M. DUBUISSON, whom the students called "Old Dubuisson," was the
principal of the college.
He had brought his daughter to Bracieux, where she was to spend a week
with Bijou, and Jeanne's _fiance_, a young professor, newly appointed
at the Pont-sur-Loire College, had accompanied them.
"How warm you must be, my dear Bijou," called out the marchioness,
appearing at one of the windows.
"Oh, no, grandmamma," answered Denyse, taking M. de Rueille's hand in
order to descend from her horse. "M. Giraud and Pierrot must be
warm--I am all right."
She kissed Jeanne heartily, spoke to M. Dubuisson, and then looked in
a hesitating way towards the young professor, who was contemplating
her in surprise.
"Bijou, this is Monsieur Spiegel," said Mademoiselle Dubuisson.
With a graceful, pretty movement, which was very taking, Bijou held
out her little hand to the young man.
"We are friends at once," she said; and then, as she moved away with
Jeanne, she whispered: "He is charming, you know, quite charming!"
M. Spiegel perhaps overheard this kindly criticism, or else it was
just by accident that he happened to turn very red at that moment.
"Go and change your dress quickly, Bijou!" commanded the marchioness.
"But, grandmamma, I am not warm, really and truly."
"Come here! Let me see!"
In a docile way, Bijou went up to Madame de Bracieux.
"Well, grandmamma?" she said, when the marchioness had satisfied
herself by putting her finger between the young girl's neck and her
collar, "wasn't I right?"
"Yes, it's quite true," said Madame de Bracieux unwillingly, "she is
not warm at all; it is incomprehensible! Well, stay as you are then,
if you like." She made her grand-daughter turn round just in front of
her, and then remarked, in a satisfied tone, "You look very well like
that. Those little white, pique jackets are very becoming."
"They suit Bijou," said Bertrade, "because, with her complexion,
everything suits her; but these little English jackets are very
unbecoming to most women."
Abbe Courteil looked at the black skirt, the white jacket, and then at
Bijou herself.
"At all events, the black and white together is perfectly charming.
Mademoiselle Denyse looks like a big swallow."
"Well, well!" exclaimed the marchioness, with a benevolent expression
in her eyes, "that's very pretty, now, that comparison!"
Though she herself was the topic of conversation, Bijou was paying no
attention to what was being said, but was talking in a pleasant way to
M. Spiegel, a little apart from the others.
He was a serious, placid, young man, with a somewhat rigid expression.
His eyes, however, had a merry twinkle, which relieved the severity of
his mouth, and the austerity of his deportment.
He was rather tall, and slightly made, and was dressed in dark clothes
of a good cut. Altogether M. Spiegel might have passed for a young
clergyman. Fascinated and almost bewildered by Bijou's charm and
wonderful beauty, he was gazing at her with a look of surprise and
admiration in his eyes, whilst the young girl, for her part, kept
stealing a glance at him, for she was quite astonished to find that
Jeanne's _fiance_ was so satisfactory-looking.
Luncheon seemed to be very long. The marchioness's guests were all
engaged in studying each other, some of them absent-minded and silent,
and the others talkative, but singularly preoccupied also.
Madame de Bracieux was witnessing, without understanding in the least
what it all meant, the change of attitude, or, in fact, the
transformation which had commenced a few days ago. She could scarcely
recognise her little troop with whom she had hitherto been able to do
just as she liked.
M. Spiegel and Bijou, who were placed next to each other at the table,
were the only ones who talked with the animation of those who have
something to say, and who are not talking for the mere sake of
talking.
Several times Jeanne Dubuisson, seated on the right of M. Spiegel,
turned towards him with a little flash in her usually soft blue eyes.
She was thinking, sorrowfully, that her _fiance_ certainly seemed to
prefer looking at Bijou to looking at her, and a feeling of sadness
came over her at the idea that she had never seen his eyes resting on
her with as much expression in them as there was now when he gazed at
Bijou.
Jeanne, who was nineteen, looked much older than Denyse, although she
was a little like her. Her hair, which was fair like Bijou's, was less
glossy, and not so auburn, although it was thicker; her eyes were of a
less uncommon blue; her teeth were as white, but not so regular; her
complexion was less brilliant, and her head not so well set on her
shoulders.
