AFTER dinner the heat in the drawing-room was over-powering, and
Madame de Bracieux said to her guests:
"Those of you who are not afraid of the evening air could go out on to
the terrace or into the garden."
Gisele de la Balue, a big, tall girl, built on the model of the
statues round the Place de la Concorde, and who liked to affect free
and easy tom-boyish manners, started off out-doors, running along
heavily and calling out:
"Whoever cares for me will follow me!"
Hubert de Bernes followed her out of politeness.
Rueille, Henry de Bracieux, Pierrot, and M. Giraud turned with one
accord toward Denyse.
"Are you coming, Bijou?" asked Pierrot.
She saw Jean de Blaye talking to Madame de Nezel, who was just going
out with him, and she answered:
"I will come to you directly. I am going to see if the children are in
bed just now."
"Mademoiselle," proposed the abbe, "I can spare you the trouble."
"Oh, no; thank you very much, monsieur, but you know I never feel
quite happy if I have not kissed Fred."
She went out by the door opposite the terrace.
"Your grand-daughter is decidedly the most charming girl I have ever
come across," remarked M. de Clagny to the marchioness, and then he
added sadly; "It is when an old man meets women like that, that he
regrets his age."
"I must say," answered Madame de Bracieux, laughing, "that even if you
were young, you would not be just the husband I dream of for Bijou."
"And why not, if you please?"
"Well, because you are, or at least you were, rather--how shall I put
it?--rather large-hearted."
"Large-hearted! good heavens, yes, I was! but that was the fault of
those who did not know how to keep my affection. I assure you, though,
that with a wife like Bijou, I should never have been what you call
_large-hearted_."
"Oh, as to that," said Madame de Bracieux incredulously, "one never
knows."
On leaving the drawing-room, Bijou crossed the hall, and instead of
going up the wide staircase which led to the children's rooms, she
lifted the old green tapestry curtain which covered the door of the
butler's pantry. Just as she was going to open this door she turned
back into the hall to get a long, dark cloak, which was hanging there.
It was a Berck fisherwoman's cloak, which she always put on when it
rained. She wrapped herself up in it hastily, and then went into the
pantry, where it was now quite dark. From the kitchen she could hear
the loud voices of the servants, who were at dinner. Denyse went
across to the open window, got up on to a chair, and then gathering
her skirts closely round her, stepped out on to the window-sill, and
jumped lightly down into the garden.
Once there, she hesitated an instant. The terrace seemed to stand out
distinctly, lighted up by the drawing-room windows. In the chestnut
avenue she could distinguish in the shade the red gleam of cigars.
Suddenly she pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head, and
evidently making up her mind, started off quickly along the dark
pathway which led to the other avenue.
During this time her faithful admirers were waiting on the terrace for
her to come and join them as she had promised, and the ponderous
Gisele was endeavouring vainly to organise a game at hide-and-seek.
The men seemed to have no energy; Madame de Tourville was afraid of
spoiling her dress; and Madame de Juzencourt was strolling about with
Jean de Blaye and Madame de Nezel. Presently, however, she went back
to the others alone, and Mademoiselle de la Balue wanted to persuade
her to have a game, but she refused emphatically. She certainly was
not going to run about, she said, considering that she was too warm
already with only walking; she had just had to leave Therese de Nezel
and Jean de Blaye, for she could not walk another step.
Left to themselves, Jean and Madame de Nezel continued strolling
along, she in a natural, unaffected way, going on with the
conversation they had commenced, and he absent-minded and ill-at-case.
"Why do you not reproach me?" he said at last, abruptly, not able to
contain himself any longer; "why do you not say all the bad things you
think about me?"
"Because I have nothing to reproach you for," she answered, very
gently; "and I do not think any bad things about you."
"Well, then, you do not care about me any longer."
"I do not care about you any longer?" she said, and there was an
accent of such intense grief in her voice that he was quite overcome
by it.
He knew so well how deeply she loved him, that he dreaded the thought
of the awful suffering she would have to endure if he were to be quite
straightforward with her now, and so, out of affection for her, he
endeavoured to conceal from her the real truth.
