that he would do better to go up to Monsieur Malberg’s himself, and
learn what to expect. He wiped his eyes and left the lodge, without
answering the concierge, who asked him if his wife Hildegarde was still
breathing.
Pongo opened the door to the young messenger and leaped for joy when he
saw him.
“Ah! Monsieur Georget! he nice boy, he come to see Pongo.”
“My dear Pongo, Monsieur Malberg is the one I would like to see; it is
he that I have business with; is he in Paris?”
“No, no, me tell concierge so. Big fool, he no understand; he stand
there like a stick.--Master, he in the country, in the pretty house, at
Nogent.”
“He is at Nogent? Oh! I am glad of that, for then I can go there, I can
take my mother there! Monsieur Malberg, who is so kind to us, offered
me employment there long ago, and work for my mother; I refused then,
but to-day I have decided to go; my mother is packing, and she must have
finished by this time; but I don’t know what road to take to go to
Nogent; can you tell me, Monsieur Pongo?”
“You, go to Nogent? Then you come with me. Me going back right away to
master with Mamzelle Zima, what we forgot. Poor Zima! Her not like not
to be in the country. Oh! me very glad if you coming, Monsieur Georget!
You will see what a pretty place it is! Lots of fruit, fine garden,
pretty flowers! Carabi, he play a lot down there; he grow big like a
ball! You go fetch your good mother, and we start right away! I beat
Broubrou, Babo, and all the little rugs! Dem nice and clean now. Me all
ready.”
“I will go and bring my mother and our bundles.”
“Oh! me go up with you, carry all that! The mother, her never carry
nothing.”
And the mulatto, without listening to Georget’s thanks, went up with him
to the attic and took possession so quickly of all the bundles prepared
by Madame Brunoy, that she had no time to remonstrate; Pongo was
downstairs before the good woman had closed her door.
The three travellers passed the concierge’s lodge; Baudoin, who stood in
the doorway, heaved a deep sigh as he said to them:
“God forgive me! I believe the wretched Hildegarde will recover!”
XXIII
IN THE FRESH AIR
When they entered the charming little house at Nogent which belonged to
the Comte de Brévanne, Georget’s mother uttered an exclamation of
pleasure and surprise. In truth, it was difficult for anyone who loves
the country not to be overjoyed to live in such a lovely spot. The
house, which was quite modern, had only two floors, and at the top a
fine terrace, surrounded by vases filled with flowers. But each window
had an artistically carved balcony, with railings of the finest
workmanship.
In front of the house a beautiful lawn with a border of orange trees,
afforded a pleasant relief to the eye. And on each side, broad paths of
lindens afforded during the hottest weather a promenade where the sun
was not allowed to penetrate.
Georget himself, despite the painful thoughts which oppressed his heart,
could not remain indifferent to all the beauties which nature lavished
about him. Those majestic trees, those flower-laden shrubs, that green
lawn, the balmy air, everything appealed to his senses; he felt a sort
of alleviation of his pain, his brow brightened, and for the first time
since his departure from Paris, he looked with interest at his
surroundings.
“What! are we going to live here?” cried Georget’s mother. “Why, it
isn’t possible! it’s too beautiful! This house is a regular château! I
shall never dare to go into it.”
“This not all,” said Pongo; “you’ll see the garden, the orchard, the
kitchen garden, fine fruit, big cabbages, nice sweet little peas--we
have everything! And then the poultry yard--little chickens, pigeons,
ducks, turkeys! Oh! me like roast turkey!”
“This place is a kind of paradise on earth.”
“Monsieur Pongo, it would be very kind of you to go to your master and
tell him that we have come, and ask him if he still wants us; for
perhaps he may have different ideas now.”
“Oh, he want you! he want you! Me go tell him; look, me see him over
there in the garden; me run and take him Mamzelle Zima, to make him
pleased. Wait, wait!”
The mulatto left his travelling companions, to tell his master of their
arrival. Georget remained with his mother, who continued to admire all
that she saw, and walked along the paths with great caution, as if she
were afraid of leaving her footprints there. But from time to time she
glanced at her son, who had relapsed into reverie.
“I mustn’t seem to notice his sadness,” she said to herself; “it will
pass away. At his age, it isn’t possible that it will resist
distractions, and we shall have enough of them here! A month from now I
will wager that he won’t give a thought to his love-affair in Paris!”
