mother, was loved by a young man of noble birth, Comte Adhémar de
Hautmont. He did not abandon the woman who had given herself to him; he
loved her dearly and intended to make her his wife; but, in order to
avoid a rupture with his family, he was waiting until circumstances
should favor his projected marriage. Alas! the young man suddenly
disappeared; Julia never saw him again, never heard from him in any way;
and when he left her, it was with a promise to see her soon, and he
covered his daughter, then six years old, with kisses.”
“Why, that is most extraordinary! Did he not return to his family?”
“No; Julia caused inquiries to be made; she was unable to learn anything
concerning her child’s father, and six years later the poor mother
placed her daughter in my care, saying:
“‘I am dying; take care of my Agathe, who has no one but you to love
her.’
“That, monsieur, is all that there is to tell concerning her whom you
desire to call your wife; and that it was absolutely necessary to tell
you.”
“Oh! madame, you do not think, I trust, that that can in any degree
lessen my love for her or my desire to make her the companion of my
life.”
“You see, my dear, it doesn’t change his sentiments at all; I was sure
that it would not!”
“Dear Agathe, your mother’s misfortunes can but make you the more
interesting in my eyes. But your father’s sudden disappearance seems to
me most extraordinary; it must be connected with some mysterious
occurrence--with some crime, perhaps; who knows?”
“Ah! we have very often thought that.”
“And there has never been any clue, any circumstance to put you on the
track of what happened to him?”
“Nothing; so long as my poor mother lived, she never ceased to seek
information and make inquiries; but she could never discover a trace of
the man who had sworn to love her forever! When she died, I was twelve
years old; I could do nothing but weep for my dear mother, and love her
who consented to take charge of the unfortunate orphan.”
Agathe threw herself into Honorine’s arms; the latter hastily wiped away
the tears that were gathering in her eyes and said:
“Now, my young fiancés, for from this day I regard you as such, let us
talk of serious matters. Let us for a moment forget love, which is a
very pleasant thing, but insufficient to keep house upon. I am talking
now like an aged guardian, am I not? But the old people are almost
always right, for they have experience on their side--experience, that
unexcelled source of knowledge for which one pays so dear that it ought
to be of some use. My young friend Agathe has nothing--no dowry! Alas! I
can give her none! And you, Monsieur Edmond--what is your
position?--Remember that we have been entirely frank with you.”
“Oh! I do not propose to lie to you, madame, or to make myself out any
better than I am. I received sixty thousand francs from an uncle; I
invested the money and for some time I was content to live on the
income. But soon, acquaintances--circumstances--follies----”
“Enough! we can guess the rest. You have spent the whole?”
“No, madame; I still have about twenty thousand francs. But I have
hopes, I will obtain employment, a lucrative place--it has been promised
me.”
“Well, Monsieur Edmond, don’t you think that it would be more sensible
to wait until you have this place, before marrying? In the first place,
you are very young, and Agathe will not be seventeen for two months! It
seems to me that you can afford to wait a little while.”
“You are always right, madame. When I take mademoiselle for my wife, I
wish to assure her a comfortable position in life, at least; I do not
wish to have to tremble for the future. Now that I know that you consent
to our union, now that we are engaged, I shall have the courage to wait;
but I shall so arrange matters that the time will soon come when I shall
be able to offer her a husband worthy of her.”
“Oh! I am not ambitious!” cried Agathe; “I don’t care about wealth!”
“Hush, mademoiselle!” said Honorine; “I really believe that you have
less sense than Monsieur Edmond. Luckily, I have enough for you. Here
you are engaged! you are to be pitied, are you not? And now the
slanderous tongues of the neighborhood can wag all they choose! Poucette
will be justified in saying to them:
“‘If Monsieur Edmond Didier does come to my mistress’s house often, it’s
because he’s engaged to Mademoiselle Agathe.’”
The young lovers were beside themselves with joy, and Edmond left the
house with the assurance that he was beloved, and that his dearest wish
would be fulfilled some day.
Honorine left Agathe to enjoy that delicious reverie which always
follows the certainty of being united to the object of one’s choice, and
went down alone to the garden.
It was a superb day, and it was a joy to breathe the pure air of the
country.
Honorine was pensive too, and sighed without asking herself why.
When she reached the end of the garden, she opened the little gate which
gave access to an unfrequented road from which one had an extensive view
of the surrounding country.
