m 
 
 WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 ANDRE THEURIET 
 
THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Mrs. Lawrence DraDer Jr, 
 

 A Woodland Queen 
 
 (<%EINE <DES SO/5) 
 By ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 
 
 Crowned by the French Academy 
 
 
 With a Preface byMELCHIOR DE 
 VOGUE, of the French Academy 
 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 Current Literature Publishing Company 
 1910 
 
 
COPYRIGHT 1905 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT ARNOT 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1910 
 
 BY 
 CURRENT LITERATURE PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 LOAN STACK 
 GIFT 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 LAUDE-ADHEMAR-ANDRfe 
 THEURIET was born at Marly- 
 le-Roi (Seine et Oise), October 8, 1833. 
 His ancestors came from Lorraine . He 
 was educated at Bar-le-Duc and went 
 to Paris in 1854 to study jurisprudence. 
 After finishing his courses he entered 
 the Department of the Treasury, and 
 after an honorable career there, resigned as chef-de 
 bureau. He is a poet, a dramatist, but, above all, a 
 writer of great fiction. 
 
 As early as 1857 the poems of Theuriet were printed 
 in the Revue de Paris and the Revue des Deux Mondes. 
 His greatest novel. Reine des Bois (Woodland Queen), 
 was crowned by the Academic Franfaise in 1890. To 
 the public in general he became first known in 1870 by 
 his Nouvelles Intimes. Since that time he has published 
 a great many volumes of poems, drama, and fiction. A 
 great writer, he perhaps meets the wishes of that large 
 class of readers who seek in literature agreeable rest and 
 distraction, rather than excitement or aesthetic gratifica- 
 tion. He is one of the greatest spirits that survived the 
 bankruptcy of Romanticism. He excels in the descrip- 
 tion of country nooks and corners; of that polite rustic- 
 ity which knows nothing of the delving laborers of La 
 
 [v] 
 
 547 
 
 
PREFACE 
 
 Terre, but only of graceful and learned leisure, of soli- 
 tude nursed in revery, and of passion that seems the 
 springtide of germinating nature. He possesses great 
 originality and the passionate spirit of a paysagiste : 
 pictures of provincial life and family-interiors seem to 
 appeal to his most pronounced sympathies. His taste 
 is delicate, his style healthy and frank, and at the same 
 time limpid and animated. 
 
 After receiving, in 1890, the Prix Vitet for the ensem- 
 ble of his literary productions, he was elected to the 
 Academy in 1896. To the stage Theuriet has given 
 Jean-Marie, drama in verses (Odeon, February n, 
 1871). It is yet kept on the repertoire together with his 
 Maison de deux Barbeaux (1865), Raymonde (1887), and 
 Les Maugars (1901). 
 
 His novels, tales, and poems comprise a long list. Le 
 Bleu et le Noir (1873) was also crowned by the Academy. 
 Then followed, at short intervals: Mademoiselle Guig- 
 non (1874); Le Mariage de Gerard (1875); La Fortune 
 d'Angele (1876); Raymonde (1877), a romance of mod- 
 ern life, vastly esteemed by the reading public; Le 
 Don Juan de Vireloup (1877); S us Bis, Impressions 
 d'un Forestier (1878); Le Filleul d j un Marquis (1878); 
 Les Nids (1879); Le fits Maugars (1879); La Maison 
 de deux Barbeaux (1879); Toute seule (1880); Sauva- 
 geonne (1880), his most realistic work; Les Enchante- 
 ments de la Foret (1881); Le Livre de la Payse (poetry, 
 1882); Madame Heurteloup (1882); Peche de Jeunesse 
 (1883) ; Le Journal de Tristan, mostly autobiographical; 
 Bigarreau (1885); Eusebe Lombard (1885); Les (Billets 
 de Kerlatz (1885) ; Helene (1886) ; Nos Oiseaux (beauti- 
 
 [vi] 
 
PREFACE 
 
 ful verses, 1886); La Vie Rustique (1887); Amour 
 d'Automne (1888); Josette (1888); Deux Sasurs (1889); 
 Contes pour les Soirs d'Hiver (1890); Charme Danger- 
 eux (1891); La Ronde des Saisons et des Mois (1892); 
 La Charmeresse (1893); Fleur de Nice (1896); Bois 
 Fleury (1897); Refuge (1898); Villa TranquiUe (1899); 
 Claudette (1900); La Petite Derniere (1901); LeManu- 
 scrit du Chanoine (1902), etc. 
 
 Besides this abundant production Andre Theuriet has 
 also contributed to various journals and magazines: Le 
 Moniteur, Le Musee Universal, U Illustration, Le Figaro, 
 Le Gaulois, La Republique Franchise, etc.; he has lec- 
 tured in Belgium, Holland, and Switzerland, and has 
 even found leisure to fill the post as Mayor of Bourg-la- 
 Reine (Seine et Oise), perhaps no onerous office (1882- 
 1900). He has also been an Officier de la Legion 
 d'Honneur since 1895. 
 
 de TAcaddmie Franchise. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE UNFINISHED WILL . . . i 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 THE HEIR TO VIVEY 25 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 CONSCIENCE HIGHER THAN THE LAW 51 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 THE DAWN OF LOVE 80 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 LOVE'S INDISCRETION 105 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 LOVE BY PROXY 130 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 THE STRANGE, DARK SECRET 155 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 LOVE'S SAD ENDING 180 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 LOVE HEALS THE BROKEN HEART .208 
 
 [ix] 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 / \ PAGK 
 
 LITTLE THERESE 237 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 A NEW FACE -243 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 A RUSTIC WEDDING 253 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 A BETTER UNDERSTANDING 264 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 THE SON MAKES AMENDS 275 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 THE PART OF INDISCRETION . . . 282 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 COMPLICATIONS 290 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 FLIGHT 296 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 FAMILY QUARRELS 304 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 THE PRIX DE ROME 310 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE PEASANT MAID 316 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 PROGRESS 3 2 4 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 DELICATE GROUND 326 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 THE TRIAL * . 332 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 "THE VILLAGE FUNERAL" 351 
 
 [xi] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE UNFINISHED WILL 
 
 COWARD the middle of October, about 
 the time of the beechnut harvest, M. 
 Eustache Destourbet, Justice of the 
 Peace of Auberive, accompanied by 
 his clerk, Etienne Seurrot, left his 
 home at Abbatiale, in order to repair 
 to the Chateau of Vivey, where he was 
 to take part in removing the seals on 
 some property whose owner had deceased. 
 
 At that period, 1857, the canton of Auberive, which 
 stretches its massive forests like a thick wall between 
 the level plain of Langres and the ancient Chatillonais, 
 had but one main road of communication: that from 
 Langres to Bar-sur-Aube. The almost parallel adjacent 
 route, from Auberive to Vivey, was not then in existence; 
 and in order to reach this last commune, or hamlet, the 
 traveller had to follow a narrow grass-bordered path, 
 leading through the forest up the hill of Charbonniere, 
 from the summit of which was seen that intermingling 
 of narrow gorges and wooded heights which is so char- 
 acteristic of this mountainous region. On all sides 
 were indented horizons of trees, among which a few, 
 
ANDRtf THEURIET 
 
 of more dominant height, projected their sharp out- 
 lines against the sky; in the distance were rocky steeps, 
 with here and there a clump of brambles, down which 
 trickled slender rivulets; still farther, like little islands, 
 half submerged in a sea of foliage, were pastures of 
 tender green dotted with juniper bushes, almost black 
 in their density, and fields of rye struggling painfully 
 through the stony soil the entire scene presenting a 
 picture of mingled wildness and cultivation, aridity 
 and luxuriant freshness. 
 
 Justice Destourbet, having strong, wiry limbs, as- 
 cended cheerily the steep mountain-path. His tall, 
 spare figure, always in advance of his companion, was 
 visible through the tender green of the young oaks, 
 clothed in a brown coat, a black cravat, and a very high 
 hat, which the justice, who loved correctness in de- 
 tails, thought it his duty to don whenever called upon 
 to perform his judicial functions. The clerk, Seurrot, 
 more obese, and of maturer age, protuberant in front, 
 and somewhat curved in the back, dragged heavily be- 
 hind, perspiring and out of breath, trying to keep up 
 with his patron, who, now and then seized with com- 
 passion, would come to a halt and wait for his sub- 
 ordinate. 
 
 "I trust," said Destourbet, after one of these inter- 
 vals which enabled the clerk to walk by his side, "I 
 trust we shall find Mattre Arbillot down there; we 
 shall have need of his services in looking over and filing 
 the papers of the deceased." 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur," answered Seurrot, "the notary will 
 meet us at the chateau; he went to Praslay to find out 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 from his associates whether Monsieur de Buxi&res had 
 not left a will in his keeping. In my humble opinion, 
 that is hardly likely; for the deceased had great con- 
 fidence in Maitre Arbillot, and it seems strange that he 
 should choose to confide his testamentary intentions to 
 a rival notary." 
 
 "Well," observed the justice, "perhaps when the 
 seals are raised, we may discover an autograph will in 
 some corner of a drawer." 
 
 "It is to be hoped so, Monsieur," replied Seurrot; 
 "I wish it with all my heart, for the sake of Claudet 
 Sejournant, for he is a good fellow, although on the 
 sinister bar of the escutcheon, and a right jolly com- 
 panion." 
 
 "Yes; and a marvellous good shot," interrupted the 
 justice. "I recognize all that; but even if he had a 
 hundred other good qualities, the grand chasserot, as 
 they call him here, will be on the wrong side of the 
 hedge if Monsieur de Buxieres has unfortunately died 
 intestate. In the eye of the law, as you are doubtless 
 aware, a natural child, who has not been acknowledged, 
 is looked upon as a stranger." 
 
 "Monsieur de Buxieres always treated Claudet as 
 his own son, and every one knew that he so considered 
 him." 
 
 "Possibly, but if the law were to keep count of all 
 such cases, there would be no end to their labors; 
 especially in all questions of the cu]us, Odouart de 
 Buxieres was a terribly wild fellow, and they say that 
 these old beech-trees of Vivey forest could tell many a 
 tale of his exploits." 
 
 [3] 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 "He, he!" assented the clerk, laughing slyly, and 
 showing his toothless gums, "there is some truth in 
 that. The deceased had the devil in his boots. He 
 could see neither a deer nor a pretty girl without flying 
 in pursuit. Ah, yes! Many a trick has he played them 
 talk of your miracles, forsooth ! well, Claudet was his 
 favorite, and Monsieur de Buxieres has told me, over 
 and over again, that he would make him his heir, and I 
 shall be very much astonished if we do not find a will." 
 
 "Seurrot, my friend," replied the justice, calmly, 
 "you are too experienced not to know that our country 
 folks dread nothing so much as testifying to their last 
 wishes to make a will, to them, is to put one foot into 
 the grave. They will not call in the priest or the no- 
 tary until the very last moment, and very often they de- 
 lay until it is too late. Now, as the deceased was at 
 heart a rustic, I fear greatly that he did not carry his 
 intentions into execution." 
 
 "That would be a pity for the chateau, the lands, 
 and the entire fortune would go to an heir of whom 
 Monsieur Odouart never had taken account to one of 
 the younger branch of Buxieres, whom he had never 
 seen, having quarrelled with the family." 
 
 "A cousin, I believe," said the justice. 
 
 "Yes, a Monsieur Julien de Buxieres, who is em- 
 ployed by the Government at Nancy." 
 
 "In fact, then, and until we receive more ample in- 
 formation, he is, for us, the sole legitimate heir. Has 
 he been notified?" 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur. He has even sent his power of 
 attorney to Monsieur Arbillot's clerk." 
 
 [4] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 "So much the better," said M. Destourbet, "in 
 that case, we can proceed regularly without delay." 
 
 While thus conversing, they had traversed the forest, 
 and emerged on the hill overlooking Vivey. From the 
 border line where they stood, they could discover, be- 
 tween the half-denuded branches of the line of aspens, 
 the sinuous, deep-set gorge, in which the Aubette 
 wound its tortuous way, at the extremity of which the 
 village lay embanked against an almost upright wall of 
 thicket and pointed rocks. On the west this narrow 
 defile was closed by a mill, standing like a sentinel on 
 guard, in its uniform of solid gray; on each side of the 
 river a verdant line of meadow led the eye gradually 
 toward the clump of ancient and lofty ash-trees, behind 
 which rose the Buxi&res domicile. This magnificent 
 grove of trees, and a monumental fence of cast-iron, 
 were the only excuse for giving the title of cMteau to a 
 very commonplace structure, of which the main body 
 presented bare, whitewashed walls, flanked by two 
 small towers on turrets shaped like extinguishers, and 
 otherwise resembling very ordinary pigeon-houses. 
 
 This chateau, or rather country squire's residence, 
 had belonged to the Odouart de Buxieres for more than 
 two centuries. Before the Revolution, Christophe de 
 Buxieres, grandfather of the last proprietor, had owned 
 a large portion of Vivey, besides several forges in opera- 
 tion on the Aube and Aubette rivers. He had had three 
 children: one daughter, who had embraced religion as 
 a vocation; Claude Antoine, the elder son, to whom he 
 left his entire fortune, and Julien Abdon, the younger, 
 officer in the regiment of Rohan Soubise, with whom 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 he was not on good terms. After emigrating and serv- 
 ing in Conde's army, the younger Buxieres had re- 
 turned to France during the Restoration, had married, 
 and been appointed special receiver in a small town in 
 southern France. But since his return, he had not re- 
 sumed relations with his elder brother, whom he ac- 
 cused of having defrauded him of his rights. The older 
 one had married also, one of the Rochetaillee family; 
 4ie had had but one son, Claude Odouart de Buxieres, 
 whose recent decease had brought about the visit of the 
 Justice of Auberive and his clerk. 
 
 Claude de Buxieres had lived all his life at Vivey. 
 Inheriting from his father and grandfather flourishing 
 health and a robust constitution, he had also from them 
 strong love for his native territory, a passion for the 
 chase, and a horror of the constraint and decorum ex- 
 acted by worldly obligations. He was a spoiled child, 
 brought up by a weak-minded mother and a preceptor 
 without authority, who had succeeded in imparting to 
 him only the most elementary amount of instruction, 
 and he had, from a very early age, taken his own pleasure 
 as his sole rule of life. He lived side by side with peas- 
 ants and poachers, and had himself become a regular 
 country yeoman, wearing a blouse, dining at the wine- 
 shop, and taking more pleasure in speaking the moun- 
 tain patois than his own native French. The untimely 
 death of his father, killed by an awkward huntsman 
 while following the hounds, had emancipated him at 
 the age of twenty years. From this period he lived his 
 life freely, as he understood it; always in the open air, 
 without hindrance of any sort, and entirely unrestrained. 
 
 [6] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 Nothing was exaggerated in the stories told concerning 
 him. He was a handsome fellow, jovial and dashing 
 in his ways, and lavish with his money, so he met with 
 few rebuffs. Married women, maids, widows, any 
 peasant girl of attractive form or feature, all had had 
 to resist his advances, and with more than one the re- 
 sistance had been very slight. It was no false report 
 which affirmed that he had peopled the district with 
 his illegitimate progeny. He was not hard to please, 
 either; strawberry-pickers, shepherd-girls, wood-pilers, 
 day- workers, all were equally charming in his sight ; he 
 sought only youth, health, and a kindly disposition. 
 
 Marriage would have been the only safeguard for 
 him; but aside from the fact that his reputation of reck- 
 less huntsman and general scapegrace naturally kept 
 aloof the daughters of the nobles, and even the Langa- 
 rian middle classes, he dreaded more than anything else 
 in the world the monotonous regularity of conjugal life. 
 He did not care to be restricted always to the same 
 dishes preferring, as he said, his meat sometimes 
 roast, sometimes boiled, or even fried, according to his 
 humor and his appetite. 
 
 Nevertheless, about the time that Claude de Buxi&res 
 attained his thirty-sixth year, it was noticed that he 
 had a more settled air, and that his habits were becom- 
 ing more sedentary. The chase was still his favorite 
 pastime, but he frequented less places of questionable 
 repute, seldom slept away from home, and seemed to 
 take greater pleasure in remaining under his own roof. 
 The cause of this change was ascribed by some to the 
 advance of years creeping over him; others, more per- 
 
 [7] 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 spicacious, verified a curious coincidence between the 
 entrance of a new servant in the chateau and the sud- 
 den good behavior of Claude. 
 
 This girl, a native of Aprey, named Manette Sejour- 
 nant, was not, strictly speaking, a beauty, but she had 
 magnificent blonde hair, gray, caressing eyes, and a 
 silvery, musical voice. Well built, supple as an adder, 
 modest and prudish in mien, she knew how to wait upon 
 and cosset her master, accustoming him by impercepti- 
 ble degrees to prefer the cuisine of the chateau to that 
 of the wine-shops. After a while, by dint of making her 
 merits appreciated, and her presence continually de- 
 sired, she became the mistress of Odouart de Buxieres, 
 whom she managed to retain by proving herself im- 
 measurably superior, both in culinary skill and in senti- 
 ment, to the class of females from whom he had hitherto 
 been seeking his creature comforts. 
 
 Matters went on in this fashion for a year or so, until 
 Manette went on a three months' vacation. When she 
 reappeared at the chateau, she brought with her an 
 infant, six weeks old, which she declared was the child 
 of a sister, lately deceased, but which bore a strange like- 
 ness to Claude. However, nobody made remarks, es- 
 pecially as M. de Buxieres, after he had been drink- 
 ing a little, took no pains to hide his paternity. He 
 himself held the little fellow at the baptismal font, and 
 later, consigned him to the care of the Abbe Pernot, 
 the curate of Vivey, who prepared the little Claudet for 
 his first communion, at the same time that he instructed 
 him in reading, writing, and the first four rules of arith- 
 metic. As soon as the lad reached his fifteenth year, 
 
 [8] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 Claude put a gun into his hands, and took him hunting 
 with him. Under the teaching of M. de Buxifcres, 
 Claudet did honor to his master, and soon became such 
 an expert that he could give points to all the hunts- 
 men of the canton. None could equal him in tracing 
 a dog; he knew all the passes, by-paths, and enclosures 
 of the forest; swooped down upon the game with the 
 keen scent and the velocity of a bird of prey, and never 
 was known to miss his mark. Thus it was that the 
 country people surnamed him the grand chasserot, the 
 term which we here apply to the sparrow-hawk. Be- 
 sides all these advantages, he was handsome, alert, 
 straight, and well made, dark-haired and olive-skinned, 
 like all the Buxieres; he had his mother's caressing 
 glance, but also the overhanging eyelids and somewhat 
 stern expression of his father, from whom he inherited 
 also a passionate temperament, and a spirit averse to 
 all kinds of restraint. They were fond of him through- 
 out the country, and M. de Buxieres, who felt his 
 youth renewed in him, was very proud of his adroit- 
 ness and his good looks. He would invite him to his 
 pleasure parties, and make him sit at his own table, 
 and confided unhesitatingly all his secrets to him. 
 In short, Claudet, finding himself quite at home at 
 the chateau, naturally considered himself as one of the 
 family. There was but one formality wanting to that 
 end: recognizance according to law. At certain fav- 
 orable times, Manette Sjournant would gently urge 
 M. de Buxieres to have the situation legally authorized, 
 to which he would invariably reply, from a natural 
 dislike to taking legal advisers into his confidence : 
 
 [9] 
 
ANDR& THEURIET 
 
 "Don't worry about anything; I have no direct heir, 
 and Claudet will have all my fortune; my will and tes- 
 tament will be worth more to him than a legal acknowl- 
 edgment." 
 
 He would refer so often and so decidedly to his set- 
 tled intention of making Claudet his sole heir, that Ma- 
 nette, who knew very little about what was required in 
 such cases, considered the matter already secure. She 
 continued in unsuspecting serenity until Claude de 
 Buxieres, in his sixty-second year, died suddenly from 
 a stroke of apoplexy. 
 
 The will, which was to insure Claudet's future pros- 
 pects, and to which the deceased had so often alluded, 
 did it really exist? Neither Manette nor the grand 
 chasserot had been able to obtain any certain knowl- 
 edge in the matter, the hasty search for it after the de- 
 cease having been suddenly interrupted by the arrival 
 of the mayor of Vivey, and by the proceedings of the 
 justice of the peace. The seals being once imposed, 
 there was no means, in the absence of a verified will, 
 of ascertaining on whom the inheritance devolved, until 
 the opening of the inventory; and thus the Sejournants 
 awaited with feverish anxiety the return of the justice 
 of the peace and his bailiff. 
 
 M. Destourbet and Stephen Seurrot pushed open 
 a small door to the right of the main gateway, passed 
 rapidly under the arched canopy of beeches, the leaves 
 of which, just touched by the first frost, were already 
 falling from the branches, and, stamping their muddy 
 feet on the outer steps, advanced into the vestibule. 
 The wide corridor, flagged with black-and-white pave- 
 
 [10] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 ment, presented a cheerless aspect of bare walls dis- 
 colored by damp, and adorned alternately by stags' 
 heads and family portraits in a crumbling state of 
 decay. The floor was thus divided: on the right, the 
 dining-room and the kitchen; on the left, drawing-room 
 and a billiard-hall. A stone staircase, built in one of 
 the turrets, led to the upper floors. Only one of these 
 rooms, the kitchen, which the justice and his bailiff 
 entered, was occupied by the household. A cold light, 
 equally diffused in all directions, and falling from a large 
 window, facing north across the gardens, allowed every 
 detail of the apartment to be seen clearly; opposite the 
 door of entrance, the tall chimney-place, with its deep 
 embrasure, gave ample shelter to the notary, who in- 
 stalled himself upon a stool and lighted his pipe at one 
 of the embers, while his principal clerk sat at the long 
 table, itemizing the objects contained in the inventory. 
 
 In the opposite angle of the chimney-place, a lad of 
 twenty-four years, no other than Claudet, called by the 
 friendly nickname of the grand chasserot, kept company 
 with the notary, while he toyed, in an absent fashion, 
 with the silky ears of a spaniel, whose fluffy little head 
 lay in his lap. Behind him, Manette Sejournant stood 
 putting away her shawl and prayerbook in a closet. 
 A mass had been said in the morning at the church, 
 for the repose of the soul of the late Claude de Buxieres, 
 and mother and son had donned their Sunday garments 
 to assist at the ceremony. 
 
 Claudet appeared ill at ease in his black, tightly 
 buttoned suit, and kept his eyes with their heavy lids 
 steadily bent upon the head of the animal. To all 
 
ANDRtf THEURIET 
 
 the notary's questions, he replied only by monosyllables, 
 passing his fingers every now and then through his 
 bushy brown locks, and twining them in his forked 
 beard, a sure indication with him of preoccupation 
 and bad humor. 
 
 Manette had acquired with years an amount of em- 
 bonpoint which detracted materially from the supple 
 and undulating beauty which had so captivated Claude 
 de Buxieres. The imprisonment of a tight corset caused 
 undue development of the bust at the expense of her 
 neck and throat, which seemed disproportionately short 
 and thick. Her cheeks had lost their gracious curves 
 and her double chin was more pronounced. All that 
 remained of her former attractions were the caressing 
 glance of her eye, tresses still golden and abundant, 
 especially as seen under the close cap of black net, 
 white teeth, and a voice that had lost nothing of its in- 
 sinuating sweetness. 
 
 As the justice and his bailiff entered, Maitre Arbillot, 
 and a petulant little man with squirrel-like eyes and a 
 small moustache, arose quickly. 
 
 " Good-morning, gentlemen," he cried. " I was anx- 
 iously expecting you if you are willing, we will begin our 
 work at once, for at this season night comes on quickly." 
 
 "At your orders, Maitre Arbillot," replied the justice, 
 laying his hat down carefully on the window-sill; "we 
 shall draw out the formula for raising the seals. By 
 the way, has no will yet been found?" 
 
 "None to my knowledge. It is quite clear to me that 
 the deceased made no testament, none at least before a 
 notary." 
 
 [12] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 "But," objected M. Destourbet, "he may have 
 executed a holograph testament." 
 
 "It is certain, gentlemen," interrupted Manette, with 
 her soft, plaintive voice, "that our dear gentleman did 
 not go without putting his affairs in order. ' Manette,' 
 said he, not more than two weeks ago; 'I do not intend 
 you shall be worried, neither you nor Claudet, when I 
 am no longer here. All shall be arranged to your satis- 
 faction.' Oh! he certainly must have put down his last 
 wishes on paper. Look well around, gentlemen; you 
 will find a will in some drawer or other." 
 
 While she applied her handkerchief ostentatiously to 
 her nose and wiped her eyes, the justice exchanged 
 glances with the notary. 
 
 "Maitre Arbillot, you think doubtless with me, that 
 we ought to begin operations by examining the furni- 
 ture of the bedroom?" 
 
 The notary inclined his head, and notified his chief 
 clerk to remove his papers to the first floor. 
 
 "Show us the way, Madame," said the justice to the 
 housekeeper; and the quartet of men of the law followed 
 Manette, carrying with them a huge bunch of keys. 
 
 Claudet had risen from his seat when the justice ar- 
 rived. As the party moved onward, he followed hesi- 
 tatingly, and then halted, uncertain how to decide be- 
 tween the desire to assist in the search and the fear of 
 intruding. The notary, noticing his hesitation, called 
 to him : 
 
 "Come, you also, Claudet, are not you one of the 
 guardians of the seals?" 
 
 And they wended their silent way up the winding 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 staircase of the turret. The high, dark silhouette of 
 Manette headed the procession; then followed the jus- 
 tice, carefully choosing his foothold on the well-worn 
 stairs, the asthmatic old bailiff, breathing short and 
 hard, the notary, beating his foot impatiently every 
 time that Seurrot stopped to take breath, and finally 
 the principal clerk and Claudet. 
 
 Manette, opening noiselessly the door of the de- 
 ceased's room, entered, as if it were a church, the some- 
 what stifling apartment. Then she threw open the 
 shutters, and the afternoon sun revealed an interior 
 decorated and furnished in the style of the close of the 
 eighteenth century. An inlaid secretary, with white 
 marble top and copper fittings, stood near the bed, of 
 which the coverings had been removed, showing the 
 mattresses piled up under a down bed covered with 
 blue-and-white check. 
 
 As soon as the door was closed, the clerk settled him- 
 self at the table with his packet of stamped paper, and 
 began to run over, in a low, rapid voice, the prelimi- 
 naries of the inventory. In this confused murmuring 
 some fragments of phrases would occasionally strike the 
 ear: "Chateau of Vivey deceased the eighth of Oc- 
 tober last at the requisition of Marie- Julien de Bux- 
 ieres, comptroller of direct contributions at Nancy- 
 styling himself heir to Claude Odouart de Buxieres, 
 his cousin-german by blood 
 
 This last phrase elicited from Claudet a sudden 
 movement of surprise. 
 
 "The inventory," explained Maitre Arbillot, "is 
 drawn up at the requisition of the only heir named, 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 to whom we must make application, if necessary, for 
 the property left by the deceased." 
 
 There was a moment of silence, interrupted by a 
 plaintive sigh from Manette Sejournant and afterward 
 by the tearing sound of the sealed bands across the 
 bureau, the drawers and pigeonholes of which were 
 promptly ransacked by the justice and his assistant. 
 
 Odouart de Buxieres had not been much of a scribe. 
 A double Liege almanac, a memorandum-book, in which 
 he had entered the money received from the sale of his 
 wood and the dates of the payments made by his farm- 
 ers; a day-book, in which he had made careful note of 
 the number of head of game killed each day that was 
 all the bureau contained. 
 
 "Let us examine another piece of furniture," mur- 
 mured the justice. 
 
 Manette and Claudet remained unmoved. They 
 apparently knew the reason why none but insignificant 
 papers had been found in the drawers, for their features 
 expressed neither surprise nor disappointment. 
 
 Another search through a high chest of drawers with 
 large copper handles was equally unprofitable. Then 
 they attacked the secretary, and after the key had been 
 turned twice in the noisy lock, the lid went slowly down. 
 The countenances of both mother and son, hitherto so 
 unconcerned, underwent a slight but anxious change. 
 The bailiff continued his scrupulous search of each 
 drawer under the watchful eye of the justice, finding 
 nothing but documents of mediocre importance; old 
 titles to property, bundles of letters, tradesmen's bills, 
 etc. Suddenly, at the opening of the last drawer, a 
 
ANDR& THEURIET 
 
 significant "Ah!" from Stephen Seurrot drew round 
 him the heads of the justice and the notary, and made 
 Manette and Claudet, standing at the foot of the bed, 
 start with expectation. On the dark ground of a rose- 
 wood box lay a sheet of white paper, on which was 
 written: 
 
 "This is my testament." 
 
 With the compression of lip and significant shake of 
 the head of a physician about to take in hand a hopeless 
 case of illness, the justice made known to his two neigh- 
 bors the text of the sheet of paper, on which Claude 
 Odouart de Buxieres had written, in his coarse, ill-regu- 
 lated hand, the following lines: 
 
 "Not knowing my collateral heirs, and caring noth- 
 ing about them, I give and bequeath all my goods and 
 chattels " 
 
 The testator had stopped there, either because he 
 thought it better, before going any further, to consult 
 some legal authority more experienced than himself, or 
 because he had been interrupted in his labor and had 
 deferred completing this testifying of his lasf will until 
 some future opportunity. 
 
 M. Destourbet, after once more reading aloud this 
 unfinished sentence, exclaimed : 
 
 "Monsieur de Buxieres did not finish it is much to 
 be regretted!" 
 
 "My God! is it possible?" interrupted the house- 
 keeper; "you think, then, Monsieur Justice, that Clau- 
 det does not inherit anything?" 
 
 "According to my idea," replied he, "we have here 
 only a scrap of unimportant paper; the name of the 
 
 [16] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 legatee is not indicated, and even were it indicated, the 
 testament would still be without force, being neither 
 dated nor signed." 
 
 "But perhaps Monsieur de Buxieres made another?" 
 
 "I think not; I am more inclined to suppose that he 
 did not have time to complete the arrangements that 
 he wished to make, and the proof lies in the very ex- 
 istence of this incomplete document in the only piece 
 of furniture in which he kept his papers." Then, turn- 
 ing toward the notary and the bailiff: "You are doubt- 
 less, gentlemen, of the same opinion as myself; it will 
 be wise, therefore, to defer raising the remainder of the 
 seals until the arrival of the legal heir. Maitre Arbillot, 
 Monsieur Julien de Buxieres must be notified, and asked 
 to be here in Vivey as soon as possible." 
 
 "I will write this evening," said the notary; "in the 
 meanwhile, the keeping of the seals will be continued 
 by Claudet Sejournant." 
 
 The justice inclined his head to Manette, who was 
 standing, pale and motionless, at the foot of the bed; 
 stunned by the unexpected announcement; the bailiff 
 and the chief clerk, after gathering up their papers, 
 shook hands sympathizingly with Claudet. 
 
 "I am grieved to the heart, my dear fellow," said the 
 notary, in his turn, "at what has happened! It is hard 
 to swallow, but you will always keep a courageous 
 heart, and be able to rise to the top; besides, even if, 
 legally, you own nothing here, this unfinished testa- 
 ment of Monsieur de Buxieres will constitute a moral 
 title in your favor, and I trust that the heir will have 
 enough justice and right feeling to treat you properly." 
 
ANDRtf THEURIET 
 
 "I want nothing from him!" muttered Claudet, be- 
 tween his teeth; then, leaving his mother to attend to 
 the rest of the legal fraternity, he went hastily to his 
 room, next that of the deceased, tore off his dress-coat, 
 slipped on a hunting-coat, put on his gaiters, donned 
 his old felt hat, and descended to the kitchen, where 
 Manette was sitting, huddled up in front of the embers, 
 weeping and bewailing her fate. 
 
 Since she had become housekeeper and mistress of 
 the Buxieres household, she had adopted a more pol- 
 ished speech and a more purely French mode of ex- 
 pression, but in this moment of discouragement and 
 despair the rude dialect of her native country rose to her 
 lips, and in her own patois she inveighed against the 
 deceased : 
 
 "Ah! the bad man, the mean man! Didn't I tell 
 him, time and again, that he would leave us in trouble! 
 Where can we seek our bread this late in the day ? We 
 shall have to beg in the streets!" 
 
 "Hush! hush! mother," interrupted Claudet, sternly, 
 placing his hand on her shoulder, "it does not mend 
 matters to give way like that. Calm thyself so long 
 as I have hands on the ends of my arms, we never shall 
 be beggars. But I must go out I need air." 
 
 And crossing the gardens rapidly, he soon reached 
 the outskirts of the brambly thicket. 
 
 This landscape, both rugged and smiling in its wild- 
 ness, hardly conveyed the idea of silence, but rather of 
 profound meditation, absolute calm; the calmness of 
 solitude, the religious meditation induced by spacious 
 forest depths. The woods seemed asleep, and the low 
 
 [18] 
 
A, WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 murmurings, which from time to time escaped from 
 their recesses, seemed like the unconscious sighs ex- 
 haled by a dreamer. The very odor peculiar to trees in 
 autumn, the penetrating and spicy odor of the dying 
 leaves, had a delicate and subtle aroma harmonizing 
 with this quietude of fairyland. 
 
 Now and then, through the vaporous golden atmos- 
 phere of the late autumn sunset, through the pensive 
 stillness of the hushed woods, the distant sound of fem- 
 inine voices, calling to one another, echoed from the 
 hills, and beyond the hedges was heard the crackling of 
 branches, snapped by invisible hands, and the rattle of 
 nuts dropping on the earth. It was the noise made by 
 the gatherers of beechnuts, for in the years when the 
 beech produces abundantly, this harvest, under the 
 sanction of the guardians of the forest, draws together 
 the whole population of women and children, who 
 collect these triangular nuts, from which an excellent 
 species of oil is procured. 
 
 Wending his way along the copse, Claudet suddenly 
 perceived, through an opening in the trees, several large 
 white sheets spread under the beeches, and covered 
 with brown heaps of the fallen fruit. One or two famil- 
 iar voices hailed him as he passed, but he was not dis- 
 posed to gossip, for the moment, and turned abruptly 
 into the bushwood, so as to avoid any encounter. The 
 unexpected event which had just taken place, and 
 which was to change his present mode of life, as well as 
 his plans for the future, was of too recent occurrence for 
 him to view it with any degree of calmness. 
 
 He was like a man who has received a violent blow 
 
 [19] 
 
ANDR& THEURIET 
 
 on the head, and is for the moment stunned by it. 
 He suffered vaguely, without seeking to know from 
 what cause; he had not been able as yet to realize 
 the extent of his misfortune; and every now and then 
 a vague hope came over him that all would come 
 right. 
 
 So on he went, straight ahead, his eyes on the ground, 
 and his hands in his pockets, until he emerged upon one 
 of the old forest roads where the grass had begun to 
 burst through the stony interstices; and there, in the 
 distance, under the light tracery of weaving branches, 
 a delicate female silhouette was outlined on the dark 
 background. A young woman, dressed in a petticoat of 
 gray woolen material, and a jacket of the same, close- 
 fitting at the waist, her arms bare to the elbows and sup- 
 porting on her head a bag of nuts enveloped in a white 
 sheet, advanced toward him with a quick and rhythmical 
 step. The manner in which she carried her burden 
 showed the elegance of her form, the perfect grace of 
 her chest and throat. She was not very tall, but finely 
 proportioned. As she approached, the slanting rays of 
 the setting sun shone on her heavy brown hair, twisted 
 into a thick coil at the back of her head, and revealed 
 the amber paleness of her clear skin, the long oval of 
 her eyes, the firm outline of her chin and somewhat full 
 lips; and Claudet, roused from his lethargic reverie by 
 the sound of her rapid footsteps, raised his eyes, and 
 recognized the daughter of Pere Vincart, the proprietor 
 of La Thuiliere. 
 
 At the same moment, the young girl, doubtless 
 fatigued with the weight of her bundle, had laid it down 
 
 [20] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 by the roadside while she recovered her breath. In a 
 few seconds Claudet was by her side. 
 
 "Good-evening, Reine," said he, in a voice singularly 
 softened in tone, "shall I give you a lift with that?" 
 
 "Good-evening, Claudet/' replied she; "truly, now, 
 that is not an offer to be refused. The weight is greater 
 than I thought." 
 
 "Have you come far thus laden?" 
 
 "No; our people are nutting in the Bois des Ronces; 
 I came on before, because I don't like to leave father 
 alone for long at a time and, as I was coming, I wished 
 to bring my share with me." 
 
 "No one can reproach you with shirking work, Reine, 
 nor of being afraid to take hold of things. To see you 
 all day trotting about the farm, no one would think you 
 had been to school in the city, like a young lady." 
 
 And Claudet's countenance became irradiated with 
 a glow of innocent and tender admiration. It was evi- 
 dent that his eyes looked with delight into the dark lim- 
 pid orbs of Reine, on her pure and rosy lips, and on her 
 partly uncovered neck, the whiteness of which two little 
 brown moles only served to enhance. 
 
 "How can it be helped?" replied she, smiling, "it 
 must be done; when there is no man in the house to 
 give orders, the women must take a hand themselves. 
 My father was not very strong when my mother died, 
 and since he had that attack he has become quite help- 
 less, and I have had to take his place." 
 
 While she spoke, Claudet took hold of the bundle, 
 and, lifting it as if it had been a feather, threw it over his 
 shoulder. They walked on, side by side, in the direction 
 
 [21] 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 of La Thuiliere; the sun had set, and a penetrating 
 moisture, arising from the damp soil of the adjacent 
 pasture lands, encircled them in a bluish fog. 
 
 "So he is worse, your father, is he?" said Claudet, 
 after a moment's silence. 
 
 "He can not move from his armchair, his mental fac- 
 ulties are weakening, and I am obliged to amuse him 
 like a child. But how is it with yourself, Claudet?" 
 she asked, turning her frank, cordial gaze upon him. 
 "You have had your share of trouble since we last met, 
 and great events have happened. Poor Monsieur de 
 Buxieres was taken away very suddenly!" 
 
 The close relationship that united Claudet with the 
 deceased was a secret to no one; Reine, as well as all 
 the country people, knew and admitted the fact, how- 
 ever irregular, as one sanctioned by time and continuity. 
 Therefore, in speaking to the young man, her voice had 
 that tone of affectionate interest usual in conversing 
 with a bereaved friend on a death that concerns him. 
 
 The countenance of the grand chasserot, which had 
 cleared for a time under her influence, became again 
 clouded. 
 
 "Yes;" sighed he, "he was taken too soon!" 
 
 "And now, Claudet, you are sole master at the 
 chateau?" 
 
 "Neither master nor even valet!" he returned, 
 with such bitterness that the young girl stood still with 
 surprise. 
 
 "What do you mean?" she exclaimed, "was it not 
 agreed with Monsieur de Buxieres that you should in- 
 herit all his property?" 
 
 [22] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 "Such was his intention, but he did not have time to 
 put it in execution; he died without leaving any will, 
 and, as I am nothing in the eye of the law, the patri- 
 mony will go to a distant relative, a de Buxieres whom 
 Monsieur Odouart did not even know." 
 
 Reine's dark eyes filled with tears. 
 
 "What a misfortune!" she exclaimed, "and who 
 could have expected such a thing? Oh! my poor 
 Claudet!" 
 
 She was so moved, and spoke with such sincere 
 compassion, that Claudet was perhaps misled, and 
 thought he read in her glistening eyes a tenderer senti- 
 ment than pity; he trembled, took her hand, and held 
 it long in his. 
 
 "Thank you, Reine! Yes," he added, after a pause, 
 "it is a rude shock to wake up one morning without 
 hearth or home, when one has been in the habit of liv- 
 ing on one's income." 
 
 "What do you intend to do?" inquired Reine, 
 gravely. 
 
 Claudet shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "To work for my bread or, if I can find no suitable 
 trade, enlist in a regiment. I think I should not make 
 a bad soldier. Everything is going round and round in 
 my head like a mill-wheel. The first thing to do is to see 
 about my mother, who is lamenting down there at the 
 house I must find her a comfortable place to live." 
 
 The young girl had become very thoughtful. 
 
 "Claudet," replied she, "I know you are very proud, 
 very sensitive, and could not wish to hurt your feelings. 
 Therefore, I pray you not to take in ill part that which 
 
 [33] 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 I am going to say in short, if you should get into any 
 trouble, you will, I hope, remember that you have 
 friends at La Thuiliere, and that you will come to seek 
 
 us." 
 
 The grand chasserot reddened. 
 
 "I shall never take amiss what you may say to me, 
 Reine!" faltered he; "for I can not doubt your good 
 heart I have known it since the time when we played 
 together in the cure's garden, while waiting for the time 
 to repeat the catechism. But there is no hurry as yet; 
 the heir will not arrive for several weeks, and by that 
 time, I trust, we shall have had a chance to turn round." 
 
 They had reached the boundary of the forest where 
 the fields of La Thuiliere begin. 
 
 By the last fading light of day they could distinguish 
 the black outline of the ancient forge, now become a 
 grange, and a light was twinkling in one of the low 
 windows of the farm. 
 
 "Here you are at home," continued Claudet, laying 
 the bundle of nuts on the flat stone wall which sur- 
 rounded the farm buildings; "I wish you good-night." 
 
 "Will you not come in and get warm?" 
 
 "No; I must go back," replied he. 
 
 "Good-night, then, Claudet; au revoir and good 
 courage!" 
 
 He gazed at her for a moment in the deepening twi- 
 light, then, abruptly pressing her hands: 
 
 "Thank you, Reine," murmured he in a choking 
 voice, "you are a good girl, and I love you very much!" 
 
 He left the young mistress of the farm precipitately, 
 and plunged again into the woods. 
 
 [24] 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE HEIR TO VTVEY 
 
 ;HILE these events were happening at 
 Vivey, the person whose name excited 
 the curiosity and the conversational 
 powers of the villagers Marie- Julien 
 de Buxieres ensconced in his unpre- 
 tentious apartment in the Rue Stanis- 
 laus, Nancy, still pondered over the 
 astonishing news contained in the Aube- 
 rive notary's first letter. The announcement of his in- 
 heritance, dropping from the skies, as it were, had found 
 him quite unprepared, and, at first, somewhat sceptical. 
 He remembered, it is true, hearing his father once speak 
 of a cousin who had remained a bachelor and who 
 owned a fine piece of property in some corner of the 
 Haute Marne; but, as all intercourse had long been 
 broken off between the two families, M. de Buxieres the 
 elder had mentioned the subject only in relation to 
 barely possible hopes which had very little chance of 
 being realized. Julien had never placed any reliance 
 on this chimerical inheritance, and he received almost 
 with indifference the official announcement of the death 
 of Claude Odouart de Buxieres. 
 
 By direct line from his late father, he became in fact 
 the only legitimate heir of the chateau and lands of 
 
 [25] 
 
ANDRti THEURIET 
 
 Vivey; still, there was a strong probability that Claude 
 de Buxieres had made a will in favor of some one more 
 within his own circle. The second missive from Arbillot 
 the notary, announcing that the deceased had died intes- 
 tate, and requesting the legal heir to come to Vivey as 
 soon as possible, put a sudden end to the young man's 
 doubts, which merged into a complex feeling, less of joy 
 than of stupefaction. 
 
 Up to the present time, Julien de Buxieres had not 
 been spoiled by Fortune's gifts. His parents, who had 
 died prematurely, had left him nothing. He lived in a 
 very mediocre style on his slender salary as comptroller 
 of direct contributions, and, although twenty-seven 
 years old, was housed like a supernumerary in a small 
 furnished room on the second floor above the ground. 
 At this time his physique was that of a young man of 
 medium height, slight, pale, and nervous, sensitive in 
 disposition, reserved and introspective in habit. His 
 delicate features, his intelligent forehead surmounted 
 by soft chestnut hair, his pathetic blue eyes, his curved, 
 dissatisfied mouth, shaded by a slight, dark moustache, 
 indicated a melancholy, unquiet temperament and pre- 
 cocious moral fatigue. 
 
 There are some men who never have had any child- 
 hood, or rather, whose childhood never has had its 
 happy time of laughter. Julien was one of these. 
 That which imparts to childhood its charm and enjoy- 
 ment is the warm and tender atmosphere of the home; 
 the constant and continued caressing of a mother; the 
 gentle and intimate creations of one's native country 
 where, by degrees, the senses awaken to the marvellous 
 
 [26] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 sights of the outer world ; where the alternating seasons 
 in their course first arouse the student's ambition and 
 cause the heart of the adolescent youth to thrill with 
 emotion; where every street corner, every tree, every 
 turn of the soil, has some history to relate. Julien had 
 had no experiences of this peaceful family life, during 
 which are stored up such treasures of childhood's recol- 
 lections. He was the son of a government official, who 
 had been trotted over all France at the caprice of the 
 administration, and he had never known, so to speak, 
 any associations of the land in which he was born, or 
 the hearth on which he was raised. Chance had located 
 his birth in a small town among the Pyrenees, and when 
 he was two years old he had been transplanted to one 
 of the industrial cities of Artois. At the end of two 
 years more came another removal to one of the midland 
 towns, and thus his tender childhood had been buffeted 
 about, from east to west, from north to south, taking 
 root nowhere. All he could remember of these early 
 years was an unpleasant impression of hasty packing 
 and removal, of long journeys by diligence, and of un- 
 comfortable resettling. His mother had died just as 
 he was entering upon his eighth year; his father, ab- 
 sorbed in official work, and not caring to leave the child 
 to the management of servants, had placed him at that 
 early age in a college directed by priests. Julien thus 
 passed his second term of childhood, and his boyhood 
 was spent behind these stern, gloomy walls, bending 
 resignedly under a discipline which, though gentle, was 
 narrow and suspicious, and allowed little scope for 
 personal development. He obtained only occasional 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 glimpses of nature during the monotonous daily walks 
 across a flat, meaningless country. At very rare inter- 
 vals, one of his father's colleagues would take him visit- 
 ing; but these stiff and ceremonious calls only left a 
 wearisome sensation of restraint and dull fatigue. Dur- 
 ing the long vacation he used to rejoin his father, whom 
 he almost always found in a new residence. The poor 
 man had alighted there for a time, like a bird on a tree ; 
 and among these continually shifting scenes, the lad had 
 felt himself more than ever a stranger among strangers; 
 so that he experienced always a secret though joyless 
 satisfaction in returning to the cloisters of the St. 
 Hilaire college and submitting himself to the yoke of 
 the paternal but inflexible discipline of the Church, 
 
 He was naturally inclined, by the tenderness of his 
 nature, toward a devotional life, and accepted with blind 
 confidence the religious and moral teaching of the 
 reverend fathers. A doctrine which preached separa- 
 tion from profane things; the attractions of a meditative 
 and pious life, and mistrust of the world and its perilous 
 pleasures, harmonized with the shy and melancholy tim- 
 idity of his nature. Human beings, especially women, 
 inspired him with secret aversion, which was increased 
 by consciousness of his awkwardness and remissness 
 whenever he found himself in the society of women or 
 young girls. 
 
 The beauties of nature did not affect him ; the flowers 
 in the springtime, the glories of the summer sun, the rich 
 coloring of autumn skies, having no connection in his 
 mind with any joyous recollection, left him cold and un- 
 moved ; he even professed an almost hostile indifference 
 
 [28] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 to such purely material sights as disturbing and danger- 
 ous to the inner life. He lived within himself and could 
 not see beyond. 
 
 His mind, imbued with a mystic idealism, delighted 
 itself in solitary reading or in meditations in the house 
 of prayer. The only emotion he ever betrayed was 
 caused by the organ music accompanying the hymnal 
 plain-song, and by the pomp of religious ceremony. 
 
 At the age of eighteen, he left the St. Hilaire col- 
 lege in order to prepare his baccalaureate, and his 
 father, becoming alarmed at his increasing moodiness 
 and mysticism, endeavored to infuse into him the tastes 
 and habits of a man of the world by introducing him 
 into the society of his equals in the town where he lived; 
 but the twig was already bent, and the young man 
 yielded with bad grace to the change of regime; the 
 amusements they offered were either wearisome or re- 
 pugnant to him. He would wander aimlessly through 
 the salons where they were playing whist, where the 
 ladies played show pieces at the piano, and where they 
 spoke a language he did not understand. He was quite 
 aware of his worldly inaptitude, and that he was con- 
 sidered awkward, dull, and ill-tempered, and the knowl- 
 edge of this fact paralyzed and frightened him still 
 more. He could not disguise his feeling of ennui suf- 
 ciently to prevent the provincial circles from being 
 greatly offended; they declared unanimously that young 
 de Buxieres was a bear, and decided to leave him alone. 
 The death of his father, which happened just as the 
 youth was beginning his official cares, put a sudden end 
 to all this constraint. He took advantage of his season 
 
 [29] 
 
ANDR^ THEURIET 
 
 of mourning to resume his old ways; and returned with 
 a sigh of relief to his solitude, his books, and his medi- 
 tations. According to the promise of the Imitation, he 
 found unspeakable joys in his retirement; he rose at 
 break of day, assisted at early mass, fulfilled, conscien- 
 tiously, his administrative duties, took his hurried meals 
 in a boarding-house, where he exchanged a few polite 
 remarks with his fellow inmates, then shut himself up 
 in his room to read Pascal or Bossuet until eleven 
 o'clock. 
 
 He thus attained his twenty-seventh year, and it was 
 into the calm of this serious, cloister-like life, that the 
 news fell of the death of Claude de Buxieres and of the 
 unexpected inheritance that had accrued to him. 
 
 After entering into correspondence with the notary, 
 M. Arbillot, and becoming assured of the reality of 
 his rights and of the neccessity of his presence at Vivey, 
 he had obtained leave of absence from his official duties, 
 and set out for Haute Marne. On the way, he could not 
 help marvelling at the providential interposition which 
 would enable him to leave a career for which he felt he 
 had no vocation, and to pursue his independent life, 
 according to his own tastes, and secured from any fear 
 of outside cares. According to the account given by the 
 notary, Claude de Buxieres's fortune might be valued at 
 two hundred thousand francs, in furniture and other 
 movables, without reckoning the chateau and the adja- 
 cent woods. This was a much larger sum than had ever 
 been dreamed of by Julien de Buxieres, whose belong- 
 ings did not amount in all to three thousand francs. He 
 made up his mind, therefore, that, as soon as he was 
 
 [30] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 installed at Vivey, he would change his leave of absence 
 to an unlimited furlough of freedom. He contemplated 
 with serene satisfaction this perspective view of calm 
 and solitary retirement in a chateau lost to view in the 
 depths of the forest, where he could in perfect security 
 give himself up to the studious contemplative life which 
 he loved so much, far from all worldly frivolities and 
 restraint. He already imagined himself at Vivey, shut 
 up in his carefully selected library; he delighted in the 
 thought of having in future to deal only with the country 
 people, whose uncivilized ways would be like his own, 
 and among whom his timidity would not be remarked. 
 
 He arrived at Langres in the afternoon of a foggy 
 October day, and inquired immediately at the hotel how 
 he could procure a carriage to take him that evening to 
 Vivey. They found him a driver, but, to his surprise, 
 the man refused to take the journey until the following 
 morning, on account of the dangerous state of the cross- 
 roads, where vehicles might stick fast in the mire if they 
 ventured there after nightfall. Julien vainly endeavored 
 to effect an arrangement with him, and the discussion 
 was prolonged in the courtyard of the hotel. Just as the 
 man was turning away, another, who had overheard the 
 end of the colloquy, came up to young de Buxieres, and 
 offered to undertake the journey for twenty francs. 
 
 "I have a good horse^" said he to Julien; "I know 
 the roads, and will guarantee that we reach Vivey be- 
 fore nightfall." 
 
 The bargain was quickly made; and in half an hour, 
 Julien de Buxieres was rolling over the plain above 
 Langres, in a shaky old cabriolet, the muddy hood of 
 
 [3*] 
 
ANDRtf THEURIET 
 
 which bobbed over at every turn of the wheel, while the 
 horse kept up a lively trot over the stones. 
 
 The clouds were low, and the road lay across bare 
 and stony prairies, the gray expanse of which became 
 lost in the distant mist. This depressing landscape 
 would have made a disagreeable impression on a less 
 unobserving traveller, but, as we have said, Julien 
 looked only inward, and the phenomena of the exterior 
 world influenced him only unconsciously. Half closing 
 his eyes, and mechanically affected by the rhythmical 
 tintinnabulation of the little bells, hanging around the 
 horse's neck, he had resumed his meditations, and con- 
 sidered how he should arrange his life in this, to him, 
 unknown country, which would probably be his own for 
 some time to come. Nevertheless, when, at the end of 
 the level plain, the road turned off into the wooded 
 region, the unusual aspect of the forest aroused his curi- 
 osity. The tufted woods and lofty trees, in endless suc- 
 cession under the fading light, impressed him by their 
 profound solitude and their religious silence. His lone- 
 liness was in sympathy with the forest, which seemed 
 contemporary with the Sleeping Beauty of the wood, the 
 verdant walls of which were to separate him forever 
 from the world of cities. Henceforth, he could be him- 
 self, could move freely, dress as he wished, or give way 
 to his dreaming, without fearing to encounter the ironi- 
 cal looks of idle and wondering neighbors. For the first 
 time since his departure from his former home, he ex- 
 perienced a feeling of joy and serenity; the influence of 
 the surroundings, so much in harmony with his wishes, 
 unlocked his tongue, and made him communicative. 
 
 [3*1 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 He made up his mind to speak to the guide, who was 
 smoking at his side and whipping his horse. 
 
 "Are we far from Vivey now?" 
 
 "That depends, Monsieur as the crow flies, the dis- 
 tance is not very great, and if we could go by the roads, 
 we should be there in one short hour. Unfortunately, 
 on turning by the Allofroy farm, we shall have to leave 
 the highroad and take the cross path; and then my 
 gracious ! we shall plunge into the ditch down there, and 
 into perdition." 
 
 "You told me that you were well acquainted with the 
 roads!" 
 
 "I know them, and I do not know them. When it 
 comes to these crossroads, one is sure of nothing. They 
 change every year, and each new superintendent cuts a 
 way out through the woods according to his fancy. 
 The devil himself could not find his way." 
 
 "Yet you have been to Vivey before?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; five or six years ago; I used often to take 
 parties of hunters to the chateau. Ah! Monsieur, what 
 a beautiful country it is for hunting; you can not take 
 twenty steps along a trench without seeing a stag or a 
 deer." 
 
 "You have doubtless had the opportunity of meeting 
 Monsieur Odouart de Buxieres?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed, Monsieur, more than once ah! he is 
 a jolly fellow and a fine man " 
 
 "He was," interrupted Julien, gravely, "for he is 
 dead." 
 
 "Ah! excuse me I did not know it. What! is he 
 really dead ? So fine a man! What we must all come 
 3 [33] 
 
ANDRtf THEURIET 
 
 to. Careful, now!" added he, pulling in the reins, "we 
 are leaving the highroad, and must keep our eyes open." 
 
 The twilight was already deepening, the driver light- 
 ed his lantern, and the vehicle turned into a narrow 
 lane, half mud, half stone, and hedged in on both sides 
 with wet brushwood, which flapped noisily against the 
 leathern hood. After fifteen minutes' riding, the paths 
 opened upon a pasture, dotted here and there with juni- 
 per bushes, and thence divided into three lines, along 
 which ran the deep track of wagons, cutting the pastur- 
 age into small hillocks. After long hesitation, the man 
 cracked his whip and took the right-hand path. 
 
 Julien began to fear that the fellow had boasted too 
 much when he declared that he knew the best way. 
 The ruts became deeper and deeper; the road was 
 descending into a hole; suddenly, the wheels became 
 embedded up to the hub in thick, sticky mire, and the 
 horse refused to move. The driver jumped to the 
 ground, swearing furiously; then he called Julien to 
 help him to lift out the wheel. But the young man, 
 slender and frail as he was, and not accustomed to using 
 his muscles, was not able to render much assistance. 
 
 "Thunder and lightning!" cried the driver, "it is im- 
 possible to get out of this let go the wheel, Monsieur, 
 you have no more strength than a chicken, and, besides, 
 you don't know how to go about it. What a devil of a 
 road! But we can't spend the night here!" 
 
 "If we were to call out," suggested Julien, somewhat 
 mortified at the inefficiency of his assistance, "some one 
 would perhaps come to our aid." 
 
 They accordingly shouted with desperation; and after 
 
 [34] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 five or six minutes, a voice hailed back. A woodcutter, 
 from one of the neighboring clearings, had heard the 
 call, and was running toward them. 
 
 "This way!" cried the guide, "we are stuck fast in 
 the mud. Give us a lift." 
 
 The man came up and walked round the vehicle, 
 shaking his head. 
 
 "You've got on to a blind road," said he, "and you'll 
 have trouble in getting out of it, seeing as how there's not 
 light to go by. You had better unharness the horse, 
 and wait for daylight, if you want to get your carriage 
 out." 
 
 "And where shall we go for a bed?" growled the 
 driver; "there isn't even a house near in this accursed 
 wild country of yours!" 
 
 " Excuse me you are not far from La Thuiliere ; the 
 farm people will not refuse you a bed, and to-morrow 
 morning they will help you to get your carriage out of 
 the mud. Unharness, comrade; I will lead you as far 
 as the Planche-au-Vacher; and from there you will see 
 the windows of the farmhouse." 
 
 The driver, still grumbling, decided to take his advice. 
 They unharnessed the horse; took one of the lanterns 
 of the carriage as a beacon, and followed slowly the line 
 of pasture-land, under the woodchopper's guidance. 
 At the end of about ten minutes, the forester pointed 
 out a light, twinkling at the extremity of a rustic path, 
 bordered with moss. 
 
 "You have only to go straight ahead," said he, "be- 
 sides, the barking of the dogs will guide you. Ask for 
 Mamselle Vincart. Good-night, gentlemen." 
 
 [35] 
 
ANDRfi THEURIET 
 
 He turned on his heel, while Julien, bewildered, began 
 to reproach himself for not having thanked him enough. 
 The conductor went along with his lantern; young de 
 Buxieres followed him with eyes downcast. Thus they 
 continued silently until they reached the termination 
 of the mossy path, where a furious barking saluted their 
 
 "Here we are," growled the driver, "fortunately the 
 dogs are not yet let loose, or we should pass a bad quar- 
 ter of an hour!" 
 
 They pushed open a side- wicket and, standing in the 
 courtyard, could see the house. With the exception of 
 the luminous spot that reddened one of the windows of 
 the ground floor, the long, low facade was dark, and, as 
 it were, asleep. On the right, standing alone, outlined 
 against the sky, was the main building of the ancient 
 forge, now used for granaries and stables; inside, the 
 frantic barking of the watch-dogs mingled with the 
 bleating of the frightened sheep, the neighing of horses, 
 and the clanking of wooden shoes worn by the farm 
 hands. At the same moment, the door of the house 
 opened, and a servant, attracted by the uproar, appeared 
 on the threshold, a lantern in her hand. 
 
 "Hallo! you people," she exclaimed sharply to the 
 newcomers, who were advancing toward her, "what do 
 you want?" 
 
 The driver related, in a few words, the affair of the 
 cabriolet, and asked whether they would house him at 
 the farm until the next day himself and the gentleman 
 he was conducting to Vivey. 
 
 The girl raised the lantern above her head in order to 
 
 [36] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 scrutinize the two strangers; doubtless their appearance 
 and air of respectability reassured her, for she replied, 
 in a milder voice: 
 
 "Well, that does not depend on me I am not the 
 mistress here, but come in, all the same Mamselle 
 Reine can not be long now, and she will answer for 
 herself." 
 
 As soon as the driver had fastened his horse to one of 
 the outside posts of the wicket-gate, the servant brought 
 them into a large, square hall, in which a lamp, covered 
 with a shade, gave a moderate light. She placed two 
 chairs before the fire, which she drew together with the 
 poker. 
 
 "Warm yourselves while you are waiting," continued 
 she, "it will not be long, and you must excuse me I 
 must go and milk the cows that is work which will not 
 wait." 
 
 She reached the courtyard, and shut the gate after 
 her, while Julien turned to examine the room into which 
 they had been shown, and felt a certain serenity creep 
 over him at the clean and cheerful aspect of this homely 
 but comfortable interior. The room served as both 
 kitchen and dining-room. On the right of the flaring 
 chimney, one of the cast-iron arrangements called a 
 cooking-stove was gently humming; the saucepans, 
 resting on the bars, exhaled various appetizing odors. 
 In the centre, the long, massive table of solid beech was 
 already spread with its coarse linen cloth, and the service 
 was laid. White muslin curtains fell in front of the 
 large windows, on the sills of which potted chrysanthe- 
 mums spread their white, brown, and red blossoms. 
 
 [37] 
 
ANDRfi THEURIET 
 
 Round the walls a shining battery of boilers, kettles, 
 basins, and copper plates were hung in symmetrical 
 order. On the dresser, near the clock, was a complete 
 service of old Aprey china, in bright and varied colors, 
 and not far from the chimney, which was ornamented 
 with a crucifix of yellow copper, was a set of shelves, 
 attached to the wall, containing three rows of books, in 
 gray linen binding. Julien, approaching, read, not 
 without surprise, some of the titles : Paul and Virginia, 
 La Fontaine's Fables, Gessner's Idylls, Don Quixote, 
 and noticed several odd volumes of the Picturesque 
 Magazine. 
 
 Hanging from the whitened ceiling were clusters of 
 nuts, twisted hemp, strings of yellow maize, and chap- 
 lets of golden pippins tied with straw, all harmonizing 
 in the dim light, and adding increased fulness to the 
 picture of thrift and abundance. 
 
 "It's jolly here!" said the driver, smacking his lips, 
 " and the smell which comes from that oven makes one 
 hungry. I wish Mamselle Reine would arrive!" 
 
 Just as he said this, a mysterious falsetto voice, which 
 seemed to come from behind the copper basins, re- 
 peated, in an acrid voice: "Reine! Reine!" 
 
 "What in the world is that?" exclaimed the driver, 
 puzzled. 
 
 Both looked toward the beams; at the same moment 
 there was a rustling of wings, a light hop, and a black- 
 and white-object flitted by, resting, finally, on one of the 
 shelves hanging from the joists. 
 
 "Ha, ha!" said the driver, laughing, "it is only a 
 magpie!" 
 
 [38] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 He had hardly said it, when, like a plaintive echo, 
 another voice, a human voice this time, childish and 
 wavering, proceeding from a dark corner, faltered: 
 " Rei eine Rei eine ! " 
 
 "Hark!" murmured Julien, "some one answered." 
 
 His companion seized the lamp, and advanced to- 
 ward the portion of the room left in shadow. Suddenly 
 he stopped short, and stammered some vague excuse. 
 
 Julien, who followed him, then perceived, with alarm, 
 in a sort of niche formed by two screens, entirely covered 
 with illustrations from Epinal, a strange-looking being 
 stretched in an easy-chair, which was covered with pil- 
 lows and almost hidden under various woolen draperies. 
 He was dressed in a long coat of coarse, pale-blue cloth. 
 He was bareheaded, and his long, white hair formed a 
 weird frame for a face of bloodless hue and meagre pro- 
 portions, from which two vacant eyes stared fixedly. 
 He sat immovable and his arms hung limply over his 
 knees. 
 
 "Monsieur," said Julien, bowing ceremoniously, "we 
 are quite ashamed at having disturbed you. Your ser- 
 vant forgot to inform us of your presence, and we were 
 waiting for Mademoiselle Reine, without thinking 
 that 
 
 The old man continued immovable, not seeming to 
 understand; he kept repeating, in the same voice, like 
 a frightened child: 
 
 " Rei eine ! Rei eine ! " 
 
 The two bewildered travellers gazed at this sepul- 
 chral-looking personage, then at each other interroga- 
 tively, and began to feel very uncomfortable. The 
 
 [39] ' 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 magpie, perched upon the hanging shelf, suddenly 
 flapped his wings, and repeated, in his turn, in falsetto: 
 
 "Reine, queen of the woods! " 
 
 "Here I am, papa, don't get uneasy!" said a clear, 
 musical voice behind them. 
 
