A Love Episode: Chapter 4

Chapter 4

During the following week Madame Deberle paid a return visit to Madame
Grandjean, and displayed an affability that bordered on affection.

"You know what you promised me," she said, on the threshold, as she
was going off. "The first fine day we have, you must come down to the
garden, and bring Jeanne with you. It is the doctor's strict
injunction."

"Very well," Helene answered, with a smile, "it is understood; we will
avail ourselves of your kindness."

Three days later, on a bright February afternoon, she accompanied her
daughter down to the garden. The porter opened the door connecting the
two houses. At the near end of the garden, in a kind of greenhouse
built somewhat in the style of a Japanese pavilion, they found Madame
Deberle and her sister Pauline, both idling away their time, for some
embroidery, thrown on the little table, lay there neglected.

"Oh, how good of you to come!" cried Juliette. "You must sit down
here. Pauline, move that table away! It is still rather cool you know
to sit out of doors, but from this pavilion we can keep a watch on the
children. Now, little ones, run away and play; but take care not to
fall!"

The large door of the pavilion stood open, and on each side were
portable mirrors, whose covers had been removed so that they allowed
one to view the garden's expanse as from the threshold of a tent. The
garden, with a green sward in the centre, flanked by beds of flowers,
was separated from the Rue Vineuse by a plain iron railing, but
against this grew a thick green hedge, which prevented the curious
from gazing in. Ivy, clematis, and woodbine clung and wound around the
railings, and behind this first curtain of foliage came a second one
of lilacs and laburnums. Even in the winter the ivy leaves and the
close network of branches sufficed to shut off the view. But the great
charm of the garden lay in its having at the far end a few lofty
trees, some magnificent elms, which concealed the grimy wall of a
five-story house. Amidst all the neighboring houses these trees gave
the spot the aspect of a nook in some park, and seemed to increase the
dimensions of this little Parisian garden, which was swept like a
drawing-room. Between two of the elms hung a swing, the seat of which
was green with damp.

Helene leaned forward the better to view the scene.

"Oh, it is a hole!" exclaimed Madame Deberle carelessly. "Still, trees
are so rare in Paris that one is happy in having half a dozen of one's
own."

"No, no, you have a very pleasant place," murmured Helene.

The sun filled the pale atmosphere that day with a golden dust, its
rays streaming slowly through the leafless branches of the trees.
These assumed a ruddier tint, and you could see the delicate purple
gems softening the cold grey of the bark. On the lawn and along the
walks the grass and gravel glittered amidst the haze that seemed to
ooze from the ground. No flower was in blossom; only the happy flush
which the sunshine cast upon the soil revealed the approach of spring.

"At this time of year it is rather dull," resumed Madame Deberle. "In
June it is as cozy as a nest; the trees prevent any one from looking
in, and we enjoy perfect privacy." At this point she paused to call:
"Lucien, you must come away from that watertap!"

The lad, who was doing the honors of the garden, had led Jeanne
towards a tap under the steps. Here he had turned on the water, which
he allowed to splash on the tips of his boots. It was a game that he
delighted in. Jeanne, with grave face, looked on while he wetted his
feet.

"Wait a moment!" said Pauline, rising. "I'll go and stop his
nonsense!"

But Juliette held her back.

"You'll do no such thing; you are even more of a madcap than he is.
The other day both of you looked as if you had taken a bath. How is it
that a big girl like you cannot remain two minutes seated? Lucien!"
she continued directing her eyes on her son, "turn off the water at
once!"

The child, in his fright, made an effort to obey her. But instead of
turning the tap off, he turned it on all the more, and the water
gushed forth with a force and a noise that made him lose his head. He
recoiled, splashed up to the shoulders.

"Turn off the water at once!" again ordered his mother, whose cheeks
were flushing with anger.

Jeanne, hitherto silent, then slowly, and with the greatest caution,
ventured near the tap; while Lucien burst into loud sobbing at sight
of this cold stream, which terrified him, and which he was powerless
to stop. Carefully drawing her skirt between her legs, Jeanne
stretched out her bare hands so as not to wet her sleeves, and closed
the tap without receiving a sprinkle. The flow instantly ceased.
Lucien, astonished and inspired with respect, dried his tears and
gazed with swollen eyes at the girl.

"Oh, that child puts me beside myself!" exclaimed Madame Deberle, her
complexion regaining its usual pallor, while she stretched herself
out, as though wearied to death.

Helene deemed it right to intervene. "Jeanne," she called, "take his
hand, and amuse yourselves by walking up and down."