"Yes," he began, improvising with difficulty an excuse of which he had
not thought until that moment, "you must have fancied that I was not
thinking of you, for you have been here at The Pines a fortnight, and
I have not sent you a line. The fact is, it is very difficult to
arrange to meet here at Pont-sur-Loire; everyone knows me here, and,
you see, for your sake, I scarcely liked to ask you to meet me in the
town."
She did not make any reply, and he could not understand her silence.
"Why do you not answer me?" he asked at length.
"Why? well, because you are telling me now exactly the opposite to
what you said when you asked me to accept the Juzencourts'
invitation."
"What did I say?" he asked, slightly embarrassed.
"You said that at Pont-sur-Loire it would be so easy to meet. You
said that between the hours of luncheon and dinner there were two
trains up and two down from The Pines to Pont-sur-Loire, and that I
could get away so easily, as the Juzencourts never went out except to
pay calls at the various country-houses in the neighbourhood, or to
follow the paper chases. On my arrival here I found that all these
details were perfectly exact."
"Yes, but it really is not so easy as I had imagined."
"Ah, Jean! instead of trying to deceive me in this way, it would be
much better to tell me the truth."
"And the truth, according to you, is that I no longer care for you?"
"Yes, that is a part of the truth."
"And," he asked, somewhat uneasily, "the rest?"--
"Is, that you are in love with Mademoiselle de Courtaix. Ah, do not
deny it! it is so evident!" And then, after a moment's silence, she
added: "And so natural!"
"Do you forgive me?"
"I have nothing to forgive. I have never demanded anything from you,
and you have never, never promised me anything. When I first began to
care for you, I was not a widow; you must therefore have judged me
severely, as a man nearly always does judge the woman who is weak
enough to care for him when she ought not to."
"I swear to you--"
"No, do not swear anything; you had all the more reason to judge me in
that way, because I did not think it my duty to tell you what my life
had been like until then. You doubtless believed that my husband was
kind and affectionate, and that I endured no remorse, when I allowed
myself to love you--"
"I did not think about it at all, I simply adored you," he said. And
then hesitating, and with evident anxiety, he continued: "And now you
will never care for me any more?"
"What!" she exclaimed, perfectly amazed at the unconscious selfishness
of the man, "you wish me to go on caring for you?"
"You ask if I wish it? why, what would become of me without you? you
who are my very life!" And then, as she moved back a step or two in
sheer bewilderment, he went on: "Well, but whatever have you been
imagining?--that I am going to marry Bijou, perhaps?"
"Why, yes."
He was about to explain to her why he could not marry his cousin, but
it occurred to him that the very prosaic reason for the impossibility
of such a match, would make his return to Madame de Nezel, of whom he
was really very fond, appear as a slight to her.
"It has only been a passing fancy that I have had for Bijou," he said.
"How could I help it? it is simply impossible to be always with her
and to escape being intoxicated by her beauty, and by her unconscious
and innocent coquetry. For the last fortnight I have been a fool--I am
still, in fact; but on seeing you again I knew at once that it is you
only whom I love, and belong to--heart and soul."
As he said this, he drew Madame de Nezel's pale face against his
shoulder, and, bending down, pressed his lips to hers, and then, as
the young widow nestled closer still in his arms, he said, with
passionate tenderness:
"How do you think that I could ever care for that child--with whom I
am always so reserved--in the way I care for you?" He could feel her
slender form trembling in his embrace, and, drawing her closer still,
he murmured: "Forgive me, darling, you are always so good, and if I
have sinned, it has only been in thought."
"You know I love you," she answered. "But we must go back to the house
at once; they will think our walk is lasting a long time."
Madame de Juzencourt, who was seated on the terrace, called out as
soon as she caught sight of them:
"Well, have you been walking all this time?"
And at the same moment M. de Rueille called out to Bijou, who had just
appeared at one of the windows:
"So that's the way you come out to us! It's very kind of you."