 The door had been suddenly opened, and Reine 
 Vincart had entered. She wore on her head a white 
 cape or hood, and held in front of her an enormous 
 bouquet of glistening leaves, which seemed to have been 
 gathered as specimens of all the wild fruit-trees of the 
 forest: the brown beam-berries, the laburnums, and 
 wild cherry, with their red, transparent fruit, the bluish 
 mulberry, the orange-clustered mountain-ash. All this 
 forest vegetation, mingling its black or purple tints with 
 the dark, moist leaves, brought out the whiteness of 
 the young girl's complexion, her limpid eyes, and her 
 brown curls escaping from her hood. 
 
 Julien de Buxieres and his companion had turned at 
 the sound of Reine's voice. As soon as she perceived 
 them, she went briskly toward them, exclaiming: 
 
 "What are you doing here? Don't you see that you 
 are frightening him?" 
 
 Julien, humbled and mortified, murmured an excuse, 
 and got confused in trying to relate the incident of the 
 carriage. She interrupted him hurriedly: 
 
 "The carriage, oh, yes La Guitiote spoke to me 
 about it. Well, your carriage will be attended to ! Go 
 and sit down by the fire, gentlemen; we will talk about 
 it presently." 
 
 She had taken the light from the driver, and placed 
 it on an adjacent table with her plants. In the twin- 
 
 [40] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 klfng of an eye, she removed her hood, unfastened her 
 shawl, and then knelt down in front of the sick man, 
 after kissing him tenderly on the forehead. From the 
 corner where Julien had seated himself, he could hear her 
 soothing voice. Its caressing tones contrasted pleas- 
 antly with the harsh accent of a few minutes before. 
 
 "You were longing for me, papa," said she, "but 
 you see, I could not leave before all the sacks of potatoes 
 had been laid in the wagon. Now everything has been 
 brought in, and we can sleep in peace. I thought of you 
 on the way, and I have brought you a fine bouquet of 
 wild fruits. We shall enjoy looking them over to-mor- 
 row, by daylight. Now, this is the time that you are to 
 drink your bouillon like a good papa, and then as soon 
 as we have had our supper Guite and I will put you to 
 bed nice and warm, and I will sing you a song to send 
 you to sleep." 
 
 She rose, took from the sideboard a bowl which she 
 filled from a saucepan simmering on the stove, and then, 
 without taking any notice of her visitors, she returned to 
 the invalid. Slowly and with delicate care she made 
 him swallow the soup by spoonfuls. Julien, notwith- 
 standing the feeling of ill-humor caused by the untoward 
 happenings of the evening, could not help admiring the 
 almost maternal tenderness with which the young girl 
 proceeded in this slow and difficult operation. When 
 the bowl was empty she returned to the stove, and at 
 last bethought herself of her guests. 
 
 "Excuse me, Monsieur, but I had to attend to my 
 father first. If I understood Guite aright, you were 
 going to Vivey." 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 "Yes, Mademoiselle, I had hoped to sleep there to- 
 night." 
 
 "You have probably come/' continued she, "on busi- 
 ness connected with the chateau. Is not the heir of 
 Monsieur Odouart expected very shortly?" 
 
 "I am that heir," replied Julien, coloring. 
 
 "You are Monsieur de Buxieres?" exclaimed Reine, 
 in astonishment. Then, embarrassed at having shown 
 her surprise too openly, she checked herself, colored in 
 her turn, and finally gave a rapid glance at her inter- 
 locutor. She never should have imagined this slender 
 young man, so melancholy in aspect, to be the new pro- 
 prietor he was so unlike the late Odouart de Buxieres ! 
 
 "Pardon me, Monsieur," continued she, "you must 
 have thought my first welcome somewhat unceremo- 
 nious, but my first thought was for my father. He is a 
 great invalid, as you may have noticed, and for the 
 first moment I feared that he had been startled by 
 strange faces." 
 
 "It is I, Mademoiselle," replied Julien, with embar- 
 rassment, "it is I who ought to ask pardon for having 
 caused all this disturbance. But I do not intend to 
 trouble you any longer. If you will kindly furnish us 
 with a guide who will direct us to the road to Vivey, 
 we will depart to-night and sleep at the chateau." 
 
 "No, indeed," protested Reine, very cordially. " You 
 are my guests, and I shall not allow you to leave us in 
 that manner. Besides, you would probably find the 
 gates closed down there, for I do not think they ex- 
 pected you so soon." 
 
 During this interview, the servant who had received 
 [42] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 the travellers had returned with her milk-pail ; behind 
 her, the other farm-hands, men and women, arranged 
 themselves silently round the table, 
 
 "Guitiote," said Reine, "lay two more places at the 
 table. The horse belonging to these gentlemen has 
 been taken care of, has he not?" 
 
 "Yes, Mamselle, he is in the stable," replied one of 
 the grooms. 
 
 "Good! Bernard, to-morrow you will take Fleuriot 
 with you, and go in search of their carriage which has 
 been swamped in the Planche-au-Vacher. That is set- 
 tled. Now, Monsieur de Buxieres, will you proceed to 
 table and your coachman also? Upon my word, I 
 do not know whether our supper will be to your liking. 
 I can only offer you a plate of soup, a chine of pork, 
 and cheese made in the country; but you must be 
 hungry, and when one has a good appetite, one is not 
 hard to please." 
 
 Every one had been seated at the table; the servants 
 at the lower end, and Reine Vincart, near the fireplace, 
 between M. de Buxieres and the driver. La Guite 
 helped the cabbage-soup all around; soon nothing 
 was heard but the clinking of spoons and smacking of 
 lips. Julien, scarcely recovered from his bewilderment, 
 watched furtively the pretty, robust young girl presiding 
 at the supper, and keeping, at the same time, a watch- 
 ful eye over all the details of service. He thought her 
 strange; she upset all his ideas. His own imagination 
 and his theories pictured a woman, and more especially 
 a young girl, as a submissive, modest, shadowy creature, 
 with downcast look, only raising her eyes to consult her 
 
 [43] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 husband or her mother as to what is allowable and what 
 is forbidden. Now, Reine did not fulfil any of the 
 requirements of this ideal. She seemed to be hardly 
 twenty- two years old, and she acted with the initiative 
 genius, the frankness and the decision of a man, retain- 
 ing all the while the tenderness and easy grace of a 
 woman. Although it was evident that she was accus- 
 tomed to govern and command, there was nothing in her 
 look, gesture, or voice which betrayed any assumption 
 of masculinity. She remained a young girl while in the 
 very act of playing the virile part of head of the house. 
 But what astonished Julien quite as much was that she 
 seemed to have received a degree of education superior 
 to that of people of her condition, and he wondered at 
 the amount of will-power by which a nature highly culti- 
 vated, relatively speaking, could conform to the unre- 
 fined, rough surroundings in which she was placed. 
 
 While Julien was immersed in these reflections, and 
 continued eating with an abstracted air, Reine Vincart 
 was rapidly examining the reserved, almost ungainly, 
 young man, who did not dare address any conversation 
 to her, and who was equally stiff and constrained with 
 those sitting near him. She made a mental comparison 
 of him with Claudet, the bold huntsman, alert, resolute, 
 full of dash and spirit, and a feeling of charitable com- 
 passion arose in her heart at the thought of the reception 
 which the Sejournant family would give to this new mas- 
 ter, so timid and so little acquainted with the ways and 
 dispositions of country folk. Julien did not impress her 
 as being able to defend himself against the ill-will of 
 persons who would consider him an intruder, and would 
 
 [44] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 certainly endeavor to make him pay dearly for the in- 
 heritance of which he had deprived them. 
 
 "You do not take your wine, Monsieur de Buxieres!" 
 said she, noticing that her guest's glass was still full. 
 
 "I am not much of a wine-drinker, " replied he, "and 
 besides, I never take wine by itself I should be obliged 
 if you would have some water brought." 
 
 Reine smiled, and passed him the water-bottle. 
 
 " Indeed ? " she said, " in that case, you have not fallen 
 among congenial spirits, for in these mountains they like 
 good dinners, and have a special weakness for Burgundy. 
 You follow the chase, at any rate?" 
 
 "No, Mademoiselle, I do not know how to handle a 
 gun!" 
 
 "I suppose it is not your intention to settle in 
 Vivey?" 
 
 "Why not?" replied he; "on the contrary, I intend 
 to inhabit the chateau, and establish myself there 
 definitely." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Reine, laughing, "you neither 
 drink nor hunt, and you intend to live in our woods! 
 Why, my poor Monsieur, you will die of ennui" 
 
 "I shall have my books for companions; besides, 
 solitude never has had any terrors for me." 
 
 The young girl shook her head incredulously. 
 
 "I shouldn't wonder," she continued, "if you do not 
 even play at cards." 
 
 "Never; games of chance are repugnant to me." 
 
 "Take notice that I do not blame you," she replied, 
 gayly, "but I must give you one piece of advice: don't 
 speak in these neighborhoods of your dislike of hunting, 
 
 [45] 
 
ANDRft THEURIET 
 
 cards, or good wine; our country folk would feel pity 
 for you, and that would destroy your prestige." 
 
 Julien gazed at her with astonishment. She turned 
 away to give directions to La Guite about the beds for 
 her guests then the supper went on silently. As soon 
 as they had swallowed their last mouthful, the menser- 
 vants repaired to their dormitory, situated in the build- 
 ings of the ancient forge. Reine Vincart rose also. 
 
 "This is the time when I put my father to bed I am 
 obliged to take leave of you, Monsieur de Buxieres. 
 Guitiote will conduct you to your room. For you, 
 driver, I have had a bed made in a small room next to 
 the furnace; you will be nice and warm. Good-night, 
 gentlemen, sleep well!" 
 
 She turned away, and went to rejoin the paralytic 
 sufferer, who, as she approached, manifested his joy by 
 a succession of inarticulate sounds. 
 
 The room to which Guitiote conducted Julien was 
 on the first floor, and had a cheerful, hospitable ap- 
 pearance. The walls were whitewashed; the chairs, 
 table, and bed were of polished oak; a goodTfire of logs 
 crackled in the fireplace, and between the opening of 
 the white window-curtains could be seen a slender silver 
 crescent of moon gliding among the flitting clouds. The 
 young man went at once to his bed ; but notwithstand- 
 ing the fatigues of the day, sleep did not come to him. 
 Through the partition he could hear the clear, sonorous 
 voice of Reine singing her father to sleep with one of the 
 popular ballads of the country, and while turning and 
 twisting in the homespun linen sheets, scented with orris- 
 root, he could not help thinking of this young girl, so 
 
 [46] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 original in her ways, whose grace, energy, and frankness 
 fascinated and shocked him at the same time. At last 
 he dozed off; and when the morning stir awoke him, the 
 sun was up and struggling through the foggy atmos- 
 phere. 
 
 The sky had cleared during the night; there had been 
 a frost, and the meadows were powdered white. The 
 leaves, just nipped with the frost, were dropping softly 
 to the ground, and formed little green heaps at the base 
 of the trees. Julien dressed himself hurriedly, and de- 
 scended to the courtyard, where the first thing he saw 
 was the cabriolet, which had been brought in the early 
 morning and which one of the farm-boys was in the act 
 of sousing with water in the hope of freeing the hood 
 and wheels from the thick mud which covered them. 
 When he entered the dining-room, brightened by the 
 rosy rays of the morning sun, he found Reine Vincart 
 there before him. She was dressed in a yellow striped 
 woolen skirt, and a jacket of white flannel carelessly 
 belted at the waist. Her dark chestnut hair, parted 
 down the middle and twisted into a loose knot behind, 
 lay in ripples round her smooth, open forehead. 
 
 " Good-morning, Monsieur de Buxieres," said she, in 
 her cordial tone, "did you sleep well? Yes? I am 
 glad. You find me busy attending to household mat- 
 ters. My father is still in bed, and I am taking advan- 
 tage of the fact to arrange his little corner. The doctor 
 said he must not be put near the fire, so I have made 
 a place for him here; he enjoys it immensely, and I 
 arranged this nook to protect him from draughts." 
 
 And she showed him how she had put the big easy- 
 
 [47] 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 chair, padded with cushions, in the bright sunlight 
 which streamed through the window, and shielded by 
 the screens, one on each side. She noticed that Julien 
 was examining, with some curiosity, the uncouth pict- 
 ures from Epinal, with which the screens were covered. 
 
 "This," she explained, "is my own invention. My 
 father is a little weak in the head, but he understands 
 a good many things, although he can not talk about 
 them. He used to get weary of sitting still all day in 
 his chair, so I lined the screens with these pictures in 
 order that he might have something to amuse him. He 
 is as pleased as a child with the bright colors, and I 
 explain the subjects to him. I don't tell him much at 
 a time, for fear of fatiguing him. We have got now to 
 Pyramus and Thisbe, so that we shall have plenty to 
 occupy us before we reach the end." 
 
 She caught a pitying look from her guest which 
 seemed to say: "The poor man may not last long 
 enough to reach the end." Doubtless she had the same 
 fear, for her dark eyes suddenly glistened, she sighed, 
 and remained for some moments without speaking. 
 
 In the mean time the magpie, which Julien had seen 
 the day before, was hopping around its mistress, like a 
 familiar spirit; it even had the audacity to peck at her 
 hair and then fly away, repeating, in its cracked voice : 
 "Reine, queen of the woods!" 
 
 "Why * queen of the woods?' " asked Julien, coloring. 
 
 "Ah!" replied the young girl, "it is a nickname which 
 the people around here give me, because I am so fond 
 of the trees, I spend all the time I can in our woods, 
 as much as I can spare from the work of the farm. 
 
 [48] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 Margot has often heard my father call me by that 
 name; she remembers it, and is always repeating it." 
 "Do you like living in this wild country?" 
 "Very much. I was born here, and I like it." 
 "But you have not always lived here?" 
 "No; my mother, who had lived in the city, placed 
 me at school in her own country, in Dijon, I received 
 there the education of a young lady, though there is not 
 much to show for it now. I stayed there six years; then 
 my mother died, my father fell ill, and I came home." 
 "And did you not suffer from so sudden a change?" 
 "Not at all. You see I am really by nature a country 
 girl. I wish you might not have more trouble than I 
 had, in getting accustomed to your new way of living, 
 in the chateau at Vivey. But," she added, going toward 
 the fire, "I think they are harnessing the horse, and you 
 must be hungry. Your driver has already primed him- 
 self with some toast and white wine. I will not offer 
 you the same kind of breakfast. I will get you some 
 coffee and cream." 
 
 He bent his head in acquiescence, and she brought 
 him the coffee herself, helping him to milk and toasted 
 bread. He drank rapidly the contents of the cup, nib- 
 bled at a slice of toast, and then, turning to his hostess, 
 said, with a certain degree of embarrassment: 
 
 "There is nothing left for me to do, Mademoiselle, 
 but to express my most heartfelt thanks for your kind 
 hospitality. It is a good omen for me to meet with such 
 cordiality on my arrival in an unknown part of the 
 country. May I ask you one more question?" he con- 
 tinued, looking anxiously at her; "why do you think 
 4 [49] 
 
ANDRfi THEURIET 
 
 it will be so difficult for me to get accustomed to the life 
 they lead here?" 
 
 "Why?" replied she, shaking her head, "because, to 
 speak frankly, Monsieur, you do not give me the idea 
 of having much feeling for the country. You are not 
 familiar with our ways; you will not be able to speak to 
 the people in their language, and they will not under- 
 stand yours you will be, in their eyes, 'the city Mon- 
 sieur/ whom they will mistrust and will try to circum- 
 vent. I should like to find that I am mistaken, but, at 
 present, I have the idea that you will encounter diffi- 
 culties down there of which you do not seem to have 
 any anticipation " 
 
 She was intercepted by the entrance of the driver, 
 who was becoming impatient. The horse was in har- 
 ness, and they were only waiting for M. de Buxieres. 
 Julien rose, and after awkwardly placing a piece of silver 
 in the hand of La Guite, took leave of Reine Vincart, 
 who accompanied him to the threshold. 
 
 "Thanks, once more, Mademoiselle," murmured he, 
 "and au revoir, since we shall be neighbors/' 
 
 He held out his hand timidly and she took it with 
 frank cordiality. Julien got into the cabriolet beside 
 the driver, who began at once to belabor vigorously his 
 mulish animal. 
 
 "Good journey and good luck, Monsieur," cried 
 Reine after him, and the vehicle sped joltingly away. 
 
 [So] 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 CONSCIENCE HIGHER THAN THE LAW 
 
 leaving La Thuiliere, the driver took 
 the straight line toward the pasture- 
 lands of the Planche-au-Vacher. 
 
 According to the directions they had 
 received from the people of the farm, 
 they then followed a rocky road, which 
 entailed considerable jolting for the 
 travellers, but which led them without 
 other difficulty to the bottom of a woody dell, where they 
 were able to ford the stream. As soon as they had, with 
 difficulty, ascended the opposite hill, the silvery fog that 
 had surrounded them began to dissipate, and they dis- 
 tinguished a road close by, which led a winding course 
 through the forest. 
 
 "Ah! now I see my way!" said the driver, "we have 
 only to go straight on, and in twenty minutes we shall 
 be at Vivey. This devil of a fog cuts into one's skin 
 like a bunch of needles. With your permission, Mon- 
 sieur de Buxieres, and if it will not annoy you, I will 
 light my pipe to warm myself." 
 
 Now that he knew he was conducting the proprietor 
 of the chdteau, he repented having treated him so cava- 
 lierly the day before; he became obsequious, and en- 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 deavored to gain the good-will of his fare by showing 
 himself as loquacious as he had before been cross and 
 sulky. But Julien de Buxieres, too much occupied in 
 observing the details of the country, or in ruminating 
 over the impressions he had received during the morn- 
 ing, made but little response to his advances, and soon 
 allowed the conversation to drop. 
 
 The sun's rays had by this time penetrated the misty 
 atmosphere, and the white frost had changed to diamond 
 drops, which hung tremblingly on the leafless branches. 
 A gleam of sunshine showed the red tints of the beech- 
 trees, and the bright golden hue of the poplars, and the 
 forest burst upon Julien in all the splendor of its autum- 
 nal trappings. The pleasant remembrance of Reine 
 Vincart's hospitality doubtless predisposed him to enjoy 
 the charm of this sunshiny morning, for he became, per- 
 haps for the first time in his life, suddenly alive to the 
 beauty of this woodland scenery. By degrees, toward 
 the left, the brushwood became less dense, and several 
 gray buildings appeared scattered over the glistening 
 prairie. Soon after appeared a park, surrounded by 
 low, crumbling walls, then a group of smoky roofs, and 
 finally, surmounting a massive clump of ash-trees, two 
 round towers with tops shaped like extinguishers. The 
 coachman pointed them out to the young man with the 
 end of his whip. 
 
 "There is Vivey," said he, "and here is your property, 
 Monsieur de Buxieres." 
 
 Julien started, and, notwithstanding his alienation 
 from worldly things, he could not repress a feeling of 
 satisfaction when he reflected that, by legal right, he 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 was about to become master of the woods, the fields, and 
 the old homestead of which the many-pointed slate roofs 
 gleamed in the distance. This satisfaction was mingled 
 with intense curiosity, but it was also somewhat shad- 
 owed by a dim perspective of the technical details in- 
 cumbent on his taking possession. No doubt he should 
 be obliged, in the beginning, to make himself personally 
 recognized, to show the workmen and servants of the 
 chateau that the new owner was equal to the situation. 
 Now, Julien was not, by nature, a man of action, and 
 the delicately expressed fears of Reine Vincart made him 
 uneasy in his mind. When the carriage, suddenly turn- 
 ing a corner, stopped in front of the gate of entrance, and 
 he beheld, through the cast-iron railing, the long avenue 
 of ash-trees, the grass-grown courtyard, the silent facade, 
 his heart began to beat more rapidly, and his natural 
 timidity again took possession of him. 
 
 "The gate is closed, and they don't seem to be expect- 
 ing you," remarked the driver. 
 
 They dismounted. Noticing that the side door was 
 half open, the coachman gave a vigorous pull on the 
 chain attached to the bell. At the sound of the rusty 
 clamor, a furious barking was heard from an adjoining 
 outhouse, but no one inside the house seemed to take 
 notice of the ringing. 
 
 " Come, let us get in all the same," said the coachman, 
 giving another pull, and stealing a furtive look at his 
 companion's disconcerted countenance. 
 
 He fastened his horse to the iron fence, and both 
 passed through the side gate to the avenue, the dogs all 
 the while continuing their uproar. Just as they reached 
 
 [53] 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 the courtyard, the door opened and Manette Sejour- 
 nant appeared on the doorstep. 
 
 "Good-morning, gentlemen," said she, in a slow, 
 drawling voice, "is it you who are making all this 
 noise?" 
 
 The sight of this tall, burly woman, whose glance be- 
 tokened both audacity and cunning, increased still more 
 Julien's embarrassment. He advanced awkwardly, 
 raised his hat and replied, almost as if to excuse him- 
 self: 
 
 "I beg pardon, Madame I am the cousin and heir 
 of the late Claude de Buxieres. I have come to install 
 myself in the chateau, and I had sent word of my inten- 
 tion to Monsieur Arbillot, the notary I am surprised 
 he did not notify you." 
 
 "Ah! it is you, Monsieur Julien de Buxieres!" ex- 
 claimed Madame Sejournant, scrutinizing the newcomer 
 with a mingling of curiosity and scornful surprise which 
 completed the young man's discomfiture. "Monsieur 
 Arbillot was here yesterday he waited for you all day, 
 and as you did not come, he went away at "nightfall." 
 
 "I presume you were in my cousin's service?" said 
 Julien, amiably, being desirous from the beginning to 
 evince charitable consideration with regard to his rela- 
 tive's domestic affairs. 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur," replied Manette, with dignified 
 sadness; "I attended poor Monsieur de Buxieres 
 twenty-six years, and can truly say I served him with 
 devotion ! But now I am only staying here in charge of 
 the seals I and my son Claudet. We have decided to 
 leave as soon as the notary does not want us any more." 
 
 [54] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 "I regret to hear it, Madame," replied Julien, who 
 was beginning to feel uncomfortable. "There must be 
 other servants around I should be obliged if you would 
 have our carriage brought into the yard. And then, if 
 you will kindly show us the way, we will go into the 
 house, for I am desirous to feel myself at home and 
 my driver would not object to some refreshment." 
 
 "I will send the cowboy to open the gate," replied 
 the housekeeper. "If you will walk this way, gentle- 
 men, I will take you into the only room that can be used 
 just now, on account of the seals on the property." 
 
 Passing in front of them, she directed her steps toward 
 the kitchen, and made way for them to pass into the 
 smoky room, where a small servant was making coffee 
 over a clear charcoal fire. As the travellers entered, the 
 manly form of Claudet Sejournant was outlined against 
 the bright light of the window at 'his back. 
 
 "My son," said Manette, with a meaning side look, 
 especially for his benefit, "here is Monsieur de Bux- 
 ieres, come to take possession of his inheritance." 
 
 The grand chasserot attempted a silent salutation, 
 and then the young men took a rapid survey of each 
 other. 
 
 Julien de Buxieres was startled by the unexpected 
 presence of so handsome a young fellow, robust, intelli- 
 gent, and full of energy, whose large brown eyes gazed 
 at him with a kind of surprised and pitying compassion 
 which was very hard for Julien to bear. He turned 
 uneasily away, making a lame excuse of ordering some 
 wine for his coachman ; and while Manette, with an air 
 of martyrdom, brought a glass and a half-empty bottle, 
 
 [55] 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 Claudet continued his surprised and inquiring examina- 
 tion of the legal heir of Claude de Buxieres. 
 
 The pale, slight youth, buttoned up in a close-fitting, 
 long frock-coat, which gave him the look of a priest, 
 looked so unlike any of the Buxieres of the elder branch 
 that it seemed quite excusable to hesitate about the rela- 
 tionship. Claudet maliciously took advantage of the 
 fact, and began to interrogate his would-be deposer by 
 pretending to doubt his identity. " 
 
 "Are you certainly Monsieur Julien de Buxieres ?" 
 asked he, surveying him suspiciously from head to 
 foot. 
 
 "Do you take me for an impostor?" exclaimed the 
 young man. 
 
 "I do not say that," returned Claudet, crossly, "but 
 after all, you do not carry your name written on your 
 face, and, by Jove! as guardian of the seals, I have 
 some responsibility I want information, that is all!" 
 
 Angry at having to submit to these inquiries in the 
 presence of the coachman who had brought him from 
 Langres, Julien completely lost control of his temper. 
 
 "Do you require me to show my papers?" he in- 
 quired, in a haughty, ironical tone of voice. 
 
 Manette, foreseeing a disturbance, hastened to inter- 
 pose, in her hypocritical, honeyed voice: 
 
 "Leave off, Claudet, let Monsieur alone. He would 
 not be here, would he, if he hadn't a right ? As to 
 asking him to prove his right, that is not our business 
 it belongs to the justice and the notary. You had 
 better, my son, go over to Auberive, and ask the gentle- 
 men to come to-morrow to raise the seals." 
 
 [56] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 At this moment, the cowboy, who had been sent to 
 open the gate, entered the kitchen. 
 
 "The carriage is in the courtyard," said he, "and 
 Monsieur's boxes are in the hall. Where shall I put 
 them, Madame Sejournant?" 
 
 Julien's eyes wandered from Manette to the young 
 boy, with an expression of intense annoyance and fa- 
 tigue. 
 
 "Why, truly," said Manette, "as a matter of fact, 
 there is only the room of our deceased master, where 
 the seals have been released. Would Monsieur object 
 to taking up his quarters there?" 
 
 "I am willing," muttered Julien; "have my luggage 
 carried up there, and give orders for it to be made ready 
 immediately." 
 
 The housekeeper gave a sign, and the boy and the 
 servant disappeared. 
 
 "Madame," resumed Julien, turning toward Manette, 
 "if I understand you right, I can no longer reckon upon 
 your services to take care of my household. Could you 
 send me some one to supply your place?" 
 
 "Oh! as to that matter," replied the housekeeper, 
 still in her wheedling voice, "a day or two more or less! 
 I am not so very particular, and I don't mind attending 
 to the house as long as I remain. At what hour would 
 you wish to dine, Monsieur?" 
 
 "At the hour most convenient for you," responded 
 Julien, quickly, anxious to conciliate her; "you will 
 serve my meals in my room." 
 
 As the driver had now finished his bottle, they left 
 the room together. 
 
 [57] 
 
ANDK& THEURIET 
 
 As soon as the door was closed, Manette and her son 
 exchanged sarcastic looks. 
 
 "He a Buxieres!" growled Claudet. "He looks like 
 a student priest in vacation." 
 
 "He is an efrign&dc" returned Manette, shrugging 
 her shoulders. 
 
 Ecrigneule is a word of the Langrois dialect, signify- 
 ing a puny, sickly, effeminate being. In the mouth of 
 Madame Sejournant, this picturesque expression ac- 
 quired a significant amount of scornful energy. 
 
 "And to think," sighed Claudet, twisting his hands 
 angrily in his bushy hair, "that such a slip of a fellow 
 is going to be master here!" 
 
 "Master?" repeated Manette, shaking her head, 
 "we'll see about that! He does not know anything at 
 all, and has not what is necessary for ordering about. 
 In spite of his fighting-cock airs, he hasn't two farthings' 
 worth of spunk it would be easy enough to lead him 
 by the nose. Do you see, Claudet, if we were to manage 
 properly, instead of throwing the handle after the blade, 
 we should be able before two weeks are over to have 
 rain or sunshine here, just as we pleased. We must 
 only have a little more policy." 
 
 "What do you mean by policy, mother?" 
 
 "I mean letting things drag quietly on not break- 
 ing all the windows at the first stroke. The lad is as 
 dazed as a young bird that has fallen from its nest. 
 What we have to do is to help him to get control of him- 
 self, and accustom him not to do without us. As soon 
 as we have made ourselves necessary to him, he will be 
 at our feet." 
 
 [58] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 "Would you wish me to become the servant of the 
 man who has cheated me out of my inheritance?" pro- 
 tested Claudet, indignantly. 
 
 "His servant no, indeed! but his companion why 
 not ? And it would be so easy if you would only make 
 up your mind to it, Claude. I tell you again, he is not 
 ill-natured he looks like a man who is up to his neck 
 in devotion. When he once feels we are necessary to 
 his comfort, and that some reliable person, like the 
 curate, for example, were to whisper to him that you 
 are the son of Claudet de Buxieres, he would have 
 scruples, and at last, half on his own account, and half 
 for the sake of religion, he would begin to treat you like 
 a relative." 
 
 "No;" said Claudet, firmly, "these tricky ways do 
 not suit me. Monsieur Arbillot proposed yesterday that 
 I should do what you advise. He even offered to inform 
 this gentleman of my relationship to Claude de Buxieres. 
 I refused, and forbade the notary to open his mouth on 
 the subject. What! should I play the part of a craven 
 hound before this younger son whom my father detest- 
 ed, and beg for a portion of the inheritance ? Thank 
 you! I prefer to take myself out of the way at once!" 
 
 "You prefer to have your mother beg her bread at 
 strangers' doors!" replied Manette, bitterly, shedding 
 tears of rage. 
 
 "I have already told you, mother, that when one has 
 a good pair of arms, and the inclination to use them, 
 one has no need to beg one's bread. Enough said! I 
 am going to Auberive to notify the justice and the 
 notary." 
 
 [59] 
 
ANDRtf THEURIET 
 
 While Claudet was striding across the woods, the boy 
 carried the luggage of the newly arrived traveller into 
 the chamber on the first floor, and Zelie, the small ser- 
 vant, put the sheets on the bed, dusted the room, and 
 lighted the fire. In a few minutes, Julien was alone in 
 his new domicile, and began to open his boxes and 
 valises. The chimney, which had not been used since 
 the preceding winter, smoked unpleasantly, and the 
 damp logs only blackened instead of burning. The 
 boxes lay wide open, and the room of the deceased 
 Claude de Buxieres had the uncomfortable aspect of a 
 place long uninhabited. Julien had seated himself in 
 one of the large armchairs, covered in Utrecht velvet, 
 and endeavored to rekindle the dying fire. He felt at 
 loose ends and discouraged, and had no longer the 
 courage to arrange his clothes in the open wardrobes, 
 which stood open, emitting a strong odor of decaying 
 mold. 
 
 The slight breath of joyous and renewed life which 
 had animated him on leaving the Vincart farm, had 
 suddenly evaporated. His anticipations collapsed in 
 the face of these bristling realities, among which he 
 felt his isolation more deeply than ever before. He re- 
 called the cordiality of Reine's reception, and how she 
 had spoken of the difficulties he should have to encoun- 
 ter. How little he had thought that her forebodings 
 would come true the very same day! The recollection 
 of the cheerful and hospitable interior of La Thuiliere 
 contrasted painfully with his cold, bare Vivey mansion, 
 tenanted solely by hostile domestics. Who were these 
 people this Manette Sejournant with her treacherous 
 
 [60] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 smile, and this fellow Claudet, who had, at the very first, 
 subjected him to such offensive questioning ? Why did 
 they seem so ill-disposed toward him ? He felt as if he 
 were completely enveloped in an atmosphere of contra- 
 diction and ill-will. He foresaw what an amount of 
 quiet but steady opposition he should have to encounter 
 from these subordinates, and he became alarmed at the 
 prospect of having to display so much energy in order 
 to establish his authority in the chateau. He, who had 
 pictured to himself a calm and delightful solitude, where- 
 in he could give himself up entirely to his studious and 
 contemplative tastes. What a contrast to the reality! 
 
 Rousing himself at last, he proceeded mechanically 
 to arrange his belongings in the room, formerly inhab- 
 ited by his cousin de Buxieres. He had hardly fin- 
 ished when Zelie made her appearance with some plates 
 and a tablecloth, and began to lay the covers. Seeing 
 the fire had gone out, the little servant uttered an ex- 
 clamation of dismay. 
 
 "Oh!" cried she, "so the wood didn't flare!" 
 
 He gazed at her as if she were talking Hebrew, and 
 it was at least a minute before he understood that by 
 "flare" she meant kindle. 
 
 "Well, well!" she continued, "I'll go and fetch some 
 splinters." 
 
 She returned in a few moments, with a basket filled 
 with the large splinters thrown off by the woodchoppers 
 in straightening the logs: she piled these up on the and- 
 irons, and then, applying her mouth vigorously to a long 
 hollow tin tube, open at both ends, which she carried 
 with her, soon succeeded in starting a steady flame. 
 
 [6!] 
 
ANDRfi THEURIET 
 
 "Look there!" said she, in a tone implying a certain 
 degree of contempt for the "city Monsieur" who did not 
 even know how to keep up a fire, "isn't that clever? 
 Now I must lay the cloth." 
 
 While she went about her task, arranging the plates, 
 the water-bottle, and glasses symmetrically around the 
 table, Julien tried to engage her in conversation. But 
 the little maiden, either because she had been cautioned 
 beforehand, or because she did not very well compre- 
 hend M. de Buxieres's somewhat literary style of 
 French, would answer only in monosyllables, or else 
 speak only in patois, so that Julien had to give up the 
 idea of getting any information out of her. Certainly, 
 Mademoiselle Vincart was right in saying that he did 
 not know the language of these people. 
 
 He ate without appetite the breakfast on which 
 Manette had employed all her culinary art, barely 
 tasted the roast partridge, and to Zlie's great astonish- 
 ment, mingled the old Burgundy wine with a large 
 quantity of water. 
 
 "You will inform Madame Sejournant," said he to 
 the girl, as he folded his napkin, "that I am not a great 
 eater, and that one dish will suffice me in future." 
 
 He left her to clear away, and went out to look at the 
 domain which he was to call his own. It did not take 
 him very long. The twenty or thirty white houses, 
 which constituted the village and lay sleeping in the 
 wooded hollow like eggs in a nest, formed a curious cir- 
 cular line around the chateau. In a few minutes he had 
 gone the whole length of it, and the few people he met 
 gave him only a passing glance, in which curiosity 
 
 [62] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 seemed to have more share than any hospitable feeling. 
 He entered the narrow church under the patronage of 
 Our Lady; the gray light which entered through the 
 moldy shutters showed a few scattered benches of oak, 
 and the painted wooden altar. He knelt down and 
 endeavored to collect his thoughts, but the rude sur- 
 roundings of this rustic sanctuary did not tend to com- 
 fort his troubled spirit, and he became conscious of a 
 sudden withering of all religious fervor. He turned 
 and left the place, taking a path that led through the 
 forest. It did not interest him more than the village; 
 the woods spoke no language which his heart could un- 
 derstand ; he could not distinguish an ash from an oak, 
 and all the different plants were included by him under 
 one general term of "weeds"; but he needed bodily 
 fatigue and violent physical agitation to dissipate the 
 overpowering feeling of discouragement that weighed 
 down his spirits. He walked for several hours without 
 seeing anything, nearly got lost, and did not reach home 
 till after dark. Once more the little servant appeared 
 with his meal, which he ate in an abstracted manner, 
 without even asking whether he were eating veal or 
 mutton; then he went immediately to bed, and fell into 
 an uneasy sleep. And thus ended his first day. 
 
 The next morning, about nine o'clock, he was in- 
 formed that the justice of the peace, the notary, and the 
 clerk, were waiting for him below. He hastened down 
 and found the three functionaries busy conferring in a 
 low voice with Manette and Claudet. The conversation 
 ceased suddenly upon his arrival, and during the embar- 
 rassing silence that followed, all eyes were directed to- 
 
 [63] 
 
ANDR& THEURIET 
 
 ward Julien, who saluted the company and delivered to 
 the justice the documents proving his identity, begging 
 him to proceed without delay to the legal breaking of the 
 seals. They accordingly began operations, and went 
 through all the house without interruption, accompanied 
 by Claudet, who stood stiff and sullen behind the 
 justice, taking advantage of every little opportunity to 
 testify his dislike and ill-feeling toward the legal heir of 
 Claude de Buxieres. Toward eleven o'clock, the pro- 
 ceedings came to an end, the papers were signed, and 
 Julien was regularly invested with his rights. But the 
 tiresome formalities were not yet over: he had to invite 
 the three officials to breakfast. This event, however, 
 had been foreseen by Manette. Since early morning 
 she had been busy preparing a bountiful repast, and had 
 even called Julien de Buxieres aside in order to instruct 
 him in the hospitable duties which his position and the 
 customs of society imposed upon him. 
 
 As they entered the dining-room, young de Buxieres 
 noticed that covers were laid for five people; he began 
 to wonder who the fifth guest could be, when an acci- 
 dental remark of the clerk showed him that the un- 
 known was no other than Claudet. The fact was that 
 Manette could not bear the idea that her son, who had 
 always sat at table with the late Claude de Buxieres, 
 should be consigned to the kitchen in presence of these 
 distinguished visitors from Auberive, and had deliber- 
 ately laid a place for him at the master's table, hoping 
 that the latter would not dare put any public affront 
 upon Claudet. She was not mistaken in her idea. 
 Julien, anxious to show a conciliatory spirit, and mak- 
 
 [64] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 ing an effort to quell his own repugnance, approached 
 the grand chasserot, who was standing at one side by 
 himself, and invited him to take his seat at the table. 
 
 "Thank you," replied Claudet, coldly, "I have break- 
 fasted. " So saying, he turned his back on M. de 
 Buxieres, who returned to the hall, vexed and discon- 
 certed. 
 
 The repast was abundant, and seemed of intermina- 
 ble length to Julien. The three guests, whose appetites 
 had been sharpened by their morning exercise, did honor 
 to Madame Sejournant's cooking; they took their wine 
 without water, and began gradually to thaw under the 
 influence of their host's good Burgundy; evincing their 
 increased liveliness by the exchange of heavy country 
 witticisms, or relating noisy and interminable stories of 
 their hunting adventures. Their conversation was very 
 trying to Julien's nerves. Nevertheless, he endeavored 
 to fulfil his duties as master of the house, throwing in a 
 word now and then, so as to appear interested in their 
 gossip, but he ate hardly a mouthful. His features had 
 a pinched expression, and every now and then he caught 
 himself trying to smother a yawn. His companions at 
 the table could not understand a young man of twenty- 
 eight years who drank nothing but water, scorned all 
 enjoyment in eating, and only laughed forcedly under 
 compulsion. At last, disturbed by the continued taci- 
 turnity of their host, they rose from the table sooner than 
 their wont, and prepared to take leave. Before their de- 
 parture, Arbillot the notary, passed his arm familiarly 
 through that of Julien and led him into an adjoining 
 room, which served as billiard-hall and library. 
 5 [65] 
 
ANDRtf THEURIET 
 
 "Monsieur de Buxieres," said he, pointing to a pile 
 of law papers heaped upon the green cloth of the table; 
 "see what I have prepared for you; you will find there 
 all the titles and papers relating to the real estate, pic- 
 tures, current notes, and various matters of your inherit- 
 ance. You had better keep them under lock and key, 
 and study them at your leisure. You will find them very 
 interesting. I need hardly say," he added, "that I am 
 at your service for any necessary advice or explanation. 
 But, in respect to any minor details, you can apply to 
 Claudet Sejournant, who is very intelligent in such 
 matters, and a good man of business. And, by the 
 way, Monsieur de Buxieres, will you allow me to com- 
 mend the young man especially to your kindly consid- 
 eration " 
 
 But Julien interrupted him with an imperious gesture, 
 and replied, frowning angrily : 
 
 " If you please, Maitre Arbillot, we will not enter upon 
 that subject. I have already tried my best to show a 
 kindly feeling toward Monsieur Claudet, but I have been 
 only here twenty-four hours, and he has already found 
 opportunities for affronting me twice. I beg you not to 
 speak of him again." 
 
 The notary, who was just lighting his pipe, stopped 
 suddenly. Moved by a feeling of good-fellowship for 
 the grand chasserot, who had, however, enjoined him to 
 silence, he had it on the tip of his tongue to inform Julien 
 of the facts concerning the parentage of Claudet de Bux- 
 ieres; but, however much he wished to render Claudet 
 a service, he was still more desirous of respecting the 
 feelings of his client; so, between the hostility of one 
 
 [66] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 party and the backwardness of the other, he chose the 
 wise part of inaction. 
 
 "That is sufficient, Monsieur de Buxieres," replied 
 he, "I will not press the matter. " 
 
 Thereupon he saluted his client, and went to rejoin 
 the justice and the clerk, and the three comrades 
 wended their way to Auberive through the woods, dis- 
 cussing the incidents of the breakfast, and the pecu- 
 liarities of the new proprietor. 
 
 "This de Buxieres," said M. Destourbet, "does not 
 at all resemble his deceased cousin Claude!" 
 
 "I can quite understand why the two families kept 
 apart from each other," observed the notary, jocosely. 
 
 "Poor chasserot!" whined Seurrot the clerk, whom 
 the wine had rendered tender-hearted; "he will not 
 have a penny. I pity him with all my heart!" 
 
 As soon as the notary had departed, Julien came to 
 the determination of transforming into a study the hall 
 where he had been conferring with Maitre Arbillot, 
 which was dignified with the title of "library," although 
 it contained at the most but a few hundred odd volumes. 
 The hall was spacious, and lighted by two large windows 
 opening on the garden; the floor was of oak, and there 
 was a great fireplace where the largest logs used in a 
 country in which the wood costs nothing could find 
 ample room to blaze and crackle. It took the young 
 man several days to make the necessary changes, and 
 during that time he enjoyed a respite from the petty 
 annoyances worked by the steady hostility of Manette 
 Sejournant and her son. To the great indignation of 
 the inhabitants of the chateau, he packed off the massive 
 
 [67] 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 billiard-table, on which Claude de Buxieres had so often 
 played in company with his chosen friends, to the garret ; 
 after which the village carpenter was instructed to make 
 the bookshelves ready for the reception of Julien's own 
 books, which were soon to arrive by express. When he 
 had got through with these labors, he turned his atten- 
 tion to the documents placed in his hands by the notary, 
 endeavoring to find out by himself the nature of his 
 revenues. He thought this would be a very easy matter, 
 but he soon found that it was encumbered with inex- 
 tricable difficulties. 
 
 A large part of the products of the domain consisted 
 of lumber ready for sale. Claude de Buxieres had been 
 in the habit of superintending, either personally or 
 through his intermediate agents, one half of the annual 
 amount of lumber felled for market, the sale of which 
 was arranged with the neighboring forge owners by 
 mutual agreement; the other half was disposed of by 
 notarial act. This latter arrangement was clear and 
 comprehensible; the price of sale and the amounts fall- 
 ing due were both clearly indicated in the deed. But it 
 was quite different with the bargains made by the owner 
 himself, which were often credited by notes payable at 
 sight, mostly worded in confused terms, unintelligible 
 to any but the original writer. Julien became com- 
 pletely bewildered among these various documents, the 
 explanations in which were harder to understand than 
 conundrums. Although greatly averse to following the 
 notary's advice as to seeking Claudet's assistance, he 
 found himself compelled to do so, but was met by such 
 laconic and surly answers that he concluded it would be 
 
 [68] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 more dignified on his part to dispense with the services 
 of one who was so badly disposed toward him. He 
 therefore resolved to have recourse to the debtors them- 
 selves, whose names he found, after much difficulty, in 
 the books. These consisted mostly of peasants of the 
 neighborhood, who came to the chateau at his summons; 
 but as soon as they came into Julien's presence, they 
 discovered, with that cautious perception which is an 
 instinct with rustic minds, that before them stood a man 
 completely ignorant of the customs of the country, and 
 very poorly informed on Claude de Buxieres's affairs. 
 They made no scruple of mystifying this "city gentle- 
 man," by means of ambiguous statements and cunning 
 reticence. The young man could get no enlightenment 
 from them ; all he clearly understood was, that they were 
 making fun of him, and that he was not able to cope 
 with these country bumpkins, whose shrewdness would 
 have done honor to the most experienced lawyer. 
 
 After a few days he became discouraged and dis- 
 gusted. He could see nothing but trouble ahead; he 
 seemed surrounded by either open enemies or people 
 inclined to take advantage of him. It was plain that all 
 the population of the village looked upon him as an 
 intruder, a troublesome master, a stranger whom they 
 would like to intimidate and send about his business. 
 Manette Sejournant, who was always talking about go- 
 ing, still remained in the chateau, and was evidently 
 exerting her influence to keep her son also with her. 
 The fawning duplicity of this woman was unbearable 
 to Julien; he had not the energy necessary either to 
 subdue her, or to send her away, and she appeared every 
 
 [69] 
 
ANDRfi THEURIET 
 
 morning before him with a string of hypocritical griev- 
 ances, and opposing his orders with steady, irritating 
 inertia. It seemed as if she were endeavoring to render 
 his life at Vivey hateful to him, so that he would be 
 compelled finally to beat a retreat. 
 
 One morning in November he had reached such a 
 state of moral fatigue and depression that, as he sat 
 listlessly before the library fire, the question arose in his 
 mind whether it would not be better to rent the chateau, 
 place the property in the hands of a manager, and take 
 himself and his belongings back to Nancy, to his little 
 room in the Rue Stanislaus, where, at any rate, he could 
 read, meditate, or make plans for the future without 
 being every moment tormented by miserable, petty 
 annoyances. His temper was becoming soured, his 
 nerves were unstrung, and his mind was so disturbed 
 that he fancied he had none but enemies around him. A 
 cloudy melancholy seemed to invade his brain ; he was 
 seized with a sudden fear that he was about to have an 
 attack of persecution-phobia, and began to feel his 
 pulse and interrogate his sensations to see whether he 
 could detect any of the premonitory symptoms. 
 
 While he was immersing himself in this unwholesome 
 atmosphere of hypochondria, the sound of a door open- 
 ing and shutting made him start; he turned quickly 
 around, saw a young woman approaching and smiling 
 at him, and at last recognized Reine Vincart. 
 
 She wore the crimped linen cap and the monk's hood 
 in use among the peasants of the richer class. Her 
 wavy, brown hair, simply parted in front, fell in rebel- 
 lious curls from under the border of her cap, of which 
 
 [7o] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 the only decoration was a bow of black ribbon; the end 
 floating gracefully over her shoulders. The sharp No- 
 vember air had imparted a delicate rose tint to her pale 
 complexion, and additional vivacity to her luminous, 
 dark eyes. 
 
 "Good-morning, Monsieur de Buxifcres," said she, in 
 her clear, pleasantly modulated voice; "I think you 
 may remember me ? It is not so long since we saw each 
 other at the farm." 
 
 1 ' Mademoiselle Vincart ! ' ' exclaimed Julien . ' ' Why, 
 certainly I remember you!" 
 
 He drew a chair toward the fire, and offered it to her. 
 This charming apparition of his cordial hostess at La 
 Thuiliere evoked the one pleasant remembrance in his 
 mind since his arrival in Vivey. It shot, like a ray of 
 sunlight, across the heavy fog of despair which had en- 
 veloped the new master of the chateau. It was, there- 
 fore, with real sincerity that he repeated: 
 
 "I both know you and am delighted to see you. I 
 ought to have called upon you before now, to thank you 
 for your kind hospitality, but I have had so much to do, 
 and," his face clouding over, "so many annoyances!" 
 
 "Really?" said she, softly, gazing pityingly at him; 
 "you must not take offence, but, it is easy to see you 
 have been worried! Your features are drawn and you 
 have an anxious look. Is it that the air of Vivey does 
 not agree with you?" 
 
 "It is not the air," replied Julien, in an irritated tone, 
 "it is the people who do not agree with me. And, 
 indeed," sighed he, "I do not think I agree any better 
 with them. But I need not annoy other persons merely 
 
ANDRtf THEURIET 
 
 because I am annoyed myself! Mademoiselle Vincart, 
 what can I do to be of service to you? Have you any- 
 thing to ask me?" 
 
 "Not at all!" exclaimed Reine, with a frank smile; 
 "I not only have nothing to ask from you, but I have 
 brought something for you six hundred francs for wood 
 we had bought from the late Monsieur de Buxieres, dur- 
 ing the sale of the Ronces forest." She drew from under 
 her cloak a little bag of gray linen, containing gold, 
 five-franc pieces and bank-notes. "Will you be good 
 enough to verify the amount?" continued she, emptying 
 the bag upon the table; "I think it is correct. You 
 must have somewhere a memorandum of the transac- 
 tion in writing." 
 
 Julien began to look through the papers, but he got 
 bewildered with the number of rough notes jotted down 
 on various slips of paper, until at last, in an impatient 
 fit of vexation, he flung the whole bundle away, scatter- 
 ing the loose sheets all over the floor. 
 
 "Who can find anything in such a chaos?" he ex- 
 claimed. "I can't see my way through it, and when I 
 try to get information from the people here, they seem 
 to have an understanding among themselves to leave 
 me under a wrong impression, or even to make my un- 
 certainties still greater! Ah! Mademoiselle Reine, you 
 were right! I do not understand the ways of your 
 country folk. Every now and then I am tempted to 
 leave everything just as it stands, and get away from 
 this village, where the people mistrust me and treat me 
 like an enemy!" 
 
 Reine gazed at him with a look of compassionate 
 [72] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 surprise. Stooping quietly down, she picked up the 
 scattered papers, and while putting them in order on 
 the table, she happened to see the one relating to her 
 own business. 
 
 "Here, Monsieur de Buxieres," said she, "here is the 
 very note you were looking for. You seem to be some- 
 what impatient. Our country folk are not so bad as 
 you think; only they do not yield easily to new influ- 
 ences. The beginning is always difficult for them. I 
 know something about it myself. When I returned 
 from Dijon to take charge of the affairs at La Thuiliere, 
 I had no more experience than you, Monsieur, and I 
 had great difficulty in accomplishing anything. Where 
 should we be now, if I had suffered myself to be dis- 
 couraged, like you, at the very outset?" * 
 
 Julien raised his eyes toward the speaker, coloring 
 with embarrassment to hear himself lectured by this 
 young peasant girl, whose ideas, however, had much 
 more virility than his own. 
 
 "You reason like a man, Mademoiselle Vincart," 
 remarked he, admiringly, "pray, how old are you?" 
 
 "Twenty- two years; and you, Monsieur de Bux- 
 ieres?" 
 
 "I shall soon be twenty-eight." 
 
 "There is not much difference between us; still, you 
 are the older, and what I have done, you can do also." 
 
 "Oh!" sighed he, "you have a love of action. I 
 have a love of repose I do not like to act." 
 
 "So much the worse!" replied Reine, very decidedly. 
 "A man ought to show more energy. Come now, Mon- 
 sieur de Buxieres, will you allow me to speak frankly to 
 
 [73] 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 you ? If you wish people to come to you, you must first 
 get out of yourself and go to seek them; if you expect 
 your neighbor to show confidence and good-will toward 
 you, you must be open and good-natured toward 
 him." 
 
 "That plan has not yet succeeded with two persons 
 around here," replied Julien, shaking his head. 
 
 "Which persons?" 
 
 "The Sejournants, mother and son. I tried to be 
 pleasant with Claudet, and received from both only 
 rebuffs and insolence." 
 
 "Oh! as to Claudet," resumed she, impulsively, "he 
 is excusable. You can not expect he will be very gra- 
 cious in his reception of the person who has supplant- 
 ed him " 
 
 "Supplanted? I do not understand." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Reine, "have they riot told you 
 anything, then? That is wrong. Well, at the risk of 
 meddling in what does not concern me, I think it is 
 better to put you in possession of the facts: Your 
 deceased cousin never was married, but he had^a child 
 all the same Claudet is his son, and he intended that 
 he should be his heir also. Every one around the coun- 
 try knows that, for Monsieur de Buxieres made no se- 
 cret of it " 
 
 " Claudet, the son of Claude de Buxieres?" ejaculated 
 Julien, with amazement. . 
 
 "Yes; and if the deceased had had the time to make 
 his will, you would not be here now. But," added the 
 young girl, coloring, "don't tell Claudet I have spoken 
 to you about it. I have been talking here too long. 
 
 [74] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 Monsieur de Buxieres, will you have the goodness to 
 reckon up your money and give me a receipt?" 
 
 She had risen, and Julien gazed wonderingly at the 
 pretty country girl who had shown herself so sensible, 
 so resolute, and so sincere. He bent his head, collected 
 the money on the table, scribbled hastily a receipt and 
 handed it to Reine. 
 
 "Thank you, Mademoiselle," said he, "you are the 
 first person who has been frank with me, and I am 
 grateful to you for it." 
 
 "Au revoir, Monsieur de Buxieres." 
 
 She had already gained the door while he made an 
 awkward attempt to follow her. She turned toward 
 him with a smile on her lips and in her eyes. 
 
 " Come, take courage ! " she added, and then vanished. 
 
 Julien went back dreamily, and sat down again before 
 the hearth. The revelation made by Reine Vincart had 
 completely astounded him. Such was his happy inex- 
 perience of life, that he had not for a moment suspected 
 the real position of Manette and her son at the chateau. 
 And it was this young girl who had opened his eyes 
 to the factl He experienced a certain degree of hu- 
 miliation in having had so little perception. Now that 
 Reine's explanation enabled him to view the matter from 
 a different standpoint, he found Claudet's attitude to- 
 ward him both intelligible and excusable. In fact, the 
 lad was acting in accordance with a very legitimate feel- 
 ing of mingled pride and anger. After all, he really was 
 Claude de Buxieres's son a natural son, certainly, 
 but one who had been implicitly acknowledged both in 
 private and in public by his father. If the latter had 
 
 [75] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 had time to draw up the incomplete will which had been 
 found, he would, to all appearances, have made Claudet 
 his heir. Therefore, the fortune of which Julien had 
 become possessed, he owed to some unexpected occur- 
 rence, a mere chance. Public opinion throughout the 
 entire village tacitly recognized and accepted the grand 
 chasserot as son of the deceased, and if this recognition 
 had been made legally, he would have been rightful 
 owner of half the property. 
 
 "Now that I have been made acquainted with this 
 position of affairs, what is my duty?" asked Julien of 
 himself. Devout in feeling and in practice, he was also 
 very scrupulous in all matters of conscience, and the 
 reply was not long in coming: that both religion and 
 uprightness commanded him to indemnify Claudet for 
 the wrong caused to him by the carelessness of Claude 
 de Buxieres. Reine had simply told him the facts with- 
 out attempting to give him any advice, but it was evident 
 that, according to her loyal and energetic way of think- 
 ing, there was injustice to be repaired. Julien was 
 conscious that by acting to that effect he would certainly 
 gain the esteem and approbation of his amiable hostess 
 of La Thuiliere, and he felt a secret satisfaction in the 
 idea. He rose suddenly, and, leaving the library, went 
 to the kitchen, where Manette Sejournant was busy pre- 
 paring the breakfast. 
 
 ' ' Where is your son ? ' ' said he . "I wish to speak with 
 him." 
 
 Manette looked inquiringly at him. 
 
 "My son," she replied, "is in the garden, fixing up a 
 box to take away his little belongings in he doesn't 
 
 [76] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 want to stay any longer at other peoples' expense. And, 
 by the way, Monsieur de Buxieres, have the goodness 
 to provide yourself with a servant to take my place ; we 
 shall not finish the week here." 
 
 Without making any reply, Julien went out by the 
 door, leading to the garden, and discovered Claudet 
 really occupied in putting together the sides of a pack- 
 ing-case. Although the latter saw the heir of the de 
 Buxieres family approaching, he continued driving in 
 the nails without appearing to notice his presence. 
 
 "Monsieur Claudet," said Julien, "can you spare me 
 a few minutes? I should like to talk to you." 
 
 Claudet raised his head, hesitated for a moment, 
 then, throwing away his hammer and putting on his 
 loose jacket, muttered: 
 
 "I am at your service." 
 
 They left the outhouse together, and entered an 
 avenue of leafy lime-trees, which skirted the banks of 
 the stream. 
 
 "Monsieur," said Julien, stopping in the middle of 
 the walk; "excuse me if I venture on a delicate subject 
 but I must do so now that I know all." 
 
 " Beg pardon what do you know ? " demanded Clau- 
 det, reddening. 
 
 "I know that you are the son of my cousin de Bux- 
 ieres," replied the young man with considerable emo- 
 tion. 
 
 The grand chasserot knitted his brows. 
 
 "Ah!" said he, bitterly, "my mother's tongue has 
 been too long, or else that blind magpie of a notary has 
 been gossiping, notwithstanding my instructions." 
 
 [77] 
 
ANDRfe THEURIET 
 
 "No; neither your mother nor Maitre Arbillot has 
 been speaking to me. What I know I have learned 
 from a stranger, and I know also that you would be 
 master here if Claude de Buxieres had taken the pre- 
 caution to write out his will. His negligence on that 
 point has been a wrong to you, which it is my duty to 
 repair." 
 
 "What's that!" exclaimed Claudet. Then he mut- 
 tered between his teeth: "You owe me nothing. The 
 law is on your side." 
 
 "I am not in the habit of consulting the law when it 
 is a question of duty. Besides, Monsieur de Buxieres 
 treated you openly as his son; if he had done what he 
 ought, made a legal acknowledgment, you would have 
 the right, even in default of a will, to one half of his 
 patrimony. This half I come to offer to you, and beg 
 of you to accept it." 
 
 Claudet was astonished, and opened his great, fierce 
 brown eyes with amazement. The proposal seemed so 
 incredible that he thought he must be dreaming, and 
 mistrusted what he heard. 
 
 "What! You offer me half the inheritance?" faltered 
 he. 
 
 "Yes; and I am ready to give you a certified deed of 
 relinquishment as soon as you wish " 
 
 Claudet interrupted him with a violent shrug of the 
 shoulders. 
 
 "I make but one condition," pursued Julien. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Claudet, still on the defensive. 
 
 "That you will continue to live here, with me, as in 
 your father's time." 
 
 [78] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 Claudet was nearly overcome by this last suggestion, 
 but a lingering feeling of doubt and a kind of innate 
 pride prevented him from giving way, and arrested the 
 expression of gratitude upon his lips. 
 
 "What you propose is very generous, Monsieur," said 
 he, "but you have not thought much about it, and later 
 you might regret it. If I were to stay here, I should be 
 a restraint upon you " 
 
 " On the contrary, you would be rendering me a ser- 
 vice, for I feel myself incapable of managing the prop- 
 erty," replied Julien, earnestly. Then, becoming more 
 confidential as his conscience was relieved of its burden, 
 he continued, pleasantly : " You see I am not vain about 
 admitting the fact. Come, cousin, don't be more proud 
 than I am. Accept freely what I offer with hearty good- 
 will!" 
 
 As he concluded these words, he felt his hand seized, 
 and affectionately pressed in a strong, robust grip. 
 
 "You are a true de Buxi&res!" exclaimed Claudet, 
 choking with emotion. "I accept thanks but, what 
 have I to give you in exchange ? nothing but my friend- 
 ship; but that will be as firm as my grip, and will last 
 all my life." 
 
 t79l 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE DAWN OF LOVE 
 
 INTER had come, and with it all the 
 inclement accompaniments usual in 
 this bleak and bitter mountainous 
 country: icy rains, which, mingled with 
 sleet, washed away whirlpools of with- 
 ered leaves that the swollen streams 
 tossed noisily into the ravines; sharp, 
 cutting winds from the north, bleak 
 frosts hardening the earth and vitrifying the cascades; 
 abundant falls of snow, lasting sometimes an entire 
 week. The roads had become impassable. A thick, 
 white crust covered alike the pasture-lands, the stony 
 levels, and the wooded slopes, where the branches 
 creaked under the weight of their snowy burdens. A 
 profound silence encircled the village, which seemed 
 buried under the successive layers of snowdrifts. Only 
 here and there, occasionally, did a thin line of blue 
 smoke, rising from one of the white roofs, give evidence 
 of any latent life among the inhabitants. The Chateau 
 de Buxieres stood in the midst of a vast carpet of snow 
 on which the sabots of the villagers had outlined a 
 narrow path, leading from the outer steps to the iron 
 gate. Inside, fires blazed on all the hearths, which, 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 however, did not modify the frigid atmosphere of the 
 rudely-built upper rooms. 
 
 Julien de Buxieres was freezing, both physically and 
 morally, in his abode. His generous conduct toward 
 Claudet had, ia truth, gained him the affection of the 
 grand chasserot, made Manette as gentle as a lamb, and 
 caused a revulsion of feeling in his favor throughout the 
 village; but, although his material surroundings had 
 become more congenial, he still felt around him the 
 chill of intellectual solitude. The days also seemed 
 longer since Claudet had taken upon himself the man- 
 agement of all details. Julien found that re-reading his 
 favorite books was not sufficient occupation for the 
 weary hours that dragged slowly along between the ris- 
 ing and the setting of the sun. The gossipings of 
 Manette, the hunting stories of Claudet had no interest 
 for young de Buxieres, and the acquaintances he en- 
 deavored to make outside left only a depressing feeling 
 of ennui and disenchantment. 
 
 His first visit had been made to the cure of Vivey, 
 where he hoped to meet with some intellectual resources, 
 and a tone of conversation more in harmony with his 
 tastes. In this expectation, also, he had been disap- 
 pointed. The Abbe Pernot was an amiable quin- 
 quagenarian, and a bon vivant, whose mind inclined 
 more naturally toward the duties of daily life than 
 toward meditation or contemplative studies. The ideal 
 did not worry him in the least; and when he had said 
 his mass, read his breviary, confessed the devout sinners 
 and visited the sick, he gave the rest of his time to pro- 
 fane but respectable amusements. He was of robust 
 6 [81] 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 temperament, with a tendency to corpulency, which h 
 fought against by taking considerable exercise; his fac 
 was round and good-natured, his calm gray eyes re 
 fleeted the tranquillity and uprightness of his soul, an< 
 his genial nature was shown in his full smiling mouth 
 his thick, wavy, gray hair, and his quick and cordia 
 gestures. 
 
 When Julien was ushered into the presbytery, h 
 found the cure installed in a small room, which he use< 
 for working in, and which was littered up with article 
 bearing a very distant connection to his pious calling 
 nets for catching larks, hoops and other nets for fishing 
 stuffed birds, and a collection of coleopterse. At th 
 other end of the room stood a dusty bookcase, contain 
 ing about a hundred volumes, which seemed to hav 
 been seldom consulted. The Abbe, sitting on a lo\ 
 chair in the chimney-corner, his cossack raised to hi 
 knees, was busy melting glue in an old earthen pot. 
 
 "Aha, good-day! Monsieur de Buxieres," said he ii 
 his rich, jovial voice, "you have caught me in an oc 
 cupation not very canonical; but what of it ? As Sain 
 James says: 'The bow can not be always bent.' I arj 
 preparing some lime- twigs, which I shall place in th< 
 Bois des Ronces as soon as the snow is melted. I an 
 not only a fisher of souls, but I endeavor also to catcl 
 birds in my net, not so much for the purpose of varying 
 my diet, as of enriching my collection!" 
 
 "You have a great deal of spare time on your hands 
 then?" inquired Julien, with some surprise. 
 
 "Well, yes yes quite a good deal. The parish ii 
 not very extensive, as you have doubtless noticed; mj 
 
 [82] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 parishioners are in the best possible health, thank God ! 
 and they live to be very old. I have barely two or three 
 marriages in a year, and as many burials, so that, you 
 see, one must fill up one's time somehow to escape the 
 sin of idleness. Every man must have a hobby. Mine 
 is ornithology; and yours, Monsieur de Buxieres?" 
 
