Part 4

"Well, those who are not really intellectual are of the sickly kind; they act that sort of thing to begin with, and then they end by getting like it in reality; they are intolerably affected, effeminate, crazy, and everything else beside. They set up for being original, and not like anyone else."

"Well, and what do you call them?"

"I don't exactly know; they are of the complex kind. There's young La Balue, for instance, he's a perfect example for you of this class; you might study him."

"That's an idea that has never entered my head; but, in the young generation of to-day, there are others beside these complex ones."

"Yes, they are the athletes."

"Specimen, Pierrot!"--remarked Henry de Bracieux.

The marchioness turned towards her grandson.

"Don't be personal," she said. "Continue your little speech, Jean."

"I would rather eat my egg in peace, aunt!"

"We had got as far as the athletes--"

"Well, then, if the complex young men of to-day are a trifle sickening, the athletes are the greatest nuisances under the sun. Boxing, football, bicycles, matches, and records--all that, they consider of the most tremendous and vital importance, not only in their conversation, but, what is more regrettable still, in their lives. In their opinion, a man of worth is the one who can give the hardest blows, or who is endowed with the greatest strength or vigour; all their admiration is bestowed on one single being in the world--_the Champion_, with a capital C."

"And what is there between the complex young man and the athletes?"

"Nothing; or, at least, some exceptions so rare that they are there simply to confirm the rule. Of course, I am only talking now of the young generation, of the latest--Pierrot's, in fact."

"Do leave poor Pierrot in peace!" said Bijou; "you all find fault with him."

"Because it is not too late yet for him to put his young self to rights, and if he were to be let alone, he would soon degenerate in the most deplorable manner."

"Jean is right," agreed M. de Jonzac; "he can very well afford to give advice to Pierrot, and even to the others, for he is himself highly intellectual and very good at sports."

Madame de Bracieux looked at her nephew with a benevolent expression in her eyes:

"Your uncle is right, my dear boy, you are the greatest success of the family," she said, and then seeing that Bijou appeared to be examining her cousin curiously, she added: "I am only speaking of the men, of course."

Pierrot leaned over towards Denyse, who was seated next him, and said, in an undertone with deep gratitude, "It's awfully good of you to stick up for me always, and I can't tell you how fond I am of you--more than any of the others."

She answered with a smile; and in an almost maternal way, said:

"That's very wrong! You ought to be much fonder of uncle, and of grandmamma, too, than you are of me."

"Oh, well, to begin with, there's no rule for that, and then, too, I didn't mean that at all. I meant that I am fonder of you than all the others are; and, you know, there's some of them very fond of you; there's Paul, for instance, Paul de Rueille--I'm sure he likes you better than he does Bertrade, or his children, better than anyone--even God!"

"Do be quiet!" said Bijou, alarmed, and looking round to see if anyone had heard.

"Don't be in a fright! They are all busy worrying each other; they are not troubling about us. It's quite true what I said, you know; and then Jean, too, and Henry, and Monsieur Giraud! There's scarcely anyone, except Abbe Courteil, who does not follow you about to every corner you go; and then--"

"You are talking rubbish! how can you imagine--"

"I don't imagine it--I see it!--and I see it, because it annoys me!"

Just at this moment M. de Jonzac's voice was heard.

"Oh, no!" he was saying, "I am convinced that he has no idea that Renan ever existed. He does not know a thing--not a single thing."

"Oh, yes," put in the tutor, in his usual gentle and conciliatory way, "as regards Renan, I am sure that he knows. Only three or four days ago I had occasion to quote him as the author of the 'Origin of Language.'"

"Well, I would wager that he does not even remember his name--Pierrot!" called out M. de Jonzac.

The poor lad, entirely absorbed in his conversation with Bijou, had no idea that he was being discussed. On hearing his name called, he turned his head towards his father, vaguely uneasy.

"Pierrot," asked M. de Jonzac, "who was Renan?"

"Ah! that's it, is it," said Pierrot to Bijou, "now they're beginning the examination again. Renan--who in the world was he now?"

"You do not know who Renan was, do you?" asked M. de Jonzac blandly.

"No, father, I don't," replied the boy.

"What?" exclaimed Giraud, surprised; "why, only the other day we were talking about him."

