Jack Part 33

As Jack did not move, Charlotte appeared on the scene. She came with much dignity, and with a crowd of phrases that she had learned by heart from her poet. M. Rivals received her at the door, and, not in the least intimidated by her coldness, said at once, "I ought to tell you, madame, that it is my fault alone that your son did not obey you. He has pa.s.sed through a great crisis. Fortunately he is at an age when const.i.tutions can be reformed, and I trust that his will resist the rough trials to which it has been exposed. Hirsch would have killed him with his musk and his other perfumes. I took him away from the poisonous atmosphere, and now I hope the boy is out of danger. Leave him to me a while longer, and you shall have him back more healthy than ever, and capable of renewing the battle of life; but if you let that impostor Hirsch get hold of him again, I shall think that you wish to get rid of him forever."

"Ah! M. Rivals, what a thing to say! What have I done to deserve such an insult?" and Charlotte burst into tears. The doctor soothed her with a few kind words, and then let her go alone into the office to see her son. She found him changed and improved much, as if he had thrown off some outer husk, but exhausted and weakened by the transformation. He turned pale when he saw her.

"You have come to take me away," he exclaimed.

"Not at all," she answered, hastily. "The doctor wishes you to remain, and where would you be so well as with the doctor who loves you so tenderly?"

For the first time in his life Jack had been happy away from his mother, and a departure from the roof under which he was would have certainly caused him a relapse. Charlotte was evidently uncomfortable; she looked tired and troubled.

"We have a large entertainment every month, and every fortnight a reading, and all the confusion gives me a headache. Then the j.a.panese prince at the Moronval Academy has written a poem, M. D'Argenton has translated it into French, and we are both of us learning the j.a.panese tongue. I find it very difficult, and have come to the conclusion that literature is not my forte. The Review does not bring in a single cent, and has not now one subscriber. By the way, our good friend at Tours is dead. Do you remember him?"

At this moment Cecile came in and was received by Charlotte with the most flattering exclamations and much warmth of manner. She talked of D'Argenton and of their friend at Tours, which annoyed Jack intensely, for he would have wished neither person to have been mentioned in Cecile's pure presence, and over and over again he stopped the careless babble of his mother who had no such scruples. They urged Madame D'Argenton to remain to dinner, but she had already lingered too long, and was uneasily occupied in inventing a series of excuses for her delay, which should be in readiness when she encountered her poet's frowning face.

"Above all, Jack, if you write to me, be sure that you put on your letter '_to be called for_,' for M. D'Argenton is much vexed with you just now. So do not be astonished if I scold you a little in my next letter, for he is always there when I write. He even dictates my sentences sometimes; but don't mind, dear, you will understand."

She acknowledged her slavery with navete, and Jack was consoled for the tyranny by which she was oppressed by seeing her go away in excellent spirits, and with her shawl wrapped so gracefully around her, and her travelling-bag carried as lightly as she carried all the burdens of life.

Have you ever seen those water-lilies, whose long stems arise from the depths of the river, finding their way through all obstacles until they expand on the surface, opening their magnificent white cups, and filling the air with their delicate perfume? Thus grew and flowered the love of these two young hearts. With Cecile, the divine flower had grown in a limpid soul, where the most careless eyes could have discerned it.

With Jack, its roots had been tangled and deformed, but when the stems reached the regions of air and light, they straightened themselves, and needed but little more to burst into flower.

"If you wish," said M. Rivals, one evening, "we will go to-morrow to the vintage at Coudray; the farmer will send his wagon; you two can go in that in the morning, and I will join you at dinner."

They accepted the proposition with delight. They started on a bright morning at the end of October. a soft haze hung over the landscape, retreating before them, as it seemed; upon the mown fields and on the bundles of golden grain, upon the slender plants, the last remains of the summer's brightness, long silken threads floated like particles of gray fog. The river ran on one side of the highway, bordered by huge trees. The freshness of the air heightened the spirits of the two young travellers, who sat on the rough seat with their feet in the straw, and holding on with both hands to the side of the wagon. One of the farmer's daughters drove a young a.s.s, who, hara.s.sed by the wasps, which are very numerous at the time when the air is full of the aroma of ripening fruits, impatiently shook his long ears.

They went on and on until they reached a hill-side, where they saw a crowd at work. Jack and Cecile each s.n.a.t.c.hed a wicker basket and joined the others. What a pretty sight it was! The rustic landscape seen between the vine-draped arches, the narrow stream, winding and picturesque, full of green islands, a little cascade and its white foam, and above all, the fog showing through a golden mist, and a fresh breeze that suggested long evenings and bright fires.

