A Betrothal
Andermatt and Doctor Latonne were walking in front of the Casino on a
terrace adorned with vases made of imitation marble.
"He no longer salutes me," the doctor was saying, referring to his
brother-physician Bonnefille. "He is over there in his pit, like a
wild-boar. I believe he would poison our springs, if he could!"
Andermatt, with his hands behind his back and his hat--a small round
hat of gray felt--thrown back over his neck, so as to let the baldness
above his forehead be seen, was deeply plunged in thought. At length he
said:
"Oh! in three months the Company will have knuckled under. We might
buy it over at ten thousand francs. It is that wretched Bonnefille who
is exciting them against me, and who makes them fancy that I will give
way. But he is mistaken."
The new inspector returned: "You are aware that they have shut up their
Casino since yesterday. They have no one any longer."
"Yes, I am aware of it; but we have not enough of people here
ourselves. They stick in too much at the hotels; and people get bored
in the hotels, my dear fellow. It is necessary to amuse the bathers,
to distract them, to make them think the season too short. Those
staying at our Mont Oriol hotel come every evening, because they are
quite near, but the others hesitate and remain in their abodes. It is
a question of routes--nothing else. Success always depends on certain
imperceptible causes which we ought to know how to discover. It is
necessary that the routes leading to a place of recreation should be a
source of recreation in themselves, the commencement of the pleasure
which one will be enjoying presently.
"The ways which lead to this place are bad, stony, hard; they cause
fatigue. When a route which goes to any place, to which one has a
vague desire of paying a visit, is pleasant, wide, and full of shade
in the daytime, easy and not too steep at night, one selects it
naturally in preference to others. If you knew how the body preserves
the recollection of a thousand things which the mind has not taken
the trouble to retain! I believe this is how the memory of animals is
constructed. Have you felt too hot when repairing to such a place? Have
you tired your feet on badly broken stones? Have you found an ascent
too rough, even while you were thinking of something else? If so, you
will experience invincible repugnance to revisiting that spot. You were
chatting with a friend; you took no notice of the slight annoyances of
the journey; you were looking at nothing, remarking notice; but your
legs, your muscles, your lungs, your whole body have not forgotten,
and they say to the mind, when it wants to take them along the same
route: 'No, I won't go; I have suffered too much there.' And the mind
yields to this refusal without disputing it, submitting to this mute
language of the companions who carry it along.
"So then, we want fine pathways, which comes back to saying that I
require the bits of ground belonging to that donkey of a Père Oriol.
But patience! Ha! with reference to that point, Mas-Roussel has become
the proprietor of his own chalet on the same conditions as Remusot.
It is a trifling sacrifice for which he will amply indemnify us. Try,
therefore, to find out exactly what are Cloche's intentions."
"He'll do just the same thing as the others," said the physician. "But
there is something else, of which I have been thinking for the last few
days, and which we have completely forgotten--it is the meteorological
bulletin."
"What meteorological bulletin?"
"In the big Parisian newspapers. It is indispensable, this is! It is
necessary that the temperature of a thermal station should be better,
less variable, more uniformly mild than that of the neighboring and
rival stations. You subscribe to the meteorological bulletin in the
leading organs of opinion, and I will send every evening by telegraph
the atmospheric situation. I will do it in such a way that the average
arrived at when the year is at an end may be higher than the best
mean temperatures of the surrounding stations. The first thing that
meets our eyes when we open the big newspapers are the temperatures
of Vichy, of Royat, of Mont Doré, of Chatel-Guyon, and other
places during the summer season, and, during the winter season, the
temperatures of Cannes, Mentone, Nice, Saint Raphael. It is necessary
that the weather should always be hot and always fine in these places,
in order that the Parisian might say: 'Christi! how lucky the people
are who go down there!'"
Andermatt exclaimed: "Upon my honor, you're right. Why have I never
thought of that? I will attend to it this very day. With regard to
useful things, have you written to Professors Larenard and Pascalis?
There are two men I would like very much to have here."
