"Nasty night," remarked she; "I don't envy you in such weather asthis.""You may well say that," replied the driver; "my feet are like lumpsof ice.""Have you come far?""Rather; I picked them up in the Champs Elysees, near the Avenue deMatignon.""That is a distance.""Yes; and only five sous for drink money. Hang your respectablewomen!""Oh! they are respectable, are they?""I'll answer for that. The other lot are far more open-handed. I knowboth of them."And with these words and a knowing wink, he touched up his horse anddrove away; and the portress, only half satisfied, went back to herlodge.
"Why that is the quarter where all the swells live," murmured she.
"I'll tip the maid next time, and she'll let out everything."After Paul's departure, Andre could not remain quiet; for it appearedto him as if each second was a century. He had thrown open the door ofhis studio, and ran to the head of the stairs at every sound.
At last their footsteps really sounded on the steps. The sweetestmusic in the world is the rustle of the beloved one's dress. Leaningover the banisters, he gazed fondly down. Soon she appeared, and in ashort time had gained the open door of the studio.
"You see, Andre," said she, extending her hand, "you see that I amtrue to my time."Pale, and trembling with emotion, Andre pressed the little hand to hislips.
"Ah! Mademoiselle Sabine, how kind you are! Thanks, a thousandthanks."Yes, it was indeed Sabine, the scion of the lordly house of Mussidan,who had come to visit the poor foundling of the Hotel de Vendome inhis studio, and who thus risked all that was most precious to her inthe world, her honor and her reputation. Yes, regardless of theconventionalities among which she had been reared, dared to cross thatsocial abyss which separates the Avenue de Matignon from the Rue de laTour d'Auvergne. Cold reason finds no excuse for such a step, but theheart can easily solve this seeming riddle. Sabine and Andre had beenlovers for more than two years. Their first acquaintance had commencedat the Chateau de Mussidan. At the end of the summer of 1865, Andre,whose constant application to work had told upon his health,determined to take a change, when his master, Jean Lanier, called him,and said,--"If you wish for a change, and at the same time to earn three or fourhundred francs, now is your time. An architect has written to me,asking me for a skilled stone carver, to do some work in the countryat a magnificent mansion in the midst of the most superb scenery.
Would you care about undertaking this?"The proposal was a most acceptable one to Andre, and in a week's timehe was on his way to his work with a prospect of living for a month inpure country air. Upon his arrival at the Chateau, he made a thoroughexamination of the work with which he had been entrusted. He saw thathe could finish it with perfect ease, for it was only to restore thecarved work on a balcony, which would not take more than a fortnight.
He did not, however, press on the work, for the beautiful sceneryenchanted him.
He made many exquisite sketches, and his health began to return tohim. But there was another reason why he was in no haste to completehis task, one which he hardly ventured even to confess to himself: hehad caught a glimpse of a young girl in the park of the Chateau whohad caused a new feeling to spring up in his heart. It was Sabine deMussidan. The Count, as the season came on, had gone to Germany, theCountess had flitted away to Luzon, and the daughter was sent to thedull old country mansion in charge of her old aunt. It was the old,old story; two young hearts loving with all the truth and energy oftheir natures. They had exchanged a few words on their first meeting,and on the next Sabine went on to the balcony and watched the rapidplay of Andre's chisel with childish delight. For a long time theyconversed, and Sabine was surprised at the education and refinement ofthe young workman. Utterly fresh, and without experience, Sabine couldnot understand her new sensations. Andre held, one night, a longconverse with himself, and was at last obliged to confess that heloved her fondly. He ran the extent of his folly and madness, andrecognized the barrier of birth and wealth that stood between them,and was overwhelmed with consternation.
The Chateau of Mussidan stands in a very lonely spot, and one of theroads leading to it passes through a dense forest, and therefore ithad been arranged that Andre was to take his meals in the house. Aftera time Sabine began to feel that this isolation was a needlesshumiliation.
"Why can't M. Andre take his meals with us?" asked she of her aunt.
"He is certainly more gentlemanlike than many of those who visit us,and I think that his conversation would entertain you."The old lady was easily persuaded to adopt this suggestion, though atfirst it seemed an odd kind of thing to admit a mere working man toher table; but she was so bored with the loneliness of the place thatshe hailed with delight anything that would break its monotony. Andreat once accepted the proposal, and the old lady would hardly believeher eyes when her guest entered the room with the dress and manners ofa highbred gentleman. "It is hardly to be believed," said she, as shewas preparing to go to bed, "that a mere carver of stone should be solike a gentleman. It seems to me that all distinctions of social rankhave vanished. It is time for me to die, or we are rapidly approachinga state of anarchy."In spite of her prejudices, however, Andre contrived to win the oldlady's heart, and won a complete victory by painting her portrait infull gala costume. From that moment he was treated as one of thefamily, and, having no fear of a rebuff, was witty and sprightly inhis manner. Once he told the old lady the true story of his life.
Sabine was deeply interested, and marvelled at his energy andendurance, which had won for him a place on the ladder that leads tofuture eminence. She saw in him the realization of all her girlishdreams, and finally confessed to herself that she loved him. Both herfather and mother had their own pleasures and pursuits, and Sabine wasas much alone in the world as Andre.
The days now fled rapidly by. Buried in this secluded country house,they were as free as the breeze that played through the trees of theforest, for the old lady rarely disturbed them. After the morningmeal, she would beg Andre to read the newspaper to her, and fell intoa doze before he had been five minutes at the task. Then the youngpeople would slip quietly away, as merry as truants from school. Theywandered beneath the shade of the giant oaks, or climbed the rocksthat stood by the river bank. Sometimes, seated in a dilapidated boat,they would drift down the stream with its flower-bedecked banks. Thewater was often almost covered with rushes and water lilies. Twomonths of enchantment thus fled past, two months of the intoxicationsof love, though the mention of the tender passion never rose to theirlips from their hearts, where it was deeply imbedded. Andre had castall reflections regarding the perils of the future to the winds, andonly thanked heaven for the happiness that he was experiencing.
