Part 19 (1/2)
”Do you love that monk?”
”Certainly--just as one loves all that is good and just. I know the generous actions of Brother St. Ernest-Martyr. You, yourself, only a few days ago, told me a very touching deed done by him.”
”Do you constantly think of the monk?”
”Constantly, no. But this very evening I was saying to mother that I was astonished I thought so frequently of him.”
”Hena, suppose our parents thought of marrying you, and that the young monk, instead of being a clergyman, was free, could become your husband and loved you--would you wed him?”
”What a crazy supposition!”
”Let us suppose all I have said--that he is not a monk and loves you; if our parents gave their consent to the marriage, would you accept that man for your husband?”
”Dear brother, you are putting questions to me--”
”You would wed him with joy,” Herve broke in with hollow voice, fixing upon his sister a jealous and enraged eye that escaped her, seeing the embroidery on which she was engaged helped her conceal the embarra.s.sment that the singular interrogatory to which she was being subjected threw her into. Nevertheless, the girl's natural frankness regained the upper hand, and without raising her eyes to her brother, Hena answered:
”Why should I not consent to wed an honorable man, if our parents approved the marriage?”
”Accordingly, you love the monk! Yes, you love him pa.s.sionately! The thought of him obsesses you. Your grief and the sorrow that day before yesterday you felt when he was carried wounded into the house, the tears I surprised in your eyes--all these are so many symptoms of your love for him!”
”Herve, I know not why, but your words alarm me, they disconcert me, they freeze my heart, they make me feel like weeping. I did not feel that way this evening when I conversed with mother about Brother St.
Ernest-Martyr. Besides, your face looks gloomy, almost enraged.”
”I hate that monk to death!”
”My G.o.d! What has he done to you?”
”What has he done to me?” repeated Herve. ”You love him! That is his crime!”
”Brother!” cried Hena, rising from her work to throw herself on the neck of her brother and holding him in a tight embrace. ”Utter not such words! You make me wretched!”
Convulsed with despair, Herve pressed his sister pa.s.sionately to his breast and covered her forehead and hair with kisses, while Hena, innocently responding to his caresses, whispered with gentle emotion:
”Good brother, you are no longer angry, are you? If you only knew my alarm at seeing you look so wicked!”
A heavy knock resounded at the street door, followed immediately by the sonorous and merry voice of the Franc-Taupin singing his favorite song:
”A Franc-Taupin had an ash-tree bow, All eaten with worms, and all knotted its cord; _Derideron, vignette on vignon!! Derideron!_”
A tremor ran through Herve. Quickly recalling himself, he ran to the cas.e.m.e.nt, opened it, and leaning forward, cried out: ”Good evening, uncle!”
”Dear nephew, I am back from St. Denis. I did not wish to return to Paris without telling you all good-day!”
”Oh, dear uncle, a great misfortune has happened! La Catelle is dying.
She sent for mother, who left at once. I could not accompany her, being obliged to remain here with Hena in father's absence. We feel uneasy at the thought that mother may have to come back all alone on this dark night.”
”All alone! By the bowels of St. Quenet, of what earthly use am I, if not to protect my sister!” replied Josephin. ”I shall start on a run to La Catelle's, and see your mother home. Be not uneasy, my lad. When I return I shall embrace you and your sister, if you are not yet in bed.”
The Franc-Taupin hastened away. Herve shut the window, and returned in a state of great excitement to Hena, who inquired: