"Lovely, my child, lovely; she has an air of distinction too; no one would think that she was a servant."

"I didn't flatter her, did I?--Mamma thinks that you are lovely, Louise," continued the girl; "she likes you too. I told you that she would like you."

Louise made a curtsy and murmured:

"Madame is very kind; I will do my best to satisfy her, and mademoiselle too."

"I don't doubt it, my child," replied Madame de Noirmont; "everything prepossesses me in your favor, and I am convinced that my daughter is not mistaken in all the good that she has told me of you."

While Ernestine's mother was speaking, Louise raised her eyes and looked at her. At sight of that beautiful, n.o.ble and stern face, of that pale and haughty brow, of those great black eyes wherein one could always detect a melancholy expression, the girl felt deeply moved and impressed; her heart beat violently, whether with pleasure or fear she did not know; she could not define her feelings, but she did not speak or move. For some moments after Madame de Noirmont ceased speaking, she continued to listen; they motioned to her that she might retire, and she remained. At last Ernestine had to touch her arm and say: "You may leave us, Louise," before she came to herself and left the room, casting a last furtive glance at Madame de Noirmont.

After a few more words concerning the new lady's maid, Madame de Noirmont turned all her attention to taking up the threads of her usual domestic occupations, and to superintending her daughter's education and her studies with the different teachers who came to the house to give her lessons.

Madame de Noirmont's life was very regular; she rarely went out and received few visits; she devoted herself to her daughter, overlooked her studies and read a great deal: that was her greatest pleasure, her most agreeable means of distraction.

Monsieur de Noirmont pa.s.sed the whole day in his study; his wife and daughter saw little of him before dinner. At that repast they met, and not infrequently some old friend of Monsieur de Noirmont dined with them, but they very rarely had more than one guest. During dinner Madame de Noirmont talked very little, while her husband discussed politics or economic matters with his guest. Ernestine alone did anything to enliven the party. She succeeded very well; her childish sallies and observations often made her mother smile; and even Monsieur de Noirmont, despite his gravity, could not always keep a sober face. In the evening, the ladies worked, made tapestry, or sang, and the men played chess or backgammon. When there were no guests at dinner, Monsieur de Noirmont often went out in the evening to some party or reception; sometimes his wife and daughter accompanied him, but rarely. Madame de Noirmont preferred to remain at home with Ernestine; and when her husband was not there, she seemed less serious, less pensive, and she manifested her affection for Ernestine more freely.

Louise's duties were very pleasant in that family, where the ladies did not go to b.a.l.l.s and received very little company. Comtois alone waited at table. The young lady's maid a.s.sisted the ladies to dress; then, during almost all the remainder of the day, she worked in her room, making dresses for mademoiselle or keeping the linen of the household in order. In the evening, she served at tea, then looked to it that her mistresses had everything in their room that they required. This was not very wearisome, and Louise sometimes told Ernestine that they did not give her enough work to do; but the girl would reply, with a smile:

"What makes you work so fast? We no sooner give you a piece of sewing to do than it is done. Mamma says that your activity and skill are most unusual. Other lady's maids don't work so fast, I promise you!"

Louise felt a thrill of pleasure whenever she was told that Madame de Noirmont was pleased with her. And although that lady always preserved a grave and serious manner with her servants, which made the slightest approach to familiarity impossible, she felt drawn to love her, and it seemed to her that it would be a source of deep grief to her if she should now be compelled to leave her.

Meanwhile three months had pa.s.sed since she came to Paris, and she had not once seen Cherubin. But since Madame de Noirmont's return, Louise, engrossed by the desire to please her, had felt her love-pangs less sharply; although she still loved her old playmate as dearly as ever, another sentiment had glided into her heart, to distract her thoughts from her troubles.

Monsieur Gerondif had called several times to inquire of Comtois what Louise's employers thought of her, and each time the old servant put forth all his eloquence in praise of the young lady's maid and begged the professor to thank old Jasmin for the present he had sent them.

Monsieur Gerondif went away overjoyed that he had brought Louise to Paris, although Cherubin, entirely absorbed by his _bonnes fortunes_, had forgotten about going to see Nicole.

One morning, when Monsieur Gerondif called at Monsieur de Noirmont's to ask Comtois if they were still content with Louise, the valet replied:

"Yes, indeed; Mademoiselle Louise is a model of virtue and industry. If you would like to see her, monsieur, she is alone at this moment; the ladies have gone out to do some shopping. She is working in her room, and there is no reason why you should not go up and bid her good-morning."

Monsieur Gerondif joyfully accepted the proposition; he followed Comtois, who led him to Louise's chamber and left him with her.

Louise manifested the keenest delight at sight of the tutor, for she would have an opportunity to talk with him about all those who were dear to her. Monsieur Gerondif, who was, like most pedants, a conceited fool, took to himself a pleasure of which he was the pretext simply; he believed that he had kindled a tender sentiment in the breast of the pretty lady's maid, and he smiled as if he would dislocate his jaw as he took his seat beside her.

Louise began by inquiring for her adopted mother.

"She is perfectly well, and she is overjoyed that you are in such a fine position in Paris," replied the tutor, lying with imperturbable coolness; for he had not been to the village since Louise left it.

"And Monsieur Cherubin?" continued Louise, "is he pleased to know that I am in Paris as he wished? Hasn't he any desire to see me? Doesn't he ever speak to you about me? Did he send you here to-day?"

