"Would to G.o.d that I had! I should be with her now. Ah! my dear Monsieur Menard, if you were a different man---- But you are kind-hearted and sympathetic; you are fond of me, and you would restore me to life if you would consent to go to her and tell her that I love her more dearly than ever!"

"I am very sorry, monsieur; but I shall not go to tell her that or anything else. I will do nothing to forward a pa.s.sion which your worthy father does not approve; he has too much reason now to complain of my negligence. I love you dearly, and that is why I will not help you to continue a guilty connection which would lead to no good end. Monsieur your father knows very well what he is doing; it was high time that he should come, for we were all making fools of ourselves, I most of all.

His presence restored our equilibrium. He s.n.a.t.c.hed you away from temptation; that distresses you, and yet it was the best thing he could possibly do. _Qui bene amat, bene castigat; experto crede Roberto._"

Frederic went home, to think of Sister Anne, and to try to devise some means of seeing her. If he had known that she bore within her a pledge of his love, that she was about to become a mother, nothing could have kept him in Paris. He would have flown to her, defying his father's wrath. But he knew nothing of that circ.u.mstance, so he confined himself to saying every day:

"I will go to her."

The count sent to ask his son to come to him, and Frederic obeyed, his brow still clouded with ennui.

"You have ceased to appear in society," said the count; "have your travels made a misanthrope of you?"

Frederic said nothing,--always the best course to pursue when one has nothing to say.

"I wish you to go with me this evening," continued the count, "to call on one of my old comrades in arms, General de Valmont. After a long residence on his estates in the country, he has come to Paris to stay some little time. He desires to see you, and I desire to present you to him."

Frederic bowed, and prepared to accompany his father. He had heard him speak of this Monsieur de Valmont, with whom he had served in the army, and who was of about his age; so that there was nothing to cause surprise in his desire to present his son to his old friend.

On their way to the general's house, Monsieur de Montreville was unusually amiable, and Frederic strove to appear less melancholy than usual. When they reached their destination, they were announced in due course, and Monsieur de Valmont came forward to meet them. At first sight, his appearance was most prepossessing. His manners were frank and cordial, his features instinct with sincerity and good humor. He embraced his old friend, shook hands heartily with Frederic, and seemed delighted to see him.

After the exchange of greetings, the general invited his visitors to step into an adjoining room.

"You have shown me your family," he said to the count; "now, I must show you mine. It surprises you, perhaps, that I, an old bachelor, have a family; it is not quite so near to me, to be sure, but it is none the less dear."

As he spoke, they entered the room, where a young lady was seated at a piano. At sight of the strangers, she hastily rose.

"Constance," said the general, "this is my friend, the Comte de Montreville, and his son; messieurs, let me present my niece--my daughter--for I love her as dearly as if I were her father."

Constance courtesied gracefully to the two visitors. Frederic looked at her--he could not do otherwise than think her charming. As for the count, a smile of satisfaction played over his features. I believe that the sly old fellow had heard of Mademoiselle Constance, and that he had his little scheme in his head when he took his son to see the general.

Constance was slender and graceful; there was something sweet and modest in her aspect, which impressed one favorably. She was fair, with a touch of color in her cheeks. Her great blue eyes, set off by long, dark lashes, had an indefinable charm; her expression was amiable and frank; every movement was instinct with grace, and she seemed absolutely unconscious of it. Far from seeking to attract attention, she seemed desirous to shun the admiration she aroused.

The two old friends fell to talking over their campaigns and their youthful adventures, and, at sixty, such subjects are inexhaustible. So that it was necessary for Frederic to talk with the general's niece; and, although one's heart is heavy, one does not like to bore a pretty woman, but makes an effort to forget one's sorrow momentarily, in order not to appear too dull. That is what our hero tried to do while chatting with Mademoiselle Constance, who talked very agreeably, and, without the least trace of ostentation, revealed a judicious, cultivated mind, great love for art, and a candor and modesty which imparted an additional charm to everything she said. She was not one of those young women who know everything and discuss every subject, of whom we have so many, and whom we are good-natured enough to call little prodigies because they chatter on for hours with extraordinary a.s.surance, and because it is customary to praise every word that falls from a pretty mouth, even when it lacks common sense.

May G.o.d protect you from prodigies, reader, especially of the female variety! There is nothing comparable to that which is simple, modest, and natural; we are always glad to return to that. Those qualities do not exclude intelligence and knowledge, but they add to them a varnish of una.s.suming gentleness which makes them even more attractive, and which is never found in the others.

