Jeanne promised to send the weapon, kissed her new friend tenderly andthey set out on their journey.
The rest of the trip was nothing but a dream, a continual series ofembraces, an intoxication of caresses. She saw nothing, neither thelandscape, nor the people, nor the places where they stopped. She sawnothing but Julien.
On arriving at Bastia, they had to pay the guide. Julien fumbled inhis pockets. Not finding what he wanted, he said to Jeanne: "As youare not using your mother's two thousand francs, give them to me tocarry. They will be safer in my belt, and it will avoid my having tomake change."
She handed him her purse.
They went to Leghorn, visited Florence, Genoa and all the Cornici.They reached Marseilles on a morning when the north wind was blowing.Two months had elapsed since they left the "Poplars." It was now the15th of October.
Jeanne, affected by the cold wind that seemed to come from yonder,from far-off Normandy, felt sad. Julien had, for some time, appearedchanged, tired, indifferent, and she feared she knew not what.
They delayed their return home four days longer, not being able tomake up their minds to leave this pleasant land of the sun. It seemedto her that she had come to an end of her happiness.
At length they left. They were to make all their purchases in Paris,prior to settling down for good at the "Poplars," and Jeanne lookedforward to bringing back some treasures, thanks to her mother'spresent. But the first thing she thought of was the pistol promised tothe little Corsican woman of Evisa.
The day after they arrived she said to Julien: "Dear, will you give methat money of mamma's? I want to make my purchases."
He turned toward her with a look of annoyance.
"How much do you want?"
"Why--whatever you please."
"I will give you a hundred francs," he replied, "but do not squanderit."
She did not know what to say, amazed and confused. At length shefaltered: "But--I--handed you the money to----"
He did not give her time to finish.
"Yes, of course. Whether it is in my pocket or yours makes nodifference from the moment that we have the same purse. I do notrefuse you, do I, since I am giving you a hundred francs?"
She took the five gold pieces without saying a word, but she did notventure to ask for any more, and she bought nothing but the pistol.
Eight days later they set out for the "Poplars."
The family and servants were awaiting them outside the white gate withbrick supports. The post-chaise drew up and there were long andaffectionate greetings. Little mother wept; Jeanne, affected, wipedaway some tears; father nervously walked up and down.
Then, as the baggage was being unloaded, they told of their travelsbeside the parlor fire. Jeanne's words flowed freely, and everythingwas told, everything, in a half hour, except, perhaps, a few littledetails forgotten in this rapid account.
The young wife then went to undo her parcels. Rosalie, also greatlyaffected, assisted her. When this was finished and everything had beenput away, the little maid left her mistress, and Jeanne, somewhatfatigued, sat down.
She asked herself what she was now going to do, seeking someoccupation for her mind, some work for her hands. She did not care togo down again into the drawing-room, where her mother was asleep, andshe thought she would take a walk. But the country seemed so sad thatshe felt a weight at her heart on only looking out of the window.
Then it came to her that she had no longer anything to do, never againanything to do. All her young life at the convent had been preoccupiedwith the future, busied with dreams. The constant excitement of hopefilled her hours at that time, so that she was not aware of theirflight. Then hardly had she left those austere walls, where herillusions had unfolded, than her expectations of love were at oncerealized. The longed-for lover, met, loved and married within a fewweeks, as one marries on these sudden resolves, had carried her off inhis arms, without giving her time for reflection.
But now the sweet reality of the first days was to become the everydayreality, which closed the door on vague hopes, on the enchantingworries of the unknown. Yes, there was nothing more to look forwardto. And there was nothing more to do, today, to-morrow, never. Shefelt all this vaguely as a certain disillusion, a certain crumbling ofher dreams.
She rose and leaned her forehead against the cold window panes.
Then, after gazing for some time at the sky across which dark cloudswere passing, she decided to go out.
Was this the same country, the same grass, the same trees as in May?What had become of the sunlit cheerfulness of the leaves and thepoetry of the green grass, where dandelions, poppies and moon daisiesbloomed and where yellow butterflies fluttered as though held byinvisible wires? And this intoxication of the air teeming with life,with fragrance, with fertilizing pollen, existed no longer!
The avenues, soaked by the constant autumnal downpours, were coveredwith a thick carpet of fallen leaves which extended beneath theshivering bareness of the almost leafless poplars. She went as far asthe shrubbery. It was as sad as the chamber of a dying person. A greenhedge which separated the little winding walks was bare of leaves.Little birds flew from place to place with a little chilly cry,seeking a shelter.
The thick curtain of elm trees that formed a protection against thesea wind, the lime tree and the plane tree with their crimson andyellow tints seemed clothed, the one in red velvet and the other inyellow silk.
Jeanne walked slowly up and down petite mère's avenue, alongside theCouillards' farm. Something weighed on her spirit like a presentimentof the long boredom of the monotonous life about to begin.
She seated herself on the bank where Julien had first told her of hislove and remained there, dreaming, scarcely thinking, depressed to thevery soul, longing to lie down, to sleep, in order to escape thedreariness of the day.
All at once she perceived a gull crossing the sky, carried away in agust of wind, and she recalled the eagle she had seen down there inCorsica, in the gloomy vale of Ota. She felt a spasm at her heart asat the remembrance of something pleasant that is gone by, and she hada sudden vision of the beautiful island with its wild perfume, its sunthat ripens oranges and lemons, its mountains with their rosy summits,its azure gulfs and its ravines through which the torrents flowed.
And the moist, severe landscape that surrounded her, with the fallingleaves and the gray clouds blown along by the wind, enfolded her insuch a heavy mantle of misery that she went back to the house to keepfrom sobbing.
Her mother was dozing in a torpid condition in front of the fire,accustomed to the melancholy of the long days, and not noticing it anylonger. Her father and Julien had gone for a walk to talk aboutbusiness matters. Night was coming on, filling the large drawing-roomwith gloom lighted by reflections of light from the fire.
The baron presently appeared, followed by Julien. As soon as thevicomte entered the room he rang the bell, saying: "Quick, quick, letus have some light! It is gloomy in here."
And he sat down before the fire. While his wet shoes were steaming inthe warmth and the mud was drying on his soles, he rubbed his handscheerfully as he said: "I think it is going to freeze; the sky isclearing in the north, and it is full moon to-night; we shall have astinger to-night."
Then turning to his daughter: "Well, little one, are you glad to beback again in your own country, in your own home, with the old folks?"
This simple question upset Jeanne. She threw herself into her father'sarms, her eyes full of tears, and kissed him nervously, as thoughasking pardon, for in spite of her honest attempt to be cheerful, shefelt sad enough to give up altogether. She recalled the joy she hadpromised herself at seeing her parents again, and she was surprised atthe coldness that seemed to numb her affection, just as if, afterconstantly thinking of those one loves, when at a distance and unableto see them at any moment, one should feel, on seeing them again, asort of check of affection, until the bonds of their life in commonhad been renewed.
