As she had been advised to take exercise she made a business ofwalking, beginning as soon as the air grew warm. Leaning uponRosalie's arm and dragging her left foot, which was rather heavierthan the right, she wandered interminably up and down from the houseto the edge of the wood, sitting down for five minutes at either end.The walking was resumed in the afternoon. A physician, consulted tenyears before, had spoken of hypertrophy because she had suffered fromsuffocation. Ever since, this word had been used to describe theailment of the baroness. The baron would say "my wife's hypertrophy"and Jeanne "mamma's hypertrophy" as they would have spoken of her hat,her dress, or her umbrella. She had been very pretty in her youth andslim as a reed. Now she had grown older, stouter, but she stillremained poetical, having always retained the impression of "Corinne,"which she had read as a girl. She read all the sentimental lovestories it was possible to collect, and her thoughts wandered amongtender adventures in which she always figured as the heroine. Her newhome was infinitely pleasing to her because it formed such a beautifulframework for the romance of her soul, the surrounding woods, thewaste land, and the proximity of the ocean recalling to her mind thenovels of Sir Walter Scott, which she had been devouring for somemonths. On rainy days she remained shut up in her room, sendingRosalie in a special manner for the drawer containing her "souvenirs,"which meant to the baroness all her old private and family letters.
Occasionally, Jeanne replaced Rosalie in the walks with her mother,and she listened eagerly to the tales of the latter's childhood. Theyoung girl saw herself in all these romantic stories, and wasastonished at the similarity of ideas and desires; each heart imaginesitself to have been the first to tremble at those very sensations thatawakened the hearts of the first beings, and that will awaken thehearts of the last.
One afternoon as the baroness and Jeanne were resting on the beach atthe end of the walk, a stout priest who was moving in their directiongreeted them with a bow, while still at a distance. He bowed whenwithin three feet and, assuming a smiling air, cried: "Well, Madame laBaronne, how are you?" It was the village priest. The baroness seldomwent to church, though she liked priests, from a sort of religiousinstinct peculiar to women. She had, in fact, entirely forgotten theAbbé Picot, her priest, and blushed as she saw him. She made apologiesfor not having prepared for his visit, but the good man was not at allembarrassed. He looked at Jeanne, complimented her on her appearanceand sat down, placing his three-cornered hat on his knees. He was verystout, very red, and perspired profusely. He drew from his pocketevery moment an enormous checked handkerchief and passed it over hisface and neck, but hardly was the task completed when necessity forcedhim to repeat the process. He was a typical country priest, talkativeand kindly.
Presently the baron appeared. He was very friendly to the abbé andinvited him to dinner. The priest was well versed in the art of beingpleasant, thanks to the unconscious astuteness which the guiding ofsouls gives to the most mediocre of men who are called by the chanceof events to exercise a power over their fellows. Toward dessert hebecame quite merry, with the gaiety that follows a pleasant meal, andas if struck by an idea he said: "I have a new parishioner whom I mustpresent to you, Monsieur le Vicomte de Lamare." The baroness, who wasat home in heraldry, inquired if he was of the family of Lamares ofEure. The priest answered, "Yes, madame, he is the son of Vicomte Jeande Lamare, who died last year." After this, the baroness, who lovedthe nobility above all other things, inquired the history of the youngvicomte. He had paid his father's debts, sold the family castle, madehis home on one of the three farms which he owned in the town ofEtouvent. These estates brought him in an income of five or sixthousand livres. The vicomte was economical and lived in this modestmanner for two or three years, so that he might save enough to cut afigure in society, and to marry advantageously, without contractingdebts or mortgaging his farms. The priest added, "He is a verycharming young man, so steady and quiet, though there is very littleto amuse him in the country." The baron said, "Bring him in to see us,Monsieur l'Abbé, it will be a distraction for him occasionally." Afterthe coffee the baron and the priest took a turn about the grounds andthen returned to say good-night to the ladies.
The following Sunday the baroness and Jeanne went to mass, prompted bya feeling of respect for their pastor, and after service waited to seethe priest and invite him to luncheon the following Thursday. He cameout of the sacristy leaning familiarly on the arm of a tall young man.As soon as he perceived the ladies, he exclaimed:
"How fortunate! Allow me, baroness and Mlle. Jeanne, to present to youyour neighbor, M. le Vicomte de Lamare."
The vicomte said he had long desired to make their acquaintance, andbegan to converse in a well-bred manner. He had a face of which womendream and that men dislike. His black, wavy hair shaded a smooth,sunburnt forehead, and two large straight eyebrows, that looked almostartificial, cast a deep and tender shadow over his dark eyes, thewhites of which had a bluish tinge.
His long, thick eyelashes accentuated the passionate eloquence of hisexpression which wrought havoc in the drawing-rooms of society, andmade peasant girls carrying baskets turn round to look at him. Thelanguorous fascination of his glance impressed one with the depth ofhis thoughts and lent weight to his slightest words. His beard, fineand glossy, concealed a somewhat heavy jaw.
Two days later, M. de Lamare made his first call, just as they werediscussing the best place for a new rustic bench. The vicomte wasconsulted and agreed with the baroness, who differed from her husband.
M. de Lamare expatiated on the picturesqueness of the country and fromtime to time, as if by chance, his eyes met those of Jeanne, and shefelt a strange sensation at the quickly averted glance which betrayedtender admiration and an awakened sympathy.
M. de Lamare's father, who had died the preceding year, had known anintimate friend of the baroness's father, M. Cultaux, and this factled to an endless conversation about family, relations, dates, etc.,and names heard in her childhood were recalled, and led toreminiscences.
The baron, whose nature was rather uncultivated, and whose beliefs andprejudices were not those of his class, knew little about theneighboring families, and inquired about them from the vicomte, whoresponded:
"Oh, there are very few of the nobility in the district," just as hemight have said, "there are very few rabbits on the hills," and hebegan to particularize: There was the Marquis de Coutelier, a sort ofleader of Norman aristocracy, Vicomte and Vicomtesse de Briseville,people of excellent stock, but living to themselves, and the Comte deFourville, a kind of ogre, who was said to have made his wife die ofsorrow, and who lived as a huntsman in his château of La Vrillette,built on a pond. There were a few parvenus among them who had boughtproperties here and there, but the vicomte did not know them.
As he left, his last glance was for Jeanne, as if it were a specialtender and cordial farewell. The baroness was delighted with him, andthe baron said: "Yes, indeed, he is a gentleman." And he was invitedto dinner the following week, and from that time came regularly.
He generally arrived about four o'clock in the afternoon, went to jointhe baroness in "her avenue," and offered her his arm while she tookher "exercise," as she called her daily walks. When Jeanne was at homeshe would walk on the other side of her mother, supporting her, andall three would walk slowly back and forth from one end of the avenueto the other. He seldom addressed Jeanne directly, but his eyefrequently met hers.
