"If those people ever show their faces here again, don"t forget to say that we are not at home. Really, their impertinence is beyond bounds."
"Never fear, mademoiselle," said the cook; "I don"t want to see the masters again any more than the dog. I"ve got my dinner to prepare all over again now."
"It"s my uncle"s fault; he invites everybody he sees; so long as they talk of the theatre and acting to him, that"s enough for him; he would declaim before chimney sweeps!"
"You go too far, niece; did I go in search of this gentleman, and tell him to bring his wife and children and dog? He thinks that I act well, and I see nothing extraordinary in that; many other people besides him have thought the same. But as to declaiming before chimney sweeps!
However, chimney sweeps may have a very keen perception; the common people aren"t such bad judges as you seem to think, and Dugazon told me several times that at free performances the applause never came except when it was deserved. But you have no appreciation of acting, and before you it would be useless to have talent."
Monsieur Roquencourt was offended; he left us and went to his room. I also attempted to leave, but Caroline detained me, saying:
"Just a moment, if you please. You know this Monsieur Giraud, who seemed determined to plant himself here with his whole family and his friends too. He spoke to you in an undertone. You told me that you would tell me the purpose of his visit; will you be kind enough to do so, monsieur?"
I sat down again beside Caroline, and I could not help smiling as I said to her:
"Mademoiselle, this Monsieur Giraud has a mania, or a vocation for arranging marriages. When he learned that you were still unattached, he at once conceived the plan of finding a husband for you."
"The impertinent fellow! Why should he mix himself up in the matter?"
"As he is convinced that everybody must always come to that at last, he displays the most incredible perseverance in his schemes. He had already requested me to speak to you in favor of the young man whom he brought here to-day."
"What! that great b.o.o.by?"
"He was an aspirant for your hand, yes, mademoiselle; and, despite the unflattering welcome that you bestowed upon Giraud and his protege, I should not be at all surprised if he returned to the charge again soon, with a new _parti_."
"I a.s.sure you, monsieur, that I shall not receive him again. What you have told me makes the man more intolerable to me. The idea of attempting to arrange a marriage for me! Can one imagine such a thing?"
Caroline"s face had become serious. She lowered her eyes and seemed to be lost in thought; after a moment she continued:
"Marry! oh, no! I shall never marry. For a moment I thought that it was possible. It was a delightful dream that I had, but it was only a dream.
I deceived myself cruelly!"
Those words distressed me greatly, and yet, could I be sure that they were addressed to me? I could not try to ascertain; but in spite of myself, I moved nearer to Caroline, who had dropped her head sadly upon her breast, and I took her hand, which I had never done before; but she seemed so depressed that I longed to comfort her. I did not know what to say to her. I dared not ask her the reason of her determination. We sat a long while thus without speaking; my hand gently pressed hers, but that did not comfort her, for tears poured from her eyes. Then I put my arm about her waist; I felt her heart beat beneath my fingers. I almost breathed her breath.
Suddenly she pushed me away, moved her chair away from mine and exclaimed:
"Ah! I did not believe that I was so weak; but at all events I will not be wicked; no, I will not add to the grief of a woman whom I pity, whose happiness I would like to restore. And since I am unable to conceal my feelings from you, we must meet henceforth only in company, only before strangers; yes, I swear to you that this is the last tete-a-tete that we shall have."
Having said this, she hurried from the salon, and I left the house, realizing that we should in truth do well to avoid each other.
XXIV
THE SPECTRE
After my last tete-a-tete with Caroline I went less frequently to her house, and never went there without my children. The season was advancing; we were to stay in the country but a short time, and I took them to walk with me in the woods every day. Sometimes Madame Ernest went with us; I noticed that she was more friendly with me, that she was in better spirits since I had ceased to pa.s.s so much time at Monsieur Roquencourt"s. I concluded that she must have something against her neighbors. But as she was as kind and attentive as always to me and my children, and as her husband"s affection for me showed no diminution, I asked them for nothing more.