"Unapproachable, my dear President--unless--unless they are satisfied
of themselves after many trials that our waters are of a superior
character. But, as far as they are concerned, you will accomplish
nothing by persuasion--by anticipation."
They passed by Paul and Gontran, who had come to take coffee after
luncheon. Other bathers made their appearance, especially men, for the
women, on rising from the table, always went up to their rooms for an
hour or two. Petrus Martel was looking after his waiters, and crying
out: "A kummel, a nip of brandy, a glass of aniseed cordial," in the
same rolling, deep voice which he would assume an hour later while
conducting rehearsals, and giving the keynote to the young _première_.
Andermatt stopped a few moments for a short chat with the two young
men; then he resumed his promenade by the side of the inspector.
Gontran, with legs crossed and folded arms, lolling in his chair, with
the nape of his neck against the back of it, and his eyes and his
cigar facing the sky, was puffing in a state of absolute contentment.
Suddenly, he asked: "Would you mind taking a turn, presently, in the
valley of Sans-Souci? The girls will be there."
Paul hesitated; then, after some reflection: "Yes, I am quite willing."
Then he added: "Is your affair progressing?"
"Egad, it is! Oh! I have a hold of her. She won't escape me now."
Gontran had, by this time, taken his friend into his confidence, and
told him, day by day, how he was going on and how much ground he
had gained. He even got him to be present, as a confederate, at his
appointments, for he had managed to obtain appointments with Louise
Oriol by a little bit of ingenuity.
After their promenade at the Puy de la Nugère, Christiane put an end to
these excursions by not going out at all, and so rendered it more and
more difficult for the lovers to meet. Her brother, put out at first by
this attitude on her part, bethought him of some means of extricating
himself from this predicament. Accustomed to Parisian morals, according
to which women are regarded by men of his stamp as game, the chase of
which is often no easy one, he had in former days made use of many
artifices in order to gain access to those for whom he had conceived a
passion. He knew better than anyone else how to make use of pimps, to
discover those who were accommodating through interested motives, and
to determine with a single glance the men or women who were disposed to
aid him in his designs.
The unconscious support of Christiane having suddenly been withdrawn
from him, he had looked about him for the requisite connecting link,
the "pliant nature," as he expressed it himself, whereby he could
replace his sister; and his choice speedily fixed itself on Doctor
Honorat's wife. Many reasons pointed at her as a suitable person. In
the first place, her husband, closely associated with the Oriols,
had been for the past twenty years attending this family. He had
been present at the birth of the children, had dined with them every
Sunday, and had entertained them at his own table every Tuesday. His
wife, a fat old woman of the lower-middle class, trying to pass as a
lady, full of pretension, easy to overcome through her vanity, was
sure to lend both hands to every desire of the Comte de Ravenel, whose
brother-in-law owned the establishment of Mont Oriol.
Besides, Gontran, who was a good judge of a go-between, had satisfied
himself that this woman was naturally well adapted for the part, by
merely seeing her walking through the street.
"She has the physique," was his reflection, "and when one has the
physique for an employment, one has the soul required for it, too!"
Accordingly, he made his way into her abode, one day, after having
accompanied her husband to his own door. He sat down, chatted,
complimented the lady, and, when the dinner-bell rang, he said, as he
rose up: "You have a very savory smell here. You cook better than they
do at the hotel."
Madame Honorat, swelling with pride, faltered: "Good heavens! if I
might make so bold--if I might make so bold, Monsieur le Comte, as----"
"If you might make so bold as what, dear Madame?"
"As to ask you to share our humble meal."
"Faith--faith, I would say 'yes.'"
The doctor, ill at ease, muttered: "But we have nothing, nothing--soup,
a joint of beef, and a chicken, that's all!"
Gontran laughed: "That's quite enough for me. I accept the invitation."
And he dined at the Honorat household. The fat woman rose up, went to
take the dishes out of the servant-maid's hands, in order that the
latter might not spill the sauce over the tablecloth, and, in spite of
her husband's impatience, insisted on attending at table herself.
