A Village of Vagabonds Part 35

She nodded mutely in a.s.sent, then with a hopeless little sigh she added: "_Helas_--it is not easy--when one has nothing one must work hard and wait--_Ah, mon Dieu!_"

"Sit down, my little one," I said. "I have something serious to think over." She did as I bade her, seating herself in silence before the fire. I have never regarded Suzette as a servant--she has always been to me more like a child whom I was responsible for. What would my house abandoned by the marsh have been without her cheeriness, and her devotion, I thought, and what would it be when she was gone? No other Suzette would ever be like her--and her cooking would vanish with the rest. _Diable!_ these little marriages play the devil with us at times.

And yet, if any one deserved to be happy it was Suzette. I realized too, all that her going would mean to me, and moreover that her devotion to her master was such that if I should say "stay" she would have stayed on quite as if her own father had counselled her.

As I turned toward her sitting humbly in the chair, I saw she was again struggling to keep back her tears. It was high time for me to speak.

I seated myself beside her upon the arm of the chair and took her warm little hands in mine.

"You shall marry your Gaston, Suzette," I said, "and you shall have enough to marry on even if I have to sell the big field and the cow that goes with it."

She started, trembling violently, then gave a little gasp of joy.

"Oh, monsieur! and it is true?" she cried eagerly.

"Yes, my child--there shall be two weddings in Pont du Sable! Now run and tell Monsieur le Cure."

Monsieur le Cure ran too, when he heard the news--straight to my house abandoned, by the short cut back of the village.

"_Eh bien! Eh bien!_" he exclaimed as he burst into my den, his keen eyes s.h.i.+ning. "It is too good to be true--and not a word to us about it until now! _Ah, les rosses! Ah, les rosses!_" he repeated with a broad grin of delight as he eagerly read Tanrade's letter, telling him that the banns were published; that he was to marry them in the little gray church with the new bells and that but ten days remained before the wedding. He began pacing the floor, his hands clasped behind him--a habit he had when he was very happy.

"And Suzette?" I asked, "has she told you?"

"Yes," he returned with a nod. "She is a good child--she deserves to be happy." Then he stopped and inquired seriously--"What will you do without her?"

"One must not be selfish," I replied with a helpless shrug. "Suzette has earned it--so has Tanrade. It was his unfinished opera that was in the way: Alice was clever."

He crossed to where I stood and laid his hand on my shoulder, and though he did not open his lips I knew what was pa.s.sing in his mind.

"Charity to all," he said softly at length. "It is so good to make others happy! Courage, _mon pet.i.t_--the price we pay for love, devotion--friends.h.i.+p, is always a heavy one." Suddenly his face lighted up. "Have you any idea?" he exclaimed, "how much there is to do and how little time to do it in? Let us prepare!"

And thus began the busiest week the house abandoned had ever known, beginning with the cure and I restocking the garret with dry wood while Suzette worked ferociously at house cleaning, and every detail of the wedding breakfast was planned and arranged for--no easy problem in my lost village in midwinter. If there was a good fish to be had out of the sea we knew we could rely on Marianne to get it. Even the old fisherman, Varnet, went off with fresh courage in search for clams and good Madame Vinet opened her heart and her wine cellar.

It was the cure who knew well a certain dozen of rare burgundy that had lain snug beneath the stairs of Madame Vinet's small cafe--a vintage the good soul had come into possession of the first year of her own marriage and which she ceded to me for the ridiculously low price of twenty sous the bottle, precisely what it had cost her in her youth.

It is over, and I am alone by my fire.

As I look back on to-day--their wedding day--it seems as if I had been living through some happy dream that has vanished only too quickly and out of which I recall dimly but half its incidents.

That was a merry procession of old friends that marched to the ruddy mayor's where there was the civil marriage and some madeira, and so on to the little gray church where Monsieur le Cure was waiting--that musty old church in which the tall candles burned and Monsieur le Cure's voice sounded so grave and clear. And we sat together, the good old general and I, and in front of us were Alice's old friend Germaine, chic and pretty in her sables, and Blondel, who had left his unfinished editorial and driven hard to be present, and beside him in the worn pew sat the Marquis and Marquise de Clamard, and the rest of the worn pews were filled with fisherfolk and Marianne sat on my left, and old Pere Varnet with Suzette beyond him--and every one's eyes were upon Alice and Tanrade, for they were good to look upon. And it was over quickly, and I was glad of it, for the candle flames had begun to form halos before my eyes.

And so we went on singing through the village amid the booming of shotguns in honour of the newly wed, to the house abandoned. And all the while the new bells that Alice had so generously regiven rang l.u.s.tily from the gray belfry--rang clear--rang out after us, all the way back to the house abandoned and were still ringing when we sat down to our jolly breakfast.

"Let them ring!" cried the cure. "I have two old salts of the sea taking turns at the rope," he confided in my ear. "Ring on!" he cried aloud, as we lifted our gla.s.ses to the bride--"Ring loud--that the good G.o.d may hear!"

And how lovely the room looked, for the table was a ma.s.s of roses fresh from Paris, and the walls and ceiling were green with mistletoe and holly. Moreover, the old room was warm with the hearts of friends and the cheer from blazing logs that crackled merrily up the blackened throat of my chimney. And there were kisses with this feast that came from the heart; and sound red wine that went to it. And later, the courtyard was filled with villagers come to congratulate and to drink the health of the bride and groom.

They are gone.

And the thrice-happy Suzette is dreaming of her own wedding to come, for it is long past midnight and I am alone with my wise old cat--"The Essence of Selfishness," and my good and faithful spaniel whom I call "Mr. Bear," for he looks like a young cinnamon, all save his ears. If poor de Savignac were alive he would hardly recognize the little spaniel puppy he gave me, he has grown so. He has crept into my arms, big as he is, awakening jealousy in "The Essence of Selfishness"--for she hates him--besides, we have taken her favourite chair. Poor Mr. Bear--who never troubles her----

"And _you_--beast whom I love--another hiss out of you, another flattening of your ears close to your skull, and you go straight to bed.

There will be no Suzette to put you there soon, and there is now no Alice, nor Tanrade to spoil you. They are gone, p.u.s.s.y kit."

One o'clock--and the fire in embers.

I rose and Mr. Bear followed me out into the garden. The land lay still and cold under millions of stars. High above my chimney came faintly the "Honk, honk," of a flock of geese.

I closed my door, bolted the inner shutter, lighted my candle and motioned to Mr. Bear. The Essence of Selfishness was first on the creaky stairs. She paused half way up to let Mr. Bear pa.s.s, her ears again flat to her skull. Then I took them both to my room where they slept in opposite corners.

Lost village by the tawny marsh. Lost village, indeed, to-night! in which were hearts I loved, good comrades and sound red wine--Hark! the rush of wings. I must be up at dawn. It will help me forget----Sleep well, Mr. Bear!

THE END

[Ill.u.s.tration: village]

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