MADAME DE BRACIEUX was working for her poor people. She poked her
thick, light, tortoise-shell crochet-needle into the ball of coarse
wool, and putting that down on her lap, lifted her head and looked
across at her great-nephew, Jean de Blaye.
"Jean," she said, "what are you gazing at that is so interesting? You
stand there with your nose flattened against the window-pane, just
exactly as you did when you were a little boy, and were so
insufferable."
Jean de Blaye lifted his head abruptly. He had been leaning his
forehead against the glass of the bay-window.
"I?" he answered, hesitating slightly. "Oh, nothing, aunt--nothing at
all!"
"Nothing at all? Oh, well, I must say that you seem to be looking at
nothing at all with a great deal of attention."
"Do not believe him, grandmamma!" said Madame de Rueille in her
beautiful, grave, expressive voice; "he is hoping all the time to see
a cab appear round the bend of the avenue."
"Is he expecting someone?" asked the marchioness.
"Oh, no!" explained M. de Rueille, laughing; "but a cab, even a
Pont-sur-Loire cab, would remind him of Paris. Bertrade is teasing
him."
"I don't care all that much about being reminded of Paris," muttered
Jean, without stirring.
Madame de Rueille gazed at him in astonishment. "One would almost
think he was in earnest!" she remarked.
"In earnest, but absent-minded!" said the marchioness, and then,
turning towards a young abbe, who was playing loto with the de Rueille
children, she asked:
"Monsieur, will you tell us whether there is anything interesting
taking place on the terrace?"
The abbe, who was seated with his back to the bay-window, looked
behind him over his shoulder, and replied promptly:
"I do not see anything in the slightest degree interesting, madame."
"Nothing whatever," affirmed Jean, leaving the window, and taking his
seat on a divan.
One of the de Rueille children, forgetting his loto cards, and leaving
the abbe to call out the numbers over and over again with untiring
patience, suddenly perched himself up on a chair, and, by his
grimaces, appeared to be making signals to someone through the window.
"Marcel dear, at whom are you making those horrible grimaces?" asked
the grandmother, puzzled.
"At Bijou," replied the child; "she is out there gathering flowers."
"Has she been there long?" asked the marchioness.
It was the abbe who answered this time.
"About, ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, madame."
"And you consider that Bijou is not interesting to look at?" exclaimed
the old lady, laughing. "You are difficult to please, monsieur!"
Abbe Courteil, who had not been long in the family, and who was
incredibly shy, blushed from the neck-band of his cassock to the roots
of his fair hair, and stammered out in dismay:
"But, madame, when you asked if anything interesting were taking place
on the terrace, I thought you meant--something--something
extraordinary, and I never thought that the presence of Mademoiselle
Bij--I mean, of Mademoiselle Denyse--as she always gathers her flowers
there at this time every day--I never thought that you would consider
that as--"
The sentence ended in an unintelligible way, whilst the abbe, very
much confused, continued shaking the numbers about in the bag.
"That poor abbe," said Bertrade de Rueille, very quietly, "you do
frighten him, grandmamma."
"Nonsense! nothing of the kind! I do not frighten him; you exaggerate,
my dear."
And then, after a moment's reflection, Madame de Bracieux continued:
"The man must be blind then."
"What man?"
"Why, your abbe! Good heavens, what stupid answers he makes."
"But, grandmamma--"
"No! you will never make me believe that a man could watch Bijou at
work amongst the flowers, and not consider her '_interesting to look
at_!'--no, never!"
"A man, yes; but then the abbe is not exactly a man."
"Ah! what is he then, if you please?"
"Well, a priest is not--"
"Not exactly like other men in certain respects! no, at least I hope
not; but priests have eyes, I suppose, and you will grant that, if
they have not eyes like those of other men, they have eyes such as a
woman has, at any rate. Will you allow your abbe to have eyes like a
woman?"
"Why, yes, grandmamma, I will allow him to have any kind of eyes he
likes."
"That's a good thing. Well, then, any woman looking at Bijou would
perceive that she is charming. Why should an abbe not perceive that
too?"
"You do not like our poor abbe."
"Oh, well, you know my opinion. I consider that priests were made for
the churches and not for our houses. Apart from that, I like your abbe
as well as I do any of them. I like him--negatively; I respect him."
Bertrade laughed, and said in her gentle voice:
"It scarcely seems like it; you are very rough on him always."