 Julien was tempted to reply: "Mine, for the mo- 
 ment, is ennui" He was just in the mood to unburden 
 himself to the cure as to the mental thirst that was dry- 
 ing up his faculties, but a certain instinct warned him 
 that the Abbe was not a man to comprehend the subtle 
 complexities of his psychological condition, so he con- 
 tented himself with replying, briefly: 
 
 "I read a great deal. I have, over there in the ch- 
 teau, a pretty fair collection of historical and religious 
 works, and they are at your service, Monsieur le Cure ! " 
 
 "A thousand thanks," replied the Abbe Pernot, mak- 
 ing a slight grimace; "I am not much of a reader, and 
 my little stock is sufficient for my needs. You remember 
 what is said in the Imitation: 'Si scires totam Bibliam 
 exterius et omnium philosophorum dicta, quid totum 
 prodesset sine caritate Dei et gratia?' Besides, it gives 
 me a headache to read too steadily. I require exercise 
 in the open air. Do you hunt or fish, Monsieur de 
 Buxieres?" 
 
 "Neither the one nor the other." 
 
 "So much the worse for you. You will find the time 
 hang very heavily on your hands in this country, where 
 there are so few sources of amusement. But never 
 fear! You can not be always reading, and when the 
 fine weather comes you will yield to the temptation; all 
 
 [83] 
 
THEURIET 
 
 the more likely because you have Claudet Sejournant 
 with you. A jolly fellow he is; there is not one like him 
 for killing a snipe or sticking a trout! Our trout here 
 on the Aubette, Monsieur de Buxieres, are excellent 
 of the salmon kind, and very meaty." 
 
 Then came an interval of silence. The Abbe began 
 to suspect that this conversation was not one of pro- 
 found interest to his visitor, and he resumed : 
 
 "Speaking of Claudet, Monsieur, allow me to offer 
 you my congratulations. You have acted in a most 
 Christianlike and equitable manner, in making amends 
 for the inconceivable negligence of the deceased Claude 
 de Buxieres. Then, on the other hand, Claudet de- 
 serves what you have done for him. He is a good fellow, 
 a little too quick-tempered and violent perhaps, but he 
 has a heart of gold. Ah ! it would have been no use for 
 the deceased to deny it the blood of de Buxieres runs 
 in his veins!" 
 
 "If public rumor is to be believed," said Julien tim- 
 idly, rising to go, "my deceased cousin Claude was very 
 much addicted to profane pleasures." 
 
 "Yes, yes, indeed!" sighed the Abbe, "he was a devfl 
 incarnate but what a magnificent man! What a won- 
 derful huntsman! Notwithstanding his backslidings, 
 there was a great deal of good in him, and I am fain to 
 believe that God has taken him under His protecting 
 mercy." 
 
 Julien took his leave, and returned to the chateau, 
 very much discouraged. "This priest," thought he to 
 himself, "is a man of expediency. He allows himself 
 certain indulgences which are to be regretted, and his 
 
 [84] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 mind is becoming clogged by continual association with 
 carnal-minded men. His thoughts are too much given 
 to earthly things, and I have no more faith in him than 
 in the rest of them." 
 
 So he shut himself up again in his solitude, with one 
 more illusion destroyed. He asked himself, and his 
 heart became heavy at the thought, whether, in course 
 of time, he also would undergo this stultification, this 
 moral depression, which ends by lowering us to the 
 level of the low-minded people among whom we live. 
 
 Among all the persons he had met since his arrival at 
 Vivey, only one had impressed him as being sympathetic 
 and attractive: Reine Vincart and even her energy 
 was directed toward matters that Julien looked upon as 
 secondary. And besides, Reine was a woman, and he 
 was afraid of women. He believed with Ecclesiastes 
 the preacher, that "they are more bitter than death . . . 
 and whoso pleaseth God shall escape from them." He 
 had therefore no other refuge but in his books or his 
 own sullen reflections, and, consequently, his old enemy, 
 hypochondria, again made him its prey. 
 
 Toward the beginning of January, the snow in the 
 
 valley had somewhat melted, and a light frost made 
 
 access to the woods possible. As the hunting season 
 
 seldom extended beyond the first days of February, the 
 
 huntsmen were all eager to take advantage of the few 
 
 | remaining weeks to enjoy their favorite pastime. Every 
 
 I day the forest resounded with the shouts of beaters-up 
 
 I and the barking of the hounds. From Auberive, Pras- 
 
 1 lay and Grancey, rendezvous were made in the woods 
 
 of Charbonniere or Maigrefontaine; nothing was 
 
 [85] 
 
ANDRfe THEURIET 
 
 thought of but the exploits of certain marksmen, the! 
 number of pieces bagged, and the joyous outdoor break-! 
 fasts which preceded each occasion. One evening, as| 
 Julien, more moody than usual, stood yawning wearily] 
 and leaning on the corner of the stove, Claudet noticed^ 
 him, and was touched with pity for this young fellow,; 
 who had so little idea how to employ his time, his youth,| 
 or his money. He felt impelled, as a conscientious duty,) 
 to draw him out of his unwholesome state of mind, andj 
 initiate him into the pleasures of country life. 
 
 "You do not enjoy yourself with us, Monsieur Ju- 
 lien," said he, kindly; "I can't bear to see you so down- 
 hearted. You are ruining yourself with poring all dayj 
 long over your books, and the worst of it is, they do not! 
 take the frowns out of your face. Take my word for it, 
 you must change your way of living, or you will be ill.j 
 Come, now, if you will trust in me, I will undertake toj 
 cure your ennui before a week is over." 
 
 "And what is your remedy, Claudet?" demanded^ 
 Julien, with a forced smile. 
 
 "A very simple one: just let your books go, since! 
 they do not succeed in interesting you, and live the life 
 that every one else leads. The de Buxieres, your ann 
 cestors, followed the same plan, and had no fault to find 
 with it. You are in a wolf country well, you musti 
 howl with the wolves!" 
 
 "My dear fellow," replied Julien, shaking his head, 
 "one can not remake one's self. The wolves them- 
 selves would discover that I howled out of tune, and! 
 would send me back to my books." 
 
 "Nonsense! try, at any rate. You can not imagine 
 [86] 
 

 A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 what pleasure there is in coursing through the woods, 
 and suddenly, at a sharp turn, catching sight of a deer 
 
 Jin the distance, then galloping to the spot where he 
 must pass, and holding him with the end of your gun! 
 
 ! You have no idea what an appetite one gets with such 
 
 I exercise, nor how jolly it is to breakfast afterward, all 
 
 ! together, seated round some favorite old beech-tree. 
 
 | Enjoy your youth while you have it. Time enough to 
 
 i stay in your chimney-corner and spit in the ashes when 
 rheumatism has got hold of you. Perhaps you will say 
 pou never have followed the hounds, and do not know 
 low to handle a gun?" 
 "That is the exact truth." 
 
 "Possibly, but appetite comes with eating, and when 
 >nce you have tasted of the pleasures of the chase, you 
 ivill want to imitate your companions. Now, see here: 
 
 j ve have organized a party at Charbonniere to-morrow, 
 or the gentlemen of Auberive ; there will be some peo- 
 
 i >le you know Destourbet, Justice of the Peace, the 
 
 lerk Seurrot, Maitre Arbillot and the tax-collector, 
 
 i toucheseiche. Hutinet went over the ground yester- 
 
 jlay, and has appointed the meeting for ten o'clock at 
 
 he Belle-Etoile. Come with us; there will be good 
 
 < ating and merriment, and also some fine shooting, I 
 
 , pledge you my word!" 
 
 Julien refused at first, but Claudet insisted, and 
 
 ,lhowed him the necessity of getting more intimately 
 
 cquainted with the notables of Auberive people with 
 
 7 hom he would be continually coming in contact as 
 
 Ispresenting the administration of justice and various 
 
 Iffairs in the canton. He urged so well that young de 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 Buxieres ended by giving his consent. Manette re- 
 ceived immediate instructions to prepare eatables for 
 Hutinet, the keeper, to take at early dawn to the Belle- 
 Etoile, and it was decided that the company should 
 start at precisely eight o'clock. 
 
 The next morning, at the hour indicated, the grand 
 chasserot was already in the courtyard with his two 
 hounds, Charbonneau and Montagnard, who were; 
 leaping and barking sonorously around him. Julien, 
 reminded of his promise by the unusual early uproar, 
 dressed himself with a bad grace, and went down td 
 join Claudet, who was bristling with impatience. They 
 started. There had been a sharp frost during the night: 
 some hail had fallen, and the roads were thinly coatee 
 with a white dust, called by the country people, in theii 
 picturesque language, "a sugar-frost" of snow. A 
 thick fog hung over the forest, so that they had to guesf 
 their way; but Claudet knew every turn and every sidei 
 path, and thus he and his companion arrived by the 
 most direct line at the rendezvous. They soon begad 
 to hear the barking of the dogs, to which Montagnardj 
 and Charbonneau replied with emulative alacrity, andj 
 finally, through the mist, they distinguished the groujj 
 of huntsmen from Auberive. 
 
 The Belle-Etoile was a circular spot, surrounded blj 
 ancient ash-trees, and formed the central point for sil 
 diverging alleys which stretched out indefinitely intl 
 the forest. The monks of Auberive, at the epoch wheij I 
 they were the lords and owners of the land, had madl 
 this place a rendezvous for huntsmen, and had provider j 
 a table and some stone benches, which, thirty years agcj I 
 
 [88] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 were still in existence. The enclosure, which had been 
 chosen for the breakfast on the present occasion, was 
 irradiated by a huge log-fire; a very respectable display 
 of bottles, bread, and various eatables covered the stone 
 table, and the dogs, attached by couples to posts, pulled 
 at their leashes and barked in chorus, while their mas- 
 ters, grouped around the fire, warmed their benumbed 
 fingers over the flames, and tapped their heels while 
 waiting for the last-comers. 
 
 At sight of Julien and Claudet, there was a joyous 
 hurrah of welcome. Justice Destourbet exchanged a 
 ceremonious hand-shake with the new proprietor of the 
 chateau. The scant costume and tight gaiters of the 
 huntsman's attire, displayed more than ever the height 
 and slimness of the country magistrate. By his side, the 
 registrar Seurrot, his legs encased in blue linen spat- 
 terdashes, his back bent, his hands crossed comfort- 
 ably over his "corporation," sat roasting himself at the 
 flame, while grumbling when the wind blew the smoke 
 in his eyes. Arbillot, the notary, as agile and restless as 
 a lizard, kept going from one to the other with an air of 
 mysterious importance. He came up to Claudet, drew 
 him aside, and showed him a little figure in a case. 
 
 "Look here!" whispered he, "we shall have some 
 fun; as I passed by the Abbe* Pernot's this morning, I 
 stole one of his stuffed squirrels." 
 
 He stooped down, and with an air of great mystery 
 poured into his ear the rest of the communication, at 
 the close of which his small black eyes twinkled ma- 
 liciously, and he passed the end of his tongue over his 
 frozen moustache. 
 
ANDRfe THEURIET 
 
 "Come with me," continued he; "it will be a good 
 joke on the collector." 
 
 He drew Claudet and Hutinet toward one of the 
 trenches, where the fog hid them from sight. 
 
 During this colloquy, Boucheseiche the collector, 
 against whom they were thus plotting, had seized upon 
 Julien de Buxieres, and was putting him through a 
 course of hunting lore. Justin Boucheseiche was a man 
 of remarkable ugliness; big, bony, freckled, with red 
 hair, hairy hands, and a loud, rough voice. 
 
 He wore a perfectly new hunting costume, cap and 
 gaiters of leather, a havana-colored waistcoat, and had 
 a complete assortment of pockets of all sizes for the car- 
 tridges. He pretended to be a great authority on all 
 matters relating to the chase, although he was, in fact, 
 the worst shot in the whole canton; and when he had 
 the good luck to meet with a newcomer, he launched 
 forth on the recital of his imaginary prowess, without 
 any pity for the hearer. So that, having once got hold 
 of Julien, he kept by his side when they sat down to 
 breakfast. 
 
 j All these country huntsmen were blessed with healthy 
 appetites. They ate heartily, and drank in the same 
 fashion, especially the collector Boucheseiche, who 
 justified his name by pouring out numerous bumpers 
 of white wine. During the first 'quarter of an hour 
 nothing could be heard but the noise of jaws masti- 
 cating, glasses and forks clinking; but when the savory 
 pastries, the cold game and the hams had disappeared, 
 and had been replaced by goblets of hot Burgundy and 
 boiling coffee, then tongues became loosened. Julien, to 
 
 [90] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 his infinite disgust, was forced again to be present at a 
 conversation similar to the one at the time of the raising 
 of the seals, the coarseness of which had so astonished 
 and shocked him. After the anecdotes of the chase 
 were exhausted, the guests began to relate their experi- 
 ences among the fair sex, losing nothing of the point 
 from the effect of the numerous empty bottles around. 
 All the scandalous cases in the courts of justice, all the 
 coarse jokes and adventures of the district, were related 
 over again. Each tried to surpass his neighbor. To 
 hear these men of position boast of their gallantries with 
 all classes, one would have thought that the entire can- 
 ton underwent periodical changes and became one vast 
 Saturnalia, where rustic satyrs courted their favorite 
 nymphs. But nothing came of it, after all; once the 
 feast was digested, and they had returned to the conju- 
 gal abode, all these terrible gay Lotharios became once 
 more chaste and worthy fathers of families. Neverthe- 
 less, Julien, who was unaccustomed to such bibulous 
 festivals and such unbridled license of language, took it 
 all literally, and reproached himself more than ever with 
 having yielded to Claudet's entreaties. 
 
 At last the table was deserted, and the marking of the 
 limits of the hunt began. 
 
 As they were following the course of the trenches, the 
 notary stopped suddenly at the foot of an ash- tree, and 
 took the arm of the collector, who was gently humming 
 out of tune. 
 
 "Hush! Collector," he whispered, "do you see that 
 fellow up there, on the fork of the tree ? He seems to be 
 jeering at us." 
 
 [91] 
 
ANDR& THEURIET 
 
 At the same time he pointed out a squirrel, sitting 
 perched upon a branch, about halfway up the tree. 
 The animal's tail stood up behind like a plume, his ears 
 were upright, and he had his front paws in his mouth, 
 as if cracking a nut. 
 
 "A squirrel!" cried the impetuous Boucheseiche, 
 immediately falling into the snare; "let no one touch 
 him, gentlemen I will settle his account for him." 
 
 The rest of the hunters had drawn back in a circle, 
 and were exchanging sly glances. The collector loaded 
 his gun, shouldered it, covered the squirrel, and then 
 let go. 
 
 "Hit!" exclaimed he, triumphantly, as soon as the 
 smoke had dispersed. 
 
 In fact, the animal had slid down the branch, head 
 first, but, somehow, he did not fall to the ground. 
 
 "He has caught hold of something," said the notary, 
 facetiously. 
 
 "Ah! you will hold on, you rascal, will you?" 
 shouted Boucheseiche, beside himself with excitement, 
 and the next moment he sent a second shot,ivhich sent 
 the hair flying in all directions. 
 
 The creature remained in the same position. Then 
 there was a general roar. 
 
 "He is quite obstinate!" remarked the clerk, slyly. 
 
 Boucheseiche, astonished, looked attentively at the 
 tree, then at the laughing crowd, and could not under- 
 stand the situation. 
 
 "If I were in your place, Collector," said Claudet, in 
 an insinuating manner, "I should climb up there, to 
 
 [9*1 
 

 A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 But Justin Boucheseiche was not a climber. He 
 called a youngster, who followed the hunt as beater-up. 
 
 "I will give you ten sous," said he; "to mount that 
 tree and bring me my squirrel!" 
 
 The young imp did not need to be told twice. In the 
 twinkling of an eye he threw his arms around the tree, 
 and reached the fork. When there, he uttered an ex- 
 clamation. 
 
 "Well?" cried the collector, impatiently, "throw 
 him down!" 
 
 "I can't, Monsieur," replied the boy, "the squirrel is 
 fastened by a wire." Then the laughter burst forth 
 more boisterously than before. 
 
 "A wire, you young rascal! Are you making fun of 
 me?" shouted Boucheseiche, "come down this mo- 
 ment!" 
 
 "Here he is, Monsieur," replied the lad, throwing 
 himself down with the squirrel which he tossed at the 
 collector's feet. 
 
 When Boucheseiche verified the fact that the squirrel 
 was a stuffed specimen, he gave a resounding oath. 
 
 "In the name of ! who is the miscreant that has 
 perpetrated this joke?" 
 
 No one could reply for laughing. Then ironical 
 cheers burst forth from all sides. 
 
 "Brave Boucheseiche! That's a kind of game one 
 doesn't often get hold of!" 
 
 "We never shall see any more of that kind!" 
 
 "Let us carry Boucheseiche in triumph!" 
 
 And so they went on, marching around the tree. 
 Arbillot seized a slip of ivy and crowned Boucheseiche, 
 
 [93] 
 
ANDRfe THEURIET 
 
 while all the others clapped their hands and capered in 
 front of the collector, who, at last, being a good fellow 
 at heart, joined in the laugh at his own expense. 
 
 Julien de Buxieres alone could not share the general 
 hilarity. The uproar caused by this simple joke did not 
 even chase the frown from his brow. He was provoked 
 at not being able to bring himself within the diapason 
 of this somewhat vulgar gayety: he was aware that his 
 melancholy countenance, his black clothes, his want of 
 sympathy jarred unpleasantly on the other jovial guests. 
 He did not intend any longer to play the part of a kill- 
 joy. Without saying anything to Claudet, therefore, he 
 waited until the huntsmen had scattered in the brush- 
 wood, and then, diving into a trench, in an opposite 
 direction, he gave them all the slip, and turned in the 
 direction of Planche-au-Vacher. 
 
 As he walked slowly, treading under foot the dry 
 frosty leaves, he reflected how the monotonous crackling 
 of this foliage, once so full of life, now withered and ren- 
 dered brittle by the frost, seemed to represent his own 
 deterioration of feeling. It was a sad and suitable ac- 
 companiment of his own gloomy thoughts. 
 
 He was deeply mortified at the sorry figure he had 
 presented at the breakfast- table. He acknowledged 
 sorrowfully to himself that, at twenty-eight years of age, 
 he was less young and less really alive than all these 
 country squires, although all, except Claudet, had 
 passed their fortieth year. Having missed his season 
 of childhood, was he also doomed to have no youth? 
 Others found delight in the most ordinary amusements, 
 why, to him, did life seem so insipid and colorless? 
 
 [94] 
 

 A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 Why was he so unfortunately constituted that all human 
 joys lost their sweetness as soon as he opened his heart 
 to them ? Nothing made any powerful impression on 
 him; everything that happened seemed to be a per- 
 petual reiteration, a song sung for the hundredth time, 
 a story a hundred times related. 
 
 He was like a new vase, cracked before it had served 
 its use, and he felt thoroughly ashamed of the weakness 
 and infirmity of his inner self. Thus pondering, he 
 traversed much ground, hardly knowing where he was 
 going. The fog, which now filled the air and which 
 almost hid the trenches with its thin bluish veil, made 
 it impossible to discover his bearings. At last he reached 
 the border of some pasture-land, which he crossed, and 
 then he perceived, not many steps away, some buildings 
 with tiled roofs, which had something familiar to him in 
 their aspect. After he had gone a few feet farther he 
 recognized the court and facade of La Thuiliere; and, 
 as he looked over the outer wall, a sight altogether novel 
 and unexpected presented itself. 
 
 Standing in the centre of the courtyard, her outline 
 showing in dark relief against the light "sugar-frost- 
 ing," stood Reine Vincart, her back turned to Julien. 
 She held up a corner of her apron with one hand, and 
 with the other took out handfuls of grain, which she 
 scattered among the birds fluttering around her. At 
 each moment the little band was augmented by a new 
 arrival. All these little creatures were of species which 
 do not emigrate, but pass the winter in the shelter of the 
 wooded dells. There were blackbirds with yellow bills, 
 who advanced boldly over the snow up to the very feet 
 
 [95] 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 of the distributing fairy; robin redbreasts, nearly as 
 tame, hopping gayly over the stones, bobbing their 
 heads and puffing out their red breasts; and tomtits, 
 prudently watching awhile from the tops of neighbor- 
 ing trees, then suddenly taking flight, and with quick, 
 sharp cries, seizing the grain on the wing. It was 
 charming to see all these little hungry creatures career 
 around Reine's head, with a joyous fluttering of wings. 
 When the supply was exhausted, the young girl shook 
 her apron, turned around, and recognized Julien. 
 
 "Were you there, Monsieur de Buxi&res?" she ex- 
 claimed ; " come inside the courtyard 1 Don't be afraid ; 
 they have finished their meal. Those are my boarders/ 1 
 she added, pointing to the birds, which, one by one, 
 were taking their flight across the fields. "Ever since 
 the first fall of snow, I have been distributing grain to 
 them once a day. I think they must tell one another 
 under the trees there, for every day their number in- 
 creases. But I don't complain of that. Just think, 
 these are not birds of passage ; they do not leave us at 
 the first cold blast, to find a warmer climate^; the least 
 we can do is to recompense them by feeding them when 
 the weather is too severe! Several know me already, 
 and are very tame. There is a blackbird in particular, 
 and a blue tomtit, that are both extremely saucy!" 
 
 These remarks were of a nature to please Julien. 
 They went straight to the heart of the young mystic; 
 they recalled to his mind St. Francis of Assisi, preach- 
 ing to the fish and conversing with the birds, and he 
 felt an increase of sympathy for this singular young 
 girl. He would have liked to find a pretext for remain- 
 
 [96] 
 

 A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 ing longer with her, but his natural timidity in the pres- 
 ence of women paralyzed his tongue, and, already, fear- 
 ing he should be thought intruding, he had raised his 
 hat to take leave, when Reine addressed him: 
 
 "I do not ask you to come into the house, because I 
 am obliged to go to the sale of the Ronces woods, in 
 order to speak to the men who are cultivating the little 
 lot that we have bought. I wager, Monsieur de Bux- 
 ieres, that you are not yet acquainted with our woods?" 
 
 "That is true," he replied, smiling. 
 
 "Very well, if you will accompany me, I will show 
 you the canton they are about to develop. It will not 
 be time lost, for it will be a good thing for the people 
 who are working for you to know that you are inter- 
 ested in their labors." 
 
 Julien replied that he should be happy to be under 
 her guidance. 
 
 "In that case," said Reine, "wait for me here. I 
 shall be back in a moment." 
 
 She reappeared a few minutes later, wearing a white 
 hood with a cape, and a knitted woolen shawl over her 
 shoulders. 
 
 "This way!" said she, showing a path that led across 
 the pasture-lands. 
 
 They walked along silently at first. The sky was 
 clear, the wind had freshened. Suddenly, as if by en- 
 chantment, the fog, which had hung over the forest, 
 became converted into needles of ice. Each tree was 
 powdered over with frozen snow, and on the hillsides 
 overshadowing the valley the massive tufts of forest 
 were veiled in a bluish- white vapor. 
 7 [97] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 Never had Julien de Buxieres been so long in tete-a- 
 tete with a young woman. The extreme solitude, the 
 surrounding silence, rendered this dual promenade 
 more intimate and also more embarrassing to a young 
 man who was alarmed at the very thought of a female 
 countenance. His ecclesiastical education had imbued 
 Julien with very rigorous ideas as to the careful and 
 reserved behavior which should be maintained between 
 the sexes, and his intercourse with the world had been 
 too infrequent for the idea to have been modified in any 
 appreciable degree. It was natural, therefore, that this 
 walk across the fields in the company of Reine should 
 assume an exaggerated importance in his eyes. He felt 
 himself troubled and yet happy in the chance afforded 
 him to become more closely acquainted with this young 
 girl, toward whom a secret sympathy drew him more 
 and more. But he did not know how to begin conver- 
 sation, and the more he cudgelled his brains to find a 
 way of opening the attack, the more he found himself 
 at sea. Once more Reine came to his assistance. 
 
 "Well, Monsieur de Buxieres," said she, "do matters 
 go more to your liking now ? You have acted most gen- 
 erously toward Claudet, and he ought to be pleased." 
 
 "Has he spoken to you, then?" 
 
 "No; not himself, but good news, like bad, flies fast, 
 and all the villagers are singing your praises." 
 
 "I only did a very simple and just thing," replied 
 Julien. 
 
 "Precisely, but those are the very things that are the 
 hardest to do. And according as they are done well or 
 ill, so is the person that does them judged by others." 
 
 [98] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 "You have thought favorably of me then, Mademoi- 
 selle Vincart," he ventured, with a timid smile. 
 
 u Yes; but my opinion is of little importance. You 
 must be pleased with yourself that is more essential. 
 I am sure that it must be pleasanter now for you to live 
 at Vivey?" 
 
 "Hm! more bearable, certainly. " 
 
 The conversation languished again. As they ap- 
 proached the confines of the farm they heard distant 
 barking, and then the voices of human beings. Finally 
 two gunshots broke on the air. 
 
 "Ha, ha!" exclaimed Reine, listening, "the Auberive 
 Society is following the hounds, and Claudet must be 
 one of the party. How is it you were not with them ? " 
 
 " Claudet took me there, and I was at the breakfast 
 but, Mademoiselle, I confess that that kind of amuse- 
 ment is not very tempting to me. At the first oppor- 
 tunity I made my escape, and left the party to them- 
 selves." 
 
 "Well, now, to be frank with you, you were wrong. 
 Those gentlemen will feel aggrieved, for they are very 
 sensitive. You see, when one has to live with people, 
 one must yield to their customs, and not pooh-pooh 
 their amusements." 
 
 "You are saying exactly what Claudet said last 
 night." 
 
 "Claudet was right." 
 
 "What am I to do? The chase has no meaning for 
 me. I can not feel any interest in the butchery of mis- 
 erable animals that are afterward sent back to their 
 quarters." 
 
 [99] 
 
ANDRti THEURIET 
 
 "I can understand that you do not care for the chase 
 for its own sake ; but the ride in the open air, in the open 
 forest? Our forests are so beautiful look there, now! 
 does not that sight appeal to you?" 
 
 From the height they had now gained, they could see 
 all over the valley, illuminated at intervals by the pale 
 rays of the winter sun. Wherever its light touched the 
 brushwood, the frosty leaves quivered like diamonds, 
 while a milky cloud enveloped the parts left in shadow. 
 Now and then, a slight breeze stirred the branches, 
 causing a shower of sparkling atoms to rise in the air, 
 like miniature rainbows. The entire forest seemed 
 clothed in the pure, fairy-like robes of a virgin bride. 
 
 "Yes, that is beautiful," admitted Julien, hesita- 
 tingly; " I do not think I ever saw any thing similar: at 
 any rate, it is you who have caused me to notice it for 
 the first time. But," continued he, "as the sun rises 
 higher, all this phantasmagoria will melt and vanish. 
 The beauty of created things lasts only a moment, and 
 serves as a warning for us not to set our hearts on 
 things that perish." 
 
 Reine gazed at him with astonishmert. 
 
 "Do you really think so?" exclaimed she: "that is 
 very sad, and I do not know enough to give an opinion. 
 All I know is, that if God has created such beautiful 
 A hings it is in order that we may enjoy them. And that 
 is the reason why I worship these woods with all my 
 heart. Ah! if you could only see them in the month of 
 June, when the foliage is at its fulness. Flowers every- 
 where yellow, blue, crimson! Music also everywhere 
 the song of birds, the murmuring of waters, and the 
 
 [100] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 balmy scents in the air. Then there are the lime-trees, 
 the wild cherry, and the hedges red with strawberries 
 it is intoxicating. And, whatever you may say, Mon- 
 sieur de Buxieres, I assure you that the beauty of the 
 forest is not a thing to be despised. Every season it is 
 renewed: in autumn, when the wild fruits and tinted 
 leaves contribute their wealth of color; in winter, with 
 its vast carpets of snow, from which the tall ash springs 
 to such a stately height look, now! up there!" 
 
 They were in the depths of the forest. Before them 
 were colonnades of slim, graceful trees, rising in one 
 unbroken line toward the skies, their slender branches 
 forming a dark network overhead, and their lofty pro- 
 portions lessening in the distance, until lost in the sol- 
 emn gloom beyond. A religious silence prevailed, 
 broken only by the occasional chirp of the wren, or the 
 soft pattering of some smaller four-footed race. 
 
 "How beautiful!" exclaimed Reine, with animation; 
 "one might imagine one's self in a cathedral! Oh! 
 how I love the forest; a feeling of awe and devotion 
 comes over me, and makes me want to kneel down and 
 pray!" 
 
 Julien looked at her with an uneasy kind of admira- 
 tion. She was walking slowly now, grave and thought- 
 ful, as if in church. Her white hood had fallen on her 
 shoulders, and her hair, slightly stirred by the wind, 
 floated like a dark aureole around her pale face. Her 
 luminous eyes gleamed between the double fringes of 
 her eyelids, and her mobile nostrils quivered with sup- 
 pressed emotion. As she passed along, the brambles 
 from the wayside, intermixed with ivy and other hardy 
 
 [101] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 plants, caught on the hem of her dress and formed a 
 verdant train, giving her the appearance of the high- 
 priestess of some mysterious temple of Nature. At this 
 moment, she identified herself so perfectly with her 
 nickname, "queen of the woods," that Julien, already 
 powerfully affected by her peculiar and striking style 
 of beauty, began to experience a superstitious dread of 
 her influence. His Catholic scruples, or the remem- 
 brance of certain pious lectures administered in his 
 childhood, rendered him distrustful, and he reproached 
 himself for the interest he took in the conversation of 
 this seductive creature. He recalled the legends of 
 temptations to which the Evil One used to subject the 
 anchorites of old, by causing to appear before them the 
 attractive but illusive forms of the heathen deities. He 
 wondered whether he were not becoming the sport of 
 the same baleful influence; if, like the Lamias and 
 Dryads of antiquity, this queen of the woods were 
 not some spirit of the elements, incarnated in human 
 form and sent to him for the purpose of dragging his 
 soul down to perdition. 
 
 In this frame of mind he followed in her footsteps, 
 cautiously, and at a distance, when she suddenly turned, 
 as if waiting for him to rejoin her. He then perceived 
 that they had reached the end of the copse, and before 
 them lay an open space, on which the cut lumber lay in 
 cords, forming dark heaps on the frosty ground. Here 
 and there were allotments of chosen trees and poles, 
 among which a thin spiral of smoke indicated the en- 
 campment of the cutters. Reine made straight for 
 them, and immediately presented the new owner of the 
 
 [102] 
 

 A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 chateau to the workmen. They made their awkward 
 obeisances, scrutinizing him in the mistrustful manner 
 customary with the peasants of mountainous regions 
 when they meet strangers. The master workman then 
 turned to Reine, replying to her remarks in a respectful 
 but familiar tone: 
 
 "Make yourself easy, mamselle, we shall do our best 
 and rush things in order to get through with the work. 
 Besides, if you will come this way with me, you will see 
 that there is no idling; we are just now going to fell an 
 oak, and before a quarter of an hour is over it will be 
 lying on the ground, cut off as neatly as if with a razor." 
 
 They drew near the spot where the first strokes of the 
 axe were already resounding. The giant tree did not 
 seem affected by them, but remained haughty and im- 
 movable. Then the blows redoubled until the trunk 
 began to tremble from the base to the summit, like a 
 living thing. The steel had made the bark, the sap- 
 wood, and even the core of the tree, fly in shivers; but 
 the oak had resumed its impassive attitude, and bore 
 stoically the assaults of the workmen. Looking up- 
 ward, as it reared its proud and stately head, one would 
 have affirmed that it never could fall. Suddenly the 
 woodsmen fell back; there was a moment of solemn 
 and terrible suspense ; then the enormous trunk heaved 
 and plunged down among the brushwood with an alarm- 
 ing crash of breaking branches. A sound as of lamen- 
 tation rumbled through the icy forest, and then all was 
 still. 
 
 The men, with unconscious emotion, stood contem- 
 plating the monarch oak lying prostrate on the ground. 
 
 [103] 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 Reine had turned pale; her dark eyes glistened with 
 tears. 
 
 "Let us go," murmured she to Julien; "this death 
 of a tree affects me as if it were that of a Christian." 
 
 They took leave of the woodsmen, and reentered the 
 forest. Reine kept silence and her companion was at 
 a loss to resume the conversation; so they journeyed 
 along together quietly until they reached a border 
 line, whence they could perceive the smoke from the 
 roofs of Vivey. 
 
 "You have only to go straight down the hill to reach 
 your home," said she, briefly; u au revoir, Monsieur de 
 Buxieres." 
 
 Thus they quitted each other, and, looking back, he 
 saw that she slackened her speed and went dreamily 
 on in the direction of Planche-au-Vacher. 
 
 [104] 
 

 CHAPTER V 
 
 LOVE'S INDISCRETION 
 
 N the mountainous region of Langres, 
 spring can hardly be said to appear 
 before the end of May. Until that 
 time the cold weather holds its own; 
 the white frosts, and the sharp, sleety 
 April showers, as well as the sudden 
 windstorms due to the malign influ- 
 ence of the ice-gods, arrest vegetation, 
 and only a few of the more hardy plants venture to put 
 forth their trembling shoots until later. But, as June 
 approaches and the earth becomes warmed through by 
 the sun, a sudden metamorphosis is effected. Some- 
 times a single night is sufficient for the floral spring to 
 burst forth in all its plenitude. The hedges are alive 
 with lilies and woodruffs; the blue columbines shake 
 their foolscap-like blossoms along the green side-paths; 
 the milky spikes of the Virgin plant rise slender and 
 tall among the bizarre and many-colored orchids. Mile 
 after mile, the forest unwinds its fairy show of changing 
 scenes. Sometimes one comes upon a spot of perfect 
 verdure; at other times one wanders in almost complete 
 darkness under the thick interlacing boughs of the ash- 
 trees, through which occasional gleams of light fall on 
 the dark soil or on the spreading ferns. Now the wan- 
 
 [105] 
 
ANDRti THEURIET 
 
 derer emerges upon an open space so full of sunshine 
 that the strawberries are already ripening; near them 
 are stacked the tender young trees, ready for spacing, 
 and the billets of wood piled up and half covered with 
 thistle and burdock leaves; and a little farther away, 
 half hidden by tall weeds, teeming with insects, rises the 
 peaked top of the woodsman's hut. Here one walks be- 
 side deep, grassy trenches, which appear to continue 
 without end, along the forest level; farther, the wild 
 mint and the centaurea perfume the shady nooks, the 
 oaks and lime-trees arch their spreading branches, and 
 the honeysuckle twines itself round the knotty shoots of 
 the hornbeam, whence the thrush gives forth her joy- 
 ous, sonorous notes. 
 
 Not only in the forest, but also in the park belonging 
 to the chateau, and in the village orchards, spring had 
 donned a holiday costume. Through the open windows, 
 between the massive bunches of lilacs, hawthorn, and 
 laburnum blossoms, Julien de Buxieres caught glimpses 
 of rolling meadows and softly tinted vistas. The gentle 
 twittering of the birds and the mysterious eall of the 
 cuckoo, mingled with the perfume of flowers, stole into 
 his study, and produced a sense of enjoyment as novel 
 to him as it was delightful. Having until the present 
 time lived a sedentary life in cities, he had had no op- 
 portunity of experiencing this impression of nature in 
 her awakening and luxuriant aspect; never had he felt 
 so completely under the seductive influence of the god- 
 dess Mai'a than at this season when the abundant sap 
 exudes in a white foam from the trunk of the willow; 
 when between the plant world and ourselves a magnetic 
 
 [106] 
 

 A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 current seems to exist, which seeks to wed their frater- 
 nizing emanations with our own personality. He was 
 oppressed by the vividness of the verdure, intoxicated 
 with the odor of vegetation, agitated by the confused 
 music of the birds, and in this May fever of excitement, 
 his thoughts wandered with secret delight to Reine Vin- 
 cart, to this queen of the woods, who was the personi- 
 fication of all the witchery of the forest. Since their 
 January promenade in the glades of Charbonniere, he 
 had seen her at a distance, sometimes on Sundays in the 
 little church at Vivey, sometimes like a fugitive appa- 
 rition at the turn of a road. They had also exchanged 
 formal salutations, but had not spoken to each other. 
 More than once, after the night had fallen, Julien had 
 stopped in front of the courtyard of La Thuiliere, and 
 watched the lamps being lighted inside. But he had 
 not ventured to knock at the door of the house; a fool- 
 ish timidity had prevented him; so he had returned to 
 the cMteau, dissatisfied and reproaching himself for 
 allowing his awkward shyness to interpose, as it were, 
 a wall of ice between himself and the only person whose 
 acquaintance seemed to him desirable. 
 
 At other times he would become alarmed at the large 
 place a woman occupied in his thoughts, and he con- 
 gratulated himself on having resisted the dangerous 
 temptation of seeing Mademoiselle Vincart again. He 
 acknowledged that this singular girl had for him an at- 
 traction against which he ought to be on his guard. 
 Reine might be said to live alone at La Thuiliere, for 
 her father could hardly be regarded seriously as a pro- 
 tector. Julien J s visits might have compromised her, and 
 
ANDRtf THEURIET 
 
 the young man's severe principles of rectitude forbade 
 him to cause scandal which he could not repair. He 
 was not thinking of marriage, and even had his thoughts 
 inclined that way, the proprieties and usages of society 
 which he had always in some degree respected, would 
 not allow him to wed a peasant girl. It was evident, 
 therefore, that both prudence and uprightness would 
 enjoin him to carry on any future relations with Made- 
 moiselle Vincart with the greatest possible reserve. 
 
 Nevertheless, and in spite of these sage reflections, 
 the enchanting image of Reine haunted him more than 
 was at all reasonable. Often, during his hours of watch- 
 fulness, he would see her threading the avenues of the 
 forest, her dark hair half floating in the breeze, and 
 wearing her white hood and her skirt bordered with 
 ivy. Since the spring had returned, she had become 
 associated in his mind with all the magical effects of na- 
 ture's renewal. He discovered the liquid light of her 
 dark eyes in the rippling darkness of the streams; the 
 lilies recalled the faintly tinted paleness of her cheeks; 
 the silene roses, scattered throughout the hedges, called 
 forth the remembrance of the young maiden's rosy lips, 
 and the vernal odor of the leaves appeared to him like 
 an emanation of her graceful and wholesome nature. 
 
 This state of feeling began to act like an obsession, a 
 sort of witchcraft, which alarmed him. What was she 
 really, this strange creature ? A peasant indeed, appar- 
 ently; but there was also something more refined and 
 cultivated about her, due, doubtless, to her having re- 
 ceived her education in a city school. She both felt and 
 expressed herself differently from ordinary country 
 
 [108] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 girls, although retaining the frankness and untutored 
 charm of rustic natures. She exercised an uneasy fas- 
 cination over Julien, and at times he returned to the 
 superstitious impression made upon him by Reine's 
 behavior and discourse in the forest. He again ques- 
 tioned with himself whether this female form, in its un- 
 tamed beauty, did not enfold some spirit of temptation, 
 some insidious fairy, similar to the Melusine, who ap- 
 peared to Count Raymond in the forest of Poitiers. 
 
 Most of the time he would himself laugh at this ex- 
 travagant supposition, but, while endeavoring to make 
 light of his own cowardice, the idea still haunted and 
 tormented him. Sometimes, in the effort to rid himself 
 of the persistence of his own imagination, he would try 
 to exorcise the demon who had got hold of him, and this 
 exorcism consisted in despoiling the image of his tempt- 
 ress of the veil of virginal purity with which his admira- 
 tion had first invested her. Who could assure him, 
 after all, that this girl, with her independent ways, liv- 
 ing alone at her farm, running through the woods at 
 all hours, was as irreproachable as he had imagined? 
 In the village, certainly, she was respected by all ; but 
 people were very tolerant very easy, in fact on the 
 question of morals in this district, where the gallantries 
 of Claude de Buxieres were thought quite natural, where 
 the illegitimacy of Claud et offended no one's sense of 
 the proprieties, and where the after-dinner conversa- 
 tions, among the class considered respectable, were 
 such as Julien had listened to with repugnance. Nev- 
 ertheless, even in his most suspicious moods, Julien had 
 never dared broach the subject to Claudet. 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 Every time that the name of Reine Vincart had come 
 to his lips, a feeling of bashfulness, in addition to his 
 ordinary timidity, had prevented him from interroga- 
 ting Claudet concerning the character of this mysterious 
 queen of the woods. Like all novices in love-affairs 
 Julien dreaded that his feelings should be divined, at 
 the mere mention of the young girPs name. He pre- 
 ferred to remain isolated, concentrating in himself his 
 desires, his trouble and his doubts. 
 
 Yet, whatever efforts he made, and however firmly 
 he adhered to his resolution of silence, the hypochon- 
 dria from which he suffered could not escape the notice 
 of the grand chasserot. He was not clear-sighted enough 
 to discern the causes, but he could observe the effects. 
 It provoked him to find that all his efforts to enliven his 
 cousin had proved futile. He had cudgelled his brains 
 to comprehend whence came these fits of terrible melan- 
 choly, and, judging Julien by himself, came to the 
 conclusion that his ennui proceeded from an excess of 
 strictness and good behavior. 
 
 "Monsieur de Buxieres," said he, one evening when 
 they were walking silently, side by side, in the avenues 
 of the park, which resounded with the song of the night- 
 ingales, "there is one thing that troubles me, and that 
 is that you do not confide in me." 
 
 "What makes you think so, Claudet ?" demanded 
 Julien, with surprise. 
 
 " Parbleu ! the way you act. You are, if I may say so, 
 too secretive. When you wanted to make amends for 
 Claude de Buxieres's negligence, and proposed that I 
 should live here with you, I accepted without any cere- 
 
 [no] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 mony. I hoped that in giving me a place at your fire 
 and your table, you would also give me one in your 
 affections, and that you would allow me to share your 
 sorrows, like a true brother comrade " 
 
 "I assure you, my dear fellow, that you are mistaken. 
 If I had any serious trouble on my mind, you should be 
 the first to know it." 
 
 "Oh! that's all very well to say; but you are unhappy 
 all the same one can see it in your mien, and shall I 
 tell you the reason ? It is that you are too sedate, Mon- 
 sieur de Buxieres; you have need of a sweetheart to 
 brighten up your days." 
 
 "Ho, ho!" replied Julien, coloring, "do you wish to 
 have me married, Claudet?" 
 
 "Ah! that's another affair. No; but still I should 
 like to see you take some interest in a woman some 
 gay young person who would rouse you up and make 
 you have a good time. There is no lack of such in the 
 district, and you would only have the trouble of choos- 
 ing." 
 
 M. de Buxieres' s color deepened, and he was visibly 
 annoyed. 
 
 "That is a singular proposition," exclaimed he, after 
 awhile; "do you take me for a libertine?" 
 
 "Don't get on your high horse, Monsieur de Bux- 
 ieres! There would be no one hurt. The girls I allude 
 to are not so difficult to approach." 
 
 "That has nothing to do with it, Claudet; I do not 
 enjoy that kind of amusement." 
 
 "It is the kind that young men of our age indulge in, 
 all the same. Perhaps you think there would be diffi- 
 
ANDR& THEURIET 
 
 culties in the way. They would not be insurmountable, 
 I can assure you; those matters go smoothly enough 
 here. You slip your arm round her waist, give her a 
 good, sounding salute, and the acquaintance is begun. 
 You have only to improve it!" 
 
 "Enough of this," interrupted Julien, harshly, "we 
 never can agree on such topics!" 
 
 "As you please, Monsieur de Buxieres; since you do 
 not like the subject, we will not bring it up again. If 
 I mentioned it at all, it was that I saw you were not in- 
 terested in either hunting or fishing, and thought you 
 might prefer some other kind of game. I do wish I knew 
 what to propose that would give you a little pleasure," 
 continued Claudet, who was profoundly mortified at 
 the ill-success of his overtures. "Now! I have it. Will 
 you come with me to-morrow, to the Ronces woods? 
 The charcoal-dealers who are constructing their fur- 
 naces for the sale, will complete their dwellings this 
 evening and expect to celebrate in the morning. They 
 call it watering the bouquet, and it is the occasion of a 
 little festival, to which we, as well at the presiding offi- 
 cials of the cutting, are invited. Naturally, the guests 
 pay their share in bottles of wine. You can hardly be 
 excused from showing yourself among these good peo- 
 ple. It is one of the customs of the country. I have 
 promised to be there, and it is certain that Reine Vin- 
 cart, who has bought the Ronces property, will not fail 
 to be present at the ceremony." 
 
 Julien had already the words on his lips for declining 
 Claudet's offer, when the name of Reine Vincart pro- 
 duced an immediate change in his resolution. It just 
 
 [112] 
 

 A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 crossed his mind that perhaps Claudet had thrown out 
 her name as a bait and an argument in favor of his 
 theories on the facility of love-affairs in the country. 
 However that might be, the allusion to the probable 
 presence of Mademoiselle Vincart at the coming fete, 
 rendered young Buxieres more tractable, and he made 
 no further difficulties about accompanying his cousin. 
 The next morning, after partaking hastily of break- 
 fast, they started on their way toward the cutting. The 
 charcoal-dealers had located themselves on the border 
 of the forest, not far from the spot where, in the month 
 of January, Reine and Julien had visited the wood- 
 cutters. Under the sheltering branches of a great ash- 
 tree, the newly erected hut raised its peaked roof cov- 
 ered with clods of turf, and two furnaces, just completed, 
 occupied the ground lately prepared. One of them, 
 ready for use, was covered with the black earth called 
 frazil, which is extracted from the site of old charcoal- 
 works; the other, in course of construction, showed the 
 successive layers of logs ranged in circles inside, ready 
 for the fire. The workmen moved around, going and 
 coming; first, the head-man or patron, a man of middle 
 age, of hairy chest, embrowned visage, and small beady 
 eyes under bushy eyebrows ; his wife, a little, shrivelled, 
 elderly woman; their daughter, a thin awkward girl of 
 seventeen, with fluffy hair and a cunning, hard expres- 
 sion ; and finally, their three boys, robust young fellows, 
 serving their apprenticeship at the trade. This party 
 was reenforced by one or two more single men, and 
 some of the daughters of the woodchoppers, attracted by 
 the prospect of a day of dancing and joyous feasting. 
 8 ["31 
 
ANDRti THEURIET 
 
 These persons were sauntering in and out under the 
 trees, waiting for the dinner, which was to be furnished 
 mainly by the guests, the contribution of the charcoal- 
 men being limited to a huge pot of potatoes which the 
 patroness was cooking over the fire, kindled in front of 
 the hut. 
 
 The arrival of Julien and Claudet, attended by the 
 small cowboy, puffing and blowing under a load of pro- 
 visions, was hailed with exclamations of gladness and 
 welcome. While one of the assistants was carefully un- 
 rolling the big loaves of white bread, the enormous meat 
 pastry, and the bottles encased in straw, Reine Vincart 
 appeared suddenly on the scene, accompanied by one 
 of the farm-hands, who was also tottering under the 
 weight of a huge basket, from the corners of which 
 peeped the ends of bottles, and the brown knuckle of a 
 smoked ham. At sight of the young proprietress of La 
 Thuiliere, the hurrahs burst forth again, with redoubled 
 and more sustained energy. As she stood there smiling, 
 under the greenish shadow cast by the ash-trees, Reine 
 appeared to Julien even more seductive than among 
 the frosty surroundings of the previous occasion. Her 
 simple and rustic spring costume was marvellously be- 
 coming: a short blue-and-yellow striped skirt, a tight 
 jacket of light-colored material, fitted closely to the 
 waist, a flat linen collar tied with a narrow blue ribbon, 
 and a bouquet of woodruff at her bosom. She wore 
 stout leather boots, and a large straw hat, which she 
 threw carelessly down on entering the hut. Among so 
 many faces of a different type, all somewhat disfigured 
 by hardships of exposure, this lovely face with its olive 
 
 t4] 
 

 A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 complexion, lustrous black eyes, and smiling red lips, 
 framed in dark, soft, wavy hair resting on her plump 
 shoulders, seemed to spread a sunshiny glow over the 
 scene. It was a veritable portrayal of the "queen of the 
 woods," appearing triumphant among her rustic sub- 
 jects. As an emblem of her royal prerogative, she held 
 in her hand an enormous bouquet of flowers she had 
 gathered on her way: honeysuckles, columbine, all sorts 
 of grasses with shivering spikelets, black alder blossoms 
 with their white centres, and a profusion of scarlet pop- 
 pies. Each of these exhaled its own salubrious spring- 
 like perfume, and a light cloud of pollen, which covered 
 the eyelashes and hair of the young girl with a delicate 
 white powder. 
 
 "Here, Pere Theotime," said she, handing her col- 
 lection over to the master charcoal-dealer, "I gathered 
 these for you to ornament the roof of your dwelling." 
 
 She then drew near to Claudet; gave him her hand 
 in comrade fashion, and saluted Julien: 
 
 "Good-morning, Monsieur de Buxieres, I am very 
 glad to see you here. Was it Claudet who brought you, 
 or did you come of your own accord?" 
 
 While Julien, dazed and bewildered, was seeking a 
 reply, she passed quickly to the next group, going from 
 one to another, and watching with interest the placing 
 of the bouquet on the summit of the hut. One of the 
 men brought a ladder and fastened the flowers to a 
 spike. When they were securely attached and began 
 to nod in the air, he waved his hat and shouted: "Hou, 
 houp!" This was the signal for going to table. 
 
 The food had been spread on the tablecloth under 
 [115] 
 
ANDR& THEURIET 
 
 the shade of the ash-trees, and all the guests sat around 
 on sacks of charcoal; for Reine and Julien alone they 
 had reserved two stools, made by the master, and thus 
 they found themselves seated side by side. Soon a pro- 
 found, almost religious, silence indicated that the attack 
 was about to begin; after which, and when the first fury 
 of their appetites had been appeased, the tongues began 
 to be loosened: jokes and anecdotes, seasoned with 
 loud bursts of laughter, were bandied to and fro under 
 the spreading branches, and presently the wine lent its 
 aid to raise the spirits of the company to an exuberant 
 pitch. But there was a certain degree of restraint ob- 
 served by these country folk. Was it owing to Reine's 
 presence? Julien noticed that the remarks of the 
 working-people were in a very much better tone than 
 those of the Auberive gentry, with whom he had break- 
 fasted; the gayety of these children of the woods, al- 
 though of a common kind, was always kept within 
 decent limits, and he never once had occasion to feel 
 ashamed. He felt more at ease among them than among 
 the notables of the borough, and he did not regret hav- 
 ing accepted Claudet's invitation. 
 
 "I am glad I came," murmured he in Reine's ear, 
 "and I never have eaten with so much enjoyment!" 
 
 "Ah! I am glad of it," replied the young girl, gayly, 
 "perhaps now you will begin to like our woods." 
 
 When nothing was left on the table but bones and 
 empty bottles, Pere Theotime took a bottle of sealed 
 wine, drew the cork, and filled the glasses. 
 
 "Now," said he, "before christening our bouquet, we 
 will drink to Monsieur de Buxieres, who has brought 
 
 [116] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 us his good wine, and to our sweet lady, Mademoiselle 
 Vincart" 
 
 The glasses clinked, and the toasts were drunk with 
 fervor. 
 
 "Mamselle Reine," resumed Pere Theotime, with a 
 certain amount of solemnity, "you can see, the hut is 
 built ; it will be occupied to-night, and I trust good work 
 will be done. You can perceive from here our first fur- 
 nace, all decorated and ready to be set alight. But, in 
 order that good luck shall attend us, you yourself must 
 set light to the fire. I ask you, therefore, to ascend to 
 the top of the chimney and throw in the first embers; 
 may I ask this of your good-nature?" 
 
 "Why, certainly!" replied Reine, "come, Monsieur 
 de Buxieres, you must see how we light a charcoal fur- 
 
 nace." 
 
 All the guests jumped from their seats; one of the 
 men took the ladder and leaned it against the sloping 
 side of the furnace. Meanwhile, Pere Theotime was 
 bringing an earthen vase full of burning embers. Reine 
 skipped lightly up the steps, and when she reached the 
 top, stood erect near the orifice of the furnace. 
 
 Her graceful outline came out in strong relief against 
 the clear sky; one by one, she took the embers handed 
 her by the charcoal-dealer, and threw them into the 
 opening in the middle of the furnace. Soon there was a 
 crackling inside, followed by a dull rumbling; the chips 
 and rubbish collected at the bottom had caught fire, 
 and the air-holes left at the base of the structure facili- 
 tated the passage of the current, and hastened the kin- 
 dling of the wood. 
 
ANDR& THEURIET 
 
 " Bravo; we've got it!" exclaimed Pere Theotime. 
 
 "Bravo!" repeated the young people, as much ex- 
 hilarated with the open air as with the two or three 
 glasses of white wine they had drunk. Lads and lasses 
 joined hands and leaped impetuously around the fur- 
 nace. 
 
 "A song, Reine! Sing us a song!" cried the young 
 girls. 
 
 She stood at the foot of the ladder, and, without fur- 
 ther solicitation, intoned, in her clear and sympathetic 
 voice, a popular song, with a rhythmical refrain : 
 
 My father bid me 
 
 Go sell my wheat. 
 To the market we drove 
 
 "Good-morrow, my sweet! 
 How much, can you say, 
 
 Will its value prove?" 
 
 The embroidered rose 
 Lies on my glove. 
 
 "A hundred francs 
 
 Will its value prove." 
 "When you sell your wheat, 
 
 Do you sell your love?" 
 
 The embroidered rose 
 Lies on my glove! 
 
 "My heart, Monsieur, 
 
 Will never rove, 
 I have promised it 
 
 To my own true love. " 
 
 The embroidered rose 
 Lies on my glove. 
 [118] 
 

 A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 "For me he braves 
 
 The wind and the rain; 
 For me he weaves 
 A silver chain." 
 
 On my 'broidered glove. 
 Lies the rose again. 
 
 Repeating the refrain in chorus, boys and girls danced 
 and leaped in the sunlight. Julien leaned against the 
 trunk of a tree, listening to the sonorous voice of Reine, 
 and could not take his eyes off the singer. When she 
 had ended her song, Reine turned in another direction; 
 but the dancers had got into the spirit of it and could 
 not stand still; one of the men came forward, and 
 started another popular air, which all the rest repeated in 
 unison : 
 
 Up in the woods 
 
 Sleeps the fairy to-day: 
 The king, her lover, 
 Has strolled that way! 
 
 Will those who are young 
 Be married or nay? 
 Yea, yea! 
 
 Carried away by the rhythm, and the pleasure of 
 treading the soft grass under their feet, the dancers 
 quickened their pace. The chain of young folks dis- 
 connected for a moment, was reformed, and twisted in 
 and out among the trees; sometimes in light, some- 
 times in shadow, until they disappeared, singing, into 
 the very heart of the forest. With the exception of Pere 
 The*otime and his wife, who had gone to superintend 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 the furnace, all the guests, including Claudet, had 
 joined the gay throng. Reine and Julien, the only ones 
 remaining behind, stood in the shade near the border- 
 line of the forest.. It was high noon, and the sun's rays, 
 shooting perpendicularly down, made the shade desira- 
 ble. Reine proposed to her companion to enter the hut 
 and rest, while waiting for the return of the dancers. 
 Julien accepted readily; but not without being sur- 
 prised that the young girl should be the first to suggest 
 a tete-a-tete in the obscurity of a remote hut. Although 
 more than ever fascinated by the unusual beauty of 
 Mademoiselle Vincart, he was astonished, and occa- 
 sionally shocked, by the audacity and openness of her 
 action toward him. Once more the spirit of doubt took 
 possession of him, and he questioned whether this free- 
 dom of manners was to be attributed to innocence or 
 effrontery. After the pleasant friendliness of the mid- 
 day repast, and the enlivening effect of the dance round 
 the furnace, he was both glad and troubled to find him- 
 self alone with Reine. He longed to let her know what 
 tender admiration she excited in his mind; r but he did 
 not know how to set about it, nor in what style to address 
 a girl of so strange and unusual a disposition. So he 
 contented himself with fixing an enamored gaze upon 
 her, while she stood leaning against one of the inner 
 posts, and twisted mechanically between her fingers a 
 branch of wild honeysuckle. Annoyed at his taci- 
 turnity, she at last broke the silence: 
 
 "You are not saying anything, Monsieur de Bux- 
 ieres; do you regret having come to this fete? " 
 
 "Regret it, Mademoiselle?" returned he; "it is a 
 [120] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 long time since I have had so pleasant a day, and I 
 thank you, for it is to you I owe it." 
 
 "To me? You are joking. It is the good-humor 
 of the people, the spring sunshine, and the pure air of 
 the forest that you must thank. I have no part in it." 
 
 "You are everything in it, on the contrary," said he, 
 tenderly. "Before I knew you, I had met with country 
 people, seen the sun and trees, and so on, and nothing 
 made any impression on me. But, just now, when you 
 were singing over there, I felt gladdened and inspired; 
 I felt the beauty of the woods, I sympathized with these 
 good people, and these grand trees, all these things 
 among which you live so happily. It is you who have 
 worked this miracle. Ah! you are well named. You 
 are truly the fairy of the feast, the queen of the 
 woods ! " 
 
 Astonished at the enthusiasm of her companion, Reine 
 looked at him side wise, half closing her eyes, and per- 
 ceived that he was altogether transformed. He ap- 
 peared to have suddenly thawed. He was no longer the 
 awkward, sickly youth, whose every movement was par- 
 alyzed by timidity, and whose words froze on his tongue ; 
 his slender frame had become supple, his blue eyes en- 
 larged and illuminated ; his delicate features expressed 
 refinement, tenderness, and passion. The young girl 
 was moved and won by so much emotion, the first that 
 Julien had ever manifested toward her. Far from be- 
 ing offended at this species of declaration, she replied, 
 gayly: 
 
 "As to the queen of the woods working miracles, I 
 know none so powerful as these flowers." 
 
 [Mil 
 
ANDR& THEURIET 
 
 She unfastened the bouquet of white starry woodruff 
 from her corsage, and handed them over to him in their 
 envelope of green leaves. 
 
 "Do you know them?" said she; "see how sweet 
 they smell! And the odor increases as they wither." 
 
 Julien had carried the bouquet to his lips, and was 
 inhaling slowly the delicate perfume. 
 
 "Our woodsmen," she continued, "make with this 
 plant a broth which cures from ill effects of either cold 
 or heat as if by enchantment; they also infuse it into 
 white wine, and convert it into a beverage which they 
 call May wine, and which is very intoxicating." 
 
 Julien was no longer listening to these details. He 
 kept his eyes steadily fixed on Mademoiselle Vincart, 
 and continued to inhale rapturously the bouquet, and to 
 experience a kind of intoxication. 
 
 "Let me keep these flowers," he implored, in a chok- 
 ing voice. 
 
 "Certainly," replied she, gayly; "keep them, if it 
 will give you pleasure." 
 
 "Thank you," he murmured, hiding them in his 
 bosom. 
 
 Reine was surprised at his attaching such exagger- 
 ated importance to so slight a favor, and a sudden flush 
 overspread her cheeks. She almost repented having 
 given him the flowers when she saw what a tender 
 reception he had given them, so she replied, suggest- 
 ively : 
 
 "Do not thank me; the gift is not significant. Thou- 
 sands of similar flowers grow in the forest, and one has 
 only to stoop and gather them." 
 
 [122] 
 

 A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 He dared not reply that this bouquet, having been 
 worn by her, was worth much more to him than any 
 other, but he thought it, and the thought aroused in his 
 mind a series of new ideas. As Reine had so readily 
 granted this first favor, was she not tacitly encouraging 
 him to ask for others ? Was he dealing with a simple, 
 innocent girl, or a village coquette, accustomed to be 
 courted? And on this last supposition should he not 
 pass for a simpleton in the eyes of this experienced girl, 
 if he kept himself at too great a distance. He remem- 
 bered the advice of Claudet concerning the method of 
 conducting love-affairs smoothly with certain women of 
 the country. Whether she was a coquette or not, Reine 
 had bewitched him. The charm had worked more pow- 
 erfully still since he had been alone with her in this ob- 
 scure hut, where the cooing of the wild pigeons faintly 
 reached their ears, and the penetrating odors of the for- 
 est pervaded their nostrils. Julien's gaze rested lov- 
 ingly on Reine's wavy locks, falling heavily over her 
 neck, on her half -covered eyes with their luminous pu- 
 pils full of golden specks of light, on her red lips, on the 
 two little brown moles spotting her somewhat decollete 
 neck. He thought her adorable, and was dying to tell 
 her so; but when he endeavored to formulate his dec- 
 laration, the words stuck fast in his throat, his veins 
 swelled, his throat became dry, his head swam. In this 
 disorder of his faculties he brought to mind the rec- 
 ommendation of Claudet: "One arm round the waist, 
 two sounding kisses, and the thing is done." He rose 
 abruptly, and went up to the young girl: 
 
 "Since you have given me these flowers," he began, 
 [123] 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 in a husky voice, "will you also, in sign of friendship, 
 give me your hand, as you gave it to Claudet?" 
 
 After a moment's hesitation, she held out her hand; 
 but, hardly had he touched it when he completely lost 
 control of himself, and slipping the arm which remained 
 free around Reine's waist, he drew her toward him and 
 lightly touched with his lips her neck, the beauty of 
 which had so magnetized him. 
 
 The young girl was stronger than he; in the twinkling 
 of an eye she tore herself from his audacious clasp, 
 threw him violently backward, and with one bound 
 reached the door of the hut. She stood there a moment, 
 pale, indignant, her eyes blazing, and then exclaimed, 
 in a hollow voice : 
 
 "If you come a step nearer, I will call the charcoal- 
 men!" 
 
 But Julien had no desire to renew the attack; already 
 sobered, cowed, and repentant, he had retreated to the 
 most obscure corner of the dwelling. 
 
 "Are you mad?" she continued, with vehemence, 
 "or has the wine got into your head ? It is rather early 
 for you to be adopting the ways of your deceased 
 cousin! I give you notice that they will not succeed 
 with me ! " And, at the same moment, tears of humilia- 
 tion filled her eyes. " I did not expect this of you, Mon- 
 sieur de Buxieres!" 
 
 "Forgive me!" faltered Julien, whose heart smote 
 him at the sight of her tears; "I have behaved like a 
 miserable sinner and a brute! It was a moment of 
 madness forget it and forgive me!" 
 
 "Nobody ever treated me with disrespect before," 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 returned the young girl, in a suffocated voice; "I was 
 wrong to allow you any familiarity, that is all. It shall 
 not happen to me again!" 
 
 Julien remained mute, overpowered with shame and 
 remorse. Suddenly, in the stillness around, rose the 
 voices of the dancers returning and singing the refrain 
 of the rondelay: 
 
 I had a rose 
 
 On my heart it lay 
 Will those who are young 
 
 Be married, or nay? 
 Yea, yea! 
 
 "There are our people," said Reine, softly, "I am 
 going to them; adieu do not follow me!" 
 
