Part 45 (1/2)

Even as the flowers, sprung perhaps from Francine, had sprouted on her tomb the sap of youth stirred in the heart of Jacques, in which the remembrance of the old love awoke new aspirations for new ones. Besides Jacques belonged to the race of artists and poets who make pa.s.sion an instrument of art and poetry, and whose mind only shows activity in proportion as it is set in motion by the motive powers of the heart.

With Jacques invention was really the daughter of sentiment, and he put something of himself into the smallest things he did. He perceived that souvenirs no longer sufficed him, and that, like the millstone which wears itself away when corn runs short, his heart was wearing away for want of emotion. Work had no longer any charm for him, his power of invention, of yore feverish and spontaneous, now only awoke after much patient effort. Jacques was discontented, and almost envied the life of his old friends, the Water Drinkers.

He sought to divert himself, held out his hand to pleasure, and made fresh acquaintances. He a.s.sociated with the poet Rodolphe, whom he had met at a cafe, and each felt a warm sympathy towards the other. Jacques explained his worries, and Rodolphe was not long in understanding their cause.

”My friend,” said he, ”I know what it is,” and tapping him on the chest just over the heart he added, ”Quick, you must rekindle the fire there, start a little love affair at once, and ideas will recur to you.”

”Ah!” said Jacques. ”I loved Francine too dearly.”

”It will not hinder you from still always loving her. You will embrace her on another's lips.”

”Oh!” said Jacques. ”If I could only meet a girl who resembled her.”

And he left Rodolphe deep in thought.

Six weeks later Jacques had recovered all his energy, rekindled by the tender glances of a young girl whose name was Marie, and whose somewhat sickly beauty recalled that of poor Francine. Nothing, indeed, could be prettier than this pretty Marie, who was within six weeks of being eighteen years of age, as she never failed to mention. Her love affair with Jacques had its birth by moonlight in the garden of an open air ball, to the strains of a shrill violin, a grunting double ba.s.s, and a clarinet that trilled like a blackbird. Jacques met her one evening when gravely walking around the s.p.a.ce reserved for the dancers. Seeing him pa.s.s stiffly in his eternal black coat b.u.t.toned to the throat, the pretty and noisy frequenters of the place, who knew him by sight, used to say amongst themselves, ”What is that undertaker doing here? Is there anyone who wants to be buried?”

And Jacques walked on always alone, his heart bleeding within him from the thorns of a remembrance which the orchestra rendered keener by playing a lively quadrille which sounded to his ears as mournful as a _De Profundis_. It was in the midst of this reverie that he noticed Marie, who was watching him from a corner, and laughing like a wild thing at his gloomy bearing. Jacques raised his eyes and saw this burst of laughter in a pink bonnet within three paces of him. He went up to her and made a few remarks, to which she replied. He offered her his arm for a stroll around the garden which she accepted. He told her that he thought her as beautiful as an angel, and she made him repeat it twice over. He stole some green apples hanging from the trees of the garden for her, and she devoured them eagerly to the accompaniment of that ringing laugh which seemed the burden of her constant mirth. Jacques thought of the Bible, and thought that we should never despair as regards any woman, and still less as regards those who love apples. He took another turn round the garden with the pink bonnet, and it is thus that arriving at the ball alone he did not return from it so.

However, Jacques had not forgotten Francine; bearing in mind Rodolphe's words he kissed her daily on Marie's lips, and wrought in secret at the figure he wished to place on the dead girl's grave.

One day when he received some money Jacques bought a dress for Marie--a black dress. The girl was pleased, only she thought that black was not very lively for summer wear. But Jacques told her that he was very fond of black, and that she would please him by wearing this dress every day.

Marie obeyed.

One Sat.u.r.day Jacques said to her:

”Come early tomorrow, we will go into the country.”

”How nice!” said Marie. ”I am preparing a surprise for you. You shall see. It will be suns.h.i.+ny tomorrow.”

Marie spent the night at home finis.h.i.+ng a new dress that she had bought out of her savings--a pretty pink dress. And on Sunday she arrived clad in her smart purchase at Jacques' studio.

The artist received her coldly, almost brutally.

”I thought I should please you by making this bright toilette,” said Marie, who could not understand his coolness.

”We cannot go into the country today,” replied he. ”You had better be off. I have some work today.”

Marie went home with a full heart. On the way she met a young man who was acquainted with Jacques' story, and who had also paid court to herself.

”Ah! Mademoiselle Marie, so you are no longer in mourning?” said he.

”Mourning?” asked Marie. ”For whom?”

”What, did you not know? It is pretty generally known, though, the black dress that Jacques gave you--.”

”Well, what of it?” asked Marie.