"About him?" repeated Pierrot, quite astounded, "do you mean to say that I was talking about the man?"

"Why, yes--come now; try to remember--I mentioned one of his works."

Bijou, who had just before only been listening with one ear to what Pierrot had been telling her, so that with the other she could keep up with the general conversation, remembered the title that had been quoted. She was looking at her plate, apparently taken up with the strawberries, which she was rolling about in the sugar. "The 'Origin of Language,'" she whispered very quietly.

"Come now, have a good try," repeated the tutor. "I mentioned one of M. Renan's books to you--which one?"

"'The Language of Flowers,'" answered Pierrot resolutely.

"That's right!" exclaimed Bertrade, delighted: "we can always reckon on something lively from Pierrot."

M. de Jonzac, in spite of his inclination to laugh, put on a rigid expression. "I do not see anything amusing in it."

"_You_ don't laugh, at any rate," said Pierrot, turning to Bijou and blushing furiously. "It is awfully good of you," he added.

After dinner, he drew her out on to the stone steps, and said, in a beseeching tone:

"Let me come out with you to take the green stuff to Patatras."

"But I must go and pour out the coffee first."

"Oh, just for once; Bertrade can pour it out right enough. Come, now, I don't want to go into the drawing-room; they'd begin asking me something else."

Denyse started off with him, taking from a shed the basket in which was prepared for her every day the bunch of clover she always took to her horse. She then went on in the direction of the stable, followed by Pierrot.

"You are awfully nice, Bijou, and so pretty, if you only knew it," he kept repeating, making his rough voice almost gentle.

As they crossed the path which led to the stable, they saw M. de Rueille and Jean de Blaye advancing towards them, deep in conversation.

"Look!" said Pierrot, "as you weren't in the drawing-room our two cousins made themselves scarce there."

Denyse was going forward to meet them, but he stopped her abruptly.

"No, please don't, they'd stick to us all the time, and I shouldn't have you to myself at all. It's such a piece of luck for me to be with you for a minute without Monsieur Giraud; he's always at my heels, especially when I'm anywhere near you."

Bijou was looking attentively at the two men, who were coming towards her, but who were so deeply absorbed that they had not seen her, and between her somewhat heavy eyelids appeared that little gleam which gave at times a singular intensity of expression to her usually soft-looking eyes.

"Very well," she answered, entering the stable, "let us take Patatras his clover without them."

M. de Rueille was walking along with his eyes fixed on the gravel of the garden-path. He looked up on hearing the door open. Jean de Blaye pointed to the stable.

"Look here," he said, "_that's_ the cause of all the trouble and worry that I can detect in every single word you say; and it's the cause, too, of the sort of petty spite that you have against me."

"Indeed!" replied Rueille, putting on a joking air; "and what is _that_ pray?"

"Why, Bijou, of course. Oh, you need not try to deny it. Do you think I have not followed up, hour by hour, all that has been passing in your mind?"

"It must have been interesting."

"Don't humbug; you are scarcely inclined for that sort of thing just now. I saw very well just when you began to admire Bijou, quite unconsciously, more than one does admire, as a rule, a little cousin one is fond of. It was the evening of the _Grand Prix_ at Uncle Alexis' when she sang--why don't you speak?"

"I am listening to you--go on."

"When we were all here together at Bracieux, never absent from each other, and you had spent every minute of the long day in Bijou's society, your--let us call it--your admiration increased, of course, and ever since yesterday, ever since your expedition to Pont-sur-Loire, it has been at the acute stage. Am I right?"

"Well, yes: you are right."

"I am not surprised; but will you explain one thing--one thing which _does_ surprise me?"

"What is it?"

"Why do you appear to have a special grudge against me? Why against me rather than against your brother-in-law, or young La Balue, or Pierrot's tutor, or even Pierrot himself?"

"Well, Henry is nearly Bijou's own age; he was brought up with her, and she looks upon him as a brother exactly. Young La Balue is a regular caricature; the tutor, a poor wretch who does not count; and Pierrot, a lad; whilst you--"

"Whilst I?"

"Well, as to you, why, you are the sort that women like, and you know that very well; and I can see and feel, and, in short, I know, it is you whom Bijou will care for."

