CHAPTER XIX.

As soon as Madame Deschwanden had introduced her brother and Gabrielle to the inside of her house, she fell back, contemplated Percenez with outspread hands and head on one side, and then precipitated herself into his arms, exclaiming, ‘Oh ecstasy! oh raptures! it is he.’

Having extricated herself from her brother’s arms almost as rapidly as she had fallen into them, she said, ‘Come along to the window, and see the rest of the fun.’

She caught Percenez in one hand and Gabrielle in the other, and drew them upstairs into the room in which she had been sitting before she descended to admit them.

‘Étienne, you know my daughter Madeleine, do you not?’ she asked abruptly; then turning towards the new comer, and from her to her own daughter, she introduced them:

‘Madeleine Chabry--Madame Percenez.’

‘Pardon me,’ said the colporteur, laughing; ‘little Gabrielle is not my wife.’

‘Ah! a sweetheart.’

‘No, nor that either.’

‘Well, never mind explanations,’ said Madame Deschwanden; ‘they are often awkward, and always unnecessary. Of one thing I can be certain, mademoiselle is charming, and she is heartily welcome,’ she curtsied towards the girl, and then vivaciously changed the subject. ‘The sport! we must not miss it. Oh! they have got into the factory, and into the house. Oh! the exquisite, the enchanting things that are being destroyed. Perfidious heavens! I know there are angelic wall-papers in that abandoned Réveillon’s shop--I have seen them with these eyes--and all going to ruin. Saints in Paradise! such papers with roses and jessamines and Brazilian humming-birds.’ Then, rushing to the door of the room, she called loudly, ‘Klaus! Klaus!’

‘What do you want, mother?’ asked a young man, coming to the door.

Percenez and Gabrielle turned to look at him. He was a slender youth of nineteen, with very light hair and large blue eyes. His face was somewhat broad, genial, and good-natured. He was without his coat, his shirt-sleeves were rolled up his muscular arms, and the collar was open at the throat, exposing his breast and a little black riband, to which was attached a medal resting on it.

‘What do I want!’ exclaimed Madame Deschwanden, starting from the window into the middle of the room. ‘How can you ask such a question, Klaus? Look at these walls. They are my answer.’

‘My dear mother, what do you mean?’

‘Klaus, you are little better than a fool. The people are sacking the factory, and there you stand. My faith! it is enough to make angels swear! And papers--wall-papers, to be had for nothing--for the mere taking. I saw one myself with roses and jessamine and humming-birds, and there was another--another for a large room. I saw it with these eyes--a paper to paper heaven! with a blue sky and an Indian forest of palms, and an elephant with a tower on its back, and a man holding a large red umbrella, and a tiger in the attitude of death, receiving a shot, and foaming with rage, and monkeys up a palm. Mon Dieu! you must get it me at once, or I shall expire. Klaus, I must and will have those papers.’

‘You absurd little mother,’ said Klaus, stepping into the room and laughing; ‘do you think I am going to steal Réveillon’s goods for you, and get myself and you and father and Madeleine into trouble? Be content.’

‘Content!’ exclaimed madame. ‘Who ever heard such a word? _Content!_ with papers--wall-papers, think of that, going a-begging. I know that those idiots yonder will burn the factory and save nothing. Klaus, you seraph, my own jewel!’ she cast herself on his bosom; ‘to please the mamma, though she be a stepmother in name but never one in sentiment, to please her who studies your fondest whims. You know very well,’ said she, suddenly recovering herself, ‘that I put myself out of the way only yesterday for you, that I sacrificed my own wishes to yours only yesterday. Did I not prepare veal _à l’oseille_ for your dinner, and you know in your inmost heart that I preferred it _aux petits pois_?’ Then instantly becoming indignant, she frowned, stiffened in every joint, became angular, and said, ‘ingrate!’

‘My dear, good mother----’

‘Now look you here,’ she interrupted; ‘we will sit together on the sofa, in the corner, and whisper together. Come along.’ She had him by the arm, and dragged him over to the seat she had indicated, and pinned him into the angle with her gown, which she spread out before her, as she subsided beside him.

‘You know, you rogue, that my wishes are law to you. Do not deny it. Think of this. I wish, I furiously desire, I burst with impatience to possess at least one of those papers. Bring enough to cover all the walls. I see it in your eyes--you are going! it mantles on your cheek, it quivers on your tongue. Oh ecstasy! oh raptures!’ she leaped from her sofa, and running to those at the window kissed them all, one after the other. ‘He has promised. This room will speedily be a bower of roses and jessamine and Brazilian humming-birds. Quick, Klaus, mein sohn!’

