La Mere Bauche

by Anthony Trollope

　　The Pyreneean valley in which the baths of Vernet are situated is notmuch known to English, or indeed to any travellers. Tourists insearch of good hotels and picturesque beauty combined, do notgenerally extend their journeys to the Eastern Pyrenees. They rarelyget beyond Luchon; and in this they are right, as they thus end theirperegrinations at the most lovely spot among these mountains, and areas a rule so deceived, imposed on, and bewildered by guides,innkeepers, and horse-owners, at this otherwise delightful place, asto become undesirous of further travel. Nor do invalids from distantparts frequent Vernet. People of fashion go to the Eaux Bonnes andto Luchon, and people who are really ill to Bareges and Cauterets.It is at these places that one meets crowds of Parisians, and thedaughters and wives of rich merchants from Bordeaux, with anadmixture, now by no means inconsiderable, of Englishmen andEnglishwomen. But the Eastern Pyrenees are still unfrequented. Andprobably they will remain so; for though there are among them lovelyvalleys--and of all such the valley of Vernet is perhaps the mostlovely--they cannot compete with the mountain scenery of othertourists-loved regions in Europe. At the Port de Venasquez and theBreche de Roland in the Western Pyrenees, or rather, to speak moretruly, at spots in the close vicinity of these famous mountainentrances from France into Spain, one can make comparisons withSwitzerland, Northern Italy, the Tyrol, and Ireland, which will notbe injurious to the scenes then under view. But among the easternmountains this can rarely be done. The hills do not stand thicklytogether so as to group themselves; the passes from one valley toanother, though not wanting in altitude, are not close pressedtogether with overhanging rocks, and are deficient in grandeur aswell as loveliness. And then, as a natural consequence of all this,the hotels--are not quite as good as they should be.But there is one mountain among them which can claim to rank with thePic du Midi or the Maledetta. No one can pooh-pooh the stern oldCanigou, standing high and solitary, solemn and grand, between thetwo roads which run from Perpignan into Spain, the one by Prades andthe other by Le Boulon. Under the Canigou, towards the west, lie thehot baths of Vernet, in a close secluded valley, which, as I havesaid before, is, as far as I know, the sweetest spot in these EasternPyrenees.The frequenters of these baths were a few years back gathered almostentirely from towns not very far distant, from Perpignan, Narbonne,Carcassonne, and Bezieres, and the baths were not therefore famous,expensive, or luxurious; but those who believed in them believed withgreat faith; and it was certainly the fact that men and women whowent thither worn with toil, sick with excesses, and nervous throughover-care, came back fresh and strong, fit once more to attack theworld with all its woes. Their character in latter days does notseem to have changed, though their circle of admirers may perhaps besomewhat extended.In those days, by far the most noted and illustrious person in thevillage of Vernet was La Mere Bauche. That there had once been aPere Bauche was known to the world, for there was a Fils Bauche wholived with his mother; but no one seemed to remember more of him thanthat he had once existed. At Vernet he had never been known. LaMere Bauche was a native of the village, but her married life hadbeen passed away from it, and she had returned in her early widowhoodto become proprietress and manager, or, as one may say, the heart andsoul of the Hotel Bauche at Vernet.This hotel was a large and somewhat rough establishment, intended forthe accommodation of invalids who came to Vernet for their health.It was built immediately over one of the thermal springs, so that thewater flowed from the bowels of the earth directly into the baths.There was accommodation for seventy people, and during the summer andautumn months the place was always full. Not a few also were to befound there during the winter and spring, for the charges of MadameBauche were low, and the accommodation reasonably good.And in this respect, as indeed in all others, Madame Bauche had thereputation of being an honest woman. She had a certain price, fromwhich no earthly consideration would induce her to depart; and therewere certain returns for this price in the shape of dejeuners anddinners, baths and beds, which she never failed to give in accordancewith the dictates of a strict conscience. These were traits in thecharacter of an hotel-keeper which cannot be praised too highly, andwhich had met their due reward in the custom of the public. Butnevertheless there were those who thought that there was occasionallyground for complaint in the conduct even of Madame Bauche.In the first place she was deficient in that pleasant smilingsoftness which should belong to any keeper of a house of publicentertainment. In her general mode of life she was stern and silentwith her guests, autocratic, authoritative and sometimescontradictory in her house, and altogether irrational andunconciliatory when any change even for a day was proposed to her, orwhen any shadow of a complaint reached her ears.Indeed of complaint, as made against the establishment, she wasaltogether intolerant. To such she had but one answer. He or shewho complained might leave the place at a moment's notice if it sopleased them. There were always others ready to take their places.The power of making this answer came to her from the lowness of herprices; and it was a power which was very dear to her.The baths were taken at different hours according to medical advice,but the usual time was from five to seven in the morning. Thedejeuner or early meal was at nine o'clock, the dinner was at four.After that, no eating or drinking was allowed in the Hotel Bauche.There was a cafe in the village, at which ladies and gentlemen couldget a cup of coffee or a glass of eau sucre; but no suchaccommodation was to be had in the establishment. Not by anypossible bribery or persuasion could any meal be procured at anyother than the authorised hours. A visitor who should enter thesalle a manger more than ten minutes after the last bell would belooked at very sourly by Madame Bauche, who on all occasions sat atthe top of her own table. Should any one appear as much as half anhour late, he would receive only his share of what had not beenhanded round. But after the last dish had been so handed, it wasutterly useless for any one to enter the room at all.Her appearance at the period of our tale was perhaps not altogetherin her favour. She was about sixty years of age and was very stoutand short in the neck. She wore her own gray hair, which at dinnerwas always tidy enough; but during the 'whole day previous to thathour she might be seen with it escaping from under her cap in extremedisorder. Her eyebrows were large and bushy, but those alone wouldnot have given to her face that look of indomitable sternness whichit possessed. Her eyebrows were serious in their effect, but not soserious as the pair of green spectacles which she always wore underthem. It was thought by those who had analysed the subject that thegreat secret of Madame Bauche's power lay in her green spectacles.Her custom was to move about and through the whole establishmentevery day from breakfast till the period came for her to dress fordinner. She would visit every chamber and every bath, walk once ortwice round the salle a manger, and very repeatedly round thekitchen; she would go into every hole and corner, and peer intoeverything through her green spectacles: and in these walks it wasnot always thought pleasant to meet her. Her custom was to move veryslowly, with her hands generally clasped behind her back: she rarelyspoke to the guests unless she was spoken to, and on such occasionsshe would not often diverge into general conversation. If any onehad aught to say connected with the business of the establishment,she would listen, and then she would make her answers,--often notpleasant in the hearing.And thus she walked her path through the world, a stern, hard, solemnold woman, not without gusts of passionate explosion; but honestwithal, and not without some inward benevolence and true tendernessof heart. Children she had had many, some seven or eight. One ortwo had died, others had been married; she had sons settled far awayfrom home, and at the time of which we are