side, and a charming smile lighted up her features. Her beautiful hair,
fluttering in the wind, caressed Frédéric's face, and she laughed as she
drew it away. But he passed an arm about her waist, and held that lovely
head against his heart. His eyes exchanged tender glances with Sister
Anne's; his lips touched her cheeks, and the pretty dumb girl's sweet
breath mingled with the air he breathed; are not such moments the
sweetest in love, the happiest in life?
They passed thus a great part of the day. Frédéric remained in the
woods, where Sister Anne brought him fruit and milk, so that he need not
go to the village. Already the girl dreaded to have him leave her. She
ran again and again to the cabin to see if Marguerite needed her; but
the good old woman slept much of the day, and Sister Anne soon ran back
to her new friend.
Toward evening, she remained longer with her adopted mother. Meanwhile,
Frédéric went down to the stream and waited for her there, his notebook
making the time pass quickly. When the girl surprised him writing, she
heaved a profound sigh, and, looking sadly down at herself, seemed to
say:
"I don't know anything; I never shall know anything."
"I will be your teacher," said Frédéric, in reply to her unspoken
thoughts; "I will teach you to speak on paper."
At nightfall, the young man left his friend, who accompanied him sadly
to his horse, and whose eyes said:
"Until to-morrow!"
A week passed away. Every morning at daybreak Frédéric left Grenoble,
and rode to Vizille on the first horse he found in the inn stable. He
passed the whole day with Sister Anne, and left her at nightfall.
When he was away from the dumb girl, Frédéric barely existed, and Sister
Anne was no longer happy except when she was with him. Love had taken
possession of her heart, without any resistance from her; it had made
its appearance embellished by so many charms! why should she repel that
sentiment which made her happy? Frédéric possessed every element of
seduction; he kept telling her that he loved her and would love her all
his life; she did not for one moment doubt his oaths; she did not know
what inconstancy was. Why should he lie to her? She abandoned herself to
the joy of loving. Her mouth could utter no loving words, but her eyes
told him all that was taking place in her heart, and a single one of her
glances was equal to the most loving protestations.
Frédéric tried to teach her to write, but love constantly interfered
with the lessons he gave her. Seated by her side, pressing her to his
heart, with full liberty to gaze at leisure on her lovely features, her
intoxicating eyes--he stopped, and forgot what he was about to show her.
She looked at him and smiled, and the lesson was forgotten. Frédéric
strained her to his heart, his passions were aroused--but one is timid
with innocence, especially when one loves sincerely.
But the most timid passion grows bold in time; the habit of seeing each
other, of being together, of displaying their mutual affection, drew
them closer together every day. They were always alone in the forest,
and the forest is a very dangerous place for innocence. Could they long
resist their hearts, the flame that consumed them? Frédéric became
daring, and Sister Anne gave herself to him without regret, without
remorse, for it seemed natural to her to make the man happy whom she was
sure that she should love all her life.
In the transports of passion, Frédéric determined not to leave his
sweetheart in order to go to Grenoble to sleep. The eight leagues, going
and coming, kept them apart a few moments longer, and compelled him to
leave her a few moments earlier.
"No," he said, "I do not propose to go away from you any more, not for
an hour, not for a minute. When I cannot see you, why, I will sleep in
the woods, on the grass, near your cabin. As if I could be uncomfortable
there!"
The lovely girl threw her arms about her lover's neck, kissed him, did a
thousand foolish things; her every gesture was eloquent of her
happiness. He would not leave her any more; therefore she would be happy
every minute. The poor child believed that it was possible. Suddenly,
as if struck by a new idea, she led Frédéric to the cabin and pointed to
a window; it was in the room where old Marguerite slept, and close
beside it was another window, in the dumb girl's room; she led Frédéric
there, laid her head on the back of her hand, drew him to her, and gazed
passionately into his face. The young man understood her; he pressed her
to his heart, and cried:
"Yes, I will sleep with you, always by your side! Ah! how happy we shall
be!"
Thus did the child of nature soon discover what would forward her love;
for to love ardently requires neither art nor study; the heart is the
best master. Several times, Sister Anne manifested a wish to present
Frédéric to her adopted mother; she could not understand why he avoided
her, until he said:
"Marguerite would not leave you so entirely at liberty, if she knew that
you saw me every day; on the contrary, she would tell you that you must
avoid me and not speak to me."
These words were enough to prevent Anne from returning to the subject.
