Part 15 (1/2)
”Precisely!”
”Very well, then, and what about me, my dear fellow? Do you think I am marriageable, then? Can you imagine me with my wretched fifteen hundred a year endeavouring to make Bijou happy? Yes, can you just imagine it now?--a house at a hundred a year or so--petroleum lamps, c.o.ke fires, etc.--that _would_ be delicious.”
”And yet you are in love with her?”
”Excuse me, I did not say that I was in love with Bijou. I don't really know; all I can say is, that she has taken my fancy tremendously, and that, as I simply cannot marry her, I am wretchedly unhappy.”
”And you don't think she cares for you?”
”Not the least bit in the world! She has never tried even to deceive me on that point. 'Good-morning! Good-night! What a fine day it is.'--that's the sort of palpitating dialogue which goes on every day between us. You see, therefore, that you have no reason to have a spite against me?”
”I beg your pardon, Jean, my dear fellow, but I firmly believed that you were the great favourite.”
M. de Rueille broke off suddenly, and appeared to be straining his ears.
”Ah!” he said, ”there she is!”
Bijou was just coming out of the stable, followed, of course, by Pierrot.
She tripped daintily across towards the two men, examining them in her calm, smiling way.
”Whatever's the matter with you both?” she asked; ”you look--I don't know how!”
V.
BIJOU was in the dining-room, arranging the flowers on the table for dinner, whilst in the butler's pantry the servants were polis.h.i.+ng up the large silver dishes until they shone brilliantly.
”Get into your coat!” said the butler to the footman; ”there's a carriage coming slowly up the avenue. Oh, you've got plenty of time, it isn't here yet.”
”Whose carriage is it?” said the footman, looking through the window.
”I don't know it; it's a fine-looking turn-out, anyhow. It might very well be the owner of The Noriniere.”
”My goodness! it's a clinking turn-out.”
”Oh, he can afford it.”
”He's got some money, then?”
”Why, yes, an awful lot; he's got about sixteen thousand a year.”
”Do you know him, then?”
”My wife was kitchen-maid at his place before I married her--a good master he is, always pleasant, and not at all near--you'd better start now if you want to get to the steps before he's there.”
A minute before, Bijou, finding that she was short of flowers, had run out into the garden, and, springing across the path, had pushed her way into the middle of a rose-bed, and was now cutting away mercilessly. She was so absorbed that she did not hear the carriage, which was coming up the drive, and which went round the lawn, and pulled up in front of the stone steps. When at last she did happen to look up, she saw, a few steps away from her, a tall gentleman standing gazing at her with a most rapturous expression.
The fact was that Bijou, in her cotton dress, with wide pink stripes, and her little ap.r.o.n trimmed with Valenciennes, was really very pretty to look at, foraging about amongst the flowers.