He went to Yport several times with Jeanne and the baron. One evening,when they were on the beach, Père Lastique accosted him, and withoutremoving his pipe, the absence of which would possibly have been moreremarkable than the loss of his nose, he said:
"With this wind, m'sieu le baron, we could easily go to Étretat andback to-morrow."
Jeanne clasped her hands imploringly:
"Oh, papa, let us do it!"
The baron turned to M. de Lamare:
"Will you join us, vicomte? We can take breakfast down there."
And the matter was decided at once. From daybreak Jeanne was up andwaiting for her father, who dressed more slowly. They walked in thedew across the level and then through the wood vibrant with thesinging of birds. The vicomte and Père Lastique were seated on acapstan.
Two other sailors helped to shove off the boat from shore, which wasnot easy on the shingly beach. Once the boat was afloat, they all tooktheir seats, and the two sailors who remained on shore shoved it off.A light, steady breeze was blowing from the ocean and they hoisted thesail, veered a little, and then sailed along smoothly with scarcelyany motion. To landward the high cliff at the right cast a shadow onthe water at its base, and patches of sunlit grass here and therevaried its monotonous whiteness. Yonder, behind them, brown sails werecoming out of the white harbor of Fécamp, and ahead of them they saw arock of curious shape, rounded, with gaps in it looking something likean immense elephant with its trunk in the water; it was the littleport of Étretat.
Jeanne, a little dizzy from the motion of the waves, held the side ofthe boat with one hand as she looked out into the distance. It seemedto her as if only three things in the world were really beautiful:light, space, water.
No one spoke. Père Lastique, who was at the tiller, took a pull everynow and then from a bottle hidden under the seat; and he smoked ashort pipe which seemed inextinguishable, although he never seemed torelight it or refill it.
The baron, seated in the bow looked after the sail. Jeanne and thevicomte seemed a little embarrassed at being seated side by side. Someunknown power seemed to make their glances meet whenever they raisedtheir eyes; between them there existed already that subtle and vaguesympathy which arises so rapidly between two young people when theyoung man is good looking and the girl is pretty. They were happy ineach other's society, perhaps because they were thinking of eachother. The rising sun was beginning to pierce through the slight mist,and as its beams grew stronger, they were reflected on the smoothsurface of the sea as in a mirror.
"How beautiful!" murmured Jeanne, with emotion.
"Beautiful indeed!" answered the vicomte. The serene beauty of themorning awakened an echo in their hearts.
And all at once they saw the great arches of Étretat, like twosupports of a cliff standing in the sea high enough for vessels topass under them; while a sharp-pointed white rock rose in front of thefirst arch. They reached shore, and the baron got out first to makefast the boat, while the vicomte lifted Jeanne ashore so that sheshould not wet her feet. Then they walked up the shingly beach side byside, and they overheard Père Lastique say to the baron, "My! but theywould make a pretty couple!"
They took breakfast in a little inn near the beach, and while theocean had lulled their thoughts and made them silent, the breakfasttable had the opposite effect, and they chattered like children on avacation. The slightest thing gave rise to laughter.
Père Lastique, on taking his place at table, carefully hid his lightedpipe in his cap. That made them laugh. A fly, attracted no doubt byhis red nose, persistently alighted on it, and each time it did sothey burst into laughter. Finally the old man could stand it nolonger, and murmured: "It is devilishly persistent!" whereupon Jeanneand the vicomte laughed till they cried.
After breakfast Jeanne suggested that they should take a walk. Thevicomte rose, but the baron preferred to bask in the sun on the beach.
"Go on, my children, you will find me here in an hour."
They walked straight ahead of them, passing by several cottages andfinally by a small château resembling a large farm, and foundthemselves in an open valley that extended for some distance. They nowhad a wild longing to run at large in the fields. Jeanne seemed tohave a humming in her ears from all the new and rapidly changingsensations she had experienced. The burning rays of the sun fell onthem. On both sides of the road the crops were bending over from theheat. The grasshoppers, as numerous as the blades of grass, wereuttering their thin, shrill cry.
Perceiving a wood a little further on to the right, they walked overto it. They saw a narrow path between two hedges shaded by tall treeswhich shut out the sun. A sort of moist freshness in the air wasperceptible, giving them a sensation of chilliness. There was nograss, owing to the lack of sunlight, but the ground was covered witha carpet of moss.
"See, we can sit down there a little while," she said.
They sat down and looked about them at the numerous forms of life thatwere in the air and on the ground at their feet, for a ray of sunlightpenetrating the dense foliage brought them into its light.
"How beautiful it is here! How lovely it is in the country! There aremoments when I should like to be a fly or a butterfly and hide in theflowers," said Jeanne with emotion.
They spoke in low tones as one does in exchanging confidences, tellingof their daily lives and of their tastes, and declaring that they werealready disgusted with the world, tired of its useless monotony; itwas always the same thing; there was no truth, no sincerity in it.
The world! She would gladly have made its acquaintance; but she feltconvinced beforehand that it was not equal to a country life, and themore their hearts seemed to be in sympathy, the more ceremonious theybecame, the more frequently their glances met and blended smiling; andit seemed that a new feeling of benevolence was awakened in them, awider affection, an interest in a thousand things of which they hadnever hitherto thought.
They wended their way back, but the baron had already set off on footfor the Chambre aux Demoiselles, a grotto in a cleft at the summit ofone of the cliffs, and they waited for him at the inn. He did notreturn until five in the evening after a long walk along the cliffs.
They got into the boat, started off smoothly with the wind at theirbacks, scarcely seeming to make any headway. The breeze was irregular,at one moment filling the sail and then letting it flap idly along themast. The sea seemed opaque and lifeless, and the sun was slowlyapproaching the horizon. The lulling motion of the sea had made themsilent again. Presently Jeanne said, "How I should love to travel!"
"Yes, but it is tiresome to travel alone; there should be at leasttwo, to exchange ideas," answered the vicomte. She reflected a moment.
"That is true--I like to walk alone, however--how pleasant it is todream all alone----"
He gazed at her intently.
"Two can dream as well as one."
She lowered her eyes. Was it a hint? Possibly. She looked out at thehorizon as if to discover something beyond it, and then said slowly:
"I should like to go to Italy--and Greece--ah, yes, Greece--and toCorsica--it must be so wild and so beautiful!"
He preferred Switzerland on account of its chalets and its lakes.
"No," said she, "I like new countries like Corsica, or very oldcountries full of souvenirs, like Greece. It must be delightful tofind the traces of those peoples whose history we have known sincechildhood, to see places where great deeds were accomplished."
The vicomte, less enthusiastic, exclaimed: "As for me, Englandattracts me very much; there is so much to be learned there."
