Huriel, who kept cool and stood firmly between us and the enemy, prevented my delivering the first blow, which, as I saw later, would have ruined us. He merely continued to speak, sometimes in a tone of remonstrance, sometimes with a menacing air, and finally he turned round to me and said in the French language: "Isn't it true, Étienne, that this is your sister, an honest girl, betrothed to me, and now on her way to the Bourbonnais to make acquaintance with my family? These men here, my good friends and comrades in matters of right and justice, are trying to pick a quarrel with me because they don't believe this. They fancy that you and I were talking here with some woman we had just met, and they want to join company. But I tell them, and I swear to God, that before they insult this young woman by so much as a word they will have to kill both you and me, and bear our blood on their souls in sight of God and man."
"Well, what then?" answered one of the wretches, speaking French,—it was the one who first came in my way, and I was thirsting to deliver him a blow in the pit of the stomach with my fist that should fell him to earth. "If you get yourself killed, so much the worse for you! there are plenty of ditches hereabouts to bury fools in. Suppose your friends come to find you; we shall be gone, and the trees and the stones have no tongues to tell what they have seen."
Happily, he was the only real scoundrel in the party. The others rebuked him, and a tall blond fellow, who seemed to have authority, took him by the arm and shoved him away from us, swearing and abusing him in a gibberish that made the whole forest resound.
After that all real danger was over,—the idea of shedding blood having touched the consciences of these rough men. They turned the matter off with a laugh, and joked with Huriel, who answered them in the same tone. Nevertheless, they seemed unwilling to let us go. They wanted to see Brulette's face, which she kept hidden under her hood, wishing, for once in her life, that she was old and ugly.
But all of a sudden she changed her mind, having guessed at the meaning of the words said to Huriel and me in the Auvergne dialect. Stung with anger and pride, she let go my arm, and throwing back her hood she said, with an offended air and plenty of courage: "Dishonorable men! I have the good fortune not to understand what you say, but I see in your faces that you insult me in your hearts. Well, look at me! and if you have ever seen the face of a woman who deserves respect, you may know that you see one now. Shame on your vile behavior! let me go my way without hearing more of you."
Brulette's action, bold as it was, worked marvels. The tall fellow shrugged his shoulders and whistled a moment, while the others consulted together, seeming rather confused; then suddenly he turned his back on us, saying in a loud voice, "There's been talk enough; let us go! You elected me captain of the company, and I will punish any one who annoys Jean Huriel any longer; for he is a good comrade and respected by the whole fraternity."
The party filed off, and Huriel, without saying a word, saddled the mules and made us mount; then, going before but looking round at every step, he led us at a sharp pace to the river. It was still swollen and roaring, but he plunged right in, and when he got to the middle he cried out, "Come, don't be afraid!" and then, as I hesitated to allow Brulette to get wet, he came angrily back to us and struck her mule to make it go on, swearing that it was better to die than be insulted.
"I think so too," answered Brulette in the same tone, and striking the mule herself, she plunged boldly into the current, which foamed higher than the breast of the animal.
There was an instant when the animal seemed to lose footing, but Brulette just then was between us two, and showed a great deal of courage. When we reached the other bank Huriel again lashed the beasts and put them to a gallop, and it was not until we reached open ground in full view of the sky, and were nearing habitations, that he allowed us to draw breath.
"Now," said he, walking his horse between Brulette and me, "I must blame both of you. I am not a child to have led you into danger and left you there. Why did you run from the spot where I told you to wait for me?"
"It is you who blame us, is it?" said Brulette, rather sharply. "I should have thought it was all the other way."
"Say what you have to say," returned Huriel, gravely. "I will speak later. What do you blame me for?"
"I blame you," she answered, "for not having foreseen the dangerous encounter we were likely to make; I blame you, above all, for giving assurances of safety to my grandfather and me, in order to induce me to leave my home and country, where I am loved and respected, and for having brought me through desolate woods where you were scarcely able to save me from the insults of your friends. I don't know what coarse language they used about me, but I understood enough to see that you were forced to answer for my being a decent girl. So, being in your company was enough to make my character doubted! Ah, what a miserable journey! This is the first time in my life I was ever insulted, and I did not think such a thing could happen to me!"
Thereupon, her heart swelling with mortification and anger, she began to cry. Huriel at first said nothing; he seemed very sad. Then he plucked up courage and replied:—
"It is true, Brulette, that you were misjudged. You shall be revenged, I promise you that. But as I could not punish those men at the time without endangering you, I suffer within me such pangs of baffled rage as I cannot describe to you and you could never comprehend."
Tears cut short his words.
"I don't want to be avenged," said Brulette, "and I beg you won't think of it again; I will try to forget it all myself."
"But you will always curse the day when you trusted yourself to me," he said, clenching his fist as though he would fain knock himself down.
"Come, come," I said to them, "you must not quarrel now that the harm and the danger are well over. I admit it was my fault. Huriel enticed the muleteers away in one direction and could have got us away in another. It was I who threw Brulette into the lion's jaws, thinking I could save her quicker."
"There would have been no danger but for that," said Huriel. "Of course, among muleteers, as among all men who lead a half-wild life, there are scoundrels. There was one of the kind in that band; but you saw that they all blamed him. It is also true that many of us are uneducated and make unseemly jokes. But I don't know what you really accuse our fraternity of doing. We may be partners in money and pleasure, as we are in losses and dangers, but we all of us respect women quite as much as other Christian folk do. You saw yourself that virtue was respected for its own sake, because one word from you brought those men at once to their duty."
"Nevertheless," said Brulette, still angry, "you were in a great hurry to get us away; you made us go fast enough to risk being drowned in the river. You know you were not master of those bad men, and you were afraid they might return to their evil wishes."
"It all came from their seeing you run away with Tiennet," said Huriel. "They thought you were doing wrong. If it had not been for your fear and your distrust of me you would never have been seen by my comrades. You may as well confess, both of you, that you had a very bad idea of me."
"I never had a bad idea of you," said Brulette.
"I had," said I, "just then, for a moment; I confess it, for I don't wish to lie."
"It is always better not," returned Huriel, "and I hope you will soon think differently of me."
"I do now," I said. "I saw how firm you were, and how you mastered your anger, and I agree that it was wiser to speak soft in the beginning than to end soft; blows come fast enough. If it were not for you, I should be dead now, and so would you for helping me, which would have been a dreadful thing for Brulette. And now, here we are well out of it, thanks to you; and I think we ought, all three of us, to be the better friends."
"That's good!" cried Huriel, pressing my hand. "That's the Berrichon's best nature; he shows his good sense and his sober judgment. You ought to be a Bourbonnaise, Brulette, you are so hasty and impulsive."