"Me? nonsense! she does not deign to pay the very slightest attention to me. I am nothing in her eyes except the man who is breaking in a horse for her, who takes her out boating, or who composes couplets for her play."

"In short, you exist more than the others do, anyhow."

"But why? It's your fancy to look upon young La Balue as a caricature; but everyone is not of your opinion. As to Giraud--well, he is a very good sort."

"Yes, but he is Giraud."

"Well, what of that? what difference does that make?"

"A good deal; that is, it would be nothing with certain women, but it is everything with others,--and Bijou is one of these others."

"Oh--what do you know about it?"

"I have studied her for some time without appearing to."

"You are studying her, but you do not know her."

"Perhaps not!"

"If I were in her place I know which one I should choose amongst so many lovers."

"Ah! they sing that in _Les Noces de Jeannette_."

"Oh! you won't stop me like that! Amongst so many lovers, if I had to choose, it would certainly be Giraud that I should prefer."

"An older woman might admire Giraud, because he is handsome--but not a young girl! You see a young girl's one idea is marriage----"

"Then, you have no grudge against Giraud, because, according to you, he is not marriageable, consequently, not to be feared."

"Precisely!"

"Very well, then, and what about me, my dear fellow? Do you think I am marriageable, then? Can you imagine me with my wretched fifteen hundred a year endeavouring to make Bijou happy? Yes, can you just imagine it now?--a house at a hundred a year or so--petroleum lamps, coke fires, etc.--that _would_ be delicious."

"And yet you are in love with her?"

"Excuse me, I did not say that I was in love with Bijou. I don't really know; all I can say is, that she has taken my fancy tremendously, and that, as I simply cannot marry her, I am wretchedly unhappy."

"And you don't think she cares for you?"

"Not the least bit in the world! She has never tried even to deceive me on that point. 'Good-morning! Good-night! What a fine day it is.'--that's the sort of palpitating dialogue which goes on every day between us. You see, therefore, that you have no reason to have a spite against me?"

"I beg your pardon, Jean, my dear fellow, but I firmly believed that you were the great favourite."

M. de Rueille broke off suddenly, and appeared to be straining his ears.

"Ah!" he said, "there she is!"

Bijou was just coming out of the stable, followed, of course, by Pierrot.

She tripped daintily across towards the two men, examining them in her calm, smiling way.

"Whatever's the matter with you both?" she asked; "you look--I don't know how!"

V.

BIJOU was in the dining-room, arranging the flowers on the table for dinner, whilst in the butler's pantry the servants were polishing up the large silver dishes until they shone brilliantly.

"Get into your coat!" said the butler to the footman; "there's a carriage coming slowly up the avenue. Oh, you've got plenty of time, it isn't here yet."

"Whose carriage is it?" said the footman, looking through the window.

"I don't know it; it's a fine-looking turn-out, anyhow. It might very well be the owner of The Noriniere."

"My goodness! it's a clinking turn-out."

"Oh, he can afford it."

"He's got some money, then?"

"Why, yes, an awful lot; he's got about sixteen thousand a year."

"Do you know him, then?"

"My wife was kitchen-maid at his place before I married her--a good master he is, always pleasant, and not at all near--you'd better start now if you want to get to the steps before he's there."

A minute before, Bijou, finding that she was short of flowers, had run out into the garden, and, springing across the path, had pushed her way into the middle of a rose-bed, and was now cutting away mercilessly. She was so absorbed that she did not hear the carriage, which was coming up the drive, and which went round the lawn, and pulled up in front of the stone steps. When at last she did happen to look up, she saw, a few steps away from her, a tall gentleman standing gazing at her with a most rapturous expression.

The fact was that Bijou, in her cotton dress, with wide pink stripes, and her little apron trimmed with Valenciennes, was really very pretty to look at, foraging about amongst the flowers.

When she discovered that she was being gazed at in this way, her tea-rose complexion took a deeper tint, and she looked confused and embarrassed, as she stood there facing the gentleman, who was still contemplating her without saying a word.

He was a man of between fifty-five and sixty, tall, slender, distinguished-looking, and elegant, and with a very young-looking figure for his years. His face, which was intelligent and refined, had also an almost youthful expression about it, just tinged with a shade of melancholy. As Bijou remained where she was, and appeared to be hesitating and not quite at her ease, the visitor approached, and, raising his hat, said in a very gentle voice:

"Excuse me, mademoiselle, but are you not Denyse de Courtaix?"

