International Short Stories: French, - [best ebook reader ubuntu txt] 📗

knitted jacket, that was faded by the sun and washed out by the rain, she looked like a poor, wretched, dirty servant.

“Here is mamma.” the child said.

When she got close to the house, she looked at the strangers angrily and suspiciously, and then she went in, as if she had not seen them. She looked old and had a hard, yellow, wrinkled face, one of those wooden faces that country people so often have.

Monsieur d’Apreval called her back.

“I beg your pardon, madame, but we came in to know whether you could sell us two glasses of milk.”

She was grumbling when she reappeared in the door, after putting down her pails.

“I don’t sell milk,” she replied.

“We are very thirsty,” he said, “and madame is very tired. Can we not get something to drink?”

The peasant woman gave them an uneasy and cunning glance and then she made up her mind.

“As you are here, I will give you some,” she said, going into the house, and almost immediately the child came out and brought two chairs, which she placed under an apple tree, and then the mother, in turn brought out two bowls of foaming milk, which she gave to the visitors. She did not return to the house, however, but remained standing near them, as if to watch them and to find out for what purpose they had come there.

“You have come from Fécamp?” she said.

“Yes,” Monsieur d’Apreval replied, “we are staying at Fécamp for the summer.”

And then, after a short silence he continued:

“Have you any fowls you could sell us every week?”

The woman hesitated for a moment and then replied:

“Yes, I think I have. I suppose you want young ones?”

“Yes, of course.”

“What do you pay for them in the market?”

D’Apreval, who had not the least idea, turned to his companion:

“What are you paying for poultry in Fécamp, my dear lady?”

“Four francs and four francs fifty centimes,” she said, her eyes full of tears, while the farmer’s wife, who was looking at her askance, asked in much surprise:

“Is the lady ill, as she is crying?”

He did not know what to say, and replied with some hesitation:

“No—no—but she lost her watch as we came along, a very handsome watch, and that troubles her. If anybody should find it, please let us know.”

Mother Benedict did not reply, as she thought it a very equivocal sort of answer, but suddenly she exclaimed:

“Oh, here is my husband!”

She was the only one who had seen him, as she was facing the gate. D’Apreval started and Madame de Cadour nearly fell as she turned round suddenly on her chair.

A man bent nearly double, and out of breath, stood there, ten yards from them, dragging a cow at the end of a rope. Without taking any notice of the visitors, he said:

“Confound it! What a brute!”

And he went past them and disappeared in the cow house.

Her tears had dried quickly as she sat there startled, without a word and with the one thought in her mind, that this was her son, and D’Apreval, whom the same thought had struck very unpleasantly, said in an agitated voice:

“Is this Monsieur Benedict?”

“Who told you his name?” the wife asked, still rather suspiciously.

“The blacksmith at the corner of the highroad,” he replied, and then they were all silent, with their eyes fixed on the door of the cow house, which formed a sort of black hole in the wall of the building. Nothing could be seen inside, but they heard a vague noise, movements and footsteps and the sound of hoofs, which were deadened by the straw on the floor, and soon the man reappeared in the door, wiping his forehead, and came toward the house with long, slow strides. He passed the strangers without seeming to notice them and said to his wife:

“Go and draw me a jug of cider; I am very thirsty.”

Then he went back into the house, while his wife went into the cellar and left the two Parisians alone.

“Let us go, let us go, Henri,” Madame de Cadour said, nearly distracted with grief, and so d’Apreval took her by the arm, helped her to rise, and sustaining her with all his strength, for he felt that she was nearly fainting, he led her out, after throwing five francs on one of the chairs.

As soon as they were outside the gate, she began to sob and said, shaking with grief:

“Oh! oh! is that what you have made of him?”

He was very pale and replied coldly:

“I did what I could. His farm is worth eighty thousand francs, and that is more than most of the sons of the middle classes have.”

They returned slowly, without speaking a word. She was still crying; the tears ran down her cheeks continually for a time, but by degrees they stopped, and they went back to Fécamp, where they found Monsieur de Cadour waiting dinner for them. As soon as he saw them, he began to laugh and exclaimed:

“So my wife has had a sunstroke, and I am very glad of it. I really think she has lost her head for some time past!”

Neither of them replied, and when the husband asked them, rubbing his hands:

“Well, I hope that, at least, you have had a pleasant walk?”

Monsieur d’Apreval replied:

“A delightful walk, I assure you; perfectly delightful.”

THE GUILTY SECRET BY PAUL DE KOCK

Nathalie De Hauteville was twenty-two years old, and had been a widow for three years. She was one of the prettiest women in Paris; her large dark eyes shone with remarkable brilliancy, and she united the sparkling vivacity of an Italian and the depth of feeling of a Spaniard to the grace which always distinguishes a Parisian born and bred. Considering herself too young to be entirely alone, she had long ago invited M. d’Ablaincourt, an old uncle of hers, to come and live with her.

