L'Abbe Constantin — Complete

  CHAPTER VI. A LITTLE DINNER FOR FOUR

  That same day, at half-past seven, Jean went to fetch the Cure, and thetwo walked together up to the house. During the last month a perfectarmy of workmen had taken possession of Longueval; all the inns in thevillage were making their fortunes.

  Enormous furniture wagons brought cargoes of furniture and decorationsfrom Paris. Forty-eight hours before the arrival of Mrs. Scott,Mademoiselle Marbeau, the postmistress, and Madame Lormier, themayoress, had wormed themselves into the castle, and the account theygave of the interior turned every one's head. The old furniturehad disappeared, banished to the attics; one moved among a perfectaccumulation of wonders. And the stables! and the coach-houses! Aspecial train had brought from Paris, under the high superintendence ofEdwards, a dozen carriages--and such carriages! Twenty horses--and suchhorses!

  The Abbe Constantin thought that he knew what luxury was. Once a year hedined with his bishop, Monseigneur Faubert, a rich and amiable prelate,who entertained rather largely. The Cure, till now, had, thought thatthere was nothing in the world more sumptuous than the Episcopal palaceof Souvigny, or the castles of Lavardens and Longueval.

  He began to understand, from what he was told of the new splendors ofLongueval, that the luxury of the great houses of the present day mustsurpass to a singular degree the sober and severe luxury of the greathouses of former times.

  As soon as the Cure and Jean had entered the avenue in the park, whichled to the house:

  "Look! Jean," said the Cure; "what a change! All this part of the parkused to be quite neglected, and now all the paths are gravelled andraked. I shall not be able to feel myself at home as I used to do:it will be too grand. I shall not find again my old brown velveteasy-chair, in which I so often fell asleep after dinner, and if I fallasleep this evening what will become of me? You will think of it, Jean,and if you see that I begin to forget myself, you will come behind meand pinch my arm gently, won't you? You promise me?"

  "Certainly, certainly, I promise you."

  Jean paid but slight attention to the conversation of the Cure. He feltextremely impatient to see Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival again, but thisimpatience was mingled with very keen anxiety. Would he find them inthe great salon at Longueval the same as he had seen them in the littledining-room at the vicarage? Perhaps, instead of those two women, soperfectly simple and familiar, amusing themselves with this littleimprovised dinner, and who, the very first day, had treated him withso much grace and cordiality, would he find two pretty dolls-worldly,elegant, cold, and correct? Would his first impression be effaced? Wouldit disappear? or, on the contrary, would the impression in his heartbecome still sweeter and deeper?

  They ascended the six steps at the entrance, and were received in thehall by two tall footmen with the most dignified and imposing air. Thishall had formerly been a vast, frigid apartment, with bare stone walls.These walls were now covered with admirable tapestry, representingmythological subjects. The Cure dared scarcely glance at this tapestry;it was enough for him to perceive that the goddesses who wanderedthrough these shades wore costumes of antique simplicity.

  One of the footmen opened wide the folding-doors of the salon. It wasthere that one had generally found the old Marquise, on the right ofthe high chimney-piece, and on the left had stood the brown velveteasy-chair.

  No brown easy-chair now! That old relic of the Empire, which was thebasis of the arrangement of the salon, had been replaced by a marvellousspecimen of tapestry of the end of the last century. Then a crowd oflittle easy-chairs, and ottomans of all forms and all colors, werescattered here and there with an appearance of disorder which was theperfection of art.

  As soon as Mrs. Scott saw the Cure and Jean enter, she rose, and goingto meet them, said:

  "How kind of you to come, Monsieur le Cure, and you, too, Monsieur Jean.How pleased I am to see you, my first, my only friends down here!"

  Jean breathed again. It was the same woman.

  "Will you allow me," added Mrs. Scott, "to introduce my children to you?Harry and Bella, come here."

  Harry was a very pretty little boy of six, and Bella a very charminglittle girl, five years old. They had their mother's large, dark eyes,and her golden hair.

  After the Cure had kissed the two children, Harry, who was looking withadmiration at Jean's uniform, said to his mother:

  "And the soldier, mamma, must we kiss him, too?"