Jeanne took hold of Lucien's hand, and both gravely paced the paths
with little steps. She was much taller than her companion, who had to
stretch his arm up towards her; but this solemn amusement, which
consisted in a ceremonious circuit of the lawn, appeared to absorb
them and invest them with a sense of great importance. Jeanne, like a
genuine lady, gazed about, preoccupied with her own thoughts; Lucien
every now and then would venture a glance at her; but not a word was
said by either.

"How droll they are!" said Madame Deberle, smiling, and again at her
ease. "I must say that your Jeanne is a dear, good child. She is so
obedient, so well behaved--"

"Yes, when she is in the company of others," broke in Helene. "She is
a great trouble at times. Still, she loves me, and does her best to be
good so as not to vex me."

Then they spoke of children; how girls were more precocious than boys;
though it would be wrong to deduce too much from Lucien's
unintelligent face. In another year he would doubtless lose all his
gawkiness and become quite a gallant. Finally, Madame Deberle resumed
her embroidery, making perhaps two stitches in a minute. Helene, who
was only happy when busy, begged permission to bring her work the next
time she came. She found her companions somewhat dull, and whiled away
the time in examining the Japanese pavilion. The walls and ceiling
were hidden by tapestry worked in gold, with designs showing bright
cranes in full flight, butterflies, and flowers and views in which
blue ships were tossing upon yellow rivers. Chairs, and ironwood
flower-stands were scattered about; on the floor some fine mats were
spread; while the lacquered furnishings were littered with trinkets,
small bronzes and vases, and strange toys painted in all the hues of
the rainbow. At the far end stood a grotesque idol in Dresden china,
with bent legs and bare, protruding stomach, which at the least
movement shook its head with a terrible and amusing look.

"Isn't it horribly ugly?" asked Pauline, who had been watching Helene
as she glanced round. "I say, sister, you know that all these
purchases of yours are so much rubbish! Malignon calls your Japanese
museum 'the sixpenny bazaar.' Oh, by the way, talking of him, I met
him. He was with a lady, and such a lady--Florence, of the Varietes
Theatre."

"Where was it?" asked Juliette immediately. "How I shall tease him!"

"On the boulevards. He's coming here to-day, is he not?"

She was not vouchsafed any reply. The ladies had all at once become
uneasy owing to the disappearance of the children, and called to them.
However, two shrill voices immediately answered:

"We are here!"

Half hidden by a spindle tree, they were sitting on the grass in the
middle of the lawn.

"What are you about?"

"We have put up at an inn," answered Lucien. "We are resting in our
room."

Greatly diverted, the women watched them for a time. Jeanne seemed
quite contented with the game. She was cutting the grass around her,
doubtless with the intention of preparing breakfast. A piece of wood,
picked up among the shrubs, represented a trunk. And now they were
talking. Jeanne, with great conviction in her tone, was declaring that
they were in Switzerland, and that they would set out to see the
glaciers, which rather astonished Lucien.

"Ha, here he is!" suddenly exclaimed Pauline.

Madame Deberle turned, and caught sight of Malignon descending the
steps. He had scarcely time to make his bow and sit down before she
attacked him.

"Oh," she said, "it is nice of you to go about everywhere saying that
I have nothing but rubbishy ornaments about me!"

"You mean this little saloon of yours? Oh yes," said he, quite at his
ease. "You haven't anything worth looking at here!"

"What! not my china figure?" she asked, quite hurt.

"No, no, everything is quite _bourgeois_. It is necessary for a person
to have some taste. You wouldn't allow me to select the things--"

"Your taste, forsooth! just talk about your taste!" she retorted,
flushing crimson and feeling quite angry. "You have been seen with a
lady--"

"What lady?" he asked, surprised by the violence of the attack.

"A fine choice, indeed! I compliment you on it. A girl whom the whole
of Paris knows--"

She suddenly paused, remembering Pauline's presence.

"Pauline," she said, "go into the garden for a minute."

"Oh no," retorted the girl indignantly. "It's so tiresome; I'm always
being sent out of the way."

"Go into the garden," repeated Juliette, with increased severity in
her tone.

The girl stalked off with a sullen look, but stopped all at once, to
exclaim: "Well, then, be quick over your talk!"

As soon as she was gone, Madame Deberle returned to the charge. "How
can you, a gentleman, show yourself in public with that actress
Florence? She is at least forty. She is ugly enough to frighten one,
and all the gentlemen in the stalls thee and thou her on first
nights."

