Part 10

"That is all right, so far as most people are concerned; but I want Ballangier to be excepted from that prohibition. I take a very deep interest in that young man. He used to have none but evil acquaintances in Paris; he must not find a house closed to him where he can learn only profitable lessons. And then, too, my library is at his disposal; he may take whatever books he chooses. So you will please be kind enough to admit him. He's a fine fellow, and I am sure that he will do his utmost to deserve your esteem."

"Very good, monsieur," Mignonne replied, in a cold and constrained tone; "your orders shall be followed."

"But I am not giving you orders; I am simply expressing a wish, that's all!"

"And if any letters should come for you, monsieur, where shall I send them?"

"I don't expect any. At all events, my servant will call and get them from the concierge."

"Oh! you will send your servant to Paris, but you won't come yourself?"

She hastily lowered her eyes, but I saw that they were full of tears. I made haste to grasp her hand, which she did not withdraw, and pressed it affectionately.

"I shall see you soon, Mignonne," I said. "Keep a sharp eye on my house!"

And I hurried away, driving Monsieur Pomponne before me, for he seemed determined to return to the room where Mignonne was, probably to pick up a pin.

XLVI

FONTENAY-SOUS-BOIS

We arrived at Fontenay about three in the afternoon. Frédérique's country house was a little beyond the village; it was not isolated, for there were several pretty villas in the neighborhood; but it was far enough from the centre of population for us not to be annoyed by the singing of drunken men, the noise of children, and the barking of dogs. An iron fence surrounded a beautiful lawn bordered by flowers in front of the house. At the left was a small building, entirely separate from the main house, and Frédérique said to me as we passed it:

"That is where you are to sleep, my friend; there's a very nice little chamber over the billiard room, and you will be absolutely at home there, free to go in and out without disturbing anyone."

"But I didn't come here to live alone! And you?"

"I live in this huge structure. I will show you my apartments. But, never fear, my friend, I didn't bring you here to banish you from my presence. You will not be compelled to return to your own quarters except to sleep.--Adèle, take Pomponne to the pavilion at once, with his master's traps."

Adèle was the lady's-maid. She was an excellent girl, who deigned to assume the functions of cook in addition to her own, in the country. Monsieur Pomponne followed her, peering inquisitively into every clump of bushes.

Frédérique showed me the house, which consisted of two stories, with six sleeping-rooms. It was furnished with taste, and would easily accommodate a large family.

"What are you going to do with so much room, all alone as you are?" I inquired.

"In the country, my friend, I find that one needs plenty of space. I saw this house, and it took my fancy; the rent was not high, so I hired it. I could not make it smaller; besides, you see that I am not alone now."

"You will still be alone in your great caravansary, since you relegate me to a separate building!"

"Ah! my friend, what about the proprieties? Is it not a very bold step at the best for me, a married woman, to bring a young man to stay at my house in the country? The world doesn't know that we are only Orestes and Pylades, Damon and Pythias. But I don't care a snap of my finger for what people may say!"

"And your husband?"

"My husband! I fancy that he doesn't even know that I am in the country.--You have seen the house, now come and see the garden. But wait a minute! wait! my rustic cap! Oh! it is so nice to be comfortable!"

She substituted for her city bonnet a little straw cap with a visor, which she wore a little on one side; she was captivating so. I found in the hall several hats for the country, of different shapes.

"Take your choice," said my hostess.

"What! are these part of the furniture?"

"No, I brought them all for my own use--to try--you know, I dress like a man sometimes."

"So you told me; but I have never seen you in masculine costume."

"I'll put it on some morning, to stroll about the fields with you. Oh! I look like a scamp then, I tell you! Come, monsieur, choose a hat."

I donned a gray felt, with a pointed crown and a broad brim, in which I must have resembled an Italian bandit; all I needed was the ribbons. Frédérique escorted me to the garden. It contained nearly two acres, and was laid out in an original fashion. There were none of the customary, broad, straight paths; on the contrary, they wound and twisted about in all directions--a veritable labyrinth. Shade trees, shrubbery, and thickets combined to make the garden a fascinating spot, which appeared four times larger than it really was.

