"Your troubles will come to an end before long, I hope," she said. "Yes, your seducer will certainly return to sentiments more worthy of the man you love; he cannot have forgotten you entirely. Dubourg may not be accurately informed. Dry your tears; some day you will see him again; and how can he ever leave you after you put this darling boy in his arms?"

These comforting words went to Sister Anne's heart; she welcomed the soothing hope that Constance held out to her, and parted from her somewhat less unhappy. Madame de Montreville returned slowly to her apartment; the sight of the suffering of the woman she had saved from want made her sad; Frederic was not there to divert her thoughts and make her forget everything but her own happiness; she had never been separated from him for so long a time, and his absence tended to increase her melancholy.

Menard had retired, after saying to Dubourg:

"This has been rather a tempestuous day."

"Ah!" was the reply; "I apprehend a much more violent storm! If that young woman fainted simply because she heard the ballad that Frederic used to sing to her, what will happen to her when she sees him again, and when she learns that he is another woman's husband? I tell you, Monsieur Menard, I can't think of anything else!"

"I can well believe it; it has taken away my appet.i.te!"

"Let us try to ward off that catastrophe."

"Let us ward it off; I ask nothing better."

"Remember that the repose, the happiness, yes, even the honor, of your pupil are at stake, and that his sins will rebound on you."

"I beg your pardon: a mistake in syntax, or in Latin verses, I agree; but I never taught him to seduce innocent girls; it was rather your evil counsels that perverted him."

"Monsieur Menard!"

"Monsieur Dubourg!"

"Let's go to bed."

"_Recte dicis._"

x.x.x

FReDeRIC'S RETURN.--CONSTANCE AND SISTER ANNE

Dubourg had been Madame de Montreville's guest for ten days, and during those ten days he had not ceased his efforts to invent some means of warding off the effect that the sight of Frederic would surely produce on Sister Anne. He saw that Constance's attachment to her protegee and the latter's grat.i.tude to her benefactress increased from day to day. To separate them seemed more difficult than ever; Constance frequently said that she could not do without Sister Anne and her son, and the young mother seemed to feel her grief less keenly by her side.

Frederic was expected at any moment; indeed, he was already overdue.

Constance was worried by his delay; she was less cheerful than usual, and her eyes were often wet with tears. At such times, Sister Anne strove to comfort her, and to say to her by signs that her husband would soon return.

"Suppose he no longer loves me!" Constance would say sometimes; and the dumb girl would take her hand and lead her before a mirror, as if to say:

"Look at yourself; can anyone help loving you?"

"Alas!" Constance would reply; "someone forgot you very quickly, and you are as pretty as I am!"

The Comte de Montreville, who had promised to pa.s.s a few days in the country, was detained by the gout. Dubourg was not sorry; he preferred that he should not be a witness of the recognition he dreaded; he had no idea that the count knew Sister Anne.

At last, Constance received a letter from her husband: he wrote her that unforeseen circ.u.mstances had delayed his return, but that he hoped to arrange everything soon. His letter was affectionate and expansive; he seemed to be as much in love as ever. Nevertheless, Constance was not satisfied: to stay away from her so long seemed in itself to indicate less warmth. Frederic was not there, so she was at liberty to weep; before him, she concealed her tears. As always, it was to Sister Anne that she confided her troubles; on her bosom she poured out her tears and found consolation.

Dubourg saw in this delay so much time gained.

"Let us try to make use of it to prevent an interview between the lovers," he said to Menard.

"Let's prevent it; I agree with you."

"But I've been trying for ten days to think up some expedient, and I can't find anything."

"Faith! then I'm luckier than you, for I found something the day before yesterday."

"What! if that's so, for heaven's sake tell me what it is!"

"It's my receipt for making milk punch, which I thought I had lost."

On leaving home, Frederic had gone at once to the farm to ascertain the whereabouts of Sister Anne, and of his son, whom he ardently desired to embrace. But when he arrived there, he learned from the worthy peasants that the lone girl had started for Paris with her child long before.