 She left the hut and hastened toward the furnace, 
 while Julien, stunned with the rapidity with which this 
 unfortunate scene had been enacted, sat down on one 
 of the benches, a prey to confused feelings of shame 
 and angry mortification. No, certainly, he did not in- 
 tend to follow her! He had no desire to show himself 
 in public with this young girl whom he had so stupidly 
 insulted, and in whose face he never should be able to 
 look again. Decidedly, he did not understand women, 
 since he could not even tell a virtuous girl from a frivo- 
 lous coquette! Why had he not been able to see that 
 the good-natured, simple familiarity of Reine Vincart 
 had nothing in common with the enticing allurements 
 of those who, to use Claudet's words, had "thrown 
 their caps over the wall." How was it that he had not 
 read, in those eyes, pure as the fountain's source, the 
 
ANDRfi THEURIET 
 
 candor and uprightness of a maiden heart which had 
 nothing to conceal. This cruel evidence of his inability 
 to conduct himself properly in the affairs of life exas- 
 perated and humiliated him, and at the same time that 
 he felt his self-love most deeply wounded, he was con- 
 scious of being more hopelessly enamored of Reine 
 Vincart. Never had she appeared so beautiful as dur- 
 ing the indignant movement which had separated her 
 from him. Her look of mingled anger and sadness, 
 the expression of her firm, set lips, the quivering nos- 
 trils, the heaving of her bosom, he recalled it all, and 
 the image of her proud beauty redoubled his grief and 
 despair. 
 
 He remained a long time concealed in the shadow of 
 the hut. Finally, when he heard the voices dying away 
 in different directions, and was satisfied that the char- 
 coal-men were attending to their furnace work, he 
 made up his mind to come out. But, as he did not wish 
 to meet any one, instead of crossing through the cutting 
 he plunged into the wood, taking no heed in what direc- 
 tion he went, and being desirous of walking alone as 
 long as possible, without meeting a single human visage. 
 
 As he wandered aimlessly through the deepening 
 shadows of the forest, crossed here and there by golden 
 bars of light from the slanting rays of the setting sun, 
 he pondered over the probable results of his unfortunate 
 behavior. Reine would certainly keep silence on the 
 affront she had received, but would she be indulgent 
 enough to forget or forgive the insult? The most evi- 
 dent result of the affair would be that henceforth all 
 friendly relations between them must cease. She cer- 
 
 [ I2 6] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 tainly would maintain a severe attitude toward the per- 
 son who had so grossly insulted her, but would she be 
 altogether pitiless in her anger ? All through his dismal 
 feelings of self-reproach, a faint hope of reconciliation 
 kept him from utter despair. As he reviewed the details 
 of the shameful occurrence, he remembered that the 
 expression of her countenance had been one more of 
 sorrow than of anger. The tone of melancholy re- 
 proach in which she had uttered the words: "I did not 
 expect this from you, Monsieur de Buxieres!" seemed 
 to convey the hope that he might, one day, be forgiven. 
 At the same time, the poignancy of his regret showed 
 him how much hold the young girl had taken upon his 
 affections, and how cheerless and insipid his life would 
 be if he were obliged to continue on unfriendly terms 
 with the woodland queen. 
 
 He had come to this conclusion in his melancholy re- 
 flections, when he reached the outskirts of the forest. 
 
 He stood above the calm, narrow valley of Vivey; 
 on the right, over the tall ash-trees, peeped the pointed 
 turrets of the chateau; on the left, and a little farther 
 behind, was visible a whitish line, contrasting with the 
 surrounding verdure, the winding path to La Thuiliere, 
 through the meadow-land of Planche-au-Vacher. Sud- 
 denly, the sound of voices reached his ears, and, looking 
 more closely, he perceived Reine and Claudet walking 
 side by side down the narrow path. The evening air 
 softened the resonance of the voices, so that the words 
 themselves were' not audible, but the intonation of the 
 alternate speakers, and their confidential and friendly 
 gestures, evinced a very animated, if not tender, ex- 
 
 [127] 
 
ANDRti THEUR1ET 
 
 change of sentiments. At times the conversation was 
 enlivened by Claudet's bursts of laughter, or an amica- 
 ble gesture from Reine. At one moment, Julien saw the 
 young girl lay her hand familiarly on the shoulder of 
 the grand chasserot, and immediately a pang of intense 
 jealousy shot through his heart. At last the young pair 
 arrived at the banks of a stream, which traversed the 
 path and had become swollen by the recent heavy rains. 
 Claudet took Reine by the waist and lifted her in his vig- 
 orous arms, while he picked his way across the stream ; 
 then they resumed their way toward the bottom of the 
 pass, and the tall brushwood hid their retreating forms 
 from Julien' s eager gaze, although it was long before 
 the vibrations of their sonorous voices ceased echoing in 
 his ears. 
 
 "Ah!" thought he, quite overcome by this new de- 
 velopment, "she stands less on ceremony with him 
 than with me! How close they kept to each other in 
 that lonely path ! With what animation they conversed ! 
 with what abandon she allowed herself to be carried in 
 his arms! All that indicates an intimacy of long stand- 
 ing, and explains a good many things!" 
 
 He recalled Reine's visit to the chateau, and how 
 cleverly she had managed to inform him of the parent- 
 age existing between Claudet and the deceased Claude 
 de Buxieres; how she had by her conversation raised a 
 feeling of pity in his mind for Claudet, and a desire to 
 repair the negligence of the deceased. 
 
 "How could I be so blind!" thought Julien, with 
 secret scorn of himself; "I did not see anything, I com- 
 prehended none of their artifices! They love each 
 
 [128] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 other, that is sure, and I have been playing throughout 
 the part of a dupe. I do not blame him. He was in 
 love, and allowed himself to be persuaded. But she! 
 whom I thought so open, so true, so loyal! Ah! she is 
 no better than others of her class, and she was coquet- 
 ting with me in order to insure her lover a position! 
 Well! one more illusion is destroyed. Ecclesiastes was 
 right. Invent amarivrem morte mulierem, 'woman is 
 more bitter than death'!" 
 
 Twilight had come, and it was already dark in the 
 forest. Slowly and reluctantly, Julien descended the 
 slope leading to the chateau, and the gloom of the woods 
 entered his heart. 
 
 [129] 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 LOVE BY PROXY 
 
 EALOUSY is a maleficent deity of the 
 harpy tribe; she embitters everything 
 she touches. 
 
 Ever since the evening that Julien 
 had witnessed the crossing of the brook 
 by Reine and Claudet, a secret poison 
 had run through his veins, and embit- 
 tered every moment of his life. Nei- 
 ther the glowing sun of June, nor the glorious develop- 
 ment of the woods had any charm for him. In vain did 
 the fields display their golden treasures of ripening corn ; 
 in vain did the pale barley and the silvery oats wave their 
 luxuriant growth against the dark background of the 
 woods; all these fairylike effects of summer suggested 
 only prosaic and misanthropic reflections in Julien's 
 mind. He thought of the tricks, the envy and hatred 
 that the possession of these little squares of ground 
 brought forth among their rapacious owners. The pro- 
 lific exuberance of forest vegetation was an exemplifica- 
 tion of the fierce and destructive activity of the blind 
 forces of Nature. All the earth was a hateful theatre 
 for the continual enactment of bloody and monoto- 
 nous dramas; the worm consuming the plant ; the bird 
 mangling the insect, the deer fighting among them- 
 

 A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 selves, and man, in his turn, pursuing all kinds of game. 
 He identified nature with woman, both possessing in his 
 eyes an equally deceiving appearance, the same beguil- 
 ing beauty, and the same spirit of ambuscade and per- 
 fidy. The people around him inspired him only with 
 mistrust and suspicion. In every peasant he met he 
 recognized an enemy, prepared to cheat him with 
 wheedling words and hypocritical lamentations. Al- 
 though during the few months he had experienced the 
 delightful influence of Reine Vincart, he had been drawn 
 out of his former prejudices, and had imagined he was 
 rising above the littleness of every-day worries; he now 
 fell back into hard reality ; his feet were again embedded 
 in the muddy ground of village politics, and conse- 
 quently village life was a burden to him. 
 
 He never went out, fearing to meet Reine Vincart. 
 He fancied that the sight of her might aggravate the 
 malady from which he suffered and for which he eagerly 
 sought a remedy. 
 
 But, notwithstanding the cloistered retirement to 
 which he had condemned himself, his wound remained 
 open. Instead of solitude having a healing effect, it 
 seemed to make his sufferings greater. When, in the 
 evening, as he sat moodily at his window, he would hear 
 Claudet whistle to his dog, and hurry off in the direction 
 of La Thuiliere, he would say to himself: "He is going 
 to keep an appointment with Reine." Then a feeling 
 of blind rage would overpower him ; he felt tempted to 
 leave his room and follow his rival secretly a moment 
 afterward he would be ashamed of his meanness. Was 
 it not enough that he had once, although involuntarily, 
 
 [131] 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 played the degrading part of a spy! What satisfaction 
 could he derive from such a course ? Would he be much 
 benefited when he returned home with rage in his heart 
 and senses, after watching a love-scene between the 
 young pair? This consideration kept him in his seat, 
 but his imagination ran riot instead; it went galloping 
 at the heels of Claudet, and accompanied him down the 
 winding paths, moistened by the evening dew. As the 
 moon rose above the trees, illuminating the foliage with 
 her mild bluish rays, he pictured to himself the meeting 
 of the two lovers on the flowery turf bathed in the sil- 
 very light. His brain seemed on fire. He saw Reine in 
 white advancing like a moonbeam, and Claudet passing 
 his arm around the yielding waist of the maiden. He 
 tried to substitute himself in idea, and to imagine the 
 delight of the first words of welcome, and the ecstasy of 
 the prolonged embrace. A shiver ran through his whole 
 body; a sharp pain transfixed his heart; his throat 
 closed convulsively; half fainting, he leaned against the 
 window-frame, his eyes closed, his ears stopped, to shut 
 out all sights or sounds, longing only for oblivion and 
 complete torpor of body and mind. 
 
 He did not realize his longing. The enchanting 
 image of the woodland queen, as he had beheld her in 
 the dusky light of the charcoal-man's hut, was ever be- 
 fore him. He put his hands over his eyes. She was 
 there still, with her deep, dark eyes and her enticing 
 cherry lips. Even the odor of the honeysuckle arising 
 from the garden assisted the reality of the vision, by 
 recalling the sprig of the same flower which Reine was 
 twisting round her fingers at their last interview. This 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 sweet breath of flowers in the night seemed like an 
 emanation from the young girl herself, and was as fleet- 
 ing and intangible as the remembrance of vanished hap- 
 piness. Again and again did his morbid nature return 
 to past events, and make his present position more 
 unbearable. 
 
 "Why," thought he, "did I ever entertain so wild a 
 hope ? This wood-nymph, with her robust yet graceful 
 figure, her clear-headedness, her energy and will-power, 
 could she ever have loved a being so weak and unstable 
 as myself? No, indeed; she needs a lover full of life 
 and vigor; a huntsman, with a strong arm, able to pro- 
 tect her. What figure should I cut by the side of so 
 hearty and well-balanced a fellow?" 
 
 In these fits of jealousy, he was not so angry with 
 Claudet for being loved by Reine as for having so care- 
 fully concealed his feelings. And yet, while inwardly 
 blaming him for this want of frankness, he did not 
 realize that he himself was open to a similar accusa- 
 tion, by hiding from Claudet what was troubling him 
 so grievously. 
 
 Since the evening of the inauguration festival, he had 
 become sullen and taciturn. Like all timid persons, he 
 took refuge in a moody silence, which could not but 
 irritate his cousin. They met every day at the same 
 table; to all appearance their intimacy was as great as 
 ever, but, in reality, there was no mutual exchange of 
 feeling. Julien's continued ill-humor was a source of 
 anxiety to Claudet, who turned his brain almost inside 
 out in endeavoring to discover its cause. He knew he 
 had done nothing to provoke any coolness; on the con- 
 
 ' 
 
ANDRfi THEURIET 
 
 trary, he had set his wits to work to show his gratitude 
 by all sorts of kindly offices. 
 
 By dint of thinking the matter over, Claudet came to 
 the conclusion that perhaps Julien was beginning to 
 repent of his generosity, and that possibly this coolness 
 was a roundabout way of manifesting his change of feel- 
 ing. This seemed to be the only plausible solution of 
 his cousin's behavior. "He is probably tired," thought 
 he, "of keeping us here at the chateau, my mother and 
 myself." 
 
 Claudet's pride and self-respect revolted at this idea. 
 He did not intend to be an incumbrance on any one, and 
 became offended in his turn at the mute reproach which 
 he imagined he could read in his cousin's troubled coun- 
 tenance. This misconception, confirmed by the ob- 
 stinate silence of both parties, and aggravated by its 
 own continuance, at last produced a crisis. 
 
 It happened one night, after they had taken supper 
 together, and Julien's ill-humor had been more evident 
 than usual. Provoked at his persistent taciturnity, and 
 more than ever convinced that it was his presence that 
 young de Buxieres objected to, Claudet resolved to force 
 an explanation. Instead, therefore, of quitting the din- 
 ing-room after dessert, and whistling to his dog to 
 accompany him in his habitual promenade, the grand 
 chasserot remained seated, poured out a small glass of 
 brandy, and slowly filled his pipe. Surprised to see that 
 he was remaining at home, Julien rose and began to pace 
 the floor, wondering what could be the reason of this 
 unexpected change. As suspicious people are usually 
 prone to attribute complicated motives for the most 
 

 A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 simple actions, he imagined that Claudet, becoming 
 aware of the jealous feeling he had excited, had given 
 up his promenade solely to mislead and avert suspicion. 
 This idea irritated him still more, and halting suddenly 
 in his walk, he went up to Claudet and said, brusquely: 
 
 "You are not going out, then?" 
 
 "No;" replied Claudet, "if you will permit me, I 
 will stay and keep you company. Shall I annoy 
 you?" 
 
 "Not in the least; only, as you are accustomed to 
 walk every evening, I should not wish you to incon- 
 venience yourself on my account. I am not afraid of 
 being alone, and I am not selfish enough to deprive you 
 of society more agreeable than mine." 
 
 "What do you mean by that ?" cried Claudet, prick- 
 ing up his ears. 
 
 "Nothing," muttered Julien, between his set teeth, 
 "except that your fancied obligation of keeping me 
 company ought not to prevent you missing a pleasant 
 engagement, or keeping a rendezvous." 
 
 "A rendezvous," replied his interlocutor, with a forced 
 laugh, "so you think, when I go out after supper, I go 
 to seek amusement. A rendezvous! And with whom, 
 if you please?" 
 
 "With your mistress, of course," replied Julien, sar- 
 castically, "from what you said to me, there is no 
 scarcity here of girls inclined to be good-natured, and 
 you have only the trouble of choosing among them. 
 I supposed you were courting some woodman's young 
 daughter, or some pretty farmer girl, like like Reine 
 Vincart." 
 
 [i35] 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 "Reine Vincart!" repeated Claudet, sternly, "what 
 business have you to mix up her name with those 
 creatures to whom you refer? Mademoiselle Vincart," 
 added he, "has nothing in common with that class, 
 and you have no right, Monsieur de Buxieres, to use 
 her name so lightly !" 
 
 The allusion to Reine Vincart had agitated Claudet 
 to such a degree that he did not notice that Julien, as 
 he pronounced her name, was as much moved as him- 
 self. 
 
 The vehemence with which Claudet resented the in- 
 sinuation increased young de Buxieres's irritation. 
 
 "Ha, ha!" said he, laughing scornfully, "Reine Vin- 
 cart is an exceedingly pretty girl!" 
 
 "She is not only pretty, she is good and virtuous, and 
 deserves to be respected." 
 
 "How you uphold her! One can see that you are 
 interested in her." 
 
 "I uphold her because you are unjust toward her. 
 But I wish you to understand that she has no need of 
 any one standing up for her her good name is suffi- 
 cient to protect her. Ask any one in the village there 
 is but one voice on that question." 
 
 "Come," said Julien, huskily, "confess that you are 
 in love with her." 
 
 "Well! suppose I am," said Claudet, angrily, "yes, 
 I love her! There, are you satisfied now?" 
 
 Although de Buxifcres knew what he had to expect, he 
 was not the less affected by so open an avowal thrust at 
 him, as it were. He stood for a moment, silent; then, 
 with a fresh burst of rage: 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 " You love her, do you ? Why did you not tell me be- 
 fore? Why were you not more frank with me?" 
 
 As he spoke, gesticulating furiously, in front of the 
 open window, the deep red glow of the setting sun, 
 piercing through the boughs of the ash-trees, threw its 
 bright reflections on his blazing eyeballs and convulsed 
 features. His interlocutor, leaning against the opposite 
 corner of the window-frame, noticed, with some anxiety, 
 the extreme agitation of his behavior, and wondered 
 what could be the cause of such emotion. 
 
 "I? Not frank with you! Ah, that is a good joke, 
 Monsieur de Buxieres! Naturally, I should not go pro- 
 claiming on the housetops that I have a tender feeling 
 for Mademoiselle Vincart, but, all the same, I should 
 have told you had you asked me sooner. I am not 
 reserved; but, you must excuse my saying it, you are 
 walled in like a subterranean passage. One can not get 
 at the color of your thoughts. I never for a moment 
 imagined that you were interested in Reine, and you 
 never have made me sufficiently at home to entertain 
 the idea of confiding in you on that subject." 
 
 Julien remained silent. He had reseated himself at 
 the table, where, leaning his head in his hands, he pon- 
 dered over what Claudet had said. He placed his hand 
 so as to screen his eyes, and bit his lips as if a painful 
 struggle was going on within him. The splendors of 
 the setting sun had merged into the dusky twilight, and 
 the last piping notes of the birds sounded faintly among 
 the sombre trees. A fresh breeze had sprung up, and 
 filled the darkening room with the odor of honeysuckle. 
 
 Under the soothing influence of the falling night, 
 [i37] 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 Julien slowly raised his head, and addressing Claudet in 
 a low and measured voice like a father confessor inter- 
 rogating a penitent, said : 
 
 "Does Reine know that you love her?" 
 
 "I think she must suspect it," replied Claudet, "al- 
 though I never have ventured to declare myself squarely. 
 But girls are very quick, Reine especially. They soon 
 begin to suspect there is some love at bottom, when a 
 young man begins to hang around them too frequently." 
 
 "You see her often, then?" 
 
 "Not as often as I should like. But, you know, when 
 one lives in the same district, one has opportunities of 
 meeting at the beech harvest, in the woods, at the 
 church door. And when you meet, you talk but little, 
 making the most of your time. Still, you must not sup- 
 pose, as I think you did, that we have rendezvous in the 
 evening. Reine respects herself too much to go about 
 at night with a young man as escort, and besides, she 
 has other fish to fry. She has a great deal to do at the 
 farm, since her father has become an invalid." 
 
 "Well, do you think she loves you?" said Julien, with 
 a movement of nervous irritation. 
 
 "I can not tell," replied Claudet shrugging his shoul- 
 ders, "she has confidence in me, and shows me some 
 marks of friendship, but I never have ventured to ask 
 her whether she feels anything more than friendship for 
 me. Look here, now. I have good reasons for keeping 
 back; she is rich and I am poor. You can understand 
 that I would not, for any consideration, allow her to 
 think that I am courting her for her money " 
 
 "Still, you desire to marry her, and you hope that she 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 will not say no you acknowledge that!" cried Julien, 
 vociferously. 
 
 Claudet, struck with the violence and bitterness of 
 tone of his companion, came up to him. 
 
 "How angrily you say that, Monsieur de Buxieres!" 
 exclaimed he in his turn; "upon my word, one might 
 suppose the affair is very displeasing to you. Will you 
 let me tell you frankly an idea that has already entered 
 my head several times these last two or three days, and 
 which has come again now, while I have been listening 
 to you? It is that perhaps you, yourself, are also in 
 love with Reine?" 
 
 "I!" protested Julien. He felt humiliated at Clau- 
 det's perspicacity; but he had too much pride and self- 
 respect to let his preferred rival know of his unfortunate 
 passion. He waited a moment to swallow something in 
 his throat that seemed to be choking him, and then, 
 trying in vain to steady his voice, he added: 
 
 "You know that I have an aversion for women; and 
 for that matter, I think they return it with interest. 
 But, at all events, I am not foolish enough to expose 
 myself to their rebuffs. Rest assured, I shall not follow 
 at your heels!" 
 
 Claudet shook his head incredulously. 
 
 "You doubt it," continued de Buxieres; "well, I will 
 prove it to you. You can not declare your wishes be- 
 cause Reine is rich and you are poor? I will take 
 charge of the whole matter." 
 
 "I I do not understand you," faltered Claudet, be- 
 wildered at the strange turn the conversation was tak- 
 ing. 
 
 [i39] 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 "You will understand soon," asserted Julien, with a 
 gesture of both decision and resignation. 
 
 The truth was, he had made one of those resolutions 
 which seem illogical and foolish at first sight, but are 
 natural to minds at once timid and exalted. The suffer- 
 ing caused by Claudet's revelations had become so acute 
 that he was alarmed. He recognized with dismay the 
 disastrous effects of this hopeless love, and determined 
 to employ a heroic remedy to arrest its further ravages. 
 This was nothing less than killing his love, by imme- 
 diately getting Claudet married to Reine Vincart. Sac- 
 rifices like this are easier to souls that have been 
 subjected since their infancy to Christian discipline, and 
 accustomed to consider the renunciation of mundane 
 joys as a means of securing eternal salvation. As soon 
 as this idea had developed in Julien's brain, he seized 
 upon it with the precipitation of a drowning man, who 
 distractedly lays hold of the first object that seems to 
 offer him a means of safety, whether it be a dead branch 
 or a reed. 
 
 "Listen," he resumed; "at the very first explanation 
 that we had together, I told you I did not intend to 
 deprive you of your right to a portion of your natural 
 father's inheritance. Until now, you have taken my 
 word for it, and we have lived at the chateau like two 
 brothers. But now that a miserable question of money 
 alone prevents you from marrying the woman you love, 
 it is important that you should be legally provided for. 
 We will go to-morrow to Monsieur Arbillot, and ask him 
 to draw up the deed, making over to you from me one 
 half of the fortune of Claude de Buxieres. You will 
 
 [140] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 then be, by law, and in the eyes of all, one of the desira- 
 ble matches of the canton, and you can demand the 
 hand of Mademoiselle Vincart, without any fear of 
 being thought presumptuous or mercenary." 
 
 Claudet, to whom this conclusion was wholly unex- 
 pected, was thunderstruck. His emotion was so great 
 that it prevented him from speaking. In the obscurity 
 of the room his deep-set eyes seemed larger, and shone 
 with the tears he could not repress. 
 
 "Monsieur Julien," said he, falteringly, "I can not 
 find words to thank you. I am like an idiot. And to 
 think that only a little while ago I suspected you of 
 being tired of me, and regretting your benefits toward 
 me! What an animal I am! I measure others by my- 
 self. Well! can you forgive me? If I do not express 
 myself well, I feel deeply, and all I can say is that you 
 have made me very happy ! " He sighed heavily. " The 
 question is now," continued he, "whether Reine will 
 have me! You may not believe me, Monsieur de Bux- 
 ieres, but though I may seem very bold and resolute, 
 I feel like a wet hen when I get near her. I have a 
 dreadful panic that she will send me away as I came. I 
 don't know whether I can ever find courage to ask her." 
 
 "Why should she refuse you?" said Julien, sadly, 
 "she knows that you love her. Do you suppose she 
 loves any one else?" 
 
 "That I don't know. Although Reine is very frank, 
 she does not let every one know what is passing in her 
 mind, and with these young girls, I tell you, one is never 
 sure of anything. That is just what I fear may be 
 possible." 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 "If you fear the ordeal," said de Buxieres, with a 
 visible effort, "would you like me to present the matter 
 for you?" 
 
 "I should be very glad. It would be doing me a 
 great service. It would be adding one more kindness 
 to those I have already received, and some day I hope 
 to make it all up to you." 
 
 The next morning, according to agreement, Julien 
 accompanied Claudet to Auberive, where Maitre Arbil- 
 lot drew up the deed of gift, and had it at once signed 
 and recorded. Afterward the young men adjourned to 
 breakfast at the inn. The meal was brief and silent. 
 Neither seemed to have any appetite. As soon as they 
 had drunk their coffee, they turned back on the Vivey 
 road; but, when they had got as far as the great lime- 
 tree, standing at the entrance to the forest, Julien 
 touched Claudet lightly on the shoulder. 
 
 "Here," said he, "we must part company. You will 
 return to Vivey, and I shall go across the fields to La 
 Thuiliere. I shall return as soon as I have had an inter- 
 view with Mademoiselle Vincart. Wait for me at the 
 chateau." 
 
 "The time will seem dreadfully long to me," sighed 
 Claudet; "I shall not know how to dispose of my body 
 until you return." 
 
 "Your affair will be all settled within two or three 
 hours from now. Stay near the window of my room, 
 and you will catch first sight of me coming along in the 
 distance. If I wave my hat, it will be a sign that I 
 bring a favorable answer." 
 
 Claudet pressed his hand; they separated, and Julien 
 [142] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 descended the newly mown meadow, along which he 
 walked under the shade of trees scattered along the 
 border line of the forest. 
 
 The heat of the midday sun was tempered by a breeze 
 from the east, which threw across the fields and woods 
 the shadows of the white fleecy clouds. The young 
 man, pale and agitated, strode with feverish haste over 
 the short-cropped grass, while the little brooklet at his 
 side seemed to murmur a flute-like, soothing accompani- 
 ment to the tumultuous beatings of his heart. He was 
 both elated and depressed at the prospect of submitting 
 his already torn and lacerated feelings to so severe a 
 trial. The thought of beholding Reine again, and of 
 sounding her feelings, gave him a certain amount of 
 cruel enjoyment. He would speak to her of love love 
 for another, certainly but he would throw into the 
 declaration he was making, in behalf of another, some 
 of his own tenderness; he would have the supreme and 
 torturing satisfaction of watching her countenance, of 
 anticipating her blushes, of gathering the faltering 
 avowal from her lips. He would once more drink of 
 the intoxication of her beauty, and then he would go 
 and shut himself up at Vivey, after burying at La Thu- 
 iliere all his dreams and profane desires. But, even 
 while the courage of this immolation of his youthful love 
 was strong within him, he could not prevent a dim feel- 
 ing of hope from crossing his mind. Claudet was not 
 certain that he was beloved; and possibly Reine's 
 answer would be a refusal. Then he should have a free 
 field. 
 
 By a very human, but very illogical impulse, Julien 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 de Buxferes had hardly concluded the arrangement with 
 Claudet which was to strike the fatal blow to his own 
 happiness when he began to forestall the possibilities 
 which the future might have in store for him. The odor 
 of the wild mint and meadow-sweet, dotting the banks 
 of the stream, again awoke vague, happy anticipations. 
 Longing to reach Reine Vincart's presence, he hastened 
 his steps, then stopped suddenly, seized with an over- 
 powering panic. He had not seen her since the painful 
 episode in the hut, and it must have left with her a very 
 sorry impression. What could he do, if she refused to 
 receive him or listen to him ? 
 
 While revolving these conflicting thoughts in his mind, 
 he came to the fields leading directly to La Thuiliere, 
 and just beyond, across a waving mass of oats and rye, 
 the shining tops of the farm-buildings came in sight. 
 A few minutes later, he pushed aside a gate and entered 
 the yard. 
 
 The shutters were closed, the outer gate was closed 
 inside, and the house seemed deserted. Julien began 
 to think that the young girl he was seeking had gone into 
 the fields with the farm-hands, and stood uncertain and 
 disappointed in the middle of the courtyard. At this 
 sudden intrusion into their domain, a brood of chickens, 
 who had been clucking sedately around, and picking up 
 nourishment at the same time, scattered screaming in 
 every direction, heads down, feet sprawling, until by 
 unanimous consent they made a bee-line for a half-open 
 door, leading to the orchard. Through this manoeuvre, 
 the young man's attention was brought to the fact that 
 through this opening he could reach the rear fayade of 
 
 [*44] 
 

 A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 the building. He therefore entered a grassy lane, wind- 
 ing round a group of stones draped with ivy ; and leaving 
 the orchard on his left, he pushed on toward the garden 
 itself a real country garden with square beds bordered 
 by mossy clumps alternating with currant-bushes, rows 
 of raspberry-trees, lettuce and cabbage beds, beans and 
 runners climbing up their slender supports, and, here 
 and there, bunches of red carnations and peasant roses. 
 
 Suddenly, at the end of a long avenue, he discovered 
 Reine Vincart, seated on the steps before an arched door, 
 communicating with the kitchen. A plum-tree, loaded 
 with its violet fruit, spread its light shadow over the 
 young girl's head, as she sat shelling fresh-gathered peas 
 and piling the faint green heaps of color around her. 
 The sound of approaching steps on the grassy soil 
 caused her to raise her head, but she did not stir. In his 
 intense emotion, Julien thought the alley never would 
 come to an end. He would fain have cleared it with ? 
 single bound, so as to be at once in the presence of Made- 
 moiselle Vincart, whose immovable attitude rendered 
 his approach still more difficult. Nevertheless, he had 
 to get over the ground somehow at a reasonable pace, 
 under penalty of making himself ridiculous, and he 
 therefore found plenty of time to examine Reine, who 
 continued her work with imperturbable gravity, throw- 
 ing the peas as she shelled them into an ash-wood pail 
 at her feet. 
 
 She was bareheaded, and wore a striped skirt and a 
 
 white jacket fitted to her waist. The checkered shadows 
 
 cast by the tree made spots of light and darkness over 
 
 her face and her uncovered neck, the top button of her 
 
 10 i 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 camisole being unfastened on account of the heat. De 
 Buxieres had been perfectly well recognized by her, but 
 an emotion, at least equal to that experienced by the 
 young man, had transfixed her to the spot, and a subtle 
 feminine instinct had urged her to continue her employ- 
 ment, in order to hide the sudden trembling of her 
 fingers. During the last month, ever since the adven- 
 ture in the hut, she had thought often of Julien; and the 
 remembrance of the audacious kiss which the young de 
 Buxieres had so impetuously stolen from her neck, 
 invariably brought the flush of shame to her brow. 
 But, although she was very indignant at the fiery nature 
 of his caress, as implying a want of respect little in 
 harmony with Julien's habitual reserve, she was aston- 
 ished at herself for not being still more angry. At first, 
 the affront put upon her had roused a feeling of indig- 
 nation, but now, when she thought of it, she felt only a 
 gentle embarrassment, and a soft beating of the heart. 
 She began to reflect that to have thus broken loose from 
 all restraint before her, this timid youth must have been 
 carried away by an irresistible burst of passion, and any 
 woman, however high-minded she may be, will forgive 
 such violent homage rendered to the sovereign power of 
 her beauty. Besides his feeding of her vanity, another 
 independent and more powerful motive predisposed her 
 to indulgence: she felt a tender and secret attraction 
 toward Monsieur de Buxieres. This healthy and ener- 
 getic girl had been fascinated by the delicate charm of a 
 nature so unlike her own in its sensitiveness and dis- 
 position to self-blame. Julien's melancholy blue eyes 
 had, unknown to himself, exerted a magnetic influence 
 
 [146] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 on Reine's dark, liquid orbs, and, without endeavoring 
 to analyze the sympathy that drew her toward a nature 
 refined and tender even to weakness, without asking 
 herself where this unreflecting instinct might lead her, 
 she was conscious of a growing sentiment toward him, 
 which was not very much unlike love itself. 
 
 Julien de Buxieres's mood was not sufficiently calm to 
 observe anything, or he would immediately have per- 
 ceived the impression that his sudden appearance had 
 produced upon Reine Vincart. As soon as he found 
 himself within a few steps of the young girl, he saluted 
 her awkwardly, and she returned his bow with marked 
 coldness. Extremely disconcerted at this reception, he 
 endeavored to excuse himself for having invaded her 
 dwelling in so unceremonious a manner. 
 
 "I am all the more troubled," added he, humbly, 
 "that after what has happened, my visit must appear 
 to you indiscreet, if not improper." 
 
 Reine, who had more quickly recovered her self- 
 possession, pretended not to understand the unwise 
 allusion that had escaped the lips of her visitor. She 
 rose, pushed away with her foot the stalks and pods, 
 which encumbered the passage, and replied, very 
 shortly: 
 
 "You are excused, Monsieur. There is no need of 
 an introduction to enter La Thuiliere. Besides, I sup- 
 pose that the motive which has brought you here can 
 only be a proper one." 
 
 While thus speaking, she shook her skirt down, and 
 without any affectation buttoned up her camisole. 
 
 "Certainly, Mademoiselle," faltered Julien, "it is a 
 [i47l 
 
ANDR& THEURIET 
 
 most serious and respectable motive that causes me 
 to wish for an interview, and if I do not disturb 
 you " 
 
 "Not in the least, Monsieur; but, if you wish to speak 
 with me, it is unnecessary for you to remain standing. 
 Allow me to fetch you a chair." 
 
 She went into the house, leaving the young man over- 
 whelmed with the coolness of his reception; a few 
 minutes later she reappeared, bringing a chair, which 
 she placed under the tree. " Sit here, you will be in the 
 shade." 
 
 She seated herself on the same step as before, lean- 
 ing her back against the wall, and her head on her 
 hand. 
 
 "I am ready to listen to you," she said. 
 
 Julien, much less under his own control than she, 
 discovered that his mission was more difficult than he 
 had imagined it would be; he experienced a singular 
 amount of embarrassment in unfolding his subject ; and 
 was obliged to have recourse to prolonged inquiries con- 
 cerning the health of Monsieur Vincart. 
 
 "He is still in the same condition," said Reine, 
 "neither better nor worse, and, with the illness which 
 afflicts him, the best I can hope for is that he may remain 
 in that condition. But," continued she, with a slight 
 inflection of irony; "doubtless it is not for the purpose 
 of inquiring after my father's health that you have come 
 all the way from Vivey?" 
 
 "That is true, Mademoiselle," replied he, coloring. 
 "What I have to speak to you about is a very delicate 
 matter. You will excuse me, therefore, if I am some- 
 
 [148] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 what embarrassed. I beg of you, Mademoiselle, to 
 listen to me with indulgence." 
 
 "What can he be coining to?" thought Reine, won- 
 dering why he made so many preambles before begin- 
 ning. And, at the same time, her heart began to beat 
 violently. 
 
 Julien took the course taken by all timid people after 
 meditating for a long while on the best way to prepare 
 the young girl for the communication he had taken 
 upon himself to make he lost his head and inquired 
 abruptly: 
 
 "Mademoiselle Reine, do you not intend to marry?" 
 
 Reine started, and gazed at him with a frightened 
 air. 
 
 "I!" exclaimed she, "Oh, I have time enough and I 
 am not in a hurry." Then, dropping her eyes: "Why 
 do you ask that ?" 
 
 "Because I know of some one who Joves you and 
 who would be glad to marry you." 
 
 She became very pale, took up one of the empty pods, 
 twisted it nervously around her finger without speak- 
 ing. 
 
 "Some one belonging to our neighborhood?" she 
 faltered, after a few moments' silence. 
 
 "Yes; some one whom you know, and who is not a 
 recent arrival here. Some one who possesses, I believe, 
 sterling qualities sufficient to make a good husband, and 
 means enough to do credit to the woman who will wed 
 him. Doubtless you have already guessed to whom I 
 refer?" 
 
 She sat motionless, her lips tightly closed, her features 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 rigid, but the nervous twitching of her fingers as she bent 
 the green stem back and forth, betrayed her inward 
 agitation. 
 
 "No; I can not tell," she replied at last, in an almost 
 inaudible voice. 
 
 "Truly?" he exclaimed, with an expression of aston- 
 ishment, in which was a certain amount of secret satis- 
 faction; "you can not tell whom I mean? You have 
 never thought of the person of whom I am speaking in 
 that light?" 
 
 "No; who is that person?" 
 
 She had raised her eyes toward his, and they shone 
 with a deep, mysterious light. 
 
 "It is Claudet Sejournant," replied Julien, very 
 gently, and in an altered tone. 
 
 The glow that had illumined the dark orbs of the 
 young girl faded away, her eyelids dropped, and her 
 countenance became as rigid as before; but Julien did 
 not notice anything. The words he had just uttered 
 had cost him too much agony, and he dared not look at 
 his companion, lest he should behold her joyful surprise, 
 and thereby aggravate his suffering. 
 
 "Ah!" said Reine, coldly, "in that case, why did not 
 Claudet come himself and state his own case?" 
 
 "His courage failed him at the last moment and 
 
 2 j 
 
 "And so," continued she, with sarcastic bitterness of 
 tone, "you took upon yourself to speak for him?" 
 
 "Yes; I promised him I would plead his cause. I 
 was sure, moreover, that I should not have much diffi- 
 culty in gaining the suit. Claudet has loved you for a 
 
 [150] 
 

 A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 long time. He is good-hearted, and a fine fellow to look 
 at. And as to worldly advantages, his position is now 
 equal to your own. I have made over to him, by legal 
 contract, the half of his father's estate. What answer 
 am I to take back?" 
 
 He spoke with difficulty in broken sentences, without 
 turning his eyes toward Mademoiselle Vincart. The 
 silence that followed his last question seemed to him 
 unbearable, and the contrasting chirping of the noisy 
 grasshoppers, and the buzzing of the flies in the quiet 
 sunny garden, resounded unpleasantly in his ears. 
 
 Reine remained speechless. She was disconcerted and 
 well-nigh overpowered by the unexpected announce- 
 ment, and her brain seemed unable to bear the crowd of 
 tumultuous and conflicting emotions which presented 
 themselves. Certainly, she had already suspected that 
 Claudet had a secret liking for her, but she never had 
 thought of encouraging the feeling. The avowal of his 
 hopes neither surprised nor hurt her; that which pained 
 her was the intervention of Julien, who had taken in hand 
 the cause of his relative. Was it possible that this same 
 M. de Buxieres, who had made so audacious a display 
 of his tender feeling in the hut, could now come forward 
 as Claudet's advocate, as if it were the most natural 
 thing in the world for him to do? In that case, his 
 astonishing behavior at the fete, which had caused her 
 so much pain, and which she had endeavored to excuse 
 in her own mind as the untutored outbreak of his pent- 
 up love, that fiery caress, was only the insulting manifes- 
 tation of a brutal caprice ? The transgressor thought so 
 little of her, she was of such small importance in his 
 
 [151 1 
 
ANDR& THEURIET 
 
 eyes, that he had no hesitation in proposing that she 
 marry Claudet ? She beheld herself scorned, humiliated, 
 insulted by the only man in whom she ever had felt 
 interested. In the excess of her indignation she felt 
 herself becoming hard-hearted and violent ; a profound 
 discouragement, a stony indifference to all things, im- 
 pelled her to extreme measures, and, not being able at 
 the moment to find any one on whom she could put 
 them in operation, she was almost tempted to lay vio- 
 lent hands on herself. 
 
 "What shall I say to Claudet?" repeated Julien, 
 endeavoring to conceal the suffering which was devour- 
 ing his heart by an assumption of outward frigidity. 
 
 She turned slowly round, fixed her searching eyes, 
 which had become as dark as waters reflecting a stormy 
 sky, upon his face, and demanded, in icy tones: 
 
 "What do you advise me to say?" 
 
 Now, if Julien had been less of a novice, he would 
 have understood that a girl who loves never addresses 
 such a question; but the feminine heart was a book in 
 which he was a very poor speller. He imagined that 
 Reine was only asking him as a matter of form, and 
 that it was from a feeling of maidenly reserve that she 
 adopted this passive method of escaping from openly 
 declaring her wishes. She no doubt desired his friendly 
 aid in the matter, and he felt as if he ought to grant her 
 that satisfaction. 
 
 " I have the conviction," stammered he, " that Claudet 
 will make a good husband, and you will do well to accept 
 him." 
 
 Reine bit her lip, and her paleness increased so as to 
 [152] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 set off still more the fervid lustre of her eyes. The two 
 little brown moles stood out more visibly on her white 
 neck, and added to her attractions. 
 
 "So be it!" exclaimed she, "tell Claudet that I con- 
 sent, and that he will be welcome at La Thuiliere." 
 
 "I will tell him immediately." He bent gravely and 
 sadly before Reine, who remained standing and motion- 
 less against the door. "Adieu, Mademoiselle!" 
 
 He turned away abruptly; plunged into the first 
 avenue he came to, lost his way twice and finally reached 
 the courtyard, and thence escaped at breakneck speed 
 across the fields. 
 
 Reine maintained her statue-like pose as long as the 
 young man's footsteps resounded on the stony paths; 
 but when they died gradually away in the distance, 
 when nothing could be heard save the monotonous trill 
 of the grasshoppers basking in the sun, she threw herself 
 down on the green heap of rubbish ; she covered her face 
 with her hands and gave way to a passionate outburst 
 of tears and sobs. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Julien de Buxieres, angry with 
 himself, irritated by the speedy success of his mission, 
 was losing his way among the pasturages, and getting 
 entangled in the thickets. All the details of the inter- 
 view presented themselves before his mind with re- 
 morseless clearness. He seemed more lonely, more 
 unfortunate, more disgusted with himself and with all 
 else than he ever had been before. Ashamed of the 
 wretched part he had just been enacting, he felt almost 
 childish repugnance to returning to Vivey, and tried to 
 pick out the paths that would take him there by the 
 
 [153] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 longest way. But he was not sufficiently accustomed 
 to laying out a route for himself, and when he thought 
 he had a league farther to go, and had just leaped 
 over an intervening hedge, the pointed roofs of the 
 chateau appeared before him at a distance of not more 
 than a hundred feet, and at one of the windows on the 
 first floor he could distinguish Claudet, leaning for 
 ward, as if to interrogate him. 
 
 He remembered then the promise he had made the 
 young huntsman; and faithful to his word, although 
 with rage and bitterness in his heart, he raised his hat, 
 and with effort, waved it three times above his head. 
 At this signal, the forerunner of good news, Claudet 
 replied by a triumphant shout, and disappeared from 
 the window. A moment later, Julien heard the noise 
 of furious galloping down the enclosures of the park. 
 It was the lover, hastening to learn the particulars of 
 the interview. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE STRANGE, DARK SECRET 
 
 : F Julien had once entertained the hope 
 that Claudet's marriage with Reine 
 would act as a kind of heroic remedy 
 for the cure of his unfortunate passion, 
 he very soon perceived that he had 
 been wofully mistaken. As soon as 
 he had informed the grand chasserot 
 of the success of his undertaking, he 
 became aware that his own burden was considerably 
 heavier. Certainly it had been easier for him to bear 
 uncertainty than the boisterous rapture evinced by his 
 fortunate rival. His jealousy rose against it, and that 
 was all. Now that he had torn from Reine the avowal 
 of her love for Claudet, he was more than ever oppressed 
 by his hopeless passion, and plunged into a condition of 
 complete moral and physical disintegration. It mingled 
 with his blood, his nerves, his thoughts, and possessed 
 him altogether, dwelling within him like an adored and 
 tyrannical mistress. Reine appeared constantly before 
 him as he had contemplated her on the outside steps of 
 the farmhouse, in her never-to-be-forgotten negligee of 
 the short skirt and the half-open bodice. He again 
 beheld the silken treasure of her tresses, gliding play- 
 fully around her shoulders, the clear, honest look of her 
 
ANDRJE THEURIET 
 
 limpid eyes, the expressive smile of her enchanting lips, 
 and with a sudden revulsion of feeling he reflected that 
 perhaps before a month was over, all these charms would 
 belong to Claudet. Then, almost at the same moment, 
 like a swallow, whicn, with one rapid turn of its wing, 
 changes its course, his thoughts went in the opposite 
 direction, and he began to imagine what would have 
 happened if, instead of replying in the affirmative, Reine 
 had objected to marrying Claudet. He could picture 
 himself kneeling before her as before the Madonna, and 
 in a low voice confessing his love. He would have taken 
 her hands so respectfully, and pleaded so eloquently, 
 that she would have allowed herself to be convinced. 
 The little hands would have remained prisoners in his 
 own; he would have lifted her tenderly, devotedly, in 
 his arms, and under the influence of this feverish dream, 
 he fancied he could feel the beating heart of the young 
 girl against his own bosom. Suddenly he would wake 
 up out of his illusions, and bite his lips with rage on find- 
 ing himself in the dull reality of his own dwelling. 
 
 One day he heard footsteps on the gravel; a sonorous 
 and jovial voice met his ear. It was Claudet, starting 
 for La Thuiliere. Julien bent forward to see him, and 
 ground his teeth as he watched his joyous departure. 
 The sharp sting of jealousy entered his soul, and he re- 
 belled against the evident injustice of Fate. How had 
 he deserved that life should present so dismal and for- 
 bidding an aspect to him ? He had had none of the joys 
 of infancy; his youth had been spent wearily under the 
 peevish discipline of a cloister; he had entered on his 
 young manhood with all the awkwardness and timidity 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 of a night-bird that is made to fly in the day. Up to the 
 age of twenty-seven years, he had known neither love 
 nor friendship ; his time had been given entirely to earn- 
 ing his daily bread, and to the cultivation of religious 
 exercises, which consoled him in some measure for his 
 apparently useless way of living. Latterly, it is true, 
 Fortune had seemed to smile upon him, by giving him 
 a little more money and liberty, but this smile was a 
 mere mockery, and a snare more hurtful than the petti- 
 nesses and privations of his past life. The fickle god- 
 dess, continuing her part of mystifier, had opened to his 
 enraptured sight a magic window through which she had 
 shown him a charming vision of possible happiness; but 
 while he was still gazing, she had closed it abruptly in 
 his face, laughing scornfully at his discomfiture. What 
 sense was there in this perversion of justice, this per- 
 petual mockery of Fate ? At times the influence of his 
 early education would resume its sway, and he would 
 ask himself whether all this apparent contradiction were 
 not a secret admonition from on high, warning him that 
 he had not been created to enjoy the fleeting pleasures 
 of this world, and ought, therefore, to turn his attention 
 toward things eternal, and renounce the perishable 
 delights of the flesh? 
 
 "If so," thought he, irreverently, "the warning comes 
 rather late, and it would have answered the purpose bet- 
 ter had I been allowed to continue in the narrow way 
 of obscure poverty!" Now that the enervating influ- 
 ence of a more prosperous atmosphere had weakened 
 his courage, and cooled the ardor of his piety, his faith 
 began to totter like an old wall. His religious beliefs 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 seemed to have been wrecked by the same storm which 
 had destroyed his passionate hopes of love, and left 
 him stranded and forlorn without either haven or pilot, 
 blown hither and thither solely by the violence of his 
 passion. 
 
 By degrees he took an aversion to his home, and 
 would spend entire days in the woods. Their secluded 
 haunts, already colored by the breath of autumn, be- 
 came more attractive to him as other refuge failed him. 
 They were his consolation; his doubts, weakness, and 
 amorous regrets, found sympathy and indulgence under 
 their silent shelter. He felt less lonely, less humiliated, 
 less prosaic among these great forest depths, these lofty 
 ash- trees, raising their verdant branches to heaven. He 
 found he could more easily evoke the seductive image of 
 Reine Vincart in these calm solitudes, where the recol- 
 lections of the previous springtime mingled with the 
 phantoms of his heated imagination and clothed them- 
 selves with almost living forms. He seemed to see the 
 young girl rising from the mists of the distant valleys. 
 The least fluttering of the leaves heralded her fancied 
 approach. At times the hallucination was so complete 
 that he could see, in the interlacing of the branches, the 
 undulations of her supple form, and the graceful outlines 
 of her profile. Then he would be seized by an insane 
 desire to reach the fugitive and speak to her once more, 
 and would go tearing along the brushwood for that pur- 
 pose. Now and then, in the half light formed by the 
 hanging boughs, he would see rays of golden light, com- 
 ing straight down to the ground, and resting there lightly 
 like diaphanous apparitions. Sometimes the rustling of 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 birds taking flight, would sound in his ears like the timid 
 jrou-jrou of a skirt, and Julien, fascinated by the mys- 
 terious charm of these indefinite objects, and following 
 the impulse of their mystical suggestions, would fling 
 himself impetuously into the jungle, repeating to him- 
 self the words of the " Canticle of Canticles": "I hear 
 the voice of my beloved; behold! she cometh leaping 
 upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills." He 
 would continue to press forward in pursuit of the 
 intangible apparition, until he sank with exhaustion 
 near some stream or fountain. Under the influence of 
 the fever, which was consuming his brain, he would 
 imagine the trickling water to be the song of a feminine 
 voice. He would wind his arms around the young sap- 
 lings, he would tear the berries from the bushes, press- 
 ing them against his thirsty lips, and imagining their 
 odoriferous sweetness to be a fond caress from the 
 loved one. 
 
 He would return from these expeditions exhausted but 
 not appeased. Sometimes he would come across Clau- 
 det, also returning home from paying his court to Reine 
 Vincart; and the unhappy Julien would scrutinize his 
 rival's countenance, seeking eagerly for some trace of the 
 impressions he had received during the loving interview. 
 His curiosity was nearly always baffled; for Claudet 
 seemed to have left all his gayety and conversational 
 powers at La Thuiliere. During their tete-a-tete meals, 
 he hardly spoke at all, maintaining a reserved attitude 
 and a taciturn countenance. Julien, provoked at this 
 unexpected sobriety, privately accused his cousin of dis- 
 simulation, and of trying to conceal his happiness. His 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 jealousy so blinded him that he considered the silence 
 of Claudet as pure hypocrisy not recognizing that 
 it was assumed for the purpose of concealing some 
 unpleasantness rather than satisfaction. 
 
 The fact was that Claudet, although rejoicing at the 
 turn matters had taken, was verifying the poet's saying: 
 "Never is perfect happiness our lot." When Julien 
 brought him the good news, and he had flown so joy- 
 fully to La Thuiliere, he had certainly been cordially 
 received by Reine, but, nevertheless, he had noticed 
 with surprise an absent and dreamy look in her eyes, 
 which did not agree with his idea of a first interview of 
 lovers. When he wished to express his affection in the 
 vivacious and significant manner ordinarily employed 
 among the peasantry, that is to say, by vigorous embrac- 
 ing and resounding kisses, he met with unexpected 
 resistance. 
 
 "Keep quiet!" was the order, "and let us talk ra- 
 tionally!" 
 
 He obeyed, although not agreeing in her view of the 
 reserve to be maintained between lovers; but, he made 
 up his mind to return to the charge and triumph over 
 her bashful scruples. In fact, he began again the very 
 next day, and his impetuous ardor encountered the same 
 refusal in the same firm, though affectionate manner. 
 He ventured to complain, telling Reine that she did not 
 love him as she ought. 
 
 "If I did not feel friendly toward you," replied the 
 young girl, laconically, "should I have allowed you to 
 talk to me of marriage?" 
 
 Then, seeing that he looked vexed and worried, and 
 [160] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 realizing that she was perhaps treating him too roughly, 
 she continued, more gently: 
 
 "Remember, Claudet, that I am living all alone at 
 the farm. That obliges me to have more reserve than 
 a girl whose mother is with her. So you must not be 
 offended if I do not behave exactly as others might, 
 and rest assured that it will not prevent me from being 
 a good wife to you, when we are married. " 
 
 "Well, now," thought Claudet, as he was returning 
 despondently to Vivey: "I can't help thinking that a 
 little caress now and then wouldn't hurt any one!" 
 
 Under these conditions it is not to be supposed he 
 was in a mood to relate any of the details of such 
 meagre love-making. His self-love was wounded by 
 Reine's coldness. Having always been " cock-of-the- 
 walk," he could not understand why he had such poor 
 success with the only one about whom he was in earnest. 
 He kept quiet, therefore, hiding his anxiety under the 
 mask of careless indifference. Moreover, a certain prim- 
 itive instinct of prudence made him circumspect. In 
 his innermost soul, he still entertained doubts of Julien's 
 sincerity. Sometimes he doubted whether his cousin's 
 conduct had not been dictated by the bitterness of 
 rejected love, rather than a generous impulse of affec- 
 tion, and he did not care to reveal Reine's repulse to one 
 whom he vaguely suspected of being a former lover. 
 His simple, ardent nature could not put up with opposi- 
 tion, and he thought only of hastening the day when 
 Reine would belong to him altogether. But, when he 
 broached this subject, he had the mortification to find 
 that she was less impatient than himself, 
 ii [ 161 ] 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 "There is no hurry," she replied, "our affairs are not 
 in order, our harvests are not housed, and it would be 
 better to wait till the dull season." 
 
 In his first moments of joy and effervescence, Claudet 
 had evinced the desire to announce immediately the 
 betrothal throughout the village. This Reine had op- 
 posed ; she thought they should avoid awakening public 
 curiosity so long beforehand, and she extracted from 
 Claudet a promise to say nothing until the date of the 
 marriage should be settled. He had unwillingly con- 
 sented, and thus, during the last month, the matter had 
 been dragging on indefinitely. 
 
 With Julien de Buxieres, this interminable delay, 
 these incessant comings and goings from the chateau to 
 the farm, as well as the mysterious conduct of the bride- 
 groom-elect, became a subject of serious irritation, 
 amounting almost to obsession. He would have wished 
 the affair hurried up, and the sacrifice consummated 
 without hindrance. He believed that when once the 
 newly-married pair had taken up their quarters at La 
 Thuiliere, the very certainty that Reine belonged in 
 future to another would suffice to effect a radical cure 
 in him, and chase away the deceptive phantoms by 
 which he was pursued. 
 
 One evening, as Claudet was returning home, more 
 out of humor and silent than usual, Julien asked him, 
 abruptly : 
 
 "Well! how are you getting along? When is the 
 wedding?" 
 
 "Nothing is decided yet," replied Claudet, "we have 
 time enough!" 
 
 [ 162 ] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 "You think so?" exclaimed de Buxieres, sarcas- 
 tically; "you have considerable patience for a lover !" 
 
 The remark and the tone provoked Claudet. 
 
 "The delay is not of my making," returned he. 
 
 "Ah!" replied the other, quickly, "then it comes from 
 Mademoiselle Vincart?" And a sudden gleam came 
 into his eyes, as if Claudet's assertion had kindled a 
 spark of hope in his breast. The latter noticed the 
 momentary brightness in his cousin's usually stormy 
 countenance, and hastened to reply: 
 
 "Nay, nay; we both think it better to postpone the 
 wedding until the harvest is in." 
 
 "You are wrong. A wedding should not be post- 
 poned. Besides, this prolonged love-making, these 
 daily visits to the farm all that is not very proper. It 
 is compromising for Mademoiselle Vincart!" 
 
 Julien shot out these remarks with a degree of fierce- 
 ness and violence that astonished Claudet. 
 
 "You think, then," said he, "that we ought to rush 
 matters, and have the wedding before winter?" 
 
 "Undoubtedly!" 
 
 The next day, at La Thuiliere, the grand chasserot, 
 as he stood in the orchard, watching Reine spread linen 
 on the grass, entered bravely on the subject. 
 
 "Reine," said he, coaxingly, "I think we shall have 
 to decide upon a day for our wedding." 
 
 She set down the watering-pot with which she was 
 wetting the linen, and looked anxiously at her betrothed. 
 
 " I thought we had agreed to wait until the later sea- 
 son. Why do you wish to change that arrangement?" 
 
 "That is true; I promised not to hurry you, Reine, 
 [163] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 but it is beyond me to wait you must not be vexed with 
 me if I find the time long. Besides, they know nothing, 
 around the village, of our intentions, and my coming 
 here every day might cause gossip and make it unpleas- 
 ant for you. At any rate, that is the opinion of Mon- 
 sieur de Buxieres, with whom I was conferring only 
 yesterday evening/' 
 
 At the name of Julien, Reine frowned and bit her lip. 
 
 "Aha!" said she, "it is he who has been advising 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes; he says the sooner we are married, the better 
 it will be." 
 
 "Why does he interfere in what does not concern 
 him?" said she, angrily, turning her head away. She 
 stood a moment in thought, absently pushing forward 
 the roll of linen with her foot. Then, shrugging her 
 shoulders and raising her head, she said slowly, while 
 still avoiding Claudet's eyes: 
 
 "Perhaps you are right both of you. Well, let it 
 be so! I authorize you to go to Monsieur le Cure and 
 arrange the day with him." 
 
 "Oh, thanks, Reine!" exclaimed Claudet, raptur- 
 ously; "you make me very happy!" 
 
 He pressed her hands in his, but though absorbed in 
 his own joyful feelings, he could not help remarking that 
 the young girl was trembling in his grasp. He even 
 fancied that there was a suspicious, tearful glitter in her 
 brilliant eyes. 
 
 He left her, however, and repaired at once to the 
 cure's house, which stood near the chateau, a little 
 behind the church. 
 
 [164] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 The servant showed him into a small garden separa- 
 ted by a low wall from the cemetery. He found the 
 Abbe Pernot seated on a stone bench, sheltered by a 
 trellised vine. He was occupied in cutting up pieces 
 of hazel-nuts to make traps for small birds. 
 
 "Good-evening, Claudet!" said the cure, without 
 moving from his work; "you find me busy preparing 
 my nets; if you will permit me, I will continue, for I 
 should like to have my two hundred traps finished by 
 this evening. The season is advancing, you know! 
 The birds will begin their migrations, and I should be 
 greatly provoked if I were not equipped in time for the 
 opportune moment. And how is Monsieur de Bux- 
 iferes ? I trust he will not be less good-natured than his 
 deceased cousin, and that he will allow me to spread my 
 snares on the border hedge of his woods. But," added 
 he, as he noticed the flurried, impatient countenance of 
 his visitor, "I forgot to ask you, my dear young fellow, 
 to what happy chance I owe your visit ? Excuse my 
 neglect!" 
 
 "Don't mention it, Monsieur le Cure*. You have 
 guessed rightly. It is a very happy circumstance which 
 brings me. I am about to marry." 
 
 "Aha!" laughed the Abbe, "I congratulate you, my 
 dear young friend. This is really delightful news. It 
 is not good for man to be alone, and I am glad to know 
 you must give up the perilous life of a bachelor. Well, 
 tell me quickly the name of your betrothed. Do I 
 know her?" 
 
 " Of course you do, Monsieur le Cure ; there are few 
 you know so well. It is Mademoiselle Vincart." 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 "Reine?" 
 
 The Abbe flung away the priming-knife and branch 
 that he was cutting, and gazed at Claudet with a stupefied 
 air. At the same time, his jovial face became shadowed, 
 and his mouth assumed an expression of consternation. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, Reine Vincart," repeated Claudet, 
 somewhat vexed at the startled manner of his reverence ; 
 "are you surprised at my choice ?" 
 
 "Excuse me and is it all settled?" stammered the 
 Abbe, with bewilderment, " and and do you really love 
 each other?" 
 
 " Certainly; we agree on that point; and I have come 
 here to arrange with you about having the banns pub- 
 lished." 
 
 "What! already?" murmured the cure, buttoning 
 and unbuttoning the top of his coat in his agitation, 
 "you seem to be in a great hurry to go to work. The 
 union of the man and the woman ahem is a serious 
 matter, which ought not to be undertaken without due 
 consideration. That is the reason why the Church has 
 instituted the sacrament of marriage. Hast thou well 
 considered, my son?" 
 
 "Why, certainly, I have reflected," exclaimed Claudet 
 with some irritation, "and my mind is quite made up. 
 Once more, I ask you, Monsieur leOure, are you dis- 
 pleased with my choice, or have you anything to say 
 against Mademoiselle Vincart?" 
 
 " I ? no, absolutely nothing. Reine is an exceedingly 
 good girl." 
 
 "Well, then?" 
 
 "Well, my friend, I will go over to-morrow and see 
 [166] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 your fiancee, and we will talk matters over. I shall act 
 for the best, in the interests of both of you, be assured 
 of that. In the meantime, you will both be united this 
 evening in my prayers; but, for to-day, we shall have 
 to stop where we are. Good-evening, Claudet ! I will 
 see you again." 
 
 With these enigmatic words, he dismissed the young 
 lover, who returned to the chateau, vexed and disturbed 
 by his strange reception. 
 
 The moment the door of the presbytery had closed 
 behind Claudet, the Abbe Pernot, flinging to one side 
 all his preparations, began to pace nervously up and 
 down the principal garden- walk. He appeared com- 
 pletely unhinged. His features were drawn, through an 
 unusual tension of ideas forced upon him. He had hur- 
 riedly caught his skull-cap from his head, as if he feared 
 the heat of his meditation might cause a rush of blood to 
 the head. He quickened his steps, then stopped sud- 
 denly, folded his arms with great energy, then opened 
 them again abruptly to thrust his hands into the pockets 
 of his gown, searching through them with feverish 
 anxiety, as if he expected to find something which might 
 solve obscure and embarrassing questions. 
 
 " Good Lord ! Good Lord ! What a dreadful piece 
 of business; and right in the bird season, too! But I 
 can say nothing to Claudet. It is a secret that does not 
 belong to me. How can I get out of it? Tutt! tutt! 
 tutt!" 
 
 These monosyllabic ejaculations broke forth like the 
 vexed clucking of a frightened blackbird; after which 
 relief, the Abbe resumed his fitful striding up and down 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 the box-bordered alley. This lasted until the hour of 
 twilight, when Augustine, the servant, as soon as the 
 Angelus had sounded, went to inform her master that 
 they were waiting prayers for him in the church. He 
 obeyed the summons, although in a somewhat absent 
 mood, and hurried over the services in a manner which 
 did not contribute to the edification of the assistants. 
 As soon as he got home, he ate his jupper without appe- 
 tite, mumbled his prayers, and shut himself up in the 
 room he used as a study and workshop. He remained 
 there until the night was far advanced, searching through 
 his scanty library to find two dusty volumes treating of 
 "cases of conscience," which he looked eagerly over by 
 the feeble light of his study lamp. During this laborious 
 search he emitted frequent sighs, and only left off read- 
 ing occasionally in order to dose himself plentifully with 
 snuff. At last, as he felt that his eyes were becoming 
 inflamed, his ideas conflicting in his brain, and as his 
 lamp was getting low, he decided to go to bed. But he 
 slept badly, turned over at least twenty times, and was 
 up with the first streak of day to say his mass in the 
 chapel. He officiated with more dignity and piety than 
 was his wont; and after reading the second gospel he 
 remained for a long while kneeling on one of the steps 
 of the altar. After he had returned to the sacristy, he 
 divested himself quickly of his sacerdotal robes, reached 
 his room by a passage of communication, breakfasted 
 hurriedly, and putting on his three-cornered hat, and 
 seizing his knotty, cherry-wood cane, he shot out of 
 doors as if he had been summoned to a fire. 
 Augustine, amazed at his precipitate departure, went 
 [168] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 up to the attic, and, from behind the shelter of the sky- 
 light, perceived her master striding rapidly along the 
 road to Planche-au-Vacher. There she lost sight of 
 him the underwood was too thick. But, after a few 
 minutes, the gaze of the inquisitive woman was re- 
 warded by the appearance of a dark object emerging 
 from the copse, and defining itself on the bright pasture 
 land beyond. "Monsieur le Cure is going to La 
 Thuiliere," thought she, and with this half-satisfaction 
 she descended to her daily occupations. 
 
 It was true, the Abbe Pernot was walking, as fast as 
 he could, to the Vincart farm, as unmindful of the 
 dew that tarnished his shoe-buckles as of the thorns 
 which' attacked his calves. He had that within him 
 which spurred him on, and rendered him unconscious 
 of the accidents on his path. Never, during his twenty- 
 five years of priestly office, had a more difficult question 
 embarrassed his conscience. The case was a grave one, 
 and moreover, so urgent that the Abbe* was quite at a 
 loss how to proceed. How was it that he never had 
 foreseen that such a combination of circumstances 
 might occur ? A priest of a more fervent spirit, who had 
 the salvation of his flock more at heart, could not have 
 been taken so unprepared. Yes; that was surely the 
 cause! The profane occupations in which he had al- 
 lowed himself to take so much enjoyment, had distracted 
 his watchfulness and obscured his perspicacity. Provi- 
 dence was now punishing him for his lukewarmness, by 
 interposing across his path this stumbling-block, which 
 was probably sent to him as a salutary warning, but 
 which he saw no way of getting over. 
 
 [169] 
 
ANDR& THEURIET 
 
 While he was thus meditating and reproaching him- 
 self, the thrushes were calling to one another from the 
 branches of their favorite trees; whole flights of yellow- 
 hammers burst forth from the hedges red with haws; 
 but he took no heed of them and did not even give a 
 single thought to his neglected nests and snares. 
 
