My sister, who was really a most excellent woman,--due allowance being
made for her tendency to be a little obstinate,--was overjoyed that I
had ceased to speak of returning to Paris. She had no mercy on herself
in her endeavors to procure for me what she called new pleasures every
day. She would have been so delighted to induce me to settle at Melun!
From time to time, she would ask my opinion concerning the young women I
had seen the night before; she would dilate in great detail upon the
virtues, talents, and amiable qualities of each one of them; then she
would extol the pleasures of wedded life, the joy of having children,
which, however, did not prevent her shrieking after her boys the next
moment, and disputing with her husband; but it was understood that those
were among the joys of wedded life. Ah! my dear sister! I saw what you
were driving at! you had gone back to your favorite idea; you were
determined, in short, that I should do as others did, for that was your
constant refrain. And then, to negotiate the marriage of one's brother
is an affair of such vast importance in a small town!--What an
exhaustless source of interviews, confidential communications, visits,
parties, new dresses--and, therefore, of pleasure!
For some time I did not allow myself to be tempted. However, I was
beginning to believe that one might as well do as others do, especially
when one has lost that desire to flutter about the fair sex, that
longing for every pretty woman, which is so natural to young men. There
was only one for whom I had had any longing, for many weeks past--but
she had deceived me, so I must needs forget her as well as the rest.
I had noticed for several days that my sister seemed even more content
than usual; I often saw her whispering with Déneterre, who in the end
always did what she wanted him to. They extolled still more warmly the
joys of wedlock, but they said nothing more about any of the young women
I had already seen; they evidently had some new hope; no doubt, I should
soon learn what was in the wind.
"I shall try to make myself look very nice to-night," said Amélie one
day. "You will go with me, won't you, dear Eugène? It's Madame Lépine's
evening,--she was the elector's wife,--and they say there'll be a good
many people there."
"But I seem to see the same persons every time."
"Ah! there'll be some new faces for you to-night; Madame de
Pontchartrain has returned from her place in the country, and she will
be there."
"Who is this Madame de Pontchartrain?"
"A most respectable person, who has an income of seven thousand francs
and is seventy years old."
Very respectable, no doubt; but I could not see why I should be
especially interested in Madame de Pontchartrain. Doubtless I should
learn the answer to the enigma in the evening.
After dinner madame set about dressing. I had thought that Parisian
women were coquettes, but since I had lived in the provinces I had
learned to do justice to the belles of the capital, who passed two hours
less before their mirrors than the beauties of a small town. Déneterre
went off to play pool, and I walked in the garden while my sister was
dressing; for the first time I was vexed by her slowness; I was in a
hurry to arrive at Madame Lépine's--I, who ordinarily accompanied my
sister solely to oblige her; but one sometimes has presentiments.
My sister was ready at last; Déneterre returned, and we started. We soon
reached our destination; in a small town no two houses are far apart. We
were announced in due form; for in the provinces you may not enter a
salon in good society without being announced. I glanced around at the
guests and saw no unfamiliar faces. I was almost angry; but while Madame
Lépine was arranging the different games, I saw my sister go to her and
heard her say:
"My brother won't play cards to-night; don't count on him for boston or
reversis; he prefers the games."
I had not said anything of the sort to her; what did it mean, that she
took that step without consulting me? I was just on the point of
demanding an explanation, when the servant announced:
"Madame de Pontchartrain and her niece."
Aha! there was a niece! I began to understand. All eyes turned toward
the door; I did like everybody else, and I saw a tall, thin, angular,
yellow-skinned woman, who, despite her age, held herself very erect and
seemed to have retained all the vivacity of youth; that was the aunt;
let us say no more of her, but give our attention to the niece.
A flattering murmur ran about the salon as she entered. In truth, she
was very pretty; of medium height, but well set up; and if she was a
little stiff in her carriage, it was the result of her training. Her
features were regular, complexion rosy, hair very beautiful, and eyes
very large; as for their color, I could not as yet discover it, for she
kept them fixed on the floor.
