The Bashful Lover Part 59

Louise did not know that Madame de Noirmont had thought of sending her away. Ernestine and her father alone were aware of the circ.u.mstance, and the former, when she learned that her mother's determination would not be carried out, had concluded that it would be useless to mention it to Louise, that it would grieve her to learn that she was so far from having succeeded in winning her mistress's favor by her zeal, that that mistress had intended to dismiss her. As for Monsieur de Noirmont, after making his wishes known, he was not the man to mention such domestic matters to anybody on earth.

But a thing that was easily noticed, and that Louise saw, together with all the rest of the household, was that Madame de Noirmont became more depressed and gloomy every day. A smile never appeared on her lips; she avoided society; visits annoyed her and were a burden to her; spending almost all the time in her apartment, she ordered the servants to say that she was out, or not feeling well, so that she might not be disturbed in her solitude; even her daughter's presence seemed sometimes to oppress and irritate her. The sweet-tempered Ernestine, who had done nothing to forfeit her mother's affection, was sometimes very much distressed at being treated so coldly by her; when she went to Madame de Noirmont, to kiss her, she would push her away impatiently, or receive with listless indifference the marks of her affection; thereupon the girl would turn away, forcing back the tears which rose to her eyes, but which she would not allow to appear, for fear of angering her mother.

Louise, seeing her young mistress furtively wipe her eyes, would say to her:

"You are unhappy, mademoiselle, and I am very sure that it's because your mamma hasn't kissed you for some time past."

Whereupon Ernestine would reply, with a deep sigh:

"That is true; I don't know what mamma can have against me; it's of no use for me to try to think what I can have done to displease her; I can't remember anything. But for some time she hasn't called me her dear child or taken me in her arms. It isn't possible, though, that she doesn't love me, is it, Louise? It's her health that makes her like this; her nerves are out of order; she doesn't complain, but I am perfectly sure that she is sick; besides, anyone can see that she has changed a great deal lately."

"That is true, mademoiselle, I have noticed it too. Yes, you are right, it's because madame isn't well that she is more melancholy and doesn't caress you so much. But why don't you send for the doctor?"

"Several times I have said to mamma: 'You are pale, you must be suffering; you ought to send for Monsieur Derbaut, our doctor;' but mamma always answers in a provoked tone: 'Nothing's the matter with me; it's useless to have the doctor, I don't need him.'"

The two girls exchanged their ideas thus, seeking a way to make themselves useful, one to her mother, the other to her mistress; for they both loved Madame de Noirmont, despite the harshness and capriciousness of her temper, which so often made her unjust; Ernestine loved her with all the clinging affection of a child who refuses to see her mother's faults; Louise with a respectful devotion which would have led her joyfully to undertake the most painful task, if it would have earned her a smile from her mistress.

But Madame de Noirmont seemed carefully to avoid giving Louise any opportunity to wait upon her; only in her husband's presence, and when it was impossible for her to do otherwise, would she give her an order or two, or take something from her hand. The young lady's maid, who would gladly have antic.i.p.ated her mistress's slightest wish, sometimes followed her with her eyes, in the hope of making herself useful to her; but if Madame de Noirmont caught Louise's glance fastened upon her, her own expression would become sterner, and she would instantly motion to her to leave the room.

One day, madame was in her room, as usual, holding a book of which she read very little, because her thoughts absorbed her so completely that she could give no attention to anything else. Ernestine was seated at a little distance, embroidering, and from time to time glancing furtively at her mother, in the hope of meeting her eyes and of obtaining from her a smile, which had become a very infrequent favor. Madame de Noirmont turned to her and said, holding out the book:

"Ernestine, bring me the second volume of this; you will find it in the library, on the second shelf at the left."

The girl rose quickly, took the book and left the room, eager to obey her mother. Having found the volume for which Madame de Noirmont had asked her, she was about to take it to her, when she found her drawing-master, who had just arrived, waiting for her in the salon.

Ernestine gave Louise the book and told her to take it to her mother; then she sat down by her teacher to take her lesson.

Louise took the book and went to her mistress's room. When she was about to turn the k.n.o.b, she felt that she was trembling; she was so afraid of offending Madame de Noirmont, who had not sent her on that errand.

However, she went in.

Madame de Noirmont was seated, her head fallen forward on her breast.

She did not raise her eyes when she heard the door open, for she had no doubt that it was Ernestine; and Louise reached her side and handed her the book without daring to utter a word.

But at that moment, impelled by an outburst of maternal affection, she took the hand that offered the book and squeezed it in her own, murmuring:

"My poor love, you must have thought me most unjust to you of late, and you think perhaps that I no longer love you! Do not think that, my child; I still love you as dearly as I ever did; but you cannot understand what is taking place in my heart, and what I suffer. No, you will never know----"

At that moment she raised her head and drew the girl toward her, meaning to kiss her. Not until then did she recognize Louise. She was speechless and motionless with surprise; a terrified expression appeared on her face, from which all the blood receded, and she raised her eyes to heaven, faltering:

"O mon Dieu! and I called her my child!"

