Popular Tales

  THE CURE OF CHAVIGNAT.

  The Cure of Chavignat was an excellent man. He was very fond ofchildren, and was, consequently, a great favourite with them. Hechatted with them as if it were for his own amusement, and whilstthus engaged he gave them useful advice, with which they, in theirturn, were highly delighted; because his instructions were usuallyaccompanied by stories, which accustomed them to reflect on their owncharacters, on the best means of correcting their faults, and on thepleasure arising from the possession of good qualities. Whenever theCure of Chavignat met with a story of this kind, he wrote it down, thathe might afterwards give it or relate it to those children to whom itmight prove useful. He went frequently to the chateau of Chavignat,where the children received him with demonstrations of the greatestdelight, whilst the parents were continually thanking him for hiskindness to their children.

  One day he perceived that Juliana, the eldest of the children, whowas scalloping a piece of muslin, was quite out of temper because hermother had reproved her.

  "When I see," said he, "a little lady who is out of humour with hermamma, I begin to think what would be the state of matters if mammas,on their side, were to be out of humour with their little girls."

  "It would be strange, indeed," said Juliana, "if papas and mammaswere out of humour, when they are masters, and can do exactly as theyplease! That would he very just, truly!"

  "People do not then get out of humour without just cause, MissJuliana?" asked the Cure. "I was not aware of that."

  "Witness Madame Gonthier, our housekeeper," cried Amadeus, "who, thismorning, when her coffee overturned into the fire, scolded the girl whohas charge of the poultry-yard, because the hens' eggs were so small."

  "Just, Monsieur le Cure," said little Paul, raising his finger to hisface, "as if it was the poultry girl that made the hens' eggs."

  "Yes, my little friend; or, as if your mamma were to give Miss Julianaa slap on the face because the apricots do not ripen this year."

  The children began to laugh, with the exception of Juliana, who,shrugging her shoulders, said in a disdainful tone, "Fortunately,people do not have relations so ill-bred as Madame Gonthier."

  "Indeed, young lady," replied the Cure, "there are, I assure you, manypersons in that unfortunate predicament. Besides," he added, "it ispossible that a young lady very well brought up, like Miss Juliana, whojust now gave her little brother a kick because her mamma had foundfault with her--it is quite possible, I repeat, that when she grows upto be a woman, she may pull her little daughter by the ears because herfootman failed to execute a commission properly."

  "Oh, she did not hurt me," cried Paul, "I drew back."

  "True," said the Cure, "but when it is the mamma who gives the blowit is not always so easy to draw back. I was once acquainted with ayouth whose aunt was extremely ill-tempered, and who when she wasdissatisfied with one person would vent her anger on another; and I canassure you, the young gentleman found this anything but agreeable."

  "Oh, a story! a story! Monsieur le Cure," exclaimed both the littleboys at once; "pray relate it to us."

  "I will," said the Cure, giving a side glance at Juliana, "some daywhen nobody is out of humour here, for a certain person might take itto herself, and I do not wish to be uncivil to any one."

  "Oh! pray relate your story, by all means, Monsieur le Cure," saidJuliana, very sharply; "people can take it as they please."

  "Young lady," replied the Cure, "when I relate a story, I wish it to betaken as I please." Juliana was silent, for she clearly perceived thatshe had spoken impertinently.

  The next day, as soon as the Cure arrived, the little boys failed notto remind him of the promised story: he did not wait to be pressed, forhe had brought the manuscript with him.

  He seated himself at the table where Juliana was at work; she neitheradvanced nor drew back her chair. Amadeus placed his as close to theCure as possible, and little Paul established himself between hisknees, with upturned eyes and open mouth: the Cure then related whatfollows:--

  THE QUARRELS.

  One day Louis entered his mother's room quite beside himself; his eyessparkled with anger, and his whole countenance expressed the strongestresentment.

  "I saw her! there is no gainsaying it, I saw her with my own eyes,"cried Marianne, the cook, who rushed in after him, and who was almostas much excited as himself. "Madame Ballier attempted to give him a boxon the ear," she continued; "fortunately he drew back in good time, buttrust me, if he did not feel the wind of it----"

  "Had it not been my grand aunt," said Louis, pacing the room withhasty strides and folded arms; "had it not been my aunt----"

  "Oh, he would have strangled her for certain," rejoined Marianne; "Isaw that clearly, and in my opinion she would only have had what shedeserved, the horrid thing."

  "Marianne!" said Madame Delong, in a severe tone, and Marianne leftthe room shrugging her shoulders. Then addressing her son, "Are youquite sure, Louis," she said, "that you are not in some degree toblame?" Louis continued to pace the apartment without making any reply.Madame Delong repeated the question, but Louis had not yet sufficientlyrecovered himself to understand exactly what his mother was saying. Atthis moment Madame Ballier made her appearance; she looked confused,and speaking hurriedly, like a person who is afraid of being preventedby some disagreeable speech, she said, "Louis, will you go with me tothe play this evening?"

  Louis started and appeared surprised; but after a moment's hesitation,he replied, in a gloomy manner, turning away his head, "No, thank you,aunt."

  "There are two actors arrived from Paris," added Madame Ballier, stillmore embarrassed.

  "I am aware of it: I saw the notice posted up as I came from thecollege, and they are going to perform _The Templars_."

  "Well, will you not come?"

  "No, aunt," replied Louis again, rather sharply. Excited at once byresentment and the regret of losing the play, he was about to add someangry expression, but he restrained himself, and replied in the calmesttone that he could command, "I have to work for the examination of theinspectors who are coming this day week."

  "Very well, I can go by myself," said Madame Ballier, still moreannoyed. She went to the window as if to look at something, and thenleft the room without saying another word.

  "If any one else had asked me," said Louis, in a tone of vexation, assoon as she was gone, "nothing would have delighted me more. Ever sinceI read the announcement I have been thinking how much I should liketo see _The Templars_; but," he added, in an altered voice, "I willnot give her the pleasure of thinking she can afford me the slightestgratification."

  His anger increased from the sacrifice which it had induced him tomake. His mother, wishing to calm him a little, said caressingly, asshe took his arm, "But you will give _me_ the gratification, will younot, of taking a walk with me? I have a headache, and want the air;"and, seeing that he did not take any notice, she added, with a smile,"I shall not resign myself to going out without you, so readily as myaunt does."

  Louis never refused his mother anything, and, although only fourteenyears of age, he was so right-minded, and possessed so noble andgenerous a disposition, that Madame Delong treated him with entireconfidence, and never, in any thing she required of him, appealedto any other motive than his own good sense and affection. Louisimmediately took his hat, went to fetch his mother's parasol, and,without saying a word, offered her his arm to go out. Madame Delong sawthe effort he was making to control himself, and said, "Thank you, mydear." These words began to restore peace to the soul of Louis. He wasdevotedly fond of his mother, and felt proud of being able to make herlife more agreeable and happy. Almost always absent from her husband,and continually anxious and trembling for the dangers to which hismilitary life exposed him, Madame Delong required the exertion of muchfortitude to preserve her equanimity; and Louis, witnessing her trials,had early learned to avoid whatever might render her resignation moredifficult. Very different in character from those children who imaginethey obtain a species of tr
iumph over their superiors when they haveexcited their displeasure, Louis took a pride in being able to ward offtroubles and annoyances from his mother. It was not in a few instances,but in all cases that he was in the habit of doing this. If he gaveher his arm in the street or the fields, he would avoid a rough pathwhere she might hurt herself, lead her away from the herd of cows shedid not like to venture amongst, or remove the horse she had to pass.Quick, and even thoughtless in his own case, he became prudent wherehis mother was concerned. Madame Delong would observe, with a smile,"Louis is my protector;" and Louis would smile also, and at the sametime slightly blush, but not from annoyance; at such moments he felthimself a man, and in a position to be useful to others.

  This kind of relation between Louis and his mother had not in theleast diminished the respect due to her maternal authority and thesuperiority of her understanding. To this authority Louis submitted themore cheerfully, because the possibility of her at any time abusingit never entered his mind. He could not for a moment believe thathis mother could ever be unjust or unreasonable; scarcely could heeven believe that she could ever be mistaken; and if at any time hehesitated to perform his duty, the moment she said, "My dear, it mustbe done," Louis thought he heard the voice of his own conscience.

  Nevertheless, since Madame Ballier had become an inmate of the house,Louis had more frequently experienced the difficulty of submission;and, upon certain points, all his affection for his mother wasscarcely sufficient to supply what was wanting in his yet immaturereason. Madame Ballier, who was formerly a mercer at Paris, had neverreceived the advantage of a good education; she was sister to MonsieurDelong's mother, and when, at twelve years of age, he was left anorphan, she had given him a home. At fifteen he entered the army,obtained promotion by his bravery and good conduct, and neglectingno opportunity of improving himself and acquiring knowledge, he roseto the rank of colonel, and to the reputation of a distinguishedman. Madame Delong, though without fortune, had been extremely welleducated, and the congeniality of their minds and characters hadestablished between them the most tender and perfect union.

  When, two or three years before the time of our story, Madame Ballier,then a widow, had retired from business, in rather indifferentcircumstances, Madame Delong proposed to her husband to offer her ahome with them. Monsieur Delong at first hesitated, from the fearof giving his wife an associate by no means agreeable; but he soonyielded to the noble motives by which she was influenced in makingthis proposal, and to his conviction, that the mingled gentleness andfirmness of her character would greatly diminish the inconvenienceswhich might otherwise result from such an arrangement. Madame Ballieraccordingly joined the family of her niece in the small town wherethe latter resided, in the absence of her husband, and where with avery moderate income she endeavoured, by strict economy, to meet theexpenses occasioned by the war, and provide for the education of herson. A good-hearted woman in the main, but often weary of her position,and, notwithstanding the deference with which she was treated byMadame Delong, dissatisfied at not being the mistress, Madame Ballierwas frequently out of humour, and found means of showing her temperon a thousand occasions; for persons who have no taste for seriousoccupation are apt to become very fanciful about trifles. The twogreatest sufferers were Louis and his black wolf-dog Barogo: as forMarianne, a quarrel was not positively disagreeable to her, and it wasa pleasure which Madame Ballier seldom hesitated to afford her. MadameDelong would by no means have permitted Marianne to fail in respectto her aunt, but neither did she like that Madame Ballier shoulduselessly torment Marianne, an old and faithful servant, who had beenin the family ever since her mistress was born, and who was determinedto end her days in it; both, therefore, were equally interested inkeeping their quarrels secret, and thus being sure of each other, theyobserved no mutual consideration; and a coffee-pot placed on the fireprecisely where it would most inconvenience Marianne, or removed atthe very time Madame Ballier wished to have it heated; a commissiongiven inopportunely, and received with a bad grace, and, above all, thedelinquencies of Robinet, Madame Ballier's cat, who was afraid of miceand devoured every thing in the larder, kept up a fund of animosity,and underhand quarrels, which interestingly occupied one half of theirlives.

  But between Louis and his aunt, the game was by no means so equal.