‘He will not go, mother,’ said Madeleine, speaking for the first time; ‘he is too conscientious.’

‘Conscientious!’ echoed Madame Deschwanden, covering her eyes; ‘that I should have lived to hear the word. Madeleine! he is none of us. He has that nasty German blood in his veins, and it has made him conscientious. My aunt’s sister’s son married a Hungarian, and their child was always afflicted with erysipelas. I attributed it to his Hungarian blood, poor child! But, Klaus! conquer it, and, oh! get me the angelic paper--that with the humming-birds, never mind that with the tiger and the elephant; and so compromise the matter. I declare, I declare!’ she cried, darting to the window; ‘they are casting the furniture out of the house--tables, chairs, and breaking them! To think of the expense! Ah! there goes a mirror. Madeleine, oh! if we could have secured that glass. It would have filled the space above the sideboard to perfection. If I could have seen myself in that mirror, and called it my own, I could have died singing.’

Madeleine darted out of the room, and ran downstairs. Next moment her mother and Percenez saw her in the crowd, pushing her way up to the house with resolution and success.

‘That is my own daughter!’ cried the enraptured lady: ‘she is in everything worthy of me; she is, indeed! She gave me much trouble as a child, I brought her up at my own breast, and see how she is ready to repay me. She will bring me a thousand pretty things. Oh, rapture! As for Klaus, I will not call him “mein sohn” any more. I will not frame my lips to utter his Swiss jargon. Go to your saints, boy; cut and carve away at them, and remember to your shame that you have refused the entreaty of your mother. No, thank goodness! I am not your mother. I should have overlaid you fifty times had you been mine; I might have guessed what a sort of conscientious creature you would have grown up.’

‘What is Klaus’s work?’ asked Percenez, to turn the subject.

‘Work!’ repeated Madame Deschwanden, ‘why, he is a wood-carver; he makes saints for churches, and crucifixes, and Blessed Virgins, and all that sort of thing, you know; but it don’t pay now, there’s no demand. Madeleine began that once, but gave it up. You can’t swim against the tide.’

‘Then what is Madeleine’s work now?’

‘Oh! she is flower-girl at Versailles.’

Gabrielle looked up. ‘I am a flower-girl,’ she said, timidly.

‘Oh, indeed!’ answered Madame Deschwanden, quickly running her eye over her. ‘You are good-looking, you will do, only fish in a different pool from Madeleine. But oh, ecstasy! here comes Madeleine. What has she got?’

Madeleine was indeed visible pushing her way back from the factory. She had something in her hands, but what, was not distinguishable. In another minute she was upstairs and had deposited a beautiful mother-of-pearl box on the table, a box of considerable size, and of beautiful workmanship.

‘What is in it?’ almost shrieked Madame Deschwanden.

‘My mother, I cannot tell; it is locked, and I have not the key.’

Madeleine was nearly out of breath. She leaned against the table, put her hand against her side, and panted. She looked so pretty, so bewitching, that Percenez could hardly be angry with her, though he knew she had done wrong. Her cheeks were flushed, her dancing black eyes were bright with triumph, and her attitude was easy and full of grace. She wore her hair loose, curled and falling over her neck and shoulders. Her bodice was low, exposing throat and bosom, both exquisitely moulded; her skirt was short, and allowed her neat little feet and ankles to be seen in all their perfection. Gabrielle thought she had never seen so pretty a girl. She herself was a marked contrast to Madeleine. She was not so slender and trim in her proportions, nor so agile in her movements; but her face was full of simplicity, and that was the principal charm. Madeleine’s features were not so regular as those of Gabrielle, but there was far more animation in her face. The deep hazel eyes of the peasant-girl were steady, the dark orbs of the Parisian flower-girl sparkled and danced, without a moment’s constancy. A woman’s character is written on her brow. That of Gabrielle was smooth, and spoke of purity; the forehead of Madeleine expressed boldness and assurance.

‘You are the joy of my life, the loadstar of my existence!’ exclaimed the mother, embracing her daughter, and then the box, which she covered with kisses. ‘Oh ecstasy! oh raptures! this is beautiful. Klaus, lend me one of your tools to force the box open. Perhaps it contains jewels! Klaus, quick!’

