I arrived in due time at the country estate where my sister ordinarily passed the whole year. From a distance I saw that the window shutters were closed. Could they be travelling? She surely would have written me. I rang the bell at the gateway; the gardener admitted me and informed me that Monsieur and Madame Déneterre had gone to Melun for the winter, and that they came into the country on fine Sundays only. As the city was only two or three miles distant, I set out on foot. It was beginning to be dark, but there was a moon. On the way, I tried to imagine what had induced my dear relations to change their mode of life. They used never to leave their country house; but they had been married a number of years, and they probably were beginning to find that they had not so much to say to each other. Then the winter evenings seemed long to them, I supposed, so it occurred to them to try passing them in town. That is the way such fine plans for the future always end! Is there anything on earth that is beyond the reach of the effects of time?
I came in sight of the first houses of Melun, a pretty little town, where I used to enjoy myself immensely in the old days; I should surely find it delightful, now that Paris was unendurable to me. This much was certain, that change of scene necessarily causes distraction, and distraction is the very best remedy for pains of the heart and mind. Besides, I was no Werther; I had no inclination to nourish my love and my sorrow in dense forests, or on the brink of a precipice. On the contrary, I was trying to cure myself; that is the most sensible course; less romantic, it is true, but more in accordance with nature; and I am all for the natural.
I inquired my sister’s address. I walked through a part of the town, which would be its Faubourg Saint-Germain, and I soon found the Déneterre mansion. In the provinces a family generally occupies a whole house, whereas in Paris three families often live on the same floor. I confess that it is pleasanter to be alone in your house, to be able to do whatever you choose without fear of annoying your neighbors, to be spared the necessity of meeting repulsive faces, insolent servants, and snarling children on the stairs, to find no marks of a dog or cat on your doormat, when for cleanliness’ sake you keep no animals yourself; and lastly, to be able to dismiss your concierge when he is disrespectful, whereas in Paris you must bribe him, no matter how insolent he may be, at the risk of passing the night in the street or at the police station, because, in the company of your friends, you have forgotten to keep watch of the time. These are some notable advantages of the provinces over the capital.
My sister uttered a cry of surprise and delight when she saw me; she threw her arms round my neck and kissed me.
“Is it really you, dear Eugène?” she said. “In truth, I didn’t expect to see you before next spring. Ah! it’s very sweet of you to remember your best friends at last.”
I did not tell her that nothing but the desire to avoid Nicette had driven me from Paris; there was no need of that; besides, I preferred to be spared the comments of my dear Amélie, who was something of a gossip, which one is sure to be when one lives in the provinces, where there is not enough to do to keep people from meddling with their neighbors’ affairs.
My sister sent for her husband, who had gone to play billiards with some friends.
“So he no longer passes all his evenings at home?” I asked Amélie.
“Oh! my dear, the evenings are very long in winter, and one must do something. In the provinces, gambling is the general rule; one must needs conform to it and do as others do.”
“That is true; it is what I have always thought, and what I told you at the time of your marriage, when you were laying out a scheme of life which resembled nothing ever heard of. You told me that I was a heedless, foolish fellow, because I laughed at your plans of seclusion, and of the happiness you were to enjoy in solitude; and now you have abandoned that solitude!”
“Oh! only for the winter; for in winter the country is very dismal; you see nobody, you can’t walk or drive. Everybody flocks to the town, where they give receptions, play cards, dance sometimes—in short, enjoy themselves. That’s why we came. What would you have? we must do as others do.”
“Why, it seems perfectly natural to me. At all events, you are happy, aren’t you?”
“Yes, my dear, very happy! My husband is the best of men; a little obstinate, to be sure, and not always willing to listen to me when I prove to him that I am right. The result is that we dispute sometimes; but that’s nothing!”
“Oh, no! besides, we must do as others do, must we not?”
“You haven’t kissed my children yet, my two little boys; they are charming little fellows, perfect demons! But bright! you may judge for yourself.”
“Where are they?”
“They’re in bed; it’s nearly eight o’clock.”
“We mustn’t wake them.”
“No; you shall see them to-morrow. It’s more than a year since you came to see us—fifteen months at least! They have grown tremendously in that time! The older one is four now, and the younger three. You can tell us whom they look like.”
Déneterre’s appearance interrupted our conversation. My brother-in-law manifested great pleasure at my arrival; he embraced me with sincere cordiality, urged me to pass the winter with them at Melun, and I saw in his eyes that his heart agreed with his lips; I noticed simply that when he came in he had in his hands a billiard cue, which he stood in a corner. We talked business and the news of Paris for a moment. Déneterre was in good spirits; his cotton mill was prosperous, his business was in excellent shape, he hoped to be able to retire and live on his income in a few years.
While we were talking, Amélie went in and out, gave orders, had a room made ready for me, invited me to take something before supper.
“I never take supper,” I said.
“You must do it here, my dear; it’s one of the customs of the province, and it’s not disagreeable, I assure you.”
“All right; I’ll take supper when I am hungry.”
“Speaking of eating,” said Déneterre, “where are the children? Why don’t they come to kiss their uncle?”
“They’re in bed, my dear,” said Amélie.
“In bed, already! why, that’s ridiculous! You put them to bed too early.”
“Their health requires it.”
“Boys don’t need to sleep so much.”
“Boys who run about and play all day must need rest when night comes.”
“No matter; I want them to come to kiss their uncle.”
“They can do it just as well to-morrow morning.”
“To-morrow! to-morrow! that won’t be the same thing at all. I’m going to get them.”
“What! wake them up! upon my word! I would like to see you—just to make them sick.”
“You’re the one who makes them sick, making them sleep like dormice.”
“At this rate, I shan’t have anything to say about my own children.”
“They are boys; it’s my place to train them.”
“You don’t understand anything about it; besides, it isn’t my fault that they’re not girls.”
As I saw that the discussion was becoming warm, I made haste to change the subject by taking the billiard cue and handing it to Déneterre.
“Is this cue yours?”
“Yes; it’s a prize cue that I won at pool not long ago.”
“Ah! so you play pool, do you?”
“Every night; I am a very good hand at it.”
“Very well; go and finish your game. No ceremony between us, you know. Besides, I am tired and am going to bed.”
“Until to-morrow, then,” said Déneterre, taking his prize cue eagerly; “you must join us to-morrow, and you will see what progress I’ve made since last year, especially since I have been using a patent cue.”
