The marquis tapped Jasmin on the shoulder, saying:
“You are an invaluable fellow! How did you go to work to discover this excellent nurse?”
“How did I go to work, monsieur? Why, I just went to the office, on Rue Sainte-Apolline, and asked for a nurse; I saw nurses of all colors, and I chose this one. That’s all the difficulty there was about it.”
What Jasmin had done was the simplest thing to do, but ordinarily the simplest thing is what nobody thinks of doing.
Little Chérubin’s nurse was from Gagny, and as the doctor’s orders were definite, she returned to her village the next morning, carrying with her a superb layette, money, gifts, strict orders, and her little nursling.
Gagny is a pretty village near Villemonble, of which it is a sort of continuation, and is a little nearer Paris than Montfermeil. When I say that it is a pretty village, I do not mean by that that the streets are very straight and well paved, and that all the houses have a uniform, comfortable, or even elegant aspect; in that case, it would resemble a small provincial town, and would not be the country with its picturesqueness and its freedom from constraint.
What I like in a village is the mixture of architectural styles, the very irregularity of the buildings, which is such a pleasant change from the monotony of the streets of a capital. What I like to see in a village is the farmhouse and all its outbuildings, the pond in which ducks are splashing, the dung-heap with the hens pecking about it; and then the cottage of the well-to-do peasant, who has had his shutters painted green, and who allows the vines to climb all about the windows; the thatched roof of a laborer not far from the fine house of a wealthybourgeois; the charming villa of one of our Parisian celebrities; the humble dwelling of the market gardener; the schoolhouse, the church and its belfry; and in the midst of all these, tall trees, paths bordered by hedges of elderberry or wild fruit; hens and roosters strutting fearlessly before the house; ruddy-cheeked, merry, healthy children playing in the middle of the streets or squares, with nothing to fear from carriages and omnibuses; and even the odor of the cow barn, when I pass by a dairyman’s place; because all these remind you that you are really in the country; and when you truly love the country, you have a sense of well-being, a feeling of happiness, the effects of which you at once realize without any need to try to explain them—effects which you owe to the pure air which you breathe, to the rustic scenes which rest your eyes, and to the pleasant freedom which you enjoy!
Gagny offers you all these things. Situated as it is near Raincy, the forest of Bondy, and the lovely woods of Montfermeil, and only a short distance from the Marne, whose banks are delightful, especially near Nogent and Gournay,—in whichever direction you turn your steps when you leave the village, you find charming walks and beautiful views. The neighborhood is embellished by some lovely estates: Maison Rouge, Maison Blanche, and the pretty little château of L’Horloge, flanked by towers and battlements, which represents in miniature—but in a highly flattered miniature—the abodes of the ancient feudal lords. Such is the village of Gagny, which sees every day one more beautiful and comfortable house built in its neighborhood, where, during the summer, charming women from Paris, artists, scholars or tradesmen, come to seek repose from the constant activity of the capital.
I observe that I have been describing Gagny as it is to-day, whereas it was in the year 1819 that little Chérubin, son of the Marquis de Grandvilain, was taken there. But after all, the aspect of the village has not changed, except for some fine houses which did not then exist, but which are universally admired to-day.
Let us make the acquaintance first of all of the villagers to whose house our hero was taken.
You know that the nurse who had carried Chérubin away was a buxom peasant with a fresh round face, and a solid figure, whose corsets indicated a sufficient supply of food for four marquises and as many plebeians; but what you do not know is that her name was Nicole Frimousset, that she was twenty-eight years old, and had three little boys, and a husband who drove her to despair, although he was a model of obedience and submission to her will.
Jacquinot Frimousset was of the same age as his wife; he was a stout, well-built fellow, with broad shoulders and a sturdy, shapely leg; his round red face, his heavy eyebrows, his bright black eyes, his white, even teeth would have done credit to a gentleman from the city. Frimousset was a handsome youth, and seemed to give promise of becoming a husband capable of fulfilling all the duties which marriage imposes. Peasant women are not insensible to physical advantages; indeed it is said that there are ladies—very great ladies—who attach much value to such bagatelles.
Nicole, who had some property, and a dowry of goodly proportion, could not lack aspirants; she selected Jacquinot Frimousset, and all the women in the village exclaimed that Nicole was not squeamish; which meant doubtless that they too would have been glad to marry Frimousset. But there is an old proverb which declaresthat appearances are deceitful. There are many people who do not choose to believe in proverbs! Those people make a great mistake. Erasmus said:
“Of all forms of knowledge, there is none older than that of proverbs; they were like so many symbols which formed the philosophical code of the early ages; they are the compendium of human verities.”
Aristotle agreed with Erasmus; he thought that proverbs were the remains of the old philosophy destroyed by the wearing effect of time; and that, these sentences having been preserved by reason of their conciseness, far from disdaining them, we should reflect upon them with care, and search after their meaning.
Chrysippus and Cleanthes wrote at great length in favor of proverbs. Theophrastus composed a whole volume upon that subject. Among the famous men who have discussed it are Aristides and Clearchus, disciples of Aristotle; and Pythagoras wrote symbols which Erasmus ranks with proverbs; and Plutarch, in hisApothegms, collected the wise remarks of the Greeks.
We might proceed to cite all the authors of modern times who have written in favor of proverbs, but that would carry us too far, and we fancy that you will prefer to return to Chérubin’s nurse.
Nicole had never heard of Erasmus, or of Aristotle; we have met people in the city who have no knowledge concerning those philosophers, and are none the worse off for that. As a general rule, we should not carry the study of antiquity too far; what we know about the past often prevents us from being well informed concerning what is going on to-day.
Nicole soon perceived that when she married Jacquinot she did not feather her nest very well. The handsome peasant was lazy, careless; in short, a do-nothingin every sense of the term. Three days after her marriage, Nicole sighed when she was congratulated upon her choice.
But Frimousset had that rustic cunning which knows how to disguise its inclinations, its faults, beneath an air of good-humor and frankness which deceives many people. His wife was lively, active, hard-working; it required very little time for him to learn her character. Far from thwarting her in anything, Frimousset seemed to be the most docile, the most compliant husband in the village; but he carried his servility to a point which finally irritated Nicole, and that was the very thing he counted upon.
For instance, in the morning, while his wife was attending to the housework, Jacquinot, after eating a hearty breakfast, would say to her:
“What do you want me to do now, Nicole?”
And Nicole would reply quickly:
“It seems to me that there’s work enough to do! There’s our field to plow, and the stones and stumps to be taken out of the piece by the road, and the garden to be planted. Ain’t that work enough?”
“Yes, yes!” Frimousset would reply, shaking his head; “I know well enough that it ain’t work that’s lacking; but where shall I begin—in the field, or the pasture, or the garden? I am waiting for you to tell me; you know very well that I want to do just what you want me to.”