Then they talked about the world in general, discussing theattractions of each country from the poles to the equator, enthusingover imaginary scenes and the peculiar manners of certain peoples likethe Chinese and the Lapps; but they arrived at the conclusion that themost beautiful country in the world was France, with its temperateclimate, cool in summer, mild in winter, its rich soil, its greenforests, its worship of the fine arts which existed nowhere else sincethe glorious centuries of Athens. Then they were silent. The settingsun left a wide dazzling train of light which extended from thehorizon to the edge of their boat. The wind subsided, the ripplesdisappeared, and the motionless sail was red in the light of the dyingday. A limitless calm seemed to settle down on space and make asilence amid this conjunction of elements; and by degrees the sunslowly sank into the ocean.
Then a fresh breeze seemed to arise, a little shiver went over thesurface of the water, as if the engulfed orb cast a sigh ofsatisfaction across the world. The twilight was short, night fell withits myriad stars. Père Lastique took the oars, and they saw that thesea was phosphorescent. Jeanne and the vicomte, side by side, watchedthe fitful gleams in the wake of the boat. They were hardly thinking,but simply gazing vaguely, breathing in the beauty of the evening in astate of delicious contentment; Jeanne had one hand on the seat andher neighbor's finger touched it as if by accident; she did not move;she was surprised, happy, though embarrassed at this slight contact.
When she reached home that evening and went to her room, she feltstrangely disturbed, and so affected that the slightest thing impelledher to weep. She looked at her clock, imagining that the little bee onthe pendulum was beating like a heart, the heart of a friend; that itwas aware of her whole life, that with its quick, regular tickings itwould accompany her whole life; and she stopped the golden fly topress a kiss on its wings. She would have kissed anything, no matterwhat. She remembered having hidden one of her old dolls of former daysat the bottom of a drawer; she looked for it, took it out, and wasdelighted to see it again, as people are to see loved friends; andpressing it to her heart, she covered its painted cheeks and curly wigwith kisses. And as she held it in her arms, she thought:
Canhebe the husband promised through a thousand secretvoices, whom a superlatively good Providence had thus thrown acrossher path? Was he, indeed, the being created for her--the being to whomshe would devote her existence? Were they the two predestined beingswhose affection, blending in one, would beget love?
She did not as yet feel that tumultuous emotion, that mad enchantment,those deep stirrings which she thought were essential to the tenderpassion; but it seemed to her she was beginning to fall in love, forshe sometimes felt a sudden faintness when she thought of him, and shethought of him incessantly. His presence stirred her heart; sheblushed and grew pale when their eyes met, and trembled at the soundof his voice.
From day to day the longing for love increased. She consulted themarguerites, the clouds, and coins which she tossed in the air.
One day her father said to her:
"Make yourself look pretty to-morrow morning."
"Why, papa?"
"That is a secret," he replied.
And when she came downstairs the following morning, looking fresh andsweet in a pretty light dress, she found the drawing-room tablecovered with boxes of bonbons, and on a chair an immense bouquet.
A covered wagon drove into the courtyard bearing the inscription,"Lerat, Confectioner, Fécamp; Wedding Breakfasts," and from the backof the wagon Ludivine and a kitchen helper were taking out large flatbaskets which emitted an appetizing odor.
The Vicomte de Lamare appeared on the scene, his trousers werestrapped down under his dainty boots of patent leather, which made hisfeet appear smaller. His long frock coat, tight at the waist line, wasopen at the bosom showing the lace of his ruffle, and a fine neckclothwound several times round his neck obliged him to hold erect hishandsome brown head, with its air of serious distinction. Jeanne, inastonishment, looked at him as though she had never seen him before.She thought he looked the grand seigneur from his head to his feet.
He bowed and said, smiling:
"Well, comrade, are you ready?"
"But what is it? What is going on?" she stammered.
"You will know presently," said the baron.
The carriage drove up to the door, and Madame Adelaide, in festalarray, descended the staircase, leaning on the arm of Rosalie, who wasso much affected at the sight of M. de Lamare's elegant appearancethat the baron whispered:
"I say, vicomte, I think our maid admires you."
The vicomte blushed up to his ears, pretended not to have heard and,taking up the enormous bouquet, handed it to Jeanne. She accepted it,more astonished than ever. They all four got into the carriage, andLudivine, who brought a cup of bouillon to the baroness to sustain herstrength, said: "Truly, madame, one would say it was a wedding!"
They alighted as soon as they entered Yport, and as they walkedthrough the village the sailors, in their new clothes, still showingthe creases, came out of their homes, and shaking hands with thebaron, followed the party as if it were a procession. The vicomte, whohad offered his arm to Jeanne, walked with her at the head.
When they reached the church they stopped, and an acolyte appearedholding upright the large silver crucifix, followed by another boy inred and white, who bore a chalice containing holy water.
Then came three old cantors, one of them limping; then the trumpet("serpent"), and last, the curé with his gold embroidered stole. Hesmiled and nodded a greeting; then, with his eyes half closed, hislips moving in prayer, his beretta well over his forehead, he followedhis surpliced bodyguard, walking in the direction of the sea.
On the beach a crowd was standing around a new boat wreathed withflowers. Its mast, sail and ropes were covered with long streamers ofribbon that floated in the breeze, and the name, "Jeanne," was paintedin gold letters on the stern.
Père Lastique, the proprietor of this boat, built with the baron'smoney, advanced to meet the procession. All the men, simultaneously,took off their hats, and a row of pious persons wearing long blackcloaks falling in large folds from their shoulders, knelt down in acircle at sight of the crucifix.
The curé walked, with an acolyte on either side of him, to one end ofthe boat, while at the other end, the three old cantors, in theirwhite surplices, with a serious air and their eyes fixed on thepsalter, sang at the top of their voices in the clear morning air.Each time they stopped to take breath, the "serpent" continued itsbellowing alone, and as he puffed out his cheeks the musician's littlegray eyes disappeared, and the skin of his forehead and neck seemed todistend.
The motionless, transparent sea seemed to be taking part meditativelyin the baptism of this boat, rolling its tiny waves, no higher than afinger, with the faint sound of a rake on the shingle. And the bigwhite gulls, with their wings unfurled, circled about in the blueheavens, flying off and then coming back in a curve above the heads ofthe kneeling crowd, as if to see what they were doing.
The singing ceased after an Amen that lasted five minutes; and thepriest, in an unctuous voice, murmured some Latin words, of which onecould hear only the sonorous endings. He then walked round the boat,sprinkling it with holy water, and next began to murmur the "Oremus,"standing alongside the boat opposite the sponsors, who remainedmotionless, hand in hand.
The vicomte had the usual grave expression on his handsome face, butJeanne, choking with a sudden emotion, and on the verge of fainting,began to tremble so violently that her teeth chattered. The dream thathad haunted her for some time was suddenly beginning, as if in a kindof hallucination, to take the appearance of reality. They had spokenof a wedding, a priest was present, blessing them; men in surpliceswere singing psalms; was it not she whom they were giving in marriage?