"Have you finished?" called out Pauline, who was strolling sulkily
under the trees. "I'm not amusing myself here, you know."

Malignon, however, defended himself. He had no knowledge of this girl
Florence; he had never in his life spoken a word to her. They had
possibly seen him with a lady: he was sometimes in the company of the
wife of a friend of his. Besides, who had seen him? He wanted proofs,
witnesses.

"Pauline," hastily asked Madame Deberle, raising her voice, "did you
not meet him with Florence?"

"Yes, certainly," replied her sister. "I met them on the boulevards
opposite Bignon's."

Thereupon, glorying in her victory over Malignon, whose face wore an
embarrassed smile, Madame Deberle called out: "You can come back,
Pauline; I have finished."

Malignon, who had a box at the Folies-Dramatiques for the following
night, now gallantly placed it at Madame Deberle's service, apparently
not feeling the slightest ill-will towards her; moreover, they were
always quarreling. Pauline wished to know if she might go to see the
play that was running, and as Malignon laughed and shook his head, she
declared it was very silly; authors ought to write plays fit for girls
to see. She was only allowed such entertainments as _La Dame Blanche_
and the classic drama could offer.

Meantime, the ladies had ceased watching the children, and all at once
Lucien began to raise terrible shrieks.

"What have you done to him, Jeanne?" asked Helene.

"I have done nothing, mamma," answered the little girl. "He has thrown
himself on the ground."

The truth was, the children had just set out for the famous glaciers.
As Jeanne pretended that they were reaching the mountains, they had
lifted their feet very high, as though to step over the rocks. Lucien,
however, quite out of breath with his exertions, at last made a false
step, and fell sprawling in the middle of an imaginary ice-field.
Disgusted, and furious with child-like rage, he no sooner found
himself on the ground than he burst into tears.

"Lift him up," called Helene.

"He won't let me, mamma. He is rolling about."

And so saying, Jeanne drew back, as though exasperated and annoyed by
such a display of bad breeding. He did not know how to play; he would
certainly cover her with dirt. Her mouth curled, as though she were a
duchess compromising herself by such companionship. Thereupon Madame
Deberle, irritated by Lucien's continued wailing, requested her sister
to pick him up and coax him into silence. Nothing loth, Pauline ran,
cast herself down beside the child, and for a moment rolled on the
ground with him. He struggled with her, unwilling to be lifted, but
she at last took him up by the arms, and to appease him, said, "Stop
crying, you noisy fellow; we'll have a swing!"

Lucien at once closed his lips, while Jeanne's solemn looks vanished,
and a gleam of ardent delight illumined her face. All three ran
towards the swing, but it was Pauline who took possession of the seat.

"Push, push!" she urged the children; and they pushed with all the
force of their tiny hands; but she was heavy, and they could scarcely
stir the swing.

"Push!" she urged again. "Oh, the big sillies, they can't!"

In the pavilion, Madame Deberle had just felt a slight chill. Despite
the bright sunshine she thought it rather cold, and she requested
Malignon to hand her a white cashmere burnous that was hanging from
the handle of a window fastening. Malignon rose to wrap the burnous
round her shoulders, and they began chatting familiarly on matters
which had little interest for Helene. Feeling fidgety, fearing that
Pauline might unwittingly knock the children down, she therefore
stepped into the garden, leaving Juliette and the young man to wrangle
over some new fashion in bonnets which apparently deeply interested
them.

Jeanne no sooner saw her mother than she ran towards her with a
wheedling smile, and entreaty in every gesture. "Oh, mamma, mamma!"
she implored. "Oh, mamma!"

"No, no, you mustn't!" replied Helene, who understood her meaning very
well. "You know you have been forbidden."

Swinging was Jeanne's greatest delight. She would say that she
believed herself a bird; the breeze blowing in her face, the lively
rush through the air, the continued swaying to and fro in a motion as
rythmic as the beating of a bird's wings, thrilled her with an
exquisite pleasure; in her ascent towards cloudland she imagined
herself on her way to heaven. But it always ended in some mishap. On
one occasion she had been found clinging to the ropes of the swing in
a swoon, her large eyes wide open, fixed in a vacant stare; at another
time she had fallen to the ground, stiff, like a swallow struck by a
shot.

"Oh, mamma!" she implored again. "Only a little, a very, very little!"

In the end her mother, in order to win peace, placed her on the seat.
The child's face lit up with an angelic smile, and her bare wrists
quivered with joyous expectancy. Helene swayed her very gently.

"Higher, mamma, higher!" she murmured.