 He went straight on, stumbling over the juniper 
 bushes, and wondering what he should say when he 
 reached the farm, and how he should begin. Some- 
 times he addressed himself, thus: "Have I the right 
 to speak? What a revelation! And to a young girl! 
 Oh, Lord, lead me in the straight way of thy truth, and 
 instruct me in the right path!" 
 
 As he continued piously repeating this verse of the 
 Psalmist, in order to gain spiritual strength, the gray 
 roofs of La Thuiliere rose before him; he could hear 
 the crowing of the cocks and the lowing of the cows in 
 the stable. Five minutes after, he had pushed open the 
 door of the kitchen where La Guite was arranging the 
 bowls for breakfast. 
 
 "Good-morning, Guitiote," said he, in a choking 
 voice; "is Mademoiselle Vincart up?" 
 
 "Holy Virgin! Monsieur le Cure! Why, certainly 
 Mademoiselle is up. She was on foot before any of us, 
 and now she is trotting around the orchard. I will go 
 fetch her." 
 
 "No, do not stir. I know the way, and I will go and 
 find her myself." 
 
 She was in the orchard, was she? The Abbe pre- 
 ferred it should be so; he thought the interview would 
 be less painful, and that the surrounding trees would 
 

 A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 give him ideas. He walked across the kitchen, de- 
 scended the steps leading from the ground floor to the 
 garden, and ascended the slope in search of Reine, 
 whom he soon perceived in the midst of a bower formed 
 by clustering filbert-trees. 
 
 At sight of the cure, Reine turned pale; he had 
 doubtless come to tell her the result of his interview 
 with Claudet, and what day had been definitely chosen 
 for the nuptial celebration. She had been troubled all 
 night by the reflection that her fate would soon be 
 irrevocably sealed; she had wept, and her eyes betrayed 
 it. Only the day before, she had looked upon this 
 project of marriage, which she had entertained in a 
 moment of anger and injured feeling, as a vague thing, 
 a vaporous eventuality of which the realization was 
 doubtful; now, all was arranged, settled, cruelly certain; 
 there was no way of escaping from a promise which 
 Claudet, alas! was bound to consider a serious one. 
 These thoughts traversed her mind, while the cure was 
 slowly approaching the filbert- trees; she felt her heart 
 throb, and her eyes again filled with tears. Yet her 
 pride would not allow that the Abbe should witness her 
 irresolution and weeping; she made an effort, overcame 
 the momentary weakness, and addressed the priest in 
 an almost cheerful voice: 
 
 "Monsieur le Cure, I am sorry that they have made 
 you come up this hill to find me. Let us go back to the 
 farm, and I will offer you a cup of coffee." 
 
 "No, my child," replied the Abbe, motioning with his 
 hand that she should stay where she was, "no, thank 
 you ! I will not take anything. Remain where you are. 
 
ANDRE THEUIRET 
 
 I wish to talk to you, and we shall be less liable to be 
 disturbed here." 
 
 There were two rustic seats under the nut-trees; the 
 cure took one and asked Reine to take the other, oppo- 
 site to him. There they were, under the thick, verdant 
 branches, hidden from indiscreet passers-by, surrounded 
 by silence, installed as in a confessional. 
 
 The morning quiet, the solitude, the half light, all 
 invited meditation and confidence; nevertheless the 
 young girl and the priest sat motionless; both agitated 
 and embarrassed and watching each other without 
 uttering a sound. It was Reine who first broke the 
 silence. 
 
 "You have seen Claudet, Monsieur le Cure?" 
 
 "Yes, yes!" replied the Abbe, sighing deeply. 
 
 "He spoke to you of our plans," continued the 
 young girl, in a quavering voice, "and you fixed the 
 day?" 
 
 "No, my child, we settled nothing. I wanted to see 
 you first, and converse with you about something very 
 important." 
 
 The Abbe hesitated, rubbed a spot of mud off his 
 soutane, raised his shoulders like a man lifting a heavy 
 burden, then gave a deep cough. 
 
 "My dear child," continued he at length, prudently 
 dropping his voice a tone lower, "I will begin by repeat- 
 ing to you what I said yesterday to Claudet Sejournant : 
 the marriage, that is to say, the indissoluble union, of 
 man and woman before God, is one of the most solemn 
 and serious acts of life. The Church has constituted 
 it a sacrament, which she administers only on certain 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 C 
 
 formal conditions. Before entering into this bond, one 
 ought, as we are taught by Holy Writ, to sound the heart, 
 subject the very inmost of the soul to searching exami- 
 nations. I beg of you, therefore, answer my questions 
 freely, without false shame, just as if you were at the 
 tribunal of repentance. Do you love Claudet?" 
 
 Reine trembled. This appeal to her sincerity re- 
 newed all her perplexities and scruples. She raised her 
 full, glistening eyes to the cure, and replied, after a 
 slight hesitation: 
 
 "I have a sincere affection for Claudet and much 
 esteem." 
 
 "I understand that," replied the priest, compressing 
 his lips, "but excuse me if I press the matter has the 
 engagement you have made with him been determined 
 simply by considerations of affection and suitableness, 
 or by more interior and deeper feelings?" 
 
 "Pardon, Monsieur le Cure," returned Reine, color- 
 ing, "it seems to me that a sentiment of friendship, 
 joined to a firm determination to prove a faithful and 
 devoted wife, should be, in your eyes as they are in mine, 
 a sufficient assurance that " 
 
 "Certainly, certainly, my dear child; and many hus- 
 bands would be contented with less. However, it is not 
 only a question of Claudefs happiness, but of yours also. 
 Come now ! let me ask you : is your affection for young 
 Sejournant so powerful that in the event of any unfore- 
 seen circumstance happening, to break off the marriage, 
 you would be forever unhappy?" 
 
 "Ah!" replied Reine, more embarrassed than ever, 
 " you ask too grave a question, Monsieur le Cure ! If it 
 
ANDK THEURIET 
 
 were broken off without my having to reproach myself 
 for it, it is probable that I should find consolation in 
 time." 
 
 " Very good ! Consequently, you do not love Claudet, 
 if I may take the word love in the sense understood by 
 people of the world. You only like, you do not love 
 him? Tell me. Answer frankly." 
 
 "Frankly, Monsieur le Cure, no!" 
 
 " Thanks be to God! We are saved!" exclaimed the 
 Abbe, drawing a long breath, while Reine, amazed, 
 gazed at him with wondering eyes. 
 
 " I do not understand you," faltered she ; " what is it ? " 
 
 "It is this: the marriage can not take place." 
 
 "Cannot? why?" 
 
 "It is impossible, both in the eyes of the Church and 
 in those of the world." 
 
 The young girl looked at him with increasing amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 ' ' You alarm me ! " cried she. ' ' What has happened ? 
 What reasons hinder me from marrying Claudet?" 
 
 " Very powerful reasons, my dear child. I do not feel 
 at liberty to reveal them to you, but you must know that 
 I am not speaking without authority, and that you may 
 rely on the statement I have made." 
 
 Reine remained thoughtful, her brows knit, her coun- 
 tenance troubled. 
 
 "I have every confidence in you, Monsieur le Cure, 
 but " 
 
 "But you hesitate about believing me," interrupted 
 the Abbe, piqued at not finding in one of his flock the 
 blind obedience on which he had reckoned. " You must 
 
 [i74] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 know, nevertheless, that your pastor has no interest in 
 deceiving you, and that when he seeks to influence you, 
 he has in view only your well-being in this world and in 
 the next." 
 
 "I do not doubt your good intentions," replied Reine, 
 with firmness, "but a promise can not be annulled with- 
 out sufficient cause. I have given my word to Claudet, 
 and I am too loyal at heart to break faith with him with- 
 out letting him know the reason." 
 
 "You will find some pretext." 
 
 "And supposing that Claudet would be content with 
 such a pretext, my own conscience would not be," ob- 
 jected the young girl, raising her clear, honest glance 
 toward the priest; "your words have entered my soul, 
 they are troubling me now, and it will be worse when I 
 begin to think this matter over again. I can not bear 
 uncertainty. I must see my way clearly before me. I 
 entreat you then, Monsieur le Cure, not to do things by 
 halves. You have thought it your duty to tell me I can 
 not wed with Claudet; now tell me why not?" 
 
 "Why not? why not?" repeated the Abbe, angrily. 
 "I distress myself in telling you that I am not author- 
 ized to satisfy your unwise curiosity! You must hum- 
 ble your intelligence and believe without arguing." 
 
 "In matters of faith, that may be possible," urged 
 Reine, obstinately, "but my marriage has nothing to do 
 with discussing the truths of our holy religion. I there- 
 fore respectfully ask to be enlightened, Monsieur le 
 Cure; otherwise " 
 
 "Otherwise?" repeated the Abb6 Pernot, inquiringly, 
 rolling his eyes uneasily. 
 
ANDRfe THEURIET 
 
 "Otherwise, I shall keep my word respectably, and I 
 shall marry Claudet." 
 
 "You will not do that?" said he, imploringly, joining 
 his hands as if in supplication; "after being openly 
 warned by me, you dare not burden your soul with such 
 a terrible responsibility. Come, my child, does not the 
 possibility of committing a mortal sin alarm your con- 
 science as a Christian?" 
 
 " I can not sin if I am in ignorance, and as to my con- 
 science, Monsieur le Cure, do you think it is acting like 
 a Christian to alarm without enlightening?" 
 
 "Is that your last word?" inquired the Abbe, com- 
 pletely aghast. 
 
 "it is my last word," she replied, vehemently, moved 
 both by a feeling of self-respect, and a desire to force the 
 hand of her interlocutor. 
 
 "You are a proud, obstinate girl!" exclaimed the 
 Abbe*, rising abruptly, "you wish to compel me to re- 
 veal this secret! Well, have your way! I will tell you. 
 May the harm which may result from it fall lightly upon 
 you, and do not hereafter reproach me for the pain I am 
 about to inflict upon you." 
 
 He checked himself for a moment, again joined his 
 hands, and raising his eyes toward heaven ejaculated 
 fervently, as if repeating his devotions in the oratory: 
 "O Lord, thou knowest I would have spared her this 
 bitter cup, but, between two evils, I have avoided the 
 greater. If I forfeit my solemn promise, consider, O 
 Lord, I pray thee, that I do it to avoid disgrace and 
 exposure for her, and deign to forgive thy servant!" 
 
 He seated himself again, placed one of his hands be- 
 [176] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 fore his eyes, and began, in a 'hollow voice, Reine, all 
 the while gazing nervously at him: 
 
 "My child, you are forcing me to violate a secret 
 which has been solemnly confided to me. It concerns 
 a matter not usually talked about before young girls, 
 but you are, I believe, already a woman in heart and 
 understanding, and you will hear resignedly what I have 
 to tell you, however much the recital may trouble you. 
 I have already informed you that your marriage with 
 Claudet is impossible. I now declare that it would be 
 criminal, for the reason that incest is an abomination." 
 
 "Incest!" repeated Reine, pale and trembling, "what 
 do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean," sighed the cure, "that you are Claudet's 
 sister, not having the same mother, but the same father: 
 Claude-Odouart de Buxieres." 
 
 "Oh! you are mistaken! that can not be!" 
 
 "I am stating facts. It grieves me to the heart, my 
 dear child, that in speaking of your deceased mother, 
 I should have to reveal an error over which she lamented, 
 like David, with tears of blood. She confessed her sin, 
 not to the priest, but to a friend, a few days before her 
 death. In justice to her memory, I ought to add that, 
 like most of the unfortunates seduced by this untama- 
 ble de Buxieres, she succumbed to his wily misrepre- 
 sentations. She was a victim rather than an accom- 
 plice. The man himself acknowledged as much in a 
 note entrusted to my care, which I have here." 
 
 And the Abbe drew from his pocket an old, worn 
 letter, the writing yellow with age, and placed it before 
 Reine. In this letter, written in Claude de Buxieres's 
 12 [177] 
 
ANDRfi THEURIET 
 
 coarse, sprawling hand, doubtless in reply to a reproach- 
 ful appeal from his mistress, he endeavored to offer some 
 kind of honorable amends for the violence he had used, 
 and to calm Madame Vincart's remorse by promising, 
 as was his custom, to watch over the future of the child 
 which should be born to her. 
 
 "That child was yourself, my poor girl/' continued 
 the Abbe, picking up the letter which Reine had thrown 
 down, after reading it, with a gesture of sickened dis- 
 gust. 
 
 She appeared not to hear him. She had buried her 
 face in her hands, to hide the flushing of her cheeks, 
 and sat motionless, altogether crushed beneath the 
 shameful revelation; convulsive sobs and tremblings 
 occasionally agitating her frame. 
 
 "You can now understand," continued the priest, 
 "how the announcement of this projected marriage 
 stunned and terrified me. I could not confide to 
 Claudet the reason for my stupefaction, and I should 
 have been thankful if you could have understood so 
 that I could have spared you this cruel mortification, 
 but you would not take any intimation from me. And 
 now, forgive me for inflicting this cross upon you, and 
 bear it with courage, with Christian fortitude." 
 
 "You have acted as was your duty," murmured 
 Reine, sadly, "and I thank you, Monsieur le Cure!" 
 
 "And will you promise me to dismiss Claudet at once 
 to-day ?'[ 
 
 "I promise you." 
 
 The Abbe Pernot advanced to take her hand, and 
 administer some words of consolation ; but she evaded, 
 
 [178] 
 

 A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 with a stern gesture, the good man's pious sympathy, 
 and escaped toward the dwelling. 
 
 The spacious kitchen was empty when she entered. 
 The shutters had been closed against the sun, and it 
 had become cool and pleasant. Here and there, among 
 the copper utensils, and wherever a chance ray made a 
 gleam of light, the magpie was hopping about, uttering 
 short, piercing cries. In the recess of the niche con- 
 taining the colored prints, sat the old man Vincart, doz- 
 ing, in his usual supine attitude, his hands spread out, 
 his eyelids drooping, his mouth half open. At the sound 
 of the door, his eyes opened wide. He rather guessed 
 at, than saw, the entrance of the young girl, and his 
 pallid lips began their accustomed refrain: "Reine! 
 Rei eine!" 
 
 Reine flew impetuously toward the paralytic old man, 
 threw herself on her knees before him, sobbing bitterly, 
 and covered his hands with kisses. Her caresses were 
 given in a more respectful, humble, contrite manner 
 than ever before. 
 
 "Oh! father father!" faltered she; "I loved you 
 always, I shall love you now with all my heart and 
 soul!" 
 
 [i79] 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 LOVE'S SAD ENDING 
 
 [E kitchen was bright with sunshine, 
 and the industrious bees were buzzing 
 around the flowers on the window-sills, 
 while Reine was listlessly attending to 
 culinary duties, and preparing her 
 father's meal. The humiliating dis- 
 closures made by the Abbe Pernot 
 weighed heavily upon her mind. She 
 foresaw that Claudet would shortly be at La Thuiliere 
 in order to hear the result of the cure's visit ; but she did 
 not feel sufficiently mistress of herself to have a decisive 
 interview with him at such short notice, and resolved to 
 gain at least one day by absenting herself from the farm. 
 It seemed to her necessary that she should have that 
 length of time to arrange her ideas, and evolve some way 
 of separating Claudet and herself without his suspecting 
 the real motive of rupture. So, telling La Guite to say 
 that unexpected business had called her away, she set 
 out for the woods of Maigrefontaine. 
 
 Whenever she had felt the need of taking counsel with 
 herself before deciding on any important matter, the 
 forest had been her refuge and her inspiration. The 
 refreshing solitude of the valleys, watered by living 
 streams, acted as a strengthening balm to her irresolute 
 
 [180] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 will ; her soul inhaled the profound peace of these leafy 
 retreats. By the time she had reached the inmost shade 
 of the forest her mind had become calmer, and better 
 able to unravel the confusion of thoughts that surged 
 like troubled waters through her brain. The dominant 
 idea was, that her self-respect had been wounded; the 
 shock to her maidenly modesty, and the shame attendant 
 upon the fact, affected her physically, as if she had been 
 belittled and degraded by a personal stain; and this 
 downfall caused her deep humiliation. By slow degrees, 
 however, and notwithstanding this state of abject de- 
 spair, she felt, cropping up somewhere in her heart, a 
 faint germ of gladness, and, by close examination, dis- 
 covered its origin : she was now loosed from her obliga- 
 tions toward Claudet, and the prospect of being once 
 more free afforded her immediate consolation. 
 
 She had so much regretted, during the last few weeks, 
 the feeling of outraged pride which had incited her to 
 consent to this marriage; her loyal, sincere nature had 
 revolted at the constraint she had imposed upon herself; 
 her nerves had been so severely taxed by having to 
 receive her fiance with sufficient warmth to satisfy his 
 expectations, and yet not afford any encouragement to 
 his demonstrative tendencies, that the certainty of her 
 newly acquired freedom created a sensation of relief and 
 well-being. But, hardly had she analyzed and acknowl- 
 edged this sensation when she reproached herself for 
 harboring it when she was about to cause Claudet such 
 affliction. 
 
 Poor Claudet ! what a cruel blow was in store for him ! 
 He was so guilelessly in love, and had such unbounded 
 
 [181] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 confidence in the success of his projects! Reine was 
 overcome by tender reminiscences. She had always ex- 
 perienced, as if divining by instinct the natural bonds 
 which united them, a sisterly affection for Claudet. 
 Since their earliest infancy, at the age when they learned 
 their catechism under the church porch, they had been 
 united in a bond of friendly fellowship. With Reine, 
 this tender feeling had always remained one of friend- 
 ship, but, with Claudet, it had ripened into love; and 
 now, after allowing the poor young fellow to believe that 
 his love was reciprocated, she was forced to disabuse 
 him. It was useless for her to try to find some way of 
 softening the blow; there was none. Claudet was too 
 much in love to remain satisfied with empty words; he 
 would require solid reasons; and the only conclusive one 
 which would convince him, without wounding his self- 
 love, was exactly the one which the young girl could not 
 give him. She was, therefore, doomed to send Claudet 
 away with the impression that he had been jilted by a 
 heartless and unprincipled coquette. And yet some- 
 thing must be done. The grand chasserot had been too 
 long already in the toils; there was something barbar- 
 ously cruel in not freeing him from his illusions. 
 
 In this troubled state of mind, Reine gazed appeal- 
 ingly at the silent witnesses of her distress. She heard 
 a voice within her saying to the tall, vaulted ash, "In- 
 spire me!" to the little rose-colored centaurea of the 
 wayside, "Teach me a charm to cure the harm I have 
 done ! " But the woods, which in former days had been 
 her advisers and instructors, remained deaf to her invo- 
 cation. For the first time, she felt herself isolated and 
 
 [i8 3 ] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 abandoned to her own resources, even in the midst of 
 her beloved forest. 
 
 It is when we experience these violent mental crises, 
 that we become suddenly conscious of Nature's cold 
 indifference to our sufferings. She really is nothing 
 more than the reflex of our own sensations, and can only 
 give us back what we lend her. Beautiful but selfish, 
 she allows herself to be courted by novices, but presents 
 a freezing, emotionless aspect to those who have out- 
 lived their illusions. 
 
 Reine did not reach home until the day had begun to 
 wane. La Guite informed her that Claudet had waited 
 for her during part of the afternoon, and that he would 
 come again the next day at nine o'clock. Notwithstand- 
 ing her bodily fatigue, she slept uneasily, and her sleep 
 was troubled by feverish dreams. Every time she closed 
 her eyes, she fancied herself conversing with Claudet, 
 and woke with a start at the sound of his angry voice. 
 
 She arose at dawn, descended at once to the lower 
 floor, to get through her morning tasks, and as soon as 
 the big kitchen clock struck nine, she left the house and 
 took the path by which Claudet would come. A feeling 
 of delicate consideration toward her lover had impelled 
 her to choose for her explanation any other place than 
 the one where she had first received his declaration of 
 love, and consented to the marriage. Very soon he 
 came in sight, his stalwart figure outlined against the 
 gray landscape. He was walking rapidly; her heart 
 smote her, her hands became like ice, but she sum- 
 moned all her fortitude, and went bravely forward to 
 meet him. 
 
 [183] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 When he came within forty or fifty feet, he recognized 
 Reine, and took a short cut across the stubble studded 
 with cobwebs glistening with dew. 
 
 "Aha! my Reine, my queen, good-morning!" cried 
 he, joyously, "it is sweet of you to come to meet me!" 
 
 "Good-morning, Claudet. I came to meet you be- 
 cause I wish to speak with you on matters of importance, 
 and I preferred not to have the conversation take place 
 in our house. Shall we walk as far as the Planche-au- 
 Vacher?" 
 
 He stopped short, astonished at the proposal and also 
 at the sad and resolute attitude of his betrothed. He 
 examined her more closely, noticed her deep-set eyes, 
 her cheeks, whiter than usual. 
 
 "Why, what is the matter, Reine?" he inquired; 
 "you are not yourself; do you not feel well?" 
 
 "Yes, and no. I have passed a bad night, thinking 
 over matters that are troubling me, and I think that has 
 produced some fever." 
 
 " What matters ? Any that concern us ? " 
 
 "Yes;" replied she, laconically. 
 
 Claudet opened his eyes. The young girl's continued 
 gravity began to alarm him ; but, seeing that she walked 
 quickly forward, with an absent air, her face lowered, 
 her brows bent, her mouth compressed, he lost courage 
 and refrained from asking her any questions. They 
 walked on thus in silence, until they came to the open 
 level covered with juniper-bushes, from which solitary 
 place, surrounded by hawthorn hedges, they could trace 
 the narrow defile leading to Vivey, and the faint mist 
 beyond. 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 "Let us stop here," said Reine, seating herself on a 
 flat, mossy stone, "we can talk here without fear of being 
 disturbed." 
 
 "No fear of that," remarked Claudet, with a forced 
 smile, "with the exception of the shepherd of Vivey, 
 who comes here sometimes with his cattle, we shall not 
 see many passers-by. It must be a secret that you have 
 to tell me, Reine?" he added. 
 
 "No;" she returned, "but I foresee that my words 
 will give you pain, my poor Claudet, and I prefer you 
 should hear them without being annoyed by the farm- 
 people passing to and fro." 
 
 "Explain yourself!" he exclaimed, impetuously. 
 "For heaven's sake, don't keep me in suspense!" 
 
 "Listen, Claudet. When you asked my hand in mar- 
 riage, I answered yes, without taking time to reflect. 
 But, since I have been thinking over our plans, I have 
 had scruples. My father is becoming every day more 
 of an invalid, and in his present state I really have no 
 right to live for any one but him. One would think he 
 was aware of our intentions, for since you have been 
 visiting at the farm, he is more agitated and suffers 
 more. I think that any change in his way of living 
 would bring on a stroke, and I never should forgive 
 myself if I thought I had shortened his life. That is the 
 reason why, as long as I have him with me, I do not see 
 that it will be possible for me to dispose of myself. On 
 the other hand, I do not wish to abuse your patience. 
 I therefore ask you to take back your liberty and give 
 me back my promise." 
 
 "That is to say, you won't have me!" he exclaimed. 
 [185] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 "No; my poor friend, it means only that I shall not 
 marry so long as my father is living, and that I can not 
 ask you to wait until I am perfectly free. Forgive me 
 for having entered into the engagement too carelessly, 
 and do not on that account take your friendship from 
 
 me." 
 
 "Reine," interrupted Claudet, angrily, "don't turn 
 your brain inside out to make me believe that night is 
 broad day. I am not a child, and I see very well that 
 your father's health is only a pretext. You don't want 
 me, that's all, and, with all due respect, you have 
 changed your mind very quickly ! Only the day before 
 yesterday you authorized me to arrange about the day 
 for the ceremony with the Abbe Pernot. Now that you 
 have had a visit from the cure, you want to put the affair 
 off until the week when two Sundays come together! 
 I am a little curious to know what that confounded old 
 abbe has been babbling about me, to turn you inside 
 out like a glove in such a short time." 
 
 Claudet' s conscience reminded him of several rare 
 frolics, chance love-affairs, meetings in the woods, and 
 so on, and he feared the priest might have told Reine 
 some unfavorable stories about him. "Ah!" he con- 
 tinued, clenching his fists, "if this old poacher in a cas- 
 sock has done me an ill turn with you, he will not have 
 much of a chance for paradise!" 
 
 "Undeceive yourself," said Reine, quickly, "Mon- 
 sieur le Cure is your friend, like myself; he esteems 
 you highly, and never has said anything but good of 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, indeed!" sneered the young man, "as you are 
 [186] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 both so fond of me, how does it happen that you have 
 given me my dismissal the very day after your interview 
 with the cure?" 
 
 Reine, knowing Claudet's violent disposition, and 
 wishing to avoid trouble for the cure, thought it advis- 
 able to have recourse to evasion. 
 
 " Monsieur le Cure," said she, "has had no part in my 
 decision. He has not spoken against you, and deserves 
 no reproaches from you." 
 
 "In that case, why do you send me away?" 
 
 "I repeat again, the comfort and peace of my father 
 are paramount with me, and I do not intend to marry 
 so long as he may have need of me." 
 
 "Well," said Claudet, persistently, "I love you, and 
 I will wait." 
 
 "It cannot be." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because," replied she, sharply, "because it would 
 be kind neither to you, nor to my father, nor to me. 
 Because marriages that drag along in that way are 
 never good for anything!" 
 
 "Those are bad reasons!" he muttered, gloomily. 
 
 "Good or bad," replied the young girl, "they appear 
 valid to me, and I hold to them." 
 
 "Reine," said he, drawing near to her and looking 
 straight into her eyes, "can you swear, by the head of 
 your father, that you have given me the true reason for 
 your rejecting me?" 
 
 She became embarrassed, and remained silent. 
 
 "See!" heexclaimed, "you dare not take the oath!" 
 
 "My word should suffice," she faltered. 
 [187] 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 "No; it does not suffice. But your silence says a 
 great deal, I tell you! You are too frank, Reine, and 
 you don't know how to lie. I read it in your eyes, I do. 
 The true reason is that you do not love me." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders and turned away her 
 head. 
 
 "No, you do not love me. If you had any love for 
 me, instead of discouraging me, you would hold out 
 some hope to me, and advise me to have patience. 
 You never have loved me, confess now!" 
 
 By dint of this persistence, Reine by degrees lost her 
 self-confidence. She could realize how much Claudet 
 was suffering, and she reproached herself for the torture 
 she was inflicting upon him. Driven into a corner, and 
 recognizing that the avowal he was asking for was the 
 only one that would drive him away, she hesitated no 
 longer. 
 
 "Alas!" she murmured, lowering her eyes, "since you 
 force me to tell you some truths that I would rather have 
 kept from you, I confess you have guessed. I have a 
 sincere friendship for you, but that is all. I have con- 
 cluded that to marry a person one ought to love him 
 differently, more than everything else in the world, and 
 I feel that my heart is not turned altogether toward 
 you.*' 
 
 "No," said Claudet, bitterly, "it is turned else- 
 where." 
 
 "What do you mean? I do not understand you." 
 
 "I mean that you love some one else." 
 
 "That is not true," she protested. 
 
 "You are blushing a proof that I have hit the nail!" 
 [188] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 C 
 
 "Enough of this!" cried she, imperiously. 
 . "You are right. Now that you have said you don't 
 want me any longer, I have no right to ask anything 
 further. Adieu!" 
 
 He turned quickly on his heel. Reine was conscious 
 of having been too hard with him, and not wishing him 
 to go away with such a grief in his heart, she sought to 
 retain him by placing her hand upon his arm. 
 
 "Come, Claudet," said she, entreatingly, "do not let 
 us part in anger. It pains me to see you suffer, and I 
 am sorry if I have said anything unkind to you. Give 
 me your hand in good fellowship, will you?" 
 
 But Claudet drew back with a fierce gesture, and 
 glancing angrily at Reine, he replied, rudely: 
 
 "Thanks for your regrets and your pity; I have no 
 use for them." She understood that he was deeply 
 hurt; gave up entreating, and turned away with eyes 
 full of tears. 
 
 He remained motionless, his arms crossed, in the 
 middle of the road. After some minutes, he turned his 
 head. Reine was already nothing more than a dark 
 speck against the gray of the increasing fog. Then he 
 went off, haphazard, across the pasture-lands. The 
 fog was rising slowly, and the sun, shorn of its beams, 
 showed its pale face faintly through it. To the right 
 and the left, the woods were half hidden by moving 
 white billows, and Claudet walked between fluid walls 
 of vapor. This hidden sky, these veiled surroundings, 
 harmonized with his mental condition. It was easier 
 for him to hide his chagrin. "Some one else! Yes; 
 that's it. She loves some other fellow! how was it I 
 
 [189] 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 did not find that out the very first day?" Then he re- 
 called how Reine shrank from him when he solicited, 
 a caress; how she insisted on their betrothal being kept 
 secret, and how many times she had postponed the date 
 of the wedding. It was evident that she had received 
 him only in self-defence, and on the pleading of Julien 
 de Buxieres. Julien ! the name threw a gleam of light 
 across his brain, hitherto as foggy as the country around 
 him. Might not Julien be the fortunate rival on whom 
 Reine's affections were so obstinately set ? Still, if she 
 had always loved Monsieur de Buxieres, in what spirit 
 of perversity or thoughtlessness had she suffered the 
 advances of another suitor? 
 
 Reine was no coquette, and such a course of action 
 would be repugnant to her frank, open nature. It was 
 a profound enigma, which Claudet, who had plenty of 
 good common sense, but not much insight, was unable 
 to solve. But grief has, among its other advantages, the 
 power of rendering our perceptions more acute; and by 
 dint of revolving the question in his mind, Claudet at last 
 became enlightened. Had not Reine simply followed 
 the impulse of her wounded feelings? She was very 
 proud, and when the man whom she secretly loved had 
 come coolly forward to plead the cause of one who was 
 indifferent to her, would not her self-respect be lowered, 
 and would she not, in a spirit of bravado, accept the 
 proposition, in order that he might never guess the suf- 
 ferings of her spurned affections ? There was no doubt, 
 that, later, recognizing that the task was beyond her 
 strength, she had felt ashamed of deceiving Claudet any 
 longer, and, acting on the advice of the Abbe Pernot, 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 C 
 
 had made up her mind to break off a union that was 
 repugnant to her. 
 
 "Yes;" he repeated, mournfully to himself, "that 
 must have been the way it happened." And with this 
 kind of explanation of Reine's actions, his irritation 
 seemed to lessen. Not that his grief was less poignant, 
 but the first burst of rage had spent itself like a great 
 wind-storm, which becomes lulled after a heavy fall of 
 rain; the bitterness was toned down, and he was ena- 
 bled to reason more clearly. 
 
 Julien well, what was the part of Julien in all this 
 disturbance? "If what I imagine is true," thought he, 
 " Monsieur de Buxferes knows that Reine loves him, but 
 has he any reciprocal feeling for her? With a man as 
 mysterious as my cousin, it is not easy to find out what 
 is going on in his heart. Anyhow, I have no right to 
 complain of him ; as soon as he discovered my love for 
 Reine, did he not, besides ignoring his own claim, offer 
 spontaneously to take my message ? Still, there is some- 
 thing queer at the bottom of it all, and whatever it costs 
 me, I am going to find it out." 
 
 At this moment, through the misty air, he heard faintly 
 the village clock strike eleven. "Already so late! how 
 the lime flies, even when one is suffering ! " He bent his 
 course toward the chateau, and, breathless and excited, 
 without replying to Manette's inquiries, he burst into the 
 hall where his cousin was pacing up and down, waiting 
 for breakfast. At this sudden intrusion Julien started, 
 and noted Claudet's quick breathing and disordered 
 state. 
 
 "Ho, ho!" exclaimed he, in his usual sarcastic tone, 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 " what a. hurry you are in ! I suppose you have come to 
 say the wedding-day is fixed at last?" 
 
 "No!" replied Claudet, briefly, "there will be no 
 wedding." 
 
 Julien tottered, and turned to face his cousin. 
 
 "What's that? Are you joking?" 
 
 " I am in no mood for joking. Reine will not have 
 me; she has taken back her promise." 
 
 While pronouncing these words, he scrutinized atten- 
 tively his cousin's countenance, full in the light from the 
 opposite window. He saw his features relax, and his 
 eyes glow with the same expression which he had 
 noticed a few days previous, when he had referred 
 to the fact that Reine had again postponed the mar- 
 riage. 
 
 "Whence comes this singular change?" stammered 
 de Buxieres, visibly agitated ; " what reasons does Made- 
 moiselle Vincart give in explanation?" 
 
 "Idle words: her father's health, disinclination to 
 leave him. You may suppose I take such excuses for 
 what they are worth. The real cause of her refusal is 
 more serious and more mortifying." 
 
 "You know it, then?" exclaimed Julien, eagerly. 
 
 "I know it, because I forced Reine to confess it." 
 
 "And the reason is?" 
 
 "That she does not love me." 
 
 "Reine does not love you!" 
 
 Again a gleam of light irradiated the young man's 
 large, blue eyes. Claudet was leaning against the table, 
 in front of his cousin; he continued slowly, looking him 
 steadily in the face: 
 
 [192] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 "That is not all. Not only does Reine not love me, 
 but she lovee some one else." 
 
 Julien changed color; the blood coursed over his 
 cheeks, his forehead, his ears; he drooped his head. 
 
 "Did she tell you so?" he murmured, at last, feebly. 
 
 "She did not, but I guessed it. Her heart is won, 
 and I think I know by whom." 
 
 Claudet had uttered these last words slowly and with 
 a painful effort, at the same time studying Julien's 
 countenance with renewed inquiry. The latter became 
 more and more troubled, and his physiognomy expressed 
 both anxiety and embarrassment. 
 
 "Whom do you suspect?" he stammered. 
 
 "Oh!" replied Claudet, employing a simple artifice 
 to sound the obscure depth of his cousin's heart, "it is 
 useless to name the person; you do not know him." 
 
 "A stranger?" 
 
 Julien's countenance had again changed. His hands 
 were twitching nervously, his lips compressed, and his 
 dilated pupils were blazing with anger, instead of 
 triumph, as before. 
 
 "Yes; a stranger, a clerk in the iron-works at Gran- 
 cey, I think," 
 
 "You think! you think!" cried Julien, fiercely, 
 "why don't you have more definite information before 
 you accuse Mademoiselle Vincart of such treachery?" 
 
 He resumed pacing the hall, while his interlocutor, 
 motionless, remained silent, and kept his eyes steadily 
 upon him. 
 
 "It is not possible," resumed Julien, "Reine can 
 not have played us such a trick! When I spoke to 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 her for you, it was so easy to say she was already be- 
 trothed!" 
 
 "Perhaps," objected Claudet, shaking his head, "she 
 had reasons for not letting you know all that was in her 
 mind." 
 
 "What reasons?" 
 
 "She doubtless believed at that time that the man 
 she preferred did not care for her. There are some 
 people who, when they are vexed, act in direct contra- 
 diction to their own wishes. I have the idea that Reine 
 accepted me only for want of some one better, and after- 
 ward, being too open-hearted to dissimulate for any 
 length of time, she thought better of it, and sent me 
 about my business." 
 
 "And you," interrupted Julien, sarcastically, "you, 
 who had been accepted as her betrothed, did not know 
 better how to defend your rights than to suffer yourself 
 to be ejected by a rival, whose intentions, even, you have 
 not clearly ascertained!" 
 
 "By Jove! how could I help it? A fellow that takes 
 an unwilling bride is playing for too high stakes. The 
 moment I found there was another she preferred, I had 
 but one course before me to take myself off." 
 
 "And you call that loving!" shouted de Buxieres, 
 "you call that losing your heart! God in heaven! if I 
 had been in your place, how differently I should have 
 acted ! Instead of leaving, with piteous protestations, I 
 should have stayed near Reine, I should have surrounded 
 her with tenderness. I should have expressed my pas- 
 sion with so much force that its flame should pass from 
 my burning soul to hers, and she would have been forced 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 to love me! Ah! If I had only thought! if I had 
 dared! how different it would have been!" 
 
 He jerked out his sentences with unrestrained frenzy. 
 He seemed hardly to know what he was saying, or that 
 he had a listener. Claudet stood contemplating him in 
 sullen silence: "Aha!" thought he, with bitter resigna- 
 tion; "I have sounded you at last. I know what is in 
 the bottom of your heart." 
 
 Manette, bringing in the breakfast, interrupted their 
 colloquy, and both assumed an air of indifference, 
 according to a tacit understanding that a prudent 
 amount of caution should be observed in her presence. 
 They ate hurriedly, and as soon as the cloth was re- 
 moved, and they were again alone, Julien, glancing with 
 an indefinable expression at Claudet, muttered sav- 
 agely: 
 
 "Well! what do you decide?" 
 
 "I will tell you later," responded the other, briefly. 
 
 He quitted the room abruptly, told Manette that he 
 would not be home until late, and strode out across the 
 fields, his dog following. He had taken his gun as a 
 blind, but it was useless for Montagnard to raise his 
 bark; Claudet allowed the hares to scamper away with 
 out sending a single shot after them. He was busy 
 inwardly recalling the details of the conversation he had 
 had with his cousin. The situation now was simplified : 
 Julien was in love with Reine, and was vainly combating 
 his overpowering passion. What reason had he for con- 
 cealing his love? What motive or reasoning had in- 
 duced him, when he was already secretly enamored of 
 the girl, to push Claudet in front and interfere to procure 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 her acceptance of him as a fiance? This point alone 
 remained obscure. Was Julien carrying out certain 
 theories of the respect due his position in society, and 
 did he fear to contract a misalliance by marrying a 
 mere farmer's daughter? Or did he, with his usual 
 timidity and distrust of himself, dread being refused by 
 Reine, and, half through pride, half through backward- 
 ness, keep away for fear of a humiliating rejection? 
 With de Buxieres's proud and suspicious nature, each of 
 these suppositions was equally likely. The conclusion 
 most undeniable was, that notwithstanding his set ideas 
 and his moral cowardice, Julien had an ardent and over- 
 powering love for Mademoiselle Vincart. As to Reine 
 herself, Claudet was more than ever convinced that she 
 had a secret inclination toward somebody, although she 
 had denied the charge. But for whom was her prefer- 
 ence ? Claudet knew the neighborhood too well to be- 
 lieve the existence of any rival worth talking about, 
 other than his cousin de Buxieres. None of the boys of 
 the village or the surrounding towns had ever come 
 courting old Father Vincart's daughter, and de Buxieres 
 himself possessed sufficient qualities to attract Reine. 
 Certainly, if he were a girl, he never should fix upon 
 Julien for a lover; but women often have tastes that 
 men can not comprehend, and Julien's refinement of 
 nature, his bashfulness, and even his reserve, might 
 easily have fascinated a girl of such strong will and 
 somewhat peculiar notions. It was probable, there- 
 fore, that she liked him, and perhaps had done so for a 
 long time; but, being clear-sighted and impartial, she 
 could see that he never would marry her, because her 
 
 [196] 
 

 A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 condition in life was not equal to his own. Afterward, 
 when the man she loved had flaunted his indifference so 
 far as to plead the cause of another, her pride had re- 
 volted, and in the blind agony of her wounded feelings, 
 she had thrown herself into the arms of the first comer, 
 as if to punish herself for entertaining loving thoughts of 
 a man who could so disdain her affection. 
 
 So, by means of that lucid intuition which the heart 
 alone can furnish, Claudet at last succeeded in evolving 
 the naked truth. But the fatiguing labor of so much 
 thinking, to which his brain was little accustomed, and 
 the sadness which continued to oppress him, overcame 
 him to such an extent that he was obliged to sit down 
 and rest on a clump of brushwood. He gazed over the 
 woods and the clearings, which he had so often traversed 
 light of heart and of foot, and felt mortally unhappy. 
 These sheltering lanes and growing thickets, where he 
 had so frequently encountered Reine, the beautiful hunt- 
 ing-grounds in which he had taken such delight, only 
 awakened painful sensations, and he felt as if he should 
 grow to hate them all if he were obliged to pass the rest 
 of his days in their midst. As the day waned, the sinu- 
 osities of the forest became more blended; the depth of 
 the valleys was lost in thick vapors. The wind had 
 risen. The first falling leaves of the season rose and fell 
 like wounded birds; heavy clouds gathered in the sky, 
 and the night was coming on apace. Claudet was grate- 
 ful for the sudden darkness, which would blot out a view 
 now so distasteful to him. Shortly, on the Auberive 
 side, along the winding Aubette, feeble lights became 
 visible, as if inviting the young man to profit by their 
 
ANDRtf THEURIET 
 
 guidance. He arose, took the path indicated, and went 
 to supper, or rather, to a pretence of supper, in the same 
 inn where he had breakfasted with Julien, whence the 
 latter had gone on his mission to Reine. This remem- 
 brance alone would have sufficed to destroy his appe- 
 tite. 
 
 He did not remain long at table ; he could not, in fact, 
 stay many minutes in one place, and so, notwithstanding 
 the urgent insistence of the hostess, he started on the way 
 back to Vivey, feeling his way through the profound 
 darkness. When he reached the chateau, every one 
 was in bed. Noiselessly, his dog creeping after him, he 
 slipped into his room, and, overcome with fatigue, fell 
 into a heavy slumber. 
 
 The next morning his first visit was to Julien. He 
 found him in a nervous and feverish condition, having 
 passed a sleepless night. Claudet's revelations had 
 entirely upset his intentions, and planted fresh thorns 
 of jealousy in his heart. On first hearing that the mar- 
 riage was broken off, his heart had leaped for joy, and 
 hope had revived within him ; but the subsequent infor- 
 mation that Mademoiselle Vincart was probably inter- 
 ested in some lover, as yet unknown, had grievously 
 sobered him. He was indignant at Reine's duplicity, 
 and Claudet's cowardly resignation. The agony caused 
 by Claudet's betrothal was a matter of course, but this 
 love-for-a-stranger episode was an unexpected and 
 mortal wound. He was seized with violent fits of rage; 
 he was sometimes tempted to go and reproach the young 
 girl with what he called her breach of faith, and then go 
 and throw himself at her feet and avow his own passion. 
 
 [198] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 But the mistrust he had of himself, and his incurable 
 bashfulness, invariably prevented these heroic resolu- 
 tions from being carried out. He had so long cultivated 
 a habit of minute, fatiguing criticism upon every inward 
 emotion that he had almost incapacitated himself for 
 vigorous action. 
 
 He was in this condition when Claudet came in upon 
 him. At the noise of the opening door, Julien raised 
 his head, and looked dolefully at his cousin. 
 
 "Well?" said he, languidly. 
 
 "Well!" retorted Claudet, bravely, "on thinking over 
 what has been happening during the last month, I have 
 made sure of one thing of which I was doubtful." 
 
 "Of what were you doubtful?" returned de Buxieres, 
 quite ready to take offence at the answer. 
 
 "I am about to tell you. Do you remember the first 
 conversation we had together concerning Reine ? You 
 spoke of her with so much earnestness that I then sus- 
 pected you of being in love with her." 
 
 "I I hardly remember," faltered Julien, coloring. 
 
 "In that case, my memory is better than yours, Mon- 
 sieur de Buxieres. To-day, my suspicions have become 
 certainties. You are in love with Reine Vincart!" 
 
 "I?" faintly protested his cousin. 
 
 "Don't deny it, but rather, give me your confidence; 
 you will not be sorry for it. You love Reine, and have 
 loved her for a long while. You have succeeded in 
 hiding it from me because it is hard for you to unbosom 
 yourself; but, yesterday, I saw it quite plainly. You 
 dare not affirm the contrary!" 
 
 Julien, greatly agitated, had hidden his face in his 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 hands. After a moment's silence, he replied, defiantly : 
 "Well, and supposing it is so? What is the use of 
 talking about it, since Reine' s affections are placed 
 elsewhere ?" 
 
 "Oh! that's another matter. Reine has declined to 
 have me, and I really think she has some other affair 
 in her head. Yet, to confess the truth, the clerk at the 
 iron-works was a lover of my own imagining; she never 
 thought of him." 
 
 "Then why did you tell such a lie?" cried Julien, 
 impetuously. 
 
 "Because I thought I would plead the lie to get at 
 the truth. Forgive me for having made use of this old 
 trick to put you on the right track. It wasn't such a 
 bad idea, for I succeeded in finding out what you took 
 so much pains to hide from me." 
 
 "To hide from you ? Yes, I did wish to hide it from 
 you. Wasn't that right, since I was convinced that 
 Reine loved you ? " exclaimed Julien, in an almost stifled 
 voice, as if the avowal were choking him. "I have 
 always thought it idle to parade one's feelings before 
 those who do not care about them." 
 
 "You were wrong," returned poor Claudet, sighing 
 deeply, "if you had spoken for yourself, I have an idea 
 you would have been better received, and you would 
 have spared me a terrible heart-breaking." 
 
 He said it with such profound sadness that Julien, 
 notwithstanding the absorbing nature of his own 
 thoughts, was quite overcome, and almost on the point 
 of confessing, openly, the intensity of his feeling toward 
 Reine Vincart. But, accustomed as he was, by long 
 
 [200] 
 

 A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 habit, to concentrate every emotion within himself, he 
 found it impossible to become, all at once, commu- 
 nicative; he felt an invincible and almost maidenly 
 bashfulness at the idea of revealing the secret senti- 
 ments of his soul, and contented himself with saying, 
 in a low voice: 
 
 "Do you not love her any more, then?" 
 "I? oh, yes, indeed! But to be refused by the only 
 girl I ever wished to marry takes all the spirit out of me. 
 I am so discouraged, I feel like leaving the country. If 
 I were to go, it would perhaps be doing you a service, 
 and that would comfort me a little. You have treated 
 me as a friend, and that is a thing one doesn't forget. 
 I have not the means to pay you back for your kindness, 
 but I think I should be less sorry to go if my departure 
 would leave the way more free for you to return to La 
 Thuiliere." 
 
 "You surely would not leave on my account?" ex- 
 claimed Julien, in alarm. 
 
 "Not solely on your account, rest assured. If Reine 
 had loved me, it never would have entered my head to 
 make such a sacrifice for you, but she will not have 
 me. I am good for nothing here. I am only in your 
 way." 
 
 "But that is a wild idea! Where would you go?" 
 "Oh! there would be no difficulty about that. One 
 plan would be to go as a soldier. Why not? I am 
 hardy, a good walker, a good shot, can stand fatigue; 
 I have everything needed for military life. It is an 
 occupation that I should like, and I could earn my 
 epaulets as well as my neighbor. So that perhaps, 
 
 [ 201 ] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 Monsieur de Buxieres, matters might in that way be 
 arranged to suit everybody." 
 
 "Claudet!" stammered Julien, his voice thick with 
 sobs, "you are a better man than I! Yes; you are a 
 better man than I!" 
 
 And, for the first time, yielding to an imperious long- 
 ing for expansion, he sprang toward the grand chasserot, 
 clasped him in his arms, and embraced him fraternally. 
 
 " I will not let you expatriate yourself on my account," 
 he continued; "do not act rashly, I entreat!" 
 
 "Don't worry," replied Claudet, laconically, "if I so 
 decide, it will not be without deliberation." 
 
 In fact, during the whole of the ensuing week, he 
 debated in his mind this question of going away. Each 
 day his position at Vivey seemed more unbearable. 
 Without informing any one, he had been to Langres 
 and consulted an officer of his acquaintance on the 
 subject of the formalities required previous to enrol- 
 ment. 
 
 At last, one morning he resolved to go over to the mili- 
 tary division and sign his engagement. But he was 
 not willing to consummate this sacrifice without seeing 
 Reine Vincart for the last time. He was nursing, down 
 in the bottom of his heart, a vague hope, which, frail 
 and slender as the filament of a plant, was yet strong 
 enough to keep him on his native soil. Instead of tak- 
 ing the path to Vivey, he made a turn in the direction of 
 La Thuiliere, and soon reached the open elevation 
 whence the roofs of the farm-buildings and the turrets of 
 the chateau could both alike be seen. There he faltered, 
 v;ith a piteous sinking of the heart. Only a few steps 
 
 [M.J 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 tween himself and the house, yet he hesitated about 
 entering; not that he feared a want of welcome, but be- 
 cause he dreaded lest the reawakening of his tenderness 
 should cause him to lose a portion of the courage he 
 should need to enable him to leave. He leaned against 
 the trunk of an old pear-tree and surveyed the forest site 
 on which the farm was built. 
 
 The landscape retained its usual placidity. In the 
 distance, over the waste lands, the shepherd Tringuesse 
 was following his flock of sheep, which occasionally 
 scattered over the fields, and then, under the dog's 
 harassing watchfulness, reformed in a compact group, 
 previous to descending the narrow hill- slope. One 
 thing struck Claudet : the pastures and the woods bore 
 exactly the same aspect, presented the same play of light 
 and shade as on that afternoon of the preceding year, 
 when he had met Reine in the Ronces woods, a few 
 days before the arrival of Julien. The same bright yet 
 tender tint reddened the crab-apple and the wild -cherry ; 
 the tomtits and the robins chirped as before, among 
 the bushes, and, as in the previous year, one heard the 
 sound of the beechnuts and acorns dropping on the 
 rocky paths. Autumn went through her tranquil rites 
 and familiar operations, always with the same punctual 
 regularity; and all this would go on just the same when 
 Claudet was no longer there. There would only be one 
 lad the less in the village streets, one hunter failing to 
 answer the call when they were surrounding the woods 
 of Charbonniere. This dim perception of how small a 
 space man occupies on the earth, and of the ease with 
 which he is forgotten, aided Claudet unconsciously in 
 
 [ 20 3] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 his effort to be resigned, and he determined to enter the 
 house. As he opened the gate of the courtyard, he 
 found himself face to face with Reine, who was coming 
 out. 
 
 The young girl immediately supposed he had come 
 to make a last assault, in the hope of inducing her to 
 yield to his wishes. She feared a renewal of the painful 
 scene which had closed their last interview, and her first 
 impulse was to put herself on her guard. Her counte- 
 nance darkened, and she fixed a cold, questioning gaze 
 upon Claudet, as if to keep him at a distance. But, 
 when she noted the sadness of her young relative's ex- 
 pression, she was seized with pity. Making an effort, 
 however, to disguise her emotion, she pretended to 
 accost him with the calm and cordial friendship of for- 
 mer times. 
 
 "Why, good-morning, Claudet," said she, "you come 
 just in time. A quarter of an hour later you would 
 not have found me. Will you come in and rest a 
 moment?" 
 
 "Thanks, Reine," said he, "I will not hinder you in 
 your work. But I wanted to say, I am sorry I got 
 angry the other day; you were right, we must not leave 
 each other with ill-feeling, and, as I am going away 
 for a long time, I desire first to take your hand in 
 friendship." 
 
 "You are going away?" 
 
 "Yes; I am going now to Langres to enroll myself as 
 a soldier. And true it is, one knows when one goes 
 away, but it is hard to know when one will come back. 
 That is why I wanted to say good-by to you, and make 
 
 [204] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 peace, so as not to go away with too great a load on 
 my heart." 
 
 All Reine's coldness melted away. This young fel- 
 low, who was leaving his country on her account, was the 
 companion of her infancy, more than that, her nearest 
 relative. Her throat swelled, her eyes filled with tears. 
 She turned away her head, that he might not perceive 
 her emotion, and opened the kitchen-door. 
 
 " Come in, Claudet," said she, "we shall be more com- 
 fortable in the dining-room. We can talk there, and you 
 will have some refreshment before you go, will you not ? " 
 
 He obeyed, and followed her into the house. She 
 went herself into the cellar, to seek a bottle of old wine, 
 brought two glasses, and filled them with a trembling 
 hand. 
 
 "Shall you remain long in the service?" asked she. 
 
 "I shall engage for seven years." 
 
 "It is a hard life that you are choosing." 
 
 "What am I to do?" replied he, "I could not stay 
 here doing nothing." 
 
 Reine went in and out of the room in a bewildered 
 fashion. Claudet, too much excited to perceive that the 
 young girl's impassiveness was only on the surface, said 
 to himself: "It is all over; she accepts my departure as 
 an event perfectly natural; she treats me as she would 
 Theotime, the coal-dealer, or the tax-collector Bouche- 
 seiche. A glass of wine, two or three unimportant 
 questions, and then, good-by a pleasant journey, and 
 take care of yourself!" 
 
 Then he made a show of taking an airy, insouciant 
 tone. 
 
 [ 205 ] 
 
ANDRE THETJRIET 
 
 "Oh, well!" he exclaimed, "I've always been drawn 
 toward that kind of life. A musket will be a little 
 heavier than a gun, that's all; then I shall see different 
 countries, and that will change my ideas. r ' He tried to 
 appear facetious, poking around the kitchen, and teasing 
 the magpie, which was following his footsteps with in- 
 quisitive anxiety. Finally, he went up to the old man 
 Vincart, who was lying stretched out in his picture-lined 
 niche. He took the flabby hand of the paralytic old 
 man, pressed it gently and endeavored to get up a little 
 conversation with him, but he had it all to himself, the 
 invalid staring at him all the time with uneasy, wide- 
 open eyes. Returning to Reine, he lifted his glass. 
 
 " To your health, Reine ! " said he, with forced gayety, 
 "next time we clink glasses together, I shall be an ex- 
 perienced soldier you'll see!" 
 
 But, when he put the glass to his lips, several big 
 tears fell in, and he had to swallow them with his wine. 
 
 "Well!" he sighed, turning away while he passed 
 the back of his hand across his eyes, "it must be time 
 to go." 
 
 She accompanied him to the threshold. 
 
 "Adieu, Reine!" 
 
 "Adieu!" she murmured, faintly. 
 
 She stretched out both hands, overcome with pity and 
 remorse. He perceived her emotion, and thinking that 
 she perhaps still loved him a little, and repented having 
 rejected him, threw his arms impetuously around her. 
 He pressed her against his bosom, and imprinted kisses, 
 wet with tears, upon her cheek. He could not leave her, 
 and redoubled his caresses with passionate ardor, with 
 
 [206] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 C 
 
 the ecstasy of a lover who suddenly meets with a burst 
 of tenderness on the part of the woman he has tenderly 
 loved, and whom he expects never to fold again in his 
 arms. He completely lost his self-control. His em- 
 brace became so ardent that Reine, alarmed at the sud- 
 den outburst, was overcome with shame and terror, 
 notwithstanding the thought that the man, who was 
 clasping her in his arms with such passion, was her 
 own brother. 
 
 She tore herself away from him and pushed him 
 violently back. 
 
 "Adieu!" she cried, retreating to the kitchen, of 
 which she hastily shut the door. 
 
 Claudet stood one moment, dumfounded, before the 
 door so pitilessly shut in his face, then, falling suddenly 
 from his happy state of illusion to the dead level of 
 reality, departed precipitately down the road. 
 
 When he turned to give a parting glance, the farm 
 buildings were no longer visible, and the waste lands of 
 the forest border, gray, stony, and barren, stretched 
 their mute expanse before him. 
 
 "No!" exclaimed he, between his set teeth, "she 
 never loved me. She thinks only of the other man! I 
 have nothing more to do but go away and never re- 
 turn!" 
 
 [207! 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 LOVE HEALS THE BROKEN HEART 
 
 N arriving at Langres, Claudet enrolled 
 in the seventeenth battalion of light 
 infantry. Five days later, paying no 
 attention to the lamentations of Ma- 
 nette, he left Vivey, going, by way of 
 Lyon, to the camp at Lathonay, where 
 his battalion was stationed. Julien 
 was thus left alone at the chateau to 
 recover as best he might from the dazed feeling caused 
 by the startling events of the last few weeks. After 
 Claudet's departure, he felt an uneasy sensation of dis- 
 comfort, and as if he himself had lessened in value. He 
 had never before realized how little space he occupied 
 in his own dwelling, and how much living heat Claudet 
 had infused into the house which was now so cold and 
 empty. He felt poor and diminished in spirit, and was 
 ashamed of being so useless to himself and to others. 
 He had before him a prospect of new duties, which 
 frightened him. The management of the district, which 
 Claudet had undertaken for him, would now fall entirely 
 on his shoulders, and just at the time of the timber sales 
 and the renewal of the fences. Besides all this, he had 
 Manette on his conscience, thinking he ought to try to 
 soften her grief at her son's unexpected departure. The 
 
 [208] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 ancient housekeeper was like Rachel, she refused to be 
 comforted, and her temper was not improved by her 
 recent trials. She filled the air with lamentations, and 
 seemed to consider Julien responsible for her troubles. 
 The latter treated her with wonderful patience and in- 
 dulgence, and exhausted his ingenuity to make her time 
 pass more pleasantly. This was the first real effort he 
 had made to subdue his dislikes and his passive ten- 
 dencies, and it had the good effect of preparing him, 
 by degrees, to face more serious trials, and to take the 
 initiative in matters of greater importance. He dis- 
 covered that the energy he expended in conquering a 
 first difficulty gave him more ability to conquer the sec- 
 ond, and from that result he decided that the will is like 
 a muscle, which shrivels in inaction and is developed by 
 exercise; and he made up his mind to attack coura- 
 geously the work before him, although it had formerly 
 appeared beyond his capabilities. 
 
 He now rose always at daybreak. Gaitered like a 
 huntsman, and escorted by Montagnard, who had taken 
 a great liking to him, he would proceed to the forest, 
 visit the cuttings, hire fresh workmen, familiarize him- 
 self with the woodsmen, interest himself in their labors, 
 their joys and their sorrows; then, when evening came, 
 he was quite astonished to find himself less weary, less 
 isolated, and eating with considerable appetite the sup- 
 per prepared for him by Manette. Since he had been 
 traversing the forest, not as a stranger or a person of 
 leisure, but with the predetermination to accomplish 
 some useful work, he had learned to appreciate its 
 beauties. The charms of nature and the living creatures 
 14 [ 209 ] 
 
ANDRtf THEURIET 
 
 around no longer inspired him with the defiant scorn 
 which he had imbibed from his early solitary life and 
 his priestly education; he now viewed them with pleas- 
 ure and interest. In proportion, as his sympathies ex- 
 panded and his mind became more virile, the exterior 
 world presented a more attractive appearance to him t 
 While this work of transformation was going on 
 within him, he was aided and sustained by the ever dear 
 and ever present image of Reine Vincart. The trenches, 
 filled with dead leaves, the rows of beech-trees, stripped 
 of their foliage by the rude breath of winter, the odor 
 peculiar to underwood during the dead season, all re- 
 called to his mind the impressions he had received while 
 in company with the woodland queen. Now that he 
 could better understand the young girPs adoration of 
 the marvellous forest world, he sought out, with loving 
 interest, the sites where she had gone into ecstasy, the 
 details of the landscape which she had pointed out to 
 him the year before, and had made him admire. The 
 beauty of the scene was associated in his thoughts with 
 Reine's love, and he could not think of either separately. 
 But, notwithstanding the steadfastness and force of his 
 love, he had not yet made any effort to see Mademoiselle 
 Vincart. At first, the increase of occupation caused by 
 Claudet's departure, the new duties devolving upon him, 
 together with his inexperience, had prevented Julien 
 from entertaining the possibility of renewing relations 
 that had been so violently sundered. Little by little, 
 however, as he reviewed the situation of affairs, which 
 his cousin's generous sacrifice had engendered, he began 
 to consider how he could benefit thereby. Claudet's 
 
 [210] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 departure had left the field free, but Julien felt no more 
 confidence in himself than before. The fact that Reine 
 had so unaccountably refused to marry the grand chas- 
 serot did not seem to him sufficient encouragement. 
 Her motive was a secret, and therefore, of doubtful 
 interpretation. Besides, even if she were entirely heart- 
 whole, was that a reason why she should give Julien a 
 favorable reception? Could she forget the cruel insult 
 to which he had subjected her ? And immediately after 
 that outrageous behavior of his, he had had the stupid- 
 ity to make a proposal for Claudet. That was the kind 
 of affront, thought he, that a woman does not easily for- 
 give, and the very idea o* presenting himself before her 
 made his heart sink. He had seen her only at a dis- 
 tance, at the Sunday mass, and every time he had en- 
 deavored to catch her eye she had turned away her head. 
 She also avoided, in every way, any intercourse with the 
 chateau. Whenever a question arose, such as the ap- 
 portionment of lands, or the allotment of cuttings, 
 which would necessitate her having recourse to M. de 
 Buxieres, she would abstain from writing herself, and 
 correspond only through the notary, Arbillot. Claudet's 
 heroic departure, therefore, had really accomplished 
 nothing; everything was exactly at the same point as 
 the day after Julien's unlucky visit to La Thuiliere, and 
 the same futile doubts and fears agitated him now as 
 then. It also occurred to him, that while he was thus 
 debating and keeping silence, days, weeks, and months 
 were slipping away; that Reine would soon reach her 
 twenty-third year, and that she would be thinking of 
 marriage. It was well known that she had some for- 
 
 [211] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 tune, and suitors were not lacking. Even allowing that 
 she had no afterthought in renouncing Claudet, she 
 could not always live alone at the farm, and some day 
 she would be compelled to accept a marriage of con- 
 venience, if not of love. 
 
 "And to think," he would say to himself, "that she 
 is there, only a few steps away, that I am consumed 
 with longing, that I have only to traverse those pastures, 
 to throw myself at her feet, and that I positively dare 
 not! Miserable wretch that I am, it was last spring, 
 while we were in that hut together, that I should have 
 spoken of my love, instead of terrifying her with my 
 brutal caresses! Now it is too late! I have wounded 
 and humiliated her; I have driven away Claudet, who 
 would at any rate have made her a stalwart lover, and I 
 have made two beings unhappy, without counting my- 
 self. So much for my miserable shufflings and evasion! 
 Ah! if one could only begin life over again!" 
 
 While thus lamenting his fate, the march of time went 
 steadily on, with its pitiless dropping out of seconds, 
 minutes, and hours. The worst part of winter was over ; 
 the March gales had dried up the forests; April was 
 tingeing the woods with its tender green ; the song of the 
 cuckoo was already heard in the tufted bowers, and the 
 festival of St. George had passed. 
 
 Taking advantage of an unusually clear day, Julien 
 went to visit a farm, belonging to him, in the plain of 
 Anjeures, on the border of the forest of Maigrefontaine. 
 After breakfasting with the farmer, he took the way 
 home through the woods, so that he might enjoy the 
 first varied effects of the season. 
 
 [212] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 c. 
 
 The forest of Maigrefontaine, situated on the slope of 
 a hill, was full of rocky, broken ground, interspersed 
 with deep ravines, along which narrow but rapid streams 
 ran to swell the fishpond of La Thuiliere. Julien had 
 wandered away from the road, into the thick of the for- 
 est where the budding vegetation was at its height, where 
 the lilies multiply and the early spring flowers disclose 
 their umbel-shaped clusters, full of tiny, white stars. 
 The sight of these blossoms, which had such a tender 
 meaning for him, since he had identified the name with 
 that of Reine, brought vividly before him the beloved 
 image of the young girl. He walked slowly and lan- 
 guidly on, heated by his feverish recollections and 
 desires, tormented by useless self-reproach, and physi- 
 cally intoxicated by the balmy atmosphere and the odor 
 of the flowering shrubs at his feet. Arriving at the edge 
 of a somewhat deep pit, he tried to leap across with a 
 single bound, but, whether he made a false start, or that 
 he was weakened and dizzy with the conflicting emotions 
 with which he had been battling, he missed his footing 
 and fell, twisting his ankle, on the side of the embank- 
 ment. He rose with an effort and put his foot to the 
 ground, but a sharp pain obliged him to lean against the 
 trunk of a neighboring ash- tree. His foot felt as heavy 
 as lead, and every time he tried to straighten it his suf- 
 ferings were intolerable. All he could do was to drag 
 himself along from one tree to another until he reached 
 the path. 
 