  As Madame Ballier had no authority whatever over him, she made apoint of contradicting him in everything. His shoes were too tight,or his trowsers too wide; he wore his hair too short, or his sleevestoo long: and as the next day neither hair, nor sleeves, nor shoes,nor trowsers, differed in any degree from what they were the nightbefore, the remarks were repeated with as much acrimony as if MadameBallier were herself obliged to wear the things in question. MadameDelong, perfectly mute during these disputes, in which she never tookany part, was not equally reserved with her son, whom she scrupulouslycompelled, much against his inclination, to restrain his conduct withinthe bounds of proper respect; but all her authority, and her severelooks, were scarcely sufficient to effect this, when the injustice fellupon Barogo, whom Madame Ballier regularly turned out of the room, twoor three times a day saying that he gave her fleas. Louis would thenimmediately follow, in order to be with his dear Barogo, and usuallyfound him engaged in avenging upon Robinet the insults received fromher mistress. Warned by the noise he made in pursuing her favourite,Madame Ballier would fly to the rescue; snatch up, in her alarm andanger, a broom, a pair of tongs, or whatever came to hand, as a weaponagainst the aggressor, and while the latter made his escape growling,Madame Ballier, drawn away by a deeper interest, ran to seek andconsole her cat. Then Barogo, satisfied with having proved his right ofresistance, by displaying his white teeth through his black moustaches,would return and take quiet possession of the sitting-room, where hesoon became the object of a fresh contest.

  "Why should we be obliged to submit to my aunt's caprices andill-humour?" Louis would sometimes exclaim in a fit of uncontrollableindignation. "Why should we be obliged to live with our relationsat all?" asked Madame Delong one day in reply. "Why should we beobliged to keep up any ties of kindred? Why should not brothers andsisters, fathers and children, go each their own way, without troublingthemselves about each other? If I were to become peevish, morose, anddifficult to please, tell me, Louis, would you be obliged to retain anyregard for me?"

  "Oh! my dear mother!" cried Louis, wounded at such a supposition.

  "My child," replied his mother, "when we once believe that we mayquarrel with our duties, because they are difficult, there is none ofthem that may not be brought into question, for there is none of them,the fulfilment of which may not at some period or other occasion ussome inconvenience. Do you not think a nephew owes to his aunt, and an_aged_ aunt, respect and complaisance?"

  "Undoubtedly, but--"

  "But you would prefer that your aunt should be careful to render thisduty more agreeable to you:--this I can conceive; yet a duty is not theless a duty because it is painful."

  "I should think my aunt has duties also," said Louis, with a littleasperity.

  "My son," returned his mother, very seriously, "when you have foundout a suitable manner of representing them to her, you will be quitejustified in thinking of them."

  "What is to be done, then?" Louis would sometimes exclaim, quite outof patience at seeing no means of avoiding what he knew not how toendure. One day, when the heat was extreme, and he was continuallywiping his face during a discussion of this kind, his mother said tohim, "Six or seven years ago, my dear, you would not have been able tobear such heat as this without repeating every moment, _Oh, how hot itis!_ but now you scarcely pay any attention to it, because you knowthat it is unbecoming in a man not to show himself superior to pettyinconveniences."

  Louis was quite old enough to understand his mother's arguments, buthe had not yet acquired sufficient resolution to submit to them. Whenhis aunt was out of humour with him, he became angry in his turn; ifshe wished to subject him to some caprice of hers, he was the moreobstinately bent on a contrary w
him; and to make him feel it a matterof great importance that his hat should remain on the table, it wasonly necessary that Madame Ballier should take it into her head tothrow it upon a chair.

  When out of his mother's presence, and no longer restrained by herlooks, which habitually followed him, and which he dared not avoid,Louis was always more disposed to forget himself, and did not oftenescape the danger, particularly as he was then more openly attackedby Madame Ballier, who was no longer held in check by the fear ofdisobliging her niece. The last quarrel had been occasioned by one ofthose trifles which so often occasioned them, and Louis, exasperated tothe utmost by his aunt's ill-humour, and perhaps not very well disposedhimself that day had taken the liberty to indulge in remarks so littlemeasured, that the anger of Madame Ballier had gone beyond all bounds.She was sorry for it afterwards; not that she considered it anythingextraordinary for an aunt to box the ears of a nephew who had spokenimpertinently to her; but such things were not in accordance with thetone of the family, and although she herself constantly found faultwith her niece, she would not have liked her niece to find fault withher.

  She thought to repair all by the offer of taking Louis to the theatre,and could not understand his retaining so much resentment as to refuse.Consequently, she was much out of humour the whole of dinner-time, andwhen upon leaving the table a fresh proposal was again met by a refusalon the part of Louis, she went off shrugging her shoulders with a sighof indignation.

  She had only just left the room, when in came M. Lebeau, a friend ofMadame Delong's.

  "Come, come, my boy!" he said to Louis, "to the theatre:--quick! thereis not a moment to lose, or we shall not find places. Charles andEugenia are on the way with their mother; we will overtake them."

  Louis and his mother looked at each other without making any reply."Well! are you coming?" said M. Lebeau, impatiently. "I do not thinkthat Louis can go to the play this evening," said Madame Delong, atlength, looking earnestly at her son.

  "And why not?"

  "He has work to finish."

  "I worked hard enough when I was young, and learned my profession as anotary as well as any one else, but I did not give up my amusement, forall that. Why, my lad, at your age, when I wanted to go to the play, Ispent the night in work, and there was an end of it."

  "That would not be very difficult," said Louis, looking at his mother,whilst his face was scarlet with anger and anxiety. Madame Delongsuppressed a sigh, called forth by the sight of her son's vexation,and said to him; "You know very well, my dear, that that is not thedifficulty:" then, turning to M. Lebeau, she added, in a firmer tone,"It is impossible; Louis has refused to go with his aunt."

  "His aunt! his aunt! What then? He has changed his mind; surely he hasa right to be more amused with my children than with his aunt. Come,come, I will undertake to make her listen to reason, though we do notgenerally understand one another particularly well."

  Louis seemed in suspense. "M. Lebeau," said Madame Delong, veryseriously; "since it must be confessed, Louis has had a slight quarrelwith his aunt, and it was for that reason that he declined goingwith her to the theatre. I do not blame him for it, it was the mostrespectful manner of letting his aunt know that she had wounded hisfeelings; but I leave him to judge," she added, looking at Louis,"whether it be becoming in him to go and brave her as it were, and asif he said to her, 'I did not choose to accept your favours, I candispense with them.'"

  "Such punctilios are only fit for a girl," cried M. Lebeau. "My dearfriend, I tell you plainly, you will make a milksop of that son ofyours."

  "I am not aware," said Madame Delong, still looking at her son, "thatLouis feels himself any the weaker, or the less worthy of esteem, whenhe submits to his duty, than when he fails in it in order to follow hispleasures."

  Louis shook his head; he knew very well that his mother was right;but he found it impossible to make any answer. At this moment Charlesrushed into the room: quite out of patience at not seeing his friendLouis arrive, he had run to look for him. "Come, make haste!" he cried;"you will make us lose the first scene, and perhaps even our places."

  Louis, with eyes cast down, pressed his hand, and not daring to trusthis voice, said, in a tone scarcely audible,--"I am not going to thetheatre."

  "Not going! and why not?" asked Charles, much astonished.

  "On account of my aunt."

  Charles, in consternation, looked alternately at his father and atMadame Delong; the latter hastened to observe: "It is a voluntarysacrifice which my son makes to his sense of propriety, and one which Ihope we shall be able to make up to him another time."

  "Another time!" cried M. Lebeau, striking the floor with his cane;"another time! why, they are going away to-morrow; I tell you they setoff to-morrow."

  Louis started. Madame Delong, looking at him, sorrowfully, but firmly,said, "Is that any reason, my son?" Louis hurried out of the room; hewas choking. Charles left the house in grief, and M. Lebeau, as he tookhis departure, repeated, "I always said so; the most sensible woman inthe world knows nothing about bringing up boys."

  Madame Delong immediately went to her son's room and found him leaningagainst the corner of the mantel-piece; his fortitude was completelyovercome; the poor boy was in tears, and his mother felt much disposedto join him. As if suddenly struck with resentment upon her entrance,he exclaimed, "You wished to punish me because I dared to be angrywith my aunt when she tried to box my ears;" and these last words wereuttered in a still more passionate manner.

  "To punish you!" said Madame Delong, putting her arm round her son'sneck, "to punish you! Oh, my dear child, it is a very long time since Ihave even thought it possible that I could have occasion to punish you!"

  The tears of Louis were now flowing abundantly. Madame Delong leant herhead on his shoulder, saying, with much emotion, "My dearest child,overcome this weakness, I entreat you. What will become of me who havethe responsibility of making you acquainted with your duties, if youhave not resolution enough to fulfil them? How cruel will be my task,Louis! I have laboured all your life to inspire you with fortitude, inorder that your courage might sustain my own."

  "This disappointment cannot grieve you as much as it does me," saidLouis, still a little angry, though already in some degree softened byhis mother's words.

  "My dear boy," replied Madame Delong, "if you were now at the theatre,I should be watching the clock, and although alone, should fear to seethe hours pass, for I should say, 'he is now enjoying himself,' andthat would render my whole evening delightful." Louis kissed her hand."But," she continued, "if after having refused your aunt, you had beenweak enough to accompany M. Lebeau, and I weak enough to consent toyour doing so, we should both of us have had our pleasure destroyed;the sight of your aunt at the play would have disturbed you the wholetime; on your return we should not have dared to converse together onwhat would have been a subject of self-reproach to both, and you wouldhave gone to bed without having anything to relate to me."

  Louis was insensibly calmed by the conversation and affection of hismother; nevertheless, he had some difficulty in applying steadily toanything during this evening, and he dreamed all night that he had goneto the theatre, and was wandering round and round the house withoutbeing able to find the entrance, whilst all the time the play was goingon, and he could hear the applause.

  Madame Ballier, on her part, had returned home much dissatisfied withthe manner in which she had passed her evening. She had the misfortuneto be seated in a box close to the one occupied by M. Lebeau and hisfamily: there was already a good deal of bitterness between them, forM. Lebeau, though a good-natured and upright man, was little disposedto think that people should inconvenience themselves for the sakeof others; he had never approved of Madame Delong's plan of havingMadame Ballier with her, and consequently had taken an aversion tothe latter almost before he had made her acquaintance. Never wouldhe consent to show her the slightest attention calculated to attracther to his house, and as this prevented Madame Delong from visitingthere as frequently
as she had previously done, M. Lebeau was the moredissatisfied; and the grievances of Louis, who was a great favouriteof his, and even those of Barogo, with whom he cultivated a certaindegree of intimacy, did not tend to soften matters. When, upon enteringthe theatre, he saw Madame Ballier in the next box to that which hisfamily had taken, he felt so annoyed that he would have changed hisplace had it been possible. His excitement, and the explanations givento his party in no very low tone, soon informed Madame Ballier of whathad taken place, and the name of "poor Louis," which, at every pausein their pleasure, was repeated by the children in a tone of regret,and with a side glance towards her, rendered her evening extremelydisagreeable. On returning home she complained of a headache, andretired to her own room without seeing any one. The next day she madeno allusion whatever to the play; and if Louis was wrong in somewhatenjoying this little revenge, he was at all events justified incongratulating himself on having escaped a similar embarrassment. Twodays afterwards, at the house of M. Lebeau, the latter again attackedMadame Delong on the subject of the play; Louis defended his motherwith so much eagerness, that M. Lebeau, provoked at finding in himan opponent, exclaimed, "Young man! this is the way you spoil yourmother." Everybody laughed, and M. Lebeau amongst the rest, whileMadame Delong gave her son a smile of affectionate pride, which seemedto say, "Persevere, my dear Louis, let us continue to aid each otherin fulfilling our duty."

  The Cure here paused. "Is that all?" exclaimed the two little boys.

  "That is not a story," said Juliana, drawing up her head with an air ofpretension. "It has neither beginning nor end."