But Helene paid no heed to her prayer, and retained firm hold of the
rope. She herself was glowing all over, her cheeks flushed, and she
thrilled with excitement at every push she gave to the swing. Her
wonted sedateness vanished as she thus became her daughter's playmate.

"That will do," she declared after a time, taking Jeanne in her arms.

"Oh, mamma, you must swing now!" the child whispered, as she clung to
her neck.

She took a keen delight in seeing her mother flying through the air;
as she said, her pleasure was still more intense in gazing at her than
in having a swing herself. Helene, however, asked her laughingly who
would push her; when she went in for swinging, it was a serious
matter; why, she went higher than the treetops! While she was speaking
it happened that Monsieur Rambaud made his appearance under the
guidance of the doorkeeper. He had met Madame Deberle in Helene's
rooms, and thought he would not be deemed presuming in presenting
himself here when unable to find her. Madame Deberle proved very
gracious, pleased as she was with the good-natured air of the worthy
man; however, she soon returned to a lively discussion with Malignon.

"_Bon ami_[*] will push you, mamma! _Bon ami_ will push you!" Jeanne
called out, as she danced round her mother.

[*] Literally "good friend;" but there is no proper equivalent for the
expression in English.

"Be quiet! We are not at home!" said her mother with mock gravity.

"Bless me! if it will please you, I am at your disposal," exclaimed
Monsieur Rambaud. "When people are in the country--"

Helene let herself be persuaded. When a girl she had been accustomed
to swing for hours, and the memory of those vanished pleasures created
a secret craving to taste them once more. Moreover, Pauline, who had
sat down with Lucien at the edge of the lawn, intervened with the
boldness of a girl freed from the trammels of childhood.

"Of course he will push you, and he will swing me after you. Won't
you, sir?"

This determined Helene. The youth which dwelt within her, in spite of
the cold demureness of her great beauty, displayed itself in a
charming, ingenuous fashion. She became a thorough school-girl,
unaffected and gay. There was no prudishness about her. She laughingly
declared that she must not expose her legs, and asked for some cord to
tie her skirts securely round her ankles. That done, she stood upright
on the swing, her arms extended and clinging to the ropes.

"Now, push, Monsieur Rambaud," she exclaimed delightedly. "But gently
at first!"

Monsieur Rambaud had hung his hat on the branch of a tree. His broad,
kindly face beamed with a fatherly smile. First he tested the strength
of the ropes, and, giving a look at the trees, determined to give a
slight push. That day Helene had for the first time abandoned her
widow's weeds; she was wearing a grey dress set off with mauve bows.
Standing upright, she began to swing, almost touching the ground, and
as if rocking herself to sleep.

"Quicker! quicker!" she exclaimed.

Monsieur Rambaud, with his hands ready, caught the seat as it came
back to him, and gave it a more vigorous push. Helene went higher,
each ascent taking her farther. However, despite the motion, she did
not lose her sedateness; she retained almost an austre demeanor; her
eyes shone very brightly in her beautiful, impassive face; her
nostrils only were inflated, as though to drink in the air.

Not a fold of her skirts was out of place, but a plait of her hair
slipped down.

"Quicker! quicker!" she called.

An energetic push gave her increased impetus. Up in the sunshine she
flew, even higher and higher. A breeze sprung up with her motion, and
blew through the garden; her flight was so swift that they could
scarcely distinguish her figure aright. Her face was now all smiles,
and flushed with a rosy red, while her eyes sparkled here, then there,
like shooting stars. The loosened plait of hair rustled against her
neck. Despite the cords which bound them, her skirts now waved about,
and you could divine that she was at her ease, her bosom heaving in
its free enjoyment as though the air were indeed her natural place.

"Quicker! quicker!"

Monsieur Rambaud, his face red and bedewed with perspiration, exerted
all his strength. A cry rang out. Helene went still higher.

"Oh, mamma! Oh, mamma!" repeated Jeanne in her ecstasy.

She was sitting on the lawn gazing at her mother, her little hands
clasped on her bosom, looking as though she herself had drunk in all
the air that was stirring. Her breath failed her; with a rythmical
movement of the shoulders she kept time with the long strokes of the
swing. And she cried, "Quicker! quicker!" while her mother still went
higher, her feet grazing the lofty branches of the trees.

"Higher, mamma! oh, higher, mamma!"