Did her fingers send out an electric shock, did the emotion of herheart follow the course of her veins until it reached the heart of hercompanion? Did he understand, did he guess, was he, like herself,pervaded by a sort of intoxication of love? Or else, did he know byexperience, alone, that no woman could resist him? She suddenlynoticed that he was squeezing her hand, gently at first, and thentighter, tighter, till he almost crushed it. And without moving amuscle of his face, without anyone perceiving it, he said--yes, hecertainly said:
"Oh, Jeanne, if you would consent, this would be our betrothal."
She lowered her head very slowly, perhaps meaning it for "yes." Andthe priest, who was still sprinkling the holy water, sprinkled some ontheir fingers.
The ceremony was over. The women rose. The return was unceremonious.The crucifix had lost its dignity in the hands of the acolyte, whowalked rapidly, the crucifix swaying to right and left, or bendingforward as though it would fall. The priest, who was not praying now,walked hurriedly behind them; the cantors and the musician with the"serpent" had disappeared by a narrow street, so as to get off theirsurplices without delay; and the sailors hurried along in groups. Onethought prompted their haste, and made their mouths water.
A good breakfast was awaiting them at "The Poplars."
The large table was set in the courtyard, under the apple trees.
Sixty people sat down to table, sailors and peasants. The baroness inthe middle, with a priest at either side of her, one from Yport, andthe other belonging to "The Poplars." The baron seated opposite her onthe other side of the table, the mayor on one side of him, and hiswife, a thin peasant woman, already aging, who kept smiling and bowingto all around her, on the other.
Jeanne, seated beside her co-sponsor, was in a sea of happiness. Shesaw nothing, knew nothing, and remained silent, her mind bewilderedwith joy. Presently she said:
"What is your Christian name?"
"Julien," he replied. "Did you not know?"
But she made no reply, thinking to herself:
"How often I shall repeat that name!"
When the feast was over, the courtyard was given up to the sailors,and the others went over to the other side of the château. Thebaroness began to take her exercise, leaning on the arm of the baronand accompanied by the two priests. Jeanne and Julien went toward thewood and walked along one of the mossy paths. Suddenly seizing herhands, the vicomte said:
"Tell me, will you be my wife?"
She lowered her head, and as he stammered: "Answer me, I implore you!"she raised her eyes to his timidly, and he read his answer there.
The baron, one morning, entered Jeanne's room before she was up, andsitting down at the foot of her bed, said:
"M. le Vicomte de Lamare has asked us for your hand in marriage."
She wanted to hide her face under the sheets.
Her father continued:
"We have postponed our answer for the present."
She gasped, choking with emotion. At the end of a minute the baron,smiling, added:
"We did not wish to do anything without consulting you. Your motherand I are not opposed to this marriage, but we would not seek toinfluence you. You are much richer than he is; but, when it is aquestion of the happiness of a life, one should not think too muchabout money. He has no relations left. If you marry him, then, itwould be as if a son should come into our family; if it were anyoneelse, it would be you, our daughter, who would go among strangers. Theyoung fellow pleases us. Would he please you?"
She stammered, blushing up to the roots of her hair:
"I am willing, papa."
And the father, looking into her eyes and still smiling, murmured:
"I half suspected it, young lady."
She lived till evening in a condition of exhilaration, not knowingwhat she was doing, mechanically thinking of one thing by mistake foranother, and with a feeling of weariness, although she had not walkedat all.
Toward six o'clock, as she was sitting with her mother under the planetree, the vicomte appeared.
Jeanne's heart began to throb wildly. The young man approached themapparently without any emotion. When he was close beside them, he tookthe baroness' hand and kissed her fingers, then raising to his lipsthe trembling hand of the young girl, he imprinted upon it a long,tender and grateful kiss.
And the radiant season of betrothal commenced. They would chattogether alone in the corner of the parlor, or else seated on the mossat the end of the wood overlooking the plain. Sometimes they walked inLittle Mother's Avenue; he, talking of the future, she, with her eyescast down, looking at the dusty footprints of the baroness.
Once the matter was decided, they desired to waste no time inpreliminaries. It was, therefore, decided that the ceremony shouldtake place in six weeks, on the fifteenth of August; and that thebride and groom should set out immediately on their wedding journey.Jeanne, on being consulted as to which country she would like tovisit, decided on Corsica where they could be more alone than in thecities of Italy.
They awaited the moment appointed for their marriage without too greatimpatience, but enfolded, lost in a delicious affection, expressed inthe exquisite charm of insignificant caresses, pressure of hands, longpassionate glances in which their souls seemed to blend; and, vaguelytortured by an uncertain longing for they knew not what.
They decided to invite no one to the wedding except Aunt Lison, thebaron's sister, who boarded in a convent at Versailles. After thedeath of their father, the baroness wished to keep her sister withher. But the old maid, possessed by the idea that she was in everyone's way, was useless, and a nuisance, retired into one of thosereligious houses that rent apartments to people that live a sad andlonely existence. She came from time to time to pass a month or twowith her family.
She was a little woman of few words, who always kept in thebackground, appeared only at mealtimes, and then retired to her roomwhere she remained shut in.
She looked like a kind old lady, though she was only forty-two, andhad a sad, gentle expression. She was never made much of by her familyas a child, being neither pretty nor boisterous, she was never petted,and she would stay quietly and gently in a corner. She had beenneglected ever since. As a young girl nobody paid any attention toher. She was something like a shadow, or a familiar object, a livingpiece of furniture that one is accustomed to see every day, but aboutwhich one does not trouble oneself.
Her sister, from long habit, looked upon her as a failure, analtogether insignificant being. They treated her with carelessfamiliarity which concealed a sort of contemptuous kindness. Shecalled herself Lise, and seemed embarrassed at this frivolous youthfulname. When they saw that she probably would not marry, they changed itfrom Lise to Lison, and since Jeanne's birth, she had become "AuntLison," a poor relation, very neat, frightfully timid, even with hersister and her brother-in-law, who loved her, but with an uncertainaffection verging on indifference, with an unconscious compassion anda natural benevolence.
Sometimes, when the baroness talked of far away things that happenedin her youth, she would say, in order to fix a date: "It was the timethat Lison had that attack."
They never said more than that; and this "attack" remained shrouded,as in a mist.
One evening, Lise, who was then twenty, had thrown herself into thewater, no one knew why. Nothing in her life, her manner, gave anyintimation of this seizure. They fished her out half dead, and herparents, raising their hands in horror, instead of seeking themysterious cause of this action, had contented themselves with callingit "that attack," as if they were talking of the accident thathappened to the horse "Coco," who had broken his leg a short timebefore in a ditch, and whom they had been obliged to kill.
From that time Lise, presently Lison, was considered feeble-minded.The gentle contempt which she inspired in her relations gradually madeits way into the minds of all those who surrounded her. Little Jeanneherself, with the natural instinct of children, took no notice of her,never went up to kiss her good-night, never went into her room. GoodRosalie, alone, who gave the room all the necessary attention, seemedto know where it was situated.
When Aunt Lison entered the dining-room for breakfast, the little onewould go up to her from habit and hold up her forehead to be kissed;that was all.