  "As to the end," replied the Cure, "I have not told you that my storywas ended: I wished merely to show you how very disagreeable it is foryoung persons when their relations happen to be bad-tempered, and atthe same time to point out to you that when such is the case it is theduty of the young to make every sacrifice rather than displease theirrelations."

  "It was not very difficult for Louis to do what his mother wished,"said Juliana, in a tone which betrayed a little vexation; "she alwaysspoke to him so gently."

  "Well! that is good!" cried Amadeus. "The other day when you were in apassion, and nurse very gently begged you to listen to reason, did younot tell her to march off with her reason?"

  "Mr. Amadeus," replied Juliana, colouring violently, "mind your ownaffairs if you please, or I shall tell, in my turn, what naughty wordsyou made use of in the grove, when papa called you to write yourexercise."

  "I see," said the Cure, "that you would neither of you have been asreasonable as Louis, though he was nothing to boast of."

  "Yes," observed Amadeus, "for he obeyed the wishes of his mother onlywhen she was present."

  "I don't behave like him, Monsieur le Cure," said Paul, touching theclergyman's arm to make him listen to him; "when mamma goes away andsays, 'Paul, don't go near the water,' I don't go near it at all."

  "I should like to know," said Juliana, "what would have happened ifLouis had remained for some time _tete-a-tete_ with his aunt?"

  "That is precisely the sequel of my story," replied the Cure. Thechildren having expressed their wish to hear this sequel, the Curepromised it, and a few days afterwards he thus resumed the adventuresof Louis.

  ABSENCE.

  Madame Delong received intelligence from Germany which caused her thegreatest affliction. Her husband had been dangerously wounded, and sheimmediately set off to attend on him, deeply grieved at the necessityof leaving her son to his own discretion, as it were, with a person whowas incapable of maintaining any authority over him.

  Being also perfectly well aware that whilst Madame Ballier had tocommand, and Marianne to obey, there would be little peace in thehousehold, we may easily imagine what were her parting admonitions,and what the promises and good resolutions made to conform to them.But, scarcely was she out of sight, when Madame Ballier, eager totake possession of her authority, positively exacted of Marianne thatthe soup tureen, which from time immemorial had been placed on thesideboard, should for the future be put away in the closet, and that,contrary to the practice hitherto observed, the glasses should berinsed before the decanters. From this moment all hope of agreement wasat an end; and when Louis returned home to dinner, he found Mariannein a state of the greatest excitement. "Master Louis," she said, "thiswill never do; that woman will drive me out of my senses. I tell you,Master Louis, we can never go on in this way."

  "Louis," said Madame Ballier, very composedly, to her nephew, when hecame to take his place at the dining-table, "I beg you for the futureto be more punctual to the time."

  Louis looked at his watch, then at the time-piece, and was muchsurprised to find that they did not agree; he had set them together inthe morning, and now perceived that, without any intimation to him,Madame Ballier had advanced the time-piece after his departure. Heshowed his watch, and said coolly, but not without some intention ofannoying, "This is the time by Monsieur Lebeau's clock, which is thebest in the town, and which everybody follows since the town clock hasbeen out of order."

  Madame Ballier replied, pettishly, that Monsieur Lebeau's clock wentlike his head, and that the house clock was the one to which he mustconform.

  "To render that possible," said Louis, "it ought not to be alteredevery moment without necessity."

  Silence ensued till about the middle of dinner, when Madame Balliersaid to her nephew, "I hope, Louis, that you do not intend to takeadvantage of your mother's absence to run about and idle away yourtime, instead of attending to your studies."

  "Run about! Where, aunt?" inquired Louis, greatly astonished, for hewas noted for his exactitude in the performance of his duties.

  "Why, to Monsieur Lebeau's, for example."

  "My mother has given me permission to go there," replied Louis, in acareless tone.

  "Morning and evening?" demanded Madame Ballier, sharply.

  "As often as I please," replied Louis, drily.

  "As often as you please!" cried Madame Ballier. "Very fine, truly; ifyou have permission to do whatever you please, sir, it was not worth mywhile to take charge of you."

  "You take charge of me, aunt!" exclaimed Louis, in his turn, with anindignation which completely exasperated Madame Ballier.

  "And who, then, is to take charge of you, pray, sir?"

  Louis was silent: he had raised a difficult question; for he could notpossibly suppose that at his age he could avoid being responsible forhis conduct to some one or other; nor could he tell Madame Ballierthat it was not to her that he owed this responsibility, as thiswould neither have been respectful nor true; for, in fact, if he hadbeen guilty of any impropriety, if he had neglected his studies, andspent his time away from home in the absence of his mother, it wasundoubtedly the duty of his aunt to repress such misconduct by everymeans in her power. Louis' mistake consisted in not remembering, thatit is not only a duty to yield, in matters of importance, to those whohave a right to exact obedience; but that we ought likewise to yield tothem in trifles also; because it is but reasonable that we should avoidgiving them annoyance.

  They again relapsed into silence; but on rising from table MadameBallier said to her nephew, at the same time carefully emphasizingevery word, "Notwithstanding all your permissions, you will be so goodas to remember, Master Louis, that I am amenable for you in the absenceof your mother, and that I shall not allow you to commit any follies;do you understand that?" She took care to close the door as shepronounced these last words, so as to avoid having to hear any replyto them. Louis had no thought of answering her; all his ideas were inconfusion. Not having the slightest inclination to commit any follies,as Madame Ballier expressed it, he was surprised to find himself soextremely offended at her prohibition of them.

  "Do but look at that woman, now," said Marianne, folding her arms, andfixing her eyes on the door by which Madame Ballier had made her exit.

  "If this is the way she begins," resumed Louis, slowly setting downthe glass which in his surprise he had held suspended near his lips.It seemed as if a t
hunderbolt had fallen at their feet, so little werethey prepared for their proper course of action, which was simply toallow things and words of no importance to pass quietly by.

  Louis went to M. Lebeau's to console himself for his vexations, byrelating them to Charles and Eugenia. "Let her grumble as much as shepleases; you take your own way," said Charles.

  Eugenia scolded Charles and then Louis. "Ask mamma," she said, "whetherthat is the proper manner of behaving to your aunt."

  "In what respect, then, do you find I behave so much amiss?" returnedCharles, hastily. "You would do just the same in my place."

  "I! by no means; when I want to do anything I ask permission; there issurely no great trouble in that."

  "But what permission have I to ask of her?"

  "That you know best,--permission to look out at the window, if sherequires it; it would be no great hardship after all."

  "That, certainly, would be very pretty for a boy!" said Charles.

  "It would seem, then, that it is more becoming in a boy to beunreasonable, than it is in a girl?"

  "Pshaw! Eugenia," said Louis, ill-humouredly, as he took Charles bythe arm to lead him away from his sister; "you know nothing about thematter; and besides, what you say is only an affectation."

  "I am sure," replied Eugenia, offended in her turn, "that you giveyourself airs; it costs you but little to make rude speeches."

  They quarrelled, then became reconciled. Louis found in Eugenia'sadvice much that resembled the counsels of his mother; and he was onlythe more distressed by dimly perceiving that he was in the wrong,without exactly knowing how to set himself right. The fact was, thatLouis was disposed to comply with the wishes of his aunt, providedshe required nothing that was troublesome to him; and willing totreat her with complaisance, provided she never interfered with hisinclinations; which certainly was setting himself no very difficulttask.

  A few days after this occurrence, Louis received a letter from hismother, written at the end of her first day's journey.

  "Bear in mind, above all things, my dear son," she said in this letter,"never to swerve from the respect you owe your aunt. You may sometimesthink she demands a greater degree of submission than she has a rightto exact; yet you must submit to this, in order to please her; for itis your duty to make her satisfied with you.

  "Should you sometimes think she opposes you unreasonably, or fromill-humour, the best way of showing yourself a man is by not allowingyourself to be irritated by this conduct; for it is little childrenonly that people are anxious not to oppose unreasonably, for fear ofspoiling their tempers; but when they become men, they must in theirturn conform to the tempers of others.

  "In a short time, my dear son, you will have to conduct yourselfproperly, not only towards those who behave well to you, but towardsall with whom you have any intercourse. So long as you are unable tofulfil your duty, unless you have to deal with just and reasonablepersons, so long will you be unfit to dispense with the guidance ofyour father and mother; for you will meet with no one else in the worldwho, for the sake of sparing you the commission of a fault, will becareful to treat you on all occasions with kindness and justice."

  The day that Louis received this letter he was more assiduous in hisattentions to his aunt; he took care not to leave the door open whenshe was in the draught, and he prevented Barogo from eating up thefood prepared for Robinet--an occurrence which the evening before hadoccasioned great offence. Left to himself, Louis was naturally disposedto be obliging; but he wanted that self-control which can alone secureus against the caprices of others. He was consequently never so much atthe mercy of his aunt's whims as when he allowed her to put him in apassion, in spite of his good resolutions. Now, as her caprices becameevery day more frequent, in proportion to the effect they produced onhim, and as in proportion to their frequency his resolution becameevery day weaker, his desire of maintaining peace soon gave way to acomplete abandonment of himself to all those emotions which naturallyexcite discord. The counsels of his mother now produced only a feelingof irritation, for he had persuaded himself that what she required ofhim was impossible. His home became insupportable, and he was alwaysanxious to escape from it; nor could his mind rest with pleasure onanything but the idea of the enjoyment which he promised himself ingoing to spend the three holidays of Whitsuntide with Madame Lebeau inthe country.

  This excursion had been arranged before the departure of Madame Delong.Louis had often mentioned it, and considered it as a settled affair,but Madame Ballier took it into her head, as the best possible means ofannoying him, to oblige him to ask specially for her permission.

  It had been arranged that on the Saturday preceding Whitsunday Louiswas to dine with M. Lebeau, in order to be ready to set out with thefamily for the country immediately afterwards.

  On the day in question, the moment before he returned home to dressfor dinner, and make up his little package of what was to be takenwith him, Madame Ballier left the house, carrying with her the keysof the wardrobe. Louis, greatly annoyed at not finding the keys whenhe came in, asked Marianne for them, and then inquired for his aunt.Marianne had not seen her go out, and knew not where to find her. Theyseparated in search of her. Louis ran out, boiling with impatience;and, perceiving her seated on one of the benches in the promenade, hecould scarcely restrain himself sufficiently to avoid demanding hiskeys before he came up to her, or ask for them, when he did arrive, interms of proper politeness. Madame Ballier quietly inquired what hewanted them for?

  "I want to dress, aunt--I am in a great hurry--pray give them to meimmediately;"--and he held out a hand tremulous with impatience.

  "To dress! you never dress but on Sundays," replied Madame Ballier withthe utmost coolness.

  "But, aunt! you know I am going into the country."

  "I know nothing about it: you have not told me."

  "I have spoken of it a hundred times in your presence."

  "I am not accustomed," said Madame Ballier, "to take to myself what isnot directly addressed to me."

  "Well, then, aunt, I tell you now; I repeat it," replied Louis, withredoubled vehemence.

  "I have an idea, sir," said Madame Ballier, very gravely, and rising atthe same time, "that you will ask me for them in a different manner."

  Louis half bent his knee, and in a tone which in his anger heendeavoured to render derisive, said, "Will my aunt have the kindness,the magnanimity, the clemency to give me my keys?"

  Madame Ballier made a movement as if to go away. Louis threw himselfbefore her: the clock was striking four, the hour appointed for therendezvous at M. Lebeau's. "Aunt," he exclaimed, and without perceivingthat the tone of his voice had become almost menacing: "Aunt, I entreatyou ... where are my keys?"