now speaking but one wasleft in any way subject to maternal authority.Adolphe Bauche was the only one of her children of whom much wasremembered by the present denizens and hangers-on of the hotel, hewas the youngest of the number, and having been born only veryshortly before the return of Madame Bauche to Vernet, had beenaltogether reared there. It was thought by the world of those parts,and rightly thought, that he was his mother's darling--more so thanhad been any of his brothers and sisters,--the very apple of her eyeand gem of her life. At this time he was about twenty-five years ofage, and for the last two years had been absent from Vernet--forreasons which will shortly be made to appear. He had been sent toParis to see something of the world, and learn to talk French insteadof the patois of his valley; and having left Paris had come downsouth into Languedoc, and remained there picking up some agriculturallore which it was thought might prove useful in the valley farms ofVernet. He was now expected home again very speedily, much to hismother's delight.That she was kind and gracious to her favourite child does notperhaps give much proof of her benevolence; but she had also beenkind and gracious to the orphan child of a neighbour; nay, to theorphan child of a rival innkeeper. At Vernet there had been morethan one water establishment, but the proprietor of the second haddied some few years after Madame Bauche had settled herself at theplace. His house had not thrived, and his only child, a little girl,was left altogether without provision.This little girl, Marie Clavert, La Mere Bauche had taken into herown house immediately after the father's death, although she had mostcordially hated that father. Marie was then an infant, and MadameBauche had accepted the charge without much thought, perhaps, as towhat might be the child's ultimate destiny. But since then she hadthoroughly done the duty of a mother by the little girl, who hadbecome the pet of the whole establishment, the favourite plaything ofAdolphe Bauche, and at last of course his early sweetheart.And then and therefore there had come troubles at Vernet. Of courseall the world of the valley had seen what was taking place and whatwas likely to take place, long before Madame Bauche knew anythingabout it. But at last it broke upon her senses that her son, AdolpheBauche, the heir to all her virtues and all her riches, the firstyoung man in that or any neighbouring valley, was absolutelycontemplating the idea of marrying that poor little orphan, MarieClavert!That any one should ever fall in love with Marie Clavert had neveroccurred to Madame Bauche. She had always regarded the child as achild, as the object of her charity, and as a little thing to belooked on as poor Marie by all the world. She, looking through hergreen spectacles, had never seen that Marie Clavert was a beautifulcreature, full of ripening charms, such as young men love to look on.Marie was of infinite daily use to Madame Bauche in a hundred littlethings about the house, and the old lady thoroughly recognised andappreciated her ability. But for this very reason she had nevertaught herself to regard Marie otherwise than as a useful drudge.She was very fond of her protge--so much so that she would listento her in affairs about the house when she would listen to no oneelse;--but Marie's prettiness and grace and sweetness as a girl hadall been thrown away upon Maman Bauche, as Marie used to call her.But unluckily it had not been thrown away upon Adolphe. He hadappreciated, as it was natural that he should do, all that had beenso utterly indifferent to his mother; and consequently had fallen inlove. Consequently also he had told his love; and consequently alsoMarie had returned his love.Adolphe had been hitherto contradicted but in few things, and thoughtthat all difficulty would be prevented by his informing his motherthat he wished to marry Marie Clavert. But Marie, with a woman'sinstinct, had known better. She had trembled and almost crouchedwith fear when she confessed her love; and had absolutely hid herselffrom sight when Adolphe went forth, prepared to ask his mother'sconsent to his marriage.The indignation and passionate wrath of Madame Bauche were past andgone two years before the date of this story, and I need nottherefore much enlarge upon that subject. She was at first abusiveand bitter, which was bad for Marie; and afterwards bitter andsilent, which was worse. It was of course determined that poor Marieshould be sent away to some asylum for orphans or penniless paupers--in short anywhere out of the way. What mattered her outlook into theworld, her happiness, or indeed her very existence? The outlook andhappiness of Adolphe Bauche,--was not that to be considered aseverything at Vernet?But this terrible sharp aspect of affairs did not last very long. Inthe first place La Mere Bauche had under those green spectacles aheart that in truth was tender and affectionate, and after the firsttwo days of anger she admitted that something must be done for MarieClavert; and after the fourth day she acknowledged that the world ofthe hotel, her world, would not go as well without Marie Clavert asit would with her. And in the next place Madame Bauche had a friendwhose advice in grave matters she would sometimes take. This friendhad told her that it would be much better to send away Adolphe, sinceit was so necessary that there should be a sending away of some one;that he would be much benefited by passing some months of his lifeaway from his native valley; and that an absence of a year or twowould teach him to forget Marie, even if it did not teach Marie toforget him.And we must say a word or two about this friend. At Vernet he wasusually called M. le Capitaine, though in fact he had never reachedthat rank. He had been in the army, and having been wounded in theleg while still a sous-lieutenant, had been pensioned, and had thusbeen interdicted from treading any further the thorny path that leadsto glory. For the last fifteen years he had resided under the roofof Madame Bauche, at first as a casual visitor, going and coming, butnow for many years as constant there as she was herself.He was so constantly called Le Capitaine that his real name wasseldom heard. It may however as well be known to us that this wasTheodore Campan. He was a tall, well-looking man; always dressed inblack garments, of a coarse description certainly, but scrupulouslyclean and well brushed; of perhaps fifty years of age, andconspicuous for the rigid uprightness of his back--and for a blackwooden leg.This wooden leg was perhaps the most remarkable trait in hischaracter. It was always jet black, being painted, or polished, orjapanned, as occasion might require, by the hands of the Capitainehimself. It was longer than ordinary wooden legs, as indeed theCapitaine was longer than ordinary men; but nevertheless it neverseemed in any way to impede the rigid punctilious propriety of hismovements. It was never in his way as wooden legs usually are in theway of their wearers. And then to render it more illustrious it hadround its middle, round the calf of the leg we may so say, a band ofbright brass which shone like burnished gold.It had been the Capitaine's custom, now for some years past, toretire every evening at about seven o'clock into the sanctumsanctorum of Madame Bauche's habitation, the dark little privatesitting-room in which she made out her bills and calculated herprofits, and there regale himself in her presence--and indeed at herexpense, for the items never appeared in the bill--with coffee andcognac. I have said that there was never eating or drinking at theestablishment after the regular dinner-hours; but in so saying Ispoke of the world at large. Nothing further was allowed in the wayof trade; but in the way of friendship so much was now-a-days alwaysallowed to the Capitaine.It was at these moments that Madame Bauche discussed her privateaffairs, and asked for and received advice. For even Madame Bauchewas mortal; nor could her green spectacles without other aid carryher through all the troubles of life. It was now five years sincethe world of Vernet discovered that La Mere Bauche was going to marrythe Capitaine; and for eighteen months the world of Vernet had beenfull of this matter: but any amount of patience is at lastexhausted, and as no further steps in that direction were ever takenbeyond the daily cup of coffee, that subject died away--very