Bijou, who was very short, wore very high heels in order to look
taller, whilst Jeanne, who was tall enough, always wore flat-heeled
boots.
The one fairly dazzled everyone by her wonderful beauty, whilst the
other would pass by almost unnoticed, her chief claim to prettiness
being a certain charm of expression, which betokened an unselfish
disposition and a kind heart.
After luncheon, Bijou carried Jeanne off with her to the park which
surrounded the chateau. She had scarcely seen her friend since her
engagement.
"Why," asked Bijou, "did you tell me so calmly that M. Spiegel was
rather good-looking?"
"Well, because I think he is," answered Mademoiselle Dubuisson. "Do
you mean to say that you--"
"Oh, come now, don't act; you know perfectly well that he is more than
_rather_ good-looking."
"But--"
"Yes, don't you see, from the description you gave me, I expected to
see a nice young man with a goody sort of look about him--rather a
bore, in fact--and then, instead, you bring us a most delightful man.
You ought to have prepared us; you ought not to give people such
shocks--" And then, not giving Jeanne time to reply, she continued:
"Where did you meet him?"
"This spring, at Easter, when we went to Bordeaux to stay with my
aunt."
"And it was settled at once."
"No, but I liked him from the first."
"Yes, you are one of the affectionate kind."
"And I soon saw that he, too, liked very much to be with me."
"And then?"
"Well, then, we came away, and I felt wretched, of course. I thought I
was mistaken, and that he did not care about me at all."
"You did not tell me anything about all that."
"No; in the first place I imagined that it was all over, and then I
should not have liked to talk about it to anyone, not even to you; it
seems to me that, about such matters--well, when one is in love, one
should only talk about it to one's own self; that is the only way to
be quite understood."
"Oh, then, you fancy that I do not understand anything about love?"
"About love such as I understand it? no! you are too pretty, you see,
and then you are too much feted and adored by everyone to be able, as
I have done, to satisfy and content yourself with an immense affection
for one person only."
Bijou sighed, as she said regretfully:
"It must be so happy, though, to love anyone like that."
"Well, it would be easy enough for you; your cousin M. de Blaye adores
you. Oh, it is no use denying it--it is so perfectly evident; I saw it
instantly."
"You are dreaming--" said Bijou, looking astounded.
"Oh, dear, no! he is in love with you, madly in love with you, and he
seems to me to be a man worthy of your love."
"Instead of talking nonsense, finish telling me the story of your
engagement. We had got as far as where you left Bordeaux, thinking
that all was over. What next?"
"Well, next, a fortnight ago, the professorship of philosophy was
vacant, and papa was surprised to hear that M. Spiegel had been
appointed to it. 'It is a come-down,' he said to me, 'for
Pont-sur-Loire is not as good as Bordeaux'; but not at all--it was no
come-down."
"It was he himself, then, who had asked for the change?"
"Exactly! and last Monday, he and his mother arrived at our house to
ask papa's consent."
"What's his mother like?"
"Very nice, and good-looking still; but she seems rather severe, a
little bit hard."
"Don't take any notice of that; Protestants always appear like that."
"How do you know that she is a Protestant?"
"Because I suppose that she is of the same religion as her son."
"But who told you that M. Spiegel is a Protestant?"
"No one. I discovered that all alone; it did not take me long
either--"
"But how can you know--"
"I do not know anything, and yet you see I do know all the same; it's
a very good thing to be able to marry a Protestant; they are less
frivolous, more serious, and more constant."
"Yes, perhaps so; but his mother, as I told you looks very severe,
very; and she is going to live with us."
"Oh, well, so much the better. It is a safe-guard, don't you know, to
have a mother with you who is somewhat austere. In the first place,
she will inspire everyone with respect for you."
"I don't think I need anyone to inspire people with respect for me,
and, anyhow, it seems to me that if I did, why, my husband would be--"
"Not at all! oh, no! parents are quite different, and I was brought up
to worship my parents, and to believe that their presence brings not
only respect but happiness into the home."
"Oh, yes, I think that, too, as regards papa; but Madame Spiegel is a
stranger to me, as it were, and I do feel that I owe her a little
grudge for coming to intrude on the privacy of our home-life, which
would have seemed so much happier alone."
