That was a terrible journey back from Sarinet to Valmont-les-Roses.
Little Pierre Germain never forgot it. The first day they got on well
enough, and perched up on his seat beside the coachman, the boy enjoyed
the driving along the wintry roads, where the snow had hardened
sufficiently to enable them to make their way with great difficulty.
They stopped for the night at a village midway between chateaux, and
despite some warnings, started again the next morning, for the Count was
eager to get home, feeling sure that any delay would make the Countess
very anxious. But long before they reached Valmont the snow came on
again, more heavily than it had yet fallen that winter. For many hours
it was absolutely impossible to go on, and they were thankful even for
the refuge of a miserable cabin, inhabited by an old road mender and his
wife, two poor creatures looking a hundred at least, whom they found
cowering over a wretched fire, and who were at first too frightened at
the sight of them to let them in. The name of the Count de Valmont
reassured them, and they did their best to find shelter, both for the
human beings and the horses, though their best was miserably
insufficient. And the night in that poor hovel laid the seeds of the
severe illness with which Edmee's father was prostrated but a few hours
after reaching home.
"For some weeks he was so ill that the doctors scarcely hoped he would
live through the winter. The pretty young Countess grew thin and
careworn with sorrow and anxiety and nursing, for she scarcely ever left
his bedside, day or night. It was little Edmee's first meeting with
trouble. The Marquis de Sarinet deferred going to Paris till he saw how
his brother-in-law's illness was to end, and he came two or three times
to Valmont. For if he had a tender spot in his cold selfish heart it
was love for the young sister who had when but a child been confided to
his care, and though he scarcely understood it he pitied her distress.
Madame, his wife, the Marquise, did _not_ come, and I do not think her
absence was regretted. She must, by all accounts, have been a most
unloveable woman, as cold and proud to the full as her husband, and with
no thought but her own amusement and adornment. As to their only child,
Edmond, you will hear more as I proceed with my narrative of events.
"To the delight, almost to the amazement, of all about him, the Count by
degrees began to show signs of improvement. As at last the cold gave
way to the milder days of spring, his strength slowly returned, and he
would now and then allude to the possibility of recovering his health to
a certain extent. It had been a most trying winter for many besides the
invalid. Exceedingly rigorous weather is always a terrible aggravation
of the sufferings of the poor, and even at Valmont, in so many ways an
unusually happy and prosperous village, many had suffered; and some
perhaps more than was suspected, for now that the Count and Countess
were unable to go amongst their people as usual, and to see for
themselves where their help was called for, a natural feeling of pride
prevented many from complaining until actually forced to do so, though
the Countess did her best. She intrusted Pierre's mother with many a
kindly mission, and whenever the weather was fit for so tender a
creature to face it, little Edmee might have been seen, trotting along
by the kind woman, often herself carrying a basket with gifts for some
little child or old person whom they had heard of as ill or suffering in
some way.
"`I don't like winter now,' she said one day, when, with Pierre on one
side and his mother on the other, she was on her way to a poor family a
little out of the village. `I used to think it was so pretty to see the
snow and to slide on the ice. Put I don't like it now. It made dear
papa ill, and the poor people are so cold, and I think they're so much
happier in summer.'
"`Yes,' said Madame Germain. `Hunger is bad to bear, but I fear cold is
still worse. It has been a sad winter,' and the kind woman sighed.
"`And if sad here in Valmont, what must it have been in other places?'
said Pierre, his thoughts returning to what he had seen at Sarinet.
"`At those places where the lords are not kind to the poor people, do
you mean?' said Edmee, eagerly. The subject always seemed to have a
fascination for her, though her parents, and the Germains too, had taken
care to tell her nothing to distress her sensitive feelings.
"`Yes, of course that makes it worse,' said Madame Germain.
"`Is my uncle Sarinet kind to his poor people?' asked Edmee, in a low
voice, though there was no one to overhear her.
"`Why do you ask that, my child?' said Madame Germain. `No one has ever
spoken against the Marquis to you?'