The lad placed his hand on the coffer, and said, gravely: ‘I am sorry to spoil your pleasure, dear mother; but this mother-of-pearl box must be returned.’

‘Returned!’ echoed madame with scorn,--‘returned to the mob, who are breaking everything. I never heard such nonsense.’

‘Not to the mob, but to M. Réveillon.’

‘To M. Réveillon! what rubbish you do talk! I shall keep the box and cherish it. Mon Dieu! would you tear it from me now that I love it, that I adore it?’

‘We shall see, when my father comes,’ said Nicholas Deschwanden. ‘I have no doubt of his decision.’

‘I shall kill myself,’ said Madame Deschwanden, ‘and go to heaven, where I shall be happy, and you will not be able to rob me of all my pretty things, and pester me with your conscientious scruples. See if I do not! or I shall run away with a gentleman who will love me and gratify all my little innocent whims. See if I do not! And so I shall leave you and your father to talk your rigmaroles about Alps and lakes and glaciers, and chant your litanies to Bruder Klaus and Heiliger Meinrad. See if I don’t!’

The discharge of musketry interrupted the flow of her threats, and the vehement little woman was next moment again at the window.

‘Oh, how lucky!’ she exclaimed: ‘Madeleine! if you had been ten minutes later you would have been shot. Count, Étienne; count, Madeleine; one, two, three, four, oh how many there are down--killed, poor things! Dear me! I would not have missed the sight for a thousand livres. Étienne, Madeleine, you Klaus! come, look, they will fire again. Glorious! Oh, what fun! Ecstasy! raptures!’

After the second discharge madame drew attention to the man who had been shot through the heart--he with the bottle of leeches.

‘How he leaped! He would have made his fortune on the tight-rope. Oh! what would I not have given to have danced with him. I am certain he was a superb dancer. Did any of you ever in your life see a male cut such a caper? Never; it was magnificent, it was prodigious. More the pity that he is dead. He will never dance again,’ she said, in a low and sad voice; but brightened up instantly again with the remark, ‘Ah well! we must all die sooner or later. Étienne, count the dead, now that the soldiers have cleared the street and square. My faith! what a pity it is that dead men are not made serviceable for the table; and meat is so dear!’ Then suddenly it occurred to the volatile lady that her brother and his little companion had come to take up their abode with her--and meat so dear! She attacked Étienne at once on the point.

‘My dearest brother, whom I love above everyone--yes, whom I adore,--I will not deny it, whom I idolize,--tell me, where are you lodging?’

‘I thought you could give Gabrielle and me shelter for awhile,’ answered Percenez. ‘I am sure Madeleine will share her bed with Gabrielle, my little ward, and I can litter myself a mattress of straw anywhere.’

‘And you have not dined yet?’ asked Madame Deschwanden.

‘No; we have not had time to think of dinner.’

‘But you are hungry?’

‘Certainly.’

‘And thirsty?’

‘Very thirsty, I can assure you.’

Madame Deschwanden caught both his hands in hers, and shook them enthusiastically.

‘My own best-beloved brother! I talk of you all day long, do I not, Madeleine? You, too, Klaus, can bear me witness. I am rejoiced to hear that you are hungry and thirsty. And you like thoroughly good dinners?’

‘Most assuredly, when I can get them.’

‘And you too?’ she looked at Gabrielle, who whispered an affirmative.

‘And you enjoy a really good bottle of wine?’

‘Trust me,’ answered Stephen.

‘Then,’ said Madame Deschwanden, hugging her brother to her heart, ‘the best of everything is yours, at the sign of the Boot, two doors off, on the right hand, and table-d’hôte is in half an hour. Terms very moderate.’

‘But, my sister!’ said the little colporteur, drawing out of her embrace, and regarding her with a sly look, ‘I have come to take up my residence with you.’

‘And dine at the Boot,’ put in the lady. ‘I can confidently recommend the table there. It is largely patronized by the most discerning palates.’

‘But, my sister, I am quite resolved to take my meals with you.’

‘You cannot, indeed!’ exclaimed madame; ‘my cookery is vile, it is baser than dirt. I am an abject cook.’

‘Oh, Josephine, neither Gabrielle André nor I are particular.’

‘André!’ exclaimed Madame Deschwanden. ‘Do you tell me the name of this seraph is André? Is she the daughter of Matthias André of Les Hirondelles?’