She allowed him to take her hand in his, but she continued thoughtful; and as I feared she might take cold after getting so wet in the river, we entered the first house we came to to change our clothes and refresh ourselves with a little mulled wine. It was now daybreak, and the country-folk seemed very kind and ready to help us.
When we resumed our journey the sun was already warm, and the country, which lay rather high between two rivers, was delightful to the eye and reminded me a little of our own plains. Brulette's vexation was all over; for, in talking with her beside the fire of the good Bourbonnais, I had proved to her that an honest girl was not degraded by the talk of a drunken man, and that no woman was safe if such things were to be considered. The muleteer had left us for a moment, and when he returned to put Brulette into her saddle she could not restrain a cry of amazement. He had washed and shaved and dressed himself properly,—not so handsomely as the first time she had seen him, but looking well enough in face and well enough clothed to do her honor.
However, she uttered neither compliment nor jest; she only looked at him intently when his eyes were not upon her, as if to renew her acquaintance with him. She seemed sorry to have been crabbed with him, and as if she did not know how to make it up; but he talked of other things, explained the Bourbonnais district which we had entered after crossing the river, told me about the manners and customs, and discoursed like a man who was not wanting for sense in any way.
At the end of two hours, without fatigue or further adventure, but still riding up hill, we reached Mesples, the parish adjoining the forest where we were to find Joseph. We passed straight through the village, where Huriel was accosted by many persons who seemed to hold him in much esteem,—not to mention some young girls who eyed with surprise the company he had with him.
We had not, however, reached our destination. We were bound for the depths, or rather I should say the highest part, of the wood; for the forest of the Alleu, which joins that of Chambérat, covers the plateau from which five or six little rivers or brooks come down, forming a wild tract of country surrounded by barren plains, where the view is extensive on all sides, towards other forests and other heaths stretching endlessly away.
We were as yet only in what is called the Lower Bourbonnais, which adjoins the upper part of Berry. Huriel told me that the ground continued to ascend as far as Auvergne. The woods were fine,—chiefly full-grown trees of white oak, which are the finest species. The brooks, which cut into and ravine these woods in every direction, form in many places moist coverts, where alders, willows, and aspen grow; all fine trees, which those of our region can't compare with. I saw also, for the first time, a tree with white stems and beautiful foliage, called the beech, which does not grow with us. It is the king of trees after the oak; for if it is less handsome than the latter, it is certainly quite as lovely. There were but few of them in these forests, and Huriel told me they abounded only in the centre of the Bourbonnais country.
I gazed at all these things with much interest, expecting, however, to see more rare things than there were, and half-believing the trees would have their roots in the air and their heads in the ground, after the manner of those who imagine about distant parts that they have never seen. As for Brulette, whether it was that she had a natural taste for wild scenery, or whether she wanted to console Huriel for the reproaches she had showered on him, it is certain that she admired things out of all reason, and did honor and reverence to the least little wild flower she saw in the path.
We advanced for some time without meeting a living soul, when suddenly Huriel said, pointing to an open and some felled trees: "Here we are, at the clearing; now in a minute more you will see our city and my father's castle."
He laughed as he said it, and we were still looking about us for something like a village, when he added, pointing to some mud huts which were more like the lairs of animals than the abodes of men: "These are our summer palaces, our country-houses. Stay here, and I will call Joseph."
He went off at a gallop, looked into the doorways of all the huts, and came back, evidently uneasy, but hiding it as best he could, to say: "There is no one here, and that is a good sign. Joseph must be better, and has gone to work with my father. Wait for me here; sit down and rest in our cabin; it is the first, right before you; I'll go and see where the patient is."
"No, no," said Brulette; "we will go with you."
"Are you afraid to be alone here? You are quite mistaken. You are now in the domain of the woodsmen, and they are not, like the muleteers, imps of Satan. They are honest country-folk, like those you have at home, and where my father rules you have nothing to fear."
"I am not afraid of your people," replied Brulette, "but it frightens me not to find José. Who knows? perhaps he is dead and buried. The idea has just come into my head and it makes my blood creep."
Huriel turned pale, as if the same thought struck him; but he would not give heed to it. "The good God would never have allowed it," he said. "But get down, leave the mules just here, and come with me."
He took a little path which led to another clearing; but even there we did not find Joseph nor any one else.
"You fancy these woods are deserted," said Huriel; "and yet I see by fresh marks of the axe that the woodsmen have been at work here all the morning. This is the hour when they take a little nap, and they are probably all lying among the bracken, where we should not see them unless we stepped upon them. But listen! there's a sound that delights my heart. My father is playing the bagpipe,—I recognize his method; and that's a sign that José is better, for it is not a sad tune, and my father would be very sad if any misfortune had happened to the lad."
We followed Huriel, and the music was certainly so delightful that Brulette, hurrying as she was to get to Joseph, could not help stopping now and then, as if charmed, to listen. And I myself, without being able to comprehend the thing as she did, felt all five of my natural senses stirred up within me. At every step I fancied I saw differently, heard differently, breathed and walked in a different manner from what I ever did before. The trees seemed finer, so did the earth and sky, and my heart was full of a satisfaction I couldn't give a reason for.
Presently, standing on some rocks, round which a pretty rivulet all full of flowers was murmuring along, we saw Joseph, looking very sad, beside a man who was sitting down and playing a bagpipe to please the poor sick fellow. The dog, Parpluche, was beside them and seemed to be listening too, like an intelligent human being.
As the pair paid no heed to us Brulette held us back, wishing to examine Joseph and judge of his health by his appearance before she spoke to him. He was as white as a sheet and as shrunken as a bit of dead wood, by which we knew that the muleteer had not deceived us; but what was very consoling was the fact that he was nearly a head taller than when he left us; which of course the people about him might not notice, but which, to us, explained his illness as the result of his growth. In spite of his sunken cheeks and white lips, he had grown to be a handsome man; his eyes, notwithstanding his languid manner, were clear, and even bright as running water, his hair fine and parted above his pallid face like that of the blessed Jesus; in short, he was the image of an angel from heaven, which made him as different from other peasants as the almond-flower differs from an almond in its husk. His hands were as white as a woman's, for the reason that he had not worked of late, and the Bourbonnais costume which he had taken to wearing showed off his well-built figure better than the hempen blouses and big sabots of our parts.
Having given our first attention to Joseph we were next compelled to look at Huriel's father, a man I have seldom seen the like of,—one who, without education, had great knowledge and a mind that would not have disgraced the wealthy and famous. He was tall and strong, of fine carriage, like Huriel, but stouter and broader about the shoulders; his head was ponderous and set on like that of a bull. His face was not at all handsome, for his nose was flat, his lips thick, and his eyes round; but for all that, it was one you liked to look at, for it satisfied you with its air of command and of strength and of goodness. His large black eyes glittered like lightning-flashes from his head, and his broad mouth laughed with a glee which would have brought you back from the jaws of death.