“My word! what nonsense! Don’t you know enough to know what there’s most hurry about?”
“Why no! Don’t I tell you that I want you to give me orders as to what I shall do; I want to do my best to please you, my little wife.”
“Do whatever you want to, and let me alone.”
Frimousset would ask no further questions; when by dint of being submissive he had irritated his wife, she never failed to say: “Do whatever you please and let me alone.” Thereupon Nicole’s husband would go off to the wine-shop and pass the day there. Nicole would look in vain for him in the pasture and the garden, and at night, when he came home to supper she would ask:
“Where on earth have you been working? I couldn’t find you anywhere.”
And Jacquinot would reply in a cajoling tone:
“Faith, you wouldn’t tell me what work to begin on, and I was afraid of doing something wrong; I didn’t want to do anything without your orders.”
With a man of Frimousset’s stamp, comfort, when it exists, soon gives place to straitened circumstances, and then to poverty; among the small as among the great, there is no fortune which is large enough to withstand disorder. After five years of married life, Nicole was obliged to sell her field and her pasture, all because Monsieur Jacquinot never knew where to begin when it was a question of working.
Meanwhile Nicole had seen her family increased by three small boys, healthy boys with excellent appetites. Three children more and several pieces of land less could not bring comfort to Frimousset’s home. Then it was that Nicole conceived the idea of becoming a nurse; and as the peasant was as active and determined as her husband was lazy and shiftless, her plan was soon carried out.
And that was why Jasmin, when he went to Rue Sainte-Apolline, to the Nurses’ Bureau, had found the peasant from Gagny, whom he had selected because of her pleasant face, and whom he had carried in triumph to his master, the Marquis de Grandvilain.
Nicole was an excellent woman, and she became sincerely attached to the child that was placed in her charge; she took him as soon as he cried, and was never weary of giving him the breast and of dancing him in her arms; she took care too that he should always be neat and clean. But the peasant woman was a mother too; she had threegas—that is what she called them,—and despite all her affection for her nursling, it was to hergasthat Nicole gave the sweetmeats, the preserves, the biscuit and the gingerbread of which Madame la Marquise de Grandvilain had not failed to give her an abundant supply, urging her not to spare them, never to deny Chérubin anything, and to send to her for other delicacies when those should be exhausted.
Luckily for Chérubin, Nicole did not follow to the letter the instructions that were given her. As one is a mother before being a nurse, the peasant woman necessarily had more affection for her children than for her foster-child. She gave milk to the latter, while the others stuffed themselves with dainties, candy and gingerbread, which soon upset their health, whereas, on the contrary, little Grandvilain became fresh and rosy and plump and hearty.
The coming of the nursling placed the Frimousset household upon its feet once more. Nicole had asked for thirty francs a month, but the marquis had said to her:
“Just let my son get well, let him recover his health, and I will give you twice that!”
And Jacquinot, who had more time than ever to idle away and to spend in the wine-shop, because his wife, being occupied with her nursling, could not keep an eye upon him, exclaimed every day:
“My eye, Nicole, that was a mighty good idea of yours to be a nurse! If you only had three or fourlittle brats like this, we should be mighty well off, I tell you!”
And Chérubin’s little foster-brothers, who did nothing but eat sweetmeats and gingerbread, were also delighted that their mother had a nursling who provided them with so many good things, thanks to which they were constantly ill.
Chérubin had been at his nurse’s house only six weeks, when, on a fine day in autumn, a fashionable carriage stopped on the public square of Gagny, which square is not absolutely beautiful, although the guardhouse has been built there.
A vehicle which does not resemble a cart is always an object of wonderment in a village. Five or six women, several old men, several peasants, and a multitude of children assembled about the carriage, and were gazing at it with curiosity, when a window was lowered and a man’s head appeared.
Instantly a low murmur and a sneering laugh or two were heard among the bystanders, together with such remarks as these, not all of which were uttered in undertones:
“Oh! how ugly he is!”—”Oh! what a face!”—”Is it legal to be as ugly as that, when you have a carriage?”—”Upon my word! I’d rather go afoot!”—”That fellow hasn’t been vaccinated!”
There were other reflections of the same sort, which might have reached the ears of him who suggested them, and which it would have been more polite to make in a low tone; but politeness is not the favorite virtue of the peasants of the suburbs of Paris.
Luckily, the man who had put his head out of the window was a little hard of hearing, and, besides, he was not a man to lose his temper for such trifles; on thecontrary, assuming a smiling expression, he said, bowing to the assemblage:
“Which of you, my good people, can direct me to Nicole Frimousset’s house? I know well enough that it’s on a street leading into the square, but that is all I know.”
“Nicole Frimousset!” said a peasant about half seas over, who had just come from one wine-shop and was about to enter another; “she’s my wife, Nicole is; I am Jacquinot Frimousset, her husband; what do you want of my wife?”
“What do we want of her? Parbleu! we’ve come to see the little one that we’ve placed in her charge, and to find out how he is, the dear child.”
“The deuce! it’s monsieur le marquis!” cried Jacquinot, removing his hat and throwing several children to the ground in order to reach the carriage more quickly. “Excuse me, monsieur le marquis; you see, I didn’t know you. I’ll show you the way; that’s our street over there; it’s up hill, but you’ve got good horses.”
And Jacquinot ran ahead of the carriage, shouting at the top of his lungs, and trying to dance.
“Here’s little Chérubin’s father! Here’s the Marquis de Grandvilain, coming to our house! Ah! I’m going to drink his health.”
The man who was in the carriage answered:
“No, I am not the marquis, I am Jasmin, his first valet; and mademoiselle who is with me is not madame la marquise; she is Turlurette, her maid. But it’s all the same, our masters or us, it’s absolutely the same thing.”
“What a stupid thing to say, Jasmin,” said Turlurette, nudging her companion; “the idea! our masters or us being the same thing!”
“I mean so far as the child we have come to see is concerned. They have sent us to find out about his health; can’t we see that as well as our masters? And even better, for we have better eyes than they have.”
“You speak of your masters with very little respect, Monsieur Jasmin.”
“Mademoiselle, I respect and venerate them, but that doesn’t prevent me from saying that they are both of them in a miserable state. What wretched carcasses! They make me feel very sad!”
“Hush, Monsieur Jasmin, here we are!”
The carriage had stopped in front of Frimousset’s house, and Jacquinot’s shouts had put the whole household in commotion.
“Those are Chérubin’s parents,” was heard in every direction. The little boys rushed to meet the carriage; Jacquinot went to draw wine to offer to his guests; while Nicole, after hastily washing her nursling and wiping his nose, took him in her arms and presented him to Jasmin and Turlurette, just as they alighted from the carriage, and called out to them:
“Here he is, monsieur and madame; take him, and see how well he is! Ah! I flatter myself that he wasn’t as pretty as that when you gave him to me!”
