CHAPTER IV. A RIOT OF CHARITY
The next day, at half-past five in the morning, the bugle-call rangthrough the barrack-yard at Souvigny. Jean mounted his horse, and tookhis place with his division. By the end of May all the recruits in thearmy are sufficiently instructed to be capable of sharing in the generalevolutions. Almost every day manoeuvres of the mounted artillery areexecuted on the parade-ground. Jean loved his profession; he was in thehabit of inspecting carefully the grooming and harness of the horses,the equipment and carriage of his men. This morning, however, hebestowed but scant attention on all the little details of his duty.
One problem agitated, tormented him, and left him always undecided, andthis problem was one of those the solution of which is not given atthe Ecole Polytechnique. Jean could find no convincing reply to thisquestion: Which of the two sisters is the prettier?
At the butts, during the first part of the manoeuvre, each batteryworked on its own account, under the orders of the captain; but he oftenrelinquished the place to one of his lieutenants, in order to accustomthem to the management of six field-pieces. It happened on this day thatthe command was intrusted to the hands of Jean. To the great surprise ofthe Captain, in whose estimation his Lieutenant held the first rank asa well-trained, smart, and capable officer, everything went wrong. TheCaptain was obliged to interfere; he addressed a little reprimand toJean, which terminated in these words:
"I can not understand it at all. What is the matter with you thismorning? It is the first time such a thing has happened with you."
It was also the first time that Jean had seen anything at the butts atSouvigny but cannon, ammunition wagons, horses, or gunners.
In the clouds of dust raised by the wheels of the wagons and the hoofsof the horses Jean beheld, not the second mounted battery of the 9thRegiment of artillery, but the distinct images of two Americanswith black eyes and golden hair; and, at the moment when he listenedrespectfully to the well-merited lecture from his Captain, he was in theact of saying to himself:
"The prettier is Mrs. Scott!"
Every morning the exercise is divided into two parts by a littleinterval of ten minutes. The officers gathered together and talked; Jeanremained apart, alone with his recollections of the previous evening.His thoughts obstinately gathered round the vicarage of Longueval.
"Yes! the more charming of the two sisters is Mrs. Scott; Miss Percivalis only a child."
He saw again Mrs. Scott at the Cure's little table. He heard herstory told with such frankness, such freedom. The harmony of that verypeculiar, very fascinating voice, still enchanted his ear. He was againin the church; she was there before him, bending over her prie-Dieu, herpretty head resting in her two little hands; then the music arose, andfar off, in the dusk, Jean perceived the fine and delicate profile ofBettina.
"A child--is she only a child?"
The trumpets sounded, the practice was resumed; this time, fortunately,no command, no responsibility. The four batteries executed theirevolutions together; this immense mass of men, horses, and carriages,deployed in every direction, now drawn out in a long line, againcollected into a compact group. All stopped at the same instant alongthe whole extent of the ground; the gunners sprang from their horses,ran to their pieces, detached each from its team, which went off ata trot and prepared to fire with amazing rapidity. Then the horsesreturned, the men re-attached their pieces; sprang quickly to saddle,and the regiment started at full gallop across the field.
Very gently in the thoughts of Jean Bettina regained her advantage overMrs. Scott. She appeared to him smiling and blushing amid the sunlitclouds of her floating hair. Monsieur Jean, she had called him, MonsieurJean, and never had his name sounded so sweet. And that last pressureof the hand on taking leave, before entering the carriage. Had not MissPercival given him a more cordial clasp than Mrs. Scott had done? Yes,positively a little more.
"I was mistaken," thought Jean; "the prettier is Miss Percival."
The day's work was finished; the pieces were ranged regularly in lineone behind the other; they defiled rapidly, with a horrible clatter, andin a cloud of dust. When Jean, sword in hand, passed before his Colonel,the images of the two sisters were so confused and intermingled in hisrecollection that they melted the one in the other, and became insome measure the image of one and the same person. Any parallel becameimpossible between them, thanks to this singular confusion of thetwo points of comparison. Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival remained thusinseparable in the thoughts of Jean until the day when it was granted tohim to see them again. The impression of that meeting was not effaced;it was always there, persistent, and very sweet, till Jean began to feeldisturbed.
"Is it possible"--so ran his meditations--"is it possible that I havebeen guilty of the folly of falling in love madly at first sight? No;one might fall in love with a woman, but not with two women at once."
