The young woman looked at him in amazement, and smiled; then, finding that he said nothing more, she returned to her drawing-board, and tried to continue her sketch. But Frederic's presence embarra.s.sed her; the hand that held the pencil trembled, and she did not know what she was doing.

Frederic continued to gaze at her in silence; he was charmed by her manner, her grace, her amiable yet reserved air. If Sister Anne had had a good education, she would have been like her; she would have had her manners, her talents; she would have had the same command of language.

And he began to consider that education, instead of lessening a woman's attractions, imparts an additional fascination to them.

The conversation languished, for Frederic often relapsed into reverie; but, for all that, the time pa.s.sed very quickly; it seemed that they were happy to be together, and that that sufficed them. So far as Frederic was concerned, he would gladly have pa.s.sed the whole day looking at Constance and drawing comparisons. She noticed that he kept his eyes constantly upon her; but his eyes were so soft, there was in their expression something so tender and touching, that no woman could have been offended at being the object of their scrutiny.

The arrival of the two old friends put an end to this situation, which was very agreeable to the young people, although they dared not confess as much, even to themselves. The general pointed out to the count all the beauties of his garden, and the summer-house was one of them. The count seemed extremely well pleased, for, as he approached the platform, he detected a certain embarra.s.sment, a certain emotion, which added greatly to its attractions in his eyes. The general saw nothing of it; he was not so keen an observer as his friend.

"We have two guests, as you see, niece," he said; "try to do the honors of the establishment so satisfactorily that they won't think of leaving us for a long time."

"I will do my best," said Constance, blushing.

"Mademoiselle," said the count, "your presence alone is enough to detain us."

Frederic said nothing, but looked at Constance, who, as she thanked the count, cast a furtive glance at his son, as if to make sure that he thought the same.

After dinner, two of the general's neighbors called. One was an enthusiastic player of billiards, who could not sleep if he had not had his game; the other, who was somewhat younger, had seen service in the army, and had an endless stock of campaign stories, which he interspersed with compliments and gallant speeches to Mademoiselle de Valmont.

Frederic declined to join them at billiards, in order to remain with Constance and to hear her sing or play.

"Don't feel bound to stay with me," she said; "remember that we are not in Paris."

"Unless it is disagreeable to you," Frederic replied, "I prefer to stay with you."

Constance smiled, and it was easy to see that it was not disagreeable to her. In the country, especially under the general's roof, the most delightful liberty of action was the rule. During the day, everyone did whatever he chose; the count and his friend made frequent excursions in the neighborhood, while Frederic remained with Constance; they pa.s.sed a part of every day together in the garden.

"We must make the most of the last fine days," said Constance; "the winter is at hand, and I must say good-bye to my trees and my flowers and my birds. But I shall see them again; it is not an eternal farewell."

"Don't you expect to return to your uncle's estate in the provinces?"

"Oh, no! I like this house much better; he bought it for me, and he is willing that I should spend seven months of the year here. We shall return to Paris for the winter. Uncle is so kind to me! He does whatever I want, for he is very fond of me."

"Who could fail to----"

Frederic did not finish his question; he checked himself, as if he regretted what he had said, and Constance, taken by surprise, lowered her eyes and said nothing. But she was beginning to become accustomed to the young man's eccentricities. Sometimes, when he sat by her for a long while without speaking, and seemed to be sad and distressed, she was tempted to ask him what was troubling him; but she dared not; so she held her peace, and sighed with him, although she did not quite know why. Melancholy is a disease readily transmitted between two young people of different s.e.xes. Often the hours of silence are more dangerous than a conversation devoted to love making.

Meanwhile, the intimacy between Frederic and Constance was growing closer day by day: hardly a week had pa.s.sed, and they had abandoned that reserve, that tone of gallantry and of formality, which is never the tone of friendship or of love. The count talked of returning to Paris, and Frederic was surprised to find that he himself had not thought of it; the week had pa.s.sed so quickly!--Upon reflection, he was almost angry with himself; he was remorseful because he had enjoyed himself.

But remorse never comes until after the fact.

"No," he said to himself, "I have not forgotten Sister Anne. I always see her when I look at Constance. I always think of her when I have Constance's lovely features before my eyes; I fancy that I am with her, when, sitting beside Constance, I quiver with delicious emotion."

