The Milkmaid of Montfermeil Part 87

"It is true that I have had nothing since yesterday."

"Since yesterday!" cried Denise; and a deathly pallor overspread her cheeks, her eyes filled with tears, and she could not speak; she laid her head on Auguste's shoulder and gave free vent to the tears that were choking her.

"Denise, dear Denise, pray be calm! I am with you; I have already forgotten part of my misfortunes--don't be alarmed about me! Besides, I am not entirely without resources. The reason why I have eaten nothing since yesterday is that sad thoughts took away my appet.i.te. I still have a little money, but I am saving it to procure lodgings in Paris; for nothing is so conducive to economy as misfortune. Oh! the loss of my wealth is not what grieves me most, as you know; blest with a happy disposition, hope and cheerfulness continued to travel with me even when my purse was light; but the ingrat.i.tude of men, the desertion of him whom I loved like a brother--that is what cut me the deepest! that is what took away my courage! I know that a man may bear the blows of destiny philosophically; but I could find no philosophy to enable me to bear the loss of a friend, the pains of the heart."

"O mon Dieu!" said Denise; "is it possible! But, it is true, you are alone--What has become of Bertrand?"

"He has deserted me! He got tired of my follies, and he left the man who, in his prosperous days, treated him as a friend, not as a servant."

"Bertrand deserted you--left you when you were unfortunate and a long way from home! Oh, no! no! that is impossible, monsieur! He loved and honored you! Bertrand is an old soldier, he has not forgotten all that he owes you; I will answer for his heart as surely as for my own."

"Nevertheless, Denise, I have told you the truth. But let us go into the house; later I will tell you the story of my travels."

"Oh! forgive me, monsieur; to think of my forgetting! Let's go in quickly; come and rest."

Denise led Auguste into the house. Coco followed them, jumping and crying aloud for joy.

"Here's my kind friend come back! Denise won't be sad any more!"

The girl ran to wake her old servant, and turned everything topsy-turvy in her haste to set before the wayfarer the best that she had; and as she went to and fro by Auguste, she stopped constantly to look at him, as if to make sure that he was not a delusion, then exclaimed:

"He is here! he has come back at last! he hadn't forgotten us!"

And she wiped away a tear born of her emotion, which was instantly succeeded by a smile. Auguste was deeply moved by the pleasure that his arrival caused in the cottage. He did not tire of gazing at Denise, he noticed the change that had taken place in her language and manners and dress; and as he turned his eyes upon himself, he sighed and said:

"The three years that have pa.s.sed have wrought vast changes: instead of the milkmaid, a rather awkward village girl, I find in you a young woman full of charm. And I, whom you used to see so dandified and elegant--here am I arrayed like any poor devil who travels on foot without the means to pay for a lodging!"

"What difference does that make? Are you Coco's benefactor any the less?

or he who made love so ardently to the little milkmaid?"

"You will agree, Denise, that in this costume I don't look very much like a benefactor or a seducer."

"For my part, if you don't like me this way, I will very soon go back to the woolen waist and the little cap."

"You will always be lovely. However, I have no right--I must not forget----"

Auguste paused and Denise looked at him anxiously; but he seemed to make an effort to banish a painful memory and took his place at the table, saying:

"Let us not think of anything but the pleasure it affords me to be here!

Denise, Coco, come beside me; one evening of happiness will help me to forget several months of suffering."

They sat down at the table. Auguste was the object of the most zealous attentions on the part of the occupants of the cottage; the presence of a sovereign would not have made them so happy as that of the poor wayfarer.

When Auguste had recovered from the fatigue of his journeying, he took Coco on his knee, seated himself in front of Denise, and began his story:

"I determined to travel, hoping that travelling would ripen my wits; moreover, it was necessary that I should make an effort to put my talents to some use. I know how to paint, I am a good musician, but it was very hard for me to look for pupils in Paris, the scene of my days of splendor, where I could not take a step without meeting old acquaintances, who turned their heads to avoid bowing to me when they learned that I was ruined! So I started with Bertrand----"

"Yes, and without coming to bid me good-bye!" interjected Denise with a profound sigh.

"I was afraid to see you again. I supposed that you were married. I have not forgotten what you told me in your garden when I came to call on you."

Denise blushed, and Auguste continued:

"So I started. We had six thousand francs left; with economy, that was enough to carry us a long way. But it is so hard for me not to do foolish things!"

"And to be good!" said Denise under her breath.

Auguste smiled and continued:

"At Turin we were robbed by adventuresses of our whole fortune except a few gold pieces, with which we travelled to Rome. There I worked and earned a little money with my violin, and Bertrand gave fencing lessons.

We went to Naples, where I met by mere chance a lady whom I had known in Paris; she interested herself in my behalf and procured me some rich pupils. We had lived there very comfortably for a year when I received two or three stiletto thrusts on account of an Italian damsel's lovely eyes."

"Mon Dieu!" cried Denise; "why did you need to love an Italian too?"

"I was driven to seek distraction. That adventure disgusted me with Italy, where, in truth, I saw no prospect of making a handsome fortune.

I determined to go to England, where moderate talent often commands a very high price. Bertrand was still ready to go with me; we left Italy and reached London without mishap. There, after a very short time, having acquired the friendship of a man who frequented the first society, he made me the fashion, and I had more pupils than I could give lessons to. I charged very high rates, and I was overjoyed to find that I should be able some day to return to my native land with a good round sum of money. But, alas! I had the ill luck to become acquainted with a young English-woman."

"Well! still another woman!" exclaimed Denise testily.

"She lived with some relations, who, so she said, made her very unhappy.

She proposed to me to carry her off, and I dared not refuse. Despite Bertrand's advice I indulged in that escapade. But the abduction created an uproar, and I was proceeded against; I was obliged either to marry the young woman, or to pay a large sum; for in England one must always give compensation. I did not choose to marry, so I paid."

"Ah! that was much better than--than to marry by force," said Denise.

"But that adventure caused me to lose my pupils and the fruit of my labors. Distressed by this catastrophe, for which I could accuse no one but myself, I proposed to Bertrand that we take a trip to Scotland before returning to our own country. One of my pupils had presented me with a horse, I bought one for Bertrand, and we left London in the saddle. We stopped at a lovely village called, I believe, Newington.

After breakfasting at an inn, I sat alone, waiting for my companion, whom I had sent to pay our bill. Surprised at his failure to return, I went downstairs and made inquiries. 'Your companion has gone,' they told me; 'he just mounted his horse and rode off at a gallop.' Utterly unable to understand his absence, I remained at the inn all day, waiting for him. I could not imagine that Bertrand had left me; but the next day again I waited in vain. I questioned the people at the inn; they could tell me nothing except that, after paying our bill, he had crossed the courtyard, and a moment later they had seen him riding away at full speed. I was driven at last to a realization of the fact that Bertrand had voluntarily turned his back on me. Ah! Denise, I can't tell you how I suffered because of his desertion! Accustomed to living with my old friend, I had often paid little heed to his advice, but I set great store by his friendship. No doubt he was tired of my foolish performances; he probably lost patience, and despairing of making me less reckless, did not choose to share my evil fortune any longer.

However, he had often sworn never to leave me while he lived, and I trusted his oath, for a friend's is more sacred than a mistress's."

"Bertrand--leave you! I can't understand it!" said Denise.

"I changed my plans, and, having no further desire to go to Scotland, determined to return to France. Oh! how I longed to stand on my native soil! I felt a most intense craving to see you and to embrace this little fellow! I sold my horse to pay my pa.s.sage. When I arrived at Calais, I reckoned up my resources and determined to travel on foot.

But, I confess, my strength frequently betrayed my courage. Accustomed as I am to wealth, to the comforts of life, my health is still that of a dandy, while my modest costume stamps me a humble wayfarer; and more than once I had to stop on the way. At last I reached this village; before going on to Paris, I longed to see this spot once more, to learn what you were doing, Denise. And here I am by your side! Unhappiness, fatigue, everything is forgotten; and to-morrow, with a razor, clean linen, and a few changes in my costume, you will see once more, not the resplendent Dalville, but at least poor Auguste, for whom your friendship is not dead."

Auguste kissed the child. Denise, who had taken the deepest interest in his story, said to him:

"I trust that now you will not go travelling over the world any more?"

"You must stay with us, my kind friend," said Coco.

"Yes, I see that I must abandon the hope of making my fortune with such talents as I have. I have ceased to think of travelling. As to what I shall do--I haven't any clear idea as yet; but still, among my dear friends in Paris, who no longer deign to look at me, there are many whom I have obliged, and who are still my debtors. There is something like twelve thousand francs owing to me, and I propose to try to collect at least half of it; then----"

"You will come and settle down near us, won't you, monsieur?"

"At all events, Denise, I will come to see you often."

"But you won't go to Paris right away; you won't leave us for a long while----"

"No, I promise."