  "In a place," replied Madame Ballier, who on her part was beginning tolose her self-control; "in a place where you will not get them until itsuits me."

  "You will not give them to me, then?"

  Madame Ballier walked on without condescending to reply. Louis dartedoff like an arrow, taking with him, in his way home, the locksmithusually employed in the house, who, knowing him, made no difficultyabout opening the drawers; he then dressed himself, made up a smallparcel, and, meeting Marianne, who had just come in, told her to carryto M. Lebeau, in the course of the day, the rest of his things, thatthey might not be locked up again.

  Surprised at such an order, and disturbed at seeing all the drawersopen, Marianne would fain have questioned him as to what had occurred,but he was already at a distance, and she stood at the door gazingafter him in complete bewilderment.

  Louis was eager to arrive; eager to shake off the agitation whichtormented him. Since the departure of his mother he had never feltsatisfied with himself, at the present moment he was less so than ever,and knew not what the future was likely to bring forth, for he hadnot the courage to scrutinize the state of his mind. He concealed hisuneasiness as well as he could, not liking to mention to M. Lebeau hisdisagreement with his aunt, and the idea of being for three whole daysquit
e free from his vexations made him speedily forget them. As soonas dinner was over, it was announced that the asses were at the door.Louis was appointed to lead Eugenia's, and Charles that intended forhis mother, excepting when M. Lebeau was to take the place of one orthe other, so as to let them, by turns, mount his horse. The weatherwas delightful, and the young people, already animated by the prospectof pleasure, were running down the steps, laughing and jumping, whenMarianne appeared at the door, much excited, and carrying in her armsa large parcel, which she held out to Louis: "Here, Master Louis," shesaid, "here are your clothes; when your aunt saw that I was going totake them, she threw them in my face, saying that when they were onceout of the house they had better remain so, and you too. Then, said I,'And I too;' for now that you are gone, Master Louis, she may manage asshe can. I will not set foot in the house till my mistress returns.Here is the account of every thing left under my care--it may easily beseen that all is right; besides, she has taken all the keys, and I willno longer be answerable for anything."

  "But, Marianne," said Louis, who was excessively disturbed, "I am notgoing away--I am to be absent only two days."

  "Oh! indeed! but she declared that you should remain where youare--that she was going to write to your mother--that she would nolonger be answerable for you--and I don't know what besides."

  "You will stay with us," said Charles, with great glee.

  "What nonsense!" said Madame Lebeau, impatiently, "his aunt will neverdrive him away from the house."

  "Oh! as for that, she said that if he came back, she should go away,"replied Marianne, "not that she will do any such thing--but it is allthe same to me. I remained there only for your sake, Master Louis,and now I have done with her. Didn't she say it was I that forced thelock, and that she would take me before the Justice of the Peace! Lether do so! I am not afraid of her; I am better known in the town thanshe is. The Justice of the Peace, indeed! I am at my sister's, in thenext street, let her come for me there:--Good-by, Master Louis."--Thenturning back--"Oh! stay! here is a letter from your mamma, which, withall this bother, I forgot to give you;" and she went away, repeating toherself, "The Justice of the Peace! Much I care for her and her Justiceof the Peace!" Thus she went on, becoming more and more irritated everytime this idea recurred to her mind.

  Louis was thunderstruck; he turned his mother's letter mechanically inhis hand--it seemed already to pain him, as if it contained a reproach.

  "What is all this?" demanded M. Lebeau, who came up in the midst ofMarianne's harangue; and Louis scarcely knew how to give him anexplanation, so trifling was the subject in dispute.

  "Come with us all the same," said Charles, in an under-tone, "you cansettle all that on your return."

  "Write her a very submissive letter from the country," said Eugenia.Louis heard not a word that was said, he had just opened his mother'sletter.

  "Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, in a tone of grief, whilst he hid hisface in his hands.

  "What has happened?--your father!" cried Madame Lebeau, alarmed.

  "On the contrary," said Louis, blushing at the exclamation which hadjust escaped him, "my father is better;" and he added, in a subduedtone, "An hour ago this letter would have rendered me extremely happy."

  Madame Delong had written to inform her son that her husband was out ofdanger, and in a fit state to bear the journey; she was to set out withhim in a few days on his return home, where it would be necessary forhim to remain, to complete his recovery, and to pass the time of hisconvalescence, which was expected to be long.

  "I shall soon, therefore, my dear son," added Madame Delong, "presentyou to your father, who has not seen you these four years. He iscontinually speaking of you, and I scarcely dare to reply: I fear totrust my own affection; I fear to speak of you more favourably thanthe event may justify. Nevertheless, dear Louis, I trust he will bepleased with us. One thing alone disturbs me," she continued, "I amnot satisfied with the tone of your last letter when speaking of youraunt. My dear child, I must warn you that your father, who is muchweakened by long-continued exertion and severe suffering, is unable tobear the slightest agitation; it is necessary for him that the wholehouse should be as tranquil as the apartment of an invalid. Be on thewatch, therefore, that on his arrival every thing may wear the aspectof harmony, and nothing arise to disturb him. Examine carefully, mydear son, whether you have prepared for us the reception I require, andwhether you feel yourself thoroughly disposed to fulfil your duty."

  Louis was overwhelmed. "Well!" said M. Lebeau, who was waiting, and whowas not fond of waiting, "Are you coming or not?"

  "What will my mother say?" said Louis, who hardly heard the wordsaddressed to him.

  "What will she say? Why, you are not in fault, are you?"

  "I really don't know anything at all about it."

  "Oh; if you don't know, that is another matter. Come, my boy, youshould always know what you mean or what you don't mean; whether youare right or whether you are wrong, and then act accordingly."

  Louis now presented his mother's letter, not, however, that M. Lebeaumight decide for him, for his resolution was already taken.

  "Yes," said M. Lebeau, after having read the letter, "you will do wellto arrange matters if you can;" and Louis, without speaking anotherword, took the parcel which Marianne had brought, fastened to itthe one which he had made up to take into the country, and passinghis stick through them, put it on his shoulder, pressed the hand ofCharles, nodded to Eugenia, with a sigh, and walked to the door.

  "Is he going away?" asked Charles and Eugenia, in consternation.

  "You will come back to us," said M. Lebeau, who liked to make the bestof every thing. Louis again nodded, and departed. He soon heard thenoise of the donkeys as they were mounting, and of M. Lebeau's horsepawing the ground, impatient to set out; he turned his head, and sawthem all preparing for their departure, but in silence; and he watchedthem to the very end of the street, without hearing a single burst oflaughter.

  He walked on, without very well knowing what was to be done; hethought, however, that he must in the first place seek Marianne, andprevent her from sleeping out of the house; and, afterwards, go andinform his aunt that it was he who had caused the locks to be forced,and thus prevent her from going to the Justice of the Peace. He foundMarianne extremely excited, relating what had passed to her sister, whowas vainly endeavouring to pacify her.

  "Stop!" she said, when she saw Louis enter; "there is Master Louishimself, who will tell you that it is quite impossible to live withthat woman."

  "But what are you doing here, Master Louis? and your parcel?--youshould not have made me carry it to Monsieur Lebeau's; I would havebrought it straight here myself. My sister will lock it safe up in herchest, I promise you, Master Louis; you may be quite easy about it."

  "But Marianne," repeated Louis several times impatiently, in vainattempting to interrupt her; "but Marianne, it is not that; I come totell you that you must return home."

  "Return home! and for what, pray, Master Louis? It was all very well,whilst you were there; but as for your aunt, she can do well enoughwithout me, and I can do without her. Go, then, Master Louis, and takeyour pleasure in the country; you need not be afraid, we shall not biteone another in your absence."

  "But, Marianne," replied Louis, more and more out of patience, yetstill hesitating to engage himself, "I tell you it is not certain--itis indeed very possible that I may not go into the country at all."

  "How!--not go into the country! Oh! that is quite another affair! Itwas well worth while to open the drawers in such a hurry! Well, ifthat is the case, I will go and make your bed to-morrow, Master Louis;you may be very sure I shall not leave your room in disorder; you maydepend upon that beforehand; your bed shall be ready."

  "And dinner also, Marianne?"

  "Dinner for your aunt? oh! she can dine well enough without me, thedear creature! If she had nobody to cook her dinner but me, I warrantyou it would not make her ill;" and Marianne's passion beginning torevive, she talked to
herself and to every one around, without theirbeing able to stop her tongue.

  "But listen to me, do, pray, Marianne," cried Louis, almost losingtemper himself; "I tell you that my father and mother are coming."

  "What! the colonel!--my mistress!" exclaimed Marianne. "Gracious me!when?--where are they?" and she seemed ready to run and meet them.

  "Oh, not yet, Marianne," said Louis; "but they are on the road; here isthe letter which gives me the intelligence, and you must see that ifthey find all the house out of sorts in this manner----"

  "Ah yes! you are quite right, Master Louis, that is very true. Thepoor colonel!--and my mistress! How happy she must be!--how is he,now? What! they are really coming!" and the exclamations of Marianne,mingled and succeeded each other with as much rapidity in her delightas in her anger. The whole course of her ideas was completely changed,and perhaps on a closer consideration of the arrival of her masterand mistress, she might feel some uneasiness as to the consequencesof her late conduct, which in the heat of the moment she had not veryattentively examined. There was no difficulty in inducing her toreturn. "Must we not be preparing the house for their arrival?" shesaid. "Come, Master Louis; duty before all things;--duty before allthings!"

  They departed, Marianne carrying the parcels, which she insisted ontaking under her charge. "We are going back," she said, "like traderswho have been unlucky at the fair; we are as heavily laden as when weset out."

  They found the door of the house locked; for, as Marianne was no longerthere to attend to it, Madame Ballier had carried away the key withher when she went out. This incident, which Louis might have expected,vexed him exceedingly; he had not yet entirely given up all hopes ofgoing to join his friends in the country, after having reinstalledMarianne at home; but this now became, at least, doubtful, and everymoment of delay increased the chance of its being impossible. However,nothing was to be done but to wait; so Louis seated himself on thebench at the door, and did wait, but with a degree of bitterness whichevery minute of impatience rendered worse. Madame Ballier did notreturn till ten o'clock at night. Louis sprang up hastily, and his auntuttered a cry of alarm, for she had not seen either him or Mariannein the dark corner in which they had seated themselves. However, theservant of one of Madame Ballier's friends, who had accompanied herhome with a lantern, and to whom she had given the key, began to unlockthe door: Louis did not feel sure of being admitted without a contest;fortunately, however, Barogo, who poked his nose in at the door themoment it was a little opened, immediately got scent of Robinet, andpushing it back still farther with his head, bounded into the house,barking with all his might, as he pursued the cat. Madame Ballierrushed in after him, Louis followed his aunt, and Marianne followedhim; the door was closed, and every thing fell naturally into its place.

  Madame Ballier's Return, p. 200.]

  Nevertheless, it was necessary for Louis to come to some explanationwith his aunt. He prepared himself for it, and endeavoured to summonall the moderation of which he was capable, when he met her at the doorof his room, carrying Robinet in her arms. She asked him sharply why hehad not brought the locksmith to open the street door as well asthat of the wardrobe?

  "Since you knew that it was I who had the drawers opened," cried Louis,his anger already excited, as his principal motive for returning hadbeen to explain this matter, "why, aunt, did you threaten to takeMarianne before the Justice of the Peace? I came back purposely toprevent you from making such a scandal."