Dinner lasted a long time. No one spoke much. Julien appeared to haveforgotten his wife.
In the drawing-room Jeanne sat before the fire in a drowsy condition,opposite little mother, who was sound asleep. Aroused by the voices ofthe men, Jeanne asked herself, as she tried to rouse herself, if she,too, was going to become a slave to this dreary lethargy of habit thatnothing varies.
The baron approached the fire, and holding out his hands to theglowing flame, he said, smiling: "Ah, that burns finely this evening.It is freezing, children; it is freezing." Then, placing his hand onJeanne's shoulder and pointing to the fire, he said: "See here, littledaughter, that is the best thing in life, the hearth, the hearth, withone's own around one. Nothing else counts. But supposing we retire.You children must be tired out."
When she was in her room, Jeanne asked herself how she could feel sodifferently on returning a second time to the place that she thoughtshe loved. Why did she feel as though she were wounded? Why did thishouse, this beloved country, all that hitherto had thrilled her withhappiness, now appear so distressing?
Her eyes suddenly fell on her clock. The little bee was still swingingfrom left to right and from right to left with the same quick,continuous motion above the scarlet blossoms. All at once an impulseof tenderness moved her to tears at sight of this little piece ofmechanism that seemed to be alive. She had not been so affected onkissing her father and mother. The heart has mysteries that noarguments can solve.
For the first time since her marriage she was alone, Julien, underpretext of fatigue, having taken another room.
She lay awake a long time, unaccustomed to being alone and disturbedby the bleak north wind which beat against the roof.
She was awakened the next morning by a bright light that flooded herroom. She put on a dressing gown and ran to the window and opened it.
An icy breeze, sharp and bracing, streamed into the room, making herskin tingle and her eyes water. The sun appeared behind the trees on acrimson sky, and the earth, covered with frost and dry and hard, rangout beneath one's footsteps. In one night all the leaves had blown offthe trees, and in the distance beyond the level ground was seen thelong green line of water, covered with trails of white foam.
Jeanne dressed herself and went out, and for the sake of an object shewent to call on the farmers.
The Martins held up their hands in surprise, and Mrs. Martin kissedher on both cheeks, and then they made her drink a glass of noyau. Shethen went to the other farm. The Couillards also were surprised. Mrs.Couillard pecked her on the ears and she had to drink a glass ofcassis. Then she went home to breakfast.
The day went by like the previous day, cold instead of damp. And theother days of the week resembled these two days, and all the weeks ofthe month were like the first week.
Little by little, however, she ceased to regret far-off lands. Theforce of habit was covering her life with a layer of resignationsimilar to the lime-stone formation deposited on objects by certainsprings. And a kind of interest for the thousand-and-one littleinsignificant things of daily life, a care for the simple, ordinaryeveryday occupations, awakened in her heart. A sort of pensivemelancholy, a vague disenchantment with life was growing up in hermind. What did she lack? What did she want? She did not know. She hadno worldly desires, no thirst for amusement, no longing forpermissible pleasures. What then? Just as old furniture tarnishes intime, so everything was slowly becoming faded to her eyes, everythingseemed to be fading, to be taking on pale, dreary shades.
Her relations with Julien had completely changed. He seemed to bequite different since they came back from their honeymoon, like anactor who has played his part and resumes his ordinary manner. Hescarcely paid any attention to her or even spoke to her. All trace oflove had suddenly disappeared, and he seldom came into her room atnight.
He had taken charge of the money and of the house, changed the leases,worried the peasants, cut down expenses, and having adopted thecostume of a gentleman farmer, he had lost his polish and elegance asa fiancé.
He always wore the same suit, although it was covered with spots. Itwas an old velveteen shooting jacket with brass buttons, that he hadfound among his former wardrobe, and with the carelessness that isfrequent with those who no longer seek to please, he had given upshaving, and his long beard, badly cut, made an incredible change forthe worse in his appearance. His hands were never cared for, and aftereach meal he drank four or five glasses of brandy.
Jeanne tried to remonstrate with him gently, but he had answered herso abruptly: "Won't you let me alone!" that she never ventured to givehim any more advice.
She had adapted herself to these changes in a manner that surprisedherself. He had become a stranger to her, a stranger whose mind andheart were closed to her. She constantly thought about it, askingherself how it was that after having met, loved, married in an impulseof affection, they should all at once find themselves almost as muchstrangers as though they had never shared the same room.
And how was it that she did not feel this neglect more deeply? Wasthis life? Had they deceived themselves? Did the future hold nothingfurther for her?
If Julien had remained handsome, carefully dressed, elegant, she mightpossibly have suffered more deeply.
It had been agreed that after the new year the young couple shouldremain alone and that the father and mother should go back to spend afew months at their house in Rouen. The young people were not to leavethe "Poplars" that winter, so as to get thoroughly settled and tobecome accustomed to each other and to the place where all their lifewould be passed. They had a few neighbors to whom Julien wouldintroduce his wife. These were the Brisevilles, the Colteliers and theFourvilles.
But the young people could not begin to pay calls because they had notas yet been able to get a painter to alter the armorial bearings onthe carriage.
The old family coach had been given up to his son-in-law by the baron,and nothing would have induced him to show himself at the neighboringchâteaux if the coat-of-arms of the De Lamares were not quartered withthose of the Le Perthuis des Vauds.
There was only one man in the district who made a specialty ofheraldic designs, a painter of Bolbec, called Bataille, who was indemand at all the Norman castles in turn to make these preciousdesigns on the doors of carriages.
At length one morning in December, just as they were finishingbreakfast, they saw an individual open the gate and walk toward thehouse. He was carrying a box on his back. This was Bataille.
They offered him some breakfast, and, while he was eating, the baronand Julien made sketches of quarterings. The baroness, all upset assoon as these things were discussed, gave her opinion. And even Jeannetook part in the discussion, as though some mysterious interest hadsuddenly awakened in her.
Bataille, while eating, gave his ideas, at times taking the pencil andtracing a design, citing examples, describing all the aristocraticcarriages in the countryside, and seemed to have brought with him inhis ideas, even in his voice, a sort of atmosphere of aristocracy.
As soon as he had finished his coffee, they all went to the coachhouse. They took off the cover of the carriage and Bataille examinedit. He then gravely gave his views as to the size he consideredsuitable for the design, and after an exchange of ideas, he set towork.
Notwithstanding the cold, the baroness had her chair brought out so asto watch him working, and then her foot-stove, for her feet werefreezing. She then began to chat with the painter, on all the recentbirths, deaths and marriages of which she had not heard, thus addingto the genealogical tree which she carried in her memory.
Julien sat beside her, astride on a chair. He was smoking, spitting onthe ground, listening and following with his glances the emblazoningof his rank.
