CHAPTER VIII.
MADEMOISELLE DE MUSSIDAN.
Paul had not been the only watcher; for at the sound of the carriagewheels the ancient portress took up her position in the doorway, withher eyes fixed on the face of the young lady. When the two women hadascended the stairs, a sudden inspiration seized her, and she went outand spoke to the cabman.
"Nasty night," remarked she; "I don't envy you in such weather as this."
"You may well say that," replied the driver; "my feet are like lumps ofice."
"Have you come far?"
"Rather; I picked them up in the Champs Elysees, near the Avenue deMatignon."
"That is a distance."
"Yes; and only five sous for drink money. Hang your respectable women!"
"Oh! they are respectable, are they?"
"I'll answer for that. The other lot are far more open-handed. I knowboth of them."
And with these words and a knowing wink, he touched up his horse anddrove away; and the portress, only half satisfied, went back to herlodge.
"Why that is the quarter where all the swells live," murmured she. "I'lltip the maid next time, and she'll let out everything."
After Paul's departure, Andre could not remain quiet; for it appeared tohim as if each second was a century. He had thrown open the door of hisstudio, and ran to the head of the stairs at every sound.
At last their footsteps really sounded on the steps. The sweetest musicin the world is the rustle of the beloved one's dress. Leaning over thebanisters, he gazed fondly down. Soon she appeared, and in a short timehad gained the open door of the studio.
"You see, Andre," said she, extending her hand, "you see that I am trueto my time."
Pale, and trembling with emotion, Andre pressed the little hand to hislips.
"Ah! Mademoiselle Sabine, how kind you are! Thanks, a thousand thanks."
Yes, it was indeed Sabine, the scion of the lordly house of Mussidan,who had come to visit the poor foundling of the Hotel de Vendome in hisstudio, and who thus risked all that was most precious to her inthe world, her honor and her reputation. Yes, regardless of theconventionalities among which she had been reared, dared to cross thatsocial abyss which separates the Avenue de Matignon from the Rue de laTour d'Auvergne. Cold reason finds no excuse for such a step, but theheart can easily solve this seeming riddle. Sabine and Andre had beenlovers for more than two years. Their first acquaintance had commencedat the Chateau de Mussidan. At the end of the summer of 1865, Andre,whose constant application to work had told upon his health, determinedto take a change, when his master, Jean Lanier, called him, and said,--
"If you wish for a change, and at the same time to earn three or fourhundred francs, now is your time. An architect has written to me, askingme for a skilled stone carver, to do some work in the country at amagnificent mansion in the midst of the most superb scenery. Would youcare about undertaking this?"
The proposal was a most acceptable one to Andre, and in a week's time hewas on his way to his work with a prospect of living for a month inpure country air. Upon his arrival at the Chateau, he made a thoroughexamination of the work with which he had been entrusted. He saw that hecould finish it with perfect ease, for it was only to restore the carvedwork on a balcony, which would not take more than a fortnight. He didnot, however, press on the work, for the beautiful scenery enchantedhim.
He made many exquisite sketches, and his health began to return to him.But there was another reason why he was in no haste to complete histask, one which he hardly ventured even to confess to himself: he hadcaught a glimpse of a young girl in the park of the Chateau who hadcaused a new feeling to spring up in his heart. It was Sabine deMussidan. The Count, as the season came on, had gone to Germany, theCountess had flitted away to Luzon, and the daughter was sent to thedull old country mansion in charge of her old aunt. It was the old, oldstory; two young hearts loving with all the truth and energy of theirnatures. They had exchanged a few words on their first meeting, and onthe next Sabine went on to the balcony and watched the rapid play ofAndre's chisel with childish delight. For a long time they conversed,and Sabine was surprised at the education and refinement of the youngworkman. Utterly fresh, and without experience, Sabine could notunderstand her new sensations. Andre held, one night, a long conversewith himself, and was at last obliged to confess that he loved herfondly. He ran the extent of his folly and madness, and recognized thebarrier of birth and wealth that stood between them, and was overwhelmedwith consternation.