  "You are much needed, truly, young gentleman, to prevent scandals,"replied Madame Ballier, more and more irritated; "if you came here onlyto tell me that, you had better return into the country."

  "That is what I purpose doing to-morrow morning," said Louis.

  "But not, I beg," replied Madame Ballier, "until I have written aletter to Monsieur Lebeau, which you will be so good as to deliver tohim, requesting him to take charge of you, as I will have nothing moreto do with you."

  "I will carry no such letter!" exclaimed Louis, who again began tothink of the arrival of his father and mother.

  "If you do not carry it, I shall send it."

  "That will be of no use, for I shall not stay with Monsieur Lebeau."

  "If you go there to-morrow you will stay there."

  "And what is to compel me to do so?"

  "I will compel you; for I will leave this house, and send word to yourmother for what reason I do so."

  Louis returned to his room, slamming the door violently. "No," he said,pacing the room, and stamping till the floor shook; "it is uselesstrying: if one wishes to behave properly, she will not let one."

  "It is useless trying, that's certain," said Marianne, as she put theroom in order.

  * * * * *

  The Cure having laid down his manuscript, "Well, tell us," demanded thechildren, "did he not go into the country?"

  "What would you have done in his place?" inquired the Cure.

  Amadeus shook his head, as he replied, "I really do not know; it wascertainly a very puzzling situation."

  "Not at all," replied Juliana, in a very decided tone; "I should thenext day have said to my aunt, 'If you still choose to hinder me fromgoing into the country, I shall remain here, and tell every one that itis because I am more reasonable than you are.'"

  The Cure smiled. "That would have been very agreeable to her, indeed!"said Amadeus.

  "Neither should I have wished it to be agreeable to her," repliedJuliana.

  "For my part," said Paul, "I would have written immediately to mamma,in Germany, to ask her permission to go next day to Monsieur Lebeau's."

  Every one laughed at Paul's expedient, and the Cure continued hisnarrative.

  THE RECONCILIATION.

  Louis was left alone in his apartment, in a state of terribleagitation, and he passed nearly an hour in thinking only of hisannoyance, and giving way to passion, without coming to any decision.

  The last words of Marianne rang disagreeably in his ears. "Itis useless to try," he repeated; "Is it, then, impossible to bereasonable?" and the idea displeased him; for he would rather havebelieved that it was impossible. He began to reperuse his mother'sletter; but in his present disposition he several times stoppedimpatiently, for he felt as if his mother were there, giving him advicewhich he was unwilling to follow. Once he even threw the letter on thetable in a passion; but suddenly recollected, that one day when hewas vexed at some advice which his mother gave him, she said, "My dearLouis, are you displeased with my advice because it is bad, or becauseit is good?" and he acknowledged that people quarrel only with goodadvice, because it is that alone which one is obliged to follow.

  But although acknowledging to himself that his mother's advice wasgood, Louis was not the less inclined to dispute: was he not only torenounce so great a pleasure, and one, too, on which he had so longcounted, but also give way to his aunt, and especially in a thing sounreasonable! Then another recollection presented itself. One dayduring his childhood, when he had given a kick to Barogo, for notlearning his exercise, saying, "What a stupid brute you are!" hismother replied, "If he be a brute, why do you expect him to do thingswhich require reason?" This reflection now struck him, and he said,"Since my aunt is so unreasonable, it is foolish in me to expect her torequire of me nothing but what is reasonable;" and he added, "If I donot yield to her in what is unreasonable, I shall never have to yieldat all, for as to other things, I should do them of my own accord."

  His agitation began to subside in consequence of the pleasure whichhe experienced in feeling himself a reasonable person, and this kindof pleasure always inspires the wish to become still more so. Heremembered also that his mother had often said to him: "Sensible peoplehave a great task imposed on them, for they have to be reasonable, notonly for themselves, but for those also who are unreasonable;" andhe began to consider it as something very honourable to feel one'sself intrusted with a duty of this kind. Then he felt a pleasure inreading over again, not only the last letter which he had receivedfrom his
mother, but all she had written to him since her departure.He was struck with the following sentence: "Your misfortune, my dearson, consists in your having completely forgotten, in your intercoursewith your aunt, how we ought to conduct ourselves towards those whoseapprobation we desire. Now, it appears to me, that approbation isalways desirable, and that there may be some pleasure in gaining itwhere it costs an effort." In his present disposition, this ideaparticularly struck Louis. "It would be amusing, after all," he said,"to force my aunt to praise me." His imagination was so excited by thisproject, that he could scarcely go to sleep.

  The next morning he awoke in the best disposition possible. Theweather was delightful; he heard in the streets sounds indicative of afestival-day, and this made him feel rather heavy-hearted; but he hadother things to think of, and did not permit these recollections todistress him. He entered his aunt's room with an air of serenity whichshe had not expected. He knew that she had already inquired of Mariannewhether he was going into the country, and had been answered in thenegative. Her demeanour, accordingly, was rather stiff than angry. Whenhe had informed her of the news which he had received: "It is for thisreason, then, I suppose, young gentleman," she observed, "that you haveput water into your wine."

  The colour mounted into Louis' cheeks, but he had so well preparedhimself, that he did not lose his temper; besides, he could not butacknowledge to himself that his aunt had spoken the truth. "At allevents, aunt," he said, "I should certainly be much grieved, if myfather and mother, on their return, should find you dissatisfied withme."

  Madame Ballier was astonished; she had not calculated on such ananswer, and contented herself with muttering in a low voice, that shemight not appear at a loss, "I shall soon, then, be released from mycharge:" she then hastened to make inquiries respecting the health ofher nephew, and the time of his return; then, presently recurring tothe subject on which it was easy to see she wished to enter withoutvery well knowing how to begin, she said, in a tone which merelysimulated displeasure, "Then you will have no one to hinder you fromgoing into the country."

  "But you know, aunt," said Louis, gently, "that my mother had grantedme permission to go."

  "And for that reason," said Madame Ballier, again growing angry, "youconsidered that you might dispense with the permission of every oneelse."

  "You may see very well, aunt," replied Louis, in the same mild tone,"that that is not the case, for it was because you did not wish it thatI have not gone; and yet I wanted very much to go," he added, with asigh, which was not feigned.

  "How he is playing the hypocrite at present!" said Madame Ballier,turning away her head.

  "No, aunt, I am not playing the hypocrite," replied Louis, ratherhastily. "You know very well, that I calculated upon going into thecountry, and I expected to enjoy myself extremely, I can assure you."

  "Louis," replied Madame Ballier, gravely, "I do not wish to deprive youof your enjoyment, when you can ask for it in a proper manner." Sheevidently expected a reply.

  Louis hesitated a moment, and then said, "Well, then, aunt; will you... permit me to go?" The words cost him an effort, but when theyhad passed his lips, he hastened to add, in order to conceal hisrepugnance, "I shall be very much obliged to you."

  "You may go," said Madame Ballier, somewhat embarrassed herself withthe victory she had gained; and by way of preserving her dignity,she added, "To say the truth, it is more than you deserve after yourconduct yesterday."

  "Come, aunt, let us talk no more of that," said Louis, in a tone ofmingled playfulness and submission; and Madame Ballier, who couldscarcely believe her senses, shrugged up her shoulders, as she said,"Go, then, and be quick." Louis did not wait to be told a second time.In running to dress, he met Marianne, and, wild with joy, he seized herby the shoulders, and spinning her round, cried out, "Marianne, I amgoing into the country."

  But Marianne was in no laughing mood. Robinet had just overturned ajug of water, and she had all her kitchen to clean up. She declaredshe would wring the cat's neck the very first time she could catchhim; and as she uttered these words, a single door only, and thatscarcely closed, separated her from Madame Ballier. Louis trembled; heput his hand before her mouth, coaxed her, spoke of the necessity ofmaintaining a good understanding in the house, and even read to hera passage from his mother's letter; and Marianne, quite enchanted,began to moralize on the duties of servants towards their masters,which led her on, from one good sentiment to another, till she came toprotestations of attachment to Madame Ballier, and even to Robinet.Louis had hardly reached his room upstairs, when he heard his auntcalling to him, "Come, make haste, Louis, you will be killed with theheat;" and, on going down, he found her brushing his hat: touched withthis mark of kindness, he kissed her hand, whilst Marianne hastenedto take the brush from her. Never had anything of the kind been seenbefore in the family.

  Louis set off, his heart as light as his heels; he felt not the sun, hefelt nothing but his delight. Quite astonished at his own happiness,he asked himself if it was legitimate, and after the most strictself-examination, could find nothing to reproach himself with,--nothingthat had not been prompted by the best intentions; he could not butwonder how all had been settled with two words, when he had longbeen wasting so many in throwing every thing into confusion. He feltgrateful to his aunt for giving way so promptly, and he was pleasedwith himself for experiencing this sentiment, for a feeling in harmonywith our duties is something akin to virtue. On his arrival, he saw,in the distance, Charles standing at the door, and called out so loud,"Here I am," that Eugenia heard him and ran to the door. M. Lebeaucame also, and Louis plainly perceived that he had been the subject ofconversation since the preceding evening.

  "Did your aunt make a great fuss?" inquired M. Lebeau.

  "No, no," replied Louis, in a tone which sufficiently marked hispresent disposition: in his new plan of conduct towards his aunt, hewould have considered as treachery on his part a word spoken againsther in her absence.

  The three days passed delightfully, and yet Louis was not grievedto see them come to a close. The new task which he had set himselfoccupied his mind, and filled it with that interest always accordedto a project the success of which depends on our own exertions. Herepresented to himself the happiness of his mother when, on herarrival, she would witness the good understanding which had replacedthe appearances of animosity which made her uneasy; he took pleasurein thinking that she would feel obliged to him for this; and happy inthe idea of being able to procure her this satisfaction, the efforts bywhich it was to be obtained began to assume a pleasant aspect in hismind. On his way homewards, he was surprised to find himself thinking,with satisfaction, of meeting his aunt, and of seeing her reconciledto him, and he was consequently a little agitated when he arrived.It was very near eleven o'clock at night, and Madame Ballier, whoseimagination had not been excited like that of her nephew, receivedhim ill enough on account of his coming home so late. Louis, thoughdisconcerted by this reception, was so full of his good sentiments thathe had no difficulty in keeping his temper, and he replied gentlythat he was very sorry to have kept his aunt waiting. Madame Ballier,who had not expected such an answer, had not a word to say in reply.On the succeeding days, the case was the same: when Madame Ballierscolded, Louis apologized, so that she ceased to scold, or did so onlyfrom habit. One day, at dinner, she was seen to give a bone to Barogo,and even advised Louis to make him wear a muzzle, in order to preventhim from eating the poisoned balls which were thrown into the streetsduring the extreme hot weather. Barogo, however, could not endure amuzzle, and Louis did not like to inconvenience his favourite, so hereplied that Barogo did not go out till late, and after the balls hadbeen eaten by other dogs. Upon this, Madame Ballier, day after dayreturned to the subject of the muzzle, and Louis persisted, with somewarmth, in defending Barogo's opinion. Hence, it happened that MadameBallier, having once mentioned the subject, was perpetually recurringto it indirectly, and with some degree of asperity. Louis had at firstsaid to himself, "The dog is mine, and it
is no concern of my aunt's,"but he afterwards considered, "If it did concern her, it would be myduty to do it, since she required it, and, since she has no right tointerfere, I ought to do it to please her." It gave him some painto follow this determination, particularly when it was necessary toovercome the resistance of Barogo, who had not made the same progressas himself in the art of obliging. "Barogo," he said, as he fastenedon the muzzle, "we must please my aunt;" and, instead of waiting,as perverse people often do, until his aunt again complained of hisinjuring his dog, in order to obtain a triumph over her, he showed herthe muzzle, saying, "Aunt, I have put a muzzle on Barogo," and, as hewas now daily improving, he added, "and he does not mind it nearlyso much as I feared he would." Madame Ballier contented herself withreplying, somewhat ungraciously, "I knew very well it would be so,"and never failed to remind him every day to put the muzzle on his dog.But every day, also, at dinner, Barogo received a bit of meat fromMadame Ballier, and as Barogo was sensible of this kindness, and didnot know that it was she who was the cause of his being muzzled, hebegan at table to wag his tail, and fix his bright eyes upon her, whichwas quite a new thing on his part, and Louis was filled with amazementto see him. Good sense and gentleness seemed to spring up on all sidessince he had thought of introducing them into the house.