 Exhausted by this effort, he sat down on the grass, 
 unbuttoned his gaiter, and carefully unlaced his boot. 
 His foot had swollen considerably. He began to fear he 
 
 [213] 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 had sprained it badly, and wondered how he could get 
 back to Vivey. Should he have to wait on this lonely 
 road until some woodcutter passed, who would take 
 him home? Montagnard, his faithful companion, had 
 seated himself in front of him, and contemplated him 
 with moist, troubled eyes, at the same time emitting 
 short, sharp whines, which seemed to say: 
 
 "What is the matter?" and, "How are we going to 
 get out of this?" 
 
 Suddenly he heard footsteps approaching. He per- 
 ceived a flutter of white skirts behind the copse, and 
 just at the moment he was blessing the lucky chance 
 that had sent some one in that direction, his eyes were 
 gladdened with a sight of the fair visage of Reine. 
 
 She was accompanied by a little girl of the village, 
 carrying a basket full of primroses and freshly gathered 
 ground ivy. Reine was quite familiar with all the medi- 
 cinal herbs of the country, and gathered them in their 
 season, in order to administer them as required to the 
 people of the farm. When she was within a few feet of 
 Julien, she recognized him, and her brow clouded over; 
 but almost immediately she noticed his altered features 
 and that one of his feet was shoeless, and divined that 
 something unusual had happened. Going straight up 
 to him, she said: 
 
 "You seem to be suffering, Monsieur de Buxieres. 
 What is the matter?" 
 
 "A a foolish accident," replied he, putting on a care- 
 less manner. "I fell and sprained my ankle." 
 
 The young girl knit her brows with an anxious expres- 
 sion; then, after a moment's hesitation, she said: 
 
 [214] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 C 
 
 "Will you let me see your foot? My mother under- 
 stood about bone-setting, and I have been told that I 
 inherit her gift of curing sprains." 
 
 She drew from the basket an empty bottle and a hand- 
 kerchief. 
 
 "Zelie," said she to the little damsel, who was stand- 
 ing astonished at the colloquy, "go quickly down to the 
 stream, and fill this bottle." 
 
 While she was speaking, Julien, greatly embarrassed, 
 obeyed her suggestions, and uncovered his foot. Reine, 
 without any prudery or nonsense, raised the wounded 
 limb, and felt around cautiously. 
 
 "I think," said she at last, "that the muscles are 
 somewhat injured." 
 
 Without another word, she tore the handkerchief into 
 narrow strips, and poured the contents of the bottle, 
 which Zelie had filled, slowly over the injure member, 
 holding her hand high for that purpose. Then, with a 
 soft yet firm touch, she pressed the injured muscles into 
 their places, while Julien bit his lips and did his very 
 utmost to prevent her seeing how much he was suffering. 
 After this massage treatment, the young girl bandaged 
 the ankle tightly with the linen bands, and fastened 
 them securely with pins. 
 
 "There," said she, "now try to put on your shoe and 
 stocking; they will give support to the muscles. Now 
 you, Zelie, run, fit to break your neck, to the farm, make 
 them harness the wagon, and tell them to bring it here, 
 as close to the path as possible." 
 
 The girl picked up her basket and started on a trot. 
 
 "Monsieur de Buxieres," said Reine, "do you think 
 [215] 
 
ANDRtf THEURIET 
 
 you can walk as far as the carriage road, by leaning on 
 my arm?" 
 
 "Yes;" he replied, with a grateful glance which 
 greatly embarrassed Mademoiselle Vincart, "you have 
 relieved me as if by a miracle. I feel much better and 
 as if I could go anywhere you might lead, while leaning 
 on your arm!" 
 
 She helped him to rise, and he took a few steps with 
 her aid. 
 
 "Why, it feels really better," sighed he. 
 
 He was so happy in feeling himself thus tenderly sup- 
 ported by Reine, that he altogether forgot his pain. 
 
 "Let us walk slowly," continued she, "and do not be 
 afraid to lean on me. All you have to think of is reach- 
 ing the carriage." 
 
 "How good you are," stammered he, "and how 
 ashamed I am!" 
 
 "Ashamed of what?" returned Reine, hastily. "I 
 have done nothing extraordinary; anyone else would 
 have acted in the same manner." 
 
 "I entreat you," replied he, earnestly, "not to spoil 
 my happiness. I know very well that the first person 
 who happened to pass would have rendered me some 
 charitable assistance; but the thought that it is you 
 you alone who have helped me, fills me with delight, 
 at the same time that it increases my remorse. I so 
 little deserve that you should interest yourself in my 
 behalf!" 
 
 He waited, hoping perhaps that she would ask for an 
 explanation, but, seeing that she did not appear to 
 understand, he added: 
 
 [216] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 "I have offended you. I have misunderstood you, 
 and I have been cruelly punished for my mistake. But 
 what avails my tardy regret in healing the injuries I have 
 inflicted! Ah! if one could only go backward, and 
 efface, with a single stroke, the hours in which one has 
 been blind and headstrong!" 
 
 "Let us not speak of that!" replied she, shortly, but 
 in a singularly softened tone. 
 
 In spite of herself, she was touched by this expression 
 of repentance, so naively acknowledged in broken, dis- 
 connected sentences, vibrating with the ring of true sin- 
 cerity. In proportion as he abased himself, her anger 
 diminished, and she recognized that she loved him just 
 the same, notwithstanding his defects, his weakness, and 
 his want of tact and polish. She was also profoundly 
 touched by his revealing to her, for the first time, a por- 
 tion of his hidden feelings. 
 
 They had become silent again, but they felt nearer to 
 each other than ever before; their secret thoughts 
 seemed to be transmitted to each other; a mute under- 
 standing was established between them. She lent him 
 the support of her arm with more freedom, and the 
 young man seemed to experience fresh delight in her 
 firm and sympathetic assistance. 
 
 Progressing slowly, although more quickly than they 
 would have chosen themselves^ they reached the foot 
 of the path, and perceived the wagon waiting on the 
 beaten road. Julien mounted therein with the aid of 
 Reine and the driver. When he was stretched on the 
 straw, which had been spread for him on the bottom of 
 
 the wagon, he leaned forward on the side, and his eyes 
 
 [217] 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 met those of Reine. For a few moments their gaze 
 seemed riveted upon each other, and their mutual un- 
 derstanding was complete. These few, brief moments 
 contained a whole confession of love; avowals mingled 
 with repentance, promises of pardon, tender reconcilia- 
 tion! 
 
 "Thanks!" he sighed at last, "will you give me your 
 hand?" 
 
 She gave it, and while he held it in his own, Reine 
 turned toward the driver on the seat. 
 
 "Felix," said she, warningly, "drive slowly and 
 avoid the ruts. Good-night, Monsieur de Buxieres, 
 send for the doctor as soon as you get in, and all will 
 be well. I will send to inquire how you are getting 
 along." 
 
 She turned and went pensively down the road to La 
 Thuiliere, while the carriage followed slowly the direc- 
 tion to Vivey. 
 
 The doctor, being sent for immediately on Julien's 
 arrival, pronounced it a simple sprain, and declared that 
 the preliminary treatment had been very skilfully ap- 
 plied, that the patient had now only to keep perfectly 
 still. Two days later came La Guite from Reine, to 
 inquire after M. de Buxi&res's health. She brought a 
 large bunch of lilies which Mademoiselle Vincart had 
 sent to the patient, to console him for not being able 
 to go in the woods, which Julien kept for several days 
 close by his side. 
 
 This accident, happening at Maigrefontaine, and 
 providentially attended to by Reine Vincart, the return 
 to the chateau in the vehicle belonging to La Thuiliere, 
 
 [218] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 the sending of the lilies, were all a source of great mys- 
 tification to Manette. She suspected some amorous 
 mystery in all these events, commented somewhat un- 
 charitably on every minor detail, and took care to carry 
 her comments all over the village. Very soon the entire 
 parish, from the most insignificant woodchopper to the 
 Abbe* Pernot himself, were made aware that there was 
 something going on between M. de Buixeres and the 
 daughter of old M. Vincart. 
 
 In the mean time, Julien, quite unconscious that his 
 love for Reine was providing conversation for all the 
 gossips of the country, was cursing the untoward event 
 that kept him stretched in his invalid-chair. At last, 
 one day, he discovered he could put his foot down and 
 walk a little with the assistance of his cane ; a few days 
 after, the doctor gave him permission to go out of doors. 
 His first visit was to La Thuiliere. 
 
 He went there in the afternoon and found Reine in 
 the kitchen, seated by the side of her paralytic father, 
 who was asleep. She was reading a newspaper, which 
 she retained in her hand, while rising to receive her visi- 
 tor. After she had congratulated him on his recovery, 
 and he had expressed his cordial thanks for her timely 
 aid, she showed him the paper. 
 
 "You find me in a state of disturbance," said she, 
 with a slight degree of embarrassment, "it seems that 
 we are going to have war and that our troops have 
 entered Italy. Have you any news of Claudet?" 
 
 Julien started. This was the last remark he could 
 have expected. Claudet's name had not been once 
 mentioned in their interview at Maigrefontaine, and he 
 
 [219] 
 
ANDR& THEURIET 
 
 had nursed the hope that Reine thought no longer 
 about him. 
 
 All his mistrust returned in a moment on hearing this 
 name come from the young girl's lips the moment he 
 entered the house, and seeing the emotion which the 
 news in the paper had caused her. 
 
 "He wrote me a few days ago," replied he. 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 "In Italy, with his battalion, which is a part of the 
 first army corps. His last letter is dated from Alex- 
 andria." 
 
 Reine' s eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she gazed 
 absently at the distant wooded horizon. 
 
 "Poor Claudet!" murmured she, sighing, "what is he 
 doing just now, I wonder?" 
 
 "Ah!" thought Julien, his visage darkening, "per- 
 haps she loves him still!" 
 
 Poor Claudet ! At the very time they are thus talking 
 about him at the farm, he is camping with his battalion 
 near Voghera, on the banks of one of the obscure tribu- 
 taries of the river Po, in a country rich in waving corn, 
 interspersed with bounteous orchards and hardy vines 
 climbing up to the very tops of the mulberry-trees. His 
 battalion forms the extreme end of the advance guard, 
 and at the approach of night, Claudet is on duty on the 
 banks of the stream. It is a lovely May night, irradiated 
 by millions of stars, which, under the limpid Italian sky, 
 appear larger and nearer to the watcher than they ap- 
 peared in the vaporous atmosphere of the Haute-Marne. 
 
 Nightingales are calling to one another among the 
 [ 220 ] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 trees of the orchard, and the entire landscape seems 
 imbued with their amorous music. What ecstasy to 
 listen to them! What serenity their liquid harmonies 
 spread over the smiling landscape, faintly revealing its 
 beauties in the mild starlight. 
 
 Who would think that preparations for deadly com- 
 bat were going on through the serenity of such a night? 
 Occasionally a sharp exchange of musketry with the 
 advanced post of the enemy bursts upon the ear, and 
 all the nightingales keep silence. Then, when quiet is 
 restored in the upper air, the chorus of spring songsters 
 begins again. Claudet leans on his gun, and remembers 
 that at this same hour the nightingales in the park at 
 Vivey, and in the garden of La Thuiliere, are pour- 
 ing forth the same melodies. He recalls the bright 
 vision of Reine: he sees her leaning at her window, 
 listening to the same amorous song issuing from the 
 coppice woods of Maigrefontaine. His heart swells 
 within him, and an overpowering homesickness takes 
 possession of him. But the next moment he is ashamed 
 of his weakness, he remembers his responsibility, primes 
 his ear, and begins investigating the dark hollows and 
 rising hillocks where an enemy might hide. 
 
 The next morning, May 2oth, he is awakened by a 
 general hubbub and noise of fighting. The battalion 
 to which he belongs has made an attack upon Monte- 
 bello, and is sending its sharpshooters among the corn- 
 fields and vineyards. Some of the regiments invade the 
 rice-fields, climb the walls of the vineyards, and charge 
 the enemy's column-ranks. The sullen roar of the can- 
 non alternates with the sharp report of guns, and whole 
 
 [ 221 ] 
 
ANDR& THEURIET 
 
 showers of grape-shot beat the air with their piercing 
 whistle. All through the uproar of guns and thunder 
 of the artillery, you can distinguish the guttural hurrahs 
 of the Austrians, and the broken oaths of the French 
 troopers. The trenches are piled with dead bodies, the 
 trumpets sound the attack, the survivors, obeying an 
 irresistible impulse, spring to the front. The ridges are 
 crested with human masses swaying to and fro, and 
 the first red uniform is seen in the streets of Montebello, 
 in relief against the chalky facades bristling with Aus- 
 trian guns, pouring forth their ammunition on the enemy 
 below. The soldiers burst into the houses, the court- 
 yards, the enclosures; every instant you hear the break- 
 ing open of doors, the crashing of windows, and the 
 scuffling of the terrified inmates. The white uniforms 
 retire in disorder. The village belongs to the French! 
 Not just yet, though. From the last houses on the 
 street, to the entrance of the cemetery, is rising ground, 
 and just behind stands a small hillock. The enemy has 
 retrenched itself there, and, from its cannons ranged in 
 battery, is raining a terrible shower on the village just 
 evacuated. 
 
 The assailants hesitate, and draw back before this 
 hailstorm of iron; suddenly a general appears from 
 under the walls of a building already crumbling under 
 the continuous fire, spurs his horse forward, and shouts: 
 "Come, boys, let us carry the fort!" 
 
 Among the first to rally to this call, one rifleman in 
 particular, a fine, broad-shouldered active fellow, with 
 a brown moustache and olive complexion, darts forward 
 to the point indicated. It is Claudet. Others are be- 
 
 [ 222 ] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 hind him, and soon more than a hundred men, with 
 their bayonets, are hurling themselves along the ceme- 
 tery road; the grand chasserot leaps across the fields, as 
 he used formerly in pursuit of the game in the Char- 
 bonniere forest. The soldiers are falling right and left 
 of him, but he hardly sees them; he continues pressing 
 forward, breathless, excited, scarcely stopping to think. 
 As he is crossing one of the meadows, however, he notices 
 the profusion of scarlet gladiolus and also observes that 
 the rye and barley grow somewhat sturdier here than in 
 his country; these are the only definite ideas that detach 
 themselves clearly from his seething brain. The wall of 
 the cemetery is scaled; they are fighting now in the 
 ditches, killing one another on the side of the hill; at 
 last, the fort is taken and they begin routing the enemy. 
 But, at this moment, Claudet stoops to pick up a cart- 
 ridge, a ball strikes him in the forehead, and, without a 
 sound, he drops to the ground, among the noisome 
 fennels which flourish in graveyards he drops, thinking 
 of the clock of his native village. 
 
 "I have sad news for you," said Julien to Reine, as 
 he entered the garden of La Thuiliere, one June after- 
 noon. 
 
 He had received official notice the evening before, 
 through the mayor, of the decease of " Germain-Claudet 
 Sjournant, volunteer in the seventeenth battalion of 
 light infantry, killed in an engagement with the enemy, 
 May 20, 1859." 
 
 Reine was standing between two hedges of large 
 [ 22 3 ] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 peasant-roses. At the first words that fell from M. de 
 Buxieres' s lips, she felt a presentiment of misfortune. 
 
 "Claudet?" murmured she. 
 
 a He is dead," replied Julien, almost inaudibly, "he 
 fought bravely and was killed at Montebello." 
 
 The young girl remained motionless, and for a mo- 
 ment de Buxieres thought she would be able to bear, 
 with some degree of composure, this announcement of 
 the death in a foreign country of a man whom she had 
 refused as a husband. Suddenly she turned aside, took 
 two or three steps, then leaning her head and folded arms 
 on the trunk of an adjacent tree, she burst into a passion 
 of tears. The convulsive movement of her shoulders 
 and stifled sobs denoted the violence of her emotion. 
 M. de Buxieres, alarmed at this outbreak, which he 
 thought exaggerated, felt a return of his old misgivings. 
 He was jealous now of the dead man whom she was so 
 openly lamenting. Her continued weeping annoyed him ; 
 he tried to arrest her tears by addressing some consola- 
 tory remarks to her; but, at the very first word, she 
 turned away, mounted precipitately the kitchen-stairs, 
 and disappeared, closing the door behind her. Some 
 mintftes after, La Guite brought a message to de Bux- 
 ieres that Reine wished to be alone, and begged him to 
 excuse her. 
 
 He took his departure, disconcerted, downhearted, 
 and ready to weep himself, over the crumbling of his 
 hopes. As he was nearing the first outlying houses 
 of the village, he came across the Abbe Pernot, 
 who was striding along at a great rate, toward the 
 chateau. 
 
 [224] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed the priest, "how are you, Monsieur 
 de Buxieres, I was just going over to see you. Is it true 
 that you have received bad news?" 
 
 Julien nodded his head affirmatively, and informed 
 the cure of the sad notice he had received. The Abbe's 
 countenance lengthened, his mouth took on a saddened 
 expression, and during the next few minutes he main- 
 tained an attitude of condolence. 
 
 "Poor fellow!" he sighed, with a slight nasal intona- 
 tion, "he did not have a fair chance! To have to leave 
 us at twenty-six years of age, and in full health, it is 
 very hard. And such a jolly companion; such a clever 
 shot!" 
 
 Finally, not being naturally of a melancholy turn of 
 mind, nor able to remain long in a mournful mood, he 
 consoled himself with one of the pious commonplaces 
 which he was in the habit of using for the benefit of 
 others: "The Lord is just in all His dealings, and holy 
 in all His works; He reckons the hairs of our heads, and 
 our destinies are in His hands. We shall celebrate a fine 
 high mass for the repose of Claudet's soul." 
 
 He coughed, and raised his eyes toward Julien. 
 
 " I wished," continued he, " to see you for two reasons, 
 Monsieur de Buxieres: first of all, to hear about Claudet, 
 and secondly, to speak to you on a matter a very deli- 
 cate matter which concerns you, but which also affects 
 the safety of another person and the dignity of the 
 parish." 
 
 Julien was gazing at him with a bewildered air. 
 The cure pushed open the little park gate, and passing 
 through, added: 
 
 i5 [225] 
 
ANDR& THEURIET 
 
 "Let us go into your place; we shall be better able to 
 talk over the matter." 
 
 When they were underneath the trees, the Abbe 
 resumed : 
 
 "Monsieur de Buxieres, do you know that you are at 
 this present time giving occasion for the tongues of my 
 parishioners to wag more than is at all reasonable? 
 Oh!" continued he, replying to a remonstrating gesture 
 of his companion, "it is unpremeditated on your part, 
 I am sure, but, all the same, they talk about you and 
 about Reine." 
 
 "About Mademoiselle Vincart?" exclaimed Julien, 
 indignantly, "what can they say about her?" 
 
 "A great many things which are displeasing to me. 
 They speak of your having sprained your ankle while 
 in the company of Reine Vincart; of your return home 
 in her wagon; of your frequent visits to La Thuiliere, 
 and I don't know what besides. And as mankind, 
 especially the female portion, is more disposed to dis- 
 cover evil than good, they say you are compromising this 
 young person. Now, Reine is living, as one may say, 
 alone and unprotected . It behooves me , therefore , as her 
 pastor, to defend her against her own weakness. That 
 is the reason why I have taken upon myself to beg you to 
 be more circumspect, and not trifle with her reputation." 
 
 "Her reputation?" repeated Julien, with irritation. 
 "I do not understand you, Monsieur le Cure*!" 
 
 "You don't, hey ! Why, I explain my meaning pretty 
 clearly. Human beings are weak; it is easy to injure 
 a girl's reputation, when you try to make yourself agree- 
 able, knowing you can not marry her." 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 "And why could I not marry her?" inquired Julien, 
 coloring deeply. 
 
 " Because she is not in your own class, and you would 
 not love her enough to overlook the disparity, if mar- 
 riage became necessary." 
 
 "What do you know about it?" returned Julien, with 
 violence. "I have no such foolish prejudices, and the 
 obstacles would not come from my side. But, rest easy, 
 Monsieur," continued he, bitterly, "the danger exists 
 only in the imagination of your parishioners. Reine has 
 never cared for me! It was Claudet she loved!" 
 
 "Hm, hm!" interjected the cure, dubiously. 
 
 "You would not doubt it," insisted de Buxieres, 
 provoked at the Abbe's incredulous movements of his 
 head, "if you had seen her, as I saw her, melt into tears 
 when I told her of Sejournant's death. She did not even 
 wait until I had turned my back before she broke out in 
 her lamentations. My presence was of very small ac- 
 count. Ah! she has but too cruelly made me feel how 
 little she cares for me!" 
 
 "You love her very much, then?" demanded the 
 Abbe, slyly, an almost imperceptible smile curving his 
 lips. 
 
 "Oh, yes! I love her," exclaimed he, impetuously; 
 then coloring and drooping his head. "But it is very 
 foolish of me to betray myself, since Reine cares nothing 
 at all for me!" 
 
 There was a moment of silence, during which the 
 cure took a pinch of snuff from a tiny box of cherry 
 wood. 
 
 "Monsieur de Buxieres," said he, with a particularly 
 [227] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 oracular air, "Claudet is dead, and the dead, like the 
 absent, are always in the wrong. But who is to say 
 whether you are not mistaken concerning the nature of 
 Reine's unhappiness? I will have that cleared up this 
 very day. Good-night; keep quiet and behave prop- 
 erly." 
 
 Thereupon he took his departure, but, instead of 
 returning to the parsonage, he directed his steps hur- 
 riedly toward La Thuiliere. Notwithstanding a vig- 
 orous opposition from La Guite, he made use of his 
 pastoral authority to penetrate into Reine's apartment, 
 where he shut himself up with her. What he said to 
 her never was divulged outside the small chamber where 
 the interview took place. He must, however, have 
 found words sufficiently eloquent to soften her grief, for 
 when he had gone away the young girl descended to the 
 garden with a soothed although still melancholy mien. 
 She remained a long time in meditation in the thicket of 
 roses, but her meditations had evidently no bitterness in 
 them, and a miraculous serenity seemed to have spread 
 itself over her heart like a beneficent balm. 
 
 A few days afterward, during the unpleasant coolness 
 of one of those mornings, white with dew, which are the 
 peculiar privilege of the mountain-gorges in Langres, 
 the bells of Vivey tolled for the dead, announcing the 
 celebration of a mass in memory of Claudet. The grand 
 chasserot having been a universal favorite with every one 
 in the neighborhood, the church was crowded. The 
 steep descent from the high plain overlooked the village. 
 They came thronging in through the wooded glens of 
 Praslay, by the Auberive road and the forests of Char- 
 
 [228] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 bonniere; companions in hunting and social amuse- 
 ments, foresters and wearers of sabots, campers in the 
 woods, inmates of the farms embedded in the forests 
 none failed to answer the call. The rustic, white-walled 
 nave was too narrow to contain them all, and the surplus 
 flowed into the street. Arbeltier, the village carpenter, 
 had erected a rudimentary catafalque, which was draped 
 in black and bordered with wax tapers, and placed in 
 front of the altar steps. On the pall, embroidered with 
 silver tears, were arranged large bunches of wild flowers, 
 sent from La Thuiliere, and spreading an aromatic odor 
 of fresh verdure around. The Abbe Pernot, wearing 
 his insignia of mourning, officiated. Through the side 
 windows were seen portions of the blue sky; the barking 
 of the dogs and singing of birds were heard in the dis- 
 tance; and even while listening to the Dies ira y the cure 
 could not help thinking of the robust and bright young 
 fellow who, only the year previous, had been so joyously 
 traversing the woods, escorted by Charbonneau and 
 Montagnard, and who was now lying in a foreign land, 
 in the common pit of the little cemetery of Monte- 
 bello. 
 
 As each verse of the funeral service was intoned, 
 Manette Sjournant, prostrate on her prie-dieu, inter- 
 rupted the monotonous chant with tumultuous sobs. 
 Her grief was noisy and unrestrained, but those present 
 sympathized more with the quiet though profound sor- 
 row of Reine Vincart. The black dress of the young 
 girl contrasted painfully with the dead pallor of her 
 complexion. She emitted no sighs, but, now and then, 
 a contraction of the lips, a trembling of the hands testi- 
 
 [ 229 ] 
 
ANDR& THEURIET 
 
 fied to the inward struggle, and a single tear rolled 
 slowly down her cheek. 
 
 From the corner where he had chosen to stand alone, 
 Julien de Buxieres observed, with pain, the mute elo- 
 quence of her profound grief, and became once more a 
 prey to the fiercest jealousy. He could not help envying 
 the fate of this deceased, who was mourned in so tender 
 a fashion. Again the mystery of an attachment so evi- 
 dent and so tenacious, followed by so strange a rupture, 
 tormented his uneasy soul. "She must have loved 
 Claudet, since she is in mourning for him," he kept re- 
 peating to himself, "and if she loved him, why this 
 rupture, which she herself provoked, and which drove 
 the unhappy man to despair?" 
 
 At the close of the absolution, all the assistants defiled 
 close beside Julien, who was now standing in front of 
 the catafalque. When it came to Reine Vincart's turn, 
 she reached out her hand to M. de Buxieres; at the same 
 time, she gazed at him with such friendly sadness, and 
 infused into the clasp of her hand something so cordial 
 and intimate that the young man's ideas were again 
 completely upset. He seemed to feel as if it were an 
 encouragement to speak. When the men and women 
 had dispersed, and a surging of the crowd brought him 
 nearer to Reine, he resolved to follow her, without re- 
 gard to the question of what people would say, or the 
 curious eyes that might be watching him. 
 
 A happy chance came in his way. Reine Vincart had 
 gone home by the path along the outskirts of the wood 
 and the park enclosure. Julien went hastily back to 
 the cMteau, crossed the gardens, and followed an inte- 
 
 [230] 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 c 
 
 rior avenue, parallel to the exterior one, from which he 
 was separated only by a curtain of linden and nut trees. 
 He could just distinguish, between the leafy branches, 
 Reine's black gown, as she walked rapidly along under 
 the ash-trees. At the end of the enclosure, he pushed 
 open a little gate, and came abruptly out on the forest 
 path. 
 
 On beholding him standing in advance of her, the 
 young girl appeared more surprised than displeased. 
 After a momentary hesitation, she walked quietly toward 
 him. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Reine," said he then, gently, "will you 
 allow me to accompany you as far as La Thuiliere?" 
 
 "Certainly," she replied, briefly. 
 
 She felt a presentiment that something decisive was 
 about to take place between her and Julien, and her 
 voice trembled as she replied. Profiting by the tacit 
 permission, de Buxieres walked beside Reine ; the path 
 was so narrow that their garments rustled against each 
 other, yet he did not seem in haste to speak, and the 
 silence was interrupted only by the occasional flight of 
 a bird, or the crackling of some falling branches. 
 
 "Reine," said Julien, suddenly, "you have so often 
 and so kindly extended to me the hand of friendship, 
 that I have decided to speak frankly, and open my heart 
 to you. I love you, Reine, and have loved you for a 
 long time. But I have been so accustomed to hide what 
 I think, I know so little how to conduct myself in the 
 varying circumstances of life, and I have so much mis- 
 trust of myself, that I never have dared to tell you before 
 now. This will explain to you my stupid behavior. I 
 
ANDK& THEURIET 
 
 am suffering the penalty to-day, for while I was hesitat- 
 ing, another took my place; although he is dead, his 
 shadow stands between us, and I know that you love 
 him still." 
 
 She listened to him with bent head and half-closed 
 eyes, and her heart began to beat violently. 
 
 "I never have loved him in the way you suppose," 
 she replied, simply. 
 
 A gleam of light shot through Julien's melancholy 
 blue eyes. Both remained silent. The green pasture- 
 lands, bathed in the full noonday sun, were lying before 
 them. The grasshoppers were chirping in the bushes, 
 and the skylarks were soaring aloft with their joyous 
 songs. Julien was endeavoring to extract the exact 
 meaning from the reply he had just heard. He was 
 partly reassured, but some points had still to be cleared 
 up. 
 
 "But still," said he, "you are lamenting his loss." 
 
 A melancholy smile flitted for an instant over Reine's 
 pure, rosy lips. 
 
 "Are you jealous of my tears?" said she, softly. 
 
 "Oh, yes!" he exclaimed, with sudden exultation, "I 
 love you so entirely that I can not help envying Claudet 
 his share in your affections! If his death causes you 
 such poignant regret, he must have been nearer and 
 dearer to you than those that survive." 
 
 "You might reasonably suppose otherwise," replied 
 she, almost in a whisper, "since I refused to marry 
 him." 
 
 He shook his head, seemingly unable to accept that 
 positive statement. 
 
A WOODLAND QUEEN 
 
 Then Reine began to reflect that a man of his dis- 
 trustful and despondent temperament would, unless the 
 whole truth were revealed to him, be forevermore tor- 
 mented by morbid and injurious misgivings. She knew 
 he loved her, and she wished him to love her in entire 
 faith and security. She recalled the last injunctions she 
 had received from the Abbe* Pernot, and, leaning toward 
 Julien, with tearful eyes and cheeks burning with shame, 
 she whispered in his ear the secret of her close relation- 
 ship to Claudet. 
 
 This painful and agitating confidence was made in so 
 low a voice as to be scarcely distinguished from the soft 
 humming of the insects, or the gentle twittering of the 
 birds. 
 
 The sun was shining everywhere ; the woods were as 
 full of verdure and blossoms as on the day when the 
 young man had manifested his passion with such savage 
 violence. Hardly had the last words of her avowal 
 expired on Reine's lips, when Julien de Buxifcres threw 
 his arms around her and fondly kissed away the tears 
 from her eyes. 
 
 This time he was not repelled. 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 LITTLE THERfSE 
 
 that day the last day of July, 1850 
 the little town of St. Clement was 
 bathed in a flood of glorious sunlight, 
 and long, golden rays stretched down 
 the main street. 
 
 Among all these sleepy houses of 
 the town, there was one that looked 
 especially shut up and forsaken. 
 The main room of the second story contained noth- 
 ing bu<: old oak shelves, almost bending under the 
 weight of countless books. 
 
 The straw- bottomed chairs had, strangely enough, 
 well carved wooden backs, and the one leather chair 
 in the room was filled by the owner of the house, Dr. 
 Jacques Desroches. 
 
 He was only fifty-five years old, but looked older; 
 tall, lean, and stiff in his carriage, his face was deeply 
 lined; he was almost bald. His almost painfully rigid 
 features relaxed only for a moment now and then, when 
 a noise from the window brought to his bitter lips a 
 grimace of annoyance. 
 
 The noise was not continuous, nor was it more than 
 [237] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 a confused murmur of words which were hardly articu- 
 lated. At last the old man could endure it no longer; 
 he gave his chair a half turn, then rose all of a sud- 
 den, and raising one of the window-shades said, in a 
 stern voice, "Therese!" 
 
 A flood of light inundated the room, and revealed 
 the guilty couple to be a young girl of sixteen and a 
 dog! 
 
 The girl was sitting on a low chair in the deep 
 embrasure of the window, and with one arm raised 
 high in the air she was waving an old glove which the 
 dog a beautiful Royal Dane with a tawny skin 
 crouching on his hind legs with his head resting on his 
 forefeet, was coveting with his keen eyes, while uttering 
 a low, half -smothered barking. 
 
 "Can you not remain quiet for a moment?" Dr. 
 Desroches asked her, very angrily; "your talking 
 annoys me terribly!" 
 
 At this sudden appearance, both the guilty parties 
 had paused penitently. The young girl dropped her 
 glove and came out of her concealment. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, papa!" she said, "I did not 
 know I was making any noise. It is hard to keep still 
 so long! We were trying to find some amusement, 
 Dacho and I, till the time for our walk should come." 
 
 "Time is never long when we know how to use it 
 properly," replied the doctor; "take a book and keep 
 quiet! I have a horror of idle people!" 
 
 The young girl went to one of the shelves of the li- 
 brary, chose a quarto volume and sat down in a corner. 
 
 Dr. Desroches did really suffer from an old wound 
 [238] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 in his heart, which had been so badly cured that it bled 
 anew at the slightest provocation. He had married, 
 when thirty-seven, a wife who was much younger than 
 he, and she had deceived him. To avoid scandal he 
 had at first borne it all in silence, trying to save appear- 
 ances, but one fine day it was now seven years ago 
 Madame Desroches had run away with a country 
 neighbor. The doctor might have looked upon the 
 whole thing as a mere bad dream, if she had not left 
 behind her a child, who recalled to the poor injured 
 man all the bitterness and all the griefs of the past. 
 During the first years the sight of this child had been 
 so unbearable to him that he had sent her down into 
 Lorraine, the province from which her nurse had come. 
 The father and the mother of this woman were simple 
 farmers, but excellent people; they had a great fond- 
 ness for little Therese, and were delighted to keep her 
 with them. Here the young maiden had lived just as 
 other simple country people live, and it was with sin- 
 cere regret that she left her friends to go for three 
 years to a convent, where her education was to be 
 completed. It was only when she was sixteen years 
 old that her father thought it best to call her back to 
 him at St. Clement. 
 
 These thoughts filled the doctor's mind, while The- 
 rese turned the leaves of her book, unconscious of the 
 tempest that was brewing in his head. 
 
 While the poor girl was absorbed in mournful 
 thoughts, everything around her had relapsed into 
 absolute silence. An hour went by; then suddenly in 
 this deep silence a feeble tinkling of small bells, the 
 
 [239] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 rumbling of heavy wheels formed an echo in the 
 house from afar off, on the high road. Therese raised 
 her head and listened. 
 
 "Ah!" she murmured, "it is the mail!" 
 
 She was not mistaken; the stage with its four horses 
 made a tremendous ado on the rough pavement of St. 
 Clement, and seemed to rouse the whole little sleepy 
 town. Suddenly shutters were heard to open, people 
 ran out and questions were interchanged. 
 
 "Here is the stage!" exclaimed the young girl, 
 throwing down the book she had been reading. Then 
 rising impetuously, without minding what her father 
 might think of it, she drew the curtain, opened the 
 window, and looked out full of curiosity. 
 
 Dr. Desroches, yielding less to curiosity than to that 
 mechanical old habit which had for so many years 
 made the coming of the stage the great event of the 
 twenty-four hours, rose also and followed his daughter 
 to the window. 
 
 By the side of the conductor, a young man, apparently 
 about twenty-two years old, flushed from his efforts 
 to blow the long horn, seemed to attract the attention 
 of the citizens looking out of the windows. He was 
 pointed out to others, he was welcomed with a nod of 
 the head, and gayly returned the compliment by rais- 
 ing his hat. Without being handsome, he looked 
 winsome with his large bright eyes and his curly, 
 blond moustache. Threse, who did not know what 
 to make of these familiar greetings, turned round with 
 an air of inquiry to Dr. Desroches. 
 
 The young traveller on the roof of the stage had not 
 [240] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 escaped the physician's observant eye; he slightly 
 shrugged his shoulders, smiled sarcastically, and said, 
 in his most biting tones: 
 
 "Ha! ha! Here is young Maupin coming home to 
 the dove-cot ! if dove-cot is right name for the roost of 
 a bird of prey such as his estimable father is." 
 
 "Oh, yes!" said Therese. "I see Monsieur and 
 Madame Maupin standing before the door of the 
 Hotel de France. They evidently came to meet him!" 
 
 There was really a couple standing at the end of the 
 street, near the hotel stables; they were busy sending 
 signals to the stage. The lady was waving her hand- 
 kerchief, while the husband held his cane as high as he 
 could and shook it in the air. 
 
 The heavy, lumbering machine had at last reached 
 its resting-place at the gates of the stable-yard, and 
 the young man, descending leisurely from the eleva- 
 tion on which he was perched, had embraced his mother 
 and then received his father's warm welcome, who 
 seemed to be happy to see his son and heir return. 
 He seized his two hands and then examined him from 
 top to bottom. 
 
 "Upon my word!" said Dr. Desroches, "how Papa 
 Maupin pulls about his progeny! He looks at his 
 young man's hands to see if the claws have grown 
 finely. Be content, sparrow-hawk! Blood will tell! 
 He'll have your beak and your talons!" 
 
 "These Maupins," said Therese, turning to her 
 father, "are very rich and very polite to every one, 
 yet nobody likes them. Why? Are they not honor- 
 able in their business transactions?" 
 16 [ 241 ] 
 
ANDRfi THEURIET 
 
 Dr. Desroches shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Honorable? What do you mean?" he cried, full 
 of sarcasm. "A man is always honorable who does 
 the work for which he is fit. In this world we must 
 either cheat or be cheated, eat or be eaten. The 
 Maupins belong to the race of men who eat, that is 
 all! Let us go back! The sight of these people un- 
 nerves me!" 
 
 [242] 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 A NEW FACE 
 
 OME, my dear, you have talked 
 enough for to-day! Don't you see 
 that your son can hardly keep 
 awake?" 
 
 The dinner at the Maupins' had 
 lasted long. The newcomer, Stephen 
 Maupin, looked a little dazed, partly 
 by the long journey in the uncom- 
 fortable diligence, and partly, no doubt, by the copious 
 dinner, accompanied by capital Bordeaux wines. He 
 only replied in monosyllables to his father's questions, 
 and smiled, while he looked with an air of ineffable self- 
 content at the faces of his parents aglow with admira- 
 tion, and at the familiar furniture of the room. 
 
 "He has hardly slept since he left Paris," said the 
 anxious mother. "He needs rest, and you will have 
 plenty of time to talk to-morrow!" 
 M. Maupin shrugged his shoulders. 
 "Worn out by one sleepless night and seven hours' 
 travel! At his age I walked my twenty miles a day 
 and after my return I worked still till midnight! The 
 present generation is far inferior to ours! Come, Mon- 
 sieur Attorney, go to bed! Good-night! While your 
 mamma will tuck you in your bed, I'll go down to 
 
 [243] 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 see that all the doors are locked and the clerks have 
 left nothing lying about!" 
 
 He lighted a candle, and going down to the first story 
 he entered the office and opened the windows to see if 
 the shutters were fastened; and closed operations by 
 reading over the correspondence of the day. All this 
 took him a full hour, and when he returned to his own 
 room, he found that Madame Maupin had gone to bed, 
 but was not yet asleep. Her delicate, fair-haired little 
 head, framed in the rich laces of her coquettish night- 
 cap, contrasted charmingly with the white pillows. 
 
 "Well," asked M. Maupin, as he blew out his 
 candle, after emptying his pockets on the night-table, 
 "is the boy sleeping soundly?" 
 
 "Yes. The journey has tired him!" 
 
 "Pshaw! to-morrow there will be no trace left! 
 He has made no bad debts and he has come back in 
 good health. That is the most important thing. I 
 think he lookst well." 
 
 "Yes," replied Madame Maupin, with much satis- 
 faction, "he has developed well in Paris, and is almost 
 a handsome young man." 
 
 "A man is always handsome when he has money 
 in his pockets," sententiously exclaimed the husband, 
 "and I have enough to make him as handsome as an 
 angel! Without counting what I mean to make in 
 the future," he continued, cheerfully, cracking his 
 short, stubby fingers with their hairy joints. "I have 
 not played all my cards yet, and have a few trumps 
 left in my hand." 
 
 He had begun life as a contractor, building houses; 
 [244] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 then, his success encouraging him, he had enlarged the 
 circle of his operations, and now he was considered 
 one of the most skilful dealers in money in the whole 
 province. He owned much real estate, and was looked 
 upon as one of the leading men of St. Clement. 
 
 "Yes," he continued, "I am not at the end yet. 
 Your son, Laura, shall have enough to buy himself a 
 pair of yellow kid gloves every day of his life, and some 
 other things besides!" 
 
 "Fie!" exclaimed Madame Maupin, knowing full 
 well what her husband's sarcastic smile and laughing 
 tone meant to suggest. She added: 
 
 "Did you have him admitted to the bar in order to 
 lead such a life?" 
 
 "There is a time for all things," replied Simon, "and 
 I see no harm in his enjoying life a little before he goes 
 to work in earnest." 
 
 "You had much better initiate him at once into 
 business; he might assist you in managing the bank 
 till he will take it altogether in hand." 
 
 M. Maupin, started up, and cried, angrily: 
 
 "My business concerns me alone; I do not jnean 
 yet awhile to fold my arms and give up the ship! 
 Upon my word, I should think so far I have not man- 
 aged so very badly! Your son would comprehend 
 very little of my operations; his thoughts are too im- 
 mature yet! First let him learn at his own cost what 
 life is, and then we'll see " 
 
 "And if he kicks over the traces in the mean time?" 
 
 "So much the better! It will teach him caution; 
 I have known people as stiff as bars of iron, veritable 
 
 [245] 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 Don Quixotes as far as their principles were concerned: 
 after they had once passed through the hands of pretty 
 women and the constable, they came to me as supple 
 as old gloves ! When Stephen shall have sown his wild 
 oats, I will put his nose down upon the ledger not 
 before!" 
 
 Madame Maupin shook her little head. 
 
 "You need not try to persuade me, Simon. All 
 that is not moral!" 
 
 M. Maupin paced to and fro, with his hands in his 
 trousers' pockets; he turned round, faced his wife on her 
 pillow, and said, in a peremptory tone : " It is practical ! " 
 
 But the lady did not give up the battle. She would 
 have preferred to see Stephen well married, so as to 
 gain some prestige, some consideration for the firm 
 "Simon Maupin." 
 
 "Why could he not marry one of the girls of the 
 neighboring nobility?" 
 
 "Girls without money?" 
 
 "There are some who belong to old families that 
 is always something!" 
 
 M. Maupin whistled contemptuously. "'Too lean! 
 For a young man in our boy's condition to exchange 
 his hard dollars for a name, would be folly. I do not 
 mean that for you, Laura," he added quickly, seeing 
 in her eyes a flash of indignation, "when I took you in 
 your father's house, the position was not the same, and 
 for a master-mason, as I was then, your old name was 
 a good enough match besides, you were clever; you 
 had a regular talent for business, and you have helped 
 me essentially." 
 
 [246] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 "If my advice has now and then proved useful to 
 you," resumed Madame Maupin, much put out, "I 
 wish you would be kind enough to listen to me 
 to-night!" 
 
 Then she repeated to him, in her bland and insinuat- 
 ing voice, that what their house needed most at this 
 time was respectability. She did not indulge in any 
 illusions on that subject. She knew very well that in 
 St. Clement M. Maupin was not highly respected. 
 "They would not speak of us so lightly," she con- 
 cluded, "if we were connected with one of these pious 
 and highly respected families." 
 
 "Would I have to become pious, too?" the old 
 mason asked, sarcastically. 
 
 "Great Heavens! would that be very bad, do you 
 think?" asked his wife. 
 
 "Thank you, no! I do not care to hear mass." 
 
 "That is your weak side. You are not religious, 
 and there you are wrong. Believe me, infidelity is no 
 longer the fashion, and the day is not very far off when 
 an irreligious man and a disorderly man will be con- 
 sidered the same thing!" 
 
 "You might just as well call me at once a Socialist!" 
 cried the banker, laughing outright. 
 
 "You laugh, but I know better than you, and I fore- 
 see many things!" 
 
 "Ha! ha! There is some truth in that!" he said. 
 
 "Don't you see now, Simon!" said his wife, triumph- 
 antly. "Great Heavens! I do not advise you all of 
 a sudden to break off your old habits and to go to 
 mass to-morrow morning " 
 
 [247] 
 
ANDRfi THEURIET 
 
 "No, that would be rather strong!" 
 
 "But I advise you to change your mode of life, step 
 by step, to be considerate with the noble families and 
 with the clergy, and gradually to get rid of all friends 
 and acquaintances that might be embarrassing. Look 
 here!" she suddenly cried, "will you give me carte 
 blanche? If you do, I promise in less than two years 
 you shall be Mayor of the town and hold the county 
 in the hollow of your hand!" 
 
 Simon Maupin looked at her in amazement. "Upon 
 my word, Laura, I accept it as a good omen. You are 
 a real diplomat in your lace cap ! It is certain that the 
 Conservatives will remain in power, and we must build 
 upon that foundation. Come," he added, getting up, 
 "we must lay aside the Old Adam!" 
 
 He slipped gently into the conjugal bed. "You are 
 a little bit of a woman," he murmured, "but I was a 
 lucky man the day I carried you away from your dove- 
 cot at Saviot!" 
 
 At break of day Stephen was waked by the song 
 of a young boy who was taking his horses to water. 
 The bells, ringing merrily with many chimes, re- 
 minded him that this was Sunday, and that he had 
 promised his mother to go to mass with her. He 
 dressed himself for church, and punctually at ten he 
 offered his arm to Madame Maupin. She also had 
 dressed for the occasion, and felt proud of having pre- 
 served so youthful an appearance, thanks to her blond 
 hair and slender waist, that she looked like her son's 
 elder sister. The women, on their knees, whispered 
 behind their books as Stephen passed by, and pointed 
 
 [248] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 him out to each other with their eyes as he took a seat 
 in the family pew. 
 
 Stephen tried to recognize the young girls he saw 
 around him, or to put the right name to the right face. 
 In the midst of this inquisitive examination his eyes 
 fell upon a face that was entirely new to him. Not 
 far from the railing of the choir, a young girl was 
 kneeling upon a low straw-chair, her head a little bent, 
 and thus showing the delicate outline of her neck, the 
 supple sweep of her waist, the swelling of the puffed- 
 out petticoat and the tiny brown boot. 
 
 From time to time the devout girl raised her head, 
 and then Stephen caught a glimpse of a pale complex- 
 ion, a lively eye, and a charming mouth with full red 
 lips. This unknown face troubled him. 
 
 After the last "Let us pray!" when one of the lower 
 priests turned to the congregation and intoned the 
 welcome Ite, missa est, the young girl remained for a 
 few moments longer on her knees; then she rose while 
 the organ was pouring forth its gentlest roar to ac- 
 company the exit. Stephen, who had risen at the 
 same time and was following his mother, did not 
 lose sight of the stranger, and managed gradually to 
 diminish the distance between them. When they 
 reached the holy-water font, he looked around stealthi- 
 ly and saw her close behind them. He dipped his 
 fingers into the shell, touched those of his mother, 
 and then, turning round and bowing, he offered the 
 holy water to the young girl who was standing close 
 behind him. 
 
 To his great amazement the unknown person drew 
 [249] 
 
ANDIUfi THEURIET 
 
 back, her eyebrows almost met in indignation, her lips 
 curved with disdain, and without noticing the cour- 
 teous offer of the young man, she passed him, dipped 
 her fingers into the font, made the sign of the cross, 
 and rapidly went down the steps in the porch. 
 
 This incident had not escaped Madame Maupin' s 
 wide-awake eyes; she blushed slightly and bit her lips. 
 When they were outside, Stephen, greatly mortified, 
 asked his mother, glancing at the unknown lady: 
 
 "Who is this young stranger who refuses to take 
 holy water from my hands?" 
 
 "A foolish girl!" replied Madame Maupin. "She 
 is Doctor Desroches's daughter. This Desroches, who 
 is one of the high and mighty in town, has taken it 
 amiss that we did not choose him as our physician, and 
 his daughter has taken up her father's quarrel." 
 
 "That is a pity, for she is pretty!" 
 
 "Pshaw!" said the mother, contemptuously, "a 
 country beauty. Her father had banished her to the 
 country after her mother's deplorable adventure, and 
 she has, no doubt, acquired the bad manners of the 
 people with whom she lived." 
 
 They had turned the corner of the market when 
 they were accosted by a tall young man, who bowed 
 to Madame Maupin and to Stephen. 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed the latter, recognizing one of his 
 father's upper clerks, "you are Celestin Tiffin! How 
 are you, my friend?" 
 
 "So, so! Monsieur Stephen, so, so!" repeated the 
 young man, not daring to put on his hat in the presence 
 of his master's only son. Stephen shook hands with 
 
 [250] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 him and made him cover his head. The clerk obeyed. 
 though reluctantly, for he was a great formalist and al- 
 most worshiped the family. 
 
 "I am happy, Monsieur Stephen," he began again, 
 walking respectfully about two steps behind Stephen, 
 "I am happy to see you restored to us and in good 
 health. Madame Maupin knows how impatiently I 
 have been waiting for you!" 
 
 "And why were you so impatient, my good friend?-' 
 
 "Why? Has not your father told you?" 
 
 Stephen shook his head. 
 
 "He probably thought it more proper that I should 
 announce it to you myself I am going to be married, 
 Monsieur Stephen," he added with a smile, which 
 showed every one of his teeth "I am going to marry 
 Mademoiselle Bardin, the daughter of the man who 
 farms your beautiful estate of Brenil. The contract 
 has been drawn up these three months and we have 
 waited only for your return to fix the day and speak- 
 ing of this, permit me to submit to you a request " 
 
 "Tell me what it is, and be sure, Celestin, that it is 
 granted at once." 
 
 "I had already mentioned my request to Monsieur 
 and Madame Maupin you would overwhelm me 
 with kindness, Monsieur Stephen, if you would honor 
 me on this occasion by being my best man I know it 
 is asking of you a great favor, but we should all of us 
 be so happy my betrothed and her family would be 
 so proud, that I think you can hardly refuse me!" 
 
 "How can I? I shall be delighted, my dear Celes- 
 tin! When is the wedding?" 
 
 [251] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 "They are going to marry us day after to-morrow, 
 Tuesday, and if you could make it convenient to reach 
 Brenil toward ten o'clock, I would come to meet you 
 on the road!" 
 
 Stephen promised to be punctual. Celcstin was 
 overwhelming in compliments and thanks, bowed, and 
 left them, greatly delighted. 
 
 "What a good creature!" said Stephen. 
 
 "Yes rather weak, but devoted to us, and that is 
 the main point!" 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 A RUSTIC WEDDING 
 
 N Tuesday morning, before eight 
 o'clock, Stephen was gayly walking 
 down the turnpike to Brenil. 
 
 The sight of the lonely landscape, 
 so calm and green and picturesque, 
 awakened in the young man all his 
 artistic instincts, and he began to 
 wish he might have sufficient talent 
 one of these days to reproduce its charms successfully. 
 Absorbed in such thoughts, he had nearly reached the 
 bridge, when he heard himself hailed and, upon turning 
 his head, he saw the sharp outline of lean M. Tiffin 
 on the green background. 
 
 "Am I behind time?" asked Stephen. 
 "Oh, no! no! There is no tune lost, Monsieur 
 Stephen! The bride is still dressing and the musicians 
 have but just come. You see I could not sit still any 
 longer, and so I came out to meet you. Besides, I had 
 another reason! I have prepared a great surprise for 
 the wedding-guests. A great surprise, I assure you! 
 No one knows as yet that you are going to do us the 
 honor of being present. They do not expect you in 
 the least, and you can imagine what a jubilee there 
 will be when they find out that Monsieur Maupin is to 
 be my best man. Won't that make a sensation!" 
 
 [253] 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 Stephen was not particularly enchanted at being 
 thus produced like a sort of official personage; he 
 would have preferred a little less mystery and less 
 ceremony, but the bridegroom was so perfectly en- 
 chanted that he had not the courage to spoil the fun. 
 
 Celestin suddenly stopped, and taking the young Par- 
 isian by the button of his coat, said to him with his 
 pleasant, frank laugh: "And as for you, Monsieur 
 Stephen, I have also my little surprise for you!" 
 
 "What? Another surprise?" said Stephen. 
 
 "Yes, and a very good one, I hope!" said Celestin; 
 "you shall have a Valentine, as we here call the best 
 man's lady, who is at the same time the first brides- 
 maid. She is not one of us, but a charming young 
 lady who has been at boarding-school, and will not be 
 at a loss how to talk to you, I am sure. Ha! ha! 
 I tell you! Ha! ha! you will see!" 
 
 "Tell me what is the name of this young lady?" 
 
 "No! no! You are not to know it. She does not 
 know your name, either! I have managed it all my- 
 self and kept my secret. But you will see you will 
 thank me for what I have done." 
 
 "I am afraid you have given yourself much trouble 
 for my sake, my dear Celestin!" 
 
 "Trouble? You are not in earnest! It is an honor 
 for us to have at our wedding the son of the man to 
 whom I owe everything, the representative of the 
 great firm of Simon Maupin. If I were to live a hun- 
 dred years, Monsieur Stephen, I would never forget 
 the day when your father first took me into his office. 
 What would I have been without him? A little clerk 
 
 [254] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 in a little corner shop. Oh! what a man what a 
 masterly man your father is, Monsieur Stephen!" 
 
 "Yes," replied the latter, "my father is a man of rare 
 intelligence!" 
 
 "Eminent! Monsieur Stephen, eminent! And what 
 a will! What capacity for work! It is true, he is hard 
 upon idlers and those who do not pay their debts, but 
 in his very hardness there is a sentiment of justice 
 which I can not but admire. Think of it! Only the 
 other day the cashier's wife had a sick child: this tor- 
 mented the poor man's mind and he had the ill luck 
 to make a mistake of fifty dollars against the house. 
 He was trembling, the poor man, and felt sure he would 
 be dismissed. But what does your father do?" 
 
 "He put it down to profit and loss," guessed 
 Stephen. 
 
 "No, not exactly! But instead of dismissing poor 
 Pere Martin, as everybody expected, he only made 
 him refund the amount in weekly payments of ten 
 dollars out of his wages! Now I call that justice 
 tempered by humanity." 
 
 "Hm!" said Stephen, not particularly edified by 
 this example of paternal clemency. 
 
 They were approaching the farmhouse. Celestin 
 made his way through the crowd of young men, all 
 adorned with bright ribbons, to introduce his guest 
 in the principal room. 
 
 The mother of the bride, in her striking costume, 
 with a quaint, tall cap and enormous skirts, was mov- 
 ing about with plates and dishes. At the upper end 
 of the room the bride a pretty girl with rosy cheeks 
 
 [255] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 and blue eyes was standing stiff and straight among 
 a group of five or six young men who were trying to 
 fasten the crown of orange-blossoms to her lace cap. 
 
 "Come, Celestin," said the old farmer, "we are 
 only waiting for you to go to the Mayor's office!" 
 
 "One moment," cried the young man, with an air 
 of radiant joy, "I bring you my best man. Monsieur 
 Bardin, you were asking me who would be my witness 
 to the ceremony? Here he is, Monsieur Stephen 
 Maupin, the son of my master and patron!" 
 
 Celestin then chose a favor of blue and red ribbon 
 and fastened it to the buttonhole of his new friend; 
 and, taking him by the hand and leading him into the 
 courtyard, he said: 
 
 "Now I wish to present you to your Valentine. 
 Mademoiselle Therese, where are you?" he cried, 
 looking in all directions for the missing damsel "you 
 shall see, Monsieur Stephen, ah! you shall see!" 
 
 "Here I am!" replied at last a melodious voice. 
 
 Stephen looked at the direction from which the 
 voice came, and, to his distress, recognized at once 
 the daughter of Dr. Desroches! 
 
 She also had recognized him; her face darkened, 
 and she seized the arm of a young man in velveteen, 
 who was standing near her. 
 
 "You are mistaken, Mademoiselle!" exclaimed the 
 bridegroom. "That is not your escort to church 
 here is your gentleman, Monsieur Stephen Maupin!" 
 
 This announcement did not produce the effect which 
 Tiffin had expected. The young girl whispered a few 
 words into her neighbor's ear and did not let him go. 
 
 [256] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 "Thank you, Monsieur Tiffin," she said, in a very 
 decided voice, "I have my escort and I keep him!" 
 
 "There is a mistake here! a misunderstanding," 
 Celestin wailed piteously, turning to Stephen, who bit 
 his moustache with vexation. The procession formed, 
 and Celestin had to obey his father-in-law's orders and 
 take his place. They wound their way down the street, 
 mostly between tall hedges of privet and honeysuckle. 
 Stephen had been left behind among the old men, and 
 watched with mixed feelings the elegant leghorn hat of 
 Mademoiselle Desroches, as it now and then appeared 
 in some break of the hedges, amid the tall white caps 
 and the broad-brimmed black felt hats of the natives. 
 
 Young Maupin could not help feeling vexed; the 
 doctor's daughter had a second time shown her aver- 
 sion for him, and his presence among the peasants, so 
 far from pleasing and flattering them, seemed only to 
 embarrass the good people. 
 
 When the double ceremony the civil and the church 
 marriage was accomplished, the firing of guns began 
 once more, and, still with music at the head, the pro- 
 cession returned to Brenil, where the wedding-feast 
 was awaiting the people. When they met again at the 
 long table, the bridegroom began once more to make 
 his excuses for the conduct of Mademoiselle Desroches, 
 whom lucky Monsieur Jonset had brought home in 
 triumph. 
 
 "Take your seat there, by my wife," said the new 
 husband, with contrite heart, "and pardon this morn- 
 ing's mishaps. It was all my fault. You see, Made- 
 moiselle Desroches was not aware of my intentions, 
 *7 [257] 
 
ANDRtf THEURIET 
 
 and she had already chosen her 'Valentine/ whom she 
 could not well dismiss on the spot. But we \vill set 
 that all right this evening at the ball." 
 
 At the very end of the crowd, through a slight mist, 
 Stephen could distinguish Therese's graceful head. 
 Stephen thought her charming, and this increased the 
 mortification which thej young lady's marked aversion 
 was causing him. 
 
 "And now let us enjoy the dance!" cried Celestin, 
 when the feast was ended. He dragged Stephen along 
 with him to the barn, where the musicians had taken 
 their stand upon some casks. 
 
 One of the most indefatigable dancers was Therese 
 Desroches. She never rested for a moment, and fully 
 compensated herself for her long, quiet solitude in her 
 father's old house. Not a dance nor a cotillon did 
 she omit. Supple, airy, and full of elasticity, she 
 seemed barely to touch the floor; the pure, fresh air 
 intoxicated her; her eyes smiled as her lips smiled. 
 There was a remnant of childish petulance surviving 
 yet in the rather wild energy with which she danced. 
 She seemed to avoid only one of the guests, and that 
 was Stephen. He tried repeatedly to join her, but 
 instantly she would escape, or she would summon that 
 inevitable Jonset, like a body-guard. 
 
 Once only chance brought him near to The'rese. 
 The evening was already far advanced, and the day 
 had grown weary of looking at all these mad dancers, 
 but the bagpipes were indefatigable, and the young 
 people jumped merrily in the court where the moon 
 had taken the place of the sun. Mademoiselle Des- 
 
 [258] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 roches had paused a moment to get her breath, and 
 fanned herself with a bunch of fig-leaves. 
 
 "I have not yet had the pleasure of dancing with 
 you," suddenly said Stephen, coming forth from the 
 shade of the barn. 
 
 She turned her bright black eyes, which shone in the 
 moonlight, straight upon him, and her eyebrows threat- 
 ened to unite. "Really, Monsieur!" she said, curtly, 
 with affected indifference. 
 
 "The musicians are going to play a valse; will you 
 dance it with me?" 
 
 "Thank you! I am engaged to Monsieur Jonset!" 
 
 "For all time to come?" he asked, ironically. 
 
 "For all time!" she replied, in the same tone. 
 
 "Monsieur Jonset is lucky!" 
 
 "Well, Monsieur Maupin, we can not all of us have 
 all things!" 
 
 "I should be willing to exchange my lot for his!" 
 
 The young girl said, disdainfully : " Perhaps he would 
 not like the exchange!" 
 
 "And you would not advise him to do it, would 
 you?" he continued, amused by the play. 
 
 She looked him boldly in the face with her clear, 
 limpid eyes, and said: "I? Certainly not, Monsieur 
 Maupin!" and she left him. 
 
 This time the purpose to offend was too patent to 
 give Stephen any room for doubt. "What a disagree- 
 able, ill-bred child!" he said, as he left the place. 
 
 This last defeat had seriously annoyed him, and he 
 no longer took any pleasure in the ball. He went to 
 the room where he was to sleep and retired. 
 
 [ 2 59] 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 He awoke very early, and although he had promised 
 Celestin vaguely to spend the day with him, he deter- 
 mined to return to town at once, 
 
 He had already passed the suburbs and was entering 
 Main Street, when he suddenly found himself face to 
 face with his father. 
 
 "Why!" said, the elder Maupin, "back already? To 
 judge from your long face, you have had a bad night." 
 
 "No, I went to bed at eleven, and only got up a little 
 while ago." 
 
 "Dear me! How prudent! Were there no pretty 
 girls, then, at the wedding? Well, as you have slept 
 well, you may as well come with me! I want to show 
 you an acquisition I have made during your absence!" 
 They went across the fields in the direction of the table- 
 land that overlooks St. Clement. 
 
 "Yes, I have bought the 'Elms.' I had coveted the 
 place for a long time, and as the present owner is em- 
 barrassed in his finances, I have taken advantage of the 
 chance and bought it cheap!" 
 
 By this time they had entered a beautiful avenue of 
 old elm-trees, with their noble, wide-spreading branches, 
 and saw at the other end of it the porch of the dwelling. 
 
 "You see," he said to Stephen, pointing out to him 
 with his cane the four cardinal points, "there is some- 
 thing here of everything; meadows and fields, even 
 heather are here, thanks to our wretched system of farm- 
 ing! But I mean to change all that! I shall send away, 
 as soon as I can, the four tenants that now hold the 
 lands, and engage, in their places, a first-rate Belgian 
 farmer, who will manage the whole with one hand and 
 
 [260] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 not leave an inch of soil lying fallow. In my bank 
 every dollar must bring its interest; in agriculture, 
 every yard of soil ought in like manner to produce its 
 profit." At this moment, on this radiant summer 
 morning, in face of this luxuriant nature, Stephen was 
 almost proud of his father. He forgot the mortifica- 
 tions of the evening, and became expansive in his turn. 
 
 "What a charming place!" he said to his father. "I 
 am delighted with your purchase! I shall come and 
 paint it soon." 
 
 The banker shrugged his broad, square shoulders. 
 "You are still a child for your age," he replied. "What 
 enthusiasm for a bit of wheat-field and a ruin of a 
 house! The only attraction you find in the ' Elms' is 
 that you can come here and daub at your pleasure! 
 You are not practical!" 
 
 "No! I am a painter, and I look at your property 
 with an artist's eyes." 
 
 "Artist!" repeated M. Maupin, making a face. 
 "You have not given up that old fancy? Well, I am 
 rich enough to give you a few years during which you 
 can amuse yourself as you like. After that, I hope you 
 will look at life seriously." 
 
 "But, dear father, in Paris there are many men who 
 look upon painting as a very serious profession." 
 
 "That may be so in Paris," said the banker, dryly, 
 "but here, that is about the last profession in life, with 
 the exception of that of a rope-dancer." 
 
 They had reached one of the wheatfields, where two 
 peasants were busy unloading sheaves and beginning a 
 stack. The younger of the two men was throwing down 
 
 [261] 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 the sheaves from the cart on which he was standing, 
 and the old peasant arranged them carefully in a circle. 
 
 "Look!" said M. Maupin, "here is Father Jacques, 
 making a stack of wheat ! I must ask him how his wife 
 is; she has been very ill." 
 
 To Stephen's great surprise, the two peasants hardly 
 raised their heads to greet the "Master," and did not 
 for a moment stop their work. 
 
 "Neither better nor worse!" was the laconic answer, 
 and the old man went on arranging his sheaves. 
 
 M. Maupin, a little disconcerted by this reception, 
 walked on, but as he reached the gate he turned and 
 said: "Let us hope that your good woman will soon 
 be all right again. I'll send you my doctor, Jacques!" 
 
 "You are very civil, Monsieur Maupin, but perhaps 
 it would be better were you a little less polite in words, 
 and more just in your business!" 
 
 At first M. Maupin pretended not to hear, but 
 Stephen stopped and looked at Jacques in surprise. 
 