Déneterre left us, and Amélie took me to my room, showing me on the way a large part of the house, and telling me in detail all that she had lately had done to it, and the further improvements that she had in view. I noticed in my sister’s conversation something of the tone of the old gentleman with whom I had dined at Madame de Marsan’s country house, and who dilated so complacently on the details of his barnyard and hencoop. But I began to understand that the story of the birth of a chicken and the education of a rabbit might be of great interest to people who had nothing else to do.
In the course of our conversation, I asked my sister if she often had disputes with her husband.
“Disputes!” she exclaimed, with a surprised look; “why, we never have any.”
“I thought that just now——”
“Oh! you call that a dispute! why, my dear boy, that was nothing at all; we have a hundred little arguments like that during the day; but they’re not disputes! You see, when two people live together, it’s very hard to be always of the same opinion.”
“I should think that it would be more agreeable.”
“But it’s impossible! Ah! my dear Eugène, anyone can see that you’re a bachelor! you know nothing at all about married life; but before long I hope that you willknow all the joys of marriage, of which you have no conception now.”
“No; I agree that I have no conception of them.”
“Patience, it will come in time. Good-night, dear Eugène; until to-morrow!”
My sister left me, and I went to bed reflecting on the manner of life of which Amélie and her husband had just given me a specimen; and yet it was a delightful household, so everybody said. This much was certain—that my sister was virtuous, and true to her husband, and that Déneterre was very fond of his wife and children. Why, then, those frequent disputes?—I saw that my sister was right: I had undertaken to argue about conjugal happiness, and I did not know what it was. I concluded that the best thing I could do was to go to sleep.
The journey had tired me, but the sight of my sister and her husband had diverted my thoughts from my grief, for all troubles yield at last to time and to distraction. I fell asleep in a more tranquil frame of mind than I had known for a long while; and I should doubtless have slept well into the forenoon, if my dear nephews had not taken it upon themselves to wake me. At seven o’clock I heard a great noise in my room; I felt somebody pulling my leg and my arm; I opened my eyes and saw my sister’s two children, who had climbed on my bed and were amusing themselves by playing tricks and tumbling all over me. While I, still half asleep, gazed vacantly at them, I heard a roar of laughter behind me; I drew the curtain aside and discovered Déneterre seated a few feet from the bed and laughing at my surprise.
“Well!” he said; “here they are; what do you think of them?”
“Why, they are in excellent condition, so far as I can see.”
“Aren’t they fine boys?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Ah! I’ll make hearty little chaps of them, I tell you! They’re such merry, lively rascals!”
“So I see; just tell them not to pinch me so hard. Here’s one of them who won’t let go my calf.”
“It’s only play, my dear fellow. They wake me like this every morning. Tell me, is there any greater pleasure?”
“Yes, to a father, it must be perfectly charming; but to an uncle, you see, it hasn’t quite the same fascination.”
“Parbleu! it rests entirely with you to become acquainted with that pleasure; marry, and have children; they’ll caress you as these little fellows caress me.”
“Oh! I shall do it some day, no doubt.”
“Come, my hearties, kiss your uncle and let him dress.”
To prove their affection, the “hearties” threw themselves on my stomach, seized my head, and, while kissing me, rubbed their faces clean and wiped their noses on my cheeks and nose; they tried to see which would kiss me the more. I was suffocating, I cried for mercy; their papa was forced to order them to desist, but they listened to him no more than to me, and kept on as before. Luckily, my sister arrived and the scene changed.
“What!” she exclaimed, striding angrily toward her husband; “you brought the children to their uncle before I had washed and dressed them and combed their hair?”
“Well! what of that, my dear love? must they be in their Sunday best to bid their uncle good-morning?”
“It isn’t a question of Sunday best; but I should have liked Eugène to see them first when they were decentlyclean; and when they have once begun to play, it isn’t possible to keep them looking decent. But you do everything without consulting me!”
“I assure you, my dear sister, that I consider them very nice as they are.”
“Come, young gentlemen, breakfast is waiting.”
The wordbreakfastcaused my little rascals to decamp at once; they were soon off my bed, and I was able to rise.
It seemed to me that examples of wedded bliss succeeded each other rather swiftly under my sister’s roof. But I was inclined to think that, if I should marry, I should not take them as patterns in the matter of bringing up children. But I had arrived only the night before, and it was fair to wait before forming a final judgment.
I went downstairs and joined the family in the dining room. While we breakfasted, Amélie and her husband described their daily life to me. In the morning, business, housekeeping, and a walk when they had any time to themselves; in the evening, Déneterre went to the café to play pool, while his wife dressed to go out. Every evening in the week was taken: Monday, at the notary’s, a small and select party. The most notable of the townspeople met there. There was little card playing, but much political discussion, and one could learn there the news of all the cabinets in Europe; the interests of each of the powers were discussed, and theMoniteurwas read aloud. Tuesdays, at the house of a retired merchant; he was a rich man and entertained handsomely: beer, cake, and sweetened water flavored with orange. The play was for very high stakes: boston for sixblancs, and écarté for five sous; the bets sometimes went as high as seventy-five centimes! But all games were playedthere; whist and boston with great skill. No one called for six tricks unless he had eight, or stood unless he held anindépendance; so that it was very unusual to see aremisein the course of the evening. Wednesdays, the evening was spent with the widow of the justice’s clerk, who had four daughters to marry and no money to give them. There they played innocent games or acted charades or proverbs. In the first place, those games do not wear out cards, and require fewer candles; in the second place, the young men soon become well acquainted with the young ladies while playing such games. They talk and laugh together; and many a passion has had its birth in crambo, or the little box ofamourettes. While whispering aconfidence, one can easily put in a word of love; while pretending to sulk, one can say many things! That is the way more than one marriage is made; and when one has four daughters to look after, no means should be neglected. However, everything was all right at the widow’s; the games were carried on with the strictest decorum, and blind-man’s-buff seated was prohibited. Thursdays, the meetings were at an ex-councillor’s. Everybody was not received there; only the cream of society. The guests were forbidden to talk politics, war, affairs of state, or newspaper rumors. There was no card playing, because that was a bad example for the young; there was no dancing, because madame la conseillère, who was old but coquettish, could never obtain a partner; there were no charades, because they disturb the orderly arrangement of a salon, and may result in marring the furniture and tearing curtains; there were no innocent games, because the councillor considered them indecorous; there were no refreshments, because well-bred people never need anything of the sort. With theserestrictions, one could say and do whatever one chose, and, of course, enjoy one’s self immensely. On Fridays they met at the house of an elector, whose wife, who was young and pretty, followed all the fashions of the capital. There you did whatever you chose; no restraint, no ceremony. Dancing was permitted, and singing, when anyone desired to sing. Sometimes there was instrumental music, because there was a piano. All sorts of games were played, from loto to chess; and you could risk a sou or a louis at your pleasure. Everybody said what came into his head; they laughed and joked and talked as they liked; opinions were free; almost all the newspapers were to be found there, and all sorts of refreshments were provided. It was after the style of the receptions in the Chaussée d’Antin at Paris.