"You must say to yourself that she is the mother of your husband, that
he loves her, and that you ought to love her for his sake."
"You are quite right. How I wish I were like you, Bijou dear! you are
so much better than I am."
"I am an angel, am I not? that's settled."
"You are joking; but it is quite, quite true."
"Tell me, won't it make you miserable to be away from your _fiance_
all this week, which you are going to spend with me?"
"No; besides he will come with papa to see me if your grandmamma will
allow him to, and then he is going to Paris for a few days."
"And here I am walking you about, like the thoughtless creature that I
am, forgetting that the unhappy young man is sure to be wretched
without you. Let us go in; shall we?"
"Yes, I am quite willing."
A bright gleam suddenly came into Bijou's eyes, shaded as they were by
their long lashes, and then, putting on an indifferent air, she said
to her friend:
"Tell me what little incident could possibly have given you the
extraordinary idea that Jean de Blaye cares for me?"
"The way he looked at you all through luncheon, and then, too, his
annoyance when we were all out on the steps this morning watching for
you, and he saw you coming with young Jonzac and his tutor."
"You have too much imagination."
"No; I am sure that he is in love with you--and very much so!--and
what about you?"
"What about me?"
"You--you don't care for him?"
"No, not in the way you mean, at least. He is my cousin; I like him
just as one does like a nice cousin, whom one knows too well to care
for in any other way."
"It's a pity."
"Why?"
"Because it seems to me that you would be happy with him."
Bijou shook her head.
"I don't think so; I must have a husband more steady than Jean."
"More steady? but he must be thirty-four or thirty-five--M. de Blaye."
"What does that matter? he is not steady, you know--not by any means."
"Ah! I did not know."
"Then, too, I should want my husband to only care for me."
"Well, pretty and fascinating as you are, you can make your mind easy
about that."
Bijou stopped suddenly in the middle of the garden-walk.
"Is not that a carriage coming up the drive?" she asked, pointing to
the avenue.
"Yes, certainly it is."
"What sort of a carriage? I cannot see anything, I am so
short-sighted."
"A phaeton with two horses, and a gentleman I don't know is driving."
"Ah, yes, that's it!" And then, as Jeanne looked at her inquiringly,
she added: "It is M. de Clagny--a friend of grandmamma's--the owner
of The Noriniere."
"Ah! the man who is so rich!"
"So rich? Do you think he is so rich? I have not heard a word about
that!"
"Oh, yes; he is immensely wealthy--and all his fortune is in land."
Bijou was not listening to this. She had just gathered a daisy, which
was growing amongst the grass, bending its little timid head over the
garden pathway, and she was now pulling it to pieces in an
absent-minded way.
"Well?" asked Jeanne, smiling; "how does he love you?"
Bijou lifted her pretty head in surprise.
"Whom do you mean?"
"The one about whom you were questioning that daisy?"
"I don't know! I was not questioning it about anyone in particular."
"And what did it answer you?"
"Passionately."
"Oh, well, it was answering about everybody." And Jeanne added, as she
mounted the little flight of stone steps just behind her friend: "It's
quite true; everybody loves you; and you deserve to be loved--there!"
When the two girls entered the room where everyone was assembled,
their arrival seemed to have the effect of bringing some animation
into the faces of all the people.
"At last, and not before it was time!" murmured Henry de Bracieux, in
a way which caused his grandmother to glance at him, whilst M. de
Clagny stepped quickly forward to meet Bijou.
"That's right," she said pleasantly; "how good of you to come again so
soon to see us!"
"Too good! You'll have too much of me before long!"
"Never!" she answered, smiling merrily; and then taking Jeanne's hand,
she introduced her. "Jeanne Dubuisson--my best friend--whom I shall
lose now, because she is going to be married!"
"But why do you say that, Bijou?" exclaimed the young girl
reproachfully. "You know very well that, married or not married, I
shall always be your friend."
"Yes--everyone says that; but it isn't the same thing! When one is
married one does not belong to one's parents or friends any more, one
belongs to one's husband--and to him alone."
"How delightful such delusions are!" murmured M. de Clagny.
Bijou turned towards him abruptly.
"What did you say?" she asked.
"Oh, it was just nonsense!"
