IN WHICH FRANTZ NIKLAUSSE AND SUZEL VAN TRICASSE FORM CERTAIN PROJECTS
FOR THE FUTURE.
Our readers know that the burgomaster had a daughter, Suzel But, shrewd
as they may be, they cannot have divined that the counsellor Niklausse
had a son, Frantz; and had they divined this, nothing could have led
them to imagine that Frantz was the betrothed lover of Suzel. We will
add that these young people were made for each other, and that they
loved each other, as folks did love at Quiquendone.
It must not be thought that young hearts did not beat in this
exceptional place; only they beat with a certain deliberation. There
were marriages there, as in every other town in the world; but they
took time about it. Betrothed couples, before engaging in these
terrible bonds, wished to study each other; and these studies lasted at
least ten years, as at college. It was rare that any one was “accepted”
before this lapse of time.
Yes, ten years! The courtships last ten years! And is it, after all,
too long, when the being bound for life is in consideration? One
studies ten years to become an engineer or physician, an advocate or
attorney, and should less time be spent in acquiring the knowledge to
make a good husband? Is it not reasonable? and, whether due to
temperament or reason with them, the Quiquendonians seem to us to be in
the right in thus prolonging their courtship. When marriages in other
more lively and excitable cities are seen taking place within a few
months, we must shrug our shoulders, and hasten to send our boys to the
schools and our daughters to the _pensions_ of Quiquendone.
For half a century but a single marriage was known to have taken place
after the lapse of two years only of courtship, and that turned out
badly!
Frantz Niklausse, then, loved Suzel Van Tricasse, but quietly, as a man
would love when he has ten years before him in which to obtain the
beloved object. Once every week, at an hour agreed upon, Frantz went to
fetch Suzel, and took a walk with her along the banks of the Vaar. He
took good care to carry his fishing-tackle, and Suzel never forgot her
canvas, on which her pretty hands embroidered the most unlikely
flowers.
Frantz was a young man of twenty-two, whose cheeks betrayed a soft,
peachy down, and whose voice had scarcely a compass of one octave.
As for Suzel, she was blonde and rosy. She was seventeen, and did not
dislike fishing. A singular occupation this, however, which forces you
to struggle craftily with a barbel. But Frantz loved it; the pastime
was congenial to his temperament. As patient as possible, content to
follow with his rather dreamy eye the cork which bobbed on the top of
the water, he knew how to wait; and when, after sitting for six hours,
a modest barbel, taking pity on him, consented at last to be caught, he
was happy—but he knew how to control his emotion.
On this day the two lovers—one might say, the two betrothed— were
seated upon the verdant bank. The limpid Vaar murmured a few feet below
them. Suzel quietly drew her needle across the canvas. Frantz
automatically carried his line from left to right, then permitted it to
descend the current from right to left. The fish made capricious rings
in the water, which crossed each other around the cork, while the hook
hung useless near the bottom.
From time to time Frantz would say, without raising his eyes,—
“I think I have a bite, Suzel.”
“Do you think so, Frantz?” replied Suzel, who, abandoning her work for
an instant, followed her lover’s line with earnest eye.
“N-no,” resumed Frantz; “I thought I felt a little twitch; I was
mistaken.”
“You _will_ have a bite, Frantz,” replied Suzel, in her pure, soft
voice. “But do not forget to strike at the right moment. You are always
a few seconds too late, and the barbel takes advantage to escape.”
“Would you like to take my line, Suzel?”
“Willingly, Frantz.”
“Then give me your canvas. We shall see whether I am more adroit with
the needle than with the hook.”
And the young girl took the line with trembling hand, while her swain
plied the needle across the stitches of the embroidery. For hours
together they thus exchanged soft words, and their hearts palpitated
when the cork bobbed on the water. Ah, could they ever forget those
charming hours, during which, seated side by side, they listened to the
murmurs of the river?
[Illustration: the young girl took the line]
The sun was fast approaching the western horizon, and despite the
combined skill of Suzel and Frantz, there had not been a bite. The
barbels had not shown themselves complacent, and seemed to scoff at the
two young people, who were too just to bear them malice.
“We shall be more lucky another time, Frantz,” said Suzel, as the young
angler put up his still virgin hook.
“Let us hope so,” replied Frantz.
Then walking side by side, they turned their steps towards the house,
without exchanging a word, as mute as their shadows which stretched out
before them. Suzel became very, very tall under the oblique rays of the
setting sun. Frantz appeared very, very thin, like the long rod which
he held in his hand.
They reached the burgomaster’s house. Green tufts of grass bordered the
shining pavement, and no one would have thought of tearing them away,
for they deadened the noise made by the passers-by.
As they were about to open the door, Frantz thought it his duty to say
to Suzel,—
“You know, Suzel, the great day is approaching?”
“It is indeed, Frantz,” replied the young girl, with downcast eyes.
“Yes,” said Frantz, “in five or six years—”
“Good-bye, Frantz,” said Suzel.
[Illustration: “Good-bye, Frantz,” said Suzel.]
“Good-bye, Suzel,” replied Frantz.
And, after the door had been closed, the young man resumed the way to
his father’s house with a calm and equal pace.