If anyone wished to speak to her, they sent a servant to call her, andif she was not there, they did not bother about her, never thought ofher, never thought of troubling themselves so much as to say: "Why, Ihave not seen Aunt Lison this morning!"
When they said "Aunt Lison," these two words awakened no feeling ofaffection in anyone's mind. It was as if one had said: "The coffeepot, or the sugar bowl."
She always walked with little, quick, silent steps, never made anoise, never knocking up against anything; and seemed to communicateto surrounding objects the faculty of not making any sound. Her handsseemed to be made of a kind of wadding, she handled everything solightly and delicately.
She arrived about the middle of July, all upset at the idea of thismarriage. She brought a quantity of presents which, as they came fromher, remained almost unnoticed. On the following day they hadforgotten she was there at all.
But an unusual emotion was seething in her mind, and she never tookher eyes off the engaged couple. She interested herself in Jeanne'strousseau with a singular eagerness, a feverish activity, working likea simple seamstress in her room, where no one came to visit her.
She was continually presenting the baroness with handkerchiefs she hadhemmed herself, towels on which she had embroidered a monogram, sayingas she did so: "Is that all right, Adelaide?" And little mother, asshe carelessly examined the objects, would reply: "Do not giveyourself so much trouble, my poor Lison."
One evening, toward the end of the month, after an oppressively warmday, the moon rose on one of those clear, mild nights which seem tomove, stir and affect one, apparently awakening all the secret poetryof one's soul. The gentle breath of the fields was wafted into thequiet drawing-room. The baroness and her husband were playing cards bythe light of a lamp, and Aunt Lison was sitting beside them knitting;while the young people, leaning on the window sill, were gazing out atthe moonlit garden.
The linden and the plane tree cast their shadows on the lawn whichextended beyond it in the moonlight, as far as the dark wood.Attracted by the tender charm of the night, and by this mistyillumination that lighted up the trees and the bushes, Jeanne turnedtoward her parents and said: "Little father, we are going to take ashort stroll on the grass in front of the house."
The baron replied, without looking up: "Go, my children," andcontinued his game.
They went out and began to walk slowly along the moonlit lawn as faras the little wood at the end. The hour grew late and they did notthink of going in. The baroness grew tired, and wishing to retire, shesaid:
"We must call the lovers in."
The baron cast a glance across the spacious garden where the two formswere wandering slowly.
"Let them alone," he said; "it is so delicious outside! Lison willwait for them, will you not, Lison?"
The old maid raised her troubled eyes and replied in her timid voice:
"Certainly, I will wait for them."
Little father gave his hand to the baroness, weary himself from theheat of the day.
"I am going to bed, too," he said, and went up with his wife.
Then Aunt Lison rose in her turn, and leaving on the arm of the chairher canvas with the wool and the knitting needles, she went over andleaned on the window sill and gazed out at the night.
The two lovers kept on walking back and forth between the house andthe wood. They squeezed each other's fingers without speaking, asthough they had left their bodies and formed part of this visiblepoetry that exhaled from the earth.
All at once Jeanne perceived, framed in the window, the silhouette ofthe aunt, outlined by the light of the lamp behind her.
"See," she said, "there is Aunt Lison looking at us."
The vicomte raised his head, and said in an indifferent tone withoutthinking:
"Yes, Aunt Lison is looking at us."
And they continued to dream, to walk slowly, and to love each other.But the dew was falling fast, and the dampness made them shiver alittle.
"Let us go in now," said Jeanne. And they went into the house.
When they entered the drawing-room, Aunt Lison had gone back to herwork. Her head was bent over her work, and her fingers were tremblingas if she were very tired.
"It is time to go to bed, aunt," said Jeanne, approaching her.
Her aunt turned her head, and her eyes were red as if she had beencrying. The young people did not notice it; but suddenly M. de Lamareperceived that Jeanne's thin shoes were covered with dew. He wasworried, and asked tenderly:
"Are not your dear little feet cold?"
All at once the old lady's hands shook so violently that she let fallher knitting, and hiding her face in her hands, she began to sobconvulsively.
The engaged couple looked at her in amazement, without moving.Suddenly Jeanne fell on her knees, and taking her aunt's hands awayfrom her face, said in perplexity:
"Why, what is the matter, Aunt Lison?"
Then the poor woman, her voice full of tears, and her whole bodyshaking with sorrow, replied:
"It was when he asked you--are not your--your--dear little feetcold?--no one ever said such things to me--to me--never--never----"
Jeanne, surprised and compassionate, could still hardly help laughingat the idea of an admirer showing tender solicitude for Lison; and thevicomte had turned away to conceal his mirth.
But the aunt suddenly rose, laying her ball of wool on the floor andher knitting in the chair, and fled to her room, feeling her way upthe dark staircase.
Left alone, the young people looked at one another, amused andsaddened. Jeanne murmured:
"Poor aunt!" Julien replied. "She must be a little crazy thisevening."
They held each other's hands and presently, gently, very gently, theyexchanged their first kiss, and by the following day had forgotten allabout Aunt Lison's tears.
The two weeks preceding the wedding found Jeanne very calm, as thoughshe were weary of tender emotions. She had no time for reflection onthe morning of the eventful day. She was only conscious of a feelingas if her flesh, her bones and her blood had all melted beneath herskin, and on taking hold of anything, she noticed that her fingerstrembled.
She did not regain her self-possession until she was in the chancel ofthe church during the marriage ceremony.
Married! So she was married! All that had occurred since daybreakseemed to her a dream, a waking dream. There are such moments, whenall appears changed around us; even our motions seem to have a newmeaning; even the hours of the day, which seem to be out of theirusual time. She felt bewildered, above all else, bewildered. Lastevening nothing had as yet been changed in her life; the constant hopeof her life seemed only nearer, almost within reach. She had gone torest a young girl; she was now a married woman. She had crossed thatboundary that seems to conceal the future with all its joys, itsdreams of happiness. She felt as though a door had opened in front ofher; she was about to enter into the fulfillment of her expectations.
When they appeared on the threshold of the church after the ceremony,a terrific noise caused the bride to start in terror, and the baronessto scream; it was a rifle salute given by the peasants, and the firingdid not cease until they reached "The Poplars."
After a collation served for the family, the family chaplain, and thepriest from Yport, the mayor and the witnesses, who were some of thelarge farmers of the district, they all walked in the garden. On theother side of the château one could hear the boisterous mirth of thepeasants, who were drinking cider beneath the apple trees. The wholecountryside, dressed in their best, filled the courtyard.
Jeanne and Julien walked through the copse and then up the slope and,without speaking, gazed out at the sea. The air was cool, although itwas the middle of August; the wind was from the north, and the sunblazed down unpityingly from the blue sky. The young people sought amore sheltered spot, and crossing the plain, they turned to the right,toward the rolling and wooded valley that leads to Yport. As soon asthey reached the trees the air was still, and they left the road andtook a narrow path beneath the trees, where they could scarcely walkabreast.