“True; he’s superb!” said Jasmin, kissing the child.
“Yes, he is as well as can be!” said Turlurette, turning little Chérubin over and over in every direction.
But while they admired her nursling, Nicole, who had had time to recover herself, looked closely at Jasmin and Turlurette, and then exclaimed:
“But I say, it seems to me that monsieur and madame ain’t the child’s father and mother. Pardi! I recognize monsieur by his red nose and his peppered face; he’s the one who came to the bureau and picked me out.”
“Yes, nurse, you are not mistaken,” replied Jasmin, “I am not my master; I mean that I am not the marquis, and that is what I shouted to your husband, but he didn’t listen. But that doesn’t make any difference; we were sent here, Turlurette and I, to satisfy ourselves about young Grandvilain’s health, and to report to monsieur le marquis and his wife.”
“You will always be welcome,” said Nicole.
“And then you won’t refuse to taste our wine and refresh yourselves,” cried Jacquinot, bringing a huge jar, full to the brim of a wine perfectlynif, which means new in the language of the country people.
“I never refuse to taste any wine, and I am always glad to refresh myself, even when I am not warm,” replied Jasmin. “But first of all, I must fulfil to the letter my dear master’s orders. Nurse, undress the child, if you please, and let me see him all naked, so that I can judge if he is in good condition from top to toe—inclusively.”
“Oh, bless my soul! drink and let us alone! That is my business!” said Mademoiselle Turlurette, still keeping the child in her arms.
“Mademoiselle, I will not prevent you from looking at the child too, but I know what my master ordered me to do, and I propose to obey him. Give me Chérubin, and let me make a little Cupid of him.”
“I won’t give him to you.”
“Then I’ll take him!”
“Come and try it!”
Jasmin leaped upon the child, but Turlurette would not let him go, and each of them pulled him; Chérubin shrieked, and the nurse, to put an end to this imitation of the judgment of Solomon, adroitly took the child from both of them. In the twinkling of an eye she undressedhim, and, handing him to the two servants, bade them kiss her nursling’s plump little posterior.
“There! what do you think of him?” she cried; “ain’t he fine? You’d like to be as fresh and plump as that, wouldn’t you?—but I wish you may get it!”
The nurse’s action restored general good-humor and peace between the servants of the house of Grandvilain. Turlurette did not tire of kissing her master’s child. As for Jasmin, he took a huge pinch of snuff, then seated himself at a table, and said:
“Yes, yes, everything is all right; we have a superb scion. And now, let us taste your wine, foster-father.”
Jacquinot made haste to fill the glasses, drink, and fill again; and Jasmin was as well pleased with the foster-father as with the nurse.
“But why did not monsieur le marquis and madame come themselves?” asked Nicole.
“Oh!” Turlurette replied with a sigh, “my poor mistress isn’t very well; when she tried to nurse the child, she didn’t get along well, and now that she’s given it up, she’s worse than ever!”
“But I offered to take our Chérubin’s place, in order to relieve my excellent mistress!” murmured Jasmin, tossing off a great bumper of sour wine.
“Mon Dieu! Monsieur Jasmin, you’re forever saying stupid things,” said Turlurette; “the idea of madame feeding you.”
“Why not, when it was the doctor’s orders? I once knew a lady who nursed several cats and two rabbits, because she had too much milk.”
“Oh! we’ve had enough of your stories!—In short, my mistress is very weak; she can’t leave her room, or else she’d have come long ago to see her dear child; she talks about him all the time.”
“As for monsieur le marquis,” said Jasmin, “he has the gout in his heels, which makes it very hard for him to walk. I suggested a way to do it, and that was to walk on his toes and not touch his heels to the ground; he tried it, but after taking a few steps that way,patatras! he fell flat on the floor, and he has never been willing to try again. But they sent us in their place, and never fear, we will make a good report of what we have seen. You have restored our son’s life! You are excellent people! Here’s your health, foster-father; your wine scrapes the palate, but it isn’t unpleasant, and it has a taste of claret.”
While Jasmin drank and chattered, Turlurette went to the carriage to fetch what her mistress had sent to the nurse. There were presents of all sorts: sugar, coffee, clothes, and even toys for Chérubin’s foster-brothers. The room in which the peasants usually sat would hardly hold all that came out of the carriage. The little Frimoussets jumped and shouted for joy, and rolled on the floor, at sight of all those presents, and Nicole said again and again:
“Madame la marquise is very kind! but she can be sure that her son will eat all these nice things; mygaswon’t touch ‘em! Besides, they prefer pork.”
Jasmin enjoyed himself exceedingly with Jacquinot, and Turlurette was finally obliged to remind him that their masters were impatiently awaiting their return. The domestics bade the villagers farewell. They kissed little Chérubin again, but on the face this time, and returned to their master’s carriage, which quickly took them back to Paris.
The marchioness awaited the return of her servants with the anxiety of a mother who fears for the life of the only child that Heaven has granted her. And despitehis gout, Monsieur de Grandvilain dragged himself to the window from time to time, to see if he could discover his carriage in the distance.
Turlurette, who was young and active, ran ahead of Jasmin and entered the room with a radiant air; her face announced that she brought good news.
“Magnificent, madame! magnificent health! A superb child! Oh! no one would ever know him; he was so pale and thin when he went away, and now he’s as fat and solid as a rock.”
“Really, Turlurette,” cried the marchioness; “you are not deceiving us?”
“Oh! just ask Jasmin, madame; here he comes.”
Jasmin appeared, puffing like an ox, because he had tried to go upstairs as quickly as Turlurette. He walked forward, bowed gravely to his masters and said:
“Our young marquis is in a most flourishing condition; I had the honor to kiss his posterior; I ask your pardon for taking that liberty, but he is such a lovely child and so well kept! I assure you that the Frimousset family is worthy of our confidence, and that we have only praise to give the nurse and her husband.”
These words filled the atmosphere of the hôtel de Grandvilain with joy. Chérubin’s mamma promised herself that she would go to Gagny to see her son as soon as her health was restored, and Monsieur le Marquis de Grandvilain swore that he would do the same as soon as the gout should be obliging enough to leave his heels.
The old marquis and his wife were very happy when they knew that their son was in good health; they forgot that their own health was poor, and they made great plans for the future.
There is an old song that says:
“To-day belongs to us,To-morrow belongs to no one.”
“To-day belongs to us,To-morrow belongs to no one.”
All of which is very true; and it means that we must never rely upon the morrow; but that does not prevent us from often making plans in which we stride over a great number of years, which is much more than a morrow! And most of those same plans are destined never to be executed. We are wise to make them, however, for in them consists the better part of our happiness; what we actually have in hand never seems so sweet as what we expect; it is with that as with those landscapes which seem charming to us at a distance, but very commonplace when we come close to them.