  "If you like," replied Mrs. Scott, "and if he will allow it."

  A moment after, the two children were installed upon Jean's knees, andoverwhelming him with questions.

  "Are you an officer?"

  "Yes, I am an officer."

  "What in?"

  "In the artillery."

  "The artillery! Oh, you are one of the men who fire the cannon. Oh, howI should like to be quite near when they fire the cannon!"

  "Will you take us some day when they fire the cannon? Tell me, willyou?"

  Meanwhile, Mrs. Scott chatted with the Cure, and Jean, while replying tothe children's questions, looked at Mrs. Scott. She wore a white muslinfrock, but the muslin disappeared under a complete avalanche of littleflounces of Valenciennes. The dress was cut out in front in a largesquare, her arms were bare to the elbow, a large bouquet of red roses atthe opening of her dress, a red rose fixed in her hair, with a diamond'agraffe'--nothing more.

  Mrs. Scott suddenly perceived that the children had taken entirepossession of Jean, and exclaimed:

  "Oh, I beg your pardon. Harry, Bella!"

  "Oh, pray let them stay with me."

  "I am so sorry to keep you waiting for dinner; my sister is not downyet. Oh! here she is!"

  Bettina entered. The same frock of white muslin, the same delicate massof lace, the same red roses, the same grace, the same beauty, and thesame smiling, amiable, candid manner.

  "How do you do, Monsieur le Cure? I am delighted to see you. Have youpardoned my dreadful intrusion of the other day?"

  Then, turning toward Jean and offering him her hand:

  "How do you do, Monsieur--Monsieur--Oh! I can not remember your name,and yet we seem to be already old friends, Monsieur--"

  "Jean Reynaud."

  "Jean Reynaud, that is it. How do you do, Monsieur Reynaud? I warn youfaithfully that when we really are old friends--that is to say, in abouta week--I shall call you Monsieur Jean. It is a pretty name, Jean."

  Up to the moment when Bettina appeared Jean had said to himself:

  "Mrs. Scott is the prettier!"

  When he felt Bettina's little hand slip into his arm, and when sheturned toward him her delicious face, he said:

  "Miss Percival is the prettier!"

  But his perplexities gathered round him again when he was seated betweenthe two sisters. If he looked to the right, love threatened him fromthat direction, and if he looked to the left, the danger removedimmediately, and passed to the left.

  Conversation began, easy, animated, confidential. The two sisters werecharmed; they had already walked in the park; they promised themselvesa long ride in the forest tomorrow. Riding was their passion, theirmadness. It was also Jean's passion, so that after a quarter of an hourthey begged him to join them the next day. There was no one who knew thecountry round better than he did; it was his native place. He should beso happy to do the honors of it, and to show them numbers of delightfullittle spots which, without him, they would never discover.

  "Do you ride every day?" asked Bettina.

  "Every day and sometimes twice. In the morning on duty, and in theevening I am ride for my own pleasure."

  "Early in the morning?"

  "At half-past five."

  "At half-past five every morning?"

  "Yes, except Sunday."

  "Then you get up--"

  "At half-past four."

  "And is it light?"

  "Oh, just now, broad daylight."

  "To get up at half-past four is admirable; we often finish our day justwhen yours is beginning. And are you fond of your professi
on?"

  "Very. It is an excellent thing to have one's life plain before one,with exact and definite duties."

  "And yet," said Mrs. Scott, "not to be one's own master--to be alwaysobliged to obey."

  "That is perhaps what suits me best; there is nothing easier than toobey, and then to learn to obey is the only way of learning to command."

  "Ah! since you say so, it must be true."

  "Yes, no doubt," added the Cure; "but he does not tell you that he isthe most distinguished officer in his regiment, that--"

  "Oh! pray do not."

  The Cure, in spite of the resistance of Jean, was about to launch into apanegyric on his godson, when Bettina, interposing, said:

  "It is unnecessary, Monsieur le Cure, do not say anything, we knowalready all that you would tell us, we have been so indiscreet as tomake inquiries about Monsieur--oh, I was just going to say MonsieurJean--about Monsieur Reynaud. Well, the information we received wasexcellent!"

  "I am curious to know," said Jean.