The Comte congratulated her on the excellence of the cooking, on the
good house she kept, on her attention to the duties of hospitality, and
he left her inflamed with enthusiasm.
He returned to leave his card, accepted a fresh invitation, and
thenceforth made his way constantly to Madame Honorat's house, to which
the Oriol girls had paid visits frequently also for many years as
neighbors and friends.
So then he spent hours there, in the midst of the three ladies,
attentive to both sisters, but accentuating clearly, from day to day,
his marked preference for Louise.
The jealousy that had sprung up between the girls since the time
when he had begun to make love to Charlotte had assumed an aspect of
spiteful hostility on the side of the elder girl and of disdain on the
side of the younger. Louise, with her reserved air, imported into her
reticences and her demure ways in Gontran's society much more coquetry
and encouragement than the other had formerly shown with all her free
and joyous unconstraint. Charlotte, wounded to the quick, concealed
through pride the pain that she endured, pretended not to see or hear
anything of what was happening around her, and continued her visits
to Madame Honorat's house with a beautiful appearance of indifference
to all these lovers' meetings. She would not remain behind at her own
abode lest people might think that her heart was sore, that she was
weeping, that she was making way for her sister.
Gontran, too proud of his achievement to throw a veil over it, could
not keep himself from talking about it to Paul. And Paul, thinking it
amusing, began to laugh. He had, besides, since the first equivocal
remarks of his friend, resolved not to interfere in his affairs, and he
often asked himself with uneasiness: "Can it be possible that he knows
something about Christiane and me?"
He knew Gontran too well not to believe him capable of shutting his
eyes to an intrigue on the part of his sister. But then, why did he
not let it be understood sooner that he guessed it or was aware of
it? Gontran was, in fact, one of those in whose opinion every woman
in society ought to have a lover or lovers, one of those for whom the
family is merely a society of mutual help, for whom morality is an
attitude that is indispensable in order to veil the different appetites
which nature has implanted in us, and for whom worldly honor is a front
behind which amiable vices should be hidden. Moreover, if he had egged
on his dear sister to marry Andermatt was it not with the vague, if not
clearly-defined, idea that this Jew might be utilized, in every way,
by all the family?--and he would probably have despised Christiane for
being faithful to this husband of convenience, of utility, just as much
as he would have despised himself for not borrowing freely from his
brother-in-law's purse.
Paul pondered over all this, and it disturbed his modern Don Quixote's
soul, which, in any event, was disposed toward compromise. He had,
therefore, become very reserved with this enigmatic friend of his.
When, accordingly, Gontran told him the use that he was making of
Madame Honorat, Bretigny burst out laughing; and he had even, for some
time past, allowed himself to be brought to that lady's house, and
found great pleasure in chatting with Charlotte there.
The doctor's wife lent herself, with the best grace in the world,
to the part she was made to play, and offered them tea about five
o'clock, like the Parisian ladies, with little cakes manufactured by
her own hands. On the first occasion when Paul made his way into this
household, she welcomed him as if he were an old friend, made him sit
down, removed his hat herself, in spite of his protests, and placed it
beside the clock upon the mantelpiece. Then, eager, bustling, going
from one to the other, tremendously big and fat, she asked:
"Do you feel inclined for a little dinner?"
Gontran told funny stories, joked, and laughed quite at his ease. Then,
he took Louise into the recess of a window under the troubled eyes of
Charlotte.
Madame Honorat, who sat chatting with Paul, said to him in a maternal
tone:
"These dear children, they come here to have a few minutes'
conversation with one another. 'Tis very innocent--isn't it, Monsieur
Bretigny?"
"Oh! very innocent, Madame!"
When he came the next time, she familiarly addressed him as "Monsieur
Paul," treating him more or less as a crony.
And from that time forth, Gontran told him, with a sort of teasing
liveliness, all about the complaisant behavior of the doctor's wife, to
whom he had said, the evening before: "Why do you never go out for a
walk along the Sans-Souci road?"
"But we will go, M. le Comte--we will go."