On Saturdays—ah! that was the day when they all met at my sister’s.
“You will see what fun we have,” she said to me; “such a noise, suchgo! You can’t hear what anyone says, but we laugh, and everyone tries to be merrier than the rest. Why, sometimes the time passes so quickly, that they are still here at half-past ten!”
“Half-past ten in the morning?”
“Why, no! in the evening. Are you mad?”
“Do you call that late?”
“I should say so! the custom is to go home at ten o’clock precisely.”
“Great heaven! I am no longer surprised that your children wake you up at seven o’clock! But on Sundays?”
“Oh! on Sundays we meet at monsieur le maire’s. There are always a lot of people there. He has a billiard table, and, besides that, the young people dance. Youcan judge for yourself what fun we have. That, my dear Eugène, is the way we employ the week. As you see, there is some new pleasure every day, and we have no time to be bored.”
“You have no theatrical performances?”
“Very seldom; but we get along without them.”
“No concerts?”
“Why, what about those we give among ourselves? And then, in fine weather, there are the drives about the neighborhood, which are beautiful: the little forest of La Rochette, Trois-Moulins, and a thousand delicious spots. And fishing and hunting, and the news of the town; the little intrigues that everybody knows about after a week, the quarrels, the gossip, the comments, the fashions, which we think about here even more than they do in Paris; and the parties, dinners, baptisms, weddings; ah! the weddings above all! they give us something to talk about for a month!—Oh! you’ll see, my dear brother, that we have a much better time in the provinces than they do in Paris.”
My sister did not interrupt her enumeration of the pleasures of provincial life until she saw her husband giving coffee to the little boys, when a slight discussion ensued.
“Why do you give those children coffee? it won’t do them any good.”
“Bah!”
“It excites them.”
“Bah!”
“And then, they don’t sleep at night.”
“Bah! bah!”
“Oh! how you tire me with yourbah! bah!I tell you, I don’t want them to drink it!”
“Just a drop.”
“It makes no difference.”
“It’s three-fourths milk.”
“If there were twice as much, it would make no difference.—Come here, messieurs, and don’t drink any more.”
“I want some more!”
“Here, my boy, drink this.”
“Will you obey me this minute!”
“Come, come, let them alone.”
“No, I don’t want them to drink it.”
And my sister seized the cup, her husband held fast to it, and the children squealed. Luckily, between them the cup was broken and the coffee spilled, which fact put an end to this scene of domestic bliss, to which I found it difficult to accustom myself. The day was employed in showing me the town and taking me to see my sister’s intimate acquaintances. I let her take me wherever she wished; I was so complaisant and docile that she was enchanted. She found me much more staid and reasonable than at my last visit.
After dinner, Déneterre took me to play a game of pool at his café; then we went home to get my sister to go to a reception. It was Thursday, unluckily for me. I had fallen upon the ex-councillor’s day, and I saw none but cold, forbidding faces, and stiff, formal figures. Fortunately, the guests did not arrive until half-past eight and left at a quarter to ten, so that the soirée lasted only an hour and a quarter; the first third was occupied in salutations and reverences, the second in exchanging commonplaces and nodding the head in assent, and the last in yawns, concealed with the hand, the handkerchief, or the snuffbox.
The next evening belonged to the elector; it compensated me to some extent for the boredom of the preceding one. I found there several pretty women and a little less formality and more merriment. In the course of a week I ran the whole gamut of receptions and knew the whole town. I was well received everywhere; I was rich and unmarried: that was more than was necessary to assure me a warm welcome.
I began to become accustomed to the conjugal discussions, and to the pranks of my nephews, who were little demons in very truth. I saw that, taking everything together, my sister and her husband were happy; in the finest weather of one’s life storms may arise; a picture must have shadows to bring out the lights. Their little quarrels did not prevent their loving each other, and their children’s defects were graces in their eyes. However, I hoped that, if I ever married, I should have fewer pettydiscussionswith my wife, and I resolved to bring up my children in an entirely different way; but perhaps I should have troubles which my sister and her husband had never known.
I had been in the province a fortnight. I cannot say that I enjoyed myself exactly, but at least I was not discontented. The novelty of the life, the original faces that I saw every night, my sister’s affection and her husband’s—all these served to divert my thoughts; time produced its inevitable effect, my melancholy disappeared, and I became what I used to be. However, I had not entirely forgotten Nicette; I felt that I still loved her; but when the thought of her came to my mind, I had the strength to put it aside, and I imposed silence on my heart.
I would have been glad to fall in love anew—were it only a caprice, one of those flames which used to set meon fire so quickly; perhaps that would cure me entirely. But long for it as I would, I could not compel any such feeling! I looked about me; I saw some good-looking women, some few faces formed to please; but I saw nobody who resembled Nicette.
My sister, who was really a most excellent woman,—due allowance being made for her tendency to be a little obstinate,—was overjoyed that I had ceased to speak of returning to Paris. She had no mercy on herself in her endeavors to procure for me what she called new pleasures every day. She would have been so delighted to induce me to settle at Melun! From time to time, she would ask my opinion concerning the young women I had seen the night before; she would dilate in great detail upon the virtues, talents, and amiable qualities of each one of them; then she would extol the pleasures of wedded life, the joy of having children, which, however, did not prevent her shrieking after her boys the next moment, and disputing with her husband; but it was understood that those were among the joys of wedded life. Ah! my dear sister! I saw what you were driving at! you had gone back to your favorite idea; you were determined, in short, that I should do as others did, for that was your constant refrain. And then, to negotiate the marriage of one’s brother is an affair of such vast importance in a small town!—Whatan exhaustless source of interviews, confidential communications, visits, parties, new dresses—and, therefore, of pleasure!
For some time I did not allow myself to be tempted. However, I was beginning to believe that one might as well do as others do, especially when one has lost that desire to flutter about the fair sex, that longing for every pretty woman, which is so natural to young men. There was only one for whom I had had any longing, for many weeks past—but she had deceived me, so I must needs forget her as well as the rest.
I had noticed for several days that my sister seemed even more content than usual; I often saw her whispering with Déneterre, who in the end always did what she wanted him to. They extolled still more warmly the joys of wedlock, but they said nothing more about any of the young women I had already seen; they evidently had some new hope; no doubt, I should soon learn what was in the wind.