The Comte de Brévanne, notified by Pongo, soon appeared to receive the
new arrivals; he greeted Madame Brunoy kindly, and she outdid herself in
reverences; then he tapped Georget on the shoulder, and said to him:
“Well! so we have changed our mind, have we? We are willing to live
somewhere else than in Paris now?”
Georget, who was deeply moved, and seemed constantly on the point of
weeping, replied in a trembling voice:
“Oh, yes! I am very glad, monsieur, very happy now to come here to live
with my mother; that is to say, if you care to take us both.”
“Certainly, my boy, my intention is still the same; I take back nothing
of what I said and I am very glad to have you settle in my house; I
trust that you won’t repent having come.”
“O monsieur!” cried Mère Brunoy, with more reverences, “is it possible
not to be happy here? It seems to me that I have grown ten years younger
already since we have been here. Mon Dieu! such a lovely house! Monsieur
may be sure I’ll do my best to satisfy him.”
“Yes,” added Georget, struggling to master his emotion, “we will work
all the time; in the first place, I wish to show monsieur that I am not
a lazy fellow; I mean to employ my time better than in Paris, for in
Paris I loafed sometimes, but that will not happen again; I shall never
go back to Paris. Monsieur won’t make me go there, will you, monsieur?
You will allow me to stay here all the time, won’t you?”
Monsieur de Brévanne, who had noticed Georget’s excitement, smiled
slightly as he replied:
“All right, my boy, we will talk about all those things hereafter; but
go now with your mother and take possession of your quarters. Pongo will
escort you.--Pongo! the small building at the left, near the entrance to
the kitchen garden--that is where Madame Brunoy and her son are to
live.”
While Georget and his mother followed the mulatto, who went before them,
dancing a sort of chika and singing: “Me going to see Carabi my friend!
oh! he not naughty any more, he going to lick my nose!” the Comte de
Brévanne entered one of the avenues lined with linden trees, and as he
walked back and forth there, seemed buried in profound meditation.
Within a few days, the mood of the man whom his neighbors called the
Bear had changed considerably: Monsieur de Brévanne was still pensive,
but his reverie was less gloomy, less forbidding than before; his brow
had cleared, he avoided society less, and it even happened sometimes
that he stopped to talk a moment with his neighbors. This abatement of
his misanthropy dated from the day that he had seen his wife in Monsieur
Glumeau’s wood.
The count had been walking there for some time, when he spied Georget
standing within a few feet of him, apparently afraid to interrupt his
revery.
“Ah! there you are, Georget. Have you seen your lodgings? Do you like
them? Is your mother better?”
“Yes, monsieur, my mother is overjoyed, and so am I. Monsieur is too
kind to us. Now that we are settled, I have come to ask monsieur what
work I shall do to-day.”
“To-day, my friend, you must rest, walk about the gardens and the house,
and become acquainted with the place; to-morrow we will talk about work.
But first of all, Georget, tell me your trouble; for you are in trouble,
I can see it in your eyes. Indeed, as you have already confided in me
about your love-affair, I ought to know now how it happens that you have
been able to make up your mind to leave your young flower girl, with
whom you were so deeply in love. You could not endure the thought of
passing a single day without seeing her, and now you are here, and you
don’t want to hear Paris mentioned! Poor boy! that girl who you said was
so virtuous and honest, must have listened to some other man than
you--isn’t it true that that is the cause that has brought you here?”
“Mon Dieu! yes, monsieur, you have guessed the truth; at all events, I
prefer that you should know everything, I prefer to tell you all my
sorrow, for it is so hard always to have to restrain one’s feelings! It
stifles one! Oh! allow me to cry, monsieur; I don’t dare to before my
mother, but it won’t offend you.”
“Weep, my boy; at your age, tears come readily, and are a relief. You
are not a man yet, you have not the strength to endure a woman’s
treachery; and even grown men are very weak sometimes in such cases!”
“Ah! who would ever have thought, monsieur, that Violette, who seemed
never to listen to any gallant--and she has been to the rooms of one of
them, the one that I was most jealous of! Ah! I was right to be jealous
of him! a perfumed dandy, a lion, as they say!”
“But how do you know that she has been to his rooms?”
“From another one, who also is in love with Violette, and who saw her
come out of this Monsieur Jéricourt’s, who lives on his landing.”