The young people talked of painting, music, and the pleasures of the country. Suddenly the general said to his niece:

"Sing us something, Constance; sit you down at your piano and sing. I like singing myself, and perhaps it will entertain our young friend here."

Constance did not wait to be urged; she took her place at the piano and sang, accompanying herself excellently; her voice was sweet and full of expression; it had not a great range, but she sang with so much taste that one never tired of listening to her. Frederic listened with keen delight; he had never heard a voice that pleased him so much. Constance sang several pieces, until at last her uncle said to her:

"That is well, very well; you are good-natured and don't make so much fuss about singing as some people do. Morbleu! I can't endure such affectation!"

The count and his son joined in their praise of the singing, and thanked Constance, who blushed at their compliments. But their visit had lasted two hours, and they rose to go.

"I will pay you a visit," said the general; "I have just bought a little country house in the suburbs for mademoiselle, who drives me crazy with her chatter about fields and birds. I hope that we shall see you and your son there before the season is much further advanced."

The count promised, and returned to his carriage with Frederic, to whom he was careful not to say a word of the general's niece. The sight of Constance was certain to do more than anything a father could say.

Frederic said nothing; his thoughts had returned to the poor dumb girl in the woods. For two hours he had almost forgotten her! Two hours is no great matter; but Sister Anne did not forget him for an instant.

Three days after this visit, the general and his niece dined with the Comte de Montreville, who entertained quite a large party. When he learned that he was to see Mademoiselle de Valmont again, Frederic was conscious of a thrill of excitement, which he attributed to the annoyance of being obliged to conceal his melancholy. Was that the real cause?

The general was jovial, outspoken, and unaffected, as usual; his niece was as pretty and affable and modest as ever. In a large party, it is easier to arrange a tete-a-tete than when the guests are few in number, and Frederic returned again and again to Constance's side. He fancied that he did so from courtesy simply, because it was his duty to pay especial attention to the general's niece; but he could not blind himself to the fact that, of all the a.s.sembled company, Constance was the one who attracted him the most, if it were possible for anyone to attract him. He could talk with her without having to think what he was going to say. The words that fell from her mouth were not mere trite phrases and tasteless epigrams; Constance did not devote her attention exclusively to other women's costumes; she did not pa.s.s them in review and criticise them one after another, as a young woman is very likely to do. With her, he felt more free, more at his ease; it seemed to him that he had known her a long while. She smiled at him so pleasantly when he seated himself beside her, her voice was so tender, her eyes so sweet, that it was natural that he should prefer her conversation to that of all the rest; even when he was not talking with her, he was conscious of a secret charm in her presence. Although he strove to overcome his sadness, his face still wore a melancholy expression, which was not unbecoming to him; and women often yield to the seduction of such expressions. When he was pensive, Constance looked at him with deep interest, her eyes seemed to ask him if he was unhappy. And when she spoke to him, her voice was even softer, her manner more sympathetic; one would have said that she unconsciously shared his sorrow, or that she was trying to make him forget it.

Several young ladies exhibited their talents and their voices in selections self-accompanied on the harp or piano, but Frederic heard no one but Mademoiselle de Valmont. She sang only one ballad, but she sang it so beautifully! As he listened, Frederic examined her more closely than he had hitherto dared to do. Whether it was mere chance, or an illusion of the heart, he discovered in Constance's features a striking resemblance to those of Sister Anne: the same expression, the same melting sweetness; and if the poor mute could speak, surely her voice would be as tender and expressive. Frederic, while listening to Constance, persuaded himself that it was Sister Anne's voice that he heard, and his eyes were wet with tears. Full of that illusion, and discovering every moment some new point of resemblance in feature, he did not take his eyes from Mademoiselle de Valmont. When she had finished singing, Frederic remained by her side, and his eyes, persistently fastened on her face, shone with a new fire and meaning.

Constance noticed it, and avoided his gaze; a crimson flush overspread her cheeks. If Frederic, when he gazed so tenderly at her, fancied that the dumb girl was before him, should he not have told Mademoiselle de Valmont of the real object of his preoccupation? And was not Constance justified in the belief that the Comte de Montreville's son did not look upon her with indifference?

The evening pa.s.sed very swiftly to Frederic. When the general and his niece went away, the former announced that they were going to their country house on the following day, and that he should await impatiently a visit from the count and his son.