Presently old Simon, who was on his way to the vegetable garden, hisspade on his shoulder, stopped to look at the work; and as Bataille'sarrival had become known at the two farms, the farmers' wives soon putin an appearance. They went into raptures, standing one at either sideof the baroness, exclaiming: "My! it requires some cleverness all thesame to fix up those things."
The two doors could not be finished before the next day about eleveno'clock. Every one was on hand; and they dragged the carriage outsideso as to get a better view of it.
It was perfect. Bataille was complimented, and went off with his boxon his back. They all agreed that the painter had great ability, andif circumstances had been favorable would doubtless have been a greatartist.
Julien, by way of economy, had introduced great reforms whichnecessitated making some changes. The old coachman had been madegardener, Julien undertaking to drive himself, having sold thecarriage horses to avoid buying feed for them. But as it was necessaryto have some one to hold the horses when he and his wife got out ofthe carriage, he had made a little cow tender named Marius into agroom. Then in order to get some horses, he introduced a specialclause into the Couillards' and Martins' leases, by which they werebound to supply a horse each, on a certain day every month, the dateto be fixed by him; and this would exempt them from their tribute ofpoultry.
So the Couillards brought a big yellow horse, and the Martins a smallwhite animal with long, unclipped coat, and the two were harnessed uptogether. Marius, buried in an old livery belonging to old Simon, ledthe carriage up to the front door.
Julien, looking clean and brushed up, looked a little like his formerself; but his long beard gave him a common look in spite of all. Helooked over the horses, the carriage, and the little groom, and seemedsatisfied, the only really important thing to him being the newlypainted escutcheon.
The baroness came down leaning on her husband's arm and got into thecarriage. Then Jeanne appeared. She began to laugh at the horses,saying that the white one was the son of the yellow horse; then,perceiving Marius, his face buried under his hat with its cockade, hisnose alone preventing it from covering his face altogether, his handshidden in his long sleeves, and the tail of his coat forming a skirtround his legs, his feet encased in immense shoes showing in a comicalmanner beneath it, and then when he threw his head back so as to see,and lifted up his leg to walk as if he were crossing a river, sheburst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
The baron turned round, glanced at the little bewildered groom and he,too, burst out laughing, calling to his wife: "Look at Ma-Ma-Marius!Is he not comical? Heavens, how funny he looks!"
The baroness, looking out of the carriage window, was also convulsed,so that the carriage shook on its springs.
But Julien, pale with anger, asked: "What makes you laugh like that?Are you crazy?"
Jeanne, quite convulsed and unable to stop laughing, sat down on thedoorstep; the baron did the same, while, in the carriage, spasmodicsneezes, a sort of constant chuckling, told that the baroness waschoking. Presently there was a motion beneath Marius' livery. He had,doubtless, understood the joke, for he was shaking with laughterbeneath his hat.
Julien darted forward in exasperation. With a box on the ear he sentthe boy's hat flying across the lawn; then, turning toward hisfather-in-law, he stammered in a voice trembling with rage: "It seemsto me that you should be the last to laugh. We should not be where weare now if you had not wasted your money and ruined your property.Whose fault is it if you are ruined?"
The laughter ceased at once, and no one spoke. Jeanne, now ready tocry, got into the carriage and sat beside her mother. The baron,silent and astonished, took his place opposite the two ladies, andJulien sat on the box after lifting to the seat beside him the weepingboy, whose face was beginning to swell.
The road was dreary and appeared long. The occupants of the carriagewere silent. All three sad and embarrassed, they would not acknowledgeto one another what was occupying their thoughts. They felt that theycould not talk on indifferent subjects while these thoughts hadpossession of them, and preferred to remain silent than to allude tothis painful subject.
They drove past farmyards, the carriage jogging along unevenly withthe ill-matched animals, putting to flight terrified black hens whoplunged into the bushes and disappeared, occasionally followed by abarking wolf-hound.
At length they entered a wide avenue of pine trees, at the end ofwhich was a white, closed gate. Marius ran to open it, and they drovein round an immense grass plot, and drew up before a high, spacious,sad-looking building with closed shutters.
The hall door opened abruptly, and an old, paralyzed servant wearing ablack waistcoat with red stripes partially covered by his workingapron slowly descended the slanting steps. He took the visitors' namesand led them into an immense reception room, and opened withdifficulty the Venetian blinds which were always kept closed. Thefurniture had covers on it, and the clock and candelabra were wrappedin white muslin. An atmosphere of mildew, an atmosphere of formerdays, damp and icy, seemed to permeate one's lungs, heart and skinwith melancholy.
They all sat down and waited. They heard steps in the hall above themthat betokened unaccustomed haste. The hosts were hurriedly dressing.The baroness, who was chilled, sneezed constantly. Julien paced up anddown. Jeanne, despondent, sat beside her mother. The baron leanedagainst the marble mantelpiece with his head bent down.
Finally, one of the tall doors opened, and the Vicomte and Vicomtessede Briseville appeared. They were both small, thin, vivacious, of noage in particular, ceremonious and embarrassed.
After the first greetings, there seemed to be nothing to say. So theybegan to congratulate each other for no special reason, and hoped thatthese friendly relations would be kept up. It was a treat to seepeople when one lived in the country the year round.
The icy atmosphere pierced to their bones and made their voiceshoarse. The baroness was coughing now and had stopped sneezing. Thebaron thought it was time to leave. The Brisevilles said: "What, sosoon? Stay a little longer." But Jeanne had risen in spite of Julien'ssignals, for he thought the visit too short.
They attempted to ring for the servant to order the carriage to thedoor, but the bell would not ring. The host started out himself toattend to it, but found that the horses had been put in the stable.
They had to wait. Every one tried to think of something to say.Jeanne, involuntarily shivering with cold, inquired what their hostsdid to occupy themselves all the year round. The Brisevilles were muchastonished; for they were always busy, either writing letters to theiraristocratic relations, of whom they had a number scattered all overFrance, or attending to microscopic duties, as ceremonious to oneanother as though they were strangers, and talking grandiloquently ofthe most insignificant matters.
At last the carriage passed the windows with its ill-matched team. ButMarius had disappeared. Thinking he was off duty until evening, he haddoubtless gone for a walk.
Julien, perfectly furious, begged them to send him home on foot, andafter a great many farewells on both sides, they set out for the"Poplars."
As soon as they were inside the carriage, Jeanne and her father, inspite of Julien's brutal behavior of the morning which still weighedon their minds, began to laugh at the gestures and intonations of theBrisevilles. The baron imitated the husband, and Jeanne the wife. Butthe baroness, a little touchy in these particulars, said: "You arewrong to ridicule them thus; they are people of excellent family."They were silent out of respect for little mother, but nevertheless,from time to time, Jeanne and her father began again. The baronesscould not forbear smiling in her turn, but she repeated: "It is notnice to laugh at people who belong to our class."