  "Nothing! nothing! you shall know nothing. I do not wish to make youblush, and you would be obliged to blush."

  Then turning toward the Cure, "And about you, too, Monsieur l'Abbe, wehave had some information. It appears that you are a saint."

  "Oh! as to that, it is perfectly true," cried Jean.

  It was the Cure this time who cut short the eloquence of Jean. Dinnerwas almost over. The old priest had not got through this dinner withoutexperiencing many emotions. They had repeatedly presented to himcomplicated and scientific constructions upon which he had only venturedwith a trembling hand. He was afraid of seeing the whole crumble beneathhis touch; the trembling castles of jelly, the pyramids of truffles, thefortresses of cream, the bastions of pastry, the rocks of ice. Otherwisethe Abbe Constantin dined with an excellent appetite, and did not recoilbefore two or three glasses of champagne. He was no foe to good cheer;perfection is not of this world; and if gormandizing were, as they say,a cardinal sin, how many good priests would be damned!

  Coffee was served on the terrace in front of the house; in the distancewas heard the harsh voice of the old village clock striking nine. Woodsand fields were slumbering; the avenues in the park showed only as long,undulating, and undecided lines. The moon slowly rose over the tops ofthe great trees.

  Bettina took a box of cigars from the table. "Do you smoke?" said she.

  "Yes, Miss Percival."

  "Take one, Monsieur Jean. It can't be helped. I have said it. Takeone--but no, listen to me first."

  And speaking in a low voice, while offering him the box of cigars:

  "It is getting dark, now you may blush at your ease. I will tell youwhat I did not say at dinner. An old lawyer in Souvigny, who was yourguardian, came to see my sister in Paris, about the payment for theplace; he told us what you did after your father's death, when you wereonly a child, what you did for that poor mother, and for that poor younggirl. Both my sister and I were much touched by it."

  "Yes," continued Mrs. Scott, "and that is why we have received youto-day with so much pleasure. We should not have given such a receptionto every one, of that you may be sure. Well, now take your cigar, mysister is waiting."

  Jean could not find a word in reply. Bettina stood there with the boxof cigars in her two hands, her eyes fixed frankly on the countenanceof Jean. At the moment, she tasted a true and keen pleasure which may beexpressed by this phrase:

  "It seems to me that I see before me a man of honor."

  "And now," said Mrs. Scott, "let us sit here and enjoy this deliciousnight; take your coffee, smoke--"

  "And do not let us talk, Susie, do not let us talk. This greatsilence of the country, after the great noise and bustle of Paris, isdelightful! Let us sit here without speaking; let us look at the sky,the moon, and the stars."

  All four, with much pleasure, carried out this little programme. Susieand Bettina, calm, reposeful, absolutely separated from their existenceof yesterday, already felt a tenderness for the place which had justreceived them, and was going to keep them. Jean was less tranquil; thewords of Miss Percival had caused him profound emotion, his heart hadnot yet quite regained its regular throb.

  But the happiest of all was the Abbe Constantin.

  This little episode which had caused Jean's modesty such a rude, yetsweet trial, had brought him exquisite joy, the Abbe bore his godsonsuch affection. The most tender father never loved more warmly thedearest of his children. When the old Cure looked at the young officer,he often said to himself:

  "Heaven has been too kind; I am a priest, and I have a son!"

  The Abbe sank into a very agreeable reverie; he felt himself at home,he felt himself too much at home; by degrees his ideas became hazy andconfused, reverie became drowsiness, drowsiness became slumber, thedisaster was soon complete, irreparable; the Cure slept, and sleptprofoundly. This marvellous dinner, and the two or three glasses ofchampagne may have had something to do with the catastrophe.

  Jean perceived nothing; he had forgotten the promise made to hisgodfather. And why had he forgotten it? Because Mrs. Scott and MissPercival had thought proper to put their feet on the footstools, placedin front of their great wicker garden-chairs filled with cushions; thenthey had thrown themselves lazily back in their chairs, and their muslinskirts had become raised a little, a very little, but yet enough todisplay four little feet, the lines of which showed very distinctly andclearly beneath two pretty clouds of white lace. Jean looked at theselittle feet, and asked himself this question:

  "Which are the smaller?"