At the present moment his head was covered with a blue handkerchief knotted behind, and he wore no other garments than his shirt and breeches, with a big leather apron, which his hands, hardened by toil, matched in color and texture. In fact, his fingers, scarred and crushed by many an accident, for he never spared himself danger, looked like roots of box twisted into knots, and the wonder was that he was able to do any work beyond breaking stones with a pick-axe. Nevertheless he used them as delicately on the chanter of his bagpipe as if they were slender reeds, or tiny bird's claws.
Beside him were the trunks of several large oaks, lately cut down and sawn apart; among them lay his tools,—his axe, shining like a razor, his saw as pliable a reed, and his earthen bottle, the wine of which kept up his strength.
Presently Joseph, who was listening breathlessly to the music, saw his dog Parpluche run towards us; he raised his eyes and beheld us within ten feet of him. From pallid he grew red as fire, but did not stir, thinking probably it was a vision called up by the music which had made him dream.
Brulette ran to him, her arms extended; then he uttered a cry and fell, as if choking, on his knees, which frightened me, for I had no conception of that sort of love, and I thought he had a fit which might kill him. But he recovered himself quickly and began to thank Brulette and me and also Huriel, with such friendly words so readily uttered, that you would never think it was the same José who in the olden time always answered, "I don't know" to everything that was said to him.
Père Bastien, or rather the Head-Woodsman (for such he was always called in these parts), laid aside his bagpipe, and while Brulette and Joseph were talking together, he shook me by the hand and welcomed me as if he had known me from my birth up.
"So this is your friend Tiennet?" he said to his son. "Well, his face suits me, and his body, too, for I warrant I can hardly meet my arms round it, and I have always noticed that the biggest and strongest men are the gentlest. I see it in you, my Huriel, and in myself, too, for I'm always inclined to love my neighbor rather than crush him. So, Tiennet, I give you welcome to our wild woods; you won't find your fine wheaten bread nor the variety of salads you get from your garden, but we will try to regale you with good talk and hearty good-will. I see you have brought that handsome Nohant girl who is half-sister, half-mother to our poor José. That's a good deed done, for he had no heart to get well; now I shall feel easier about him, for I think the medicine is good."
As he said this he looked at José, who was sitting on his heels at Brulette's feet, holding her hand and gazing at her with all his eyes, while he asked questions about his mother, and Père Brulet, and the neighbors, and all the parish. Brulette, observing that the Head-Woodsman was speaking of her, came to him and begged pardon for not having saluted him at first. But he, without more ado, took her round the waist and set her on a high rock, as if to see her all at once, like the figure of a saint or some other precious thing. Then, placing her on the ground again, he kissed her on the forehead, saying to José, who blushed as much as Brulette:—
"You told me true; she is pretty from top to toe. Here, I think, is a bit of nature without a flaw. Body and soul are of the best quality; I can see that in her eye. Tell me, Huriel, for I am so blind about my own children that I can't judge, is she prettier than your sister? I think she is not less so, and if they were both mine I don't know which I should be proudest of. Come, come, Brulette, don't be ashamed of being handsome, and don't be vain of it, either. The workman who made the creatures of this world beautiful did not consult you, and you count for nothing in his work. What he has done for us we can spoil by folly or stupidity; but I see by your appearance that, far from doing that, you respect his gifts in yourself. Yes, yes, you are a beautiful girl, healthy in heart and upright in mind. I know you already, for you have come here to comfort that poor lad, who longed for you as the earth longs for rain. Many another would not have done as you have done, and I respect you for it. Therefore, I ask your friendship for me, who will be to you a father, and for my two children, who will be as brother and sister to you."
Brulette, whose heart was still swelling with the insults of the muleteers in the woods of La Roche, was so gratified by the respect and the compliments of the Head-Woodsman that the tears began to fall, and flinging herself upon his neck she could answer only by kissing him, as though he were her own father.
"The best of all answers," he said, "and I am content with it. Now, my children, my rest hour is over and I must go to work. If you are hungry, here is my wallet with some provisions in it. Huriel will go and find his sister, so that she may keep you company; and, meantime, my Berrichons, you must talk with Joseph, for I imagine you have a deal to say to each other. But don't go far away from the sound of my axe, for you don't know the forest and you might get lost."
Thereupon he set to work among the trees, after hanging his bagpipe to the branches of one that was still standing. Huriel ate some food with us and answered Brulette, who questioned him about his sister.
"My sister Thérence," he said, "is a pretty girl and a good girl, of about your own age. I shall not say, as my father did, that she compares with you; but such as she is she lets people look at her, and her spirit is none of the tamest either. She follows my father to all his stations, so that he may not miss his home; for the life of a woodsman, like that of a muleteer, is very hard and dreary if he has no companionship for his heart."
"Where is she now?" asked Brulette. "Can't we go and find her?"
"I don't know where she is," replied Huriel; "and I rather wonder she did not hear us, for she is seldom far from the lodges. Have you seen her to-day, Joseph?"
"Yes," he answered, "but not since morning. She was feeling ill and complained of head-ache."
"She is not used to complain of anything," said Huriel. "If you will excuse me, Brulette, I will go and fetch her to you as fast as I can."
After Huriel left us we walked about and talked to Joseph; but thinking that it was enough for him to have seen me and that he might like to be alone with Brulette, I left them together, without appearing to do so, and went after Père Bastien to watch him at work.
It was a more cheering sight than you can possibly imagine. Never in my life have I seen man's handiwork despatched in so free and jovial a manner. I believe he could, without tiring himself, have done the work of four of the strongest men in his employ; and that, too, while talking and laughing in company, or singing and whistling when alone. He told me that wood-cutters as a general thing lived near the woods where they worked, and that when their houses were within easy distance they went daily to and from their work. Others, living farther off, came by the week, starting from home Monday before daybreak, and returning the following Saturday night. As for those who came down with him from the uplands, they were hired for three months, and their huts were larger and better built and victualled than those of the men who came by the week.
The same plan was followed with the charcoal men, meaning by them not those who buy charcoal to sell, but those who make it on the spot for the benefit of the owners of the woods and forests. There were other men who bought the right to put it in the market, just as there were muleteers who bought and sold charcoal on their own account; but as a general thing, the business of the muleteer was solely that of transporting it.
At the present time this business of the muleteers is going down, and it will probably soon be extinct. The forests are better cleared; there are fewer of those impassable places for horses and wagons where mules alone can make their way. The number of manufactories and ironworks which still use wood-coal is much restricted; in fact, there are but few muleteers now in our part of the country. Only a few remain in the great forests of Cheurre in Berry, together with the woodsmen in the Upper Bourbonnais. But at the time of which I am telling you, when the forests covered one-half of our provinces, all these trades were flourishing and much sought after. So much so that in a forest which was being cleared you might find a whole population of these different trades, each having its customs and its fraternities, and living, as much as possible, on good terms with each other.
