The Milkmaid of Montfermeil Part 39

"Oh! that's very wicked!"

"No, it's a disease of youth, and it will pa.s.s away!--You see, in Paris I can't always be at his heels to warn the pretty girls he makes love to; besides, in the big cities, the girls know enough about such things not to need any warning. But when I happen to see my lieutenant talking to a child who looks to me to be virtuous and respectable, like you, then I just whisper in her ear: 'Look out for yourself!' and if that don't save her, it ain't my fault, at all events."

Denise made no reply, for she was reflecting upon what Bertrand had just said; he wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, drank, and replied:

"However, the proof that Monsieur Auguste's a fine young man is that, when he reflects, he don't make a fool of himself. For instance, he found you to his taste; well, he didn't come again to see you; he told me that it was for fear of getting to be too fond of you."

"Too fond of me!" cried Denise. "What! did he really say that, monsieur?

Then he loves me."

"Not at all, my pretty child; that is to say, not any more than the others. But he would have tried to seduce you as a matter of habit, and you might perhaps have listened to him; for he's a good-looking fellow, and he has such a way of telling of his love that he'd make a woman of sixty believe in it."

"And that's why he hasn't been here?" Denise inquired, with a sigh.

"Yes; but to-day he remembered your saying that you didn't love him; so then he came."

"I didn't say that, Monsieur Bertrand."

"No? then he did wrong to come."

"I don't say that I do love him either."

"So much the better for you, Mamzelle Denise; for that would be laying up trouble for yourself."

"Whoever heard of a village girl loving a fine gentleman from the city?"

"I don't know whether it's possible, but I know that it sometimes happens."

"Don't worry, Monsieur Bertrand, I shall never have any feeling but friends.h.i.+p for Monsieur Auguste; and if it's the dread of my loving him that keeps him from coming to the village, why, tell him he can come as often as he likes. Denise knows only too well that she isn't capable of winning the heart of a city gentleman; she won't ever forget it."

"Bravo! that's what I call talking, my dear child. I drink to your virtue,--and, as you see, I leave no heel-taps.--But what's the matter, pray? are you crying?"

"No, Monsieur Bertrand, no; you see, I should be very sorry to--But it's all over now. Monsieur Auguste won't be afraid any more to come to see his little protege. He won't let two months go by again, without coming."

"Oh! that depends. At Paris, you know, Mamzelle Denise, my master don't have a minute to himself; he's always at some party or some entertainment! People fight to see who shall have him! He gets ten invitations a day."

"Oh, yes! he don't have time to think of the village. Is he so very rich then, your Monsieur Auguste?"

"Rich? Yes, to be sure, he is as yet; but if he keeps on at this rate, he won't be rich long!--Your health, Mamzelle Denise."

"What do you mean by that, Monsieur Bertrand?"

"Oh! nothing, nothing!--At any rate, I ought not to presume to criticise. Monsieur Dalville's money's his own; let him give it to women who deceive him, to grisettes who ruin him; let him pay for furniture and rugs and calico dresses--it's none of my business; I must just obey and pay; but it makes me feel bad because--d.a.m.nation!--what with women on one side and ecarte on the other----"

"What's ecarte, Monsieur Bertrand?"

"Oh! that's a little game at which people ruin themselves while they imagine they're enjoying themselves. They say it's a delightful game, because it's played so fast. For my part, I think it's played much too fast; but Monsieur Auguste gambles so as to do like the others. That's his business. Besides, if he chooses to ruin himself, why, you understand, subordination before everything.--Your health, Mamzelle Denise."

Denise was greatly surprised by what she had heard; she was wondering whether she ought to believe Bertrand, who continued to drink and talk, when Coco came bounding into the room.

"Who is that child?" queried Bertrand.

"The little boy to whom Monsieur Auguste gave so many tokens of his generosity."

"He's a pretty little fellow.--Come here, my boy; get up on my knee--so.

Haven't you got any father or mother, little white head?"

"Yes, monsieur, I've got Papa Calleux," Coco replied, looking up at Bertrand.

"What does Papa Calleux do?"

"He works in the fields."

"He's a drunkard," Denise whispered to Bertrand.

"The devil! that's a villainous fault," the latter replied, putting his gla.s.s to his lips. "A man must drink--it's a necessity--but he should be able to govern his thirst, and above all things, never lose his wits.--But, by the way, seeing this little fellow reminds me that he's the one my master's gone to see; when he left me, he said: 'I'm going to the child's cabin.'"

"Oh dear! he won't find anybody there," said Denise. "And you never told us! We must go to meet him. I supposed he was at Madame Destival's.--Come, Coco, come; we are going to find your kind friend--the one you love so much."

"The one you talk to me about every day, Denise?" asked the child.

"Yes, your benefactor.--Are you coming with us, Monsieur Bertrand?"

"Faith, Mamzelle Denise, I'm very comfortable here; and if you don't need me----"

"No, no; my aunt will keep you company.--Come, Coco, let's make haste to look for your kind friend."

The child asked nothing better than to go with Denise. They left Bertrand in the act of making a military salute to Mere Fourcy, who had just entered the room, and they started for the cabin.

But Denise was moved by conflicting emotions, of whose source she had no very definite idea: she was happy, and yet she trembled, and her breathing was labored; and as one cannot run far under such circ.u.mstances, Denise slackened her pace. But Coco ran on ahead, because at seven years of age such emotions are unknown.

Denise was so engrossed by what Bertrand had said to her, that she did not at first notice that the child had left her; but Coco was well acquainted with the roads, so that the girl was not anxious about him, and she paused a moment under a great tree, glad of an opportunity to prepare for her meeting with the young man. A thousand thoughts pa.s.sed through her mind; but the one that recurred most frequently was that Auguste had come to the village again solely because he thought that she did not love him.

"Is it quite certain that he thinks that?" said Denise to herself; "perhaps Monsieur Bertrand heard wrong. Is it quite true that Monsieur Auguste is such a deceiver as he says? An old soldier can't know much about all those things. But after all, what difference does it make to me, as I don't care for the young man? As Monsieur Bertrand says, what good would it do me to love him? He'd just laugh at me afterward. Oh!

there's no danger of my marrying a young man from Paris.--A rake, a seducer, fickle----"

Having reflected thus, the maiden arranged her neckerchief, adjusted her cap, retied her ap.r.o.n, and looked down at herself, murmuring:

"Oh dear! how tumbled I am! If I had known this morning--if I could have guessed. That gentleman won't think me pretty again--Bah! it's all one to me; but a body don't like to look as if she was careless and hadn't any taste."

At last, having completed her scrutiny of her toilet, Denise was about to leave the tree, when she heard a voice. It was Auguste's. The girl recognized it, and she had to stop again to recover her breath.

But Auguste was not alone; he was talking and laughing with a pretty, rosy-cheeked peasant girl, by whose side he was walking, leading his horse by the rein. Denise being hidden by the great tree, Dalville did not see her.

The peasant halted a hundred yards from the tree which concealed Denise.

"Adieu, monsieur; I'm going this way; and if you're going to Montfermeil, that's your road straight ahead."

"We shall not part like this, my beauty," said Auguste, dropping his horse's rein to put his arm about the girl's waist; "we must at least bid each other adieu----"