Bijou, with her frank, honest expression, looked straight into the eyes fixed so curiously upon her, and answered, smiling:

"Yes, and you?--you are Monsieur de Clagny, are you not?"

"How did you know?"

Denyse sprang out of the rose-bed on to the garden-path, and then, without answering the question in a direct way, she said, with the most trusting, happy look in her eyes:

"Oh! how glad grandmamma will be to see you, and Uncle Alexis, too; ever since they heard that you were coming back to live here, they have talked of nothing else. Let's go at once to find grandmamma."

She started off, leading the way, looking most graceful and supple, as she passed through the large rooms with that gliding movement which was one of her greatest charms.

The marchioness was not in the room where she was usually to be found. Bijou rang the bell, and requested the servant to find Madame de Bracieux. She then took a seat opposite M. de Clagny, and examined him attentively.

"Paul de Rueille was quite right after all," she said, "when he told me that I had seen you long ago--I recognise you." She gazed with her bright eyes more fixedly into the count's, and repeated pensively: "I certainly do recognise you."

"Well, I confess, in all sincerity," said M. de Clagny, "that if I had met you anywhere else than at Bracieux, I should not have recognised _you_--you are so much bigger, you know, and then, so much more beautiful that, with the exception of the lovely violet eyes, which have not changed, there is nothing remaining of the little baby-girl of years ago."

"The name which you gave me still remains."

"The name? what name?" he asked, in surprise.

"Bijou! don't you remember? it seems that it was you who used to call me that."

"Yes, that's true! you seemed to me such a fragile little thing, so adorable and so rare--a bijou in fact, an exquisite little bijou. And so they have continued to call you by that name--it suits you, too, wonderfully well."

"I don't think so! I am afraid it is rather ridiculous to be still _Bijou_ at the age of twenty-one, for, you know, I am twenty-one now."

"Is it possible?"

"Very possible! in four years from now I shall be quite an old maid!"

The count looked at Bijou with an admiration which he did not attempt to dissimulate, as he answered emphatically:

"_You_ an old maid? oh, never in the world, never!"

Madame de Bracieux was just entering the room.

"How glad I am to see you!" she said, looking delighted, and holding out her hands to her visitor.

As Denyse was moving towards the door, the marchioness called her back.

"I see Bijou has introduced herself," she said to Clagny, who had not yet got over his admiration, "What do you think of my grand-daughter?" And then, without giving him time to answer, she went on quickly: "It's just the same _Bijou_ you used to admire years ago, just the same! the genuine _Bijou_, there's no _sham_ about it, as my grandsons would say."

"Mademoiselle Denyse is charming."

"Denyse (and, by the way, you will oblige me by not calling her mademoiselle) is a dear, good girl, obedient and devoted. Her gaiety has brightened up my old house, which was gloomy enough before her arrival."

"How is it that I have never seen Mademoiselle Denyse----"

"Mademoiselle again!"

"That I have never seen Bijou in Paris? I come so regularly on your day."

"Yes, but you always come very early, at an hour when she is never there, and then for the last sixteen years you have never dined with us."

"I never dine out anywhere, you know; but you have never spoken of Bijou, never told me anything about her."

"Because you have never asked me about her."

"I had forgotten about her, to tell the truth, the tiny, baby-child that I saw so little of, and yet just now, when I saw a delicious girl emerging from a rose-bed, I hadn't the slightest hesitation, had I, mademoiselle?" and then correcting himself, he added, laughing: "had I, Bijou?"

"Yes, that's true! M. de Clagny asked me at once if I were not Denyse de Courtaix----and I, too, knew at once who he was; I had heard so much about him that I seemed to know him in my imagination, and, it's very odd--" She broke off suddenly, and then after gazing thoughtfully at the count, she added: "I knew him in my imagination just as he is in reality."

"A very old man," said Clagny, with a kind of sad playfulness.

"No!" replied Bijou, evidently sincere, "a very handsome man!" And then abruptly breaking off, she said: "And Uncle Alexis has not appeared yet; they have rung the bell with all their might in vain, for he doesn't come; I'll go and find him!"