While Madame Lépine went to meet Madame de Pontchartrain and her niece,
and all the young women whispered together as they scrutinized the
newcomer, in whom they were undoubtedly seeking defects which they would
speedily find,--for women are very skilful in detecting at a glance
anything disadvantageous to their rivals,--I noticed that my sister
looked furtively at me, trying to read in my eyes the impression that
Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain had produced on my heart.
Ah! my poor Amélie! my heart was perfectly calm!--calm, do I say? alas,
no! it was not calm as yet, but it was not that young woman who excited
it. I wished that it were; she was very pretty; she might well attract
any man, and I should have been delighted to love her.
The niece's name was Pélagie; I heard her called so by her aunt, who had
taken her seat at a whist table from which she would not stir until it
was time to go home. She urged her niece to enjoy herself, to be less
shy; Pélagie blushed, and replied very gently:
"Yes, aunt."
The young woman seemed to be the personification of innocence.
Madame Lépine took possession of Mademoiselle Pélagie and led her to the
circle formed for the games. I took my place by her side; I was curious
to make the acquaintance of that young novice. I noticed that all the
other young women watched me when they saw me place my chair beside
Pélagie's; jealousy and spite were blazing in their eyes already! In the
provinces, people are so quick to interpret the slightest action, the
slightest indication of preference! But it mattered little to me what
they thought; I was at liberty to do whatever I chose.
How uncharitable young women are to one another! Those who came
regularly to the receptions enjoyed the bashfulness and embarrassment of
the newcomer, and tried to intensify them by putting the most difficult
questions to her in the games and making her do what was likely to
confuse her most. I detected their petty malice, and I tried to put
Mademoiselle Pélagie more at her ease. Once she attempted to thank me,
and began a sentence the end of which I did not hear; but she raised her
eyes an instant, and I was able to see that they were of a very tender
shade of blue, and sweet in expression.
Madame Lépine, who was a very amiable person and did her best to
entertain her guests, asked Madame de Pontchartrain if her niece was
musical.
"Yes, madame," the old aunt replied; "Pélagie sings, and accompanies
herself on the piano."
Immediately all the young women begged Pélagie to sing them something.
They hoped to find food for criticism. Pélagie demurred very awkwardly;
she glanced at her aunt, who gave her a look which clearly signified
_sing_; whereupon she rose; I escorted her to the piano and offered to
accompany her.
"No, monsieur," she said; "I will play my own accompaniment."
Surely any other woman would have thanked me in a different way; but
Pélagie was innocence itself, and I saw that she had not learned to
embellish her speeches.
She sang us an old ballad in six stanzas. The subject was love; but no
one would have suspected it from listening to Pélagie, who imparted
absolutely no expression to her voice or to the instrument. Any Parisian
girl, even when fresh from her boarding school, would have played and
sung much better than that; she would have rolled her eyes gracefully,
whereas this one did not lift them from the keys; she would have put
some soul into the words of love, whereas this one repeated them as
coldly as possible. The comparison at the first blush seemed unfavorable
to Pélagie; but when I reflected that that which prevented her from
performing more brilliantly proved her innocence and virtue, I
considered that her awkwardness was entirely to her credit.
My sister was enraptured. She saw me sit beside Pélagie, speak to her
often, escort her to the piano, and take her back to her chair. That was
more than was necessary to indicate the birth of love; and, of course,
it would naturally end in marriage.
The party came to an end; everybody took their leave; but Amélie found
an opportunity to present me to the great-aunt, who honored me with an
almost affable glance. As I went downstairs, I found myself beside
Pélagie; I could not do otherwise than offer her my hand. She looked at
her aunt; a glance authorized her to accept, and she held out her hand
as awkwardly as possible. I was careful to touch only the tips of her
fingers; I had fallen in with the manners and customs of the town.
However, the ladies lived only a few steps away; so we soon reached
their house, where we left them after the three conventional bows; I
observed, by the way, that Pélagie was very proficient in the matter of
courtesies.