Père Bastien told me, and later I saw it for myself, that all men who went to work in the woods grew so accustomed to the roving and hazardous life that they suffered a kind of homesickness if they were obliged to live on the plains. As for him, he loved the woods like a fox or a wolf, though he was the kindest of men and the liveliest companion that you could find anywhere.
For all that, he never laughed, as Huriel did, at my preference for my own region. "All parts of the country are fine," he said, "if they are our own; it is right that every one should feel a particular liking for the region that brought him up. That's a provision of God, without which the barren and dreary places would be neglected and abandoned. I have heard tell of folks who travelled far into lands covered with snow and ice the greater part of the year; and into others where fire came from the mountains and ravaged the land. Nevertheless, people build fine houses on these bedevilled mountains, and hollow caves to live in under the snow. They love, and marry, and dance, and sing, and sleep, and bring up children, just as we do. Never despise any man's home or lodging or family. The mole loves his dark tomb as much as the bird loves its nest in the foliage; and the ant would laugh in your face if you tried to make him believe there were kings who built better palaces than he."
The day was getting on, and still Huriel did not return with his sister Thérence. Père Bastien seemed surprised but not uneasy. I went towards Brulette and José several times, for they were not far off; but as they were always talking and took no notice of my approach, I finally went off by myself, not knowing very well how to while away the time. I was, above all things, the true friend of that dear girl. Ten times a day I felt I was in love with her, and ten times a day I knew I was cured of it; and now I made no pretence of love, and so felt no chagrin. I had never been very jealous of Joseph before the muleteer told us of the great love that was consuming him; and after that time, strange to say, I was not jealous at all. The more compassion Brulette showed for him, the more I seemed to see that she gave it from a sense of friendly duty. And that grieved me instead of pleasing me. Having no hope for myself, I still wanted to keep the presence and companionship of a person who made everything comfortable about her; and I also felt that if any one deserved her, it was the young fellow who had always loved her, and who, no doubt, could never make any one else love him.
I was even surprised that Brulette did not feel it so in her heart, especially when it appeared how José, in spite of his illness, had grown handsome, well-informed, and agreeable in speech. No doubt he owed this change for the better to the companionship of the Head-Woodsman and his son, but he had also set his own will to it, and she ought to have approved of him for that. However, Brulette seemed to take no notice of the change, and I fancied that during the journey she had thought more of the muleteer Huriel than I had known her to do of any other man. That idea began to distress me more and more; for if her fancy turned upon this stranger, two terrible disasters faced me; one was that our poor José would die of grief, the other, that our dear Brulette would leave our part of the country and I should no longer see her, or have her to talk to.
I had got about so far in my reasoning when I saw Huriel returning, bringing with him so beautiful a girl that Brulette could not compare with her. She was tall, slender, broad in the shoulders, and free, like her brother, in all her movements. Her complexion was naturally brown, but living always in the shade of woods she was pale, though not pallid,—a sort of whiteness which was charming to the eye, though it surprised you,—and all the other features of her face were faultless. I was rather shocked by her little straw hat, turned up behind like the stern of a boat; but from it issued a mass of such marvellous black hair that I soon grew reconciled to its oddity. I noticed from the first moment I saw her that, unlike Brulette, she was neither smiling nor gracious. She did not try to make herself prettier than she was, and her whole aspect was of a more decided character, hotter in will and colder in manner.
As I was sitting against a pile of cut wood, neither of them saw me, and when they stopped close by where two paths forked they were speaking to each other as though they were alone.
"I shall not go," said the beautiful Thérence, in a firm voice. "I am going to the lodges to prepare their beds and their supper. That is all that I choose to do at the present time."
"Won't you speak to them? Are you going to show ill-temper?" said Huriel, as if surprised.
"I am not out of temper," answered the young girl. "Besides, if I were, I am not forced to show it."
"You do show it though, if you won't go and welcome that young girl, who must be getting very tired of the company of men, and who will be glad enough to see another girl like herself."
"She can't be very tired of them," replied Thérence, "unless she has a bad heart. However, I am not bound to amuse her. I will serve her and help her; that is all that I consider my duty."
"But she expects you; what am I to tell her?"
"Tell her what you like; I am not obliged to render account of myself to her."
So saying, the daughter of the Head-Woodsman turned into a wood-path and Huriel stood still a moment, thinking, like a man who is trying to guess a riddle.
Then he went on his way; but I remained just where I was, rigid as a stone image. A sort of vision came over me when I first beheld Thérence; I said to myself: "That face is known to me; who is it she is like?"
Then, slowly, as I looked at her and heard her speak, I knew she reminded me of the little girl in the cart that was stuck in the mire,—the little girl who had set me dreaming all one evening, and who may have been the reason why Brulette, thinking me too simple in my tastes, had turned her love away from me. At last, when she passed close by me in going away, I noticed the black mole at the corner of her mouth, and I knew by that that she was indeed the girl of the woods whom I had carried in my arms, and who had kissed me then as readily as she now seemed unwilling even to receive me.
I stayed a long time thinking of many things in connection with this encounter; but finally Père Bastien's bagpipe, sounding a sort of fanfare, warned me that the sun was going down. I had no trouble in finding the path to the lodges, as they call the huts of the woodsmen. That belonging to Huriel was larger and better built than the rest; it consisted of two rooms, one of them being for Thérence. In front of it was a kind of shed roofed with green boughs, which served as a shelter from wind and rain; two boards placed on trestles made a table, laid for the occasion.
Usually the Huriel family lived on bread and cheese, with a little salt meat once a day. This was neither miserliness nor poverty, but simplicity of life and customs; these children of the woods think our need of hot meals and the way we have of keeping our women cooking from morning till night both useless and exacting.
However, expecting the arrival of Joseph's mother or that of Père Brulet, Thérence, wishing to give them what they were accustomed to, had gone the night before to Mesples for provisions. She now lighted a fire in the glade and called her neighbors to assist her. These were the wives of woodsmen, one old and one ugly. There were no other women in the forest, as it is not the custom, nor have these people the means, to take their families into the woods.
The neighboring lodges, six in number, held about a dozen men, who were beginning to assemble on a pile of fagots to sup in each other's company on their frugal bit of lard and rye bread; but the Head-Woodsman, going up to them before he went to his own lodge to put away his tools and his leathern apron, said, in his kind and manly way: "Brothers, I have a party of strangers with me to-day, whom I shall not condemn to follow our customs. But it shall never be said that roast meat is eaten and the wine of Sancerre served in the lodge of the Head-Woodsman when his friends are not there to partake with him. Come, therefore, that I may make you friendly with my guests; those of you who refuse will give me pain."