"I am rough on him, just as I am rough on all of you."
"Yes, but then we are accustomed to it, whilst he--"
"Oh, very well, I won't be rough on him again. I will take care; but
you have no idea how tiresome it will be to me. I do like to be able
to speak my mind. It was a strange notion of yours, to have an abbe
for your children."
"It was Paul; he particularly wished the children to be educated by a
priest, at any rate, to begin with. He is very religious."
"Well, but so am I--I am very religious, and that is just why I would
never have a priest as tutor. Yes, don't you see, if he should be an
intelligent man, why, just for the sake of one or two, or even several
children--but anyhow only a small number, you make use of his
intelligence, which his calling had destined for the direction of his
flock, and you prevent him from teaching, comforting, and forgiving
the sins of poor creatures, who, as a rule, are much more interesting
than we are. If, on the other hand, the priest should be an imbecile,
why, he just devotes himself conscientiously to distorting the mind of
the little human being entrusted to him, and in both cases you are
responsible, either for the harm you do, or the good you prevent being
done---Ah! here's Bijou, let me look at her; I shall enjoy that more
than talking about your abbe," and the marchioness pointed to her
grand-daughter, who was just entering the room, and who looked like a
walking basket of flowers.
Denyse de Courtaix, nicknamed Bijou, was an exquisite little creature,
refined-looking, graceful, and slender, and yet all over dimples. She
had large violet eyes, limpid, and full of expression, a straight
nose, turning up almost imperceptibly at the end, a very small mouth,
with very red lips going up merrily at the corners, and showing some
small, milky-white teeth. Her soft, silky hair was of that light
auburn shade so rarely seen nowadays. Her tiny ears were shaded with
pink, like mother-of-pearl, and this same pinky shade was to be seen
not only on her cheeks, but on her forehead, her neck, and her hands.
It shone all over her skin with a rosy gleam. Her eyebrows alone,
which crossed her smooth, intelligent forehead with a very fine, and
almost unbroken dark line, indicated the fact that this frail and
pretty little creature had a will of her own.
Bijou, who looked about fifteen or sixteen years of age, had attained
her majority just a week ago, but from her perfect and dainty little
person there seemed to emanate a breath of child-like candour and
innocence. Her charm, however, which was most subtle and penetrating,
was distinctly that of a woman, and it was this contrast which made
Bijou so fascinating and so unlike other girls. Such as she was, she
infatuated men, delighted women, and was adored by all.
As soon as she entered the room, all rosy-looking in her pink dress of
cloudy muslin, with a sort of flat basket filled with roses, fastened
round her neck with pink ribbon, everyone surrounded her, glad to
welcome the gaiety which seemed to enter with her, for until her
arrival the large room had felt somewhat bare and empty.
Paul de Rueille, who was playing billiards with his brother-in-law,
Henry de Bracieux, came to ask for a rose from her basket, whilst
Henry, who had followed him, took one without asking.
The de Rueille children, leaving the abbe, who continued calling out
the loto numbers in a monotonous tone, went sliding across to the
young girl, and hung about her. Their mother called them back.
"Leave Bijou alone, children; you worry her!"
"Robert! Marcel! come here," said the abbe, getting up.
"Oh, no," protested Bijou, "let them alone; I like to have them!"
She took the basket from her neck, and was just about to put it down
on the billiard-table, when she suddenly stopped.
"Oh, no! I must have mercy on the game."
"Isn't she nice? she thinks of everything," murmured Henry de
Bracieux, quite touched.
"Come and kiss me, Bijou," said the marchioness.
Denyse had just put her basket down on a divan. She took from it a
full-blown rose, and went quickly across to her grandmother, whom she
kissed over and over again in a fondling way as a child.
"There," she said, presenting her rose, "it is the most beautiful one
of all!" Her voice was rather high-pitched, rather "a head-voice"
perhaps, but it sounded so young and clear, and then, too, she spoke
so distinctly, and with such an admirable pronunciation.
"You have not seen Pierrot, then?" asked the marchioness.
"Pierrot?" said Bijou, as though she were trying to recall something
to her memory. "Why, yes, I have seen him; he was with me a minute or
two helping me to gather the flowers, and then he went away to his
father, who was shooting rabbits in the wood."
"I might have thought as much; that boy does not do a thing."
"But, grandmamma, he is here for his holidays."