When we reached home, Amélie turned the conversation upon Mademoiselle
Pélagie; I expected it, and I let her talk with her husband. They vied
with each other in extolling her to the skies.
"She's a charming girl!"
"Upon my word, she's the prettiest girl in Melun!"
"And so perfectly well bred!"
"Wonderfully so! a strict education; but what manners! what decorous
behavior in company!"
"She is innocence personified."
"She's an excellent musician."
"And no one would suspect it, because she makes no pretensions."
"Her aunt has no other heir; she's an excellent match!"
"The man who gets her won't make a bad speculation!"
"And he can be sure of his wife's virtue."
Annoyed by my silence, my sister addressed herself to me at last.
"Well, Eugène, tell us what you think of Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain."
"My dear girl, what do you expect me to add to your eulogies of her?"
"Aren't you of our opinion?"
"Why, yes, pretty nearly."
"Oh! you don't choose to admit it, but I saw well enough that you
thought her pretty."
"Pretty; to be sure she is."
"And well bred."
"As to that, I think so, but----"
"In short, she pleased you, my dear brother?"
"Pleased me! oh! come now! I haven't said anything to prove----"
"But I can't see why it isn't perfectly natural. Surely your lady
friends in Paris can't resemble the charming Pélagie?"
"Resemble her! Oh! as to that, I agree with you absolutely."
Amélie seemed quite content; in vain did I tell her that she was
mistaken; she was persuaded that I was in love with Pélagie. Déneterre
kept repeating that it would be an excellent match; and as I could not
make them stop talking, I adopted the expedient of going to bed.
For several days nothing unusual disturbed the even tenor of life under
my sister's roof. Every evening I went with her to some reception; for
when I attempted to stay behind, she always found some way to make me do
as she wished. So that I saw Mademoiselle Pélagie every evening, for she
accompanied her aunt, who never failed to be on hand for her game of
whist or reversis, which she even played in the morning, with three
dowagers who had done nothing else for fifteen years, and in whose eyes
their game was of such importance that one wept when her king was
trumped, and another fell ill because she had discarded the knave of
hearts.
Pélagie took part in the minor games, but she continued to be as shy and
embarrassed as on the first day I saw her. As she was very pretty, the
other young ladies had no mercy on her. Some of the young lady killers
of the town undertook to make to her the pretty, gallant speeches which
men of wit no longer venture to use, because they are too trite. But the
wit of the dandies of Melun seemed to make no impression on Pélagie's
mind; she listened very coldly to their compliments, and made no other
reply than a low bow. The young men, vexed to produce so little effect,
went elsewhere to play the butterfly. I alone remained true to
Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain, and I alone obtained from her replies not
quite so laconic. To be sure, I paid her no embarrassing compliments,
and placed myself on her level by talking with her of the simplest
subjects. She seemed a little less timid with me; she began to raise her
eyes when she answered me; and twice I fancied that she actually smiled
at me. Decidedly I was a favored mortal.
The novelty of this method of making love amused and distracted me. My
heart was still perfectly tranquil in Pélagie's presence; and yet, since
I had known her I had thought less of Nicette. The young innocent filled
my thoughts, and, while I had no love for her, I liked to be with her;
her pretty face did no harm, but her shyness and her artlessness
attracted me even more.
My sister had ceased to talk about her, but I saw she was well pleased.
The great-aunt treated me very affably; she interrupted her game
sometimes to inquire for my health; which fact indicated the
extraordinary favor with which she regarded me. The young ladies, it
must be said, no longer evinced the same interest in me, manifested much
less pleasure at my arrival, and did not make me pay a forfeit at the
kissing stage of their games; but as I attached no value to the
privilege, I paid no heed to their indifference. The mammas whispered to
one another as they looked at me, while the papas smiled slyly at me;
everything indicated that a great event was expected; I was perhaps the
only one who gave no thought at all to the subject with which the whole
town was agog.
Déneterre was the first to open my eyes.
"When's the wedding to be?" he asked me one evening, rubbing his hands.
"What's that? what wedding?"