The Chateau of Mussidan stands in a very lonely spot, and one of theroads leading to it passes through a dense forest, and therefore it hadbeen arranged that Andre was to take his meals in the house. Aftera time Sabine began to feel that this isolation was a needlesshumiliation.
"Why can't M. Andre take his meals with us?" asked she of her aunt. "Heis certainly more gentlemanlike than many of those who visit us, and Ithink that his conversation would entertain you."
The old lady was easily persuaded to adopt this suggestion, though atfirst it seemed an odd kind of thing to admit a mere working man to hertable; but she was so bored with the loneliness of the place that shehailed with delight anything that would break its monotony. Andre atonce accepted the proposal, and the old lady would hardly believe hereyes when her guest entered the room with the dress and manners of ahighbred gentleman. "It is hardly to be believed," said she, as she waspreparing to go to bed, "that a mere carver of stone should be so likea gentleman. It seems to me that all distinctions of social rank havevanished. It is time for me to die, or we are rapidly approaching astate of anarchy."
In spite of her prejudices, however, Andre contrived to win the oldlady's heart, and won a complete victory by painting her portrait infull gala costume. From that moment he was treated as one of the family,and, having no fear of a rebuff, was witty and sprightly in his manner.Once he told the old lady the true story of his life. Sabine was deeplyinterested, and marvelled at his energy and endurance, which had won forhim a place on the ladder that leads to future eminence. She saw inhim the realization of all her girlish dreams, and finally confessedto herself that she loved him. Both her father and mother had their ownpleasures and pursuits, and Sabine was as much alone in the world asAndre.
The days now fled rapidly by. Buried in this secluded country house,they were as free as the breeze that played through the trees of theforest, for the old lady rarely disturbed them. After the morning meal,she would beg Andre to read the newspaper to her, and fell into a dozebefore he had been five minutes at the task. Then the young peoplewould slip quietly away, as merry as truants from school. They wanderedbeneath the shade of the giant oaks, or climbed the rocks that stoodby the river bank. Sometimes, seated in a dilapidated boat, they woulddrift down the stream with its flower-bedecked banks. The water wasoften almost covered with rushes and water lilies. Two months ofenchantment thus fled past, two months of the intoxications of love,though the mention of the tender passion never rose to their lipsfrom their hearts, where it was deeply imbedded. Andre had cast allreflections regarding the perils of the future to the winds, and onlythanked heaven for the happiness that he was experiencing.
"Am I not too happy?" he would say to himself. "I fear this cannotlast." And he was right. Anxious to justify his remaining at Mussidanafter his task was completed, Andre determined to add to what he hadalready done a masterpiece of modern art, by carving a garland of fruitand flowers over the old balcony, and every morning he rose with the sunto proceed with his task.
One morning the valet came to him, saying that the old lady was desirousof seeing him, and begged him to lose no time, as the business wasurgent. A presentiment of evil came like a chilly blast upon the youngman's heart. He felt that his brief dream of happiness was at an end,and he followed the valet as a criminal follows his executioner to thescaffold.
As he opened the door in which Sabine's aunt was awaiting him, the oldman whispered,--
"Have a care, sir, have a care. Madame is in a terrible state
; I havenot seen her like this since her husband died."
The old lady was in a terrible state of excitement, and in spite ofrheumatic pains was walking up and down the room, gesticulating wildly,and striking her crutch-handled stick on the floor.
"And so," cried she in that haughty tone adopted by women ofaristocratic lineage when addressing a supposed inferior, "you have, Ihear, had the impudence to make love to my niece?"
Andre's pale face grew crimson as he stammered out,--
"Madame--"
"Gracious powers, fellow!" cried the angry woman, "do you dare todeny this when your very face betrays you? Do you know that you are aninsolent rogue even to venture to look on Sabine de Mussidan? How dareyou! Perhaps you thought that if you compromised her, we should beforced to submit to this ignoble alliance."