No one refused, and we were a company of over twenty,—not all round the table, for these folk don't care for comfort, but seated, some on stones, some on the grass, one lying on his back among the shavings, another perched on the twisted limb of a tree; and all—saving the matter of holy baptism—more like a troop of wild boars than a company of Christian people.
All this time the beautiful Thérence seemed, as she came and went about her duties, not a whit more inclined to take notice of us until her father, who had called to her in vain, caught her as she passed, and leading her up to us against her will, presented her.
"Please excuse her, my friends," he said; "she is a little savage, born and reared in the woods. She is shy and bashful; but she will get over it, and I ask you, Brulette, to help her do so, for she improves on acquaintance."
Thereupon Brulette, who was neither shy nor ill-humored herself, opened both arms and flung them round Thérence's neck; and the latter, not daring to forbid her, yet unable to escape, stood stock-still and threw up her head, looking out of her eyes, which had hitherto been glued to the ground. In this attitude, so near each other, eye to eye and almost cheek to cheek, they made me think of a pair of young bulls, one of which butts his head in play, while the other, distrustful and already conscious of horns, awaits the moment when he can strike him treacherously.
But all of a sudden Thérence seemed conquered by Brulette's soft eyes, and lowering her head she dropped it on the other's shoulder to hide her tears.
"Well, well!" said Père Bastien, teasing and caressing his daughter, "this is what you call skittish! I never should have thought a girl's shyness would bring her to tears. Try to understand these young things if you can! Come, Brulette, you seem the more reasonable of the two; take her away, and don't let go of her till she has talked to you. It is only the first word that costs."
"Very good," answered Brulette. "I will help her, and the first order she gives me I will obey so well that she will forgive me for having frightened her."
As they went off together, Père Bastien said to me: "Just see what women are! The least coquettish of them (and my Thérence is of that kind) cannot come face to face with a rival in beauty without getting scarlet with anger or frozen with fear. The stars live contentedly side by side in the sky, but when two daughters of Mother Eve come together there is always one who is miserable at the comparison that can be made between them."
"I think, father, that you are not doing justice to Thérence in saying that," observed Huriel. "She is neither shy nor envious." Then lowering his voice, "I think I know what grieves her, but it is best to pay no attention."
They brought in the broiled meat, with some fine yellow mushrooms, which I could not make up my mind to taste, though I saw everybody else eat them fearlessly; then came eggs fricasseed with all sorts of strong herbs, buckwheat cakes, and the Chambérat cheeses which are famous everywhere. All the laborers junketed to their heart's content, but in a very different way from ours. Instead of taking their time and chewing each morsel, they swallowed the food whole like famished creatures, a thing that is not considered at all proper with us; in fact, they could not wait to be through eating before they began to sing and dance in the very middle of the feast.
These men, whose blood is not as cool as ours, seemed to me unable to keep still a moment. They would not wait till the dishes were passed round, but carried up their slices of bread to hold the stew, refusing plates, and then returned to their perch in the trees or their bed in the sawdust. Some ate standing, others talking and gesticulating, each telling his own tale and singing his own song. They were like bees buzzing about the hive; it made me giddy, and I felt I was not enjoying the feast at all.
Although the wine was good and the Head-Woodsman did not spare it, no one took more than was good for him; for each man had his work to do and would not let himself be unfitted for the labor of the morrow. So the feast was short, and, although at one time it seemed to me to be getting rather boisterous, still it ended early and peacefully. The Head-Woodsman received many compliments for his hospitality, and it was quite plain that he had a natural control over the whole band, not so much by any method as by the influence of his kind heart and his wise head.
We received many assurances of friendship and offers of service; and I must admit that the people were heartier and readier to oblige than we are in our part of the country. I noticed that Huriel took them up, one after the other, to Brulette, and presented each by name, telling them to regard her as neither more nor less than his sister; whereupon she received so many salutations and civilities that she had never, even in her own village, been so courted. When night came the Head-Woodsman offered to share his cabin with me. Joseph's lodge was next to ours, but it was smaller, and I should have been much cramped. So I followed my host,—all the more willingly because I was charged to watch over Brulette's safety; but I soon saw that she ran no risk, for she shared the bed of the beautiful Thérence, and the muleteer, faithful to his usual habits, had already stretched himself on the ground outside the door, so that neither wolf nor thief could get an entrance.
Casting a glance into the little room where the two girls were to sleep, I saw it contained a bed and a few very decent articles of furniture. Huriel, thanks to his mules, was able to transport his sister's household belongings very easily and without expense. Those of his father gave little trouble, for they consisted solely of a heap of dry fern and a coverlet. Indeed, the Head-Woodsman thought even that too much, and would have preferred to sleep under the stars, like his son.
I was tired enough to do without a bed, and I slept soundly till daylight. I thought Brulette did the same, for I heard no sound behind the plank partition which separated us. When I rose the Woodsman and his son were already up and consulting together.
"We were speaking of you," said the father; "and as we must go to our work, I should like the matter I was talking of to be settled now. I have explained to Brulette that Joseph needs her company for some time yet, and she has promised to stay a week at least; but she could not speak for you, and has asked us to beg you to stay. We hope you will do so, assuring you that it will give us pleasure; you will not be a burden on us; and we beg you to act with us as freely as we would with you if occasion demanded."
This was said with such an air of sincerity and friendship that I could not refuse; and indeed, as it was impossible to abandon Brulette to the company of strangers, I was obliged to give in to her wishes and Joseph's interests, though eight days seemed to me rather long.
"Thank you, my kind Tiennet," said Brulette, coming out of Thérence's room; "and I thank these good people who have given me such a kind reception; but if I stay, it must be on condition that no expense is incurred for us, and that we shall be allowed to provide for ourselves as we intended to do."
"It shall be just as you like," said Huriel; "for if the fear of being a burden on us drives you away, we would rather renounce the pleasure of serving you. But remember one thing; my father and I both earn money, and nothing gives either of us so much pleasure as to oblige our friends and show them hospitality."
It seemed to me that Huriel was rather fond of jingling his money, as if to say, "I am a good match." However, he immediately acted like a man who sets himself aside, for he told us that he was about to start on a journey.
When she heard that Brulette gave a little quiver, which nobody noticed but me, for she recovered instantly and asked, apparently with indifference, where he was going and for how long.
"I am going to work in the woods of La Roche," he replied; "I shall be near enough to come back if you send for me; Tiennet knows the way. I am going now, in the first instance, to the moor round La Croze to get my mules and their trappings. I will stop as I come back and bid you good-bye."
Thereupon he departed, and the Head-Woodsman, enjoining on his daughter to take good care of us, went off to his work in another direction.