A month after receiving the assurance that her son was well, and that he had entirely recovered his health, Aménaïde, feeling somewhat better, determined to go out and take the air, in order that she might sooner be in a condition to go to Gagny. But whether it was that she went out too soon, or that a new disease declareditself, the marchioness was feeling wretched when she returned; she went back to bed, and a fortnight later little Chérubin’s mother was laid in her grave. However, she had not realized that she was dying, and up to the last moment had retained the hope of going to embrace her son.
The old marquis was in despair at his loss; but at seventy years a man no longer loves as at thirty; as it grows old, the heart becomes less loving, and that is the effect of experience no less than of years; men are so deceived in their affections during the course of their lives, that they inevitably end by becoming selfish and by concentrating upon themselves the affection which they once offered to others.
Moreover, the marquis was not left alone on earth; had he not his son to comfort him? His faithful retainer said to him one day:
“My dear master, think of your little Chérubin; he has no mother now; you certainly ought to have died before her, for you were much older, but things don’t always go as one expects! Madame la marquise is dead and you are alive; to be sure, you have the gout, but there are people whom it doesn’t carry away at once; you are a proof of it. Be a man, monsieur le marquis, and remember your son, of whom you will make a lusty blade, such as you used to be; for you were a famous young rake, monsieur, although no one would suspect it to look at you now.”
“What do you mean, Jasmin? Am I very much changed? Do I look as if I were impotent now?”
“I don’t say that, monsieur, but I do think that you would find it difficult to keep five or six appointments in the same day; and that is what often happened in the old days! Ah! what a lady-killer you were! Well, Ihave an idea that your son will take after you, that he too will send me with billets-doux. Ha! ha! I will carry them with great pleasure; I know all about slipping notes into ladies’ hands.”
“In other words, my poor fellow, you were forever making mistakes and blunders, and it wasn’t your fault that I wasn’t surprised and murdered a hundred times by jealous husbands or rivals.”
“Do you think so, monsieur? Oh! you are mistaken; it was so long ago that you have forgotten all about it.”
“After all,” rejoined Monsieur de Grandvilain, after a moment, “even if I should weep for the poor marchioness all the time, that would not bring her back to me. I must preserve myself for my son. Ah! only let me see him when he is twenty years old! That is all I ask.”
“The deuce! I should say so! You are not modest!” said Jasmin; “twenty added to the seventy you are now, would make you ninety!”
“Well, Jasmin, don’t men ever live to that age?”
“Oh! very seldom; but it may happen.”
“How old are you, you rascal, to venture to make such remarks?”
“Why, monsieur, I am fifty,” replied Jasmin, straightening himself up and putting out his leg.
“Hum! I believe that you take off something; you look much older than that. But no matter, I will bury ten like you!”
“Monsieur is at liberty to do so, certainly.”
“And as soon as my gout has left me, I will go and embrace my heir. Of course I could send for the nurse to come here; but the doctor says that children mustn’t have change of air; and I would rather deprive myself of seeing mine than expose him to the danger of being sick again.”
“Besides, monsieur, whenever you want me to go to see our young man, you know that I am always ready; and there’s no need of sending that fat Turlurette with me; I know how to tell whether the child is well. I will go to Gagny every day if you want; it doesn’t tire me a bit.”
Jasmin was very fond of going to see Chérubin; in the first place, the faithful retainer was already devotedly attached to his master’s son; and in the second place, he always emptied several jars of wine with the foster-father, who also had become his friend. The marchioness had been dead five months, when Monsieur de Grandvilain at last got relief from his gout and was able to leave his great easy-chair. His first thought was to order the horses to be harnessed to his carriage; then he climbed in, Jasmin scrambling up behind, and they started for Gagny.
Little Chérubin continued in excellent health, because it was not he who had the delicacies that Turlurette continued to send to Nicole. One of the nurse’s little boys had already died of inflammation of the bowels; the other two, who were larger and stronger, still held out against the biscuits and sweetmeats; but their complexions were sallow, while Chérubin’s glowed with health and freshness.
On the day when the marquis started for Gagny, Jacquinot Frimousset had begun his visits to the wine-shop in the morning, and he was already quite drunk when one of his friends informed him that the Marquis de Grandvilain’s carriage was in front of his door.
“Good!” said Jacquinot, “it’s my friend Monsieur Jasmin come to see us. He ain’t a bit proud, although he’s a valet de chambre in a noble family; we’ll empty a few jugs together.”
And the nurse’s husband succeeded, although staggering and stumbling at every step, in reaching his own house; he entered the room where Monsieur de Grandvilain was at that moment occupied in dandling his son, who was then a year old; and who seemed much amused by his dear father’s chin, which did not remain at rest for an instant.
“Who’s that old codger?” cried Frimousset, trying to open his eyes and leaning against the wall.
“It’s Monsieur le Marquis de Grandvilain himself,” cried Nicole, making signs to her husband to assume a more respectful attitude; but he roared with laughter, and said:
“That, Chérubin’s father? Nonsense! Impossible! It’s his grandfather, his great grandfather at least! As if a shrivelled and shrunken old fellow like that could have such young children!”
Monsieur de Grandvilain turned purple with rage; for a moment he was tempted to take his son away and never again set foot inside the house of that vulgar peasant who had said such unpleasant things to him; but Nicole had already succeeded in pushing her husband out of the room, and Jasmin, who was engaged in refreshing himself at a little distance, went to his master and said:
“Don’t pay any attention to him, my dear master, the foster-father has been drinking; he’s drunk, he can’t see straight; but for that, he would never have said such things to you; he might have thought them, perhaps, but he wouldn’t have said them.”
“My husband is a drunken sot and nothing else,” said Nicole. “I ask your pardon for him, monsieur le marquis; the idea of thinking that you ain’t your son’s father! Mon Dieu! it’s plain enough that his eyes are blinded by drink. Why, the dear child is the very imageof you! He has your nose and your mouth and your eyes and everything!”
This language was absurdly exaggerated, and far from flattering to little Chérubin; but the Marquis de Grandvilain, who did not choose to grow old, took it all for gospel truth; he looked at his son again and murmured:
“Yes, he looks like me, he will be a very handsome boy.”
He rose and put a purse in the nurse’s hand, saying to her:
“I am well pleased; my son is well; continue to take good care of him, for since the air of this neighborhood agrees with him, I think that I shall do well to leave him with you a long while, a very long while, in fact. Children always have time enough to study; health before everything! eh, Jasmin?”
“Oh yes! health indeed, monsieur! You are quite right; for what good does it do to know a lot when one is dead?”
Monsieur de Grandvilain smiled at his valet’s reflection; then, after embracing Chérubin, he returned to his carriage. Jacquinot was cowering in a corner of the yard, and did not dare to stir; he contented himself with bowing to the marquis, who, as he passed the peasant, drew himself up and did his utmost to impart to his gait the ease and firmness of youth.
