Part 19 (1/2)
Madame Michaud was not really afraid of Genevieve Niseron, but for the last three days she was in mortal terror of some disaster from the peasantry.
”How did you discover this?” said the countess.
”From everything and from nothing,” replied Olympe. ”The poor little thing moves with the slowness of a tortoise when she is obliged to obey me, but she runs like a lizard when Justin asks for anything, she trembles like a leaf at the sound of his voice; and her face is that of a saint ascending to heaven when she looks at him. But she knows nothing about love; she has no idea that she loves him.”
”Poor child!” said the countess with a smile and tone that were full of naivete.
”And so,” continued Madame Michaud, answering with a smile the smile of her late mistress, ”Genevieve is gloomy when Justin is out of the house; if I ask her what she is thinking of she replies that she is afraid of Monsieur Rigou, or some such nonsense. She thinks people envy her, though she is as black as the inside of a chimney. When Justin is patrolling the woods at night the child is as anxious as I am. If I open my window to listen for the trot of his horse, I see a light in her room, which shows me that La Pechina (as they call here) is watching and waiting too. She never goes to bed, any more than I do, till he comes in.”
”Thirteen!” exclaimed the countess; ”unfortunate child!”
”Unfortunate? no. This pa.s.sion will save her.”
”From what?” asked Madame de Montcornet.
”From the fate which overtakes nearly all the girls of her age in these parts. Since I have taught her cleanliness she is much less ugly than she was; in fact, there is something odd and wild about her which attracts men. She is so changed that you would hardly recognize her. The son of that infamous innkeeper of the Grand-I-Vert, Nicolas, the worst fellow in the whole district, wants her; he hunts her like game. Though I can't believe that Monsieur Rigou, who changes his servant-girls every year or two is persecuting such a little fright, it is quite certain that Nicolas Tonsard is. Justin told me so. It would be a dreadful fate, for the people of this valley actually live like beasts; but Justin and our two servants and I watch her carefully. Therefore don't be uneasy, madame; she never goes out alone except in broad daylight, and then only as far as the gate of Conches. If by chance she fell into an ambush, her feeling for Justin would give her strength and wit to escape; for all women who have a preference in their hearts can resist a man they hate.”
”It was about her that I came,” said the countess, ”and I little thought my visit could be so useful to you. That child, you know, can't remain thirteen; and she will probably grow better-looking.”
”Oh, madame,” replied Olympe, smiling, ”I am quite sure of Justin. What a man! what a heart!--If you only knew what a depth of grat.i.tude he feels for his general, to whom, he says, he owes his happiness. He is only too devoted; he would risk his life for him here, as he would on the field of battle, and he forgets sometimes that he will one day be father of a family.”
”Ah! I once regretted losing you,” said the countess, with a glance that made Olympe blush; ”but I regret it no longer, for I see you happy. What a sublime and n.o.ble thing is married love!” she added, speaking out the thought she had not dared express before the abbe.
Virginie de Troisville dropped into a revery, and Madame Michaud kept silence.
”Well, at least the girl is honest, is she not?” said the countess, as if waking from a dream.
”As honest as I am myself, madame.”
”Discreet?”
”As the grave.”
”Grateful?”
”Ah! madame; she has moments of humility and gentleness towards me which seem to show an angelic nature. She will kiss my hands and say the most upsetting things. 'Can we die of love?' she asked me yesterday. 'Why do you ask me that?' I said. 'I want to know if love is a disease.'”
”Did she really say that?”
”If I could remember her exact words I would tell you a great deal more,” replied Olympe; ”she appears to know much more than I do.”
”Do you think, my dear, that she could take your place in my service. I can't do without an Olympe,” said the countess, smiling in a rather sad way.
”Not yet, madame,--she is too young; but in two years' time, yes. If it becomes necessary that she should go away from here I will let you know. She ought to be educated, and she knows nothing of the world.
Her grandfather, Pere Niseron, is a man who would let his throat be cut sooner than tell a lie; he would die of hunger in a baker's shop; he has the strength of his opinions, and the girl was brought up to all such principles. La Pechina would consider herself your equal; for the old man has made her, as he says, a republican,--just as Pere Fourchon has made Mouche a bohemian. As for me, I laugh at such ideas, but you might be displeased. She would revere you as her benefactress, but never as her superior. It can't be otherwise; she is wild and free like the swallows--her mother's blood counts for a good deal in what she is.”
”Who was her mother?”
”Doesn't madame know the story?” said Olympe. ”Well, the son of the old s.e.xton at Blangy, a splendid fellow, so the people about here tell me, was drafted at the great conscription. In 1809 young Niseron was still only an artilleryman, in a corps d'armee stationed in Illyria and Dalmatia when it received sudden orders to advance through Hungary and cut off the retreat of the Austrian army in case the Emperor won the battle of Wagram. Michaud told me all about Dalmatia, for he was there.