During this quarter of a year Marietta had other affairs to attend to.
The cup gave her much vexation and trouble, and something else besides.
For a fortnight nothing else was talked of in Napoule, and every one
said it is a present from the justice, and the marriage is already
agreed upon. Marietta solemnly declared to all her companions that she
would rather plunge to the bottom of the sea than marry the justice,
but the maidens continued to banter her all the more, saying: “Oh, how
blissful it must be to repose in the shadow of his nose!” This was her
first vexation.
Then Mother Manon had the cruelty to force Marietta to rinse out the
cup every morning at the spring under the rock and to fill it with fresh
flowers. She hoped by this to accustom Marietta to the cup and heart of
the giver. But Marietta continued to hate both the gift and giver, and
her work at the spring became an actual punishment.
Second vexation.
Then, when in the morning, she came to the spring, twice every week she
found on the rock, immediately over it, some most beautiful flowers,
handsomely arranged, all ready for the decoration of the cup. And on the
flower-stalks a strip of paper was always tied, on which was written,
“Dear Marietta.” Now no one need expect to impose upon little Marietta
as if magicians and fairies were still in the world. Consequently she
knew that both the flowers and papers must have come from Monsieur
Hautmartin. Marietta, indeed, would not smell them because the living
breath from out of the justice’s nose had perfumed them. Nevertheless
she took the flowers, because they were finer than wild flowers, and
tore the slip of paper into a thousand pieces, which she strewed upon
the spot where the flowers usually lay. But this did not vex Justice
Hautmartin, whose love was unparalleled in its kind as his nose was in
its kind. Third vexation.
At length it came out in conversation with Monsieur Hautmartin that
he was not the giver of the beautiful flowers. Then who could it be?
Marietta was utterly astounded at the unexpected discovery. Thenceforth
she took the flowers from the rock more kindly; but, further, Marietta
was--what maidens are not wont to be--very inquisitive. She conjectured
first this and then that young man in Napoule. Yet her conjectures were
in vain. She looked and listened far into the night; she rose earlier
than usual But she looked and listened in vain. And still twice a week
in the morning the miraculous flowers lay upon the rock, and upon the
strip of paper wound round them she always read the silent sigh, “Dear
Marietta!” Such an incident would have made even the most indifferent
inquisitive. But curiosity at length became a burning pain. Fourth
vexation.