"Parbleu! yours!"
"Mine! with whom, pray?"
"With whom! with whom! Ah! you choose to be close-mouthed! But we have
eyes, my dear fellow, and we know what to think."
"But I believe I have eyes, too, and I have seen nothing to imply----"
"Come, come, my dear Eugène," interposed my sister, "why pretend any
longer with us, your best friends? You love Pélagie; what do I say? love
her? you adore her; I am sure of it. The whole town knows it, too; it's
no longer a mystery."
"Oho! the whole town knows that----"
"Yes, my dear. And the young woman has shown her preference for you;
that also is very easy to see: moreover, no one should claim to cut you
out. The aunt considers you a very suitable match; she knew our mother
and she thinks a great deal of our family. When her niece is married,
she will settle three thousand francs a year on her, and leave her the
rest of her property at her death. It seems to me that that is not to be
despised; with what you have now, you will be in comfortable
circumstances, and you will make a charming couple. Tell me, when do you
want me to go to ask for her hand?"
I listened to my sister, and I admit that I was greatly surprised by
what I heard. However, on mature reflection, I realized that my conduct,
which would never have been noticed at Paris, might well, in a small
town, give rise to the conjectures which were relied upon to induce me
to marry Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain.
Amélie and her husband told me so often and so earnestly that I loved
Pélagie, that I began to think that they would end by making me believe
it. And, after all, should I be so badly off if I married that young
innocent? If I was not in love with her, perhaps I should be all the
happier; moreover, I was well aware that I was incapable of a new love;
the most that I could do was to stamp out that which still tormented me
in spite of myself.
Beside the innocent Pélagie, I should pass placid days; she was bashful,
virtuous, well bred; a husband would be able to mould her as he chose.
Friendship, they say, is more durable than love; I would begin with
friendship for my wife, so that I might love her the longer. I should
not be jealous; I should have one less source of torment. I should have
children, whom I would bring up on a very different plan from my
sister's. Finally, having a gentle, guileless, and taciturn wife, we
should have none of those little discussions which Amélie called
conjugal amenities, but which were in my eyes very unpleasant quarrels.
All these reflections produced a state of indecision, which my sister
interpreted in accordance with her favorite idea. Persuaded that I loved
Pélagie secretly, that Pélagie adored me, and that our union would make
me the happiest of husbands and ensure my future peace of mind, Amélie
urged me, harassed me, persecuted me, to induce me to authorize her to
ask for the hand of Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain. At every moment in
the day she drew for me a new picture of the delights of wedded life.
Déneterre did the same; in the first place, to please his wife, and,
secondly, because he thought it would be a good match for me; to cap the
climax, even messieurs my nephews had been taught their lesson, and
every day, as they climbed on my knees or my shoulders, they would say:
"When are you going to invite us to the wedding, uncle?"
I am naturally weak, as you must have noticed; tired of being tormented
from morning till night to marry, I saw that I must either make up my
mind to do it or leave the town, where I was already pointed out as
Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain's future husband.
But if I returned to Paris, what should I do there, tired as I was of
bachelor life, and conscious of a craving to love, to attach myself to
someone, and to detach myself from her whom I had loved so dearly?--No,
I would marry, I would adore my wife if possible, and pray that she
would prove my rock of salvation.
The result of these reflections was that I said one day in response to
my sister's entreaties:
"Do whatever you choose."
Amélie asked no further questions; she threw her arms around me, kissed
me, and, giving me no chance to add a single word, flew to Madame de
Pontchartrain's to sue for Pélagie's hand for her brother. In half an
hour she returned with the answer, which was favorable.
"She gives her to you!" she cried from the foot of the stairs; "she is
yours; everything is agreed upon and settled; to-morrow I will attend to
publishing the banns."
I considered that my sister had been a little too expeditious; it was
impossible now to retract; the request had been made and granted, and I
was bound!--What! I was going to marry Pélagie, whom I hardly knew? It
seemed to me that it must all be a joke; I could not accustom myself to
the idea of being Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain's husband.