Suddenly the carriage stopped, and Julien called out to someone behindit. Then Jeanne and the baron, leaning out, saw a singular creaturethat appeared to be rolling along toward them. His legs entangled inhis flowing coattails, and blinded by his hat which kept falling overhis face, shaking his sleeves like the sails of a windmill, andsplashing into puddles of water, and stumbling against stones in theroad, running and bounding, Marius was following the carriage as fastas his legs could carry him.
As soon as he caught up with it, Julien, leaning over, seized him bythe collar of his coat, sat him down beside him, and letting go thereins, began to shower blows on the boy's hat, which sank down to hisshoulders with the reverberations of a drum. The boy screamed, triedto get away, to jump from the carriage, while his master, holding himwith one hand, continued beating him with the other.
Jeanne, dumfounded, stammered: "Father--oh, father!" And the baroness,wild with indignation, squeezed her husband's arm. "Stop him, Jack!"she exclaimed. The baron quickly lowered the front window, and seizinghold of his son-in-law's sleeve, he sputtered out in a voice tremblingwith rage: "Have you almost finished beating that child?"
Julien turned round in astonishment: "Don't you see what a conditionhis livery is in?"
But the baron, placing his head between them, said: "Well, what do Icare? There is no need to be brutal like that!"
Julien got angry again: "Let me alone, please; this is not youraffair!" And he was raising his hand again when his father-in-lawcaught hold of it and dragged it down so roughly that he knocked itagainst the wood of the seat, and he roared at him so loud: "If you donot stop, I shall get out, and I will see that you stop it, myself,"that Julien calmed down at once, and shrugging his shoulders withoutreplying, he whipped up the horses, who set out at a quick trot.
The two women, pale as death, did not stir, and one could heardistinctly the thumping of the baroness' heart.
At dinner Julien was more charming than usual, as though nothing hadoccurred. Jeanne, her father, and Madame Adelaide, pleased to see himso amiable, fell in with his mood, and when Jeanne mentioned theBrisevilles, he laughed at them himself, adding, however: "All thesame, they have the grand air."
They made no more visits, each one fearing to revive the Mariusepisode. They decided, to send New Year's cards, and to wait until thefirst warm days of spring before paying any more calls.
At Christmas they invited the curé, the mayor and his wife to dinner,and again on New Year's Day. These were the only events that variedthe monotony of their life. The baron and his wife were to leave "ThePoplars" on the ninth of January. Jeanne wanted to keep them, butJulien did not acquiesce, and the baron sent for a post-chaise fromRouen, seeing his son-in-law's coolness.
The day before their departure, as it was a clear frost, Jeanne andher father decided to go to Yport, which they had not visited sinceher return from Corsica. They crossed the wood where she had strolledon her wedding-day, all wrapped up in the one whose lifelong companionshe had become; the wood where she had received her first kiss,trembled at the first breath of love, had a presentiment of thatsensual love of which she did not become aware until she was in thewild vale of Ota beside the spring where they mingled their kisses asthey drank of its waters. The trees were now leafless, the climbingvines dead.
They entered the little village. The empty, silent streets smelled ofthe sea, of wrack, of fish. Huge brown nets were still hanging up todry outside the houses, or stretched out on the shingle. The gray,cold sea, with its eternal roaring foam, was going out, uncovering thegreen rocks at the foot of the cliff toward Fécamp.
Jeanne and her father, motionless, watched the fishermen setting outin their boats in the dusk, as they did every night, risking theirlives to keep from starving, and so poor, nevertheless, that theynever tasted meat.
The baron, inspired at the sight of the ocean, murmured: "It isterrible, but it is beautiful. How magnificent this sea is on whichthe darkness is falling, and on which so many lives are in peril, isit not, Jeannette?"
She replied with a cold smile: "It is nothing to the Mediterranean."
Her father, indignant, exclaimed: "The Mediterranean! It is oil, sugarwater, bluing water in a washtub. Look at this sea, how terrible it iswith its crests of foam! And think of all those men who have set outon it, and who are already out of sight."
Jeanne assented with a sigh: "Yes, if you think so." But this name,"Mediterranean," had wrung her heart afresh, sending her thoughts backto those distant lands where her dreams lay buried.
Instead of returning home by the woods, they walked along the road,mounting the ascent slowly. They were silent, sad at the thought ofthe approaching separation. As they passed along beside the farmyardsan odor of crushed apples, that smell of new cider which seems topervade the atmosphere in this season all through Normandy, rose totheir nostrils, or else a strong smell of the cow stables. A smalllighted window at the end of the yard indicated the farmhouse.
It seemed to Jeanne that her mind was expanding, was beginning tounderstand the psychic meaning of things; and these little scatteredgleams in the landscape gave her, all at once, a keen sense of theisolation of all human lives, a feeling that everything detaches,separates, draws one far away from the things they love.
She said, in a resigned tone: "Life is not always cheerful."
The baron sighed: "How can it be helped, daughter? We can do nothing."
The following day the baron and his wife went away, and Jeanne andJulien were left alone.
Cards now became a distraction in the life of the young people. Everymorning after breakfast, Julien would play several games of beziquewith his wife, smoking and sipping brandy as he played. She would thengo up to her room and sit down beside the window, and as the rain beatagainst the panes, or the wind shook the windows, she would embroideraway steadily. Occasionally she would raise her eyes and look out atthe gray sea which had white-caps on it. Then, after gazing listlesslyfor some time, she would resume her work.
She had nothing else to do, Julien having taken the entire managementof the house, to satisfy his craving for authority and his craze foreconomy. He was parsimonious in the extreme, never gave any tips, cutdown the food to the merest necessaries; and as Jeanne since herreturn had ordered the baker to make her a little Norman "galette" forbreakfast, he had cut down this extra expense, and condemned her toeat toast.
She said nothing in order to avoid recriminations, arguments andquarrels; but she suffered keenly at each fresh manifestation ofavarice on the part of her husband. It appeared to her low and odious,brought up as she had been in a family where money was neverconsidered. How often had she not heard her mother say: "Why, money ismade to be spent." Julien would now say: "Will you never becomeaccustomed to not throwing money away?" And each time he deducted afew sous from some one's salary or on a note, he would say with asmile, as he slipped the change into his pocket: "Little streams makebig rivers."
On certain days Jeanne would sit and dream. She would gradually ceasesewing and, with her hands idle, and forgetting her surroundings, shewould weave one of those romances of her girlhood and be lost in someenchanting adventure. But suddenly Julien's voice giving some ordersto old Simon would snatch her abruptly from her dreams, and she wouldtake up her work again, saying: "That is all over," and a tear wouldfall on her hands as she plied the needle.
Rosalie, formerly so cheerful and always singing, had changed. Herrounded cheeks had lost their color, and were now almost hollow, andsometimes had an earthy hue. Jeanne would frequently ask her: "Are youill, my girl?" The little maid would reply: "No, madame," while hercheeks would redden slightly and she would retire hastily.