Several months passed. Monsieur de Grandvilain often said: “I am going to Gagny.” But he did not go; the dread of meeting the foster-father again, and of being greeted with fresh compliments after the style of the former ones, restrained the marquis, and he contented himself with sending for his son, who had become large enough to take such a short journey without danger.
At such times Nicole passed several hours at the mansion; but Chérubin did not enjoy himself there; he always wept and asked to be taken back to the village. Whereupon the marquis would embrace his son and say to his nurse:
“Go at once, we must not thwart him; perhaps it would make him ill.”
Two more years passed in this way. Chérubin was in excellent health, but he was not stout or robust, like the children of most peasants; he was a merry little fellow, he loved to play and to run about; but as soon as he was taken to Paris, as soon as he found himself with his father at the hôtel de Grandvilain, the boy lost all his merriment; to be sure, the old mansion in Faubourg Saint-Germain was not a cheerful place; and the old marquis, who was almost always suffering from the gout, was rather a dismal object himself.
However, they did what they could to make his visits to his father’s house pleasant to the youngster; they had filled a room with toys, and they always covered a table with sweetmeats; Chérubin was at liberty to eat everything, to break all that he saw; he was left free to do whatever he chose; but after looking at a few of the toys and eating a cake or two, the child would run to his nurse, take hold of her apron, gaze at her affectionately and say in an imploring voice:
“Mamma Nicole, ain’t we going home soon?”
One day the marquis assumed a solemn expression, and beckoning his son to his side, said to him:
“But, Chérubin, you are at home here. When you are at the village, you are at your nurse’s home; here you are in your father’s house and consequently at your own home.”
“Oh, no!” he replied, “this ain’t to home.”
“You are an obstinate little fellow, Chérubin; you don’t think that you are at home here, because you are not used to being here; but if you should stay here no more than a fortnight, you would forget the village; for after all it is much finer here than at your nurse’s house; isn’t it?”
“Oh no! it’s ever so much prettier to our house!”
“To our house! to our house! this is most annoying. However, as it is so, as you are not happy at your father’s house, you are going to stay here, Chérubin; you shan’t go back to your nurse’s again; I am going to keep you with me; you shall not leave me after this; and at all events I will teach you to speak French, and not to say ‘to our house’ any more!”
The child did not dare to reply; the stern tone which his father assumed to him for the first time, terrified him so that he was speechless and dared not move; but in a moment his features contracted, his tears gushed forth and he began to sob.
Thereupon Jasmin, who, in an adjoining room, had heard all that had been said, rushed at his master like a madman, crying:
“Well! what does this mean? So you make our child cry now, do you? That’s very nice of you! do you propose to become a tyrant?”
“Hold your tongue, Jasmin!”
“No, monsieur, I won’t allow you to make our little one unhappy! I should think not! I say that you shall not! Look, see how he is crying, the dear boy! For heaven’s sake, what is the matter with you to-day, monsieur? Has the gout gone to your heart?”
“Jasmin——”
“I don’t care, monsieur; beat me, discharge me, send me to the stable, make me sleep with the horses; dowhatever you choose, but don’t make this child cry; for if you do, why—I——”
Jasmin paused; he could say no more, because he too was weeping.
Monsieur de Grandvilain, when he saw his faithful servant cover his eyes with his handkerchief, held out his hand instead of scolding him, and said:
“Come! come! don’t lose your head. I was wrong, yes, I was wrong, since I have made this poor child unhappy. After all, my company is not very lively; the gout often makes me cross. What would he do in this great house, poor boy? He is too young to be made to study. And then he no longer has any mother, so we must leave him with his nurse as long as possible. Besides, the air in Paris is not so good as that which he breathes in the village. So take back your foster-child, nurse; as he loves you so dearly, it must be that you make him happy. Come and kiss me, Chérubin, and don’t cry any more; you are going back to your good friends; they do not love you any more than we do, but you love them more. I will try to be patient, and perhaps my turn will come some day.”
“Bravo! bravo!” cried Jasmin, while his master embraced his son. “Ah! that is what I call talking; I recognize you now, monsieur. Why, certainly your Chérubin will love you, he will adore you,—but later; you can’t expect that all at once; let him grow a little, and if he doesn’t love you then, why I shall have a word to say to him.”
So the nurse took Chérubin back to the village. Nicole was well pleased to keep a child who was a fortune to her; but she promised the old marquis to bring his son to him the next week, for the old man seemed more depressed than usual at parting.
They say that there are presentiments, secret warnings, which enable us to divine that some disaster threatens us; that our heart beats more violently when we part from a dear one whom we are destined never to see again. Why should we not believe in presentiments? The ancients believed in omens; men of sense are sometimes very superstitious; it is infinitely better to believe in many things than to believe in nothing; and strong minds are not always great minds.
Had the Marquis de Grandvilain a presentiment, that he was so loath to allow his son to go? That is something that we cannot tell; but it is a fact that he was destined never to see him again. Three days after the scene which we have described, an attack of gout carried the old nobleman off in a few hours; he had only time to whisper to Jasmin the name of his notary, and to breathe that of his son.
The grief of the marquis’s valet was more intense, more touching, more sincere, than that of a multitude of friends and relations would have been. When our servants love us, they love us dearly, for they know our faults as well as our good qualities, and they forgive us the former in favor of the latter, which our friends and acquaintances never do.
Jasmin was especially distressed because he had reproved his master for wanting to keep his son with him.
“I am responsible for his not being able to embrace his son again before he died, my poor master!” he said to himself. “He had a presentiment of his approaching death when he didn’t want to send the child back to the country; and I presumed to scold him, villain that I am! and he did not strike me as I deserved; on the contrary, he gave me his hand! Ah! I would die of grief if I had not Chérubin to look out for.”
Thereupon Jasmin recalled the fact that his master, before he closed his eyes, had stammered the name of his notary; and presuming that that functionary was instructed concerning the wishes of the late marquis, he made haste to go to him and tell him of his master’s death.
Monsieur de Grandvilain’s notary was a man still young, but of a serious and even somewhat severe aspect; he had, in fact, the marquis’s will in his keeping, and was instructed to carry out his last wishes. He lost no time in opening the document which he had in charge, and read what follows:
“I possess thirty thousand francs a year. All my property descends to my son, my sole heir. I desire that he be put in possession of his property at the age of fifteen. Until then I beg that my notary will undertake to manage it. I desire that no change shall be made inside my house, and that none of my servants shall be discharged. I appoint Jasmin, my faithful valet de chambre, steward of my household. Every month my notary shall hand him such sum as he shall require for the household expenses and for the education of my son.SIGISMONDVENCESLAS, MARQUIS DEGRANDVILAIN.”
“I possess thirty thousand francs a year. All my property descends to my son, my sole heir. I desire that he be put in possession of his property at the age of fifteen. Until then I beg that my notary will undertake to manage it. I desire that no change shall be made inside my house, and that none of my servants shall be discharged. I appoint Jasmin, my faithful valet de chambre, steward of my household. Every month my notary shall hand him such sum as he shall require for the household expenses and for the education of my son.
