NICOLE'S DOWER.
Nicole aided her young mistress in her traveling preparations with
ardor which speedily dissipated the cloud risen that morning between
maid and mistress. The latter smiled as she found that she would have
no need to scold her.
"She is a good, devoted girl and grateful," she mused; "only she has
weaknesses, like all womankind. Let us forget."
On her part, Nicole was not the girl not to watch her mistress' face,
and she saw the kindliness increasing.
"I was a fool nearly to get into a scrape with her for that rascal
Gilbert, when she is going to town, where everybody makes a fortune."
"Put my lace in my box. Stop! I gave you that box, I remember; and you
will want it, as you are going to set up housekeeping."
"Oh, my lady," said Nicole, reddening, and replying merrily, "my
wedding garments will be easily kept in no great space."
"How so? I want you to be well off when you wed."
"Have you found me a rich match?"
"No, but a dower of twenty-five gold pieces."
"You would give me such a treasure!" Emotion followed her surprise, and
tears gushed into her eyes as she kissed Andrea's hand.
Nicole began to think that Gilbert had rejected her from fear of
poverty, and that now she had funds, she had better marry the ambitious
spark to whom she would appear more desirable. But a germ of pride
mingled with the generosity, as she wanted to humble one who had jilted
her.
"It looks as though you really loved your Gilbert," observed the lady.
"How incredible for something in the lad to please you. I must have a
look at this lady-killer next time I see him."
Nicole eyed her with lingering doubt. Was this deep hypocrisy or
perfect ignorance?
"Is Gilbert coming to Paris with us?" she inquired, to be settled on
the point.
"What for? he is not a domestic and is not fitted for a Parisian
establishment. The loungers about Taverney are like the birds which can
pick up a living on their own ground; but in Paris a hanger-on would
cost too much, and we cannot tolerate that. If you marry him, you must
stay here. I give you an hour to decide between my household or your
husband's. I detest these connubial details and will not have a married
servant. In any case, here is the money; marry, and have it as dower;
follow me, and it is your first two years' wages, in advance."
Nicole took the purse from her hand and kissed it.
The lady watched her go away and muttered: "She is happy, for she
loves."
Nicole in five minutes was at the window of Gilbert's room, at the back
of which he was turning over his things.
"I have come to tell you that my mistress wants me to go with her to
Paris."
"Good!" said the young man.
"Unless I get married and settled here."
"Are you thinking still of that?" he asked, without any feeling.
"Particularly, since I am rich from my lady dowering me," and she
showed the bright gold.
"A pretty sum," he said drily.
"That is not all. My lord is going to be rich. He will rebuild the
castle, and the house will have to be guarded----"
"By the happy mate of Nicole," suggested Gilbert with irony, not
sufficiently wrapped up not to wound the girl, though she contained
herself. "I refuse the offer, for I am not going to bury myself here
when Paris is open to me also. Paris is my stage, do you understand?"
"And mine, and I understand you. You may not regret me; but you will
fear me, and blush to see to what you drive me. I longed to be an
honest woman, but, when I was leaning over the verge, you repulsed me
instead of pulling me back. I am slipping and I shall fall, and heaven
will ask you to account for the loss. Farewell, Gilbert!"
The proud girl spun round without anger now, or impatience, having
exhausted all her generosity of soul.
Gilbert quietly closed the window and resumed the mysterious business
which Nicole's coming had interrupted.
She returned to her mistress with a deliberate air.
"I shall not marry," she said.
"But your great love?"
"It is not worth the kindness your ladyship has done me. I belong to
you and shall ever so belong. I know the mistress which heaven gave me;
but I might never know the master whom I give myself."
Andrea was touched by this display of emotion, which she was far from
expecting in the maid. She was of course ignorant that Nicole was
making her a pillow to fall back upon. She smiled to believe a human
creature was better than she estimated.
"You are doing right," she said. "If bliss befalls me, you shall have
your share. But did you settle with your sweetheart?"
"I told him that I would have no more to do with him."
She was restored to her former suspicions, and it was fated that the
two should never understand each other--one with her diamond purity and
the other with her tendency to evil.
Meanwhile, the baron had packed up his scanty valuables, and Labrie
shouldered the half-empty trunk, containing them, to accompany his
master out to where the corporal of guards was finishing the wine to
the last drop.
This soldier gallant had remarked the fine waist and pretty limbs of
Nicole, and he was prowling round the pool to see her again. He was
drawn from his reverie by the baron calling for his carriage. Saluting
him, he called in a ringing voice for the driver to come up the
avenue. Labrie put the trunk on the rack behind with unspeakable pride
and delight.
"I am going to ride in the royal coaches," he muttered.
"But up behind, my old boy," corrected Beausire, with a patronizing
smile.
"Who is to keep Taverney if you take Labrie, father?" inquired Andrea.
"That lazy philosopher, Gilbert; with his gun he will have ample to
eat, I warrant, for there is plenty of game at Taverney."
Andrea looked at Nicole, who laughed and added:
"He is a sly dog; he will not starve."
"Leave him a trifle," suggested Andrea.
"It will spoil him. He is bad enough now. If he wants anything we will
send him help."
"He would not accept money, my lord."
"Your Gilbert must be pretty proud, then?"
"Thank heaven, he is no longer my Gilbert!"
"Deuse take Gilbert, whoever's property he is," said Taverney, to cut
short what annoyed his selfishness. "The coach is stopping the way; get
in, daughter."
Andrea gave the house a farewell glance and stepped into the vehicle.
The baron installed himself next her; Labrie in his glorious livery
and Nicole got upon the box, for the driver turned himself into a
postillion and bestrode one of the horses.
"But the corporal?" queried the baron.
"I ride my charger," responded Beausire, ogling Nicole, who colored up
with pleasure at having so soon replaced the rustic lad with a stylish
cavalier.
Gilbert stood with his hat off at the gate, and, without seeming to
see, looked on Andrea alone. She was bending out of the opposite window
to watch the house to the last.
"Stop a bit," ordered Baron Taverney; "hark you, master idler," he
said to Gilbert, "you ought to be a happy dog to be left by yourself,
as suits a true philosopher, with nobody to bother you or upbraid you.
Don't let the house catch afire while you brood, and take care of the
watchdog. Go ahead, coachman!"
Gilbert slammed the gates, groaning for want of oil, and ran back
to his little room, where he had his little bundle ready. It also
contained his savings in a silver piece.
Mahon was howling when he came out, and straining at his chain.
"Am I not cast off like a dog? why should not a dog be cast off like
a man? No, you shall at least be free to seek your livelihood like
myself."
The liberated dog ran round the house, but finding all the doors
closed, he bounded the ruins.
"Now we are going to see who fares the better--man or dog," said
Gilbert. "Farewell, mansion where I have suffered and where all
despised me! where bread was cast to me with the reproach that I was
stealing it by making no return. Farewell--no, curses on you! My heart
leaps with joy at no longer being jailed up in your walls. Forever be
accursed, prison, hell, lair of tyrants!"