"Mon Dieu! I forgot the little shopkeeper and the chicken! I meant to recommend her to you, so that you might at least buy your gloves of her."
"What shopkeeper? what chicken?" inquired Auguste.
Virginie told of her adventure on the day she met Bertrand. Auguste, after expressing anew to Virginie his grat.i.tude for all that she had done for him during his sickness, determined to call upon the young woman who had displayed so much delicacy in conferring a favor, and to thank her. He took Virginie in his cabriolet and they drove to the young linen-draper"s shop.
The cabriolet stopped at her door and the three occupants alighted. The young woman was amazed; she was not accustomed to having customers come in a carriage to buy needles and thread. But she blushed when she recognized Virginie, who entered first, saying to Auguste:
"It was madame here, who was so kind to me when you were convalescent."
Auguste stepped forward to salute the young tradeswoman, who was sorely embarra.s.sed by the thanks he expressed. But before she could speak, an old man, who was in the back shop, and whom they had not noticed, came toward them, crying:
"Daughter! Anna! it is our place to thank this generous man! He is our benefactor! It is he to whom I owe my life and the happiness of seeing you happy!"
Auguste looked at the old man and recognized poor Dorfeuil; and before he had recovered from his surprise, father and daughter were at his feet, covering his hand with tears of grat.i.tude.
Thereupon it was the turn of Bertrand and Virginie to demand explanations. Auguste tried to slink away, but old Dorfeuil held him fast while he told of all that he owed him, and finished his story by saying to Auguste:
"As you see, your benefaction brought us good luck. I have paid my debt; and in the last three years, my Anna, having succeeded in all her undertakings, has been able to set up in business here, where I am pa.s.sing my declining years with her, in peace."
Bertrand embraced Auguste again, Virginie embraced everybody, and they parted, promising to meet again. Virginie returned to her shop, from which she could not be absent longer, and Auguste drove off at last toward Denise"s village.
As they drew near Montfermeil his heart beat fast. He looked at Bertrand and said:
"We are going to see her! Oh! if you knew how they welcomed me, how they feted me when I was unfortunate!"
"And yet you left them!"
"My dear fellow, I had nothing to offer Denise."
"And now that you are much richer than she is, what if she should take her turn at refusing you? Then there"d be no end to it. Lovers have no common sense."
Instead of taking the road to the village, Auguste could not resist the desire to go by the little wood path where he had kissed the little milkmaid long ago. When he was near the place where Jean le Blanc ran away, he saw a small boy on a donkey in the woods; and a little farther on was a young girl, sitting at the foot of a tree.
"There they are!" cried Auguste.
In a twinkling he had jumped out of the cabriolet; he ran into the woods to where the girl sat, threw himself at her feet, covered her hand with kisses, and said:
"It"s I, Denise; I have come back to you, never to leave you again."
The girl was in doubt as to whether she was awake; she gazed at Auguste, who was fashionably dressed as in the old days, while Coco ran up to them, saying:
"Here"s my kind friend! he"s dressed like he was the day I broke the bowl."
"Is it really you?" said Denise. "Oh! if you knew how your letter grieved me! Wicked! to leave me because you were poor! to dare to say that I didn"t love you! that you wouldn"t come to see me again till you had ceased to love me! Is that what your coming now means? Oh! tell me quickly, don"t let me hope for happiness--it is too hard to be cheated out of what one longs for!"
Auguste made no other reply than to press her to his heart, while his eyes told the sweet girl that it was something more than friendship that had brought him back to her.
Bertrand, having left the cabriolet, came forward to pay his respects to Denise.
"Bertrand too!" she exclaimed; "he has come back!"
"Yes, and it is to him, whom I accused of deserting me, that I owe my good fortune to-day."
A few words put Denise in possession of the whole story, and she held out her hand to Bertrand, saying:
"Oh! my heart never doubted his! As if one could cease to love a person because he is unfortunate!" Then suddenly remembering that Auguste had recovered a large part of his property, she exclaimed: "Oh! mon Dieu!
then I cannot be your wife!"
"Yes, Denise, you will be my wife," said Auguste, taking her hand, "for you are the only woman who could make me happy, and I cannot doubt the sincerity of your love."
"But I am only a village girl----"
"Whom I prefer to all the fine ladies of the city."
"I shall be awkward in society."
"I have learned the worth of society, and I care very little for its judgments; besides, when it knows you, my Denise, it will be compelled to do you justice."
"Oh! I don"t want to know it, for my part, my dear; let us agree that, if you marry me, I shall stay here. When you want to go to Paris, you shall go alone; and then, when you are tired of the city, you can come back to your little milkmaid."
Auguste kissed her and they started for the cottage. When one is happy, everything seems delightful; in the eyes of the lovers the cottage had become a palace; but Bertrand, who was not in love and who always thought of the future, said to Auguste:
"This house isn"t big enough for you, lieutenant; besides, it belongs to Coco--it"s his property. You must buy a pretty house, not too expensive, which you can see from here, where you will have suitable accommodations and where you can entertain a few friends; because, you know, you mustn"t isolate yourself from society altogether; the sure way to have your love last only a short time is to shut yourself up with your wife for six months. Now that you know the world, you won"t be taken in again. You will take men at their true value; you can a.s.sociate with the people whose company is agreeable, and you mustn"t play for such high stakes as you used to; for now, or never, is the time to be prudent."
Auguste approved Bertrand"s suggestion. The house was hired, and a week later, Denise, beaming with love and happiness, embellishing by her charms and her grace the modest costume she had selected, was led to the altar by the man she loved.
All the people of the village a.s.sembled to see the little milkmaid married. The peasants said to one another:
"Now"s the time she"s going to play the fine lady! She"s marrying a swell! How high she"ll hold her head!"
But they were mistaken: Denise, after she became Madame Dalville, was as sweet and kindhearted as when she was a simple peasant girl herself.
As he escorted his young wife to their new home, Auguste cast a glance now and then at the comely women whom they happened to pa.s.s; but it was a matter of habit simply--Denise alone had his heart.
True to her promise, Denise did not desire to leave the village; and for a long while Auguste did not go away from his wife. Later, however, he went occasionally to Paris. On one of his visits to the capital he learned that the vivacious Athalie had separated from her husband, because Mere Thomas made a second trip to Paris; and that Monsieur de la Thoma.s.siniere, having made some unfortunate speculations and allowed himself to be ruined by Monsieur de Cligneval, had been compelled to turn over all his property to his creditors, and had become a cab-driver--a trade in which he seemed much more in his proper place than when he was in a salon.
The Marquis de Cligneval, having ventured to indulge in divers sharper"s tricks at ecarte, which were not to the liking of his adversary, was forced to fight a duel with him, and was killed. As for Destival, when he tried to do business in England on the same plan as in Paris, one of his clients, whose money he had appropriated, struck him a blow from which he did not recover.
It was Monsieur Monin who supplied Auguste with all this news, after asking him how his health was; having applied to his snuff-box, he rejoined Bichette, whom he had left with Monsieur Bisbis in a clump of shrubbery at the Cafe Turc.
Auguste also saw Dorfeuil and his daughter; but he went very rarely to the young linen-draper"s, because she was very pretty. By way of compensation he often saw Virginie, who was no longer pretty, but who had reformed entirely, and whose warm heart caused her former follies to be forgotten.
When he had pa.s.sed a short time at Paris, Auguste returned to Montfermeil, and it was with ever-renewed delight that he found himself once more in the company of his little milkmaid, of Bertrand, and of Coco, who, as he grew to manhood, often congratulated himself on having broken his bowl.