"I could not come before," she answered, stepping out, and then
approaching her cousin, she added, in a low voice: "I had to see to
the tea and the ices, etc., etc.; you must not be vexed with me."
"Vexed with you!" exclaimed Pierrot warmly. "Could anyone be vexed
with _you_, now?"
Bijou did not answer. She was watching Hubert de Bernes in an
absent-minded way, as he stood talking to Bertrade, and she was
wondering how it was that he was so cool in his manner towards
herself. He was polite, certainly, and even pleasant, but _only_
polite and pleasant, and she was not accustomed to such moderation. M.
de Clagny appeared presently at one of the windows and called out:
"Mademoiselle Bijou, your grandmamma wants you."
Denyse ran into the house, her silk skirts rustling as she went. She
did not even stay to answer young La Balue, who, pointing to Henry de
Bracieux as he stood with the light showing up his profile, had just
remarked:
"What a handsome man Henry is."
"Bijou," said the marchioness, "I want you to sing something for us."
"Oh! grandmamma, please"--she began, in a beseeching tone, and looking
annoyed.
"M. de Clagny wants to hear you," said Madame de Bracieux, insisting.
"Oh, very well, then, I will, certainly," replied Bijou pleasantly,
without taking into account that her way of consenting was not very
flattering for the rest of her grandmother's guests.
She went to the piano, and, taking up a guitar, put the pink ribbon
which was attached to it round her neck, and then came back and took
up her position in the midst of the semi-circle formed by the
arm-chairs.
"I am going to accompany myself with the guitar," she said; "it is
simpler." And then turning to M. de Clagny, she asked: "What do you
want me to sing? Do you like the old-fashioned songs?" and without
waiting for a reply, she began the ballad of the "Petit Soldat":
"Je me suis engage
Pour l'amour d'une blonde."
She had a good ear and a pretty voice, which she used skilfully, and
it was with plaintive sweetness that she sang the touching story of
the young soldier who "veut qu'on mette son coeur dans une serviette
blanche."
The drawing-room soon filled when Bijou began to sing, and the various
expressions on the different faces were most amusing to see.
Jean was listening in a nervous, excited way, pulling his fair
moustache irritably through his fingers.
M. de Rueille, affected in spite of himself by the doleful air, and
annoyed that all these people should be admiring Bijou, was pacing up
and down at the other end of the drawing-room, pretending not to be
listening to the music.
Pierrot, with his mouth open, was all attention. Young La Balue, with
his elbow resting on a side-table in an awkward and ridiculous pose,
kept his colourless eyes fixed on the young girl in a gaze which he
tried to make magnetic, and with such bold persistency that Henry de
Bracieux felt the most extraordinary desire to walk up to him and box
his ears. Even Abbe Courteil was carried away by the plaintive
ballad; he was deeply moved, and sat there with his eyes stretched
wide open, breathing heavily. Hubert de Bernes only was listening with
polite attention, but comparative indifference. As to the ladies, all,
except, perhaps, Gisele de la Balue, admired Bijou sincerely.
Madame de Nezel was listening with a mournful expression in her eyes,
and a kind-hearted smile, whilst as for M. de Clagny, it was as though
all the sensitiveness and affection of his nature had gone out towards
this pretty, fragile-looking, young creature. His eyes, beaming with
tenderness, seemed to take in at the same time, the beautiful face,
the little rosy fingers as they touched the strings of the guitar, and
the slender, supple figure.
When Bijou had come to the end of her song, she went up to him,
without paying any attention to the compliments that were being
showered on her, and, in a pretty, coaxing way, she asked:
"It did not bore you too much, I hope?"
M. de Clagny could not answer for a moment. He felt choked with
emotion.
"I shall often ask you for that song again," he said at last. "Yes, I
shall come often, and you will sing me the 'Petit Soldat,' won't you?"
He had a great desire to hear Bijou sing for him--for him alone; he
did not want to share her voice and her charm with all these people
whom he now detested.
"You shall come as often as you please," she answered, looking
delighted, "and I will sing you everything you like," and then gliding
away she went across to Jean de Blaye, who was standing alone at the
other end of the drawing-room. "It annoys you when I sing, doesn't
it?" she asked him.