muchunheeded by La Mere Bauche.But she, though she thought of no matrimony for herself, thought muchof matrimony for other people; and over most of those cups of eveningcoffee and cognac a matrimonial project was discussed in these latterdays. It has been seen that the Capitaine pleaded in Marie's favourwhen the fury of Madame Bauche's indignation broke forth; and thatultimately Marie was kept at home, and Adolphe sent away by hisadvice."But Adolphe cannot always stay away," Madame Bauche had pleaded inher difficulty. The truth of this the Capitaine had admitted; butMarie, he said, might be married to some one else before two yearswere over. And so the matter had commenced.But to whom should she be married? To this question the Capitainehad answered in perfect innocence of heart, that La Mere Bauche wouldbe much better able to make such a choice than himself. He did notknow how Marie might stand with regard to money. If madame wouldgive some little "dot," the affair, the Capitaine thought, would bemore easily arranged.All these things took months to say, during which period Marie wenton with her work in melancholy listlessness. One comfort she had.Adolphe, before he went, had promised to her, holding in his hand ashe did so a little cross which she had given him, that no earthlyconsideration should sever them;--that sooner or later he wouldcertainly be her husband. Marie felt that her limbs could not worknor her tongue speak were it not for this one drop of water in hercup.And then, deeply meditating, La Mere Bauche hit upon a plan, andherself communicated it to the Capitaine over a second cup of coffeeinto which she poured a full teaspoonful more than the usualallowance of cognac. Why should not he, the Capitaine himself, bethe man to marry Marie Clavert?It was a very startling proposal, the idea of matrimony for himselfnever having as yet entered into the Capitaine's head at any periodof his life; but La Mere Bauche did contrive to make it notaltogether unacceptable. As to that matter of dowry she was preparedto be more than generous. She did love Marie well, and could find itin her heart to give her anything--any thing except her son, her ownAdolphe. What she proposed was this. Adolphe, himself, would neverkeep the baths. If the Capitaine would take Marie for his wife,Marie, Madame Bauche declared, should be the mistress after herdeath; subject of course to certain settlements as to Adolphe'specuniary interests.The plan was discussed a thousand times, and at last so far broughtto bear that Marie was made acquainted with it--having been called into sit in presence with La Mere Bauche and her future proposedhusband. The poor girl manifested no disgust to the stiff ungainlylover whom they assigned to her,--who through his whole frame was inappearance almost as wooden as his own leg. On the whole, indeed,Marie liked the Capitaine, and felt that he was her friend; and inher country such marriages were not uncommon. The Capitaine wasperhaps a little beyond the age at which a man might usually bethought justified in demanding the services of a young girl as hisnurse and wife, but then Marie of herself had so little to give--except her youth, and beauty, and goodness.But yet she could not absolutely consent; for was she not absolutelypledged to her own Adolphe? And therefore, when the great pecuniaryadvantages were, one by one, displayed before her, and when La MereBauche, as a last argument, informed her that as wife of theCapitaine she would be regarded as second mistress in theestablishment and not as a servant, she could only burst out intotears, and say that she did not know."I will be very kind to you," said the Capitaine; "as kind as a mancan be."Marie took his hard withered hand and kissed it; and then looked upinto his face with beseeching eyes which were not without avail uponhis heart."We will not press her now," said the Capitaine. "There is timeenough."But let his heart be touched ever so much, one thing was certain. Itcould not be permitted that she should marry Adolphe. To that viewof the matter he had given in his unrestricted adhesion; nor could heby any means withdraw it without losing altogether his position inthe establishment of Madame Bauche. Nor indeed did his consciencetell him that such a marriage should be permitted. That would be toomuch. If every pretty girl were allowed to marry the first young manthat might fall in love with her, what would the world come to?And it soon appeared that there was not time enough--that the timewas growing very scant. In three months Adolphe would be back. Andif everything was not arranged by that time, matters might still goastray.And then Madame Bauche asked her final question: "You do not think,do you, that you can ever marry Adolphe?" And as she asked it theaccustomed terror of her green spectacles magnified itself tenfold.Marie could only answer by another burst of tears.The affair was at last settled among them. Marie said that she wouldconsent to marry the Capitaine when she should hear from Adolphe'sown mouth that he, Adolphe, loved her no longer. She declared withmany tears that her vows and pledges prevented her from promisingmore than this. It was not her fault, at any rate not now, that sheloved her lover. It was not her fault--not now at least--that shewas bound by these pledges. When she heard from his own mouth thathe had discarded her, then she would marry the Capitaine--or indeedsacrifice herself in any other way that La Mere Bauche might desire.What would anything signify then?Madame Bauche's spectacles remained unmoved; but not her heart.Marie, she told the Capitaine, should be equal to herself in theestablishment, when once she was entitled to be called Madame Campan,and she should be to her quite as a daughter. She should have hercup of coffee every evening, and dine at the big table, and wear asilk gown at church, and the servants should all call her Madame; agreat career should be open to her, if she would only give up herfoolish girlish childish love for Adolphe. And all these greatpromises were repeated to Marie by the Capitaine.But nevertheless there was but one thing in the world which inMarie's eyes was of any value; and that one thing was the heart ofAdolphe Bauche. Without that she would be nothing; with that,--withthat assured, she could wait patiently till doomsday.Letters were written to Adolphe during all these eventful doings; anda letter came from him saying that he greatly valued Marie's love,but that as it had been clearly proved to him that their marriagewould be neither for her advantage, nor for his, he was willing togive it up. He consented to her marriage with the Capitaine, andexpressed his gratitude to his mother for the pecuniary advantageswhich she had held out to him. Oh, Adolphe, Adolphe! But, alas,alas! is not such the way of most men's hearts--and of the hearts ofsome women?This letter was read to Marie, but it had no more effect upon herthan would have had some dry legal document. In those days and inthose places men and women did not depend much upon letters; nor whenthey were written, was there expressed in them much of heart or offeeling. Marie would understand, as she was well aware, the glanceof Adolphe's eye and the tone of Adolphe's voice; she would perceiveat once from them what her lover really meant, what he wished, whatin the innermost corner of his heart he really desired that sheshould do. But from that stiff constrained written document shecould understand nothing.It was agreed therefore that Adolphe should return, and that shewould accept her fate from his mouth. The Capitaine, who knew moreof human nature than poor Marie, felt tolerably sure of his bride.Adolphe, who had seen something of the world, would not care verymuch for the girl of his own valley. Money and pleasure, and somelittle position in the world, would soon wean him from his love; andthen Marie would accept her destiny--as other girls in the sameposition had done since the French world began.And now it was the evening before Adolphe's expected arrival. LaMere Bauche was discussing the matter with the Capitaine over theusual cup of coffee. Madame Bauche had of late become rather nervouson the matter, thinking that they had been somewhat rash in accedingso much to Marie. It seemed to her that it was absolutely now leftto the two young lovers to say whether or no they would have eachother or not. Now nothing on earth could be further from MadameBauche's