M. d’Ablaincourt was an old bachelor; he had never loved anything in this world but himself. He was an egotist, too lazy to do any one an ill turn, but at the same time too selfish to do any one a kindness, unless it would tend directly to his own advantage. And yet, with an air of complaisance, as if he desired nothing so much as the comfort of those around him, he consented to his niece’s proposal, in the hope that she would do many little kind offices for him, which would add materially to his comfort.

M. d’Ablaincourt accompanied his niece when she resumed her place in society; but sometimes, when he felt inclined to stay at home, he would say to her: “My dear Nathalie, I am afraid you will not be much amused this evening. They will only play cards; besides, I don’t think any of your friends will be there. Of course, I am ready to take you, if you wish to go.”

And Nathalie, who had great confidence in all her uncle said, would stay at home.

In the same manner, M. d’Ablaincourt, who was a great gourmand, said to his niece: “My dear, you know that I am not at all fond of eating, and am satisfied with the simplest fare; but I must tell you that your cook puts too much salt in everything! It is very unwholesome.”

So they changed the cook.

Again, the garden was out of order; the trees before the old gentleman’s window must be cut down, because their shade would doubtless cause a dampness in the house prejudicial to Nathalie’s health; or the surrey was to be changed for a landau.

Nathalie was a coquette. Accustomed to charm, she listened with smiles to the numerous protestations of admiration which she received. She sent all who aspired to her hand to her uncle, saying: “Before I give you any hope, I must know my uncle’s opinion.”

It is likely that Nathalie would have answered differently if she had ever felt a real preference for any one; but heretofore she seemed to have preferred her liberty.

The old uncle, for his part, being now master in his niece’s house, was very anxious for her to remain as she was. A nephew might be somewhat less submissive than Nathalie. Therefore, he never failed to discover some great fault in each of those who sought an alliance with the pretty widow.

Besides his egotism and his epicureanism, the dear uncle had another passion—to play backgammon. The game amused him very much; but the difficulty was to find any one to play with. If, by accident, any of Nathalie’s visitors understood it, there was no escape from a long siege with the old gentleman; but most people preferred cards.

In order to please her uncle, Nathalie tried to learn this game; but it was almost impossible. She could not give her attention to one thing for so long a time. Her uncle scolded. Nathalie gave up in despair.

“It was only for your own amusement that I wished to teach it to you,” said the good M. d’Ablaincourt.

Things were at this crisis when, at a ball one evening, Nathalie was introduced to a M. d’Apremont, a captain in the navy.

Nathalie raised her eyes, expecting to see a great sailor, with a wooden leg and a bandage over one eye; when to her great surprise, she beheld a man of about thirty, tall and finely formed, with two sound legs and two good eyes.

Armand d’Apremont had entered the navy at a very early age, and had arrived, although very young, to the dignity of a captain. He had amassed a large fortune, in addition to his patrimonial estates, and he had now come home to rest after his labors. As yet, however, he was a single man, and, moreover, had always laughed at love.

But when he saw Nathalie, his opinions underwent a change. For the first time in his life he regretted that he had never learned to dance, and he kept his eyes fixed on her constantly.

His attentions to the young widow soon became a subject of general conversation, and, at last, the report reached the ears of M. d’Ablaincourt. When Nathalie mentioned, one evening, that she expected the captain to spend the evening with her, the old man grew almost angry.

“Nathalie,” said he, “you act entirely without consulting me. I have heard that the captain is very rude and unpolished in his manners. To be sure, I have only seen him standing behind your chair; but he has never even asked after my health. I only speak for your interest, as you are so giddy.”

Nathalie begged her uncle’s pardon, and even offered not to receive the captain’s visit; but this he forbore to require—secretly resolving not to allow these visits to become too frequent.

But how frail are all human resolutions—overturned by the merest trifle! In this case, the game of backgammon was the unconscious cause of Nathalie’s becoming Mme. d’Apremont. The captain was an excellent hand at backgammon. When the uncle heard this, he proposed a game; and the captain, who understood that it was important to gain the uncle’s favor, readily acceded.

This did not please Nathalie. She preferred that he should be occupied with herself. When all the company were gone, she turned to her uncle, saying: “You were right, uncle, after all. I do not admire the captain’s manners; I see now that I should not have invited him.”

“On the contrary, niece, he is a very well-behaved man. I have invited him to come here very often, and play backgammon with me—that is, to pay his addresses to you.”

Nathalie saw that the captain had gained her uncle’s heart, and she forgave him for having been less attentive to her. He soon came again, and, thanks to the backgammon, increased in favor with the uncle.

He soon captivated the heart of the pretty widow, also. One morning, Nathalie came blushing to her uncle.

“The captain has asked me to marry him. What do you advise me to do?”

He reflected for a few moments. “If she refuses him, D’Apremont will come here no longer, and then no more backgammon. But if she