So there we were, Brulette and I, in company of the beautiful Thérence, who, though she waited on us as actively as if we were paying her wages, did not seem inclined to be friendly, and answered shortly, yes or no, to all we said to her. This coolness soon annoyed Brulette, who said to me, when we were alone for a moment, "I think, Tiennet, that this girl is displeased with us. She took me into her bed last night as if she were forced to receive a porcupine. She flung herself on the farther edge with her nose to the wall, and except when she asked if I wanted more bedclothes, she would not say a word to me. I was so tired I would gladly have gone to sleep at once; indeed, seeing that she pretended to sleep, to avoid speaking to me, I pretended too; but I could not close my eyes for a long, long time, for I heard her choking down her sobs. If you will consent, we will not trouble her any longer; we can find plenty of empty huts in the forest, and if not, I could arrange with an old woman I saw here yesterday to send her husband to a neighbor and take us in. If it is only a grass bed I shall be content; it costs too much to sleep on a mattress if tears are to pay for it. As for our meals, I suppose that you can go to Mesples and buy all we want, and I'll take charge of the cooking."
"That's all right, Brulette," I answered, "and I'll do as you say. Look for a lodging for yourself, and don't trouble about me. I am not sugar nor salt any more than the muleteer who slept at your door last night. I'll do for you as he did, without fearing that the dew will melt me. However, listen to this: if we quit the Woodsman's lodge and table in this way he will think we are angry, and as he has treated us too well to have given any cause for it himself, he will see at once that his daughter has rebuffed us. Perhaps he will scold her; and that might not be just. You say the girl did all she could, and was even submissive to you. Now, suppose she has some hidden trouble, have we the right to complain of her silence and her sobs? Would it not be better to take no notice, and to leave her free all day to go and meet her lover, if she has one, and spend our own time with José, for whose sake alone we came here? Are not you rather afraid that if we look for a place to live apart in, people may fancy we have some evil motive?"
"You are right, Tiennet," said Brulette. "Well, I'll have patience with that tall sulky girl, and let her come and go as she likes."
The beautiful Thérence had prepared everything for our breakfast, and seeing that the sun was getting up she asked Brulette if she had thought of waking Joseph. "It is time," she said, "and he does not like it if I let him sleep too late, because the next night it keeps him wakeful."
"If you are accustomed to wake him, dear," answered Brulette, "please do so now. I don't know what his habits are."
"No," said Thérence, curtly, "it is your business to take care of him now; that is what you have come for. I shall give up and take a rest, and leave you in charge."
"Poor José!" Brulette could not help exclaiming. "I see he has been a great care to you, and that he had better go back with us to his own country."
Thérence turned her back without replying, and I said to Brulette, "Let us both go and call him. I'll bet he will be glad to hear your voice first."
José's lodge joined that of the Head-Woodsman. As soon as he heard Brulette's voice he came running to the door, crying out: "Ah! I feared I was dreaming, Brulette; then it is really true that you are here?"
When he was seated beside us on the logs he told us that for the first time in many months he had slept all night in one gulp: in fact, we could see it on his face, which was ten sous better than it was the night before. Thérence brought him some chicken-broth in a porringer, and he wanted to give it to Brulette, who refused to take it,—all the more because the black eyes of the girl of the woods blazed with anger at José's offer.
Brulette, who was too shrewd to give any ground for the girl's vexation, declined, saying that she did not like broth and it would be a great pity to waste it upon her, adding, "I see, my lad, that you are cared for like a bourgeois, and that these kind people spare nothing for your comfort and recovery."
"Yes," said José, taking Thérence's hand and joining it in his with that of Brulette, "I have been a great expense to my master (he always called the Woodsman by that title, because he had taught him music). Brulette, I must tell you that I have found another angel upon earth beside you. Just as you helped my mind and consoled my heart when I was half an idiot and well-nigh good for nothing, so she has cared for my poor suffering body when I fell ill with fever here. I can never thank her as I ought for all she has done for me; but I can say one thing—there's not a third like you two; and in the day of recompense the good God will grant his choicest crowns to Catherine Brulet, the rose of Berry, and to Thérence Huriel, the sweet-briar of the woods."
It seemed as if Joseph's gentle words poured a balm into the girl's blood, for Thérence no longer refused to sit down and eat with us; and Joseph sat between the two beauties, while I, profiting by the easy ways I had noticed the night before, walked about as I ate, and sat sometimes near one and sometimes near the other.
I did my best to please the woodland lass with my attentions, and I made it a point of honor to show her that we Berrichons were not bears. She answered my civilities very gently, but I could not make her raise her eyes to mine all the time we were talking. She seemed to me to have an odd temper, quick to take offence and full of distrust. And yet, when she was tranquil, there was something so good in her expression and in her voice that it was impossible to take a bad idea of her. But neither in her good moments nor at any other time did I dare ask her if she remembered that I had carried her in my arms and that she had rewarded me with a kiss. I was very sure it was she, for her father, to whom I had already spoken, had not forgotten the circumstance, and declared he had recalled my face without knowing where he had seen it.
During breakfast Brulette, as she told me afterwards, began to have an inkling of a certain matter, and she at once took it into her head to watch and keep quiet so as to get at the bottom of it.
"Now," said she, "do you suppose I am going to sit all day with my arms folded? Without being a hard worker, I don't say my beads from one meal to another, and I beg of you, Thérence, to give me some work by which I can help you."
"I don't want any help," replied Thérence; "and as for you, you don't need any work to occupy you."
"Why not, my dear?"
"Because you have your friend, and as I should be in the way when you talk with him I shall go away if you wish to stay here, or I shall stay here if you wish to go away."
"That won't please either José or me," said Brulette, rather maliciously. "I have no secrets to tell him; all that we had to say to each other we said yesterday. And now the pleasure we take in each other's company will only be increased if you are with us, and we beg you to stay—unless you have some one you prefer to us."
Thérence seemed undecided, and the way she looked at Joseph showed Brulette that her pride suffered from the fear of being in the way. Whereupon Brulette said to Joseph, "Help me to keep her! You want her, don't you? Didn't you say just now that we were your two guardian angels? Don't you want us to work together for your recovery?"
"You are right, Brulette," said Joseph. "Between two such kind hearts I shall get well quickly; and if you both love me I think each will love me better,—just as we do a task better with a good comrade who gives us his strength and doubles ours."
"And you think it is I," said Thérence, "whom your compatriot needs as a companion? Well, so be it! I'll fetch my work and do it here."
She brought some linen cut out for a shirt, and began to sew. Brulette wanted to help her, and when Thérence refused she said to Joseph, "Then bring me your clothes to mend; they must be in need of it by this time."
Thérence let her look through Joseph's whole wardrobe without saying a word; but there was neither a hole to mend nor a button to sew on, so well had they been cared for; and Brulette talked of buying linen the next day at Mesples to make him some new shirts. Then it appeared that those Thérence was making were for Joseph, and that she wanted to finish them, as she had begun them, all by herself. Suspicion grew stronger and stronger in Brulette's mind, and she pretended to insist on sharing the work; even Joseph was obliged to put in a word, for he thought that Brulette would feel dull if she had nothing to do. On that, Thérence flung down her work angrily, saying to Brulette: "Finish them yourself! I won't touch them, again!" and off she went to sulk in the house.