intention than this. Her decree and resolve was to heapdown blessings on all persons concerned--provided always that shecould have her own way; but, provided she did not have her own way,to heap down,--anything but blessings. She had her code of moralityin this matter. She would do good if possible to everybody aroundher. But she would not on any score be induced to consent thatAdolphe should marry Marie Clavert. Should that be in the wind shewould rid the house of Marie, of the Capitaine, and even of Adolphehimself.She had become therefore somewhat querulous, and self-opinionated inher discussions with her friend."I don't know," she said on the evening in question; "I don't know.It may be all right; but if Adolphe turns against me, what are we todo then?""Mere Bauche," said the Capitaine, sipping his coffee and puffing outthe smoke of his cigar, "Adolphe will not turn against us." It hadbeen somewhat remarked by many that the Capitaine was more at home inthe house, and somewhat freer in his manner of talking with MadameBauche, since this matrimonial alliance had been on the tapis than hehad ever been before. La Mere herself observed it, and did not quitelike it; but how could she prevent it now? When the Capitaine wasonce married she would make him know his place, in spite of all herpromises to Marie."But if he says he likes the girl?" continued Madame Bauche."My friend, you may be sure that he will say nothing of the kind. Hehas not been away two years without seeing girls as pretty as Marie.And then you have his letter.""That is nothing, Capitaine; he would eat his letter as quick as youwould eat an omelet aux fines herbes."Now the Capitaine was especially quick over an omelet aux finesherbes."And, Mere Bauche, you also have the purse; he will know that hecannot eat that, except with your good will.""Ah!" exclaimed Madame Bauche, "poor lad! He has not a sous in theworld unless I give it to him." But it did not seem that thisreflection was in itself displeasing to her."Adolphe will now be a man of the world," continued the Capitaine."He will know that it does not do to throw away everything for a pairof red lips. That is the folly of a boy, and Adolphe will be nolonger a boy. Believe me, Mere Bauche, things will be right enough.""And then we shall have Marie sick and ill and half dying on ourhands," said Madame Bauche.This was not flattering to the Capitaine, and so he felt it."Perhaps so, perhaps not," he said. "But at any rate she will getover it. It is a malady which rarely kills young women--especiallywhen another alliance awaits them.""Bah!" said Madame Bauche; and in saying that word she avengedherself for the too great liberty which the Capitaine had latelytaken. He shrugged his shoulders, took a pinch of snuff anduninvited helped himself to a teaspoonful of cognac. Then theconference ended, and on the next morning before breakfast AdolpheBauche arrived.On that morning poor Marie hardly knew how to bear herself. A monthor two back, and even up to the last day or two, she had felt a sortof confidence that Adolphe would be true to her; but the nearer camethat fatal day the less strong was the confidence of the poor girl.She knew that those two long-headed, aged counsellors were plottingagainst her happiness, and she felt that she could hardly dare hopefor success with such terrible foes opposed to her. On the eveningbefore the day Madame Bauche had met her in the passages, and kissedher as she wished her good night. Marie knew little aboutsacrifices, but she felt that it was a sacrificial kiss.In those days a sort of diligence with the mails for Olette passedthrough Prades early in the morning, and a conveyance was sent fromVernet to bring Adolphe to the baths. Never was prince or princessexpected with more anxiety. Madame Bauche was up and dressed longbefore the hour, and was heard to say five several times that she wassure he would not come. The Capitaine was out and on the high road,moving about with his wooden leg, as perpendicular as a lamp-post andalmost as black. Marie also was up, but nobody had seen her. Shewas up and had been out about the place before any of them werestirring; but now that the world was on the move she lay hidden likea hare in its form.And then the old char-a-banc clattered up to the door, and Adolphejumped out of it into his mother's arms. He was fatter and fairerthan she had last seen him, had a larger beard, was more fashionablyclothed, and certainly looked more like a man. Marie also saw himout of her little window, and she thought that he looked like a god.Was it probable, she said to herself, that one so godlike would stillcare for her?The mother was delighted with her son, who rattled away quite at hisease. He shook hands very cordially with the Capitaine--of whoseintended alliance with his own sweetheart he had been informed, andthen as he entered the house with his hand under his mother's arm, heasked one question about her. "And where is Marie?" said he."Marie! oh upstairs; you shall see her after breakfast," said La MereBauche. And so they entered the house, and went in to breakfastamong the guests. Everybody had heard something of the story, andthey were all on the alert to see the young man whose love or want oflove was considered to be of so much importance."You will see that it will be all right," said the Capitaine,carrying his head very high."I think so, I think so," said La Mere Bauche, who, now that theCapitaine was right, no longer desired to contradict him."I know that it will be all right," said the Capitaine. "I told youthat Adolphe would return a man; and he is a man. Look at him; hedoes not care this for Marie Clavert;" and the Capitaine, with mucheloquence in his motion, pitched over a neighbouring wall a smallstone which he held in his hand.And then they all went to breakfast with many signs of outward joy.And not without some inward joy; for Madame Bauche thought she sawthat her son was cured of his love. In the mean time Marie sat upstairs still afraid to show herself."He has come," said a young girl, a servant in the house, running upto the door of Marie's room."Yes," said Marie; "I could see that he has come.""And, oh, how beautiful he is!" said the girl, putting her handstogether and looking up to the ceiling. Marie in her heart of heartswished that he was not half so beautiful, as then her chance ofhaving him might be greater."And the company are all talking to him as though he were theprefet," said the girl."Never mind who is talking to him," said Marie; "go away, and leaveme--you are wanted for your work." Why before this was he nottalking to her? Why not, if he were really true to her? Alas, itbegan to fall upon her mind that he would be false! And what then?What should she do then? She sat still gloomily, thinking of thatother spouse that had been promised to her.As speedily after breakfast as was possible Adolphe was invited to aconference in his mother's private room. She had much debated in herown mind whether the Capitaine should be invited to this conferenceor no. For many reasons she would have wished to exclude him. Shedid not like to teach her son that she was unable to manage her ownaffairs, and she would have been well pleased to make the Capitaineunderstand that his assistance was not absolutely necessary to her.But then she had an inward fear that her green spectacles would notnow be as efficacious on Adolphe, as they had once been, in old days,before he had seen the world and become a man. It might be necessarythat her son, being a man, should be opposed by a man. So theCapitaine was invited to the conference.What took place there need not be described at length. The threewere closeted for two hours, at the end of which time they came forthtogether. The countenance of Madame Bauche was serene andcomfortable; her hopes of ultimate success ran higher than ever. Theface of the Capitaine was masked, as are always the faces of greatdiplomatists; he walked placid and upright, raising his wooden legwith an ease and skill that was absolutely marvellous. But poorAdolphe's brow was clouded. Yes, poor Adolphe! for he was poor inspirit, he had pledged himself to give up Marie, and to accept theliberal allowance which his mother tendered him; but it remained forhim now to communicate these tidings to Marie herself."Could not you tell her?" he had said to his mother, with very littleof that manliness in his face on which his mother now so pridedherself. But La Mere Bauche