Honorine glanced instinctively in the direction of the Tower. She
walked, unconsciously, a few steps along the road and seated herself at
the foot of a huge walnut tree, on another uprooted tree which formed a
natural bench.
She had been sitting there for some time, happy in Agathe’s happiness,
and thinking that it must be very sweet to inspire love in a person to
whom one is attracted, when she felt, all of a sudden, something rub
against her hand; her first feeling was one of alarm, but it speedily
vanished when she saw beside her Ami, the beautiful dog belonging to the
owner of the Tower.
Ami was not backward in manifesting his pleasure at the meeting; he
licked her hands and played about her; he even carried his familiarity
so far as to put his paws on the young woman’s lap now and then. But she
received these tokens of affection with pleasure, and while she patted
Ami’s head and neck, she glanced about her, for the dog’s presence
always announced his master’s. But she looked in vain--she could see no
one.
Ami left her for a moment; he too seemed to be looking in all
directions; then he returned to Honorine, and barked as if he wished to
ask a question.
“I see plainly what you are looking for, good dog; you are asking me
where Agathe is--Agathe, whom you are used to seeing with me always. I
am alone to-day; you must be content with my company. But you too are
alone, Ami; how is it that you come here without your master? You are
far from home. Did you leave the Tower to come to see us? Did your
master send you here? Have you some message? Are you going back soon?”
The dog, after listening a moment, lay down at Honorine’s feet and
stretched himself out there with that unrestraint, that unfeigned
laziness which dogs exhibit when they have found a spot which they like.
“He doesn’t act as if he intended to go away,” thought Honorine; “it’s
singular; I wonder if his master is anywhere about?”
At that moment Ami turned his head quickly, but did not leave his place.
The young woman looked in the direction to which the dog seemed to call
her attention, and she saw the owner of the Tower climbing a little
path which led from the village to the road by which she was then
sitting.
Paul had not seen her, but he could not fail to pass her in a moment.
Honorine lowered her eyes, but she let her arm rest on the dog, as if to
ask him not to leave her. A few seconds later Paul had halted in front
of the young woman; and his dog gazed at him earnestly, without moving
from his place, as if to say: “I am very comfortable here!”
“Really, madame, I am afraid that Ami presumes too far upon your
kindness to him,” said Paul, as he bowed to Honorine; “he is altogether
too unceremonious; you should send him away.”
“Oh! monsieur, why should I send the good dog away, when he shows such a
friendly feeling for me? it is not such a common thing; and one can
depend upon it in his case, I fancy?”
“Oh! yes, yes! and in no other!”
“Do you really mean that you make no other exception, monsieur? It must
be very melancholy to think that no one can ever have a friendly feeling
for one!”
Paul made no reply; he remained standing in front of the young woman;
but he gazed fixedly at his dog and seemed to be studying the contented
expression that he read in his eyes.
“Monsieur,” said Honorine after a moment, “if you care to rest a while,
this tree trunk on which I am sitting is quite large enough for two. I
do not ask you to come into the house, although it is within a few
steps; for, as you have never deigned to accept our invitations, I am
bound to presume that they do not please you.”
Ami’s master made no reply, but he seated himself on the tree trunk,
beside the young woman; and his dog, who had followed him with his eyes,
stretched out one of his paws and rested it on his master, looking at
him with an expression of the greatest satisfaction.
Honorine waited expecting that her neighbor would speak to her, but he
maintained silence and seemed absorbed in his reflections.
The young woman, who was very desirous to talk, decided to begin.
“Have you lived in this part of the country long, monsieur?”
“A little more than nine years, madame.”
“And you live alone on your estate?”
“Practically alone.”
“You abandoned the world very young.”
“One finds it easy to leave what one despises!”
“Oh! pray let me believe, monsieur, that that contempt does not include
the whole world.”
“Doubtless there are exceptions, madame; but I have been so cruelly
tried, that I am quite justified in entertaining a bad opinion of men.”
“And of women too, perhaps?”
“Of women even more!”
“Really? And because one woman deceived you, you despise them all! Allow
me to tell you, monsieur, that all women are not alike!”
“They have all been alike to me, however!”
“Ah! you have been deceived by several?”
“So long as it is only a matter of pleasure--of follies, if you
will--one can always make excuses, forgive; but there is a kind of
treachery that reaches the heart, that has deplorable, heartrending
consequences, and that leads to irreparable disasters! Ah! that sort of
treachery one never forgives!”
“No; but one pours out his grief upon the bosom of a friend, who
comforts one, who strives to make one forget one’s suffering, or at
least to alleviate it.”