"His holidays if you like; but, all the same, if a tutor has been
engaged for him, it is surely so that he may work."
"But he must take some rest now and again, poor Pierrot--and his tutor
too."
"They do nothing else, though. Well, as long as my brother knows it,
and as long as it suits him--"
"It suits him to-day, anyhow, for he told them to join him in the
wood."
"He told _them_?" repeated the old lady; and then she continued slily,
"and so the tutor has been gathering roses, too?"
"Yes," replied Denyse, with her beautiful, frank smile, and not
noticing her grandmother's mocking intonation, "he has been gathering
roses, too."
"He probably enjoyed that more than shooting rabbits," said the
marchioness, glancing at a tall young man who was just entering the
room, "for if he went to join your uncle in the wood, he did not stay
long with him anyhow!"
"Why--no!"--said Bijou in astonishment, and then leaving her
grandmother, she advanced to meet the young man.
"Did you not find uncle, Monsieur Giraud?" she asked.
"Oh, yes, mademoiselle," he replied, turning very red. "Yes,
certainly, we found M. de Jonzac; but--I--I was obliged to come in--as
I have some of Pierre's exercises to correct." And then, doubtlessly
wanting to explain how it was that he had come into that room, he
added, slightly confused: "I just came in here to see whether I had
left my books about--I thought--but--I do not see them here--"
He had not taken his eyes off Bijou, and was going away again when the
marchioness, looking at him indulgently, and with an amused expression
in her eyes, called him back.
"Will you not stay and have a smoke here, Monsieur Giraud? Is there
such a hurry as all that for the correction of those exercises?"
"Oh, no, madame!" answered the tutor eagerly, retracing his steps,
"there is no hurry at all."
The old lady leaned forward towards Madame de Rueille, who was
silently working at a handsome piece of tapestry, and said to her with
a smile: "He is not like the abbe--this young man!"
Bertrade lifted her pretty head and answered gravely:
"No!"
"You look as though you pitied him?"
"I do, with all my heart."
"And why, pray?"
"Because the poor fellow, after coming to us as gay as a lark a
fortnight ago, and winning all our hearts, will go away from here sad
and unhappy, his heart heavy with grief or anger."
"Oh, you always see the black side of things; he thinks Bijou is
sweet, he admires her and likes to be with her; but that is all!"
"You know very well, grandmamma, that Bijou is perfectly adorable, and
so attractive that everyone is fascinated by her."
The marchioness pointed to her great-nephew, Jean de Blaye, who, ever
since he had left the window, did not appear to be taking any notice
of what was going on around him.
"Everyone?" she said, almost angrily; "no, not everyone. Look at Jean,
he is as blind as the abbe!"
Jean de Blaye was sitting motionless in a large arm-chair; there was
an impassive expression on his face, and a far-away look in his eyes.
He appeared to be in a reverie, and the younger lady glanced across at
him, as she answered:
"I am afraid that he is only acting blind!"
"Oh, nonsense!" said Madame de Bracieux delighted, "do you think that
Bijou could possibly interest Jean enough, for instance, to keep him,
even for a time, from his actresses, his horses, his theatres, and the
stupid life he generally leads?--You really think so?"
"I do think so!"
"And how long have you thought this?"
"Oh, only just now. When he told us with such conviction that '_he did
not care all that much about being reminded of Paris_,' I felt that he
was speaking the truth. I began to wonder then what could have made
him forget Paris. I wondered and wondered--and I found out."
"Bijou?"
"Exactly."
"So much the better if that really should be so. For my part, I do not
think it looks like it. He takes no notice of her."
"When we are watching him--no."
"He seems low-spirited and absent-minded."
"He would be for less cause than this. Jean never does things in a
half-and-half way. If he were in love, I mean seriously, he would be
desperately in love; and if he were to be desperately in love with
Bijou, or if he were to discover that he was falling in love with her,
it certainly would not be a thing for him to rejoice over. He
cannot--no matter how much he might wish it--he cannot marry Bijou.
It is not only that he is her cousin, but he is not rich enough."
"He has about twenty thousand pounds. Bijou has eight thousand, to
which I shall add another four thousand, that makes twelve
thousand--total between them thirty-two thousand."
"Well, and can you imagine Bijou with an income of about nine hundred
pounds a year?"
"No. I know that _she_ would consider it enough. She makes her own
dresses; everyone says they do that, but, in this case, it is a fact.
