Bijou Part 3

She picked up her basket and went away, looking very merry and fresh.

Her muslin dress fluttered round her, as pink and pretty as she herself was. As soon as she had disappeared, it seemed as though a veil of melancholy had suddenly spread itself over the large room. No one spoke, and there was not a sound to be heard except the knocking together of the billiard-b.a.l.l.s, and the rattling of the numbers, which the abbe kept shaking all the time, bringing into this game, as into everything else, the methodical precision which was habitual to him.

"Grandmamma," said Henry de Bracieux at length, "you ought not to allow Bijou to give us the slip like this, especially at Bracieux. In Paris it is not so bad, but here, when she leaves us we are done for; she is the ray of sunshine that lights up the whole house."

The marchioness shrugged her shoulders.

"You talk nonsense; you forget that very soon Bijou will _give us the slip_, as you so elegantly put it, in a more decisive way."

"What do you mean? She is not going to be married?"

"Well, I hope so."

"You have someone in view?" asked M. de Rueille, not very well pleased.

"No, not at all; but, you see, the said someone may present himself one day or another--not here, of course, there is no one round here who would be suitable for Bijou; but it is very probable that this winter in Paris--"

Henry de Bracieux, a fine-looking young man of twenty-five years of age, with a strong resemblance to his sister Bertrade, was listening to the words of the marchioness. His eyebrows were knitted, and there was a serious expression on his face. He missed a very easy cannon, and his brother-in-law was astonished.

"Oh, hang it!" he exclaimed; "it is too warm to play billiards. I am going out to have a nap in the hammock."

His sister watched him as he left the room, and then turning towards the marchioness, she whispered:

"He, too!"

The old lady replied, with a touch of ill-humour:

"Bijou cannot marry all the family, anyhow. Ah! here she is, we must not talk about it."

Just at that moment the graceful figure of the young girl appeared in the doorway leading to the stone steps.

"How many people will there be to dinner on Thursday, grandmamma?" she asked, without entering the room.

"Why, I have not counted. There are the La Balues--"

"That makes four."

"The Juzencourts--"

"Six."

"Young Bernes--"

"Seven."

"Madame de Nezel--"

"Eight."

"That's all."

"And we are ten to start with, that makes eighteen. We can do with twenty; will you invite the Dubuissons, grandmamma? I should so like to have Jeanne."

"I am perfectly willing. I will write to them."

"It isn't worth while. I shall have to go to Pont-sur-Loire to get things in, and I can invite them."

"My poor dear child! you are going to the town through this heat?"

"We _must_ see about the things for this dinner. To-day is Tuesday--and then I want to speak to Mere Rafut, and see if she can come to work. I have no dresses to put on, and there will be the races, and some dances."

"Oh!" said the marchioness, evidently annoyed, "you are going to have that frightful old woman again."

"Why, grandmamma, she's a very nice, straightforward sort of woman, and then she works so well."

"That may be; but her appearance is terribly against her."

"Yes, grandmamma, that is so, she is not beautiful--Mere Rafut is old and poor, and old age and poverty do not improve the appearance; but it is so convenient for me to have her; and she is so happy to come here, and be well-paid, and well-fed, and well-treated, after being accustomed to her actresses, who either pay her badly or not at all."

By this time Bijou was standing just behind Madame de Bracieux's arm-chair. She added in a coaxing way, as she threw her pretty pink arms around the old lady's neck:

"It is quite a charity, grandmamma; and a charity not only to Mere Rafut, but to me."

"Have her then," answered the marchioness, "have your frightful old woman--let her come as much as you like!"

"Well, then, good-bye for the present."

"How are you going?--in the victoria?"

"No, in the trap; I shall be quicker if I take the trap--I can go there in twenty-five minutes.

"And _you_ are going to drive?"

"Why, yes, grandmamma."

"And with the sun so hot? You'll have a stroke."

"Shall I drive you, Bijou?" proposed M. de Rueille. "I want to get some tobacco, and some powder, and two fishing-rods to replace those that Pierrot broke. I shall be glad to go to town."

"And I shall be delighted for you to drive me."

"When shall we start?"

"At once, please."

Just as they were going out of the room, the marchioness called out to them:

"Beware of accidents. Don't go too quickly downhill."