“I shall try to make myself look very nice to-night,” said Amélie one day. “You will go with me, won’t you, dear Eugène? It’s Madame Lépine’s evening,—she was the elector’s wife,—and they say there’ll be a good many people there.”
“But I seem to see the same persons every time.”
“Ah! there’ll be some new faces for you to-night; Madame de Pontchartrain has returned from her place in the country, and she will be there.”
“Who is this Madame de Pontchartrain?”
“A most respectable person, who has an income of seven thousand francs and is seventy years old.”
Very respectable, no doubt; but I could not see why I should be especially interested in Madame dePontchartrain. Doubtless I should learn the answer to the enigma in the evening.
After dinner madame set about dressing. I had thought that Parisian women were coquettes, but since I had lived in the provinces I had learned to do justice to the belles of the capital, who passed two hours less before their mirrors than the beauties of a small town. Déneterre went off to play pool, and I walked in the garden while my sister was dressing; for the first time I was vexed by her slowness; I was in a hurry to arrive at Madame Lépine’s—I, who ordinarily accompanied my sister solely to oblige her; but one sometimes has presentiments.
My sister was ready at last; Déneterre returned, and we started. We soon reached our destination; in a small town no two houses are far apart. We were announced in due form; for in the provinces you may not enter a salon in good society without being announced. I glanced around at the guests and saw no unfamiliar faces. I was almost angry; but while Madame Lépine was arranging the different games, I saw my sister go to her and heard her say:
“My brother won’t play cards to-night; don’t count on him for boston or reversis; he prefers the games.”
I had not said anything of the sort to her; what did it mean, that she took that step without consulting me? I was just on the point of demanding an explanation, when the servant announced:
“Madame de Pontchartrain and her niece.”
Aha! there was a niece! I began to understand. All eyes turned toward the door; I did like everybody else, and I saw a tall, thin, angular, yellow-skinned woman, who, despite her age, held herself very erect and seemed to have retained all the vivacity of youth; that was theaunt; let us say no more of her, but give our attention to the niece.
A flattering murmur ran about the salon as she entered. In truth, she was very pretty; of medium height, but well set up; and if she was a little stiff in her carriage, it was the result of her training. Her features were regular, complexion rosy, hair very beautiful, and eyes very large; as for their color, I could not as yet discover it, for she kept them fixed on the floor.
While Madame Lépine went to meet Madame de Pontchartrain and her niece, and all the young women whispered together as they scrutinized the newcomer, in whom they were undoubtedly seeking defects which they would speedily find,—for women are very skilful in detecting at a glance anything disadvantageous to their rivals,—I noticed that my sister looked furtively at me, trying to read in my eyes the impression that Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain had produced on my heart.
Ah! my poor Amélie! my heart was perfectly calm!—calm, do I say? alas, no! it was not calm as yet, but it was not that young woman who excited it. I wished that it were; she was very pretty; she might well attract any man, and I should have been delighted to love her.
The niece’s name was Pélagie; I heard her called so by her aunt, who had taken her seat at a whist table from which she would not stir until it was time to go home. She urged her niece to enjoy herself, to be less shy; Pélagie blushed, and replied very gently:
“Yes, aunt.”
The young woman seemed to be the personification of innocence.
Madame Lépine took possession of Mademoiselle Pélagie and led her to the circle formed for the games.I took my place by her side; I was curious to make the acquaintance of that young novice. I noticed that all the other young women watched me when they saw me place my chair beside Pélagie’s; jealousy and spite were blazing in their eyes already! In the provinces, people are so quick to interpret the slightest action, the slightest indication of preference! But it mattered little to me what they thought; I was at liberty to do whatever I chose.
How uncharitable young women are to one another! Those who came regularly to the receptions enjoyed the bashfulness and embarrassment of the newcomer, and tried to intensify them by putting the most difficult questions to her in the games and making her do what was likely to confuse her most. I detected their petty malice, and I tried to put Mademoiselle Pélagie more at her ease. Once she attempted to thank me, and began a sentence the end of which I did not hear; but she raised her eyes an instant, and I was able to see that they were of a very tender shade of blue, and sweet in expression.
Madame Lépine, who was a very amiable person and did her best to entertain her guests, asked Madame de Pontchartrain if her niece was musical.
“Yes, madame,” the old aunt replied; “Pélagie sings, and accompanies herself on the piano.”
Immediately all the young women begged Pélagie to sing them something. They hoped to find food for criticism. Pélagie demurred very awkwardly; she glanced at her aunt, who gave her a look which clearly signifiedsing; whereupon she rose; I escorted her to the piano and offered to accompany her.
“No, monsieur,” she said; “I will play my own accompaniment.”
Surely any other woman would have thanked me in a different way; but Pélagie was innocence itself, and I saw that she had not learned to embellish her speeches.
She sang us an old ballad in six stanzas. The subject was love; but no one would have suspected it from listening to Pélagie, who imparted absolutely no expression to her voice or to the instrument. Any Parisian girl, even when fresh from her boarding school, would have played and sung much better than that; she would have rolled her eyes gracefully, whereas this one did not lift them from the keys; she would have put some soul into the words of love, whereas this one repeated them as coldly as possible. The comparison at the first blush seemed unfavorable to Pélagie; but when I reflected that that which prevented her from performing more brilliantly proved her innocence and virtue, I considered that her awkwardness was entirely to her credit.
My sister was enraptured. She saw me sit beside Pélagie, speak to her often, escort her to the piano, and take her back to her chair. That was more than was necessary to indicate the birth of love; and, of course, it would naturally end in marriage.
The party came to an end; everybody took their leave; but Amélie found an opportunity to present me to the great-aunt, who honored me with an almost affable glance. As I went downstairs, I found myself beside Pélagie; I could not do otherwise than offer her my hand. She looked at her aunt; a glance authorized her to accept, and she held out her hand as awkwardly as possible. I was careful to touch only the tips of her fingers; I had fallen in with the manners and customs of the town. However, the ladies lived only a few steps away; so we soon reached their house, where we left them after thethree conventional bows; I observed, by the way, that Pélagie was very proficient in the matter of courtesies.
When we reached home, Amélie turned the conversation upon Mademoiselle Pélagie; I expected it, and I let her talk with her husband. They vied with each other in extolling her to the skies.
“She’s a charming girl!”
“Upon my word, she’s the prettiest girl in Melun!”
“And so perfectly well bred!”
“Wonderfully so! a strict education; but what manners! what decorous behavior in company!”
“She is innocence personified.”