“I have never met one of those friends!”
“How could you have met them, since you shun all society, all
companionship?”
“I have the companionship of my dog. He loves me; he won’t betray me,
will you, Ami?”
In reply to this question, Ami, whose left paw was still resting on his
master, pricked up his ears, lifted his right paw and laid it on
Honorine’s lap.
“On my word, Ami, you are getting to be too familiar,” said Paul,
putting out his hand to remove the paw; but Honorine stopped him.
“Do let the dog alone. He loves me too, you see. Does that displease
you?”
“No--no--madame; but----”
“Does it surprise you?”
“I confess that--knowing you such a short time----”
“You do not understand the friendship that your dog displays for me. But
the very first time that he saw Agathe, he fawned upon her and caressed
her; that was much more singular!”
“It was indeed; and I have often wondered, but in vain, what could be
the source of Ami’s affection for a person he had never seen.”
“I should suppose, monsieur, that you would divine more readily this
honest and faithful servant’s instincts; at least, after what I have
heard.”
“What have you heard, madame?”
“That your dog had the gift of divining at once the sentiments with
which a person regarded his master; and that, as a result of that
instinct, he greeted your enemies far from cordially, that he growled
and barked at people whom you had reason to distrust; while, on the
contrary, he showed much affection for those who were disposed to feel
a--a sincere affection for you.”
Honorine almost stammered in her utterance of these last words.
Paul fixed his eyes on the young woman’s sweet and sympathetic features,
and his brow, ordinarily clouded, seemed to clear; one would have said
that for the first time during a long period his heart beat fast under
the impulse of a pleasurable sensation.
“It is true, madame,” he said after a moment’s silence, “that my dog has
often afforded proofs of that peculiar instinct; but had I not the right
to doubt the accuracy of his second sight in this instance? How could I
suppose that you could entertain the slightest affection for me? I have
done nothing to deserve it.”
“You forget, monsieur, that you have twice established a claim to our
gratitude--on the two evenings of the cow and the storm. What would have
become of us but for you?”
“Anyone would have done as much as I did.”
“I see, monsieur, that you have made up your mind that you will see only
evil-minded, false, treacherous people in all who surround you.”
“Oh! madame!”
“But your efforts are vain; your dog, who knows what to believe, will
always look upon us as his friends. Look; see how he gazes at me; he
seems to express approval of my words; if he continues to show such
friendliness to me, you will distrust him too, will you not, monsieur?”
“Ah! madame, far from it; on the contrary, I shall think that I have at
last found what I believed it to be impossible to find--a true friend!”
At that moment Agathe appeared at the little gate.
“Honorine!” she called; “Honorine! are you there?”
“Here I am,” said the young woman, rising; “I was not far away.”
“I have been looking for you everywhere; I was worried about you. Ah!
here’s Ami; good-day, brave dog!”
Ami had left his place to run to meet Agathe, who then spied the owner
of the Tower.
She bowed affably to him, saying:
“Had I known that monsieur was with you, I shouldn’t have been alarmed,
as he is always our protector.”
“I have done nothing yet to earn that title,” said Paul, returning
Agathe’s bow. “But I should esteem myself very fortunate, mademoiselle,
if I could ever be of any real service to you.”
As he finished speaking, he bowed to the two friends and left them,
motioning to his dog to follow him, which he did not make up his mind to
do until he had trotted back several times to the young women, to fawn
upon them and wag his tail.
XI
AN AMAZON
Two days later, Père Ledrux was working in Madame Dalmont’s little
garden. Humming as usual, he approached the two friends, who were
sitting amid a clump of trees.
“Well!” he said, “here’s more fine folks in the place; ah! but these are
regular bigwigs, so it seems; even bigger than Madame Droguet!”
“Whom are you talking about, Père Ledrux?” asked Honorine.
“The folks who’ve bought the house with the goldfish.”
“What!” cried Agathe, “is there a house with goldfish in this
village--and we didn’t know it?”
“Bless me! mamzelle, when it was for sale, nobody thought much about it;
it was too dear for the natives here. It’s a splendid place, with a park
and an English garden and a kitchen garden.”
“And goldfish apparently?”
“Yes, mamzelle; a big pond full of ‘em.”
“And you know who has bought the place?”
“Pardi! everybody in Chelles knows.”
“You see that that isn’t so, Père Ledrux, for we don’t know a word about
it.”