That thought reassured him. He was very young, this great fellow offour-and-twenty; never had love entered fully into his heart. Love! Heknew very little about it, except from books, and he had read but fewof them. But he was no angel; he could find plenty of attractions in thegrisettes of Souvigny, and when they would allow him to tell themthat they were charming, he was quite ready to do so, but it had neverentered his head to regard as love those passing fancies, which onlycaused the slightest and most superficial disturbance in his heart.
Paul de Lavardens had marvellous powers of enthusiasm and idealization.His heart sheltered always two or three grandes passions, which livedthere in perfect harmony. Paul had been so clever as to discover, inthis little town of 15,000 souls, numbers of pretty girls, all made tobe adored. He always believed himself the discoverer of America,when, in fact, he had done nothing but follow in the track of othernavigators.
The world-Jean had scarcely encountered it. He had allowed himself tobe dragged by Paul, a dozen times, perhaps, to soirees or balls at thegreat houses of the neighborhood. He had invariably returned thoroughlybored, and had concluded that these pleasures were not made for him. Histastes were simple, serious. He loved solitude, work, long walks, openspace, horses, and books. He was rather savage--a son of the soil. Heloved his village, and all the old friends of his childhood. A quadrillein a drawing-room caused him unspeakable terror; but every year, atthe festival of the patron saint of Longueval, he danced gayly with theyoung girls and farmers' daughters of the neighborhood.
If he had seen Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival at home in Paris, in allthe splendor of their luxury, in all the perfection of their costlysurroundings, he would have looked at them from afar, with curiosity, asexquisite works of art. Then he would have returned home, and would haveslept, as usual, the most peaceful slumber in the world.
Yes, but it was not thus that the thing had come to pass, and hence hisexcitement, hence his disturbance. These two women had shown themselvesbefore him in the midst of a circle with which he was familiar, andwhich had been, if only for this reason, singularly favorable to them.Simple, good, frank, cordial, such they had shown themselves the veryfirst day, and delightfully pretty into the bargain--a fact which isnever insignificant. Jean fell at once under the charm; he was therestill!
At the moment when he dismounted in the barrack-yard, at nine o'clock,the old priest began his campaign joyously. Since the previous eveningthe Abbe's head had been on fire; Jean had not slept much, but he hadnot slept at all. He had risen very early, and with closed doors, alonewith Pauline, he had counted and recounted his money, spreading outhis one hundred Louis-d'or, gloating over them like a miser, and likea miser finding exquisite pleasure in handling his hoard. All that washis! for him! that is to say, for the poor.
"Do not be too lavish, Monsieur le Cure," said Pauline; "be economical.I think that if you distribute to-day one hundred francs--"
"That is not enough, Pauline. I shall only have one such day in my life,but one I will have. How much do you think I shall give to-day?"
"How much, Monsieur le Cure?"
"One thousand francs!"
br /> "One thousand francs!"
"Yes. We are millionaires now; we possess all the treasures of America,and you talk about economy? Not to-day, at all events; indeed, I have noright to think of it."
After saying mass at nine o'clock he set out and showered gold along hisway. All had a share--the poor who acknowledged their poverty andthose who concealed it. Each alms was accompanied by the same littlediscourse:
"This comes from the new owners of the Longueval--two American ladies,Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival. Remember their names, and pray for them."
Then he made off without waiting for thanks, across the fields, throughthe woods, from hamlet to hamlet, from cottage to cottage--on, on, on. Asort of intoxication mounted to his brain. Everywhere were cries of joyand astonishment. All these louis-d'or fell, as if by a miracle, intothe poor hands accustomed to receive little pieces of silver. The Curbwas guilty of follies, actual follies. He was out of bounds; he did notrecognize himself; he had lost all control over himself; he even gave tothose who did not expect anything.
He met Claude Rigal, the old sergeant, who had left one of his arms atSebastopol. He was growing gray--nay, white; for time passes, and thesoldiers of the Crimea will soon be old men.
"Here!" said the Cure, "I have twenty francs for you."
"Twenty francs? But I never asked for anything; I don't want anything; Ihave my pension."
His pension! Seven hundred francs!
"But listen; it will be something to buy you cigars. It comes fromAmerica."
And then followed the Abbe's little speech about the masters ofLongueval.
He went to a poor woman whose son had gone to Tunis.
"Well, how is your son getting on?"
"Not so bad, Monsieur le Cure; I had a letter from him yesterday. Hedoes not complain; he is very well; only he says there are no Kroomirs.Poor boy! I have been saving for a month, and I think I shall soon beable to send him ten francs."
"You shall send him thirty francs. Take this."
"Thirty francs! Monsieur le Cure, you give me thirty francs?"