When Constance had gone, Frederic felt entirely alone in the midst of the company; and as soon as he could with courtesy retire, he hastened to his room to think--of Constance? oh, no! of Sister Anne; it was still the poor dumb girl who filled his thoughts; but was it his fault if now and then the memory of Mademoiselle de Valmont intruded itself? It was solely because of the resemblance between them. A loving heart sees its loved one everywhere, even where she is not. It loves her in another who recalls her features. That is why it is no safer to trust sentimental lovers than fickle ones.

Several days pa.s.sed; Frederic heard nothing from Dubourg, and concluded that he had not yet returned to Paris. The young count was still sad and thoughtful, but there was something not unpleasant in his sadness. The thought of Sister Anne often caused him to sigh. He was intensely anxious to see her again; but he had ceased to form those extravagant projects which, in the first days after his return, seemed so easy of execution. He longed to ensure Sister Anne's happiness and repose forever; but he thought of the future, and he was more certain than ever that his father would never consent to give her to him for his wife. He said to himself:

"What should we do? what would be the result of our liaison? One cannot always live in the woods. Man is made for society, and Sister Anne is utterly unfitted for it: she is ignorant of everything that it is indispensable to know."

Poor girl! why did he not think of all these things the first time he saw you by the brook? Ah! then you seemed fascinating to him, just as you were; your very ignorance made you a thousand times more alluring in his eyes; and now---- I say again, that men whose sentiments are so easily stirred are no better than other men.

One morning, the count suggested to his son a visit to the general at his country house. Frederic was always at his father's orders, but he now chose to take unusual pains with his toilet. Even though one have no desire to please, one does not wish to repel. The count closely observed his son's actions, and exulted in secret; but he said no more to him on the subject of Mademoiselle de Valmont than on any other subject.

The general's country house was in the outskirts of Montmorency, and the visitors arrived about noon. As he alighted from the carriage, Frederic was conscious of a quickening of the pulses, which he attributed to the pleasure of seeing a woman whose features recalled those of his beloved.

He was, in truth, deeply moved, and, when he entered the house, his eyes sought Mademoiselle de Valmont. But he saw no one but the general, who welcomed them with great cordiality.

"You must stay with us several days," he said; "I have you in my power, and I shall not let you go at present. We will talk and laugh and hunt and play cards; my niece will play and sing to us; in short, we will pa.s.s the time as pleasantly as we can."

Frederic continued to look about for the niece, whom he did not see; and as the general had already begun to discuss with his father one of their campaigns, which was likely to lead them far afield, he ventured to inquire for her.

"She is probably in the garden," said the general; "either in her aviary, or looking after her flowers, or in her summer-house. Go and find her, young man; corbleu! that's your business; at your age, I would have run here from Paris for a pretty face."

Frederic profited by the permission; he went down into a garden, which seemed to be extensive and well kept, and walked about at random, looking for Mademoiselle Constance. He pa.s.sed the aviary, but she was not there; he turned into an avenue of lindens, at the end of which the ground rose slightly and a winding path led to a sort of platform, where there was a beautiful view. That was presumably what the general called the summer-house, for Constance was sitting there, with a drawing-board on her lap, sketching the lovely valley which could be seen from that point. She did not see Frederic, because her back was turned to the path leading to the platform, and the young man drew near and leaned over her shoulder without attracting her attention.

"So you have all the talents?" he said. Constance looked up, and at sight of him her eyes expressed the pleasure she felt, while her bosom rose and fell more rapidly. She made a motion as if to lay aside her drawing.

"Go on, I pray you," said Frederic; "I did not come here to interrupt your studies; on the contrary, I should be glad to join you in them.

And, furthermore, your uncle insists that we must remain here several days; so that our presence must not be allowed to disarrange your habits."

"And are you really going to give us the pleasure of keeping you for some days?" said Constance, unsteadily.

"Most a.s.suredly. I cannot believe that my father will refuse his old friend's invitation; he is much too happy with him for that."

"I am afraid, monsieur, that you, not having the same reason to enjoy yourself here, will soon regret the diversions of Paris. We see very few people here; you will surely be bored."

"You judge me very ill, if you think it possible for me to be bored with you."

"Oh! I beg your pardon. I said that--because I was afraid; but if you really love the country and music and drawing and reading, you ought to enjoy yourself here."

Frederic did not reply at once; he looked closely at Constance, and his heart was oppressed by innumerable conflicting feelings. He saw in her features a face that was still dear to him; he transported himself in his imagination to the little wood by the brook, and a cloud of melancholy darkened his brow. A profound sigh escaped him, and not until several minutes had pa.s.sed did he answer Constance, as if waking from a dream:

"Yes, I am very fond of the country."