explained to him that it was a part ofthe general agreement that Marie was to hear his decision from hisown mouth."But you need not regard it," said the Capitaine, with the mostindifferent air in the world. "The girl expects it. Only she hassome childish idea that she is bound till you yourself release her.I don't think she will be troublesome." Adolphe at that moment didfeel that he should have liked to kick the Capitaine out of hismother's house.And where should the meeting take place? In the hall of the bath-house, suggested Madame Bauche; because, as she observed, they couldwalk round and round, and nobody ever went there at that time of day.But to this Adolphe objected; it would be so cold and dismal andmelancholy.The Capitaine thought that Mere Bauche's little parlour was theplace; but La Mere herself did not like this. They might beoverheard, as she well knew; and she guessed that the meeting wouldnot conclude without some sobs that would certainly be bitter andmight perhaps be loud."Send her up to the grotto, and I will follow her," said Adolphe. Onthis therefore they agreed. Now the grotto was a natural excavationin a high rock, which stood precipitously upright over theestablishment of the baths. A steep zigzag path with almost never-ending steps had been made along the face of the rock from a littleflower garden attached to the house which lay immediately under themountain. Close along the front of the hotel ran a little brawlingriver, leaving barely room for a road between it and the door; overthis there was a wooden bridge leading to the garden, and some two orthree hundred yards from the bridge began the steps by which theascent was made to the grotto.When the season was full and the weather perfectly warm the place wasmuch frequented. There was a green table in it, and four or fivedeal chairs; a green garden seat also was there, which however hadbeen removed into the innermost back corner of the excavation, as itshinder legs were somewhat at fault. A wall about two feet high ranalong the face of it, guarding its occupants from the precipice. Infact it was no grotto, but a little chasm in the rock, such as weoften see up above our heads in rocky valleys, and which by means ofthese steep steps had been turned into a source of exercise andamusement for the visitors at the hotel.Standing at the wall one could look down into the garden, and downalso upon the shining slate roof of Madame Bauche's house; and to theleft might be seen the sombre, silent, snow-capped top of stern oldCanigou, king of mountains among those Eastern Pyrenees.And so Madame Bauche undertook to send Marie up to the grotto, andAdolphe undertook to follow her thither. It was now spring; andthough the winds had fallen and the snow was no longer lying on thelower peaks, still the air was fresh and cold, and there was nodanger that any of the few guests at the establishment would visitthe place."Make her put on her cloak, Mere Bauche," said the Capitaine, who didnot wish that his bride should have a cold in her head on theirwedding-day. La Mere Bauche pished and pshawed, as though she werenot minded to pay any attention to recommendations on such subjectsfrom the Capitaine. But nevertheless when Marie was seen slowly tocreep across the little bridge about fifteen minutes after this time,she had a handkerchief on her head, and was closely wrapped in a darkbrown cloak.Poor Marie herself little heeded the cold fresh air, but she was gladto avail herself of any means by which she might hide her face. WhenMadame Bauche sought her out in her own little room, and with asmiling face and kind kiss bade her go to the grotto, she knew, orfancied that she knew that it was all over."He will tell you all the truth,--how it all is," said La Mere. "Wewill do all we can, you know, to make you happy, Marie. But you mustremember what Monsieur le Cure told us the other day. In this valeof tears we cannot have everything; as we shall have some day, whenour poor wicked souls have been purged of all their wickedness. Nowgo, dear, and take your cloak.""Yes, Maman.""And Adolphe will come to you. And try and behave well, like asensible girl.""Yes, Maman,"--and so she went, bearing on her brow anothersacrificial kiss--and bearing in her heart such an unutterable loadof woe!Adolphe had gone out of the house before her; but standing in thestable yard, well within the gate so that she should not see him, hewatched her slowly crossing the bridge and mounting the first flightof the steps. He had often seen her tripping up those stairs, andhad, almost as often, followed her with his quicker feet. And she,when she would hear him, would run; and then he would catch herbreathless at the top, and steal kisses from her when all power ofrefusing them had been robbed from her by her efforts at escape.There was no such running now, no such following, no thought of suchkisses.As for him, he would fain have skulked off and shirked the interviewhad he dared. But he did not dare; so he waited there, out of heart,for some ten minutes, speaking a word now and then to the bath-man,who was standing by, just to show that he was at his ease. But thebath-man knew that he was not at his ease. Such would-be lies asthose rarely achieve deception;--are rarely believed. And then, atthe end of the ten minutes, with steps as slow as Marie's had been,he also ascended to the grotto.Marie had watched him from the top, but so that she herself shouldnot be seen. He however had not once lifted up his head to look forher; but with eyes turned to the ground had plodded his way up to thecave. When he entered she was standing in the middle, with her eyesdowncast and her hands clasped before her. She had retired some wayfrom the wall, so that no eyes might possibly see her but those ofher false lover. There she stood when he entered, striving to standmotionless, but trembling like a leaf in every limb.It was only when he reached the top step that he made up his mind howhe would behave. Perhaps after all, the Capitaine was right; perhapsshe would not mind it."Marie," said he, with a voice that attempted to be cheerful; "thisis an odd place to meet in after such a long absence," and he heldout his hand to her. But only his hand! He offered her no salute.He did not even kiss her cheek as a brother would have done! Of therules of the outside world it must be remembered that poor Marie knewbut little. He had been a brother to her before he had become herlover.But Marie took his hand saying, "Yes, it has been very long.""And now that I have come back," he went on to say, "it seems that weare all in a confusion together. I never knew such a piece of work.However, it is all for the best, I suppose.""Perhaps so," said Marie, still trembling violently, and stilllooking upon the ground. And then there was silence between them fora minute or so."I tell you what it is, Marie," said Adolphe at last, dropping herhand and making a great effort to get through the work before him."I am afraid we two have been very foolish. Don't you think we havenow? It seems quite clear that we can never get ourselves married.Don't you see it in that light?"Marie's head turned round and round with her, but she was not of thefainting order. She took three steps backwards and leant against thewall of the cave. She also was trying to think how she might bestfight her battle. Was there no chance for her? Could no eloquence,no love prevail? On her own beauty she counted but little; but mightnot prayers do something, and a reference to those old vows which hadbeen so frequent, so eager, so solemnly pledged between them?"Never get ourselves married!" she said, repeating his words."Never, Adolphe? Can we never be married?""Upon my word, my dear girl, I fear not. You see my mother is sodead against it.""But we could wait; could we not?""Ah, but that's just it, Marie. We cannot wait. We must decidenow,--to-day. You see I can do nothing without money from her--andas for you, you see she won't even let you stay in the house unlessyou marry old Campan at once. He's a very good sort of fellowthough, old as he is. And if you do marry him, why you see you'llstay here, and have it all your own way in everything. As for me, Ishall come and see you all from time to time, and shall be able topush my way as I ought to do.""Then, Adolphe, you wish me to marry the Capitaine?""Upon my honour I think it is the best thing you can do; I doindeed.""Oh, Adolphe!""What can I do for you, you