At the end of January the snow came. In one night the whole plain wascovered and the trees next morning were white with icy foam.
On one of these mornings, Jeanne was sitting warming her feet beforethe fire in her room, while Rosalie, who had changed from day to day,was making the bed. Suddenly hearing behind her a kind of moan, Jeanneasked, without turning her head: "What is the matter?"
The maid replied as usual: "Nothing, madame"; but her voice was weakand trembling.
Jeanne's thoughts were on something else, when she noticed that thegirl was not moving about the room. She called: "Rosalie!" Still nosound. Then, thinking she might have left the room, she cried in alouder tone: "Rosalie!" and she was reaching out her arm to ring thebell, when a deep moan close beside her made her start up with ashudder.
The little servant, her face livid, her eyes haggard, was seated onthe floor, her legs stretched out, and her back leaning against thebed. Jeanne sprang toward her. "What is the matter with you--what isthe matter?" she asked.
The girl did not reply, did not move. She stared vacantly at hermistress and gasped as though she were in terrible pain. Then,suddenly, she slid down on her back at full length, clenching herteeth to smother a cry of anguish.
Jeanne suddenly understood, and almost distracted, she ran to the headof the stairs, crying: "Julien, Julien!"
"What do you want?" he replied from below.
She hardly knew how to tell him. "It is Rosalie, who----"
Julien rushed upstairs two steps at a time, and going abruptly intothe room, he found the poor girl had just been delivered of a child.He looked round with a wicked look on his face, and pushing histerrified wife out of the room, exclaimed: "This is none of youraffair. Go away. Send me Ludivine and old Simon."
Jeanne, trembling, descended to the kitchen, and then, not daring togo upstairs again, she went into the drawing-room, in which there hadbeen no fire since her parents left, and anxiously awaited news.
She presently saw the man-servant running out of the house. Fiveminutes later he returned with Widow Dentu, the nurse of the district.
Then there was a great commotion on the stairs as though they werecarrying a wounded person, and Julien came in and told Jeanne that shemight go back to her room.
She trembled as if she had witnessed some terrible accident. She satdown again before the fire, and asked: "How is she?"
Julien, preoccupied and nervous, was pacing up and down the room. Heseemed to be getting angry, and did not reply at first. Then hestopped and said: "What do you intend to do with this girl?"
She did not understand, and looked at her husband. "Why, what do youmean? I do not know."
Then suddenly flying into a rage, he exclaimed: "We cannot keep abastard in the house."
Jeanne was very much bewildered, and said at the end of a longsilence: "But, my friend, perhaps we could put it out to nurse?"
He cut her short: "And who will pay the bill? You will, no doubt."
She reflected for some time, trying to find some way out of thedifficulty; at length she said: "Why, the father will take care of it,of the child; and if he marries Rosalie, there will be no moredifficulty."
Julien, as though his patience were exhausted, replied furiously: "Thefather!--the father!--do you know him--the father? No, is it not so?Well then----?"
Jeanne, much affected, became excited: "But you certainly would notlet the girl go away like that. It would be cowardly! We will inquirethe name of the man, and we will go and find him, and he will have toexplain matters."
Julien had calmed down and resumed his pacing up and down. "My dear,"he said, "she will not tell the name of the man; she will not tell youany more than she will tell me--and, if he does not want her? ... Wecannot, however, keep a woman and her illegitimate child under ourroof, don't you understand?"
Jeanne, persistent, replied: "Then he must be a wretch, this man. Butwe must certainly find out who it is, and then he will have us to dealwith."
Julien colored, became annoyed again, and said: "But--meanwhile----?"
She did not know what course to take, and asked: "What do youpropose?"
"Oh, I? That's very simple. I would give her some money and send herto the devil with her brat."
The young wife, indignant, was disgusted with him. "That shall neverbe," she said. "She is my foster-sister, that girl; we grew uptogether. She has made a mistake, so much the worse; but I will notcast her out of doors on that account; and, if it is necessary, I willbring up the child."
Then Julien's wrath exploded: "And we should earn a fine reputation,we, with our name and our position! And they would say of useverywhere that we were protecting vice, harboring beggars; and decentpeople would never set their foot inside our doors. What are youthinking of? You must be crazy!"
She had remained quite calm. "I shall never cast off Rosalie; and ifyou do not wish her to stay, my mother will take her; and we shallsurely succeed in finding out the name of the father of the child."
He left the room in exasperation, banging the door after him andexclaiming: "What stupid ideas women have!"
In the afternoon Jeanne went up to see the patient. The little maid,watched over by Widow Dentu, was lying still in her bed, her eyes wideopen, while the nurse held the new-born babe in her arms.
As soon as Rosalie perceived her mistress, she began to sob, hidingher face in the covers and shaking with her sorrow. Jeanne wanted tokiss her, but she avoided it by keeping her face covered. But thenurse interfered, and drawing away the sheet, uncovered her face, andshe let Jeanne kiss her, weeping still, but more quietly.
A meagre fire was burning in the grate; the room was cold; the childwas crying. Jeanne did not dare to speak of the little one, for fearof another attack, and she took her maid's hand as she saidmechanically: "It will not matter, it will not matter." The poor girlglanced furtively at the nurse, and trembled as the infant cried, andthe remembrance of her sorrow came to her mind occasionally in aconvulsive sob, while suppressed tears choked her.
Jeanne kissed her again, and murmured softly in her ear: "We will takegood care of it, never fear, my girl." Then as she was beginning tocry again, Jeanne made her escape.
She came to see her every day, and each time Rosalie burst into tearsat the sight of her mistress.
The child was put out to nurse at a neighbor's.
Julien, however, hardly spoke to his wife, as though he had nourishedanger against her ever since she refused to send away the maid. Hereferred to the subject one day, but Jeanne took from her pocket aletter from the baroness asking them to send the girl to them at onceif they would not keep her at the "Poplars." Julien, furious, cried:"Your mother is as foolish as you are!" but he did not insist anymore.
Two weeks later the patient was able to get up and take up her workagain.
One morning, Jeanne made her sit down and, taking her hands andlooking steadfastly at her, she said:
"See here, my girl, tell me everything."
Rosalie began to tremble, and faltered:
"What, madame?"
"Whose is it, this child?"
The little maid was overcome with confusion, and she sought wildly towithdraw her hands so as to hide her face. But Jeanne kissed her inspite of herself, and consoled her, saying: "It is a misfortune, butcannot be helped, my girl. You were weak, but that happens to manyothers. If the father marries you, no one will think of it again."
Rosalie sighed as if she were suffering, and from time to time made aneffort to disengage herself and run away.
Jeanne resumed: "I understand perfectly that you are ashamed; but yousee that I am not angry, that I speak kindly to you. If I ask you thename of the man it is for your own good, for I feel from your griefthat he has deserted you, and because I wish to prevent that. Julienwill go and look for him, you see, and we will oblige him to marryyou; and as we will employ you both, we will oblige him also to makeyou happy."