SIGISMONDVENCESLAS, MARQUIS DEGRANDVILAIN.”
The notary could not help smiling after reading this extraordinary testament, and Jasmin, who had listened with all his ears, gazed at him with an air of amazement, and faltered:
“In all this, monsieur le notaire, I didn’t understand who is to be the child’s guardian.”
“There isn’t any, Jasmin, his father hasn’t appointed any; he relied upon you and me; upon me to administer his fortune, and upon you to superintend hisconduct. It seems that Monsieur de Grandvilain had great confidence in you; I have no doubt that you deserve it, but I urge you to redouble your zeal with respect to the young marquis. Remember that it is your duty now to watch over him. As for his fortune, his father wished him to be placed in possession of it at the age of fifteen. That is making him rich at a very early age; but since it is his father’s will, see to it, Jasmin, that at all events, when fifteen, the young marquis is already a man in knowledge and strength of character.”
Jasmin listened to this speech with the greatest attention; he attempted to reply, but got confused, lost his way in a sentence which he could not finish, and finally left the notary, after receiving a sum of money with which to begin to manage his master’s household.
On returning to the house, Jasmin had grown three inches and was puffed up like a balloon; vanity perches everywhere, among the small as well as among the great, and it is likely to be even more powerful among the former who are not accustomed to grandeur.
All the servants gathered about the valet, curious to learn the contents of the will. Jasmin assumed a peculiarly idiotic expression, and replied, speaking through his nose:
“Never fear, my friends, there is to be no change here; I keep you all in my service.”
“You, Monsieur Jasmin! are you our master’s heir?”
“No, no, I am not the heir, but I represent the heir; in fact, I am the steward of the household. I will keep everybody: cook, coachman, housekeeper, because Monsieur de Grandvilain wished it; otherwise I should have discharged you all, for servants without a master are useless things. But I forget, our master now is the young marquis, and whenever he chooses to occupy hishouse, he will find his household all arranged; that was his late father’s wish, no doubt, and we must conform to it.”
All the servants bowed before Jasmin, who had become a man of weight, and he, after receiving the congratulations of those who were now his inferiors, withdrew to his chamber, and, reflecting upon what the notary had said, cudgelled his brains to decide what it was his duty to do with Chérubin, in order properly to carry out his master’s designs.
After passing several hours at this occupation, without result, Jasmin exclaimed:
“Faith, I believe the best thing to do is to leave little Chérubin out at nurse.”
Chérubin was still at the village, still living with his nurse Nicole Frimousset, and yet Chérubin was ten years old. Although of small stature, his health was excellent, and the attentions of a nurse had long since ceased to be necessary to him. But the marquis’s heir had retained undiminished his affection for the place where he had passed his childhood, and he lost his temper when it was suggested that he should leave it.
Meanwhile Jacquinot, the foster-father, had become more of a sot than ever; and as she grew older, Nicole, being obliged to scold her husband incessantly, was rarelyin good humor. And then her two boys had left the village: one was a mason at Orléans, the other was apprenticed to a carpenter at Livry.
In spite of that, Chérubin still enjoyed life at his nurse’s house, where he had for his companion a little girl who was only two years younger than he. It was a few days before the Marquis de Grandvilain’s death, that one morning, a very young lady from the city, fashionably dressed, alighted from a cab in front of Nicole’s cottage. This young lady, who was beautiful and bore a look of distinction, was very pale and seemed much excited; she had in her arms a little girl of about a year old, and she said to Jacquinot’s wife, in a voice broken by sobs:
“This is my daughter; she is only a year old, but she has been weaned for some months; I wish to leave her with some kindhearted people who will take great care of her and treat her as their own child. Will you take charge of her, madame? I cannot keep her with me any longer; indeed, it is possible that I may not be able to take her for a long while. There are three hundred francs in this roll; that is all that I can raise at present; but within a year I will send you the same amount, if I do not come before that to see my child.”
Nicole, who had profited much by bringing up one child, thought that a second fortune had fallen into her lap, and eagerly accepted the proposition which was made to her. The young lady handed her the little girl, the money, and a large bundle containing the child’s clothes; then, after embracing her daughter once more, she hurriedly entered her carriage, which instantly drove away.
Not until then did Nicole reflect that she had not asked the young lady her name, or her child’s name, or her address; but it was too late, for the cab was alreadya long way off. Nicole soon consoled herself for her forgetfulness, thinking:
“After all, she will come again, she certainly can’t mean to abandon her child. She has given me three hundred francs; that is enough for me to be patient; and then the child is a sweet little thing, and I believe I would have kept her for nothing. What shall I call her?Pardieu!Louise; for this is the feast of Saint-Louis. When her mother comes back, if she don’t like that name, she can tell me the child’s own name. What a fool I was not to ask her! But she seemed in such a hurry, and so excited.—Well, Louise,—that is decided; she will be a playmate for my Chérubin, and in that way the dear child won’t get tired of living with us. Bless my soul! the longer we keep him, the better off we are.”
And the little girl had, in fact, become Chérubin’s inseparable companion; she had grown up with him, she shared all his games, all his pleasures. Chérubin was not happy when Louise was not with him; the little girl’s activity was a foil to the little marquis’s natural mildness of character; and when he began to show signs of becoming a charming young man, Louise gave promise of being a very pretty young girl. But the young lady who had brought to Nicole that child whose mother she claimed to be, had not returned to Gagny; once only, a year after her visit, a messenger from Paris had appeared at Frimousset’s house and had handed them a paper which contained only one hundred and fifty francs, saying:
“This is from the mother of the little girl who was brought here a year ago; she requests you to continue to take care of her child.”
Nicole had questioned the man, had asked him for the name and address of the lady who sent him; but themessenger had replied that he did not know, that she had come to his stand in Paris and had given him the errand to do, paying him in advance, after making sure that he had a badge.
Nicole had not been able to learn anything more, and since then she had received neither money nor information. But Louise was so attractive that the idea of sending her away had not once occurred to her. Besides, Chérubin was devoted to her, the little girl was a new bond which kept him in his nurse’s family; and when by chance Jacquinot made any reflection upon the child whom they were bringing up for nothing, his wife would reply:
“Hold your tongue, you drunkard; it isn’t any of your business; if the girl’s mother doesn’t come to see her, it must be because she is dead, or else because she is a bad mother; if she is dead, then I must take her place with the child; if she is a bad mother, Louise would be unhappy with her, and I prefer to keep her with me.”