“The buyers are Monsieur and Madame de Belleville--man and wife; both
young. The lady’s a fine woman, and she’s always dressed up--my
word!--as if she was going to a wedding.”
“Really? then they are living here?”
“Oh, yes! they’ve been here for the last ten or twelve days----”
“Oh! I’ve seen the lady, I have,” said Poucette, coming forward; “I’ve
seen her several times--for the last three days you don’t see anything
but her riding by here on horseback. Anyone would think it was our house
she wanted to see; she rides in front of it and behind it, and she looks
over the garden wall; that’s easy, on horseback!--She’s got a fine blue
cloth habit, with a long skirt that hides her horse’s tail, and a man’s
round hat. You ought to see how well she sits on her horse! Oh! she
ain’t afraid, that lady ain’t! you can see that right off.”
“Is she pretty?”
“Faith, mamzelle, you can’t say that she ain’t good-looking; but with
her great black eyes, when she looks at you, you’d think she wanted to
frighten everybody. She’s got a bold, haughty way! for my part, I don’t
like such ways.”
“When you see this beautiful amazon again, Poucette, call me; I am
curious to see her.”
“All right, mamzelle; I’ll bet she’ll ride by again to-day; for I tell
you she always rides round the house and then comes back this way.”
“That’s rather strange, don’t you think so, Honorine?”
“For my part, I see nothing extraordinary about it, my dear girl; this
lady comes to live in a part of the country that she isn’t familiar
with, and she goes out in the saddle; that’s the best way of becoming
acquainted with the neighborhood. If she looks at the houses, it’s
because she wants to know the people who live in them.”
“But why does she pass our house so often? why does she ride round it?”
“She passes it, no doubt, because it’s on her road when she goes out to
ride. Poucette thinks that she rides round it; probably that is because
it’s her shortest way home.”
“You always think that everything’s all right. Still, I am very curious
to see this beautiful equestrian.”
“And I am not in the least, I assure you.--By the way, you don’t mention
the husband; doesn’t he ride too?”
“Oh, no!” said the gardener; “the husband don’t know how to sit a horse
very well, it seems; the first day Madame de Belleville went out to
ride, her husband thought he’d go with her. So he took a horse, but he
didn’t look as if he was very comfortable on him. ‘My dear love,’ he
sings out to his wife, ‘please don’t go so fast! I’ve got out of the
habit of galloping.’--But whether his wife didn’t hear him, or whether
her horse wouldn’t stop, she was off like a flash in an instant.
Monsieur de Belleville tried to overtake her, but _patatras_!--off he
went, head over heels. He got up and went home, limping a little and
swearing he’d never get on a horse again; but that don’t prevent
madame’s going every day.”
“She has a servant follow her, of course?”
“No, she always goes alone. As Poucette says, she ain’t afraid. It seems
there’s to be a dinner-party to-morrow, given by the owner of Goldfish
Villa; all the bigwigs of the place are invited--the Droguets and
Remplumés and Jarnouillards; you don’t hear anybody talking about
anything else. Perhaps it’s to invite you that Madame de Belleville
rides round your house the way she does.”
“Oh! no, Père Ledrux; it can’t be for that. In the first place, one
doesn’t go on horseback to pay a ceremonious visit; and in the second
place, we are not bigwigs, and as this lady chooses to make friends of
all the people who talk ill of us, it is probable that we shall never
make friends with her. But if you hear any more gossip, Père Ledrux,
about Monsieur Edmond Didier’s frequent visits to us, I authorize you to
say that there is nothing surprising in the fact of a young man’s
paying court to the person he is to marry; for Monsieur Edmond and
Agathe are engaged.”
“Well, well! I had a suspicion of that!” cried the gardener; “I says to
myself: ‘That young man and that girl--hum! it might well be--they’re
both very good-looking!’--But, you understand, I just said that to
myself, by way of reflection; for it don’t concern me, it’s none of my
business.--I’ll just go and take a look at your hens; it’s as sure as
can be that the black one fights with the others; if you don’t eat her,
I’ll have to take her away; she makes the others too miserable.”
“We don’t eat the hens whose eggs we have eaten; take her away, Père
Ledrux.”
“Well! you understand, it’s in your interest; she’d spoil all the
others.”
Père Ledrux went off to the hencoop, and Honorine had returned to the
house, when Poucette came running to Agathe, crying out:
“Mamzelle, here she is, she’s coming this way.”
“Who? the amazon?”
“Yes, she’s on the narrow road, at the end of the garden; you can see
her nicely from the summer-house.”