This charming day was very short, at least so Jack found it. He did not leave Cecile's side for a minute. She wore a broad-brimmed hat and a skirt of flowered cambric. He filled her basket with the finest of the grapes, exquisite in their purple bloom, delicate as the dust on the wings of a b.u.t.terfly. They examined the fruit together; and when Jack raised his eyes, he admired on the cheeks of the young girl the same faint, powdery bloom. Her hair, blown in the wind in a soft halo above her brow, added to this effect. He had never seen a face so changed and brightened as hers. Exercise and the excitement of her pretty toil, the gayety of the vineyard, the laughs and shouts of the laborers, had absolutely transformed M. Rivals' quiet housekeeper. She became a child once more, ran down the slopes, lifted her basket on her shoulder, watched her burden carefully, and walked with that rhythmical step which Jack remembered to have seen in the Breton women as they bore on their heads their full water-jugs. There came a time in the day when these two young persons, overwhelmed by fatigue, took their seats at the entrance of a little grove where the dry leaves rustled under their feet.

And then? Ah, well, they said nothing. They let the night descend softly on the most beautiful dream of their lives; and when the swift autumnal twilight brought out in the darkness the bright windows of the simple homes scattered about, the wind freshened, and Cecile insisted on fastening around Jack's throat the scarf she had brought, the warmth and softness of the fabric, the consciousness of being cared for, was like a caress to the lover.

He took her hand, and her fingers lingered in his for a moment; that was all. When they returned to the farm the doctor had just arrived; they heard his cheery voice in the courtyard. The chill of the early autumnal evenings has a charm that both Cecile and Jack felt as they entered the large room filled with the light from the fire. At supper innumerable dusty bottles were produced, but Jack manifested profound indifference to their charms. The doctor, on the contrary, fully appreciated them, so fully that his granddaughter quietly left her seat, ordered the carriage to be harnessed, and wrapped herself in her cloak. Dr. Rivals seeing her in readiness, rose without remonstrance, leaving on the table his half-filled gla.s.s.

The three drove home, as in the olden days, through the quiet country roads; the cabriolet, which had increased in size as had its occupants, groaned a little on its well-used springs. This noise took nothing from the charm of the drive, which the stars, so numberless in autumn, seemed to follow with a golden shower.

"Are you cold, Jack?" said the doctor, suddenly.

How could he be cold? The fringe of Cecile's great shawl just touched him.

Alas! why must there be a to-morrow to such delicious days? Jack knew now that he loved Cecile, but he realized also that this love would be to him only an additional cause of sorrow. She was too far above him, and although he had changed much since he had been so near her, although he had thrown aside much of the roughness of his habits and appearance, he still felt himself unworthy of the lovely fairy who had transformed him.

The mere idea that the girl should know that he adored her was distasteful to him. Besides, as his bodily health returned, he began to grow ashamed of his hours of inaction in "the office." What would she think of him should he continue to remain there? Cost what it would, he must go.

One morning he entered M. Rivals' house to thank him for all his kindness, and to inform him of his decision.

"You are right," said the old man; "you are well now bodily and mentally, and you can soon find some employment."

There was a long silence, and Jack was disturbed by the singular attention with which M. Rivals regarded him. "You have something to say to me," said the doctor, abruptly.

Jack colored and hesitated.

"I thought," continued the doctor, "that when a youth was in love with a girl who had no other relation than an old grandfather, the proper thing was to speak to him frankly."

Jack, without answering, hid his face in his hands.

"Why are you so troubled, my boy?" continued his old friend.

"I did not dare to speak to you," answered Jack; "I am poor and without any position."

"You can remedy all this."

"But there is something else: you do not know that I am illegitimate!"

"Yes, I know--and so is she," said the doctor, calmly. "Now listen to a long story."

They were in the doctor's library. Through the open window they saw a superb autumnal landscape, long country roads bordered with leafless trees; and beyond, the old country cemetery, its yew-trees prostrated, and its crosses upheaved.

"You have never been there," said M. Rivals, pointing out to Jack this melancholy spot. "Nearly in the centre is a large white stone, on which is the one word Madeleine.

"There lies my daughter, Cecile's mother. She wished to be placed apart from us all, and desired that only her Christian name should be put upon her tomb, saying that she was not worthy to bear the name of her father and mother. Dear child, she was so proud! She had done nothing to merit this exile after death, and if any should have been punished, it was I, an old fool, whose obstinacy brought all our misfortunes upon us.

"One day, eighteen years ago this very month, I was sent for in a hurry on account of an accident that had happened at a hunt in the Foret de Senart. A gentleman had been shot in the leg. I found the wounded man on the state-bed at the Archambaulds. He was a handsome fellow, with light hair and eyes, those northern eyes that have something of the cold glitter of ice. He bore with admirable courage the extraction of the b.a.l.l.s, and, the operation over, thanked me in excellent French, though with a foreign accent. As he could not be moved without danger, I continued to attend him at the forester's; I learned that he was a Russian of high rank,--'the Comte Nadine,' his companions called him.