The tutor scratched his nose, coughed, spat, wiped his forehead, all of which operations required much time with him, during which he considered what he should say. Having made up his mind at last, he said to Louise:

"My dear child, it rarely happens that childish loves come to a good end. I might cite Paul and Virginie and a thousand other examples _ad hoc_; I prefer to tell you _ex abrupto_--which means, without preamble--that you are making a mistake to give any further thought to Monsieur le Marquis de Grandvilain, because that young man never gives a thought to you. In the first place, when you came to see him at his house--when you came to Paris with Nicole----"

"Well, monsieur?"

"Well, the young marquis was at home; but as he didn't want to see you, he gave his concierge orders to tell you that he was away."

"O mon Dieu! is it possible?"

"Amid the debauchery in which he is plunged, how do you expect him to remember a young country girl with whom he used to play puss-in-the-corner, and other more or less innocent games? He has become a great rake, has my pupil; he has a lot of mistresses. It isn't my fault. He receives so many billets-doux that it's perfectly scandalous, and I should have left his house before this if my financial interests did not oblige me to close my eyes,--which however, does not prevent my seeing whatever happens."

Louise put her handkerchief to her eyes and faltered:

"So it's all over--he doesn't love me at all! Who would have believed it of Cherubin?"

"One must believe everything, expect everything from a beardless youth,"

replied the tutor.

Then, drawing his chair close to the girl's, and laying his hand on her knee, Monsieur Gerondif tried to a.s.sume a mellifluous voice and began, weighing his words:

"I have made the wound, and it is for me to apply the balsam, otherwise called the remedy.--Lovely Louise, although young Cherubin has not been true to your charms, there are others who will be too happy to offer incense to them, to cultivate them. I go straight to the point: I love you, divine maiden! and I am not fickle, because, thank heaven, I am a grown man. I have not come to make any base propositions to you--_retro, Satanas_! which means: I have only honorable views. I offer you my hand, my heart, my name, my rank and my t.i.tle; but we will wait two years before we marry. I will try to restrain my pa.s.sions for that length of time, which I require in order to ama.s.s a tidy sum of money. You will contribute your wages, your savings; they are much pleased with you here, and it is probable that you will receive a handsome present at New Year's. We will put it all together and buy a little house in the outskirts of Paris; I will take a few pupils to keep my hand in; we will have a dog, a cat, chickens, all the pleasant things of life, and our days will be blended of honey and hippocras."

During this harangue, Louise had pushed away the hand that Monsieur Gerondif had laid on her knee, and had moved her chair away; and as soon as he had finished speaking, she rose and said to him in a courteous but determined tone:

"I thank you, monsieur, for condescending to offer me, a poor village girl, without name or family, the t.i.tle of your wife; but I cannot accept it. Monsieur Cherubin no longer loves me; I can understand that, monsieur, and indeed I was mad to imagine that, in Paris, in the midst of pleasures, living in the whirl of society, he would remember me. But it is altogether different with me! I have not become a great lady, and the image of the man I love can never be effaced from my heart. I love Cherubin; I feel that I shall never love anybody else! So, monsieur, it would be very wicked of me to marry another man, as I could not give that other my love."

Monsieur Gerondif was greatly surprised by this speech; he recovered himself, however, and replied:

"My sweet Louise, _varium et mutabile semper femina_; or, if you prefer: '_souvent femme varie, bien fol est qui s'y fie_.'--Woman changes ever; he is a great fool who trusts her.--The latter lines are by Francois I; I prefer Beranger's.--Tiresias declares that men have only three ounces of love, while women have nine, which enables them to change oftener than we do; and yet, with only three ounces, we do pretty well."

"What does all this mean, monsieur?"

"It means, my dear love, that you will do like the others: you will change; your love will pa.s.s away."

"Never, monsieur."

"Never is a word that means nothing at all in love. However, you will have plenty of time to think about it, as I give you two years for reflection. Until then, allow me to hope."

"Oh! it is useless, monsieur."

"I beg pardon; by hoping one lives content, and I cling to my hope.

Adieu, fair Louise; continue to behave becomingly; your remuneration will be increased doubtless, and I shall continue to put mine aside; and, as a very trivial but very shrewd popular proverb says: 'Let's let the mutton boil!'--I lay my homage at your feet."

Monsieur Gerondif took his leave, and Louise was at liberty to weep without restraint. She did not bestow a thought on the tutor's offers, she thought only of Cherubin, who no longer loved her, who had ceased to think of her, and who had mistresses. She had been afraid for a long time that he had forgotten her; but now she was certain of it, and it is a far cry from fear to certainty, in love.

The return of Madame de Noirmont and her daughter forced Louise to conceal her tears. She hastily wiped her eyes and tried to dissemble her depression, for she felt that she must not betray the secret of her heart.

On that day Monsieur de Noirmont went out after dinner. Ernestine remained with her mother, to whom, as they worked, she said whatever came into her head, especially as she saw that it was one of her moments of good humor. When Madame de Noirmont smiled at her daughter's speeches, the latter was so delighted that she often laid her work aside to throw her arms about her mother's neck, who sometimes held her lovingly to her heart for some moments.

Louise, for whom they rang to order tea, entered the salon at one of the times when Madame de Noirmont's arms were about her daughter; and the sweet child, in her joy at being so fondled, cried out:

"See how happy I am, Louise! see what a dear, good mother I have!"

Louise stood still in the middle of the salon; she was glad for Ernestine's happiness, and yet, in the touching picture before her eyes, there was something that hurt her, she did not understand why. Two great tears escaped from her eyes; but she turned quickly, so that they might not see her weeping.