This time Rosalie gave such a jerk that she snatched her hands awayfrom her mistress and ran off as if she were mad.
That evening at dinner Jeanne said to Julien: "I tried to persuadeRosalie to tell me the name of her betrayer. I did not succeed. Youtry to find out so that we can compel this miserable man to marryher."
But Julien became angry: "Oh! you know I do not wish to hear anythingabout it. You wish to keep this girl. Keep her, but do not bother meabout her."
Since the girl's illness he appeared to be more irritable than ever;and he had got into the way of never speaking to his wife withoutshouting as if he were in a rage, while she, on the contrary, wouldlower her voice, be gentle and conciliating, to avoid all argument;but she often wept at night after she went to bed.
In spite of his constant irritability, her husband had become moreaffectionate than customary since their return.
Rosalie was soon quite well and less sad, although she appearedterrified, pursued by some unknown fear, and she ran away twice whenJeanne tried to question her again.
Julien all at once became more amiable, and the young wife, clingingto vain hopes, also became more cheerful. The thaw had not yet set inand a hard, smooth, glittering covering of snow extended over thelandscape. Neither men nor animals were to be seen; only the chimneysof the cottages gave evidence of life in the smoke that ascended fromthem into the icy air.
One evening the thermometer fell still lower, and Julien, shivering ashe left the table--for the dining-room was never properly heated, hewas so economical with the wood--rubbed his hands, murmuring: "It willbe warmer to-night, won't it, my dear?" He laughed with his jollylaugh of former days, and Jeanne threw her arms around his neck: "I donot feel well, dear; perhaps I shall be better to-morrow."
"As you wish, my dear. If you are ill you must take care of yourself."And they began to talk of other things.
She retired early. Julien, for a wonder, had a fire lighted in herroom. As soon as he saw that it was burning brightly, he kissed hiswife on the forehead and left the room.
The whole house seemed to be penetrated by the cold; the very wallsseemed to be shivering, and Jeanne shivered in her bed. Twice she gotup to put fresh logs on the fire and to look for dresses, skirts, andother garments which she piled on the bed. Nothing seemed to warm her;her feet were numbed and her lower limbs seemed to tingle, making herexcessively nervous and restless.
Then her teeth began to chatter, her hands shook, there was atightness in her chest, her heart began to beat with hard, dullpulsations, and at times seemed to stop beating, and she gasped forbreath. A terrible apprehension seized her, while the cold seemed topenetrate to her marrow. She never had felt such a sensation, she hadnever seemed to lose her hold on life like this before, never been sonear her last breath.
"I am going to die," she thought, "I am dying----"
And filled with terror, she jumped out of bed, rang for Rosalie,waited, rang again, waited again, shivering and frozen.
The little maid did not come. She was doubtless asleep, that first,sound sleep that nothing can disturb. Jeanne, in despair, dartedtoward the stairs in her bare feet, and groping her way, she ascendedthe staircase quietly, found the door, opened it, and called,"Rosalie!" She went forward, stumbled against the bed, felt all overit with her hands and found that it was empty. It was empty and cold,and as if no one had slept there. Much surprised, she said: "What! Hasshe gone out in weather like this?"
But as her heart began to beat tumultuously till she seemed to besuffocating, she went downstairs again with trembling limbs in orderto wake Julien. She rushed into his room filled with the idea that shewas going to die, and longing to see him before she lostconsciousness.
By the light of the dying embers she perceived Rosalie's head leaningon her husband's shoulder.
At the cry she gave they both started to their feet; she stoodmotionless for a second, horrified at this discovery, and then fled toher room; and when Julien, at his wit's end, called "Jeanne!" she wasseized with an overmastering terror of seeing him, of hearing hisvoice, of listening to him explaining, lying, of meeting his gaze; andshe darted toward the stairs again and went down.
She now ran along in the darkness, at the risk of falling downstairs,at the risk of breaking her neck on the stone floor of the hall. Sherushed along, impelled by an imperious desire to flee, to know nothingabout it, to see no one.
When she was at the bottom of the stairs she sat down on one of thesteps, still in her nightdress, and in bare feet, and remained in adazed condition. She heard Julien moving and walking about. Shestarted to her feet in order to escape him. He was starting to comedownstairs and called: "Listen, Jeanne!"
No, she would not listen nor let him touch her with the tips of hisfingers; and she darted into the dining-room as if she were fleeingfrom an assassin. She looked for a door of escape, a hiding place, adark corner, some way of avoiding him. She hid under the table. But hewas already at the door, a candle in his hand, still calling:"Jeanne!" She started off again like a hare, darted into the kitchen,ran round it twice like a trapped animal, and as he came near her, shesuddenly opened the door into the garden and darted out into thenight.
The contact with the snow, into which she occasionally sank up to herknees, seemed to give her the energy of despair. She did not feelcold, although she had little on. She felt nothing, her body was sonumbed from the emotion of her mind, and she ran along as white as thesnow.
She followed the large avenue, crossed the wood, crossed the ditch,and started off across the plain.
There was no moon, the stars were shining like sparks of fire in theblack sky; but the plain was light with a dull whiteness, and lay ininfinite silence.
Jeanne walked quickly, hardly breathing, not knowing, not thinking ofanything. She suddenly stopped on the edge of the cliff. She stoppedshort, instinctively, and crouched down, bereft of thought and of willpower.
In the abyss before her the silent, invisible sea exhaled the saltodor of its wrack at low tide.
She remained thus some time, her mind as inert as her body; then, allat once, she began to tremble, to tremble violently, like a sailshaken by the wind. Her arms, her hands, her feet, impelled by aninvisible force, throbbed, pulsated wildly, and her consciousnessawakened abruptly, sharp and poignant.
Old memories passed before her mental vision: the sail with him inPère Lastique's boat, their conversation, his nascent love, thechristening of the boat; then she went back, further back, to thatnight of dreams when she first came to the "Poplars." And now!Andnow!Oh, her life was shipwrecked, all joy was ended, allexpectation at an end; and the frightful future full of torture, ofdeception, and of despair appeared before her. Better to die, it wouldall be over at once.
But a voice cried in the distance: "Here it is, here are her steps;quick, quick, this way!" It was Julien who was looking for her.
Oh! she did not wish to see him again. In the abyss down yonder beforeher she now heard a slight sound, the indistinct ripple of the wavesover the rocks. She rose to her feet with the idea of throwing herselfover the cliff and bidding life farewell. Like one in despair, sheuttered the last word of the dying, the last word of the young soldierslain in battle: "Mother!"
All at once the thought of little mother came to her mind, she saw hersobbing, she saw her father on his knees before her mangled remains,and in a second she felt all the pain of their sorrow.