 "What is that you are saying?" the banker asked, 
 turning round, "I do not understand you!" 
 
 "I understand myself very well," replied Father 
 Jacques, wiping the perspiration from his brow with 
 his shirt-sleeve, "and you would understand me very 
 well, too, Monsieur Maupin, if you chose. You must 
 surely know that we have had an execution yesterday 
 in the house, and you also know who sent it!" 
 
 "You are mistaken, my good man," M. Maupin said, 
 curtly. "I am not concerned in it." 
 
 "I see very clearly," continued the peasant, getting 
 heated, "you want to turn me out of my little bit of a 
 
 [262] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 farm, and you put forward that man Berloc, as if every- 
 body did not know that he is merely your tool." 
 
 "You are a fool and an insolent fellow!" cried M. 
 Maupin, whose anger rose beyond his control. 
 
 "Pshaw! You need not roll your eyes," said the old 
 peasant, drawing himself up with a great effort. "You 
 won't keep me from seeing what your game is. You 
 caress people and your man Berloc flays them alive! 
 Great God ! How many people are lying on straw now 
 whose beds you have taken from them ! Why, sir, they 
 count by hundreds! I am not the first and I shall not 
 be the last! I say it is mean and that is all!" 
 
 M. Maupin had quickly left the grounds and hastened 
 his steps, but Stephen heard it all and lost no word 
 spoken by Father Jacques. "What does he mean?" 
 he asked in a voice that betrayed his painful excite- 
 ment. " Is it true that this Berloc ? " 
 
 "Will you subject me now to an examination? 
 You?" asked M. Maupin in very bad humor. "If you 
 listen to all the stories that these people tell, you will 
 soon cease to wonder. It is a perfect race of beggars, 
 ever complaining they are all so, but I'll find a way to 
 shut their mouths!" 
 
 The young man looked pale; he felt his heart beat 
 within him. It was to him as if the imposing form of 
 his father had suddenly been torn from the pedestal 
 on which he had raised it but just now, with such 
 great admiration. 
 
 [263] 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 A BETTER UNDERSTANDING 
 
 )R breakfast, Stephen pleaded his 
 bad night and long morning walk to 
 retire to his room. He threw him- 
 self, fully dressed, on his bed, feeling 
 an indescribable relief as he gradually 
 saw things less sharply defined before 
 his eyes, and at last fell pleasantly 
 asleep. For an hour he was uncon- 
 scious. But his mind had been too painfully affected 
 to allow his sleep to continue long and peacefully. His 
 memory of a sudden awoke, and he saw once more 
 the whole scene, with the two peasants before his mind's 
 eye. Instantly also the one terrible question that had 
 possessed him during the whole morning, arose again. 
 "Can it be that my father is not an honest man?" 
 
 From early childhood Stephen had been brought up 
 in respect and admiration for his father. 
 
 To Stephen, his father was always the impeccable 
 man, the rich and keen-sighted banker whom he had 
 learned to respect and admire from his tenderest age. 
 The insinuations of the old peasant were thus the first 
 blow inflicted upon his father's prestige. Could they 
 be true ? Was it possible that the ease and comfort by 
 which he had been surrounded from infancy were pur- 
 
 [264] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 chased with money unjustly taken from poor helpless 
 folk? 
 
 As he was thus meditating, there returned to his 
 memory a number of unpleasant incidents that had 
 struck him at the wedding. He remembered the mis- 
 trustful looks of his neighbors, the conversation sud- 
 denly interrupted at his approach, and above all the 
 downright hostile position assumed by Mademoiselle 
 Desroches. He asked himself if the young girl could 
 be aware of the reports concerning his father, and had, 
 on that account, refused to know him ? 
 
 These reminiscences naturally brought back to him 
 also the picture of his old friend Clestin, and he in- 
 stantly resolved to question him. He got up and looked 
 at the clock. It was three. The wedding festivities 
 were to be continued that evening, and he had abundant 
 time to reach Brenil. He thrust his head into a basin 
 of water, arranged his clothes, and after telling his 
 mother that he thought himself bound to play his part 
 as best man to the end, he started once more for the 
 wedding. The large room, but yesterday the scene of 
 incessant laughter and loud cries and songs, was de- 
 serted, but the table was there still, and Madame Bar- 
 din and some of the servants were busy putting things 
 in their places again. 
 
 "Good gracious !" she exclaimed, as she saw her 
 visitor. "Here you are and quite alone! Celestin was 
 hardly hoping for you any longer. He is gone with our 
 child, and the young folks, fishing for crawfish near our 
 second meadow on the river, and he told us to send you 
 there if you should come. I'll show you the way!" 
 
 [265] 
 
ANDK6 THEURIET 
 
 Pointing out to him a path that led down the slope, 
 she said : 
 
 "Only follow this path, and it will lead you straight 
 to the river. There you'll find all our people!" 
 
 Stephen went down the path, which to his inexperienced 
 ideas looked little better than a way for goats, and soon 
 he became aware of the presence of the fishing party. 
 
 In the very centre of the round dance he saw Made- 
 moiselle Desroches; her white muslin dress shone 
 brightly on the green background, and looked strangely 
 simple amid all the bright colored gowns of the others. 
 He was afraid now of accosting Celestin and subjecting 
 him to an interrogation which might possibly change 
 his doubts into certainty. A vague presentiment warned 
 him to wait a little longer. 
 
 He was aroused from his dreams by a sudden out- 
 break of laughter; the couples had separated, they 
 were running to and fro in search of their wraps, and 
 evidently preparing for the return home. It was time 
 to find Celestin! Stephen, with beating heart, jumped 
 over the fence and cut across the meadow. When he 
 reached at last the wedding-party, the couples had once 
 more united and were slowly filing past him, the bridal 
 couple at their head. At the sight of his master's son, 
 Celestin uttered a cry of delight. " Bravo, Monsieur 
 Stephen! It is good of you to come back to us this 
 evening! You are just in time for supper, and we are 
 bringing home the finest crawfish you ever saw. Wait 
 till mother makes them jump in boiling water! " Then 
 he turned toward the procession, crying out: "Well, 
 are we all there? Are the couples complete again?" 
 
 [266] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 "There is one missing !" replied a young fellow, 
 in whom Stephen recognized the inevitable Jonset. 
 "Mademoiselle Desroches has gone in search of 
 a pair of scales, that have been mislaid. But she 
 knows the way still, I have a mind to run ' 
 
 "Stay here, Jonset !" said the bridegroom, with an 
 air of authority. "You look to me much too fond of 
 fluttering around Mademoiselle Desroches! People 
 will begin to notice it, and that might become unpleas- 
 ant. I'll go myself or rather, Monsieur Stephen, 
 would you be kind enough to take my place? Show 
 her that you have not taken it amiss, how she has 
 treated you I have given her a lecture this morning 
 and she expressed her regret at having behaved so. 
 Come on, children! Monsieur Maupin and Mademoi- 
 selle Desroches will overtake us before we get home." 
 
 Searching carefully all the alder bushes, Stephen was 
 at last lucky enough to see the young girl's white dress. 
 
 "Mademoiselle!" he cried. 
 
 "Monsieur!" she replied, in a voice full of vexation 
 and impatience. 
 
 "I beg your pardon if I annoy you!" Stephen said, 
 and his voice had become slightly sarcastic "but Ce- 
 lestih has asked me to help you look for the lost scales 
 and to bring you back to the house with the scales!" 
 
 "Do not trouble yourself," she replied. "I remem- 
 ber now where I put them down. They are on that 
 little island, and I'll go and get them." 
 
 "On the island? Have you a boat?" 
 
 "No, but there is a bridge. Do not trouble your- 
 self!" 
 
 [267] 
 
ANDRti THEURIET 
 
 Stephen went forward and saw that there was indeed 
 a fallen tree lying so as to cross to the opposite bank. 
 "You are not going to venture out there, I am sure!" 
 he said. "Pray take care, you will slip and fall into 
 the water!" 
 
 In the mean time she had gathered the folds of her 
 skirt, and walked across the dangerous bridge. 
 
 Mademoiselle Desroches was almost at the end of her 
 rash undertaking, when all of a sudden there came a 
 "plump!" and he heard a plunge into the water. In 
 the twinkling of an eye Stephen was at the end of the 
 tree where Mademoiselle Desroches was sitting, holding 
 on with her hands to the withe that served as a railing, 
 but her body, from her waist down, was in the river. She 
 broke out into loud laughter, but it was a short, ner- 
 vous laugh; the young man seized her by the arms, 
 helped her to raise herself, and deposited her, well 
 soaked, on the edge of the little island. 
 
 "Have you hurt yourself?" he asked her. 
 
 "No! It is nothing. I have sprained my foot, I 
 think, that is all." 
 
 "I told you so!" 
 
 "It is your fault, too!" she cried, angrily. "If you 
 had not been there, I would not have slipped. I have 
 often and often crossed here; I have been across ten 
 times at least this very day, and never missed it." 
 
 "I make you ten thousand excuses !" he said, ironi- 
 cally, "but after all I am here, and now I have to take 
 you back to the farm. You can not stay all night here 
 like Robinson Crusoe on his island. Do you feel strong 
 enough to go back this way, resting on my arm?" 
 
 [268] 
 
MLLE DESROCHES 
 
 "I'll try," she replied, with an air divided between 
 anger and contrition. 
 
 When they were once more on firm land, they walked 
 for a while in perfect silence. Th6rese was too much 
 mortified to complain, but a slight tremor of her chin 
 and a corresponding motion of the lips warned her 
 that soon her teeth would begin to chatter. She could 
 hardly drag herself any farther. At last she stopped. 
 
 "It would be dangerous for you, soaked as you are, 
 to attempt reaching the farmhouse. We must look for 
 some house where you can dry yourself." 
 
 She thought for a moment, and then, in a soft and 
 almost timid voice, she said: 
 
 "Yes, that would be better. Not far from here there 
 is a house, where the people nice people know my 
 father. They will be ready to make me a fire. Will you 
 take me there ?" 
 
 Stephen inclined his head in token of assent, and then 
 offered her his arm. Ten minutes later they reached a 
 humble cottage. Stephen knocked at the door. An 
 elderly woman opened it, and Stephen told her of the 
 accident. 
 
 "Oh!" she said at once, "you are the doctor's 
 daughter, are you? Why, my little darling, you are 
 wet to your bones. Come in quick. I'll make a blaze 
 with some dry branches." 
 
 They entered the kitchen, feebly lighted by a piece of 
 resinous bark, stuck in the cleft of a piece of wood; the 
 woman threw a handful of vine-branches on the coals 
 and while she was looking for some garments that she 
 might lend Therese, till her own should get dry, Ste- 
 
 i 26 9 ] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 phen escaped stealthily, to give the girl an opportunity 
 to change her costume. 
 
 He was thinking of her aversion with intense bitter- 
 ness, when suddenly, between the tall green stalks of the 
 corn, he saw two black eyes shine brightly, and as 
 slender form came forth out of the shadow, he recog- 
 nized Therese Desroches. The young girl had donned 
 a blue gown of some flannel-like material, which she 
 had borrowed from the wardrobe of her hostess. 
 
 "It is I," she said, smiling; "do not start. The 
 good woman is drying my clothes and in the mean time 
 I have put on her daughter's dress." 
 
 "This costume is very becoming to you," he said, 
 "you only lack the tall white cap and you would be a 
 perfect peasant." 
 
 " Peasant ? Why for four years I have been that and 
 nothing else of course I must show that very clearly." 
 
 "You were brought up in a village?" 
 
 "Not even in a village! On an isolated farm sur- 
 rounded by vast fields. My nurse lived there and I re- 
 mained with her and her people till I was thirteen." 
 She sighed. "I was very happy with them, and I liked 
 it much better than I like town. I love peasants ! " 
 
 "Is that the reason why you preferred Monsieur 
 Jonset's arm to mine at the wedding?" 
 
 "No!" she cried, excitedly. 
 
 "Ah! then there was another reason for it?" cried 
 Stephen. 
 
 "No! that is to say, I had accepted him at first, and, 
 of course I would not mortify him by giving him up for 
 a newcomer!" 
 
 [270] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 Stephen suddenly raised his eyes to her face and said, 
 very gravely: "Mademoiselle Desroches, I think you 
 are candid. Would you swear to me that this was the 
 only reason why you refused last night to take my arm 
 and to dance with me?" 
 
 She made no answer, and the darkness prevented 
 his seeing how deeply she blushed. "You had another 
 reason," he continued, sadly, "a reason that touches me 
 personally." 
 
 "You are right!" she murmured at last. 
 
 "What was it?" 
 
 "What use is it to tell you?" 
 
 "You fear to mortify me as you did with Jonset!" 
 he cried, bitterly. "Never mind! I am able to hear the 
 truth, even unpleasant truth. Confess you disliked me, 
 and you meant to make me aware of it!" 
 , "You are mistaken, Monsieur, I have nothing 
 against you. I do not know you!" 
 
 "You look to me too sensible to treat a man like me 
 as a child would do; twice, Sunday at church, and last 
 night at the wedding, you treated me as you would a 
 man whom you hate and whom you wish to know of it. 
 And yet, you acknowledge yourself, you did not know 
 me!" 
 
 "That is true!" 
 
 "If your dislike did not arise with me, the newcomer, 
 you meant to show it against my family ? What do you 
 object to in us?" 
 
 She shook her head. "It is not for me to speak of 
 such things especially not with you!" 
 
 "Oh, speak!" he resumed, vehemently, "I want it! 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 You must do it! I pray you! Since yesterday I feel 
 that all around me I brush against people who hate us, 
 and this hatred terrifies me, because it is a mystery to 
 me. I can not endure this anguish any longer I must 
 see my way clear before me. Is it my father whom they 
 charge ?" 
 
 She cast down her eyes, but said nothing. 
 
 "They say he is hard, even cruel, that he does not 
 shrink from the harshest measures to recover money 
 which is due to him. That is a defect in a man's char- 
 acter, but because he is hard and exacting, he is not 
 dishonorable in any way, and my father is a man of 
 honor who has amassed a large fortune by means of 
 hard work and loyal means !" 
 
 Her eyes still downcast; she made no reply. 
 
 "You doubt that?" exclaimed Stephen. "You 
 doubt that he is honorable in all his dealings? But 
 where is your proof? Who among your acquaintances 
 has the right to bring that charge against him?" 
 
 "My father! He has been ruined by your father! 
 and not very honorably that I can assure you!" 
 
 "That is slander !" cried the young man, furious. 
 
 "My father never tells a falsehood," Therese said, 
 firmly. "You ask me to tell you the truth, and this I 
 was told on the very evening of your return to Saint 
 Clement. I know very well that these are things not to 
 be spoken of, but why do you force me?" 
 
 "My father has ruined your father! How and 
 when?" murmured Stephen, in a low,, subdued voice. 
 
 "Thus: Five years ago my father stood in need of 
 money; and he wanted it all at once. It was a big 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 sum; thirty thousand francs I believe. He went 
 to Monsieur Maupin first, who refused to lend him 
 money, but offered to purchase for cash, for the same 
 amount, a property which was worth eighty thousand 
 francs, and which had been in our family more than 
 a hundred years. That was not very honest, to begin 
 with, was it? To take advantage of a man's embar- 
 rassment to propose such a bargain. My father tried 
 elsewhere, but time was pressing, and at last he went to 
 a kind of money-lender by profession. This was a man 
 called Jean Berloc, who furnished the money, but 
 asked outrageous interest, and lent only for a very short 
 time. When the note became due, my father did not 
 have the money to meet it. Then he was made to re- 
 new the notes on still harder conditions, and finally, 
 when my father was unable to pay, Berloc took the 
 matter into court. The estate was sold at public auc- 
 tion, and do you know who bought it? Monsieur 
 Maupin, whose tool and agent Berloc had been, as all 
 Saint Clement now knows perfectly well. This is the 
 bare truth, Monsieur, and everybody here knows all 
 about it except you !" 
 
 Stephen was crushed; he had sunk down upon the 
 edge of the basin, and there he sat, his head in his 
 hands, utterly overcome by these revelations. 
 
 "I have caused you pain," said Therese, in a gentle 
 voice, "pardon me, I am more sorry than I can tell you. 
 How deeply I now regret my conduct last night! If I 
 had not been so hard with you, all this of to-night would 
 not have happened." 
 
 At the same moment the owner of the house appeared 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 in the garden. "Your clothes are all dry, little one," 
 she cried, "and you can put them on again whenever 
 you wish." As she was saying this, some noise was 
 heard at a distance. Then loud and repeated halloos 
 reechoed from the direction of the bridge. "That is 
 Monsieur Celestin's voice," said Therese, "he is no 
 doubt in search of us !" 
 
 She ran to the front door of the house and answered 
 the cries. She was not mistaken. A moment later the 
 bridegroom and Jonset appeared, and heard, with 
 much astonishment, the story of Therese's adventure. 
 
 "Well!" said Jonset, "you can boast of having 
 caused us all a great fright and much anxiety. We 
 feared for some time you might have fallen into a big 
 hole." 
 
 At the arrival of the young man, Stephen had gath- 
 ered himself up, and, forcing himself to appear calm, 
 had joined Celestin. "Since you are here," he said to 
 him, "I can entrust Mademoiselle Desroches to you, 
 and wish you good-night !" 
 
 "What!" cried Tiffin, "you will not stay and sup 
 with us? Ah! I am certainly unlucky with my wed- 
 ding!" 
 
 " Excuse me !" Stephen said, briefly, "I must be back 
 at Saint Clement to-night." 
 
 He was already at some distance, when somebody 
 came running after him, and in the darkness a little 
 hand shook his cordially. "Good-night, Monsieur 
 Stephen," murmured Therese, "good-night and forgive 
 me!" 
 
 [274] 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE SON MAKES AMENDS 
 
 'HE bank had hardly opened yet, but 
 M. Maupin had already been at work 
 more than two hours in his private 
 office. 
 
 The clock was striking eight, when 
 some one knocked at the door. 
 
 "May I come in?" asked Stephen 
 Maupin. 
 
 And as the answer did not come at once, the young 
 man entered at the very moment when a visitor slipped 
 out and disappeared through the small door leading to 
 the offices. Stephen barely had time to recognize the 
 bent figure and shuffling walk of Jean Berloc. 
 
 When this client was gone, the banker turned round, 
 and said: "Well, what do you want?" 
 
 The young man looked pale, but there was in his eye 
 something that showed he was firm and resolved. 
 
 "Good-morning, father! I should like to have a talk 
 with you. Can you give me a few minutes?" 
 
 The banker looked at his watch. "I can give you 
 half an hour," he said, "but not a moment more, for I 
 have an appointment at half past nine." 
 
 When Stephen had risen in the morning, he had felt 
 himself strong in his purposes and had vowed to him- 
 
 [275] 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 self that he would be brave and ask his father for a full 
 explanation. But he loved his father, who had always 
 been just and kind to him. And now was he to sub- 
 ject him to a painful interrogatory? Was he to judge, 
 perhaps to condemn him ? 
 
 "Well, I am waiting!" cried M. Maupin, who had 
 been scribbling something on his blotter. " Of what are 
 you dreaming? Are you going to stand there like a 
 stick ? I thought you had something to ask me ? " 
 
 "Yes!" replied Stephen at last. "Ever since yester- 
 day I have been thinking of that little farmer of whom 
 we were speaking. I came to ask you to give orders 
 that he be left alone!" 
 
 M. Maupin continued his scribbling with an air of 
 perfect indifference. "I thought," he replied without 
 raising his eyes from his book, "I had explained to you 
 that this peasant is mistaken. I am not his creditor, 
 and it does not depend on me to stop the prosecution." 
 
 "Is not the man who has just left you, perhaps the 
 real creditor?" 
 
 "Which man?" 
 
 "JeanBerloc." 
 
 " That may be. Berloc has a great many such skulk- 
 ing debtors, and I would not be surprised to find that 
 our friend of yesterday is one of the number." 
 
 "Well and then?" asked the young man, looking 
 his father in the face. 
 
 "Well, then?" 
 
 "At a word from you, Berloc would stop the suit." 
 
 "You are jesting. What right could I possibly have 
 to interfere with his business?" 
 
 [276] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 "The right of the principal, who directs his agent," 
 said Stephen, with a firm voice. "It is well known 
 everywhere that this man Berloc is your tool, and only 
 does what you order him to do." 
 
 "What nonsense!" M. Maupin gave a push to his 
 chair and turned round so as to face him. "What on 
 earth have you to do with this? What the devil do you 
 mean by putting your nose into matters that do not 
 concern you, and of which you know nothing?" 
 
 "If I touch this matter it is because your name and 
 my name can only suffer by being associated with Ber- 
 loc's name !" 
 
 The banker's irritation rose. "By God!" he cried 
 in his native jargon, "have you not dragooned me 
 enough with your foolish questions, and your absurd 
 scruples? Do I trouble myself about your pictures? 
 Everybody to his taste ! Leave it to me to take care 
 of my name I can do it without assistance from others. 
 Make money and that is enough !" 
 
 "Money is not everything !" remarked Stephen. 
 
 "Do you think so?" asked the old man, ironically. 
 "It seems to me that money is the one main spring, and 
 that he who is rich is strong, and in order to be rich we 
 have to make use of men and their foibles, eh ? There 
 are throats that are thirsty and there is water that 
 flows below ground and the wise man is he who dis- 
 covers that water and leads it to the thirsty throats! 
 Do you understand?" 
 
 "I understand that wealth is power but is that a 
 reason why we must value it above all considerations 
 of honor and of humanity?" 
 
 [277] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 "Words! Empty words!" exclaimed M. Maupin, 
 once more shrugging his shoulders. " True honor con- 
 sists in doing what your hands find to do, conscien- 
 tiously. The world bows low to those who know how 
 to make money, and the world is right." 
 
 "Yes, they take off their hats before their faces 
 and behind their backs they send them to the gallows ! 
 That is not respect that is fear !" 
 
 "Well what then?" exclaimed M. Maupin, "if the 
 timid are in the majority, the strong and fearless must 
 discount .their foibles. I know them, for I have been 
 poor myself and have lived with the poor! They have 
 the same vices as the rich only with envy and jealousy 
 added that is all!" 
 
 Stephen heard his father, and was stupefied. 
 
 "You wonder!" said M. Maupin, resuming his seat, 
 and looking around with his cruelly hard eyes at the 
 disturbed face of his son. "You will find out the truth 
 of my words when you go to work yourself." And when 
 Stephen shrank back, he added, not unkindly: "Oh! 
 be not afraid! I do not mean to-day, or to-morrow. 
 You are not ripe yet for business. Amuse yourself! 
 A young man must sow his wild oats! Go and enjoy 
 your young days, my boy; that is all I ask of you just 
 now!" 
 
 Stephen did not believe his own ears, and his sadness 
 was only increased. "Thank you," he said, "I take no 
 pleasure in such things!" 
 
 "Why ! You are fastidious ! I only wish I had had 
 such an offer made me when I was young! I was 
 always hungry and thirsty! I thought all the girls were 
 
 [278] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 pretty, and wanted to kiss every one of them. And 
 you! You turn up your nose and play the virtuous 
 youth. I ask you only one thing: Do not contract 
 debts. I can not bear them. When your pocket is 
 empty, come to me directly. By the way," he added, 
 pulling open a drawer, "I think you must be dry 
 now " 
 
 He broke open a roll, and counted out on the table 
 fifty bright gold pieces in two lines. "Here!" he said, 
 "is something for your petty expenses. But do not 
 come again and meddle with what is my business, and 
 mine alone! It is bad to be between hammer and 
 anvil!" 
 
 The clock struck half, and the banker looked at his 
 watch. "Take them quickly!" he said, "and be gone. 
 I am in a hurry!" 
 
 The young man collected the gold pieces and put 
 them into his pocket. "Thank you!" he murmured, 
 but in a way that showed how little the heart had to 
 do with his thanks. 
 
 And this man was his father ! Stephen had loved him, 
 and even now his heart felt great tenderness for him, 
 like a dying man who resists death to the uttermost. 
 Soon, however, he fixed upon a plan: he would con- 
 scientiously continue his studies in art, spend a few 
 months in Paris at the School of Fine Arts, and thus 
 enable himself in as short a time as might be possible, 
 to earn his daily bread. 
 
 He soon reached Jacques's farm, but the house 
 looked deserted, and the doors were closed. Stephen 
 knocked at the door and a feeble voice answered, calling 
 
 [279] 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 upon him to enter. After a while he distinguished an old 
 woman lying in a huge bedstead and looking at him 
 with feverish eyes, full of anxiety. He told her he wished 
 to see Father Jacques. 
 
 "Ah!" replied the sick person plaintively, "he is not 
 in; he is gone to Saint Clement about the wretchedness 
 they have brought upon us. Do you know, Monsieur, 
 they want to sell my furniture Sunday, after Mass? 
 And where shall we go ? And I, sick as I am, I can not 
 lie in the open air, like a wild beast. And to think that 
 it is a man who is rolling in gold who brings all this 
 misery upon us ! Can you imagine anything more cruel, 
 Monsieur, I ask you?" 
 
 "What is the amount Father Jacques owes this man 
 who is selling him out?" asked Stephen at last. 
 
 "A mere trifle, Monsieur, thirty gold pieces, which 
 we owe this devil of a Berloc but that is not all; then 
 there are the interests and the costs. Great God! it 
 amounts in all to nearly eight hundred francs! And 
 everything, everything we have in this world, is to go 
 on Sunday! They might as well cut us in quarters we 
 could not raise eight hundred francs!" 
 
 "Look here!" said Stephen, putting on a little table 
 the gold his father had given him. "Here are a thou- 
 sand francs tell Father Jacques to pay everything he 
 owes by to-morrow morning!" 
 
 The gold pieces fell with a ringing sound upon the 
 table, and Jacques's mother, utterly dumfounded, 
 had raised herself in her bed and looked alternately at 
 the money and at the young man. 
 
 "And this is no lie, Monsieur! Great God! Real 
 [280] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 gold pieces! and a whole handful! By all the saints! 
 I have not seen so many since I have been in this world. 
 You are sure you are not fooling an old woman, 
 Monsieur? You are really in earnest, are you?" 
 
 "Take it," said Stephen. "It is yours!" 
 
 "And what may be your name, my beautiful young 
 master? I want to put your name in my prayers every 
 day of my life, morning and evening." 
 
 "This money is not my money," said Stephen, and 
 then suddenly seized with a feeling of pity and of affec- 
 tion for his father, he added: "This money comes to 
 you from Monsieur Maupin, who sends it to you, but 
 under the condition that you will mention it to no one!" 
 
 He escaped while the plaintive voice of the old 
 woman pursued him with a long string of thanks and 
 blessings. "At all events there will be that many peo- 
 ple less who curse us!" he thought as he went away. 
 
 [281] 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE PART OF INDISCRETION 
 
 1ANING against the rock which here 
 rose quite steeply, Stephen was 
 sketching the fountain. Gradually, 
 his attention became distracted, his 
 brush less certain, and he felt that 
 uncomfortable sensation that over- 
 comes us when we are conscious that 
 we are watched. After struggling 
 for some time against this mysterious influence, he put 
 down his brush, stretched his arm, and then looked 
 behind him and beheld Therese Desroches. 
 
 "Pardon me!" she replied to M. Maupin's air of as- 
 tonishment when he perceived her. "I fear I am indis- 
 creet. I did not expect to find any one at the spring 
 
 and came to get some cress " 
 
 The young man had risen; she came up to his canvas. 
 "Oh, how pretty this is!" she continued. "Every- 
 thing is here, the water, the trees, the sky, even this 
 water-lily that is just opening amid its round leaves!" 
 
 Stephen sat down again, and in order not to embar- 
 rass the young girl, he began cleaning his palette and 
 arranging his brushes. As he was about to remove his 
 sketch, The*rese stopped him rather brusquely. "Let 
 me look at it once more!" she said, very gently. 
 
 [282] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 He put it back upon its little easel, and she bent over 
 the better to examine it. "You have forgotten noth- 
 ing," she continued, "even that washerwoman in the 
 distance, what a good likeness! Is it more difficult to 
 paint people or trees?" 
 
 "The difficulty is the same," he replied. "A tree has 
 a physiognomy which is as hard to catch as a man's." 
 
 "Then you could paint the likeness of a person as 
 faithfully as that of a willow." 
 
 "I think I could," he said, watching the firm and 
 regular outlines of Therese's profile, and then, looking 
 straight in her face, he added: "Will you let me try to 
 paint yours?" 
 
 "Really?" she asked, with a bright sparkle of delight 
 in her eyes. "Would you consent to paint my por- 
 trait?" 
 
 "I should be delighted, if it were possible." 
 
 "It is very possible," she assured him, eagerly, "we 
 can begin whenever you like." 
 
 "Where and when?" Stephen asked, a little puzzled. 
 
 "Here, every day, as long as the weather is fine!" 
 
 "But," objected the young man, "will they let you 
 come, and won't it appear out of the way." 
 
 "Oh, I often take long walks over the country. I 
 had gotten used to these solitary promenades during 
 the time when I lived with peasants, and no one has in- 
 terfered since." 
 
 The sad tones of these last words touched Stephen 
 and made him sympathetic. With a look of great ten- 
 derness he said to her: "Very well, Mademoiselle, 
 when will it please you to begin? To-morrow?" 
 
 [283] 
 
ANDK6 THEURIET 
 
 "With the greatest pleasure !" she exclaimed. 
 
 "To-morrow, then in the afternoon you will find 
 me near the spring!" 
 
 The [next clay, at one o'clock, she appeared at the 
 turn of the rocky wall, in the same costume that she 
 had worn the day before. 
 
 At the sight of the canvas standing all ready on the 
 easel, her black eyes were radiant with delight. 
 
 "Am I behind time?" she asked. 
 
 "No," was his reply. "We have three whole hours 
 before us, and in that time we can do a good deal!" 
 
 The meetings continued throughout the whole month 
 of August, which was exceptionally fine. As both were 
 communicative by nature, a close intimacy sprang up 
 between the young people. They loved to tell each 
 other of their youth, but two subjects were carefully left 
 out of the conversation and never touched upon: Ste- 
 phen was silent on the subject of M. Maupin, and The- 
 rese never spoke of her mother! 
 
 This would have been perfect, ideal happiness had 
 they lived on a deserted island ; but they were actually 
 living in a little town where everybody had lynx eyes to 
 spy out their neighbors' doings. Before the month of 
 August had come to an end, there was not a man, 
 woman, or child in St. Clement who did not know that 
 they met every day at the Angels' Mill. Soon the whole 
 town spoke of the meetings of Dr. Desroches's daugh- 
 ter with young Maupin, and the charitable pitied the 
 doctor. As to Stephen, nobody spared him, and the 
 mothers of marriageable daughters, especially, thought 
 his conduct unpardonable. Madame Maupin was 
 
 [284] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 one of the first to hear what scandal her son was 
 causing. 
 
 "Well," she said, coming home one evening, "I hear 
 strange stories in town! It seems that our Stephen has 
 fallen in love with the little Desroches girl!" 
 
 She told her husband what stories were circulating. 
 
 The old banker only smiled. He was not sorry to 
 find that Stephen had become less puritanic, and ap- 
 plauded himself for the advice he had given his son. 
 
 "Well, what next?" he replied, cheerily. "He 
 amuses himself that is natural; he is of the right age 
 for such diversions. Surely, you did not think he would 
 all his life long hide himself behind your petticoats?" 
 
 "But he makes people talk of the girl!" 
 
 " So much the worse for her and her father. Instead 
 of troubling himself with politics, the old man ought to 
 watch over his child. Stephen is a young man, and, 
 like all young men, he is running after the girls." 
 
 "That is immoral, my dear, and, what is worse, it is 
 dangerous! Suppose Stephen should take matters in 
 earnest and one of these days come and ask for your 
 consent to marry the girl?" 
 
 The banker whistled ironically. " I should like to see 
 that! However," and here the scar across his mouth 
 changed color, and gave him a savagely cruel expres- 
 sion, "I have the means to get rid of the girl should she 
 ever become troublesome. Don't talk of it with your 
 son. I am awake, and you can go to sleep in safety." 
 
 But Madame Maupin was not entirely reassured. 
 She trembled lest these reports should reach the old 
 doctor's ears, and he should hold Stephen to account. 
 
 [285] 
 
ANDRtf THEURIET 
 
 October had come, and the days were getting both 
 shorter and less trustworthy so far as the weather was 
 concerned. One afternoon, when Stephen was ap- 
 proaching the end of his task, and the portrait was 
 nearly finished, they were surprised by a sudden shower, 
 and had to run to seek refuge in one of the nearest cot- 
 tages. The farmer's wife took them both into a dark 
 room, which was at once her kitchen and her bedroom, 
 and here she left them alone. Everything betrayed the 
 wretched poverty of the owners. The two young people 
 looked at each other, and although they had spent so 
 many hours and days alone with each other in the 
 open air, they now for the first time felt embarrassed. 
 
 "What a wretched place!" said Stephen. "It feels 
 like a cave!" 
 
 "Yes," replied Therese, "and yet these people live 
 here and are used to it." 
 
 Stephen saw how the young girl's eyes began to shine 
 brightly and a smile played on her lips. 
 
 "Of what are you thinking?" he asked her. 
 
 "I am thinking," she replied, "how you would look 
 if you were condemned to spend your life here!" 
 
 "I?" he exclaimed. "The place, to be sure, is poor 
 enough and wretched and yet, I should be happy if I 
 could lead a simple life here with you!" 
 
 "Oh, fie!" she said, smiling, but shaking her head. 
 
 "I swear it, Therese!" 
 
 Their eyes met once more and both felt a sudden 
 accession of melting tenderness. Stephen had seized 
 Therese's hands. 
 
 The farmer's wife was shaking her wooden shoes at 
 [>86] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 the door before coming in. The young people let go 
 their hands and she entered. 
 
 "You left home in a very bad state of the weather, 
 my little one," she said, dropping a little curtsey, "and 
 so have you done, Monsieur Maupin; but you need 
 only have a little patience. The sky is clearing up to- 
 ward Saint Clement it was only a heavy shower." 
 
 In fact, already the kitchen had become a little lighter 
 and a milky whiteness appeared on the sky. A quarter 
 of an hour later the rain ceased altogether and the 
 young people could leave the house. But the roads 
 were deep in mud, and Stephen would not let Therese 
 go home alone. 
 
 Therese left her friend at the first bridge, and when 
 she at last reached her home, she found the Doctor 
 standing in the vestibule of his house; he seized her 
 rudely by the arm and thrust her into the library. Then 
 he locked the door and asked her: 
 
 "Where have you been?" 
 
 Th6rese looked at him, surprised at the question 
 and at the tone in which it was asked. 
 
 " I went to the Angels' Mill and was caught in the 
 rain!" 
 
 "You were walking, and alone?" 
 
 Therese blushed slightly. "No!" she answered. 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because I should like to know the companion with 
 whom you were running about over the country." 
 
 She raised her head and replied, in a firm voice: "It 
 was Monsieur Stephen Maupin !" 
 
 "Really? And you do not die for shame when you 
 ] 2 8 7 ] 
 
ANDRfe THEURIET 
 
 confess it ? It is not enough that you forget the reserve 
 which an honest girl must show; to be pointed at with 
 scorn you must needs go and choose the son of the 
 man who has robbed me !" 
 
 "I have done nothing to be pointed at with scorn !" 
 Therese said; "as to Monsieur Stephen Maupin, if his 
 father has done wrong, he is the very first man to re- 
 gret it, and he is an honest man, I am sure!" 
 
 "And I must accept your certificate of honesty?" 
 asked the father, with a laughter full of sarcasm. 
 
 "Yes, for I have never told a falsehood in my life, 
 and when I tell you on what occasion I made Monsieur 
 Maupin' s acquaintance, you will be less surprised that 
 we should have become friends." 
 
 "To be sure," he replied, ironically, "I am all anx- 
 iety to know this edifying story in all its details." 
 
 She told him very frankly and briefly what had 
 occurred at the famous wedding, then of her meeting 
 with Stephen at the Angels' Spring, and the sittings for 
 the portrait, as if it were the simplest and most natural 
 matter in the world. 
 
 "Thus this clandestine intercourse has gone on two 
 months already?" 
 
 "There was nothing stealthy about it why should 
 we hide? We were doing nothing wrong." 
 
 "What? Nothing wrong?" he laughed, scornfully, 
 "you will next try to persuade me that you spent your 
 time in reciting Paternosters?" 
 
 "I do not understand you," said Therese, "but I 
 feel that you are cruel, unutterably cruel, to your child. 
 It may be, since you assert it, that my conduct has been 
 
 [288] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 thoughtless, incautious, and it may also be that I have 
 done, without knowing it, things which the world con- 
 siders wrong, but let me tell you in my turn, that if I had 
 been loved more and guided better, I would have -acted 
 with more discernment ; I should have been a well edu- 
 cated and prudent girl, like others, if my father 
 
 "Your father!" broke in Dr. Desroches, furiously, 
 "do not speak of your father! You bear my name, to 
 be sure, but let me tell you once for all time you can 
 hear it now I have always doubted that you are my 
 daughter and now I believe it less than ever!" 
 
 Therese sank upon the floor, and, her brow leaning 
 on the edge of the table, her face hid in her hands, re- 
 mained thus, crushed with shame and humiliation. 
 
 Dr. Desroches, in spite of his anger and the tempest 
 of furious passions which this scene had let loose, felt 
 that he had gone too far and was ashamed of his own 
 severity. In his dried-up heart arose an instinct of 
 pity; his lips opened and he was about to speak a word 
 of compassion to his child. But he was too wise not to 
 know that there are wounds which never heal. He 
 knew that certain words, once pronounced, can not, by 
 any power on earth, be made unsaid. He suddenly 
 turned on his heel, opened the door on the staircase- 
 landing, slammed it violently, and left Therese alone. 
 
 19 [ 289 ] 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 COMPLICATIONS 
 
 'T the house of President Lourdeval 
 they were celebrating the natal day 
 of his wife, Leonarde. Every year 
 on the sixth of November, the hus- 
 band availed himself of this occa- 
 sion to invite the members of his 
 Courts, the principal functionaries of 
 St. Clement, and a few intimate 
 friends, to come and spend the evening at his house. 
 
 This year the day had been rainy. The poor ladies 
 who possessed no carriages, and had no kind friends 
 more favored by fortune to offer them seats in their 
 vehicles, did not hesitate to put heavy wooden shoes 
 over their delicate silk hotlines to defy the muddy 
 roads, for the house stood at a long distance from the 
 last town-house. 
 
 The President, remarkable for his great height and 
 his habit of complimenting all and every one, went for- 
 ward to meet the ladies as they were announced, and in 
 his fine old fashion kissed their hands. Madame Lour- 
 deval allowed him to play the butterfly around the 
 ladies, as she sat enthroned majestically in her chair. 
 
 She was aided in doing the honors of the house by 
 her three nieces, the Mesdemoiselles Boisse. Their 
 
 [290] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 family was old ; it went back as far as the days of Fair 
 Melusine, but unfortunately it was as poor as it was 
 old, and the three Graces had no dower! 
 
 Among the last comers were Madame Maupin and 
 her son. The banker had sent his excuses, but his wife, 
 full of ambitious desires, took care not to miss such an 
 opportunity of getting into society. Stephen had ac- 
 companied her for another reason. He knew that Dr. 
 Desroches and the President were old friends from 
 childhood up, and he had come in the hope of meeting 
 Threse. For nearly a month ever since the day of 
 the storm he had not seen her again. Stephen had 
 haunted the street where she lived, but in vain ; he had 
 not missed a mass all in vain! Since he had entered 
 the President's house, he had forgotten nearly all his 
 social duties; searching every room, looking into every 
 corner, he presently saw Dr. Desroches and his daugh- 
 ter enter the room. 
 
 Madame Lourdeval received the Doctor ceremoni- 
 ously, and dryly welcomed his daughter, whom the 
 President, with many compliments and fine speeches, 
 led to an empty chair near the embrasure of a window. 
 Therese felt that she was received with curiosity and an 
 attention not overkind. She divined that at this mo- 
 ment her face, her dress, her smallest gestures, were 
 observed and commented upon by all the women and 
 the majority of the men in the room. This embarrassed 
 her to such a degree that she hardly dared move. 
 Stephen, after a time, profited by the general movement 
 to slip into the window embrasure near which Therese 
 was sitting. He tried to meet Therese's eyes but she 
 
 [291] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 seemed, on the contrary, determined to avoid his. Pres- 
 ently he heard her voice appealing to him, and saying: 
 "I pray you, do not remain near me!" 
 
 She spoke in short, nervous accents. 
 
 "Why?" asked young Maupin. "What has hap- 
 pened?" 
 
 "I can not tell you, but I beseech you, for God's sake, 
 leave me!" 
 
 Astonished and distressed, Stephen dared not insist. 
 He obeyed and left the window. 
 
 In the mean time, tables for the games had been 
 arranged in the large drawing-room. Stephen seated 
 himself between his mother and one of the nieces; op- 
 posite him sat Therese. The game they were playing 
 fortunately required but little attention; the players 
 could give free course to their tongues while they picked 
 up or laid down their cards. Hence the conversation 
 was very lively, touching now upon this and now upon 
 that new subject, interrupted only by the bursts of 
 laughter, the questions of the banker, or the wails of the 
 losers. 
 
 "I want a card! Do you hear the wind? How it 
 blows ! What weather ! ' ' 
 
 "Yes! Winter begins early. A card! No more 
 walks in the country!" 
 
 Glances fell upon Therese, but she seemed not to 
 notice the allusion. 
 
 "Do you know, ladies," said the banker, in a moment 
 of leisure, "that we have an artist at Saint Clement?" 
 
 All eyes fell upon Stephen. "Really?" asked some 
 one. Madame Maupin sat upon thorns. 
 
 f 292 ] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 "Yes," continued the speaker, innocently, "we have 
 a photographer here, who came a week ago, and is stay- 
 ing at the Green Oak. His portraits are excellent." 
 
 ' ' We have seen them, ' ' said the oldest niece . ' ' Mam- 
 ma thinks of having us photographed." 
 
 "What, Mademoiselle Cesarine, shall you risk it? 
 They say the instruments make you look very ugly!" 
 
 "Oh!" she replied, looking fixedly at Therese, "we 
 poor girls do not have the good fortune of finding an 
 artist to paint our portrait." 
 
 Madame Maupin, who felt ill at ease, changed the 
 subject of conversation and spoke of a young lady who 
 had taken the black veil in a convent of the Benedictine 
 nuns. 
 
 "I understand how one can take the veil," said 
 Mademoiselle Cesarine again, "but if I were to leave 
 the world, I should choose the strictest of all orders. 
 I should become a Carmelite and you, Mademoiselle 
 Desroches?" 
 
 "I? I have no opinion on the subject. I am not 
 fond of convents." 
 
 At this reply the ladies looked at each other, shocked. 
 
 "Mademoiselle Desroches is very right!" exclaimed 
 Stephen. 
 
 Cesarine replied with bitter irony: "Mademoiselle 
 Therese does not like convents, she prefers the open 
 air and long walks in the country!" 
 
 "What would you have, Mademoiselle Cesarine. 
 We can not all have a vocation for celibacy!" 
 
 This reply came cruelly home to Mademoiselle 
 Boisse, who had two or three times been on the point of 
 
 [ 2 93] 
 
ANDR^ THEURIET 
 
 being married. She turned as red as a poppy. It was 
 her turn next to keep bank. She got together with 
 trembling hands the two packs of cards, shuffled them 
 furiously, and abandoning the game they had been 
 playing so far, she dealt two cards to each player with 
 the sacramental question: Sympathy or Antipathy? 
 The player won or lost according as his answer was in 
 harmony with the card that was turned up. When Ce- 
 sarine reached Therese, she looked at her in the most 
 impertinent manner and asked, imperiously: "Sym- 
 pathy or Antipathy ? " Therese bravely met her adver- 
 sary's eye and with a vibrating voice she said: "An- 
 tipathy!" 
 
 Her expression of face and her accent left no doubt 
 on any one's mind as to the meaning she meant to give 
 to her answer. Some of the young people could not 
 conceal their ironical smiles. Cesarine caught them, 
 and feeling beaten, the tears flowed from her eyes. She 
 threw the cards upon the floor and rose, crying: "When 
 people insult me I give way!" 
 
 "What is the matter?" asked the President's wife. 
 
 "Mademoiselle Desroches has insulted me!" replied 
 the niece, breaking out in sobs. 
 
 "What, Therese, can this be?" 
 
 "Your niece is mistaken, Madame," replied The*- 
 rese, "I only answered her question." 
 
 "Oh! what a story!" exclaimed the insulted lady. 
 "It is the tone that makes the insult, and your tone of 
 voice was an insult I take all these gentlemen to be 
 my witnesses!" 
 
 "I maintain," cried Stephen, excitedly, "that the 
 [294] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 only person here who has a right to complain is Made- 
 moiselle Therese !" 
 
 "Oh," replied Mademoiselle Cesarine, with a con- 
 vulsive laugh, " Monsieur Maupin defends Mademoi- 
 selle Desroches! Of course, that is quite natural!" 
 
 At the same moment, however, a hand was laid upon 
 the young man's shoulder, rudely pressing it. "By 
 what right, young man," said the Doctor, in his icy 
 voice, "do you appear here as the defender of my 
 daughter? There is only one man here who has that 
 right, and that man is her father. I forbid you to med- 
 dle with my affairs! Come, Therese, let us go!" 
 
 He took the young girl by the arm and they left the 
 room, while Stephen remained distressed. Madame 
 Maupin bit her lips, and the bystanders, shocked and 
 delighted at once, began to whisper. 
 
 Toward midnight Madame Maupin entered her con- 
 jugal chamber, roused her husband from his slumbers 
 and told him the unpleasant occurrences of the evening. 
 "I had foreseen it all," she said, "but you would not 
 listen; now this little absurdity will give us trouble." 
 
 "You are right," replied the banker, frowning, 
 "these Desroches are becoming dangerous, but never 
 mind, I have an idea that they will not trouble us much 
 longer." 
 
 [2951 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 FLIGHT 
 
 T was the third day of December and 
 a bitter cold morning. Celestin Tif- 
 fin, his overcoat drawn over his ears 
 and walking very carefully, was cross- 
 ing the square on his way to the bank. 
 At the corner of the cafe he saw a 
 very unusual scene; a small crowd of 
 curious people had assembled around 
 some placards. The young man went up to the three 
 notices. 
 
 The first of these papers decreed the dissolution of 
 the National Assembly; the second was the well known 
 effort Napoleon made to justify the coup d'etat; and 
 the third admonished all good citizens to rejoice and to 
 keep calm. "Now more than ever/' this paper con- 
 cluded, "the wicked ought to tremble and the good to 
 be reassured." 
 
 Celestin had just finished reading the last paper, 
 when he heard a voice growling near him : ' ' Infamous ! ' ' 
 He turned round and saw it was Dr. Desroches in his 
 long black overcoat, buttoned up to the throat, bran- 
 dishing his cane in a threatening manner at the placards. 
 "This is a crime," he cried; "the man who has done 
 that is a traitor is outside of the law, and those who 
 
 [296] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 have stuck up these proclamations have committed an 
 illegal act. That is what good citizens ought to say 
 of it." 
 
 Eight o'clock was striking, and Celestin hastened to 
 reach the office in time; as he walked along with rapid 
 strides, he thought of the Doctor's words. He was 
 greatly excited when he reached the bank, and here he 
 found others similarly irritated and eagerly discussing 
 the legality of the President's acts. 
 
 "After all," said the old cashier, "if it is true that 
 they were going to turn him out, he is right, this man, 
 to be ahead of them, and to sweep them all out." 
 
 "No!" cried Celestin, "no, a man is never right if 
 he breaks his word, and this man had sworn to observe 
 the Constitution!" 
 
 "What!" cried one of the younger clerks, "is Celes- 
 tin becoming a politician?" 
 
 "This is not a question of politics," the young man 
 said, bravely, "but of honesty. What would you think 
 of a man, who had sworn fidelity to his master, and in 
 the night would go and break open his bank? I am 
 only a poor little clerk, but this coup d'etat goes against 
 my conscience." 
 
 "Hear! hear! Now Celestin has become an orator!" 
 
 "Yes," cried the young man, losing control over 
 himself, "I shall protest against it as an illegal act, and 
 I shall not be alone; there will be other people " 
 
 At this moment a heavy step was heard outside, 
 and one of the clerks, more curious than the others, 
 looked out: "A gendarme! and he is coming here!" 
 he exclaimed. 
 
 [ 2 97] 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 Tiffin was thunderstruck. The steps approached, 
 the door opened, and the gendarme appeared in the 
 opening in the full splendor of his three-cornered hat, 
 his old-fashioned uniform buttoned back, and his 
 broad, yellow shoulder-belt. 
 
 "Monsieur Maupin!" said the man of war, saluting, 
 military fashion. 
 
 He was told that the banker was in his office. 
 
 "Inform him, if you please, that they want him 
 instantly at the Sub-prefect's office. Matter of ur- 
 gency!' 7 he added. 
 
 And turning stiffly round, he saluted and left, reliev- 
 ing Celestin, whose heart had been beating furiously. 
 
 For a month or so, M. Maupin had been frequently 
 sent for in the same way, so that the message did not 
 surprise any one. While the cashier was going upstairs 
 to deliver it, one of the clerks murmured audibly: 
 "Anyhow, Tiffin has had a nice shock!" 
 
 Five minutes later the banker came down, putting on 
 his gloves and buttoning his overcoat. 
 
 He did not return till late in the afternoon, and the 
 first thing he did was to send for the unlucky clerk, 
 who went up, shaking and trembling all over, and tim- 
 idly knocked at the door. "Come in!" cried a rough 
 voice, and he went in. 
 
 The banker, bent over his table, was writing a letter; 
 he did not even turn to look at his clerk. At last he 
 condescended to turn his chair half way round and to 
 cast a furious look at the poor young man. 
 
 "So," he said, "you meddle with politics now? You 
 dare criticise the acts of Government? And you are 
 
 [298] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 not afraid to disseminate such rebellious views in my 
 house? You bite the hand of your benefactor! You 
 are a monster of ingratitude !" 
 
 "Pardon me, Monsieur Maupin!" Celestin stam- 
 mered, "I have done wrong; I am in despair if I have 
 spoken without weighing the effect my words might 
 possibly have on others; I humbly ask pardon." 
 
 "Idiot!" continued the banker, playing now on the 
 chord of terror, after making the chord of feeling vi- 
 brate its best, "you dare raise your voice against your 
 monarch, who has saved society once more? But, you 
 worm, you, don't you know that a word from him would 
 suffice to send you to the uttermost parts of the earth?" 
 
 "Oh! master, I am lost!" cried the clerk. "Have 
 mercy on me, and if not on me, have mercy on my poor 
 wife!" 
 
 "Well!" growled M. Maupin, "be it so! I will over- 
 look it this time, but on one condition: You must fully 
 and frankly act with us! To begin: You were this 
 morning present when Doctor Desroches was making a 
 great fool of himself and tearing down the proclama- 
 tions were you not? Well, then, tell me the whole 
 story with all the details!" 
 
 The poor clerk saw the trap in which he was caught, 
 and blushed. Dr. Desroches was to be ruined, and he 
 was to be the instrument that was to bring about his 
 ruin! What could he do? He told the story as it had 
 happened. 
 
 "Now, come with me," said Maupin, "and tell the 
 same story to the Sub-prefect and to the Attorney- 
 General!" 
 
 [299] 
 
, ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 "But," said poor Celestin, blushing again, "that 
 would be a regular denunciation!" 
 
 "Ah!" said M. Maupin, "what big words you use!" 
 He rose, faced his terrified clerk, and said : 
 
 "Very well! You can do it or not do it, as you like! 
 If you refuse to repeat to these gentlemen what you 
 have just confessed to me, I turn you out this morning. 
 I do not wish to keep in my house a man who delivers 
 revolutionary speeches, and associates with men openly 
 defying the will of our sovereign! I give you five min- 
 utes for reflection!" 
 
 He then turned his back upon him, resumed his 
 chair and went on writing again. The wretched clerk 
 saw in the air the dark figures of the judges, the cells of 
 the public prison, even the "Black Maria" that was to 
 take him to the ship. Perhaps he should never see his 
 wife again ! A sob escaped and the banker looked at him. 
 
 "I'll go with you," he said, almost inaudibly. 
 
 "Very well! Go down, get your hat and come back 
 here! But before this is settled, mind this: If you 
 breathe to a living being a word of what has happened 
 or of what you hear, you are to-morrow in jail!" 
 
 Five minutes later the banker drove to the residence 
 of the Sub-prefect, with the unhappy clerk. 
 
 He did not return home till six o'clock, and went di- 
 rectly upstairs to his wife's room. 
 
 "Laura," he said, "the old mayor is dismissed and 
 I have the appointment in my pocket. To-morrow I 
 think we shall be rid of those Desroches! All is going 
 on well. Only, keep your son from going out to-night, 
 and let him put a lock on his mouth!" 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 Somewhat later, about eight o'clock, a man of tall 
 stature, wrapped up in a cloak, turned the corner of 
 Main Street, keeping close to the houses. The man 
 stopped at Dr. Desroches's house, opened the gate in 
 the railing of the court and made his way into the ves- 
 tibule and then went upstairs. He quickly entered the 
 room and found the Doctor, as usual, sitting in his arm- 
 chair. At the noise of the opening door he turned round 
 and saw the President, who was taking off his cloak. 
 
 "Lourdeval!" he exclaimed as he recognized his 
 visitor. 
 
 "Hush!" replied the latter in a mysterious whisper. 
 "Nobody has seen me come in, and I do not care to be 
 seen. You know, of course, unhappy man, why I am 
 here. You are in great danger!" 
 
 "What is the matter?" 
 
 "You have been informed against by Maupin, who 
 can not endure the sight of you. One of his clerks wit- 
 nessed your destruction of the proclamations. The 
 banker took him to headquarters, made him repeat all 
 he saw and heard, and " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "You are about to be arrested!" 
 
 The Doctor smiled ironically. "Ah! Maupin has 
 become a spy! A good recruit for the new cause!" 
 
 "I have arranged it so," continued the President, 
 "that the order to arrest you shall not be executed to- 
 night, but to-morrow morning the gendarmes will be 
 here. You must get away to-night and flee across the 
 frontier. Do not trouble yourself about your daughter; 
 we will take care of her." 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 "Very well!" said the Doctor, calmly, getting up. 
 "I thank you, Lourdeval! I shall leave to-night !" 
 
 They shook hands. The President concealed himself 
 again in his cloak. "Good luck, poor old man! " he 
 said. "Try to keep your servant out of my way! 
 Adieu!" 
 
 As soon as he was gone, Desroches sought his daugh- 
 ter's chamber. She was sewing near an almost dying 
 fire, Dacho, the great Dane, at her feet. "Ah! you 
 are still up! Do not go to bed till you have seen me 
 again! I have to talk to you!" 
 
 Then he returned to the library, and emptied drawer 
 after drawer, throwing the contents into the fire. When 
 all was burned, he took a razor and cut off his big 
 beard; no one would easily have recognized him. 
 Then he dressed himself as he always did for his visits 
 to the country, put money into his pockets, and went 
 once more to Therese' s room. 
 
 When she saw her father's shaved face and his cos- 
 tume, she started. "Therese," said the father, "I am 
 threatened with an arrest to-morrow morning! The 
 Maupins have informed against me. I endanger the 
 safety of the father and I interfere with the pleasures 
 of the son. You have given your heart to a nice man! 
 I must leave this very night!" 
 
 Therese threw herself upon his arm, and cried : 
 
 "Take me with you!" 
 
 "Do not speak so loud," said the Doctor, taking her 
 hands off his arm. "What you ask is impossible. Here 
 is a little money; keep it carefully. Now," he added, 
 with a slight tremor in his voice, "we are going to part 
 
 [302] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 Heaven knows for how long. After what has hap- 
 pened, and what I have told you of your mother, we 
 can not well have scenes of great tenderness I only 
 regret leaving you here alone and without means, but 
 the President has promised me he will take care of 
 you 
 
 "That is useless. I do not want to be under obliga- 
 tions to any one here." 
 
 "And what will you do?" 
 
 "I shall leave to-morrow for Poitiers and go out to 
 the farm of my nurse; there are people there who love 
 me and who will watch over me." 
 
 "Very well. I prefer that, I believe." He took his 
 cane and went to the glass door that opened upon the 
 garden. "I shall get out by the garden-gate and take 
 to the country at once. Do not come with me t* is 
 more prudent. Good-by ! ' ' 
 
 He opened the door, and plunged into the 
 ous night. 
 
 [303] 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 FAMILY QUARRELS 
 
 HE news of the coup d'etat had excited 
 Stephen Maupin much more than was 
 generally supposed. On that fatal 
 night of the third of December his 
 mother had succeeded in keeping him 
 at home, but early the next morning 
 he went down into the town. The 
 first person he met was Celestin, 
 who looked as if he had not slept for a year. 
 
 " You look badly," he said to him. " I hope Madame 
 Tiffin is not unwell." 
 
 "Oh, no! But have you not heard the sad news? 
 You know Mademoiselle Therese Desroches, who was 
 
 at my wedding " 
 
 "What has happened to her?" Stephen asked, turn- 
 ing deadly pale. 
 
 "Her father was to have been arrested this morn- 
 ing!" 
 
 " Is it possible ? Are you sure ? " 
 Poor Celestin was but too sure. 
 "Just think of the poor young lady!" he said, after 
 telling what he knew. "What is to become of her 
 alone, and at her age ? The poor lady ! " 
 
 Stephen listened no longer, but hastening to the 
 [304] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 house of Dr. Desroches he rushed in and found the 
 servant in the kitchen lamenting their fate. 
 
 "Where is Doctor Desroches?" asked the young 
 man. The girl simply shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "Has he been arrested?" 
 
 "They came to take him, but they did not find him 
 oh, the poor man!" 
 
 "And Mademoiselle Therese?" 
 
 "She is upstairs!" 
 
 He rapidly ran up the stairs and entered the library. 
 
 Therese was sitting in her father's chair, her head in 
 her hands, and her eyes fixed upon space. At the 
 sound of steps she slowly turned, but when she per- 
 ceived young Maupin, she rose, and, with an indignant 
 air, said to him: 
 
 "How dare you intrude here? Do you also come 
 in search of him? He has escaped in time, God be 
 thanked, and his enemies will not find him!" 
 
 "I was afraid he might have been arrested," replied 
 Stephen, "and I took the liberty of coming in to offer 
 you " 
 
 He stammered and stopped, disconcerted by the 
 strange look of contempt which he read in Therese' s 
 face. 
 
 "Offer what?" she asked with bitter irony, "your 
 kind advice? Yesterday it would have been accept- 
 able!" 
 
 "Yesterday!" he said, amazed. "But I knew noth- 
 ing. I have only heard of it this morning." 
 
 "Why will you tell a falsehood?" she said, angrily. 
 "You knew it all, just as well as Celestin Tiffin. Both 
 20 [ 30$ 1 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 of you knew very well that your father had betrayed 
 him." 
 
 "My father! Mademoiselle Desroches, your anger 
 blinds you ! How could you ever think my father capa- 
 ble of such villainy?" 
 
 "I believe Monsieur Maupin to be capable of any- 
 thing. He disliked my father, we annoyed him he 
 simply has gotten rid of us! We have proofs enough!" 
 
 "Proofs!" he said. "What proofs have you against 
 us?" 
 
 "Yesterday your father went to see the Sub-prefect 
 and informed against my father. He took Monsieur 
 Tiffin with him to support the accusation, and upon 
 their testimony my father has been arrested. Question 
 Celestin, and if he is not entirely lost to honor, he will 
 confess the truth!" 
 
 "But that would be infamous." 
 
 "It is so. However," she added, sadly, "what is the 
 use of explanations? Leave me. I am tired. I am 
 going to leave here, and in going away I have but one 
 wish: that I may be able to forget the name of Mau- 
 pin and all who bear it." 
 
 "Mademoiselle Desroches," said Stephen, trembling 
 with excitement, "if what you say is true, I have no 
 right to reproach you ; however, I venture to doubt yet. 
 But if it is really so, if my father really has the fatal 
 power which you attribute to him, I swear by all that 
 is sacred that before the evening has set in he shall have 
 made ample amends for all he has done, or all is over 
 between him and me " 
 
 He tried once more to catch Therese's eye, but she 
 [306] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 had turned her face away from him. Then he left the 
 room hastily, and soon he was in the vestibule of his 
 own house, and without knocking, entered the banker's 
 office. 
 
 M. Maupin, all in black, was opening his letters at 
 his table, where his hat and his gloves, lying ready, 
 showed that he was about to go out. When he saw his 
 son come in so abruptly, he frowned and said: 
 
 "Since when is this room as public as a mill? And 
 could you not have asked first whether I was ready to 
 see you just now ? I do not like such ways, you know ! " 
 
 "Father," began Stephen, losing no time in excuses, 
 "the gendarmes have been at Doctor Desroches's 
 house to arrest him!" 
 
 The banker looked impassively at his son. "Well?" 
 
 "They say he has been informed against by you and 
 Celestin Tiffin!" 
 
 M. Maupin could not repress his anger. "Ah! that 
 fool Tiffin could not keep his tongue! Thunder of 
 God ! I'll make him swallow it ! " 
 
 "It was true, then!" said the son, in a heartrending 
 voice. Then he continued, in a calmer tone: "Tiffin 
 has not talked. I have heard it from Mademoiselle 
 Desroches, from whom I have just come." 
 
 "Ah! Then the young lady has told you only half 
 the truth: Doctor Desroehes had denounced himself 
 by his seditious speeches in public. He was considered 
 a danger to the public safety and it became my official 
 duty to order his arrest." 
 
 "A sad business, surely. It would have been better 
 to let Justice act!" 
 
 [307] 
 
ANDK6 THEURIET 
 
 "My duty," said M. Maupin, drawing himself up, 
 and buttoning his overcoat, "is to secure the success 
 of the saving act of December second, and to free 
 the country of all who would destroy it by fire and 
 sword!" 
 
 "This is not a question of politics, but of humanity," 
 Stephen replied. "Think, if you do not interfere, this 
 man will be thrown into prison or forced to live in exile; 
 in either case he is ruined, and his daughter, a child 
 of seventeen, left alone, without means, exposed to a 
 thousand dangers " 
 
 "Ah!" said the banker, almost contemptuously, 
 "what fine words! That girl is very near to your 
 heart, is she?" 
 
 "Yes!" Stephen confessed, imprudently, "I love 
 her, and the blow you are aiming at her strikes me 
 down!" 
 
 M. Maupin smiled ironically, and, crossing his arms, 
 he said: 
 
 "And you expect that for the sake of a foolish sen- 
 timent, for a miserable little love-affair, I am to stop 
 the proceedings of justice, to imperil my own position, 
 and to destroy plans carefully prepared? My boy, 
 you know little yet of Simon Maupin! They expect 
 me at the Mayor's office. I am in a hurry." 
 
 "Father," Stephen began once more and placed him- 
 self between M. Maupin and the door. " Father, do not 
 let this be your last word! Show yourself generous, 
 just, and humane, as I have always thought you were! 
 I beseech you, dear father, be kind and good as you 
 always have been to me, since I was a child ! I beseech 
 
 [308] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 you in the name of the old happiness of our family, of 
 the peace and repose of your house in the name of my 
 mother!" 
 
 "You are talking nonsense!" said the banker, seizing 
 his hat, "and I have no time to listen!" He pushed 
 his son aside and slipped out of the small side-door. 
 