"José," said Brulette, "that girl is neither capricious nor crazy, as I first thought she was. She is in love with you."
Joseph was so overcome that Brulette saw she had said too much. She did not understand that a sick man, ill in body from the action of his mind, fears reflection.
"Why do you tell me so!" he cried; "what new misfortune is to come upon me?"
"Why is it a misfortune?"
"Do you ask me that, Brulette? Do you think I could ever return her feelings?"
"Well," said Brulette, trying to pacify him, "she will get over it."
"I don't know that people ever get over love," he replied; "but if, through ignorance and want of precaution I have done any harm to the daughter of my master, and Huriel's sister, the virgin of the woods, who has prayed to God for me and watched over my life, I am so guilty that I can never forgive myself."
"Did not you ever think that her friendship might change to love?"
"No, Brulette, never."
"That's curious, José."
"Why so? Have not I been accustomed from my youth up to be pitied for my stupidity and helped in my weakness? Did the friendship you have shown me, Brulette, ever make me vain enough to believe that you—" Here Joseph became as red as fire, and did not say another word.
"You are right," said Brulette, who was prudent and judicious just as Thérence was quick and sensitive. "We can easily make mistakes about the feelings which we give and receive. I had a silly idea about the girl, but if you don't share it there can be nothing in it. Thérence is, no doubt, just as I am, ignorant of what they call true love, and waits the time when the good God will put it into her head to live for the man he has chosen for her."
"All the same," said Joseph, "I wish to leave this part of the country and I ought to."
"We came to take you back," I said, "as soon as you feel strong enough to go."
Contrary to my expectation, he rejected the idea vehemently. "No, no," he said, "I have but one power, and that is my force of will to be a great musician; I want to have my mother with me, and live honored and courted in my own country. If I quit these parts now I shall go to the Upper Bourbonnais till I am admitted into the fraternity of bagpipers."
We dared not tell him that we feared he would never have sound lungs.
Brulette talked to him of other things, while I, much occupied with the revelation she had made about Thérence, and indeed anxious about the girl, who had just left her lodge and plunged into the woods, started in the same direction, with no apparent object, but feeling curious and very desirous of meeting her. It was not very long before I heard the sound of choking sighs, which let me know where she was hiding. No longer feeling shy of her when I knew she was in trouble, I went forward and spoke to her resolutely.
"Thérence," I said, observing that she did not weep, and only quivered and choked with repressed anger, "I think my cousin and I are the cause of your annoyance. Our coming displeases you; or rather, Brulette does, for I myself can claim no attention. We were speaking of you this morning, she and I, and I prevented her from leaving your lodge, where she thought she was a burden to you. Now please say frankly if we are, and we will go elsewhere; for though you may have a low opinion of us, we are none the less right-minded towards you and fearful of causing you annoyance."
The proud girl seemed offended by my frankness; she got up from her seat, for I had placed myself near her.
"Your cousin wants to go, does she?" she said, with a threatening air; "she wants to shame me? No, she shall not do it! or else—"
"Or else what?" I asked, determined to make her confess her feelings.
"Or else I will leave the woods, and my father and family, and go and die in the desert."
She spoke feverishly, with so gloomy an eye and so pale a face, that I was frightened.
"Thérence," I said taking her very kindly by the hand and making her sit down again, "either you were born without a sense of justice or you have some reason for hating Brulette. If so, tell me what it is; for it is possible I could clear her of the blame you put upon her."
"No, you can't clear her, for I know her," cried Thérence, no longer controlling herself. "Don't think that I know nothing about her! I have thought enough and questioned Joseph and my brother enough to be able to judge her conduct and to know what an ungrateful heart and deceitful nature hers is. She is a flirt, that's what she is, your compatriot! and all honest girls ought to hate her."
"That's a hard thing to say," I replied, without seeming troubled. "What do you base it on?"
"Doesn't she know," cried Thérence, "that here are three young men in love with her? and she is tricking all of them,—Joseph, who is dying of it; my brother, who is now avoiding her; and you, who are trying to cure yourself. Do you mean to tell me that she does not know all this; or that she has the slightest preference for any one of you? No; she has no preference for any one; she pities Joseph, she esteems my brother, and she does not love you. Your pangs amuse her, and as she has fifty other lovers in her own village, she pretends she lives for all and not for one. Well, I don't care for you, Tiennet, for I don't know you; but as for my brother, who is so often obliged to be away from us, and goes away now to escape her when he might really stay at home; and as for poor Joseph, who is ill and partly crazy for her—Ah! your Brulette is a guilty creature towards both, and ought to blush for not being able to say a tender word to either of them."
Just then Brulette, who overheard her, came forward. Though quite unaccustomed to be spoken of in that way, she was doubtless well-pleased to know the motive of Huriel's absence, and she seated herself by Thérence and took her hand with a serious air which was half pity and half reproach. Thérence was a little pacified, and said, in a gentler tone:—
"Excuse me, Brulette, if I have pained you; but, indeed, I shall not blame myself, if it brings you to better feelings. Come, admit that your conduct is treacherous and your heart hard. I don't know if it is the custom in your country to let men wish for you when you intend only to refuse them; but I, a poor girl of the woods, think such lies criminal, and I cannot comprehend such behavior. Open your eyes, and see the harm you are doing! I don't say that my brother will break down under it, because he is too strong and too courageous a man, and there are too many girls, worth more than you, who love him, among whom he will make his choice one of these days; but have pity upon poor José, Brulette! You don't know him, though you have been brought up with him. You thought him half an imbecile; on the contrary he has a great genius, but his body is feeble and cannot bear up under the grief you persist in causing him. Give him your heart, for he deserves it; it is I who entreat you, and who will curse you if you kill him."
"Do you really mean what you are saying to me, my poor Thérence?" answered Brulette, looking her straight in the eye. "If you want to know what I think, it is that you love Joseph, and that I cause you, in spite of myself, a bitter jealousy, which leads you to impute this wrong-doing to me. Well, look at the matter as it is; I don't want to make José love me; I never thought of doing so, and I am sorry he does. I even long to help you to cure him of it: and if I had known what you have now let me see, I would never have come here, though your brother did tell me it was necessary that I should do so."
"Brulette," said Thérence, "you must think I have no pride if you suppose that I love Joseph in the way you mean, and that I condescend to be jealous of your charms. I have no need to be ashamed before any one of the sort of love I feel for him. If it were as you suppose, I should at least have sufficient pride not to let you think I would dispute him with you. But my friendship for him is so frank that I dare to protect him openly against your wiles. Love him truly, and, far from being jealous, I will love and respect you; I recognize your rights, which are older than mine, and I will help you to take him back into your own country, on condition that you will choose him for your sole lover and husband. Otherwise, you may expect in me an enemy, who will hold you up to condemnation openly. It shall never be said that I loved the poor lad and nursed him in illness only to see a village flirt kill him before my very eyes."