"No; I quite understand that you were laughing at me. Yes, I
understand perfectly well; it's no good shaking your head, I know all
the same that you were making fun of me, because I said that when one
is married one belongs only to one's husband! Well, that may be very
ridiculous, but it is my idea, and I believe it is M. Spiegel's, too?"
The young man smiled and nodded without answering.
"Has anyone introduced M. Spiegel?" continued Bijou, still addressing
the count. "No? well, then, I will repair such negligence. Monsieur
Spiegel, Jeanne's _fiance_, who does not dare to support me, and
declare that I am right, because he is not in the majority here; there
is no one here who is married but himself--that is to say, nearly
married."
"Oh, indeed, and what about Paul?" asked the marchioness, laughing.
"Paul! Oh, yes, that's true; I was not thinking of him! Anyhow, the
unmarried persons are in the majority--Henry, Pierrot, Monsieur
Courteil, M. Giraud, Jean--well, what's the matter with Jean? he does
look queer!"
Jean de Blaye was seated in an arm-chair, with his eyes half-closed
and his head resting on his hand, looking very drowsy.
"I have a headache!" he answered; and then, as Bijou persisted, and
wanted to know what had given him a headache, he exclaimed gruffly:
"Well, what do you want me to say? It's a headache; how can I tell
what's given it me? It comes itself how it likes--that's all I know!"
Bijou had gone behind the arm-chair in which her cousin was lounging.
"You must have a very, very bad headache to look as you do," she said,
not at all discouraged by his abrupt manner, and noticing his pale
face, his drawn features, and his eyes, with dark circles round them,
"and for you to own, too, that there is anything the matter with you;
because you always set up for being so strong and well. Poor Jean, I
do wish you could get rid of it."
She bent forward, and pressing her lips gently on the young man's
weary eyelids, remained like that a few seconds.
Jean de Blaye turned pale, and then very red, and rose hastily from
his chair.
"You startled me," he said, in an embarrassed way, not knowing where
to look, "how stupid I am; but I did not see you were so near, so you
quite surprised me."
M. de Clagny had risen, too, in an excited way on seeing Bijou kiss
her cousin. It occurred to him though, at once, how very ridiculous
his jealousy would appear, and he sat down again, saying in a jesting
tone:
"Well, if that remedy does not take effect, de Blaye's case is
incurable."
M. de Rueille looked enviously at Jean, who was just going out of the
drawing-room, and then, turning to Bijou, he remarked, in a hoarse
voice:
"When I have a headache, and, unfortunately, that is very often, you
are not so compassionate."
M. Giraud remained petrified in the little low chair in which he had
taken his seat. His eyes were fixed on the ground, and his lips
pressed closely together; he looked as though he had seen nothing.
As for Pierrot, he exclaimed candidly:
"What a lucky beggar that Jean is!"
"Undoubtedly, undoubtedly," replied Abbe Courteil, with conviction;
"but, all the same, he certainly has a very bad headache--Monsieur de
Blaye. I know what it is to have a headache."
The marchioness bent forward to whisper to Bertrade, whilst looking
all the time at Bijou.
"Isn't she sweet, that child, and so good-hearted, and, above all, so
natural. Did you see how innocently she kissed that simpleton of a
Jean, and how it startled him?"
"Oh! as to startling him! he was rather upset by it, poor fellow, and
he wanted to explain away the fact that he was upset by it; that is
about all."
"Do you think so? with him, one never knows."
"You did not notice that he went off at once, without even saying
good-bye to M. Dubuisson and M. Spiegel, who are just going away."
The marchioness turned towards the two men in question, who were just
coming across to take leave.
"As we are keeping your Jeanne," she said, "I hope you will often come
to see her."
"Are you quite sure that you don't mind staying at Bracieux?" Bijou
asked her friend; "I shall not be angry with you, you know, for
preferring your _fiance_ to me."
"Spiegel is obliged to go to Paris for a few days," said M. Dubuisson;
"on his return I shall come with him to fetch Jeanne back."
* * * * *
On leaving the drawing-room, a few minutes before, Jean de Blaye had
felt thoroughly wretched. Bijou's innocent kiss, given so openly
before everyone, had, as a matter of fact, thoroughly upset him
rousing again the love which he felt for the young girl, and which he
had hoped would remain dormant, since Madame de Nezel was ready to
console him with her affection.