Jeanne felt an arm passed gently round her waist. She said nothing,her breath came quick, her heart beat fast. Some low branches caressedtheir hair, as they bent to pass under them. She picked a leaf; twoladybirds were concealed beneath it, like two delicate red shells.
"Look, a little family," she said innocently, and feeling a littlemore confidence.
Julien placed his mouth to her ear, and whispered: "This evening youwill be my wife."
Although she had learned many things during her sojourn in thecountry, she dreamed of nothing as yet but the poetry of love, and wassurprised. His wife? Was she not that already?
Then he began to kiss her temples and neck, little light kisses.Startled each time afresh by these masculine kisses to which she wasnot accustomed, she instinctively turned away her head to avoid them,though they delighted her. But they had come to the edge of the wood.She stopped, embarrassed at being so far from home. What would theythink?
"Let us go home," she said.
He withdrew his arm from her waist, and as they turned round theystood face to face, so close that they could feel each other's breathon their faces. They gazed deep into one another's eyes with that gazein which two souls seem to blend. They sought the impenetrable unknownof each other's being. They sought to fathom one another, mutely andpersistently. What would they be to one another? What would this lifebe that they were about to begin together? What joys, what happiness,or what disillusions were they preparing in this long, indissolubletête-à-tête of marriage? And it seemed to them as if they had neveryet seen each other.
Suddenly, Julien, placing his two hands on his wife's shoulders,kissed her full on the lips as she had never before been kissed. Thekiss, penetrating as it did her very blood and marrow, gave her such amysterious shock that she pushed Julien wildly away with her two arms,almost falling backward as she did so.
"Let us go away, let us go away," she faltered.
He did not reply, but took both her hands and held them in his. Theywalked home in silence, and the rest of the afternoon seemed long. Thedinner was simple and did not last long, contrary to the usual Normancustom. A sort of embarrassment seemed to paralyze the guests. The twopriests, the mayor, and the four farmers invited, alone betrayed alittle of that broad mirth that is supposed to accompany weddings.
They had apparently forgotten how to laugh, when a remark of themayor's woke them up. It was about nine o'clock; coffee was about tobe served. Outside, under the apple-trees of the first court, the balchampêtre was beginning, and through the open window one could see allthat was going on. Lanterns, hung from the branches, gave the leaves agrayish green tint. Rustics and their partners danced in a circleshouting a wild dance tune to the feeble accompaniment of two violinsand a clarinet, the players seated on a large table as a platform. Theboisterous singing of the peasants at times completely drowned theinstruments, and the feeble strains torn to tatters by theunrestrained voices seemed to fall from the air in shreds, in littlefragments of scattered notes.
Two large barrels surrounded by flaming torches were tapped, and twoservant maids were kept busy rinsing glasses and bowls in order torefill them at the tap whence flowed the red wine, or at the tap ofthe cider barrel. On the table were bread, sausages and cheese. Everyone swallowed a mouthful from time to time, and beneath the roof ofilluminated foliage this wholesome and boisterous fête made themelancholy watchers in the dining-room long to dance also, and todrink from one of those large barrels, while they munched a slice ofbread and butter and a raw onion.
The mayor, who was beating time with his knife, cried: "By Jove, thatis all right; it is like the wedding of Ganache."
A suppressed giggle was heard, but Abbé Picot, the natural enemy ofcivil authority, cried: "You mean of Cana." The other did not acceptthe correction. "No, monsieur le curé, I know what I am talking about;when I say Ganache, I mean Ganache."
They rose from table and went into the drawing-room, and then outsideto mix with the merrymakers. The guests soon left.
They went into the house. They were surprised to see Madame Adelaidesobbing on Julien's shoulder. Her tears, noisy tears, as if blown outby a pair of bellows, seemed to come from her nose, her mouth and hereyes at the same time; and the young man, dumfounded, awkward, wassupporting the heavy woman who had sunk into his arms to commend tohis care her darling, her little one, her adored daughter.
The baron rushed toward them, saying: "Oh, no scenes, no tears, I begof you," and, taking his wife to a chair, he made her sit down, whileshe wiped away her tears. Then, turning to Jeanne: "Come, little one,kiss your mother and go to bed."
What happened then? She could hardly have told, for she seemed to havelost her head, but she felt a shower of little grateful kisses on herlips.
Day dawned. Julien awoke, yawned, stretched, looked at his wife,smiled and asked: "Did you sleep well, darling?"
She noticed that he now said "thou," and she replied, bewildered,"Why, yes. And you?" "Oh, very well," he answered. And turning towardher, he kissed her and then began to chat quietly. He set before herplans of living, with the idea of economy, and this word occurringseveral times, astonished Jeanne. She listened without grasping themeaning of his words, looked at him, but was thinking of a thousandthings that passed rapidly through her mind hardly leaving a trace.
The clock struck eight. "Come, we must get up," he said. "It wouldlook ridiculous for us to be late." When he was dressed he assistedhis wife with all the little details of her toilet, not allowing herto call Rosalie. As they left the room he stopped. "You know, when weare alone, we can now use 'thou,' but before your parents it is betterto wait a while. It will be quite natural when we come back from ourwedding journey."
She did not go down till luncheon was ready. The day passed like anyordinary day, as if nothing new had occurred. There was one man morein the house, that was all.
Four days later the travelling carriage arrived that was to take themto Marseilles.
After the first night Jeanne had become accustomed to Julien's kissesand caresses, although her repugnance to a closer intimacy had notdiminished. She thought him handsome, she loved him. She again felthappy and cheerful.
The farewells were short and without sadness. The baroness aloneseemed tearful. As the carriage was just starting she placed a purse,heavy as lead, in her daughter's hand, saying, "That is for yourlittle expenses as a bride."
Jeanne thrust the purse in her pocket and the carriage started.
Toward evening Julien said: "How much money did your mother give youin that purse?"
She had not given it a thought, and she poured out the contents on herknees. A golden shower filled her lap: two thousand francs. Sheclapped her hands. "I shall commit all kinds of extravagance," shesaid as she replaced it in the purse.
After travelling eight days in terribly hot weather they reachedMarseilles. The following day theRoi-Louis, a little mailsteamer which went to Naples by way of Ajaccio, took them to Corsica.
Corsica! Its "maquis," its bandits, its mountains! The birthplace ofNapoleon! It seemed to Jeanne that she was leaving real life to enterinto a dream, although wide awake. Standing side by side on the bridgeof the steamer, they looked at the cliffs of Provence as they passedswiftly by them. The calm sea of deep blue seemed petrified beneaththe ardent rays of the sun.
"Do you remember our excursion in Père Lastique's boat?" said Jeanne.
Instead of replying, he gave her a hasty kiss on the ear.