“Let us go there then!”
Agathe was soon at the window of the summer-house, and Poucette, who had
followed her, pointed to a lady on horseback, coming from Gournay, and
riding her horse at a gallop, with a poise and boldness worthy of a
circus rider.
Thélénie was dressed in a beautiful habit of light blue broadcloth; on
her head was a man’s hat, with a very broad brim, set a little on one
side, and adorned with a waving mass of black ribbons. Her lovely black
hair fell in corkscrew curls on each side of her face, and her great
gleaming eyes shone with wonderful brilliancy beneath her hat-brim. She
held in her right hand a dainty riding-crop, with which she lashed her
horse vigorously when he showed signs of relaxing his pace.
Agathe gazed with unwearying admiration at the beautiful equestrian; she
leaned from the window in order to see her better, saying to Poucette:
“Oh! how splendidly she rides! what grace! what fearlessness! She is a
very pretty woman too!”
“Yes, at a distance! but wait till you see her near to.”
As Thélénie drew near Honorine’s house, she saw that there was someone
at the window of the summer-house; instantly she changed her horse’s
gait and brought him down to a walk.
“I can see her much better now,” said Agathe; “she has stopped galloping
and is coming very slowly.”
“I guess she’s walking her horse so that she can see you better. Just
see how she stares at you, mamzelle! wouldn’t you think she wanted to
bury her eyes in your face?”
“That is true; she is looking at me so attentively!--I don’t think her
so pretty now.”
“There! I knew it! She has a very wicked look, that fine lady has!”
“See; she is turning round to look at me.”
“If I was you, mamzelle, I’d stick out my tongue at her.”
“She is going on at last; I’m glad of that!”
“Never mind; she’ll know you another time!”
“Really, I can’t understand how a person can stare at one in that way!”
“And with such a look! anyone would think she’d have liked to beat you!
I say, mamzelle, I’m sure that if Monsieur Edmond had seen that woman
stare at you like that, he’d have gone out and said to her: ‘What
business have you to look at my intended like that? Do you know her? Do
you want anything of her?’”
“That is very likely; but I shan’t mention that woman to Edmond! After
all, if she doesn’t find me to her taste, so much the worse for her!
it’s all the same to me.”
“She must be pretty hard to suit! For my part, I think she finds you too
good-looking, and that’s what vexed her.”
“How foolish you are, Poucette! what difference can it make to her
whether I am good-looking or not?”
“Look you, mamzelle! that handsome amazon probably says to herself when
she comes here to live: ‘I shall be the prettiest woman in the place;
everybody will admire me!’ Especially as she’s mighty particular about
her dress.--Well, you understand, so long as she don’t see anybody but
the Droguets and Remplumés and Jarnouillards, she might well think
herself the handsomest woman in the place; but now that she’s seen you,
it’s another story.”
Agathe went to Honorine and told her what had happened, and described
the impertinent way in which the new owner of Goldfish Villa had stared
at her. Whereat Madame Dalmont began to laugh, saying:
“That serves you right! You were so curious to see this woman and now
you are well paid for your curiosity.”
“Never mind, my dear; if I meet this Madame de Belleville again, and she
stares at me as she did just now, I shall ask her what she wants of me.”
“You will be very foolish, Agathe; when people behave impertinently, the
best way to mortify them is to pay no attention.”
Since her conversation with the owner of the Tower, Honorine had gone
out quite frequently to sit on the tree trunk under the walnut. She
declared that from there the view was very extensive, while Agathe
maintained that it was quite as fine from the window of the
summer-house. So that Madame Dalmont almost always selected the hours
when her young friend was practising on the piano, to open the little
gate and go out into the road. Did she hope to meet there again the
excellent dog, who had shown her so much affection? or was it his master
whom she hoped to see? But there was no sign of Paul or of his dog.
By way of compensation, the one engrossing subject of conversation in
the neighborhood was the dinner given at Goldfish Villa. Père Ledrux
and Poucette repeated to the two friends what was said in Chelles on
that subject.
“It was a magnificent affair.”
“Besides the notable people from this region, there were lots of people
from Paris, men especially, all of the best tone and of the most perfect
refinement! Some smoked at dessert, but it was only to change the air.”
“They had things to eat that no one knew the names of, and wines to
drink that looked like liqueurs.”
“There was a most beautiful porcelain service. A servant broke a plate
on Monsieur Jarnouillard’s head; but it did nothing but spoil his coat,
which was spoiled already.”