"On my honor, madame, I assure you--"
"On your honor! To hear you speak, one would suppose that you were agentleman. If my poor husband were alive, he would break every bone inyour body; but I am satisfied with ordering you out of the house. Pickup your tools, and be off at once."
Andre stood as though petrified into stone. He took no notice of herimperious manner, but only realized the fact that he should never seeSabine again, and, turning deadly pale, staggered to a chair. Theold lady was so surprised at the manner in which Andre received hercommunication, that for a time she too was bewildered, and could notutter a word.
"I am unfortunately of a violent temper," said she, speaking in moregentle accents, "and perhaps I have spoken too severely, for I am muchto blame in this matter, as the priest of Berron said when he came toinform me of what was going on. I am so old that I forgot what happenswhen young people are thrown together, and I was the only one who didnot know what was going on when you were affording subject of gossip forthe whole countryside; my niece--"
But here Andre started to his feet with a threatening look upon hisface.
"I could strangle them all," cried he.
"That is right," returned the old lady, secretly pleased at his vigorand energy, "but you cannot silence every idle tongue. Fortunately,matters have not gone too far. Go away, and forget my niece."
She might as well have told the young man to go away and die.
"Madame!" cried he in accents of despair, "pray listen to me. I amyoung, and full of hope and courage."
The old lady was so touched by his evident sorrow, that the tears rolleddown her wrinkled cheeks.
"What is the good of saying this to me?" asked she. "Sabine is not mydaughter. All that I can do is never to say a word to her father andmother. Great heavens, if Mussidan should ever learn what has occurred!There, do go away. You have upset me so that I do not believe I shalleat a mouthful for the next two days."
Andre staggered out of the room. It seemed to him as if the flooringheaved and rolled beneath his feet. He could see nothing, but he feltsome one take him by the hand. It was Sabine, pallid and cold as amarble statue.
"I have heard everything, Andre," murmured she.
"Yes," stammered he. "All is over, and I am dismissed."
"Where are you going to?"
"Heaven only knows, and when once I leave this place I care not."
"Do not be desperate," urged Sabine, laying her hand upon his arm.
His fixed glance terrified her as he muttered,--
"I cannot help it; I am driven to despair."
Never had Sabine appeared so lovely; her eyes gleamed with some generousimpulse, and her face glowed.
"Suppose," said she, "I could give you a ray of future hope, what wouldyou do then?"
"What would I _not_ do then? All that a man could. I would fight my waythrough all opposition. Give me the hardest task, and I will fulfil it.If money is wanted, I will gain it; if a name, I will win it."
"There is one thing that you have forgotten, and that is patience."
"And that, Mademoiselle, I possess also. Do you not understand that withone word of hope from you I can live on?"
Sabine raised her head heavenwards. "Work!" she exclaimed. "Work andhope, for I swear that I will never wed other than you."
Here the voice of the old lady interrupted the lovers.
"Still lingering here!" she cried, in a voice like a trumpet call. Andrefled away with hope in his heart, and felt that he had now somethingto live for. No one knew exactly what happened after his departure. Nodoubt Sabine brought round her aunt to her way of thinking, for at herdeath, which happened two months afterward, she left the whole of herimmense fortune directly to her niece, giving her the income whileshe remained single, and the capital on her marriage, whether with orwithout the consent of her parents. Madame de Mussidan declared thatthe old lady had gone crazy, but both Andre and Sabine knew what she hadintended, and sincerely mourned for the excellent woman, whose last acthad been to smooth away the difficulties from their path. Andre workedharder than ever, and Sabine encouraged him by fresh promises. Sabinewas even more free in Paris than at Mussidan, and her attached maid,Modeste, would have committed almost any crime to promote the happinessof her beloved mistress. The lovers now corresponded regularly, andSabine, accompanied by Modeste, frequently visited the artist's studio,and never was a saint treated with greater respect and adoration thanwas Sabine by Andre.