"No, he has been in Paris for a long while."

The young woman seemed so sad after she had said this that Jacques regretted his question. The more he looked at his brother's wife, the more he felt drawn toward her and disposed to love her; he did not doubt that Edouard had said nothing of his meeting with him.

"She would not have turned me away," he said to himself; "with such gentleness in the features and the voice, a person cannot have a hard and unfeeling heart. Edouard alone is guilty. But I will not tell her; I should distress her to no purpose; and, besides, I have no intention of going near the ingrate who spurned me."

It was growing dark; Adeline could not remain at the farm; everyone offered to escort her, but she selected Jacques, to show him that she harbored no unpleasant memories against him. He was secretly flattered by the preference. He took little Ermance on one arm and offered the other to the young woman, who bade the people at the farm adieu, and, delighted by their cordial welcome, promised to go again to see them.

They walked in silence at first. From time to time Jacques embraced pretty Ermance, who was only eight months old, but who smiled at the honest soldier, and pa.s.sed her little hand over his moustaches.

"I am very sorry to give you so much trouble," said Adeline, "but I did not think that I had gone so far."

"Madame, it is a pleasure to me."

"That child must tire you."

"Tire me! No! ten thousand cannons!--Ah! I beg pardon; one should not swear before ladies."

"It is very excusable in an old soldier."

"You see, I am very fond of children; and this little one is really so pretty."

"Ah me! she is my only consolation!" murmured Adeline.

Jacques could not hear, but he saw that she was sad, and he changed the subject.

"Madame will soon return to Paris, no doubt; it is late in the season, October is almost here."

"No, I do not expect to leave the country yet; I may pa.s.s the winter here."

"This is strange," thought Jacques; "she remains in the country and her husband in the city; can it be that they do not live happily together?--In that case," he said aloud, "I hope that we shall have the pleasure of seeing madame at the farm sometimes."

"Yes, I look forward with pleasure to going there again. You are a relative of the farmer, I suppose?"

"No, madame, my comrade is their cousin, but I am only an old soldier, without family or acquaintances, whom they have been good enough to supply with work."

"I am sure that they congratulate themselves upon it every day.--You are still young, you cannot have served very long?"

"I beg your pardon, I enlisted very early."

"And on your return from the army you had no mother, no sister, to take care of you and to make you forget the fatigues of war?"

"No, madame. I have only one relative, and he treated me with so little affection! I am proud, I have a keen sense of honor, and I rejected a.s.sistance which was not offered by the heart, and which would have humiliated me."

"That must have been some distant relative?"

"Yes, madame."

"My husband has a brother. By the way, his name is Jacques as yours is.

He left his family many years ago; he is dead, no doubt, but if he were still alive, if he should return--oh! I am very sure that Edouard would be overjoyed to see him."

Jacques made no reply; but he turned his head aside to conceal a tear that dropped from his eyes.

At that moment they arrived at Murville's house. Adeline urged Jacques to come in and rest for a few moments; but he declined; he was afraid of yielding to his emotions, and of betraying himself.

"At least," said the young woman, "when you come to Villeneuve-Saint-Georges, I hope that you will come to see me. I will show you the gardens which you saw only through the gate."

"With pleasure, madame; and I urge you not to forget the farm."

Adeline promised and Jacques went away, after casting a last glance at the house.

"That is a fine fellow," said Adeline, as she entered the house, "and mamma and I judged him very unjustly. I am sure that that rough and stern exterior conceals a sensitive and honest heart. Ah! appearances are often deceitful!"

Some time after, Adeline went to the farm one morning, followed by her nurse, a stout country girl, who carried her child. The villagers received her joyfully; Adeline was so amiable, so sweet, so simple with the people at the farm, that they were quite at their ease with her.

Guillot began sentences that never ended; Louise played with little Ermance; Sans-Souci swore that he had never seen such a lovely woman in the regiment, and Jacques manifested the greatest regard for the young woman, and the deepest interest; his attentions to Adeline were so considerate, his manners so respectful, that she did not know how to interpret his affecting yet mysterious conduct; but there was in Jacques's eyes an expression at which no one could take offence; only interest and affection could be read in them, and her heart was moved by those same sentiments, although she could not understand them.

They all disputed for the honor of escorting the young lady home.

Guillot would offer his arm, Louise insist on carrying the child, Jacques on acting as guide, and Sans-Souci on going before as skirmisher. But Adeline, in order to make none of them jealous, returned alone with her maid when it was not late, unless the weather was very fine; for in that case, Villeneuve-Saint-Georges was a pleasant walk, which they insisted upon taking with Madame Murville, who was touched by the attachment which the peasants showed for her.

Several months pa.s.sed in this way. Winter had come, the verdure had disappeared, the country was dismal. Adeline received no company. She was alone in her house with her maid and an old gardener, who had replaced the insolent concierge, dismissed by Adeline because she had learned that he turned the poor people and beggars harshly away when they begged a crust of bread at her door.

Adeline's only diversion was to go to the farm, when the weather was fine and the air not too sharp for her child. Jacques was conscious of a feeling of satisfaction as soon as he saw her; but he concealed a large part of his sensations, in order not to arouse the curiosity of the peasants. Sans-Souci was the only one who was in Jacques's confidence; he knew that Adeline was the wife of Jacques's brother; but he had sworn not to reveal the secret to anyone; and his oath could be relied upon, although privately he raged at his inability to inform Adeline of the bond between her and his friend. But Jacques insisted that it should be so. He had divined a part of his sister-in-law's griefs, and he did not wish to intensify them by telling her of Edouard's conduct toward him.

Meanwhile, they were very far from suspecting at the farm what was taking place in Paris. Intelligence arrived only too soon, to destroy such repose as Adeline still enjoyed. It was Dufresne who had taken it upon himself to wreck the peace of mind of the woman whose scorn he was unable to forgive.

One day, Adeline learned that a gentleman just from Paris desired to speak with her; she went to the salon where the stranger was, and shuddered with horror when she saw Dufresne, seated in an easy-chair, and placidly awaiting her arrival.

"You here, monsieur!" she said, striving to recover her courage; "I did not suppose that you would dare to appear in my presence again!"

"I beg pardon, madame," Dufresne replied in a hypocritical tone; "I hoped time would lessen your hatred."

"Never, monsieur; you know too well that your outrages can never be effaced from my memory! Make haste to tell me what brings you here."

"I am going to cause you distress again; but your husband's orders----"

"Speak; I am prepared for anything."

"Your mother, you know, of course----"

"My mother! Oh heaven! It cannot be that she is sick? But she wrote me only a short time ago."

"An attack of apoplexy, a blood vessel----"

"Great G.o.d! she is dead, and I did not see her in her last moments!"

Adeline fell upon a chair, utterly crushed; two streams of tears flowed from her eyes, and her sobs, her grief, would have moved the most insensible of mortals; but gentle sentiments were not made for Dufresne's heart; he was only moved by the pa.s.sions which degrade mankind. He contemplated in silence the despair of a young and lovely woman, whose unhappiness was his work; he listened to her sighs, he seemed to count her sobs, and far from feeling the slightest twinge of repentance, he deliberated upon the fresh torments which he proposed to inflict on her.

Dufresne's presence intensified Adeline's grief; before him she could not even weep freely and think solely of her mother; she tried to summon a little courage in order to dismiss the contemptible man who fed upon her suffering.

"Was your only purpose in coming here to tell me of the cruel loss I have suffered?" she said, rising and trying to restrain her sobs.