The Seven Cardinal Sins: Envy and Indolence Part 27

These words reminded David that the presence of Madame Bastien in his chamber at a late hour of the night might seem strange to the servants of the house, in spite of the affectionate respect with which they regarded the young mother, so, taking advantage of the excuse she had just offered, he advanced to the threshold of his door, left open during this conversation, and called Marguerite in a loud voice.

"I beg your pardon, madame," said he to Marie, who looked at him with surprise. "I would like to know why Marguerite thought I was going away."

The servant, astonished and frightened by the sudden flight of her mistress, hurried to David's chamber, and he at once said to her:

"My dear Marguerite, you have just been the cause of great distress to Madame Bastien, by telling her that I was preparing to leave the house, and that, too, at a time when Frederick, this poor child whom you have seen from his birth, has need of all our care. In her deep anxiety, Madame Bastien ran up here; fortunately, I have been able to satisfy her; but, again, how came you to think I was about to leave?"

"As I told madame, M. David, you had asked Andre for a horse and cart to carry trunks to Pont Brillant. Then, I thought--"

"That is true," said David, interrupting Marguerite.

Then, addressing Marie, he said:

"A thousand pardons, madame, for having given reason for the mistake which has caused you so much anxiety. The story is simply this: I had charge of some boxes of books that I was to deliver, upon my arrival at Senegal, to one of my compatriots. In departing from Nantes, I had, in my preoccupation of mind, given order to address my baggage here; these boxes, contrary to my intention, were included in the list, and it was--"

"To return them to Nantes by the coach which pa.s.ses Pont Brillant that you asked for a horse and cart, was it not, M. David?" said the old servant.

"Exactly, my dear Marguerite."

"It is the fault of Andre, too," said the servant. "He told me trunks. I said trunks or effects, which are the same thing, but, thank G.o.d! you have calmed madame, and you must stay, M. David, because, if left alone, she will have trouble with poor M. Frederick."

During this interchange of explanation between Marguerite and David, Madame Bastien, altogether encouraged, came, so to speak, to herself entirely; then feeling her hair float over her half-naked bosom, she thought of the disorder of her attire; but she was so pure and unaffected, so much the mother more than the woman, that she attached no importance to the fact of her nocturnal interview with David; but when her instinct of natural modesty awakened, she reflected upon the embarra.s.sment and painful awkwardness of running to David's chamber in her night-dress, and she saw at once the delicacy of sentiment which he had obeyed in calling Marguerite and demanding an explanation of the circ.u.mstances.

These reflections filled her mind while David and Marguerite were conversing upon the subject.

Not knowing how to arrange her disordered toilet without being seen by David, and feeling that any attempt at arrangement was a tacit avowal of her embarra.s.sment, however excusable, the young woman found a way out of the complication.

The servant wore a large red woollen shawl. Madame Bastien took it and silently wrapped it around herself, then, as many of the women of the country do, she put it over her head and crossed it, so that her floating hair was half hidden and she was enveloped to her waist in the long folds of the shawl.

This was done with so much quickness that David did not perceive the metamorphosis in Marie's costume until she said to her servant, with affectionate familiarity:

"My good Marguerite, forgive me for taking your shawl, but to-night is freezing, and I am cold."

If David had found the young woman adorably beautiful and attractive with dishevelled hair and all in white, he beheld a still more captivating beauty in her as she stood wrapped in this mantle of scarlet; nothing could have more enhanced the soft brilliancy of her large blue eyes, the lovely colour of her brown hair, and the delicate rose of her complexion.

"Good night, M. David," said the young mother; "after having entered your room in despair, I leave it greatly encouraged, since you tell me that to-morrow will be a day of decisive experience for Frederick, and perhaps a day of happiness for us."

"Yes, madame, I have good hope, and if you will permit it, to-morrow morning, before seeing Frederick, I would like to meet you in the library."

"I will await you there, M. David, and with great impatience. G.o.d grant that our antic.i.p.ations may not be mistaken. Good night again, M. David.

Come, Marguerite."

Long after the young woman had left the chamber of David, he stood motionless in the same place, trembling with rapture, as he pictured to himself the enchanting loveliness of the face sheltered under the folds of the scarlet shawl.

CHAPTER XXIV.

The next morning at eight o'clock David awaited Madame Bastien in the library; she soon arrived there.