She sank down again into the snow; and when Julien and old Simon,followed by Marius, carrying a lantern, seized her arm to pull herback as she was so close to the brink, she made no attempt to escape.
She let them do as they would, for she could not stir. She felt thatthey were carrying her, and then that she was being put to bed andrubbed with hot cloths; then she became unconscious.
Then she had a nightmare, or was it a nightmare? She was in bed. Itwas broad daylight, but she could not get up. Why? She did not know.Then she heard a little noise on the floor, a sort of scratching, arustling, and suddenly a mouse, a little gray mouse, ran quicklyacross the sheet. Another followed it, then a third, who ran towardher chest with his little, quick scamper. Jeanne was not afraid, andshe reached out her hand to catch the animal, but could not catch it.Then other mice, ten, twenty, hundreds, thousands, rose up on allsides of her. They climbed the bedposts, ran up the tapestries,covered the bed completely. And soon they got beneath the covers;Jeanne felt them gliding over her skin, tickling her limbs, running upand down her body. She saw them running from the bottom of the bed toget into her neck under the sheets; and she tried to fight them off,throwing her hands out to try and catch them, but always finding themempty.
She was frantic, wanted to escape, screamed, and it seemed as if shewere being held down, as if strong arms enfolded her and rendered herhelpless; but she saw no one.
She had no idea of time. It must have been long, a very long time.
Then she awoke, weary, aching, but quiet. She felt weak, very weak.She opened her eyes and was not surprised to see little mother seatedin her room with a man whom she did not know.
How old was she? She did not know, and thought she was a very littlegirl. She had no recollection of anything.
The big man said: "Why, she has regained consciousness." Little motherbegan to weep. Then the big man resumed: "Come, be calm, baroness; Ican ensure her recovery now. But do not talk to her at all. Let hersleep, let her sleep."
Then it seemed to Jeanne that she remained in a state of exhaustionfor a long time, overcome by a heavy sleep as soon as she tried tothink; and she tried not to remember anything whatever, as though shehad a vague fear that the reality might come back to her.
Once when she awoke she saw Julien, alone, standing beside her; andsuddenly it all came back to her, as if the curtain which hid her pastlife had been raised.
She felt a horrible pain in her heart, and wanted to escape once more.She threw back the coverlets, jumped to the floor and fell down, herlimbs being too weak to support her.
Julien sprang toward her, and she began to scream for him not to touchher. She writhed and rolled on the floor. The door opened. Aunt Lisoncame running in with Widow Dentu, then the baron, and finally littlemother, puffing and distracted.
They put her back into bed, and she immediately closed her eyes, so asto escape talking and be able to think quietly.
Her mother and aunt watched over her anxiously, saying: "Do you hearus now, Jeanne, my little Jeanne?"
She pretended to be deaf, not to hear them, and did not answer. Nightcame on and the nurse took up her position beside the bed. She did notsleep; she kept trying to think of things that had escaped her memoryas though there were holes in it, great white empty places whereevents had not been noted down.
Little by little she began to recall the facts, and she pondered overthem steadily.
Little mother, Aunt Lison, the baron had come, so she must have beenvery ill. But Julien? What had he said? Did her parents know? AndRosalie, where was she? And what should she do? What should she do? Anidea came to her--she would return to Rouen and live with father andlittle mother as in old days. She would be a widow; that's all.
Then she waited, listening to what was being said around her,understanding everything without letting them see it, rejoiced at herreturning reason, patient and crafty.
That evening, at last, she found herself alone with the baroness andcalled to her in a low tone: "Little Mother!" Her own voice astonishedher, it seemed strange. The baroness seized her hands: "My daughter,my darling Jeanne! My child, do you recognize me?"
"Yes, little mother, but you must not weep; we have a great deal totalk about. Did Julien tell you why I ran away in the snow?"
"Yes, my darling, you had a very dangerous fever."
"It was not that, mamma. I had the fever afterward; but did he tellyou what gave me the fever and why I ran away?"
"No, my dearie."
"It was because I found Rosalie in his room."
Her mother thought she was delirious again and soothed her, saying:"Go to sleep, darling, calm yourself, try to sleep."
But Jeanne, persistent, continued: "I am quite sensible now, littlemother. I am not talking wildly as I must have done these last days. Ifelt ill one night and I went to look for Julien. Rosalie was with himin his room. I did not know what I was doing, for sorrow, and I ranout into the snow to throw myself off the cliff."
But the baroness reiterated, "Yes, darling, you have been very ill,very ill."
"It is not that, mamma. I found Rosalie in with Julien, and I will notlive with him any longer. You will take me back with you to Rouen tolive as we used to do."
The baroness, whom the doctor had warned not to thwart Jeanne in anyway, replied: "Yes, my darling."
But the invalid grew impatient: "I see that you do not believe me. Goand fetch little father, he will soon understand."
The baroness left the room and presently returned, leaning on herhusband's arm. They sat down beside the bed and Jeanne began to talk.She told them all, quietly, in a weak voice, but clearly; all aboutJulien's peculiar character, his harshness, his avarice, and, finally,his infidelity.
When she had finished, the baron saw that she was not delirious, buthe did not know what to think, what to determine, or what to answer.He took her hand, tenderly, as he used to do when he put her to sleepwith stories, and said: "Listen, dearie, we must act with prudence. Wemust do nothing rash. Try to put up with your husband until we cancome to some decision--promise me this?"
"I will try, but I will not stay here after I get well," she replied.
Then she added in a lower tone: "Where is Rosalie now?"
"You will not see her any more," replied the baron. But she persisted:"Where is she? I wish to know." Then he confessed that she had notleft the house, but declared that she was going to leave.
On leaving the room the baron, filled with indignation and wounded inhis feelings as a father, went to look for Julien, and said to himabruptly: "Sir, I have come to ask you for an explanation of yourconduct toward my daughter. You have been unfaithful to her with yourmaid, which is a double insult."
Julien pretended to be innocent, denied everything positively, swore,took God as his witness. What proof had they? he asked. Was not Jeannedelirious? Had she not had brain fever? Had she not run out in thesnow, in an attack of delirium, at the very beginning of her illness?And it was just at this time, when she was running about the housealmost naked, that she pretends that she saw her maid in her husband'sroom!
And he grew angry, threatened a lawsuit, became furious. The baron,bewildered, made excuses, begged his pardon, and held out his loyalhand to Julien, who refused to take it.
When Jeanne heard what her husband had said, she did not show anyannoyance, but replied: "He is lying, papa, but we shall end byconvicting him."
For some days she remained taciturn and reserved, thinking overmatters. The third morning she asked to see Rosalie. The baron refusedto send her up, saying she had left. Jeanne persisted, saying: "Well,let some one go and fetch her."
She was beginning to get excited when the doctor came. They told himeverything, so that he could form an opinion. But Jeanne suddenlyburst into tears, her nerves all unstrung, and almost screamed: "Iwant Rosalie; I wish to see her!"