"Why, no!" he answered, surprised at the question, and surprised that
Bijou should trouble about him. "Why should you think so?"
"Because I saw you just now--you were pulling your moustache in the
most furious way, and you looked bored to death. Yes, you certainly
did look bored!"
"It was just your own imagination."
"Oh, no! it was not just my imagination. When I care about anyone I am
always very clear-sighted! so, you see, it is quite the contrary. Why
are you frowning now?"
"I am not frowning."
"Oh, yes, you were, and it looks as though what I said just now had
vexed you, too."
"What did you just say?"
"That I am very clear-sighted. And you are vexed, because you are
afraid that I shall see that something is the matter."
"Something the matter?" he asked uneasily. "What is it?"
"What is it? Ah! I don't know! But most certainly something is the
matter with you--you are not at all like yourself ever since--why,
ever since we have been at Bracieux."
"Really?" he said, putting on a joking tone. "I am different, am
I--and the most extraordinary thing is, that I did not know myself
about this difference."
Bijou shrugged her pretty shoulders.
"Don't try to take me in like that, Jean, my dear; I know you too
well, you see. You are different, I tell you! You have gradually got
very abrupt, restless, and absent-minded. Listen, now,--would you like
me to tell you what it is?"
Seated at some distance away from them, Madame de Nezel was watching
them, with an expression of melancholy resignation.
Bijou glanced across at her, and the young girl's violet eyes gleamed
between her long, thick lashes, as she said:
"You are in love with someone who does not return your love."
Jean de Blaye coloured up furiously.
"You don't know what you are talking about," he answered.
"Well, then, why have you gone so red? Oh, how proud you are. You are
vexed because I have found this out." And then, after a short silence,
she began again: "Have you told her?"
"Have I told what? and whom? My dear Bijou, how foolish you are."
"Have you told Mad--" She stopped abruptly, and then, with her face
turned towards Madame de Nezel, she continued: "The person with whom
you are in love, have you told her that you love her?"
"No!" he murmured, in a stifled sort of voice.
"You are afraid to? but why? I constantly hear grandmamma, Bertrade,
Paul, and Uncle Alexis, saying over and over again that you are the
kind of man women like; _she_ would be sure to like you, too, and she
would marry you, I am certain." She leaned towards him, nearly
touching his ear as she whispered to him, and not caring what effect
her familiarity might have. "Listen, now, if you like I will tell her
for you, and I am quite sure what her answer will be."
Jean rose abruptly, and seizing Bijou's hand, he asked excitedly:
"What are you saying?"
"I am just saying that she _will_ love you, if she does not already."
"But of whom are you speaking--of whom?" he stammered out, aghast.
She answered him in a hesitating way, with a frank look on her pretty
face, but she spoke in such a low voice that he could scarcely catch
her first words.
"I am speaking of----"
"Bijou!" called out Pierrot, separating them unceremoniously,
"grandmamma says you are forgetting about the tea." And then, looking
at their faces, he went on: "Well, I never! you are both as red as
cherries; there's no mistake about it, it's baking hot in here."
Denyse hurried away, and Pierrot continued:
"We thought over there that you were quarrelling."
"Ah! you thought that, did you?" answered Jean, by way of saying
something.
"Yes, especially grandmamma; that's why she sent me to tell Bijou
about the tea. I say, Bijou isn't worried about anything, is she?"
"Well, now, what kind of worry do you fancy she could have, my dear
fellow?" And then, with a smile, he added: "Who do you imagine would
undertake to cause her any worry? It seems to me that anyone who did
venture to would have a bad time of it in this house."
"She's so sweet, and so nice always," answered the boy, with great
warmth. "As for me, why, I just adore her; and Paul does, too, and so
does Henry, and M. Giraud, and Bertrade's kids, and the abbe, and
everyone, in fact; even little La Balue is gone on her, and he's never
gone on anyone. Yes, he was telling her I don't know what up in a
corner of the room after dinner, and then, when she was singing--did
you ever see such eyes as he was making at her?--oh, no! if you had
only just seen him----"
"Do shut up!" exclaimed Jean irritably, "you wear everyone out, if you
only knew it, my dear Pierrot."