‘To be sure she is.’

Madame now cast herself on the neck of the peasant girl, sobbed loudly, and wept copiously.

‘To think it is you! the daughter of Matthias, who adored me, when I was your age. Yes, child; your father when a young man was my most devoted admirer; but, ah, bah! every one admired me then, but he above them all. And if I had accepted him as my husband--to think _you_ might then have been my daughter. Poor Matthias! how is he?’

Percenez checked her with a look and shake of the head.

‘Well, well! we all die, more’s the pity; and your mother--dead too! Ah well! every sentence ends in a full stop, and so does the long rigmarole of life. Then in pity’s sake let life be a Jubilate and not a De Profundis.’

‘About meals?’ said Percenez. His sister’s countenance fell at once, but she rapidly recovered.

‘Exactly. You will hear all the news at the Boot. Superb place for gossip. Oh you men, you men! you charge us women with tittle-tattling, and when you get together--’ she wagged her finger at him and laughed. ‘Now, be quick, Étienne! my brother, and you, my angel, Mademoiselle André, and get your dinners over quick, and come here and tell us the news, and we shall have a charming evening.’

‘My sister,’ said Percenez, ‘you must really listen to my proposal. I may be in Paris for weeks--perhaps months. I intend to pursue my business of selling newspapers and pamphlets here in Paris for a while, that is, during the session of the States-General, and I cannot think of troubling you with my presence as a guest. Will you let us lodge with you? I will pay you so much a week for my bed and board, and Gabrielle shall do the same. She has a mission to perform in Paris, and though I am not sanguine of her success, nevertheless she must make an attempt. She can join Madeleine in selling flowers, and I will guarantee that you are no loser.’

‘My own most cherished brother!’ exclaimed Madame Deschwanden; ‘do not think me so mercenary as all that. Gladly do I urge you to stay here, and join us at our frugal table. You are welcome to every scrap of food in the larder, and to every bed in the house. Far be it from me to be mercenary. I hate the word--I scorn to be thought it. _I_ care for money! No one has as yet hinted such a thing to me! No; you are welcome--welcome to a sister’s hospitality. The terms, by the way, you did not mention,’ she said, in a lower voice; ‘we have taken in boarders at----’

She was interrupted by the entrance of Corporal Deschwanden, her husband, a tall, grave soldier, with a face as corrugated and brown as that of Percenez; his moustaches and the hair of the head were iron grey, his eyes large and blue, like his son’s, and lighted with the same expression of frank simplicity.

The corporal saluted Percenez and Gabrielle, as his wife introduced them with many flourishes of the arms and flowers of eloquence.

‘You are heartily welcome, sir,’ said the soldier in broken French; ‘and you, fraulein, the same.’

Then seating himself at the table he rapped the board with his knuckles and said, ‘Dinner!’

Madame Deschwanden and her daughter speedily served a cold repast in the lower room, the mother making many apologies for having nothing hot to offer, as she had been distracted by the Réveillon riot, and now her head was racked with pain, and she prayed Heaven would speedily terminate her sufferings with death.

The old soldier during the meal looked over several times at Gabrielle in a kindly manner, and treated her with courtesy. The girl raised her timid eyes to his, and saw them beaming with benevolence. A frightened smile fluttered to her lips, and he smiled back at her.

‘You have come a long way,’ he said; ‘and you must be tired, poor child! Ah! if you had our mountains to climb’--he looked at his son Nicholas--‘they would tire your little feet. Do you remember the scramble we had up the Rhigi, Klaus? And the lake--the deep blue lake--Ach es war herrlich! And the clouds brushing across the silver Roth and Engelberger hörner.’ The old man rose, brushed up his hair on either side of his ears; his blue eyes flashed, and he sat down again.

‘Now this is against all rule,’ said Madame Deschwanden; ‘here we are back at that pottering little Switzerland, and the mountains, and the lake, before dinner is over; we shall have the glaciers next, and the chamois, and the cowbells, and the gentians, and of course wind up with the Bruder Klaus.’

‘Relaxation,’ said the soldier, rapping the table with his knuckles, after consulting his watch. ‘Meal-time up; relaxation begins.’

‘Then you are going to have the lakes and the cowbells and the Bruder Klaus!’ said Madame Deschwanden.

‘It is their time,’ answered the corporal.

‘Then Madeleine and I are off.’

‘I will rap for prayers,’ said the corporal.