  Nevertheless, he one day found Marianne in a fury. Madame Ballier hadjust told her that she had seen some ripe cherries, and ordered her togo and purchase some. Marianne had maintained that they were not ripe,and protested between her teeth that she would not go, flying into aviolent passion, as if she had been thrust out by the shoulders. Louis,at first, endeavoured to persuade her that it was not very difficult totry at least to get some cherries; but this only increased Marianne'sanger. Then he said that he was sure Marianne would do difficult thingsfor his sake, and that he particularly wished for some cherries."Nonsense!" said Marianne, "that is only to prevent your aunt frommaking an outcry."

  "Yes, Marianne," he replied, smiling, "for fear that my father, whois on his journey, should hear the noise." Then, gently patting heron the shoulder, he added, "My good Marianne, you would not wish togive my father a headache?" Marianne shook her head, told him he was awheedler, and went to fetch the cherries.

  Since Louis had given up the idea of employing any but gentle meansin the attainment of his wishes, he discovered a vast number of suchmeans, which would never otherwise have occurred to him. This eveninghe found an opportunity of telling Marianne that the cherries wereexcellent, and from this point went on to speak of the pleasure itwould give his mother to find there were so much fewer quarrels inthe house; and Marianne was so pleased at having contributed to thispacification, that the same evening she placed, of her own accord, thelamp upon the table, instead of on the mantel-piece, a thing she hadnever before consented to do, without having been first scolded aboutit by Madame Ballier.

  Time passed, and M. Delong was approaching home, although slowly,being obliged to travel by short stages, and to rest frequently. Theyhad now but one week more to wait, and the day before his arrival wasthe fete-day of the village in which M. Lebeau's country house wassituated. This fete was a celebrated one in the neighbourhood; therewas a grand fair, dancing in a pretty meadow, games, and boating on theriver. Louis was to pass the day with the Lebeau family, and promisedhimself great pleasure, enhanced by the assurance of still greaterhappiness, a few days afterwards, on the arrival of his father andmother. He had spoken of this party to his aunt, and she had consentedto his going, with an expression of vexation which had not escapedLouis, but the cause of which he had not courage enough to investigate.He soon perceived, however, that his aunt was herself embarrassed aboutgoing to this fete. Those persons with whom she was most intimate inthe town were absent; others had made up their parties, which she couldnot join, or which did not suit her, and during three days she had afund of ill-humour, and Louis a feeling of discomfort, for which hedared not venture to account. At length he confessed to himself, thatif he was ill at ease, it was because he was not performing his duty;and from this moment the only question was, how to summon resolutionfor its performance: a difficult duty is more than half accomplishedwhen we have once acknowledged its necessity. Yet, to renounce hisengagement with the Lebeau family, and give up his whole day to hisaunt, was a sacrifice which, three weeks before, would never haveentered his mind. But now that the arrival of his mother drew sonear, he was more than ever engrossed with the desire of proving toher that he had conducted himself well in her absence; and it wouldhave been vexatious to spoil all his labour by leaving with his aunta sufficiently legitimate cause of complaint. Still he hesitated,grieved at the idea of relinquishing the delightful prospect in view,but a letter from his mother put an end to his uncertainty. A sensibleamelioration had permitted M. Delong to hasten his journey, and hewas to arrive the day after the fete. Madame Delong at the same timementioned to her son her anxiety respecting his conduct to his aunt,of which the last letters received from her gave but an indifferentidea. Louis triumphantly smiled to himself at his mother's fears,and at the happiness he was preparing for her; and, full of thesedelightful thoughts, he so vividly transported himself in imaginationto the day of her arrival, that it was easy for him to leap over thatof the fete. He ran to his aunt, who was already informed by letterof his father's more speedy arrival, and hastened to propose to takeher to the fete with him. When she objected, by saying that he wouldhave much more amusement with the family of M. Lebeau, he was on thepoint of answering "Very well, aunt;" happily, however, he checkedhimself in time, and simply replied that he should have great pleasurein escorting her; and this was quite true; for at this moment all waspleasure to him. He then went to M. Lebeau, to excuse himself from hisengagement. M. Lebeau was annoyed, and inquired, "How is it that youraunt can find no one to take charge of her?"

  "All her acquaintances are in the country," replied Louis; "there isperhaps no one left in town with whom she is so well acquainted as withyourself."

  "And I am not going to take her, I assure you," said M. Lebeau.

  "That I am quite aware of," said Louis, somewhat offended in his turn;for he probably thought that a little good-nature on the part of M.Lebeau would have settled everything satisfactorily.

  "What a pity!" said Eugenia, in a low tone, glancing timidly at herfather: "there is abundance of room in the boat."

  "There is no room for any one but ourselves," said M. Lebeau, hastily,for he had overheard or guessed what she said: "and suppose it shouldupset--do you imagine I want to have to run after Madame Ballier?"

  "There is no question about the matter," said Louis, still moredispleased; "I am going with my aunt."

  "It is the best thing you can do." For the first time M. Lebeau wasoffended with Louis, because Louis had placed him in the wrong, and,for the first time also, Louis found that M. Lebeau was to blame forhis disobliging conduct towards his aunt.

  The next day, he would have set out in a somewhat sad mood, had henot chanced to notice his mother's room, which had been left open forthe purpose of airing it, as well as his father's, which Marianne hadjust been putting in order. This recalled his resolution to make everything pleasant to his aunt, who, on her side, was all good humour.Even Barogo, who, in the transports of his joy, leaped several timesupon her, was allowed to do so without being angrily repulsed. Louis,compelled at the fete to give his arm to his aunt, who could neitherwalk fast nor go far, could not help looking at the various groups ofpedestrians so full of vivacity and mirth. People were hastening tothe river-side, and crowding into boats, in order to go and dine onan island at a short distance, whence they were to return afterwardsto dance in the meadow. Madame Ballier wished to engage a boat, butthere was not one to be had, nor even a place in one. Louis saw, with asigh, that he should be obliged to sacrifice his whole day completely,and Madame Ballier was herself rather disconcerted, not knowing verywell how to pass the time. At some distance they perceived M. Lebeau,ready to embark with all his family. Louis observed them withoutstirring
from his place, till M. Lebeau beckoned to him, when he beggedpermission from his aunt to go and speak to him.

  "Have you a boat?" asked M. Lebeau. Louis replied in the negative."Confound it!" said M. Lebeau, with a look of annoyance which Louisvery well understood; for his boat would have accommodated half-a-dozenmore persons.

  "Could not your aunt," said M. Lebeau, "join some other party? I seesome of her acquaintance yonder. Then you could join us." Louis couldnot forbear looking in the direction pointed out, but immediatelyrecollecting himself, he replied, "Indeed, Monsieur Lebeau, I couldnot think of proposing such a plan to her; you must see yourself thatit would not be right," and he was turning away, but Eugenia held himgently by his coat.

  "Confound it!" repeated M. Lebeau. He stopped, and then suddenlyresumed, "Well, then, if it cannot be otherwise arranged, bring youraunt with you; we will try and find a place for her."

  Louis hesitated, not knowing whether he ought to accept the invitation."Go, Charles, and propose it to her," said Madame Lebeau, who had longwished to see an end to the bickerings between her husband and MadameBallier; and Eugenia, without waiting for a command, set off withCharles to invite Madame Ballier to come into their boat, adding, likea person of discretion as she was, that her mother would herself havecome, had she not to take care of her little sister. Madame Balliermade a few difficulties, just sufficient to support her dignity; butLouis came up, took her arm, and cutting short all objections, had nosooner said, "Come, let us make haste, pray," than they were alreadyon the way, Madame Ballier walking as fast as she could, and Charleswith Eugenia running and skipping before them with cries of triumph.The bustle of arrival, and of entering the boat, saved Madame Ballierthe embarrassment of showing either too much eagerness or too muchresentment; and M. Lebeau, in saying to her, "Come, Madame Ballier,place yourself there, quite at your ease," was not more abrupt inhis manner than he would have been to one whose society was the mostagreeable to him. Madame Lebeau was all kindness and attention, andEugenia hastened to place under her feet the board which was laidacross the bottom of the boat, to preserve the ladies from the wet.Louis, meanwhile, pressed the hand of M. Lebeau, with an expressionwhich moved him. "Come," said the latter, "you are a good boy; I amvery glad to have given you pleasure;" and off they went.

  The day passed delightfully. They dined on the island. M. Lebeauexerted himself to amuse Madame Ballier. Madame Ballier was soon inhigh spirits, and her gaiety quite accorded with that of M. Lebeau.On rising from table they were the best friends in the world; and M.Lebeau said to Louis, "After all, your aunt is at heart a good sort ofwoman." "No doubt of it," replied Louis, in a tone which showed that hewould not have the good qualities of his aunt called in question. Onbringing her amongst his friends, he had taken care that his friendsshould be agreeable to her. His attentions naturally attracted thoseof others, and the kind Eugenia seemed to have no thought but that ofseconding him. As to Madame Ballier, she was good-nature itself; sheremained as late as they wished at the dancing, and scarcely complainedof fatigue on their way home, particularly as Louis took care to saysomething laughable, whenever they came to any bad parts in the road.To crown all, on entering the house, they found a letter announcing theexact hour at which they might expect their friends the next day; andMadame Ballier declared that she would herself carry the intelligenceto M. Lebeau, to whom she owed this civility, as he had been soextremely obliging to her.

  The morning came at last; then noon; then four o'clock; then they heardthe sound of the carriage; then it stopped. How often had they repeatedto themselves that they must restrain their joy to avoid overpoweringthe invalid; yet, at the moment the doors were opened, and that theyrushed down stairs, the excitement was so great, that Barogo began tobark, Robinet took to flight, and Marianne knew not where she was;but all was hushed at the sight of M. Delong, who, still feeble, anddeprived of the use of his limbs, required support on all sides, andof Madame Delong, pale and worn out by the sufferings of her husband.The invalid was carried upstairs so gently that even the steps ofthose who bore him were inaudible. They seated him in an easy-chair,and quietly placed themselves around him. Louis, standing before hisfather, sometimes raised his eyes to him, and then cast them down as heencountered those of his father examining him attentively. His heartbeat, for this first interview with a father who had left him a merechild and now found him almost a man, was to him a great and imposingmoment. Madame Delong, with a mixture of anxiety and confidence, lookedalternately at her son and at her husband. At length, Madame Ballier,who willingly translated into words these mute scenes, said to thecolonel,--"I can assure you, nephew, that you have a very amiable son;"and then addressing herself to Madame Delong; "You cannot imagine,niece, how much he has improved during your absence."

