XXIX

MADEMOISELLE PeLAGIE.--A SCHEME TO MARRY ME

My sister, who was really a most excellent woman,--due allowance being made for her tendency to be a little obstinate,--was overjoyed that I had ceased to speak of returning to Paris. She had no mercy on herself in her endeavors to procure for me what she called new pleasures every day. She would have been so delighted to induce me to settle at Melun!

From time to time, she would ask my opinion concerning the young women I had seen the night before; she would dilate in great detail upon the virtues, talents, and amiable qualities of each one of them; then she would extol the pleasures of wedded life, the joy of having children, which, however, did not prevent her shrieking after her boys the next moment, and disputing with her husband; but it was understood that those were among the joys of wedded life. Ah! my dear sister! I saw what you were driving at! you had gone back to your favorite idea; you were determined, in short, that I should do as others did, for that was your constant refrain. And then, to negotiate the marriage of one's brother is an affair of such vast importance in a small town!--What an exhaustless source of interviews, confidential communications, visits, parties, new dresses--and, therefore, of pleasure!

For some time I did not allow myself to be tempted. However, I was beginning to believe that one might as well do as others do, especially when one has lost that desire to flutter about the fair s.e.x, that longing for every pretty woman, which is so natural to young men. There was only one for whom I had had any longing, for many weeks past--but she had deceived me, so I must needs forget her as well as the rest.

I had noticed for several days that my sister seemed even more content than usual; I often saw her whispering with Deneterre, who in the end always did what she wanted him to. They extolled still more warmly the joys of wedlock, but they said nothing more about any of the young women I had already seen; they evidently had some new hope; no doubt, I should soon learn what was in the wind.

"I shall try to make myself look very nice to-night," said Amelie one day. "You will go with me, won't you, dear Eugene? It's Madame Lepine's evening,--she was the elector's wife,--and they say there'll be a good many people there."

"But I seem to see the same persons every time."

"Ah! there'll be some new faces for you to-night; Madame de Pontchartrain has returned from her place in the country, and she will be there."

"Who is this Madame de Pontchartrain?"

"A most respectable person, who has an income of seven thousand francs and is seventy years old."

Very respectable, no doubt; but I could not see why I should be especially interested in Madame de Pontchartrain. Doubtless I should learn the answer to the enigma in the evening.

After dinner madame set about dressing. I had thought that Parisian women were coquettes, but since I had lived in the provinces I had learned to do justice to the belles of the capital, who pa.s.sed two hours less before their mirrors than the beauties of a small town. Deneterre went off to play pool, and I walked in the garden while my sister was dressing; for the first time I was vexed by her slowness; I was in a hurry to arrive at Madame Lepine's--I, who ordinarily accompanied my sister solely to oblige her; but one sometimes has presentiments.

My sister was ready at last; Deneterre returned, and we started. We soon reached our destination; in a small town no two houses are far apart. We were announced in due form; for in the provinces you may not enter a salon in good society without being announced. I glanced around at the guests and saw no unfamiliar faces. I was almost angry; but while Madame Lepine was arranging the different games, I saw my sister go to her and heard her say:

"My brother won't play cards to-night; don't count on him for boston or reversis; he prefers the games."

I had not said anything of the sort to her; what did it mean, that she took that step without consulting me? I was just on the point of demanding an explanation, when the servant announced:

"Madame de Pontchartrain and her niece."

Aha! there was a niece! I began to understand. All eyes turned toward the door; I did like everybody else, and I saw a tall, thin, angular, yellow-skinned woman, who, despite her age, held herself very erect and seemed to have retained all the vivacity of youth; that was the aunt; let us say no more of her, but give our attention to the niece.

A flattering murmur ran about the salon as she entered. In truth, she was very pretty; of medium height, but well set up; and if she was a little stiff in her carriage, it was the result of her training. Her features were regular, complexion rosy, hair very beautiful, and eyes very large; as for their color, I could not as yet discover it, for she kept them fixed on the floor.

While Madame Lepine went to meet Madame de Pontchartrain and her niece, and all the young women whispered together as they scrutinized the newcomer, in whom they were undoubtedly seeking defects which they would speedily find,--for women are very skilful in detecting at a glance anything disadvantageous to their rivals,--I noticed that my sister looked furtively at me, trying to read in my eyes the impression that Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain had produced on my heart.

