The Milkmaid of Montfermeil Part 38

"To Montfermeil, to see Denise."

"What! when you just said----"

"I have reflected that there's no danger for her, because she doesn't love me."

"Do you think not, monsieur?"

"She told me so many times. But I want to see Coco, my little protege, poor child. I really long to hug the little fellow. You will see how pretty he is, Bertrand--and such vile relations!--Put some money in your pocket, Bertrand."

"Oh! as much as you choose, lieutenant, to relieve the unfortunate, to help an orphan; one never regrets such things, and it gives one a hundred times more pleasure than paying for the brunette's hangings and the blonde's shawls."

The horses were saddled; Auguste and Bertrand mounted, and started for Montfermeil about ten o'clock in the morning. At eleven they had pa.s.sed Raincy; a little later they reached Livry, turned to the right, and soon saw the village of Montfermeil before them.

Bertrand was drenched with perspiration; he was not used to riding hard, as Dalville was; and although it was September, it was still exceedingly warm. Bertrand drew rein, observing to Auguste that their steeds needed a breathing-s.p.a.ce; but, thinking that he recognized the path by which Coco had taken him to his cabin, Auguste urged his horse forward, calling to Bertrand:

"Ride on to the village; I'll join you there."

"All right, I'll go on to the village," said Bertrand to himself, letting his horse walk. "Shall I go to the inn? Or shall I inquire for the little milkmaid? No, I don't want milk for my horse, and the girl probably wouldn't be able to feed us both.--A very pretty village, but I don't see any signs of an inn."

Bertrand allowed his horse to go where he chose; he pa.s.sed several hovels of only one story, not caring to halt at such wretched abodes; but he soon found himself beside a rippling stream bordered by willow trees, with a pretty cottage on the opposite side. Bertrand crossed the brook and stopped in front of the yard. A small boy was playing with a goat; a little farther on a girl was churning b.u.t.ter, and at the rear was an elderly woman arranging fruit in a basket.

From his saddle Bertrand could overlook the whole yard, and he watched that rustic picture. Suddenly the girl raised her eyes, saw the horseman, and rushed toward him, exclaiming:

"I can't be mistaken--it's Monsieur Bertrand."

And as she spoke, the girl's eyes searched the road for another horseman.

Bertrand recognized Denise and bestowed an affable nod upon her, saying:

"By the great Turenne, I couldn't have stopped at a better time. Bebelle has a most amazing scent!"

"Pray come in, Monsieur Bertrand," said Denise, her eyes still fixed on the road.

"You're very kind, mamzelle, but I'm looking for an inn, where my horse and I can get something to eat."

"You'll find all you want here. We won't let you go anywhere else, will we, aunt?--Come in, Monsieur Bertrand."

Bertrand could not resist the girl's courteous insistence. He was surprised to hear her call him by name, having no idea that Dalville could have amused himself by mentioning him to Denise. While he dismounted, the girl ran to her aunt, and, to induce her to treat the newcomer cordially, she made haste to tell her that Bertrand was the companion of the gentleman who had been so kind to Coco. Mere Fourcy rose and made a low reverence to Bertrand, who could not conceive the cause of so much politeness.

Bebelle was taken to the stable, the child left his goat, to go and look at her, and Denise ushered Bertrand into the house and made haste to offer him wine. Meanwhile Mere Fourcy made an omelet, Bertrand having admitted that he would be glad to eat a morsel.

Denise was burning to learn something about the young man who had commended Coco to her care; but she waited for her aunt to leave the room before mentioning him. She did not know how to question Bertrand, whom she supposed to have been sent by the handsome young man to make inquiries about the child; and she waited for Bertrand to speak first; but as he did nothing but eat and drink, Denise decided to question him.

"He sent you to find out whether Coco had everything he wants, and whether I'd made a good use of the money he left with me, didn't he, monsieur?"

Bertrand emptied his gla.s.s at a draught and replaced it on the table with a bang, saying:

"For a village wine, that ain't bad at all."

"Didn't you hear what I said, monsieur?" asked Denise timidly.

"I beg pardon, but you will be very good to act as if I hadn't heard, for I didn't understand."

"I asked you if that gentleman, that young man I saw with you, first in a cabriolet, and afterward at Madame Destival's----"

"You mean Monsieur Auguste Dalville?"

"Ah! is his name Auguste Dalville?"

"How is it that you don't know his name and do know mine?"

"Because he called you by name twice before me, in the courtyard, and I haven't forgotten your name."

"You are very kind, mademoiselle."

"So Monsieur Auguste Dalville didn't come with you to-day?"

"I beg pardon, but he's close by! he'll be here very soon."

"He is here, he is coming!" cried Denise, jumping for joy. But she added, to conceal her emotion: "You see, when you came alone, I thought that you wasn't with him any more."

"Do you suppose I'll ever leave my master, my benefactor, a man who has done everything for me, and who still calls me his friend? Ten thousand bayonets! No, my dear child, that can never be; I'm attached to Monsieur Auguste, just as my sword hilt is to the blade; nothing can ever separate me from him, except himself. But I don't worry about that; although I do make bold to scold him a little, he knows old Bertrand's heart."

Denise wiped away the tears of emotion which the old soldier's devotion brought to her eyes; then she cried, taking Bertrand's hand and pressing it in hers:

"Ah! what a fine thing for you to say, Monsieur Bertrand! How nice it is to love a person like that!"

"Does it surprise you? did you think that Monsieur Auguste didn't deserve to be loved so well?"

"I don't say that, monsieur; far from it. Another gla.s.s, Monsieur Bertrand?"

"With pleasure, mamzelle."

Denise was delighted to hear him talk of Auguste; and as the wine made him very communicative, he went on; for when he was talking about his benefactor, it was the same as with his campaigns--there was no way of stopping him.

"Yes, my pretty child, Monsieur Auguste's a fine fellow--a rake, a lady-killer, fickle and dissipated, it's true; but those things don't touch the real man."

"What, monsieur! he's all that? Why, it's very wicked to be a rake and fickle. And you said such fine things about him just now!"

"Have I said any ill of him, my girl? Don't you know that young men must sow their wild oats? But I trust that with my advice--Corbleu! if Schtrack knew of this wine--And when it's so hot, it makes you thirsty as the devil."

"I believe, monsieur, that while Monsieur Auguste was talking to me in Madame Destival's courtyard, you whispered in my ear: 'Look out for yourself!'"

"It's possible, my child, quite possible.--Look you, Mamzelle Denise, you're a pretty girl----"

"Very polite of you, Monsieur Bertrand."

"Oh, no! I say that in all honesty. You look to be a good girl, too, and it would be a pity to let you get caught. My master's a fine fellow, but as soon as he sees a pretty face, he flashes up like powder! it's too much for him. He'll swear that it will last forever; but at the first village where he sees another pretty girl, he'll take fire and swear the same to her."