About three weeks had elapsed since the death of M. Bastien had been
announced.
So many violent and contrary emotions had complicated Marie's disease,
and rendered it still more dangerous. For two days her condition had
been almost desperate, then by degrees it improved, thanks to the skill
of Doctor Dufour and the ineffable hope from which the young woman drew
enough force, enough desire to live, to combat death.
At the end of a few days the convalescence of Marie began, and although
this convalescence was necessarily tedious and demanded the most careful
attention, for fear of a relapse more to be dreaded than the disease
itself, all alarm had ceased.
Is it necessary to say that since the announcement of the death of M.
Bastien, David and Marie had not uttered one word which made allusion to
their secret and assured hopes?
These two pure souls had the exquisite bashfulness of happiness, and
although the death of Jacques Bastien could not be regretted, David and
Marie respected religiously his ashes, which were scarcely cold, however
unworthy of respect the man had been.
The illness of Madame Bastien, and the fears entertained so many days
for her life, produced a sincere sorrow in the country, and her recovery
a universal joy; these testimonials of touching sympathy, addressed as
much to Frederick as to his mother, and the consciousness of a future
which had, so to speak, no fault save that of being too bright,
confirmed and hastened the convalescence of Marie, who, at the end of
three weeks, felt only an excessive weakness which prevented her leaving
her chamber.
As soon as her condition was no longer critical, she desired Frederick
to undertake the studies planned for him by David, and to receive a part
of them in her apartment, and she experienced an indescribable delight
in seeing, united under her eyes, those two beings so much loved, and
from whom she had so dreaded to be separated. Her presence at these
lessons gave her a thousand joys. First the tender, enlightened interest
of David, then the indomitable enthusiasm of the young man, who longed
for a glorious, illustrious destiny, that he might be the pride and joy
of his mother, and satisfy his ambitious envy, whose purified flame
burned within him more than ever.
It had been decided by common consent that Frederick should first enter
the Polytechnic School, and that from there, according to his
inclination, he should follow one of those numerous careers opened to
him by this encyclopaedical school,--war, the navy, art, letters, or
science.
These few words will give an insight, somewhat incomplete, into the
ideal felicity in which these three tender and noble creatures lived
from the moment that Marie's condition ceased to inspire fear; a
felicity altogether new to all, since, even in the happy days which
followed Frederick's recovery, the coming of M. Bastien, often
forgotten, yet always imminent, would appear on their bright horizon
like a threatening cloud.
At this time, on the contrary, as far as the view of Marie and David and
Frederick could extend, they beheld an azure sky of such serene
splendour that its almost limitless magnificence sometimes dazzled them.
* * * * *
Three weeks had elapsed since the announcement of the death of M.
Bastien.
Two o'clock had just sounded, and Frederick, assisted by Marguerite and
old Andre, was filling the vases on the chimneypiece in the library with
snowdrops, pale Bengal roses, winter heliotropes, and holly branches,
ornamented with their coral berries. In the middle of the mantel, a
portrait of Frederick, an admirable likeness done in pastel by David,
was placed on an easel; a bright fire burned in the chimney, and on a
table were preparations for a simple and rustic collation.
The three accomplices, as they were jestingly called, who presided at
the preparations for this little festivity, or, in a word, this surprise
party, were walking about on tiptoe and whispering, for fear Madame
Bastien might suspect what was taking place. That day, for the first
time since her illness, the young woman was to come out of her chamber
and remain several hours in the library. Frederick also, and the two old
servants, tried to give an air of mirth to this room, and David, without
Marie's knowledge, was busy with Frederick's portrait, which she was to
see that day for the first time.
During the mysterious coming and going, Marie was alone in her chamber
with David.
The young woman clothed in mourning, half recumbent on a sick-chair,
with silent happiness contemplated David, seated at a work-table and
occupied in correcting one of Frederick's exercises.
Suddenly David, pursuing his reading, said, in a low voice:
"It is incomprehensible!"