know? Suppose I was to go down to mymother and tell her that I had decided to keep you myself; what wouldcome of it? Look at it in that light, Marie.""She could not turn you out--you her own son!""But she would turn you out; and deuced quick, too, I can assure youof that; I can, upon my honour.""I should not care that," and she made a motion with her hand to showhow indifferent she would be to such treatment as regarded herself."Not that--; if I still had the promise of your love.""But what would you do?""I would work. There are other houses beside that one," and shepointed to the slate roof of the Bauche establishment."And for me--I should not have a penny in the world," said the youngman.She came up to him and took his right hand between both of hers andpressed it warmly, oh, so warmly. "You would have my love," saidshe; "my deepest, warmest best heart's love should want nothing more,nothing on earth, if I could still have yours." And she leanedagainst his shoulder and looked with all her eyes into his face."But, Marie, that's nonsense, you know.""No, Adolphe, it is not nonsense. Do not let them teach you so.What does love mean, if it does not mean that? Oh, Adolphe, you dolove me, you do love me, you do love me?""Yes;--I love you," he said slowly;--as though he would not have saidit, if he could have helped it. And then his arm crept slowly roundher waist, as though in that also he could not help himself."And do not I love you?" said the passionate girl. "Oh, I do, sodearly; with all my heart, with all my soul. Adolphe, I so love you,that I cannot give you up. Have I not sworn to be yours; sworn,sworn a thousand times? How can I marry that man! Oh Adolphe howcan you wish that I should marry him?" And she clung to him, andlooked at him, and besought him with her eyes."I shouldn't wish it;--only--" and then he paused. It was hard totell her that he was willing to sacrifice her to the old man becausehe wanted money from his mother."Only what! But Adolphe, do not wish it at all! Have you not swornthat I should be your wife? Look here, look at this;" and shebrought out from her bosom a little charm that he had given her inreturn for that cross. "Did you not kiss that when you swore beforethe figure of the Virgin that I should be your wife? And do you notremember that I feared to swear too, because your mother was soangry; and then you made me? After that, Adolphe! Oh, Adolphe!Tell me that I may have some hope. I will wait; oh, I will wait sopatiently."He turned himself away from her and walked backwards and forwardsuneasily through the grotto. He did love her;--love her as such mendo love sweet, pretty girls. The warmth of her hand, the affectionof her touch, the pure bright passion of her tear-laden eye had re-awakened what power of love there was within him. But what was he todo? Even if he were willing to give up the immediate golden hopeswhich his mother held out to him, how was he to begin, and then howcarry out this work of self-devotion? Marie would be turned away,and he would be left a victim in the hands of his mother, and of thatstiff, wooden-legged militaire;--a penniless victim, left to mopeabout the place without a grain of influence or a morsel of pleasure."But what can we do?" he exclaimed again, as he once more met Marie'ssearching eye."We can be true and honest, and we can wait," she said, coming closeup to him and taking hold of his arm. "I do not fear it; and she isnot my mother, Adolphe. You need not fear your own mother.""Fear! no, of course I don't fear. But I don't see how the verydevil we can manage it.""Will you let me tell her that I will not marry the Capitaine; that Iwill not give up your promises; and then I am ready to leave thehouse?""It would do no good.""It would do every good, Adolphe, if I had your promised word oncemore; if I could hear from your own voice one more tone of love. Doyou not remember this place? It was here that you forced me to saythat I loved you. It is here also that you will tell me that I havebeen deceived.""It is not I that would deceive you," he said. "I wonder that youshould be so hard upon me. God knows that I have trouble enough.""Well, if I am a trouble to you, be it so. Be it as you wish," andshe leaned back against the wall of the rock, and crossing her armsupon her breast looked away from him and fixed her eyes upon thesharp granite peaks of Canigou.He again betook himself to walk backwards and forwards through thecave. He had quite enough of love for her to make him wish to marryher; quite enough now, at this moment, to make the idea of hermarriage with the Capitaine very distasteful to him; enough probablyto make him become a decently good husband to her, should fate enablehim to marry her; but not enough to enable him to support all thepunishment which would be the sure effects of his mother'sdispleasure. Besides, he had promised his mother that he would giveup Marie;--had entirely given in his adhesion to that plan of themarriage with the Capitaine. He had owned that the path of life asmarked out for him by his mother was the one which it behoved him, asa man, to follow. It was this view of his duties as a man which hadI been specially urged on him with all the Capitaine's eloquence.And old Campan had entirely succeeded. It is so easy to get theassent of such young men, so weak in mind and so weak in pocket, whenthe arguments are backed by a promise of two thousand francs a year."I'll tell you what I'll do," at last he said. "I'll get my motherby herself, and will ask her to let the matter remain as it is forthe present.""Not if it be a trouble, M. Adolphe;" and the proud girl still heldher hands upon her bosom, and still looked towards the mountain."You know what I mean, Marie. You can understand how she and theCapitaine are worrying me.""But tell me, Adolphe, do you love me?""You know I love you, only.""And you will not give me up?""I will ask my mother. I will try and make her yield."Marie could not feel that she received much confidence from herlover's promise; but still, even that, weak and unsteady as it was,even that was better than absolute fixed rejection. So she thankedhim, promised him with tears in her eyes that she would always,always be faithful to him, and then bade him go down to the house.She would follow, she said, as soon as his passing had ceased to beobserved.Then she looked at him as though she expected some sign of renewedlove. But no such sign was vouchsafed to her. Now that she thirstedfor the touch of his lip upon her check, it was denied to her. Hedid as she bade him; he went down, slowly loitering, by himself; andin about half an hour she followed him, and unobserved crept to herchamber.Again we will pass over what took place between the mother and theson; but late in that evening, after the guests had gone to bed,Marie received a message, desiring her to wait on Madame Bauche in asmall salon which looked out from one end of the house. It wasintended as a private sitting-room should any special stranger arrivewho required such accommodation, and therefore was but seldom used.Here she found La Mere Bauche sitting in an arm-chair behind a smalltable on which stood two candles; and on a sofa against the wall satAdolphe. The Capitaine was not in the room."Shut the door, Marie, and come in and sit down," said Madame Bauche.It was easy to understand from the tone of her voice that she wasangry and stern, in an unbending mood, and resolved to carry out tothe very letter all the threats conveyed by those terriblespectacles.Marie did as she was bid. She closed the door and sat down on thechair that was nearest to her."Marie," said La Mere Bauche--and the voice sounded fierce in thepoor girl's ears, and an angry fire glimmered through the greenglasses--"what is all this about that I hear? Do you dare to saythat you hold my son bound to marry you?" And then the august motherpaused for an answer.But Marie had no answer to give. See looked suppliantly towards herlover, as though beseeching him to carry on the fight for her. Butif she could not do battle for herself, certainly he could not do itfor her. What little amount of fighting he had had in him, had beenthoroughly vanquished before her arrival."I will have an answer, and that immediately," said Madame Bauche."I am not going to be betrayed into ignominy and disgrace by theobject of my own charity. Who picked you out of the gutter, miss,and brought you up and fed you, when you would otherwise have gone tothe