“She’s an excellent musician.”
“And no one would suspect it, because she makes no pretensions.”
“Her aunt has no other heir; she’s an excellent match!”
“The man who gets her won’t make a bad speculation!”
“And he can be sure of his wife’s virtue.”
Annoyed by my silence, my sister addressed herself to me at last.
“Well, Eugène, tell us what you think of Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain.”
“My dear girl, what do you expect me to add to your eulogies of her?”
“Aren’t you of our opinion?”
“Why, yes, pretty nearly.”
“Oh! you don’t choose to admit it, but I saw well enough that you thought her pretty.”
“Pretty; to be sure she is.”
“And well bred.”
“As to that, I think so, but——”
“In short, she pleased you, my dear brother?”
“Pleased me! oh! come now! I haven’t said anything to prove——”
“But I can’t see why it isn’t perfectly natural. Surely your lady friends in Paris can’t resemble the charming Pélagie?”
“Resemble her! Oh! as to that, I agree with you absolutely.”
Amélie seemed quite content; in vain did I tell her that she was mistaken; she was persuaded that I was in love with Pélagie. Déneterre kept repeating that it would be an excellent match; and as I could not make them stop talking, I adopted the expedient of going to bed.
For several days nothing unusual disturbed the even tenor of life under my sister’s roof. Every evening I went with her to some reception; for when I attempted to stay behind, she always found some way to make me do as she wished. So that I saw Mademoiselle Pélagie every evening, for she accompanied her aunt, who never failed to be on hand for her game of whist or reversis, which she even played in the morning, with three dowagers who had done nothing else for fifteen years, and in whose eyes their game was of such importance that one wept when her king was trumped, and another fell ill because she had discarded the knave of hearts.
Pélagie took part in the minor games, but she continued to be as shy and embarrassed as on the first day I saw her. As she was very pretty, the other young ladies had no mercy on her. Some of the young lady killers of the town undertook to make to her the pretty, gallant speeches which men of wit no longer venture to use, because they are too trite. But the wit of the dandies of Melun seemed to make no impression on Pélagie’s mind; she listened very coldly to their compliments, and made no other replythan a low bow. The young men, vexed to produce so little effect, went elsewhere to play the butterfly. I alone remained true to Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain, and I alone obtained from her replies not quite so laconic. To be sure, I paid her no embarrassing compliments, and placed myself on her level by talking with her of the simplest subjects. She seemed a little less timid with me; she began to raise her eyes when she answered me; and twice I fancied that she actually smiled at me. Decidedly I was a favored mortal.
The novelty of this method of making love amused and distracted me. My heart was still perfectly tranquil in Pélagie’s presence; and yet, since I had known her I had thought less of Nicette. The young innocent filled my thoughts, and, while I had no love for her, I liked to be with her; her pretty face did no harm, but her shyness and her artlessness attracted me even more.
My sister had ceased to talk about her, but I saw she was well pleased. The great-aunt treated me very affably; she interrupted her game sometimes to inquire for my health; which fact indicated the extraordinary favor with which she regarded me. The young ladies, it must be said, no longer evinced the same interest in me, manifested much less pleasure at my arrival, and did not make me pay a forfeit at the kissing stage of their games; but as I attached no value to the privilege, I paid no heed to their indifference. The mammas whispered to one another as they looked at me, while the papas smiled slyly at me; everything indicated that a great event was expected; I was perhaps the only one who gave no thought at all to the subject with which the whole town was agog.
Déneterre was the first to open my eyes.
“When’s the wedding to be?” he asked me one evening, rubbing his hands.
“What’s that? what wedding?”
“Parbleu! yours!”
“Mine! with whom, pray?”
“With whom! with whom! Ah! you choose to be close-mouthed! But we have eyes, my dear fellow, and we know what to think.”
“But I believe I have eyes, too, and I have seen nothing to imply——”
“Come, come, my dear Eugène,” interposed my sister, “why pretend any longer with us, your best friends? You love Pélagie; what do I say? love her? you adore her; I am sure of it. The whole town knows it, too; it’s no longer a mystery.”
“Oho! the whole town knows that——”
“Yes, my dear. And the young woman has shown her preference for you; that also is very easy to see: moreover, no one should claim to cut you out. The aunt considers you a very suitable match; she knew our mother and she thinks a great deal of our family. When her niece is married, she will settle three thousand francs a year on her, and leave her the rest of her property at her death. It seems to me that that is not to be despised; with what you have now, you will be in comfortable circumstances, and you will make a charming couple. Tell me, when do you want me to go to ask for her hand?”
I listened to my sister, and I admit that I was greatly surprised by what I heard. However, on mature reflection, I realized that my conduct, which would never have been noticed at Paris, might well, in a small town, give rise to the conjectures which were relied upon to induce me to marry Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain.
Amélie and her husband told me so often and so earnestly that I loved Pélagie, that I began to think that they would end by making me believe it. And, after all, should I be so badly off if I married that young innocent? If I was not in love with her, perhaps I should be all the happier; moreover, I was well aware that I was incapable of a new love; the most that I could do was to stamp out that which still tormented me in spite of myself.
Beside the innocent Pélagie, I should pass placid days; she was bashful, virtuous, well bred; a husband would be able to mould her as he chose. Friendship, they say, is more durable than love; I would begin with friendship for my wife, so that I might love her the longer. I should not be jealous; I should have one less source of torment. I should have children, whom I would bring up on a very different plan from my sister’s. Finally, having a gentle, guileless, and taciturn wife, we should have none of those little discussions which Amélie called conjugal amenities, but which were in my eyes very unpleasant quarrels.
All these reflections produced a state of indecision, which my sister interpreted in accordance with her favorite idea. Persuaded that I loved Pélagie secretly, that Pélagie adored me, and that our union would make me the happiest of husbands and ensure my future peace of mind, Amélie urged me, harassed me, persecuted me, to induce me to authorize her to ask for the hand of Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain. At every moment in the day she drew for me a new picture of the delights of wedded life. Déneterre did the same; in the first place, to please his wife, and, secondly, because he thought it would be a good match for me; to cap the climax, even messieurs my nephews had been taught their lesson, andevery day, as they climbed on my knees or my shoulders, they would say:
“When are you going to invite us to the wedding, uncle?”
I am naturally weak, as you must have noticed; tired of being tormented from morning till night to marry, I saw that I must either make up my mind to do it or leave the town, where I was already pointed out as Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain’s future husband.
But if I returned to Paris, what should I do there, tired as I was of bachelor life, and conscious of a craving to love, to attach myself to someone, and to detach myself from her whom I had loved so dearly?—No, I would marry, I would adore my wife if possible, and pray that she would prove my rock of salvation.