“And how do you know that he tells the truth, especially as the flower
girl refused to listen to him?”
“Oh, monsieur! you may be sure that I didn’t believe him either, that at
first I called him a liar and an impostor; indeed I would have thrashed
him if he hadn’t proposed to repeat it all to Violette herself in our
presence; he did it, monsieur; he spoke to her of her visit to his
neighbor, the swell Monsieur Jéricourt, and Violette turned pale; and
she couldn’t find a word to defend herself, to contradict him!”
“In that case, my poor boy, you can no longer doubt her infidelity; or
at least, if she had never given you any promise, her weakness for
another. You have done well to leave Paris, and come here with your
mother; by ceasing to see this girl, you will triumph over your love,
and you will soon find someone else to bestow your affections upon. At
your age, one loves so readily!”
“You think so, monsieur, but it seems to me that I shall never be able
to love any other woman than Violette. However, I will try, I will do
my utmost, and if I don’t see her any more--for you won’t send me to
Paris, monsieur, will you?”
“No, my boy, no, that is agreed. Indeed, Pongo always goes when I need
anything; and I myself go quite often; but never fear, I won’t take
you.”
“So much the better, monsieur, and I thank you. Now I will walk about
these lovely gardens with my mother, monsieur.”
“Go, my friend, go.”
Monsieur de Brévanne left his house and walked toward Monsieur
Glumeau’s, saying to himself:
“I have not been very polite to my neighbors; they invited me to their
party, I saw their play, holding myself aloof, and then I disappeared
without even going to pay my respects to them; as they cannot guess the
motive that led me to act so, I must repair my discourtesy by going to
call upon them.”
The count had almost reached Monsieur Glumeau’s house, when a gentleman
who came from it, and walked toward him, stopped and uttered a cry of
surprise at finding himself face to face with Monsieur de Brévanne. He
in his turn examined the person who stood before him, then held out his
hand, saying:
“I am not mistaken, it is Monsieur de Merval!”
“The Comte de Brévanne!” cried Monsieur de Merval, grasping the hand
that was offered him. Then he added: “I beg pardon, but you have dropped
that name, I believe?”
“Yes, they call me Malberg now; but to you I shall always be Brévanne.
This is a meeting which I was far from expecting, but of which I am very
glad. Are you coming from Monsieur Glumeau’s?”
“Yes, I have been to apologize for not accepting an invitation which
they sent me a fortnight ago, to a party that they gave.”
“I know, I was at that party.”
“You were at that party?”
“That surprises you, does it not? I am a neighbor of the Glumeaus; my
place is only a few steps away; will you do me the honor to come there
and rest a moment?”
“I should be glad, but you are going somewhere?”
“To my neighbor’s; but that visit can be postponed, whereas our meeting
is one of those happy chances which I wish to take advantage of to talk
with you,--that is, if you have the time to listen to me?”
“I am entirely at your service.”
“Come then.”
The two gentlemen soon reached the charming house which had now two
additional occupants. The count ushered Monsieur de Merval into a pretty
salon on the ground floor, the windows of which looked on the Marne; and
taking a seat beside him, he said in a tone at once melancholy and
resigned:
“How many things have happened since we met! and how many times you must
have heard my name! The thing that happened to me made a great deal of
talk, more talk than I desired, I assure you! Tell me, Monsieur de
Merval, what did you hear about it, and whom did you believe to be to
blame in all that? For the world is often mistaken in its judgment!”
Monsieur de Merval felt somewhat embarrassed to answer; he faltered:
“Why, many contradictory things were said; however, if you desire my
opinion, why, you are not the one whom I believed to be at fault!”
“You were right, but you should have guessed the truth, for you knew
Lucienne Courtenay before I became her husband, fool that I was! I
remember that I was jealous of you even after my marriage--of you, who
always behaved with the most absolute delicacy; and I was never jealous
of the man who was destined to betray my friendship in the most
dastardly way!--Monsieur de Merval, as chance has brought us together
to-day, allow me to tell you exactly what happened to me, and what was
the cause of my separation from my wife. I am very glad to confide the
truth to the breast of an honest man. I should not have had the courage
to tell you the story a short time ago; but an encounter that I had
within a few days has strangely mitigated my suffering; I will tell you
that later--I come now at once to the main story.”