Part 19

"If he did find it hard to change his ways of life," answered Thérence, "he is well consoled when he remembers how afraid you were of the muleteers, and that in your country they are looked upon as an abomination. But now that I have satisfied your impatience to know how my brother got out of his troubles, I must tell you something more about Joseph, which may make you angry, Brulette, though it will also astonish you."

As Thérence said that with a spice of malice and a laugh, Brulette showed no uneasiness, and told her to explain.

"You must know," continued Thérence, "that we have spent the last three months in the forest of Montaigu, where we met Joseph, in good health, but serious as usual, and still wrapped up in himself. If you want to know where he now is, I will tell you that we have left him there with my father, who is helping him to get admitted to the association of bagpipers; for you know, or you don't know, that they too, are a fraternity, and have secret practices which others know nothing about. At first Joseph was rather embarrassed at seeing us. He seemed ashamed to speak to me and might have avoided us altogether if my father, after reproaching him for his want of confidence and friendship, had not pressed him to remain,--for he knew he could still be useful to him. When Joseph perceived that I was quite at my ease and had no unkind recollections, he made bold to ask for the return of our friendship, and he even tried to excuse his conduct; but my father, who would not let him lay a finger on my wound, turned the matter into a joke, and made him go to work, both in the woods and at his music, so as to bring the matter to an end as soon as possible. I was a good deal astonished that he never mentioned any of you, and I questioned him without getting a word out of him. Neither my brother nor I had heard anything of you (until last week, when we came through the village of Huriel). We were much worried about you, and my father told Joseph rather sharply that if he had letters from his own people he ought at least to tell us whether you were dead or alive. Joseph answered shortly, in a voice that sounded very hollow: 'Everybody is well, and so am I.' My father, who never beats about the bush, told him to speak out, but he answered stiffly, 'I tell you, master, that our friends over there are well and quite contented, and if you will give me your daughter in marriage I shall be contented too.' At first we thought he was crazy, and tried to make a joke of it, though his manner made us rather uneasy. But he returned to the subject two days later, and asked me if I had any regard for him. I took no other revenge for his tardy offer than to say, 'Yes, Joseph, I have as much regard for you as Brulette has.' He drew in his lips, lowered his head, and did not say another word. But my brother, having questioned him later, received this reply: 'Huriel, I no longer think of Brulette, and I beg you never to mention her to me again.' We could get nothing more out of him except that he was resolved, as soon as he should be received into the fraternity of bagpipers, to begin his service for a time in his own country, and prove to his mother that he was able to support her; after which he intended to take her to live with him in La Marche or the Bourbonnais, provided I would become his wife. This brought about a grand explanation between my father, my brother, and myself. Both tried to make me own that I might be induced to consent. But Joseph had come back too late for me, and I had made too many reflections about him. I quietly refused, feeling no longer any regard for him, and conscious also that he had none for me. I am too proud a girl to be taken as a remedy for disappointment. I supposed you had written him to put an end to his hopes."

"No," said Brulette, "I did not, and it is only by the mercy of God that he has forgotten me. Perhaps it was that he began to know you better, my Thérence."

"No, no," cried the girl of the woods, resolutely, "If it was not disappointment at your refusal, it was pique at my cure. He only cared for me because I had ceased to care for him. If that is his love, it is not mine, Brulette. All or nothing; yes for life, in all frankness; or no for life, with all freedom. There's that child waking up," she continued, interrupting herself, "and I want to take you to my new abode for a moment; it is in the old castle of Chassin."

"But won't you tell us," said Brulette, who was very much puzzled by all she heard, "how and why you are in this part of the country?"

"You are in too much of a hurry to know," replied Thérence; "I want you to see first."

Taking Brulette round the neck with her beautiful bare arm, well browned by the sun, she led her away without giving her time to take Charlot, whom she herself caught up like a bundle under her other arm, although he was now as heavy as a little calf.

The fief of Chassin was once a castle, as I have heard say, with seignorial rights and laws; but at the time of which I am telling, nothing remained of the building but the porch, which was a structure of some importance, heavily built, and so arranged that there were lodging-rooms on both sides of it. It seemed that the part of the building which I have called a porch, the use of which is difficult to explain at the present time (on account of its peculiar construction), was really a vaulted chamber leading to other buildings; for as to those that still remain around the courtyard, which are only miserable stables and dilapidated barns, I don't know what uses they could have been put to, or what comfort could have been found in them. There were still, at the time of which I am speaking, three or four unfurnished rooms which seemed quite ancient, but if any great lord ever took his pleasure in them he must have wanted very little of that article.

And yet it was among these ruins that happiness was awaiting some of those whose history I am telling you; and, as if there were something within each human being which tells him in advance of coming blessings, neither Brulette nor I saw anything sad or ugly in this old place. The grassy courtyard, surrounded on two sides by the ruins and on the other two by the moat and the little wood through which we passed; the great hedge, where I saw with surprise shrubs which are seen only in the gardens of the wealthy (showing that the place had once known care and beauty); the clumsy gateway, choked up with rubbish, where stone benches could still be seen, as if in former days some warder had had charge of this barrack then considered precious; the long brambles which ran from end to end of this squalid enclosure,--all these things, which made the whole place resemble a prison, closed, deserted, and forgotten, seemed as cheerful to our eyes as the springtide sun which was forcing its way in through the crevices and drying up the dampness. Perhaps, too, the sight of our old acquaintance, the _clairin_, who was feeding on the turf, gave us warning of the coming of a true friend. I think he recognized us, for he came up to be stroked, and Brulette could not refrain from kissing the white star on his forehead.

"This is my château," said Thérence, taking us into a room where her bed and other bits of furniture were already installed; "and there you see Huriel's room and my father's on the other side."

"Your father! then he is coming!" I cried, jumping for joy. "I am so glad, for there is no man under the sun I like better."

"And right you are," said Thérence, tapping my ear in sign of friendship. "And he likes you. Well, you will see him if you come back next week, and even--but it is too soon to speak of that. Here is the master."

Brulette blushed, thinking it was Huriel that Thérence meant; but it was only the foreign dealer who had bought the timber of the forest of Chassin.

I say "forest" because, no doubt, there were forests there once, which joined the small but beautiful growth of lofty trees that we saw beyond the river. As the name remains, it is to be supposed it was not bestowed for nothing. The conversation which ensued between Thérence and the wood-merchant explained to us very quickly the whole thing. He came from the Bourbonnais, and had long known the Head-Woodsman and his family as hard-working people who kept their word. Being in quest, through his business, of some tall masts for the king's navy, he had discovered these remains of a virgin forest (very rare indeed in our country), and had given the work of felling and trimming the trees to Père Bastien; and the latter had taken it all the more willingly because his son and daughter, knowing the place to be in our neighborhood, were delighted with the idea of spending the whole summer and perhaps part of the winter near us.

The Head-Woodsman was allowed the selection and management of his workmen under a contract with forfeiture between himself and the purchaser of the timber; and the latter had induced the owner of the estate to cede him the use, gratis, of the old castle, where he, a well-to-do tradesman, would have thought himself very ill-lodged, but where a family of wood-cutters might be far better off as the season grew late than in their usual lodges of logs and heather.

Huriel and his sister had arrived that morning; the one had immediately begun to install herself, the other had been making acquaintance with the wood, the land, and the people of the neighborhood.

We overheard the purchaser reminding Thérence, who talked business as well as any man, of a condition in his agreement with Père Bastien,--namely, that he would employ none but Bourbonnais workmen to prepare the trunks, inasmuch as they alone understood the work and would not spoil the finest pieces, like the laborers of our part of the country. "Very good," replied the woodland girl; "but for the branches and light-wood we shall employ whom we please. We do not think it wise to take all the work away from the people of the neighborhood, who might be annoyed and molest us in consequence. They are already ill-inclined to all who are not of their parish."

"Now listen, my dear Brulette," she said, when the dealer had departed, "it is my opinion that, if nothing detains you in your village, you might persuade your grandfather to employ his time very pleasantly here this summer. You have told me that he is still a good workman, and he would have to do with a good master,--I mean my father, who would let him work at his ease. You could lodge here at no expense and we would share the housekeeping together."

Then, while Brulette was burning with the desire to say yes, but not daring to betray herself, Thérence added, "If you hesitate, I shall think your heart is given in your own village and that my brother has come too late."

"Too late!" cried a ringing voice which came from the ivy-covered window. "God grant that those words be false!"

And Huriel, handsome and fresh-looking as he always was when the charcoal no longer concealed him, sprang into the room and caught Brulette in his arms to kiss her on the cheeks; for he wouldn't stand on ceremony, and he had no notion of the rather icy behavior of the people in our parts. He seemed so glad, and talked so loud, and laughed so heartily that she could not be angry with him. He kneaded me like a bit of dough and jumped about the room as if joy and friendship had the effect of new wine.

All of a sudden he spied Charlot and stopped short, tried to look away, forced himself to say a few words which had no connection with the child, then sat down on his sister's bed and turned so pale that I thought he was going to faint away.

"What's the matter with him?" cried Thérence, amazed. Then, touching his head, she said, "Good heavens, it is a cold sweat! Do you feel ill?"

"No, no," said Huriel, rising and shaking himself. "It is joy--the sudden excitement--it is nothing."

Just then the mother of the bride came to ask why we had left the wedding, and whether Brulette or the child were ill. Seeing that we were detained by the company of strangers, she very politely invited Huriel and Thérence to come with us to the feast and to the dance. This woman, who was my aunt, being the sister of my father and Brulette's deceased father, seemed to me to know the secret of Charlot's birth; for she had asked no questions and had taken great care of him when brought to her house. I had even heard of her saying that he was a relative, and the people of Chassin had no suspicion about the child.

As Huriel, who was still troubled in mind, merely thanked my aunt without giving any decided answer, Thérence roused him with the remark that Brulette was obliged to go back to the wedding, and that if he did not go he might lose his opportunity of bringing about what they both desired. Huriel, however, was still uneasy and hesitating, when Brulette said to him, "Do you really not wish to dance with me to-day?"

"Do you speak true, Brulette?" he said, looking her in the eye. "Do you wish me for a partner?"

"Yes," she said, "for I remember how well you dance."

"Is that the only reason why you wish for me?"

Brulette was embarrassed, thinking that the fellow was too much in a hurry, yet not daring to play off her former coquettish little airs, so fearful was she of seeing him hurt or disappointed again. But Thérence tried to help her out by reproaching Huriel for asking too much the first day.

"You are right, sister," he answered. "And yet I cannot behave differently. Hear me, Brulette, and forgive me. You must promise to have no other partner but me at this wedding, or I cannot go at all."

"What a funny fellow!" cried my aunt, who was a lively little woman and took all things for the best. "A lover of yours, my Brulette? I see that plainly; and no half-hearted one either! But, my lad," she added, turning to Huriel, "I would have you know that it is not the custom in these parts to show all you feel; and no one dances several times running with a girl unless there has been promise of heart and hand."

"It is here as it is with us, my good dame," replied Huriel; "nevertheless, with or without promise of her heart, Brulette must now promise me her hand for the whole dance."

"If she wishes it, I shall not prevent her," said my aunt, "she is a sensible girl, who knows very well how to behave. I have done my duty in warning her that she will be talked about."

"Brother," said Thérence, "I think you are crazy. Is that the way to do with Brulette, whom you know to be so reserved, and who has never yet given you the rights you claim?"

"Yes, I may be mad, and she may be shy," said Huriel, "but all the same my madness must gain the day and her shyness lose it, and at once. I ask nothing more of her than to allow me to dance with her to the end of this wedding. If after that she does not wish to hear of me again, she is mistress of her actions."

"That is all very well," said my aunt, "but the harm will then have been done, and if you withdraw from her then who will repair it?"

"She knows that I shall not withdraw," said Huriel.

"If you know that," said my aunt to Brulette, "why don't you explain yourself? I really can't understand this matter at all. Did you engage yourself to this lad in the Bourbonnais?"

"No," said Huriel, without giving Brulette time to answer. "I have never asked her, never! What I now ask of her she, and she alone, without consulting any one, must decide to grant or not, as she chooses."

Brulette, trembling like a leaf, had turned to the wall and was hiding her face in her hands. If she was glad to find Huriel so resolute about her, she was also annoyed that he had no compassion for her natural hesitation and timidity. She was not made, like Thérence, to speak out a noble "yes" before all the world; so being, and not knowing how else to get out of the matter, she took refuge in her eyes and began to cry.

TWENTY-THIRD EVENING.

"You are a downright bashaw, my friend," said my aunt to Huriel, giving him a push away from Brulette, whom he had approached in much excitement. Then, taking her niece's hands, she soothed her and asked her very gently to tell her the real meaning of it all.

"If your grandfather were here," she said, "he would explain what there is between you and this stranger lad, and we could then leave the matter to his judgment; but since I am here now as father and mother both, you must confide in me. Do you wish me to put an end to this pursuit? Shall I, instead of inviting this brute, or this rogue,--for I don't know which to call him,--tell him that he must let you alone?"

"Exactly," said Huriel, "that's what I want. I want her to say what she wishes, and I will obey her without anger, and she shall still retain my friendship and respect. If she thinks me a brute or a rogue let her pack me off. Speak, Brulette; I shall always be your friend and servant,--you know that very well."

"Be what you will," said Brulette at last, rising and giving him her hand; "you protected me in danger, and you have suffered such troubles on my account that I neither can nor will refuse so little a thing as to dance with you as much as you like."

"But think what your aunt has said," replied Huriel, holding her hand. "You will be talked of, and if nothing good comes of it between us, which on your side may still be, any plan you may have for another marriage would be destined or delayed."

"Well, that is a less danger than the one you threw yourself into on my account," said Brulette. "Aunt, please excuse me," she added, "if I cannot explain matters just now; but believe that your niece loves and respects you, and will never give you reason to blush for her."

"I am certain of that," said my aunt; "but what answer am I to give to the questions they will be sure to ask?"

"None at all, aunt," said Brulette, resolutely. "I can afford to put up with all their talk; you know I am in the habit of doing so."

"Thank you, darling of my heart!" cried Huriel, kissing her hand six or seven times. "You shall never repent what you have granted to me."

"Are you coming, you obstinate fellow?" said my aunt; "I can't stay away any longer, and if I don't carry Brulette down there at once, the bride is capable of leaving the wedding and coming after her."

"Go down, Brulette!" cried Thérence, "and leave the baby with me; I promise I will take care of him."

"Won't you come, too, my handsome Bourbonnaise?" said my aunt, who could not keep her eyes off Thérence, "I count upon you."

"I will go later, my good woman," replied Thérence. "But just now I want to give my brother suitable clothes in which to do honor to your invitation; for, as you see, we are still in our travelling things."

My aunt carried off Brulette, who wanted to take Charlot; but Thérence insisted on keeping him, wishing to leave her brother free with his darling without the trouble and annoyance of a small child. This was not at all satisfactory to Charlot, who set up a yell when he saw that Brulette was leaving him, and fought with all his strength in Thérence's arms; but she, looking at him with a grave and determined manner, said quietly:--

"You must be quiet, my boy; you must, you know."

Charlot, who had never been ordered in his life, was so astonished at her tone that he gave in immediately; but as I saw that Brulette was distressed at leaving him with a girl who had never in her life touched a baby, I promised to bring him to her myself if there should be the least trouble, and persuaded her to go with our good little aunt who was getting impatient.

Huriel, urged by his sister, went off to his room to shave and dress, and I, left alone with Thérence, helped her to unpack her boxes and shake out the clothes, while Charlot, quite subdued, stood, with open mouth, looking on. When I had carried Huriel the clothes which Thérence piled on my arms, I returned to ask if she didn't mean to dress herself too, and to offer to take the child to walk while she did so.

"As for me," she said, laying out her finery on her bed, "I will go if Brulette worries after me; but I will admit that if she would only forget me for a time, I would prefer to stay quietly here. In any case, I can be ready in a minute, and I need no one to escort me. I am accustomed to hunt up and get ready our lodgings in travelling, like a regular quartermaster on a campaign, and nothing disturbs me wherever I am."

"Then you don't like dancing?" I said; "or is it shyness at making new acquaintances that makes you wish to stay at home?"

"No, I don't like dancing," she replied; "nor the racket, nor the suppers, and particularly not the waste of time which brings weariness."

"But one doesn't love dancing for dancing's sake only. Do you fear, or dislike, the attentions the young men pay to the girls?"

"No, I have neither fear nor repugnance," she said, simply. "It does not amuse me, that is all. I am not witty, like Brulette. I don't know how to answer patly, nor how to make other people talk, and I can't be amusing. I am stupid and dreamy, and I am as much out of place in a lively company as a wolf or a fox at a dance."

"You don't look like a wolf nor any other villanous beast, and you dance as gracefully as the willow branches when the breeze caresses them--"

I don't know what more I was going to say, when Huriel came out of his room, handsome as the sun and more in a hurry to get off than I was, for I should have been just as satisfied to stay with his sister. She kept him a moment to straighten his cravat and to tie his garters at the knee, apparently not thinking him jaunty enough to dance through the wedding with Brulette, and as she did so she said: "Tell me, why were you so jealous of her dancing with any one but you? Were not you afraid of frightening her with such masterful orders?"

"Tiennet!" exclaimed Huriel, stopping short in what he was doing, and taking Charlot, whom he placed on the table and gazed at with all his eyes, "Whose child is this?"

Thérence, astonished, first asked him what he meant by the question, and then asked me why I did not answer it.

We looked each other in the eyes, like three dolts, and I would have given all I had to know how to answer, for I saw that a sword was hanging over our heads. At last, recollecting the virtue and truth I had seen that very afternoon in my cousin's eyes when I had pretty nigh asked her the same question, I plucked up courage and going straight to the point I said to Huriel, "Comrade, if you ask that question in our village many persons will tell you he is Brulette's child--"

He did not let me say more; but picking up the boy, he felt him and turned him over as a hunter examines a head of game. Fearing his anger, I tried to take the child from him; but he held him firmly, saying:--

"No fear for the poor innocent thing; my heart is not bad, and if I saw any resemblance to her I might not be able to refrain from kissing him, though I should hate the fate that brought me to it. But there is no such resemblance; my blood runs neither the hotter nor the colder with this child in my arms."

"Tiennet, Tiennet, answer him," cried Thérence, as if waking from a dream. "Answer me, too, for I don't know what all this means, and it makes me wild to think of it. There is no stain on our family and if my father believed--"

Huriel cut her short. "Wait, sister," he said; "a word too much is soon said. It is for Tiennet to speak. Come, Tiennet, you who are an honest man, tell me--one--two--whose child is that?"

"I swear to God I don't know," I answered.

"If it were hers, you would know?"

"I think she could not have hidden it from me."

"Did she ever hide anything else?"

"Never."

"Does she know the parents of the child?"

"Yes, but she will not even let me question her about them."

"Does she deny the child is hers?"