Our first day passed very quickly. I was installed in the small pavilion, and was very comfortable there; but it seemed to me that I should prefer to be in the main house, under the same roof with Frédérique. My friendship for her developed so rapidly that when I was fifteen minutes without seeing her I felt that something was missing: I had never loved a mistress as I loved that friend.

When I woke for the first time in that house to which I had come so unexpectedly, I was conscious of a feeling of contentment, of secret happiness, which I could not describe. Was it pleasure because I was in the country with a person who manifested such sincere friendship for me? Was it satisfaction because I had acted wisely in going away from Mignonne and being careful not to take an unfair advantage of the sentiment I had inspired? Or was it simply the change of air?

I went to a window that looked on the garden, and I heard a voice calling me a sluggard. Frédérique was already up. She wore a white dress, cut like a blouse, with a blue sash. I had noticed that blue was her favorite color. Her little straw cap was on her head, and her beautiful glossy black hair fell in dense curls on both sides of her face.

It seemed to me that I had never seen her so lovely, so alluring. Ah! it is a fact that in the country, amid the green fields and trees, everything that appeals to our senses moves and excites us more keenly than elsewhere.

Frédérique put her arm through mine and we strolled about the garden. For the first time, I was conscious of a peculiar sensation at the contact of her arm with mine. Was it really the first time that I had experienced that sensation? No. But that morning it seemed sweeter to me; and yet, for some unknown reason, I was no longer so light-hearted, so at my ease with her; I was almost afraid to look at her. What thoughts were these that came into my head? I dared not heed them.

Madame Dauberny had never been so amiable, so gay, so kind, so sparkling. I thought that I knew her; but to be able to appreciate fully all the resources of her wit, all the charm of her society, and all the seductiveness of her beauty, I found that it was necessary to be alone with her in that charming retreat.

The time passed with extraordinary rapidity; and yet there were but we two. We made frequent trips in the saddle or on foot about the surrounding country. The horses that we hired were very ugly--but what did we care? We did not go out to exhibit ourselves. When the weather was bad, we played and sang, or I drew some landscape that I had sketched, while she read aloud to me. Every morning she said:

"My friend, if you want to take a trip to Paris, don't hesitate; you can come back this evening; but don't go to your own rooms, if Mignonne is there. As we have undertaken to cure that young woman, we must not cause a relapse."

"Do you mean that you are tired of me?" I would say; "would you like to be rid of me for to-day?"

Her only reply was to give me a light tap on the cheek, and nothing more would be said about Paris.

A fortnight passed. Suppose that in seeking to cure Mignonne I had made myself ill? That is what I was beginning to ask myself; for the more I saw of Frédérique, the more strongly I felt that it would be impossible for me to renounce the pure and unalloyed happiness that I enjoyed with her. I was no longer the same man; in the midst of my pleasures, I had attacks of melancholy. When Frédérique fixed her eyes on me, I became embarrassed, almost timid; but when she was not looking at me, with what joy I gazed at her! with what bliss my eyes feasted themselves upon every detail of her person! Was it love that I felt for her? I dared not confess it positively to myself, but I was terribly afraid that it was. Yes, I was afraid; for if I loved her with love, and she loved me with friendship only, I must constantly endure the torments of Tantalus in her presence; if I loved her with love, I should not always be able to control myself; and my feelings since I had been with her in the country, the perturbation that I felt when she put her arm through mine, the flush that rose to my face when I happened to place my hand on her knee--everything warned me that a time would come--and perhaps soon--when I should forget respect and social conventions--when the friend would vanish and be succeeded by the lover! How many times, when we were walking together along a narrow path, had I been tempted to press her to my heart! to steal a kiss from her lips! But I remembered the night that I had supped with her, when we had agreed to be good friends, when she adopted the familiar form of address, and granted me the same privilege.--Excited by the fumes of wine,--or perhaps already assailed by the first flames of the passion that was destined later to consume me,--I had kissed her passionately. She had taken offence; that kiss was the signal for our rupture; she forbade me to enter her doors again. Suppose that she should do the same now! She manifested the utmost confidence in me, because she believed me to be simply her friend, because she was persuaded that I would never have any other feeling than friendship for her. Suppose that upon learning that I really loved her she should take offence anew, leave me, deprive me of her presence! That thought froze the blood in my veins, and was sufficient to recall me to my senses whenever Frédérique's lovely eyes were on the point of making me forget myself.