While Chérubin grew up beside his little friend, Jasmin continued to govern the Marquis de Grandvilain’s household; he was careful in his expenditure; the servants were not permitted to indulge in any excesses, and he himself got tipsy only once a week, which was very modest in one who had the keys to the cellar. But Jasmin thought constantly of his young master; he went to see him often, and sometimes passed whole days at Gagny; and he always asked Chérubin if he wished to go back to Paris with him, to his own house. The little fellow always refused, and Jasmin always returned to Paris alone, consoling himself with the thought that the young marquis was in excellent health, and that that was the main point.
When Jasmin went to the notary to ask for money, which he never did without presenting an exact statement of what he had to pay out, the notary, after praising the faithful valet for the honesty and economy with which he regulated the household expenditure, never failed to ask him:
“And our young marquis, how does he come on?”
“He is in superb health,” Jasmin would reply.
“He ought to be a big fellow now, he is nearly eleven years old.”
“He has a very pretty figure and a charming face; he will be a little jewel, whom all the women will dote on, I am sure, as they doted on his late father; but I presume that they won’t be the same women.”
“That is all very well; but how is he getting on with his studies; have you placed the little marquis at a good institution?”
“Excellent, monsieur; oh, yes! he is in a very good house indeed; he eats as much as he wants.”
“I have no doubt that he is well fed, but that is not enough; at his age, what he wants above all is food for the mind. Does he give satisfaction?”
“They are enchanted with him; they would like never to part with him, he is so attractive.”
“Has he had any prizes?”
“Prizes! he has whatever he wants; he has only to ask, they refuse him nothing.”
“You don’t understand me; has he obtained any prizes for his work, I mean; is he strong in Latin, Greek, and history?”
Jasmin was slightly embarrassed by those questions; he coughed, and faltered a few words which could not be understood. But the notary, who attributed his embarrassment to other causes, continued:
“I am talking about things you don’t understand, eh, my old Jasmin? Latin and Greek and such matters are not within your scope. However, when I have a few moments to myself, I will come to you, and you must take me to see your young marquis.”
Jasmin went away, muttering:
“The deuce! the deuce! if he goes to see my little Chérubin some day, he won’t be very well content with his studies; but it isn’t my fault if monsieur le marquis refuses to leave his nurse. That notary keeps talking to me about food for the mind; it seems to me that when a child eats four meals a day with a good appetite, his mind ought not to be any more hungry than his stomach, unless it doesn’t want to be fed.”
One day, however, after a visit to the notary, when he had again urged the old valet to commend the young marquis to his teachers, Jasmin started at once for Gagny, saying to himself on the way:
“I am an old brute! I leave my master’s son in ignorance; for after all, I know how to read myself, and I believe that Chérubin doesn’t even know that. Certainly this state of things can’t be allowed to go on. Later, people will say: ‘Jasmin took no care of the child who was placed in his charge. Jasmin is unworthy of the late marquis’s confidence.’—I don’t propose that people shall say that of me. I am sixty years old now, but that’s no reason for being an idiot. I propose to show my strength of character.”
When Jasmin arrived at Nicole’s, he found her at work in the house, while Jacquinot sat half asleep in an old easy-chair.
“My friends,” said Jasmin, entering the room with a very busy air, and rolling his eyes about, “things can’t remain like this; we must make a complete change.”
Nicole gazed at the old servant and said:
“You want to change our house over; you think this room is too dark? Dear me! we’re used to it, you see.”
“Ain’t we going to drink a glass?” said Jacquinot, rising, and rubbing his eyes.
“In a minute, Jacquinot, in a minute.—My friends, you don’t understand me. I am talking about your foster-child, my young master, to whom you only give such food as you yourselves eat; do you not?”
“Ain’t he satisfied, the dear child?” cried Nicole. “Bless my soul! I will give him whatever he wants; all he has got to do is to speak. I will make him tarts, cakes——”
“It isn’t that, Nicole, it isn’t that sort of food that I’m talking about. It’s Chérubin’s mind that needs a lot of things.”
“Mind? Something light, I suppose? I will make him some cream cheese.”
“Once more, Dame Frimousset, allow me to speak. My young master must become a scholar, or something like it; it isn’t a question of eating, but of studying. What does he learn here with you? Does he even know how to read, to write or to figure?”
“Faith, no,” said Nicole; “you never mentioned those things, and we didn’t think they were necessary, especially as Chérubin is going to be very rich; we didn’t think there was any need of his learning a trade.”
“It isn’t a question of learning a trade, but of becoming a scholar.”
“Ah yes! I understand, like the schoolmaster, who always stuffs his conversation full of words that nobody knows what they mean.”
“That’s the very thing. Oh! if Chérubin could say some of those fine sentences that no one can understand,that would be splendid.—So you have a learned schoolmaster in this village, have you?”
“To be sure,—Monsieur Gérondif.”
“Gérondif! the name alone indicates a very learned man. Do you think he would consent to come to your house and give my young master lessons? For it is impossible for monsieur le marquis to go to school with all the young brats in the village.”
“Why shouldn’t Monsieur Gérondif come here? He has educated two or three children for people who come to Gagny to pass the summer. Besides, he ain’t very well fixed, the dear man, and to earn a little money——”
“There is no difficulty about that; I will pay him whatever he asks. Do you suppose that I could talk—that I could see this Monsieur Gérondif?”
“That’s easy enough; Jacquinot will go and fetch him. It’s after five o’clock, so his school is over. Jacquinot, you will find the schoolmaster at Manon the baker’s, because he goes there every day to bake potatoes in her oven while it’s still hot.”
“Go, my dear Jacquinot; bring me this scholar, and then we will empty a few bottles; I will treat Monsieur Gérondif too.”
That promise roused Jacquinot, who went out, promising to make haste, and Jasmin asked Nicole:
“Where is my young master?”
“Myfieu?”
“My master, the young Marquis de Grandvilain. He is eleven years old now, my dear Nicole, and it seems to me that he is rather large for you to keep on calling him yourfieu.”
“Oh! bless my soul! habit—what do you expect?—He’s in the garden, under the plum trees.”
“Alone?”
“Oh no! Louise is with him, always with him. As if he could get along without her!”
“Ah! is that the little girl who was left here, and whose parents you don’t know?”
“Mon Dieu! yes.”
“And you are still taking care of her?”
“Pardi!one child more. When there’s enough for three, there’s enough for four.”
“That is what my father used to say, when he cribbed my share of breakfast; and in our house, on the contrary, when there was four of us, there was never enough for two.—Never mind, Dame Frimousset, you are an excellent woman, and when Chérubin leaves you, we will make you a handsome present.”
“Oh! don’t speak of that; I should rather not have any present, if myfieuwould never leave me.”
“Oh yes! I can understand that; but still, we can’t leave him out at nurse until he is thirty; that isn’t the custom. I am going to present my respects to him, while I am waiting for Monsieur Gérondif; and I will inform him that he must become a scholar.”
Chérubin was at the farther end of the garden, which ended in an orchard. There, trees which were never trimmed extended at pleasure their branches laden with fruit, as if to prove to man that nature does not need his help to grow and bear.