The paddle-wheels struck the water, disturbing its torpor, and a longtrack of foam like the froth of champagne remained in the wake of theboat, reaching as far as the eye could see. Jeanne drank in withdelight the odor of the salt mist that seemed to go to the very tipsof her fingers. Everywhere the sea. But ahead of them there wassomething gray, not clearly defined in the early dawn; a sort ofmassing of strange-looking clouds, pointed, jagged, seemed to rest onthe waters.
Presently it became clearer, its outline more distinct on thebrightening sky; a large chain of mountains, peaked and weird,appeared. It was Corsica, covered with a light veil of mist. The sunrose behind it, outlining the jagged crests like black shadows. Thenall the summits were bathed in light, while the rest of the islandremained covered with mist.
The captain, a little sun-browned man, dried up, stunted, toughenedand shrivelled by the harsh salt winds, appeared on the bridge and ina voice hoarse after twenty years of command and worn from shoutingamid the storms, said to Jeanne:
"Do you perceive it, that odor?"
She certainly noticed a strong and peculiar odor of plants, a wildaromatic odor.
"That is Corsica that sends out that fragrance, madame," said thecaptain. "It is her peculiar odor of a pretty woman. After being awayfor twenty years, I should recognize it five miles out at sea. Ibelong to it. He, down there, at Saint Helena, he speaks of it always,it seems, of the odor of his native country. He belongs to my family."
And the captain, taking off his hat, saluted Corsica, saluted downyonder, across the ocean, the great captive emperor who belonged tohis family.
Jeanne was so affected that she almost cried.
Then, pointing toward the horizon, the captain said: "LesSanguinaires."
Julien was standing beside his wife, with his arm round her waist, andthey both looked out into the distance to see what he was alluding to.They at length perceived some pyramidal rocks which the vessel roundedpresently to enter an immense peaceful gulf surrounded by loftysummits, the base of which was covered with what looked like moss.
Pointing to this verdant growth, the captain said: "Le maquis."
As they proceeded on their course the circle of mountains appeared toclose in behind the steamer, which moved along slowly in such a lakeof transparent azure that one could sometimes see to the bottom.
The town suddenly appeared perfectly white at the end of the gulf, onthe edge of the water, at the base of the mountains. Some littleItalian boats were anchored in the dock. Four or five rowboats came upbeside theRoi-Louisto get passengers.
Julien, who was collecting the baggage, asked his wife in a low tone:"Twenty sous is enough, is it not, to give to the porter?" For a weekhe had constantly asked the same question, which annoyed her eachtime. She replied somewhat impatiently: "When one is not sure ofgiving enough, one gives too much."
He was always disputing with the hotel proprietors, with the servants,the drivers, the vendors of all kinds, and when, by dint ofbargaining, he had obtained a reduction in price, he would say toJeanne as he rubbed his hands: "I do not like to be cheated."
She trembled whenever a bill came in, certain beforehand of theremarks that he would make about each item, humiliated at thisbargaining, blushing up to the roots of her hair beneath thecontemptuous glances of the servants as they looked after her husband,while they held in their hand the meagre tip.
He had a dispute with the boatmen who landed him.
The first tree Jeanne saw was a palm. They went to a great, emptyhotel at the corner of an immense square and ordered breakfast.
After an hour's rest they arranged an itinerary for their trip, and atthe end of three days spent in this little town, hidden at the end ofthe blue gulf, and hot as a furnace enclosed in its curtain ofmountains, which keep every breath of air from it, they decided tohire some saddle horses, so as to be able to cross any difficult pass,and selected two little Corsican stallions with fiery eyes, thin andunwearying, and set out one morning at daybreak. A guide, mounted on amule, accompanied them and carried the provisions, for inns areunknown in this wild country.
The road ran along the gulf and soon turned into a kind of valley, andon toward the high mountains. They frequently crossed the dry beds oftorrents with only a tiny stream of water trickling under the stones,gurgling faintly like a wild animal in hiding.
The uncultivated country seemed perfectly barren. The sides of thehills were covered with tall weeds, yellow from the blazing sun.Sometimes they met a mountaineer, either on foot or mounted on alittle horse, or astride a donkey about as big as a dog. They allcarried a loaded rifle slung across their backs, old rusty weapons,but redoubtable in their hands.
The pungent odor of the aromatic herbs with which the island isovergrown seemed to make the air heavy. The road ascended graduallyamid the long curves of the mountains. The red or blue granite peaksgave an appearance of fairyland to the wild landscape, and on thefoothills immense forests of chestnut trees looked like green brush,compared with the elevations above them.
Sometimes the guide, reaching out his hand toward some of theseheights, would repeat a name. Jeanne and Julien would look where hepointed, but see nothing, until at last they discovered somethinggray, like a mass of stones fallen from the summit. It was a littlevillage, a hamlet of granite hanging there, fastened on like averitable bird's nest and almost invisible on the huge mountain.
Walking their horses like this made Jeanne nervous. "Let us gofaster," she said. And she whipped up her horse. Then, as she did nothear her husband following her, she turned round and laughed heartilyas she saw him coming along, pale, and holding on to his horse's maneas it bounced him up and down. His very appearance of a "beaucavalier" made his awkwardness and timidity all the more comical.
They trotted along quietly. The road now ran between two interminableforests of brush, which covered the whole side of the mountain like agarment. This was the "Maquis," composed of scrub oak, juniper,arbutus, mastic, privet, gorse, laurel, myrtle and boxwood,intertwined with clematis, huge ferns, honeysuckle, cytisus, rosemary,lavender and brambles, which covered the sides of the mountain with animpenetrable fleece.
They were hungry. The guide rejoined them and led them to one of thosecharming springs so frequent in rocky countries, a tiny thread of icedwater issuing from a little hole in the rock and flowing into achestnut leaf that some passerby had placed there to guide the waterinto one's mouth.
Jeanne felt so happy that she could hardly restrain herself fromscreaming for joy.
They continued their journey and began to descend the slope windinground the Bay of Sagone. Toward evening they passed through Cargese,the Greek village founded by a colony of refugees who were driven fromtheir country. Tall, beautiful girls, with rounded hips, long handsand slender waists, and singularly graceful, were grouped beside afountain. Julien called out, "Good evening," and they replied inmusical tones in the harmonious language of their own land.
When they reached Piana they had to beg for hospitality, as in ancienttimes and in desert lands. Jeanne trembled with joy as they waited forthe door to be opened after Julien knocked. Oh, this was a journeyworth while, with all the unexpected of unexplored paths.
It happened to be the home of a young couple. They received thetravellers as the patriarchs must have received the guest sent by God.They had to sleep on a corn husk mattress in an old moldy house. Thewoodwork, all eaten by worms, overrun with long boring-worms, seemedto emit sounds, to be alive and to sigh.
They set off again at daybreak, and presently stopped before a forest,a veritable forest of purple granite. There were peaks, pillars,bell-towers, wondrous forms molded by age, the ravaging wind and thesea mist. As much as three hundred metres in height, slender, round,twisted, hooked, deformed, unexpected and fantastic, these amazingrocks looked like trees, plants, animals, monuments, men, monks intheir garb, horned devils, gigantic birds, a whole population ofmonsters, a menagerie of nightmares petrified by the will of someeccentric divinity.