"`N-no,' said Edmee, `but he has not a kind face, mamma Germain. He
smiles at me, but still it is not a real smile. And before Victorine
went away--oh, I am so glad she has gone to be my aunt's maid instead of
little mamma's!--before she went away she said she was glad she was
going where there would be no nonsense of spoiling the common people
like here. At Sarinet they are well punished, she said, if they are
naughty. How do they punish them, mamma Germain?'
"`My little girl must not trouble herself about these things,' said
Pierre's mother. `It is sometimes right to punish those who are really
naughty.'
"`Yes,' said Edmee. `But the poor people who are so often cold and
hungry--ah, I could not make them more unhappy!'
"`Bless her kind heart!' murmured Madame Germain, and many a dweller in
Valmont-les-Roses echoed the words.
"Some weeks passed--as if to make up for the severity of the winter, the
spring came early that year, and with unusual softness and balminess.
The Count was able to sit out on the terrace in the finest part of the
day, enjoying the sweet air after his long confinement to the house, and
though he knew in his heart that the improvement was but for a time, he
had not the courage to say so to his poor wife. And so some amount of
hopefulness seemed to have returned.
"One day, when Edmee was coming back from a visit to the village,
escorted by Pierre, she was met at the gates of the chateau by one of
the servants, who told her that the Count and Countess wished her to go
at once to the terrace.
"`My lord the Marquis has arrived unexpectedly,' added the man.
"Edmee shrank back.
"`Pierrot,' she said, in the half-babyish way she still sometimes spoke,
`Edmee doesn't want to see him.'
"`But Edmee must,' said the boy smiling.
"`Pierrot must come too, then,' said the little girl coaxingly; and so,
a good deal against his will, for he had an instinctive dislike to the
lord of Sarinet, the boy was obliged to go with her. And, out of a sort
of mischief, the child clung tightly to him, even when they came within
sight of the group on the terrace, though when he saw that there were
strangers there, Pierre would gladly have drawn back.
"A tall, distinguished-looking man, with clear cut features and piercing
dark eyes, was sitting beside the Countess. He rose as he heard her
exclamation, `At last comes Edmee!' and calling to him a boy about
Pierre's age, but much smaller and thinner, came forward as if to meet
her. But catching sight of her companion he hesitated: a frown crossed
his face, and turning to his sister--for he was the Marquis de Sarinet--
he said coldly:
"`Whom have we here, Louise? It is time it seems to me, that Edmee had
some one to play with if you are so at a loss for comrades for her.'
"The Countess's face flushed. But she knew her brother's character, and
knew that there was no use in noticing such speeches. She held out her
hand to Edmee, who ran forward to her, and then smiling kindly to
Pierre, who stood, cap in hand, waiting respectfully--
"`This is Pierre Germain,' she said, `the son of our much-trusted
forester. His mother, you may remember, saved our Edmee's life by her
devotion to her when she was such a delicate baby. Pierre often
accompanies Edmee in her walks. I am never the least uneasy when I know
he is there--he is so careful of her.'
"`Ah, indeed!' said the Marquis indifferently, as if the matter had
already ceased to occupy his thoughts; he knew his sister too, and knew
that, gentle as she was, she would not yield to any prejudices when she
felt she was in the light. `Here, Edmond, you must make friends with
your cousin, and be her little cavalier.'
"Edmond did not stir; he stood beside his father with a vacant
expression, as if he hardly heard his words. The Countess stooped and
whispered something to Edmee; the little girl, though with much less
than her usual bright readiness, came forward, and trying to get hold of
the boy's hands, said gently--
"`Good day, my cousin. Welcome to Valmont.'
"Curiosity got the better of Edmond's surliness. He looked at Edmee
with a mixture of expressions on his face--admiration, suspicion, and as
I said, a strong spice of curiosity.
"`Good day, Mademoiselle,' he said.
"`But you must not say "Mademoiselle" to your little cousin,' said the
Countess, half laughing. She was sorry for the boy, and wished to be
kind to him; but she had a strong feeling that Edmee would not approve
of him as a playfellow. He was pale and thin, and looked extremely
delicate, and his face, though the features were small and pretty if
closely examined, was not attractive. Its expression was peevish and
discontented, and there was a want of the bright, open frankness one
loves to see in a child. `Would you not like to go with Edmee to see
some of her treasures?' she went on encouragingly. `She has two pet
rabbits and several birds to begin with.'