Only the evening before he had said to the young widow: "How can I
love that child as I love you?" and when he had uttered these words,
he had, for the time being, felt his old love for Madame de Nezel
returning, and it had seemed to him that Bijou could never inspire the
same passion as he had felt for this woman. And now, after hoping that
he had conquered his love for the young girl, her kiss had completely
undone him, and left him helpless to struggle against himself any
longer.
He felt now that from henceforth he ought not to continue to claim
Madame de Nezel's affection, since he could no longer return it; and
as he thought of all that this affection had been to him in the past,
he suffered intensely. For the last four years this woman had loved
him with a devotion that had known no bounds, and, whilst Madame de
Bracieux, M. de Jonzac, the Rueilles, and, indeed, all his family, had
imagined that he was living a very gay life, he had been spending his
time peacefully and happily in the society of Madame de Nezel.
They had understood each other perfectly, and no one had suspected
anything of the sympathy which had thus drawn them together, so that
Jean had always been criticised for those actions of his which were
known to the world, and he had been perfectly satisfied that things
should be thus. Now, however, all would be changed. He would have to
give up this peaceful happiness which had been so much to him.
And why should he, after all? Did he intend to tell Bijou of his love
for her? And even supposing that she did not reject his love, was he
in a position to marry this fragile and exquisite girl, who had
certainly been created for the most luxurious surroundings?
He had already thought it all over many times and had said to himself,
over and over again, that it would be absurdly foolish. Then, too,
Bijou would never love him well enough to accept him with his
extremely moderate income. As he had promised Madame de Nezel to meet
her the following day at Pont-sur-Loire, he wrote her a few lines in
order to excuse himself.
"She will not believe the pretext I have given her," he said to
himself, as he sealed the letter "but she will quite understand, and,
now, it is all over between us."
And then all at once a feeling of utter loneliness came over him, and
a vision of the life that would from henceforth be his rose before him
with strange distinctness. He shuddered in spite of himself, and then
he fell to going over again in his mind all his sorrows.
In the meantime, Bijou had shown Jeanne Dubuisson to the room she was
to occupy during her visit to the chateau.
"It is your imagination, I tell you; nothing but your imagination,"
she said to her friend. "He does like me, certainly, but just in the
way one cares for a cousin, or even a sister."
"No! It was quite enough to look at his face when he went out of the
drawing-room. He was quite upset, and I am sure he has not got over it
yet."
"Wouldn't you like me to go and ask him? But, there, it is seven
o'clock. We have only just time to dress. I will come back for you
when the first dinner-bell rings."
When Bijou came out of her bedroom, simply but charmingly dressed, as
usual, the long landing was dark and silent. The servants had drawn
the blinds, but had not yet lighted the lamps.
Jean, who was coming out of his room, could just distinguish, in the
darkness, a few yards away from him, a figure in a light dress. He
hurried up to it, and Bijou asked:
"Is that you, Jean?"
"Yes," he answered; "and I want a word with you."
"Something that won't take long? The first bell has gone."
"Something very short; but I should prefer no one else hearing."
"Shall we go into your room, then, or into mine?"
"Into yours, as we are so near it."
Bijou opened the door, and, when Blaye was inside, she said:
"Wait a minute. Don't move, or I shall knock against you. I will
light--"
"Oh, it isn't worth getting a light," he said, catching hold of her
arm to stop her. "I can say what I have to without that. Besides, it
won't take long. I want to tell you, Bijou, my dear, that what you
did, you know, just now--"
She appeared to be trying to remember.
"Just now? Whatever was it I did?"
"Well, in a very nice way--oh! in a very nice way, indeed, you
know--you kissed me, but you are too grown-up to do that now when
there are people there."
"And when there isn't anyone there?" she asked, laughing, "may I
then--tell me?"
Before he had time to reply, she had laid her hands on his shoulder,
and lifted her face towards his. He bent his head at the same moment,
and her lips touched his. Bijou gave a little half-timid murmur of
affection, which moved him deeply.
He made up his mind now to tell her of his love, and tried to draw her
to him; but the young girl pushed back the hands which were
endeavouring to hold her, and ran out of the room, and, by the rustle
of her dress along the wall, Jean knew that she was hurrying away.