Jeanne had ceased talking, her heart was full. She took Julien's handand squeezed it, overcome with a longing for love in presence of thebeauty of nature.
Suddenly, as they emerged from this chaos, they saw before themanother gulf, encircled by a wall of blood-red granite. And these redrocks were reflected in the blue waters.
"Oh, Julien!" faltered Jeanne, unable to speak for wonder and chokingwith her emotion. Two tears fell from her eyes. Julien gazed at her inastonishment and said:
"What is the matter, my pet?"
She wiped away her tears, smiled and replied in a rather shaky voice:
"Nothing--I am nervous--I do not know--it just came over me. I am sohappy that the least thing affects me."
He could not understand these feminine attacks of "nerves," the shocksof these vibrant beings, excited at nothing, whom enthusiasm stirs asmight a catastrophe, whom an imperceptible sensation completelyupsets, driving them wild with joy or despair.
These tears seemed absurd to him, and thinking only of the bad road,he said:
"You would do better to watch your horse."
They descended an almost impassable path to the shore of the gulf,then turned to the right to ascend the gloomy Val d'Ota.
But the road was so bad that Julien proposed that they should go onfoot. Jeanne was delighted. She was enchanted at the idea of walking,of being alone with him after her late emotion.
The guide went ahead with the mule and the horses and they walkedslowly.
The mountain, cleft from top to bottom, spreads apart. The path liesin this breach, between two gigantic walls. A roaring torrent flowsthrough the gorge. The air is icy, the granite looks black, and highabove one the glimpse of blue sky astonishes and bewilders one.
A sudden noise made Jeanne start. She raised her eyes. An immense birdflew away from a hollow; it was an eagle. His spread wings seemed tobrush the two walls of the gorge and he soared into the blue anddisappeared.
Farther on there was a double gorge and the path lay between the twoin abrupt zigzags. Jeanne, careless and happy, took the lead, thepebbles rolling away beneath her feet, fearlessly leaning over theabysses. Julien followed her, somewhat out of breath, his eyes on theground for fear of becoming dizzy.
All at once the sun shone down on them, and it seemed as if they wereleaving the infernal regions. They were thirsty, and following a trackof moisture, they crossed a wilderness of stones and found a littlespring conducted into a channel made of a piece of hollowed-out woodfor the benefit of the goatherds. A carpet of moss covered the groundall round it, and Jeanne and Julien knelt down to drink.
As they were enjoying the fresh cold water, Julien tried to drawJeanne away to tease her. She resisted and their lips met and parted,and the stream of cold water splashed their faces, their necks, theirclothes and their hands, and their kisses mingled in the stream.
They were a long time reaching the summit of the declivity, as theroad was so winding and uneven, and they did not reach Evisa untilevening and the house of Paoli Palabretti, a relative of their guide.
He was a tall man, somewhat bent, with the mournful air of aconsumptive. He took them to their room, a cheerless room of barestone, but handsome for this country, where all elegance is ignored.He expressed in his language--the Corsican patois, a jumble of Frenchand Italian--his pleasure at welcoming them, when a shrill voiceinterrupted him. A little swarthy woman, with large black eyes, a skinwarmed by the sun, a slender waist, teeth always showing in aperpetual smile, darted forward, kissed Jeanne, shook Julien's handand said: "Good-day, madame; good-day, monsieur; I hope you are well."
She took their hats, shawls, carrying all on one arm, for the otherwas in a sling, and then she made them all go outside, saying to herhusband: "Go and take them for a walk until dinner time."
M. Palabretti obeyed at once and walked between the two young peopleas he showed them the village. He dragged his feet and his words,coughing frequently, and repeating at each attack of coughing:
"It is the air of the Val, which is cool, and has struck my chest."
He led them on a by-path beneath enormous chestnut trees. Suddenly hestopped and said in his monotonous voice: "It is here that my cousin,Jean Rinaldi, was killed by Mathieu Lori. See, I was there, close toJean, when Mathieu appeared at ten paces from us. 'Jean,' he cried,'do not go to Albertacce; do not go, Jean, or I will kill you. I warnyou!'
"I took Jean's arm: 'Do not go there, Jean; he will do it.'
"It was about a girl whom they were both after, Paulina Sinacoupi.
"But Jean cried out: 'I am going, Mathieu; you will not be the one toprevent me.'
"Then Mathieu unslung his gun, and before I could adjust mine, hefired.
"Jean leaped two feet in the air, like a child skipping, yes,monsieur, and he fell back full on me, so that my gun went off androlled as far as the big chestnut tree over yonder.
"Jean's mouth was wide open, but he did not utter a word; he wasdead."
The young people gazed in amazement at the calm witness of this crime.Jeanne asked:
"And what became of the assassin?"
Paoli Palabretti had a long fit of coughing and then said:
"He escaped to the mountain. It was my brother who killed him thefollowing year. You know, my brother, Philippi Palabretti, thebandit."
Jeanne shuddered.
"Your brother a bandit?"
With a gleam of pride in his eye, the calm Corsican replied:
"Yes, madame. He was celebrated, that one. He laid low six gendarmes.He died at the same time as Nicolas Morali, when they were trapped inthe Niolo, after six days of fighting, and were about to die ofhunger.
"The country is worth it," he added with a resigned air in the sametone in which he said: "It is the air of the Val, which is cool."
Then they went home to dinner, and the little Corsican woman behavedas if she had known them for twenty years.
But Jeanne was worried. When Julien again held her in his arms, wouldshe experience the same strange and intense sensation that she hadfelt on the moss beside the spring? And when they were alone togetherthat evening she trembled lest she should still be insensible to hiskisses. But she was reassured, and this was her first night of love.
The next day, as they were about to set out, she decided that shewould not leave this humble cottage, where it seemed as though a freshhappiness had begun for her.
She called her host's little wife into her room and, while makingclear that she did not mean it as a present, she insisted, even withsome annoyance, on sending her from Paris, as soon as she arrived, aremembrance, a remembrance to which she attached an almostsuperstitious significance.
The little Corsican refused for some time, not wishing to accept it.But at last she consented, saying:
"Well, then, send me a little pistol, a very small one."
Jeanne opened her eyes in astonishment. The other added in her ear, asone confides a sweet and intimate secret: "It is to kill mybrother-in-law." And smiling, she hastily unwound the bandages aroundthe helpless arm, and showing her firm, white skin with the scratch ofa stiletto across it, now almost healed, she said: "If I had not beenalmost as strong as he is, he would have killed me. My husband is notjealous, he knows me; and, besides, he is ill, you know, and thatquiets your blood. And, besides, madame, I am an honest woman; but mybrother-in-law believes all that he hears. He is jealous for myhusband and he will surely try it again. Then I shall have my littlepistol; I shall be easy, and sure of my revenge."