played chess with me all the evening. Iplayed very ill, and he won every game, till I thought hewould stop for the very stupidness of it.
Some painful days followed that day; during which mammamanaged to make me accept Mr. De Saussure's attentions inpublic and in private. She managed it; I could not escape themwithout making a violent protest, and I did not of coursechoose that. Hugh Marshall was gone; he had come only to takea hurried leave of us; suddenly obliged to return home, hesaid; "he had lingered too long." Mr. De Saussure's eyesflashed with I triumph; every line of mamma's face (to me)expressed satisfaction, of course gracefully concealed fromeverybody else. But Hugh and I parted with a great grasp ofthe hand, which I am sure came from both our hearts and leftmine very sore. Then he was gone. After that, Mr. De Saussuretook Hugh's place and his own too in our little society; andfor a few days things went on in a train which I knew waspreparing mischief.
Then one night the explosion came. We were out on the lake ina boat; mamma, Mr. De Saussure, and I; we had gone to see thecolours come and go on the great head of Mont Blanc. In theglory of the sight, I had forgotten who was with me and whereI was, for the moment; and I was thinking of the colours andlights of the New Jerusalem, than which those before me seemedscarcely less unearthly. Thinking, with a pang at the distancebetween; with a longing for those pure heights where humanlife never casts its flickering shadow; with a cry for Thoroldin my heart, whom every sight of joy or beauty was sure tobring before me. I was rudely recalled from my momentarydream, though it was by my mother's soft voice.
"Daisy -"
I started and came back to earth and the Lake of Geneva.
"Mr. De Saussure is going soon to leave us and return home -you know for what. Before he goes, he desires the satisfactionof kissing your hand. I suppose he would have liked a littlemore, but I have only promised the hand."
"I have explained myself to Mr. De Saussure, mamma; he isunder no mistake."
"So I have told him. He could not ask more than you have givenhim; but leaving us for a long while, Daisy, and on such aservice, a little further grace would not be ill bestowed. Ishall give him leave, if you do not," she added laughing; "andI may give him more than you would like, Daisy."
I think at that minute I felt as if I would like to make onespring out of this world and all its confusions into thatother world I had been thinking of; but one does not get quitof one's troubles so easily. That minute on the Lake of Genevawas one of the _ugliest_ I have ever known. Mamma was smooth anddetermined; Mr. De Saussure looked triumphant and expectant;for a moment my heart shrank, but I do not think I showed itoutwardly.
"Daisy -" said mamma, smiling.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Mr. De Saussure is waiting. Will you speak the word? - orshall I?"
"I have spoken to Mr. De Saussure," I said, coldly.
"Not very clearly. He understands you better now."
"Permit me to say," put in blandly Mr. De Saussure, - "that Iam rejoiced to find I did _not_ understand you at a formerconversation we held together. Mrs. Randolph has been my kindinterpreter. You will not _now_ refuse me?" he said, as heendeavoured to insinuate his fingers into mine.
"Kiss her, Charles!" said mamma; "she is a coy girl. I giveyou leave."
And before I could anticipate or prevent it, Mr. De Saussure'sarm was round me and the salute was given. I think mammareally thought she could bestow me away as she pleased. I amsure she had no idea of the nature she was combating. Nobodyhad ever withstood her successfully; she did not think that Icould be the first. But this little thing - it was not alittle thing to me at the time - cut the knot of mydifficulties. Released from Mr. De Saussure's encircling arm,I removed myself to the other side of the boat and drew myshawl round me. I do not know what significance was in myaction, but mamma said, "Nonsense!"
"I have not offended, have I?" said Mr. De Saussure."Remember, I had liberty."
"Mamma," I said, "if you will sit a little further that way,you will restore the balance of the boat."
"Which you have entirely disarranged, Daisy," she said as shemoved herself.
"Daisy will acknowledge I had liberty," Mr. De Saussurerepeated.