"Say, to-morrow about three o'clock."
"To-morrow, about three o'clock, M. le Comte."
And Gontran explained to Paul: "You understand that in this
drawing-room, I cannot say anything of a very confidential nature to
the elder girl before the younger. But in the wood I can go on before
or remain behind with Louise. So then you will come?"
"Yes, I have no objection."
"Let us go on then."
And they rose up, and set forth at a leisurely pace along the highroad;
then, having passed through La Roche Pradière, they turned to the left
and descended into the wooded glen in the midst of tangled brushwood.
When they had passed the little river, they sat down at the side of the
path and waited.
The three ladies soon arrived, walking in single file, Louise in front,
and Madame Honorat in the rear. They exhibited surprise on both sides
at having met in this way. Gontran exclaimed: "Well, now, what a good
idea this was of yours to come along here!"
The doctor's wife replied: "Yes, the idea was mine."
They continued their walk. Louise and Gontran gradually quickened
their steps, went on in advance, and rambled so far together that they
disappeared from view at a turn of the narrow path.
The fat lady, who was breathing hard, murmured, as she cast an
indulgent eye in their direction: "Bah! they're young--they have legs.
As for me, I can't keep up with them."
Charlotte exclaimed: "Wait! I'm going to call them back!"
She was rushing away. The doctor's wife held her back: "Don't interfere
with them, child, if they want to chat! It would not be nice to disturb
them. They will come back all right by themselves."
And she sat down on the grass, under the shade of a pine-tree, fanning
herself with her pocket-handkerchief. Charlotte cast a look of distress
toward Paul, a look imploring and sorrowful.
He understood, and said: "Well, Mademoiselle, we are going to let
Madame take a rest, and we'll both go and overtake your sister."
She answered impetuously: "Oh, yes, Monsieur."
Madame Honorat made no objection: "Go, my children, go. As for me, I'll
wait for you here. Don't be too long."
And they started off in their turn. They walked quickly at first, as
they could see no sign of the two others, and hoped to come up with
them; then, after a few minutes, it struck them that Louise and
Gontran might have turned off to the right or to the left through the
wood, and Charlotte began to call them in a trembling and undecided
voice. There was no response. She exclaimed: "Oh! good heavens, where
can they be?"
Paul felt himself overcome once more by that profound pity, by that
sympathetic tenderness toward her which had previously taken possession
of him on the edge of the crater of La Nugère.
He did not know what to say to this afflicted young creature. He felt
a longing, a paternal and passionate longing to take her in his arms,
to embrace her, to find sweet and consoling words with which to soothe
her. But what words?
She looked about on every side, searched the branches with wild
glances, listening to the faintest sounds, murmuring: "I think that
they are here--No, there--Do you hear nothing?"
"No, Mademoiselle, I don't hear anything. The best thing we can do is
to wait here."
"Oh! heavens, no. We must find them!"
He hesitated for a few seconds, and then said to her in a low tone:
"This, then, causes you much pain?"
She raised toward his her eyes, in which there was a look of wild
alarm, while the gathering tears filled them with a transparent watery
mist, as yet held back by the lids, over which drooped the long, brown
lashes. She strove to speak, but could not, and did not venture to open
her lips. But her heart swollen, choked with grief, was yearning to
pour itself out.
He went on: "So then you loved him very much. He is not worthy of your
love. Take heart!"
She could not restrain herself any longer, and hiding with her hands
the tears that now gushed forth from her eyes, she sobbed: "No!--no!--I
do not love him--he--it is too base to have acted as he did. He made a
tool of me--it is too base--too cowardly--but, all the same, it does
pain me--a great deal--for it is hard--very hard--oh! yes. But what
grieves me most is that my sister--my sister does not care for me any
longer--she who has been even more wicked than he was! I feel that
she no longer cares for me--not a bit--that she hates me--I have only
her--I have no one else--and I, I have done nothing!"