"Forgive me, madame, forgive me," murmured Louise, terribly alarmed at her mistress's condition. "It was not my fault, it was mademoiselle who sent----"

Madame de Noirmont struggled to master her emotion, and rejoined in a sharp, stern tone:

"Why did you come into my room? Did I call you? Why are you here? To try to surprise my thoughts, my secrets?"

"O madame--mon Dieu! can you believe it?"

"Have I not constantly found your eyes fastened on me of late, mademoiselle--following, watching my slightest movements? What makes you act so? Have you some hidden motive? Come, speak, mademoiselle."

"If I have offended you, madame, it was entirely without intention; if my eyes have sometimes rested on you, it is because I would have been happy to antic.i.p.ate some wish of yours, to do something that would please you, to earn a word or a kind look from you; that was my motive, when I ventured to look at you. And then too it was a joy to me, madame; but I will do without it, since you forbid it."

Louise bent her head before her mistress; she was almost on her knees, and her voice trembled so that she could hardly finish what she was saying.

Madame de Noirmont seemed deeply moved; one would have said that a conflict was raging in the depths of her heart; she rose, paced the floor, walked away from Louise, then toward her. She gazed at her for a long, very long time, but not with a stern expression; her eyes were filled with tears. Suddenly she ran to the girl, who had remained on the same spot, with downcast eyes and afraid to take a step; she took her hand and drew her toward her--but almost instantly pushed her away again, saying sharply:

"Go, mademoiselle, go; I have no further need of you."

Louise obeyed. She left the room, saying to herself:

"Mon Dieu! what is the matter with her, and what have I done to her?"

A week after this incident, Monsieur de Noirmont informed his wife that he proposed to give a great dinner. He named the persons whom he had invited, fifteen in number, and added:

"I had an idea of inviting young Marquis Cherubin de Grandvilain too; but I asked him to come to see me, and he has never come; and so, as he has not shown the slightest desire to a.s.sociate with an old friend of his father, we will not have him."

Madame de Noirmont could not conceal the annoyance which the announcement of that function caused her. But Monsieur de Noirmont continued in a very curt tone:

"Really, madame, if I should leave you to follow your own desires, we should have no company, we should live like owls. I am not a fool--a devotee of pleasure; but still, I don't propose to live like a hermit.

Besides, madame, we have a daughter, and it is our duty to think about her welfare; before long it will be time to think of marrying her, of finding a suitable match for her; meanwhile we must not keep her sequestered from society, of which she is destined to be an ornament some day. Poor Ernestine! you refuse every opportunity that offers to take her to b.a.l.l.s or receptions or concerts. You are ill, you say. I cannot compel you to go out, madame; but, as your health confines you constantly to the house, we will entertain; such is my present determination, madame."

Madame de Noirmont made no observation, for she was well aware that as soon as her husband had made up his mind to do a thing, nothing could divert him from his resolution; and Monsieur de Noirmont left her, having requested her to give the necessary orders so that everything might be ready for the dinner, which was appointed for the Thursday following.

Madame de Noirmont resigned herself to the inevitable; when the day drew near, she gave her orders and superintended the preparations for the banquet. Ernestine, when she learned that they were to entertain many guests and give a grand dinner, rejoiced greatly and looked forward to it with the keenest pleasure. Pleasures and amus.e.m.e.nts had become so rare in her life, that every departure from the customary monotony seemed a blessing. Louise hoped that the dinner would afford her an opportunity to make herself useful, to display her zeal, and she shared her young mistress's childlike joy.

At last the day came when the interior of that house, ordinarily so placid, was to echo with the voices of a numerous company. From early morning there was a great commotion in the Noirmont mansion; the master of the house alone spent the day as usual, working tranquilly in his study, awaiting the hour when the guests were to arrive; but Madame de Noirmont issued orders, overlooked the preparations, made sure that everything that she had ordered was at hand. Ernestine followed her mother about, dancing and laughing, antic.i.p.ating great pleasure for that day.

"You must make yourself very lovely for the dinner," she said to Louise, "because you are to wait at table with Comtois; that is the custom when we have company."

"Never fear, mademoiselle," replied Louise; "I don't know whether I shall be lovely, but I promise to do my best to wait at table well, so that madame your mother will be content with me."

But, a few moments before it was time for the guests to arrive, Madame de Noirmont said to her daughter:

"Ernestine, I don't want your maid to wait at table; tell her that she may remain in her room; we shall not need her."

Ernestine could not understand her mother's whim; she looked up at her and said hesitatingly:

"But, mamma, usually, when we have company--you know----"

"I do not ask for your comments, my child; do what I tell you."

Ernestine obeyed her mother; she went sadly to Louise's room, where she found her finis.h.i.+ng her toilet.

"Do you like me in this dress, mademoiselle?" inquired Louise; "is it suited to my position?"

"Oh! yes, yes, my poor Louise, you look very pretty!" replied Ernestine, heaving a deep sigh; "but it was not worth while to take so much pains with your toilet, for mamma doesn't want you to wait at table; she says that you can stay in your room."

Louise's face expressed the disappointment caused by that command; however, she did not indulge in a single murmur.