The result of these reflections was that I said one day in response to my sister’s entreaties:
“Do whatever you choose.”
Amélie asked no further questions; she threw her arms around me, kissed me, and, giving me no chance to add a single word, flew to Madame de Pontchartrain’s to sue for Pélagie’s hand for her brother. In half an hour she returned with the answer, which was favorable.
“She gives her to you!” she cried from the foot of the stairs; “she is yours; everything is agreed upon and settled; to-morrow I will attend to publishing the banns.”
I considered that my sister had been a little too expeditious; it was impossible now to retract; the request had been made and granted, and I was bound!—What! I was going to marry Pélagie, whom I hardly knew? It seemed to me that it must all be a joke; I could not accustom myself to the idea of being Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain’s husband.
After my marriage was decided upon, I received permission to go alone to Madame de Pontchartrain’s to pay court to Pélagie in her aunt’s presence. In the evening, I sometimes escorted the ladies into society and took them home. It was not infinitely entertaining to me. I began to be weary of all that etiquette and ceremony, of all those provincial puerilities; but I determined that, when I was once married, I would go back to Paris and teach my wife another way to live.
Despite all the efforts my sister made to hasten what she called the instant of my happiness, I could not become Pélagie’s husband in less than a month; and in that time I hoped to become better acquainted with my promised bride. To be sure, I saw her every evening; but it was always in company, playing parlor games, where everybody’s eyes were fastened on us, trying to divine what two people who are to be married say to each other. Poor dears! in vain did you prick up your ears and stretch your necks, trying to catch our lightest words; you could not possibly hear anything to enlighten you upon that subject, because Mademoiselle Pélagie and I had never spoken of it.
It may seem surprising that a promised husband had not spoken of love and marriage to her to whom his troth was plighted; but I confess that I did not care to admit everybody to the secret of my thoughts, and incompany it would have been very hard for me to say anything to Pélagie which would not be overheard by all the ears that were constantly on the alert about us. Moreover, how can one discuss an interesting subject while playingLa SelletteorMonsieur le Curé? I hoped to be less constrained with her in the morning, but the aunt was always there; often, too, some acquaintance came to make a call. I could not see Pélagie alone for an instant; it was impossible to carry on a connected conversation with her, and I began to be impatient. It seemed to me very natural to make the acquaintance of one’s wife before marriage; I felt sorely tempted to consign to the Evil One all that provincial etiquette which was so utterly devoid of sense. I decided to apply to my sister to obtain for me an interview with my intended.
“Amélie, I should be very glad to have a little conversation with Pélagie.”
“Well, what prevents you, my dear? don’t you see her every morning and evening, if you choose?”
“Yes, to be sure, I see her in the morning, but always in the presence of her aunt and three or four old mummies who would deprive the most impassioned lover of all desire to make love. Besides, Pélagie is very shy; how can you expect her to describe her sentiments before people?”
“Why, my dear, you ought to divine them easily enough from the hints she lets fall.”
“My dear girl, at the point we have reached I cannot be content with hints; I want something positive; in short, I want to know what sort of a person I have to do with.”
“But you are allowed to talk freely enough, I should think.”
“Ha! ha! that is delicious! but I tell you again, it isn’t enough for me.”
“In the evening, you always sit beside her; you can whisper to her and squeeze her hand.”
“My poor Amélie, you make me laugh with your provincial privileges; a man has much greater ones in Paris with young women he isn’t proposing to marry.”
“So much the worse for the girls in Paris, brother.”
“Or so much the better, for, after all, severity overdone is often harmful; when the principles of virtue are once engraved on a girl’s mind, I don’t see why she should not be allowed a reasonable degree of liberty; those who would make missteps would surely have done it later; but those who would always behave themselves, and would not abuse the privilege of listening to foolish talk, they, my dear Amélie, would bring with them, when they marry, a guarantee of their virtue; for you will agree that there is no great merit in being innocent when it is impossible to be anything else.”
“Oh! what ideas you have about women, brother! It is easy to see that you have been spoiled in Paris.”
“I have much less narrow ideas than yours as to the training of girls, sister; for example, I strongly approve the English method, by which they are allowed to do whatever they choose before marriage. In London, an unmarried girl goes out alone to call on her friends and acquaintances. She may go to a concert or theatre with a young man, without arousing the suspicion that he is her lover. She goes to balls without a mentor; and in society she may laugh and talk and lead the conversation, without being called to order by her parents. But when she is once married, there’s a great difference; she must lead an orderly, quiet life, devoted entirely to thecare of her household and her children; she goes out only with her husband, receives no men except in his presence, and at parties and receptions consorts with persons of her own sex, who, like herself, refrain from joining the men, whom they generally leave at table after dinner to drink and tell stories. Well! do you think that such a very bad system? For my part, I am convinced that there are fewer deceived husbands in England than in France.”
“Bah! they are deceived there before marriage, that’s all the difference.”
“And here, after marriage.”
“Brother!”
“Oh! don’t be angry; I didn’t mean that for you.”
“Well! what is the point of your remarks?”
“I want you to procure me a tête-à-tête with Pélagie.”
“A tête-à-tête! do you mean it?”
“With my future bride, it will be perfectly proper!”
“But propriety—good morals!”
“Propriety and good morals cannot be offended.”
“But the custom!”
“Your customs are beginning to be very irksome to me; and if you don’t obtain me the interview I desire, I am quite capable of decamping some fine morning and leaving you with my intended and her aunt and all the gossip of the town on your hands!”
“Oh! mon Dieu! the reckless fellow! he makes me shudder!—Well, I’ll try to arrange it. After all, you’re to be married in a week, and—and—in fact—— But I have an idea: I will go to Madame de Pontchartrain and ask her permission to take her niece with me to make some purchases that are necessary for her wedding; shecan’t refuse me; then I’ll bring Pélagie here, and you can talk to her at your leisure.”
“That’s a happy idea!”
“But I trust, my dear, that you will behave yourself, and——”
“Don’t be alarmed! Really, you have a very low opinion of me.”
“The fact that I am going to fetch your intended proves the contrary.”
My sister did, in fact, go to Madame de Pontchartrain’s. My threat of leaving Melun had made poor Amélie tremble; she had not even been willing to let me go to Paris to purchase the indispensable gifts; Déneterre had undertaken to do all that. I did not insist, for I might have fallen in with somebody in Paris who would have made me forget my marriage.