Two old bachelors who lived in the nearest house were the only guests she had received thus far; the brothers Ramonet were very pleasant, and played billiards or whist with us when the rain compelled us to stay indoors.

Several times I had had occasion to send Pomponne to Paris. I told him to say to Mignonne that I was visiting my friend Balloquet, at Fontenay; I did not know whether he had obeyed my orders strictly, but I doubted it.

One evening, when the bad weather compelled us to resort to cards,--which, by the way, I would have been glad to dispense with, but Frédérique, whether because she was afraid that I would be bored, or from pure coquetry, took care that our tête-à-têtes should not be too frequent,--the elder Monsieur Ramonet observed, as he was dealing:

"We have a new neighbor. The small house close by--on the right."

"With the terraces, in the Italian style?"

"Yes. It has been let."

"It must be very recently," said Frédérique, "for all the shutters have always been closed until now."

"It was only three days ago. A lady has hired it."

"Is she alone?"

"Alone, except for a maid. But it's a very small house, almost no room at all. It's very pretty, though; I went over it once?"

"Have you seen the new neighbor yet?"

"No, but my brother has.--Haven't you, Jules, seen the lady who has hired the little house?"

"Yes, when I passed there this morning, she was at the window on the ground floor; I bowed, and she returned my bow most affably. She's very pretty--a young woman, with an air of distinction."

"Ah! did you see all that at a glance, Monsieur Jules?"

"Why, yes, madame! Oh! one glance is all I need; however, I bestowed more than one on her."

"And, of course, you know already who she is, what she does, what her name is?"

"No, not yet; but I shall know all those things to-morrow. She must be a widow; for the house would be too small for a lady with a husband and family. Being neighbors, we will call on her one of these days--eh, brother?"

"To be sure."

"You have that privilege, messieurs. As for myself, as I pay very few visits, I think that I shall not make this lady's acquaintance."

After the brothers Ramonet had gone, Frédérique, who seemed more thoughtful than usual, suddenly said to me:

"You are not bored here, are you, my friend?"

"How many times must I tell you that I am enjoying myself immensely; that I have never known such happy days as those that have just passed?"

"And you don't regret Paris?"

"I regret nothing."

"And you don't care about making the acquaintance of new neighbors?"

"Certainly not; indeed, I think sometimes that the brothers Ramonet are in the way."

"Ah! how good you are to be so happy with your friend! Good-night, Charles; until to-morrow!"

She gave me her hand, and looked at me with such a charming expression that I was ready to cover her hand with kisses. Ah! if I dared confess what was taking place in my heart! But she would have had no choice but to be angry and order me to go. I preferred to hold my peace and remain with her.

XLVII

THE NEIGHBOR

On the following morning, Frédérique and I were in the salon on the ground floor; I was trying to extort some melody from a wretched piano, and she was laughing at my impatience, when her servant appeared and informed her that a lady desired to see her.

"A lady!" exclaimed Frédérique, in surprise; "but I don't expect any lady. Where does she come from?"

"It seems that she is the person who has hired the little house near by."

"And she thinks that, being a neighbor, she owes me a visit. Well, I will receive her, if it must be; but I propose to show her in short order that I don't choose to be intimate with my neighbors. Admit this lady who is in such a hurry to see me!"

The maid retired. I turned toward the door, curious to see the neighbor, who was said to be pretty; Frédérique continued to sit nonchalantly on the couch. A lady appeared; I made a gesture of surprise, and Madame Dauberny uttered a cry; we recognized Madame Sordeville.

