The Seven Cardinal Sins: Envy and Indolence Part 40

Marie, her son, and David were accustomed to a.s.semble in the library after these long days of active and courageous devotion, in order to talk over the events of the morning while waiting for dinner, to which they cheerfully did honour, without reflecting that the modest silver had been replaced by a brilliant imitation. After the repast, they went to visit a workroom, where Marie joined several women who were employed to prepare linen and clothing. This economy enabled her to double her gifts. This last duty accomplished, they returned to spend the long winter evenings in the library around a glowing fireside, while the bitter north wind whistled out of doors.

The days thus spent pa.s.sed delightfully to these three persons united by sacred indissoluble ties.

Sometimes they discussed plans for Frederick's future, for after these fifteen days of arduous labour, he was about to begin new studies under David's direction.

The preceptor had travelled over two hemispheres, and often spoke of his voyages, and replied to the untiring questioning of his a.s.sociates, with interesting accounts of cities, armies, and costumes which he sometimes portrayed with an accurate pencil.

An appropriate reading or the execution of some piece of music terminated the evening, for David was an excellent musician, and frequently entertained his hearers with the national airs of different countries, and romances charming in their freshness and simplicity.

In these familiar conversations, mingled with intimate confidences, David learned to appreciate more and more the exquisite character and loftiness of Madame Bastien's soul. Freed from all preoccupation, she had regained her liberty of mind, while the preceptor observed with renewed pleasure the influence he had exercised over Frederick's ideas, and prepared new plans of study which he cheerfully submitted to the mother and son.

Indeed, every day increased David's affection for his pupil, and he bestowed upon him all the treasure of tenderness which had filled his heart since the lamented death of his young brother. In thus loving pa.s.sionately the son of Madame Bastien, David deceived himself by these fraternal memories, just as one is often deceived by vain regrets in falling in love with a resemblance.

Not infrequently midnight sounded, and the happy trio looked at each other in surprise, deploring the rapid flight of time, as they exclaimed:

"Already!"

And they would always say to each other in parting:

"To-morrow!"

Marie would retire to her own room, but Frederick would conduct David to his chamber, and there, how many times, standing within the embrasure of the door, the preceptor and pupil forgot themselves in the charm of a long friendly chat; one listening with faith, responding with eagerness, questioning with the ardour of his age, the other speaking with the tender solicitude of the mature man, who smiles compa.s.sionately on youth, impatient to try the mysterious path of destiny.

How many times old Marguerite was obliged to ascend to the floor upon which David's chamber was situated, and say to Frederick:

"Indeed, monsieur, it is midnight, it is one o'clock in the morning, and you know very well that madame never goes to bed before you do."

And Frederick would press David's hand and descend to his mother's chamber.

There, David would still be the subject of long conversations between the young woman and her son.

"Mother," Frederick would say, "how interesting was his account of his travels in Asia Minor."

"Oh, yes, nothing could be more so," Marie would answer. "And besides, Frederick, what curious things M. David has taught us about the vibrations of sound, and all that, too, by a few chords on this broken old piano."

"Mother, what a charming account he gave us, in comparing the properties of sound and light."

"And that delightful strain from Mozart that he played. Do you remember the choir of spirits in the 'Enchanted Flute?' It was so aerial, so light. What a pleasure for poor savages like us, who have never known anything of Mozart; it is like discovering a treasure of harmony."

"And how touching his anecdote about the old age of Haydn. And what he told us of the a.s.sociation of the Moravian brethren in America. How much less misery, how much benefit to poor people if those ideas could be applied in our country!"

"And, mother, did you notice that his eyes filled with tears when he spoke of the happiness which might be the portion of so many people who are now in want?"

"Ah, my poor child, his is the n.o.blest heart in the world."

"Yes, mother, and how we ought to cherish it! Oh, we must love him so much, you see; yes, so very much that it will be impossible for him to leave us. He has no family; his best friend, Doctor Dufour, is our neighbour. Where could M. David find a better home than with us?"

"Leave us!" exclaimed Marie, "leave us! why, it is he who gives us our strength, our faith, our confidence in the future. Is it possible he can abandon us now?"

Then old Marguerite was obliged to interpose again.

"For the love of G.o.d, madame, do go to bed; why, it is two o'clock in the morning," said the old servant. "You rose at six o'clock, and so did M. Frederick, and then so must work all day long! Besides, it is not good sense to sit up so late!"

"Marguerite is right to scold us, my child," said Marie, smiling, and kissing her son on the forehead, "we are foolish to go to bed so late."

And the next day, again Marguerite's recriminations cut short the conversations of the mother and son.

Two or three times Marie went to bed in a sweetly pensive mood.

One evening, while Frederick was reading, his friend, thoughtful and sedate, his elbows on the table, was leaning over with his forehead on his hand; the light of the lamp, concentrated by the shade, shone brightly upon the n.o.ble and expressive face of David.

Marie, a moment distracted from the reading, directed her gaze to the guardian of her son, and looked at him a long time. By degrees, the young woman felt her eyes grow moist, her beautiful bosom palpitate suddenly, while a delicate blush mounted her snowy brow.

Just at this moment, David accidentally raised his eyes and met Marie's glance.

The young woman immediately cast her eyes down, and blushed scarlet.

Another time David was at the piano, accompanying Frederick and Marie, who were singing a duet; the young woman turned the page, just as David had the same intuition, and their hands met.

At this electric contact, she trembled, her blood rushed toward her heart, and a cloud pa.s.sed before her eyes.

Notwithstanding these suggestive indications, the young mother slept that evening, pensive and dreamy, but full of calm and chaste serenity.

As always before, she kissed her son on the forehead, without blus.h.i.+ng.

Thus pa.s.sed the last fortnight of December.

Upon the eve of the new year, David, Marie, and her son were preparing to go out, in order to carry a few last remembrances to their dependents, when Marguerite handed her mistress a letter which the express had just brought.

At the sight of the handwriting, Marie could not hide her surprise and fear.

This letter was from M. Bastien, who wrote as follows:

"MADAME, MY WIFE (with whom I am not at all satisfied):--My business in Berri has ended sooner than I antic.i.p.ated. I am now at Pont Brillant, with my boon companion, Bridou, occupied in verifying accounts. We will leave soon for the farm, where Bridou will stay a few days with me, in order to a.s.sist me in estimating the indemnity due me, out of the sum allotted to the sufferers from the overflow, because we must get some good out of so much evil.

"We will arrive in time for dinner.

"Take care to have a leg of mutton with an abundance of clove of garlic in the best style, and some fine cabbage soup, as I am fond of it, with plenty of hot salted pork, and plenty of Blois sausage; attend especially to that, if you please.

"_Nota bene._ I shall arrive in a very bad humour, and very much disposed to box my son's ears, in case his fits of melancholy and c.o.xcomb airs are not at an end.

"Your husband, who has no desire to laugh,

"JACQUES BASTIEN.