"`Would you also like to see my picture?' said Edmee, for since the
picture had been framed and hung up in her mother's room, she thought it
the most wonderful thing in the house.
"`I don't care for rabbits, and I don't care for birds,' replied Edmond.
`I don't mind looking at the picture. You may show it me if you
chose.'
"Edmee had kept hold of his hand, and now drew him away.
"`Come, then,' she said: `we shall look first at the picture, and then
we shall go out in the garden, and Pierre will tell us stories, if you
don't care to play with the rabbits. Pierre tells such pretty stories.'
"She was, to tell the truth, so exceedingly anxious to get away from the
Marquis, that she was not easily discouraged by Edmond's ungraciousness.
Besides, had not dear little mother whispered to her to be `kind to the
poor boy?'
"Edmond, who was on the point of allowing her to lead him away, drew
back again.
"`Who is Pierre?' he said. `Is it that boy? I don't want to play with
_him_.'
"Edmee's patience seemed about to give way. She looked at her mother
appealingly. The Countess took Edmond's other hand.
"`Come with me,' she said decidedly. `It is right I should show you
Edmond's picture, as it is in my room. And then we shall see what we
can find for you to play at. Come, Pierre, my boy.'
"Edmond could no longer resist; the Marquis, affecting to pay no
attention to what was passing, had sat down by the Count, and went on
talking to him. Pierre followed the lady and the children into the
house.
"The first pleasant look that had been in Edmond's face came over it at
the sight of the picture. He actually smiled.
"`It is like her,' he said. `I wish it was mine.'
"`It was Pierrot made me sit still,' said Edmee; `he told me stories all
the time. He knows such pretty stories.'
"Edmond glanced at Pierre with some approach to amiability for the first
time. At that moment, through the open window, the Countess heard her
husband's voice calling her. She turned quickly away.
"`I must go,' she said. `Edmee, take care of your cousin, and try to
amuse him. Pierre will, I know, help you.'
"The children made their way down into the garden. Then, after all,
Edmond condescended to look at the rabbits, and to give his opinion of
things in general. It was less pretty, he said, here at Valmont than at
his own home of Sarinet, where the flower garden was very magnificent,
laid out and managed by foreign gardeners--`not by these stupid louts of
ours,' he added, contemptuously.
"Pierre's face flushed, but he said nothing. He felt on his honour
bound to resent nothing the querulous little lord of Sarinet might say
or do, for had not his dear lady trusted him--him, Pierre Germain--to
help Edmee to amuse the guest. But Edmee was little accustomed to check
or restrain her feelings, and she at once took her cousin to task.
"`I don't know what "louts" means,' she said; `we never hear those words
here, but our people are not stupid, whatever yours are. And I don't
care how grand your gardens at Sarinet are. I should never like it as
well as Valmont. Here everybody is happy and contented. I know it is
not so at Sarinet.'
"Edmond laughed contemptuously.
"`At Sarinet people are kept in their proper places,' he said. `We
don't have low fellows like that'--and he flung a little cane he held in
his hand at Pierre--`consorting with ladies and gentlemen.'
"The cane struck Pierre on the cheek, and for an instant the pain was
sharp, but it was not _that_ that made him start forward with clenched
hands and glowing eyes--he minded pain as little as any one--it was the
insult, for he and his had not been used to such treatment; they had not
been ground down by insolence and oppression, and the first contact with
such things was bitter to him. Put almost as quickly as he had started
forward he drew back again, and passing his hand over his eyes, where
the tears were springing, he turned away.
"`I must not touch him,' he said; `he is my lady's guest, and--'
"Edmee was by his side in a moment.
"`Pierrot--my Pierrot!' she said; `that naughty, horrid boy!--I will run
in and tell papa--I will! Why don't you beat him, Pierrot?'
"Pierre could not help smiling at her vehemence.
"`The Countess trusted me to take care of him,' he said, `and then--why
he is only half my size. One never lights with a boy like that.'
"`I see,' said Edmee, quite convinced. `Put let me look at your face,
Pierre. No, it is not very bad. Stoop down and let me tie my nice soft
handkerchief round it. There now, that will do.'