Ah! my poor Amelie! my heart was perfectly calm!--calm, do I say? alas, no! it was not calm as yet, but it was not that young woman who excited it. I wished that it were; she was very pretty; she might well attract any man, and I should have been delighted to love her.

The niece's name was Pelagie; I heard her called so by her aunt, who had taken her seat at a whist table from which she would not stir until it was time to go home. She urged her niece to enjoy herself, to be less shy; Pelagie blushed, and replied very gently:

"Yes, aunt."

The young woman seemed to be the personification of innocence.

Madame Lepine took possession of Mademoiselle Pelagie and led her to the circle formed for the games. I took my place by her side; I was curious to make the acquaintance of that young novice. I noticed that all the other young women watched me when they saw me place my chair beside Pelagie's; jealousy and spite were blazing in their eyes already! In the provinces, people are so quick to interpret the slightest action, the slightest indication of preference! But it mattered little to me what they thought; I was at liberty to do whatever I chose.

How uncharitable young women are to one another! Those who came regularly to the receptions enjoyed the bashfulness and embarra.s.sment of the newcomer, and tried to intensify them by putting the most difficult questions to her in the games and making her do what was likely to confuse her most. I detected their petty malice, and I tried to put Mademoiselle Pelagie more at her ease. Once she attempted to thank me, and began a sentence the end of which I did not hear; but she raised her eyes an instant, and I was able to see that they were of a very tender shade of blue, and sweet in expression.

Madame Lepine, who was a very amiable person and did her best to entertain her guests, asked Madame de Pontchartrain if her niece was musical.

"Yes, madame," the old aunt replied; "Pelagie sings, and accompanies herself on the piano."

Immediately all the young women begged Pelagie to sing them something.

They hoped to find food for criticism. Pelagie demurred very awkwardly; she glanced at her aunt, who gave her a look which clearly signified _sing_; whereupon she rose; I escorted her to the piano and offered to accompany her.

"No, monsieur," she said; "I will play my own accompaniment."

Surely any other woman would have thanked me in a different way; but Pelagie was innocence itself, and I saw that she had not learned to embellish her speeches.

She sang us an old ballad in six stanzas. The subject was love; but no one would have suspected it from listening to Pelagie, who imparted absolutely no expression to her voice or to the instrument. Any Parisian girl, even when fresh from her boarding school, would have played and sung much better than that; she would have rolled her eyes gracefully, whereas this one did not lift them from the keys; she would have put some soul into the words of love, whereas this one repeated them as coldly as possible. The comparison at the first blush seemed unfavorable to Pelagie; but when I reflected that that which prevented her from performing more brilliantly proved her innocence and virtue, I considered that her awkwardness was entirely to her credit.

My sister was enraptured. She saw me sit beside Pelagie, speak to her often, escort her to the piano, and take her back to her chair. That was more than was necessary to indicate the birth of love; and, of course, it would naturally end in marriage.

The party came to an end; everybody took their leave; but Amelie found an opportunity to present me to the great-aunt, who honored me with an almost affable glance. As I went downstairs, I found myself beside Pelagie; I could not do otherwise than offer her my hand. She looked at her aunt; a glance authorized her to accept, and she held out her hand as awkwardly as possible. I was careful to touch only the tips of her fingers; I had fallen in with the manners and customs of the town.

However, the ladies lived only a few steps away; so we soon reached their house, where we left them after the three conventional bows; I observed, by the way, that Pelagie was very proficient in the matter of courtesies.

When we reached home, Amelie turned the conversation upon Mademoiselle Pelagie; I expected it, and I let her talk with her husband. They vied with each other in extolling her to the skies.

"She's a charming girl!"

"Upon my word, she's the prettiest girl in Melun!"

"And so perfectly well bred!"

"Wonderfully so! a strict education; but what manners! what decorous behavior in company!"

"She is innocence personified."

"She's an excellent musician."

"And no one would suspect it, because she makes no pretensions."

"Her aunt has no other heir; she's an excellent match!"

"The man who gets her won't make a bad speculation!"

"And he can be sure of his wife's virtue."

Annoyed by my silence, my sister addressed herself to me at last.

"Well, Eugene, tell us what you think of Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain."

"My dear girl, what do you expect me to add to your eulogies of her?"

"Aren't you of our opinion?"