"Well, my dear," cried Madame Seraphin, speaking in a tone of honeyed sweetness, as Fleur-de-Marie drew near, "I suppose you are very glad to get away from prison."
"Oh, yes, indeed, ma"am. I presume it is Madame d"Harville who has had the goodness to obtain my liberty for me?"
"You are not mistaken in your guess. But, come, we are already a little behindhand, and we have still some distance to go."
"We are going to Madame Georges at the farm at Bouqueval, are we not, madame?" cried La Goualeuse.
"Oh, yes, certainly, by all means!" answered the _femme de charge_, in order to avert all suspicion from the mind of her victim. "Yes, my dear, we are going into the country, as you say;" and then added, with a sort of good-humoured teasing, "But that is not all; before you see Madame Georges, a little surprise awaits you--Come, come, our coach is waiting below! Ah, how you will be astonished by and by! Come, then, let us go.
Your most obedient servant, gentlemen!"
And, with a mult.i.tude of bows and salutations from Madame Seraphin to the registrar, his clerk, and all the various members of the establishment then and there a.s.sembled, she descended the stairs with La Goualeuse, followed by an officer, to command the opening of the gates through which they had to pa.s.s. The last had just closed behind them, and the two females found themselves beneath the vast porch which looks out upon the street of the Faubourg St. Denis, when they nearly ran against a young female, who appeared hurrying towards the prison, as though full of anxiety to visit one of its inmates. It was Rigolette, as pretty and light-footed as ever, her charming face set off by a simple yet becoming cap, tastefully ornamented with cherry-coloured riband; while her dark brown hair was laid in bright glossy bands down each clear and finely rounded cheek. She was wrapped in a plaid shawl, over which fell a snowy muslin collar, secured by a small knot of riband. On her arm she carried a straw basket; while, thanks to her light, careful way of picking her steps, her thick-soled boots were scarcely soiled; and yet the poor girl had walked far that day.
"Rigolette!" exclaimed Fleur-de-Marie, as she recognised her old prison companion, and the sharer in her rural excursions.[7]
[7] The reader will, perhaps, recollect that in the recital made by La Goualeuse to Rodolph, at their first meeting at the ogress"s, of the early events of her life, she spoke to him of Rigolette, who, a friendless child like herself, had been (with her) confined in a _maison de detention_ until she had reached the age of sixteen.
"La Goualeuse!" returned the grisette, and with one accord the two girls threw themselves into each other"s arms.
Nothing more touchingly beautiful could be imagined than the contrast between these two young creatures, both so lovely, though differing so entirely from one another in appearance: the one exquisitely fair, with large, melancholy blue eyes, and an outline of feature of faultless purity, the pale, pensive, intellectual cast of the whole countenance reminding the observer of one of those sweet designs of a village maid by Greuze,--the same clear delicacy of complexion, the same ineffable mixture of graceful pensiveness and candid innocence; the other a sparkling brunette, with round rosy cheek and bright black eyes, set off by a laughing, dimpled face and mirthful air,--the very impersonation of youthful gaiety and light-heartedness, the rare and touching specimen of happy poverty, of contented labour, and honest industry!
After the first burst of their affectionate greetings had pa.s.sed away, the two girls regarded each other with close and tender scrutiny. The features of Rigolette were radiant with the joy she experienced at this unexpected meeting; Fleur-de-Marie, on the contrary, felt humbled and confused at the sight of her early friend, which recalled but too vividly to her mind the few days of peaceful calm she had known previous to her first degradation.
"Dear, dear Goualeuse!" exclaimed the grisette, fixing her bright eyes with intense delight on her companion. "To think of meeting you at last, after so long an absence!"
"It is, indeed, a delightful surprise!" replied Fleur-de-Marie. "It is so very long since we have seen each other."
"Ah, but now," said Rigolette, for the first time remarking the rustic habiliments of La Goualeuse, "I can account for seeing nothing of you during the last six months,--you live in the country, I see?"
"Yes," answered Fleur-de-Marie, casting down her eyes, "I have done so for some time past."
"And I suppose that, like me, you have come to see some friend in this prison?"
"Yes," stammered poor Fleur-de-Marie, blushing up to her eyes with shame and confusion; "I was going--I mean I have just been seeing some one, and, of course, am now returning home."
"You live a good way out of Paris, I dare say? Ah, you dear, kind girl!
It is just like you to come all this distance to perform a good action.
Do you remember the poor lying-in woman to whom you gave, not only your mattress, with the necessary baby-clothes, but even what money you had left, and which we meant to have spent in a country excursion; for you were then crazy for the country, my pretty village maid?"
"And you, who cared nothing about it, how very good-natured and obliging of you to go thither, merely for the sake of pleasing me!"
"Well, but I pleased myself at the same time. Why, you, who were always inclined to be grave and serious, when once you got among the fields, or found yourself in the thick shade of a wood, oh, then, what a wild, overjoyed little madcap you became! n.o.body would have fancied it the same person,--flying after the b.u.t.terflies,--crowding your hands and ap.r.o.n with more flowers than either could hold. It made me quite delighted to see you! It was quite treat enough for a week to recollect all your happiness and enjoyment. But do let me have another look at you: how sweetly pretty you look in that nice little round cap! Yes, decidedly, you were cut out to be a country girl,--just as much as I was to be a Paris grisette. Well, I hope you are happy, since you have got the sort of line you prefer; and, certainly, after all, I cannot say I was so very much astonished at your never coming near me. "Oh," said I, "that dear Goualeuse is not suited for Paris; she is a true wild flower, as the song says; and the air of great cities is not for them. So," said I, "my pretty, dear Goualeuse has found a place in some good honest family who live in the country." And I was right, was I not, dear?"
