The Grip of Desire Part 10

The shadowy outline stood forth more clearly.

He recognized his servant.

--Why the shame? she said.

XXII.

THE SERVANT.

"I have already said that dame Jacinthe although little superannuated, had still kept her bloom. It is true that she spared nothing to preserve it: besides taking a clyster every day, she swallowed some excellent jelly during the day and on going to bed."

LE SAGE (_Gil-Blas_).

She looked at him fixedly with burning, feverish eyes.

She was a l.u.s.ty la.s.s, already arrived at the age of discretion, as Le Sage says, that is to say, she had pa.s.sed her fortieth year, the canonical period for the servants of Cures, but was fair and fresh still, in spite of some wrinkles and her hair growing gray. She possessed that modest and appetizing plumpness, somewhat rare among mature virgins, the sign of a quiet conscience, a good digestion and feelings satisfied.

What pious souls call holiness exuded from every pore: cast-down eyes, chaste deportment, gentle movements. She did not walk, she glided over the ground as if she already felt the wings of seraphim hanging on her shoulders; she did not speak, she murmured unctuous words with a soft, low, mysterious voice like a prayer. When she said: "Would Monsieur le Cure he pleased to come to breakfast? Perhaps Monsieur le Cure could eat a boiled egg?" or "Ah! the sermon which Monsieur le Cure has been pleased to give has gone to my heart!" it was in the same tone as she would say: "_Lamb of G.o.d which takest away the sins of the world_...." and one was tempted to answer: _Kyrie eleison_.

And she wiped her moist eyelid, and cast on her master her veiled, long, silent look.

She said so well: "my duty," "I wish to do my duty," that one felt filled with admiration for this holy maid.

Oh! divine modesty, perfume of woman, sweet enchantment which gently penetrates the heart of man, ready always to unfold.

Besides, what hearts had unfolded for her! what ravages had been caused by her austere deportment and her substantial charms. More than one buxom village lad had made warm proposals with honourable intentions, and the gallant corporal of gendarmes had tried on several occasions to enter upon this delicate subject with her.

But she had willed to remain a maid and virtuous, and vowed herself body and soul to the service of the Church, to the glory of G.o.d, and the fortune of her pastor.

She approached the hearth with slow steps, blew on the embers, relighted the lamp, and placing it so as to throw the light on her master's face, she said to him anxiously:

--You are in pain, are you not?

--You were there then? said the Cure dissatisfied.

--Yes, she answered him with the affectionate tone of a mother, I was there, pardon me; I was going to bed, and I heard you talking aloud, there was no light; I feared you were ill, and I ventured to come in.

--And you have heard?

--I have heard that you were not happy, that is all.

--No one is happy in this world, Veronica.

--Yes, we are so only in the other, I know that. And yet happiness is so easy.

The Cure put his head between his hands without replying.

The servant went on:

--Can it be that I, your servant, a poor ignorant village girl, should say that to you, Monsieur le Cure?

--What, Veronica?

--But what matters our condition on earth? We are in a state of transition.

Holy Mary, she too, was a poor servant and now she is far above a queen.

--Without doubt, said the Cure.

--We must then despise n.o.body. Under the most humble appearance, G.o.d often conceals his most faithful servants.

--Most certainly. But what are you driving at?

--At this, Monsieur le Cure; that we must be good and indulgent to everybody: that the great sometimes have need of the little, and that when we are able to render a service to our neighbour we must do it without hesitation.

--It is Jesus who commands it, Veronica. But explain yourself, I pray.

--Well! yes, I will speak, she replied, for I am pained to see you thus, and the more so as it is certainly allowed me to tell you so, me who am destined, please G.o.d, to live with you. I have only known you since you were our Cure, but you have been so good to me that I love you like ... a sister. I was all alone here, like a poor forsaken creature, after the death of my old master, the Abbe Fortin--may G.o.d keep his soul,--and you consented to keep me when taking the parsonage. It is good of you, for you might have brought with you your former servant, or again some niece, as many do.

--I have no niece, Veronica.

--A niece, or a sister, or a relation. After all you have kept me, although you could have found a better than myself. Oh, very easily, I know ... and I thank you from the bottom of my heart, yes, from the bottom of my heart.

But could you have found one more devoted, more discreet? I believe not; as much, perhaps; but more, I believe not. Ah! I tell you here, Monsieur le Cure, you can do everything you want, n.o.body shall ever know anything of it.

The Cure looked at his servant with amazement.

--What do you mean by that, Veronica? he asked in a stern voice.

--Oh! nothing, I mean nothing. I mean that you can have entire confidence in your poor servant.

--I thank you, Veronica, but I don't know what you mean.

--I explain myself badly doubtless, Monsieur le Cure. Ah! pardon me, I was forgetting ... here, there is a letter which I have just found and which has been slipped under the door at night.

He looked at the address. It was an elegant and bold hand, the hand of a woman.

XXIII.

THE LETTER

"The beauty then, to end this war, Offers but a single way which we can hardly guess."