  While he was trying to solve this problem, Bettina, all at once, said tohim in a low voice:

  "Monsieur Jean! Monsieur Jean!"

  "Miss Percival?"

  "Look at the Cure, he is asleep."

  "Oh! it is my fault."

  "How your fault?" asked Mrs. Scott, also in a low voice.

  "Yes; my godfather rises at daybreak, and goes to bed very early;he told me to be sure and prevent his falling asleep; when Madame deLongueval was here he very often had a nap after dinner. You have shownhim so much kindness that he has fallen back into his old habits."

  "And he is perfectly right," said Bettina, "do not make a noise, do notwake him."

  "You are too good, Miss Percival, but the air is getting a littlefresh."

  "Ah! that is true, he might catch cold. Stay, I will go and fetch a wrapfor him."

  "I think, Miss Percival, it would be better to try and wake himskilfully, so that he should not suspect that you had seen him asleep."

  "Let me do it," said Bettina. "Susie, let us sing together, very softlyat first, then we will raise our voices little by little, let us sing."

  "Willingly, but what shall we sing?"

  "Let us sing, 'Quelque chose d'enfantin,' the words are suitable."

  Susie and Bettina began to sing:

  If I had but two little wings, And were a little feathery bird,

  Their sweet and penetrating voices had an exquisite sonority in thatprofound silence. The Abbe heard nothing, did not move. Charmed withthis little concert, Jean said to himself:

  "Heaven grant that my godfather may not wake too soon!"

  The voices became clearer and louder:

  But in my sleep to you I fly, I'm always with you in my sleep.

  Yet the Abbe did not stir.

  "How he sleeps," said Susie, "it is a crime to wake him."

  "But we must; louder, Susie, louder."

  Susie and Bettina both gave free scope to the power of their voices.

  Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids, So I love to wake ere break of day.

  The Cure woke with a start. After a short moment of anxiety he breathedagain. Evidently no one had noticed that he had been asleep. Hecollected himself, stretched himself prudently, slowly, he was saved!

  A quarter of an hour later the two sisters accompanied the Cure andJean to the little gate of the park, which opened into the village a fewyards fr
om the vicarage; they had nearly reached the gate when Bettinasaid all at once to Jean:

  "Ah! all this time I have had a question to ask you. This morning whenwe arrived, we met on the way a slight young man, with a fair mustache,he was riding a black horse, and bowed to us as we passed."

  "It was Paul de Lavardens, one of my friends; he has already had thehonor of being introduced to you, but rather vaguely, and his ambitionis to be presented again."

  "Well, you shall bring him one of these days," said Mrs. Scott.

  "After the 25th!" cried Bettina. "Not before! not before! No one tillthen; till then we will see no one but you, Monsieur Jean. But you, itis very extraordinary, and I don't quite know how it has happened,you don't seem anybody to us. The compliment is perhaps not very wellturned, but do not make a mistake, it is a compliment. I intended to beexcessively amiable in speaking to you thus."

  "And so you are, Miss Percival."

  "So much the better if I have been so fortunate as to make myselfunderstood. Good-by, Monsieur Jean--till tomorrow!"

  Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival returned slowly toward the castle.

  "And now, Susie," said Bettina, "scold me well, I expect it, I havedeserved it."

  "Scold you! Why?"

  "You are going to say, I am sure, that I have been too familiar withthat young man."

  "No, I shall not say that. From the first day that young man has madethe most favorable impression upon me; he inspires me with perfectconfidence."

  "And so he does me."

  "I am persuaded that it would be well for us both to try to make afriend of him."

  "With all my heart, as far as I am concerned, so much the more as Ihave seen many young men since we have lived in France. Oh! yes, I have,indeed! Well! this is the first, positively the first, in whose eyes Ihave not clearly read, 'Oh, how glad I should be to marry the millionsof that little person!' That was written in the eyes of all the others,but not in his eyes. Now, here we are at home again. Good-night,Susie--to-morrow."

  Mrs. Scott went to see and kiss her sleeping children.

  Bettina remained long, leaning on the balustrade of her balcony.

  "It seems to me," said she, "that I am going to be very fond of thisplace."

  BOOK 3.