, my dear, I know you will be happy, and
as for that Green--I hardly know how to say how happy he should be. He
is not one-half so good looking as my boy, but never mind, child, I know
just how clever and good and intelligent he is. He is much more suitable
for you. He has the imagination that Philippe lacks. Tut--tut, I know
perfectly well where my dear son falls short. There is no poetry in his
make up. His father and I have often wondered at it. He looks so
poetical and is all prose."
The marchioness took arrangements for the wedding into her own hands.
Getting married in Paris if you happen to be foreigners, is no easy
matter. There is enough red tape connected with it to reach all the way
across the Atlantic; but Sally Bolling d'Ochtè was quite equal to cope
with it. It took several weeks and much signing and countersigning.
Birth certificates had to be obtained from Kentucky as well as baptismal
certificates for Molly. The law did not seem to be so strict concerning
the man.
"It does not seem fair," declared Kent. "These Frenchies will let a
_man_ get married without any proof of his being born; but a woman,
forsooth, must first prove she is born and that she has been christened
before she is allowed to enter into the holy state of matrimony."
All the papers were finally obtained, however, and Molly and her
professor were married very quietly at the Protestant Episcopal Church,
with no one present but the near friends and relatives. It all went as
merry as a marriage bell should, but does not always go. No one wept but
Polly Perkins; but Jo declared he always was a "slobber baby."
Molly naturally was married in blue, her own blue. The dressmaker almost
cried when she was told that it was a wedding dress she was making,
because it was not to be of white.
"Ah, the blonde bride is so wonderful and so rare! I could create for
Mademoiselle a dress that would be the talk of Paris. With that hair and
such fairness of complexion--well, never mind, I will still make her as
beautiful as the dawn." And so she did.
After the ceremony, a wedding breakfast followed at the home of the good
Cousin Sally, who felt like weeping but refrained for fear of casting a
cloud on Molly's day; but it was noticed that she was especially
attentive and kind to poor emotional Polly, showing that she appreciated
his feelings and longed to show hers.
Molly and Edwin went on their wedding trip to--But is it kind to follow
them? Let them have their solitude _à deux_. They are well able to take
care of each other without our assistance.
They joined Mrs. Brown in a month and went back to Kentucky with her,
leaving Judy and Kent to continue their art studies in Paris.
Judy was terribly afraid that she would have to go back under Mrs.
Pace's wing when the Browns left her, but the all-capable Marchioness
d'Ochtè got her a room at the American Girls' Club where she could be as
free as she wished with the appearance of being well chaperoned. As for
Kent he struck up quite a friendship with Pierce Kinsella, whom he had
once so feared as a rival, and the two young men decided to share a
studio, lessening the expense for both and heightening their pleasure.