"Am I not too happy?" he would say to himself. "I fear this cannotlast." And he was right. Anxious to justify his remaining at Mussidanafter his task was completed, Andre determined to add to what he hadalready done a masterpiece of modern art, by carving a garland offruit and flowers over the old balcony, and every morning he rose withthe sun to proceed with his task.
One morning the valet came to him, saying that the old lady wasdesirous of seeing him, and begged him to lose no time, as thebusiness was urgent. A presentiment of evil came like a chilly blastupon the young man's heart. He felt that his brief dream of happinesswas at an end, and he followed the valet as a criminal follows hisexecutioner to the scaffold.
As he opened the door in which Sabine's aunt was awaiting him, the oldman whispered,--"Have a care, sir, have a care. Madame is in a terrible state; I havenot seen her like this since her husband died."The old lady was in a terrible state of excitement, and in spite ofrheumatic pains was walking up and down the room, gesticulatingwildly, and striking her crutch-handled stick on the floor.
"And so," cried she in that haughty tone adopted by women ofaristocratic lineage when addressing a supposed inferior, "you have, Ihear, had the impudence to make love to my niece?"Andre's pale face grew crimson as he stammered out,--"Madame--""Gracious powers, fellow!" cried the angry woman, "do you dare to denythis when your very face betrays you? Do you know that you are aninsolent rogue even to venture to look on Sabine de Mussidan? How dareyou! Perhaps you thought that if you compromised her, we should beforced to submit to this ignoble alliance.""On my honor, madame, I assure you--""On your honor! To hear you speak, one would suppose that you were agentleman. If my poor husband were alive, he would break every bone inyour body; but I am satisfied with ordering you out of the house. Pickup your tools, and be off at once."Andre stood as though petrified into stone. He took no notice of herimperious manner, but only realized the fact that he should never seeSabine again, and, turning deadly pale, staggered to a chair. The oldlady was so surprised at the manner in which Andre received hercommunication, that for a time she too was bewildered, and could notutter a word.
"I am unfortunately of a violent temper," said she, speaking in moregentle accents, "and perhaps I have spoken too severely, for I am muchto blame in this matter, as the priest of Berron said when he came toinform me of what was going on. I am so old that I forgot what happenswhen young people are thrown together, and I was the only one who didnot know what was going on when you were affording subject of gossipfor the whole countryside; my niece--"But here Andre started to his feet with a threatening look upon hisface.
"I could strangle them all," cried he.
"That is right," returned the old lady, secretly pleased at his vigorand energy, "but you cannot silence every idle tongue. Fortunately,matters have not gone too far. Go away, and forget my niece."She might as well have told the young man to go away and die.
"Madame!" cried he in accents of despair, "pray listen to me. I amyoung, and full of hope and courage."The old lady was so touched by his evident sorrow, that the tearsrolled down her wrinkled cheeks.
"What is the good of saying this to me?" asked she. "Sabine is not mydaughter. All that I can do is never to say a word to her father andmother. Great heavens, if Mussidan should ever learn what hasoccurred! There, do go away. You have upset me so that I do notbelieve I shall eat a mouthful for the next two days."Andre staggered out of the room. It seemed to him as if the flooringheaved and rolled beneath his feet. He could see nothing, but he feltsome one take him by the hand. It was Sabine, pallid and cold as amarble statue.
"I have heard everything, Andre," murmured she.
"Yes," stammered he. "All is over, and I am dismissed.""Where are you going to?""Heaven only knows, and when once I leave this place I care not.""Do not be desperate," urged Sabine, laying her hand upon his arm.
His fixed glance terrified her as he muttered,--"I cannot help it; I am driven to despair."Never had Sabine appeared so lovely; her eyes gleamed with somegenerous impulse, and her face glowed.
"Suppose," said she, "I could give you a ray of future hope, whatwould you do then?""What would I /not/ do then? All that a man could. I would fight myway through all opposition. Give me the hardest task, and I willfulfil it. If money is wanted, I will gain it; if a name, I will winit.""There is one thing that you have forgotten, and that is patience.""And that, Mademoiselle, I possess also. Do you not understand thatwith one word of hope from you I can live on?"Sabine raised her head heavenwards. "Work!" she exclaimed. "Work andhope, for I swear that I will never wed other than you."Here the voice of the old lady interrupted the lovers.
"Still lingering here!" she cried, in a voice like a trumpet call.
Andre fled away with hope in his heart, and felt that he had nowsomething to live for. No one knew exactly what happened after hisdeparture. No doubt Sabine brought round her aunt to her way ofthinking, for at her death, which happened two months afterward, sheleft the whole of her immense fortune directly to her niece, givingher the income while she remained single, and the capital on hermarriage, whether with or without the consent of her parents. Madamede Mussidan declared that the old lady had gone crazy, but both Andreand Sabine knew what she had intended, and sincerely mourned for theexcellent woman, whose last act had been to smooth away thedifficulties from their path. Andre worked harder than ever, andSabine encouraged him by fresh promises. Sabine was even more free inParis than at Mussidan, and her attached maid, Modeste, would havecommitted almost any crime to promote the happiness of her belovedmistress. The lovers now corresponded regularly, and Sabine,accompanied by Modeste, frequently visited the artist's studio, andnever was a saint treated with greater respect and adoration than wasSabine by Andre.
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