Then she is very industrious and clever; she understands housekeeping
wonderfully well, and for the last four years has managed everything
both here and in Paris; but I could not possibly reconcile myself to
the idea of seeing her enduring the hardships of a limited income--and
it would be limited. Good heavens! though, I hope she will not go and
fall in love with Jean."
"Oh, I do not think she will."
"You see, he is charming, the wretch; and it appears he is a great
favourite?"
"Yes, certainly; but then Bijou is made so much of. She is surrounded
and adored by everyone, so that she has not much time to fall in love
herself!"
"And then, too, she is such a child!" said the marchioness, glancing
at her grand-daughter with infinite tenderness.
Bijou was standing near the billiard-table watching the game, and
laughing as she teased the players.
At a little distance from her, the young professor was also standing
motionless, watching her with a rapturous expression in his eyes.
Suddenly Jean de Blaye rose abruptly, looking annoyed, and moved away
in the direction of the door that led to the flight of steps going
down to the garden.
"Wait a minute!" called out Denyse, "wait, and let me give you a
flower!"
She went to the basket, and taking out a yellow rose scarcely opened,
she crossed over to her cousin, and put it in his button-hole.
"There!" she said, stepping back and looking satisfied, "you are very
fine like that!" And then turning towards the tutor, she said in the
most winning way, and with perfect ease: "Monsieur Giraud, will you
have a rosebud too?"
The young man took the flower, and, almost trembling with confusion,
tried in vain to fasten it in his coat.
"Ah! you can't do it!" said the young girl, taking it gently from
him. "Let me put it in for you, will you?"
He was so tall that, in order to reach his button-hole, she was
obliged to stand on tip-toes. She slipped the flower through slowly,
and with the greatest care, and when she had finished she gave a
little tap to the shiny revers of the old coat, which were all out of
shape and faded.
"There, that's right!" she said, smiling pleasantly; "like that, it is
perfectly lovely!"
The marchioness, her eyes shining with affection, was looking at her.
"What do you think of her? isn't she sweet?" the old lady said to
Bertrade, who seemed to be admiring Bijou also.
Madame de Rueille looked at the young tutor, who was standing still in
the middle of the room.
"Poor fellow!" she said.
"What, still! Well, decidedly, Monsieur Giraud appears to interest you
very much!"
"Very much indeed! I am sorry for people who are sensitive and
unhappy; for, you see, I am one of the merry ones myself!"
"Oh!--I don't know about that. You said just now that Jean was acting
blind; well, I should say you were acting merry. You are merry, for
instance, when anyone is looking at you."
The young wife did not answer, she only pointed towards Bijou.
"She is one of the genuinely merry ones, at any rate, is she not,
grandmamma?"
Bijou had just given the children some flowers, and was now speaking
to the Abbe Courteil.
"And you too, monsieur, I want to decorate you with my flowers! There,
now, just tell me if that rose is not beautiful? Ah, if you want a
lovely rose, that certainly is one."
She was holding out to him an enormous rose, which was full blown, and
looked like a regular cabbage.
The abbe had risen from his seat without loosing the bag containing
the loto numbers. He looked scared, and stammered out as he stepped
back:
"Mademoiselle, it is indeed a superb flower; but--but I should not
know where to put it. The button-holes of my cassock are so small, the
stalk would never go through. I am very much obliged, mademoiselle, I
really am. I--but there is no place to put it--it is--"
"Oh, but there is room for it in your girdle," she answered, laughing.
"There, monsieur, look there--it is as though it had been made for
it!"
Standing at some little distance away, she pushed the long stalk of
the flower between the abbe's girdle and cassock.
He thanked her as he bowed awkwardly.
"I am much obliged, mademoiselle, it is very kind of you; I am quite
touched--quite touched."
At every movement the rose swung about in the loose girdle. It moved
backwards and forwards in the most comical way, with ridiculous little
jerks, showing up to advantage against the cassock which was all
twisted like a screw round the abbe's thin body.
"Now, I am going to arrange my vases," remarked Bijou, when she had
adorned everyone with flowers.
"Where?" asked M. de Rueille.
"Why, in the dining-room, in the drawing-room, in the hall, here,
everywhere."
"We will come and help you!" exclaimed several voices.
"Oh, no!--instead of helping me you would just hinder me."