Forbid her to see Frédéric! order her to avoid him! why, that would be
condemning her to weep all her life. She felt that she would not have
the strength to obey; so it was much better to conceal her happiness
from Marguerite. The good old woman was growing weaker every day; she
rarely left her chair, where she dozed a great part of the time; so that
it was very easy to conceal the truth from her.
The night succeeded that day on which Frédéric had won the sweetest of
all triumphs and had known the intoxication of a genuine passion. But
the approach of darkness did not drive him forth from the woods; on the
contrary, it was to increase his happiness tenfold.
He did not give a thought to his companions, to their anxiety about him,
or to their embarrassing position since he had all the money; he did not
remember that he had a horse belonging to the inn; he had no thought for
anything on earth but Sister Anne. Not even the memory of his father
interfered to mar his happiness. The present was all in all to him;
Sister Anne engrossed his heart and mind; he had never known a woman who
could be compared with her. Could he find elsewhere in the world so much
beauty, grace, innocence, and love? Her misfortune made her even dearer
to him. Frédéric was very romantic, and he did not look upon love so
lightly as most young men of his years; so that his conduct should
appear less extraordinary to us. And then, too, the dumb girl was so
pretty! In the first transports of love, a cabin, a forest, a desert, is
what all lovers desire; but this intoxication is of short duration. Will
Frédéric be more constant?
In the path by the stream, where they sat together so often, he waited
until old Marguerite should fall asleep. Then Sister Anne was to steal
out of the cabin and come for her lover.
Frédéric tied his horse to an old ruined hovel, where a woodcutter had
once lived, and which he used as a stable.
The moon was shining brightly; it was reflected in the limpid water of
the brook and made the sparse clearings in the wood as light as day.
Frédéric listened intently for his sweetheart's footstep! The time
seemed very long; every minute robbed love of a sigh. He tried to look
beneath the black firs and distinguish the cabin. At last he heard a
faint sound: it was she. He could not see her, but his heart told him
that she was near. As light of foot as a fawn, as swift as the hunter's
arrow, as beautiful as happiness, the dumb girl sped through the paths
of that forest, whose every corner she knew. In an instant, she was
beside her lover, who kissed her on the forehead and could not forbear
to gaze long and lovingly at her. He was proud of his good fortune; the
time and place, the joy that shone on her features, the mystery that
surrounded them--all seemed to make Sister Anne lovelier than ever. Her
hair, carelessly caught up so that a part of it played about her neck;
her shapely figure, which a light gown veiled without concealing; and
her eyes, so sweet and so overflowing with love, renewed Frédéric's
transports.
"Come, come," he said; "lead me!"
The girl took his arm and led him through the dense woods. They soon
reached and entered the humble cabin, which had become in his eyes the
most delicious retreat. He shared Sister Anne's bed; how could he envy
those who sleep in palaces? Happy lovers! let us leave them to enjoy
their happiness.
XIII
DUBOURG PLAYS THE GRAND SEIGNEUR ONCE MORE.--NEW ACQUAINTANCES
On the day following Frédéric's first absence, Monsieur Ménard, having
risen early, burst into Dubourg's chamber, crying with a triumphant air:
"I have found it, monsieur le baron; I am certain that I have found it."
"Found what?" said Dubourg, who was just awake; "your receipt for
keeping eggs fresh?"
"No; but what it was that charmed monsieur le comte so yesterday; that
wonderful place where he passed the day."
"Bah! you say you know where he was?"
"Yes! I would stake my head on it!"
"Tell me, then."
"It was the Château de Bayard, which must be in this neighborhood, in
the valley of Grésivaudan."
"The Château de Bayard? Faith! it's quite possible; however, we'll ask
him at breakfast."
But Frédéric did not appear at breakfast. Dubourg summoned one of the
servants.
"Has our companion gone away already?"
"Yes, monsieur, at daybreak; he took the first horse that was ready, and
went off at a gallop."
"Gone again! and left us here, perhaps for the whole day!"
"I am convinced that it's the Château de Bayard that has turned his
head."
"Hum! I'm very much afraid myself that it's some more modern marvel.
However, as we have nothing better to do, let's go and see the ruins of
this château, and we can look for Frédéric there; what do you say,
Monsieur Ménard?"
"I agree with you perfectly, monsieur le baron; but perhaps we shall do
well to carry a pâté or a chicken, for we probably shall not be able to
get a dinner at the château."