  Louis eagerly kissed his mother's hand, whose pale features were nowlit up with a flush of joy. This moment convinced her that they had notceased to understand each other.

  "Louis," said M. Delong, as he held out his hand to him, "your motherhas told me much good of you; I know she thinks still more, and I amalways disposed to think as she does." Louis, in stooping his head overhis father's hand, half bent one knee in this first act of gratitudetowards a parent whose approbation he so ardently desired. His eyesthen met those of his mother. The necessity of restraining theirfeelings rendered them only the more intense. This was a moment whichcould never be forgotten.

  M. Lebeau came in, and declared that as soon as the colonel could bearanother removal, he must come and establish himself at his house in thecountry, and in the sequel of his speech he included in his invitationMadame Ballier, who graciously bowed her acquiescence. Madame Delonglooked with astonishment at her son, who smiled, and Madame Ballierhaving quitted the apartment; "This wizard, Louis," he said to MadameDelong, "has absolutely forced me to be on good terms with his aunt;"then turning to M. Delong, he added--"Colonel, this son of yours willbe a remarkable man; remember, I tell you so."

  How happy was Madame Delong, and with what heartfelt pleasure didthe eyes of Louis meet the delighted looks of his mother, which wereconstantly fixed upon him! Nor was their felicity momentary. Louisfound no difficulty in acknowledging to her his faults, because he hadrepaired them. He confessed how greatly he had felt relieved since,instead of seeking out failings in his aunt, he had been engaged inconsidering her good qualities, and the respect he owed her of whichhe had been too forgetful; for children and young people are notsufficiently aware of the harm they do, when, even without talkingto others, their thoughts are occupied in examining the defects ofthose to whom they owe respect, instead of going backward, like thechildren of Noah, to cover them with their mantle. Louis had learntby experience, that when we look at things as they really are, itis almost always possible to find something good in persons of whomat first we were disposed to think only evil. He gradually attachedhimself to his aunt through his desire of pleasing her; and MadameBallier, on her side, acquired so strong an affection for him, that shewould not suffer any one to blame him or oppose him in her presence;and when he found her in dispute with Marianne or Barogo, he had onlyto interpose, and all was at an end. This new mode of proceeding hasbrought back peace into the domestic circle of Madame Delong, and Louiscontinually experiences the advantage of having acquired the power ofself-control, which is the surest means of obtaining influence overothers; for he who advances thoughtfully, observing carefully where hesteps, instead of following his humour and heedlessly rushing into anymire that may obstruct his path, is sure to become at last the leaderof his party.

  When the Cure had concluded his story, he raised his head, took off hisspectacles, and looking round at the children, said, "Well, now, whichwould you rather be,--Madame Ballier or Louis?"

  "Oh! there is no great difficulty in deciding that question," repliedAmadeus.

  "You know, Monsieur le Cure," said Paul, "that everybody would likebetter to be an amiable person than one who is not so."

  "I think," remarked Juliana, with her disdainful tone, "it w
as hardlyworth while to ask such a question."

  "Indeed," said the Cure; "for my part, I thought that there werepersons to be met with occasionally, who would rather not be amiable."

  Juliana shrugged her shoulders, and Amadeus burst into a loud laugh.

  "Ah! that is Juliana," cried Paul, jumping about, and clapping hishands.

  "By no means," replied the Cure; "for I perceive that Miss Juliana isdispleased when any one appears to think her less amiable than usual,and this proves that she wishes to be amiable."

  Juliana blushed: she was not sure whether the Cure was speaking injest or in earnest, for it was perfectly true that many times whenher ill-humour was over, she felt sorry for having given way to it,especially in the presence of persons who appeared shocked by it."Oh, yes!" said Amadeus, "when she has done any thing foolish she isso vexed that it makes her immediately do something else just as bad.Don't you remember this morning, Juliana, throwing your work intoZemira's porringer, because mamma had rung for you twice whilst youwere busy undoing a knot in your thread?"

  "Yes, and only think! Monsieur le Cure," cried Paul; "she was soangry--so very angry, at having wetted her work with the water inthe porringer, that when I picked it up to bring it back to her, shesnatched it out of my hands, and scratched my finger so with herneedle."

  And Paul, excited by the recollection of his misfortune, pointed to thescratch on his finger, whilst Juliana could hardly restrain her tears,so much was she ashamed and grieved that her fault should be made knownto the Cure.

  "You know very well I did not do it on purpose," she said, in a brokenvoice; "but Amadeus is always finding fault with me;" and her tearsbegan to flow in earnest.

  "Come, calm yourself, my good girl," said the Cure, in an affectionatetone; "these little folks do not know how vexatious it is to a sensibleyoung lady to feel that she has not been quite so reasonable as sheought to have been: but I will teach you how to silence them."

  Juliana shook her head with a sigh.

  "You shall hear my story," added the Cure, "which shall be for youalone, and we will afterwards discuss the matter."

  The next day the Cure brought the following tale, which he read toJuliana in private, because he perceived, that as she was growingup, the best way of gaining her confidence was to avoid wounding herself-love, more especially in the presence of her brothers, who, inthis case, especially, would not have failed to draw comparisonsextremely disagreeable to her.

  THE PRINCESS.

  "This is really insupportable," said Adela, walking, in a hurriedmanner, from the window overlooking the court, to the terrace which ledinto the garden.

  "What is the matter?" said her mother, who entered at the moment andoverheard her.

  "Why, you see, mamma," replied Adela, a little confused, "it is pastten o'clock,--(it was five minutes over the hour,)--and papa is notreturned from hunting. We shall never get our breakfast."

  "Do you think so? that would be very unfortunate, certainly."

  "But papa said he would be back by ten o'clock."

  "Certainly, five minutes longer are too much to be endured."

  "Mamma! I am hungry."

  "Well, my dear, you are not obliged to wait for our breakfast; thebread is upon the table, you can take as much as you please; it issurely better to breakfast upon dry bread than bear any longer what is_insupportable_."

  Adela made no reply; for she must have confessed that although she washungry enough to complain, she was not hungry enough to breakfast ondry bread, which would have been a proof that she was complaining abouta mere trifle. This was Adela's chief defect. The least disappointmentappeared to her, to use her habitual expression, insupportable. For theslightest indisposition or hurt, she would lament, disturb everybody,and require to be pitied,--not that she so much feared pain, but thatwhatever incommoded or put her the least out of her way, seemed toher the most grievous and extraordinary thing possible. She must beattended to at the very moment appointed, even things that did notdepend on any one must fall out precisely as she desired, or all waswrong. Her nurse used to laugh at her, and say that it was very wrongof the rain to come on the day she wished to go out; for it seemed,in fact, as if every thing must happen so as to suit her convenienceand fancy; nor did she seem able to bear the consequences even of whatshe had most desired, as soon as they occasioned her the slightestinconvenience. Thus, for example, she would take a long walk, and assoon as she began to feel fatigued, she would complain as if otherswere in fault. She would repeat fifty times over, "This tiresomechateau will never come," for she seemed almost to believe that thechateau ought to come to her. She considered herself much aggrievedwhen her mother would not permit her to hang on her arm, or lean on hersister's shoulder; for her only concern was for herself. Thus she couldnot conceive why they should do without the carriage when the horseswere engaged in helping to bring home the hay; or why her nurse wasnot ready to dress her, when she had been sent out on a message to thevillage. Her little sister Amelia would sometimes say, "Adela is alwayssure of having some one to love her, for she loves herself so well."

  This remark Amelia had probably heard from some of the servants, forthose even who were attached to Adela, in consequence of the kindnessof her parents, were so provoked by her ill-humour and exactingdisposition, that they lost no opportunity of laughing at her expense.Her mother endeavoured to make her feel the absurdity of her conduct,and when she heard her complain of some trifling inconvenience, as forexample, of being obliged to fetch her bonnet, which Amelia had takenup stairs to their room, by mistake, she said to her:

  "Adela, does it hurt your feet to walk up stairs to your room?"

  "No, mamma; but----"

  "Or perhaps you are afraid of meeting by the way a wolf that will eatyou up?"

  Adela would have shrugged her shoulders if she had dared.

  "Surely, my dear, it must cause you some great pain, otherwise youwould not be so displeased about the matter."

  "But, mamma! it puts me out of the way."

  "And does it hurt you to be put out of the way?"

  "I don't like it."

  "Why not, if it does you no harm?"

  Adela could find nothing more to say, excepting that "Amelia mighthave spared herself the trouble of taking it up stairs." Then Madamede Vaucourt would no longer listen to her; she merely took care thatno one should suffer from her ill-humour, or pay any attention toit. However, it often happened that the servants, in order to getrid of her, did immediately what she required, and little Ameliawho loved above all things to laugh and be merry, and who hated tohear complaints, was extremely afraid of doing any thing that mightdisplease her sister.

  Monsieur and Madame de Vaucourt saw very little society in the country.It happened, however, that a Polish Princess, with whom they had beenformerly acquainted, having arrived in Paris, sent them word that shewould come and spend a week with them. At this news the children werein the greatest commotion. Adela, like most little girls, imagined thata princess must be a very extraordinary personage, and Amelia couldnot picture her otherwise than in dresses embroidered with gold. Adelahad no doubt that her mother would order a new bonnet for her on theoccasion, and inquired how she was to dress during the princess' visit.She was astonished when her mother, laughing at her, told her she wasto dress just as usual. "What, mamma! even in my common cambric frockfor the morning?" Her mother assured her that she saw nothing in herdress that required change. This time Adela was indeed out of humour;she was seriously grieved even, but she dared not show her feelings,because she saw that she should be laughed at. However, during thewhole week which preceded the arrival of the princess, she was morethan ever inclined to indulge in her habitual complaints, crying out,whenever any one came near her, that they would soil her dress, andscreaming aloud if a drop of rain touched her bonnet. Little Ameliasaid it was because she was afraid it would not be nice enough for thearrival of the princess, and also remarked that her sister, who couldnever be persuaded to put on a pair of shoes in the
least worn down atheel, pretending that she could not walk in them, during this wholeweek wore none but old shoes, in order to keep the new ones for thearrival of the princess.

  At last the princess came. The little girls, who were upon the terrace,were greatly astonished to find her dressed much in the same style astheir mamma, but then she had a coat of arms on her carriage, and theliveries of her servants were richly laced; this greatly impressedAdela, who had besides been so long prepared to consider her as aperson of great importance, that she could not give up the idea shehad formed. When therefore little Stanislas, the son of the princess,trod on her foot, in coming up the steps, Adela, for the first time inher life, bore the accident without a murmur. Nay, more, for when hersister happened accidentally to strike her elbow in passing quicklyinto the drawing-room after the princess, in order to obtain a betterview of her, Adela opened her lips to complain, but immediately checkedherself, on finding that the princess looked round at the moment.

  Scarcely had they entered the room when the princess' little dogput its paws into Adela's work-basket, threw down her thimble, herscissors, and needle-case, and scampered about the room, carrying herwork in his mouth, and shaking it about his ears. Amelia screamed.On ordinary occasions such a misfortune would have been a subject ofdistress and lamentation for an hour, but Adela did not give way toanger. She picked up all her things, ran after the dog, but not toohastily, for fear of appearing out of temper, and although when she atlast caught him, she was quite crimson with impatience, she did not saya single word to Stanislas, who was laughing heartily at the troubleshe had to get back her work. Stanislas asked to go into the garden,and upon Madame de Vaucourt's desiring her daughters to accompany him,Adela did not begin by replying that he could go very well by himself.When in the garden, Stanislas, who was a spoiled child, threw sand intoher shoes, without her uttering a complaint, and on her return to thedrawing-room the first thing he did was to seat himself in the chairwhich she had appropriated to herself, and which was a continual sourceof disputes between her and her sister, whom she would never allow tosit in it, except by Madame de Vaucourt's express command. Amelia,who began to be on familiar terms with Stanislas, pulled him by thearm, saying, "Come away, that is my sister's chair," and Adela, quiteashamed, touched her sister's arm, and whispered to her to mind her ownbusiness.