She was hurrying away when the marchioness called her back:

"Stop a minute!--have another place laid at table. You will dine with us, Clagny?"

"Yes, if you have no one here."

"Oh, but I have; I am just expecting some friends of yours."

"And I am a regular bear, for I do not even dine with my friends; and then, too, in this get-up--"

"Your get-up is all right, and, besides, there is time to send to The Noriniere for your coat if you particularly care to have it."

"I do care to, if I stay."

Bijou approached, and said, in a coaxing way:

"You will stay--and do you know what would be very, very nice of you? well, it would be to stay just as you are, without your dress-coat."

"Why do you insist, Bijou, if it annoys him to stay without dressing?" asked the marchioness.

"Because, grandmamma, if M. de Clagny were to dine without his dress-coat, M. Giraud could, too; and otherwise he will have to dine all by himself in his room."

"What are you talking about, child?"

"Why, it's very simple. M. Giraud has no dress-coat; he hasn't one at all. I got to know it by chance; he told Baptiste just now that he was not very well, and that he should not leave his room this evening, and so, if M. de Clagny would stay just as he is, don't you see, he could, too--M. Giraud, I mean."

"What a good little Bijou you are!" said the marchioness, quite touched; "you think of everyone; you do nothing but find ways of giving pleasure to all."

Denyse was not listening to this. She was waiting for the count to give his consent.

"Would it be a great, great pleasure to you," he asked at length, "if this Monsieur Giraud could dine at table?"

"Yes."

"Then it shall be as you wish. Tell me, though, now, who is this gentleman with whom I am not acquainted, and for whose sake I am consenting to appear as a most ill-bred man?"

"He is Pierrot's coach."

"Ah! and what's this Pierrot?"

"The son of Alexis," said Madame de Bracieux laughing.

"Then the god to whom I am to be sacrificed is M. Giraud, tutor to Pierrot de Jonzac, and he is honoured by the patronage of Mademoiselle Denyse. Thank you, I like to know how things are."

"But," protested Denyse, turning very red, "I do not patronise M. Giraud at all. I----"

"Oh, do not attempt to defend yourself. I know what kind of a role a poor tutor without a dress-coat must play in the life of a beautiful young lady like you; it is just a role of no account; he represents as exactly as possible _a gentleman of no importance_ in a play."

"You have no idea," said the marchioness, when Denyse had gone away, "how good that child is. This young man in whom she is interested, and who, by the bye, is really charming, is always treated by her exactly on the same footing as the most influential and the most distinguished men she meets. Oh, she is a pearl, is Bijou; you will see!"

"I shall see it perhaps too clearly."

"How do you mean--too clearly?"

"I am very susceptible, you know. I have a foolish old heart, which sounds an alarm at the slightest danger, and which afterwards I cannot silence again."

"But Bijou is my grand-daughter, my poor old friend."

"Well, what difference does that make?"

"Why, just this--that she might be yours."

"I know all that well enough. Good heavens!--that is what you might call reasoning; and hearts that remain young either reason very little or very badly."

"And so?"

"Oh," said M. de Clagny, making an effort to laugh, "I was joking, of course."

* * * * *

Bijou had crossed the court-yard. The heat was very great, and the peacocks, perched on the trunk of a tree that had been felled, looked stupid and ridiculous, whilst the dogs, lying on their sides, with their legs stretched out, were panting under the sun's rays, but were too lazy to look for any shade.

No one was out of doors at that torrid hour, except Pierrot, who, arrayed in a white linen suit, with a wide straw hat on his head, was strolling about under the chestnut trees, which formed a V shaped avenue.

Denyse ran up the steps, and entered the schoolroom like a gust of wind. On the threshold, however, she stopped short, and seemed confused. M. Giraud, who had been seated at the table, had risen hastily on seeing her appear.

"Oh! I beg your pardon," she stammered out, "I wanted to speak to Pierrot. I thought he was here, and that you had gone for your walk."

Very much embarrassed, the young tutor could scarcely find any words with which to reply.

"No, mademoiselle, no! I am here you see. It is just the contrary, for Pierrot has gone out, but, if you like, if I could tell him what--for--you have something to say to him probably?"