He only saw her ear and her neck with its young flesh sinking into
the collar of her dress under the light material she wore till it was
lost in the curves of her bust. And he felt himself overpowered with
compassion, with sympathy, carried away by that impetuous desire of
self-devotion which got the better of him every time that a woman
touched his heart. And that heart of his, responsive to outbursts of
enthusiasm, was excited by this innocent sorrow, agitating, ingenuous,
and cruelly charming.
He stretched forth his hand toward her with an unstudied movement such
as one might use in order to caress, to calm a child, and he drew it
round her waist from behind over her shoulder. Then he felt her heart
beaming with rapid throbs, as he might have heard the little heart of
a bird that he had caught. And this beating, continuous, precipitate,
sent a thrill all over his arm into his heart, accelerating its
movements. And he felt those quick heart-beats coming from her and
penetrating him through his flesh, his muscles, and his nerves, so that
between them there was now only one heart wounded by the same pain,
agitated by the same palpitation, living the same life, like clocks
connected by a string at some distance from one another and made to
keep time together second by second.
But suddenly she uncovered her flushed face, still tear-dimmed, quickly
wiped it, and said:
"Come, I ought not to have spoken to you about this. I am foolish. Let
us go back at once to Madame Honorat, and forget. Do you promise me?"
"I do promise you."
She gave him her hand. "I have confidence in you. I believe you are
very honest!"
They turned back. He lifted her up in crossing the stream, just as he
had lifted up Christiane, the year before. How often had he passed
along this path with her in the days when he adored her! He reflected,
wondering at his own changed feelings: "How short a time this passion
lasted!"
Charlotte, laying a finger on his arm, murmured: "Madame Honorat is
asleep. Let us sit down without making a noise."
Madame Honorat was, indeed, slumbering, with her back to a pine-tree,
her handkerchief over her face and her hands crossed over her stomach.
They seated themselves a few paces away from her, and refrained from
speaking in order not to awaken her. Then the stillness of the wood
was so profound that it became as painful to them as actual suffering.
Nothing could be heard save the water gurgling over the stones, a
little lower down, then those imperceptible quiverings of insects
passing by, those light buzzings of flies or of other living creatures
whose movements made the dead leaves flutter.
Where then were Louise and Gontran? What were they doing? All at once,
the sound of their voices reached them from a distance. They were
returning. Madame Honorat woke up and looked astonished.
"What! you are here again! I did not notice you coming back. And the
others, have you found them?"
Paul replied: "There they are! They are coming."
They recognized Gontran's laughter. This laughter relieved Charlotte
from a crushing weight, which had oppressed her mind--she could not
have explained why.
They were soon able to distinguish the pair. Gontran had almost broken
into a running pace, dragging by the arm the young girl, who was quite
flushed. And, even before they had come up, so great a hurry was he in
to tell his story, he shouted:
"You don't know what we surprised. I give you a thousand guesses to
discover it! The handsome Doctor Mazelli along with the daughter of
the illustrious Professor Cloche, as Will would say, the pretty widow
with the red hair. Oh! yes, indeed--surprised, you understand? He was
embracing her, the scamp. Oh! yes--oh! yes."
Madame Honorat, at this immoderate display of gaiety, made a dignified
movement:
"Oh! M. le Comte, think of these young ladies!"
Gontran made a respectful obeisance.
"You are perfectly right, dear Madame, to recall me to the proprieties.
All your inspirations are excellent."
Then, in order that they might not be all seen going back together, the
two young men bowed to the ladies, and returned through the wood to the
village.
"Well?" asked Paul.
"Well, I told her that I adored her and that I would be delighted to
marry her."
"And she said?"
"She said, with charming discretion, 'That concerns my father. It is to
him that I will give my answer.'"
"So then you are going to----"
"To intrust my ambassador Andermatt at once with the official
application. And if the old boor makes any row about it, I'll
compromise his daughter with a splash."
And, as Andermatt was again engaged in conversation with Doctor Latonne
on the terrace of the Casino, Gontran stopped here, and immediately
made his brother-in-law acquainted with the situation.