She picked up her basket and went away, looking very merry and fresh.
Her muslin dress fluttered round her, as pink and pretty as she
herself was. As soon as she had disappeared, it seemed as though a
veil of melancholy had suddenly spread itself over the large room. No
one spoke, and there was not a sound to be heard except the knocking
together of the billiard-balls, and the rattling of the numbers, which
the abbe kept shaking all the time, bringing into this game, as into
everything else, the methodical precision which was habitual to him.
"Grandmamma," said Henry de Bracieux at length, "you ought not to
allow Bijou to give us the slip like this, especially at Bracieux. In
Paris it is not so bad, but here, when she leaves us we are done for;
she is the ray of sunshine that lights up the whole house."
The marchioness shrugged her shoulders.
"You talk nonsense; you forget that very soon Bijou will _give us the
slip_, as you so elegantly put it, in a more decisive way."
"What do you mean? She is not going to be married?"
"Well, I hope so."
"You have someone in view?" asked M. de Rueille, not very well
pleased.
"No, not at all; but, you see, the said someone may present himself
one day or another--not here, of course, there is no one round here
who would be suitable for Bijou; but it is very probable that this
winter in Paris--"
Henry de Bracieux, a fine-looking young man of twenty-five years of
age, with a strong resemblance to his sister Bertrade, was listening
to the words of the marchioness. His eyebrows were knitted, and there
was a serious expression on his face. He missed a very easy cannon,
and his brother-in-law was astonished.
"Oh, hang it!" he exclaimed; "it is too warm to play billiards. I am
going out to have a nap in the hammock."
His sister watched him as he left the room, and then turning towards
the marchioness, she whispered:
"He, too!"
The old lady replied, with a touch of ill-humour:
"Bijou cannot marry all the family, anyhow. Ah! here she is, we must
not talk about it."
Just at that moment the graceful figure of the young girl appeared in
the doorway leading to the stone steps.
"How many people will there be to dinner on Thursday, grandmamma?" she
asked, without entering the room.
"Why, I have not counted. There are the La Balues--"
"That makes four."
"The Juzencourts--"
"Six."
"Young Bernes--"
"Seven."
"Madame de Nezel--"
"Eight."
"That's all."
"And we are ten to start with, that makes eighteen. We can do with
twenty; will you invite the Dubuissons, grandmamma? I should so like
to have Jeanne."
"I am perfectly willing. I will write to them."
"It isn't worth while. I shall have to go to Pont-sur-Loire to get
things in, and I can invite them."
"My poor dear child! you are going to the town through this heat?"
"We _must_ see about the things for this dinner. To-day is
Tuesday--and then I want to speak to Mere Rafut, and see if she can
come to work. I have no dresses to put on, and there will be the
races, and some dances."
"Oh!" said the marchioness, evidently annoyed, "you are going to have
that frightful old woman again."
"Why, grandmamma, she's a very nice, straightforward sort of woman,
and then she works so well."
"That may be; but her appearance is terribly against her."
"Yes, grandmamma, that is so, she is not beautiful--Mere Rafut is old
and poor, and old age and poverty do not improve the appearance; but
it is so convenient for me to have her; and she is so happy to come
here, and be well-paid, and well-fed, and well-treated, after being
accustomed to her actresses, who either pay her badly or not at all."
By this time Bijou was standing just behind Madame de Bracieux's
arm-chair. She added in a coaxing way, as she threw her pretty pink
arms around the old lady's neck:
"It is quite a charity, grandmamma; and a charity not only to Mere
Rafut, but to me."
"Have her then," answered the marchioness, "have your frightful old
woman--let her come as much as you like!"
"Well, then, good-bye for the present."
"How are you going?--in the victoria?"
"No, in the trap; I shall be quicker if I take the trap--I can go
there in twenty-five minutes.
"And _you_ are going to drive?"
"Why, yes, grandmamma."
"And with the sun so hot? You'll have a stroke."
"Shall I drive you, Bijou?" proposed M. de Rueille. "I want to get
some tobacco, and some powder, and two fishing-rods to replace those
that Pierrot broke. I shall be glad to go to town."
"And I shall be delighted for you to drive me."
"When shall we start?"
"At once, please."
Just as they were going out of the room, the marchioness called out to
them:
"Beware of accidents. Don't go too quickly downhill."
"You can be quite easy, grandmamma, I never lose my head."