I often noticed that Madame Ernest seemed to want to speak to me. I could read faces well enough to feel sure that she had something to say to me. But if that was so, what prevented her? When I was lost in thought, I saw her scrutinize me furtively, then look at my children; but she either said nothing or talked about things which could not interest me.
One afternoon we all went into the forest of Vincennes together. I led Henriette and Eugene by the hand, and Madame Ernest led her little son and daughter. Night was approaching. As we entered a shaded path, Eugene cried:
"Oh! I"m afraid of the spectre here!"
"Of the spectre?" I said, taking him in my arms. "Who has told you anything about a spectre, my dear?"
"The nurse," cried Madame Ernest"s little girl; "she says there"s a spectre in our house, and that she"s seen it in the garden."
"Your nurse is a silly creature, and so are you, mademoiselle," said her mother hastily; "I shall forbid her to talk to you about such things."
"Oh! I have heard about it too," said Henriette, "and the nurse declared that she has seen, or heard, the spectre near the little summer-house."
"Mon Dieu! what idiots those people are! And how can you repeat such things, Henriette--such a sensible girl as you are?"
Madame Ernest seemed very much irritated that there had been any talk of spectres. I began to laugh.
"Why, really," I said, "it almost seems as if you took the thing seriously. Do you imagine that I am going to run off as fast as I can because these children say that there"s a spectre in your house?"
"No, of course not; but don"t you agree with me that it"s wrong to make children timid by talking to them about such things?"
"That is the very reason why it is better to laugh with them than to be angry. I am very sure that you are not afraid of the spectre, Henriette, because you understand that there are no such things."
"Oh! papa, I don"t know whether there are any such things, but I"m a little bit afraid too. And the other night I woke up and thought I saw something white going out of my room. Oh! I wanted to shriek; but I just put my head under the bedclothes."
"But, my dear love, you ought to find out first of all what you"re afraid of. What is a spectre? Tell me."
"It is--I don"t know, papa."
"Oh! I know," cried little Ernest, "a spectre is a ghost."
"Indeed! and what is a ghost?"
"A spectre."
"Bravo! you are quite capable of explaining the Apocalypse!"
"A spectre," cried the little girl in her turn, "is a devil with a red tail and green horns, that comes at night and pulls naughty little children"s toes."
That definition made Marguerite and me laugh; but I agreed that she would do well to scold the nurse for telling the children such tales.
Young imaginations should never be terrified and darkened. The time when things cease to look rose-colored to us comes quickly enough.
We returned to the house talking of spectres. I kissed my children, who went off to bed; then I walked in the garden. It was a magnificent evening and seemed to me to invite one to breathe the cool, moist air. I soon found myself near the summer-house, which was not occupied. The moon was shining on that part of the garden; but its light always inclines one to melancholy. As I glanced at the clumps of trees about me, I remembered the spectre of which we had been talking, and although I am not a believer in ghosts, I realized that, by a.s.sisting one"s imagination a little, it was easy to see behind that foliage ghostly figures which moved with the faintest breeze.
I seated myself on a bench by the summer-house. The night was so soft and still that I did not think of returning to the house. The image of Caroline, the memory of Eugenie, presented themselves before my mind in turn. I sighed as I reflected that I must fly from the first because she loved me, and forget the other because she did not love me. But she was the mother of my children. They had spoken of her again that day, and had asked me if she would come home soon. I did not know what reply to make. Ernest and his wife never mentioned Eugenie, and their silence surprised and disquieted me. Not a word of her--nothing to tell me where she was, what she was doing, or if she were still alive. She was so changed, so ill, at Mont-d"Or! I would have liked to hear from her. I could not love her, but she would never be indifferent to me.
In these reflections I forgot the time. A sound quite near me caused me to raise my head. It was like a faint sigh. I saw n.o.body, so I stood up.
It seemed to me that I could distinguish, through the leaves, something white running toward the other end of the garden. I remembered the spectre. My curiosity was aroused; I walked to the path where I thought that I had seen something; but I found nothing, and I decided to go to my room; for it was late and everybody else had already retired, no doubt.