foundling? And this is your gratitude for it all? You are notsatisfied with being fed and clothed and cherished by me, but youmust rob me of my son! Know this then, Adolphe shall never marry achild of charity such as you are."Marie sat still, stunned by the harshness of these words. La MereBauche had often scolded her; indeed, she was given to much scolding;but she had scolded her as a mother may scold a child. And when thisstory of Marie's love first reached her ears, she had been veryangry; but her anger had never brought her to such a pass as this.Indeed, Marie had not hitherto been taught to look at the matter inthis light. No one had heretofore twitted her with eating the breadof charity. It had not occurred to her that on this account she wasunfit to be Adolphe's wife. There, in that valley, they were all sonearly equal, that no idea of her own inferiority had ever presseditself upon her mind. But now--!When the voice ceased she again looked at him; but it was no longer abeseeching look. Did he also altogether scorn her? That was now theinquiry which her eyes were called upon to make. No; she could notsay that he did. It seemed to her that his energies were chieflyoccupied in pulling to pieces the tassel on the sofa cushion."And now, miss, let me know at once whether this nonsense is to beover or not," continued La Mere Bauche; "and I will tell you at once,I am not going to maintain you here, in my house, to plot against ourwelfare and happiness. As Marie Clavert you shall not stay here.Capitaine Campan is willing to marry you; and as his wife I will keepmy word to you, though you little deserve it. If you refuse to marryhim, you must go. As to my son, he is there; and he will tell younow, in my presence, that he altogether declines the honour youpropose for him."And then she ceased, waiting for an answer, drumming the table with awafer stamp which happened to be ready to her hand; but Marie saidnothing. Adolphe had been appealed to; but Adolphe had not yetspoken."Well, miss?" said La Mere BaucheThen Marie rose from her seat, and walking round she touched Adolphelightly on the shoulder. "Adolphe," she said, "it is for you tospeak now. I will do as you bid me."He gave a long sigh, looked first at Marie and then at his mother,shook himself slightly, and then spoke: "Upon my word, Marie, Ithink mother is right. It would never do for us to marry; it wouldnot indeed.""Then it is decided," said Marie, returning to her chair."And you will marry the Capitaine?" said La Mere Bauche.Marie merely bowed her head in token of acquiescence. "Then we arefriends again. Come here, Marie, and kiss me. You must know that itis my duty to take care of my own son. But I don't want to be angrywith you if I can help it; I don't indeed. When once you are MadameCampan, you shall be my own child; and you shall have any room in thehouse you like to choose--there!" And she once more imprinted a kisson Marie's cold forehead.How they all got out of the room, and off to their own chambers, Ican hardly tell. But in five minutes from the time of this last kissthey were divided. La Mere Bauche had patted Marie, and smiled onher, and called her her dear good little Madame Campan, her younglittle Mistress of the Hotel Bauche; and had then got herself intoher own room, satisfied with her own victory.Nor must my readers be too severe on Madame Bauche. She had alreadydone much for Marie Clavert; and when she found herself once more byher own bedside, she prayed to be forgiven for the cruelty which shefelt that she had shown to the orphan. But in making this prayer,with her favourite crucifix in her hand and the little image of theVirgin before her, she pleaded her duty to her son. Was it notright, she asked the Virgin, that she should save her son from a badmarriage? And then she promised ever so much of recompense, both tothe Virgin and to Marie; a new trousseau for each, with candles tothe Virgin, with a gold watch and chain for Marie, as soon as sheshould be Marie Campan. She had been cruel; she acknowledged it.But at such a crisis was it not defensible? And then the recompenseshould be so full!But there was one other meeting that night, very short indeed, butnot the less significant. Not long after they had all separated,just so long as to allow of the house being quiet, Adolphe, stillsitting in his room, meditating on what the day had done for him,heard a low tap at his door. "Come in," he said, as men always dosay; and Marie opening the door, stood just within the verge of hischamber. She had on her countenance neither the soft look ofentreating love which she had worn up there in the grotto, nor didshe appear crushed and subdued as she had done before his mother.She carried her head somewhat more erect than usual, and lookedboldly out at him from under her soft eyelashes. There might stillbe love there, but it was love proudly resolving to quell itself.Adolphe, as he looked at her, felt that he was afraid of her."It is all over then between us, M. Adolphe?" she said."Well, yes. Don't you think it had better be so, eh, Marie?""And this is the meaning of oaths and vows, sworn to each other sosacredly?""But, Marie, you heard what my mother said.""Oh, sir! I have not come to ask you again to love me. Oh no! I amnot thinking of that. But this, this would be a lie if I kept itnow; it would choke me if I wore it as that man's wife. Take itback;" and she tendered to him the little charm which she had alwaysworn round her neck since he had given it to her. He took itabstractedly, without thinking what he did, and placed it on hisdressing-table."And you," she continued, "can you still keep that cross? Oh, no!you must give me back that. It would remind you too often of vowsthat were untrue.""Marie," he said, "do not be so harsh to me.""Harsh!" said she, "no; there has been enough of harshness. I wouldnot be harsh to you, Adolphe. But give me the cross; it would provea curse to you if you kept it."He then opened a little box which stood upon the table, and takingout the cross gave it to her."And now good-bye," she said. "We shall have but little more to sayto each other. I know this now, that I was wrong ever to have lovedyou. I should have been to you as one of the other poor girls in thehouse. But, oh! how was I to help it?" To this he made no answer,and she, closing the door softly, went back to her chamber. And thusended the first day of Adolphe Bauche's return to his own house.On the next morning the Capitaine and Marie were formally betrothed.This was done with some little ceremony, in the presence of all theguests who were staying at the establishment, and with all manner ofgracious acknowledgments of Marie's virtues. It seemed as though LaMere Bauche could not be courteous enough to her. There was no moretalk of her being a child of charity; no more allusion now to thegutter. La Mere Bauche with her own hand brought her cake with aglass of wine after her betrothal was over, and patted her on thecheek, and called her her dear little Marie Campan. And then theCapitaine was made up of infinite politeness, and the guests allwished her joy, and the servants of the house began to perceive thatshe was a person entitled to respect. How different was all thisfrom that harsh attack that was made on her the preceding evening!Only Adolphe,--he alone kept aloof. Though he was present there hesaid nothing. He, and he only, offered no congratulations.In the midst of all these gala doings Marie herself said little ornothing. La Mere Bauche perceived this, but she forgave it. Angrilyas she had expressed herself at the idea of Marie's daring to loveher son, she had still acknowledged within her own heart that suchlove had been natural. She could feel no pity for Marie as long asAdolphe was in danger; but now she knew how to pity her. So Mariewas still petted and still encouraged, though she went through theday's work sullenly and in silence.As to the Capitaine it was all one to him. He was a man of theworld. He did not expect that he should really be preferred, conamore, to a young fellow like Adolphe. But he did expect that Marie,like other girls, would do as she was bid; and that in a few days shewould regain her temper and be reconciled to her life.And then the marriage was fixed for a very early day; for as La Meresaid, "What was the use of waiting? All their minds were made upnow, and therefore the sooner the two were married the better. Didnot the Capitaine think so?"The Capitaine