When Bijou came back to the drawing-room, Henry de Bracieux waylaid
her.
"I say," he began, in a cross-grained tone, "what was La Balue telling
you just now that appeared to be so interesting?"
"Where?"
"Here, after dinner."
"Here?" repeated Bijou, apparently trying to recall something to her
memory, "after dinner? Ah, I remember; why, he was talking about
you!'
"About me?"
"Yes, about you! He thinks you are very handsome, but he also thinks
that you do not know how to make the most of your good looks."
"Have you finished making game of me?"
"I assure you that I am not making game of you--not the least bit in
the world. He even advised me to tell you that instead of your
frightful stand-up collars--these are his words, you know, and not
mine--you ought to wear--what did he call them now?--oh, Van Dyck
collars, which would not cover your neck up, for it appears that your
throat is superb, and your head so well set on your shoulders; and
then you have lovely teeth! I only wish you could hear him sing the
praises of your personal appearance."
"Of my personal appearance! Mine?"
"Why, yes; you thought, perhaps, that he was talking to me of mine?
Not at all! He informed me, too, that he was going to tell you all
that in poetry; not the Van Dyck collars, but the rest."
"That young man is an idiot!"
"Oh, dear me, he is very harmless."
"You are so good-hearted always, you never dig into anyone. Ah,
attention! they are packing up, the La Balue crew!" And Henry, in a
low voice, and apparently delighted, finished up with a "Hip! hip!
hurrah!"
M. de la Balue, who was just coming out of the hall with a heap of
cloaks, looked at him in astonishment, while at the doorway a little
family quarrel took place. The good man wanted to make his wife and
daughter wrap their heads up in some very ordinary-looking knitted
shawls, so that they should not get a chill. He was obliged, however,
to give in at last.
Bijou, on saying good-bye to Madame de Nezel, held out her little
hand, and looked straight into her eyes with such an expression of
innocent curiosity that the young widow turned away, quite confused by
the persistency of the young girl's gaze. It seemed to her as though
this child had discovered the secret of her life, and the bare idea of
this caused her intense misery.
Bijou's charm, however, was so great, and her power of attraction so
strong, that Madame de Nezel, at the bottom of her heart, felt nothing
but affection for the lovely little creature who had so unconsciously
stolen her happiness from her.
* * * * *
"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Denyse gaily, when she went back into the
drawing-room, where only M. de Clagny and the family now remained, "it
is half-past twelve, you know; they all seemed like fixtures, and I
thought they were never going to leave us!"
"The La Balue family are not very handsome," remarked the abbe.
"Oh, they are not so bad," protested the young girl; "it is only a
question of getting used to them, that's all!"
"Young Balue is horrible!" said Madame de Bracieux. "And then, too,
there is something snaky about him. When you shake hands with him, it
is like touching an eel."
"And the daughter, too!" put in Pierrot. "Ugh, she has such little
pig's eyes! and Louis, too, has little eyes!"
"They are very nice, though, all the same," said Bijou, in a
conciliatory tone.
"And they come of very good family," added Madame de Bracieux; "they
are descended from La Balue, from the Cardinal, the real--"
"Oh, well," put in Bijou gently, "it would, perhaps, be better for
Gisele not to have descended from the iron cage, but to have larger
eyes; however, as it cannot be helped--"
M. de Clagny laughed, as he turned round to look about for his hat,
which he had put down somewhere in the room.
"One needs to have a certain amount of assurance," he said, "in making
one's exit from here, for one feels how one will be pulled to pieces."
"You need not be afraid," said Bijou, "we shall not pull you to
pieces, although you could stand it very well. I promise you, though,
that you shall not be pulled to pieces. Will you take my word for it?"
"Yes, I will take your word," answered the count, as he took the
little hands, which were held out to him, and pressed them
affectionately in his.