Autumn Glory Part 30

"And his mother will not seek to offer us any affront?"

"No, no. She loves her son too well for that; she knows everything.

But Mathurin!" and she stretched out her arm towards the house lying hidden in the darkness. "Mathurin would not have it. He hates us! He would make life so hard for us that we could not stay here."

"But I am still here, dear child, and I mean to gather the three of you about me."

Had Rousille heard aright? Had her father really in so many words given his consent to her marriage? Yes, for he was now standing upright, and in rising he had raised his daughter, and was holding her in close embrace, his tears falling so fast that he could not speak.

But contact with her youthful happiness seemed to have lent him fresh courage.

"Do not fear Mathurin," he said, "I will reason with him, and he must obey. It was I who dismissed Jean Nesmy; it is now my will that he comes back to be my son and helper, and the master here when I am gone."

The girl listened in the darkness.

"It is my wish that he should come back as quickly as possible, for a place does not prosper in hired hands however good they may be. I have thought it all out for you, Rousille. You will go from here where we now are, straight to the Michelonnes."

"Yes, father."

"That will give me the time to speak to your brother. You will therefore go to them and say: 'My father cannot leave La Fromentiere and Mathurin, who has not been well these last few days. He asks you to go for him to the Bocage, and to beg the mother of Jean Nesmy to let her son come back to be my husband. The sooner you start the better for us.'"

Now Rousille's tears were falling fast. Toussaint Lumineau continued:

"Go, my Rousille. Greet the Michelonnes from me ... tell them it is to save La Fromentiere."

A whisper answered:

"Yes," and a pair of young arms were thrown round the old farmer's neck, and his face drawn down for a long, loving kiss. Then, going a little away from him, across the darkness through which they could not see each other, Rousille said: "I am happy, father. I will go at once to the Michelonnes ... but, oh! how much better it would have been if we could have had all our people at my wedding!"

And she ran out into the night. Her father stood for a moment, proud and happy. She had said "our people," this little Rousille; she spoke like her ancestresses who had ruled in La Fromentiere. She was a true descendant of the great-grandmothers she had never known, thorough housewives, who from the very day they were brought home as wives, staid and happy, seemed to bring with them as reading in an ever open book the sense of family cares and joys.

Rousille ran along the road, unheeding the stoniness of the way. Rain fell heavily, but she did not feel it. Sometimes she pressed her hand to her heart, to calm its beating. She thought, "I am happy," and with that she wept.

The windows of all the houses in Sallertaine were lighted when she reached the long street. The timid sisters Michelonne had already shut their shutters, and drawn their bolts.

"Aunts Michelonne!" she cried, knocking with her hand on the door, "please let me in quickly."

It was the work of a moment for Veronique to draw the bolt, open the door, and shut it behind the new-comer.

"How wet you are, Rousille!" she exclaimed, "and without cloak or kerchief in such weather! It has struck seven. What brings you out at such an hour?"

At the far end of the room, on a chest beside the bed nearest to the fireplace, Adelaide had stood the solitary tallow candle, its long smoky wick burnt to a thick glowing k.n.o.b. By its dim light she was beginning to undress, and had already taken off her ap.r.o.n. A corner of the sheet turned back upon the coverlet showed a patch of whiteness; the rest of the shop was in gloom--chairs, spinning wheels, the table, the other bedstead, and the clock beside it calmly ticking.

"Do not let me disturb you, Aunt Adelaide," said the girl going towards her; "I have news."

The eldest of the sisters taking the candlestick, held it up to Rousille's face, and seeing traces of tears upon it, said:

"Sad news, again, dear child?"

"No, aunts, glad news."

"Then let us sit down, and tell it quickly."

The old sisters sat on the oak chest and made Rousille take a chair facing them, close up that they might see her happy face, and each taking a hand in hers prepared to listen. The three faces were close together; the candle gave just light enough to reveal lip or eyes irradiated with a smile.

"My news is," said Rousille, "that my father, having no longer a son to help him, wishes Jean Nesmy to come back."

"What, Rousille, your sweetheart?"

"Aunt Michelonne, it is to save La Fromentiere."

"Then you are going to be married, pet; you are going to be married?"

exclaimed Aunt Adelaide enthusiastically, half rising; while her sister, on the contrary, bent lower to hide her emotion.

"Yes, father has said so. If you will help me."

"If! You know I will; you are my daughter. You have only to ask for what you want--but tell me, is it money?"

"No, aunt."

"A trousseau that we will both set about making?"

"Something far more difficult," said Rousille. "To make a journey--a long one."

"I, a journey?"

"You, or Aunt Veronique. As far as the Bocage. Father cannot leave home; you are to go in his stead to see Jean Nesmy's mother, and persuade her to let her son come away. Will you do it?"

Veronique sat upright. "You go to the Bocage, Adelaide, you are more active than I am."

"Is that any reason? So great a pleasure; to do Rousille so great a service, why should you not have the privilege?"

"Sister, you are the elder; you take the place of the mother."

"You are right," said Adelaide simply.

She was silent for a short time; in the agitation of the news and her decision, the pretty pink cheeks had paled. Then she said:

"You see, it is forty years since I have been beyond the town of Chalons. I never thought to make any journey again. Where is Jean Nesmy's country?"

With a pretty smile on her face at the recollections it evoked, Rousille touched Aunt Michelonne's black dress three times with the tip of her finger.

"Here," she said, "is the farm of Nouzillac, where he is employed; there, a parish called La Flocelliere; and there Les Chatelliers, where is his house, called La Chateau."

"I do not know any of those names, pet."

"There are hills in all directions, some small, some large, and a great many trees. When the wind blows from Saint Michel it rains without ceasing. Pouzanges is not far."

"I have heard speak of Saint Michel and Pouzanges when I was quite a child by _Boquins_, who used in those days to come to our part to seek for fuel. And when must I go?"

Lowering her soft eyes, Rousille answered: