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+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
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+
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #69153 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69153)
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-The Project Gutenberg eBook of François the waif, by George Sand
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
-of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
-will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
-using this eBook.
-
-Title: François the waif
-
-Author: George Sand
-
-Translator: Jane Minot Sedgwick
-
-Illustrator: E. Abot
-
-Release Date: October 14, 2022 [eBook #69153]
-[Last updated: November 17, 2022]
-
-Language: English
-
-Produced by: Laura Natal Rodrigues (Images generously made available by
-             Hathi Trust Digital Library.)
-
-*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANÇOIS THE WAIF ***
-
-
-                            FRANÇOIS THE WAIF
-
-
-
-
-                                    BY
-
-
-
-
-                               GEORGE SAND
-
-
-
-
-                       TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY
-
-                            JANE MINOT SEDGWICK
-
-
-
-
-                         WITH AN ETCHING BY E. ABOT
-
-
-
-
-                                 NEW-YORK
-
-                          GEORGE H. RICHMOND & CO.
-
-                                   1894
-
-
-
-
-CONTENTS
-PREFATORY NOTE
-PREFACE
-INTRODUCTION
-CHAPTER I
-CHAPTER II
-CHAPTER III
-CHAPTER IV
-CHAPTER V
-CHAPTER VI
-CHAPTER VII
-CHAPTER VIII
-CHAPTER IX
-CHAPTER X
-CHAPTER XI
-CHAPTER XII
-CHAPTER XIII
-CHAPTER XIV
-CHAPTER XV
-CHAPTER XVI
-CHAPTER XVII
-CHAPTER XVIII
-CHAPTER XIX
-CHAPTER XX
-CHAPTER XXI
-CHAPTER XXII
-CHAPTER XXIII
-CHAPTER XXIV
-CHAPTER XXV
-
-
-
-
-PREFATORY NOTE
-
-
-François le Champi, a pretty idyl that tells of homely affections,
-self-devotion, "humble cares and delicate fears," opens a little vista
-into that Arcadia to which, the poet says, we were all born. It offers
-many difficulties to the translator. It is a rustic tale, put into the
-mouths of peasants, who relate it with a primitive simplicity, sweet and
-full of sentiment in the French, but prone to degenerate into
-mawkishness and monotony when turned into English. Great care has been
-taken to keep the English of this version simple and idiomatic, and yet
-religiously to avoid any breach of faith toward the author. It is hoped
-that, though the original pure and limpid waters have necessarily
-contracted some stain by being forced into another channel, they may yet
-yield refreshment to those thirsty souls who cannot seek them at the
-fountain-head.
-
-                             J. M. S.
-
-_Stockbridge, January, 1894._
-
-
-
-
-PREFACE
-
-
-FRANÇOIS LE CHAMPI appeared for the first time in the _feuilleton_ of
-the "Journal des Débats." Just as the plot of my story was reaching its
-development, another more serious development was announced in the first
-column of the same newspaper. It was the final downfall of the July
-Monarchy, in the last days of February, 1848.
-
-This catastrophe was naturally very prejudicial to my story, the
-publication of which was interrupted and delayed, and not finally
-completed, if I remember correctly, until the end of a month. For those
-of my readers who are artists either by profession or instinct, and are
-interested in the details of the construction of works of art, I shall
-add to my introduction that, some days before the conversation of which
-that introduction is the outcome, I took a walk through the _Chemin aux
-Napes_. The word _nape_, which, in the figurative language of that part
-of the country, designates the beautiful plant called _nénufar_, or
-_nymphææ_, is happily descriptive of the broad leaves that lie upon the
-surface of the water, as a cloth (_nappe_) upon a table; but I prefer to
-write it with a single _p_, and to trace its derivation from _napée_,
-thus leaving unchanged its mythological origin.
-
-The _Chemin aux Napes_, which probably none of you, my dear readers,
-will ever see, as it leads to nothing that can repay you for the trouble
-of passing through so much mire, is a break-neck path, skirting along a
-ditch where, in the muddy water, grow the most beautiful nymphææ in
-the world, more fragrant than lilies, whiter than camellias, purer than
-the vesture of virgins, in the midst of the lizards and other reptiles
-that crawl about the mud and flowers, while the kingfisher darts like
-living lightning along the banks, and skims with a fiery track the rank
-and luxuriant vegetation of the sewer.
-
-A child six or seven years old, mounted bare-back upon a loose horse,
-made the animal leap the hedge behind me, and then, letting himself
-slide to the ground, left his shaggy colt in the pasture, and returned
-to try jumping over the barrier which he had so lightly crossed on
-horseback a minute before. It was not such an easy task for his little
-legs; I helped him, and had with him a conversation similar to that
-between the miller's wife and the foundling, related in the beginning of
-"The Waif." When I questioned him about his age, which he did not know,
-he literally delivered himself of the brilliant reply that he was two
-years old. He knew neither his own name, nor that of his parents, nor of
-the place he lived in; all that he knew was to cling on an unbroken
-colt, as a bird clings to a branch shaken by the storm.
-
-I have had educated several foundlings of both sexes, who have turned
-out well physically and morally. It is no less certain, however, that
-these forlorn children are apt, in rural districts, to become bandits,
-owing to their utter lack of education. Intrusted to the care of the
-poorest people, because of the insufficient pittance assigned to them,
-they often practise, for the benefit of their adopted parents, the
-shameful calling of beggars. Would it not be possible to increase this
-pittance on condition that the foundlings shall never beg, even at the
-doors of their neighbors and friends?
-
-I have also learned by experience that nothing is more difficult than to
-teach self-respect and the love of work to children who have already
-begun understandingly to live upon alms.
-
-                             GEORGE SAND.
-
-_Nohant, May 20, 1852._
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-THE WAIF
-
-
-
-
-INTRODUCTION
-
-
-R*** AND I were coming home from our walk by the light of the moon
-which faintly silvered the dusky country lanes. It was a mild autumn
-evening, and the sky was slightly overcast; we observed the resonance of
-the air peculiar to the season, and a certain mystery spread over the
-face of nature. At the approach of the long winter sleep, it seems as if
-every creature and thing stealthily agreed to enjoy what is left of life
-and animation before the deadly torpor of the frost; and as if the whole
-creation, in order to cheat the march of time, and to avoid being
-detected and interrupted in the last frolics of its festival, advanced
-without sound or apparent motion toward its orgies in the night. The
-birds give out stifled cries instead of their joyous summer warblings.
-The cricket of the fields sometimes chirps inadvertently; but it soon
-stops again, and carries elsewhere its song or its wail. The plants
-hastily breathe out their last perfume, which is all the sweeter for
-being more delicate and less profuse. The yellowing leaves now no longer
-rustle in the breeze, and the flocks and herds graze in silence without
-cries of love or combat.
-
-My friend and I walked quietly along, and our involuntary thoughtfulness
-made us silent and attentive to the softened beauty of nature, and to
-the enchanting harmony of her last chords, which were dying away in an
-imperceptible _pianissimo_. Autumn is a sad and sweet _andante_, which
-makes an admirable preparation for the solemn _adagio_ of winter.
-
-"It is all so peaceful," said my friend at last, for, in spite of our
-silence, he had followed my thoughts as I followed his; "everything
-seems absorbed in a reverie so foreign and so indifferent to the labors,
-cares, and preoccupations of man, that I wonder what expression, what
-color, and what form of art and poetry human intelligence could give at
-this moment to the face of nature. In order to explain better to you the
-end of my inquiry, I may compare the evening, the sky, and the
-landscape, dimmed, and yet harmonious and complete, to the soul of a
-wise and religious peasant, who labors and profits by his toil, who
-rejoices in the possession of the life to which he is born, without the
-need, the longing, or the means of revealing and expressing his inner
-life. I try to place myself in the heart of the mystery of this natural
-rustic life--I, who am civilized, who cannot enjoy by instinct alone,
-and who am always tormented by the desire of giving an account of my
-contemplation, or of my meditation, to myself and to others.
-
-"Then, too," continued my friend, "I am trying to find out what relation
-can be established between my intelligence, which is too active, and
-that of the peasant, which is not active enough; just as I was
-considering a moment ago what painting, music, description, the
-interpretation of art, in short, could add to the beauty of the autumnal
-night which is revealed to me in its mysterious silence, and affects me
-in some magical and unknown way."
-
-"Let us see," said I, "how your question is put. This October night,
-this colorless sky, this music without any distinct or connected melody,
-this calm of nature, and the peasant who by his very simplicity is more
-able than we to enjoy and understand it, though he cannot portray
-it--let us put all this together and call it _primitive life_, with
-relation to our own highly developed and complicated life, which I shall
-call _artificial life_. You are asking what possible connection or
-direct link can there be between these two opposite conditions in the
-existence of persons and things; between the palace and the cottage,
-between the artist and the universe, between the poet and the laborer."
-
-"Yes," he answered, "and let us be exact: between the language spoken by
-nature, primitive life, and instinct, and that spoken by art,
-science,--in a word, by _knowledge_."
-
-"To answer in the language you have adopted, I should say that the link
-between _knowledge_ and sensation is _feeling_."
-
-"It is about the definition of feeling that I am going to question you
-and myself, for its mission is the interpretation which is troubling me.
-It is the art or artist, if you prefer, empowered to translate the
-purity, grace, and charm of the primitive life to those who only live
-the artificial life, and who are, if you will allow me to say so, the
-greatest fools in the world in the presence of nature and her divine
-secrets."
-
-"You are asking nothing less than the secret of art, and you must look
-for it in the breast of God. No artist can reveal it, for he does not
-know it himself, and cannot give an account of the sources of his own
-inspiration or his own weakness. How shall one attempt to express
-beauty, simplicity, and truth? Do I know? And can anybody teach us? No,
-not even the greatest artists, because if they tried to do so they would
-cease to be artists, and would become critics; and criticism--"
-
-"And criticism," rejoined my friend, "has been revolving for centuries
-about the mystery without understanding it. But, excuse me, that is not
-exactly what I meant. I am still more radical at this moment, and call
-the power of art in question. I despise it, I annihilate it, I declare
-that art is not born, that it does not exist; or, if it has been, its
-time is past. It is exhausted, it has no more expression, no more breath
-of life, no more means to sing of the beauty of truth. Nature is a work
-of art, but God is the only artist that exists, and man is but an
-arranger in bad taste. Nature is beautiful, and breathes feeling from
-all her pores; love, youth, beauty are in her imperishable. But man has
-but foolish means and miserable faculties for feeling and expressing
-them. He had better keep aloof, silent and absorbed in contemplation.
-Come, what have you to say?"
-
-"I agree, and am quite satisfied with your opinion," I answered.
-
-"Ah!" he cried, "you are going too far, and embrace my paradox too
-warmly. I am only pleading, and want you to reply."
-
-"I reply, then, that a sonnet of Petrarch has its relative beauty, which
-is equivalent to the beauty of the water of Vaucluse; that a fine
-landscape of Ruysdael has a charm which equals that of this evening;
-that Mozart sings in the language of men as well as Philomel in that of
-birds; that Shakspeare delineates passions, emotions, and instincts as
-vividly as the actual primitive man can experience them. This is art and
-its relativeness--in short, feeling."
-
-"Yes, it is all a work of transformation! But suppose that it does not
-satisfy me? Even if you were a thousand times in the right according to
-the decrees of taste and esthetics, what if I think Petrarch's verses
-less harmonious than the roar of the waterfall, and so on? If I maintain
-that there is in this evening a charm that no one could reveal to me
-unless I had felt it myself; and that all Shakspeare's passion is cold in
-comparison with that I see gleaming in the eyes of a jealous peasant who
-beats his wife, what should you have to say? You must convince my
-feeling. And if it eludes your examples and resists your proofs? Art is
-not an invincible demonstrator, and feeling not always satisfied by the
-best definition."
-
-"I have really nothing to answer except that art is a demonstration of
-which nature is the proof; that the preëxisting fact of the proof is
-always present to justify or contradict the demonstration, which nobody
-can make successfully unless he examine the proof with religious love."
-
-"So the demonstration could not do without the proof; but could the
-proof do without the demonstration?"
-
-"No doubt God could do without it; but, although you are talking as if
-you did not belong to us, I am willing to wager that you would
-understand nothing of the proof if you had not found the demonstration
-under a thousand forms in the tradition of art, and if you were not
-yourself a demonstration constantly acting upon the proof."
-
-"That is just what I am complaining of. I should like to rid myself of
-this eternal irritating demonstration; to erase from my memory the
-teachings and the forms of art; never to think of painting when I look
-at a landscape, of music when I listen to the wind, or of poetry when I
-admire and take delight in both together. I should like to enjoy
-everything instinctively, because I think that the cricket which is
-singing just now is more joyous and ecstatic than I."
-
-"You complain, then, of being a man?"
-
-"No; I complain of being no longer a primitive man."
-
-"It remains to be known whether he was capable of enjoying what he could
-not understand."
-
-"I do not suppose that he was similar to the brutes, for as soon as he
-became a man he thought and felt differently from them. But I cannot
-form an exact idea of his emotions, and that is what bothers me. I
-should like to be what the existing state of society allows a great
-number of men to be from the cradle to the grave--I should like to be a
-peasant; a peasant who does not know how to read, whom God has endowed
-with good instincts, a serene organization, and an upright conscience;
-and I fancy that in the sluggishness of my useless faculties, and in the
-Ignorance of depraved tastes, I should be as happy as the primitive man
-of Jean-Jacques's dreams."
-
-"I, too, have had this same dream; who has not? But, even so, your
-reasoning is not conclusive, for the most simple and ingenuous peasant
-may still be an artist; and I believe even that his art is superior to
-ours. The form is different, but it appeals more strongly to me than all
-the forms which belong to civilization. Songs, ballads, and rustic tales
-say in a few words what our literature can only amplify and disguise."
-
-"I may triumph, then?" resumed my friend. "The peasant's art is the
-best, because it is more directly inspired by nature by being in closer
-contact with her. I confess I went to extremes in saying that art was
-good for nothing; but I meant that I should like to feel after the
-fashion of the peasant, and I do not contradict myself now. There are
-certain Breton laments, made by beggars, which in three couplets are
-worth all Goethe and Byron put together, and which prove that
-appreciation of truth and beauty was more spontaneous and complete in
-such simple souls than in our most distinguished poets. And music, too!
-Is not our country full of lovely melodies? And though they do not
-possess painting as an art, they have it in their speech, which is a
-hundred times more expressive, forcible, and logical than our literary
-language."
-
-"I agree with you," said I, "especially as to this last point. It drives
-me to despair that I am obliged to write in the language of the Academy,
-when I am much more familiar with another tongue infinitely more fitted
-for expressing a whole order of emotions, thoughts, and feelings."
-
-"Oh, yes!" said he, "that fresh and unknown world is closed to modern
-art, and no study can help you to express it even to yourself, with all
-your sympathies for the peasant, if you try to introduce it into the
-domain of civilized art and the intellectual intercourse of artificial
-life."
-
-"Alas!" I answered, "this thought has often disturbed me. I have myself
-seen and felt, in common with all civilized beings, that primitive life
-was the dream and ideal of all men and all times. From the shepherds of
-Longus down to those of Trianon, pastoral life has been a perfumed Eden,
-where souls wearied and harassed by the tumult of the world have sought
-a refuge. Art, which has always flattered and fawned upon the too
-fortunate among mankind, has passed through an unbroken series of
-_pastorals_. And under the title of 'The History of Pastorals' I have
-often wished to write a learned and critical work, in which to review
-all the different rural dreams to which the upper classes have so fondly
-clung.
-
-"I should follow their modifications, which are always in inverse
-relation to the depravity of morals, for they become innocent and
-sentimental in proportion as society is shameless and corrupt. I should
-like to _order_ this book of a writer better qualified than I to
-accomplish it, and then I should read it with delight. It should be a
-complete treatise on art; for music, painting, architecture, literature
-in all its forms, the theater, poetry, romances, eclogues, songs,
-fashions, gardens, and even dress, have been influenced by the
-infatuation for the pastoral dream. All the types of the golden age, the
-shepherdesses of Astræa, who are first nymphs and then marchionesses,
-and who pass through the Lignon of Florian, wear satin and powder under
-Louis XV., and are put into sabots by Sedaine at the end of the
-monarchy, are all more or less false, and seem to us to-day contemptible
-and ridiculous. We have done with them, and see only their ghosts at the
-opera; and yet they once reigned at court and were the delight of kings,
-who borrowed from them the shepherd's crook and scrip.
-
-"I have often wondered why there are no more shepherds, for we are not
-so much in love with the truth lately that art and literature can afford
-to despise the old conventional types rather than those introduced by
-the present mode. To-day we are devoted to force and brutality, and on
-the background of these passions we embroider decorations horrible
-enough to make our hair stand on end if we could take them seriously."
-
-"If we have no more shepherds," rejoined my friend, "and if literature
-has changed one false ideal for another, is it not an involuntary
-attempt of art to bring itself down to the level of the intelligence of
-all classes? Does not the dream of equality afloat in society impel art
-to a fierce brutality in order to awaken those instincts and passions
-common to all men, of whatever rank they may be? Nobody has as yet
-reached the truth. It exists no more in a hideous realism than in an
-embellished idealism; but there is plainly a search for it, and if the
-search is in the wrong direction, the eagerness of the pursuit is only
-quickened. Let us see: the drama, poetry, and the novel have thrown away
-the shepherd's crook for the dagger, and when rustic life appears on the
-scene it has a stamp of reality which was wanting in the old pastorals.
-But there is no more poetry in it, I am sorry to say; and I do not yet
-see the means of reinstating the pastoral ideal without making it either
-too gaudy or too somber. You have often thought of doing it, I know; but
-can you hope for success?"
-
-"No," I answered, "for there is no form for me to adopt, and there is no
-language in which to express my conception of rustic simplicity. If I
-made the laborer of the fields speak as he does speak, it would be
-necessary to have a translation on the opposite page for the civilized
-reader; and if I made him speak as we do, I should create an impossible
-being, in whom it would be necessary to suppose an order of ideas which
-he does not possess."
-
-"Even if you made him speak as he does speak, your own language would
-constantly make a disagreeable contrast; and in my opinion you cannot
-escape this criticism. You describe a peasant girl, call her _Jeanne_,
-and put into her mouth words which she might possibly use. But you, who
-are the writer of the novel, and are anxious to make your readers
-understand your fondness for painting this kind of type--you compare her
-to a druidess, to a Jeanne d'Arc, and so on. Your opinions and language
-make an incongruous effect with hers, like the clashing of harsh colors
-in a picture; and this is not the way fully to enter into nature, even
-if you idealize her. Since then you have made a better and more truthful
-study in 'The Devil's Pool.' Still, I am not yet satisfied; the tip of
-the author's finger is apparent from time to time; and there are some
-author's words, as they are called by Henri Mounier, an artist who has
-succeeded in being true in _caricature_, and who has consequently solved
-the problem he had set for himself. I know that your own problem is no
-easier to solve. But you must still try, although you are sure of not
-succeeding; masterpieces are only lucky attempts. You may console
-yourself for not achieving masterpieces, provided that your attempts are
-conscientious."
-
-"I am consoled beforehand," I answered, "and I am willing to begin again
-whenever you wish; please give me your advice."
-
-"For example," said he, "we were present last evening at a rustic
-gathering at the farm, and the hemp-dresser told a story until two
-o'clock in the morning. The priest's servant helped him with his tale,
-and resumed it when he stopped; she was a peasant-woman of some slight
-education; he was uneducated, but happily gifted by nature and endowed
-with a certain rude eloquence. Between them they related a true story,
-which was rather long, and like a simple kind of novel. Can you remember
-it?"
-
-"Perfectly, and I could repeat it word for word in their language."
-
-"But their language would require a translation; you must write in your
-own, without using a single word unintelligible enough to necessitate a
-footnote for the reader."
-
-"I see that you are setting an impossible task for me--a task into which
-I have never plunged without emerging dissatisfied with myself, and
-overcome with a sense of my own weakness."
-
-"No matter, you must plunge in again, for I understand you artists; you
-need obstacles to rouse your enthusiasm, and you never do well what is
-plain and easy to you. Come, begin, tell me the story of the 'Waif,' but
-not in the way that you and I heard it last night. That was a masterly
-piece of narrative for you and me who are children of the soil. But tell
-it to me as if you had on your right hand a Parisian speaking the modern
-tongue, and on your left a peasant before whom you were unwilling to
-utter a word or phrase which he could not understand. You must speak
-dearly for the Parisian, and simply for the peasant. One will accuse you
-of a lack of local color, and the other of a lack of elegance. But I
-shall be listening too, and I am trying to discover by what means art,
-without ceasing to be universal, can penetrate the mystery of primitive
-simplicity, and interpret the charm of nature to the mind."
-
-"This, then, is a study which we are going to undertake together?"
-
-"Yes, for I shall interrupt you when you stumble."
-
-"Very well, let us sit down on this bank covered with wild thyme. I will
-begin; but first allow me to clear my voice with a few scales."
-
-"What do you mean? I did not know that you could sing."
-
-"I am only speaking metaphorically. Before beginning a work of art, I
-think it is well to call to mind some theme or other to serve as a type,
-and to induce the desired frame of mind. So, in order to prepare myself
-for what you ask, I must recite the story of the dog of Brisquet, which
-is short, and which I know by heart."
-
-"What is it? I cannot recall it."
-
-"It is an exercise for my voice, written by Charles Nodier, who tried
-his in all possible keys; a great artist, to my thinking, and one who
-has never received all the applause he deserved, because, among all his
-varied attempts, he failed more often than he succeeded. But when a man
-has achieved two or three masterpieces, no matter how short they may be,
-he should be crowned, and his mistakes should be forgotten. Here is the
-dog of Brisquet. You must listen."
-
-Then I repeated to my friend the story of the "Bichonne," which moved
-him to tears, and which he declared to be a masterpiece of style.
-
-"I should be discouraged in what I am going to attempt," said I, "for
-this Odyssey of the poor dog of Brisquet, which did not take five
-minutes to recite, has no stain or blot; it is a diamond cut by the
-first lapidary in the world--for Nodier is essentially a lapidary in
-literature. I am not scientific, and must call sentiment to my aid.
-Then, too, I cannot promise to be brief, for I know beforehand that my
-study will fail in the first of all requisites, that of being short and
-good at the same time."
-
-"Go on, nevertheless," said my friend, bored by my preliminaries.
-
-"This, then, is the history of '_François the Champi_'" I resumed, "and
-I shall try to remember the first part without any alteration. It was
-Monique, the old servant of the priest, who began."
-
-"One moment," said my severe auditor, "I must object to your title.
-_Champi_ is not French."
-
-"I beg your pardon," I answered. "The dictionary says it is obsolete,
-but Montaigne uses it, and I do not wish to be more French than the
-great writers who have created the language. So I shall not call my
-story 'François the Foundling,' nor 'François the Bastard,' but
-'François the _Champi_'--that is to say, the Waif, the forsaken child
-of the fields, as he was once called in the great world, and is still
-called in our part of the country."
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER I
-
-
-ONE morning, when Madeleine Blanchet, the young wife of the miller of
-Cormouer, went down to the end of her meadow to wash her linen in the
-fountain, she found a little child sitting in front of her washing-board
-playing with the straw she used as a cushion for her knees. Madeleine
-Blanchet looked at the child, and was surprised not to recognize him,
-for the road which runs near by is unfrequented, and few strangers are
-to be met with in the neighborhood.
-
-"Who are you, my boy?" said she to the little boy, who turned
-confidingly toward her, but did not seem to understand her question.
-"What is your name?" Madeleine Blanchet went on, as she made him sit
-down beside her, and knelt down to begin to wash.
-
-"François," answered the child.
-
-"François who?"
-
-"Who?" said the child stupidly.
-
-"Whose son are you?"
-
-"I don't know."
-
-"You don't know your father's name?"
-
-"I have no father."
-
-"Is he dead then?"
-
-"I don't know."
-
-"And your mother?"
-
-"She is over there," said the child pointing to a poor little hovel which
-stood at the distance of two gunshots from the mill, and the thatched
-roof of which could be seen through the willows.
-
-"Oh! I know," said Madeleine. "Is she the woman who has come to live
-here, and who moved in last evening?"
-
-"Yes," answered the child.
-
-"And you used to live at Mers?"
-
-"I don't know."
-
-"You are not a wise child. Do you know your mother's name, at least?"
-
-"Yes, it is Zabelle."
-
-"Isabelle who? Don't you know her other name?"
-
-"No, of course not."
-
-"What you know will not wear your brains out," said Madeleine, smiling
-and beginning to beat her linen.
-
-"What do you say?" asked little François. Madeleine looked at him
-again; he was a fine child, and had magnificent eyes. "It is a pity,"
-she thought, "that he seems to be so idiotic. How old are you?" she
-continued. "Perhaps you do not know that either."
-
-The truth is that he knew no more about this than about the rest. He
-tried his best to answer, ashamed to have the miller's wife think him so
-foolish, and delivered himself of this brilliant reply:
-
-"Two years old."
-
-"Indeed?" said Madeleine, wringing out her linen, without looking at him
-any more, "you are areal little simpleton, and nobody has taken the
-trouble to teach you, my poor child. You are tall enough to be six years
-old, but you have not the sense of a child of two."
-
-"Perhaps," answered François. Then, making another effort, as if to
-shake off the lethargy from his poor little mind, he said:
-
-"Were you asking for my name? It is François the Waif."
-
-"Oh! I understand now," said Madeleine, looking at him compassionately;
-and she was no longer astonished that he was so dirty, ragged, and
-stupid.
-
-"You have not clothes enough," said she, "and the weather is chill; I am
-sure that you must be cold."
-
-"I do not know," answered the poor waif, who was so accustomed to
-suffering that he was no longer conscious of it.
-
-Madeleine sighed. She thought of her little Jeannie, who was only a year
-old, and was sleeping comfortably in his cradle watched over by his
-grand-mother, while this poor little waif was shivering all alone at the
-fountain's brink, preserved from drowning only by the mercy of
-Providence, for he was too foolish to know that he would die if he fell
-into the water.
-
-Madeleine, whose heart was full of kindness, felt the child's arm and
-found it warm, although he shook from time to time, and his pretty face
-was very pale.
-
-"Have you any fever?" she asked.
-
-"I don't know," answered the child, who was always feverish.
-
-Madeleine Blanchet loosened the woolen shawl from her shoulders and
-wrapped it round the waif, who let her have her way without showing
-either surprise or pleasure. She picked up all the straw from under his
-knees and made a bed for him, on which he soon fell asleep; then she
-made haste to finish washing her little Jeannie's clothes, for she
-nursed her baby and was anxious to return to him.
-
-When her task was completed, the wet linen was twice as heavy as before,
-and she could not carry it all. She took home what she could, and left
-the rest with her wooden beater beside the water, intending to come back
-immediately and wake up the waif. Madeleine Blanchet was neither tall
-nor strong. She was a very pretty woman, with a fearless spirit and a
-reputation for sense and sweetness.
-
-As she opened the door of her house she heard the clattering of sabots
-running after her over the little bridge above the mill-dam, and,
-turning round, she saw the waif, who had caught up with her, and was
-bringing her her beater, her soap, the rest of the linen, and her shawl.
-
-"Oh!" said she, laying her hand on his shoulder, "you are not so foolish
-as I thought, for you are obliging, and nobody who has a good heart can
-be stupid. Come in, my child, come in and rest. Look at this poor little
-boy! He is carrying a load heavier than himself! Here," said she to the
-miller's old mother, who handed her her baby, rosy and smiling, "here
-is a poor sick-looking waif. You understand fevers, and we must try to
-cure him."
-
-"Ah! that is the fever of poverty!" replied the old woman, as she looked
-at François. "He could cure it with good soup, but he cannot get that.
-He is the little waif that belongs to the woman who moved in yesterday.
-She is your husband's tenant, Madeleine. She looks very wretched, and I
-am afraid that she will not pay regularly."
-
-Madeleine did not answer. She knew that her husband and her
-mother-in-law were not charitable, and that they loved their money more
-than their neighbor. She nursed her baby, and when the old woman had
-gone out to drive home the geese, she took François by the hand, and,
-holding Jeannie on her arm, went with them to Zabelle's.
-
-Zabelle, whose real name was Isabelle Bigot, was an old maid of fifty,
-as disinterested as a woman can be when she has nothing to live on, and
-is in constant dread of starvation. She had taken François after he was
-weaned, from a dying woman, and had brought him up ever since, for the
-sake of the monthly payment of a few pieces of silver, and with the
-expectation of making a little servant out of him. She had lost her
-sheep, and was forced to buy others on credit, whenever she could obtain
-it; for she had no other means of support than her little flock, and a
-dozen hens, which lived at the expense of the parish. She meant
-François to tend this poor flock along the roadsides, until he should
-be old enough to make his first communion, after which she expected to
-hire him out as best she could, either as a little swineherd or a
-plowboy, and she was sure that if his heart were good he would give part
-of his wages to his adopted mother.
-
-Zabelle had come from Mers, the day after the feast of Saint Martin,
-leaving her last goat behind her in payment of what she owed on her
-rent, and had taken possession of the little cottage belonging to the
-mill of Cormouer, without being able to offer any security beside her
-pallet-bed, two chairs, a chest, and a few earthen vessels. The house
-was so poor, so ill-protected from the weather, and of such trifling
-value, that the miller was obliged to incur the risk of letting it to a
-poor tenant, or to leave it unoccupied.
-
-Madeleine talked with Zabelle, and soon perceived that she was not a bad
-woman, and that she would do all in her power to pay the rent. She had
-some affection for the waif, but she was so accustomed to see him suffer
-and to suffer herself that she was at first more surprised than pleased
-by the pity which the rich miller's wife showed for the forlorn child.
-
-At last, after she had recovered from her astonishment, and understood
-that Madeleine had not come to ask anything of her, but to do her a
-kindness, she took courage, related her story, which was like that of
-all the unfortunate, and thanked her warmly for her interest. Madeleine
-assured her that she would do her best to help her, but begged her to
-tell nobody, acknowledging that she was not her own mistress at home,
-and could only afford her assistance in secret.
-
-She left her woolen shawl with Zabelle, and exacted a promise from her
-that she would cut it into a coat for the waif that same evening, and
-not allow the pieces to be seen before they were sewed together. She
-saw, indeed, that Zabelle consented reluctantly, thinking the shawl very
-convenient for her own use, and so she was obliged to tell her that she
-would do no more for her unless the waif were warmly clothed in three
-days' time.
-
-"Do you not suppose," she added, "that my mother-in-law, who is so
-wide-awake, would recognize my shawl on your shoulders? Do you wish to
-get me into trouble? You may count upon my helping you in other ways if
-you keep your own counsel. Now, listen to me: your waif has the fever,
-and he will die if you do not take good care of him."
-
-"Do you think so?" said Zabelle. "I should be very sorry to lose him,
-because he has the best heart in the world; he never complains, and is
-as obedient as if he belonged to a respectable family. He is quite
-different from other waifs, who are ill-tempered and unruly, and always
-in mischief."
-
-"That is only because they are rebuffed and ill-treated. If yours is
-good, it is because you have been kind to him, you may be sure."
-
-"That is true," rejoined Zabelle; "children are more grateful than
-people think, and though this little fellow is not bright, he can be
-very useful at times. Once, when I was ill last year, and he was only
-five years old, he took as good care of me as if he were a grown-up
-person."
-
-"Listen," said the miller's wife: "you must send him to me every morning
-and evening, at the hour when I give soup to my child. I shall make more
-than is necessary, and the waif may eat what is left; nobody will pay
-any attention."
-
-"Oh! I shall not dare bring him to you, and he will never have enough
-sense to know the right time himself."
-
-"Let us arrange it in this way. When the soup is ready, I will put my
-distaff on the bridge over the dam. Look, you can see it very well from
-here. Then you must send the child over with a sabot in his hand, as if
-he were coming to get a light for the fire; and if he eats my soup, you
-will have all yours to yourself. You will both be better fed."
-
-"That will do very well," answered Zabelle. "I see that you are a clever
-woman, and that I am fortunate in coming here. I was very much afraid of
-your husband, who has the reputation of being a hard man, and if I could
-have gone elsewhere I should not have taken his house, especially as it
-is in wretched repair, and the rent is high. But I see that you are kind
-to the poor, and will help me to bring up my waif. Ah! if the soup could
-only cure his fever! It would be a great misfortune to me to lose that
-child! He brings me but little profit, for all that I receive from the
-asylum goes for his support. But I love him as if he were my own child,
-because I know that he is good, and will be of use to me later. Have you
-noticed how well-grown he is for his age, and will soon be able to
-work?"
-
-Thus François the Waif was reared by the care and kindness of
-Madeleine, the miller's wife. He soon recovered his health, for he was
-strongly built, and any rich man in the country might have wished for a
-son with as handsome a face and as well-knit a frame. He was as brave as
-a man, and swam in the river like a fish, diving even under the
-mill-dam; he feared neither fire nor water; he jumped on the wildest
-colts and rode them without a halter into the pasture, kicking them with
-his heels to keep them in the right path, and holding on to their manes
-when they leaped the ditches. It was singular that he did all this in
-his quiet, easy way, without saying anything, or changing his childlike
-and somewhat sleepy expression.
-
-It was on account of this expression that he passed for a fool; but it
-is none the less true that if it were a question of robbing a magpie's
-nest at the top of a lofty poplar, or of finding a cow that had strayed
-far from home, or of killing a thrush with a stone, no child was bolder,
-more adroit, or more certain of success than he. The other children
-called it _luck_, which is supposed to be the portion of a waif in this
-hard world. So they always let him take the first part in dangerous
-amusements.
-
-"He will never get hurt," they said, "because he is a waif. A kernel of
-wheat fears the havoc of the storm, but a random seed never dies."
-
-For two years all went well. Zabelle found means to buy a few sheep and
-goats, though no one knew how. She rendered a good many small services
-to the mill, and Cadet Blanchet, the miller, was induced to make some
-repairs in her roof, which leaked in every direction. She was enabled to
-dress herself and her waif a little better, and looked gradually less
-poverty-stricken than on her arrival. Madeleine's mother-in-law made
-some harsh comments on the disappearance of certain articles, and on the
-quantity of bread consumed in the house, and once Madeleine was obliged
-to plead guilty in order to shield Zabelle from suspicion; but, contrary
-to his mother's expectation, Cadet Blanchet was hardly angry at all, and
-seemed to wink at what his wife had done.
-
-The secret of Cadet Blanchet's compliance was that he was still very
-much in love with his wife. Madeleine was pretty, and not the least of a
-coquette; he heard her praises sung everywhere. Besides, his affairs
-were prosperous, and, as he was one of those men who are cruel only when
-they are in dread of calamity, he was kinder to Madeleine than anybody
-could have supposed possible. This roused Mother Blanchet's jealousy,
-and she revenged herself by petty annoyances, which Madeleine bore in
-silence, and without complaining to her husband.
-
-It was the best way of putting an end to them, and no woman could be
-more patient and reasonable in this respect than Madeleine. But they say
-in our country that goodness avails less in the end than malice, and the
-day came when Madeleine was rebuked and called to account for her
-charities.
-
-It was a year when the grain had been wasted by hail, and an overflow of
-the river had spoiled the hay. Cadet Blanchet was not in a good humor,
-and one day, as he was coming back from market with a comrade who had
-just married a very beautiful girl, the latter said to him:
-
-"You, too, were not to be pitied _in your day_, for your Madelon used to
-be a very attractive girl."
-
-"What do you mean by _my day_, and _Madelon used to be_? Do you think
-that she and I are old? Madeleine is not twenty yet, and I am not aware
-that she has lost her looks."
-
-"Oh, no, I do not say so," replied the other. "Madeleine is certainly
-still good-looking; but you know that when a woman marries so young you
-cannot expect her to be pretty long. After she has nursed one child, she
-is already worn; and your wife was never strong, for you see that she is
-very thin, and has lost the appearance of health. Is the poor thing
-ill?"
-
-"Not that I know of. Why do you ask me?"
-
-"Oh, I don't know. I think she looks sad, as if she suffered or had some
-sorrow. A woman's bloom lasts no longer than the blossom of the vine. I
-must expect to see my wife with a long face and sober expression. And we
-men are only in love with our wives while we are jealous of them. They
-exasperate us; we scold them and beat them sometimes; they are
-distressed and weep; they stay at home and are afraid of us; then they
-are bored and care no more about us. But we are happy, for we are the
-masters. And yet, one fine morning, lo and behold, a man sees that if
-nobody wants his wife, it is because she has grown ugly; so he loves her
-no longer, and goes to court his neighbor's. It is his fate. Good
-evening, Cadet Blanchet; you kissed my wife rather too warmly to-night;
-I took note of it, though I said nothing. I tell you this to let you
-know that she and I shall not quarrel over it, and that I shall try not
-to make her as melancholy as yours, because I know my own character. If
-I am ever jealous, I shall be cruel, and when I have no more occasion
-for jealousy, I shall be still worse perhaps."
-
-A good disposition profits by a good lesson; but, though active and
-intelligent, Cadet Blanchet was too arrogant to keep his
-self-possession. He came home with his head high and his eye bloodshot.
-He looked at Madeleine as he had not done for a long time, and perceived
-that she was pale and altered. He asked her if she were ill, so rudely
-that she turned still paler, and answered in a faint voice that she was
-quite well. He took offense, Heaven knows why, and sat down to the
-table, desirous of seeking a quarrel. He had not long to wait for an
-opportunity. They talked of the dearness of wheat, and Mother Blanchet
-remarked, as she did every evening, that too much bread was eaten in the
-house. Madeleine was silent. Cadet Blanchet wanted to make her
-responsible for the waste, and the old woman declared that she had
-caught the waif carrying away half a loaf that very morning. Madeleine
-should have been indignant and held her own, but she could only cry.
-Blanchet thought of what his companion had said to him, and was still
-more irritated; and so it happened that from that day on, explain it as
-you can, he no longer loved his wife, but made her wretched.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER II
-
-
-HE made her wretched, and as he had never made her happy she was doubly
-unlucky in her marriage. She had allowed herself to be married, at
-sixteen, to this rough, red-faced man, who drank deeply on Sunday, was
-in a fury all Monday, in bad spirits on Tuesday, and worked like a horse
-all the rest of the week to make up for lost time, for he was
-avaricious, and had no leisure to think of his wife. He was less
-ill-tempered on Saturday, because he had finished his work, and expected
-to amuse himself next day. But a single day of good humor in a week is
-not enough, and Madeleine had no pleasure in seeing him merry, because
-she knew that he would be sure to come home the next evening in a
-passion.
-
-But as she was young and pretty, and so gentle that it was impossible to
-be angry long with her, there were still intervals when he was kind and
-just, and when he took her hands in his and said:
-
-"Madeleine, you are a good wife, and I think that you were made
-expressly for me. If I had married a coquette, such as so many women
-are, I should kill her, or I should drown myself under my own mill-wheel.
-But I know that you are well-behaved and industrious, and that you are
-worth your weight in gold."
-
-After four years of married life, however, his love had quite gone; he
-had no more kind words for her, and was enraged that she made no answer
-to his abuse. What answer could she make? She knew that her husband was
-unjust, and was unwilling to reproach him for it, for she considered it
-her duty to respect the master whom she had never been able to love.
-
-Mother Blanchet was pleased to see her son master of the house again, as
-she said; just as if it had ever been otherwise. She hated her
-daughter-in-law, because she knew her to be better than herself. When
-she could find no other cause of complaint, she reviled her for not
-being strong, for coughing all winter, and for having only one child.
-She despised her for this, for knowing how to read and write, and for
-reading prayers in a corner of the orchard, instead of gossiping and
-chattering with the dames of the vicinity.
-
-Madeleine placed her soul in God's hands, and thinking lamentations
-useless, she bore her affliction as if it were her due. She withdrew her
-heart from this earth, and often dreamed of paradise, as if she wished
-to die. Still, she was careful of her health, and armed herself with
-courage, because she knew that her child could only be happy through
-her, and she accepted everything for the sake of the love she bore him.
-
-Though she could not feel any great affection for Zabelle, she was still
-fond of her, because this woman, who was half good and half selfish,
-continued to do her best for the poor waif; and Madeleine, who saw how
-people deteriorate who think of themselves alone, was inclined to esteem
-only those who thought sometimes of others. As she was the only person
-in the neighborhood who took no care of herself, she was entirely
-isolated and very sorrowful, without fully understanding the cause of
-her grief.
-
-Little by little, however, she observed that the waif, who was then ten
-years old, began to think as she did. When I say think, I mean you to
-understand that she judged from his behavior; for there was no more
-sense in the poor child's words than on the first day she had spoken
-with him. He could not express himself, and when people tried to make
-him talk they were sure to interrupt him immediately, for he knew
-nothing about anything. But if he were needed to run an errand, he was
-always ready, and when it was an errand for Madeleine, he ran before she
-could ask him. He looked as if he had not understood the commission, but
-he executed it so swiftly and well that even she was amazed.
-
-One day, as he was carrying little Jeannie in his arms, and allowing him
-to pull his hair for his amusement, Madeleine caught the child from him
-with some slight irritation, saying half involuntarily:
-
-"François, if you begin now by suffering all the whims of other people,
-there is no knowing where they will stop."
-
-To her great surprise, François answered:
-
-"I should rather suffer evil than return it."
-
-Madeleine was astonished, and gazed into the eyes of the waif, where she
-saw something she had never observed in the eyes even of the most honest
-persons she knew; something so kind, and yet so decided, that she was
-quite bewildered. She sat down on the grass with her child on her knees,
-and made the waif sit on the edge of her dress, without daring to speak
-to him. She could scarcely understand why she was overcome with fear and
-shame that she had often jested with this child for being so foolish. It
-is true that she had always done so with extreme gentleness, and perhaps
-she had pitied and loved him the more for his stupidity; but now she
-fancied that he had always understood her ridicule, and had been pained
-by it without being able to say anything in return.
-
-She soon forgot this incident, for a short time afterward her husband,
-who had become infatuated with a disreputable woman in the neighborhood,
-undertook to hate his wife in good earnest, and to forbid her to allow
-Zabelle and her boy to enter the mill. Madeleine fell to thinking of
-still more secret means of aiding them, and warned Zabelle, telling her
-that she should pretend to neglect her for a time.
-
-Zabelle was very much in awe of the miller, and had not Madeleine's
-power of endurance for the love of others. She argued to herself that
-the miller was the master, and could turn her out of doors, or increase
-her rent, and that Madeleine would be unable to prevent it. She
-reflected also that if she submitted to Mother Blanchet, she would
-establish herself in the good graces of the old woman, whose protection
-would be more useful to her than that of the young wife. So she went to
-the miller's mother, and confessed that she had received help from her
-daughter-in-law, declaring that she had done so against her will, and
-only out of pity for the waif, whom she had no means of feeding. The old
-woman detested the waif, though for no reason except that Madeleine took
-an interest in him. She advised Zabelle to rid herself of him, and
-promised her at this price to obtain six months' credit on her rent. The
-morrow of Saint Martin's day had come round, and as the year had been a
-hard one, Zabelle was out of money, and Madeleine was so closely watched
-that for some time she had been unable to give her any. Zabelle boldly
-promised to take back the waif to the foundling asylum the next day.
-
-She had no sooner given her word than she repented of it, and at the
-sight of little François sleeping on his wretched pallet, her heart was
-as heavy as if she were about to commit a mortal sin. She could not
-sleep, and before dawn Mother Blanchet entered the hovel.
-
-"Come, get up, Zabeau," she said. "You gave me your promise and you must
-keep it. If you wait to speak to my daughter-in-law, you will never do
-anything, but you must let the boy go, in her interest as well as your
-own, you see. My son has taken a dislike to him on account of his
-stupidity and greediness; my daughter-in-law has pampered him too much,
-and I am sure that he is a thief already. All foundlings are thieves
-from their birth, and it is mere folly to expect anything of such
-brats. This one will be the cause of your being driven away from here,
-and will ruin your reputation; he will furnish my son with a reason for
-beating his wife every day, and in the end, when he is tall and strong,
-he will become a highwayman, and will bring you to shame. Come, come,
-you must start! Take him through the fields as far as Corley, and there
-the stage-coach passes at eight o'clock. Get in with him, and you will
-reach Châteauroux, at noon, at the latest. You can come back this
-evening; there is a piece of money for your journey, and you will have
-enough left over to amuse yourself with in town."
-
-Zabelle woke the child, dressed him in his best, made a bundle of the
-rest of his clothes, and, taking his hand, started off with him by the
-light of the moon.
-
-As she walked along and the day broke, her heart failed her; she could
-neither hasten her steps, nor speak, and when she came to the highroad,
-she sat down on the side of a ditch, more dead than alive. The
-stage-coach was approaching, and they had arrived only just in time.
-
-The waif was not in the habit of worrying, and thus far he had followed
-his mother without suspicion; but when he saw a huge carriage bowling
-toward him for the first time in his life, the noise it made frightened
-him, and he tried to pull Zabelle back into the meadow which they had
-just left to join the highroad. Zabelle thought that he understood his
-fate, and said:
-
-"Come, poor François, you really must!"
-
-François was still more frightened. He thought that the stage-coach was
-an enormous animal running after him to devour him. He who was so bold
-in meeting all the dangers which he knew lost his head, and rushed back
-screaming into the meadow. Zabelle ran after him; but when she saw him
-pale as death, her courage deserted her. She followed him all across the
-meadow, and allowed the stage-coach to go by.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER III
-
-
-THEY returned by the same road they had come, until they had gone half
-the distance, and then they stopped to rest. Zabelle was alarmed to see
-that the child trembled from head to foot, and his heart beat so
-violently as to agitate his poor old shirt. She made him sit down, and
-attempted to comfort him, but she did not know what she was saying, and
-François was not in a state to guess her meaning. She drew out a bit of
-bread from her basket and tried to persuade him to eat it; but he had no
-desire for food, and they sat on for a long time in silence.
-
-At last, Zabelle, who was in the habit of recurring to her first
-thoughts, was ashamed of her weakness, and said to herself that she
-would be lost if she appeared again at the mill with the child. Another
-stage was to pass toward noon, and she decided to stay where they were
-until the moment necessary for returning to the highroad; but as
-François was so terrified that he had lost the little sense he
-possessed, and as for the first time in his life he was capable of
-resisting her will, she tried to tempt him with the attractions of the
-horse's bells, the noise of the wheels, and the speed of the great
-vehicle.
-
-In her efforts to inspire him with confidence, she said more than she
-intended; perhaps her repentance urged her to speak, in spite of
-herself, or it may be that when François woke that morning he had heard
-certain words of Mother Blanchet, which now returned to his mind; or
-else his poor wits cleared suddenly at the approach of calamity; at all
-events, he began to say, with the same expression in his eyes which had
-once astonished and almost startled Madeleine:
-
-"Mother, you want to send me away from you! You want to take me far off
-from here and leave me."
-
-Then he remembered the word asylum, spoken several times in his hearing.
-He had no idea what an asylum was, but it seemed to him more horrible
-than the stage-coach, and he cried with a shudder:
-
-"You want to put me in the asylum!"
-
-Zabelle had gone too far to retreat. She believed that the child knew
-more of her intentions than he really did, and without reflecting how
-easy it would be to deceive him and rid herself of him by stratagem, she
-undertook to explain the truth to him, and to make him understand that
-he would be much happier at the asylum than with her, that he would be
-better cared for there, would learn to work, and would be placed for a
-time in the charge of some woman less poor than herself, who would be a
-mother to him.
-
-This attempted consolation put the finishing touch to the waif's
-despair. A strange and unknown future inspired him with more terror than
-all Zabelle could say of the hardships of a life with her. Besides, he
-loved with all his might this ungrateful mother, who cared less for him
-than for herself. He loved another, too, almost as much as Zabelle, and
-she was Madeleine; only he did not know that he loved her, and did not
-speak of her. He threw himself sobbing on the ground, tore up the grass
-with his hands and flung it over his face, as if he had fallen in mortal
-agony. When Zabelle, in her distress and impatience, tried to make him
-get up by force and threats, he beat his head so hard against the stones
-that he was covered with blood, and she thought he was about to kill
-himself.
-
-It pleased God that Madeleine Blanchet should pass by at that moment.
-She had heard nothing of the departure of Zabelle and the child, and was
-coming home from Presles, where she had carried back some wool to a
-lady, who had given it to her to spin very fine, as she was considered
-the best spinster far and wide. She had received her payment, and was
-returning to the mill with ten crowns in her pocket. She was going to
-cross the river on one of those little plank bridges on a level with the
-surface of the water, which are often to be met with in that part of the
-country, when she heard heart-piercing shrieks, and recognized at once
-the voice of the poor waif. She flew in the direction of the cries, and
-saw the child, bathed in blood, struggling in Zabelle's arms. She could
-not understand it at first; for it looked as if Zabelle had cruelly
-struck him, and were trying to shake him off. This seemed the more
-probable, as François, on catching sight of her, rushed toward her,
-twined his arms about her like a little snake, and clung to her skirts,
-screaming:
-
-"Madame Blanchet, Madame Blanchet, save me!"
-
-Zabelle was tall and strong, and Madeleine was small and slight as a
-reed. Still, she was not afraid, and, imagining that Zabelle had gone
-crazy, and was going to murder the child, she placed herself in front of
-him, resolved to protect him or to die while he was making his escape.
-
-A few words, however, sufficed for an explanation. Zabelle, who was more
-grieved than angry, told the story, and François, who at last took in
-all the sadness of his lot, managed this time to profit by what he
-heard, with more cleverness than he had ever been supposed to possess.
-After Zabelle had finished, he kept fast hold of the miller's wife,
-saying:
-
-"Don't send me away, don't let me be sent away."
-
-And he went to and fro between Zabelle, who was crying, and the miller's
-wife, who was crying still harder, repeating all kinds of words and
-prayers, which scarcely seemed to come from his lips, for this was the
-first time he had ever been able to express himself.
-
-"O my mother, my darling mother!" said he to Zabelle, "why do you want
-me to leave you? Do you want me to die of grief and never see you again?
-What have I done, that you no longer love me? Have I not always obeyed
-you? Have I done any harm? I have always taken good care of our
-animals--you told me so yourself; and when you kissed me every evening,
-you said I was your child, and you never said that you were not my
-mother! Keep me, mother, keep me; I am praying to you as I pray to God!
-I shall always take care of you; I shall always work for you; if you are
-not satisfied with me, you may beat me, and I shall not mind; but do not
-send me away until I have done something wrong."
-
-Then he went to Madeleine, and said:
-
-"Madame Blanchet, take pity on me. Tell my mother to keep me. I shall
-never go to your house, since it is forbidden, and if you want to give
-me anything, I shall know that I must not take it. I shall speak to
-Master Cadet Blanchet, and tell him to beat me and not to scold you on
-my account. When you go into the fields, I shall always go with you to
-carry your little boy, and amuse him all day. I shall do all you tell
-me, and if I do any wrong, you need no longer love me. But do not let me
-be sent away; I do not want to go; I should rather jump into the river."
-
-Poor François looked at the river, and ran so near it, that they saw
-his life hung by a thread, and that a single word of refusal would be
-enough to make him drown himself. Madeleine pleaded for the child, and
-Zabelle was dying to listen to her. Now that she was near the mill,
-matters looked differently.
-
-"Well, I will keep you, you naughty child," said she; "but I shall be on
-the road to-morrow, begging my bread because of you. You are too stupid
-to know it is your fault that I shall be reduced to such a condition,
-and this is what I have gained by burdening myself with a child who is
-no good to me, and does not even pay for the bread he eats."
-
-"You have said enough, Zabelle," said the miller's wife, taking the
-child in her arms to lift him from the ground, although he was very
-heavy. "There are ten crowns for you to pay your rent with, or to move
-elsewhere, if my husband persists in driving you away from here. It is
-my own money--money that I have earned myself. I know that it will be
-required of me, but no matter. They may kill me if they want; I buy this
-child, he is mine, he is yours no longer. You do not deserve to keep a
-child with such a warm heart, and who loves you so much. I shall be his
-mother, and my family must submit. I am willing to suffer everything for
-my children. I could be cut in pieces for my Jeannie, and I could endure
-as much for this child, too. Come, poor François, you are no longer a
-waif, do you hear? You have a mother, and you can love her as much as
-you choose, for she will love you with her whole heart in return."
-
-Madeleine said all this without being perfectly aware of what she was
-saying. She whose disposition was so gentle was now highly excited. Her
-heart rebelled against Zabelle, and she was really angry with her.
-François had thrown his arms round the neck of the miller's wife, and
-clasped her so tight that she lost her breath; and at the same time her
-cap and neckerchief were stained with blood, for his head was cut in
-several places.
-
-Madeleine was so deeply affected, and was filled with so much pity,
-dismay, sorrow, and determination at once, that she set out to walk
-toward the mill with as much courage as a soldier advancing under fire.
-Without considering that the child was heavy, and she herself so weak
-that she could hardly carry her small Jeannie, she attempted to cross
-the unsteady little bridge that sank under her weight. When she reached
-the middle, she stopped. The child was so heavy that she swerved
-slightly, and drops of perspiration started from her forehead. She felt
-as if she should fall from weakness, when suddenly she called to mind a
-beautiful and marvelous story that she had read the evening before in an
-old volume of the "Lives of the Saints." It was the story of Saint
-Christopher, who carried the child Jesus across the river, and found him
-so heavy that he stopped in fear. She looked down at the waif. His eyes
-had rolled back in his head, and his arms had relaxed their hold. The
-poor child had either undergone too much emotion, or he had lost too
-much blood, and had fainted.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER IV
-
-
-WHEN Zabelle saw him thus, she thought he was dead. All her love for him
-returned, and with no more thought of the miller or his wicked old
-mother, she seized the child from Madeleine, and began to kiss him, with
-sobs and cries. They sat down beside the river, and, laying him across
-their knees, they washed his wounds and stanched the blood with their
-handkerchiefs; but they had nothing with which to bring him to.
-Madeleine warmed his head against her bosom, and breathed on his face
-and into his mouth as people do with the drowned. This revived him, and
-as soon as he opened his eyes and saw what care they were taking of him,
-he kissed Madeleine and Zabelle, one after the other, so passionately
-that they were obliged to check him, fearing that he might faint again.
-
-"Come, come," said Zabelle, "we must go home. No, I can never, never
-leave that child; I see now, and I shall never think of it again. I
-shall keep your ten crowns, Madeleine, so I can pay my rent to-night if
-I am forced to do so. Do not tell about it; I shall go to-morrow to the
-lady in Presles, so that she may not inform against you, and she can
-say, in case of need, that she has not as yet given you the price of
-your spinning. In this way we shall gain time, and I shall try so hard
-that, even if I have to beg for it, I shall succeed in paying my debt to
-you, so that you need not suffer on my account. You cannot take this
-child to the mill; your husband would kill him. Leave him to me; I swear
-to you that I shall take as good care of him as before, and if we are
-tormented any further, we tan think of something else."
-
-It came to pass that the waif's return was effected without disturbance,
-and without exciting attention; for it happened that Mother Blanchet had
-just fallen ill of a stroke of apoplexy, without having had an
-opportunity of telling her son what she had exacted from Zabelle about
-the waif, and Master Blanchet sent in all haste for Zabelle to come and
-help in the household, while Madeleine and the servant were taking care
-of his mother. For three days everything was in confusion at the mill.
-Madeleine did not spare herself, and watched for three nights at the
-bedside of her husband's mother, who died in her arms.
-
-This blow allayed the miller's bad temper for some time. He had loved
-his mother as much as he was capable of loving, and his vanity was
-concerned in making as fine a funeral for her as his means allowed. He
-forgot his mistress for the required time, and with pretended generosity
-distributed his dead mother's clothes to the poor neighbors. Zabelle had
-her share of the alms, and the waif received a franc piece, because
-Blanchet remembered that once, when they were in urgent need of leeches
-for the sick woman, and everybody was running futilely hither and
-thither to look for them, the waif went off, without saying a word, to
-fish some out of a pool where he knew they were, and brought them back
-in less time than it took the others to start out for them.
-
-So Cadet Blanchet gradually forgot his dislike, and nobody at the mill
-knew of Zabelle's freak of sending back the waif to the asylum. The
-question of Madeleine's ten crowns came up later, for the miller did not
-neglect to make Zabelle pay the rent for her wretched cottage. Madeleine
-said that she had lost them as she ran home through the fields, on
-hearing of her mother-in-law's accident. Blanchet made a long search for
-them and scolded a great deal, but he never found out the use to which
-the money had been put, and Zabelle was not suspected.
-
-After his mother's death, Blanchet's disposition changed little by
-little, though not for the better. He found life still more tedious at
-home, was less observant of what went on, and less niggardly in his
-expenditure. He no longer earned anything, and, in proportion as he grew
-fat, led a disorderly life, and cared no more for his work. He looked to
-make his profit by dishonest bargains and unfair dealings, which would
-have enriched him, if he had not spent on one hand what he gained on the
-other. His mistress acquired more ascendency over him every day. She
-took him with her to fairs and feasts, induced him to engage in petty
-trickeries, and spend his time at the tavern. He learned how to gamble,
-and was often lucky; but it would have been better for him to lose
-always than acquire this unfortunate taste; for his dissipations threw
-him entirely off his balance, and at the most trifling loss, he became
-furious with himself, and ill-tempered toward everybody else.
-
-While he was leading this wretched life, his wife, always wise and good,
-governed the house and tenderly reared their only child. But she thought
-herself doubly a mother, for she loved and watched over the waif almost
-as much as if he were her own. As her husband became more dissolute, she
-was less miserable and more her own mistress. In the beginning of his
-licentious career he was still very churlish, because he dreaded
-reproaches, and wished to hold his wife in a state of fear and
-subjection. When he saw that she was by nature an enemy to strife, and
-showed no jealousy, he made up his mind to leave her in peace. As his
-mother was no longer there to stir him up against her, he was obliged to
-recognize that no other woman was as thrifty as Madeleine. He grew
-accustomed to spend whole weeks away from home, and whenever he came
-back in the mood for a quarrel, he met with a mute patience that turned
-away his wrath, and he was first astonished and ended by going to sleep.
-So finally he came to see his wife only when he was tired and in need of
-rest.
-
-Madeleine must have been a very Christian woman to live thus alone with
-an old servant and two children, and perhaps she was a still better
-Christian than if she had been a nun. God had given her the great
-privilege of learning to read, and of understanding what she read. Yet
-she always read the same thing, for she possessed only two books, the
-Holy Gospel and an abbreviated copy of the "Lives of the Saints." The
-Gospel sanctified her, and saddened her to tears, when she read alone in
-the evening beside her son's bed. The "Lives of the Saints" produced a
-different effect upon her; it was just as when idle people read stories
-and excite themselves over dreams and illusions. These beautiful tales
-inspired her with courage and even gaiety. Sometimes, out in the fields,
-the waif saw her smile and flush, when she had her book in her lap. He
-wondered at it, and found it hard to understand how the stories which
-she told him, with some little alteration in order adapt them to his
-capacity (and also perhaps because she could not perfectly grasp them
-from beginning to end), could come from that thing which she called her
-book. He wanted to read, too, and learned so quickly and well that she
-was amazed, and in his turn he was able to teach little Jeannie. When
-François was old enough to make his first communion, Madeleine helped
-him with his catechism, and the parish priest was delighted with the
-intelligence and excellent memory of this child, who had always passed
-for a simpleton, because he was very shy and never had anything to say.
-
-After his first communion, and he was old enough to be hired out,
-Zabelle was pleased to have him engaged as servant at the mill; and
-Master Blanchet made no opposition, because it was plain to all that the
-waif was a good boy, very industrious and obliging, and stronger, more
-alert and sensible than the other children of his age. Then, too, he was
-satisfied with ten crowns for wages, and it was an economical
-arrangement for the miller. François was very happy to be entirely in
-the service of Madeleine and the dear little Jeannie he loved so much,
-and when he found that Zabelle could pay for her farm with his earnings,
-and thus be relieved of her most besetting care, he thought himself as
-rich as a king.
-
-Unfortunately, poor Zabelle could not long enjoy her reward. At the
-beginning of the winter, she fell seriously ill, and in spite of
-receiving every care from the waif and Madeleine, she died on Candlemas
-Day, after having so far recovered that they thought her well again.
-Madeleine sorrowed and wept for her sincerely, but she tried to comfort
-the poor waif, who but for her would have been inconsolable.
-
-Even after a year's time, he still thought of her every day, and almost
-every instant. Once he said to the miller's wife:
-
-"I feel a kind of remorse when I pray for my poor mother's soul; it is
-because I did not love her enough. I am very sure that I always did my
-best to please her, that I never said any but kind words to her, and
-that I served her in all ways as I serve you; but I must confess
-something, Madame Blanchet, which troubles me, and for which, in secret,
-I often ask God's forgiveness. Ever since the day my poor mother wanted
-to send me back to the asylum, and you took my part, and prevented her
-doing so, my love for her, against my will, grew less. I was not angry
-with her; I did not allow myself even to think that she was wrong in
-trying to rid herself of me. It was her right to do so; I stood in her
-way; she was afraid of your mother-in-law, and after all she did it very
-reluctantly; for I could see that she loved me greatly. In some way or
-other, the idea keeps recurring to my mind, and I cannot drive it away.
-From the moment you said to me those words which I shall never forget, I
-loved you more than her, and in spite of all I could do, I thought of
-you more often than of her. She is dead now, and I did not die of grief
-as I should if you died!"
-
-"What were the words I said, my poor child, that made you love me so
-much? I do not remember them."
-
-"You do not remember them?" said the waif, sitting down at the feet of
-Madeleine, who was turning her wheel as she listened. "When you gave the
-crowns to my mother, you said: 'There, I buy that child of you; he is
-mine!' And then you kissed me and said: 'Now you are no longer a waif;
-you have a mother who will love you as if you were her own!' Did not you
-say so, Madame Blanchet?"
-
-"If I did, I said what I meant, and am still of the same mind. Do you
-think I have failed to keep my word?"
-
-"Oh no! only--"
-
-"Only what?"
-
-"No. I cannot tell you, for it is wrong to complain and be thankless and
-ungrateful."
-
-"I know that you cannot be ungrateful, and I want you to say what you
-have on your mind. Come, in what respect don't I treat you like my own
-child? I order you to tell me, as I should order Jeannie."
-
-"Well, it is--it is that you kiss Jeannie very often, and have never
-kissed me since the day we were just speaking of. Yet I am careful to
-keep my face and hands very clean, because I know that you do not like
-dirty children, and are always running after Jeannie to wash and comb
-him. But this does not make you kiss me any more, and my mother Zabelle
-did not kiss me either. I see that other mothers caress their children,
-and so I know that I am always a waif, and that you cannot forget it."
-
-"Come and kiss me, François," said the miller's wife, making the child
-sit on her knees and kissing him with much feeling. "It is true that I
-did wrong never to think of it, and you deserved better of me. You see
-now that I kiss you with all my heart, and you are very sure that you
-are not a waif, are not you?"
-
-The child flung his arms round Madeleine's neck, and turned so pale that
-she was surprised, and putting him down gently from her lap, tried to
-distract his attention. After a minute, he left her, and ran off to
-hide. The miller's wife felt some uneasiness, and making a search for
-him, she finally found him on his knees, in a corner of the barn, bathed
-in tears.
-
-"What does this mean, François?" said she, raising him up. "I don't
-know what is the matter with you. If you are thinking of your poor
-mother Zabelle, you had better say a prayer for her, and then you will
-feel more at rest."
-
-"No, no," said the child, twisting the end of Madeleine's apron, and
-kissing it with all his might. "Are not you my mother?"
-
-"Why are you crying then? You give me pain!"
-
-"Oh, no! oh, no! I am not crying," answered François, drying his eyes
-quickly, and looking up cheerfully; "I mean, I do not know why I was
-crying. Truly, I cannot understand it, for I am as happy as if I were in
-heaven."
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER V
-
-
-FROM that day on Madeleine kissed the child, morning and evening,
-neither more nor less than if he had been her own, and the only
-difference she made between Jeannie and François was that the younger
-was the more petted and spoiled as became his age. He was only seven,
-while the waif was twelve, and François understood perfectly that a big
-boy like him could not be caressed like a little one. Besides, they were
-still more unlike in looks than in years. François was so tall and
-strong that he passed for fifteen, and Jeannie was small and slender
-like his mother, whom he greatly resembled.
-
-It happened one morning, when she had just received François's greeting
-on her door-step, and had kissed him as usual, her servant said to her:
-
-"I mean no offense, my good mistress, but it seems to me that boy is
-very big to let you kiss him as if he were a little girl."
-
-"Do you think so?" answered Madeleine, in astonishment. "Don't you know
-how young he is?"
-
-"Yes, and I should not see any harm in it, except that he is a waif, and
-though I am only your servant, I would not be hired to kiss any such
-riff-raff."
-
-"What you say is wrong, Catherine," returned Madame Blanchet; "and above
-all, you should not say it before the poor child."
-
-"She may say it, and everybody else may say it, too," replied François,
-boldly. "I don't care; if I am not a waif for you, Madame Blanchet, I am
-very well satisfied."
-
-"Only hear him!" said the servant. "This is the first time I ever knew
-him to talk so much at once. Then you know how to put two or three words
-together, do you, François? I really thought you could not even
-understand what other people said. If I had known that you were
-listening, I should not have spoken before you as I did, for I have no
-idea of hurting your feelings. You are a good, quiet, obliging boy.
-Come, you must not think of it any more; if it seems odd to me for our
-mistress to kiss you, it is only because you are too big for it, and so
-much coddling makes you look sillier than you really are."
-
-Having tried to mend matters in this way, big Catherine set about making
-her soup, and forgot all about what had passed.
-
-The waif followed Madeleine to the place where she did her washing, and
-sitting down beside her, he spoke as he knew how to speak with her and
-for her alone.
-
-"Do you remember, Madame Blanchet," said he, "how I was here once, long
-ago, and you let me go to sleep in your shawl?"
-
-"Yes, my child," said she, "it was the first time we ever saw each
-other."
-
-"Was it the first time? I was not certain, for I cannot recollect very
-well; when I think of that time, it is all like a dream. How many years
-ago is it?"
-
-"It is--wait a minute--it is nearly six years, for my Jeannie was
-fourteen months old."
-
-"So I was not so old then as he is now? When he has made his first
-communion, do you think he will remember all that is happening to him
-now?"
-
-"Oh! yes, I shall be sure to remember," cried Jeannie.
-
-"That may be so or not," said François. "What were you doing yesterday
-at this hour?"
-
-Jeannie was startled, and opened his mouth to answer; then he stopped
-short, much abashed.
-
-"Well! I wager that you cannot give a better account of yourself,
-either," said the miller's wife to François. She always took pleasure
-in listening to the prattle of the two children.
-
-"I?" said the waif, embarrassed, "wait a moment--I was going to the
-fields, and passed by this very place--I was thinking of you. Indeed, it
-was yesterday that the day when you wrapped me up in your shawl came
-into my mind."
-
-"You have a good memory, and it is surprising that you can remember so
-far back. Can you remember that you were ill with fever?"
-
-"No, indeed!"
-
-"And that you carried home my linen without my asking you?"
-
-"No."
-
-"I have always remembered it, because that was the way I found out how
-good your heart was."
-
-"I have a good heart too, haven't I, mother?" said little Jeannie,
-presenting his mother with an apple which he had half eaten.
-
-"To be sure you have, and you must try to copy François in all the good
-things you see him do."
-
-"Oh, yes!" answered the child quickly, "I shall jump on the yellow colt
-this evening, and shall ride it into pasture."
-
-"Shall you?" said François, laughing. "Are you, too, going to climb up
-the great ash-tree to hunt tomtits? I shall let you do it, my little
-fellow! But listen, Madame Blanchet, there is something I want to ask of
-you, but I do not know whether you will tell it to me."
-
-"Let me hear."
-
-"Why do they think they hurt my feelings when they call me a waif? Is
-there any harm in being a waif?"
-
-"No; certainly not, my child, since it is no fault of yours."
-
-"Whose fault is it?"
-
-"It is the fault of the rich people."
-
-"The fault of the rich people! What does that mean?"
-
-"You are asking a great many questions to-day; I shall answer you by and
-by."
-
-"No, no; right away, Madame Blanchet."
-
-"I cannot explain it to you. In the first place, do you know yourself
-what it is to be a waif?"
-
-"Yes; it is being put in a foundling asylum by your father and mother,
-because they have no money to feed you and bring you up."
-
-"Yes, that is it. So you see that there are people so wretched as not to
-be able to bring up their own children, and that is the fault of the
-rich who do not help them."
-
-"You are right!" answered the waif very thoughtfully. "Yet there are
-some good rich people, since you are one, Madame Blanchet, and it is
-only necessary to fall in their way."
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER VI
-
-
-NEVERTHELESS, the waif, who was always musing and trying to find reasons
-for everything since he had learned to read and had made his first
-communion, kept pondering over what Catherine had said to Madame
-Blanchet about him; but it was in vain that he reflected, for he could
-never understand why, now that he was growing older, he should no longer
-kiss Madeleine. He was the most innocent boy in the world, and had no
-suspicion of what boys of his age learn all too quickly in the country.
-
-His great simplicity of mind was the result of his singular bringing-up.
-He had never felt his position as a foundling to be a disgrace, but it
-had made him very shy; for though he had not taken the title as an
-insult, he was always surprised to find he possessed a characteristic
-which made a difference between himself and those with whom he
-associated. Foundlings are apt to be humbled by their fate, which is
-generally thrust upon them so harshly that they lose early their
-self-respect as Christians. They grow up full of hatred toward those who
-brought them into the world, not to speak of those who helped them to
-remain in it. It happened, however, that François had fallen into the
-hands of Zabelle, who loved him and treated him with kindness, and
-afterward he load met with Madeleine, who was the most charitable and
-compassionate of women. She had been a good mother to him, and a waif
-who receives affection is better than other children, just as he is
-worse when he is abused and degraded.
-
-François had never known any amusement or perfect content except when
-in the company of Madeleine, and instead of running off with the other
-shepherd-boys for his recreation, he had grown up quite solitary, or
-tied to the apron-strings of the two women who loved him. Especially
-when with Madeleine, he was as happy as Jeannie could be, and he was in
-no haste to play with the other children, who were sure to call him a
-waif, and with whom he soon felt himself a stranger, though he could not
-tell why.
-
-So he reached the age of fifteen without any knowledge of wrong or
-conception of evil; his lips had never uttered an unclean word, nor had
-his ears taken in the meaning of one. Yet, since the day that Catherine
-had censured his mistress for the affection she showed him, the child
-had the great good sense and judgment to forego his morning kiss from
-the miller's wife. He pretended to forget about it, or perhaps to be
-ashamed of being coddled like a little girl, as Catherine had said. But
-at the bottom, he had no such false shame, and he would have laughed at
-the idea, had he not guessed that the sweet woman he loved might incur
-blame on his account. Why should she be blamed? He could not understand
-it, and though he saw that he could never find it out by himself, he
-shrank from asking Madeleine for an explanation. He knew that her
-strength of love and kindness of heart had enabled her to endure the
-carping of others; for he had a good memory, and recollected that
-Madeleine had been upbraided, and had narrowly escaped blows in former
-years because of her goodness to him.
-
-Now, owing to his good instincts, he spared her the annoyance of being
-rebuked and ridiculed on his account. He understood, and it is wonderful
-that the poor child could understand, that a waif was to be loved only
-in secret; and rather than cause any trouble to Madeleine, he would have
-consented to do without her love.
-
-He was attentive to his work, and as, in proportion as he grew older, he
-had more to do, it happened that he was less and less with Madeleine. He
-did not grieve for this, for, as he toiled, he said to himself that it
-was for her, and that he would have his reward in seeing her at meals.
-In the evening, when Jeannie was asleep and Catherine had gone to bed,
-François still stayed up with Madeleine while she worked, and read
-aloud to her, or talked with her. Peasants do not read very fast, so
-that the two books they had were quite sufficient for them. When they
-read three pages in an evening they thought it was a great deal, and
-when the book was finished, so much time had passed since the beginning
-that they could take it up again at the first page without finding it
-too familiar. There are two ways of reading, and it may not be amiss to
-say so to those persons who think themselves well educated. Those who
-have much time to themselves and many books, devour so many of them and
-cram so much stuff into their heads, that they are utterly confused; but
-those who have neither leisure nor libraries are happy when a good book
-foils into their hands. They begin it over again a thousand times
-without weariness, and every time something strikes them which they had
-not observed before. In the main, the idea is always the same, but it is
-so much dwelt upon, so thoroughly enjoyed and digested, that the single
-mind which possesses it is better fed and more healthy than thirty
-thousand brains full of wind and twaddle. What I am telling you, my
-children, I have from the parish priest, who knows all about it.
-
-So these two persons lived happy with what they had to consume in the
-matter of learning; and they consumed it slowly, helping each other to
-understand and love all that makes us just and good. Thus they grew in
-piety and courage; and they had no greater joy than to feel themselves
-at peace with all the world, and to be of one mind at all times and in
-all places, on the subject of the truth and the desire of holy living.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER VII
-
-
-MASTER BLANCHET was no longer particular concerning his household
-expenses, because he had fixed the amount of money which he gave to his
-wife every month for her housekeeping, and made it as little as
-possible. Madeleine could, without displeasing him, deprive herself of
-her own comfort in order to give alms to the poor about her; sometimes
-a little wood, another time part of her own dinner, again some
-vegetables, some clothing, some eggs, and so on. She spent all she had
-in the service of her neighbors, and when her money was exhausted, she
-did with her own hands the work of the poor, so as to save the lives of
-those among them who were ill and worn out. She was so economical, and
-mended her old clothes so carefully, that she appeared to live
-comfortably; and yet she was so anxious that her family should not
-suffer for what she gave away, that she accustomed herself to eat
-scarcely anything, never to rest, and to sleep as little as possible.
-The waif saw all this, and thought it quite natural; for it was in his
-character, as well as in the education he received from Madeleine, to
-feel the same inclination, and to be drawn toward the same duty.
-Sometimes, only, he was troubled by the great hardships which the
-miller's wife endured, and blamed himself for sleeping and eating too
-much. He would gladly have spent the night sewing and spinning in her
-place; and when she tried to pay him his wages, which had risen to
-nearly twenty crowns, he refused to take them, and obliged her to keep
-them without the miller's knowledge.
-
-"If my mother Zabelle were alive," said he, "this money would be for
-her. What do you expect me to do with it? I have no need of it, since
-you take care of my clothes, and provide me with sabots. Keep it for
-somebody more unfortunate than I am. You work so hard for the poor
-already, and if you give money to me, you must work still harder. If you
-should fall ill and die like poor Zabelle, I should like to know what
-good it would do me to have my chest full of money. Would it bring you
-back again, or prevent me from throwing myself in the river?"
-
-"You do not know what you are talking about, my child," said Madeleine,
-one day that this idea returned to his mind, as happened from time to
-time. "It is not a Christian act to kill oneself, and if I should die,
-it would be your duty to live after me to comfort and help my Jeannie.
-Should not you do that for me?"
-
-"Yes, as long as Jeannie was a child and needed my love. But afterward!
-Do not let us speak of this, Madame Blanchet. I cannot be a good
-Christian on this point. Do not tire yourself out, and do not die, if
-you want me to live on this earth."
-
-"You may set your mind at ease, for I have no wish to die. I am well. I
-am hardened to work, and now I am even stronger than I was in my youth."
-
-"In your youth!" exclaimed François in astonishment. "Are not you
-young, then?"
-
-And he was afraid lest she might have reached the age for dying.
-
-"I think I never had time to be young," answered Madeleine, laughing
-like one who meets misfortune bravely. "Now I am twenty-five years old,
-and that is a good deal for a woman of my make; for I was not born
-strong like you, my boy, and I have had sorrows which have aged me more
-than years."
-
-"Sorrows! Heavens, yes! I knew it very well, when Monsieur Blanchet used
-to speak so roughly to you. God forgive me! I am not a wicked boy, yet
-once when he raised his hand against you as if to strike you--Oh! he did
-well to change his mind, for I had seized a flail,--nobody had noticed
-me,--and I was going to fall upon him. But that was a long time ago,
-Madame Blanchet, for I remember that I was much shorter than he then,
-and now I can look right over his head. And now that he scarcely speaks
-to you any more, Madame Blanchet, you are no longer unhappy, are you?"
-
-"So you think I am no longer unhappy, do you?" said Madeleine rather
-sharply, thinking how it was that there had never been any love in her
-marriage. Then she checked herself, for what she was going to say was no
-concern of the waif's, and she had no right to put such ideas into a
-child's head.
-
-"You are right," said she; "I am no longer unhappy. I live as I please.
-My husband is much kinder to me; my son is well and strong, and I have
-nothing to complain of."
-
-"Then don't I enter into your calculations? I--"
-
-"You? You are well and strong, too, and that pleases me."
-
-"Don't I please you in any other way?"
-
-"Yes, you are a good boy; you are always right-minded, and I am
-satisfied with you."
-
-"Oh! if you were not satisfied with me, what a scamp, what a
-good-for-nothing I should be, after the way in which you have treated
-me! But there is still something else which ought to make you happy, if
-you think as I do."
-
-"Very well, tell me; for I do not know what puzzle you are contriving
-for me."
-
-"I mean no puzzle, Madame Blanche! I need but look into my heart, and I
-see that even if I had to suffer hunger, thirst, heat, and cold, and
-were to be beaten half to death every day into the bargain, and then had
-only a bundle of thorns or a heap of stones to lie on--well, can you
-understand?"
-
-"I think so, my dear François; you could be happy in spite of so much
-evil if only your heart were at peace with God."
-
-"Of course that is true, and I need not speak of it. But I meant
-something else."
-
-"I cannot imagine what you are aiming at, and I see that you are
-cleverer than I am."
-
-"No, I am not clever. I mean that I could suffer all the pains that a man
-living mortal life can endure, and could still be happy if I thought
-Madame Blanchet loved me. That is the reason why I just said to you that
-if you thought as I did, you would say: 'François loves me, and I am
-content to be alive.'"
-
-"You are right, my poor dear child," answered Madeleine; "and the things
-you say to me sometimes make me want to cry. Yes, truly, your affection
-for me is one of the joys of my life, and perhaps the greatest,
-after--no, I mean with my Jeannie's. As you are older than he, you can
-understand better what I say to you, and you can better explain your
-thoughts to me. I assure you that I am never wearied when I am with both
-of you, and the only prayer I make to God is that we may long be able to
-live together as we do now, without separating."
-
-"Without separating, I should think so!" said François. "I should
-rather be cut into little pieces than leave you. Who else would love me
-as you have loved me? Who would run the danger of being ill-treated for
-the sake of a poor waif, and who would call me her child, her dear son?
-For you call me so often, almost always. You often say to me when we are
-alone: 'Call me _mother_, and not always Madame Blanchet.' I do not dare
-to do so, because I am afraid of becoming accustomed to it and letting
-it slip out before somebody."
-
-"Well, even if you did so?"
-
-"Oh! you would be sure to be blamed for it, and I do not like to have
-you tormented on my account. I am not proud, and I do not care to have
-it known that you have raised me from my orphan estate. I am satisfied
-to know, all by myself, that I have a mother and am her child. Oh! you
-must not die, Madame Blanchet," added poor François, looking at her
-sadly, for his thoughts had long been running on possible calamity. "If
-I lost you, I should have no other friend on this earth; you would go
-straight into Paradise, and I am not sure that I deserve ever to receive
-the reward of going there with you."
-
-François had a kind of foreboding of heavy misfortune in all he said
-and thought, and some little time afterward the misfortune fell.
-
-He had become the servant of the mill, and it was his duty to make the
-round of the customers of the mill, to carry their corn away on his
-horse, and return it to them in flour. This sometimes obliged him to
-take long rides, and for this same purpose he often visited Blanchet's
-mistress, who lived about a league from the mill. He was not at all fond
-of this commission, and would never linger an instant in her house after
-her corn was weighed and measured.
-
-     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *
-
-At this point of the tale the narrator stopped.
-
-"Are you aware that I have been talking a long time?" said she to her
-friends, who were listening. "My lungs are not so strong as they once
-were, and I think that the hemp-dresser, who knows the story better than
-I, might relieve me, especially as we have just come to a place that I
-do not remember so well."
-
-"I know why your memory is not so good in the middle as in the
-beginning," answered the hemp-dresser. "It is because the waif is about
-to get into trouble, and you cannot stand it, because you are
-chicken-hearted about love stories, like all other pious women."
-
-"Is this going to turn into a love story?" asked Sylvine Courtioux, who
-happened to be present.
-
-"Good!" replied the hemp-dresser. "I knew that if I let out that word,
-all the young girls would prick up their ears. But you must have
-patience; the part of the story which I am going to take up on condition
-that I may carry it to a happy close is not yet what you want to hear.
-Where had you come to, Mother Monique?"
-
-"I had come to Blanchet's mistress."
-
-"That was it," said the hemp-dresser. The woman was called Sévère, but
-her name was not well suited to her, for there was nothing to match it
-in her disposition. She was very clever about hoodwinking people when
-she wanted to get money out of them. She cannot be called entirely bad,
-for she was of a joyous, careless temper; but she thought only of
-herself, and cared not at all for the loss of others, provided that she
-had all the finery and recreation she wanted. She had been the fashion
-in the country, and it was said that she had found many men to her
-taste. She was still a very handsome, buxom woman, alert though stout,
-and rosy as a cherry. She paid but little attention to the waif, and if
-she met him in her barn or courtyard she made fun of him with some
-nonsense or other, but without malicious intent and for the pleasure of
-Seeing him blush; for he blushed like a girl, and was ill at ease
-whenever she spoke to him. He thought her brazen, and she seemed both
-ugly and wicked in his eyes, though she was neither one nor the other;
-at least, she was only spiteful when she was crossed in her interests or
-her vanity, and I must even acknowledge that she liked to give almost as
-much as to receive. She was ostentatiously generous, and enjoyed being
-thanked; but to the mind of the waif she was a devil, who reduced Madame
-Blanchet to want and drudgery.
-
-Nevertheless, it happened that when the waif was seventeen years old,
-Madame Sévère discovered that he was a deucedly handsome fellow. He was
-not like most country boys, who, at his age, are dumpy and thick-set,
-and only develop into something worth looking at two or three years
-later. He was already tall and well-built; his skin was white, even at
-harvest-time, and his tight curling hair was brown at the roots and
-golden at the ends.
-
-"Do you admire that sort of thing, Madame Monique? I mean the hair,
-without any reference to boys."
-
-"That is no business of yours," answered the priest's servant. "Go on
-with your story."
-
-He was always poorly dressed, but he loved cleanliness, as Madeleine
-Blanchet had taught him; and such as he was, he had an air that no one
-else had. Sévère noticed this little by little, and finally she was so
-well aware of it that she took it into her head to thaw him out a
-little. She was not a woman of prejudice, and when she heard anybody
-say, "What a pity that such a handsome boy should be a waif!" she
-answered, "There is every reason that waifs should be handsome, for love
-brought them into the world."
-
-She devised the following plan for being in his company. She made
-Blanchet drink immoderately at the fair of Saint-Denis-de-Jouhet, and
-when she saw that he was no longer able to put one foot before the
-other, she asked the friends she had in the place to put him to bed.
-Then she said to François, who had come with his master to drive his
-animals to the fair:
-
-"My lad, I am going to leave my mare for your master to return with
-to-morrow morning; you may mount his and take me home on the crupper."
-
-This arrangement was not at all to François's taste. He said that the
-mare that belonged to the mill was not strong enough to carry two
-people, and he offered to accompany Sévère home, if she rode her own
-horse and allowed him to ride Blanchet's. He promised to come back
-immediately with a fresh mount for his master, and to reach
-Saint-Denis-de-Jouhet early the next morning; but Sévère would listen
-to him no more than the wind, and ordered him to obey her. François was
-afraid of her; for, as Blanchet saw with no eyes but hers, she could
-have him sent away from the mill if he displeased her, especially as the
-feast of Saint-Jean was near at hand. So he took her up behind him,
-without suspecting, poor fellow, that this was not the best means of
-escaping his evil destiny.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER VIII
-
-
-IT was twilight when they set out, and when they passed the sluice of
-the pond of Rochefolle night had already fallen. The moon had not yet
-risen above the trees, and in that part of the country the roads are so
-washed by numerous springs that they are not at all good. François
-spurred his mare on to speed, for he disliked the company of Sévère,
-and longed to be with Madame Blanchet.
-
-But Sévère, who was in no haste to reach home, began to play the part
-of a fine lady, saying that she was afraid, and that the mare must not
-go faster than a walk, because she did not lift her legs well and might
-stumble at any minute.
-
-"Bah!" said François without paying any attention; "then it would be
-the first time she said her prayers, for I never saw a mare so
-disinclined to piety!"
-
-"You are witty, François," said Sévère giggling, as if François had
-said something very new and amusing.
-
-"Oh, no indeed!" answered the waif, who thought she was laughing at him.
-
-"Come," said she, "you surely cannot mean to trot down-hill?"
-
-"You need not fear, for we can trot perfectly well."
-
-The trot down-hill stopped the stout Sévère's breath, and prevented
-her talking. She was extremely vexed, as she had expected to coax the
-young man with her soft words, but she was unwilling to let him see that
-she was neither young nor slender enough to stand fatigue, and was
-silent for a part of the way.
-
-When they came to a chestnut grove, she took it into her head to say:
-
-"Stop, François; you must stop, dear François. The mare has just lost
-a shoe."
-
-"Even if she has lost a shoe," said François, "I have neither hammer
-nor nails to put it on with."
-
-"But we must not lose the shoe. It is worth something! Get down, I say,
-and look for it."
-
-"I might look two hours for it, among these ferns, without finding it.
-And my eyes are not lanterns."
-
-"Oh, yes, François," said Sévère, half in jest and half in earnest;
-"your eyes shine like glowworms."
-
-"Then you can see them through my hat, I suppose?" answered François,
-not at all pleased with what he took for derision.
-
-"I cannot see them just now," said Sévère with a sigh as big as
-herself; "but I have seen them at other times!"
-
-"You can never have seen anything amiss in them," returned the innocent
-waif. "You may as well leave them alone, for they have never looked
-rudely at you and never will."
-
-"I think," broke in at this moment the priest's servant, "that you might
-skip this part of the story. It is not very interesting to hear all the
-bad devices of this wicked woman, for ensnaring our waif."
-
-"Put yourself at ease, Mother Monique," replied the hemp-dresser. "I
-shall skip as much as is proper. I know that I am speaking before young
-people, and I shall not say a word too much."
-
-We were just speaking of François's eyes, the expression of which
-Sévère was trying to make less irreproachable than he had declared it
-to be.
-
-"How old are you, François?" said she with more politeness, so as to
-let him understand that she was no longer going to treat him like a
-little boy.
-
-"Oh, Heavens! I don't know exactly," answered the waif, beginning to
-perceive her clumsy advances. "I do not often amuse myself by reckoning
-my years."
-
-"I heard that you were only seventeen," she resumed, "but I wager that
-you must be twenty, for you are tall, and will soon have a beard on your
-chin."
-
-"It is all the same to me," said François, yawning.
-
-"Take care! You are going too fast, my boy. There! I have just lost my
-purse!"
-
-"The deuce you have!" said François, who had not as yet discovered how
-shy she was. "Then I suppose that you must get off and look for it, for
-it maybe of value."
-
-He jumped down and helped her to dismount. She took pains to lean
-against him, and he found her heavier than a sack of corn.
-
-While she pretended to search for the purse, which was all the time in
-her pocket, he went on five or six steps, holding the mare by the
-bridle.
-
-"Are not you going to help me look for it?" said she.
-
-"I must hold the mare," said he, "for she is thinking of her colt, and
-if I let her loose she will run home."
-
-Sévère looked under the mare's leg, close beside François, and from
-this he saw that she had lost nothing except her senses.
-
-"We had not come as far as this," said he, "when you called out that you
-had lost your purse. So you certainly cannot find it here."
-
-"Do you think I am shamming, you rogue?" said she, trying to pull his
-ear; "for I really believe that you are a rogue."
-
-François drew back, as he was in no mood for a frolic.
-
-"No, no," said he, "if you have found your money, let us go, for I
-should rather be asleep than stay here jesting."
-
-"Then we can talk," said Sévère, when she was seated again behind him;
-"they say that beguiles the weariness of the road."
-
-"I need no beguiling," answered the waif, "for I am not weary."
-
-"That is the first pretty speech you have made me, François!"
-
-"If it is a pretty speech, I made it by accident, for I do not
-understand that sort of thing."
-
-Sévère was exasperated, but she would not as yet give in to the truth.
-
-"The boy must be a simpleton," said she to herself. "If I make him lose
-his way, he will have to stay a little longer with me."
-
-So she tried to mislead him, and to induce him to turn to the left when
-he was going to the right.
-
-"You are making a mistake," said she; "this is the first time you have
-been over this road. I know it better than you do. Take my advice, or
-you will make me spend the night in the woods, young man!"
-
-When François had once been over a road, he knew it so perfectly that
-he could find his way in it at the end of a year.
-
-"No, no," said he, "this is the right way, and I am not in the least out
-of my head. The mare knows it too, and I have no desire to spend the
-night rambling about the woods."
-
-Thus he reached the farm of Dollins, where Sévère lived, without
-losing a quarter of an hour and without giving an opening as wide as the
-eye of a needle to her advances. Once there, she tried to detain him,
-insisting that the night was dark, that the water had risen, and that he
-would have difficulty in crossing the fords. The waif cared not a whit
-for these dangers, and, bored with so many foolish words, he struck the
-mare with his heels, galloped off without waiting to hear the rest, and
-returned swiftly to the mill, where Madeleine Blanchet was waiting for
-him, grieved that he should come so late.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER IX
-
-
-THE waif never told Madeleine what Sévère had given him to understand;
-he would not have dared, and indeed dared not even think of it himself.
-I cannot say that I should have behaved as discreetly as he in such an
-adventure; but a little discretion never does any harm, and then I am
-telling things as they happened. This boy was as refined as a
-well-brought-up girl.
-
-As Madame Sévère thought over the matter at night, she became incensed
-against him, and perceived that he had scorned her and was not the fool
-she had taken him for. Chafing at this thought, her spleen rose, and
-great projects of revenge passed through her head.
-
-So much so that when Cadet Blanchet, still half drunk, returned to her
-next morning, she gave him to understand that his mill-boy was a little
-upstart, whom she had been obliged to hold in check and cuff in the
-face, because he had taken it into his head to make love to her and kiss
-her as they came home together through the wood at night.
-
-This was more than enough to disorder Blanchet's wits; but she was not
-yet satisfied, and jeered at him for leaving at home with his wife a
-fellow who would be inclined by his age and character to beguile the
-dullness of her life.
-
-In the twinkling of an eye, Blanchet was jealous both of his mistress
-and his wife. He seized his heavy stick, pulled his hat down over his
-eyes, like an extinguisher on a candle, and rushed off to the mill,
-without stopping for breath.
-
-Fortunately, the waif was not there. He had gone away to fell and saw up
-a tree that Blanchet had bought from Blanchard of Guérin, and was not
-to return till evening. Blanchet would have gone to find him at his
-work, but he shrank from showing his fury before the young millers of
-Guérin, lest they should make sport of him for his jealousy, which was
-unreasonable after his long neglect and contempt of his wife.
-
-He would have stayed to wait for his return, but he thought it too
-wearisome to stay all day at home, and he knew that the quarrel which he
-wished to pick with his wife could not last long enough to occupy him
-till evening. It is impossible to be angry very long when the ill-temper
-is all on one side.
-
-In spite of this, however, he could have endured all the derision and
-the tedium for the pleasure of belaboring the poor waif; but as his walk
-had cooled him to some degree, he reflected that this cursed waif was no
-longer a child, and that if he were old enough to think of making love,
-he was also old enough to defend himself with blows, if provoked. So he
-tried to gather his wits together, drinking glass after glass in
-silence, revolving in his brain what he was going to say to his wife,
-but did not know how to begin.
-
-He had said roughly, on entering, that he wished her to listen to
-something; so she sat near him, as usual sad, silent, and with a tinge
-of pride in her manner.
-
-"Madame Blanchet," said he at last, "I have a command to give you, but
-if you were the woman you pretend to be, and that you have the
-reputation of being, you would not wait to be told."
-
-There he halted as if to take breath, but the fact is that he was almost
-ashamed of what he was going to say, for virtue was written on his
-wife's face as plainly as a prayer in a missal.
-
-Madeleine would not help him to explain himself. She did not breathe a
-word, but waited for him to go on, expecting him to find fault with her
-for some expenditure, for she had no suspicion of what he was
-meditating.
-
-"You behave as if you did not understand me, Madame Blanchet," continued
-the miller, "and yet my meaning is clear. You must throw that rubbish
-out of doors, the sooner the better, for I have had enough and too much
-of all this sort of thing."
-
-"Throw what?" asked Madeleine, in amazement.
-
-"Throw what! Then you do not dare to say throw _whom_?"
-
-"Good God! no; I know nothing about it," said she. "Speak, if you want
-me to understand you."
-
-"You will make me lose my temper," cried Cadet Blanchet, bellowing like
-a bull. "I tell you that waif is not wanted in my house, and if he is
-still here by to-morrow morning, I shall turn him out of doors by main
-force, unless he prefer to take a turn under my mill-wheel."
-
-"Your words are cruel, and your purpose is very foolish, Master
-Blanchet," said Madeleine, who could not help turning as white as her
-cap. "You will ruin your business if you send the boy away; for you will
-never find another who will work so well, and be satisfied with such
-small wages. What has the poor child done to make you want to drive him
-away so cruelly?"
-
-"He makes a fool of me, I tell you, Madame Wife, and I do not intend to
-be the laughing-stock of the country. He has made himself master of my
-house, and deserves to be paid with a cudgel for what he has done."
-
-It was some time before Madeleine could understand what her husband
-meant. She had not the slightest conception of it, and brought forward
-all the reasons she could think of to appease him and prevent his
-persisting in his caprice.
-
-It was all labor lost, for he only grew the more furious; and when he
-saw how grieved she was to lose her good servant François, he had a
-fresh access of jealousy, and spoke so brutally that his meaning dawned
-on her at last, and she began to cry from mortification, injured pride,
-and bitter sorrow.
-
-This did not mend matters; Blanchet swore that she was in love with this
-bundle of goods from the asylum, that he blushed for her, and that if
-she did not turn the waif out of doors without delay, he would kill him
-and grind him to powder.
-
-Thereupon she answered more haughtily than was her wont, that he had the
-right to send away whom he chose from his house, but not to wound and
-insult his faithful wife, and that she would complain to God and all the
-saints of Heaven of his cruel and intolerable injustice. Thus, in spite
-of herself, she came gradually to reproach him with his evil behavior,
-and confronted him with the plain feet that if a man is dissatisfied
-with his own cap, he tries to throw his neighbor's into the mud.
-
-It went from bad to worse, and when Blanchet finally perceived that he
-was in the wrong, anger was his only resource. He threatened to shut
-Madeleine's mouth with a blow, and would have done so, if Jeannie had
-not heard the noise and come running in between them, without
-understanding what the matter was, but quite pale and discomfited by so
-much wrangling. When Blanchet ordered him away, the child cried, and his
-father took occasion to say that he was ill-brought-up, a cry-baby, and
-a coward, and that his mother would never be able to make anything out
-of him. Then Blanchet plucked up courage, and rose, brandishing his
-stick, and swearing that he would kill the waif.
-
-When Madeleine saw that he was mad with passion, she threw herself
-boldly in front of him, and he, disconcerted and taken by surprise,
-allowed her her way. She snatched his stick out of his hands and threw
-it far off into the river, and then, standing her ground, she said:
-
-"You shall not ruin yourself by obeying this wicked impulse. Reflect
-that calamity is swift to follow a man who loses his self-control, and
-if you have no feeling for others, think of yourself and the probable
-consequences of a single bad action. For a long time you have been
-guiding your life amiss, my husband, and now you are hastening faster
-and faster along a dangerous road. I shall prevent you, at least for
-to-day, from committing a worse crime, which would bring its punishment
-both in this world and the next. You shall not kill; return to where you
-came from, rather than persevere in trying to revenge yourself for an
-affront which was not offered. Go away; I command you to do so in your
-own interest, and this is the first time in my life that I have ever
-commanded you to do anything. You will obey me, because you will see
-that I still observe the deference I owe you. I swear to you on my word
-and honor that the waif shall not be here to-morrow, and that you may
-come back without any fear of meeting him."
-
-Having said this, Madeleine opened the door of the house for her
-husband, and Cadet Blanchet, baffled by the novelty of her manner, and
-pleased in the main to receive her submission without danger to his
-person, clapped his hat upon his head, and without another word, returned
-to Sévère. He did not fail to boast to her and to others that he had
-administered a sound thrashing to his wife and to the waif; but as this
-was not true, Sévère's pleasure evaporated in smoke.
-
-When Madeleine Blanchet was alone again, she sent Jeannie to drive the
-sheep and the goat to pasture, and went off to a little lonely nook
-beside the mill-dam, where the earth was much eaten away by the force of
-the current, and the place so crowded with a fresh growth of branches
-above the old tree-stumps that you could not see two steps away from
-you. She was in the habit of going there to pray, for nobody could
-interrupt her, and she could be as entirely concealed behind the tall
-weeds as a water-hen in its nest of green leaves.
-
-As soon as she reached there, she sank on her knees to seek in prayer
-the relief she so needed. But though she hoped this would bring great
-comfort, she could think of nothing but the poor waif, who was to be
-sent sway, and who loved her so that he would die of grief. So nothing
-came to her lips, except that she was most unhappy to lose her only
-support and separate herself from the child of her heart. Then she cried
-so long and so bitterly that she was suffocated, and, falling full
-length along the grass, lay unconscious for more than an hour, and it is
-a miracle that she ever came to herself.
-
-At nightfall she made an effort to collect her powers; and when she
-heard Jeannie come home singing with the flock, she rose with difficulty
-and set about preparing supper. Shortly afterward, she heard the noise
-of the return of the oxen, who were drawing home the oak-tree that
-Blanchet had bought, and Jeannie ran joyfully to meet his friend
-François, whose presence he had missed all day. Poor little Jeannie had
-been grieved for a moment by his father's cruel behaviour to his dear
-mother, and he had run off to cry in the fields, without knowing what
-the quarrel could be. But a child's sorrow lasts no longer than the dew
-of the morning, and he had already forgotten his trouble. He took
-François by the hand, and skipping as gaily as a little partridge,
-brought him to Madeleine.
-
-There was no need for the waif to look twice to see that her eyes were
-reddened and her face blanched.
-
-"Good God," thought he, "some misfortune has happened." Then he turned
-pale too, and trembled, fixing his eyes on Madeleine, and expecting her
-to speak to him. She made him sit down, and set his meal before him in
-silence, but he could not swallow a mouthful. Jeannie eat and prattled
-on by himself; he felt no uneasiness, for his mother kissed him from
-time to time and encouraged him to make a good supper.
-
-When he had gone to bed, and the servant was putting the room in order,
-Madeleine went out, and beckoned François to follow her. She walked
-through the meadow as far as the fountain, and then calling all her
-courage to her aid, she said:
-
-"My child, misfortune has fallen upon you and me, and God strikes us
-both a heavy blow. You see how much I suffer, and out of love for me,
-try to strengthen your own heart, for if you do not uphold me, I cannot
-tell what will become of me."
-
-François guessed nothing, although he at once supposed that the trouble
-came from Monsieur Blanchet.
-
-"What are you saying?" said he to Madeleine, kissing her hands as if she
-were his mother. "How can you think that I shall not have courage to
-comfort and sustain you? Am not I your servant for as long as I have to
-stay upon the earth? Am not I your child, who will work for you, and is
-now strong enough to keep you from want. Leave Monsieur Blanchet alone,
-let him squander his money, since it is his choice. I shall feed and
-clothe both you and our Jeannie. If I must leave you for a time, I shall
-go and hire myself out, though not far from here, so that I can see you
-every day, and come and spend Sundays with you. I am strong enough now
-to work and earn all the money you need. You are so careful and live on
-so little. Now you will not be able to deny yourself so many things for
-others, and you will be the better for it. Come, Madame Blanchet, my
-dear mother, calm yourself and do not cry, or I think I shall die of
-grief."
-
-When Madeleine saw that he had not understood, and that she must tell
-him everything, she commended her soul to God, and made up her mind to
-inflict this great pain upon him.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER X
-
-
-"NO, François, my son," said she, "that is not it. My husband is not
-yet ruined, as far as I know anything of his affairs, and if it were
-only the fear of want, you would not see me so unhappy. Nobody need
-dread poverty who has courage to work. Since you must hear why it is
-that I am so sick at heart, let me tell you that Monsieur Blanchet is in
-a fury against you, and will no longer endure your presence in his
-house."
-
-"Is that it?" cried François, springing up. "He may as well kill me
-outright, as I cannot live after such a blow. Yes, let him put an end to
-me, for he has long disliked me and longed to have me die, I know. Let
-me see, where is he? I will go to him and say, 'Tell me why you drive me
-away, and perhaps I can prove to you that you are mistaken in your
-reasons. But if you persist, say so, that--that--' I do not know what I
-am saying, Madeleine; truly, I do not know; I have lost my senses, and I
-can no longer see clearly; my heart is pierced and my head is turning I
-am sure I shall either die or go mad."
-
-The poor waif threw himself on the ground, and struck his head with his
-fists, as he had done when Zabelle had tried to take him back to the
-asylum.
-
-When Madeleine saw this, her high spirit returned. She took him by the
-hands and arms, and shaking him, forced him to listen to her.
-
-"If you have no more resignation and strength of will than a child,"
-said she, "you do not deserve my love, and you will shame me for
-bringing you up as my son. Get up. You are a man in years, and a man
-should not roll on the ground, as you are doing. Listen, François, and
-tell me whether you love me enough to go without seeing me for a time.
-Look, my child, it is for my peace and good name, for otherwise my
-husband will subject me to annoyance and humiliation. So you must leave
-me to-day, out of love, just as I have kept you, out of love, to this
-day; for love shows itself in different ways according to time and
-circumstance. You must leave me without delay, because, in order to
-prevent Monsieur Blanchet from committing a crime, I promised that you
-should be gone to-morrow morning. To-morrow is Saint John's day, and you
-must go and find a place; but not too near at hand, for if we were able
-to see each other every day, it would be all the worse in Monsieur
-Blanchet's mind."
-
-"What has he in his mind, Madeleine? Of what does he complain? How have
-I behaved amiss? Does he think that you rob the house to help me? That
-cannot be, because now I am one of his household. I eat only enough to
-satisfy my hunger, and I do not steal a pin from him. Perhaps he thinks
-that I take my wages, and that I cost him too much. Very well, let me
-follow out my purpose of going to explain to him that since my poor
-mother Zabelle died, I have never received a single penny; or, if you do
-not want me to tell him this,--and indeed if he knew it, he would try to
-make you pay back all the money due on my wages that you have spent in
-charity--well, I will make him this proposition for the next year. I
-will offer to remain in your service for nothing. In this way he cannot
-think me a burden, and will allow me to stay with you."
-
-"No, no, no, François," cried Madeleine, hastily, "it is not possible;
-and if you said this to him, he would fly into such a rage with you and
-me that worse would come of it."
-
-"But why?" asked François; "what is he angry about? Is it only for the
-pleasure of making us unhappy that he pretends to mistrust me?"
-
-"My child, do not ask the reason of his anger for I cannot tell you. I
-should be too much ashamed, and you had better not even try to guess;
-but I can assure you that your duty toward me is to go away. You are
-tall and strong, and can do without me; and you will earn your living
-better elsewhere, as long as you will take nothing from me. All sons
-have to leave their mothers when they go out to work, and many go far
-away. You must go like the rest, and I shall grieve as all mothers do. I
-shall weep for you and think of you, and pray God morning and evening to
-shield you from all ill."
-
-"Yes, and you will take another servant who will serve you ill, who will
-take no care of your son or your property, who will perhaps hate you, if
-Monsieur Blanchet orders him not to obey you, and will repeat and
-misrepresent to him all the kind things you do. You may be unhappy, and
-I shall not be with you to protect and comfort you. Ah! you think that I
-have no courage because I am miserable? You believe that I am thinking
-only of myself, and tell me that I shall earn more money elsewhere! I am
-not thinking of myself at all. What is it to me whether I gain or lose?
-I do not even care to know whether I shall be able to control my
-despair. I shall live or die as may please God, and it makes no
-difference to me, as long as I am prevented from devoting my life to
-you. What gives me intolerable anguish is that I see trouble ahead for
-you. You will be trampled upon in your turn, and if Monsieur Blanchet
-puts me out of the way, it is that he may the more easily walk over your
-rights."
-
-"Even if God permits this," said Madeleine, "I must bear what I cannot
-help. It is wrong to make one's fate worse by kicking against the
-pricks. You know that I am very unhappy, and you may imagine how much
-more wretched I should be if I learned that you were ill, disgusted with
-life, and unwilling to be comforted. But if I can find any consolation
-in my affliction, it will be because I hear that you are well behaved,
-and keep up your health and courage out of love for me."
-
-This last excellent reason gave Madeleine the advantage. The waif gave
-in, and promised on his knees, as if in the confessional, that he would
-do his best to bear his sorrow bravely.
-
-"Then," said he, as he wiped his eyes, "if I must go to-morrow morning,
-I shall say good-by to you now, my mother Madeleine. Farewell, for this
-life, perhaps; for you do not tell me if I shall ever see you and talk
-with you again. If you do not think I shall ever have such happiness, do
-not say so, for I should lose courage to live. Let me keep the hope of
-meeting you one day here by this clear fountain, where I met you the
-first time nearly eleven years ago. From that day to this, I have had
-nothing but happiness; I must not forget all the joys that God has given
-me through you, but shall keep them in remembrance, so that they may
-help me to bear, from to-morrow onward, all that time and fate may
-bring. I carry away a heart pierced and benumbed with anguish, knowing
-that you are unhappy, and that in me you lose your best friend. You tell
-me that your distress will be greater if I do not take heart, so I shall
-sustain myself as best I may, by thoughts of you, and I value your
-affection too much to forfeit it by cowardice. Farewell, Madame
-Blanchet; leave me here alone a little while; I shall feel better when I
-have cried my fill. If any of my tears fall into this fountain, you will
-think of me whenever you come to wash here. I am going to gather some of
-this mint to perfume my linen. I must soon pack my bundle; and as long
-as I smell the sweet fragrance among my clothes, I shall imagine that I
-am here and see you before me. Farewell, farewell, my dear mother; I
-shall not go back with you to the house. I might kiss little Jeannie,
-without waking him, but I have not the heart. You must kiss him for me;
-and to keep him from crying, please tell him to-morrow that I am coming
-back soon. So, while he is expecting me, he will have time to forget me
-a little; and then later, you must talk to him of poor François, so
-that he may not forget me too much. Give me your blessing, Madeleine, as
-you gave it to me on the day of my first communion, for it will bring
-with it the grace of God."
-
-The poor waif knelt down before Madeleine, entreating her to forgive him
-if he had ever offended her against his will.
-
-Madeleine declared that she had nothing to forgive him, and that she
-wished her blessing could prove as beneficent as that of God.
-
-"Now," said François, "that I am again a waif, and that nobody will
-ever love me any more, will not you kiss me as you once kissed me, in
-kindness, on the day of my first communion? I shall need to remember
-this, so that I may be very sure that you still love me in your heart,
-like a mother."
-
-Madeleine kissed the waif in the same pure spirit as when he was a
-little child. Yet anybody who had seen her would have fancied there was
-some justification for Monsieur Blanchet's anger, and would have blamed
-this faithful woman, who had no thought of ill, and whose action could
-not have displeased the Virgin Mary.
-
-
-"Nor me, either," put in the priest's servant.
-
-"And me still less," returned the hemp-dresser. Then he resumed:
-
-
-She returned to the house, but not to sleep. She heard François come in
-and do up his bundle in the next room, and she heard him go out again at
-daybreak. She did not get up till he had gone some little distance, so
-as not to weaken his courage, but when she heard his steps on the little
-bridge, she opened the door a crack, without allowing herself to be
-seen, so that she might catch one more last glimpse of him. She saw him
-stop and look back at the river and mill, as if to bid them farewell.
-Then he strode away very rapidly, after first picking a branch of poplar
-and putting it in his hat, as men do when they go out for hire, to show
-that they are trying to find a place.
-
-Master Blanchet came in toward noon, but did not speak till his wife
-said:
-
-"You must go out and hire another boy for your mill, for François has
-gone, and you are without a servant."
-
-"That is quite enough, wife," answered Blanchet. "I shall go, but I warn
-you not to expect another young fellow."
-
-As these were all the thanks he gave her for her submission, her
-feelings were so much wounded that she could not help showing it.
-
-"Cadet Blanchet," said she, "I have obeyed your will; I have sent an
-excellent boy away without a motive, and I must confess that I did so
-with regret. I do not ask for your gratitude, but, in my turn, I have
-something to command you, and that is not to insult me, for I do not
-deserve it."
-
-She said this in a manner so new to Blanchet, that it produced its
-effect on him.
-
-"Come, wife," said he, holding out his hand to her, "let us make a truce
-to all this, and think no more about it. Perhaps I may have been a
-little hasty in what I said; but you see I had my own reasons for not
-trusting the waif. The devil is the father of all those children, and he
-is always after them. They may be good in some ways, but they are sure
-to be scamps in others. I know that it will be hard for me to find
-another such hard worker for a servant; but the devil, who is a good
-father, had whispered wantonness into that boy's ear, and I know one
-woman who had a complaint against him."
-
-"That woman is not your wife," rejoined Madeleine, "and she may be
-lying. Even if she told the truth, that would be no cause for suspecting
-me."
-
-"Do I suspect you?" said Blanchet, shrugging his shoulders. "My grudge
-was only against him, and now that he has gone, I have forgotten about
-it. If I said anything displeasing to you, you must take it in jest."
-
-"Such jests are not to my taste," answered Madeleine. "Keep them for
-those who like them."
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER XI
-
-
-MADELEINE bore her sorrow very well at first. She heard from her new
-servant, who had met with François, that he had been hired for eighteen
-pistoles a year by a farmer, who had a good mill and some land over
-toward Aigurande. She was happy to know that he had found a good place,
-and did her utmost to return to her occupations, without grieving too
-much. In spite of her efforts, however, she fell ill for a long time of
-a low fever, and pined quietly away, without anybody's noticing it.
-François was right when he said that in him she lost her best friend.
-She was sad and lonely, and, having nobody to talk with, she petted all
-the more her son Jeannie, who was a very nice boy, as gentle as a lamb.
-
-But he was too young to understand all that she had to say of François,
-and, besides, he showed her no such kind cares and attentions as the
-waif had done at his age. Jeannie loved his mother, more even than
-children ordinarily do, because she was such a mother as is hard to
-find; but he never felt the same wonder and emotion about her as
-François did. He thought it quite natural to be so tenderly loved and
-caressed. He received it as his portion, and counted on it as his due,
-whereas the waif had never been unmindful of the slightest kindness from
-her, and made his gratitude so apparent in his behavior, his words and
-looks, his blushes and tears, that when Madeleine was with him she
-forgot that her home was bereft of peace, love, and comfort.
-
-When she was left again forlorn, all this evil returned upon her, and
-she meditated long on the sorrows which François's affectionate
-companionship had kept in abeyance. Now she had nobody to read with her,
-to help her in caring for the poor, to pray with her, or even now and
-then to exchange a few frank, good-natured jests with her. Nothing that
-she saw or did gave her any more pleasure, and her thoughts wandered
-back to the time when she had with her such a kind, gentle, and loving
-friend. Whether she went into her vineyard, into her orchard, or into
-the mill, there was not a spot as large as a pocket-handkerchief, that
-she had not passed over ten thousand times, with this child clinging to
-her skirts, or this faithful, zealous friend at her side. It was as if
-she had lost a son of great worth and promise; and it was in vain she
-heaped her affection on the one who still remained, for half her heart
-was left untenanted.
-
-Her husband saw that she was wearing away, and felt some pity for her
-languid, melancholy looks. He feared lest she might fall seriously ill,
-and was loath to lose her, as she was a skilful manager, and saved on
-her side as much as he wasted on his. As Sévère would not allow him to
-attend to his mill, he knew that his business would go to pieces if
-Madeleine no longer had the charge of it, and though he continued to
-upbraid her from habit, and complained of her lack of care, he knew that
-nobody else would serve him better.
-
-He exerted himself to contrive some means of curing her of her sickness
-and sorrow, and just at this juncture it happened that his uncle died.
-His youngest sister had been under this uncle's guardianship, and now
-she fell into his own care. He thought, at first, of sending the girl to
-live with Sévère, but his other relations made him ashamed of this
-project; and, besides, when Sévère found that the girl was only just
-fifteen, and promised to be as fair as the day, she had no further
-desire to be intrusted with such a charge, and told Blanchet that she
-was afraid of the risks attendant on the care of a young girl.
-
-So Blanchet--who saw that he should gain something by being his sister's
-guardian, as the uncle, who had brought her up, had left her money in
-his will; and who was unwilling to place her with any of his other
-relations--brought her home to his mill, and requested his wife to treat
-her as a sister and companion, to teach her to work, and let her share
-in the household labors, and yet to make the task so easy that she
-should have no desire to go elsewhere.
-
-Madeleine acquiesced gladly in this family arrangement. She liked
-Mariette Blanchet from the first for the sake of her beauty, the very
-cause for which Sévère had disliked her. She believed, too, that a
-sweet disposition and a good heart always go with a pretty face, and she
-received the young girl not so much as a sister as a daughter, who might
-perhaps take the place of poor François.
-
-During all this time poor François bore his trouble with as much
-patience as he had, and this was none at all; for never was man nor boy
-visited with so heavy an affliction. He fell ill, in the first place,
-and this was almost fortunate for him, for it proved the kindness of his
-master's family, who would not allow him to be sent to the hospital, but
-kept him at home, and tended him carefully. The miller, his present
-master, was most unlike Cadet Blanchet, and his daughter, who was about
-thirty years old, and not yet married, had a reputation for her
-charities and good conduct.
-
-These good people plainly saw, too, in spite of the waif's illness, that
-they had found a treasure in him.
-
-He was so strong and well-built that he threw off his disease more
-quickly than most people, and though he set to work before he was cured,
-he had no relapse. His conscience spurred him on to make up for lost
-time and repay his master and mistress for their kindness. He still felt
-ill for more than two months, and every morning, when he began his work,
-he was as giddy as if he had just fallen from the roof of a house, but
-little by little he warmed up to it, and never told the trouble it cost
-him to begin. The miller and his daughter were so well pleased with him
-that they intrusted him with the management of many things which were
-far above his position. When they found that he could read and write,
-they made him keep the accounts, which had never been kept before, and
-the need of which had often involved the mill in difficulties. In short,
-he was as well off as was compatible with his misfortune; and as he had
-the prudence to refrain from saying that he was a foundling, nobody
-reproached him with his origin.
-
-But neither the kind treatment he received, nor his work, nor his
-illness, could make him forget Madeleine, his dear mill at Cormouer, his
-little Jeannie, and the graveyard where Zabelle was lying. His heart was
-always far away, and on Sundays he did nothing but brood, and so had no
-rest from the labors of the week. He was at such a distance from his
-home, which was more than six leagues off, that no news from it ever
-reached him. He thought at first that he would become used to this, but
-he was consumed with anxiety, and tried to invent means of finding out
-about Madeleine, at least twice a year. He went to the fairs for the
-purpose of meeting some acquaintance from the old place, and if he saw
-one, he made inquiries about all his friends, beginning prudently with
-those for whom he cared least, and leading up to Madeleine, who
-interested him most; and thus he had some tidings of her and her family.
-
-"But it is growing late, my friends, and I am going to sleep in the
-middle of my story. I shall go on with it to-morrow, if you care to hear
-it Good night, all."
-
-The hemp-dresser went off to bed, and the farmer lit his lantern and
-took Mother Monique back to the parsonage, for she was an old woman, and
-could not see her way clearly.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER XII
-
-
-THE next evening we all met again at the farm, and the hemp-dresser
-resumed his story:
-
-
-François had been living about three years in the country of Aigurande,
-near Villechiron, in a handsome mill which is called Haut-Champault, or
-Bas-Champault, or Frechampault, for Champault is as common a name in
-that country as in our own. I have been twice into those parts, and know
-what a fine country it is. The peasants there are richer, and better
-lodged and fed; there is more business there, and though the earth is
-less fertile, it is more productive. The land is more broken; it is
-pierced by rocks and washed by torrents, but it is fair and pleasant to
-the eye. The trees are marvelously beautiful, and two streams, clear as
-crystal, rush noisily along through their deep-cut channels.
-
-The mills there are more considerable than ours, and the one where
-François lived was among the richest and best. One winter day, his
-master, by name Jean Vertaud, said to him:
-
-"François, my servant and friend, I have something to say to you, and I
-ask for your attention.
-
-"You and I have known each other for some little time. I have done very
-well in my business, and my mill has prospered; I have succeeded better
-than others of my trade; in short, my fortune has increased, and I do
-not conceal from myself that I owe it all to you. You have served me not
-as a servant, but as a friend and relation. You have devoted yourself to
-my interests as if they were your own. You have managed my property
-better than I knew how to do myself, and have shown yourself possessed
-of more knowledge and intelligence than I. I am not suspicious by
-nature, and I should have been often cheated if you had not kept watch
-of all the people and things about me. Those who were in the habit of
-abusing my good nature, complained, and you bore the brunt boldly,
-though more than once you exposed yourself to dangers, which you escaped
-only by your courage and gentleness. What I like most about you is that
-your heart is as good as your head and hand. You love order, but not
-avarice. You do not allow yourself to be duped, as I do, and yet you are
-as fond of helping your neighbor as I can be. You were the first to
-advise me to be generous in real cases of need, but you were quick to
-hold me back from giving to those who were merely making a pretense of
-distress. You have sense and originality. The ideas you put into
-practice are always successful, and whatever you touch turns to good
-account.
-
-"I am well pleased with you, and I should like, on my part, to do
-something for you. Tell me frankly what you want, for I shall refuse you
-nothing."
-
-"I do not know why you say this," answered François. "You must think,
-Master Vertaud, that I am dissatisfied with you, but it is not so. You
-may be sure of that."
-
-"I do not say that you are dissatisfied, but you do not generally look
-like a happy man. Your spirits are not good. You never laugh and jest,
-nor take any amusement. You are as sober as if you were in mourning for
-somebody."
-
-"Do you blame me for this, master? I shall never be able to please you
-in this respect, for I am fond neither of the bottle nor of the dance; I
-go neither to the tavern nor to balls; I know no funny stories nor
-nonsense. I care for nothing which might distract me from my duty."
-
-"You deserve to be held in high esteem for this, my boy, and I am not
-going to blame you for it. I mention it, because I believe that there is
-something on your mind. Perhaps you think that you are taking a great
-deal of trouble on behalf of other people, and are but poorly paid for
-it."
-
-"You are wrong in thinking so, Master Vertaud. My reward is as great as
-I could wish, and perhaps I could never have found elsewhere the high
-wages which you are willing to allow me, of your own free will, and
-without any urging from me. You have increased them, too, every year,
-and, on Saint John's day last, you fixed them at a hundred crowns, which
-is a very large price for you to pay. If you suffer any inconvenience
-from it, I assure you that I should gladly relinquish it."
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER XIII
-
-
-"COME, come, François, we do not understand each other," returned
-Master Jean Vertaud; "and I do not know how to take you. You are no
-fool, and I think my hints have been broad enough; but you are so shy
-that I will help you out still further. Are not you in love with some
-girl about here?"
-
-"No, master," was the waif's honest answer.
-
-"Truly?"
-
-"I give you my word."
-
-"Don't you know one who might please you, if you were able to pay your
-court to her?"
-
-"I have no desire to marry."
-
-"What an idea! You are too young to answer for that. What's your
-reason?"
-
-"My reason? Do you really care to know, master?"
-
-"Yes, because I feel an interest in you."
-
-"Then I will tell you; there is no occasion for me to hide it: I have
-never known father or mother. And there is something I have never told
-you; I was not obliged to do so; but if you had asked me, I should have
-told you the truth: I am a waif; I come from the foundling asylum."
-
-"Is it possible?" exclaimed Jean Vertaud, somewhat taken aback by this
-confession. "I should never have thought it."
-
-"Why should you never have thought it? You do not answer, Master
-Vertaud. Very well, I shall answer for you. You saw that I was a good
-fellow, and you could not believe that a waif could be like that. It is
-true, then, that nobody has confidence in waifs, and that there is a
-prejudice against them. It is not just or humane; but since such a
-prejudice exists, everybody must conform to it, and the best people are
-not exempt, since you yourself--"
-
-"No, no," said Master Vertaud, with a revulsion of feeling, for he was a
-just man, and always ready to abjure a false notion; "I do not wish to
-fail in justice, and if I forgot myself for a moment, you must forgive
-me, for that is all past now. So, you think you cannot marry, because
-you were born a waif?"
-
-"Not at all, master; I do not consider that an obstacle. There are all
-sorts of women, and some of them are so kind-hearted that my misfortune
-might prove an inducement."
-
-"That is true," cried Jean Vertaud. "Women are better than we are. Yet,"
-he continued, with a laugh, "a fine handsome fellow like you, in the
-flower of youth, and without any defect of body or mind, might very well
-add a zest to the pleasure of being charitable. But come, give me your
-reason."
-
-"Listen," said François. "I was taken from the asylum and nursed by a
-woman whom I never knew. At her death I was intrusted to another woman,
-who received me for the sake of the slender pittance granted by the
-government to those of my kind; but she was good to me, and when I was
-so unfortunate as to lose her, I should never have been comforted but
-for the help of another woman, who was the best of the three, and whom I
-still love so much, that I am unwilling to live for any other woman but
-her. I have left her, and perhaps I may never see her again, for she is
-well off, and may never have need of me. Still, her husband has had many
-secret expenses, and I have heard that he has been ill since autumn, so
-it may be that he will die before long, and leave her with more debts
-than property. If this happened, master, I do not deny that I should
-return to the place she lives in, and that my only care and desire would
-be to assist her and her son, and keep them from poverty by my toil.
-That is my reason for not undertaking any engagement which would bind me
-elsewhere. You employ me by the year, but if I married, I should be tied
-for life. I should be assuming too many duties at once. If I had a wife
-and children, it is not to be supposed that I could earn enough bread
-for two families; neither is it to be supposed, if, by extraordinary
-luck, I found a wife with some money of her own, that I should have the
-right to deprive my house of its comforts, to bestow them upon
-another's. Thus I expect to remain a bachelor. I am young, and have time
-enough before me; but if some fancy for a girl should enter my head, I
-should try to get rid of it; because, do you see, there is but one woman
-in the world for me, and that is my mother Madeleine, who never despised
-me for being a waif, but brought me up as her own child."
-
-"Is that it?" answered Jean Vertaud. "My dear fellow, what you tell me
-only increases my esteem for you. Nothing is so ugly as ingratitude, and
-nothing so beautiful as the memory of benefits received. I may have some
-good reasons for showing you that you could many a young woman of the
-same mind as yourself, who would join you in aiding your old friend, but
-they are reasons which I must think over, and I must ask somebody else's
-opinion."
-
-No great cleverness was necessary to guess that Jean Vertaud, with his
-honest heart and sound judgment, had conceived of a marriage between his
-daughter and François. His daughter was comely, and though she was
-somewhat older than François, she had money enough to make up the
-difference. She was an only child, and a fine match, but up to this
-time, to her father's great vexation, she had refused to marry. He had
-observed lately that she thought a great deal of François, and had
-questioned her about him, but as she was a very reserved person, he had
-some difficulty in extorting any confession from her. Finally, without
-giving a positive answer, she consented to allow her father to sound
-François on the subject of marriage, and awaited the result with more
-uneasiness than she cared to show.
-
-Jean Vertaud was disappointed that he had not a more satisfactory answer
-to carry to her; first, because he was so anxious to have her married,
-and next, because he could not wish for a better son-in-law than
-François. Besides the affection he felt for him, he saw clearly that
-the poor boy who had come to him was worth his weight in gold, on
-account of his intelligence, his quickness at his work, and his good
-conduct.
-
-The young woman was a little pained to hear that François was a
-foundling. She was a trifle proud, but she made up her mind quickly, and
-her liking became more pronounced when she learned that François was
-backward in love. Women go by contraries, and if François had schemed
-to obtain indulgence for the irregularity of his birth, he could have
-contrived no more artful device that that of showing a distaste toward
-marriage.
-
-So it happened that Jean Vertaud's daughter decided in François's
-favor, that day, for the first time.
-
-"Is that all?" said she to her father. "Doesn't he think that we should
-have both the desire and the means to aid an old woman and find a
-situation for her son? He cannot have understood your hints, father, for
-if he knew it was a question of entering our family, he would have felt
-no such anxiety."
-
-That evening, when they were at work, Jeannette Vertaud said to
-François:
-
-"I have always had a high opinion of you, François; but it is still
-higher now that my father has told me of your affection for the woman
-who brought you up, and for whom you wish to work all your life. It is
-right for you to feel so. I should like to know the woman, so that I
-might serve her in case of need, because you have always been so fond of
-her. She must be a fine woman."
-
-"Oh! yes," said François, who was pleased to talk of Madeleine, "she is
-a woman with a good heart, a woman with a heart like yours."
-
-Jeannette Vertaud was delighted at this, and, thinking herself sure of
-what she wanted, went on:
-
-"If she should turn out as unfortunate as you fear, I wish she could
-come and live with us. I should help you take care of her, for I suppose
-that she is no longer young. Is not she infirm?"
-
-"Infirm? No," said François; "she is not old enough to be infirm."
-
-"Then is she still young?" asked Jeannette Vertaud, beginning to prick
-up her ears.
-
-"Oh! no, she is not young," answered François, simply. "I do not
-remember how old she is now. She was a mother to me, and I never thought
-of her age."
-
-"Was she attractive?" asked Jeannette, after hesitating a moment before
-putting the question.
-
-"Attractive?" said François, with some surprise; "do you mean to ask if
-she is a pretty woman? She is pretty enough for me just as she is; but
-to tell the truth, I never thought of that. What difference can it make
-in my affection for her? She might be as ugly as the devil, without my
-finding it out."
-
-"But cannot you tell me about how old she is?"
-
-"Wait a minute. Her son was five years younger than I. Well! She is not
-old, but she is not very young; she is about like--"
-
-"Like me?" said Jeannette, making a slight effort to laugh. "In that
-case, if she becomes a widow, it will be too late for her to marry
-again, will it not?"
-
-"That depends on circumstances," replied François. "If her husband has
-not wasted all the property, she would have plenty of suitors. There are
-fellows, who would marry their great-aunts as wittingly as their
-great-nieces, for money."
-
-"Then you have no esteem for those who marry for money?"
-
-"I could not do it," answered François.
-
-Simple-hearted as the waif was, he was no such simpleton as not to
-understand the insinuations which had been made him, and he did not
-speak without meaning. But Jeannette would not take the hint, and fell
-still deeper in love with him. She had had many admirers, without paying
-attention to any of them, and now the only one who pleased her, turned
-his back on her. Such is the logical temper of a woman's mind.
-
-François observed during the following days that she had something on
-her mind, for she ate scarcely anything, and her eyes were always fixed
-on him, whenever she thought he was not looking. Her attachment pained
-him. He respected this good woman, and saw that the more indifferent he
-appeared, the more she cared about him; but he had no fancy for her, and
-if he had tried to cultivate such a feeling, it would have been the
-result of duty and principle rather than of spontaneous affection.
-
-He reflected that he could not stay much longer with Jean Vertaud,
-because he knew that, sooner or later, such a condition of affairs must
-necessarily give rise to some unfortunate difference.
-
-Just at this time, however, an incident befell which changed the current
-of his thoughts.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER XIV
-
-
-ONE morning the parish priest of Aigurande came strolling over to Jean
-Vertaud's mill, and wandered round the place for some time before
-espying François, whom he found at last in a corner of the garden. He
-assumed a very confidential air, and asked him if he were indeed
-François, surnamed Strawberry, a name that had been given him in the
-civil register--where he had been inscribed as a foundling--on account
-of a certain mark on his left arm. The priest then inquired concerning
-his exact age, the name of the woman who had nursed him, the places in
-which he had lived; in short, all that he knew of his birth and life.
-
-François produced his papers, and the priest seemed to be entirely
-satisfied.
-
-"Very well," said he, "you may come this evening or to-morrow morning to
-the parsonage; but you must not let anybody know what I am going to tell
-you, for I am forbidden to make it public, and it is a matter of
-conscience with me."
-
-When François went to the parsonage, the priest carefully shut the
-doors of the room, and drawing four little bits of thin paper from his
-desk, said:
-
-"François Strawberry, there are four thousand francs that your mother
-sends you. I am forbidden to tell you her name, where she lives, or
-whether she is alive or dead at the present moment. A pious thought has
-induced her to remember you, and it appears that she always intended to
-do so, since she knew where you were to be found, although you lived at
-such a distance. She knew that your character was good, and gives you
-enough to establish yourself with in life, on condition that for six
-months you never mention this gift, unless it be to the woman you want
-to marry. She enjoins me to consult with you on the investment or the
-safe deposit of this money, and begs me to lend my name, in case it is
-necessary, in order to keep the affair secret. I shall do as you like in
-this respect; but I am ordered to deliver you the money, only in
-exchange for your word of honor that you will neither say nor do
-anything that might divulge the secret. I know that I may count upon
-your good faith; will you pledge it to me?"
-
-François gave his oath and left the money in the priest's charge,
-begging him to lay it out to the best advantage, for he knew this priest
-to be a good man; and some priests are like some women, either all good
-or all bad.
-
-The waif returned home rather sad than glad. He thought of his mother,
-and would have been glad to give up the four thousand francs for the
-privilege of seeing and embracing her. He imagined, too, that perhaps
-she had just died, and that her gift was the result of one of those
-impulses which come to people at the point of death; and it made him
-still more melancholy to be unable to bear mourning for her and have
-masses said for her soul. Whether she were dead or alive, he prayed God
-to forgive her for forsaking her child, as her child forgave her with
-his whole heart, and prayed to be forgiven his sins in like manner.
-
-He tried to appear the same as usual; but for more than a fortnight, he
-was so absorbed in a reverie at meal-times that the attention of the
-Vertauds was excited.
-
-"That young man does not confide in us," observed the miller. "He must
-be in love."
-
-"Perhaps it is with me," thought the daughter, "and he is too modest to
-confess it. He is afraid that I shall think him more attracted by my
-money than my person, so he is trying to prevent our guessing what is on
-his mind."
-
-Thereupon, she set to work to cure him of his shyness, and encouraged
-him so frankly and sweetly in her words and looks, that he was a little
-touched in spite of his preoccupation.
-
-Occasionally, he said to himself that he was rich enough to help
-Madeleine in case of need, and that he could well afford to marry a girl
-who laid no claim to his fortune. He was not in love with any woman, but
-he saw Jeannette Vertaud's good qualities, and was afraid of being
-hard-hearted if he did not respond to her advances. At times he pitied
-her, and was almost ready to console her.
-
-But all at once, on a journey which he made to Crevant on his master's
-business, he met a forester from Presles, who told him of Cadet
-Blanchet's death, adding that he had left his affairs in great disorder,
-and that nobody knew whether his widow would be able to right them.
-
-François had no cause to love or regret Master Blanchet, yet his heart
-was so tender that when he heard the news his eyes were moist and his
-head heavy, as if he were about to weep; he knew that Madeleine was
-weeping for her husband at that very moment, that she forgave him
-everything, and remembered only that he was the father of her child. The
-thought of Madeleine's grief awoke his own, and obliged him to weep with
-her over the sorrow which he was sure was hers.
-
-His first impulse was to leap upon his horse and hasten to her side; but
-he reflected that it was his duty to ask permission of his master.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER XV
-
-
-"MASTER," said he to Jean Vertaud, "I must leave you for a time; how
-long I cannot tell. I have something to attend to near my old home, and
-I request you to let me go with a good will; for, to tell the truth, if
-you refuse to give your permission, I shall not be able to obey you, but
-shall go in spite of you. Forgive me for stating the case plainly. I
-should be very sorry to vex you, and that is why I ask you as a reward
-for all the services that I may have been able to render you, not to
-take my behavior amiss, but to forgive the offense of which I am guilty,
-in leaving your work so suddenly. I may return at the end of a week, if
-I am not needed in the place where I am going; but I may not come back
-till late in the year, or not at all, for I am unwilling to deceive you.
-However, I shall do my best to come to your assistance if you need me,
-or if anything were to occur which you cannot manage without me. Before
-I go, I shall find you a good workman to take my place, and, if
-necessary, offer him as an inducement all that is due on my wages since
-Saint John's day last. Thus I can arrange matters without loss to you,
-and you must shake hands to wish me good luck, and to ease my mind of
-some of the regret I feel at parting with you."
-
-Jean Vertaud knew that the waif seldom asked for anything, but that when
-he did, his will was so firm that neither God nor the devil could bend
-it.
-
-"Do as you please, my boy," said he, shaking hands with him. "I should
-not tell the truth if I said I did not care; but rather than have a
-quarrel with you, I should consent to anything."
-
-François spent the next day in looking up a servant to take his place
-in the mill, and he met with a zealous, upright man who was returning
-from the army, and was happy to find work and good wages under a good
-master; for Jean Vertaud was recognized as such, and was known never to
-have wronged anybody.
-
-Before setting out, as he intended to do at daybreak the next day,
-François wished to take leave of Jeannette Vertaud at supper-time. She
-was sitting at the barn door, saying that her head ached and that she
-could not eat. He observed that she had been weeping, and felt much
-troubled in mind. He did not know how to thank her for her kindness, and
-yet tell her that he was to leave her in spite of it. He sat down beside
-her on the stump of an alder-tree, which happened to be there, and
-struggled to speak, without being able to think of a single word to say.
-She saw all this, without looking up, and pressed her handkerchief to
-her eyes. He made a motion to take her hand in his and comfort her, but
-drew back as it occurred to him that he could not conscientiously tell
-her what she wanted to hear. When poor Jeannette found that he remained
-silent, she was ashamed of her own sorrow, and rising quietly without
-showing any bitterness of feeling, she went into the barn to weep
-unrestrained.
-
-She lingered there a little while, in the hope that he would make up his
-mind to follow her and say a kind word, but he forbore, and went to his
-supper, which he ate in melancholy silence.
-
-It would be false to say that he had felt nothing for Jeannette when he
-saw her in tears. His heart was a little fluttered, as he reflected how
-happy he might be with a person of so excellent a disposition, who was
-so fond of him, and who was not personally disagreeable to him. But he
-shook off all these ideas when it returned to his mind that Madeleine
-might stand in need of a friend, adviser, and servant, and that when he
-was but a poor, forsaken child, wasted with fever, she had endured,
-worked, and braved more for him than anybody else in the world.
-
-"Come," said he to himself, when he woke next morning before the dawn;
-"you must not think of a love-affair or your own happiness and
-tranquillity. You would gladly forget that you are a waif, and would
-throw your past to the winds, as so many others do, who seize the moment
-as it flies, without looking behind them. Yes, but think of Madeleine
-Blanchet, who entreats you not to forget her, but to remember what she
-did for you. Forward, then; and Jeannette, may God help you to a more
-gallant lover than your humble servant."
-
-Such were his reflections as he passed beneath the window of his kind
-mistress, and if the season had been propitious, he would have left a
-leaf or flower against her casement, in token of farewell; but it was
-the day after the feast of the Epiphany; the ground was covered with
-snow, and there was not a leaf on the trees nor a violet in the grass.
-
-He thought of knotting into the corner of a white handkerchief the bean
-which he had won the evening before in the Twelfth-night cake, and of
-tying the handkerchief to the bars of Jeannette's window, to show her
-that he would have chosen her for his queen, if she had deigned to
-appear at supper.
-
-"A bean is a very little thing," thought he, "but it is a slight mark of
-courtesy and friendship, and will make my excuses for not having said
-good-by to her."
-
-But a still, small voice within counseled him against making this
-offering, and pointed out to him that a man should not follow the
-example of those young girls who try to make men love, remember, and
-regret them, when they have not the slightest idea of giving anything in
-return.
-
-"No, no, François," said he, putting back his pledge into his pocket,
-and hastening his step; "a man's will must be firm, and he must allow
-himself to be forgotten when he has made up his mind to forget himself."
-
-Thereupon, he strode rapidly away, and before he had gone two gunshots
-from Jean Vertaud's mill he fancied that he saw Madeleine's image before
-him, and heard a faint little voice calling to him for help. This dream
-drew him on, and he seemed to see already the great ash-tree, the
-fountain, the meadow of the Blanchets, the mill-dam, the little bridge,
-and Jeannie running to meet him; and in the midst of all this, the
-memory of Jeannette Vertaud was powerless to hold him back an inch.
-
-He walked so fast that he felt neither cold nor hunger nor thirst, nor
-did he stop to take breath till he left the highroad and reached the
-cross of Plessys, which stands at the beginning of the path which leads
-to Presles.
-
-When there, he flung himself on his knees and kissed the wood of the
-cross with the ardor of a good Christian who meets again with a good
-friend. Then he began to descend the great track, which is like a road,
-except that it is as broad as a field. It is the finest common in the
-world, and is blessed with a beautiful view, fresh air, and extended
-horizon. It slopes so rapidly that in frosty weather a man could go
-post-haste even in an ox-cart and take an unexpected plunge in the
-river, which runs silently below.
-
-François mistrusted this; he took off his sabots more than once, and
-reached the bridge without a tumble. He passed by Montipouret on the
-left, not without sending a loving salute to the tall old clock-tower,
-which is everybody's friend; for it is the first to greet the eyes of
-those who are returning home, and shows them the right road, if they
-have gone astray.
-
-As to the roads, I have no fault to find with them in summer-time, when
-they are green, smiling, and pleasant to look upon. You may walk through
-some of them with no fear of a sunstroke; but those are the most
-treacherous of all, because they may lead you to Rome, when you think
-you are going to Angibault. Happily, the good clock-tower of Montipouret
-is not chary of showing itself, and through every dealing you may catch
-a glimpse of its glittering steeple, that tells you whether you are
-going north or northwest.
-
-The waif, however, needed no such beacon to guide him. He was so
-familiar with all the wooded paths and byways, all the shady lanes, all
-the hunters' trails, and even the very hedge-rows along the roads, that
-in the middle of the night he could take the shortest cut, and go as
-straight as a pigeon flies through the sky.
-
-It was toward noon when he first caught sight of the mill of Cormouer
-through the leafless branches, and he was happy to see curling up from
-the roof a faint blue smoke, which assured him that the house was not
-abandoned to the rats.
-
-For greater speed he crossed the upper part of the Blanchet meadow, and
-thus did not pass close by the fountain; but as the trees and bushes
-were stript of their leaves, he could still see sparkling in the
-sunlight the open water, that never freezes, because it bubbles up from
-a spring. The approach to the mill, on the contrary, was icy and so
-slippery that much caution was required to step safely over the stones,
-and along the bank of the river. He saw the old mill-wheel, black with
-age and damp, covered with long icicles, sharp as needles, that hung
-from the bars.
-
-Many trees were missing around the house, and the place was much
-changed. Cadet Blanchet's debts had called the ax into play, and here
-and there were to be seen the stumps of great alders, freshly cut, as
-red as blood. The house seemed to be in bad repair; the roof was
-ill-protected, and the oven had cracked half open by the action of the
-frost.
-
-What was still more melancholy was that there was no sound to be heard
-of man or beast; only a brindled black-and-white dog, a poor country
-mongrel, jumped up from the door-step and ran barking toward François;
-then he suddenly ceased, and came crawling up to him and lay at his
-feet.
-
-"Is it you, Labriche, and do you know me?" said François. "I did not
-recognize you, for you are so old and miserable; your ribs stick out,
-and your whiskers are quite white."
-
-François talked thus to the dog, because he was distressed, and wanted
-to gain a little time before entering the house. He had been in great
-haste up to this moment, but now he was alarmed, because he feared that
-he should never see Madeleine again, that she might be absent or dead
-instead of her husband, or that the report of the miller's death might
-prove false; in short, he was a prey to all those fancies which beset
-the mind of a man who has just reached the goal of all his desires.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER XVI
-
-
-FINALLY François drew the latch of the door, and beheld, instead of
-Madeleine, a lovely young girl, rosy as a May morning, and lively as a
-linnet. She said to him, with an engaging manner: "What is it you want,
-young man?"
-
-Though she was so fair to see, François did not waste time in looking
-at her, but cast his eyes round the room in search of Madeleine. He saw
-nothing but the closed curtains of her bed, and he was sure that she was
-in it. He did not wait to answer the pretty girl, who was Mariette
-Blanchet, the miller's youngest sister, but without a word walked up to
-the yellow bed and pulled the curtains noiselessly aside; there he saw
-Madeleine Blanchet lying asleep, pale and wasted with fever.
-
-He looked at her long and fixedly, without moving or speaking; and in
-spite of his grief at her illness, and his fear of her dying, he was yet
-happy to have her face before him, and to be able to say: "I see
-Madeleine."
-
-Mariette Blanchet pushed him gently away from the bed, drew the curtains
-together, and beckoned to him to follow her to the fireside.
-
-"Now, young man," said she, "who are you, and what do you want? I do not
-know you, and you are a stranger in the neighborhood. Tell me how I may
-oblige you."
-
-François did not listen to her, and instead of answering her, he began
-to ask questions about how long Madame Blanchet had been ill, whether
-she were in any danger, and whether she were well cared for.
-
-Mariette answered that Madeleine had been ill since her husband's death,
-because she had overexerted herself in nursing him, and watching at his
-bedside, day and night; that they had not as yet sent for the doctor,
-but that they would do so in case she was worse; and as to her being
-well cared for, Mariette declared that she knew her duty and did not
-spare herself.
-
-At these words, the waif looked the girl full in the face, and had no
-need to ask her name, for besides knowing that soon after he had left
-the mill, Master Blanchet had placed his sister in his wife's charge, he
-detected in the pretty face of this pretty girl a striking resemblance
-to the sinister face of the dead miller. There are many fine and
-delicate faces which have an inexplicable likeness to ugly ones; and
-though Mariette Blanchet's appearance was as charming as that of her
-brother had been disagreeable, she still had an unmistakable family
-look. Only the miller's expression had been surly and irascible, while
-Mariette's was mocking rather than resentful, and fearless instead of
-threatening.
-
-So it was that François was neither altogether disturbed nor altogether
-at ease concerning the attention Madeleine might receive from this young
-girl. Her cap was of fine linen, neatly folded and pinned; her hair,
-which she wore somewhat after the fashion of town-bred girls, was very
-lustrous, and carefully combed and parted; and both her hands and her
-apron were very white for a sick-nurse. In short, she was much too
-young, fresh, and gay to spend the day and night in helping a person who
-was unable to help herself.
-
-François asked no more questions, but sat down in the chimney-corner,
-determined not to leave the place until he saw whether his dear
-Madeleine's illness turned for the better or worse.
-
-Mariette was astonished to see him take possession of the fire so
-cavalierly, just as if he were in his own house. He stared into the
-blaze, and as he seemed in no humor for talking, she dared inquire no
-further who he was and what was his business. After a moment, Catherine,
-who had been the house-servant for eighteen or twenty years, came into
-the room. She paid no attention to him, but approached the bed of her
-mistress, looked at her cautiously, and then turned to the fireplace, to
-see after the potion which Mariette was concocting. Her behavior showed
-an intense interest for Madeleine, and François, who took the truth of
-the matter in a throb, was on the point of addressing her with a
-friendly greeting; but--
-
-
-"But," said the priest's servant, interrupting the hemp-dresser, "you
-are using an unsuitable word. A _throb_ does not express a moment, or a
-minute."
-
-"I tell you," retorted the hemp-dresser, "that a moment means nothing at
-all, and a minute is longer than it takes for an idea to rush into the
-head. I do not know how many millions of things you can think of in a
-minute, whereas you only need a throb of time to see and hear some one
-thing that is happening. I will say a little throb, if you please."
-
-"But a throb of time!" objected the old purist.
-
-"Ah! A throb of time! Does that worry you, Mother Monique? Does not
-everything go by throbs? Does not the sun, when you see it rising in the
-clouds of flames, and it makes your eyes blink to look at it? And the
-blood that beats in your veins; the church clock that sifts your time
-particle by particle, as a bolting-machine does the grain; your rosary
-when you tell it; your heart when the priest is delayed in coming home;
-the rain falling drop by drop, and the earth that turns round, as they
-say, like a mill-wheel? Neither you nor I feel the motion, the machine
-is too well oiled for that; but there must be some throbbing about it,
-since it accomplishes its period in twenty-four hours. As to that, too,
-we use the word _period_ when we speak of a certain length of time. So I
-say a _throb_, and I shall not unsay it. Do not interrupt me any more,
-unless you wish to tell the story."
-
-"No, no; your machine is too well oiled, too," answered the old woman.
-"Now let your tongue throb a little longer."
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER XVII
-
-
-I WAS saying that François was tempted to speak to big old Catherine,
-and make himself known to her; but as in the same throb of time he was
-on the point of crying, he did not wish to behave like a fool, and did
-not even raise his head. As Catherine stooped over the ashes, she caught
-sight of his long legs and drew back in alarm.
-
-"What is all that?" whispered she to Mariette in the other corner of the
-room. "Where does that man come from?"
-
-"Do you ask me?" said the girl; "how should I know? I never saw him
-before. He came in here, as if he were at an inn, without a good-morning
-or good-evening. He asked after the health of my sister-in-law as if he
-were a near relation, or her heir; and there he is sitting by the fire,
-as you see. You may speak to him, for I do not care to do so. He may be
-a disreputable person."
-
-"What? Do you think he is crazy? He does not look wicked, as far as I
-can see, for he seems to be hiding his face."
-
-"Suppose he has come for some bad purpose?"
-
-"Do not be afraid, Mariette, for I am near to keep him in check. If he
-alarms you, I shall pour a kettle of boiling water over his legs, and
-throw an andiron at his head."
-
-While they were chattering thus, François was thinking of Madeleine.
-
-"That poor dear woman," said he to himself, "who has never had anything
-but vexation and unkindness from her husband, is now lying ill because
-she nursed and helped him to the end. Here is this young girl, who was
-the miller's pet sister, as I have heard say, and her face bears no
-traces of sorrow. She shows no signs of fatigue or tears, for her eyes
-are as dear and bright as the sun."
-
-He could not help looking at her from under the brim of his hat, for
-never until then had he seen such fresh and joyous beauty. Still, though
-his eyes were charmed, his heart remained untouched.
-
-"Come," continued Catherine, in a whisper to her young mistress, "I am
-going to speak to him. I must find out his business here."
-
-"Speak to him politely," said Mariette. "We must not irritate him; we
-are all alone in the house, and Jeannie may be too far away to hear our
-cries."
-
-"Jeannie!" exclaimed François, who caught nothing from all their
-prattle, except the name of his old friend. "Where is Jeannie, and why
-don't I see him? Has he grown tall, strong, and handsome?"
-
-"There," thought Catherine, "he asks this because he has some evil
-intention. Who is the man, for Heaven's sake? I know neither his voice
-nor his figure; I must satisfy myself and look at his face."
-
-She was strong as a laborer and bold as a soldier, and would not have
-quailed before the devil himself, so she stalked up to François,
-determined either to make him take off his hat, or to knock it off
-herself, so that she might see whether he were a monster or a Christian
-man. She approached the waif, without suspecting that it was he; for
-being as little given to thinking of the past as of the future, she had
-long forgotten all about François, and, moreover, he had improved so
-much and was now such a handsome fellow that she might well have looked
-at him several times before recalling him to mind; but just as she was
-about to accost him rather roughly, Madeleine awoke, and called
-Catherine, saying in a faint, almost inaudible voice that she was
-burning with thirst.
-
-François sprang up, and would have been the first to reach her but for
-the fear of exciting her too much, which held him back. He quickly
-handed the draught to Catherine, who hastened with it to her mistress,
-forgetting everything for the moment but the sick woman's condition.
-
-Mariette, too, did her share, by raising Madeleine in her arms, to help
-her drink, and this was no hard task, for Madeleine was so thin and
-wasted that it was heartbreaking to see her.
-
-"How do you feel, sister?" asked Mariette.
-
-"Very well, my child," answered Madeleine in the tone of one about to
-die. She never complained, to avoid distressing the others.
-
-"That is not Jeannie over there," she said, as she caught sight of the
-waif. "Am I dreaming, my child, or who is that tall man standing by the
-fire?"
-
-Catherine answered:
-
-"We do not know, dear mistress; he says nothing, and behaves like an
-idiot."
-
-The waif, at this moment, made a little motion to go toward Madeleine,
-but restrained himself, for though he was dying to speak to her, he was
-afraid of taking her by surprise. Catherine now saw his face, but he had
-changed so much in the past three years that she did not recognize him,
-and thinking that Madeleine was frightened, she said:
-
-"Do not worry, dear mistress; I was just going to turn him out, when you
-called me."
-
-"Don't turn him out," said Madeleine, in a stronger voice, pulling aside
-the curtain of her bed; "I know him, and he has done right in coming to
-see me. Come nearer, my son; I have been praying God every day to permit
-me the grace of giving you my blessing."
-
-The waif ran to her, and threw himself on his knees beside her bed,
-shedding tears of joy and sorrow that nearly suffocated him. Madeleine
-touched his hands, and then his head; and said, as she kissed him:
-
-"Call Jeannie; Catherine, call Jeannie, that he may share this happiness
-with us. Ah! I thank God, François, and I am ready to die now, if such
-is his will, for both my children are grown, and I may bid them farewell
-in peace."
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER XVIII
-
-
-CATHERINE rushed off in pursuit of Jeannie, and Mariette was so anxious
-to know what it all meant, that she followed to ask questions. François
-was left alone with Madeleine, who kissed him again, and burst into
-tears; then she closed her eyes, looking still more weak and exhausted
-than she had been before. François saw that she had fainted, and knew
-not how to revive her; he was beside himself, and could only hold her in
-his arms, calling her his dear mother, his dearest friend, and imploring
-her, as if it lay within her power, not to die so soon, without hearing
-what he had to say.
-
-So, by his tender words, devoted care, and fond endearments, he restored
-her to consciousness, and she began again to see and hear him. He told
-her that he had guessed she needed him, that he had left all, and had
-come to stay as long as she wanted him, and that, if she would take him
-for her servant, he would ask nothing but the pleasure of working for
-her, and the solace of spending his life in her service.
-
-"Do not answer," he continued; "do not speak, my dear mother; you are
-too weak, and must not say a word. Only look at me, if you are pleased
-to see me again, and I shall understand that you accept my friendship
-and help."
-
-Madeleine looked at him so serenely, and was so much comforted by what
-he said, that they were contented and happy together, notwithstanding
-the misfortune of her illness.
-
-Jeannie, who came in answer to Catherine's loud cries, arrived to take
-his share of their joy. He had grown into a handsome boy between
-fourteen and fifteen, and though not strong, he was delightfully active,
-and so well brought up that he was always friendly and polite.
-
-"Oh! How glad I am to see you like this, Jeannie," said François. "You
-are not very tall and strong, but I am satisfied, because I think you
-will need my help in climbing trees and crossing the river. I see that
-you are delicate, though you are not ill, isn't it so? Well, you shall
-be my child, still a little while longer, if you do not mind. Yes, yes;
-you will find me necessary to you; and you will make me carry out your
-wishes, just as it was long ago."
-
-"Yes," said Jeannie; "my four hundred wishes, as you used to call them."
-
-"Oho! What a good memory you have! How nice it was of you, Jeannie, not
-to forget François! But have we still four hundred wishes a day?"
-
-"Oh, no," said Madeleine; "he has grown very reasonable; he has no more
-than two hundred now."
-
-"No more nor less?" asked François.
-
-"Just as you like," answered Jeannie; "since my darling mother is
-beginning to smile again, I am ready to agree to anything. I am even
-willing to say that I wish more than five hundred times a day to see her
-well again."
-
-"That is right, Jeannie," said François. "See how nicely he talks! Yes,
-my boy, God will grant those five hundred wishes of yours. We shall take
-such good care of your darling mother, and shall cheer and gladden her
-little by little, until she forgets her weariness."
-
-Catherine stood at the threshold, and was most anxious to come in, to
-see and speak to François, but Mariette held her by the sleeve, and
-would not leave off asking questions.
-
-"What," said she, "is he a foundling? He looks so respectable."
-
-She was looking through the crack in the door, which she held ajar.
-
-"How comes it that he and Madeleine are such friends?"
-
-"I tell you that she brought him up, and that he was always a very good
-boy."
-
-"She has never spoken of him to me, nor have you."
-
-"Oh, goodness, no! I never thought of it; he was away; and I almost
-forgot him; then, I knew, too, that my mistress had been in trouble on
-his account, and I did not wish to recall it to her mind."
-
-"Trouble! What kind of trouble?"
-
-"Oh! because she was so fond of him; she could not help liking him, he
-had such a good heart, poor child. Your brother would not allow him in
-the house, and you know your brother was not always very gentle!"
-
-"We must not say that, now that he is dead, Catherine."
-
-"Yes, yes; you are right; I was not thinking. Dear me, how short my
-memory is! And yet it is only two weeks since he died! But let me go in,
-my young lady; I want to give the boy some dinner, for I think he must
-be hungry."
-
-She shook herself loose, ran up to François, and kissed him. He was so
-handsome that she no longer remembered having once said that she would
-rather kiss her sabot than a foundling.
-
-"Oh, poor François," said she, "how glad I am to see you! I was afraid
-that you would never come back. See, my dear mistress, how changed he
-is! I wonder that you were able to recognize him at once. If you had not
-told me who he was, I should not have known him for ages. How handsome
-he is, isn't he? His beard is beginning to grow; yes, you cannot see it
-much, but you can feel it. It did not prick when you went away,
-François, but now it pricks a little. And how strong you are, my
-friend! What hands and arms and legs you have! A workman like you is
-worth three. What wages are you getting now?"
-
-Madeleine laughed softly to see Catherine so pleased with François, and
-was overjoyed that he was so strong and vigorous. She wished that her
-Jeannie might grow up to be like him. Mariette was ashamed to have
-Catherine look so boldly in a man's face, and blushed involuntarily. But
-the more she tried not to look at him, the more her eyes strayed toward
-him; she saw that Catherine was right; he was certainly remarkably
-handsome, tall and erect as a young oak.
-
-Then, without stopping to think, she began to serve him very politely,
-pouring out the best wine of that year's vintage, and recalling his
-attention when it wandered to Madeleine and Jeannie, and he forgot to
-eat.
-
-"You must eat more," said she; "you scarcely take anything. You should
-have more appetite after so long a journey."
-
-"Pay no attention to me, young lady," answered François, at last; "I am
-too happy to be here to care about eating and drinking. Come now,"
-continued he, turning to Catherine, when the room was put to rights,
-"show me round the mill and the house, for everything looks neglected,
-and I want to talk to you about it."
-
-When they were outside, he questioned her intelligently on the state of
-things, with the air of a man determined to know the whole truth.
-
-"Oh, François," said Catherine, bursting into tears, "everything is
-going to grief, and if nobody comes to the assistance of my poor
-mistress, I believe that wicked woman will turn her out of doors, and
-make her spend all she owns in lawsuits."
-
-"Do not cry," said François, "for if you do, I cannot understand what
-you say; try to speak more clearly. What wicked woman do you mean? Is it
-Sévère?"
-
-"Oh! yes, to be sure. She is not content with having ruined our master,
-but now lays claim to everything he left. She is trying to prosecute us
-in fifty different ways; she says that Cadet Blanchet gave her
-promissory notes, and that even if she sold everything over our heads,
-she would not be paid. She sends us bailiffs every day, and the expenses
-are already considerable. Our mistress has paid all she could, in trying
-to pacify her, and I am very much afraid that she will die of this
-worry, on top of all the fatigue she underwent during her husband's
-illness. At this rate, we shall soon be without food and fire. The
-servant of the mill has left us, because he was owed two years' wages,
-and could not be paid. The mill has stopped running, and if this goes
-on, we shall lose our customers. The horses and crops have been
-attached, and are to be sold; the trees are to be cut down. Oh,
-François, it is ruin!"
-
-Her tears began to flow afresh.
-
-"And how about you, Catherine?" asked François; "are you a creditor,
-too? Have your wages been paid?"
-
-"I, a creditor?" said Catherine, changing her wail into a roar; "never,
-never! It is nobody's business whether my wages are paid or not!"
-
-"Good for you, Catherine; you show the right spirit!" said François.
-"Keep on taking care of your mistress, and do not bother about the rest
-I have earned a little money in my last place, and I have enough with me
-to save the horses, the crops, and the trees. I am going to pay a little
-visit to the mill, and if I find it in disorder, I shall not need a
-wheelwright to set it going again. Jeannie is as swift as a little bird,
-and he must set out immediately and run all day, and then begin again
-to-morrow morning, so as to let all the customers know that the mill is
-creaking like ten thousand devils, and that the miller is waiting to
-grind the corn."
-
-"Shall we send for a doctor for our mistress?"
-
-"I have been thinking about it; but I am going to wait and watch her all
-day, before making up my mind.
-
-"Do you see, Catherine, I believe that doctors are useful when the sick
-cannot do without them; but if the disease is not violent, it is easier
-to recover with God's help, than with their drugs: not taking into
-consideration that the mere presence of a doctor, which cures the rich,
-often kills the poor. He cheers and amuses those who live in luxury, but
-he scares and oppresses those who never see him except in the day of
-danger. It seems to me that Madame Blanchet will recover very soon, if
-her affairs are straightened.
-
-"And before we finish this conversation, Catherine, tell me one thing
-more; I ask the truth of you, and you must not scruple to tell it to me.
-It will go no further; I have not changed, and if you remember me, you
-must know that a secret is safe in the waif's bosom."
-
-"Yes, yes, I know," said Catherine; "but why do you consider yourself a
-waif? Nobody will call you any more by that name, for you do not deserve
-it, François."
-
-"Never mind that. I shall always be what I am, and I am not in the habit
-of plaguing myself about it. Tell me what you think of your young
-mistress, Mariette Blanchet."
-
-"Oh, she! She is a pretty girl. Have you already taken it into your head
-to marry her? She has some money of her own; her brother could not touch
-her property, because she was a minor, and unless you have fallen heir
-to an estate, Master François--"
-
-"Waifs never inherit anything," said François, "and as to marrying, I
-have as much time to think of it as the chestnut in the fire. What I
-want to hear from you is whether this girl is better than her brother,
-and whether she will prove a source of comfort or trouble to Madeleine,
-if she stays on here."
-
-"Heaven knows," said Catherine, "for I do not. Until now, she has been
-thoughtless and innocent enough. She likes dress, caps trimmed with
-lace, and dancing. She is not very selfish, but she has been so
-well-treated and spoiled by Madeleine, that she has never had occasion
-to show whether she could bite or not. She has never had anything to
-suffer, so we cannot tell what she may be."
-
-"Was she very fond of her brother?"
-
-"Not very, except when he took her to balls, and our mistress tried to
-convince him that it was not proper to take a respectable girl in
-Sévère's company. Then the little girl, who thought of nothing but her
-own pleasure, overwhelmed her brother with attentions, and turned up her
-nose at Madeleine, who was obliged to yield. So Mariette does not
-dislike Sévère as much as I should wish to have her, but I cannot say
-that she is not good-natured and nice to her sister-in-law."
-
-"That will do, Catherine; I ask nothing further. Only I forbid you to
-tell the young girl anything of what we have been talking about."
-
-François accomplished successfully all that he had promised Catherine.
-By evening, owing to Jeannie's diligence, corn arrived to be ground, and
-the mill too was in working order; the ice was broken and melted about
-the wheel, the machinery was oiled, and the woodwork repaired, wherever
-it was broken. The energetic François worked till two in the morning,
-and at four he was up again. He stepped noiselessly into Madeleine's
-room, and finding the faithful Catherine on guard, he asked how the
-patient was. She had slept well, happy in the arrival of her beloved
-servant, and in the efficient aid he brought. Catherine refused to leave
-her mistress before Mariette appeared, and François asked at what hour
-the beauty of Cormouer was in the habit of rising.
-
-"Not before daylight," said Catherine.
-
-"What? Then you have two more hours to wait, and you will get no sleep
-at all."
-
-"I sleep a little in the daytime, in my chair, or on the straw in the
-barn, while the cows are feeding."
-
-"Very well, go to bed now," said François, "and I shall wait here to
-show the young lady that some people go to bed later than she, and get
-up earlier in the morning. I shall busy myself with examining the
-miller's papers and those which the bailiffs have brought since his
-death. Where are they?"
-
-"There, in Madeleine's chest," said Catherine. "I am going to light the
-lamp, François. Come, courage, and try your best to make things
-straight, as you seem to understand law-papers."
-
-She went to bed, obeying the commands of the waif as if he were the
-master of the house; for true it is that he who has a good head and good
-heart rules by his own right.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER XIX
-
-
-BEFORE setting to work, François, as soon as he was left alone with
-Madeleine and Jeannie (for the young child always slept in the room with
-his mother), went to take a look at the sleeping woman, and thought her
-appearance better than when he had first arrived. He was happy to think
-that she would have no need of a doctor, and that he alone, by the
-comfort he brought, would preserve her health and fortune.
-
-He began to look over the papers, and was soon fully acquainted with
-Sévère's claims and the amount of property that Madeleine still
-possessed with which to satisfy them. Besides all that Sévère had
-already made Cadet Blanchet squander upon her, she declared that she was
-still a creditor for two hundred pistoles, and Madeleine had scarcely
-anything of her own property left in addition to the inheritance that
-Blanchet had bequeathed to Jeannie--an inheritance now reduced to the
-mill and its immediate belongings--that is, the courtyard, the meadow,
-the outbuildings, the garden, the hemp-field, and a bit of planted
-ground; for the broad fields and acres had melted like snow in the
-hands of Cadet Blanchet.
-
-"Thank God!" thought François, "I have four hundred pistoles in the
-charge of the priest of Aigurande, and in case I can do no better,
-Madeleine can still have her house, the income of her mill, and what
-remains of her dowry. But I think we can get off more easily than that.
-In the first place, I must find out whether the notes signed by Blanchet
-to Sévère were not extorted by stratagem and undue influence, and then
-I must do a stroke of business on the lands he sold. I understand how
-such affairs are managed, and knowing the names of the purchasers, I
-will put my hand in the fire if I cannot bring this to a successful
-issue."
-
-The fact was that Blanchet, two or three years before his death,
-straightened for money and over head and ears in debt to Sévère, had
-sold his land at a low price to whomsoever wanted to buy, and turned all
-his claims for it over to Sévère, thus expecting to rid himself of her
-and of her comrades who had helped her to ruin him. But, as usually
-happens in such sales, almost all those who hastened to buy, attracted
-by the sweet fragrance of the fertile lands, had not a penny with which
-to pay for them, and only discharged the interest with great difficulty.
-This state of things might last from ten to twenty years; it was an
-investment for Sévère and her friends, but a bad investment, and she
-complained loudly of Cadet Blanchet's rashness, and feared that she
-would never be paid. So she said, at least; but the speculation was
-really a reasonably good one. The peasant, even if he has to lie on
-straw, pays his interest, so unwilling is he to let go the bit of land
-he holds, which his creditor may seize if he is not satisfied.
-
-We all know this, my good friends, and we often try to grow rich the
-wrong way, by buying fine property at a low price. However low it may
-be, it is always too high for us. Our covetousness is more capacious
-than our purse, and we take no end of trouble to cultivate a field the
-produce of which does no cover half the interest exacted by the seller.
-
-When we have delved and sweated all our poor lives, we find ourselves
-ruined, and the earth alone is enriched by our pains and toil. Just as
-we have doubled its value, we are obliged to sell it. If we could sell
-it advantageously, we should be safe; but this is never possible. We
-have been so drained by the interest we have had to pay, that we must
-sell in haste, and for anything we can get. If we rebel, we are forced
-into it by the law-courts, and the man who first sold the land gets back
-his property in the condition in which he finds if; that means that for
-long years he has placed his land in our hands at eight or ten per cent,
-and when he resumes possession of it, it is by our labors, twice as
-valuable, in consequence of a careful cultivation which has lost him
-neither trouble nor expense, and also by the lapse of time which always
-increases the value of property. Thus we poor little minnows are to be
-continually devoured by the big fish which pursue us; punished always
-for our love of gain, and just as foolish as we were before.
-
-Sévère's money was thus profitably invested in a mortgage at a high
-interest, but at the same time she had a firm hold of Cadet Blanchet's
-estate, because she had managed him so cleverly that he had pledged
-himself for the purchasers of his land, and had gone surety for their
-payment.
-
-François saw all this intrigue, and meditated some possible means of
-buying back the land at a low price, without ruining anybody, and of
-playing a tine trick upon Sévère and her clan, by causing the failure
-of their speculation.
-
-It was no easy matter. He had enough money to buy back almost everything
-at the price of the original sale, and neither Sévère nor anybody else
-could refuse to be reimbursed. The buyers would find it to their profit
-to sell again in all haste, in order to escape approaching ruin; for I
-tell you all, young and old, if you buy land on credit, you take out a
-patent for beggary in your old age. It is useless for me to tell you
-this, for you will have the buying mania no whit the less. Nobody can
-see a plowed furrow smoking in the sun, without being in a fever to
-possess it, and it was the peasant's mad fever to hold on to his own
-piece of soil that caused Francois's uneasiness.
-
-Do you know what the soil is, my children? Once upon a time, everybody
-in our parishes was talking about it. They said that the old nobles had
-attached us to the soil to make us drudge and die, but the Revolution
-had burst our bonds, and that we no longer drew our master's cart like
-oxen. The truth is that we have bound ourselves to our own acres, and we
-drudge and die no less than before.
-
-The city people tell us that our only remedy would be to have no wants or
-desires. Only last Sunday, I answered a man who was preaching this
-doctrine very eloquently, that if we poor peasants could only be
-sensible enough never to eat or sleep, to work all the time, and to
-drink nothing but fresh clear water, provided the frogs had no
-objection, we might succeed in saving a goodly hoard, and in receiving
-a shower of compliments for our wisdom and discretion.
-
-Following this same train of thought, François cudgeled his brains to
-find some means of inducing the purchasers of the land to sell it back
-again. He finally hit upon the plan of whispering in their ears the
-little falsehood, that though Sévère had the reputation of being
-fabulously rich, she had really as many debts as a sieve has holes, and
-that some fine morning her creditors would lay hands upon all her
-claims, as well as upon all her property. He meant to tell them this
-confidentially, and when they were thoroughly alarmed, he expected to
-buy back Madeleine Blanchet's lands at the original price, with his own
-money.
-
-He scrupled, however, to tell this untruth, until it occurred to him
-that he could give a small bonus to all the poor purchasers, to make
-them amends for the interest they had already paid. In this manner
-Madeleine could be restored to her rights and possessions without loss
-or injury to the purchasers.
-
-The discredit in which Sévère would be involved by his plan caused him
-no scruple whatever. It is right for the hen to pull out a feather from
-the cruel bird that has plucked her chickens.
-
-When François had reached this conclusion, Jeannie awoke, and arose
-softly, to avoid disturbing his mother's slumbers; then, after a
-good-morning to François, he lost no time in going off to announce to
-the rest of their customers that the mill was in good order, and that a
-strong young miller stood in readiness to grind the corn.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER XX
-
-
-IT was already broad daylight when Mariette Blanchet emerged from her
-nest, carefully attired in her mourning, which was so very black and so
-very white that she looked as spick and span as a little magpie. The
-poor child had one great care, and that was that her mourning would long
-prevent her going to dances, and that all her admirers would be missing
-her. Her heart was so good that she pitied them greatly.
-
-"How is this?" said she, as she saw François arranging the papers in
-Madeleine's room. "You attend to everything here, Master Miller! You
-make flour, you settle the business, you mix the medicines; soon we
-shall see you sewing and spinning."
-
-"And you, my young lady," said François, who saw that she regarded him
-favorably, although she slashed him with her tongue, "I have never as
-yet seen you sewing or spinning; I think we shall soon find you sleeping
-till noon, and it will do you good, and keep your cheeks rosy!"
-
-"Oho! Master François, you are already beginning to tell me truths
-about myself. You had better take care of that little game; I can tell
-you something in return."
-
-"I await your pleasure, my young lady."
-
-"It will soon come; do not be afraid, Master Miller. Have the kindness
-to tell me where Catherine is, and why you are here watching beside our
-patient. Should you like a hood and gown?"
-
-"Are you going to ask, in your turn, for a cap and blouse, so that you
-may go to the mill? As I see you do no woman's work, which would be
-nursing your sister for a little while, I suppose you would like to sift
-out the chaff, and turn the grindstone. At your service. Let us change
-clothes."
-
-"It looks as if you were trying to give me a lesson."
-
-"No; you gave me one first, and I am only returning, out of politeness,
-what you lent me."
-
-"Good! You like to laugh and tease, but you have chosen the wrong time.
-We are not merry here, and it is only a short time ago that we had to go
-to the graveyard. If you chatter so much, you will prevent my
-sister-in-law from getting the sleep she needs so greatly."
-
-"On that very account, you should not raise your voice so much, my young
-lady; for I am speaking very low, and you are not speaking, just now, as
-you should in a sick-room."
-
-"Enough, if you please, Master François," said Mariette, lowering her
-tone, and flushing angrily. "Be so good as to see if Catherine is at
-hand, and tell me why she leaves my sister-in-law in your charge."
-
-"Excuse me, my young lady," said François, with no sign of temper. "She
-could not leave her in your charge, because you are too fond of
-sleeping, so she was obliged to intrust her to mine. I shall not call
-her, because the poor woman is jaded with fatigue. Without meaning to
-offend you, I must say that she has been sitting up every night for two
-weeks. I sent her off to bed, and, until noon, I mean to do her work and
-mine too, for it is only right for us all to help one another."
-
-"Listen, Master François," said the young girl, with a sudden change of
-tone; "you appear to hint that I think only of myself and leave all the
-work to others. Perhaps I should have sat up in my turn, if Catherine
-had told me that she was tired; but she insisted that she was not at all
-tired, and I did not understand that my sister was so seriously ill. You
-think that I have a bad heart, but I cannot imagine where you have
-learned it. You never knew me before yesterday, and we are not, as yet,
-intimate enough for you to scold me as you do. You behave exactly as if
-you were the head of the family, and yet--"
-
-"Come, out with it, beautiful Mariette, say what you have on the tip of
-your tongue. And yet I was taken in and brought up out of charity, is
-not it so? And I cannot belong to the family, because I have no family;
-I have no right to it, as I am a foundling! Is that all you wanted to
-say?"
-
-As François gave Mariette this straightforward answer, he looked at her
-in a way that made her blush up to the roots of her hair, for she saw
-that his expression was that of a stem and serious person, although he
-appeared so serene and gentle that it was impossible to irritate him, or
-to make him think or say anything unjust.
-
-The poor child, who was ordinarily so ready with her tongue, was
-overawed for a moment, but although she was a little frightened, she
-still felt a desire to please this handsome fellow, who spoke so
-decidedly and looked her so frankly in the eyes. She was so confused and
-embarrassed, that it was with difficulty she restrained her tears, and
-she turned her face quickly the other way, to hide her emotion.
-
-He observed it, however, and said very kindly:
-
-"I am not angry, Mariette, and you have no cause to be, on your part. I
-think no ill of you; I see only that you are young, that there is
-misfortune in the house, and that you are thoughtless. I must tell you
-what I think about it."
-
-"What do you think about it?" asked she; "tell me at once, that I may
-know whether you are my friend or my enemy."
-
-"I think that you are not fond of the care and pains people take for
-those whom they love, who are in trouble. You like to have your time to
-yourself, to turn everything into sport, to think about your dress, your
-lovers, and your marriage by and by, and you do not mind having others
-do your share. If you have any heart, my pretty child, if you really
-love your sister-in-law, and your dear little nephew, and even the poor,
-faithful servant who is capable of dying in harness like a good horse,
-you must wake up a little earlier in the morning, you must care for
-Madeleine, comfort Jeannie, relieve Catherine, and, above all, shut your
-ears to the enemy of the family, Madame Sévère, who is, I assure you,
-a very bad woman. Now you know what I think, neither more nor less."
-
-"I am glad to hear it," said Mariette, rather dryly; "and now please
-tell me by what right you wish to make me think as you do."
-
-"Oh! This is the way you take it, is it?" answered François. "My right
-is the waif's right, and to tell you the whole truth, the right of the
-child who was taken in and brought up by Madame Blanchet; for this, it
-is my duty to love her as my mother, and my right to try to requite her
-for her kindness."
-
-"I have no fault to find," returned Mariette, "and I see that I cannot
-do better than give you my respect at once, and my friendship as time
-goes on."
-
-"I like that," said François; "shake hands with me on it."
-
-He strode toward her, holding out his great hand, without the slightest
-awkwardness; but the little Mariette was suddenly stung by the fly of
-coquetry, and, withdrawing her hand, she announced that it was not
-proper to shake hands so familiarly with a young man.
-
-François laughed and left her, seeing plainly that she was not frank,
-and that her first object was to entangle him in a flirtation.
-
-"Now, my pretty girl," thought he, "you are much mistaken in me, and we
-shall not be friends in the way you mean."
-
-He went up to Madeleine, who had just waked, and who said to him, taking
-both his hands in hers:
-
-"I have slept well, my son, and God is gracious to let me see your face
-first of all, on waking. How Is it that Jeannie is not with you?"
-
-Then, after hearing his explanation, she spoke some kind words to
-Mariette, telling the young girl how sorry she was to have her sit up
-all night, and assuring her that she needed no such great care. Mariette
-expected François to say that she had risen very late; but François
-said nothing and left her alone with Madeleine, who had no more fever
-and wanted to try to get up.
-
-After three days, she was so much better that she was able to talk over
-business affairs with François.
-
-"You may put yourself at ease, my dear mother," said he. "I sharpened my
-wits when I was away from here, and I understand business pretty well. I
-mean to see you through these straits, and I shall succeed. Let me have
-my way; please do not contradict anything I say, and sign all the papers
-I shall bring you. Now, that my mind is at ease on the score of your
-health, I am going to town to consult some lawyers. It is market-day,
-and I shall find some people there whom I want to see, and I do not
-think my time will be wasted."
-
-He did as he said; and after receiving instructions and advice from the
-lawyers, he saw clearly that the last promissory notes which Blanchet
-had given Sévère would be a good subject for a lawsuit; for he had
-signed them when he was beside himself with drink, fever, and
-infatuation. Sévère believed that Madeleine would not dare to go to
-law, on account of the expense. François was unwilling to advise Madame
-Blanchet to embark in a lawsuit, but he thought there was a reasonable
-chance of bringing the matter to an amicable close, if he began by
-putting a bold face on it; and as he needed somebody to carry a message
-into the enemy's camp, he bethought himself of a plan which succeeded
-perfectly.
-
-For several days he had watched little Mariette, and assured himself
-that she took a daily walk in the direction of Dollins, where Sévère
-lived, and that she was on more friendly terms with this woman than he
-could wish, chiefly because she met at her house all her young
-acquaintances, and some men from town who made love to her. She did not
-listen to them, for she was still an innocent girl, and had no idea that
-the wolf was so near the sheepfold, but she loved flattery, and was as
-thirsty for it as a fly for milk. She kept her walks secret from
-Madeleine; and as Madeleine never gossiped with the other women, and had
-not as yet left her sick-room, she guessed nothing, and suspected no
-evil. Big Catherine was the last person in the world to notice anything,
-so that the little girl cocked her cap over her ear, and, under the
-pretext of driving the sheep to pasture, she soon left them in charge of
-some little shepherd-boy, and was off to play the fine lady in poor
-company.
-
-François, however, who was going continually to and fro on the affairs
-of the mill, took note of what the girl was doing. He never mentioned it
-at home, but turned it to account, as you shall hear.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER XXI
-
-
-HE planted himself directly in her way at the river-crossing; and just
-as she stepped on the foot-bridge which leads to Dollins, she beheld the
-waif, astride of the plank, a leg dangling on each side above the water,
-and on his face the expression of a man who has all the time in the
-world to spare. She blushed as red as a cherry, and if she had not been
-taken so by surprise, she would have swerved aside, and pretended to be
-passing by accident.
-
-But the approach to the bridge was obstructed by branches, and she did
-not see the wolf till she felt his teeth. His face was turned toward
-her, so she had no means of advancing or retreating, without being
-observed.
-
-"Master Miller," she began, saucily, "can't you move a hairbreadth to
-let anybody pass?"
-
-"No, my young lady," replied François, "for I am the guardian of this
-bridge till evening, and I claim the right to collect toll of
-everybody."
-
-"Are you mad, François? Nobody pays toll in our country, and you have
-no right on any bridge, or foot-bridge, or whatever you may call it in
-your country of Aigurande. You may say what you like, but take yourself
-off from here, as quickly as you can; this is not the place for jesting;
-you will make me tumble into the water."
-
-"Then," said François, without moving, and folding his arms in front of
-him, "you think that I want to laugh and joke with you, and that my
-right of toll is that of paying you my court? Pray get rid of that idea,
-my young lady; I wish to speak sensibly to you, and I will allow you to
-pass if you give me permission to accompany you for a short part of your
-way."
-
-"That would not be at all proper," said Mariette, somewhat flustered by
-her notion of what François was thinking. "What would they say of me
-hereabouts, if anybody met me out walking alone with a man to whom I am
-not betrothed?"
-
-"You are right," said François; "as Sévère is not here to protect
-you, people would talk of you; that is why you are going to her house,
-so that you may walk about in her garden with all your admirers. Very
-well, so as not to embarrass you, I shall speak to you here, and
-briefly, for my business is pressing, and this it is. You are a good
-girl; you love your sister-in-law Madeleine; you see that she is in
-difficulties, and you must want to help her out of them."
-
-"If that is what you want to say," returned Mariette, "I shall listen to
-you, for you are speaking the truth."
-
-"Very well, my dear young lady," said François, rising and leaning
-beside her, against the bank beside the little bridge, "you can do a
-great service to Madame Blanchet. Since it is for her good and interest,
-as I fondly believe, that you are so friendly with Sévère, you must
-make that woman agree to a compromise. Sévère is trying to attain two
-objects which are incompatible: she wants to make Master Blanchet's
-estate security for the payment of the land he sold for the purpose of
-paying his debts to her; and in the second place, she means to exact
-payment of the notes which he signed in her favor. She may go to law, if
-she likes, and wrangle about this poor little estate, but she cannot
-succeed in getting more out of it than there is. Make her understand
-that if she does not insist upon our guaranteeing the payment of the
-land, we can pay her notes; but if she does not allow us to get rid of
-one debt, we shall not have funds enough to pay the other, and if she
-makes us drain ourselves with expenses which bring her no profit, she
-runs the risk of losing everything."
-
-"That is true," said Mariette; "although I understand very little about
-business, I think I can understand as much as that. If I am able, by any
-chance, to influence her, which would be better: for my sister-in-law to
-pay the notes, or to be obliged to redeem the security?"
-
-"It would be worse for her to pay the notes, for it would be more
-unjust. We could contest the notes and go to law about them; but the law
-requires money, and you know that there is none, and never will be any,
-at the mill. So, it is all one to your sister, whether her little all
-goes in a lawsuit or in paying Sévère; whereas it is better for
-Sévère to be paid, without having a lawsuit.
-
-"As Madeleine is sure to be ruined in either case, she prefers to have
-all her possessions seized at once, than to drag on after this under a
-heavy burden of debt, which may last all her lifetime; for the
-purchasers of Cadet Blanchet's land are not able to pay for it. Sévère
-knows this well, and will be forced, some fine day, to take back her
-land; but this idea is not at all distressing to her, as it will be a
-profitable speculation for her to receive the land in an improved
-condition, having long drawn a heavy rate of interest from it. Thus,
-Sévère risks nothing in setting us free, and assures the payment of
-her notes."
-
-"I shall do as you say," said Mariette; "and if I fail, you may think as
-ill of me as you choose."
-
-"Then, good luck, Mariette, and a pleasant walk to you," said François,
-stepping out of her way.
-
-Little Mariette started off to Dollins, well pleased to have such a fine
-excuse for going there, for staying a long time, and for returning often
-during the next few days. Sévère pretended to like what she heard, but
-she really determined to be in no haste. She had always hated Madeleine
-Blanchet, because of the involuntary respect her husband had felt for
-her. She thought she held her safely in her claws for the whole of her
-lifetime, and preferred to give up the notes, which she knew to be of no
-great value, rather than renounce the pleasure of harassing her with the
-burden of an endless debt.
-
-François understood all this perfectly, and was anxious to induce her
-to exact the payment of this debt, so that he might have an opportunity
-to buy back Jennie's broad fields from those who had purchased them for
-a song. When Mariette returned with her answer, he saw that they were
-trying to mislead him with words; that, on one hand, the young girl was
-glad to have her errands last for a long time to come, and that, on the
-other hand. Sévère had not reached the point of being more desirous
-for Madeleine's rain than for the payment of her notes.
-
-To clinch matters, he took Mariette aside, two days afterward.
-
-"My dear young lady," said he, "you most not go to Dollins to-day. Your
-sister has learned, though I do not know how, that you go there more
-than once a day, and she says it is no place for a respectable girl. I
-have tried to make her understand that it is for her interest that you
-are so friendly with Sévère; but she blamed me as well as you. She
-says that she would rather be ruined than have you lose your reputation,
-that you are under her guardianship, and that she has authority over
-you. If you do not obey of your own free will, you will be prevented
-from going by main force. If you do as she says, she will not mention
-this to you, as she wishes to avoid giving you pain, but she is very
-much displeased with you, and it would be well for you to beg her
-pardon."
-
-François had no sooner unleashed the dog than it began to bark and
-bite. He was correct in his estimate of little Mariette's temper, which
-was as hasty and inflammable as her brother's had been.
-
-"Indeed, indeed!" she exclaimed; "do you expect me to obey my
-sister-in-law, as if I were a child of three? You talk as if she were my
-mother, and I owed her submission! What makes her think that I may lose
-my reputation? Tell her that it is quite as well buckled on as her own,
-and perhaps better. Why does she imagine that Sévère is not so good as
-other people? Is it wicked not to spend the whole day sewing, spinning,
-and praying? My sister-in-law is unjust because she has a quarrel with
-her about money, and she thinks she can treat her as she pleases. It is
-very imprudent of her, for if Sévère wished she could turn her out of
-the house she lives in; and as Sévère is patient, and does not make
-use of her advantage, she is certainly better than she is said to be.
-And this is the way in which you thank me, who have been obliging enough
-to take part in these disputes, which are no concern of mine! I can tell
-you, François, that the most respectable people are not always the most
-prudish, and when I go to Sévère's I do no more mischief than if I
-stayed at home."
-
-"I don't know about that," said François, who was determined to make
-all the scum of the vat mount to the surface; "perhaps your sister was
-right in thinking that you are in some mischief there. Look here,
-Mariette, I see that you like to go there too well. It is not natural.
-You have delivered your message about Madeleine's affairs, and since
-Sévère has sent no answer, it is evident that she means to give none.
-Do not go back there any more, or I shall think, with Madeleine, that
-you go with no good intention."
-
-"Then, Master François," cried Mariette, in a fury, "you think you are
-going to dictate to me? Do you mean to take my brother's place at home,
-and make yourself master there? You have not enough beard on your chin
-to give me such a lecture, and I advise you to leave me alone. Your
-humble servant," she added, adjusting her coif; "if my sister-in-law
-asks where I am, tell her that I am at Sévère's, and if she sends you
-after me, you will see how you are received."
-
-She burst the door open violently, and flew off with a light foot toward
-Dollins; but as François was afraid that her anger would cool on the
-way, especially as the weather was frosty, he allowed her a little
-start. He waited until he thought she had nearly reached Sévère's
-house, and then putting his long legs in motion he ran like a horse let
-loose, and caught up with her, to make her believe that Madeleine had
-sent him in pursuit of her.
-
-He was so provoking that she raised her hand against him. He dodged her
-every time, being well aware that anger evaporates with blows, and that
-a woman's temper improves when she has relieved herself by striking.
-Then he ran away, and as soon as Mariette arrived at Sévère's house
-she made a great explosion. The poor child had really no bad designs;
-but in the first flame of her anger she disclosed everything, and put
-Sévère into such a towering passion that François, who was retreating
-noiselessly through the lane, heard them at the other end of the
-hemp-field, hissing and crackling like fire in a barn full of hay.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER XXII
-
-
-HIS plan succeeded admirably, and he was so sure of it that he went over
-to Aigurande next day, took his money from the priest, and returned at
-night, carrying the four little notes of thin paper, which were of such
-great value, and yet made no more noise in his pocket than a crumb of
-bread in a cap. After a week's time, Sévère made herself heard. All
-the purchasers of Blanchet's land were summoned to pay up, and as not
-one was able to do it. Sévère threatened to make Madeleine pay
-instead.
-
-Madeleine was much alarmed when she heard the news, for she had received
-no hint from François of what was coming.
-
-"Good!" said he to her, rubbing his hands; "a trader cannot always gain,
-nor a thief always rob. Madame Sévère is going to make a bad bargain
-and you a good one. All the same, my dear mother, you must behave as if
-you thought you were ruined. The sadder you are, the gladder she will be
-to do what she thinks is to your harm. But that harm is your salvation,
-for when you pay Sévère you will buy back your son's inheritance."
-
-"What do you expect me to pay her with, my child?"
-
-"With the money I have in my pocket, and which belongs to you."
-
-Madeleine tried to dissuade him; but the waif was headstrong, as he said
-himself, and no one could loose what he had bound. He hastened to
-deposit two hundred pistoles with the notary, in the widow Blanchet's
-name, and Sévère was paid in full, willingly or unwillingly, and also
-all the other creditors of the estate, who had made common cause with
-her.
-
-Moreover, after François had indemnified all the poor purchasers of the
-land for their losses, he had still enough money with which to go to
-law, and he let Sévère know that he was about to embark in a lawsuit
-on the subject of the promissory notes which she had wrongfully and
-fraudulently extracted from the miller. He set afloat a report which
-spread far and wide through the land. He pretended that in fumbling
-about an old wall of the mill which he was trying to prop up, he had
-found old Mother Blanchet's money-box, filled with gold coins of an
-ancient stamp, and that by this means Madeleine was richer than she had
-ever been. Weary of warfare, Sévère consented to a compromise, hoping
-also that François would be lavish of the crowns winch he had so
-opportunely discovered, and that she could wheedle from him more than he
-gave her to expect. She got nothing for her pains, however, and he was
-so hard with her that she was forced to return the notes in exchange for
-a hundred crowns.
-
-To revenge herself, she worked upon little Mariette, telling her that
-the money-box of old Mother Blanchet, who was the girl's grandmother,
-should have been divided between her and Jeannie, that she had a right
-to her share, and should go to law against her sister.
-
-Then the waif was forced to tell the true source of the money he had
-provided, and the priest of Aigurande sent him the proofs, in case of
-there being a lawsuit.
-
-He began by showing these proofs to Mariette, begging her to make no
-unnecessary disclosures, and making it dear to her that she had better
-keep quiet. But Mariette would not keep at all quiet; her little brain
-was excited by the confusion in the family, and the devil tempted the
-poor child. In spite of all the kindness she had received from
-Madeleine, who had treated her as a daughter and indulged all her whims,
-she felt a dislike and jealousy of her sister-in-law, although her pride
-prevented her from acknowledging it. The truth is that in the midst of
-her tantrums and quarrels with François, she had inadvertently fallen
-in love with him, and never suspected the trap which the devil had set
-for her. The more François upbraided her for her faults and vagaries,
-the more crazy she was to please him.
-
-She was not the kind of girl to pine and consume away in grief and
-tears; but it robbed her of her peace to think that François was so
-handsome, rich, and upright, so kind to everybody, and so clever and
-brave; that he was a man to shed his last drop of blood for the woman he
-loved, and yet that none of this was for her, although she was the
-prettiest and richest girl in the neighborhood, and counted her lovers
-by the dozen.
-
-One day she opened her heart to her false friend, Sévère. It was in
-the pasture at the end of the road of the water-lilies, underneath an
-old apple-tree that was then in blossom. While all these things were
-happening, the month of May had come, and Sévère strolled out under
-the apple-blossoms, to chat with Mariette, who was tending her flock
-beside the river.
-
-It pleased God that François, who was near by, should overhear their
-conversation. He had seen Sévère enter the pasture, and at once
-suspected her of meditating some intrigue against Madeleine; and as the
-river was low, he walked noiselessly along the bank, beneath the bushes
-which are so tall just there that a hay-cart could pass under their
-shade. When he came within hearing distance, he sat down on the ground,
-without making a sound, and opened his ears very wide.
-
-The two women plied their tongues busily. In the first place, Mariette
-confessed to not caring for a single one of her suitors, for the sake of
-a young miller, who was not at all courteous to her, and the thought of
-whom kept her awake at night. Sévère, on the other hand, wanted to
-unite her to a young man of her acquaintance, who was so much in love
-with the girl, that he had promised a handsome wedding-present to
-Sévère, if she succeeded in marrying him to Mariette Blanchet. It
-appeared also that Sévère had exacted a gratuity beforehand from him
-and from several others; so she naturally did all in her power to put
-Mariette out of conceit with François.
-
-"A plague take the waif!" she exclaimed. "What, Mariette, a girl in your
-position marry a foundling! You would be called Madame Strawberry, for
-he has no other name. I should be ashamed for you, my poor darling. Then
-you have no chance; you would be obliged to light for him with your
-sister-in-law, for he is her lover, as true as I live."
-
-"Sévère," cried Mariette, "you have hinted this to me more than once;
-but I cannot believe you; my sister-in-law is too old."
-
-"No, no, Mariette; your sister-in-law is not old enough to do without
-this sort of thing; she is only thirty, and when the waif was but a boy,
-your brother discovered that he was too familiar with his wife. That is
-why he gave him a sound thrashing with the butt of his whip, and turned
-him out of doors."
-
-François felt a lively desire to spring out of the bushes and tell
-Sévère that she lied; but he restrained himself, and sat motionless.
-
-Sévère continued to ring the changes on this subject, and told so many
-shocking lies that François's face burned, and it was with great
-difficulty that he kept his patience.
-
-"Then," said Mariette, "he probably means to marry her now that she is a
-widow; he has already given her a good part of his fortune, and he must
-wish to have a share in the property which he has bought back."
-
-"Somebody else will outbid him," said the other; "for now that Madeleine
-has plundered him, she will be on the lookout for a richer suitor, and
-will be sure to find one. She must take a husband to manage her
-property, but while she is trying to find him, she keeps this great
-simpleton with her, who serves her for nothing, and amuses her
-solitude."
-
-"If she is going along at that pace," said Mariette, much vexed, "I am
-in a most disreputable house; in which I run too many dangers! Do you
-consider, my dear Sévère, that I am very ill-lodged, and that people
-will talk against me? Indeed, I cannot stay where I am; I must leave.
-Oh! yes, these pious women criticize everybody else, because they
-themselves are shameless only in God's sight! I should like to hear her
-say anything against you and me now! Very well! I am going to say
-good-by to her, and I am coming to live with you; if she is angry, I
-shall answer her; if she tries to bring me back by force, to live with
-her, I shall go to law; and I shall let people know what she is--do you
-hear?"
-
-"A better remedy for you, Mariette, is to get married as soon as
-possible. She will not refuse her consent, because I am sure she is
-anxious to rid herself of you. You stand in the way of her relations
-with the handsome waif. You must not delay, cannot you understand, for
-people will say that he belongs to both of you, and then nobody will
-marry you. Go and get married, then, and take the man I advise."
-
-"Agreed," said Mariette, breaking her shepherd's crook violently,
-against the old apple-tree. "I give you my word. Go and tell him,
-Sévère; let him come to my house this evening, to ask for my hand, and
-let our banns be published next Sunday."
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER XXIII
-
-
-FRANÇOIS was never sadder than when he emerged from the river-bank
-where he had hidden himself to listen to the women's talk. His heart was
-as heavy as lead, and when he had gone half-way home he lost courage to
-return, and, stepping aside into the path of the water-lilies, he sat
-down in the little grove of oaks, at the end of the meadow.
-
-Once there, by himself, he wept like a child, and his heart was bursting
-with sorrow and shame; for he was ashamed to hear of what he was
-accused, and to think that his poor dear friend Madeleine, whom, through
-all his life, he had loved so purely and constantly, reaped nothing but
-insult and slander from his devotion and fidelity.
-
-"Oh! my God, my God!" said he to himself, "how can it be that the world
-is so wicked and that a woman like Sévère can have the insolence to
-measure the honor of a woman like my dear mother, by her own standard?
-And that little Mariette, who should naturally be inclined to innocence
-and truth, a child as she is, who does not as yet know the meaning of
-evil, even she listens to this infernal calumny, and believes in it, as
-if she knew how it stung! Since this is so, others will believe it too;
-as the larger part of people living mortal life are old in evil, almost
-everybody win think that because I love Madame Blanchet, and she loves
-me, there must be something dishonorable in it."
-
-Then poor François undertook a careful examination of his conscience,
-and searched his memory to see whether, by any fault of his, he were
-responsible for Sévère's wicked gossip; whether he had behaved wisely
-in all respects, or whether, by a lack of prudence and discretion, he
-had involuntarily given rise to evil thinking. But it was in vain that
-he reflected, for he could not believe that he had appeared guilty of
-what had never even crossed his mind.
-
-Still absorbed in thought and reverie, he went on saying to himself:
-
-"Suppose that my liking had turned to loving, what harm would it be in
-God's sight, now that she is a widow and her own mistress? I have given
-a good part of my fortune to her and Jeannie, but I still have a
-considerable share left, and she would not wrong her child if she
-married me. It would not be self-seeking on my part to desire this, and
-nobody could make her believe that my love for her is self-interested.
-I am a foundling, but she does not care for that. She has loved me with
-a mother's love, which is the strongest of all affections, and now she
-might love me in another way. I see that her enemies will force me to
-leave her if I do not marry her, and I should rather die than leave her
-a second time. Besides, she needs my help, and I should be a coward to
-leave her affairs in such disorder when I have strength as well as money
-with which to serve her. Yes, all I have should belong to her, and as
-she often talks to me about paying me back in the end, I must put that
-idea out of her head, by sharing all things in common with her, in
-accordance with the permission of God and the law. She must keep her
-good name for her son's sake, and she can save it only by marrying me.
-How is it that I never thought of this before, and that I needed to hear
-it suggested by a serpent's tongue? I was too simple-minded and
-unsuspecting; and my poor mother is too charitable to others to take to
-heart the injuries which are done her. Everything tends toward good, by
-the will of Heaven; and Madame Sévère, who was plotting mischief, has
-done me the service of teaching me my duty."
-
-Without indulging any longer in meditation or wonder, François set off
-on his way home, determined to speak of his plan to Madame Blanchet
-without loss of time, and on his knees to entreat her to accept him as
-her protector, in the name of God, and for eternal life.
-
-When he reached Cormouer, he saw Madeleine spinning on her door-step, and
-for the first time in his life her face had the effect of making him
-timid and confused. He was in the habit of walking straight up to her,
-looking her full in the face to ask her how she did; but this time he
-paused on the little bridge as if he were examining the mill-dam, and
-only looked at her out of the corners of his eyes.
-
-When she turned toward him, he moved farther away, not understanding
-himself what his trouble was, or why a matter which, a few minutes ago,
-had seemed to him so natural and opportune, should suddenly become so
-awkward to confess.
-
-Madeleine called him.
-
-"Come here to me," said she, "for I have something to say to you, dear
-François. We are alone, so come and sit down beside me, and open your
-heart to me, as if I were your father-confessor, for I want to hear the
-truth from you."
-
-François was reassured by Madeleine's words, and he sat down beside
-her.
-
-"I promise, my dear mother," said he, "to open my heart to you as I do
-to God, and to give you a true confession."
-
-He fancied that something had come to her ears which had brought her to
-the same conclusion as himself; he was delighted, and waited to hear
-what she had to say.
-
-"François," she went on, "you are in your twenty-first year, and it is
-time for you to think of marrying; you are not opposed to it, I hope?"
-
-"No, I am not opposed to anything you wish," answered François,
-blushing with pleasure; "go on, my dear Madeleine."
-
-"Good!" said she. "I expected this, and I have guessed the right thing.
-Since you wish it, I wish it too, and perhaps I thought of it before you
-did. I was waiting to see whether the person in question cared for you,
-and I think that if she does not as yet, she will, very soon. Don't you
-think so, too, and shall I tell you where you stand? Why do you look at
-me with such a puzzled expression? Don't I speak clearly enough? I see
-that you are shy about it, and I must help you out. Well, the poor child
-pouted all the morning because you teased her a little yesterday, and I
-dare say she thinks you do not love her. But I know that you do love
-her, and if you scold her sometimes for her little caprices it is
-because you are a trifle jealous. You must not hold back for that,
-François. She is young and pretty; but though there is some danger in
-this, if she truly loves you she will willingly submit herself to you."
-
-"I should like," said François, much disappointed, "to know whom you
-are talking of, my dear mother, for I am wholly at a loss."
-
-"Really!" said Madeleine; "don't you know what I mean? Am I dreaming, or
-are you trying to keep a secret from me?"
-
-"A secret from you!" said François, taking Madeleine's hand. He soon
-dropped it, and took up instead the corner of her apron, which he
-crumpled as if he were provoked, then lifted toward his lips as if about
-to kiss it, and finally let go just as he had done with her hand. He was
-first inclined to cry; then he felt angry, and then giddy, all in
-succession.
-
-Madeleine was amazed.
-
-"You are in trouble, my child," she cried, "and this means that you are
-in love--that all does not go as you wish. I can assure you that
-Mariette has a good heart; she, too, is distressed, and if you speak
-openly with her she will tell you, in return, that she thinks of no one
-but you."
-
-François sprang up, and walked up and down the courtyard for some time
-in silence; then he returned to Madeleine's side.
-
-"I am very much surprised to hear what you have in your mind, Madame
-Blanchet; this never once occurred to me, and I am well aware that
-Mariette has no liking for me, and that I am not to her taste."
-
-"Oh, come!" said Madeleine; "you are speaking petulantly, my child! Don't
-you think I noticed how often you talked with her? Though I could not
-catch the meaning of what you said, it was evident that she understood
-very well, for her face glowed like a burning coal. Do you think I do
-not know that she runs away from the pasture every day, leaving her
-flock in charge of the first person she meets? Her sheep flourish at the
-expense of our wheat; but I do not want to cross her, or talk to her of
-sheep, when her head is full of nothing but love and marriage. The poor
-child is just of an age to guard her sheep ill, and her heart still
-worse. But it is great good luck for her, François, that instead of
-falling in love with one of those bad fellows whom I was so much afraid
-of her meeting at Sévère's, she had the good sense to think of you. It
-makes me, too, very happy to think that, when you are married to my
-sister-in-law, who is almost the same as a daughter to me, you will live
-with me and make part of my family, and that I may harbor you in my
-house, work with you, bring up your children, and thus repay your
-kindness to me. So, do not let your childish notions interfere with all
-the joys I have planned. Try to see clearly, and forget your jealousy.
-If Mariette is fond of dress, it is because she is anxious to please
-you. If she has been rather idle lately, it is only because she is
-thinking too much of you; and if she answers me sometimes rather
-sharply, she does so because she is vexed with your reprimands, and does
-not know whom to blame for them. The proof that she is good and desirous
-of mending her ways, is that she has recognized your goodness and
-wisdom, and wants you for her husband."
-
-"You are good, my dear mother," said François, quite crestfallen. "Yes,
-it is you who are good, for you believe in the goodness of others and
-deceive yourself. I can tell you that, if Mariette is good, too, and I
-will not say she is not, lest I should injure her in your opinion, it is
-in a way very different from yours, and, consequently, very displeasing
-to me. Do not say anything more to me about her. I swear to you on my
-word and honor, on my heart and soul, that I am no more in love with her
-than I am with old Catherine, and if she has any regard for me, it is
-her own misfortune, because I cannot return it. Do not try to make her
-say she loves me; your tact would be at fault, and you would make her my
-enemy. It is quite the contrary; hear what she will say to you to-night,
-and let her marry Jean Aubard, whom she has made up her mind to accept.
-Let her marry as soon as possible, for she is out of place in your
-house. She is not happy there, and will not be a source of comfort to
-you."
-
-"Jean Aubard!" exclaimed Madeleine; "he is not a proper person for her;
-he is a fool, and she is too clever to submit herself to a stupid man."
-
-"He is rich, and she will not submit to him. She will manage him, and he
-is just the man for her. Will you not trust in your friend, my dear
-mother? You know that, up to this time, I have never given you any bad
-advice. Let the young girl go; she does not love you as she ought, and
-she does not know your worth."
-
-"You say this because your feelings are hurt, François," said
-Madeleine, laying her hand on his head and moving it gently up and down,
-as if she were trying to shake the truth out of it François was
-exasperated that she would not believe him, and it was the first time in
-his life that there had been any dispute between them. He withdrew,
-saying in a dissatisfied tone of voice:
-
-"Madame Blanchet, you are not just to me. I tell you that girl does not
-love you. You force me to say this, against my will; for I did not come
-here to bring distrust and strife. So, if I tell it to you, you may know
-that I am sure of it; and do you think I can love her after that? You
-cannot love me any more, if you will not believe me."
-
-Wild with grief, François rushed off to weep all alone by the fountain.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER XXIV
-
-
-MADELEINE was still more perplexed than François, and was on the point
-of following him with questions and words of encouragement; but she was
-held back by the sudden appearance of Mariette, who, with a strange
-expression on her face, announced the offer of marriage she had received
-from Jean Aubard. Madeleine, who was unable to disabuse herself of the
-idea that the whole affair was the result of a lovers' quarrel,
-attempted to speak to the girl of François; but Mariette answered in a
-tone which gave her great pain, and was utterly incomprehensible to her:
-
-"Those people who care for foundlings may keep them for their own
-amusement; I am an honest girl, and shall not allow my good name to
-suffer because my poor brother is dead. I am perfectly independent,
-Madeleine; and if I am forced by law to ask your advice, I am not forced
-to take it when it is not for my good. So please do not stand in my way,
-or I may stand in yours hereafter."
-
-"I cannot imagine what is the matter with you, my dear child," said
-Madeleine, very sweetly and sadly. "You speak to me as if you had
-neither respect nor affection for me. I think you must be in some
-distress which has confused your mind; so I entreat you to take three or
-four days, in which to decide. I shall tell Jean Aubard to come back,
-and if you are of the same opinion after a little quiet reflection, I
-shall give you free leave to marry him, as he is a respectable man, and
-comfortably off. But you are in such an excited condition, just now,
-that you cannot know your own mind, and you shut your heart against my
-affection. You grieve me very much, but as I see that you are grieved
-too, I forgive you."
-
-Mariette tossed her head, to show how much she despised that sort of
-forgiveness, and ran away to put on her silk apron and prepare for the
-reception of Jean Aubard, who arrived, an hour later, with big Sévère
-in gala dress.
-
-This time, at last, Madeleine was convinced of Mariette's ill-will
-toward her, since the girl had brought into her house, on a family
-matter, a woman who was her enemy, and whom she blushed to see.
-Notwithstanding this, she advanced very politely to meet Sévère, and
-served her with refreshments, without any appearance of anger or
-dislike; for she feared that if Mariette were opposed, she would prove
-unmanageable. So Madeleine said that she made no objection to her
-sister-in-law's desire, but requested three days' grace before giving
-her answer.
-
-Thereupon Sévère said, insolently, that was a very long time to wait.
-Madeleine answered quietly that it was a very short time.
-
-Jean Aubard then left, looking like a blockhead, and giggling like a
-booby, for he was sure that Mariette was madly in love with him. He had
-paid well for this illusion, and Sévère gave him his money's worth.
-
-As Sévère left the house, she said to Mariette that she had ordered a
-cake and some sweets at home for the betrothal, and even if Madame
-Blanchet delayed the preliminaries, they must sit down to the feast.
-Madeleine objected that it was not proper for a young girl to go off in
-the company of a man who had not as yet received his answer from her
-family.
-
-"If that is so, I shall not go," said Mariette, in a huff.
-
-"Oh, yes, yes; you must come," Sévère insisted; "are not you your own
-mistress?"
-
-"No, indeed," returned Mariette; "you see my sister-in-law forbids me to
-go."
-
-She went into her room and slammed the door; but she merely passed
-through the house, went out by the back door, and caught up with
-Sévère and her suitor at the end of the meadow, laughing and jeering
-at Madeleine's expense.
-
-Poor Madeleine could not restrain her tears when she saw how things were
-going.
-
-"François was right," thought she; "the girl does not love me, and she
-is ungrateful at heart. She will not believe that I am acting for her
-good, that I am most anxious for her happiness, and wish only to prevent
-her doing something which she will regret hereafter. She has taken evil
-counsel, and I am condemned to see that wretched Sévère stirring up
-trouble and strife in my family. I have not deserved all these troubles,
-and I must submit to God's will. Fortunately, poor François was more
-clear-sighted than I. How much he would suffer with such a wife!"
-
-She went to look for him, to let him know what she thought; but when she
-found him in tears beside the fountain, she supposed he was grieving for
-the loss of Mariette, and attempted to comfort him. The more she said
-the more pained he was, for it became clear to him that she refused to
-understand the truth, and that her heart could never feel for him in the
-way he had hoped.
-
-In the evening, when Jeannie was in bed and asleep, François sat with
-Madeleine, and sought to explain himself.
-
-He began by saying that Mariette was jealous of her, and that Sévère
-had slandered her infamously; but Madeleine never dreamed of his
-meaning.
-
-"What can she say against me?" said she, simply; "and what jealousy can
-she put into poor silly little Mariette's head? You are mistaken,
-François; something else is at stake, some interested reason which we
-shall hear later. It is not possible that she should be jealous; I am
-too old to give any anxiety to a young and pretty girl. I am almost
-thirty, and for a peasant woman who has undergone a great deal of
-trouble and fatigue, that is old enough to be your mother. The devil
-only could say that I think of you in any way but as my son, and
-Mariette must know I longed to have you both marry. No, no; never
-believe that she has any such evil thought, or, at least, do not mention
-it to me, for I should be too much pained and mortified."
-
-"And yet," said François, making a great effort to speak, and bending
-low over the fire to hide his confusion from Madeleine, "Monsieur
-Blanchet had some such evil thought when he turned me out of doors!"
-
-"What! Do you know that now, François?" exclaimed Madeleine. "How is it
-that you know it? I never told you, and I never should have told you. If
-Catherine spoke of it to you, she did wrong. Such an idea must shock and
-pain you as much as it does me, but we must try not to think of it any
-more and to forgive my husband, now that he is dead. All the obloquy of
-it falls upon Sévère; but now Sévère can be no longer jealous of me.
-I have no husband, and I am as old and ugly as she could ever have
-wished, though I am not in the least sorry for it, for I have gained the
-right of being respected, of treating you as a son, and of finding you a
-pretty young wife, who will live happily with me and love me as a
-mother. This is my only wish, François, and you must not distress
-yourself, for we shall find her. So much the worse for Mariette if she
-despises the happiness I had in store for her. Now, go to bed, my child,
-and take courage. If I thought I were any obstacle to your marrying, I
-should send you away at once; but you may be sure that nobody worries
-about me, or imagines what is absolutely impossible."
-
-As François listened to Madeleine, he was convinced that she was right,
-so accustomed was he to believe all that she said. He rose to bid her
-good night, but, as he took her hand, it happened that, for the first
-time in his life, he looked at her with the intention of finding out
-whether she were old and ugly; and the truth is, she had long been so
-sad and serious that she deceived herself, and was still as pretty a
-woman as she had ever been.
-
-So when François saw all at once that she was still young and as
-beautiful as the blessed Virgin, his heart gave a great bound, as if he
-had climbed to the pinnacle of a tower. He went back for the night to
-the mill, where his bed was neatly spread in a square of boards among
-the sacks of flour. Once there, and by himself, he shivered and gasped
-as if he had a fever; but it was only the fever of love, for he who had
-all his life warmed himself comfortably in front of the ashes, had
-suddenly been scorched by a great burst of flame.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CHAPTER XXV
-
-
-FROM that time on, the waif was so melancholy that it made one's heart
-ache to see him. He worked like a horse, but he found no more joy or
-peace, and Madeleine could not induce him to say what was the matter
-with him. It was in vain he swore that he neither loved nor regretted
-Mariette, for Madeleine would not believe him, and could assign no other
-cause for his depression. She was grieved that he should be in distress
-and yet no longer confide in her, and she was amazed that his trouble
-should make him so proud and self-willed.
-
-As it was not in her nature to be tormenting, she made up her mind to
-say nothing further to him on the subject. She attempted to make
-Mariette reverse her decision, but her overtures were so ill-received
-that she lost courage, and was silent. Though her heart was full of
-anguish, she kept it to herself, lest she should add to the burden of
-others.
-
-François worked for her, and served her with the same zeal and devotion
-as before. As in the old time, he stayed as much as possible in her
-company, but he no longer spoke as he used. He was always embarrassed
-with her, and turned first red as fire, and then white as a sheet in the
-same minute. She was afraid he was ill, and once took his hand to see if
-he were feverish; but he drew back from her as if her touch hurt him,
-and sometimes he reproached her in words which she could not understand.
-
-The trouble between them grew from day to day. During all this time,
-great preparations were being made for Mariette's marriage to Jean
-Aubard, and the day which was to end her mourning was fixed as that of
-the wedding.
-
-Madeleine looked forward to that day with dread; she feared that
-François would go crazy, and was anxious to send him to spend a little
-time at Aigurande, with his old master Jean Vertaud, so as to distract
-his mind. François, however, was unwilling to let Mariette believe what
-Madeleine insisted upon thinking. He showed no vexation before her, was
-on friendly relations with her lover, and jested with Sévère, when he
-met her along the road, to let her see that he had nothing to fear from
-her. He was present at the wedding; and as he was really delighted to
-have the house rid of the girl, and Madeleine freed from her false
-friendship, it never crossed anybody's mind that he had been in love
-with her. The truth began to dawn even on Madeleine, or at least she was
-inclined to believe that he had consoled himself. She received
-Mariette's farewell with her accustomed warmth of heart; but as the
-young girl still cherished a grudge against her on account of the waif,
-Madeleine could not help seeing that her sister-in-law left her without
-love or regret. Inured as she was to sorrow, Madeleine wept over the
-girl's hardness of heart, and prayed God to forgive her.
-
-After a week had passed, François unexpectedly told her that he had
-some business at Aigurande that would call him there for the space of
-five or six days. She was not surprised, and hoped it would be for the
-good of his health, for she believed that he had stifled his grief, and
-was ill in consequence.
-
-But that grief, which she thought he had overcome, increased with him
-day by day. He could think of nothing else, and whether asleep or awake,
-far or near, Madeleine was always in his heart and before his eyes. It
-is true that all his life had been spent in loving her and thinking of
-her, but until lately these thoughts of her had been has happiness and
-consolation, whereas they were now his despair and his undoing. As long
-is he was content to be her son and friend, he wished for no better lot
-on earth; but now his love had changed its character, and he was
-exquisitely unhappy. He fancied that she could never change as he had
-done. He kept repeating to himself that he was too young, that she had
-known him as a forlorn and wretched child, that he could be only an
-object of care and compassion to her, and never of pride. In short, he
-believed her to be so lovely and so attractive, so far above him, and so
-much to be desired, that when she said she was no longer young and
-pretty, he thought she was adopting a rôle to scare away her suitors.
-
-In the mean time, Sévère, Mariette, and their clan were slandering her
-openly on his account, and he was in terror lest some of the scandal
-should come to her ears, and she should be displeased and long for his
-departure. He knew she was too kind to ask him to go, but he dreaded
-being again a cause of annoyance to her, as he had been once before, and
-it occurred to him to go to ask the advice of the priest of Aigurande,
-whom he had found to be a just and God-fearing man.
-
-He went, but with no success, as the priest was absent on a visit to his
-bishop; so François returned to the mill of Jean Vertaud, who had
-invited him for a few days' visit, while waiting for the priest's
-return.
-
-He found his kind master as true a man and as faithful a friend as he
-had left him, and his good daughter Jeannette on the brink of marriage
-with a very respectable man whom she had accepted from motives of
-prudence rather than of enthusiasm, but for whom she fortunately felt
-more liking than distaste. This put François more at his ease with her
-than he had ever been, and the next day being Sunday, he had a long talk
-with her, and confided in her Madame Blanchet's many difficulties, and
-his satisfaction in rescuing her from them.
-
-Jeannette was quick-witted, and from one thing and another she guessed
-that the waif was more agitated by his attachment to Madeleine than he
-would confess. She laid her hand on his arm, and said to him abruptly:
-
-"François, you must hide nothing from me. I have come to my senses now,
-and you see that I am not ashamed to tell you that I once thought more
-of you than you did of me. You knew my feelings, and you could not
-return them, but you would not deceive me, and no selfish interest led
-you to do what many others would have done in your place. I respect you
-both for your behavior toward me and for your constancy to the woman you
-loved best in the world; and instead of disowning my regard for you, I
-am glad to remember it. I expect you to think the better of me for
-acknowledging it, and to do me the justice to observe that I bear no
-grudge or malice toward you for your coolness. I mean to give you the
-greatest possible token of my esteem. You love Madeleine Blanchet, not
-indeed as a mother, but as a young and attractive woman, whom you wish
-for your wife."
-
-"Oh!" said François, blushing like a girl, "I love her as a mother, and
-my heart is full of respect for her."
-
-"I have no doubt of it," answered Jeannette; "but you love her in two
-ways, for your face says one thing and your words another. Very well,
-François; you dare not tell her what you dare not even confess to me,
-and you do not know whether she can answer your two ways of loving."
-
-Jeannette Vertaud spoke with so much sense and sweetness, and showed
-François such true friendship, that he had not the courage to deceive
-her, and pressing her hand, he told her that she was like a sister to
-him, and the only person in the world to whom he had the heart to
-disclose his secret.
-
-Jeannette asked him several questions, which he answered truly and
-openly.
-
-"François, my friend," said she, "I understand it all. It is impossible
-for me to know what Madeleine Blanchet will think about it; but I see
-that you might be for years in her company without having the boldness
-to tell her what you have on your mind. No matter. I shall find out for
-you, and shall let you know. My father and you and I shall set out
-to-morrow for a friendly visit to Cormouer, as if we went to make the
-acquaintance of the kind woman who brought up our friend François; you
-must take my father to walk about the place, under pretext of asking his
-advice, and I shall spend the time talking with Madeleine. I shall use a
-great deal of tact, and shall not tell what your feelings are until I am
-certain of hers."
-
-François was so grateful to Jeannette that he was ready to fall on his
-knees before her; and Jean Vertaud, who, with the waif's permission, was
-informed of the situation, gave his consent to the plan. Next day they
-set out; Jeannette rode on the croup behind her father, and François
-started an hour earlier than they to prepare Madeleine for the visit she
-was to receive.
-
-The sun was setting as François approached Cormouer. A storm came up
-during his ride, and he was drenched to the skin; but he never murmured,
-for he had good hope in Jeannette's friendly offices, and his heart was
-lighter than when he had left home. The water was dripping from the
-bushes, and the blackbirds were singing like mad in thankfulness for a
-last gleam from the sun before it sank behind the hill of Grand-Corlay.
-Great flocks of birds fluttered from branch to branch around François,
-and their joyous chattering cheered his spirits. He thought of the time
-when he was little, and roamed about the meadows, whistling to attract
-the birds, absorbed in his childish dreams and fancies. Just then a
-handsome bullfinch hovered round his head, like a harbinger of good luck
-and good tidings, and his thoughts wandered back to his Mother Zabelle
-and the quaint songs of the olden time, with which she used to sing him
-to sleep.
-
-Madeleine did not expect him so soon. She had even feared that he would
-never come back at all, and when she caught sight of him, she could not
-help running to kiss him, and was surprised to see how much it made him
-blush. He announced the approaching visit, and apparently as much afraid
-of having her guess his feelings as he was grieved to have her ignore
-them, in order to prevent her suspecting anything, he told her that Jean
-Vertaud thought of buying some land in the neighborhood.
-
-Then Madeleine bestirred herself to prepare the best entertainment she
-could offer to François's friends.
-
-Jeannette was the first to enter the house, while her father was putting
-up their horse in the stable; and as soon as she saw Madeleine, she took
-a great liking for her, a liking which the other woman fully returned.
-They began by shaking hands, but they soon fell to kissing each other
-for the sake of their common love for François, and they spoke together
-freely, as if they had had a long and intimate acquaintance. The truth
-is they were both excellent women, and made such a pair as is hard to
-find. Jeannette could not help a pang on seeing Madeleine, whom she knew
-to be idolized by the man for whom she herself still cherished a
-lingering fondness; but she felt no jealousy, and tried to forget her
-grief in the good action on which she was bent. On the other hand, when
-Madeleine saw the young woman's sweet face and graceful figure, she
-supposed that it was she whom François had loved and pined for, that
-they were now betrothed, and that Jeannette had come to bring the news
-in person; but neither did she feel any jealousy, for she had never
-thought of François save as her own child.
-
-In the evening, after supper, Father Vertaud, who was tired by his ride,
-went to bed; and Jeannette took Madeleine out into the garden with her,
-after first instructing François to keep a little aloof with Jeannie,
-but still near enough to see her let down the corner of her apron, which
-she wore tucked up on one side, for this was to be the signal for him to
-join them. She then fulfilled her mission conscientiously, and so
-skilfully that Madeleine had no time to exclaim, although beyond measure
-astonished, as the matter was unfolded to her. At first she thought it
-but another proof of François's goodness of heart, that he wished to
-put a stop to all evil gossip, and to devote his life to her service;
-and she would have refused, thinking it too great a sacrifice on the
-part of so young a man to marry a woman older than himself. She feared
-he would repent later, and could not long keep his faith to her, without
-vexation and regret; but Jeannette gave her to understand that the waif
-was in love with her, heart and soul, and that he was losing his health
-and peace of mind because of her.
-
-This was inconceivable to Madeleine. She had lived such a sober and
-retired life, never adorning her person, never appearing in public, nor
-listening to flattery, that she had no longer any idea of the impression
-she might make upon a man.
-
-"Then," said Jeannette, "since he loves you so much, and will die if you
-refuse him, will you persist in closing your eyes and ears to what I say
-to you? If you do, it must be because you dislike the poor young fellow,
-and would be sorry to make him happy."
-
-"Do not say that, Jeannette," answered Madeleine; "I love him almost, if
-not quite, as much as my Jeannie, and if I had ever suspected that he
-thought of me in another light, it is quite possible that my affection
-for him would have been more passionate. But what can you expect? I
-never dreamed of this, and I am still so dazed that I do not know how to
-answer. I ask for time to think of it and to talk it over with him, so
-that I may find out whether he does this from a whim or out of mere
-pique, or whether, perhaps, he thinks it is a duty he owes me. This I am
-afraid of most of all, and I think he has repaid me fully for the care I
-took of him, and it would be too much for him to give me his liberty and
-himself, at least unless he loves me as you think he does."
-
-When Jeannette heard these words, she let down the corner of her apron,
-and François, who was waiting near at hand with his eyes fixed upon
-her, was beside them in an instant. The clever Jeannette asked Jeannie
-to show her the fountain, and they strolled off together, leaving
-Madeleine and François together.
-
-But Madeleine, who had expected to put her questions to the waif, in
-perfect calmness, was suddenly covered with shyness and confusion, like
-a young girl; for confusion such as hers, so sweet and pleasant to see,
-belongs to no age, but is bred of innocence of mind and purity of life.
-When François saw that his dear mother blushed and trembled as he did,
-he received it as a more favorable token than if she had kept her usual
-serene manner. He took her hand and arm, but he could not speak.
-Trembling all the while, she tried to shake herself loose and to follow
-Jeannie and Jeannette, but he held her fast, and made her turn back with
-him. When Madeleine saw his boldness in opposing his will to hers, she
-understood, better than if he had spoken, that it was no longer her
-child, the waif, but her lover, François, that walked by her side.
-
-After they had gone a little distance, silent, but linked arm in arm, as
-vine is interlaced with vine, François said:
-
-"Let us go to the fountain; perhaps I may find my tongue there."
-
-They did not find Jeannie and Jeannette beside the fountain, for they
-had gone home; but François found courage to speak, remembering that it
-was there he had seen Madeleine for the first time, and there, too, he
-had bidden her farewell, eleven years afterward. We must believe that he
-spoke very fluently, and that Madeleine did not gainsay him, for they
-were still there at midnight. She was crying for joy, and he was on his
-knees before her, thanking her for accepting him for her husband.
-
-     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *
-
-"There ends the story," said the hemp-dresser, "for it would take too
-long to tell you about the wedding. I was present, myself, and the same
-day the waif married Madeleine in the parish of Mers, Jeannette was
-married in the parish of Aigurande. Jean Vertaud insisted that François
-and his wife, and Jeannie, who was happy as a king, with their friends,
-relations, and acquaintances, should come to his house for the
-wedding-feast, which was finer, grander, and more delightful than
-anything I have ever seen since."
-
-"Is the story true in all points?" asked Sylvine Courtioux.
-
-"If it is not, it might be," answered the hemp-dresser. "If you do not
-believe me, go and see for yourself."
-
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-<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of François the waif, by George Sand</p>
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-<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: François the waif</p>
-<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: George Sand</p>
-<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Translator: Jane Minot Sedgwick</p>
-<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: E. Abot</p>
-<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: October 14, 2022 [eBook #69153]<br />
-[Last updated: November 17, 2022]</p>
-<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p>
-  <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Laura Natal Rodrigues (Images generously made available by Hathi Trust Digital Library.)</p>
-<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANÇOIS THE WAIF ***</div>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/champi_tp.jpg" width="500" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<p><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/champi_frontispiece.jpg" width="500" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<p><br /><br /></p>
-
-<h1>FRANÇOIS THE WAIF</h1>
-
-<p><br /><br /></p>
-
-<h4>BY</h4>
-
-<p><br /><br /></p>
-
-<h2>GEORGE SAND</h2>
-
-<p><br /><br /></p>
-
-<h3>TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY</h3>
-
-<h4>JANE MINOT SEDGWICK</h4>
-
-<p><br /><br /></p>
-
-<h5>WITH AN ETCHING BY E. ABOT</h5>
-
-<p><br /><br /></p>
-
-<h4>NEW-YORK</h4>
-
-<h4>GEORGE H. RICHMOND &amp; CO.</h4>
-
-<h5>1894</h5>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<h4>CONTENTS</h4>
-<p class="nind">
-<a href="#PREFATORY_NOTE">PREFATORY NOTE</a><br />
-<a href="#PREFACE">PREFACE</a><br />
-<a href="#INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#I">I</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#II">II</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#III">III</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#IV">IV</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#V">V</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#VI">VI</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#VII">VII</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#VIII">VIII</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#IX">IX</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#X">X</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#XI">XI</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#XII">XII</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#XIII">XIII</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#XIV">XIV</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#XV">XV</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#XVI">XVI</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#XVII">XVII</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#XVIII">XVIII</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#XIX">XIX</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#XX">XX</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#XXI">XXI</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#XXII">XXII</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#XXIII">XXIII</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#XXIV">XXIV</a><br />
-CHAPTER <a href="#XXV">XXV</a></p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<h4><a id="PREFATORY_NOTE">PREFATORY NOTE</a></h4>
-
-<p>
-François le Champi, a pretty idyl that tells of homely affections,
-self-devotion, "humble cares and delicate fears," opens a little vista
-into that Arcadia to which, the poet says, we were all born. It offers
-many difficulties to the translator. It is a rustic tale, put into the
-mouths of peasants, who relate it with a primitive simplicity, sweet and
-full of sentiment in the French, but prone to degenerate into
-mawkishness and monotony when turned into English. Great care has been
-taken to keep the English of this version simple and idiomatic, and yet
-religiously to avoid any breach of faith toward the author. It is hoped
-that, though the original pure and limpid waters have necessarily
-contracted some stain by being forced into another channel, they may yet
-yield refreshment to those thirsty souls who cannot seek them at the
-fountain-head.
-</p>
-<p style="margin-left: 60%;">J. M. S.</p>
-
-<p><i>Stockbridge, January, 1894.</i></p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<h4><a id="PREFACE">PREFACE</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">F</span>RANÇOIS LE CHAMPI appeared for the first
-time in the <i>feuilleton</i> of the "Journal des Débats." Just as the
-plot of my story was reaching its development, another more serious
-development was announced in the first column of the same newspaper. It
-was the final downfall of the July Monarchy, in the last days of
-February, 1848.
-</p>
-<p>
-This catastrophe was naturally very prejudicial to my story, the
-publication of which was interrupted and delayed, and not finally
-completed, if I remember correctly, until the end of a month. For those
-of my readers who are artists either by profession or instinct, and are
-interested in the details of the construction of works of art, I shall
-add to my introduction that, some days before the conversation of which
-that introduction is the outcome, I took a walk through the <i>Chemin
-aux Napes</i>. The word <i>nape</i>, which, in the figurative language
-of that part of the country, designates the beautiful plant called
-<i>nénufar</i>, or <i>nymphææ</i>, is happily descriptive of the
-broad leaves that lie upon the surface of the water, as a cloth
-(<i>nappe</i>) upon a table; but I prefer to write it with a single
-<i>p</i>, and to trace its derivation from <i>napée</i>, thus leaving
-unchanged its mythological origin.
-</p>
-<p>
-The <i>Chemin aux Napes</i>, which probably none of you, my dear readers,
-will ever see, as it leads to nothing that can repay you for the trouble
-of passing through so much mire, is a break-neck path, skirting along a
-ditch where, in the muddy water, grow the most beautiful nymphææ in
-the world, more fragrant than lilies, whiter than camellias, purer than
-the vesture of virgins, in the midst of the lizards and other reptiles
-that crawl about the mud and flowers, while the kingfisher darts like
-living lightning along the banks, and skims with a fiery track the rank
-and luxuriant vegetation of the sewer.
-</p>
-<p>
-A child six or seven years old, mounted bare-back upon a loose horse,
-made the animal leap the hedge behind me, and then, letting himself
-slide to the ground, left his shaggy colt in the pasture, and returned
-to try jumping over the barrier which he had so lightly crossed on
-horseback a minute before. It was not such an easy task for his little
-legs; I helped him, and had with him a conversation similar to that
-between the miller's wife and the foundling, related in the beginning of
-"The Waif." When I questioned him about his age, which he did not know,
-he literally delivered himself of the brilliant reply that he was two
-years old. He knew neither his own name, nor that of his parents, nor of
-the place he lived in; all that he knew was to cling on an unbroken
-colt, as a bird clings to a branch shaken by the storm.
-</p>
-<p>
-I have had educated several foundlings of both sexes, who have turned
-out well physically and morally. It is no less certain, however, that
-these forlorn children are apt, in rural districts, to become bandits,
-owing to their utter lack of education. Intrusted to the care of the
-poorest people, because of the insufficient pittance assigned to them,
-they often practise, for the benefit of their adopted parents, the
-shameful calling of beggars. Would it not be possible to increase this
-pittance on condition that the foundlings shall never beg, even at the
-doors of their neighbors and friends?
-</p>
-<p>
-I have also learned by experience that nothing is more difficult than to
-teach self-respect and the love of work to children who have already
-begun understandingly to live upon alms.
-</p>
-<p style="margin-left: 60%;">GEORGE SAND.</p>
-
-<p><i>Nohant, May 20, 1852.</i></p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure01.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4>THE WAIF</h4>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<h4><a id="INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">R</span>*** AND I were coming home from our walk
-by the light of the moon which faintly silvered the dusky country lanes.
-It was a mild autumn evening, and the sky was slightly overcast; we
-observed the resonance of the air peculiar to the season, and a certain
-mystery spread over the face of nature. At the approach of the long
-winter sleep, it seems as if every creature and thing stealthily agreed
-to enjoy what is left of life and animation before the deadly torpor of
-the frost; and as if the whole creation, in order to cheat the march of
-time, and to avoid being detected and interrupted in the last frolics of
-its festival, advanced without sound or apparent motion toward its
-orgies in the night. The birds give out stifled cries instead of their
-joyous summer warblings. The cricket of the fields sometimes chirps
-inadvertently; but it soon stops again, and carries elsewhere its song
-or its wail. The plants hastily breathe out their last perfume, which is
-all the sweeter for being more delicate and less profuse. The yellowing
-leaves now no longer rustle in the breeze, and the flocks and herds
-graze in silence without cries of love or combat.
-</p>
-<p>
-My friend and I walked quietly along, and our involuntary thoughtfulness
-made us silent and attentive to the softened beauty of nature, and to
-the enchanting harmony of her last chords, which were dying away in an
-imperceptible <i>pianissimo</i>. Autumn is a sad and sweet <i>andante</i>,
-which makes an admirable preparation for the solemn <i>adagio</i> of
-winter.
-</p>
-<p>
-"It is all so peaceful," said my friend at last, for, in spite of our
-silence, he had followed my thoughts as I followed his; "everything
-seems absorbed in a reverie so foreign and so indifferent to the labors,
-cares, and preoccupations of man, that I wonder what expression, what
-color, and what form of art and poetry human intelligence could give at
-this moment to the face of nature. In order to explain better to you the
-end of my inquiry, I may compare the evening, the sky, and the
-landscape, dimmed, and yet harmonious and complete, to the soul of a
-wise and religious peasant, who labors and profits by his toil, who
-rejoices in the possession of the life to which he is born, without the
-need, the longing, or the means of revealing and expressing his inner
-life. I try to place myself in the heart of the mystery of this natural
-rustic life&mdash;I, who am civilized, who cannot enjoy by instinct alone,
-and who am always tormented by the desire of giving an account of my
-contemplation, or of my meditation, to myself and to others.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Then, too," continued my friend, "I am trying to find out what relation
-can be established between my intelligence, which is too active, and
-that of the peasant, which is not active enough; just as I was
-considering a moment ago what painting, music, description, the
-interpretation of art, in short, could add to the beauty of the autumnal
-night which is revealed to me in its mysterious silence, and affects me
-in some magical and unknown way."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Let us see," said I, "how your question is put. This October night,
-this colorless sky, this music without any distinct or connected melody,
-this calm of nature, and the peasant who by his very simplicity is more
-able than we to enjoy and understand it, though he cannot portray
-it&mdash;let us put all this together and call it <i>primitive life</i>,
-with relation to our own highly developed and complicated life, which I
-shall call <i>artificial life</i>. You are asking what possible
-connection or direct link can there be between these two opposite
-conditions in the existence of persons and things; between the palace
-and the cottage, between the artist and the universe, between the poet
-and the laborer."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Yes," he answered, "and let us be exact: between the language spoken by
-nature, primitive life, and instinct, and that spoken by art,
-science,&mdash;in a word, by <i>knowledge</i>."
-</p>
-<p>
-"To answer in the language you have adopted, I should say that the link
-between <i>knowledge</i> and sensation is <i>feeling</i>."
-</p>
-<p>
-"It is about the definition of feeling that I am going to question you
-and myself, for its mission is the interpretation which is troubling me.
-It is the art or artist, if you prefer, empowered to translate the
-purity, grace, and charm of the primitive life to those who only live
-the artificial life, and who are, if you will allow me to say so, the
-greatest fools in the world in the presence of nature and her divine
-secrets."
-</p>
-<p>
-"You are asking nothing less than the secret of art, and you must look
-for it in the breast of God. No artist can reveal it, for he does not
-know it himself, and cannot give an account of the sources of his own
-inspiration or his own weakness. How shall one attempt to express
-beauty, simplicity, and truth? Do I know? And can anybody teach us? No,
-not even the greatest artists, because if they tried to do so they would
-cease to be artists, and would become critics; and criticism&mdash;"
-</p>
-<p>
-"And criticism," rejoined my friend, "has been revolving for centuries
-about the mystery without understanding it. But, excuse me, that is not
-exactly what I meant. I am still more radical at this moment, and call
-the power of art in question. I despise it, I annihilate it, I declare
-that art is not born, that it does not exist; or, if it has been, its
-time is past. It is exhausted, it has no more expression, no more breath
-of life, no more means to sing of the beauty of truth. Nature is a work
-of art, but God is the only artist that exists, and man is but an
-arranger in bad taste. Nature is beautiful, and breathes feeling from
-all her pores; love, youth, beauty are in her imperishable. But man has
-but foolish means and miserable faculties for feeling and expressing
-them. He had better keep aloof, silent and absorbed in contemplation.
-Come, what have you to say?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"I agree, and am quite satisfied with your opinion," I answered.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Ah!" he cried, "you are going too far, and embrace my paradox too
-warmly. I am only pleading, and want you to reply."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I reply, then, that a sonnet of Petrarch has its relative beauty, which
-is equivalent to the beauty of the water of Vaucluse; that a fine
-landscape of Ruysdael has a charm which equals that of this evening;
-that Mozart sings in the language of men as well as Philomel in that of
-birds; that Shakspeare delineates passions, emotions, and instincts as
-vividly as the actual primitive man can experience them. This is art and
-its relativeness&mdash;in short, feeling."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Yes, it is all a work of transformation! But suppose that it does not
-satisfy me? Even if you were a thousand times in the right according to
-the decrees of taste and esthetics, what if I think Petrarch's verses
-less harmonious than the roar of the waterfall, and so on? If I maintain
-that there is in this evening a charm that no one could reveal to me
-unless I had felt it myself; and that all Shakspeare's passion is cold in
-comparison with that I see gleaming in the eyes of a jealous peasant who
-beats his wife, what should you have to say? You must convince my
-feeling. And if it eludes your examples and resists your proofs? Art is
-not an invincible demonstrator, and feeling not always satisfied by the
-best definition."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I have really nothing to answer except that art is a demonstration of
-which nature is the proof; that the preëxisting fact of the proof is
-always present to justify or contradict the demonstration, which nobody
-can make successfully unless he examine the proof with religious love."
-</p>
-<p>
-"So the demonstration could not do without the proof; but could the
-proof do without the demonstration?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"No doubt God could do without it; but, although you are talking as if
-you did not belong to us, I am willing to wager that you would
-understand nothing of the proof if you had not found the demonstration
-under a thousand forms in the tradition of art, and if you were not
-yourself a demonstration constantly acting upon the proof."
-</p>
-<p>
-"That is just what I am complaining of. I should like to rid myself of
-this eternal irritating demonstration; to erase from my memory the
-teachings and the forms of art; never to think of painting when I look
-at a landscape, of music when I listen to the wind, or of poetry when I
-admire and take delight in both together. I should like to enjoy
-everything instinctively, because I think that the cricket which is
-singing just now is more joyous and ecstatic than I."
-</p>
-<p>
-"You complain, then, of being a man?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"No; I complain of being no longer a primitive man."
-</p>
-<p>
-"It remains to be known whether he was capable of enjoying what he could
-not understand."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I do not suppose that he was similar to the brutes, for as soon as he
-became a man he thought and felt differently from them. But I cannot
-form an exact idea of his emotions, and that is what bothers me. I
-should like to be what the existing state of society allows a great
-number of men to be from the cradle to the grave&mdash;I should like to be
-a peasant; a peasant who does not know how to read, whom God has endowed
-with good instincts, a serene organization, and an upright conscience;
-and I fancy that in the sluggishness of my useless faculties, and in the
-Ignorance of depraved tastes, I should be as happy as the primitive man
-of Jean-Jacques's dreams."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I, too, have had this same dream; who has not? But, even so, your
-reasoning is not conclusive, for the most simple and ingenuous peasant
-may still be an artist; and I believe even that his art is superior to
-ours. The form is different, but it appeals more strongly to me than all
-the forms which belong to civilization. Songs, ballads, and rustic tales
-say in a few words what our literature can only amplify and disguise."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I may triumph, then?" resumed my friend. "The peasant's art is the
-best, because it is more directly inspired by nature by being in closer
-contact with her. I confess I went to extremes in saying that art was
-good for nothing; but I meant that I should like to feel after the
-fashion of the peasant, and I do not contradict myself now. There are
-certain Breton laments, made by beggars, which in three couplets are
-worth all Goethe and Byron put together, and which prove that
-appreciation of truth and beauty was more spontaneous and complete in
-such simple souls than in our most distinguished poets. And music, too!
-Is not our country full of lovely melodies? And though they do not
-possess painting as an art, they have it in their speech, which is a
-hundred times more expressive, forcible, and logical than our literary
-language."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I agree with you," said I, "especially as to this last point. It drives
-me to despair that I am obliged to write in the language of the Academy,
-when I am much more familiar with another tongue infinitely more fitted
-for expressing a whole order of emotions, thoughts, and feelings."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh, yes!" said he, "that fresh and unknown world is closed to modern
-art, and no study can help you to express it even to yourself, with all
-your sympathies for the peasant, if you try to introduce it into the
-domain of civilized art and the intellectual intercourse of artificial
-life."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Alas!" I answered, "this thought has often disturbed me. I have myself
-seen and felt, in common with all civilized beings, that primitive life
-was the dream and ideal of all men and all times. From the shepherds of
-Longus down to those of Trianon, pastoral life has been a perfumed Eden,
-where souls wearied and harassed by the tumult of the world have sought
-a refuge. Art, which has always flattered and fawned upon the too
-fortunate among mankind, has passed through an unbroken series of
-<i>pastorals</i>. And under the title of 'The History of Pastorals' I have
-often wished to write a learned and critical work, in which to review
-all the different rural dreams to which the upper classes have so fondly
-clung.
-</p>
-<p>
-"I should follow their modifications, which are always in inverse
-relation to the depravity of morals, for they become innocent and
-sentimental in proportion as society is shameless and corrupt. I should
-like to <i>order</i> this book of a writer better qualified than I to
-accomplish it, and then I should read it with delight. It should be a
-complete treatise on art; for music, painting, architecture, literature
-in all its forms, the theater, poetry, romances, eclogues, songs,
-fashions, gardens, and even dress, have been influenced by the
-infatuation for the pastoral dream. All the types of the golden age, the
-shepherdesses of Astræa, who are first nymphs and then marchionesses,
-and who pass through the Lignon of Florian, wear satin and powder under
-Louis XV., and are put into sabots by Sedaine at the end of the
-monarchy, are all more or less false, and seem to us to-day contemptible
-and ridiculous. We have done with them, and see only their ghosts at the
-opera; and yet they once reigned at court and were the delight of kings,
-who borrowed from them the shepherd's crook and scrip.
-</p>
-<p>
-"I have often wondered why there are no more shepherds, for we are not
-so much in love with the truth lately that art and literature can afford
-to despise the old conventional types rather than those introduced by
-the present mode. To-day we are devoted to force and brutality, and on
-the background of these passions we embroider decorations horrible
-enough to make our hair stand on end if we could take them seriously."
-</p>
-<p>
-"If we have no more shepherds," rejoined my friend, "and if literature
-has changed one false ideal for another, is it not an involuntary
-attempt of art to bring itself down to the level of the intelligence of
-all classes? Does not the dream of equality afloat in society impel art
-to a fierce brutality in order to awaken those instincts and passions
-common to all men, of whatever rank they may be? Nobody has as yet
-reached the truth. It exists no more in a hideous realism than in an
-embellished idealism; but there is plainly a search for it, and if the
-search is in the wrong direction, the eagerness of the pursuit is only
-quickened. Let us see: the drama, poetry, and the novel have thrown away
-the shepherd's crook for the dagger, and when rustic life appears on the
-scene it has a stamp of reality which was wanting in the old pastorals.
-But there is no more poetry in it, I am sorry to say; and I do not yet
-see the means of reinstating the pastoral ideal without making it either
-too gaudy or too somber. You have often thought of doing it, I know; but
-can you hope for success?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"No," I answered, "for there is no form for me to adopt, and there is no
-language in which to express my conception of rustic simplicity. If I
-made the laborer of the fields speak as he does speak, it would be
-necessary to have a translation on the opposite page for the civilized
-reader; and if I made him speak as we do, I should create an impossible
-being, in whom it would be necessary to suppose an order of ideas which
-he does not possess."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Even if you made him speak as he does speak, your own language would
-constantly make a disagreeable contrast; and in my opinion you cannot
-escape this criticism. You describe a peasant girl, call her
-<i>Jeanne</i>, and put into her mouth words which she might possibly
-use. But you, who are the writer of the novel, and are anxious to make
-your readers understand your fondness for painting this kind of
-type&mdash;you compare her to a druidess, to a Jeanne d'Arc, and so on.
-Your opinions and language make an incongruous effect with hers, like
-the clashing of harsh colors in a picture; and this is not the way fully
-to enter into nature, even if you idealize her. Since then you have made
-a better and more truthful study in 'The Devil's Pool.' Still, I am not
-yet satisfied; the tip of the author's finger is apparent from time to
-time; and there are some author's words, as they are called by Henri
-Mounier, an artist who has succeeded in being true in <i>caricature</i>,
-and who has consequently solved the problem he had set for himself. I
-know that your own problem is no easier to solve. But you must still
-try, although you are sure of not succeeding; masterpieces are only
-lucky attempts. You may console yourself for not achieving masterpieces,
-provided that your attempts are conscientious."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I am consoled beforehand," I answered, "and I am willing to begin again
-whenever you wish; please give me your advice."
-</p>
-<p>
-"For example," said he, "we were present last evening at a rustic
-gathering at the farm, and the hemp-dresser told a story until two
-o'clock in the morning. The priest's servant helped him with his tale,
-and resumed it when he stopped; she was a peasant-woman of some slight
-education; he was uneducated, but happily gifted by nature and endowed
-with a certain rude eloquence. Between them they related a true story,
-which was rather long, and like a simple kind of novel. Can you remember
-it?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Perfectly, and I could repeat it word for word in their language."
-</p>
-<p>
-"But their language would require a translation; you must write in your
-own, without using a single word unintelligible enough to necessitate a
-footnote for the reader."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I see that you are setting an impossible task for me&mdash;a task into
-which I have never plunged without emerging dissatisfied with myself, and
-overcome with a sense of my own weakness."
-</p>
-<p>
-"No matter, you must plunge in again, for I understand you artists; you
-need obstacles to rouse your enthusiasm, and you never do well what is
-plain and easy to you. Come, begin, tell me the story of the 'Waif,' but
-not in the way that you and I heard it last night. That was a masterly
-piece of narrative for you and me who are children of the soil. But tell
-it to me as if you had on your right hand a Parisian speaking the modern
-tongue, and on your left a peasant before whom you were unwilling to
-utter a word or phrase which he could not understand. You must speak
-dearly for the Parisian, and simply for the peasant. One will accuse you
-of a lack of local color, and the other of a lack of elegance. But I
-shall be listening too, and I am trying to discover by what means art,
-without ceasing to be universal, can penetrate the mystery of primitive
-simplicity, and interpret the charm of nature to the mind."
-</p>
-<p>
-"This, then, is a study which we are going to undertake together?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Yes, for I shall interrupt you when you stumble."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Very well, let us sit down on this bank covered with wild thyme. I will
-begin; but first allow me to clear my voice with a few scales."
-</p>
-<p>
-"What do you mean? I did not know that you could sing."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I am only speaking metaphorically. Before beginning a work of art, I
-think it is well to call to mind some theme or other to serve as a type,
-and to induce the desired frame of mind. So, in order to prepare myself
-for what you ask, I must recite the story of the dog of Brisquet, which
-is short, and which I know by heart."
-</p>
-<p>
-"What is it? I cannot recall it."
-</p>
-<p>
-"It is an exercise for my voice, written by Charles Nodier, who tried
-his in all possible keys; a great artist, to my thinking, and one who
-has never received all the applause he deserved, because, among all his
-varied attempts, he failed more often than he succeeded. But when a man
-has achieved two or three masterpieces, no matter how short they may be,
-he should be crowned, and his mistakes should be forgotten. Here is the
-dog of Brisquet. You must listen."
-</p>
-<p>
-Then I repeated to my friend the story of the "Bichonne," which moved
-him to tears, and which he declared to be a masterpiece of style.
-</p>
-<p>
-"I should be discouraged in what I am going to attempt," said I, "for
-this Odyssey of the poor dog of Brisquet, which did not take five
-minutes to recite, has no stain or blot; it is a diamond cut by the
-first lapidary in the world&mdash;for Nodier is essentially a lapidary in
-literature. I am not scientific, and must call sentiment to my aid.
-Then, too, I cannot promise to be brief, for I know beforehand that my
-study will fail in the first of all requisites, that of being short and
-good at the same time."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Go on, nevertheless," said my friend, bored by my preliminaries.
-</p>
-<p>
-"This, then, is the history of '<i>François the Champi</i>'" I resumed,
-"and I shall try to remember the first part without any alteration. It was
-Monique, the old servant of the priest, who began."
-</p>
-<p>
-"One moment," said my severe auditor, "I must object to your title.
-<i>Champi</i> is not French."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I beg your pardon," I answered. "The dictionary says it is obsolete,
-but Montaigne uses it, and I do not wish to be more French than the
-great writers who have created the language. So I shall not call my
-story 'François the Foundling,' nor 'François the Bastard,' but
-'François the <i>Champi</i>'&mdash;that is to say, the Waif, the forsaken
-child of the fields, as he was once called in the great world, and is still
-called in our part of the country."
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure02.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="I">CHAPTER I</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">O</span>NE morning, when Madeleine Blanchet, the
-young wife of the miller of Cormouer, went down to the end of her meadow
-to wash her linen in the fountain, she found a little child sitting in
-front of her washing-board playing with the straw she used as a cushion
-for her knees. Madeleine Blanchet looked at the child, and was surprised
-not to recognize him, for the road which runs near by is unfrequented,
-and few strangers are to be met with in the neighborhood.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Who are you, my boy?" said she to the little boy, who turned
-confidingly toward her, but did not seem to understand her question.
-"What is your name?" Madeleine Blanchet went on, as she made him sit
-down beside her, and knelt down to begin to wash.
-</p>
-<p>
-"François," answered the child.
-</p>
-<p>
-"François who?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Who?" said the child stupidly.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Whose son are you?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"I don't know."
-</p>
-<p>
-"You don't know your father's name?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"I have no father."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Is he dead then?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"I don't know."
-</p>
-<p>
-"And your mother?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"She is over there," said the child pointing to a poor little hovel which
-stood at the distance of two gunshots from the mill, and the thatched
-roof of which could be seen through the willows.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh! I know," said Madeleine. "Is she the woman who has come to live
-here, and who moved in last evening?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Yes," answered the child.
-</p>
-<p>
-"And you used to live at Mers?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"I don't know."
-</p>
-<p>
-"You are not a wise child. Do you know your mother's name, at least?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Yes, it is Zabelle."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Isabelle who? Don't you know her other name?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"No, of course not."
-</p>
-<p>
-"What you know will not wear your brains out," said Madeleine, smiling
-and beginning to beat her linen.
-</p>
-<p>
-"What do you say?" asked little François. Madeleine looked at him
-again; he was a fine child, and had magnificent eyes. "It is a pity,"
-she thought, "that he seems to be so idiotic. How old are you?" she
-continued. "Perhaps you do not know that either."
-</p>
-<p>
-The truth is that he knew no more about this than about the rest. He
-tried his best to answer, ashamed to have the miller's wife think him so
-foolish, and delivered himself of this brilliant reply:
-</p>
-<p>
-"Two years old."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Indeed?" said Madeleine, wringing out her linen, without looking at him
-any more, "you are areal little simpleton, and nobody has taken the
-trouble to teach you, my poor child. You are tall enough to be six years
-old, but you have not the sense of a child of two."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Perhaps," answered François. Then, making another effort, as if to
-shake off the lethargy from his poor little mind, he said:
-</p>
-<p>
-"Were you asking for my name? It is François the Waif."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh! I understand now," said Madeleine, looking at him compassionately;
-and she was no longer astonished that he was so dirty, ragged, and
-stupid.
-</p>
-<p>
-"You have not clothes enough," said she, "and the weather is chill; I am
-sure that you must be cold."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I do not know," answered the poor waif, who was so accustomed to
-suffering that he was no longer conscious of it.
-</p>
-<p>
-Madeleine sighed. She thought of her little Jeannie, who was only a year
-old, and was sleeping comfortably in his cradle watched over by his
-grand-mother, while this poor little waif was shivering all alone at the
-fountain's brink, preserved from drowning only by the mercy of
-Providence, for he was too foolish to know that he would die if he fell
-into the water.
-</p>
-<p>
-Madeleine, whose heart was full of kindness, felt the child's arm and
-found it warm, although he shook from time to time, and his pretty face
-was very pale.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Have you any fever?" she asked.
-</p>
-<p>
-"I don't know," answered the child, who was always feverish.
-</p>
-<p>
-Madeleine Blanchet loosened the woolen shawl from her shoulders and
-wrapped it round the waif, who let her have her way without showing
-either surprise or pleasure. She picked up all the straw from under his
-knees and made a bed for him, on which he soon fell asleep; then she
-made haste to finish washing her little Jeannie's clothes, for she
-nursed her baby and was anxious to return to him.
-</p>
-<p>
-When her task was completed, the wet linen was twice as heavy as before,
-and she could not carry it all. She took home what she could, and left
-the rest with her wooden beater beside the water, intending to come back
-immediately and wake up the waif. Madeleine Blanchet was neither tall
-nor strong. She was a very pretty woman, with a fearless spirit and a
-reputation for sense and sweetness.
-</p>
-<p>
-As she opened the door of her house she heard the clattering of sabots
-running after her over the little bridge above the mill-dam, and,
-turning round, she saw the waif, who had caught up with her, and was
-bringing her her beater, her soap, the rest of the linen, and her shawl.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh!" said she, laying her hand on his shoulder, "you are not so foolish
-as I thought, for you are obliging, and nobody who has a good heart can
-be stupid. Come in, my child, come in and rest. Look at this poor little
-boy! He is carrying a load heavier than himself! Here," said she to the
-miller's old mother, who handed her her baby, rosy and smiling, "here
-is a poor sick-looking waif. You understand fevers, and we must try to
-cure him."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Ah! that is the fever of poverty!" replied the old woman, as she looked
-at François. "He could cure it with good soup, but he cannot get that.
-He is the little waif that belongs to the woman who moved in yesterday.
-She is your husband's tenant, Madeleine. She looks very wretched, and I
-am afraid that she will not pay regularly."
-</p>
-<p>
-Madeleine did not answer. She knew that her husband and her
-mother-in-law were not charitable, and that they loved their money more
-than their neighbor. She nursed her baby, and when the old woman had
-gone out to drive home the geese, she took François by the hand, and,
-holding Jeannie on her arm, went with them to Zabelle's.
-</p>
-<p>
-Zabelle, whose real name was Isabelle Bigot, was an old maid of fifty,
-as disinterested as a woman can be when she has nothing to live on, and
-is in constant dread of starvation. She had taken François after he was
-weaned, from a dying woman, and had brought him up ever since, for the
-sake of the monthly payment of a few pieces of silver, and with the
-expectation of making a little servant out of him. She had lost her
-sheep, and was forced to buy others on credit, whenever she could obtain
-it; for she had no other means of support than her little flock, and a
-dozen hens, which lived at the expense of the parish. She meant
-François to tend this poor flock along the roadsides, until he should
-be old enough to make his first communion, after which she expected to
-hire him out as best she could, either as a little swineherd or a
-plowboy, and she was sure that if his heart were good he would give part
-of his wages to his adopted mother.
-</p>
-<p>
-Zabelle had come from Mers, the day after the feast of Saint Martin,
-leaving her last goat behind her in payment of what she owed on her
-rent, and had taken possession of the little cottage belonging to the
-mill of Cormouer, without being able to offer any security beside her
-pallet-bed, two chairs, a chest, and a few earthen vessels. The house
-was so poor, so ill-protected from the weather, and of such trifling
-value, that the miller was obliged to incur the risk of letting it to a
-poor tenant, or to leave it unoccupied.
-</p>
-<p>
-Madeleine talked with Zabelle, and soon perceived that she was not a bad
-woman, and that she would do all in her power to pay the rent. She had
-some affection for the waif, but she was so accustomed to see him suffer
-and to suffer herself that she was at first more surprised than pleased
-by the pity which the rich miller's wife showed for the forlorn child.
-</p>
-<p>
-At last, after she had recovered from her astonishment, and understood
-that Madeleine had not come to ask anything of her, but to do her a
-kindness, she took courage, related her story, which was like that of
-all the unfortunate, and thanked her warmly for her interest. Madeleine
-assured her that she would do her best to help her, but begged her to
-tell nobody, acknowledging that she was not her own mistress at home,
-and could only afford her assistance in secret.
-</p>
-<p>
-She left her woolen shawl with Zabelle, and exacted a promise from her
-that she would cut it into a coat for the waif that same evening, and
-not allow the pieces to be seen before they were sewed together. She
-saw, indeed, that Zabelle consented reluctantly, thinking the shawl very
-convenient for her own use, and so she was obliged to tell her that she
-would do no more for her unless the waif were warmly clothed in three
-days' time.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Do you not suppose," she added, "that my mother-in-law, who is so
-wide-awake, would recognize my shawl on your shoulders? Do you wish to
-get me into trouble? You may count upon my helping you in other ways if
-you keep your own counsel. Now, listen to me: your waif has the fever,
-and he will die if you do not take good care of him."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Do you think so?" said Zabelle. "I should be very sorry to lose him,
-because he has the best heart in the world; he never complains, and is
-as obedient as if he belonged to a respectable family. He is quite
-different from other waifs, who are ill-tempered and unruly, and always
-in mischief."
-</p>
-<p>
-"That is only because they are rebuffed and ill-treated. If yours is
-good, it is because you have been kind to him, you may be sure."
-</p>
-<p>
-"That is true," rejoined Zabelle; "children are more grateful than
-people think, and though this little fellow is not bright, he can be
-very useful at times. Once, when I was ill last year, and he was only
-five years old, he took as good care of me as if he were a grown-up
-person."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Listen," said the miller's wife: "you must send him to me every morning
-and evening, at the hour when I give soup to my child. I shall make more
-than is necessary, and the waif may eat what is left; nobody will pay
-any attention."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh! I shall not dare bring him to you, and he will never have enough
-sense to know the right time himself."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Let us arrange it in this way. When the soup is ready, I will put my
-distaff on the bridge over the dam. Look, you can see it very well from
-here. Then you must send the child over with a sabot in his hand, as if
-he were coming to get a light for the fire; and if he eats my soup, you
-will have all yours to yourself. You will both be better fed."
-</p>
-<p>
-"That will do very well," answered Zabelle. "I see that you are a clever
-woman, and that I am fortunate in coming here. I was very much afraid of
-your husband, who has the reputation of being a hard man, and if I could
-have gone elsewhere I should not have taken his house, especially as it
-is in wretched repair, and the rent is high. But I see that you are kind
-to the poor, and will help me to bring up my waif. Ah! if the soup could
-only cure his fever! It would be a great misfortune to me to lose that
-child! He brings me but little profit, for all that I receive from the
-asylum goes for his support. But I love him as if he were my own child,
-because I know that he is good, and will be of use to me later. Have you
-noticed how well-grown he is for his age, and will soon be able to
-work?"
-</p>
-<p>
-Thus François the Waif was reared by the care and kindness of
-Madeleine, the miller's wife. He soon recovered his health, for he was
-strongly built, and any rich man in the country might have wished for a
-son with as handsome a face and as well-knit a frame. He was as brave as
-a man, and swam in the river like a fish, diving even under the
-mill-dam; he feared neither fire nor water; he jumped on the wildest
-colts and rode them without a halter into the pasture, kicking them with
-his heels to keep them in the right path, and holding on to their manes
-when they leaped the ditches. It was singular that he did all this in
-his quiet, easy way, without saying anything, or changing his childlike
-and somewhat sleepy expression.
-</p>
-<p>
-It was on account of this expression that he passed for a fool; but it
-is none the less true that if it were a question of robbing a magpie's
-nest at the top of a lofty poplar, or of finding a cow that had strayed
-far from home, or of killing a thrush with a stone, no child was bolder,
-more adroit, or more certain of success than he. The other children
-called it <i>luck</i>, which is supposed to be the portion of a waif in
-this hard world. So they always let him take the first part in dangerous
-amusements.
-</p>
-<p>
-"He will never get hurt," they said, "because he is a waif. A kernel of
-wheat fears the havoc of the storm, but a random seed never dies."
-</p>
-<p>
-For two years all went well. Zabelle found means to buy a few sheep and
-goats, though no one knew how. She rendered a good many small services
-to the mill, and Cadet Blanchet, the miller, was induced to make some
-repairs in her roof, which leaked in every direction. She was enabled to
-dress herself and her waif a little better, and looked gradually less
-poverty-stricken than on her arrival. Madeleine's mother-in-law made
-some harsh comments on the disappearance of certain articles, and on the
-quantity of bread consumed in the house, and once Madeleine was obliged
-to plead guilty in order to shield Zabelle from suspicion; but, contrary
-to his mother's expectation, Cadet Blanchet was hardly angry at all, and
-seemed to wink at what his wife had done.
-</p>
-<p>
-The secret of Cadet Blanchet's compliance was that he was still very
-much in love with his wife. Madeleine was pretty, and not the least of a
-coquette; he heard her praises sung everywhere. Besides, his affairs
-were prosperous, and, as he was one of those men who are cruel only when
-they are in dread of calamity, he was kinder to Madeleine than anybody
-could have supposed possible. This roused Mother Blanchet's jealousy,
-and she revenged herself by petty annoyances, which Madeleine bore in
-silence, and without complaining to her husband.
-</p>
-<p>
-It was the best way of putting an end to them, and no woman could be
-more patient and reasonable in this respect than Madeleine. But they say
-in our country that goodness avails less in the end than malice, and the
-day came when Madeleine was rebuked and called to account for her
-charities.
-</p>
-<p>
-It was a year when the grain had been wasted by hail, and an overflow of
-the river had spoiled the hay. Cadet Blanchet was not in a good humor,
-and one day, as he was coming back from market with a comrade who had
-just married a very beautiful girl, the latter said to him:
-</p>
-<p>
-"You, too, were not to be pitied <i>in your day</i>, for your Madelon used
-to be a very attractive girl."
-</p>
-<p>
-"What do you mean by <i>my day</i>, and <i>Madelon used to be</i>? Do you
-think that she and I are old? Madeleine is not twenty yet, and I am not
-aware that she has lost her looks."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh, no, I do not say so," replied the other. "Madeleine is certainly
-still good-looking; but you know that when a woman marries so young you
-cannot expect her to be pretty long. After she has nursed one child, she
-is already worn; and your wife was never strong, for you see that she is
-very thin, and has lost the appearance of health. Is the poor thing
-ill?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Not that I know of. Why do you ask me?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh, I don't know. I think she looks sad, as if she suffered or had some
-sorrow. A woman's bloom lasts no longer than the blossom of the vine. I
-must expect to see my wife with a long face and sober expression. And we
-men are only in love with our wives while we are jealous of them. They
-exasperate us; we scold them and beat them sometimes; they are
-distressed and weep; they stay at home and are afraid of us; then they
-are bored and care no more about us. But we are happy, for we are the
-masters. And yet, one fine morning, lo and behold, a man sees that if
-nobody wants his wife, it is because she has grown ugly; so he loves her
-no longer, and goes to court his neighbor's. It is his fate. Good
-evening, Cadet Blanchet; you kissed my wife rather too warmly to-night;
-I took note of it, though I said nothing. I tell you this to let you
-know that she and I shall not quarrel over it, and that I shall try not
-to make her as melancholy as yours, because I know my own character. If
-I am ever jealous, I shall be cruel, and when I have no more occasion
-for jealousy, I shall be still worse perhaps."
-</p>
-<p>
-A good disposition profits by a good lesson; but, though active and
-intelligent, Cadet Blanchet was too arrogant to keep his
-self-possession. He came home with his head high and his eye bloodshot.
-He looked at Madeleine as he had not done for a long time, and perceived
-that she was pale and altered. He asked her if she were ill, so rudely
-that she turned still paler, and answered in a faint voice that she was
-quite well. He took offense, Heaven knows why, and sat down to the
-table, desirous of seeking a quarrel. He had not long to wait for an
-opportunity. They talked of the dearness of wheat, and Mother Blanchet
-remarked, as she did every evening, that too much bread was eaten in the
-house. Madeleine was silent. Cadet Blanchet wanted to make her
-responsible for the waste, and the old woman declared that she had
-caught the waif carrying away half a loaf that very morning. Madeleine
-should have been indignant and held her own, but she could only cry.
-Blanchet thought of what his companion had said to him, and was still
-more irritated; and so it happened that from that day on, explain it as
-you can, he no longer loved his wife, but made her wretched.
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure03.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="II">CHAPTER II</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">H</span>E made her wretched, and as he had never
-made her happy she was doubly unlucky in her marriage. She had allowed
-herself to be married, at sixteen, to this rough, red-faced man, who
-drank deeply on Sunday, was in a fury all Monday, in bad spirits on
-Tuesday, and worked like a horse all the rest of the week to make up for
-lost time, for he was avaricious, and had no leisure to think of his
-wife. He was less ill-tempered on Saturday, because he had finished his
-work, and expected to amuse himself next day. But a single day of good
-humor in a week is not enough, and Madeleine had no pleasure in seeing
-him merry, because she knew that he would be sure to come home the next
-evening in a passion.
-</p>
-<p>
-But as she was young and pretty, and so gentle that it was impossible to
-be angry long with her, there were still intervals when he was kind and
-just, and when he took her hands in his and said:
-</p>
-<p>
-"Madeleine, you are a good wife, and I think that you were made
-expressly for me. If I had married a coquette, such as so many women
-are, I should kill her, or I should drown myself under my own mill-wheel.
-But I know that you are well-behaved and industrious, and that you are
-worth your weight in gold."
-</p>
-<p>
-After four years of married life, however, his love had quite gone; he
-had no more kind words for her, and was enraged that she made no answer
-to his abuse. What answer could she make? She knew that her husband was
-unjust, and was unwilling to reproach him for it, for she considered it
-her duty to respect the master whom she had never been able to love.
-</p>
-<p>
-Mother Blanchet was pleased to see her son master of the house again, as
-she said; just as if it had ever been otherwise. She hated her
-daughter-in-law, because she knew her to be better than herself. When
-she could find no other cause of complaint, she reviled her for not
-being strong, for coughing all winter, and for having only one child.
-She despised her for this, for knowing how to read and write, and for
-reading prayers in a corner of the orchard, instead of gossiping and
-chattering with the dames of the vicinity.
-</p>
-<p>
-Madeleine placed her soul in God's hands, and thinking lamentations
-useless, she bore her affliction as if it were her due. She withdrew her
-heart from this earth, and often dreamed of paradise, as if she wished
-to die. Still, she was careful of her health, and armed herself with
-courage, because she knew that her child could only be happy through
-her, and she accepted everything for the sake of the love she bore him.
-</p>
-<p>
-Though she could not feel any great affection for Zabelle, she was still
-fond of her, because this woman, who was half good and half selfish,
-continued to do her best for the poor waif; and Madeleine, who saw how
-people deteriorate who think of themselves alone, was inclined to esteem
-only those who thought sometimes of others. As she was the only person
-in the neighborhood who took no care of herself, she was entirely
-isolated and very sorrowful, without fully understanding the cause of
-her grief.
-</p>
-<p>
-Little by little, however, she observed that the waif, who was then ten
-years old, began to think as she did. When I say think, I mean you to
-understand that she judged from his behavior; for there was no more
-sense in the poor child's words than on the first day she had spoken
-with him. He could not express himself, and when people tried to make
-him talk they were sure to interrupt him immediately, for he knew
-nothing about anything. But if he were needed to run an errand, he was
-always ready, and when it was an errand for Madeleine, he ran before she
-could ask him. He looked as if he had not understood the commission, but
-he executed it so swiftly and well that even she was amazed.
-</p>
-<p>
-One day, as he was carrying little Jeannie in his arms, and allowing him
-to pull his hair for his amusement, Madeleine caught the child from him
-with some slight irritation, saying half involuntarily:
-</p>
-<p>
-"François, if you begin now by suffering all the whims of other people,
-there is no knowing where they will stop."
-</p>
-<p>
-To her great surprise, François answered:
-</p>
-<p>
-"I should rather suffer evil than return it."
-</p>
-<p>
-Madeleine was astonished, and gazed into the eyes of the waif, where she
-saw something she had never observed in the eyes even of the most honest
-persons she knew; something so kind, and yet so decided, that she was
-quite bewildered. She sat down on the grass with her child on her knees,
-and made the waif sit on the edge of her dress, without daring to speak
-to him. She could scarcely understand why she was overcome with fear and
-shame that she had often jested with this child for being so foolish. It
-is true that she had always done so with extreme gentleness, and perhaps
-she had pitied and loved him the more for his stupidity; but now she
-fancied that he had always understood her ridicule, and had been pained
-by it without being able to say anything in return.
-</p>
-<p>
-She soon forgot this incident, for a short time afterward her husband,
-who had become infatuated with a disreputable woman in the neighborhood,
-undertook to hate his wife in good earnest, and to forbid her to allow
-Zabelle and her boy to enter the mill. Madeleine fell to thinking of
-still more secret means of aiding them, and warned Zabelle, telling her
-that she should pretend to neglect her for a time.
-</p>
-<p>
-Zabelle was very much in awe of the miller, and had not Madeleine's
-power of endurance for the love of others. She argued to herself that
-the miller was the master, and could turn her out of doors, or increase
-her rent, and that Madeleine would be unable to prevent it. She
-reflected also that if she submitted to Mother Blanchet, she would
-establish herself in the good graces of the old woman, whose protection
-would be more useful to her than that of the young wife. So she went to
-the miller's mother, and confessed that she had received help from her
-daughter-in-law, declaring that she had done so against her will, and
-only out of pity for the waif, whom she had no means of feeding. The old
-woman detested the waif, though for no reason except that Madeleine took
-an interest in him. She advised Zabelle to rid herself of him, and
-promised her at this price to obtain six months' credit on her rent. The
-morrow of Saint Martin's day had come round, and as the year had been a
-hard one, Zabelle was out of money, and Madeleine was so closely watched
-that for some time she had been unable to give her any. Zabelle boldly
-promised to take back the waif to the foundling asylum the next day.
-</p>
-<p>
-She had no sooner given her word than she repented of it, and at the
-sight of little François sleeping on his wretched pallet, her heart was
-as heavy as if she were about to commit a mortal sin. She could not
-sleep, and before dawn Mother Blanchet entered the hovel.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Come, get up, Zabeau," she said. "You gave me your promise and you must
-keep it. If you wait to speak to my daughter-in-law, you will never do
-anything, but you must let the boy go, in her interest as well as your
-own, you see. My son has taken a dislike to him on account of his
-stupidity and greediness; my daughter-in-law has pampered him too much,
-and I am sure that he is a thief already. All foundlings are thieves
-from their birth, and it is mere folly to expect anything of such
-brats. This one will be the cause of your being driven away from here,
-and will ruin your reputation; he will furnish my son with a reason for
-beating his wife every day, and in the end, when he is tall and strong,
-he will become a highwayman, and will bring you to shame. Come, come,
-you must start! Take him through the fields as far as Corley, and there
-the stage-coach passes at eight o'clock. Get in with him, and you will
-reach Châteauroux, at noon, at the latest. You can come back this
-evening; there is a piece of money for your journey, and you will have
-enough left over to amuse yourself with in town."
-</p>
-<p>
-Zabelle woke the child, dressed him in his best, made a bundle of the
-rest of his clothes, and, taking his hand, started off with him by the
-light of the moon.
-</p>
-<p>
-As she walked along and the day broke, her heart failed her; she could
-neither hasten her steps, nor speak, and when she came to the highroad,
-she sat down on the side of a ditch, more dead than alive. The
-stage-coach was approaching, and they had arrived only just in time.
-</p>
-<p>
-The waif was not in the habit of worrying, and thus far he had followed
-his mother without suspicion; but when he saw a huge carriage bowling
-toward him for the first time in his life, the noise it made frightened
-him, and he tried to pull Zabelle back into the meadow which they had
-just left to join the highroad. Zabelle thought that he understood his
-fate, and said:
-</p>
-<p>
-"Come, poor François, you really must!"
-</p>
-<p>
-François was still more frightened. He thought that the stage-coach was
-an enormous animal running after him to devour him. He who was so bold
-in meeting all the dangers which he knew lost his head, and rushed back
-screaming into the meadow. Zabelle ran after him; but when she saw him
-pale as death, her courage deserted her. She followed him all across the
-meadow, and allowed the stage-coach to go by.
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure04.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="III">CHAPTER III</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">T</span>HEY returned by the same road they had
-come, until they had gone half the distance, and then they stopped to
-rest. Zabelle was alarmed to see that the child trembled from head to
-foot, and his heart beat so violently as to agitate his poor old shirt.
-She made him sit down, and attempted to comfort him, but she did not
-know what she was saying, and François was not in a state to guess her
-meaning. She drew out a bit of bread from her basket and tried to
-persuade him to eat it; but he had no desire for food, and they sat on
-for a long time in silence.
-</p>
-<p>
-At last, Zabelle, who was in the habit of recurring to her first
-thoughts, was ashamed of her weakness, and said to herself that she
-would be lost if she appeared again at the mill with the child. Another
-stage was to pass toward noon, and she decided to stay where they were
-until the moment necessary for returning to the highroad; but as
-François was so terrified that he had lost the little sense he
-possessed, and as for the first time in his life he was capable of
-resisting her will, she tried to tempt him with the attractions of the
-horse's bells, the noise of the wheels, and the speed of the great
-vehicle.
-</p>
-<p>
-In her efforts to inspire him with confidence, she said more than she
-intended; perhaps her repentance urged her to speak, in spite of
-herself, or it may be that when François woke that morning he had heard
-certain words of Mother Blanchet, which now returned to his mind; or
-else his poor wits cleared suddenly at the approach of calamity; at all
-events, he began to say, with the same expression in his eyes which had
-once astonished and almost startled Madeleine:
-</p>
-<p>
-"Mother, you want to send me away from you! You want to take me far off
-from here and leave me."
-</p>
-<p>
-Then he remembered the word asylum, spoken several times in his hearing.
-He had no idea what an asylum was, but it seemed to him more horrible
-than the stage-coach, and he cried with a shudder:
-</p>
-<p>
-"You want to put me in the asylum!"
-</p>
-<p>
-Zabelle had gone too far to retreat. She believed that the child knew
-more of her intentions than he really did, and without reflecting how
-easy it would be to deceive him and rid herself of him by stratagem, she
-undertook to explain the truth to him, and to make him understand that
-he would be much happier at the asylum than with her, that he would be
-better cared for there, would learn to work, and would be placed for a
-time in the charge of some woman less poor than herself, who would be a
-mother to him.
-</p>
-<p>
-This attempted consolation put the finishing touch to the waif's
-despair. A strange and unknown future inspired him with more terror than
-all Zabelle could say of the hardships of a life with her. Besides, he
-loved with all his might this ungrateful mother, who cared less for him
-than for herself. He loved another, too, almost as much as Zabelle, and
-she was Madeleine; only he did not know that he loved her, and did not
-speak of her. He threw himself sobbing on the ground, tore up the grass
-with his hands and flung it over his face, as if he had fallen in mortal
-agony. When Zabelle, in her distress and impatience, tried to make him
-get up by force and threats, he beat his head so hard against the stones
-that he was covered with blood, and she thought he was about to kill
-himself.
-</p>
-<p>
-It pleased God that Madeleine Blanchet should pass by at that moment.
-She had heard nothing of the departure of Zabelle and the child, and was
-coming home from Presles, where she had carried back some wool to a
-lady, who had given it to her to spin very fine, as she was considered
-the best spinster far and wide. She had received her payment, and was
-returning to the mill with ten crowns in her pocket. She was going to
-cross the river on one of those little plank bridges on a level with the
-surface of the water, which are often to be met with in that part of the
-country, when she heard heart-piercing shrieks, and recognized at once
-the voice of the poor waif. She flew in the direction of the cries, and
-saw the child, bathed in blood, struggling in Zabelle's arms. She could
-not understand it at first; for it looked as if Zabelle had cruelly
-struck him, and were trying to shake him off. This seemed the more
-probable, as François, on catching sight of her, rushed toward her,
-twined his arms about her like a little snake, and clung to her skirts,
-screaming:
-</p>
-<p>
-"Madame Blanchet, Madame Blanchet, save me!"
-</p>
-<p>
-Zabelle was tall and strong, and Madeleine was small and slight as a
-reed. Still, she was not afraid, and, imagining that Zabelle had gone
-crazy, and was going to murder the child, she placed herself in front of
-him, resolved to protect him or to die while he was making his escape.
-</p>
-<p>
-A few words, however, sufficed for an explanation. Zabelle, who was more
-grieved than angry, told the story, and François, who at last took in
-all the sadness of his lot, managed this time to profit by what he
-heard, with more cleverness than he had ever been supposed to possess.
-After Zabelle had finished, he kept fast hold of the miller's wife,
-saying:
-</p>
-<p>
-"Don't send me away, don't let me be sent away."
-</p>
-<p>
-And he went to and fro between Zabelle, who was crying, and the miller's
-wife, who was crying still harder, repeating all kinds of words and
-prayers, which scarcely seemed to come from his lips, for this was the
-first time he had ever been able to express himself.
-</p>
-<p>
-"O my mother, my darling mother!" said he to Zabelle, "why do you want
-me to leave you? Do you want me to die of grief and never see you again?
-What have I done, that you no longer love me? Have I not always obeyed
-you? Have I done any harm? I have always taken good care of our
-animals&mdash;you told me so yourself; and when you kissed me every
-evening, you said I was your child, and you never said that you were not
-my mother! Keep me, mother, keep me; I am praying to you as I pray to
-God! I shall always take care of you; I shall always work for you; if
-you are not satisfied with me, you may beat me, and I shall not mind;
-but do not send me away until I have done something wrong."
-</p>
-<p>
-Then he went to Madeleine, and said:
-</p>
-<p>
-"Madame Blanchet, take pity on me. Tell my mother to keep me. I shall
-never go to your house, since it is forbidden, and if you want to give
-me anything, I shall know that I must not take it. I shall speak to
-Master Cadet Blanchet, and tell him to beat me and not to scold you on
-my account. When you go into the fields, I shall always go with you to
-carry your little boy, and amuse him all day. I shall do all you tell
-me, and if I do any wrong, you need no longer love me. But do not let me
-be sent away; I do not want to go; I should rather jump into the river."
-</p>
-<p>
-Poor François looked at the river, and ran so near it, that they saw
-his life hung by a thread, and that a single word of refusal would be
-enough to make him drown himself. Madeleine pleaded for the child, and
-Zabelle was dying to listen to her. Now that she was near the mill,
-matters looked differently.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Well, I will keep you, you naughty child," said she; "but I shall be on
-the road to-morrow, begging my bread because of you. You are too stupid
-to know it is your fault that I shall be reduced to such a condition,
-and this is what I have gained by burdening myself with a child who is
-no good to me, and does not even pay for the bread he eats."
-</p>
-<p>
-"You have said enough, Zabelle," said the miller's wife, taking the
-child in her arms to lift him from the ground, although he was very
-heavy. "There are ten crowns for you to pay your rent with, or to move
-elsewhere, if my husband persists in driving you away from here. It is
-my own money&mdash;money that I have earned myself. I know that it will be
-required of me, but no matter. They may kill me if they want; I buy this
-child, he is mine, he is yours no longer. You do not deserve to keep a
-child with such a warm heart, and who loves you so much. I shall be his
-mother, and my family must submit. I am willing to suffer everything for
-my children. I could be cut in pieces for my Jeannie, and I could endure
-as much for this child, too. Come, poor François, you are no longer a
-waif, do you hear? You have a mother, and you can love her as much as
-you choose, for she will love you with her whole heart in return."
-</p>
-<p>
-Madeleine said all this without being perfectly aware of what she was
-saying. She whose disposition was so gentle was now highly excited. Her
-heart rebelled against Zabelle, and she was really angry with her.
-François had thrown his arms round the neck of the miller's wife, and
-clasped her so tight that she lost her breath; and at the same time her
-cap and neckerchief were stained with blood, for his head was cut in
-several places.
-</p>
-<p>
-Madeleine was so deeply affected, and was filled with so much pity,
-dismay, sorrow, and determination at once, that she set out to walk
-toward the mill with as much courage as a soldier advancing under fire.
-Without considering that the child was heavy, and she herself so weak
-that she could hardly carry her small Jeannie, she attempted to cross
-the unsteady little bridge that sank under her weight. When she reached
-the middle, she stopped. The child was so heavy that she swerved
-slightly, and drops of perspiration started from her forehead. She felt
-as if she should fall from weakness, when suddenly she called to mind a
-beautiful and marvelous story that she had read the evening before in an
-old volume of the "Lives of the Saints." It was the story of Saint
-Christopher, who carried the child Jesus across the river, and found him
-so heavy that he stopped in fear. She looked down at the waif. His eyes
-had rolled back in his head, and his arms had relaxed their hold. The
-poor child had either undergone too much emotion, or he had lost too
-much blood, and had fainted.
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure05.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="IV">CHAPTER IV</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">W</span>HEN Zabelle saw him thus, she thought he
-was dead. All her love for him returned, and with no more thought of the
-miller or his wicked old mother, she seized the child from Madeleine,
-and began to kiss him, with sobs and cries. They sat down beside the
-river, and, laying him across their knees, they washed his wounds and
-stanched the blood with their handkerchiefs; but they had nothing with
-which to bring him to. Madeleine warmed his head against her bosom, and
-breathed on his face and into his mouth as people do with the drowned.
-This revived him, and as soon as he opened his eyes and saw what care
-they were taking of him, he kissed Madeleine and Zabelle, one after the
-other, so passionately that they were obliged to check him, fearing that
-he might faint again.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Come, come," said Zabelle, "we must go home. No, I can never, never
-leave that child; I see now, and I shall never think of it again. I
-shall keep your ten crowns, Madeleine, so I can pay my rent to-night if
-I am forced to do so. Do not tell about it; I shall go to-morrow to the
-lady in Presles, so that she may not inform against you, and she can
-say, in case of need, that she has not as yet given you the price of
-your spinning. In this way we shall gain time, and I shall try so hard
-that, even if I have to beg for it, I shall succeed in paying my debt to
-you, so that you need not suffer on my account. You cannot take this
-child to the mill; your husband would kill him. Leave him to me; I swear
-to you that I shall take as good care of him as before, and if we are
-tormented any further, we tan think of something else."
-</p>
-<p>
-It came to pass that the waif's return was effected without disturbance,
-and without exciting attention; for it happened that Mother Blanchet had
-just fallen ill of a stroke of apoplexy, without having had an
-opportunity of telling her son what she had exacted from Zabelle about
-the waif, and Master Blanchet sent in all haste for Zabelle to come and
-help in the household, while Madeleine and the servant were taking care
-of his mother. For three days everything was in confusion at the mill.
-Madeleine did not spare herself, and watched for three nights at the
-bedside of her husband's mother, who died in her arms.
-</p>
-<p>
-This blow allayed the miller's bad temper for some time. He had loved
-his mother as much as he was capable of loving, and his vanity was
-concerned in making as fine a funeral for her as his means allowed. He
-forgot his mistress for the required time, and with pretended generosity
-distributed his dead mother's clothes to the poor neighbors. Zabelle had
-her share of the alms, and the waif received a franc piece, because
-Blanchet remembered that once, when they were in urgent need of leeches
-for the sick woman, and everybody was running futilely hither and
-thither to look for them, the waif went off, without saying a word, to
-fish some out of a pool where he knew they were, and brought them back
-in less time than it took the others to start out for them.
-</p>
-<p>
-So Cadet Blanchet gradually forgot his dislike, and nobody at the mill
-knew of Zabelle's freak of sending back the waif to the asylum. The
-question of Madeleine's ten crowns came up later, for the miller did not
-neglect to make Zabelle pay the rent for her wretched cottage. Madeleine
-said that she had lost them as she ran home through the fields, on
-hearing of her mother-in-law's accident. Blanchet made a long search for
-them and scolded a great deal, but he never found out the use to which
-the money had been put, and Zabelle was not suspected.
-</p>
-<p>
-After his mother's death, Blanchet's disposition changed little by
-little, though not for the better. He found life still more tedious at
-home, was less observant of what went on, and less niggardly in his
-expenditure. He no longer earned anything, and, in proportion as he grew
-fat, led a disorderly life, and cared no more for his work. He looked to
-make his profit by dishonest bargains and unfair dealings, which would
-have enriched him, if he had not spent on one hand what he gained on the
-other. His mistress acquired more ascendency over him every day. She
-took him with her to fairs and feasts, induced him to engage in petty
-trickeries, and spend his time at the tavern. He learned how to gamble,
-and was often lucky; but it would have been better for him to lose
-always than acquire this unfortunate taste; for his dissipations threw
-him entirely off his balance, and at the most trifling loss, he became
-furious with himself, and ill-tempered toward everybody else.
-</p>
-<p>
-While he was leading this wretched life, his wife, always wise and good,
-governed the house and tenderly reared their only child. But she thought
-herself doubly a mother, for she loved and watched over the waif almost
-as much as if he were her own. As her husband became more dissolute, she
-was less miserable and more her own mistress. In the beginning of his
-licentious career he was still very churlish, because he dreaded
-reproaches, and wished to hold his wife in a state of fear and
-subjection. When he saw that she was by nature an enemy to strife, and
-showed no jealousy, he made up his mind to leave her in peace. As his
-mother was no longer there to stir him up against her, he was obliged to
-recognize that no other woman was as thrifty as Madeleine. He grew
-accustomed to spend whole weeks away from home, and whenever he came
-back in the mood for a quarrel, he met with a mute patience that turned
-away his wrath, and he was first astonished and ended by going to sleep.
-So finally he came to see his wife only when he was tired and in need of
-rest.
-</p>
-<p>
-Madeleine must have been a very Christian woman to live thus alone with
-an old servant and two children, and perhaps she was a still better
-Christian than if she had been a nun. God had given her the great
-privilege of learning to read, and of understanding what she read. Yet
-she always read the same thing, for she possessed only two books, the
-Holy Gospel and an abbreviated copy of the "Lives of the Saints." The
-Gospel sanctified her, and saddened her to tears, when she read alone in
-the evening beside her son's bed. The "Lives of the Saints" produced a
-different effect upon her; it was just as when idle people read stories
-and excite themselves over dreams and illusions. These beautiful tales
-inspired her with courage and even gaiety. Sometimes, out in the fields,
-the waif saw her smile and flush, when she had her book in her lap. He
-wondered at it, and found it hard to understand how the stories which
-she told him, with some little alteration in order adapt them to his
-capacity (and also perhaps because she could not perfectly grasp them
-from beginning to end), could come from that thing which she called her
-book. He wanted to read, too, and learned so quickly and well that she
-was amazed, and in his turn he was able to teach little Jeannie. When
-François was old enough to make his first communion, Madeleine helped
-him with his catechism, and the parish priest was delighted with the
-intelligence and excellent memory of this child, who had always passed
-for a simpleton, because he was very shy and never had anything to say.
-</p>
-<p>
-After his first communion, and he was old enough to be hired out,
-Zabelle was pleased to have him engaged as servant at the mill; and
-Master Blanchet made no opposition, because it was plain to all that the
-waif was a good boy, very industrious and obliging, and stronger, more
-alert and sensible than the other children of his age. Then, too, he was
-satisfied with ten crowns for wages, and it was an economical
-arrangement for the miller. François was very happy to be entirely in
-the service of Madeleine and the dear little Jeannie he loved so much,
-and when he found that Zabelle could pay for her farm with his earnings,
-and thus be relieved of her most besetting care, he thought himself as
-rich as a king.
-</p>
-<p>
-Unfortunately, poor Zabelle could not long enjoy her reward. At the
-beginning of the winter, she fell seriously ill, and in spite of
-receiving every care from the waif and Madeleine, she died on Candlemas
-Day, after having so far recovered that they thought her well again.
-Madeleine sorrowed and wept for her sincerely, but she tried to comfort
-the poor waif, who but for her would have been inconsolable.
-</p>
-<p>
-Even after a year's time, he still thought of her every day, and almost
-every instant. Once he said to the miller's wife:
-</p>
-<p>
-"I feel a kind of remorse when I pray for my poor mother's soul; it is
-because I did not love her enough. I am very sure that I always did my
-best to please her, that I never said any but kind words to her, and
-that I served her in all ways as I serve you; but I must confess
-something, Madame Blanchet, which troubles me, and for which, in secret,
-I often ask God's forgiveness. Ever since the day my poor mother wanted
-to send me back to the asylum, and you took my part, and prevented her
-doing so, my love for her, against my will, grew less. I was not angry
-with her; I did not allow myself even to think that she was wrong in
-trying to rid herself of me. It was her right to do so; I stood in her
-way; she was afraid of your mother-in-law, and after all she did it very
-reluctantly; for I could see that she loved me greatly. In some way or
-other, the idea keeps recurring to my mind, and I cannot drive it away.
-From the moment you said to me those words which I shall never forget, I
-loved you more than her, and in spite of all I could do, I thought of
-you more often than of her. She is dead now, and I did not die of grief
-as I should if you died!"
-</p>
-<p>
-"What were the words I said, my poor child, that made you love me so
-much? I do not remember them."
-</p>
-<p>
-"You do not remember them?" said the waif, sitting down at the feet of
-Madeleine, who was turning her wheel as she listened. "When you gave the
-crowns to my mother, you said: 'There, I buy that child of you; he is
-mine!' And then you kissed me and said: 'Now you are no longer a waif;
-you have a mother who will love you as if you were her own!' Did not you
-say so, Madame Blanchet?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"If I did, I said what I meant, and am still of the same mind. Do you
-think I have failed to keep my word?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh no! only&mdash;"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Only what?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"No. I cannot tell you, for it is wrong to complain and be thankless and
-ungrateful."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I know that you cannot be ungrateful, and I want you to say what you
-have on your mind. Come, in what respect don't I treat you like my own
-child? I order you to tell me, as I should order Jeannie."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Well, it is&mdash;it is that you kiss Jeannie very often, and have never
-kissed me since the day we were just speaking of. Yet I am careful to
-keep my face and hands very clean, because I know that you do not like
-dirty children, and are always running after Jeannie to wash and comb
-him. But this does not make you kiss me any more, and my mother Zabelle
-did not kiss me either. I see that other mothers caress their children,
-and so I know that I am always a waif, and that you cannot forget it."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Come and kiss me, François," said the miller's wife, making the child
-sit on her knees and kissing him with much feeling. "It is true that I
-did wrong never to think of it, and you deserved better of me. You see
-now that I kiss you with all my heart, and you are very sure that you
-are not a waif, are not you?"
-</p>
-<p>
-The child flung his arms round Madeleine's neck, and turned so pale that
-she was surprised, and putting him down gently from her lap, tried to
-distract his attention. After a minute, he left her, and ran off to
-hide. The miller's wife felt some uneasiness, and making a search for
-him, she finally found him on his knees, in a corner of the barn, bathed
-in tears.
-</p>
-<p>
-"What does this mean, François?" said she, raising him up. "I don't
-know what is the matter with you. If you are thinking of your poor
-mother Zabelle, you had better say a prayer for her, and then you will
-feel more at rest."
-</p>
-<p>
-"No, no," said the child, twisting the end of Madeleine's apron, and
-kissing it with all his might. "Are not you my mother?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Why are you crying then? You give me pain!"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh, no! oh, no! I am not crying," answered François, drying his eyes
-quickly, and looking up cheerfully; "I mean, I do not know why I was
-crying. Truly, I cannot understand it, for I am as happy as if I were in
-heaven."
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure06.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="V">CHAPTER V</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">F</span>ROM that day on Madeleine kissed the
-child, morning and evening, neither more nor less than if he had been
-her own, and the only difference she made between Jeannie and François
-was that the younger was the more petted and spoiled as became his age.
-He was only seven, while the waif was twelve, and François understood
-perfectly that a big boy like him could not be caressed like a little
-one. Besides, they were still more unlike in looks than in years.
-François was so tall and strong that he passed for fifteen, and Jeannie
-was small and slender like his mother, whom he greatly resembled.
-</p>
-<p>
-It happened one morning, when she had just received François's greeting
-on her door-step, and had kissed him as usual, her servant said to her:
-</p>
-<p>
-"I mean no offense, my good mistress, but it seems to me that boy is
-very big to let you kiss him as if he were a little girl."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Do you think so?" answered Madeleine, in astonishment. "Don't you know
-how young he is?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Yes, and I should not see any harm in it, except that he is a waif, and
-though I am only your servant, I would not be hired to kiss any such
-riff-raff."
-</p>
-<p>
-"What you say is wrong, Catherine," returned Madame Blanchet; "and above
-all, you should not say it before the poor child."
-</p>
-<p>
-"She may say it, and everybody else may say it, too," replied François,
-boldly. "I don't care; if I am not a waif for you, Madame Blanchet, I am
-very well satisfied."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Only hear him!" said the servant. "This is the first time I ever knew
-him to talk so much at once. Then you know how to put two or three words
-together, do you, François? I really thought you could not even
-understand what other people said. If I had known that you were
-listening, I should not have spoken before you as I did, for I have no
-idea of hurting your feelings. You are a good, quiet, obliging boy.
-Come, you must not think of it any more; if it seems odd to me for our
-mistress to kiss you, it is only because you are too big for it, and so
-much coddling makes you look sillier than you really are."
-</p>
-<p>
-Having tried to mend matters in this way, big Catherine set about making
-her soup, and forgot all about what had passed.
-</p>
-<p>
-The waif followed Madeleine to the place where she did her washing, and
-sitting down beside her, he spoke as he knew how to speak with her and
-for her alone.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Do you remember, Madame Blanchet," said he, "how I was here once, long
-ago, and you let me go to sleep in your shawl?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Yes, my child," said she, "it was the first time we ever saw each
-other."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Was it the first time? I was not certain, for I cannot recollect very
-well; when I think of that time, it is all like a dream. How many years
-ago is it?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"It is&mdash;wait a minute&mdash;it is nearly six years, for my Jeannie was
-fourteen months old."
-</p>
-<p>
-"So I was not so old then as he is now? When he has made his first
-communion, do you think he will remember all that is happening to him
-now?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh! yes, I shall be sure to remember," cried Jeannie.
-</p>
-<p>
-"That may be so or not," said François. "What were you doing yesterday
-at this hour?"
-</p>
-<p>
-Jeannie was startled, and opened his mouth to answer; then he stopped
-short, much abashed.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Well! I wager that you cannot give a better account of yourself,
-either," said the miller's wife to François. She always took pleasure
-in listening to the prattle of the two children.
-</p>
-<p>
-"I?" said the waif, embarrassed, "wait a moment&mdash;I was going to the
-fields, and passed by this very place&mdash;I was thinking of you. Indeed,
-it was yesterday that the day when you wrapped me up in your shawl came
-into my mind."
-</p>
-<p>
-"You have a good memory, and it is surprising that you can remember so
-far back. Can you remember that you were ill with fever?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"No, indeed!"
-</p>
-<p>
-"And that you carried home my linen without my asking you?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"No."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I have always remembered it, because that was the way I found out how
-good your heart was."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I have a good heart too, haven't I, mother?" said little Jeannie,
-presenting his mother with an apple which he had half eaten.
-</p>
-<p>
-"To be sure you have, and you must try to copy François in all the good
-things you see him do."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh, yes!" answered the child quickly, "I shall jump on the yellow colt
-this evening, and shall ride it into pasture."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Shall you?" said François, laughing. "Are you, too, going to climb up
-the great ash-tree to hunt tomtits? I shall let you do it, my little
-fellow! But listen, Madame Blanchet, there is something I want to ask of
-you, but I do not know whether you will tell it to me."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Let me hear."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Why do they think they hurt my feelings when they call me a waif? Is
-there any harm in being a waif?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"No; certainly not, my child, since it is no fault of yours."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Whose fault is it?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"It is the fault of the rich people."
-</p>
-<p>
-"The fault of the rich people! What does that mean?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"You are asking a great many questions to-day; I shall answer you by and
-by."
-</p>
-<p>
-"No, no; right away, Madame Blanchet."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I cannot explain it to you. In the first place, do you know yourself
-what it is to be a waif?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Yes; it is being put in a foundling asylum by your father and mother,
-because they have no money to feed you and bring you up."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Yes, that is it. So you see that there are people so wretched as not to
-be able to bring up their own children, and that is the fault of the
-rich who do not help them."
-</p>
-<p>
-"You are right!" answered the waif very thoughtfully. "Yet there are
-some good rich people, since you are one, Madame Blanchet, and it is
-only necessary to fall in their way."
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure07.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="VI">CHAPTER VI</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">N</span>EVERTHELESS, the waif, who was always
-musing and trying to find reasons for everything since he had learned to
-read and had made his first communion, kept pondering over what
-Catherine had said to Madame Blanchet about him; but it was in vain that
-he reflected, for he could never understand why, now that he was growing
-older, he should no longer kiss Madeleine. He was the most innocent boy
-in the world, and had no suspicion of what boys of his age learn all too
-quickly in the country.
-</p>
-<p>
-His great simplicity of mind was the result of his singular bringing-up.
-He had never felt his position as a foundling to be a disgrace, but it
-had made him very shy; for though he had not taken the title as an
-insult, he was always surprised to find he possessed a characteristic
-which made a difference between himself and those with whom he
-associated. Foundlings are apt to be humbled by their fate, which is
-generally thrust upon them so harshly that they lose early their
-self-respect as Christians. They grow up full of hatred toward those who
-brought them into the world, not to speak of those who helped them to
-remain in it. It happened, however, that François had fallen into the
-hands of Zabelle, who loved him and treated him with kindness, and
-afterward he load met with Madeleine, who was the most charitable and
-compassionate of women. She had been a good mother to him, and a waif
-who receives affection is better than other children, just as he is
-worse when he is abused and degraded.
-</p>
-<p>
-François had never known any amusement or perfect content except when
-in the company of Madeleine, and instead of running off with the other
-shepherd-boys for his recreation, he had grown up quite solitary, or
-tied to the apron-strings of the two women who loved him. Especially
-when with Madeleine, he was as happy as Jeannie could be, and he was in
-no haste to play with the other children, who were sure to call him a
-waif, and with whom he soon felt himself a stranger, though he could not
-tell why.
-</p>
-<p>
-So he reached the age of fifteen without any knowledge of wrong or
-conception of evil; his lips had never uttered an unclean word, nor had
-his ears taken in the meaning of one. Yet, since the day that Catherine
-had censured his mistress for the affection she showed him, the child
-had the great good sense and judgment to forego his morning kiss from
-the miller's wife. He pretended to forget about it, or perhaps to be
-ashamed of being coddled like a little girl, as Catherine had said. But
-at the bottom, he had no such false shame, and he would have laughed at
-the idea, had he not guessed that the sweet woman he loved might incur
-blame on his account. Why should she be blamed? He could not understand
-it, and though he saw that he could never find it out by himself, he
-shrank from asking Madeleine for an explanation. He knew that her
-strength of love and kindness of heart had enabled her to endure the
-carping of others; for he had a good memory, and recollected that
-Madeleine had been upbraided, and had narrowly escaped blows in former
-years because of her goodness to him.
-</p>
-<p>
-Now, owing to his good instincts, he spared her the annoyance of being
-rebuked and ridiculed on his account. He understood, and it is wonderful
-that the poor child could understand, that a waif was to be loved only
-in secret; and rather than cause any trouble to Madeleine, he would have
-consented to do without her love.
-</p>
-<p>
-He was attentive to his work, and as, in proportion as he grew older, he
-had more to do, it happened that he was less and less with Madeleine. He
-did not grieve for this, for, as he toiled, he said to himself that it
-was for her, and that he would have his reward in seeing her at meals.
-In the evening, when Jeannie was asleep and Catherine had gone to bed,
-François still stayed up with Madeleine while she worked, and read
-aloud to her, or talked with her. Peasants do not read very fast, so
-that the two books they had were quite sufficient for them. When they
-read three pages in an evening they thought it was a great deal, and
-when the book was finished, so much time had passed since the beginning
-that they could take it up again at the first page without finding it
-too familiar. There are two ways of reading, and it may not be amiss to
-say so to those persons who think themselves well educated. Those who
-have much time to themselves and many books, devour so many of them and
-cram so much stuff into their heads, that they are utterly confused; but
-those who have neither leisure nor libraries are happy when a good book
-foils into their hands. They begin it over again a thousand times
-without weariness, and every time something strikes them which they had
-not observed before. In the main, the idea is always the same, but it is
-so much dwelt upon, so thoroughly enjoyed and digested, that the single
-mind which possesses it is better fed and more healthy than thirty
-thousand brains full of wind and twaddle. What I am telling you, my
-children, I have from the parish priest, who knows all about it.
-</p>
-<p>
-So these two persons lived happy with what they had to consume in the
-matter of learning; and they consumed it slowly, helping each other to
-understand and love all that makes us just and good. Thus they grew in
-piety and courage; and they had no greater joy than to feel themselves
-at peace with all the world, and to be of one mind at all times and in
-all places, on the subject of the truth and the desire of holy living.
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure08.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="VII">CHAPTER VII</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">M</span>ASTER BLANCHET was no longer particular
-concerning his household expenses, because he had fixed the amount of
-money which he gave to his wife every month for her housekeeping, and
-made it as little as possible. Madeleine could, without displeasing him,
-deprive herself of her own comfort in order to give alms to the poor
-about her; sometimes a little wood, another time part of her own dinner,
-again some vegetables, some clothing, some eggs, and so on. She spent
-all she had in the service of her neighbors, and when her money was
-exhausted, she did with her own hands the work of the poor, so as to
-save the lives of those among them who were ill and worn out. She was so
-economical, and mended her old clothes so carefully, that she appeared
-to live comfortably; and yet she was so anxious that her family should
-not suffer for what she gave away, that she accustomed herself to eat
-scarcely anything, never to rest, and to sleep as little as possible.
-The waif saw all this, and thought it quite natural; for it was in his
-character, as well as in the education he received from Madeleine, to
-feel the same inclination, and to be drawn toward the same duty.
-Sometimes, only, he was troubled by the great hardships which the
-miller's wife endured, and blamed himself for sleeping and eating too
-much. He would gladly have spent the night sewing and spinning in her
-place; and when she tried to pay him his wages, which had risen to
-nearly twenty crowns, he refused to take them, and obliged her to keep
-them without the miller's knowledge.
-</p>
-<p>
-"If my mother Zabelle were alive," said he, "this money would be for
-her. What do you expect me to do with it? I have no need of it, since
-you take care of my clothes, and provide me with sabots. Keep it for
-somebody more unfortunate than I am. You work so hard for the poor
-already, and if you give money to me, you must work still harder. If you
-should fall ill and die like poor Zabelle, I should like to know what
-good it would do me to have my chest full of money. Would it bring you
-back again, or prevent me from throwing myself in the river?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"You do not know what you are talking about, my child," said Madeleine,
-one day that this idea returned to his mind, as happened from time to
-time. "It is not a Christian act to kill oneself, and if I should die,
-it would be your duty to live after me to comfort and help my Jeannie.
-Should not you do that for me?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Yes, as long as Jeannie was a child and needed my love. But afterward!
-Do not let us speak of this, Madame Blanchet. I cannot be a good
-Christian on this point. Do not tire yourself out, and do not die, if
-you want me to live on this earth."
-</p>
-<p>
-"You may set your mind at ease, for I have no wish to die. I am well. I
-am hardened to work, and now I am even stronger than I was in my youth."
-</p>
-<p>
-"In your youth!" exclaimed François in astonishment. "Are not you
-young, then?"
-</p>
-<p>
-And he was afraid lest she might have reached the age for dying.
-</p>
-<p>
-"I think I never had time to be young," answered Madeleine, laughing
-like one who meets misfortune bravely. "Now I am twenty-five years old,
-and that is a good deal for a woman of my make; for I was not born
-strong like you, my boy, and I have had sorrows which have aged me more
-than years."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Sorrows! Heavens, yes! I knew it very well, when Monsieur Blanchet used
-to speak so roughly to you. God forgive me! I am not a wicked boy, yet once
-when he raised his hand against you as if to strike you&mdash;Oh! he did
-well to change his mind, for I had seized a flail,&mdash;nobody had noticed
-me,&mdash;and I was going to fall upon him. But that was a long time ago,
-Madame Blanchet, for I remember that I was much shorter than he then,
-and now I can look right over his head. And now that he scarcely speaks
-to you any more, Madame Blanchet, you are no longer unhappy, are you?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"So you think I am no longer unhappy, do you?" said Madeleine rather
-sharply, thinking how it was that there had never been any love in her
-marriage. Then she checked herself, for what she was going to say was no
-concern of the waif's, and she had no right to put such ideas into a
-child's head.
-</p>
-<p>
-"You are right," said she; "I am no longer unhappy. I live as I please.
-My husband is much kinder to me; my son is well and strong, and I have
-nothing to complain of."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Then don't I enter into your calculations? I&mdash;"
-</p>
-<p>
-"You? You are well and strong, too, and that pleases me."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Don't I please you in any other way?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Yes, you are a good boy; you are always right-minded, and I am
-satisfied with you."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh! if you were not satisfied with me, what a scamp, what a
-good-for-nothing I should be, after the way in which you have treated
-me! But there is still something else which ought to make you happy, if
-you think as I do."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Very well, tell me; for I do not know what puzzle you are contriving
-for me."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I mean no puzzle, Madame Blanche! I need but look into my heart, and I
-see that even if I had to suffer hunger, thirst, heat, and cold, and
-were to be beaten half to death every day into the bargain, and then had
-only a bundle of thorns or a heap of stones to lie on&mdash;well, can you
-understand?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"I think so, my dear François; you could be happy in spite of so much
-evil if only your heart were at peace with God."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Of course that is true, and I need not speak of it. But I meant
-something else."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I cannot imagine what you are aiming at, and I see that you are
-cleverer than I am."
-</p>
-<p>
-"No, I am not clever. I mean that I could suffer all the pains that a man
-living mortal life can endure, and could still be happy if I thought
-Madame Blanchet loved me. That is the reason why I just said to you that
-if you thought as I did, you would say: 'François loves me, and I am
-content to be alive.'"
-</p>
-<p>
-"You are right, my poor dear child," answered Madeleine; "and the things
-you say to me sometimes make me want to cry. Yes, truly, your affection
-for me is one of the joys of my life, and perhaps the greatest,
-after&mdash;no, I mean with my Jeannie's. As you are older than he, you can
-understand better what I say to you, and you can better explain your
-thoughts to me. I assure you that I am never wearied when I am with both
-of you, and the only prayer I make to God is that we may long be able to
-live together as we do now, without separating."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Without separating, I should think so!" said François. "I should
-rather be cut into little pieces than leave you. Who else would love me
-as you have loved me? Who would run the danger of being ill-treated for
-the sake of a poor waif, and who would call me her child, her dear son?
-For you call me so often, almost always. You often say to me when we are
-alone: 'Call me <i>mother</i>, and not always Madame Blanchet.' I do not
-dare to do so, because I am afraid of becoming accustomed to it and letting
-it slip out before somebody."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Well, even if you did so?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh! you would be sure to be blamed for it, and I do not like to have
-you tormented on my account. I am not proud, and I do not care to have
-it known that you have raised me from my orphan estate. I am satisfied
-to know, all by myself, that I have a mother and am her child. Oh! you
-must not die, Madame Blanchet," added poor François, looking at her
-sadly, for his thoughts had long been running on possible calamity. "If
-I lost you, I should have no other friend on this earth; you would go
-straight into Paradise, and I am not sure that I deserve ever to receive
-the reward of going there with you."
-</p>
-<p>
-François had a kind of foreboding of heavy misfortune in all he said
-and thought, and some little time afterward the misfortune fell.
-</p>
-<p>
-He had become the servant of the mill, and it was his duty to make the
-round of the customers of the mill, to carry their corn away on his
-horse, and return it to them in flour. This sometimes obliged him to
-take long rides, and for this same purpose he often visited Blanchet's
-mistress, who lived about a league from the mill. He was not at all fond
-of this commission, and would never linger an instant in her house after
-her corn was weighed and measured.
-</p>
-
-<div class="tb">* * * * * * * *</div>
-
-<p>
-At this point of the tale the narrator stopped.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Are you aware that I have been talking a long time?" said she to her
-friends, who were listening. "My lungs are not so strong as they once
-were, and I think that the hemp-dresser, who knows the story better than
-I, might relieve me, especially as we have just come to a place that I
-do not remember so well."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I know why your memory is not so good in the middle as in the
-beginning," answered the hemp-dresser. "It is because the waif is about
-to get into trouble, and you cannot stand it, because you are
-chicken-hearted about love stories, like all other pious women."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Is this going to turn into a love story?" asked Sylvine Courtioux, who
-happened to be present.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Good!" replied the hemp-dresser. "I knew that if I let out that word,
-all the young girls would prick up their ears. But you must have
-patience; the part of the story which I am going to take up on condition
-that I may carry it to a happy close is not yet what you want to hear.
-Where had you come to, Mother Monique?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"I had come to Blanchet's mistress."
-</p>
-<p>
-"That was it," said the hemp-dresser. The woman was called Sévère, but
-her name was not well suited to her, for there was nothing to match it
-in her disposition. She was very clever about hoodwinking people when
-she wanted to get money out of them. She cannot be called entirely bad,
-for she was of a joyous, careless temper; but she thought only of
-herself, and cared not at all for the loss of others, provided that she
-had all the finery and recreation she wanted. She had been the fashion
-in the country, and it was said that she had found many men to her
-taste. She was still a very handsome, buxom woman, alert though stout,
-and rosy as a cherry. She paid but little attention to the waif, and if
-she met him in her barn or courtyard she made fun of him with some
-nonsense or other, but without malicious intent and for the pleasure of
-Seeing him blush; for he blushed like a girl, and was ill at ease
-whenever she spoke to him. He thought her brazen, and she seemed both
-ugly and wicked in his eyes, though she was neither one nor the other;
-at least, she was only spiteful when she was crossed in her interests or
-her vanity, and I must even acknowledge that she liked to give almost as
-much as to receive. She was ostentatiously generous, and enjoyed being
-thanked; but to the mind of the waif she was a devil, who reduced Madame
-Blanchet to want and drudgery.
-</p>
-<p>
-Nevertheless, it happened that when the waif was seventeen years old,
-Madame Sévère discovered that he was a deucedly handsome fellow. He was
-not like most country boys, who, at his age, are dumpy and thick-set,
-and only develop into something worth looking at two or three years
-later. He was already tall and well-built; his skin was white, even at
-harvest-time, and his tight curling hair was brown at the roots and
-golden at the ends.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Do you admire that sort of thing, Madame Monique? I mean the hair,
-without any reference to boys."
-</p>
-<p>
-"That is no business of yours," answered the priest's servant. "Go on
-with your story."
-</p>
-<p>
-He was always poorly dressed, but he loved cleanliness, as Madeleine
-Blanchet had taught him; and such as he was, he had an air that no one
-else had. Sévère noticed this little by little, and finally she was so
-well aware of it that she took it into her head to thaw him out a
-little. She was not a woman of prejudice, and when she heard anybody
-say, "What a pity that such a handsome boy should be a waif!" she
-answered, "There is every reason that waifs should be handsome, for love
-brought them into the world."
-</p>
-<p>
-She devised the following plan for being in his company. She made
-Blanchet drink immoderately at the fair of Saint-Denis-de-Jouhet, and
-when she saw that he was no longer able to put one foot before the
-other, she asked the friends she had in the place to put him to bed.
-Then she said to François, who had come with his master to drive his
-animals to the fair:
-</p>
-<p>
-"My lad, I am going to leave my mare for your master to return with
-to-morrow morning; you may mount his and take me home on the crupper."
-</p>
-<p>
-This arrangement was not at all to François's taste. He said that the
-mare that belonged to the mill was not strong enough to carry two
-people, and he offered to accompany Sévère home, if she rode her own
-horse and allowed him to ride Blanchet's. He promised to come back
-immediately with a fresh mount for his master, and to reach
-Saint-Denis-de-Jouhet early the next morning; but Sévère would listen
-to him no more than the wind, and ordered him to obey her. François was
-afraid of her; for, as Blanchet saw with no eyes but hers, she could
-have him sent away from the mill if he displeased her, especially as the
-feast of Saint-Jean was near at hand. So he took her up behind him,
-without suspecting, poor fellow, that this was not the best means of
-escaping his evil destiny.
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure09.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">I</span>T was twilight when they set out, and when
-they passed the sluice of the pond of Rochefolle night had already
-fallen. The moon had not yet risen above the trees, and in that part of
-the country the roads are so washed by numerous springs that they are
-not at all good. François spurred his mare on to speed, for he disliked
-the company of Sévère, and longed to be with Madame Blanchet.
-</p>
-<p>
-But Sévère, who was in no haste to reach home, began to play the part
-of a fine lady, saying that she was afraid, and that the mare must not
-go faster than a walk, because she did not lift her legs well and might
-stumble at any minute.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Bah!" said François without paying any attention; "then it would be
-the first time she said her prayers, for I never saw a mare so
-disinclined to piety!"
-</p>
-<p>
-"You are witty, François," said Sévère giggling, as if François had
-said something very new and amusing.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh, no indeed!" answered the waif, who thought she was laughing at him.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Come," said she, "you surely cannot mean to trot down-hill?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"You need not fear, for we can trot perfectly well."
-</p>
-<p>
-The trot down-hill stopped the stout Sévère's breath, and prevented
-her talking. She was extremely vexed, as she had expected to coax the
-young man with her soft words, but she was unwilling to let him see that
-she was neither young nor slender enough to stand fatigue, and was
-silent for a part of the way.
-</p>
-<p>
-When they came to a chestnut grove, she took it into her head to say:
-</p>
-<p>
-"Stop, François; you must stop, dear François. The mare has just lost
-a shoe."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Even if she has lost a shoe," said François, "I have neither hammer
-nor nails to put it on with."
-</p>
-<p>
-"But we must not lose the shoe. It is worth something! Get down, I say,
-and look for it."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I might look two hours for it, among these ferns, without finding it.
-And my eyes are not lanterns."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh, yes, François," said Sévère, half in jest and half in earnest;
-"your eyes shine like glowworms."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Then you can see them through my hat, I suppose?" answered François,
-not at all pleased with what he took for derision.
-</p>
-<p>
-"I cannot see them just now," said Sévère with a sigh as big as
-herself; "but I have seen them at other times!"
-</p>
-<p>
-"You can never have seen anything amiss in them," returned the innocent
-waif. "You may as well leave them alone, for they have never looked
-rudely at you and never will."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I think," broke in at this moment the priest's servant, "that you might
-skip this part of the story. It is not very interesting to hear all the
-bad devices of this wicked woman, for ensnaring our waif."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Put yourself at ease, Mother Monique," replied the hemp-dresser. "I
-shall skip as much as is proper. I know that I am speaking before young
-people, and I shall not say a word too much."
-</p>
-<p>
-We were just speaking of François's eyes, the expression of which
-Sévère was trying to make less irreproachable than he had declared it
-to be.
-</p>
-<p>
-"How old are you, François?" said she with more politeness, so as to
-let him understand that she was no longer going to treat him like a
-little boy.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh, Heavens! I don't know exactly," answered the waif, beginning to
-perceive her clumsy advances. "I do not often amuse myself by reckoning
-my years."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I heard that you were only seventeen," she resumed, "but I wager that
-you must be twenty, for you are tall, and will soon have a beard on your
-chin."
-</p>
-<p>
-"It is all the same to me," said François, yawning.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Take care! You are going too fast, my boy. There! I have just lost my
-purse!"
-</p>
-<p>
-"The deuce you have!" said François, who had not as yet discovered how
-shy she was. "Then I suppose that you must get off and look for it, for
-it maybe of value."
-</p>
-<p>
-He jumped down and helped her to dismount. She took pains to lean
-against him, and he found her heavier than a sack of corn.
-</p>
-<p>
-While she pretended to search for the purse, which was all the time in
-her pocket, he went on five or six steps, holding the mare by the
-bridle.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Are not you going to help me look for it?" said she.
-</p>
-<p>
-"I must hold the mare," said he, "for she is thinking of her colt, and
-if I let her loose she will run home."
-</p>
-<p>
-Sévère looked under the mare's leg, close beside François, and from
-this he saw that she had lost nothing except her senses.
-</p>
-<p>
-"We had not come as far as this," said he, "when you called out that you
-had lost your purse. So you certainly cannot find it here."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Do you think I am shamming, you rogue?" said she, trying to pull his
-ear; "for I really believe that you are a rogue."
-</p>
-<p>
-François drew back, as he was in no mood for a frolic.
-</p>
-<p>
-"No, no," said he, "if you have found your money, let us go, for I
-should rather be asleep than stay here jesting."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Then we can talk," said Sévère, when she was seated again behind him;
-"they say that beguiles the weariness of the road."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I need no beguiling," answered the waif, "for I am not weary."
-</p>
-<p>
-"That is the first pretty speech you have made me, François!"
-</p>
-<p>
-"If it is a pretty speech, I made it by accident, for I do not
-understand that sort of thing."
-</p>
-<p>
-Sévère was exasperated, but she would not as yet give in to the truth.
-</p>
-<p>
-"The boy must be a simpleton," said she to herself. "If I make him lose
-his way, he will have to stay a little longer with me."
-</p>
-<p>
-So she tried to mislead him, and to induce him to turn to the left when
-he was going to the right.
-</p>
-<p>
-"You are making a mistake," said she; "this is the first time you have
-been over this road. I know it better than you do. Take my advice, or
-you will make me spend the night in the woods, young man!"
-</p>
-<p>
-When François had once been over a road, he knew it so perfectly that
-he could find his way in it at the end of a year.
-</p>
-<p>
-"No, no," said he, "this is the right way, and I am not in the least out
-of my head. The mare knows it too, and I have no desire to spend the
-night rambling about the woods."
-</p>
-<p>
-Thus he reached the farm of Dollins, where Sévère lived, without
-losing a quarter of an hour and without giving an opening as wide as the
-eye of a needle to her advances. Once there, she tried to detain him,
-insisting that the night was dark, that the water had risen, and that he
-would have difficulty in crossing the fords. The waif cared not a whit
-for these dangers, and, bored with so many foolish words, he struck the
-mare with his heels, galloped off without waiting to hear the rest, and
-returned swiftly to the mill, where Madeleine Blanchet was waiting for
-him, grieved that he should come so late.
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure10.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="IX">CHAPTER IX</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">T</span>HE waif never told Madeleine what Sévère
-had given him to understand; he would not have dared, and indeed dared
-not even think of it himself. I cannot say that I should have behaved as
-discreetly as he in such an adventure; but a little discretion never
-does any harm, and then I am telling things as they happened. This boy
-was as refined as a well-brought-up girl.
-</p>
-<p>
-As Madame Sévère thought over the matter at night, she became incensed
-against him, and perceived that he had scorned her and was not the fool
-she had taken him for. Chafing at this thought, her spleen rose, and
-great projects of revenge passed through her head.
-</p>
-<p>
-So much so that when Cadet Blanchet, still half drunk, returned to her
-next morning, she gave him to understand that his mill-boy was a little
-upstart, whom she had been obliged to hold in check and cuff in the
-face, because he had taken it into his head to make love to her and kiss
-her as they came home together through the wood at night.
-</p>
-<p>
-This was more than enough to disorder Blanchet's wits; but she was not
-yet satisfied, and jeered at him for leaving at home with his wife a
-fellow who would be inclined by his age and character to beguile the
-dullness of her life.
-</p>
-<p>
-In the twinkling of an eye, Blanchet was jealous both of his mistress
-and his wife. He seized his heavy stick, pulled his hat down over his
-eyes, like an extinguisher on a candle, and rushed off to the mill,
-without stopping for breath.
-</p>
-<p>
-Fortunately, the waif was not there. He had gone away to fell and saw up
-a tree that Blanchet had bought from Blanchard of Guérin, and was not
-to return till evening. Blanchet would have gone to find him at his
-work, but he shrank from showing his fury before the young millers of
-Guérin, lest they should make sport of him for his jealousy, which was
-unreasonable after his long neglect and contempt of his wife.
-</p>
-<p>
-He would have stayed to wait for his return, but he thought it too
-wearisome to stay all day at home, and he knew that the quarrel which he
-wished to pick with his wife could not last long enough to occupy him
-till evening. It is impossible to be angry very long when the ill-temper
-is all on one side.
-</p>
-<p>
-In spite of this, however, he could have endured all the derision and
-the tedium for the pleasure of belaboring the poor waif; but as his walk
-had cooled him to some degree, he reflected that this cursed waif was no
-longer a child, and that if he were old enough to think of making love,
-he was also old enough to defend himself with blows, if provoked. So he
-tried to gather his wits together, drinking glass after glass in
-silence, revolving in his brain what he was going to say to his wife,
-but did not know how to begin.
-</p>
-<p>
-He had said roughly, on entering, that he wished her to listen to
-something; so she sat near him, as usual sad, silent, and with a tinge
-of pride in her manner.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Madame Blanchet," said he at last, "I have a command to give you, but
-if you were the woman you pretend to be, and that you have the
-reputation of being, you would not wait to be told."
-</p>
-<p>
-There he halted as if to take breath, but the fact is that he was almost
-ashamed of what he was going to say, for virtue was written on his
-wife's face as plainly as a prayer in a missal.
-</p>
-<p>
-Madeleine would not help him to explain himself. She did not breathe a
-word, but waited for him to go on, expecting him to find fault with her
-for some expenditure, for she had no suspicion of what he was
-meditating.
-</p>
-<p>
-"You behave as if you did not understand me, Madame Blanchet," continued
-the miller, "and yet my meaning is clear. You must throw that rubbish
-out of doors, the sooner the better, for I have had enough and too much
-of all this sort of thing."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Throw what?" asked Madeleine, in amazement.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Throw what! Then you do not dare to say throw <i>whom</i>?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Good God! no; I know nothing about it," said she. "Speak, if you want
-me to understand you."
-</p>
-<p>
-"You will make me lose my temper," cried Cadet Blanchet, bellowing like
-a bull. "I tell you that waif is not wanted in my house, and if he is
-still here by to-morrow morning, I shall turn him out of doors by main
-force, unless he prefer to take a turn under my mill-wheel."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Your words are cruel, and your purpose is very foolish, Master
-Blanchet," said Madeleine, who could not help turning as white as her
-cap. "You will ruin your business if you send the boy away; for you will
-never find another who will work so well, and be satisfied with such
-small wages. What has the poor child done to make you want to drive him
-away so cruelly?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"He makes a fool of me, I tell you, Madame Wife, and I do not intend to
-be the laughing-stock of the country. He has made himself master of my
-house, and deserves to be paid with a cudgel for what he has done."
-</p>
-<p>
-It was some time before Madeleine could understand what her husband
-meant. She had not the slightest conception of it, and brought forward
-all the reasons she could think of to appease him and prevent his
-persisting in his caprice.
-</p>
-<p>
-It was all labor lost, for he only grew the more furious; and when he
-saw how grieved she was to lose her good servant François, he had a
-fresh access of jealousy, and spoke so brutally that his meaning dawned
-on her at last, and she began to cry from mortification, injured pride,
-and bitter sorrow.
-</p>
-<p>
-This did not mend matters; Blanchet swore that she was in love with this
-bundle of goods from the asylum, that he blushed for her, and that if
-she did not turn the waif out of doors without delay, he would kill him
-and grind him to powder.
-</p>
-<p>
-Thereupon she answered more haughtily than was her wont, that he had the
-right to send away whom he chose from his house, but not to wound and
-insult his faithful wife, and that she would complain to God and all the
-saints of Heaven of his cruel and intolerable injustice. Thus, in spite
-of herself, she came gradually to reproach him with his evil behavior,
-and confronted him with the plain feet that if a man is dissatisfied
-with his own cap, he tries to throw his neighbor's into the mud.
-</p>
-<p>
-It went from bad to worse, and when Blanchet finally perceived that he
-was in the wrong, anger was his only resource. He threatened to shut
-Madeleine's mouth with a blow, and would have done so, if Jeannie had
-not heard the noise and come running in between them, without
-understanding what the matter was, but quite pale and discomfited by so
-much wrangling. When Blanchet ordered him away, the child cried, and his
-father took occasion to say that he was ill-brought-up, a cry-baby, and
-a coward, and that his mother would never be able to make anything out
-of him. Then Blanchet plucked up courage, and rose, brandishing his
-stick, and swearing that he would kill the waif.
-</p>
-<p>
-When Madeleine saw that he was mad with passion, she threw herself
-boldly in front of him, and he, disconcerted and taken by surprise,
-allowed her her way. She snatched his stick out of his hands and threw
-it far off into the river, and then, standing her ground, she said:
-</p>
-<p>
-"You shall not ruin yourself by obeying this wicked impulse. Reflect
-that calamity is swift to follow a man who loses his self-control, and
-if you have no feeling for others, think of yourself and the probable
-consequences of a single bad action. For a long time you have been
-guiding your life amiss, my husband, and now you are hastening faster
-and faster along a dangerous road. I shall prevent you, at least for
-to-day, from committing a worse crime, which would bring its punishment
-both in this world and the next. You shall not kill; return to where you
-came from, rather than persevere in trying to revenge yourself for an
-affront which was not offered. Go away; I command you to do so in your
-own interest, and this is the first time in my life that I have ever
-commanded you to do anything. You will obey me, because you will see
-that I still observe the deference I owe you. I swear to you on my word
-and honor that the waif shall not be here to-morrow, and that you may
-come back without any fear of meeting him."
-</p>
-<p>
-Having said this, Madeleine opened the door of the house for her
-husband, and Cadet Blanchet, baffled by the novelty of her manner, and
-pleased in the main to receive her submission without danger to his
-person, clapped his hat upon his head, and without another word, returned
-to Sévère. He did not fail to boast to her and to others that he had
-administered a sound thrashing to his wife and to the waif; but as this
-was not true, Sévère's pleasure evaporated in smoke.
-</p>
-<p>
-When Madeleine Blanchet was alone again, she sent Jeannie to drive the
-sheep and the goat to pasture, and went off to a little lonely nook
-beside the mill-dam, where the earth was much eaten away by the force of
-the current, and the place so crowded with a fresh growth of branches
-above the old tree-stumps that you could not see two steps away from
-you. She was in the habit of going there to pray, for nobody could
-interrupt her, and she could be as entirely concealed behind the tall
-weeds as a water-hen in its nest of green leaves.
-</p>
-<p>
-As soon as she reached there, she sank on her knees to seek in prayer
-the relief she so needed. But though she hoped this would bring great
-comfort, she could think of nothing but the poor waif, who was to be
-sent sway, and who loved her so that he would die of grief. So nothing
-came to her lips, except that she was most unhappy to lose her only
-support and separate herself from the child of her heart. Then she cried
-so long and so bitterly that she was suffocated, and, falling full
-length along the grass, lay unconscious for more than an hour, and it is
-a miracle that she ever came to herself.
-</p>
-<p>
-At nightfall she made an effort to collect her powers; and when she
-heard Jeannie come home singing with the flock, she rose with difficulty
-and set about preparing supper. Shortly afterward, she heard the noise
-of the return of the oxen, who were drawing home the oak-tree that
-Blanchet had bought, and Jeannie ran joyfully to meet his friend
-François, whose presence he had missed all day. Poor little Jeannie had
-been grieved for a moment by his father's cruel behaviour to his dear
-mother, and he had run off to cry in the fields, without knowing what
-the quarrel could be. But a child's sorrow lasts no longer than the dew
-of the morning, and he had already forgotten his trouble. He took
-François by the hand, and skipping as gaily as a little partridge,
-brought him to Madeleine.
-</p>
-<p>
-There was no need for the waif to look twice to see that her eyes were
-reddened and her face blanched.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Good God," thought he, "some misfortune has happened." Then he turned
-pale too, and trembled, fixing his eyes on Madeleine, and expecting her
-to speak to him. She made him sit down, and set his meal before him in
-silence, but he could not swallow a mouthful. Jeannie eat and prattled
-on by himself; he felt no uneasiness, for his mother kissed him from
-time to time and encouraged him to make a good supper.
-</p>
-<p>
-When he had gone to bed, and the servant was putting the room in order,
-Madeleine went out, and beckoned François to follow her. She walked
-through the meadow as far as the fountain, and then calling all her
-courage to her aid, she said:
-</p>
-<p>
-"My child, misfortune has fallen upon you and me, and God strikes us
-both a heavy blow. You see how much I suffer, and out of love for me,
-try to strengthen your own heart, for if you do not uphold me, I cannot
-tell what will become of me."
-</p>
-<p>
-François guessed nothing, although he at once supposed that the trouble
-came from Monsieur Blanchet.
-</p>
-<p>
-"What are you saying?" said he to Madeleine, kissing her hands as if she
-were his mother. "How can you think that I shall not have courage to
-comfort and sustain you? Am not I your servant for as long as I have to
-stay upon the earth? Am not I your child, who will work for you, and is
-now strong enough to keep you from want. Leave Monsieur Blanchet alone,
-let him squander his money, since it is his choice. I shall feed and
-clothe both you and our Jeannie. If I must leave you for a time, I shall
-go and hire myself out, though not far from here, so that I can see you
-every day, and come and spend Sundays with you. I am strong enough now
-to work and earn all the money you need. You are so careful and live on
-so little. Now you will not be able to deny yourself so many things for
-others, and you will be the better for it. Come, Madame Blanchet, my
-dear mother, calm yourself and do not cry, or I think I shall die of
-grief."
-</p>
-<p>
-When Madeleine saw that he had not understood, and that she must tell
-him everything, she commended her soul to God, and made up her mind to
-inflict this great pain upon him.
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure11.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="X">CHAPTER X</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">"N</span>O, François, my son," said she, "that is
-not it. My husband is not yet ruined, as far as I know anything of his
-affairs, and if it were only the fear of want, you would not see me so
-unhappy. Nobody need dread poverty who has courage to work. Since you
-must hear why it is that I am so sick at heart, let me tell you that
-Monsieur Blanchet is in a fury against you, and will no longer endure
-your presence in his house."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Is that it?" cried François, springing up. "He may as well kill me
-outright, as I cannot live after such a blow. Yes, let him put an end to
-me, for he has long disliked me and longed to have me die, I know. Let
-me see, where is he? I will go to him and say, 'Tell me why you drive me
-away, and perhaps I can prove to you that you are mistaken in your
-reasons. But if you persist, say so, that&mdash;that&mdash;' I do not
-know what I am saying, Madeleine; truly, I do not know; I have lost my
-senses, and I can no longer see clearly; my heart is pierced and my head
-is turning I am sure I shall either die or go mad."
-</p>
-<p>
-The poor waif threw himself on the ground, and struck his head with his
-fists, as he had done when Zabelle had tried to take him back to the
-asylum.
-</p>
-<p>
-When Madeleine saw this, her high spirit returned. She took him by the
-hands and arms, and shaking him, forced him to listen to her.
-</p>
-<p>
-"If you have no more resignation and strength of will than a child,"
-said she, "you do not deserve my love, and you will shame me for
-bringing you up as my son. Get up. You are a man in years, and a man
-should not roll on the ground, as you are doing. Listen, François, and
-tell me whether you love me enough to go without seeing me for a time.
-Look, my child, it is for my peace and good name, for otherwise my
-husband will subject me to annoyance and humiliation. So you must leave
-me to-day, out of love, just as I have kept you, out of love, to this
-day; for love shows itself in different ways according to time and
-circumstance. You must leave me without delay, because, in order to
-prevent Monsieur Blanchet from committing a crime, I promised that you
-should be gone to-morrow morning. To-morrow is Saint John's day, and you
-must go and find a place; but not too near at hand, for if we were able
-to see each other every day, it would be all the worse in Monsieur
-Blanchet's mind."
-</p>
-<p>
-"What has he in his mind, Madeleine? Of what does he complain? How have
-I behaved amiss? Does he think that you rob the house to help me? That
-cannot be, because now I am one of his household. I eat only enough to
-satisfy my hunger, and I do not steal a pin from him. Perhaps he thinks
-that I take my wages, and that I cost him too much. Very well, let me
-follow out my purpose of going to explain to him that since my poor
-mother Zabelle died, I have never received a single penny; or, if you do
-not want me to tell him this,&mdash;and indeed if he knew it, he would try
-to make you pay back all the money due on my wages that you have spent in
-charity&mdash;well, I will make him this proposition for the next year. I
-will offer to remain in your service for nothing. In this way he cannot
-think me a burden, and will allow me to stay with you."
-</p>
-<p>
-"No, no, no, François," cried Madeleine, hastily, "it is not possible;
-and if you said this to him, he would fly into such a rage with you and
-me that worse would come of it."
-</p>
-<p>
-"But why?" asked François; "what is he angry about? Is it only for the
-pleasure of making us unhappy that he pretends to mistrust me?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"My child, do not ask the reason of his anger for I cannot tell you. I
-should be too much ashamed, and you had better not even try to guess;
-but I can assure you that your duty toward me is to go away. You are
-tall and strong, and can do without me; and you will earn your living
-better elsewhere, as long as you will take nothing from me. All sons
-have to leave their mothers when they go out to work, and many go far
-away. You must go like the rest, and I shall grieve as all mothers do. I
-shall weep for you and think of you, and pray God morning and evening to
-shield you from all ill."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Yes, and you will take another servant who will serve you ill, who will
-take no care of your son or your property, who will perhaps hate you, if
-Monsieur Blanchet orders him not to obey you, and will repeat and
-misrepresent to him all the kind things you do. You may be unhappy, and
-I shall not be with you to protect and comfort you. Ah! you think that I
-have no courage because I am miserable? You believe that I am thinking
-only of myself, and tell me that I shall earn more money elsewhere! I am
-not thinking of myself at all. What is it to me whether I gain or lose?
-I do not even care to know whether I shall be able to control my
-despair. I shall live or die as may please God, and it makes no
-difference to me, as long as I am prevented from devoting my life to
-you. What gives me intolerable anguish is that I see trouble ahead for
-you. You will be trampled upon in your turn, and if Monsieur Blanchet
-puts me out of the way, it is that he may the more easily walk over your
-rights."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Even if God permits this," said Madeleine, "I must bear what I cannot
-help. It is wrong to make one's fate worse by kicking against the
-pricks. You know that I am very unhappy, and you may imagine how much
-more wretched I should be if I learned that you were ill, disgusted with
-life, and unwilling to be comforted. But if I can find any consolation
-in my affliction, it will be because I hear that you are well behaved,
-and keep up your health and courage out of love for me."
-</p>
-<p>
-This last excellent reason gave Madeleine the advantage. The waif gave
-in, and promised on his knees, as if in the confessional, that he would
-do his best to bear his sorrow bravely.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Then," said he, as he wiped his eyes, "if I must go to-morrow morning,
-I shall say good-by to you now, my mother Madeleine. Farewell, for this
-life, perhaps; for you do not tell me if I shall ever see you and talk
-with you again. If you do not think I shall ever have such happiness, do
-not say so, for I should lose courage to live. Let me keep the hope of
-meeting you one day here by this clear fountain, where I met you the
-first time nearly eleven years ago. From that day to this, I have had
-nothing but happiness; I must not forget all the joys that God has given
-me through you, but shall keep them in remembrance, so that they may
-help me to bear, from to-morrow onward, all that time and fate may
-bring. I carry away a heart pierced and benumbed with anguish, knowing
-that you are unhappy, and that in me you lose your best friend. You tell
-me that your distress will be greater if I do not take heart, so I shall
-sustain myself as best I may, by thoughts of you, and I value your
-affection too much to forfeit it by cowardice. Farewell, Madame
-Blanchet; leave me here alone a little while; I shall feel better when I
-have cried my fill. If any of my tears fall into this fountain, you will
-think of me whenever you come to wash here. I am going to gather some of
-this mint to perfume my linen. I must soon pack my bundle; and as long
-as I smell the sweet fragrance among my clothes, I shall imagine that I
-am here and see you before me. Farewell, farewell, my dear mother; I
-shall not go back with you to the house. I might kiss little Jeannie,
-without waking him, but I have not the heart. You must kiss him for me;
-and to keep him from crying, please tell him to-morrow that I am coming
-back soon. So, while he is expecting me, he will have time to forget me
-a little; and then later, you must talk to him of poor François, so
-that he may not forget me too much. Give me your blessing, Madeleine, as
-you gave it to me on the day of my first communion, for it will bring
-with it the grace of God."
-</p>
-<p>
-The poor waif knelt down before Madeleine, entreating her to forgive him
-if he had ever offended her against his will.
-</p>
-<p>
-Madeleine declared that she had nothing to forgive him, and that she
-wished her blessing could prove as beneficent as that of God.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Now," said François, "that I am again a waif, and that nobody will
-ever love me any more, will not you kiss me as you once kissed me, in
-kindness, on the day of my first communion? I shall need to remember
-this, so that I may be very sure that you still love me in your heart,
-like a mother."
-</p>
-<p>
-Madeleine kissed the waif in the same pure spirit as when he was a
-little child. Yet anybody who had seen her would have fancied there was
-some justification for Monsieur Blanchet's anger, and would have blamed
-this faithful woman, who had no thought of ill, and whose action could
-not have displeased the Virgin Mary.
-</p>
-
-<p><br /></p>
-
-<p>
-"Nor me, either," put in the priest's servant.
-</p>
-<p>
-"And me still less," returned the hemp-dresser. Then he resumed:
-</p>
-
-<p><br /></p>
-
-<p>
-She returned to the house, but not to sleep. She heard François come in
-and do up his bundle in the next room, and she heard him go out again at
-daybreak. She did not get up till he had gone some little distance, so
-as not to weaken his courage, but when she heard his steps on the little
-bridge, she opened the door a crack, without allowing herself to be
-seen, so that she might catch one more last glimpse of him. She saw him
-stop and look back at the river and mill, as if to bid them farewell.
-Then he strode away very rapidly, after first picking a branch of poplar
-and putting it in his hat, as men do when they go out for hire, to show
-that they are trying to find a place.
-</p>
-<p>
-Master Blanchet came in toward noon, but did not speak till his wife
-said:
-</p>
-<p>
-"You must go out and hire another boy for your mill, for François has
-gone, and you are without a servant."
-</p>
-<p>
-"That is quite enough, wife," answered Blanchet. "I shall go, but I warn
-you not to expect another young fellow."
-</p>
-<p>
-As these were all the thanks he gave her for her submission, her
-feelings were so much wounded that she could not help showing it.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Cadet Blanchet," said she, "I have obeyed your will; I have sent an
-excellent boy away without a motive, and I must confess that I did so
-with regret. I do not ask for your gratitude, but, in my turn, I have
-something to command you, and that is not to insult me, for I do not
-deserve it."
-</p>
-<p>
-She said this in a manner so new to Blanchet, that it produced its
-effect on him.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Come, wife," said he, holding out his hand to her, "let us make a truce
-to all this, and think no more about it. Perhaps I may have been a
-little hasty in what I said; but you see I had my own reasons for not
-trusting the waif. The devil is the father of all those children, and he
-is always after them. They may be good in some ways, but they are sure
-to be scamps in others. I know that it will be hard for me to find
-another such hard worker for a servant; but the devil, who is a good
-father, had whispered wantonness into that boy's ear, and I know one
-woman who had a complaint against him."
-</p>
-<p>
-"That woman is not your wife," rejoined Madeleine, "and she may be
-lying. Even if she told the truth, that would be no cause for suspecting
-me."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Do I suspect you?" said Blanchet, shrugging his shoulders. "My grudge
-was only against him, and now that he has gone, I have forgotten about
-it. If I said anything displeasing to you, you must take it in jest."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Such jests are not to my taste," answered Madeleine. "Keep them for
-those who like them."
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure12.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="XI">CHAPTER XI</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">M</span>ADELEINE bore her sorrow very well at
-first. She heard from her new servant, who had met with François, that
-he had been hired for eighteen pistoles a year by a farmer, who had a
-good mill and some land over toward Aigurande. She was happy to know
-that he had found a good place, and did her utmost to return to her
-occupations, without grieving too much. In spite of her efforts,
-however, she fell ill for a long time of a low fever, and pined quietly
-away, without anybody's noticing it. François was right when he said
-that in him she lost her best friend. She was sad and lonely, and,
-having nobody to talk with, she petted all the more her son Jeannie, who
-was a very nice boy, as gentle as a lamb.
-</p>
-<p>
-But he was too young to understand all that she had to say of François,
-and, besides, he showed her no such kind cares and attentions as the
-waif had done at his age. Jeannie loved his mother, more even than
-children ordinarily do, because she was such a mother as is hard to
-find; but he never felt the same wonder and emotion about her as
-François did. He thought it quite natural to be so tenderly loved and
-caressed. He received it as his portion, and counted on it as his due,
-whereas the waif had never been unmindful of the slightest kindness from
-her, and made his gratitude so apparent in his behavior, his words and
-looks, his blushes and tears, that when Madeleine was with him she
-forgot that her home was bereft of peace, love, and comfort.
-</p>
-<p>
-When she was left again forlorn, all this evil returned upon her, and
-she meditated long on the sorrows which François's affectionate
-companionship had kept in abeyance. Now she had nobody to read with her,
-to help her in caring for the poor, to pray with her, or even now and
-then to exchange a few frank, good-natured jests with her. Nothing that
-she saw or did gave her any more pleasure, and her thoughts wandered
-back to the time when she had with her such a kind, gentle, and loving
-friend. Whether she went into her vineyard, into her orchard, or into
-the mill, there was not a spot as large as a pocket-handkerchief, that
-she had not passed over ten thousand times, with this child clinging to
-her skirts, or this faithful, zealous friend at her side. It was as if
-she had lost a son of great worth and promise; and it was in vain she
-heaped her affection on the one who still remained, for half her heart
-was left untenanted.
-</p>
-<p>
-Her husband saw that she was wearing away, and felt some pity for her
-languid, melancholy looks. He feared lest she might fall seriously ill,
-and was loath to lose her, as she was a skilful manager, and saved on
-her side as much as he wasted on his. As Sévère would not allow him to
-attend to his mill, he knew that his business would go to pieces if
-Madeleine no longer had the charge of it, and though he continued to
-upbraid her from habit, and complained of her lack of care, he knew that
-nobody else would serve him better.
-</p>
-<p>
-He exerted himself to contrive some means of curing her of her sickness
-and sorrow, and just at this juncture it happened that his uncle died.
-His youngest sister had been under this uncle's guardianship, and now
-she fell into his own care. He thought, at first, of sending the girl to
-live with Sévère, but his other relations made him ashamed of this
-project; and, besides, when Sévère found that the girl was only just
-fifteen, and promised to be as fair as the day, she had no further
-desire to be intrusted with such a charge, and told Blanchet that she
-was afraid of the risks attendant on the care of a young girl.
-</p>
-<p>
-So Blanchet&mdash;who saw that he should gain something by being his
-sister's guardian, as the uncle, who had brought her up, had left her
-money in his will; and who was unwilling to place her with any of his
-other relations&mdash;brought her home to his mill, and requested his
-wife to treat her as a sister and companion, to teach her to work, and
-let her share in the household labors, and yet to make the task so easy
-that she should have no desire to go elsewhere.
-</p>
-<p>
-Madeleine acquiesced gladly in this family arrangement. She liked
-Mariette Blanchet from the first for the sake of her beauty, the very
-cause for which Sévère had disliked her. She believed, too, that a
-sweet disposition and a good heart always go with a pretty face, and she
-received the young girl not so much as a sister as a daughter, who might
-perhaps take the place of poor François.
-</p>
-<p>
-During all this time poor François bore his trouble with as much
-patience as he had, and this was none at all; for never was man nor boy
-visited with so heavy an affliction. He fell ill, in the first place,
-and this was almost fortunate for him, for it proved the kindness of his
-master's family, who would not allow him to be sent to the hospital, but
-kept him at home, and tended him carefully. The miller, his present
-master, was most unlike Cadet Blanchet, and his daughter, who was about
-thirty years old, and not yet married, had a reputation for her
-charities and good conduct.
-</p>
-<p>
-These good people plainly saw, too, in spite of the waif's illness, that
-they had found a treasure in him.
-</p>
-<p>
-He was so strong and well-built that he threw off his disease more
-quickly than most people, and though he set to work before he was cured,
-he had no relapse. His conscience spurred him on to make up for lost
-time and repay his master and mistress for their kindness. He still felt
-ill for more than two months, and every morning, when he began his work,
-he was as giddy as if he had just fallen from the roof of a house, but
-little by little he warmed up to it, and never told the trouble it cost
-him to begin. The miller and his daughter were so well pleased with him
-that they intrusted him with the management of many things which were
-far above his position. When they found that he could read and write,
-they made him keep the accounts, which had never been kept before, and
-the need of which had often involved the mill in difficulties. In short,
-he was as well off as was compatible with his misfortune; and as he had
-the prudence to refrain from saying that he was a foundling, nobody
-reproached him with his origin.
-</p>
-<p>
-But neither the kind treatment he received, nor his work, nor his
-illness, could make him forget Madeleine, his dear mill at Cormouer, his
-little Jeannie, and the graveyard where Zabelle was lying. His heart was
-always far away, and on Sundays he did nothing but brood, and so had no
-rest from the labors of the week. He was at such a distance from his
-home, which was more than six leagues off, that no news from it ever
-reached him. He thought at first that he would become used to this, but
-he was consumed with anxiety, and tried to invent means of finding out
-about Madeleine, at least twice a year. He went to the fairs for the
-purpose of meeting some acquaintance from the old place, and if he saw
-one, he made inquiries about all his friends, beginning prudently with
-those for whom he cared least, and leading up to Madeleine, who
-interested him most; and thus he had some tidings of her and her family.
-</p>
-<p>
-"But it is growing late, my friends, and I am going to sleep in the
-middle of my story. I shall go on with it to-morrow, if you care to hear
-it Good night, all."
-</p>
-<p>
-The hemp-dresser went off to bed, and the farmer lit his lantern and
-took Mother Monique back to the parsonage, for she was an old woman, and
-could not see her way clearly.
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure13.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="XII">CHAPTER XII</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">T</span>HE next evening we all met again at the farm,
-and the hemp-dresser resumed his story:
-</p>
-
-<p><br /></p>
-
-<p>
-François had been living about three years in the country of Aigurande,
-near Villechiron, in a handsome mill which is called Haut-Champault, or
-Bas-Champault, or Frechampault, for Champault is as common a name in
-that country as in our own. I have been twice into those parts, and know
-what a fine country it is. The peasants there are richer, and better
-lodged and fed; there is more business there, and though the earth is
-less fertile, it is more productive. The land is more broken; it is
-pierced by rocks and washed by torrents, but it is fair and pleasant to
-the eye. The trees are marvelously beautiful, and two streams, clear as
-crystal, rush noisily along through their deep-cut channels.
-</p>
-<p>
-The mills there are more considerable than ours, and the one where
-François lived was among the richest and best. One winter day, his
-master, by name Jean Vertaud, said to him:
-</p>
-<p>
-"François, my servant and friend, I have something to say to you, and I
-ask for your attention.
-</p>
-<p>
-"You and I have known each other for some little time. I have done very
-well in my business, and my mill has prospered; I have succeeded better
-than others of my trade; in short, my fortune has increased, and I do
-not conceal from myself that I owe it all to you. You have served me not
-as a servant, but as a friend and relation. You have devoted yourself to
-my interests as if they were your own. You have managed my property
-better than I knew how to do myself, and have shown yourself possessed
-of more knowledge and intelligence than I. I am not suspicious by
-nature, and I should have been often cheated if you had not kept watch
-of all the people and things about me. Those who were in the habit of
-abusing my good nature, complained, and you bore the brunt boldly,
-though more than once you exposed yourself to dangers, which you escaped
-only by your courage and gentleness. What I like most about you is that
-your heart is as good as your head and hand. You love order, but not
-avarice. You do not allow yourself to be duped, as I do, and yet you are
-as fond of helping your neighbor as I can be. You were the first to
-advise me to be generous in real cases of need, but you were quick to
-hold me back from giving to those who were merely making a pretense of
-distress. You have sense and originality. The ideas you put into
-practice are always successful, and whatever you touch turns to good
-account.
-</p>
-<p>
-"I am well pleased with you, and I should like, on my part, to do
-something for you. Tell me frankly what you want, for I shall refuse you
-nothing."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I do not know why you say this," answered François. "You must think,
-Master Vertaud, that I am dissatisfied with you, but it is not so. You
-may be sure of that."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I do not say that you are dissatisfied, but you do not generally look
-like a happy man. Your spirits are not good. You never laugh and jest,
-nor take any amusement. You are as sober as if you were in mourning for
-somebody."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Do you blame me for this, master? I shall never be able to please you
-in this respect, for I am fond neither of the bottle nor of the dance; I
-go neither to the tavern nor to balls; I know no funny stories nor
-nonsense. I care for nothing which might distract me from my duty."
-</p>
-<p>
-"You deserve to be held in high esteem for this, my boy, and I am not
-going to blame you for it. I mention it, because I believe that there is
-something on your mind. Perhaps you think that you are taking a great
-deal of trouble on behalf of other people, and are but poorly paid for
-it."
-</p>
-<p>
-"You are wrong in thinking so, Master Vertaud. My reward is as great as
-I could wish, and perhaps I could never have found elsewhere the high
-wages which you are willing to allow me, of your own free will, and
-without any urging from me. You have increased them, too, every year,
-and, on Saint John's day last, you fixed them at a hundred crowns, which
-is a very large price for you to pay. If you suffer any inconvenience
-from it, I assure you that I should gladly relinquish it."
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure14.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">"C</span>OME, come, François, we do not
-understand each other," returned Master Jean Vertaud; "and I do not know
-how to take you. You are no fool, and I think my hints have been broad
-enough; but you are so shy that I will help you out still further. Are
-not you in love with some girl about here?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"No, master," was the waif's honest answer.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Truly?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"I give you my word."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Don't you know one who might please you, if you were able to pay your
-court to her?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"I have no desire to marry."
-</p>
-<p>
-"What an idea! You are too young to answer for that. What's your
-reason?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"My reason? Do you really care to know, master?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Yes, because I feel an interest in you."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Then I will tell you; there is no occasion for me to hide it: I have
-never known father or mother. And there is something I have never told
-you; I was not obliged to do so; but if you had asked me, I should have
-told you the truth: I am a waif; I come from the foundling asylum."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Is it possible?" exclaimed Jean Vertaud, somewhat taken aback by this
-confession. "I should never have thought it."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Why should you never have thought it? You do not answer, Master
-Vertaud. Very well, I shall answer for you. You saw that I was a good
-fellow, and you could not believe that a waif could be like that. It is
-true, then, that nobody has confidence in waifs, and that there is a
-prejudice against them. It is not just or humane; but since such a
-prejudice exists, everybody must conform to it, and the best people are
-not exempt, since you yourself&mdash;"
-</p>
-<p>
-"No, no," said Master Vertaud, with a revulsion of feeling, for he was a
-just man, and always ready to abjure a false notion; "I do not wish to
-fail in justice, and if I forgot myself for a moment, you must forgive
-me, for that is all past now. So, you think you cannot marry, because
-you were born a waif?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Not at all, master; I do not consider that an obstacle. There are all
-sorts of women, and some of them are so kind-hearted that my misfortune
-might prove an inducement."
-</p>
-<p>
-"That is true," cried Jean Vertaud. "Women are better than we are. Yet,"
-he continued, with a laugh, "a fine handsome fellow like you, in the
-flower of youth, and without any defect of body or mind, might very well
-add a zest to the pleasure of being charitable. But come, give me your
-reason."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Listen," said François. "I was taken from the asylum and nursed by a
-woman whom I never knew. At her death I was intrusted to another woman,
-who received me for the sake of the slender pittance granted by the
-government to those of my kind; but she was good to me, and when I was
-so unfortunate as to lose her, I should never have been comforted but
-for the help of another woman, who was the best of the three, and whom I
-still love so much, that I am unwilling to live for any other woman but
-her. I have left her, and perhaps I may never see her again, for she is
-well off, and may never have need of me. Still, her husband has had many
-secret expenses, and I have heard that he has been ill since autumn, so
-it may be that he will die before long, and leave her with more debts
-than property. If this happened, master, I do not deny that I should
-return to the place she lives in, and that my only care and desire would
-be to assist her and her son, and keep them from poverty by my toil.
-That is my reason for not undertaking any engagement which would bind me
-elsewhere. You employ me by the year, but if I married, I should be tied
-for life. I should be assuming too many duties at once. If I had a wife
-and children, it is not to be supposed that I could earn enough bread
-for two families; neither is it to be supposed, if, by extraordinary
-luck, I found a wife with some money of her own, that I should have the
-right to deprive my house of its comforts, to bestow them upon
-another's. Thus I expect to remain a bachelor. I am young, and have time
-enough before me; but if some fancy for a girl should enter my head, I
-should try to get rid of it; because, do you see, there is but one woman
-in the world for me, and that is my mother Madeleine, who never despised
-me for being a waif, but brought me up as her own child."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Is that it?" answered Jean Vertaud. "My dear fellow, what you tell me
-only increases my esteem for you. Nothing is so ugly as ingratitude, and
-nothing so beautiful as the memory of benefits received. I may have some
-good reasons for showing you that you could many a young woman of the
-same mind as yourself, who would join you in aiding your old friend, but
-they are reasons which I must think over, and I must ask somebody else's
-opinion."
-</p>
-<p>
-No great cleverness was necessary to guess that Jean Vertaud, with his
-honest heart and sound judgment, had conceived of a marriage between his
-daughter and François. His daughter was comely, and though she was
-somewhat older than François, she had money enough to make up the
-difference. She was an only child, and a fine match, but up to this
-time, to her father's great vexation, she had refused to marry. He had
-observed lately that she thought a great deal of François, and had
-questioned her about him, but as she was a very reserved person, he had
-some difficulty in extorting any confession from her. Finally, without
-giving a positive answer, she consented to allow her father to sound
-François on the subject of marriage, and awaited the result with more
-uneasiness than she cared to show.
-</p>
-<p>
-Jean Vertaud was disappointed that he had not a more satisfactory answer
-to carry to her; first, because he was so anxious to have her married,
-and next, because he could not wish for a better son-in-law than
-François. Besides the affection he felt for him, he saw clearly that
-the poor boy who had come to him was worth his weight in gold, on
-account of his intelligence, his quickness at his work, and his good
-conduct.
-</p>
-<p>
-The young woman was a little pained to hear that François was a
-foundling. She was a trifle proud, but she made up her mind quickly, and
-her liking became more pronounced when she learned that François was
-backward in love. Women go by contraries, and if François had schemed
-to obtain indulgence for the irregularity of his birth, he could have
-contrived no more artful device that that of showing a distaste toward
-marriage.
-</p>
-<p>
-So it happened that Jean Vertaud's daughter decided in François's
-favor, that day, for the first time.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Is that all?" said she to her father. "Doesn't he think that we should
-have both the desire and the means to aid an old woman and find a
-situation for her son? He cannot have understood your hints, father, for
-if he knew it was a question of entering our family, he would have felt
-no such anxiety."
-</p>
-<p>
-That evening, when they were at work, Jeannette Vertaud said to
-François:
-</p>
-<p>
-"I have always had a high opinion of you, François; but it is still
-higher now that my father has told me of your affection for the woman
-who brought you up, and for whom you wish to work all your life. It is
-right for you to feel so. I should like to know the woman, so that I
-might serve her in case of need, because you have always been so fond of
-her. She must be a fine woman."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh! yes," said François, who was pleased to talk of Madeleine, "she is
-a woman with a good heart, a woman with a heart like yours."
-</p>
-<p>
-Jeannette Vertaud was delighted at this, and, thinking herself sure of
-what she wanted, went on:
-</p>
-<p>
-"If she should turn out as unfortunate as you fear, I wish she could
-come and live with us. I should help you take care of her, for I suppose
-that she is no longer young. Is not she infirm?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Infirm? No," said François; "she is not old enough to be infirm."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Then is she still young?" asked Jeannette Vertaud, beginning to prick
-up her ears.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh! no, she is not young," answered François, simply. "I do not
-remember how old she is now. She was a mother to me, and I never thought
-of her age."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Was she attractive?" asked Jeannette, after hesitating a moment before
-putting the question.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Attractive?" said François, with some surprise; "do you mean to ask if
-she is a pretty woman? She is pretty enough for me just as she is; but
-to tell the truth, I never thought of that. What difference can it make
-in my affection for her? She might be as ugly as the devil, without my
-finding it out."
-</p>
-<p>
-"But cannot you tell me about how old she is?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Wait a minute. Her son was five years younger than I. Well! She is not
-old, but she is not very young; she is about like&mdash;"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Like me?" said Jeannette, making a slight effort to laugh. "In that
-case, if she becomes a widow, it will be too late for her to marry
-again, will it not?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"That depends on circumstances," replied François. "If her husband has
-not wasted all the property, she would have plenty of suitors. There are
-fellows, who would marry their great-aunts as wittingly as their
-great-nieces, for money."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Then you have no esteem for those who marry for money?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"I could not do it," answered François.
-</p>
-<p>
-Simple-hearted as the waif was, he was no such simpleton as not to
-understand the insinuations which had been made him, and he did not
-speak without meaning. But Jeannette would not take the hint, and fell
-still deeper in love with him. She had had many admirers, without paying
-attention to any of them, and now the only one who pleased her, turned
-his back on her. Such is the logical temper of a woman's mind.
-</p>
-<p>
-François observed during the following days that she had something on
-her mind, for she ate scarcely anything, and her eyes were always fixed
-on him, whenever she thought he was not looking. Her attachment pained
-him. He respected this good woman, and saw that the more indifferent he
-appeared, the more she cared about him; but he had no fancy for her, and
-if he had tried to cultivate such a feeling, it would have been the
-result of duty and principle rather than of spontaneous affection.
-</p>
-<p>
-He reflected that he could not stay much longer with Jean Vertaud,
-because he knew that, sooner or later, such a condition of affairs must
-necessarily give rise to some unfortunate difference.
-</p>
-<p>
-Just at this time, however, an incident befell which changed the current
-of his thoughts.
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure15.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">O</span>NE morning the parish priest of Aigurande
-came strolling over to Jean Vertaud's mill, and wandered round the place
-for some time before espying François, whom he found at last in a
-corner of the garden. He assumed a very confidential air, and asked him
-if he were indeed François, surnamed Strawberry, a name that had been
-given him in the civil register&mdash;where he had been inscribed as a
-foundling&mdash;on account of a certain mark on his left arm. The priest
-then inquired concerning his exact age, the name of the woman who had
-nursed him, the places in which he had lived; in short, all that he knew
-of his birth and life.
-</p>
-<p>
-François produced his papers, and the priest seemed to be entirely
-satisfied.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Very well," said he, "you may come this evening or to-morrow morning to
-the parsonage; but you must not let anybody know what I am going to tell
-you, for I am forbidden to make it public, and it is a matter of
-conscience with me."
-</p>
-<p>
-When François went to the parsonage, the priest carefully shut the
-doors of the room, and drawing four little bits of thin paper from his
-desk, said:
-</p>
-<p>
-"François Strawberry, there are four thousand francs that your mother
-sends you. I am forbidden to tell you her name, where she lives, or
-whether she is alive or dead at the present moment. A pious thought has
-induced her to remember you, and it appears that she always intended to
-do so, since she knew where you were to be found, although you lived at
-such a distance. She knew that your character was good, and gives you
-enough to establish yourself with in life, on condition that for six
-months you never mention this gift, unless it be to the woman you want
-to marry. She enjoins me to consult with you on the investment or the
-safe deposit of this money, and begs me to lend my name, in case it is
-necessary, in order to keep the affair secret. I shall do as you like in
-this respect; but I am ordered to deliver you the money, only in
-exchange for your word of honor that you will neither say nor do
-anything that might divulge the secret. I know that I may count upon
-your good faith; will you pledge it to me?"
-</p>
-<p>
-François gave his oath and left the money in the priest's charge,
-begging him to lay it out to the best advantage, for he knew this priest
-to be a good man; and some priests are like some women, either all good
-or all bad.
-</p>
-<p>
-The waif returned home rather sad than glad. He thought of his mother,
-and would have been glad to give up the four thousand francs for the
-privilege of seeing and embracing her. He imagined, too, that perhaps
-she had just died, and that her gift was the result of one of those
-impulses which come to people at the point of death; and it made him
-still more melancholy to be unable to bear mourning for her and have
-masses said for her soul. Whether she were dead or alive, he prayed God
-to forgive her for forsaking her child, as her child forgave her with
-his whole heart, and prayed to be forgiven his sins in like manner.
-</p>
-<p>
-He tried to appear the same as usual; but for more than a fortnight, he
-was so absorbed in a reverie at meal-times that the attention of the
-Vertauds was excited.
-</p>
-<p>
-"That young man does not confide in us," observed the miller. "He must
-be in love."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Perhaps it is with me," thought the daughter, "and he is too modest to
-confess it. He is afraid that I shall think him more attracted by my
-money than my person, so he is trying to prevent our guessing what is on
-his mind."
-</p>
-<p>
-Thereupon, she set to work to cure him of his shyness, and encouraged
-him so frankly and sweetly in her words and looks, that he was a little
-touched in spite of his preoccupation.
-</p>
-<p>
-Occasionally, he said to himself that he was rich enough to help
-Madeleine in case of need, and that he could well afford to marry a girl
-who laid no claim to his fortune. He was not in love with any woman, but
-he saw Jeannette Vertaud's good qualities, and was afraid of being
-hard-hearted if he did not respond to her advances. At times he pitied
-her, and was almost ready to console her.
-</p>
-<p>
-But all at once, on a journey which he made to Crevant on his master's
-business, he met a forester from Presles, who told him of Cadet
-Blanchet's death, adding that he had left his affairs in great disorder,
-and that nobody knew whether his widow would be able to right them.
-</p>
-<p>
-François had no cause to love or regret Master Blanchet, yet his heart
-was so tender that when he heard the news his eyes were moist and his
-head heavy, as if he were about to weep; he knew that Madeleine was
-weeping for her husband at that very moment, that she forgave him
-everything, and remembered only that he was the father of her child. The
-thought of Madeleine's grief awoke his own, and obliged him to weep with
-her over the sorrow which he was sure was hers.
-</p>
-<p>
-His first impulse was to leap upon his horse and hasten to her side; but
-he reflected that it was his duty to ask permission of his master.
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure16.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="XV">CHAPTER XV</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">"M</span>ASTER," said he to Jean Vertaud, "I must
-leave you for a time; how long I cannot tell. I have something to attend
-to near my old home, and I request you to let me go with a good will;
-for, to tell the truth, if you refuse to give your permission, I shall
-not be able to obey you, but shall go in spite of you. Forgive me for
-stating the case plainly. I should be very sorry to vex you, and that is
-why I ask you as a reward for all the services that I may have been able
-to render you, not to take my behavior amiss, but to forgive the offense
-of which I am guilty, in leaving your work so suddenly. I may return at
-the end of a week, if I am not needed in the place where I am going; but
-I may not come back till late in the year, or not at all, for I am
-unwilling to deceive you. However, I shall do my best to come to your
-assistance if you need me, or if anything were to occur which you cannot
-manage without me. Before I go, I shall find you a good workman to take
-my place, and, if necessary, offer him as an inducement all that is due
-on my wages since Saint John's day last. Thus I can arrange matters
-without loss to you, and you must shake hands to wish me good luck, and
-to ease my mind of some of the regret I feel at parting with you."
-</p>
-<p>
-Jean Vertaud knew that the waif seldom asked for anything, but that when
-he did, his will was so firm that neither God nor the devil could bend
-it.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Do as you please, my boy," said he, shaking hands with him. "I should
-not tell the truth if I said I did not care; but rather than have a
-quarrel with you, I should consent to anything."
-</p>
-<p>
-François spent the next day in looking up a servant to take his place
-in the mill, and he met with a zealous, upright man who was returning
-from the army, and was happy to find work and good wages under a good
-master; for Jean Vertaud was recognized as such, and was known never to
-have wronged anybody.
-</p>
-<p>
-Before setting out, as he intended to do at daybreak the next day,
-François wished to take leave of Jeannette Vertaud at supper-time. She
-was sitting at the barn door, saying that her head ached and that she
-could not eat. He observed that she had been weeping, and felt much
-troubled in mind. He did not know how to thank her for her kindness, and
-yet tell her that he was to leave her in spite of it. He sat down beside
-her on the stump of an alder-tree, which happened to be there, and
-struggled to speak, without being able to think of a single word to say.
-She saw all this, without looking up, and pressed her handkerchief to
-her eyes. He made a motion to take her hand in his and comfort her, but
-drew back as it occurred to him that he could not conscientiously tell
-her what she wanted to hear. When poor Jeannette found that he remained
-silent, she was ashamed of her own sorrow, and rising quietly without
-showing any bitterness of feeling, she went into the barn to weep
-unrestrained.
-</p>
-<p>
-She lingered there a little while, in the hope that he would make up his
-mind to follow her and say a kind word, but he forbore, and went to his
-supper, which he ate in melancholy silence.
-</p>
-<p>
-It would be false to say that he had felt nothing for Jeannette when he
-saw her in tears. His heart was a little fluttered, as he reflected how
-happy he might be with a person of so excellent a disposition, who was
-so fond of him, and who was not personally disagreeable to him. But he
-shook off all these ideas when it returned to his mind that Madeleine
-might stand in need of a friend, adviser, and servant, and that when he
-was but a poor, forsaken child, wasted with fever, she had endured,
-worked, and braved more for him than anybody else in the world.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Come," said he to himself, when he woke next morning before the dawn;
-"you must not think of a love-affair or your own happiness and
-tranquillity. You would gladly forget that you are a waif, and would
-throw your past to the winds, as so many others do, who seize the moment
-as it flies, without looking behind them. Yes, but think of Madeleine
-Blanchet, who entreats you not to forget her, but to remember what she
-did for you. Forward, then; and Jeannette, may God help you to a more
-gallant lover than your humble servant."
-</p>
-<p>
-Such were his reflections as he passed beneath the window of his kind
-mistress, and if the season had been propitious, he would have left a
-leaf or flower against her casement, in token of farewell; but it was
-the day after the feast of the Epiphany; the ground was covered with
-snow, and there was not a leaf on the trees nor a violet in the grass.
-</p>
-<p>
-He thought of knotting into the corner of a white handkerchief the bean
-which he had won the evening before in the Twelfth-night cake, and of
-tying the handkerchief to the bars of Jeannette's window, to show her
-that he would have chosen her for his queen, if she had deigned to
-appear at supper.
-</p>
-<p>
-"A bean is a very little thing," thought he, "but it is a slight mark of
-courtesy and friendship, and will make my excuses for not having said
-good-by to her."
-</p>
-<p>
-But a still, small voice within counseled him against making this
-offering, and pointed out to him that a man should not follow the
-example of those young girls who try to make men love, remember, and
-regret them, when they have not the slightest idea of giving anything in
-return.
-</p>
-<p>
-"No, no, François," said he, putting back his pledge into his pocket,
-and hastening his step; "a man's will must be firm, and he must allow
-himself to be forgotten when he has made up his mind to forget himself."
-</p>
-<p>
-Thereupon, he strode rapidly away, and before he had gone two gunshots
-from Jean Vertaud's mill he fancied that he saw Madeleine's image before
-him, and heard a faint little voice calling to him for help. This dream
-drew him on, and he seemed to see already the great ash-tree, the
-fountain, the meadow of the Blanchets, the mill-dam, the little bridge,
-and Jeannie running to meet him; and in the midst of all this, the
-memory of Jeannette Vertaud was powerless to hold him back an inch.
-</p>
-<p>
-He walked so fast that he felt neither cold nor hunger nor thirst, nor
-did he stop to take breath till he left the highroad and reached the
-cross of Plessys, which stands at the beginning of the path which leads
-to Presles.
-</p>
-<p>
-When there, he flung himself on his knees and kissed the wood of the
-cross with the ardor of a good Christian who meets again with a good
-friend. Then he began to descend the great track, which is like a road,
-except that it is as broad as a field. It is the finest common in the
-world, and is blessed with a beautiful view, fresh air, and extended
-horizon. It slopes so rapidly that in frosty weather a man could go
-post-haste even in an ox-cart and take an unexpected plunge in the
-river, which runs silently below.
-</p>
-<p>
-François mistrusted this; he took off his sabots more than once, and
-reached the bridge without a tumble. He passed by Montipouret on the
-left, not without sending a loving salute to the tall old clock-tower,
-which is everybody's friend; for it is the first to greet the eyes of
-those who are returning home, and shows them the right road, if they
-have gone astray.
-</p>
-<p>
-As to the roads, I have no fault to find with them in summer-time, when
-they are green, smiling, and pleasant to look upon. You may walk through
-some of them with no fear of a sunstroke; but those are the most
-treacherous of all, because they may lead you to Rome, when you think
-you are going to Angibault. Happily, the good clock-tower of Montipouret
-is not chary of showing itself, and through every dealing you may catch
-a glimpse of its glittering steeple, that tells you whether you are
-going north or northwest.
-</p>
-<p>
-The waif, however, needed no such beacon to guide him. He was so
-familiar with all the wooded paths and byways, all the shady lanes, all
-the hunters' trails, and even the very hedge-rows along the roads, that
-in the middle of the night he could take the shortest cut, and go as
-straight as a pigeon flies through the sky.
-</p>
-<p>
-It was toward noon when he first caught sight of the mill of Cormouer
-through the leafless branches, and he was happy to see curling up from
-the roof a faint blue smoke, which assured him that the house was not
-abandoned to the rats.
-</p>
-<p>
-For greater speed he crossed the upper part of the Blanchet meadow, and
-thus did not pass close by the fountain; but as the trees and bushes
-were stript of their leaves, he could still see sparkling in the
-sunlight the open water, that never freezes, because it bubbles up from
-a spring. The approach to the mill, on the contrary, was icy and so
-slippery that much caution was required to step safely over the stones,
-and along the bank of the river. He saw the old mill-wheel, black with
-age and damp, covered with long icicles, sharp as needles, that hung
-from the bars.
-</p>
-<p>
-Many trees were missing around the house, and the place was much
-changed. Cadet Blanchet's debts had called the ax into play, and here
-and there were to be seen the stumps of great alders, freshly cut, as
-red as blood. The house seemed to be in bad repair; the roof was
-ill-protected, and the oven had cracked half open by the action of the
-frost.
-</p>
-<p>
-What was still more melancholy was that there was no sound to be heard
-of man or beast; only a brindled black-and-white dog, a poor country
-mongrel, jumped up from the door-step and ran barking toward François;
-then he suddenly ceased, and came crawling up to him and lay at his
-feet.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Is it you, Labriche, and do you know me?" said François. "I did not
-recognize you, for you are so old and miserable; your ribs stick out,
-and your whiskers are quite white."
-</p>
-<p>
-François talked thus to the dog, because he was distressed, and wanted
-to gain a little time before entering the house. He had been in great
-haste up to this moment, but now he was alarmed, because he feared that
-he should never see Madeleine again, that she might be absent or dead
-instead of her husband, or that the report of the miller's death might
-prove false; in short, he was a prey to all those fancies which beset
-the mind of a man who has just reached the goal of all his desires.
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure17.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">F</span>INALLY François drew the latch of the
-door, and beheld, instead of Madeleine, a lovely young girl, rosy as a
-May morning, and lively as a linnet. She said to him, with an engaging
-manner: "What is it you want, young man?"
-</p>
-<p>
-Though she was so fair to see, François did not waste time in looking
-at her, but cast his eyes round the room in search of Madeleine. He saw
-nothing but the closed curtains of her bed, and he was sure that she was
-in it. He did not wait to answer the pretty girl, who was Mariette
-Blanchet, the miller's youngest sister, but without a word walked up to
-the yellow bed and pulled the curtains noiselessly aside; there he saw
-Madeleine Blanchet lying asleep, pale and wasted with fever.
-</p>
-<p>
-He looked at her long and fixedly, without moving or speaking; and in
-spite of his grief at her illness, and his fear of her dying, he was yet
-happy to have her face before him, and to be able to say: "I see
-Madeleine."
-</p>
-<p>
-Mariette Blanchet pushed him gently away from the bed, drew the curtains
-together, and beckoned to him to follow her to the fireside.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Now, young man," said she, "who are you, and what do you want? I do not
-know you, and you are a stranger in the neighborhood. Tell me how I may
-oblige you."
-</p>
-<p>
-François did not listen to her, and instead of answering her, he began
-to ask questions about how long Madame Blanchet had been ill, whether
-she were in any danger, and whether she were well cared for.
-</p>
-<p>
-Mariette answered that Madeleine had been ill since her husband's death,
-because she had overexerted herself in nursing him, and watching at his
-bedside, day and night; that they had not as yet sent for the doctor,
-but that they would do so in case she was worse; and as to her being
-well cared for, Mariette declared that she knew her duty and did not
-spare herself.
-</p>
-<p>
-At these words, the waif looked the girl full in the face, and had no
-need to ask her name, for besides knowing that soon after he had left
-the mill, Master Blanchet had placed his sister in his wife's charge, he
-detected in the pretty face of this pretty girl a striking resemblance
-to the sinister face of the dead miller. There are many fine and
-delicate faces which have an inexplicable likeness to ugly ones; and
-though Mariette Blanchet's appearance was as charming as that of her
-brother had been disagreeable, she still had an unmistakable family
-look. Only the miller's expression had been surly and irascible, while
-Mariette's was mocking rather than resentful, and fearless instead of
-threatening.
-</p>
-<p>
-So it was that François was neither altogether disturbed nor altogether
-at ease concerning the attention Madeleine might receive from this young
-girl. Her cap was of fine linen, neatly folded and pinned; her hair,
-which she wore somewhat after the fashion of town-bred girls, was very
-lustrous, and carefully combed and parted; and both her hands and her
-apron were very white for a sick-nurse. In short, she was much too
-young, fresh, and gay to spend the day and night in helping a person who
-was unable to help herself.
-</p>
-<p>
-François asked no more questions, but sat down in the chimney-corner,
-determined not to leave the place until he saw whether his dear
-Madeleine's illness turned for the better or worse.
-</p>
-<p>
-Mariette was astonished to see him take possession of the fire so
-cavalierly, just as if he were in his own house. He stared into the
-blaze, and as he seemed in no humor for talking, she dared inquire no
-further who he was and what was his business. After a moment, Catherine,
-who had been the house-servant for eighteen or twenty years, came into
-the room. She paid no attention to him, but approached the bed of her
-mistress, looked at her cautiously, and then turned to the fireplace, to
-see after the potion which Mariette was concocting. Her behavior showed
-an intense interest for Madeleine, and François, who took the truth of
-the matter in a throb, was on the point of addressing her with a
-friendly greeting; but&mdash;
-</p>
-
-<p><br /></p>
-
-<p>
-"But," said the priest's servant, interrupting the hemp-dresser, "you
-are using an unsuitable word. A <i>throb</i> does not express a moment,
-or a minute."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I tell you," retorted the hemp-dresser, "that a moment means nothing at
-all, and a minute is longer than it takes for an idea to rush into the
-head. I do not know how many millions of things you can think of in a
-minute, whereas you only need a throb of time to see and hear some one
-thing that is happening. I will say a little throb, if you please."
-</p>
-<p>
-"But a throb of time!" objected the old purist.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Ah! A throb of time! Does that worry you, Mother Monique? Does not
-everything go by throbs? Does not the sun, when you see it rising in the
-clouds of flames, and it makes your eyes blink to look at it? And the
-blood that beats in your veins; the church clock that sifts your time
-particle by particle, as a bolting-machine does the grain; your rosary
-when you tell it; your heart when the priest is delayed in coming home;
-the rain falling drop by drop, and the earth that turns round, as they
-say, like a mill-wheel? Neither you nor I feel the motion, the machine
-is too well oiled for that; but there must be some throbbing about it,
-since it accomplishes its period in twenty-four hours. As to that, too,
-we use the word <i>period</i> when we speak of a certain length of time.
-So I say a <i>throb</i>, and I shall not unsay it. Do not interrupt me
-any more, unless you wish to tell the story."
-</p>
-<p>
-"No, no; your machine is too well oiled, too," answered the old woman.
-"Now let your tongue throb a little longer."
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure18.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">I</span> WAS saying that François was tempted to
-speak to big old Catherine, and make himself known to her; but as in the
-same throb of time he was on the point of crying, he did not wish to
-behave like a fool, and did not even raise his head. As Catherine
-stooped over the ashes, she caught sight of his long legs and drew back
-in alarm.
-</p>
-<p>
-"What is all that?" whispered she to Mariette in the other corner of the
-room. "Where does that man come from?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Do you ask me?" said the girl; "how should I know? I never saw him
-before. He came in here, as if he were at an inn, without a good-morning
-or good-evening. He asked after the health of my sister-in-law as if he
-were a near relation, or her heir; and there he is sitting by the fire,
-as you see. You may speak to him, for I do not care to do so. He may be
-a disreputable person."
-</p>
-<p>
-"What? Do you think he is crazy? He does not look wicked, as far as I
-can see, for he seems to be hiding his face."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Suppose he has come for some bad purpose?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Do not be afraid, Mariette, for I am near to keep him in check. If he
-alarms you, I shall pour a kettle of boiling water over his legs, and
-throw an andiron at his head."
-</p>
-<p>
-While they were chattering thus, François was thinking of Madeleine.
-</p>
-<p>
-"That poor dear woman," said he to himself, "who has never had anything
-but vexation and unkindness from her husband, is now lying ill because
-she nursed and helped him to the end. Here is this young girl, who was
-the miller's pet sister, as I have heard say, and her face bears no
-traces of sorrow. She shows no signs of fatigue or tears, for her eyes
-are as dear and bright as the sun."
-</p>
-<p>
-He could not help looking at her from under the brim of his hat, for
-never until then had he seen such fresh and joyous beauty. Still, though
-his eyes were charmed, his heart remained untouched.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Come," continued Catherine, in a whisper to her young mistress, "I am
-going to speak to him. I must find out his business here."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Speak to him politely," said Mariette. "We must not irritate him; we
-are all alone in the house, and Jeannie may be too far away to hear our
-cries."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Jeannie!" exclaimed François, who caught nothing from all their
-prattle, except the name of his old friend. "Where is Jeannie, and why
-don't I see him? Has he grown tall, strong, and handsome?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"There," thought Catherine, "he asks this because he has some evil
-intention. Who is the man, for Heaven's sake? I know neither his voice
-nor his figure; I must satisfy myself and look at his face."
-</p>
-<p>
-She was strong as a laborer and bold as a soldier, and would not have
-quailed before the devil himself, so she stalked up to François,
-determined either to make him take off his hat, or to knock it off
-herself, so that she might see whether he were a monster or a Christian
-man. She approached the waif, without suspecting that it was he; for
-being as little given to thinking of the past as of the future, she had
-long forgotten all about François, and, moreover, he had improved so
-much and was now such a handsome fellow that she might well have looked
-at him several times before recalling him to mind; but just as she was
-about to accost him rather roughly, Madeleine awoke, and called
-Catherine, saying in a faint, almost inaudible voice that she was
-burning with thirst.
-</p>
-<p>
-François sprang up, and would have been the first to reach her but for
-the fear of exciting her too much, which held him back. He quickly
-handed the draught to Catherine, who hastened with it to her mistress,
-forgetting everything for the moment but the sick woman's condition.
-</p>
-<p>
-Mariette, too, did her share, by raising Madeleine in her arms, to help
-her drink, and this was no hard task, for Madeleine was so thin and
-wasted that it was heartbreaking to see her.
-</p>
-<p>
-"How do you feel, sister?" asked Mariette.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Very well, my child," answered Madeleine in the tone of one about to
-die. She never complained, to avoid distressing the others.
-</p>
-<p>
-"That is not Jeannie over there," she said, as she caught sight of the
-waif. "Am I dreaming, my child, or who is that tall man standing by the
-fire?"
-</p>
-<p>
-Catherine answered:
-</p>
-<p>
-"We do not know, dear mistress; he says nothing, and behaves like an
-idiot."
-</p>
-<p>
-The waif, at this moment, made a little motion to go toward Madeleine,
-but restrained himself, for though he was dying to speak to her, he was
-afraid of taking her by surprise. Catherine now saw his face, but he had
-changed so much in the past three years that she did not recognize him,
-and thinking that Madeleine was frightened, she said:
-</p>
-<p>
-"Do not worry, dear mistress; I was just going to turn him out, when you
-called me."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Don't turn him out," said Madeleine, in a stronger voice, pulling aside
-the curtain of her bed; "I know him, and he has done right in coming to
-see me. Come nearer, my son; I have been praying God every day to permit
-me the grace of giving you my blessing."
-</p>
-<p>
-The waif ran to her, and threw himself on his knees beside her bed,
-shedding tears of joy and sorrow that nearly suffocated him. Madeleine
-touched his hands, and then his head; and said, as she kissed him:
-</p>
-<p>
-"Call Jeannie; Catherine, call Jeannie, that he may share this happiness
-with us. Ah! I thank God, François, and I am ready to die now, if such
-is his will, for both my children are grown, and I may bid them farewell
-in peace."
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure19.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">C</span>ATHERINE rushed off in pursuit of Jeannie,
-and Mariette was so anxious to know what it all meant, that she followed
-to ask questions. François was left alone with Madeleine, who kissed
-him again, and burst into tears; then she closed her eyes, looking still
-more weak and exhausted than she had been before. François saw that she
-had fainted, and knew not how to revive her; he was beside himself, and
-could only hold her in his arms, calling her his dear mother, his
-dearest friend, and imploring her, as if it lay within her power, not to
-die so soon, without hearing what he had to say.
-</p>
-<p>
-So, by his tender words, devoted care, and fond endearments, he restored
-her to consciousness, and she began again to see and hear him. He told
-her that he had guessed she needed him, that he had left all, and had
-come to stay as long as she wanted him, and that, if she would take him
-for her servant, he would ask nothing but the pleasure of working for
-her, and the solace of spending his life in her service.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Do not answer," he continued; "do not speak, my dear mother; you are
-too weak, and must not say a word. Only look at me, if you are pleased
-to see me again, and I shall understand that you accept my friendship
-and help."
-</p>
-<p>
-Madeleine looked at him so serenely, and was so much comforted by what
-he said, that they were contented and happy together, notwithstanding
-the misfortune of her illness.
-</p>
-<p>
-Jeannie, who came in answer to Catherine's loud cries, arrived to take
-his share of their joy. He had grown into a handsome boy between
-fourteen and fifteen, and though not strong, he was delightfully active,
-and so well brought up that he was always friendly and polite.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh! How glad I am to see you like this, Jeannie," said François. "You
-are not very tall and strong, but I am satisfied, because I think you
-will need my help in climbing trees and crossing the river. I see that
-you are delicate, though you are not ill, isn't it so? Well, you shall
-be my child, still a little while longer, if you do not mind. Yes, yes;
-you will find me necessary to you; and you will make me carry out your
-wishes, just as it was long ago."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Yes," said Jeannie; "my four hundred wishes, as you used to call them."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oho! What a good memory you have! How nice it was of you, Jeannie, not
-to forget François! But have we still four hundred wishes a day?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh, no," said Madeleine; "he has grown very reasonable; he has no more
-than two hundred now."
-</p>
-<p>
-"No more nor less?" asked François.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Just as you like," answered Jeannie; "since my darling mother is
-beginning to smile again, I am ready to agree to anything. I am even
-willing to say that I wish more than five hundred times a day to see her
-well again."
-</p>
-<p>
-"That is right, Jeannie," said François. "See how nicely he talks! Yes,
-my boy, God will grant those five hundred wishes of yours. We shall take
-such good care of your darling mother, and shall cheer and gladden her
-little by little, until she forgets her weariness."
-</p>
-<p>
-Catherine stood at the threshold, and was most anxious to come in, to
-see and speak to François, but Mariette held her by the sleeve, and
-would not leave off asking questions.
-</p>
-<p>
-"What," said she, "is he a foundling? He looks so respectable."
-</p>
-<p>
-She was looking through the crack in the door, which she held ajar.
-</p>
-<p>
-"How comes it that he and Madeleine are such friends?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"I tell you that she brought him up, and that he was always a very good
-boy."
-</p>
-<p>
-"She has never spoken of him to me, nor have you."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh, goodness, no! I never thought of it; he was away; and I almost
-forgot him; then, I knew, too, that my mistress had been in trouble on
-his account, and I did not wish to recall it to her mind."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Trouble! What kind of trouble?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh! because she was so fond of him; she could not help liking him, he
-had such a good heart, poor child. Your brother would not allow him in
-the house, and you know your brother was not always very gentle!"
-</p>
-<p>
-"We must not say that, now that he is dead, Catherine."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Yes, yes; you are right; I was not thinking. Dear me, how short my
-memory is! And yet it is only two weeks since he died! But let me go in,
-my young lady; I want to give the boy some dinner, for I think he must
-be hungry."
-</p>
-<p>
-She shook herself loose, ran up to François, and kissed him. He was so
-handsome that she no longer remembered having once said that she would
-rather kiss her sabot than a foundling.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh, poor François," said she, "how glad I am to see you! I was afraid
-that you would never come back. See, my dear mistress, how changed he
-is! I wonder that you were able to recognize him at once. If you had not
-told me who he was, I should not have known him for ages. How handsome
-he is, isn't he? His beard is beginning to grow; yes, you cannot see it
-much, but you can feel it. It did not prick when you went away,
-François, but now it pricks a little. And how strong you are, my
-friend! What hands and arms and legs you have! A workman like you is
-worth three. What wages are you getting now?"
-</p>
-<p>
-Madeleine laughed softly to see Catherine so pleased with François, and
-was overjoyed that he was so strong and vigorous. She wished that her
-Jeannie might grow up to be like him. Mariette was ashamed to have
-Catherine look so boldly in a man's face, and blushed involuntarily. But
-the more she tried not to look at him, the more her eyes strayed toward
-him; she saw that Catherine was right; he was certainly remarkably
-handsome, tall and erect as a young oak.
-</p>
-<p>
-Then, without stopping to think, she began to serve him very politely,
-pouring out the best wine of that year's vintage, and recalling his
-attention when it wandered to Madeleine and Jeannie, and he forgot to
-eat.
-</p>
-<p>
-"You must eat more," said she; "you scarcely take anything. You should
-have more appetite after so long a journey."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Pay no attention to me, young lady," answered François, at last; "I am
-too happy to be here to care about eating and drinking. Come now,"
-continued he, turning to Catherine, when the room was put to rights,
-"show me round the mill and the house, for everything looks neglected,
-and I want to talk to you about it."
-</p>
-<p>
-When they were outside, he questioned her intelligently on the state of
-things, with the air of a man determined to know the whole truth.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh, François," said Catherine, bursting into tears, "everything is
-going to grief, and if nobody comes to the assistance of my poor
-mistress, I believe that wicked woman will turn her out of doors, and
-make her spend all she owns in lawsuits."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Do not cry," said François, "for if you do, I cannot understand what
-you say; try to speak more clearly. What wicked woman do you mean? Is it
-Sévère?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh! yes, to be sure. She is not content with having ruined our master,
-but now lays claim to everything he left. She is trying to prosecute us
-in fifty different ways; she says that Cadet Blanchet gave her
-promissory notes, and that even if she sold everything over our heads,
-she would not be paid. She sends us bailiffs every day, and the expenses
-are already considerable. Our mistress has paid all she could, in trying
-to pacify her, and I am very much afraid that she will die of this
-worry, on top of all the fatigue she underwent during her husband's
-illness. At this rate, we shall soon be without food and fire. The
-servant of the mill has left us, because he was owed two years' wages,
-and could not be paid. The mill has stopped running, and if this goes
-on, we shall lose our customers. The horses and crops have been
-attached, and are to be sold; the trees are to be cut down. Oh,
-François, it is ruin!"
-</p>
-<p>
-Her tears began to flow afresh.
-</p>
-<p>
-"And how about you, Catherine?" asked François; "are you a creditor,
-too? Have your wages been paid?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"I, a creditor?" said Catherine, changing her wail into a roar; "never,
-never! It is nobody's business whether my wages are paid or not!"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Good for you, Catherine; you show the right spirit!" said François.
-"Keep on taking care of your mistress, and do not bother about the rest
-I have earned a little money in my last place, and I have enough with me
-to save the horses, the crops, and the trees. I am going to pay a little
-visit to the mill, and if I find it in disorder, I shall not need a
-wheelwright to set it going again. Jeannie is as swift as a little bird,
-and he must set out immediately and run all day, and then begin again
-to-morrow morning, so as to let all the customers know that the mill is
-creaking like ten thousand devils, and that the miller is waiting to
-grind the corn."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Shall we send for a doctor for our mistress?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"I have been thinking about it; but I am going to wait and watch her all
-day, before making up my mind.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Do you see, Catherine, I believe that doctors are useful when the sick
-cannot do without them; but if the disease is not violent, it is easier
-to recover with God's help, than with their drugs: not taking into
-consideration that the mere presence of a doctor, which cures the rich,
-often kills the poor. He cheers and amuses those who live in luxury, but
-he scares and oppresses those who never see him except in the day of
-danger. It seems to me that Madame Blanchet will recover very soon, if
-her affairs are straightened.
-</p>
-<p>
-"And before we finish this conversation, Catherine, tell me one thing
-more; I ask the truth of you, and you must not scruple to tell it to me.
-It will go no further; I have not changed, and if you remember me, you
-must know that a secret is safe in the waif's bosom."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Yes, yes, I know," said Catherine; "but why do you consider yourself a
-waif? Nobody will call you any more by that name, for you do not deserve
-it, François."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Never mind that. I shall always be what I am, and I am not in the habit
-of plaguing myself about it. Tell me what you think of your young
-mistress, Mariette Blanchet."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh, she! She is a pretty girl. Have you already taken it into your head
-to marry her? She has some money of her own; her brother could not touch
-her property, because she was a minor, and unless you have fallen heir
-to an estate, Master François&mdash;"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Waifs never inherit anything," said François, "and as to marrying, I
-have as much time to think of it as the chestnut in the fire. What I
-want to hear from you is whether this girl is better than her brother,
-and whether she will prove a source of comfort or trouble to Madeleine,
-if she stays on here."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Heaven knows," said Catherine, "for I do not. Until now, she has been
-thoughtless and innocent enough. She likes dress, caps trimmed with
-lace, and dancing. She is not very selfish, but she has been so
-well-treated and spoiled by Madeleine, that she has never had occasion
-to show whether she could bite or not. She has never had anything to
-suffer, so we cannot tell what she may be."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Was she very fond of her brother?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Not very, except when he took her to balls, and our mistress tried to
-convince him that it was not proper to take a respectable girl in
-Sévère's company. Then the little girl, who thought of nothing but her
-own pleasure, overwhelmed her brother with attentions, and turned up her
-nose at Madeleine, who was obliged to yield. So Mariette does not
-dislike Sévère as much as I should wish to have her, but I cannot say
-that she is not good-natured and nice to her sister-in-law."
-</p>
-<p>
-"That will do, Catherine; I ask nothing further. Only I forbid you to
-tell the young girl anything of what we have been talking about."
-</p>
-<p>
-François accomplished successfully all that he had promised Catherine.
-By evening, owing to Jeannie's diligence, corn arrived to be ground, and
-the mill too was in working order; the ice was broken and melted about
-the wheel, the machinery was oiled, and the woodwork repaired, wherever
-it was broken. The energetic François worked till two in the morning,
-and at four he was up again. He stepped noiselessly into Madeleine's
-room, and finding the faithful Catherine on guard, he asked how the
-patient was. She had slept well, happy in the arrival of her beloved
-servant, and in the efficient aid he brought. Catherine refused to leave
-her mistress before Mariette appeared, and François asked at what hour
-the beauty of Cormouer was in the habit of rising.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Not before daylight," said Catherine.
-</p>
-<p>
-"What? Then you have two more hours to wait, and you will get no sleep
-at all."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I sleep a little in the daytime, in my chair, or on the straw in the
-barn, while the cows are feeding."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Very well, go to bed now," said François, "and I shall wait here to
-show the young lady that some people go to bed later than she, and get
-up earlier in the morning. I shall busy myself with examining the
-miller's papers and those which the bailiffs have brought since his
-death. Where are they?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"There, in Madeleine's chest," said Catherine. "I am going to light the
-lamp, François. Come, courage, and try your best to make things
-straight, as you seem to understand law-papers."
-</p>
-<p>
-She went to bed, obeying the commands of the waif as if he were the
-master of the house; for true it is that he who has a good head and good
-heart rules by his own right.
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure20.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">B</span>EFORE setting to work, François, as soon
-as he was left alone with Madeleine and Jeannie (for the young child
-always slept in the room with his mother), went to take a look at the
-sleeping woman, and thought her appearance better than when he had first
-arrived. He was happy to think that she would have no need of a doctor,
-and that he alone, by the comfort he brought, would preserve her health
-and fortune.
-</p>
-<p>
-He began to look over the papers, and was soon fully acquainted with
-Sévère's claims and the amount of property that Madeleine still
-possessed with which to satisfy them. Besides all that Sévère had
-already made Cadet Blanchet squander upon her, she declared that she was
-still a creditor for two hundred pistoles, and Madeleine had scarcely
-anything of her own property left in addition to the inheritance that
-Blanchet had bequeathed to Jeannie&mdash;an inheritance now reduced to the
-mill and its immediate belongings&mdash;that is, the courtyard, the meadow,
-the outbuildings, the garden, the hemp-field, and a bit of planted
-ground; for the broad fields and acres had melted like snow in the
-hands of Cadet Blanchet.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Thank God!" thought François, "I have four hundred pistoles in the
-charge of the priest of Aigurande, and in case I can do no better,
-Madeleine can still have her house, the income of her mill, and what
-remains of her dowry. But I think we can get off more easily than that.
-In the first place, I must find out whether the notes signed by Blanchet
-to Sévère were not extorted by stratagem and undue influence, and then
-I must do a stroke of business on the lands he sold. I understand how
-such affairs are managed, and knowing the names of the purchasers, I
-will put my hand in the fire if I cannot bring this to a successful
-issue."
-</p>
-<p>
-The fact was that Blanchet, two or three years before his death,
-straightened for money and over head and ears in debt to Sévère, had
-sold his land at a low price to whomsoever wanted to buy, and turned all
-his claims for it over to Sévère, thus expecting to rid himself of her
-and of her comrades who had helped her to ruin him. But, as usually
-happens in such sales, almost all those who hastened to buy, attracted
-by the sweet fragrance of the fertile lands, had not a penny with which
-to pay for them, and only discharged the interest with great difficulty.
-This state of things might last from ten to twenty years; it was an
-investment for Sévère and her friends, but a bad investment, and she
-complained loudly of Cadet Blanchet's rashness, and feared that she
-would never be paid. So she said, at least; but the speculation was
-really a reasonably good one. The peasant, even if he has to lie on
-straw, pays his interest, so unwilling is he to let go the bit of land
-he holds, which his creditor may seize if he is not satisfied.
-</p>
-<p>
-We all know this, my good friends, and we often try to grow rich the
-wrong way, by buying fine property at a low price. However low it may
-be, it is always too high for us. Our covetousness is more capacious
-than our purse, and we take no end of trouble to cultivate a field the
-produce of which does no cover half the interest exacted by the seller.
-</p>
-<p>
-When we have delved and sweated all our poor lives, we find ourselves
-ruined, and the earth alone is enriched by our pains and toil. Just as
-we have doubled its value, we are obliged to sell it. If we could sell
-it advantageously, we should be safe; but this is never possible. We
-have been so drained by the interest we have had to pay, that we must
-sell in haste, and for anything we can get. If we rebel, we are forced
-into it by the law-courts, and the man who first sold the land gets back
-his property in the condition in which he finds if; that means that for
-long years he has placed his land in our hands at eight or ten per cent,
-and when he resumes possession of it, it is by our labors, twice as
-valuable, in consequence of a careful cultivation which has lost him
-neither trouble nor expense, and also by the lapse of time which always
-increases the value of property. Thus we poor little minnows are to be
-continually devoured by the big fish which pursue us; punished always
-for our love of gain, and just as foolish as we were before.
-</p>
-<p>
-Sévère's money was thus profitably invested in a mortgage at a high
-interest, but at the same time she had a firm hold of Cadet Blanchet's
-estate, because she had managed him so cleverly that he had pledged
-himself for the purchasers of his land, and had gone surety for their
-payment.
-</p>
-<p>
-François saw all this intrigue, and meditated some possible means of
-buying back the land at a low price, without ruining anybody, and of
-playing a tine trick upon Sévère and her clan, by causing the failure
-of their speculation.
-</p>
-<p>
-It was no easy matter. He had enough money to buy back almost everything
-at the price of the original sale, and neither Sévère nor anybody else
-could refuse to be reimbursed. The buyers would find it to their profit
-to sell again in all haste, in order to escape approaching ruin; for I
-tell you all, young and old, if you buy land on credit, you take out a
-patent for beggary in your old age. It is useless for me to tell you
-this, for you will have the buying mania no whit the less. Nobody can
-see a plowed furrow smoking in the sun, without being in a fever to
-possess it, and it was the peasant's mad fever to hold on to his own
-piece of soil that caused Francois's uneasiness.
-</p>
-<p>
-Do you know what the soil is, my children? Once upon a time, everybody
-in our parishes was talking about it. They said that the old nobles had
-attached us to the soil to make us drudge and die, but the Revolution
-had burst our bonds, and that we no longer drew our master's cart like
-oxen. The truth is that we have bound ourselves to our own acres, and we
-drudge and die no less than before.
-</p>
-<p>
-The city people tell us that our only remedy would be to have no wants or
-desires. Only last Sunday, I answered a man who was preaching this
-doctrine very eloquently, that if we poor peasants could only be
-sensible enough never to eat or sleep, to work all the time, and to
-drink nothing but fresh clear water, provided the frogs had no
-objection, we might succeed in saving a goodly hoard, and in receiving
-a shower of compliments for our wisdom and discretion.
-</p>
-<p>
-Following this same train of thought, François cudgeled his brains to
-find some means of inducing the purchasers of the land to sell it back
-again. He finally hit upon the plan of whispering in their ears the
-little falsehood, that though Sévère had the reputation of being
-fabulously rich, she had really as many debts as a sieve has holes, and
-that some fine morning her creditors would lay hands upon all her
-claims, as well as upon all her property. He meant to tell them this
-confidentially, and when they were thoroughly alarmed, he expected to
-buy back Madeleine Blanchet's lands at the original price, with his own
-money.
-</p>
-<p>
-He scrupled, however, to tell this untruth, until it occurred to him
-that he could give a small bonus to all the poor purchasers, to make
-them amends for the interest they had already paid. In this manner
-Madeleine could be restored to her rights and possessions without loss
-or injury to the purchasers.
-</p>
-<p>
-The discredit in which Sévère would be involved by his plan caused him
-no scruple whatever. It is right for the hen to pull out a feather from
-the cruel bird that has plucked her chickens.
-</p>
-<p>
-When François had reached this conclusion, Jeannie awoke, and arose
-softly, to avoid disturbing his mother's slumbers; then, after a
-good-morning to François, he lost no time in going off to announce to
-the rest of their customers that the mill was in good order, and that a
-strong young miller stood in readiness to grind the corn.
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure21.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="XX">CHAPTER XX</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">I</span>T was already broad daylight when Mariette
-Blanchet emerged from her nest, carefully attired in her mourning, which
-was so very black and so very white that she looked as spick and span as
-a little magpie. The poor child had one great care, and that was that
-her mourning would long prevent her going to dances, and that all her
-admirers would be missing her. Her heart was so good that she pitied
-them greatly.
-</p>
-<p>
-"How is this?" said she, as she saw François arranging the papers in
-Madeleine's room. "You attend to everything here, Master Miller! You
-make flour, you settle the business, you mix the medicines; soon we
-shall see you sewing and spinning."
-</p>
-<p>
-"And you, my young lady," said François, who saw that she regarded him
-favorably, although she slashed him with her tongue, "I have never as
-yet seen you sewing or spinning; I think we shall soon find you sleeping
-till noon, and it will do you good, and keep your cheeks rosy!"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oho! Master François, you are already beginning to tell me truths
-about myself. You had better take care of that little game; I can tell
-you something in return."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I await your pleasure, my young lady."
-</p>
-<p>
-"It will soon come; do not be afraid, Master Miller. Have the kindness
-to tell me where Catherine is, and why you are here watching beside our
-patient. Should you like a hood and gown?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Are you going to ask, in your turn, for a cap and blouse, so that you
-may go to the mill? As I see you do no woman's work, which would be
-nursing your sister for a little while, I suppose you would like to sift
-out the chaff, and turn the grindstone. At your service. Let us change
-clothes."
-</p>
-<p>
-"It looks as if you were trying to give me a lesson."
-</p>
-<p>
-"No; you gave me one first, and I am only returning, out of politeness,
-what you lent me."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Good! You like to laugh and tease, but you have chosen the wrong time.
-We are not merry here, and it is only a short time ago that we had to go
-to the graveyard. If you chatter so much, you will prevent my
-sister-in-law from getting the sleep she needs so greatly."
-</p>
-<p>
-"On that very account, you should not raise your voice so much, my young
-lady; for I am speaking very low, and you are not speaking, just now, as
-you should in a sick-room."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Enough, if you please, Master François," said Mariette, lowering her
-tone, and flushing angrily. "Be so good as to see if Catherine is at
-hand, and tell me why she leaves my sister-in-law in your charge."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Excuse me, my young lady," said François, with no sign of temper. "She
-could not leave her in your charge, because you are too fond of
-sleeping, so she was obliged to intrust her to mine. I shall not call
-her, because the poor woman is jaded with fatigue. Without meaning to
-offend you, I must say that she has been sitting up every night for two
-weeks. I sent her off to bed, and, until noon, I mean to do her work and
-mine too, for it is only right for us all to help one another."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Listen, Master François," said the young girl, with a sudden change of
-tone; "you appear to hint that I think only of myself and leave all the
-work to others. Perhaps I should have sat up in my turn, if Catherine
-had told me that she was tired; but she insisted that she was not at all
-tired, and I did not understand that my sister was so seriously ill. You
-think that I have a bad heart, but I cannot imagine where you have
-learned it. You never knew me before yesterday, and we are not, as yet,
-intimate enough for you to scold me as you do. You behave exactly as if
-you were the head of the family, and yet&mdash;"
-</p>
-<p>
-"Come, out with it, beautiful Mariette, say what you have on the tip of
-your tongue. And yet I was taken in and brought up out of charity, is
-not it so? And I cannot belong to the family, because I have no family;
-I have no right to it, as I am a foundling! Is that all you wanted to
-say?"
-</p>
-<p>
-As François gave Mariette this straightforward answer, he looked at her
-in a way that made her blush up to the roots of her hair, for she saw
-that his expression was that of a stem and serious person, although he
-appeared so serene and gentle that it was impossible to irritate him, or
-to make him think or say anything unjust.
-</p>
-<p>
-The poor child, who was ordinarily so ready with her tongue, was
-overawed for a moment, but although she was a little frightened, she
-still felt a desire to please this handsome fellow, who spoke so
-decidedly and looked her so frankly in the eyes. She was so confused and
-embarrassed, that it was with difficulty she restrained her tears, and
-she turned her face quickly the other way, to hide her emotion.
-</p>
-<p>
-He observed it, however, and said very kindly:
-</p>
-<p>
-"I am not angry, Mariette, and you have no cause to be, on your part. I
-think no ill of you; I see only that you are young, that there is
-misfortune in the house, and that you are thoughtless. I must tell you
-what I think about it."
-</p>
-<p>
-"What do you think about it?" asked she; "tell me at once, that I may
-know whether you are my friend or my enemy."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I think that you are not fond of the care and pains people take for
-those whom they love, who are in trouble. You like to have your time to
-yourself, to turn everything into sport, to think about your dress, your
-lovers, and your marriage by and by, and you do not mind having others
-do your share. If you have any heart, my pretty child, if you really
-love your sister-in-law, and your dear little nephew, and even the poor,
-faithful servant who is capable of dying in harness like a good horse,
-you must wake up a little earlier in the morning, you must care for
-Madeleine, comfort Jeannie, relieve Catherine, and, above all, shut your
-ears to the enemy of the family, Madame Sévère, who is, I assure you,
-a very bad woman. Now you know what I think, neither more nor less."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I am glad to hear it," said Mariette, rather dryly; "and now please
-tell me by what right you wish to make me think as you do."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh! This is the way you take it, is it?" answered François. "My right
-is the waif's right, and to tell you the whole truth, the right of the
-child who was taken in and brought up by Madame Blanchet; for this, it
-is my duty to love her as my mother, and my right to try to requite her
-for her kindness."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I have no fault to find," returned Mariette, "and I see that I cannot
-do better than give you my respect at once, and my friendship as time
-goes on."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I like that," said François; "shake hands with me on it."
-</p>
-<p>
-He strode toward her, holding out his great hand, without the slightest
-awkwardness; but the little Mariette was suddenly stung by the fly of
-coquetry, and, withdrawing her hand, she announced that it was not
-proper to shake hands so familiarly with a young man.
-</p>
-<p>
-François laughed and left her, seeing plainly that she was not frank,
-and that her first object was to entangle him in a flirtation.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Now, my pretty girl," thought he, "you are much mistaken in me, and we
-shall not be friends in the way you mean."
-</p>
-<p>
-He went up to Madeleine, who had just waked, and who said to him, taking
-both his hands in hers:
-</p>
-<p>
-"I have slept well, my son, and God is gracious to let me see your face
-first of all, on waking. How Is it that Jeannie is not with you?"
-</p>
-<p>
-Then, after hearing his explanation, she spoke some kind words to
-Mariette, telling the young girl how sorry she was to have her sit up
-all night, and assuring her that she needed no such great care. Mariette
-expected François to say that she had risen very late; but François
-said nothing and left her alone with Madeleine, who had no more fever
-and wanted to try to get up.
-</p>
-<p>
-After three days, she was so much better that she was able to talk over
-business affairs with François.
-</p>
-<p>
-"You may put yourself at ease, my dear mother," said he. "I sharpened my
-wits when I was away from here, and I understand business pretty well. I
-mean to see you through these straits, and I shall succeed. Let me have
-my way; please do not contradict anything I say, and sign all the papers
-I shall bring you. Now, that my mind is at ease on the score of your
-health, I am going to town to consult some lawyers. It is market-day,
-and I shall find some people there whom I want to see, and I do not
-think my time will be wasted."
-</p>
-<p>
-He did as he said; and after receiving instructions and advice from the
-lawyers, he saw clearly that the last promissory notes which Blanchet
-had given Sévère would be a good subject for a lawsuit; for he had
-signed them when he was beside himself with drink, fever, and
-infatuation. Sévère believed that Madeleine would not dare to go to
-law, on account of the expense. François was unwilling to advise Madame
-Blanchet to embark in a lawsuit, but he thought there was a reasonable
-chance of bringing the matter to an amicable close, if he began by
-putting a bold face on it; and as he needed somebody to carry a message
-into the enemy's camp, he bethought himself of a plan which succeeded
-perfectly.
-</p>
-<p>
-For several days he had watched little Mariette, and assured himself
-that she took a daily walk in the direction of Dollins, where Sévère
-lived, and that she was on more friendly terms with this woman than he
-could wish, chiefly because she met at her house all her young
-acquaintances, and some men from town who made love to her. She did not
-listen to them, for she was still an innocent girl, and had no idea that
-the wolf was so near the sheepfold, but she loved flattery, and was as
-thirsty for it as a fly for milk. She kept her walks secret from
-Madeleine; and as Madeleine never gossiped with the other women, and had
-not as yet left her sick-room, she guessed nothing, and suspected no
-evil. Big Catherine was the last person in the world to notice anything,
-so that the little girl cocked her cap over her ear, and, under the
-pretext of driving the sheep to pasture, she soon left them in charge of
-some little shepherd-boy, and was off to play the fine lady in poor
-company.
-</p>
-<p>
-François, however, who was going continually to and fro on the affairs
-of the mill, took note of what the girl was doing. He never mentioned it
-at home, but turned it to account, as you shall hear.
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure22.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">H</span>E planted himself directly in her way at
-the river-crossing; and just as she stepped on the foot-bridge which
-leads to Dollins, she beheld the waif, astride of the plank, a leg
-dangling on each side above the water, and on his face the expression of
-a man who has all the time in the world to spare. She blushed as red as
-a cherry, and if she had not been taken so by surprise, she would have
-swerved aside, and pretended to be passing by accident.
-</p>
-<p>
-But the approach to the bridge was obstructed by branches, and she did
-not see the wolf till she felt his teeth. His face was turned toward
-her, so she had no means of advancing or retreating, without being
-observed.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Master Miller," she began, saucily, "can't you move a hairbreadth to
-let anybody pass?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"No, my young lady," replied François, "for I am the guardian of this
-bridge till evening, and I claim the right to collect toll of
-everybody."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Are you mad, François? Nobody pays toll in our country, and you have
-no right on any bridge, or foot-bridge, or whatever you may call it in
-your country of Aigurande. You may say what you like, but take yourself
-off from here, as quickly as you can; this is not the place for jesting;
-you will make me tumble into the water."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Then," said François, without moving, and folding his arms in front of
-him, "you think that I want to laugh and joke with you, and that my
-right of toll is that of paying you my court? Pray get rid of that idea,
-my young lady; I wish to speak sensibly to you, and I will allow you to
-pass if you give me permission to accompany you for a short part of your
-way."
-</p>
-<p>
-"That would not be at all proper," said Mariette, somewhat flustered by
-her notion of what François was thinking. "What would they say of me
-hereabouts, if anybody met me out walking alone with a man to whom I am
-not betrothed?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"You are right," said François; "as Sévère is not here to protect
-you, people would talk of you; that is why you are going to her house,
-so that you may walk about in her garden with all your admirers. Very
-well, so as not to embarrass you, I shall speak to you here, and
-briefly, for my business is pressing, and this it is. You are a good
-girl; you love your sister-in-law Madeleine; you see that she is in
-difficulties, and you must want to help her out of them."
-</p>
-<p>
-"If that is what you want to say," returned Mariette, "I shall listen to
-you, for you are speaking the truth."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Very well, my dear young lady," said François, rising and leaning
-beside her, against the bank beside the little bridge, "you can do a
-great service to Madame Blanchet. Since it is for her good and interest,
-as I fondly believe, that you are so friendly with Sévère, you must
-make that woman agree to a compromise. Sévère is trying to attain two
-objects which are incompatible: she wants to make Master Blanchet's
-estate security for the payment of the land he sold for the purpose of
-paying his debts to her; and in the second place, she means to exact
-payment of the notes which he signed in her favor. She may go to law, if
-she likes, and wrangle about this poor little estate, but she cannot
-succeed in getting more out of it than there is. Make her understand
-that if she does not insist upon our guaranteeing the payment of the
-land, we can pay her notes; but if she does not allow us to get rid of
-one debt, we shall not have funds enough to pay the other, and if she
-makes us drain ourselves with expenses which bring her no profit, she
-runs the risk of losing everything."
-</p>
-<p>
-"That is true," said Mariette; "although I understand very little about
-business, I think I can understand as much as that. If I am able, by any
-chance, to influence her, which would be better: for my sister-in-law to
-pay the notes, or to be obliged to redeem the security?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"It would be worse for her to pay the notes, for it would be more
-unjust. We could contest the notes and go to law about them; but the law
-requires money, and you know that there is none, and never will be any,
-at the mill. So, it is all one to your sister, whether her little all
-goes in a lawsuit or in paying Sévère; whereas it is better for
-Sévère to be paid, without having a lawsuit.
-</p>
-<p>
-"As Madeleine is sure to be ruined in either case, she prefers to have
-all her possessions seized at once, than to drag on after this under a
-heavy burden of debt, which may last all her lifetime; for the
-purchasers of Cadet Blanchet's land are not able to pay for it. Sévère
-knows this well, and will be forced, some fine day, to take back her
-land; but this idea is not at all distressing to her, as it will be a
-profitable speculation for her to receive the land in an improved
-condition, having long drawn a heavy rate of interest from it. Thus,
-Sévère risks nothing in setting us free, and assures the payment of
-her notes."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I shall do as you say," said Mariette; "and if I fail, you may think as
-ill of me as you choose."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Then, good luck, Mariette, and a pleasant walk to you," said François,
-stepping out of her way.
-</p>
-<p>
-Little Mariette started off to Dollins, well pleased to have such a fine
-excuse for going there, for staying a long time, and for returning often
-during the next few days. Sévère pretended to like what she heard, but
-she really determined to be in no haste. She had always hated Madeleine
-Blanchet, because of the involuntary respect her husband had felt for
-her. She thought she held her safely in her claws for the whole of her
-lifetime, and preferred to give up the notes, which she knew to be of no
-great value, rather than renounce the pleasure of harassing her with the
-burden of an endless debt.
-</p>
-<p>
-François understood all this perfectly, and was anxious to induce her
-to exact the payment of this debt, so that he might have an opportunity
-to buy back Jennie's broad fields from those who had purchased them for
-a song. When Mariette returned with her answer, he saw that they were
-trying to mislead him with words; that, on one hand, the young girl was
-glad to have her errands last for a long time to come, and that, on the
-other hand. Sévère had not reached the point of being more desirous
-for Madeleine's rain than for the payment of her notes.
-</p>
-<p>
-To clinch matters, he took Mariette aside, two days afterward.
-</p>
-<p>
-"My dear young lady," said he, "you most not go to Dollins to-day. Your
-sister has learned, though I do not know how, that you go there more
-than once a day, and she says it is no place for a respectable girl. I
-have tried to make her understand that it is for her interest that you
-are so friendly with Sévère; but she blamed me as well as you. She
-says that she would rather be ruined than have you lose your reputation,
-that you are under her guardianship, and that she has authority over
-you. If you do not obey of your own free will, you will be prevented
-from going by main force. If you do as she says, she will not mention
-this to you, as she wishes to avoid giving you pain, but she is very
-much displeased with you, and it would be well for you to beg her
-pardon."
-</p>
-<p>
-François had no sooner unleashed the dog than it began to bark and
-bite. He was correct in his estimate of little Mariette's temper, which
-was as hasty and inflammable as her brother's had been.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Indeed, indeed!" she exclaimed; "do you expect me to obey my
-sister-in-law, as if I were a child of three? You talk as if she were my
-mother, and I owed her submission! What makes her think that I may lose
-my reputation? Tell her that it is quite as well buckled on as her own,
-and perhaps better. Why does she imagine that Sévère is not so good as
-other people? Is it wicked not to spend the whole day sewing, spinning,
-and praying? My sister-in-law is unjust because she has a quarrel with
-her about money, and she thinks she can treat her as she pleases. It is
-very imprudent of her, for if Sévère wished she could turn her out of
-the house she lives in; and as Sévère is patient, and does not make
-use of her advantage, she is certainly better than she is said to be.
-And this is the way in which you thank me, who have been obliging enough
-to take part in these disputes, which are no concern of mine! I can tell
-you, François, that the most respectable people are not always the most
-prudish, and when I go to Sévère's I do no more mischief than if I
-stayed at home."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I don't know about that," said François, who was determined to make
-all the scum of the vat mount to the surface; "perhaps your sister was
-right in thinking that you are in some mischief there. Look here,
-Mariette, I see that you like to go there too well. It is not natural.
-You have delivered your message about Madeleine's affairs, and since
-Sévère has sent no answer, it is evident that she means to give none.
-Do not go back there any more, or I shall think, with Madeleine, that
-you go with no good intention."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Then, Master François," cried Mariette, in a fury, "you think you are
-going to dictate to me? Do you mean to take my brother's place at home,
-and make yourself master there? You have not enough beard on your chin
-to give me such a lecture, and I advise you to leave me alone. Your
-humble servant," she added, adjusting her coif; "if my sister-in-law
-asks where I am, tell her that I am at Sévère's, and if she sends you
-after me, you will see how you are received."
-</p>
-<p>
-She burst the door open violently, and flew off with a light foot toward
-Dollins; but as François was afraid that her anger would cool on the
-way, especially as the weather was frosty, he allowed her a little
-start. He waited until he thought she had nearly reached Sévère's
-house, and then putting his long legs in motion he ran like a horse let
-loose, and caught up with her, to make her believe that Madeleine had
-sent him in pursuit of her.
-</p>
-<p>
-He was so provoking that she raised her hand against him. He dodged her
-every time, being well aware that anger evaporates with blows, and that
-a woman's temper improves when she has relieved herself by striking.
-Then he ran away, and as soon as Mariette arrived at Sévère's house
-she made a great explosion. The poor child had really no bad designs;
-but in the first flame of her anger she disclosed everything, and put
-Sévère into such a towering passion that François, who was retreating
-noiselessly through the lane, heard them at the other end of the
-hemp-field, hissing and crackling like fire in a barn full of hay.
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure23.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="XXII">CHAPTER XXII</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">H</span>IS plan succeeded admirably, and he was so
-sure of it that he went over to Aigurande next day, took his money from
-the priest, and returned at night, carrying the four little notes of
-thin paper, which were of such great value, and yet made no more noise
-in his pocket than a crumb of bread in a cap. After a week's time,
-Sévère made herself heard. All the purchasers of Blanchet's land were
-summoned to pay up, and as not one was able to do it. Sévère
-threatened to make Madeleine pay instead.
-</p>
-<p>
-Madeleine was much alarmed when she heard the news, for she had received
-no hint from François of what was coming.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Good!" said he to her, rubbing his hands; "a trader cannot always gain,
-nor a thief always rob. Madame Sévère is going to make a bad bargain
-and you a good one. All the same, my dear mother, you must behave as if
-you thought you were ruined. The sadder you are, the gladder she will be
-to do what she thinks is to your harm. But that harm is your salvation,
-for when you pay Sévère you will buy back your son's inheritance."
-</p>
-<p>
-"What do you expect me to pay her with, my child?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"With the money I have in my pocket, and which belongs to you."
-</p>
-<p>
-Madeleine tried to dissuade him; but the waif was headstrong, as he said
-himself, and no one could loose what he had bound. He hastened to
-deposit two hundred pistoles with the notary, in the widow Blanchet's
-name, and Sévère was paid in full, willingly or unwillingly, and also
-all the other creditors of the estate, who had made common cause with
-her.
-</p>
-<p>
-Moreover, after François had indemnified all the poor purchasers of the
-land for their losses, he had still enough money with which to go to
-law, and he let Sévère know that he was about to embark in a lawsuit
-on the subject of the promissory notes which she had wrongfully and
-fraudulently extracted from the miller. He set afloat a report which
-spread far and wide through the land. He pretended that in fumbling
-about an old wall of the mill which he was trying to prop up, he had
-found old Mother Blanchet's money-box, filled with gold coins of an
-ancient stamp, and that by this means Madeleine was richer than she had
-ever been. Weary of warfare, Sévère consented to a compromise, hoping
-also that François would be lavish of the crowns winch he had so
-opportunely discovered, and that she could wheedle from him more than he
-gave her to expect. She got nothing for her pains, however, and he was
-so hard with her that she was forced to return the notes in exchange for
-a hundred crowns.
-</p>
-<p>
-To revenge herself, she worked upon little Mariette, telling her that
-the money-box of old Mother Blanchet, who was the girl's grandmother,
-should have been divided between her and Jeannie, that she had a right
-to her share, and should go to law against her sister.
-</p>
-<p>
-Then the waif was forced to tell the true source of the money he had
-provided, and the priest of Aigurande sent him the proofs, in case of
-there being a lawsuit.
-</p>
-<p>
-He began by showing these proofs to Mariette, begging her to make no
-unnecessary disclosures, and making it dear to her that she had better
-keep quiet. But Mariette would not keep at all quiet; her little brain
-was excited by the confusion in the family, and the devil tempted the
-poor child. In spite of all the kindness she had received from
-Madeleine, who had treated her as a daughter and indulged all her whims,
-she felt a dislike and jealousy of her sister-in-law, although her pride
-prevented her from acknowledging it. The truth is that in the midst of
-her tantrums and quarrels with François, she had inadvertently fallen
-in love with him, and never suspected the trap which the devil had set
-for her. The more François upbraided her for her faults and vagaries,
-the more crazy she was to please him.
-</p>
-<p>
-She was not the kind of girl to pine and consume away in grief and
-tears; but it robbed her of her peace to think that François was so
-handsome, rich, and upright, so kind to everybody, and so clever and
-brave; that he was a man to shed his last drop of blood for the woman he
-loved, and yet that none of this was for her, although she was the
-prettiest and richest girl in the neighborhood, and counted her lovers
-by the dozen.
-</p>
-<p>
-One day she opened her heart to her false friend, Sévère. It was in
-the pasture at the end of the road of the water-lilies, underneath an
-old apple-tree that was then in blossom. While all these things were
-happening, the month of May had come, and Sévère strolled out under
-the apple-blossoms, to chat with Mariette, who was tending her flock
-beside the river.
-</p>
-<p>
-It pleased God that François, who was near by, should overhear their
-conversation. He had seen Sévère enter the pasture, and at once
-suspected her of meditating some intrigue against Madeleine; and as the
-river was low, he walked noiselessly along the bank, beneath the bushes
-which are so tall just there that a hay-cart could pass under their
-shade. When he came within hearing distance, he sat down on the ground,
-without making a sound, and opened his ears very wide.
-</p>
-<p>
-The two women plied their tongues busily. In the first place, Mariette
-confessed to not caring for a single one of her suitors, for the sake of
-a young miller, who was not at all courteous to her, and the thought of
-whom kept her awake at night. Sévère, on the other hand, wanted to
-unite her to a young man of her acquaintance, who was so much in love
-with the girl, that he had promised a handsome wedding-present to
-Sévère, if she succeeded in marrying him to Mariette Blanchet. It
-appeared also that Sévère had exacted a gratuity beforehand from him
-and from several others; so she naturally did all in her power to put
-Mariette out of conceit with François.
-</p>
-<p>
-"A plague take the waif!" she exclaimed. "What, Mariette, a girl in your
-position marry a foundling! You would be called Madame Strawberry, for
-he has no other name. I should be ashamed for you, my poor darling. Then
-you have no chance; you would be obliged to light for him with your
-sister-in-law, for he is her lover, as true as I live."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Sévère," cried Mariette, "you have hinted this to me more than once;
-but I cannot believe you; my sister-in-law is too old."
-</p>
-<p>
-"No, no, Mariette; your sister-in-law is not old enough to do without
-this sort of thing; she is only thirty, and when the waif was but a boy,
-your brother discovered that he was too familiar with his wife. That is
-why he gave him a sound thrashing with the butt of his whip, and turned
-him out of doors."
-</p>
-<p>
-François felt a lively desire to spring out of the bushes and tell
-Sévère that she lied; but he restrained himself, and sat motionless.
-</p>
-<p>
-Sévère continued to ring the changes on this subject, and told so many
-shocking lies that François's face burned, and it was with great
-difficulty that he kept his patience.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Then," said Mariette, "he probably means to marry her now that she is a
-widow; he has already given her a good part of his fortune, and he must
-wish to have a share in the property which he has bought back."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Somebody else will outbid him," said the other; "for now that Madeleine
-has plundered him, she will be on the lookout for a richer suitor, and
-will be sure to find one. She must take a husband to manage her
-property, but while she is trying to find him, she keeps this great
-simpleton with her, who serves her for nothing, and amuses her
-solitude."
-</p>
-<p>
-"If she is going along at that pace," said Mariette, much vexed, "I am
-in a most disreputable house; in which I run too many dangers! Do you
-consider, my dear Sévère, that I am very ill-lodged, and that people
-will talk against me? Indeed, I cannot stay where I am; I must leave.
-Oh! yes, these pious women criticize everybody else, because they
-themselves are shameless only in God's sight! I should like to hear her
-say anything against you and me now! Very well! I am going to say
-good-by to her, and I am coming to live with you; if she is angry, I
-shall answer her; if she tries to bring me back by force, to live with
-her, I shall go to law; and I shall let people know what she is&mdash;do
-you hear?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"A better remedy for you, Mariette, is to get married as soon as
-possible. She will not refuse her consent, because I am sure she is
-anxious to rid herself of you. You stand in the way of her relations
-with the handsome waif. You must not delay, cannot you understand, for
-people will say that he belongs to both of you, and then nobody will
-marry you. Go and get married, then, and take the man I advise."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Agreed," said Mariette, breaking her shepherd's crook violently,
-against the old apple-tree. "I give you my word. Go and tell him,
-Sévère; let him come to my house this evening, to ask for my hand, and
-let our banns be published next Sunday."
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure24.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">F</span>RANÇOIS was never sadder than when he
-emerged from the river-bank where he had hidden himself to listen to the
-women's talk. His heart was as heavy as lead, and when he had gone
-half-way home he lost courage to return, and, stepping aside into the
-path of the water-lilies, he sat down in the little grove of oaks, at
-the end of the meadow.
-</p>
-<p>
-Once there, by himself, he wept like a child, and his heart was bursting
-with sorrow and shame; for he was ashamed to hear of what he was
-accused, and to think that his poor dear friend Madeleine, whom, through
-all his life, he had loved so purely and constantly, reaped nothing but
-insult and slander from his devotion and fidelity.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh! my God, my God!" said he to himself, "how can it be that the world
-is so wicked and that a woman like Sévère can have the insolence to
-measure the honor of a woman like my dear mother, by her own standard?
-And that little Mariette, who should naturally be inclined to innocence
-and truth, a child as she is, who does not as yet know the meaning of
-evil, even she listens to this infernal calumny, and believes in it, as
-if she knew how it stung! Since this is so, others will believe it too;
-as the larger part of people living mortal life are old in evil, almost
-everybody win think that because I love Madame Blanchet, and she loves
-me, there must be something dishonorable in it."
-</p>
-<p>
-Then poor François undertook a careful examination of his conscience,
-and searched his memory to see whether, by any fault of his, he were
-responsible for Sévère's wicked gossip; whether he had behaved wisely
-in all respects, or whether, by a lack of prudence and discretion, he
-had involuntarily given rise to evil thinking. But it was in vain that
-he reflected, for he could not believe that he had appeared guilty of
-what had never even crossed his mind.
-</p>
-<p>
-Still absorbed in thought and reverie, he went on saying to himself:
-</p>
-<p>
-"Suppose that my liking had turned to loving, what harm would it be in
-God's sight, now that she is a widow and her own mistress? I have given
-a good part of my fortune to her and Jeannie, but I still have a
-considerable share left, and she would not wrong her child if she
-married me. It would not be self-seeking on my part to desire this, and
-nobody could make her believe that my love for her is self-interested.
-I am a foundling, but she does not care for that. She has loved me with
-a mother's love, which is the strongest of all affections, and now she
-might love me in another way. I see that her enemies will force me to
-leave her if I do not marry her, and I should rather die than leave her
-a second time. Besides, she needs my help, and I should be a coward to
-leave her affairs in such disorder when I have strength as well as money
-with which to serve her. Yes, all I have should belong to her, and as
-she often talks to me about paying me back in the end, I must put that
-idea out of her head, by sharing all things in common with her, in
-accordance with the permission of God and the law. She must keep her
-good name for her son's sake, and she can save it only by marrying me.
-How is it that I never thought of this before, and that I needed to hear
-it suggested by a serpent's tongue? I was too simple-minded and
-unsuspecting; and my poor mother is too charitable to others to take to
-heart the injuries which are done her. Everything tends toward good, by
-the will of Heaven; and Madame Sévère, who was plotting mischief, has
-done me the service of teaching me my duty."
-</p>
-<p>
-Without indulging any longer in meditation or wonder, François set off
-on his way home, determined to speak of his plan to Madame Blanchet
-without loss of time, and on his knees to entreat her to accept him as
-her protector, in the name of God, and for eternal life.
-</p>
-<p>
-When he reached Cormouer, he saw Madeleine spinning on her door-step, and
-for the first time in his life her face had the effect of making him
-timid and confused. He was in the habit of walking straight up to her,
-looking her full in the face to ask her how she did; but this time he
-paused on the little bridge as if he were examining the mill-dam, and
-only looked at her out of the corners of his eyes.
-</p>
-<p>
-When she turned toward him, he moved farther away, not understanding
-himself what his trouble was, or why a matter which, a few minutes ago,
-had seemed to him so natural and opportune, should suddenly become so
-awkward to confess.
-</p>
-<p>
-Madeleine called him.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Come here to me," said she, "for I have something to say to you, dear
-François. We are alone, so come and sit down beside me, and open your
-heart to me, as if I were your father-confessor, for I want to hear the
-truth from you."
-</p>
-<p>
-François was reassured by Madeleine's words, and he sat down beside
-her.
-</p>
-<p>
-"I promise, my dear mother," said he, "to open my heart to you as I do
-to God, and to give you a true confession."
-</p>
-<p>
-He fancied that something had come to her ears which had brought her to
-the same conclusion as himself; he was delighted, and waited to hear
-what she had to say.
-</p>
-<p>
-"François," she went on, "you are in your twenty-first year, and it is
-time for you to think of marrying; you are not opposed to it, I hope?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"No, I am not opposed to anything you wish," answered François,
-blushing with pleasure; "go on, my dear Madeleine."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Good!" said she. "I expected this, and I have guessed the right thing.
-Since you wish it, I wish it too, and perhaps I thought of it before you
-did. I was waiting to see whether the person in question cared for you,
-and I think that if she does not as yet, she will, very soon. Don't you
-think so, too, and shall I tell you where you stand? Why do you look at
-me with such a puzzled expression? Don't I speak clearly enough? I see
-that you are shy about it, and I must help you out. Well, the poor child
-pouted all the morning because you teased her a little yesterday, and I
-dare say she thinks you do not love her. But I know that you do love
-her, and if you scold her sometimes for her little caprices it is
-because you are a trifle jealous. You must not hold back for that,
-François. She is young and pretty; but though there is some danger in
-this, if she truly loves you she will willingly submit herself to you."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I should like," said François, much disappointed, "to know whom you
-are talking of, my dear mother, for I am wholly at a loss."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Really!" said Madeleine; "don't you know what I mean? Am I dreaming, or
-are you trying to keep a secret from me?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"A secret from you!" said François, taking Madeleine's hand. He soon
-dropped it, and took up instead the corner of her apron, which he
-crumpled as if he were provoked, then lifted toward his lips as if about
-to kiss it, and finally let go just as he had done with her hand. He was
-first inclined to cry; then he felt angry, and then giddy, all in
-succession.
-</p>
-<p>
-Madeleine was amazed.
-</p>
-<p>
-"You are in trouble, my child," she cried, "and this means that you are
-in love&mdash;that all does not go as you wish. I can assure you that
-Mariette has a good heart; she, too, is distressed, and if you speak
-openly with her she will tell you, in return, that she thinks of no one
-but you."
-</p>
-<p>
-François sprang up, and walked up and down the courtyard for some time
-in silence; then he returned to Madeleine's side.
-</p>
-<p>
-"I am very much surprised to hear what you have in your mind, Madame
-Blanchet; this never once occurred to me, and I am well aware that
-Mariette has no liking for me, and that I am not to her taste."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh, come!" said Madeleine; "you are speaking petulantly, my child! Don't
-you think I noticed how often you talked with her? Though I could not
-catch the meaning of what you said, it was evident that she understood
-very well, for her face glowed like a burning coal. Do you think I do
-not know that she runs away from the pasture every day, leaving her
-flock in charge of the first person she meets? Her sheep flourish at the
-expense of our wheat; but I do not want to cross her, or talk to her of
-sheep, when her head is full of nothing but love and marriage. The poor
-child is just of an age to guard her sheep ill, and her heart still
-worse. But it is great good luck for her, François, that instead of
-falling in love with one of those bad fellows whom I was so much afraid
-of her meeting at Sévère's, she had the good sense to think of you. It
-makes me, too, very happy to think that, when you are married to my
-sister-in-law, who is almost the same as a daughter to me, you will live
-with me and make part of my family, and that I may harbor you in my
-house, work with you, bring up your children, and thus repay your
-kindness to me. So, do not let your childish notions interfere with all
-the joys I have planned. Try to see clearly, and forget your jealousy.
-If Mariette is fond of dress, it is because she is anxious to please
-you. If she has been rather idle lately, it is only because she is
-thinking too much of you; and if she answers me sometimes rather
-sharply, she does so because she is vexed with your reprimands, and does
-not know whom to blame for them. The proof that she is good and desirous
-of mending her ways, is that she has recognized your goodness and
-wisdom, and wants you for her husband."
-</p>
-<p>
-"You are good, my dear mother," said François, quite crestfallen. "Yes,
-it is you who are good, for you believe in the goodness of others and
-deceive yourself. I can tell you that, if Mariette is good, too, and I
-will not say she is not, lest I should injure her in your opinion, it is
-in a way very different from yours, and, consequently, very displeasing
-to me. Do not say anything more to me about her. I swear to you on my
-word and honor, on my heart and soul, that I am no more in love with her
-than I am with old Catherine, and if she has any regard for me, it is
-her own misfortune, because I cannot return it. Do not try to make her
-say she loves me; your tact would be at fault, and you would make her my
-enemy. It is quite the contrary; hear what she will say to you to-night,
-and let her marry Jean Aubard, whom she has made up her mind to accept.
-Let her marry as soon as possible, for she is out of place in your
-house. She is not happy there, and will not be a source of comfort to
-you."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Jean Aubard!" exclaimed Madeleine; "he is not a proper person for her;
-he is a fool, and she is too clever to submit herself to a stupid man."
-</p>
-<p>
-"He is rich, and she will not submit to him. She will manage him, and he
-is just the man for her. Will you not trust in your friend, my dear
-mother? You know that, up to this time, I have never given you any bad
-advice. Let the young girl go; she does not love you as she ought, and
-she does not know your worth."
-</p>
-<p>
-"You say this because your feelings are hurt, François," said
-Madeleine, laying her hand on his head and moving it gently up and down,
-as if she were trying to shake the truth out of it François was
-exasperated that she would not believe him, and it was the first time in
-his life that there had been any dispute between them. He withdrew,
-saying in a dissatisfied tone of voice:
-</p>
-<p>
-"Madame Blanchet, you are not just to me. I tell you that girl does not
-love you. You force me to say this, against my will; for I did not come
-here to bring distrust and strife. So, if I tell it to you, you may know
-that I am sure of it; and do you think I can love her after that? You
-cannot love me any more, if you will not believe me."
-</p>
-<p>
-Wild with grief, François rushed off to weep all alone by the fountain.
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure25.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">M</span>ADELEINE was still more perplexed than
-François, and was on the point of following him with questions and
-words of encouragement; but she was held back by the sudden appearance
-of Mariette, who, with a strange expression on her face, announced the
-offer of marriage she had received from Jean Aubard. Madeleine, who was
-unable to disabuse herself of the idea that the whole affair was the
-result of a lovers' quarrel, attempted to speak to the girl of
-François; but Mariette answered in a tone which gave her great pain,
-and was utterly incomprehensible to her:
-</p>
-<p>
-"Those people who care for foundlings may keep them for their own
-amusement; I am an honest girl, and shall not allow my good name to
-suffer because my poor brother is dead. I am perfectly independent,
-Madeleine; and if I am forced by law to ask your advice, I am not forced
-to take it when it is not for my good. So please do not stand in my way,
-or I may stand in yours hereafter."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I cannot imagine what is the matter with you, my dear child," said
-Madeleine, very sweetly and sadly. "You speak to me as if you had
-neither respect nor affection for me. I think you must be in some
-distress which has confused your mind; so I entreat you to take three or
-four days, in which to decide. I shall tell Jean Aubard to come back,
-and if you are of the same opinion after a little quiet reflection, I
-shall give you free leave to marry him, as he is a respectable man, and
-comfortably off. But you are in such an excited condition, just now,
-that you cannot know your own mind, and you shut your heart against my
-affection. You grieve me very much, but as I see that you are grieved
-too, I forgive you."
-</p>
-<p>
-Mariette tossed her head, to show how much she despised that sort of
-forgiveness, and ran away to put on her silk apron and prepare for the
-reception of Jean Aubard, who arrived, an hour later, with big Sévère
-in gala dress.
-</p>
-<p>
-This time, at last, Madeleine was convinced of Mariette's ill-will
-toward her, since the girl had brought into her house, on a family
-matter, a woman who was her enemy, and whom she blushed to see.
-Notwithstanding this, she advanced very politely to meet Sévère, and
-served her with refreshments, without any appearance of anger or
-dislike; for she feared that if Mariette were opposed, she would prove
-unmanageable. So Madeleine said that she made no objection to her
-sister-in-law's desire, but requested three days' grace before giving
-her answer.
-</p>
-<p>
-Thereupon Sévère said, insolently, that was a very long time to wait.
-Madeleine answered quietly that it was a very short time.
-</p>
-<p>
-Jean Aubard then left, looking like a blockhead, and giggling like a
-booby, for he was sure that Mariette was madly in love with him. He had
-paid well for this illusion, and Sévère gave him his money's worth.
-</p>
-<p>
-As Sévère left the house, she said to Mariette that she had ordered a
-cake and some sweets at home for the betrothal, and even if Madame
-Blanchet delayed the preliminaries, they must sit down to the feast.
-Madeleine objected that it was not proper for a young girl to go off in
-the company of a man who had not as yet received his answer from her
-family.
-</p>
-<p>
-"If that is so, I shall not go," said Mariette, in a huff.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh, yes, yes; you must come," Sévère insisted; "are not you your own
-mistress?"
-</p>
-<p>
-"No, indeed," returned Mariette; "you see my sister-in-law forbids me to
-go."
-</p>
-<p>
-She went into her room and slammed the door; but she merely passed
-through the house, went out by the back door, and caught up with
-Sévère and her suitor at the end of the meadow, laughing and jeering
-at Madeleine's expense.
-</p>
-<p>
-Poor Madeleine could not restrain her tears when she saw how things were
-going.
-</p>
-<p>
-"François was right," thought she; "the girl does not love me, and she
-is ungrateful at heart. She will not believe that I am acting for her
-good, that I am most anxious for her happiness, and wish only to prevent
-her doing something which she will regret hereafter. She has taken evil
-counsel, and I am condemned to see that wretched Sévère stirring up
-trouble and strife in my family. I have not deserved all these troubles,
-and I must submit to God's will. Fortunately, poor François was more
-clear-sighted than I. How much he would suffer with such a wife!"
-</p>
-<p>
-She went to look for him, to let him know what she thought; but when she
-found him in tears beside the fountain, she supposed he was grieving for
-the loss of Mariette, and attempted to comfort him. The more she said
-the more pained he was, for it became clear to him that she refused to
-understand the truth, and that her heart could never feel for him in the
-way he had hoped.
-</p>
-<p>
-In the evening, when Jeannie was in bed and asleep, François sat with
-Madeleine, and sought to explain himself.
-</p>
-<p>
-He began by saying that Mariette was jealous of her, and that Sévère
-had slandered her infamously; but Madeleine never dreamed of his
-meaning.
-</p>
-<p>
-"What can she say against me?" said she, simply; "and what jealousy can
-she put into poor silly little Mariette's head? You are mistaken,
-François; something else is at stake, some interested reason which we
-shall hear later. It is not possible that she should be jealous; I am
-too old to give any anxiety to a young and pretty girl. I am almost
-thirty, and for a peasant woman who has undergone a great deal of
-trouble and fatigue, that is old enough to be your mother. The devil
-only could say that I think of you in any way but as my son, and
-Mariette must know I longed to have you both marry. No, no; never
-believe that she has any such evil thought, or, at least, do not mention
-it to me, for I should be too much pained and mortified."
-</p>
-<p>
-"And yet," said François, making a great effort to speak, and bending
-low over the fire to hide his confusion from Madeleine, "Monsieur
-Blanchet had some such evil thought when he turned me out of doors!"
-</p>
-<p>
-"What! Do you know that now, François?" exclaimed Madeleine. "How is it
-that you know it? I never told you, and I never should have told you. If
-Catherine spoke of it to you, she did wrong. Such an idea must shock and
-pain you as much as it does me, but we must try not to think of it any
-more and to forgive my husband, now that he is dead. All the obloquy of
-it falls upon Sévère; but now Sévère can be no longer jealous of me.
-I have no husband, and I am as old and ugly as she could ever have
-wished, though I am not in the least sorry for it, for I have gained the
-right of being respected, of treating you as a son, and of finding you a
-pretty young wife, who will live happily with me and love me as a
-mother. This is my only wish, François, and you must not distress
-yourself, for we shall find her. So much the worse for Mariette if she
-despises the happiness I had in store for her. Now, go to bed, my child,
-and take courage. If I thought I were any obstacle to your marrying, I
-should send you away at once; but you may be sure that nobody worries
-about me, or imagines what is absolutely impossible."
-</p>
-<p>
-As François listened to Madeleine, he was convinced that she was right,
-so accustomed was he to believe all that she said. He rose to bid her
-good night, but, as he took her hand, it happened that, for the first
-time in his life, he looked at her with the intention of finding out
-whether she were old and ugly; and the truth is, she had long been so
-sad and serious that she deceived herself, and was still as pretty a
-woman as she had ever been.
-</p>
-<p>
-So when François saw all at once that she was still young and as
-beautiful as the blessed Virgin, his heart gave a great bound, as if he
-had climbed to the pinnacle of a tower. He went back for the night to
-the mill, where his bed was neatly spread in a square of boards among
-the sacks of flour. Once there, and by himself, he shivered and gasped
-as if he had a fever; but it was only the fever of love, for he who had
-all his life warmed himself comfortably in front of the ashes, had
-suddenly been scorched by a great burst of flame.
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div class="chapter-beginning" style="width: 400px;">
-<img src="images/figure26.jpg" width="400" height="116" alt="" />
-</div>
-
-<h4><a id="XXV">CHAPTER XXV</a></h4>
-
-<p class="nind">
-<span class="dropcap">F</span>ROM that time on, the waif was so
-melancholy that it made one's heart ache to see him. He worked like a
-horse, but he found no more joy or peace, and Madeleine could not induce
-him to say what was the matter with him. It was in vain he swore that he
-neither loved nor regretted Mariette, for Madeleine would not believe
-him, and could assign no other cause for his depression. She was grieved
-that he should be in distress and yet no longer confide in her, and she
-was amazed that his trouble should make him so proud and self-willed.
-</p>
-<p>
-As it was not in her nature to be tormenting, she made up her mind to
-say nothing further to him on the subject. She attempted to make
-Mariette reverse her decision, but her overtures were so ill-received
-that she lost courage, and was silent. Though her heart was full of
-anguish, she kept it to herself, lest she should add to the burden of
-others.
-</p>
-<p>
-François worked for her, and served her with the same zeal and devotion
-as before. As in the old time, he stayed as much as possible in her
-company, but he no longer spoke as he used. He was always embarrassed
-with her, and turned first red as fire, and then white as a sheet in the
-same minute. She was afraid he was ill, and once took his hand to see if
-he were feverish; but he drew back from her as if her touch hurt him,
-and sometimes he reproached her in words which she could not understand.
-</p>
-<p>
-The trouble between them grew from day to day. During all this time,
-great preparations were being made for Mariette's marriage to Jean
-Aubard, and the day which was to end her mourning was fixed as that of
-the wedding.
-</p>
-<p>
-Madeleine looked forward to that day with dread; she feared that
-François would go crazy, and was anxious to send him to spend a little
-time at Aigurande, with his old master Jean Vertaud, so as to distract
-his mind. François, however, was unwilling to let Mariette believe what
-Madeleine insisted upon thinking. He showed no vexation before her, was
-on friendly relations with her lover, and jested with Sévère, when he
-met her along the road, to let her see that he had nothing to fear from
-her. He was present at the wedding; and as he was really delighted to
-have the house rid of the girl, and Madeleine freed from her false
-friendship, it never crossed anybody's mind that he had been in love
-with her. The truth began to dawn even on Madeleine, or at least she was
-inclined to believe that he had consoled himself. She received
-Mariette's farewell with her accustomed warmth of heart; but as the
-young girl still cherished a grudge against her on account of the waif,
-Madeleine could not help seeing that her sister-in-law left her without
-love or regret. Inured as she was to sorrow, Madeleine wept over the
-girl's hardness of heart, and prayed God to forgive her.
-</p>
-<p>
-After a week had passed, François unexpectedly told her that he had
-some business at Aigurande that would call him there for the space of
-five or six days. She was not surprised, and hoped it would be for the
-good of his health, for she believed that he had stifled his grief, and
-was ill in consequence.
-</p>
-<p>
-But that grief, which she thought he had overcome, increased with him
-day by day. He could think of nothing else, and whether asleep or awake,
-far or near, Madeleine was always in his heart and before his eyes. It
-is true that all his life had been spent in loving her and thinking of
-her, but until lately these thoughts of her had been has happiness and
-consolation, whereas they were now his despair and his undoing. As long
-is he was content to be her son and friend, he wished for no better lot
-on earth; but now his love had changed its character, and he was
-exquisitely unhappy. He fancied that she could never change as he had
-done. He kept repeating to himself that he was too young, that she had
-known him as a forlorn and wretched child, that he could be only an
-object of care and compassion to her, and never of pride. In short, he
-believed her to be so lovely and so attractive, so far above him, and so
-much to be desired, that when she said she was no longer young and
-pretty, he thought she was adopting a rôle to scare away her suitors.
-</p>
-<p>
-In the mean time, Sévère, Mariette, and their clan were slandering her
-openly on his account, and he was in terror lest some of the scandal
-should come to her ears, and she should be displeased and long for his
-departure. He knew she was too kind to ask him to go, but he dreaded
-being again a cause of annoyance to her, as he had been once before, and
-it occurred to him to go to ask the advice of the priest of Aigurande,
-whom he had found to be a just and God-fearing man.
-</p>
-<p>
-He went, but with no success, as the priest was absent on a visit to his
-bishop; so François returned to the mill of Jean Vertaud, who had
-invited him for a few days' visit, while waiting for the priest's
-return.
-</p>
-<p>
-He found his kind master as true a man and as faithful a friend as he
-had left him, and his good daughter Jeannette on the brink of marriage
-with a very respectable man whom she had accepted from motives of
-prudence rather than of enthusiasm, but for whom she fortunately felt
-more liking than distaste. This put François more at his ease with her
-than he had ever been, and the next day being Sunday, he had a long talk
-with her, and confided in her Madame Blanchet's many difficulties, and
-his satisfaction in rescuing her from them.
-</p>
-<p>
-Jeannette was quick-witted, and from one thing and another she guessed
-that the waif was more agitated by his attachment to Madeleine than he
-would confess. She laid her hand on his arm, and said to him abruptly:
-</p>
-<p>
-"François, you must hide nothing from me. I have come to my senses now,
-and you see that I am not ashamed to tell you that I once thought more
-of you than you did of me. You knew my feelings, and you could not
-return them, but you would not deceive me, and no selfish interest led
-you to do what many others would have done in your place. I respect you
-both for your behavior toward me and for your constancy to the woman you
-loved best in the world; and instead of disowning my regard for you, I
-am glad to remember it. I expect you to think the better of me for
-acknowledging it, and to do me the justice to observe that I bear no
-grudge or malice toward you for your coolness. I mean to give you the
-greatest possible token of my esteem. You love Madeleine Blanchet, not
-indeed as a mother, but as a young and attractive woman, whom you wish
-for your wife."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Oh!" said François, blushing like a girl, "I love her as a mother, and
-my heart is full of respect for her."
-</p>
-<p>
-"I have no doubt of it," answered Jeannette; "but you love her in two
-ways, for your face says one thing and your words another. Very well,
-François; you dare not tell her what you dare not even confess to me,
-and you do not know whether she can answer your two ways of loving."
-</p>
-<p>
-Jeannette Vertaud spoke with so much sense and sweetness, and showed
-François such true friendship, that he had not the courage to deceive
-her, and pressing her hand, he told her that she was like a sister to
-him, and the only person in the world to whom he had the heart to
-disclose his secret.
-</p>
-<p>
-Jeannette asked him several questions, which he answered truly and
-openly.
-</p>
-<p>
-"François, my friend," said she, "I understand it all. It is impossible
-for me to know what Madeleine Blanchet will think about it; but I see
-that you might be for years in her company without having the boldness
-to tell her what you have on your mind. No matter. I shall find out for
-you, and shall let you know. My father and you and I shall set out
-to-morrow for a friendly visit to Cormouer, as if we went to make the
-acquaintance of the kind woman who brought up our friend François; you
-must take my father to walk about the place, under pretext of asking his
-advice, and I shall spend the time talking with Madeleine. I shall use a
-great deal of tact, and shall not tell what your feelings are until I am
-certain of hers."
-</p>
-<p>
-François was so grateful to Jeannette that he was ready to fall on his
-knees before her; and Jean Vertaud, who, with the waif's permission, was
-informed of the situation, gave his consent to the plan. Next day they
-set out; Jeannette rode on the croup behind her father, and François
-started an hour earlier than they to prepare Madeleine for the visit she
-was to receive.
-</p>
-<p>
-The sun was setting as François approached Cormouer. A storm came up
-during his ride, and he was drenched to the skin; but he never murmured,
-for he had good hope in Jeannette's friendly offices, and his heart was
-lighter than when he had left home. The water was dripping from the
-bushes, and the blackbirds were singing like mad in thankfulness for a
-last gleam from the sun before it sank behind the hill of Grand-Corlay.
-Great flocks of birds fluttered from branch to branch around François,
-and their joyous chattering cheered his spirits. He thought of the time
-when he was little, and roamed about the meadows, whistling to attract
-the birds, absorbed in his childish dreams and fancies. Just then a
-handsome bullfinch hovered round his head, like a harbinger of good luck
-and good tidings, and his thoughts wandered back to his Mother Zabelle
-and the quaint songs of the olden time, with which she used to sing him
-to sleep.
-</p>
-<p>
-Madeleine did not expect him so soon. She had even feared that he would
-never come back at all, and when she caught sight of him, she could not
-help running to kiss him, and was surprised to see how much it made him
-blush. He announced the approaching visit, and apparently as much afraid
-of having her guess his feelings as he was grieved to have her ignore
-them, in order to prevent her suspecting anything, he told her that Jean
-Vertaud thought of buying some land in the neighborhood.
-</p>
-<p>
-Then Madeleine bestirred herself to prepare the best entertainment she
-could offer to François's friends.
-</p>
-<p>
-Jeannette was the first to enter the house, while her father was putting
-up their horse in the stable; and as soon as she saw Madeleine, she took
-a great liking for her, a liking which the other woman fully returned.
-They began by shaking hands, but they soon fell to kissing each other
-for the sake of their common love for François, and they spoke together
-freely, as if they had had a long and intimate acquaintance. The truth
-is they were both excellent women, and made such a pair as is hard to
-find. Jeannette could not help a pang on seeing Madeleine, whom she knew
-to be idolized by the man for whom she herself still cherished a
-lingering fondness; but she felt no jealousy, and tried to forget her
-grief in the good action on which she was bent. On the other hand, when
-Madeleine saw the young woman's sweet face and graceful figure, she
-supposed that it was she whom François had loved and pined for, that
-they were now betrothed, and that Jeannette had come to bring the news
-in person; but neither did she feel any jealousy, for she had never
-thought of François save as her own child.
-</p>
-<p>
-In the evening, after supper, Father Vertaud, who was tired by his ride,
-went to bed; and Jeannette took Madeleine out into the garden with her,
-after first instructing François to keep a little aloof with Jeannie,
-but still near enough to see her let down the corner of her apron, which
-she wore tucked up on one side, for this was to be the signal for him to
-join them. She then fulfilled her mission conscientiously, and so
-skilfully that Madeleine had no time to exclaim, although beyond measure
-astonished, as the matter was unfolded to her. At first she thought it
-but another proof of François's goodness of heart, that he wished to
-put a stop to all evil gossip, and to devote his life to her service;
-and she would have refused, thinking it too great a sacrifice on the
-part of so young a man to marry a woman older than himself. She feared
-he would repent later, and could not long keep his faith to her, without
-vexation and regret; but Jeannette gave her to understand that the waif
-was in love with her, heart and soul, and that he was losing his health
-and peace of mind because of her.
-</p>
-<p>
-This was inconceivable to Madeleine. She had lived such a sober and
-retired life, never adorning her person, never appearing in public, nor
-listening to flattery, that she had no longer any idea of the impression
-she might make upon a man.
-</p>
-<p>
-"Then," said Jeannette, "since he loves you so much, and will die if you
-refuse him, will you persist in closing your eyes and ears to what I say
-to you? If you do, it must be because you dislike the poor young fellow,
-and would be sorry to make him happy."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Do not say that, Jeannette," answered Madeleine; "I love him almost, if
-not quite, as much as my Jeannie, and if I had ever suspected that he
-thought of me in another light, it is quite possible that my affection
-for him would have been more passionate. But what can you expect? I
-never dreamed of this, and I am still so dazed that I do not know how to
-answer. I ask for time to think of it and to talk it over with him, so
-that I may find out whether he does this from a whim or out of mere
-pique, or whether, perhaps, he thinks it is a duty he owes me. This I am
-afraid of most of all, and I think he has repaid me fully for the care I
-took of him, and it would be too much for him to give me his liberty and
-himself, at least unless he loves me as you think he does."
-</p>
-<p>
-When Jeannette heard these words, she let down the corner of her apron,
-and François, who was waiting near at hand with his eyes fixed upon
-her, was beside them in an instant. The clever Jeannette asked Jeannie
-to show her the fountain, and they strolled off together, leaving
-Madeleine and François together.
-</p>
-<p>
-But Madeleine, who had expected to put her questions to the waif, in
-perfect calmness, was suddenly covered with shyness and confusion, like
-a young girl; for confusion such as hers, so sweet and pleasant to see,
-belongs to no age, but is bred of innocence of mind and purity of life.
-When François saw that his dear mother blushed and trembled as he did,
-he received it as a more favorable token than if she had kept her usual
-serene manner. He took her hand and arm, but he could not speak.
-Trembling all the while, she tried to shake herself loose and to follow
-Jeannie and Jeannette, but he held her fast, and made her turn back with
-him. When Madeleine saw his boldness in opposing his will to hers, she
-understood, better than if he had spoken, that it was no longer her
-child, the waif, but her lover, François, that walked by her side.
-</p>
-<p>
-After they had gone a little distance, silent, but linked arm in arm, as
-vine is interlaced with vine, François said:
-</p>
-<p>
-"Let us go to the fountain; perhaps I may find my tongue there."
-</p>
-<p>
-They did not find Jeannie and Jeannette beside the fountain, for they
-had gone home; but François found courage to speak, remembering that it
-was there he had seen Madeleine for the first time, and there, too, he
-had bidden her farewell, eleven years afterward. We must believe that he
-spoke very fluently, and that Madeleine did not gainsay him, for they
-were still there at midnight. She was crying for joy, and he was on his
-knees before her, thanking her for accepting him for her husband.
-</p>
-
-<div class="tb">* * * * * * * *</div>
-
-<p>
-"There ends the story," said the hemp-dresser, "for it would take too
-long to tell you about the wedding. I was present, myself, and the same
-day the waif married Madeleine in the parish of Mers, Jeannette was
-married in the parish of Aigurande. Jean Vertaud insisted that François
-and his wife, and Jeannie, who was happy as a king, with their friends,
-relations, and acquaintances, should come to his house for the
-wedding-feast, which was finer, grander, and more delightful than
-anything I have ever seen since."
-</p>
-<p>
-"Is the story true in all points?" asked Sylvine Courtioux.
-</p>
-<p>
-"If it is not, it might be," answered the hemp-dresser. "If you do not
-believe me, go and see for yourself."
-</p>
-
-<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANÇOIS THE WAIF ***</div>
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