Part 42 (1/2)
Jacques, having taken his leave of the gardener, cast a last glance at the house and walked sadly away from the village. A thousand plans pa.s.sed through his mind; he thought of going to Paris to look for Adeline; he thought of speaking to his brother, reproaching him for his evil conduct, and making him ashamed of the dest.i.tution in which he had left his wife; with his mind filled with such thoughts as these, he arrived at the farm. His friends there questioned him; they grieved with him, but still they hoped that Madame Murville would come to see them.
Sans-Souci shared that hope; he encouraged his comrade, and urged him to wait a few days before taking any steps.
Jacques's patience was beginning to be exhausted; he was on the point of leaving the farm and going to Paris, when one morning the joyous outcry of the children announced some good news. It was Adeline, who appeared at the farm with her little Ermance.
Everybody ran to meet her; they surrounded her, pressed against her, embraced her, and manifested the most sincere joy. Adeline, deeply moved by the attachment of the peasants, found that she could still feel a sensation of pleasure.
”Ah!” she said to them, ”I have not lost all, since I still have sincere friends.”
Jacques did not know what he was doing; he seized Adeline's hands, kissed them, swore, cried, stamped, and turned away to hide his tears.
Sans-Souci, overjoyed by Adeline's return, and by the pleasure which his comrade felt, leaped and gamboled about among the hens and the ducks, and played with all the children; which he did only in moments of good humor.
”My friends,” said Adeline to the people of the farm, as they crowded about her, ”I am no longer what I was; unfortunate events have deprived me of my fortune, and I have nothing now but courage to endure this reverse, and my conscience, which tells me that I did not deserve it. I must work now, to earn my living and to bring up my child; you made me welcome when I was rich; you will not turn me away now that I am poor; and I come to you confidently, to beg you to give me work. Oh! do not refuse me! On no other terms will I consent to remain here.”
While Adeline was speaking, profound emotion was depicted on the features of those who surrounded her; Louise could not restrain her tears; Guillot, with wide-open mouth and eyes fastened upon Madame Murville, heaved profound sighs every moment, and Sans-Souci twisted his moustaches and pa.s.sed his hand over his eyes.
But Jacques, more deeply moved, more touched than they, at sight of the resignation of a lovely woman, who came to bury herself in a farm-house, renouncing all the pleasures of the capital and all the customs of aristocratic society, without uttering a word of reproach against the man who was responsible for her misfortunes,--honest Jacques could not restrain himself; he pushed away Louise and Guillot, who stood beside Adeline, and, shaking the young woman's arm violently, as she gazed at him in amazement:
”No, sacrebleu!” he cried; ”you shall not work, you shall not risk your health, you shall not roughen that soft skin by labor beyond your strength; I will take it upon myself to look after the support of you and your child. I will take care of you, I will watch over you both; and morbleu! so long as there is a drop of blood in my veins, I shall find a way to do my duty.”
”What do you say, Jacques? your duty?”
”Yes, madame, yes, my duty; my brother has ruined your life, and the least that I can do will be to devote my life to you, and to try to repair his villainy.”
”Is it possible? You are----”
”Jacques Murville, the boy who began his travels at fifteen, giving way to quick pa.s.sions, and to his desire to see the world; and I confess, between ourselves, groaning in secret at his mother's coldness, and jealous of the caresses which were lavished upon his brother and unjustly denied to him. But none the less I possessed a heart, sensitive in the matter of honor, from which I have never departed, even in the midst of my youthful follies.--That is my story; embrace me; I feel that I am worthy of your affection, and you can bestow it upon me without blus.h.i.+ng.”
Adeline embraced Jacques warmly; she felt the keenest joy in meeting her husband's brother, and the peasants exclaimed aloud in surprise, while Sans-Souci shouted at the top of his lungs as he rubbed his hands:
”I knew it! I knew it! but my comrade closed my mouth and I wouldn't have said a word for all of the great Sultan's pipes!”
”But why conceal from me so long the bond that unites us?” Adeline asked Jacques; ”did you doubt it would please me to embrace my husband's brother?”
”No,” replied Jacques, somewhat embarra.s.sed, ”no; but I wanted first of all to know you better; people sometimes blush for their relations.”
”Ah! my friend, when a man wears this symbol of honor, can he conceive such fears?”
”Ten thousand bombs! that's what I have been killing myself telling him every day,” said Sans-Souci; ”but he is a little pig-headed, is my friend; when he gets a thing into his head, he won't let it go again.”
”You have found me now that I can be useful to you; that is all that is necessary. Let us embrace again, and look upon me as your brother, as the father of this poor child; since he who ought to cherish her, and to adore you, has not a heart like other men; since he is unworthy to--Well, well! you want me to hold my tongue; you love him still, I see. Well! I am done; we won't talk about him any more, and we will try to forget him.”
”Oh! if he had seen you,” said Adeline; ”if he had found his brother, perhaps your advice----”
”If he had seen me!--But I must let that drop.--Let us forget an ingrate, who is not worthy of a single one of the tears you shed for him.”
”Yes, yes, let's be merry and joyful,” said Guillot; ”morgue! we mustn't be groaning all the time; that makes a body stupid as a fool. Let's sit down at the table, and to-night Brother Jacques will tell us about one of his battles, to amuse us. That's amusing, I tell you! When I have been listening to him, I dream about battles all night long, I take my wife's rump for a battery of artillery, and her legs for a battalion of infantry; and I think I hear the cannon.”