  "But he is upon your chair," said Amelia.

  "What is that to you?"

  "Oh! very well, then I shall sit there after him;" and as soon asStanislas quitted the chair, she took possession of it, while Adela,in the presence of the princess, did not even think of preventing her.Amelia soon left the chair, to run and take from Stanislas her sister'sdraught-board, which he was preparing to open. "I want to play with thedraughts," cried the little fellow, while Amelia exclaimed in return,"But my sister will not let any one touch them." Adela, quite alarmedat the idea the princess might form of her, hastened to take thedraught-board from the hands of Amelia and gave it to Stanislas.

  "Very well, then, I shall play with them too," said Amelia. Stanislasbegan to roll the draughts about on the floor. Amelia at first triedto check him, and then began rolling them still faster herself. Whenhe was tired of playing with them, she wished to persuade him to putthem away in order, but he dragged her to the garden, and called outfrom the door, that they must leave the draughts where they were, ashe meant to come back and play with them again. The next day two ofthem were missing. Amelia came to tell the news, looking terriblyfrightened, and as no one seemed to listen with much attention, shesaid, "But they belong to my sister's draught-board?"

  "What does that signify?" said Adela quickly.

  "Ah! if I had lost them!" said Amelia: but a sign from her sisterimposed silence on her.

  "Adela seems very gentle and sensible," observed the princess. Adelacast down her eyes, not daring to look at her mother or sister.

  All this lasted several days. At table, Madame de Vaucourt's oldservant, who was not very alert, and had more to do than usual, couldnot wait on Adela as attentively as on other occasions, and wassurprised not to hear her say sharply, "Chamberi, do you not meanto give me a plate?" He remarked to her, "Gracious! Miss Adela, howgentle and well-behaved you have become lately!" "That is becauseshe is afraid of the princess," said the mischievous little Amelia,laughing. Adela, who began to lose patience, was sometimes on the pointof forgetting herself, but Amelia would then take flight and run intothe drawing-room, laughing, as she knew that Adela would not ventureto scold her there, while Stanislas, of whom she had made an intimatefriend, joined in her laughter without understanding its cause. Adela,though burning with impatience, endeavoured to smile lest someindiscretion on Amelia's part might betray to others the cause of herill-humour. Her temper, however, would have obtained the mastery atlast; and she was beginning sometimes to treat Stanislas and the littledog rather harshly, when, fortunately, the princess took her departure.For the first few days afterwards the effect of the habit which Adelahad acquired of restraining her temper was still visible; but as Ameliahad also got the habit of fearing her less, and laughing at her, itwas not long before the old disputes were renewed. They first beganabout the chair, which Amelia took without ceremony, even removing hersister's work, which had been left there, as if to keep the place inher absence.

  Adela became angry. "I thought that fancy was over?" said Madame deVaucourt.

  "Oh, mamma," replied Amelia, "that was only on account of the princess."

  Madame de Vaucourt observed that Adela must have felt there wassomething very absurd in such childishness, since she was ashamed toshow it before the princess; and she hoped, therefore, that they shouldhear no more of it. The argument was unanswerable, and besides Madamede Vaucourt's tone forbade reply. Adela therefore contented herselfwith leaving the room, slamming the door with all her might. Her mothercalled her back.

  "My dear," she said, "when the princess was here you used to shut thedoors gently, and as that proves to me that you can do so without greatinconvenience, I beg you will do it in future."

  Thus obliged to close the door quietly, Adela went into the garden toexhale her ill-temper, since she saw that it was now determined toallow no excuse for it. During their evening walk, it happened that thepath they had to take was very dirty. Adela said it was insupportable.

  "Surely," replied her mother, "you do not mean to let that disturb you?The other day when we were walking with the princess, the mud was tentimes as bad, yet you never made the least complaint."

  "I found it very disagreeable though."

  "Why then did you not complain?"

  "It was not necessary."

  "And is it necessary to-day?"

  "Must one never say a word then about what is unpleasant?" repliedAdela in a very impatient tone.

  "I would ask you that question, my dear; you best know the reasonswhich induced you to refrain from murmuring whilst the princess waspresent."

  After some reflection, Adela could find nothing better to say than thather mother had enjoined her to behave well before strangers. Madamede Vaucourt observed that she had enjoined her to behave well at alltimes. "But," she added, "since you think you ought to refrain fromcomplaints in order to maintain a proper appearance before strangers,why did you, when you cut yourself the other day, whilst the princesswas present, say that you were hurt, and hold your finger in water, andthen keep it wrapped up in a handkerchief for an hour?"

  "But, mamma, it pained me very much."

  "You believe then that one may complain before strangers of thingswhich give real pain? Suppose now that you had received a letter fromthe school, saying that your brother was ill, would you not havethought it allowable to show your grief on such an occasion before theprincess?"

  "Yes, indeed, mamma," replied Adela quickly.

  "You see then that when we suffer real evils we may complain of thembefore strangers, it is only when things are too trifling to deservenotice, that it is ridiculous to make complaints in their presence, andsince they do not
deserve notice, it is just as ridiculous to complainof them when strangers are not present."

  Adela might not perhaps have been convinced by this reasoning, butthenceforth whenever she said that anything was _insupportable_, hermother replied, "You did not find it so when the princess was here."Nor would Amelia suffer herself to be harshly treated without talkingof the princess: even Chamberi, if Adela scolded him, would say, "Ah!Miss Adela, I see we want the princess here again." Adela began to beterribly annoyed with this raillery; then she got frightened, lest fromits being so often repeated it might at last reach the ears of theprincess; so that to avoid these constant allusions to her name, sheendeavoured to be less impatient. When she had once become convincedthat it was possible to repress her angry feelings, she found it waseasy to do so; she perceived that three fourths of the things whichvexed her, were in reality of no consequence to her, and that the onlyreal harm she experienced from them, was that which she inflictedon herself by losing her temper. Some years afterwards, she saw theprincess again, and could not help blushing a little when she thoughtof all the taunts which her first visit had brought upon her; but thesethings were now forgotten by her friends, for Adela had ceased to be agrumbler.

  * * * * *

  "Well!" said the Cure to Juliana, when he had finished his story. "Whatdo you think of it?"

  "I think," replied Juliana, a little discontented, "that she was a veryridiculous girl with her princess."

  "What! ridiculous for correcting herself?"

  "No, but for doing so on account of the princess."

  "When we correct our faults it must be for some motive."

  "There are many more important motives," said Juliana a little proudly,"which ought to have induced her to correct herself."

  "Since you are so well acquainted with these things, Miss Juliana, letme know them," said the Cure, "and we will make a story about them."

  "A story?" asked Juliana, uncertain whether to laugh or be offended.

  "Certainly: I shall begin it from the point where Miss Juliana made thediscovery that there were many good reasons for inducing her to correcther faults, and I shall terminate it by saying--Miss Juliana, whoseonly serious fault was that of losing her temper when anything wasdisagreeable to her, corrected herself completely, and became a mostamiable young lady."

  At this moment, the two little boys, quite disappointed that theCure would not admit them to his conversation with Juliana, came toteaze him to tell them at least the story. "You shall hear it," hesaid, "when you have quite left off tormenting your sister," for incorrecting Juliana he would not encourage bad habits in her brothers;then turning towards her, "you know now, Miss Juliana, what you have todo in order to silence them."

  "That will not be giving them much trouble, at all events," saidJuliana.

  "But who will have the advantage?" said the Cure; and Juliana appearedpleased at the idea of being some day free from a defect which made herpass many unhappy moments; besides she felt touched and flattered bythe pains which the Cure took to be useful to her.

  It began to rain; Juliana, whose bonnet was almost new, was anxious toreturn to the house; but before they could reach it they had to crossa large flower garden, and in an instant the shower became so violentthat it was impossible to escape it. Juliana, in running, caught insome trellis work, which tore her dress and threw her down. The Cure,though not running, came up however in time to assist her in rising,and thinking her much disposed to be angry, said to her, "Providencehas soon given you an opportunity, Miss Juliana, of introducing a finepassage into our story."

  Juliana had sufficient command over herself to make no reply, and thatwas a great deal for her, as besides spoiling her bonnet, and tearingher frock, she was covered with dirt from head to foot, and had alsohurt her knee in her fall. The Cure gave her his arm to assist herto the house, and she might have remarked that although by touchingher he had soiled the sleeve and skirt of his coat, and that on theirway she had accidentally splashed some water into his shoe and almostfilled it, he did not show the slightest mark of displeasure. When,however, they entered the drawing-room, and Zemira came jumping uponher to testify his joy at seeing her again, she was very near givinghim a kick, but she checked herself, and the Cure who observed this,said to her, "I shall write on my tablets that Zemira did _not_ receivea kick." If Juliana smiled, it was perhaps against her will, and herbrothers, who now entered and began laughing when they saw the plightshe was in, would no doubt have felt the weight of her long repressedvexation, if the Cure had not said, "I perceive, Miss Juliana, thatthese little rogues will not deserve to hear the story of the princess,till you have succeeded in curing them of their faults." Juliana madeher escape to her own room, where she changed her dress, not, it issuspected, without more than once showing her impatience to her nurse,who was eagerly busied in assisting her. At all events it is certainthat when she came down stairs, and her mother had complimented her onthe patience with which she had endured her accident, Juliana could nothelp blushing.

  From that day forward, whenever the Cure came to the chateau, he askedJuliana if there was anything to be added to the story; sometimesJuliana shook her head, having nothing good to relate; at others,she would smile, because she felt satisfied with herself. On suchoccasions, she liked to converse with the Cure about the temptationsto which she had been exposed; but in recounting them she found themfar less serious than they had appeared at the time, and felt morecompletely how foolish it would have been to have yielded to them.This confirmed her in her good resolutions; and she was furtherconfirmed in them by the satisfaction which her friends testifiedin her improvement. She afterwards went with her parents to Paris,and remained there three years; during which time she kept up aregular correspondence with the Cure of Chavignat. On her returnshe was seventeen, and felt happy in the thought that he would findher cured of her childish fault. Amadeus, instead of teazing, nowtreated her with respect, for she no longer scolded him unjustly;he was consequently accustomed to listen to her when she warned himgently of any fault. Neither did she make any difficulty in relatingto him the story of the princess; and Amadeus, when talking of it tothe Cure on the day of his return, said, "At all events Juliana wasnever so disagreeable as that;" and the good Cure rejoiced to findthat Juliana's defects were so well concealed that they had even beenforgotten. During this time Juliana was looking for her bag, which shehad mislaid, and although it was half-an-hour before she could findit, and Paul was all the while tormenting her with a thousand childishtricks, she was not in the least put out of temper.

  "Since my story is so well ended, Miss Juliana," said the Cure, whenshe had found her bag, "pray inform me how you have managed to bringthings to so satisfactory a conclusion."

  Juliana blushed and smiled as she replied, "By being always, thanks toyou, Monsieur le Cure, so full of the desire of being reasonable, thatit drove out of my head whatever might have prevented me from keepingmy resolution."