Frederic did not know what to do, and what caused him the greatest distress was that a messenger from his father followed close on his heels, bringing, as usual, money and divers other things for her whom the count called his liberatress; which fact proved that he was unaware that Sister Anne had left the farm, and that she had failed to find her friend's house in Paris.

Frederic was distressed beyond words; the people at the farm shared his disappointment. They regretted that they had allowed Sister Anne to go; but how could they have opposed her resolution with success? What had become of her? what was she doing in Paris, without friends or protector? If they had known that the unfortunate girl had been heartlessly robbed of all that she possessed, their grief would have been greater.

Frederic remained only one day at the farm; he started back toward Paris, and all along the road tried to obtain some information that might put him on Sister Anne's track. On reaching Paris, he did not go home; he did not wish his presence in the city to be known, because he desired his wife to remain in ignorance of it, so that he might have time to inst.i.tute a search for the dumb girl and her son. For more than a week he searched the vast city, visiting the most deserted as well as the most populous quarters, often going up to rooms under the eaves, and asking everywhere if anyone had seen a young woman who could not speak and who had a child. But his search was fruitless; he did not obtain a shred of information to put him on Sister Anne's track. With an aching heart, he decided at last to return to Constance; he was very far from thinking that he would find there those whom he had been seeking so long.

Every day, Dubourg lay in ambush on one road, and stationed Menard as a sentry on the other to notify him if he should see Frederic coming. As the country house could not be reached except by those two roads, he felt certain of not missing him. But one morning, Menard, having taken his Horace with him, became so interested in an ode he was reading, that the man for whom he was watching pa.s.sed him unnoticed. Frederic entered the house and hurried to Constance's room, where she was sitting, alone, thinking of her husband.

She looked up, uttered a joyful cry, and flew into his arms. All the pain of separation was instantly forgotten on her husband's breast.

Frederic responded affectionately to her outbursts of love. After the first transports of joy had subsided, Constance said:

"During your absence, I have taken an unfortunate woman into the house.

Oh! I hope that you will love her as I do."

"Whatever you do is well done, my dear Constance; your heart could never lead you astray; I am certain beforehand that your benefactions have been well bestowed."

"Oh! she is such an interesting young thing! a victim of love, and we women are always sympathetic with that sort of unhappiness. Her seducer deserted her, with a charming child, whom I am perfectly wild over. His name is Frederic, like yours.--Why, what's the matter, dear? you are as pale as a ghost, and all of a tremble!"

"Oh!--fatigue, I fancy--I was in such a hurry to get home!"

Frederic sat down, for his legs were giving way: what Constance had told him caused him an emotion that he could not control. He looked about him, shuddering involuntarily.

"And this woman--this child--where are they?" he asked, in a trembling voice.

"She has a room in the pavilion in the garden. But I see her now.--Come here, my dear, come quickly," Constance called, running to meet Sister Anne, who was coming through the hall with her son. "My husband has returned; oh! I am so happy! Now my happiness is complete!"

She took the dumb girl's hand and drew her into the room, where her husband was still sitting. At sight of Frederic, Sister Anne uttered a heartrending shriek; she ran to him, threw herself into his arms, pointed to her son, and lost consciousness.

With one hand Frederic supported Sister Anne, whose lifeless head lay against his breast; with the other he covered his eyes, as if he were afraid to look about him. His son was at his feet, still holding his mother's hand, and Constance, speechless with amazement and trembling from head to foot, stood before them.

In an instant a thousand conflicting sensations seemed to be at work in Constance's breast. She changed color her eyes expressed surprise and apprehension; she shuddered, and seemed to be trying to banish the thought that had forced itself upon her mind. But her glance, resting alternately on Sister Anne and her husband, strove to discover the truth. Her first impulse was to run to Sister Anne and take her from Frederic's arms.

"What is the matter? Why did the sight of you put her in such a condition?" she faltered, looking at Frederic. "Answer me, dear; do you know this young woman?"