Paul went off along the road to Riom. He wanted to be alone so much
did he find himself invaded by that agitation of the entire mind and
body into which every meeting with a woman casts a man who is on the
point of falling in love. For some time past he had felt, without
quite realizing it, the penetrating and youthful fascination of this
forsaken girl. He found her so nice, so good, so simple, so upright,
so innocent, that from the first he had been moved by compassion for
her, by that tender compassion with which the sorrows of women always
inspire us. Then, when he had seen her frequently, he had allowed to
bud forth in his heart that grain, that tiny grain, of tenderness
which they sow in us so quickly, and which grows to such a height. And
now, for the last hour especially, he was beginning to feel himself
possessed, to feel within him that constant presence of the absent
which is the first sign of love. He proceeded along the road, haunted
by the remembrance of her glance, by the sound of her voice, by the way
in which she smiled or wept, by the gait with which she walked, even by
the color and the flutter of her dress. And he said to himself:
"I believe I am bitten. I know it. It is annoying, this! The best
thing, perhaps, would be to go back to Paris. Deuce take it, it is a
young girl! However, I can't make her my mistress."
Then, he began dreaming about it, just as he had dreamed about
Christiane, the year before. How different was this one, too, from
all the women he had hitherto known, born and brought up in the city,
different even from those young maidens sophisticated from their
childhood by the coquetry of their mothers or the coquetry which shows
itself in the streets. There was in her none of the artificiality of
the woman prepared for seduction, nothing studied in her words, nothing
conventional in her actions, nothing deceitful in her looks. Not only
was she a being fresh and pure, but she came of a primitive race; she
was a true daughter of the soil at the moment when she was about to be
transformed into a woman of the city.
And he felt himself stirred up, pleading for her against that vague
resistance which still struggled in his breast. The forms of heroines
in sentimental novels passed before his mind's eye--the creations of
Walter Scott, of Dickens, and of George Sand, exciting the more his
imagination, always goaded by ideal pictures of women.
Gontran passed judgment on him thus: "Paul! he is a pack-horse with a
Cupid on his back. When he flings one on the ground, another jumps up
in its place." But Bretigny saw that night was falling. He had been a
long time walking. He returned to the village.
As he was passing in front of the new baths, he saw Andermatt and the
two Oriols surveying and measuring the vinefields; and he knew from
their gestures that they were disputing in an excited fashion.
An hour afterward, Will, entering the drawing-room, where the entire
family had assembled, said to the Marquis: "My dear father-in-law, I
have to inform you that your son Gontran is going to marry, in six
weeks or two months, Mademoiselle Louise Oriol."
M. de Ravenel was startled: "Gontran? You say?"
"I say that he is going to marry in six weeks or two months, with your
consent, Mademoiselle Louise Oriol, who will be very rich."
Thereupon the Marquis said simply: "Good heavens! if he likes it, I
have no objection."
And the banker related how he had dealt with the old countryman. As
soon as he had learned from the Comte that the young girl would
consent, he wanted to obtain, at one interview, the vinedresser's
assent without giving him time to prepare any of his dodges. He
accordingly hurried to Oriol's house, and found him making up his
accounts with great difficulty, assisted by Colosse, who was adding
figures together with his fingers.
Seating himself: "I would like to drink of your excellent wine," said
he.
When big Colosse had returned with the glasses and the jug brimming
over, he asked whether Mademoiselle Louise had come home; then he
begged of them to send for her. When she stood facing him, he rose,
and, making her a low bow:
"Mademoiselle, will you regard me at this moment as a friend to whom
one may say everything? Is it not so? Well, I am charged with a very
delicate mission with reference to you. My brother-in-law, Comte
Raoul-Olivier-Gontran de Ravenel, is smitten with you--a thing for
which I commend him--and he has commissioned me to ask you, in the
presence of your family, whether you will consent to become his wife."