But Helene was already in the very heavens. The trees bent and cracked
as beneath a gale. Her skirts, which were all they could see, flapped
with a tempestuous sound. When she came back with arms stretched out
and bosom distended she lowered her head slightly and for a moment
hovered; but then she rose again and sank backwards, her head tilted,
her eyes closed, as though she had swooned. These ascensions and
descents which made her giddy were delightful. In her flight she
entered into the sunshine--the pale yellow February sunshine that
rained down like golden dust. Her chestnut hair gleamed with amber
tints; and a flame seemed to have leaped up around her, as the mauve
bows on her whitening dress flashed like burning flowers. Around her
the springtide was maturing into birth, and the purple-tinted gems of
the trees showed like delicate lacquer against the blue sky.

Jeanne clasped her hands. Her mother seemed to her a saint with a
golden glory round her head, winging her way to paradise, and she
again stammered: "Oh, mamma! oh! mamma!"

Madame Deberle and Malignon had now grown interested, and had stepped
under the trees. Malignon declared the lady to be very bold.

"I should faint, I'm sure," said Madame Deberle, with a frightened
air.

Helene heard them, for she dropped these words from among the
branches: "Oh, my heart is all right! Give a stronger push, Monsieur
Rambaud!"

And indeed her voice betrayed no emotion. She seemed to take no heed
of the two men who were onlookers. They were doubtless nothing to her.
Her tress of hair had become entangled, and the cord that confined her
skirts must have given way, for the drapery flapped in the wind like a
flag. She was going still higher.

All at once, however, the exclamation rang out:

"Enough, Monsieur Rambaud, enough!"

Doctor Deberle had just appeared on the house steps. He came forward,
embraced his wife tenderly, took up Lucien and kissed his brow. Then
he gazed at Helene with a smile.

"Enough, enough!" she still continued exclaiming.

"Why?" asked he. "Do I disturb you?"

She made no answer; a look of gravity had suddenly come over her face.
The swing, still continuing its rapid flights, owing to the impetus
given to it, would not stop, but swayed to and fro with a regular
motion which still bore Helene to a great height. The doctor,
surprised and charmed, beheld her with admiration; she looked so
superb, so tall and strong, with the pure figure of an antique statue
whilst swinging thus gently amid the spring sunshine. But she seemed
annoyed, and all at once leaped down.

"Stop! stop!" they all cried out.

From Helene's lips came a dull moan; she had fallen upon the gravel of
a pathway, and her efforts to rise were fruitless.

"Good heavens!" exclaimed the doctor, his face turning very pale. "How
imprudent!"

They all crowded round her. Jeanne began weeping so bitterly that
Monsieur Rambaud, with his heart in his mouth, was compelled to take
her in his arms. The doctor, meanwhile, eagerly questioned Helene.

"Is it the right leg you fell on? Cannot you stand upright?" And as
she remained dazed, without answering, he asked: "Do you suffer?"

"Yes, here at the knee; a dull pain," she answered, with difficulty.

He at once sent his wife for his medicine case and some bandages, and
repeated:

"I must see, I must see. No doubt it is a mere nothing."

He knelt down on the gravel and Helene let him do so; but all at once
she struggled to her feet and said: "No, no!"

"But I must examine the place," he said.

A slight quiver stole over her, and she answered in a yet lower tone:

"It is not necessary. It is nothing at all."

He looked at her, at first astounded. Her neck was flushing red; for a
moment their eyes met, and seemed to read each other's soul; he was
disconcerted, and slowly rose, remaining near her, but without
pressing her further.

Helene had signed to Monsieur Rambaud. "Fetch Doctor Bodin," she
whispered in his ear, "and tell him what has happened to me."

Ten minutes later, when Doctor Bodin made his appearance, she, with
superhuman courage, regained her feet, and leaning on him and Monsieur
Rambaud, contrived to return home. Jeanne followed, quivering with
sobs.

"I shall wait," said Doctor Deberle to his brother physician. "Come
down and remove our fears."

In the garden a lively colloquy ensued. Malignon was of opinion that
women had queer ideas. Why on earth had that lady been so foolish as
to jump down? Pauline, excessively provoked at this accident, which
deprived her of a pleasure, declared it was silly to swing so high. On
his side Doctor Deberle did not say a word, but seemed anxious.

"It is nothing serious," said Doctor Bodin, as he came down again
--"only a sprain. Still, she will have to keep to an easy-chair for at
least a fortnight."

Thereupon Monsieur Deberle gave a friendly slap on Malignon's
shoulder. He wished his wife to go in, as it was really becoming too
cold. For his own part, taking Lucien in his arms, he carried him into
the house, covering him with kisses the while.

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