Armantine seemed amazed to find me there; but she recovered herself at once and ran toward Frédérique, saying:

"It is I! You didn't expect to see me, did you? You had no idea that I had become your neighbor?"

"Why, no, surely not; I had not the slightest suspicion of it!" replied Frédérique, in a tone that was not precisely affectionate; "but who told you--how did you know that I lived in this house, where, by the way, I have been only a short time?"

"Mon Dieu! servants, you know, find out instantly who one's neighbors are, and, in the country especially, that is the first thing one thinks about."

"I promise you that I think very little about it."

"My maid said to me this morning: 'Madame, this fine house next to us is let to Madame Dauberny.'--I needn't tell you that, when I heard your name, I asked for other particulars; I soon concluded that it must be you, so I lost no time in coming to see you and embrace you. Did I do wrong?"

"No, indeed! certainly not!"

The ladies embraced. I was not fully persuaded that their kisses were sincere. Frédérique was much disturbed; she changed color every second. Madame Sordeville was still pretty and as great a coquette as ever; I saw that instantly. She soon turned to me and said:

"When I came to see my friend, I did not expect, I must say, to find Monsieur Rochebrune here. That is an additional pleasure!"

I contented myself with bowing coldly. Frédérique, who was watching me, said:

"Yes, Monsieur Rochebrune consented to pass some time with me here. I thought at first that he would not make a long visit, but he said to me lately that he did not regret Paris at all."

"That is the truth, madame; you have made me love the country."

Armantine bit her lips, and continued:

"You receive a great deal of company here, no doubt? It's so near Paris!"

"Why, no; on the contrary, I receive no one. Except for two gentlemen who live near,--and them we see only once or twice a week,--we are always alone, Charles and I."

Armantine frowned slightly with vexation, but instantly tried to change the frown into a smile. It was the first time that she had heard Frédérique call me Charles, and that evidence of familiarity did not seem to cause her the keenest pleasure.

"So you have left your place of retirement at Passy?" said Madame Dauberny, after a pause.

"Oh! a long while ago--I was bored to death there. One sees too many people in that region, and I prefer solitude now. I came here to take a house, because I thought it would be quieter, more like the country."

"But, still, if you are bored----"

"It is sometimes unwelcome visitors who bore one. One is happier alone with one's memories."

As she said this, Armantine cast a melancholy glance in my direction. Frédérique noticed it, and she at once rose, saying:

"Come, inspect my house and garden.--Will you come with us, Charles?"

"No, madame; I have some letters to write."

I bowed, and returned to my pavilion. I had an idea that Frédérique was quite willing that I should not attend them; besides, those two old friends might have innumerable things to say to each other after so long a separation, and I did not wish to intrude.

The presence of that woman, with whom I had been deeply in love, had caused some disturbance in my mind, I admit; but it was of very brief duration; it was surprise, the emotion due to the evocation of the past, and there was nothing in my heart that at all resembled love for her. Armantine was still very pretty, there was no denying that; but her eyes, sometimes so expressive, and her seductive smile, could not efface from my memory the disdainful, insolent air with which she left me that day on the Champs-Élysées.

I remained in my room all day. When I returned to the salon, Frédérique was alone. I sat down beside her.

"Has your friend left you?"

"Yes. Did you hope to find her here?"

"I? Why do you ask me that?"

"You answer my question with another; that is very convenient. But do you think that I should regard it as a crime if it gave you great pleasure to meet a woman whom--whom you once adored--whom you still love, probably?"

"Oho! so you think that I still love her, do you?"

"What would there be extraordinary in that? When a passion has not been--satisfied--there is no reason why it should end."

"And you think, do you, that it should end as soon as it is satisfied?"

"I think--that I am only your friend, whereas Armantine----"

"Well?"

"Mon Dieu! I don't know what I am saying! That unexpected visit, the idea of having her for a neighbor----"

"You must have been glad to see your friend again?"