"Yes, that is for you."
"For my boy?"
"For your boy. But listen; you must know from whom it comes, and youmust take care to tell your son when you write to him."
Again the little speech about the new owners of Longueval, and again theadjuration to remember them in their prayers. At six o'clock he returnedhome, exhausted with fatigue, but with his soul filled with joy.
"I have given away all," he cried, as soon as he saw Pauline, "all! all!all!"
He dined, and then went in the evening to perform the usual servicefor the month of Mary. But this time, the harmonium was silent; MissPercival was no longer there.
The little organist of the evening before was at that moment muchperplexed. On two couches in her dressing-room were spread two frocks--awhite and a blue. Bettina was meditating which of these two frocks shewould wear to the opera that evening. After long hesitation she fixed onthe blue. At half-past nine the two sisters ascended the grand staircaseat the opera-house. Just as they entered their box the curtain rose onthe second scene of the second act of Aida, that containing the balletand march.
Two young men, Roger de Puymartin and Louis de Martillet, were seatedin the front of a stage-box. The young ladies of the corps de ballethad not yet appeared, and these gentlemen, having no occupation, wereamusing themselves with looking about the house. The appearance of MissPercival made a strong impression upon both.
"Ah! ah!" said Puymartin, "there she is, the little golden nugget!"
"She is perfectly dazzling this evening, this little golden nugget,"continued Martillet. "Look at her, at the line of her neck, the fall ofher shoulders--still a young girl, and already a woman."
"Yes, she is charming, and tolerably well off into the bargain."
"Fifteen millions of her own, and the silver mine is still productive."
"Berulle told me twenty-five millions, and he is very well up inAmerican affairs."
"Twenty-five millions! A pretty haul for Romanelli!"
"What? Romanelli!"
"Report says that that will be a match; that it is already settled."
"A match may be arranged, but with Montessan, not with Romanelli. Ah! atlast! Here is the ballet."
They ceased to talk. The ballet in Aida lasts only five minutes, andfor those five minutes they had come. Consequently they must be enjoyedrespectfully, religiously, for there is that peculiarity among a numberof the habitues of the opera, that they chatter like magpies when theyought to be silent, to listen, and that they observe the most absolutesilence when they might be allowed to speak, while looking on.
The trumpets of Aida had given their last heroic 'fanfare' in honorof Rhadames before the great sphinxes under the green foliage of thepalm-trees, the dancers advanced, the light trembling on their spangledrobes, and took possession of the stage.
With much attention and pleasure Mrs. Scott followed the evolutions ofthe ballet, but Bettina had suddenly become thoughtful, on perceivingin a box, on the other side of the house, a tall, dark young man. MissPercival talked to herself, and said:
"What shall I do? What shall I decide on? Must I marry him, thathandsome, tall fellow over there, who is watching me, for it is I thathe is looking at? He will come into our box directly this act is over,and then I have only to say, 'I have decided; there is my hand; I willbe your wife,' and then all would be settled! I should be Princess!Princess Romanelli! Princess Bettina! Bettina Romanelli! The namesgo well together; they sound very pretty. Would it amuse me to be aprincess? Yes--and no! Among all the young men in Paris, who, during thelast year, have run after my money, this Prince Romanelli is the one whopleases me best. One of these days I must make up my mind to marry. Ithink he loves me. Yes, but the question is, do I love him? No, I don'tthink I do, and I should so much like to love--so much, so much!"
At the precise moment when these reflections were passing throughBettina's pretty head, Jean, alone in his study, seated before his deskwith a great book under the shade of his lamp, looked through, andtook notes of, the campaigns of Turenne. He had been directed to give acourse of instruction to the non-commissioned officers of the regiment,and was prudently preparing his lesson for the next day.
But in the midst of his notes--Nordlingen, 1645; les Dunes, 1658;Mulhausen and Turckheim, 1674-1675--he suddenly perceived (Jean didnot draw very badly) a sketch, a woman's portrait, which all at onceappeared under his pen. What was she doing there, in the middleof Turenne's victories, this pretty little woman? And then who wasshe--Mrs. Scott or Miss Percival? How could he tell? They resembled eachother so much; and, laboriously, Jean returned to the history of thecampaigns of Turenne.
And at the same moment, the Abbe Constantin, on his knees before hislittle wooden bedstead, called down, with all the strength of his soul,the blessings of Heaven on the two women through whose bounty he hadpassed such a sweet and happy day. He prayed God to bless Mrs. Scottin her children, and to give to Miss Percival a husband after her ownheart.