"Good morning, madame," said the preceptor to her. "Well, how now about Frederick?"

"Really, M. David, I do not know if I ought to rejoice or feel alarmed, for last night something very strange happened."

"What is that, madame?"

"Overcome by the emotions of yesterday evening, I slept one of those profound and heavy sleeps, the awakening from which often leaves you in a state of torpor for a few moments, and you are hardly conscious of what is pa.s.sing around you. Suddenly it seemed to me that, half awake, I do not know why, I saw indistinctly by the light of the lamp Frederick leaning over my bed. He looked at me and was weeping as he said, 'Good-bye, mother, good-bye.' I wanted to speak to him and tried to do so, but the torpor against which I was struggling prevented me for some minutes. At last, after a desperate effort of my will, I woke, thoroughly. Frederick had disappeared. Still quite bewildered, I asked myself if this apparition was a dream or a reality. After waiting a while I went to my son's chamber. He was sleeping or pretended to be sleeping soundly. In my doubt, I did not dare awake him, for the poor child sleeps so little now!"

"And have you mentioned the incident of last night to him this morning?"

"Yes; but he appeared to be so sincerely surprised at what I told him, and declared so naturally that he had not left his chamber, that I do not know what to think. Have I been the dupe of an illusion? In my constant thought of Frederick, could I have taken a dream for reality?

That is possible. Yet it seems to me I can still see my son's face bathed in tears and hear his distressed voice say to me, 'Good-bye, mother, good-bye!'--but pardon me, monsieur," said Madame Bastien, in an altered voice, holding her handkerchief to her eyes, "the very memory of this word 'good-bye' makes me wretched. Why these good-byes? Where does he wish to go? Dream or reality, this word distresses me, in spite of myself."

"Calm yourself, madame," said David, after having listened attentively to Madame Bastien. "I think, with you, that the apparition of Frederick has been an illusion produced by the continual tension of your mind. A thousand examples attest the possibility of such hallucinations."

"But this word--good-bye? Ah, I cannot tell you the anguish of heart it has caused me, the gloomy foreboding that it leaves with me still."

"Pardon me, madame, but do not attach any importance to a dream. I say dream, because it is difficult to admit the reality of this incident.

Would Frederick come and weep by your pillow, and tell you good-bye during your sleep? Why do you think he wishes to leave you? Where could he go, now that our united watchfulness guards his every step?"

"That is true, M. David; yet--"

"Pray, take courage, madame, and, besides, you have just told me that, with the exception of this incident, you did not know whether to rejoice or feel alarm,--what is the cause of that?"

"This morning Frederick appeared calm, almost contented; he no longer had an air of dejection; he smiled, and embraced me as in the past, with tender effusion, imploring me to forgive him for the grief he had caused me, and promising to do everything in the world to make me forget it. So, taking your a.s.suring words of yesterday, and this unexpected language of my son, and the kind of satisfaction that I read in his countenance, together, I ought to be happy--very happy."

"In fact, madame, why should you feel alarmed? This sudden change, which agrees with my hopes and plans so marvellously, ought, on the contrary--"

David was interrupted by the entrance of Frederick.

Pale, as usual, but his brow serene and lips smiling, he advanced to his preceptor with an air of frankness, and said, with a mingling of deference and cordiality:

"M. David, I wish to ask your indulgence and your forgiveness for a poor half-foolish boy, who, upon your arrival here, said such words to you as would have made him blush with shame if he had been aware of his thoughts and actions. Since that time this poor boy has become less rude, although he has remained unimpressed by the thousand evidences of kindness which you have given him. Of all these wrongs he repents. Will you grant me his pardon?"

"With all my heart, my brave boy," replied David, exchanging a look of surprise and happiness with Madame Bastien.

"Thank you, M. David," replied Frederick, pressing with emotion the hands of his preceptor in his own; "thank you for my mother and for myself."

"Ah, my child," said Madame Bastien, quickly, "I cannot tell you how happy you make me; our sad days are all at an end."

"Yes, mother; and I swear to you that it will not be I who will cause you sorrow."

"My dear Frederick," said David, smiling, "you know that I am not an ordinary preceptor, and that I love to take the fields for my study-hall; the weather is quite fine this morning, suppose we go out for a walk."

Frederick started imperceptibly.