"We are going to see him. I'll tell him how sad I am when I am away from him; I'll tell him that I cry almost all the time, that there's nothing to amuse me in the village, and he'll come back with us, mother; oh! I am sure that he'll come back with us."

Nicole shook her head with a doubtful expression, and murmured:

"At any rate, we shall find out whether he's happy and well; that's the main thing."

In due time they reached the old mansion in Faubourg Saint-Germain.

"This is his house," said Nicole; "I recognize it all right! This is the very house where I came to get him when he was a spindling little thing, as thin as a rail. I made a fine boy of him, thank G.o.d! And then I came here two or three times to bring him to his father, when the old gentleman was alive."

Louise gazed wonderingly at the old structure, whose severe aspect and time-blackened walls almost frightened her. Meanwhile, they had entered the courtyard, and Nicole said to the concierge:

"Monsieur, I've come to see my _fieu_--my nursling, young Cherubin, your master. He left us to come here, but we don't like not having a chance to kiss him for so long; we couldn't stand it any longer, so here we are."

The concierge, who had his orders, replied:

"You can't see monsieur le marquis, my master, for he isn't in the house."

"Gone out, has he? Oh well! he'll come back! We'll wait, won't we, Louise?"

"Oh, yes, mother, we will wait; for we must see him when we came to Paris on purpose."

The concierge rejoined with exasperating indifference:

"It won't do you any good to wait; Monsieur de Grandvilain is travelling and he may not come home for ten days or a fortnight."

"Travelling!" cried Louise; "oh dear! it's very annoying! Where is he travelling, monsieur? in which direction? Has he gone far?"

"My master didn't tell me."

"But tell us at least whether he's well?" said Nicole; "is he happy? is he enjoying himself in Paris?"

"Monsieur le marquis is in perfect health."

"Thank G.o.d! But why does he go travelling without coming to see us?--Monsieur, are those young foreign ladies who dance so well travelling with--with Monsieur Cherubin?"

"I couldn't tell you."

Nicole and the young girl returned to Gagny, sadly disappointed that they had not been able to embrace Cherubin; but the nurse said to Louise:

"Never mind, we know he's well, and that's a great deal."

"Yes, dear mother, and no doubt he'll come to see us when he returns from this journey; if he doesn't, we'll go to Paris again, for he won't always be away."

But once more the days and weeks pa.s.sed without a word or a sign from the youth whom they loved so dearly and whom they were always expecting.

Conquered by Louise's tears and entreaties, Nicole consented to go to Paris again, but the second trip was no more fortunate than the first.

That time, however, the concierge said that monsieur le marquis had gone to pa.s.s some time at the chateau of one of his friends.

The two women returned to Gagny more depressed than ever.

"My dear child," said Nicole, weeping with her, "I believe that the little fellow I nursed doesn't mean to see me again. You see that he's forgotten us, for he doesn't come to the village or send us any word.

And when folks in Paris don't want to see anyone, why they just say that they're out."

"O mother! do you really think that Cherubin doesn't want to see us, that he would be ashamed of us?"

"I don't say that, my child; but this much is certain: that I won't go to his house in Paris again; for they must have told him that we came, and if he still cared anything about us, it seems to me that he wouldn't have lost any time before coming to see us."

Louise could think of nothing to reply; she longed to defend Cherubin in Nicole's mind, when in the depths of her own heart she retained only a glimmer of hope. After the second trip to Paris, the girl's depression became more and more marked; in the presence of her foster-mother she tried to conceal her distress, her sorrow, but when she was alone she gave way to them with a sort of enjoyment; for, in extreme unhappiness, it is almost a consolation not to be disturbed in one's musings, one's regrets, one's memories.

Louise did like all those who have lost a beloved object--she haunted all the spots which she had often visited and admired with him. When we revisit the places where we have been happy, it seems that we must be happy again; our memory recalls all the circ.u.mstances of our previous visits, and the most trivial and futile things become of inestimable value when they have some connection with the one we love. By dint of identifying ourselves with our memories, we fancy that we are still living in that bitterly-regretted past--our heart dilates with a thrill of joy. But alas! how brief its duration! The present returns with its overwhelming truth; we look about--we are alone, all alone--we find in the depths of our hearts naught save a ghastly void, and no unalloyed joy in the days to come.

One morning Nicole was working, Jacquinot sleeping, and Louise in the garden, where she was thinking of Cherubin as usual, when a gentleman entered the rustic dwelling.

"O _agrestis_ and _rusticus_ abode!" he cried; "I salute thee, but I do not regret thee. My tastes do not agree with Virgil's, I prefer the city to the country."

Nicole uttered a joyful exclamation at sight of Monsieur Gerondif, and she made haste to call Louise, saying:

"Come quick, my child, here's the schoolmaster come back; no doubt Cherubin will soon be here too."

It was in fact the tutor, who wore a hat so shiny that it looked as if it were varnished, with his hair carefully oiled beneath it; his gloves were glazed and his handkerchief drenched with Portugal water, but his nose was redder than ever.

Louise rushed into the house. Never had Monsieur Gerondif's presence caused her such pleasure; she longed, yet feared to speak to him, but at last she gave him her hand and said in a hesitating tone:

"Ah! what happiness, monsieur! You are going to tell us about _him_."

Monsieur Gerondif, for his part, was speechless with admiration at sight of the girl, for it was eight months since he had left Gagny, and in that period a tremendous change had taken place in Louise, altogether to her advantage. She was no longer a child, a little maid; she was a tall, well-built, charming girl, who had every qualification to attract, and to whom anybody would have given credit for seventeen years and a swarm of suitors.

"It is most extraordinary!" cried the tutor; "it is sorcery surely! What a gratifying change!"

"You find Louise grown, don't you, monsieur?"

"Grown at least twelve centimetres, and her figure much more solid, more palpable!"

"But Cherubin, monsieur, tell us about Cherubin! Never mind me. Is he coming, monsieur? Shall we see him soon? Does he think about us? Does he speak of us sometimes?"

"Is he very fat and healthy, and happy, the dear _fieu_? And when shall we have a chance to embrace him? Why don't he come to Gagny?"

"Monsieur le marquis is very well indeed," replied Gerondif, still ogling Louise. "You ask why he doesn't come to see you? Why, my dear Madame Frimousset, it's plain that you know nothing of life in Paris, and especially the life led by a young man in fashionable society! My pupil hasn't a moment to himself: in the morning he fences, rides horseback, dances, sings and boxes; why, he hardly has time for his meals. Then he has to go into society--theatres, concerts, b.a.l.l.s! How in the devil do you expect him to find a moment to come to this village?

It's impossible! Even I had infinite difficulty in making the trip to-day; I was obliged to hurry my breakfast, and I don't like to eat fast."

"So we shan't see him any more?" murmured Louise, whose heart had grown heavy again, and whose eyes were filled with tears.

"I do not say that, adorable la.s.s! but I say that you must be sensible and not expect monsieur le marquis to interrupt his important occupations for you."

"Oh! I don't expect anything! We'd have gone to Paris again to see him, but they always tell us he's away."

"Don't come to Paris, you will simply waste your time; how do you expect to catch a young man on the wing who has five hundred things to do in the day?"

"Five hundred things! Bless my soul! but the poor boy must get all tired out!"