said that he did think so.And then Marie was asked. It was all one to her, she said. WhateverMaman Bauche liked, that she would do; only she would not name a dayherself. Indeed she would neither do nor say anything herself whichtended in any way to a furtherance of these matrimonials. But thenshe acquiesced, quietly enough if not readily, in what other peopledid and said; and so the marriage was fixed for the day week afterAdolphe's return.The whole of that week passed much in the same way. The servantsabout the place spoke among themselves of Marie's perverseness,obstinacy, and ingratitude, because she would not look pleased, oranswer Madame Bauche's courtesies with gratitude; but La Mere herselfshowed no signs of anger. Marie had yielded to her, and she requiredno more. And she remembered also the harsh words she had used togain her purpose; and she reflected on all that Marie had lost. Onthese accounts she was forbearing and exacted nothing--nothing butthat one sacrifice which was to be made in accordance to her wishes.And it was made. They were married in the great salon, the dining-room, immediately after breakfast. Madame Bauche was dressed in anew puce silk dress, and looked very magnificent on the occasion.She simpered and smiled, and looked gay even in spite of herspectacles; and as the ceremony was being performed, she held fastclutched in her hand the gold watch and chain which were intended forMarie as soon as ever the marriage should be completed.The Capitaine was dressed exactly as usual, only that all his clotheswere new. Madame Bauche had endeavoured to persuade him to wear ablue coat; but he answered that such a change would not, he was sure,be to Marie's taste. To tell the truth, Marie would hardly haveknown the difference had he presented himself in scarlet vestments.Adolphe, however, was dressed very finely, but he did not makehimself prominent on the occasion. Marie watched him closely, thoughnone saw that she did so; and of his garments she could have given anaccount with much accuracy--of his garments, ay! and of every look."Is he a man," she said at last to herself, "that he can stand by andsee all this?"She too was dressed in silk. They had put on her what they pleased,and she bore the burden of her wedding finery without complaint andwithout pride. There was no blush on her face as she walked up tothe table at which the priest stood, nor hesitation in her low voiceas she made the necessary answers. She put her hand into that of theCapitaine when required to do so; and when the ring was put on herfinger she shuddered, but ever so slightly. No one observed it butLa Mere Bauche. "In one week she will be used to it, and then weshall all be happy," said La Mere to herself. "And I,--I will be sokind to her!"And so the marriage was completed, and the watch was at once given toMarie. "Thank you, Maman," said she, as the trinket was fastened toher girdle. Had it been a pincushion that had cost three sous, itwould have affected her as much.And then there was cake and wine and sweetmeats; and after a fewminutes Marie disappeared. For an hour or so the Capitaine was takenup with the congratulating of his friends, and with the effortsnecessary to the wearing of his new honours with an air of ease; butafter that time he began to be uneasy because his wife did not cometo him. At two or three in the afternoon he went to La Mere Baucheto complain. "This lackadaisical nonsense is no good," he said. "Atany rate it is too late now. Marie had better come down among us andshow herself satisfied with her husband."But Madame Bauche took Marie's part. "You must not be too hard onMarie," she said. "She has gone through a good deal this week past,and is very young; whereas, Capitaine, you are not very young."The Capitaine merely shrugged his shoulders. In the mean time MereBauche went up to visit her protge in her own room, and came downwith a report that she was suffering from a headache. She could notappear at dinner, Madame Bauche said; but would make one at thelittle party which was to be given in the evening. With this theCapitaine was forced to be content.The dinner therefore went on quietly without her, much as it did onother ordinary days. And then there was a little time for vacancy,during which the gentlemen drank their coffee and smoked their cigarsat the cafe, talking over the event that had taken place thatmorning, and the ladies brushed their hair and added some ribbon orsome brooch to their usual apparel. Twice during this time didMadame Bauche go up to Marie's room with offers to assist her. "Notyet, Maman; not quite yet," said Marie piteously through her tears,and then twice did the green spectacles leave the room, covering eyeswhich also were not dry. Ah! what had she done? What had she daredto take upon herself to do? She could not undo it now.And then it became quite dark in the passages and out of doors, andthe guests assembled in the salon. La Mere came in and out three orfour times, uneasy in her gait and unpleasant in her aspect, andeverybody began to see that things were wrong. "She is ill, I amafraid," said one. "The excitement has been too much," said asecond; "and he is so old," whispered a third. And the Capitainestalked about erect on his wooden leg, taking snuff, and striving tolook indifferent; but he also was uneasy in his mind.Presently La Mere came in again, with a quicker step than before, andwhispered something, first to Adolphe and then to the Capitaine,whereupon they both followed her out of the room."Not in her chamber," said Adolphe."Then she must be in yours," said the Capitaine."She is in neither," said La Mere Bauche, with her sternest voice;"nor is she in the house!"And now there was no longer an affectation of indifference on thepart of any of them. They were anything but indifferent. TheCapitaine was eager in his demands that the matter should still bekept secret from the guests. She had always been romantic, he said,and had now gone out to walk by the river side. They three and theold bath-man would go out and look for her."But it is pitch dark," said La Mere Bauche."We will take lanterns," said the Capitaine. And so they salliedforth with creeping steps over the gravel, so that they might not beheard by those within, and proceeded to search for the young wife."Marie! Marie!" said La Mere Bauche, in piteous accents; "do come tome; pray do!""Hush!" said the Capitaine. "They'll hear you if you call." Hecould not endure that the world should learn that a marriage with himhad been so distasteful to Marie Clavert."Marie, dear Marie!" called Madame Bauche, louder than before, quiteregardless of the Capitaine' s feelings; but no Marie answered. Inher innermost heart now did La Mere Bauche wish that this cruelmarriage had been left undone.Adolphe was foremost with his lamp, but he hardly dared to look inthe spot where he felt that it was most likely that she should havetaken refuge. How could he meet her again, alone, in that grotto?Yet he alone of the four was young. It was clearly for him toascend. "Marie," he shouted, "are you there?" as he slowly began thelong ascent of the steps.But he had hardly begun to mount when a whirring sound struck hisear, and he felt that the air near him was moved; and then there wasa crash upon the lower platform of rock, and a moan, repeated twice,but so faintly, and a rustle of silk, and a slight struggle somewhereas he knew within twenty paces of him; and then all was again quietand still in the night air."What was that?" asked the Capitaine in a hoarse voice. He made hisway half across the little garden, and he also was within forty orfifty yards of the flat rock. But Adolphe was unable to answer him.He had fainted and the lamp had fallen from his hands and rolled tothe bottom of the steps.But the Capitaine, though even his heart was all but quenched withinhim, had still strength enough to make his way up to the rock; andthere, holding the lantern above his eyes, he saw all that was leftfor him to see of his bride.As for La Mere Bauche, she never again sat at the head of thattable,--never again dictated to guests,--never again laid down lawsfor the management of any one. A poor bedridden old woman, she laythere in her house at Vernet for some seven tedious years, and thenwas gathered to her fathers.As for the Capitaine--but what matters? He was made of sternerstuff. What matters either the fate of such a one as Adolphe Bauche?

　　THE END.* * * * * * * * * * * *