"You speak like the grammar, Monsieur Ménard; we will provide ourselves
with supplies; it may not be very chivalrous, but it is prudent.
Besides, we are travelling as amateur troubadours simply; and, however
beautiful a view may be, however imposing a ruin, we belong to that
class of small-minded mortals who must dine every day. Ah! Monsieur
Ménard, we are not romantic! It was very lucky for us that we were not
born in the days of Amadis and the four sons of Aymon."
"Faith! that is true, monsieur le baron; for they didn't know how to
truffle a chicken in those days, or cook _filets de sole au gratin_."
Dubourg inquired the way to the valley of Grésivaudan, Monsieur Ménard
filled his pockets with provisions, and our travellers set forth. They
were told that it was a short three leagues to the Château de Bayard;
but Ménard suggested a halt every half-hour. The baron invariably
complied, and produced a bottle of the best wine he had been able to
find at their inn; Ménard spread his provisions on the turf, on a large
sheet of paper, and the travellers renewed their strength. When Dubourg
caught sight of some tempting fruit, he would climb the tree to obtain
some for dessert; and finally he cut a number of branches and, by
spreading his handkerchief over them, constructed a little tent, so
that they could dine in the shade.
"One would hardly suspect that the man who does this is a noble
palatine!" cried Ménard.
"Why not, pray?" rejoined Dubourg; "the Princess Nausicaa made her own
lye; Augustus's daughters spun their father's robes; Dionysius the
Younger was a school teacher at Corinth; the son of Perseus, King of
Macedonia, was a carpenter at Rome, as Peter the Great was in Holland;
so it doesn't seem to me that I derogate from my rank by making a tent
in Dauphiné."
Monsieur Ménard, having nothing to reply, simply bowed, murmuring:
"_Variant sententiæ._"
At last, our two travellers discovered the ruins of the Château de
Bayard, of which only the four towers remain standing; but they did not
find Frédéric gazing in veneration upon them.
"Well, do you see him, Monsieur Ménard?" said Dubourg.
"The château?"
"No; Frédéric."
"Not yet, monsieur le baron; but let us sit down and rest; unluckily, I
am afraid that this is the last halt that will refresh us much, as our
provisions are near the end, and we have only a quarter of a bottle
left."
"We shall find plenty of springs, Monsieur Ménard."
"But they won't be like those of Cana in Galilee, monsieur le baron."
"Meanwhile, let's finish the bottle and this chicken. We are very well
placed here to enjoy the landscape. This is a charming valley. See,
Monsieur Ménard, what a picturesque effect these mountains make on our
right; they're covered with snow, and that reminds me of Mount Krapach.
See, the snow never melts up there."
"I see, monsieur le baron, that this is our last wing; and I shudder to
think of the walk back."
"We'll go into some house--or a mill; there are plenty of those in this
region."
"Do you mean that you have any money, monsieur le baron?"
"Not a sou; and you?"
"No more."
"The devil! this becomes embarrassing. Think of Frédéric carrying the
cash-box off with him, and leaving us in the lurch, without stopping to
think what will become of us! I am aware that we may live on at the inn,
where we have an open account; but it isn't pleasant to be tied down to
an inn while my gentleman is travelling about the country."
"One thing is certain, monsieur le baron, and that is that walking gives
one an appetite."
"Morbleu! I am beginning to find this travelling decidedly monotonous;
and if I wasn't afraid of my creditors----"
"Your creditors, monsieur le baron?"
"I mean, if I hadn't the creditors of my government to settle with--that
is to say, if---- But, hush! I see somebody--probably people who have
come to inspect these ruins. They must live in the neighborhood, for
they don't look as if they had taken a long walk."
Ménard looked up and saw a man and woman at their left, walking slowly
toward the château. The tutor hastily thrust the bottle and napkin into
his pocket, then he rose and joined Dubourg, who was walking toward the
new arrivals with a graceful swagger which reminded Ménard of their
promenades in the streets of Lyon.
"It seems that monsieur le baron proposes to lay aside his incognito
again," he said to himself. Whereupon, he straightened the ends of his
ruff and assumed a more dignified bearing.
Dubourg had replaced by a very simple round hat the shabby tile which
had been left for him at the false Marquise de Versac's, but he had
retained the little silver tassels on his boots; above all, he had
retained the power to impart to his features an expression befitting the
part he proposed to play. When he approached the couple examining the
ruins, one would have judged from his manners, his voice, his language,
and the way in which he looked about, that he was some foreign nobleman.