"Oh, yes! of course, I am delighted! She will probably come every day; as she knows that you are here, she certainly won't miss a day."

"Ah! you think that she will come on my account?"

"On yours--or mine--I'm sure I don't know. However, we shall see."

Frédérique sighed. All the rest of the evening, she was sad and pensive; for my part, I too was preoccupied. We parted earlier than usual, and she did not look at me as she did the night before, when she said:

"Until to-morrow!"

On the following day, I proposed to Frédérique that we should take a long walk; she assented, and we started. We had not walked fifty yards, when we saw Armantine coming toward us. I noticed that she was dressed more coquettishly than on the day before. Frédérique could not restrain an angry gesture as she muttered:

"Ah! it seems that she was watching us! This bids fair to be amusing!"

"Are you going to walk?" asked Armantine, looking at me.

"It looks rather like it," replied Frédérique.

"Will you allow me to go with you? As I don't know the country at all, I am very glad to find guides."

"You have the right to come with us. But I warn you that I am a good walker, and Charles and I take very long walks."

"Oh! I can walk very well!--Besides, if I get tired, I fancy that monsieur will kindly give me his arm."

"It will be at your service, madame," I replied, with cold courtesy.

But Frédérique, who had my arm at that moment, instantly dropped it, saying:

"In the country, people walk singly; that's the most convenient way."

I looked at her in surprise, for we were not accustomed to walk so.

We started again. Armantine went into ecstasies over the scenery; she kept exclaiming every minute:

"Why, it is perfectly lovely here! I am delighted that I came; I am immensely pleased already!"

Frédérique said nothing, or replied only by a few curt phrases. I carried on the conversation with Madame Sordeville, who constantly asked me for information about the region, and was never at a loss for questions which enabled her to talk with me. I fancied that I could see that Frédérique was irritated by it; but I could not be discourteous to the other, who talked to me incessantly.

Our walk was gloomy enough. Frédérique was the first to suggest returning. Thereupon Armantine complained of being tired. It was impossible to avoid offering her my arm, which she eagerly accepted. I offered the other to Frédérique, but she refused it. I wondered what the matter was.

Armantine left us at her door, having informed her friend that she would pass the evening with her.

Frédérique was pale and excited; I asked her the cause of her anger, and why she had refused my arm.

"In order to leave you alone with the object of your love!" she replied, with a piercing glance that seemed to seek to read my inmost thoughts. That glance gave birth to a hope so delicious that a thrill of joy ran through my whole being; but I dared not dwell upon that thought. I should be too happy if I had guessed aright.

Armantine passed the whole evening with her friend. She worked, while we played and sang. Frédérique asked me to sing a ballad; I complied, and apparently acquitted myself creditably, for I saw that Armantine listened to me with amazement; and when I had finished, Frédérique said:

"That was very good, Charles; you were more successful than at Armantine's reception."

I laughed at the remembrance of my false note; but Madame Sordeville lowered her eyes and did not laugh.

She came the next day and the next; nor was there an evening that she did not pay her friend a visit. Frédérique received her with formal rather than affectionate courtesy; she had altogether lost the playfulness and spirit that made our tête-à-têtes so delightful. When I was alone with her, she said little; when Armantine was there, she said nothing at all. But Armantine pretended to pay no heed to the melancholy or capricious humor of her friend; she was fond of talking, and she often sustained practically the whole burden of what could hardly be called conversation.

Very often she bestowed a melting glance on me, but I pretended not to notice. She always seated herself near me. If we walked in the garden, she walked by my side and talked to me in undertones, as if she had something to say to me that she did not wish Frédérique to hear. Frédérique observed all her manoeuvring, and sometimes I saw her expression change two or three times in a minute. At such times, my heart beat violently, and I was tempted to throw myself at her feet and say:

"It is you, you alone, whom I love!"

But suppose that all that was nothing more than what she called the selfishness of friendship! She was such a peculiar creature! I should be so confused if I had misinterpreted her feelings! What would she think of me? That my self-esteem led me to see on all sides women who adored me!