The doctor took hold of her hand and said in a low tone: "Calmyourself, madame; any emotion may lead to serious consequences, foryou are enceinte."
She was dumfounded, as though she had received a blow; and it seemedto her that she felt the first stirrings of life within her. Then shewas silent, not even listening to what was being said, absorbed in herown thoughts. She could not sleep that night for thinking of the newlife that was developing in her, and was sad at the thought that itwas Julien's child, and might resemble him. The following morning shesent for the baron. "Little father," she said, "my resolution isformed; I wish to know everything, and especially just now; youunderstand, I insist, and you know that you must not thwart me in mypresent condition. Listen! You must go and get M. le Curé. I need himhere to keep Rosalie from telling a lie. Then, as soon as he comes,send him up to me, and you stay downstairs with little mother. And,above all things, see that Julien does not suspect anything."
An hour later the priest came, looking fatter than ever, and puffinglike the baroness. He sat down in an arm-chair and began to joke,wiping his forehead as usual with his plaid handkerchief. "Well,baroness, I do not think we grow any thinner; I think we make a goodpair." Then, turning toward the patient, he said: "Eh, what is this Ihear, young lady, that we are soon to have a fresh baptism? Aha, itwill not be a boat this time." And in a graver tone he added: "It willbe a defender of the country; unless"--after a moment's reflection--it"should be the prospective mother of a family, like you, madame,"bowing to the baroness.
The door at the end of the room opened and Rosalie appeared, besideherself, weeping, refusing to enter the room, clinging to the doorframe, and being pushed forward by the baron. Quite out of patience,he thrust her into the room. She covered her face with her hands andremained standing there, sobbing.
Jeanne, as soon as she saw her, rose to a sitting posture, whiter thanthe sheets, and with her heart beating wildly. She could not speak,could hardly breathe. At length she said, in a voice broken withemotion: "I--I--will not--need--to question you. It--it is enough forme to see you thus--to--to see your--your shame in my presence."
After a pause, for she was out of breath, she continued: "I had M. leCuré come, so that it might be like a confession, you understand."
Rosalie, motionless, uttered little cries that were almost screamsbehind her hands.
The baron, whose anger was gaining ground, seized her arms, andsnatching her hands from her face, he threw her on her knees besidethe bed, saying: "Speak! Answer!"
She remained on the ground, in the position assigned to Magdalens, hercap awry, her apron on the floor, and her face again covered by herhands.
Then the priest said: "Come, my girl, listen to what is said to you,and reply. We do not want to harm you, but we want to know whatoccurred."
Jeanne, leaning over, looked at her and said: "Is it true that youwere with Julien when I surprised you?"
Rosalie moaned through her fingers, "Yes, madame."
Then the baroness suddenly began to cry in a choking fashion, and herconvulsive sobs accompanied those of Rosalie.
Jeanne, with her eyes fixed on the maid, said: "How long had this beengoing on?"
"Ever since he came here," faltered Rosalie.
Jeanne could not understand. "Ever since he came--then--eversince--ever since the spring?"
"Yes, madame."
"Ever since he came into this house?"
"Yes, madame."
And Jeanne, as if overflowing with questions, asked, speakingprecipitately:
"But how did it happen? How did he approach you? How did he persuadeyou? What did he say? When, how did you ever yield to him? How couldyou ever have done it?"
Rosalie, removing her hands from her face, and overwhelmed also with afeverish desire to speak, said:
"How do I know, myself? It was the day he dined here for the firsttime, and he came up to my room. He had hidden himself in the loft. Idid not dare to scream for fear of making a scandal. I no longer knewwhat I was doing. Then I said nothing because I liked him."
Then Jeanne exclaimed with almost a scream:
"But--your--your child--is his child?"
Rosalie sobbed.
"Yes, madame."
Then they were both silent. The only sound to be heard was the sobs ofRosalie and of the baroness.
Jeanne, quite overcome, felt her tears also beginning to flow; andthey fell silently down her cheeks.
The maid's child had the same father, as her child! Her anger was atan end; she now was filled with a dreary, slow, profound and infinitedespair. She presently resumed in a changed, tearful voice, the voiceof a woman who has been crying:
"When we returned from--from down there--from our journey--when did hebegin again?"
The little maid, who had sunk down on the floor, faltered: "The firstevening."
Each word wrung Jeanne's heart. So on the very first night of theirreturn to the "Poplars" he left her for this girl. That was why hewanted to sleep alone!
She now knew all she wanted to know, and exclaimed: "Go away, goaway!" And as Rosalie, perfectly crushed, did not stir, Jeanne calledto her father: "Take her away, carry her away!" The priest, who hadsaid nothing as yet, thought that the moment had arrived for him topreach a little sermon.
"What you have done is very wrong, my daughter, very wrong, and Godwill not pardon you so easily. Consider the hell that awaits you ifyou do not always act right. Now that you have a child you must behaveyourself. No doubt madame la baronne will do something for you, and wewill find you a husband."
He would have continued speaking, but the baron, having again seizedRosalie by the shoulders, raised her from the floor and dragged her tothe door, and threw her like a package into the corridor. As he turnedback into the room, looking paler than his daughter, the priestresumed: "What can one do? They are all like that in the district. Itis shocking, but cannot be helped, and then one must be a littleindulgent toward the weaknesses of our nature. They never get marrieduntil they have become enceinte, never, madame." He added, smiling:"One might call it a local custom. So, you see, monsieur, your maiddid as all the rest do."
But the baron, who was trembling with nervousness, interrupted him,saying, "She! what do I care about her! It is Julien with whom I amindignant. It is infamous, the way he has behaved, and I shall take mydaughter away."
He walked up and down excitedly, becoming more and more exasperated:"It is infamous to have betrayed my child, infamous! He is a wretch,this man, a cad, a wretch! and I will tell him so. I will slap hisface. I will give him a horsewhipping!"
The priest, who was slowly taking a pinch of snuff, seated beside thebaroness still in tears, and endeavoring to fulfill his office of apeacemaker, said: "Come, monsieur le baron, between ourselves, he hasdone what every one else does. Do you know many husbands who arefaithful?" And he added with a sly good humor: "Come now, I wager thatyou have had your turn. Your hand on your heart, am I right?" Thebaron had stopped in astonishment before the priest, who continued:"Why, yes, you did just as others did. Who knows if you did not makelove to a little sugar plum like that? I tell you that every one does.Your wife was none the less happy, or less loved; am I not right?"
The baron had not stirred, he was much disturbed. What the priest saidwas true, and he had sinned as much as any one and had not hesitatedwhen his wife's maids were in question. Was he a wretch on thataccount? Why should he judge Julien's conduct so severely when his ownhad not been above blame?
The baroness, still struggling with her sobs, smiled faintly at therecollection of her husband's escapades, for she belonged to thesentimental class for whom love adventures are a part of existence.