Taken by surprise in this way, she turned toward her father her eyes,
which betrayed her confusion. And Père Oriol, scared, looked at his
son, his usual counselor, while Colosse looked at Andermatt, who went
on, with a certain amount of pomposity:
"You understand, Mademoiselle, that I am only intrusted with this
mission on the terms of an immediate reply being given to my
brother-in-law. He is quite conscious of the fact that you may not care
for him, and in that case he will quit this neighborhood to-morrow,
never to come back to it again. I am aware, besides, that you know him
sufficiently to say to me, a simple intermediary, 'I consent,' or 'I do
not consent.'"
She hung down her head, and, blushing, but resolute, she faltered: "I
consent, Monsieur."
Then she fled so quickly that she knocked herself against the door as
she went out.
Thereupon, Andermatt sat down, and, pouring out a glass of wine after
the fashion of peasants:
"Now we are going to talk about business," said he.
And, without admitting the possibility even of hesitation, he attacked
the question of the dowry, relying on the declarations made to him by
the vinedresser three months before. He estimated at three hundred
thousand francs, in addition to expectations, the actual fortune of
Gontran, and he let it be understood that if a man like the Comte de
Ravenel consented to ask for the hand of Oriol's daughter, a very
charming young lady in other respects, it was unquestionable that the
girl's family were bound to show their appreciation of this honor by a
sacrifice of money.
Then the countryman, much disconcerted, but flattered--almost disarmed,
tried to make a fight for his property. The discussion was a long one.
An admission on Andermatt's part had, however, rendered it easy from
the start:
"We don't ask for ready money nor for bills--nothing but the lands,
those which you have already indicated as forming Mademoiselle Louise's
dowry, in addition to some others which I am going to point you."
The prospect of not having to pay money, that money slowly heaped
together, brought into the house franc after franc, sou after sou,
that good money, white or yellow, worn by the hands, the purses, the
pockets, the tables of _cafés_, the deep drawers of old presses,
that money in whose ring was told the history of so many troubles,
cares, fatigues, labors, so sweet to the heart, to the eyes, to the
fingers of the peasant, dearer than the cow, than the vine, than the
field, than the house, that money harder to part with sometimes than
life itself--the prospect of not seeing it go with the girl brought
on immediately a great calm, a desire to conciliate, a secret but
restrained joy, in the souls of the father and the son.
They continued the discussion, however, in order to keep a few more
acres of soil. On the table was spread out a minute plan of Mont Oriol;
and they marked one by one with a cross the portions assigned to
Louise. It took an hour for Andermatt to secure the last two pieces.
Then, in order that there might not be any deceit on one side or the
other, they went over all the places on the plan. After that, they
identified carefully all the slices designated by crosses, and marked
them afresh.
But Andermatt got uneasy, suspecting that the two Oriols were capable
of denying, at their next interview, a part of the grants to which they
had consented and would seek to take back ends of vinefields, corners
useful for his project; and he thought of a practical and certain means
of giving definiteness to the agreement.
An idea crossed his mind, made him smile at first, then appeared to him
excellent, although singular.
"If you like," said he, "we'll write it all out, so as not to forget it
later on."
And as they were entering the village, he stopped before a
tobacconist's shop to buy two stamped sheets of paper. He knew that
the list of lands drawn up on these leaves with their legal aspect
would take an almost inviolable character in the peasant's eyes, for
these leaves would represent the law, always invisible and menacing,
vindicated by gendarmes, fines, and imprisonment.
Then he wrote on one sheet and copied on the other:
"In pursuance of the promise of marriage exchanged between
Comte Gontran de Ravenel and Mademoiselle Louise Oriol, M.
Oriol, Senior, surrenders as a dowry to his daughter the
lands designated below----"
And he enumerated them minutely, with the figures attached to them in
the register of lands for the district.
Then, having dated and signed the document, he made Père Oriol affix
his signature, after the latter had exacted in turn a written statement
of the intended husband's fortune, and he went back to the hotel with
the document in his pocket.
Everyone laughed at his narrative and Gontran most of all. Then the
Marquis said to his son with a lofty air of dignity: "We shall both go
this evening to pay a visit to this family, and I shall myself renew
the application previously made by my son-in-law in order that it may
be more regular."