The gentleman and lady whom Dubourg seemed disposed to join were dressed
in a style that indicated comfortable circumstances, but which smelt of
the province and of a decided tendency to ostentation. The gentleman,
who seemed to be about fifty years old, wore his hair powdered, and
carried his hat in his hand in order not to disarrange his carefully
curled locks; he had a black coat and trousers, and boots with tops
which fell below the calf; he carried a cane, with which he pointed out
the various objects of interest to his companion; and one could read on
his face extreme self-satisfaction and contentment, heightened by an
important air which, doubtless, he felt in duty bound to maintain.
The lady on his arm was at least forty years old. She had evidently been
comely in the past, but she made the mistake of trying to appear only
twenty; for, despite her mincing manners, her infantile speech, the
curls behind her ear, and those that peeped out from beneath her hat,
and a manner which she strove to render giddy and kittenish, one could
readily see that she had passed her majority.
Dubourg walked toward the château, apparently without noticing the
strangers further than to bow to them; he made a pretence of continuing
his conversation with Ménard, speaking so loudly that he could be heard
at some distance.
"This château reminds me of my grandfather's in the neighborhood of
Sandomir. You know, my dear Ménard, the one where we endured such a long
and bloody siege?"
Ménard opened his eyes as he met Dubourg's, but he instantly replied:
"Yes, monsieur le baron, I know."
"That tower yonder," continued Dubourg, "is very like the one on the
western side of my castle of Krapach. I can imagine that I am still in
the room where the Prince of Bulgaria slept, when he came to break bread
with my father. Ah! my dear Ménard, I hope soon to give you some of that
famous tokay I have told you of."
"Tekely's tokay, monsieur le baron?"
"The same; it has been a hundred and twenty-four years in bottle!"
The gentleman and lady heard every word spoken by Dubourg, who kept on
toward the château, pretending to examine it, but taking care not to go
too far away from them.
While Dubourg was speaking, the gentleman listened intently; his face
soon assumed an expression of respectful consideration; he nudged his
wife,--for his companion was his wife,--and, pointing to Dubourg,
motioned to her to walk a little faster to overtake the illustrious
foreigner.
At the foot of one of the towers, they found themselves in close
proximity to our two travellers, who were just about to enter the ruins.
Dubourg stopped, to allow the lady to go first; her husband paid him the
same attention, and even bowed low to Ménard. These ceremonies duly
performed, they entered into conversation.
"Does monsieur visit our country as an observer?" the husband asked
Dubourg.
"Yes, monsieur; I am travelling--for my pleasure--with a friend of mine,
the Comte de Montreville, of whom you may have heard, and Monsieur
Ménard, a distinguished professor of literature and a Hellenist of the
first order, who improvises poetry like an angel--especially at
dessert."
The gentleman bowed to Ménard, who looked like an idiot when Dubourg
said that he improvised readily, but he was very careful not to
contradict him, none the less.
"Do you live in this province, monsieur?" queried Dubourg.
"Yes, monsieur," the lady replied, with a gracious smile. "We live two
leagues and a half from here, at Allevard, where my husband bought a
superb estate when he retired from the wine trade."
At this point, the gentleman nudged his wife, but she continued,
apparently without noticing the hint:
"A trade we carried on for our pleasure, for my husband has always had a
very handsome fortune; but one must do something."
"What do you say, madame? For my own part, I have a great esteem for
trade, especially the wine trade. Certainly Noah didn't plant the vine
with the idea that we should eat nothing but dried grapes. Gideon, a
Hebrew captain, threshed his own grain, Saul was a cowherd, David a
shepherd, Cincinnatus ploughed his own fields, Pope Sixtus V kept pigs,
and Urban IV was once a cobbler; so I can see nothing surprising in the
fact that your husband once sold wine."
"Surely not, monsieur," said the husband, bowing low to Dubourg.--"He's
a noble philosopher," he whispered to his wife.
"But since we retired," continued the lady, "we associate with only the
best people in the province: the mayor and his clerk, and landowners who
are electors--aristocratic people. We lead a delightful life; my husband
is almost the lord of the district."
"I certainly am looked upon in that light," added the husband, leaning
on his cane. "It was in my power to be sub-prefect; but I should have
had to move, and I am attached to my present home. We are so highly
considered there! I entertain all the best people at dinner; we
cultivate music and the arts--I am learning the violin just now; I have
had a cabinet organ sent from Paris. My wife will play it; she has a
fine ear."