And he was probably still thinking of Sister Anne, when, on the day before he returned to Paris with his father, as he sat beside Constance in the garden, he took her hand and held it a long while in his.

Constance did not withdraw her hand. She lowered her eyes, and seemed deeply moved. Frederic said nothing, but he pressed her hand very tenderly; and the sweet-tempered girl, perhaps unconsciously, returned the pressure.

Thereupon the young man's embarra.s.sment revived; he dropped the hand he held, and hastily moved away from Constance, who raised her head, and, observing his agitation, smiled at him with that indefinable charm which captures and enslaves.

"Are you really going to-morrow?" she said.

"I must," faltered Frederic, returning to her side; "I should have gone sooner, I fear---- Ah! yes, it is she, always she, whom I see! I would like to stay with you forever; I am so happy here! Oh! forgive me, mademoiselle; I don't know where I am."

Constance was at a loss to understand this speech; but lovers never know what they say, or say it very badly; and she readily forgave him, because she interpreted it all according to her own heart, which told her that Frederic loved her; and such sentiments always seem to be well expressed, for, in love, the eyes speak as loudly as the voice.

The count took his son back to Paris; but never a word concerning Constance! Ah! monsieur le comte, you have your project, and you are well aware what you are doing. A few days later, Frederic said that they ought to take advantage of the last of the fine weather to call on the general; for he was burning to see Constance again--so that he could think of Sister Anne!

XX

LUNEL, DUBOURG, AND MADELON

We left Dubourg about to start for Paris. He no longer travelled as a Polish n.o.bleman, but fared modestly on foot, with a stick in his hand, which he swung jauntily as if he were simply out for a walk. He had no bundle to carry, because he had his whole wardrobe on his back, which he found much more convenient for a pedestrian. He saw at a distance the localities where he had recently appeared in such magnificent and n.o.ble guise. He pa.s.sed quite near to Monsieur Chambertin's house, waved his hand by way of salutation to that hospitable abode, and sighed--not for its mistress, but for the old pomard in the cellar.

However, he walked quickly, for he still dreaded a meeting with that infernal Durosey, whose presence he looked upon as the cause of all his misfortunes. As he emerged from a narrow pathway into the highroad, he found himself face to face with old Lunel, who was returning home in charge of an a.s.s laden with divers objects he had bought at Gren.o.ble.

Dubourg hurriedly pulled his hat over his eyes and lowered his head, having no desire to be recognized by Monsieur Chambertin's jockey. But as he walked blindly on, he collided with the a.s.s and nearly threw her down.

"Can't you see where you're going, idiot?" exclaimed Lunel; "the road isn't so narrow that you need to run into my donkey."

At the word _idiot_, Dubourg, who had never liked the old jockey, for he had waited upon him with an ill grace during the whole of his sojourn at Monsieur Chambertin's, and had constantly sought opportunities to show his spite to him and to Menard--Dubourg, who had not forgotten, either, the horsewhipping Lunel had given the two little Poles, turned suddenly upon him and struck him thrice with his knotted stick.

"Help! murder!" cried Lunel.

And as Dubourg's sudden movement had disarranged his hat, the old servant recognized his features, and shouted louder than ever:

"It's that miserable palatine, who owes four hundred francs at his restaurant! It's that sham baron, who showed madame such attention and surprised monsieur! Peste! he ain't such a swell now!"

"Will you hold your tongue, you rascal!" said Dubourg, raising his stick again.

"What are you hitting me for?"

"I am simply returning what you gave my servants; I've owed you this a long while."

"Your servants--your servants! pretty servants they were! I suppose this is my _pourboire_, because my master boarded you for a month, you and your great scholar, who ate enough for six!"

"If I did your master the honor to visit him, what business have you to make comments on it, you clown?"

"Oh, yes! a great honor you did him!"

"Take care, or I'll begin again."

As Dubourg still had his cane in the air, the old jockey decided to lower his tone. He held his peace and looked about for the a.s.s, in order to go his way; but the animal had disappeared while they were quarrelling; she had wandered into the underbrush that lined the road, and was nowhere to be seen.

"Oh! mon Dieu! my a.s.s! where is my a.s.s?" cried Lunel, searching anxiously in every direction.

"Faith! I have no idea. Find your a.s.s, and I'll continue my journey.

Give my compliments to your mistress, and tell your master that, if he ever comes to Paris, I'll give him a little reception, with fireworks."