The Marquis de Grandvilain’s son had attractive, regular features; his great blue eyes were exceedingly beautiful, and their soft and languorous expression made them resemble a woman’s eyes rather than a man’s; long dark lashes shaded those lovely eyes, which, according to appearances, were destined to realize Jasmin’s prophecy, and to make many conquests some day. The rest of theface was agreeable, although not especially remarkable, except his complexion, which was as white as that of a girl who has a white skin; life in the country had not tanned the young marquis, because Nicole, who had always taken the greatest care of her foster-child, never left him exposed to the sun; and because the little fellow, who was not employed in the arduous labor of the fields, always had leisure to seek the cool shade.
Little Louise, who was then nine years old, had one of those pretty faces, gay and sad by turns, which painters delight to copy when they wish to represent a young maiden of Switzerland or of the neighborhood of Lake Geneva. It was a lovely face, after the style of Raphael’s virgins, in which however there was a melancholy and charm distinctly French. Louise’s eyes and hair were jet black, but very long lashes tempered their brilliancy, and gave to them a sort of velvety aspect which had an indescribable charm; a high, proud forehead, a very small mouth, and white teeth set like pearls, combined with her other features to make her one of the sweetest little girls whom one could hope to meet; and when she laughed, two little dimples which appeared in her cheeks added a new charm to her whole person; and she laughed often, for she was only nine years old. Nicole treated her as her own child, Chérubin as his sister, and she had as yet no suspicion that her mother had abandoned her.
When Jasmin walked toward the orchard, Chérubin and Louise were eating plums. The little girl was plucking them and throwing them to her companion, who sat at the foot of a tree so heavily laden that its branches seemed on the point of breaking beneath their burden.
Jasmin removed his hat, and humbly saluted his young master, uncovering his head which was almost bald,though the few hairs which still remained above the ears were brought together and combed with much care over the forehead, and made the old servant look, at a distance, as if he had tied a bandage around his head.
“I present my respects to Monsieur le Marquis de Grandvilain,” said Jasmin.
At that moment the girl shook a branch which extended over the old valet’s head, and a shower of plums rained down upon Jasmin’s skull.
Thereupon there was a roar of laughter from behind the tree, and Chérubin mingled his laughter with it; while the old servant, who would not have kept his hat on his head in his master’s presence for anything in the world, received with resignation the rain of plums that fell on him.
“My young master still seems to be in flourishing health,” continued Jasmin, after throwing to the ground a few plums which had lodged between his coat collar and his stock.
“Yes, Jasmin, yes. But just see how handsome they are, and good too; eat some, Jasmin; you have only to stoop and pick some up.”
“Monsieur is very kind, but plums—sometimes they occasion inconvenience.—I have come, first of all, to ask if monsieur wishes to return to Paris with me at last; his house is, as always, ready to receive him and——”
Jasmin was unable to finish his sentence, because a fresh shower of plums fell upon his head. This time he glanced angrily about, but the mischievous girl had hidden behind a tree; meanwhile Chérubin exclaimed:
“No, Jasmin, no, I don’t want to go to Paris, I am so happy here; I have told you already that I should be bored in Paris, and I have such a pleasant time at my dear Nicole’s.”
“Very good, monsieur le marquis, I don’t wish to thwart you on that point; but if you stay here, you must not pass all your time in playing any longer; you must study, my dear master, you must become a learned man; it is absolutely necessary and——”
A shower of plums, heavier than the other two, once more cut Jasmin short; and he, finding that he had two breaches in his band of hair, turned round and exclaimed angrily:
“Oh! this is too much; do you want to make marmalade of my head?—Ah! it is that little girl who is playing these tricks on me. It is very pretty, mademoiselle; I advise you to laugh; there is good reason for it.”
Louise had run to hide behind Chérubin, laughing heartily; and he, laughing also at the grimace made by his old servant, said to him:
“It is all your own fault, Jasmin; leave us in peace. Louise and I were eating plums, and having a good time; why did you come to disturb us, to tell me a lot of foolish things? that I must study, that I must be a learned man. I don’t want to study! Go and drink with Jacquinot; go, go! I don’t need you.”
Jasmin seemed sorely embarrassed; at last he replied:
“I am sorry to annoy monsieur le marquis, but you are too big now not to know how to read or write; in fact, there are a lot of things which you ought to know, because you are a marquis and—in short, your venerable father’s notary says that you ought to have prizes in Latin and Greek, and it seems that it is customary to study in order to get prizes. I have just sent after the schoolmaster of this village, Monsieur Gérondif; he is coming here, and he is to teach you, for Nicole assures me that he is a good scholar, although he is obliged to have his potatoes baked in the baker’s oven.”
Chérubin’s brow darkened, and the little fellow replied with a very pronounced pout:
“I don’t want the schoolmaster to come here; I don’t need to be a scholar. You tire me, Jasmin, with your Monsieur Gérondif!”
It pained Jasmin greatly to have to vex his young master. He did not know what to say or to do; he twisted his hat and twirled it in his hands, for he felt that after all it was necessary to compel the young marquis not to be a dolt, but he did not know what course to pursue to that end; and if at that moment he had received another shower of plums it would not have roused him from his stupor.
But Nicole had followed the old servant at a distance; the nurse realized that if Chérubin refused to learn anything at her house, they would be obliged to make him go to Paris to learn. Dreading lest she might lose a child whom she loved, and who had brought ease to her household for eleven years, Nicole felt that some way must be found to induce the boy to consent to take lessons of the schoolmaster.
Women, even those in the country, speedily divine where our vulnerable point is. Nicole, who had gradually drawn near, and was then standing behind Jasmin, who had ceased to speak or move, advanced a few steps nearer the children, and, taking Louise by the hand, said:
“Look you, Monsieur Jasmin, I see the reason plain enough why Chérubin don’t want to work; it’s because he plays all day with this girl. Well! as I too want my fieu to be a scholar, I am going to take Louise to one of our relations two leagues away; she’ll be taken good care of there, and then she won’t prevent Chérubin from studying.”
Nicole had not finished when the little boy ran to her and taking hold of her dress, cried in a touching voice, and with tears in his eyes:
“No, no, don’t take Louise away; I will study, I will learn whatever you want me to with Monsieur Gérondif; but don’t take Louise away, oh! please don’t take her away!”
Nicole’s ruse had succeeded. She embraced her foster-child, Louise leaped for joy when she found that she was not to be sent away, and Jasmin would have done as much if his age had not made it impossible; he threw his hat in the air, however, exclaiming:
“Long live Monsieur le Marquis de Grandvilain! ah! I knew perfectly well that he would consent to become a learned man!”
At that moment Jacquinot appeared at the garden gate and shouted:
“Here’s Monsieur Gérondif; I’ve brought him with me.”