Amélie succeeded in her mission; she soon returned with Pélagie, who, on seeing me, blushed and courtesied as if I were a stranger.
“Here is my brother, who will be delighted to talk with you,” said Amélie, as she led Pélagie into the house. “I have a thousand things to do, and I am compelled to leave you for a few minutes; but you will be united in a week, so I can see no great harm in leaving you together.”
Amélie left us, and I was alone with my future wife at last. Pélagie seated herself at a considerable distance from me, so I began by placing my chair close to hers and taking possession of both her hands. I was glad to see that she made no effort to withdraw them. I gazed at her for several minutes; she kept her eyes fixed on the floor and said not a word. I concluded that if I did not begin the conversation we should sit in silence and without moving all day long; indeed, it was my place to begin.
“You know, mademoiselle, that we are to be married?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“In a week, I shall be your husband.”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Does the prospect please you?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Then you love me a little?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
That was not bad for a beginning. Still, I was anxious to obtain something besides that everlastingyes, monsieur.—I tried to go about it so as to make her reply less briefly.
“When you first saw me, did you pick me out from the rest, prefer me to other young men?”
Doubtless that question seemed embarrassing to her; it was some time before she answered, but at last I heard ayes, monsieur.
“Had your heart never spoken before you saw me?”
“I don’t know, monsieur.”
“What! do you mean that you have been in love before?”
“Oh! no, monsieur; I don’t know anything about love.”
“Why, you do now, don’t you?”
“No, monsieur.”
“Then you don’t love me?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Would you prefer another to me?”
“I don’t know, monsieur.”
“Suppose you should be married to someone else, would you be sorry?”
“I don’t know, monsieur.”
“Then, why do you marry me?”
“I don’t know, monsieur.”
I nearly lost my patience; the woman would surely drive me mad with her gentleness. I began to be afraid that I had mistaken stupidity for innocence and awkwardness for timidity! But her hand trembled; probably she was afraid that she had angered me. I felt that I must control myself and not frighten her; that was not the way to attract her and win her confidence.
“Pélagie.”
“Monsieur.”
“My dear girl, when you are going to marry a man, you mustn’t call himmonsieur.”
“What shall I say, then?”
“Call me yourdear; I hope always to be that.”
“Yes, my dear.”
“Has your aunt brought you up very strictly?”
“Yes, my dear.”
“Don’t you ever receive any young men at your house?”
“No, my dear.”
“Do you like society?”
“Yes, my dear.”
“When we are married, what would you like to do?”
“Whatever you like, my dear.”
“Shall we remain here, or go to Paris to live?”
“Oh! I don’t care. But——”
“Well! go on, don’t be afraid to speak.”
“I think I should like Paris better.”
“In that case, I am delighted to agree with you.”
And I kissed her hand, to manifest a little affection. She hastily withdrew it.
“Pélagie, a promised husband may kiss his betrothed’s hand as much as he pleases.”
“Really?”
“I give you my word.”
Instantly she offered me both hands. Her docility was charming; it was something, at all events.
“Pélagie, what has your aunt ever said to you about me?”
“She told me I might listen to you.”
“And then?”
“That you had asked for my hand, and she had given it to you.”
“So she didn’t consult you beforehand?”
“No, my dear. What for?”
“Why, to know if you liked me.”
“Oh! it wasn’t worth while.”
“But it seems to me that if——”
“I am too well bred not to obey my aunt.”
“But if I had been old, ugly, and gouty?”
“That wouldn’t have made any difference.”
“You would have married me just the same?”
“Of course, if my aunt had said so.”
“Why, then you have no inclination for me?”
“What is an inclination?”
“What! has your aunt never told you that you must love your husband?”
“Oh, yes!”
“And be faithful to him?”
“Oh, yes!”
“Do whatever he wishes?”
“Oh, yes!”
“And never listen to other men?”
“Oh, yes!”
I could stand it no longer; I leaped from my chair. Pélagie, terribly frightened, rose also and looked at me. I paced the floor with long strides. But she came toward me.
“Have you hurt yourself?” she asked, opening her eyes to their fullest extent. I could not help smiling at her question. I put my arms around her and embraced her with considerable warmth; I was determined to try to animate her at any cost. At first she tried to release herself; but I told her that a future husband had the right to hold his intended in his arms.
“Oh! that makes a difference,” she said; and she ceased to resist.
“He may kiss you, too,” I said; and I proceeded to kiss her repeatedly, on her cheeks and her lips. She made no objection.—See how dangerous ignorance often is! there was an innocent with whom a man might do whatever he chose by means of false arguments.
But as I heard my sister I released Pélagie, who allowed herself to be kissed with charming docility. Indeed, I fancied that she was beginning to show some animation.
“Come,” said my sister, as she entered the room, “it’s time to go back to your aunt, my dear Pélagie; she might not like it if you should stay away any longer. You have had plenty of time to talk, and you will have still more when you’re married. Take your shawl and let us go.”
Pélagie took her shawl without a word, and prepared to go with my sister. I bade her adieu, whereupon she gave me a decidedly tender glance. I believed that my kisses had produced some effect on her heart, and that belief made me a little more hopeful of the future.
I realized now that my bride had no intelligence; perhaps I might have gone further; but I must needs make the best of it. I did not think that, in order to be happy, one must have a genius for a wife; bright women are generally very tiresome in their homes, and she whodevotes her time to displaying the gifts she has received from nature very rarely thinks of taking care of her children and gratifying her husband. As soon as a woman believes herself to be more intelligent than her husband, she refuses to be governed by him. Moreover, I had had many liaisons with clever women, and the result had not been flattering to me. Agathe, Caroline, and Madame de Marsan were all bright. And Nicette? she was, too; and yet—— Well, it was very fortunate that my betrothed was not. I was well aware that there was a great distance between a genius and a blockhead, and that if pretentiousness is irksome, stupidity is even more so. But I hoped that marriage, which works so many metamorphoses, would succeed in forming Pélagie’s judgment. I had already fancied that I could see that my caresses had stirred her pulses. There is a time when nature seems benumbed; at such a time a crisis is necessary. Perhaps Pélagie’s heart and mind only needed that crisis to develop rapidly.
The great day arrived when I was to utter that solemnyeswhich would bind me forever. Forever is a very long time—it is very short when one is happy!
At times melancholy thoughts oppressed me. I was not in love with the woman I was about to marry, and I felt that it was the absence of love that made us walk so carelessly toward the altar. Love, who charms the present and embellishes the future, is a god whosepresence is most essential on the wedding day; he ought always to preside on such occasions. However, I proposed to do without him; indeed, I must, for whom could I love now? I should have ceased to think ofher, but I still thought of her. She did not love me; and if she had loved me, could I have married her? It would have been madness; but is the madness which makes one happy so very blameworthy?