"What is incomprehensible, M. David?"
"The really remarkable progress of this child, madame. We have been
studying geometry only three weeks, and his aptitude for the exact
sciences develops with the same rapidity as his other faculties."
"If I must tell you, M. David, this aptitude in Frederick astonishes me;
it seems to me that those studies which require imagination and
sentiment are what he would prefer."
"And that, madame, is what surprises and charms me. In this dear child
everything obeys the same impulse, everything develops visibly, and
nothing is injured. I read to you yesterday his last efforts, which were
really eloquent, really beautiful."
"The fact is, M. David, that there is a striking difference between this
last production and the best things he wrote before this terrible
malady, which, thanks to you will lead to Frederick's regeneration. All
that I now dread for him is excess of work."
"And for that reason, I moderate, as much as I can, his eagerness to
learn, his impatient and jealous enthusiasm, his passionate longing for
the future which he wishes to make illustrious and glorious, and that
future will be his."
"Ah, M. David, what joy, what transport for us, if our anticipations are
realised!"
It is impossible to reproduce the tenderness Marie expressed in those
words, "we--our anticipations," which in themselves revealed the secret
projects for happiness, tacitly formed by Marie and David.
The latter continued:
"Believe me, madame, we will see him great in heart and in intellect.
There is in him an extraordinary energy, which has developed twofold
through this dreaded envy which has so much alarmed us."
"Indeed, on yesterday, M. David, he said to me, cheerfully:
"'Mother, now when I see the castle of Pont Brillant rising in the
distance,--that once made me so unhappy,--I throw upon it only a glance
of friendly regard and defiance.'"
"And you will see, madame, if, in eight or ten years, the name of
Frederick Bastien will not resound more gloriously than that of the
young marquis."
"I have the pride to share your hope, M. David. Guided by us, I do not
know to what height my son may not attain."
"Then after a short silence Marie added:
"But do you know it all seems like a dream? When I think that it is
scarcely two months ago, the evening of your arrival, you were there at
that table, looking over Frederick's exercises, and deploring, like me,
the veil which lay over the mind of this unhappy child."
"Do you recollect, madame, that gloomy, frozen silence, against which
all our efforts proved unavailing?"
"And that might when, crazy with terror, I ran up-stairs to you, to
beseech you not to abandon my son, as if you could have abandoned him."
"Say, madame, is there not a sort of charm in these painful memories,
now that we are in perfect security and happiness?"
"Yes, there is a sad charm in them, but how much I prefer certain hopes!
So, M. David, I will tell you that I have made many plans to-night."
"Let us hear them, madame."
"There is one, very foolish,--really impossible."
"So much the better, they are usually the most charming."
"When our Frederick enters the Polytechnic School, we must be separated
from him. Oh, make yourself easy, I will be brave, on one condition."
"And what is that condition?"
"You are going to laugh at it, because it is so childish, perhaps
ridiculous. Ah, well, I wish we could dwell near him. And if I must
confess all to you, my desire would be to take lodgings opposite the
school, if that is possible. Now you are going to laugh at me."
"I do not laugh at this idea at all, madame; I think it is an excellent
one, because, thanks to this proximity, you will be able to see our dear
boy twice a day, and, besides visits, there will be two long days when
we will have him all to ourselves."
"Really," answered Marie, smiling, "you do not think I am too fond a
mother?"
"My reply is very short, madame. As it is always necessary to provide
for things in the distance, I am going to write to Paris to-day to a
reliable person who will watch for a convenient lodging opposite the
school and engage it for us."
"How good you are!"
"Very easy kindness, really, to share with you the joy of being near our
dear boy."
Marie remained silent a moment; then tears of gratitude filled her eyes
and she said, with inexpressible emotion, as she turned toward David:
"How sweet happiness is!"