"Mamma," I said, "don't you think it is growing chill?"
"Row us home, Charles," said my mother. "And, Daisy, don't bea fool. Mr. De Saussure had liberty, as he says."
"I do not acknowledge it, ma'am."
"You must give her line, Charles," mamma said, half laughingbut vexed. "She is a woman."
"I hope she will grant me forgiveness," he said. "She mustremember, I _thought_ I had liberty."
"I shall not forget," I answered. "I understand, that respectfor me failed before respect for my mother."
"But! -" he began.
"Be quiet, Charles," my mother interrupted him. "Pull us toshore; and let fits of perverseness alone till they go off.That is my counsel to you."
And the remainder of our little voyage was finished inprofound silence. I knew mamma was terribly vexed, but at thesame time I was secretly overjoyed; for I saw that she yieldedto me, and I knew that I should have no more trouble with Mr.De Saussure.
I did not. He lingered about for a few days longer, in moodystyle, and then went away and I saw him no more. During thosedays I had nothing to do with him. But my mother had almost aslittle to do with me. She was greatly offended; and also, Isaw, very much surprised. The woman Daisy could not be quitethe ductile thing the child Daisy had been. I took refuge withpapa whenever I could.
"What is all this about De Saussure and Marshall?" he askedone day.
"They have both gone home."
"I know they have; but what sent them home?"
"Mamma has been trying to make them go, this long while, youknow, papa. She wanted them to go and join Beauregard."
"And will they? Is that what they are gone for?"
"I do not know if they will, papa. I suppose Mr. De Saussurewill."
"And not Marshall?"
"I do not know about him."
"What did _you_ do, Daisy?"
"Papa - you know I do not like the war."
"How about liking the gentlemen?"
"I am glad they are gone."
"Well, so am I," papa answered; "but what had you to do withsending them home?"
"Nothing, papa, - only that I unfortunately did not want themto stay."
"And you could not offer them any reward for going?"
"Papa, a man who would do such a thing for _reward_, would notbe a man."
"I think so too, Daisy. Your mother somehow takes a differentview."
"She cares only for the soldier, papa; not for the man."
Papa was silent and thoughtful.
There were no other intimate friends about us in Geneva; andour life became, I must confess, less varied and pleasantafter the young men had gone. At first I felt only the relief;then the dulness began to creep in. Papa led the life of aninvalid, or of one who had been an invalid; not an active lifein any way; I thought, not active enough for his good. Somehours I got of reading with him; reading to him, and talkingof what we read; they did my father good, and me too; but theywere few, and often cut short. As soon as mamma joined us, ourbooks had to be laid aside. They bored her, she said, orhindered her own reading; and she and papa played draughts andchess and piquet. Mamma was not in a bored state at othertimes; for she was busy with letters and plans andarrangements, always in a leisurely way, but yet busy. It wasa sort of business with which I had no sympathy, and whichtherefore left me out. The cause of the South was not mycause; and the discussion of toilettes, fashions, costumes andsociety matters, was entirely out of my line. In all these,mamma found her element. Ransom was no resource to anybody;and of course not to me, with whom, now as ever, he had littlein common. Mamma held me aloof, ever since Mr. De Saussure'sdeparture; and I only knew indirectly, as it were, that shewas planning a social campaign for me and meditating overadornments and advantages which should help to make ittriumphant. Life in this way was not altogether enjoyable. Theo
nly conversation which could be said to be general among us,was on the subject of home affairs in America. That rung in myears every day.
"Glorious news, sir!" cried Ransom one day as he came in todinner. "Glorious news! The first real news we have had in along time."
"What is it?" said my father; and "What, Ransom?" my motherasked, with a kindling eye. My heart sank. Those know whoremember those times, how one's heart used to sink when newscame.
"What is it, Ransom?"
"Why, a large body of them, the Yankees, got across thePotomac the night of the 20th; got in a nest