 When she found herself alone, Therese ordered the 
 maid to carry her trunk to the stage-office. The stage 
 for Poitiers had left in the morning, and Therese was 
 too poor to hire a private carriage. She had deter- 
 mined, therefore, to walk the two long miles to the 
 White House rather than spend another day in this 
 hateful place. She put a shawl around her, and, 
 carrying in her hand a small bag and followed by 
 Dacho, whom she did not like to leave among strangers, 
 she left the house forever. 
 
 She took some by-streets, and thus reached the turn- 
 pike unnoticed. A fine rain was falling, and soon St. 
 Clement disappeared behind her in the mist. Pro- 
 foundly saddened, her eyes in tears, her heart swelling, 
 Threse walked bravely along the highroad to meet the 
 stage-coach. 
 
 [309] 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 THE PRIX DE ROME 
 
 T was the time when painters in Paris 
 are always in a state of unusual ex- 
 citement. On the twenty-third of 
 July, the works of the young aspirants 
 for fame who had been admitted to 
 compete for the famous "Prix de 
 Rome," were to be exhibited in pub- 
 lic. 
 
 Eleven o'clock struck. At that moment the great 
 doors opened, and the whole band, with loud cries, 
 rushed into the vestibule and thence into the Hall of 
 First Prizes. 
 
 In the background of the hall appeared a placard 
 with the subject prescribed by the authorities: "Ruth 
 and Boaz" with these verses from the Bible: And be- 
 hold, Boaz came from Bethlehem, and said unto the reap- 
 ers, The Lord be with you. And they answered him, 
 The Lord bless thee. Then said Boaz unto his servant 
 that was set over the reapers: Whose damsel is this? 
 And the servant that was set over the reapers answered 
 and said, It is the Moabitish damsel that came back with 
 Naomi out 0} the country of Moab. 
 
 Two pictures seemed from the first to attract the curi- 
 ous: one with the number three, the other numbered 
 
 [310] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 seven. The latter especially drew the crowd; they 
 formed a circle around the easel on which it was placed, 
 and there was a moment when the crowd there became 
 so dense that the circulation was stopped. 
 
 Number Seven had conceived and executed his 
 painting with entire disregard of classic conventionality. 
 Had it not been for the turban which Boaz wore, the 
 scene would have recalled an ordinary French village. 
 The reapers, bronzed and half naked, had entirely 
 modern faces. Ruth, half kneeling in the rows of 
 wheat, with her frock turned up, a piece of linen on 
 her black hair, looked exactly like a fair peasant 
 woman of Touraine. 
 
 "Eh! That is Nature!" said one painter to another. 
 "You feel you are there!" 
 
 "And how well it's done! No trick! No artifice! 
 Look at those hands! Are they not amazing? Here is 
 a man who can draw, and who does not tell the old 
 story over again!" 
 
 "He'll get the prize!" 
 
 Some curious people went behind the easel to dis- 
 cover the signature of the canvas, and they read the 
 name out aloud: Stephen Maupin. 
 
 During this time Stephen Maupin was walking im- 
 patiently up and down on the quay of the Seine. Every 
 time he passed Bonaparte Street, he looked with fever- 
 ish anxiety at the clear spot made by the School of Arts 
 amid the other black buildings. At last, when he came 
 down for the fifth time, a comrade joined him. Stephen 
 looked him anxiously in the eye, without daring to ask 
 him. 
 
 [3"] 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 "My compliments, my dear fellow," he cried, press- 
 ing his hand, " there is a regular crush around your 
 picture. You may be proud such a success!" 
 
 "No bad jokes, I pray you!" said Stephen, blushing 
 all over. "Is it true?" 
 
 "I tell you people walk over each other's toes to see 
 it. There is but one cry: Yours is the best, and you 
 will get the prize most assuredly!" 
 
 "You think so?" murmured Stephen, breathing at 
 last more freely. 
 
 "Well, come and see for yourself." 
 
 He drew him to the building, and went with him 
 into the room. Stephen hid in the embrasure of a win- 
 dow, and watched with intense delight how the people 
 crowded each other to get at his work. The connois- 
 seurs would bend their heads and examine long and 
 carefully, then they would raise their heads again, and 
 their faces betrayed perfect satisfaction. A very well 
 known art-critic stood a long time before the picture. 
 His face, usually rather sleepy-looking, brightened up; 
 he dropped a few words of praise, which his disciples 
 treasured up with looks of admiration. Suddenly an 
 attendant cried: "Gentlemen! the doors are closed !" 
 
 It was four o'clock. The hall was cleared grad- 
 ually; Stephen was pushed out and found himself in 
 Bonaparte Street. He felt a need of quiet under the 
 trees and a desire to take violent exercise to recover his 
 equanimity. The anxiety had been too much for him. 
 One thing was certain ; his work was good, and he had 
 drawn the attention of the public. Now, whether he 
 got the prize or not, they could not deny that he had 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 real talent. The five years of hard work and pain- 
 ful privations which he had voluntarily undergone 
 were not lost. His name would be famous. And look- 
 ing triumphantly into the past, he saw the winter morn- 
 ing on which he left St. Clement. 
 
 How proud he was now, this evening, with this first 
 certain evidence of success! He went into an open-air 
 restaurant at Bellevue. 
 
 During the next two days the papers were full of 
 accounts of the exhibition. The majority of critics 
 praised No. 7, and assigned the first rank to it. At last 
 the day of judgment came. Stephen had not slept, 
 and, in spite of the July heat, was shivering all over. 
 "Surely," he told himself, "they will give me the prize; 
 they can not keep it from me. And yet, if they did!" 
 
 Toward two o'clock one of the secretaries came 
 down to the courtyard and was instantly surrounded. 
 
 "Well?" asked a friend of his among the students. 
 
 "Well, it goes on slowly; they vote and vote and 
 Maupin is losing every time!" 
 
 At last, at three o'clock, some noise was heard up- 
 stairs, the session was over, and the academicians still 
 continued their conversation as they descended the 
 steps. One of them came down smoking his cigar and 
 looking half asleep. A student approached him and 
 asked what the result was. " They have given the great 
 prize to Lagune," he said. Stephen, leaning against 
 the wall of the wharf, facing the opening of the street, 
 suddenly saw the students scatter from the building and 
 run in all directions. He knew then that the decision 
 had been made, and rapidly crossed the street. He 
 
ANDR& THEURIET 
 
 had not taken ten steps when Lagune's name met him 
 full in the face. He stopped, turned pale and supported 
 himself against the show window of a dealer in pictures. 
 
 "Yes, old man!" said a friend coming upon him. 
 "These idiots have given you only the second prize. 
 And do you know what decided them? 'Gentlemen/ 
 said one of the academicians, 'Lagune is poor, and he 
 is too old to compete again next year. Maupin is 
 young, his father is enormously rich, he has time and 
 the means; he can wait.' And thus these donkeys have 
 made you lose the prize!" 
 
 He turned his back upon his friends and went back 
 again toward the river. He had reached the corner, 
 when he heard his name called by somebody, who had 
 hastened his steps to overtake him. 
 
 "Is not this Monsieur Stephen Maupin whom I have 
 the honor of meeting?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Stephen, impatiently. 
 
 "Sir," began the unknown, "I have seen your can- 
 vas. I compliment you. It is a very fine piece of paint- 
 ing, but the Academy has done right in not sending you 
 to Italy; Rome would have ruined you. Italy is not 
 for you. If I tell you this so bluntly, it is because I un- 
 derstand it. I am Schwartz!" 
 
 Stephen opened his eyes and ears. Schwartz was a 
 Jew, well known at great auction sales and in the art 
 world, half amateur, half dealer, whose specialty it was 
 to buy up the works of artists as yet unknown but giv- 
 ing great hopes. 
 
 "If I take the liberty of stopping you," he continued, 
 while Stephen, not yet himself again, stammered some- 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 thing, " it is because I wish to buy your painting for two 
 thousand francs, and at the same time to order a sec- 
 ond. You understand peasants; I see that. We must 
 work that vein. Go into the provinces, pick out some 
 landscape that suits you, paint me a picture of the open 
 air, very personal. I'll pay you five thousand francs 
 for it. Do not hurry I give you till next year." 
 
 "Pardon me," said Stephen, who at last began to 
 breathe more freely, "such a painting as you ask of 
 me will take a great deal of time, and time is money 
 for me, for I have nothing but my brush, whatever the 
 Institute may say of it." 
 
 " On that account I mean to pay you half the amount 
 in advance. You see that I have great confidence in 
 you. Is it a bargain?" 
 
 Stephen did not take long to reflect. Paris was 
 hateful to him just now, and this journey in search of 
 a landscape had its charms for him. 
 
 "I thank you, sir," he said, "and I accept." 
 
 "Very well. Here is my card; come and see me to- 
 morrow at ten o'clock; I'll show you my little gallery, 
 and I'll pay JOU the money. Good-evening!" 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE PEASANT MAID 
 
 T was the evening of the Assembly at 
 Lesin. Stephen Maupin, tired and 
 hungry, after three hours spent in 
 the open air, watching the dancers 
 and sketching peasants' heads, had 
 come back to the tavern. He was 
 exhausted, and wanted nothing but a 
 chair and a place at the table where 
 he might eat his dinner. But here began the difficulty. 
 The inn was full. 
 
 "Could you not give me my dinner in some corner 
 of the house?" inquired Stephen of the hostess. 
 
 "You see, Monsieur, everything is full. I have a 
 room upstairs, it is true, but Monsieur Brossard, the 
 tax-collector, has engaged it for his supper. " 
 
 "That gentleman might be so very kind as to share 
 it with me?" 
 
 "I'll ask him!" said the landlady. 
 While she went upstairs, Stephen had seated himself 
 on the edge of the well. After his interview with Mon- 
 sieur Schwartz, he had left Paris with the intention of 
 returning to his home, and there to look for a village in 
 which he might make the studies necessary for the 
 execution of the picture he had promised to paint. 
 But so far, chance had been unkind to him, and 
 [316] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 aside from a few rough sketches of characteristic peas- 
 ants' heads, he had gained nothing by his tramp down 
 here, save the somewhat doubtful privilege of supping 
 in company with the collector of taxes. For the land- 
 lady had come back promptly with the message that 
 M. Brossard would be delighted, and begged him to 
 come up at once, as the soup was on the table. 
 
 Stephen, ran up the staircase, and entered a rather 
 tidy-looking, square chamber. On the table a tureen 
 was smoking, and M. Brossard himself was putting 
 down an additional cover opposite his own. 
 
 "Upon my word you are welcome," he said in a 
 jovial tone. "I detest solitude, and I am delighted to 
 have you keep me company. Madame Jacob, send us 
 up two bottles of your best wine, and tell your cook not 
 to burn our chicken." 
 
 At dessert M. Brossard, leaning his elbows on the 
 table and showing clearly the exhilarating effect of the 
 old wine, asked Stephen in which village he thought of 
 settling down for a time, to pursue his studies. 
 
 "I really have no idea," was the reply, "I shall float 
 hither and thither, looking for heads that may furnish 
 interesting typical characters, and for models who will 
 consent to sit for me." 
 
 "If that is all," cried the collector, "you must come 
 with me to Pressy; life is easy there and pleasant. 
 I know a lodging that will suit you exactly, and, upon 
 my word, if you are in want of models, I'll make you 
 acquainted with all the pretty girls." 
 
 "I accept!" said Stephen, in whose memory the 
 name of Pressy awakened pleasant reminiscences. 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 "Done! I'll carry you off to-night and hope you 
 will stay with me till the lodging I spoke of is ready. 
 Have you any traps here?" 
 
 "No; I left my luggage at the White House!" 
 
 "Well, you can send for them to-morrow; we can 
 walk there together, it is only two miles, and smoke our 
 pipes. Let us say good-by to Madame Jacob and be 
 gone, for the weather looks threatening, and it would 
 be annoying to be caught in the rain." 
 
 They had not gone half way across when rain began 
 to fall, and Brossard said: 
 
 "It will not amount to much. Are you a good 
 walker?" 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 "Well, in that case we'll put on our seven-league 
 boots, and perhaps we can escape the worst." 
 
 They lost some more time by the directions which 
 Stephen had to give at the White House about his traps, 
 and when they left the wood, the wind rose, and soon 
 the rain came, whipping their faces with considerable 
 severity. 
 
 "Laperlipopette!" cried the collector, turning up his 
 collar. "It is raining pitchforks now, and at the same 
 time it is as black as night." He stopped, uncertain 
 where he was; he tried to pierce the darkness, and 
 of a sudden he uttered a sigh of satisfaction. Raising 
 his right arm, he pointed at a faint little star that 
 was shining afar off through the rainy night, and 
 said: 
 
 "If I do not see double, that light must be at the 
 Joubards!" 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 He had hardly pronounced that name than Stephen 
 exclaimed in his turn: "The Joubards!" 
 
 "Yes, it is a farm where we can wait for the rain to 
 cease, and where they will give us a good fire to dry 
 our clothes." 
 
 "The Joubards," said Stephen, "was that it?" 
 
 "Yes. The name is quite common here. I myself 
 know at least three or four farms which all bear the 
 same name of owners. These are good people, and 
 will treat us well." 
 
 Stephen followed him, feeling his heart beat in a long- 
 forgotten way. The collector went up the steps and 
 opened the door, which was closed only with a latch. 
 
 The room was a vast kitchen with an enormous fire- 
 place; before it a small lamp was hanging, the light of 
 which hardly went beyond the middle of the apart- 
 ment. Seated on a low chair, her back turned to the 
 door, a young peasant woman was shelling beans, the 
 pods and leaves of which lay in a heap of verdure by 
 her side. 
 
 She turned her head slowly round, and suddenly see- 
 ing strangers in the room, she started up, frightened. 
 
 "Do not fear, Mademoiselle," said Brossard, shak- 
 ing his soft hat, "it is I who come to seek shelter at 
 your house on account of this abominable rain that 
 has overtaken us on the road." 
 
 "Ah! the collector!" she said in a clear, ringing 
 voice, which made Stephen tremble to the tips of his 
 fingers, "you must pardon me, Monsieur, I thought 
 for a moment it was father and mother who were 
 returning." 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 "Are they both out in this weather that is fit for 
 ducks only?" 
 
 "They went to the Assembly at Lesin, in the hope 
 of meeting there a new shepherd. Ours has drawn the 
 lot, you know, and is a conscript. But they will not be 
 long. Take a seat. I will light some wood and dry 
 your clothes." 
 
 She put two chairs before the fire, and threw a hand- 
 ful of dry branches on it, which soon made a pleasant 
 blaze. Now the newcomers could see the young 
 person, brilliantly illumined from head to foot. They 
 saw the large folds of her black gown on the hips, the 
 brown cotton of the apron and bib, pinned on the 
 shoulders and tight at the waist, while a white fichu 
 was crossed over her bosom. The light delicately 
 gilded her sunburned cheeks, reddening her full lips 
 and making her black eyes sparkle. Stephen was over- 
 come with emotion; he recognized Therese, the peasant 
 girl Therese, such as he had seen her on the first 
 evening the eventful evening of Celestin's wedding. 
 
 The sudden shock, together with the sorrowful im- 
 pression which the sight of Therese, reduced to this 
 more than modest condition, made on him, kept him 
 nailed to the spot where he stood. 
 
 The collector was already sitting astride on his chair 
 and drying his jacket. 
 
 "Are you not also wet, Monsieur, and in need of dry- 
 ing your clothes?" Therese asked the young painter, 
 who did not stir. " Come, make yourself comfortable ! " 
 
 He obeyed, came forth out of the darkness, and en- 
 tered, greatly embarrassed, into the circle of light. 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 Presently he turned to the young girl, and asked: 
 
 "Am I really so changed, Mademoiselle Therese, 
 that you no longer know who I am?" 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Monsieur Maupin," she re- 
 plied, after some hesitation, as if to make sure that her 
 voice would be firm; "I recognized you very well." 
 
 "And yet you treated me like a stranger." 
 
 "Because I did not know whether you would like to 
 renew our acquaintance. You yourself, it seemed to 
 me, were not very eager to let your friend here know 
 that we had known each other long ago." 
 
 "You are mistaken," he said, turning his chair half- 
 way round. "It was the first shock only which kept 
 me from speaking, and then I was afraid " 
 
 "Afraid of what?" 
 
 "I feared your anger against me might still con- 
 tinue --"<;. 
 
 She shook her head. "Oh!" she sighed, "since then 
 so many things have happened. Besides, I know now 
 that you could not help what was done!" 
 
 There was a pause. She drew the basket with the 
 beans to her and quietly continued her work, filling her 
 apron rapidly. 
 
 "What has become of Monsieur Desroches?" 
 Stephen asked, timidly. 
 
 "He was arrested, banished to Africa, and there 
 died!" 
 
 "Pardon me, Therese!" 
 
 "Why do you ask me to pardon you?" she de- 
 manded, looking at him with her frank and limpid 
 eyes. 
 
 21 [321] 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 "For all the harm my family has done you!" 
 
 "He whom your father has harmed has died far 
 off in Africa, and he alone has the right to forgive. As 
 for myself, I do not blame you neither you nor any 
 one, for I have never been happier in my life than I 
 am now!" 
 
 "But you were not born for the life you are lead- 
 ing!" 
 
 "On the contrary I think I was good for nothing 
 but a peasant girl! And this time I have become one 
 in good earnest. Look at my hands! Believe me," she 
 continued, "I like this life and would not exchange 
 it for any other. But you what has become of you ? 
 Do you live in our province?" 
 
 He told her in a few words what he had done and 
 what he proposed to do. "I think," he said in conclu- 
 sion, "I shall settle down for some time at Pressy 
 will you permit me to come and see you occasionally?" 
 
 She frowned for a moment. 
 
 "Does my purpose or my request displease you?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "Neither! But in the life that I lead, there are not 
 many moments of leisure, and I do not see that we shall 
 have many occasions to meet each other. However, if 
 you at times pass by here and will come in, you will 
 always be welcome," she added, offering him her 
 hand, "provided " 
 
 "Provided what?" he replied. He had taken her 
 hand and was pressing it cordially. 
 
 "Provided the thing pleases my old nurse and her 
 husband . Here they come ! ' ' 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 In truth the dogs had commenced barking once 
 more, and a little vehicle stopped at the door. The- 
 rese opened the door and hastened to meet her friends. 
 All this noise had roused the collector, who had fallen 
 asleep, but who now sat up and rubbed his eyes. 
 
 "Eh?" he asked. "You were saying Why! The 
 fire is out and here are the people of the farm coming 
 home! I verily believe the devil take it I have had 
 a doze! Upon my word, Monsieur Maupin, if it does 
 not rain any more I should like to go and finish it in 
 my bed!" 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 PROGRESS 
 
 Pressy, Stephen arose every morning 
 with the sun. During the two first 
 weeks of his stay there, he went only 
 once as far as the farm of Therese, 
 but his ill luck pursued him; the 
 people were all out at work and the 
 house was empty. 
 
 One evening the collector himself 
 came early to Stephen's studio. 
 
 "My dear artist," he said, after having carefully 
 closed the door, "I come to ask you a service, and only 
 fear you will refuse me." 
 
 "Nevertheless, ask," replied Stephen. "I'll do it 
 most cheerfully." 
 
 "Permit me to present you to the notary and his 
 wife!" 
 
 Stephen cried out against it. 
 
 Stephen protested, but the collector was persevering, 
 and finally the painter, moved partly by curiosity and 
 partly tired of saying No! had to give way. Thus he 
 was introduced in the notary's household. 
 
 The two sisters received the painter as a distraction 
 that heaven sent them for their benefit. Madame 
 Athenai's was well content to have M. Brossard now 
 
 [324] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 entirely to herself, while Mademoiselle Marcelle had 
 .made up her mind from the beginning that she would 
 make poor Stephen Maupin fall in love with her. Un- 
 fortunately the young painter soon tired of hearing 
 incessantly the same senseless babbling, the same 
 impertinent questions, and heartily repented ever hav- 
 ing yielded to M. Brossard's request. Then he would 
 dream of Therese, of the peasant girl who worked in 
 the fields with the other girls; he compared her maid- 
 enly dignity, her exquisite grace, her almost harsh 
 reserve, with the impure mind of Marcelle and her 
 blank and frivolous existence. 
 
 [ 325 ] 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 DELICATE GROUND 
 
 AVE you ever seen a harvest feast, 
 Monsieur Maupin?" 
 
 "No, Mademoiselle Marcelle; in 
 my little town people have become 
 too city-like and have forgotten such 
 good old customs." 
 
 "I congratulate you. Here the 
 peasants lose no opportunity to amuse 
 themselves and always at the expense of the landowner. 
 The end of every kind of harvest furnishes an occasion 
 for an entertainment. There is the harvest feast of the 
 hay crop, of the wheat crop, of the vintage what do 
 I know?" 
 
 "Their life is hard; it is but natural that after so 
 much hard work they should look for a little fun." 
 "You seem to like peasants?" 
 "Yes, I do much!" 
 
 "You will soon get tired of them, when you see them 
 near by," said Marcelle, contemptuously, whirling her 
 sunshade over her fair head. "You are too warm in 
 the sun," she continued; "give me your arm, and you 
 will at least have the benefit of my parasol!" 
 
 Stephen obeyed. They followed a foot-path barely 
 wide enough to let .two persons pass. Before them 
 
 [326] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 walked the collector with the notary's wife, and far 
 beyond them was visible the straw hat of the notary, 
 who was showing them the way to the meadow, where 
 the celebration of the bringing in of the last sheaf was 
 to be held. 
 
 As the procession passed the group of friends, Ste- 
 phen could not restrain a gesture of surprise, when he 
 noticed Therese among the binders. 
 
 Marcelle looked sarcastically at the young man. 
 
 "Why," she asked, "do you know that girl?" 
 
 "Yes! "replied Stephen. 
 
 "You need not blush," she cried, laughing aloud and 
 facing Stephen, who really had blushed very red, "she 
 is no doubt one of your models! You know there is 
 quite a romantic story connected with that girl; she is 
 an outcast; her father died in exile, and the farmer who 
 rents our other place has taken her in." 
 
 "I know it," said Stephen, curtly, "she is a very 
 brave girl and bears her misfortunes nobly!" 
 
 "Pshaw!" cried his companion, "she is like all the 
 rest, and her misfortunes will not keep her from danc- 
 ing the whole evening with her lover!" 
 
 Stephen was put out. This girl spoiled his pleasure. 
 
 Mademoiselle Marcelle slipped her arm into the 
 painter's arm and asked: "Well, where shall we go? 
 Do you wish to invite one of these reapers for the first 
 waltz?" 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "Well, then! Besides, I ought to warn you; you 
 would lose your reward. Each has her lover with whom 
 she dances all night long, and who escorts her home. 
 
 [327] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 Come, let us go down to the river and look out a cool 
 place where we can wait till the dancing begins." 
 
 Stephen tried to protest, but she insisted, adding: 
 
 "Come, if you will obey I will give you some- 
 thing!" 
 
 They went, and Therese, still immovable near the 
 musician, her eyes fixed, her eyebrows contracted, fol- 
 lowed, with a strange expression in her eyes, half angry 
 and half contemptuous, the management of Mademoi- 
 selle Marcelle. 
 
 The two promenaders, after having wandered a 
 while under the chestnut- trees, hung with hops, reached 
 a place where five or six linden-trees formed a group, 
 and here Marcelle, closing her sunshade, sank down 
 into the tall grass. 
 
 "I don't believe you knew of this place, Monsieur 
 Maupin!" she said. "Come and sit down. Is not this 
 charming?" 
 
 "There," she continued, making herself comfortable 
 in her nest, as she called the place, " now tell me a story, 
 Monsieur Maupin. You are romantic hence, the 
 place ought to inspire you 
 
 "Romantic? You are mistaken, Mademoiselle 
 Marcelle!" he replied, beginning to feel very embar- 
 rassed. 
 
 "Why, yes! You live in the clouds you are in pur- 
 suit of the ideal! You are not like Monsieur Brossard 
 flesh and blood seem to have no charms for you 
 you are good and serious, like a book that mamma 
 allows her child to read with safety." 
 
 Stephen was shocked and rose. 
 [328] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 "What is the matter?" cried Marcelle, surprised. 
 
 She held him by the arm and forced him to sit down 
 again. 
 
 "Do you hear the hurdy-gurdy?" she asked, in her 
 ironical voice. "At this moment your little peasant 
 girl perhaps opens the ball with her lover!" 
 
 "What is that to you?" he asked, frowning and 
 stammering. 
 
 " I am interested in the girl. Her story is like a fairy- 
 tale. What did you call her ? " 
 
 "I pray you," he cried, imperatively, "let us not talk 
 of Mademoiselle Desroches!" 
 
 "Ah! You know her 'family name, too! You know 
 perhaps a great deal more, eh?" Thereupon she rose, 
 shook out her skirt, put on her hat, and pushed aside 
 the branches that obstructed her passage. 
 
 She took a few steps, and then, turning round again, 
 she said: 
 
 "If I meet Mademoiselle Desroches, I'll send her to 
 you!" 
 
 He walked slowly down the dark highroad, his head 
 hanging low. Suddenly his meditations were broken 
 by the sound of a light, quick step behind him, and as 
 he turned instinctively he saw Therese. When she 
 recognized Stephen, she looked at first rather shocked; 
 while he, at the sight of Therese, felt joy coming back 
 to his heart and his face brightened up. "Good- 
 evening, Mademoiselle Therese!" he said, and offered 
 her his hand. 
 
 "Good-evening, Monsieur Maupin!" she said, with- 
 out stopping. 
 
 [329] 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 "You are coming back alone?" he asked, walking 
 by her side. 
 
 "I left father at the feast and am going home to 
 supper." 
 
 "Let me accompany you a little," he said, "I am 
 so happy to have met you ! I blamed myself for not 
 speaking to you in the meadow there, and you must have 
 thought it strange in me!" 
 
 "I thought you probably had nothing special to say 
 to me, or rather I thought you did not wish to dis- 
 please the person with whom you were." 
 
 Stephen shrugged his shoulders. "That person is 
 perfectly indifferent to me. T care little whether I 
 please or displease her." 
 
 "That is not what people say!" 
 
 "What do people say?" 
 
 "That you are going to marry her!" 
 
 "People are mistaken!" he exaclimed, angrily. "I 
 never dreamed of such nonsense! There was a time 
 when I dreamed of a home of my own, a cottage, and 
 in it a beloved wife, perhaps a child my father has 
 upset all that. What have I to offer a wife ? A doubt- 
 ful future, a discredited name, execrated by all around 
 him whose daughter she would have to become " 
 
 "You never see your father?" she asked. 
 
 "I have not seen him since my mother's death." 
 
 "Look!" said Therese, describing a circle with her 
 arm; "up there the Courtils forest, down there the 
 valley of stables; here for five long years my life has 
 been spent, and I have but one wish: that it may con- 
 tinue here till the end!" 
 
 [330] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 Stephen remained silent. With the dear insight of 
 woman, Therese, who was watching him by the star- 
 light, divined his thoughts, which darkened his face. 
 
 "Monsieur Stephen," she said, "will you come in 
 and share our supper?" 
 
 Stephen's eyes brightened. "Ah!" he said, "I would 
 accept with great pleasure, if I were not afraid to be 
 troublesome." 
 
 "Oh, no! You will have a poor supper, that is all! 
 Come in!" 
 
 By the light of the lamp, the old lady was spinning 
 industriously. 
 
 "Mamma!" Therese said to the good old woman, 
 who opened her eyes wide, "this is Monsieur Stephen 
 Maupin, of whom, you know, I have often spoken. He 
 has brought me home, and will take supper with us!" 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE TRIAL 
 
 fONSIEUR STEPHEN, your break- 
 fast is ready!" 
 
 As soon as TheYese's early sum- 
 mons rose from the courtyard and 
 reached the upstairs room through 
 the open window, which the broad 
 leaves of a tall fig-tree nearly con- 
 cealed, Stephen Maupin went down 
 to the kitchen, where a bright fire was blazing and 
 dancing. 
 
 Since the day of the Harvest Feast he had become 
 a frequent guest at the farm. He saw that Th6rese was 
 evidently the very soul of the place, she had an eye 
 for everything, and nothing was done in which she did 
 not take a part. The old farmer and his wife, who had 
 lost their children when quite young, had transferred 
 all their affection to her. One evening, when the 
 men were reaping the aftermath, Stephen, who had 
 spent a whole week at the farm, had gone down to the 
 meadow to say good-by to the young girl before return- 
 ing to his lodgings in the village. Th6rese was binding 
 a last handful of hay. 
 
 "How I admire you!" cried Stephen, "always active, 
 always the first at the work, and the last at the end." 
 "What can I do? Father is getting old and mother 
 [332] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 is quite busy enough. Besides, I can not bear being 
 inactive: motion, work, exercise in the open air all 
 that I must have, or I perish. 
 
 "You are going away to- night ?" she asked, sud- 
 denly. 
 
 "Yes, I must go down and see if anything has hap- 
 pened, but I shall be back very soon in fact as soon 
 as I possibly can provided always you are not tired of 
 me here at the farm." 
 
 "What an idea! Father and mother both love you, 
 and everybody at the farm sings your praise." 
 
 "And you, Therese?" 
 
 "I," she answered, laughing heartily. "Of course 
 I chime in with the chorus!" 
 
 He also had risen and secured her hand. "Ther&se," 
 he began, "I " Then he paused, raised her hand to 
 his lips and said : " To-morrow ! ' ' 
 
 The next day in the afternoon, he was leisurely busy 
 in his studio, trying to put some little order among the 
 studies that were mostly leaning against the wall, when 
 somebody knocked cautiously, and a moment later M. 
 Brossard appeared. 
 
 "At last," cried the newcomer in a somewhat arro- 
 gant tone, "at last one can find you at home, Monsieur. 
 I have knocked my nose to pieces against your door 
 this week, but the bird had flown! What in the world 
 has become of you?" 
 
 "I have spent a week or so at the farm, you know, 
 and I have been hard at work." 
 
 "From Nature?" asked the man with a still more 
 unpleasant tone. 
 
 [ 333 ] 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 "Yes," replied Stephen. "Why do you laugh? 
 I have made a number of studies of open-air views 
 and, what is more, I am not dissatisfied with them!" 
 
 "I dare say with such a model!" 
 
 "Eh! What do you mean?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing! nothing! I understand. You want 
 to play the discreet lover with me, but you ought to 
 know that I am not a chicken!" Then he came up to 
 Stephen, seized his hand and shaking it with comic 
 seriousness, he added : " My compliments, you scamp ! " 
 he whispered into his ears. "She is pretty delight- 
 ful, that little girl at the farm!" 
 
 "Stop there, Monsieur Brossard! Mademoiselle 
 Desroches is a lady whom I highly respect and you will 
 be pleased to say that to all who slander her!" 
 
 "I will do it, if you wish it," said the collector, grad- 
 ually losing his self-command. "I will proclaim it in 
 the market-places," he added, imperceptibly shrug- 
 ging his shoulders, "but you know, they will not believe 
 it not a word of it well ? Now you frown at me and 
 look as if you meant to cut me into small pieces! Is it 
 really forbidden in this house to laugh and be merry ? 
 Yes? Well, then, I am gone. Good-night." 
 
 Stephen had remained immovable in the centre of 
 his studio, biting his lips and crushing a piece of stiff 
 drawing-paper. He saw it clearly; the collector was 
 right in what he said. 
 
 He started for the farm, choosing the high road, with- 
 out thinking how he might avoid the curious eyes of 
 the village people and M. Brossard's ironical glances. 
 When he reached the farmhouse he was told that 
 
 [334] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 Therese had gone to help father to dig potatoes in a 
 field that lay close to the edge of the forest. 
 
 Almost at the very edge of the woods, Therese was 
 busy pouring a basketful of potatoes into a sack that 
 stood before her. 
 
 "What? Is that you?" she said. "They did not 
 expect you to-day!" 
 
 "I came back," replied Stephen, standing still to 
 recover his breath; "I came back for the single pur- 
 pose of speaking to you about a matter which I did not 
 venture to mention yesterday, and which yet I must 
 bring to your notice. Have you time to listen to 
 me?" 
 
 "Speak!" she replied in a low whisper, while she 
 threw the last potatoes into the sack and then rested 
 her elbows on the full sack. "What is it?" 
 
 "Therese!" he began, almost solemnly and with deep 
 feeling, "do you remember that rainy day on which we 
 took refuge at the Angels' farm?" 
 
 She bowed her head. "Yes," she breathed, "it 
 ended too sadly for me ever to be forgotten!" 
 
 "And do you remember our conversation while we 
 were waiting until the shower should be over? We 
 thought the house a very poor one, and yet I told you 
 that I should be perfectly happy if I could lead a peas- 
 ant's life in such a house with you!" 
 
 "I remember!" she whispered under her breath. 
 
 "Therese! I have never changed my mind and I, 
 who am now quite as poor as the man of the Angels' 
 farm, ask you if you will marry me, and lead, with me, 
 a simple and pure peasant's life?" 
 
 [335] 
 
ANDRti THEURIET 
 
 Therese, deeply moved at his words, looked him 
 in the face and said: "You can not think of it. I 
 have changed my position in life, while you are the 
 same yet that you were then. Our daily habits are no 
 longer the same, nor our ways of thinking and of talk- 
 ing. There would certainly come a day when you 
 would blush for me. No! no! never!" 
 
 "And why should I ever blush for you? Because 
 you cultivate the soil? Idleness alone is a coming 
 down. Therese! you are a girl of high thoughts and 
 of a high mind! Those are the qualities we demand 
 first of all in a woman whom we wish to choose!" 
 
 "Yes/' she murmured, lowering her head again; 
 "but at the very least that woman ought to bring her 
 husband a spotless name and one that truly and cer- 
 tainly belongs to her. And I painful as it is to me 
 I am bound to tell you, that you know I have my 
 mother but, you know her history, do you not?" 
 
 "And I? Have I not my father?" replied Stephen, 
 with an accent of profound grief; "believe me, The- 
 rese, you and I are not responsible for our parents! 
 You will never be out of place anywhere, Therese, 
 and my profession has this advantage, that it permits 
 me to live where I choose in the country or in town. 
 Besides, I do not ask you to marry me on the spot. 
 Only promise you will be my wife! In the space of a 
 year I shall be able to see my way clear before me, and 
 then I shall come and remind you of your promise. 
 Say yes and I will ask no more. You do not answer 
 me? Are you possibly no longer free? Do you love 
 another man?" 
 
 [336] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 "I?" she exclaimed, with startling vehemence. 
 "Oh! Great God! No!" 
 
 "Well then, Therese, I love you, and I beg you to 
 let me love you!" 
 
 Suddenly a high, sharp voice was heard from the other 
 end of the field. 
 
 They turned round. On the red evening sky both 
 saw the long and lean outlines of Celestin Tiffin, 
 sharply defined. He came running up to where the 
 two were standing. 
 
 "Oh!" he exclaimed, utterly out of breath. "Ah! 
 Monsieur Stephen! But you are hard to find! Par- 
 don me, my child, I have to speak to Monsieur Maupin 
 in private!" He suddenly recognized Therese and 
 raised his long arms to heaven. "Mademoiselle Des- 
 roches! What accidents will happen! I surely did not 
 think I should meet you here this evening!" 
 
 "Celestin!" young Maupin broke in anxiously, 
 "what is the matter? What brings you here?" 
 
 Celestin wiped his brow. "This is the matter," he 
 said at last, "you are wanted at Saint Clement! To 
 make matters more certain, your father sends me in- 
 stead of a messenger, and I have been running after 
 you ever since yesterday an hour ago I reached 
 Pressy at last, and thanks to a gentleman who was look- 
 ing out of a window and who had seen you pass by, I 
 was lucky enough to find you here." 
 
 "Is my father ill?" Stephen asked. 
 
 "111? no! At least not physically! But it is the 
 Maupin Bank that is ailing! For the last two months 
 many people have come without intermission and drawn 
 22 [ 337 1 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 their money out for so many depositors to come at 
 once, you see, that looks badly. Yesterday at last Mon- 
 sieur Maupin sent for me to come to his private office. 
 He was walking up and down there like a caged lion. 
 'Go and bring me my son!' he said, giving me a paper 
 with your address on it. ' Go and tell him the matter is 
 urgent, he must come instantly he must lose no time!" 
 
 "Yes!" replied the young man in a changed voice. 
 "In a moment!" 
 
 He went back to Therese, who had not stirred. 
 
 "Therese!" he said, "I am compelled to leave in- 
 stantly for Saint Clement. I am needed down there. 
 Who knows under what circumstances I may re- 
 turn? But I shall return! Let me clasp your hand! 
 That will give me strength." 
 
 She gave him her hand. "Courage!" she said. 
 "We shall surely meet again!" 
 
 His hands behind his back, his eye restless, and his 
 lips drawn in bitterly, Simon Maupin was walking up 
 and down in his private office. 
 
 Suddenly Stephen and Celestin, covered with grayish- 
 white dust, entered in great haste. "At last you are 
 here!" exclaimed the banker in a hoarse voice." 
 
 "You sent for me," said Stephen, "and here I am! 
 What do you want of me?" 
 
 The banker hesitated a moment; then, getting the 
 better of his pride, he seized Stephen by the arm, and 
 drew him into the embrasure of the nearest window. 
 He felt in his heart the necessity of moving his son in 
 some way and by some means was he not his only 
 support now, his only hope ? and to ascertain to some 
 
 [338] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 extent what his means were, and how far he was ready 
 to stand by him. "Come this way!" he whispered. 
 "Are you not hungry? Would you have anything?" 
 
 Stephen replied that Celestin and he had breakfasted 
 on their way, and M. Maupin said : 
 
 "Well, then, we can go to work at once! Celestin, 
 you can leave us!" 
 
 Tiffin bowed and left the room. Stephen had taken 
 a chair, and the banker threw himself back in his large 
 armchair, trying to find a beginning, while he was 
 mechanically arranging the papers on his desk. 
 
 "Do you want me?" at last asked the young man. 
 
 "Yes! I thought it best to inform you verbally of the 
 of my situation. Did Celestin tell you " 
 
 "He told me the Bank was not doing well, and you 
 were sadly in want of money " 
 
 "Oh! That is only for the moment," the banker 
 cried aloud. "But, after all, I am in want of money 
 just now! I have speculated unluckily. You know 
 that may happen to the wisest. The Emperor was all 
 the time saying: The Empire means Peace ! I believed 
 in what he said, I believed in both, the Empire and 
 Peace! I built a number of houses a whole quarter 
 of the city I expected trade would flourish and the 
 shops would come and crowd around the railway sta- 
 tion! I thought I would sell my houses for their weight 
 in gold! And behold, here comes this accursed Cri- 
 mean War, breaking me legs and arms and everything! " 
 
 He brought down his fist upon the table and got up, 
 swearing fiercely. "When I think that if I had only 
 had six months more I should have been at the pinna- 
 
 [339] 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 cle! I was sure of it as sure as I touch this wall. I 
 was going to be a candidate for the assembly, supported 
 by government. And to think that all this splendid 
 edifice is to tumble down like a badly built scaffolding ! 
 However, I am not at the end yet! I can set everything 
 right yet, if you will lend me a hand!" 
 
 Stephen had listened to his father at first with a cer- 
 tain want of confidence, then with more and more 
 emotion. 
 
 "You were right to count upon me, father," he said, 
 in an almost affectionate voice. "When you speak of 
 the honor of our name, I can refuse you nothing. The 
 firm Simon Maupin must not suspend payment. I 
 have left you the entire management of my inheritance 
 from my mother; sell the lands and the bonds, I give 
 you carte blanche when they see you pay as usual, con- 
 fidence will return and you will be saved!" 
 
 " Is that all you can find to remedy the evil ? Thank 
 you! If I counted upon you, it was for far more effi- 
 cient assistance!" 
 
 "I do not understand you!" 
 
 "Really?" asked the father, fixing his sharp eyes 
 upon Stephen's face, "in that case I will enlighten you. 
 We have here a very influential family, the Leguins; 
 they have not a large fortune, but they are nearly re- 
 lated to the President and to the Bishop of the diocese. 
 There are three daughters in the house, and the young- 
 est, Christine, is only twenty-one; she is pretty, intelli- 
 gent, and eager to marry. It seems, moreover, that 
 artists are special favorites with her, and that she likes 
 you. They are quite ready to give her to you, and you 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 have only to say so; on the day of your marriage our 
 bank is saved!" 
 
 The banker had continued to study his son's face, 
 while making these explanations, but his features had 
 remained impassable and impenetrable. 
 
 "But this family of Leguins must know our situa- 
 tion, and it seems to me improbable that they could 
 conclude an alliance under such very hazardous con- 
 ditions !" 
 
 "Pshaw! They know that you possess in your own 
 right a fortune which my creditors can not touch. I 
 have attended to that ! Besides, father and mother are 
 devout I have the clergy on my side, who have a num- 
 ber of thousands placed for security in my bank, and 
 who are, therefore, interested to prevent a mishap. 
 These gentlemen, some high in dignity, will use a mild 
 pressure upon the family " 
 
 "To deceive them?" broke in Stephen. 
 
 "Eh? what are you saying?" 
 
 "To deceive them," repeated the young man, coolly. 
 This marriage is not feasible, and will not take place!" 
 
 "You would rather see me ruined, dishonored?" 
 
 "There is no disgrace in being poor; and your honor 
 will suffer less if I refuse than if I were to consent." 
 
 "Yes, for I have not told you all yet," replied M. 
 Maupin, lowering his voice. 
 
 At this moment there came a knock at his door. He 
 rose with a gesture of impatience, went and opened the 
 door, but started back as he perceived on the threshold 
 the person and the ruddy, smoothly shaven face of 
 M. Landor, sheriff of the town of St. Clement. 
 
 [34i] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 "Beg your pardon, Monsieur Maupin," sputtered 
 the official, "beg your pardon, if I trouble I come 
 with a summons of appearance in re Berloc." 
 
 He drew from his pocket a paper folded twice, and 
 handed it to the banker. 
 
 "Very well!" growled M. Maupin in his haughtiest 
 tone. " Thank you ! You can go ! ' ' 
 
 The officer disappeared and the door closed gently 
 behind him. Then Maupin turned to his son, throwing 
 him the paper, and repeating, in a breathless, low voice : 
 " I did not tell you all. Read that ! " 
 
 Stephen thereupon read the mandate which sum- 
 moned Simon Maupin, banker, to appear before the 
 justice of the town of St. Clement, as charged with habi- 
 tual usury, committed in complicity with John Berloc 
 a crime punishable by the law of September 3, 
 1807, etc. 
 
 The young man put the paper down and asked "Is 
 that true?" 
 
 Maupin shrugged his shoulders: 
 
 " Now you will understand what must be done. The 
 judge is the uncle of Monsieur de Leguin, and if you 
 marry the little one, it is clear that he will not sentence 
 the father-in-law of his niece! But to do that, you 
 must to-night ask for the hand of Christine de Leguin 
 through the kind mediation of the priest of Saint Nich- 
 olas. All now depends on you. You can save me 
 you can ruin me!" 
 
 His voice was trembling slightly, and his eyes sought 
 to meet Stephen's eyes, but the son had turned his 
 head aside. 
 
 [342] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 "You do not answer ?" asked the banker. 
 
 "What you ask is impossible!" 
 
 "Impossible!" repeated the banker very angrily. 
 "After all you know? After all I have told you?" 
 
 "Especially after what you have told me!" 
 
 "Then," he cried, with exasperation, "you prefer my 
 ruin ? You mean to ruin me, do you ? I may be sent to 
 prison, and if you do not marry his niece, the judge will 
 not spare me. But is it nothing to you to see your father 
 ruined, dishonored, sent to prison?" 
 
 "Understand me rightly, father! I am willing to do 
 for you all that can be done fairly and openly. My for- 
 tune and my work are yours. Use them as you choose ! 
 Announce at once the sale of your property, of all you 
 possess, and surrender the proceeds to your creditors. 
 This will predispose the judges in your favor, and 
 strengthen your defense." 
 
 "And am I to die on the straw?" 
 
 "Is it not better to strip yourself than to be stripped 
 by the Courts?" 
 
 "But I mean neither to be stripped nor to be con- 
 demned. Nothing of that kind will happen if you con- 
 sent to the marriage I propose!" 
 
 "Never! Do not let us speak of it any more! 
 
 "I do not know what kind of a man you are," replied 
 the banker, in a low, almost furious voice. "One 
 thing is sure: You are not my son! A boy for whom 
 I have done everything! For you ought to know it, if 
 I have been a slave, if I have been hard against myself 
 and hard against others, if I have consented to certain 
 operations for which I am now reproached, if I have 
 
 [343] 
 
ANDR& THEURIET 
 
 done that which threatens to land me in prison, it was 
 for you!" 
 
 "I think so little of forsaking you that I offer you all 
 I possess. Sell everything, leave Saint Clement, come 
 with me. I shall work so hard that you shall never 
 know what it is to be poor, even after having given up 
 all your property." 
 
 "Why, that is ridiculous! You might just as well 
 open my veins at once and bleed me to death! No! no! 
 I shall not let go one penny, not one foot of land! I 
 mean to meet my enemies to their face ! They shall see 
 that old Simon Maupin has still his beak and his talons ! " 
 
 He raged like a wild beast up and down in the nar- 
 row room. Stephen stood in silence by the writing- 
 table. The banker took both of Stephen's hands in his 
 own, and spoke in an imploring voice. " Be a good son ! 
 I beseech you by all that is most holy to you ! In your 
 mother's name! Shall I go down on my knees? Come, 
 you have not a heart of stone, I am sure ! If you were 
 to ask me such a favor, I would certainly listen. I 
 would not be inflexible!" 
 
 "I did address you, one day," replied Stephen, 
 "just such a prayer, and you would not listen! I re- 
 member it ! And yet, if you were now to ask me a pos- 
 sible sacrifice, I should be ready to make it but what 
 you ask of me is disloyal, and in spite of my desire to 
 save you, in spite of what I suffer, I am bound to say no ! " 
 
 "Ah! You are harder than I have ever been in my 
 life ! I am sorry now I ever called you ! Go back where 
 you came from!" 
 
 "No!" replied the son, firmly. "No, I shall not 
 [344] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 leave your side, however ill you may think of me! 
 I shall remain here. I shall stand by you before the 
 judge. I shall be here when sentence is given, and 
 help you to face your misfortune!" 
 
 "But I do not want you! I can defy the world and 
 the devil alone and unaided!" cried the banker in his 
 exasperation. "I shall show you all what is in me, and 
 point you out to all who want to see a good-for-nothing 
 son, who forsakes his father in the hour of need. Go 
 or I shall " 
 
 M, Maupin opened the door and put his son out 
 with a final imprecation; then once more alone, he 
 threw himself into his armchair, uttering a cry of rage 
 which sounded like a wild beast's roar. 
 
 It was all over; that last plank on which he had 
 counted for safety, had broken under him. 
 
 At the beginning of November, the great cause of 
 Berloc and Maupin had been fully prepared and was 
 announced to be tried at one of the first meetings of the 
 police tribunal. A compact crowd filled from early 
 morning the square that extends before the modest 
 court-house of St. Clement. It happened to be 
 market-day, and all the peasants who had had cause, 
 more or less, to complain of the firm of Simon Maupin, 
 had come to town to enjoy revenge. 
 
 Eleven o'clock struck. The usher of the court cere- 
 moniously opened the double door. Suddenly was heard 
 the official summons of the court-usher who cried out : 
 "The Court!. gentlemen, take off your hats!" The 
 tumult subsided. Almost at the same moment, another 
 usher, admitted through another door Simon Maupin, 
 
 [345] 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 accompanied by Celestin and Stephen, John Berloc 
 and their two lawyers. 
 
 All heads were raised to catch a glimpse of the prin- 
 cipal actors in the drama. The banker, in his frock- 
 coat buttoned up to the throat, with the red ribbon of 
 the Legion of Honor in the buttonhole, remained 
 standing for a moment, as arrogant and haughty as 
 ever, and indifferent to the looks that converged from 
 all sides on him. Stephen, on the contrary, looked pale 
 and terribly worn: strangers might well have thought 
 that he was the accused and not his father. As to 
 Berloc, he had never in his life appeared as small, as 
 humble, and as supple, as now; he had slipped into the 
 room like a lizard, and kept very quiet, casting every 
 now and then a sneaking, contrite look at the judges. 
 
 The proceedings were at first very dull and uninter- 
 esting. At last the usher was heard with his stentorian 
 voice to announce: "The Public Prosecutor against 
 Berloc and Maupin!" 
 
 "Simon Maupin! Rise and come forward!" said 
 the President of the court in a dry tone which was not 
 usual to him. The banker came out of his bench, hold- 
 ing his head high, and answered all questions in a 
 clear, precise voice. The Court came at once to the 
 loan which Dr. Desroches had obtained through the 
 agency of Berloc, and accused Maupin of having man- 
 aged the loan in such a way as to obtain possession of 
 the Doctor's valuable estate for a ridiculously small 
 sum of money. 
 
 "Where is the evidence?" Maupin asked, boldly. 
 
 This reply created in the audience so strong a feeling 
 [346] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 of indignation that the ushers had to command silence 
 otherwise the President would order the room to be 
 cleared. Simon Maupin sat down and Berloc's exami- 
 nation began. 
 
 He was as humble as his patron the banker had been 
 haughty and insolent. Alleging his extreme poverty 
 and his great ignorance, he appealed in a piteous man- 
 ner to the Court. He was only a kind of very humble 
 go-between, often totally ignorant of what was going on 
 between his principal, M. Maupin, and other parties. 
 If he had ever imagined in his wildest dreams that such 
 abominations were committed by his aid and assist- 
 ance, he would have cut off his right hand rather than 
 to sign the smallest little bit of paper! But everything 
 was settled at the bank, and when they sent for him, 
 all that he had to do was to say, "Amen!" 
 
 "Do you hear?" asked the President, turning to 
 Maupin. "What do you say to it?" 
 
 "Nothing!" the banker replied, coolly. 
 
 Then the witnesses appeared. Their story was nearly 
 the same in all cases: notes given to Berloc first, then 
 discounted and renewed by Maupin at enormous com- 
 missions which increased the originally trifling debt to 
 fabulous proportions; next execution and public sale of 
 the same piece of land at enormous prices. 
 
 At last all preparatory steps had been taken, and 
 the Imperial Procurator rose to deliver his charge 
 against Simon Maupin. This young lawyer, with his 
 stiff and stern ways, and a clear but gentle tone of 
 voice, was comparatively mild in his attack upon the 
 accused. As he knew that the banker was sustained 
 
 [347] 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 by the clergy, he thought it prudent to spare him as 
 much as possible. 
 
 Simon Maupin breathed freely, and felt the weight 
 that had oppressed him considerably lessened. The 
 judges were taken by surprise, and the President did 
 not know what to make of it. 
 
 But the most surprised of all was the great lawyer 
 whom Simon Maupin had engaged to come down and 
 defend him. Pompous, loquacious, and aggressive, he 
 was unwise enough to exalt Maupin as the champion 
 of the party of order in St. Clement. He made of the 
 banker a kind of providential hero, ostentatiously num- 
 bered his public services, his devotion to the Emperor, 
 and the grand enterprises which he had conceived, and 
 which could not but redound to the welfare and the honor 
 of the whole department. To hear him, all the charges 
 brought against Maupin were manifestations of the 
 Liberals, who, not daring to oppose the great man at 
 the helm, were satisfied with attacking, in a cowardly 
 manner, the man who was in his confidence. 
 
 He finished at last his unfortunate speech and sat 
 down, exhausted and out of breath, wiping his forehead 
 and looking for gratitude and admiration in the faces 
 of Maupin and his son. 
 
 The faces of the judges now looked sinister and al- 
 most grotesque in the fading light, and enlarged the 
 strongly marked features of the Imperial Procurator, 
 who rose to reply. 
 
 At the very first words he uttered it became clear 
 that the plea of the Parisian lawyer had irritated his 
 nerves, and that he would show no mercy. He admitted 
 
 [348] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 that at a certain time the banker had appeared as the 
 champion of the constituted authorities, but he proved 
 that this great speculator had become the friend of the 
 party of order only to gratify his private rancor. 
 
 "Ah!" he exclaimed, becoming excited, "Justice 
 sees clearly in spite of the bandage before her eyes; 
 she discerns the mean tricks of the money dealer dis- 
 guised as a politician! As there are hypocrites in re- 
 ligion, so there are hypocritical lovers of the public 
 welfare, and Simon Maupin is one of them!" Then he 
 showed how the banker had abused the prestige of au- 
 thority, crushing poor people whose shipwreck he had 
 premeditated and then, with all this money, indulging 
 in scandalous speculations. 
 
 The voice of the Procurator had become as sharp as 
 a razor; it fell like the blows of a whip upon M. Mau- 
 pin' s reputation. 
 
 Without paying any attention to the torture suffered 
 by his victim, the Imperial Prosecutor continued: 
 "And this man has received favor after favor from the 
 head of the State! He bears on his breast the cross of 
 the Legion of Honor! But the government, which is 
 the offspring of popular votes, is too great a friend of 
 the laboring classes to let itself be duped any longer by 
 a cheat who has lived and fattened upon the life's 
 blood of the humblest of peasants. He shall be de- 
 prived of all the honors he has so unworthily known to 
 obtain; he shall be publicly degraded! And we shall 
 see what marvellous ignominy, what corruption and out- 
 rageous scandals are hidden under that villainous insti- 
 tution called the Maupin Bank!" 
 
 [349] 
 
ANDRfe THEURIET 
 
 The speaker sat down, and M. Maupin rose as if 
 moved by a spring, indicating that he wished to speak. 
 "Mr. President," he began, in a hoarse voice, "I pro- 
 test, gentlemen- 
 He suddenly fell back upon his bench like an inert, 
 lifeless mass. 
 
 "A physician! Quick! A physician!" cried Celes- 
 tin Tiffin. 
 
 Fortunately there was a physician in the house and 
 he hurried to the passage, where Celestin and Stephen 
 had laid Maupin down, while the former opened his 
 waistcoat and unfastened his cravat. The doctor 
 declared that his patient must be instantly carried 
 home a litter was hastily contrived, and the banker was 
 carried into his house. 
 
 Across silent back streets, through the dark night, two 
 men, accompanied by Stephen and Celestin, carried him 
 to the bank. The private office was on a level with the 
 vestibule, and there he was put down by the orders of the 
 physician, who was utterly bewildered by the amazingly 
 rapid progress of the disease, and scrawled one pre- 
 scription after the other. But, fast as his pencil ran 
 across the paper, death was faster still. The clock on 
 the mantelpiece had not had time to strike seven o'clock 
 with its cracked voice, when Stephen uttered a sudden 
 cry. M. Maupin moved on his mattress; suddenly his 
 eyes met his son's eyes, he raised himself on his hands, 
 his eyeballs assumed a strange fire : "Fallen! Fallen!" 
 he repeated. And indeed he fell never to rise again. 
 
 "The stroke has fallen like a flash of lightning," 
 murmured the doctor, impassively. "It is over!" 
 
 [35] 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 "THE VILLAGE FUNERAL" 
 
 T was night. In his studio, lighted up 
 modestly by a fire of pine-cones, 
 Stephen, after his return to Pressy, 
 two days before, was walking up and 
 down mechanically like a man who 
 had lost his reckoning. From time 
 to time he stopped, pressed his brow 
 against the window-panes, and with 
 melancholy eyes contemplated the sleeping landscape 
 in the cold light of the full November moon. The furi- 
 ous wind blew apparently from all sides upon M. 
 Minique's house ; it threatened to blow in the windows, 
 to creep in under the ill-fitting doors, and played with the 
 creaking vanes and slammed with growing rage the ill- 
 secured shutters. 
 
 Stephen was watching this disturbance with great 
 avidity. He longed to have more of it. He wished 
 those distant voices were a great deal louder, that this 
 roaring of the tempest would never cease for a moment, 
 so great was his horror at finding himself once more 
 alone in the stillness of the night. 
 
 For every moment of his life is just now filled with 
 hallucinations of judges in their black robes, of the 
 Imperial Procurator crushing the banker under the 
 
 [350 
 
ANDRE THEURIET 
 
 violence of his speech, of the malignant crowd that 
 filled the whole Court-House. He sees Simon Maupin 
 again stretched out on his litter, and carried away 
 through the dark streets. He sees him again, lying 
 dead, in his coffin, buried in haste and without cere- 
 mony like a criminal that had been executed. The 
 punishment was fearful, and the disaster even greater 
 than had been anticipated. At this hour the great firm 
 of Simon Maupin, banker, is in liquidation, and Ce- 
 lestin Tiffin has the matter in charge! 
 
 "There must be an end of dreams !" he said to him- 
 self. "I must go and face the questions of life, must 
 fight the battle, earn my daily bread and fulfil the en- 
 gagements I have made ! ' ' The painting which Schwartz 
 has ordered was not begun yet, and Stephen was 
 ashamed to live on money which had not been earned. 
 It was high time to pass from vague dreams to hard 
 work to the execution. "Come, I must be bold and 
 have courage! I must try to work in earnest!" And 
 at once he lights his lamp, chooses from his supply a 
 large sheet of drawing-paper, and remains in medita- 
 tion before the blank sheet ! 
 
 The white page is soon covered with zebra-lines; at 
 first all is in confusion, after awhile it becomes more 
 precise. Five or six times the young man wipes them 
 out and begins once more. The hours pass, but he re- 
 mains bent over his paper, hearing nothing, not even 
 the wind that roars and the vane that squeaks. In the 
 fireplace the fire has gone out and even the lamp is 
 giving out. At last Stephen throws away his blunt 
 pencil and raises himself, his head on fire, his feet like 
 
 [352] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 lumps of ice. But he has finished the sketch of his 
 painting a village funeral. 
 
 The next morning he puts on his painter's costume, 
 buckles his gaiters, throws his bag over his shoulder, 
 and accompanied by the boy who carries his traps, 
 he reaches the point he has chosen for the execution of 
 his work, in the open air. 
 
 Stephen has sought the acquaintance of the priest. 
 This good man, tempted by the promise of a picture for 
 his church, has handed over his sexton to the young 
 painter, with his deputy and his little choristers, to 
 serve as models. The short winter days pass but too 
 quickly; his painting absorbs him and puts him in a 
 fever. 
 
 At the farm where Therese lives, on the contrary, the 
 days seem too long. The work in the fields is all fin- 
 ished, and from early morning Therese sits in her room, 
 close by the window, and sews and sews, barely allow- 
 ing herself, now and then, a glance at the distant hills 
 and the fleeting clouds. 
 
 She thinks of Stephen. She asks herself what sad 
 events keep him so long at St. Clement; she begins to 
 wonder at his long absence. Since the young man has 
 left her, she has gone down to church but once, to be 
 present at the High Mass said on All Saints' Day. She 
 reads in the looks and smiles of the people assembled 
 at church, that half curious, half sarcastic expression of 
 which she has once before suffered so much. She never 
 doubts Stephen, but still she is troubled. 
 
 One evening, at last, she determines to write to Ce- 
 lestin Tiffin; she knows his discretion, his devotion to 
 23 [353] 
 
ANDR THEURIET 
 
 the firm he serves, and she feels certain that he at least, 
 with all his discretion, will tell her the truth. This 
 letter, being written and entrusted to the messenger 
 employed in such cases, she returns to her work in her 
 upper chamber. 
 
 In the meantime Stephen's painting is nearly fin- 
 ished. The picture has come out well, and the 
 whole gives forcibly the impression at which the painter 
 had aimed. It is the funeral of a young girl. The cof- 
 fin, hid under a white cloth, is carried by four peasants. 
 At the head of the procession three young girls of the 
 Rosary- Guild, in white dresses, accompany the banner 
 of the Virgin, worked in silver. They are followed by 
 the priest and the singers in their surplices. You can 
 not help feeling deeply touched by this sympathetic 
 harmony between this landscape covered with white 
 frost and this white mourning for a young girl. You 
 tell yourself that the painter who has succeeded in re- 
 producing these secret affinities must needs have felt 
 them strongly and been deeply moved by them him- 
 self. 
 
 At one moment his courage forsakes him, and the 
 young painter is tempted to flee from M. Minique's 
 house, to ascend the slopes, to run to the farm, to see 
 Therese for the last time, and to explain to her the rea- 
 son why he must leave her. But there comes to him an 
 overwhelming thought. If he should go to the farm 
 now, he would appear to be invoking her pity and try- 
 ing to influence her will so as to obtain from her kind 
 heart a Yes, which she would not grant him, perhaps, 
 if she were left to herself. No! He will not do that! 
 
 [3S4] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 He will go away in silence, and then, when he is gone, 
 he will write to her and give her a final explanation. 
 To-morrow night he will be in Paris, eighty miles from 
 the farm. 
 
 He sat down once more before the canvas; his eyes 
 rested upon the young girl who was carrying the cross; 
 he had painted the head from a study of Mademoiselle 
 Desroches's head, which he had made at the farm. It 
 was indeed Therese, with her fair complexion and the 
 two bands of brown hair coming out beyond the sides 
 of her tall provincial cap. There are the same fresh 
 and frank lips, the same eyes with those brilliant black 
 pupils, resembling black cherries, the same charming, 
 though shy face he has loved so dearly. 
 
 Suddenly it seems to him that somebody has slightly 
 pushed the door of the studio, although the painting is 
 between him and the entrance. He raises his eyelids 
 and suddenly starts up. It is no longer the figure 
 painted on canvas; it is Therese in flesh and blood 
 who stands before him. 
 
 " Therese!" 
 
 Those fresh and frank lips part to let a kind smile 
 pass out; those jet-black eyes look into his eyes, and 
 while she, lays her cape aside, she says: 
 
 "How long have you been back here?" 
 
 Stephen is embarrassed. All his heroism has for- 
 saken him, he stammers and replies, evasively: "Only 
 since yesterday!" 
 
 "Story-teller!" says Therese, threatening him with 
 her finger. 
 
 He hangs his head and does not know what to say. 
 [355] 
 
ANDR6 THEURIET 
 
 "You have been here six weeks/' she continues, 
 "why have you not come to see us at the farm?" 
 
 "I have not been here all the time. I have been over 
 at Chat el, painting this," and he shows her his " Vil- 
 lage Funeral." 
 
 "This is beautiful, although the subject is so sad. I 
 can understand that this work has kept you busy but 
 you are nevertheless very unkind, that you have never 
 let me hear from you ! That was not what you promised 
 me when we parted!" 
 
 "Therese!" exclaimed Stephen, "I did not come 
 back to you, because I had to tell you things that were 
 too painful, and I preferred writing them. If you knew 
 all that has happened at Saint Clement!" 
 
 "I know it. Celestin has written." 
 
 "You know everything?" he asked again, blushing 
 and casting down his eyes. 
 
 "I know that now you are unhappy, as I was before, 
 but I do not see how your unhappiness prevented you 
 from coming for a reply to the proposition which you 
 made me the last time we met? Have you forgotten 
 that? A simple, pleasant country life for both of 
 us?" 
 
 "Ah!" he cried, confused and overcome, so that he 
 could only utter unconnected words, "that offer I can 
 not now I must not repeat it. I am too wretched 
 already I mean to suffer alone!" 
 
 "You are too proud! Well, then, I, I am not so 
 proud, and since you could not prevail on yourself to 
 come up to us, I have come to tell you that I accept 
 
 because I know you love me, and because " 
 
 [356] 
 
MLLE. DESROCHES 
 
 "Therese!" He has drawn near to her and taken 
 both her hands. 
 
 " Because I love you!" she continued, sinking into 
 his arms. 
 
 They remained thus for some time, holding each 
 other closely, before that great silent painting. The 
 house is still buried in silence; at a distance only the 
 vesper bells continue to ring out their slow and lulling 
 music. 
 
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