"`But what are we to do?' said Pierre. `We can't leave him alone. I do
not want him to go in and complain, and perhaps add to your dear mamma's
troubles.'
"They turned and looked at Edmond. He was standing half sulky, half
disconsolate--as if he too did not know what to do.
"`After all,' said Pierre, philosophically, `we must remember he has
never been taught better. I think the best way is to treat him as a
naughty, spoilt child, and take no notice.'
"He turned back.
"`Master Edmond,' he said, `if you would like to play a game of "graces"
with Miss Edmee, I will go and get you the hoops and sticks.'
"Edmond muttered something about not knowing how.
"`Never mind,' said Pierre good-naturedly; `I'll soon show you how,' and
off he set.
"Edmee stood still; she was less generous for Pierre than he was for
himself; she would make no advances to Edmond. He, feeling, to tell the
truth, rather ashamed of himself, threw on her from time to time furtive
glances, which she took no notice of. At last tired of her
indifference, he spoke.
"`Edmee,' he said.
"`Well,' replied the little girl.
"`It did not hurt him--that boy, I mean.'
"`Did it not? How do you know?'
"`It did not hurt him much,--I did not wish to hurt him,' continued
Edmond.
"`I am glad to hear it,' said Edmee. Her tone was a very little
softened, Edmond was encouraged by it to edge a little nearer.
"`I would not wish to hurt any one you like, Edmee,' he said. `But you
made me angry by speaking against Sarinet.'
"`You began by speaking against Valmont.'
"`Well, I beg your pardon for that. I can see that that was ill-bred.
I never wish to be ill-bred. My father would be shocked if he heard of
that.'
"`Would he not be more shocked at your throwing your stick at Pierre?'
"`Ah no,' said Edmond; `in that there is nothing ill-bred. That is a
different thing altogether from saying anything to annoy a lady.'
"`But,' said Edmee, her eyes flashing again, `I am much more angry with
you for hitting Pierre than for speaking against Valmont.'
"`Really? Well, I am sorry to have vexed you,' said Edmond, `I like you
very much, Edmee, and I want you to like me and Sarinet, for when I am
quite grown up I mean to marry you. I have often thought of it; for
since I was quite little I have known we were to be married some day.'
"`Who told you so?' said Edmee. `I am not at all sure that I should
like to marry _you_. You will have to do a great many things and change
very much before I could even think of it.'
"`How? What things do you mean?' said the boy eagerly.
"`You must grow tall and strong--like Pierre.'
"`_Pierre_!' repeated Edmond, contemptuously; `I will not be compared
with a--'
"`Hush!' said Edmee, putting her little hand on his mouth before he
could pronounce the word; `don't say it, or you will make me _very_
angry!'
"`Well, do not speak of Pierre; say tall and strong like my father.'
"Edmee gave a little shiver.
"`No,' she said, `I won't say that. Never mind about being tall and
strong. You must above all be very good and brave, and yet kind to
everybody,--like a true knight in some of Pierre's stories. I think
there are no true knights now.'
"`Pierre again!' muttered the boy discontentedly. `Tell me, Edmee, what
do you mean by a true knight?'
"`One who is always good and kind to everybody,' said Edmee. `Not only
to ladies and gentlemen, but to poor people, and weak and unhappy
people, and who will not let any one be cruel. I can't tell you very
well. But papa has books with stories about knights, which he lends to
Pierre, and then Pierre tells them to me.'
"`I never heard anybody talk like that before,' said Edmond. `I don't
know anything about poor people, and I'm sure I shouldn't like them.
But I won't call that boy names if it vexes _you_, Edmee.'
"Edmee had no time to say more, for just then Pierre returned with the
sticks and hoops. And when the Countess, rather anxious in her mind in
consequence of the new addition to the childish party, came out an hour
later to call Edmee and her cousin in, she found all of them playing
merrily, and apparently on good terms with each other.
"`Perhaps my nephew is a more amiable child than he appears at first
sight,' she said to herself.
"This afternoon--the first visit of Edmond de Sarinet to Valmont--is
another of the scenes of her early childhood clearly impressed on my
mother's mind."