I felt tears in my eyes. Was that the proper way to begin that day? It was my last thought of her. Henceforth I would never think of the past. I must try to be light-hearted, to be amiable with Pélagie. Amiable! she would not notice it! But, no matter; I must forget myself.
My sister was the first who entered my room. I fancy that she noticed my depression; she kissed me and embraced me, and assured me that I should be very happy.
“God grant it!” I thought. “Thus far I have not been happy in love; perhaps I shall be in marriage.”
I overcame my weakness and was myself once more. Poor Amélie! she was so pleased when she saw me smile!
By the way, where were my wife and I to live? I had not given that matter a thought; but I was not at all disturbed, for my sister had undertaken to look out for everything, and she was not the woman to forget anything so important. However, I felt that I should be very glad to know where I was to take my better half that night.
“You haven’t told me yet, sister, where I am to live.”
“That goes without saying, my dear.”
“Nevertheless, you will have to tell me, for I can’t guess.”
“Has not Madame de Pontchartrain a magnificent house, of which she occupies only one-half? You are to live there with your wife.”
“At her aunt’s? I don’t like that very much.”
“Don’t be disturbed; your suite is by itself, and a long way from hers; you need have nothing to say to each other, except when you please. I knew, of course, that you would like to be by yourself, and I have had everything arranged with that end in view.”
“All right.—By the way, has Pélagie received all the usual gifts?”
“Yes, my dear; have you forgotten that I showed them to you yesterday and told you Déneterre had spent three thousand francs out of the money you gave him?”
“True; it had gone out of my head.”
“Pélagie will be enchanted, I assure you. There’s a beautiful set of jewelry—and shawls—and dress materials.”
“Very good; so, then, there’s nothing for me to do to-day but to get married?”
“Mon Dieu! that’s all, my dear.”
“So much the better. What time is it to be?”
“At eleven o’clock you are to call for your wife and take her to the mayor’s office. We shall have two carriages; I have ordered them.”
“Two carriages! it seems to me that’s very few.”
“There are no more to be had in town.”
“That makes a difference.”
“But this evening we shall have several sedan chairs and Bath chairs.”
“Aha! so they have those things here?”
“To be sure; they are very convenient and much less dangerous than your horse vehicles, which always frighten me.”
“It is true that in a Bath chair the steed doesn’t take the bit in his teeth. And from the mayor’s office we go to the church?”
“Yes; at one o’clock.”
“And then?”
“Then we come back here, and chat until three.”
“Where is the wedding feast to be?”
“Here, my dear. At first Madame de Pontchartrain insisted on having it at her house, but I finally carried the day. We shall be much more free here, you know. We can laugh and sing and frolic.”
“I confess that I shall be delighted to be allowed to frolic. And the ball is to be here also, I suppose?”
“Oh! no, my dear; the ball is to be at Madame de Pontchartrain’s; she has a superb salon, where three sets can dance a quadrille at once. Besides, it’s more proper at night to be where the bride can conveniently be put to bed!”
“What’s that? put the bride to bed? I fancy that that’s my business.”
“No, my dear; don’t you know that it’s the custom for the bride’s near relations to take her to the nuptial chamber and undress her and put her to bed?”
“You will do me the kindness to abridge all that ceremonial, which I consider utterly ridiculous, as much as you possibly can. It seems to me to be the bridegroom’s place to undress his wife and put her to bed—or to postpone putting her to bed if he and she please. They are entirely at liberty to suit themselves.”
“Oh! brother, think of what decency demands!”
“My dear girl, some people are so decent that they end by being indecent; just as some people are so bright that they end by making fools of themselves. Extremes meet;too great strictness breeds debauchery, just as extreme rigidity of morals often ends in their entire subversion.Summum jus, summa injuria.The savages who live in countries where they are not ruled by civilized man should have pure morals, since they follow the inspiration of nature; and yet that extreme purity which leads them to go naked and to conceal nothing from one another resembles a refinement of libertinage among us. Diogenes, who wanted to be a wise man, was nothing better than a fool; and Crates, who considered himself a philosopher, was simply disgusting; and how many writers there are who, by dint of trying to rise to the sublime, fall into bathos! and scholars who, while striving to be profound, are simply ludicrous! and actors who, in their efforts to be natural, appear absurd! and dancers who fall to the ground because they try to jump too high! The moral of all this is that we should seek a happy medium in everything, and that when a husband and wife have complied with the behests of the law and of religion they should be allowed to go to bed without having somebody else place them solemnly between two sheets; which, in my opinion, is better adapted to offend decency than to gratify it.”
“I am very sorry, my dear, but the custom——”
“I tell you, if I were in love with my wife, I would make short work of this custom! but let us say no more about it; I will submit to whatever you say.”
“Very well; dress yourself and come to breakfast.”
I felt that I must dress myself with care; the least one can do is to try to make himself presentable on his wedding day. Although Pélagie had said that she would have married me just the same if I had been old and ugly, I liked to think that she would notice the difference. I was soon ready; unless he is a conceited fop, a mancannot spend much time over his toilet, and I did not, like Raymond, reflect for a quarter of an hour where I should place a pin or how I should arrange the ends of my cravat. Speaking of my neighbor, I regretted that he was not at Melun; he would have assumed the duties of best man, and would certainly have invented something new; but it would probably have resulted to my disadvantage, so perhaps it was as well that he was not there.
My nephews came jumping and prancing into my room, to tell me that breakfast was waiting; they were already in their gala costumes, and were so wild with delight that we could not hear ourselves talk. Happy age, when the least novelty, the slightest change in the daily habits, the idea of a party, a wedding, a grand dinner—of anything, in fact, that suggests confusion and disorder—causes intoxicating delight! We ought to retain longer the characteristics of childhood.
I found Déneterre in full dress. He came to me, embraced me, pressed my hand with a satisfied air, and said to me in a half solemn, half comical tone:
“Well! you’re one of us now!”
I looked at him with a smile, and stifled a sigh which would have been a rude answer to his congratulations.
“Come, let’s eat, and eat heartily!” said my brother-in-law, taking his seat at the table. “You need to lay in some strength to-day, my dear boy.”
So the chapter of jests had begun; but it was likely to be brief in a small place, where remarks with a double meaning were frowned upon. At all events, they might say what they pleased; I was determined to accept everything with a good grace. But I thought it well to follow Déneterre’s advice and eat heartily; that was the best thing for me to do until night.