"Although the wound was dangerous, Nadine, thanks to his youth and good const.i.tution, as well as to the care of Mother Archambauld, was soon able to leave his bed, but as he could not walk at all, I took compa.s.sion on his loneliness, and often carried him in my cabriolet home to my own house to dine. Sometimes, when the weather was bad, he spent the night with us. I must acknowledge to you that I adored the man.

He had great stores of information, had been everywhere, and seen everything. To my wife he gave the pharmaceutic recipes of his own land, to my daughter he taught the melodies of the Ukraine. We were positively enchanted with him all of us, and when I turned my face homeward on a rainy evening, I thought with pleasure that I should find so congenial a person at my fireside. My wife resisted somewhat the general enthusiasm, but as it was rather her habit to cultivate a certain distrust as a balance to my recklessness, I paid little attention. Meanwhile our invalid was quite well enough to return to Paris, but he did not go, and I did not ask either myself or him why he lingered.

"One day my wife said, 'M. Nadine must explain why he comes so often to the house; people are beginning to gossip about Madeleine and himself.'

"'What nonsense!' I exclaimed. I had the absurd notion that the count lingered at Etiolles on my account; I thought he liked our long talks, idiot that I was. Had I looked at my daughter when he entered the room, I should have seen her change color and bend a.s.siduously over her embroidery all the while he was there. But there are no eyes so blind as those which will not see; and I chose to be blind. Finally, when Madeleine acknowledged to her mother that they loved each other, I went to find the comte to force an explanation.

"He loved my daughter, he said, and asked me for her hand, although he wished me to understand the obstacles that would be thrown in the way by his family. He said, however, that he was of an age to act for himself, and that he had some small income, which, added to the amount that I could give Madeleine, would secure their comfort.

"A great disproportion of fortune would have terrified me, while the very moderation of his resources attracted me. And then his air of lordly decision, his promptness in arranging everything, was singularly attractive. In short, he was installed in the house as my future son-in-law, without my asking too curiously by what door he entered. I realized that there was something a little irregular in the affair, but my daughter was very happy; and when her mother said, 'We must know more before we give up our daughter,' I laughed at her, I was so certain that all was right. One day I spoke of him to M. Vieville, one of the huntsmen.

"'Indeed, I know nothing of the Comte Nadine,' he said; 'he strikes me as an excellent fellow. I know that he bears a celebrated name, and that he is well educated. But if I had a daughter involved, I should wish to know more than this. I should write, if I were you, to the Russian emba.s.sy; they can tell you everything there.'

"You suppose, of course, that I went to the emba.s.sy. That is just what I did not do; I was too careless, too blindly confident, too busy. I have never been able in my whole life to do what I wished, for I have never had any time; my whole existence has been too short for the half of what I have wished to do. Tormented by my wife on the subject of this additional information, I finished by lying, 'Yes, yes, I went there; everything is satisfactory.' Since then I remember the singular air of the comte each time he thought I was going to Paris; but at that time I saw nothing; I was absorbed in the plans that my children were making for their future happiness. They were to live with us three months in the year, and to spend the rest of the time in St. Petersburg, where Nadine was offered a government situation. My poor wife ended in sharing my joy and satisfaction.

"The end of the winter pa.s.sed in correspondence. The count's papers were long in coming, his parents utterly refused their consent. At last the papers came--a package of hieroglyphics impossible to decipher,--certificates of birth, baptism, &c. That which particularly amused us was a sheet filled with the t.i.tles of my future son-in-law, Ivanovitch Nicolaevitch Stephanovitch.

"'Have you really as many names as that?' said my poor child, laughing; 'and I am only Madeleine Rivals.'

"There was at first some talk of the marriage taking place in Paris with great pomp, but Nadine reflected that it was not wise to brave the paternal authority on this point, so the ceremony took place at Etiolles, in the little church where to this very day are to be seen the records of an irreparable falsehood. How happy I was that morning as I entered the church with my daughter trembling on my arm, feeling that she owed all her happiness to me!

"Then, after ma.s.s, breakfast at the house, and the departure of the bridal couple in a post-chaise--I can see them now as they drove away.

"The ones who go are generally happy; those who stay are sad enough.

When we took our seats at the table that night, the empty chair at our side was dreary enough. I had business which took me out-of-doors; but the poor mother was alone the greater part of the time, and her heart was devoured by her regrets. Such is the destiny of women; all their sorrows and their griefs come from within, and are interwoven with their daily lives and employments.