"Pardieu!" said Dubourg; "talking of ear, Monsieur Ménard here has one
of the finest bassos I know? As for myself, I play all instruments."
"Ah! monsieur," said the lady, with a smirk, "what a pleasure it would
be to hear you! We have lots of amateur musicians at Allevard: monsieur
le maire plays the bass-viol, and one of our neighbors is very strong on
the hunting-horn. If monsieur should remain any length of time in this
vicinity, we should be charmed to entertain him."
This invitation was accompanied by a very tender smile; Dubourg replied
with an expressive glance, and the husband, well pleased, meekly lowered
his eyes, while Ménard looked at his companion to find out what he was
to say.
"Faith! madame," rejoined Dubourg, after their exchange of glances had
lasted for some minutes, during which the husband contemplated the
swallows, "it may be that my friends and I will remain some time at
Grenoble. Monsieur le Comte de Montreville has a very pronounced liking
for the banks of the Isère, and I am too fond of him to go away without
him. We are like Orestes and Pylades, except that we are never seen
together; and although we are expected at the court of Sardinia, and I
have promised to pass the winter at the court of Bulgaria, it is
possible, as I say, that our sojourn in this province may be prolonged
for some time;--isn't that so, Monsieur Ménard?"
"I think as you do, monsieur le baron," said Ménard; whereupon the lady
whispered to her husband:
"How affable he is for a baron!"
And the husband replied:
"He is affable just because he is a baron."
"Especially," continued Ménard, who had assumed a more important air
since he had learned that their new acquaintance was a former dealer in
wines, "especially as Monsieur le Comte de Montreville, my pupil, is of
an exceedingly romantic turn."
"Ah! he is like me! he is just like me!" said the lady, with a sigh
addressed to Dubourg; "I care for nothing but the romantic. I am mad
over ghosts and elves--am I not, Monsieur Chambertin?"
"Yes, my wife has always been very fond of spirits," Monsieur Chambertin
replied, with a smile.
"She had no lack of them with you," rejoined Dubourg.
"True, I had them all the way from twenty-four degrees to seventy."
"If madame should ever come to Poland," said Dubourg, "I trust that she
will not fail to pass a few days at my castle of Krapach. She will see
phantoms of all colors there; it's not so cheerful a place of residence
as my castle at Cracow, but I would not part with it for two millions!
And yet, it brings me nothing but snow; but I have my reasons for being
attached to it--eh, Monsieur Ménard?"
"Peste! I should say so! a castle where you have entertained----"
"Hush, be still, Ménard; that doesn't interest Monsieur and Madame
Chambertin."
"I beg your pardon," said Chambertin, bowing once more; "we are too
flattered to make the acquaintance of a Polish nobleman--for I think
that monsieur le baron is a Pole?"
"From my birth," replied Dubourg, turning his head away so that Ménard
might have an opportunity to say to them in an undertone:
"Monsieur le Baron Ladislas Potoski, Palatine of Rava and Sandomir."
When he heard those titles, the former wine merchant was like one
stupefied; he dared not take a step forward or back, while Madame
Chambertin twisted her mouth in every conceivable way, and did her
utmost to do away with it altogether, in order to seduce the Palatine of
Rava.
"Did you come here to see the ruins?" queried Dubourg, after giving his
name and titles time to produce their due effect.
"Yes," replied Monsieur Chambertin; "we have not seen them yet, and one
should be acquainted with his neighborhood. This Bayard must have had a
very fine château, to judge by what is left of it; but he was a very
good sort of man."
"He was a chevalier, wasn't he, my dear?" said Madame Chambertin, in a
mincing tone.
"Yes, my love; a chevalier of the time of Louis XIV."
At that, Monsieur Ménard coughed and glanced slyly at Dubourg.
"I like to see antiquities," continued Chambertin, "ancient monuments;
they're interesting when one has a certain amount of education. Is
monsieur le baron here for the same purpose?"
"Faith! we were in a decidedly bad humor when we met you," said Dubourg;
"we walked here from Grenoble, as we were told that it was a short three
leagues, and I didn't care to wear out my horses in this mountainous
country; but I hoped to find some decent inn hereabout, where we could
dine; or at least some means of getting to the nearest village; I
offered some peasants as much as six gold pieces to obtain a horse for
me, and not one of the knaves moved.--Isn't that so, Ménard?"