"Yes," said Fleur-de-Marie, nearly sinking with confusion, "quite right."
"There is only one thing I have to reproach you for."
"Reproach me?" inquired Fleur-de-Marie, looking tearfully at her companion.
"Yes, you ought to have let me know before you went. You should have said "good-bye," if you were only leaving me at night to return in the morning; or, at any rate, you should have sent me word how you were going on."
"I--I--quitted Paris so suddenly," stammered out Fleur-de-Marie, becoming momentarily more and more embarra.s.sed, "that, indeed--I--was not able--"
"Oh, I"m not at all angry! I don"t speak of it to scold you! I am far too happy in meeting you unexpectedly; and, besides, I commend you for getting out of such a dangerous place as Paris, where it is so difficult to earn a quiet livelihood; for, you know, two poor friendless girls like you and me might be led into mischief, without thinking of, or intending, any harm. When there is no person to advise, it leaves one so very defenceless; and then come a parcel of deceitful, flattering men, with their false promises, when, perhaps, want and misery are staring you in the face. There, for instance, do you recollect that pretty girl called Julie?--and Rosine, who had such a beautiful fair skin, and such coal black eyes?"
"Oh, yes, I recollect them very well!"
"Then, my dear Goualeuse, you will be extremely sorry to hear that they were both led astray, seduced, and deserted, till at last, from one unfortunate step to another, they have become like the miserable creatures confined in this prison!"
"Merciful Heaven!" exclaimed Fleur-de-Marie, hanging down her head, and blushing the deep blush of shame.
Rigolette, misinterpreting the real cause of her friend"s exclamation, continued:
"I admit that their conduct is wrong, nay wicked; but then, you know, my dear Goualeuse, because you and I have been so fortunate as to preserve ourselves from harm,--you, because you have been living with good and virtuous people in the country, out of the reach of temptation; and I, because I had no time to waste in listening to a set of make-believe lovers; and also because I found greater pleasure in having a few birds, and in trying to get things a little comfortable and snug around me,--I say, it is not for you and me to be too severe with others; and G.o.d alone knows whether opportunity, deceit, and dest.i.tution may not have had much to do in causing the misery and disgrace of Julie and Rosine!
And who can say whether, in their place, we might not have acted as they have done?"
"Alas!" cried Fleur-de-Marie, "I accuse them not; on the contrary, I pity them from my heart!"
"Come, come, my dear child!" interrupted Madame Seraphin, impatiently offering her arm to her victim, "you forget that I said we were already behind our time."
"Pray, madame, grant us a little more time," said Rigolette. "It is so very long since I saw my dear Goualeuse!"
"I should be glad to do so," replied Madame Seraphin, much annoyed at this meeting between the two friends; "but it is now three o"clock, and we have a long way to go. However, I will manage to allow you ten minutes longer gossip. So pray make the best of your time."
"And tell me, I pray, of yourself," said Fleur-de-Marie, affectionately pressing the hands of Rigolette between her own. "Are you still the same merry, light-hearted, and happy creature I always knew you?"
"I was happy and gay enough a few days ago; but now--"
"You sorrowful? I can hardly believe it."
"Ah, but indeed I am! Not that I am at all changed from what you always found me,--a regular Roger Bontemps,--one to whom nothing was a trouble.
But then, you see, everybody is not like me; so that, when I see those I love unhappy, why, naturally, that makes me unhappy, too."
"Still the same kind, warm-hearted girl!"
"Why, who could help being grieved as I am? Just imagine my having come hither to visit a poor young creature,--a sort of neighbouring lodger in the house where I live,--as meek and mild as a lamb she was, poor thing!
Well, she has been most shamefully and unjustly accused,--that she has; never mind of what just now! Her name is Louise Morel. She is the daughter of an honest and deserving man, a lapidary, who has gone mad in consequence of her being put in prison."
At the name of Louise Morel, one of the victims of the notary"s villainy, Madame Seraphin started, and gazed earnestly at Rigolette. The features of the grisette were, however, perfectly unknown to her; nevertheless, from that instant, the _femme de charge_ listened with an attentive ear to the conversation of the two girls.
"Poor thing," continued the Goualeuse; "how happy it must make her to find that you have not forgotten her in her misfortunes!"
"And that is not all; it really seems as though some spell hung over me!
But, truly and positively, this is the second poor prisoner I have left my home to-day to visit! I have come a long way, and also from a prison,--but that was a place of confinement for men."
"You, Rigolette,--in a prison for men?"
"Yes, I have, indeed. I have a very dejected customer there, I can a.s.sure you. There,--you see my basket; it is divided in two parts, and each of my poor friends has an equal share in its contents. I have got some clean things here for poor Louise, and I have left a similar packet with Germain,--that is the name of my other poor captive. I cannot help feeling ready to cry when I think of our last interview. I know it will do no good, but still, for all that, the tears will come into my eyes."
"But what is it that distresses you so much?"