And her tearful eyes sought and met the eyes of David; for a long time
they gazed at each other in silent, divine ecstasy. The door of the
chamber opened and Marguerite said to the preceptor, with an air at the
same time joyous and mysterious:
"M. David, will you come, if you please?"
"And my son," asked Marie, "where is he?"
"M. Frederick is busy, madame, very busy," replied Marguerite,
exchanging a glance of intelligence with the preceptor, who was going
out of the door.
"If madame will permit it," said Marguerite, "I will stay with her, in
case she may need something."
"Ah, Marguerite, Marguerite," said the young wife, smiling and shaking
her head, "they are plotting something here."
"Why do you think that, madame?"
"Oh, I am very discerning! Since this morning, such goings and comings I
have heard in the corridor, Frederick is absent during his study hour,
and an unusual noise in the library; so you see--"
"I can assure you, madame, that--"
"Good! good! you are taking advantage of my condition," said Marie,
smiling. "They all know that I cannot walk about and see myself what is
happening out there."
"Oh, madame, what do you think?"
"Well, Marguerite, I think it is a surprise."
"A surprise, madame?"
"Come, my good Marguerite, tell me all about it, I beg you; then I shall
be happier sooner, and so I shall be happier a longer time."
"Madame," said Marguerite, heroically, "that would be treason."
At that moment old Andre opened the door half-way, put his head in,
looking very radiant and mysterious, and said to the servant:
"Marguerite, they want to know where is the thing that--that--"
"Ah, my God! he is going to say some foolishness; he never does anything
else!" cried Marguerite, running to the door, where she conversed some
moments with Andre in a low tone, after which she came back to her
mistress, who said to her, smiling:
"Come, Marguerite, since you are relentless, I am going to see for
myself."
"Madame, you think so? You are not able yet to walk after such an
illness."
"Do not scold me, I submit; I will not spoil the surprise, but how
impatient I am to know!"
The door of the library opened again.
It was David, Frederick, and Doctor Dufour.
Marguerite went away, after having whispered to Frederick:
"M. Frederick, when you hear me cough behind the door, all will be
ready."
And the old servant went out.
At the sight of the doctor, Madame Bastien said, cheerfully:
"Oh, now that you are here, my good doctor, I do not doubt any longer
that there is a conspiracy."
"A conspiracy?" answered Doctor Dufour, affecting astonishment, while
David and Frederick exchanged a smile.
"Yes, yes," replied Marie. "A surprise they are preparing for me. But I
warn you that surprises are very dangerous to poor invalids like me, and
you had a great deal better tell me beforehand."
"All that I can tell you, my dear impatient and beautiful invalid, is
that we have agreed that to-day is the day when you must make an attempt
to walk alone for the first time, and that it is my duty, yes, madame,
my duty to assist this exertion of your powers."
Scarcely had the doctor uttered these words, when they heard Marguerite
cough with great affectation behind the door.
"Come, mother," said Frederick to his mother, tenderly, "have courage
now, we are going to take a long walk in the house."
"Oh, I feel so strong that you will be astonished," replied Marie,
smiling and trying to rise from her sick-chair, and succeeding with
great difficulty, for she was very weak.
It was a beautiful and pathetic picture.
Marie, having risen, advanced with an uncertain step, David at her
right, the doctor at her left, ready to sustain her if she fainted,
while Frederick, in front of her, was slowly walking backward, holding
out his arms, as one does to a child that is attempting his first steps.
"You see how strong I am!" said the young woman, stepping slowly toward
her son, who smiled upon her with tenderness. "Where are you going to
take me?"
"You are going to see, mother."
Frederick had scarcely uttered these words, when a fearful, terrible
shriek sounded from behind the door.
[Illustration: "SHE SAW HER HUSBAND."]
It was Marguerite. Then the door opened suddenly, and a bantering,
ringing voice said at the same time:
"Make a note of it! The big old fellow is living yet!"
Marie, who was opposite the door, uttered a terror-stricken cry and fell
backward.
She saw her husband Jacques Bastien.