"Very good," said Brulette, who had recovered all her native pride, "I see more plainly than ever that you are in love with him and jealous; and I feel all the more satisfied to go away and leave him to your care. That your attachment to him is honest and faithful I have no doubt; and I have no reasons, such as you have, to be angry or unjust. Still I do wonder why you should want me to remain and to be your friend. Your sincerity gives way there, and I admit that I should like to know the reason why."
"The reason," replied Thérence, "is one you give yourself, when you use shameful words to humiliate me. You have just said that I am lovesick and jealous: that's how you explain the strength and the kindness of my feeling for Joseph! you will, no doubt, put it into his head, and the young man, who owes me respect and gratitude, will think he has the right to despise me, and ridicule me in his heart."
"There you are right, Thérence," said Brulette, whose heart and mind were both too just not to respect the pride of the woodland girl. "I ought to help you to keep your secret, and I will. I don't say that I will help you to the extent of my power over Joseph; your pride would take offence if I did, and I fully understand that you do not want to receive his regard as a favor from me. But I beg you to be just, to reflect, and even to give me some good advice, which I, who am weaker and more humble than you, ask of you to guide my conscience."
"Ask it; I will listen to you," said Thérence, pacified by Brulette's good sense and submission.
"You must first know," said the latter, "that I have never had any love for Joseph; and if it will help you, I will tell you why."
"Tell me; I want to know!" cried Thérence.
"Well, the reason is," continued Brulette, "that he does not love me as I should wish to be loved. I have known Joseph from a baby; he was never amiable to others until he came to live here; he was so wrapped up in himself that I considered him selfish. I am now willing to believe that if he was so it was not in a bad sense; but after the conversation which he and I had together yesterday I am still convinced that I have a rival in his heart that would soon crush me if I were his. This mistress whom he would surely prefer to his wife—don't deceive yourself, Thérence—is music."
"I have sometimes thought that very thing," replied Thérence, after reflecting a moment, and showing by her soothed manner that she would rather struggle with music for Joseph's heart, than with the pretty Brulette. "Joseph," she added, "is often in a state in which I have sometimes seen my father,—when the pleasure of making music is so great that they are not conscious of anything about them; but my father is always so loving and lovable that I am never jealous of his pleasure."
"Well, then, Thérence," said Brulette, "let us hope he will make Joseph like himself and worthy of you."
"Of me? why of me more than of you? God is my witness that I am not thinking of myself when I work and pray for Joseph. My future troubles me very little, Brulette; I don't understand why people should be thinking of themselves in the friendship they give to others."
"Then," said Brulette, "you are a sort of saint, dear Thérence, and I feel I am not worthy of you; for I do think about myself, and a great deal, too, when I dream of love and happiness. Perhaps you do not love Joseph as I fancied you did; but, however that may be, I ask you to tell me how I had better behave to him. I am not at all sure that if I take all hope away from him the blow would kill him; otherwise you would not see me so easy. But he is ill, that's very true; and I owe him great consideration. Here is where my friendship for him has been loyal and sincere; and I have not been as coquettish as you think for. For if it is true that I have, as you say, fifty lovers in my own village, what advantage or amusement would it be to me to follow the humblest of them all into these woods? I think, on the contrary, that I deserve your good-will for having, as it seemed right to do so, sacrificed without regret my lively friends to bring comfort to a poor fellow who asked for my remembrance."
Thérence, understanding at last that she was wrong, threw herself into Brulette's arms, without making any excuses, but showing plainly by tears and kisses that she was heartily sorry.
They were sitting thus together when Huriel, followed by his mules, preceded by his dogs, and mounted on his little horse, appeared at the end of the path where we were. He came to bid us good-bye; but nothing in his air or manner showed the grief of a man who seeks by flight to cure a hopeless love. He seemed, on the contrary, cheerful and content; and Brulette thought that Thérence had put him on the list of her admirers only to give one reason more, good or bad, for her vexation. She even tried to make him tell the real reason for his departure; and when he pretended that it was pressing business, which Thérence denied, urging him to stay, Brulette, rather piqued at his coolness, reproached him with getting tired of his Berrichon guests. He let himself be teased without making any change in his plans; and this finally affronted Brulette, and led her to say,—
"As I may never see you again, Maître Huriel, don't you think you had better return me the little token which you wear in your ear though it does not belong to you?"
"Yes, but it does," he answered. "It belongs to me as much as my ear belongs to my head, for my sister gave it to me."
"Your sister could not have given you what is either Joseph's or mine."
"My sister made her first communion just as you did, Brulette; and when I returned your jewel to José she gave me hers. Ask her if that isn't true."
Thérence colored high, and Huriel laughed in his beard. Brulette thought to herself that the most deceived of the three was Joseph, who was probably wearing Thérence's silver heart round his neck as a souvenir, while the muleteer was wearing the one she had given him. She was resolved not to allow the fraud, so she said to Thérence: "Dearest, I think the token José wears will bring him happiness, and therefore he ought to keep it; but inasmuch as this one belongs to you, I ask you to get it back from your brother, so as to make me a present which will be extremely precious to me as coming from you."
"I will give you anything else you ask of me," replied Thérence, "and with all my heart too; but this thing does not belong to me. What is given is given, and I don't think that Huriel would be willing to give it back."
"I will do so," said Huriel, quickly, "if Brulette requires it. Do you demand it?" he added, turning to her.
"Yes," said Brulette, who could not back down, though she regretted her whim when she saw the hurt look of the muleteer. He at once opened his earring and took off the token, which he gave to Brulette, saying: "Be it as you please. I should be consoled for the loss of my sister's gift if I could think you would neither give it away nor exchange it."
"The proof that I will do neither," said Brulette, fastening it on Thérence's necklace, "is that I give it to her to keep. And as for you, whose ear is now released of its weight, you do not need any token to enable me to recognize you when you come again into our parts."
"That is very handsome of you to say," replied the muleteer; "but as I only did my duty to Joseph, and as you now know all that you need to know to make him happy, I shall not meddle any further in his affairs. I suppose you will take him home with you, and I shall have no further occasion to visit your country. Adieu, therefore, my beautiful Brulette; I foretell all the blessings you deserve, and I leave you now with my family, who will serve you while here and conduct you home whenever you may wish to go."
So saying, off he went, singing:—
"One mule, two mules, three mules,On the mountain, don't you see them?Hey, the devil! 'tis the band."
But his voice did not sound as steady as he tried to make it; and Brulette, not feeling happy and wishing to escape the searching eyes of Thérence, returned with us both to find Joseph.